Gene Roddenberry's Earth: Final Conflict is under copyright by Tribune Entertainment Company. The show is produced by Roddenberry/Kirshner Productions. They are used without permission. No infringement is intended.
Avatus spoilers.
Authors Rating: PG (violence)

Summary: Falls after "Atavus." Allen contacts the resistance in New Orleans, learning some surprising information. Marquette deals with a new development within herself and the Liberation. Zo'or makes a push for new legislation.

TITLE: Open the Way For Me
By: Ruth Colbourne
ruthc@geocities.com
Authors Notes:  I want to express my deep gratitude to Firefly for her editing and encouragement. Without both, this very odd story might never have seen the light of day.

Edgar Allen sipped his coffee, savoring its spicy flavor. Morning in New Orleans had dawned humid and hot. He'd worn light clothing; khaki shorts, a simple white t-shirt and a matching vest to cover his weapon, but even that was too much. The temperature had already reached a balmy 87 degrees and it was just nine thirty. Of course, it was flackin' June, he was in the deep south and drinking cajun coffee so what did he expect?

Mama Racine's Sidewalk Caf‚' had been open since 8 o'clock, and already the smooth sounds of jazz were billowing in the air. This town rocked twenty-four seven! So far he and a white-suited businessman were its only customers. Allen had watched the guy make 13 calls to his broker in under 10 minutes. Auger and he should form a bowling team and compare cell phone bills. They were both obsessed with Wall Street. He turned his blue-contact covered eyes toward the entrance of The New Orleans Voodoo Museum. It was typical of buildings in the Quarter, a large, two story, flat-roofed structure, basically white with three sets of narrow double doors in the front. These were painted a bright green. Jutting away from the second floor was a balcony, bound by wrought iron which had been painted to match the doors. A sign posted in one window listed hours starting at 10 am, so where was the management? Moments later a petite black woman trundled up to the place and unlocked it. Ask and you will receive.

Her hair was wrapped in a white cloth. Her body was wrapped in a multi-colored robe. Allen was positive that she had a snake draped around her shoulders.

And he thought the denizens of Baltimore were strange. Maaan!

In a few more minutes and he would go meet Mr. Devereau. Funny, Jonathan Doors, and Jean Devereau. Two Johns, two J.D.'s. Sometimes life got pretty flackin' perverse in its humor.

He finished his coffee and paid the bill. The past two weeks had been grueling, but fun. 'Let's not forget that,' he reminded. Still, he was getting a little tired. Allen recalled the recent events with a rueful smile. Upon arrival in New Orleans, it was apparent that this burg would not be so sedate as Baltimore. The Mayor was laying in wait. Harvey Carter was a large man in both height and girth, possessing dancing blue eyes, and a loud, raucous laugh. Allen had taken to him right off. Poor Thu'ul had been overwhelmed. That memory brought a chuckle to his throat. The shy Taelon had his hand shaken and back thumped several times before they'd even gotten off the landing pad. No more hiding in hotels for him. No indeedy. The mayor had dragged the whole party out every night. They'd seen the Cities of the Dead, Jazz Festivals, and Street Musicians. When New Orleans' Museum of Art was closed on Wednesday, they'd visited the Quarter. Jackson Square had turned out by the hundreds when word 'leaked out' that a Companion was in residence. The loquacious city official had been responsible for that too, no doubt. Happily, reaction had been positive. No threats or demonstrations against the Companions materialized. Thu'ul ended up signing autographs and shaking hands with damn near everyone in the city. He even seemed to be enjoying himself at the end.

The experiences here seemed to affect Kane as well. He'd relaxed a little, letting down some of the guard which was eternally vigilant. Maybe it was the music. The Texan had a love for rhythm. Allen could tell that by his tapping left foot, and the tiny half-smile which caused his dark eyes to come alive with twinkles. Or it could be the food! Edgar patted his mid-section contentedly. He must have put on 5 pounds in the past few days. Gumbo, crawdads, blackened red fish, the list was endless. Wherever they went, they ate. His suspicions about Kane's hollow leg were confirmed. The cowboy never got full. Hell, maybe it was just the place. Spicy music, spicy people, spicy food. New Orleans had a life all its own.

He'd changed too, Allen realized. Interacting with a Taelon was as different from the rumors as The Big Easy differed from Charm City. Thu'ul was nothing like what Allen had initially believed. The Companion had a genuine compassion about him. You could see it when he looked as his protector, in the way he insisted that Kane take time to eat or rest. Grudgingly, Allen admitted that Thu'ul seemed to care about him as well. The alien never pried, but made his interest clear. It made him want to care back. He didn't want that, too complicated. Maybe that was what Marquette was experiencing with Da'an.

His mind moved to less pleasant thoughts. The North American Companion was supposed to have arrived today. Kane and Allen had spent the previous several days logging in 16 hours at a time preparing for the visit. Mayor Carter had called up his cousin, the governor, and arranged for National Guard Troops then threatened to make the visit a city holiday. Luckily they'd convinced him not to do the last part. Christ, man, only in Louisiana!

The night before last, however, things changed. Thu'ul almost passed out during a Cajun rendition of 'Hamlet.' They'd rushed him out of the theater, and back to the hotel. He eventually stammered out that Da'an had somehow been separated from the Commonality. It turned out that Auger had somehow managed to replicate the Taelon Harmonic and had severed Da'an's connection in the process. Marquette said that the Companion had devolved into a creature called an Avatar or Aardvark, or something like that. Whatever the flack it was, Allen knew it was bad. Zo'or, ever eager to get ahead, had ordered it killed. Hell, Kane and he had almost been reassigned to assist. Fortunately, Auger and Marquette managed to reverse the process; Da'an was restored to the Commonality, much to Thu'ul's obvious relief. This was the second time that Marquette had assisted that Taelon. What's up wi' that, anyway? He couldn't wait to read her report.

It was time. Allen crossed the narrow expanse of street which separated Mama Racine's from the museum. As he left he heard the business man arguing with his broker about shares in the Taelon transport system.

Trust me, baby. BUY! Auger was making a freakin' fortune.

He entered through the double doors furthest to the right. The room was large, warmly lit by candles and enhanced by the smell of an exotic incense. A brightly colored oriental carpet dominated the hard-wood floor. On the facing wall a coiled whip dangled from a nail. Maybe they should name this place The New Orleans House of Domination. Beneath it was teak table holding what looked like a child's casket. Models of human skulls (at least he hoped they were models) sat on either side of the dreary object. To the left, hung on a wall which was otherwise bare, was a portrait of a middle aged black woman. That was his spot. Allen crossed to her. Marie Laveau, self-titled pope of voodoo. She was a New Orleans legend. They'd seen her above-ground crypt in one of the Cities of the Dead. And while he was on the topic, it was freakin' weird that the citizens of this modern urban center referred to their graveyards as cities. They had tours of 'em. Where the flack else could you go on a tour of a cemetery? Thu'ul had been fascinated to see the coins and bowls of food left at Laveau's tomb. He had questioned the tour guide about it at length, and then cornered Kane in his hotel room. Allen would have loved to be fly on the wall for that conversation.

At least things had worked out for today. Agent Sandoval and someone named Beckett had been wounded while fighting the thing, Da'an, whatever. That left no protector for Zo'or, who had a meeting today with the United Nations Security Council. He'd recalled both Thu'ul and Kane to the embassy and commandeered the Implant for himself. To his everlasting relief, Allen had been left behind to maintain a presence with Ma'el's exhibit. Without either of the two tag-a-longs, he didn't have to worry about arousing suspicions.

His attention turned back to the portrait. It was a good picture, very life-like. Madame Laveau seemed almost capable of speaking.

"Good morning, sir." A woman's voice almost scared him out of his wits. Then he turned to find a short black woman smiling up at him.

"Hi." His heart was racing like a machine gun. Oh man, he'd not realized how hard he was concentrating.

"My name is Queen Magdelaine." His hostess' smile grew wider. It was the same person who'd opened the shop. Allen sent a panicked look around her neck. No snake. Thank you Jesus.! The only accouterments she wore were a necklace made of bones and beads, and two large hoop earrings.

"Uh. Ed. Ed Allen." He took the offered hand and gave her his best 'oh baby you are so fine' smile.

She winked at him, the asked, "Do you have any questions about voodoo?"

About 10 million of 'em. How much time have you got? Instead he only replied,

"Actually I'm just waiting for someone."

She nodded and patted his hand. "Okay, hon. If you need any help or information, I'll be in the next room with feeding the snake."

Well, there was one room he was not gonna go in. No flackin' way.

Suppressing a shudder, Allen tried to distract himself with slightly more humorous thoughts. Thu'ul was getting fan mail. Go figure. Even funnier was that the little fellow didn't have the slightest idea what to do about it. Some were weird, like those from the Church of the Companions. There was a Reverend Thadeus Wendell Vance who wrote at least twice a day. In Allen's opinion anyone who signed correspondence with all three of their names stood watching. John Wilkes Booth, John Wayne Gacy. All weirdos. Other letters were just plain funny. So far Thu'ul had received 28 proposals of marriage, each of which he politely declined. Allen suppressed chuckle, and 21 of them had been from women. That meant there were at least 7 men out there who favored pale, bald aliens for partners. Unfortunately, a few of the items were neither amusing, nor nice. Kane and he screened out the hate mail. The Klan had made a point of writing a couple of times. Freakin' neo-nazi assholes!

Someone entered the museum. Allen turned to find the same businessman from the sidewalk caf‚'. Uh-oh. He folded his arms over his chest letting one finger tickle the hidden Beretta. The man approached with unhurried strides. He drew abreast of Allen and looked at the portrait.

"Madame Laveau had a pretty face, yes?" The tenor voice was lightly kissed with a West Indian accent.

Well flack. That was the pick-up line!

"Not so beautiful as the face of Madame Freedom," he responded as instructed.

"Freedom's beauty pales in comparison to that of Truth."

The formula was complete. Allen faced Jean Deverau and looked him over, finding himself subject to the same inspection. J.D. was of medium height and build.

Obviously of mixed ancestry, the man's complexion favored heavily creamed coffee. His hair was straight and dark brown, combed back from his face. A thick goatee framed his mouth. It was his eyes which were startling. They were the deepest, clearest forest green Allen had ever seen. Charisma poured from them, making it difficult to look away.

His contact extended a well-manicured hand, which Allen shook. "It's nice to meet you in person, Mr. Allen. Please?" Devereau gestured toward the door leading to the snake room.

Didn't that figure.

"Shouldn't we go somewhere more private?" Allen was surprised. This guy wanted to talk in Queen Magdelaine's house of snakedom?

"Here is one of the safest places in New Orleans." His companion confirmed softly, leading the way.

Allen followed, glancing nervously around. This room was lit with the same flickering candle light as the first. Enclosed, thankfully, in a large glass case was the snake. Okay, maybe there was a god, after all. Queen M was seated behind the reptile's cage. She smiled as they passed by, but said nothing. Devereau ducked through a beaded doorway curtain and into a small sitting room. The walls here were stark white. Covering most of them were paintings of strange figures. One was of a skeleton in top hat and tails. This figure held a bottle of rum in its bony fingers, and smoked a pipe. Another was of a sail-boat. A long table occupied the right wall. At least a dozen candles were alight on its surface. Fruit, bottled beer and rum, and a plate of cooked chicken lay in the center. It was quieter here, somehow. The air itself had changed. It felt like the center of his forehead was being tickled by a feather. He turned away, and found two chairs positioned beside the room's only window.

Devereau was already seated. The man's eyes bored into him. They were searching eyes, seeing eyes. Allen felt like a germ under an electron microscope. It was unnerving to face someone so perceptive. "Please." He indicated a chair. Allen sat, waiting. After another moment of silence, the resistance leader spoke. "Jonathan Doors has dispatched you to gain information, correct?"

Shaking himself from the spell of this compelling man, Allen pulled himself together.

"Yeah. He understands that you have a method of tapping into the Taelon Commonality without detection."

Devereau began playing with two wedding bands, one of gold and the other of silver both worn on the appropriate digit. The action exposed diamond and gold cufflinks on his sleeves.

"Mr. Allen, I have repeatedly informed Doors that he would be unable to replicate our techniques. Could you explain to my why he is so unwilling to accept my word on this?"

Well that was the first he'd heard it. Apparently Jonathan god-damned Doors had conveniently left out that tidbit. "No, I can't." Honesty was probably the best choice out of a bunch of bad ones. "But maybe if you'd explain the process to me I could make him understand."

Green eyes captured his, and Devereau studied him for several seconds. "It might be best to simply demonstrate. However, I must be frank with both you and your leader. I am willing to cooperate with the Liberation, but not follow it, or him."

Allen blinked a couple of times. What? Was this guy serious?

Thin lips spread in a regretful smile. "Yes, Mr. Allen. I am quite serious." He waved a hand at Allen's astonished stare. "Your face betrayed your thoughts quite accurately.

We, that is, my organization and I, believe Mr. Doors has become part of the problem instead of the solution. His overt attacks and publicity seeking methods have resulted in the arrests of those not even remotely tied to his movement."

Allen nodded. There was nothing to be said to that. Doors could be heavy-handed at times. "But, the only way we'll defeat the Taelons is to be united," he pointed out.

"Very good." Devereau raised his brows. "You have accurately pointed out Doors' error. He assumes that the Taelons must be battled, defeated, even destroyed. But what then?" He eyes became emerald drills. "Earth is dependent upon Taelon technology from the food which we grow, to the turbines supplying our electricity.

Three years ago, or even two we could have achieved more than a Pyrrhic victory, but no longer. Destroy them, and we rend the fabric of our civilization.

"So what are you proposing, that we give up!" Allen stood then. This fool was ticking him off. What was his flackin' problem? "These aliens are killing us off. Dey care no more for us than for bugs." The last sentence was steeped in his own island accent.

"True. And we must oppose such actions with all force, and in so doing, demonstrate to the Companions that we are not their inferiors, but their equals." Devereau stood slowly. "I believe that our fates have become tied together."

"Yeah, right. Try to convince Zo'or of that!"

"An excellent idea." He approached Allen and touched his shoulder, but did not elaborate on his cryptic statement. "Let us withhold further discussion until this evening. We can meet at 9 pm, and I will show you how we siphon from the Commonality. Would this be agreeable?"

"Sure, I guess. Where do I meet you?"

"Do you know where the Voodoo Emporium is located?"

There was a pattern forming here. It didn't take a genius to figure that out. "No, but I can find it."

Devereau shook his hand a second time. The man's grip was very strong. "It's on Bourbon St. Just tell any cab driver. I'll meet you there." He half turned to depart, then hesitated. "Are you aware that Doors is planning some sort of action against Zo'or?"

No, he wasn't aware, but that wasn't real surprising. Allen blew a sigh and shook his head.

Devereau quirked a brow at him. "I don't have any specifics, but it happens today.   And, Mr. Allen, we believe another force is as work. One of our darker allies has traced shipments of illegal arms to New York over the past week, along with boxes of security uniforms. These were not delivered to Liberation operatives. Of course, it could merely be a coincidence...."

With those final words, his enigmatic contact left, leaving Allen to wrestle with the information imparted.

Aww flack! What had he stumbled onto this time? Merely a coincidence, my backside!

He pulled out his link. It was past time to contact the Captain.

Lili Marquette tossed her office keys onto the desk top and flopped into the high-backed chair behind it. She was glad the shuttle ride was over. Three minutes in the company of Zo'or was all she could stand. The trip had been uneventful, thankfully, so there had been no need to dally. Now that it was over, though, she wanted something else to do. Anything.

All day long she'd been struck by how ordinary things seemed to be. The walls here were the same buff color they'd always been. Her computer screen sat unmoving. Out the window behind her the sun shone brightly as ever, birds sang, flowers bloomed.

The world continued to spin. She'd even gotten out of bed and reported for duty as directed. Everything assured that the universe was motoring along exactly as it should.

She just didn't believe it.

In fact, it wasn't fair. Something, somewhere ought to take notice at how much things had changed. Damn it! She slammed her fist onto the unyielding surface of her desk.

Da'an was almost murdered. Boone was dead.

And she...

She wasn't entirely alone inside her own head any more.

Lili stood, walking over the short space of gray tile to her only window. The urge to run away returned, more powerful than ever.

He could feel her distress.

Lili closed her eyes, willing her heart to slow, her muscles to relax. He wanted to help her, comfort her, as she had him. She knew that, and was grateful. She just wasn't ready.

'I'm alright, Da'an,' she thought. 'Just give me time.' With her thought she sent all the reassurance she could manage.

Her other self faded, but did not disappear. Chances were it never would. So she had to deal with it.

When she opened her eyes, the splendor of a beautiful summer day welcomed her back. This afternoon promised to be a furnace in the nation's capital. Lili congratulated herself on choosing the light weight pants suit of pastel green. It was one of the cooler sets of work clothes she owned. Part of her wondered how Kane would withstand the heat. Zo'or's temporary protector had worn all black.

