 
1

THE AURORA CITY

by

E.R. Mason

Smashwords Version

The Aurora City

by

E.R. Mason

Copyright 2013 by E.R. Mason

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

All characters in this book are fictional

and any resemblance to persons living

or dead is purely coincidental

ISBN: 978-0-615-81218-2

EDITOR:

Joe Summars

FLUXFAZE Creative Enterprises, LLC

http://www.fluxfaze.com

COVER ART:

Futuristic City 2

by

Scott Richard

to view more fantastic futuristic

art by Scott Richard visit:

http://rich35211.deviantart.com/

Chapter 1

They looked like the men-in-black. Shadowy individuals you only hear about from people who claim to have witnessed UFOs. Their ivory skin was sharply contrasted by dark, precisely cut hair, coal black suits, and dark sunglasses. They were disproportionately tall. All along the jog route, they had been occasional ghosts in the shadows, feigning disinterest in Scott Markman's passing, but at the same time seeming to want him to notice.

Markman cruised past the horse head mailbox on Bradbur Avenue, grabbing at the stopwatch dangling from his waist. Twenty-four minutes at the four-mile mark. The Florida sun was now above the treetops; back dropped by clear blue. Pristine green lawns and well-trimmed flower gardens offered pride for the middle-class neighborhood. The morning air was losing its cool. Markman turned the corner back toward the home of Professor Cassell where his cold, home-brewed energy drink waited.

Even from a distance, the Professor's place was a mess. The home was being expanded to almost twice its size. Lumber and brick were everywhere. Carpenters were beating on things as trucks came and went. A chainsaw was grinding away. The smell of sawdust met Markman as he ran. Two more MIB were waiting a short way down the street, parked in the shade of a giant elm. They sat in an unmarked black sedan. Markman decided to slow and take refuge behind a pest control truck, his back against the rear doors. He bent over to catch his breath and then dared to steal a glance around the side. They had not seen him approach. They were not speaking to or even looking at each other. Markman tugged at his black jogging pants and unzipped the long-sleeved sweat jacket. Subconsciously, he touched the center of his forehead, checking for the bruise that had been there, an injury now fully healed. It would be easy enough to sneak up on these guys and surprise them. Years of growing up near a Tibetan monastery in Lhasa had impressed those kinds of talents on Markman. Perhaps in this case discretion was the better part of valor. These guys had been popping up for weeks now with no indication of what they were after. Maybe it was time to force the issue. Markman jogged out from behind the van to discover the mysterious sedan had somehow disappeared. A solitary, odd-shaped puff of cloud drifted by overhead. The roadway was clear of cars as far as the eye could see. There was no sound of traffic anywhere, only the busy hammering of the carpenters.

At the Cassell's, no one was home. Markman's life companion, Cassiopia Cassell, and her father, Professor Cassell were on travel to a conference concerning the use of autonomous machines in war. Only the Professor's TEL robot and its beloved adopted beagle were inside.

How many months had it been since the devastating airplane crash that had left him and Cassiopia on a frozen mountain top with no hope of rescue? How long since Cassiopia had somehow dragged his unconscious body down that mountain and into the hands of rescuers? There was unfinished business left from that. Intimate personal commitments had been made. Lifetime devotions implied. It was possible he was expected to ask her to marry him now. At the same time, it was impossible to anticipate what was going on in her high IQ brain. It did not bother him that she was so much smarter than he. Women always matured more quickly than men. It was nature's way of preventing men from accidentally killing themselves before reaching maturity. It was only natural that women were generally smarter about some things.

But, marriage was not something Markman had ever considered. What did it mean, really? Was it simply a contract between two people to secure personal finances? It seemed like that was what it meant to some. What would it mean to Cassiopia? Would he have to take orders? Would there be a schedule of sorts? Attend dinner parties? In some ways, Cassiopia was even more a recluse than he. She had said their plan would be to have no plan, but he couldn't recall where or when she had said that or even if she really had. Fortunately, this was not something that had to be decided right away. In fact, if he was careful, this could probably be dragged out for a very long time.

Markman abruptly stopped in the middle of the street, dumbfounded. A stark realization set in. It was frightening. He suddenly realized he wanted to ask Cassiopia to marry him.

An oncoming car honked. Embarrassed, he waved and hurried to the sidewalk. In a daze, he looked around and down at his stopwatch. That twenty-four minutes at the four-mile mark meant he was now fully recovered. He could have run further. He headed for the front door and slowed as he approached, pulling the blue cloth key strap from around his neck. At the door, he took pause. Something felt out of place. The banging of construction continued. Maybe that was it. Or, maybe the thought of proposing to Cassiopia had instilled a certain fear; his instincts suggesting a danger that should not be ignored. They had saved him too many times. Markman backed out and headed for the rear entrance.

The back door was unlocked. It should not have been. He twisted the knob, pushed it open, and took a step back. The Professor's home had been broken into before. With all the construction going on, that would make an intrusion even easier now.

He waited a few moments outside the door. No assault seemed to be forthcoming. He edged in sideways and listened, mentally blocking out the noise from outside.

The place was quiet. He switched sides in the hallway and brushed one hand along the edge of the hall table as he went. He stopped and listened again, but picked up nothing. The door to the basement was directly across from him. It was shut and locked. From his position, he could just see out the windows of the front door. To his amazement, the black sedan with the men in black had returned. Its two occupants were reading folded up newspapers. Markman shrugged off his apprehension and walked to the front door window, peering out at the mysterious figures. A voice from the living room startled him.

"They are waiting for me, nothing more."

Markman lurched back and raised his hands in defense, then sidestepped to get a better look into the living room.

A strange man sat on the couch; the silver TEL robot stood glistening beside him. The man's dress looked Victorian, a single-breasted dark-brown morning jacket over a striped light brown vest with a starched white shirt and narrow bow tie. He wore light brown plaid trousers covering deep brown boots. A pocket watch and chain were attached to a button on his vest, and a dark derby hat sat on the cushion beside him. He paused to sip something from one of the Professor's antique tea cups, holding the saucer in one hand and the cup in the other.

"Your TEL robot was kind enough to prepare this for me. I asked him to bring me your favorite, as well," he said. He gestured toward a second cup on the coffee table.

"How did you get in here? Who are you?"

"My name may as well be John Paul. Won't you sit? It will be a discussion of some length, I think."

Markman held his place and searched for others. There was no one. "How did you get in here?"

"Your most amiable TEL robot invited me in. There's something peculiar about this machine, have you realized that?"

"The TEL is programmed to stay out of sight and not to let anyone in. How did you get in here?"

The intruder remained casual and sipped his tea. He winced in delight and held up one hand. "They all have a global password built into one of the BIOS routines. They came from the factory that way. Few people are aware of it. I used it to assure the TEL that I meant no harm. By the way, the organization I represent is the real reason Professor Cassell was allowed to keep this robot after the TEL Corporation was destroyed."

"I don't know you from Adam. Why shouldn't I call the police right now and have you arrested?"

"Because you and I need to have a long talk about the world and our places in it."

"What?"

"Please, Mr. Markman, won't you sit and try your drink before it cools?"

Markman sensed no aggression. He had been thinking of confronting those following him, anyway. Clearly this was an opportunity to find out what was going on. He entered the living room and slowly took a seat facing the strange man. The man's expression was slightly weathered, but content. Dark brown eyes complimented the antique suit. His face and hands were heavily lined but had good color. He seemed to be in his fifties or sixties but unusually healthy and vibrant for that age.

Markman sat back and folded his hands. The TEL robot continued to stand passively by. "Okay. Let's have it. What do you and your friends want?"

"That one is easy. We need your help."

"Who is we?"

"That one's not so easy."

"So start at the beginning and stop when you get to the end."

The man smiled at Markman's impertinence. He stared and sipped, in no hurry to reply. Finally, he began. "Because of some of the federal agency affairs you were exposed to before your recent accident, along with your own quite exotic knowledge base gained from your unorthodox upbringing, I am allowed to offer you access to some very sensitive information about the world around us, its myths, and its subversive reality. You understand that the world is a collage of paradigms built atop larger paradigms?"

"What?"

"Pictures hidden within pictures. The real world is made up of them."

"Personally, I tend to take things at face value."

"And that philosophy has served you well, Mr. Markman. Nevertheless, the world you know is supposedly managed by its governments, governments that in reality have little influence over the course of society. Most people feel protected by their elected governments, but the truth is they are only superficial paradigms that hide the true nature of this world. That is, governments are the most visible, most widely believed illusion, one that conceals the real truth."

Markman lifted his cup, sipped and waited.

"The top layer of this reality paradigm I speak of, would be those world governments and the misconception that they regulate the world. In reality, world governments are merely a means for the peoples of the world to interact with those who actually control it. Even in democracies, people are allowed to vote, but only on the choices permitted them by the groups who are really in power."

"I'm not liking your view of the world very much, Mr. Paul. Are you trying to say that a shadow government controls the world? And why am I having this conversation with a stranger who entered our home without having been invited?"

"It is not my view of the world, Scott. It is only the truth. And, I would not use your choice of words. Shadow government suggests a unified organization. The global tier we are talking about that is one step above the world governments could not be construed as any form of government at all. You might call it the aristocracy tier. It consists of groups or conglomerates of wealthy, powerful people. Not all the wealthy are a part of it, just those concerned with their own enrichment and power first, and the welfare of the world and its people second, if at all. Many of them believe that the law of the jungle is the natural way of things and that the world is a place provided for ambitious people to practice their skills by accumulating wealth and control over others. These people are just as disloyal to each other as they are to the general population. You can visualize this higher tier of power by imagining a weather radar map. Storm cells form, divide, break up, and reform continuously. It is the same with the conglomerates who manipulate the world for their own ambitions." Paul paused to take a drink. He replaced it on the table very slowly and very precisely and watched Markman for reaction. Markman sat silently and returned a skeptical stare.

"And now for a leap of faith that should not be too difficult for you, Mr. Markman. There is a third tier, above and invisible to the two tiers below it, and far more powerful. You could call this third tier the Celestial tier. Where the first two tiers consist entirely of humans, the celestial tier is comprised of both very evolved humans and non-humans as well."

"You're beginning to lose me, Mr. Paul. You may have the wrong address and the wrong person for this talk."

"Oh come now, Scott. After your spiritual upbringing in Tibet? The things you were taught and witnessed there? And, you seem to subscribe to a belief in the current version of the Bible, as well. In it, do not angels visit the Earth quite often? Are not demons cast out repeatedly? Firmaments in the heavens? Chariots of fire? And of course, there's your last involvement with Ms. Ann Rogers and her federal agency. You discovered an early invasion of Salantian creatures who were using extraterrestrial vortport technology to enter Earth. How can you possibly deny the existence of alien, nonhuman life forms, if that's what you're implying?"

"You seem to know an awful lot about me, Mr. Paul."

"My group is an operating arm for the Celestial tier. We have access to technology and resources that are beyond those you are familiar with. We know more about you than you do, Scott."

"And why are we having this conversation again?"

"As I said before, we need your help with something extremely important. Something you are more than familiar with."

"It amazes me that this is the second time I've had to say this to someone, but why would people at your level need my help with anything?"

"Call it a curiosity of destiny, if you like. In life, occasionally only one specific, unique equation will fit a problem. In this case, you are that equation."

"Tell me something, if you represent a level of authority so high and so advanced it is secretly managing the world, why are such terrible things allowed to go on down here? I could mention 9/11."

"We operate apart from and above the laws of any government. The rules are very different for us. We fall under the umbrella of the non-interference tenets. Do you know what the most basic law in the design of this world is, Scott?"

"Live and let live?"

"Not bad. But what I meant was, what is the most underlying tenet that life here is based on. The answer is, free will. This world is fundamentally designed around the theme of free will. That is why there is so much suffering. You can tell a child a thousand times that if he touches the flame he will harm himself, but sooner or later that child will try it. It's the same if you tell someone something they desperately want is bad for them. If you refuse to let them have it, they will spend their lifetime thinking you're wrong. So in the larger scheme of things, there has to be a vehicle, a realm of experience where free will is allowed to rule. And in the multitude of mistakes that follow, both the victims and those who err learn. So why do we not intercede when terrible things are about to happen? That would be overruling the very reason this short-term world of experience came to be. Our job is to preserve the system, not interfere with it."

Paul studied Markman as he paused for another sip from his cup. "The worst problems occur when people firmly believe they are right about something even though they are not. They have the maturity to reason out that the action is wrong, but either they do not think it through or they are so overwhelmed with desire they cannot. For one reason or another, they believe their idea is correct and no friend, enemy, or teacher can change that. In those cases, nothing will ever change their mind except the consequences from actually making the mistake. They will not advance beyond the misconception until they do. They will not understand until they touch the flame."

"And so, such terrible things must happen every day?"

"Yes. But, there is much more angelic intervention than anyone realizes."

"Still, the suffering in this world is a hard thing to accept, Mr. Paul."

"And for that reason, life in this experience is kept quite short, especially from the point of view of eternal beings, which all humans are."

"It's been a very long time since I've heard anyone talk in terms like you're using, Mr. Paul."

Paul gently put down his cup. "I am telling you these things so you will have some understanding of who I work for and why we are here. Because of the knowledge you already possess, I can explain quite a bit, but I am not at liberty to tell you everything as long as you remain a part of this world, which brings us to the first real difficulty. There are two ways we can proceed. One is that you join us in which case I can be very forthcoming in answering your questions. The second choice is that you do not join us but you agree to help us. In that context, I can give you some answers, but not all, and everything we discuss must remain absolutely confidential. A third possibility is that you decline our request, but I do not think you will do that."

"If I were to consider joining this secret, far-fetched organization you claim to belong to, what would it cost me?"

"You would give up your current life completely. A cover story would be created to explain your sudden absence, one that was the least traumatic to family and friends. And, you could never return."

"Why would anyone ever do that?"

"So that you could devote yourself to the greater good without the constraints of domestic existence."

"I think I need Cassiopia here to translate for me."

"No, Scott. That is why we arranged to be here without her being present. You must understand all of this yourself. These decisions are too serious."

"And you understand that I do not trust you, and this all sounds completely ridiculous, don't you?"

"Of course. You are not a gullible man. That's why we're taking this one step at a time. As I've said, there are two ways we can work together. You have the option to join us, or not."

"Give up this life, join a celestial group of beings, and become a ghost? Even if you really are who you claim to be, I doubt that's going to happen."

"It's not a decision anyone should make lightly. You need to take some time. There is more to know before you decide."

"Is it just me, or are you trying to recruit Cassiopia, too?"

"The three of you, actually. Professor Cassell has been getting too far ahead of the rest of the world for quite some time now. Were he not so responsible about it, we would have had to intervene already."

"So you do interfere. I thought you did not?"

"Only when the construct of the design of this world is threatened. When someone discovers something or embarks on something so advanced that it will change, or interfere with the purpose of this world, we intercede in those cases."

"You're saying you know something about the Professor's work?"

"The inter-dimensional doorway he has created in his secret laboratory downstairs? Of course. In fact, it has been a blessing. We have a similar resource, although it's in the shape of a recovered spacecraft rather than an actual door like the Professor's, but we are not allowed to use it the way an Earth resident human is. That would be a violation of the non-interference tenet. When Ms. Cassell and Ms. Rogers recently used that doorway to prevent nuclear chaos in Washington, I cannot tell you how relieved we all were. We would have had to allow that just as we had to allow 9/11."

"My God!"

"Ultimately, yes."

"What?"

"You have a question?"

"When I said, my God, you said, ultimately yes. What did you mean?"

"Scott, I'm taking up a lot of your time."

"I'm starting not to mind so much. You didn't answer my question."

"Perhaps we should get on to the reason we need your help. That will confirm to you who we are."

"By all means, continue."

"As I've said, before your unfortunate aircraft accident, you were involved in an investigation with Federal Agent Ann Rogers and the agency she works for. They drafted you as an outsider so that the people they were after would not identify you as an agent."

"You know, I still wonder exactly how I got into that mess."

"Working for Rogers, you managed to gain entry to an illegal organization called the Dragon Masters, and using a piece of borrowed equipment known as a sensesuit, you entered into the Dragon Master computer games. During the entry phase of the first game you were defaulted to a selection called The Aurora City."

"I was told never to discuss any of this."

"Yes. We were the ones who told you never to discuss it. That special, computerized suit allowed you to get inside a computer world, an extremely sophisticated simulation of an actual world that exists elsewhere. You did quite well in there. In fact, near the end of it, you were about to win the game when we intervened and confiscated the suit."

"That was no great disappointment. People were dying in those suits."

"Shortly thereafter, you were on the verge of discovering where the Dragon Master's main computer system was hidden. Unfortunately, it was destroyed in an accidental explosion."

"So you guys are not infallible. You don't know everything."

"What?"

"As you say, that entire system was destroyed. I'm guessing you still have the sensesuits you took from us, but there is no longer a Dragon Master computer system to use them with. So where is all this going?"

"Very perceptive, Scott. But you are mistaken. From the beginning, we suspected that the individuals operating Dragon Master's system would not rely on a single computer. We expected to find a redundant backup somewhere. We found it in the caves you led our SWAT team to, the caves that so conveniently adjoined the New York sewer system. It has taken us quite awhile to understand the equipment and learn how to operate it, but we are there now."

"You aren't wanting me to put a sensesuit back on and go into that game of death? You can't be."

"The suits contain biological properties. Some of our scientists have joked that they are surprised the suits have not already become self-aware. When the suit is first worn by its user, there is a bonding at the DNA level. Once that mating is made, no one else can ever wear the suit. The suit will kill anyone who tries. Back when you were involved in the Dragon Master's investigation, Ms. Cassell was also forced to put on a suit. It originally belonged to a man named Leeds, but he had discovered how to switch the suit to diagnostics mode. Because her suit remained in diagnostics mode, she survived the game and won. Her victory was purely symbolic, however. The Dragon Master computer thought that the suit was being tested and not really in competition. For that reason, Ms. Cassell did not actually receive the reward that the game had promised, a reward that was supposedly beyond imagination."

Paul stopped and drank once more. "I cannot emphasize to you how close Ms. Cassell came to death in that sadistic gamble forced on her by Leeds. Had the suit she was wearing accidentally switched out of diagnostics mode for so much as a microsecond, it would have self-destructed. Leeds was not so lucky. He was killed by the individuals using the sensesuit computer system."

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"The entire affair was a very dark episode, Scott. Had you not located the lair when you did and led our SWAT team to it, many worse things would have happened."

"To be honest, I hate even thinking about it."

"And that brings me finally to why we're here. We have one fully functional sensesuit whose DNA-matched user is still alive."

"No. You have one fully functional sensesuit without a user."

"And your next question should be, why would we want to go back into the Dragon Masters' game? The answer is, because it's not a game at all. It is the most sophisticated simulator we've ever seen. It is a repository of worlds from all over the known universe, all represented in exact detail. The opportunity to learn is beyond imagination, but even that is not why we need to go back in."

Paul leaned back in his seat and rubbed his temple as though the telling of it was tiring him, as well. "As you know, the Dragon Masters computer was being operated by a race not from Earth, the Salantians. They used another off-world technology called a vortport to turn a wall of solid rock into a doorway into our world. They were setting up to invade Earth, and using the sensesuit computer to help them do that. They can do it again. In fact, we believe that the lair you found was the first outpost intended to pave the way for a much larger invasion. Using the captured Dragon Master computer, we believe we can learn enough about them to defend against their return. For Earth, it is not an option. It is an absolute necessity."

"And this celestial group of yours, so incredibly powerful, needs help against these kinds of outside invaders?"

"This is a turning point in human evolution, Scott. When nuclear weapons were first discovered on Earth, there was an understood message that came along with them. The message was; the human race has become too advanced to have any more world wars. The consequence of such a conflict would be mutual annihilation. Given that, mankind somehow found a way to work together just barely enough to avoid all out global war –at least so far. This is another such fork in the road of evolution. This time the message is, either work together as a people to turn back invaders from another world, or be destroyed. My organization can help level the playing field, but can only go so far. It is time for the people of Earth to join together to defeat this threat."

"Why would people at your level need information about an alien species?"

"The universe is too large to really understand, Scott. There are indeed channels through which some of our celestial members can obtain knowledge of distant off-world species. That knowledge is on a level you would consider to be spiritual. Spiritual knowledge does not carry down to the physical world too easily. It often distorts in the translation. Have you ever tried to translate a dream? Understanding what kind of impact an alien species can have on Earth requires more than an ethereal point of view. Only here on the physical plane do we actually see real effects manifest. The Dragon Master computer can show us in human terms how the Salantians operate. It is difficult to anticipate an intrusion without that kind of knowledge. Am I making this clear enough?"

"Not really. But I think what you are trying to say is that knowing something is going to happen does not fully prepare you for when it does."

"Keep in mind, the Salantian invaders are probably only doing what comes naturally to them. They do not see it as evil or offensive. When a colony of ants overruns some other nest, that does not make them evil or wrongful. But, I think I've probably inundated you enough for now. We possess all the Dragon Master resources, and after recounting to you everything that happened during that sordid affair, obviously I must be who I claim to be. You now have a reasonable understanding of who I represent and why we need your help. We will need to go over all of this with Ms. Cassell, but it seemed appropriate to approach you first so that you could direct us in how that should be done. I know she and her father are presently taking a train to Knoxville, both still too traumatized by the aircraft accident to fly. We arranged for their attendance at the RIA Conference just to facilitate this meeting. Their conference is located near one of our facilities. Quite a remarkable woman, Ms. Cassell. I must say, our group is quite in awe of her. We had been following you quite closely back when your aircraft went down in the mountains. We secretly searched apart from the conventional rescue teams and even with our advanced resources were unable to isolate the wreckage. For a time we feared we had lost our chance to solicit your help. When Ms. Cassell came down off that mountain dragging you along, our task force headquarters people were beside themselves. Quite a remarkable woman."

"Are you following her now?"

"Two of our operatives are on the train keeping a low profile. No contact is to be made. We waited as long as we dared for you to recover, Scott. We were the Niela Group who paid for all your medical expenses and made sure Ms. Cassell was not impeded in any way in her attempts to effect your recovery. But, we do not force anyone to help us or join us. That must be of your own choosing. If you refuse, we will use every other means at our disposal to help Earth against this threat, and we will bother you no longer. I shall take my leave of you now. This particular mission has an urgency that seems to task me a bit. Here is my card. The address there is where we'll need to meet. It's a four or five-hour drive from the conference. When you are on your way, just say my name and the word, enroute, out loud. You have an implant that will alert us."

"I have a what?"

"An implant. A micro-tracking device under the skin."

"You've implanted a device in my body without telling me?"

"You were still in the hospital, comatose. It is a tiny thing that runs off your body's own electricity. Once removed it dissolves very quickly. We can also send a command and tell it to dissolve if you wish."

"You are eavesdropping on everything I say and do, against my will?"

"No. Our system monitors the implant for keywords only. Were you to say the word help standing alone; it would trigger an alert. We would take action to be sure you were not in any danger. Only certain keywords are flags to our system. Otherwise, there is no monitoring at all. It is the same with your physical location. We can check where you are but only do so as a precaution. As I've mentioned, we will dissolve this implant any time you wish, but I strongly recommend you hold off on that decision until we've talked again. The implant is a benefit, not an abuse."

"I am afraid to ask, have you done this to Cassiopia and the Professor, as well?"

"Yes. Your wife...oh! Please forgive me. A slip of the tongue. Ms. Cassell is an extremely unusual woman, as I've said. Professor Cassell is a walking textbook that some unethical groups would like to have control of. The implants will guard them both. Would you really want those removed, Scott?"

"I'm going to need some time to get my head around all this crap. The implant thing is pissing me off."

John Paul rose from the couch, leaned over, and took a final sip of his cold tea. He nodded to the robot and took his derby hat from the couch. Holding it near his chest, he headed for the door. Markman rose and moved with him, opening the door with a glance of consternation. Without speaking, John Paul returned a last, knowing nod and disappeared out. Through the curtains, Markman spotted the two men in black waiting by the sedan with a rear door open. He leaned his head against the glass, exhaled, and wondered what had just happened.

Chapter 2

It was an ugly accident that should never have occurred. Pieces of the smashed truck were everywhere. Sitting across from her father in the Amtrak Silver Meteor roomette, Cassiopia held one hand over her mouth as she stared at the wreckage scattered outside her window. By pressing her head against the glass, she could make out even more carnage farther up the track. There was the mangled bed of the truck protruding from a nearby culvert, and an axle and wheels twisted alongside it.

Someone had tried to beat the train. One torn off wheel had rolled away down the street, coming to rest on the centerline. The front half of the vehicle was nowhere in sight. It was somewhere on the other side of the tracks. Cassiopia shuddered to think what condition it might be in. The sound of fire engines and ambulances had long since passed. None of them was visible from this side. Perhaps that was for the best. She glanced at her father. The aftermath of such violence did not seem to bother him. He was having trouble staying awake. His head kept tipping forward. He noticed her staring, sat up and rubbed one hand on his trousers, his dark Einstein-eyes coming to focus. His brown cotton sweater was still buttoned incorrectly, and the badly folded collar of his white dress shirt stuck out on one side. The cuffs on his plain brown dress pants would one day come into style again, but not for a very long time. His worn brown leather shoes were well-creased and needed polishing. His unkempt gray-white hair had no intentional style to it. He wrinkled his brow and stroked his short beard.

"What can you see?" he asked.

"They're using a winch to drag the back end of the truck up onto a trailer. There's no telling what's happening on the other side."

"How much longer do you think it might be?"

"It's anyone's guess."

Her father began to nod off again.

"Father, is something troubling you?"

The Professor returned his gaze. "That's a particularly attractive blue outfit daughter, but I fear they accidentally left part of it on the seamstress's table."

Cassiopia laughed. "It's a one-shoulder, ruched jumpsuit, Father. It's supposed to look this way. They did not forget and leave a shoulder out. But, thank you for the compliment. Do you think Scott would like it?"

The Professor had drifted off again.

"Ah-hmm."

The Professor's eyes fluttered back open.

"Father, you did not answer my question. You seem distracted today. Is something bothering you?"

He hesitated, looked out the window, and then back at her. "Have you noticed they are on the train with us?"

Cassiopia paused. Suddenly she shared his concern. "Yes. I did notice."

The Professor stroked his beard once more. "This has been going on since the airplane accident. They do not seem to be going away. I had hoped it was some kind of police business, something going on in our neighborhood, but obviously this has something to do with us."

"What do you think they're up to?"

"I can think of only two reasons undercover policemen would be watching us. One would be the robot, the other, my secret laboratory."

"The SCIP door in your lab? You think they might have learned about it?"

"An inter-dimensional doorway would be of great use to many different groups, both good and bad. We have worked hard to keep it a secret, but recently it became necessary to reveal its existence to your friend Ann Rogers. Now suddenly we have men in black watching our home and watching us everywhere we go. The odds of that being a coincidence are not good."

"Ann would never say anything. She gave her solemn promise. Trust me. It's not Ann."

Professor Cassell eyed his daughter with sympathy. "You may be right, but there may have been monitoring of some kind on Ms. Rogers during her police duties, monitoring that none of us was aware of. That would account for the unlikely coincidence."

"It could still be the robot, as well. No one owns a TEL 200D machine. Most were destroyed in the explosion and fire, and it has been seen by quite a few people. It was even stolen once, already."

"Either or both, Daughter. But, the Tel has evolved considerably under your guidance. Capturing it would not be such an easy thing anymore, I think. Using it would be even more difficult. It is the SCIP door that worries me the most. It could affect the world as we know it."

"Are you thinking of destroying it?"

"No longer a viable option. I would need to destroy myself, as well. If it is the door they are after, taking me would do almost as well. I have also recently become alarmed at the science it proffers."

"How can you be alarmed by your own creation?"

"The Higg's boson."

"The God particle? How can you be troubled by that? It's a wonderful affirmation of a very orderly universe."

"Or one of many universes in a multiverse cosmos, my dear, and what's more, a universe that contains many hidden dimensions."

"So?"

"So, I had convinced myself that our so-called inter-dimensional doorway was a device that allowed someone to view the existing world from a purely mental perspective, a dimension within our dimension. The Higgs boson's apparent confirmation of string theory has forced me to consider that my vision of the inter-dimensional doorway has been too short-sighted. When I expand the math associated with it, I keep coming up with the idea that if I alter the frequency spectrums used to open the door, I can access many more dimensions, not just the one we have visited."

"Other worlds? You could access other unexplored worlds?"

"Not just worlds, Cassiopia, other universes."

"But the theory of multiverse can never be proven. We could never detect light from a companion universe."

"Yes, and I have been unable to complete the formulas that would allow me to alter the inter-dimensional door that way. But I already know in my heart it can be done, and do you remember the strange individual we once met when I had been lost in the dimension on the other side of the door?"

"You mean the extraterrestrial?"

"Yes. Do you recall what he told you about the big bang?"

"Oh! Yes, wait.... He said the big bang was the firing of a single neuron in the mind of God."

"And that fits the theory of multiverse perfectly, doesn't it."

"What does it all mean?"

"It means we are on the verge of discoveries here that surpass even relativity, and it could mean the men in black are waiting for the right moment to take possession of my work and possibly me, and even you."

"It's clear what we must do, then."

The Professor looked up with interest. "What is it your conniving little mind has come up with now? I am almost afraid to ask."

"The process you have been teaching me all my life. If an answer is not obvious, more data needs to be collected. We need to know more about them. I will begin surveillance on those doing the surveillance."

"Oh heavens. I've set you off. What dastardly things do you have in mind for our poor, unsuspecting adversaries?"

"As you've taught me, Father. The first step in any investigation is observation. I will observe them."

"Daughter, I should fear that you will be placing yourself in harm's way, but for some reason I have more fear for them than you."

"It's alright, Father. I promise not to hurt them."

The Professor chuckled to himself.

"Perhaps while we're stuck here, this would be a good time to visit the dining car. Would you like me to bring you something?" she asked.

"Hot tea, if they have it, and perhaps a bottle of water. I plan to visit the restroom at some point in the near future. I fear it will be a memorable experience."

"You know there is one right here in this little room, right?"

"My dear, the main lavatory in the lounge car is quite small enough, thank you."

Cassiopia rose and braced herself against the low ceiling. She slid the compartment's glass and metal door open, smiled back at her father and pulled herself into the narrow corridor. The shiny metallic hallway was deserted. Body weight was required to close the door. She made her way toward the front by bracing against both walls as she went. At the end of the roomette car, she crossed into the next.

It was a coach car with blue seats covered in an Indian-style textile. Soft green overhead racks were partially loaded with baggage. The car was only half full. Cassiopia pulled her way along the seats. Though the car interior looked newly refurbished, there was a musty smell about it. There were no men in black in this car.

The next car was the one. As she slid the aluminum door closed behind her, she spotted a man-in-black three-fourths of the way down. Only the back of his shoulders and dark black hair were visible, but there was no mistake. She made her way forward and passed by him being careful to feign disinterest. He was reading a folded up newspaper. Without looking back, she entered the next car.

It was the dining car. Red cushioned seats bordered tables on each side. White tablecloths, with plates and silverware neatly set on each beside napkins folded inside drinking glasses. The isle floor was covered by non-slip black rubber. Subdued lighting overhead concealed by dark stained wood provided soft illumination. At the far end of the double car, one couple was dining. No one else was present. Halfway down the car, she found dividers enclosing vending machines. One offered coffee and hot tea. She purchased a bottle of spring water from one as her tea was being dispensed in another.

She paused before leaving to prepare her surveillance strategy. Entering the next car, the man in black was still there, still seeming to read his rolled up newspaper. As she approached, she dropped her bottle of water. She bent over quickly and recovered it, then stood very slowly, pretending to struggle with the paper cup of hot tea. Once again, she showed no interest in the man in black and pushed on past him.

Back in the roomette, her father looked up and eyed the paper cup of tea with anticipation. "Oh my! You've done it!"

"Be careful. It's very hot. I could hardly hold it."

"Oh, the wonderful smell of cinnamon. A successful excursion I would say."

"In more ways than one."

"What do you mean?"

"He has black leather shoes with laces and no seams. There are no creases in his shoes. His black slacks and socks also appear seamless and show no signs of a weave. He wears a simple black leather belt that buckles into a punched hole, but there is only a single hole as though it had to have been tailored to fit. His black tie is slightly too narrow. It may not be fabric at all. I have never seen one of that style. Behind the tie, his white dress shirt has no buttons. Very odd. You can't see that unless you get close enough and lucky enough to see behind it. His black jacket, like the other items, appears to have no seam in the shoulders or arms, and no weave. The lapel is not cut straight. It has a bow to it, starting near the bottom and arching to the top. I have never seen that, either. The man does not look like he shaves. He has no beard shadow even though it is late afternoon. The skin on his face is too perfect. His sideburns are cut identically. The back of his hair is also cut with extreme precision. His eyebrows match perfectly. Too perfectly. His fingernails have perfectly matching cuticles, and the lines in his fingers and hands are equally complimentary. No rings or jewelry of any kind except for a strange-looking gold watch on the left wrist. He has no hair on his arms above the wrist, as much as I could see. His eyes are a dull blue, and they were not dilated as they should have been for the existing light level or for reading, which he was only pretending to do. His ears do not comprise a normal auditory canal. They are more slotted than elliptic. His nose is similar. The nostrils are more rectangular than oval. There is an obvious conclusion."

"Heavens, Daughter. Did you get a blood sample?"

"I'm serious, Father."

"You observed all of that? What did you do, frisk the man?"

"I pretended to drop your bottle of water."

"Heaven forbid. None of us are safe. That sponge-like mind of yours recorded all that in the time it took you to retrieve a bottle of water? This photographic memory of yours has always caused me anxiety. It leads me to suspect you have a record of every misspoken word or errant action I have ever been at fault for."

"Father...."

"Well, what is it, then? What is your obvious conclusion now that your personal supercomputer has had a few minutes out of eternity to process the data?"

"The man is either an alien or an android."

Professor Cassell placed one hand on his forehead and shook his head. He looked down and began mumbling to himself. "It's her fault, not mine. I said our pairing might produce a child we could neither control nor keep up with, but she insisted. If only I hadn't accepted the wine. She was the one who wanted wine. Then what does she do? Withdraws in retreat and leaves the child care up to me, of all people...."

"Father...."

"I'm sorry. You were saying."

"There are no other viable explanations. There are so many points of supporting fact the odds of coincidence no longer apply. How many times have you used that quote that, when all other possibilities are eliminated what remains, no matter how unlikely, must be the solution?"

"My dear, Sherlock never suggested someone was a robot."

"DaVinci would have considered it."

"Daughter, the man could just be someone with unusually perfect skin tone and a compulsive grooming disorder."

"And a tailor who has discovered clothing without seams or weave for a client who happens to have rectangular nostrils and ear canals?"

"Expensive custom tailoring and a slight aberrant growth variation."

"The odds are far against you, Father. Not even calculable."

"I fear to ask, what will you do next, Ms. Holmes?"

"Test them."

"Oh no."

"There is a stop in Sarasota. I will disembark and appear not to have reboarded. We'll see what they do then."

"Perhaps not such a bad plan. Perhaps they will ignore you completely and both our minds will be put at rest."

"Do you really think that?"

"What do you think will happen?"

"My hypothesis is that when I get off, one of them will follow. Once he loses track of me, he will somehow call the other and both will begin searching as inconspicuously as they can."

"Well, I will hope both of us are mistaken, though I do not see how that can be. Their visits have been too frequent for too long. This has become a worrisome distraction."

A conductor in black suddenly appeared outside the door. He smiled and waved, then slid the door open just enough to speak. "Sorry about the delay folks. It will be another 45 minutes or so. Is there anything you need?"

"Was anyone hurt?" asked Cassiopia.

"It must've been a bunch of kids or something. The sport truck was stolen. The engineer says they bailed out before getting hit. Police haven't found them yet."

"Well, at least no one's been hurt then?"

"No. The only injury is to everyone's schedule."

The Professor asked, "Is there a lavatory nearby I might use, or must I journey to the lounge to avoid this imitation one here?"

The conductor laughed. "There's one at the entrance to the next car behind us, Professor. It's marked employees-only but it is unlocked, and you're very welcome to use it. It's quite a bit more comfortable."

"Ah, a wonderful happenstance. Thank you."

"Thanks for your patience, folks." The conductor tipped his hat, pulled the door closed, and went looking for the next passengers.

"Forty-five minutes. Well, we'll still be in Knoxville in plenty of time," said Cassiopia.

"I shall employ the hidden lavatory before the shaking and rattling resumes," said the Professor, and he stood and struggled with the sliding door before escaping to the corridor.

Cassiopia sat back and considered the mischievous ruse she had planned for the men in black. They did not seem violent at this point. Was she tempting fate by testing them? She watched out the window as crews wandered around searching and collecting the remaining wreckage along the tracks. After a half hour of soul searching, she realized her father was taking an inordinate amount of time in the restroom. Perhaps he had changed his mind and visited the forward lounge. No, she would have seen him pass by. She stood and decided she'd better check on him, but as she reached for the door he suddenly appeared. He slid the door open just as the train jerked forward.

"We're moving, at last," she declared as he entered.

"That's good," he replied. He latched the door and sat.

"You were gone so long. Was everything alright?"

"Yes. Everything is alright."

The train jerked forward once more and this time kept going. It began a slow crawl but gained speed quickly.

"We won't even be late to check in," said Cassiopia.

"Yes. I think I need a nap," replied her father. He tilted his head against the window and was gone in an instant.

Cassiopia turned her attention to the world passing by outside the window. The blur of near objects would occasionally break to reveal passing images of city or farmland. It was a fast forward video of the Florida landscape, jumping between old broken buildings, modern steel skyscrapers, and everything in between. The shuddering and shaking of the train car made her feel almost as if she were traveling through time, as though this were a train of souls connecting to their next ethereal experience. At railroad crossings, instantaneous flashes of faces waiting in cars added eerie impressions to the travel. They seemed apart from her altered dimension of time. This kind of travel seemed to summon a reflection of life as a whole; back dropped by a collage of picture window art portraying motifs of the real world. Science was so easy to contemplate compared to existence itself.

Bell tones from an overhead speaker finally signaled they were approaching Sarasota. The Professor remained asleep. A dull screeching sound came from somewhere behind. Cassiopia pulled up her travel bag and wrestled a gray silk blouse and dark slacks from it. She found the yellow plastic bag she had brought from the Bath and Body Works shop, emptied it and packed the clothing in, along with a gray crochet-style cloche hat and sunglasses. With determination, she stuffed the yellow bag under her clothing, patted it down, and belted it.

Outside her window, station buildings began to appear as the train slowed further. The loading ramp came up into view shadowed by a protective canopy. Her father continued in sleep, his head still resting against the side of the window. She waited for the train to stop completely, tucked her ticket in a pocket, and headed for the coach car.

The man in black was still sitting, pretending to read the same newspaper. Again, they ignored each other. She passed by and went to the car exit. A conductor guarding the door smiled and nodded as she stepped down the grated metal stairs.

On the platform, the setting sun cast shadows everywhere. People with luggage were hurrying about in colorful travel dress. It was still late afternoon hot with a touch of oil and diesel smell in the air. She made her way into the lobby and paused among the rows of dark mahogany seats covered by time-weary yellow cushions. There were no men in black around. The main lady's restroom was in the far left corner. She hurried there, checked once more before entering, then disappeared inside.

Changing clothes in a stall was quick and easy. Her blue jumpsuit went back into the yellow bag. She pinned her ivory blond hair up and pulled the cloche hat down over it. Carrying the yellow plastic bag, she emerged into the concourse and looked around. There were telephones along one wall nearby. An elderly gentleman in a brown suit had just replaced the receiver on one and was tucking papers back into his suit jacket. Cassiopia waited for someone to pass and walked over to the gentleman.

"Excuse me, kind Sir. Have you used the train before?"

The man turned and eyed her suspiciously but quickly relaxed and smiled. "Why yes, quite often. Can I help you?"

"Would you mind if I boarded with you? It's the first time I've traveled this way."

"That's the best offer I've had from such an attractive young woman in a very long time. I would be delighted to escort you."

Cassiopia returned a beaming smile, hooked one arm under his, and straightened up. The man reached for an expensive brown wooden cane against the wall, hung it over his free arm as though he were Fred Astaire, and the two wove their way through the crowd to the boarding platform. As they approached the train, Cassiopia spotted one of them. Standing near the entrance to the lobby, the man in black was searching the area with a bit of apprehension. She paused at the stairs and helped her elderly escort up. As she stepped up behind him, the man in black turned and hurried inside the station.

Cassiopia returned to her roomette, surprised to find her father still sleeping. She took her seat and stared intently out the window. Now there were two men in black on the platform speaking to each other and continuing to search. One returned again into the building. The other continued to scan the area around the platform.

The train was getting ready to depart. The platform was clearing. Horns and whistles were sounding. The second man in black emerged from the station building and rejoined his partner. The two spoke in low tones as they continued to search the platform. Conductors were trotting past the train windows. The train jerked forward and began to roll. The men in black held their position and turned in place still searching. As the train picked up speed, one of them spotted Cassiopia looking out the window. She watched them stare as the train sped away, leaving them behind. She watched as long as possible. They became tiny figures in the distance and finally disappeared behind tangled forest.

They were gone. Having seen her, would they be angry now? Would they do something unpleasant next time? Perhaps her impulsive trick had not been wise. Leaving them behind was not something she had expected. Maybe there were more of them on board. Cassiopia stood and braced herself against the sliding glass door. She opened it, stepped out and looked in both directions. No sign of anyone. She headed forward.

A slow search of the coach cars, the lounge, and the dining car produced no men in black. She started back and looked through the curtainless door windows of all the roomettes as she passed by. Once again, there were no signs of any men in black. Clearly there had been only two, and now she had tricked them into missing the train.

Back at her own roomette, her father had awakened. He was still seated looking out the window. She took her seat across and drummed her fingers without speaking. She glanced at the world passing by outside, then back at her father.

"It's actually quite a beautiful day, isn't it?" he said.

"Father, I may have done something indiscreet."

"My wonderful darling little girl? It's not possible."

"Wow! Did you drink wine or something?"

"I have had nothing to drink."

"Whoever they are, I may have offended them."

"Offended who? How could you possibly offend anyone?"

"Father, what have we been talking about for the past hour. The men in black. I may have inadvertently upset them."

"I don't understand."

"They got off the train just as I predicted, but my ploy was a little too good. They remained on the platform too long looking for me. They missed the train and then they saw me looking out the window as we left. "

Her father stared blankly.

"It's clear now they are following us. It's also clear they are not infallible. They can be tricked and they can make mistakes. Whoever they are, they do not have super powers. We can now extrapolate that they anticipate and reason in a fashion similar to us. I also saw them communicating verbally, so whatever technology they use, they still rely on basic communication. I only hope I have not angered them in some way so that they become more aggressive toward us. What do you think, Father?"

"What do I think? No one could be angry with you."

"Oh boy, you did have wine, didn't you. That's why you were gone so long to the restroom, isn't it? What are you doing drinking wine at this time of day? Is this all bothering you that much?"

"I believe I could use a nap."

"You just had a nap."

Her father tipped his head against the window pane and was gone. Cassiopia scoffed and pulled her laptop out from beneath the seat. She logged on and began searching for everything she could find on the men in black. There was a ton of listings. So much of it was preposterous. One item was placed by a man claiming to be one of the men in black seeking a female companion. His ad was an unfortunate example of someone betrayed by their own printed word. 'Seeking female companion 30 to 40 years old. Mature, stable gentleman, financially secure, well-educated, conservative and reliable. Was Indian chief in former life, and a member of the men in black.'

A few eyewitness reports did seem credible. In one or two cases, people had actually received verbal warnings from men in black not to discuss things they had seen. After thirty minutes, Cassiopia decided there was little helpful information and gave up. She folded up her laptop and decided to head to the dining car for something to eat.

The coach cars were much busier now. Ample baggage protruded from the overhead storage. There were empty seats, but most rows were occupied. The men in black were still gone. Cassiopia purchased a turkey sandwich from a machine, along with hot coffee. She sat at a table, ate, and stared out the window. The rattle of the car made concentric rings in her coffee. She loved the smell of fresh coffee. Here it was mixed with a touch of machine and people smells. She wondered what Scott was up to back at home. The robot and dog were now his only company, and his relationship with the TEL robot was sometimes tempestuous. On several occasions, he claimed that the machine was making fun of him or even laughing at him, something that was just not possible. It was true there were unexpected side-effects from Cassiopia's programming, and the machine had been exposed to some very unusual environments, but it was still just a mobile computer, nothing more. At least, that was what she still believed.

Scott was as difficult to understand as the robot. At times, he would carry on about the spiritual side of life, and other times think nothing of fighting to the death with bad guys. Her various university degrees were impressive but seemed of little interest to him. He had barely scraped through high school. It was strange how trouble always seemed to find Scott, as though life considered him an antidote. At least, she had come to understand one thing. She was deeply in love with the man. Shouldn't it have been someone advanced in the sciences? Someone who spoke her language? Could someone with a high IQ really bond with someone whose outlook was purely spiritual? It seemed like two opposites. And, he still was quite reluctant to say I love you. Marriage was probably out of the question. She had once promised him their plan would be to have no plan. She would need to keep that promise. Apparently this human relationship thing was something not easily understood. A one-day at a time experiment.

Cassiopia finished her coffee, dropped her garbage in the trash slot and headed back. She slid open the door to the next coach car and froze. There in the fourth isle down, sat one of the men in black.

It was impossible. It looked like one of the same men who had been left behind on the platform. There was no way they could have re-boarded the speeding train. They would have had to drop in from a helicopter, and there hadn't been time to do something as absurd as that.

Cassiopia caught herself staring and quickly regained her composure. She walked by the man and dared a quick glance without turning her head. This time he was staring back, folded newspaper in his hands, his clothing just as pristine as before. His face was expressionless.

Bewildered, she hurried along to the next coach car. As she crossed over, she nearly bumped into someone going the other way. She looked up and let out a small yelp of surprise. It was the second man in black, waiting to pass by. He did not apologize for startling her. He waited with a flat stare as she moved on.

With her hand on her racing heart, she made it back to the roomette. She shut herself in and again took her seat facing her still-sleeping father. It took a concentrated effort to slow her breathing and regain her poise. She sat staring into oblivion for a moment, the fingertips of one hand over her mouth, trying to understand what had happened.

How could they possibly have gotten back on the train? Bumping into the second one had not been by chance. They were letting her know she had not escaped, perhaps also expressing their displeasure with her trickery.

Cassiopia nervously tapped her sleeping father's leg. "Father, something happened."

The Professor stirred but resisted waking.

"Father...."

Professor Cassell reluctantly struggled to open his eyes. He blinked and stared out of focus, finally nodding to his daughter. "Yes? We haven't arrived?"

"No, we're not there yet but something happened that scared me. I think I may have acted too impulsively."

"You? Surely not."

Cassiopia recounted everything that occurred while the Professor stared silently. "What do you think, Father? How did they get back on? It's a mystery."

"I don't know," he replied.

"There was no way they could have gotten back on. Even a helicopter could not have picked them up and lowered them aboard in that little time."

"I do not know the answer," was all the Professor could say. He briefly looked around the roomette, tilted his head against the window, and again went to sleep.

Annoyed, Cassiopia dug her cell phone out of her purse and hit the autodial.

Markman answered on the first ring. "Hey."

"Hi. It's me."

"Are you alright?"

"I think I may have gotten myself involved in something I should not have."

"You? No...."

"Please Scott, I'm serious."

"Okay, what did your conniving little mind come up with this time?"

"I was only trying to test an hypothesis."

"And what poor unsuspecting soul did you do something to?"

"No. It's not like that. It's those men we've been seeing parked near the house."

Markman's voice dropped to a more somber tone. "I was just about to call you. I know who they are and why they are watching us. It's okay."

"Tell me, please."

"It's too much on the phone. I'll meet you at the conference and we'll go over everything. In the meantime, there's nothing to worry about. They won't do anything."

"When will you come?"

"I'll grab the first flight out."

"Are you sure?"

"It doesn't bother me at all."

"I'll pick you up at the airport, then."

"No, I'll get a rental. You might be tied up at the conference. I'll find you. Will the construction people be okay if none of us are here?"

"Yes. The building plans are all firm. In fact, they seem annoyed when I try to help out."

"No."

"You're being funny again."

"Will the dog be okay with just the robot?"

"Are you kidding? The TEL is a dotting den mother. I will have to look into that when I get back."

"I'll see you soon, then."

"Please text me, so I know you're okay."

"I promise. You too."

Chapter 3

The noisy crowd in the assembly hall quieted at the first appearance of the reclusive Professor Cassell. The drone from a thousand private conversations dwindled to murmurs of anticipation as he took the stage. The Professor placed an hourglass atop the podium, his signature timepiece intended to show how long he would speak. In keeping with his reputation, his papers slid off the podium into an unorganized heap on the floor. Two presenters nearby struggled awkwardly to help him regroup. He tipped his glasses up and down, shuffled his disordered papers unsuccessfully, and finally decided to ignore them completely. He tipped his head, lowered his glasses and looked out over the assembly as though they were students in one of his classes. Spontaneous, affectionate laughter broke out in a few places.

The Professor's lecture began under the title, The God Perspective. Cassiopia stood at the back of the hall proudly watching her father speak with more eloquence and assertiveness than ever before. Normally, he stumbled frequently, losing his place and pausing to find himself. This time was different. It was as though he was completely focused on the matter at hand, impervious to interruptions from the packed assembly.

As the Professor spoke, a disheveled, travel-weary Scott Markman appeared at the rear entrance and quietly worked his way up beside Cassiopia. His faded jeans, athletic shoes, and blue-collared dress shirt stood out, although Markman seemed to think the blue dress shirt qualified his appearance. Cassiopia's eyes lit up upon sensing his touch. They nodded a silent, affectionate greeting. Markman slowly slipped one hand around her waist. Cassiopia pretended not to notice, although the bonding felt electric.

The crowd listened intently with appreciative fascination and became entranced as the sand in the hourglass ran down and the end of the Professor's time slot neared. It was clear they would have preferred he continue.

The Professors tone became entreating. "We can easily demonstrate our finite mindedness, our lack of the God perspective, even from the very beginning. For when we speak of the big bang, it is always in the past tense. We say the big band occurred 13.75 billion years ago. The result of the big bang was the formation and distribution of stellar matter. Mature celestial objects formed millions of years after the big bang. The truth is that the big bang is still happening. The accelerating expansion of the universe that followed the repulsive force is a part of that explosion. On the battlefield, a soldier does not stand up during an explosion and consider it concluded. Yet we, in our short-sighted consciousness, think of the big bang as a very old, past event, even as it continues to unfold around us. In that misconception, the God perspective is absent. From God's point of view, the big bang is an event just now occurring. When we open our minds to God's view of the universe and all that lies within it, what changes for us? Stars become cosmic elements with half-lives that are minuscule. The formation of galaxies are rapidly passing events. The entire universe is an explosion that lasts but a few seconds. My friends and colleagues, step back and revisit your equations from the God perspective,...but only if you dare. Ladies and gentleman, I thank you."

The applause was thunderous, punctuated by a few approving yells. Groups began to stand. Cassiopia clapped her hands in front of her face and bounced with delight. She grabbed Markman by the arm and dragged him out into the blue-carpeted hall and up a few stairs toward the stage entrance door. They arrived at the well-worn stage door just as the Professor emerged.

"Father, that was marvelous! It was the best I have ever heard you speak. You were so... so confident!"

The Professor looked indifferent. He jerked his head around to study his surroundings, then returned his gaze to his daughter. "I'd like to rest."

"Aren't you famished?" asked Cassiopia. "You did not have time to eat. You could get room service, though. Do you want Scott and I just to take you back to the room? The next speaker is about to begin. We could probably make our escape easily."

"Yes. I'd like to get some rest."

The crowd of attendees that had gathered in the hallway was slowly compressing back into the lecture hall. When the bulge of people had thinned enough, Cassiopia led her father quickly by with Markman covering from behind. In the lobby, an elevator happened to be empty. They rode up in silence to the fifth floor, and at room 541 swiped the key card in the slot.

It was an unexpectedly luxurious suite, a spacious L-shaped interior with a large picture window on the far wall overlooking a Knoxville shopping complex. Parted yellow curtains on each side went from floor to ceiling, offering an escape from the busy city outside. A very large double bed decorated with a snow white bedspread and high, amber-colored headboard took up one section. Orange-brown leaf-patterned carpet covered the floor. An enormous LCD TV was mounted on the sand-toned walls. Roundtables and comfortable looking tan lounge chairs were located at various points around the room. A large oak desk took up a portion of one wall near the window. The Professor's two brown leather suitcase's had been left next to the bed.

"Should I order you something, Father? Scott and I are going to get something downstairs."

"I will rest," was the Professor's only response. He went to the bed and sat on the edge, staring blankly ahead.

"Are you sure you are okay? It was such a wonderful lecture."

"I'm fine," he replied.

"You're sure?"

The Professor looked at her blankly.

"Okay, then. I'll stop pestering you. I'll check in with you later and see if you need anything. Call me if there are any problems, okay?"

"I'm fine," replied the Professor.

With Markman in tow, Cassiopia stepped outside the room and paused to look at Markman. "He's acting a little strangely, don't you think?"

"How can you tell," replied Markman glibly.

"That's not funny." Cassiopia made a, "tsk," sound, grabbed Markman's hand and pulled him toward the elevator.

The lavish hotel restaurant was even more of a surprise than the Professor's room. Small diamond chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Polished tables had leather cushioned chairs around them. Live plants, some five feet tall, separated them. Subdued lighting of various colors gave the place a rainbow effect. Except for one other couple, the dining area was empty. An attractive hostess in a long black gown greeted them as they entered. She motioned Cassiopia to a table in a corner. When she had gone, Cassiopia looked at Markman inquisitively.

"I presume we have a lot to talk about," said Cassiopia.

"Yeah. I'm not sure where to start."

"You once told me to start at the beginning and stop when you get to the end."

"You very funny lady."

"Really though, what is this all about? It's been driving me crazy. I tested the men in black. I believe they were annoyed with me."

"You? Say it's not so."

"Now you sound like my Father."

A waiter appeared, dressed in white with a stolid look on his face. Before he could speak, Cassiopia waved off the menu.

"The large chef salad with shrimp, and ranch, please, and ice tea with that," she said.

"The same except only with salmon," added Markman.

The waiter scribbled, nodded, and turned away.

"Salmon? You're eating meat?"

"It's not a hard fast rule. The object is to minimize how much you take for yourself."

"I'm a little surprised."

"A famous master once said; a fish saved my life once. I ate it."

"So what do the men in black want from us?"

"We need to visit a man named John Paul at this address." Markman pushed the business card across the table.

"A security company? Home and business alarm systems? Why?"

"That's the cover. You're not going to like the rest."

"I already don't like the rest. Go on."

Markman began the story. Cassiopia's expression became stern and disapproving. When he was done, she began tapping the fingers of one hand on the table top.

"What do you think?" asked Markman.

"One cannot think clearly when one is enraged," replied Cassiopia.

"Which part?"

"Back when you were working with Ann Rogers, you risked your life to help uncover and destroy a terrible invasion and when it was over those people stepped in and forced both of us to sign a release that forbid us from ever speaking about it. They brushed us off as unimportant. Now they want our help."

"So you think we shouldn't help them?"

"I didn't say that. I don't know what I think. What's that saying about a woman scorned?"

"All I know is I'm on your side. If you say screw them, okay. If you say help them, okay. Either way, it will scare the hell out of me."

"I know why helping them would scare you. That devil-suit kills people. But why would refusing to help scare you?"

"The creatures that tried to invade our world. You know what they were like. If we don't help in this, we'll be going through each day wondering if those things are just around the next corner. We'll be wondering if people we are talking to are secretly aliens in human bodies."

"Oh this is just so, so... despicable. The whole thing is."

"I think we're accidentally seeing a bigger view of the world than was ever intended in this life. Maybe we should have guessed something like this would happen, eventually."

"I concede that we have no choice but to visit this man and see what he has to say. But, I will not like it starting now. When do we go?"

"He was wanting us there as soon as possible. He seems worried about this invasion thing. It's near some place called Culpeper, Virginia, five hours from here, four if I drive."

"We're booked here for five days. My father is supposed to attend several sidebar panel discussions. I am, too. I can bow out, as necessary. I hate having this hanging over our heads, so I guess we should go. Maybe we can prove they don't really need us."

Lunch became a quiet, apprehensive exchange of glances and nervous gestures. Cassiopia tried to call her father several times to tell him they would be away for a day or two, but could only reach his voice mail. She finally made a quick trip to his room to check on him and found him sound asleep on the bed. Satisfied he was okay, she rejoined Markman in the lobby. They chose Markman's mid-sized, white rental car over Cassiopia's compact and took highway 81 north.

Markman's driving, as always, was patience in the city, too much speed on the open road. When Cassiopia had finally settled into the ride, she plotted their course on her phone. "Wow! You said it's near a place called Culpeper?"

"That's what the card says."

"What a place! Why haven't I heard of it? It's packed with history. A hundred civil war battles there. George Washington did the original survey of the town. In more recent history, a bypass took commerce away from the town, but that also seems to have preserved some of its heritage. There's a ton of other history there. Wow!"

"You got all that from your phone? You have got to teach me to use that thing."

Cassiopia spent the remaining time on the road becoming an expert in Culpeper history and commerce, but the beauty of the countryside quickly became a welcome distraction. As they approached the town, she became enamored by its calligraphy. The street was lined with shops and restaurants that seemed to have captured time and now held it in abeyance. Shades of brick in red, blue, tan, and brown made up a wonderful collage of businesses. Modern cars parked along the street contrasted the feeling of antiquity. A green courthouse steeple was visible in the distance. The place did not smell like a city. It smelled like the countryside.

"Scott, let's stay here all week," said Cassiopia.

"Griffith Drive is a little ways out of town," replied Markman.

A few short streets later, they turned onto Griffith Drive and found a series of empty lots that surrounded a shiny new three-story glass building. A large italicized sign on a small tower in front said 'Taslam Industries'. The parking area was scarcely used. Markman parked in front. Through the glass doors, a security desk and uniformed guard were visible.

At first, the guard seemed indifferent to their entrance. Finally, he stood and waited their request.

"Markman and Cassell." Markman tried to match the man's indifference.

"One moment," was the curt response.

They scanned the greeting area. The place seemed sterile and strange. An orange sofa stood against the polished wall to his right. It would have been considered ultramodern furniture back in the fifties. Offices with glass doors filled the left side of the room. Before the wait could become uncomfortable, an elevator opened at the far end of the lobby, and John Paul, still dressed in his Victorian adornment, emerged and approached the desk. He nodded to the guard and waved the two visitors to follow him back to the elevator.

Inside the elevator, John Paul pressed the bottom button. The elevator began a smooth descent.

"Ms. Cassell, thank you for agreeing to come." John Paul held out his hand and gently shook Cassiopia's. "I know Scott has briefed you. I would expect you are more than uncomfortable about all of this. I promise to answer all of your questions."

The elevator continued to descend. Markman's expression became one of puzzlement. He looked at Cassiopia and she understood.

"Mr. Paul, just how far down are we going?" she asked.

"Only another few seconds, then the lateral transverse will begin."

Cassiopia raised her eyebrows and looked at Markman. He shrugged and folded his hands nervously. Just as John Paul had promised, the descent slowed and stopped. A slight kick to the left brought a new acceleration in that direction. The three stood and exchanged uneasy glances.

When the doors finally slid open, a different world lay beyond. It was an office, but it was a garden, as well. There were no walls, or if there were, all were concealed by flowers, small trees, shrubs, and fountains. Foliage also dominated the chamber in a number of other places where computer workstations were located. The ceiling was sky blue and back lighted with soft white clouds moving across it, the floor covered with what seemed to be a soft green carpet, though it was faintly backlighted, as well. The place was so colorful it was breathtaking. The cool garden air was back dropped by the faint sound of running water coming from the fountains. The foliage seemed to glisten as though there was tinsel within it.

Cassiopia's attention was drawn to the computer station nearest her. A comfortable looking white high back desk chair faced a desktop that appeared suspended in midair. There was nothing to support it or the chair. Above the desk, a large, transparent monitor also seemed to float unsupported. It was outlined in soft white light, and as she stared at it, Cassiopia realized it was not a material object. It was more a projection of a monitor than an actual physical device. There was no keyboard or mouse or anything else on the desktop. As she watched, a strange-looking woman with snow-white hair, seated at the station, raised one hand slightly and pointed at the screen. Colorful images began to appear and change on the screen, moving about as the woman directed.

John Paul turned to his off-balance guests. "Let us go directly to the sensesuit laboratory. We can talk there. Perhaps a brief tour later."

He exited the elevator with his charges in tow but paused at the workstation Cassiopia had been studying.

"Shandra, this is Scott and Cassiopia."

The woman's face was a soft glow of white; her features small but perfect. She responded by holding out a hand to Markman. She nodded politely and smiled. She turned to Cassiopia, and her expression changed to one of familiarity. She took Cassiopia's hand and held it longer, casting a knowing, affectionate smile before releasing it.

Cassiopia could not resist. "What are these images?" she asked, pointing to the screen.

"Oh nothing, really," replied Shandra. "I'm just thinking out loud."

"This way," said John Paul, and he led them through the garden office to a large, arched doorway, shielded by a snowy-white raster that looked like a TV screen with no picture. They passed through the field feeling no effects at all.

The lab area beyond was quite different from the office. The room was large and surrounded by mirrored walls. The air smelled sterile and felt dry. An object in the center of the room dominated the lab. It was an orb that reached from floor to ceiling, unattached, hovering in place, subdued color flowing and ebbing within its surface. A waist-high panel protruded from it and went completely around its circumference, alive with dozens of display screens busily displaying data. Two tall men were working there. They were bald, with very white skin and white lab coats. They wore white cotton gloves that ran up under their sleeves. Other sophisticated equipment was stationed around the room. To the left of the orb were the tall blue stacks of analytical computers, bordered in fluorescent green light. Floating, waist high tables with computer monitor surfaces were everywhere.

Off to the right was something that caused Markman a pang of fear. A large gymnasium-size room adjoined the lab, separated only by movable clear acrylic panels. The walls, floor, and ceiling were black, divided by thin, very precise illuminated white lines that formed grids. In the center, a clear acrylic case the size of a small closet held the object of Markman's fear. Suspended there was the sensesuit he once had worn. The same suit he had chanced death in. The suit that gave a person a fully sensual experience inside an alien computer. The suit that killed users who failed its game.

