Red Twilight: Long Distence Runners

Chapter 6

Shadow of the Watchers

I love Tail; in all honesty I do. But after where I have been, the things I've seen, and that which I have done, I am wholeheartedly afraid to even try again (I saved the life of an angel once, bet you didn't know that). Besides, Tail needs more from life than I can give her. I am a drifter, a fighter, and now under the offices of my new "masters," I suspect soon I will be a slave.

It has been sixteen hours since Joe Dove gave me back my book. I have been writing nonstop, scribbling down every thought I have had as if I believed somewhere within the depths of this book lies a truth that could save my soul. It is strange; the spectrum of emotion that I have felt these last few hours—fear, anxiety, depression, l.u.s.t. It is as if every page came with its own life.

I strangely find myself wondering if whoever collects these at the end of the month is eagerly awaiting an insight into the s.e.x.u.a.l needs of the author. I'm not too prude to confess I would.

It seems that Mr. Dove calls for some sort of a training class for all off duty Watchers. Tail and myself were invited to attend. I find Joe to be dull as hell. Looks like Tail finds him somehow captivating. I tried to pay attention for the first half hour. But then I found myself caught in idle thoughts like, Would Tail like it if I reached over and tugged on one of her tails? I wonder what it would feel like to have a tail. I wonder what it would be like to be a girl. If I could, would I have s.e.x with myself?

I look around the room; I try to identify some of my class mates. I think I have seen the dark man in the back corner around; his name is Mr. L. Gillard. There is a women two seats down from me called Ms. Davis; I think she might be a Psion like me. Next, at the front of the room are two guys younger than me—J. Wisdom and E. Dijon. Tail and I are rear center.

"Choice is at the center of the universe. Agency is the key to the endless planes of reality. Every action you take, every thought you think can shape the world around you. Most of the time, the changes are too minute to see or even understand. At others, the changes are explosive. This is symbolized in chapter 4 of the Hunters' handbook under the subsetting 'Theory M.' So long as you're at it, you might read on to chapter 5: 'The Observer Factor.' Should you need a more tangible explanation than the mindless dribble in the book, maybe I can shed some light on things. Imagine you're at home watching Animal Planet. The lights go out. If you're like me, this sounds like a good time to start playing with your joystick. For you, lady, jeopardy is probably more your pace. But what if you're not?

"Maybe you think that this is a good time to call your kids or your old folks. I'm not going to assume anything. So you are now at the crossroads of choices and there is nothing you can do about it. Maybe you will pick up the phone. May be you will want for the light to turn back on. Maybe it is time to take a walk. You could take the bridge or cross town. There's the bus, but why not drive? Ha, it's only a block or two to your buddy's house. You might want to hit up the bike trail or how about that hot thing next door? Maybe this isn't a bad time to check on their relationship status. You decide.

"Your answer really doesn't matter. You see, simply the thought has created a ripple in the continuum of space and at the same time manufactured hundreds if not a hundred thousand counter diminutions in which every possibility has accrued. Murphy's nightmare in action." A lone shadow slips into the doorway as Dove monologues; I barely notice. I'm miles away in my own dreamland. Dove notices and takes action. "Looks like it might be time to take a break. Tomorrow I would like an open desiccation about existentialism, the effects of God on our world and the theory of past life intruding on present time."

Dove locks eyes with me. I'm most of the way asleep, fantasizing about desperate acts of passion that I'm never likely to indulge. Dove calls out to me, "Blake, can you tell me about the effects of cross-dimensional travel on the biological being?" I sit up and spend a second trying to understand even the words that were spoken.

I'm tired, cranky, even agitated to a small degree. I'm in no mood to talk. "I know nothing."

"Yes, and do you know why?"

"Because I was too preoccupied ogling girls to listen to you."

"Well, I thought it might be because we haven't started talking about that yet, but it is good to know that you have a hobby. Now I believe that you have some studying to catch up on, so I recommend you talk to Ms. Vixon and Ms. Davis about helping you with some reading."

Joe starts to walk out the door, but again freezes as he seems to remember something. "Oh, Blake, Ms. Duphran from Acquisitions would like to meet with you tonight to discuss outfitting you for your next job."

"You mean this time you're going to give me time to prepare. As I recall, last time you drove me to my job in the trunk of a car and gave me a bag of spare parts for weapons." Dove pays no heed. "I wonder how I'll know this Ms. Duphran."

Tail pipes in, "If past experience is worth anything, she'll know you."

Davis is much like Tail it would seem, which is to say a nerd of epic perorations. Moments after sitting ahead of us, Charlet (Davis's first name) make references to Tail's laptop set alongside her. "Is that the AW 99 pro?"

Tail scoffs at the inquiry. "No, it's the 20&1 Gamer. The pro can't deal with the need of a multitasker. The 99 will crash before I even finish opening my spreadsheets."

Charlet looks interested in Tail's remark. "You a Bata?"

"Starcraft Protas overseer 98-00." Charlet reaches across the table to give Tail a high five with a victorious call of "yes." "You?" Tail counters.

