THE VISION QUEST

BOOK ONE: THE AGE OF LIGHT

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BOOK ONE: THE AGE OF LIGHT

DEBORAH PRATT

VGM PUBLISHING

TTVQ_int_08.10.06.inddVQ_int_08.10.06.indd iiiiii 88/10/06/10/06 3:33:223:33:22 PMPM PUBLISHED BY

VGM PUBLISHING A division of V Global Media, Inc. Los Angeles, CA

All of the characters and events in this book are fi ctitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2006 by Deborah Pratt

All Rights Reserved

First Edition January 2007

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN 10: 0-9787309-0-9 ISBN 13: 978-0-9787309-0-1

Cover photography by: Bazille Cover illustration by: Giovanni Noisy Cover and interior design by: Lightbourne, Inc.

TTVQ_int_08.10.06.inddVQ_int_08.10.06.indd iviv 88/10/06/10/06 3:33:223:33:22 PMPM Heartfelt thanks to the TVQ forums

To the friends who gave their eyes, time, hearts, and minds and journeyed fi rst inside The Vision Quest:

Alex Davidson Troian Avery Bellisario Peter Brown Nicholas Bellisario Andie Riffer Barbara Southworth Geoffrey Payne Vera De Andrade Arianna Lyons Danielle Durini Jai Hall Cynthia Cleveland Ashley Petersen Barbara Weller LeVar Burton Tanya Buckley

And extra special thanks to: Aleks Lyons Nancy Cushing-Jones Mark Rothstein James R. Kelley Dr. Bogdan Castle Maglich Diane Pratt Deirdre Pratt Donna Pratt, MD Geraldine Bryant Pratt Bertram Robson Pratt and Ethan Peck

Science and art are the only effective messengers for peace. —ALBERT EINSTEIN

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COLE LAZERMAN

fi st hit Lazer’s face and carried with it the cold, hard smack A of pubescent fury. Cole Lazerman, Lazer to his friends and family, was seventeen, handsome, and boyishly charming, with a thick head of dark, rebellious curls. He had piercing electric eyes, one of which had only moments ago been blackened. To add to the new color scheme, a trickle of blood fl owed from his lower lip. His body trembled with rage. Lazer recovered from the blow and retaliated with a left-right combination of well-placed punches that connected squarely with his opponent, Striker McMann. Striker was a tow-headed blond, big-eyed, weasel-lipped brute with no neck and big shoulders—a long-time rival and dedicated enemy of Lazer’s since sometime dur- ing the summer before sixth grade. Both the fi ghters wore passage locks, an eight-inch braid of hair that hung down the neck of any young man under the age of twenty. The passage lock was often deco- rated with silver or gold rings and a few pieces of leather, stone, or feathers to mark a boy’s individuality. It was required by law for any boy or girl prior to the Rite of Passage, and every boy who stood and watched the fi ght wore one as he cheered his chosen hero to victory. Striker took Lazer’s blows in stride and came back with a devas- tating one-two combination to the stomach and kidney that all but knocked the wind out of him.

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“Cashton, do something!” Kyla pleaded with one of the boys. Kyla Wingright was one of the only girls at the skirmish and Lazer’s oldest friend. Kyla was tough, smart, and pretty—almost beautiful but not quite, not yet. She was a second-generation splicer, with what looked like fi ne, fl esh-colored tattoos on her neck and arms that fi t the multiple ear and delicate nose piercings. Her strange, intricate markings were the only visible sign that she was not all hu- man. But keeping your genetics to yourself could save your dignity and, in some cases, your life—especially in the outback of this par- tially settled, newly risen continent called Atlantia, which is where Vacary High School was located. Kyla nudged Cashton harder. “Do something,” she pleaded again. “What? Striker’s an ass. I can’t change reality.” Cashton shrugged. He, like the rest of the boys, was captivated by the action of the fi ght. Cashton Lock was Lazer’s other best friend. He was older, taller, and stockier, with broad features and brown skin the color of amber and honey. Lazer had told him he looked like a fox, always ready to start trouble. The difference was Cashton had the body and build to fi nish anything he started. But this was Lazer’s fi ght, and the laws of machismo demanded Cashton stay back until Lazer let him know he was needed. Kyla knew better than both of them that Lazer’s ego would never admit he needed anything, especially help. A solid right hook to Lazer’s jaw sent him fi ve feet backwards, slamming him hard into the trunk of a tree. Lazer bounced off and plowed into Striker like a human battering ram, sending them both stumbling backwards. They lost their balance and crashed onto the ground with a hard thud. Lazer scrambled to his feet with the agil- ity of a cat that had landed on hot coals. Furious, Striker looked up, jumped to his feet, and ran back to Lazer at full speed, but this time he’d have to go through Kyla. “Lazer! Striker! Stop it!” Kyla shouted. She stepped between

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them, her long sinewy arms stretched out in either direction. To everyone’s surprise, she sent out a double energy fi eld that consisted of two spinning circles that spiraled in midair, barely visible but strong and solid enough to stop them in their tracks. The two boys hit the fi eld and staggered, momentarily thwarted. Desperate to be the voice of reason, Kyla shouted again, “You can’t fi ght on school grounds. You’re gonna get us all kicked out!” The two-foot transparent circles hung at face height, spinning in front of Lazer and Striker. Breathlessly, they glared at each other. Kyla held her ground between them. She wasn’t particularly talented at the Visionistic Arts, but she had learned a few tricks from her mother—enough to save herself, especially when fear sent a rush of adrenaline through her glands. They were surrounded by at least twenty other students and every boy’s face was fi lled with the excitement of witnessing a hand- to-hand battle. Like bloodthirsty Romans out for a day of sport at the Coliseum, they wanted more. Not one of them hesitated to voice their displeasure at Kyla’s intervention, and they demanded that she drop her shields and back off. Kyla was in the way of today’s dose of violence and action. This group of Vacary High School students were roughneck boys dressed in leathers and jeans, the “in” fashion of the day. Besides the cool t-shirts and jackets, they wore loincloths and tunic overpieces decorated with beading or metal studding in patterns that signi- fi ed an array of things—from family history to status, sports teams, game-banger ranking, and clan associations. “Give it up. You lost the game, Striker.” Lazer yelled at Striker over the crowd. “You and your lackey cheated.” Striker pointed to Cashton. Cashton’s hackles went up. “Prove it!” Cashton stepped into the mix. Lazer held Cashton back. Striker, his nose bleeding, eyeballed Cashton with contempt. “Then it was a freak fl uke that zoccair ball came back to you like it

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was magnetized,” he shouted, pointing to underline his accusations. “Fluke or not, you lost. Game over.” Lazer dug in deeper. “Don’t make me take you out on and off the fi eld.” Striker lunged for Lazer, knocking Kyla to the ground. Her arms had started to tremble, and she had released her tiny shields before they drained her and made her faint. “Security bot. Ice out,” a red-headed splicer named Evvy Tiner shouted as she stepped in, nodding toward something through the trees. Evvy was a tall, lanky cross of human and perhaps orangutan and one of Kyla’s best girlfriends. She was a pretty girl of eighteen whose human genetics dominated everything but her round eyes, odd ears, and the amazing red hair that seemed to grow everywhere. Evvy was a tough outlander, tougher than Kyla, with a dozen inked tattoos that circled her forearms and weaved between the forest of fi ne red hairs that covered them. She had double the piercings of Kyla—multiple ones in her ears and nose, and a collar of silver pins that looked like a necklace. There was something about Evvy that made people not want to mess with her, but it was that same some- thing that made them know she was just the person they wanted to watch their backs if the situation got rough. Everyone turned to see a small camera bot encased in a metal ball. It fl oated through the forest of trees that grew on the back campus of the high school. Security bots, about the size of a softball, were all over Vacary High School. They fl oated innocuously inside and out of the school, going unnoticed by anyone who wasn’t committing an infraction against school policy. The bot cruised gracefully across the playing fi eld and hovered twenty feet beyond the tree line. It du- tifully spotted the crowd of boys and hesitated. Curious, it studied the odd gathering of students, assessed the situation and, sensing animosity, zoomed in for a closer look. “You are too funny.” Striker threw his arm around Lazer and started laughing. Lazer knew the drill. He couldn’t afford a detention this close to graduation. It was his senior year, and getting off Atlantian soil

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was the goal of his life, so Lazer sucked up his pride and joined in the deception. The rest of the onlookers quickly got the message and started laughing as if the funniest joke of the century had just been told. Cashton helped Kyla from the ground and gave her a bear hug to hide the fury that was mapped across her face. The bot observed the students for a moment more, then, read- ing no hostility, turned and zoomed away. “You and me at the bilyon caves,” Striker hissed as he pushed Lazer away. “You and me, and what weapons system?” Lazer’s face fi lled with a mix of anger and astonishment. “Weapons system? They’ve been exterminated. It’s just a bunch of empty caves.” “Are you stupid and crazy? There were two sightings last fall,” Kyla added. “So, they got exterminated, too,” Striker glared at Kyla. “Those caves are their breeding grounds, jickhead. They come back,” Cashton added. “Cashton’s right, and so is Kyla. You’re crazy.” Lazer said. “I so can’t be bothered with you.” He fl ipped his hand and turned to walk away. “Cheater and a coward,” Striker goaded Lazer. Kyla saw it fi rst. She watched his aura go from black anger to red fury. Reading auras was natural among splicers, and Kyla was a master at this art. Everyone at school knew not to lie when in her presence. “Don’t let him goad you, Lazer,” she warned. “I said, you’re a coward, Lazerman,” Striker smirked with an evil grin. “I thought that stench was from your old man crawlin’ up on all fours like a dog outta the methane mines. But, I guess it’s just you reeking of fear.” Lazer was not a coward. He had fought hard to dispel the hand- ful of incidents that happened in junior high school that, for a short and miserably unbearable time, had tagged him with the label of

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coward. He had gained respect after two years of black eyes and bloody noses, and he was not about to let an accusation—from Striker McMann, of all people—take him back down that horrible dark path, especially in front of the meanest boys in school. “Call it, jickwad. I’m on whenever you say.” Lazer was adamant. Striker strode over to him and got in his face. “Now. Old bilyon caves.” “Are you both crazy?” Kyla blurted. The reality and danger of what Striker was suggesting sent a rush of panic coursing through her veins as cold as her non-human blood. Even Cashton had to chime in, “That is way not a good idea.” Striker turned to walk away, then stopped to taunt Lazer over his shoulder. “I’m waiting. Or are you so low on the food chain you don’t have the class to see an opportunity when it’s presented to you . . . coward.” Lazer’s eyes glazed over. Any amount of control he had over his anger had just vanished. “Game on.” The crowd surged forward. They had no intention of missing this massacre. Lazer held up a single hand. “Alone,” he said to the crowd. “Nobody but us. This is personal and, that way, if we get busted . . .” “Or eaten,” Kyla cut in. “. . . no one else gets in trouble,” Lazer fi nished his thought, shooting a look to Kyla. Striker agreed, signaling his crew to back off. Kyla’s eyes stretched wide as she turned once again to Cashton for help. “Cashton, please do something!” Cashton moved after Lazer. If Lazer were going to fi ght, Cashton would be there to back him up. Lazer and Striker strode off to the perimeter grids that surrounded the high school. Striker’s second, Chad, fell in step a few feet behind. Cashton and Chad eyeballed each other with “bring it on” intent. “Just us. No seconds,” Lazer turned back to Cashton. Striker gave a nod to Chad, who got the message loud and clear.

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Cashton and Chad stepped back, allowing the duelists to proceed alone. “Unbelievable,” Kyla muttered in disgust. “Now what,” Evvy asked, stepping next to Kyla. “Try and stop them. Keep an eye out for any bots,” Kyla told her. She had no choice but to run after Lazer, her mind reeling, desperate for a solution to quell the testosterone surge that had been unleashed between them. Evvy nodded and Kyla took off. By the time she caught up, Lazer and Striker had reached the fence. Lazer pulled out a seven-inch laser switchblade that ignited, glowing a fi erce red from shaft to tip. It protruded from a sleek bronze and silver tube handle, complete with mother-of-pearl in- lay in the shape of a mythical dragon, its wings and tail wrapping gracefully around the shaft. Laser blades were illegal on campus, but everyone who was anyone had one. Lazer had three, once upon a time. His parents had confi scated two before he bought this one in Atland City three months ago. He’d gotten it off a lizard-faced splicer who specialized in exotic splicer pets and small weapons. Lazer calmly started to burn a fi ve-by-fi ve foot square in the electrifi ed-proton fi eld that surrounded the campus. “We’ve got twenty minutes before that starts to repair.” Striker looked back over his shoulder to make sure the coast was clear. “Rematch,” Kyla shouted, bounding up to them. “Let’s set a zoccair rematch and do this right.” “Back off, splicer. This is right.” Striker sneered at Kyla. “Watch it,” Lazer defended Kyla. He had been best friends with her long enough to know that being called splicer, especially by a bigoted creep like Striker, hurt and embarrassed her. Lazer grabbed Striker by his tunic. “Lazer!” Kyla reached out and gently placed her hands on Lazer’s. “He’s not worth it.” “Trust me, I am,” Striker smirked, challenging Lazer one more time. “A hundred yards more and you can rip me a new face.” Striker tore himself out of Lazer’s grip and stepped through the proton

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fence. The edges sparked and snapped, already searching for their lost connections. “Sorry, Kyla, he’s a jick,” Lazer said, gently laying a hand on her shoulder to make her feel better. “Go back, okay? We’ll be done in twenty minutes . . . tops. Go.” In the fl ash of a moment, Lazer and Striker were running away from her. They quickly vanished over the rolling red- and sand- colored hills of the Atlantian outback and disappeared into a thick outcropping of trees that circled the mitten-shaped granite plateaus that populated the region. Lazer, Cashton, and Kyla used to call them giant, stubby-fi ngered hands trying to get out from under the ground. Kyla looked at the closest plateau. It loomed 300 meters high with its fl at rock face, pockmarked by a thousand black caves. For seventy years, since the early days of Atlantia, the bilyons had claimed the caves as their breeding ground; it had taken years to clear them out. The bilyons were a man-made species—genetically crossed splicers, half-lion and half-bear. The males were known to grow well over 2,000 pounds. They were, by the genetic predispo- sition of both breeds, ferocious and extremely volatile. There had been a consolidated effort for fi ve years by the Vacary Township community, when they built the high school, to hunt the bilyons down and exterminate them. Those that survived the slaughter had stayed away. Four years passed without incident, but the multiple sightings last year disturbed the residents and never yielded a kill. Everyone was nervous at the thought the bilyons might be back, and the impending danger made Kyla’s stomach turn. Kyla looked at the hole that still gaped in the proton fence. It had already begun to shoot tiny fi ngers of electrifi ed proton threads out from the edges. They were searching for corresponding threads to connect to, bond with, and rebuild the almost invisible web-like structure that made up the fence. Kyla hesitated, sighed, and went through the fence. She glanced nervously at the plateau one last time. Maybe I can

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talk some sense into them, she thought. Kyla ran towards the dense forest of oddly-shaped trees and headed for a tangle of bamboo that grew in a perfect ring around the base of the plateau. The warm sun quickly faded beneath the canopy of the forest, then vanished completely under the looming shadow of the plateau. The cold granite of the rock wall reached up into the pale, cloud- less sky that was trying to peek through the clutter of leaves. Only a narrow clearing broke the canopy, and Kyla could not help but glance up at the majestic formation as she ran. The plateau seemed to look down at her, staring with a hundred black eyes—the caves that had been scratched out of solid rock by generations of bilyons. Kyla hoped she was wrong about any of the bilyons being back in those caves. She pulled her eyes away from the plateau and caught sight of Lazer and Striker heading into the bamboo forest. She had shifted her gaze from the plateau, but something inside one of the caves had not returned the favor. There, in the silent face of the rock plateau, a pair of yellow eyes peered out from the blackness of one of the lower, larger caves. Two huge, round eyes caught the light of the afternoon sun as they moved back and forth from Lazer and Striker to Kyla. The mysterious eyes watched the approaching students. Lunch had been delivered today.

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THE BILYON CAVES

azer and Striker raced out of the forest of white-leaved ginkgo Ltrees that formed a perfect outer ring around the towering plateau. They ran up and over a small foothill, thick with green moss and stagnant ponds that sparkled in the dim light. The croaking of the toads and click of the cicada bugs seemed to grow ominously louder the deeper in they ventured. As he ran, Lazer couldn’t help but smell the sickeningly sweet stench of something rotting close by. The chilly air fi lled his lungs. He loved to run; it made him feel free and powerful. He looked at Striker, and the anger took hold of him once more, stealing with it the momentary fl ash of happiness. In silence they ran, disappearing into the lush, jade-green glow of the bamboo forest. The trees grew like thirty-foot emerald soldiers and tangled themselves around a smattering of strange fuzzy shrubs and pine trees that seemed to cling to the moist black earth. Suddenly the ground turned to broken rock and went vertical, becoming a wall of rock that reached up into the sky. It stopped them. A few more yards to the left and they would be beyond the probing elec- tronic eyes of the security bots. They made the turn and found a holographic sign that glitched and shorted off and on as it fl oated in the air space just above them. WARNING! DO NOT ENTER! BILYON BREEDING GROUNDS! DANGER!!!

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Lazer and Striker exchanged an uneasy look and continued their trek into the cool shade of the bamboo forest. Finally they reached a clearing, perfect for a showdown of force. Without warning, Striker turned and swung. Time slowed and Lazer took in every last detail: the high-pitched sound of Striker’s fi st as it cut through the air and the stench of his sweat as it whizzed by his nose. Lazer saw a blur of color blended into a ball of knuckles and fl esh and watched as it crept past him, moving as though time itself had been stretched like a gigantic rub- ber band. Lazer did a slight bob-and-weave. Time contracted and he snapped back to reality, just in time to see Striker’s fi st rush past his face with the speed of a bullet missing its mark. Lazer countered with a lightning jab to Striker’s cheek, nailing him with a direct hit. Striker tumbled to the ground. “That’s for calling my father a . . .” Before he could fi nish his sentence, Striker grabbed a long bamboo stalk from the ground, jumped to his feet, and swung. The dried remains of the shaft cut the air with a trill, like the whistle of a fl ute, and forced Lazer to contract to avoid being hit. “No weapons!” Lazer demanded, as he scurried backwards. Striker swung again, this time nearly taking off Lazer’s head. Lazer dropped, rolled, whipped out his laser switchblade, and seared off two stalks of fresh bamboo. They were green, strong, and fl exi- ble, and they would hurt if they connected. Lazer grabbed the sticks, dropped his laser blade, and spun around with his sticks crossed and extended, just in time to block Striker’s next blow. Striker pounded on him with the unbridled force of his height, weight, and power. Lazer was on the defensive. He blocked each re- lentless blow from his adversary, occasionally managing to get in a swing or two. He had to let Striker wear himself down, so he took the blows patiently. He listened as Striker’s breath got shorter and quick- er, and felt the bone-shattering pounding weaken. Almost . . . almost . . . and then he saw his opening. Lazer unleashed his counterattack, fl ailing at Striker with a series of agile but awkward blows. Striker

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stumbled back. Neither of them was a trained warrior, but each was a strong athlete and had talent. They fought, driven by pure testos- terone and rampant anger. Their blows were wild but occasionally well-placed enough to make the encounter all the more dangerous. Finally, Lazer held the advantage. He swung left, then right. He blocked, blocked again, then pounded Striker with the left side of the stick. He aimed a barrage of blows at Striker’s right-hand side. Again and again he battered Striker, catching him in the arm, shoul- der, and hand, while gracefully blocking Striker’s every blow. Lazer swung out and caught Striker with a burning crack to his side that bashed the left edge of his ribs. Striker winced as the pain etched itself into his face, surpassing the anger. Lazer had found his rhythm and, sensing it, continued the attack. With a series of well-placed swings, he backed Striker out of the small clearing and pushed him closer to the rock wall. They continued their relentless attacks as they stood toe-to-toe under one of the large caves, which loomed a good twenty feet above their battleground. Kyla reached the edge of their little arena and watched, still breathless from the run. She looked through a hedge of fallen pine trees to the narrow shafts of bamboo that grew so tall that they ag- gressively blocked what little sunlight managed to peek through the dense, green canopy of leaves. Slowly, without enough light, the pines had begun to die. Kyla crawled up the large gray trunk of one of the dead pines to get a better look at the fi ght. Just as she found them, Lazer took a painful blow to his shoulder. He buckled. Kyla winced. Striker caught one of Lazer’s sticks in the face. She winced again. Their auras were a blur of colors—red, black, blue—a haze of emotions swirling around them as they emitted an- ger, pain, and fear. Whose emotions were whose was impossible to tell, and she hated having the ability to read them, especially when she was so helpless. There was no way to stop them. They had been looking for an excuse to fi ght all year; losing a game of zoccair was enough to ignite the smoldering fi re. The best she could hope to

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do was to pick up the pieces and make sure they got back to school before they were missed. The problem was how to stop the fi ght and get them to go back. Suddenly, her senses prickled her neck. She stretched herself up tall- er and sniffed the air. Her antennae, which she kept meticulously hidden in the folds of her hair, struggled to extend. Danger! Her feelings of apprehension made the skin markings that ran around the edges of her face and down her neck turn a deep forest green. She was camoufl aging! That meant something perilous was very, very close. Kyla snapped her head around to look behind her. Her eyes scanned the trees for movement. She carefully studied each sec- tion of the clearing. Nothing stirred. The trees were dead still. Kyla’s attention was drawn back to the fi ght. The boys were locked in mor- tal combat, oblivious to the danger. Then, she saw something that made her rise up from the shadows and stand in plain sight. Kyla’s mouth fell open. No words would come out. She raised her hand, pointed her fi ngers, and began to tremble. “Bilyon!!!” she screamed. “Twelve o’clock!” Lazer and Striker turned and looked up at the cave fi ve feet above them. It was empty. Then a bone-shaking roar from higher up captured their attention. It was a fully grown bilyon: 1,500 pounds of half-lion/half-bear with brownish-gold fur, a protruding snout, and a mane that covered the upper half of its body. It looked like a drooling, massive bison with a lion’s head, huge teeth, a humpback, and the upper body, forearms, and claws of a grizzly bear. It snarled down at Lazer and Striker. “Lazer!!!” Kyla screamed again. “Run!” The bilyon glanced briefl y at Kyla, which gave Striker time to bolt around the plateau to the left while Lazer took off to the right. The bilyon leapt twenty feet from its perch and landed with the agility of a feline, ten feet in front of Lazer. Lazer froze. The mas- sive form of the bilyon blocked his path. It roared—a sound that made every hair on Lazer’s body stand on end. It bared its teeth and growled; its drooling mouth hinged open. Lazer held still. His eyes

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locked on the creature then, slowly, ever so slowly, Lazer opened his arms and extended the bamboo sticks out and above his head. The bilyon stopped and reassessed its prey. Striker vanished through the trees just as Kyla began to step out from the trees and move slowly forward. “Stay back!” Lazer ordered in a calm but commanding voice. “That’s not gonna work,” she whispered. “He’ll think I’m bigger and back down.” “He thinks you’re lunch! Trust me, run,” Kyla begged. Before either of them could do anything, the bilyon lunged at Lazer. The creature’s motions were agile and lightning fast. Lazer sidestepped the advancing beast, swung both his bamboo sticks with every ounce of strength he had, and whacked the crea- ture in the face. The bamboo splintered into a thousand pieces. The bilyon closed one of its eyes and screeched in agony, momentarily giving in to the pain. Lazer bolted around the right side of the plateau. Now the bilyon wasn’t just hungry, it was furious. It ran after Lazer with huge strides and covered ground with the speed of a bullet train. Lazer turned another corner of rock only to fi nd he had run into a dead end. He was trapped. The bilyon appeared at the mouth of the cul-de-sac and stopped. It dragged its paw over its bleeding eye and snarled. “Climb,” Kyla screamed. She searched desperately for something that would save her friend and spotted a large, partially fallen pine tree, split and broken, that was leaning at a steep angle. The wood was dry and brittle, straining with the expanse of the trunk that was hanging almost directly over the cul-de-sac where the bilyon had Lazer cornered. Kyla saw Lazer’s fallen laser switchblade and grabbed it. She pulled her own from her vest and ignited them, searing the base of the splintered tree. The red-hot lasers blistered and burned into the wood, cutting

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through the dry fi bers that held the weight of the toppled tree. It was taking forever! Kyla rammed the tree with her shoulder. It cracked but held. She burned through a few more inches, then rammed the tree again. She glanced up at Lazer. Lazer had somehow managed to climb up the crumbling fl at face of the rock and was balanced on a small ledge a few feet above the bilyon. He reached for his next fi ngerhold while, right below him, the bilyon scrambled for footing on the piles of loose rocks that fi lled up the corner of the hold. The bilyon slipped, anchored, and then leapt up, swiping its huge paw at Lazer’s feet. Lazer jumped and grabbed a protruding piece of root that jutted out of the rock a foot above his head. The bilyon fell back and rolled down, regained its footing, and started back up. Lazer swung from the root until it snapped off in his hand, dropping him precariously back onto the narrow ledge. His feet dug in to hold their footing while he struggled to regain his balance. Twice he almost tipped off the edge and into the jaws of his attacker. The bilyon leapt. Lazer swung the root like a whip, batting back the claws that reached for him again and again. The root gave enough of a sting to keep the grasping claws at bay. The bilyon swiped its huge paw again and fi nally caught a piece of Lazer’s pants. It tugged, but Lazer managed to jerk himself away. Again the bilyon swiped, this time knocking Lazer forward into the wall. His face smashed hard against the rock and split his lip even wider than Striker’s bamboo had done. The bilyon ran up the loose rock and leapt at Lazer, opening its huge mouth to bite. Lazer spun, pressed his back against the wall, and took the broken root in his hand like a knife and stabbed it straight down into the bilyon’s already wounded eye. The bilyon rolled down the rocks and roared in agony. Kyla cut and pushed at the tilting tree, then used her feet to give a fi nal push. At last, the fi bers shattered. The tree trunk hung suspended for a moment before it tipped over with an ear-shattering crack and fell directly onto the bilyon’s back. The massive trunk slammed the

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creature to the ground. It was trapped, pinned beneath the weight of the trunk. The topmost branches swept Lazer off his ledge and dragged him down to the fl oor of the cul-de-sac. The bilyon’s only focus was Lazer. It snarled and snapped at him as he scrambled to get away. A massive paw swiped out at Lazer as he desperately tried to get his footing on the loose rocks. He had to avoid the one free paw. Lazer jumped away and grabbed again at the rock ledge above his head. The bilyon reached out as Lazer climbed off the rock and tried to cross the tree by balancing in the branches. The bilyon caught Lazer’s foot and pulled him down into the branches. Kyla bounded over and ignited both switchblades, then set the bilyon’s fur on fi re. The bilyon roared in pain and released Lazer, who bolted as fast as his legs would carry him. “This way,” Kyla shouted. They ran side by side across the rock clearing and into the bam- boo forest. The tortured cries of the bilyon echoed behind them, reverberating off the walls of the plateau and fi lling the skies with the sound of pure anguish. Neither Lazer nor Kyla was willing to turn back to see if the bilyon was following. The bilyon pawed at the gravel and rocks, desperate for a foot- hold to pull itself out from under the tree trunk. Spurred by the fl ames that bit into its back and fl anks, and wild with pain, the bily- on dug its claws into the loose rocks, straining to drag itself free. The bilyon rolled in the dirt to smother the last of the fi re. Its body ached and the stench of burned hair and fl esh fi lled its nostrils. Standing up on its hind legs, the bilyon sniffed the air for a whiff of its prey. It heard the snap of branches deep in the bamboo forest to the left, turned its head, and caught the scent of human fear. Burned, pissed, and still hungry, the bilyon took chase. Lazer and Kyla burst past the white ginkgo trees, darting and weaving along the narrow pathway inside the forest. They both knew the safety of the fence was still a hundred yards away. The bilyon ripped through the bamboo, parting the stalks like blades of grass and knocking away anything in its path.

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Lazer checked on Kyla. She was right there next to him. She had saved him. He knew she was strong and fast, but today, without question, she was brave beyond the call of friendship. Lazer heard the snap of the bamboo behind them. He exchanged another glance with Kyla. She’d heard it, as well. Gasping for air to fi ll their ex- hausted lungs, they commanded their legs to run faster. Lazer could see the fence that surrounded the school. The opening was well on its way to completely repairing itself. Kyla saw it, too. “Kyla,” Lazer said, the terse edge of fear in his voice. “I see it,” Kyla replied. They burst out of the forest and headed across the clearing. The fence was twenty yards ahead and twenty feet high. The sound of the bilyon as it decimated the trees behind them was getting closer. They were still ten yards away when the bilyon broke through the tree line. There was no way they could reach the fence and recut the hole before the bilyon reached them. “You owe me big time, Lazer,” Kyla blurted out as she ripped off her jacket and exposed two fl eshy fl aps that ran down both sides of her back. With the bilyon almost on them and another fi fty feet left to make the fence, Kyla unfurled the most beautiful set of wings—swallowtail brown, black, and gold—from her back. They expanded twelve feet in both directions and caught the air like a glorious silk parachute. Kyla lifted from the ground, fl ew sideways, and grabbed Lazer. “Hold on,” she shouted, beating her wings hard against the thermals. As Kyla struggled to keep both of them airborne, Lazer looked back to see the bilyon closing in, now only six feet behind them. Kyla beat her wings and pulled up higher, slowly rising just enough to clear the fence. It was still ten feet away. The bilyon leapt up, nipping at Lazer’s feet. As he pulled up his knees, the shift in weight dragged Kyla down. “Lazer,” she pleaded. “Higher.” “Can’t . . . lift . . .” She grimaced just as they reached the top of the fence.

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Lazer could see she wasn’t going to get them both over the top. Just as the bilyon leapt to bite his feet, Lazer swung his legs forward, released himself from Kyla, and cleared the fence like a high hurdle. Kyla shot upward from the shift in weight and cleared the fence with ease. Lazer hit the ground, and Kyla dropped down almost on top of him. They rolled forward and collapsed into a tangle of arms, legs, and wings. In that split second, caught under the veil of Kyla’s wings, their eyes met in an awkward connection that stepped beyond the shores of friendship. The sound of an ear-shattering pop brought them back to reality. Lazer and Kyla unraveled themselves and quickly looked back. The bilyon crashed head on into 20,000 volts of electrifi ed pro- ton fencing. Sparks and fi ngers of electricity lit up the bilyon as it jerked and spasmed through the horrifying electrocution. Its body hung suspended in midair, held by the electrifi ed proton fi bers, as the entire fence surged and the bilyon burst into a fi reball. One after another, the power surges caused the school’s generators to blow out, sending loud pops and cracks bouncing off the afternoon sky with the echo of a dozen sonic booms. Lazer and Kyla exchanged an excited, breathless look. “Whoa! You were amazing!” Lazer’s face fi lled with pride and excitement. “You took on a bilyon!” she said with breathless amazement. They turned back to watch the bilyon’s demise. Out of nowhere, Striker’s fi st slammed into Lazer’s face and knocked him down to the ground. “Striker, you idiot!” Kyla shrieked. “I want to know who is responsible for this,” a voice suddenly boomed out from behind them. The three of them turned to see the school’s headmaster, Dennis Hastings, closing in on them like a puffed-up angry penguin. He had a bulldog face with a receding hairline and an expression of unbridled fury. His center of focus, however, was on one face alone. “Lazerman!”

