Epilogue

There is a tide in the affairs of men.
Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat,
And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

Picnics. Such a wonderful, innocent pastime. Sunshine, food, wine and laughter in roughly equal amounts. Annasophia, running and being chased by Flash. A leap and swipe of velveted paws and she is rolling on the ground, laughing helplessly. Glance down at my side, where two kits are curled up against my leg, sharing my blanket and sound asleep. The third, the intrepid explorer, is attempting to scale Don Brent's immaculate trouser leg and failing miserably. His squeaks of misery get him what he wants, a hand reaching down, gently picking him up and stroking him.

Luis and Suilien, sparring with their practice swords under the trees, with Margareta, Hans and Enrique shouting encouragement indiscriminately to both. Luis is ahead on points, despite his much shorter reach. He turned out to be much faster than she did, after the enhancement process had finished. She is more of a killer though. I have done runs with all three of them. Of the three, Reeves is probably the best. Much better than me, being more balanced. He never lets the rage take over. But they are all good. Better than good.

Marta, having claimed the barbecue from Luigi by some mysterious process, is busy basting the steaks, raising heavenly smells that everyone in the park appreciates. See Sergei and James in the distance, heading this way and give them a wave. Late, as usual, but still in time for food. Now there is a strange pairing indeed.

Ronnie plonks himself down at my side.

“I really wish I knew why they did it.” He sounds slightly disgusted. Why and how are gods to him.

“Me too, but I guess we'll never know.” A shadow looms over me. Leap to my feet and help my pretty, talented, and heavily pregnant wife sit down. It is going to be twins. She knew two days after conception, didn't get round to telling me until a month ago. A mental shudder. If Doc MacKenzie hadn't been right there that day …

She smiles gently at me, banishing the thought, before turning to Ronnie. “Does it really matter why? We got them all, in the end.”

“Well ...” he sounds reluctant. “There are some hints in the tapes that we missed a couple of big players in the scheme. Nothing concrete, but they are out there.” He nods at Brent. “We are keeping on looking.”

“Good,” I say, sitting down again and leaning back to look around Seraphina. “As long as we stay on guard, we should be fine.”

As I reach up and take my plate from Luigi, my phone chimes. “Stevens, Jones. We have just received word that a new type of demon, with energy readings off the detector scale, has been spotted on Alpha Crucis 4. Respond soonest.”

Sigh. Always when I am eating, the miserable sod.

It will end.

Someday.

I swear it.

Chapter 28

The heart of the person before you is a mirror. See there your own form. - Anonymous

A hiss of displaced air and a sudden coldness in the reception area of Medical was all the warning the Guards had of her arrival. Swords flickers out like a serpent twice and two guards die. Two more near the entrance to the enhancement center. Quick draw and shoot them both between the eyes. Over in less than three seconds. Eyes sweep the room. The command in her mind urging her forward against her ingrained caution. The faces of the ones to be disposed of are always there.

Moving forward rapidly, using full enhancement. Two hundred metres to the Enhancement centre. Behind her a clatter as a squad of the Guard arrive. They gape in confusion for a second or two, then hit the alarm.

A nurse suddenly sticks her head out of a side doorway, to see what is going on. One hard slash, and her body folds in on itself as her head rolls down the corridor. Curiosity is not always good for you. Thumps against her back. The squad behind her is shooting at her. Anti ballistic armour easily absorbing the impacts, but it is annoying. Draw her gun, smoothly pivot and drop four of them. Narrowly miss the fifth Guard as he dives for the cover of a doorway. Three rounds remaining. Re-load. Last magazine.

Her biosystems computer is trying to get her attention. Body damage is now occurring. Enhanced action should be terminated immediately. Irrelevant. The images of her targets float in front of her eyes, drawing her on.

* * *

“She is here.” Words flat.

“Milady, can you do anything?” Margareta does not sound hopeful.

“There is nothing there to work with. Just a command to kill, fixed so deep that I have no chance of removing it in time.” Glance around. Luis, Marta and Annasophia have been moved to the side ward, out of the way of stray rounds. Marta had calmly accepted the loan of an automatic from Vasquez and is keeping guard there as the last ditch defence. Doctor MacKenzie and the duty nurse are with them.

“Can you access her implants?” Suilien, unsteady, but on her feet, bared katana in hand. “If you can shut off most of her enhancement, it will at least even the odds.”

“I can try.” Close my eyes and will myself back into her mind. There is no one there. Just the command and the images. Kill all those he loves. The biosystems computer is talking to itself, it's information echoing in the immense emptiness.

“Combat capability at ninety percent. Systemic damage in progress. Recommend enhanced action shut down.”

Insert a thought. “Computer, initiate enhancement shut down.”

“Negative. Over-rides engaged. Manual shut down required.” Cabrón! Dig deeper in her mind. There must be something of her left!

* * *

Wickham glares at me in fury. “Get yourself back there, you silly bastard! Do you think a couple of Guard squads can stop Tanekawa?! We can finish up here!”

“And the eggs?” I point back to the main chamber. Flickers of light gleam as cockroaches and the occasional rat, attracted by the scattered body parts, cut themselves on the razor edges, their blood feeding the growing demons within. A couple of the eggs are nearly mature already. Let even one hatch, grow and breed again, and the consequences will be disastrous for the entire world. Personal considerations are nothing, compared to that. He sags in defeat. He knows the rules as well as I.

Franco has been looking around the chamber we are in. A defunct pumping station, bypassed when the newer sewers were built. Stream of water, leaking from Him knows where, running along the wall by the entrance, making pools in the hollows of the floor. Tangles of rusty machinery pushed into the corners, a steel tank, corroded but still sound, laying like a monolith where it has fallen. He is standing by the tank, thinking, idly tapping on the empty tank. “Cat, I hate to ask this, but could your sword cut this access hatch off?”

Glance over. “Sure. Won't do her much good, but should be able to. Why?”

“The eggs feed on fresh blood. If we put them in the tank, the vermin won't be able to bleed on them. Especially if we wash the eggs in the stream first to get rid of anything to attract the cockroaches. The rats, we can always shoot.”

“Good idea. But how do we carry them without bleeding all over them in the process?” Not meaning to be sarcastic, but my rage and grief makes it come out that way. He bends, picks something from the tangle of rusty metal by his feet.

“I was born and raised on the farming levels, boss. Been shovelling up shit since before you was even a thought in your Mommy's mind.”