"Hive mind, Bug Queen97." The two ladies take each other's hands in a most l.u.s.tful way. I decide to cut in before they start kissing.

(Note by L. Gallard: Blake failed to follow up on these aliens and their codes, so I looked it up for him, suspecting mischief. It turns out that they were talking about a RTS game, and these mystical numbers represent their rank and the rank of the guilds in their game. I frankly feel embarrassed that I felt so alarmed.)

"Ladies," I point down at the books sitting between us, "homework." Almost immediately, I regret my choice.

"Right," Charlet claims herself, "Blake is way behind on his work."

"Way behind? Today is the first day?"

"For you, yes. For the rest of us, we're in our thread quarter if not second plus year. Which means that we have a lot to go over. Have you even started studying extraplanners?" She can see the confusion in my face just as I can see the disgust in hers. "Let's just start at the beginning." And what is a beginning? "The point in time or space at which something starts, comes into existence, or is first encountered." Am I right? That being the case who decides how something begins?

Charlet's take on the topic seems to start us somewhere around the history of the so-called "holy order." The society was originally founded by monks; for the first hundred years after the founding, the "scripture" as they called it was carried in an oral form. There were dozens of accounts of contact with otherworldly life during that phase, but all accounts of the alike have been discarded for the inability to verify and legitimize . . . I must be frank; I feel as if I am saved by the bell when Dove returns and requests that Tail and I follow him.

* * *

"Ms. Vixon, If you would be so kind as to look to your demi-human handbook and refer the section on safe zones, I would be much obliged." We are taken to the garage and shown into the backseat of a limo, wherein Von Richton is waiting for us. She taps on the glass with one hand, and the car begins it move. She holds out to us a bottle of sparkling white cider. I feel nervous about accepting any gifts from the ghoulish Ms. Wright Von Richton.

Tail looks antsy. She is pressed against the door to my left; she can't seem to stay seated as she wiggles about, twists and turns and grabs at anything she can hold onto. I can taste an uncharacteristic amount of fear from her.

Joe Dove is on my other side. He is the most relaxed looking of us as he proudly takes the cider and drinks deeply. Von Richton sits alone. "Ms. Vixon, if you have been reading your handbook, you might have noticed that there is a section that describes that there are areas around the cities where you are allowed to walk around freely. These are called safe zones. I felt it might be generous of me to show you one, as a sign of my good faith after our disagreement this-morning."

Tail leans in sharply, snapping at Von Richton. I pull her back into her chair. She barks, "You sent men to my house with clear intent to f.o.r.c.i.b.l.y insert their manhood into me v.a.g.i.n.a.lly." This statement catches my interest. I look to Von Richton for an explanation.

"S.e.x was not on the menu, my dear. My assistants were there to help demonstrate proper dress edict."

"F.u.c.k you!" Joe helps me restrain Tail. "You beat me and stripped me, and whether it was intentional or not, one of your boys slipped a digit."

I need no more provocation. I turn my attention from Tail and onto Von Richton. I know Tail is telling the truth. Von Richton has hurt her before and clearly could do it again. I reach out to grab her. I'm stopped by her cane at first, then I notice Joe's gun. "Now, Richard, we can act like the friend I want as to be. Or you can make an a.s.s of yourself," Joe points out.

I have no doubt I can take Joe on in fisticuffs, and I have an inkling my magic is stronger than Von Richton's, but with Tail in between us, I don't think I want to try.

I feel the need to ask, "Where are we going?"

Von Richton lowers her cane; Joe hides his gun. "Have you heard of the garden of Babylon?" I nod. "It was a magnificent structure, four towers with dials, levers, and pulleys. Between them rests a stone slab a hundred feet long that housed a greenhouse like construct . . ."

"It's not real," Tail calls out. "The structure was too big to support itself. No rope made of anything would allow it to stand that way. It was designed after the trees were planted."

"Semantics aside, behold."

The car has came to a halt at the epicenter of four spires fifty feet overhead; there is a swimming pull with a glass floor and what looks like a garden. There is an elevator at each corner. And mystifyingly beautiful creatures fill the air, staying hidden within the shadows of the towers.

Over the years, I've spent so much time locked in tiny rooms or crawling through caves that I never would have thought that there would be places like this. This can only be the closest place to heaven. The sky is a corona, shimmering in a way that I don't fully understand. There are orbs of light fluttering about like butterflies that seem to become nearly microscopic people or animals as they pass by closely.

Von Richton removes her glasses, and she has rose-red eyes and her skin in the strange light seems to change to match. She untucks her hair from her coat and it flows to a length I would not have imagined. At last, she removes her coat and slacks; beneath that she is covered by a skintight bodysuit deep red in color. Wisps of light trail behind her like wings of energy. I can't tell if this is real or another of my fantasies. "Tail, go play." She waves Tail off and takes me by the arm, holding me in a way that is almost l.e.w.d.

The magic of this place is thick in the air. As we are seated, my eye is caught by a mouse maid knelt down, tending to carrot steaks. I've seen monsters not so different from her in other places, but they were vicious. This one looks so innocent.