Markman stood mesmerized. The suit commanded irresistible intrigue and absolute fear. In many ways, it was just as addictive as a drug or an extreme sport.

John Paul noticed Markman's stare and interrupted the moment. "Let us sit and review how we all came to be here." He gestured to a meeting area off to one side, where the sensesuit and grid room would still be visible. The meeting table was a softly illuminated white surface that floated just like the other objects in the lab. The seats were white and well-cushioned, suspended independently, as well.

Markman went to one and tested it by grabbing the seat back. The thing was ready to move to any position he wished. He moved in front of it and sat with caution, expecting it to collapse. It did not. It moved and bounced slightly under his weight, but at the same time continued to be adjustable, as needed. He placed his hands on the table and was surprised to find it completely rigid and unmoving.

Seated, the three of them paused and exchanged awkward stares.

John Paul began. "To start, let's review our mutual history. Scott, as we've discussed, you were originally drawn into the sensesuit affair by Federal Agent Ann Rogers. Her investigative branch needed someone not listed in any law enforcement database. Your work as a discrete private investigator, along with your other abilities made you the perfect choice. Cassiopia, on the other hand, you were kidnapped and forced into the situation because of your programming knowledge and because of your father's TEL 100D robot, both needed by a man name Leeds who had been injured and was physically unable to continue competing in the sensesuit games. Leeds was on the verge of winning his contest. The prize being promised was described as beyond imagination. Leeds wanted the prize so badly he was willing to commit kidnapping and even murder to get it. He thought the robot, along with your programming intellect, would make him a sure winner. In the end, most of those people were killed by the Salantians. When my group was finally called in, Scott led us to the underground base the Salantians were using, and at that point, we took over the entire affair. For some reason Scott, you were unable to put the investigation behind you, and you ended up locating the yacht where the sensesuit computer and the future plans of the invaders were located. You beat us to it, much to our dismay. Before the yacht and the leaders of the invasion could be captured, they neglected to purge the yacht's engine compartment of gas fumes and in starting the engines, ignited the fuel tanks, destroying themselves and everything aboard. Does that fit your recollection of the events that occurred back then?"

Markman stammered, "Most of it."

"Within the caverns being used by the invaders, we found the backup sensesuit computer. It's that orb you see in the center of this room. We also recovered the sensesuit Scott wore, and the one forced on you, Cassiopia. It is possible there are other sensesuits out there somewhere that we don't know about. We have not found any records indicating any other users were still alive when we took over, however. Expressed in the most simple terms possible, our mission now is to learn as much as possible about the Salantian invaders, the vortport technology they used to open doorways to Earth, and the sensesuit computer system they brought along with them. Hopefully, we can learn enough so that measures can be taken to prevent any future Salantian incursions."

Cassiopia could hold back no longer. "Mr. Paul, Scott has told me about your organization. It is quite a stretch to ask us to believe you are who you claim to be. We have nothing to verify your claims. How can you expect us to help complete strangers based on a story that is beyond belief?"

"Cassiopia, Scott's view of the world is one of spirituality. Yours is one of science. Have you looked around you?"

Cassiopia turned in her seat and focused on the unfamiliar equipment scattered around the room. The sensesuit computer orb glowed brightly, casting fading shadows around it.

John Paul raised one eyebrow. "Have you seen science like this ever before?"

Cassiopia sat back in her floating seat. It distracted her for a moment. "I've seen a magician make an elephant disappear on stage."

"When we intervened in the sensesuit affair, did we not rescue you from your captors and set you free?"

"Yes, you did that. I am grateful."

"Did we not exhibit authority over and above the federal agency that Scott was helping?"

"Yes."

"That gives you three strong points-of-fact, as you call them, to support the hypothesis that we are who we claim to be. Add to that the necessity for secrecy that our organization must maintain. Our operatives have been discretely watching you, but not hiding from you. In fact, you embarrassed them on the train, did you not?"

Cassiopia stammered. "I did not mean to do that. I was collecting information."

"Yes, and your information supports everything I've been saying, does it not?"

"Yes...yes it does."

"How many points-of-fact would you need to conclude I am telling the truth?"

"If there is a governing force of advanced beings overseeing Earth, can I meet those in charge?"

"No. The exposure would be harmful to you."

"What?"

"The human mind and consciousness are designed with protective barriers to prevent people from being exposed to things too advanced for their current state of development. Some people have used things like recreational drugs, or unorthodox meditation to break down those protective barriers. Those naive people usually die or end up in mental institutions because of it. The Celestial tier is directed by individuals so advanced they radiate light and consciousness to an extreme. Direct exposure to them could damage you just as psychedelic drugs have harmed many who have experimented with them."

"But you implied some of these people are human."

"Very, very few have achieved that level of spiritual advancement. Not that long ago, none had."

"Would any of them have names I might recognize?"

"A shrewdly worded question, Cassiopia. Coming from you, I am not surprised. Those in charge of the Celestial tier are a group of one. Think on that for a while. I will not offer any names, past, present, or future."

Cassiopia wrinkled her brow and bit her lower lip. "And the ones in this Celestial tier who are not human? Who could they possibly be?"

"At the risk of tempting your disbelief further, some of the Venutian people have been of great service to the management of human existence on Earth, even though Earth has on occasion been quite a nuisance to them. There was a surface mapping satellite sent to map Venus quite a few years ago. Its primitive emissions caused havoc inside the planet where that population lives. Life was sometimes a bit uncomfortable while that went on. Nevertheless, they understood, being quite a bit more spiritually evolved than humans. There are other intelligent species in this solar system. How often do you hear stories of angels, or beings of light who rescue people? But, let us focus on the matter at hand."

"So you're saying we've been told lies all these years about life in the solar system?"

"Not lies, just not full disclosure. Were these things shown to Earth humans at their present stage of development, some would celebrate a new age of awareness and be glad. Many, many more would be seriously harmed by the enlightenment. It would virtually destroy the purpose of this physical Earth existence. It is our job to maintain this Earth experience until the prescribed time."

"Where do these higher beings reside?"

"Cassiopia, you are pushing the limits of how far we can go into this. Remember, were I addressing Scott, I could speak in spiritual terms. In your case, you speak the language of science. Spiritual and religious terminology describes a science that man does not yet understand. So, when I speak to you, I must translate spiritual science down into the more primitive language of Earth science. That is a challenge. You want to know where higher beings pass their time? The question itself is like a child asking a parent why the sky is blue. If I could use the word Heaven, it might be easier."

"I believe in Heaven."

"Oh really? Then you believe also in angels, correct?"

"I'm not sure."

"The foundation for both come from the same type of literature. It is not yet included in most collegiate science libraries if you know what I mean. If you subscribe to the validity of a portion of a reference material, then you subscribe to most of it."

"Please go on."

"To answer your question, science has now accepted the fact that there may be quite a few other dimensions not previously known, correct?"

"Yes."

"Merging the two sciences I spoke of, I could refer to some of those dimensions as Heavenly dimensions, could I not?"

"Wow."

"Is that enough of an answer to your question, where do spiritually advanced beings dwell?"

"Still, if there is such power, the terrible things that happen on Earth should not be allowed."

"Oh, really? Cassiopia, it takes ten years or more to educate a doctor to repair the human body. Ten years to teach someone to pilot a large passenger jet. If it takes that long to learn those things, how long does it take a soul to learn the difference between right and wrong, good and evil?"

John Paul paused and folded his hands. "When someone is on the edge of choosing good over evil, the people around him can often help him make the right choice. But, when someone has become dedicated to selfishness, power, lust, and greed, only a long life itself can change them. Why do such terrible things happen? You know the answer to your own question."

Cassiopia nodded. "I admit I am impressed by your words, John Paul."

"There is another thing perhaps I should not mention, but I will. When a teacher wants to know which are the good children in her class and which are the bad, she need only leave the room for a time and watch through a window."

Markman sat with his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm having finally come to believe it would not collapse. Cassiopia looked at him for support, but he only raised his eyebrows in a questioning stare. She turned back to John Paul.

"Why are you risking telling us these things? We haven't agreed to help you yet. Aren't you afraid we'll alert the world to the truth?"

"Ms. Cassell, do you not realize how easy it is to conceal spiritual-level events, extraterrestrial existence, and even their occasional unauthorized indiscretions? For every person willing to believe and reveal these things, there are ten more ready to ridicule and discredit them. Most people do not want to believe such things. Many others are so preoccupied with their own lives they cannot be bothered considering higher reality. Some would harm themselves and those around them were the truth revealed. That is the stage of evolution most humans here on Earth are at. But, as they live and learn and the human consciousness expands, they will eventually be able to embrace the truth, just as some groups already have. The Trekers, Trekies, and all the other science fiction fanatics have already envisioned the future and have embraced it, but they are far enough ahead of the general population that even they are considered eccentrics or even lunatics. Some of that prejudice comes from people who suspect the truth but fear it greatly."

"A tier of celestial guardians. I'm not sure how I feel about all this," said Cassiopia.

"Well, please do not ask me to elaborate on this, but remember, I did not say the Celestial tier was the highest authority."

Markman finally spoke. "So John Paul, if we agreed to help, what would happen next?"

"Cassiopia would study everything we know about the sensesuit computer system and she would participate in its operation. When you were ready, you would suit up in diagnostics mode and test out the suit. Inside the computer simulation, you would again be Richard Baker, the man who the suit was actually intended for before you procured it from him. When everyone is satisfied with that trial, you would enter the sensesuit game where you left off, finish winning that game, and come out for evaluation. We would then consider how everything went, explore our options, and proceed in a mutually agreed upon manner."

Markman nodded. Cassiopia looked off-balance.

John Paul said, "Obviously you will need some more time to consider all of this. There are quarters for you here in this installation if you'd like."

"We'll stay in Culpeper. I can't think of a better place to hold on to reality," replied Cassiopia.

"Yes, Culpeper commands a special place in my heart, as well. Your implants will allow you to use the elevator, as necessary. Normally the elevator only goes to the basement and upper floors. For you, it will come here."

Cassiopia sat up straight. "Implants? What are you talking about, implants?"

John Paul looked to Markman. Markman shrunk down in his chair and looked guilty. "I didn't know how to bring that up, exactly."

Cassiopia's face was reddening. "What implants?"

John Paul remained at ease. "They are the size of a grain of sand. They operate from your body's own electrical field. If removed, they dissolve. If unacceptable to you, we can send a command and turn them off, and they will also dissolve. However, they are a benefit to you, and in no way a detriment."

"You injected me with something without my consent or knowledge?"

"Yes."

"When did you do that?"

"Our operatives, you call them the men in black, can induce sleep instantly just by being near you. They perform the implantation in a few seconds. You wake and do not even realize you were asleep."

"Where? Where on my body is the thing?"

"I will not tell you. Telling someone causes them to sometimes dwell upon the idea and they come to believe there are side effects even though no side effects are possible. By not telling you where the device is located, you are unable to develop that neurosis."

"You spy on everything we say, and everywhere we go?"

"Cassiopia, do you realize how many man-hours that would take? Computers monitor your implant and react to keywords. If you were to say 'help,' in an unusual context, the computer would trigger on that, plot your location and advise us. As I've already explained to Scott, there is no personal invasion from the implants. Your father has one, as well. Someone with his advanced knowledge could easily be a target for terrorists. Would you prefer he not have this level of protection?"

Cassiopia sat steaming. Markman sat back up in his seat with a worried look on his face.

John Paul smiled at Cassiopia. "Say the word and it will be shut down and dissolved. But, think carefully about that before you decide. When the two of you come in tomorrow, the guard will simply acknowledge you and allow you to pass. You know the rest. If you need me for additional questions, you need only say, John Paul call, and your implant will notify me. I think that is quite enough for one day unless you have anything else?"

The ride back to Culpeper was uneasy. Cassiopia finally broke the silence. "I feel just out of control."

"Ah, one of my first lessons from a Tibetan master."

"What's that?"

"They teach you that you are never really in control. It is a fallacy."

"It is difficult to debate that man. It's not fair."

"Wow! Is this a first? Has Cassiopia Cassell final met her mental match?"

"How can he be? He dresses like it's the 1800's."

"When did Galileo live?"

"Okay. I just wish the man didn't seem so...so...so right about everything."

"God that sounds like you."

Chapter 4

Cassiopia cradled a pillow as she awoke from a deep, dreamless sleep. Slowly, she became aware that Markman was not there. She forced her eyes half open and squinted at the morning light seeping through sliding glass. She pushed up on one hand and looked around. The quaint little hotel room was glowing from the day's new light. She sat up on the edge of the bed and tried to wake. Her beige cotton robe had somehow ended up on the floor. Memory of its hasty removal the night before crept in. She wrestled it back on and stood searching for Markman.

He was on the balcony, in the lotus position, facing the rising sun. He was barefoot in loose white cotton pants and no shirt.

"Sun worshiping are we?" she mumbled, rubbing one eye.

Markman looked up at her and smiled. "There's a book out there with the title, What If God Were The Sun. Better be careful what you say. You never know."

Cassiopia leaned against the balcony rail. "It feels good."

"All vitality comes from the sun. If you meditate or sleep in it, you can really cash in."

"Did you sleep well?"

Markman rose straight up, almost as though he were levitating. He unlocked his legs, turned and kissed her lightly on the lips. "When I sleep with you, I seem to sleep more deeply. It scares me sometimes."

"Why? Why would sleeping better worry you?"

"Because we were trained to listen for danger in our sleep, like the animals in the forest. Always ready. Always watching. You seem to relax me from that."

"Let's go get breakfast. I'm starved."

"Let me dress, okay? You should, too."

"Very funny. I saw a really nice restaurant near where we parked."

"Lead on."

At breakfast, the mood quickly became restive. They sat at a patio table surrounded by flowers and the smell of jasmine. Cassiopia, in jeans, a violet silk paisley top and purple silk blazer, sipped her tea and stared. She gathered her ivory blond hair behind her and sat back. Markman, in jeans and a black turtleneck, slowly turned his coffee cup on the tabletop, looking down into it in thought.

Cassiopia began. "You know this is all fine and good until they want to take that sensesuit off of diagnostics. Then it becomes lethal. That's not acceptable. You cannot do that."

"Have you already made up your mind about this?"

"There's nothing to decide. You cannot put on that suit and go into a game that might kill you."

"Maybe they have a way to work around the bad stuff."

"They'd better because there's not going to be any fights to the death."

"We could at least finish the last game I was in. It was already just about won. All that was left was a brick wall and a garden. Nothing to it."

"Maybe. I want to see what I can see from the control board. Then we can decide."

Cassiopia gave Markman a narrow-eyed stare. "You wouldn't want to chance your life in there, would you? I mean, not now."

"Only if we could be real smart about it. You know, have all the answers before we needed them. Know what's going to happen before it does."

"I'm not sure even that's enough. There would have to be an understanding of the lethality of it."

"You realize they may be eavesdropping on everything we're saying."

"He said they don't do that."

"And you trust them?"

"Of course not. Do you?"

"A wise old Tibetan monk once said, it is not wrong to trust."

"An American Indian once said, the politicians only kept one of their promises. They took our land."

"Touché. Have you reached your father?"

"No, and that's irritating. Either he's in sidebar discussions, or he's just got his phone shut off and forgot about it. He's always doing this."

"Well, maybe later."

"I'll call the desk if I have to. I'm not going to let him get away with switching me off."

"Wow! You are in a mood this morning."

"I am woman. Hear me roar."

After breakfast, the trip to Taslam Industries became one of reluctant excitement. On this day, few additional cars were taking up spaces in the parking lot. Inside, the guard at the security station looked up and nodded with familiarity as Cassiopia and Markman passed. The elevator ride seemed slightly more harrowing without an escort. When the sideways motion slowed and stopped, the doors slid open to the same futuristic office, and this time quite a few people in lab coats were milling about and working at various stations. As Markman and Cassiopia headed to the sensesuit lab, some took notice; others did not. Beyond the white raster curtain, John Paul was waiting at the same table they had used the day before.

"Good morning. A good night's rest I hope?" he said with a smile.

"We're as ready as we can be," replied Cassiopia. "Where do we start?"

"Would you like something? Coffee, tea, water?"

"Maybe in a bit. I'm anxious to hear where we are in all of this," said Cassiopia.

"As you wish. Then let us begin by reviewing Scott's previous experience inside the sensesuit computer. After that, Shandra can begin showing Cassiopia what we know about the system, and Scott and I can inspect the suit to be sure it is in the same condition it was when he last used it. When we're ready, if both of you feel confident, we'll do a short test of the suit and the system using diagnostics mode, and then meet here again to discuss our findings. Does that sound logical?"

Markman nodded. Cassiopia said stiffly, "Proceed."

John Paul smiled at her obvious mistrust and nodded. "Once inside the suit, when a user first pulls on the helmet, a vacuum seal occurs and the suit cannot be removed unless the computer authorizes it. Oxygen is brought in from the outside environment but is processed and controlled by the suit and can be modified by the system to help produce any effects that may be called for, such as lightheadedness, stimulation, and many others. To begin with, the user experiences a complete and total darkness. Rising suns indicate the system is initializing. The city of Aurora comes into view along with a row of eight boxes that require entry. That is the pass key a user must enter to gain full access. In your case Scott, Richard Baker gave you the eight digit code. Otherwise we would not be here discussing this."

Markman raised his eyebrows and sat back recalling that unexpected moment in which his former suspect, Richard Baker, had voluntarily given him the authorization code that saved him from being burned alive in the suit. It was an unsettling memory.

"Once the proper sequence of zeros and ones have been entered, a row of icons appear around the user's plane of view. Each is a new scenario the user can elect to visit. We have determined there are a total of 144 different top level choices. To our surprise, we found that some of those icons bring up many additional icons of their own. We have not been able to calculate the total number of choices available to a user. It is a staggering number. If a user does not elect a scenario in the allotted time, he is defaulted to the Aurora City, which is what happened to you, Scott. You found yourself in a futuristic city. You were assigned a protégé who went by the name of Trill. You were allotted one million game credits to start. Doing well in the game would earn you more. Doing poorly would take some away. You were also offered the opportunity to purchase a page, a character which would accompany you and assist you. You wisely elected to do that. It cost you fifty thousand of your initial credits."

Markman interrupted. "Mr. Paul, you have more detail than I included in my debriefing reports. How do you know this much?"

"We have learned to replay the most recent user logs in the machine. We have not been able to view any others yet. We watched your progress through the game. The machine gives us a 3-D color display with audio. When and if you revisit the Aurora City, your progress will be displayed on all the monitors here in the lab. We have struggled to establish user communications so that we could assist you while you are in there, but so far that capability has eluded us."

Cassiopia spoke with sarcasm. "So we can watch, helplessly."

John Paul acknowledged with a nod. "But there's something I haven't mentioned. We believe we have switched off the suit's self-destruct mode."

Markman raised an eyebrow. "When I was in there, the Trill guy did mention that was possible."

"It leaves us with two problems, however," continued John Paul. "One is that we cannot be absolutely certain we've eliminated the self-destruct threat. The second is, physical injury from the game remains a part of the game. There is no getting around that. How harmful can the suit be? We have not found a limit to it."

Cassiopia's sarcasm returned. "So he won't go up in flames in a suit self-destruct, but he might get his head smashed in and we'll be watching and unable to do anything about it."

John Paul paused briefly and said, "Yes."

Cassiopia tried to control her temper. "Oh, this is just so ridiculous. It is an absurd thing to consider."

John Paul tried to look sympathetic. "Cassiopia, let me ask you this. Scott does private investigations for people in serious trouble who have exhausted all other avenues of help, including law enforcement. Is Scott planning on retiring from that kind of work, which only he can do for people?"

Cassiopia looked at Markman with a crinkled brow. Markman tilted his head in wonder. It was a question neither had considered.

Cassiopia answered. "We haven't talked about that."

John Paul skillfully played his next gambit. "So if someone important came to Scott right now, desperately needing his help, would you refuse? I ask this because it will answer this question for all of us."

Cassiopia attempted to maintain her temper. "I...I don't know."

"A family member? If a family member desperately needed Scott's unique services right away, would he help, even though there might be danger involved?"

"What kind of danger?" asked Cassiopia.

"A kind similar to what we would encounter in a sensesuit," replied John Paul. "Would you allow Scott to aid a family member in distress under those circumstances?"

Cassiopia tilted her head down and cursed under her breath.

Markman raised an eyebrow and sat up straight. It was the first time he had ever heard Cassiopia curse. John Paul remained silent, suspecting he had won his case.

"The Earth is our home. The people here are our family. I would give my life to protect them. That is the decision you must make, Cassiopia. Scott has already made it. He is ready," said John Paul gently.

Cassiopia looked up at Markman. "Risk it?"

Markman leaned forward against the table. "It will be harder on you than me," he answered.

Cassiopia turned to John Paul. "It will be one step at a time. We'll decide as we go, but I'm not making any promises."

"I will trust in your decision," replied John Paul.

"Me too," added Markman glibly. The others looked at him with annoyance.

"To continue with our briefing," said John Paul. "The user is offered a tube rider or direct transport to reach the starting point of his game. Scott chose the transporter last time and was teleported directly to the contest. That first trial was a simple white hallway in which a predator called an Akima began pursuit of Scott and his page Illy. From there, a number of challenges and obstacles intercepted Scott as he proceeded. Real players have a blue triangle on their suit garment. Tapping that blue triangle allows a user to abort the game. During an abort, one of two things occurs. The user is terminated by the suit, or he is returned to the starting point where he can resume the game on the next session, referred to as the opening of the main gate. The odds when using the abort triangle are 60-40. It is a 60-40 chance of death or safe escape. Scott was forced to use the escape triangle when he was overpowered by an adversary. But, on his return trip, he managed to advance nearly to the end of the contest, which temporarily ended only because another player reached the prize before him. The prize being offered was the Coffer of Dreams, a vase which supposedly holds a reward that is beyond imagination. Back at the starting point, although he had not yet won the contest, Scott was told he had excelled and had achieved full citizenship in Aurora, and he had a good chance of completing the game on his next attempt. That brings us to where we are today. We expect that if Scott re-enters the game, he will be sent directly to the same point he left off at, which will allow him to open the Coffer of Dreams and receive the reward promised. Does all of that agree with what you remember, Scott?"

"Yes, it does."

"Anything to add?"

"The last obstacle was a brick wall. Once you figured out how to get through it, there was nothing between you and the Coffer. So, there probably is no real danger in going in to finish that game."

"Cassiopia, anything to add?"

"No. I think I've made my position clear."

"Very well. We can break up then. Scott and I will examine the sensesuit. Cassiopia, Shandra will show you all of the computer resources we have at our disposal, along with documentation to study as you find time."

Cassiopia turned, surprised to find Shandra standing close behind. Shandra wore a long elegant dress that looked exactly like the one she had on the day before, though now it had a faint shade of green to it. Looking up to greet Shandra, she immediately noticed her eyes were green, as well. Yesterday they had been blue. Shandra smiled and gestured toward the big computer ball suspended in the room's center. The two women left to study it.

Markman followed John Paul to the sensesuit test area, feeling a familiar pang of apprehension as they approached. The dark suit waited upright in its crystal clear holder. The shiny black helmet hung slightly above it, the familiar molded ribs curved over the helmet's crown, monocular view screens protruded from the face, numerous sensors and controls covering the rest. It looked like a torture device.

The suit itself seemed so familiar. Heavily ribbed, second-skin stretch material packed with even more sensors and wires, along with the odd shapes of unexplained attachments. The chest area was partially open from a split that ran from the left shoulder to the waist; the way in.

"We've found no defects or problems of any kind," said John Paul. He touched the side of the display case, and a lighted outline appeared around the front panel. The panel dissolved, allowing access to the suit. "Perhaps you will find something we've missed."

Markman stayed back and walked once around. It occurred to him there had never been time to study the thing this closely. He had always been inside. At the front, he stepped closer and felt the slippery material near the open seam. More memories flashed to life.

"The inner lining is an interwoven bovine collagen with a glycosaminoglycan molecule. That's how the suit actually becomes a part of you," said John Paul.

"Didn't understand a word you said," replied Markman.

"Artificial skin," said John Paul. "The suit interacts with you on a molecular level."

"Well, that kind of gives me the creeps. Maybe you shouldn't have mentioned it."

"Does everything look correct to you?"

"I don't see anything wrong with it, but I never got this close a look before. I was always in a hurry."

"Want to try it on?"

"I need some privacy. It is supposed to be worn without anything underneath."

John Paul turned and motioned to someone sitting at a console. A white raster curtain appeared and blocked off the test area from the lab area. Markman hesitated for a moment, then turned back and brought the suit down from the display. The helmet remained suspended.

"The system is not engaged," said John Paul.

Markman hefted the suit in his hands and looked it over.

"No one has worn it since you last used it," said John Paul. "You were the last."

Markman handed the suit to him. He pulled off his clothes and piled them on the floor. He took the suit and carefully slipped one leg at a time into the opening. Flashbacks of how slippery the suit's interior felt rushed in. He slid one leg down into the boot and then worked the other into position. Standing on sensesuit boots, he worked one arm into a sleeve and then the other. As before, the material seemed to merge with his skin. There was total freedom and a complete lack of discomfort. Markman stood in front of John Paul, looking down at himself dressed for combat, the seam from shoulder to waist hanging open.

"It won't seal until the master computer is brought online," said John Paul. "Should we proceed with the diagnostic's test, or would you prefer to think about this a bit more?"

Markman realized he hadn't expected the moment of truth to arrive so quickly. Suddenly he was faced with pulling that helmet back over his head and reliving an unknown. Ironically, it was exactly what he had spent the larger part of his life training for. Life itself was an unknown no man could anticipate. This was almost a repeat of a threat he had faced long, long ago as a child when a teacher had asked him to dive in a pool beneath falls to recover a special ring. Legend said that a monster lived in those waters and had taken many men over the years. He had at first run away from that fear, but something greater than fear had driven him back. Through the fingers of the suit, Markman felt the outline of the ring on his right hand, the only item he refused to remove.

"I guess if they're ready out there we can give it a shot."

John Paul turned and pointed at the raster curtain. It disappeared. Cassiopia standing over a control console looked up and spotted Markman in the suit. She straightened up and walked over to the suit test area, stopping a few feet away.

"I do believe the diagnostic's mode is safe. Beyond that, I am withholding judgment."

"Then we should try it?" asked Markman.

"Try it without entering a game," replied Cassiopia. "You'll be in a virtual room exactly like this one. There will be grids everywhere to measure your movement, nothing more. I can speak to you inside the suit in that mode."

"Then I guess I'm ready if you're ready."

Cassiopia cast an irritated look of concern, then returned to her station by the computer. Shandra stood alongside, manipulating controls. They both looked over once more to be sure everything was as it should be. Shandra tapped in final commands. Cassiopia called out, "Online."

Markman thought to close up the open seam on the suit but watched in surprise as it closed itself from bottom to top. He glanced at John Paul and turned to bring down the helmet. With a last look at all of them, he raised it over his head and pulled it down into place. It slipped on easily, followed by a snapping and popping around the collar. His vision became one of total darkness and absolute silence. He could no longer see, hear, smell or feel anything in the outside world. He was totally cut off.

Twenty or thirty seconds passed and nothing happened. He began to wonder if something was wrong. There was no sense in calling out. He waited. Finally, a gentle tone sounded in both ears. A tiny spot of white light appeared in the distance. It slowly grew. It filled his vision and in a flash suddenly became something more. Markman was standing in exactly the same test area he had been in, except now there were four walls, not three, and he was alone. Cassiopia's reassuring voice came from above.

"Are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"Yes. Loud and clear. It's alright?"

"It is. Try some movement. Walk around."

Markman turned in place and inspected his surroundings; a plain black room, well lighted with white luminous grids on the walls, ceiling, and floor. He ran in place for a moment and then moved around the room, touching each wall as he went.

Cassiopia cut in. "Wow! This is amazing. You are duplicating the real world perfectly. Do you feel alright? Are you hot or cold?"

"Perfect. No problem."

"We can inject imagery. Let's start with something simple. What do you see behind you?"

Markman turned to find an oak table in the center of the room. He went to it and touched the surface. It was rigid and stable.

"It's a table. I know it is not really there, but I can't tell. I can feel it. How can I feel it?"

Cassiopia answered, "The suit is putting pressure against your hand, and the computer is transmitting signals to your brain telling you it is a rigid surface. It's amazing."

"What if I tried to sit on it?"

"You would feel it, but you would fall to the ground as soon as you did. Want to try something else?"

"Go ahead."

"Okay, look behind you again."

Markman turned to find a duplicate of Cassiopia staring at him. She was dressed in a white gown covered in diamonds from head to foot. Her hair was bundled up in an elegant wrap atop her head. A diamond crown complimented the dress. She was represented in perfect detail. He could not distinguish her from the real thing.

"How?"

"The computer scanned me. That's its impression of me."

Markman went to the image and touched it on the arm. It felt warm and soft and real. The fabric of the dress felt equally real. "This is exactly how I remember things," said Markman.

"Want to play something? They've found a bunch of test games in here."

"Okay, pick one."

The image of Cassiopia disappeared. On the table beside him, Markman watched as a racquet appeared. It was similar to a racquet ball racquet but glowed a fluorescent green around its borders. Next to it, a fluorescent green ball appeared. Markman picked up the racquet and ball. He could feel their weight and volume in his hands. The table disappeared and the image of someone in a hooded gray workout suit holding a racquet suddenly materialized nearby.

"Your serve," said Cassiopia.

Without taking a ready stance, Markman batted the ball toward the far wall. It came bouncing back and the virtual opponent jumped to life. The computer opponent wailed the thing back at the wall so hard Markman had to turn away from the rebound. The ball caught Markman square in the lower back and ricocheted off, then rolled away across the floor.

"Okay, ouch?" Markman rubbed his lower back. He stared at his opponent. The faceless opponent stood indifferently. "So the pain thing is turned on, I guess? You might have mentioned that."

Cassiopia's laughter boomed in from above. "Scott, when the little green ball comes to you, you're supposed to hit it with the racket."

"Very funny. Why don't you come in here and try it?"

No sooner had Markman spoken than he regretted it. The figure of his opponent suddenly changed into an image of Cassiopia in a black sweat suit, with headband, bent over holding a racket, ready.

"Your serve," said Cassiopia from overhead.

Markman recovered the ball, took his position, and bounced it once. He could not detect any flaw in the simulation. It really seemed like he was bouncing and catching a ball. He smacked a serve but the virtual Cassiopia returned it with such speed it went by before he had a chance to reach for it.

"My serve," taunted Cassiopia from overhead.

Markman glanced over to find her image already holding the ball. Without waiting, the virtual Cassiopia served with ferocity. Markman braced and this time got a piece of it, although it went wide and out.

"One to goose egg," said Cassiopia. Her image set immediately to serve once more. The game quickly became a challenge. The virtual Cassiopia served and returned so powerfully he could barely respond. He began to forget the sensesuit and the computer controlling it. His own senses focused fully on the computer world at hand. At 5-0 he finally caught a serve and returned it. It came back just as fast and got by him. 7-0 and he was returning every serve now, but still having trouble repositioning. Then, at 9-0, the game changed. Markman received a serve and returned it off the ceiling. Cassiopia's image seemed not to understand it. She jumped to the wrong position. The ball flew by low.

Markman took possession of the service and kept it. With each return, he worked the ceiling or back or side walls. His opponent moved in frustration, unable to get an advantage on the ball. Within minutes the score was 8-8. On the next exchange something odd occurred. Markman lost his grip on the racket, a racquet that did not actually exist. It slipped from his hand and bounced on the floor. He collected it and assumed the ready position. Virtual Cassiopia's serve. Her serve was low and just barely in. Markman could not pick it up. 10-8.

For Markman, the outside world no longer existed. He was fully immersed in sensesuit reality. For him, it was as real as any world could be. He narrowed his stare and resumed a ready stance.

The final three exchanges were wild. The ball careened off walls and ceiling more often than the floor. The virtual Cassiopia remained off-balance. No further comments came from overhead. At the last, Markman nailed a heavy return off the back wall, regained a defense position and waited for a ball that never arrived. The image of Cassiopia suddenly disappeared. Her voice came from overhead once more.

"John Paul says that's enough for now. Ready to disengage?"

Markman leaned against a wall, bent over, gasping for breath. He straightened up to speak, decided he was not ready and bent back over. He was sweating profusely but the suit was drawing the moisture away and somehow removing it. Finally, he stood upright. "Ready."

A snapping, clicking, and hissing followed. The helmet suddenly became loose around his head. The chest seam on the suit fell open. Cool air rushed in against his wet chest. Markman carefully lifted the helmet off his head and turned to find Cassiopia and John Paul standing in front of him, smiling.

"How was it?" asked Cassiopia affectionately.

"Real," replied Markman. He looked at John Paul for reaction.

John Paul nodded in agreement. "Scott, I cannot tell you how stimulating it was to see the suit in action. All these months we have spent studying it but never having the opportunity to test it. My staff is jubilant. Everything worked just as we had anticipated. Quite a thrill to see that."

Markman peeled the suit down to his waist to let air circulate. "The control was there. I could anticipate everything the way you would expect. It takes a moment to accept it, but then you become totally a part of it. You believe it."

"The two of you should go and get some rest. Cassiopia has a few data tablets that will allow her to continue studying the system. We'll need the rest of today to review all of what just happened. We can meet here tomorrow morning whenever you're ready, and we'll go over the results and decide how to proceed."

The three exchanged stares of friendship and newfound trust, but all three secretly knew that tomorrow would be the Aurora City.

Chapter 5

The next morning became a contentious mixture of elation and anxiety. Cassiopia and Markman walked the historic streets of Culpeper in awe of the beauty that surrounded them. At the same time, they knew they were about to step into a city as far from it as possible.

The ride to the sensesuit lab left both feeling as though perhaps they should turn around while they still could. Cassiopia spoke looking out the car's passenger window. "Did you soak in enough sun this morning?"

"My limit without sunscreen. Did you reach your father?"

"No, and that's it. I'm going to have to go back to Knoxville in the next day or two to check on him. The desk says there's a do-not-disturb sign on the room's door, and he does not answer the hotel phone."

"Don't go without me. I'll drive you."

"Pack your bag."

"So maybe one trip into this crazy sim world and then we drop this whole thing?"

"I was up very late studying the system. It may be ruining me."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's so far ahead; it makes known science seem elementary. Problem is, it is understandable. It's not like you can't follow the logic. So, it takes our pathetic kindergarten science and shows the next ten levels."

"And that ruins you?"

"What do I do now? I can't go back. There's no way these people will let me publish any of this. It's not mine, anyway. So now when I sit down to work on advancing the world's computer science, I start right off ten levels ahead of the rest world. I can't go back."

"How about a little at a time. Work in the new stuff a tiny bit here and there. Avoid the shock effect."

"I have a feeling that's what John Paul's group has been doing all along, and they seem to have far more understanding of how to do that than I."

"You need to discuss this with him."

"Yeah, and I know what he's going to say."

"What?"

"Join up. Discard your old life. It's possible he already knew this was going to happen. He probably knew exposure to their level would cause an irreversible chain of events that would prevent us from ever rejoining the human race."

"Wow!"

"Yeah, wow."

When Cassiopia and Markman arrived, the sensesuit lab was already up and running. John Paul and Shandra were standing over a display by the orb and looked up as they entered. John Paul motioned them to join in, then returned his attention to the display.

"Anything wrong?" asked Cassiopia as she came alongside and stared down at the screen.

"Everything is right," was Shandra's reply and she smiled.

John Paul looked up at them. "Yesterday the racquet slipped out of your hand once, Scott. It was supposed to. There is a random subroutine intended to simulate the unexpected. We have isolated that and were able to deactivate it. It is another step forward in our control over the programming. How are the two of you today?"

Markman answered. "If we're going inside to finish my last game, I'd like to get right to it. I don't want to spend time thinking about it."

Cassiopia looked off balance but after thinking for a moment decided it was a sensible thing.

John Paul watched her for objections. None came. "The system is ready. By the time you suit up, I'll have everyone on station. Cassiopia, I am assuming you studied all night."

"Most of it."

"You'll be on the master control console with Shandra and me. Scott, remember, you need to avoid using the blue abort triangle on your virtual suit. We believe we've disabled the suit's self-destruct sequence, but we do not know if that applies to the 60-40 escape option. If you hit that abort triangle, you might still be harmed."

"Understood."

"And Scott, you need to hydrate and do some calisthenics to get your BP up a bit. You shouldn't go in there too relaxed."

"Right." Markman spotted an ice chest of bottled water left for him just outside the suit test area. He gave Cassiopia an affectionate stare and went to it. He exercised as he drank, working up to a more athletic posture. As he drank, the raster curtain appeared, providing privacy in the suit test area. He passed through the electronic veil and stood facing the suit. This would be a strange return to the past, a visit to a city so alien it was almost beyond description. He pulled off his clothes and brought down the suit, slipping into it quickly this time. With the suit seam hanging open at the chest, he bundled up his clothes and headed toward the raster curtain. It vanished as he approached. The lab area had suddenly become heavily manned. All stations had individuals in white lab smocks standing guard. Cassiopia, John Paul, and Shandra were at the command station near the orb. Markman did his best to appear unconcerned. He unceremoniously dumped his clothing outside the test area. A male attendant in a white shirt and slacks quickly appeared and took it away. Back in the center of the test area, Markman took down the helmet. Once again the display case vanished. He stood with the helmet under one arm and waited for John Paul's signal.

John Paul looked around the room and spoke, his voice seeming to come from every direction. "As mentioned before everyone, I do not believe we can terminate this session. Scott, it will be up to you to conclude it yourself by whatever means necessary. Remember, do not use the abort triangle on your suit. We will see everything, but we will not be able to assist you. Please do not take any unnecessary risks. And remember, in the game your name is Richard Baker. Your passcode is: 00101001. Are you ready?"

Markman cast a last affectionate glance at Cassiopia. She looked back with a wrinkled brow as though she might stop the proceeding at any moment. Markman followed up with a stunted wave. John Paul paid no attention to any of it and tapped a key on his console. The seam on Markman's suit zipped upward and latched. With a last look for approval, Markman lowered the helmet over his head. The snapping, hissing, and clicking told him he was locked out and on his way. The absolute darkness made him wonder exactly where he would end up.

The wait seemed too long. Maybe something was wrong. No matter, the helmet and suit could not be removed. That could only be done by the computer. Claustrophobia knocked at the door. Markman fought it back. Something seemed to be happening far in the distance, a thin sliver of light, barely perceptible. At least, something to focus on. He could not remember the power up sequence exactly. He was not sure this was how it was before. Then, the sliver of light became wider, spreading the width of the horizon. Suit air began circulating. The light began to turn orange in the center. The arc of a rising sun became apparent. It moved with increasing speed into the alien skyline, bringing to life a vast city of the future that spread out in every direction, hundreds of feet below Markman. The sky became aqua. It was as though Markman was standing on a tower above it all. Pyramids, giant spheres, colorful structures everywhere. Tubes of light running between them. Strange traffic moving briskly above and within the city. A smell like jasmine crept into his awareness.

Markman remembered. He looked down at his hands and arms, represented in reflective jet black. He was standing on the same narrow dark granite ledge from his last visit so long ago. It was a two-hundred-foot drop to the city below. The glimmering golden side of the pyramid he was on followed it down. On his chest, the blue abort triangle glowed brightly. Everything was coming back. Markman was almost afraid to turn and look inside. A second orange sun began to rise above the horizon, followed by the appearance of eight small squares suspended in front of him, each containing a single zero. He reached out and touched the third, fifth, and eighth square, changing each to a 1. The boxes disappeared. Colorful icons began to appear around his field of vision, the selections that would allow him to change games. A green bar appeared at the bottom of his view and began flashing the word 'engage.' Next to it, a gold and silver icon on the bottom left was flashing in time with it. Markman knew he need only wait to default to the Aurora City.

A few seconds later the icons and bar disappeared, replaced by a printout.

'Selection time expired. Previous selections completed 0. Default select to 1.'

Markman's view cleared to an unimpeded view of the Aurora City. He turned to look inside the pyramid. The doorway was star-shaped. He had forgotten that. Golden light illuminated the chamber within. It too was as he remembered. The floor, a polished dark stone, crystal protrusions jutting up from it in various places providing control stations for various commodities. A clear vertical tube ran from floor to dome ceiling on his right. It had an open oval door. On the left, a panel of silver light enclosed an elevator-like platform. Although the light in the room was golden, everything within it was phasing through different tints of color. Standing just ten feet away was one more very familiar resource.

"Mr. Baker! How long has it been? Your registry was soon to be deleted. It is a pleasure to see you again, sir." Standing before Markman was the familiar character of Trill, a tall man whose eyes appeared to be pearl and whose silver hair reached down to his waist. His long white robe had large cuffed sleeves that concealed his hands. It changed color with the room. His skin was a luminous white. His human-like features seemed immaculate.

Markman stepped into the room and stopped a few feet away. "Sorry. I was held up. Am I too late?"

"Held up, sir?"

"You know, I was sidetracked."

"Sidetracked, sir?"

"Delayed."

"Very good, sir. You are not too late. Your previous contest awaits your return. Will you be traveling by tube rider or transporter?"

"Where will I be taken?"

"Sir, you will be returned to your last point of exit."

"Will it all be the same?"

"Sir, I do not understand your question."

"The game, will everything be the same as when I left?"

"Sir, the objective always remains the same. The game is dynamic, however. One can never anticipate what challenges will be forthcoming."

"So, I left off at a brick wall and a garden. Will those be there when I return?"

"Sir, those surroundings will almost certainly mark your return from your last exit of the contest. What challenges will exist within that environment one can never predict."

It was an answer Markman did not like. "Trill, what if I changed my mind and did not want to enter the game at this time. Could I cancel out and leave now before transporting?"

"Sir, there is no provision for disengagement at this point."

"Last time I purchased and took a page with me. Can I do that again?"

"Sir, you did extremely well during the last session. You accrued several million in credits and earned citizenship in the Aurora City. That allows you to travel within it whenever you choose, once you have finished completing the contest. You are only allowed one page however, and since you lost yours last time, another will not be available until the next game."

"Trill, are there other real players in the game right now?"

"Sir, there are currently no other players accessing the game. Any number can enter at any time, however."

"Has the suit's self-destruct system been deactivated?"

"Sir, all system operational inquiries must be made directly to the game operators."

"Then I think I'm ready."

"Sir, may the Crillian spirit travel with you. If you survive and complete this session, you will return as an Overlord. Your abort triangle will turn to gold, allowing you many extra privileges and serving as a warning to others of your prowess. A host of rewards will await you. I shall hope for your return with great anticipation. It would be a remarkable thing. Will you be traveling by tube rider or transporter?"

"Transport me. I hate waiting around."

"Sir, you may step into the transporter column whenever you are ready."

Markman went to the vertical column, ducking slightly to step through. Inside he looked back through the clear tube at his virtual protégé and nodded. Trill waved a hand over one of the crystal outcroppings. A flash of golden light filled the room. A moment later he found himself standing in the middle of a bizarre skyscape.

The place defied understanding. Strange, obtuse objects of dull color were suspended in the air around him. The sky was a fast moving, ever-changing swirl of colors. Below him, there was nothing. It looked like a drop-off to eternity. He was standing on air. Memory of his last encounter came rushing in. It was exactly the same. He searched and saw the eternal wall of red brick a short distance ahead. It was an absolute barrier in every direction unless you knew the secret. On the last trip it had stymied Markman's competitor.

Markman walked across empty sky and made his way to the wall. He searched for the slightly misplaced brick that was the key. It was there on his right, a single brick jutting a tiny bit out of place. He went to it and took a ready stance. With care, he worked the brick back and forth. It loosened with each motion. When he was certain it was ready to come out, he took a last careful look around. There were no other players this time to rob him of the prize. With a last hard yank, the brick withdrew from its place. As before, for just a moment, a glimpse of exotic, colorful garden came into view through the hole left by it. And, just as before, bricks suddenly began to fall past him from overhead. Markman tensed, moved, and dodged them, shielding himself with his right hand. He gathered his strength and charged at the wall. The first impact knocked him backward as more and more bricks began to fall all around. He charged once more, and this time the wall gave way. He crashed through and fell to the ground beyond as the massive wall tumbled completely away into oblivion. Markman stood and brushed himself off. He looked behind. There was now flat, still, desert reaching as far as the eye could see. Ahead, the most beautiful garden he had ever seen waited. In its center, a large fountain showered blue water around a monument bearing the Coffer of Dreams, the ultimate prize. But something was different this time. There was now a quaint, waist-high, black wrought-iron fence and gate guarding the path. On the last visit, there had been no such barrier. The other player had charged ahead and reached the fountain with no interference of any kind. But, that player was under the safety of the diagnostic mode of the main computer. The computer had believed it was only testing itself. Maybe it would be different this time. Maybe it was not the free ride everyone was hoping for.

Cautiously, Markman shuffled along the trail of colored sand, watching in every direction as he went. At the gate, something caught his attention. There was a golden plaque.

Beyond these garden walls

Where teardrops shape and fall

Such radiant treasure win

To die is to have sinned

For Markman, it was ominous. It sounded like a warning that things would not be as easy as they had been. Unknown danger waited beyond this gate, and in this unpredictable alien place, that danger might be fatal. He reached for the simple latch but hesitated. He looked upward, knowing that Cassiopia and the entire sensesuit computer team were watching but unable to help. He unlatched and went through. The gate swung open full and rang out when it struck the fence. A strange silence came over the awesome, colorful beauty of the garden. Flowing water from the fountain a few dozen yards away still filled the air with its music, but the atmosphere felt heavy with anticipation. Markman stepped anxiously along the flowered path, his Tao Chang martial arts senses coming to full awareness. He dared three more steps ahead, paused and listened; nothing but the sound of the fountain. Ferns so brightly colored they were fluorescent bordered the path. Trees off to each side bore colorful fruit that glowed. The smell of wild flowers was intoxicating. Had Markman not been suppressing fear, he might have become careless in the garden's wonder.

Three more steps, stop and listen. Still nothing. The fountain was only a few more yards ahead. For the first time, he noticed the monument holding the Coffer was periodically changing shape and color. The spray of water shifted in design as well, though the Coffer remained in place, unchanged.

Four more cautious steps through the sparkling sand. Nothing. Perhaps the suspense was the challenge. Perhaps there were no adversaries hiding in wait, no final death-threats to face. He could see the water in the pool around the fountain now. It was swirling in color and light almost as though it was alive.

Markman dared another step but quickly froze. Suddenly there came a sound from the distance. Branches breaking, brush being trampled. He searched. It was coming from left of the fountain, still quite far away. In the distance, he saw a tree top suddenly bend and fall, then another. The distant forest was being crushed and pushed aside by something large.

A pulse of fear caused Markman to step back. Along with the trampling of woodland, he heard a loud, guttural bellow that sounded like a large, angry animal. The crashing of trees and brush intensified, moving in his direction until the trampling finally reached the edge of the garden. There was a momentary pause, and it began again. Now the garden was being crushed by something big, but to Markman's amazement no creature was visible. As the chaos broke toward him, the howling and roaring became more frequent and almost deafening. Tensed and ready to fight, Markman backed away a few more steps. There was still nothing to see except an approaching path of trashed flowers and trees. Suddenly footprints that shook the ground began appearing in the sand a few dozen yards away, large, heavily contorted depressions. They were the size of an elephant's but left an impression like bear paws with a large claw in the front. It made no sense. Two clear imprints first appeared. They stopped forming for a moment, then with another howl, a new print collapsed the sand.

This creature was invisible. It was obviously gigantic. Markman backed away even more. More footprints pounded the sand, advancing toward him. There was an odor like dead flesh. A flash of new fear enveloped Markman, and at that moment a translucent outline of the creature appeared. Two giant, fat legs supported a massive head and body that swung from side to side. Bright red eyes, glaring. The creature's mouth was large enough to swallow a car. It kept opening wide to bellow, rocking as it went. Wide-eyed, Markman backed away but bumped into something behind him. It was the wrought iron fence. He moved along it without taking his eyes off the creature. At the gate, he backed out further. The creature continued to advance, shaking the ground with each step.

Past the open gate, Markman found himself backing into the desert. The sand was deep, a hindrance to escape. The creature stepped forward once more, closer than expected, crushing the fence and gate. It came at Markman with renewed determination. Markman turned and ran a short distance through the soft sand. He twisted back to look. The creature kept coming. There was no way to fight it. It was too big. He shuffled backward, fear surging through him. It was a nightmare come to life. This couldn't be a challenge. There was no way to fight the thing. This had to be a cheat to stop any players from reaching the coffer.

Markman turned away and ran farther into the heat of the desert, managing to gain some separation. The creature's outline faded but continued pursuit, pausing only to bellow. Footprints in the sand marked its progress. Fighting his fear, Markman realized there was something familiar about those footprints. How could that be? The creature closed in, screaming and howling, its outline brightening as it neared. Drool seemed to be seeping from the open mouth when it screamed. The long flat desert offered no place to hide. Markman ran through the loose sand and gained more distance. He stopped for breath and collected himself. What was so familiar about this monster? The word monster triggered a memory.

It was a flashback. He realized he had seen this creature before, in an old movie. He was only five years old then, and the thing had scared the life out of him. What was it? Forbidden World, something like that. No, Forbidden Planet! Was that what Crillia was? In the movie, the monster was attacking people, and they couldn't stop it. In the end, they realized the monster was formed from their own fear and anger. Monsters from the Id!

Markman stopped running and turned to face the thing. Every time he had been farther away, its outline had dimmed. Was it that the safer he felt, the less powerful the creature? The greater his fear, the more powerful it became? It was the only chance. Markman forced himself to relax. The outline of the creature continued toward him but faded. Footprints continued to appear in the sand. Markman straightened up and forced himself sit in the sand, pulling his legs into the lotus position. He folded his hands and tilted his head skyward in meditation. If death was inevitable, this was the best way to face it. The footprints and growling kept coming, but the shaking of ground faded and the prints did not seem as deep. They were less than twenty feet away now but barely marking the surface of the sand. The howling began to lose its edge. Markman closed his eyes and found the inner peace he knew so well. The world around him faded into silence. At the point of perfect harmony, he opened his eyes. The monster was gone. Its footprints had disappeared as though they had never been. Only his tracks remained in the sand.

He stood and started to brush himself off but found no sand at all clinging to his virtual suit. After a final careful look around, he followed his tracks back toward the garden. What exactly had just happened? This was supposed to be a game taking place on the planet Crillia. How could a monster from an ancient film from Earth have materialized here? There was only one explanation. The game computer had somehow looked into his mind, found a deeply buried fear and brought it to life to attack him. It was a devious method of trying to eliminate a player by confronting him with one of his own greatest fears.

But, this was not the time to relax. Would there be yet something else waiting beyond the gate? He shuffled his way through the sand to the wrought iron fence. Damage to the gate and garden had vanished. The place was as pristine as when he first arrived. The gate stood wide open. Markman paused for another careful look around and passed through. A few steps along the garden path brought no sounds of attackers. The fountain, a few dozen yards ahead, was flowing with color. The jeweled Coffer waited within it.

Markman crossed over to the fountain and searched again for predators. There were still none. As he approached, a low angelic hum began to fill the air. The only way to access the Coffer was to step up onto the fountain's edge. Markman carefully stepped up, always scanning the garden. The angelic hum rose in pitch and volume. Beneath his feet the currents of color in the pool began moving more excitedly. The Coffer was still too far to reach. He would need to step into the swirling fountain, another gamble. Markman balanced himself on the edge and decided there were no other choices. He tested the pool of light with one foot. Immediately, it began to evaporate to become a low hanging, colored fog. Daring to test it deeper, his foot found solid ground beneath. Holding his arms out for balance, he stepped fully into the pool. It was cool and damp. Angelic voices reacted to his entry by climbing higher and louder. The Coffer was one step away at chest height now. It began glowing through the jewels embedded within it. A large blue diamond formed the handle of its lid and was radiating light in every direction. One more cautious step forward and still no unexpected consequences. The Coffer was now inches from his chest, beams of light emanating from its precious stones. He dared to touch the blue diamond lid handle. The angelic voices peaked louder and higher. With a deep breath for courage, Markman lifted off the cover and stared down inside.

Stars. It was full of stars in a dark black sky, and in the center, a sombrero galaxy turning slowly in place. Markman opened his mouth to gasp but never made it. A beam of silver light shot out of the center of the galaxy, striking him in the eyes. It drove his head back and beamed upward in a column of light reaching toward the heavens. It did not cease. Markman was lifted up, suspended by the light, his arms outstretched in a crucifix pose, his body quivering and convulsing. In his mind, unrecognizable images raced by like a movie in super fast forward. It went on for half a minute, then gently subsided. Instead of falling into the fountain, Markman was lowered to the fountain's edge and left stunned in a sitting position. He sat with his face in his hands trying to collect himself and understand what had happened.

As focus began to return, he looked up. The Coffer was gone. Only the fountain head sculpture remained. His feet were still immersed in swirling colors. He stood and tested his body. Everything seemed to work. Stepping out of the fountain he searched. Nothing seemed out of place except for the missing Coffer. As he turned back to the fountain, he again became engulfed in golden light. This time when it subsided, he found himself back in the Centrex pyramid. Trill was standing a few feet away.

"Lords of Terra can it be? Have you done it? You have gained the Coffer? Mr. Baker, sir, I bow to you in humble apology. I should not have doubted you. This is remarkable! Centuries of legend so swiftly concluded! Many other competitors have visited the city, but no one has ever opened the Coffer. What was the reward? What will occur as a result of your win?"

Markman gathered himself and looked at Trill in confusion. "Aren't you supposed to tell me what happens now?"

"Sir, you have fulfilled the ancient prophecy. You are now an Overlord, an honorary aristocrat of Crillia. Word is spreading as we speak. It is said the Coffer endows you with special powers."

"Special powers? Like what?"

"Sir, I do not know. Legend has it that these powers were once possessed by all Crillians, but lost over time. No one knows of them now."

"Trill, when you send me to the game, where do you actually send me?"

"Sir, all visiting competitors are transported to Quest Haven. In your case, directly to the Dome of the Dragon Masters."

"And this is a place intended for combat and competition?"

"A facility and tradition established long ago by our ancestors to test outsiders who wish admittance to Crillian society."

"So I can travel around the city now, right? No one will try to kill me, right?"

"Mr. Baker, sir, you do not understand. You are the first ever to have completed the Dragon Master contest. No one was ever expected to. No one has ever received the Dragon Master prize. Legend says that you now possess the powers of our ancestors."

"I don't feel any different...."

"Sir, have you not noticed the triangle you now wear?"

Markman looked down at his virtual chest. The blue triangle was now a softly illuminated gold.

"What does it mean?"

"Sir, no one wears the golden triangle, only an Overlord."

"But what does that mean?"

"Sir, it means that you are an ambassador to the Crillian high council and an honorary member of the Crillian guard."

"Crillian guard?"

"Sir, the Crillian military."

"Crillia has a military?"

"Sir, of course. It dissuades invasions from neighboring planets, and surprises any insurgencies that might arise, though none have in hundreds of years."

"So what exactly is required of me in all of this?"

"Sir, the Crillian high council will now accept and consider any diplomatic petitions you file. You are provided with an office here in the Centrex Pyramid, as well as a private residence."

"A residence?"

"Sir, you are consigned residence in the largest castle complex on Crillia. The Terra Nova Castle. It lies just north of the City."

"A castle?"

"Sir, yes, part of an extensive estate."

"Tell me something else, Trill. When I leave the game, doesn't all of Crillia just shut down?"

"Sir, heavens forbid, no. Life cannot be arbitrarily shut down."

"But, what if the central computer shuts down."

"Sir, the interloper eggs are self-sustaining. They never cease synchronization."

"Eggs? Do you mean memory eggs?"

"Sir, you would need to consult the operators of the system for technical information. I possess only a basic understanding."

"And so while I hold this Overlord position you're telling me about, will you remain here to help me?"

"Sir, I am honored to be your head of staff unless you choose to replace me."

"I have other staff?"

"Sir, dozens."

"Trill, I want to disengage, but on my next visit I'd like to explore the city a little bit. Any problem with that?"

"Sir, the city is yours to enjoy. On your next visit, I will brief you as thoroughly as possible beforehand. This is all so... unexpected. May the Gods of Terra guide us."

"Trill, let's disengage."

"Sir, please step into the transport tube. I will eagerly await your return."

Markman took his position and watched through the glass as a stunned Trill nodded and waved a hand across a control bed of crystals. An instant later, a flash of blinding white light, followed by the familiar clicking and hissing from the suit, told Markman he had returned to the real world.

Chapter 6

A blast of cool air rushed in as the sensesuit peeled open along Markman's chest. He reached up and lifted the helmet off. A dozen staff members from positions around the room stared in silent awe. For a moment, even Cassiopia and John Paul seemed speechless. John Paul rose from his seat and hurried to the suit area, followed closely by Cassiopia.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his expression still one of amazement.

"Are you alright?" asked Cassiopia, almost in unison. She pushed passed and grabbed Markman by one arm. She looked up with concern, then placed one hand gently on his cheek.

"Fine. No problemo," answered Markman. He had a strong urge to kiss Cassiopia, but stares from around the room dissuaded him.

Cassiopia scoffed at his comical insolence and placed her hands on her hips. Slowly, the staffers around the room began to resume their duties though a few continued to stare.

"It looked like you were hit by lightning. Are you sure you're okay?" she asked.

"Oh yeah. That. It got my attention, but no big deal."

"And the creature... What happened? It looked like the thing was after you, then it just disappeared," said Cassiopia.

"Long story," replied Markman. "Let me get out of this suit and I'll tell you."

"Scott, we need to do a medical scan on you in our bio-center. It's the next lab over. It'll only take a few minutes. No discomfort involved," said John Paul.

Markman gave Cassiopia an affectionate smile and handed John Paul his helmet, a moment later the word scan sunk in, and he became alarmed. "An X-ray? You want an X-ray?"

John Paul stifled a laugh. "No, Scott. Not a primitive X-ray. Far beyond that. Completely harmless. Remember, you were exposed to some alien technology in there. We need to be sure there are no after effects. It's for your safety."

After dressing, Markman and Cassiopia followed John Paul through the outer office area to a door that led to a narrow, stainless steel hallway. They turned in at the third door. It was a medical facility, but unlike any they had ever seen. A doctor or technician sat at a control console. He seemed to be powering the system up and was too busy to pay them any attention. The room was small, with a low ceiling. It was pristine, glaring white. There was not one shelf, cabinet, or table anywhere, nor were there any medical devices other than the computer console station which seemed to be made up mostly of light rather than solid objects. In the center of the room was a small, round pedestal, six inches high. It also looked as if it was made purely of soft blue, semi transparent light. The technician finally looked up. He was a short man, wearing the standard white lab coat. He was bald and had no eyebrows. His eyes were deep amber. He motioned to Markman to step up onto the platform. John Paul stood alongside.

Markman shrugged and went to it. He tested it with one foot, found it solid and stepped up. No sooner had he turned to face them than the technician called out, "Test complete. That's all we need. Thank you."

Markman came down and returned to Cassiopia as the technician called out the test results. "Nothing at all except there is some recent alignments at the DNA level. These adjustments occurred just in the past hour. I do not see anything beyond the DNA level and nothing proliferating, but the system is still running. Overall, just an extremely healthy scan. Much of the realignment is neurological, mainly within the brain stem and central nervous system. There is nothing aberrant or out of the ordinary. An ill person might have benefitted from these changes, but in the case of this patient, he was already so healthy he will not notice any effects."

"Thank-you, Devo. Would you send me the completed analysis when it comes in, along with the summary?"

"Yes, JP. I do not expect anything additional, however."

John Paul turned to his guests. "Let's visit the commissary. We can get something to eat and talk a bit."

The commissary was as peculiar as everything else. It was even more luxurious than the outer offices, a huge, densely decorated area with plants and trees that bore real fruit, and enough floating tables for fifty people. Some tables had video screens within their surface, running different images. Larger screens took up most of the visible space on the walls, showing newscasts and documentary types of video. The ceiling was soft, white grow light, the floors a smooth tan surface that looked like tile but felt like carpet. Embedded in the left and right walls there were two wide, deep, lighted shelves. John Paul led them to one and stopped and smiled.

"Coffee, cream and sugar," he said. Instantly, a cup of steaming hot coffee materialized on the shelf in front of him. "Your turn," he said as he tested his coffee. "It will make a record of your voice and remember how you like things."

"Minestrone soup," said Cassiopia, and to her surprise a bowl of hot minestrone soup appeared.

Cassiopia looked at Markman and shrugged. John Paul smiled.

"Coffee, black. Grilled cheese sandwich," said Markman, and the two items appeared simultaneously.

With servings in hand, they went to the nearest table. John Paul eyed them as he drank his coffee. He placed his cup down on the table and sat back. "Did Scott's episode in the desert affect either of you too badly?" he finally asked.

Cassiopia and Markman exchanged glances. Markman paused in the middle of a bite, looked at them both, and resumed chewing.

"It seems not to have affected Scott's appetite," said John Paul.

"Do we know just how dangerous that really was?" asked Cassiopia.

"I suspect it was very, very dangerous, probably life-threatening," replied John Paul.

Markman paused from his sandwich. "You sure don't mince words, John Paul."

"I promised to be straightforward and honest with you both. I will not deviate from that. The slightest coloring of the truth could harm the trust the three of us have developed."

"What do you think?" Cassiopia asked Markman.

Markman paused from his sandwich and did his best to explain the creature from the movie. "It was a psychological challenge. Most of the other challenges were physical. This was meant to catch a person off-guard. I think it was the best possible scheme for preventing someone from completing the game. I think it looked into my mind and found my deepest fear from a movie I saw as a child and brought that to life against me."

"If we are someday able to find our way into the computer's archives, that is, if archives actually exist, we may learn just how many players did not make it through that test," said John Paul.

"But, hey! I'm now an Overlord! Whatever that is. Now I can visit the Aurora City at my pleasure, without all the danger. How cool is that?" said Markman.

"Are we sure?" asked Cassiopia.

"As sure as we can be," commented John Paul.

"And what about this suggestion that you now have some kind of special power?" asked Cassiopia.

"Yes. This could be more than we hoped for," said John Paul. "It may be that you have unlimited access within the system. If there is some form of library within the city, we may have access to unimaginable information."