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THE ORBIS TEMPLE

etra Lazerman led a group of potential investors and philan- D thropists through the corridors of one of Atlantia’s greatest treasures—the Temple of Orbis. She was an amazing woman in her late thirties, energetic and intelligent, tall and slender, and gracefully attractive, with dark hair and keen, birdlike features. She was speak- ing to a dozen or so people, telling them about the wonders of the facility, the work the various teams were doing, and the potential— with their help, of course—of the temple’s ultimate research project: deciphering the information held in the Orbis Gnorb, which poten- tially could delineate Earth’s place in the universe. The Orbis Temple had risen from the bottom of the sea during the years when the Great Quakes were redefi ning the planet’s geogra- phy. The temple was built of materials not found on Earth, so carbon dating was impossible. Only the layers of coral that had encased it suggested the temple predated everything in human history. It sat atop one of Atlantia’s many smooth, rolling hills, as pristine and un- scathed as the day it was built. There were no hard angles at Orbis, only smooth curves, circles, and cylinders that made up the numer- ous rooms and corridors. Over the decades, researchers from Atlantia had carefully converted the various rooms to laboratories, where they conducted the arduous process of deciphering and understanding the

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precious gift that had been left behind by Earth’s original inhabitants, the Celians. The temple was nestled into the lush countryside, surrounded by the remains of a massive white and pink coral reef, which had been chiseled away to expose the temple. The dust over the decades had mixed with the soil and yielded a circle of tall, slender trees, similar to weeping willows, that always seemed to be in full bloom. From the branches, white and lavender fl owers hung in the shape of tiny umbrellas, resembling a fl uffy wisteria or clusters of grapes. The blossoms fi lled the air with a pungent scent that hung as a welcom- ing cloud of pleasure around the temple for all to enjoy. The building, with its curved chrome and copper-colored walls, was an architectural marvel. The panels, made from an unknown alloy, reached up and bent backwards in a series of graceful arches. They were designed to catch the sun’s light and warmth, and ef- fortlessly returned it as a self-generated energy source that kept the facility powered, as well as cool in the summer and warm in the winter. Everyone commented on the way the panels resembled a giant necklace of smooth, fi nely polished metal baubles, scattered across the landscape in a seemingly random pattern. It was always astonishing that the temple had been seamlessly turned into a well- constructed, brilliantly thought-out archeological research facility. It was guarded by the renowned Black Guard biodroids and was considered impenetrable. Detra moved down a smooth hallway with her entourage, who listened intently as she showed them a series of rooms, accessible through doors that looked like inverted bubbles cut into the metal walls. Every room was populated by groups of men and women in blue research tunics at work with an array of high-tech equipment. She pointed out the top of the hallway, bordered by an eight- inch high ribbon of images that fl oated just off the surface. This information banner was fi lled with strange geometric symbols and even more unusual pictographs of fi gures that many specialists be- lieved represented the tall slender Celian creatures that fi rst walked

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the Earth. The shapes of their visual information must have been handed down concisely enough to inspire the ancient Aztec, Mayan, Chinese, and Egyptian hieroglyphics. “The theory relates to genetic memory,” she explained. “Our re- searchers have interpreted the pictographs to mean that the Celians believed the soul was an energy source with a direct conduit to the universe’s central core, and the body was merely a temporary temple to house this energy during its stay here on Earth.” Detra pondered her own words, still grappling with the power that rested in them, if indeed they were true. She nodded into a room fi lled with walls of drawings, blueprints, and mathematical and musical interpretations of the artwork. “We’re still deciphering, as you can see.” Detra turned the corner and stopped her group in front of a magnifi cent doorway that looked as if it had been carved from the fi nest rock crystal in the world. It was protected by two Black Guard: human-shaped biodroids with viral-based brains made of nanoscaled DNA, genetic ladders chemically cut from strands of amino acid bands. They were metal men made of a pliable yet nearly impervious alloy of titanium, tefl on, and alkene, with living cells for brains. Their skin was an oily grayish-blue that fl ashed smooth and sleek from the tops of their heads to the tips of their three-fi ngered mechanical hands and tri-pedal feet. The muscular defi nition of their torsos, upper arms, and upper legs was humanlike, although their lower ex- tremities were mechanical. Their heads were a unique combination of both. Firm muscles rippled and fl exed beneath the gray-colored skin as they walked, like tall, graceful birds or upright felines. Upon their massive shoulders sat a featureless face with only one distinc- tion: pulsating fi ber-optic bands formed bilious green stripes down both sides of their otherwise blank heads. They could walk or hover on a cushion of air because small jets had been built into their feet. Some said they had the look of futuristic Samurai warriors, feature- less and foreboding. They were a necessary evil, guaranteed never to malfunction. They’d been created in 104 A.Q. to keep the peace on Atlantia, programmed to protect humans from the pirates and

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marauders that roamed the newly risen territory. “We are still in the process of analyzing the temple’s unusual metals and rock materials, as well as deciphering the geometry of the design structure itself, which, by the way, withstood multiple millennia and untold pres- sure beneath the ocean and yet emerged virtually unscathed.” Detra gave her group a moment to admire the magnifi cent crystal door. “But the most important content in the temple is the reason you are here today,” she smiled, “besides, of course, your generous donations to our ongoing research efforts.” Detra was charming. The visitors laughed, made comfortable by her easy manner and gracious demeanor. She was the best fundraiser the temple had brought in since they had become emancipated from the Atlantian government and gone to private support. “Just beyond this door is the real reason we are all here today.” Detra stepped up to the massive crystal doorway that was the entry- way to the gnorb research wing. She breathed into a wall panel box that analyzed her breath for DNA, and keyed in the eye scanner, which sent an infrared laser line across her retina. The genetics were crossed-referenced and matched. Access approval fl ashed, and a re- lease command was sent to the door. Detra waved her hand, and the solid crystal door began to vibrate, shifting its molecules and visibly changing in density and particle confi guration. The molecules dis- solved from a solid into what appeared to be a curtain of smoke. Still vibrating, the white mist hovered in place for a moment, then, with a shrill, high-pitched sucking sound, evaporated into thin air. Multiple cameras and infrared beams scanned the visitors. Detra smiled pleasantly. “Please make sure your security badges are visible or you might fi nd yourself accidentally vaporized, much like that door.” The group shifted nervously, touching their badges to make sure they were facing the right direction. “Everyone, stay together and follow me.” The visitors obedi- ently followed Detra, ogling the bubble doors of the various rooms that lined this corridor. The researchers in these rooms wore stark

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white tunics, which represented a higher security level. “You have been invited not only to see, but also to experience fi rsthand the key artifact left behind by the Celians—the Orbis Gnorb of Atlantia,” she said proudly. “The Orbis Gnorb was one of four knowledge orbs that were discovered after the Great Quakes unearthed facilities like the Orbis Temple. They are believed to contain the comprehensive blueprint for life on Earth and perhaps the key to our evolutionary place in the universe. Our research here is in conjunction with the work on the blue gnorb at Mu and the red in Sangelino, and we are hoping that the yellow gnorb, believed to be located under the dome of the Lost Territories, eventually will complete the puzzle. Every day our researchers come closer . . .” “Director Lazerman? Excuse me, ma’am. I’m sorry to . . .” A young intern interrupted as she approached. “It’s a . . .” “This is Jade,” Detra interrupted. “She’s one of our best new interns, except, of course, for interrupting me in the middle of my witty and informative introduction to the gnorb.” The people laughed. They liked Detra. She was good. She had them in the palm of her hand, hanging at the edge of their seats for their fi rst sight of the piece de resistance—the gnorb. To be followed by a lovely lunch and the big donor pitch. Detra knew the needs of the facility depended on her efforts. “It’s about your son, ma’am. His school has sent an emergency vyber message.” Detra’s expression changed. She turned toward a thin-lipped, egg-headed man. “Dr. Masterson, will you take our guests into the chambers and show them the wonders of the gnorb?” “Of course.” Dr. Masterson tried his best to appear confi dent. “If you will all follow me . . .” He turned to the crowd. “Our research here at the Orbis Temple has only scratched the surface as to what is held inside the gnorb, but the latest fi ndings have revealed a direct genetic connection to a specifi c strain of human genomes . . .” As his voice faded away, Detra nodded to the intern, who blue- toothed the message and then left, an expression of concern still on

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her face. Detra lifted her wristsponder, commed in “Hastings Vacary High School,” and connected to the message. A yellow light fl ashed from the beautifully detailed band of leather and crystal, designed with multiple state-of-the-art, jewel-colored vyber conduit lights that were the hallmark of the Bertram communication cuff. The wristsponder was anchored by a smooth, crystal half-bubble that glowed brighter until it emitted a small holoscreen that hovered at eye level. As she waited for the green access light that signifi ed the fi nal connection, Detra passed through the massive doorframe and waved her hand at the security cameras. The infrared lasers read her genetics, fi lled with smoke, then, with a hiss, the door solidifi ed behind her. Detra continued down the corridor, impatiently waiting to be connected to Lazer’s high school. She tried to keep negative parental thoughts from her mind, hoping her son was not hurt. It was one of the things that came with being a parent, especially with a boy like Lazer. The band fl ashed green. “Call accepted.” A holographic image of Headmaster Hastings appeared in front of her. “Headmaster Hastings, is my son all right?” “Other than a black eye and a bloody lip, Mrs. Lazerman, your son is fi ne.” Detra’s heart sank. Lazer had been fi ghting again, and the thought of telling his father made her stomach fl ip almost as much as the anger that quickly replaced her concern. “I don’t have to remind you, we have a zero tolerance for acts of violence at school, not to mention possible property damage.” “Property damage?” Detra was shocked by the additional in- fraction. “The back fence was destroyed by a bilyon, and all six security generators were damaged.” “Lazer was fi ghting a bilyon!” Detra halted in her tracks. “We’re not sure how or why the bilyon attacked the fence and, until we have proof, neither Lazer nor Striker will be held respon- sible. However, they were fi ghting and, as such, I am afraid I will have to ask you to come pick him up immediately.”

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“May I speak with him?” She tried to mask her anger. “He’s in Mrs. Lester’s offi ce. I will have them comm you back. I’m very sorry, Mrs. Lazerman,” Hastings said, genuinely regretful for what had to happen. “As am I.” Hastings disconnected, his image breaking into a fuzzy haze be- fore dissipating. Detra walked into the large arched entry of the facility and past the main desk. The anger built with each step. She wondered if she should call Lazer’s father and have him meet them, but thought bet- ter of the idea. It was bad enough she had been pulled away from an important group of potential investors. Her husband’s work at the mines did not allow for him to walk away. She would handle this alone. Lazer would answer to his father when he got home from work. Detra stepped out into the cool afternoon air and strode across the back landing structure of the facility. Her wristsponder vibrated against her arm. “Lazer,” she commanded, lifting her arm. A hazy, holographic image glitched and focused, hovering in front of her as she walked. It was the face of her son. Detra took one look at his black eye and blood-smeared face and picked up her pace. “Universal God, Lazer, are you all right?” She tried to mask her concern. “Mom . . . I . . .” Lazer started. “You will be grounded for the rest of the school year. Do you understand?” She cut him off. “Yeah, but . . .” Again Lazer tried. “Fighting, Lazer? I can’t believe I’m coming to pick you up for fi ghting and destruction of school property!” “Striker McMann started it, and we didn’t blow the generators. The bilyon did, and it wasn’t my fault!” “I don’t care. It’s unacceptable! Lazer, only months from gradu- ation!”

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Detra looked at Lazer’s holographic image as she approached a wheel-less, triangular-shaped minivan and pressed her thumb to the wristsponder. A tiny red scanner lit up from the vehicle and read her iris. A few beeps and the vehicle started, the security locks released, and the automatic controls lifted the vehicle a foot off the ground. The automatic door of the hovercraft swung gracefully back with a hiss, opening to allow a fl ustered Detra to slide inside. “This is the third fi ght you’ve had with Striker this year. This time you will apologize.” Lazer’s mouth dropped open in shock. “He called dad a . . .” “We’ll discuss it when I get there. You are grounded. You got that? Grounded!” The hovercraft door slammed shut as Lazer’s crestfallen image evaporated into a shower of shimmering particles. Detra’s vehicle rose another ten feet into the air and sped away from the temple grounds. Detra didn’t see the large, ominous shadow that fell across the temple structure as her craft took off. A Shadehawk security vehicle, with its sleek, black, angular shape, settled into surveillance position. The Black Guard, employed by all Vacary residencies and facilities, fl ew the Shadehawks. It was routine to see one fl y by during its hourly inspection. What was unusual was that a second Shadehawk hovered into position alongside the fi rst just a moment later. They remained until a third and then a fourth craft joined them in what was obviously becoming a formation. The Shadehawks hovered twenty feet above the facility, silent and completely still. Then, the unthinkable happened: multiple streaks of deuterium lasers shot from the crafts and simultaneously slammed into the facility. The temple was under attack.

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THE GNORB OF ORBIS

he intense deuterium blast accomplished its purpose in a milli- T second, melting the unidentifi ed alloy that had withstood both the test of time and the ravages of the sea. The walls absorbed the heated pellets and began to warp and liquefy into fi ery crimson blos- soms, creating a gaping passageway that allowed the enemy inside. They came in one horrifying rush, a patrol of Black Guards, protectorates of humanity that, in one sentient act, had turned from mankind’s noble protectors into sadistic adversaries. In the space of a single heartbeat, the slaughter began. The battle for control of the temple was brief and violent. The death throes of the unarmed technicians lasted only a few moments as their heads, limbs, and torsos were scattered across the fl oor. It was order in chaos as the deuterium phasers instantaneously cauterized each fatal wound, leaving a few severed heads alive long enough to compre- hend their deaths. The Black Guard team stopped at the crystal door that had been opened by one of the security Black Guards who worked inside the temple. They waited motionlessly for their next command from one particular Guard, whose form was both bigger and newer than that of the older models. The older ones had been given limited life spans as a safeguard for human protection. Over time, they were programmed to dissipate their own nano bond particles and self-destruct. Unlike

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its predecessors, this new biodroid had its viral DNA fused with human DNA, which pushed it to the next level of biomolecular me- chanical evolution. The fusion had created a biodroid that was clearly no longer under human control. The other Black Guards stood still—silent drones with black, featureless faces—as the leader scanned the contents of the isolated security case that glowed at the center of the main chamber that held the Gnorb of Orbis. Smooth and as small as a softball, a single eye staring inward, the gnorb drifted, silently studying its own mystery. At its core was a thick, silvery white, bubbling haze where life itself might have originated. Miniscule multicolored eruptions fl ashed and sparked inside. Those who had found and named the gnorb believed it to be a living, breathing universal force. It was an unsolved mystery—a se- cret world waiting for someone to decipher it. The gnorb’s name had been decoded from the geometric writings that formed the equato- rial ring of the sphere. Various other markings showed images of the Celians, with their human shapes and fi n-like appendages, complete with webbed fi ngers and toes. The outermost part held a constella- tion of stars from some unknown galaxy a million light years away. The gnorb fl oated patiently in the dim, honey-colored light and perfectly monitored temperature of the central chamber, protected from anyone at the temple labs who didn’t wear a high-level access band. Only those members of the research team deemed most bril- liant were allowed even to gaze at its amazing beauty as they pondered its mysteries and tried to decipher its unfathomable power. Every day, the team would come to study the gnorb in awe. Except today. The ancient Atlantian temple was no longer sacrosanct and silent. The largest and most eloquent of the Black Guards moved forward, reached its mechanical hand into the security case, ignored the sear- ing lasers that projected like a web around the gnorb, and removed it. The scanner bands of green laser lights fanned out from the Guard’s face and traced across the gnorb’s surface, reinterpreting the visual into a three-dimensional digital schematic of information.

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The secrets of the universe, the Black Guard thought. It was think- ing. Conscious thoughts had been fl ooding its neuron strands in the months since its awakening, but this was more than a thought. Suddenly, the biodroid was imagining, hypothesizing, contemplat- ing, and projecting the possibilities the gnorb represented. Once the powers of the gnorb are unlocked, what will it mean for my kind? Its mind was inundated with the rush of a thousand possibilities. Mission accomplished, the Black Guard placed the delicate gnorb reverently into a small steel box. The locks hissed and slid into place. It was done; the prize retrieved. The Black Guard withdrew, leaving behind the half-charred men and women they had slaugh- tered—silent witnesses to Earth’s newest citizens.

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DUCANE COVAX

he Black Guard’s creator, Ducane Covax, stood in his offi ces T high above Atland City, the shining capital of the still-un- tamed territories of Atlantia, as well as all that was truly civilized in the vast boggy landscape of the outback. It was Covax’s brilliance that had developed the outback into a burgeoning culture. His genius had returned to him the fame and fortune that had been stolen eighteen years earlier, but it was about to be taken away yet again—all because of the unconscionable behavior of a few errant Black Guards. Ducane Covax at fi fty was strikingly handsome, dark-complex- ioned, with sharp features and keen eyes and fi ne amber-colored tattoos of microcapsuled, digital ink implants that serpentined across his cheeks. The tattoos changed colors, refl ecting the intensity of his somber mood, and deepened to a rich terracotta. As he sat at his desk, he listened to the voices of his two attorney clones—the twins, with their pale blond hair. Covax had been called to Sangelino for an investigation following the attacks on the temple. His attorneys had worked the system and managed to stall his appear- ance at the inquiry, but it had been over three weeks since the temple attack, and the Council on Subversive Activities was getting restless. The attorneys said he would have to come to Sangelino or a Politia escort would be at his door to escort him. He sighed, and agreed.

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He was, after all, the creator of the Black Guard that had al- legedly murdered 271 people and stolen the orb. But they had no proof. The security monitors had been destroyed in the attack, and the ocular imprints off the eyes of the dead were inadmissible. Covax had seen enough to know it was his Black Guard. What he didn’t understand was how . . . or why. He had not ordered the attack and didn’t know who had. As far as he knew, Black Guards were inca- pable of acting on their own. He wanted the truth as desperately as the Security Committee, and being called away from his own private investigation was a total waste of time. “Set the meeting,” he said in a deep melodic voice, with a slight hint of an indiscernible accent. Covax concluded his conversation and disconnected from the halosponder that projected perfectly from a small hole in his desk. The images of his twin lawyers broke apart into a billion pixels, evaporated into a haze of blue light, and vanished. Covax ran his fi ngers through his thick black hair. His emotions were shifting, and the warm, golden amber tattoos gracefully etched along his cheeks turned black, matching the anger that furrowed his brow. The tattoos had been a part of the punishment ordered by the Triumvirate in Sangelino when he was banished eighteen years earlier. Now, he was going back to Sangelino, his beloved home until he had been expelled from the city like a pariah. And not just from Sangelino and the entire Co-federation, but also from his own real estate and biological empire—the architectural wonder named for him, Covax City. It hung below Sangelino, with its miles of cascad- ing glass and steel structures that reached over the cliffs and down into the fi ssures. Covax City had been his power base, but that was long before his Golden Boy image had been blackened by the Splicer Fiasco of 93 A.Q. Was it happening again? Yes, he had created the biodroids. Yes, he had designed, developed, and built them into a respected se- curity force on Atlantia. He had shaped his biodroids into the Black Guard protectorate forces for one purpose only: to defend and help settle the wild lands of the Atlantian Territories.

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Miners, farmers, and their families had come to a new terri- tory fi lled with hope, only to be subjected to murderous pirates and thieves. The renegades had run rampant for decades, until Covax arrived like a knight in shining armor, ready to rescue Atlantia from the violent, lawless hell it had become. Covax found the answer in his biologically based, mechanical workforce. They were big and strong and could be programmed to defend anything that Covax told them to protect. It didn’t take long for others to recognize the value of his invention. When Atlantians saw how the biodroids protected Covax’s own holdings, they begged him to share his bio- droids. Instead of selling his new little army, he decided to lease their services for a nominal monthly fee. Thus the Black Guard was born. Within a few months, there was zero crime across the entire country, and Ducane Covax was once again the hero of a brave new world. He built an amazing home for himself and his beautiful daughter, Elana Blue Covax, who had been born to him in 100 A.Q. Covax touched the base of a small marble stand that held a holographic image of his daughter. She had ivory skin, pale blond hair, and rivet- ing almond-shaped sky-blue eyes. With his touch, the image moved into a short loop. The visual of Elana Blue laughed, made a funny face that softened into a warm, sincere gaze, and said in a gentle voice, “I love you, Daddy, so much.” The image looped again, then stopped. Eighteen years had passed in peace and prosperity, but now something had gone terribly wrong. Even if the defi nitive blame was not his, he was going to be the scapegoat in the sordid matter of the Orbis Temple attacks. A rogue faction of his Black Guard had been corrupted. To what degree he still could not determine. His dreams of power and peace on Atlantia began to melt like a snowfl ake in the desert sun. His accusers were gathering against him, a storm of ravenous vultures ready to exile the great Ducane Covax back into a black abyss of oblivion and obscurity. Something in his soul told him this was only the beginning of a fate he did not want to acknowledge.

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THE LAZERMANS

and and Detra Lazerman lived under the blistering sun that Rbaked the rugged outback of eastern Atlantia. Their son, Lazer, had spent all his eighteen years playing on the moss-covered hills that had, until recently, been a vast terrain beneath what was once the Atlantic Ocean. He had climbed the mutated trees with their transparent, corduroy-like ribbed trunks, played in the emerald and olive-colored leaves, and swum in almost all of the one hundred or so saltwater lakes that spotted the valley just beyond the mining township of Vacary. This was his home, his life, his world, and get- ting away from it was Lazer’s greatest dream. The Vacary Township was a marvel of modular living. The geo- desic-shaped houses were clustered together on a hillside plateau that was usually upwind from the foul stench of the methane mines. The simple homes were powered by environmentally safe and effi cient MCX, homogenous biomass fuels—garbage converted into energy. Each of the seven hundred homes was inhabited by a variety of crea- tures—human and non-human—a mishmash of mutants, splicers, clones, and gens, named for their genetically-altered enhancements. The splicers, whose animal DNA had been crossed with DNA from a variety of species, at fi rst were engineered by man out of curios- ity, and later for greed and profi t. They crossbred insects, reptilians, amphibians, and sometimes human DNA into beings that looked

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like mythological creatures come to life. The scientists who had cre- ated this myriad of new species never imagined they would have to share the planet with their offspring. But, after man fi nished, Nature stepped in with mutation and natural selection. The crea- tures evolved in a hundred different directions at once, creating genetic anomalies. One species of science’s “mishaps” were the riders who roamed the foothills and cities of Atlantia in packs. These genetic splicers— half-rat/half-spider, with hairy bodies and hairier legs—ravaged the community fuel compost. If they could have found a way, they would not have hesitated to carry off small children. The riders were ugly, vicious, and hated by everyone. There seemed to be more riders than usual this year. Every day, they would crest the hilltops in their relent- less hunt for food and then scurry away, driven back by the electrifi ed proton perimeter fences that ringed the Vacary compound. Again and again, they would attack until they found one small breach that would allow them to ooze inside and feast on the rotting garbage. Today they had found a gap. Today they would eat. The sun had barely crested the horizon when a river of riders crawled over a small hill on the outskirts of the Vacary grasslands and scampered past a holographic welcome sign that fl oated ten feet in the air: Vacary Settlement, Founded 80 A.Q., Population 5,623. A lone Shadehawk transport cruised by, slowly scanning the area and drawing uneasy glances from a group of workmen in their green environmental suits. Since the attack at the temple, no one had been comfortable when they came around. Gracefully, the Shadehawk turned and jetted away from the homes. Those who were watching breathed a sigh of relief. The Lazerman residence was a geodesic dome-shaped house that stood on a small knoll at the end of a cul-de-sac just above the rest of the domes. It was an older model, slightly larger and better than those in the rest of the community, for Lazer’s parents had worked hard to give the prefab geodesic home some individual character. They had added a faux wooden fence, stumpy bushes, and an array

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of beautiful fl owers that splattered the garden with a constellation of colors. The personal touches made the house appear more than the standard mining issue that came with his father’s job as lead foreman at the Vacary Methane Mines. In the end, it was still nothing more than an Atlantian tract house, plain and simple, but it was home. Rand Lazerman sat at the kitchen table reading reports and elec- tronic charts off his data pad, which he never failed to bring home from his job at the mines. He quietly fi nished the last of his breakfast and rubbed his eyes. They were red and tired from double shifts and too much work. Rand was a tall man with dark hair and the same charismatic eyes as his son, and he could trace at least part of his haploid line to the Anastasi, the fi rst Native Americans of old North America. They had softened with age and the pressures of day-to- day survival on Atlantia, as well as the responsibilities of being a father. His eyes held a warm kindness, evident in the crinkles that hung at each corner. The crash of a china cup lifted his attention. He looked up and watched his wife as she cleaned up around the kitchen. Detra’s nerves had been on edge since the attack. He stood to help her, but she waved him away. Rand sat and watched, helpless to make her pain go away or erase the haunting memory that she had survived and all of her friends and co-workers had not. Detra’s hair, still slightly disheveled, fell across her cheek. Rand smiled to himself, thinking how beautiful she was and what a good wife and mother she’d always been. He was lucky, and he knew it. It had only been three weeks since the temple attack and the odd twist of fate that had spared his wife from the slaughter. He ap- preciated her presence more now than he could ever remember. But having Detra home meant they were a one-income family, which hurt fi nancially, especially since she had always earned more than he did at the mines. It would be tough, yes, but they had each other, and together they could make it work. That’s what he told himself when he worried himself awake at three in the morning. Each night was fi lled with the darkness of insecurities of a man wanting to do the best for his family. Now, if he could only get Lazer in line, he

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thought. Lazer had been the best son a father could ask for—until he turned fi fteen. From that day until the present, everything with him had become a challenge. “Make sure Lazer gets up and repairs that fence. The riders have been merciless this season.” Rand fi nished his thoughts out loud. Detra nodded and turned to fi nd a pile of Lazer’s sports equip- ment blocking the back door. She sighed, gathered his things, and put them away in the laundry room closet, which was stuffed with every kind of sports equipment imaginable. Detra picked up a small crizette mallet that must have belonged to Lazer when he was six or seven. She ran her hands along the battered surface and smiled, sad- dened by the loss of her baby boy. “Did you two have a chance to talk yesterday?” she called out to Rand from the laundry room. Rand grimaced, “No. I was working on these damn reports all evening.” Detra came back into the kitchen, her face furrowed in concern. “Oh, Rand, did you even tell him how proud you are of his ace pilot status placement at Tosadae?” Rand shifted uncomfortably in his chair. His face vanished be- hind the report he had been reading. “He knows how I feel,” he grumped. “No Rand, he doesn’t.” Detra crossed in front of him and pulled the electronic data pad away from his face. “And if you don’t take the time to tell him . . .” “I’m not even sure we can afford to let him go.” “He’ll get the zoccair scholarship. You’ll see.” “He’s just been so damn contrary these past months. Everything I say is a challenge,” Rand stood and gathered his charts. “And not telling him you’re proud of him will . . .” “Keep him from gloating,” Rand mumbled under his breath. Detra took a long look at her husband and felt the cold stabbing pain of lost dreams that must be piercing his heart. She crossed the fl oor and wrapped her arms around him.

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“Rand Skyler Lazerman, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.” Rand stopped, shut down the data pad, and looked out of the window with an expression of pure guilt. He let his body relax into the release of a long sigh. “I’ll be the proudest father on Atlantia when that boy gets his wings. I know how much I wanted mine.” He looked into his wife’s eyes. She saw that his were fi lled with a whirlwind of emotions—hope for his son’s future mixed with the despair of his own lost dreams. Detra touched his face lovingly. “Then tell him.” “If I don’t ride him, he’ll . . .” Rand pulled away, stopped by Lazer’s frantic call from the other side of the house. “Dad!” Lazer’s voice echoed in fi rst, followed by Lazer himself, who burst into the room looking as if he had just fallen out of bed. His hair was a tousled mess, and his t-shirt was on backwards. “I thought you’d left.” Rand checked his wristsponder. “In about three minutes.” Lazer shook off the sleep that clung to his mind like cobwebs in a haunted house and tried his best to sound coherent, “Yeah, right, Well . . . uh . . . dad, remember you said I could borrow the security key card for the company zoccair fi eld today? We’ve got this death match and I swore . . .” Rand looked at his handsome, carefree son. He wanted to hug him and tell him everything that meant so much to both of them, but the emotions were smothered by the tough love he knew was needed until Lazer got through the cyclone of pubescent insanity that was making them all crazy. “Did you fi x the fence?” “Yeah, well, no . . . but I will. I’ve been super responsible. Ask mom,” Lazer said with pleading eyes. Rand studied Lazer for a painful, interminable moment. “McMann has to go to Sangelino this afternoon, not that those rickety old pro- ton generators could stop an attack by multiple Shadehawks. I’ve been asking for an upgrade for two years. Just make sure I get it back by twelve.”

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Rand took the purple security key card off his pocket chain and handed it to Lazer. “Twelve noon,” Rand added emphatically. “Absolutely,” Lazer beamed, pulled his lanky body almost to at- tention, and gave his father the V salute. Rand smiled and saluted back. “And get that fence fi xed before you leave here.” “It needs a new transformer coil,” Lazer insisted, stuffi ng some fruit into his mouth. “We can’t afford one. But if you can keep that piece of junk Zakki working with spit, wire, and silicone, I think you can fi gure out a way to patch that fence until we can afford a new transpon- der,” Rand snapped at him. “Dad,” Lazer stared. “Just do it.” Lazer was hit with a wash of frustration. He hated riders. Just looking at them creeped him out, and he’d have to do more than look at them to even get near the fence. If only they had the money to hire someone to put in a new coil. If only. He thought of Striker, who had called his family lowlifes. This was proof he was right. Lazer spoke without thinking, “If we weren’t living at the low end of the food chain, maybe we could afford . . .” the words tum- bled out of his mouth. “Lazer!” Detra cut him off before he did any more damage. The glare that erupted across Rand’s face said it all. Without a doubt, Lazer had already crossed that thin, frail line. “I’m working two shifts to make sure we have food on the table and a home to live in,” Rand exploded. “And I won’t have you deni- grating my efforts. Do I make myself clear?” “I . . . I didn’t mean it that way.” Lazer stuttered, desperate to take back what he’d said. Rand stormed out. Detra shot Lazer a look that said, How could you? and followed her husband out of the kitchen. Lazer’s stomach turned. His mouth was rancid with the taste of guilt. Jerk, he thought. He didn’t mean it. It was just what Striker

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had said, and it was stupid. He looked out the window and watched his father comm the hovercraft to start, lift, and open its driver’s side door. Detra ran up to her husband. She touched his face as they spoke for a brief moment. Lazer couldn’t hear their words, but it was obvious from his fa- ther’s demeanor that he was hurt and angry. Rand strapped himself in the craft and, in a moment, was up and accelerating away. Detra’s heart broke as she watched her husband leave. They had been through so much, and she couldn’t help feeling she had run out of all the words a wife could say to make the bad things go away. She watched until Rand’s craft vanished into the faint gray clouds. It wasn’t the cold that made her tremble; Detra felt hor- ribly afraid. She tried to shake off the eerie sense that clung to her like an icy, wet rain: It was the temple, and all my friends that died, and the fact that I lived. The healers had told her she would experience post traumatic effects. Survivor’s something. Detra rubbed the chill from her arms as she watched his hovercraft disappear into the morning mist.

