Trolls by N. D. Hansen-Hill

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Blurb

BOOK TWO OF THE ELF CHRONICLES
EPPIE AWARD FINALIST!

    “We all have our gifts...”
    Gifted, or cursed? For years, Sebastian Devery and his friends have successfully hidden their talents. It is only now that questions are being asked...questions whose answers lie in a world far distant.
    Recently, things have been getting out of hand. Devery’s lost control, and his latest disaster is witnessed by the very people he fears most. Concerned with exposing the others, and lured by a voice from the past, Devery runs.
    Where he’s going, no one can follow, and mercy is a minimal commodity. He doesn’t realise he’s being hunted, in a world other than his own - or that his “gift” is prized, and despised, in both places.
Contrary to his plans, he won’t be going alone. Gifts other than his own will be needed...
    ...to restore the magic to a broken world.

Trolls

Book Two of The Elf Series

Also by N. D. Hansen-Hill

Static
Elf
Vision

The Light Play Trilogy
Light Play
Light Plays
Lightning Play

The Grave Images Series
Grave Images
Graven Image
Grave Imagery
Grave Imagining

The Trees Series
Trees
Crystals
Mud
Shades
Fire
Light

N. D. Hansen-Hill

Trolls

©Copyright September 2002 by N. D. Hansen-Hill
First published electronically in 2002
by Parade Books (an imprint of Argyle House Press)

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Cover design by N. D. Hansen-Hill

To all my patient friends, who've waited while I've written "just a few paragraphs more"...

***

Trolls

Peace a long-sought victory,
Lost in racial bigotry,
Revulsion dressed in teeth and claws,
No common ground for common laws.

Offworld hope with this world's genes,
Drawn together to find a means,
Resolve the turmoil and ease the threat,
Open eyes t'alter mindset.

In tangles of hair and putrid flesh,
Elfin skin and human mesh,
Binding in blood, both blue and red,
Enmities clash as their souls are wed.

Clacking nails and hairy stench,
Blebbed from rock in a greenlit wrench,
Heroic spirits in massive guise,
Uniting all to cut through lies.

To value each other and share the land,
Bring back the sun and the outstretched hand;
Rediscovering magic which made life whole,
Unity sourced in the hands of Troll...

by N. D. Hansen-Hill
***

Prologue

        A dust devil whirled lazily in the heat, spinning in aimless gyrations.
        Devils without...devils within? He scuffed the dirt, watching the dust motes drift across the cave mouth - bright bits of sunlight curtaining the darkness...
        Idly, he scuffed his way inside. Only a few steps, from there to here, and his mother would never know. The dirt he'd stirred swirled around him, and he blinked to clear his eyes.
        He heard it before he saw it. Behind him, there came a whisper in the dirt, and the first of the incessant rattles began. The dried husk rasp was joined by another, and another.
        The boy twisted slowly, his limbs unnaturally stiff. The day was so hot...yet he'd never felt so frozen in his life. His heart started pounding in racing thuds within his chest.
        He wasn't the only one who'd come inside to escape the heat. Gooseflesh danced across his skin as the rattling tempo increased.
        Snakes, and more snakes. He'd scuffed his way into a nest...
        The biggest snake was in the entrance now, blocking his way. Two smaller ones slithered toward him, and one slid over his shoe. He stood there, trying not to move...trying not to do anything. Outside, beyond the snake guardian, another dust devil rose, swirled and died.
        Like me. Eleven-year-old immortality vanished in an instant, as death rattled at his feet.
        One was coiled up near his toes now. When he twitched, its coils tightened, and the head lifted into strike position...
        Reason fled. He leapt for a dark gap in the rock, slid in a rain of snakes and dirt and ran for his life. Faster and faster, finding his way by feel alone, panic nipping at his heels with the sharp-fanged tension of a serpent's bite.
        Down, through the dark, away...
        He was moving far too fast, and he should have anticipated obstacles. But he was only a child, trying to outrun his monsters. When he tripped over the lamp, he never expected to fall...and keep on falling.
        There are things far worse than a serpent's bite...
***
Chapter One

