

Planet Moloch:

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth

A novella by:

J. Ella

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SMASHWORDS EDITION

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Published by:

J. Ella on Smashwords

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### Planet Moloch:

### The Guild of Unrelenting Truth

Copyright 2011 J. Ella

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Planet Moloch:

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth

Chapter One

9000 Rungs to Enlightenment.

Roegge Mallecon loped down the underground drift towards the escape shaft. This section was very old and was excluded from any of the tunnel maps. His head lamp cast a lonely light. The beam illuminated slick explosion-shattered rock poking through corroded rock screen. Glistening amorphous rock poured ever-so-slowly out of drilled back-bolt holes in the wall.

He felt like ducking but repeated glances at the ceiling reassured him of sufficient clearance. Bright orange steel pus coated the overhead rock screen. The extent of the corrosion on the rock screen did not quell his angst.

The echo of his soggy footsteps and ragged breath seemed inordinately loud. His chest hurt and his thighs were burning. His feet were wet and starting to blister. The tunnel was 18 kilometers long and he had just hit the halfway point. The hiking odometer was slapping his thigh and counting the distance. Only the old fashioned rugged spring counters could be trusted this far underground.

Subterranean percolation and condensation effects combined to produce a constant thin rivulet of water on the floor of the drift. The smell of oxide and rock was accentuated by the humidity. The air barely moved. He heard nothing but his own sounds.

He stopped for a moment to listen. He retrieved a small pill container from his thigh pocket and pulled his water flask from its belt retainer. He removed a pill and washed it down with the water.

He wanted to sit and rest but the ever present film of water and fine silt muck stopped him. He could feel the slight air movement originating from the fled bunker moving in the direction of his exit.

Roegge felt the effects of the pill within minutes. His senses became amplified and he felt invincible. He started loping with renewed vigor. He had to keep up the pace, his life was at stake.

He became furious. His lope turned into a run. All over the world the Order of the Dynasty was falling. One by one the Dynasty strongholds were being assaulted. Many of the great families (that once ruled from the shadows) were now fugitives.

Roegge sobbed as he remembered the televised trial and execution of his father and two younger brothers. The family estate burned in the background as the Torturer's nano edged sword sliced through their necks. Excerpts from their interrogations were also shown in the news flash. The tools of governance that were used to exact conformity from the commons were now turned upon the ruling clans.

Roegge's wife and two young teenage children had been captured -- used as leverage. The Guild would spare their lives in return for his surrender. He declined to surrender knowing the Guild of Unrelenting Truth would not kill them. He was shown the official recording of the interrogation. His wife was forced to watch as each child had an eye removed with a spoon.

It was done in accordance with the torture statutes that Roegge signed into legislation.

A Torturer from the Guild of Unrelenting Truth, clad in the traditional black cloak and hood, performed the eye removal with deft medical precision. All the Torturers from the Guild of Unrelenting Truth were graduate MD's or veterinarians. After an eye was dangling on each child's cheek, Roegge's wife broke down and revealed the location of her husband's bunker.

Roegge had no time for guilt. His self preservation instinct was leading. One could always find a new wife and make more babies. He compressed his feelings into a tiny box and locked it away in a dusty drawer of memory. He was a cold-hearted monster but it was not his fault, he was made that way.

The Great Families did not come into power or maintain the Dynasty by being bound by the compassionate morality of plebeians. By the end of the 21st century the Dynasty had control of 80% of the planetary wealth.

Most democratic governments were facilitators for the corporate world. The Great Families hid behind elaborate shell corporations which ultimately controlled the giants of industry and commerce. The big ones, in turn, constructed legislation through their groomed politicians. Popular movement policies were minimized in this way.

The will of the people, thought Roegge as he jogged, they have no will beyond eating, copulating and shopping. Through their ignorance they shall be bound...

His arm and ass hurt from implant removal. The medi-beads that the doctor placed in the wounds were wearing off. The implants that tracked him for his military guardians could as easily track him for the Guild of Unrelenting Truth.

Roegge cursed Zyrus Ziteguyst in 666 unholy ways. His current life of pain and fear could be laid at the feet of Ziteguyst and the Guild of Unrelenting Truth. He stopped jogging and slowed his pace to a fast walk. Roegge's 53 year old jogger's heart could not take the pace despite his fear and the battle stims.

War against the Red Faction was almost within reach. A hundred years of manipulation for global dominance by the Dynasty was held in check by the determination and cleverness of the Red Faction. Their financial and industrial activities could not be manipulated into depressions, recessions, weak money or strong money since they did not belong to the Central Banking Cartel.

Roegge's great grandfather profited from his generation's tax base with the formation of the Bank of the Reserve. One of the oldest and most venerated scams on Moloch was the private Central Banking System. Trillions were made from it by all involved Great Families.

He resumed his lope. Memories were a good distraction from the ardor of his escape.

Metals and hydrocarbons followed the path laid by his great granddad's banking. Defense contracting became the golden goose in his father's time. In this game Trillions were made from the over-extended tax coffers. Government facilities (like the one he was fleeing) were paid by taxation but co-opted by his family for their personal safety.

Roegge started laughing as he thought of the success of the last major public relations manipulation. His 'Domestic' advisor was CEO of Crowd Control Technologies. Sacrifice liberty - save freedom was the catch phrase for the campaign.

Through sophisticated media manipulations of worse case scenarios and through outright intellectual bludgeoning; citizens were coerced into a state of never-ending war with an invisible ever-shifting enemy. Government demanded liberty and tax in return for protection. The angst of its citizens (via synthesized violence) was directed against whatever nation resisted the Alliance of Bitumen corporations.

Roegge could not believe the degree to which the campaign succeeded. Never underestimate the naivety of people, he thought as he continued jogging towards the exit shaft.

The shadow cabal of Dynasty minions organized the hostile take-over of Bitumen rich nations unfriendly to the Alliance. They used contrived acts of terrorism as the pretense for invasion or coup. They were slowly consolidating countries of strategic importance in the ongoing war plan against the Red Faction Nations.

The Great Families hated the Reds. During a period of economic instability, engineered by an earlier global war, a new political philosophy swept the world. It was called nGeLism. Sixty percent of the world bought into the philosophy. Assets of the Dynasty Families were stripped of their portfolio's in countries fervently nGeL. Vast wads of taxpayer money and countless innocent people were spent to staunch the ideology.

The balls of his feet felt squishy and raw. He could feel the blister bag oozing. The pill's affects canceled most of the pain. The water film on the floor was very thin at this point. He hoped it dried completely so he could deal with his ruined feet. He hoped he did not have to continue much further.

His mouth was dry so he stopped and had a drink from his flask. He popped another pill. The pill was a high tech pharma stimulant designed for special mission operatives. It was a combination of high potency short duration drugs.

One component created a sense of detached euphoria while another made him feel physically invincible. The trouble was that over doing the pharma grade pills created slight hallucinations. He was hallucinating faces and sounds by the time the second pill kicked in.

Roegge could not lope any longer due to the blisters formed between his toes and on the balls of his feet. The additional weight of the backpack compounded the friction. He walked as fast as he could.

The oozing plinths of amorphous rock seemed to be flowing as blood poured from a wound. And the three kilometers of rock which engulfed him, hung over him, remorseless and impersonal.

For an instant he could perceive an animus radiating from the rock around. He felt an immense force of absolute indifference. He saw a vast gulf of time -- in which his actions, and those of his ancestors, were nothing more than a tiny spark. In that microscopic moment he realized that was exactly how it would be – there could be no other possible outcome.

An irrational anger filled him. No, screamed the selfish gene, No I must live forever! In his chemically altered state of mind he thought he felt the little voice screaming from marrow cells deep within in his bones.

The happy yapping of the family rotvyla tumbled down the drift. Phaedra's unmistakable attempts at a bark sent a stab of fear through him. The bastards used my own dog to find me! Regardless of the discomfort he started to lope again. He was angered by the use of his own dog to locate the escape tunnel.

He presumed that the vengeful mob would have killed her. He authorized many operations in which many innocent people died yet he could not bring himself to shoot his dog. Neither could he order his men to do it. He sobbed and loped. He assumed there was a bomb strapped to his beautiful Phae.

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth was fathomless in its determination to fulfill the Charter. Manipulated by terrible acts of violence, the concept of a global super police force (chartered to halt the spread of chaos and tyranny) was easily coaxed from fearful kleptocracies. Surprisingly even the Red Faction Nations agreed.

The best of the best were recruited from military services, government spies and police services. The brightest forensic minds, computer programmers, actuary and data analysts were recruited. Doctors and psychologists, mathematicians and physicists and other academics were pulled into the service.

The Guild became a trans-national power. No royal family or government department was above the Guild's scrutiny. There were no wealthy industrialists or bankers placed above its reach.

The political manipulations by the Dynasty had succeeded beyond intentions. However, the Guild of Unrelenting Truth could not be controlled -- it spun away to think and act on its own.

With the success of our orchestrations through the 21st & 22nd centuries - we became overconfident. We created the machinery of our downfall.

His own dog was being used against him. For the first time in his life he felt genuine terror. Roegge ran. He ran despite the great pain in his feet. He ran to save his miserable life.

His loyal rotvyla, Phaedra, ran faster. She could smell the fresh scent of her long absent master. She was overjoyed. The slight burden of whatever was attached to her harness did not hinder slow her.

Roegge gasped with relief as the illumination from his headlamp showed the end of the passage. A wall of gray concrete back-fill, supporting a small rusty iron door, came into view. The wet oxide encrusted door was partially opened. A rusty steel hand wheel (similar to that found on submarines or boats) was the locking mechanism.

He pushed open the little iron door and ducked to cross the threshold. He closed the door fast and grunted with effort to turn the rusty steel hand wheel. He spotted a 2 meter long, rust-caked, pry bar and wedged it into the hand wheel and the rock face.

By the time he was finished his hands were coated in an oily carroty paste. He tried to wipe the residue from his hands but all he managed to do was smear it on his pants. He looked at his watch and realized it had taken nearly 3 hours to traverse the escape tunnel.

Roegge was wearing the uniform of an army grunt -- just another minion of the Guild looking for the bad man. Albeit a rather old and manicured corporal wearing an expensive watch...

He was perspiring and (in a natural response) used his hand to remove sweat from his brow. This action smeared the oily orange film on his face. He looked like a servant of Nyx wandering in the depths of a bad dream.

It was dry in the cul-de-sac so he sat down and removed his boots and wet socks. Removing the socks was excruciating. Bits of flesh stuck to the socks and tore away from the blisters on his feet. He winged at the sight of the blister damage. He used the wet socks to vigorously scrub his hands. He did not want the oily iron pus to contact the open wounds on his feet.

His back pack contained a slick field medical kit. He rummaged through the pack's compartments until he found it. The super salve killed the pain in his feet instantly. He stuck padded gauze on the thick layer of super slave he applied to the blisters. He wrapped the padded gauze with elastic bandage and put on new dry socks.

In the time it took to attend to his feet, Phaedra caught up. He heard her whines and scratches from behind the concrete wall. Roegge wanted to open the rusty door and see the love shine out of his dog's eyes. He did not open the door and neither did he call out to her for fear that she had a bomb strapped on.

His fear of doggie detonation proved to be groundless. Merely a projection of what he would have done if the positions were reversed.

Phaedra was not used so callously by her new owner. She had an Ultra Low Frequency (or ULF) transponder attached to her harness. It was the only type of electronic signal that could penetrate the 3 kilometers of rock. Phae sat patiently waiting for her master to open the door. The ULF beacon, which was strapped to her, sent a location signal to the tracking team on the surface. Roegge would have seen the transmitter had he allowed the reunion with his dog.

He finished his foot repairs, repacked his back pack and began the monumental climb to the surface. He had to climb 3 kilometers of ladders to get there. Each ladder section, or rise, was 75 meters in length. Each rise had 225 rungs and each rise was separated by a small cul-de-sac. He had to climb 40 ladder rises or 9000 rungs in order to re-enter the light.

By the third ladder rise (225 rungs) he was exhausted and his feet were developing new blisters in the arch. The ergonomics of the ladder climb shifted the wear zone to his arches. He pushed himself to climb one last section.

At the end of the 4th rise (300 rungs) the cul-de-sac was larger. The down-shaft had a heavy cast iron hatch with a locking wheel. He dropped the hatch and spun the locking wheel. He noticed that there was a locking wheel on the top of the hatch – it could not be opened from below. He breathed a sigh of relief.

His hands were starting to blister from climbing 300 meters of wooden mine-shaft ladder. He needed to attend his feet, eat and rest. With the hatch locked down he felt much safer. This cull-de-sac had been carved out with a narrow sleeping ledge at the back. He knew he needed to sleep. The pills were wearing off and the crash was coming.

He removed his utility belt, his hard hat, head lamp and back-pack. He slung the pack onto the ledge. He climbed into the ledge then pulled of his boots. He laid down using his pack as a pillow and tried to sleep. The stim was still coursing through his blood. He turned off his head lamp and was astounded at the absolute blackness.

The total darkness and utter silence frightened him. He tightened his fetal position for warmth. Roegge felt as if he was in the cold damp womb of Tellus. He hoped that he was not in Tartarus serving an endless diabolical punishment. That Myth terrified him as a child. A mortal king who dared to bed the wife of a God and was punished with timeless torment in Tartarus...

Roegge could not help but wonder how the Order had been unraveled so rapidly. It had with stood almost 250 years of near exposure, bitter infighting, post global war discords, plagues of awareness and most importantly - the divergence of focus.

The focus was simple. Keep the money and power (knowledge) in as few hands as possible.

By the year 2200, the Dynasty had nurtured a vast covert pyramid of generals, parliamentarians, mayors, presidents, Doctors, industrialists, bankers, academics, lawyers, priests, media moguls, editors, engineers, scientists, artists, tradesmen, policemen, soldiers and more minions. All elements in this secretive hierarchy were kept in compliance with the Dictates of the Hierarchy by the 'party whip'. The whip was known as Thanatos. The rewards for faithful service were as ample as were the punishments for failure or betrayal...

Fear of the absolute blackness and the dank silence of his Tellusian womb siphoned away Roegge's confidence by the moment. He could not tell if his eyes were open or closed. As afraid as he was of the Guild of Unrelenting Truth, his fear of Thanatos was greater. Thanatos was the reproachful eye on top of the pyramid.

Roegge could feel the tendrils of sleep weaving their way through the waning fog of chemicals. He succumbed slowly until his conscious mind was as dark as the rock that entombed his flesh.

Phaedra was sad. Her old master's scent was weakening. She could smell her new friend coming down the drift. He fed her and gave her treats. He let her sleep inside by the foot of his bed. The man took her everywhere he went. She was never alone in a pen.