Not far off, there are two cat girls engaged in a game of tag with a cat boy. It seems clearer and clearer that in spite of what I have been told, the monsters that Von Richton wants us to hunt are not like humans; they are humans. Hunting, killing—suddenly it all looks so much more inhumane. But that it would turn out is only the start of my problems today.

I remember the conversation I had with Von Richton when I first awoke. "You said that we are under attack?"

Von Richton breathes deeply and tips her head to take in the light. "Yes, our Middle Eastern friends as it were broke their non-aggression pact and sent suicide bombers here. In their blitzes-Krieg, they destroyed two landmarks and launched an attack against one military target also, but that was less then successful."

"You're frightfully calm."

"What would you expect from me, D.i.c.k? Do you want to go fight the Arabs yourself? Do you want me to send my men in there after them? Do you think it is the whole of the Arab world that is to blame? D.i.c.k, it was six men armed with nothing but heartless determination and ruthless cunning. Nothing would have stopped them today. And it will take an army of very sophisticated people ten years to find out how they did it." "You're . . ."

"No, I am the keeper of a truth that is not yet yours. Think hard about humanity. When is a man at his strongest? In times of fear and weakness. Am I right? In an age of complacence, we grow weak and lazy. At least, that is how a malevolent god would see it. As would I relate. My friend, here is the truth I promised you. In New York today, there is a man named Dan Kroguse. He is a fire fighter, and today he will run faster and fight more diligently than he ever has before. Why? Because he is empowered by the twenty-seven of his brethren that died yesterday. In Mississippi, there is a man named Phillip Conuse. He is a USMC drill commander. He leads eight groups of eight men in their training every day. Today they will all shoot sharper and punch harder than they ever have in their lives. Why you ask? Because two days ago, they were fighting for money. Today they are fighting for their way of life. You see, Richard, if you attack a group head-on, they will pull together and become stronger. We need an enemy, and our Middle Eastern comrades have volunteered themselves for the job. So I have no fear. The weak will die and the strong will prevail, then from the ashes of battle, new life will be born. So it is written. So shall it be done." Something about Von Richton seems so magical in that moment. She feels so old, so ancient, like something that has swum through the oceans of time from some faraway place to beseech this wisdom onto me.

I'm not certain I have ever understood my feeling toward this woman; she is like a god queen, and I am some tiny creature quivering in her shadow.

"Wright, I want to ask you something." She looks at me; she doesn't say a word. Instead she waits. "What is this thing between us?"

She looks almost stunned by the statement as if she wants to say, "What are you talking about?" But the words never come.

So I add them in myself, "Whenever there are other Watchers around, you look icy and uncaring. But when it is just you and me, things are different. You look . . . happier. Do you—"

She cuts me off there, "Even if, Mr. Blake, that were the case, let me make it clear that you and I will never be together. There is simply too much keeping us apart—age, experience, social/economic class. I am a noble and you are—"

It's my turn to take control of the conversation. "A romantic." I feel compelled to lean into her. Something about this place is driving me mad, it would seem; my abilities tell me she is feeling the pull as well. What sort of man am I? My brother and my lover are barely in the ground and here I find I'm attracted to two different (very different) women. It doesn't take me long to realize my aim is off. I step into Von Richton, placing my hand on either side of her and make my move. I lean in for a kiss, my first real kiss in some time. She leans away, and I find myself in a most uncomfortable position. For me, my manhood is at the wheel. Then I find Von Richton places her glasses on again, and my mood goes to hell fast.

"What do you say we talk about your next job?" she asks. I feel sheepish all of a sudden. I shy away from her, and my fantasies of this estranged Brit fade away. She sits up as I back away to a comfortable distance. "I had mentioned that it was discovered Ms. Vixon has siblings?"

It's not really a question; I nod along. "Our investigation turns up that our lovely vixen was taken from Claw Co. R&D." She is reiterating; we had this conversation already. "It would seem that 'she' is not unique. But I would prefer it if she were, if you catch my drift." A spark of fire seems to glitter from her glasses like embers form a righteous flame.

Oh, I catch it all right, and I am outraged. "You're talking about Genocide!"

"Yes, I am. If Tail and all of her kind were identical, then we would not have a problem, but . . ." She delays her explanation; she is judging my reaction, waiting to see just how upset I am.

"What?"

"We know there are at least three more of whatever she is, and one of them is not like the others."

"Yah, we went over that. Three girls, one boy, so what?"

"There is more to it than that. Have you heard of Yggdrasil?"

I think it sounds familiar, but I can't place it. I throw down the first thing off the top of my head. "It's some kind of center to the universe myth, right?"

She looks impressed. "You're not far off, Mr. Blake. In our reality, all things move in a spiral. All things move to a singular destination. Some find that it is simplest to think of this as a spring-like effect. At one end, there are worlds that have yet to be at the opposing worlds that never were. In the outer space and inner space, we find realities that escape any definitions, ultimate truths, inexplicable absolutes. But all things hold a constant—one thing that cannot change. Everything began somewhere. And the beginning of beginnings lie within Yggdrasil."