        Zeb was only half-listening, and Randy knew it. When Zeb's eyes strayed back to his computer screen, and he absently shoved another chocolate chip cookie in his mouth, Randy said darkly, "He deals in dirt."
        Zeb choked on the cookie, coughed, swallowed, then looked at him through narrowed eyes. Randy Markington's words had conjured up all kinds of nefarious dealings, from drug-trafficking to pornography.
        Not Randy's style.
        Then Zeb noticed his expression. I've been had...
        He returned Randy's amused look with a dubious frown, and another mouthful of cookie. "I'm not into soil science."
        Randy grinned. "Right on the money - and lots of it. You wouldn't believe how lucrative dirt can be. In many parts of the world, pica is a way of life. People pay big for their exotic blends."
        "Sounds illegal."
        "It's not the legalities, so much as the potential for lawsuits. He needs you, Zeb. I've told him you freelance."
        "Crock." Zeb turned several cookies over, searching for the one with the most chocolate bits.
        "If growing all that mould in your homemade incubator isn't freelancing, what is?" Randy argued. "All he wants is a guarantee, that his 'mother-lode' isn't full of some weird fungus or bacteria. He doesn't want to kill his clients."
        "How novel," Zeb said dryly, "a responsible scumbag." He held out the bag. "Sure you don't want one?"
        Randy took a handful, but it didn't stop him from scowling. "I think you should trust my judgement. How the hell are we going to fund our little research projects if we don't take a risk?"
        Zeb shook his head. "I said one, not ten. What's in it for you, anyway?"
        "For us - and it's ten percent."
        "This 'test' was your idea, wasn't it?" Zeb asked suspiciously.
        Randy looked pointedly at Zeb's rundown living room. "Science isn't 'pure' any more, Sebastian. It's okay to make money at it."
        "How would you know? Been consulting your oracle again?"
        "Damned slander. You know it's 'Grimms Fairy Tales' or nothing." Randy grinned, and popped two cookies in his mouth. "Truth is, I don't know the first thing about 'science'. That's why we need you."
*
        Zeb looked at the map once more, then up at the layered rock in the highway cut. When Randy had enthused over the find yesterday, then plopped the map on his coffee table with a dramatic, "It's up to you, Zeb," he'd felt a glimmer of excitement. By the time Randy had left, Zeb had been almost as enthusiastic about this venture as Randy himself. He'd tried to hide it, but Randy knew him too well. His whispered "I'll tell him you're 'in'," hadn't even seemed melodramatic, any more than his "Let me know as soon as you get back. I want to see it."
        "You're in for ten percent and you haven't even seen your 'product'?"
        Randy had frowned. "I'm the idea man -" he began.
        Zeb gave a rude snort and went back to studying the map. "What's this one?" he asked, holding up a second piece of paper.
        "Detailed instructions. He figured you might have trouble with 'X marks the spot'."
        "Doesn't 'he' have a name?"
        Randy clapped a hand on Zeb's shoulder. "'course he does," he said kindly. Then, without another word, he sniggered and strolled out the door.
        Skulduggery. Pirates. Thieves. Zeb left the highway and followed a dirt track for what seemed like miles. Hell, it was miles. How had the man ever found his "motherlode" in the first place? A glance in the rearview mirror revealed only dust. Clouds of dust trailing behind him as far as he could see. How damned discreet.
        He pulled to a stone-crunching halt as he realised he'd nearly overshot his mark. Once again, he studied the rocks overhead. Two big holes, behind what could have been a vulture's beak.
        Lovely. There was a comical rendering of a vulture's head on the print-out. At least Mr. X had a sense of humour. This had to be the place.
        Feeling a little foolish, he started pacing off the distance. He re-thought it, decided that he couldn't afford to make a mistake at this point, and retrieved the tape measure he'd tossed in the trunk.
        He repeated his measurements five times, but there was no way around it. Cautiously, he yanked the tumbleweed out of the way, and rolled a mini boulder to one side. He peered into a gaping hole in the damned vulture's belly.
        A cave. No one said anything about a cave.
        Zeb rechecked the "detailed instructions" sheet.
        Minor omission. Don't bother mentioning your "product" is underground.
        If I were smart, I'd turn around right now...
        But of course he wouldn't.
        All I need now is another complication. Their last effort had nearly hung them all, and they were still trying to live down the notoriety. They needed to let things sit for a while, and wait for the dust to settle. How appropriate, Zeb thought wryly, wiping grit out of his eyes.
        He squinted down at the map. "Non-involvement" might not be an option, now that he'd seen the map. He didn't know who the hell this Mr. X was, but he might not take too kindly to having his mother-lode revealed, without some kind of payback.
        Dirt? Hardly seemed lucrative enough to worry about. He was having a little trouble swallowing Randy's claims about pica.
        Maybe it's really uranium, Zeb thought. Maybe Mr. X doesn't want to do the radioactive dirty work himself...
        Excuses. If there were a uranium deposit, someone would have picked it up on an assay a while back.
         Get your butt in there, scoop up some soil, and get out. Ten feet in, ten feet out. Easy. No reason to go any further...
        Zeb scuffed through the dirt and watched warily for snakes. He hated the things. Years ago, when he was a kid, he'd been trapped in a cave, much like this one. He hadn't known he was visiting a snake den until he was surrounded. Terrified, he'd headed for the hills - which, in that case, had been synonymous with the bowels of the Earth.
        It was a nearly forgotten memory: suppressed by time, delirium, and the horrifying events which had followed. He had only a dim recollection of that seventy-two-hour ordeal, and no memory at all of the rescue. All he knew for certain was that it had changed him - one of those formative events after which he could never be the same.
        He'd been terrified of snakes ever since.
        This little trek would have been easier with a flashlight. That hadn't been on his "detailed" instruction sheet, either.
        He shook his head as he recalled Randy's expression. Bet he didn't know it was a cave. If he had, he would never have let me come alone...
        Sending him out to do some boring dirt collection was one thing - a thing good ol' Randy no doubt wanted to avoid.
        He'll casually "turn up", after I'm finished with the nitty-gritty...
        Zeb lifted his shirt over his nose, and sucked in a deep breath of hot, filtered air. He held it as he ducked in under the crusty roof.
*
        The visibility was poor. No flashlight, and way too much dust. What hadn't been stirred up by his car, and helped by the breeze, had been sent flying by an incautious scrape of his shoulder against the dirt-caked entry. His view was now disrupted by gritty, watery eyes, and dim lighting. He frowned in frustration, and heard the nasty crunching of high-flying dirt between his teeth. Supposedly, that's what this deal was about: selling soil on the black market to all those nearly fanatical soil ingesters around the world.
        There were elite coffees, teas, and special waters; connoisseurial repasts with unique ingredients. Why not specialty dirt? Try as he would, though, he couldn't get the definition of pica out of his head. A craving for dirt and clay - and it was considered a disease. His conscience was twanging now. Am I contributing to someone's illness, the way tobacco companies contribute to lung cancer? People with pica, who nibbled dirt for pleasure, were frequently addicted to the habit. Was he about to become a supplier?
        How sick. He wiped his sweaty face on his sleeve. And froze.
        There was a weird sound - a kind of high-pitched whistling noise that hummed, rose in fast tempo, then fell once more. Like the resonance of a particularly sweet-throated bird...
        It was a sound he'd heard many times before.
        Zeb's skin tingled with excitement, and he realised he was smiling.
        Dammit, Fool! Get out - while you still can...
        The hell with the dirt. He had bad feelings about these soil samples anyway. There was something not quite right in the transaction - something he couldn't reconcile with his conscience. His contribution might be as inconsequential as pouring a cup of coffee for a caffeine addict, but he was opting out.
        He could guess how Randy would react, and he felt a momentary qualm. Dammit if he wanted to disappoint his best friend, but it wouldn't do Randy's rep any good if he were to get involved in something illegal.
        Eyes enough focussed our way already...
        He froze. There it was again: that warbling trill that left an echo, like a pleasant aftertaste, in his ears. He closed his eyes, letting his ears do the tracking.
        Caution reared its ugly head, in the form of a hiss and rattle. Zeb's mouth went dry, and his muscles locked up. Snake.
        Rattlesnake!
        And I can't see a damn thing...
        Panic set his heart pounding, and a bead of sweat ran down his sweat-streaked face. Where the hell is it?!
        Listen...
        His panicky pant was drawing dirt into his throat and he coughed and wheezed. He pulled his shirt up over his nose and mouth again and fought for control.
        It was coming. The sweet echo was there again, luring him on. In that moment, the rasp of shivering rattle became a background noise. Zeb took another step.
        He shook his head, in an attempt to clear it.
        Don't do this...
        But his feet weren't listening. He stumbled along, oblivious now to the snake, until he'd left it far behind. He couldn't see a bloody thing, and the air was thick around him, but when the passage narrowed, he dropped to his knees and crawled on.
        Never alone. They'd warned him, begged him, pleaded with him, and in his head, whispered caution mingled with that trilling warble.
        Have to get there, before The Whistler gives up...
        They'll understand. Sweat streaked his face as compulsion warred with guilt. They know what you are...
        He had to be there. Before the last of his marrow melded with the soil. While there was still enough of him remaining within to summon from without.
        Zeb was nearly there. The sound in his ears was deafening now, and there was suddenly no sweetness to it. No whistling lure - only a hideous scream of human agony.
        One loud crack, and then another. Snapping bone...
        There was a harsh yelp, the scrape of gravel, and a thud as the body was tossed into a hole. Tossed away like refuse and left to rot. Zeb covered his ears. Now, he covered his nose. Rotting flesh. Rotting carcass. Fuckin' hell!
        Zeb struggled to his feet - and took a hasty step. The next second he tripped and went sprawling.
        Must be the lantern... He remembered how they'd left it burning, so he could watch himself die...
        Shit!
        He shivered, and scrunched his eyes closed - suddenly terrified his eyes would get as much feedback as his ears and nose. Afraid that the visions flickering behind his eyes would somehow gain substance.
        It was one of the worst. He hadn't had an episode like this in years.
        Get out...now! Before it's too late.
        His heart thumped. Run!
        He did. Arms outstretched to deflect obstacles, he turned back determinedly the way he'd come.
*
        "It's his damned odometer," Randy explained, glaring disgustedly at Bertha's dusty rusty hood. "I told him he should get it fixed. He went too far." He slapped his hand angrily against the top, and a wave of dust flew skyward. "Zeb!" he bellowed.
        But Luke Hamilton was looking at the footprints in the dirt. He followed them, noting how Devery had walked back on his own trail repeatedly, before a singular set of prints entered the dark hole ahead. He pictured his instruction sheet, and saw how the mistake had been made. He glanced up. No doubt about it - from this angle, the rock made a better bird head than the one half a mile back.
        He squatted at the entrance to the cave and peered warily within. "Devery!" he yelled.
        Only a whisper of sliding gravel answered him.
        Randy came running. "You think he's in there?" he asked, a resigned note in his voice.
        "Know anything about spelunking?" Luke retorted, annoyed. "Get the flashlight and rope out of my trunk," he ordered harshly. When Randy returned, Hamilton reluctantly handed him his phone.
        "I've got my own -" Randy argued.
        Luke sighed, and looked at the long shadows etched in the rock face. "I have an appointment later," he admitted. "If I'm not out by seven, punch in 'one'. Someone'll pick it up."
        Randy shook his head. "I'm going in after him! You handle your own damn phone!"
        Luke gripped the front of his shirt so tightly he was choking. Randy swung at him. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, and Luke was peering down at him, a glint of amusement in his eyes. He said calmly, "Tell them I'm in a cave, and that there may be a 'situation'."
        Randy frowned, and his eyes narrowed. "And if I don't?"
        Luke shrugged. "They'll turn up anyway, but it'll take 'em longer." He grinned. "At least this way, they'll come prepared."
        Randy gave him a five-minute head start. There was no way he was going to let Luke Hamilton find Zeb first. A little reluctantly, he punched "one" on Luke's phone, spat out "there's a situation in a cave", and propped the phone at the entrance. Satisfied, he grabbed the other flashlight, and followed the dusty footprints into the cave. If he were lucky, he'd have Zeb out of here long before Hamilton's friends ever turned up.
*
        The trail tapered off on hard rock, and Luke didn't dare take it any farther. He turned back, disturbed and more than a little confused. What the hell was Devery doing? Was he so ignorant of cave exploration that he'd take off on his own? Even a novice should know the hazards...
        Stupid. Ignorant. Panicked.
        None of it felt right. He had a dossier on Sebastian Devery, and he'd read it thoroughly - hell, half a dozen people, from psychologists to statisticians had read it thoroughly - before they'd arranged this contact. The man was neither stupid, nor prone to panic attacks. Maybe he suffers from some kind of claustrophobia.
        No wonder. This wasn't Devery's first cave exploration. He'd visited many of the caves in this area, until he'd been lost in one as a kid. It was the only record in Luke's carefully-acquired dossier with any indication of instability. Devery had been brought out, semi-delirious, on a stretcher. He'd raved on about weird whistles and broken bones. Imagination gone wild in the confines of a narrow crevasse. Understandable, considering the kid had been in there three days.
        Now, the man claimed to hate both snakes, and the holes in the ground that harboured them.