Phae was torn between allegiances so she stayed put. Eventually her new friend approached with a treat in his hand. He praised her in the voice that made her feel as goofy as a puppy. Her stub of a tail vibrated uncontrollably. He removed the thing from her harness then tossed it towards the gray wall with the corroded iron door. He turned then walked back in the direction of the complex.

Phaedra heard the man's commands and saw his arm signal for 'come'. She looked back at where the old master once stood then urinated - in case he needed her scent marker to guide him. She followed her new friend willingly.

"Run Phae, run!" The man took out the wondrous white disk and threw it. Phae took off like the wind in joyous pursuit. The pitch black of the drift beyond the headlamp's illumination did little to deter her chase.

"Wow! I really threaded that toss," spoke the man, to no one, as he watched the spinning white disk sail down the middle of the tunnel. It banked as gently as the drift, and disappeared out of headlamp range, with Phaedra in keen pursuit.

~~~

Chapter Two

When the Beast finally awoke even its Parents ran.

The suns rose at their usual time. Phaedra heard the big intake of breath as her new friend awoke. He sat upright, climbed out of the bed and made his way to the water room. She lay on her floor-cushions at the foot of the bed and began cleaning herself.

Her tongue removed metallic salt from her belly hairs. Her belly got soaked during her dash through the underground. The water film on the drift floor was laden with minerals from its percolation through kilometers of rock. She was very glad to be on the surface again. The smells of life were comforting.

The man returned smelling like soap. The dog watched as he put his garments on. The familiar jet black jumpsuit quickly covered his pale flesh. He sat on the bed put on socks then black flip flops.

He stood up and moved in front of the mirror. He manipulated his long coppery brown hair into a tightly braided ponytail. Then he clipped a jeweled fastener to the rope of hair. He flipped the pony tail to drape over his left shoulder.

Phaedra needed to do her morning thing and eat. He opened his bedroom door and strode to the kitchen. His suite within the Guild Keep was comfortable but not ostentatious. Phae readily followed him into the living section and waited patiently for him to serve her chow.

Zyrus pondered his day's activities as the dog ate. The Son of Magog would be breaching the surface some time within the day. His 3 km. climb through the rocky bowels of Moloch could not be calculated precisely.

He turned on the mini boiler and ground some caff beans. As the water was heating he strode over to the computer terminal and logged on.

Several important messages flashed their urgency. He turned on the music player - the default selection kicked in with The Miraculous Mandarin. He began to read.

The first message was from Client Retrieval. A team had discovered the surface exit while Zyrus slept. They were waiting patiently for Roegge to emerge. They did not disturb the exit mechanism in any way and painstakingly removed any signs of their presence around the exit. They retreated 50 meters and set up a circle around the exit point as instructed.

Next, the R and D team leader from Archive was almost ecstatic with success. Demeter's team discovered a chemical method of releasing memories from brain tissue then transferring them (chemically) to a living recipient. The last trials were completed to her satisfaction.

Water was boiled in the time it took to read and reply to his mail. He returned to the kitchen area and prepared caff. Phae finished her breakfast and was looking expectantly out the glass door. Beyond the glass door was a small wooden deck with stairs leading to the arbor. Zyrus took his caff out to the deck. Phae rushed out to the arbor and ran exuberantly. She had friends in the Keep to visit.

One of the many paths, which meandered through the Keep's enormous arbor courtyard, was only 5 meters from his deck. A couple of Torturer Adepts strode past in full costume. Their cloaks followed them like black smoke and roiled around them as they paused to salute Zyrus.

Zyrus disliked the cloak and mask immensely. The cloak had its uses but for the most part it was a hindrance. The black mask was down-right medieval. He did not choose the symbols of office. A team of highly educated psychologists, advertising people and artists chose the Image of the Guild down to the belt buckles. The Torturers' uniforms were designed to have maximum media impact.

Anytime that Zyrus left the Keep he was obligated to wear the uniform of the Guild. He was the Master Torturer and with that rank followed an inordinate amount of Press.

Early in his career Zyrus, like all other new Journeymen, relied heavily upon physical coercion techniques. He discovered that branding, crushing, drowning, flogging, flaying, mutilation, evisceration and amputation were of limited success. They took too long and often the information was useless. Electric shock persuasions were also limited in their effectiveness.

The most effective method was good old fashioned sleep deprivation. This application took time and in many cases time was short.

The second most effective method was a form of asphyxiation. The client was rendered unconscious for a precise short duration pharmacologically. The client's mouth was sealed with a gag. A special eyeless hood was then placed on the Client's head. The instant the bound Client regained consciousness, the Torturer pinched the Client's nose - preventing any air into the lungs.

This technique required the Client to be in possession of a sound heart. Zyrus did not advance to stand as Master by letting Clients die. The true talent of a torturer lay in ability to break the will of the Client as rapidly as possible.

In fact it was illegal to kill Clients unless so ordered by the courts. They were entrusted to the Guild for the purpose of information extraction. The information that the Client provided could become part of his defense or demise. If a Client were to be found guilty of crime punishable by death, then the Guild would carry out the execution.

It was calculated that beheading had the most Q impact. All executions were televised. Excerpts of the Client's torture accompanied the beheading along with the Judge's reading of the verdict and punishment.

Zyrus had performed many execution orders. He remembered each one vividly. He was looking forward to a couple more although he was not a pathological killer or sadist. He just wanted to finish what was started - termination of the Magog Network. He looked forward to holding Roegge's severed head up for the cameras.

He stopped his musings and returned to the kitchen. Phae bounded in the door from her morning wander. She looked expectantly at him. Zyrus laughed and reached for the dog treat bag on the small counter. He rustled the bag with great exaggeration and flourished a bone meal treat. The petite female rotvyla took the offered chew with gentle zest.

Zyrus followed Phae out to the deck and enjoyed his second cup of caff while she devoured her treat. He sat back against the rail and basked in the suns' warmth. He squinted and looked at the bright sky. It meant a long summer when Alpha, Helios and Omega were present in the sky together.

It was very good season to end the coil of Magog. With Roegge's inevitable interrogation a link to the Fraternity of Mortos would be established.

The Grays had warned Zyrus of a contract issued on Roegge's life. The Grays were spooks, informant handlers, data sifters, electronic eaves-droppers et al. They were the unseen part of the Guild of Unrelenting Truth. Grays provided verification of the information extracted from the Clients. They provided questions for the Torturers to ask.

The amount of information generated by the Guild's investigations was into the billions of terabytes. Keeping the database sane and managing correlations was a full time job for hundreds of people.

In the beginning the Guild was so flooded with information that new data became counter productive. To a few brilliant analysts a vague pattern was beginning to emerge. Most of the powerful democracies had been co-opted by shadow government. The state's covert arm was used to perpetrate destructive acts upon their own populations. The destructive acts were then blamed on dupes and non compliant governments. This type of manipulation was not much of a surprise to the Guild membership considering that the history of state sponsored terrorism had been well documented by every government on Moloch.

It was discovered that billions were spent to bribe (or muzzle) print and television journalists and media corporations. The 'Official Position' bought and paid illegally from tax coffers. The Official Positions could not bear up to hard investigative scrutiny and eventually several facts that surfaced could not be dispelled.

Individuals who dared to speak out over these inconsistencies were called 'conspiracy theorists' and eventually labeled Propagandists of Terror. The earliest Clients of the Guild were Propagandists of Terror.

It became obvious to Zyrus and the early Guild recruits that conspiracy theorists had nothing to do with terrorism. They realized that the Guild was created to silence any resistance to the 'Official Position'. Many of the first clients believed that their own governments organized some of the terrible acts.

Key persons within the Guild began to see what the torrent of data actually indicated; several prominent political figures and corporations were involved with state organized atrocity. Many people were implicated from governments around the world. Many of the Big 10 governments were using their covert services to orchestrate or facilitate terrorist activity.

A Gray named Astrid was the first data hound to correlate the tidal wave of information. Astrid was a brilliant actuarial - programmer. She developed a unique program that could sift massive volumes of data around specified labels. Her analysis cut through the misdirection. After Astrid briefed the Directors of the Guild of her discoveries she was found brutally murdered. Her corpse had been slightly mutilated -- keepsakes were taken.

Astrid's murder ignited the Purge. The Torturers arrested most of the Directorate. As Clients, confessions and plea bargaining were very quick to follow. The existence of the Magog network came to light through the unpleasant techniques used in the quest for the unrelenting truth. Magog's influence within the Guild was substantial.

Post-Purge, the Guild of Unrelenting Truth was re-organized into six Chapters. Torturers, Grays, Archive, House, Public Relations and Client Retrieval were the new Orders. The Guild refused outside-the-family appointments to the Directorate after the Purge. The new Directorate was composed of the Masters of the various Orders or Chapters within the Guild's framework.

With the guidance of the new Public Relations Master, Janus, the Guild went public -- fully transparent. Janus was brilliant with media. She turned the Guild's image of a Draconian dissent squelcher into that of the Dark Monastery of Truth.

Spontaneous comic books, illustrated novels, fantasy novels and anime were born of this new image. The Master of Torturers became the Dark Nephalim of Peace.

The people of the world did not collapse into anarchistic puddles with the Revelation of the Magog network and its involvement in the heinous acts. Over 80% of the populous were suspicious of Governments' 'Official Version' (according to media survey polls). After the Guild's creation a large sigh of relief could be felt planet wide. Those responsible for the Terrible Events would finally be caught and punished.

The phone tone blared out of the computer to snap Zyrus out of his thoughts. The harsh sound woke Phae. She had been drowsing in the warm suns at her friend's feet. Zyrus walked briskly inside to answer and to begin the day's work.

The familiar voice of Janus, Master of Public Relations, spoke with unfamiliar urgency. "You heard about the contract issued for Roegge?" She rushed on without waiting for his reply. "We have to get him before they do Zy."

"Have you kept up with Demeter's work Jan," Zyrus asked after a moment of consideration.

"No. I've been swamped. I've not had the time," she replied.

"All we need from Roegge is a sample of his brain tissue - fresh preferably. There is deterioration of the Client's memory as cells decay. "

Janus responded, "Hmm, it might be better if he were hit - shows the world that the Magog Net is just a piece of a larger mosaic. She paused, thought of a million threads then continued, "On second thought, the successful hit would be very bad for us Zy."

"Oh? Indeed, how so," queried the Master Torturer.

"Many of the individuals who control the print and electronic media are perched on the fence. So far we have managed to get the popular consensus behind us but it can be manipulated the other way in an instant. If Roegge were to be successfully hit - it would show the remnants of the Network that there is still power and hierarchy."

"It would show everyone that the network was still very much alive. Would it not, Jan," asked Zyrus. He clipped on a wireless mic then selected a hot-key on his keyboard. He stood up from the computer station and strode to the closet close to the other exit door. He began dressing in his uniform as Janus continued speaking over his house sound system.

"Exactly Zy! The Guild is riding on precarious public opinion. You of all people know how easy it is to manipulate opinion! If we cannot provide any greater security against violence than why keep us around? A successful hit on the Prime would show everyone that we cannot provide that security.

Another Terrible Event under our watch would make us pointless. Our charter would be legally dissolved by the Global Council. Those same media Barons wrapped in Magog's coil - those we left alone - could topple us with ease."

"Remind me again why we left that group out of the sweep," Zyrus asked sarcastically. He had put on his armored kilt, knee high boots, bulletproof crimson cuirass and black cloak. He was looking with great distaste at the Mask of Office he had to wear outside the Keep. At least he was not forced to wear the skin-tight black leather balaclava of the Adept.

"Handling the various media around the planet is really tricky Zy. If we had detained any journalists, any editors, any publishers, any TV network owners or operators, all our media allies - all our enemies – would have polarized against us," she sighed exasperatedly for punctuation.

"I don't recall the media getting upset when the Conspiracy Theorists/Propagandists for Terror were apprehended – many were journalists and bloggers" Zyrus quipped.

"Many of the establishment media empires have been forced to support us Zy if for no other reason than to distance them-selves from alleged state organized violence.

Much of the public is in a sort of state of shock which could easily turn into denial. Their trust in government is shattered and they will seek anything that does not threaten the 'comfort zone'. The various levels of police, judiciary, army and even spooks are now seen as easily co-opted.

The public has seen the monsters in the closet. It has relied on the 'system' to ensure that the monsters were handled. Now it sees that the 'system' was taken-over by the monsters. So go kill those monsters Zyrus. Make no mistakes. Strike that heroic pose - as you hold the bastard's head up for the camera crew," she finished.

"Well thanks for the pep talk Jan. I take it you don't want us to risk interrogation," asked the Master Torturer as he strapped on his utility belt and scabbard. The scabbard hung on his left and the familiar weight of his Executus pulled at his hips. He wondered if the imbalance on his hips from the sword's weight would manifest in some long term repetitive work injury.

"Yeah Zy, perform the beheading first. Take the samples afterwards - off camera. That new information extraction technique of Demeter's is still way illegal. Put yourself on camera now please. When you put on the Uniform it sends shivers baby."

He strode over to the computer and unclipped the mic. He placed it on the on the computer station. He retrieved a wicked looking hand-sized surgical machine from the work station's drawer. He placed it into the utility pouch on his belt.

He put on his black mask and pulled on the black hood (which was attached to his cape). He picked up his black leather gloves from the top of the computer case. Just before he put on the left glove he hit the hot-key and set the communications array back to the work station mic and camera.

He heard Janus's slight intake of breath.

"Oh Dark Angel, strap me down and have your way anytime," she spoke almost sub-audibly.

"What was that Jan," he asked coyly.

"Uh, er come over to my place after work Zy," she asked

"Why Janus - you being bad again? Need a little punishment," teased the Master Torturer.

"Me bad. Me earn plenty," she quipped.

"Damn! I hoped that you were inviting me over for diner!"

Janus laughed and terminated the call.

"Phaedra come," the Master Torturer commanded.

The petit rotvyla scrambled up from her drowsing and raced into the suite. She loved traveling with her new friend. She looked at him expectantly as he closed the arbor-side door then walked to the complex side exit. Phae followed obediently as he strode across the complex hall to the stairs down to the underground parking lot.

~~~

Chapter Three

White is the colour of deception for in it lays every colour in the spectrum. In Blackness there is no light therefore no colour. In this singularity therein lies the truth.

Phaedra was grinning with joy. The roar of the motor and the rush of wind past her ears made it impossible to hear anything. A myriad of smells flew past as rapidly as the bike was traveling. Spittle strings were pulled out of her jowls by the force of turbulence. She pulled her head into the quiet air under the side-car's cowling.