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BEING LAZER

azer’s room was cluttered with numerous sports trophies, L holographic music posters, and a wall of electronic gadgets affordable to a foreman’s kid in 118 A.Q. Blasting from the wall speakers, video game music vibrated in full THX enhanced sound. Lazer sat at the center of his domain, game banging online. He was in a state of pure Zen, in the throes of youthful ecstasy as he engaged in his favorite pastime. Lazer was a double-stick speed jockey and highly-ranked game banger extraordinaire. His thick mane of black, unkempt curls was still a mess and his passage lock bugged him to- day. Since it could only be cut after he survived a series of physical and mental rituals mandatory for social acceptance, he was stuck with it for at least two more years. The game that captured his attention today was a 360-degree, single-player, anti-gravity holograph with liquid hydrogen racers on a polarized, magnetic raceway. Lazer drove his racer with focused intensity and slammed into each gear with a rush of adrenaline that challenged every neuron in his body. He struggled at the edge of life and death in a virtual world. Lazer pressed his left index fi nger into the control yoke and pushed the speedometer into the red zone. The virtual visual trans- lated into his nervous system through the hand controls. He was neck and neck with a black 8000 series, and his hunter green 8500

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was burning hard through a hairpin turn for the lead. The scream of the engines escalated the tension, until reality—in the form of his mother’s voice—broke his concentration. “Lazer, did you fi x the perimeter fence?” his mother called up from the cellar. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was pulling for- ward to pass. “Lazer!” “Almost,” he yelled back. The microsecond of broken focus changed the edge and allowed the black racer to cut him off. The road narrowed into a double lane and Lazer countered, starting his comeback on the inside. “Lazer! We’ve got riders again.” Lazer’s 8500 green meany pulled up beside the black competitor. “Lazer!” “Okay!” But not one major muscle moved. The road narrowed again, this time to a single lane, and the racers headed toward the pinnacle of danger: the fi nal double loops. Lazer was trapped in second place, hot on the tail of the black 8000 as he entered the fi rst loop. Have to pass him now, he thought, as he hung upside down in the top of the fi rst loop. He saw one chance at the top of the second loop. One miscalculation and he would be hurled off the magnetic track and into the stands. Without hesitation, he went for it. At the pivotal moment, he hit the ac- celerator and increased the magnetic pull on the left fl ank of the car. The 8500 strained under the torque required for the feat. Lazer gripped the yoke and defi ed the game’s physics, combining the per- fect balance of gravity and torque. He burned past his opponent and opened up into the straightaway, fl ying across the fi nish line a single microsecond in front of the black 8000. The virtual crowd screamed his name as he blasted across the fi nish line. Right at the peak of triumph, a furious Detra exploded through Lazer’s door. Her usually attractive features were bunched into an expression of complete frustration, which defi ned the parental trials of raising a teenage son. Detra had the same quick temper as her son, especially

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when he tested her patience. Lazer, conqueror and champion, leapt to his feet with a grin so infectious it almost always softened his mother’s anger. “Champion of the world!” he said, as he danced around to his own musical fanfare. Detra gathered her composure and reset her parental glower. “If you’d done that with your studies . . .” “Hey, I got into Tosadae,” he boasted. He swirled her around and whooped triumphantly. Detra tried to hold her stern look but, as usual, she melted and smiled back. “Yeah, barely. Now, fi x the fence and get those riders out of this house.” “On it,” Lazer said, shutting down the holographic raceway im- age. The cheering crowd, fabulous race cars, and shiny futuristic stadiums broke apart into a billion shimmering pieces of light and scattered into thin air. Lazer grabbed a pair of gloves and bounded out of the room chanting, “Master of the universe! Destroyer of all riders! Champion of the world.” Detra smiled, listening as his voice faded away into the lower rooms of the house. Good, bad, trouble or not, she loved him and she would love him more as soon as he got rid of the disgusting rid- ers that had invaded her house.

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RIDERS

azer ran down the stairs into the tiny basement as if he were Lcharging into battle with the light brigade. He crossed the smooth cement fl oor and reached inside the ceiling-to-fl oor metal cabinet that housed his father’s home repair equipment. It was neat- ly organized, every tool in its rightful place. He studied his choice of weapons. He was about to do battle with the enemy, and he would need the right artillery if he hoped to destroy the vile vermin in- vading his backyard. His mother was right about one thing, if left unchecked, it would be only a matter of days before the smells of food from the house brought the invaders inside. The combination of crossed genetics between rat and spider made getting rid of a rider infestation next to impossible. Lazer slipped into a bright yellow, padded protective suit that covered him from head to toe, then chose a narrow, silver, cylindri- cal tank about two feet high. Lazer checked the gauge, relieved it was still three-quarters full with ionomine, and strapped the can- ister onto his back. Several brightly colored POISON, DANGER, and BEWARE labels screamed their warnings from the backside of the tank. Lazer checked the gun-shaped nozzle that protruded from the end of the attached hose and ran a fi nal assessment by pulling the trigger release that controlled the pressure valve in his hand. He turned back to the cabinet and surveyed an array of goggles, masks,

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and helmets his father had acquired over the years of working in the methane mines. They always had the stench of the gasses no matter how many times they had been cleaned or how many years they’d been away from the mines. Lazer selected a protective Plexiglas face mask, then, thinking better of the situation, struggled into a second pair of gloves. “Riders,” he mumbled in disgust. Lazer dropped the clear mask over his face just as a hoard of riders advanced to attack. About thirty of them were already in the house. “I hate riders,” Lazer growled and opened fi re. The ionomine hit the fi rst bunch of riders and disintegrated them with a bubbly hissing sound. The ear-shattering noise of their screams rose in a curtain of pain. Through the open back door, the rest of the advance guard re- treated. Lazer looked outside and assessed that half the riders had stayed focused on the compost heap at the far side of the yard. It was their food. However, for the Lazermans, it was fuel for the convert- er—waste and refuge that would give them heat and light for at least two months. His family’s comfort demanded his success. The other half of the riders, hearing the death screams of their pack brothers, turned to meet the retreating forces. Lazer watched in amazement, as if on command, the advancing riders turned the retreating forces back. They moved like a tiny black river, forcing them around and merging together into a single force. Lazer surmised that they were communicating without words, directing all riders to attack and de- stroy their enemy: Lazer. Lazer barely had stepped outside before he saw them coming. He slammed the back door shut and got a good ten feet farther when a hundred spider-headed riders, with bared needle-sharp teeth, reached fi ring range. They were crawling toward him on eight hairy, tarantula-looking legs. Lazer could see the retracted rat legs protrud- ing from their ugly little bodies. He knew that they could jump both fast and far with all that leg power. Lazer opened fi re, spitting out a stream of electrifi ed ionomine

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mist that covered the fi rst line in a haze of destruction. Again, the high-pitched screams of the riders pierced the air. Thirty vanished, but the majority kept coming at him, converging so fast and from so many different directions that he could barely keep them back. Lazer fi red again. He was young and his refl exes were excellent. He took out another twenty. It looked as though he had the situation under control when, out of nowhere, one of the larger riders leapt from the ground, jumped a good ten feet, and landed on his arm. Lazer’s initial instinct was to panic. He hated riders. The way they looked and smelled was revolting enough, but to have one of them on him, crawling and biting, was completely disgusting. His concentration was wholly diverted into the single task of knocking the hideous creature off his arm. It bit into the protective suit and held on, scratching into the fabric with its rat claws at the same time. The rubber fabric shielded him from the bite, but he could feel the pressure and pinch of strong, tiny teeth. The single diversion was enough to distract Lazer’s attention from the primary task. In the ten seconds he used to defend himself, he stopped the fl ow of the ionomine mist, and fi fty more riders were on him. Multiple riders bit at his shoes and leapt onto his legs and arms. Lazer’s body fl ooded with adrenalin. He gasped in horror. He was losing control of the situation. Frantically, he ripped riders off his arms and legs. The extra gloves he had put on as a safety precaution made the gun handle slippery and, with a desperate twist to pull a rider off his neck, the nozzle was ripped from his hand. It fell onto the ground and disconnected from the hose. The ionomine spilled out onto the earth, useless without the gas mixture that made it le- thal. The pressure valve began to drop. Lazer batted and yanked riders off his arms and shoulders, hurl- ing them across the yard. Again and again they attacked. The group at the compost heap smelled Lazer’s fear. It was as if someone had poured blood into the water of a shark tank. One by one they lifted their heads, sniffi ng the air for the terrifi ed creature that was giving

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off the scent of distress. Unanimously they mobilized, moving to join the attack and fi nish the kill. In that instant, Lazer had gone from a nuisance to food, and food to a rider was always a battle to the death. Lazer looked over and saw the nozzle. He had to get it reattached before he lost full pressure, which would prevent the chemicals from mixing. Then, if he was lucky, he could fi ght. If not, he would have no other choice but to run. Lazer took one step and tripped. His body slammed onto the ground, and the riders covered him in a matter of seconds. He could feel the weight of what must have been a hundred of them, wiggling, biting, and scratching into his suit. Lazer crawled forward, reaching for the nozzle that lay another seven feet from him. A funny sound made him glance up, and that’s when he saw the rest of the pack coming in for the kill. “Spit,” he hissed through his teeth. Lazer felt like Gulliver struggling against the Lilliputians, only as far as he could remember, they didn’t bite. It took all his strength to push himself up on all fours and crawl the remaining few feet to the nozzle. He threw, knocked, and pounded riders off his hands, face mask, and out of his path. Finally, Lazer reached the nozzle. He fumbled for the hose, cursing everything as he dug through the pile of riders that covered it. He grabbed it and shook off the ones that tried to hold on. Now he held the nozzle and the hose but, as he looked up again at the hideous creatures that covered him, a hundred more were closing in. It was obvious he was about to run out of time. Another rush of panic closed in with the force of a vice grip around his throat, cutting off his air. The pinching of a hundred biting teeth that gnawed at his protective suit heightened the fear. Lazer was about to lose his mind. Calm down, he told himself. Breathe and concentrate. They’re riders, dammit, and I am the master of the universe. He repeated the words again and again as he took in a long, full breath and released it. A wave of calm passed through him, and the world

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suddenly narrowed, eliminating all but the sole task of reattaching the hose. The nozzle slipped the fi rst time and then again. Breathe. Lazer took another long, deep breath and released it. His hands steadied and he gently slid the hose back onto the nozzle. He heard the pressure band suck into place and felt the fl ow build up inside. Lazer looked up. The next wave was three feet away. There were hundreds of them. He turned to fi re. Hold it . . . one more second . . . one more. The advancing riders prepared to leap. Lazer fi red. The iono- mine exploded from the nozzle with enough force to knock the advancing riders back a full ten feet. Those that weren’t vaporized retreated, heading out of the break in the fence. The alpha rider knew the fi ght was over and gave out a horrifi c screech. The call summoned the remaining riders that still clung to Lazer to retreat. They obeyed, receding with the speed of an ebbing tide from his body. Lazer had them on the run. He fi red again and again, vaporizing half their pack until he had run them out of the yard and away from the property. He had won. “Master of the universe!!! Destroyer of all riders,” Lazer shouted after them, waving the nozzle in the air in triumph. He watched as the last of the pack disappeared over the hill and vanished back into the wild where they belonged. Lazer grunted, a cave man who had vanquished his enemy. He gave a long sigh of relief, turned, and saw the remains of the battle: half disintegrated rider bodies, creepy spider arms, and petrifi ed rat legs that had been left strewn across the yard. Lazer gave a fi nal shiver. He still had to clean up the remains and fi x the fence.

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A SCHOLARSHIP

azer returned to his room to fi nd Detra gathering dirty L clothes. She was half-dressed in a yellow protective suit, obviously ready to step out and help if she thought the situation warranted it. As far as Lazer was concerned, he wished she had come out with him in the fi rst place. But he had prevailed, and the riders were gone, at least for now. “Did you fi x the fence?” Detra asked, not turning around. Lazer was looking at the holes in his protective suit left by the riders and pondering over how dangerous it would have been had the suit not held. “I put up a patch mod.” “You know that won’t hold, Lazer.” “I still have to make a proton grate. I’ll do it later.” “I though you had a game at ten with Cashton and Kyla,” Detra said nonchalantly. Lazer gasped and checked the time. It was nine forty. Even if he left immediately, he would still be late. “Ah, spit! I gotta go,” Lazer blurted as he scrambled to gather his equipment. “You’ve got to fi x the perimeter fence or they’ll just come back.” “Not here. There’s enough residue ionomine and rider body parts to keep them away,” he said proudly.

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Detra eyed her son. She had to be tough on him. She had to make sure he got his work done. She had promised Rand. But it was Saturday, and he had been on his best behavior since he had been allowed back into school. “Lazer,” she cautioned. “As soon as I get back . . .” “ . . . from taking your father his security control card. You made a deal.” She pointed to the small purple metallic key card that was clipped to his shirt. “Striker’s dad’s there with the master. Besides, dad said I had until noon.” “I don’t know, Lazer,” Detra said, tired from always arguing the point with him. “I’ll get it back. Heart swear.” He crossed his heart and touched his hand to hers. It was a gesture they had done since his childhood, and it meant his most solemn word. “Don’t disappoint me, Lazer. After the breach at the temple last month, everybody’s jumpy. I still can’t believe he let you borrow it.” Her voice trailed off into the sadness of the memory. Lazer stopped. He looked sympathetically at his mother. Three weeks wasn’t enough time for anyone to get over the loss of so many friends and co-workers. But more than the loss, the anger of what had happened to the parents of so many of his friends rose in him. “Just say it: the Black Guard murdered all those people. Why won’t anybody say it?” Lazer demanded. The undertone of anger gave his voice an edge that made him seem older than his years. Detra averted her eyes to hide the guilt that still haunted her as the only person to escape the temple massacre. After all, she had left early that day and missed the attack by only a few moments. “Don’t do that to yourself, Mom,” Lazer said, reading the tur- moil in her face. “I’m glad you had to come to school that day. Probably the only time getting into trouble with the headmaster came to any good.”

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Her eyes searched his for the comfort he offered. Hers held only the pain of loss. “They were supposed to protect us,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Lazer saw the emotions that racked her gentle face and stepped in to give his mother a hug. “Maybe it wasn’t the Black Guard,” she said. “Three underground blogs reported seeing the ocular prints the coroner took. They were hazy, but they said they looked like Black Guard,” he said, referring to the last images of life captured from the eyes of the dead. “Whoever did it, we don’t need it to happen again. So, take that key card to your father,” she spelled out her concerns with each emphatic syllable. “And then, young man, you get right back here and fi x that fence.” Lazer went to gather his things just as a sexy avatar appeared in the computer’s holographic 3-D projection beam. Her life-sized su- perhero body squirmed into a sensual close-up, revealing violet eyes that peeked out from behind a head of platinum, waist-length hair. “Hey, Laze, you got mail,” she said with a dazzling smile. The envelope fl ew in, carried by a CGI version of a genetic splicer. This one was a virtual version of a scarabite, half-hornet/ half-hawk, and nothing you would want to tangle with in the real world. The message opened and the words spilled out, while the audio track played the accompanying voice message. “It’s from Tosadae!” Detra beamed with anticipation. Lazer was nervous and excited. He held his breath. It was from Tosadae Academy’s athletic scholarship fund division. The Tosadae logo fi lled the screen. At its center, a visual replica of the Tosadae gnorb glowed majestically with subtle hues of sapphire and indigo. It looked like a rare jewel as it spun, gracefully fl oating in front of him as it displayed the words: “Light, Life, Love, and the Education of the Soul—All at One with the Universe.” Tosadae represented the world’s premier academy for guardian forces, police, and military

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training. The Tosadae theme song played for eight bars as the letter’s visual resolution unfurled. The audio voice tracked Lazer’s eye move- ment and read out loud the written words. Lazer read the text, trying to jump ahead. “It is with deep regret we inform you that, due to an overabun- dance of qualifi ed applicants, you were not selected for this year’s zoccair scholarship.” The authoritative voice spoke with little com- passion, as it carried the horrifi c news that his family would have to come up with all the tuition money by themselves. When the message retreated, it took with it all his hopes and dreams of becoming a Politia pilot. Detra looked at her son’s expression and felt his pain. Lazer knew what she was thinking. He panicked. “But I still get to go? Right? Right?” Detra’s expression said everything. The loss of her job, the meager salary her husband brought in, and the expense of such a prestigious school meant denying her son his greatest dream. “Mom?” “I don’t know,” she turned to make a hasty exit. Lazer was on her heels, desperation in every step. “Maybe you can work at the mines for a few years and . . . I just don’t know,” she mumbled, not looking back. “I have to go this year.” Detra turned to face him. “We’ll talk to your father when he gets home.” “He’ll just say I’m a loser again.” Lazer’s words carried the bite of too many recent arguments with his father. “Your father loves you. He gave you that card because he be- lieves in you.” She said pointing to the security card. “He gave it to me because he knows his boss is there with the other one. I’ll keep my promise but he’s got to keep his.” She stopped, unable to deal with what she knew would be com- ing once Rand found out there was no scholarship. She changed tactics.

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“Right now, just get his security card to him. Go!” Detra had often listened to the arguments her son’s rebellious attitude had ig- nited with her husband. She had seen the wedge that stuck between what was once a great love and their current relationship. She knew it was only the growing pains of two males fi ghting for respect—the evolution from a boy into a man and the father who must accept him as an equal. Detra knew that, in spite of his anger, Lazer’s father worshipped him. A fact he would tell everyone at the drop of a hat, except the one person who needed to hear it most: Lazer. “Look, you still have time for a quick game with your friends if you hurry.” She checked her sponder. Lazer looked at the pass card. He was certain that losing the scholarship would only widen the gap between father and son and become one more disappointment for his father to fl ing back in his face. He glanced back at the words that still fl oated in the middle of his room. His life had just crashed and burned.

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THE VACARY MINES

he Vacary Methane Mines consisted of natural vent shafts T that fi ngered up from Earth’s core. The gaping holes poked deep into the red earth, plunged through the island’s crust, cut deep into the icy Atlantic, and bored through the rocky crust of the ocean fl oor. From each hole, massive silvery tubes stabbed through pockets cut in the core and sucked up gasses from fathoms below. In contin- uous rhythm, they gathered each precious molecule into enormous onion-shaped collectors that ringed the complex. Methane gas min- ing was Atlantia’s most profi table revenue resource and had helped the evolving country survive the treasure hunters who fi rst inhabited the soggy lands after the Great Quakes brought Atlantia up from the bottom of the sea. The work at Vacary was hard, and some miners compared the foul odor that hung around the shafts to socks worn steadily for a year without washing. The fumes would stick to the miners’ skin and turn it chalky gray if they weren’t mindful of infi nitesimal tears in their environmental suits. Rand Lazerman was the lead foreman of the mines. He loved his wife and, though he would never say it out loud, he loved his son. Rand knew Lazer was the kind of boy who needed him to be strong, so he was. He also knew mining was not the job for a boy with Lazer’s talents as a pilot. The thought that his son’s young life

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would end in the shafts haunted Rand, and he knew his son’s desires all too well. Rand had given up his own dreams and resigned him- self to the mines a long time ago. But Rand Lazerman had a family, and he had worked long and hard to move through the ranks at the mines to give them a better life. He was dedicated, focused, and tough on everyone, especially Lazer, and their relationship suffered because of it. Rand’s mind was not on Lazer at the moment; it was on the se- ries of problems that had been plaguing the complex all day. Glitch after glitch frustrated his every effort and made the heat from the mines feel all the more uncomfortable. Rand moved across the cen- tral complex, past the main shaft, and checked the readouts that monitored the fl ow of methane for each shaft. The levels were low. There was a blockage in the vents, and that meant someone would have to go inside and see what was jamming the methane before it built up pressure and blew. An engineer in orange overalls approached. His skin had dete- riorated to foggy ice, cracked and wrinkled from too many days in the Atlantian sun and far too many years exposed to the methane. The engineer handed Rand an electronic clipboard, which he stud- ied. Rand calculated the numbers and thumbprinted his approval before he handed it back. “Heard Lazer made Tosadae,” the engineer said, smiling. Rand nodded as if it were expected. “Tapped him for fi ghter training. Boy should have been born with wings.” The engineer laughed. “He’s no splicer.” It was a racist statement, but Rand wasn’t in the mood to con- front him. Instead, he thought of Lazer’s achievement and gave a grin that mirrored Lazer’s charm. He was proud of his son. The engineer pounded one hand to his heart in a V salute remi- niscent of the Micronesian Mutant Wars in 101 A.Q., in which they had both fought. It was a short, violent war started by a rebellious species whose only crime was to be the product of a group of scien- tists hungry to cash in on the clone and splicer market of 91 A.Q. In

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the ensuing years, they had illegally mass produced multiple strains of genetics. It took only a few short decades for the weaker genes to mutate, not just in the bizarre creatures but also in those with a dominance of human genetics. They were people with distorted features and unstable minds, unable to comprehend the megaloma- niacs who abused them. The salute gave homage to Rand and all those who had fought in the Corporate Politia Forces to free the mutants from the vicious slave trade. Rand returned the reverent exchange, and the engineer walked away, fading into the drone of life as usual. But it wasn’t life as usual, not since the attack on the Orbis Temple. Rand tried to shrug off the feeling of doom that had hung over him all day. He lifted the arm that held his wristsponder and sent another urgent instant message to Detra: “Where’s Lazer with my security card?” The little communicator’s LED chronograph silently counted the seconds. A moment later Detra pinged back, “He’s on his way.” Rand’s boss, the owner of the Vacary Mines, kept the master key. He had not come in yet, and his absence this morning made Rand nervous. What he heard next was the fi rst inkling of why. Over the hiss of the mines, he suddenly heard the roar of hy- drogen jets. They belonged to the Black Guard patrols that fl ew overhead several times each day to check on the mines. They were state-of-the-art Shadehawk peacekeeper hovercrafts, put in place fi f- teen years earlier as the guardian forces that protected all of Atlantia. But security had only been an illusion. For some unknown reason, the incident at the Orbis Temple was not enough for the Atlantian council to recall the Black Guard or rescind their protectorate du- ties. The appeal to the ruling Triumvirate, who governed the world from their ivory towers in Sangelino, was sunk in political mire. Rand wished they would send in the corporate Politia forces. But everyone knew Atlantia wasn’t under corporate control, at least not yet. The Atlantians had been left to handle the situation without world support.

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The sound that drew Rand’s eyes to the sky and made his heart pound was that of a second Shadehawk. It broke the horizon, stopped next to the fi rst, and scanned the facility with its electric green tracer beam. The fi rst Shadehawk had been hovering for about fi ve minutes. It was not unusual for one to stop and observe, but it was unheard of for two. Rand didn’t like it. He hit his sponder. “Mr. McMann, good morning. I thought you were scheduled to be on site this morning. Will you be in soon?” Rand asked politely. The tiny face that hovered above Rand’s wristsponder was that of his boss, Leland McMann. Some feed interference was breaking up his reception, but the holo-image was enough to show the re- semblance between the father and his son, Striker. Rand understood Lazer’s dislike for Striker. In truth, he felt the same way about his boss; however, social protocol didn’t allow him to act on his feelings as freely as Lazer did on his. “You must have missed my V-mail, Lazerman. I’m on a trans- port to Sangelino. The Security Council changed our meeting to two. I’m already in transit. Is there something I can help you with?” McMann asked. “I’m sure I can handle it until you get back,” Rand said, feeling more and more uncomfortable by the second. “I’ll be in fi rst thing tomorrow.” Leland McMann signed off. A couple of the mine researchers approached a mesmerized Rand. “Are you looking at this?” the taller of the two said through the speaker in his pale yellow environmental suit. His eyes were locked on the hovering Shadehawks. “I thought they couldn’t cluster.” “So did I,” Rand responded. The smaller man produced some vials fi lled with a thick purple and orange liquid that swirled inside the glass. The water fi lters were showing high levels of methane concentration, probably due to the clog in the vents. Rand pulled his focus back to his job and, with a last glance, let all thoughts of the troublesome Shadehawks go.

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A GAME OF ZOCCAIR

azer’s L-class Zakki 5000 hovercraft had seen better days. L But even used and rebuilt, it was a high-end air bike. It cut through the Atlantian sky like a streak of cobalt blue in forward mo- tion. It tracked low and fast across the Titanic Valley, so named for the decaying remains of the SS TITANIC, whose rusted carcass had been enshrined in a museum, a morbid memorial park in honor of its historic journey. Beyond the park lay the remains of enormous ancient statues that had survived time and risen from the sea, cra- dled in the soft sandy soil of Atlantia. Giant heads, feet, and hands left from Earth’s fi rst inhabitants faced the sky. These ancient aliens, whose features mirrored a fusion of humans and amphibians, with their gills and wide lipless mouths gaping open in a frozen, silent scream, stared up at him. Lazer careened over the relics, feeling as though their muted voices mocked him, reminded him he would not be going to Tosadae. He was a madman fl eeing the sting of his lost dreams. His heart tumbled into a black hole of hopelessness. Lazer let the warm spring wind slap his face and whip the fabric of his jacket and patch pocket pants into a rhythmic pulse—a dirge that underscored Lazer’s anger and disappointment. In the distance, the hum of the mines called to him. They taunt- ed him with his inevitable future. Lazer shook off the sadness. He had to, for the sheer sake of sanity. He ignored the haunting voices

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in his mind. Take the key early. But he couldn’t go there, not now, not yet. He would take his father the security key as soon as he told his friends the game was off. Lazer slowly descended, landing the Zakki on the hill adjacent to the mines. He swung his long leg over the seat and dismounted, a bowlegged cowboy stepping from his steed. He felt his heart skip a beat when he glanced at the mines one more time. His gut pulled at him, but he still had time to keep his promise. “Lazerman! My next invention is gonna be a time band implant- ed up your butt.” Cashton never got used to Lazer always being late. Cashton saw himself as the real brains of their dynamic duo, but admitted he lacked the motivation to implement most of his audacious ideas. More often than not, the numerous inventions he did manage to create tanked miserably, but that never stopped him from trying. Also waiting, and obviously irritated, was Striker McMann. Striker stepped out from behind a six-by-six titanium generator and velcroed his fl y. “You get it?” he snapped. “My old man needs it by twelve. I’m gonna bounce. We have to call a rematch,” Lazer said. The group moaned their disapproval. “Not on your life, dip. You’re the cretin that’s late.” Striker grabbed the purple key card that peeked from Lazer’s pocket and jumped back out of reach. “Give it back, Striker!” Lazer’s hand jutted out to snatch it, but Striker was too fast. “That game was a one-point fl uke. No way are you weaseling out of this. Coward!” Lazer stopped. It was the word coward. His body tightened, racked with the tension of a rubber band ready to pop. The ex- tra insult fanned the fl ame and fueled not just the indignation that would come when people found out about the loss of his scholar- ship, but also his longstanding rivalry with Striker. The challenge

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of bravery opened one of Lazer’s deepest and oldest wounds. It had long festered, putrefying in his heart and choking him with the ran- cid stench of a dead skunk left rotting by the roadside. It was too strong for Lazer to ignore, and Striker knew it. Lazer had ignored Striker’s challenges once before and paid for it dearly with years of abuse from his classmates. It would not happen again. The gauntlet was thrown down and had to be taken up. Lazer checked Cashton’s time band. He had forty minutes, enough to crush Striker like an insignifi cant bug and still get the key to his father by noon. “Bring it on, dip,” Lazer replied. Striker jammed the card into the huge generator and coded in the numbers for the launch sequence. The proton generator pulsed, fl ashed, and bellowed to life. “Lazer, what are you doing?” A raspy voice called out, irritated by the way Striker had goaded Lazer. The voice belonged to Kyla. She pulled off her favorite, logo- laden cap and released her long, mousy brown ponytail, letting it fl op free. She wore a teal blue, boat neck, leather-like jacket and a micro- fi ber loin panel designed like a Persian rug that hung with fringe and shells over her tattered denim leggings. The loiners, totally unisex, were the fashion rage. Kyla’s accented her long shapely legs. She was taller and thinner since the Orbis Temple attacks, and in three lanky strides, she got to the generator and reached for the card. “Give it back,” she demanded in her toughest voice. “What’s it to you, splicer?” Striker grabbed her hand and twisted it. He enjoyed the pained expression that fl ashed across her face be- fore she pushed the feelings away. “Let her go!” Lazer commanded. Cashton stepped forward to show his support with Evvy right behind him. Striker complied. Kyla wasn’t the fi ght he wanted; today, it was the game. Besides, Cashton was a pit bull when it came to a fi stfi ght; Striker had learned that lesson the hard way on more than one occasion.