        How the hell had he coaxed himself into this one? Luke watched the light throw the hard rock into eerie relief. Devery must be more greedy than any of them had thought.
        There was a sound behind him, and Luke jumped. He realised he'd let his mind wander. "Devery!" he called out.
        It wasn't Devery. That irritatingly loud gum-chewing couldn't belong to anybody but Randolph Markington. Nervous habit, purported to be worse since his recent divorce.
        The man was ill-equipped to deal with this kind of situation. Hell, he taught "cryptozoology", and wrote books about fairy tales. Too damn trusting for his own good. He'd allowed himself to be suckered into this soil scheme for a quick buck.
        A whiff of raspberry bubblegum confirmed the man's identity, and Luke flicked the light his way - hiding his derision behind the beam.
        Snap. Pop. Chew. Crack.
        Hope there's grit in it... The man had talked non-stop all the way out here, and just about driven him nuts. At this point, Luke was thinking of him as a weak link: loquacious, difficult, and definitely open to bribery. He sniffed the overly sweet scent again. A very weak link.
        But, he'd come in after Devery.
        Or maybe, he just didn't want to be left alone...
        Luke knew he was sneering, and he deliberately relaxed his facial muscles. Markington was weak - not stupid.
        "Randy!" he called out.
        "Any sign of him?" Randy asked.
        "Not yet." Luke could resist adding, "If you'd keep the noise level down a little, I might have more -"
        It was as far as he got. Something in Markington's expression stopped him. The man had tilted his head and was now sniffing at the air. A glint in his eyes, and a tensing of muscle, and he was gone. Luke was left there alone, his flashlight aimed at a rock wall.
        He shook his head, and took off after Markington. Caves, he thought. Never again...
*
        "It was the fuckin' whistling, wasn't it?" The hollow echo of their conversation hit Luke's ears. "Must have been bad if you left your brains back at the entrance." The last was said derisively, in a rumble that was almost a growl.
        "Bad, but in case you hadn't noticed, I was on my way back." Devery's voice became enthusiastic as he added, "It's a good one, Randy. Really promising."
        Markington groaned. "So? You were supposed to be digging up dirt - only. Of the soil kind."
        Zeb chuckled. "We all have our weaknesses." There was a pause. "At least I don't chew gum to hide mine -"
        "No - you just go wandering into ca-" His voice stopped abruptly. "Company."
        Luke hadn't moved a muscle. He'd been standing there, shamelessly eavesdropping. How could he know? Hell, I'm downwind...
        Even as he thought it, gooseflesh lifted on his arms. The dossiers had always been fairly accurate before, from physical habits to psychological profile. With all that information, Luke should have been able to predict everything from their reactions to their next bowel movements. Instead, he was left uncomfortably aware that he was here, in the near-dark, with two unknowns.
        And he was suddenly very glad help would be waiting outside.
        That's if Markington followed instructions...
        Sweat chased the gooseflesh across his skin.
        He was still standing there, wondering what to do when Randy Markington's voice rang out. "Come on out, Hamilton," he bellowed cheerfully.
        There was a pause, and then Devery's voice followed. "Yeah, Hamilton," he said, with a trace of amusement. "We won't bite."
*
        Luke moved quietly along the passage, and climbed through a narrow hole. As he reached through, their hands yanked him up and out. It surprised him to feel how hot they both were. His own fingers and toes felt like ice.
        He was still finding his balance when Devery grinned. "Zeb Devery," he said.
        "Luke Hamilton," he said abruptly. He cursed himself for his clumsiness. Devery hadn't missed the harsh note. The man was looking at him strangely.
        He had a sudden feeling the time for subterfuge was past. If he wanted their cooperation, he'd have to buy it - with honesty. Devery would never believe the story he'd given Markington.
        He heard a snigger from that direction. Apparently, Markington didn't believe it, either. Luke had been considering him a fool, but now he realised Markington had actually been playing him for one. "You seem to have taken to spelunking rather well," he told him acerbically.
        "Not my first cave," Randy admitted.
        Zeb Devery looked from one to the other. "Did you come in after me?" He sounded surprised.
        "What did you think?" Randy retorted. "You blew it, Zeb. This isn't where you're supposed to be."
        Zeb shrugged. "Oops."
        "Yeah," Randy said caustically. "For all we knew, you could have lost your way, or been lured underground by some weird sounds." He smirked. "Strange places, caves."
        Zeb's eyes glinted. "Trick the eyes - and ears. A man might even think he overheard something he didn't." He looked at Luke. "Echoes, you know."
        The warning was clear, and a trickle of fear went down Luke's spine. "Let's move," he said brusquely. "We can talk outside." He took a few steps in what he thought was the right direction. When he turned around, Markington and Devery were still standing there, looking amused. "Well?" he asked.
        "Wrong way," Markington told him.
        Luke frowned and waited.
        Devery listened, then told Luke, "Better hurry, before your 'help' stomps down here to help us out."
        Luke looked startled, but Zeb's grin was a flash of white in the dim light. "Randy told me you'd called out the troops."
        No, he didn't. If he had, you wouldn't have been surprised we were searching...
        The man hadn't been startled by Markington's appearance - merely at the reasons for it.
        Luke trailed along behind them, back through the narrow passages, listening to... nothing. He couldn't hear a thing - no distant footfalls, no shuffling, no voices to warn of rescue. The weight of rock around him seemed increasingly threatening - heavy and sombre. So were his thoughts. He realised that somehow, and for some reason, he'd been out-manoeuvred.
*
        They emerged into a cloud of dirt. The whup-whup of the helicopter's engine died away, but the dust stayed a while. Somehow, during those last few feet, their roles had become reversed. Luke was now leading the way.
        The faces greeting him were both concerned and relieved. Apparently, the man was well-liked. It wasn't until the third inquiry about Hamilton's health that Zeb was able to put it together, though. "Hamilton", AKA "Mr. X", was The Hamilton. He was either the founder, the owner, or the heir to the company.
        Maybe some of his popularity is gold-plated, Zeb thought, a little cynically.
        Hamilton was being beckoned to one side now and Zeb saw him nodding reassurances to the helicopter pilot. Apparently, someone was on the radio who wanted confirmation from the man himself.
        The heir. He's definitely the heir. Zeb found it amusing. It was even more amusing to see how Hamilton took all this - from the equipment, to the personnel - in his stride.
        All in a day's profiteering...
        Whatever Hamilton was saying on the radio included a few gestures in their direction, and Zeb dawned his best mea culpa look. He managed to convey fear mixed with embarrassment - just enough to dissuade Hamilton from revealing his suspicions.
        Hamilton had a hint of anger in his expression now. He knew, just as Zeb did, that if he were to mention the conversation he'd overheard, he'd look like a fool.
        Zeb glanced at Randy to see how he was taking all the notoriety. He was smiling a little grimly - still chewing gum that by now must be both flavourless and gritty. And when his eyes flickered in Zeb's direction for the third time, Zeb forced a smile.
        Randy wasn't fooled. Zeb was still pale. It must've been a bad one. "Worse than usual?" he asked quietly.
        Zeb nodded.
        "Nasty places, caves," he replied.
        "I want to go back."
        Randy didn't look surprised. "When?"
        "If you're not too busy making millions," Zeb said, that glint in his eyes, "how about tonight?"
        Randy sighed. "Ever eager, aren't we?" he hissed.
        "Tourists will have left by then," Zeb muttered.
        Randy gave a small nod. "I'll bring the light."
        At that, Zeb gave a rude snort. "I'll bet you will." he replied.
*
        Unfounded suspicion. It would take him a while to word his report - to offer a hint of some deeper involvement by Markington and Devery, so that once he had the facts, the suggestions of duplicity would be there.
        Luke had seen the look in Devery's eyes. It was the same one he'd seen a dozen times before, as people made the connection between his surname and the logo on the helicopter. His predecessors were neither excessively modest nor particularly subtle. His grandfather might be pushing ninety, but he still insisted on displaying his "crest" on everything he owned.
        It was one of the reasons Luke had left it all behind. For ten years, he'd worked with the sordid and corrupt while his family had labelled him temporarily depraved. It was only six months ago, when he'd taken two bullets in the gut, that he'd been forcibly brought back into the fold. For weeks he'd been too ill to argue, and the department had been happy to limit their fiscal responsibility for his recovery, while his family put him in the hands of specialists.
        Now that Luke was back at work, John Colton was using his corporate ties to provide a cover. It made sense to utilise the connection to his - and the ISEA's - advantage. Luke, for his part, was forced to comply, but he'd added a codicil: neither his ties to, nor his activities on behalf of, the ISEA could be allowed to unfavourably influence the firm's standing - nor could any intimate knowledge of Hamilton Industries be used to drag the corporation down.
        Now that he was fully recovered, Luke found he was chafing at the constraints. Maintaining a pose at Hamilton might make sense, but it damn well limited his usefulness. One identity could only go so far, and the more notoriety, the less he'd be able to function undercover.
        During his recuperation, in those weak moments when he'd thought he'd never regain his strength and endurance, he'd sometimes wondered whether his father and Colton had struck a deal. James Hamilton was no fool, and he knew Luke was playing both sides of the fence. There might be merit in his son's accomplishments, but he couldn't see why the hazardous tasks of following through on an investigation couldn't be performed by someone else. Someone with less to lose.
        But, Luke was his own man, and had seen too much of both coercion and extortion to be susceptible to his father's manipulations. The best way of accomplishing James' goals was to get his son involved. From James' point of view, as long as Luke kept his hand in, the day would come when tracking down felons would become secondary. A mental exercise only, which could eventually be turned over to Colton and others like him, while the real "players" manipulated currency and commodities.
        Luke nodded to his escort, then - at a thumbs up from Markington - climbed into the helicopter. He was irritated because he'd informed Colton about the cave situation, yet Hamilton Industries had responded. Oh, there were a few ISEA people around, but, by and large, this was his father's show. If he'd needed any further evidence of duplicity, it had just been shoved in his face.
        And it was the first time in years he could recall feeling any embarrassment over the trappings of wealth that surrounded him, and the apparently store-bought concern of his "employees". It was as though he'd punched "911", and the Queen's Royal Guard had responded. He felt like a fool.
        Markington and Devery know nothing about you...
        And it wasn't necessary for them to approve of his fiscal arrangements or business concerns. His eyes narrowed, and he focused on the investigation. The proposition to Markington and Devery had been much simpler than that: they were either in, or out.
        What bothered him now was how little he really knew about them. It was the first time he could ever recall being so misled by someone's dossier. The facts might be there, but the interpretation was entirely wrong.
        An unreasonable solution would be to have both of them tailed. Surveillance was expensive, and he'd have to justify it to Colton. Unless he funded it directly from his own pockets. Colton would never agree to funding for something so impractical - and there was hardly a rationale for such a precipitate move.
        Except his suspicions, unfounded as they were, that Markington and Devery were hiding something. Something very important, that might, in the end, prove nearly as valuable as underground sources for unusual crystals.
        Luke's eyes glinted. Maybe Colton's arrangements had nothing to do with a golden handshake between the ISEA's strained finances, and Hamilton Industries' overflowing ones. Maybe it was much more simple than that. John Colton had always encouraged his agents to act justly, reasonably, and intelligently within the budget.
        It could be this is what he'd intended all along. Luke Hamilton's budget constraints had just been lifted.
*
        The moon perched, half-full, just above the mountains. The jagged silhouettes were etched in a faint orange glow from the city beyond. Now that the dust had cleared, he could see the sharp crystalline glints of stars, and the milky streaks of galactic turbulence. Hot day, but chilly night. It ate through his thin jacket.
        Unprepared again, Zeb? He couldn't afford to be - not tonight. Tension knotted his stomach. The afternoon's experience was still too fresh - and too familiar - to dismiss.
        Relax. He perched on the bumper, then scooted back onto Bertha's hood. The metal gave an unpleasant metallic thunk, but it didn't faze him - his car was riddled with rust, dents and creases. One more wouldn't matter, and it was a small price for the engine warmth, and satisfied any anticipatory nigglings of claustrophobia. Every time he thought "cave" he admitted to nervous trepidation at the memories of confined space. It was the greatest of his spelunking fears, and the one he guessed would always be hardest for him to overcome.
        For now, it was enough to soak up some residual engine heat, lean back against the windscreen, and watch for low-flying bats, night birds, and pollinating moths.
        And headlights. He'd never been one for patience - not since he'd been trapped in a hole with bones and blood. No, patience had never been his strong point. Waiting merely made anticipation worse.
        Get it over with...
        Damn, it was tempting! He picked at a bug splat on his windshield. Randy would find him - no doubt about it. He glanced at his watch, gave the hood an impatient thud, then slid to the ground. He had work in the morning, and there was no telling how long this would take. He picked up his flashlight, a rope, and a bag of Snickers, then headed back into the cave.
***
Chapter Two