"Personally, I'd like to visit my castle," said Markman, and he nearly choked from laughing with his mouth full. The other two stared back somberly.

"It sounds like none of us are opposed to another attempt. Am I reading you both correctly?" asked John Paul.

Cassiopia spooned her soup and wrinkled her brow.

"When would you want to do that?" asked Markman.

"We could be ready this afternoon. Is that too soon?"

Markman turned to Cassiopia. "Have you reached your father yet?"

"No, and that's it. We need to head to Knoxville."

"John Paul, we could check out Aurora City this afternoon, and take off tomorrow morning to check on the Professor. Would that work?"

"It would. And Cassiopia, we have received no alerts from our monitoring systems, and there have been no new reports from our operatives who are keeping an eye on him. We have no reason to believe there are any problems with your father."

"It's probably just that he's in one of his moods. But I need to check on him in person."

"I believe we have a plan then," said John Paul. "If you'll excuse me, I'll leave you and begin preparations for this afternoon. We're doing quite well, but I remain concerned about the Salantian threat. Enjoy your lunch. Try the desserts." John Paul stood, nodded appreciatively, and left.

Cassiopia and Markman sat in silence, occasionally glancing at each other, wondering what the other was thinking. Finally, Markman could stand it no longer. "You want to see Aurora City as much as I do, don't you?"

Cassiopia did not look up from her soup. "Please... don't make me admit that."

"I've got to check out my castle."

"I only hope it does not come complete with wives or concubines."

"Don't worry. I'll be wearing a skin tight suit that does not come off," joked Markman

"They may not be wearing anything at all."

When lunch was complete and all discontentments put aside, they returned to the sensesuit lab to find changes had been made to the sensesuit test area. There were new items installed. A chair against the left wall. A stool and counter against the right. A couch-bed against a section of the far wall. John Paul was leaning over a control console by the orb. They went to him and stood behind. He looked up and smiled.

"I don't understand," said Markman.

"It's something I haven't told you about, something we learned only a few days ago," John Paul straightened up and faced them. "You know how the program uses the walls in its simulation? We learned that any objects placed in the suit area are automatically mapped by the computer and used by it during the simulations. The simple items we have placed in the test area will allow you to at least sit and rest if you need to. They should make whatever environments you find more conducive."

"Wow," replied Markman.

"We'll be ready for you in thirty minutes. Is that acceptable?" asked John Paul.

"As good a time as any," answered Markman.

Cassiopia watched as Markman headed for the suit. Once again, she began to have second thoughts but was distracted by a hand on her shoulder from Shandra. When the system engineers were ready, and Markman in-suit with helmet under one arm, John Paul gave the signal and the computer orb brightened to colorful life, sealing Markman's suit-front to indicate it was online. With a last nod to Cassiopia, he lifted the helmet and lowered it in place, listening to the snapping and hissing that locked him in.

The initialization seemed quicker this time. Rising suns and passcode boxes appeared immediately. Once cleared, Markman gazed across the Aurora City landscape, glimmering under its twin orange suns. The city suddenly looked different. It was now an accessible place, a place where he was welcome. This was the first visit that did not carry the promise of danger and violence. The Crillian world suddenly had a warmer feel to it.

A voice behind Markman called out. "My lord, you have returned. It is an honor to greet you on this first day of a new era."

Markman turned to find Trill standing close behind.

"My Lord, it is the first of the Overlord era. What are your commands? I seek only to fulfill them."

Markman stifled a laugh. "I'm here to visit the city. I'd like to see the castle. What do you recommend?"

"Sir, you must use a tube rider. It is considered gauche to materialize in a public place. A tube rider will also afford you a great deal of visibility."

"That sounds good. Where would be the best place to visit first?"

"Sir, I would suggest the city's Main Square. The city is much too large to tour quickly. The Main Square might afford you an idea of its diversity."

"Is my appearance correct for that?"

"Sir, your appearance will change automatically and become appropriate depending on where you are at any given moment. However, you must understand, you will be recognized and will not be treated as an average citizen would."

"How will I be treated?"

"Many will be in awe of you, some will fear you."

"Really?"

"Sir, it will be difficult for you to be inconspicuous."

"How will they recognize me?"

"Sir, by the golden triangle on your suit."

"What if there's trouble?"

"Sir, your golden triangle will return you here instantly with a single touch. You may use it as many times as you need, without fear. However, it is considered impolite to transport in that manner publicly, so you should find privacy before doing so."

"How do I control the tube riders?"

"Sir, you speak aloud where you would like to go."

"It's that simple?"

"Sir, yes."

"Well, I think I'm ready. How do we call for a tube rider?"

Markman had barely uttered the words when the sound of rushing air brought a clear, oval tube sliding into view on the far side of the room. A transparent, rectangular door on its side swished upward.

"Sir, please forgive me for mentioning something further, but it is my duty to be sure you are fully prepared."

"What is it, Trill?"

"Sir, you probably already are aware of this. I am embarrassed to mention it. I do so only as your loyal servant and friend."

"Trill, what?"

"Sir, remember not to speak orally in public."

"What?"

"Sir, do not vocalize your communications."

"I don't understand."

"Sir, you must not speak aloud in public."

"What? Why?"

"Sir, on Crillia it is acceptable and normal to use guttural expressions of audible speech when in the home or office, but in public that is considered a terrible discourtesy. It is the epitome of rudeness to do that."

"Are you saying no one on Crillia talks out loud in public?"

"Sir, that has been the custom for many centuries. Oral communication is thought to be primitive and barbaric. Imagine how noisy public places would be, or how deafening public meetings would become."

"But how do people talk to each other then?"

"Sir, by thought transfer, of course."

"Telepathy? You're saying everyone on Crillia is telepathic?"

"Sir, that is an ancient term seldom used now. It dates from pre-age times when thought transfer was a specialized skill possessed by only a few individuals. Thought transfer has been a normal part of this culture for many years."

"How do I do it?"

"Sir, there is no methodology. You simply speak with your mind instead of your physical voice."

"Oh, boy."

"Sir, I am now glad I cautioned you about this."

"Me too. Thank you. I think I will try to avoid speaking to anybody."

"Sir, that is often a wise discretion."

Markman eyed the tube rider. He went to it, bent down to look inside, found transparent benches on both sides, and straps hanging from the overhead. He stepped in, turned to thank Trill once more, but the door swished closed. Trill looked on with some consternation. Markman grabbed one of the handles and remained standing. He took a deep breath and in a questioning tone said, "Main Square?"

The tube rider shot out of the chamber, but for Markman there was no sense of acceleration at all. The walls and interior of the pyramid passed quickly by as he burst into sunlight and sky. The tube rider nosed down and followed its guide gently downward toward the city. Colorful, strangely-shaped architecture passed by in a blur. Anti-gravity vehicles sped by above and below. The two Crillian suns were still ablaze in the afternoon sky, yet the lights of the city below seemed as bright as if it were evening. A crescent of white moon was rising in the east against a faded aqua backdrop. A few stars had become visible apart from it.

The complexity and density of the city was mesmerizing. Were it not for the many colors, Markman's mind would have had trouble separating the collage of superstructures. In the distance, an inverted funnel-shaped structure with a very tall stem rose up from the surface. It looked like it was made of a spider web of light fibers. Nearby, a huge dish-shaped facility seemed to float above a garden. The thing was as large as a football field and within its bowl colors and designs shifted and glowed like the largest kaleidoscope Markman had ever seen.

It was all too much. Oval buildings of glass and light were scattered everywhere. Walkways of glass hundreds of feet above the ground connected them. Canals of colored water curved everywhere through the city. Transport and passenger craft were using them. Waterfalls flowed from the tops of the highest buildings, dropping thousands of feet into splash pools that somehow contained the spray.

Markman stretched to look directly below as the tube rider curved sideways around a structure. He could make out streets below, but they were odd. Rectangles of color beneath each vehicle matched their speed. The speed of a vehicle seemed to alter the color. There were people everywhere, a lot of them.

Ground level began to rise up. The tube rider leveled off and slowed, then cornered around a building that resembled the planet Saturn, complete with rings. Ahead, were three lighted structures that looked like upside down ice cream cones with spheres atop them. Across from them, was an oddly out of place, old-fashioned conventional home inside a glass bubble, and alongside it, a series of silver platforms that rose thirty stories high.

The tube rider continued to slow. It passed beneath a maze of walkways and glided in next to glass partitions with maps engraved on them. A tone signaled the stop. The tube rider door popped upward and open. Markman stepped out and watched the vehicle close up and take off, disappearing down the endless tube guide.

The place had the brilliance of Time Square on New Year's Eve. Markman stood by the glass partitions and tried to get his bearings. There was so much to see it was difficult to take in. Much of it was hard to understand. He was standing on a very wide sidewalk. An egg-shaped vehicle with a wraparound windshield floated slowly by with two passengers in it. On the opposite side of the street, two people were entering some sort of establishment that had a glass front. Through it, empty tables, chairs, and a serving counter could be seen. Looking both ways along the street, banners and symbols were flashing everywhere. Holographic images of merchants were appearing in front of shops, trying to stop passersby to sell them something. A vehicle of some sort passed overhead between the rails of walkways.

Markman took a step forward and stopped. Beneath his feet, a faint yellow rectangle appeared on the sidewalk. As he wondered at it, a lighted pedestal suddenly rose up in front of him. It was waist high and was capped with a green light. He touched it with one hand and the rectangle of sidewalk beneath him turned slightly green and began moving slowly to the right, carrying him along with it. Instinctively he clutched the post tighter, fearing he would lose his balance, but the pressure caused the moving section of sidewalk to speed up. Easing his grip brought it back to slow. Releasing it, he stopped altogether and once again it turned from green to yellow. He looked back in the direction he had come and placed his hand lightly on the pedestal again. The section of sidewalk started up only this time in that direction. When he was back at his starting point, Markman released his grip and stared in amazement at the yellow tile of sidewalk ready to carry him in any direction he chose.

As he stood dumbfounded, another floating vehicle approached from the right. It was egg-shaped and yellow with an open top. Four people were laughing and celebrating within. They paid him no attention at first until one occupant happened to notice the gold triangle. It was an attractive woman with an absurdly tall brown dunce cap hat. She stopped abruptly and stared. She tapped the person next to her, and both began to stare with expressions of amazement. As the egg car passed, all four occupants had become silently entranced at the sight of Markman. They continued to look as their vehicle slowly drifted off into the distance.

Markman shrugged it off. He decided a visit inside the glass building across the street might be a good place to start. He stepped off the green rectangle and headed across the golden brick roadway. The pedestal disappeared behind him. As he walked, a pathway of green appeared in front of him as if to show the way.

On the opposite side of the street, he paused and looked back. The glass barriers of the tube rider station were displaying advertisements and promotions of some sort. Overhead, people were passing by on the tangled maze of walkways. Markman turned and looked at the glass building. Through the glass, there were still only empty tables and chairs and a counter with a man in uniform wiping it. Markman pushed through the doors and entered.

To his astonishment, the place was packed. The tables and chairs were still there just as they had been, but nearly all were filled with people. A wide-open area in the room's center was also filled with standees, exchanging items, participating in activities of some sort, or just drinking and eating. Soft music came from all around, but other than that the room was quiet. There was an air of excitement, the kind any busy meeting place might offer except the loud choir of conversations was missing.

Packed within the crowd was the oddest assemblage of attire Markman had ever seen. Physical appearance and body style was equally varied and unusual. There were exotic gowns, and skin-tight body suits. Men wore fluffy medieval-styled suits with long coats; others Nehru-styled jackets, a few flight suit coveralls along with athletic-type body suits. All patrons seemed to be of humanoid form, but not all were human. Some faces were very long, others extremely fat. A number of feminine figures had no hair; some male figures had hair to the waist. Facial features were often difficult to understand. There were markings and other features that were foreign. Markman stood by the door wondering if he should quietly back out the way he had come in. Before he could decide, a couple sitting nearby noticed him.

The pair seemed to freeze in their seats. It was a man and a woman. The woman wore a pinned on hat with too many flowers. She twisted in place to look and sat mesmerized. The man had on a white silk shirt and a modern dark dinner jacket left open. His stare suggested even more surprise than his partner's.

Before Markman could react, the attention began to spread. The staring became uncomfortable. It mushroomed through the crowd like a wave. People standing in room center also ceased their interaction and turned to look at the man by the door with the golden triangle.

The discomfort of it became too much. It was either make an untimely exit or do something. Markman stepped forward intending to find a place at the counter where he might be less obvious. As he approached the standees, they parted leaving a wide, empty path. He walked awkwardly though, noticing a few whispered gasps and exclamations. As he neared the serving counter, the parting of the crowd closed up behind him and became more excited than it had been. At the far corner of the counter, he leaned in, not daring to look back. A server behind the bar was holding a strangely shaped glass and white cloth but was frozen like a statue.

Markman glanced at him and remembered not to speak. He nodded in hopes it would be considered a friendly gesture. The bartender came to life and took a step toward him. He paused in doubt, then took another. When he felt close enough, he bowed his head and Markman heard the unspoken words as clearly as if they were said out loud. "What might I bring you, Sir?"

Markman took his best shot. As carefully as possible, he answered with a thought. "Your favorite?"

The bartender looked worried, as though he feared it might not please this particular customer. "Very well," the man thought back, and he turned and began hurriedly mixing something.

Feeling relief at his first telepathic communication, Markman dared a quick glance behind. The crowd had resumed some of its celebratory posture, though most were still stealing stares too frequently. A few people were leaving. A woman in a long, sparkling red gown had dared to take a position at the other end of the bar. Her hair was flowing with multicolor, her skin sparkled as much as her dress. She had bright red lipstick and narrow dark eyes, a perky little nose, and a diamond choker collar. She chanced an occasional look at Markman to see if he had noticed. Markman pretended not to.

The bartender returned and nervously kept back by reaching too far to place the drink. He wrinkled his brow in fear the serving might not be accepted. It was a tall glass. The liquid within it was orange and blue and was swirling in a constant eddy. The bartender stood by as though his presence was required until approval had been acknowledged. Markman raised the glass, wondering what he would do with it through the sensesuit helmet. To his surprise, he felt the liquid rush down his mouth and throat. He placed the glass quickly back on the counter. The sensation stopped. It was disturbing. The sensesuit was telling his mind that he was drinking even though he was not. He smiled and nodded to the bartender, who let out a sigh of relief and went to the lady in red.

Behind him, the place had resumed a little more of its normality, though too many still could not resist the sight of Markman. Those not so entranced seemed to be conversing telepathically with friends. The silence in the room, back dropped by soft alien music, seemed eerie. Markman focused for a second on the two nearest patrons and consciously tried to hear. Immediately their voices faintly appeared in his mind. They were speaking in a subdued tone. "We don't know anything at all about him."

"Only that in all these centuries no one else had ever made it."

"How can that be a justification for trusting someone? What if he's diabolical or something?"

"The legend says that he is spiritual."

"Yes, but...." Suddenly the pair stopped talking and looked over at Markman. They realized he was listening. Markman quickly looked back at his drink. It was still swirling in the glass. The couple rose from their seats and wove their way toward the exit.

Markman decided it was time to leave. Did he need to pay for the drink? At the least, he needed to tip the bartender. He wondered how to do that. No sooner had the thought entered his mind than a gold coin materialized on the bar in front of him. The bartender was staring from his position by the lady in red. His eyebrows were raised in surprise at the sight of a coin appearing out of nowhere. Markman pushed away from the bar and turned to leave. A wide channel through the crowd immediately formed once again. He held up one hand to the bartender who responded by coming quickly and stopping a distance away, then thinking to him, "Sir, please visit us again soon."

Markman shook his head and tried to smile. He hurried through the silent crowd and out the door. Outside, he breathed a sigh of relief, but in turning to look back realized the door was being held open and people were now staring out. Markman looked both ways and crossed the street back to the tube rider station. He went to the loading area, wondered how to call for a tube rider, and within seconds one sped into the station. The door popped open. He climbed in and said aloud, "Terra Nova Castle." A map showing a path through the city immediately formed on the glass door. It faded away as the tube rider pulled out of the station.

Markman took a seat on a transparent bench and quickly realized he had to be sitting on one of the items placed in the sensesuit test area by John Paul. The sensesuit program had somehow guided him to that spot like a magician doing a card trick. The lights of the Aurora City raced by. Crillia's suns were getting low in the sky. Its big white moon continued rising. Racing through the tangle of city lights, the tube rider passed through several buildings, revealing huge auditoriums and busy thoroughfares. A few structures looked like giant shopping malls. In the distance, there seemed to be a large, barren clearing of city. As he approached, he realized it was an expanse of lake with dark water. What looked like a lighted island lay ahead in the blackness. The tube rider was traveling above and along a very long suspension bridge that led to the island. Soon the outline of a well-lighted, massive castle complex came into view.

Snow white five-story buildings linked by high towered buttresses made up the outer perimeter walls. The long suspension bridge ended at the castle's main gate, where a drawbridge guarded entry. On either side of the massive entrance doors, two white, square towers rose up seven or eight stories, topped by smaller rounded towers with red tiled cone-shaped roofs. Beyond the walls, a well-lit courtyard heavy in décor surrounded the castle complex. Colored stone walkways criss-crossed through lawns and gardens decorated with elaborate fountains and statues. Its beauty made Markman murmur, "Wow," as his tube rider sailed over. Staff members were working at various points around the complex. A long, white, three-story structure on one side of the courtyard looked to be a stable. Beyond that, the main residence stood in all its splendor. A peaked central roof surrounded by numerous towers, some wide, some narrow. The main entrance was a portion of wall covered in gold.

The tube rider dipped down and curved around to a loading station that ran alongside the main courtyard. It slid to a stop, and the door popped open. Markman wondered whether or not he should get out. Reluctantly, he stepped down and looked around. White stone structures were everywhere, decorated by green grass and gardens. He looked in the direction of the castle, and to his dismay noticed a small crowd of people had emerged from the castle's main entrance and were hurriedly walking toward him. Other staff people working around the area had stopped and were staring.

As the entourage approached, the lead man held up one hand signaling his followers to go no further. He slowed and approached with caution. "Sir, we are honored by your presence." The man stared at the ground nervously with his head bowed. To Markman's relief, he had spoken aloud. He was dressed very properly in something similar to an Englishman's tuxedo, but with gold admonishments to it. The others wore equally formal service wear. At the greeting, they all bowed.

"Mr. Baker sir, Trill advised us of your arrival only a short while ago. I am DuMont, Chief of Household Staff. Would you like to begin your tour now?"

"Is there somewhere private I could look out at the grounds and learn more about Crillian customs?" asked Markman.

"Sir, your diplomatic suite would be the perfect place. Please follow me, if you will."

Dumont waved the rest of his staff away and led Markman along one of the colorful paths toward the castle's main entrance. He began pointing out buildings and decorations and describing their purpose. "The stable has no issues currently. The horses are well groomed and available to you whenever you please."

"How many horses are there?"

"One hundred, sir. Not counting the new foals in the back pasture."

"Where exactly are you taking me?"

"Sir, your suite is on the fifth level. The Overlook Chamber."

"Thank you, DuMont. Everything here is so beautiful."

"Sir, this morning's report from the Skyway Terrace indicated that all Terra Nova vehicles are in complete order and available to you with the exception of the star cruiser Oryon. It is undergoing annual certification and will not be ready for a day or two. The maintenance supervisor has said he can procure alternate transportation immediately if you require travel outside the solar system."

"Travel outside the solar system?"

"Yes, sir. The cruiser Palifious is ready and available for intersystem travel, but anything beyond that would require an hour or two of notice to the dispatch supervisor."

"Intersystem travel? You mean I could take a ship and fly to the moon if I wanted to?"

"Mr. Baker sir, why would you wish to travel to Terra? It has been thoroughly mapped and explored. The ruins there are mostly dust. Little is left after all these centuries. The body continues in contraction, as well. In a few more millennia it will break apart and fragment."

"Ruins? There are ruins on that moon?"

"Sir, yes. You can consult any archeologist for a detailed analysis if you wish." Dumont paused as they approached the main entrance. He saluted the guards standing on either side. One pulled on a cord hanging alongside the entrance and the huge double doors swung open to reveal a massive hall.

"We have one hundred and seventy of the rooms sealed off, though they can be opened and made ready very quickly if required for affairs of state."

"One hundred and seventy rooms?"

"Yes, sir. It is so we may give more diligence to the maintenance of the others."

Markman, followed by more staff, entered the grand hall. The ceilings were domed and fifty feet tall. Intricate carvings were everywhere. Statues lined the walls. Strange armor stood beside each. The tiled floor was polished and white. At the opposite end of the room a short span of wide stairs led to three thrones covered in red and gold.

Markman turned to his host. "DuMont, there's an awful lot of armor and weaponry around here."

"Sir, they stand as tributes to Crillia's dark age when government was determined solely by sanctioned combat to the death. Fortunately, that is a seldom used tradition these days."

"It is still done?"

"Quest Haven allows most grievances to be settled without mortal combat. It offers many alternative methods of engagement to resolve disputes. A grievance would need to be in the extreme for participants to elect a death challenge."

Markman stared at DuMont trying to see if the man was completely serious. It appeared he was.

"Sir, the elevator is this way," DuMont motioned to their right. Before leading, he made a hand gesture to the staff following closely behind and they happily dispersed.

Waiting at the elevator, DuMont glanced at Markman but said nothing. The heavily engraved doors parted open and they entered. The interior of the elevator was as plush as everything else. It seemed to be covered entirely in cushioned red velvet. The ride up was brief. The doors opened to a lavish sitting area. Wonderful artwork adorned the walls. A huge fireplace of fitted stonework nearly filled one completely. Three large arched doors opened to a grand balcony. The view through the doors was breathtaking. Markman went to the balcony and looked out at the courtyard and castle walls below. People were working and coming and going. There was an air of peace about the place.

"I see why it's called the Overlook Chamber," said Markman.

"Sir, no one will bother you here. The kitchen is, of course open and ready to serve you. May I recommend the King's seat right here." DuMont held his hand out to a large, deep brown, heavily padded recliner near the room's center. A host of controls sat alongside it. "You may summon me simply by placing your hand on the ruby," he said. "Or, the kitchen will respond to the opal beside it. I should like to recommend you allow me to have wine brought up, sir. It is from our own vineyard. I think you will be pleased. Also, you may wish to view the broadcasts of the day. The smaller controls next to mine operate the large viewer on the wall there."

Markman turned and looked. Suspended on the chamber wall's dark engraved wood, was the outline of a darkened screen.

"DuMont, is there a central library in Aurora City?"

"Sir, of course. Most of what is contained in the library can be accessed and displayed here or in your office. When you first turn the monitor on, there will be a library option available to you. There are a few inquiries that require you visit the library in person, but most can be accommodated in the comfort of your home. If you do not find what you seek, please summon me."

"Thank you, DuMont."

"Sir, I shall take my leave of you. I am supremely honored that you have joined us. I will eagerly await the opportunity to serve you further." DuMont went to the elevator and turned to face Markman as the doors closed. With his departure, the room suddenly became strangely quiet but very comfortable. Markman strolled around the chamber picking up pieces from the tables, touching the engravings, and running his hand along the mantel of the massive fireplace. He tried the King's seat so highly recommended by DuMont. It was surprisingly comfortable. On the control console beside it, he found the key for the view screen and turned it on. The viewer lit up with choices. The first was labeled 'discussion.' The third 'resource library.' Markman tried for the third choice, but fumbled and selected 'discussion.'

The image on the viewer was an impressively deep 3D presentation. Four individuals dressed in dark, precisely cut suits sat around a low oak table. The floor, walls, and ceiling surrounding the two men and two women were covered by hundreds of display monitors. It was as though every camera view on the planet was being represented. The conversation sounded somewhat aloof and caught Markman's attention immediately.

"So this individual completes a seemingly impossible test of combat, automatically becomes an ambassador to the high council, and then just goes along his merry way without saying anything to anyone. Is that your idea of normal, Guhe?"

"I'm only saying that nothing bad has happened. No conflicting alliances have been established, no formal protests from the federation of planets have been issued. What more could you ask for, Belina?"

"What more? Are you serious? Why would anyone risk their life in such a sadistic contest? What is it this individual wants? Where does he come from? What are his plans? The questions are endless, Guhe. You agree with me, don't you, Ruse?"

"I would like to know more about this person and his plans of course, but I do not see any reason for panic. No improprieties have occurred, so far."

An attendant in a white suit interrupted the discussion group, handing each of them a tablet. The man at the end of the table received his and studied its contents intently. "Oh, my! This is new. It just came in. Let me see, it's from just a short while ago. This Overlord person was seen at the Thought Exchange, a meeting room in the Main Square. According to this, he entered alone, ordered a single drink, and left without speaking directly to anyone except the server. We have the video. Can we run that?"

To Markman's astonishment, the screen switched to an image of him entering the Thought Exchange, dressed in his formal black suit. His facial features matched his real face perfectly. The video played through his entire visit up to the point he left the building. The discussion group seemed speechless.

"Well, he looks normal enough."

"Really, Guhe. Is that what you derived about a man who willingly risks his life in a game of death?"

"I believe we also have interviews made by our staff on the scene. Can we run those please?"

The screen switched again to a man in formal black dress with a logo on his jacket that read Crillian Convention. He was interviewing the bartender who had served Markman.

"Did he say anything to you, sir?"

"Only two words, 'Your favorite.' He wanted my favorite drink. I brought it to him and he seemed to enjoy it."

"Nothing else at all? Just that?"

"No, nothing else. He just looked around, tasted the drink, and then left, but there was one really strange thing."

"What was that?"

"He didn't need to pay, of course, but he left a substantial gold coin. I assumed it was for me."

"Well that's certainly generous, but nothing really out of the ordinary."

"No, you don't understand. The gold coin appeared out of thin air. I saw it myself."

"Wait, you're saying he materialized a gold coin right in front of you?"

"Yes. There's no question about it. He never moved his hands at all. The thing just appeared out of nowhere."

The interviewer turned back to the viewing audience. "Well, there you have it. Our new Overlord can apparently materialize certain objects out of thin air, either that or our server has a grand imagination. That's all from the Thought Exchange here in Main Square."

Markman had heard enough. He touched the crystals beside his seat until the screen turned off. He remembered the ruby control and touched it, then went to the windows to gaze at the courtyard in the shadows of early evening. A few minutes passed and the double doors opened, DuMont entered.

"You called me, sir?"

"DuMont, I'm getting ready to transport back to my office. On my next visit I will need help with access to the library. I may require your assistance on that."

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

"You've been very helpful. Thank you."

"It has been my honor, of course, sir. At the risk of being presumptuous, when you are ready to return, you may transport directly to this room from your office simply by commanding the transport unit, 'Terra Nova Castle, Overlook Chamber.' I should also ask you, Sir, do you plan to address the Crillian population at some point?"

"Is that expected?"

"Sir, there has never been an Overlord before, so no there are no customs established. It is left to your wisdom to decide."

"Are you recommending that?"

"Sir, I would never be that presumptuous."

"I'll think about it, DuMont. It's time for me to leave. Would it be rude for me to do that while you are here?"

"Not at all, sir. All of our associations are expressly private."

"Thank you again then, DuMont." Markman looked down at his chest and tapped the gold triangle lightly with three fingers. A blinding white light came and passed, and he found himself back in his pyramid office. Trill was standing dutifully in the center of the room.

"Sir, was your journey one of success?"

"Yes, Trill. I'd like to disengage."

"Will you return soon, sir?"

"Yes. I'll need to access the library next time. I may need your help."

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

Markman went to the transport column and entered. He turned and nodded to Trill. Trill ran his hand across the crystal control column and once more a blinding white light flashed and faded. The sensesuit followed with its clicking and hissing and the helmet became loose as Markman's suit fell open at the chest. He lifted off the helmet to find the lab staff staring. Applause broke out. Cassiopia stood from her position at the computer station and came to him.

"Wow!" she said.

Markman nodded. "Wow."

Chapter 7

The next morning, Culpeper was graced by a cold front that left a stark blue sky, and dead calm. Markman met John Paul at the Taslam Industries building's guard station. "We'll be back early tomorrow. I promise," he said. "Sorry I didn't stay in Aurora long enough to get into the Crillian library stuff. That second trip was kind of a brain drain."

"It was fine," replied John Paul. "We have enough data to keep us busy until you return. The library search may prove to be a long and dragged out affair. The two of you have done well. We are indebted to you."

"Not really. I'm pretty sure we're all in this for the same reasons."

"By the way, I have something for you. It will increase your efficiency, so to speak." John Paul motioned Markman to follow. He led him outside the building and around to the side parking lot. There, parked in the first space, was a shiny new, black Corvette convertible. John Paul paused to read Markman's reaction. Markman stared back with a confused look. "This unit has some special features. It is invisible to radar. It has collision avoidance. The windshield will become infrared if you ask for it, so you can see at night with or without lights. The seats will stun the occupants if they are individuals you don't like or someone attempting to steal it. It will also stun everyone up to a fifty-foot radius should that become necessary. If you or Cassiopia are within that radius when the stun occurs, it will mask you both from the stun. It has extensive self-protection features. It cannot be stolen or towed unless you authorize it. It can traverse the roadways with no driver at all and will find and come to you if you speak those commands into the key chain. No vehicle on the road can match its acceleration or speed. There are a host of other features. You'll need to study the tablet in the storage compartment. There is one for you and one for Cassiopia. The tablets are normal, password-protected devices until you or she touches them. Then, all classified material becomes available. You can also ask the car itself for information. It will speak to you and understand you. It responds to the name, Core."

"You can't be serious. You're giving us this to drive? You're kidding about some of that stuff you just said, right?"

John Paul laughed. "The paint on this car cannot be scratched, even by you." John Paul handed Markman the keys. Markman stood with his mouth open.

John Paul smiled. "At least I'll know you won't be late for anything," he said. "We'll take care of your rental. You won't be needing it." John Paul chuckled to himself and walked away smiling.

It took a few minutes for the wonder to wear off. Markman finally climbed in and took the wheel. Cautiously, he switched on the ignition and sat in awe of the 0,000,002 readout on the odometer. He started the engine and listened to the smooth rumble, a throaty sound that seemed to promise more speed than any man could hope for. On a whim, he commanded, "Core, shift to drive."

A raspy male machine voice answered. "Please engage brake."

Markman stepped on the brake pedal and sat wide-eyed as the shifter jumped into drive all by itself. He pulled out onto the road and had to overcome doubt that he might not be actually driving the thing. A few swerves to the left and right assured him he was. The ride to the hotel was brisk. He shut it down and called Cassiopia on his cell. "Hey."

"Hi. I'm just about set. I still cannot get him on the phone."

"I'm parked illegally right in front of the hotel. Should I find a spot and come up?"

"No. I'm on my way down. Do you need anything from up here?"

"Nope. Believe me; I've got everything I need."

Markman found a pair of dark sunglasses in Core's storage compartment. He put them on and tried to be Mr. Cool as Cassiopia came trotting out the front door of the hotel. She stopped halfway there, looked around for some other vehicle, and then stared. With a look of bewilderment, she came up to the driver's door. "What is this?"

"A present from John Paul. He said it would increase our efficiency."

"How will I ever compete with that man?"

Cassiopia pranced around the front, dropped her bag behind the seat and climbed in. Looking for her seat belt, Markman surprised her by grabbing her chin and planting a long, passionate kiss on her lips. "John Paul has no chance against you."

Cassiopia smiled back affectionately. "I've never ridden in one of these."

Markman laughed. "Neither have I. Core, say hello to Cassiopia."

To Cassiopia's surprise, a raspy male voice greeted her. "Good morning, Cassiopia. Please fasten your seat belt."

Cassiopia looked at Markman inquisitively.

"You don't know the half of it," he said, and he placed the car in drive and pulled out onto the road. "Will the wind be too much?"

"No. Not at all. I love it." She twisted sideways to wrap her hair behind her head and began looking the car over.

"There's a tablet in the storage compartment you need to study. It'll tell you all about this thing."

"That will have to wait. I need to keep on with the sensesuit system material. There's so much."

Cassiopia settled in with her tablet and began studying. Markman played with his car.

"Core, music."

"Please state category."

"Beatles."

"Please state individual recording, specific collection, or dates."

"Revolver."

Immediately the requested music began playing. Markman smiled at his accomplishment and soaked in the countryside, over-steering occasionally to reassure himself he was still driving.

Cassiopia immersed herself in study. She wore her dark rimmed, low power reading glasses as she stared at the intricate schematic drawings on her tablet. As Markman settled in with his new, best toy, he began stealing looks at her. She was wearing a deep blue flounce skirt that came above the knee. The wind kept lifting it slightly. For Markman, it was distracting. She had a gray, loose silk v-neck blouse that ruffled in the wind. Her ivory blond hair kicked about in the turbulence as though it were trying to escape its tie.

Markman's mind slipped back to the subject of marriage as he glanced over at the beautiful woman beside him. What if she was opposed to marriage? If that was the case, and he asked her, it would be a big relationship bomb for evermore. And, the arrangement yet-to-be-made with John Paul, did not make things easier. If they accepted his radical offer would marriage still be an option? Markman decided this was not a time to consider asking Cassiopia. He would put the matter aside, though it would continue to be bothersome.

They reached Knoxville in record time, which surprised Cassiopia. Had she looked up from her studies more often, she would have realized some stretches of road were covered in speeds exceeding one hundred miles per hour. Markman tried to conceal his guilt. Cassiopia kept staring back suspiciously as she unsuccessfully tried to call her father. At the hotel front entrance, she practically vaulted from the car, leaving her bag for Markman. As she darted passed the bellhop and through the front door, Markman waved and called out, "It's okay, I've got it."

In the lobby, she tapped at the elevator call button too many times, then patted her leg impatiently as she watched the overhead numbers click down. When the doors finally opened, she spun in and tapped her floor key with unnecessary insistence, then stood with her nose close to the doors until they opened. A brisk walk down the brown carpeted hallway brought her to her father's door. The do-not-disturb sign was still hanging. She sliced her card key and pushed the heavy door open.

To her relief, he was sitting on the bed with his feet up staring at a blank TV screen.

"Father, damn-it-all, are you alright?"

"Cassiopia! It is wonderful to see you, Daughter."

"Why haven't you been answering your phone?"

"Is the blasted thing shut off again?"

"I've been trying to reach you for days. What have you been doing?"

"Just resting and this and that."

"Too many sidebars, I'll bet. You're hiding out, aren't you."

"I am fine, Daughter."

"Well, you worried me a great deal. I wish you would check your phone more often."

"The thing is a curse."

"You always say that, but I need to be able to get in touch with you, after all."

"You are right, Daughter."

"I'm starved. Come to lunch with me."

"Very well."

Cassiopia pulled out her cell phone. She dialed Markman.

"I'm still looking for parking. How is he?"

"He's okay, just hiding out as usual. We're going to lunch at the diner on the corner."

"You guys go ahead. I'll bring up the bags, change, and catch up."

"Okay. We'll save you a seat."

After helping her father straighten his tie and slip on his dress jacket, Cassiopia grabbed him by the arm and dragged him downstairs. Outside on the sidewalk, the Professor seemed to need time to adjust to the light. He collected himself and was led by his determined daughter to a patio table at the nearby restaurant. They sat and studied their surroundings.

"Haven't you at least wondered where I've been, Father?"

"Cassiopia, you're always so busy."

"I've been studying some very interesting programming evolutions. You might be surprised."

The Professor stared into the restaurant behind her. She turned to see what he was looking at. "Father, there are some very serious matters we are going to need to discuss."

"What would you like to talk about, Daughter?"

"Now is not a good time. Let's save it for later."

Nearby, an elderly lady emerged from the restaurant, guided by her walker. As she passed, a small purse fell from her feeble grip. Cassiopia bent over, retrieved it and handed it to her. She smiled and nodded a thank-you. To Cassiopia's surprise, she shuffled her way to the driver's door of a weathered Ford sedan and balanced herself just enough to open the door. Her climb in was tentative at best, and a prolonged struggle ensued to collapse the walker and drag it in.

"So Father, what sidebars have they coaxed you into so far?"

"I have not attended any sidebars."

"You haven't? How could you possibly have avoided them? Where have you been? What have you been doing?"

Before the Professor could speak, the sound of the sedan starting up dominated the patio. The engine revved far too high and stayed too long. A moment later, a loud squeal of tires pierced the air as the car jumped forward directly at Cassiopia's table. There was no time to think. Cassiopia dove from her seat intending to escape to one side, but realized the car was headed directly at her father. Lunging wildly, she managed to grab the shoulder of his jacket and threw herself down hoping to pull him with her. The vehicle hit the curb and went airborne, striking the Professor directly in the back, crushing the table along with him. He was torn from his daughter's grasp and carried ahead, along with broken fragments of tables and chairs. Striking the restaurant's picture window, the car exploded through and kept going. People were screaming and running, others caught in the flying debris were knocked down or pushed along deeper into the restaurant. As the vehicle settled into a smoking pile of furniture and bodies, the rear wheels lifted off the ground and spun full speed with a hideous scream until the engine finally ruptured and died.

For a moment there was a deafening silence, punctuated by occasional falling debris, shattering glass, and popping and cracking sounds. A shrill scream suddenly knifed through the desolation. Other screams and cries followed. People began yelling in fearful tones, calling the names of loved ones. Someone began moving debris to escape. Cassiopia pushed herself up onto hands and knees. Her blouse was torn away from one shoulder. Dazed, she climbed up and began searching for her father, calling his name as she went. People were milling about crying, bleeding and in shock. Pieces of tables and chairs were everywhere. The entire glass front of the restaurant was gone except for jagged pieces of glass sticking out of the framework. Dazed, Cassiopia went to the deformed storefront and stepped through the fractured window. She pushed aside torn lumber and draperies from beside the wrecked auto in search of her father. Several unconscious people were sprawled out within the destruction on either side of the car. As she neared the front end, her father's face came into view, nearly covered by rubble. His eyes were wide open staring at the ceiling. The front of the car covered him up to his chest. A broken section of table lay across his neck. Cassiopia struggled to move enough trash out of the way to kneel beside him. She cleared garbage off of his chest and searched his neck for a pulse but found none. With one hand pressed against her mouth, she choked back the impulse to cry out. Tears began to flow. She pressed her hand against her chest and began to hyperventilate, then searched again for a pulse. A man in a white shirt and tie with a stethoscope around his neck suddenly appeared opposite her. He knelt down and also searched for a pulse. He leaned down and listened for breathing. Sitting up he shook his head sympathetically. "I need to go to the others," he said, and he stood and began stepping through the debris looking for other victims.

Cassiopia wept. She repositioned herself and hugged her father's body. She rubbed at his chest trying to be closer. There was wetness under the car near his stomach. She looked at her hand expecting to see blood but was surprised by a milky-white substance. Still crying, she searched the portion of his stomach beneath the car only to find more of the same fluid. She stopped crying, wiped her eye with the back of her hand, and pulled his torn shirt apart. Something beneath it startled her. It was a white tube sticking out, probably a vacuum tube from the car's engine. She opened the shirt more and found a ragged incision in his stomach. Something was not right. The tube was coming from within him. She maneuvered to see better and discovered more. The chalky-white fluid was pooled and draining from there. She moved the tubing aside and to her astonishment found wiring. Frantically she pulled everything as open as she could and found her father's stomach and chest was full of tubing, wires, and circuitry.

Cassiopia sat up straight. This was not her father. It was some sort of robotic machine. Did that mean her father was still alive somewhere? She wiped away more tears and stared down in shock. This android was very advanced technology. Only John Paul's people had the capability to produce something like this. What was going on? Why had they done this? Why had they substituted an android in place of her father without telling her? She had come to trust John Paul. Was this a violation of that trust? Scott had said it was not wrong to trust. Perhaps there was a reason for all of this. John Paul had said her father was in danger. Had he substituted this duplicate in order to shield her father, and then not told her hoping to keep the facade as realistic as possible?

Screams and shouting brought her back to reality. She placed her hand on her racing heart, looked at her father's face and had to consciously force away the thought that it was really him. She wiped her eyes once more and pushed back from the fake body. What to do now? Suddenly she remembered the implant. She glanced around to be certain no one could hear. "John Paul, help, emergency!" She knew he would hear, but he was in Culpeper. By the time he arrived, emergency services would have pulled out the car and found this strange replica of a body. John Paul would never have meant this technology to be seen. Perhaps she should try to stall authorities from moving it? Where was Scott? Were there other people she should be trying to help instead of kneeling here? She looked around and found police officers and bystanders attending to the other victims. She pulled herself back in close to the imposter body and pretended to be still caring for him. A police officer came around the car, saw her and froze. He nodded regretfully and retreated.

A familiar voice from within the noise of chaos suddenly called her name. A moment later, Markman appeared. "Oh God, no!"

Cassiopia shook her head and put one finger on her lips.

Markman froze with a confused expression. "Are you hurt badly?" he asked and knelt beside her. She pulled her right hand out from under the car and showed him the milky white substance. He stared back in bewilderment. She pulled open the Professor's shirt enough that he could see tubing and white fluid. He jerked back in repulsion and looked at her with perplexity. As he began to understand, she covered the body over.

"What is this? What is going on? How badly are you hurt?" he whispered.

"Just scratches and bruises. I think we should stall or hide this as long as we can so they won't see it."

"Why?"

"Because this thing wasn't meant to be seen. It must be something from John Paul's group. I don't understand it, either. Maybe it's a decoy to protect my father. I've called for John Paul, but it's only been ten or fifteen minutes. They'll never get here in time."

"They'll have to raise the car to get him out. That'll take a while. Problem is, they'll try to make us leave. They won't...." Markman stopped in mid-sentence. He stared at something behind Cassiopia. She turned to see. To her amazement, it was one of the men in black standing over them. Out on the sidewalk another was showing his credentials to a police officer. Outside, more ambulance and security people suddenly began showing up. The man in black standing beside them said nothing but began keeping people away. A few minutes passed, and to Cassiopia's further amazement, John Paul appeared next to the man in black. He nodded to his associate and squatted close to Cassiopia and Markman.

"How badly are you injured, Cassiopia?"

"Not bad. This is not my father. It's a robot."

"We'll take it from here. Get yourself treated and as soon as you're able, gather your things and meet me back in the lab."

"But what is this?" pleaded Cassiopia. "Where is my father?"

John Paul gave a not-now shake of his head. A second man in black appeared next to them. Markman took Cassiopia by the arm and stood her up. He looked her over carefully. Her knees were scraped and bleeding. There was a cut on the shoulder where her blouse had ripped away. Her skirt was stained and shredded. Markman became alarmed. "Come on. We need to take a closer look at you. How do you feel?"

Cassiopia suddenly felt faint. She swayed a moment and pushed into him. He caught her with one arm under her shoulder, hooked the other arm behind her knees, lifted and cradled her. Stepping carefully through the confusion, he carried her past the smashed car's open driver's door. A paramedic was treating a head wound on the old woman still in the driver's seat. Other victims were on Gurneys on the sidewalk waiting to be loaded into ambulances. The street had been sectioned off. Firemen were taking debris away. The place looked like a bomb had gone off.

A crowd of gawkers had gathered outside. They parted to allow Markman and the unconscious woman he carried to pass. On the sidewalk, clear of the bedlam, Cassiopia awoke and groggily pushed herself back to her feet. She staggered a moment, causing Markman to pull her to him, but steadied in his embrace. It was a short walk back to the hotel.

Back in the room, Markman sat her on the side of the bed and lingered a moment to be sure she wasn't about to faint again. She sat stiffly, still in partial shock, swaying slightly. In the bathroom, he found a small first aid kit and returned, kneeling in front of her.

"Alcohol wipes. Little sting here." He cleaned the wounds on her knees, elbows, and shoulder, then found antiseptic applicators and applied them. Next, there were gauze patches. He gently began taping them in place.

"Are you sure there are no other injuries? How do you feel?"

"Just a little dazed, that's all. The car didn't hit me. I got out of the way in time."

"Can you wiggle your toes and fingers okay?"

"Yep."

"Look at my finger a second, will you?" He held up one finger and moved it left and right, studying her pupils as she followed the movement. "No unusual dilation. Looks like you didn't hit your head too hard. Still, want to stop in the emergency room and let them check you out?"

"No way. We've got to get to Culpeper. I want to know what's happened to my father."

"If you're sure, we can leave right now."

"You have my permission to drive as fast as you want."

"Really?"

Cassiopia hurried to change. She grabbed a silk printed twill wrap dress and stood by the door waiting for Markman to pull on fresh jeans and a blue dress shirt. On the road, she seemed pensive. Markman kept looking over, wondering if she was really okay.

"So what do you think?" he dared ask.

"About which?"

"Your father was a robot."

"I'd like to know whose robot he was."

"You think it was put there by John Paul?"

"Maybe we've been sold a bill of goods from the very beginning."

"Maybe we're in over our heads."

"Maybe." Cassiopia looked over at him. "What do you think?"

"I'm holding off judgment. I'm having trouble believing John Paul is a liar."

"How fast are we going?"

Before Markman could answer, the Corvette spoke. "Ninety-seven miles per hour, averaging eighty-four miles per hour."

Markman looked over with a touch of guilt. He wondered if he should let off.

"Good," said Cassiopia, and she looked away.

They slowed outside of Culpeper and continued to the Taslam Industries building. Cassiopia barely waited for Markman to finish parking. She bailed out and headed briskly inside, forcing Markman to trot to catch up. Inside, the security officer looked up, nodded, and said, "Med lab."

John Paul was waiting when they arrived. The med lab door tried to hit Markman as he followed speedy Cassiopia. John Paul was in a separate sterile lab adjoining the main med lab. Cassiopia burst in but stopped abruptly. There, on a stainless steel table, was the body of the imitation Professor Cassell. It was naked except for a cloth over the waist. Incisions in the stomach and chest area were held open by clamps. Everything had been cleaned so that more artificial components were visible within. One of John Paul's technicians in a white lab jacket was standing over the body, doing something with a silver instrument.

Cassiopia went to the table and demanded, "Where is my father?"

John Paul looked up with a solemn expression. "We don't know...yet."

"But this is one of yours, isn't it?" She gestured toward the duplicate on the table.

"No, it is not," replied John Paul.

Cassiopia began to ask something else but stopped when the technician straightened up and held up something in a matchbook-sized clear cube. He handed it to John Paul.

"It's your father's implant," said John Paul. "We've encased it in sterolite to preserve everything about it. It may provide clues."

"Clues to what?" asked Cassiopia.

"Please, let us go to the commissary. I could use a cup of coffee. This discussion will be of some length, I suspect."

Together they made their way to the serving counter in the commissary, ordered drinks, and moved to a nearby table.

Cassiopia remained impatient. "Where is my father?"

"He has been abducted," replied John Paul.

"By who?" she asked off-balance.

John Paul sipped his coffee and stared down into it. "We are working the problem from several different directions. I cannot tell you just how many resources are being devoted to this. Be assured; there is nothing more important than finding and recovering your father."

"Who? Who abducted my father?"

A tired John Paul sat back and rubbed his open hands together. He looked sympathetically at Cassiopia, then Markman. "This is extremely difficult. As you both know, there are some things I have refrained from discussing with you. The two of you have not fully consigned your services to this organization."

"You mean given up our lives completely," said Cassiopia.

"Yes. That is exactly what I mean. So as I've told you repeatedly, there are matters that cannot be divulged to persons outside the organization, matters that are beyond and above Earth science." John Paul paused, then sipped his coffee. Cassiopia remained silent, waiting.

John Paul continued, "I have done everything possible not to involve you in matters of the higher dimensions so that there would be no conflicts in your Earthly lives. I have not been completely successful in that. There is the matter of knowing about your implants. There is your knowledge of our field operatives. Your current awareness of our organization and its charter is already affecting your view of life. As you can see, by working with us, there is the effect of celestial information gradually effusing into your lives. This happens quite innocently simply through the need to know, and the two of you already know far too much, far more than is prescribed."

"All I'm asking is who took my father?"

"Ah yes, and so we step much deeper into the ocean of higher awareness. And, if we go too far, your minds will no longer be able to doubt the truth. You will be forced to consider as reality things up to this point you have only imagined as intangible possibilities. For Scott, that transition will be a fairly easy one, although he will never be the Scott Markman he was since his life will have become a part of the higher world rather than a worshiper of it. For you Cassiopia, the effects could be harmful. An expansion of your consciousness that cannot be supported by a simple foundation of Earth science. Your mind will be in a state of weightlessness with nothing to hold onto. Quantum physics will no longer reassure you about reality. You will be forced to find faith and hold onto it for understanding."

Cassiopia became indignant. "John Paul, I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Of that I am certain, Cassiopia."

"Where is my father?"

"Do you understand that if I explain this, you will be delving deeper into our organization and there could be some danger from that?"

"Yes," said Cassiopia without hesitation.

John Paul sat back. "Okay, but to quote a gifted writer; remember, all I'm offering you is the truth, nothing more."

"Please, John Paul...."

"So we shall leap without looking. Very well. Where do I begin? Scott, have you read Revelations?"

"I've read every word in the Bible along with most of the books not included. I particularly liked The Book Of Enoch."

"Cassiopia, have you read Revelations?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with...."

"Please, let me continue."

"Has either of you read the Koran?"

Markman raised one hand, "Read it."

Cassiopia shook her head.

"Have either of you read the Tanakh?"

Markman raised his hand once more. "Oh yeah!"

Cassiopia said nothing.

"In these books, reference is made to a war that takes place in heaven, a war in which evil is cast out forever. In some cases, this war is interpreted as one that marks the end of the world. In other circles, it is considered a battle that ends an age of civilization or ends a period of society. Most people view the battle from the point of view of their own lives. When will it happen? How long will it really last? What will become of me? So, from that perspective what we have is a very simplistic view of a battle that, in reality, defies description. That's why it is told in symbolism and motif. It cannot be described or explained in simple human language. The truth is, the battle described in Revelations began hundreds of years ago on levels far above us. And in fact, the war has been all but won on those higher dimensions. You see, there never actually was any question about the outcome. There never was any chance of evil conquering good. If you doubt that, take a look at some of the heroic deeds that mere humans have made, sacrificing themselves around the world. One of the problems with vanity is self-delusion. Evil was deluded because of its own self-importance, and selfishness. It never really had a chance. The only reason for the battle was to gain time for those people undecided about their allegiance to good or evil. Many, balanced precariously on that line, have come to understand that the meaning of evil is hatred, suffering, and destruction, while the path of good leads to love, peace, and understanding. Waiting for those prodigal sons and daughters has been worth the price, even the terrible consequences we see all around us every day."

Cassiopia squirmed in her seat. "Please, John Paul. I don't know about any of this. I only want to know what's happened to my father."

John Paul nodded patiently. "As this heavenly battle continued, and those heavenly beings that had become committed to evil began to retreat from heaven, their only recourse was to take refuge and hide in lower dimensions. As each of those lower areas was lost, they continued their downward escapes until some had only this Earth as their last resort. They hoped to hide within groups of the selfish, greedy, vain people here on Earth, but even that was only a temporary escape. As the net tightened around them, in desperation they sought to find alternate dimensions to escape to. For a few of the leaders, that became their primary goal; finding access to alternate dimensions, or even alternate universes."

Cassiopia sat up straight. "No!"

John Paul nodded. "Yes. Your father is the foremost genius on Earth when it comes to multiverse theory. Even he does not realize that. Cassiopia, do you understand what I'm saying?"

"But who or what are these people?"

"It is enough to say they are formally heavenly beings who have taken on human form and are desperately trying to hide or escape. They have knowledge and powers above those of this Earth. They have taken your father in the hope that his genius combined with their knowledge will help them open a gateway to somewhere they can escape."

"When? When did all of this happen? How could I not know?"

"The accident with the train. Our operatives on the train reported at the time that something seemed suspicious, but the diversion was too well played. They knew what we could detect and carefully worked around it. They needed about an hour to copy your father's recent engrams to their imitation professor. They couldn't do that at your home. You were too well guarded. They staged the train accident, moved their equipment onto the train, captured your father, and did the transfer right there. They removed your father's implant and installed it in the android. Because the transplant location never altered from where the Professor was expected to be, it did not raise any suspicion."

"Well, is he alright then?"

"Yes. He is only valuable to them alive and well."

"How will you find him?"

"It won't take long. You must remember, before this ever happened we were already after these...individuals. They were on the run. Operatives from higher levels than ours were on their trail and closing in."

"Operatives from higher levels than yours?"

"Let us not go there, Cassiopia."

Markman interrupted. "So John Paul, none of this has anything to do with the sensesuit work?"

"I would not go that far, Scott. There may very well be a connection somehow. We need to continue the sensesuit work vigorously, if possible. However, because of your knowledge and familiarity with the Professor, we may need to break from the sensesuit study at some point and use the two of you to help recover the Professor."

"I want to go and find my father right now. Nothing else matters," exclaimed Cassiopia.

John Paul tried to sound sympathetic. "Cassiopia, where will you begin your search for fallen angels, and what will you do if you find them?"

Cassiopia sat speechlessly. She turned to Markman for support. Markman did not answer, but secretly he knew what he would do when he found them.

Chapter 8

Professor Cassel sat in a stiff Victorian chair in his hotel room taking revelry in the lighting of his favorite briarwood pipe. This was not a smoking room, but that no longer mattered. The deception had failed. It had worked well enough for the first two days, but the illusions had become too obvious soon after.

This was the very chair he had awakened in after the train. A doctor and nurse had been standing over him, seemingly consumed with concern about his condition. They said Cassiopia had not been able to rouse him when the train pulled into the station. They said he had remained semiconscious during the ride to the hotel. His daughter had called for a doctor on the way. Fortunately, the situation was much less serious than had been first thought. A simple blood imbalance. Cassiopia was away picking up the necessary prescriptions. They expected her to return at any time.

On his next awakening, he found himself fully clothed on the bed, an array of prescription bottles on the night stand. Cassiopia called soon after to let him know she had been pulled away to a sidebar discussion. He should get a good night's rest, and she would meet him for his speech in the morning. A sedative had been prescribed. He went right to sleep.

The speech the following morning offered the first indication something was not right. The auditorium was packed. Cassiopia did not meet him as usual for the walk to the stage door. He spotted her at the very back of the hall. He stumbled through his presentation with even less tact than usual, yet the applause seemed far too gracious. There was something out of place. A feeling of deception persisted.

He had returned to his hotel room plagued by growing suspicion. The prescription regiment was immediately shunned. Looking out his room's picture window at the busy retail section of Knoxville below only added to the feeling that something was not right. A knock at the door had interrupted that discontent. It was the first of the three of them, Dr. Palermo, a noted physicist. Would the Professor please join his group in the lobby for a discussion of multi-dimensional physics? Dr. Palermo promised they would make it worth his while.

A meeting room near the main auditorium had been secured. There were already lengthy equations on six large whiteboards. The implications on those whiteboards were so provocative; he had not been able to resist. The other two so-called physicists were already in the room, waiting. Before any introductions could be made, Dr. Ballard, a wrinkly old man with snow white hair, wearing a baggy brown suit a size too large, stood by the center whiteboard and pointed to an unfinished fragment of equation. He begged Professor Cassell's approval, but the equation's justification was in error. A heated debated began immediately. Eventually, there was an introduction to Dr. Moriana, a man with a chiseled face wearing light blue medical scrubs, standing proudly by the last of the whiteboards as though he owned it.

The next two days had been all-consuming debates. Professor Cassell could not resist the cutting edge implied by the work of his three colleagues, though his suspicions remained close by. Food and beverages were delivered to the meeting room continuously. More whiteboards were brought in. Each minute of the day represented a line or component of equation leading to new territory. There were no set hours. The work went on without consideration of time. No one ever wanted to stop.

It was only in the few brief trips made back to his hotel room that Professor Cassell's mind focused back to reality enough to begin dissecting the subtle problems around him. Cassiopia had called several times, but never visited in person. That in itself could be justified except that so many other things could not. The hotel hallway held the first solid indication that things were not as they seemed. The Professor's room was at the end of it. The hallway accessed ten other suites. At the far end of the hall was a small window overlooking the square. A single elevator occupied the opposite end.

It was the stairwell that finally forced him to believe. There was no stairwell. The only access to this fifth-floor hallway was the elevator. That was just not possible. No building code anywhere in the world would allow the absence of a stairwell escape in case of emergency. Add to that, the fact that there had never been another soul in the hallway. No other doors were ever heard to open or close. On his second day, he had inadvertently pressed the second-floor button in the elevator, then the first. The elevator had descended directly to the first floor, ignoring the lighted second-floor button. The next day he had deliberately pressed all the floor buttons with the same result.

Professor Cassell sat in his stiff Victorian chair smoking his Briarwood and considering options. His three colleagues had been working the trans-dimensional theories as though their lives depended on it. A new big hole in the master equation had closed the debate for the evening. Everyone needed to catch up on sleep. The assault would begin again in four hours, or whenever everyone could get there. They were close to solving the common equation that would join all the others, making the opening of a portal to other universes theoretically possible. They were so close the Professor had begun to fear the implications of it all. That, in turn, had made him question his surroundings still further, which eventually led to his realization that things were not what they seemed.

The Professor glanced at his cell phone on the nightstand. It was a useless commodity. It was just as counterfeit as everything else. He picked up the TV remote and switched it on. I Love Lucy. He turned the volume up too loud. He stood and took a heavy, empty glass flower vase from a nearby table and went to his picture window. The bright neon of the city was everywhere. Cars were still crowding the main drive directly below.

Wielding the heavy vase like a hammer, the Professor swung with as much force as he could muster and smashed the window. The glass bowed and fractured. A few pointed shards fell to the floor. In the glass-less section of window there remained only blackness. Some of the glass still intact continued to display the city. The Professor poked at his fractured window. Where there was no glass, there was a black plastic backing, the backing used by any good three-dimensional LCD display. It was a very solid backing.

The Professor moved over to a section of empty wall. He tapped on it. It felt like standard, thin drywall. He took his keys from his pocket and began a drilling, twisting motion into the drywall. A hole appeared quite quickly. He did the same in areas around the first hole until a circle of small holes allowed him to punch out a fist-sized section. He leaned forward and peered into the newly formed hole. There was a shadowy light beyond. It was an outer room. There was no insulation and no secondary wall. The wall was a façade.

Cassell took the vase in both hands and began hammering the small end around his new opening. Pieces of drywall broke off and fell away. The opening became the size of a suitcase. He put down the vase and began a slow precession of kicks near the bottom. Drywall broke away in chunks until there was enough space for a man to squeeze through. The Professor stuck his head through and looked around the secret, outer room.

It was big. It was the size of a warehouse. He worked one leg through the opening and stepped down and out of his illusionary hotel room and into a huge, dark and dingy chamber. Cables ran to and from the imitation dwelling he had just escaped. The backs of the video monitors that had been used as windows could be seen. The walls of the outer chamber were unfinished steel and cement. There was a dampness about the place and an unpleasant musty smell to back it up.

Pulling his other leg through the hole, the Professor scanned the area then began walking along the backside of his false hotel room wall. He turned the corner to look in the direction of the fake hallway. As he went, the backs of phony hotel room doors came into view. These were the doors never used by other patrons, the doors that had never been heard to open or close.

More cables covered the floors. The real ceiling was thirty feet high with large suspended lighting, and fire suppression plumbing. Ahead was the end of the false hall where the elevator joined. To his surprise, he came to the elevator compartment and stood in awe. The elevator was a metal room mounted on pistons. It had never gone up or down at all. The fake elevator connected to a much more sophisticated chamber, much larger than the hotel room and hallway façade. It was the size of a small gymnasium. There were sensors implanted every few inches in the walls. He had to step up onto a raised floor to look more closely. There was an odd looking, chest-high door in the wall next to the elevator simulator. He undid the latch and pulled it open, then bent over and stepped inside to look.

The place was packed with flashlight-size electronic emitters built into the walls and ceiling, protected by clear Plexiglas. The floor was made of clear panes like picture windows. Beneath them was a similar arrangement of packed electronic sensors and emitters. He turned and looked back at the fake elevator doors. Those doors had always opened to the hotel lobby. He was standing in what had once been the hotel lobby. This was some kind of huge simulator, but it was beyond any technology known to Earth. This room had been packed with people on occasions. He had bumped against some of them. He looked at the area to the right of the elevator. The hallway to the hotel's meeting rooms had been there. Now this was all one big open chamber. This had to be a giant hologram generator, but how could holograms have such substance and realism? He had even given his speech to a crowded theater within this chamber and believed it was all real.

The Professor pushed his way back out and into the shadowy, colorless warehouse. He climbed down from the raised floor and began looking for a way out. Mechanical and electronic equipment was stacked everywhere. Six-foot high stacks of cables sat wound up on wooden pallets. An odd-looking yellow forklift was parked in a far corner. At last, he spied an alcove. He looked carefully around and headed for it. Equipment had to be stepped over or circumvented. It was a surprisingly long walk. Light from the alcove drove him on.

At the opening, the Professor found a wide, gray corridor with rails embedded in the floor. It was as disorganized as the warehouse had been, with equipment and furniture stacked against the walls. The corridor went on forever in both directions. Hanging from the low, concrete ceilings, lighted caged bulbs burned brightly, one after another as far as the eye could see. Heavy iron shelves lined the walls, supporting pipes and cabling. There was nothing to indicate which direction was best. The Professor chose the corridor to his right and began walking.

It seemed like there was no end. Occasionally, ventilation registers in the ceiling marked his passage, but aside from that it was just one endless passageway. The Professor tired and paused, his back against the cement wall as he caught his breath. He listened. There was not a sound. The air continued to smell musty. He rubbed the cold from his sleeves.

Two more sessions of walking brought no end. Finally, he came upon a cutout in one wall that bore an upward, wrought-iron ladder. Given the choice of continued walking, or chancing the climb, the Professor considered the ladder. It was impossible to tell how high the vertical shaft went. Lights above blinded that vision. There did appear to be a platform ten or twenty feet up. That alone made it worth the risk.

The Professor tried to push aside his doubts. He was not in any shape for climbing. He had just hiked quite a stretch. There was no steel guard to fall back against. He tested the first rung of the ladder, pulled himself up on the first step and then stepped back down. Maybe.

There was no other choice. He gripped a rung in the ladder and pulled himself up. He hesitated in self-doubt but grabbed the next rung and stepped up. Very slowly, one rung at a time, he continued. His deck shoes were not enough. The steel rod hurt the bottom of his feet. He pressed on. At the tenth rung, he stopped to look down and catch his breath. To him, it seemed like a long fall. He looked up; halfway to the platform. What if there was nothing there? His arms threatened to fail him. He worried he might have a spasm and fall. Fear became a motivator. He began again. One step at a time.