Two steps and a slash of Pain and the access hatch falls free. Give Pain a mental apology, that is not good, even for a monomolecular edge. “Try it. Get one of the nearly mature ones. Lets see if water affects them, first.”

* * *

At the entry to Enhancement. Door is shut. Access security systems. Three Guard on the other side, middle of the room, weapons trained on the door. Simple answer. Don't use the door. Climb the wall and enter the air vent. Over the wall. Can't get into the wards. They have their own, separate ventilation system. Quietly slide along the vent. Crawlers coming to alert, reading her implants and standing down again as she passes. She belongs. No threat here.

Whispering in her mind. Ignore it. It is irrelevant to the mission. Odd wisps of memory drift by. Counting body lengths. Here. Painfully wiggle into a crouch. One good, hard kick, and drop through the ceiling. Sword a blur of motion. Two shots. Three guards down and dead. Eight rounds remaining. She staggers.

“Combat capability at sixty percent. Systemic damage approaching critical. Nutrient intake required immediately.” The biosystems computer. Still trying to keep her functioning. Nutrient intake. Smell of blood like hot copper in her nostrils. The smell of meat. Pause. Visualise slicing a chunk of flesh off one of the bodies and eating it. It would be good.

No. The kill imperative is too strong. The airlock will be guarded. The one way window? Maybe not. Brace herself and a double slash cuts an X across the toughened glass, weakening it enough to jump through.

* * *

She is so close! Keep digging in her mind. Get down to the core. The seat of identity. The self. The command booming through the places in her mind where a person should be. “Kill all that he loves.” The constant flick of images.

It is still more or less intact. The self image. The instinct for self preservation. All here. Still functioning, despite the soul rape of the upper levels of her mind. I am her primary target. Can't change that, it is too deeply fixed. The others are lesser targets, to turn Cat's pain into total horror. The sheer evil of it is sickening. Can't stop it. But I can add something to it. I do it. Open my eyes and move sideways. Hope for the best.

She bursts through the one way window in a shower of glass. Fate in human form. Lands and shoots rapidly, seven times. Two bullets find their mark, the other five skidding off the antiballistic armour of the Guards.

She turns to me, ignoring the fire from the functioning Guards. Death and injury does not matter to her. Completing her assignment does.

I stand up. Take two more steps to the right. Her gun follows me.

Dead eyes. Nothing human there. I twist and drop. Her gun lazily follows me down, barking once. Pain shoots through me like lava as her final bullet punches through my chest and into my lung. She takes one step forward, raising her sword.

And stops, faced by the mirror on the ward wall.

Fading fast. Use the last of my energy to reinforce the demon's command. “Kill all that he loves.”

See the faces shuffling in her mind, slower and slower. Me, Annasophia, Marta, Margareta, Luis. Shuffled like cards in the hands of a cardsharp. Slower and slower.

It settles on her image. The one in the mirror.

She raises her sword, and with one swift movement, decapitates herself.

Death is cold. So cold.

Chapter 27

The beauty of the soul shines out when a man bears with composure one heavy mischance after another, not because he does not feel them, but because he is a man of high and heroic temper” - Aristotle

The shelob scuttles away from the intense burst of sunlight streaming through the door, smoke rising from the three of its legs and the parts of its body that had been in direct line of sight. They really hate sunlight. Lift Pain lightly and skewer it through the back of the neck. A wiggle and its head falls with a thump, body still clinging to the ceiling, gripping fast in death. Roar of combat from the first chamber. Hear the gentle pops of banishing even above the sounds of gunfire and screaming. A thrumming noise and a silver bolt sails through the arch and skids across the floor towards me. Franco and his crossbow. Sounds of movement from the chamber behind me and the tunnel to my right as the other demons respond to the sounds of combat.

“Cat, Wickham. Ten, no eleven, banished. Minor injuries so far.”

“Good. You have some more coming, by the sound of it. Should be no more than ten coming your way. Will give you the count as they come through.” Draw a deep breath. “I am standing in an egg chamber. I'd estimate it at five thousand eggs. So no one who is bleeding comes in.” Thank Him for Luigi and his knowledge. Demon eggs feed on blood. That's why they are shiny, attractive and covered in razor sharp edges. People really are monkeys at times.

“Jebem ti zivot!”

“Indeed. He must love us, he gives us work to do.” Rush of wind past me as a group of demons race past. “You have six War Lyches and four imps, inbound.”

Another demon, slowly flowing in the direction of combat. The glow of ultra violet radiating off it, painful to my enhanced sight. A Spektor. Invisible in normal light. One step, slash, and it falls headless, before dissipating away to nothingness with a sigh. Spin and skewer it's partner through the chest, ripping upwards and tearing it in half. Swing Pain in a tight half circle and it joins the first in death. Spektors are strange, even for demons. One demon in two bodies. You need to kill both bodies fast, or the second suddenly gets really fast and aggressive. Then it eats you and divides again.

No sound from the chamber behind me, where the Soul Eater sits. Noise from the tunnel. Mentally flip a coin. Move to cover the tunnel.

Something emerges. Something new. Looks like the bastard child of a tunneller and a twelve legged pig, with a bit of hydra thrown in to confuse you. Recorders running, of course. Swing Pain up in an overhand loop and bring it down hard on the junction of the head tentacles and the body. Pain bounces off with a stinging vibration. It stops and stares at me, with what I would swear was disgust in it's eyeless face.

Shit. Not again!

* * *

Gently, slowly drift along the corridors of the mansion. Take out the bodyguards with eight hour sleep darts. We can pull them in as necessary. No need to kill people who are just doing their jobs. Only the principals. Getting closer. Can hear the sound of an argument ahead. Loud and vigorous. Useful, it covers any sounds we may make.

Four guards outside the partially open door. Holographic cloak is starting to overheat from the strain of covering three people. If it was just me, I could walk between them without them ever knowing. Need to take them fast.

Four soft pops and the four guards slump. Glance around. Luigi holding his automatic, a wisp of smoke rising from the suppressor. He shrugs and whispers “They served evil.” Damn. Stop thinking of him as a bookish geek, instead of a man.

Slide through the partially open door. Tempting to simply dart them at once, but listen. Maybe learn something. Another three guards in the room.

“... the hell has gone wrong! You swore, on your abilities as a seer, that they could not know.”

“They have a better one, blocking me from seeing much of their actions” Sergei gives his trillium pin a gentle caress. Seraphina's additions to it have worked. “I tell you what I see, not what you want to hear. And I am not seeing the rewards you promised me when I agreed to join you.”