        Randy slammed his fist against the sofa back. "Dammit, Shea!" he complained.
        "Keep your 'dammits' to yourself, Markington!" she said impatiently. "You're the one who wanted geological strata. I'll have the readouts in less than a minute." She muttered, "Though it'd've be better, in my opinion, if you'd considered the water table instead."
        "Always a whinger," Randy retorted. He knew how much it irritated her. "You know how people relate their well-being to crystals -"
        "New Age stupidity," she put in.
        "- and how frequently peasant superstitions have been backed up by -"
        "- superstitious stupidity. Save the lecture for your class, Randy. Zeb's out there in the dark."
        Randy's voice rose. "And whose fault is that? I ask for a readout, and she gives me the Periodic Table." He added sarcastically, "Or maybe it's the Richter Scale, A to Z." He considered that for a moment. "Any unusual tremors in that area? Might give us an idea of -"
        "Randy -" she cut in.
        He raised an eyebrow.
        "Shut up!" Without another word, she tugged the paper out of the printer and headed for the door, Randy at her back. She reached for the knob with one hand, and tossed Randy a pack of gum with the other.
        But when she opened her mouth to say something further, Randy beat her to it. He smiled with saccharine sweetness, then pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his pocket. "I'm all ready for you." She barely heard his added, "Even if you ain't too bright." She was grinning as she slid behind the wheel.
*
        It wasn't until he was already inside that he remembered the snake he'd seen that afternoon. At the time he'd been "distracted". He had a jumbled memory of wriggling reptile, inhaled dust, ancient lamps, and broken bones - the present overlapping with the past.