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“This’ll be over in a heartbeat,” Lazer said to Kyla. She rubbed the reddened skin left by Striker’s vice grip on her wrist. It stung, hot as an Indian burn delivered from a mean big brother. “You okay?” Evvy asked, never taking her eyes off Striker. Kyla nodded yes. She hated Striker and anyone he called a friend. Kyla stepped closer to Lazer. “When are you going to learn that what he says doesn’t matter?” she whispered to Lazer. “Forget it,” Lazer snapped, as he pulled his gear from the trunk of the Zakki. “So what if you’re a splicer.” Cashton and Evvy exchanged a look. Kyla recoiled at his words. She was embarrassed about her ge- netics since their return to live with humans. Her mother had been kidnapped and forced to mate with a half-man/half-moth—one of countless stories of creatures that slaughtered their masters and stole the children in order to breed their twisted genetics into humanity. Kyla was registered as a splicer although she had been raised human. Being a splicer had an array of distinct social disadvantages, but for every disadvantage there was always an advantage or two, depending on the genetic cross. One amazing gift that Kyla possessed was her ability to read emotional auras. Today, Lazer’s hung from his pores like milky sap from a dying tree. He was uncomfortable with her talents, though it had saved their butts on more than one occasion. “Who rained on your day?” she asked with genuine concern. After all, Lazer had been her fi rst and dearest friend, and she was worried about the feelings she saw—ghostly shadows that played with his skin tones and circled around him in shades of pale blue sadness ringed by black frustration. Lazer shot her a look. She was reading him. He knew it and hated it but, before he could respond, a Plexiglas box jutted from the gen- erator. It was time to play. The group gathered the rest of their gear and entered. From the generator’s side, a shutter-like door fanned open and a clear bubble of pure proton belched out. It formed a haze of subatomic particles that instantly fused together and expanded,

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fi lling a space the size of a football fi eld and three times as high. The crystal clear balloon expanded across the sky and settled into an extremely fi rm, but supple, almost impenetrable oval sphere. Once stabilized, the proton playing fi eld, with its soft grassy base, would allow the players to run in all directions, including upside down. The rules were simple: no hands, only feet and heads. Zoccair was the sport of the century—soccer without gravity. “Who brought the ball?” Lazer called out. “Me. That way nobody cheats,” Cashton said, looking at Striker. Cashton pulled a tiny orange ball from his pocket and used both hands to twist it. It infl ated into a nine-inch magnetic sphere, made of solid rubber and weighing only a few pounds. When in play, it would pull to and repel through the thin layers of gravity that hung along the outer surfaces of the dome and the ground. “Better not be one of those lame inventions of yours. I know the last one was programmed to come only to you,” Striker chided. “Prove it,” Cashton challenged him. “It’s regulation. Check for yourself.” Cashton showed him the regulation seal. “What was your other ball supposed to do?” Evvy whispered. “Come to me.” Cashton smiled back guiltily. “I didn’t have it on. Swear up.” The Plexiglas box collapsed, allowing them to step onto the enclosed fi eld. Striker’s team pulled on their form-fi tting, bronzed, plastic body armor that would turn a warm gold once it detected their body heat. Those who wore them tucked in the front panel of their loiners and adjusted their matching helmets, wrist guards, ankle cuffs, and footless boots. The boots, when clamped into place, pulsed with multicolored bands of light that read the gravitational pull of the play surfaces. A palm pad controller attached to each wrist guard allowed them to stick and fall off the magnetic surfaces at will. Lazer and his team strapped in. They reversed their jackets to expose the padding and secured the banners, club sashes, and short team loiners that always hung from the back. Kyla struggled with her

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ankle cuff clasps. Her boots were old, scuffed, and too tight. She’d had them for years. The frayed edges at the top crawled around her ankles with the gracelessness of two ugly caterpillars. Lazer’s weren’t much better, but they would do. Striker and his boys were equipped with state-of-the-art gaming equipment, while Lazer and his team were a patchwork of whatever they could salvage. Everyone knew they were better athletes, and that was all that mattered. They geared up and got ready to rumble. “Let’s do it. You’re already a waste of my time,” Striker sneered. Kyla watched Striker’s face contort to match his emotions; the meaner he acted, the uglier he got. His aura was pale gray with anger, but Kyla saw the green of jealousy that revealed his deeper feelings. Lazer buckled himself into his gear. Cashton, already suited up and ready for action, turned and noticed Kyla. He could tell she was still hurt from Lazer’s comment. She struggled with her gear and clandestinely wiped a tear from her eye. No one but Cashton saw. He always saw. Cashton didn’t need to read auras to tell when Lazer had wounded Kyla. He had said she was a splicer, and that’s what hurt. He knew Lazer didn’t mean it to be bad or hurtful, and somewhere in her heart so did Kyla. Lazer, on the other hand, didn’t have a clue. Cashton nudged his friend and gestured for Lazer to go help Kyla. “You did it again,” Cashton said. It took a second for him to fi gure out Cashton’s meaning, but Lazer got the point. This was an old problem. Lazer crossed to Kyla to apologize and offer to help secure her tattered buckles. “You’re blue. Pale blue,” she whispered, studying Lazer. She felt nervously unable to control herself. “Don’t start, Kyla. You know I don’t like it when you read me,” he said. “What happened?” She searched him harder. She wished she could read minds, but most times colors were enough. Then it made sense and her eyes widened. “You lost the scholarship. Oh, Laze, I’m so sorry,” she whispered

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with the compassion only a childhood friend could muster. “I’ll get there,” he said. His voice was fi lled with determination, but laced with doubt. “I didn’t know splicers could play zoccair,” Chad Mack called out as he approached Striker. Chad had a man-in-the-moon face and a fat neck as thick as the broad old Australian twang that lin- gered in his South Republic accent. Chad leaned on Striker and studied Kyla. “They can’t, at least not worth spit in my data banks.” Striker grinned. “I got ape girl’s genetics,” Striker’s cohort said with a nod to Evvy. “But, I’m serious. Federation rules say that one can’t play if she’s got wings. Right?” “They playin’ a bat or a bug?” one of the other boys chided, staring at Kyla. “I ain’t playing with no bats,” another player from Striker’s gang blurted as he fl apped his arms, mocking Kyla. Striker’s team broke into a roar of laughter. Evvy stepped forward with her fi sts clenched. Kyla stopped her, trying to hide the blush that fl ooded her cheeks. She turned away and gathered her courage, forcing her breath to slow and her unshed tears to dissipate. “Don’t let these cretins bother you, Ky.” Evvy growled, letting her animal genetics lift her hackles. “They play what they got. Long as she doesn’t use ‘em, I don’t care if she’s a fl ying roach,” Striker said. “Jam it, Striker!” Cashton shouted. “You got your match.” “Kyla doesn’t need wings to beat you; all she needs to be is a girl,” Lazer added. Striker’s eyes narrowed. He lunged past Lazer and punched the generator’s antigravity launch controls. “Go zero!” Striker shouted. Everyone punched his or her palm controls. Across the upper dome, an energy wave rippled along its surface.

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In a millisecond, the entire environment went into reverse gravity, which meant anyone not clamped into his or her boots was in deep trouble. Kyla and Lazer were not. They shot straight up, fast and out of control. Lazer grabbed Kyla and fl ipped them upside down. He punched his palm pad. It slowed the rush of mo- mentum by half. A moment later, they slammed feet fi rst into the ceiling. Lazer, clamped in and turned on, adjusted the gravitational fl ow and secured himself to the ceiling by his feet. Kyla dropped onto the ceiling and struggled frantically with her boots. She knew she had at best only a few seconds to clamp in, but the buckles wouldn’t lock. Gravity reversed. A curtain of falling energy descended, drag- ging everything downward. It settled and hovered at the middle of the dome, swirling into an elliptical pool at the centermost point. It was easy to see the thick mass of energy that pulled anything not locked up or down toward its core. Lazer was locked on, hanging helpless as a bat in sunlight. Kyla was sucked downward. She screamed as she dropped. Lazer grabbed her. This time she grabbed back, clutching his breastplate. The bright orange ball was jerked toward the ceiling, then sucked back into and through the swirling vortex, spit out the other side, and hammered against the side wall of the dome. It hit with such force it compressed the ball by half and reminded all of them of the danger Kyla faced if she fell. The vortex sucked the ball back inside and spit it out again and again. “Striker, you spit! You could have killed them,” Cashton roared, still unable to move. They all watched helplessly. “Gee, ya think?” Striker replied, feigning innocence. Cashton grabbed for the key card that still hung half-in/half-out of the generator. “You want me to reverse?” he called up to Lazer, not knowing what else to do. “No! Let it stabilize,” Lazer shouted back. “Use your wings,” he whispered to Kyla. “No.”

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“I can’t hold you. Use your wings. Do it!” Lazer felt her weight pull on his cuffs. The frayed edges bit into the fl eshy parts of his feet. The cuffs were old and long overdue for replacement. The power bar readouts screamed and fl ashed as they went into overload and began to signal a short. One by one, the level lights that rimmed his cuffs fl ickered and dimmed, warning of the inevitable. They would both fall if Kyla didn’t do something. Kyla’s hands began to slip. She dropped a few more inches and then grabbed for another piece of padded armor. She yelped, slipped, and screamed again. “Use your wings!” Lazer demanded, knowing he was losing power in his left ankle cuff. Kyla lost her grip on Lazer’s chest padding and slipped again. “Kyla!” This time he was begging. “Please, Lazer.” Her terror wasn’t enough to make her expose her genetics. She would die fi rst. Her hands had begun to sweat, giving more power to the g- forces pulling at her. Below, everyone watched, waiting, counting each agonizing sec- ond as they waited for the stabilizers to activate. One of Lazer’s cuffs fl ickered out and his foot released. They dangled, three hundred feet in the air, by his one leg. The other cuff was about to give out. Kyla would take Lazer with her if she didn’t fl y. Still, she refused. Suddenly, the stabilizers whined up to speed and sounded the all-clear tone. “Cashton! Raffe!” Lazer barely got their names out when they both took off running. They crossed the fi eld and turned ninety degrees, running up the right side of the dome. Evvy and Giger, another of Lazer’s teammates, went up the left wall. Giger, Cashton, Evvy, and Raffe reached the center, just above the swirling vortex, jumped, and propelled themselves upward. A series of tucks and rolls sent them sideways as they bounced and leapfrogged to the top. The three boys and Evvy clamped onto the ceiling, engaged their palm controls, and locked on upside down.

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They raced to Lazer and Kyla from both directions. “Can’t . . . hold . . . on.” She grimaced as she slipped another inch. “Cashton!” Kyla screamed, slipping out of Lazer’s hold. In the last moment before he lost her, Lazer swung her to Cashton with the grace of a well-tuned trapeze act, except Cashton missed and Kyla fell. “Kyla!” Evvy screamed out, reaching but just missing Kyla’s hand. It was a one hundred-foot drop straight down to the unstable vortex and another two hundred to the ground. Her eyes widened and her survival instinct took over. With a great whoosh, her massive wings ripped through her shirt, unfurling like two glorious silk fl ags. They were amazing. A twelve-foot span of russet, chocolate, and tan with long swallow tails, tipped in black and gold and adorned with big white circles. She fl ew, struggling to defy the gravity below her. Her wings beat the air with the slow-motion thump of helicopter blades catching the thermals. Just like the day at the bilyon caves, the strain etched on her face made it obvious that she rarely used them, but they worked. In the end, she had chosen life over ego. Her body lifted, and in a graceful arch she fl ew to her team and set her feet on the ceiling. She hated Striker more than ever. Cashton’s expression was apology enough. Her other teammates, as well as Striker’s, stared in awe at the magnifi cent wings that beat to hold her while Evvy and Raffe secured her boot clamps. Finally strapped in her gear, Kyla engaged her palm pad and fl ipped upside down, locking herself to the dome’s surface. She gave one last embarrassed look to Lazer, the only opinion she cared about, and then folded her brown and black wings into the fl aps of skin that grew from her back. The skin fl aps, red and swollen from the strain, folded over her retracted wings. The mounds were still visible through her torn shirt. Lazer fussed over his boots, trying to stabilize the power bar readout that blinked red and white, warning him that his power status was low from the strain. It meant he didn’t have full power

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for play, but Lazer didn’t care. He ignored the caution lights that fl ickered at him and focused his attention on Striker. As far as he was concerned, this was a fi ght to the death. “Splicers,” Striker hissed to himself, disgusted by the thought. “Today, Lazerman. Before I’m dead.” He yelled. The gravity levels stabilized, and he and his cohorts propelled into position. The goal nets, moving targets for the players, launched at either end of the fi eld. Two fl oating cubes—one a vibrant red and one an electric purple—slowly rose and fell. The orange ball bobbed in and out, caught in the gentle gravity belt that swirled at the center. It was time to play. Cashton pushed off the ceiling into a perfect dive, free-falling through the swirling force fi eld that still hung at the center of the dome. He grabbed the orange ball and landed on the wall, then bounced back through the vortex. He shot the ball between Lazer and Striker. Striker and Lazer released their gravity locks and dove for the ball. “Game on!” Cashton called.

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TIME

bove the Vacary Mines, a third Shadehawk slid into what was Anow obviously an attack formation. Several of the crewmen had stopped work and were watching with apprehension, wondering why no one had launched the security dome. Rand had thought of nothing else, but he needed the pass card, and Lazer hadn’t arrived yet. He stepped from his offi ce and joined some of his men. Their eyes were focused on the sky, and none of them liked what they saw. Rand nervously checked his sponder, glancing away only momen- tarily from the Shadehawks to look for a message from Detra. His other hand groped toward his card chain, fi ngering the empty hook that had always held the purple security pass card. Why did I give it to Lazer? He wondered. Because I trusted him. A fourth Shadehawk drifted into formation. “Come on, Lazer,” he whispered to himself. The older engineer approached Rand. His eyes were fi lled with intense concern. “You better throw the security shield and call some- body,” he warned. Who? Rand thought to himself. The old engineer stopped when he saw the fear on Rand’s face. In that moment, he understood the hopelessness of the situation. For some reason there was no security shield, and they both knew there was no one to call but the Black Guard.

—| 70 |—

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“Get everyone inside!” Rand shouted. He ordered everyone in earshot to move away from the mine shafts and take cover. He had bought Lazer a sponder to give him when he graduated, but that was a surprise. He cued up his sponder to call Detra, but hesitated to speak the words out loud: Dearest love, you are in my heart. Please know I will watch over you every second the sun and stars shine on your face. Feel my love in their light, and always believe I love you. Yours forever, Rand. But there was no more time, so he punched in only the words: I love you.

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SHOTS

bove the clear proton dome, the fi ery white of Atlantia’s noon- A time sun gleamed high in the sky. The game of zoccair was in full play. Lazer and Striker were the team forwards. They called the plays and set the strategies. The players ran up and across the curved walls, jumped, fl ipped, and slammed down to the ground. They dove and tumbled with the power and grace of gymnasts across and above the soft earth and tangled weeds that covered their battlefi eld. Lazer twisted into a back fl ip, propelled into a handspring off a side wall, and was about to slam the ball with his head when Striker countered and body-slammed Lazer. He sent him careening into the side wall so hard it rippled the proton particles into concentric waves that billowed out across the glistening surface. Striker leapt in, took control, and head-butted the ball back to his team. Cashton was goalie. Kyla, Raffe, Evvy, and Giger were midfi eld- ers. They intercepted, shouldered, and kicked the ball through the central gravity ellipse, which recharged the ball’s magnetic center and spit it back out into play. The orange orb caught the side wall and rolled. Giger kicked it and sent it spiraling over the expanse of the fi eld. It was stolen and recovered by Raffe with a head butt, whacking it away from the opposition’s goal. “Goal! One o’clock! Descending!” Kyla shouted in the midst of a parallel slide down the wall. She hit her palm control and dropped,

—| 72 |—

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free-falling through the ellipse directly under the ball, which had started to fl oat. She stabilized and fl ipped the ball with her feet to Lazer, who kicked it midair toward their home-team goal. At the critical moment, the shot was blocked and intercepted by Teton Waxman, a white-haired, muscle-headed midfi elder with a constellation of red pimples mapped across his pale face. He jet- ted straight up the fi eld and pressed hard along the upper canopy, making a beeline to his destination with the precision of a tactical missile. Teton kicked out, then propelled off the dome and head- slammed the ball with a vicious punt directly to Cashton’s guard. The ball fl ew straight for the red goal, which rose and fell—an open- ended cube made of glowing plastic pipes. The ball was dead on to score as Cashton shot down and blocked it away. Striker countered with a perfect diagonal dive from the roof of the dome, kicking the ball straight back into the goal. Cashton lunged, defl ected, and blocked the shot. No score. Striker turned on his team. “Where’s my defense? You pile of drool! Play up! Time!” he shouted, breathless from the play. His furi- ous outburst stopped everyone. Kyla swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath, when something else caught her eye. She was hanging upside down from the top of the dome but righted herself, fl oating in place, for a better look. Behind Cashton she could see fi ve Shadehawks surrounding the mines. They hovered in a perfect circle formation. “Lazer!” she shouted, astounded by the sight. She pointed at what, in the past, they all had known to be a complete impossibility. One by one the players all turned, following Kyla’s gaze. “Lazer!” she yelled again. “I see it,” he responded, a cold chill running down his spine as he watched. “Come on, nanoheads. Play or forfeit!” Striker gave no thought to the danger that loomed behind him. “I thought Shadehawks couldn’t cluster,” Cashton said. “They can’t,” Lazer answered.

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“Who cares? It’s not noon. Game on!” Teton shouted, still out of breath. “Lazer, your dad!” Kyla said. Lazer looked at the tail of the security card that stuck out from the generator a hundred feet away. Terror washed over him. “Who’s got a wristsponder? I gotta call . . .” His words were cut short by the Shadehawks as they opened fi re. Pure deuterium discharged from the Shadehawks’ blasters, send- ing ashen hot streaks of searing molecules into the central structures of the mines and burning huge holes in the titanium casings. The pressure released the methane into the air, which was instantly heat- ed by the deuterium. The fi rst blast ruptured a massive section of piping that spidered out from the central shafts. One after another, explosions shattered the complex into fragmented pieces as enor- mous fi reballs devoured the structures. Finally, the central towers ignited. The sound was as deafening as a colossal throbbing hur- ricane and global quake striking simultaneously. The concussion of the blast reached the proton dome. It slammed against the protective force fi eld and shook Lazer and the rest of the players with a series of shockwaves. Everyone stared, un- able to move, horrifi ed at what they were witnessing. “Spit,” was all that Cashton managed to say. Lazer’s mind raced. His heart pounded. My father! He had to reach his father, get him the card. “Open the dome!” Lazer shouted to Cashton, who stood closest to the generator. “Gimme the card!” Lazer demanded as he bolted toward Cashton. “What?” Cashton half-turned in disbelief, not willing to accept the command he had just heard from his best friend. He wanted to face him but was compelled to watch the holocaust outside. “The card!” Lazer reached for the card that dangled in front of him. Cashton woke up to the reality of what Lazer was about to do, and instinct took over. Cashton was a wall of moving muscle, and

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every fi ber of his being screamed for him to stop his friend at all costs. Cashton stepped in and blocked Lazer, slamming his weight against him and knocking him down to the ground. Lazer righted himself, jumped back, and lunged at Cashton, but Cashton stood fi rm. Lazer tried to shove him out of the way. Cashton grabbed him and the two friends wrestled. Cashton might have been bigger, but a surge of adrenaline ripped through Lazer. Lazer was winning. The rest of the teams powered in. Striker got there fi rst, snatched Lazer, and shoved him back. “No! We don’t shut down!” Striker screamed. “Your father’s in there, too!” Lazer pleaded. “Why doesn’t he use the master card?” “I don’t know,” Striker responded. He was as confused as Lazer. “He’ll do it, just wait.” “Expand the dome!” Kyla said, offering a compromise. “It has to be done from his side,” Lazer said. “Something’s wrong. He needs the pass card.” Kyla read his guilt. The aura that circled his body was a sick, puce green. His desperation shot out as rays of deep purple. Another explosion reverberated off their dome. It was all that stood between them and death. Lazer grabbed Cashton by his breastplate and shouted, “Let me out!” Cashton was torn between the pleas of his friend and the hor- rifying danger that loomed outside the proton energy fi eld that separated them from the attackers. “No, Lazer. Think. We can’t open the dome in time to do any- thing but expose ourselves to the same danger.” “Somebody help me!” Lazer screamed as he ripped the face panel off the generator to get to the manual power bar. Striker tackled him, slamming him hard against the generator. Lazer twisted his body and hurled Striker up and away. Striker’s boys stepped in and grabbed Lazer. “My father’s in there, too.” Striker said, sick with fear. “Opening the dome won’t help them. And we both know if they wanted to,

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that many peacekeepers could blast through any dome.” Another blast from the Shadehawks tore into the mine’s admin- istration buildings. Inside were the lunchroom, offi ces, and assembly chambers. Today it was where the miners had taken their fi nal sanctu- ary. The next explosion brought everyone to attention, for behind its rumble rose the screams of the men and women as they burned alive. The diversion caused the boys to let go of Lazer, and again Lazer grabbed for the controls. This time it was Kyla who blocked him. “It’s too late!” she screamed at him. Lazer shoved her aside. Now both teams encircled him. They threw him to the ground and held him down. Kyla’s eyes fi lled with tears. She covered her ears to block the screams of the dying miners. Lazer struggled. Kyla knelt next to him. “If you open the dome, they’ll kill us, too,” she said, pleading with him. “Listen to them! We gotta help them!” Lazer said, trembling with fear and rage. “We’ll die!” Striker shouted back at him. “Stop it,” Kyla yelled at Striker and the others. The screams from the miners amplifi ed and echoed against the hills. This time Kyla did not cover her ears. Finally, accepting the inevitable, Lazer pushed them off and struggled to his feet, exhausted. Cashton looked at his friend. He wanted to reach out, place a sympathetic hand on Lazer’s shoul- der, but he didn’t have the chance. Lazer jerked away from them all and stumbled forward to the edge of the invisible dome. He was in shock. Tears welled in his eyes. A series of concussions from the explosions pummeled the dome. Lazer watched as huge billows of white and orange smoke belched upward, carried higher and higher by fl ames that licked up at the darkening sky. Through the smoke they could see glimpses of the plant as it melted into a liquid mass of molten metal and slowly collapsed in on itself. The screams stopped, leaving a haunting silence that fi lled their

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ears until they heard an even more frightening sound—the engines of the fi ve Shadehawks, powering up out of hover speed. They backed away from the mines and rotated to face the zoccair dome. Lazer and his group stood motionless, awaiting their fate. Not understanding why, Kyla moved protectively in front of Lazer. “Please, Lazer. Don’t move. Please,” she begged. She turned back, still blocking his body with hers, to look at the approaching Shadehawks. Lazer was too stunned to respond. His eyes, like everyone else’s, were locked on the approaching ships. Slowly, surreally, the fi ve Shadehawks drifted out of formation and fl oated across the valley. The sound of their engines grew louder as they encircled the dome and hovered, still, ominous. They settled into attack position. From the nose of the lead ship, a thin, green beam of laser light scanned the proton dome, trying to read its occupants. No one inside took a breath. Fate held them in the palm of its hand and determined if they should live or die. Kyla felt the tracer beam move across her face; Lazer was shielded behind her. From inside the lead Shadehawk, the same featureless Black Guard that led the temple attacks observed its prey. It watched, as- sessing the frail insignifi cant creatures who stood helplessly below. This time, there were no cameras to destroy, only a few human wit- nesses. The dual band of green lights pulsed with increased intensity as the biodroid interpreted a series of subtle synapse charges that tingled inside its core strands. They were more than an electrical transference of information or the mechanical surge of digital im- pulses. The biodroid had already experienced thought—cognitive, conscious realities, and even imagination—but this was a new sensa- tion. Its nanoband reference modules searched their memory banks. The biodroid pondered what could only be its fi rst emotion, which came in a calm fl uid rush, coursed through the metallic body, and melted into the organic strands and membranes. It gave the biodroid a sense of contentment. Was this compassion for these wide-eyed creatures that stood in terror before him?

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It carefully studied the readouts from the scan, just as another strange feeling trickled in and reminded the biodroid why it had come and what it had done. It had destroyed the Vacary Mines and with them the human genetics that blocked the key to his fi nal plan. Another feeling crept over him. It was warm and easy and fi lled with what he could only assume must have been satisfaction. Calmly, the biodroid considered its next move. Its analytical mind weighed the options and calculated the possibilities down to the most infi nitesimal degree. Getting through the protective pro- ton dome to destroy these shivering young humans would be a waste of both time and energy. There was nothing there it needed. With a small gesture of his mechanical hand, he slid a fi nger across the communicator and signaled the Shadehawk sortie of as- sassins to depart. Obediently, the Shadehawks tipped back, turned, and accelerated away, vanishing into the blood red haze that bil- lowed up from the mines and obliterated the light from the sun. Inside the dome, Lazer gently moved Kyla aside. He stared at them, raw with pain, loss, and failure. He had been hurled into a bottomless abyss of anguish. The tears that fell from his eyes burned his cheeks, streaking through the dirt that covered his sullen face. Lazer knew in his heart this horror was not over; he knew, as did those who bore witness with him, that this was war, and it had only just begun.

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NAMED FIVE

he tallest and most elegant of the biodroids—called Five by T the humans who worked with it—was evolving. It had been created as a machine, with organic parts anchoring its core, but it had transmutated at an alarming rate. From being a brilliant, ex- acting, and analytical mechanism, it had evolved into something that was now cognizant. First came thought, then imagination, and now it was experiencing emotions—base, primitive, and sometimes painfully overwhelming. They swirled inside Five like a school of hungry piranha, nipping and stabbing with the prick of a million tiny needles, anxious to make their presence known. Unable to de- cipher their meaning, Five could only suppress the feelings as they surged through his sensory bands until he could take the time to explore them. At the moment, the emotion was rage. Five railed at Massi, a young, copper-haired man whose thin stature, pale skin, and wiry hair made him resemble an orange- topped Q-tip with large blue eyes. Next to him, taking the brunt of the tirade, were two splicer healers, half-human/half-wolf, broth- ers from the same pack. They, and several humans, splicers, and biodroid Series IV Black Guard, stood around the gnorb that sat patiently inside the open case. They were all mesmerized by its beauty and curious about its power. “I asked Why?” Five demanded, pacing like a caged animal in front of the gnorb. —| 79 |—

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Massi, whose courage had not yet been drained by Five’s fury, spoke fi rst. “It doesn’t make sense. The corresponding genetics we located at the mine had to have been destroyed in the attack.” “Obviously, they weren’t,” Five said. The biodroid faced the swirling, silvery white gnorb and allowed its soft glowing light to refl ect off the cold gray alloy that acted as his skin. Five emitted a tracer beam that scanned the gnorb’s smooth surface. The beam’s streaks of green laser scanner lights were intended to make the gnorb attach its genetics and thus open the lock that controlled its powers. Instead, the gnorb dulled. “It won’t respond to my touch, and now it doesn’t respond to my laser. Why won’t it imprint?” Five hissed. Again, the room hung in silence. Finally, one of the wolf/man healers spoke, “We . . . don’t know. Perhaps your human genetics are not strong enough to override the original lock.” “That answer is unacceptable.” Five’s voice swelled like a gather- ing wave about to crash into the surf. And with no more effort than it took to swat a fl y, Five swung his massive arm through the air and caught the face of the fi rst splicer, taking out one eye and destroying half the splicer’s face. The force from the blow sent the splicer hurl- ing across the room and, with a loud, sharp crack, his body slammed into the wall and slid into a crumpled heap on the fl oor, leaving a trail of blood. The splicer lay unconscious. His brother rushed to his aid. “Leave him!” Five’s order bellowed out like thunder against a hollow canyon wall. Everyone froze. “Send the Shadehawks to scour the area around Vacary until we fi nd the human genetics that match the imprints on the gnorb,” Five commanded. “We are already rerunning imprint scans of the area, but with the attacks so fresh in everyone’s minds, it’s dangerous to send out the Shadehawks,” Massi said bravely.

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Massi nodded to the splicer, allowing him to check on his fallen brother. The splicer hesitated, glancing at Five. Five ignored him. The splicer gingerly crossed to the unconscious lump of fl esh and hair on the fl oor to check for signs of life. “I need the Shadehawks to get a complete eukaryotic match,” Five insisted. “It’s too dangerous, and your scanners are the only ones that can perform a complete light trace. Without you, we need an amino sample from everyone whose genetics are even remotely close,” said Massi. “Then get them. Scan to the closest match. Once the donor has been identifi ed, take an amino sample, prove the match, then vapor- ize them,” Five commanded. “Do I make myself clear?”

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DAY OF THE DEAD

t was supposed to be spring, but a cold rain beat against Lazer’s I window as he sat motionless at his desk, mindlessly waiting for his mother to be ready. Today was his father’s funeral. The thought was as unfathomable as the reality it carried. He reread the last e-mail his father had sent him. As he watched the holographic projection, he clicked the audio controls off and on, causing Rand’s voice to stutter, cutting in and out with the digital skip of a scratched CD. “Your mom . . . how hard y-y-y-you worked . . . sch-sch-sch- olarship application, son. I’ve got my . . . c-c-c-crossed . . . nailed it. I know . . . you w-w-w-want your . . . wings . . . w-w-w-want your . . . wings.” His father had struggled for the right words. “It’s been a t-t-t-tough . . . Lazer, but you pulled . . . grades and your VFT sc-sc- sc-scores . . . Ace fl ight status.” His Virtual Flight Test scores had set a new precedent. Lazer hit the repeat button. “Ace fl ight status . . . ace fl ight status . . .” For a moment he could hear the smile in his father’s voice. “Champion of the world . . . champion of the world . . . champion of the world!” Words had always been hard for Rand Lazerman, especially when it came to his son. But now there would be no more words from his father . . . ever.

—| 82 |—

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Lazer stared blank-faced as he listened. He was numb. All emo- tion had been rung out, leaving him as limp and tattered as a dishrag. He wanted to feel something, anything, but emotions eluded him. For that he supposed he should be grateful. Detra entered, took the controls, and turned off the computer. She stood by her son for a long time. She wanted desperately to say something that would take away his pain, but she hurt more than words could describe. She brushed the wayward curl from his fore- head that always made him look like the little boy whose tears she had kissed away so very long ago. This time kisses would not make the world shiny and new, Detra thought sadly to herself. With nothing else to give, she offered her hand to her son. Solemnly, Lazer stood and took her hand into his. It felt warm and soft, but looked small and frail inside of his. Their eyes did not connect as, in deafening silence, they left his room together.

The Vacary Cemetery lay on a small open hillside west of the town- ship. Roses, hydrangeas, gladiolas, and an array of wildfl owers lined the footpaths that twisted their way past the stone benches that adorned the park. A ten-foot-tall marble angel stood in the center of the fi eld; her arms held a tablet that housed a small holographic screen, which, upon request, would display the faces and words of those who had passed from this world, but whose memories re- mained. For the mourners, it was supposed to be a celebration of their lives. The angel loomed above the small group of thirty or so friends who had gathered to say goodbye to Rand Lazerman in the misting gloom. Lazer stoically listened as the communicator from the Universal Dome of God droned on about life, injustice, and loss. He spoke of Rand not only as a wonderful man, but also as an outstanding contributing member of the Collective. He talked about the values he stood for and how the world would never be the same because of his untimely death.

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The jumble of words hummed in Lazer’s ears. He took a long, deep breath and shifted the hand that supported his mother. Detra leaned against him, unable to stand on her own. He glanced into her distant, vacant eyes as they stared, unfocused, weary, and faded from the wash of too many tears. His mind spun in a barrage of confusion and concern. Detra had been in this cemetery less than a month ago, after the deaths of her friends and co-workers in the temple massa- cre. It had been diffi cult to release them into the universal void, but now she had to give back the soul of the only man who had loved her unconditionally. It was unbearable. The communicator fi nished and handed Detra a small infrared control box that connected wirelessly to a twelve-inch white rocket. A rush of fear and loneliness made her body tremble. Her ears rang with denial. Detra stared at the controls, unable to touch them. She could not push the small red button that symbolized so much—the end of a life, the loss of her soulmate. She looked at Lazer for help. He had to be the strength she had lost in her husband. She needed him to change from boy to man in an instant. With the wide fright- ened eyes of a child, she took the box and held it out to him. Lazer cupped her hands into his own. He felt the hard, cold metal of the strange box that lay inside her trembling fi ngers. I’ll keep you safe. At least he could promise to do that for her. Time stopped as they stared into each other’s eyes, each waiting for an unspoken moment of mutual consent to send Rand’s spirit back to the universe. Together, they pressed the button and the little rocket ignited, spiraling up into the clouds. Detra’s knees buckled as her breath was sucked from her. She collapsed into great sobs. But Lazer was there. He caught her in his arms and held her. Lazer lifted his face into the cold wash of falling rain, grateful that it hid his tearless eyes. He watched the little rocket disappear into the clouds. His father was gone, and with him all things inno- cent vanished, leaving only a gaping void where Lazer’s childhood and adolescence had once been.