"Where are you going with this?"

Von Richton leers in frustration. "Mr. Blake! There is a 'heaven' and there is a 'hell,' and someone is playing with the line in between." She seems to like her bibleology (theology) for an agnostic. "Let me cut straight to the point then. One of the other Tails was not born of human technology but instead out of divine intervenient. A 'thing' that belongs in heaven cannot, and should not, be allowed to stay here on this earth. Seeing no other alternative, you can keep your Tail. The rest will die." The stunned look on my face must have surely been something to behold. "I understand you have some attachment to Ms. Vixon, so I felt it would be appropriate for you to be the executioner that I send to purify them."

I can only manage to mutter a lone statement. "I need time."

"Mr. Dove, would you kindly start checking credentials? I think that some of our guests may have overstayed their welcome."

* * *

Tail takes the time to explore the sky-bound park; she chuckles at the irony of the superhero mythology associated with walking along the rooftops. The centerpiece of the park seems to be the garden. There is a jungle gym tucked away in one corner, a large pool that follows around the crest. Lots of grass compliment the innermost areas.

But what captivates Tail's interest the most is a skate park offset and almost isolated from the rest of the garden. Tail approaches cautiously. Much to Tail's delight, the park is just like the ones she has seen on TV—bowls, pipes, rails, and lots of kids around. Tail has skated before and has watched a lot of movies about skating.

Where she lived before, there was very little pavement to skate on. So she would take her board and more or less jump off walls and over tables in the dining room in the middle of the night or slide down the steps for a change of pace whenever she would be allowed. Never has she seen anything this extravagant.

Tail spends several minutes walking around, looking at all the wonderful "toys" the park has to offer before she seems to catch the interest of one of the kids—a mouse girl dressed in pink overalls with a wool cap and lots of scraps and cuts covered by tape. The marsupial dismounts from her board, kicking it up into her hands as she marches up to Tail. She turns her eyes up at her aggressively (Tail stands almost three feet over the halfling). "You skate big stuff," she says.

"LOL (pronounced L-all-zes), noob, everyone skates," Tail taunts.

The skater mouse snaps her tail viciously and threateningly grips her board in two hands; Tail steps back and readies herself for a fight. A spectator calls out, "Cops are here! No brawling, Mazziea!"

The girl called Mazziea drops her board and wipes the sweat from her brow. "OK, let's do things this way. You say you're a skater. I see you're tall and have fat h.i.p.s. I bet you're a grinder. Not good for a course like ours. Let's see if you can hit my lines."

"Well, let's be fair. I'm more like a 'lipper' than a vertigo or a grinder," Tail adds in her two cents.

"You got a board?"

"Didn't bring it with me."

"Give her a board!" Mazziea demands of the audience that has been gathering.

A Syter (goat man) answers the call. "Take mine and shut that tree-hugger's mouth." The goat hands Tail his skateboard with a commanding thrust, nearly knocking Tail down.

Tail nods. "OK, one of you fairies have some pads for me?" Tail tries to act tough but is quickly embarrassed as a flickering light floats over and hands her a set of knee pads and elbow pads; a second wisp hands her a helmet. Tail has a vocalized pause, then takes the gear.

"Is there anything else you need?" a voice asks from an unknown location.

"Nope, that will do," Tail explains in a stumble.

A rabbit boy holds up a radio. Striking the "play" key, opera music begins to play. The song is "Walking in the Air," as presented by Nightwish a Norwegian rock orc.h.e.s.tra. Tail hands her book bag to the nameless rabbit, then nods at Mazziea, accepting her challenge.

The competition starts out slow and sweet as Mazziea feels out Tail's skills. Mazziea jumps into the half pipe and dismounts on the other side, then kicks her board into her hand and snootily grunts, turning her nose up at Tail on the other end.

Tail chuckles; she meets Mazziea's challenge, one-upping her by following the track but adding a "lip trick," stalling on the ledge and pivoting in a 180-degree turn to land alongside her.

The game heats up; Mazziea leaps back into the pipe and starts a chain of vertical tricks—nose grab, tail grab, 360s, and ends her chain with a stunt where she picks up her board mid-air and passes it left to right, then lands on it again. The trick is too tough, and Mazziea "eats some plank" as some of the others put it. Tail follows along till she sees Mazziea "bail." Tail ditches her board and hops down to see if her skating partner is all right. As the mouse finds her feet and shakes herself off, Tail places a hand on her back to help her regain her balance.

Mazziea insulted by the action elbows Tail in the underbelly. Tail coughs, stepping backward. Tempers run high; Tail demonstrates her pyromancy by igniting her hand. Mazziea snaps her tail and stands bleeding. "Your move!" Mazziea taunts.

Tail glances about, noticing Dove walking near the park. She quickly draws in her flames, then kicks her board into her hands. "Shut-up and skate." Tail takes the lead this time. "Let's see if you can hit my lines."

