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  An orange light flashed at the edge of his peripheral vision and was gone. When he took a step, red sparks sprayed and showered down, drifting like pollen back into the blue fog. Kifo laughed. He could understand their fear. The landscape was nearly as alien to him as it was to any other among the Few.

  The wonder of the Zonn realm was that the gods seldom let it stay the same for long. He knew the fog from before, the shifting hills, but the sparks were new to him and the air not quite as he remembered it.

  “Come,” the Unique said to the Few. “We travel to Sanctuary.”

  Taz’s first impression when she got over the shock of not being in the cool labs was easy: “Jesu Damn,” she said. “It looks like a giant warehouse.”

  There were tall, twisted columns scattered at odd intervals. She couldn’t see the tops of them because there was some kind of shimmery yellow fog a dozen meters up that formed a ceiling. It roiled back and forth but seemed to hold its shape pretty much in a flat plane. And it wasn’t really as if there were walls to make it a warehouse, but somehow she got an impression of them. When she looked more closely, the walls weren’t there. But sort of were…

  “Here’s Missel’s pen,” Saval said. “I think.”

  Taz turned to look at her brother. He held something up on the palm of one hand.

  A light pen is a fairly simple thing. A tube, maybe fifteen centimeters long, smaller in diameter than a woman’s little finger, round on one end, pointed on the other. The outer shell is simple spuncast plastic.

  Holding it like a wand or pencil activates a small but bright beam, a solid-state bioelectric laser that shines from the pointed end. The device is used to mark on holoprojic or flatscreen monitors. It has a minimal amount of memory, and can be switched from a point to a fan beam. In a pinch it can be used as a light, provided what you wish to illuminate isn’t particularly large or far away. You can read a hardcopy note or map in a dim surveillance vehicle, find the key slot to a dark door, find your way to the fresher in a power failure. Not the acme of man’s technology, a light pen, but a useful tool.

  What Saval held on his palm looked to be a mating between an engineer and a tree. It was almost the right length, but bent and twisted like a boiled noodle. Patches of spunplast appeared as darker spots against a lighter material that looked like bark. Tiny tendrils like rootlets radiated from the diameter in what Taz guessed was a Fibonacci sequence. The entire thing had a glow to it, as if the laser within were lit but diffused through the tendrils.

  “Jesu Damn,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  Something growled nearby, and both Taz and Saval spun to face the sound. Whatever it was must be adept at ventriloquism or invisible-there was nothing there.

  Saval came up from his shooting crouch. Said, “I want to try something here.” He pointed his left spetsdod and triggered it.

  Taz saw the blast of compressed gas erupt from the barrel. Watched the tiny dart fly. She didn’t know exactly what normal velocity was for a spetsdod, probably two hundred, maybe two-fifty meters a second, subsonic, but too fast to dodge, anyway.

  The dart that emerged from her brother’s weapon did so at perhaps two meters a second. If she sprinted, she could catch it.

  She started to speak, but Saval waved her silent. “Watch that column,” he said. “Eye level, in the middle.”

  The column was maybe fifteen meters away. Taz lost sight of the spetsdod’s dart halfway there-it was smaller than a housefly, after all-but she saw the little missile when it impacted the column, right where Saval indicated. The action was much like a pebble thrown into a pond. There came a small impact crater, then concentric ripples.

  Taz turned away from the column and looked at Saval.

  “Man.”

  “Yeah. It hit just as hard, but it took seven and a half seconds to get there. Never seen anything like it.”

  For a moment neither of them said anything. Then Bork said, “Try your com.”

  Taz nodded. Good thought.

  The com was dead, at least on the receiving end. Maybe somebody could hear her but somehow she doubted it.

  Saval waved the little device Missel had built them. “Good thing this has got its own power,” he said. “I don’t think we’re drawing any from the ‘cast in here.”

  “Something else,” Taz said. “Given the light pen, I don’t think we should stay here a real long time.”

  “I second that. What say we go back now?”

  “Yeah.”