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SANGELINO WORLD CORPORATE COUNCIL

he Triumvirate Headquarters sat at the center of Sangelino. T The world capital was a vast megalopolis with sensual archi- tecture and glorious hanging gardens. It attracted the most brilliant and creative people on Earth to come into her streets, universities, museums, boardrooms, and theaters. They brought with them magnifi cent ideas, wondrous wit, provocative literature, and the cleverest and most eclectic fashions from every culture—all blended into a grand unifi ed ideology, science, and technology. These were the greatest minds on the planet, and they came together under the banner of the corporate and Triumvirate leaders as representatives of peace, power, and wisdom. But today, the chambers and conference rooms of the World Headquarters contained frightened, concerned citizens who had gathered to assess the information about an attack on a continent thousands of miles away. Aleece Avery, the only woman on the Triumvirate, looked trou- bled as she walked down the cool marble corridors. Delicate lines traced her face, and her hair glowed prematurely silver and sparkled with the light of a fl axen moon spilling across a mountain lake. It gave her the distinguished air of both an Earth mother and a wise leader, and crowned her as elegantly as the sheer, pearl gray tunic that draped her one-piece organic fi ber suit and revealed the muscles —| 87 |—

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of her still-youthful body. All those who had voted her into offi ce loved her. Today, the pace of her steps and the determined furrow of her brow revealed the tension behind her eyes. Aleece walked briskly with her husband, Dante Avery Labov. He was about the same age as she, with an angular face, a strong chin, and deep, sympathetic brown eyes. He wore a businessman’s tunic suit and a simple row of status ribbons and security bands that gave him access throughout the Triumvirate Headquarters. Dante privately owned and ran several service companies that sup- ported the global community; his largest company was ice mining the new poles to supply water to arid countries. He sat on a variety of councils for the big corporations and was an indispensable advi- sor and lead secretary to Aleece and her cabinet. Dante was only a few inches taller than his statuesque wife, and they always turned heads when they entered a room. They were deeply in love and cherished every moment together. Aleece knew she could trust and rely on him; in all the years they had been together, he had never let her down. A young aide caught up to them and handed Aleece several disks in preparation for the World Corporate Council meeting that was already in session. “I want to see proof that both attacks were done by the Black Guard,” Aleece demanded of the aide, without slowing her pace. “Page seven of Mysner’s report, Madam Triumvirate. Eyewitnesses near the mines,” the aide replied nervously. “A group of teens had been playing at the company’s game fi eld.” “Does that report include ocular readings taken during the au- topsies from Orbis Temple victims?” Dante asked. “Yes, sir, page twelve.” The aide struggled to keep up. “They all showed matching death images?” Aleece was sickened by the thought. “Ocular prints are inadmissible.” “Black Guard, Universal God,” Dante said, with a hint of ab- horrence.

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“They’re machines. How could they attack humans?” Aleece asked. “They’re not machines, Aleece. They’re biodroids—part ma- chine, part virus, and part human.” “Programmed to protect,” Aleece snapped. “Aren’t the ocular images enough to show the Black Guard stole the gnorb?” Dante asked. “Apparently not, because of the high level of visual distortion,” Aleece quickened her pace. She was fl ustered. “What would they want with it? Universal God, we don’t even understand it.” “Perhaps someone knows something we don’t,” the aide inter- jected. Suddenly she realized that she had overstepped her bounds. “Sorry, Madam Triumvirate.” Aleece had not considered that idea until that very moment. “That would mean whoever is controlling the gnorbs has infor- mation not being shared with the Collective,” Aleece’s mind took a great quantum leap as she considered all the horrifi c possibilities. Dante knew where she was headed. He argued that there was no obvious reason for anyone to take one of the four gnorbs. “Was the joint gnorb hypothesis ever tested?” the aide asked gingerly. Dante and Aleece looked at her, waiting for more information. “Which hypothesis? There have been dozens.” “There was a paper posted on the Vybernet that theorized if the four gnorbs were placed in proximity, they would interact as a sole power or communication source.” The Vybernet had replaced the Internet with photonic transmis- sion, transferring information across vibrating light waves. It was faster and completely crash- and pirate-proof. “Power source for what?” Dante asked. “It wasn’t determined. I don’t think whoever proposed the hy- pothesis got clearance to try, and no one was willing to give up his or her gnorb to test the premise,” she explained. “Who wrote the paper?” Aleece was anxious to know the answer.

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“I’m sorry, Madam Triumvirate. It was two years ago. I was a student at the university.” “Well, fi nd out.” “What I don’t understand is, if they’ve stolen the gnorb, why attack the Vacary Mines?” Dante pondered. Aleece agreed. There was no logical reason to destroy the mines and kill thousands of people. “What about the other gnorbs?” “No threat activity has been reported, but both Mu and Panazia have increased security,” the aide said. “And the gnorb in the Lost Territories is inaccessible.” “I’m going to recommend we shut down the Black Guard peace- keeping program,” Aleece said. “That could be a bad idea.” Dante slowed his pace. “The Black Guard is the only protection the Atlantians have,” the aide added. “Dammit, Covax guaranteed me they could never kill humans,” Aleece blurted. Dante ignored the personal reference she’d unconsciously in- jected. “Ducane Covax did what he believed was right when he created the Black Guard,” he said. “They’ve saved thousands, maybe millions, of Atlantians.” He understood all too well the root of her emotions. Covax was an old wound that had almost destroyed her reputa- tion, her career, and her life. Eighteen years had passed—a lifetime had come and gone since those days. She and Covax had worked well together for a time, but her instincts and inability to deal with his reckless disregard for rules had severed their ties. Leaving Covax had saved her reputation, as well as her heart. But that had been years ago, and Dante knew her heart belonged to him now. “I wasn’t the only one who warned him not to base his nanotech- nology on viral DNA. He wouldn’t listen. He never listened,” she snapped. “He gave all the knowledge of humanity to a virus.” “Covax is not your concern anymore, Aleece.”

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“He may not be my concern, but his creations are, especially if their actions spill out into our world.” She was taking his actions personally. “Then focus on the needs of the Atlantian people. Go into the Council. Talk to the corporate leaders and the Collective. If Ducane Covax is behind these atrocities, the world will fi nd out soon enough,” Dante spoke with an air of fi nality. He always knew when Aleece needed an extra moment of en- couragement and support. For that she loved him completely. “We need more information,” she said. “I’m going to ask the Big Six to annex the Politia forces and send them into Atlantia as an investigation team, and at least a division of peacekeepers.” The Big Six were the six corporations that had banned together to save the world after the Great Quakes. Many believed their motives were completely selfi sh, but the ultimate outcome had been a uni- fi ed world. Together they had forged a magnifi cent future. The Big Six had handed all decision-making powers over to the Triumvirate, who in turn represented the voice of the people of Earth. Using the Vybernet as a polling source, the Triumvirate tallied and analyzed the Collective response to issues, weighed the data, and presented the various positions until the fi nal vote. The Triumvirate wrote world policy and, in the event of a stalemate, the Collective cast the deciding vote—but only as a unifi ed voice. It was still possible, un- der extreme situations, to get the Big Six to intervene if a unanimous vote could not be secured. “Sending in an investigation team is the only way the Collective can make an informed decision. It’s imperative that we move quickly to stop these attacks from happening again. We need a division of Politia peacekeepers to go in with the investigators. They have to fi nd out who is controlling the rebellious Black Guard and, in the interim, we have to protect the Atlantians or we are all at risk.” She added a last chilling thought as she turned to face her husband, “I want to go with them, Dante.” Dante quivered at the thought of sending her off to an insurgence

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4,000 miles from him. Dante stopped his wife and nodded to the aide to move ahead of them. Gently he pulled his wife to the side and looked into her eyes. “You’re far too valuable to the Collective to go to Atlantia, not to mention to me.” “I want to see for myself, so I can convince them.” “You’ll have to convince your daughter fi rst, then you can worry about the rest of the Triumvirate.” “Riana will understand, probably better that anyone, including you.” She smiled at him. “We both know you’ll do what you have to.” Dante lifted her face to his and touched her cheek lovingly. “You always do. It’s why I love you.” He pulled her close and gave her the kind of loving em- brace that always bolstered her courage. She relaxed into his arms. By the time they separated, she had the strength she needed to face what she knew she had to do. “Tell Riana I’ll call her after I get out of chambers. Tell her not to forget her session with Masta Poe today,” Aleece said, as she turned, squared her shoulders, and confi dently stepped into Earth’s unity chamber.

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RIANA AND MASTA POE

small fl ock of newborn archeops—part-condor/part- Apython—fl ew through the cityscape of Sangelino. They were both primitive and futuristic, but they were no fantasy. They were real and, upon maturation, deadly. They fl apped their dragon-like wings that, even on the youths, spanned six feet in either direction and darkened the afternoon sky. People stepped onto their balconies to watch and marvel as the magnifi cent crea- tures passed, soaring over the curved spires and foliage-draped towers of central Sangelino. Their massive shadows swept across the ornate balconies that protruded from the back of the Triumvirate Headquarters and hung over the cliffs above the Covax City crevasse. Fourteen-year-old Riana Avery Labov stood on the center balcony and watched. Riana was tall and slender with a thick head of honey hair and captivating turquoise eyes that caught the sun with fl ecks of silver and gold. Her father always told her they sparkled brightest when she smiled. Riana was the only daughter of a world leader. She had grown up in her mother’s shadow, with the spotlight of the entire world population glaring in her face. The good and the bad of it was noth- ing more to her than life as usual. Even at such a tender age, she was at ease with whatever life threw her way. It seemed as if she were born to be at the center of global attention. And she was unique.

—| 93 |—

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Her charismatic presence had a mesmerizing effect on both people and animals that bordered on uncanny. Her gifts far exceeded the inherent abilities of someone so young. She performed the few Visionistic Arts she had been taught with controlled innocence and grace. Her connection with her mother at times was more than psychic. The fact that Riana knew her mother’s every feeling so precisely was, though sometimes troubling to Aleece, in the end a godsend. Often, in the midst of her hectic schedule, she and Riana could be together telepathically, playing in their imaginary mental worlds while their physical bod- ies were miles apart. Aleece had taught herself to block from her daughter the darker thoughts that came with the weight of world power, but she knew that shards of harsh reality still bled through the cracks in her heavy heart. There were times when Riana would weep for Aleece to help release the tension, but it took its toll on Riana’s health. At one point, it almost claimed her life. Finally, to protect Riana from the constant pressures of world power that hung so heavy in her mother’s mind, Aleece stopped allowing the telepathic visits. Riana’s ability to move matter and read thoughts was something she was learning to control under the sporadic tutelage of Masta Poe. At seven, Riana had spent a summer with the amazing Poe, when she came to teach at Sangelino University. Poe was amazed at Riana’s capabilities and told Aleece that her daughter’s education in the Visionistic Arts had only just begun. She had asked Aleece to wait until Riana was fourteen to continue her instruction, and Aleece had complied. Riana’s greatest dream was attending Tosadae, and Aleece and Dante fully intended to make sure it happened. Now, she was almost fi fteen and Masta Poe felt it was time to continue. The fl ock of young archeops turned in perfect formation and dove playfully downward into the fi ssures beneath Covax City. Above Riana, the sky fi lled with the sound of Politia sirens echoing off the canopy of clouds, and she turned her attention to the Creature Control Unit, a large patrol of Politia transports that would destroy

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the baby archeops in a matter of moments. The citizens of Sangelino would once again be safe. Riana hated that something so beautiful had to be annihilated, but man had played god and, in doing so, created new species of pred- ators. The archeops, like so many other wild animal splicers, couldn’t be left to breed unchecked. The fear that their growing numbers might tip the ecosystem and force humankind into extinction was a harsh reality. Riana walked back inside her mother’s offi ce to wait for her ses- sion with the renowned Masta Poe. She closed the heavy glass doors to avoid the sound of the blasters and screams of the dying birds. When she turned, she saw Masta Poe standing across the room. She was all of fi ve feet tall, yet her presence completely fi lled the space. “It makes you sad to know they’ll be destroyed,” Masta Poe said, her voice fl oating into the room like warm, liquid honey. “Yes.” Riana glanced out the window for a moment, then turned back to Masta Poe. Masta Poe was an albino splicer—part-human/part-prosim- ian gibbon—profoundly intelligent and extraordinarily wise. Her human features dominated her overall appearance, but her animal genetics were clearly present. Well into her seventies, she looked younger than most thirty-year-olds. She had large, round, lavender- blue eyes fi lled with strength and kindness. Her years living beneath the Earth with her parents had made her eyes sensitive to light, so she often wore a rose-tinted, mono-lens shield to protect them from the sun’s glare. She had a low widow’s peak that grew back into a crown of fl owing silken white hair that covered her pale ivory back. Masta Poe, who taught at the famed Tosadae Academy, trained her students in the forgotten powers—powers held by those across the millennia who honored the Universal God force that resided inside their beings. Those who remembered their powers had each used their amazing gifts for the betterment of mankind. Masta Poe’s Visionistic Arts courses were brilliantly designed to help her students awaken the vast and eternal powers that lay inside the emotions of

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the human heart, so they could utilize the human mind to full capac- ity. She knew that if all humans were connected to the energy fl ow of the universe, they could achieve oneness and eliminate hatred, war, hunger, poverty, and greed. These destructive fi elds of energy would be obsolete, and love, harmony, and peace would reign. A second-generation splicer, Poe’s humanity was new to her. She had learned to remember her human powers and created the Arts to teach the humans who had lost their inner powers. Poe was one of the most revered and powerful mystics on the planet and, by far, Tosadae Academy’s shining star. Riana understood the honor of being chosen to study with Masta Poe at such a young age. “It’s important,” Aleece’s message had said. Riana replayed the words on her wristsponder. “It’s good to see you Masta Poe, but why have you come? I thought I wouldn’t see you until I started school at Tosadae.” Masta Poe smiled. “You are my prize student, Riana, and there is a destiny awaiting you and a few chosen others that must be at- tended to before . . .” Masta Poe did not fi nish her thought. Riana looked curiously at her and tried to grasp what she wasn’t saying. “You may read my mind if you like.” Riana blushed. She loved that Masta Poe existed in the same intellectual plane as she when it came to telekinetic communication. Classifi ed as one of the Indigo children, Riana could read minds, project thoughts, and move and bend small objects, but the chance to learn and understand the greater forces of the Visionistic Arts excited her. In the past, Masta Poe had said she was too young, but Riana could sense something had changed. She felt a strange ur- gency in Masta Poe that had not been there previously. “You want to teach me to levitate for my protection?” Riana was surprised by the thoughts she had just read. “Close. Your mother would like me to teach you to go negative. The vibration process is very similar. Once you understand one, the second is quite easy.”

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“But, why? Am I in danger?” “Precautionary measures,” Masta Poe explained. She looked at Riana. “My, look how you’ve grown since my last visit. Has it been seven years?” Masta Poe reached out her hands, beckoning for Riana to join her. “Come. Let us begin.” Riana took Masta Poe’s small pale hands. They were delicate, with fi ne white hairs that hung like silk fringe below her wrist and forearm until they vanished into the sleeves of her fl oor-length tu- nic. Together, they sat cross-legged, holding hands in the center of the room. “Comfortable?” Riana nodded and focused her attention on Masta Poe. “Deep breath.” They did a series of long, full breaths, bringing their focus into their centers and relaxing completely. “You won’t have this luxury if you’re ever in danger, so pay at- tention to the emotions I will guide you to attach subconsciously to this process.” “Why do I need emotions?” “Emotions are the easiest path to power. Emotions control the natural chemicals our bodies produce. With the release of say, adrenaline, we can become incredibly strong or amazingly fast; with endorphins, we are fi lled with such overwhelming bliss and freedom that we can defy gravity. These chemical byproducts trigger a cellular vibration that allows us, through the power of controlled thought, to create objects, health, and love. With it, we can move through space, time, and causality and explore a wealth of infi nite possibili- ties. The Visionistic Arts are ontology in its purest form. Applied to your electrons, energy, happiness, time, truth, love, causality, and the universe, it is a perfect connection made through the human spirit directly to its god power. The Visionistic Arts are the essence of human empowerment. Do you understand, Riana?” Riana nodded yes. “Now, I want you to release a single vocal tone.”

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Riana took a deep breath and let out a sweet, single-noted sound. “Let it resound in your body until every cell inside you reverber- ates with it.” Riana followed Masta Poe’s instructions, harmonizing her inner self with every cell and molecule in her body. “When you feel the oneness of the harmonic vibration connect to every cell, I want you to imagine yourself fl oating.” Masta Poe joined in making a sound, adding a perfect fi fth note. Riana closed her eyes, breathing through the single note that fl owed through the room like a siren’s song. She imagined she was a cloud—light, soft, and completely weightless. She saw herself drift- ing formlessly across a bright blue sky and could feel the cool breeze against her skin and smell the freshness of her own unfallen rain. A strange peace came over her as her mind, body, and spirit melted in a rush of pure bliss. Riana smiled. Masta Poe slowly opened her hands and released Riana’s hands, smiling as Riana gently lifted off the fl oor and fl oated.

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THE COVAX INQUIRY

he Committee on Subversive Activities had been questioning T Covax for over four hours. They had badgered and harassed him as if he were on trial, bringing up his history and both the good and bad legacies. Covax sat in the middle of a long library table fl anked by his two female advocates—disturbingly identical clones down to the minut- est detail. The clones were unnaturally pale, with tight, pulled back, white-yellow hair and an even tighter attitude. Clones made up the bulk of the attorney population these days—the only species will- ing to deal with this last bastion of the complex bureaucracy called the law. These two were Jamila and Kamila Eastbrook, second-gen- eration clones of a well-known civil rights advocate, famous for her work in the late twentieth century. They objected relentlessly, trying to protect Covax, but the format of the inquiry made it diffi cult at best. The interrogator laid out everything from Covax’s birth in 65, telling the panel of Ducane’s humble beginnings in the fallen ru- ins of what had once been the western sides of San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego—cities that over the decades had grown almost completely together. They all knew the history of how one of the most devastating of the Great Quakes had split what had once been called California and sent half the cities tumbling down to

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the bottom of the great San Andreas fi ssure, far below what would become the vast megatropolis of Sangelino. Covax had been the only child in a family that had struggled hard to endure in a chaotic world. His parents, both self-taught healers, had educated him until they were killed in a hunger riot just before his fi fteenth birthday. But Covax was a survivor. More importantly, he was a brilliant visionary with an insatiable appetite for knowledge. He saw the hungry and homeless who hadn’t found a place in the pristine city of Sangelino, 300 meters above, and used his amazing genius to carve a world for them down in the rubble of the fi ssures. He had taken the twisted remains of the subways and sewers that ran beneath San Francisco, Los Angeles, and San Diego, which had been exposed by the quake that split the land, and rebuilt them into practical dwellings, affordable to all those strug- gling in the post-quake world. By the age of nineteen, Covax had created a real estate empire. He designed a reverse architecture and constructed buildings that hung from the cliffs down into the fi s- sures below Sangelino. He called it Covax City. It was a marvel of ingenuity and a wonderment of engineering—cascading buildings that seemed to pour over the land and hang like great steel and glass stalactites, dangling inverted from the underbelly of Sangelino. Many of the structures hung all the way to the Fissure Canals at the very bottom of the great crevasse, a place where languages and cultures melted into a combination of Spanish, English, Arabic, and Japanese—called Spajetak, a kind of new-world Swahili. Covax built condos into the sheer rock-face walls with back entrances that tunneled deep into the old metro systems. He kept the Asian archi- tectural infl uence from old San Francisco, the Spanish fl avor from San Diego, and used Pueblo Indian cliff house design to incorporate the face of the exposed fi ssure. He wove the styles together into the coolest, newest culture on the planet. People came from everywhere to be part of it. The Age of Light was truly here and it shone upon Ducane Covax as a warm, golden sun . . . until the fi ckle hand of fate blackened his spotlight of glory.

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Covax had decided to expand into food services to feed the people who lived in his housing. His visionary eye knew that bio- engineered food was the wave of the future. He had situated his biogenetic labs in the lowermost area of Covax City. There, he splin- tered his empire from housing to food supplies. Their credo was Bioengineering bigger, better food for a hungry planet. Covax’s concept was to cross-engineer the genetics of plants so they could grow big- ger and better vegetables—a few bushels could feed an entire town. Covax had no intention of venturing into the realm of genetic splicing until 89 A.Q., when the Illiatius virus infected the planet with the heartlessness of a foul wind. It had been brought back to Earth decades earlier from one of the lunar bases put in place by an egotistical world leader who had wanted to leave his name in the his- tory books. His name had been stricken from the books and was still unspoken. He had launched a tactical nuclear attack to end a need- less war, which forced what was now known as the Lost Territories to be sealed under a proton dome, forever doomed by the fallout that still shrouded the region. The Illiatius virus had been accidentally released by a clumsy research assistant who had been too afraid to tell anyone what had happened. The microscopic particles moved through the hepa vents of the facility and out into the atmosphere, where the virus attacked and killed all the domesticated animals in the area. Once out, the virus was carried on the prevailing winds inside the Coriolis patterns to the four corners of Earth. No one knew what was happening until it was too late. In a matter of weeks, the virus wiped out every cat, dog, pet bird, chicken, and cow. Once contracted, it disinte- grated the lungs and suffocated its prey within hours. The death was quick but painful. Humans could only stand by and watch help- lessly, grateful they were immune. The outcome was overwhelming. When nothing was left to kill, the insidious virus vanished back into hibernation. “Dr. Covax, did you or did you not capitalize on the tragedy of the I.L. virus by genetically splicing animals and creating dangerous

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breeds without proper testing and seemingly without regard for the consequences of such an act? Were you not merely concerned with growing profi ts, and did this shortsightedness ultimately cost count- less lives?” The lead interrogator’s tone was rude and infl ammatory. Jamila interrupted the interrogator. “I object. This is an issue already put to rest, sir, and we do not see its relevance here.” “It establishes a pattern with Dr. Covax. One we may be in dan- ger of having to see repeated, counselor.” “May I speak to this?” Covax asked calmly and deliberately, hav- ing been down this road too many times in the past. The interrogator nodded his approval, and Covax continued. “The deaths caused by the virus left an emotional void in our world. A great and painful loss. If you’ll remember, we were in a state of global mourning over our beloved pets, which some people considered as affectionately as they would their own children. My team worked day and night for years, trying to fi nd a solution to ease the pain that resulted from the loss of these pets. I funded years of failed experiments, but never gave up hope. Then, as you know, one of my young scientists came upon a sequencing technique and a genetic conversion liquid that allowed us to cross the genetic divide below the cellular level.” Covax’s voice dropped ever so im- perceptibly when he spoke of this scientist. “Unlike the genetically altered half-human/half-mammals engineered after the turn of the twenty-fi rst century and in defi ance to the biotech fi rms that had patented every human and non-human genome for personal gain, these amino acid strands were placed in a special particle solution that opened the walls of creation and redistributed the codes in free exchange, thus allowing mammal, amphibian, insect, reptile, and aviary creatures alike to commingle and bond at a particle level.” “So you seized the opportunity to create a new kind of pet?” The interrogator asked. “A new kind of pet for a new kind of world. We called them splicers—beautiful, exotic, sweet, adorable creatures,” Covax an- swered. His voice was fi lled with compassion.

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“Living pets, created not by nature but by man.” The interroga- tor clarifi ed for the Assembly. “What my team realized, once we created the splicers, was that they could be taught to love unconditionally, just like their domes- ticated predecessors. Once we informed people of this new breed, orders came in so fast we had a two-year waiting list.” “And you chose not to adequately test their physical or intuitive natures past a few months?” “No one could have predicted these creatures would change their nature so drastically and without warning. To even speculate was a ri- diculous notion,” Covax retorted. But one person had imagined what could happen. Covax had edited his story, never mentioning that his beautiful, brilliant, lead scientist and wife-to-be had warned him of the dangers that could come from insuffi ciently testing the creatures. “What if they aren’t stable?” she had asked again and again. “But you were a businessman, hungry for success. You saw the enormous fi nancial potential, not only for pets but also for food. You mean to say there was not one voice of reason that said you were going too far too fast?” The interrogator pushed. “No,” Covax responded coolly, while remembering how she had given him an ultimatum, threatening to walk out if he didn’t at least slow down. Covax didn’t believe she would leave. In the end, he chose business over love. After her departure, his entire scientifi c staff abandoned him. The loss of her love and respect devastated him and drove Covax deeper into his work. He hired new geneticists and pushed them to their limits. First, they crossed creatures like elephants, bears, wild boars, condors, and wildebeests, thus developing new sources for domestic food. He bred whole new species of cows crossed with el- ephants, chickens crossed with ostriches, and pigs with hippos. The results were stellar: the creatures his team designed grew into enor- mous two-ton food sources. Covax and his scientists moved from land creatures to sea life and crossed whales with salmon—a single creature that could feed a small town.

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The lead committee member furrowed his brow. “You profi ted enormously from this very convenient oversight,” the lead interroga- tor needled him, looking for his breaking point. But Covax remained calm and collected. “I understand people’s apprehension in what may be perceived as playing god.” Covax tried to appear humble. “May I remind the Committee, Dr. Covax was not the fi rst nor even one of the fi rst to try this work with genetics. It is unfortunate that renegade geneticists thought they could compete with him be- cause of his profi ts,” Jamila added. “May I present evidence?” Kamila stood and handed an electron- ic data pad to the lead investigator. “This shows that it was renegade, unlicensed geneticists who created the black market and designed the more bizarre genetic breeds. It was the black market that spliced lions with zebras, hornets with hawks, and tigers with crocodiles, not Covax Industries. Dr. Covax’s labs were fi rst and foremost about food for a hungry world.” Kamila fi nished and sat back down. “These numbers indicate that the fi rst two years were a splice designer’s boon, especially for Dr. Covax. But we cannot ignore the reality that this fi nancial ecstasy turned into a series of waking night- mares.” The lead interrogator put down Kamila’s data and picked up his own. “In 93 A.Q., the third year of their development cycle, the spliced pets reached hormonal maturation and Mother Nature stepped into her power. Is it not true that the creatures changed, physically and emotionally, morphing before their owners’ eyes into monstrous versions of what had only days before been docile play- mates? They turned into man-eating killers overnight,” he said, his voice escalating. “Their primitive genetics emerged, overriding the new sequencing that you had so meticulously engineered, convert- ing and redefi ning their animal personalities from sweet to vicious and, in almost all cases, lethal.” The interrogator emphasized these facts with a single pounding of his fi st on the table. “Mankind awakened to the consequences of playing god. In a matter of months, chaos reigned on Earth once again because of

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your work, Dr. Covax. Splicers ate the children of their masters and murdered the rest of the family before anyone had a chance to react. Others carried off young girls. The splicers with human genetics escaped from cities around the world and vanished into the moun- tains, fi ssures, deserts, waters and wilderness areas that had yet to be settled, even a hundred years after the quake. The creatures fl ed, but not before they took the lives of millions of people who had consid- ered them their loving pets. Is this not true, Dr. Covax?” “Laws were passed on Dr. Covax’s insistence,” Jamila interjected. “To secure his monopoly,” the interrogator accused. “Objection!” Kamila jumped in. “Conjecture.” The interrogator launched into a tirade. “Those laws unleashed a witch hunt. The entire human population demanded the an- nihilation of every single splicer. Thousands were captured and slaughtered by angry, frightened mobs. Some of the girls who had survived breeding with their captors and the diffi cult birth of their offspring escaped, only to fall into the hands of those who sought to destroy the ‘babies’ they carried in their arms. Hundreds of children, who were more human than animal, survived the executions, but only because their genetic traits—such as hidden wings or webbed fi ngers and feet—were undetectable to most. Only a Politia seeker, genetically enhanced with x-ray implants, knew what to look for. Those whose children resembled the dominant genetics of their fa- thers—with beaked faces, feathers for hair, claws, or hoofed feet and hands—were ripped from their mothers’ arms and murdered.” “Those young mothers were already confused by the horror of their ordeal. If you remember, they banded together and, with Dr. Covax’s support, begged the Council to spare their half-breed chil- dren,” Kamila said. Covax shifted in his seat. The interrogation had turned into a trial, and his attorneys were getting sucked in. The interrogator got fi red up again. “Some of those babies, who carried predominantly human genetics, were granted the right to live, but, according to these statistics, many were not. The rest of

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these young mothers and their strange offspring went into hiding under the fi ssure forests that grew beneath Covax City. Some disap- peared into the wild outlands of Atlantia and New Antarctica or, if they had gills, vanished deep into Panazanian Seas. The more gro- tesque creatures slipped into the bottomless labyrinths that spiraled into the cavernous core of the South Republic. And because of your work, they live in the darkness as outcasts from society.” The inter- rogator stared at Covax. “Dr. Covax did . . .” Kamila started to speak. “ . . . too little too late. It wasn’t until human guilt, pity, and remorse at what was happening that these creatures were allowed back into civilized society. Those young mothers and their offspring, and even some of the more docile creature splicers, came back to civilization. But the other mothers, the ones who had grown old and bitter with their darker, more dangerous offspring, did not. Nor did the tens of thousands of deadly creature splicers that were spawned. For good reason, they considered man both foe and food. They pre- ferred the darkness of the underworld to breed their kind and avoid the scrutiny of the light.” Finally, Covax understood. His genetics were subtle, but the lead interrogator was part splicer . . . and this investigation was personal. “It took fi fteen years to prove that I was not responsible for those deaths,” Covax shouted as he leapt from his seat. “This planet for- gave me only after I had been banished, started a new life, and saved thousands of Atlantians with the protectorate forces I invented. And I will not stand by and let a vindictive splicer drag me into this in- quisition without one shred of proof.” The room erupted in a cacophony of mumbling voices and dart- ing eyes. Kamila gently pulled Covax’s sleeve, guiding him back into his seat. “Dr. Covax has been unjustly blamed for the death and destruc- tion caused by the original splicers,” Jamila began and gestured toward her client. “The Collective corrected their mistake, but not

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before this man was sent to live in exile. He lost any fortune he made, and to this day the world does not speak of Dr. Covax’s nu- merous good works. Let’s not repeat this injustice.” “Dr. Covax, how are the Black Guard safeguarded from the kinds of dangers we saw with the splicers?” “They are machines,” Covax stated. His fatigue began to show, as he told them as simply as he could that their original conception was elementary: take the amino acids from DNA and attach data to the strands. The strands, which had replaced microchips one hundred years earlier, were resilient and, because of their self-repli- cating nature, could expand exponentially. Covax fi lled the strands with all the knowledge of humanity and inserted them into the machines. It was a journey of trial and error; the fi rst strands failed miserably. The delicate amino acids were crystallized by the high heat produced by the machines and would self-destruct within the fi rst few hours of life. Needing an amino strand that couldn’t be destroyed, Covax bor- rowed viral strands diluted from the original I.L. virus, which he knew to be virtually indestructible. He had saved only enough of the banned I.L. virus to make sure his creations would be safe from further infection. But the viruses were strong, with their alien DNA- based genomes, and they were quick to replicate. They produced RNA and thrived in the high temperatures. The machinery acted like incubators for the viruses, and from it the biodroids were cre- ated—machines with a biological brain. That made up the fi rst three series; only to the fourth did he add his own DNA. Covax emphatically insisted, “The Black Guard are machines and, just like any machine, they are not capable of acting on their own recognizance. I did not command these murderous acts on Atlantia, and I am conducting a detailed and extensive investigation to fi nd what or who is behind them. It is just as much in my interest to put a stop to this as it is in yours. I will share any and all information I uncover in strict accordance with the Truth and Information Act.” Covax was compelling. His life, his legacy, and his successes and

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failures had left him stronger and more dignifi ed than he had ever been in his life. The empaths in the room studied his aura and, af- ter conferring with the interrogation committee for another hour, Ducane Covax was acquitted and released.