Tail runs several steps and throws her board ahead of herself; she leaps on it and slides up the bowl. She pivots on the lip and jumps into a manual with a kick flip (manual is to skate with only two wheels on the ground). Mazziea stands awe-stricken as Tail then jump-kicks off the lockers and runs along the bleachers, dismounting her board only to meet it on the other side, jumping back onto it. Tail ends her run by hopping her board onto the bike racks and sliding along the tops of them. At the edge of the rail, Tail kicks her board into the air and grabs it out of the air on its way down.

Mazziea shakes her head in disbelief. "Where did you learn to skate?"

"Sieachi Yagami, Korean pop star. He has some bootleg vid's online. He has mad skating skills. You should check out his on-the-rail shuttle loop. I mean, OK, it is shopped as hell but the rest is real enough."

Mazziea tucks her hands in her pockets and rolls over to Tail. "You know what, you're kinda cool. Maybe we can hang awhile."

Tail looks uneasy a moment, but then nods. "Cool."

A cheer seems to come from the park as Tail is accepted into the group. The boy that had handed Tail the board originally calls out, "Hold onto 'her.' I have another."

Tail and Mazziea roll casually around the park for some time, hitting each other with cheap jokes before Tail cuts in with something real. "Look, Mazziea, you're the first . . . whatever you are I've met and I just want to know. Do you know anything about the Von Richton house? I'm sort of a guest there, but I don't know anything about who . . . what the Von Richtons are."

Mazziea looks puzzled by the word "guest." "I know about the Von Richtons, but I've never met anyone that was their guest. My mother spent four sessions there as a prisoner. My elder sister Jeana was born into their custody. It wouldn't be unfair to say that the Von Richtons are slavers. My mother of course bargained for her freedom. She did some espionage work for them. Then she was told she could have citizenship under the understanding that she can't go outside during daylight hours unless within these quarantine zone, and she could only have s.e.x under Watcher supervision and would need to buy a license to give birth." "That is all kind of f.u.c.k.e.d up," Tail protests.

"Well . . . it turns out the small print on that article also expresses I'm subject to the same rules. Kobolds living on this planet aren't allowed to breed without permission. If I somehow got pregnant and was unlicensed at the time, your friends, the Von Richtons, would be fitting me with cement boots."

Tail looks questioning. "They can legally do that?"

"Wright Von Richton is the law right now. Things were deferent fifty years ago

I'm told. People from all over the place used to come here to hide. But now . . ."

"You're trading a tyrant you know for a devil you don't," Tail finishes for her.

"What's it like in the castle?"

"Not as nice as you're thinking. So what became of your mother?"

"She is still around. She spends most of her time here in the garden. She likes botany. You know strange as it is, there is a human out there fighting to get us recognition in the Senate."

"You mean not a Watcher?"

"He is a hotshot from Africa that calls himself Luna Walker."

"Moonwalker?"

"That's what people say anyways."

"Just for sake of argument, you aren't allowed to have s.e.x with a man. You could get pregnant that way. But what if you were to sleep with a girl? You know anything happens that way to you, it would be the first." Tail plays advocate for a moment.

"Are you saying you would have s.e.x with me?" Mazziea asks.

"Well . . . I guess, if the question came up, where you ask me to follow you in the shower, then stick your tail up my nose and told me to lick it, I might, no, I would, I think. I've never licked carpet before, but I'm not against the idea." Tail is clearly off guard; Mazziea laughs at the comment but seems more than a little tempted by the suggestion. Who knows maybe getting licked by a fox girl would be exciting? Besides, they're both young and experimental. What could go wrong?

* * *

The reprieve from monotony is limited to say the least. Tail and I are thrust back into the underworld as it were. I question what the repercussions are of failure to obey with this plan for mass murder. Dove explains it all to me. The short version is: I'll be taking a long walk of a short pier. I'm instructed to go in search of "Ms. Davis." She would tell me everything I need to know for the duration of this mission. Dove takes Tail with him when he departs; looks like I'm in the company of me again. I don't mind saying I don't like the way this is going.

When I find Charlit, she is under the stars where I was hiding earlier, also admiring the "burnt offering" painting. "Looks a bit like Ms. Von Richton, doesn't it?" she ask me.

"The angel in the foreground or the demon in the back?" I can't help but let my dark side be seen.

"The angel."

"You're right."

Charlit holds up a envelope. I take it from her; the contents are every bit as gruesome as I expected, if not more so. My first objective is to break into a military compound and burn it to the ground. Next to track down three rouges and execute them. Finally use personnel files stolen from the compound to track down government officials associated with the Tail project and bring them to justice. It looks nice and neat on paper, but the actual content therein is staggering. The job can be described as nothing shy of an eraser job.

"You're f.u.c.k.i.n.g with me. Destruction of government property, political assassinations—this is insane. Why am I doing this job?"

"Frankly because Wright likes you. She thinks you can do this without being seen."

"There is no way I can do all this alone. I'm going to need like a year to plan and a dozen men . . . and . . . and . . ." I freeze; I know I won't have anything to work with. It will just be me; that's the way the Watchers work.

"If you're lucky, here is what will happen. You'll get your operator, one back up, but they're not there to help you. They're there to recover your diary if you die, and if you know how to kiss some a.s.s, you might bet three thousand bucks to hire a specialist or buy some tools with."