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        At this moment, the most important part of his present was a beady-eyed scaly slitherer with a forked tongue. That damned rattlesnake wasn't the kind of animal he'd come looking for.
        He shone the light lingeringly into the dark recesses along his way, and then, more cautiously, under the jumbled rocks. A glint of eye refraction, and a slithering movement made him jump. He scrambled backwards, toppled onto his rear, realised it made him more vulnerable, and leaped, fell and rolled down the passageway.
        He was still on his knees when the tremulous warble whispered in the distance. As his flashlight spun and settled, its light painting shuddery etchings across the uneven surface, the whistle grew in intensity. Zeb cocked his head to listen, then crawled quickly along - forgetting all his resolutions about waiting for the others.
        Forgetting everything except The Whistler, and his need to get there - before the music stopped.
*
        Randy's stomach sank as soon as he spotted Zeb's car. "He's inside."
        "Who's that?" Shea was looking at a sleek sportscar, parked just beyond Zeb's.
        Randy climbed out, and sniffed the air. "My business partner," he said. "Too curious for his own good."
        "Is he inside with Zeb?"
        "More or less."
        She sighed. "So Zeb doesn't know he's there," she said.
        Randy nodded. "That's what I think."
        "I think we better get to them first. If we don't, Zeb will -"
        "- have started without us."
        She turned to him a little desperately. "Did you bring a flashlight?"
        "No. Why would I?" he retorted, with a trace of sarcasm. "Dammit."
        "I'll be careful," she promised, but there was that same hint of excitement in her voice that had been in Zeb's earlier.
        "When are you two going to learn some restraint?" he hissed.
        "About the same time you and Ness do," she replied.
        "I should have called Rio," Randy said worriedly.
        "Think we're gonna need him?" she asked seriously.
        "He's good at diffusing things."
        "I notice you didn't mention Ty. There's restraint for you!" she hissed.
        "I prefer my stalactites on the ceiling, rather than sticking out of my head -" he began.
        They were at the cave entrance. Abruptly, she turned around, grasped the front of his shirt and yanked him down for a giant kiss.
        Tradition. "I love you," she whispered. The air around them shimmered with a sudden frosty glint that brightened the stirred-up dust to blinding sparkles.
        He ran his hands over her, then sniffed longingly at her nape and hair. "I know," he replied. He inhaled deeply, then coughed on the dust. "Damn!" He coughed again, but this time, it sounded more like a growl.
        She heard it. "Sly, aren't we?" she muttered as he took over the lead.
        He chuckled, as he stared at the refracted sheen of crystals along the roof. No doubt Luke would have a question or two about the source of light. He shook his head and tightened his grip on her hand. "Absolutely devious," he said.
*
        Luke couldn't figure out how Devery was doing it - or why. There didn't seem to be any point to the man's movements - yet they were made with a kind of desperate urgency. He was crawling, scrambling, and at times practically running between the rocky layers.
        At first Luke had thought he was aware of being pursued, and that it had sent him into some kind of panic. Now, he'd decided the man was largely oblivious to anything but his goal. He hadn't slowed, nor had his speed picked up when Luke had yelled his name.
        Maybe he's wearing a Discman? Can't hear a thing over his "sounds"?
        Or maybe he just wants to throw me off his track - to lead me away from what he's really after.
        From whatever he'd found in the cave that afternoon. Happy accident, or had Markington's bumbling concern led to some secret cache? That Devery didn't want anyone to know about?
        There was another possibility: this may have been Markington's way of admitting some healthy competition. Maybe Devery was getting too greedy, or too dictatorial. Maybe Markington felt the only way to protect his share was to admit someone else to the mix.
        What else were they hiding? This wasn't Luke's first pursuit, but it was certainly his strangest. He'd been trained in lipreading, and the conversation this afternoon hadn't been difficult to interpret. There was something here, and instinct told him it must tie in to his investigation. But, now that he was God-knows-how-many feet under the ground, he knew he'd made a mistake. He'd followed Devery too soon. Now, he could well have Markington on his tail. Luke's "divide and conquer" approach was beginning to feel more foolish all the time.
        But, he couldn't forget his discomfort, when confronted by them both. Markington had changed from "bumbling" to "dexterous" in the blink of an eye. As much as Luke wanted to catch them in the act, he had very definite qualms about confronting them together in a place like this. He had no desire to make this his burial ground.
        He had a choice: follow Devery further, and literally drive him underground - or get out, before Markington turned up.
        Get out...
        He'd never liked caves, even if this one was worth investigating. Catching Devery in the act suddenly didn't seem nearly as important as catching a breath of fresh air. He'd find a way to track Devery's path tomorrow, with a team for back-up.
        Now, the big thing was to retrace his steps, before Markington wiped out his trail. Luke slipped on the glasses and stared at the infrared markings. A bright red beacon to the exit...
        He'd taken only a few steps when the weirdly screeching screams sounded in his ears.
*
        Zeb slammed his hands over his ears, then stood shaking. He was drenched with sweat, weak and nauseated.
        Displacement. The rock beneath his feet was wobbly, and his eyes were seeing two places at once, both dressed in shimmers of glimmery blue light. The scenes, so distinct in everything from time of day to climate, were overlapping, and in those moments, he couldn't decide which was which, or where he belonged. As always, he was terrified at his own confusion, but experience had taught him there was only one way to resolve it. He forced his focus to narrow. Like a horse with blinders, he looked straight ahead, ignoring the scene playing out beyond.
        Nothing but rock. Coarse rock, of white limestone with crystalline intrusions, weird fans and pointed stalactites, swirls and bubbles and irregular holes. Rock with light and shadow; pools of unseen depths lying just beyond the reach of his flashlight. It was all a puzzle, a maze.
        He could hear them now. The crunch and tap of claws on rock. Almost automatically, it seemed, his eyes sought the scrabbling creatures his ears had promised.
        They were small and unbelievably wary. At first, they were indecipherable from the limestone, but he knew it was like a Magic Eye puzzle, where a 3D image is hidden in plain sight. As Zeb's eyes rested on the rock surface, his vision blurred and his focus changed. The features - faces, feet, claws - were suddenly there.
        Now you see it, now you don't...
        The wee things surfaced, arising out of the blue-tainted rocky molecules, just as, at other times, in other places, they sometimes lifted out of water or wood. Arising, taking shape, becoming distinct, like multicoloured patches lifting from an irregular quilt. Only a mirage, until they formed shadows.
        Until they began to move. These were sparsely-haired, with huge, saucerlike eyes, long beaked noses, and splindly arms. The arms were gesturing wildly now, in his direction. Not angry, and not curious. Frightened.
        Uh-oh.
        He had to make this quick. At any moment they could scatter. And if he didn't record what he was seeing, Randy would never forgive him.
        I should have waited...
        But he couldn't, and Randy would understand. His resistance this afternoon had been a first.
        Maybe it fooled Randy as much as it did me.
        Which is why he's taking so damn long to get here... The ignoble thought made Zeb feel like a prick. And it didn't help - he still felt guilty. He'd been too impatient, and hadn't bothered to wait. There was no getting around it: Randy would have wanted to see these beasties himself; to put a name to them. Something to drop into a lecture, with a lively description that would capture his students' imaginations. The kind of legendary invention that had earned Randy his reputation - and an overload of students.
        Zeb smiled. And if by some chance these gnome-types were unidentified - unknowns, by folktale standards - Shea would have wanted to list their characteristics, and enter them in her database.
        The least Zeb Devery could do was capture them on film. He pulled the camcorder out of his pack, but each little movement seemed to set the gnome-types off. They were skittish, uneasy, and something in their fearful energies transferred itself to him. The click and scrape of their nails seemed unnaturally loud, and he noticed the way they were peering around; those big eyes squinting in the brightness of his flashlight. He watched as three separated themselves from the others, and crawled, batlike, up the steep walls: their bony limbs jutting at awkward angles as they clung to the rock face. They were staring at the pooling greys and blacks, beyond the reach of Zeb's light - ears perked at an angle towards something he couldn't hear.
        A sibilant whisper cut the air, and gooseflesh danced down Zeb's arms. The gnomes were suddenly frozen in place, like barnacles to a rock. Zeb realised the only thing still in motion in the cavern...was him.
        Maybe not. The sibilant sound came again, and Zeb could have sworn it was closer.
        They hadn't come alone. There was a predator lurking - something he hadn't seen.
        It wouldn't be the first time. When the damned whistle came, it set Zeb off - and he was out of control. Driven. The need to follow it through became a compelling force, and he couldn't let go. They all knew it - Randy, Shea, Ty, Rio, Ness - so they mounted expeditions now, to document and catalogue. They'd left the wild, slack, dive-in-with-the-sharks stuff behind. They let Zeb chum the waters, but nobody went for a swim. They'd had too many injuries in the early days, with too many unexplainable repercussions.
        This afternoon was a first, and it had fooled them all. Zeb had thought, for once, that he was doing things on his own terms. But it was no different from before. He should have realised that once he'd been touched by the whistle, he'd never be able to walk away. Not without seeing it through...
        He flushed. It had been years since he'd acted this irresponsibly. He knew better than to go it alone.
        Dammit if he hadn't blown it again...
        The background sibilance echoed briefly, then suddenly rose, to a low-pitched, reverberating hum. It was all the gnomes needed. In a panic, they dove off walls and leapt, in a scurryingly awkward frenzy, across the rocks. Their screeching cries filled the cavern.
        Send them back! Send them all back!
        Zeb fought to concentrate. He focussed on the rock wall; focussed on that particular zone of deafness where the only sound was a peculiarly sweet whistle...
        He was nearly there. The displacement, the confusion, the overlapping frames of movement...
        He might be deaf, but he wasn't blind. If anything, he was seeing too much right now - on too many levels.
        Something was coming at him. The hair lifted on the nape of his neck, and his heart pounded with terror. His legs twitched with the need to flee.
        Sweat broke on his brow, but he stood his ground.
        Overlap it with that other vision...the one that would lure it away - that would make It as driven as he'd been moments since.
        He had it. The wings fluttered irregularly as the predator turned. The beast was so close he could feel the wind ruffle his hair - could smell the rancid breath of the carnivore...
        He'd done it, and the knot in his gut loosened. It was heading back towards the rock face, and it was being chased by its small gnome-prey. For an instant, Zeb felt a qualm of dismay. The gnomes, drawn just as the hunter was, were unable to stop themselves. They'd be walking right into the predator's mouth - returning to certain death...
*
        Luke ran. He'd never heard anything like it before, but he knew it wasn't bats. Some kind of animal, maybe, but he couldn't take a chance. If it was a human animal, the guy was in terrible pain.
        He nearly outran his light, and twice he stumbled, and nearly fell. By the time he made his way to Zeb's hiding place, he was panting and furious.
        And more than a little sure he was being played for a fool.
*
        A beam of light suddenly burst into the cavern - and right into Zeb's eyes. He lost it all - his vision, his qualms, his equilibrium, his focus. His hearing was back - he knew, because an angry voice bellowed his name.
        That's not what he was listening for, though. There was another, underlying wash of sound as a soft sibilance gave way to a vibrating hum. The next moment it was all clouds of choking dust and gnashing teeth, yells and screeching cries, skittering bony legs and arms, and yelps of human disbelief. A heavy body slammed Zeb back, into the rock, and jagged claws pinned him there. He opened his eyes, as unbelievably jagged teeth came down.
        Tearing teeth...
        He gagged at the stink of ordure, kicked and squirmed, but the thing was sucking up its victory now, and draining him dry.
        Wizened Devery husk littering the cave floor...
        In the background there was a furious howl.
        It was the last thing Zeb remembered.
*
        Jesus H. Christ!
        He couldn't take it in - couldn't assimilate the scene. All his training, all the scenarios, all the crime scenes, all the test runs: nothing could have prepared him for this. In those other times, those other places, there'd been evil, and premeditated wickedness, passionate blood and butchery, and dispassionate termination. Dispatchers and dispatched, killers, victims and would-be homicides, depravity and cold-blooded amorality...but at least the fuckin' predators were human!
        And then, he couldn't think any more. His world became a scrambling, screeching mass of bony arms and legs as the gnomes latched on and climbed him like an overgrown stalagmite. They were panicked and tiny, but in sheer numbers, their weight far surpassed his own. Luke tried to shake them off but they clung to him, as they'd clung to the rock only moments before. Clung to him and froze. His world was suddenly a place of beak-nosed bald monsters with acetone breath and terror in saucer-shaped eyes.
        In slow motion, Luke and his weighty burden toppled - landing in a crunch of rock and squirming bodies. At the same moment, his gun went off, resonating the roof with a horrendous blast. The gnomes - the ones that could, anyway - that weren't crunched beneath him - scattered. Luke was left lying there, with the stink of gunfire strong in his nose.
        A shudder of movement fixed his eyes on Sebastian Devery. The man was still squirming weakly, but there was no way he was fighting his adversary off alone. The monster - th-the Thing - had him pinned.