  Saval turned and faced the wall behind them, pointed the device, pushed the button. For a heartbeat nothing happened and Taz felt a surge of panic. Then the wall roiled as it had before, turning fluid. She began breathing again.

  “Let’s go,” Saval said.

  “Yeah, let’s. I don’t think I’ve ever looked forward to seeing Missel’s skinny face so much before.”

  The two of them moved as one, stepped into the wall.

  And out into darkness.

  The place that Kifo called Sanctuary was easy enough to find, though he could not have given exact directions on how to arrive there using normal geographical terms. The terrain here was fluid and there didn’t seem to be any landmarks to offer as guides. That big M-shaped hill to one’s right, say, seemed unique, but after walking for a time one might look up and notice that it was now on one’s left. How and when such a transition might have taken place was a mystery. Or one might blink and, between the closing of eyelids and the reopening, the hill could vanish entirely. The Zonns’ domain was not a place for someone with an inflexible mindset.

  So, one had to ignore such things as shifting mountains and glowing fogs and proceed with determination to reach Sanctuary. Kifo had happened on it accidentally during his second crossing into the gods’ land. His next visit had shown him that he could find it again. The method was simplicity itself: all roads led to Sanctuary. One merely had to pick a direction and go and eventually one would arrive. What could be easier?

  Something gibbered and moaned as it flew past the troop, the sound of its tortured cry dopplering so close and loud that it must be within arm’s reach. There was nothing to see, however. The sound of the invisible shrieker faded to silence. Several voices among the Few called upon the gods for protection.

  Kifo smiled again. Where else would they be more protected than here?

  Ahead, a brighter spot gleamed, a patch of whiter blue against the distant dimness. Ah. Sanctuary. If the Few had been impressed after the initial crossing, they were about to be astounded. He laughed yet again, and the sound seemed to reverberate as if they were in a narrow tunnel. It didn’t matter. Sanctuary lay just ahead.

  Bork felt the fear try to claim him and he fought it down. It was almost as dark as black paint in here, but not quite. The distorted light pen he still held gave off a faint glow through its tendrils. After a second he could see the tritium dial of his chronograph gleaming brightly under the base of his left spetsdod, and the tiny green diode on the power pack of the electronic device clutched too tightly in his hand. It was dark, but it was a normal kind of dark.

  “Taz-”

  “Right here. Let me get my belt light…”

  The small flashlight flared on wide beam and the halogen lamp revealed what looked like a wall of pressed fiberboard twelve centimeters from Bork’s nose. When he took a quick step back in reaction, he bumped into something real solid and real cold.

  “Where the fuck-?” Taz began.

  With his back against something that didn’t seem like it was going to move, Bork lifted his right leg and put his foot against the fiberboard wall. He had a good angle and when he straightened his leg, the fiberboard split, shattered, and partially fell away. A couple more kicks and there was a hole big enough for Bork to step through.

  Beyond the fiberboard wall was a dimly lit room. Bork stepped out into it, Taz right behind him. Before they could do more than look around, people started yelling.

  “Don’t move!” came a voice. “Police
!”

  Taz blinked, shook her head. “Damn, Saval, this is the impound room. It’s half a klick away from the lab!”

  The WC for the impound was more than a little upset. He very much wanted to know how the fuck she and Saval had gotten past a locked door and two guards into the evidence vault without tripping an alarm or being fired on. She didn’t tell him. He was an old-timer, had been on the force for thirty-five years, but fortunately Taz outranked him. She gave him a story about some new top-secret penetration gear, a hush-hush variant of Reason’s can opener, and promised to let him know what was going on as soon as she could.

  When they were outside alone and heading for the lab, Taz said, “What is going on, Saval? You have any idea?”

  “Well. We came back through one of the other slabs of Zonn wall. I dunno why, or how, but the stuff must be connected in some way.”

  “But we never moved. I mean, we went into that … place, turned around and came straight back through the same spot.”