“You will. This is a temporary setback, nothing more. We still have people in place. We can still turn this around.”

“Everything is clouded. I cannot see.”

“Then trust me. I may not see, but I know how to deal with enemies. Send the orders, then release the Eater from your control.” This is getting serious. Time to intervene. Drop the shield, gratefully. It's generator like a live coal next to my back, burning me.

“Gentlemen. Please do not move, or my colleagues and I will take the greatest pleasure in killing you.” Say it mildly and with tones of infinite sadness. One bodyguard goes for his weapon. A double pop as James and Luigi both shoot him. The rest freeze. Gart raises his hands above his head, his fingers twitching.

Fingers twitching? Three guns blast his life away as his fingers stop moving. Too late. Far too late.

* * *

This is ridiculous. Claws ripping into this thing as I sit astride it like the worlds biggest kid on a funhouse ride. It is careening around the chamber like a pinball on steroids, ninety percent of my effort and attention on not slashing myself on the thrice bedamned demon eggs. It doesn't seem to have a life core to rip out. Keep attacking. People in the entryway, watching helplessly.

“Belly soft. Roll” The command from Flash is unmistakable. Roll sideways with every bit of my strength and flick the beast on its side, slashing myself on two eggs, which promptly start pulsing. Before it can cover it's soft vitals with its legs, a snarling, black and tan streak is upon it, ripping and tearing through nerve trunks and muscles. Give a massive heave and flop it onto it's back. Claws extended, I start to dig into it's belly myself, alternating with Flash's strikes until it stops moving.

Look around. Six eggs have had my blood spilled on them and are getting ready to hatch. Shit. I really need to deal with the Eater. A slash from Pain, and the six eggs open, half formed baby demons laying on the ground, helpless to prevent being banished. Quick backhand, and they are all dead. Up and head for the final chamber at a run. The Soul Eater is waiting.

“I have been waiting for you.” It's huge voice echoing through my mind like an explosion. It moves slightly to one side, showing a slim, delicate figure, standing like a statue. No volition. Not one spark of humanity.

Tanekawa.

Riku.

* * *

Race through the access to enhancement. No need to wait, there is not a member of the Guard anywhere in the Free State that will get in the way of Captain Cruz on any pretext, especially when she is in a hurry. She gestures for half the squad to fall in behind her as she sweeps through the airlock. Inside, the inner locks to the ward are open, the viral vector having been flushed out overnight. Suilien looks up in surprise as we burst in. Marta and Annasophia are there, Marta sitting across the bed table from Suilien. Chessboard on the table. Mate to Marta in three moves.

I rush to Luis, tossing and muttering on his bed. Clamp my hand hard on his arm to stop it moving. Close my eyes and concentrate, blasting through his layers of fever and hallucinations like a blow torch on snow. No time to be gentle. Follow the writhing, twisting thoughts back to the solid core of knowledge that all the Sighted have.

Open my eyes to find myself the focus of the room. Try twice, before I find my voice. Don't want to say it. Eyes digging into my soul, demanding answers.

“Milady, what is it?” The gentle question from Cat's friend, Vasquez, I think his name is, helps me to re-ground myself.

“Death is coming. Right now.”

He grins and gestures. No doubt at all. Scared, but playing his role. As his half squad unlimber their weapons, he says, “Then death had better have some serious fucking fire power.”

* * *

“You will defeat me and kill my unborn children” The demon's calm statement is like a natural law. Inexorable. Unchangeable. “My summoner is dead. I cannot even get revenge on him. I can on you.” It gestures with the stump of its arms to Tanekawa. “Before you can kill me, she, or what I have left of her, will be dispatched to kill everything you love.”

Seraphina. Marta. Annasophia. Luis. Margareta. It shows me. They are all in the same place. Awaiting sacrifice. My friends. My family. A kaleidoscope of images cascade though my mind. I can't risk them. Not now, not ever. Slowly lower Pain from the attack to the ready position. Keep my eyes away from its gaze.

“'Phina?” my mind pleads across a thousand kilometres. No answer. Just a memory.

“Trust the Gods. They rarely tell what they know, but are also rarely wrong.” She is wearing nothing but a sheet, the afterglow of loving on her. Eyes flashing, arguing with me after yet another nightmare about my ride through hell. Persuading me I was right. Showing me her wisdom. Another memory pushes to the front of my mind. “I am not coming on this next run, Cat. I don't know why yet, but I know I am needed here this time. Badly.”

The demon laughs at me. Such a stupid fucking mistake.

Demons lie.

My wife does not lie. This I believe. More than Him, more than the rage, more than anything.

A leap and a twist, and Pain takes its head off at the shoulders as Tanekawa shimmers into nothingness. On her way to kill my family.

Chapter 26

The greatest degree of inner tranquility comes from the development of love and compassion. The more we care for the happiness of others, the greater is our own sense of well-being. - Tenzin Gyatso

Strike time. In thirty different locations around the world, teams moved in. Some met with no resistance, some with a spirited fire fight. All were rapidly successful, sending their captives back, some injured, most just bewildered, through the wormhole to the Flamino under city. There to be met by their worst nightmare. An interrogation team headed by a stern and unforgiving internal security officer. Most of them broke even before drugs were used and spilled everything they knew into the eagerly waiting recorders.

None of them knew much, really. Mainly confirmation of what was already known. A few bit players to be brought in. Don Brent dispatches teams to pick them up. Two of these bit players were Family. They were quietly segregated, interrogated for any useful information, and shot. Every Family has rules that don't get broken.

The rush subsides. Waiting now on the last three locations. Wyoming, Rio and Paris. Patched through to Paris on three separate cameras, put it on the main screen. Let his people see what they have been fighting against, even if they didn't know it. They gather around, waiting to see.

And wait for the calls from Rio and Wyoming.

* * *

Pressing forward against unexpectedly fierce resistance. Don't know who owns this place, but he has some serious fire power at his command. See why the Old Man insisted on heavy armour for the entire squad and not just the tanks. It is sporadic though. Some places unprotected, one wing of the ranch heavily protected indeed.

Crackle of the radio. “Clear that wing. We have to drive them hard. Not give them time to think.”

Wave the howitzers forward. A triple crump as the three speak as one, followed a few seconds later by a crashing boom as the outer end of the wing simply disappears in a hell of expanding gases. Follow up with a couple of plasma cannon blasts, and most of the resistance is simply gone.