The motor bike slowed then turned off the smooth ribbon onto a bumpy dusty ribbon. She found the taste of the road dust oily and salty. She lay down in the side car to avoid the annoying dust. Eventually the bike came to a halt.

She sat up and waited patiently. Not all stops meant get out. She looked around and noticed a very tall metal mesh fence. A small breeze brought with it the familiar smells of the underground place. Underneath that layer of odor was another tiny yet familiar pheromone – that of her former master.

"C'mon Phae. Let's go end this," spoke her friend. She leaped out of the side car with feline agility and had a stretch. She followed him dutifully through the gate.

The walk to the exit shaft was approximately 2 kilometers. The property was filled with tailings mounds from mining operations past. In modern times the depleted mine was tuned into an Environmental Services facility. It was a deep storage disposal sight for nasty compounds.

In truth the Environment Services facility was yet another clandestine State Emergency Complex. Funded by tax money for the vague purpose of emergency management then co-opted by the covert arm of the State Spook service. Eventually this facility (and many more like it) disappeared from all official records.

Zyrus and Phaedra picked their way over skree like tailings. Grass and weed valiantly tried to establish a foothold on the piles of mine poop. A bold Elm sapling or two stuck out of the rock piles. Zyrus made his way unerringly to the awaiting Client Retrieval Squad.

Public Relations camera crew was already set up and ready to go. Zyrus approached the location director. As Zyrus neared the director, Bellaphron strode into view. He was the master of Client Retrieval Chapter. This was a big day with the capture of the Prime. He wanted to make sure all events went according to proper procedure. And to bask in some Q.

"We all set," asked the Master Torturer.

"Set for what exactly - an apprehension or an execution," Bellaphron asked.

The location director looked at Zyrus with the same question written on her face. Despite many years of service within the Guild, she was squeamish. She hoped it was merely an apprehension.

"We'll perform the standing warrant of execution. I need to take a special brain tissue sample for Archive immediately. Time is critical for this procedure. This procedure must be conducted off camera," the Master Torturer instructed.

"You need my assistance Zy," asked Bellaphron.

"Always Bel - always. The right and left hands of the Guild work together. Show me where the Client will surface."

"It's over this way Zyrus. Oh, you brought Phae with you, how poetic. I'm sure Sufi can make metaphor rich propaganda," teased Bellaphron.

Sufi smiled with his compliment. She was very good at directing her camera crew and editor. She knew what angles, focal lengths (et al) that put the Torturers and Retrieval into the heroic frame.

~~~

Chapter Four

Stand to the right of the light

Roegge was in agony. The palms of hands were badly blistered, bleeding and covered in grime. His face was smeared with carroty paste, blood and muck. He was sweating and panting. His feet were skinless from the arch through to his toes.

He was bruised from a short fall 3 ladder sections down. He hurt all over. His arms and legs ached from the exertion of the climb. He had never experienced so much pain or fear in his life.

The end of the grueling climb was within reach. He stretched up and tried to turn the hatch hand wheel. It was stuck. He sobbed and climbed up one more rung.

He stretched up both hands and grasped the hand wheel. For a split second thought he was going to fall again. He screamed his frustration and pain as he reefed upon the hatch wheel. It turned slowly for him. After much exertion (and few almost-fell moments) the hatch was free to open.

He pushed the hatch with rage induced stimulation. It flew open and hit the ground with a loud thump. The intense sunlight hurt his eyes and he winced with surprise and pain. He spilled onto the ground and lay there for some time - simply breathing and enjoying the warmth of the suns. Tears of release streamed down his face.

Not a single thought devoted to his wife and children. Not one thought spent for his fallen family, friends and cohorts. All he could think about was his agonizing escape from the bowels of the earth.

His eyes were seeing diffracted light through his tears. He stood up and limped towards the clear spot in the blurry wall of green. He stumbled towards the opening in the copse of trees. As he progressed to the clearing, Bellaphron quietly approached the escape tunnel from behind.

Bel's navy blue assault helmet glittered in the mid-day light. His mirror black face visor reflected the three suns in the sky and the backside of Roegge as the Worm limped towards the small break in the ring of trees and bushes. Bellaphron released the safety from his Pink.

Pink was a nick-name for the device. Upon firing, the gun sounded like a high pitched voice saying the word 'pink'. It fired a weak laser beam that merely ionized a path through the air to the target. A Pico-second later a high voltage, low amperage, electrical charge followed in the ionized path. It incapacitated the target without much physical damage.

120 thousand volts is quite painful and most disruptive to the body's bio-circuitry. Bellaphron took a small amount of pleasure in the effects suffered by Clients shot by his Pink. He enjoyed seeing them flop around uncontrollably. He was hoping to have the opportunity to shoot this Client with it.

Bellaphron came from a large family in the eastern continent of Mhuvia. The second largest of the Terrible Events occurred in his country. The gas attacks on the subways killed his mother and younger brother. His wife's brothers were killed in the secondary bombings of the subways. They were part of the clean up crew that were disposing of the victims of the gas attacks.

Bellaphron used to be a counter intelligence investigator for the Barzaretz government. His investigation of the Terrible Event was hampered and interfered with from the onset. When he discovered anomalies, his wife was taken as a hostage of fortune. The 'Official Position' was dictated for him to sign off as his investigative report.

His wife was returned and he was asked politely to retire. A nice pension was added as an incentive. He accepted and immigrated to a small island off the west coast of the western continent of Novus.

When the Guild of Unrelenting Truth sought recruits, his was one of the first applications. His wife Anda was as eager to join as well. She was accepted by the Guild and worked within the massive infrastructure that was known as House.

It was a simple choice for both Bel and his mate. It was the only way they could get around the legalities of the 'Official Secrets Act' they were forced to sign. If one did not carry out an order issued by the state (which was an act of terror or treason) one faced death or imprisonment for failure to obey. If one went public with the governments request for treason or act of terror then one was either killed or arrested for breaching the Act.

The planners and perpetrators of the Terrible Events stood secure behind perverse Law and an absolutely ruthless covert arm. Bellaphron realized that the planners of the Terrible Event were senior members of his government. The perpetrators were his brothers and sisters in the intelligence-security-military business.

He really wanted to shoot Roegge with his Pink. He really wanted Zyrus to torture the bastard for all the info he had. Death was insufficient. However he was too disciplined to act on his feelings. He kept his position and waited patiently.

Roegge had no idea his retreat was cut off. He staggered out of the copse of Elm trees to the clearing. He wiped his tear soaked eyes with his sleeve. He looked with clarity around him -- and gasped with dismay.

Not 5 meters from him sat the Master Torturer. He was sitting cross legged on the ground. His black cloak billowed gently in the warm summer breeze. For an instant he looked like a serene monk meditating under the suns. Roegge looked about furtively for an escape. He noticed Bellaphron.

"There is nowhere you can run Worm," spoke the Torturer. On cue with his words the hidden Retrieval squad and camera crew stepped out from concealment.

Phaedra broke free of the person who was restraining her. She bounded with joy and determination towards Roegge. Her long lost master at last.

Roegge's legs turned to jelly. His guts froze and the bleakness of despair engulfed him in an instant. The tiny selfish voice deep within would not stay quiet. It raged. It ignited anger and drove back the wall of despair.

"I can take you down with me you prick," screamed Roegge. He pulled a handgun from his belt holster and pointed it at the Torturer. He pulled the trigger and was rewarded with nothing. The safety was active. He looked down at the gun to find the safety catch.

In the process of finding the safety and de-activating it, Phae had covered the distance to him. As Roegge was aiming at Zyrus again, Phae leapt into his chest with joyous zeal.

The gun went off and the bullet struck Phae. The bullet ripped its way through her shoulder – narrowly missing bone and major blood vessels. She howled in agony and fell to the ground. She was wailing in pain -- totally confused by the actions of her master.

The Master Torturer rose and spun like liquid smoke. He drew his Executus and with a precise stroke sliced Roegge's hamstring tendons. The Prime flopped down helplessly on the ground. The gun had spilled from his hand in the collision with Phae.

"You are a miserable Godless monster," bellowed Zyrus. "You can do nothing but maim the innocent." He was incensed by Phae's distress.

Roegge knew there would be no escape. He could hear Phae whimpering near by but he did not care to look. He felt the Master Torturer's ire and trembled.

"I have one thing left to do before I fulfill the dictates of Justice and the charter of the Guild. I hope it hurts." The Master Torturer spoke through clenched teeth and barely constrained rage.

Roegge felt something placed on the back of his skull near the top of his head. He felt the heavy slap that the Torturer laid upon the device. Instantly there was a searing pain to his head as the device sent hydraulic powered coring spikes through his skull and into his brain. He screamed.

He felt the spikes withdraw and could feel the tiny trickles of blood flowing.

"What was that," he asked weakly.

"I've just taken a sample of your brain tissue. We have a process to release memories from those cells and transfer them into another person. I don't have to extract the truth from the living any longer," spoke the Torturer.

Sufi's strong voice wafted to them from across the clearing. "We go live in another minute Zy."

On cue Bellaphron approached the client (and with much familiarity) grasped and twisted both of his wrists from behind. The Client's arms became rigid and locked as a result. Bel stood astride the Client's legs and pulled Roegge up to a kneeling position.

"Roegge Mallecon you have been found guilty of the crime of high treason and conspiracy to commit acts of Terrorism which killed 24561 people. I hereby carry out the sentence of death issued by the Global Criminal Court. Have you any last words?" The Master Torturer recited.

"You can't make an omlette unless you crack a few eggs! You -- you animals," spoke Roegge weakly through his pain.

The Executus fell in its terminal arc. It severed the neck as readily as nano enhanced Therm8™ ate through the steel support pillars of the Global Securities Tower.

The head made a wet plop sound as it hit the ground and rolled towards Phaedra. It came to a stop against her front legs. She raised her head weakly at the disturbance and growled at the severed head.

The Master Torturer grasped the head by the hair and thrust it aloft vigorously for the cameras. The gentle wind blew his black cloak about him. The suns cast a light which turned his bullet proof cuirass to crimson.

He spoke -- something he never did before. His action caught Sufi and Bel by surprise.

"This is not the end of it. We have discovered that the Magog network was only the arms of the monster. We must not be lulled to sleep by the Worm ever again. We must not stop our vigil or we will be herded down the miserable path of corruption once again. Wake up!!" He ended by placing Roegge's head upon the chest of its corpse.

"That's a wrap," Sufi yelled after a few seconds.

The medical team wandered in to perform the perfunctory decedent inspection. Once death was established they rushed to Phaedra's assistance.

Zyrus was pacing agitatedly. His cloak was whipping about him restlessly. Hermes, the lead medico, approached the Master Torturer carefully.

"If you would like to ride in the ambulance with Phae it's OK with me. I'll drive the bike back for you. She is tough and will probably make it. We have stopped the bleeding but she has lost considerable blood. I've administered some anti-coagulants to prevent clotting and I gave her a big aspirin - until I can obtain proper doggy pain killers.

I took the liberty of calling the best veterinarian surgeon I know of – my sister. She will be waiting at the Keep to take over," his voice tailed off.

Hermes could see the relief in the Master Torturer's eyes. He thought, how odd that the master of torment would have such compassion for a dog.

Zyrus reached into his utility pouch and groped about for the keys to his bike. He handed them to Hermes with an admonition. "It handles a bit strangely with a side car on it."

Hermes noticed that the Master Torturer's hands were trembling. Upon closer scrutiny he noticed that Zy was shivering. He asked, "Are you Ok Zyrus?"

"Meh, I nearly had my face blown off and my dog took the bullet for me." He looked intensely into Hermes eyes and spat out, "I hate violence. I really hate this Horror Show that I've become..." His tirade was interrupted by the overwhelming need to vomit.

When it was over he looked beseechingly at Hermes and pleaded, "Don't tell Bel that I puked. I'll never hear the end of it."

Hermes wrapped his arm around the Master Torturer's shoulder and started walking him to the ambulance. Hermes laughed and pointed to a pile of vomit a few yards distant. "Funny! That's exactly what Bel said."

As they walked to the vehicle Hermes asked quietly, "Are you required to do all the executions and excruciations or is there an Adept that you can trust in this? You and Bellaphron are showing signs of burnout. You must pass some of your responsibilities onto your subordinates."

"Yeah there's someone. And yeah, I pushed hard..."

Hermes interjected, "But it had to be hard otherwise the Guild would have been just another tool of the Dynasty."

"The Guild is not free and clear yet Hermes. Media can topple us in short order. A new batch of minions will step into the void we have created. We will be blind to them until their plans unfold."

"Indeed Zyrus, indeed," nodded Hermes. "All the more reason to train your successor don't you think? Or do you believe that the Dynasty would be curtailed in your life time?"

The Master Torturer looked down with a little shame. He had expected to end it in his life time.

"C'mon Zyrus - that group has been working their formula for more than 10 generations now. Do you seriously believe we could bring it down within our working life spans? You and Bel have won the first battle with unbelievable success. This is going to be a war for many generations of Torturers. Zy – surely you can see that?"

They reached the ambulance and Hermes aided Zyrus into it. Zyrus made his way to the cot that Phae was lying upon. She raised her head weakly and vibrated her stub of a tail when she smelled and saw her friend. Phae gave a light contented sigh, put her head down and closed her eyes.

Zyrus lay down beside her and began to run his index finger lightly in the furrow of her brows. She gave a larger contented sigh then a whimper as the extension of her chest muscles tugged on her wound. She breathed shallowly as she drifted off to sleep.

The Master Torturer moved himself into his accustomed cross legged position, adjusted his Executus then folded his hands concisely upon his black leather kilt. Zyrus closed his eyes and began his meditation.

He visualized the Purple Flame of Enlightenment burning through every atom of his being. He visualized the Violet Flame consuming the parts within him that sought Vengeance over Truth. He directed the unforgiving radiance towards Discordant thought that sought to weaken his resolve.

The Master Torturer asked his Beloved Presence for Forgiveness. He began to visualize a world where he could take off his mask and live without fear.

~~~~~

Chapter Five

Enlightenment happens at the strangest times...

Donna Beaston packed her simple wardrobe precisely into her suitcase. Her application to the Guild of Unrelenting Truth had been accepted. She had passed the battery of tests and waited for the due diligence to vet her. The process had taken nearly as long as her internship.

She tossed her bag of hygiene items roughly on top her folded wardrobe. In another month she would be set to hang her own shingle and practice medicine. Her resolve to toss it all away, on the basis of her convictions, was stretched thin by the wait.

Which was exactly why it took so long – her depth of conviction was the test. All of the other tests: psyche profiling, personal history verification, aptitudes and special interests were resolved within days. She was the one-in-a-million applicant. She had been selected to join the Black Order of Torturers.

Donna did not know this.