You're wasting time, Lili, she chastised and returned to both her chair and her memories. Ever since she and Da'an had experienced one another those many months ago, there had been a tie between them. Its strength had never been tested. She only knew that it had been the single most intimate moment of her life. No one, before or since had ever touched her so deeply. And in typical fashion, she'd refused to deal with it, just like the death of her father, her brother's suicide, hell almost every important event in her life.

Including Boone's death.

The grief which resulted from it had surprised her. His face appeared in her mind's eye, blocking out the view screen of the shuttle, floating on the surface of her morning coffee. In her dreams sometimes it was Boone, not her brother who spilled out his brains all over the bathroom wall. It was too much. She'd shut down, throwing herself into her work, trying to force the grief aside with duty and responsibility. All her energy was committed to holding it together. Everyone else, including Doors, seemed to be handling things just fine. Why couldn't she?

In the midst of her own suffering, she had not noticed that of Da'an. He'd grown increasingly isolated, refusing to accept a new protector, even after the Jaridian attack.

Looking back, she could see the signs of stress. At the funeral when the honor guard sounded salute she'd seen how he flinched. Maybe two seconds of grief was all Taelons were allowed to express. She'd just figured that it didn't matter to him.

She'd been wrong.

Auger's selfish attempt to share in the ecstacy of the Commonality had changed everything. When Da'an had regressed, on some level she had known it. She was already on her way to his chambers when Sandoval made contact. Within the darkness of the embassy, she'd found what was left of Da'an. Never. Never would she forget the words he spoke to her: "You, of all people, must not see me like this." His voice was so tortured and full of pain.

"You, of all people..." Those words haunted her, like ghosts.

Then she'd been ordered to hunt him down. Zo'or's instruction was the ultimate betrayal, final confirmation that he was bereft of all decency. However long it took, and whatever the cost, she would make him pay for those orders.

The others didn't care. Sandoval and Beckett were slaves to their CVI's. The joined the hunt eagerly. Surprisingly, Doors agreed to let Auger use the computers in Resistance Headquarters to try and help Da'an. His consent had been unexpected to say the least. Lili was left to wonder at his motives. It didn't seem possible that he could have changed so much. The Jonathan Doors she knew would never help a Taelon.

That used to be your attitude, Captain Lili Marquette. Things happen. People change. Stop postponing this confrontation with yourself.

Auger's replicated harmonic had drawn the Atavus to the church. Despite his condition, Da'an had known her. She could see it in his eyes. Unfortunately Beckett was blind. She'd come in firing. Her 'kill 'em all, let God sort 'em out' attitude had almost ruined everything. The battle was mercifully brief. Beckett had been hurt, as had Sandoval earlier in the evening. At least no one had died. This time.

Afterward, the misshapen creature had huddled in a corner. Lili felt his fear, his isolation, like it was her own. She remembered kneeling in front of him, touching his palms. This time their contact was more powerful. The force of his pain had been overwhelming. Concealed behind the serenity of Da'an's face was a hurricane of grief, anger, and loneliness. Devolved as he was, there was no Commonality to hold it back.

His grief ran rampant. It rolled over her like a giant tsunami, unearthing her own agonies. In the distance she'd heard someone sobbing. Maybe it was her. There was no way to tell. While they touched distinctions like 'her' and 'him' didn't matter. How long were they connected? A minute? An hour? A lifetime? All she knew was that when they broke physical contact Da'an was himself again, once more a part of the Commonality. Auger thought the artificial harmonic had combined with her mental presence to guide him back.

But there was more. Lili was surprised to find her cheeks were wet with tears, her throat hoarse from crying. She was even more shocked to find that Da'an was still inside her. His mental touch was tentative. He was afraid she would recoil. In the end she'd just pulled him into her arms, holding and being held in return. It was the first time since Boone's death that he'd not felt so very alone. She couldn't take that away.

Now, the crisis was over. The easy part was done. That was one thing she learned in the military. A crisis brought out all the resources within you. Once past, you had to deal with the after effects. Da'an said the tie which bound them would only grow stronger with time. He wanted to talk more, but she couldn't deal with it. Maybe she'd even hoped their connection would fade overnight. It hadn't. If it strengthened as he predicted, then sooner or later all their secrets would be laid bare. What would happen then?

Her global link beeped. She was actually grateful for the interruption. A glance at the scrambled signal told her that it was Liberation business.

"Marquette here."

Edger Allen's face filled the tiny screen. "Captain," he greeted. "Is this a bad time?"

He meant was anyone around who shouldn't be. "No, Allen. What's up?"

"Are you aware of any pending business on Zo'or?" The subtle accent which colored his words hinted of the tension his composed features belied.

Only her own. She frowned at his image. "No. What are you talking about?"

As Allen filled her in on Devereau's conversation, she concentrated on remaining calm.

It wasn't easy. Sometimes she thought Zo'or and Jonathan Doors were cut of the same cloth. Neither one of them gave a tinker's damn what happened to the innocent bystanders who got caught up in their schemes. Winning was all-important.

Then her Jamaican contact told her about the arms shipments and uniforms. Jesus.   What next? Her mind lurched out of its reflective state, firing up like a jet's engine. Was this another strike against the Companions? If so, then who was behind it?

Maybe she should contact Kane.

Slow down. One thing at a time. Deal with Doors, then move on. A soldier can only fight what he can see.

"I'll check it out," she promised. "Anything else?"

"Not until after tonight. I'm supposed to get a demonstration of Devereau's new technology. If I get a good enough look, maybe we can replicate it without his help.

Who the flack knows?"

"Okay. Contact me with your report."

"Will do."

She was already heading out the office door before his image could fade from her communicator.

Zo'or listened to the endless droning of mindless diplomats as the Council meetingdragged on ad infinitum. He had all but memorized the mural which dominated an entire wall of this chamber. Out of the dark images of war rose a phoenix of hope. Her resplendent plumage was a beacon of golden fire. There was beauty in it. Bound as he was to remain in its presence, he was forced to own a loveliness he would have rather denied. The brilliant colors lent vivacity to an otherwise dull, drab enclosure.

Brown wood, black chairs, gray carpet, all quite serviceable, and well-suited to politicians. They were too concerned with their own petty agendas to pay attention to objects of art. He ended his study. Pretty things never lasted. It was a waste time to appreciate them, and a bigger waste to put them in rooms such as this. No one had time to display interest, if indeed, anyone truly had any.

And still they were talking.

Humans never seemed to tire of hearing their own voices. They spoke until the very air turned foul. In course of this meeting, nothing had been accomplished except to waste oxygen and time, both of which were precious commodities. How did this species survive so long as it had with such an inability to decide? He'd only brought one issue to the table, and thus far a quorum had not been reached. Obviously there would be no unanimous resolution recommending the death penalty for crimes against Companions. Yet another goal which would have to wait for attainment. Only Russia, China and Japan had agreed to enact the measure, a credit, no doubt to the efforts of those Taelons stationed therein. Ra'al, Jo'os and Sha'ar had proven worthy allies. He would have to reward their efforts. The other nations were mired in arguments about the moral implications of it.

As if any one of them aspired to morality.

Keeping his contempt hidden cost him valuable energy. It made maintaining his mental defenses more difficult. Already the first tendrils of pain were creeping into his head as several of the ambassadors gave vent to their tempers. The passion fueling their debate hammered against his walls.

"I don't care what my esteemed colleague from Russia thinks." Steven Milliner, the US Representative did not shout. It did not have to. The heat of its emotion washed over him, seeking a crack through which to seep. "The American system of justice is based upon fitting the punishment to the crime. Not every action taken against the Companions can be construed as treason." Zo'or eyed the gray haired human coolly.

Its brown eyes spoke of steel, though not of intelligence. This man was a dangerous idiot. President Thompson would have to be persuaded to replace it.

Sergei Kalishnakov, the ambassador from Russian, smacked a meaty hand down in frustration. Accompanying the action was another volley of passion. "Americans have always been too tolerant of social disorder. Our Taelon friends have so bolstered our nations and economies that action against them is treason against us. You are too blind a fool to realize it." Its heavy jowls shook with every movement of its head.

Other members of the Security Council chimed in, expressing support, disdain, and outrage in varying measures. The Void swallow them all! His anger bolstered the walls around his sensitive mind, shutting out the invisible assaults which battered against it like a shower of meteors. Every encounter with humans inevitably became a test of his endurance.

Why was it that these pitiful beings could not simply shut up?

For the third time in as many hours, Zo'or found his eyes studying Implant Kane. The human stood like an obsidian obelisk. He was not certain that the man had even blinked. Only the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of its chest and the ceaseless motion of its dark eyes gave it the semblance of life. He admitted to being grudgingly pleased with the way Kane handled itself. After their encounter in the garden, he had know uncertainty about employing this protector. It had done well, however. It walked behind him, as was its proper place. When entering any room, it stepped smoothly to the front, checked the room and held open the door. Its black clothing was quite pleasing. It lent a sinister quality. Zo'or remembered with satisfaction the way other humans yielded to Kane when it advanced. Pity that such a presence was wasted on an insignificant person like Thu'ul.

Their eyes met and Zo'or found himself swimming in their ebony depths. They were the blackest eyes he'd encountered, and reminded him of space.

"France recognizes the significant contributions of the Companions." Ambassador Henri Jourdan began to speak, breaking Zo'or's meditation with its sharp, nasal voice.

"Nevertheless, we are a sovereign nation and reserve the right to establish our own punishments. We will not bind ourselves to a single course of action. However, we certainly agree that wrongs against our benefactors require swift, firm action."

This bird-like human thought itself sly.

"The Companions appreciate your commitment." Zo'or spoke. "Considering the amount of financial remuneration which your government has reaped from our technology, I would have expected to hear nothing less." His implied threat sank in, albeit slowly. Jourdan's slender figure slumped back, its round eyes narrowed.

Yes, little human. We can remove our assistance as readily as we gave it. Think on that for a time.

And time was what he, himself, required. The pain inside his head was only growing worse. He was beginning to hear the faint whispers of their thoughts.

"Gentlemen, we are making no more progress. I wish to recess until 10:30." Without awaiting a reply, Zo'or made his way to the intricately carved oak doors which comprised the room's exit. Kane was there first, as always. The Implant glanced out then nodded, holding the door open. Zo'or walked briskly down the carpeted hallway, seeking one of the many privacy rooms provided for envoys. He saw little of what surrounded him. The strain of repelling so many minds was exhausting.

At this room as before, Kane entered first, then made way for Zo'or. The human did not leave, but walked to the far side of the room, giving him space. He cast a glare at it.

Had he in some way betrayed his weakness? No. That was not possible, and Zo'or dismissed the thought immediately. More likely was the fact that this human found his company distasteful, and did most of its kind.

Banishing the Implant from his thoughts, Zo'or sat heavily in the chair furthest from its position. Jourdan would come to heel, of that he was certain. He would have to resort to other means of 'convincing' the others.

Ungrateful wretches! Taelons had ended hunger, cured diseases and brought the stars to this paltry race. In return, they had received nothing but discord and ingratitude. What virtues did Da'an possibly see in them?

He had not meant to think of that person.

Zo'or pulled away from it, too late. The events of recent days had already begun to replay. When Da'an was removed from the Commonality, it had caused him great distress. Ordering his death was even more difficult, and it should not have been. The Atavus was once used to frighten small Taelons. Killing it was an accepted, required recourse. It was also the most practical method of dealing with Da'an's inappropriate attachment to humans.

Why could he not dam the river of feelings toward him?

Because he was once your friend and now you are left with an empty space where he used to be.

He would still be my friend if not for Boone.

That human had driven a wedge between them that was light years wide. Never before had he and Da'an been at odds. Their goal had always been the betterment of the Taelon race, until now.

Would that the Companion had been killed!

And after all that, part of you is glad he survived. Better to have him alive and hating

you than lost in the Void. After all, his influence within the Synod has been eroded. He

is powerless. What harm can there be to his continued existence?

No!

Zo'or stood and paced across his end of the room. Sooner or later other Companions

would fall under Da'an's spell, yield to his natural charisma. Such sentiments were like

contagion. The disease would weaken their people. Weakness now, above all other

times, would result in disaster. If Da'an could not be awakened from his fantasy, then

he must be eliminated. Zo'or dispelled each emotion, one by one, enforcing a glacial

calm. He would not fall victim to the disease of misguided sympathy.

Enough.

Suddenly remembering the human, Zo'or threw a piercing glance in Kane's direction.

The Implant was staring fixedly at its toes. He watched it for several seconds, but the

creature seemed unaware of his regard. Good. The protector had not seen his

agitation. "Kane." He called for its attention, then gestured toward one of the chairs.

"Sit." More time was required before he would be ready to deal with the ambassadors.

Forcing this human to tolerate his close proximity would provide a modicum of

amusement.

To his surprise, Kane sat with a slight smile. The warmth which Zo'or had convinced

himself was imagined once again rose in the protector's eyes. He watched the Implant

carefully, seeking signs of deceit. There were none. No disgust or disdain penetrated

his wavering defenses. This human was calm, and steady as bedrock. Zo'or seated

himself again.

"Where did you learn Kata," he asked after the silence settled. He was still curious

about the strange dance. Its languid pace had been somehow soothing.

"My father."

Zo'or leaned forward at that. "Your records indicate that you are an orphan."

Kane's eyes never wavered. "They should also indicate that I was adopted."

Yes, against his best interests, he liked the timbre of this animal's voice. It had

improved since last they met, was less hoarse. "Yet, you made no distinction between

biological and adopted parent. Why?"

"I see none."

The flat, final answer caused Zo'or to pause. "What happened to your parents?"

Kane looked away then. Its face took on a troubled cast. One brow flinched

downward, and its teeth clenched. "I never knew them. They left me at St. Jude's soon

after I was born." Suddenly its eyes met his. "Do Taelons have parents?"

Zo'or elected to answer directly. "We are raised by the Commonality. There are no

corresponding words in your language for our family units. Do you resent them?" He found himself

eager to see how deeply Kane would let him delve into its past.

"No."

This human volunteered nothing. Zo'or both respected and resented that fact. But he

would not be so easily dissuaded. "Why not?"

There was humor in the Implant's eyes. "Because I have better things to do."

"You are evading the question."

"That's right. " Kane inclined its head. "Two points."

Zo'or was confused by the statement. He glared at the obstinate Implant, but Kane

gave him no opportunity to speak.

"It's a game." The human drew in a deep breath, then spoke at length for the first time.

"My father and I made questions into a game. He called it V & B, Verities and

Balderdash. It involves strategy and perception. The goal is to force your opponent to

reveal what they would rather not, or lie. Lying forfeits the game." Between each

sentence it paused as though constantly searching for words, or resting from a

laborious task. "Incomplete answers are worth one point to the opponent. Evasive

answers are worth two. Refusals are worth three points."

An intriguing if simplistic form of entertainment, Zo'or thought. He grasped at the

opportunity for diversion. "Teach me to play."

Kane seemed taken aback. Its brows contracted, wrinkling its forehead. Again it

seemed to gather itself as though speaking were difficult. "First both parties agree to a

topic. Its best to start somewhere relatively non-threatening. You were questioning me

about Kata. That would fall under a category such as 'leisure.' Then each person gets

to ask 5 questions. Should their opponent evade or reply incompletely, they are

allowed three ancillary questions to force him to answer."

Leisure. Zo'or considered. He would have preferred a more personal topic, but their

time was limited. He nodded. "Leisure, it is. I will go first." He looked up at the wall

mounted clock. A few more minutes were left. Enough time to get started. "You

referred to your movements as a form of fighting dance. I have observed that humans

spend much of their free time engaging in activities which involve pretended violence. I

believe that you call them sports. Do you entertain yourself in this manner?"

"Sometimes."

"Why?"

"It relieves tension." Kane answered smoothly, then considered. "I have hard time

relaxing. I think it's also a primal urge. Physical activity satisfies the need to compete

and be dominant without having to hurt or kill."

Zo'or was impressed with this human's answer. It was direct and revealing. "So you

find killing to be satisfying?" Of course it did. It was part of a primitive species.

"Off topic. I don't kill in my leisure time."

His hands tightened into swords at Kane's response. He had been anticipating the

satisfaction of hearing a human finally admit its own barbarity, and felt cheated. The

fact that this savage was correct in his pronouncement only made him more outraged.

"I am growing tired of this game."

"Then quit," Kane responded smoothly. "And lose."

Very clever, Zo'or conceded. Very clever indeed. His pride would not allow him to

withdraw, not when it meant losing to a human. In hindsight, it might have been an

error to have begun this game. He reflected a moment, then selected his next inquiry.