"I will need a specialist, and I think I know who. So what positions do you recommend kissing a.s.s in?" I know who I need; I need the Gekks brothers. As far as the underworld is concerned, they are artists, and that is what I'm going to need.

"I like the Hail Mary position, down on one knee, leaning forward. That way you have the a.s.s right in your nose, real easy access." I can't believe she carried the joke on. "By the way, have you been down to Requisitions? I work down there part-time. I'm in charge of maintenance of the artillery. By the way, if you happen across any 'out-of-state' goods, could you bring them back for me?"

I find Charlit's line of questioning somehow dizzying. "No, I haven't yet, and OK."

"Great!" She leads me around the estate to a service elevator that leads below the Grotto, to a second underground, not the one the bunker is in but somehow separate. From there, we board a train. As best as I can tell, it only spins in circles, but we are definitely somewhere different. We must be deeper underground.

"Charlit, I wanted to ask you." I point out to her as we are on the train that she has antenna and a tail with a maze-like shape to it. "What sort of alien are you anyway?"

"Officially? I'm human. But the truth is a bit more complex. I'm what we call a hybrid, not so different from you, I guess."

"I'm no alien."

"But humans don't read minds."

"I don't read minds."

"Yes, you do."

"How do you know?"

She whispers into my mind, 'I do too.' It is a strange sensation, one that is hard to describe; it is somewhat like in electrical shock. The voice sounds like the person projecting it but with a faint crackling distorting it. I feel myself backing away from Charlit briefly but then take control of my actions once more.

"How does it work?" I feel the need to ask.

"Well, clearly it is different for you than it is for me. My tail has a link into my medulla-oblongata. It both sends and receives information relevant to the interest of the lower brain, such as it informs me if the people around me are sick or hungry, and it registers s.e.x.u.a.l fantasies as well . . ." Somehow I feel that explains why she was so jittery earlier; she was picking up on my daydreaming. "My antenna are linked into my cerebra cortex. It allows me to speak subliminally, send ideas, and to a small degree influence actions. But honestly, my tail can do that better."

"So then the better half of it is all about s.e.x?"

"Richard, everything is about s.e.x. Any biologist could tell you that. It's practically a sin that we have these interlocking bodies and don't use them for their intended purpose. That's the big secret. That's what every animal in the universe has in common. And you know that! Don't think that I don't know what you were thinking about this morning during class!" She lifts her tail and drops it as she talks as if to draw attention to it.

The train finally stops. Looking up the tunnel, it looks to me as if it corkscrews forever. That had been my first impression boarding it, and it seems to have held true. We leave the station and follow down yet another flight of steps. At last, we emerge into something that looks like sophisticated grounds. But to a man bordering on "seasickness," any bright light and stationary earth is a welcome sight. Where we have come to looks to me like a customs station for unearthly things. Men and women in uniforms stand alongside metal detectors and x-ray scanners and God only knows what else, looking after and searching monsters, some of the likes that I have never seen.

I try to avoid rubbernecking by sticking to small talk. "So how any people

are . . . like us?"

"Ballpark figure? Thirty three percent, ninety of which don't know about it or choose not to display their abilities. Ultimately, that is probably for the best."

"Really? One in three people have abilities like ours?"

"Could be more. Let's think of it this way. At least, one-third of people's biochemistry suggest that they can pass on the genes that allow for powers similar to what we possess."

We pass by a large watery tank, twenty feet around at the equator. Suspended within is an almost two-dimensional-looking pink amoeboid; it looks oily to the touch, having an almost flowering aria. From the top down, it looks as inviting as a man-eating-plaint. I turn my eyes slightly down and stare into its underside. A thin crust protects its underside and hides a black hole there-under. It is just like the void. I am intransient, lost within the heartless bliss and premise of everlasting relief from the pain of the flesh it seems to grant. I feel a strange pull against me. I'm reaching for my gun . . .

Smack! I'm struck from the side by someone or something that outweighs me several times. I come crashing to the ground, and life fills me once again. Thoughts of death and pain are ejected from me like yoke from an egg. Standing over me is a woman best described as a tan-furred kangaroo with quad-jointed legs; she must be nine feet tall, but it is impossible to judge on sight seeing that she stands crouched and hunched over. She has dark eyes and magenta hair; half of one of her ears is missing, and there look to be holes in the other. There is a mark on her neck in the shape of a three-fingered hand. She is dressed in a jumpsuit pink in color with a patch on her arm with an ark and stair like that of a naval commander's and a second on her b.r.e.a.s.t that reads "Malaguard."

She sneers at me. Hate and anger are stained on her face. I start to sit up; I'm pushed back down by her tail as I walk by. She yells back at me mockingly, "Hand off the merchandise please! Ever costly, you can't afford it!" A group of men in hazard outfits wheel away the massive fishbowl.