The acceptance mail from the Guild was very brief. It stated 'You are approved. Report in to Etruscan Keep no later than 1400hrs, 09, 12, 2263. Failure to report in will be assumed to be your final refusal. No further communication necessary.'

Etruscan Keep!

That place scared the willies out of her. Its architecture was dark and foreboding as was its intention. There wasn't a person on the continent that had not seen or heard of it. No one wanted to be brought inside it and public relations tours were not encouraged.

Donna closed her suitcase. She looked around at her residence to see if any vestiges of her presence were left behind. She closed the door without any sentimental attachment. Her perfume lingered as the only trace of her. She walked to the lobby to wait for the cab.

A couple of tired but familiar faces entered the lobby. They looked with surprise at her with her suitcase in hand. They nodded pleasant hellos and continued towards their pilgrimages of sleep.

An intern's never ending quest, she thought. No questions and no good-byes. The residency hosted a revolving door of faces - ships that sometimes went bump in the night. She was not that lucky and hoped that her tenure within the Guild would allow for some human interaction beyond work.

It had always been tough for her to find male companionship. Intelligent, attractive, athletic, 2 meter tall women were intimidating to most men who were not. Her rules were simple in terms of what she rejected - His face must stand taller than my breasts. However men were unaware of this simple criterion because she never let it be known.

The Cab pulled into the passenger pick-up and drop-off loop. The cabby came for her luggage as she walked out to the vehicle.

"Where to Mam," he asked courteously and took her luggage to the trunk. He opened her door and closed it gently after she had seated herself.

"Etruscan Keep," she spoke when he had returned to the driver's seat and closed the door. She did not want any passer-bys to hear her destination.

The Cabbie looked a bit surprised, then a bit dismayed. "That's a long drive Mam. That will take up most of my shift getting there and back. Could I see proof of payment please?" He knew that interns did not have thick wallets.

Donna pulled out the wad of Moola and thrust it over the seat at him. She knew how much the drive would cost; she had worked it out with the dispatcher.

"I counted 300 for the drive out and I'll throw in another 100 if you don't ask me why."

He looked at her strangely but accepted the offered money graciously. It was more than he would normally make in his shift; hustling fares in the neon radiation of ground zero. The journey would give him a break from the big city denizens of the night.

"It's a 3 and a half hour drive to the Keep mam. I hope you don't mind if I listen to music – I'm not big on chat radio," spoke the Cabbie to her reflection on his mirror. The reflection smiled and nodded agreeably.

What the hell is she doing taking a one way drive to Etruscan Keep? He could not help wondering it - over and over. He flipped the music chip into the player, looked carefully in both directions then entered the flow of traffic.

The beautiful sounds of Ravinsky spilled into the passenger side through a very nice speaker system. The music tugged at childhood memories of her parents. Her mom used to listen to Chozart and VonToven while reading mystery novels. Her dad liked listening to the more complex musical structures of J.S. Rach and some of the Ussian composers. They both shared a dislike for the music of the youth – her generation's contribution.

She sighed and thought of her older brother trying, in vain, to get some time on the house music system - for the music he wanted to hear. She would always side with her parents when it came to a family vote over music selection. Ironically she wanted to hear her brother's selections but had extreme competition issues with him.

She blushed when she thought how badly she treated him. He was always defying convention – pushing the boundaries of youth liberty. Those extended boundaries became hers because of his struggles. At the time that merely compounded her resent.

Everything changed for the family when her brother nearly died as a result of a bizarre bacterium. It was learned (at a much later date) that the bacterium was deliberately released by a research corporation - under orders from the Eternally Vigilant Safety Department.

An Agent released the stuff at a small strip mall selected for its predictable flow of people and demographic cross section. 33 people were exposed before the bacteria died. The city's emergency medical system was evaluated along with the effectiveness of the new bug.

All but her brother died.

He survived only because he was athletic and inordinately healthy. As it was, it was touch and go for his 15 year old body. Minor surgery was performed and massive doses of anti-biotic were flushed through him. He was plugged into every drip line and monitoring machine conceivable to medicine. He was placed into an intensive care ward for 4 days.

When he came home a thick anger sphere emanated from him. He was withdrawing from the pain killers administered during his 9 days in the hospital. His arms were a mass of bruises from his inner elbow to his wrists. Blood samples were taken from him on an hourly basis. The bruises represented failed attempts at drawing the samples.

Within a year of the near death experience he walked out on the family and never returned.

Donna slipped off her shoes and curled up on the comfortable passenger seat. The music was soothing and Donna gradually faded into slumber. The motion of the car gently rocked her into the land of dreams.

The Cabbie cast a glance in the rear view and quietly smiled with awe at the reflection of the slumbering goddess. He could not understand why on Moloch she would be going to the Keep. He felt privileged that she trusted him enough to sleep.

At the outskirts of Rubicon City, along the highway to Etruscan Keep, was a check point barricade. The meager traffic had bunched up into a line and slowed to a snail's pace as the police ran checks. The usual search for drugs, tests for sobriety and Identity checks took the time they always took.

The cabbie noticed that the number of cops and military personnel at the roadside hassles were thinning. More proof that the Guild of Unrelenting Truth was having a positive effect.

Eventually it was his turn. He turned back to the passenger compartment; looked at momentarily at the slumbering divinity before trying to rouse her.

Her supine form on the seat, her attractiveness and mystery, her very appealing shape-under-cloths, her scent and the fine music was genuinely erotic. It was not a leering crude voyeurism based upon genitalia.

It was an erotic epiphany.

He felt ashamed that it took this strange woman to rekindle his fascination and desire. He vowed to rediscover the magic within his wife. He realized 'it' never left her – he had just stopped seeing.

Enlightenment happens at the strangest times he thought.

"Mam! Wake up please. Roadside hassle patrol," he spoke loudly and sharply.

Donna awoke instantly and rose to a sit. She was used to the call of the alarm clock or phone going off at strange hours. She looked confused for a couple of seconds. The Cops flashed their hand beams through the cab windows and she winced at the bright light.

Donna was familiar with the routine. She reached for her pouch and retrieved her ID. The cop knocked briskly at her window and she rolled it down promptly with her ID at hand. He took it and focused the hand beam at it. He panned the light back to her face and scrutinized it.

Next he took a small retinal camera from his utility pouch and clipped it into his computer. He swiped her ID through a reader slot on the computer and handed it back to her. He took the retinal scanner and panned her deep blue eyes. In a couple of minutes a bleep sounded.

"Where are you going," the cop asked.

"Etruscan Keep," was her simple response.

The cop frowned at her reply but he knew enough about people to tell she was not being flippant. He was curious and used his rank to bluster her into a response.

"What is your business at the Keep," he asked with a distinct hard edge to his voice.

She replied innocently, "I don't know sir, the Guild just told me to report there for duty."

The cop said nothing and stepped back from the Taxi. His computer dutifully logged the retina scan along with the ID data. IT sent its contents to a bigger data shuffling machine buried in the vaults of a secure building. The bigger data shuffling machine found nothing amiss and sent its reply. A nice green icon pulsed on his display and he waived the taxi through.

The Cabbie turned up the music and concentrated on the drive. Traffic was sparse and the overhead illumination lessened. He flicked on his high-beams. He looked in his rear view mirror at his fare. She was sitting up looking out the window at the dim terrain. He still could not help wondering.

"Well if you really want to know why," she spoke, without pulling her eyes from the night-scape out her window, "give me that hundred back."

~~~

Chapter Six

I could not see the forest there were far too many trees. So I chopped down trees until the forest I could see...

"Yeah right priest, God demands that the innocent must suffer cruelly or die for the Devine plan."

"It is beyond our understanding and our control. It is so far out there that faith is the only power left to us. Those that die young get to stand by His right hand and bask in glorious splendor all the longer."

"I have noticed that your wealthy patrons are in no rush to have their children bask in the glorious splendor. They are content to let them bask in the grandeur of worldly wealth and comfort."

"The lives of the wealthy are enriched by the system of this world -- it's true. The poverty and starvation that traverses our great world cannot be staunched by all the money of the wealthy. If all the wealth was dispersed to every needy person on the planet – the needy would have a slightly better 1/4 year of life."

"Yeah priest I get it, too many people. May as well tell them that their rewards come in the afterlife because they ain't gonna have any in this one. Why don't you tell them that too many babies are not good? Tell them that it is not part of the Devine plan to overpopulate and poison the eco-sphere. Or is that the Devine Plan? Have us overpopulate until our little Petrie-dish-world is drowning in our wastes?

The Faction Nations, despite their lack of Church, don't tolerate starvation and poverty. Perhaps the evolution of the world will leave yours behind?"

The priest looked down to his feet. He had no answer. He was not a fool. He and others within the church were seeing the signs of overpopulation and pollution. It was a long standing tenant of their faith to discourage birth control. Many of the top Birds of the Bench were coming out against this long standing tenant.

Planet Moloch had a global population of 15 billion. In another 20 years it would be close to 30 billion. In a world of 15 billion there was approximately 23% or nearly 3.45 billion starving people. His church had been trying to organize aid to the starving for hundreds of years. In those years the statistic stayed fixed at 23%.

The Red Faction nations were the exception to the starvation and poverty numbers. Their statistics were much lower. Less than 6% of the Red Faction peoples lived in starvation and poverty. This number had been dropping annually. The Faction nations controlled nearly a third of the planet's arrable land and had slightly less than half of the planetary population.

The Priest studied the Faction's development at Ome University. The Faction started by expelling all religious institutions. Then they de-privatized the central bank and canceled all insurance corporations. With an evolution of monetary policy they ended fractional reserve banking and insurance practices. Finally they imposed a maximum wealth policy.

Money stopped hemorrhaging out of the Red Faction countries. Hyper inflation would normally have been expected without the traditional cash sinks of insurance and the commercial central bank. Their abundant and stable money was used to develop regions that were lacking infrastructure.

The priest sighed and spoke through the confessional screen. "My son your debate with me is interesting but cannot change my beliefs in the smallest. Do you have anything to confess? Otherwise I must end this."

The man laughed, "Priest," he spat, "I have come to offer you Redemption. There is nothing in your degraded religion that any of us need."

The Priest heard an aerosol can discharge. Instantly the scent of fresh mowed hay filled his nostrils. He passed out seconds after that.

When he awoke he was bound, hooded and secured - sitting on a chair. He became very afraid. His legs started trembling.

"Fear is a terrible state of mind Priest. It is the primal Discordant thought, the eternal worm... A force for which your Church was ordained to eliminate."

The hood was pulled brusquely from the Priest's head.

"I am afraid that you have fallen so far off the path that Redemption may not be possible."

"Who are you!! How dare you kidnap me," spluttered the Priest. He looked about desperately. The light source was a naked bulb - hanging in front of him at eye level. The light from the bulb was harsh and made it hard to discern anything behind it. He noticed that he was in a basement with a concrete floor.

The concrete floor had a drain. A suspicious looking smear had congealed around it. The chair, to which he was bound, was uncomfortably close. He imagined some excruciation induced bodily fluid had pooled then congealed. He tried to move his bare feet as far from the stain as his bonds permitted.

"Why am I here! What are you doing! Who are you, show yourself," the priest demanded.

"Every year one of your Order is selected to bear the excruciations that the Defenders of the Meggia were subject. Then we will kill you as unceremoniously as you murdered the descendants of the Ixtos."

"Blasphemy," screamed the priest. He looked about frantically - his eyes wide with terror. The smell of fear emanated from him. "There were never any descendants of the Ixtos."

"You are willing to die in horrible pain with that terrible truth clouding your Passage? Will you sit throughout judgment with the Lie of Ages upon you?"

The priest could hear the sounds of something being dragged towards him. It was what looked like an old mobile chalk board that one found in schools. Instead of a slate surface, peg board was substituted. The peg board had suspended upon it dozens of frightening looking medieval tools.

He knew what they were.

He was a very well respected Historian. He was privileged to study ancient documents preserved within the archives of the church. Few scholars were aware of the documents and fewer sought to study them. The priest knew that the tools before him were the tools of excruciation. They were used to extract confessions from witches and other occult heretics. It was a truly dark period for the Church - the culmination of natural man and empire. Reminders of the Ascended spiritual man were inconvenient and dangerous.

As the tool board was pushed along the rough floor, it sent a vibration up to all the wicked instruments. They seemed to quiver with anticipation. The assemblage was positioned so he could see every one of the utensils of torment.

His captor began speaking in the ancient language of Ramic. It was the language spoken in the time of the Ixtos. It was flawlessly spoken including the dialectic inflections of the region of Herminas – the Holy land – in the time of the Ixtos.

"It was your Order which extracted the whereabouts of the daughters of Meggia. Your Order was created to terminate all of the progeny of the Meggia and the Ixtos.

The Myth of the Ixtos, that your forbearers created, could not tolerate the reality that he was but a man, and as such - lived as men lived.

He fell in love as men do and joined in holy wedlock with Meggia – the 13th Praxia. She was pregnant upon his murder and was spirited away by a loyal group that became the Defenders of Meggia. You turned her into a whore with your false scriptures and denied the record of their lawful union.

She gave birth to twin daughters. She raised one and had the second daughter delivered secretly to a loyal family in the far distant northlands. They were a noble family of converted pagans; converted by the Praxian Louke on his ministry to find the lost peoples. His ministry Ordained by God as was mine."

The cleric understood ancient Ramic well. It was required knowledge for a good Church historian as were the languages of Koin and the newer old language of Latii. He read them all fluently.

The man stopped speaking the old tongue and resumed speaking in the modern language. The priest noticed that he had a slight accent – one he could not place.

"Don't take off now; I will be right back with something I've just cooked up."

The priest was very, very afraid. The man spoke ancient Ramic; spoke of early and unknowable history as if he had been present. The priest was very aware that the Ixtos has charged each of the Praxian with a special mission. Louke was sent out to communicate with the lost tribes. Jorn was given immortality to oversee the Ministry of God forevermore.

His captor dragged another object into view. It was a simple charcoal barbecue - one of the spherical types. Smoke was oozing out of the vents in the top half of the metal sphere.

"Shall I continue with the history of Meggia's children and the degradation of your church," asked his captor in ancient Ramic.

"Do I have a choice," hissed the priest. "Who are you?"

"You know me; you just can't believe your own scriptures any longer. I was present at the Transfixion. I helped Meggia escape from Herminas across the Terranian Sea. I witnessed the birth of her children," the man spoke in Ramic.

"You're insane," the priest declared. "Show yourself you coward!"

The man stepped out from behind the dangling light bulb and approached the Priest. He was dressed in tan coloured pants and wore brown sporting shoes. He was naked from the waist up.

His chest and arms were decollated with tattoos. He was bald but not the baldness of a close shave. He had no hair follicles on his head. He wore a cap of intricate tattoos that arched down to the bridge of his nose. As he approached the Priest could see the minutiae of his tattoos.

He noticed one in particular which sent shivers. It was the blessing of the Ixtos written in Ramic. It was the ordination of Jorn for his eternal ministry. This tattoo encircled his heart and was not written in ink. It had been branded into his flesh by God.

The priest knew that each of the Praxia had been charged with a special mission in the last days. Each supernaturally branded with a unique mark of distinction and purpose. Modern day Church doctrine interpreted many of the testimonials within the Book of Loukan as myth. Often these metaphors would contradict the Official Position of modern doctrine.

He was afraid yet unrepentant. "If you are Jorn, then why hasn't the Church seen you before or documented your re-visitation..."

The bald tattooed man named Jorn coughed out a laugh of near madness.

"I have spent 42 lifetimes fulfilling my mission. And 42 times your church murdered me, imprisoned me or exiled me. My last visitation was rewarded by being declared insane. I was locked up in a research facility for the insane on Drusius Island. There I was experimented upon with 'medicine' which killed my mind and left me a drooling idiot," he spoke in Koin.

Jorn opened the steel barbeque sphere and quickly retrieved a thin rod. From the coals emerged a small brand. It was an upside down rendition of the Church's Holy Symbol. He waved it about to remove any coals from the glowing end.

The Tattooed man grasped the Priest's jaw with his free hand. A well practiced maneuver brought the brand concisely upon the Priests forehead – between the eyes.

The Priest screamed.

Jorn slapped him, "Oh shut up you baby. This is nothing compared to what you did to the Defenders of Meggia. Or for that matter, what you did to Her Descendents in the North. You burned, eviscerated, stoned or drowned over 500 thousand men, women and children in your attempts to eradicate the descendents of the Ixtos! Your Order was created to do this and destroy any other form of so-called heresy in the aftermath of the witch hunts," Jorn had switched to speaking in Latii – the language spoken by the Church during its cruelest era.

"And despite all the blood your Sect spilled \- you failed! Your ancestor's actions have dragged you and your brethren down into the pit of Tartarus! Radamanthus awaits you! I can tell you now cleric because it's far too late to change anything."

"Are you ready for this," taunted the Jorn, "Meggia's second daughter never traveled to the northlands! We crafted that myth with great care! Yours is not the only group capable of deception. I personally took Her daughter, Mageesse, back to the holy land."

Jorn started chortling then continued, his demeanor softened as he spoke, "We traveled through Herminas; south to the Dussa. We found a safe home and welcoming acceptance. I raised Mageesse as my daughter and with the full teachings of the Ixtos. She knew her role. She had 6 children, 4 girls and 2 boys.

Her children knew their roles as well. I died peacefully - a grandfather to 22 happy thriving grandchildren.

"Vengeance is mine Sayeth the Lord." Jorn was speaking Ramic again. He had a bucket of very cold ocean water in his hands. He tossed it roughly in the priest's face.

The priest gagged and coughed. He spoke between splutters. "Please stop! I have done none of these things. None of my bothers in the Order have done such things in centuries."

"The question is, would you do them again?"

The priest looked down to the ground with shame. He did not know how the Church would respond.

Jorn spoke in Ramic as he twisted the priest's head to look at the peg board of torture instruments. "This display of torment is not mine to practice upon you. Should you be Judged as Un-redeemed; you will spend eternity suffering the agonies of these foul instruments. You will be locked away forever in the depths of Tartarus. Fear for your Atma Priest – the Ixtos warns you because he loves even you!"

The Priest heard the aerosol spray and smelled the scent of freshly mowed hay. When Elder Derex regained conscious he was back in the confessional of his Parish.

The church was empty of people. In the cold silence the priest realized there was no Devine presence within his Temple. He wondered if there ever was...

He touched his sore forehead and winced with the contact. He left the confessional, locked the church doors and retired to the rectory as quickly as possible.

What do I tell my superiors, he wondered. How will they respond to my Visitation by the Jorn? Will they imprison me in a remote monastery? The descendants of the Ixtos are alive? Is there any way for this to be proven?

A cold fear stabbed him in the guts. Dussa, in ancient Ramic, was in modern geography – Jaresse. It was the most powerful of Red Faction nations.

When inside the rectory, he rushed into the bathroom to look in a mirror.

The branding had been real. The burn mark was the inverted Holy Symbol of the Church. The outlines of the blasphemous symbol were tiny words of Ramic text. They were printed backwards as to be readable in a mirror.

His singed flesh read; when you have walked your path of Redemption - this mark shall be no more.

The house keeper called to him from the kitchen. She reminded him that he had supper guests arriving within moments and that the food would be on the table in half an hour.

Elder Derex panicked. The engagement had slipped his mind. He was not ready for people. He had no explanation for the brand on his forehead. The truth of it would sound absurd - perhaps even career ending. Modern Church did not take kindly to Miraculous Metaphysical Manifestations. Only the Ixtos had the Grace of Spirit to do such things.

He decided to address it head on with his guests. Avoidance was impossible anyway. He left the bathroom intent on changing cloths when the first guest arrived. He rushed through wardrobe change and dashed out to greet his guests.

He rushed into the living room where the house keeper had set the guests up with drinks. They looked up to greet him. Not one minutiae of body language denoted their awareness of the brand upon his forehead. The polite greetings finished he ushered his guests into the dining room.

His wonderful housekeeper, Samanthise, did not respond to the mark upon his forehead. She was brutally frank and most concerned for his well being. She would have said something.

Elder Derex surreptitiously touched his forehead during the course of diner. The brand location was appallingly painful. There was undeniable long term burn pain. Am I going mad? Perhaps it's a brain tumor, he thought. He knew otherwise. He sighed – a really big sigh - finally recognizing the life altering event for what is was.

Amidst the banal political conversation of his guests the solution blazed into his brain. I must go to Jaresse. It's time to become the humble pilgrim - abandon my worldly illusions and truly seek the Devine.