"Why is relaxation so difficult for you to achieve?" Here was a question close to his

own condition. He had the satisfaction of seeing Kane look down at its calloused

knuckles. A hit had been scored. Excellent.

"When I stop." The human hesitated. "When there is no work or activity... I am alone

with my thoughts. Sometimes memories are waiting, and regrets. Or worries about the

future." Kane twisted its hands together slowly. "Sometimes I'm just filled with an

uneasiness I can't quite name. My mind keeps churning, like a whirlpool, round and

round. It goes from nowhere to nothing, but does so at a furious pace." Again the

Implant fixed him with its dark gaze. "Did I express myself properly?"

Zo'or found himself nodding. Yes. Those were reasons for relaxation to fly away like a

fast Taelon courier. They mirrored the violent swirlings of his own thoughts on nights

which seemed never to end. For the first time in his life, Zo'or found within himself the

feeling of kinship for another being than Da'an. He flinched away from the emotion.

This was a human animal. It was not fit for such associations. "Kata, then, is one of

the activities you engage in to help you rest?"

A nod.

He did not wish to ask the next question, but it would not be denied. "Does it help?"

The Implant's face softened. It knew that this question was important to him. Damn the

creature! It's eyes sought out the wall clock, and Zo'or thought for a moment that it

would refuse to answer. When it did, its voice was huskier than usual, and held a hint

of pain. "Not always. Sometimes nothing helps."

That, Zo'or admitted, was true enough.

His round of questions was over. Fortunately they were out of time. Just as well. He

and Kane rose as one. It would give him a chance to prepare for the Implant's

questions. Zo'or found within himself the twin feelings of dread and anticipation, fear of

being laid bare to another, and the excitement such a prospect inevitably caused. They

mingled together until he could not tell one from the other. He must take care when

dealing with this implant, great care indeed.

Their few minutes of solitude had regenerated some of his waning mental energy. His

mind was clear, his defenses restored. He was once again ready to confront the storm

of diplomacy.

Without warning, a sharp spike of fiery pain struck him. It was as though someone

were grabbing his soul by the roots and ripping it from the rich soil of the Commonality.

He struggled against it, finding the pull stronger than his will. His consciousness was

tearing asunder in the wake of such force. To his horror he found that there was a

monster inside him. Its claws sank into his mind. Its teeth tore at his form. He cried

out, his voice seeming to come from somewhere else, then collapsed.

Marquette stepped out into Washington's hot streets. She spotted a cab and hailed it,

giving the driver the church's address. Inside the air conditioned vehicle, she let her

head fall back against its black vinyl seat. She didn't give a good goddamn about

Zo'or. In fact, she'd be only too happy to pull the trigger. But if Doors was launching

an attack of some kind, he could not have picked a less appropriate time. The arrogant

Synod Leader would be closeted in meetings with U.N. Representatives all day, and

planned to inspect the new transport terminals afterward. She wasn't expected to

return for them until at least 8:30 tonight. Whatever Doors had in mind would happen

in the middle of the largest city in America, and in one of the world's most important

buildings.

Stay calm, Marquette, she ordered. You don't know what's going on. Maybe Allen's

info is wrong.

The church was deserted, as it should be. It had been damaged when Beckett had her

brief skirmish with Da'an and was closed to the public for repairs. Lili gathered herself

together during the brief ride down to Resistance Headquarters.

Da'an accompanied her. In the recesses of her mind she sensed him, like he was

standing with his hands resting on her back, not pushing, just lending support. She

shivered at the sensation.

All too quickly the lift doors opened. The dimly lit cavern was alive with activity,

contrasting sharply with the church above. She spotted Dr. Park, Auger and Doors

quickly; all parties huddled around a computer terminal. They were staring at it intently,

Doors paying particular attention. Several marching strides carried her over.

"Alright, Jonathan, what's going on." Marquette left no doubt in her business-like tone

that she didn't want to play twenty questions.

Door's keen gaze cut into her coldly, like a blade of ice. "Captain. We are about to rid

the world of a Taelon menace." He returned his attention to the computer. Lili moved

around the small plastic desk to get a look for herself. As she did so, Auger shot her a

glance filled with trepidation.

"I'm in no mood for guessing games," she snapped back at the Liberation's leader.

"What are you planning?"

Doors favored her with a humorless smile, then crossed his arms proudly. "Something

that we could never have attempted before. Auger has isolated Zo'or's harmonic

signal. We're going to devolve him, just like your precious Da'an, only this time, no one

will object when his own agents hunt him down and kill him." His face transformed into

a triumphant mask.

Marquette saw the wavy signature traced across the screen. No wonder he'd let them

use Resistance computers. He wanted the program. Part of her applauded the idea. It

was a fitting end to the cold-hearted Synod Leader. Then her conscience reminded her

of where he was. Son of a bitch! "Turn that damn thing off! Zo'or is in United Nations

Headquarters. He'll kill dozens of innocent people before anyone can get to him!"

"They're all collaborators anyway." He glared at her.

"Even the Marine contingent and security guards who will be the first to fall?"

Marquette searched his face for some sign of remorse, but found none. She spun

toward Auger. "Turn it off. Now!"

Her second self was alarmed. He could not perceive particulars, but now clearly

sensed her fear and anger. Lili had no time to spare for him. She could not afford to

be distracted.

Doors blocked her path to Auger. "He will do nothing of the kind. Only a few more

seconds and we will have achieved a real victory over the Taelons!"

The signal had almost reached its peak. In moments, it would be too late to reverse.

"You call this a victory!" Lili pulled her pistol and fired into the terminal.

Auger jumped backward as a shower of sparks spewed forth. She kept firing.

Electricity arced through the exposed circuits of the monitor. Smoke wafted out of the

cpu. Each bullet was a nail in her coffin. Doors would kill her for this. There was no

doubt in her mind, but she could not, would not allow him to slaughter so many. The

signal ceased. Her magazine was empty. Slowly Lili lowered the weapon, praying that

she'd been in time.

"You worthless bitch!" Doors' fist caught Marquette flush on the temple. She hadn't

seen it coming. Its impact knocked her over two chairs. The stone floor greeted her

with bone jarring force as she slammed into it. Instinct made her roll, coming up on one

knee, but she couldn't rise. Everything was spinning. Dimly she could see Auger and

Parks holding Doors back. Other Liberation members crowded around her pointing

machine guns. She dropped her pistol, and raised her hands.

Da'an's fear was a tangible presence in her mind. He was reaching out to her more

strongly, trying to hold on. The last thing she wanted to do was cause him more pain.

"Did it work?" Door's demanded, glaring at Auger.

The hacker slowly shook his head. "The signal was cut off too soon, and you should be

thankful it was."

"Kill her." Doors shouted, renewing his struggles to escape. "Kill her now!"

"No!" Dr. Park countered the order. "Jonathan, think what you're doing!"

His only response was a growl of rage. Marquette met his furious gaze with one of

defiance. She reached back to Da'an, giving him her presence, but pushing aside his

fear. If this was her last moment of life, she would face it as a soldier.

"Doors, listen." Auger spoke up. "If Zo'or's at the U.N., then she's right. There's more

at stake here than your objectives. Look at me! I invaded the Commonality and injured

Da'an. I put a virus in Taelon computers and crashed Captain Marquette's shuttle.

She almost died. Don't you think that sometime we all have to learn from our

mistakes?"

No one moved. She wasn't certain anyone was even breathing. Finally Doors relaxed.

He stepped away, cursing under his breath. The guns around her lowered, and

Marquette carefully stood, her legs still unsteady from the punch she'd taken.

"Fine. She lives." The resistance leader turned to face her, and the look on his face

resembled that of Zo'or at his most cruel. "But she's out." He faced Dr. Park. "Give

her a sedative. We'll move the base while she's unconscious, that way she can never

reveal its location to her new allies." To all in the room. "People, we are leaving! We

are going to our secondary site. Start packing. As for you..." He turned back to Lili.

"The next time our paths cross, Taelon-lover, it will be the last."

"Give me a shot too." Auger moved over and stood by the Captain. "If she's out, I'm

out." He faced Lili. "This has to be one of the dumbest career moves I've ever made. I

just hope you appreciate it."

Lili was too astounded to appreciate anything. Auger had never done a selfless thing

in his life. From the look on his face, Doors was feeling about the same. He stared

open mouthed at the two of them before sinking into the nearest chair. There was a

deflated look to him. When Doors finally raised his head, his eyes were calmer,

clearer.

Dr Park knelt before him. "John, a good leader knows when to change his mind.

Everyone gets their turn in being wrong. It isn't the mistakes we make, it's the lessons

we don't learn that harm us. Let it go. Lili has served the Resistance since its

inception, and very loyally. You can't believe that she acted to save Zo'or. You have to

know that she was only concerned with the innocent lives which would be lost in his

fury."

Doors put his hand on the woman's slender shoulder and nodded. "I know that." He

stood, meeting Marquette's eyes. "I know that." The anger was gone, replaced with

Doors' normal look of calculation. He walked around Dr Park. "I lost sight of things,

Captain. I only wanted to use the weapon to its best advantage. Who knows when

Zo'or will quit the Mother Ship again."

Lili nodded, feeling some of the tension leave her. With the loss of adrenaline her

hands began to shake. She covered up the trembling by reloading her pistol. The

Resistance was the only home she had, and to lose it when so much was already gone

would have been devastating. As her stress ebbed she felt Da'an relax as well. He

beckoned to her, more intention than words, asking her to see him, talk to him. The

gentle brush of emotion across her raw nerves acted like a soothing balm.

Yes, she thought, opening to him a little. She would come. A current of gratitude

wrapped round her mind.

Dr. Park came over and examined her face. Lili could already feel it swelling. It began

to throb in a dull monotonous rhythm that promised to worsen with time. For an older

man, Doors' had a tremendous right hook!

Auger's voice cut into the momentary respite. He was staring at the data stream

scrolling across one of the still-working computers. "I hate to break up this wonderful

family bonding, but the U.N. building has just lost power." He turned to face Marquette

and Doors. "All communications with it are cut."

Oh shit. Marquette rubbed her aching face and sprinted for the lift. Her communicator

began singing for attention before she could reach it.

To Kane it felt as if the air were filled with unseen demons. There was a multi-layered

presence. It was less a sound than a vibration or an echo. Though it contained

complex elements of harmony, in truth it resembled music only as a morning dew did

the rain. Some essential dynamic was lacking, and without it there remained only a

beautiful kind of pressure. Whatever the intruder was, it buckled Zo'or's knees like

toothpicks. Instinct made Kane wrap his arms around the Companion's waist,

preventing him from crashing into the floor. He immediately regretted the decision. His

charge stiffened, fighting the embrace. Arms flailed violently. Zo'or's head slammed

backward into his chin. Kane set his feet and tightened his grip as an energy wave

passed across Zo'or's body. It was not the brilliant electric blue Thu'ul occasionally

displayed. No. This one was darker, almost black. With its appearance came

memories of every childhood monster he'd imagined, the unseen phantom beneath his

bed, the nameless thing inside his closet. He wanted to run, to hide.

That's insane, cowboy. In all your 36 years, you've never wanted to run from anything.

It's him, another part of his mind supplied. You're feeling his fear.

Fissures appeared in Zo'or's facade as if carved there by the claws of some great

beast. A guttural cry of pain broke the seal of his lips. The presence became stronger,

a shadow foretelling the arrival of some dreadful fiend. Kane sensed that the

Companion was resisting this creature, and losing. The darkness continued inexorably

forward devouring Zo'or's consciousness. His body's structure subtly shifted; his

features melted, reformed. The Taelon's physical struggles became more frenzied.

From under the bed came the hand of a ravenous troll, with spade-like talons dripping

blood ---

Then it was over. Both sound and monster were gone.

Kane blinked several times, clearing his head of the vision. Residual tingling affected

his palms. He seemed to hear a ringing inside his head, like an echo of a distant

chime. Zo'or groaned and went almost completely limp. Rather than try to support his

dead weight, Kane carefully lowered his burden, kneeling behind and resting the

Taelon against his chest. Zo'or's head lolled back. He shivered uncontrollably.

What the hell had just happened?

Kane's CVI politely informed him with 94.2% certainty that Zo'or had almost been

transformed into an Atavus. It based its conclusions on the information included in

Captain Marquette's report. The document was immediately displayed for him to

peruse. He brushed it aside with an exasperated sigh and glanced up at the wall clock.

Ten Thirty-One. All that in less than a minute.

Today's episode made it a sure bet that Da'an's attack had been a deliberate strike.

The questions remaining were who, how and why. They were the same taunting

queries left over from Baltimore.

Well, actually, why was pretty much self-explanatory at least in this case. No eyes

would weep over this Taelon. Zo'or had a reputation for cruelty. He was blamed for

most of the illicit experimentation being done on human 'volunteers.' In addition, he

was said to be a lying, backstabbing, conceited bastard. Plenty of people had been

killed for less.

You like him. That second voice made itself known again.

Yes, there it was. He did harbor a certain warmth for this Taelon. When they'd met in

the garden, the UN Companion had been rude and condescending. After the shy

courtesy of Thu'ul and the eternal politeness of public relations, Zo'or's manner was a

welcome change. His faults made him endearing to Kane, rather than repulsive.

Instead of being an ancient alien who possessed vast knowledge, he was, well, almost

human in his failings, more familiar than Thu'ul, and easier to understand.

Kane looked down at his Companion. Zo'or lay peacefully. His trembling had

subsided. For the first time his pale features were not carefully composed in an

arrogant smirk, or an angry scowl. The face before him was that of a young man,

smooth, unlined, and capable of innocence now that his glacier blue eyes were shut.

'My God, you're just a kid.'

This shocked observation emerged of its own accord, and because he did not give it

life, Kane found he could not easily kill it. He recalled other fresh-faced youths, some

still in the throes of acne. Boys all, they strove to be men. Each facing the rigors of

military life in his own way. Each hiding his insecurities and fears behind a mask of

disinterest, belligerence or bravado. But if you could only catch one when he wasn't

looking; see him when he was unawares, then behind the persona still remained a

frightened child. In eighteen years with the Corps he'd watched them mature, and he'd

seen them die. Right now all of those young men were reflected in Zo'or's passive

countenance. Kane watched with amusement as his wayward left hand came to rest

atop one of the Companion's. It wrapped around gently and squeezed.

Just like a goddamned mother hen. Next thing you know, you'll be adopting the little

cue-ball.

Zo'or moaned softly, eyes fluttering open then closed. Kane scooped him up and

deposited the slender alien into a green cushioned chair. He somehow did not think

that the Synod Leader would be pleased to wake up in the arms of a human.

The lights suddenly winked out and were replaced by the red glow of emergency bulbs.

Everything from pale green carpet to white-washed walls was bathed in a lurid crimson.

Now what?

He moved to the white wall phone and snatched up the receiver. There was no dial

tone, just a dull clicking. One by one the tiny hairs at the base of his skull stood at

attention. The warning they provided was unnecessary. From what he'd read during

his brief review of this building, the UN had its own power supply and communications

system. They were designed to function even if all of New York suffered a blackout.

Both had to have been cut from the inside.

Someone rapped on the oaken door which separated privacy room from hallway. Kane

spun toward the sound, then glanced at Zo'or. The Companion was leaning forward,

face cradled in his hands. He was in no shape for visitors.

"Who is it?" Two longs strides brought Kane to the doorway. He listened intently.

"UN Security, sir. There's a problem with the power. Most of the VIP's were already in

chambers waiting to convene. We're gathering up stragglers as a precaution." The

voice was basso, rumbling like a Harley's engine. It originated high, as if from a very

tall man.

Kane's enhanced memories produced vivid images of all the guards he'd seen. Young,

middle aged, male, female, Black, White, Hispanic, none had been of above average

height. He dismissed the remembrance of pale paneling, green carpet and white

uniformed officers with a blink.

"Companion Zo'or is discussing important business with the Synod," he lied. "I cannot

disturb him during his union with the Commonality." That sounded like a good line of

BS. In truth, Kane hadn't the least notion of how Taelon's navigated their group mind.

He just wanted to stall. His left skrill tickled his arm, another warning sign.

The door knob turned. "Sir, I'm afraid that I must insist." As it cracked inward, Kane

saw the steely glimmer of a gun barrel. "You just couldn't cooperate could you, Taelon-

lover. Everyone else went along nice and quiet. But not you."

This man was a gorilla. The Ingram 6.6 he brandished in one huge paw looked like a

toy. King Kong could play defensive tackle for the Houston Oilers everyday and twice

on Sunday. His head fairly brushed the top of the doorframe. Beady eyes of rusted

brown cut from left to right; his free hand shoved the door completely open. Kane

backed away, bodily shielding Zo'or from the intruder's line of sight.

The machine gun pointed squarely at Kane's chest. "Now, I'm just gonna have to kill

you," he uttered with fake apology.