The Old Man is not even watching the action. As the occasional bullet ricochets off his armour, he is concentrating totally on the strange machine on his wrist. Move up along side him and triple pump at the shooter. As the shooter falls, hear the Old Man shout into his phone over the noise of the battle, “He is moving out now! Good luck, we'll secure here.” A hand gesture, recognise it of old. Set comms to wide band.

“Stop the shock tactics. Mop up the resistance without further damage, there is evidence here that is needed. Plasma, Howitzers, keep their heads down but try to avoid the buildings from now on.” Back to private channel. “Sir, should I call for forensics.?”

“Eh? Oh, yes. They are standing by, channel 87. Unarmoured, so clear the hostiles first, but get them in as fast as possible.”

What the hell is going on here?

* * *

“He is moving out now! Good luck, we'll secure here.” They all heard it.

“Typical RRF, sounds like World War four over there.” Sergei grumbles as they start to move forward. “No idea of subtlety.” Enrique moves forward with them, looking so intently at his equipment that one of the bodyguards has to guide him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes! Field strength peaking. He is coming here!” They reach the designated LZ and halt.

Cold smile from Sergei. “Perfect. Soon as he is definitely here, kill his Gate. It is time to see these Mister Bigs in the flesh.” Glance at Luigi. “You armed?”

“Of course.” Luigi shows a late model automatic, complete with silencer. “Have twenty full magazines with me. Don't look surprised, amico, I served in the last war too. And bullets made to upset demons will kill men if necessary, just as well as ordinary bullets.”

Nod of approval. “Lets go.”

Three men slip silently, intently, into a fortress.

* * *

Why do I always wind up with totally insane drivers? Margareta is not quite as fast as Cat, mainly because this is no gas jeep, but she is certainly trying. Electric motors screaming and the batteries glowing red hot with the forced rapid discharge as we race down the corridor to medical, swerving around pedestrians and trolleys delivering materials. The strobing lights and screaming horn give them some notice at least.

Margareta shouting orders into her communicator. Sounds like she is calling the full Guard to a state of readiness.

“Where do we need our forces, Lady?” she shouts above the noise.

Close my eyes. Concentrate. Block out the noise, the rushing wind, the panic. Try to see. Too clouded. Nothing comes. Concentrate on Luis, try to see his Sight. I see nothing, he is in too much pain and terror to respond. I'll need to touch him to find out what he sees. Final option. Relax totally against the seat. Ask the ones who send my visions directly. They are many and wise, goodness radiating from them like a benediction. An amused chuckle in my mind. “You know the rules, little one. We cannot tell you. Trust in yourself to be in the right place at the right time.” A feeling of tenderness, almost like a kiss of blessing. Not much help, as usual, but help enough.

Look at Margareta. “I do not know. But we will be where we are needed. So if you need back-up, have it come to you.”

* * *

“Smell bad.” Flash sounds totally disgusted as she daintily picks her way through the sewers. “Danger front. One run.” About two hundred metres then. Hold up my hand to halt the team.

“Flash smells the outriders of the retinue about two hundred metres ahead.” Call up the map. “Assuming the maps are right, the Eater will be in one of the chambers one hundred metres beyond that on the left.” Franco slips a sun grenade out of its loop and arms it. Everywhere is the slight shuffling of final checks being made.” I concentrate a second, reach for the rage and fear, and fade from demon sight. Again, I feel the brief touch of Ahitana's mind against mine as I fade.

Look around. All ready. Raise my hand, two fingers extended. Attack pattern two. Wickham's throat moves as he sub-vocalises instructions. We slowly move deeper into the tunnels, Flash dropping to six paces behind me.

A small pop from ahead as del Toro banishes the outrider demon. Round a bend and come face to face with a ghoul, eating what looks like a leg. Unlike most demons, ghouls have eyes. It sees me, starts to bring up its claws, and is suddenly gone in a cloud of black smoke as Hong sends it back to hell the instant before I can shear its head from its shoulders. He looks at me apologetically.

“You need to save your strength for the Eater.” he mutters over the comm. Force the rage back to a manageable level. He is right. Step over the pathetically small, partially eaten leg. Thirty metres to go. This tunnel is clear all the way to the first chamber. Narrow entrance, part of the tunnel, ancient brick at this point, looks like it has collapsed. Just room for two side by side. Slip up and peek around, eyes in full night mode. Fifteen demons. All War Lyches. They are silent, unmoving. Do demons sleep? Almost trigger the phone to ask Luigi, then remember he is busy elsewhere tonight. A large archway leading to the next chamber which is, according to the map, much bigger. Trigger my communicator.

“Fifteen War Lyches. Nearest is two metres inside the door. I am going to slip through and check the next chamber. Wedge formation at this door, sun grenade in ninety seconds please. Outwards in attack.” Slip through and quietly pick my way to the other entrance.

This chamber has two other entrances. One large, one very small. No Eater in here, I can see the gleam of its skin coming from the last of the large chambers.

Odd. Only one demon visible. A shelob, it's giant spidery shape clinging to the ceiling with all twelve legs. Look down. The floor of the chamber, worn and crumbling brick, is covered with things. Parts of bodies. Crystalline masses about the size of a double fist. Eggs. Thousands of them.

Oh, fuck. Too late to change the plan. Twenty seconds left. Rapidly pick my way across the littered chamber and take up position beside the large entrance. Two seconds. A blinding flare and terrifying screech from the first chamber as the sun grenade detonates.

Knock, knock, hellspawn.

Chapter 25

Do your duty today and repent tomorrow” - Mark Twain

Staff Sgt. Salvatore Giunta, Toronto RRF, twists uncomfortably. You'd think, after all the time training, preparing and in action, that these seats would become a bit more bearable. Wonder what the Old Man is up to? The sudden command to suit up and prepare for an all out assault on a ranch in the middle of Wyoming is puzzling on several levels. Mainly, what is wrong with using the Nevada RRF for this. Why is the intel, good though it is, a mix of civilian and security forces grade. Why is the hit time variable and not fixed. Why didn't I have a piss before suiting up. And why the hell did I agree to run this op in the first place. It has all the smell of a black op, something that Mama Giunta's little boy tries to avoid at all costs. People who know too much tend to get promoted, and I am really happy where I am.

Check the squad. Heavy battle armour obscures his vision in every direction, the uncovered heads of his squad showing like coconuts on top of tanks. Every one of them non-coms and up. Not a single short time grunt is in on this. He has lieutenants running howitzers, a major fondling a plasma cannon like a toy. Looks forward to where the Old Man is sitting next to the flight engineer in his own armour. Shakes his head a bit. The things you get pulled into for friendship …

* * *

Teams of men are steadily working through the wormhole. A heavy team of enforcers waiting to grab and subdue the conspirators as they are brought through. Hans is waiting to conduct the interrogations, giving a stamp of legitimacy to the whole operation. That will come in useful, should things ever come to trial.