~~~

Chapter Seven

Live a lie long enough eventually you believe it.

Karl Vaughn was a blog addict. Most (if not all) of his free time was spent blogging. He was typing furiously while dictating a comment to his VoxDoc. With a carefully selected emoticon he posted his comment. The VoxDoc had translated his words into text and he pasted them onto his next blog.

He paused for a sip of go-juice and read the VoxDoc. No matter how good the proggy was - one still had to edit. The way one speaks and the way one writes are very different. Since Karl had many identities under which he blogged, the difference of styles was most suitable to his multiple aliases.

He and many of those who dwelt in the bloggosphere were still very cautious. Many remembered the Guild of Unrelenting Truth's round-up. The 'Official Position' had imposed 'moderators' or discussion leaders upon the world of ethereal opinionating. Most of the independent host operators were being bought out by the mainstream media conglomerates. Those that would not sell out were being pressured by censorship legislation.

Under the guise of protecting us from ugly things - like defecation upon the coffee table and child pornography; a frenzy of video-blog site buyouts occurred. The spontaneous amateur 'post-it' sites became part of the 'official position' media network. Arts suffered from this De-evolution of idea exchange as censors and moderators were imposed to sanctify the images or thoughts of the mainstream EtNet.

The true evil slipped by unnoticed as the hordes complained about their rights to view defecation or child porn. Moderation of chats, blog sites and on-line news media became the norm. The 'Official Position' creeping in to make sure no discussion or evidence contrary to the 'position' would be written, spoken or seen.

"Resist the Organized De-evolution of Information!"

Karl signed that one as Radamanthus.

The comments made under his Radamanthus alias earned him his visit to Etruscan Keep. Rada was a vociferous conspiracy theorist advocate. Radamanthus was born out of the ashes of the second Terrible Event.

Karl was awoken rudely in the morning of the Second Terrible Event by his buddy. His pal turned on the viewer, selected a mainstream news channel and dragged Karl out of bed to watch it unfold. With precision and symmetry the gigantic golden bronze edifice collapsed upon itself to disappear in a cloud of concrete dust.

According to the mainstream version of events; suicidal Akkbarists drove dump trucks laden with really high energy explosives into the underground maintenance facilities.

Karl stood up from his work station and stretched. He winced as damaged feet were forced to bear the weight. He limped to the kitchen to get more go-juice, his cup was empty. He set up his home made apparatus to filter the dregs from the last cup within the plunger pot.

He felt the urge of the last cup upon his bladder and limped his way to the water closet.

His feet were feeling better by the day – just as the medico's stated. The damage was not permanent; just slow to heal. The Torturer that beat his feet knew exactly how far to go before permanent damage was inflicted.

Karl shivered uncontrollably remembering his 'interrogation'. His flippancy, arrogance and bull-shit attitude contributed to the ordeal. At the time he was so furious at the stupidity of the Guild. He was a pacifist searching for the truth of an Event cloaked in misdirection. He was insulted beyond reason by the accusations that he was a Propagandist for Terror.

His attitude quickly changed after the carefully crafted torment. He answered every question politely and as fully as he could. He was held captive incommunicado within the Dungeons of Etruscan Keep for 5 months.

His feet were beaten many times; for his insolence, to force his signature upon a falsified statement, to feed his fear and to break his spirit. Within a week of the last excruciation the Purge occurred.

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth released him and other 'Propagandists for Terror' with massive, life long compensations for their mistreatment. Karl and others would never have to work a day in their lives should they choose not to work. Karl chose not.

Karl chose to continue his private sleuthing and blogging as a full time occupation. He resurrected Radamanthus and began to explain the motives behind the Global Exchange Tower's destruction. It was simple. It was always simple - 'Follow the Money'.

Radamanthus unraveled a few threads of possibility. The Global Exchange Tower leased space to many thousands of businesses. One of the more notable lessee's was the Investments Exchange Commission. The IEC was hot on the trail of a massive Defense Contract fraud involving 100's of billions of taxpayers money. The IEC was about to announce more arrests (higher up the ladder) in the biggest swindle in history.

All records of the nearly 7 year investigation were wiped out with the collapse. All the players got a big 'olly-olly auxtenfree' out of the tragedy. Taxpayers lost countless billions. That is a wad of Moola worth a grand conspiracy.

The building, despite its healthy and ultra modern appearance, was becoming a maintenance expense sink. The Tower was conceived and built 30 years earlier. Changes to fire retardant regulations forced the Buildings Commission to remove and replace nearly 200 floors worth of retardant. This was a massive disruption to the businesses of the tenants.

The Tower was not designed with enough head room to accommodate the changes in information technology. Sub contractors were constantly upgrading power wiring, connectivity networks and security systems. This was another disruption to the business of the tenants. They paid very high rent for office space in the Tower.

In short the building was about 60% occupied. The Buildings Commission was only too happy to lease the Tower for 99 years to Hadzellian. It was costing them billions to operate it. In exchange for the expensive Insurance policy, the tax base was rid of a tall glittering black hole of expense.

The actual building owner - the Building Commission and the taxpayers - got next to zero in payout. The taxpayers made some money on the sale of the rubble to a country in the eastern continent of Mhuvia.

Shortly after he posted commentary, based on 'follow the money', he awoke to the hospitality of the Guild of Unrelenting Truth. It was OK to blog about highly technical controversy – 89% of the population did not understand any expert on the subject of demolitions and structures. However, when he dug up the dirt about the money flow...

He walked gingerly back to the kitchen. He preferred bare feet on the cold floor. Socks and shoes still irritated his feet.

The caff had been filtered and waiting to be re-heated. With well rehearsed ergonomic precision he completed the ritual. The hot cup in his hands was a pleasant sensation. It smelled wonderful. He sipped it carefully because, as usual, he filled it too much.

With temerity Karl began the long walk to the arbor. He laughed to himself over his fear of the 10 meter walk across the suite's floor to the patio door. Upon his release from the dungeon, walking 5 meters from the computer station to the bathroom, was a nightmare. The residence floor he kept meticulously cleared of any small objects. He could not stand even a caff bean underfoot.

The effort of opening the sliding door shifted more weight to his feet and he winced slightly. He stepped out to the patio. The warm wooden deck planks felt good. He chose the deck chair facing Astrid. For some reason he had an affinity for that particular sun. In the fall she was the predominant celestial body. Her warmth diminished as orbit pulled Moloch from her embrace.

Phaedra came bounding up the stairs from the Arbor. She promptly made her way to Karl and sat beside him looking expectant. He laughed and retrieved a dog biscuit from his pocket. She took it with gentle exuberance and chewed with zest.

Karl ran his hands over the wound site on her shoulder. It was almost healed. Coppery peach fuzz was growing from the scar. It stood out in contrast to her shining black fur. He wondered if the patch would stay coppery or turn black like the surrounding hair.

She heals more rapidly than I do, thought Karl. It was almost month five for him and Phae just finished her third month of recovery.

A couple of people in uniform of House and Archive walked leisurely past. They noticed Karl and waved pleasantly. He returned the gesture. Phae sat beside him and leaned heavily into his leg. He returned her affection with a good massage of her neck and upper shoulders. Karl wondered why Phae decided to befriend him.

In a moment of daring he decided to walk down to the Arbor and walk in the grass. Phae followed him patiently. He tried to practice the technique of mind control that directed his thoughts away from the discomfort of his feet.

The few steps across the concrete walk-way to the lawn were not pleasant. The grass felt superb – entirely worth the effort. He curled his toes with satisfaction in the warm green carpet of life. He spotted a nice looking Elm tree a few meters further into the forest. It was bathed in sunlight and had a nice path of grass leading to it.