"He who hesitates, meditates in a horizontal position." The words of his father returned

to him like the distant whisper of the West Wind.

Kane dropped low, one hand on the floor and sent a kick to the side of Goliath's knee.

It landed solidly, popping the fragile joint out of socket with an audible crack. His

opponent groaned in agony. Continuing his momentum, he swung up, striking the

weapon with his palm and driving it skyward. The rapid spray of bullets impacted

harmlessly in the tiled ceiling above. Kane anchored his feet, sliding his hand down

the barrel and around Godzilla's wrist. Pulling backward, he straightened the man's

arm, and drove the heel of his left hand into the exposed elbow with all the force he

could muster. A second louder snap was his reward. This time Goliath screamed. His

weapon fell away with a metallic clatter. Kane used the injured arm to direct him to the

floor. The man landed, face down, with a satisfactory thump.

"You broke my flamin' arm!" The fake officer was pallid beneath a summer tan.

Contained in his booming voice was a note of hysteria. He grew whiter when Kane

brought both knees atop the arm, pinning it to the floor. Beads of sweat coated his

forehead and upper lip.

"I also dislocated your knee." Kane informed him quietly. The imposter's feet were

pushed solidly against the door, preventing it from closing. He leaned back, peering

out the aperture, but saw no one else. Twisting in the other direction, he found that

Zo'or was sitting upright, watching. He seemed uninjured.

His attention returned to his captive. There was a can of pepper spray and a

collapsible nightstick attached to Kong's duty belt. Kane tossed both across the room.

It always amazed him how calm he became when thrown into the line of fire. From the

moment the attack initiated, his life became clarified, polished into focus by the hand of

crisis. With it came a curious kind of peace.

Kane pulled out his global intent upon reporting to the Captain. The screen blossomed

into particles of snow. Only the buzzing of white noise greeted his ears. Someone was

jamming his comm link. He put the useless device away with a curse, and grasped the

wrist of Goliath's injured arm. Answers were required. Too much was at stake to

operate blind. "How many are there," he asked gently and steeled himself for what was

to come.

His captive uttered an epithet which implied that Kane should go have sex with himself.

Instead, he twisted the man's wrist. Further curses were cut off as Goliath ground his

teeth together. The pasty white of his complexion gained a grayish cast. Kane eased

the pressure, and his captive groaned in relief.

"Perhaps you did not understand my question." Accompanying his purred statement

was the tightening of his hand. He wanted Kong to remember his pain, and anticipate

its reoccurrence. It might loosen his tongue. There was a part of him which shied

away from such brutality. Kane ignored it. Torture was a distasteful, but sometimes

necessary practice. It turned the stomach of his civilized half, but that portion of him

which remained a predator understood.

From outside came the tinny click of a closing door. He half-rose, turning on the balls

of his feet. There was someone flanking him.

"UN Security! Put your hands up! Do it now!" A woman's voice shouted the

commands. She had the nasal accent of a Bronx native.

Kane froze, then slowly obeyed. His eyes sought out Zo'or's, darting toward the room's

most distant corner after meeting them. The Companion rose unsteadily from his seat.

"Step away from the officer. Do it now."

Her phrasing was right. Give directions. Tell them when to move. Having bumped

heads with the law in several different countries, he was quite familiar with the

language used by police. This girl might be legit. Kane carefully stepped over his

prisoner, coming into contact with one of the chairs surrounding the room's only table.

"I'm a Companion Agent."

"And I'm a fairy princess. Put both hands down on the table. Move slowly. Do it now."

Well that had certainly worked for you, boy. He heard her step further into the room.

Andre the Giant shifted slightly. Kane saw the movement at the periphery of his vision

as the fallen man's good arm snaked underneath his body to the front of his utility belt.

From it was extracted a small cylinder of OD green and pink. Cold fingers of dread

wrapped around his stomach when Kane realized that it was a thermite grenade.

"Fire in the hole!" He yelled out and skrilled Goliath. The bolt of energy hit right at the

base of his skull, burning in and hopefully severing brain from spinal column. Kane

vaulted over the table yoking Zo'or with one arm and pulling both of them into a heap.

There was a sharp bark of thunder as the officer's pistol spoke. Where the bullet

impacted, he couldn't say, he was too busy listening for the hiss of igniting

phosphorous. Thankfully there was none. He pulled out his ID and threw it onto the

table. "Ma'am, I really am a Companion Agent. That guy was a fake."

Not one of your better lines, he thought grimly. Come on, girl. I don't want to be killed

by friendly fire. Look at the damn ID.

Zo'or shifted beneath him. Whether the Taelon's discomfort was caused by Kane's

weight or contact, he neither knew, nor cared.

There was a creak of leather as his wallet opened. Seconds passed without further

sound.

"I'm going to stand up now," Kane called. "I'm coming up hands first." He squeezed

Zo'or's shoulder and pushed down. Hopefully the Companion would understand that

he was to stay still.

Kane let his widespread fingers lead his ascent. Upon breaking the opaque plane of

table, his eyes beheld a pretty red-head. She was fairly young, late twenties at the

most. Her tense features were blotted with freckles as if someone had spattered them

with copper paint. She pointed a revolver right at the bridge of his nose. There was a

nervousness to her iron gray eyes, but her hands were rock-steady. One of them, her

left, wore a simple band of gold. He raised his eyes to her chest out of habit noting

both her ample breasts and her name tag, 'Levi.'

She hasn't fired yet. That's a good sign.

The gun lowered. Her coppery brows jerked skyward. "I know you, now. You're Kane,

the cowboy who travels with the Strandhill Exhibit. You and --- what's his name, Thug?

-- have been in a few news feeds. I didn't recognize you without the hat." She glanced

back down the hallway. "What the devil is going on here?"

He had no better answer than she and so bent down to assist Zo'or in rising. The

Companion snatched away from the offered hand and clambered to his feet. He

wobbled a bit. Kane's left hand shot out and cupped one narrow elbow, lending

stability. Muscles beneath it tensed. He did not meet the angry gaze of his

Companion.

"You okay," he inquired.

A stiff-necked nod was all he was spared.

And he's ungrateful, too.

It was all Kane could do to refrain from chuckling. When it came to human follies, this

alien had them all. He turned back to Levi, satisfied that the Synod Leader was back to

normal.

"Why isn't anyone coming?" She glared up at him as if it were his fault. "I fired off a

gun 30 feet from the Security Council. Where the heck is everyone?"

Kane indicated the fallen giant. "Gonzo over there got off several rounds when we

were fighting, and no one came but you. His intent was to herd my Companion and I to

Chambers. From what he said, we were the last to go." He swallowed several times to

ease the fatigue of his throat. One of these days his vocal cords would heal and he'd

pursue a career in opera.

Just be glad you can speak at all, Tex. There was a time when you couldn't.

He spotted the fallen Ingram and retrieved it. As he moved back to Kong, he nodded

toward Levi's link. "Does that work? Mine's being blocked." Two extra magazines

were attached to Kong's belt. Kane shoved them into his pants' pockets.

Waste not. Want not. That was his motto.

His pretty guest shook her head, causing ringlets of red-gold hair to capture pieces of

the scarlet illumination. "No. I've already tried it three times." She stamped her foot in

obvious frustration. "This doesn't make any sense." Her eyes flitted from him to Zo'or.

"Anti-terrorist protocols have been initiated, which means all electronic

countermeasures should be in place. Even if the whole world's communication network

fails, our internal communications are designed to function."

"Give me a run down of those protocols." Maybe if he got a more detailed accounting

of them he'd be able to figure out how this fiasco happened.

Levi motioned for he and Zo'or to follow. Kane took hold of the Taelon's elbow,

ignoring the icy glower aimed in his direction. They moved down the hallway, past the

red-hued prints of Monet and Gauguin. She paused in front of the lifts' doors. "The

elevators have all been recalled to higher floors. They won't work until the all-clear

signal is given from Control. And " She pointed a finger left. At the end of the

corridor Kane saw the reflection of light on a clear barrier. It looked like safety glass,

though not so thick. "The stairs have been sealed off. There are similar obstacles at

the stairwells immediately above and below this floor. The only reason I'm here is

because I have a message for Mr. Milliner." She produced a small brown envelope. "I

was halfway down the steps when the lights died. By the time I entered the floor, I had

to dive under the fire-wall. There was nobody in sight. I tried my radio, then went

looking around. Nothing." Levi turned to face them, arms folded. "My last stop was

Central Control. That's when I heard you and the line-backer making nice." Her gray

eyes flashed with humor, then darkened once more. "I don't know what's going on, but

this level is designed to be completely self sufficient. In the event of incursion, it

automatically cuts itself off from the rest of the UN. The Council Chambers are sound-

proof and have a 5 minute delay before the doors lock. They can only be opened by

special code or the proper application of a nuclear bomb." She said the last with a wry

smile.

"But if the hostiles are already on this floor?" He turned back around and studied the

long hallway.

"How?" She joined him. "What'd they do, teleport? No one gets to this level without

being checked in."

"By security," he supplied. Their eyes met. They were nice eyes, competent eyes.

Levi would be good back-up. He watched those gray orbs grasp his meaning then

cloud over with doubt and disbelief.

"No way, Kane. Everyone has to pass an extensive background check, obtain the

necessary clearance. For security to be compromised, the Watch Commander would

have to be involved." She bit her lip and considered. Then sprinted down the hall. "I'm

going to Control. It's the only way to be sure. Wait for me here."

Kane watched her shapely backside as she ran. The finer things in life were so

fleeting, it was important to appreciate them, especially when facing an uncertain

future.

His communicator beeped to life. Kane tugged it out and open in one smooth motion.

Displayed across the screen was the hardened face of Jonathan Doors. "People of

Earth. We are the Companions. We come in peace." Every word dripped sarcasm.

"Such was the beginning of the great lie. Our Taelon friends came not in peace, but in

search of another race to exploit. We are that race. To them we are no more than

sheep to be herded, shorn of our wool, and slaughtered." The Resistance leader

paused, becoming even more intense. "Their actions, however, are less vile than those

of our own governments." His image faded and was replaced by a picture from inside

the Security Council. Against the backdrop created by the large mural were all 13

representatives, tied and gagged. Behind them were UN officers brandishing

submachine guns. "These 'diplomats' are traitors to their own species. They simper

and grovel before the power offered to them by the Taelons. They have sold their

souls for it. Today today there will be a reckoning."

Zo'or had moved beside him, staring at the global's screen with obvious displeasure.

"This foolish scheme is doomed to failure," he hissed.

Kane counted 5 armed men. One of them was a thinly built Hispanic wearing the

insignia of a captain. Levi's Watch Commander? Maybe. Two stood directly behind

the captives. Another was partially hidden in the shadows of an opposing corner. The

last was hunkered down by the massive oaken doors. In his hands was a large block of

whitish material, sort of like clay. Probably plastique. Should the camera have a

human operator, the sub-total came to 6. He flicked his eyes at Zo'or. "Its already

succeeded." These interlopers had penetrated one of the most secure buildings on

earth. No matter how it ended, a victory had been scored.

He absently listened to Doors' drone on about crime and retribution, mentally recalling

the room's layout. The only entrance was the massive set of double doors. They

appeared to be made of oak, but that was likely a veneer. An intricate pattern of roses

and vines was carved into their surface. It twisted up the faces of the doors as if

climbing a trellis. He walked his way past them. A long table of the same wood was

centered in the huge room.

"All those involved will die," Zo'or's arrogant tone penetrated his recollection.

"Jonathan Doors has all but assured The Synod's adoption of more appropriate

measures in dealing with the Liberation."

His CVI's image continued uninterrupted. Gray carpeting hid a floor which had the

solidity of concrete. Every wall was covered with golden paneling from floor to ceiling.

Tiny heating ducts marred the smoothness of each wall.

"No one accepts a mission like this and expects to survive." Kane directed his mental

picture upwards.

Open beams of ebony wood contrasted sharply with the white marble ceiling. Turning

around slowly his mind's eye was arrested by a single metal grate. It sat just below the

ceiling, a good 14 feet from the chamber's floor. He estimated that it was just under a

yard wide. Could be an air return. "And to punish the Resistance, you have to find

them."

He opened his eyes, surprised to find that they were closed. Awaiting him were Zo'or's

cerulean orbs. The Taelon's expression was absolutely unreadable; absent, even, of

his customary smugness. Kane had the feeling that he was being evaluated.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Levi cried, returning as rapidly as she departed. "Have you

been listening to this broadcast?! Doors has finally lost his mind! He means to

execute every member of the Security Council!" She looked desperately from Kane to

Zo'or. "Central Control is locked down tight. I don't think there's anyone in there.

Without accessing their controls, I can't disengage the barricades. It'll take hours to cut

through them. Even setting explosives will take too long. Nobody can get in here from

the outside to intervene. We've got to stall or negociate."

"The Synod does not encourage the actions of terrorists through negotiation." Zo'or's

imperious tone brooked no argument.

He got one anyway. Officer Levi was another fire-eater. "Oh well, that's just great.

What if it were you in that chamber?"

Zo'or's blue eyes dimmed slightly. "The Synod will not negociate for me either." His

voice was bitter, but resigned as if he sensed an impending, unavoidable doom.

Kane sensed something of that himself. He clipped the still talking link back on his belt,

and pulled off his suit jacket. That was tossed into the floor and quickly followed by his

tie.

"What about the ventilation system?" He turned toward Levi, rolling up his shirt-

sleeves.

She stared down at his skrills open-mouthed. "Its self contained. No access from the

other floors." Her steely eyes gained a cagey look. "Why?"

"What about from this level?" The Ingram's present clip was over half-full. He replaced

it and operated the slide. "There's an air return in the Council room. Can we access

the duct leading to it?"

"Yeah. There's a secondary return in Conference Room 2." Suddenly her eyes came

alive with determination. "Alright cowboy, I'm with you." She headed down the hall at a

trot calling, "It's this way. Come on."

He snagged Zo'or by the elbow and jogged after. For once the temperamental alien

neither protested nor pulled away.

****************

"What the hell do you mean you can't get in!" Captain Marquette demanded of the

image in her global link. The suit-wearing Chief of UN Security gave her an apologetic

look.

"Captain, that level is a veritable fortress. It's designed to withstand an all out assault."

Colin Westcott pulled off his glasses and rubbed at a pair of watery blue eyes. "Even

with our manpower and weaponry, I estimate that it will be over two hours before we

can penetrate."

Lili tapped one finger against the tiny screen. "That's not good enough. With

Companion Zo'or in there, you're facing a whole lot more than an international

incident."

"You think I don't know that?" Westcott thundered at her. "Believe me, between the

White House and your embassy, the situation had been repeatedly emphasized. And it

doesn't matter a damn how many times you or anyone else jumps up and down

screaming. With one of my own men helping them, every single anti-terrorist measure

that was installed is now an obstacle. My estimate is over two hours, and that won't

change. I'll contact you as soon as I have more info. Westcott out."

He broke communication. Almost immediately her global beeped again.

"Marquette," she barked.

Auger's face lit up the display. He brought a finger to his lips, indicating that what he

had to say was for her ears only. Lili glanced around quickly. Da'an and Thu'ul were

still occupied with the data stream. Hopefully they'd be tied up for a while. She

stepped out into the hallway. "What is it?"

"You're not going to believe this." The young black man was excited. He was

practically bouncing in his chair. "It's not Doors."

Her brows flinched down. "You're right. I don't believe it."

"I've run the voice through our computers three times. It's a good imitation, but the

vocal patterns do not match." He gave her a wide, self-satisfied grin. "Our fearless

leader is innocent of this one, or he's suddenly lost an entire ego and developed a lot

more cleverness." Auger leaned back revealing a chartreuse t-shirt, checked with neon

pink. "I mean, you gotta admit, it's pretty subtle to fake your own voice. The whole

concept is definitely out of character for him."

Not Doors? Then who? Obviously someone who wanted to implicate the Liberation.

Zo'or? That made no sense. Why would the Synod Leader plan an operation which

would threaten his credibility, and call into question his competence in quelling the

Resistance? This operation was well on its way to succeeding. Even Zo'or couldn't be

that stupid. But who did that leave? Marquette found herself at a dead end, and she

was getting awfully tired of running into them.

"Thanks, Auger." She looked at him seriously. "And thanks for your help today. It

really meant a lot."

Her young friend bowed with a flourish, then waggled his eyebrows up and down

suggestively. "Perhaps I could persuade you to demonstrate your gratitude? Ehh?"

"Not likely."

She turned off the link with a half-smile. The man was incorrigible, but cute.

Marquette shook her head and stared down a hallway which stretched out into infinity.

There was nothing more to do. For reasons of their own, the Synod had forbidden she

or any other Companion Operative to go to New York. They had not stopped the phony

Liberation broadcast either, again, without explanation. She'd never figure that one

out. What the hell were they planning to do, let the whole thing play out on television?