Sergei, James, Luigi and Enrique are waiting. Sending two heavily armed bodyguards through with them to guard Enrique and hold the LZ. He insisted on going. Doing his bit on this final operation.

Don Brent stops pacing. “Remember. You need to extract your targets alive, if at all possible. Kill them if you absolutely have to, but we have no where near all the information we need on this conspiracy.”

Sergei nods. “We shall try.”

“Well, it is T minus 30. Good luck and good hunting.” Shake of each hand and watch them disappear through the wormhole. Pity about James. He is a good man, and has served well, but his horizons have been widened since meeting Sergei. I can see the inevitable as well as the next man, and will not try to hold him if he wishes to go the independent route. Now, there will be a bit of a power vacuum in places after tonight. How to take advantage of that …

* * *

A quiet chime from my phone, from Don Brent. Every team is now in place. Look around at my strike team. Good people, all of them.

“We go through all together in thirty five minutes. Certainly not risking a repeat of last time. Our target is the Soul Eater, everything else is secondary. Clean them out if you can, but do not pursue them. We can mop up later if necessary. We are looking at twenty eight confirmed demons, apart from the soul Eater, according to Observation.”

Smith snorts around the bandages covering half his face. “Only twenty eight? You sure you need us along?” A chuckle as the tension subsides from keyed up to alert readiness. Smile around at them. Reach down and ruffle Flash's ears. “OK people. This should be the last one for a while. Five minutes for the chaplain. Ready at the gate in twenty.” As they file out, I key in a sequence. Fifteen thousand kilometres away, in a drop ship hovering thirty kilometres above a certain fortified ranch in Wyoming, a light turns from red to green. Hope they are ready.

* * *

Light goes green. Giunta checks everyone's vitals, armour sealed, helmets on. With a shuddering groan, the belly of the drop ship opens like a clamshell, leaving the assault squad suspended by the shoulders from the clamps built into the top of each seat. The pilot jockeys the drop ship back into position as the clamps extend on their hydraulic arms. The clamps release abruptly and the squad falls like a neat grouping of stones towards the target area.

The four minute fall is not wasted. Fine control of the wrist, ankle and spinal jets, to keep on target, is left to computer control, only needing attention if the deviation needs a change in body orientation. Spend the time wisely, bringing weapons online and securing them in the armour clamps ready for landing. Not something you ever do in a drop ship, in case of an accidental discharge. Plus, there is simply no room to secure them in there. Flare of light flashes past as the flight engineer releases the smart bombs to take out the perimeter weapon emplacements and the microwave uplink. Take out the power and half the battle is won.

Point, five hundred metres below. Flashes of light as the smart bombs hit and demolish their targets. Point, touches down as the rest of the squad's anti gravity brake harnesses release and, with a crackle of lightning, bring them to a halt one metre off the ground before shorting out with a series of muffled pops. Take the remaining one metre fall easily, already sweeping for targets as the squad moves into position. See the Old Man raise his arm and press a button on something strapped to his wrist. In thirty places around the world, thirty other hands did likewise.

Query him.

“Shuts down any wormholes he may have running.” The Old Man explains while twisting, grabbing and disabling a guard that is ineffectually shooting at his armour. Now where the hell did he get that little toy from?

Shrug and check. I'll find out when I find out. Perimeter secured and squad advancing on the ranch, by the numbers. Confused resistance, minimal problems. A crew served flame gun gets off one shot, lightly toasting one of the point men, before being incinerated by the major's heavy plasma gun, along with its crew. So far, it is a textbook operation.

* * *

Luigi shivers. “I thought Rio was warm,” he hisses through clenched teeth. James and the two bodyguards had rapidly and efficiently taken care of the distracted, miserably sentries.

“Rain is good. Masks sensors and makes any guards careless.” Sergei is as relaxed as if back at Marta's, ignoring the steady downpour. “Enrique? Anything yet?”

“Si.” He checks his readouts. “All normal wormholes are down at every target, including Wyoming. There is still a functioning wormhole there – Astral Gate, not human made. No sign of anyone entering here yet, and my repeaters from Wyoming are showing no activity yet there either.” He checks his watch. “Two minutes until the Paris strike.”

Sergei gestures to Luigi and James. “We move in five.”

* * *

Dispatch is back to its normal bustle, but ragged. A little off key. I have gone straight there, instead of taking the time to see Nyasi. Missed Reg's memorial service, due to planning this strike op, and some of the people will want to talk to me. We were pretty good friends, in that strange non judgemental way that the very old and adults can have. Not that he ever acted old. A connoisseur of life's pleasures, even in his seventies. Spend some time, just talking to people. Not time wasted, time spent well. Joke and a smile, remembering his little ways, his fiery temper and his great heart. A couple of the other guys are working the room too. It slowly eases down into it's calm, steady pulse as the rest of the strike team arrive and take up their positions.

Make my way to front center, Flash at my side. Toes two centimetres from the line where the wormhole will flick into being. A gentle sigh from some of the Dispatch staff. I am either a fool, or have total confidence in Ness, Reg's replacement.

Probably a fool. But if he does not believe I have confidence in him, why should he have confidence in himself. Some seemingly foolish risks are worth taking for the effect they have. Look around.

“Let's do this.” Raise my thumb to Ness and hear the thumping groan as the wormhole fires up and stabilises. Walk through without looking back, into an open junction in the Paris sewers. Part of the storm drain system, it is dry, there has been no rain recently. As the others come through, glance down at my boots. At the fine, shiny surface where the wormhole had planed the leather off like a knife, leaving the steel toecaps peeking through.

Hong nods downwards. “Bit close.”

I smile wryly. “Needed some new boots anyway.” Glance around. “Lets go kill us a demon.”

* * *

“Milady?” Margareta's quiet voice stops my pacing. I have come up to the spa level, uncertain of where I should be. The Gods work in hints and elliptical fragments, but they normally get you where you need to go.

“¿Sí, mi hija más estimada? ” No need to prevaricate with Margareta.

“It is Luis. He is having nightmares. Would you spare the time to comfort him?” She looks pleading, not easy for a woman as proud as her. Almost automatically, my mind flicks to Luis. We have been through enough together that finding him is easy, as is reaching out to calm him, even from this distance. I watch his nightmare. And plunge into a swirling vortex of probabilities.