        Luke knew he would never look at moths the same way again. This one was enormous, with a heavy body, dusky brown wings that twitched continuously, and enormous antennae. It had clawed feet, and a siphon tongue, that was sucking the life out of the man - Luke was close enough to see the dark pulsing through the tongue. As it fed, the antennae uncurled, then coiled up again with each gulp. Luke had a sudden urge to gag.
        He rolled over on to his stomach, and pushed himself up on his knees. Devery wasn't going to last long. He lurched to his feet.
        It was the stuff of nightmares, but it wasn't the first time he'd tackled a killer. Don't think...
        As he dove for one of those enormous, jagged brown wings, he heard a horrible howl at his back.
        Oh, shit!
        Then it was all wing dust and flapping and scraping, claws and slamming rock. He sucked in wheezing breaths, of mingled moth dust and earthy air, but he hung on. The overgrown moth was squirming and giving out some kind of shrill whistle, and the tongue was curling over the thing's head and trying to poke at his eyes now.
        Luke was flopped from side to side. It was deliberately trying to scrape him against the stalactites, he realised, and he froze. He'd never expected it to be smart - never expected it to have more than a moth's reasoning power. The idea of a monster with a brain was so much worse than an animal acting merely on instinct.
        It's not real, Hamilton. None of this is real. You hit a pocket of bad air, or had one too many run-ins with rock.
        The moth whipped him around so fast, that he could barely cling to the wings. Apparently, those clawed feet were a lot more manoeuvrable than he would have ever guessed. It was trying to break him off now, in any way it could.
        Luke's head whammed against the rock, and his world went momentarily black. When he opened his eyes it was to a whirr of motion as a man - Luke could swear it was Markington - hit the moth with a blow that send dust and blood flying everywhere.
        Luke lay there, staring a little blankly at the scene, as Markington picked up the moth as though it weighed nothing, and flung it, Frisbee-like, across the cavern.
        Not real, Luke thought distantly. He pushed himself up on one elbow, and sought Devery's body.
        There was a woman with him, and they were surrounded by light. Through aching eyes, Luke surveyed the rest of the room, and he wondered that he hadn't noticed the radiance before. If someone had brought in some fluorescents, it wouldn't have been any brighter.
        The woman must have heard him, because she looked up, and met his eyes across the distance. Luke could swear hers were glowing.
        Hell of a dream I'm having, he thought, stumbling to his feet.
        The world seemed to tilt and he latched onto a stalactite for balance.
        "Hold it, Hamilton," a voice said.
        "Markington?" Luke muttered.
        "The same. Sit down while I look at Zeb..."
        Luke leaned against the rock. "Go -" he whispered, relieved. His brain was assessing what he'd seen; putting it in terms John Colton could accept. "...into rare animals - maybe endangered exports. Some kind of bat, and a big moth..." Smuggling endangered animals was big money, but it also carried big fines.
        The cave had developed a wobbliness he hadn't noticed before. He squinted against the pain in his head, and had a sudden feeling someone was watching him. He turned, to find himself face-to-face with one of the little "bats". Its eyes were squinted, too, but against the light.
        It was squatting against the wall like the bat he'd claimed it to be, but there was nothing batlike about its toothy grin. "Zshaylok," it said, in a screechy voice.
        "Aren't you going to say hello?" came Markington's sarcastic voice, from the background.
        It's real.
        Luke shuddered, and then suddenly, he was sick, and the little bat shrieked and scuttled away across the rock. Luke knew he was going down, and put out a hand to break his fall.
        "Gotcha!" a voice growled near his ear, and there was a trace of humour in it Luke couldn't miss. "Damned 'business partners' are more trouble than they're worth."
*
        "Zeb!"
        Shea.
        Zeb gave a weak grin. "Head tow'rd th' light?" he whispered.
        "Not if I get there first."
        Randy.
        Zeb forced open his eyes. "Glad you c'd make it."
        "If that's a comment on my dilatory arrival, save it." Despite the sarcastic note, Randy sounded worried. "You really did it this time, Zeb." He was applying pressure to Zeb's shoulder, while Shea applied a makeshift bandage. "If you were gonna run into a Mahr, you could have waited till we got here."
        Shea shook her head. "The med kit."
        "If there's no stopper," Randy told her softly, "get some cobwebs -" The fear in his eyes belied the calmness of his voice.
        Shea forced a smile, for Zeb's sake. "Ness'll have your hide for this one, Zeb."
        Randy asked her worriedly, "Can you find the way out?"
        Shea's eyes flicked to Luke and back, her expression grim. "Somebody left a trail," she said.
        "Don't look at me," Zeb muttered.
        "We all know what kind of trails you leave," Randy remarked, sniffing distastefully.
        "Slurs...s'all I get."
        Shea grinned. Her wave was a sudden sparkling of light. The next instant she was gone, racing back the way they'd come.
        "Oww!" Zeb grunted to Randy. "Not so hard." It felt like he was trying to push his shoulder through the rock.
        "Wuss." But, Randy didn't release the pressure. The Mahr must have had an anticoagulant in its saliva, and Zeb was still bleeding heavily. Randy's hands were shaking, but it wouldn't do for Zeb to know it. Luckily, the cavern was dark now that Shea had left.
        Except for the dull glimmer of Zeb's blood. Randy had seen it before, but it never failed to shock him anew.
        "Where's the Mahr?" A detached voice arose out of the blackness.
        "Uh-oh," Zeb whispered.
        "Yes, you're right," Randy told him calmly. "We're screwed."
        "It's dark in here," came the voice again.
        "Observant, isn't he?" Zeb whispered. "So astute."
        Randy grinned, then said loudly, "The light will be back shortly. Don't move, Luke, before you damage yourself more. That was one hell of a fall you took."
        "Slick," Zeb hissed. "I'm impressed."
        "How's Devery?" Luke asked.
        "Devery's fine," Zeb replied, "considering you knocked me down that hole." He grinned.
        A cover-up. They were actually going to try to cover this up. Luke gave a snort of muffled laughter, then grunted as yet another bony leg kneed him in the side. He thought about what John Colton would say, if he could see him now, and gave another amused chuckle. Then, he just coudn't stop. He snorted, chuckled, grunted, "oww"ed, and laughed. It hurt like hell, and he didn't know which was making his eyes weep more, his hilarity or the pain.
        "What's with him?" Randy asked disparagingly. Dammit if he'd let Zeb bleed to death while he found out.
        Zeb couldn't take it. With trembling fingers, he fished the lighter out of his pocket and flicked it.
        Luke Hamilton was surrounded - piled high with gnomes, who'd decided he was synonymous with safety. He was an island of bony arms and legs in a sea of rock.
        "Dammit," Randy sighed. "Nunus."
        Luke's head was still spinning, and he would forever blame his next comment on his giddiness. "That's Nunus to me," he said.
*
        "I've got to send them back," Zeb said grimly.
        "Damn right you do, but not till Ness gets here." Randy knew it was a mistake, as soon as he'd said it.
        "No!" Zeb gritted his teeth and tried to shove Randy away. "Get off!"
        "Nope." He tightened his grip. "You're so fuckin' prejudiced!"
        If he'd hoped to get results with that one he was disappointed. It was true that Zeb hated doctors - had a phobia about them almost as bad as his fear of rattlesnakes. It didn't help that Ness was one of his best friends. They got along because neither of them mentioned it. The times Ness had been called upon to patch up other members of their expeditions, Zeb had always made himself scarce. "Is that what Shea's doing? Waiting for Ness?"
        "Quit squirming. We need Ness for dumbshit there - "
        "Good! Haul him out to the entry, so I don't have to watch!"
        "I can't," Randy told him practically. "He'll have too much company."
        "Shut up and take your medicine like a man!" Luke said loudly, then burst out laughing again.
        Randy growled.
        Zeb, meanwhile, was silent. He'd never tried to do this in the dark, but there was always a first time. He stared in the general direction of the rocks, where the Nunus had emerged.
        "Zeb!" This time, the growl was directed at him.
        The overlap came, but Zeb couldn't hold onto it. His eyes were aching, and he felt tireder than he ever had in his life. "Rand -" he muttered.
        Then, he was confused because it was daylight - no, it was Shea. Someone else was swearing softly, and sticking a needle into his arm. "Go 'way, Ness," Zeb muttered.
        "Fuck you, too," Ness said, but he didn't move. "You should start to feel better in a minute, Zeb," he went on, checking the IV. "Stay with him, Randy, while I check on the other guy."
        "Megalomaniac," Zeb grouched to his back.
        "Mediphobic. You're right, though: just give me a white coat and I can rule the world."
        "His name's Luke," Randy offered. "And those are Nunus."
        Luke noticed that the man "Ness" didn't seem in the least surprised to see a load of Nunus on his chest. All he said was "Zeb, you're an idiot," before waving one hand to shoo them away. After a few minutes' examination, he told Luke, "Hit your head pretty hard, did you?"
        "Concussion?"
        Ness nodded. "Hurt anywhere else?"
        "No."
        "Good," Ness said, and patted his shoulder. "Stay awake. We'll get you out of here soon."
        In the background, Zeb was saying in a querulous tone, "They go back!", and Shea was arguing, with obnoxiously saccharine sweetness, "We'll see what your 'doctor' says." Then came Zeb's weary "Shut up, Shea!", and Randy's "Quit squirming, you dumbshit!", and finally, just a growl.
        Luke watched as Ness raised his eyes in a bid for patience, before asking loudly, "Anyone have a drink bottle?"
        There was instant silence. Ness grinned. "Gotcha."
        Shea kicked him. "You moron!"
        Randy was grinning wolfishly, and even Zeb looked amused.
        "Now, Sebastian," Ness said with a false smile, "let's take care of that other little problem, shall we?"
        "'We'll' just do that," Zeb retorted. He focussed on the wall. It was a lot easier with the light. "Light helps," he commented.
        "No excuses this time," Randy muttered.
        Zeb smiled. He focussed, and the smile faded as he concentrated. The whistle was starting up now, but he was shivering so hard he was having trouble holding it.
        Ness was watching him closely. "Not much time," he whispered to Randy.
        Randy nodded, and moved to the other side of the cavern where the Mahr lay. He was nearly there when, with a whirring of wings, the seemingly dead Mahr lifted from the rock.
        Randy was taken by surprise. It grabbed at him with talon-like claws, and - the wings whirring ferociously, started tugging him back across the uneven floor.
        A blaze of light entered Shea's eyes. In a wave of fury, she waved her hand, and a brilliant white flare exploded in the Mahr's face.
        The Mahr, temporarily blinded by the burst, dropped Randy like a stone and flopped feebly, navigating now by sound. As the Nunus scurried across the distance, the Mahr followed the sweet whistle toward the cavern wall.
        Luke watched, stunned, as first the Nunus, and then the man-eating moth, hit the wall. They seemed to cling, briefly, then were somehow sucked into, and disappeared through, the solid rock.
        What amazed him most was the way the others ignored it.
        "Didn't you see it?" he gasped, worrying for the first time just how bad his head injury was.
        Shea leaped over the uneven stalagmites and dropped to her knees at Randy's side. Randy, half-blinded still by the intensity of that last light, grabbed her roughly and yanked her into his arms. "Help," he whispered. His hands fumbled over her breasts then worked their way south. "Blinded by your beauty," he explained.
        She grinned.
        Ness' voice was long-sufferingly patient. "You okay, Randy?"
        "Better all the time..." At Ness' silence, he added, "A few scratches, and lots of -"
        "- 'research for your next book'," Ness interrupted. "I need to get Zeb out of here. You up to it?"
        In answer, Randy stumbled over, and cautiously lifted Zeb up off the ground. Zeb was limp, but Randy did his best to hold him steady. "Still a little blind," he admitted seriously.
        "Shea?" Ness asked.
        Shea took Randy's arm. Her expression held a trace of remorse. "Sorry," she told him. To Ness she said, "Ready."
        "What about him?" Randy asked, indicating Luke with a nod of his head.
        "I'll get him." Ness was taking Zeb's pulse. He didn't look happy. "Let's hurry. The sooner we get him out of here, the better."
*
        Luke lay there in the dark, the scent of stale urine strong in his nostrils. He shifted his leg, and heard the rustle of plastic bag and the tinkle of broken glass. They'd dumped him here in the alley, and hauled Zeb Devery away, presumably to the hospital.
        He would have been feeling pretty damned vulnerable right now if he hadn't overheard them talking. Somewhere nearby, Randy Markington was lurking; standing guard until help arrived.
        It was the oddest rescue Luke had ever been involved in. They'd treated him well - brought him back to town to within three blocks of the hospital. Brushed him down before stealing his phone and ID.
        Buying time.
        They'd also rung for an ambulance. Now, it was a waiting game. Markington was marked with Devery's glimmery blood (glimmery?), so he'd put on Ness' jacket, and was skulking out of sight. He wasn't about to abandon Luke Hamilton to the elements - human or otherwise. He was waiting because he might be a thief and a Mahr-murderer, but he had principles. The thought made Luke chuckle.
        Which brought a shift of movement in the alley.
        Not Markington. This was another scavenger, out for whatever he could get. He'd steal the jacket off Luke's back, the shoes off his feet, the belt off his pants - if he could get close enough. And if Luke didn't have enough to offer, the scavenger would make him pay in some other way. Luke didn't feel strong enough right now to rout a rat - of any kind. He tensed, sickness in the pit of his stomach.
        Until he heard a warning growl nearby. He could have sworn Markington was watching from the roof - he didn't know how he'd descended so fast. It was, however, undoubtedly the man's voice. "I wouldn't touch him, if I were you," he warned quietly. Another growl. "Back off."
        Who the hell were these people?
        Luke was still wondering it the following morning, when he woke up to John Colton's unsmiling face.
***
Chapter Three