He enjoyed walking on the grass – he promised to do it more often. The tree was an easy goal. He sat dawn with his back propped against the big Elm and stretched out his legs. Phae lay down beside him. Within moments both dog and man were dosing comfortably in the warm fall sun.

~~~

Chapter Seven

Is my face on straight?

"So this is who you go to visit Phaedra."

Karl was pulled out of his nap by the voice. Phaedra had sprung up and was stretching. Her stub of a tail was vibrating merrily.

The Master Torturer Zyrus Ziteguyst and Adept Kaligula were standing on the knoll a couple of meters in front of Karl's reclined body. Karl reacted with a slight start which the two torturers noticed.

"Mind if we join you? This is my favorite spot to meditate," Zyrus politely asked.

"No, not at all, I can see why you like it here. It's surprisingly tranquil," replied Karl as he struggled to get up.

"Please don't leave on our account Karl! There's plenty of room for all of us 'round this big ol tree," Kaligula spoke with a subtle drawl.

Zyrus and Kali picked their spots and sat cross legged with their backs leaning against the Elm tree. Karl took the opportunity to study the torturers as they meditated. They were dressed in the traditional Black garments of their Order. It was impossible to make out their faces under the masks.

Kali wore the skull tight black leather balaclava of the Adept. Her long blond hair was tightly braided and emanated from a hole in the back of her balaclava. The braid was composed of 9 strands. She loosened these stands for the last decimeter and had attached tiny metallic fasteners on the ends of the strands. The result was a pony tail that looked similar to a 'cat-o-nine tails'.

Karl shivered and wondered what it would be like to be her lover. Then he decided that he didn't want to think about it. He felt uncomfortable in her presence her and he did not understand why.

Kali opened her eyes and looked at Karl. "You Ok there Karl? You're lookin a bit waxy."

Karl blushed and replied, "You guys still freak me out – bit of a flashback." Quick to wit he asked, "So what do Torturers do for fun?"

Kaligula smiled.

Zyrus interjected, "We could tell you Karl but then we would probably have to kill you."

Karl was shocked until he realized it was a joke then started laughing. Kaligula began to laugh as well. Zyrus sat serene in his meditation – the perfect straight man.

Between chuckles Karl asked the question again, "No seriously, what do torturers do for fun and relaxation when they are not working."

"I like going to see live music Karl, but I haven't been to a concert in a couple of years now," Kali responded with a tinge of sadness.

Zyrus took an enormous breath and released it slowly. He opened his eyes and looked directly into Karl's.

"So Karl, how would you like a job?"

Karl was shocked. "What me a Torturer," was the best he could do.

Kali spoke softly, "Sorry Karl you don't have it in you to wear the Black."

"Thank god for that." But Karl was intrigued by Zyrus's offer none-the-less and quickly added, "I am listening Zyrus, please continue."

Zyrus looked intensely into Karl's eyes. Karl returned the scrutiny without flinching.

"Ok Karl here it is. I'm about to take a big step into the unknown. I am the first human trial for a new method of information extraction. If it is successful," he paused to motion his hand to encompass the Keep, "then all this becomes unnecessary. Surely that is a reason for you to join us? Have a role in the end of an 'insidious and cruel mechanism of fear'?"

Karl blushed. Zyrus's last words originated from one of Karl's many blogs concerning the formation of the Guild of Unrelenting Truth.

"That sounds good Zyrus. Who do I have to maim to accomplish this?"

Kali bristled, "Hey watch it Karl - you're quickly becoming a sanctimonious wiener. Ya wanna do something real or do ya wanna go hide in your room and rant behind a blog?"

"That's exactly what I'm after Kali – his ire and quest-for-truth. He has not been in the fold long enough for his objectivity to be dulled by fraternity. And you must forgive Karl's anger. It's not directed against you or me."

Zyrus looked back to Karl and resumed. "You get the job of chronicler. Writes it as you sees it – warts and all. But there is a catch... You must join the Guild. Archive will accept your application the moment you submit one."

Karl looked down at his feet. Both Zyrus and Kali could see the deliberation. Karl did not cloak his body language well. They knew he was unconvinced.

Kali broke the silence, "Karl, Archive is the place to be if you're a data hound! Archive is the repository of all of the information gathered by the Guild. You want to follow the money – that is the group to join."

Karl was almost pushed over the fence by Kaligula's words. She could still see his reluctance. She looped her arm around his and snuggled closer.

"Once you are in the Guild – we can take these bloody masks off and be real," she teased.

Much to her surprise that was the additional motivation he needed. Much to her chagrin a part of her was flattered by his response.

"OK, where do I sign up?"

"I believe you can apply through the Guild-net. I'll be glad to dance you through the pages to get to the appropriate place," Kali answered.

"Alright then," Karl replied, "let's do it." He stood up and winced visibly at the transition. His steps were slow and painful. The walk back to the suite was going to hurt.

Kali stood up with him and wrapped her arm about him; taking some of his weight off his bruised soles. He did not resist her help. They made their way back to Karl's suite.

Karl looked back at Zyrus and spoke, "This will not change my feelings about the Guild in any way. You do realize this?"

He stumbled upon contact with an unseen twig. Kali instantly compensated with more hoist to lighten Karl.

"I am counting on it Karl."

Phaedra remained with Zyrus. The Master Torturer lay back against the big Elm tree and smiled imperceptibly. He resumed his meditation. The memory transfer process was immanent and he was feeling apprehensive. He knew Karl would be perfect for the role and this lessened the tension he felt.

He smiled as the two disappeared around the bend in the path. It looked to his wizened eye that Kali found Karl appealing. This was good.

The Master Torturer fumbled with the flap on his utility pouch. The Velcro-latch finally released. He rummaged for the traveling wallet which contained the vials. He opened the wallet. Within it were 3 glinting tritanium vials.

The thumb-sized tritanium vials were hermetically sealed. Their contents were a high tech pablum of brain tissue and chemicals (with paragraph long names). The brain tissue was that of the late Primus of the Consolidated States of Caremencia.

Zyrus extracted one of the polished vials from the wallet. He absent mindedly rolled it about with his fingers as he thought of the last conversation with Demeter.

"This is only a trial of MTxC9 Zyrus. We won't release the full prescription until you have tried the 3 samples. You must document all of your reactions to the compound - all reactions Zy - physiological as well and psychological. We want you to select an objective journalist from Archive or Gray.

Kaligula must be present as your medical observer. She is very qualified and likes you enough to put her foot down if something goes amiss. She is probably the only one who could put her foot down on ya anyway.

Although the MTxC9 is safe from a toxicological point of view, there are some conundrums popping up with the psychological aspects of the memory transfer.

For example, the dog who hated red towels experiment: One of our researchers inherited a neurotic dog from the animal shelter. This dog was mortally afraid of red cloth of any type.

The neurosis was discovered accidentally one day when their child pulled a seldom used big red towel from the closet. The dog saw the towel - went nuts - growled and raced around the house like a banshee.

The family dog died from diabetes and the researcher extracted some of its brain tissue. He used this demented dog's brain tissue for the first phase of the transfer compound trials.

The recipient dog was a well trained guide dog for the blind. The sight of a red towel elicited zero response. For weeks there was nothing unusual in the recipient dog's habits.

Recently - the recipient dog showed agitation at the sight of a red towel. According to the last report, the adverse reaction to the red towel is growing..."

The Master Torturer stopped rotating the vial around his fingers. He placed it within the travel wallet beside the other gleaming flasks of captured memory. He re-wrapped the wallet and placed it back within his travel pouch.

Quit stalling Zy, he thought, it's Time to do it. The consequences of MTxC9 garbling his personality with the memories of Roegge were worrying. Despite his Meditation; calm was not to be found.

Am I the merely the sum of my memories? Is one's consciousness just a few billions of neuron pathways firing electro-chemical signals? Can I be so easily co-opted by chemistry?

He folded his hands concisely upon his lap and leaned back into the big Elm tree. He knew that there was far more to consciousness than complex chemistry and life experience. He did not adhere to the behaviorist theories of consciousness.

My body is composed of the dust of the stars. My spirit forged by the Devine. My Atma can never be transmogrified by arcane chemistry.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly and completely. It was a relief to have left his sword belt hanging on its wall hook. The thing always made sitting cross legged most uncomfortable.

Phae was stretched out by his legs. He gave her head his familiar caress. She let out a big sigh and curled her claws into the lawn. She was content.

Zyrus visualized the violet flame coursing through every fiber and cell of his body – searing away fear and discord.

Phae looked at him while he Meditated. She cocked her head in a peculiar way when he began to visualize his violet flame. With her black and white seeing eyes she could discern a flickering of light about her master. In a short time she could smell his serenity. She put her head down upon her outstretched front legs and drowsed off.

Zyrus opened his eyes and looked about the Elm grove. In the instant after his Meditation he felt detached from his body. He perceived his surroundings from an elevated position a few meters above his head. In the moment he recognized that he was out of body - it ended.

Zyrus learned how to Meditate from an old friend of the family. He was a bizarre old hippy type that was adorned with tattoos. He gave Zyrus a tattered old paper pamphlet entitled 'The 10 Meditations to Ascension'. It described various Meditative practices that would free the mind and Atma of its burdens. He instructed the young Zyrus how to apply them properly.

In the many years since his young teens, Zyrus had advanced through 8 of the 10 Meditations. The current Meditation he was practicing was called the Dancing Ghost. He found it somewhat ironic, with his pending ingestion of Roegge's memories, that he would be practicing the Dancing Ghost Meditation.

A silly pop song chorus ran through his mind as he was contemplating mysterious circumstance. "I could not see the forest cuz there were far too many trees. I chopped those bloody trees down so the forest I could see..."

Zyrus realized that is was not the fear of losing himself that worried him. He finally understood that he was afraid of what the new information would show him. How vast is the corruption, he wondered, how many more bodies will I uncover?

He stood up and stretched - Phae did the same. She looked at Zyrus with the light of love pouring out of her eyes. She ran ahead of the Master Torturer as he made his way back to the Keep. Kaligula intercepted them on their way back.

"It's done Zy. Karl is now an official 'sworn-in' member of the Guild. You have your Chronicler. I guess we can do this thing anytime you are ready."

Zyrus noticed that Kali had removed her black leather balaclava. He did the same. The sunlight felt great upon his flesh and he pointed his face to the predominant fall sun. He wondered if he would be able to take pleasure in the simple things after the Experiment.

Kaligula spoke again, "I really don't like this concept much Zyrus. I think it places you under an inordinate amount of risk for questionable results. I don't think you will have any way of disassociating yourself from the memories of the other. That being said I can't visualize how you will hang on to information gleaned from his memories.

We have plotted the family's interaction sphere physically, electronically and financially. Good old fashioned investigative techniques are going to get us results Zy – slowly and step by step."

The Master Torturer looked into Kali's deep blue eyes. He admired her for her devotion, grace and intelligence. She was a jewel. But in the core of the jewel lay a tiny flaw. The flaw was common amongst many of the Guild.

"We do not have the Time Kali. We are still reacting to the lead set by the Dynasty. When we're leading and they're reacting, we will be closer to its dissolution. At this very moment, Dynasty's forces are working on destabilizing us. We simply do not have the time for plodding detective work."

"Zyrus, do you really think that the end of the Dynasty will be the end of corruption? I don't think that the big bad stick of the Guild can ever be dropped! Some other monsters will enter the void. They will use violence and fear to accomplish their ends. We aren't evil Zyrus but our methods are unpleasant. Why are you in such a hurry to fold the Guild? You can't hide from me Zyrus."

"I have become a matinée bogey-idol in the eyes of the world Kali!

The Guild must not be allowed to operate forever. Once this institution is carved in granite who knows what future politicians will do to its mandate. This organization is an ongoing worst case scenario that will inevitably be used for oppression. That was its raison to be -- to silence any significant opposition."

Zyrus stopped talking and gently placed his hands on each of Kali's triceps. He gave her a soft squeeze and kept the gentle pressure as he spoke. It was as close to a hug that he could muster. The Master Torturer was not big on touchy-feely or emoting with his staff.

"Kali! I'm doing this aware of the risks to my life and sanity. It just has to be done. It's your job to ensure that I don't endanger my life. I'll deal with the psychology. Thanks for your heart felt concern. Buck up! And let's get on with it."

Phaedra sat listening to their exchange of words. She cocked her head occasionally. Her attention shifted to a sudden movement in the distant copse of trees. She took off in hot pursuit - quickly forgetting her master in the joy of the Chase.

Her nemesis, the murderous white and ginger cat was skulking in the underbrush -- looking for something small to kill. Phaedra ran like the wind but as usual her quarry was faster. The cat bolted then raced up a tree to sit on an overhead branch twitching its tail agitatedly. Phae circled the tree and sounded her frustration. Eventually the dog wandered back home.

The birds and squirrels were as afraid of Phaedra as they were of the cat. However the dog's actions warned them of the cat and they were temporarily safe.

Phaedra loped back to her home and slipped through the slightly opened sliding glass door. Her master's scent was fresh but he was not present. She jumped onto the couch and stretched out on her blanket. She rested her head on arm of the couch and closed her eyes. Within a few heartbeats she was napping. Her ears moved slightly in reaction to Keep sounds.

The white and ginger cat followed Phaedra back to her home. The cat leaped up to the deck and sat obscured from the dog's view. It gazed with cold fury at the sleeping dog. Its tail twitched and seethed.

~~~

Chapter Eight

Freedom is consuming itself...

The last ladder rise stretched past the weak dull yellow beam of his headlamp then disappeared into blackness. The visual effect made the ladder seem infinitely long. The psychological effect was to add the weight of despair upon his pain wracked body.

It took all of Roegge's determination to climb the last 225 of his 9000 rungs to freedom. His strength was fading and his mind was sloppy. He was afraid of the hallucinations and of falling off again. Abrasions and bruises complimented blisters and temporary insanity. He had been consuming the battle stims beyond recommended dosage.

He never thought of failure throughout his ordeal -- despite some hallucinatory Sirens' attempts to peel him from the ladder. He never thought of his family either. His thoughts were only of escape from the narrow confines of his Tellusian prison.

At rung eight thousand nine hundred and something his headlamp finally expired. He climbed in total darkness. As he counted off the last 80 rungs he began to feel better. He stopped looking up and concentrated on that which was in front of him.

What would he do once he broke the surface? Who could he turn to for assistance? His face was globally notorious as number one on the most wanted list. The cursed Guild Of Unrelenting Truth and its head daemon Zyrus Ziteguyst had chewed up the Magog network. There was no one downstream that he could call upon.

The only one left standing was The Whip. Thanatos scared the crap out of Roegge. He knew that old man could just as easily turn him in as provide shelter. Thanatos was the last man standing from his grandfather's era -- the last of the ruthless old men...

One problem at a time...

One rung at a time.

One hand up, one hand holding on tight. One foot bearing weight. One more ache. One more breath and one more minute...

He cursed loudly as his foot slipped off a wet rung. His blistered hands held on although the pain was excruciating. His lacquered nails were torn and filthy with wet wooden splinters embedded under many of them.

He lost count of the rungs and cursed again. Anger was better than despair. It filled him with energy, adrenaline and testosterone. He climbed with renewed vigor. He kept himself focused on the immediate task of climbing while trying to keep his mind still.

Thanatos' image was frozen in Roegge's memory. The man was remarkably well preserved for his age. His hawkish visage was relatively free of the effects of gravity and time. The old man's eyes told the story of his age. They were cold and crystal clear with no hint of rheumy. His head was hairless and his eyebrows were thick and nearly white. He was always clean shaven. Roegge wondered if he had any hair follicles beyond eyebrows. Thanatos had been bald as far back as Roegge could remember. The only indication that the man aged were his eyebrows. They had changed from slate gray to dirty white over the course of Roegge's life.