Disconnect shakily and swallow hard. “Capitano Cruz. Get us there fast. It is not a nightmare. It is a Sight. I cannot read it from here” She looks blankly at me for a second, then grabs my arm and runs for the nearest exit to the vehicle park, dragging me briefly before I get my running rhythm back.

“How long?” she manages as she throws a senior cardinal out of a cart and jams her over-ride key in the slot. We leave the vehicle park in a cloud of dust and spewed gravel.

“It is soon. Very soon.”

Chapter 24

The leader of men in warfare can show himself to his followers only through a mask, a mask that he must make for himself, but a mask made in such form as will mark him to men of his time and place as the leader they want and need. - John Keegan

Walking through the familiar corridors between Demon Central and Medical, bundle under my arm. I could ride a cart of course, but it is only a kilometre, and Jones has suggested that I show myself around a little. There is a feeling of relief and celebration in the air. Three nests wiped out in three days. A traitor uncovered and dealt with, dramatically, in the heart of the Free State. Never has Demon Central done so much at once. And most people are, unfairly, giving me most of the credit. I really hate it when that little prick is right. I'd have refused on general principles, it coming from Jones, but a gently worded confirmation of that suggestion was waiting in my mail queue from Nyasi.

Quiet footsteps from the side corridor leading to the morgue and Maphane drops into step beside me. “Going to see the new Zeros?”

“Yeah. Well, Suilien and Luis, anyway.”

She nods at the bundle. “Who's that one for?”

“Both of them. Had two blades already diamonded. Just needed the hilts finishing, really.” We walk along in silence for a bit. “Got a blade in the works now for Reeves. Steve said he'd run it through diamonding as fast as possible. Be ready in a couple of days, not that he'll need it for months yet.”

“It's a shame he can't take quick heal. Going to give him some problems, if he gets bashed around half as much as you seem to manage.” Her tone is fondly reproving. “You recovered fully?” Always a doctor to the core.

“Physically, just a bit sore still, and low on fat reserves. If I have to use enhancement for more than about twenty minutes, I'll start burning muscle again. Mentally, well,” I pause. “The nightmares are pretty bad, especially the blindly falling one, but they'll fade. 'Phina is helping me with those.” We reach the clinic entrance. Maphane turns to go. “Come with me. See some living patients for once.” She nods.

A bit of fuss at the entrance to Enhancement. A nurse, going through the security check ahead of us, suddenly collapses as she is hit by a tranquilliser dart and is quickly dragged away by a pair of Guards. Vasquez gives a nod in the direction of the departing guards and their burden.

“Dybbuk. Fourth one this week. Trying to sneak past to do some damage.” Stand still and get fully checked. “We'll keep her asleep until we can exorcise it into one of those capture capsules of yours. No sense banishing it so it can try again.”

“Good thinking.”

He chuckles. “Oh, it was Hicks' idea, not mine.” Leans forward and whispers conspiratorially “That kick in the ass you gave him did him a lot of good. Made him rethink things. He has all the makings of a fine Guardsman.”

I wink and whisper back. “So glad I could help you.” He laughs and waves us through the airlock.

Doctor MacKenzie is just finishing putting on his iso-suit as we enter. A big, jovial man, who's soft Highland accent is very soothing during treatments, and totally dedicated to his craft. He gets very scathing indeed on the all to frequent times I damage some of the special equipment he so slowly and carefully fitted into my body. But today he is in his usual cheerful mood.

“Ah, Cat. You come in for a tune up or just an oil change?”

“Not today, Mac. Just came to see your latest victims.”

“Fine. Dr. Maphane, if you would care to suit up, we can go in.” He gestures expansively at the wall racks. “We have had to change the sequence, thanks to the training tapes still not being ready. I introduced the primary gene manipulation vectors last night, and they can be unkind indeed to those they are not meant for. Cat is fine, of course, he is immune to the virus we have used.” His eyes drop to the bundle I am holding. “Ah, you came bearing gifts at a perfect time. Those should certainly take their minds of their misery.”

Yeah, misery is right. Genetically modifying a person is easiest done when they are still a single cell. Any other time, it is a long and often agonising process. Reeves is not there, having been moved as he is not yet healed enough to stand the procedure. Both Suilien and Luis are flat out on their beds, looking as miserable as hell. They barely have the energy to roll and face the me. As Mac checks them over, I unwrap the bundle on the table between them. Four swords. Two of blunt metal, weighted wooden hilts. Practice weapons. Two scabbarded blades, one straight sword with a snarling War Lych hilt and cross guard, the other a slender and elegant katana, the straight hilt ending in a dragon's snarling head, its ruby eyes glittering in the light. I nod to Suilien first.

“Know you have trained mainly with the katana, so this one is yours. Thought the dragon was rather appropriate for you. You might find the balance slightly off at first, the hilt is heavier than you are used to. The practice sword has exactly the same weight and balance, without the risk of you lopping off someone's head by accident.” She is speechless. Reaches over and slides the blade part way out of its scabbard, revealing the shining Damascus steel blade.

“It is beautiful,” she eventually manages to get out.

“Wear it with pride, use it only for good, and may your sword arm be as strong as your heart.” I give her a full, formal bow.

“Luis, since I didn't have any blades in the shape of a shop sign for you, this will have to do, I'm afraid.” He manages a weak smile. “Once you get the go-ahead to do some exercising, I'll teach you how to handle it properly. A straight sword doesn't take long to learn the basics of.”

One tear rolls down his cheek. “Thank you, old friend,” he manages.

“De nada, amigo. You saved my wife. A bit of metal is no where near expressing the gratitude I feel to you.” Place each sword above its owners bed, on the padded brackets that are always there for just that purpose. Check my watch. “I have to run. Will drop by again tomorrow, if I can. Heal fast, you two. I need you both as soon as possible.”

* * *

“Cat, Tracking. We have located the Soul Eater. It has been detected, holed up in the Paris sewers.” The call comes as I am ambling back towards Demon Central.

News at last. Great, I hate Paris with a passion. “Tracking, good work. Route Observation Team B through as soon as possible. I want a tight fix and some idea of the numbers this time. No unnecessary risks, but the more intel they get, the easier it will go. Cc the message to every functional member of the squad, warn them that they are now officially on a four hour alert for action. Cat out.” Dial Wickham.

“Wickham, Cat. Tracking has found our demon. Want you to run liaison and control from your post, since Luis is out of action. You handled it well in Seattle.”