Charlit looks down at me in concern. "Introducing Millie Malaguard. She is one of only a handful of aliens that Von Richton allows to work outside the compound. She is on the recovery team." Her tone changes from one of excitement to grief as she goes on. "She and her team were down in the city the other day examining an unknown spectral trail when that thing showed up. The official report hasn't been released yet, but the word on the beat is that thing over there ate her unit. Millie managed to subdue 'IT' with her 'RONA.'" (I didn't think to ask at the time, but I looked into it later and made this note: In the "Stith" special forces (Stith—Millie's home world and consequently how they refer to their race), the rona is the standard issue heavy arm. It stands for Rapid Organic Nuclear Acceleration device.) "She told me about it when we were at 'the Hall' for lunch. Understandably she has been feeling a-bit physical ever since." Wonder what she is like when she is in a s.e.n.s.i.t.i.v.e mood? "Typically, she is a really . . ." She never finishes the sentences. I can only imagine what she was trying to say. I could see her being an interesting friend. (As I am making this note, I can hear Charlit laughing at me. She looks bashful. Apparently she knows something about Millie that I don't.)

Charlit takes me by the arm and almost drags me deeper into the compound. Monsters are on all sides of me. Much to my shock, at least half of them I find charming or magical to behold. Not surprisingly, the majority of the monsters here have a very human appearance. (Mostly in the regard that they have erect skeletons, two arms, two legs, and a definable head, but that's not to say that that would be the gist of what anything really is.)

We find our way to a service elevator. We go even farther below ground. I have trouble even wagering where we are now. "So where are we going?"

"The armory is located at what are Tairx allies call minimum safe depth. One point one mile below sea level." "One point one? Why?"

"Some of the artillery we have been given by our importer are . . . combustible. So in order to minimalize the possibility of accidents, we store all are unconventional weapons down here."

"How is all this paid for anyway?"

"We have deals with some historical societies. That covers a good deal of it. We get regular grants for the scientific community that helps. We own the copyrights on some common household amenities, and . . . about a decade ago, one of our members made a joke about us being an offshoot of the department of defense, then suddenly we started getting a cut of government funds. I find that funny as hell."

I'm taken deep underground and into a strange room filled with strange things. I'm quickly greeted by a beast that is half man and half monkey. He gives me a hefty box explaining that he has been waiting for me and that my order is already filled to specifications. Then he hurries me out of the door. It is just as well; I might have liked to look around, but God knows I wouldn't have known what I was even looking at. My next stop—track down Von Richton. I need a favor.

* * *

The giant alien vortex is led into a large laboratory-like room that is poorly lit with an observation room overlooking it. The water is drained, and it is moved into a smaller saucer-like dish from its fish tank. Millie never leaves its side: Joe Dove, Wright Von Richton, and her pet demon England stand in the dim observatory, watching with grim interest.

The scientists below remove their normal garbs and are equipped with special "clean suits"—full body coverings made out of rubber that has been irradiated with built-in breathing apparatuses and masks with closed-circuit radios.

Von Richton and Dove put on their headsets in order to communicate with their team below. "Ms. Malaguard, can you hear me?"

"Aye, aye."

"What can you tell me about life form 2-1-5-0?"

"Code named Exzoner, it is aggressive, no signs of intelligence, parasitic, approximated mass 1500 lbs . . ."

Dove whispers, "That thing was a ton?"

Millie continues, "No signs of any natural biology. We're going to have to cut it up for more details. I'm not unhappy to say I look forward to seeing the insides of this abomination."

"Keep that shit to yourself, Millie," Dove commands.

England leans into Wright. "That thing is dead, isn't it?"

"The damn thing was hit with the nuclear mass of a hydrogen bomb. I hope it is dead."

The scientists move into position to begin the dissection of the monster. One of them calls over, "Release the air seal! Lift the tank!"

The glass plate lead across the beast hisses as it is lifted slowly. For the first time in a day, oxygen brushes over the Exzoner's ectoplasm. A small section of its lip rises, and it begins to take a breath. As it inhales, a tremendous vacuum force encapsulates the room. As the monstrosity on the lab table lifts itself, the force becomes hundredfold more powerful, lifting tables and tearing down overhead compartments, dragging their contents into nothingness. Next, the scientists start to fall prey to the beast's demonic hunger.

Millie takes decisive action. The powerful kangaroo girl leaps atop the crane that lifts the prison and with a mighty stomp dislodges the glass slab. The falling weight stops the succession. The black hole seems stunned. Millie drops atop it and crouches, adding her weight to that of the glass, waiting for several moments to be certain that the fight is gone from the monster. She snarls, showing her saw-shaped teeth as she barks at the monster. "Yap! I showed you, didn't I? Oooh, I'm a big scary black hole and I'm going to eat you. Well, suck on this!" she slaps herself on the rear quarter and yelps thumping her tail and growling.

The air is still as silence replaces the unearthly echoes the vacuum has left behind. As Millie taunts the creature, the remaining workers gasp for fresh air. Von Richton and Dove are stunned; England looks amused. Once she has recaptured her wit, Wright Von Richton spins about and takes Joe Dove by the collar of his coat, lifting him a foot off the ground. She shakes him viciously. "Joseph! I want that thing dead! I don't care how you do it! That monster and any like it on this planet must be purified! Do you hear me?!"