Somewhere up the last rise on rung Eight thousand nine hundred and something; the damp mineral laden air had changed. The rusty musk of his Tellusian prison began to smell of life. With the change in the air came renewed optimism. The smells from the surface were intoxicating. He drank in the bouquet as he climbed.

With a sudden thump to the head and crunch of teeth he smacked into the last hatch. The impact hurt and he nearly lost grip. He wanted to scream out in rage and beat the hatch to a pulp. A trickle of blood flowed out of the wound in his head then trailed down the right side of his face to the corner of his mouth. The blood pooled there.

A moment later the pool overflowed, spilling down his jaw to the chin. Some leaked past his teeth to come rest on his tongue. Some dripped off his chin to splatter on the wooden rises below.

The hatch mechanism was directly overhead -- awkward to open while standing on the ladder. On the ladder he had little leverage to muscle the door open. He was fatigued and hungry; low on physical energy. The last adrenaline wave was fading. Roegge knew that if he couldn't open the hatch he would not survive the climb down to the sleeping platform.

To have come so far only to face one more obstacle... With a scream of rage and a Herculean heave Roegge twisted the hatch door mechanism open. With a mighty push he opened the hatch. With his last remaining strength he pulled himself out of the grip of Tellus. He fell upon Terra and kissed her suns bathed surface.

Escaping the rocky confines of the emergency shaft felt like a boil after lancing. The relief was so intense he felt weak. The exertion of the climb, sleep deprivation and the big crash from his battle stimulants combined -- he felt an overpowering urge to curl up and sleep.

After a couple of minutes Roegge opened his eyes to mid-day brightness. All three suns were present in the sky with Astrid the brightest and most influential. Tears formed and distorted his perception. He had to close his eye lids to a narrow slit. The result left him almost blind. His eyes needed time to adjust to bright light.

He took a deep breath to help calm the panic then wiped his eyes clear with the soiled cuff of his tunic. He felt the oily gritty grime from his cuff lightly rasp along his eyelids. The light was too bright to open his eyes further but without tears his vision was much improved. He took a few tentative steps along the path and winced through pain for each step.

He stopped walking and surveyed the landscape. The escape shaft emerged from the ground, nestled by a wreath of shale-like tailings, in the center of a ring of elm trees. Soleil brush, nettle and saw grass interspersed with thousands of tiny white, yellow and light violet flower blossoms flourished in the clearing.

A narrow path led for twenty meters through the growth to the ring of elms. He restarted towards the ring of trees. Occasionally his legs and hands brushed against the taller nettles. Almost instantly Roegge's hands started burning from the contact with the stinging plants.

Its all good he thought as he endured nettle algo-toxin. The pain of his hands seemed to cancel the pain of his raw feet. The path bent sharply right at the tree-line. He lurched around a tree to follow the bend in the path and stumbled over an exposed root. The experience forced him to concentrate his limited vision on the ground directly in front.

The cool canopy of leaves eased the light from his sensitive eyes. He could open them without receiving a flood of tears. The sounds of small creatures could barely be heard beyond the gentle rustle of tree leaves. Critters stayed hidden if there were any close.

Roegge paused to rest. He dared not sit for fear he could not get up. He was hungry for a real meal and drooled at the thought of eating a ripe red palep. Instead he munched down on a stale energy bar and washed it down with the last of his water.

He enjoyed the quiet cacophony of nature although he could not actually see any of it. Birds were shadowy flits on the edge of his peripheral. Subtle stirring of leaf marked their passage.

Roegge continued his walk out of the forest with slow deliberation. Occasional puffs of wind would briefly open a window in the leaf canopy. He would involuntarily squint with the sudden increase in light. He kept his eyes averted.

In the 10 minutes it took Roegge to traverse the stand of trees his eyes hardened to the subdued light within the copse. While his eyes were acclimatizing his sense of direction was still missing. He needed to see his surroundings to get his bearings. He hoped the path would take him to a clearing with a panoramic view.

Roegge stepped out of the copse of trees and took a couple of steps into the tall grass meadow. The increased brightness caused tears but he did not have to squint. For an instant he thought he saw a person sitting cross legged in the meadow 50 paces ahead. With the tears his vision melted into bent kaleidoscopic rainbows. A dark blob remained unmoving in the center.

Like a moth to the light he continued walking.

He wiped his eyes clear of water and sure enough, the dark blob was a person sitting serenely in the meadow. A black cape roiled like black smoke about the person. A crimson cuirass glinted like a pool of fresh blood underneath the vaporous cape. The black mask of the Guild of Unrelenting Truth was all Roegge could see of the stranger's head. The hilt of the Torturer's sword sparkled of zircalloy.

A blade of icy fear stabbed Roegge in the guts. He turned to retrace his steps back to the shaft head.

The cross legged torturer spoke with an impersonal, matter of fact voice, "There's no where to run worm!"

A neon navy blue armor clad member of Client Retrieval had materialized behind him cutting off the approach to the forest and escape shaft. With the timing of a large stage musical, the camera crews and many more Retrieval personnel stepped out of the cover of trees and stood up from the cover of the tall grass.

His dog Phae escaped from her handler and came bounding across the meadow towards him. A wave of rage emanating from his bones. He grabbed the small side arm from his mucky jacket pocket and pointed it at the Torturer.

"At least I'm gonna take you with me you prick," bellowed Roegge in triumphant rage as he squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. He fumbled with the gun until he found and disabled the safety. He re-aimed at the torturer. As he pulled the trigger the petite rotvyla leaped with joy upon her long lost master.

The bullet tore through the dog's shoulder causing her to howl with pain and shock. Her trajectory was altered by the bullet impact; Paedra's body collided with Roegge's gun hand and knocked the weapon loose. The Torturer had spun to his feet like liquid smoke and was standing behind Roegge.

"You godless monster! Is that all you can do? Maim and kill the innocent!" The Black cap seethed about as the Torturer spoke. The Executus made a long wet scrape as it was pulled out of its scabbard. The heavy iron blade swung in a precise arc.

Roegge felt the agony as the nano-sharp blade severed his hamstring tendons. He flopped down face forward, helpless as his legs became pointless pieces of meat.

He felt his arms being grasped from behind and twisted until they became painfully rigid. He was held upright incapable of physical resistance. Something was placed on his head. Then he felt the coring spikes bore through his skull into his brain. He screamed.

Then the Torturer pronounced the sentence.

Then the world tumbled around until it became fixed at a strange ground level angle looking up at the Torturer, his Retrieval assistant and the decapitated body.

The Torturer removed his mask, and as the last of Roegge's awareness ebbed, he saw his own face revealed under the black hood.

~~~

Chapter Nine

Electrophoria – Electronic Euphoria.

Zyrus heard the finger snapping before he saw the fingers moving around in front of his face.

He looked around the room and its familiarity began to creep back. The dungeon was painted totally white with off-white ceramic tiles covering the floor and running 2 meters up the wall. There were shiny chrome covers on the drains in the floor. The floor was specially sloped to accommodate the drains. There were a couple of water faucets poking out of the tiled walls with precisely coiled hoses on racks fastened beside the faucets.

This was a medical excruciation room. This was the dungeon where buckets of blood were spilled.

Some Clients could not be broken by any means other than by surgical excruciation. The procedure that was most effective involved an amputation of the foot where the Client was kept conscious via adrenaline and methamphetamine throughout the operation. Skin flaying was the second best effective surgical excruciation.

The room smelled faintly of blood, excrement and disinfectant.

Zyrus was not fond of the practices that occurred in this particular dungeon. Every pain wracked admission was suspect and had to be verified by other data sources.

"Hey! You back? Or is the other guy I'm talking too?" A tall woman with blond hair (tied back into the Guild standard Cat-o-nine-tails braid) was snapping her fingers.

"Yeah Kali I'm back. Just finished watching me get shortened by myself." Zyrus replied.

"Watching? You telling me that this memory transfer thing is like watching a rotoscope?" the female torturer asked as she unlocked the restraints which bound Ziteguyst to the malefic looking operation table.

"It's more like a 3D first person interactive without any interaction. I actually felt some of the emotions the Client felt and I could feel his physical pain."

"How far back from the time of death did you go?" Kali asked.

"Only a couple of hours." Zyrus answered. He could see the tension in Kali's posture.

"So who was Karl's blogging alias," Kali asked sweetly. It was one of the control questions that Karl and Kali invented. They were afraid that the personality of the Client's would transfer with the memories.

"Radamanthus was his most famous handle but he had (or has) several," the Master Torturer replied. He continued, "But really Kali, if there was a personality transfer, my memories would be available to the usurper."

"Yeah Zy but it would take the interloper some time to assimilate and recall specific memories. We know that you can recall memories instantly -- the usurper would have to dig. The other worse case is brain damage from exposure to the compound. In either case some impairment of your recall would be noticeable \-- thus the control questions." She released the last restraint for punctuation.

A thin but assertive voice boomed through the dungeon's PA system.

"I don't imagine you saw anything useful to the investigation this early in the MTxC9 trials," Karl asked bluntly.

"Well, I saw an old guy with a name of Thanatos through the Client's recollection. Thanatos is the last monster standing in the Magog hierarchy. He is/was the Client's goto guy. Roegge was really afraid of him," Zyrus admitted.

"No kidding!? Got a firm fix on the face? Could you to find it from the Contact sphere data," Karl spoke eagerly.

Zyrus grumbled, "Yeah I can look through the file -- see if I can find the face."

"You got something on the first run. Why the grumpy voice Zy," Kali asked.

"I'm hungry and I don't relish the idea of scanning thousands of picture files."

"If you have any more info that can help winnow the search you might have only a few hundred to scan," Karl spoke with a hint of sarcasm.

"He was part of the Client's grandfather's crowd. A seasoned internationalist," Zyrus added.

"That will help a bunch Zy -- great first quarter for MTxC9." Karl responded enthusiastically.

Zyrus stood off the surgical table and wobbled. Kali approached him to help but he waved her off. "I'm good thanks. Open the door Karl -- I can't stand being in this room!"

The door-lock buzzed loudly. From experience Zyrus knew that as long as the buzz was happening the door was unlocked. A few unsteady paces to the door and his hand reached to grasp the door handle. As soon as he touched the handle the buzz stopped -- locking the door instantly. The big magnetic retainers held the door with a hundred tons of force.

Karl giggled.

"C'mon asshat open the door," Kali responded.

The buzzer sounded briefly then went silent as Kali grasped the door handle. Karl giggled again as Kali pulled futilely against the hundred ton mag-lock.

"Ok smart-ass what do you want?" Zyrus asked.

"What's the magic word," Karl asked with a twinkle in his voice.

Kali snapped her fingers three times then whistled a bar from a famous Von Toven symphony.

Karl let them out.

"Sorry Zy, just another fail-safe," Kali muttered.

"I get it," the Master Torturer reassured then crumpled like a rag doll in the dungeon's entrance. He flopped, oblivious of the impact, onto the painted concrete floor of the hall.

Kali let out a shriek of surprise and dismay. She rushed to a communication station a few meters away and called for an emergency crew. She rushed back to Zyrus prone body. In that time Karl materialized from his work station in the corridor's Surveillance Post.

Within minutes emergency personnel arrived with a carrier to take the Master Torturer's unconscious body to an infirmary. Karl and Kali followed.

Demeter was waiting in the medical facility and promptly swept out everyone but Kali. She looked to Kali and spoke, "Could you see to the restraints please? When you are done take a seat. I need some information."

She attended to Zyrus with precise ministrations while Kali strapped him to a medical table for the second time in the day. Demeter drew blood and put it into the Auto-clave for analysis then she set him up with a saline drip. When that was done she attached several probes to various points on his head and body.

Kaligula turned on the various machines that read the probe data. With a chorus of bleeps and pings the various information displays came to life. The room glowed with LED radiance. Kali found the chair and pulled out of the way of the attending physician. She sat as instructed and waited for Demeter to finish her examination.

"Did you follow the dosage recommendation," Demeter asked.

"Absolutely," Kali replied un-offended. "I administered the goop myself to prevent any possibility of overdose."

Demeter proceeded to the terminal on a desk in the corner of the room. She entered a few keystrokes and pulled up data from the Auto-clave.

She grunted disappointingly then spoke, "Meh nothing amiss with his blood. I can see a few parts per billion of MTxC9 still floating around but it's not toxic. This isn't overdose or allergic reaction so I'm guessing its psychological."

"What do you mean," Kali asked.

"Maybe the human mind cannot physically cope with another persons memories. When a computer has a memory over-run, all unessential processes are shut down or severely restricted in function as memory is swapped between any active processes."

"So his cardiovascular system stays running while his motor control shuts down?" Kali offered.

"Yes, something like that," Demeter replied. "But we don't have much empirical data to base any hypotheses. Zyrus is Ground Zero."

"Why go on with the trials if there is so much unknown," Kali asked heatedly.

"Zyrus can be very persuasive -- as you know. I happen to share his sentiments..."

"Then why make him the test subject? If Zy dies you have one less powerful ally in your quest to end the Guild," Kali interjected. Demeter could see her frustration and underneath it she could see the attachment Kali had developed for the Master Torturer.

She sighed deeply before replying. "Look Kali, a word of advice; don't get too attached to Ziteguyst. He is an emotional ice cube. He won't allow himself to be manipulated. That means zero emotional involvement with co-workers."

Kali looked aghast at Demeter's suggestion of romance with the Master Torturer. "My feelings aren't like that – he's a father-like mentor"

The older woman scrutinized Kali -- trying to read her body language. She saw no conflicts written in musculature. "The point being that because you have developed an emotional attachment to him; you can be manipulated."

"So what are you telling me? Become an emotional ice cube too?"

"You haven't been around here long enough to realize the political machinations that go on Kaligula. There are persons within the Guild that want to re-align with Dynasty. There are forces that oppose Dynasty with their every heartbeat. They see Zyrus, and his plans to end the Guild, as the enemy. There is a faction that love power for its own sake and wishes to see the Guild focus upon wealth creation to escape the checks and balances placed upon the Guild.

All of these factions will try and influence you to their purpose because of your position with Zyrus. And because of your feelings towards him they may succeed."

Kali slumped in her chair. Demeter could see she took the advice to heart.

"So what faction are you Demeter," Kali asked dejectedly.

"I'm with Zy but I'm pragmatic too. I don't believe the Guild of Unrelenting Truth will ever be dismantled. There will always be greed and the lust for conquest and power. The majority of Moloch's people will always require the Guild for protection. It is the only organization powerful enough to counter the inevitable corruption of the oligarchs."

One of the monitoring machines pinged urgently. Zyrus groaned shortly after the alarm.

"Ouch I'm hurting all over. What happened," his weak voice queried.

Demeter replied, "We were hoping you would tell us. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Falling off a ladder -- hitting the stone platform below," he answered.

"In the Client's memories," Kali asked.

"No, in mine."

Demeter and Kali looked to each other with dismay.