        John Colton watched as Luke Hamilton played out his explanation in his head. It was obvious he found it lacking.
        Colton had some theories of his own. Hamilton had been picked up in an alley, and his gun, phone, wallet, and watch were missing, but his injuries weren't consistent with a mugging. Besides the concussion, he'd been badly scratched and bitten by something. The lab was still trying to make sense of the dust and dirt particles trapped in his clothes.
        It may have been a kidnapping. The Hamilton clan could singlehandedly bankroll a small nation, and their heir apparent had just returned to the fold. At that, Colton felt a twinge of guilt. He'd manipulated Hamilton Senior as much as the man had manipulated him. Colton knew he'd been acting for the good of the ISEA, but whether he'd actively considered Luke Hamilton's welfare was another matter.
        Nor was Luke doing much talking this morning. He had an excuse, but so far his only questions had involved Sebastian Devery. He wanted to know whether Devery had sought medical treatment during the last twelve hours, and the name of the admitting physician. Since Devery had neither been seen in the Emergency Room, nor admitted to any local hospitals, Colton couldn't help him. On a hunch, Colton had included a photo with his inquiry, but the results were still negative.
        Luke had been insistent enough that Colton had ordered an agent to pay Devery a visit, but there was no one home - because Devery was at work. He'd answered his own office phone on the second ring.
        After his report, Luke had refused to say any more. Other than exchanging pleasantries, he'd just lain there silently. There was a look in his eyes which Colton put down to amusement. He'd seen it too often over the years, and it usually meant Luke was admiring someone else's technique.
        It also usually preceded a breakthrough on one of their cases.
        Colton nodded to him, said, "I'll be in touch," then walked quietly out of the room.
        Sometimes, it was better just to leave a man to his thoughts.
*
        Zeb glanced at his watch - for the tenth time. He sensed Ephron's eyes on him again, and headed for the inoculation room. None of the techs were doing agar pours today, and it was one place he could get some time alone. Good excuse, and the best one, for having someone else catch the phone.
        Once there, he sank onto the stool, and leaned his head against the side of the cabinet. He would have dropped his head onto the benchtop if the idea of bending that far hadn't made him shudder.
        He shuddered anyway, then just kept on doing it - unable to stop.
        With a shaking hand, he dug out two more aspirin and chewed them down. Not the best way to handle it, maybe, but he knew if he tried to get to the coffee room right now he'd never make it.
        My fault. His mind kept replaying bits and pieces of last night's fiasco, that had culminated in Rio's announcement that Hamilton was government issue. All the hype over family connections, and him launching out on a business proposition of his own was just so much talk. The gun was what had tipped him off, but the ID had finished it. Zeb didn't know how Mario knew, but he'd claimed Hamilton's affiliation with Atherton Traders was a direct link with the ISEA - the Investigative Security and Enforcement Agency. If any of them had had any doubts, Mario had finished them with a quick scan before they'd left the cave. Hamilton had two transponders - one in his upper arm, and another in his thigh. Rio had made sure they were out of operation for the time it took to get Hamilton to his alley.
        Ness had been adamant about a hospital, but they all knew what it would mean. If they were under surveillance, and they would be as soon as Hamilton recovered consciousness, they had to play this out - make it look as though whatever inquiry had originally brought Luke Hamilton into this, was now fixed in his head. Magnified, elaborated upon, and obviously confused by his head injury. There couldn't be anything to back him up.
        Zeb gave a low groan as a stabbing pain shot through his shoulder. He'd lost so much blood that Ness had had to transfuse him, but he still felt as though he were walking underwater.
        Underwater. He chuckled. Ness would appreciate that...
        Then, he chuckled again. It was so damn funny.
        He sat, staring blankly at the wall for a minute, the loopy grin still on his face. There was a distant whine in his ears. His vision was blurring, doubling, beginning to overlap...
        No! In a near-panic, he jumped, jolting pain through his chest and gut. He shuddered, with fever and fear. "It" had always been triggered by a specific location before - a cave, a river, a forest. Some location with "vibes". Never in the lab, or any other place he frequented.
        There were sensations associated with certain locations which other people could sense as well. Haunted houses, sacred sites, forbidden forests. He'd always wanted to consider himself a little more receptive than they, that was all. Maybe an amplifier for what was already there. Not an initiator.
        The thought of that - of acting as anything other than a medium for some existing spatial displacement - was terrifying. If he could initiate contact anywhere, he'd never have any peace. He'd always be afraid that he'd be triggered somehow.
        I'd never feel safe again...
        He tried to focus on his watch, but his head was aching and his vision a blur. The digital numbers on his cellphone were larger, and he set his alarm. A few minutes of sleep...
        He'd be safer asleep than awake, if drowsy was going to send him over the edge. He tipped his head back, against the side of the laminar flow cabinet, and let the circulating air take some of the sweat from his face. When he left here, he'd spend a few minutes in the lab, then head for the Men's room.
        Spent so much time in there already today, Ephron's gonna be wondering...
        He shivered again, hating the way it tightened his aching shoulder.
        Got to hold on...to protect us all...
*
        "He's still in the Pour Room?" Ness asked impatiently. It was the third time he'd called. Either Zeb was getting a hell of a lot of work done, or he was passed out in there.
        Or he's not taking your calls...
        Ness tuned in again, and he realised he'd blown it. His repeated calls were about to backfire. Zeb must look bad, because now the other guy in his lab - "Ephron", as he'd answered the phone - was going to leave him on the line while he went to see what was taking so long.
        "Don't -!" Ness started to say, then realised he couldn't think of a single logical reason for Ephron not to check on a co-worker. "No need," he babbled. "I'm meeting him for lunch, and I was trying to convince him to make it a long one, so that I could show him this new club on forty-second." He added brightly, "He's probably trying to squeeze in as much as he can so he can make it a short afternoon."
        It sounded good, and Ness was priding himself on his inventiveness, until he was greeted by Ephron's silence. Then he recalled Zeb mentioning his boss, Giles. Dickhead Giles, as Zeb preferred to call him, who worked with plants because he had no people skills.
        Giles Ephron.
        Ness winced. No pay raise for Zeb this year...
        Ephron cleared his throat, and answered brusquely, "Tell Zeb Giles said to enjoy his lunch. Apparently, the tip's on me."
        In that moment, Ephron reminded Ness a lot of Randy. They both tended to intersperse their conversation with growls.
*
        Fifteen minutes later Ness was upstairs, looking for Zeb. Ephron himself had cleared it with the security guard, but had merely suggested he wait for Devery, "...the way we've all been waiting around for him this morning." So, Ness had obligingly sat in the coffee room until Ephron had left the room.
        Obviously, Ephron thought he was taking Zeb somewhere sordid for lunch. Apparently, the "club on forty-second" carried some connotations in Ephron's mind which Ness had never considered. The inference to Zeb's performance could only mean Ephron thought Zeb was on a bender last night. He was hungover, and it was interfering with his work.
        Not what Zeb might want, but he could undergo a miraculous dry-off later. For the next few days, "hungover" would cover a lot of sins.
        Ness was still checking doors ten minutes later. Ephron had called it the Pour Room, but that must be a nickname. Pouring what? Chemicals? Agar?
        Media.
        There was a media prep room that Ness had passed earlier. He pushed open the door. Walls of chemicals, sinks and benches, a microwave - and a door on the far side. Ness walked quietly across and put his ear against the door. Then, he punched in Zeb's cellphone number.
        "Greensleeves" began playing on the other side of the door, but Zeb wasn't answering. Ness reached for the handle, then froze.
        The door was knocking; wobbling open and closed. There was a thud and a thunk as something rammed the door, fell to the ground, then went into motion again. The thud-thunk was interspersed with a pop-hiss.
        Ness hadn't heard that sound in over a year.
        Shit!
        He didn't waste time. He punched in four for Ty's number. "Ho, Ty!" he said anxiously.
        "Not exactly circumspect," Ty remarked.
        "I've got a pop-hiss!" he whispered.
        "Where?" Ty asked immediately.
        "Zeb's lab. Problem is, he's in there with it," Ness said worriedly.
        Ty didn't waste time, either. "I'm leaving now," he said. "Find some way to get me in. If you can't, I'll find my own."
*
        Ty was there in ten minutes, which meant he'd driven like a maniac. Ness didn't make any of his usual remarks about debriding festering wounds from asphalt burns, and he didn't even comment about Rio's presence. He was too busy pacing outside the door.
        They'd all known it could come to this some day. They were like a bunch of wreck divers, always after the next adventure, the next thrill, the next piece of brass. No one blamed Zeb, though they could have. He'd been a victim as much as any of them. Typhoid Mary to their group, spreading the disease that had them hooked. Junkies, waiting for their next fix. It was what Ness was thinking when Ty came through the door. Rio was at his back.
        All of them pretended it was scientific, and they did their best to catalogue each event. Truth was, they all got something out of it, but they also knew how dangerous it was. They were playing with unknowns, as much as any explorer who'd taken a step into a jungle. And Zeb might be the key, but he was far from being in control.
        And there wasn't one of them who hadn't, at one time or another, set him up or conned him into "just one more trip". Zeb hadn't become what he was by choice, and of them all, he was the most susceptible to capture. Because, when it came on him, he had an instinctive reaction. However he might fight it, he couldn't stop it, once it was underway. The only chance he had was if he realised it at that first flicker. Then, he could walk. Since his reaction seemed to be triggered by place rather than circumstance, most of the time he didn't have that choice. He was in the right place at the right time.
        And, more often than not, one of them had brought him there.
        Randy was the worst. His books and classes were full of the stuff he gleaned from their expeditions, and he did have an eye for detail. Shea went on the guise of cataloguing, but she like to throw a little light on the subject. Ty? Quantum theorist with a trigger fuse - or defuse, depending on his "state". Plus, he liked to collect. God help them if the ISEA ever visited Ty's place. Like the divers who hoarded brass plates and fixings off sunken ships, Ty had bits and pieces of hair and nail clippings and iron feathers and now, moth dust. Mario? He was also into physics, and like to predict and plot their next encounter. Photography was his passion - and profession - and Kirlian photography his newest hobby. He got a charge out of it all - electrically speaking, that is. What Ty couldn't defuse, Rio could frequently counter. And, Ness thought, in cases like this, Mario's gift for countering electronic locks was invaluable.
        What about you? Ness thought guiltily.
        Water. Anything water. Almost automatically, he went over to the sink. Seeing nothing but flasks filled with questionable goo, he stuck his head under the tap and drank heavily. Hydration was everything with him. Then he went back outside the door and paced nervously, while Ty and Mario squeezed inside.
        "He can't take any more blood loss," he warned to their backs. Then, he just paced. He couldn't help but think that without Zeb, none of them would be like this.
        Excited, unpredictable, tolerably insane, ridiculous risktakers, both "gifted", yet reliant on each other. Dedicated to secrecy, and to their next "trip". Friends, in the truest sense of the word, in a world where friendship was frequently an anachronism.
        Dammit! Ness fidgeted nervously.
        Whatever happened now, they owed him. Because Zeb was smart, and knew when he was being conned. Whatever risks they took, he took five times over. None of us would be like this?
        It suddenly seemed to Ness that if it weren't for Zeb, they'd all be nothing.
*
        "...a hiss-pop."
        Ness had called it. It was a "hiss-pop", all right, and one of the worst kinds. A Hsigo. A winged monkey, but far from the cute little spider monkeys Ty had seen in zoos. This kind had far more in common with the spider than the monkey.
        Furred, with wings that made its dexterity almost laughable. Its squiggly legs were in constant motion, and its primate face looked downright evil. Hsigos fed on carrion, but if there wasn't any available, they made some. Ness had been right, and Zeb was in real danger.
        Ty glanced at him. Zeb was in real danger anyway. His face was as white as his lab coat, and his face beaded with sweat. "One guess why the Hsigo didn't go for him," Ty whispered.
        Mario nodded. "Tainted meat. I say we get him out the door to Ness, before we do anything else."
        Ty shook his head. "If It gets away -" he began.
        "I'll hold It off -"
        "No!" Ty cut in sharply, pointing to some liquid-filled containers holding forceps and needles. "Check it out. That's alcohol." He considered it. "Maybe you should leave, too."
        "And let you blow up all by yourself? Uh-uh. And Zeb's in no shape to send It back."
        Mario sounded almost excited, and Ty looked at him askance. "Do I detect a bloodthirsty note?"
        "Your collection extend to taxidermy?" Mario retorted.