  “Maybe we were a centimeter or two off,” he said. “Maybe a centimeter in there translates to a kilometer out here. Or maybe it’s a function of time and not space. I dunno. That tech, Scanner, he warned us it was a weird place.”

  “That’s the fucking truth.”

  “I think we’re gonna have to be real careful when we go back into the walls.”

  “The guys who chopped up all those people and broke Ruul’s neck are in there. I’m going after them.”

  “I said, ‘when,’ Taz, not ‘if.’ “

  “Listen, Saval, you don’t have to do this-”

  “Shut up, little sister. I have business to finish, too.”

  She nodded. Managed a grin. “Missel will probably be surprised to see us come through the lab door.”

  “Wait until he sees his light pen.”

  She smiled at that, too, but it was a sober smile. The light pen had been in the Zonn place for only a few hours and it had been changed more than a little.

  What would happen to a person who wandered around in there for any kind of time? She wanted to catch the killers sure enough, but she didn’t really have any desire to grow roots and stay there permanently. No, thank you. Probably be wise to keep moving, get your task done and come home fast.

  Then again, a wise woman wouldn’t be likely to go back to such a crazy place, did she have a choice.

  Well, fuck it. She was a mover, not a thinker. Nobody had ever accused her of being too smart, why worry about it now?

  Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN

  LIKE A PEARL lit from within, Sanctuary gleamed ahead, shimmery white and full of promise. Kifo strode through a field of sparks and fog toward the sacred place. And none too soon, either. The edges of his robe had begun to grow a kind of pale orange feathery mildew; his shoes were too hot upon his feet and the air grated metallically in his nose and throat and lungs. He could also feel the fear of the Few lessen as Sanctuary loomed closer. They knew the story, albeit only from dry lessons instilled by rote.

  Now they saw the reality.

  One of the Few screamed.

  Kifo turned in time to see a blurry shadow sweep over the rear of the troop, a moving blot of inky red shot through with swirls of blue. The flitter-sized blob engulfed one of the Few-too fast for Kifo to catch even a glimpse of the face-and in a heartbeat spun away and up. The dark splotch vanished into the haze, taking with it the straggler.

  Panic blossomed in the ranks of the few. Like mushrooms after a hard rain, the fear returned and the Few were but an instant away from a blind stampede when Kifo bellowed at them. “Hold!”

  Years of obedience to their Unique stopped cold the frightened group.

  “There is nothing to fear! That one”-he waved at the sky, realized he didn’t know whether the person snatched was a man or a woman-“that one’s faith slackened, even on the verge of Sanctuary! Thus was paid the price! If your faith is strong, you need not worry!”

  There was a rumble among them, a prayer-filled walla. He understood their doubts. Who could know if their faith were strong enough? Would faith protect them? Was it so?

  Well, such should be true, Kifo reasoned. It might be so. What was more important than the loss of one of them was that he maintained his control, his appearance of power and knowledge. The truth of it was that while he was certain the gods meant to elevate him into their ranks, he as yet did not know precisely how such a thing was to be done. Everything that took place in the Zonn realm had to be considered important, every act or lack thereof could be part of a test for him. Did he have to lose all of the Few along the path, well, so be it. They were not important, after all, merely part of his own unfolding. But until the moment when the gods saw fit to reveal their plan to him, Kifo felt it necessary to hold the flock in as much order as he could manage. It seemed the right thing to do.

  “Follow me to Sanctuary,” he commanded. “And know that the gods do not err in their actions!”

  He kicked up more sparks as he turned back to face the goal. He was yet unable to see the pavilion clearly, but he had been there before, and such things as the dark splotch that took one of his people were not allowed therein.

  Like frightened sheep, the Few followed him.

  True, the gods did not err, but men could hardly understand the reasons gods did things, and the Zonn might choose to wipe the Few away as a sweaty man wipes his brow. Who could say? But a dog who kept a keen eye open might avoid an idle slap by a master who couldn’t be bothered to stand and chase him.

  Thus did Kifo strive to keep his eyes keen.