It also bothered her that no one had heard news of Kane. He might already be dead.

That would be a shame, because he seemed to be a stand-up guy. His military record

was outstanding, aside from a few minor brawling incidents, and such rowdiness was

expected from hard-fighting, heart-breaking Recon Marines. She'd eaten the same dirt

as a few of them during the SI War when her plane went down. The truth was, she

wanted to trust the former Gunnery Sergeant. There something solid and reliable in his

manner.

Her footsteps carried her aimlessly away. Marquette paid little attention, but eventually

found herself in the living area. Thu'ul and Kane were quartered here. She stopped in

front of the Implant's door, considering. Whatever her gut feelings might be, Doors still

considered the Texan a potential threat. The power of his skrill alone justified that

attitude. If she could get in and examine his things, she might learn more about his

loyalties and motives. Such information would be useful to the Resistance.

And to you, she added, looking around.

No one was near. There was almost never anyone in this section. Guests were not a

norm, and the janitorial staff was long gone. Lili closed her eyes. In the recesses of

her mind, she could feel Da'an. He was concentrating on the information arriving

across the endless stream of data. So strong was his focus that she could almost see

the river of images.

Would she ever become used to their connection?

As with all other things, only time would tell the tale. Right now it was only important

that he was occupied. With a little luck, Thu'ul would stay there too. Marquette knelt in

front of the locking circuitry. The door was childishly easy to rig, sliding back with a soft

sigh as she bypassed its programming. She paused on the threshold. After all her

experience spying for Doors, it still unsettled her to violate another person's privacy.

There was nothing for it; another opportunity like this might never arise.

On the floor was an Oriental style sleeping roll. A Black Stetson lay on the rectangular

pillow as if silently awaiting its owner's return. The very human bed which looked so

out of place in these other-worldly surroundings seemed undisturbed. She turned to

the half-empty gunny sack which leaned against it. Inside there were extra sets of

clothing, and the usual toiletries. A copy of 'Tom Sawyer' lay beneath. There was

nothing unusual about the book, itself, but sandwiched in its pages was a letter. Both

envelope and stationary were of onion skin. Its return address read, "The Church of

the Guardians." Marquette shook her head in bemusement. Allen had told her that the

threesome was receiving some very odd fan mail. Here was direct evidence of it.

Careful not to tear the fragile parchment, she removed the letter.

"Brother Kane," it began.

"Blessed be the name of the Father. May his radiant light shine upon you and guide

you through the valley of darkness. You have endured the stripes of war. Within the

halls of death you walk with pride.

Remember when you find that you have nothing, not even shoes, that there are those

without feet who greet the sunrise unafraid. When next you meet them, and find

courage within eyes that can no longer see, you will know how truly blessed is your lot.

On the blackest of nights, do not despair. Those who guard the streets of Heaven are

with you, now and always.

Brother Anders"

She replaced it with a frown. Now why would Kane save a letter like that? Marquette

reassembled the contents of his sack exactly, pondering her own question. Something

about the letter's wording nagged at her, like there was a hidden message she should

be receiving, but wasn't. After spinning the words around a couple of time, she

dismissed them. Eventually the answer would present itself.

In one corner of the room was a tri-part wooden box standing on end. It was open.

Inside were strips of paper printed with Oriental letters, Kanji, she thought they were

called. A small pile of ash lay in a brass bowl, and she caught the faint aroma of

Jasmine incense. Next to the box was a book of poetry. Two rubber bands wrapped

around it and held the broken spine and pages together. Marquette's eyes quickly

identified a small bullet hole and the stain of dried blood. On its inside cover was a

poetic inscription.

'To Joshua, my gentle warrior,

'Twas not Jericho, but Mariko

Whose battle you did fit

No ram's horn blast that shattered past

My walls and traps and pits

But touch and sound and arms wound round

That shattered my defense

The great pretender now surrenders

With thy love my recompense.'

The date was December 25, 1999.

It was a very sweet poem. Lili was left to wonder about the woman who wrote it. The

hand was elegant, but simple. Handsome calligraphy lay beneath it, but she was

unable to decipher the foreign characters. This Mariko must have been very special for

him to have kept her gift this long.

The door behind her slid open with whisper. She froze momentarily, then drew in a

deep breath and turned around.

Da'an awaited her. "Captain." He inclined his head gracefully. "I do not believe that

these are your quarters."

He was the last person she expected to find. "No." Lili searched her brain for an

adequate excuse. There was none. Besides, now that her concentration was broken,

she could feel his suspicion. She'd have to keep close to the truth. "I was curious

about Agent Kane. No one seems to know much about him. Sandoval refuses to

release his records and you weren't exactly forthcoming either." She watched Da'an's

eyes narrow slightly. His displeasure was evident. "Look, I don't like unknown

quantities. My violation of his privacy is inexcusable, but I deemed it necessary, not

only for myself, but for the security of the Companions."

Curiosity overpowered suspicion. The lithe alien slowly stepped inside allowing the

door to shut. "For what reason do you suspect that Kane might pose a threat to us?"

She could feel him want to believe her.

And she wanted to be believed, for many reasons. "Da'an, Kane was brought in by

Zo'or. He was assigned to Strandhill, and Thu'ul was almost assassinated. Now, the

same man is in the UN, and there's another attack against the Companions. So far the

only consistent item, is Kane."

Her friend sat on the edge of the unused bed with an air of exhaustion. Lili slowed her

own thoughts and paid attention to the part of him within her. He was tired. That was

without question. But with the physical fatigue was something else, a sense of shame,

and an emotional emptiness. Da'an had been through so much lately, too much. She

settled next to him and leaned her shoulder against his.

Their mental contact intensified. Like her, he was feeling strongly the swift passage of

time. Every day there seemed less of it. There was no time to deal with his problems,

his feelings, or with her. She looked at him in surprise. Despite being used to the

contact of other minds, he was in no way prepared for the touch of a human. The

strength of her emotions was often overpowering. Even worse, they reminded him of

the Atavus. While in that form, he'd weathered the storm of his own unchained

passions. The humiliation of having been so devolved drove him to the edge of

despair, and to his everlasting shame, he had murdered other beings.

"Da'an," she murmured, and rested a hand on his face. He pulled away from her at

first, then closed his eyes and leaned into her fingers. A soft wave of blue washed over

his form. Her touch was soothing, like a bandage over a wound. Lili could feel his

anguish, and his need for relief. "I don't understand everything that happened, but

Zo'or said the Atavus, you," she corrected. "Needed life-energy to survive." Her

Companion flinched as if stung. "Listen to me. I've killed, too. When an enemy pilot

locks on to your plane, you don't stop to wonder whether or not he has children, or a

spouse. You just react. In your case, the enemy was starvation. On such a basic

level, its not so much about right and wrong, as it is life and death. You chose life, just

as I would. Torturing yourself for that is like resenting the night because it's dark."

His cheek slowly rubbed against her palm, sending tingles up her arm. "Thank you,

Captain," he breathed. Her acceptance of him brought a measure of peace that her

words could not. As his mind relaxed, she found herself drawn further in.

Around the area where their thoughts touched was a wall. He was shielding their tie

from the Commonality, she realized, and it would only become more difficult with time.

She hadn't even begun to consider Taelon Harmonic. A myriad of possibilities began

to materialize, all of them unpleasant. It was a bad risk, for her, for the Resistance,

especially for him. "Da'an, is it possible for this tie between us to be broken." He

looked at her suddenly and she felt fear, rejection. "I don't want to see you get hurt,"

she added, trying to reassure him.

His hand gently covered hers. It was cool, dry and very smooth, like his face.

"Captain. As of this moment, my bond with you, though occasionally disturbing, is one

of the only things in my life which does not cause me pain. I would prefer not to have it

removed."

"Call me Lili." She caught his deep blue eyes. "I think we've gone past the 'Captain'

phase."

He nodded wearily, moving her hand from his face to his lap, but not releasing it. "Lili.

You were named for a flower."

She smiled at that, remembering the teasing her name had caused during boot camp.

"How long before they sense my presence?"

"There is no way to predict. If our contact is minimal, if one of us resists its growth,

then it will be longer. I would anticipate that within a few months shielding its existence

will become problematic."

"And then?" She voiced the question which troubled her most deeply. It bothered him

as well, but not for himself. He was afraid for her. The Companions would not tolerate

the entrance of a human into the Commonality. They would hunt her down and kill her,

like Katya Petrinko.

Let them try. Captain Lili Marquette would not be such an easy target as the gentle

psychic. "Don't worry about me. I can handle myself. You're the one who stands to

lose the most in this." She eyed Da'an with concern. "By advocating for humans

you've already lost status." A more chilling realization struck her then. "Our --

relationship -- will only make you more of an outcast to your people. They'll treat you

like Rho'ha, won't they, order you to end your existence?"

He met her question head on. "Yes."

"And will you obey?"

"No." Behind his word was a fierce determination. "Human and Taelon must live as

equals, or I fear that neither will live at all. My own vision guides me, and I will follow it

to the end, whatever the consequences. You are now part of that dream, Lili." His

fingers fluttered against hers. "William Boone once told me that I was a bridge

between our peoples. I no longer think that is so. I am one shore, and you another.

What lies between us is the bridge."

His words both terrified and humbled her. There was no way to sort through

everything, not when they were so close. She took a deep breath and squeezed his

hand. "Time will tell, Da'an. Just be patient with me. It's a lot to get used to."

He looked down at their clasped hands. "Please extend your understanding to me as

well. I, also, am now tied to an alien consciousness."

Just when you think you're stuck in a bad situation by yourself, you find someone as

bad off or worse than you. 'I had no shoes and I wept, then I met a man with no feet.'

The letter resurfaced, along with its nagging familiarity. It was like a will o' the wisp,

always just out of reach. She let it go once more.

"Lili, I must know the answer to this." Da'an released her hand and stood. He regarded

her from the corners of his eyes. "What transpired today? Simultaneous with your

distress came that of Zo'or. We felt him pulled from the Commonality, though not

completely. I feel that you were instrumental in ending the attack, at great risk to

yourself. How is this possible?"

She was at least ready for that question. "I investigated a reputed Liberation site, and

my global detected a signal similar to the one used against you." His eyes lowered. "I

broke in, found the source of the signal, and destroyed it. My escape wasn't quite so

easy."

"You took such risks for Zo'or?" Da'an sounded surprised.

"No." He could sense her despite for the Synod Leader, so there was no reason to veil

her words. "I don't care if Zo'or dies tomorrow. My actions were motivated by concern

for the people he would hurt."

"I see."

Lili could feel no animosity from him toward the UN Companion, a fact which baffled

her. Da'an turned to regard the chamber.

"I find myself also curious about Agent Kane." The Taelon's features took on a shrewd

look. "He appears to have made a powerful impression in Thu'ul. Please share what

you have learned."

"Not as much as I would have if you hadn't interrupted," She shook her head with a hint

of humor. "Where is Thu'ul, by the way?" The last thing either of them needed was for

the Strandhill Companion to bustle in.

Da'an's face took on a look of fondness that she'd not seen him display toward another

Taelon. Accompanying it was a corresponding warmth. "I believe he is currently

reviewing all the emergency plans associated with the United Nations Complex."

"One of these days, you'll have to tell me about him."

"That will prove to be a pleasant, if lengthy, conversation."

Lili looked over at the open book of poetry. "I don't suppose you can read this?" She

pointed to the calligraphy.

He stepped to her side, hands rising gracefully. "Through the shared knowledge of the

Commonality, I can read all human languages."

Well that was convenient. She gingerly lifted the tattered pages, pointing to the Kanji

inscription.

Da'an first read the English section. He paused, and she sensed a kind of distance. A

moment later he spoke, "The Western masters have always stirred my soul far more

deeply than even my native poets. This book contains my favorites. Each stanza holds

a fragment of my spirit. When we are apart, beloved, read, and I will be with you."

Lili felt that she had just trespassed into the inner most area of a temple. She did not

like the sensation. Her other self wordlessly returned the volume. Lili replaced the

rubber bands and sat it back in its original place.

"I wonder what happened to her," she asked the air.

"She died," Da'an answered.

She turned to face him then. "How do you know that?"

The Companion inclined his head toward the open box which sat behind the book.

"Because I see her name inscribed upon the paper which hangs on this shrine. It is a

Japanese altar commemorating those loved ones who have passed on. This one, " he

pointed to another strip. "Is for David Yoshi Kane."

"His son?"

"I would imagine."

Guilt began to take hold of Lili's heart with that revelation. It was her intention to depart

immediately, but suddenly Da'an's regard of the shrine became more focused.

"What is it Da'an?"

"One of the names listed is Lucas Johnson." He looked up at her intently.

"You mean Captain Johnson, the Marine?" Marquette's mind churned forward, adding

the new grist to her mill of speculation.

"Yes." His thoughts became distant once more, as if walking among memories she

could not share. Suddenly he looked up, head tilted as if listening, then headed for the

exit. "We must go, Captain. Thu'ul indicates that something else is happening."

She cast a final look behind her before following him out. It was time for a long chat

with Implant Kane. He was the only one who could clear up these mysteries.

If he ever gets out of the UN, she reminded herself, then hurried after Da'an.

*********

The conference room was a large rectangular structure containing a huge oval table

that was sturdily constructed of Formica on press board. Kane and Levi moved it under

the return. Two chairs brought it within reach. He snatched away the grate, throwing

the useless obstruction aside.

Levi turned her pretty face toward him. "So what's the plan?"

Zo'or took a seat in one of the few remaining chairs and gave him a look of bland

inquiry. "I would be intrigued to know the answer to that question, myself."

"How good a shot are you," he countered, facing Levi.

"I can bulls-eye a mosquito's butt at 50 yards with a .357." She grinned at him. "Good

enough, or do you want to call in Wyatt Earp?"

He handed her the machine gun with a slight smile. That old feeling of serenity had

returned. If they had more time, he'd have taken a nap. The best sleep in the world

came just before combat. "You cover from above. I'll handle down below."

"And just how are you planning on getting down below?" Long brown lashes batted at

him teasingly.

"I'm going to jump." Kane secured the doors of the conference room, then zeroed the

Taelon with a searching look. "Why aren't the Taelons terminating this broadcast?"

His global was still displaying scenes from the Council Chambers. He paused long

enough to hand the device to his Companion. If they managed to at least locate and

destroy the source of the scrambler, then Zo'or could contact Companion Security.

"The damage has already been done." Zo'or's tone was at its most condescending. "A

fact you have already observed. Should the hostages be executed, the Liberation will

lose public support because of its own ruthlessness. If you and this officer manage to

save the hostages, then the world can see how efficient is the cooperative efforts of

Taelon and Human. In the event that you die during such an attempt, then you will both

be martyrs in the war against terrorism, again enhancing sympathy toward the

Companions."

"That has to be the most cold-hearted, low-down What do you mean you're going to

jump?!" Levi's voice went from outraged to astonished.

Kane found a new respect for Zo'or. His idea was sound. At least the alien had the

capacity to adapt and improvise. If he'd managed to impart his plans without seeming

to take such pleasure in them, Levi wouldn't have been so ticked off. Kane shook his

head and motioned for her to climb. She did so. He was unsure who he was more

amused with, her or his Companion.

All to human, he thought, the both of them, each in their own way.

And you're not, boy?

That was a question he had no intention of facing. He shoved it away, turning his

attention back to Levi.

"Jump," he repeated, beginning his own ascent. "What part of that didn't you

understand?"

"Smartass." She extended a hand to him. "You're crazy. You know that? You'll be

lucky not to break your leg, or your leatherneck."

He accepted her assistance and wormed his way into the aluminum shaft. The walls

around him began immediately to close in. He hated confined spaces.

Levi whispered, "How do you stand him? He's even worse than the rumors."

"Just think of him as the Grinch of the Taelon world."

She had to cover her mouth to contain the laughter. "My daughter, Alexis, loves Dr.

Seuss. We read him every night. 'Tweedle-Beetle Battle', 'Daisy Head Maisy', 'The

Lorax,' all of them. Oh and ,she loves your Companion, too. Not Grinch, the other

one." Her voice faded away as they continued.

The stifling tunnel went on forever. It smelled of rats, urine and feces. Dark clods of

earth tumbled into his collar turning his shirt into sandpaper. Tunnel clearing was

nerve-wracking work. The low light and cramped quarters made it difficult to avoid the

booby-traps which inevitably lined its length. Beyond every bend might wait one of the

enemy. Gun, knife, or grenade, the end would come just as quick.

God's teeth, he was sweating like a pig. This place was getting to him. It was it

was

It was not Indonesia. Kane was jolted from the memory when his left skrill suddenly

squeezed into his arm. His heart was pounding like a racehorse's. He focused on

Levi's movements, on the coolness of metal beneath his fingers. That one had been

bad. He'd not had an intrusion for months. Maybe his CVI had been saving that gem

for a special occasion. Her ladyship relaxed, and Kane took a half-second to pet her.