“Cat, I can't read the map as well as he does, so I am not sure ...”

“I am. You did it fine last time, you'll be fine this time. Not sure of the force numbers yet, Obs B is worming out to check on the situation and give us some rough numbers. Meet me in one hour, my quarters. Got some stuff you need to know before we do this.”

“Will do, boss. Wickham out.” He still sounds dubious, but he'll do. A good man. Head for my quarters as fast as possible. Still need to fill in 'Phina on the latest and phone it through to Marta on the secure phone. Going to be a busy hour indeed.

* * *

“I am not coming on this next run, Cat.” I look at him gravely as he enters our apartment. “I don't know why yet, but I know I am needed here this time. Badly.”

He considers a moment, then nods. “You need Flash to stay with you?” That is one of the reasons why I love him. No questioning, just trust, acceptance and a rapid shuffling of his plans. Consider it carefully.

“No. Flash had better go with you.” Look over at her, curled in her bed like an oversized housecat. Sound asleep.

“No sleep. Breeding kits.” She lazily opens one eye and looks at us both. Cat and I look at each other.

“That was fast work, dear heart. The night on the Mara?” His question is humorous, but holds an undertone of concern. “Will you be able to hunt?”

“Fast male. Good breed. Strong kits. Hunt well until kits come.” She closes her eye again, then reopens it and glares at Cat. “Eat now. Smell weak.” Then off to sleep again, the question settled in her mind. A very good idea, eating.

Wickham buzzes for entrance as we are half way through our meal. Rise and let him in, wave him to the table where a place is already set for him and serve him. He protests weakly, I just smile and point to the full plate. “Eat it. You have not been looking after yourself recently.” As he eats, and Cat fills him in on the background to the entire situation, I lean back, close my eyes and concentrate on his mind. Looking for the hidden blocks and triggers implanted by the training tapes, and disabling them as they suddenly become active in response to the story, trying to repress the information.

Wickham looks uneasy. “Why, if combat types are given these inhibitions, do I have no problem believing this?”

Cat gestures to me, can feel that even with my eyes closed. “Thank 'Phina. She is removing them as we talk.”

“She is a witch?!” he half scrambles to his feet, clutching his table knife. There, the last block gone. He relaxes, considers for a minute, then slowly smiles. “The whispering has stopped.” He looks, not exactly happy, he never does, but at peace.

I look at him with respect. To notice the blocks, even unconsciously, shows a powerful and talented mind. He bows to me. “Thank you, Lady.” Turns to Cat. “Right. Shall we plan the Paris run now?”

* * *

In the back room at Marta's, another planning session is well under way. Sergei, James, Don Brent and Hans, as well as a group of competent looking, powerfully built men, seated around the table. Ronnie, propped up in a comfortable chair, well wrapped, has just finished discussing the interrogation summaries he prepared. His notes and typer in easy reach, in case of questions.

Hans, using his security access and information from the clinic computers, has provided holographs and locations for each identified target. Most of them will be easy to snatch. Two, in estates which are basically fortresses, will not be. The first, the place where Gart is hiding, is just outside of Rio. The second, where all sources indicate a very senior member of the conspiracy is living, is in Wyoming.

“I will take Rio.” Sergei looks around the room and sees only agreement. If anyone can get in and out again there, it will be him.

“I come with you.” Luigi enters the room, accompanying Enrique carrying a briefcase. He gestures forcefully, cutting off Sergei's rejection of the idea. “We know Gart is a powerful One, a Seer, and is more than likely the other black wizard of the conspiracy. I am the nearest thing to a wizard we have – I have the knowledge at least, if not the skills. You will need me there.”

Sergei considers, then nods once. “True. Your knowledge will outweigh the problems of sneaking you in. That still leaves the problem of Wyoming. We should hit them all simultaneously.” They consider the problem, growing more despondent as alternative after alternative is rejected.

“What if we hit Wyoming first and in force?” James says slowly.

Don Brent shakes his head. “Our target will simply worm out to another location.”

“Probably to Rio.” James is looking excited. “The target will not want to risk himself in an exposed location at all. So, flush him out, and take him down in Rio.” Slow nods around the table. It could work.

“There is no guarantee he'll go to Rio.” Collins, one of the enforcers, points out.

Enrique stands. “Gentlemen, that possible problem is not a problem, assuming we have identified all their bolt holes.” He opens the box and starts handing out the contents. “Be near your targets when the assault starts and wearing these. They will prevent anyone from worming in to a radius of half a kilometre from your location. The same switch turns them on and off.”

“I have many capabilities, but a heavy assault unit is not one of them.” Brent points out mildly.

“But the RRF do. And Cat has arranged to 'borrow' one, should we need it.” Luigi points out. Nods around the table as everyone agrees with relief. “I will call him now and ask him to arrange it. We hit the targets when he hits Paris, correct?”

“Correct. Well, gentlemen. Get your teams ready.” Don Brent looks almost feral. “It is end game time.”

Chapter 23

What makes a river so restful to people is that it doesn't have any doubt - it is sure to get to where it is going, and doesn't want to go anywhere else - Hal Boyle

When I really need to think, I go to the armoury and hit metal for a few hours. It's a hold over from my original training as a metallurgist, and a peaceful, productive way to keep in shape. My swords and knives are unique and always in demand. Pain too, needs some work on her, she is a bit scarred and dinted from using her on the Great Demon.

Sign in and, amidst the buzz and clatter of the machines, pick my usual workshop , put down the bundle I have carried here, and fire up the forge. Shelves around the room hold all the tools and chemicals I need for blade working. The heavy, high security locker on the side wall, locked and keyed to my voice and implants only opens readily, revealing six swords in various stages of completion, from roughed out to finished blades awaiting their hilt bindings. Grab a half finished sabre and put it on the side of the forge to warm slowly. Some of the alloys I use don't take kindly to sudden heating in their untempered state. Pull out the hilt blank for it, a half formed dragon struggling to emerge from the raw metal, eye hollows glaring sightlessly. Set it to warm.

Pick up the finished one, the one with the metal hilt in the shape of a War Lych, slender extended wings forming the cross piece. Examine the blade critically, making sure it has not been distorted during the diamonding process. Almost perfect, just one small burr to polish out. Told Steve, the guy who runs the diamonder, that one of his clamps is off centre. Heft and swing it a few times to check the balance. Good. Clamp it in the padded clamps of the workbench and undo my bundle. Seven strips of tanned War Lych hide fall out, spilling over the floor like so many snakes. I'll bind the hilt of this one today. I finally know who this one is going to.