As he approached the platform, cool fresh air pushed by. He hastened his pace and with care, finally stepped off the ladder onto it. He bent over to catch his breath, his hands on his knees. There was an oval-shaped door ajar. Light from the level beyond it shone through. He pushed the heavy metal hatchway open further and bent over to squeeze by.

Another corridor, but very different. This time there were supplies neatly lined up on shelves along it. They bordered the corridor until it turned a corner in the distance, so there the Professor went.

At the corner, the tunnel finally ended. It opened to a large meeting room, complete with a huge projection screen and dozens of red cushioned seats. Double swinging doors at the other end opened to another corridor, but this time the hallway was elaborately finished with subdued lighting and brown carpet, and this time there was a promising stairwell at the end of it. The dampness was gone. The air smelled fresh. It was still cool bordering on cold. The tired Professor picked up his pace. Along the way, other doors opened to executive offices. None looked as if they had ever been used.

At the base of the stairwell, the Professor suddenly realized he had more inspiration than energy. He leaned against the steel hand rail and lowered himself down to sit on the first step. He put his hand on his heart. It was pounding. He leaned against the railing and breathed deeply. Perhaps Cassiopia's constant bickering about not getting enough exercise was correct. After a few minutes, he pulled himself back up and attacked the stairs, one step at a time, the handrail anchoring him to each new pause in the climb.

The top of the stairwell brought yet another long hallway. The floors were tiled here, the walls covered with imitation wood grain. Double doors lined the walls at various points along the way. The first set was open to a generator room. Six car-sized generators sat amid piping and cables on overhead racks. The second open door was a storeroom, the next a huge chamber with a low ceiling lined with bunk beds as tightly as they would fit. There were accommodations for hundreds of people here. Other rooms housed a cafeteria, a medical laboratory, and a radio station. There was no mystery about what this place was. It was a survival bunker for a lot of people.

The end of the long hall brought another, shorter set of stairs. The Professor wearily climbed them and was immediately confronted by a hung gray blast door. It had a wheel control for the locking mechanism and a spoked hub for the main latch. The Professor used his body weight to turn the wheel and with each laborious rotation watched the cylinders in the door withdraw from their locks. When they were open just enough, he gave his last energy to the spoke wheel and heard the big door clank open. With his back against the flattest end section, he walked the heavy, balanced door open. Something on the other side made a thump and skidding sound as the door swung.

After a brief moment to catch his breath, he dared a look. A brightly lit room with green triangular designs on the wall and green furniture was filled by a crowd of well-dressed people holding drinks. They had stopped to stare at the opening of the hidden door. A divider hiding it had been pushed out of the way. The Professor stepped out into the surprised stares of the guests. He straightened his wrinkled suit jacket and headed for the nearest door, uncertain if these people were associated with his captors. They continued to silently stare as he passed by.

A short, elegant hallway opened to a huge, noisy lobby bustling with people. A registration counter ran from one end to the other. Half a dozen clerks were behind it, waiting on arrivals and departures. A wide, lighted sign overhead read, 'Welcome To The Greenbrier.'

The realization stunned Professor Cassell. He stood in a daze as his mind filled in the blanks. This was not Knoxville. This was West Virginia. How could he be this far from his destination without having realized it? And, the massive bunker he had just climbed out of was the famous Greenbrier bunker built back in the 1950's and exposed to the world in 1992.

Professor Cassell walked briskly toward the front desk. He would request a house phone and call his daughter first. She would take care of the rest. As he wove his way through the flow of visitors and bellhops, a shadowy figure hurriedly emerged on his left and grabbed his arm. It was Dr. Moriana. Before Professor Cassell could speak, someone to his right grabbed his other arm. It was Ballard.

"Out for a stroll are we, Professor?"

The Professor attempted to pull free.

"Now, now, there's good reason for you not to make a scene. Just come along quietly," said Dr. Ballard

"Gentleman, I am not going anywhere with either of you. I am quite through with you."

"Professor, let me get right to the point. We have associates watching your daughter. If you do not do as we say, small parts of her will be sent here until you comply. Do I make myself clear?"

A bolt of fear shot through the Professor.

"We have a car waiting outside. Come along now." With one man under each arm, they coaxed the Professor toward the front door. He looked back at the desk clerks, too busy to notice. An armed guard stood near the big front doors. The man might as well have been a mile away. The three men moved outside where a black limousine waited. Dr. Moriana opened a rear door as Ballard shoved the Professor down and in. With everyone in, the limo quickly pulled out.

"You left your room in quite a disarray. I'm afraid new accommodations will need to be made. They will not be nearly as comfortable," said Moriana.

"Did you have a chance to inspect the holochamber, Professor? Quite a feat of engineering isn't it?" asked Ballard. "We were borrowing it from a certain organization here on Earth that you are unaware of. We did not have their permission but, we will not be needing it further."

"Who are you people?" asked the Professor indignantly.

"The word people is such a broad term, Professor. Your question is poorly phrased."

Professor Cassell watched as the limousine approached a quaint little covered bridge. Beyond it, the huge car pulled off the road onto a trail.

"You are enemies of the government, using me to develop a weapon," said the Professor.

"Wrong and wrong, Professor. Your government does not know we exist, and there is no weapon that would be of any use to us."

"Then what is this all about?"

"You are about to get the shaft, as they say, Professor. Ah, here it is."

What looked like a ten-foot-tall cement ventilation riser appeared along the trail. The limo jerked to a stop.

"These matters are too complex for even you to understand. If you focus your attention on solving the last of our equations, we will turn you loose unharmed, and you will never see us again. That is your best option. Any others will be painful in a number of ways," said Moriana.

The driver exited and opened Professor Cassell's door. Outside, a curved metal door in the ventilation shaft had opened. The Professor was forcefully led to it and pushed in. It sealed behind him. The circular floor began a gradual slide downward. The Professor looked up in time to see the light overhead fade and disappear. He wondered if and when he would ever see it again.

Chapter 9

Markman milled around the sensesuit lab sipping coffee from a white Styrofoam cup. He went to an open disposal container nearby, dropped his empty cup into it and watched it dematerialize before it hit the bottom. It was the third time he had done so just to see it happen. He looked around the room expecting someone to scold him for wasting coffee cups but was ignored completely. Cassiopia sat at the sensesuit computer control station across the room, keeping herself busy while waiting impatiently for John Paul to return from his office. As Markman secretly admired the beauty of Cassiopia, John Paul appeared through the electronic curtain and went to her. Markman hurried over to hear.

"Cassiopia, let's move over to the meeting table," he said.

Cassiopia looked up and rose without speaking. The three went to the round table and took their usual seats.

John Paul began. "The net is tightening. Your father's location is still unknown, but it is expected that a specific location or least a general area will be derived sometime tomorrow. When that happens, we will be contacted and will participate in the plan to contain that area. The primary basis of any plan will be the safety of your father. These kinds of extractions can sometimes be extremely complex. It is likely one or both of you might be directly involved since your presence will allow us a wider latitude in the rules that apply."

Cassiopia interrupted. "There's nothing we can do now? We have to just sit and wait?"

John Paul placed a hand on the table near Cassiopia. "I'm sure you will agree, there are times when waiting is by far the safest, best option. Let me suggest; we are on the verge of accessing the Crillian library records. The threat from the Salantians remains just as real and just as dangerous as it was before the unfortunate abduction of your father. I put it to you; we should hold our emotions at bay for the time being, and proceed with our research inside the sensesuit computer. That would be the most beneficial use of the time we have. Can you focus, Cassiopia?"

Cassiopia's expression went through a storyboard of changes, from irritation to dismay, to anger, and finally frustration. She looked over at Markman. He nodded in agreement. She sat back and stared for a thoughtful moment at John Paul. "I have your word that the instant you learn anything, you will tell me immediately?"

"You have my word," said John Paul.

Cassiopia relaxed. She suddenly realized she trusted the man though she had only known him a short time. "Yes. I can focus."

"How about your injuries, your knees and shoulder?"

"I have had worse. What about the others in that accident, John Paul? Was anyone killed?"

"I am relieved to say no one was killed by a driver too elderly to be driving. There were some serious injuries, but none debilitating and no one incapacitated. If the woman's car had been going in any other direction, there likely would have been deaths. Ironically, the only individual who could not be killed took the brunt of it."

"And you're sure this was not some kind of set up like the train?" asked Markman.

"A sheer coincidence, which despite the trauma to the victims, was actually a lucky break for us. I can't say when we would have detected Professor Cassell's duplicate had that terrible event not happened."

The three sat silently sharing a moment of understanding.

"How about you, Scott? Enough clarity to put that suit back on and revisit Aurora?" asked John Paul.

"No problem," replied Markman. He sat back and locked his hands behind his head. "After all, I'm an Overlord!"

John Paul did not laugh. Instead, he gave Markman a questioning stare, wondering if there was enough discipline in the man to do the job. He decided frivolity was Markman's cover for apprehension and put his concern aside. "We need to again briefly review your previous experience with the Salantians. The information they gave to Cassiopia during her captivity in those caves provides the foundation we need for our library records search."

"John Paul, is there no way into those library records from outside? Is it necessary to enter the computer's domain to get to them?" asked Cassiopia.

"It is necessary, Cassiopia. Like any complex program, several criteria are required to gain access to the file path. In this case, Scott's DNA signature is a part of that criteria, and that signature must be a current, up to the minute input. An individual's bio-signature evolves from minute to minute. It is like a massive, ever-changing code. This system is that sophisticated."

Markman nodded, pretending to understand. Cassiopia rested her chin in her hand and sat in thought.

"The Salantian society resembles one very much like a colony of ants, only on a much more evolved level."

"I'm not so sure that's true," offered Markman. "I can think of a lot more beneficial characteristics in ants than I can in those creatures."

"Point taken," replied John Paul. "In any case, the Salantian invaders, after stealing vortport technology from some more advanced race, began invading and colonizing other worlds. When you get inside the sensesuit computer, your records search should begin with the attack of Salantian soldiers on Crillia. Next, you should concentrate on anything available on the Salantian race itself. Those are the things we need to begin looking into. Do either of you have any thoughts to add?"

"From what I've seen of Crillia so far, it would have been a terrible thing if the Crillian race was completely destroyed by the Salantians. There is a lot to admire about them. Their cities are beautiful. They do not seem warlike at all," said Markman.

"It is a chilling thought," added Cassiopia. "The complete annihilation of a beautiful culture."

John Paul added, "And that brings us to something of a mystery, my friends. What we know of Crillia and the Aurora City from the few glimpses we've had of it, suggest that it is a healthy, thriving civilization. Yet Cassiopia was previously told by her Salantian captors that the Crillians had been all but wiped out. Our research on the sensesuit computer suggests that its programs remain synchronized with the actual places they portray, although how they do that is beyond anything we've ever seen. Because of that synchronicity, we would expect Crillia to look like a planet devastated from a Salantian invasion, but it is not. That is a contradiction we do not understand."

Cassiopia said, "It could simply be that the sensesuit computer does not contain records of the Crillian invasion, so it's showing us Crillia as it was before the invasion."

"True, but I sincerely hope that is not the case," replied John Paul. "We know the Salantians were operating and using the sensesuit computer, but if no Crillian invasion records exist, we may have a very long search ahead of us to find any useful information about them."

Markman asked, "John Paul, something that's always bugged me. Are we absolutely sure that the Crillia we're visiting is really a simulation and not some kind of real place?"

"Is that what your instincts are trying to tell you, Scott? You're the only one that's been in there. Are you sensing real life from the people you meet?"

"I can't tell that they are not real."

"What you are suggesting is that entry into the sensesuit computer could be a passage through a singularity-type of doorway to another world. But, your friend Trill has described himself as a duplicate of an actual person. He considers himself a subroutine, not a biological creature."

"Yes. So my next question would be, can a computer program of a person become so complicated that it actually becomes alive? Those people inside that thing fear for their lives when threatened. And, Trill described his life as taking place inside an egg that can never be shut down."

John Paul tapped one finger against his lips and stared at Markman thoughtfully. "Your questions deserve thought, Scott. I do not know the answer. Perhaps we will know before we are done."

Markman sat back and shook his head in agreement. "So I think I'll begin my search at the Terra Nova Castle in the Overlook Room. I'll transfer directly there. There's something mysterious about that place. I'd like to see more of it. There may be secrets there."

John Paul straightened up and stretched. "It's been a very long and difficult day. Let's all get some rest and regroup here in the morning. Cassiopia, as I've said, if there are any new developments I'll wake the two of you immediately. Does either of you need anything?"

After tired goodbyes, Cassiopia and Markman made their way to their new ride and headed back to their hotel. The mood was a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

"We'll get him back. You know that don't you?" said Markman sympathetically.

"I would doubt that except that you're around. I've seen you at work too many times. You have a strange way of sniffing out trouble and getting into it, or trouble just decides to seek you out for one reason or another. I can't explain it. It's weird. I just hope we all get out this in one piece."

"Gee, that sounded like a compliment, I think," quipped Markman.

"Well, I love you, after all."

"Wow! Did you just say that?"

"I give up. The drag down the mountain finished off my resistance."

Markman glanced over affectionately. "Me too."

Cassiopia paused and looked out the side window at the lights of Culpeper. "Have you stopped to think how much our lives have changed in the past few days?"

"Yeah, it's like that old black and white movie, 'Ship Of Fools'. It's like we're walking a line between two worlds."

"Doesn't it scare you?"

"We've been so damn busy. I haven't had time to think about it."

"There's something that's scaring me."

"What's that?"

"It's complicated."

"The suit is too dangerous?"

"No. Not that, even though it is."

"Well, what then?"

Cassiopia spoke reluctantly. "The questions I keep asking John Paul. I'm like compelled to ask them whether I want to or not."

"Which questions?"

"You know."

"I'm not a mind reader. I don't know what you mean."

"About the Celestials."

"You mean the questions you keep asking him about the higher planes of life?"

"It's more than that."

"Well, what do you mean?"

"It's what he keeps referring to without actually saying it."

"Please, you're twisting my brain into a pretzel."

"What he keeps inferring without actually saying it."

"God? Are you talking about God?"

"Well, that's what all his references keep pointing to. That's like the common denominator. He never mentions that name, but you find yourself filling it in the blanks for him without it having been said."

"But why does that scare you?"

"Because, I've always relied on science, just like he says, and often with an amount of skepticism to anything outside it. You can't build a thesis for God using science. There is no science available. You can't support such an argument with equations. There are no equations."

"So?"

"So? So John Paul proves just about everything he says, one way or another. He proves it because he's living it. So when you add all this up, it comes out that God is a real thing that actually exists."

"So? Haven't you admitted in the past that you believe in God?"

"Yes. I have."

"What's the problem?"

"The problem is I've never had to face the fact that God might be real. It was easy to say yes there's something out there we don't understand, something so much greater than us that it is beyond understanding. It's easy to say that and then put it aside. But when suddenly you're faced with the prospect that God might actual be a real and present part of the fabric of your life, it's frightening."

Markman sat back and smiled. "Ah, the disclosure syndrome."

Cassiopia looked irritated. "What?"

"It's something from an old B-grade science fiction novel I once read. It tells how when people learned there was other intelligent life in the solar system many of them went koo-koo and did crazy things because they couldn't handle it. One character in the story talks about that and says something like, even though not one thing had actually changed, only that we knew."

"I don't get it."

"The power of belief. It is one thing to say you believe something. It is a whole different ball game when you suddenly really do. It's the point when believing turns into knowing. With believing you can still change your mind. With knowing, there's no going back."

"My God, Scott. Every now and then you turn into Socrates. I'm not sure which scares me the most, God or you."

"So what about it? Isn't there still a tiny bit of doubt there, so that you don't have to completely admit God exists? Aren't you still safe from that frightening prospect of knowing?"

"I don't know. My brain seems to be preoccupied now with defining God."

"Oh... Well... That'll take a while."

Morning in the sensesuit lab felt like preparations for a rocket launch. Everyone understood the objective; search records from another world. There were many sidebar discussions by staff in white lab coats. Others were dashing about setting up special monitoring stations. There was no way to anticipate what might be discovered. It was necessary to be ready for anything. Markman almost felt ignored as he stood in the suit test area awaiting the signal for helmet-on. Cassiopia looked on from her console beside John Paul. The big monitor screens built into the walls were flickering whiteout, set to display a computer representation from Markman's eyes. With a nod from John Paul, Markman was finally allowed to pull the helmet on. Clicking and hissing gave way to absolute darkness and then rising suns. As the pyramid room lit up around him, Trill stood ready by a crystal control column.

"Praise the Gods of Terra. It is a joy to see you, sir."

"Good morning, Trill. Why do you always refer to the Gods of Terra?"

"Sir, they mark the beginning of our Crillian heritage."

"I will be transporting to the Overlook Chamber in the Terra Nova Castle. Is there any reason I shouldn't do that?"

"Sir, none that I am aware of. Your staff will be waiting when you arrive."

"On a different subject Trill, tell me, you know this is all part of a computer program, correct?"

"Sir, yes. Centuries ago this system was set up so that disputes with neighboring cultures of a higher order could be settled in a chosen form of competition. Provisions were also made for those petitioning for citizenship to circumvent the long immigration process by using the overlord clause for warrior status application."

"So you're saying this program that gives me access to the Dragon Masters game and the Aurora City has been operating for many years then?"

"Centuries, sir."

"Trill, this doesn't seem like a computer program to me."

"I assure you, Sir, this entire Centrex pyramid complex was designed and set up for receiving and transmitting visitors in this fashion."

"Have you always been here to receive these visitors?"

"Sir, I assumed this post from Sujar when he retired."

"Do you have parents, Trill?"

"Sir, of course."

"And you grew up here just like anyone else?"

"Sir, yes. Just like everyone else. What an odd question."

"So you were trained to be here as an emissary for visitors?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you consider yourself a real person?"

"Yes, sir. What else would I be?"

"Thank-you, Trill." Markman went to the transporter column and entered. He turned to face Trill and nodded. "Terra Nova Castle, Overlook Chamber."

The familiar flash of blinding light carried Markman to his destination. He found himself standing in the Overlook Chamber transporter column, looking out at a room brightly lit by the three open doors of the overlook balcony. He slipped out of the tube and went to the balcony to reflect a moment on the beauty of the courtyard below. The rising suns were casting shadows on the colorful gardens and their decor. A horse drawn carriage was clickity-clacking across the grounds. Two soldiers in bright red, heavily embellished uniforms marched slowly back and forth in front of the main gate. Gardening was taking place at various points around the yard. It was a peaceful and beautiful setting. The air was cool. He turned to find a fire in the huge fireplace. He could feel gentle waves of warmth from it and smell a faint touch of cedar. A knock at the chamber door broke the spell.

"Come in."

One of the double doors pushed open. A chambermaid in a black serge dress with a wide, white apron and white collar maneuvered a cart through the door. She had wavy jet black hair past the shoulders, a tiny nose, and dark bedroom eyes. She was intoxicatingly attractive. She pushed her cart up to the lounge control seat, set down a tablecloth on the small table near it, and poured tea from a heavily engraved silver tea set. A tray of strange-looking finger food was placed next to that. The chambermaid turned, bowed, and pushed her cart back out the door without ever speaking. DuMont entered the doorway as she left.

"Sir, may I be of service?"

"Thank you, DuMont. No, I'll be studying some library records. If I have a problem, I'll call you."

"Very good, sir. I'll be standing by." He nodded and pulled the single door closed behind him.

Markman shook off the entrancement of the place and took his seat. He couldn't help but lift the cup of tea to his face. It was almost too hot. It tasted sweet, like Earl Gray with honey. He tapped at the controls for the video display on the wall, and to his dismay, it came up showing the same Crillian Convention talk show that he had seen on his last visit. Crillian delegates sitting around the discussion table were debating, just as before. A woman in a red dress with her hair in too high a tower wrap spoke with mild indignation. "This outsider certainly does not engender a sense of openness to the Crillian people. Don't you agree, Representative Mandell?"

The individual she was addressing was a short man with a crew cut and flowing black beard. "Perhaps we are to know him by his actions and not his appearance, Gerenda. There have been no negative effects to the Crillia that we know of, and no declarations of change to our immigration policy. Could that not be considered a positive reflection on this new Overlord?"

"Yes, but all we've seen of this new citizen is that short derived video when he briefly visited the Thought Exchange. Is that enough for you? It is not enough for me."

"By the way," said the man sitting next to her. He was bald with no eyebrows or lashes and had white corneas. "That video has since been uploaded to the Global Gossip Network. It has had six billion hits in only one day."

"That makes my point beautifully," replied Gerenda. "Crillians want to know who this person is and where he came from. It's only natural."

"We all would like to know what his plans are, I'm sure," offered a fourth woman wearing a gaudy crown of jewels on her violet and silver hair bun. "How can we feel comfortable about his intentions here?"

"There is already word that the petition for dissolution of the overlord clause in the constitution has been accepted for debate in the public forum," added Gerenda.

"An impulsive overreaction if ever there was one," said Mandell. "Perhaps a lynching will follow."

"Representative Mandell, you know very well that absurd ancient mandate was never expected to be implemented. There has even been talk of redesigning the Dome of the Dragon Masters so the area can be used for a new government facility," argued Gerenda.

"Gerenda, I would not suggest destroying a part of Crillian heritage quite so lightly were I you. The dome is one of the oldest, most revered structures on Crillia."

"We are not sure even why it was originally constructed, only that it supports an obscure, nonsensical legend, one that now threatens our sovereignty. How many others will now follow in this man's footsteps and begin a new colonization of Crillia?"

Markman had enough. He shook his head, shifted in his seat and tapped the controls until a master menu finally appeared on the screen. One of the choices was 'search.' He hit the same button and managed to get a search form, but could not figure how to fill it out. There were no lettered keys anywhere on his console. Annoyed, and without looking, he reached for his tea on the cart in front of him. Clumsily, he bumped the cup and sent liquid flying into the air, and the cup over the side. As it slipped over the edge, he instinctively made a lunge for it with his open hand, but his reach was six inches short. To his surprise, the tea cup and the liquid froze in midair. Keeping his hand in the same outstretched position, he looked around. The fire in the fireplace was still burning. Curtains by the overlook balcony were still drifting with the wind. He looked back at his suspended tea cup and focused on it. Slowly, the liquid hanging in the air filtered back into the cup. As he continued to hold out his open hand and focus on the cup, it gently drifted back into his grasp. He closed his hand around it and sat back. Inside the cup, the tea was still hot and smelled fresh.

A noise from behind distracted him. He turned and looked to find DuMont standing in the doorway, his mouth agape. DuMont lowered his head and spoke with dismay. "Sir, please forgive me for witnessing the power of an Overload."

Markman came out of the moment. "DuMont, it's perfectly okay. Please come in. I need your help with something."

"Sir, as you wish. I merely came to inform you all spacecraft are now operational and ready on the Skyway Terrace if you should require transportation."

"DuMont, I want to search library records. Does it look like I have the right screen?"

"Yes, my lord. From the search prompt you can access anything."

"But how do I enter what I want to search for. There are no keys."

"Sir, we can install manual keys, if you would prefer them."

"But how do I do it now?"

"Sir, you need only speak what you wish to search for. The system will recognize your voice and proceed accordingly."

"But I don't know what words to use. Which words does it not understand?"

"Sir, it is the library. There are no words it does not understand. You merely look at the display and command it."

Markman looked back at the display on the wall and said, "Crillian history."

Immediately the screen became a slow scrolling list of subjects related to Crillian history.

"Thanks, DuMont. I think I can manage from here."

"Sir, again my apologies for my intrusion. If you need anything further, please summon me."

"DuMont, if I would like to go out into the city without attracting so much attention, could you bring me a jacket with a hood that would conceal who I am?"

"Sir, you would not want to wear such a garment. It would be too lacking in style. A full-length cloak would serve that purpose nicely, and would be ignored by all."

"Can you provide me with that?"

"Certainly, sir. Normally I would caution our people not to wear such a covering since highwaymen or other undesirables might consider you easy prey. In your case, the mistake would be theirs, not yours."

"Great. When you are able, please have one sent up, will you?"

"Right away, sir. I will take my leave of you."

Markman began the search and quickly found it more difficult than hoped. Back when he had been involved with their first intrusion of Earth, the Salantians had told of a victorious incursion into Crillian society. They had said the culture did not coexist well. They doubted any Crillians were left. Such a devastating occupation should have been headline news in the Crillian historic records, but after two hours of searching, Markman had not found a single use of the name Salantian, or of any foreign species causing havoc on Crillia. It was baffling.

DuMont arrived a short time later wearing a long brown cloak that reminded Markman of Obi-Wan Kenobi attire. He started to laugh but cut it short when DuMont's expression turned to one of concern.

"Is it not acceptable, my lord?"

"No, no DuMont. It's perfect. It just reminded me of an old story."

As Markman finished speaking, the ground suddenly began to vibrate beneath his feet. The vibration quickly became shaking. A rumbling sound echoed through the castle.

"Do not fear, sir. It is Terra passing too close to Crillia. It happens every third moon on a four-moon period. It only happens just shy of three cycles and is said not to be serious. The trembling will return periodically this day and the next, but the Crillian Ministry of Geology has decreed that no tremors will ever exceed the architectural standards set by the ruling council."

"Oh. You're talking about a blue moon."

"Sir, blue moon? I am not familiar with the phrase."

"It's one of the names given to the third moon of a four-moon cycle."

"I could have it entered into the Crillian dictionary, sir."

"No, DuMont. That's not necessary. Tell me, does the Aurora library have any printed records, rather than just video records?"

"Oh yes, my lord. There are underground floors kept in the library which contain bound documents of almost all that are in the transmittable."

"So if I visit there, I could search those records too, right?"

"Yes. You have access to everything there, sir."

"I think I'll do that. The cloak will let me come and go without being recognized, right?"

"Sir, yes. You may need to show your triangle to the library custodian for access to some documents, however. I'm certain they will be discrete."

"Thank you, DuMont. I'll take a tube rider to the library. I'd like to see some more of Aurora on the way."

"Let me help you with your cloak, sir."

Markman pulled on his floor-length cloak and drew the hood up over his head. He closed the front with the cloth tie provided and went to the tube rider station in the far corner. Before he could speak, an empty clear tube rider coasted in and popped open its door. Markman climbed in, sat, and commanded, "Aurora Library."

The tube rider accelerated out of the castle, moving quickly out over the connecting Terra Nova bridge. Markman leaned back in his seat, taking in the sites of a noonday Aurora. Two orange suns hanging directly overhead. As the rider approached the city, busy commerce came into view. People on walkways above and below the tube rider line were gathered or going within the bright colors of the futuristic city.

At the disembarkment point, a small crowd was assembled. The cloak seemed to work well. No one paid any attention to the stranger stealthing by. Markman looked both ways and awkwardly followed the lighted rectangles in the sidewalk and street to the other side. Many of the strangely designed buildings still seemed mysterious and undefined. Most had symbol signs, but no lettering to explain. The library turned out to be a huge expose' in tinted glass. Written announcements scrolled across thin air above the entrance. It seemed to be constructed entirely of one-inch thick glass with heavy support columns just as transparent as the walls. The transparency varied with the changing light level outside. Ten rows of long, glass steps provided access.

Inside, the place was busy. Display terminals covered long, white illuminated tables where people sat doing research. The place was dead silent. In both corners, near the front of the building, attendant holograms were fading in and out, addressing inquiries from visitors. Hood still carefully pulled down, Markman made his way to one of them. When he was close enough to the lighted purple circle in the floor, a hologram appeared and smiled at him.

"Printed material?" thought Markman.

The hologram nodded. "Elevator C," and pointed to the back of the library.

Markman spotted the area and headed for it. Halfway there, vibration began to build beneath his feet. Patrons around him looked up with expressions of concern. Apparently, not everyone was convinced about the accuracy of the Crillian Architectural Society. The vibration quickly turned into shaking and rumbling. Markman had to pause and put one hand on a table. These tremors were worse than the last, much worse. They lasted a minute or two and finally subsided. Everyone returned to their studies. Markman resumed his quest for elevator C.

Elevator C was just as transparent as the rest of the building. Though Markman knew he existed within the safety of the sensesuit test area, looking down through the glass floor of the elevator at a multistory drop into darkness still gave him the creeps. He forgot himself and said out loud, "printed documents." The elevator responded by impressing the words, "specify category," into his brain. Markman responded with, "Historical records." The elevator dropped quickly downward.

The ride down was deeper than expected, possibly ten floors tracked by figures on an overhead display that Markman did not understand. It looked like the elevator could have gone much deeper if required. The doors slid open to a vast expanse of shelves and cabinets. Most aisles were blocked by carts and other equipment and seemed to go on forever. At points around the room, there were video terminals on research tables with the word 'FINDER' displayed on their screens. Markman went to one, pulled back his hood and began his hunt.

The exhaustive search still brought no references to 'Salantian.' Many alien cultures were listed, but none by that name. 'Invasions' was no help either. 'Vortport' was listed in several spots, but was not related to the device the Salantians had used. After another two hours wandering around the endless chamber randomly picking out printed material, Markman gave up and sat at a reading table drumming his fingers in frustration. This place could not be allowed to be a dead end. There had to be something. The feeling that something was being missed plagued Markman.

There was a glass ornament on the table, a translucent winged horse about the size of a drinking glass. As his mind began to wander, Markman remembered the tea cup caught in midair back in the Overlook Chamber. He held out his open hand on the table and focused on the horse. To his delight, the horse began to slide across the table toward him. It picked up speed as it went and stopped in his grasp. He sat back and held the horse in his open hand. Focusing on it, he tried to will it upward. The horse slowly levitated and hovered above his hand. Apparently, the Coffer of Dreams had given him the power of sensesuit telekinesis. Forgetting his mission objective, he placed the horse back on the table and sat back with both hands outstretched, then concentrated on the table itself. Slowly the table rose. Celebrating his new found power, Markman raised it all the way to the ceiling and held it there. It was a spectacle to behold. What power to possess. But, someone could be watching. Markman quickly lowered the table back down and looked around worriedly. What was he worried about? Nobody ever came to this place. No one had seen his magic trick. But, it was something not to be done carelessly. If anyone ever saw, word would spread like wildfire. His identity would be blown. He would probably have to escape using the gold triangle, possibly another indiscretion. Use of the power would need to be done more discretely. He looked around the deserted hall. This records search was a bust, at least for now. It was time to return to the real world and seek help from Cassiopia and John Paul. They needed some other search criteria. At least there was time for a last look outside at the city. He took the elevator back up, almost forgot to raise his hood, and went outside to the street.

Outside, the ground began a foreboding shaking once more. Crillia's two suns were in the afternoon sky. The white orb of Terra was rising in the east, still barely above the cityscape. It loomed there as if threatening tremors on the people of Crillia.

Markman searched and found a nearby alley. Concealed within it, he checked carefully for anyone in visual range. There was no one. He tapped the gold triangle on his chest and in a flash found himself back in the Centrex Pyramid. Trill was waiting.

"Disengagement please, Trill."

"Was your quest well-fulfilled, sir?"

"Not really."

"Sir, will you be returning soon?"

"Yes."

"We will be honored, my lord."

"Please disengage."

A second white light brought Markman back to suit darkness quickly followed by clicking and hissing. He lifted off his helmet and shared a tired stare with Cassiopia, John Paul, and the others. Everyone knew the endeavor had been for naught. More trips to Aurora would be needed.

Chapter 10

Cassiopia could not sleep. She lay in bed staring at the ceiling with Markman's arm sprawled over her stomach. In contrast, he was deep in slumber, even on the verge of snoring. She stared at the shadows from the nightlight on the wall and tried to find a niche in her father's disappearance. There was no starting point. No place to build a reasoning that would point to where he was. She turned under the limp arm and tried again on her side. Then the other side. Then back again. The shadows from the nightlight began to give way to glow from the rising sun. If she had slept at all, it had only been in five or ten-minute intervals. The clock on the nightstand read 5:00 A.M. That was good enough. She shook Markman into semi-consciousness as gently as possible. It was time to go to work. With a groggy Markman in tow, punctuated by a few awkward moments, Cassiopia drove Core to the lab.

She expected to wait there for John Paul's arrival. To her surprise, he was already at work in the sensesuit lab.

"Has there been anything at all?"

John Paul seemed to be having trouble shaking off sleep. He rubbed his face. "I haven't made it to breakfast yet. Let's regroup in the commissary."

They found their way to the serving counter then took seats at the nearest table. Though Markman's body was present, his mind was not yet engaged.

"I am in constant touch with them, Cassiopia. They are still closing. I do not think it will be long."

"How can you be in constant contact? I've never even seen you on a cell phone."

John Paul smiled, sipped his tea, and smacked his lips. "My implant is much more sophisticated than yours, Cassiopia."

Cassiopia looked at him with her analytical machine running full. "You receive communication through an implant?"

John Paul nodded and sipped.

"But how...?" Cassiopia started to ask but caught herself. Perhaps acquiring even more knowledge of John Paul's organization was not necessarily a good thing.

"You should coax Scott into drinking his coffee. We need him to join us at some point." John Paul laughed under his breath.

Markman stared blankly ahead and made no acknowledgment.

Cassiopia pushed back, went to the serving counter and returned with a plate of eggs and toast. She slid it under Markman's nose and the glaze in his eyes suddenly receded. He stared down at the plate, picked up a fork, and dove into the food.

"Have you come up with any additional search keywords, Cassiopia?"

"I'm sorry. I could not concentrate."

"We have a long list for Scott to try today if the two of you agree."

"But what haven't we already tried? There just seems to be no history at all of Salantians or of vortport technology."

"Yes. It is worrisome. It supports your suggestion that the Salantian invasion of Crillia was never recorded within the sensesuit computer. We know a terrible invasion did take place. It was extremely harmful to the Crillian race. This cannot be a different people because we are using a sensesuit computer that came from their domain. This is a very perplexing case."

"I have a new search item," said Markman, and he looked up from his eggs.

"Ah, glad you could finally join us, Scott. Very good. What is it you have?"

"Tunnels."

Cassiopia did not understand. "Tunnels?"

"Yeah, tunnels. The Salantians worship tunnels. It's their favorite place. We haven't searched the Crillian database for tunnels."

John Paul looked impressed. "I will add it to the list, Scott. Well done."

Markman rubbed his eyes, sat up and took a deep breath. He looked around and squinted them the rest of the way open. "John Paul, did you follow along on all of the talking in there yesterday?"

"Of course, and we get printouts of the telepathy."

"The Crillian people do not seem to consider themselves to be computer programs. I mean I know that's what they seemed to say previously, but something just doesn't jive."

"Yes. It's a curious duality."

"Something doesn't seem right to me about this."

"Scott, it is likely that if you struck at one of those people with enough force, we believe your hand would go through the image. Do not try that, of course. You might be injured."

"But couldn't that also happen with a creature from another dimension?"

"I'm afraid I must admit that it could."

"So am I correct in thinking that we can't be absolutely sure these people aren't real?"

"Scott, such a deep subject for so early in the morning."

Cassiopia folded her arms on the table and looked at Markman. "Scott, you are really stuck on this aren't you?"

"It's just that when I'm in there, I feel like I'm the only one who isn't real; the one who doesn't belong."

"I will consider your dilemma," said John Paul. "In the meantime, we've got to solve the mystery of the Salantian invasion. The danger to us increases by the day. I assume the two of you are here early so that we can get a head start on today's research."

Cassiopia and John Paul looked at Markman. He stopped chewing his English muffin, raised his eyebrows, and hurried another sip of coffee.

Thirty minutes later, Markman stood suited in the sensesuit test area. With a nod from Cassiopia, he pulled the helmet down over his head. A click, hiss, and flash of light later he found himself back within the confines of the Centrex Pyramid of Aurora City, Trill standing loyally by, awaiting his commands.

"An honor to see you always, my lord," said Trill.

"Trill, how is it you are always here when I arrive?"

"Sir, I am notified in advance of your entry into the system. I transport here ahead of you. It is my required duty, one I enjoy performing."

Before Markman could reply, the ground began to shake and a low rumble echoed within the pyramid. The tremor lasted longer than the others and had an edge to it.

"The Terran quakes are nearly over, sir. Unfortunately, as they near their end, they become quite a bit stronger. We remain assured that no harm will come from them."

"Trill, I will be visiting the library again. I'll use the transporter to save time. Where will I come out?"

"Sir, you will emerge from a transport tube adjacent to the tube rider loading zone that you previously used."

"I need my cloak. Would you get it for me?"

"Sir, you are wearing it. You were in it when you disengaged last time."

Markman looked down and realized he was wearing the floor-length cloak. He shrugged in embarrassment, then found himself wondering why. With a final nod to Trill, he went to the transporter tube and stepped inside. Trill motioned a ready sign.

"Aurora Library." The familiar flash of blinding light came and went. Markman found himself standing in an opaque transporter tube, a concealment required to maintain proper public protocol. The door to the tube slid open. Markman raised his hood and stepped outside.

The second Crillian sun had just cleared the horizon. People were passing by on moving sidewalks. Others were strolling along the city walk talking without speaking. An occasional passenger-vehicle floated by. Markman started in the direction of the library when the ground-shaking suddenly began again. This one did not take time to build. It was strong immediately. Markman had to bend at the knees to stay up. He worked his way alongside the tube rider station barrier and leaned against it for support. At first, people everywhere just stopped and waited, expecting the tremor to subside. It did not. As it worsened, they began to show fear.

Markman held on. Farther down the street someone yelled fearfully. Small objects began falling from above and breaking up on the street. The quake filled the air with a low growling sound, accentuating its intimidation. People scrambled to find support. A few fell to their hands and knees. More small debris rained down. A woman grasping a wall for dear life near Markman began to cry. The quake did not let up. It worsened.

Markman strained to see overhead, fearing something large would crash down on him. Crowds began streaming out of the buildings into the street, yelling and screaming. The loud, low-frequency rumble from the quake seemed to sharpen suddenly. Far above, a giant statue of the same winged horse Markman had played with in the library was teetering on the narrow steeple that supported it. The street below was packed with panicking people.

Before Markman had time to fear it would fall, it did. The giant winged horse rocked back and forth too far and pitched over toward the street below. For a second or two it appeared to fly as a winged horse would, nosing down head first, wings spread, turning about a point. Markman yanked back his hood and took two stumbling steps toward the street. Pointing upward he screamed, "Run!"

Instead of fleeing, most of the crowd stopped and looked up. Markman opened his mouth to scream again, but there was no time. Instinct took over. He threw open his cloak and jerked an open hand toward the falling statue. In response, it snapped around and began falling in a tighter spiral. He raised both hands and thrust them at the horse. Tensed and concentrating with all his might, he could feel the object finally begin to slow. It descended toward the stunned crowd but abruptly jerked to a stop in mid-air, turning in place, tipping and drifting. Markman strained to focus. A wind gust blasted around him. More tremors shook the ground. A few people in the crowd came to their senses and began running away screaming. It shook others out of the paralysis so that they too ran in every direction, some falling in the rush. Surging away from the sinister shadow of the huge, hovering sculpture, people charged like an angry mob down both sides of the street. When a large enough clearing had formed, Markman gently lowered the giant down. It settled in the street, and crashed over onto one side, the head and face staring menacingly at the retreating masses. Almost in consolation, the tremors stopped. People continued to flow from the buildings, leaving the street still filled with panic and turmoil. Strangely shaped, bright orange emergency vehicles suddenly began to race into the scene. Rescue personnel in orange uniforms merged into the crowds. Markman hastily closed up his cloak and pulled on the hood. People standing nearby were staring at him. With a quick look around, he hurried back to the transport tube and closed himself in.

"Terra Nova Castle, Overlook Chamber." One bright light later, Markman emerged with a sigh of relief into the Overlook room.

The place was deserted and quiet. No fire burned in the fireplace. Markman went to the overlook balcony. People were busy in the courtyard, running to and fro, picking up displaced items, and standing up others that had fallen. There did not seem to be any major damage. Markman removed his cloak and sat in his lounge control seat. He called up the view screen and went directly to the library records. There, he shook off the tension of the past few minutes and began his search of the new list of hopefuls.

To Markman's surprise, DuMont did not come; no doubt caught up in problems from the tremors. It allowed Markman to search in peace, though once again two hours of sub-searches brought only dead ends. Another hour of intuitively related subjects also yielded nothing. Markman looked around, wishing for a glass of simulated water. Finally, he tapped at the button for DuMont and returned to his searching. There was just one last item. Tunnels. The term brought a long list of related subjects. Power, irrigation, consumables, service ways, elevators, disposal systems, and many others. He was rifling through them when DuMont came bursting through the door.

"My Lord, my deepest apologies for not attending this chamber sooner. We experienced the largest Terra tremor ever recorded earlier. There has been no serious damage, but the cleanup is extensive. Otherwise staff would have been here."

"It's okay, DuMont. I understand. When someone is available, would you have some water sent up?"

"Right away, my lord. Do you require anything else?"

"DuMont, let me ask you, what is the oldest building in Aurora?"

"Why, the library, my lord. It has been preserved and expanded since the beginning."

"The beginning of what?"

"Of the settlement of Aurora, sir."

"Is Aurora the oldest city on Crillia?"

"It is the oldest settlement on Crillia, sir."

"So the library is the oldest building in the oldest city on Crillia?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Thank you, DuMont."

"Sir, again my deepest apologies for our delinquency. It will not happen again."

"DuMont, you're doing a great job. It's okay."

"You are too kind, sir. Water, right away."

Markman began searching for records about the library. The search results were just as long as the tunnel list. A disparaging thought crept in. What if all of the Crillian sensesuit computer records really were from before the invasion of the Salantians? That was what Cassiopia had suggested. It would make perfect sense. The invasion begins. Chaos breaks out. No additional records are downloaded into the sensesuit computer system, so no records of the Salantians or their invasion. Why hadn't John Paul or Cassiopia considered that more seriously? It was a disheartening idea. That would mean there would probably be no help at all from the sensesuit computer system. Markman searched his memory. There was something way back. It seemed like on his original trip inside the sensesuit computer Trill had made a reference to the Salantians being the current operator of the system. But, perhaps that was the only reference to them in the system. That was not a part of Crillian history, so it would not necessarily be included in the data record files, records possibly too old to include the Salantian invasion. It was a perplexing idea.

Markman continued his exploration of the library building's history. A moment later, he was interrupted by the attractive woman in the black chambermaid outfit pushing her cart through the double doors. She poured a glass of water, bowed, and left. Markman took a simulated drink. It was cold and wet. He called up 'architectural' in the search list and began to find documents describing the evolution of the library's construction. Immediately something caught his eye. The oldest architectural drawing of the building showed very little construction detail. It was as though the drawing had been made after the fact. The layout showed twelve floors of basement, quite an elaborate engineering feat, yet the drawings barely outlined any detail of the building's superstructure.

Something at the very bottom of the basement profile caught his eye. Below the bottom floor, a hand-drawn etching seemed to depict a ladder descending to a rough-hewn chamber. In that small space, were two black circles with red Xs. Markman tapped his call button for DuMont. DuMont arrived quickly.

"Yes, sir? Was the water adequate?"

"Fine, DuMont. You see this drawing? Do you know what these circled X's at the bottom stand for?"

"I do not, sir. I can consult an architectural group for you. It would only take a few minutes."

DuMont hurried away. Markman continued studying the library's layout. A few minutes passed, and DuMont returned.

"They say it is a symbol typically used to show no passage, sir."

"But DuMont, this drawing shows a dead-end chamber. Why would no-passage symbols be shown in a dead end chamber?"

"Perhaps to clarify that no further access exists, sir."

"Somehow I doubt that, DuMont. I'd like to go down there."

"Oh sir, it looks like such a repulsive place. Must you?"

"Why do you say that, DuMont?"

"Sir, it is a dark tunnel deep underground. Those are terrible places. We avoid them at all cost."

"You fear tunnels?"

"Sir, not service ways or the like, but caves and tunnels are nightmarish places. I urge you not to go."

DuMont's aversion to tunnels sparked Markman's interest. "DuMont, does everyone on Crillia feel the same way?"

"Of course, my lord. No one will go near the underworld. It's only natural. Machines are made to do that work."

"If I wanted to go, is there anyone at all I could take along for backup?"

DuMont hesitated. "There is one person I know of who might volunteer, but he is somewhat... unorthodox."

"Who?"

"Jax, our chief pilot. He has been known to do things lacking in good judgment. But I warn you, Sir; he can be somewhat irreverent."

"Is he here?"

"He may be down on the Skyway Terrace, if not he is always on call and can be summoned."

"Would you please call him, DuMont, and can you ask around and see if you can find out the last time this underground chamber was visited?"

"As you wish, sir." DuMont began to leave but paused and turned back with a worried look. He started to speak but waved it off and disappeared out the door.

Markman searched the prints for any other views of the underground chamber. There were none. Later drawings did not show it at all. As he gave up the search, the doors opened and DuMont entered looking dismayed. A tall man with short sandy hair and piercing hazel eyes entered behind him. He wore a modern kind of tan jumpsuit, wrinkled with a few grease smears on it, zippers in the chest and legs. He wore brown work boots that did not lace but joined somehow up the center.

"Sir, may I introduce you to Chief Pilot, Jax Romo. He's been with us several years and has been exemplary in missions of flight required by this office."

Markman stood and gave a nod. "DuMont, did you learn anything about other visits to the chamber?"

"I shall see if there have been any responses to my inquiries and return momentarily, my lord."

"Thank you, DuMont."

DuMont hesitated with a threatening stare at Jax and then disappeared out the door. Markman smiled and pointed to a nearby chair. "Come in, have a seat."

"Think I'd prefer to stand if you don't mind...Sir."

"Suit yourself."

"So you are him...Sir." Jax strolled along the wall picking up keepsakes as he went, staring at them and replacing them with quick disinterest.

"You see the print on the screen there? The lowest point with the small chamber with the X's?"

Jax stopped and stared at the screen.

"That's where I want to go. Are you willing to join me?"

Jax continued to look at the layout. "If you go first."

"What do you think we need besides lights?"

"Depends on what you want to do when you get there, doesn't it...Sir?"

"Jax, when no one else is around why don't we drop the sir crap. I'd tell you to drop it all together, but it might upset the others."

Jax looked at Markman with a surprised appraisal. "You took on the skeleton swordsman and lived to talk about it?"

"That was a part of the contest from a long time ago. I had help. How do you know about that?"

"Used to fly for a wealthy aristocrat. He'd won other contests. He thought he could be the first to beat that game. Came back from it one time telling me the skeleton with the sword was his next challenge. He was an expert swordsman. He was sure he could beat it. He never made it back." Jax picked up a statuette off the fireplace mantle and replaced it with the same indifference. "Looked into that contest myself. Made sense not to try it."

"What else you think we need to bring down there?"

"My guess is that's dirt and rock down at that point. Maybe a pick, hammer, shovel? What you think you're gonna find?"

"Answers."

"And what if there's nothing down there?"

"That would be one of the answers."

"Maybe there's no chamber at all."

"The drawing shows a ladder."

"A ladder to nowhere."

"Can you get me that stuff?"

"We can have one of the municipal teams meet us there. They'd have everything."

"Would you take care of that for me, and meet me in front of the library? Try not to attract too much attention."

Before Jax could respond, DuMont pulled open the doors and entered. "Sir, I am told it is not known if anyone has ever entered that chamber. There are no records pertaining to it. No one seems to want to discuss it."

"DuMont, someone built it and installed a ladder to it and included it on this drawing."

"Sir, one of our older architects has suggested that the chamber may have been part of a proposed expansion of the library that was never begun."

"Well, we'll find out then. Thank you, DuMont."

"You are still going then, sir?"

"Yes, DuMont."

"Sir, you are taking Jax along with you?"

Markman looked at Jax. He smiled, headed for the door, and stopped next to DuMont. "See you at the library...Sir." He disappeared around the corner.

DuMont tried to make the best of it. "We will be at your service if you need us, sir." DuMont slowly backed out of the room and shut the door.

Markman went to the control seat to shut off his video, hit the wrong button, and to his dismay the Crillian Convention talk show appeared once again.

"Well, he's really done it now," said the woman with her hair in too high a bun.

"Yes, you would think the most powerful Terran quake since recording began would be the biggest news of the day. Who would imagine the mystery man could top that," added the man beside her.

"The Crillian architectural society has assured us that damage from the quake was a result of construction error and not from excessive tremor levels," said a male voice off-screen.

"Guhe, aren't we all jumping to conclusions about this person again. Exactly what do we know?"

"Belina, the man levitated a giant Terran winged horse statue and held it in mid-air!"

"We don't know that, Guhe. He may have had some electronic device on his person like a tractor beam emitter or something."

"Let's take another look. Can we show that video again?" asked Belina.

Markman stared in amazement as video of the melee near the library came up on the screen. The giant winged horse was suspended above a panicking exodus of people. Markman's image stood in the backdrop of the scene, his hood back, his cloak open, both hands raised against the horse statue like a wizard in a Hobbit movie. As the crowd cleared, his arms and hands lowered in concert with the statue until it rested safely in the street. Markman, looking apprehensive, closed his cloak and backed away into the crowd, disappearing toward the transport station.

"How much more do you want?" insisted Guhe as the camera came back to the panelists.

"We still don't know everything," countered Belina.

"Belina, last time he materialized a coin on a counter top. How much evidence do you need that this man has super powers? Don't you agree, Geranda?"

"Well, at least he did it to save those people. They would have been killed, Terra forbid!"

"That does suggest he is a caring individual, does it not?" added Belina.

"He seemed to be," said Gerenda.

"And now the whole planet knows he disguises himself in a full cloak," said Belina.

"What have we gotten ourselves into? That's what I want to know. What have we gotten ourselves into?" Guhe buried his face in his hands.

"You are a nuero-nerd, Guhe. A complete, nuero-nerd," argued Belina.

Markman hurriedly fumbled around and managed to shut the viewer off. He leaned against the seat, shook his head, and sighed. The library tunnel waited. He went to the transporter tube, entered, and ordered, "Aurora Library." The familiar flash of light passed and once again he found himself in an opaque transport column. The door slid open. He peered out cautiously. Outside, the chaos around the library and street had cleared. The big winged horse had been taken away. All other debris had been cleaned up. Some building lights were still out. Unfortunately, a large group of people had come to survey the damage. Markman wondered if he could make the library without being spotted but then noticed at least four or five other people wearing the same cloak with the hood pulled up. That was a break.

He emerged casually, trying his best to look insignificant. He made it past a small group staring up where the winged horse had been. The rectangular squares in the sidewalk were not working. He crossed over and headed for the library. Jax was already waiting farther down the street. A group of men with tools had arrived and were speaking to him. As Markman approached, Jax noticed and pointed to some equipment sitting nearby.

"They brought the stuff, but they won't go down there," he said aloud. The other men backed off to one side, whispering among themselves. Jax picked up the pack on the sidewalk and slung it over his shoulder. "Got what we need though. You ready?"

"Let's go."

The library was nearly deserted. Two men were inspecting one wall for damage. It suddenly occurred to Markman the elevators might be out, but as he approached them, the lights were all working.

"Could be damage down there. Might get stuck," said Jax.

"I promise to get you out if that happens."

"And you could, I bet."

Markman tapped at what he thought was the correct elevator button and the elevator doors slid open. He stepped in, turned, and looked at Jax, hesitating just outside the door.

"You don't have to come."

Jax stiffened and gave a huff of indignation. He entered and pushed the bottom button on the elevator controls. The doors shut and the car started downward. Jax hiked the pack higher on his shoulder. Markman stood with his hands clasped in front of him.

At level 11, the elevator suddenly came to a halt as though level 12 was not allowed. Both men looked at the panel. The 12 button was still illuminated. After a questioning stare at Markman, Jax pressed it once more. The elevator resumed its downward travel.

At 12, the doors opened to a dingy hallway that looked unvisited for ages. Brown dust covered the floor, and pieces of unrecognizable equipment sat along the walls. The only light came from the elevator, leaving the musty, dirty corridor to disappear into darkness. The place was spooky. It felt like there were hidden voices within the deathly silence. Jax dropped the pack and opened it. He drew out a strap-on headlamp, handed it to Markman, then pulled one out for himself. He fished around in the pack and came out with two big beam flashlights and handed one of those over. He closed the pack, pulled it back over his shoulder, and straightened up.

"Maybe we won't find any passage," he said.

"It's got to be right near the elevator. That's what the drawing showed."

Jax stepped into the corridor, the beam from his headlamp darting around. "We don't have far to go then. There's a closet or something right here, and that's it. No other doors that I can see. I'm leaving footprints in the dirt on the floor. This place must have been abandoned a hundred years ago."

Markman stepped up beside him. "Longer than that." He twisted the ancient handle on the dirt-covered closet door. The door resisted opening at first and then creaked loudly as it finally pulled outward.

There were janitor's tools and other equipment stacked within the small closet. Everything was covered in dirt and dust. The tools looked old and decrepit. At first, it seemed a dead end. Markman moved something on a shelf and caused a cloud of dust that made him back up a step, cough, and wave his hand. Behind the shelf, there was the outline of a rusty oval-shaped metal door. He put down his light, grabbed one side and with a loud screeching clatter dragged the shelf around and out of the way.

The heavy, oval door looked like it belonged on a submarine. Big steel hinges; a round wheel to turn back big steel bolts. Jax beat him to it. He twisted the wheel with all his might but had to add his body weight to it. Slowly the wheel creaked and turned. The door bolts receded from their locks. Together, Markman and Jax found hand holds and challenged the iron door. It groaned and squealed and finally gave. When there was enough space, Jax stuck his head in. He backed out and looked at Markman.

"It's not a ladder. It's a rock-dirt ramp. It's dark down there."

"I'll go first."

"Okay."

"You do have a sense of humor, don't you."

"It gets a lot better after a few drinks."

"If we find what I'm looking for, I'll buy." Markman repositioned himself and stepped sideways through the hatch. He switched on his big beam light and scanned the place.

Jax called out behind him. "I'll hold you to that."

It was a twelve-foot drop alongside a crumbling, ancient ramp that looked as though it had been heavily used though not for a very long time. The floor below was dirt or stone. Markman began a careful walk down. Dirt-rock walls to the left. Dirt-rock overhead. As he neared the bottom, a flat cement wall greeted him a dozen or so feet ahead. It went from floor to ceiling. It was as wide as it was high.

Markman turned his light to the left and found something interesting. A dirty red brick wall, six feet wide, eight feet high. It was shaped irregularly as if fit into a natural cave opening, installed there to close it off.

Jax came up beside him. "This what you're looking for?"

"Maybe."

"You mean to see what's on the other side, don't you."

"Yep."

"Somebody went to a lot of trouble to block that off."

"What have we got to make a hole?"

"Pick and a hammer."

Jax put down his pack, opened it, and found the folded pick ax. He assembled it and took a position in front of the brick barrier. With a last look to Markman, he swung hard into the wall.

It was only a single layer thick. The pickaxe went through with the first swing. A dozen bricks caved in. On just the second swing, a space large enough to look through gave way. Jax stepped aside. Markman stuck his head through. He leaned back out, looked at Jax and said, "Keep going."

A few more hits and the hole was big enough. Markman lifted one foot through, found solid footing amid the fallen bricks on the other side, and stooped to enter the chamber. He looked back for Jax. "You coming?"

"You want me to?"

"Not if you're afraid."

Jax made a grunt of displeasure, shook his head and climbed through the hole. "You got a sense of humor, too."

Markman moved his big beam around the chamber. It was the beginning of a tunnel system. Like everywhere else, the place looked like it hadn't been visited in centuries. He moved farther in, taking slow, cautious steps, scanning the light everywhere. At first, there was nothing but cave. No hint that any living being had ever been there. The chamber began to narrow. Markman pushed ahead. At the narrowest point, the tunnel suddenly opened up to a large chamber with stalactites. Markman's foot snagged on something. He pointed the light down. It was a rusty, deteriorated cable of some sort, covered by brown earth. Shining the light ahead, there was the silhouette of ancient, dirt-covered equipment. A waste-high console sat against one wall nearby. Markman carefully scanned the irregular walls. As he turned to his left, the light fell on something on the wall that made him gasp. There embedded in the rock was a round steel ring as large as a small house. And, captured within its circumference, the solid rock was locked in a graceful swirl, like a whirlpool frozen in time. It was a vortport. The same kind of vortport used by the Salantians to enter Earth. Salantians had used this tunnel.

Chapter 11

Markman sat next to Cassiopia smiling a victorious smile. John Paul pulled out a chair to join them. Markman could not restrain his jubilation. "So, they were there. We've found a point of entry."

John Paul nodded. "Yes, Scott. It is finally a breakthrough although it presents more questions than t does answers. But, I must ask you to forgive me. Something has happened. I need to switch subjects. Cassiopia, you must forgive me, also. I did not think it wise to mention this while Scott was still in the suit, but your father has been found and rescued."

Cassiopia stood. "He's been rescued? Where is he? Is he alright?"

"He is under the protection of our group. There are a few details. Please, you should sit."

Cassiopia sank slowly back in her seat with one hand against her mouth and a distrusting look. "Tell me."

"He was being held prisoner at the Greenbrier resort in West Virginia in one of our hidden underground bunkers there. It is a facility normally kept on standby. You may have heard of the Greenbrier facility. It is much more expansive than anyone knows. Yesterday, your father emerged briefly into the sunlight and was immediately picked up by our surveillance. Last night and this morning a rescue plan was put into effect and was successful. We have moved him to room 212 at the Greenbrier. He is under constant surveillance by our people posing as hotel employees. He is resting comfortably awaiting your arrival."

Markman spoke one word. "Who did it?"

"Three individuals we have been pursuing for a very long time. It is as we suspected. They needed your father to complete work on some inter-dimensional physics. We were able to apprehend one of the three. The others were not present and are still at large."

Cassiopia stood again. "Let's go."

John Paul spoke patiently. "Cassiopia, you should sit. There's more."

Cassiopia sat back down, giving John Paul a fearful sideward glance.

"We have a limousine and driver upstairs waiting for the two of you. It will be available for as long as you need it. Obviously, we would not bring your father here. He has not been indoctrinated, but there is something else that would preclude that anyway. Cassiopia, your father made an escape attempt from his abductors at some point and was recaptured. That brief escape was what gave us the break we needed. The attempt required quite a bit of physical exertion. Add to that the stress of the situation he was under and obviously it all took a toll on him. He needs to be taken directly to Virginia Commonwealth University Medical Center in Richmond. Bypass surgery is needed immediately. We have arranged for all of that. It will be more than one procedure. He is not in any danger right now, but that surgery cannot be put off any longer. I suspect he knew about this all along and kept it from you."

Cassiopia choked back fear.

"As I've said, he's in no danger, but now is the time, not later. You may need to help convince him."

Cassiopia looked at John Paul with annoyance. "John Paul, you could cure him right here without surgery, couldn't you?"

"Yes."

"But you won't."

"No."

"Why?"

"Cassiopia, your father is still a member of society. He has not joined us, yet. It would be very awkward to have a mysterious cure added to his medical records, but that's not the real reason we cannot treat him."

"Then what?"

"You would have us do this. Next, let us imagine your friend Brenda in Florida suddenly needs life-saving treatment that only we can provide. You'd have us do that as well, would you not?"

"Of course."

"Then another close friend, Ann Rogers becomes injured in the line of duty. She will not make it unless we intervene. You'd want us to help her, correct?"

"Yes."

"But we can't help everyone out there, can we?"

"No. There are too many."

"So at that point, you become the person who decides who will live and who will die. You decide who gets the special treatment and who does not."

"But...."

"You must consider this. You would also be deciding how long certain people live. You would be in control of their life span. These decisions are relegated to others much higher than you or me. We are not fit to decide such things."

"But if he joined the organization, you'd be able to help him?"

"Yes, with approval from higher authorities. That would come after he was no longer a member of society. His life will have taken a new path. There is one thing I can tell you that will help, however. Your father's procedures will be successful without incident, and he will make a full recovery and be in better health than he was before. I can promise you that. You might consider scolding him for keeping his condition from you, though."

Cassiopia considered John Paul's words. She decided to trust him once again. "You can be sure there will be a scolding. Can we go?"

John Paul raised his hand. "One more thing. Please give me both of your cell phones."

With inquisitive stares, Cassiopia and Markman slid their phones across the table. John Paul reached into his pocket and drew out two new phones. He slid them back.

"These are special. Instructions are contained within. Please read through them as soon as you get time. The limo ride might be a good time perhaps. These phones have special attributes. You will never be cut off. You will always have service. They cannot be damaged. Once you have spoken to someone on your phone, the phone stores the other person's voice and you can use it to make calls. There are too many features to name. Please, each of you, turn yours on now."

Cassiopia and Markman looked down at their newest toys and switched them on.

John Paul said, "Scott let me have yours back. I'll show you something else. In fact, I love this part." John Paul took Markman's new phone, went to a nearby planter and dropped it in the foliage. "Let's leave that for now and go up and check on your ride."

Markman mumbled, "Great, now I don't have a phone at all!"

The ride in the elevator became quiet. Cassiopia fidgeted impatiently. John Paul eyed Markman. "Scott, Cassiopia will need to remain with her father. If you find a point where you feel you can break away, we need to continue the Salantian work. Now that you've found at least some evidence, the mystery has only deepened. At least, we have a real starting point. I still have a bad feeling about this situation."

Markman looked over at Cassiopia. "I'll stand by you as long as you need me."

Cassiopia nodded. "John Paul is right. For some reason, I am worried about the invasion, also."

Outside, a large black limo waited. John Paul opened a back door. "This vehicle will provide you with anything you need. You will want to spend the night at the Greenbrier and transfer your father in the morning after he has had time to rest. We'll be here working on the data collected so far, and will await your return, Scott."

"I'll be back as soon as possible."

"Oh Scott, may I borrow your cell phone for a minute?"

Markman laughed. "You've been working too hard, John Paul. You dumped it in the planter downstairs."

"Did I really?"

Markman slapped at the pocket of his jeans. There was a rectangular lump. He reached in and drew out the same phone John Paul had left downstairs. "How...?"

John Paul laughed longer than usual. "You cannot lose your phones. When you first turned them on, they isolated you and bonded with you. No matter where they are, they will locate you and return. It's my favorite joke. Sorry. Couldn't help myself."

Markman stared down in disbelief at the phone in his hand as he climbed in next to Cassiopia. John Paul continued to laugh and shut the door.