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        "You're a sick man."
        "I'm not the one collecting toenails. Ooh, look," he mocked, "a wad of mucous! Wouldn't want to miss that!"
        "Where?" Ty asked.
        "And you say I'm sick." Mario thought about it for a moment, then muttered, "I wonder how Hsigos do in the dark?"
        "Fuck it, Mar! If you turn out the lights -!" Ty squawked.
        "Don't worry," Mario assured him. He rested his hand on the wall. "I'll just give it a little flicker..."
        "Wait! They're fluorescent -!" Which meant they'd hum - and buzz.
        The Hsigo squawked, nearly as loudly as Ty had a moment before. In the next second, it attacked.
*
        Ness couldn't stand it any more. He yanked at the door, just as it was pushed open abruptly from the other side. He was rammed back, into the lab bench.
        It had been a loud one, and Ness figured the only reason they hadn't been caught out owed something to the lunch exodus, and the rest to the radio playing in the next room. Music to grow fungus by...
        Or something.
        Ty was standing there, a yellow plastic bag clasped in his hand. The bag was marked biological hazard, and was still smoking, but Ness knew better than to ask. Mario's hair was standing on end, and he looked a little the worse for wear. Both his and Ty's clothes were slightly singed.
        As was Zeb's lab coat. Ness took one look at him and with a sweep of his arm, cleared the paraphernalia off the lab bench. "Up here!" he ordered. He stripped off the lab coat and pulled back Zeb's shirt, to check the dressings. They smelled foul, and Ness felt a sinking in his gut. "How fast can you get us to the hospital?" he asked Ty quietly.
        "Eight minutes," Ty told him. This was Ness, who was always complaining about the unfortunate likelihood of one day having to extricate Ty's bent body from his steering column. Ty's eyes met Mario's, and saw his own concern mirrored there.
        Ness nodded. "Let's do it," he said.
*
        Luke looked up as John Colton came into the room. Colton slapped a folder onto the bed and commented, "Lab says they've never seen anything like it before." He sat down in the chair. "Traces of it in your clothes, and on your skin. They're trying to break it down further."
        "You want to know where I was."
        Colton mused, "There were a few traces in the alley - a surprising amount of it on the roof. Tracking says you were out of touch between 2113 and 2351 hours." He opened the folder to a map printout. "2113 here," he said, pointing to what Luke recognised as the cave entrance, "and 2351 here, in the alley. Miracles do occur," he said dryly. "You just suddenly reappeared, only moments before the ambulance did."
        Luke gave him a lopsided smile. "Did you check out the cave?"
        "Luminescent traces in the entry. No sign further in. Some of your 'dust' scattered here and there. That the source?"
        "Not exactly."
        A flicker of impatience creased Colton's brow.
        Luke wouldn't let Colton rush him. He said seriously, "I've got some gleaning to do. I can't tell it the way I remember it."
        Colton told him, just as seriously, "I'll send Matrisson in later."
        Luke managed to hide his irritation, but it wasn't easy. Matrisson was a psychiatrist.
        Colton went on, "It'll be his job to do the 'gleaning'."
        If Luke were to tell Matrisson the unabridged version, the only kind of medical release he'd get would be to permanent disability, especially if Matrisson realised how much of the episode Luke considered "real".
        As Colton was leaving, he said more kindly, "Think of it this way, Luke: it'll give us somewhere to start."
*
        The haves and have nots.
        Again, Colton felt that surge of irritation at the requisite connection with Hamilton Industries. James Hamilton was flexing his muscles, if the document on his desk was any indication. Hamilton was objecting to the latest government inquiry into his company's research practices, and he actually expected the ISEA to pull the plug on it. To "...circumvent the staid and outdated political policies..." and "...embrace molecular technology, with all its enormous potential." It went on to point out areas where nanotechnology might give the ISEA the edge in weapons research, and remind them how much Quantum Ethics (Hamilton's quantum physics research branch) had already contributed to the development of new construction materials. There was also a reference to QE's "donations" to the ISEA: their contribution to the counterterrorist effort.
        Colton sighed, then flung the file down on his desk, disgusted. The entire document was open to misinterpretation, and one of those "misguided bureaucrats" whom Hamilton had mentioned could well interpret it as evidence of collusion, bribery, and internal corruption. The time to refute it would be now, with an equally carefully-worded rebuttal. It wouldn't put him or his department entirely in the clear, but it might at least negate some potential charges.
        If he did as Hamilton had suggested - object, on his behalf, to the government investigation - he'd be digging himself a hole. If he did nothing, the newly-established cooperative network between Hamilton Industries and the ISEA would probably show up on an inquiry anyway, and he'd still be in a hole. It was what James Hamilton was counting on: that John Colton would act to save his ass.
        And, in doing so, would seal the deal.
        Luke Hamilton was acting as a facilitator, whether he realised it or not. Luke's work with the ISEA had made him invaluable to his father. Whatever he might lack as a son, he possessed in connections. James Hamilton intended to take full advantage of them.
        Colton suspected Hamilton was also in need of his "heir apparent". Some of his deals required a degree of continuity, and only so much trust and loyalty could be purchased. The remainder had to be earned. Whether or not Luke agreed with everything Hamilton did, the familial bond would buy a certain amount of commitment.
        Colton pulled out the other folder - the one on Luke. He'd been a valued agent for many years, but John had known for the last five that it would probably come to this. He'd been preparing for that eventuality, and it was no accident Luke's ISEA work had links which would be of interest to his father.
        Things James Hamilton would want to use.
        Again, John Colton felt a twinge of guilt. He was using Luke to make inroads as much as James Hamilton was using his son to cement a formidable business and legal connection. It was Luke who was being caught in the middle, and he'd already begun to figure it out. Eventually, there'd be a test of loyalties, but Luke was smart enough to jump off a sinking ship...
        I hope.
        The most recent step in Colton's long-waged campaign to punch through Hamilton's fortress walls had been what seemed like a relatively easy assignment to Luke Hamilton: that of tracing some unusual activity which was producing bizarre magnetic signatures on their satellite pictures. Preliminary investigation had turned up equally bizarre traces of unrecognisable compounds - among them crystals which held remarkable potential for the microchip industry. Colton had hinted at weapons research, and suggested some new development in quantum physics might be responsible for these anomalous compounds - some rearrangement of molecular structure like the "Bucky Ball".
        Luke Hamilton was enough his father's son to show an interest right away.
        And John Colton had known James Hamilton, with his recently reawakened interest in his son, wouldn't be far behind. Especially since most of the anomalies were on newly-purchased Quantum Ethics' land. Colton didn't know whether QE was the source of the anomalies, or whether they also considered them of sufficient interest to pursue. Whatever the reason, James Hamilton would no doubt suspect that John Colton had tossed him a bone.
        "The tie that binds..."
        Not only was his son involved in the "case", but it was one which could directly benefit Hamilton Industries, and any of its "partners".
        Luke would already realise there were Hamilton holdings in this area, but the file he'd studied had omitted the connection between his father's company, and the anomalies. Colton had consoled his conscience with a reminder that the land purchases were of recent origin. The files Luke had in his possession were only a year old. He'd have no reason to suspect the land had changed hands since then. After all, the anomalies had been on record for at least two years.
        Luke would have no reason to suspect he was actually working for his father.
        It was a tricky situation. John Colton was counting on Luke's loyalty to the ISEA, in order to hang Hamilton Industries. But if Luke were to discover how Colton was using him, his loyalties would be torn.
        And the last thing Colton wanted right now was for Luke to walk away from them all.
*
        Luke was standing at the window, staring a little blankly out at the long shadows of late afternoon. Matrisson would be here before five, which meant he didn't have much time to develop a coherent story. For a moment he was tempted to blurt all, and leave it for Matrisson to sort out, as Colton had suggested. But something was holding him back. Something besides self-interest.
        It wasn't guilt. He'd done the right thing: hinted at Devery's involvement, and inquired after his whereabouts. Colton had taken it from there. But, either Devery was not as seriously injured as he'd seemed, or, Luke thought, one hand pressed to his forehead, Zeb Devery was made of sterner stuff than one Luke Hamilton. Apparently, Devery was back at work while he was lounging around on paid leave.
        Luke stumbled over and sat on the edge of his bed. He'd been feeling so much better this morning that the headache had become more background noise than the pulsing vice-grip it had been before. In the last hour or so, though, the ache had returned, and brought with it a weird buzzing in his ears. He didn't know what was going on, but he guessed the bruises from his run-in with the moth were finally catching up with him. Every scrape, every damn place the moth's wings had touched was stinging now, and his lungs felt full of the lousy dust. His chest was hurting nearly as bad as his head.
        He stared a little dully at the wall. Outside his room he could see someone leaning against the wall - probably Brian Kirkegaard. Someone else was coming now and his guard straightened up.
        Must be Matrisson, he thought. He watched blearily as the man entered, and his eyes widened at the core of heat emanating from the man's head and heart. His own heart started to pound, and he felt it thunder in his head. "Saw you coming," he gasped in disbelief. He had a sudden vision of the woman's light show, bony legs dancing on his belly, and giant moths passing through walls. "No!" he whispered.
        Not me!
        What the hell had they done to him?
        Luke glanced at the wall, but found no reassurance there. The hot water pipes were glowing red blurs and the wires were doing a fine-line electrical dance. Beyond the wall, someone strolled past Kirkegaard and on up the hall.
        Luke panicked. It was one thing being among freaks, and quite another being one yourself. Whatever they'd done to him, they'd better take it back. He gripped the front of Matrisson's jacket in his fist. "Make 'em take it back!" he yelled. At least, he'd intended to yell it. It actually came out more like a wheeze.
        Matrisson was yelling now, too, but Luke could barely hear him. He was dimly aware that Kirkegaard was on his other side, and Matrisson was shoving an oxygen mask over his face. "Don't need it," Luke tried to say, but apparently, Matrisson didn't agree.
        By the time they'd replaced his IV, tubed him, and wheeled him to ICU, Luke wasn't in any shape to say anything.
*
        Randy walked cautiously down the hospital corridor, then veered off, at Zeb's room. Silently, he pushed open the door and peered inside. Ness was absorbed in reading Zeb's chart, and oblivious to Randy's arrival.
        Randy couldn't resist. He moved just as quietly across the floor, then tapped Ness roughly on the shoulder.
        The chart went flying, and all the bits and pieces - lab results, referrals, comments, nurses' notes - splayed across the floor. "You dumb fuck!" Ness hissed, looking angrier than Randy had ever seen him. Randy smirked, but hid it behind shuffling up the papers.
       &