~~~

Chapter Ten

Conclusions drawn from a false premise are always false.

Scylla Mallecon looked at her face in the mirror. She still had it despite a few nasty stress lines and the dark pouches developing under her eyes. Those were unavoidable. The last few months had been a nightmare. Her world had been turned upside down.

The transition from First Lady of Caremencia to inmate of Dungeon 43 was most unpleasant. The cells in block 40 were designed for protective custody. When her husband had been captured she was transferred from a bantam sized Client's cell to the lavish gilded cage she currently inhabited. It was the reward for her co-operation. Her children had their eyes repaired as well.

She shuddered at the recollection of her kids screaming with their eyes dangling by their optic nerve. Scylla was amazed at how easily the eye could be removed yet be so difficult to replace. Eventually the bruises would subside and the teens would recover fully.

Roegge's wife was loyal and tough. The Master Torturer knew exactly how to break her. It soon became apparent to him that she wasn't involved with the affairs of governance or the Magog network. Scylla's type thoroughly enjoyed the trappings of wealth and power. She was smart enough to avoid the machinations of empire. She managed her children and a couple of worthy charities.

Her loyalty did not lay solely in her love for her mate but in the societal station he provided. She would do nothing that could possibly threaten that position.

The truth about Roegge's manipulations and his involvement with Magog opened her eyes but did not move her loyalty. With cold calculation the Dark Nephalim of Truth ordered his minion to remove an eye from each of her children. That broke her spirit instantly. She gave up several potential locations where her husband could have been hiding.

She felt guilty for her betrayal until the Master Torturer provided Roegge's recorded response to the Guild's demand for his surrender. After seeing the roto-scope log, Scylla realized that Roegge had abandoned them to the Guild and that her loyalty to him was misplaced. In hindsight, she realized that she was responsible for the excruciation inflicted upon her kids.

Fortunately time would heal all of the emotional and physical wounds suffered by her kids. However it would take a life time for the public hatred of her family to pass.

Her co-operation with the Guild earned witness protection status so arranging a new alias was part of the package. Scylla wanted to revert to her parent's family name but the Guild legum's suggested something totally unconnected to either family lines.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar tones of her daughter's incoming call. She toggled the answer key and her daughter's image appeared on the display.

"Morning mom! You ready for our walk," her daughter asked brightly. Baphomet loved the daily walk. It was gentle exercise and freedom from the restrained air of their apartments. It also gave her a break from her studies. The Guild provided a tutor for each of Scylla's teenaged kids.

"Absolutely ready... Is Anda coming with us today," Scylla asked. She liked Anda well enough but felt a bit resentful of the ever present Guild. Anda was Bahphomet's tutor and bodyguard while under protective custody.

"No mom she's at a meeting. We get to be alone for our stroll this time. I'll be right over." Bahphomet wished her brother could join them but under witness protection guidelines only two of the three family members could be together in public. There did not appear to be much difference between the Guild's safety protocols and the Praetorian Service that protected them as the First Family of Caremencia.

As the two were walking down the corridor to the first control gate Scylla asked her daughter, "We've been advised to change our family name before we enter the world again. What do you think?"

The familiar annoying loud buzz accompanied the mag-lock release. The ironstone portcullis scraped open wide enough to allow for one person to pass. Bahphomet paused walking then stood aside to allow her mother to pass through first.

"I'm good with that. I know Renson will agree. He's still really messed up about all of this." Bahphomet waved her hand over her head in the peculiar spiral she used to refer to the surroundings. Then continued through the gate after her mother.

"Me too," her mother confided, "...and you aren't?"

"I hate him mom -- hate him for all horrible things he's done. But Renson, he's worse! He blames himself! Where's that come from?"

"I have no idea. Never forget that despite your father's faults he loved you both..."

"Right! Monster dad came home, loved us for an hour then went out again to eat some more babies. That's so comforting..." Bahphomet's voice dripped with sarcasm.

The walk continued with uncomfortable silence. The second control gate with its ominous portcullis was a few paces ahead. Bahphomet slowed her pace to fall into single file behind her mother. The ironstone portcullis buzzed then scraped heavily as they grew closer.

Scylla let her daughter vent. It was pointless to defend Roegge – although a part of her wanted to. "Think of a new family name you could live with -- you may have to change your given name as well. Get your brother to think on it. The sooner we get that resolved the sooner we get out of here."

Another 40 paces and a final right turn took them to the last control point. This last (or first) ironstone portcullis was massive. It was designed to convey the impregnable nature of the Keep. Entry or exit from this gate required blood, expelled air, retina scan, pulse, finger prints and voice. Bahphomet and Scylla walked past the massive gate. The public arboretum lay inside the first ring wall.

Mother and daughter strode through the glass and steel portal to the domesticated wilderness sandwiched between Etruscan Keep's Gothic rusty walls. There weren't any You-are-here maps along the rusty corridors. There weren't any rainbow paint lines leading you down the purple path to the public toilets.

The air smelled of openness and of plants -- the odors of freedom. Scylla contemplated her potential release from the Keep while Bahphomet feared hers. They wandered to the familiar bench near the pond and watched the fish carom around. The water reflected the three suns at perihelion -- full summer.

As usual the pensive man sat contemplating the pond from the ironstone bench. Although Scylla did not recall the face there was a familiarity about him. He nodded politely when their eyes met but made no effort to communicate past the limited acknowledgment.

Scylla was used to a lot of attention. She spent most of her youth avoiding unwanted sexual overtures. Surprisingly, even as the First lady of Caremencia, the overtures did not stop. It was mildly (and perversely) irksome that he did not try to introduce himself.

The man would not meet Bahphomet's gaze either. He kept his head down. He clasped and unclasped his hands until she focused her attention elsewhere. Her husband used to behave similarly when he was agitated by something. Scylla wondered why her daughter made him uncomfortable.

Scylla came from a wealthy 'old money' family and was educated. She worked as a psychologist for an eminent foundation for the mentally handicapped before she married Roegge. She knew how to read the subtleties of non-verbal communication and provided her husband with many useful insights into people.

She did not feel threatened by the daily encounter so she never made any comments about him to any of her keepers.

Once past earshot she spoke to her daughter, "Bahph, you make that man uncomfortable. Have you met him before?"

Bahphomet started at the question then laughed. "No -- never met him. Are you sure its me? You're still the First Lady..."

Scylla blinked at the comment and blushed lightly. Her daughter's comment was a subtle snub and reflected an understanding of character beyond her late teenage awareness.

They strolled through the indoor forest at a leisurely pace. Today they agreed to walk the path of flowers. A really tall blond woman walked arm in arm with a not-as-tall black haired man with a slight limp. They were obviously in love and thoroughly enjoying their leisurely stroll. The couple approached from the direction Scylla and Bahphomet were heading. They looked happy -- an emotion in short supply within the Keep.

Suddenly a hideous noise filled the air and the approaching couple snapped out of their lover's funk to become seasoned Guild veterans. The tallish black haired man spoke commandingly, "Ladies if you will follow us please -- this is not a drill, we are going to be hit by missiles -- soon."

The very tall blond woman corralled the Mallecon women and escorted them, at a trot, back towards the pond and ironstone bench. The melancholy man was standing -- totally unperturbed by the warning Klaxon. He was starring at the pond watching the ceiling.

The open roof closed like a camera iris. It was instantly dark. Seconds later thousands of tiny LED emergency lights erupted bringing a uniform dimness to the arboretum.

The really tall blond woman toggled a lump on the ironstone bench. The bench slid open to reveal a meter wide tunnel descending 6 meters to a tunnel below. "Please follow me," she directed, "Karl you're the caboose, Make sure Zy joins us and don't forget to return the bench in place.

Scylla climbed down the ladder to the tunnel below. Bahphomet followed. A large steel door lay open revealing a bunker like structure. The tall blond woman beckoned them inside. The two men joined them and the black haired man closed the heavy steel door. Within a moments a couple of distant whumps accompanied by small tremors signaled missile strikes.

The tall blond woman broke the silence. "Shredders or gas," she asked her two male companions.

"Most likely to be a penetrater followed by a shredder." Karl theorized.

"Does this happen a lot," Bahphomet asked. It did not take an expert in non-verbal communication to see that the young woman was frightened.

"Only when we put two choice targets in the same room," The tall blond woman replied.

The man who sat on the bench looked to the floor and said nothing. His jaw muscles bulged, revealing clenched teeth.

Scylla spoke, "Who would want to kill us," she put her arm around her daughter and drew her in close.

The tall blond woman snorted derisively. "Yeah who indeed. ...Only half the civilian population and any remaining Magog cells..."

"Buh, but I don't know anything," Bahphomet stuttered indignantly.

"It ain't what you know kid, it's who you know..." Karl spoke sarcastically. "Besides you aren't a target – merely a bonus collateral kill. It's your mom and him," he finished coldly with a nod in the direction of the melancholy man.

Scylla scrutinized the silent man. His long bronze hued hair was tied back in a severely tight pony tail. His eyes were a dark brown almost black. She could not place him no matter how she wrung her memories. He had become hard and inscrutable under the wailing klaxon.

~~~

Chapter Eleven

The past is a wilderness of horrors.

"I've looked at 100 thousand photographs but I cant find a match," Zyrus spoke. He strode around Karl's office. "I have the face. The name Thanatos goes with it. I know that Thanatos was his grandfather's associate. Thanatos showed up at three birthday parties for Roegge's grandfather. He showed up at Roegge's wedding and he showed up at the inaugural ceremony. Yet in all the pictures of these events I can't match a face!"

"All of Roegge's immediate family were executed. You carried out most of the shortening ceremonies. Maybe justice was a little too swift..." Karl replied sardonically.

"We merely carried out the sentence. We didn't press charges or decide their guilt. We performed humane executions within a reasonable amount of time of the verdict..."

"Yes and I cheered for each and every severed head you raised! But don't you think that Roegge's termination a little premature? Surely a few excruciating moments were his due?"

"I'm not motivated by vengeance Karl! I don't live to inflict pain..."

"You're not telling me everything Zy. You don't make strategic blunders like that... ...And please sit down -- your pacing is driving me nuts!"

"The morning of Mallecon's apprehension, Janus informed me that a contract had been put on Roegge's life. I was to take the brain tissue samples and perform the standing death warrant before he was assassinated. If he were to have died in our custody the P.R. disaster would have finished us off."

"I thought you wanted to end the Guild," Karl asked.

"Only after we have done the job."

"Hehe that's funny Zy. This is a Dynasty! You will find another layer beyond Magog and another – like an onion. Our meat-sacks won't last long enough to do all that peeling!"

"Its obvious then -- you have to approach the only witnesses left standing," Kaligula responded. She was speaking from the information system on Karl's desk. Her live presence was elsewhere within the Keep.

Zyrus paled. He could order a Client's toes to be crushed then watch the excruciation ringside. However the thought of Scylla becoming a Client made him nauseous. He felt like a peeping-tom since he had intimate knowledge of her through Roegge's memories.

"Roegge kept his wife and children totally separate from his professional life. They were not part of any criminal networks," Zyrus explained.

"I'm not suggesting that you put her on the rack! Take your mask off. Approach her as a Gray would. Sometimes you can catch more flies with honey..." Kali suggested. She also noted the slight mote of anxiety in Zyrus' voice.

"If I reveal myself, she and her children will be at risk."

"She don't need to know that you're the Master Torturer," Karl added helpfully.

The kernel of Roegge that was rattling around in his mind was eager to take on the task.

Zyrus replied, "That's a bad idea. I get weird around Scylla. I've seen her through the eyes of Roegge and I get overpowered by the memory of his lust. It's impossible for me to be objective when I'm with her."

"As I said, you're not putting her on the rack. Try some flowers and a diner out. It will be good for you to step out of your mask for a few days – therapeutic even..."

Before Zyrus could balk Kali spoke commandingly, "Don't make me call Demeter! You know she thinks this is necessary so man-up -- get on with it!"

Ziteguyst reacted as if being struck by a bullwhip. His black cape roiled menacingly around him as he stood up and walked out of Karl's office. The Master Torturer's silence was louder than his boot steps.

When he was many seconds down the corridor Karl spoke to Kali, "He is very conflicted about her Kali. I think forcing this confrontation is a bad idea."

"If he can't stay in control, then his days as Master of the Truth Chapter are over. The Guild can't be compromised like that!"

"Like what exactly? Torturers aren't allowed love? Does that mean you are to be defrocked as well," Karl asked.

Kali stuttered then replied hotly, "That ain't fair Karl. You and I are genuine! His 'feelings' are the result of alien memories."

"Hmm, so you and Demeter devise this test where Zy has to resist an attraction to a cultured, well spoken and beautiful woman or else he is unfit? And then you force the guy to confront this woman despite his own reservations?

To be honest Kali, it's the stupidest thing you've done since I've met you! How do you know that Zy isn't naturally attracted to Scylla without Roegge's memories." Karl asked quietly.

"C'mon Karl, you've seen the results of MTxC9 ! It has made a jambalaya out of Zy's mind. He can't tell the difference between his and the other's memories. He is different, his personality has changed with the immersion of Roegge's memories..."

"Yeah the guy needs more time to process all the new input. My suggestion to move him to Dharvanos Cloister was the rational approach. Why you sided with Demeter is beyond my comprehension!"

"To send him to the Cloister is to admit to all of the Guild that he is not well. Our plan will determine if he is trustworthy without getting him defrocked. But this is not the time to rehash this decision. Are you with us Karl," Kali asked exasperatedly.

"So what happens to Zy if your test goes badly," Karl demanded.

"That's when we consider the Cloister. And I'm going long on him – not putting him short! I have to go now Karl. I have a Client waiting," Kali ended crisply.

Her camera cut-off and Karl was left looking at his information station's décor on the display film. I hate it when she does that!

He activated a special Archive program and typed in Kali's name. Suddenly a dozen spy camera logs of Kaligula popped onto his display film. He unfurled the film to its full extension. Another half a dozen cam feeds materialized. He touched four of the eighteen camera logs and swept all the others out.

He followed Kali's progress through the Keep until she began her session with the Client. Karl didn't have the stomach to watch her perform excruciations. He compressed the dungeon cam display box until it was a small, nearly indiscernible thumbnail and he turned off the sound. The screams and gurgles of agony without picture was worse -- his imagination attempted to fill in the missing scenes.

Zyrus is correct. There is no possibility of reasonable democratic rule as long this horror show exists! Should the fragile balance of power within the Guild shift, the organization could become an absolute ruling tyranny.

And the story begins...

~~~~~