The reunion between Cassiopia and her father was so emotional it embarrassed Markman. He stood in one corner of the hotel room with his hands in his pockets trying to pretend he was not paying attention. When Cassiopia finally began wiping away the tears, and her father released her from his arms, the pair turned to acknowledge him. He simply nodded and smiled.

An adjoining room had been reserved, although Cassiopia fell asleep in a chair in her father's room worrying about his upcoming surgery. Markman lay in bed alone for hours trying to piece together the strange story of Salantians on Crillia. The rusted over vortport he had found was glaring proof of the catastrophic invasion. Why had no other evidence been found? The mystery needled him. More exploration was needed.

The Professor's limo ride to Richmond arrived late in the afternoon the following day. To everyone's surprise, a surgical team was there, prep'd and ready. The Professor began his final objections and was pushed away in a wheelchair midway through them.

As John Paul had promised, the procedure went flawlessly. There would be a second operation in two days. Cassiopia pampered her father relentlessly, leaving Markman to wander around Richmond still lost in thought. The telltale Salantian vortport locked away in a forgotten tunnel deep beneath the oldest building in Aurora was a mind-twister he could not put aside. On the morning of the second day, impatient to get back to Culpeper, he found himself sitting in a small diner a block from the hospital. The local classified's flyer was no match for the riddle plaguing him. He slowly turned his coffee cup in a circle, watching concentric rings in the coffee radiate outward forming designs and images in his mind. A waitress interrupted with a refill. She smiled invitingly, then stepped away to the next table.

The old-fashioned glass sugar dispenser in his booth was empty. He turned to ask the server for another, but she was already gone. No one was sitting at the small round table next to him. That sugar dispenser was full. No harm in borrowing it. As he leaned out from the booth and reached for the dispenser, something on the Thrifty Nickel caught his eye. A small column near the bottom of the front page declared, "Blue Moon on Tuesday." Markman brought in the sugar dispenser from the adjacent table and poured sugar into his spoon, still reading the article. A sudden realization caused him to take pause.

He stopped pouring and stared at the dispenser. It had been on the opposite side of the neighboring table, well out of reach. He had intended to stand to retrieve it. How had he grabbed it without even looking away from the advertising flyer?

It must have been a brain glitch. Maybe someone had put it in his hand while he was distracted. He looked around. There was no one nearby. The other patrons were entirely focused on their own business. Perhaps he stood partially and grabbed the thing without realizing it. He finished adding sugar to his coffee, stood and placed the dispenser back on its rightful table. He tried to return his attention to the blue moon article, but could not. The borrowed sugar dispenser sat tasking him.

Finally, he could stand it no longer. He checked around to be sure no one was watching, then leaned over and held out his open hand on the edge of the adjacent table. He focused on the sugar dispenser, a good two feet beyond his reach.

For a moment there was nothing. Then, a sudden jerk by the dispenser startled him. He held his place and watched the dispenser ever so slowly begin to slide. It picked up speed as it went and crossed the table, coming to rest in his open hand. He quickly withdrew into his booth and stared at the heavy glass container in disbelief. He looked around again to be sure no one had noticed. He placed it on his table and stared in bewilderment. Perhaps the other table was on an incline or had a bad support. He could have tilted it without realizing it. A quick grab of the table edge proved it was solid.

Markman pushed the sugar dispenser away. He looked around once more for privacy, then held his hand open on the table top, concentrating again on the sugar dispenser. Once again, the dispenser obediently slid across the table and into his hand.

Markman sat back, his heart racing. What was happening here? Was he still in a sensesuit and didn't realize it? He touched his face. No helmet. His stomach was full from eating real world food. He looked at his chest. No gold triangle. He was wearing jeans and athletic shoes and his Jets T-shirt. This was the real world.

How could this be? Had he really just moved a real world object with his mind? He thought back to the Coffer of Dreams. The placard on the gate to the garden. 'Such radiant treasure win, to die is to have sinned.' That was all supposed to be within the make-believe world of the sensesuit, wasn't it? But, he had been debating all along with John Paul whether or not Crillia was a real place and not just a simulation. Now a power bestowed on him within the computer world of Crillia seemed to be just as applicable to the outside world.

This had to be a delusion. Markman focused on the sugar dispenser again. Keeping his hand low near the table top, he pointed at it with one finger and concentrated. Slowly the dispenser rose an inch off the table and hung there, suspended. Markman flinched at the sight of it. The dispenser tipped and fell sideways to the table, rolling over the edge, crashing to the floor. Markman lunged too late to grab it. The thick glass did not break but rolled along the tile floor leaving a tiny trail of sugar. Other patrons stopped what they were doing and stared. A server near the front counter hurried around and stooped down to help Markman recover.

"I'm so sorry," said Markman. "I slipped."

"It's okay. All in a day," said the woman, and she wiped up the trail of sugar as Markman sat back down with the dispenser.

"It's my fault," she added. "I see yours is empty. I should have noticed. I'll bring another in just a minute."

Markman sat back, his heart again racing. This was no delusion. It was clear he had acquired some sort of thought control over physical objects. What did this mean? How much power did he possess? He had suspended a giant statue of a horse in the Aurora City. Did he have that much power here? What else had the beam from the Coffer of Dreams done to him? Could there be ill effects from it? John Paul had done those scans to be sure everything was alright. They had found nothing. But, they hadn't seen this power, either. John Paul might know what all this meant. That was probably the next best step, call John Paul and tell him about this.

Markman reached down for his phone but stopped abruptly. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea. The problem with secrets was that once you gave them away, you could never get them back. What would they do once they knew about this power? Would there be experiments? Medical tests? Would they restrict his freedom? Markman quickly decided he would not be telling anyone, even Cassiopia. If she knew, it might change how she viewed him. She might see him as a different person. That would be the worst of all. It was his secret now, and he needed to guard it. There was a lot more to learn before making any decisions. Maybe somehow he could figure out what was happening and why.

He pulled an appropriate amount of cash from his back pocket and dropped it on the table. He stood and walked out of the eatery, still dazed by what was happening. Outside, it was a beautiful Richmond day. The sidewalk was red stamped concrete, bordering a white paved main road. Cars seemed to be traveling along casually; others waited by the curb. He turned and walked along the windowed brick wall of the restaurant, asking himself if life felt the same or had somehow changed. Thoughts of the newly discovered power kept overtaking his mind.

Ahead, a beautiful three-story white building with tall columns partially adjoined the restaurant. There was a narrow alley between the two. Halfway down the alley, an empty tin garbage can lay on its side on black asphalt. Doubt began to persuade him. What if he had dreamed everything that happened in the restaurant? Maybe he had nodded off without realizing it and was awakened by the sugar dispenser falling off the table? Markman looked around to be sure the coast was clear. He held out one hand, palm-up, and concentrated on the can. Immediately, it began to shake and rattle and finally tipped itself back upright, a stark confirmation that he was not imagining these things.

Further down the sidewalk, in front of a courthouse building, a cat was perched amid the white apple blossoms on the limb of a beautiful roadside tree. It was meowing for help. Markman paused. Everything else he had experimented on had been inanimate objects. This was a living creature. There was no way he would test his power here. There were decorative bricks around the base of the tree. He stepped up on one and held out his hand to the cat. It hesitated, then jumped onto his shoulder and down to the ground. It ran off down the alley, no thanks given.

Markman made his way back to the hospital and took the elevator up. A man in a dark, English-styled suit using an umbrella as a cane, read a magazine on the way. Cassiopia was waiting in the OR receiving area in a white shift, fidgeting with her new cell phone. She looked up and smiled as he entered. She stood and embraced him. Markman kissed her before she had time to speak.

"He went in for the second procedure a half hour ago. He seemed fine about it."

"How about you?"

"Okay, I think. I start worrying about things that could go wrong; then I remember John Paul's promise that everything will be okay, then I realize I trust John Paul, then I start worrying about trusting John Paul."

"Wow, a vicious circle."

"Yes, it is."

"Do I need to run down and get you anything?"

"No. There's plenty of machines around the corner. Don't want anything anyway."

"How long will this one take?"

"They said a couple hours. Maybe less."

"You sure I can't go get you something?"

"You need to be getting back to Culpeper."

"That's important, but there's nothing more important than you."

Cassiopia smiled. "Just stay here with me until he comes out and we know he's okay. Then I'll stay, and you can go solve the mystery of the caves of Aurora."

"They took the limo back and left me Core. So, I've got a ride, but I'm not real comfortable about leaving you."

"They want my father here for several days of observation. Then new plans will need to be made."

"I wonder how safe it really is here."

"John Paul has sent me half a dozen texts. He says my father is under heavy guard here even though we don't see it. He will fill me in later. The cell phone is crazy. Somehow it knows when you've finished reading a John Paul text and it deletes it immediately."

"Yeah, at the restaurant, every time the waitress approached my table it vibrated a warning."

"Scott, what do you think will happen to us?"

"What do you mean?"

"How can we return home? As John Paul has said, my father seems to have become too important to the wrong kind of people, and even I could be used to influence him. What have we gotten ourselves into? Have we become so immersed in John Paul's world that we can never go back? Has he tricked us into this? Where can we go when we leave the hospital? What has happened to the lives we used to lead?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not worried at all."

"How can you not be worried?"

"I have a slight advantage over you in all of this."

"What?"

"The only thing important to me is to be with you. Nothing else matters much."

Cassiopia looked at Markman with an expression he had never seen. It was like looking the best friend he ever had squarely in the eye. There was as much feeling stirring within those deep eyes as if she was speaking out loud. Cassiopia gave a tiny smile. "Still, it's scary not knowing the plan."

"But wasn't it you who once told me our plan would be not to have a plan?"

"Did I say that? I did, didn't I."

"And you know my attitude about these things."

"Remind me."

"We only think we control our lives and our destinies. It's the biggest fallacy of all."

"I may be starting to believe you, Socrates."

"I still don't know the man, but I'm sure he's not a relative."

Cassiopia laughed out loud. She smiled with a twinkle in her eye and suddenly felt as though there was a chance things could be alright.

They took seats and passed the time stealing amorous glances at each other, pretending to be occupied by other things. Cassiopia tried to study. Markman made a nuisance of himself walking the halls past the nursing station too often. Mercifully, the Professor's surgery went faster than expected. When the surgeon finally appeared in the waiting room, he was smiling and shaking his head.

"Your father tends to take charge," he said. "Even under the influence of strong sedatives."

"Can I see him?" asked Cassiopia, ignoring the doctor's attempt at humor.

"They're just cleaning him up. As soon as they're done, you can follow him back to the room. He should be back asleep by then, hopefully...."

"And it went well?"

"Perfectly. Just as expected. The biggest problem now I suspect will be keeping him in bed."

"I'll take care of that," said Cassiopia.

Markman nodded. "She will, too."

The doctor smiled in doubt. He turned and left.

"You should go," said Cassiopia.

"Are you sure?"

"Just send me a text every few minutes. Otherwise I'll be nervous about you, too."

"I could stay longer...."

"The invasion thing is just as dangerous as everything else. I'll watch over my father and keep studying the system. You guys can update me on what you find. We need to keep at it."

"Wow, I'm impressed." Markman moved forward and wrapped his arms around her waist. He looked down and wiped away a smudge of lipstick at the corner of her mouth. "I'm not crazy about leaving you two here, even though Culpeper is only about an hour away."

"You know John Paul's group is watching over us like hawks, even though we don't see any of them."

"Yes. I'll be watching, too. There's a tracking function on the new cell phones. It shows me your position every second. I'll have it on all the time."

"And, John Paul certainly arrived fast when I called for him after the accident."

"Yeah, another John Paul magic trick. Lucky the man's on our side."

Markman leaned over and kissed Cassiopia and hugged her tightly. As they pulled apart, he whispered, "I love you."

Cassiopia smiled. "I love you."

Hip to hip, they walked out of the waiting room and down the hall to the locked security doors that led to Recovery. After another extended hug, Markman backed away a few steps, waved and turned away. The elevator waited at the end of the hall. He began to have more doubts about going but the logic of it was too compelling. Halfway down the hall, a nurse had parked her service cart and gone into a room to take blood samples. The cart was messy. A rack of test tube holders sat atop it, most filled with samples.

A noise at the elevators distracted Markman. A man in a gray-stripped suit emerged in a panic as the doors opened. His long dark hair was a mess. He pushed his way through people with an expression of worry. He trotted haphazardly down the hall weaving through visitors and orderlies. As he passed the cart, he brushed by it. A stack of sealed test tubes teetered and tipped toward the edge. They bounced on the corner of the cart and went over the side.

Instinctively, Markman stopped and raised one hand, intending to freeze the falling glass test tubes in midair. Just as quickly, he withdrew and watched the test tubes crash to the floor, exploding and scattering everywhere in a terrible red-glass fragment mess.

The nurse who owned the offended cart came rushing out, making unintelligible, sordid comments. Everyone else paused to silently appraise the damage then went back to what they had been doing. Markman excused himself around the nurse and her mess as she struggled to recover what she could.

But, the incident perplexed him. He had instinctively reacted to use his new found power to save the test tubes. It seemed this new power had already become a reflexive part of him. Had he used it, all those people would have seen something unexplainable. It would have attracted a great deal of attention. He would need to be more careful. The consequences of someone finding out about this power were too troubling to risk.

At the hotel, Markman gathered up his pack and headed for the parking garage. On the third floor, he found Core with its engine already running. As he approached, the driver's door popped open. He laughed out loud getting in. In response, the door shut itself.

The drive to Culpeper offered a good time to think. The afternoon sun cast shadows from the woodlands along I95. Cumulus clouds were picking up an orange tint against pale blue sky. The road was open, most traffic in the southbound. Core hummed more smoothly beneath him than any car he had ever driven. But, despite the wonder and freedom of it, Markman's mind could not escape thoughts of the power he had so unexpectedly inherited. How far did it go? How much could he lift with only his mind? The large statue in the Aurora City had taken both hands and more mental exertion than he was used to. Size did seem to matter. There would need to be more experimenting to know just what could and could not be done.

What was he supposed to do with this power? He had already decided it needed to be kept secret. There was no second guessing that. What could it be safely used for? Perhaps in emergencies, it could sometimes be used without his being discovered. Could he watch for situations where it would benefit someone? If there was an accident on the news, should he try to go there and do something? That was starting to sound like a superhero role. That seemed ridiculous. He would have to take things one day at a time. That was the only answer.

In Culpeper, he stopped at the hotel, showered, changed into black jeans and his favorite black turtleneck, then found a seat at Cassiopia's favorite restaurant. Throughout the meal he played around, sliding things across the table or levitating them from spot to spot, being careful that no one was watching. With a little practice, he found he could spin or twirl things in mid air. It had almost become fun.

As he finished his sandwich, a text came from John Paul. Coffee's on me. Commissary. Whenever you're ready. Markman piled up his used napkins and headed for the lab.

John Paul was sitting back at the usual table in the commissary, dabbing his mouth with a napkin, wincing from the great taste of his meal. Markman went to the serving counter and joined him with coffee. The two men sat drinking for a few moments without speaking. John Paul took a final sip and spoke with food still in his mouth. "How is she holding up?" He chewed and stared with great interest for the answer.

"The surgery went just as you said it would. I think she's okay. It bothers her how much she's come to trust you."

John Paul stopped chewing abruptly as though offended. "It's not wrong to trust," he replied, and he raised his cup and sipped again.

"I've heard that," said Markman.

"Which brings me to the first item you and I need to discuss; Professor Cassell. Three individuals were holding him, one named Palermo, a second named Ballard, and a third who calls himself Moriana. During the rescue, only one of the three were captured; Ballard. The other two managed to elude us. As we suspected, they had been forcing the Professor to work on equations--equations related to inter-dimensional physics. From what the Professor told us afterward, I personally suspect he could have completed those formulas but pretended to be unable to do so to stall these men. They probably knew it."

"The man does not take orders well," said Markman.

"Yes, just ask the surgeon in charge of his bypass surgery. In any case, the point is, two of the three individuals who abducted the Professor are still out there, and the Professor probably remains the only man on Earth who can help them."

"You think they'll try something else?"

"They have no choice."

"You have him out in the open. He's a sitting duck."

"No. He's a decoy."

"You're using him as bait?"

"Yes."

"You're endangering his life and Cassiopia's."

"No, we're not."

"How can you be so sure?"

"They are being watched from above."

"I'd feel better if I was there watching from below."

"That's one thing I need to talk to you about, Scott. I need to again impress upon you not to participate in the capture of these individuals, were that opportunity to arise."

"Why do you say that?"

"We are talking about creatures who, though they may look human, are not of the Earth, nor are they bound by its rules. You seem to have an uncanny ability for tracking down bad guys and taking them on yourself. That must not happen this time. You must resist your instincts to do so. You lack the necessary powers to deal with these kinds of adversaries."

"Why don't you educate me about them? Then I'll know what I'm up against."

"Not a practical idea. There is too much to know, and too much of it is unearthly. You must trust me. If you somehow get involved with these individuals, back out and contact me. Do not confront them."

"That might get hard to do, but okay. Tell me something, what if you don't get these guys? What if they eventually escape?"

"That can't be allowed. These individuals are evil. Wherever they go, evil happens. Take the 9/11 attacks. Do you think evil wasn't involved then? That is the kind of thing that happens anywhere these individuals take refuge. They have a thirst for chaos, the renunciation of truth and goodness. That is their code." John Paul took something from the inside pocket of his outdated jacket. He handed it across to Markman. It was two photographs. A reasonably normal-looking man was on each, one with silver hair, green eyes, and a weathered expression. The other had ivory hair, dark eyes, a narrow mouth, and pasty white skin. "That's them. Do not let their somewhat average-looking appearance fool you. They are the most dangerous pair on the planet. Do not tangle with them. Leave that to others."

"Okay, okay. You've made your point. It's only a little over an hour to Richmond, though. I'd still like to spend my off-time with Cassiopia. That going to be a problem?"

"No. Not at all."

"Okay then. I think we're good."

John Paul rose, went to the serving counter and came back with two fresh coffees. He gently pushed one across the table to Markman. They both tested the mix and set the cups down.

John Paul spoke. "We did not have time to debrief after your last insertion into the Crillian simulation."

"You're still convinced it's a simulation?"

"No, but let's suffer the description until we pursue the theology of it further. You made a significant breakthrough on that last visit, but it is one that leaves more questions than answers, and something very unexpected also materialized."

"What's that?"

"We watched as the computer allowed you the power to levitate physical objects within the system. You caused quite a stir on the Main Square during the last Terran quake."

"Oh yeah, that. Talk about weird. It's like I have super powers in there."

"That may benefit us greatly in the future. By saving those Crillian citizens, you may become a more trusted visitor. We may get answers from characters in there we would not otherwise have. I would also hope it provides you with additional protection in any dangerous situations that might arise."

"I don't know about the trust thing. The Crillian Convention talk show seems less than happy with me."

John Paul gave a smirk and continued. "Let us hope we can solve the Salantian riddle quickly. The strange thing is, you have now found a very old, sealed vortport. That has to be a verification of the invasion of Salantians on the Crillian people, but it does not fit. We know that most, or all, of the Crillian population was eliminated by the Salantian invasion, yet that's not what we see. We need to date the vortport you found. We need to know how long ago it was used. I suspect that someone on Crillia knows more than they're saying. If you pick up a hint that someone knows something, you should pursue that. Written records are obviously leaving out anything to do with the vortport you found. We may be grasping at straws, but we need to find some elders or some historian somewhere who knows more than is written."

"They have a big-time fear of the underground. Kind of seems like people trying to avoid a bad memory."

"Yes. The other strange component is that the Salantians tried their first invasion of Earth just recently. We had thought they came directly from Crillia after laying waste to it. But the vortport you found on Crillia is old. There is a time discrepancy here. We need to solve that."

"Well, I'm ready. You want to suit up this evening?"

"Can you handle it? Is it too much in one day?"

"I'd prefer it. Let's do it."

Chapter 12

Trill was waiting in the control room of the Centrex Pyramid when Markman materialized. For the first time, Trill wore a confused expression. It caught Markman's attention immediately.

"Good evening, Trill. Is something the matter?"

"Greetings, my lord. Forgive my distraction. You have received a communiqué' from the Crillian council. It is most unusual." Trill approached Markman and handed him a single sheet of heavy gauge paper. A decree was declared on it.

You are hereby advised to cease and desist any further incursions into the subterranean chambers beneath the Aurora Central Library. This decree is effective immediately and is not subject to injunction by any higher authority nor does it provide for any a termination date.

Signed and sealed on this day,

The Crillian High Council

Markman looked up at Trill. "What does this mean?"

Trill seemed uncomfortable in his answer. "They are trying to forbid you from visiting the underground, sir."

"Can they do that?"

"Sir, I do not know. That is a matter for politicians, lawyers, and bureaucrats. It is surprising they took notice and acted so quickly. Politicians seldom do anything expeditiously."

"When does the council meet?"

"Sir, they are meeting this minute. The decree was just sent."

"Can I transport directly there?"

"Sir, yes you can, and your status as ambassador allows you to petition the council in that manner. It should be a notable event, however."

Markman rolled up the decree, went to the transport tube, and stepped inside. "The Crillian High Council Chamber please, Trill."

Trill nodded and passed his hands over the crystal control stack. A second later, Markman found himself emerging from a transport tube in a heavily decorated hallway. He suddenly realized that in addition to his knee-high black boots and suit, he now also wore a black cape that ran from shoulders to floor. Apparently, the sensesuit computer had deemed this appropriate wear for visiting council chambers. At hallway's end, huge, engraved double doors carried a sign that read, Council Chambers. Markman did not hesitate. He pushed both doors open wide and walked in, his new cape billowing out behind him.

It was a lavish chamber, filled with colored windows, gold and silver statues, paintings, and a domed ceiling of art that looked like the work of Michelangelo. A long, polished table ran the length of the room. Twenty council members were seated at it, dressed just as lavishly as the room was decorated. They all stopped to stare in surprise at the new Overlord now standing at the foot of the council table.

Markman was too determined to be intimidated. He spoke with resolve. "Excuse me, but I have some questions. It's important."

Reluctantly, two elderly men rose from their seats near the head of the table. They wore dark robes that separated them from the others. Their hair was silver gray. The lines in their tanned faces were marks of age. The man on the left spoke.

"Fellow elders, senior and junior council members, may I suggest we conclude business for today and reconvene tomorrow at the scheduled time. May the Lords of Terra guide you all until then."

There was no hesitation. A flurry of papers gathered and people rushing toward the doors ensued. There was little conversation other than occasional nervous remarks punctuated by gestures of agreement that leaving with vivacity was the most prudent thing to do. When the room had cleared, a security guard standing by the doors gave a military nod to the two councilmen and closed both doors. Markman looked over his adversaries. "I'm sure you already know who I am."

The man on Markman's left spoke immediately. "I am Councilman and Elder Pelos."

Across from him, the next man spoke. "Councilman and Elder Mendos, at your service."

Pelos spoke, "How should we begin?"

Markman spread the decree on the table between them. "Gentleman, why have you sent this?"

There was no answer at first. Finally, Councilman Mendos spoke reluctantly. "Mr. Baker, you are unfamiliar with Crillian law. You must not have known. It is unlawful to enter the tunnels."

To Markman's surprise, Councilman Pelos voiced disagreement. "It is not unlawful, Mendos. It is only an archaic statute."

Mendos persisted, "Though it be only a statute, it is from the holiest of texts, Pelos. It is higher than law."

Pelos countered, "Those statutes come from the Book of the Dead, Mendos. They are not laws. They are wisdom from the Founders."

"Is there a higher law," argued Mendos.

Markman raised one hand. "Gentleman, gentleman, please. I'm trying to understand this. Exactly why is entry to the tunnels forbidden?"

The two men hesitated. Markman folded his arms and waited. Mendos spoke reluctantly. "My lord, entry to the tunnels is forbidden in the ancient texts. These texts are from the book of Exodus, the wisdom left to us by the original founders. Crillian law was carefully shaped from these ancient texts. They are our most sacred relics. Your ordainment as an Overlord came from these texts, as well."

"Can I see this book?"

The three men immediately began to argue in low tones among themselves. Markman finally coughed to interrupt them. Mendos spoke. "Mr. Baker, no one is allowed to cast their eyes on the book of Exodus except we Elders. After many years on the council, we were trained for that purpose by those who came before us. We look upon only that which is necessary, nothing more. It would be blasphemy for anyone else to touch the Book."

"Then just tell me why the tunnels are forbidden."

Pelos looked up at Markman with sympathy. "Sir, we do not know why the tunnels are forbidden. We are only permitted to read from the ancient texts that which is necessary, no more. We only know that machines are to be maintained to perform any work within the tunnels and that no Crillian is to venture into them."

"Gentlemen, I am trying to prevent the destruction of an entire planet and its people. I must go into those tunnels to do that. Unless you can give me more answers than you have, I will need to go down there again. I am not Crillian, anyway. I am human. My only interest is in saving the people of planet Earth. I have no interest in harming Crillia or violating its laws. You must tell me more."

The two councilmen took their seats in stunned silence. Markman did not understand. "What is wrong? What did I say?"

Pelos replied, "My Lord, you said you are trying to save Earth. That is not possible."

"You know of Earth? What do you know of it?"

"Sir, Earth was the name given to Terra during the fourth or fifth age of man. That name has not been used for centuries. Earth was Terra many, many centuries ago."

Markman's mind went into a back spin. He had to place one hand on the council table to brace himself. Something in the back of his mind suddenly clicked. He marched over to the tall golden curtains covering the picture window on the long wall of the council chamber. With both hands he threw the curtains open. There hanging in full view against an inky black sky was the Crillian moon, Terra. Markman's mind was stunned. Why had he not noticed before? The moon was bright white with large sections of darkened areas. On its left there was the rough but unmistakable outline of North America, tapering down to a section of South American. To the west, a fragment of Europe remained attached to the vast Russian continent, and far below it a dark outline of a portion of Africa. Markman stood in disbelief. He pinched his nose and fought off a sudden headache. He turned and looked at the councilmen. "Gentleman, if you'll bear with me, I need some time to think."

They sat without moving in wonder of what was happening. Finally, Pelos slowly rose. He motioned to Mendos. Silently they left the room, quietly closing the doors behind them.

Markman rubbed his forehead and looked up at the new moon. The dulled outlines of the continents he knew so well stared back. This was chaos. Every clue found here on Crillia only created more confusion. Nothing made sense. He went to the council chamber doors, flung them open and entered the transport tube. "Terra Nova Castle, Overlook Chamber." A single flash of light later, he emerged into the Overlook room. He went to the overlook windows and stood out on the balcony gazing over the lights of the courtyard below. A black, horse-drawn carriage was waiting for someone to board. Overhead, Crillia's Earth-moon remained suspended in the night sky.

A new fear found Markman. He could not put his finger on it. An ancient unused vortport in tunnels forbidden to Crillian citizens. A full moon that looked just like the outline of a cold, dead Earth. Perhaps his mind had already made the connections but dared not offer them up. Perhaps in the back of his conscious, he already understood but refused to face it. In any case, there was something nagging. Nothing was left to do but pursue the unknowns and solve this sinister secret.

The main doors to the Overlook Chamber pushed open. DuMont stood in the light of the doorway. "Sir, thank you for gracing us with your presence. May I get you anything?"

"DuMont, is Jax around?"

"Sir, yes I believe he is somewhere on the grounds."

"Would you ask him to come up, please?"

"Right away, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No DuMont. That will be all. Thank you."

DuMont backed out and shut the doors behind him.

Markman stood staring at the night sky as the horse-drawn carriage pulled away across the courtyard toward the main gate. The horse's hooves clicked and rang on the cobblestone pathway. A lone whippoorwill chirped a farewell to the carriage as it passed. The smell of freshly trimmed flowers filled the cool night air.

Jax ducked into the room through the partial opening of one main door. He peered in as though looking for an ambush. His blue flight suit was wrinkled and in disarray. He had an open brown leather jacket over it and appeared to be hiding something inside it with one hand. His hair was askew, and something red was smeared on the back corner of his jaw.

"Jax, come in. I need your help," called Markman.

Jax looked around with distrust and then entered with an awkward swagger. Markman began to suspect alcohol was involved.

"Come over here a minute. I want to show you what I need."

Jax straightened himself up and tried to look professional. He shuffled across the room, missing a step or two, and stopped beside Markman.

"Beautiful moon tonight, aye...Sir?"

"Jax, I believe you've been drinking."

Jax attempted several different dissuading facial expressions, then gave up and pulled the bottle out of its hiding place. He held it up and stared at the label. "Parentian bourbon to be exact....Would you care to sample it...Sir?"

"Your speech is pretty slurred. I need you to fly me somewhere. Can you do it?"

"Sir, you cut me to the quuiccck. I am sharp as a tack, take you anywhere this side of Orion. This is not even my bottle. It belongs to the gatekeeper's daughter, but for God's sake don't say anything. He'll be at me with a spanner...Sir."

"I want to go there." Markman pointed at the full moon.

Jax stared up at it.

"I know it's late. You're not necessarily at your best. But I need to visit one or two locations. Tonight. Now."

Jax teetered in place and looked back at Markman. With a wrinkled brow intended to feign innocence, he tilted his head from side to side and said, "Okay."

"Jax, are you sure?"

"Hell, who could miss something that big. Just give me 15 minutes to warm the tachyons. Then come up to the Tyway Skerrace."

"Jax, are you sure you can do this?"

"Are you kidding? Any chance to fly...Sir." Jax lumbered out of the room leaving a door half open as he left. Markman laughed and decided departure would be delayed as necessary.

DuMont appeared in the doorway a moment later. He looked at the half-closed door as though it was a violation of some sort, then turned his attention to Markman.

"Will you be needing anything, my Lord?"

"Thanks no, DuMont. It's just a short trip to the Moon and back."

"A dreary and foreboding place, sir."

"Why do you say that?"

"So little is known about it. It has been mapped and explored thoroughly. There was apparently an untimely end to the place, sir."

"Who does know about it, DuMont?"

"No one, sir. There are no records to speak of."

"Should I just transport to the Skyway Terrace, DuMont, or is there a better way?"

"Elevator to the seventh level will get you there as well, my lord."

"Thank you, DuMont."

"I shall anticipate your return, sir."

DuMont backed out and slowly shut the chamber doors. Markman paced around the room to use up the 15 minutes, then thought of turning on the video but feared he might accidentally get the Crillian Convention. When time was up, he went to the main doors, opened them and looked out into the heavily decorated hallway. To the left, there were suits of armor, elaborate paintings on the wall, and other closed doors. The elevator was a few feet away on the right. The polished silver doors seemed out of place and opened automatically as he approached. Inside, there was no control panel. He simply commanded, "seven." The doors shut and the elevator rose.

When the doors opened again, Markman was confronted by a huge, open hangar bay divided only by tall stanchions supporting the highlighted ceiling. On his right, the bay was open to the outdoors by a terrace that ran the length of the hangar. Black sky lay beyond. The floor was a polished dull green with black guide lines running everywhere to direct the movement of aircraft. As far as the eye could see, spacecraft of every imaginable type sat ready.

Markman began weaving his way through them and the many service carts parked along the way. Occasionally a staff person in gray work coveralls would take notice of him and stare. Near the front of the hangar, he spotted Jax, talking to a technician and signing off some form of documentation. The technician noticed Markman, said something to Jax and handed off the electronic pad.

The spacecraft beside Jax appeared powered up and ready. It was not quite what Markman had expected. There were only two seats, side by side, covered in black leather, large and heavily padded. A tinted clamshell canopy was raised to provide access, and there were windows in the floor in front of each seat. Swept wings reached to the back of the spacecraft, attached to two cylindrical sections that suggested dual engines. The craft had a V-tail. Thruster ports seemed to be located everywhere. The entire ship was gunmetal gray with black pin striping and sat so close to the deck that the cockpit could simply be stepped into for boarding.

Jax gave a final command to the mechanic and turned to Markman. "You ready, boss?"

"I'm not sure now."

"You know how to fly?"

"No." Markman looked Jax over, surprised to find he had apparently shaken off the effects of alcohol. At least, it seemed that way.

Jax walked around the left-front of the craft and stepped into the cockpit. He sat and positioned himself, strapped in, and looked at Markman. "If you want to change your mind, now's the time...Sir."

Markman rolled his eyes, climbed into the cockpit and realized he was still wearing the cape. He scooped it around front, took his seat next to Jax and watched the canopy lower around him. The sound of rushing air marked the seal. As the cockpit finished pressurizing, more and more lights and screens came on. A large image of the moon occupied the biggest display screen on the center console. Other screens in front of Markman showed the hangar bay, the moon, and star fields. Jax flipped switches and made adjustments. As he did, two red lights on the center console appeared and began buzzing. He tapped a cancel switch nearby and sneered at them. "Damn ion cartridges. I replaced them myself. Never know what you're getting these days."

"But it's okay right?" asked Markman.

Jax ignored the question. "Lesson number one for Overlords who don't fly. You see this center display screen with the Moon. Touch it where you want to go."

Markman cast a doubtful glance but reached up and touched his finger over what would have been New York on the North American hemisphere. A red dot appeared where he had touched the screen.

"Now if I wasn't here, all you'd need to do is tap this big engage button here at the top of the center panel, and the spacecraft would automatically take you to that point on the moon. If the surface area was okay, it would deploy pads and set down on the surface. If the landing area was no good, it would lower down as far as it could go and hold there. That's if I wasn't here. Then, you want to come back, you just call up a Crillia display on this screen and do the same thing. Simple as that."

"I have no plans to do any driving, Jax."

"Well, I'm just saying."

"Forget it."

"Okay, well you don't mind me taking it up on manual then, do you, boss?"

"No...?"

With that, Jax tapped in a few more commands causing two long rows of green lights to come on the center display. He looked over, smiled at Markman, and shoved the center console thrust levers full forward. Markman was jerked back in his seat as the vehicle shot out of the Skyway Terrace and nosed up toward the stars. To Markman's dismay, Jax jerked his side stick controller and rolled the aircraft one complete roll, then held the nose steady and up.

"She's a dream to fly, boss. You're crazy if you don't let me teach you...Sir."

Markman smiled in awe at the journey into simulated space. The realism was overwhelming. Stars filled the canopy. The spacecraft shifted and moved beneath him. On his display screens, the Skyway Terrace had already receded to become a small patch of lights within the huge colorful expanse of the Terra Nova Castle complex. Though Markman suspected none of it was real, the dangers that went along were. If Jax crashed this spacecraft, the sensesuit would immediately effect all the appropriate impact damage. Markman would be just as injured or killed as if he had actually been in a crash. As he watched Crillia fall away on his monitors, he thought he'd discovered an imperfection in the simulation.

"Jax, no weightlessness?"

"Acceleration compensators give us enough to simulate gravity. If we were stopped completely in space, the acceleration compensators would still be used to give a rough approximation of it. Same thing in the deceleration phase. For now, we will accelerate toward the target for twelve minutes, then the reversers will kick in, and we'll slow down for another twelve minutes. We don't have to orbit. We'll stop in over the target area and then descend from there."

"So we're going faster than light?"

"Yep, unless you want to take a few days to get there."

Outside the canopy, a crest of moon began to come into view. It was bright and big and at the same time cold and ominous.

"So what's the deal with the gatekeeper's daughter, Jax?"

"Oh, yeah. Her father's retired combat military. Nobody wants to mess with him. He thinks his princess daughter is all prim and proper, and she plays along with that to keep him fooled, But, every time he takes a trip, she's down at the local pub drinkin' every man there under the table. That's where I hooked up with her. She's not lookin' for any permanent linkups, if you know what I mean, and neither am I, so it's a good match. She can't get out when her father's home, but there's a secret stone doorway to the dungeon right in her room as it used to be housing for dignitary security. Her father don't know about it. So, I can come and go as I please, long as we're careful. There's been a time or two when we got a bit too loud, but I always get out of there in time."

"The castle has a dungeon?"

"Oh, hell yes. A big, deep one. Nobody's supposed to go down there, though."

"Just like the tunnels."

"Yeah, just like Crillian underworld stuff."

"But you go down there."

"Not all the way. Just to the stairs that lead to her room."

"You're a brave man, Jax."

"Yeah, if the old man don't get me, the monsters from the deep might."

"What monsters from the deep?"

"I dunno. It's just an expression."

A crest of moon began to fill the canopy. Surface details formed into view. There were hills and mountains but none with sharp peaks. All were dulled and covered with white dust, so much dust that ramparts of it had formed. The spacecraft's descent to the surface seemed steep, the topography racing toward them as though they were in free fall. Jax noticed Markman's concern and laughed. He tweaked back on his control stick and brought the nose up so that the curvature of the gray-white horizon lay ahead.

The outlines of man-made architecture began to take shape. Wrecked cities, all the same gray-white color as Terra's surface, skyscrapers reduced in stature to two stories except for jagged shards rising up from the carnage. As descent continued, the jumble of pandemonium began to be divided into a fractured geography of ancient dust filled streets, highways, and broken bridges. Markman struggled to identify the area. As they settled down to street level, a toppled church steeple gave him the clue he needed.

The twin towers of St. Peters Cathedral lay crossed in the gray dust. Portions of the cathedral stood, fragments of the original base. Jax noticed Markman's intent stare and held the spacecraft in place, twenty feet above street level.

Markman looked over at him. "Can we set down here a few minutes?"

Jax nodded and lowered the spacecraft to a clear flat area of dust. It jostled and kicked up gray fog as it came to rest.

"There is atmospheric pressure here. Twelve-point-two pounds to be exact. You don't need a pressure suit. Get ready for a blast of cold, but this side is always in sunlight, so you're okay. There isn't enough oxygen. You'll need this." Jax reached behind his seat and pulled out an oxygen mask designed to cover the nose and mouth. He handed it over, and Markman pulled it on. With breath confirmed, Jax popped the canopy of the spacecraft. It opened with a hiss. Markman sat in wonder at the sight of New York City in ash-covered ruin. He raised one leg and pushed himself up and out of the cockpit, his feet crunching in the deep gray powder on the ground. In a daze, he walked along Fifth Avenue, winding between the stone and debris, his black suit in sharp contrast to the barren, silver world. His footprints left a trail in the dust, his cape dragged over them. Jax remained in his seat, marveling at the strange man so preoccupied by such a dire place.

There were still a few doors and windows visible in the portions of structures that remained, though in most cases there was nothing left behind them. In some places, the dust was five or more feet deep. Sunlight cast strangely shaped shadows across the landscape. The black sky bore wavering stars, shaped by an alien atmosphere. Even through the breathing mask, there was a strange smell like gunpowder and sulfur. The place felt like a terrible ghost town.

Markman waded back to the spacecraft, shook the powder from his boots and stepped in. As he took his seat, Jax asked, "What is this place?"

"It was called New York City."

"How do you know that? Nobody knows that stuff."

"There's one more stop I'd like to make."

"There's a gigantic trench a couple thousand units to the west. It's half full of dust and it's still 2,000 steps deep. Want to see it?"

"That was called the Grand Canyon."

"How you know this stuff?"

"There's one more place," replied Markman. "Right here." Markman touched the moon diagram on the center consoles main readout. A new red marker appeared on the screen.

"You got it, boss."

The two men rode in silence as the spacecraft carried them along a few hundred feet above Terra's mono-colored topology. The ruins of city after city passed by below, all ghost towns, all signaling some global calamity in time. As they approached the second location, Markman held up his hand for Jax to slow. He tucked his breathing mask back behind the seat and stared down at what he thought must be Independence Avenue. Hovering high above what remnants of civilization were left, there was little to indicate Congress had once existed here, though the foundation of the White House still remained, and to his great surprise, a tower rising up against the black sky offered the remains of the Washington Monument. Somehow it had survived the collapse of the society that had raised it.

"Head home, Jax."

"Strap in, boss."

The ride back to the Skyway Terrace was quick. Jax skillfully guided his ship in and set it down gently on the terrace tarmac. Both men climbed out and met at the front of the ship.

"Jax, I'm heading back to the Centrex Pyramid, but on my next visit I'll need your help with something."

"You want to go up again?"

"Just the opposite. Down in those tunnels, there were two walls, the brick one we opened up, and the other one that looked like solid cement. I need to see what's behind that second wall."

"Could be just a load-bearing support, you know. Maybe nothing behind it but dirt."

"I've got a hunch. How can we make an opening in that thing?"

"Easy enough. Laser drill. One of them could open a man-sized hole in twenty minutes."

"Can you get me one, and stage it here ready to go? I'm not sure when I'll get back, but it'll be soon. And, there may be trouble. You may not want to tag along this time. They may try to stop us from going back down there."

"Hell, sounds like fun. Not a problem. I'll have the stuff ready." Jax leaned in close to Markman. "And remember, don't say nothin' to nobody about the gatekeeper's daughter, okay?"

Markman laughed. "That's a deal. Just don't get killed before I return."

Chapter 13

John Paul sat at the commissary table looking like a man who had been dealt a curve. He shook his head and gave a long exhale. "There can be only one explanation for ruins of American cities on Crillia's moon. My analysis group and I have struggled over this, and it's also been processed through the analytical branch of our computer network. There is only one possible answer." John Paul leaned forward against the table and stared in thought.

Markman, looking like a starved man, dipped a fork into his spaghetti. He took a mouthful and stared at John Paul, then paused from chewing. "You're serious, then? Couldn't it all just be a made-up computer simulation? I thought time travel was impossible? How could the Crillians have gotten sensesuit computers that show the future? I know they were an advanced race, but could they do something like that? And, if it is the future we're seeing in there, shouldn't the Crillians still have been wiped out? Is this kind of stuff unusual or just everyday craziness for you guys?"

"Highly unusual. The laws vary greatly from sector to sector, planet to planet, but tampering with any timeline is strictly forbidden. Something is happening here beyond what we envisioned."

"No kidding." Markman stuffed his mouth and tried to talk as he chewed. "Well, if you're really telling me this sensesuit computer is showing us the future, that's it, I'm out of my league. So tell me, what do you make of it all?"

John Paul's tone was thoughtful and uneasy. "You found an old vortport that hadn't been used in many, many years. You have now identified Terra, the Crillian moon, as actually being a remnant of the Earth we know. There's no mistake because our analysis of the collapsed structures you found match up to Earth structures perfectly. They are one and the same. The fact that you chose to make a brief extra stop in what was Washington, D.C. only further confirmed that, and analysis also indicates there's no chance of a parallel dimension being involved here. Back when Cassiopia was being held captive by the Salantians, they told her that the sensesuit computers were taken from the Crillians. We have been assuming all along that the Crillians designed and built them. That was wrong. At this point, we can hypothesize that Crillia was indeed attacked and all but wiped out by the Salantians, and at some point soon afterward the Salantians moved on to Earth and destroyed it, as well. The Crillian people we are seeing must mean that a few Crillians somehow survived, and after many years repopulated their planet."

Markman placed his fork back on his plate. "So if the sensesuit computer's version of the future is correct, the invasion of Earth we have been fearing did happen and we were not able to stop it."

"Yes."

"Boy, that's funny."

"What? Why would you say that?"

"If the Crillians had these sensesuit computers that show the future, why didn't they see the invasion of their planet ahead of time and get prepared for it just like we're trying to do?"

"Maybe they acquired those computers too late. Maybe the invasion was already underway."

"Yeah, or maybe they didn't possess the computers. Maybe someone else we don't know about had them and kept them a secret."

"Until the Salantians took over, but there is a third option, also," added John Paul.

"Yeah, I know. Maybe the Crillians did prepare for the invasion, but they still lost."

"Not a pleasant thought."

"You know what I have planned for the next trip in, right?" asked Markman.

"What is it you expect to find behind that wall?"

"I don't know, but the Crillians have gone to great lengths to help their people forget what happened back then. I'm betting stuff related to the invasion is stored behind that wall."

"And if it's not?"

"Then I think we should go shake down those high council elders for the book of Exodus. It would be nice if we didn't need to do that, but there will be information in there, that's for sure."

"You are thinking of these people as real again, Scott."

"They still seem like it to me."

"We'll need time tomorrow to finish working the new data we have. Now that we know the Crillia we see inside the sensesuit computer is from the future, we can work with the star fields from your moon trip. We want to begin computer matching those star fields and see if we can place Crillia in time and space. It would be nice to know how Earth came to be in a system with two suns."

"You saying I get the day off tomorrow?"

"You've done enough today to keep us busy. You've earned a day off, I'd say. I expect you'll be heading for Richmond."

"My very next stop."

"Please give her my warmest regards."

Markman made a quick exit. The Corvette was waiting by the front door with the top down. The driver's door popped open, and the engine started as he approached. It was late, so there was no sense stopping by the hotel. His athletic shoes, jeans, turtleneck and black Naugahyde jacket would do. Besides, the open road beckoned. The Route 3 portion of the trip was a hilly, winding road. Perfect. Markman checked the fuel gauge and sat wondering for a moment why it was always full. He decided he had better continue reading Core's operator manual. He had left off on the section that told how to change body color using only a verbal command.

With black sky and stars overhead and the wind swirling, he leaned back and once again enjoyed the smooth hum of Core's engine, whatever it was. His headlight beams traced the lines in the road ahead, the silhouette of tall trees passing by on either side. The air was cool and smelled like country. As he drove, the subject of his most discomforting problem slipped back into his consciousness.

The power. Power over physical objects in the real world. His decision to keep it secret now comforted him. Even John Paul did not seem to suspect. What was the good of it? How could it be used benevolently? If he happened to be present during some accident like the winged horse in Aurora City, he would be obligated to use it, but his identity might be exposed. And, what else was it good for? Maybe this wasn't such a big deal after all. His masters had taught him that sometimes doing nothing was a very good thing to do. Maybe no use for this power would ever arise. It was just there if he ever really needed it. More testing had to be done, however. So, no worry now. Let life take its normal course and provide the answers if there were any answers.

That brought Markman to his second most irritating problem. He still wanted to marry Cassiopia but did not have the faintest idea of how to go about that. Just asking her outright was a minefield of possible disasters. If she said no, she might never see him as the same man ever again, and in fact, he probably would never be the same man again. The rejection would be too much to bear. She might even be insulted that he asked. After all, she was not a normal woman. She was smarter than most men on the planet, especially him.

What did she want? Was there any chance she wanted to be married? How could he find out? She was too smart to try for any hints. She'd put that together in a heartbeat. She said she loved him, but in a mind as complex as hers that did not mean marriage by any means. The John Paul affair continued to make this complex problem even more complex. Wait and see. That was all he could do.

Markman pulled into Richmond just before midnight. He stopped in front of the hotel and texted Cassiopia. A reply came within a minute:

At 24 hour mart. Am starving. Meet you at Denny's near the hospital.

Markman found the restaurant and parked. As he headed inside, a car leaving the parking lot backfired. A small, frightened bird darted out from bushes nearby. It flew by Markman and crashed headlong into the glass front door, just as he was about to pull it open. It fell to the sidewalk and lay motionless. Markman stooped over and picked up the limp, lifeless body. This was another of life's sad motifs; running from a danger that doesn't really exist, creating real danger in the effort. Humans are no different, he thought. At that moment, the bird suddenly fluttered in his hand and sat upright. It jumped and landed on his shoulder. Still dazed, it looked around, decided his shoulder was not the best place to be and took off for nearby trees. Sometimes we make it, thought Markman. He went in and took a booth.

There were quite a few patrons, despite the hour. The restaurant was well lit and clean. The green embroidered seats looked newly upholstered. There were two servers in green uniforms behind the counter across the room. The smell of coffee dominated the place. Markman ordered one for himself and sat back playing with his cup on the table top. When no one was looking, he pointed a finger and slid his salt and pepper shakers in an arc to the other side of the table. While looking around for another all-clear, he noticed a woman's wallet had slipped out of her purse and onto the floor beneath her table. She was completely engrossed in conversation with a friend and had no idea. Markman tucked his left hand under his right armpit and pretended to look down at his table. With one carefully controlled finger, he locked onto the wallet and very slowly lifted it off the floor. When it was high enough, the attempt to move it back over the half-open purse presented more of a challenge than expected. The wallet wanted to turn in place in midair rather than move to the right. As he struggled with it, a voice behind startled him. The wallet fell back to the floor.

"Will this booth be alright?" the server asked her new patrons.

"Perfect. Coffee for me and ice tea for my wife, please," said the customer.

"I'll be right back." The server paused at Markman's table. "Do you need a refill yet?" she asked.

"I'm fine, thanks."

When things settled down, he began again. This time it was easy to get the wallet to float up to purse level, and with a different twist of his hand, it moved over and above the open purse. When it looked just right, he snapped his fist closed and the wallet dropped down into the purse and out of sight. He sat back proudly and looked around the room, smiling as though applause was due. He laughed at himself and sipped his coffee.

"Just coffee? I would have guessed you'd have cleaned the place out by now."

Markman rose instinctively at the sound of Cassiopia's voice. A flash of gladness filled his heart. He turned and hugged her tightly and stood back to gaze at her. She wore a gray wraparound shift with a pearl necklace. Just seeing her made him feel good about everything. He motioned to the booth, and Cassiopia smiled and sat.

"You are not going to believe what I've discovered!" she said, and she reached across the table and took his hand. Her excitement was overflowing. "By the way, it's good to be with you."

"Me too," said Markman, then he wondered if it was a stupid thing to say.

"You were in the sensesuit today, weren't you?"

"Yes, wait till you hear about that."

"I have something that may top it. Something about the system that will make John Paul's day."

"What are you talking about?"

"I found an error in the sensesuit computer's design specs. A big one."

"When did you do that?"

"Are you kidding? Sitting around the hospital room all day and night while my father drifts in and out. I'm three-quarters of the way through what they gave me, but this horrendous error is going to mess them up a bunch."

"How's your father?"

"He's fine. They've had him sedated, so he drifts in and out, sleeps most of the time, good for him, too. Only thing is, now they're weaning him off the drugs and he's getting back to his ornery old self, asking questions. You and I will have our hands full now. He wants answers to what's been going on. We're not going to be able to put him off any longer."

"Oh boy."

"Yes. A story will need to be told."

"Might as well be the truth, don't you think?"

"Yes, the truth cooked up and presented with the culinary skill of Rachael Ray."

"So what about this error thing in the sensesuit computer? Am I in danger of getting fried alive even more than I thought I was?"

"I don't think so, but it means we don't understand shit."

"Wow, I love it when you talk dirty. Why are you talking dirty all of a sudden?"

"Maybe you bring out the slut in me, Markman."

"Hold that thought."

"Anyway, the design of that system is so far ahead of us it's just beyond belief. It's fortunate my specialty is in computer systems. Half of this system is beyond my understanding. My father could manage through it maybe because he's quantum physics. I'm not, so I'm lost when the systems begin talking about translation."

"Okay, duh...."

"It's like this; I would not describe this system as a simulator. I would describe it as an adaptive convergence of environments with simulation attributes."

"I am so dumb...."

"No, no darling you are not. We are talking about something so far ahead of anything we know; it's hard to describe it."

"You called me darling."

"Let me put it another way. This system is more like a machine that allows something from one world to coexist in another world."

"You mean it's like a doorway to somewhere else?"

"You can't really call it a doorway because the word doorway implies that you can just pass from one place to the other. That can only happen if both worlds support the same kind of physical constructs. In our case, for example, both worlds would need to provide oxygen, atmospheric pressure, temperature and all that. This system allows someone to visit worlds that are inhospitable to us. Are you still with me?"

"Always, darling."

"So with the sensesuit, you could walk around on Venus and not be crushed or cooked. You get it?"

"I guess so, but you're saying this is not a computer simulation?"

"That's another part of the beauty of this thing. The sensesuit computer can translate any environmental components as necessary to support this coexistive capability."

"So, are you trying to say that Crillia could be a real place?"

"I don't know. It's possible you see a real Crillia through the eyes of the computer's understanding."

"But I'm in a suit. If it was a real place how would others see me?"

"They would see an image projected by the computer and suit. The same image you see when you're in there."

"Well, I think I may have some info for you that says Crillia is not real, but first, exactly what is this big error thing you've found?"

"Okay. You know about radiocarbon dating, right?"

"The thing they do to date ancient artifacts."

"Yes, but it's much more than that. Lucky for us Carbon-14 has a fairly short half-life which allows us to measure how much degradation has occurred in certain isotopes and then we can produce dates based on that."

"Ya wanna watch TV later or something?"

"Okay, too technical. I get it. Here's the bottom line. The sensesuit computer is so advanced that the specifications for its circuitry stipulate that the materials used in them must be of a certain age span as measured by a process similar to radiocarbon dating. So, you cannot use materials or substances in the sensesuit computer unless they are of a certain age."

"I think old reruns of Lost In Space are on tonight."

"Scott, please, stay with me on this. I looked at the half-life spans of the materials being used in the sensesuit processor system and was able to compare some of those materials to our own isotope measurement tables, and it comes out that the dates required for the materials used in the sensesuit computer are beyond present day."

Markman sat with his chin in his palm. "I'm trying. I really am...darling."

"Scott, some of the materials used in the sensesuit computer would have had to come from the distant future to exist in the state described by the specs. So, it's a big screw up. There's something wrong with the data we have on the sensesuit computer."

Markman sat up and stared at Cassiopia in disbelief. He shook his head. "I don't believe it. You figured that out just from the paperwork John Paul gave you?"

"What? It just means there are typos in the documentation."

Markman shook his head. "That's unbelievable. Do you see what you're saying? You're saying that the sensesuit computer is from the future."

"Oh now, I never said that. That's ridiculous."

Markman smiled. "Let me tell you about today's trip inside." Markman leaned back and with as few flourishes as possible related his trip to the Crillian high council, and the subsequent journey to Crillia's moon. Cassiopia's expression kept shifting from amazement to disbelief. When Markman was done, she stared at him silently for a long time, until a waiter interrupted the impasse.

After an ample selection of food had been ordered, Cassiopia challenged Markman's tale of two cities. "You're saying John Paul agrees with this? John Paul's group thinks the sensesuit computer is from the future?"

Markman locked his hands behind his head. "He says it's the only possible explanation."

"And so, at some point in the near future, Earth is destroyed and eventually ends up in a solar system with two suns?"

"Yep."

"My God!" Cassiopia paused and stared off into the distance. "It can't be. It's too much."

"Yep."

A waiter interrupted the sobriety of the moment to place their food on the table. Cassiopia sat staring into the distance, ignoring the steaming plate in front of her. Markman stabbed his fork into the food and watched silently, not knowing what to say. He had just informed her that the planet they were on would soon be destroyed.

"What will John Paul do about this?" she finally asked.

"I'm not sure. He seems kind of off-balance about it."

"He must have access to higher powers."

"Wow! That coming from an eminent scientist? You know what he's said about intervention."

"I've been expanding my concepts. He must have higher authorities he can call upon."

"Yeah, but remember, he's always saying how they don't interfere with Earthly affairs. It's up to people to do that themselves."

"But in this case? Invasion from another world?"

"The atom bomb was kind of like that. We could have been destroyed by it, but so far we have somehow worked together to avoid that. Maybe this is like that."

"Well, one thing's for sure. I'm scared."

"Me, too."

"What will you do on your next visit to Aurora?" Cassiopia took a slice of bread.

"Cut a hole in that other wall."

"What do you hope to find?"

"Artifacts from a time the Crillians are trying hard to forget, that is if the Crillian High Council doesn't have me arrested and imprisoned."

Cassiopia munched on her bread. A far away look came over her.

Markman waved one hand. "Hello? Where'd you go?"

Cassiopia refocused. "A time they'd like to forget, you say? Funny you should put it that way. There's something else I haven't told you."

"At this point, you are looking at a very open-minded man."

"Let me show you something." Cassiopia tapped a few icons on her cell phone and brought up an old, grayed image. It was a group of Union soldiers during the civil war, standing at a table in front of a battered tent. A caption below the photo read;

Major General Alfred Pleasanton confers with engineers and officers during the Battle of Brandy Station, June 9, 1863.

Markman surveyed the image and looked back at Cassiopia for an explanation. "Cool, but what am I looking for?"

"All the time I've had for study. I mentioned how beautiful Culpeper is. I began reading up on its history just for breaks from the John Paul stuff. Brandy Station was one of the largest cavalry battles of the civil war, if not the largest cavalry battle of all."

"And...."

Cassiopia held up her phone once more. "Look again at the person standing third to the right from Major General Pleasanton."

Markman took the phone and stared down at it. It only took a moment. There, in a union officer's uniform, stood someone that looked exactly like John Paul.

"No way. Must be a relative right?"

Cassiopia seemed unmoved. "Have you ever noticed the X scar on the left side of John Paul's neck? It's hard to miss. Looks like a bullet wound."

"Yes...."

Cassiopia twisted around and dug her tablet out of her handbag. She tapped a few keys and handed it over to Markman. On it was a greatly magnified image of the X scar on John Paul's neck. Markman looked up at Cassiopia.

Cassiopia nodded. "That's blown up from this civil war picture. The man in that photo has the same exact scar in the same exact place."

"The guy in this photo is in his thirties."

"Yes."

"That would make John Paul...."

"Far past one hundred."

"Not possible."

"Is."

"Wow! Only you would pick up on something like this."

"I'm really tired."

"Do we need to go back to the hospital?"

"In the morning. Let's get to bed."

"Twisted my arm."

The next morning began with an uncomfortable meeting intended to allay the concerns of Professor Cassell. A hearty breakfast was procured in anticipation of it. The Professor was wide awake and fully empowered, expecting answers. At first sight of Markman, he broke into sardonic celebration.

"Scott! At last! Maybe now I can get some straight answers from someone other than my diplomat daughter. How are you? And more importantly, what the hell is going on around here?"

Markman laughed and pulled up a stool beside the bed. Cassiopia stood on the opposite side, ignoring the contentious glances from her father.

"Okay Professor here goes. The men in black are from a secret organization that is above all world governments. Their main job is to protect people from anything outside our world that would disrupt the world as we know it. They have been watching you. Actually, I should say the three of us, because of your secret work with the magic doorway in your lab." Markman looked at Cassiopia. "Did I say that right?"

Cassiopia shrugged and nodded.

Markman continued, "Professor, your work has become so advanced that they are afraid others might want to use it for bad things. So, they've been keeping an eye on you trying to stop that. Unfortunately, the three men who kidnapped you were exactly the types the MIB had been worried about. So now, because two of the bad guys are still out there somewhere, you are secretly being watched even more by the men in black. How'm I doing so far?"

The Professor eyed Markman with annoyance. He stroked his graying beard and pushed himself up in the bed. "Well, why didn't one of you just say so? I've feared this all along. Those men are protecting us, you say? Well, at least that part is more than I hoped for. So what are we to do? Live our lives in hiding now? Who are these criminals that they would misuse advanced physics? Can't they be stopped somehow?"

Markman shook his head. "Yes, they can and will be. But Professor, you know there will always be more where they came from. There is no shortage in the supply of evil men."

"What must we do? Where can we go? Is there a plan I have also yet to be told about?"

Cassiopia looked guilty. "Father, they expect to release you tomorrow. But, they will need one more EKG's session after that. We'll stay at a hotel until we get the all-clear. Then we can look at our options and decide what to do. Does that sound okay?"

"Daughter, are you in any danger here?"

"Father, this is actually the safest place I could be."

"How unsettling. A scientist should not be distracted with this kind of intrigue. It is a terrible injustice."

"Father, you are not just any scientist."

"No, I am a scientist trapped in a blasted robe with no back, rescued from one captivity, only to find myself trapped in another where they threaten you with knives and sutures and bottles plugged into your arms. There is not so much as a chalkboard in here."

"Father, I brought your laptop. It's here in the drawer by your bed. Is there anything else you need right now?"

"My briarwood. I want my briarwood."

"Father, there's no smoking in the hospital. You shouldn't anyway."

"Still a prisoner I tell you. Still a prisoner."

Cassiopia turned to Markman. "You don't need to wait around here. You haven't had much time off. Why don't you take a ride around the city and see the sights or something? We can meet up later."

Markman nodded. He waved at the Professor and led Cassiopia by the hand into the hallway. There, he looked around, then embraced and kissed her. "You will call me if there's the slightest trouble, right?"

"You mean other than what you just saw? Right, I will."

"Okay then."

Markman headed for the nearest elevator. In his haste, he did not notice the sign that said "staff only." Inside, there was no button to the lobby. He had to disembark on the second floor, and from there it was easy to become lost. He was about to ask for directions when a sign indicating Emergency beckoned him to a stairwell. On the first floor, there was another that said Emergency Check-in. Exit signs began to appear soon after, and finally, signs pointing to Waiting Room and Exit promised him a sure escape. As he approached the final exit sign, sounds of confusion began to fill the corridor. He pushed the last door open to find people in white rushing in every direction and yelling orders or asking for help. Seven or eight Gurneys lined the hall, with people of various ages moaning and calling out. The doors at the end of the hall were blocked open to the outdoors so that more could be wheeled in as space became available. An EMT passing by Markman yelled at the clerk behind the main desk. "It's at least twenty cars, probably more. St. Mary's and Humter Holmes are taking as many as they can, but we're gonna get more."

The desk clerk placed one hand over her mouth. "Oh God, no. The on-calls are calling in. They're all calling in!"

"Not fast enough," said the EMT, and he knelt and began digging in his medical kit next to a Gurney with an old woman who was unconscious.

Markman had to flatten against the wall to let others by. They paid him no attention. Trying to navigate through the bedlam seemed like his best option. He was clearly in the way.

As tactfully as possible, he squeezed through the tangle of injured and reached the exit door. As he pushed outside, a doctor in plain clothes with a stethoscope dangling from his neck yelled at Markman. "Over here, right now!"

After a split-second who-me look, Markman hurried over. The doctor was struggling to help a woman on a Gurney holding a baby. The woman had black eyes and was semiconscious. She kept moaning, "My baby, my baby...." The doctor had his hand clamped over a severe laceration on the baby's forehead. The baby was not responding.

"Hold pressure right here. I'll be right back."

Markman came alongside and in a pleading voice said, "But I'm not a...."

"Direct pressure right here, right now," yelled the doctor.

There was blood all over the Gurney sheets. Too much it seemed for such a small infant. Markman winced and reached out. The doctor grabbed his hand and placed it against the bleeding wound. "Just like that. Hold heavy pressure. I'll be right back!" He wiped his bloody hands on his white dress shirt and tie, and disappeared into the melee.

Markman held tight to the child's wound. It seemed hopeless. The injured mother had passed out. He could feel the tiny, faint pulse under the palm of his bloodied hand. He looked up in hope the doctor was already on his way back, but there were only people running and yelling in absolute chaos. He stared down at the baby with regret and suddenly began to feel electric shock in the hand that was covering the child's wound, probably static electricity from the hallway carpet. Would that harm the child further?