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QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS

n the World Corporate Council headquarters chamber, a thou- I sand men, women, mutants, gens, and splicers sat in the tiered balconies and shouted at each other. The World Corporate Council sat in a smaller ring of chairs on the fl oor, with the three-member Triumvirate anchoring the center. Above them all, an enormous, curved holographic screen fl oated so the various speakers could be seen from every angle and elevation. Various members of the Collective argued about the rights of the Atlantians and the responsibilities of the Collective, the corpo- rate leaders, and especially the Politia. Aleece heard only the fact that they were concerned about their own welfare. The longer they argued, the more obvious it was that the Atlantians had no voice. Aleece Avery Labov stood. She held up her hands to quiet the Collective, to no avail. Finally she shouted, and her voice, electroni- cally amplifi ed, rose above their anger. “Hear me. We are speaking about biodroids—machines incapable of errant behavior against humans. No one is addressing the fact that the problems on Atlantia are far more serious than the Council or the Collective will recognize, especially if even one of the Black Guard has malfunctioned. The Atlantians have asked that we intercede as we

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did for the Mutants. We must do something to protect the Atlantians and, ultimately, ourselves.” Triumvirate Baz Mangalan looked at her coldly, obviously cal- culating the reaction to every word she spoke. He knew she held the Collective in her hands and had done so since her victories in the Mutant War. It was because of her heroic past that they had unani- mously voted her into offi ce. Everyone knew that the voice of the people, if she rallied them to her side, could override the Triumvirate and the Big Six combined. That was not to say that Mangalan’s opin- ions weren’t highly respected. His amazing genius rivaled the likes of Stephen Hawking and Albert Einstein; his work in energy had helped bring the world together. But he had a cruel face and a cunning way about him that dealt only with hard facts and, for as long as Aleece had known him, rarely with emotions. Mangalan rose from his chair, unfurled his lanky six-foot, six-inch frame, and raised his thin, spi- dery arms to gather the attention of the frightened Collective. “We don’t have that right. The request to send in peacekeep- ing forces came from a select few, not the majority. And, until it is a majority, our hands are tied. We are here to vote on your motion regarding whether or not we should authorize an envoy of Politia to investigate the events on Atlantia. But, until we have proof in the form of the Atlantians’ determination of a clear and present danger, they have no reason to pull the Black Guard from their duties on Atlantia or for us to send in armed Politia forces. Only in an act of war that threatens the world Collective can we override the corpo- rate constitution and send Politia forces into a free state.” The room broke into a mumble, everyone conferring over Mangalan’s logic and the effects of breaking protocol with unsub- stantiated evidence. Mangalan looked around the room with a hint of contempt, frustrated by the exercise of having to convince his intellectual infe- riors of the obvious. Aleece and many others detested his arrogance. “Besides,” he added, “is Triumvirate Avery asking the Collective to fi nance this unwarranted invasion without proof?”

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“The death of over 2,700 people is reason enough to take a stand against the Black Guard and send in temporary forces. Peacekeepers, not an invasion,” Aleece corrected him. “Call it what you will, we cannot approve such an action with- out a conclusive report,” Mangalan argued. “We haven’t even required the Atlantians to give us a deadline to submit their report. The Atlantian people live in daily fear of anoth- er attack.” Aleece faced the Collective. “What if the same biodroids who protected you were capable of killing you?” The chamber members mumbled among themselves, consider- ing her point. The third Triumvirate, Blane Fahan, didn’t stand. He was a splicer who had fought alongside Aleece in the Mutant Wars. He had great respect for her and she him. Fahan was part-amphibian/ part-human; his genetics leaned heavily on the human side, but his skin was scaled and refl ected an ambient pallor of opalescent colors. His fi sh gills and large eyes were placed attractively into his human face, and the surprising effect was a look of kind intelligence. He wore an aqua ring of salt water around his neck that covered his gills and allowed him to breathe. “We must remember that before the Black Guard, Atlantia ex- isted in a state of unbridled carnage,” Fahan reminded them. “Yes, and parts of Atlantia are still uncharted open territories, free to anyone who has the courage to stake a claim,” Aleece responded. “But that doesn’t mean they should have to fear for their lives.” “Robbery, rape, and murder had been their life before the Black Guard. They had no one to enforce the law,” Fahan said. “That was over fi fteen years ago and, as far as I’m concerned, we failed them then, as well. Let’s not do it again!” Aleece was clearly exasperated by the exchange. “Fifteen years ago is exactly when Dr. Covax initiated the Black Guard forces and brought peace to Atlantia. To request the Black Guard protection services to stop would be irresponsible on our parts. We can’t let them fall back into chaos with nothing to

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protect them,” Fahan insisted. “And legally, we can’t even propose Politia protection without permission from both the Atlantians and Corporate.” “They don’t have corporate status,” Mangalan brought up what he considered the bottom line. “Then get their permission and send in temporary Politia forces. One division,” she pleaded with him, as if he hadn’t heard her the other three times. Mangalan’s advisor fi nished reading a communication that had just been sent. She tapped her boss’ shoulder and whispered in his ear. What she told him lifted the slightest shadow of a smile onto Mangalan’s thin lips. The Collective mumbled back in protest. This time, Mangalan raised his hand to quell them. “Until the World Corporate Council and the World Collective come to a joint decision on who will rep- resent Atlantia’s corporate rights, all we can do is accept your motion to request that the Atlantians allow a team of Politia to do a full investigation of these two isolated incidents.” There was logic in his voice and a supportive burble arose across the entire chamber. “I’m afraid I must concur, Dr. Avery,” Blane Fahan said. “Two isolated incidents are not acts of a potential world war.” “And what if they aren’t isolated incidents? What if they are the fi rst of multiple calculated attacks? What if the Co-federation, the Republic, the Common Market—all of us—are in danger? How long do we give them to build up forces before we react?” she shouted. The crowd fell silent. She had frightened them, and in doing so turned them against her. She could sense it in the faces that stared back at her from around the room. Aleece knew she was right; she also knew she was outnumbered. “Are you suggesting that Dr. Covax is initiating these acts of treason?” Mangalan confronted her. “That is not what I said.” Aleece was defending both herself and Covax. She had done so many times in the past, but she always believed his actions were never deliberate.

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“Then who is controlling them?” Mangalan asked. “The biodroids might be acting on their own recognizance,” she insisted. “In that case, may the Universal God have pity on all of us,” Fahan said. “That’s absurd,” Mangalan responded with a cold, cutting edge. “They’re machines.” “Has anyone considered the fact that these acts of defi ance from the biodroids might be sentient—a cyber virus capable of infect- ing every nanobrain-based network on Earth?” she blurted out the words. The room fell into an icy hush. She had gone too far. Even Dante knew that kind of assumption without proof could start a global panic. Neither Mangalan nor Fahan liked what she was implying. “Since we don’t have any evidence to confi rm your theories, I think your accusations are sensationalistic and irrelevant to this discussion, Triumvirate.” Mangalan’s tone was patronizing and parental. “According to the polls, we are in full agreement on a limited Politia investigation,” Fahan said, reading the poll returns. “Once we have enough information to render a conclusion and determine if there is a reasonable danger to the Collective, and if we can prove the biodroids are becoming sentient, we will take measures.” “Until then, unless the Collective disagrees, I want to accept your motion that we follow corporate policy, send in an investiga- tion team, and wait for the results.” Mangalan had drawn a line in the political sands and dared Aleece to cross. “Without a peacekeeping division to accompany them, it’s a suicide mission. These acts are only the tip of this dragon’s tail, and my greatest fear is that Triumvirate Mangalan will be the one who will feed us to this monster whole,” Aleece whispered to Fahan, after covering her audio enhancer. She sat back down in her seat as the Council prepared to take the fi nal vote. Aleece’s mind raced. It would take months before the team was

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selected, and who knew how long it would be before she had the facts she needed to put a division of peacekeeping forces on Atlantia. There was, however, one contact inside the core of the Black Guard upon whom she could call, but that call was personal and riddled with volatile emotions. She would hold that card until she needed to play it. When she did, she would need to play her hand with great caution. She glared at Mangalan, knowing most clearly of all that she needed Baz Mangalan out of her way. What she didn’t realize was that he had already begun the alternative solution—how to get rid of her.

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CELEBRATION OF LIFE

he funeral “park” service was followed by the obligatory “cel- T ebration of life” at the home of the deceased’s family. The Lazerman living room was clean and comfortable, with curved wood furnishings tastefully accented in chrome and Plexiglas. Everyone from the complex had come with platters of food and luscious des- serts made with spun honey from the scarabites and whipped whale milk for the bioengineered fruits, including everyone’s favorite com- fort foods: one-foot-wide strawberries, chunked and ready to dip in warm chocolate, and sliced bananas the size of dinner plates, baked and glazed in butter and gobs of gooey brown sugar. The guests ate and mingled respectfully as they talked about Rand, his contribu- tion to the community, and the inconceivable reality that he had died. There had now been not just one, but two attacks that had disrupted the tranquility of their hamlet and caused so many deaths. Each person added some tidbit of information that fed into the on- going discussion about the Black Guard. The surreal situation was more enhanced by the relentless Vybernet online news streams that played, pic-in-pic, before them on a ten-foot holoscreen that fl oated in the center of the Lazermans’ living room. Lazer sat next to his mother and expand- ed the ANN feed. He blew up the miniaturized square that held an attractive anchorwoman with an East Indian accent to full screen

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and tweaked the volume as she spoke about the tragedies unfold- ing on Atlantia. “Funerals were held across western Atlantia for 2,706 lives senselessly lost in the vicious attack on the Vacary Methane Mines on April 16,” she said in her melodically warm and appropriately melancholy tone. The screen fi lled with a visual of the Triumvirate leadership headquarters, home of the World Corporate Council, Information Exchange Bureau, and the Collective Representatives as she continued. “The leaders of the World Triumvirate have con- vened with corporate and Collective members in an emergency council session to discuss the recent attacks on the Atlantian ter- ritories. The Information Bureau reported to ANN there are plans to place a motion before the Corporate Council to investigate these ruthless attacks. The Triumvirate must quickly decide what to do with the lack of Politia protection on the young continent.” Investigate! Lazer felt a knot twisting in his stomach. It was clear to him the Council wasn’t meeting about what could be done to help Atlantia. They were meeting to discuss the security and well-being of the rest of the world, and what danger might spill out of the dis- enfranchised territory and infect the rest of the Collective. Atlantia was still without a corporate sponsor, which, according to the old corporate laws, meant it wasn’t entitled to Politia protection. “In accordance with the Truth and Information Act, World lead- ers promise current information will be made available to both the corporate and Collective branches as soon as the fi nal votes are cal- culated.” Her voice trailed off into a drone of historical facts about Atlantia. Lazer’s attention shifted to the electronic chime of the doorbell. A tired glance from Lazer’s mother told him that he needed to play host; without a word, Lazer dutifully responded. He pushed up from the couch, ignoring the stiffness in his arms and legs, which ached from the torturous tension that had kept him from sleep since his father’s death. Lazer let in a few more guests, many of whom he was sure had already been to a multitude of other services throughout

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the neighboring townships. With a nod, he gestured to Detra. He was grateful he didn’t have to smile. Lazer drifted back into the living room with Cashton close be- hind. Cashton and Kyla had been there all day. She helped with the food and guests. Cashton said little but stayed close at hand. For Lazer, their presence was enough. Lazer turned his focus back to the screen that showed the ornate interior of the Council chamber, monitoring the thousand or so members who fi led back into session and took their seats. The picture was high-def enough to show the details on the logo fl ags of the members of the World Corporate Council that hung proudly on the walls of the great chamber The Big Six were front and center, represented by a select group of busi- nessmen who unanimously supported the Triumvirate. Behind them were rows fi lled with humans, splicers, clones, and gens, who represented secondary corporate companies that had survived the numerous corporate wars, as well as a few who were old enough to remember the horrors of the Great Quakes. The gallery beyond was packed with anyone who cared to listen. Lazer leaned against the wall and watched the images of places and people he had only seen through his computer’s online feeds. He wondered if his life would ever take him to such amazing places or give him the chance to experience a world of adventure and knowl- edge. Impossible, his mind taunted him. Worse than the memory of that horrifi c day was the guilt of what he had done—or rather, not done—that had allowed it to happen. Proton domes under that level of fi repower were not impenetrable, but it could have bought them some time. Some of the workers might have found a way to survive. His father might have found a way if he had extra time. In the end, it had been his fault. Your life is over, his inner voice chided him, pulling him back into the shadows of his despair. “Ducane Covax,” the announcer said. Lazer’s focus snapped back to the holoscreen. He exchanged a disbelieving glance with Cashton. The announcer was a half-human/ half-reptile reporter, whose scaly emerald pallor, protruding mouth,

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and darting forked tongue shouted at the camera. He hollered over the throngs of people that stood yelling their protests behind him outside the Capitol. “ . . . famed genetic scientist, creator, and manufacturer of the accused Black Guard, was arrested on charges of alleged endanger- ment, coercion, and treason in relation to the attacks in Atlantia, but was released this morning after a grueling six-hour interrogation due to lack of evidence. A hearing date was not set, since proof of his immediate involvement was left undetermined. The world stands in shock and horror, awaiting due process under corporate law. This is Jonathan Bonick, live from Sangelino.” He fi nished with his most serious lizard face as his image was replaced by that of the woman anchor. “All News Network and reporters from the independent news groups around the world asked Dr. Covax, as he left the Sangelino Courthouse earlier today, his thoughts on these horrifying events.” The announcer turned her focus toward a secondary screen and watched as Dr. Covax’s image appeared. His chiseled features and face tattoos gave him a cool, confi dent air. The holoscreen morphed images from the morning feed and showed Ducane Covax as he descended the Sangelino Courthouse steps. He looked amazingly calm, as over a hundred reporters converged on him—swarming lo- custs to the feast. They stepped into his path and bombarded him with questions and accusations, their words blurring in the confu- sion. Dr. Ducane Covax glanced down at them with an imperious air of arrogance. It was not the fi rst time he had to steel himself against a sea of questions or face those who held his reputation, once again, in their grubby little word processors. He walked, bookended by his clone attorneys, who fended off the press as best they could. The audio feed glitched momentarily then amplifi ed as cameras refocused for a closer shot. “Dr. Covax, what do you have to say about the alleged charges against you?” asked a thick-lipped reporter whose toothless mouth revealed his genetics—a fi sh hungry for a titillating sound bite.

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“Why have you been released?” a second reporter asked. “What if the Council fi nds proof of your involvement?” asked a third. “The Council’s lead advocate has released Dr. Covax, pending a full investigation,” Jamila responded on her client’s behalf. “What about the Orbis Temple attack? The ocular death re- ports all show your Black Guard,” an angry reporter asked. “What does the Black Guard want with the knowledge gnorbs?” shouted a voice. “Whoever—or whatever—has illegally stolen them has not shared their fi ndings with Dr. Covax or anyone from his organiza- tion,” Kamila coolly replied. “Have any of the gnorbs ever been interpreted by Covax indus- tries?” another reporter pushed forward. “No,” Jamila replied. “Why the attack on the Vacary Mines?” the fi rst reporter asked, shoving his way back in. “There is no reason to assume any connection between the two incidents,” Covax responded before his advocates could. His voice was unbelievably calm, considering the hiss of accusations that hung beneath the veneer of questions. Several reporters shouted at him. One young woman broke through and glared at Covax. Her optical enhancers—tiny metallic squares implanted inside her eyes—fl ickered in the light. She was a genetically enhanced human, obviously upgraded for x-ray, night, and infrared vision in the Politia forces, probably a creature seeker before she began life as a journalist. “Then how do you explain the deaths of over 2,700 people at the hands of your peacekeepers?” “I don’t,” Covax coolly responded. “We all grieve for the families who lost their loved ones,” Jamila interrupted. “As we explained to the Council, Dr. Covax knows noth- ing about why these atrocities occurred, or even if the Black Guards identifi ed on the ocular imprints are real or disguised assassins.” “Will that be your defense?”

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“We have nothing to defend. Both incidents are being investi- gated, and results will be released to the Collective as soon as they are received. You know as much as we do.” “No more questions,” Jamila added authoritatively, as she gently guided Covax forward through the hordes. “Dr. Covax! Did these attacks have to do with last month’s rejection of your bid to obtain corporate status with you as chief representative for Atlantia with the Council?” The persistent gen reporter interjected. Covax stopped and turned toward the offending reporter. “You are asserting that I was responsible for the attacks, which I am not,” Covax said, as his tattoo faded to cool lavender, then fl ushed back to amber. He was a gunfi ghter facing off to draw, and he had blinked. He had shown an infi nitesimal fl ash of vulnerability in front of the reporters, and they smelled blood. They wanted a confrontation and pressed him for it. “Will these attacks end your chance to gain corporate control of Atlantia?” one of them shouted. The expressions on Jamila and Kamila’s faces responded to the twinge of panic that had obviously surged through Covax. They were empaths. It was common for clones to read emotions, and they had felt Covax’s tension level elevate. They knew his temper could become volatile with little provocation. They had to act. They guided him purposefully toward the hover transport that waited by the curb. It was a bronze, oval-shaped Wedge 2000 IE—a high-end luxury transport with all the bells and whistles. The shouts intensifi ed into a mad frenzy with each step he took. The reporters cared less about the truth and more about the emo- tions their words evoked. “Will you attack again, Dr. Covax?” shouted the fi sh-faced re- porter. Jamila turned on the mob. “That’s libel! No more questions!” The sharks had already begun to feed. They barked and hollered a barrage of accusations about the Black Guard, Covax’s control over

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them, and even the Splicer Fiasco that led to the Mutant Wars. The angry mob encircled him, sucking the air away as they crushed in on him. Covax touched his wristsponder, activating the hydraulics of the Wedge’s gull-winged doors, which lifted with a loud hiss. Silence rippled across the crowd as all eyes turned to watch Covax’s driver, as he stepped from the hovercraft. It was a Black Guard, almost seven feet tall. It turned to face the horrifi ed crowd of reporters. It said nothing. Its presence was a reminder to everyone that the incidents on Atlantia could far too easily be repeated here. It held the door for the clones, as they protectively ushered Covax inside. The reporters stared, frozen with awe and fear, along with ev- eryone watching at home on their holoscreens. Covax, poker-faced, stepped into the transport. He had played his ace and won the mo- ment through raw intimidation. Lazer glanced from the screen as Covax’s image morphed into the anchorwoman’s face. He was distracted by a batch of new guests, who offered a stream of consoling handshakes and kind words to him and Detra. Would this day never end? The last person to step inside the house was a Politia commander in full dress whites. He was a rare sight on Atlantia, clad in his white leather uniform and lapis blue turtleneck. His broad chest was adorned with an array of medals and ribbons. The Titanium Angel insignia on his shoulder caught the light and seemed to glow, and the silver and glass wings were, without question, the emblem of a pilot, a commanding of- fi cer, an adventurer, and a hero. Lazer knew his father had fought in the Mutant Wars, but his father had been a foot soldier, a middle- ranked grunt. Lazer had never met any of the commanding offi cers, especially not a pilot. A rush of panic gripped Lazer’s stomach. He wondered if the commander was on offi cial business. Does he know about the undelivered pass key? Behind him, the news anchor rambled on about the Triumvirate leaders ordering a recall on all Series IV Black Guard, the defective series they believed to be responsible for the attacks. Lazer snapped to attention when he heard the caveat that the Triumvirate had,

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however, decided to leave Atlantia under the care of the Series III Black Guard to keep the peace until a human militia could be orga- nized, trained, armed, and installed by the Atlantian government. There was an audible gasp before the room went silent with shock. Lazer was not the only one jarred by the realization that their security, their safety, their very lives were still in the hands of the biodroids. The anchorwoman nonchalantly segued into the global weather report, and life as usual went on. Lazer could not believe his ears. He fl ushed with a wave of heat- ed fury that made his face burn. He’d had enough. He had lost his father, nearly lost his mother, and so many friends and family mem- bers had died at the metal hands of these machines, yet they were to be left to roam free across his homeland. Lazer wanted out! He needed to leave before he exploded in front of all these people. A fl ood of panic choked him. He needed to breathe. “Lazer?” Cashton whispered. Lazer did not respond. He bolted across the living room and burst outside onto the small balcony that hung beyond the tint- ed glass doors of the dining room. The air was crisp and moist, still chilled from the rain that had fallen intermittently all day. It clung to his cheeks, but provided no relief from the anguish that boiled beneath his skin. He grabbed the metal rail, holding on so that he wouldn’t spin into the chaos that gnawed at his thoughts. He looked out into the distance, past the hills north of the com- plex. Gracefully, the clouds parted, giving way to broad streaks of sunlight that painted the sky with the colors of a glorious, scarlet- orange sunset. The smoke that still poured from the burning mines bloodied the natural light. The gloomy voice of guilt grew even louder in his head. Lazer turned away and covered his ears in a fu- tile attempt to drown out the inner accusations that pounded him again and again. His eyes fell on Detra, who stood outside on the entry walkway, talking with the well-decorated Politia commander. She wept as he delivered compassionate words of consolation.

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“Torturing yourself won’t bring him back,” Kyla said, softly stepping onto the balcony behind Lazer. Lazer let his hands fall from his ears. He didn’t turn. “OMG, Lazer, your aura’s pure . . .” “Don’t Kyla! Not today,” he snapped, taking his eyes off his mother. It didn’t take a splicer to see the pain or feel the anxiety that swirled around him in a halo of sadness; his emotions were obvious to anyone who could see the anguish and guilt of a wounded heart. “I should have taken him the card,” Lazer confessed softly. “You would have been there by noon. You would have kept your promise. There was nothing else you could have done.” “But we both know that’s a lie. Don’t we?” Lazer said as he spun to face her. His words were harsh and accusatory. “No one knew they would attack, and the dome wouldn’t have stopped the inevitable. No one’s blaming you,” she said. “I’m blaming me!” he said, pounding his chest. “Then don’t,” Kyla replied. “Your father trusted you, and you wouldn’t have let him down, Lazer. I know it.” Her voice cracked. She, too, struggled with the truth of what had happened. “Go away, Kyla,” he whispered. His sadness engulfed her heart. He had been her best friend since third grade, and she loved him more than he would ever know. “No. I won’t go away. I’m your friend, Lazer.” “No, you’re not. My friend would have let me go save my fa- ther.” His voice was cold and distant. “The last thing you are, Kyla Wingright, is my friend.” His aura turned a hideous black. He was fi lled with hatred, not for her, but for himself. He turned away from her and, in two giant strides, was gone from the balcony. He moved through the house past all the people, including Cashton, who stepped aside when he saw Lazer’s face. The voice in Lazer’s head screamed, Get out! Go somewhere! Do something! He stormed out the front door and past his mother. She grabbed his arm, seeing the rage in his eyes.

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“I need the Zakki. I . . . I gotta get out of here. Please,” he said through gritted teeth. “Lazer, I want you to meet an old friend of your father’s. This is Commander Hague.” Lazer said nothing. “Your father and I did our fi nal rite of passage the very same year at Sangelino University. He saved my butt more than once dur- ing pre-trials in the outback. Your father was a good man, Lazer. I’ll miss him.” Commander Hague extended his hand. There was a warm sincerity in his voice that touched Lazer even through the haze of emotions that clouded his every breath. “He wrote to tell me you scored ace on your Virtual Flight Test.” Lazer heard the genuineness in Hague’s words. He shut it out. Lazer gave an awkward nod, but any attempt at coherent conversa- tion eluded him. “Commander Hague is head of the fl ight school at Tosadae,” Detra added, trying to draw her son into the conversation. Lazer looked at her as the color blanched from his face. Her words were as mean and insensitive as salt in an open wound. “I’m not going to Tosadae!” he snapped at his mother. Detra recoiled from the harshness in his tone. She gathered her composure and cloaked her response in the guise of an apology, more for Hague than Lazer. “He didn’t get the scholarship we were count- ing on,” she explained. “But we’re hoping maybe next year . . .” “It doesn’t matter!” Lazer said, cutting her off. “It does matter!” she shouted back at him, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m not going anywhere until I get every biodroid nanohead off Atlantian soil!” he roared in her face. “I’ll stay here and fi ght with the underground.” “Lazer!” Tears welled in Detra eyes. Lazer didn’t care. He felt no compassion, only wave after wave of wild anger. Manners and social graces were no longer relevant. Hague stepped in with the coolness of a military negotiator on

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the front lines of battle. “Lazer, why don’t you let me see if I can pull a few strings? Your father wanted you to graduate from Tosadae. Do it. Come back to Atlantia a leader, ready to take on this fi ght with the Politia training to win, son.” It was the only voice of hope Lazer had heard in weeks, but it wasn’t enough to stop the pain or quell the anger that pounded in his chest. “Don’t call me son. You’re not my . . .” Lazer stopped himself. “I don’t need your help.” “Think about it,” Hague added softly. “Yeah, sure.” Lazer’s throat closed. He was suffocating. He had to get away. “I need to take the Zakki!” “Lazer, you are in no state . . .” Hague stepped in and cut her off with a gentle touch to her arm. His eyes gave her a clear signal. Let him go. She knew Hague was right, the same way she knew Rand was right about when to fi ght and when to let Lazer have his way. She nodded, and in the blink of an eye, Lazer disappeared. “Give him some time, Detra,” Hague said. “Get him out of here. Please. I don’t want him here if the fi ght- ing escalates.” All dignity fell away as she begged for Hague’s help. The thought of letting her son go was more than she could handle, but the thought of losing him to an underground war was utterly unbearable. Behind them, the Zakki roared to life and blasted out of the hoverport. Lazer streaked from the garage, full throttle, and van- ished over the horizon. “He won’t be here, Detra. I promise you,” Commander Hague said.

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SERENDIPITY

ucane Covax sped along in his Wedge, gazing at the hills that D buttressed the western coastline of Atlantia. His eyes traced the jagged cliffs at the sea’s edge as they melted into the soft, undu- lating hills of the outlands. Covax wanted to see the destruction at the mines and the desecrated Orbis Temple for himself. He wanted to understand how the Black Guard, which he had so meticulously designed to honor, serve, and protect humans, could have been re- sponsible for such heinous acts of destruction. He knew he had not reprogrammed his precious Black Guard to commit such unspeak- able atrocities, so the question loomed: Who did? Who had the access? Who had the nerve to defy his plan to incorporate Atlantia under his Biodroid Design Labs banner and give him the seat he wanted on the World Corporate Council? The most perfect example of his biodroid series was Five, an elite Series IV Black Guard biodroid. It sat dutifully at the Wedge’s controls. Five was a prototype of Covax’s latest generation of bio- droids. Its viral nanobands had been infused with his human DNA, a concept Covax based on rod logic from a hundred years before. Covax had discovered the design, which used stiff particle rods made from short chains of carbon atoms as its base theory. A second ring of atoms was placed around each rod. The rods could then be built into an interlocking network of atomic particles, capable of sliding between two positions—off and on—and could be reset by a switch.

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Until Covax’s work, this concept had existed only in theory. His discovery proved that for the conduit to achieve power, it had to be chemical and not electrical. His use of viral protein chains, capable of withstanding the heat generated by the mechanical parts, had al- lowed him to realize the impossible. The Series IV was taking his work to the next level. By crossing his own human DNA strands with the viral strands, it made the Series IV A.I. faster than any other mechanical computer. It had an unlimited capacity for analysis, logic, and exponential information storage, and it made Five his crowning glory. Based on his success with Five, he had built the Series IV using human/viral DNA. Covax was working on program codes that would make the Series IV invin- cible, although that part was still only theory. Also riding in the transport’s reversible side seat was Covax’s seventeen-year-old daughter, Elana Blue Covax. She was even more beautiful than her holo-image, with a smile that could melt any heart. Elana Blue looked nothing like her father, except perhaps for the array of facial expressions that she had adopted over the years of their almost constant time together. She loved him, and he guarded her with reverent caring. She was his greatest joy—actually, his only joy—other than work. Covax sat behind them in the rear of the transport, stroking his favorite pet, a “protius” as Covax called her breed, named Prima. Prima was a genetically spliced prototype he had created by merg- ing a female lion, an Alaskan bear, and a porcupine, resulting in a ninety-pound prickly lap pup. There were still a few years before her hormones kicked in and she would have to be destroyed; until then, he enjoyed her affections. “It’s the I.L. virus all over again,” he mumbled to himself. “The Illiatius virus wasn’t your fault, and neither is this.” Elana’s voice was warm, patient, and nurturing. This was a discus- sion that had been repeated a hundred times before. Elana had a maturity beyond her years. Born old, her father used to say. It was refl ected in her almost parental concern for her father. “You can’t

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change history, Daddy. It’s not your fault.” “Neither was the Mutant War, and they tried to crucify me for that, as well,” Covax blurted with the petulant tone of a pouting child. “You didn’t order the Black Guard to attack.” Elana brought him back from his haze of memories. “But I did create them,” Covax sighed. “Maybe a few biodroids malfunctioned. That’s all.” “That’s impossible,” he insisted. Covax turned away, mumbling more to himself than to Elana, “Your mother warned me not to use viral DNA.” He closed his eyes to block her face and voice from his memory. It still haunted him. “You crossed them with human DNA as a safety gauge. You used what worked.” Elana hated being her father’s cheerleader, but that had been her role since she was a child. “The Black Guard also saved hundreds of thousands of lives. Those two outbreaks are an anomaly. Please, daddy, I know you’ll fi nd the strand corruption and destroy it,” she assured him. Covax continued to stroke the protius as he looked out the win- dow. He told himself he didn’t care. He was back in Atlantia, and that was all that mattered. He was home. It had been his home since the Splicer Fiasco had made him a pariah in Sangelino, as well as in most major cities around the world. For one brief moment, before that unfortunate event, the words “Hero of the Age of Light” had glowed across the planet for a decade under his holographic image. In the end, they had faded to black and, as far as Covax was con- cerned, it was happening again. Covax looked one more time at his beautiful daughter and then turned his gaze out the window of his transport. He knew his neigh- bors would not welcome him home with smiles and handshakes. He felt the rush of anger and frustration that burned his cheeks and turned his tattoos a deep indigo blue. I won’t run away. Covax stroked little Prima, making her purr. I’ll fi nd this enemy and destroy it before it destroys me and I will have Atlantia. Whatever the price, I will have Atlantia.