Whistling happily and tunelessly, I get my apron on. Ready to relax and fully think over the news Don Brent has privately sent to me.

* * *

Following James closely, Sergei courteously assists Seraphina down the twisting staircase. They are somewhere deep in the winding maze of Roman ruins that makes up most of the Flamino. Someone, over the centuries, has kept them in reasonably good repair, turning collapsed, rubble choked buildings into a network of poorly lit concealed tunnels and rooms, almost an underground city in its own right. James stops before an unremarkable door.

“Lady, this room is divided by a privacy screen. We will bring them in one at a time for you. They cannot hear you or see you unless you wish it, but you can see them easily.” He shrugs. “I wish there was another way, but most of them have only rudimentary implants to data mine and have been treated against chemical and hypnotic interrogation. We need you to read their minds and see what they know. Especially if they know where Gart and Tanekawa are.” There is a word for it in her tradition. Mind flaying. Morally repugnant, but sometimes necessary.

She nods slowly. “It may take some time. Some people naturally have good blocks against intrusion.” She sighs. “It goes against teaching to pry like this, but, in this case, I agree it is needed. Keep the recorders running, and if I need anything said to them I will, with your permission, insert the question into your mind for you to ask.”

“Of course, my Lady.” James unlocks the door with a hand gesture, and waves her into a well lit, comfortably furnished room. “Please make yourself comfortable while I arrange for the first prisoner to be brought in.”

“How did you get them out of the Free State and to here?” She asks, settling herself into a well padded armchair.

James waves his hand in Sergei's direction with a smile. “Ask him sometime. I am still not sure how he managed it! It has been a real education, working with the best.” She smiles back at both of them, then turns to face the other half of the room. Plain bare stone, harshly lit. The first prisoner is brought in, rather battered and bandaged after the conventional interrogation. She looks at him carefully. Thoughtfully. Closes her eyes and probes out with her mind. She starts to speak as the mind flaying begins.

* * *

Enrique sits perfectly still, ignoring the increasingly urgent requests for food, drink and the bathroom his body is sending. Concentrating too hard on the data he has been given to bother with small things like like that. He knows the feeling well, a chain of thought is about to come to completion. Get distracted now and it is gone, often forever. Follow the data. Watch the interactions. Fingers moving idly, automatically, over the keyboard, adding parameters, adjusting, modifying. The time aspect is the biggest problem, it matches in with no known aspect of the null-space theory equations. It almost seems as if …

Wait. Examine some of the fundamental assumptions. What if we take that constant and modify it like so. It gives us a duration of transit. So the constant is not a constant. It can be varied. To vary that in practice, one would need to …

Enrique's bladder, stressed beyond capacity, empties abruptly, soaking his trousers and filling the room with the faintly ammonia stink of urine. He doesn't even notice.

* * *

Luigi too, is working. New information on Greater Demons enters his library slowly as he transcribes the implant data, the forensic data from the corpse in the Vaticano and the personal impressions record Cat had sent him. Entries complete, he sets the library to collate the new data with the old. He came up short last time. It will not happen again if he can help it.

Glance at the clock and give a guilty start. The evening trade has been going for an hour, and he has left Marta to do all the work yet again. Gets stiffly to his feet and wends his way to the kitchen. A stranger is bustling round, preparing dishes with a rapidity and flair that only a true chef can appreciate. The stranger glances up. “About time. You are Luigi, no? Carlo, Don Brent's head chef. The Don sent me to give you a hand for these next few days. I need some pans washing, molto presto. It is busy tonight.”

Did a stranger really just delegate me to dishwasher in my own kitchen? Shrug and put on the apron. Well, stranger things have happened, these past few days.

* * *

Hans walks confidently through the door of the clinic, lightly carrying a small foamgel box, pad resting on top of it. Glance around. Nice place, understated and elegant. Comfortable sofas in reception, muted, restful colours, a couple of original paintings on the wall. Been some money spent here, and spent well, to give just the right message of tasteful success. The receptionist is also tastefully done. A high end body sculpting job if he ever saw one. He smiles at her.

“I need to see Doctor Jonas for a minute. Could you please tell him his package from Rio is here and he will have to sign for it personally.”

“Certainly, Sir” she smiles back. “The doctor is just finishing in surgery and will be with you in ten minutes. May I offer you a drink while you wait?”

“No, thank you. Maybe when you get off work?,” with a slight lift of the eyebrow. The old routines are still the best.

“Oh, my boss wouldn't like that!” she replies with a wink. As he carries on flirting with her, she leans across the reception desk towards him, meaning she cannot see the security monitors showing Rapid Reaction Force members surrounding the clinic and waiting, concealed, by each door and window. A door to her left opens and a well dressed, late fortyish man steps through into reception.

“You have something I need to sign for?” Impatiently.

“Yes, doctor. Please sign here.” Proffer the e-pad and, under its cover, press a button on his wrist. The doctor takes it and scribbles his signature.

“Thank you. Doctor Jonas, you are hereby under arrest for aiding and abetting enemies of the state.”

The doctor's face sags in horror as the RRF burst into the building.

* * *

This cast itches like hell. Laid up in bed, bored out of my mind. Time passing, each second taking a year, or so it feels. Pretty certain that clock is broken. Bruises are fading, but still ache all over, the bastards must have kicked and hit me dozens of times when they found I was conditioned against interrogation. At least my mind is clear again now. Door opens softly and a muscular goon wheels in a small table with a touchtyper and a player on it.

“The Don thought you might appreciate something to do to break the monotony of healing.” His voice is educated, faint hint of an East Coast accent. “They are interrogating some prisoners. The information is all stream of consciousness though and needs to be put into a coherent story. I will bring you each recording as they are completed.” He positions the table at a comfortable height, then leaves as silently as he entered.

Well, converting a disjointed monologue to a coherent story? Can do it that in my sleep. Fit fingers into the touchtyper. Good job I can use one of these with either hand. Hit play. Seraphina's voice – no wonder they want to keep this quiet. Listen carefully, fingers twitching as I make notes of important points. Play through five times, adding extra notes each time. Names, descriptions, locations, impressions, all noted. Final listen through. Got everything. Call up the first set of notes and start stringing them together. Shall do the same for each tape, then write a coherent report from the whole. Good to be working again. Outside the shadows grow long as the sun sets. Unnoticed now. This is just what the doctor ordered!