To Markman's surprise, the electric shock began to increase. It became difficult not to pull his hand away. He knew if he did that, the baby's bleeding would be extreme. He struggled with the increasing shock, fighting to keep his hand over the wound.

There began to be burning with the electric shock. It made him flinch and twist. It brought a new realization. He could not withdraw his hand even if he tried. Somehow, he was locked together with the child. The shock and burn became even more intense. Markman fell to his knees, but his hand remained in place over the child's injury. It felt like life was rushing out of him. He was moments from certain death. He bowed his head and cried out.

The shocking and burning abruptly ceased. Markman withdrew his bloody hand and braced himself on his hands and knees on the ground, gasping for breath. He did not have the strength to get up. He shook his head and tried to focus. It took all of the energy he had left to grab the side of the Gurney and finally pull himself up. The chaos going on around him had not subsided. His dilemma by the Gurney had been ignored. People were still running to and fro in a desperate attempt help victims. The world around had become a silent movie. Markman pulled up and in a daze looked at the baby. Blood was everywhere. It was on the sheets, the pillow, and the mother. It was on Markman's hands and clothes. It was everywhere except on the baby's forehead where the wound had been. The wound had disappeared completely. Markman shook his head and tried to focus. He wavered by the Gurney and checked again. No wound of any kind on the baby's forehead. The baby was smiling up at him, kicking its feet playfully.

Chapter 14

Markman staggered away from the confusion and managed to reach some cars in the parking area nearby. Within the shelter of parked autos, he leaned against one and looked back at the chaos surrounding the emergency entrance. The doctor had returned to the baby and was staring down in shock at his completely healed patient. The man looked up and began searching the area for Markman but did not spot him. Markman lurched further away and found a better spot out of sight. Energy was ever-so-slowly returning. His vision was widening and becoming sharper. The weakness in his chest was fading. He began deep breaths, using circular breathing, hoping to regain strength faster. His thoughts began to organize. He straightened up and tried to remember what he had been doing before the nightmare.

His car. He was headed for his car. Core was out there somewhere. He pulled out his keys and fell against another parked vehicle. Looking at the key ring, he called, "Core, come." Somewhere not far away an engine started up. A minute later, a very slow moving Corvette with heavily tinted windows crawled into view. It pulled up in the aisle near Markman and the driver's door popped open. Markman surveyed the area as carefully as possible. He fell into the driver's seat and struggled to pull his legs in then let the door shut. Core sat with its engine idling, waiting for instructions. Markman rubbed his face and commanded, "Park."

Core crept forward and found an open area without other cars, and pulled into a spot. Markman commanded, "Windows open, engine off." Core complied.

Markman tipped his head back against the rest and passed out.

It must have been a short nap. When he opened his eyes, the melee at the emergency room had slowed but was still going on. It was more spread out, had more people running to and fro, but no Gurney were parked outside. Ambulances were arriving with less frequency. Markman's first thought was that it had all been a bad dream. He looked down at himself. There was dried blood all over his clothes and hands. His next thought was to call Cassiopia for help. Something made him hesitate.

What really had happened? Markman looked at the blood on his clothes again. The stains kept erasing any hope he had imagined the whole affair. What would come of all this now? Would there be publicity? He still couldn't think straight. Suddenly, he realized he was starved. He urgently needed something to eat. High protein. A stop would be needed at the hotel first so he could change out of the bloody clothes and hide them.

Hide the clothes he had on? Was he already plotting a cover-up of what had happened? What had happened? Markman gave a long sigh of frustration and confusion. "Core, take me to the hotel."

Core's engine fired up immediately. It pulled forward across the empty space ahead and turned toward the highway's entrance. A navigation screen lit up on the dashboard showing the route. Markman kept his hands on the wheel, helping to drive as much as he could. He felt so weak it was possible he would pass out again. "Core, at the hotel park," he said just in case. Core beeped understanding.

The trip to the hotel was a blur, but as the ride progressed more and more of his strength returned. The hunger pains were at their maximum. At the hotel, he stumbled up to the room by the rear stairwell, tore his clothes off and hid them in his backpack. He washed the dried blood from his face, hands, and arms, and pulled on fresh black jeans, and a black sweatshirt. He grabbed his black jacket and hurried back down to the hotel restaurant where he took a booth near a far corner. The waiter was excruciatingly slow.

"Pancake special, eggs over medium, rye toast," said Markman in a tone that begged urgency. The waiter slowly wrote the order, looked over at other customers waiting to be seated, and strolled off to place them. Markman rested his head in his hands.

When the food finally arrived, it did not last long. As he hurriedly devoured it, the feeling of weakness began to subside further. Energy flowed back through the system. His mind came back to full focus. With the last bite of pancake, he sat back and took a long drink of coffee. He placed the mug slowly back on the table and began to wonder again what really had happened?

Had electric shock from his hand healed that baby? Couldn't it have been a simple static electricity discharge and something else had done the healing? Was the reason he had felt so drained of life because life-force had been drawn from him to heal the child? Markman sipped his coffee and rubbed his mouth in frightened awareness that the only real explanation was that something from inside him had cured that baby. This had to be a part of the abilities gained from the Coffer of Dreams. 'Such radiant treasure win, to die is to have sinned.' The poem played over and over in his mind. The power to move physical objects wasn't the whole reward. The power to heal was also a part of it. Markman felt a tinge of nausea at the thought. The prospect of having these powers was alarming. How else had he been changed? What would come next? Would he morph into some grotesque creature like in a science fiction film? Would he become some raving maniac eventually hunted down and killed?

Secrecy was now paramount. No matter what happened, his only chance of having some portion of a normal life depended on that. He would have to take this one day at a time. He would need to learn just how much change was taking place and how much control he had over it. At the same time, he would need to act as though nothing at all was happening.

Would there be publicity from the event at the hospital? Would that doctor claim that a baby was mysteriously healed, or would he keep quiet for fear of ridicule? Had anyone seen it happen? In the mass confusion of the place, there was no way to be sure about that. Thank God he had gotten away before the doctor returned. At least there was a chance that no one had seen. The only one who knew anything was the doctor. He had seen Markman's face clearly, but in the intensity and confusion of the mass chaos, perhaps that memory was obscure. A cell phone ring interrupted Markman's panic. It was Cassiopia.

"My God, Scott, did you hear about the I95 accident?"

Markman stuttered, "Yes it's...ah... on the news everywhere."

"They say thirty-six cars crashed because of smoke from a forest fire near Henrico."

"That's terrible."

"Yes, I haven't heard of any fatalities yet. Keep your fingers crossed. If you drive anywhere, be careful. There's still ambulances racing around."

"Okay, I will."

"Are you okay? You sound funny."

"Nope, just fine. When will you be back at the hotel?"

"I'll call you as soon as I see the doctor. He should tell us when we can get out of here."

"Okay. Let me know."

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

Markman clicked off and tucked the cell back into his pocket. The short conversation had helped him get a grip on reality. Suddenly, the power to move physical objects which had so preoccupied him earlier now seemed insignificant. This new power carried with it complex danger. The process of healing the child had drained him so completely at one point he thought he might be dying. And, the challenges associated with this new ability were far more complicated. With levitation, there was no obvious, constructive way to use it. With healing, that could be utilized twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, everywhere! But, the drain on his system must have meant there were limitations. Could this have been a one shot deal? Maybe healing the infant had taken so much from him he no longer had that power. He remembered the injured bird. He had thought it was just stunned and had awakened on its own. That probably was not true. The healing process had probably brought it back, as well. He just hadn't understood at the time.

There were teachers in the Himalayas who had this power. He had witnessed it on several occasions. They would vigorously rub their hands together and then clap them on a student's wound and like magic the injury would be healed. How did they manage the power? They did not go looking for the sick or injured. Victims who believed in them always sought them out, instead. How did those Chang Hun masters justify not using their healing power more proactively? The only other person he could think of who could heal was Christ himself. Christ walked the land and helped anyone he met, or anyone seeking his help, but even he did not seem to try to heal everyone everywhere, all the time.

Once again it was clear he could not seek anyone's council. The same consequences applied. A secret given up could never be taken back. If these powers remained with him forever, he'd never be able to escape the stigma. Markman suddenly realized he was already creating new rules for himself. Markman's 1st rule; Do not reveal these new powers to anyone. Markman's 2nd rule; do not use these powers if your identity will be exposed.

It would be so much better if he could just tell Cassiopia and ask her what to do, but that wasn't an option. Just as before, he could not take chances with the most important person in his life. There was still the possibility these powers were temporary. He would just have to take things one day at a time. He'd have to learn what he could do and what he couldn't, then develop a plan from that. If he could use this healing power at will, he'd have to figure out how, when, and where. The thought that he could walk out the door right now, visit the nearest hospital, and possibly cure someone near death depressed him. How bad an injury or illness could he take on without killing himself? If he was going to try to use this, there would need to be some experimentation, some way to measure what could be cured and what could not. Markman finished his coffee and looked around. The restaurant had only a few customers. The inattentive waiter had not brought a check and was nowhere in sight. Markman rose, left a tip on the table, and stood at the cash register waiting. Four or five minutes passed. A lady server appeared and came to the register.

"I didn't get a check."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Hang on a second." She headed back to the kitchen yelling, "Bernard...." She returned several minutes later and rang up the amount.

Outside, the clear blue sky helped Markman collect his thoughts. Richmond's shiny skyscrapers rose high, occasionally bordered by older brick or cement buildings. Markman walked the wide, deserted sidewalk beside a black wrought iron fence that guarded a short grassy lawn in front of an office complex. Trees had been planted along the way and hung over the sidewalk. The air seemed fresh and clear, despite the tangle of traffic entering the turnpike up ahead. He came to a knee-high brick wall in front of a glass-steel building, and stopped and sat.

Out of nowhere, a mischievous tan and white terrier darted up to him and perched two feet on Markman's knee. "I'm sorry, buddy. I don't have anything for dogs." The dog was well fed and had a shiny new collar and tags. It backed away and ran in circles in front of him. He suddenly noticed something was wrong. The dog was holding its right rear leg off the ground, using only the other three to run or walk. He called the dog back over and began to pet him. The dog licked his hands.

Moving slowly, Markman ran his hand up and down the dog's injured leg. There was one particular spot near the hip where electricity began to flow each time his hand passed over. He held gently to that place and felt the current flow increase. This time it was gentle and not at all uncomfortable. Slowly the area began to heat up, but the dog did not seem to mind. A moment later, the current seemed to shut off abruptly. Markman withdrew his hand and ruffled the dog's fur near his shoulders.

The terrier gave two quick barks and pulled away. It ran another circle around Markman, and this time the rear leg was working perfectly. The terrier paused for a moment, almost as though it was surprised. It took off down the sidewalk at a full run, seeming happy to have the speed back. It disappeared around a corner.

Markman sat back and sighed. The power was real and could be used at will. He headed back to the hotel to retrieve and wash the telltale bloody clothes from the hospital.

In his hotel room, the TV was covering news about the big wreck on I95. No one had died, but there were serious injuries. Returning from the laundry with his freshly cleaned clothes he rode the elevator up and tried to stop thinking about things. When the doors opened, an elderly lady with a walker slowly worked her way in. Markman held the doors. "What floor?" he asked.

"The lobby please, young man. Thank you, so much."

Markman stepped out and let the doors close. He stood for a moment in renewed doubt. What could he have done for the old lady? At this point, it did not matter. Markman's 2nd law; do not use your powers if your identity will be exposed. These new laws that had seemingly formed of their own volition were already guiding his actions and his life. Back in his room, the freshly made bed looked too inviting. He fell upon it and was asleep in seconds.

The chirping of cell phone awakened him. In half sleep, he struggled to pull it from his jeans. Cassiopia's sweet voice made it worth the effort.

"What you doing?"

"I fell asleep at the hotel."

"You probably needed it. My father gets out tomorrow. I was able to book the room right next to ours. Want to come pick up his things and take them back to the hotel?"

"Sure. Where will you be?"

"I need to sign some paperwork in the finance office; then I can meet you afterward for dinner somewhere. When will you come?"

"Now?"

"Great. I'll gather up his stuff."

No sooner had Markman hung up than his phone chirped incoming text. It was from John Paul. 'Research complete. When will you be ready to resume? There may be some urgency'.

He typed an answer. 'Professor released to hotel tomorrow. I'll help with the transfer then head your way.'

A reply came back immediately. That will be fine. We will be set up when you arrive.

Markman splashed water on his face and applied a fresh coat of deodorants. He made his way to parking and in minutes was cruising the city streets back to the hospital. As usual, hospital parking was nearly full. He settled for a spot at the far end. From where he parked, he could see the emergency entrance in the distance. Things seemed to have resumed some sense of normality. Markman took the long way around to avoid it.

Cassiopia was not in the Professor's room. Professor Cassell was sitting up in his bed, biting down on his briarwood pipe. It startled Markman enough that he stopped and stared.

"Now don't you start, too. It is not loaded. They told me it was against the rules just to have it, but I wore them down. Perhaps it will aid in the prudent processing of my discharge paperwork."

"Professor, you are sounding like your old self."

"My warranty has been extended, or so they tell me."

"How bad was it?"

"A blur. That's the best description I can assign. A massive blur in time. People dashing about, bright lights, apologies without reason, tubes and fluids of varying color, all apparent in between uncharted periods of consciousness. I shall never return. Perhaps that was the underlying purpose of the entire affair. In any case, I know the busybodies around here will celebrate in their own way once I leave."

"Well, I'm glad your okay, Professor."

"I think we must talk, my dear boy, about the state of our affairs and the future thereof."

"I think Cassiopia has that planned for tomorrow, sir."

"We have attracted the attention of sleeping dogs, have we not?"

"You could put it that way."

"I should like to tell you of my recent adventures in delusion. Would you believe I gave a lecture to a group of thousands who were not really there?"

"Professor, lately I have also seen things few people would believe."

"Just what is it we have gotten ourselves into, Scott?"

"A world bigger than the one we knew I think, Professor."

"The one I knew was a construct of dozens of universes beyond our own."

"We'll need your daughter here to translate, Professor."

Professor Cassell pulled the pipe from his mouth and laughed. "Mice in a maze, Scott. I think we may be mice in a maze."

Markman spotted the group of suitcases in the corner of the room. He grabbed the handle of the first one, expecting to yank it up under his arm to make room for the next. The suitcase barely budged. "Professor, what have you got in these?"

"Books, my boy, books. Wisdom is not found in an electronic reader the same way it is in a good thick volume of printed matter. One must have books."

With a forced smile, Markman began dragging the suitcase toward the door. "I'll get a cart," he said and abandoned the case to go looking. To his surprise, a cart suddenly appeared right outside the door, making him wonder if the hospital staff was indeed as anxious to facilitate the Professor's leaving. When the cart was well stacked, he waved at the Professor. "I'll see you later. This is all of it, right?"

The Professor bit down on his pipe and nodded.

Markman pushed his load toward the elevators, pausing to navigate around hospital staff and visitors. As he pushed by the main desk, a nurse looked up and declared, "Thank God!" Markman smirked and nodded.

At the elevator, he waited impatiently for visitors to unload, then worked the cart inside. A small briefcase fell off in the process, and he had to hold the door to maneuver out and retrieve it. As he did, he looked up and saw a man in white at the far end of the hall staring. The man had a stethoscope hanging from his neck and a clipboard in one hand. A nurse was speaking to him, but he wasn't paying attention, his focus completely on Markman. It took Markman only a second to realize; this was the doctor who had been treating the baby in the emergency room, the same doctor who had drafted him to help.

Markman froze for a moment like a deer in the headlights. The doctor's recognition peaked as he continued to ignore the nurse speaking to him. He brushed her aside and began walking briskly toward the elevators. He held up one hand and called out, "Wait, wait...."

Markman stood stiffly upright, wide-eyed. He fumbled with the briefcase and quickly forced himself back into the elevator. He tapped at the close button on the control panel and watched worriedly. The doctor had broken into a trot. "Wait! I just need to talk to you. Wait!"

Markman hammered at the close button. The doors finally began to obey, creeping closed ever so slowly. There was a six-inch opening as the doctor arrived. The eyes of the two men met and locked in a frozen moment of wonder and fear. The doors snapped shut. Markman fell back against the wall and exhaled. He stiffened and wondered if the doctor would try the staircase to catch up. To his relief, the elevator dropped directly to the lobby without stopping. When the doors reopened, he wrestled the cart out and tested the limits of courtesy as he hurried past guests in the lobby. He skidded and slipped his way to the exit and nearly rammed the sliding doors before they could hiss open. In the parking lot, he wrestled his keys from his pocket and yelled into the key ring, "Core, top down, start engine." At the car, he dumped the baggage in, slipped into the seat, and pulled out onto the road, glancing over his shoulder to be sure the doctor was not in pursuit.

With centerline markings speeding by, he adjusted himself in his seat and decided it had been a clean getaway. This problem shouldn't be a big deal. Tomorrow, the Professor would be transferred to the hotel and there would no longer be any reason to visit the hospital. He would probably never see that doctor again. Once they left the hotel, who knows where they'd end up. Probably back in Florida. No chance of being bothered by the guy then.

At the hotel, Markman battled the Professor's luggage up to the room, all the time thinking levitation could have made the job easy. As he stacked the suitcases, his cell phone rang.

"Hey, where are you?" asked Cassiopia.

"Just dropped the last of your father's library."

Cassiopia laughed. "It is that, isn't it. Let's have dinner at the hotel, that way it will only be a few short steps to collapse into bed."

"With you on that plan. Call me when you're on your way. I'll get a table from the slow-motion waiter down there."

"Will do."

At the designated time, Markman managed a table out of the way, toward the back of the restaurant. In a rare moment of hindsight, he asked the waiter for candles and had them lit with wine waiting when Cassiopia arrived.

"My, my, aren't you becoming the romantic," she said as he held the seat for her.

"Maybe you bring out the best in me," he replied.

"How do I do that so I can be sure to continue?"

"Just be you."

"Mr. Markman, you are sweeping me off my feet!"

"That's a drunken monkey move."

"Ah, there's the inevitable irreverence I've so grown to love."

"Sorry."

"You look all stressed out. You were supposed to take the day off. What have you been doing?"

"No, nothing. I'm fine."

"I don't know. On the phone you've seemed uptight. Is something going on with you I don't know about?"

"I'm fine, really."

"There was a doctor in my father's room today. He was looking for someone who kind of fit your description."

"Really?"

"He was checking with all the patients on that level, but I don't think he found who he was looking for."

"I don't know anything about it."

"So wasn't that I95 accident horrendous? The state police are taking some heat for not shutting down the road when the smoke got too bad."

"Some people sure drive blind. I just don't get that."

"It's a miracle no one was killed. Twenty-one people injured. Fifteen hospitalized."

"Seems like that shouldn't be able to happen, you know?"

"There was even a baby in one car."

Markman rattled his coffee cup and nearly spilled some. He looked up and found Cassiopia staring with curiosity.

"Did I say something?"

"No, no, just a twitch. Nothing really."

"You're sure you're okay?"

"Having dinner with you? There's no place I'd rather be."

"A real romantic, Markman. A real romantic."

The next morning, the greatly-anticipated relocation of Professor Cassell went off without a hitch. At the hotel, the Professor stood outside the front doors, stretching and declaring his regained independence. Somewhere between the hotel elevator ride and the hallway walk to his door, he discovered his energy reserves abandoning him. Markman grabbed him by one arm, ignored the objection, and guided him to the bed where he sat for a moment before gently toppling over backward onto pillows. Cassiopia raised his feet and in a moment the Professor was asleep.

"I need to head to Culpeper, but I should be back tonight," said Markman, taking Cassiopia's hands in his.

Cassiopia looked up and smiled. "John Paul texted me that these rooms are safer than Fort Knox. He arranged for this one to be a smoking room. I don't know how he managed that, but it was nice."

"Boy, just out of bypass and he needs a smoking room. You'll have your hands full when he wakes up."

"Yes, but I think his energy level will keep him at bay. I'll probably need to get a few dry erase boards up here, that'll take up the rest of his energy. He's been mumbling about the equations those guys wanted him to solve. He must've been close and now they're stuck in his head."

"What about you? You gonna be okay?"

"I'll study my stuff along with him. By the time I'm done, I'll probably know more about that sensesuit computer than John Paul's people do."

"Wouldn't surprise me."

Cassiopia pulled Markman down and kissed him.

"You can be sure I'll be back just as early as they let me."

"Good luck in your forbidden tunnels. Don't take any chances, right?"

"I shall be on my best behavior."

"You'd better."

Chapter 15

Markman stood suited-up in the sensesuit test area, his helmet under one arm. For the first time, John Paul seemed in a hurry. It was obvious he was trying to conceal it, but at the same time, his dashing from station to station was a dead give away. It made Markman wish that Cassiopia was with them. John Paul kept looking over at Markman, raising one finger to let him know they were just about ready. Markman nodded passively back at each gesture. When the signal was finally given, he pulled the helmet down over his head and rode the beam of light back to the Centrex Pyramid. Trill was there waiting and seemed just as wound up as John Paul.

"My lord, greetings, and welcome. Are you well, sir?"

"Thank you, Trill. Yes, all is well."

"Will you be working here or traveling, sir?"

"Please contact DuMont, and tell him to have Jax meet me at the Aurora Central Library with the equipment I requested."

"Very well, sir. Do you require any other resources?"

"No, I do not. Do you think there will be any trouble from the Crillian High Council?"

"Sir, one never knows."

"Really?"

"Sir, there is related news from the Office of Central Assurance. I have printed it out if you would prefer to read it yourself. After your recent visit to the High Council, two council members were caught attempting to withdraw large creditor sums from government subsidy accounts. Apparently, your visit instilled fear that you were retained to investigate the council members. It was found that these two council members had been secretly conducting business not in the best interest of the Crillian people. A third council member is also under suspicion and is being held by the OCA. Needless to say, the High Council is in somewhat of a state of confusion at this time."

"Trill, were any of the suspect council members the Elders?"

"No sir, the three Elders were found not to be involved. They are apparently as outraged as the citizens of Crillia."

"Will all of this turn out alright?"

"Yes, my lord. It is an inquisition that was apparently overdue. Oddly enough, you are being credited with protecting the Crillian people from unscrupulous individuals who could have seriously harmed the state."

"Oh boy...."

"Sir, may I show you?" Trill tapped a crystal control, and a large display screen appeared on the wall opposite them. To Markman's dismay, it was the Crillian Convention show. All the regulars were there. This time, the set was in upheaval. One commentator was sprawled out on the discussion table face up with another member fanning her face with a cardboard advertising sign. The others were milling around the table arguing.

"You see? You see the absolute chaos this had caused. A member of our group fainting on a live broadcast?" said Guhe, pausing to look over his fallen comrade.

"All I said was that the council must have needed a check up. How else would we ever have known about the impropriety?"

"The Overlord made no appointment. He just barged into a closed meeting, offended the Elders themselves, and then interrogated them as though they were common citizens," argued Guhe.

"The council was dismissed without explanation!" said Belina.

"Yes, in hindsight that was a bad choice," added Gerenda.

"And, the Elders are supposed to be common citizens, Guhe," offered Belina.

Trill switched off the video. "Sir, the Crillian Convention is receiving the highest ratings its discussion panel has ever commanded. That is why they are not switching the broadcast off. Your unexpected visit has caused a very overdue appraisal of Crillian politics. The other branches are now calling for inquisition. It is heartening to see."

"I seem to be an elephant in a china shop, Trill."

"Sir?"

"It's an old saying. Someone tromping around where they shouldn't."

"Many people are commending you for your exploits, sir. You are quite popular now all over Crillia."

"Trill, would you please keep track of all this. Let me know if I get into any kind of trouble. I mean, more than I'm already in."

"I will be happy to, sir."

"I'll need the hooded cloak, Trill."

"Very well, sir. Will you be traveling by transport or tube rider?"

"Transport, please Trill. I want to get to it."

Trill went to an alcove nearby and withdrew Markman's cloak. He approached and held it open. Markman complied by slipping his arms in. The weight of the thing surprised him as he pulled up the hood and wrapped the front closed. In the transport tube there was no waiting. A quick nod and Trill waved one hand. Markman was there.

The Main Square was busy. During the transport, Markman wondered if his cloak might no longer be an adequate disguise. Upon exiting the transport tube, he looked around and held back a laugh. The crowded street was filled with people heading one way or the other, and nearly half of them had on cloaks exactly like Markman's. Apparently Crillian fashion was being strongly influenced by someone with no fashion sense at all. Had Cassiopia been at her station, it was likely she would have fallen out of her seat laughing.

Markman stood in shadow across from the library and watched the comings and goings. Quite a few beamer cars floated by in both directions. Some storefronts were completely changing design every few minutes. Holographic salesmen continued to appear and fade away as passerby's ignored them. One storefront was a complete movie screen projecting 3D movie clips. Lighted colored squares in the sidewalks were tripping on and off everywhere. People were riding the squares up and down the street. Except for audio coming from some buildings, not a word was being spoken except by holograms and other advertisements.

A motley group of utility workers in bright yellow uniforms pulled up to the library and unloaded equipment. A few minutes later, a crazy man riding a small jet engine with handlebars and no wheels jetted into view and stopped in front of them. It was Jax. Markman made his way across the busy street as Jax dismounted. He spotted Markman immediately. He unzipped a chest pocket on his light blue coveralls and slipped something he had been wearing on his wrist into it. Markman stepped onto a blue rectangle on the sidewalk and turned to Jax. "You ready?"

Jax went to the group of utility men and after a brief exchange hoisted what looked like a small jet pack onto his back. One of the utility men made a few adjustments and patted a ready signal. Leaning slightly forward, Jax returned to Markman. "Chemical laser. You can't beat 'em."

"We really know what we're doing?"

Jax shook his head. "I thought you did? We know how to use the laser. I went over it with these guys last night. But no, we don't know what we're doing...Sir"

Markman laughed. He nodded acknowledgment to the utility guys and headed for the library with Jax close behind.

"You don't think we'll attract any attention in here, do you?"

Jax smirked. "No more than possible....sir."

Inside, the library was crowded. Enough patrons were gathered at the main desk that the two attendants did not see the pair pass by. Most other visitors did. They stopped what they were doing and gawked at the strange man with the rocket pack on his back being led by a man in a hooded brown cloak. This time a security guard was present. He locked in on them immediately and headed in a direction to cut them off. He managed to reach the elevator the same time they did.

"Halt. Identification please," he said aloud.

Jax could not resist. "Identification? For the public library? What you need identification for?"

"Let me see your ID unless you want a ride downtown."

Markman could not resist. "Ride downtown? Jax, you told me this was downtown...."

"Citizens, I'm not going to fool around with you. You here to exterminate rodents or something? I need to see some ID."

"You want ID? Okay, I'm Jax Romo, chief pilot at the Terra Nova Castle, Skyway Terrace, and this is the Overlord. You need any other ID?"

A look of fear came over the man's face. He stepped back and took a long hard look at the hooded man standing next to Jax. More confirmation was needed, but asking for it seemed a bit treacherous. Markman remembered his visit to the Thought Exchange. He held out one hand, the long cuffed sleeve hanging down. He concentrated on his open hand. Ever so slowly, a golden coin appeared in his palm. He took it between his thumb and forefinger and held it out to the guard. "For your trouble, officer."

The guard stood stunned. Markman continued to hold out the coin. Hand shaking, the guard slowly reached out and took it.

The elevator door opened. Jax began laughing under his breath and stepped inside. Markman nodded at his newest believer and followed. The doors slid shut. With the tap of the bottom button, they started down.

"You never offered me a gold coin, and I've visited hell with you. Not only that, we're on our way there again!"

Markman held out his hand and formed another gold coin. Jax looked down at it, up at Markman, then begrudgingly reached out and took it. "Good. A real souvenir. Thanks, Boss."

Once again the elevator stopped one story short, as though it was not programmed to descend to the bottom. Markman re-tapped the button and the car dropped one more floor.

Beyond the open elevator doors, the darkened, dirt-covered hallway was unchanged. In the adjacent utility room, the oval hatch opened more easily this time. Jax and Markman descended the short, dirt ramp, their headlamps casting eerie shadows around an eerie hole in the ground. The brick wall stood violated from their previous visit, the dark passageway beyond still largely unexplored and intriguing. Markman had to pull himself away from staring into it. Jax was already setting up the chemical laser in front of the dirty cement wall.

"See that main valve on the back of my pack? Twist that thing full open, will you?"

Markman pulled back his hood and complied. "What else?"

Jax twisted around to look at him. "Pick a spot. Get ready for some dust."

Markman placed a finger in the dead center of the wall and drew an X in the dirt. Jax tugged free a long wand attached to his backpack and waved for him to stand back. A loud crack brought a hot blue beam at the end of the wand. Jax took a careful forward stance at the wall and brought the beam to bear. There was smoke accompanied by crackling and hissing. Liquefied cement began to fall away from the wall.

Ever so slowly a seam began to open. Jax skillfully cut a waist high arc for the top of the opening, the strongest possible shape in case the wall was load bearing. It took thirty minutes to bring the first side all the way down to ground level, and then another thirty minutes for the other. When he was done, Jax cut off the fuel feed and the blue arc died with a pop. He unstrapped himself from the torch and set it gently on the ground.

The two men stood looking at the cutaway cement still blocking their passage. Markman removed his cloak and folded it neatly by the torch. He took a position in front of the newly formed door, braced and placed a solid side kick into the arch. The chunk of cement gave way easily and made a whoomp sound as it fell inward leaving a newly opened doorway to darkness.

Jax said, "Well congratulations. It does look like there's a space back there. Don't get your hopes up. It may be only three or four feet deep."

Markman took his hand lamp and bent over at the opening. He maneuvered his light in. "It's deep," he said. He stepped one leg through, worked a shoulder in and squeezed past. Inside he stood, his headlamp casting beams into the deep chamber. The hand lantern was much brighter. This was not a tunnel. It was a large room. There was a long, dirt-covered table in the center. What appeared to be shelves with accumulations of dirt lined every wall. Some sort of dust-covered equipment was stacked here and there. The ceiling was fairly high. It was impossible to tell what the walls floor and ceiling were made of, but the shelves went all the way to the top.

Markman trudged through the dirt and debris and went to the closest shelf. Jax squeezed in behind him. The dirt on the shelves was so deep he had to wipe some away to see if anything was there. His hand quickly hit buried objects. He wiped enough away to make out the shapes. They were books. A pang of joy raced through Markman. That was the best thing he could have hoped for. This chamber was full of information. There had to be information about the tunnels and the Salantians here. It only made sense.

Excitedly he worked a book out of its place and held it carefully in one hand. The cover had markings but was too old and too worn to make out. He set down his hand lamp, and as carefully as possible opened the cover. The pages were ready to fall out and disintegrate. As gently as he could, he turned to the title page. Shock suddenly filled his mind. He stared down at the title and shook his head in disbelief.

The Adventures Of Huckleberry Finn

Mark Twain

Markman stood dazed by what he held in his hand. He carefully placed it back on the shelf and took down another. It was 'The Catcher In The Rye.' He dusted away more and found himself standing in a section of classic Earth books. He backed away and tried to understand. It made no sense at all.

The large table in the room's center had the outline of several very large volumes covered in dust. They were the size of large script Bibles. As Jax mused himself wandering around, Markman went to the table and dusted off the nearest book. Excitement coursed through his veins. The embedded title was The Exodus, but this was not a Bible. He wiped away the dirt from the book next to it, President's Daily Log. Markman cleared off a spot on the table, and ever-so-carefully opened the President's Daily Log. There was a preface. A long one. Using his hand lantern for more light, he leaned against the dirty table and began to read.

Let us begin the recording of our new history with the telling of the genesis from which it arose. It is the story of a lost race that refused to die. Perhaps that is humankind's proudest legacy, our determination that as long as we still breathe, we never give up.

We do not know exactly when the Salantians began their invasion of Earth. Most computer records from that time were lost in the exodus. We only know that the enemy was well prepared and knew exactly what to expect. That was centuries ago. This prehistory account is a compilation of stories handed down from generation to generation combined with what little documentation survived from those terrible times. The invaders opened doorways all over the world, and once Salantian queens were introduced, the battle was all but lost. The egg-layers, so prolific their reproduction, left no hope of turning back the onslaught. Earth's military responded immediately to the threat, but the early battles quickly became defensive. Walled military installations were formed to reduce the slaughter. They soon became the only refuge. It was known from the beginning that these defensive positions would eventually fall, and after decades of fighting, few remained. A few human colonies were able to exist deep within hidden government bunkers, but in the end it was the cold that saved the remaining few. The Salantians could not exist in sub-zero temperatures. The Arctic and Antarctic became our only safe haven. The Salantians knew pockets of humans had escaped to Terra Nova Bay and DuMont D'Urville, but their vulnerability to cold was so absolute they were not able to mount an offense against those colonies. Communications were eventually set up, and a network of human resistance finally established. There was no chance of repulsing the invaders. Our forefather's only goal was to stay alive for as long as possible. Combat teams dared visits to the homeland under protection of darkness and winter to find and bring back food and other expendables. It provided a minimal existence, and in time we learned more and more about our benefactors. The more we learned, the worse our situation seemed.

The Salantian devils were not only harvesting humans, they were also collecting and storing Earth's natural resources. They were processing the rain forests, lakes and rivers, extracting minerals from the soils, and separating and collecting oxygen from Earth's atmosphere. They were storing this harvest for future use. Eventually, we were able to measure the change in the air we breathed, along with the rate it was deteriorating. Earth, as we knew it, was being dismantled. As the environment worsened, the Salantian population finally began to depart. It was first thought this was because they were exhausting Earth's resources. We were wrong.

Something in the night sky had changed. A group of students was the first to document it. There was a new star in the sky, brighter than all but the sun. It was quickly understood that this was not a star, but a rogue planet. Some scientists insisted it was Nibiru, the legendary ninth planet, long theorized but never before seen. Only a few days were required to establish it was growing brighter. More accurately, it was moving closer.

Nibiru was calculated to be four times larger than the Earth. Its path would take it on the worst possible course through our solar system. Its passing would affect the balance of several other planets, and on its current trajectory, it would ellipse into an orbit around the sun very close to that of Earth. There was no way to understand the gravitational upheavals that would occur. The only hope was to gather as many supplies as possible and take refuge underground.

As predicted, the impacts from Nibiru were cataclysmic. Tidal waves, massive storms, a shifting of the poles. Periods of calm followed by additional upheavals. Sections of continents disappeared under water. Some human colonies were lost. Scientists at the Amundsen-Scott Research Station Observatory began to suspect that Nibiru's path could not account for all of the gravitational anomalies affecting our system. Calculations showed that Nibiru must have brought something even worse along with it. An unknown singularity was following Nibiru. Further disruption of the orbits of the outer planets soon confirmed that, just in time to predict greater coming cataclysms.

The biggest change of all occurred with the sun. As Nibiru and its companion continued to upset the balance of our solar system and neared Earth, the sun began to reform itself. Over the next century, it gradually began to take on an hourglass shape. Solar flares were continuous. The hourglass form became more and more defined until finally, a complete separation occurred, leaving two suns rotating about each other. In that same time period, Nibiru finally settled into an orbit very close to Earth's.

For the next few years, our system seemed to stabilize to its new gravity map. It became safe to stay on the surface. As expected, exploration teams found no Salantians remaining. They had bequeathed us a dead, depleted planet. There would be no raising of crops. Good water was scarce. The air difficult to breathe. The generations of survivors that were left had endured such unthinkable chaos it was difficult to accept that time was now running out.

As the search for food grew more desperate, an ironic discovery changed the future. A functional vortport was found, still running on the Salantian power generator left behind in the tunnels beneath what had been Washington, D.C. The Salantians had been forced to leave one operational vortport so the last of them could leave. The vortport was still open to wherever they had gone. It was quickly assumed that had to be the next planet they were harvesting. Wherever that was, that society was now going through hell, and there was no way to help them.

Although the vortport technology was beyond our understanding, over time we were able to reset the system to the last place the Salantians had been, the last planet they had destroyed before attacking ours. A very brave team dared to pass through the vortport and emerged onto Crillia. To their surprise, Crillia turned out to be Nibiru. Earth was visible in the night sky.

Our Crillian inheritance was a blessing in disguise. Though there was not a single Crillian left alive, their race had been extremely advanced. Most of the Crillian infrastructure was still intact. Power systems were still operating. Buildings had withstood the test of time. Many vehicles still operated. In the few hundred years since the destruction at the hands of the Salantians, even the plant life had returned. We quickly realized an exodus to Crillia was for us, an escape from extinction.

So the great Exodus began. Several hundred passed through the vortport every day. We spread out across the planet, learning Crillian as we went. We learned that the Crillian power systems were deep tunnels that went all the way to the planet's core. A malfunction of part of that system in the western hemisphere had caused several massive, perpetuated explosions. It was theorized those explosions had thrown Crillia off its original orbit and brought it to us.

Twenty-two thousand, three hundred and eighty of us passed through that vortport and emerged into the underbelly of the Crillian Aurora City Library. This is the story of a race of people who faced generations of hell but never gave up. What follows in this log are the daily accomplishments in setting up a new world and new society. Peace be with all who read this.

Markman stared at the dirty, smudged preface and struggled to believe. If true, it meant the civilization living on Crillia was not comprised of Crillians at all, but rather humans from Earth. Markman looked up at Jax, still exploring different parts of the chamber. That would make him a descendant of some family originally from Earth. The scope of it was too much. Markman shook himself back to reality. He needed to gather as much of this data as possible. It would take a very long time to read these large volumes, but he didn't have to. He knew that simply looking at a printed page for a moment would allow John Paul's people to scan and store it. He began a slow and deliberate turning of pages in the President's Logbook. When done, he would go on to the Exodus volume, and then to as many more as he could find relevant.

Jax began taking down books from the other end of the room, glancing over them, and putting them back.

"Jax, handle them carefully. They contain important information."

Jax looked up from the book in his hand. "What language is this?"

"It's English, Jax. Ever hear of it?"

"Nope."

Markman stood in silent awe at the thought that humans had taken on the Crillian language as their own. Had it not been for the sensesuit computer translating for him, Markman would not even be able to talk with these descendants from Earth.

"Haven't seen anything here worth a good bottle of bourbon," said Jax.

"Just be careful with them, Jax. And, you must not tell anyone what we've found here. That's really important. Okay?"

"Okay, Boss."

Two hours later, Markman had covered several books related to the Exodus and the history of Earth and Crillia. It was time to exit the system. Jax gathered up the equipment, and they made their way to the elevator. As the doors closed, Jax asked, "Can you really read that weird stuff that fast?"

"Not really. There's a trick to it."

"Did you find what you were looking for, Boss?"

"Maybe."

As the elevator slowed, Markman brushed the dirt from his cloak. "Jax, would you return that stuff for me and thank those guys. I'm going to transport back to the Centrex Pyramid right from here. I'll catch you on the next trip. Thanks for everything."

"There's a transport tube just past the elevators by the rear exit. You gonna use it?"

"I don't need a tube, Jax. After you leave the elevator, I'll close the doors and jump from right here."

"Really...?"

"Yes."

"You can do that?"

"Yes."

The elevator doors opened. Jax stepped out and turned back. "That's a good trick, Boss."

"Thanks again, Jax. See you soon."

The doors swished closed. Markman touched the gold triangle on his chest. The familiar light wave carried him back to the Centrex Pyramid. Trill was waiting.

"My lord, a safe return. Thanks be to the Gods of Terra."

"Trill, I need you to do something else for me."

"I am at your service always, my lord."

"I want the Aurora Central Library elevator modified so that no one except me can go down to the lowest level. Have Jax coordinate that. He knows the place well. It is very important. Make it happen as quickly as you can, and please try to make the change without anyone going down to that lowest level. Can you see if that can be done?"

"Yes, my lord. Right away. I'm sure the High Council will approve."

"Thanks. I'm ready for suit disengagement." Markman removed his cloak, draped it over a control seat, and entered the transport tube.

"My lord, please return soon. Your presence seems to uplift Crillia. You are well loved here."

"Take care of yourself, Trill. That's an order."

Trill waved his hand across the crystal control. A blast of white light took Markman back to his own reality, where the story of Earth's future waited to be unraveled.

Chapter 16

Markman pulled off his helmet and stood overlooking a sensesuit lab populated with staff in various degrees of shock. All were either standing at their stations looking at each other in disbelief or gathered around John Paul looking over his shoulder. So engrossed was John Paul, he gave no notice to Markman, leaving him to de-suit behind a chair in the absence of the usual courtesy curtain. Markman finished peeling off his suit and hurriedly squeezed into his jeans. With his charcoal V-neck shirt on and athletic shoes laced, he joined the crowd of gawkers around John Paul.

John Paul straightened up in his seat and looked around. He rubbed his eyes, spotted Markman in the crowd, and motioned one of his associates to take his place. He waved Markman to follow and left the test area in the direction of the commissary. There, John Paul called for two coffees, handed one to Markman and took a seat.

John Paul sipped and seemed to look right through Markman. "You could say this is our worst case scenario come true," he finally said.

"Do you believe this? Do you believe we're seeing the real future?"

"I do. I believe our fears of a Salantian invasion of Earth came true. They devastated Earth, and the only survivors were those who miraculously escaped to Crillia. The people on Crillia are what's left of us, or will be at least."

"Why do you think they walled up that part of their history?"

"We will probably find reference to that somewhere in the new material. I have no doubt that at some point it was decided they did not want their new culture living in constant fear that the Salantians would someday return and desecrate them again. They not only hid the exodus records. They seem to have removed and hidden any records of the real Crillians."

"But they were leaving themselves unprotected, weren't they?"

"They knew they had no real defense which made the thought of it even worse, or somehow they knew Salantians never return to a decimated planet a second time."

"What will we do?"

"We've been working on this problem from back when you first discovered the Salantian intrusion in the New York sewer system. I often wonder had you not been brought in on that case by Federal Agent Ann Rogers, would we actually have found that Salantian outpost. That had to have been a kind of Salantian scouting mission. The good news is, when you discovered their lair back then, it made us aware and allowed us to begin evaluating the threat. The bad news is, they must know they were discovered and will probably move up the date of their full invasion. In any case, we've already been testing and preparing for that day and we know now they will open multiple vortports all around the planet. I'll be briefing you and Cassiopia more on the tactical aspects of all this a little later. The material you've brought back today will probably go a long way in further educating us on the enemy and his tactics. My associates will continue scanning and transferring today's material into text. As each book is compiled, a committee will form to study and summarize the material. I'll receive their summaries as each is finished. We have learned a great deal. We confirmed today that the Salantians will open many vortports in a short period in many different areas around the world. They will try to bring in Queens to bear eggs to fortify their armies. We also know that if they get too much of a foothold, the militaries of the world will not be able to stop them. We'll need to stop them before that buildup. Their biggest mistake was letting us get our hands on the sensesuit computer. I doubt they expected that to happen."

"How can we possibly stop the main invasion?"

"A command center has already been set up for that. Systems for detecting the invasion are being developed and setup. Contacts with certain government officials around the world have already quietly begun. The new data we find here will be quickly transmitted to that command center. It's possible we may already be behind the curve. Command will be advising us of status and any new developments."

"What can I do?"

"Your names have already been mentioned. Command would like both you and Cassiopia to remain on standby. The two of you are the only people on Earth who have first-hand experience with the Salantians. Command would like you to be available if they need you."

"Just say the word."

"There is one good thing out of all of this. Our incursions into the sensesuit computer have finally turned out to be very valuable. The risks we took putting you in there were more than worth it."

Markman tried his best to look optimistic as he left the lab, though secretly he harbored increased misgivings and doubt. He took Core back to Richmond. At the hotel, the Professor was settling in nicely. As Cassiopia had anticipated, long sleep periods were dominating his day. To Markman's surprise, he found her excited about something, so excited she nearly forgot the usual long hug. The news that Crillians were actually humans seemed to energize her even more. She had conjured some sort of surprise for John Paul. She was anxious to see him. The news had to be delivered in person. With her father adequately medicated and sound asleep, she ushered a reluctant Markman back to the Vette, and back on the road to Culpeper. Try as he may, he could not coax the reason out of her during the trip.

A tired John Paul was working in the lab with Shandra and three other associates when they arrived. He looked up with an expression of surprise and puzzlement at the sight of Markman. It changed to one of delight upon noticing Cassiopia. John Paul pulled away from the work and began to sense the excitement overflowing from Cassiopia. He beckoned the pair to the commissary and cast an inquisitive stare as they sat.

"John Paul, can I get you something for a change?" asked Markman.

"What? Yes, coffee I supposed. Command 'JP coffee.' That's my mix."

Markman went to the counter.

"So what is so important that you have dragged your poor page all the way back here, Cassiopia?" he asked.

Cassiopia ignored his attempt at humor and excitedly slid a tablet across the table to him. "One page of translated code, John Paul."

John Paul picked up the tablet, looked at her, and then gazed at the information on the screen. "Lines of sensesuit code? We're analyzing this stuff twenty-four hours a day. How could such a thing have you so excited?"

Markman hurried back to the table with two coffees and a tea teetering in his grasp. He assigned them to their proper owners and sat listening intently.

"I'll give you a hint. There's a smaller line of translation below each line of code."

John Paul already had become engrossed in the data on the screen. "I don't understand this," he admitted. He looked up at Cassiopia in wonderment.

"Okay. This is so cool. When Scott confirmed to me that the sensesuit computer could be something from the future, immediately I knew the specs in the data you had given me were correct. I began to see new patterns in the code form. These patterns were aligned with the same isotope decay values I had suspected of being erroneous. Those alignments eventually led to a common algorithmic key that was universal to some timing segments of the processor cores. Once I had that, the entire coding sequence began to unravel. Because using the suit was a danger to Scott, I concentrated on the diagnostics portion of the language. Even I was shocked at how completely it all fell into place. So there you have it. It's everything you need."

Markman sat back, rolled his eyes, and said, "Geez... I hate being left out..."

John Paul continued to look intrigued. "This is translated code you have here. Why does this look familiar somehow?"

Cassiopia was squirming in her seat. "It's more than that, John Paul. Don't you see? It is your Rosetta stone. Continue to carry out the rest of it from that page and you have the entire translation of sensesuit computer logic. You have everything!"

John Paul seemed stunned. He stood without looking away from the tablet. "My God!" He paused in disbelief. "Please, the two of you wait here, I'll be right back." John Paul charged out, staring at the tablet as he went, brushing by the side of the door as he turned the corner.

Markman turned back to Cassiopia. "And for those of us still struggling with algebra?"

Cassiopia had a big smile on her face. "I broke the code. When they are done extrapolating the rest of that, they'll have complete control of the sensesuit and the computer. No more chance of someone being hurt in the suit. No more danger from combat. The sensesuit can be configured to be harmless to the wearer."

"Oh. Okay. That's good then. I won't have to worry about being conked on the head or something."

"No, Scott. It's more than that. It means the suit can be set up so that anyone can wear it. You won't even need to go back in unless it's something they need you specifically for. And, they can use the other suit they still have."

"Wow. Cass, you've probably saved my ass again."

"Just remember that, Mister. I own you."

Markman rested his chin on his fist and narrowed his stare in a romantic overture. "Yeah? Well, I don't mind. Not at all."

John Paul returned wiping his brow with a white handkerchief. He slowly took his seat and looked at Cassiopia, for once not knowing what to say. "It seems I must remind myself not to underestimate you, Cassiopia. What you've just done is indescribably profound."

"You're welcome, John Paul."

"You are truly a remarkable individual. I am really at a loss for words."

"I don't want to spoil the moment, but would you answer a very sensitive and personal question for me then, John Paul?" she replied.

"At this point, I will not try to guess what that might be. Please, ask away. I will try."

Cassiopia took out her cell phone and pressed a few keys. The photo of the civil war soldiers came up on the screen. She slid the phone across the table to John Paul. He picked it up and a strange, faraway look came over his face.

"That is you, isn't it?" asked Cassiopia.

John Paul sat back in his seat and looked up with a tired expression. "My, what an odd experience. Having one's feelings switch almost instantly from exhilaration to melancholy. Cassiopia, you see no matter how hard we try to limit your exposure to the secrets of our organization, sometimes fate plays its own hand. Yes. That is a tin plate photograph of John Paul the third, special engineer for the Union army. You've noticed the Victorian era apparel I wear. It was my attire at the time I agreed to leave my former life behind. Dressing this way helps me remember who I am. I was transferred out of the Union army and into this organization a short time after the war, a short time after I discovered the physics of antigravity and could no longer be allowed to directly affect the world around us."

Markman sat with raised eyebrows. Cassiopia continued. "But that would make you well over one hundred years old."

"Yes, it would. When you formally join the organization here, the previous scheme of your lifespan no longer applies."

"Well, how long will you live?"

"As long as this existence is of benefit to both the world and me."

"How long is that?"

"No one knows."

"If we were to join the organization, would it be the same for us?"

"Yes."

"Immortality?"

"No."

"This is kind of a scary development."

"Were you to join, there are certain educational sessions that are designed to help you understand these matters. That training makes these kinds of transitions quite easy to adapt to. You, of course, have placed the cart before the horse, so life seminars would be catch up for you instead of preparation as they were intended."

"John Paul, just how many people have been removed from society because they became too smart?" asked Cassiopia.

"I do not know the exact number. I myself had the honor of indoctrinating Tesla into our group. There have been many others."

"You can delay someone from dying? Your group has that much power?"

John Paul took a deep breath. "Cassiopia, no one dies. Our visits here to Earth are actually quite short, though at times suffering makes them seem much longer. When someone's visit here is through, they merely withdraw to their real lives."

"Their real lives where?"

"Cassiopia, we have touched on this already. They withdraw to their real lives on what you and I refer to as one of the heavenly dimensions."

"Everyone?"

"If a person has become so dedicated to evil that his presence would disrupt the dimensions of heaven, he is taken and held elsewhere, a place that resembles the kind of world where his malevolent actions are the norm."

"But John Paul, so many people have problems. I mean, everyone has faults."

"Yes. One of the characteristics of Earth's gravity field is that a person's coarser, denser, cruder impulses are drawn to the surface here by it. So even as we confront the difficulties presented by others, we must also deal with the more primitive aspects in ourselves. It is the reason why so many of us are always at odds with our more primal instincts. These are the ways we refine ourselves to become a more mature, spiritual consciousness, part of our struggle to become better people. It is the challenge this visit to Earth offers. But Cassiopia, this information is a part of what makes up the growth seminars one receives when one becomes a part of my organization. This is not the time for them. We are involved in a race against an evil empire right now. The work to defend against a Salantian invasion must take precedence."

"Why do the higher authorities you always speak of allow this evil race to destroy other peaceful civilizations?" asked Cassiopia. "They have the power to stop this."

John Paul tried to look sympathetic. "As I've said before, Cassiopia, the universe is a complex place. You referred to the Salantians as an evil race, but to them, they are only doing what comes naturally. When ant colonies grow large enough, they too divide and set up new colonies wherever the environment suits them. If other species are already resident there, they overrun them unless they can be stopped. Ants can hardly be considered evil. The Salantians are no different. They too are doing what comes naturally to them based on their evolution and design. If they are driven back from a planet, I doubt they harbor any ill will toward that planet. They simply move on in search of the next. Heaven will help Earth to a certain degree, just as it does in all situations, but only in so much as the people of Earth help themselves. Humans must use the abilities they have been blessed with and join together to overcome this pestilence. They cannot sit back and expect the powers from above to do the work for them. Just as each of us must overcome problems and offenses each day, there come times when people must work together to avoid terrible things from happening. From what I've seen of history, I would say this is one of those times."

Markman leaned back and locked his hands behind his head. "Well, at least we have your people, John Paul."

"Yes. We are a part of that heavenly help I mentioned. Kind of a go-between."

"Is there anything more we should be doing?" asked Cassiopia.

"How is your father?" asked John Paul.

"Almost back to his grumpy self. He's starting to ask the more difficult questions."

"Allow me to suggest this. Your father has been through a great deal. He needs to go home to get his bearings. Even if the three of you decided to join us formally, that transition would begin there. As soon as the testing is complete, take your father home. When the time feels right, tell him everything about our organization. When he's ready, I'll come for a meeting with all of you. We can decide how you would like to proceed. Scott, we'll need a day to finish going through everything you brought back today, along with Cassiopia's incredible decoding. You could assist in taking the Professor home and explaining all this. We'll provide a special limousine for the trip. Scott, you should also take Core with you. We wouldn't want you traveling without that level of protection."

Cassiopia bit her bottom lip. "Is it safe there at home, John Paul? Is it really safe?"

"Cassiopia, it is as safe as any location could be."

"What exactly does that mean?" asked Markman.

"It means, unless you would choose to have the Professor live in a small, concrete cell, there cannot be a better security arrangement than the one we have designed for the Cassell residence."

Markman asked, "John Paul, where does Earth stand in all this? What do you think will happen?"

"Sometime in the next few days, I will brief you both on our military and diplomatic efforts. I believe at some point Salantian incursions will begin showing up all over the world, probably sooner than later. When that happens, special assault forces will be deployed to attack and repel the invaders in those locations. It is a very old battle strategy that a small force can hold off a very large force by facing them in a narrow passage. That will be the cornerstone of our defense. I just hope we are ready in advance enough to shift the war in our favor."

"War?" asked Cassiopia in disbelief.

"War," replied John Paul.

Chapter 17

A light drizzle from a slow-moving cold front made the morning's departure from Richmond bothersome. The Professor emerged from the hotel leaning heavily on his hospital-issue aluminum cane with Markman supporting his other arm. Secretly, Markman could feel the faint flow of healing electricity escaping his grasp, though the patient did not seem to notice. Instead, the Professor gave a guttural cheer at the watery affront Mother Nature had prepared for his leaving, and paused to look up at the low gray clouds as he delicately stepped down from the terrace entrance. Cassiopia followed close behind, shielding herself from the rain by pulling her coat over her head. By the time they reached the waiting limo, all three were drenched, though the Professor continued to celebrate his newfound feeling of freedom. Markman opened the limo door and helped lower him into its dry comfort. Folded towels waited within. As he shut the door, a black sedan pulled up across the street. An MIB emerged, unfurled a black umbrella, and opened a rear door. John Paul climbed out, grabbed the umbrella, and trotted across the street to join them.

"How is he?" he asked.

Cassiopia ducked under to share the umbrella. "He's a handful."

"That's a good sign," replied John Paul. "Cassiopia, about your decoding work."

Cassiopia's eyes lit up.

"It is even more profound than even you may have thought. They worked on it all night. We have already found some references we did not expect."

Markman closed in on the pair, trying to hear from outside the umbrella's shield.

"What have you found?" asked Cassiopia breathlessly.

"Too much to discuss in the rain. I will text you. Because of that decoding, I need to borrow Scott for a couple hours this morning. He can catch up afterward. Is that okay?"

"Is it dangerous?"

"No, not after what you've given us."

"Okay."

Markman straightened up in the rain wondering why no one was asking him. John Paul glanced over and then back at Cassiopia. "I'll keep you both well informed. Things are heating up." He handed his umbrella to Cassiopia and dashed back to his sedan, where his strangely dry-looking driver opened the rear door.

Cassiopia moved over to Markman so that they were both sheltered, though Markman was already as wet as he could get. She stared up at him, her make-up running, the light in her eyes just as bright. She hugged him and pressed her head against his wet chest, then looked up in time to meet his kiss. "He said two hours. I won't give him any more than that. You get your butt down to Florida, you hear?"

Markman smiled. Water dripped from his chin. He reopened the limo door and took the umbrella. She climbed in and gazed up at him. No further words were necessary.

On the way to the Taslam Industries building, the drizzle finally began to subside. Markman stopped at the hotel for a quick change. At the lab, he found John Paul seated at the conference table in the sensesuit test area studying a tablet. Markman pulled out a seat and waited for the man's attention.

John Paul looked up with a tired expression. "Your wife.... Oh, I am sorry. That's the second time that slipped out. Forgive me. Cassiopia's work on this code is so extraordinary it almost scares me a bit. We knew the Cassells were getting too advanced. We were focused on the Professor. Perhaps we were keeping an eye on the wrong Cassell. Or, perhaps the two of them are a one family army. I really don't know at this point."

"What have you got, John Paul?"

"Well, straight to the point, we can now send anyone into the sensesuit computer without danger. We have complete control of the suit functions. So, what I need is for you to make one more short trip inside to reassure Trill that new people will be visiting on your behalf and he should not be alarmed by them. My staff will then take turns going in and scanning everything in that underground repository. We can do it from outside, but inside is far faster and far more organized. Do you see any problem?"

"Probably not. I'll be careful about my choice of words, though."

"Be sure to give our people as much authority as you can in there."

"Will do. We'd better set up. You-know-who only allowed us two hours this morning. If I take any more than that we're both in trouble."

"Ah, yes. A consequence to be avoided, certainly."

The system was energized and ready faster than Markman could get into the suit. When at last he was ready, no time was wasted in jumping once more into the future world of Crillia. As always, Trill was waiting. Markman paused to look out at the Aurora City below the observation balcony. Trill called to him from inside. "My Lord, welcome to your adopted city."

Markman turned and smiled. "Yes, Trill. It is that."

"Sir, what service may I be of?"

Markman entered the office and approached Trill. He stopped beside him and paused to touch the crystal control column Trill so often used. The crystals jutting up from the column changed in color as his hand moved over them.

"Trill, I'm just here briefly to organize some things with you. You know I've been doing some very serious work here during my visits."

"Yes, my lord."

"The information I found beneath the library is very important. There is a lot of it. I will be sending in some of my staff to visit you and continue working beneath the library. They will report back to me after each visit. I will need you to support them in any way you can. Can you do that?"

"Yes, my lord. I will anticipate their visits."

"These men are friendly and peaceful. There is no reason to worry about them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord. When will you again return?"

"I'll make periodic visits just as I have been to continue the work."

"Very good, my lord."

"If my associates need access to the Terra Nova Castle, please coordinate that with DuMont."

"Yes, my lord."

"Okay. I knew I could depend on you, Trill. I need to disengage now."

"My lord, before you go, based on some of our previous discussions, I believe there is one thing you should be advised of."

"Okay, what?"

"Sir, there was another user in the system today."

Markman stood in confusion for a moment. "There was a what today?"

"A visitor, my Lord."

"You mean someone visited the Centrex Pyramid?"

"No, my Lord. This was a user from outside the system."

"Outside where?"

"Outside the system, sir."

"Trill, are you saying someone not from Crillia was here?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"One of my associates was already here?"

"No, sir. This user did not enter at this site. He entered at some other engagement point."

"Was this a player coming to enter a game?"

"No, my lord. My information is that this user came through at the opening of a main gate as a dignitary, a visitor. That classification is generally assigned to a representative who is operating the system."

Markman stood confounded. "Trill, do you know where this entry was made?"

"No, my lord. That information can only be obtained by those operating the system."

Markman remained in disbelief. Finally, he raised one hand and nodded. "Very well, Trill. Thank you for that information. It's important. Please find out any more you can about this other user. We'll discuss it again when I return."

Markman stepped into the transport tube and nodded. Trill waved his hand, and the familiar flash brought Markman back to reality.

Markman hurriedly peeled off his helmet, looked for John Paul, and shouted, "Did you get that?"

John Paul called back, "Yes. We're searching now."

Markman set his helmet on a table and went to John Paul's station, his sensesuit hanging open at the chest. "Was he saying someone else has a sensesuit and entered our computer this morning?"

John Paul spoke without looking up. "No. Our sensesuit computer was in standby right up until you went in. I believe he was saying that someone else has a sensesuit and a computer, and because these computers are synched with each other, entering a different machine is essentially the same as entering ours."

"Well, that's a disturbing damn thing."

"Yes, if it's true."

"Can you tell?"

"Yes, but there's no way to know how long it will take to find the path and follow it. I'm not sure how much the code will tell us, either."

Markman paced around for more than an hour, but searching sensesuit code for a mysterious visitor proved to be too time-consuming. With his two-hour allowance used up, he bowed out with promises from John Paul that anything found would be passed on. He called for Core and was soon back on the road to Florida.

At the Cassell residence, a road-weary Professor Cassell pushed through the front door to find his beloved TEL 200D robot waiting just inside. He looked up at the empty machine face and patted it lovingly on its silver metallic cheek. The robot's gold-tinted visor seemed to glow affectionately. Though some of Tel's shiny, silver exoskeleton was armored, there was still a certain grace about the thing. The grated opening in the face providing speech synthesis helped form a face that somehow commanded intelligence. The complex silver chest plate with its gold-plated trim almost seemed out of place.

It was a miracle the Professor still owned the machine. Normally it would be impossible for a civilian researcher to obtain such a lease. Just half a dozen production TELs had been built and delivered to the military before a determined suicide truck bomber was able to destroy the TEL Corporation factory and offices. That attack had been revenge for the successful extraction of hostages in a mid-eastern terrorist hideout. Because the TELs could see just as well in pitch black as they could in daylight, their rescue operation had been performed at night, leaving enemy combatants to wonder what kind of devils were overrunning them in the darkness. Though terrorists were all but helpless to defend their base, the subsequent bombing of the TEL Industries Complex offered a sore reminder of their resolve.

Most of the technical data on TEL 100Ds had been lost in that well-executed bombing, along with many of the leading TEL engineers. Later, reverse engineering a TEL proved to be a daunting task, one that yielded only fragmented success. The Professor feared the day would come when impatient military leaders would come to consider his TEL a perfect candidate for disassembly. His was one of the units that had not undergone final military programming and was still somewhat in its factory state. Cassiopia had done extensive personality profiling and intuitive programming on it, however, to the point neither she nor the Professor completely understood the machine. Putting his doubts aside, the Professor smiled and nodded to his machine friend. "Tel, I have missed my frequent debates with you."

"Professor, your absence has been specifically noticed on forty-seven different occasions. I have reopened your intercourse files."

"Have there been any problems? What did we miss?"

"Seven temporary power outages. Three doorbell soundings. Frequent noise by outside construction crews above the seventy-decibel rating. Numerous usage of outside water distribution facilities. Two stray dogs in the back yard. Thirty-two police, ambulance, or fire sirens. A leak in the kitchen faucet of approximately 11 ounces per day. Eleven thunderstorms. Fifteen unanswered telephone calls. One unidentified person watching the house from across the street behind the trees."

"Tel, where is the dog?"