  Missel regarded the thing that had been his light pen. It lay upon a carbonex work table under a denscris safety dome, illuminated by the table’s lamps.

  “It appears to be moving,” Missel said. “Fascinating.”

  “Maybe it’s about to give birth,” Taz said. “Missel, about the other thing …

  Without taking his gaze from the mutated light pen, Missel waved her question off: “No problem.

  Everything is in the viral matrix; you’ll have the duplicate in another hour and an half. Chee, would you look at that. The plastic is changing color, there, near the end …”

  Taz couldn’t help but wonder if Missel might not say the same thing were it his hand undergoing the metamorphosis. Scientists were strange beings.

  She glanced at Saval. He shrugged, gestured toward the lab’s door with a sideways nod.

  She followed him outside. They stood in front of the thick observation window out of the lab tech’s ken.

  “What?”

  “We need to pick up a few things.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, we didn’t have any trouble moving at normal speed inside the wall, but you saw what happened to the spetsdod dart. Must be some kind of damping field for stuff past a certain velocity, makes projectile weapons useless. The gadget Missel made works, so we can probably use electrical or nervous spectrum weaponry. Shockstiks, hand wands, maybe.”

  “Unless something in there likes juice.” She nodded toward the light pen at which the tech still stared.

  “Maybe the light pen’s power attracted whatever changed it into that. “

  “Could be. Or maybe it was the plastic,” Saval said. “If we take wands and they turn into tree roots, we’ll toss them. There are a bunch of them and only two of us. We’ll need some kind of edge. Unless you want to bring help.”

  “No. This is personal.”

  “What I figured. So, we’ll get a couple of wands, knives, maybe staves or spears.”

  Taz chuckled. “Funny. Here we are at the peak of civilization, able to travel faster than light from world to world, and we’re talking about hunting bad guys with knives and spears.”

  Saval nodded. “The place inside the wall is a new game and we don’t know the rules yet. Best we try and cover as many bets as we can.”

  “Mmm. Let’s go see if the police armorer can turn out some sticks for us. You hungry?”

  “I could eat.”

&
nbsp; “We have a while before Missel’s folks finish the dupe. What say we grab a quick lunch before we start packing gear?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Pickle was just walking away from their table when the assassin came through the wall.

  The human tide in the Owl was at the lowest ebb Bork had seen, though there were still quite a few people inside. Their table was near the south wall and the big man rippled through the west side ten meters away. It was eerie to watch, like an entcom special effect: the guy stepped out of the wall as if it were an upright tank of water; the material seemed to cling to him slightly with surface tension before it let him go. There might have been a soft pop! but Bork couldn’t be sure given the background noise in the restaurant.

  “Holy shit,” Pickle said, stopping to stare at the apparition.

  Bork couldn’t make the shot unless he moved. A waiter and two patrons were partially between him and the hooded and robed figure, plus Pickle herself. Taz, her back to the assassin, saw something on Bork’s face, started to turn to see and speak at the same time. “Saval … ?”

  Bork shoved away from the table, moved to his left, brought his left spetsdod up. He’d give the guy a spray of AP rounds and see how he liked that. But he had to get a clear field of fire first. Wouldn’t do any good to yell ‘Down!’ You did that in a room full of civilians without training and maybe a couple would flatten. The rest would just turn around and stare at you. Or worse, stand up and further block your field.

  Time ran slow like it sometimes did when things got risky, thick as cold lube in a North Katoan winter.

  The assassin saw him. Nothing like motion to attract the eye of a predator. Or prey.

  Bork’s spetsdod came up. It should be an easy shot, but you had to allow for the adrenaline surge. The Thing in the Cave would rather run than fight, so its gross moves got better when it was startled; good for speedy legs, bad for needlework-or precision shooting. Bork had practiced with the other matadors to compensate for the hormone rushes, but sometimes the epinephrine storms lashed harder than expected.

  This man had beaten him before and the Thing in the Cave knew it. It didn’t want to fight: Go, leave, now! Fuck shooting! Run!