Just breathe, cowboy. Just breathe.

They reached the grill. Through its slats, he could see that the players had shifted.

The ambassadors had been placed into their respective chairs, hands tied behind them

with packing tape. On every side stood a gunman. Each was armed with an Ingram.

Two of them had thermite canisters on their belts. Centered in the long table was a

small satellite dish. There were all kinds of electronic gizmos attached to it, but Kane

had no idea what they were.

Levi whispered softly, "I think that's the signal jammer."

Video Joe brought his camera up to focus on the Captain. There was a woodenness to

the Hispanic's movements. That trait carried into his voice as he began to speak.

"My fellow humans," he began.

"Holy Mother of God, that's Captain Vargas." Levi hissed this information into his ear,

and pulled out her revolver.

The other terrorists stood quietly by, their weapons lowered. It was clear they felt

secure. His eyes were drawn to a white blob about the size of a basketball that was

attached to the council doors. It looked like enough C-7 to obliterate this entire floor.

Kane squinted, but could not detect a timer. He scanned the room again. None of the

men looked as though they held a trigger device. Apparently the door was rigged to

blow if forced open.

"Those who were supposed to represent our interests have betrayed us." Vargas

droned on in a monotone. Slowly he moved to stand behind Representative

Kalishnakov. "The Security Council recently voted to pass the resolution enforcing the

death penalty for crimes against Taelons." A pistol appeared in his hand. "It is only

fitting that a similar punishment be enforced for crimes against humanity."

"Target him," Kane pointed to one of the grenade carriers. "And him. They've got

phosphorous grenades." He gave her a long, searching look. "You're going to have to

take out the captain."

Troubled gray eyes touched his briefly, then she nodded. "I know."

Vargas wiped sweat from his brow. "This dog will be the first to die." His pistol raised

to Kalishnakov's temple. The Russian Ambassador whimpered a protest in his native

tongue.

There was no more time for thought. Kane gave himself over to the rhythm of violence.

He knotted back and kicked out the grate with both legs, then pushed himself off the

back of the duct and out. Something sharp caught his shoulder as he fell. It tore

through the thin cotton of his shirt into his flesh.

Levi was already shooting. Blood spurted from Vargas' arm as her bullet shattered

through flesh and bone. The pistol clattered down. Two of the guards returned fire,

their weapons sounding like firecrackers on Chinese New Year. There was yelling,

screaming. Kane landed hard, and it hurt. Needles of fire shot through his feet. He

rolled left, knelt, and fired from both arms. Her Majesty vaporized the furthest terrorist

and burned through the wall-paneling behind him, exposing the cinder blocks beneath.

The quieter right one merely tore through another's chest sending him reeling

backward. Kane felt more adrenaline pump into his blood, driving his energy level back

up.

Levi's gun was a distant drum, barking in rapid succession. The two grenade carriers

dropped like cattle under the slaughterer's hand. The sound of her gunfire changed to

bursts of staccato thunder. He spun around to check his flank, and fired at the glint of

metal which flashed out of a shadowy corner. Another bad guy crumpled.

How many more?

Kane heard more shots from above, and saw the camera man collapse, clutching his

thigh. He lurched toward the fallen man, ignoring the protests coming from his ankles.

They'd get over it. Before he could reach him, Video Joe drew out his own weapon and

brought it to bear. His skrill blast and Levi's next shot hit simultaneously. Kane twisted

left.

Vargas was standing like a statue, his features blank. He seemed not to notice the

carnage surrounding him. When he twisted to remove a second pistol, Kane saw a

single line of blood trickling from his ear. The sight of it made him freeze.

It looked for all the world like CVI failure.

"Captain Vargas," Kane stood slowly. Vargas did not even look at him. "Captain, you

don't want to do this."

His adversary slowly raised the weapon at Kalishnakov. He movements were rough,

coming in fits and starts. The blood from his ear moved more quickly.

Kane stepped around the table. "Vargas," he shouted, and raised his aching skrill a

final time. "This is not you. You are trained to protect these men, not kill them." Come

on, he urged silently. "Vargas, look at me!"

"Captain, listen to him!" Levi added her voice to the cause.

The slender Hispanic met his eyes. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with blood,

and staining the white of his uniform. There was desperation in those dark eyes.

Tremors racked his body. Kane carefully opened his hands, holding them palm out.

"Put the gun down, Captain." He stepped forward another slow step. "Just put it

down."

Vargas' eyes squeezed shut. His throat issued a hoarse cry of anguish. Then he

raised the pistol to his own head and fired.

"No!" Levi screamed out. "God damn it." He heard her fist pound inside the echo

chamber of the duct.

Kane sprinted toward the fallen officer, already knowing it was too late. He squatted

beside him. The gunshot had obliterated most Vargas' skull in its fury. He tilted the

remains of his chin upwards. There, just inside the jaw line was a small red dot. A

recent entry point for CVI Implantation. No skrill, though. A quick check of the arms

revealed that.

Don't just sit there, Joshua. Sorting out this mess can wait. Your work isn't done.

Adrenaline slowly drained away, leaving in its place only weariness. He stood up

heavily and set about untying the dignitaries.

"Kane!" Levi leaned out the opening. "Are you alright?"

Sure. For the second time in two months he was surrounded by dead bad guys. The

conspiracy hinted at in Baltimore seemed all but certain now. His right ankle was

already swelling and was probably fractured. Using both of his little friends had drained

him so that he needed a year of uninterrupted sleep, and in about 10 minutes he would

have one heck of a headache. But what the hell, any fight you walked away from was

good fight.

"I'm fine," he called back after freeing the Japanese Ambassador. The smaller man

bowed to him deeply, a gesture Kane returned.

"Good. So how about turning off the signal jammer and deactivating that glob of silly

putty on the door." He looked up to find her grinning at him.

Right.

He crossed over to the double doors. Steve Milliner joined him. They stooped down

together and regarded the device. Kane cast the ambassador a quizzical look.

"What do you think," the UN rep asked him bluntly.

The bomb was very simple. Only two wires connected the plastique to the detonator.

Break the wires, and boom. Kane pulled the detonator out, letting that serve as

Milliner's answer. If only the rest of his life were that easy. He pocketed the device

and headed back to the table.

Unfortunately, he couldn't make heads or tails of the scrambler. The damn thing had more wires than centipede had feet. There was a screen of sorts with flashing lights.

He stood there staring at the thing for several long seconds. Where the hell was the 'on-off' button?

"You mean to tell me you can deactivate a bomb, but you can't that off?!" Levi's voice was incredulous. "Come on, Tex. Figure something out."

He'd figure something out, alright. He'd heave the whole fragging thing into the nearest wall. Fortunately, the little Japanese representative came over and flipped a switch on the underside of the machine. All the lights went out immediately.

Kane bowed to Mr. Takagi. "Domo arigato," he said. "Thank you very much." Looking

back up at Levi, "How long before anyone gets to us?"

She shrugged, too busy with her radio. When the stream of conversation ceased, she

gave him the thumbs up. "Just under two hours."

Kane smiled to himself. Right about now, the Grinch should be receiving a call from

Captain Marquette. That was a match made in heaven.

Milliner came back over, offering his hand. They shook, and the gray-haired man

clapped him on the shoulder. "Good work, Kane." He turned and looked up at Levi.

"Well done, Officer. You'll get a promotion out of this."

Kane began to examine the bodies. He'd have to be careful not to disturb too much,

but after Baltimore it seemed best to get what information he could. "Hey!" He

suddenly remembered his disgruntled Companion. "Go check on Zo'or for me."

Levi grimaced her distaste, but nodded. She disappeared into the air duct.

As he bent down to look at the cameraman, he heard the Kalishnakov and Milliner

begin arguing. The others quickly joined in, and soon the room was filled with a battle

of bellows instead of bullets.

It was going to a very long couple of hours.

Allen's taxi pulled up in front of the Voodoo Emporium at 8:55 PM. He regretted leaving the cool, air-conditioned cab. New Orleans was still unpleasantly warm and humid. Moisture hung heavy in the air, making breathing an exercise in itself. His back and forehead beaded with perspiration almost immediately, and his blue silk shirt tenaciously clung to him like a Jack Russell Terrier to a favored toy. He wouldn't mind sweating if it made him feel cooler. It didn't.

Bourbon Street was still very busy. Allen glanced around as the cab pulled off. Across the roadway were a group of jugglers performing under the warm glow of lantern-style street lights. Their batons whirled upward and spun down into expert hands. A small knot of people applauded; he heard the delighted squeal of a child. Not two doors down was a mime. The poor fellow chased his runaway hat like a man possessed. For an inanimate object, the hat proved rather elusive, ducking left, darting forward, and dodging frantic tackles. The sight brought a smile to Allen's lips. He loved that skit.

Yeah, this place had a life of its own, especially at night. Some places became duller with the darkness, but this one... This one gained even more energy. It was as though ghosts strolled down brick sidewalks next to the living, taking joy from them, but leaving behind the thrill of their passing.

What the flack are you thinking? Geez, man, wake up!

He turned toward the curio shop. The building was old, made of cut stone, and decorated by colorful murals. Allen could make out faint figures of playing children. They looked to be skipping stones across the glimmering surface of a lake. Puffy white clouds dotted an azure sky. There was more to it, but that section was beyond the sphere of lamplight. It would probably be quite lovely during the day; he ought to come back and see.

The inside of his destination was starkly lit. Fluorescent illumination played off rows of bottles, bags and figurines. There was no sign of life.

"Bon Soir, M'sieur Allen. " Jean Devereau's voice startled him. The man disentangled himself from an awning's shadow and sauntered over. Allen had to wonder how he'd missed him. His contact was clad all in white, from his short-sleeved cotton shirt, to his pale trousers. Maybe the blackness had simply clung to the Resistance Leader until willed away.

And there you go with that spooky crap again!

"What's up?" Allen stirred himself, finally, to return a greeting. As an afterthought, he closed his open mouth. Cripes, he probably looked like a hungry fish, eyes bugging out in shock and mouth hanging wide open.

Devereau smiled. "You are, mon ami." He gestured toward the beveled glass door, which was the shop's entrance. "Please."

Copper bells clanged against the door's surface, announcing their presence to no one. He heard the tinny slide of a lock as Devereau secured the store. All around were displays. 'Try Papa Legba's Lover Come Back to Me Oil!" Smaller print cautioned, 'For entertainment purposes only.' Others promised luck in gambling, the stock exchange, in love. Allen snorted in derision. In an age of such advances in science, it was hard to believe that there was anyone left to buy this crap. Two glass counters at his right held strange little statues. An old man leaned upon a twisted cane. He was a deep ebony color, with a long white beard. Next to him was a print of the Virgin Mary, her heart pierced with a single, narrow sword. Dominating the wall immediately behind was a tall black-robed mannequin. The plastic model had a frickin' crocodile mask in place of a head. Yellowed teeth glimmered coldly under the harsh light. A price tag was suspended on string from one sharp tooth, looking like a fat, red tongue. $435.50.

Cho! At that price the bleeding thing should be made of gold.

Devereau brushed past, leading Allen through narrow isles crammed with even more oddities. 'Authentic Voodoo Dolls' sat in silent rows, black button eyes staring into nothing. There were little plastic bags containing pins conveniently attached to them. Small fragrant sacks hung from every shelf. Their scents reminded him of bad potpourri. 'Mama Isabel's Gris-gris Pouches ward away evil spirits,' another cardboard sign proudly proclaimed.

Maybe he should buy one to repel Zo'or?

They passed into a stock room. Boxes of Florida Water, Money Charms, and incense were piled high. Allen had little time to browse before his guide took him through a second opening and down a set of stairs.

The smell struck him first. It was both, sweet and earthy, impossible to truly identify, but heady. Smoke wafted up each step, curling about his head, stinging his eyes. Allen blinked several times to clear them. The room was small, perhaps ten foot square, with two other exits. He stepped onto a straw mat. Under it was a packed earth floor. Devereau slid his feet from brown penny loafers and set the shoes aside. Perhaps twenty sets of foot ware were lined up in a row. The only light came from numerous candles. They sat on the floor, on each step, on small stones. Flames danced across delicate trickles of water that meandered down walls of stark white. Basements in New Orleans were very rare. The high water level made it impossible to keep them dry. He remembered Mayor Carter telling Thu'ul, "We have to have above ground crypts in Louisiana. One good rain and the grandma you buried last winter will come floatin' down Main Street!"

Devereau's hand gripped his shoulder, breaking that train of thought. "Please remove your shoes, Mr. Allen. But under no circumstances allow your feet to contact the ground." Orbs of rich, emerald-green glinted in the candlelight.

"Excuse me?" This guy had just passed strange and was approaching 'The Outer Limits' of weirdness. Allen bent to comply with his request. He noticed that there was a path made of mats leading out through a doorway.

"It is for your safety, mon ami. Lwa, or spirits, rise out of the earth. Our feet are their portal into our bodies."

That was it. He was out of here. This guy was now talking about Voodoo, and Allen wanted no part of it.

"Please, my friend." Devereau entrapped him with those damned eyes. From another room came the soft, slow rhythm of drums. "You indicated a wish to see us touch the Taelon Commonality, did you not?"

Allen rolled his eyes. "Look. I may be from the islands, but I'm not gonna be conned by no hokey shit like this."

The air grew very still. Devereau appeared to grow larger somehow, though his height did not change. A static charge gathered about the Resistance Leader, and Allen felt the tiny hairs on his arms grow erect with tension. "I warn you, M'sieur," his contact's voice became quiet. "Never disrespect my faith again." A silent battle took place as their gazes warred for dominance. Gradually Devereau relaxed. "You are a difficult man to fathom. Tell me. You have no doubt heard of Katya Petrenko. I assume, you, like your Liberation counterparts had little difficulty believing in her psychic ability to penetrate the Harmonic."

"Yeah, but... This is -"

"This is simply another way. Our way. Raising consciousness is a practice as old as consciousness, itself. The incense, the drumming," Devereau drew near. He wore strange cologne. It's floral quality blended with the other smells. "This place, are all carefully crafted to carry us to a higher level of being."

Devereau brought up the index finger of his right hand and touched Allen's forehead. "Open your mind, my friend. All you will lose tonight, is time."

The area where he touched began to tingle. Across the skin above his nose was traced a small, equal armed cross. Long after his host's finger was gone, Allen could still feel its pressure. The light-skinned man pulled him forward down a road made of straw, and into a huge chamber.

The exotic fragrance around him strengthened, making his head swim a little, his eyes lose their focus. There were many people present. Most occupied benches which surrounded three sides of the white enclosure. Three men sat behind large drums. They used wooden hammers to vibrate a subliminal beat. Hearts. The instruments pulsed like human hearts. He found them mesmerizing, and heard their rhythm mirrored inside his pounding chest.

Centered exactly was a single wooden post. As big around as his thigh it jutted from out the earth and rose to the ceiling. It was painted brightly in red and white stripes, and bore small black symbols. "The Poteau-Mitan," supplied Devereau. His voice came from far away. "In Vodoun, everything revolves around the crossroads. It is where this world and the next collide. Every center-post forms a vertical intersection in the hounfor, the parish." Around it danced white clad men and women. Most were black, but there were a few Caucasians. Each moved lethargically, bent forward, hands atop knees. Allen wanted to join them. The urge was almost overpowering. He stepped forward, but was stopped by Devereau's strong grip.

"Stay on the mats, Edgar." The whispered command was absolute. "You are under my protection. I will risk neither your safety, nor your sanity."

Right. Allen tried to snap himself out of the trance he was under. This was too twisted to be real.

A tall, ebony skinned man circulated among the dancers. He spoke briefly with each, smiling and waving his arms. His demeanor was one of casual encouragement. The language used was Creole. Allen had heard Haitians use it before. Many of the dancers smiled as he passed.

Dominating most of the rear wall was a massive table. Hundreds of candles sat atop and around it. Bottles of rum, beer, and plates of fruit formed a massive centerpiece. Two sequined flags hung from the wall catching pieces of the flickering light and reflecting them, like miniature stars. One was a lavender and rose heart. A stylized arrow penetrated it. Drops of blood leaked from the wound. The second flag displayed a snake curled under a dazzling rainbow. Each drapery was cunningly wrought and beautiful to behold.

Devereau shifted position, moving behind Allen, holding to both upper arms. His voice drifted past Allen's ear like a zephyr. "The heart is Erzulie Freda Dahomey, Mistress of Love and Keeper of Dreams. Damballah is the serpent who holds up the world on his coils. His wife Ayida Wedo is the rainbow. She was created when the sun's radiance first struck his shining scales. They are patron lwa of this Societe'."