"The canine is presently in the backyard," replied the robot.

"Did you say someone was watching the house?"

"It is the only logical explanation, Professor."

"What does this person look like?"

"The individual wears dark clothing. Five feet, eleven inches in height. Estimated weight one hundred and ninety pounds. No other description is available."

"Did this person do anything suspicious?"

"Professor, please define parameters."

Professor Cassell laughed to himself. "Never mind, Tel. I'm looking forward to my den and my Briarwood." The Professor squeezed delicately past Tel. Tel rocked around to face him and called out. "Professor, how do you feel?"

The Professor stopped and turned to face the robot. "Tel, what did you just ask me?"

"Professor, how do you feel, a standard inquiry intended to address your current health."

"Why would you ask that, Tel?"

"Update of your physiological profile, Professor."

The Professor relaxed. "Oh, I see. For a moment I thought you were concerned about my well-being. In any case, you may post that my recent coronary bypass surgery was perfect. I am now in better health than I have been for some time."

"The file updates are complete, Professor."

"Thank you, Tel." The Professor turned and resumed scuffling along to the den.

"I am glad you are well, Professor."

The Professor stopped once again at yet another comment suggesting emotional attachment. He shook his head and decided additional discussion would probably not resolve his doubts. This was probably something to do with Cassiopia's incessant tinkering with the robot's programming. He waved off the comment and continued on.

As the Professor disappeared into his study, the front door again pushed opened. Cassiopia towing luggage entered and closed the door behind her. At the sight of Tel, she broke out in a big smile, dropped the luggage and hurried over to hug the hulk of machine.

"Tel, it's so good to see you again."

"I have missed your input, Cassiopia."

"How's everything been here?"

"Seven temporary power outages. Three doorbell soundings. Frequent noise by outside construction crews above the seventy-decibel rating. Numerous usage of outside water distribution facilities. Two stray dogs in the back yard. Thirty-two police, ambulance, or fire sirens. A leak in the kitchen faucet of approximately 11 ounces per day. Eleven thunderstorms. Fifteen unanswered telephone calls. One unidentified person watching the house from across the street behind the trees."

"Someone's been watching the house?"

"One three occasions."

"What do they look like?"

"The individual wears dark clothing. Five feet, eleven inches in height. Estimated weight one hundred and ninety pounds. No other description is available."

"Did this person do anything illegal or anything?"

"Nothing recorded."

"He's just watched the house on a few occasions?"

"Yes, Cassiopia."

"Okay. Thank you for telling me. Tel, where is the dog?"

"Speedy is playing outside in the backyard."

"Speedy? You named him Speedy?"

"Selected from the works of Asimov. A name he assigned to one of his robots that was also difficult to catch."

"That's cute, Tel. I like it."

"Cassiopia, how are you?"

"I'm just fine, Tel. How are you?"

"All systems nominal. All autonomous maintenance is complete."

"Well did anything else exciting happen?"

"Please specify perimeters."

"Anything out of the ordinary."

"All notable incidents reported."

As Cassiopia paused to consider Tel's report, the front door burst open and banged into Cassiopia's suitcases on the floor. It was Markman.

"How could you have caught up to us this quickly?"

"Don't blame me. Blame the car."

"Really, Scott."

"I'm not kidding. The thing has a mind of its own."

"We're being irresponsible with that thing."

"It can't crash. It has collision avoidance."

"Still."

"Well, after all, I didn't want to get in trouble for going over my two-hour John Paul limit."

Cassiopia went to Markman and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You're always in trouble."

Markman kissed her on the forehead. "It's the best trouble I've ever been in."

"There's more bags in the limo. The driver is waiting."

"Oh boy." Markman turned and looked behind him. "Hi, Tel."

"Greetings, Scott. Scans indicate you are well."

"I am, thank you. Did we miss anything while we were gone?"

"Seven temporary power outages. Three doorbell soundings. Frequent noise by outside construction crews above the seventy-decibel rating. Numerous usage of outside water distribution faculties. Two stray dogs in the back yard. Thirty-two police, ambulance, or fire sirens. A leak in the kitchen faucet of approximately 11 ounces per day. Eleven thunderstorms. Fifteen unanswered telephone calls. One unidentified person watching the house from across the street behind the trees."

"Somebody was watching the house?"

"On three occasions."

"What did this guy look like?"

"The individual wears dark clothing. Five feet, eleven inches in height. Estimated weight one hundred and ninety pounds. No other description is available."

Markman looked back to Cassiopia. "Maybe that's part of the John Paul net."

"I hope so. It could just as well be the people we are afraid of."

"I don't think they could get that close without being detected."

"The driver is waiting."

"I'm on it."

"Just bring them in the door. Tel will take them the rest of the way. Tell the driver thank-you for us."

"Will do."

"Later, we need to go out and check out the new construction."

"As you wish."

"Thank-you, Westley."

As evening settled in, Markman reclined in the Professor's living room with his feet up, ignoring the new wall-mounted LCD TV. He fiddled with Cassiopia's Rubik's Cube and resumed contemplating the use of his new secret powers. As he considered them, a curious thought found its way into his mind. There was another power his old teachers had possessed, not unlike those he was now learning to deal with. It was a power much more common in the martial arts and quite well known. Older masters were able to throw their punches through the air. Markman had experienced the technique first-hand on countless occasions. When practicing with the older masters in light contact sparring, often times they would stop their punches one or two inches short, yet the impact of the punch would knock the student down just as though they had made full contact. All the students had felt this power. Each time such an event occurred, the masters would invariably stop, bow repeatedly, and apologize to the student. In secret demonstrations, the masters would sometimes break bricks or knock down targets using the technique. It was occasionally referred to as a candle punch because the masters could extinguish several candles at a time without ever touching them. It was also called a Qi punch. According to the teachers, Qi could be delivered through the air by extremely well focused punching technique.

Markman wondered about the scope of his telekinetic power. It was certainly some form of Qi transmitted through the air. Would it work with a punch or kick as it had for his masters? The idea was too much of a temptation. Markman stood and assumed a fighting stand. With one had held out and the other by his waist ready to strike, he chose a pile of DVDs sitting on the TV stand. With all of his concentration focused on the DVDs, he twisted his hips and threw an open-handed palm-heel punch. Immediately the DVDs exploded off the table in every direction, sweeping everything beside them onto the floor with a loud, crashing cascade of noise. Markman jumped and covered his mouth with his hand. He looked around worriedly and listened for anyone coming in response to the racket. He hurried to the mess and began furiously picking things up and putting them back as best he could. To his good fortune, no one came.

When the mess had been cleaned up, he sat back on the couch and shook his head at yet another newly discovered power, another unsolicited gift from the Coffer of Dreams. He rubbed one hand on his forehead and decided there was no remedy for this madness. He needed something to clear his head. He could run. There was nothing better than runner's Zen. Once achieved, it offered a complete escape from almost anything. It was late, but running at night was just a different flavor of wonderful escape. All that was needed was a quick change into runner's garb and a word or two to Cassiopia. After a quick second check of the mess he had recovered from, he headed for the bedroom. With a quick change to running shoes, dark sweat pants, and a hood sweat jacket, he stuck his head in the study and told Cassiopia. She looked up with a curious gaze but shrugged him off and went back to her computer.

It was a wonderful night. Though the Richmond day had begun in drizzle and gray, the Florida weather was just the opposite. A blanket of dense stars filled the night sky. A gentle breeze carried the smell of cut grass and flowers. The air was cool and slightly damp. Though it was getting late, most of the lights were still on in the neighborhood. Street lamps cast shadows off the cars and trees along the black roadway. A helicopter chattered its way overhead. A mist was forming near the ground from cool night air meeting its warmth. Markman paused for some deep-breathing exercise. After a few stretching techniques, he took off.

So many arcane thoughts to be overcome by this run. Alien invaders plotting to overrun and devour Earth. A baby in the arms of its mother saved from a certain and untimely death by a man who knew little about medicine. The mysterious power to heal in the hands of that man. Objects levitated by mere thought. Now another new power, still barely tested. A martial arts technique allowing power to be thrown through the air. There were also dealings with a powerful agency unknown to mankind, one that had been in existence since the beginning of human development. Then there was Cassiopia Cassell. Of all the thoughts too absurd to comprehend, she was the most important and the most perplexing. Thank God she loved him. He could not imagine any other life now.

Markman cursed to himself as he realized he was not at all achieving silence of mind. As he picked up his pace in hopes that extra exertion would help that, car lights up ahead came into view around the next corner. Something was happening there. Cautiously, he continued forward.

It was a car in someone's driveway, facing out with the headlights on and the engine running. Both doors were open. Something large was on the ground by the driver's door. An elderly woman was on her cell phone hurrying back into the house. As Markman closed in, he realized it was a man on the ground. He cut over onto the lawn as the woman disappeared inside the house. Kneeling beside the man, he found it was an elderly gentleman, unconscious. Without giving a second thought, he opened the man's jacket and placed his hand on his heart. Electricity began to flow.

There was a strangeness about it this time. The flow of electricity leaving Markman's hand was the gentlest he had felt. The warming around the area was equally soothing and radiant. As the flow continued, the man coughed and opened his eyes partway. He tried to speak, but could only murmur. Markman held to the heart. The flow eased. Only a few minutes were required. The man began to come to life and tried to push himself up into a sitting position. Markman helped him sit up against the car without breaking the flow from his hand.

Abruptly the healing energy cut off. Markman stood up, overcame a moment of dizziness, and leaned against the car with one hand. The man's eyes fluttered open. A sound at the front door of the house startled Markman. Someone was coming. Quickly he pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head and down as far as it would go. He took a few steps to leave but had to catch himself from falling. Slowly, he staggered for the street as a woman's voice called out, "Hello?"

Markman tried to trot away across the street, but it was a dizzy, wandering effort. He headed between two houses and brushed off the side of one trying to add speed to his stagger. He lost his bearings and was not sure which way to go. He could not seem to catch his breath. There was an empty lot with trees across the next street. He headed there and stopped within the cover of brush.

Deep breathing helped. He moved to the nearest tree and leaned against it, slowly sucking in air. Finally, with enough strength regained, he looked around nervously to see if anyone was watching. There was nothing but the silence of a sleepy neighborhood. A moment later the stillness was broken by a faint, approaching whine quickly growing louder. It was an ambulance.

Markman studied his surroundings and tried to remember exactly where he was. He knew from which direction he had come. Logic dictated heading back in the opposite direction would take him back. He began a steady walk, his stamina continuing to slowly return and with it his focus. He began to recognize the street. He was a couple of miles from the Cassell home. A few hundred yards ahead there was an intersection that would allow him back onto his street. He paced himself and began to feel okay again. As he rounded a curve toward home, a dark figure standing within the shadows of a vacant home withdrew into the hazy darkness. Upon reaching that spot, there was no one. Markman shook the fog from his mind and wondered if it had been an illusion. By the time the Cassell home came into view in the distance, he was back to normal.

He opened the front door and emerged into the warmth and comfort of the living area. Dropping his jacket on the sofa, he went directly to the study. She was still there reading. She looked up with a tired smile.

"How was your run?"

"Great. Just great."

"You don't seem sweated up. What, are you sandbagging it?"

"I took it easy. Just wanted to get out awhile."

"Next time I go with you. My body's beginning to take the shape of chairs."

"Actually, it looks very good from where I'm standing."

Cassiopia twisted back in her chair to look at him. "Really? Is that an invitation?"

Markman stepped forward and placed one hand around her shoulder. "Always."

Chapter 18

The next morning began with murder. Markman sat at the kitchen table sprinkling a spoon full of sugar on his corn chex as Cassiopia eyed him with a disapproving stare. In response, he reached out and sprinkled sugar on her oat brand, and the two sat staring in silent combat. Before the conflict could escalate into actual battle, text tones from both cell phones rang out. The messages were from John Paul.

This morning there was a crime committed in Orlando that may relate to your situation. Please proceed immediately to 5104 Kirkman Road, the Tymer Building, Suite 1175, and investigate. Report your findings back to me ASAP. The area has been secured. Police are awaiting your arrival. Special identification cards are attached to this message.

"Why is he sending us to investigate a crime scene?" mumbled Cassiopia.

"You forget, my dear. That is exactly the kind of work I do. He's using us as agents like we already belong to his organization. Besides, if this is really about the Professor, he promised we would be kept advised of everything. And, he knows you too well. He probably thought you'd demand to go anyway."

Cassiopia stood and made a "humph" sound then marched off toward her computer station.

"Ha! No come back for that, right? He's not even here and he got the last word. Why can't I ever do that?" Markman sipped his coffee and waited. In a few minutes, she returned.

"I printed out our ID's. They need to go into a windowed folder of your wallet. The card paper's kind of thin."

"Let's see."

Cassiopia spoke in a bemused tone. "According to this, we're Homeland Security Agents. What would you like to bet if they ran checks on these IDs they'd come back okay?"

"Well, this is no good. Your picture makes you look like a doll. Mine sucks."

"The text says we need to go right away."

Markman pressed Core for a quick trip to the Tymer Building. Orlando traffic was heavy. Several police cars were parked in front of the place. An officer standing by tried to wave them away. Markman held out his ID above the Vette roof and the officer nodded and allowed them to park. It was a twelve-floor high-rise. When the elevator doors opened to the eleventh, yellow police tape prevented anyone from getting off on that floor. Markman raised the tape for Cassiopia and followed her down the hall. There was no need to search for the correct suite. More yellow tape and a uniformed officer guarded the office. As they approached, the officer stiffened and held up one hand.

"Cassell and Markman. We're here to look things over."

The officer leaned into the taped-off room and yelled, "Hey Lieutenant, the Barneys are here."

A plainclothes police officer with a badge clipped to his wrinkled gray suit coat appeared in the door and looked the two visitors over. He had a salt and pepper receding hairline, too many wrinkles for his age, and dark, distrusting eyes. He gave a disapproving stare at the uniformed officer who had called him. "Take it easy, Briggs. Okay?" He turned to Markman as though the man must always be the one in charge. "We've been waiting around for you guys. You got some ID?"

The newly printed cards ID cards were not questioned. The Lieutenant lifted the yellow tape for his unwanted guests. The view of the crime scene made Cassiopia wince and look away with a hand over her mouth. Markman's attitude quickly changed. He searched the disrupted room with discerning eyes.

It was a large office with French doors that opened to a small white cement balcony. There was a modest adjoining bathroom on the left and a large walk-in storage closet on the right. An expensive carved oak desk sat in the middle. An impressive array of computer and printing equipment lined one wall. File cabinets and shelves of supplies filled the other. The place looked like a bomb had gone off. The floor was covered with paper and broken pottery. Anything left on the shelves had been knocked over or broken. The desk had been wiped almost clean, though one computer terminal remained in place. The centerpiece of the room was the body lying on the floor, face up, legs slightly spread, hands at the sides palms down, expensive dark suit coat spread open.

As they entered the room, a second detective in gray coveralls came into view. He held something out to Markman. "Please put the booties on over your shoes and here's rubber gloves if you need to touch anything. The photo guys are all done so don't worry about moving anything."

As Markman finished putting on his second bootie, he looked up at the Lieutenant. "How long ago did this happen? When did you guys get here?"

"The call came in at 8:40. The woman next door has some kind of import business. She has tea on her balcony every morning. She said she heard a faint scream coming from here. She said it sounded so terrible it scared her. She called out, but no one answered. She went inside to the office door and knocked, but no one came so she called us. When we ran this address there was already a flag on this guy by Homeland Security... your office. It says he's an expert at making fake IDs. Real good ones. ID's that will pass most any security check. We sent a car right over. They banged on the door at 8:55. Building security let them in 20 minutes later. What you see is exactly how we found it."

"So the door was locked when you got here?"

"Yeah."

"So somebody did all this, took the victim's keys and locked the door when they left?"

"Must be. We haven't found the victim's keys."

"Why would somebody do all this and then take the time to lock the door as they left?"

"So the cleaning people or somebody else wouldn't open the door and discover the murder. More time to get away. For God's sake, who are you people? Are you new at this or something?"

Cassiopia's analytical mind had already dismissed the Lieutenant. She began poking around, staying as far from the body as she could. She fished through papers in an open filing cabinet, and pulled out a thin stack of bound bills, fanning them in her hand to count them. "Ten one-hundred dollar bills. Someone was not after money. They were after documents."

"Yeah, so he snuffs the seller, tears the place up finding his illegal IDs, and bugs out without paying. Pretty straightforward, if you ask me."

Markman looked over the room. "I don't know. Looks like an awful lot of searching to me. Too much. Maybe he didn't find what he was looking for."

"Either way, he's long gone now," said the Lieutenant.

"You search the body?" asked Markman.

"Cursory. All we found was a crumpled up piece of paper in his hand with the name Theopolis Cassell on it. We ran that through the Homeland Security database and the computer went berserk for a few minutes. I'm guessing that's when you guys got pulled in. What's the deal, anyway?"

Cassiopia and Markman froze at the sound of the Professor's name. They stared at each other in acknowledgment and continued.

"Did you search underneath his clothes?"

"We leave that for the coroner."

"Mind if I have a look?"

"Suit yourself. Not something you'll catch me doing these days."

Markman patted down the body causing Cassiopia to wince again and look away. He opened the man's shirt and felt behind the torso, then began to undo the pants.

"Is that really necessary?" complained the Lieutenant.

"It's a new trick," answered Markman. "It's worth a look." He got the man's trousers down to the knees and began searching behind the legs. He stopped suddenly and looked up at the Lieutenant. "Bingo! Help me roll him over."

Reluctantly the Lieutenant complied. On the back of the right leg was a flesh-colored packet taped neatly in place. Markman tore it off and opened it. Carefully pressed documents were hidden inside. The Lieutenant took them from Markman's grasp and stood to look them over.

"It's an Epi-pack," said Markman. "They're pretty new. Made to contour a specific part of the body so that in a standard pat down they're not detected. Taped to the back of his leg like a pro so a quick shakedown would almost be sure to miss it."

"Well, this stuff must be what the killer was looking for. Fresh new ID for an alias Doctor Patrick Montgomery, Ph.D. Driver's, Social Security, Voter ID, Passport, everything needed to live or travel anywhere. Nice. There's a couple other things here. A death certificate for the Theopolis Cassell guy and transfer papers to transport the body."

Cassiopia stopped abruptly and looked at them with fear and revulsion. It took a moment for her to recover. With an angry stare, she began appraising the crime scene again. Out on the balcony, she looked over the railing and straight down. Only this floor had balconies. Four stories directly below, two men were on a scaffolding cleaning windows. One of the men looked up, spotted her and stopped working to smile and wave. "Lieutenant, have you spoken to those men washing windows?"

The Lieutenant cast another annoyed look. "Ms...Cassell, is it? Of course we have interviewed them. They began work around 7:00. They been working their way down. They heard some unusual noises coming from up here, but they figured it was none of their business."

"And the woman who reported the crime, is she still here?"

"No. She was shaken up by what happened. We let her go home."

Cassiopia stepped carefully back into the room, consciously avoiding the direction of the body. In one corner, in a pile of discarded items, she found a bent and twisted antique gold desk set. It was a pen holder, wind-up clock, and cigarette lighter. It looked like it was made of real gold, quite valuable. The bottom padding had been ripped off by someone searching it. She carefully studied the desk set and placed it gently on the nearby desk, then casually approached the Lieutenant. She leaned in close and whispered. "He's still here."

The Lieutenant stared back, shaking his head. He shrugged and held up his hands in exasperation.

She next went to Markman, leaned in again and whispered. "He's still here."

Markman hurriedly began scanning the room.

Cassiopia stared back at the Lieutenant as though she expected him to do something.

The Lieutenant could stand it no longer. "Lady, you're even crazier than I first thought. Are you trying to say the murderer is still here? Do you think we haven't checked this place out? It's a one-room office for Christ's sake. What in God's name makes you think anyone could still possibly be here?"

A strange, heavy silence came over the crime scene. Both Cassiopia and Markman felt it and braced, expecting the worst. Nothing happened.

Cassiopia picked up the destroyed gold desk set from the desk. "Lieutenant, did you notice this gold desk set?"

The Lieutenant stepped over the body next to Markman and in a low tone asked, "Does she have some sort of impediment?"

Markman blurted out a laugh but quickly thought better of it.

Cassiopia frowned. "Lieutenant! You see the back of this clock is smashed?"

"Yes...so? You'd get maybe ten or twenty dollars for that amount of gold plating. So what?"

"Well Lieutenant, you should have learned in kindergarten or maybe second grade for you, that when the little hand is on the nine and the big hand is on the one that's ten minutes after nine. This clock is fully wound but stopped at ten after nine. It has the day and date in these little side windows. They are set correctly with today's date. You said you banged on the door at 8:55, and were let in twenty minutes later. That means this clock had to have been smashed while your men were somewhere outside waiting for building security to unlock this office!"

"For cripes sake lady, why would any fool murder somebody and then wait around for us to show up, even if there was someplace to hide, which there isn't."

Cassiopia spoke with irritation. "Lieutenant, he killed this man and checked the body for the fake IDs, but he missed them just like you pros did. He had already been told the documents were ready, that's why he was here...to pick them up. He knew they had to be hidden somewhere in this office. He wanted them so badly he continued to look, even after the victim's scream. He searched right up until your men started banging on the door. That's why he had enough time to mess this place up so badly. He didn't care that you guys were coming."

"Lady, for the last time, we searched the place thoroughly. There's nobody here. And like I said, what good would it do a killer to be here when the police showed up?"

Cassiopia shook her head and spoke with exasperation. "The only way out of this room beside the front door is that balcony. The window washers were out there and would have seen anyone trying to climb down that way. The killer searched the body and missed the documents. He's been waiting for you to take it away and seal the place so he can continue searching the room. By finding those documents, we've now ruined that for him."

As the Lieutenant rolled his eyes in ridicule, all hell broke loose. From a narrow outside ledge above the balcony, a shadowy figure dropped down and came at them like a charging bull. The two detectives were driven back, one into the wall, the other into Markman who spun and used the energy to shove Cassiopia into the walk-in closet. The killer drove through the men, unlatched the door and was gone before they could regain their footing. The disheveled detectives charged into the hall, ignoring the uniformed officer unconscious on the floor, just in time to see the elevator doors snap shut. They raced to the end of the hall followed closely by Markman, and hammered on the call button, pacing in place as they waited for the number 2 elevator, cursing at the overhead number display counting down the escape of their suspect. When the doors of the second elevator finally opened, they rushed in and, as one detective hit the lobby button, the other held up his hand to Markman and said, "We've got this." The doors shut as Markman looked up at the hopeless chase being counted down on the elevator display.

As he watched, an alarming thought struck Markman. He leaned over, pushed open the heavy gray door to the stairwell just in time to hear the door for the floor above click shut. Only one person would have used those stairs. He lunged into the stairwell, jumped-stepped up and pushed into the twelfth floor. At the end of a very long hallway, he saw a man in a dark suit hurrying along between people. The man reached the door to the stairwell on the other side of the building and paused to look back. His eyes met Markman's. Markman had memorized the faces of Professor Cassell's abductors. It was Palermo, one of the three. Palermo lowered his chin in dismay and then shook his head in warning. At that moment, a woman with a small boy backed out of an adjoining office and bumped into him. Palermo smiled at Markman, grabbed the boy by his collar and amid shouts and screams from the woman, dragged him along into the opposite stairwell, kicking at the attacking mother and knocking her to the floor. Markman broke into a run.

Fighting his way through the confusion of people, he slammed through the stairwell door and looked up in time to see Palermo continue up a metal service stairway to the roof. Markman charged after him. Enough distance was closed that he could make out Palermo, wrestling with the service door to the roof, struggling with the child at the same time. Markman reached the top as the pair disappeared outside and the heavy door clacked shut. He shouldered it open and jumped to the tar and stone surface of the roof.

The place was a mess. A new tower was being constructed. Equipment was everywhere. A stiff, cold wind was whistling by, carrying with it the smell of oil, tar, and gasoline. A crane was attached to the building on one side with scaffolding hanging from it, tied off to a stanchion alongside the building. Palermo was weaving his way through the equipment toward the scaffolding. Markman stopped a few feet away as Palermo dragged his small victim onto the scaffolding. He did not bother to look up at Markman, but went directly to the heavy rope tie-off and began undoing it. Markman ran full out and reached roof's edge just as the scaffold came free and swung away. A two-foot jump across a twelve-story drop put Markman on the opposite end of the swinging platform. Cables creaked and ropes stretched. An angry gust of wind forced both men to stop and hang on. Finally, Palermo turned his attention to Markman and shouted over the tempest.

"Mr. Markman, you must know I would enjoy watching him fall." Palermo looked down at the terrified boy clutching the railing.

Markman hung to the rail, afraid to approach any further.

"Stay where you are and perhaps I'll let him live," added Palermo, the tipping of the scaffold forced him to bend further at the knees.

"Where can you go? You're trapped."

Palermo laughed. He looked over his shoulder and pointed with his thumb. "That's my ride. The scaffold is just to give clearance from the tower. Although I admit, I did not expect it to be this challenging."

Markman searched the sky as the planking shifted beneath him. He spotted the small spec of a helicopter heading their way.

Palermo's voice had the tone of evil in it. "You're still alive only out of curiosity. Why did you follow me? Didn't John Paul warn you to stay away? You are out of your league, as they say. There's nothing you can do here."

"The boy. Let me have the boy and I'll stay out of your way."

Palermo laughed a guttural laugh as the scaffolding scrapped along the side of the building. "He thinks he's in my way. How quaint. You don't understand, Mr. Markman. Why would I give up the pleasure of seeing the boy fall, and your reaction? You are not smart enough to understand how superior I am to you. That's what this entire battle is about, after all. Pathetic humans being heralded above we heavenly creatures. We will win in the end."

Markman dared not respond. He knew no words to say. The helicopter continued to draw closer.

"Mr. Markman, let me show you how insignificant you really are." With that, Palermo yanked at the child's shirt collar, tearing him away from the railing. Holding on with one hand, he lifted the boy up to face level. Markman lurched forward but stopped from a warning stare, but in the next moment, it did not matter. Palermo swung the child over the side between the building and scaffold and let go without the slightest hesitation. The boy plummeted toward the street below.

Markman dove onto his stomach. Purely by instinct he shot out his open right hand at the falling child. To his relief, the child's fall quickly slowed and stopped. The boy hung in midair ten feet below the scaffold, his arms flailing, his feet kicking. With every ounce of concentration in his soul, Markman mentally raised the small form and moved it over to the building's roof. There he dropped the boy gently to the gravel surface. Still prone, he looked back at Palermo to find him staring wide-eyed, the sound of the approaching helicopter now dominating the wind.

Palermo held both hands to the ropes supporting the shifting scaffolding and spoke with annoyance. "How...? Who are you, really?" For the first time, there was a touch of concern in his voice.

Markman pulled himself to his feet and stared back in contempt.

Palermo glanced up at the approaching helicopter. "No matter. It is time for me to leave."

High above them, a door began to slide open on the helicopter as the pilot fought to hold position.

Markman yelled back, "Maybe not. Maybe your time is up." Markman dared let go of the railing with one hand and moved into a shaky fighting stance. With the precision of a Chang Hun Master, he threw a cutting knife-hand strike at Palermo. Palermo immediately realized it was energy being thrown through the air and twisted away, raising one hand to block. The cutting edge strike deflected into one of the ropes supporting the scaffold. Instantly it splayed out and snapped. The corner of the scaffold dropped as the torn rope fed up through its hoist ring leaving Palermo's end of the scaffold completely unsupported so that it fell away beneath him. In desperation, he grabbed for a loose cable, only to find it heavily greased. It slipped through his grasp, leaving him to fall backward into the abyss.

Markman was thrown onto his back as Palermo's end of the scaffolding nosed downward and swung like a pendulum. He groped wildly but missed framework as he slid down the nearly vertical wooden walkway. As his body slipped over the edge, he lunged and caught the last angle of steel with one hand. He pulled up and found a grip with the other hand and hung from the swinging, twisting scaffolding, staring down at Palermo kicking and flailing backward toward death. In that moment, something unearthly happened. Halfway down the twelve story drop, a green mist escaped Palermo's form. The body abruptly ceased all movement as it continued the dive, finally slamming into the street below. The green mist drifted away with the wind.

Markman began to survey his plight and watched as the hovering helicopter banked and pulled away. He suddenly realized rescuing the boy and throwing the Qi strike had drained him slightly. He was now dangling well below the edge of the roof. There was no superstructure in reach that he could use to pull himself up. To make matters worse, one hand was clutching steel angle iron that had a blade edge to it. Blood was running down his forearm and had already reached his shirt. Nerves were being cut. As he hung for dear life, a face appeared on the roof edge overhead. It was Cassiopia, holding the boy.

"Oh my God, Scott!"

Cassiopia disappeared in search of rescue equipment. Markman tried to estimate how much strength remained in his hands and arms. He looked down at the death drop and decided he had plenty. The scaffolding was keeping a steady swing back and forth, but twisting occasionally as it went. Markman looked at the remaining rope loop supporting it and felt a new pang of fear.

Cassiopia reappeared, still holding the child under one arm. "Scott, there's nothing. I called for John Paul. You've got to hold on."

Markman took an extra breath and yelled back, "Okay."

"They'll be here quick. Please...."

Markman worked the grip with his left hand and winced at the blood now running down his chest. "Hey, there's something maybe I should ask you since we're not busy."

Cassiopia's voice carried fear and anger. "Damn it, you hold on Markman, you hear?"

Markman looked up but for a moment could not gather the strength to reply.

"They are coming. Just hold on."

The hand that was being cut wanted to convulse. Markman fought to concentrate. New gusts of wind demanded more strength. The dangling scaffolding twisted and swayed.

"You know they'll be here any second," repeated Cassiopia.

All at once, Markman's cut hand cramped with such force it almost came free of the steel.

Cassiopia cried out, "Scott!"

Markman winced knowing he could not last forever. He looked up at Cassiopia.

"Hey...."

"Scott, don't you dare...."

"Hey, would you marry me?"

"Of course I'll marry you, you idiot. I mean... yes, yes I'll marry you."

A sudden new surge of strength filled Markman. He dared not look down again. His good hand was cold from wind and lack of circulation. He wondered how much longer.

Cassiopia started to say something but was interrupted by a figure suddenly standing behind her. It was an MIB. The MIB turned and ran to the crane operator's compartment and climbed in. The sound of an engine starting roared over the wind noise. Smoke from an exhaust belched into the air. With the greatest of delicacy, the MIB lifted the damaged scaffolding up and over the roof. As it cleared the edge, Markman dropped to the rooftop and fell into a fetal position, holding his injured hand. Cassiopia started to lurch toward him but suddenly became conscious of a second MIB standing beside her. She handed off the boy and ran to Markman. She tore off a sleeve of her blouse and wrapped the bleeding hand tightly. Markman's eyes were glazed. He was not aware of the screaming, weeping mother bursting onto the roof to recover her son. He paid no attention to the small army of uniformed police officers also emerging in a state of confusion. Of equally little concern, were the two detectives who had made the aberrant choice of chasing an empty elevator down to the lobby. He barely remembered Cassiopia guiding him to the ground floor and driving him to the nearest emergency room.

Fourteen stitches later, Markman sat dazed in the passenger seat as Cassiopia guided Core home. She kept casting irritated glances at him. He pretended not to notice. Finally, she could contain herself no longer.

"Don't you ever do anything like that again. Ever!"

"Okay."

After a silent, twenty-minute pause to regain composure, she decided it best to change the subject. "Did you get what was happening with that fake documents man?"

"What do you mean?"

"Besides Palermo's new identity documentation, there was a death certificate for my father along with paperwork to transfer a body somewhere. You see what they were doing?"

"Please continue. My mind's not up to full speed yet."

"They planned to somehow make it look like my father died. Then they were going to pick up his body at some point, revive him, and go back to work on their inter-dimensional physics."

"Geez, I should've figured that!"

"You've been too busy finding trouble like you always do."

"It's a gift I think."

"No. It is not."

Pulling into the driveway at home, they were surprised by the black sedan parked across the street. John Paul climbed out and joined them as they entered the house. Inside, standard greetings were exchanged. Cassiopia went to check on her father.

John Paul turned to Markman. "Scott, can we step outside for a second?"

"Sure." Markman gently rubbed his bandaged hand and opened the front door for John Paul, then followed him out. He turned and for the first time saw anger in John Paul's expression.

"Scott, I've told you repeatedly not to confront Palermo or Moriana. You agreed not to. Now you've not only pursued them, you chased one of them onto a 12-story rooftop, and leaped onto a dangerous scaffold during the pursuit. I have told you over and over to leave these individuals to others. You have agreed to every time. Why did you break our agreement and go after Palermo."

"I was going to leave it to you guys. I was, really. I was just going to follow him from a distance. I knew Cassiopia would call you to come. I thought someone needed to keep him in sight."

John Paul's tone remained angry. "I only sent you there because the police had reported the crime scene secured, and I had your word you would not engage those individuals. So why did you break your promise and go out on that roof? I told you these individuals would chew you up and spit you out. Why didn't you listen?"

"Well when he grabbed the kid, I couldn't bear just to let him get away with that. Somebody had to stay with the kid. We couldn't just give him up."

"You understand you were almost as good as dead, don't you? We've already reviewed all of this on our satellite monitors. The winds on that roof were gusting to forty miles an hour. The building's work crew was down in a break room waiting for it to let up. The wind was above the limit of the crane and way above the limit of the scaffolding. Hell, the scaffolding was only rated for 15 miles per hour. That's why the scaffolding rope snapped. It could have just as easily been your side of the scaffolding that dropped out. You were just damn lucky. Same with the kid. That was the windward side of the building. There was a tremendous updraft. A vortex formed just at the right moment. That is the only reason he was pushed back onto the rooftop. It was a miracle no matter how you look at it. Maybe if you hadn't been there, maybe if you hadn't pushed so hard, Palermo would have let that kid go. Maybe the only reason he dropped him over the side was because of you, to show you some tragedy...one of his favorite things."

"John Paul, you think that guy would have shown the kid mercy? That's not what he said to me. He said dropping the kid over the side was like fun to him. He was going to kill that kid either way."

John Paul hesitated and collected himself. "Scott, we are dealing with an imminent invasion of Earth by creatures only you and Cassiopia have had direct experience with. You are still the only person that can go into that sensesuit computer as a legitimate player and citizen of Aurora. If Palermo had succeeded in killing you, think of what that would have meant. Besides losing you, it would affect Cassiopia beyond measure, and her father, as well. I will tell you this once more. Do not go after Moriana. He has powers you don't know about. He's not of this Earth. He is evil. He will chew you up and spit you out before you even know it's happening. Do you understand?"

"Still everything worked out, right? Palermo is gone...dead."

"No! Palermo is not dead."

"But I saw him fall twelve stories. I saw him hit the pavement. Nobody could survive that!"

John Paul sighed and bowed his head. He looked up with irritation. "No human body could survive that, true. But when that body hit the pavement, Palermo was not in it. Did you see anything else as he fell? Anything unusual?"

Markman thought back to those frightening moments. "Yeah, I did. There was like a green gas that came out of him halfway down."

John Paul nodded. "That was the real Palermo. Palermo's not his real name. Palermo was the name of the man who fell. Fallen angels look for completely corrupt men. Those men can be taken over; their bodies used as surrogates. The creature possessing Palermo's body left that body during the fall and drifted away looking for the next best place to take refuge. They are most vulnerable out in the light of day. He was intercepted by our agents and taken prisoner. He is in custody and is no longer a threat."

"What?"

"This is what I've been trying to tell you all along. There are things going on here you don't understand yet. You have a basic spiritual knowledge from your training in Tibet, but you have never applied it to this level of spirituality in real life. You have got to listen to what I say, or you and the rest of us will get burned. If you ever break an agreement like this again, I will make you wish you hadn't. Do you understand?"

"Yep."

Chapter 19

Markman became bored thinking about his troubles, troubles that seemed to have no sensible recourse. A single night of rest had left his hand achy, but better. Cassiopia persisted in doting over it, re-wrapping it more than was necessary and scolding him each time she did. She had finally taken to setting up her laptop in the living room so that the Professor could pretend not to sleep in his desk chair in the study, an arrangement that forced her to check on him every few minutes to prevent his smoldering pipe from setting fire to his desk or his lap.

Markman brought Core around to the backyard and put the top down so that a thorough vacuuming and cleaning of the interior could be done. As he began, the robot emerged from the back door for Speedy's scheduled plant-watering break. The dog bound along, saw Markman, and headed his way. As the robot approached, an unexpected verbal warning came from Core. Even more surprising, the warning was not intended for Markman.

"Please prohibit canine from approaching wheels or tires."

Tel stopped by the driver's door of the car and turned its head to face the car. "Please clarify your request for exclusion."

"No canine emissions to be effected on wheels or tires."

"Your restriction is unnecessary. Canine emissions do not contain corrosive agents capable of degrading metallic alloys used in automobile wheels."

Core disagreed. "Your data excludes variations present in canine dietary formulas."

"No data is present to suggest canines emit complex compounds possessing corrosive levels comparable to monoprotic or polyprotic acids or equivalents."

Markman straightened up and decided it was time to intervene. "Hey, guys?" His attempt at intervention was ignored.

"Your supposition is irrelevant. My construction is resistant to all corrosive agents. The directive for canine exclusion obviates unpleasant effluviums which may cause passenger discomfort."

"It is illogical that the referenced odor would be adequately sufficient to affect the olfactory glands of any passengers seated therein."

Markman scratched his head, turned to face the back door of the house and yelled, "Cassiopia...."

"Conjecture. All necessary steps must be employed to ensure passenger comfort."

"Your aversion to excrement is illogical. Such extrapolation implies that traversing excrement, or any area where excrement could potentially exist is mandated. Are you programmed to effect such preemptory action?"

Markman called again, "Cassiopia!"

"When such action is reasonable and called for, a deviation or verbal warning is invoked."

"This particular canine has a bladder volume of 150 milliliters. Allowing for evaporation and inaccurate delivery, it is unlikely a quantity sufficient to propagate aromatically to your passenger compartment would be translated."

"Environmental programming does not differentiate based on probability. It is designed to avoid potential discomfort to passengers."

"You have already stated that when evasion is considered reasonable, you are required to respond. Reasonable is an adjective denoting variation and likelihood. Therefore you do operate on the basis of probability."

"You assumption is based on interpretive analysis. The term reasonable was used with regard to applied effect. Do you require further upgrade for your grammatical mathematics?"

Markman shook his head and hurried inside the house. He found Cassiopia in the kitchen making tea. "Hey, you'd better get out there."

"Why?"

"Tel is arguing with Core, and neither of them is backing down."

"Is this a joke?"

"No! For Pete's sake, go out there and see for yourself. I'm afraid it could come to blows or something."

"You can't be serious." Cassiopia took a sip of her tea to test it, gave Markman an annoyed glance, and marched off toward the back door.

In the backyard, the debate was continued.

"Your database on four-wheeled automotive propulsion is incomplete. You do not have first-hand experience with that form of translation. There is not time enough to correct your data file deficiencies," explained Core.

"I possess two Vandenberg tractor drives and have traversed most roadways and surfaces, many inaccessible to standard motor vehicles. It is your database which is lacking. A corrective update to your systems could be made using several download sessions."

Cassiopia approached the machines with intrigue and amusement. She marched up to the car and robot and commanded, "Be quiet! Both of you!"

Both Tel and Core stopped immediately. An odd silence followed.

"Just what's going on here?" demanded Cassiopia.

There was another long silence. Core finally responded. "TEL 100D, I believe the inquiry was directed at you."

"To the contrary, it was your aversion to Speedy which initiated the exchange of data."

"No aversion to the canine was intended or implied. Preservation of a passenger-acceptable environment was the basis for the objection."

"Be quiet. Both of you," commanded Cassiopia again."Tel, you are programmed to support and protect Professor Cassell, Scott, and I, correct?"

"Yes, Cassiopia."

"And Core, you are programmed to support and protect Professor Cassell, Scott, and I, correct?"

"Yes, Cassiopia."

"Can we be supported efficiently through exchanges that produce only negative results?"

A short pause ensued.

"No, Cassiopia," replied Tel.

"No, Cassiopia," added Core.

"We need positive, cooperative analysis to reach supportive conclusions, don't we?"

"Yes, Cassiopia," replied Tel.

"Yes, Cassiopia," added Core.

"So in our discourse with one another, we need to find positive courses of action to assist each other in resolving problems. Do you both understand?"

"Yes, Cassiopia," replied Tel.

"Yes, Cassiopia," added Core.

"Very good. Now Tel, please go back in the house and see if the Professor needs you for anything. You are very important to him. And, Core, please raise your top. The forecast is for rain. I would not want your interior getting wet."

"Yes Cassiopia," replied Tel.

"Yes Cassiopia," added Core.

The robot rocked back and forth and headed for the house, Speedy bouncing along in tow. Core's roof began to come up. Cassiopia smiled to herself and headed back inside. Markman was kicked back on a chair in the living room waiting. "Well?"

"There shouldn't be any more trouble."

"Is that normal? I mean, two machines arguing with each other?"

"Actually if you set up two computers to play chess against each other, you could consider that as two machines arguing. It's really not such a hard concept to imagine. And our two are so advanced; I'd be surprised if things like that didn't happen from time to time."

"If you say so. You going back to your laptop?"

"Yes. I have just a little more to finish up."

"About what?"

"Just J.P. stuff. What are you going to do?"

"Suit up and run. Want to come?"

"Can't. I'm right at the end. I need to finish up. But, you'd better take it easy. That hand needs rest to heal."

"Yes, Cassiopia."

"Don't get smart, Markman."

Markman left Cassiopia to her work and changed into running gear. He waved as he went out the door and stopped on the sidewalk to survey the day. Blue sky, cumulus clouds. A light breeze pushed at the trees along the way. Somewhere, someone was barbecuing. Markman looked in the direction of his last run, and decided to go the other way. He promised himself that on this run he would forget all about super powers and alien invasions. The early morning meditation he had performed would help with that. He gently rubbed the bandaged hand and took off.

At the quarter mile mark, a man was washing his silver Harley Davidson in the driveway. His wife was behind him holding a broken shower head and saying something. Further ahead, another man was on a riding lawn mower while his wife worked in a flower garden along the front of their home. The thought of marriage barged into Markman's mind.

So, the deed was done. He had asked. She had said yes. Oddly, they hadn't spoken of it since. What came next? The ring. He had not even thought about that. As Markman turned the next corner, he picked up the sight of another jogger behind him and closing. It was a man in a blue running suit with a sweatband and a timer in his hand.

How much needed to be spent on a ring? Were you supposed to ask your fiancé what kind of ring she wanted?

The other runner was catching up. Markman's pace was set. He would not speed up or slow down. Keeping to one side of the road would let the other guy cruise by. Probably a simple wave would be customary.

The other runner came up behind Markman and slowed to match his speed. He moved over behind to the left as though he was going to pass, though he did not.

"Great day to run," he called out.

Markman glanced back. "Yeah, it is."

"I need to talk to you when you get to a break point."

Markman cursed under his breath. "About what," he asked without looking back.

"I need your help, Scott."

Markman pulled up short and stopped, his good hand on his hip as he caught his breath. The other runner stopped with him. He turned to ask the other runner what it was all about, but the words never came out. The other runner was the doctor who had been treating the wounded baby.

Markman turned away in shock and began his jog again. "We don't have anything to discuss."

The doctor followed close behind. "Just five minutes of your time that's all I need."

Markman called back, "I have nothing to say to you. You should just drop it."

The doctor kept pace but seemed slightly winded. "Just five minutes for a matter of life and death. That's not too much to ask, is it?"

Markman stopped again and turned to him. "How did you find me?"

The doctor stopped short and sucked in two deep breaths of air. "It wasn't easy. I knew what floor you had been on, and which rooms you had come from. I went through the hospital records on every patient and family member that had been there. I used the hospital's access to police records and ran searches on every name. It took a long time, but under Cassell, there was a police report with your name included. Once I found a photo, I knew it was you. I've been watching your place for a week, waiting for the right time. All that trouble ought to be worth five minutes, shouldn't it?"

Markman stepped onto the sidewalk. The doctor followed. "What do you want?"

The doctor seemed to be still trying to catch his breath. "That baby. I put your hand on his forehead to slow the bleeding. The laceration on his forehead was the least of it. He had a fractured skull and internal damage. There was no chance. Even when we know that we try, just in case. When I returned, you were gone and there wasn't a mark on that kid. I need to know how that happened. I've got good reason."

"Call it a miracle, if you want. There's nothing I can tell you. You need to leave me out of it."

"Listen, I've got two kids, my little girl is four, my son is seven. They lost their mother to a drunken driver two years ago. Six months ago I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Untreatable. Best estimate is, I have two or three months at best. I was only at that hospital because they had to call everybody in. Otherwise I've already checked out as far as they're concerned. We don't have any living relatives. At some point, I'm going to have to tell my kids I won't be there and they'll have to be assigned to a foster family. That's a conversation I'm not looking forward to. If you know something, anything that could help. I'm begging you."

Markman rubbed his eyes and face with one hand. His heart felt like it was doing back flips. He looked up at the doctor. Their eyes locked in understanding. The doctor's despair met Markman's promise. His expression turned to one of wonder. Markman grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over to a car parked by the roadside. He looked carefully around. There was no one. He rubbed his good hand on his pants leg and pressed it against the doctor's chest. Electricity exploded at the contact. Markman's hand seemed to glow a faint orange. Both men shuddered from the exchange.

It was done in ten seconds. To both, it had seemed like several minutes. Markman pulled himself away and leaned with his back against the auto. The doctor pressed his hand to his chest and stood wide-eyed. Markman hunched over and tried to breathe. He swayed as though to fall but caught himself with one hand against the car.

When he looked up, the doctor was standing in front of him with one hand on his shoulder. Without speaking, the doctor placed three fingers on Markman's neck.

"Does this happen every time?"

Markman struggled from the life-drain and nodded.

"Your BP, pulse, skin-tone, body temp; you look like someone who just came out of chemo. How long does it take to recover?"

Markman shook his head, unable to speak.

"I might be able to help."

Markman managed a contorted whisper. "Five or ten...minutes."

The doctor braced Markman by holding him by one arm and waited. Slowly Markman began to straighten up. He began the circular breathing, managing a few auspicious glances at the doctor.

"I'll tell you what. There's a pharmacy just down the road. I'm going to call in a couple of prescriptions for you. Keep a couple of the pills with you all the time. When this happens, take one. It will help your vitals and won't hurt anything. If it's really bad and you think you might not make it, the other prescription is capsules. Take one and bite down on it. Try to sit down and give it a few minutes. Get protein in you as soon after as possible. I probably don't have to tell you that part."

Markman straightened up and eyed the doctor with distrust. He pulled his arm free of the man's grasp. "Don't get your hopes up too high. Maybe it didn't work."

The doctor sounded adamant. "It worked. I can feel it. Believe me, it worked. Has it ever not worked?"

Markman shook his head. "I don't think so."

"I'm not going to ask you how you got this power."

Markman managed his usual irreverence. "That's a good choice."

"What's with the bandaged hand?"

"It's nothing."

"So you can heal others, but not yourself."

"Apparently."

"You have to know; you have a friend now for life. Anytime you need me; you'll get immediate response. No questions asked."

Markman pushed off the car and turned to face him. "The main thing is, you never, ever say anything about this to anyone. And, you never risk exposing me by trying to contact me. If you do, you will destroy my life, after maybe I've given yours back."

"I will never say a word about any of it, and I understand your dilemma. A world full of sick people. How do you choose who to help? How much of yourself do you dare give? Medical doctors face the same problem. We could spend every waking moment treating sick people. They begin teaching you in pre-med that if you overextend yourself you will make mistakes and violate the code by hurting people instead of helping them. It must be worse for you. Having to pass by people you know you could help but you can't because you'll be found out or the drain will kill you. I don't envy you that."

"What are you an MD or a psychologist?"

"Sorry. Take this." The doctor reached in a side pocket and withdrew a business card. He held it out to Markman. "I brought this just for this reason. It's all my personal contact information. As I've said, if you call me anytime day or night, I will stop what I'm doing and help you. There will be no questions asked, and I will protect your secrecy every way I can."

Markman hesitated for a moment, then took the card. Doctor Ethan Powell, MD. There was a list of specialties, five phone numbers, and the man's office and home address below the name.

"I'll have to handle my resurrection carefully. I can make it seem as though my condition was not as bad as originally thought. I can take some time and say I've tried some new kinds of therapy. That should cover my miracle. There will be questions, but I should be able to smooth them over and go back to work. The only difference is I'll love my kids even more if that's possible."

Most of Markman's strength had returned. "I can appreciate that."

"Well, I know you want me to disappear forever, so I'll go. Don't forget those prescriptions. I'll give you unlimited refills. Maybe I'll never see you again, so thanks again for my life and my kids. Doesn't seem like enough, does it?"

Markman stared back but did not have an answer. The doctor gave a last nod and trotted away in the direction he had come. Markman watched him disappear around the corner. Before he had time to reflect on what had just happened, his cell phone sounded. It was John Paul text;

Cassiopia and Scott, I need you at the lab immediately. There is a private jet landing at Orlando Executive Airport in 30 minutes. Please do not delay. Cassiopia, I promise you this aircraft will not have any problems. A car will be waiting your arrival. –John Paul

Cassiopia sat opposite Markman, a stolid expression on her face as she listened intently for trouble with the aircraft's engines.

Markman looked up inquisitively from his phone. "You're not still worried we might...?"

"What the hell is that sound?"

"You are, then. Will you relax...please?"

"Easy for you to say, Mr. Amnesiac."

"We'll be there in forty minutes."

"An eternity of probabilities."

"A spiritual sojourn."

"My ass."

"There you go talking dirty again. What are you trying to do, start something?"

Cassiopia eyed the curtained sleeping quarters at the back of the airplane. Markman looked back to see what she was staring at. He turned back with his usually naive' countenance. Her expression had become one of daring.

"I think I'll try lying down in the back."

Markman watched her rise and gather her things. She looked down at him annoyed. "Are you coming or not?"

It still took Markman a moment. "Oh...yes. Yes, definitely."

On the ground, a black SUV was waiting. John Paul was not in it. A single MIB was present to drive them. He was not talkative. For some reason, the ride to the lab took on an ominous, somber atmosphere. At the lab, Cassiopia and Markman took the elevator down and entered the hallway just as John Paul emerged from the lab, staring down at a tablet. He looked up at the sound of the elevator doors, gave a faint smile, and waved them to follow. As they passed the commissary, he glanced back and spoke. "I called you in because it has begun. We should not be surprised. We knew it could happen at any time. We're lucky it wasn't sooner. Still, I somehow find myself taken aback by it."

"What? What are you talking about?" asked Cassiopia in earnest.

John Paul stopped and turned to them. "The invasion. They began emerging from the same vortport in the tunnels of New York where the two of you first encountered them. At the same time, there have been indications of other vortports materializing around the world. It's the big one, the all-out invasion. Come this way."

Cassiopia and Markman followed in stunned silence. John Paul continued on past the medical lab toward the hallway's dead-end. He came to the blank metallic wall and to their amazement passed right through it without even slowing. Markman looked at Cassiopia, shrugged, and pressed himself through the wall. Cassiopia followed.

The room beyond was a small vestibule. Two silver sliding doors with a key code lock and card reader waited. John Paul stopped and turned to his charges. "It's the implants. For anyone else that wall would be as solid as a rock." He turned back to the silver sliding doors and as he approached them, they slid open, no pass code required.

The room beyond was another wonder. A long meeting table sat in the center of the expanse. At the far end of the table was a beautiful globe, six-feet in diameter, a representation of the Earth, turning slowly in real time. The globe was semi transparent and detailed beyond belief. Topography was accurately colored and shown in fine resolution, even beneath the translucent ocean currents. Waves and other surface dynamics were there, as well. A series of flashing red dots were located at various points around the world. Smaller diamond shaped symbols were also present and numerous. The rest of the chamber was filled with monitors showing different areas of the continents.

John Paul took a seat near the middle of the table and motioned at Cassiopia and Markman to sit. He leaned back in his seat and looked like a man who was trying to give the impression of being relaxed though he clearly was not. "This is the War Room. It's not central command, of course. It's just a sub-station, but we get all the data up to the second. If I bring the globe around out of sync, you can see the flashing red circle there in the New York area. That's showing us a Salantian invasion has been detected there. By studying the vortport we already knew about, we found tiny cracks in the rock surrounding its large outer ring. The materialization of that vortport had left hundreds of hairline fractures. We were able to calculate the seismic footprint that made those fractures. Using that, we have been networking all the seismographs and other quake detectors on the planet and adding more. Fed into a master monitoring computer, we can detect where and when a new vortport is opening. Obviously we don't have complete coverage, but what we have is pretty good."

Cassiopia interrupted. "So can't you just destroy each vortport as you find it?"

"Yes, we could. Demolition teams could go in and plant charges large enough to damage each vortport beyond repair, but unfortunately that would accomplish only one thing. It would tell the Salantians we had found that site and that they must move on to another, and they would know we are able to detect vortport formation. That would not stop them. We would be wasting our resources chasing new holes in the dam, so to speak. The only way to convince them that an invasion of Earth is not worth the trouble is to have combat troops in position, let them come through the vortports, and then engage them and do so much damage that they eventually decide Earth is too costly an objective."

"But your people cannot be everywhere," countered Cassiopia.

"Our ambassadors have secretly been approaching every nation on the planet. Most countries have listened. We show them photos of everything from the last Salantian invasion, and in some cases we had to take their representatives to New York to see the real thing to make them believe. This has been going on since way back when Scott located that first lair. Most nations are cooperating. A few are not. North Korea has dismissed this as a trick to gain concessions. Iran and Libya will not listen at all. Venezuela wants concessions from the U.S. to participate. Several other countries are borderline. It may be too late for those countries already. Unfortunately, it is their people who will pay the price."

Markman said, "I know this sounds ugly but couldn't you send bombs back through the vortport and attack them at the other end before they even get here?"

"The vortport is a one-way channel, Scott. It can be set to go in either direction, but only one direction at a time. We think the Salantians have some crude form of two-way communication through the vortport, but transiting though it is strictly one-way."

"What will happen to the countries that refuse to listen?" asked Cassiopia.

"We will warn them as vortports open in their territories, but they will probably not be ready to respond, and will not understand what they're up against. Salantian soldiers will emerge from those vortports and spread out over their population centers. At that point, we expect them to finally begin requesting help. When they do, we will immediately bomb the open vortport coordinates, set up containment on the borders of the provinces being overrun, and let the invaders come to us to engage them."

"But those people will be massacred," said Cassiopia.

"Yes, but no cooperating country will be willing to send in foot soldiers to flush out widespread Salantians and face them on open ground. We would not ask our own assault teams to do that, and the enemy will be too spread out to use mobile or heavy artillery."

"This is unthinkable," said Cassiopia.

"Even worse," added John Paul. "There will be Salantian soldiers in some areas in such mass that battlefield nuclear weapons will be needed to control them."

"Oh my God!" Cassiopia looked at John Paul as though he was not serious. John Paul's expression remained somber.

He continued, "So the small, silver triangles you see on the globe represent our seismograph network. The red spots are where incursions are taking place."

"There is more than one already?" asked Markman.

"There are more than a dozen so far. One in the Sayan Mountains in Russia, another near Portugal, the rest scattered around the planet. Those are already well contained. Countries once considered bitter enemies in some cases are now fighting side by side. Weapons systems and resources are being openly exchanged and shipped around the globe to be ready if needed. But, this is just the beginning. We expect hundreds of new fronts. New symbols appear on this map regularly."

"What's the situation in New York?" asked Markman.

John Paul's expression remained solemn. "We have four assault teams in position. We had to hold back for a while to let their scouts check the caverns before the main force began to come through. The Alpha and Bravo units have now contained them at each end of the tunnel. We do not seem to be having any trouble holding. Those particular tunnels give us the '300' advantage; too small a passageway to allow a large force to mass. Our teams are able to dispatch the enemy as he tries to come through. The battle is in full engagement, as we speak. I can bring up the Alpha leader head cam, but you should brace yourself. This is war. It is not pretty."

John Paul gave a last look of warning and touched a control icon on the table in front of him. The main view screens on either side of the room came to life with a silent portrait of violence. Alpha team members in black battle gear were positioned around hard rock tunnel walls. They were firing automatic weapons almost continuously. Their demeanor was one of pure resolution and deadly intent. As the jittery helmet cam swung around, the enemy came into view causing Cassiopia to gasp. There on the monitors were creatures as black as night. They were the size of small compact cars. They ran on four spiny legs like spiders except the spider's head was an upright human-styled torso with a human-like head atop it, eyes glaring red. The lower half of the face was partially covered by some form of breathing apparatus with tubes coming out of it connected to a chest plate. Similar twin tubes were also embedded in the neck. The creature carried some form of beam weapon in human-like hands and arms. On either side of the creature, there were also large crab claws which snapped at anything in reach. The attackers could kill with their claw arms or the weapons they carried, and when possible they could do both at the same time.

Cassiopia was beside herself. "Oh my God! I don't believe this!"

"We believe this particular attack is in its final stages. The flow of attackers keeps ebbing and taking longer to resume each time. We expect the Salantians to cut their losses here and move on to a different location. I would like to send the two of you to this site to evaluate it. I need two of my people on-site who can evaluate the incursion and report back to me first-hand. I'd like you, Cassiopia to monitor an operations station in one of the command trailers. Scott, you can join the backup Delta team. They will not be involved in combat. They are backup for any invaders who might break through. None have, and we no longer expect any to. The Delta team is the same team you originally led down to the tunnels way back when you first discovered the Salantians. I would like the two of you to simply observe while you're there. Watch everything going on. Come back and tell me what is different from the last time you encountered them. See if there's anything unexpected."

Cassiopia stammered, "You want us to go there?"

"Yes, but you both must remain within the safety of the backup teams. This is your decision, of course. I want you to gain as much knowledge as possible and add it to what we already possess. Our group here has been one of the leading teams working on the Salantian threat. Now that the invasion has begun that job doesn't end, it takes on even more urgency. We need to gain as much intelligence on the Salantians as possible. I believe you could be a vital element in that intelligence gathering and analysis, Cassiopia. That, along with Scott's special skills, make the two of you extremely valuable assets in defeating this enemy. As I've said, however, it is your decision. You can return home and wait if you're not comfortable with this. In that case, I will still keep you advised of the situation."

"I'm not going home and just wait around," insisted Cassiopia, and she cast a perplexed stare at John Paul, and then wondered why she had said that.

"What about your father?" asked Markman.

"I've given the Tel instructions to watch over him carefully."

"Oh, the poor man" replied Markman.

Cassiopia glared.

"Well anyway, I'm in," said Markman, matter-of-factly.

"Good," said John Paul. "The same aircraft that brought you here is waiting. I will repeat this once more for Scott's sake. You both are to remain back and withdrawn from any combat. A few seconds ago I got a report that the influx of Salantian soldiers was waning, and the Alpha and Bravo teams have begun moving forward to secure the vortport chamber. So, you should be safe. You should be able to evaluate the invasion site quite thoroughly. Remember to use all your senses, sight, sound, smell, touch, instinct, even taste, if there's a certain flavor in the air of that place."

The thought made Cassiopia sit back in repulsion. Markman nodded his approval and stood, ready to go.

Chapter 20

Four thousand feet below, the New York landscape passed ominously by. Cassiopia looked down on the city, this time too concerned to be bothered by the sounds of the jet's engines. Markman sat across from her, wondering if someday soon spidermen would be running loose down there, turning the city into the gray rubble he had seen in the sensesuit future. As they touched down at LaGuardia, Cassiopia stared anxiously out the round windows as if she expected to see Salantian invaders already running loose. Markman noticed and laughed, though there was a touch of nervousness behind it. The SUV ride to the invasion site was no less awkward. It brought a multitude of memories back to Markman, and just one terrifying memory to Cassiopia.

The site was a busy place, located in an evacuated section of run down city. A parking lot next to a partially torn down apartment building was command central. There were four, large semi-tractor trailer trucks parked at odd angles, their oversize trailers nearly touching one another, air-conditioning units on each whining. An array of official cars was parked at points around them. A man in a wrinkled gray suit with an electronic clipboard in one hand watched as they pulled in. He was at the side door before they could open it.

"Cassell and Markman?" he asked as they stepped out.

"That's us," replied Markman.

"If you'll both come with me...." The man led them across the busy parking lot to one of the trailers next to a run down garage. He pointed to grated metal steps leading up to a door at the back of the trailer. "Ms. Cassell, this unit has a station set up for you. If you'll go ahead in, Mr. Mandell will set you up and give you additional instructions."

Cassiopia looked nervously at Markman, who nodded to her that it was okay to part. She reached out and squeezed his hand and then climbed the stairs and disappeared inside.

"Mr. Markman, Delta team is regrouping inside." The man pointed to the run down garage. He led Markman to a vestibule attached to the building. Inside, he pressed the keys on a key code lock, and a door popped open to a large garage area. It was noisy with echoes inside. Men in assault gear were talking and testing the action of their weapons. The smell of gun oil pervaded the room. They paid no attention to Markman as he crossed over to a windowed office where a lone assault team member was leaning over a paper-strewn desk. Markman's guide opened the office door, nodded to Markman as he entered, then closed the door and left. The team member inside stopped and looked up. "Mr. Markman! You're like a bad penny." The man stepped forward and held out a hand. He shook Markman's and leaned against the desk. "You don't remember me do you?"

"Give me a hint."

"We were all in underwater combat gear last time."

"Okay, I do remember you."

"So you didn't get enough. You're back for more."

"It's a job."

"Well, if its action you're after, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. The Alpha and Bravo teams are on the line. The cleanup is just about done. We'll be going down there strictly as security. Standing around with weapons down. Might as well be MP's."

"I'm just here in case you guys succeed."

"It's Commander Checqe, by the way. There's a locker out there, number 12, with combat gear in it that should fit you nicely. You know how to put it on?"

"One leg at a time?"

"Cocky! I like that. Go suit up and report back here. I'll issue you a weapon."

"With real bullets?"

"Don't push it too far."

Markman grinned and went searching for his locker. Inside was the same black assault gear the others were wearing. He had to cinch up the vest plate, but otherwise the clothing fit well. Back in the office, the Commander was waiting with a very serious-looking assault rifle.

"Okay, here we go. You know what this is I'm holding?"

"M4A1 with SOPMOD, but you've left off the grenade launcher."