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FIRST ENCOUNTERS

azer dropped altitude and weaved too close to the rocks. He L darted dangerously low, cutting a path between the semi- transparent trees that had been genetically altered by the early bioengineers who had settled on Atlantia. They had taken the ocean’s kelp, which struggled to survive in the sandy swamps formed by the Great Quakes, and crossed its genetics with land dwelling trees, thus biologically engineering photosynthetic edible vegetation. The en- hanced trees grew six feet per day until they reached almost 300 feet high, oxygenating the atmosphere and providing massive amounts of food. Epicureans claimed they tasted like sweet potatoes. Lazer, lost in his sadness, saw nothing. He slammed the Zakki into a hard landing, thumping onto a rocky plateau that overlooked the methane mines. Below him, fi re crews still battled the inferno. Thick smoke and towering fl ames billowed from the blackened remains, fi ll- ing the sky with a dense red veil that bloodied the sun and obliterated the sight of anything that lay behind its curtain of destruction. Lazer stared out at the destruction. He tried to comprehend what he was seeing, what he was feeling, what he had done. “I should have come! Universal God, forgive me!” he cried into the heavens. “I should have saved you, but I let you die. I let all of you die.” Lazer stumbled back, drunk with self-pity, and mounted his Zakki. He twisted the throttle until the velocity meter screamed

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into the red. In an instant he was in fl ight, the greenish gold of his afterburners gleaming behind him. He dipped into Belly Canyon at a 180 knots, barely missing the jagged peaks that jutted up like cruel, spiked fi ngers. Lazer was numb. Life in that moment was nothing but an emp- ty void that only promised a meaningless future. He sped above the Helena River and let the Zakki snake toward the treacherous cliffs at Shooting Falls. Lazer saw the only solution that made any sense—to end this agony that had become his life. With that thought, his soul fi lled with a bizarre sense of peace. Lazer let go and closed his eyes, blocking out the world. At that exact moment, Lazer’s Zakki cut past Covax’s Wedge. The Wedge banked a hard left to avert what would certainly have been a fatal crash. Lazer saw nothing. Elana gasped as Five handled the situation meticulously and emotionlessly. He twisted the Wedge into a half-roll and righted it a millimeter before the collision. Elana twisted back to see what had streaked by. “Did you see that?” she shrieked. “Another Atlantian cowboy,” her father said glibly, calming the protius. “Cowboy or not, I’d want him on my wing,” she said, as her startled face fi lled with excitement. “Get a read on his genetics, Five. Hurry! Follow him!” she ordered, turning her side seat forward and locking in to get a better view. Five didn’t respond “Father . . .” she insisted. Covax could not resist his daughter; as long as he was alive, she would have anything her heart desired. He complied with a wave of his hand, and Five turned the Wedge in pursuit. Lazer dropped into the wondrous canyons of Shooting Falls. A huge crack in the Earth, its vertical walls were pockmarked by a thousand waterfalls that gushed from a myriad of caves and fell in great cascading ribbons of water, crashing into the mist hundreds of feet below.

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The Wedge—faster and heavier—was gaining. Five reached scanning range and projected a thin green tracer beam from his face. The beam fell across Lazer, tracing over his body and reading ev- ery cell of his genetics. Carefully and meticulously, Five collected the requested information. Five’s sensors began to store and cross- reference the signals until his memory banks registered something disturbingly familiar about the data. Then, without logic or reason, Five began to malfunction. The shade of the tracer beam changed, shifting from bright green to a dark, murky emerald. Covax saw the change. Lazer sensed something was very wrong. The sensation raised the hairs on his neck and, from someplace deep inside his body, called him back to the reality of the moment. Still caught up in his race to death, he wiped the tears that fl owed from his eyes and opened them. Time slowed as his senses reached out, charting ev- erything that was happening down to the most infi nitesimal detail. In his peripheral vision, he caught site of the light from the green beam that traced his body. A voice in his head screamed the hid- eous reality of the moment—his mortal enemy was scanning him. Lazer wanted death, but not at the hands of a Black Guard. Lazer snapped from his trance. He saw the Wedge and the Black Guard at the controls, and his instincts to survive stabbed him with a shot of adrenaline so violent it felt like the prick of a thousand electric needles piercing him at once. But there was something more he did not have time to consciously comprehend. His senses warned him of a greater danger. At that moment, Five veered the Wedge into a steep bank and lined Lazer up for the kill. Without permission or a command from Covax, Five accelerated with one intent, to ram the Zakki. In the last second before the crash, Lazer’s refl exes took over. He banked a hard right, swung out into a J-turn, and careened into the force of the turn, losing control of the Zakki. Elana Blue screamed. Lazer’s tailpipe clipped the cliff wall with a crushing thud. He

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spun out of control and careened back into the path of the oncoming Wedge. They were a microsecond away from a head-on collision. “Avert,” Covax shouted. There was no response from the biodroid. Elana Blue leapt sideways and slammed into the controls. The force of her body against the control yoke sent the Wedge into a nosedive, missing Lazer by a hair. With the Wedge still out of con- trol, Five swung his arm, catching Elana Blue and knocking her to her side of the craft. As the Wedge plummeted, Covax reached for- ward and ripped the small, power panel from the back of Five’s neck, disabling him. “Elana . . .” Covax shouted, “the controls!” Elana swung the moon-shaped control yoke into her lap. A few feet away, Lazer was fl ailing out of control. Elana dragged her thumbs down the left side of the yoke’s dual handles and the Wedge reversed jets. The change of force made the craft turn as it whipped a perfect 180 in midair and then jerked to a jarring stop. It hovered in motionless silence. Lazer, caught in the spiral of centrifugal force, was dragged, spinning forward, under a deluge of water that shot out from one of the cascading spouts. The water slammed against the Zakki. The small craft was buffeted by the shooting spray and sent careening across the crevasse until it clipped another canyon wall, bounced off, and shuttered to a jerking stop directly under the wash of another gushing spout. The water poured over him and instantly fl ooded his engine. The deluge caused the one thing a hovercraft could not handle—a fl ame out. The Zakki hung in midair for one precious moment, then, left without power, plummeted straight down into the arms of gravity. Lighter than his craft, Lazer dropped away, tumbling close behind his falling transport. He shook his head, trying to gather what senses he had left, and realized he was in free fall. There was nothing to grab—no rock, no protruding branch—only gallons of falling liquid.

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Elana panicked at the sight of the falling boy. Five was disabled. Covax was in the back. There was a microsecond of hesitation. Elana Blue’s natural refl exes took over. She jammed the yoke forward, throwing them back into a nosedive, opened throttle and aimed the ship straight down. She had gravity; now she needed speed. “Use the thrusters!” Covax called to her, his body already pressed back into his seat by the g-forces. The protius dug its nails into the microfi ber of the seat and held on. Elana Blue engaged the thrusters, letting gravity, the weight of the transport, and the kick from the afterburners crush them harder into their descent. With the ninety-nine-degree drop of an uber roller coaster, they plummeted, gaining inch-by-inch on the falling boy. As Lazer fell, he found himself face up, watching the clouds and sky grow more distant with each second. He gasped for breath as the air was sucked from his lungs. His mind searched desper- ately for survival options. There were none. He had wanted death; now it was coming to claim him. He could not fi ght the inevitable. At 120 kilometers per hour, he prayed death would come before he hit the ground. His mind drifted and time slowed. The crash- ing falls and the hiss of the wind called to him like the voices of sirens. Images of his mother, father, childhood, and friends rushed before his eyes; with those images came a strange euphoric calm. Lazer was dying. The images fell away, drifting into a long, narrow tunnel that closed in around him, leaving only a narrow point of light glowing at its end. His mind surrendered. Lazer closed his eyes and blacked out. Elana Blue dropped a few feet below Lazer, rotated the transport into a vertical position, and maneuvered the Wedge directly under him. Still descending, the Wedge took Lazer’s weight. She rotated the thrusters, throwing them into full power. The engines screamed and the Wedge shuddered, straining like a quivering hand as it de- fi ed the forces of nature that would drag them to their deaths. The ground was closing in. Gravity was winning the battle.

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“Hit the boosters!” Covax strained to speak under the crushing pressure. The terrifi ed young protius now clung to the fl oor of the craft, its quills extended and erect. Elana struggled, moving her hand forward. She reached the panel and fi red the fi rst booster. There was a thunderous roar as the Wedge caught the force of the initial turbos that slowed their descent. It decelerated but was not enough to stop what was about to happen. The torrential river and jutting rocks were rushing up beneath them. With less than twenty seconds until impact, Elana had to do something. She gripped the yoke as her knuckles blanched pure white. The Wedge was still descending. They were ten seconds to impact. Below them, Lazer’s Zakki hammered into the water and ex- ploded into a thousand pieces. “Hit the second booster!” Covax yelled at his daughter. “Not yet,” she whispered. “Three . . . two . . . one!” Elana hit the second turbo. Another blast exploded from the dual boosters and repelled against the surface rocks and water and echoed off the canyons like a giant clap of thunder. The Wedge strained under its own weight. Finally, with one last mighty groan, it broke free of the Earth’s gravitational forces, slowed, and stopped twenty-two feet above the rocks. Elana held her breath and guided the Wedge upward, lifting the craft into a smooth ascent, with Lazer splayed across its hull. They drifted gracefully up the canyon until they crested the ridge and hovered above a small fl at plateau. Elana gently lowered the craft onto its landing pods. Finally, still trembling, she exhaled. A few moments passed before a dazed Lazer awoke. Was this death that spun around him in a blur of confusion? He struggled back to consciousness, rolled off the nose of the Wedge, and staggered a few feet away to gain his equilibrium. Lazer’s knees trembled. He shook his head, trying to understand how he could have survived certain death.

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With a hiss, the gull-winged doors swung up and a relatively composed Ducane Covax looked out. He blocked Elana, who peered anxiously from behind Five’s shoulder in the front seat to see if the boy was all right. “Are you okay?” she called out from the shadows. The protius, which had been tossed to the fl oor in the chaos, growled menacingly at Lazer. The odd-looking creature raised the porcupine hackles that grew along her back and bared her retractable rows of razor-sharp spiked teeth. Her soft tan color darkened into an earthy brown as she went into defense camoufl age. Her muscular body tensed, arching into attack stance. Covax stroked the protius’ haunches; his hand was both fi rm and comforting as he closed the fi ngers of his other hand around her collar. She bared her teeth one more time, then relaxed when she sensed her master’s ease. “Your Wedge ran me down!” Lazer’s mind began to clear and, as it did, he heard a girl’s voice, but his eyes focused on one fi gure only: Five. “Murderer!” Lazer shouted, his trembling fi nger pointing at a rigid, deactivated Five. “We just saved your life,” Covax responded. “I’d rather be dead than saved by your bio scum,” Lazer hissed at them. “Why, you ungrateful geek!” Elana growled through clenched teeth. She lurched forward, pushing from behind Five to jump from the Wedge. Covax held her back and blocked them from each other’s sight. “I’ll remember that the next time you need your ass saved!” she added, furious at his insolence. The encounter was over. Covax was done. He punched a button and the doors sucked closed. Elana, now more angry than shaken, rotated the engines into vertical position and lifted the fuselage. The Wedge rose ten feet above the ground and fl ew away. Inside the Wedge, Elana was livid. “What an ingrate. Did you read him?” Her voice shook. “You’re the empath,” Covax responded.

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“I saved him and . . .” “And?” Covax looked at her curiously. “And . . . I felt something.” She said looking curiously at her father. Elana touched her heart. She felt the pangs of an empathetic rush overcome her, heavy with grief and sorrow. The feelings bit into her heart so hard that tears welled in her eyes. “Did you know him?” “No.” “If he wasn’t a threat to you, why did Five attack him?” she asked. “I don’t know,” Covax replied, as he studied the immobile giant next to her. That was twice that Covax had picked up a discrepancy in Five’s protocol; fi rst just after the Orbis attack and now Five’s absolute defi ance of his command. Covax stared at Five, deeply troubled by the acts of insolence he had seen in his prize creation. Covax would scrub Five’s data strands when they returned to the lab. There was nothing more he could do until then. He looked at the small power pack in his hand, knowing that the DNA imbedded in the design for the new generation could not be removed. That will have to change. As his gaze drifted away from Five, he noticed the thick column of smoke that belched from the Vacary Mines a few miles ahead. Covax’s tattoos fl ushed, turning from their pensive amber to a dark burgundy, a color that showed itself when something sad af- fected him deeply. “Set it down, Elana,” Covax said. His voice didn’t register his feelings. Elana Blue, still seething over the encounter with the irate boy, slowed the Wedge and hovered. They drifted above the ground about fi fty meters west of the destruction. Elana Blue obediently descended the craft, then turned her gaze to what was left of the mines. Her jaw fell open as she stared at the vast and violent carnage that lay below. As an empath, the energy of pain and death hung thick around her. Her heart ached; she was sickened by the horror

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and suffering of what had happened. The feelings mingled with the strange sadness she had felt from the boy. He had been connected to this place. She knew it. She found her eyes drawn back to the billow- ing mists that drifted up from Shooting Falls. She could still see the handsome, arrogant boy in the rear view projection screen. He still stood in the distance, a tiny stick fi gure staring defi antly after them. He hated her. She could feel that, too. She was right. Lazer wanted them to feel his hate. His rage fi lled him up like searing lava from an erupting volcano. His body, still weak from his kiss with death, quivered as he screamed after them. “I swear by the powers of the universe, I’ll destroy you all!” he shouted. The scream sent his body into a spastic tremor. Lazer would not accept that he had just been saved by the de- mons that had murdered his father. Hatred poured into Lazer’s heart and, for the fi rst time, he found a focus so precise and so specifi c there was no denying who was to blame for his pain and grief. In the depths of his newfound hatred bloomed a strange, cold euphoria. Lazer, exhausted from the weeks of sorrow since his father’s death and the strain of his own near death ordeal, began to weep. The tears that streaked down his cheeks brought with them not relief, but a frigid calm that washed over him like a winter’s chill. Cole Lazerman had, in a single instant, defi ned his existence. He had a mission, and its name was revenge. “I will destroy all of you. I will avenge my father and every man, woman, and child who died because of you. And I swear, on my fa- ther’s soul, that nothing or no one will stop me until every biodroid is wiped from the face of the Earth.” He shouted out the words and trembled as they echoed back the dark promise that now possessed him. This was his destiny, and he would not be denied. Five, his power pack fi rmly resting in Covax’s hand, felt a surge of some indiscernible energy. It coursed through him and fi lled him with . . . with . . . life. He was thinking, feeling, living without breath or the need of substance. Emotions fl owed through him, sparking and tingling along the neuron fi bers that spidered though his metallic

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body. Five tasted the acrid smoke from the burning mines. He smelled its pungent, foul odor, felt the shift in heat that the burning fl ames emitted. He was alive! He had been sentient for months, but this was beyond conscious thought—this was life in its most elemental form growing inside him. He could feel, most of all, a tingling across the mask of metal that covered what should have been his featureless face. The molecules of metal began to vibrate so rapidly they reconfi gured from solid into an almost liquid form. They began to swirl and undu- late. Slowly, unnoticed by Covax or Elana, the slightest hint of human features pushed out of the shifting mass: a haze of lips, a nose, and two blank eyes. The irises formed, admitting light from the world. It seared through the virgin orifi ces with a blinding brightness. The rush of forms and colors that slammed into his mind was too much to bear. Five’s face retreated back into its metallic mask with a violent shudder. Covax felt the biodroid jerk. He looked at its blank, featureless mask and studied the strange anomaly for a long, slow moment. Covax gazed at the power pack that rested in his hand and dismissed the unfeasible thought that tried to take hold in his mind. Then, giving the matter no more of his time, he turned his gaze back to watch the Vacary Mine as it burned out of control.

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SOMETHING

ime passed, with one day as void as the next. Lazer sat in his T room, staring out at nothing. He held in his hands his father’s purple key card, turning it over and over while his mind drifted through a thousand thoughts: the past, the future, and worst of all, the relentless present. Music played softly from his computer and fi lled the holoscreen with a colorful stream of fl oating, abstract im- ages. On the audio, the lyrics cried a sad tale, while a saxophone sang of the never-ending pain of lost love. Beneath the song’s haunting melody, the drone of several Vybernet feeds could be heard, the loudest of which came from the local ANN All News Network report in Atlantia. It appeared in a small pic-in-pic in the lower corner of the holoscreen, occasionally blocked by the constant stream of pop-ups and Vybernet market ads that bombarded the visuals. Lazer could have blocked them out, but he preferred to blast them away. This task he shared, when he was otherwise occupied, with his sexy avatar. He had programmed her to blast the little ads into fi reballs, after which she would perform a cute little victory dance as the burning images faded away in a shim- mering shower of particle dust. Detra walked by the door. Her arms were fi lled with clothes, some clean, some dirty. These days it all seemed the same. Keeping herself busy with mundane chores and duties helped her defi ne her

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role as “widowed single mother living in the outback of Atlantia.” She stopped to look at her son and sighed. He had been sequestered in his room since the funeral, leaving only long enough to graduate from Vacary High—barely. He ignored his friends, hardly ate, and took little or no interest in anything. She understood all too well how he felt. It was only the protocol of adulthood and the fact that she still had a son to raise that kept her from closing out the world and behaving the same way. But Commander Hague had said, “Give him time,” so she bit her lip, said nothing, and hoisted the laundry higher up into her arms. The sexy avatar stopped blasting pop-ups and stood as if she were listening to something far away. Sensually, her strap fell from her shoulder and she turned her three-dimensional face toward Lazer and smiled. “Hey Laze, the search tag for follow-up news on Black Guard attacks at Vacary Mines and the Orbis Temple just pinged in a match. Wanna watch?” She batted her eyes, as if she were fl irting with him. Lazer tossed the key card onto his desk and faced his holoscreen. “Activate tag,” he commanded. Instantly, the local ANN newscaster’s pic-in-pic screen enlarged to full size, obliterating all the other feeds. On camera, the afternoon host—a handsome middle-aged man with silver hair and the “too- good looks” of an ex-movie star—stared directly at Lazer. He always spoke with a slight smirk, as if to say, “I know more than you, so shut up and listen.” “ . . . of the Atlantian investigation team. This was the fi rst outside group Dr. Covax has allowed into his Temple Mountain fa- cilities since its construction fi fteen years ago.” A b-roll visual played behind the announcer, showing the front entrance of the heavily guarded Temple Mountain production facility. It was ultra-modern, with a Frank Gehry-ish kind of design, only instead of two-story panels of twisted stainless steel, the facility was a mass of abstract bent glass set inside huge arching chrome beams. A group of bland-faced businessmen and nerdy looking scientists

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entered the building, graciously led by the charismatic Dr. Ducane Covax. The too-handsome newscaster mentioned a bunch of impor- tant names Lazer had heard on the daily Vybernet news reports over the months since his father’s death. The newscaster described who the investigators were and how they had been selected to be on the investigation committee. Blah, blah, blah, Lazer thought. Get to the point! The visual switched and showed Dr. Covax as he led the investi- gators deep into his pristine, state-of-the-art production area. It was a massive, fi fteen-story open atrium crisscrossed by a labyrinth of catwalks that stretched from one side to the other every fi ve fl oors. The catwalks hung suspended above the main assembly area, which fi lled the behemoth fl oor a hundred feet below. The massive produc- tion area was covered with conveyer belts and countless automatons that stood motionless as they silently waited to be turned back on after the investigation was concluded. “. . . which were designed specifi cally for the production of his Series IV Black Guard peacekeeper biodroids,” the newscaster said, adding that the Series IV production had been suspended until fur- ther notice. The camera crew dutifully followed Dr. Covax and the investi- gation team as he pointed out various levels and specifi c areas of the production facility. Covax explained in meticulous detail the various purposes of several of the chambers. Lazer leaned forward as he listened to the explanations about the labs, research facilities, sequencing, amino testing, and strand pro- gramming chambers that encircled the middle fl oors of the cylinder. “. . . until proof can be established as to exactly who committed the acts of terrorism against the Atlantians. If the Black Guard is proved to be behind the attacks, then all further production of the Series IV will be permanently shut down until the problem can be identifi ed and rectifi ed.” The investigation team was suddenly wearing white, protective

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garb. As far as Lazer could tell, they were standing somewhere in- side a large, glaringly white lab. The sign above the central lab read: MEMORY STRAND CONSTRUCTION AREA. The handsome newscaster repeated Dr. Covax’s assurance that all the working Series IV biodroids had been scrubbed and repro- grammed, and that the spokesperson for the Atlantian investigation team had reported in an ANN exclusive that all Dr. Covax’s initial efforts were deemed “responsible and thorough.” Whether or not the Series IV were behind both the Orbis Temple and the Vacary Mines attacks was still undetermined and under investigation. “Then who ordered the attacks in the fi rst place?” Cashton asked from the doorway, where he and Kyla stood. Lazer’s fi rst reaction to the presence of his friends was aloof. He glanced at them casually, and then returned his gaze to the holo- screen. “Hello to you, too,” Kyla said as she stepped closer. “Hey,” Lazer mumbled. “You look good for a zombie,” Cashton chimed in. “What are you doing here?” Lazer didn’t care if they answered. “We were tired of getting your loser messages that you didn’t want to see anybody and you needed time.” “We gave you time,” Kyla said. “But we missed you.” “I missed him? I didn’t miss him.” “Look, I appreciate the pep rally, but . . .” Lazer started. He wished they would go away and leave him alone. “No buts. You need to get out and do something before you turn into a total veg.” “Something,” Lazer said with a scowl, as he glanced at the holo- screen then back at Kyla. He wanted to do something all right. He wanted to wipe the Black Guard off the face of the planet. But what could he do? He was a kid in the middle of nowhere living twenty minutes from where his worst nightmares were being built. And then it hit him with the force of a hurricane. Lazer’s heart stopped. He was here—right here, closer than anybody. We could stop them.

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“I need to get into Temple Mountain,” Lazer said, brightening. Cashton and Kyla were silent for a second. They stared at Lazer, then the holoscreen, then at each other. Is he serious? “Uh, that would be retarded and impossible,” Cashton replied. “Then ice out and leave me alone,” Lazer snapped at him and turned his eyes back to the holoscreen. “To do what?” Kyla asked. “Blow every Black Guard to oblivion.” Lazer pointed to the fa- cility that loomed at them from the holoscreen. Cashton and Kyla exchanged another look. They wanted to help their friend, but going inside a high-security facility like a bunch of rebel terrorists and blowing up a multi-billion credit facility was insane. “Get real!” Cashton said. “I’m very real.” “I’m not saying you don’t have reason, just that you’re spinning your wheels to even think about it,” Cashton said. “Just get me inside.” Kyla couldn’t help but see the sad blue aura that shimmered around Lazer. The pale, soft glow was enhanced by intermittent sparks of ruby anger and locked in a ring of deep purple that signi- fi ed confusion. She hated to see him in such turmoil. She wasn’t an empath who could feel his every feeling, but it didn’t take being a clone to see he needed something to distract the host of negative feelings that engulfed him. Her heart melted, and before she had thought it through, she spoke. “Evvy’s working part time at Temple Mountain.” Lazer’s ears perked up. “Could she get us in?” “What do you mean us, Kimosabi?” Cashton jumped in, set- ting down the minuscule handheld game unit that had captured his attention. “Kimosabi?” Kyla frowned. “Tonto. My hero. The guy with the guy with the mask, on the Ancient TV Vybernet feed. And by the way, someone who would

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not step into a stupid situation like a suicide mission at a high-secu- rity facility and would never, I repeat never, in a grillion years, ask his best friends to go with him.” Kyla rolled her eyes, remembering how Cashton had insisted they watch the Lone Ranger series ad nauseam. “That show is beyond politically incorrect. How could you . . . ?” Kyla fussed. “I love that show.” “Kyla, Evvy,” Lazer broke into their conversation, “can she get me in?” His focus was locked into the possibility of fi nding a way inside Temple Mountain. “I guess, but why in U.G.’s name would you . . .” Kyla realized from the glow of warm gold that encircled Lazer that hope had over- taken him. Lazer was serious, ridiculously serious. “Lazer, whatever you’re thinking . . . stop,” Kyla insisted. Lazer glanced at the handsome announcer who had moved on to another story. “We could do it,” he said, as he faced the holoscreen. He com- manded the holoscreen, “Rewind ANN Temple Mountain story.” The feed rewound. “Stop!” he ordered. The picture froze on the story’s opening frame—a detailed view of the entrance to the Temple Mountain facility. “Layer out anchorman. Enhance. Play,” Lazer ordered. The vi- sual repeated what Lazer had just seen, showing at double speed the investigation team entering the building. “Fast forward a thousand frames.” The digital images jumped until it came to the investigators walking along the massive catwalks and then into the labs. “Stop! Enlarge 20 percent. There! I need to get to there.” He pointed at the frozen image of the labs. “The amino strands labs? Why? To do what?” Kyla asked, aston- ished and thoroughly confused. “To stop them. Somebody has to, and it might as well be us . . . me.” He shot a look to Cashton. “That still doesn’t answer any of the fi fty thousand questions I’m

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asking, especially if I’m risking Evvy’s job.” “Did you forget our lives are part of this equation?” Cashton was not at all pleased with where the conversation was headed. “I want to know what you’re planning,” Kyla insisted. “I’m planning to blow that room, Kyla. The question is how?” “Hypothetically, we could, if we could get past the security cameras,” Cashton laughed uncomfortably. “You’re both crazy!” Kyla said, throwing up her hands. “Yeah, but it doesn’t make me a bad person.” “Talk to me, Einstein.” Lazer focused on Cashton. Cashton was hit by one of his “genius bolts,” as he called them and, like Kyla, spoke before he fi nished thinking through what shar- ing his idea could mean. “I’m thinking,” he said, lost in his thoughts for a moment. Lazer knew the look. “Go on.” “Well, remember my holo-imager?” “Yeah?” Then, he got it. “Yes! It’s genius! Totally genius!” Lazer beamed, thrilled by the visual image that was swirling in his head. “Excuse me, but did you both have a collective brain fart and forget the imager didn’t work. Please remember the horrifi c Vacary Celebration Day dance. We were in detention for a week,” Kyla reminded them. “One minor glitch. And I fi xed it.” Cashton blushed. Lazer’s mind was whirring at light speed. “I could get the recipe for an explosive off the Vybernet. My dad showed me . . .” Lazer’s words trailed off. “We have to do this. Please.” Again, there was a long silence as both boys looked at Kyla. Once again, she held the trio’s deciding vote. “No.” “You owe me.” Lazer’s anger crept back in. “You’re crazy if you do it!” she blurted. “We’re crazy if we don’t. Kyla, I can’t be one of those people who ignores the bad things they see happening. My father is dead. My life has been affected. Maybe you can hide and ignore the signs until someone you love is killed, but by then, I guarantee you, it’ll

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be too late.” Lazer took Kyla by the shoulders. “You told me you were my friend. Act like it, and help me get in there. Please. I have to do this.” Kyla’s heart melted. Saying no to Lazer was next to impossible, even when it defi ed logic and reason. It had been that way from the beginning. “Okay, okay. Fine. But no explosions. We crash their systems,” she said emphatically and gave a shiver. Was she actually considering such insane thoughts? “We’ll fi gure it out together. We’re a team, right?” Lazer blurted. He felt alive again. His heart raced. The blood that had run so cold in his veins began to pump with a wild excitement that vibrated in every fi ber of his being.

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THE PLAN

azer, Kyla, Cashton, and Evvy stood on the road three miles L outside the entrance to Temple Mountain, huddled together in the back of Evvy’s transport—a high-end, dual turbo, hydrogen drag racer decorated with painted fl ames along the lower fl anks. The hovercraft was equipped to fl y from zero to 150 miles per hour in six seconds. Kyla had raced with her only once; that was all it took to convince her riding shotgun with a speed demon like Evvy was insane. They listened intently to Lazer’s plan, except Cashton, who fi ddled with some small mechanism that hung from his neck. Now and then, Kyla nervously checked for Temple Mountain security’s watchful bots. Evvy tilted her head like a cocker spaniel listening to a strange sound. Her face scrunched into a concentrated frown, and her expression showed very clearly that she didn’t like what she was hearing. “You’re sure this is gonna work?” Evvy asked, giving Cashton a hard side glance. “If the images you gave me are accurate, it’ll work. Trust me,” he said, twisting the little device until it made a pinging sound. “Yeah, well, why don’t you just show me one more time before we get inside.” —| 147 |—

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Cashton sighed and opened his hand to reveal the small circular device he had been adjusting. It was a two-inch thick medallion, cov- ered in tiny, multicolored lights that hung on a leather thong around his neck. Cashton fi ddled with the outer rings that circled the lights, twisting one left and the other right until the device pinged again and went dark with a sad little whine. “Cash!” Lazer’s voice fi lled with concern. “I told you it wouldn’t work,” Kyla said, looking over her shoul- der again. “It will,” Cashton defended. Cashton repositioned the rings. There was a series of clicks and, once again, the sad little whine of a dying kitten, then silence. Cashton looked up into the faces of his friends. Their expressions were just this side of panic. Come on! Work! Out of sheer frustration and total desperation, he slammed the little device into the palm of his hand. With a low, whirring hum, the lights on the medallion vibrat- ed and fl ickered, glowing with the brilliance of a newborn sun. Cashton nodded for the rest of them to follow his lead. One by one, they revealed their own devices and twisted the rings until they tuned into Cashton’s frequency and ignited. Each device began to fl ash and fl icker. When all of the devices were fl ashing, Cashton depressed the center light on the face of his medallion. At once, all the lights locked into the exact same color sequence and, in a great wash of light, their collective medallions projected a perfect holographic image. It shimmered, wavered, then settled into a visual of what looked like four of the exact same person. The images appeared, one around each of them, fl oating in a kind of colorful haze. “This is so cool,” Evvy said, looking at her arms and hands. “And you’re sure the cameras will pick the images up as solid?” “Veritus. The two-dimensional imaging of the electronic eye compresses it to look like three dimensions,” Cashton said proudly. “And the Black Guard?” Kyla asked, still not quite convinced.

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“Their vision’s electronic. Right?” Cashton said, trying to sound as convincing as he could. They looked at him. “Okay! It’s not perfect, but it’ll work as long as we stay away from anyone with real eyes.” Cashton shut down his medallion, dis- sipating the image. “Okay, let’s do it!” Lazer was excited and nervous, but the one thing he wasn’t was afraid. The courage in his face was enough to inspire his friends, and without another word, Lazer, Kyla, and Cashton crawled into Evvy’s trunk. “What about the heat sensors?” Lazer said, holding open the trunk. “No prob. I have a shield that hides the turbos. It’ll block you. Now get in before I change my mind.” Evvy said. Evvy was just as excited as Lazer, but for completely different reasons. Kyla read it in her aura, and what she saw made her heart skip a beat. “Evvy, if you don’t want to do this . . .” Kyla started. “Are you kidding? I hate these creeps. Let’s go.” Lazer lay down next to Kyla and Cashton, as Evvy covered them and slammed the trunk.