Joe grins sarcastically. "Gee, that sounds like a swell plan. I'm very excited to hear about how you want as to get rid of them."

"Napalm, one hundred thousand pounds worth. Will burn them till not even ash remains!"

"I don't think that is going to work."

She places Joe on the ground and adjusts her glasses, looking in control again. "Go get Tail. Tell her she has been transferred to the biology wing. It's time for her to pay her keep . . ."

* * *

Tail returns to her room early in the evening. She sits at her computer and begins what was once her daily gaming—looking up puzzles, reading the buzz on upcoming software, and scouting video game "artists." Her quest for fun is drawn to a close as she is reading her e-mail. Someone it would seem has mailed her a puzzle.

* * *

Bw: enw xb jzu zggku

Bw ju ewakr ty qdxyrc, bwrzu xc z rzdl rzu, bwjwddwe jzu ty yayh rzdlyd exbnwvb uwyd nykg. Ey kxay xh z ewdkr eydy jwhyu szh gzu qwd qdyyrwj, zhr mvcbxsy xc qwd czky. X tykxyay bnxc xc vhzssygbztky. Mvcbxsy xh bny gydqysb iwkr xc vhyfvxawszk. Xq uwv qyyk bny X rw bnyh dyzr wh. Ju hzjy xc Dxovlx Kwe zkcw szkkyr "H," X zj z hyhtyd nq z pdwvg bnzb fvycb qwd z tybbyd bwjwbbwe.

X nzay cyhb bnxc jycczpy yhsdugbyr. Enu xc bew qwkd: exec xb xc bw gdwbysb jucykq zhr hny wbnyd "Kybbydc," bny wbnyd bw bycb bny ryrvsbxay atxkxbu wq bny dysxgxynb. Bnxhl wq bnxc bycb zc zh zggkxszbxwh. Xq uwv cnwvkr oxcn bw lhwe jwdy bnyh zkk uwv hyyr bw xc skxsl: "Dygke," xh "Cytmysb Nyzrxhp" bugy bny kybbyd "H," bnyh xh bny twru bugy "Ey vhrydpcbzhr," X exkk cyhr z cyswhr kybbyd bnydy zqbyd exbn jwdy xhcbdvsbxwhc zc bw nwe bw swhbzsb jy.

Jzu ey jyyb cwwh

"H"

* * *

"Aahh, what?" Tail stares, puzzled. "An advanced encryption with no cipher?! . . . This might take days." Tail can think of only one thing to do. She loads up her media player and looks for some high-speed techno to help her think. Tail walks over to her bed, and as a dancey beat starts, she jumps on her bed, places her hands on her head like a second set of ears, and wags her tails, jumping to and fro playfully.

Blake walks into the room and glances at Tail with a puzzling expression. "Excuse me, but what?" He holds his arms out to express his confusion.

"The Von Richtons seem to think I'm a paleontologist all of a sudden, and I just got an e-mail from the CIA . . ."

"What did it say?"

"Don't know. Can't read it. That's why I'm jumping on the bed."

"Hmm."

"Helps me think. How about you?"

Blake shakes his head. "According to the boss, I leave to do this thing after breakfast or I'll be dead before lunch. You are to offer me technical support. I'll have a Watcher following me in case I f.u.c.k up, and I'm being given a company credit card to cover expenses with."

"Budget?"

"Didn't say."

"That sucks."

"How did you know that you got a letter from the CIA if you can't read it?"

"It's this little thing I learned about e-mail called piggybacking. I more or less read the subject heading, and there was the numerical value of a 'do not enter sign.'"

"You are a dangerous friend to have, Tail."

"I know. Aren't I great?"

Day breaks and the two friends see each other for what will likely be the last time. Tail disappears into the depths of the Von Richton estate and Blake is out of the back door.

* * *

The good-bye between Tail and myself is the type that I had imagined would have been the good-bye my brother and I would have shared—slow, reluctant, and ultimately acquired. We say it as a formality more so than anything. We know and don't simultaneously that this would be our last. Optimistic pessimisms in the line of work we are now . . . It is the best you can wish for or at least expect.

Marin Duphran is following me for the moment. She is a Fay. Her hair is green as are her eyes; her ears are as long as her shoulders are wide. They come to sharp points like elves do in pop fiction. She dresses in a purple skirt and suit coat. Typically Fay like bows and knives. Marin chooses a different walk; she has a .50 Eagle hidden on her belt. She refuses to talk to me. She claims that her job is clear. Kill me if I become a liability. Recover my journal. No need to speak beyond that. What a pain in the ass! At least she smells good.

"So you're really not going to talk to me this whole trip?" I know the answer already.

(Note: It would seem that a strong scent of flowers is a passive s.e.x.u.a.l trait of the Fay. I would wager to say that all Fay, male or female, begin to excrete a perfume that resembles a flower's scent through their epidermises after reaching puberty. I can't confirm this at this time, but it seems that Fay have no body hair outside of that which is on their heads. I wonder if anyone else has observed that to this point.)