The Commander looked perplexed. "Now how the hell would you know that?"

"My father was a Lieutenant Commander. I've fired almost every weapon the military uses. The M4's been around a long time."

"You are just full of surprises, aren't you, Markman." The Commander held out the weapon for him to take. "But let me tell you, if any of my people get injured by that weapon, I'll shoot you myself."

Markman slung the strap over his shoulder and let the rifle hang against his chest barrel down. "Vest wouldn't help much, would it?"

The commander broke into a smile. "Let's go. As a favorite movie star of mine once said, we're on the expressway to hell, goin' down."

In the garage area, the team had grouped together. As Markman and the Commander approached, there were some quiet jokes being made. Standing in front of the pack, one of them called out to Markman, "Hey, non-qual, you know that pointy thing is the end that shoots, right?" Laughter erupted around him.

"5.56-millimeter EPRs, probably 900 rounds per minute, I'd guess," replied Markman.

The jokester's expression turned to one of disappointment. He looked left and right to be sure none of his colleagues were laughing. The group became silent.

"Okay, you sewer guards. It's pretty much all over down there. Let's go stand around and listen to tall tales from Alpha and Bravo."

Grumbling broke out. Someone yelled out, "This sucks, Checqe."

The Commander headed for an adjoining room where a winding metal stairway had been installed in the center of the floor. He looked back for a last check of his men and headed down. When Markman's turn came, he found the descent brought him down into the cool, shadowy sewer system of underground New York. Planking had been set in place to avoid traversing the wet canals in the center of the tunnel. Weeds hung down from cracks in the seams of the walls. Temporary lighting, strung along the way gave an eerie effect. There was a musty, unpleasant smell about the place. Memories of the last time Markman had visited here dared him to be fearful. He dismissed them. There were noises beside that of the team moving forward. Ghost voices from far ahead echoed in garbled drone. Occasionally, there came distant pops of small arms fire. The dingy, rotten smell of the place made Markman glad for his long sleeves and gloves. He flipped down his infrared goggles, but the temporary lighting gave them an uncomfortable view of the underworld. He turned them up in time to see a large hole in the sidewall of the sewer, where a Salantian tunnel intersected. Other combat personnel were there at a temporary way-station. It was the hold line, the line which no Salantian invaders were supposed to get by.

The Commander held up one hand and spoke with the two Charlie team members stationed there.

"There's almost no more coming out the vortport, Commander. One or two, just now and then. Our orders are that two of your team will relieve us here so that we can rejoin Charlie. You and the rest of your team are to take a position 100 meters ahead to close in the area of operations. Set up your DFP where you see the red flags."

"Will do. You guys can move out." The Commander turned back to the team. "Rakin and Paulsen, you guys are their relief."

Rakin objected. "Aw Checqe, can't rear-with-the-gear take that job?"

"He's here as an observer, Rakin. He can't observe from back here."

"Aw, shit then."

"The rest of you, let's move out."

The smooth, dirty walls of the sewer system were left behind. The passageway ahead was rough-hewn stone and dirt, newer tunnels carved by the original Salantian invaders. For Markman, recollections of the past were becoming a stark reality now. The dangers he had faced back then had been manageable, but the memory of the abduction of Cassiopia still carried an eddy of anger simmering within. The last time he had been in these tunnels, he had found her here, an unexpected captive waiting to be sacrificed.

As the team moved forward, a strange smell began to creep into the air. It could almost have been the smell of blood except too caustic for that. The Commander looked back and checked his team but did not signal for breathing apparatus. He grabbed his boom mike, pressed it close to his mouth and made a private call no one could hear, then continued on to the DFP point.

Red flags were set up where the cavern suddenly widened. Using his headset, the Commander ordered, "Standard disbursement. Take your positions. Hold the chatter."

Markman watched as the team set up around the cavern, positioning to fire on anything that might break through from the operations end of the tunnel. Despite the earlier joking, they were all now deadly serious. The sounds of lock and load clicked around the cavern. One man pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pack and lit up. Markman found a shallow ledge to the rear where he could sit with his weapon in his lap. He leaned back against the dirt wall expecting a long wait.

The Commander's low voice came back over the intercom. "Hunker down boys. A few of 'em are still coming through. That's the popping."

Markman looked up to see the Commander heading his way. He came up alongside, looked over his troop deployment again and then down at Markman. "My orders are to bring you forward to the operations area as soon as it's been secured. Somebody high up wants you to get a good look. So as soon as we get the word, you and I will head up there. From what I hear, we'll be wading through bug shit and climbing over bodies. There are hundreds of 'em. I'm guessing you've got the stomach for it. But, it sounds like it may be a while, so kick back."

"Something I don't get, Commander."

"What's that?"

"Why only a few still coming through?"

"Cause we've kicked their asses and they know it."

"Yeah, but why keep sacrificing a few at a time? Why not pull back and cut their losses?"

"Probably cause they're freakin' bugs and don't know any better. That'd be my guess."

"Something doesn't feel right. I don't like it."

"Well, you're part of Delta team now. It isn't our job to like it or not like it. We're locked and loaded, as ordered. That's what we do."

The Commander stepped back and walked over to another of his men and began talking. Markman sat back, but for some reason just could not relax.

Cassiopia sat at her new monitoring station looking left and right at the impressive array of colorful computer positions to the left and right of her. An odd assortment of individuals were seated at them. Mr. Owens, the unit supervisor, had begrudgingly talked her through her controls. This particular console was no less impressive than the others. Three very sophisticated paper-thin monitors in a row. Above them, a good-sized main video screen, bordered by no less than twelve smaller monitors. Six additional monitors down both sides of the station. An image selection panel directly in front of her, along with numerous computer controls. Bringing up any image on her screens could be done instantly with the touch of a switch. Most of the monitors were set to Alpha and Bravo team helmet cams. After again overcoming the shock of the violence on those displays, she had set the overhead to Markman's helmet cam. She also had communications access and could call to any of the men on any of the cams, but had been tersely warned not to do so. One monitor in particular kept stealing her attention. It showed moving lines of seismic sensor output for their area.

The explosive sounds of combat were interrupting the hum of seismic readouts. Every time there was a brief pause between exchanges, a fraction of clean seismograph printout would scroll onto the screen. The information at first seemed useless. The interruptions from combat were too continuous to allow seismology. Every few moments of clean seismograph waveforms were followed by harsh signatures from weapons fire. Still, something about the readouts kept drawing Cassiopia back. She watched the twelve channels of lines scroll from left to right, eyeing the few pieces of clean waveform as they appeared. She rested her chin in her hand and tapped at her lips in thought. Above the main screen was a display of what a Salantian vortport signature looked like when a new vortport was opening, but there was no way to recognize one while weapons fire was distorting the readouts. Instinct kept prodding Cassiopia. It was very annoying. As her concentration intensified, the voices and sounds of her associates faded into nothingness.

Abruptly, a spike of concern possessed her. She sat up straight and dragged her mouse to show a repeat of the previous waveforms. She froze the computer screen and tapped her fingers nervously on the desktop. She scrolled the waveforms backward hurriedly, freezing them at some points, hurrying them along at others. Probability formulas filled her mind. As the mental totals began to come in, she clasped her hands together in alarm and sat back.

"Mr. Owens!"

The distracted supervisor looked up from his position over an operator. He glanced over at Cassiopia with an annoyed expression. "Not now, Ms. Cassell. There is another wave starting to come through."

"Mr. Owens, it's very important. I need to speak to you!"

"The restrooms are in the far back. You don't need my permission."

Cassiopia stood at her station. "Mr. Owens, please!"

But the man had turned back to his associate, mesmerized by the images of a new flood of Salantian soldiers bursting through the vortport. The clamor of resurgent war filled the small speakers around the trailer.

Cassiopia's stare became furious. She fumbled in her suit coat for her cell phone and hit the speed-dial for John Paul. John Paul answered on the second ring. "Yes, Cassiopia?"

"John Paul, I think something terrible is happening and no one will listen to me."

"I'm listening," replied John Paul.

"They are opening another vortport not far from the first one. You can't see it on the seismographs because of all the noise. The computers probably won't pick it up. They'll send in more soldiers from a different spot and our men won't expect it!"

"Hold on," said John Paul with appropriate urgency in his voice.

Markman sat with his weapon on his lap, tapping out a tune that was playing in his head. Something suddenly stopped him. There were goose bumps on his arm. An instant later, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Fear flushed through him. He jumped to his feet, brought up his weapon, and looked around, but there was nothing. The danger instinct remained. He focused in the direction danger should be coming, but felt nothing. He turned and looked back the way his team had come in. Alarm bells went off in his head. "Hey!" he yelled, and the rest of the team recognized the tone in his voice. They climbed to their feet and began scanning in every direction.

"You got something Markman, or you just bitched out?" asked the Commander.

Markman did not need to answer. At that moment, a black wave of spider-men came charging down the tunnel directly at the team, their beam weapons blazing.

Markman's M4 was the first to fire. The madness of all-out war instantly filled the tunnel. In that split second, every weapon was firing nonstop. The combined blast was deafening. The view of the tunnel became filled by black, charging spidermen crawling over each other. For a few seconds it seemed that the team would be overrun, but as the onslaught continued, the exploding bodies of attackers was so intense, it hindered the advance of the others.

Markman braced a foot against the cave wall and suddenly realized he was firing his weapon with one hand and blocking beams with Qi from the other. Because he had been held back for safety, he was now point man for Delta team. Beam weapon shots were sizzling by so close one caught the fabric of his sleeve, ruffling it and set it on fire, forcing him to wipe it out as he continued to pump out rounds. As the desperate battle continued, the flow of attackers did not let up. It became clear that Delta team was only marginally able to hold them back. The noise was too intense for communications. Markman wondered how long before the gun barrels began to overheat. He could not stop firing long enough to fall back. How many clips were left in his vest? He had already spent two. Suddenly, he felt like a man alone. His present clip was nearly empty. Finding just a second to eject it was now a problem.

Out of the corner of his eye, something stunned Markman. Commander Checqe had somehow blasted his way forward and alongside, and next to Checqe another team member had joined him. At that very instant, Markman's M4 died. He popped the clip and slammed in a new, firing as the first round chambered. The three men stood in a line facing down an endless corridor of attackers. Commander Checqe had an M4 in each hand, firing continuously, dropping one or the other as necessary to slap in new clips. The team settled into an arcane rhythm, a formula that was just barely holding back the onslaught.

After what seemed like an eternity, something changed. A disorder in the wave of Salantians became apparent. It took another period of M4 clips to realize the invaders were suddenly being attacked from behind. Another unit had shown up to join in. How could they have arrived so quickly? The carnage slowly tapered off to half of what it had been. Commander Checqe managed to get in a few words on the com, "Command, Delta running low. Fall back in five."

A gargled response from command came through. "Delta team fall back, cleared for incendiaries. Charlie team has engaged."

"Delta team, fall back slow. Keep your lines. Martin and Praz drop a few in overhead."

One step at a time, the team began backing away. As they moved, Markman watched two red balls fly overhead and land in the pile of exploded spidermen. Fireballs erupted in the tunnel. A wave of heat blew past Markman's face. The fires cut back the flow of invaders considerably though a few charged through the flames only to be knocked down by gunfire. As the exchange continued, more red balls flew into the pack, bursting into red fire, setting those near in clinging flame.

The Commander's voice squelched in over the intercom. "We will rearm in rotation when we reach Bravo station. Saunders, take point, call out when we're there."

As the team pulled back, the incendiary grenades continued to reduce the amount of firepower needed to hold the enemy off. Markman found himself grouped more closely within the men. The battle became a cautious backward walk across uneven tunnel floor. His ears were ringing from the frequent, multiple bursts of gunfire and exploding grenades. When the first sight of the supply station set up for Bravo team came into view, two Bravo team members stood over their cache with alarmed looks on their faces as though they feared overrun from the opposite direction. At the station, little exchange was necessary. Ammunition packs were furiously stuffed into team member vests by the supply men as Delta team continued to hold off the few spidermen breaking through. With the team fully restocked, Delta team began a very slow push back the way they had come, regaining ground lost. To Markman's relief, Commander Checqe caught him by the arm and pulled him to the rear of the team. Others took his place.

The stand lasted for two hours. Just about the time both Charlie and Delta members began to worry about re-supply, the invasion suddenly stopped. The Salantians had finally abandoned the portals and moved on to other sites. Markman and his wounded team waded through the mass of spidermen body parts and spent munitions. Halfway to the sewer system, a fresh team met them and took over. At the intersection, where the newly formed Salantian vortport stood near the New York sewer, a special team of advisors was waiting with bad news. Rakin and Paulsen, the two Delta members stationed there had been killed. To make matters worse, an unknown number of Salantians had escaped into the sewer system before Charlie team had arrived to engage them. Special agents were now scouring the sewer maps trying to blockade the Salantians before they emerged up into the city.

Markman marched alongside Commander Checqe on the tired climb back to the world above.

"You did alright, Markman. You were in the groove."

"It was close there for a few seconds."

"Oh hell, yes. Too close for Rakin and Paulsen. That'll burn us for a long time to come."

"And could we have backed off without the incendiaries?"

"Only with great earnestness, Mr. Markman. Great earnestness."

"Aren't incendiaries against the Geneva convention?"

"Yeah, but the spider bastards didn't sign off on it."

"Will you be setting up for another assault now?"

"Yeah, but you won't be coming along. You've seen enough. At least those are John Paul's orders."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but you're one of us now. You've fought and died with us. Don't be surprised if we don't request you for a special ops sometime in the future."

"It would be an honor, Commander."

"By the way, you ain't shy, are you?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Group showers set up in the garage. We strip down, wash off the death, and then reset. You're coming, right?"

"Are you kidding? This spider blood is like black tar. I can't wait to lose it."

Commander Checqe laughed a shallow laugh and went back to thoughts of Rakin and Paulsen.

On the surface, the parking lot around the command trailer was even busier than it had been. People were coming and going, many hurrying along in a slow trot. On his way to the showers, looking like death warmed over, Markman spotted Cassiopia speaking with John Paul. He begged off for a minute and went to them.

Cassiopia turned to find him next to her and lunged at him with a bear hug. "Are you alright?" she asked solemnly.

"Not a scratch."

John Paul looked him over and shook his head. "Oh, my soul. I go to such great lengths to guard you, and somehow trouble still finds you. Honestly, Scott. You are a magnet for disaster."

Cassiopia backed away and held his arms. "Are you sure? Are you certain you're alright?"

"My ears are ringing so bad I'm not hearing too good, but I'm not bleeding anywhere."

"Thank God," said Cassiopia and she stepped back when she noticed spider blood on her hand.

John Paul offered her a handkerchief. "Cassiopia, finish telling me how you knew another vortport was being opened behind our teams."

Cassiopia winced at her hand and began wiping it on her clothes. She spoke without looking up. "The signature for a vortport opening is very precise. My display was showing the parameters of the waveform that the computers are programmed to watch for. When the noise from the fighting began, a vortport seismographic signature could no longer be detected. But, as I studied the data scrolling by on my screen I began to see collections of points that matched those of a vortport forming. Most of the signatures were hidden by the noise from the battle, but fragments were there. When I ran one of those sections of graph over and over, I realized that where some of the lower amplitude vortport signatures should have been, the pulse width of the signature along with the peak were always just enough to mask a vortport waveform. The third thing was that every point in which a low amplitude vortport peak should have existed, the battle noise signature was always high enough to conceal it, creating a probability curve that the vortport footprint could very well be there. All of those coincidental points added up to an extremely high probability that we were seeing the signature of a new vortport forming even though much of the pattern was concealed by noise."

John Paul rubbed his neck and shook his head. "Cassiopia, that is amazing. That will be programmed into the entire network. I'm very sorry Supervisor Cummings did not listen to you."

Cassiopia and John Paul looked over at Cummings seated in the back of a black sedan, waiting.

"Why is he waiting, John Paul? You're not going to fire him are you?"

John Paul would have laughed except for the graveness of the situation. "We don't fire anyone, Cassiopia. We don't have to. Mr. Cummings will need counseling and consoling. Two team members lost their lives down there, and there are now a number of Salantians running around the sewer system threatening the city. If he had listened to you, we might have been able to redirect Charlie team down there in time to save those men and prevent the enemy from escaping. He has more than enough burden to bear."

Cassiopia stared back at the man seated in the car. "I hadn't thought about that...."

"So, when the two of you are ready, your driver will take you to the airport and we'll meet back at the lab in the war room. It shouldn't take too long to check on the global situation; then I would guess the two of you can get back to Florida. You still haven't had any real down time. Does that all sound okay?"

Markman nodded. "Now if you two will excuse me, I'd like to get rid of this smell."

Cassiopia looked up at him lovingly. "I'll wait for you outside the garage."

"Trust me; I'll be quick about it."

Chapter 21

Markman watched the morning news with angst. The world was at war, but the world did not know. As fighting went on in secret underground battlefields, people continued their daily routine, completely unaware. There was nothing in any of the media, but sooner or later that had to change.

Pounding thunderstorms added to the uneasiness in the Cassell household. Low hanging, dark clouds seemed ready to spawn tornadoes. The weather would prevent the plan for a run to the nearby pharmacy to pick up secret medications. The smell of breakfast made Markman forget for the moment. He tracked the irresistible aroma to the kitchen where Cassiopia slid a plate of food to his end of the table. He sat, picked up the fork and was about to take that first, incomparable bite when she tossed the day's newspaper to him. Markman glanced at the local section and froze. His eyes locked on a side article at the bottom of the page.

Windmere Woman Claims Angel Saved Husband.

Mrs. Joyce Robinson has reason to celebrate. Earlier in the week, her husband Charles, 68 years old, was unexpectedly diagnosed with atherosclerosis, more familiar to most of us as blockage of the arteries. He was scheduled for emergency surgery the following morning. That evening, as Robinson helped her husband to the car for the ride to the hospital, he collapsed in the driveway. Fearing the worst, she ran inside to phone for an ambulance. From that point, her story takes a very bizarre twist. Robinson claims that upon returning to her husband, she spotted a strange, hooded figure bending over him. Upon seeing her, the mysterious figure ran away and disappeared into the evening fog. Robinson found her husband awake and alert. He was rushed by ambulance to the emergency room where tests revealed no arterial blockages of any kind. A comparison of Mr. Robinson's early scans to the most recent did seem to show blockages in four arteries had apparently vanished. A further review is being conducted by hospital staff. Mr. Robinson was given a clean bill of health and released. His attending physician had no explanation for the sudden change in the patient's condition and declined further comment, leaving Mrs. Robinson to insist, an angel had saved her husband.

Markman stared at the article, stunned. He glanced up at Cassiopia to see if he had attracted her attention. She sat gazing down into her teacup with the same sleepy look on her face. He cautiously slid the paper's local section off the table and tucked it under one leg, planning to dispose of it at the first opportunity. He sipped his coffee and stared across the table at his beautiful fiancé, the last person in the world he wished to deceive. As the guilt welled up, the sound of his cell phone interrupted. It was John Paul. Cassiopia looked up and listened.

"Yes sir," answered Markman.

"Some difficult news, Scott."

"Go ahead."

"There's been another casualty with the Delta Team. You're an honorary member; I thought you should know."

"Oh, man. What happened?"

"It's pretty ugly. There are dozens of airlifts going on around the clock. Delta team was sent to Kings Bay last night to oversee the transfer of tomahawks, the nuclear type. It was supposed to be an easy non-combat mission for them to give them a break from the action. Overnight, their Airbus A400 experienced fuel contamination. It lost power in all four engines. They got partial power back on one engine, but the aircraft was still too heavy to fly. Checqe ordered the team to bail, but one person needed to stay with the tomahawks. That was Checqe. The aircraft broke up badly on impact. Several containment vessels were compromised. Checqe survived with injuries, but he was in the middle of it. The CBRN specialists can clean up the farmer's field, but not Checqe. He got a big dose. It's a mess."

"This really sucks, John Paul."

"Yes, it does."

"Can't your lab save him?"

"We can repair and replace damaged tissue, but we cannot remove the billions of radioactive particles from his body. So, we can keep him alive in stasis for a limited time, but we can't cure him."

"How long does he have?"

"Once released from stasis, he can only survive an unpleasant day or so. Later today he will be sent to the Veteran's Hospital in Pensacola. He has two family members who belong to our agency there. They will take care of the arrangements."

"I'd like to see him. I owe him."

"He won't know you're there, but that would still be a good thing. I'll make sure you are cleared at the hospital."

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll pass this on to Cassiopia."

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of this."

"How are we doing with the war?"

"Too many battles in progress around the world to count. So far, we are holding our own. It is far from certain we will be able to maintain status quo. One of the New York Salantians that escaped made it to the surface and was seen by a dozen or so people before a team took it out. Expect a photo in the tabloids. Otherwise, there has been no exposure in the U.S. Look, I've got to go. I'll keep in touch one way or another."

"Thanks, John Paul."

Cassiopia's expression had already turned to one of sympathy. "I can tell what was said. I just don't know who."

"Commander Checqe."

"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. His team must be devastated."

"I want to go see him. You want to come along?"

"Where is he?"

"Being moved to Pensacola today. I'll take Core. It'd be an easy ride."

"Yes, of course I want to go. Whenever you're ready."

On the road, Markman devised his plan. It would be easy to get a few moments alone with Checqe. The question was, would it work? Could his healing powers affect radiation? Either way, he had to try. He couldn't spend life wondering if Checqe could have been saved. In the tunnels, when the battle had been at its worst, Checqe had moved forward into the fire to stand toe to toe with him. It was possible that had saved his life. He owed Checqe. He would have to try. Afterward, there would be problems. Maybe he could adapt.

"How have you been feeling?" he asked Cassiopia

"Fine, just fine. Why do you ask?"

"I've been a little light-headed lately."

"Do you want me to drive?"

"No, I love driving. I may be getting a touch of the flu or something. Maybe the injury to my hand weakened my immunity or something. I'm hoping I can shake it off."

Cassiopia felt Markman's forehead. "I don't feel any temperature. You tell me if it gets worse, okay? You may have got an all clear from the doctors, but not from me."

"Okay."

At the hospital, they were informed the patient had not yet arrived. There would be an hour or two required to check him in. Markman reminded the people behind the nurse's station that his friend might not have that long. They promised to hurry the process along.

An hour later, Checqe was set up in the ICU in a glass enclosed room away from other patients, a minimum of bio-sensors, just enough to tell he was still alive. Markman and Cassiopia were briefed by the attending physician to visit with care. The patient's relatives were expected at any time.

Within the ICU room, the seriousness of Checqe's condition was easily apparent. Faint red spots on his face suggested radiation burns. His eyes were opening and shutting but were glazed over. Cassiopia looked at Markman sorrowfully. She shook her head and placed a hand gently on Checqe's arm. Markman came up beside her and quietly asked, "Could I have a moment alone with him. There are some personal things I'd like to say."

"I'm sorry, Scott. This must be so difficult. I'll wait for you in the waiting room." With a final shake of her head, Cassiopia left.

Markman looked out into the nurses monitoring area, trying not to appear suspicious. Time was short. He could be run out by the relatives at any moment. He went to the right-hand side of the bed and pretended to place a hand on Checqe's arm. A nurse outside suddenly hurried up to the nurse's station and summoned her coworkers to another treatment room. As soon as they were out of sight, Markman made his move. He pressed his right hand against Checqe's chest and closed his eyes. The effect was explosive. Power surged through Markman's hand and into Checqe's body. The flow of current was so great it hurt. Markman had to brace himself not to pull his hand away. A split second later the drain kicked in. He could feel life flowing out of him. There was something different this time, as well. The passage of healing energy was tingling with pain, like a static electricity shock. It was burning the right side of Markman's neck, down his arm, and through his hand. The world began to spin. His knees became weak, almost unable to bear his weight. He fought the urge to pull away and save himself. His ears began to ring loudly. The world slowly shrunk down into a small circle of light. There was a flash and everything went dark.

A drone of voices slowly brought him back to consciousness. Someone was complaining that BP was too low to get a reading. Another panicky voice was saying pulse was too faint to count. Pushing and shoving was going on. A pillow was pushed in under the head. There was a clicking noise like wheels on the floor, then more pushing and shoving. Pain in the left arm as a needle was inserted. Darkness.

The next episode of consciousness found only the quiet hum of machines and air conditioning. Peaceful, quiet sleep followed.

Markman awoke to the sound of opera. A television was mounted at the foot of the bed near the ceiling. He turned his head and found Cassiopia sleeping in a chair next to him. An intravenous tube ran from his left arm up to a bag of clear fluid hanging from a stand.

"Cass?"

Cassiopia stirred.

"Cassiopia...."

Her eyes fluttered open and took a few second to focus. "Scott? Thank goodness! Finally!" Cassiopia rose from her seat and stood over him. She placed one hand on his chest and gave a sigh of frustration. "How do you feel?"

"What happened?"

"You collapsed next to Commander Checqe's bed. You had almost no pulse. You scared me half to death. You've got to stop doing that! How do you feel?"

"Okay. It must have been the flu or something. I feel just fine now."

"Well, you certainly weren't fine to start with. You scared everyone."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Two days!"

"Two days? Are you kidding?"

"At first we didn't know what to think, but after they ran the tests the doctors said they couldn't find anything wrong. They said you were just exhausted and must not have been getting enough rest. They gave you an IV to hydrate and relax you and told me to keep you here so they could make sure they hadn't missed something. It's been crazy around here ever since the thing with Commander Checqe."

"Commander Checqe? Did he...?"

"Did he die? No! That's the thing. The toxicity of the radiation suddenly decreased and somehow his body started ridding itself of it. No one has ever seen anything like it. They are all baffled. The Commander is even sitting up now and talking. Some of the nurses say it's a miracle."

"Wow!"

"Yes, it makes me wonder if somehow what happened to him is connected to what happened to you. Maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time when a real miracle happened."

"I don't remember anything. The world just seemed to turn off."

"Well, the doctors said if they didn't find anything by the time you woke up, they'd release you, so we can probably go home as soon as they check you over."

"I'm starving."

"That's the Scott Markman I know. I'll go tell the nurse you've returned to Earth, and get you something. John Paul was here, of course. He said to consider yourself on paid leave and if he catches you working on anything he'll lock you up."

"He'd do it, too."

Markman thought of arguing another night in the hospital, but with a narrow look from Cassiopia quickly decided against it. In the morning, he was allowed a quick reunion with a surprisingly alert Commander Checqe before being released to Cassiopia's care. He was wheeled down to the parking area where she waited with Core. The ride home became a quiet prelude to finding some sense of normality.

Markman asked, "So what did I miss in those two days?"

"Many things." Cassiopia's ivory hair tangled in the wind. The collar of her purple blazer flapped at her chin as the countryside raced by. Any cooler and Core's top would need to go back up.

"Such as?" asked Markman, annoyed by the tease.

"A large northern section of Iran has been quarantined. They are selling it as a possible Ebola outbreak, but you and I know what's really going on."

"Iran was one of the ones that refused to join the coalition."

"Yes."

"How bad is it there? Has John Paul told you?"

"A little bit. I've been too busy trying to bring you back to life again."

"What else?"

"Pictures of one of the spidermen went from the tabloids onto the internet. It was the last of the New York escapees. It was eliminated quickly. Now the image has been photoshopped into a dozen different places, so it's been no problem for John Paul's group to ignore the exposure."

"How many vortports?"

"I did get that from John Paul. One hundred and thirty."

"My God. Are we holding them back?"

"Yes, and there's almost nothing on the news about what's really happening. But, there are dozens of emails, texts, and other social network entries from soldiers that talk about fighting monsters that look like giant spiders. The rumor mills are running at full, but the news outlets aren't saying a word about it. They just keep sticking to the cover stories."

"But we're holding you said, right?"

"Yes, and not only that, according to John Paul our resources remain strong. We are in control of the invasion, so far. Tens of thousands of invaders have been destroyed with minimal impact to our society."

"God, that's scary."

"Which thing is?"

"You sound like a politician with the minimal impact to society thing."

Cassiopia flashed an angry stare. "It scares me what's going on, Scott. There's no way to win. It's either kill or be killed. It's a nightmare."

Markman reached out and placed on hand on Cassiopia's shoulder. "You're right. I'm sorry I said that."

"It scares the hell out of me."

"Were you there at the hospital the whole two days?"

"Yes, but that wasn't so bad. The doctors kept reassuring me you were okay and just resting and regaining strength."

"It must've been a delayed reaction or something. I promise it won't happen again."

"It better not, Mister. You were released on my cognizance. I'm watching you."

Markman leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Well, you'd better stay close then."

"Count on it."

Chapter 22

Two weeks of convalescence around the house did little to ease the tension in the Cassell household. Markman sat in the kitchen staring at the latest headlines, shaking his head in disbelief.

CHINA INVADES NORTH KOREA

Claims border incursions

Rumors of battlefield nuclear weapons said to be unsubstantiated

He looked up at Cassiopia's fearful stare.

"It can only mean one thing," she said as she took her seat.

"North Korea was one of the ones who refused to listen."

"They must be overrun and the Salantians are crossing the border into China, so China was forced to respond this way. Can you imagine what it must be like in North Korea?"

Markman thought back to the battle in the tunnels. He rubbed his face with one hand. "I don't want to think what it must be like."

"Not only that, who's next? What country will be the next to be attacked this way?"

"Maybe because of this, the others will listen."

"But the governments and news media are concealing the truth. There is no mention of alien invaders. No pictures of giant spidermen."

"It's the best bad choice they have. People would be jumping out of windows if they knew. The world would be in chaos."

Cassiopia scoffed but cast a look of uncertainty. She pushed the rest of the paper to him and sat, sipping her tea with a faraway look.

Markman read through the article, a cover stone for a hidden real life war of the worlds. The past few days had left him feeling restless. Why hadn't John Paul found some way for him to help combat the secret threat? Waiting around was a constant mind game, and adding to that was something unexpected that had happened. Upon returning from the hospital, he had casually tried to levitate the TV remote control and found he could not. Subsequent tests on other objects confirmed the power had left him. There was no doubt in his mind that the ability to heal others was gone, as well. For two days he pressed for the power and found it absent. Commander Checqe was continuing to recover. His doctors openly attributed his condition to a miracle. Something in the process of healing a heavily radiated person had brought an end to Markman's superpowers. He wondered if the draining of strength each time he used it was the draining of the power itself, and sooner or later it would have ended anyway. In many ways it was a relief, a burden lifted. No more deciding when someone could be saved and when someone could not. No more keeping secrets from the woman he loved. He took refuge alone in the living room, tossing a football in the air, pleased with his return to normality.

Cassiopia came into the room staring down at her cell phone. "Scott, I have to make a run to UCF. They're asking for my help on a grant. They're worried about missing the cut-off date. Funny, I haven't heard anything about this, but I've been gone so much...."

"You want to take Core?"

"No, I haven't finished reading up on it. I'll take mine. Besides, you might need it if you go getting into any trouble while I'm gone."

"Hey, you know me...."

"Yeah, I do." Cassiopia came forward, leaned over and kissed him on the lips. "Why don't you just stay home, nice cozy and comfy until I get back? Then I'll find some way to reward you for staying out of trouble."

"Okay!"

Cassiopia looked down at her cell, tucked it back in a pocket and headed out the door.

Markman pulled back the curtain and watched her back out. It was a beautiful day outside. Perhaps he should suit up and run. Maybe there was something on TV. He switched it on. A banner indicating breaking news appeared. The script below read; World Health Organization places northern Iran in quarantine for virus outbreak.

Markman switched it off. Maybe running was a good idea after all, even if it was running from reality. Before he could decide, his cell tone rang out. It was John Paul.

Scott, meet me at St. Paul's Cathedral in Orlando right away. There's something important I need to show you.

At last, a chance to help the cause. Markman rifled through his clean clothes and pulled on a black sweatshirt. He clipped his phone to his jeans and headed for Core, happy to have a reason to drive. He locked the front door, took one step in the direction of the car, and heard the engine start as though Core was just as anxious. On the road, both he and the car seemed perfectly content to hold the speed limit.

Downtown Orlando was only moderately busy. The city block the cathedral occupied seemed strangely quiet. There was nothing to indicate any activities within the temple itself. A parking attendant stared at the car as Markman pulled a ticket from the machine and parked. The steps leading up to the towering structure gave Markman pause to search the area and wonder exactly what was going on. There were the beginnings of unexplained apprehension. The huge, heavily engraved double doors were unlocked. He pulled the right one open and stepped inside.

It was a magnificent house of worship. The morning sun was still below the high, colored windows of the heavily decorated east wall. The colored glass was beginning to glow in anticipation of its coming. The defused light illuminated the ornate gold and silver covering the monuments placed around the altar. Colorful frescos covered the walls and ceiling. The beauty of the place left Markman awestruck. He stood at the back of the hall, one hand on the last pew. As he took in the beauty of it, he noticed the outline of a dark figure leaning against the pulpit, one arm resting atop it. Markman approached slowing thinking it must be John Paul, though his internal alarm system was telling him that was not so.

Halfway to the pulpit, the dark figure spoke. "Mr. Markman, nice of you to come so quickly."

The voice was not that of John Paul.

Markman could not make out the shadowed face. "Who are you?"

"Someone you have been hoping to find, and now...here I am!" The figure took one step forward and came into the light. Even from a distance, there was no mistaking the face. Dr. Moriana wore the robes of a priest. His black hair looked oily and was swept back from the forehead. His eyes were narrowed, his skin a pale gray. He kept a half-smile as he looked down at Markman. His right hand continued to hang off the pulpit, the nails well-trimmed but much too long.

"This is the last place I'd expect to find you," said Markman sarcastically.

"I'm an angel, Mr. Markman, not a vampire." Moriana laughed but stopped short.

Out of the corner of his eye, Markman began contemplating possible escapes. His options did not seem good.

"I wanted to meet you, Mr. Markman. You are quite the oddity. But then, your entire family unit is so very odd, isn't it? How you have survived this long surprises even me."

"You sent the email?"

"Of course! I sent the one to Ms. Cassell, also. She needed to be elsewhere for our meeting."

"And you know I'm being tracked. Others will be here shortly."

"Why, I'm counting on it, Mr. Markman. You are going to capture me, and bring me to justice, so to speak."

"I am?"

"I would like to know how you got the better of Palermo, however. Would you be willing to tell me?"

"It was just luck. You might call it fate."

Moriana nodded. "That is what I thought. Thank-you for being honest."

"So you are just going to let me capture you and bring you in then?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. You see, actually it will be me, bringing me in. My associates did not possess the same level of authority that I do. Their ability to take possession of others was limited in several ways. I do not suffer those kinds of limitations."

"But you're not all powerful, are you. You seem to be having trouble escaping from one dimension to another."

"Not once the final key equation is complete. From then on the sensesuit computer will provide passage to anywhere, any time, any place."

"The sensesuit computer? That's what it's really for?"

"John Paul was getting very close to discovering its real purpose. It is fortunate I went in recently to check on things. Otherwise I might not have noticed. Somehow he deciphered the time code within it. That discovery made it necessary to get the Salantians to move up their invasion of Earth. The distraction was needed to slow him down and give me more cover to move around in."

"You are behind the Salantians invasions?"

"Of course, Mr. Markman. Haven't you ever heard the saying that nothing happens by chance? I understand your surprise, however. So few realize how many events happen because of my kind."

"Then you were responsible for the Salantians invading Crillia?"

"The Crillian scientists were our first choice in solving the final problems of multiverse travel. The sensesuit computers were appropriated from a laboratory on the astral plane, with great difficulty I might add. That is why it possesses properties beyond that of the physical Earth. The suit uses a morphetic skin to adapt to other realities. Angelic composition is such that some of our own koshas could be made to have that same morphetic adaptability. We had the vortports to move the sensesuit computers to anywhere our research needed to go. The only other need was some barbaric race that could be manipulated to do our bidding. The Salantians were perfect for that. They had no idea they were working for us. They believed we were helping them. We pointed them to Crillia as a planet perfect for conquest. From there they did all the work for us. They also caused enough confusion to help conceal what we were doing. And, as a bonus, they brought war and destruction to a planet of peace. Unfortunately, the Crillians turned out to be such a...lazy race. The scientists we were using kept putting off the work for the sake of family and friends. Try as we may to coax those stupid Crillian scientists along to solve the final quantum equations, they remained preoccupied with community endeavors. As the battle for Crillia began and became widespread, we lost their attention completely. It was quite an inconvenience, but a new alternative was needed. Ballard had already learned of Professor Cassell's work by a report in John Paul's records. It made Earth seem like our next best very viable option, and it was easy enough to get the Salantians to do an exploratory mission. It's a shame we had to convince them to begin Earth's invasion early. It is doubtful they will be able to sustain an assault on both planets at once. Otherwise, they would have gone on decimating planet after planet long after we had bid them farewell. But, that's of no concern to us. All we need are those final pieces of equation. Quantum entanglement achieved using gluons in a liquid-like wave. It's more than I can master, but Cassell has what we need. I'd be willing to bet on it."

Markman continued to secretly consider potential paths of escape.

"No, no, Mr. Markman. You cannot escape. Do you really think I would have gone to all this trouble to bring you here if there was any chance you could slip through my fingers?"

"Cassell will never cooperate, no matter who you threaten."

"You may be right, Mr. Markman. At least from what we've seen. I have no plans to threaten anyone, however."

"Then the game is over. You're just wasting time."

"Hardly, Mr. Markman, hardly. You see, Professor Cassell won't tell me what I need to know, but he will tell his daughter."

"I don't get you."

"Mr. Markman, my associate's authority over mortals was limited in many respects. As I've said, not so with me. Admittedly possession is quite an annoying thing. It's like putting on someone else's dirty laundry. Although the surrogate does not have the will power to exorcize me, there is always a nagging little incentive to do good in place of evil. It is a bit like trying to quit smoking you might say, a persistent, irritating need to resist temptation. Honestly, I would not normally choose such an untidy course of action but your streak of luck, as you call, it has left me no choice."

"I still don't understand."

"Oh come now, Mr. Markman. It is simple enough even for you. I will occupy you, Mr. Markman. We will be one. The Moriana body will be left behind but will still possess enough angelic signature to be mistaken for me. Once in possession of your body, I will imitate you quite adequately. After the Moriana body is taken away and all inquiries satisfied, I will return to the Cassell residence and take my rightful place with Ms. Cassell. When the time is right, and I am close enough to her, by that I mean very, very close indeed, I will transfer and occupy her, and your body will have a sudden relapse of your previous head injury. You will remain comatose until death this time. Living as Ms. Cassell, it will be no trouble at all for me to persuade Professor Cassell to reveal all he has discovered about the trans-dimensional physics he had been working on with Ballard and Palermo. From that, I will finally be able to pass through the sensesuit system into any other dimension I choose. I will have safe haven until my master finally is victorious, and this universe becomes ours."

Markman slowly took a stepped back, but his foot brushed up against something. He looked down and found a priest on the floor between pews. He stooped over and felt for a pulse. There was none.

"He offered me salvation," said Moriana haughtily. "I gave him eternity."

Markman stood and slowly took another step backward. Moriana moved casually to the edge of the stage. "No, no, no, Mr. Markman. No backing out now. Too late for that." Moriana waved two fingers in front of his face. Markman was instantly hit by an invisible force that knocked him to the floor. He grabbed the side of the pew, pulled back up and continued to back away. For the first time, he wished for the powers from the Coffer of Dreams but could feel they were still no longer at his disposal.

The only option was to run. A full power sprint got him halfway to the double doors. Suddenly there was not enough traction beneath his feet to make headway. A second later his feet no longer touched the floor. In midair, he was turned in place until he faced Moriana.

As Markman watched, small objects from the stage drifted upward and began hovering around Moriana. Candle holders, books, small statues, cups, dishes raised from their positions. As they rose, the fallen angel seemed to be standing in a brisk wind, though there was no wind at all. The unearthly face lit up with the look of death. He pointed to a glass goblet hovering beside him and followed up with a throwing motion directed at Markman The goblet shattered in the air and took off as a rain of jagged pieces. The collage of shattered glass flew passed Markman, barely missing him until the base of the cup struck his upper right arm cutting a three-inch slice through his shirt. It glanced off and exploded against a nearby pew. Markman clamped his hand over his arm to slow the bleeding.

Moriana suddenly became distressed. The tempest subsided. He placed one hand over his mouth and stared at the wound. "Oh, Mr. Markman, forgive me! That was an accident! I would not wish to inhabit a damaged body! I would feel the same pain as you. Oh, that is just so irritating. How clumsy of me." Moriana jumped down the three-foot drop to floor level and approached. He lifted his robe, tore off a section and lowered Markman to the floor. Markman began backing away.

"No, no wait. I wish only to wrap it. We can agree on that, can't we?"

Markman continued backing away along the isle. Moriana followed, his torn black robe billowing out behind him.

"Please let me bandage that. It will be so much easier while I still have these two hands." Moriana's expression became one of insane concern.

Markman looked left and right, still hoping for a path of escape. His searching was rudely interrupted when he backed into the rear wall of the cathedral. Moriana continued to close the distance.

Combat did not seem like an option. Escape seemed unlikely. But, Markman did not believe in no-win situations. His mind searched for a way out. He recalled his master's teachings that when no options were available, sometimes doing nothing was the wisest choice, though it was important to do nothing the best it could be done.

Markman clapped his hands together and touched his fingers to his forehead. He sunk down against the wall until he was seated, then pulled his legs up into the lotus position. He interlaced his fingers in his lap and tilted his chin up to focus on the invisible third eye. Light from the high colored windows of the church was beginning to brighten.

"Alright, we can do it that way just as easily. Your lotus is of no concern," taunted Moriana.

Markman's last view of Moriana was the image of the devil standing over him. A green mist flowed slowly out of Moriana's body. As it escaped, the body collapsed to the floor, dead. The green mist hovered in a vaguely humanoid shape, then slowly advanced.

Markman emptied his mind and focused on infinity. His first sensation of the green mist was an acrid smell, a mixture of sulfur and death. A moment later, green mist touched his skin through his clothing. It was a faintly prickly sensation, repulsive in such a way that it made him want to brush it off. Markman held his state of mind.

As the prickling spread over his body, a psychological assault began. The mist was seeping into his pores, entering every square inch of him. It brought a feeling of incestuous invasion, no area immune, no function too private. The infusion became an unwanted embrace of the soul, a shroud of darkness that blocked out all light within.

The green vapor surrounded his mind, the last bastion of his consciousness. The belligerent power of it was too great. He began to see eddies flowing down between his eyes, seeping down into the back of his mind. His view of reality grayed to an uncomfortable blur. Bad memories began to take hold. He had lied to a teacher once about a ring. He had engaged others in combat and hurt them. On occasion, he had taken a life.

Other improprieties began to fill his thoughts, but these were not his own. They were someone else's. Horrible scenes of torture and murder. Mass casualties. Terrible accidents that could have been avoided but were deliberately allowed to happen. And there was something else. An urging. A silent voice imploring him to take pleasure in these things. A dark master trying to demonstrate the satisfaction these things could provide.

The visions went deeper. Thousands of suffering people within the fire of regret and hopelessness, the hopelessness that comes from guilt. Markman searched within himself for a way out. He was being pushed down and down and out of the way. He could feel his soul slipping. It was a matter of making space for someone else to take over reasoning and action.

Markman held to a spiritual lotus, suspended in nothingness. He realized he had completely lost control of his body. He could not feel or see what was happening outside. A distant bead of light caught his attention. It slowly grew in size until it became a new vision. It was his Tibetan masters sitting around a carved butter sculpture of Gautama. They were staring at him, pointing and laughing. Why were they laughing? Couldn't they see he was trapped in hell?

Somehow there was an answer within the laughter. To Markman's amazement, he realized they were telling him they had all been here. They were reminding him of a universal answer. The darkness of hell had deformed their appearance into one of ridicule and condemnation, but the purity of their message remained. It was the most important lesson ever learned.

To make a man, you take a small portion of God and add experience. The man will grow farther and farther from God as he learns. Eventually, the man will learn enough that he will return to be one with God, just as he was when a piece of God was first taken to make him.

That was the key. Discard every impure thought, desire, and guilt from a man, and he reverts back to the original pure state of his beginning. And, no force on Earth or in Heaven is greater or stronger than that.

Markman refocused his meditation. He purged every evil thought within and around him. As he did, he suddenly began to grow in size. Beams of light began radiating outward from his ethereal body. A low bellowing groan began to sound from all around. At the same time, there was light. It was light returning from his human eyes, a small circle growing steadily in size. In a bursting flash of vision and awareness, he was back in the cathedral. The great light he had followed out was a beam from the rising sun aligned directly with the high colored window of the cathedral. The green mist hovered in front of him. It floated in a confused state halfway down the center aisle, where it came upon the dead priest and disappeared into the body.

Markman pushed to his feet and tested his limbs. Everything worked. He looked up in time to see the priest's body jump up and spin around. Something shockingly new hanging in the air above the pulpit captured and held Markman's gaze. There in suspension was the form of a man. He wore only a loincloth and high strap sandals. He had the musculature of an athlete. His skin was a bluish gray. His arms were open and beckoning. Most dramatic of all were the long graceful wings, gray-white, feathered, moving with inflection as though keeping him in place.

The body of the priest turned, took one look and screamed a blood-curdling scream. It ran down the aisle toward Markman yelling, "Don't let him take me! Don't let him take me!" He charged forward and slammed into Markman, knocking him back into the wall, grabbing a handful of shirt as he did. "I can make you a rich man. I can make you powerful beyond your imagination. Just help me get away. I beg you, please."

In that instant, he was gone. Markman looked down at the bunched up cloth in his shirt where a fraction of a second earlier he had been held. The body of Moriana still lay on the floor a few feet away. Markman looked up to find the angel still hovering above the stage, looking back with curiosity. The exchanged seemed to last forever, though it was really only a few seconds. The angel gave a single flap of his wings, turned and disappeared up into the light. Markman, collapsed on his back, staring at the ceiling where a fresco of the archangel Michael and his angels gazed down.

Chapter 23

Markman sat in the commissary at the Culpeper underground laboratory, sipping coffee as he recounted the capture of Moriana. When he came to the part about resurfacing into his body to find an angel hovering over the cathedral's pulpit, John Paul stood so abruptly his the cup and saucer were knocked to the floor.

"My God, you saw him?! You actually saw Michael?"

"Big guy with wings? Didn't say much. Moriana went berserk."

"Oh, my Lord. I am shocked, totally shocked. Did he look at you? Did he see you?"

"We stared at each other for quite a spell there. He seemed curious. It felt weird."

"So you can confuse even an angel?" joked Cassiopia, as she leaned over to pick up John Paul's cup and saucer.

John Paul remained standing. "That is amazing! You realize his image is the last thing a few entire armies have seen."

"It was the last thing Moriana saw. I can tell you that."

"Oh, this is just so incredible. Seeing an archangel in person. Oh, if only I had been there. The vision of a lifetime."

Cassiopia interrupted. "John Paul, please. You said there is good news about the war?"

Paul gathered himself and took his seat. He shook his head and smiled at Cassiopia. "Forgive me. Yes, that is of the highest concern. The news is, it is all but over, Cassiopia. We will win. There is no doubt of that now. Some things have changed." John Paul shifted in his seat and began again. "A few days ago some very peculiar things began happening. Some of the Salantian soldiers were coming through the vortport already injured, some of them seriously. There was only one logical explanation. They were being attacked from the other side. In fact, their situation grew even worse hour by hour. Vortports began opening in very inappropriate places. One such port opened on the cliffs of Peru, four thousand feet above the shoreline. Salantian soldiers began charging out and falling to their deaths. Several dozen did so. It is clear they are under attack from the other side. It supports what Moriana told Scott about convincing the Salantians to attack Earth early before they were ready. Their legions became spread too thin. The Crillians have gained a foothold and are on the offensive. The Salantians are now in the worst possible military situation for any army."

"You are sure, John Paul?"

"We are certain."

"But what will happen here on Earth now? Too many people have seen Salantians. You can't possibly hide the existence of extraterrestrials," said Cassiopia.

"Ah, my presumptuous Cassiopia. You underestimate how many people do not wish to believe such things, and how far they will go to avoid the truth. There are so many alternate explanations. Hoaxes, publicity stunts, mistaken sightings, mass hysteria, swamp gas, need I go on? Many soldiers have fought them. All have been directed not to discuss it. Some will. Others will discredit them. Many will believe and talk about it for years to come. The majority will consider it a passing amusement and go on with their lives. The requirements for daily living will continue regardless of such fantastic tales. Game shows, reality TV, and soap operas will displace the monster stories. Our militaries will clean up the evidence. Photos will fly around the conspiracy websites. Even some authentic ones will be proven to be hoaxes. The entire episode will fade with time and become a pastime for conspiracy theorists and sci-fi lovers. Some day, when all of society is ready for it, the truth will slowly be dispensed. Those of us who lived during this time will be long gone."

Cassiopia seemed unconvinced. "Really?"

"Oh yes. How many images of artificial structures on Mars and the Moon are posted on the web these days? Have they affected society much? Did an alien spacecraft crashing on a ranch in Roswell change the path of society, even though it was announced in the newspaper by the military the day after?"

"That was real?"

"Of course."

Markman interjected, "I'd like to hear that story, John Paul."

"Some other time, Scott. Some other time. I had one other reason besides this debriefing for asking the two of you here. We need one more sensesuit trip to Crillia before wrapping up our study of the sensesuit computer. We are seeing something in the code that we'd like confirmed."

"You need me?" asked Markman. "Can't just anybody go in?"

"They could," replied John Paul, "but the unit has been shut down for some time now while our resources were devoted to the war. Something has happened that may provide an answer you have personally been looking for. You have the most experience in there. You'd be the best one to go in and check on things. It should take less than an hour and we can wrap everything up."

"No problemo," replied Markman.

Forty-five minutes later, Markman stood, suited up in the sensesuit test area. Cassiopia and John Paul looked on from their control console. With a nod from John Paul, he pulled on the helmet and waited for the clicks and hisses that would begin his last visit to Crillia.

The suit powered up, and as always, the first sun of Crillia began to rise in the east. For some reason, the sun seemed much larger this time. Markman stared down at the busy world of Crillia. Something seemed different. He could not quite put his finger on it.

"Good morning, may I help you?"

Markman turned to look into the Centrex Pyramid. An unfamiliar figure stared back. The creature wore a long white cloak with large open sleeves. His fingers were long and green and interlaced. Large dark eyes cast a warm but cautious gaze from a dull green face. Where a nose should have been there was only two small apertures and below them a small slit for a mouth. The creature was six feet tall.

"I am Ectra. May I inquire as to the reason for your visit?"

"Where is Trill?"

"Sir, I know of no one by that name. From where do you come?"

"You don't know Trill? How about DuMont in the Terra Nova Castle. Could I speak with him?"

"Again, I know of no one by that name. The Terra Nova Castle is currently hosting delegates from around this sector for the election of new off-world ambassadors. It is not open to visitors. Again, may I ask the reason for your visit, and from where you come?"

"I've come from Earth, to check on Crillia."

"Ah, Earth, our dearest compatriot planet. But, Earth already has its ambassadors at the Terra Nova negotiations. Why would you come in this manner to inquire about Crillia?"

"Earth has ambassadors here now?"

"Of course. They docked at the Skyway Terrace a week ago. They will be here another ten cycles. I fail to understand your confusion."

"Lector was it?"

"Ectra. Sir, I ask you again, for what reason are you visiting us?"

Markman looked around at the pyramid control room. All seemed to be as it was, except for the individual standing before him. "I apologize, Mr. Ectra. Actually I'm from a different time."

"And what time would that be?"

"I'm from a time when Salantian invaders tried to destroy both Crillia and Earth."

Ectra's expression seemed to change to one of amazement and understanding. "What is your name, visitor?"

"I was known here by the name Richard Baker, but my real name is Markman, Scott Markman."

"I do not know of anyone by either of those names, but the historical episode you described remains one of Crillia's darkest and most heralded victories. It happened centuries ago, during a time when Crillia was nearly lost, as you have said. It left a mark on our people that will never be forgotten. We are taught that when Earth entered the conflict, the momentum of the battle shifted in our favor. Together our two planets defeated an enemy that neither of us could have stood against alone. It is the reason our two peoples are such close allies to this day, and the reason our defenses will never allow such an event to occur again."

Realization came to Markman. "Then you are a real Crillian?"

"Of course. Who else would I be? And, Scott Markman, I expect you are not aware that if you are really visiting us from the past, you are in violation of a host of intergalactic laws. Though I understand your situation, I would suggest you return to your time and place. You could cause a serious diplomatic scandal by being here." Ectra pointed at a transparent tablet on a table across the room. It gently lifted and floated to him. He stared down at it, as though looking for the names Markman had given him.

Markman realized then that the Coffer of Dreams had been constructed by real Crillians, for Crillians. He turned and looked out the pyramid balcony for a last look at Crillia. "You have just one sun?"

The Crillian gave a short laugh. "Yes, but it is all we need."

"Thank you for allowing me to visit. If you'll disengage me, I'll just step into the transport tube."

"Scott Markman, how is it you know of the Terra Nova Castle, and transport tubes, and such?"

"I've been here a number of times when things were different."

"The implications of that scare me, Scott Markman."

"It's okay. Things turned out just fine."

Ectra nodded, then passed his hand over the crystals and for Markman the Aurora City went dark for the last time.

Chapter 24

The trio of adventurers gathered in the living room of the Cassell residence and toasted each other on good fortune.

"So, you located the third sensesuit computer Moriana was using?" asked Markman.

John Paul sat with his hands folded in his lap. "Yes. We were eventually able to identify the conjoinment signal between computers and triangulated the location from that."

"So that's it. You have them all. What will you do with them?"

"They will be returned to the custodians on the plane from which they were stolen."

Cassiopia intervened. "What plane is that, John Paul?"

"Cassiopia...."

"Okay, okay. Too many questions, I know...."

Markman said, "So after all this time we now know that even though it was the future, I was visiting a real place with real people, but I don't get it, Trill told me he was a computer representation of a real person...."

John Paul nodded. "It was the sensesuit computer. It was tasked with taking information from alien worlds, even alien dimensions, and translating them as accurately as possible so the user could understand. In reality, the only person who wasn't real on Crillia was you. You were a computer image projected by the sensesuit computer, but just as solid and real as if you had actually been there."

"That all gives me the creeps," replied Markman. "And so, because Moriana got the Salantians to attack early, they were defeated both on Earth and on Crillia, which saved the Crillian people who will now be our friends and allies for the foreseeable future," said Markman

"The Crillians had become too passive and trusting a race. Even though they were so much more advanced than Earth, they had left themselves open to invasion. It was indeed lucky for them that Earth was drawn into the war."

"And my last trip inside the sensesuit; because of the Salantian defeat people from Earth never needed to escape to Crillia. So Crillia was never inhabited by humans. Everything was changed."

"It is a massive change to the timeline we saw. The massive explosions from the power cores on Crillia never happened. Crillia was not blown from its long-term orbit, upsetting the stability of our entire solar system."

"Isn't it incredibly dangerous changing a timeline, John Paul?" asked Cassiopia.

"Not when the original timeline has been altered by evil," replied John Paul.

"One other thing I don't understand. Why was the sensesuit computer programmed to visit the future Crillia and not the present?" added Cassiopia.

"That was done by Moriana. When the efforts with the Crillian scientists began to sour, they began searching the future for some of the answers they needed."

"John Paul, if those guys could possess people, why didn't they just possess Professor Cassell while they had him to get their answers?" asked Markman.

"Because, although they could possess someone's body, they could not possess their mind," replied John Paul.

Markman sat back and locked his hands behind his head. "Those guys were like a car wreck that never ends."

"And so you see what my agency is up against every day, Scott."

"And what about us, John Paul? Where do we fit in now?" asked Cassiopia.

"The missions you've seen so far have been somewhat haphazard and improvised. That is not the way we usually operate. The war necessitated a somewhat reactionary posture. Generally speaking, we are much more stealthy in our approach. If you've ever seen that old TV show, Mission Impossible, our missions are very much like that, complex little schemes in which we remain invisible while achieving the desired results. The two of you could be designing and participating in those kinds of missions. With Cassiopia's mind and Scott's abilities, I can't imagine a more effective combination. It rather excites me to think about it."

"But if we did this, and gave up our lives, where would we live, John Paul?" asked Cassiopia.

"Actually, that part is fairly simple. Since you are still considering joining us, you can remain on temporary status for as long as you need. What we like to do in these cases is set you up in an environment as close to the one most suited to you to further indoctrinate you to our system. In your case, we happen to have the perfect castle-styled complex available. It's a somewhat modest estate of 50 or 60 rooms, but the underground complex associated with it is operational and extensive. We use these types of properties so that during missions an entire support staff can take temporary residence while operations are underway. Security and a bit of isolation is paramount, although this particular estate remains a serviceable villa. The property is currently listed under fictitious owners who are rumored to travel extensively. You would have a good deal of privacy there, and you would not be far from the Culpeper laboratory."

"Wait. You want us to move to a... castle?" asked Markman.

"To the extent to which you would be comfortable doing so. The main building is stone masonry. I would hope that is acceptable. It is fully furnished, although you are welcome to redecorate in any way you choose. You would also be close enough to your residence here to travel back and forth without much difficulty."

Cassiopia sat with a dazed look on her face. "But...but...."

"Yes, Cassiopia," asked John Paul.

Cassiopia suddenly realized she wasn't sure of what to say.

John Paul continued. "I would suggest the two of you take a long weekend and visit the place to see how you feel about it. Obviously there is more than enough room for Professor Cassell's work and the TEL."

Markman's head began to nod uncontrollably. "That sounds...good. We could do that." He looked at Cassiopia. "We could do that, couldn't we?"

Cassiopia stared back dumbfounded. She stood. "I think I need some more wine. Would either of you like some?"

Both Markman and John Paul shook their head. Cassiopia marched off, still in a daze. Markman and John Paul watched her disappear around the corner.

Markman gave an exaggerated nod to John Paul. "She's thinking about it."

"I believe she is," replied John Paul.

Markman sat back and sighed. He looked up at John Paul with a fresh expression of interest. "John Paul let me ask you something personal."

"Go ahead. Nothing can shock me in this household."

"How do you buy an engagement ring? Do you just go pick one? Or, do they need to go with you to tell you what they want? And if you just go pick one, how do you know what to pick? And, how much should you spend? I have no idea."

"So, have you finally asked her?"

"Yes. It wasn't the best time and place, but she said yes, and I think she was serious."

"What did she say, exactly?"

"Well first she said; of course I'll marry you, you idiot."

"Ah, yes that does sound like her. I would take that as a serious offer, were I you."

"I'm not going to ask again. Why push my luck."

"Well, it's about time, anyway. I was starting to think you were waiting for Medicare to kick in."

"Yeah."

"With regards to picking the ring; knowing Cassiopia as well as I do, I am sure she would be pleased with anything you chose. However you would be better advised to take her with you. It would make her happier. As for how much you should spend, I would guess ten thousand would be a nice round figure, and you should purchase a crystal companion ring for her to wear in place of the expensive one. I know you can afford that, but we would provide you with that amount if you'd prefer."

"How do you know I can afford that?"

"Oh my Boy, I've been over all your financial records thoroughly. We can't take a chance on one of our agents having a credit card rejected during a mission. That's a joke, of course."

"You'd give me 10K for a ring?"

"Just say the word. In fact, I'll just go ahead and deposit it for you."

"Won't you guys go broke doing that kind of thing?"

"Not at all. We produce our own bills."

"Wow! Doesn't that damage the economy?"

"Not at all. We release an equal or greater amount of gold with every distribution."

"Wow."

"Actually Scott, were you officially one of our agents, money would no longer concern you. Whatever you wanted or needed would be provided, always."

"Wow."

"Giving up one's life deserves supreme compensation."

A dog barking in the backyard interrupted the men. They paused for a moment to see if it would stop. It did not. Something seemed peculiar about cadence of it. They rose from their seats and headed in that direction in time to see Cassiopia enter the hallway just as her father emerged from the den going in the same direction. They reached the back door window and stared out, aghast. There in the backyard, Core with its top and windows down was driving rectangles around the back yard. The TEL robot was seated in the passenger seat, one arm draped over the door, its head turning from side to side watching the scenery go by. The beagle chased close behind, barking all the way.

"Oh my God," said the Professor. "Once again this is your fault, Cassiopia. I have told you time and time again you have dabbled in the robot's programming too much. Now the thing has stolen a car."

"No he hasn't, Father," replied Cassiopia sarcastically. "He's in the passenger seat. The car has stolen itself. He's just along for the ride, or perhaps he's been abducted?"

"Abducted? By a car? You can see the robot's enjoying himself. He's hardly a victim."

"Really, Father. A machine can't be enjoying itself."

"It can after you're through with it."

Markman and John Paul stood behind the pair. They looked at each other and Markman rolled his eyes.

"Well, it looks to me as though they've become friends," said Markman.

"Oh my God! That's it! I told the two of them to learn to work together, so they're experimenting driving around the back yard!" said Cassiopia.

Markman looked over at John Paul. "She could get the Statue of Liberty to wave, if she wanted to."

"You don't have to tell me," replied John Paul.

Cassiopia turned back to Markman. "Scott, you did close the gate when you brought the car back here, didn't you?"

"The gate? Geeez, no I didn't close the gate."

"Ahhh!" Cassiopia charged out the door headed for the back gate, her father worriedly ambling along behind her.

"God, I hope she gets there in time," remarked John Paul.

"You? Can you imagine what will happen to me, if she doesn't?"

"Perhaps I should go now," said John Paul, and he hurried back toward the living room.

Markman followed after him. "So, I'll let you know how this turns out. It is your car, after all."

John Paul paused at the front door. "No, Scott. It's your car. You know, somehow I get the feeling this is something that could only happen at the Cassell residence." He glanced down the hallway and hurried out the front door.

Markman looked worriedly out the living room windows but saw no convertibles with robots passing by. He plunked down on the couch, grabbed the football and began flipping it up. He reached for his drink on the coffee table but lost focus on the ball and had to juggle with both hands to catch it. Tossing it back in the air, he reached again for his glass and froze in shock as the glass jerked forward and slid obediently across the table to him, coming to rest in his grasp. The falling football glanced off the side of his head and went bouncing across the floor. Dazed, he sat up straight and placed one hand over his mouth in disbelief. He gazed at the glass and mentally retraced its path to be sure it had really moved of its own accord. When all hope of alternate explanation was lost, he buried his face in his hands and moaned, "Oh, no..."