The room's heartbeat began to subtly change. It became faster, anticipatory. One by one the dancers stepped back until only a handful of women remained. They circled the Poteau-Mitan in time to the ceaseless rhythm of the drums. Their faces gained a look of ecstasy.

From an entrance to the left returned the tall black man. This time he carried a wrought iron sword. The hilt ended in a snake's head. A long leather whip hung coiled from his belt. To Allen's surprise, he stepped in backward, carefully weaving his way through the dancers. "The La-Place. A master of ceremonies. His movement carries us back to when men and spirits were one, when the world of form and the realm of force were not so separate as they now seem. The whip, or fwet kash will ward away any demons who attempt to trespass. Watch as he salutes the center-post, then the four cardinal points, a crossroads, Mr. Allen. This room, you, me, every door, every decision, a crossroads."

He was swaying. Allen scrunched his eyes closed, then open, forcing his body to still. The room was getting uncomfortably hot. Sweat poured from his body like a swift flow of a waterfall. Chanting had begun. He had no idea when. It might have formed an undercurrent all along.

Jesus Christ, what the flack was happening?

The atmosphere had shifted. Allen almost expected tiny flares of lightning to arc through it. Another figure entered. He recognized her as Queen Magdelaine. The woman's nut-brown face was reverent. Her white robe brushed the ground as she passed. In one hand was a beaded gourd that rattled in time to the thrumming hearts.

"The asson." Devereau whispered. "Only priests and priestesses may wield it. Through the focus it provides, Le Invisibles may be channeled."

She moved to the altar and chanted over it, removing a clay bowl. Through the dancers she wound her way gracefully. They smiled at her in welcome. Queen Magdelaine raised the bowl four times in turn, like the La-Place had his sabre. The words of the crowd changed, becoming distinct. "Attibon Legba, ouvri baye' pou mon ago!" The rattle grated out anew and the priestess poured liquid onto the ground.

Devereau did not abandon him. "Attibon Legba, open the way for me," he translated. "She leaves water behind for the lwa."

The Queen stepped up to him, inches away. Her gourd criss-crossed around him, sounding like a thousand rattlesnakes. Once, twice, she tapped his forehead. Allen's knees gave way. Devereau guided him gently to the floor. There was no pain, but if felt like invisible hands were prying open the pathways of his mind. Devereau's voice had become but a dream. "Legba is the gate keeper, guardian of the Grand Chemin, the great road between seen and unseen. His permission must be granted before contacting any other spirit. He must open the gate, as he will open your mind. Attibon Legba, ouvri baye' pou mon ago." The words mixed with the drums repeating endlessly in his mind until he heard them issued from his own throat.

Magdelaine trailed a stream of water from each doorway to the Poteau-Mitan. "We believe Le Esprit dwell below the waters, and arrive on these streams. She honors the doorways for Legba as well." The song changed again, becoming welcoming, joyous. "Papa Legba is in my hounfor." Devereau translated anew. Air settled over Allen, became a blanket. It whisked onward, just like someone had entered the room, paused, then passed him by.

More salutations began, this time Devereau told him they were for Ghede, lord of the dead. "He is the dapper gentleman you saw at the museum, decked out in top hat and tails. To reach any of the departed, his permission must be gained." The drums were haunting now. Their meter a steady, inescapable net of sound. Out it cast, over the room, gathering Allen in its folds. He shivered from a sudden chill, as if Death had caressed his cheek. Offerings of rum were poured onto the center post by the Queen. She took some in her mouth, spraying it into the air. A few cool droplets showered upon him. They evaporated all to quickly. Magdelaine's asson was almost louder than the drums. It commanded attention, and cajoled obedience. Her voice pelted out orders in Creole. The tone was imperative, like the sound of her rattle. "Papa Ghede is being particularly stubborn tonight. Our Mambo is reminding him of the recent offerings our hounfor has provided." Devereau's next words wormed into his brain, burrowing deep. "Death, my friend, is always hungry. Feed him a thousand times, and he will never be full."

For the second time, Allen knew something had changed around him. Magdelaine's voice gentled, quieted. The drumbeats, however, pitched into a feverish crescendo.

Then it all stopped. One skeletal finger traced down Allen's cheek. He jerked his head left. But there was nothing. In front of him, the priestess fell to her knees cradling her asson like an infant. She kissed it tenderly.

"Strangely enough, Ghede is also the protector of children, and so she greets him like a child." The hands around his arms squeezed tightly and released.

"Now it begins." Devereau began to hum. Others joined in creating a structure of harmony as vast as it was foreign. Two men raised up conch shells alternately sounding each in turn. Allen recognized the music. He'd heard it before on the recordings made by Katya Petrenko. This song was normally played on a Taelon instrument called the Tubes. To hear it repeated through human voice and instrument was bizarre. The drums were hushed, beaten only by fingertips. The disparate sounds married, painting a picture on silence and creating a vision within his mind. Allen saw the Earth glowing like a blue and green star amid a vast ocean of space. It vanished just as swiftly as it came.

He was humming too. His heart, lungs, and voice were no longer his own. They belonged to the hounfor. Allen recoiled in terror, and struggled against Devereau's iron grasp.

"Shhh, Edgar." His host's voice fell soft and hot upon his ear. "Be easy. None shall harm you."

But it wasn't others that he feared.

From the audience stepped a man and woman. They circled the center-post. Queen Magdelaine spoke to them in hushed Creole. Allen could not hear the words. First clockwise, then to the counter they circled, never touching, always near. The orchestral singing continued, growing louder, more urgent. As one the couple raised their hands, palm out, and brought them together. Immediately they pitched backward to the ground. The priestess chanted over them, her voice soothing. They spasmed violently. Backs arched upward simultaneously. Arms thrashed. Legs quivered. Then they fell limply to the earth, and were still. He was struck most deeply by the timing. Every motion, down to the slightest twitch, had occurred at exactly the same instant and in exactly the same way.

Several women came forward and gathered up the trembling couple. They were ushered out a side door. Allen watched and waited for his guide to speak. He was not disappointed. "The lwa have mounted their cheval, the horses. Now they must be properly fed and dressed. They are a powerful spirit, these lwa."

Allen worked his tongue. It was brittle as winter leaves. Finally he found his voice and croaked, "You mean spirits."

"Do I?"

The silence was worse than the music. Nothing remained to distract him from the unbearable temperature. It was hard to breathe. His burning lungs labored to draw oxygen from the thick soup of smoke, moisture, and heat. Dark points blossomed in his vision. Allen knew that he was leaning heavily on Devereau, but there was nothing he could do about it. He lacked sufficient strength to move.

Queen Magdelaine's lilting soprano intoned, "Sinaui Euhura." Over and over she sang those words. The two emerged as if in answer. They were the same people, yet different. The male was tall, lean, dark of skin and eye, a striking contrast to the paler beauty beside him. She was colored a rich sienna with full lips and warm olive eyes. Side by side they walked, always in step, gliding across the ground with an unearthly grace. Allen stared, trying to grasp what he was seeing. Both were barefoot. The woman's hair had been combed straight back, flat to her head. Instead of a white dress, she was attired in a skin-tight turtleneck-styled jumpsuit. What transfixed him were the graceful movements of her hands. They rose and fell like those of Thu'ul. Her companion walked erect and proud. He wore an ill-fitting Marine Corps uniform. Splotches of color provided by neatly lined service ribbons off-set the deep midnight blue covering his chest and arms. He was supposed to be a captain, at least according to the shiny brass insignia on his collar.

What the flack?

"Who calls us?" The pair spoke together, the man in English, the woman in the lovely sing-song of Eunoian. Allen shook his head in disbelief. No one, no human, had ever mastered Taelon so well. Commander Boone had supplied the Resistance with his knowledge of the language. Everyone with access had studied it. Wasted time and hurting heads were the only results. What he was witnessing this woman do, was simply not possible.

All movement stopped at the center post. Their heads turned toward Queen Magdelaine. "Ah. We see you now." A glow of purest blue surrounded each of them. It clung to their bodies like gossamer tendrils of mist. "Is it time?" Their voices blended in pitch, sounding almost like the genderless modulations of Taelons.

Queen M shook her head sadly. "Forgive us, Rohaj, we have not yet found the key."

As one they inclined their heads. He'd seen such motion from Thu'ul a hundred times. Mirrored in these humans, it took on an eerie quality, sending goose bumps up Allen's flesh. Tremors coursed through him. The fear at least cleared his mind. It no longer felt like he was drowning.

"There is nothing to forgive." Hands rose lithely up, opened toward Magdelaine, and sank with the same unhurried pace. "We have learned that it is not the success, but the striving which ennobles and enriches. It is from Boone that we gained this lesson." They paused, and turned round. "There is a stranger here."

"Edgar Allen," Devereau spoke. "He works with -"

"Thu'ul. Yes. The scholar cares for this one." They walked forward, partners in a symbiotic dance. "We are Rohaj, human. We were once..."

"Rho'ha," The woman spoke alone.

"Lucas Johnson." Her shadow followed suit.

My God. Allen found his mind swimming yet again. This was insane! It couldn't be real.

Rohaj walked toward him. Their feet rising and falling in absolute unison. His female component wore an expression of serenity, but 'Johnson's' face was concerned. "We fear for your Companion." The voices were but murmurs now. Urgency transmitted itself over the fragile wire of words. "Thu'ul is a pawn of fate, as we were. His sacrifice must not be in vain."

They spoke as if it had already happened.

"No." Rohaj breathed. "But happen it will." Two sets of eyes drilled into him. They grew in his consciousness until every other vision was blotted out. Somewhere within the olive and brown depths Allen thought he saw embers of blue fire.

Bits of that fiery energy trailed over his face, tingling and chilling the moist skin. He could feel distress, urgency. It came from them, and him.

"The Sleepers awaken. But the Void eludes us." Their voices became a wail of anguish. Allen's eyes burned with unshed tears. He was freed at last from their gaze as they faced his host. "Devereau, we are tired, so very tired."

"We will find the key, Rohaj." The hands gripping Allen's shoulders tightened with resolve. "You have my word."

Their voices were calmer this time. "There is so little time. The Void opens within the living, and is far colder than that which awaits the dead. It has already consumed one, and beckons to another. Death walks the Commonality. The Liar whispers sweetly into ears that listen." They addressed the audience. "You have more than one enemy. It is the one you do not see that will destroy you."

The woman stepped forward suddenly. Her face twisted, and for a moment she seemed in pain. A bright spot of light sparked from her palms. "We have not found Boone." Her fingers spread; her eyes stared upward. The glow increased, eclipsing the candles. "He is not here." 'Johnson' put his hands on her back, and she closed her eyes. Slowly the twin points of energy faded.

"Our journey continues. But yours," they circled Devereau and Allen. "...Has just begun."

"Who has brought Death?" Queen M circled opposite the pair.

"We do not know him. We sense his frozen presence at the edges of our nightmares. Oblivion is preferable to the horror of his spirit."

"What can we do?" The Mambo followed her charges. She was like a mother hen chasing down two wayward chicks.

"Hold fast the light within. Let it be a beacon to the lost." They knelt before Allen. "Allow not Da'an to stand alone. He, too, is vulnerable to dark intent. His enemies are legion. Fight for him, as Boone once fought for us. Our races must live as one, or they will die as one."

A compulsion unlike any he'd ever encountered accompanied the request. There was no refusing. After several moments of concentration, Allen managed to nod his head.

They faded back. The energy surrounding them waned. Each passed a hand before their eyes as if wiping away fatigue. Through gritted teeth the male spoke. "Kane. You know Joshua Kane." At Allen's faint nod, the Marine continued. "I hear him sing to me. He remembers me, my family. Tell him that I chose death and that there are no wrongs to be redressed on my account. I was not free to live. Now, I am not able to die." Despite the sadness of his face, the black man smiled. "Maybe someday... "

"We must go." They were one again. The music faded. Allen hadn't even realized there had been music. When it disappeared the two fell to their knees as if some essential animating force had drained away.

Jesus Frickin' Christ. Allen fell back flush against Devereau. He was exhausted, physically, emotionally. His consciousness was sinking down a drain filled only with darkness, but the darkness was white...

***********

Clawing his way to consciousness was more difficult than losing it. The desperate fight of Salmon swimming upstream came to mind. He was tremulous on the inside and felt strangely disconnected. Allen's eyes opened to faint light and coolness. It took several long moments before they would focus. He was not in his hotel room. This place had warm, white wallpaper covered with tiny yellow roses. Where the flack was he?

"Easy, mon ami." Devereau's voice broke the silence. The Resistance Leader sat in an over-stuffed chair near him, and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "Are you well rested?"

It dawned on Allen that he was lying in a bed. The sheets were soft, smooth. He plucked at the covers nervously. "I guess so." Memories of his recent experiences flooded back, and he eyed his host angrily. "I'm gonna beat your blood clot backside when I feel better." His rush of temper blurred his vision, caused the room to slowly turn. Allen made himself relax.

Devereau laughed softly. "And you will have every right to do so." The man looked exhausted. Dark circles harried the edges of his dark green eyes. Red lines shot across their whites. "How do you feel?"

"Like I'm surrounded by cotton. Just how long have I been out of it?" Pale yellow drapes revealed grayish light seeping through the room's single window. It looked like daybreak.

"Several hours." Devereau followed his gaze. "Dawn is hard upon us."

Cripes, he had to contact the Captain!

Allen sat upright. The yellow-flecked walls around him immediately began to spin. Hands secured him, and lowered him back. He reached for his global, only to find it missing, along with his clothing. A turn of his head revealed the device atop a flat, walnut night stand. His pistol was there as well.

"Take it slow. You've been through a great deal, M'sieur Allen." His contact cautioned him in a gentle tone. "The world, for you, has just gotten infinitely larger. It will probably take at least a few minutes to catch up." Humor lightened the deep green of his eyes.

"Yeah, right." Allen snorted. He refused to think about his experiences. Maybe the whole thing was just a hallucination. "Look, man, I've got to report this to Captain Marquette. What the hell am I going to tell her?"

Devereau leaned his head into the soft cushion behind him. "I have no idea what you are going to tell her. Seeing into the future is not one of my talents." The man's dark hair was slightly mussed. There was a hint of stubble marring the smoothness of his face. He'd apparently been sitting up with Allen all night. "You could tell her that the attempt failed. You could tell her that we changed our minds and refused to share our methods." Those twin emeralds drilled into him with the sharpness of diamonds. "My suggestion would be to tell the truth. Her belief or disbelief is not your responsibility, just as yours is not mine."

Oh that was helpful. Allen scowled at the man beside him. "Don't even go there. I don't really know what happened, myself, how am I supposed to tell her!" This guy had flipped his nut.

"You witnessed two of our hounsi canzo, Vodoun initiates, being possessed by a lwa known as Rohaj. This spirit was summoned from the other side. It is through him that we learn snatches of Taelon intentions." Devereau brushed hair away from his forehead. "Our association with him is quite recent, in truth, accidental. We sought to contact Commander Boone. Thus far our search has been unsuccessful."

"He's dead, you know." Allen was positive that an appropriate application of logic would manage to snap his host out of this crazy dream.

Green eyes closed. "Yes, Mr. Allen. He is. So, too, is Rohaj. In Vodoun, the dead are as near to us as the living. They are both our source, and our future. But such metaphysical discussions can be boring at best, prosaic, at worst. Through - our contact -- however you choose to rationalize him, we are able to glean some information about the Companions, as you have already witnessed."

"You call that information? I call it nonsense." Allen rolled to his side, facing his host. "Rohaj, whoever he was, spoke in generalized riddles. Anyone could have done that." Devereau did not look at him, but his expression became pained.

"It is your choice, my friend." The light-skinned man rose wearily. He paused a moment to skewer Allen one last time with those eyes. "You have received information, and a warning. Heed it. Don't heed it. This is your crossroads to navigate. Should you decide your experience warrants further inquiry, I am at your disposal."

He left without further word.

Oh that was just flackin' great. Allen flopped onto his back once more. His head filled up with the strange images of last night. He heard the chanting, the drums, remembered the beautiful notes of Rohaj's speech. Something had happened. Deep inside he knew, nothing would ever be the same.

He stared up at the white lace canopy topping his bed. It was a long time before he could make himself contact Marquette.

***********

A light mist hovered over DC as dawns pallid light warred with the low cloud cover for dominance of the earth. Lili Marquette shifted to restore circulation in her feet. She'd been squatting inside this thick stand of bushes for over an hour and numbness had set in. One hand pushed strands of dark brown hair away from her moist face. The day was warm already, promising only continued heat when the sun reached its zenith. She looked around. So far Memorial Park was almost devoid of human life. There had been only a single jogger this morning. He'd trotted swiftly past, listening to some kind of ungodly music that sounded like a combination of rap and punk rock. A lone policeman strolled through about 15 minutes ago.

Since then only one other disturbed the silent sleep of the plaza. He was a regular here. Marquette had seen him every time she'd visited the SI Memorial. A black and tan German Shepherd guided the sightless man to his usual bench. There he set up a display of tiny American flags. They were hand crafted of cloth and wood, and priced at only $2.00. He normally sold out each day. At his feet were placed several paper bags containing bread crumbs for the pigeons. Fifty cents purchased one, although he'd been known to give a bag or two away to small children. Lili gave his appearance her full attention for the first time. His curly beard was a rich blue-black, matching his hair and brows. A dark complexion framed the mirrored sunglasses which shielded his eyes from outsiders. She wondered what lay behind those glasses, then pulled away from such morbid curiosity. He was ready for warm weather. The veteran wore a muscle T-shirt of OD green cotton. Several tattoos were proudly displayed on arms that were just beginning to go to flab. She picked up her camera and zoomed in, snapping a photo of his profile, and then close-ups of his fleshy art work. One of them was the same skull and bones motif painted on Kane's shoulder. Under it were the words, "Death before dishonor." The globe and anchor of the Marine Corps winked through the dark hair of his forearm. Her eyes narrowed as she continued her inspection. Below the cut-off shorts he wore were two artificial legs...

" ...There are those without feet who face the dawn unafraid. When next you meet them and find courage within eyes that can no longer see, you will know how truly blessed is your lot."

The words played out before her marquis-style, confirming her burgeoning theories. At midnight she'd hit the sack, head hurting from frustration. She'd looked up the Church of the Guardians via her link and found a legitimate church. Reverend Gabriel Anders ministered there. It was a new denomination, but was recognized and sanctioned by the Federal Government. Lili figured that her instincts were just plain wrong, but the letter continued to mock her. Something was there, as close as her own skin, but untouchable. In desperation she'd written out what she remembered, and analyzed every damn word a hundred times. There were no patterns, codes, or invisible message. Finally Da'an's soothing calm penetrated her consciousness. It and her burning eyes drove her to seek sleep.

God, but those few hours had been peaceful! An involuntary smile flitted across her face. His mental hand rested on her brow warding away nightmares and restlessness. She'd have been content to stay asleep for days.

But at three o'clock this morning she'd woken from that sound, dreamless slumber hearing the Marine Corps Hymn. The damn thing was stuck in her filter, and would not leave. Sometimes that happened with songs, but she'd not heard the Hymn for months. Over and over it repeated, like a stuck recording. An hour later, Lili gave up and softly sang it. There was no other way to banish that kind of demon. When she reached the last verse, suddenly, everything, everything fell into place.

"If the Army and the Navy

Ever look on Heaven's scenes

They will find the streets are guarded

By United States Marines."

Kane's letter had slammed into her with the weight of a falling star. 'Those who guard the streets of Heaven are with you, now and always.' It sent her flying into the shower. Tossing on gray sweats and a sports bra, she settled at her kitchen table clutching a steaming cup of coffee and faced off with the letter. Her Other was surprised by her passion and determination. She reassured him and warmed their connection with her gratitude for his watchful presence.

Lili roused herself from those memories. Her gaze shifted to the SI Memorial. The circular structure sprouted from the grassy earth as if born of living rock. Designed by Maya Ying Lin, the architect of the Vietnam Memorial, this one looked like an ancient Celtic spiral, if viewed from above. Its red marble walls wound inward, surrounding visitors with the endless names of fallen soldiers. In the center were smaller monuments, most privately funded. Another whirling hallway led outward. She'd never seen anyone double back. Once they started walking, all visitors advanced inward, then slowly outward, never breaking the spiral. It was an unspoken taboo. The names, themselves, were inlaid with obsidian, and glittered under bright sunlight. Line by line, row by row they dominated either side of you as you walked. Only the ground below and sky above provided respite. Over time it was nicknamed Valhalla, or simply the Hall.

'Within the halls of death you walk with pride." It had to be a meeting.

The letter's message eluded her for so long because she was seeking some sort of complex code, not veiled inferences. That she hadn't realized its true meaning sooner only proved the wisdom of simplicity. Hell, almost no one outside the Corps knew every verse of the Hymn. The last had been her Rosetta Stone. It brought all the pieces of this puzzle clicking into place.

If she was right, Kane was working for the military and this bearded fellow was his Control, his outside contact.

A taxi slowed to a halt at the corner of Constitution Avenue and out of it stepped Kane's distinctive silhouette.

Bingo.

Black was the color of the day, as always. His short sleeves allowed both skrills high visibility. It struck her that Kane was the only implant she'd seen who didn't always try to hide them. The Stetson was at home upon his head, pulled low. In one hand was a six-pack of beer and in the other a bouquet of white roses. Kane's manner was easy, almost relaxed. If the cowboy harbored any concerns of being followed, it didn't show. He limped slowly toward the memorial's entrance, but stopped at the little bench to speak to its only occupant. Lili switched on her long-range mike.

Show time.

"Rafe." Kane's raspy baritone was warm. He sat the bouquet of roses squarely in the blind man's lap.

A quirky smile played across their recipient's lips as he raised up the pale blossoms for a long sniff. "I always knew you were a little funny, Lucy. I just didn't know you cared." The stranger's voice was a brisk New England tenor. He buried his face in the flowers, obviously enjoying the feel of their silken petals on his skin.

Kane chuckled quietly then pulled out a handful of coins from his pocket and dropped them in the small bowl at his friend's feet.

"Thanks." Rafe heard the tinny sound of impacting metal and proffered a bag of pigeon food. Kane accepted and began tossing them out to the waiting birds. For several seconds the men sat in a companionable silence. It was the stranger who broke it. "Done any fishing lately?"

"A bit." Kane leaned forward placing elbows on knees. Lili had to grin. It seemed that Kane's taciturn silence was nothing personal. He didn't talk much to anyone.

Rafe turned his head toward the sky. The first rays of real sunshine were spreading over the park like butterfly kisses. Apparently he could feel their warmth. "Any nibbles," he inquired idly.

"Maybe. One of the big ones might have hit my line." The tall Texan cleared his throat.

"Marlin or shark?" Kane's contact inquired with a hint of humor in his voice.

"Shark."

"Figures. You never could do anything the easy way." The two men exchanged smiles. "I heard about your little trip to New York. Is that when you hooked him?"

"No, before. Met him in a garden." Kane's face softened. "He's a handful."

Rafe cuffed his friend on the shoulder. "Lord above! Only you would like the shark." He started to laugh, but it soon transformed into a coughing fit.

The cowboy wrapped an arm around his comrade, and Lili could see worry cloud his features. "I see the emphysema is doing well."

Once he'd recovered, Rafe told him where he could stick the emphysema and what to do with once it was there.

"I love you too." Kane replied smoothly.

"Mmm. Your pipes sound better."

The cowboy nodded, then seemed to recall his partner. "Yeah. They're a little better."

"Sooo, any juicy tidbits about the fish? You know, feeding patterns, migratory paths --- seasonal spawning?"

Kane began to chuckle; the sound grew into a laugh. Finally he managed to push out, "Imagine marlin or shark spawning."

More laughter and coughing followed that comment. Rafe pulled out a small bottle of oxygen and breathed it in deeply. "I've never seen one of them, but from what I've heard, that would be a sight." He managed to breathe out a response when his gasping slowed. "I mean, you gotta wonder how they do it!"

The conversation lagged again, and Kane leaned down to pet Rafe's dog. "How's Uri and Gabe?" He ventured once his contact had put away his emergency air.

"Uri's back in V.A. Hospital. This time he broke a guy's jaw. They've got him on enough Thorazine to slow down a whale. Gabe's okay. He and this whole religion thing seem to be made for each other." Rafe's hand fumbled over until it found Kane's arm. The blind man slowly traced around the large skrill. "Any more problems with your pets?"

Kane looked at his arm for a moment. "Nah." He stood abruptly when Rafe removed his hand. "I better get going." The six-pack of beer sloshed as he shook it. "I've still got to pay my respects."

"Sure, Luce, no prob. Say a few words for me, okay?" The two friends shook hands and Kane placed a noisy kiss on one of Rafe's bearded cheeks. The response was predictable. "Aww man! I hate it when you do that!"

"That's not what you said last night." Kane tossed that comment over his shoulder. Even limping, his long strides ate up the ground, and carried him swiftly into the gleaming marble enclosure.

Rafe reached down to retrieve his bowl and empty the contents in his pocket. "Hey, cowboy," he called. "Watch yourself. Some of those fish can pull you out to sea." The blind man settled back against his bench, then double-checked his wares. Lili switched off the mike, shaking her head.

Well, now you know. The question is, what next. It was clear that Kane was gathering information for the military. Their set up was very clever, too. No one would wonder why he came. Hell, every damn vet in the country visited here, along with family, friends. No one would question two vets swapping tales at the monument. It happened all the time. The disabled veteran was such a regular here he was all but invisible. Hundreds of people passed him each day. Some of them stopped to talk, like Kane had. Most didn't even see him.

The problem isn't what he's doing, Marquette. It's what you're going to do about it. A military contact could certainly help the Resistance. Doors would probably be pleased to have one. But what was the military's intent? Would they strike at the Companions, at Da'an? Or was this simply a seek and find mission? How long would she be able to conceal this knowledge from her other self? What would his reaction be? He could certainly turn in Kane, and probably would. Lili recalled the cool look on Da'an's face as he watched the Texan and his UN back-up pick off terrorists, one by one. He didn't like Kane's propensity for violence. In fact he'd pointedly instructed Thu'ul to ensure that the Implant knew his skrills could be used for something other than killing. That didn't bode well. Never before had she seen Da'an take such an active dislike for another person.

Well, what difference did that make? There was no way in hell that she would ever betray a fellow Marine. Somehow she had to keep Da'an away from this secret. It was the only way.

Marquette rose silently and stole around to what was normally the exit passage of the spiraling monument. Matching brass pedestals supported large lock-boxes where visitors could deposit monetary donations. She entered, certain that Kane would never retreat. Even if he hurried through his salutations, she could intercept him on the way out.

The hallway circled her. Its pale walls of granulated red and white reached high above her head. Sunlight had not yet erased the last shadows of twilight. Within those gray shades were photographs. Smiling young men in neatly pressed uniforms grinned up at her. Hundreds of such pictures were collected each week. Flowers also dotted the edges of the walkway. There were roses, carnations, even orchids. Someone's ragged teddy bear slept soundly below a beloved's name. A child's crude drawing displayed a mother, a little girl, and a dog. Daddy was absent. She hurried past, hoping to avoid the names, and knowing they would catch her. They always did. Samuel Wells, Allison Marsdale, Fighting Jimmy Driscoll, she knew so many of them. This one died when his plane skidded into a blazing ball of fire on the runway of the Alabama. That one was shot down and stayed with her plane so it wouldn't crash into an enemy field hospital. Jimmy's neck broke during ejection. They called to her, curving protectively around; an army of invisible warriors. No matter when she came, Lili always felt welcome. If only she didn't also feel so sad.

She found her quarry in the center. The wide area held various markers. Michael Sloane's privately funded tribute to the 'dog squad' was here. Hardened soldiers of granite were frozen in the middle of battle, faces grim, but determined. One of them carried a fallen comrade. He was bent beneath his weight, but refused to drop the burden. Her eyes found another, larger monument to the Army's 32nd Infantry. These running men and women exited an amphibious assault vehicle, driving forward into an ocean of water, bullets and blood. Finally she located Kane. He knelt in front of the smallest statue. It was of a bronze angel. Not the soft looking cherubs associated with the New Age, no; this one's face was contorted in fury. A flaming sword slashed downward toward some unseen foe. Hair billowed out behind forming a leonine mane. There was no halo around its head, no harp on its back. Instead of holding a book of wisdom, the other hand was raised skyward in a fist of defiance. It commemorated The Archangels, a squad from 5th Force Recon. They'd gone 20 miles behind enemy lines, getting in depth intelligence on the Chinese. Like most groups involved in Black Ops, almost no one had heard of them. Lili circled for a better view. The only redeeming quality to the figure was the small child it protected. She was a thin waif, and clutched at the angel's thigh. It always amazed her that the little girl's eyes were closed as if she were secure in her safety. Perhaps it was faith in her ferocious companion.

Kane put both hands on the ground and bowed his forehead to them twice. He raised up and clapped his hands two times, almost ritualistically. The bowing was repeated. His grating voice began to softly sing. She didn't understand the language, but it sounded Oriental, probably Japanese. The song was short, but haunting. When finished, the cowboy opened up his six pack and poured each can onto the thirsty earth.

He turned to face her when the last one was empty. "Ma'am." A finger touched his hat brim.

There was no need to play games. "We have to talk, Lucy." He may as well know what she knew, and make his play. Lili rose to the balls of her feet warily. She was ready for an attack.

None came. Kane slowly stood, and waited. In typical fashion, he said nothing.

"I heard everything, Gunny. I know you work for the Corps." The weight of her pistol was comforting. Before he could cross even half the distance, she could have it out.

Kane's eyes were totally hidden in shadow. There was no way to read his expression. He folded his arms over his chest and propped a shoulder on the monument. "Then you have a decision to make." His voice was soft, emotionless. Despite his casual stance, she could feel the intensity of his gaze. His left arm was top most and Lili could have sworn that the ugly beast, which sat upon it, was staring right at her.

She balled her hands into fists. The cowboy's easy demeanor made her angry. Why the hell couldn't he protest, yell, attack, something? "Damn it, Kane! Give me a reason to trust you." Please, she silently pleaded. Without Boone she needed someone to trust, someone human. Her sudden rush of emotion caught Da'an's attention. She quickly buried those feelings. This was one time when her Taelon protector could not assist.

I'm fine, she sent him. Give me some space.

The presence retreated, stung by her forcefulness.

He watched her closely. She could almost hear the wheels of his mind turning. "I already have," Kane replied. "Or we wouldn't be talking." There was iron in the rusted tones of his voice. The cowboy would give away nothing. Instead he parried her inquiry with a question of his own. "Why should I trust you, Captain? Until now you always appeared to be a loyal Companion agent."

Lili walked to him, never taking her eyes off his recumbent figure. He didn't move a muscle. Eventually she put a hand on one of the statue's outstretched wings and faced him fully. His answer made sense. She knew way more about him and his allegiances than he did about hers. "You're right." The next sentence took all of her will to utter. "I'm with the Liberation. I have been for a long time."

He nodded once. His left hand crept out and lifted hers to his lips. It was a quick kiss, but warm. The touch was reassuring - and arousing. In that moment she was suddenly, glaringly aware of him as a man. Kane squeezed her hand before releasing it. Then he stepped back and began picking up the leftover cans.

"We have to talk." His silence confused her. She scrutinized him closely wondering what he was thinking.

After bundling the empty containers into crook of an arm, Kane laid his hand on the angel's cheek. It was a fleeting gesture, quickly gone. He returned to Lili. There was a half-smile flirting with the corner of his mouth. "No we don't."

He would have moved past her, but she blocked his steps. "Look, cowboy. I've got questions that need answering." This stubborn man was about to meet his match in willfulness.

"And I won't answer them today." The darkness shading his eyes spread downward as his head bent. "I need time to consider." He stepped around her and deposited his litter into a small wire trashcan.

Lili had a thousand arguments marshaled, and never got to utter a one. His global peeled out a demand for attention. She heard Thu'ul's voice begin to speak when Kane had opened the device.

"You must return to the Embassy at once." The scholar did not sound pleased. "Companions Zo'or and Da'an wish a meeting with us." His tone changed, becoming apologetic. "I know this cuts short your time to honor the departed, but it cannot be helped."

"On my way." Kane glanced at her as he replaced his link. "Saved by the bell." His half-grin had returned.

"You know this isn't over." Lili let her displeasure show in her set features and harsh tone.

If anything that grin became broader. "Yes ma'am, I know it isn't." He touched his hat once more and walked toward the exit.

She stared at his retreating form. "Kane," she shouted after him. He paused. "What the hell kind of nickname is 'Lucy?'"

He glanced back at her, his attitude one of mischief. "I like red heads."

Yeah right, I believe that.

His figure passed round a spiral curve and disappeared. Lili returned to center, squatting down with her back to a wall. It was quiet here. In the few minutes before droves of tourists descended, she would be able to order her thoughts. That was this place's special ability, where she was concerned. Everything slowed down. Problems fell into place. She certainly had enough of those. Da'an, Doors, and now Kane. Life used to be so simple. Doors was good. The Taelons were evil. She wore a white hat, riding into town looking for bad guys. Now one of the good guys wore black, one of the Taelons was more humane than most humans, and the champion of humanity's freedom was fast becoming a megalomaniac. Lili rested her head against the cool security of stone. Maybe the magic here would work once more; she could certainly use a little in her life.

Fin.

Questions, comments, suggestions? Please Email at ruthc@geocities.com.