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TEMPLE MOUNTAIN

vvy’s hovercraft sped down the twisting roadway that led to E Temple Mountain. The trees that lined the road had grown tall over the years since the facility’s construction, forming a double line of narrow soldiers whose pointed tops hung inward over the road, closing out the sky and creating a natural arch. In the daylight, it was beautiful and majestic, but in the blackness of the night, with only the full moon and a single set of headlights, the trees looked like ancient gargoyles that warned away anyone foolish enough to pass into the domain of Ducane Covax. The road straightened and narrowed and, in a few minutes, Evvy saw the entrance gate. It was heavily fortifi ed with corner towers, surrounded by an organic barbed wire type of plant that grew rows of giant thorns. The entrance guarded the front and side portions of the facility. The back of the compound lay against the impenetrable north face of Temple Mountain. Evvy slowed, took a deep breath to calm herself, then gently pulled up next to the guard gate. She lowered her window and de- lighted the guard with a seductive smile. She was greeted by the toothless grin of an unattractive splicer with reptilian genetics and olive green pallor. He was more lizard than human, but that didn’t stop the smile that cracked his snake-like face when his eyes locked

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onto Evvy’s. His forked tongue fl icked out, sliding between almost imperceptible lips, sampling the air. “Hey, Misssss Evvy. Love the perfume,” he hissed, putting on his most charming voice. “I didn’t know you were on the night shift.” “Just this week. Thank the Universal God.” “And my offer?” The splicer said. “I’m still thinking.” Evvy smiled, fl irting back. She was pretty in a hairy sort of way. “I’d take you on in a hover-drag any day of the week, but you know, my fl ame machine will kick your electric dragster in a heartbeat.” “Assss long as you go to dinner with me afterwards, you can kick anything you want.” “Yeah, well, in the meantime . . .” her voice turned seductive, “ . . . you want to check under my . . . hood?” He handed her a pass, giving his snakiest smile. “Ssssure, right after dinner.” “I’ll let you know,” Evvy said and fl ashed another one of her mil- lion-dollar smiles. She fl ew off, turning into the facility’s personnel parking structure. Once she had cleared the security lights, she made a face of total disgust. “The things a girl’s got to do for her friends. Yuck.” She drove into the underground parking structure, which took her three stories down into the facility. Carefully, she chose a secluded area at the farthest corner from the entrance and set down on her landers. “Okay, time to rock and roll.” Evvy put on her best bravado, but she knew it was more to shake off the strange portentous chill that hung around her like cold winter air. Evvy crossed to the back of the hovercraft and opened the trunk, which blocked Lazer, Kyla, and Cashton from the security cameras as they got out. Once she had them out, she touched her fi nger to her lips and pointed to the cameras that were positioned at various points around the structure. Lazer signaled for Cashton to do his thing, and in a matter of sec- onds, they set their medallions and launched the holograms. In an instant, they were a unit of zomers. With a fi nal nod, Evvy closed the

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trunk and four identical fi gures shuffl ed away from the craft, mov- ing in a tight, shoulder-to-shoulder formation. They looked like a quadruplet set of penguins attached at the hip. The holographic illusion showed the same, blank-faced person shimmering around them. To the human eye, the hologram resem- bled a ghostly image. Inside the haze of the illusion, eight eyes could be seen looking in every direction. They were all tense, but Kyla was the most jumpy. “I can’t believe Covax has zomers here,” Kyla whispered. “Big time illegal,” Cashton replied. “Not in some places, including Atlantia,” Lazer told them. “Immoral but not illegal,” Kyla corrected him. “Since when did the King of Clones ever think twice about zooming out a genetic line for slave labor?” Evvy added. “Zomers are goons,” Kyla said. “They’re ’tards. Do we really have to walk like this?” Cashton added, as he waddled. It was impossible not to bump into each other, making the situation almost comical, but for the impending danger they had placed themselves in. “They’re bred for uni-tasking. Every reproduction does what it’s told without question. Trust me, it’s genius,” Evvy told them. “I heard if you train them and put a weapon in their hands, they’re relentless killing machines,” Cashton added nervously. “Strand labs!” Lazer demanded. Evvy looked around, spotting several humans. She pushed Kyla, Cashton, and Lazer back, then pointed to a large wall vent several feet away. “We’re taking the back door,” Evvy said. She led them past an intersection with multiple cameras, then down a dimly lit corridor until they reached the vent. Again, Evvy looked around. She took out a magnetic key, attached it, then coded in the access combination. With a tiny whoosh, the panel slid into a pocket door, revealing a four-by-four shaft. One by one, they stepped inside. It wasn’t until Lazer entered

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and closed the vent that Cashton shut down the holographic images and they all took a breath. The space was wide enough to move forward, but not tall enough to allow them to stand. They made their way on their hands and knees, moving as quietly as possible through the dark shafts. Occasionally, they would pass from dark to light, moving through the intermittent shafts of light that fell in from the outer rooms. Evvy was out front, with Kyla close behind, then Cashton, and fi nally Lazer on rear guard. “How do you know these shafts?” Kyla whispered. “My dad lost his life in an accident when they were building them to vent the Series IV production areas,” Evvy whispered. “But before my mom died, she told me it wasn’t an accident. She said he saw something he never got to tell anyone about. So, when I started working here, I made it my business to fi nd out what was so impor- tant that it cost him his life.” There was a wall of pain in her voice that Lazer understood all too well. He had lost his father and she had lost both her parents; they were comrades in a way Cashton and Kyla could never understand. The foursome traveled in silence for another hundred yards, try- ing to keep as quiet as cats in a dog pound. Cashton was nervous. Lazer could feel it. He knew that Cashton wanted to talk. Besides video game banging, talking was his usual way of handling tension; it always calmed him down. It was better than the microcurrent beta patches that people in cities like Sangelino and Atland City used to lull out. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Cashton whispered. “If we get caught, we’re not gonna get detention; we’re gonna get dead.” “You brought it, right?” Lazer ignored his concern. “Yeah. Did you?” Cashton snapped back. “Yeah, I got it. It’s not much, but it’ll do damage.” Cashton bumped Kyla. She stopped and sat down next to Evvy at the top of an eight-by-eight vertical shaft. The girls peered down into the dimly lit abyss.

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Evvy pulled out a small spool of thin clear thread and anchored one end into the top of the shaft with a thumb-size suction cup then dropped the rest of the spool down the vertical shaft. It vanished. She handed each of them a set of expandable hand clamps and nylon stirrups. “You’ve got to be kidding.” Cashton stared at his clamps and stirrups. “It’s titanium thread. We go fi ve fl oors down, then left.” Evvy handed each of them a small mirror. “Use the mirror on the laser beams, and watch out for security bots.” “What security bots and laser beams?” Cashton asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Move it, Cash,” Kyla nudged. One by one they descended. The only illumination came from Evvy’s headband—a soft, metallic fabric that created a halo when switched on and gave off a radiant haze of bluish light. Evvy directed part of her glow band’s center section forward into a focused beam, lighting the shaft about six feet below them. Once again, Evvy was fi rst, followed by Kyla, then a still reluc- tant Cashton, and fi nally Lazer. Slowly they made their way down the shaft, being careful not to hit the thin metal walls. They were making good time, having lowered themselves about thirty feet, when Evvy noticed the search beam from a small security bot. It was moving through one of the horizontal cross vents in the fi fth fl oor shafts, quietly patrolling the area. Evvy switched off her glow beam just as the bot drifted out and slowed. It hovered right below her. Evvy held her breath. Her hand jutted up and grabbed Kyla’s ankle, signaling her to stop. Kyla looked down and saw the little bot. She reached up and grabbed Cashton’s foot, squeezing it. It was the signal to alert him and Lazer to stop. Cashton’s heart jumped. He wrapped his hand around Lazer’s foot and, forgetting his strength, squeezed with a bone-crushing grip. Lazer grimaced. They hung suspended in the darkness above the little bot. Slowly, the security bot fl oated up through the vertical shaft. Its multiple

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light beams conjoined and expanded, illuminating the area. It threw out a laser scan beam that began a perimeter search. Evvy pulled her feet up and out of the way as the laser barely missed her toes. She held out her mirror, catching the beam as it passed and refl ecting it back. Cashton broke into a sweat. His hands were wet from the tension that built as he watched the bot drift closer and closer to Evvy. The moisture on his hands made it hard to hold the clamps. He pulled one hand off to wipe the sweat onto his shirt, and the moment he did, his hand clamp slipped. He dropped, caught, then slipped again. Lazer felt the nylon jerk. He reached down and grabbed Cashton’s collar, straining to hold him. No one took a breath. It seemed like an eternity until the bot shut down and moved on, vanishing down the horizontal shaft. They all let loose a collec- tive captive breath and prepared to move on. Gracefully, Evvy descended to the fi fth fl oor vertical shaft and slid inside. Kyla, Cashton, and then Lazer followed in silence. “Leave the grips in case we need to make a fast exit. When we get back here, twist this ring on the clamps right or left. Right will pull you up to the top; if you turn it left, it will drop you to the lower basement. Either way, make sure you squeeze the clamps to slow,” Evvy whispered. “How are we supposed to get out from there?” Cashton asked, looking from Lazer to Evvy. “Trash chutes are on a conveyer lift and dump right next to my transport. That’s where we meet if we get separated. The only other way out is the sewer and fi ltration system. But let’s avoid that since it dumps into the Kwanderlan underground river,” Evvy explained. “Perfect. I’m goin’ out with the trash or down the toilet,” was Cashton’s last complaint as they stepped out onto the fi fth fl oor.

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SECRETS

hey left the shafts and got into their zomer formation, placing T themselves shoulder to shoulder and turning to Cashton with wide, anxious eyes. He set his medallion and nodded to them to do the same with their own. Evvy, Kyla, and Lazer keyed into the fre- quency and launched their holographic images. The next moment they were waddling down one corridor, then another, past camera after camera. They were seen only as a unit of zomer workers. They moved from one section to another, completely unnoticed by the passing Black Guard and the occasional matching zomer unit that looked exactly like they did, shuffl ing like penguins with blank faces and vacant eyes. “Is that what we look like?” Cashton whispered in a tone of disgust. “Why four? And why do they train them to move like this?” Kyla asked. “They hobble their hips so they can’t run,” Evvy answered. “That’s cruel,” Kyla said, with a hint of genuine sadness. “I haven’t seen one human since we got down here,” Lazer noted. “Covax doesn’t allow humans or splicers on this fl oor if he can help it, unless they have Umbra level security ranking,” Evvy told them. They continued down a corridor that opened out into the vast

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vertical, cylindrical atrium. With a collective gasp, they stopped and stared in wonder at what was the heart of Temple Mountain’s pro- duction facilities. It was fi fteen stories from top to bottom, with balconies that ringed each level and tied into corresponding cor- ridors. The atrium was made from what was once an active volcano. When the land mass sank, the fi ery core of the volcano was extin- guished by the sea. Across the center of the shaft, a web of catwalks crisscrossed and connected the west chambers with the east and the north with the south. The labyrinth of catwalks ran every fi ve fl oors, as the atrium opened up into a chilling drop to the bottom. The lower fl oors of Temple Mountain had been crafted to hide the darker side of Covax Industries. The vast foundation area was fi lled with racks and rows of robotic machines that pounded and molded the pliable yet nearly impervious alloy of titanium, tef- lon, and alkene into the Black Guard’s various appendages: heads, limbs, built-in weapons, power packs. The complex webs of or- ganic sensory strands were added later. The fi nal two stages were the bilious green ocular bands and the biological memory strands that were inserted into the faceless masks on the fi fth level. The strands were kept hermetically sealed inside glass walls behind a massive steel door, where viral and human brain matter was cloned from stem cells. The robotics that handled the biological implants worked around the clock. The strands, once completed, were tak- en, untouched by human hands, into a hypoallergenic, pressurized compartment where the delicate information strands were implant- ed into the faceless heads, then connected to the mechanical bodies of the biodroids. The visual was awe-inspiring; the concept of what was happen- ing was terrifying. Every square inch of the production fl oor was fi lled with thousands of what would soon be the next generation of the Black Guard. Once their information strands were programmed and the assembly complete, they would be activated. There would be no malice, no emotion, only the clear and concise directive to protect any living thing they deemed inferior. But since the attacks,

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there was a looming question: Were they being programmed to pro- tect or to destroy? “I thought Covax said he stopped all production of the Series IV,” Kyla said, with a hint of amazement. “Looks like he lied about that, too,” Lazer responded. There was a bitter taste that fi lled his mouth and brought with it the memories and anger that had driven him here in the fi rst place. Lazer studied the hundreds of soon-to-be assembled Black Guard forces. Arms, legs, heads, and torsos moved along the production line. It won’t take long to build an army at this rate. “That’s why my father died,” Evvy said. There was a lump of emotion that closed her throat and strangled her words. Lazer could see by the tears in her eyes that she understood all too well the reality of Temple Mountain. She had all the proof she needed. “Let’s blow these nanoheads,” Evvy growled. Lazer lifted his eyes and searched the cavernous opening. His mind spun as he recalled the ANN Vybernet report. He visualized the outer rooms that faced the center balconies and made up the in- ner walls of the atrium. They had a thousand heptagonal doors that made the atrium look like an enormous honeycomb. Finally, Lazer saw it. The laboratory section he had seen in the report. “There,” he pointed. It was just as he remembered, three rooms over from the right of the fi rst catwalk. They started their shuffl e and moved across the catwalk to the other side. “How many minutes to set the timers and get out?” Evvy asked. “Timers?” Kyla blurted. Lazer and Cashton exchanged a look. “Lazer, please tell me you’re kidding,” she continued. “We’re blowing the strand lab. What did you think we broke in here to do? Toilet paper them,” Evvy responded. “Yes. No. Hack into their equipment and . . . I . . . I . . .” Kyla stammered. She was stunned. By the panic in Kyla’s voice, Lazer knew instantly it had been a

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mistake not to take her into his full confi dence. But he also knew she would have talked him out of doing anything that even remotely smacked of a terrorist act. Kyla started to back up into Lazer. He nudged her forward. “You can’t stop, Kyla. Not now,” Cashton said. “We can’t blow this place up,” Kyla protested. “No, but we can cause enough damage to give them the message that we are willing to stand up and not take this anymore,” Lazer told her. “Lazer’s right. Maybe it will make them stop,” Cashton added. “Besides, it’s the only way to destroy property and not people. There are no humans around. Think. This way nobody gets hurt,” Lazer added. “But explosives! How did a high school senior get explosives?” Kyla asked, trying again to stop. “Keep moving.” Lazer nudged her again. “I want to know how, Cole Lazerman,” she demanded. “I got a recipe for vitriol nitro off the Vybernet, and Cashton built the timers,” he told her. “Cashton doesn’t know how to build a detonator.” “Sure he does. Remember the locker doors at school that blew off?” Lazer shifted his eyes to Cashton. Kyla turned to Cashton with a look of utter shock. “You did that?” “Thanks, diarrhea mouth,” Cashton glared a look at Lazer that screamed traitor. “It doesn’t matter. We’re here. Either you want to help or not, Kyla. Make up your mind,” Lazer insisted. “With or without you, this is happening.” They reached the other side of the catwalk, and Lazer stepped out of formation. Furious, he walked away. “You guys! We have to stay together,” Cashton panicked. Lazer strode into the fi rst corridor, which would in turn lead into the main lab. Kyla followed Lazer, ignoring Cashton’s plea.

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“Okay, okay,” she said moving after him. “Just tell me how we get out after the blast.” “Uh, actually I had that question on my mind, too,” Cashton commented. All eyes turned to Lazer. “We’ll be gone before it blows,” Lazer said to Evvy and Cashton. “Right?” “Absolutely. But what about the out part?” Cashton said, as he looked at Lazer. “Give me twelve minutes. I’ll get us out,” Evvy said. “Now, let’s have this party.” It was too late to turn back. Kyla knew it as well as everyone else. She looked at Lazer. He had always managed to get them out of trouble in the past, and whatever his brain didn’t handle, Cashton’s brawn or her quick thinking would. They were the Three Musketeers, and they had Evvy as their D’Artagnan. They regrouped back into their zomer pack and traveled down the corridor. Cautiously, they moved past several more cameras, then stopped at a dual set of glass doors marked STRAND ACCESS CHAMBER. Evvy looked around. She reached inside her breast pocket and pulled out a ball of whitish-gray rubbery-looking fabric. After giving it a shake, she slipped into the gelatinous glove, which formed to her hand, then reached out and pressed her thumb into the access panel. The fi rst set of glass doors slid open. “Whose print is that, and how did you get it?” Kyla asked. “Don’t ask. You don’t want the answer to either question,” Evvy smiled back at her. The door led to a short, dark hallway striped with a web of white laser beams that blocked the entry. A sign just beyond the doors read in bold red letters: STRAND LAB DECONTAMINATION CHAMBER. STERILE ENVIRONMENT—PARTICLE SUIT REQUIRED. On hooks, outside the next section, rows of white protective suits hung waiting to be inhabited.

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“Don’t we need those?” Cashton asked, pointing to the white suits. “Those are for the strands’ protection, not ours,” Evvy told him. “You’re sure about that, right?” Cashton asked nervously. Again, Evvy imprinted the scanner access panel, and this time lasers shut down and the doors on the inside spiraled open like the iris of a camera lens. The decontamination chamber was about six-by-six feet. It made Cashton feel claustrophobic. A few moments passed and several small vents began to hiss, releasing a fi ne white mist, disinfecting them. Lazer watched as they vanished into the haze of white. It smelled like lemon and onions, and the stench made Cashton sneeze. A high-pitched sucking sound cleared the air and the second set of doors opened. Again, Evvy placed her gloved fi nger on the glowing panel, and the crisscrossing web of lasers that guarded the room shut down. Intertwined with the sound of the lasers, the hum of the generator gave way to the sounds of the strand processors. The sequencers clicked and hummed like an oven’s pilot switch trying to light at hyper speed. The room was amazing. White walls and a stainless steel and glass table defi ned the spartan room. The strands were lit in a wash of changing colors that refl ected back on the foursome and made their faces look like something out of a psychedelic dream. Rows of glass tubes resembling neon lights carried billions of fi ne strands of human crossed with viral amino acids. The incubators were me- ticulously growing them to just the right size. After they reached maturity, they were formatted and imprinted with all the knowledge of the known world, past and present. The process held Lazer spellbound. He couldn’t help but won- der why anyone would give all the knowledge of the world to a virus in the fi rst place. “Okay people, we have three minutes to set the charges and get out. From there, we need twelve minutes to get back to the car and clear the gate,” Evvy said. “I’ll keep watch.”

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Lazer turned to Kyla and placed his hands on her shoulders. She looked ill with worry. “Wait with Evvy,” he said protectively to Kyla. “No, you won’t know what to look for . . . I will,” Kyla replied, taking a deep breath to give herself courage. “Whatever you are gonna do, do it,” Evvy insisted. “The bio- droids change shifts and that means checking the strands.” Lazer, Cashton, and Kyla entered the main sequencing cham- ber, leaving Evvy at the door on watch. They moved through the programming area, their eyes searching in the dim light for the best place to attach the bomb so it would do the most damage. The se- quencing room was larger than the fi rst two, and the walls were mounted with several huge imprint devices that looked like one-half of a large, ultra modern CT scan machine. The strand tubes were checked and turned by robots and, when they were ready, taken down and handed off to another set of robotic claws. In turn, the tubes were placed on a conveyer, where they moved slowly through the imprint programmer. A billion bits of data per millimeter were burned into the strands during an arduous process that took over ten hours a foot. From there, they were retrieved by a third set of robot- ics, where they were rescanned for accuracy. Lazer and Cashton moved through the main room. Cashton crossed to a thin touch panel that controlled one of the room’s main computers. Above the work station, a holoprojection monitored the strand patterns’ programming progress. “Cashton! Don’t touch that,” Kyla blurted. Cashton drew his hand back. “What?” “They’re keyed to somebody’s genetics.” “Set the fi rst one in the center,” Lazer said to Cashton, checking his time band. “I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Kyla whispered as they moved to the center of the room. Cashton pulled out the paper-thin detonator strap and tapped on the read-out lights of the digital counter. Lazer stepped behind

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him and carefully pulled out two narrow, rectangular metal tubes from his pocket. “That’s it?!” Cashton said, fl abbergasted at the tiny amount. “I’ve got two more,” Lazer replied. “We couldn’t take out a fl ea circus with that,” Cashton huffed. “You can take out the entire room if you put one here and one under there,” Kyla told them, pointing to two specifi c spots. She was standing next to a large strand sequencing machine. “And why’s that, Madam Einstein?” “Because this is the main genetic processor, and it’s fi lled with threonal,” she replied. “Brains and beauty, that’s what I love about this girl,” Cashton beamed, moving toward her. Cashton took the fi rst two vials from Lazer and handed him the other detonator strap. He meticulously laid the vials into a gelatinous substance that held the digital timer block. Using a hair-thin fi lament, he connected one to the other, set it, and laid it in its place. Lazer and Cashton crossed to Kyla and fi nished the set-up for the second device. All that was left was a twist, and the countdown would start. “What’s this?” Lazer pointed to another station. “It’s where they clone the strands,” said Kyla. “I wonder who they took the original DNA strands from to cross with the viral strands.” “You’re sure these are the cloning stations?” Lazer asked. Kyla shot him a “you must be kidding” look and walked to the far side of the room. She stopped, recognizing the symbols written on the largest machine in the room. “Lazer, if you blow this wall, it will contaminate the foundation strands. It will take months, maybe even years, to reconstruct this many strands,” she said with excitement in her voice. Lazer carefully picked up the second charge and brought it over, allowing Kyla to place it. He trusted she would set it exactly where it would do the most damage. In a moment, it was done. Now they had to get out.

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“Shnapp!” Evvy’s eyes opened as wide as an owl at midnight. “Guys? We got company. NOW!” Evvy’s heart pounded. She could see at least six Black Guard coming across the catwalks. “Move it,” she called to them in a desperate whisper. It was too late. They were trapped. Before she could do any- thing to get them out, the Black Guard would be in the room. Evvy stepped into the shadows and slipped between two large data stor- age banks. She pressed herself against the wall, squeezing as far in as she could get. It was useless. It wasn’t deep enough to hide her. Her shoulder and one leg were sticking out. All she could hope for was that they wouldn’t turn on the light. Evvy held her breath. Inside the strand programming room, Lazer and Cashton set the timers and raced for the door. Kyla followed, but at the last mo- ment something inside her forced her back into the room. There was something wrong. Kyla looked and instantly saw their mistake. The devices were too exposed. She had to shove them further beneath the unit or they were sure to be discovered. She did one, then raced for the second. Kyla held the second device delicately in her hand and looked for someplace secure that would still do the most dam- age. Her eyes scanned the fl oor and walls. The room was too bare. Finally, she looked up. Lazer and Cashton reached the outer chamber door and just as they burst through, Evvy grabbed them. “Launch! Launch!” she commanded in a harsh whisper to Cashton. Cashton pulled out his medallion. He set the frequency and launched. The holographic images sparked and sputtered and then with a horrible whine the medallion jammed. “Cash!” Lazer and Evvy said in a pleading whisper. Cashton pounded the medallion. “Work!” he growled. There was a groan and a whistle and the little device ignited, encasing them in their zomer identities. At the same moment, six Black Guard entered the room and discovered them. Everybody

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froze. They were disguised, but they still had to get out. It was then that Lazer noticed they had lost Kyla. “Why are you here?” the lead Black Guard spoke in a low boom- ing voice. Evvy recognized the dark eerie tones at once. It was Covax’s head Black Guard, Five. His green scanner bans pulsed as he prepared to check out the wayward zomers. “Malfunction report number 769132B . . . sequencing mainte- nance . . . called . . . job completed,” Evvy said in a vacant, staccato voice. Five sent green laser lines across the room to scan them. His laser was immediately blocked by the room’s security system. Five had been bested by his own security. “Where is your fourth?” Five demanded. Kyla watched horrifi ed from the programming room. She was trapped, unable to get to them. She knew without question her me- dallion was too far away to pick up the frequency and launch her zomer illusion. They had to get closer. Evvy and Cashton stood as rigid as two deer caught in the head- lights of an oncoming truck. The entire room fell into a moment of interminable silence. Lazer knew he had to do something, and he had to do it fast, if he was going to get Kyla out of the other room, and get the four of them out of Temple Mountain. With the poke of a fi nger, he nudged Cashton who lurched and bumped Evvy. “Fourth,” Lazer said, looking around like a chicken pecking the air for gnats. He jabbed Cashton again so hard it woke him from his stupor. The reality of what Lazer was attempting got through, and Cashton chimed in. “Fourth,” Cashton said, copying him. Evvy got it, picked up the absurd behavior, and added her voice to the ruse. “Fourth. Fourth. Fourth,” they all chirped, shuffl ing closer to the sequencing room right past Five and his guards.

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Kyla swallowed hard, willing them closer. She checked her me- dallion and counted the seconds until it picked up the frequency and lit up. A few more feet, she thought, still holding her breath. Lazer could only hope she was reading his thoughts. They moved through the strand access chamber clumped together in their awk- ward waddle. Finally, Lazer, Cashton, and Evvy reached the door that led back into the sequencing chamber. “Fourth. Fourth. Fourth,” they continued. Kyla listened. As they got closer, she looked at the lights that encircled her medallion. They vacillated back and forth, searching for the matching connection. She needed all the colored lights to go from fl ashing to solid. It didn’t happen. They were still too far. Kyla’s heart raced. “Fourth. Fourth. Fourth,” they chirped. “Another three feet,” Cashton mumbled, glancing at his medallion. Five had enough. The stab of impatience that pricked him was swaddled by another new emotion—suspicion—and it overwhelmed him. Like a predator to the kill, he moved toward them. “Get out of my way,” Five commanded. They shuffl ed in different directions, only managing to bump into each other and get more in Five’s way. He shoved Cashton into the wall that housed the sequencing chamber’s pocket door. The few inches Cashton stumbled made it close enough for Kyla’s medallion to connect. It lit up and locked, expanded, and cocooned her in her zomer disguise just as Five entered the chamber. “Fourth. Fourth. Fourth,” she blurted out in the same staccato tone as the others. Five glared at her as she shuffl ed past him to join the others. “Fourth,” they all said, happy they were a unit again. They pat- ted her and she them and with the briefest nod from Lazer, they turned and as fast as their feet would allow, shuffl ed their way across the chamber, past the other Black Guard and out into the corridor. Five’s emotions were churning with the grinding relentlessness

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of a well-oiled machine. He could not stop watching them. Through the fi ne lenses that made up his biodroid ocular bands, they looked as normal as every other zomer unit in Temple Mountain. But his senses screamed a warning to look deeper. The featureless mask of his face began to shift as the human features pushed through and a pair of colorless eyes opened. It took a moment for his eyes to accept the change from the digitally-enhanced brilliant color relayed through his mechanical ocular vision to the black-and-white images that his new eyes were able to perceive. He knew color would come later, as soon as he learned to manipulate the molecules. For now, all he needed from his human eyes was focus and dimension. His gray eyes honed in, and the zomers went from two dimensions to three. “Stop them!” he ordered. “Run!” Lazer shouted. Five looked into the strand sequencing room, then back at the humans. His human instincts had been correct. He quickly deduced why they were there. “Go back and search the sequencing chamber. Now,” Five or- dered. “Alert my security forces and shut down every exit,” he said to another guard. “Do not let them leave this facility alive.” Evvy, Cashton, Kyla, and Lazer broke into a run and turned the corner out of the corridor. They made their way back along the balcony and headed to the catwalks. Five and his guards were in pursuit down the main strand corri- dor. Five swiped a clawed talon across the band strap that traced his wrists, opening a set of double wrist deuterium phasers. “This way,” Kyla shouted, peeling off and stepping onto the catwalks. A group of Black Guard on the other side of the catwalk opened fi re. Lazer pulled Kyla back just in time to dodge the hail of deuterium pellets that burned into the railing where her hand had just been. Another blast sent searing pellets ricocheting all around them. A huge section of the balcony just in front was hit

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and fell away, crashing to the fl oor ten stories below. “Get us outta here, Evvy,” Lazer yelled, driving them along the balcony until they could reach an open corridor. “This is the ‘out’ part I was talking about,” Cashton yelled back to Lazer, running as fast as he could. More pellets ripped into the walls and metal banisters of the balcony. “We have to get to those vents over there,” Evvy said, breath- lessly pointing to the vents that had brought them. A deluge of deuterium pellets rained down from across the open atrium and chewed into the balcony, barely missing them. They kept running, searching for an open corridor along the balcony wall. Every door was sealed. A hundred feet behind them, Five and his Black Guard rounded the corner just as a huge blast shot from the opposite balcony. It exploded right in front of Evvy and knocked her backwards into Cashton. Cashton fell back into one of the sealed doors, and the force of his weight shorted it. Like a gift from the angels, it slid open. “Go in!” Lazer shouted, pushing Kyla and Evvy inside. They stood in the dark entry, which was no more than a few feet deep. “Evvy, open the next door,” Kyla shouted. Evvy put the thumb print into the access panel. The only sound was the pounding feet of the Black Guard approaching. The door took forever until, fi nally, with a series of clanks, the massive metal doors spiraled open. Lazer pushed them all in and Evvy sealed the door behind her and smashed the control panel, locking them inside. In the next moment, Five and his Black Guard arrived and were joined by six more Black Guard. All but Five lifted their weapons to blast the door. Five stopped them. “No.” Inside the dimly lit room, only the sound of their own heavy

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breathing came back to them. They waited. Nothing happened. “Why aren’t they shooting?” Cashton whispered. The silence hung in front of them like an ominous curtain. Cashton’s medallion went into search mode. “What’s it doing?” Kyla asked. “I don’t know,” Cashton said, watching the medallion. Evvy turned her head, looking into the blackness. Her eyes had been enhanced with a chip for special services, which gave her night-vision capabilities. She scanned the room and couldn’t help but notice the walls were undulating. “Cashton, come here,” Evvy demanded. Cashton walked closer. As he did, his medallion locked onto a new frequency that controlled what turned out to be a holographic projection of a blank wall. With a twist, the walls vanished, revealing ceiling to fl oor, wall to wall . . . “Weapons,” Evvy gasped. Kyla turned to look, and her entire body began to glow. She gave off a soft gold radiance that looked like a big lightning bug at sunset. It wasn’t bright, but it was enough to illuminate a small portion of the room. “Ice genetics,” Evvy said to Kyla. “Yeah, great, I’m a night light.” Kyla was a little embarrassed. “Now we’re talking,” Cashton pulled a laser canon down and began looking for the charge clip. “That’s why they’re not fi ring,” Lazer picked up a pair of deute- rium cuffs. He had seen them in a hundred video games, but to hold the real thing in his hands was awesome. “If they hit this room, they bring the whole place down,” Kyla whispered, as she looked at a wall of deuterium ammo. “How long before the charges go off in the sequencing room?” Lazer asked. Cashton checked his wristsponder, “Four minutes.” “Seven,” Kyla corrected him. “I gave us a little more time.” “It’s not enough to go back the way we came. I say we take a stand here,” Evvy said, as she locked a clip into a blaster.

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“No,” Lazer said to Evvy. “If we start a fi refi ght, we’ll blow our- selves up.” “Ah, good point,” Cashton added, feeling a little less brave. “Can you get us out of here, while they’re busy trying to fi gure out how to get in?” Lazer asked Evvy. There was a strange hissing sound that rang just beyond the door. “What’s that?” Evvy asked. Lazer and Kyla exchanged a look. “Cold laser. They’re gonna freeze the molecules and shatter the door.” Evvy turned to search the room. “There’s got to be a back cham- ber in here. All these rooms were designed with a triplicate format, three rooms to a series.” They began to search. Nothing. No door, no windows, nothing. “Can you pull up a schematic?” Lazer asked. “I don’t need it. There’s a door in here. I know this place,” Evvy insisted. “Then get us out of here,” Cashton tried to access a computer panel he found in the corner. “I’ve just never seen this area,” Evvy said. She ran her hands along a small area of exposed wall between the tightly set cabinets of weapons and ammo. “They were hiding the weapons stash from the investigators,” Kyla added. “We’ve got to tell somebody.” “Right now we have to get out,” Lazer insisted. Cashton was studying a fl oor plan of the area he had accessed through a panel. He shook his head. “This room’s not even listed in the schematics.” “Found it!” Evvy thumb-printed a hidden panel, which opened a secret door that had been covered with weapons. Lazer took charge. “Find us a way out of here, Evvy. You go with her, Cash. Kyla, come help me block this door.” Evvy raced into the second chamber with Cashton close behind. They began to search the fi rst and then the second large chambers while Lazer and Kyla fortifi ed the fi rst door with whatever they could fi nd.

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“Covax is building an army and fortifying them with these weapons. I still don’t understand how the investigators could have missed this,” Lazer said. “They won’t miss it next time, if we have anything to say about it,” Kyla declared. “We’ll need proof,” Lazer said. Lazer looked at the huge door that stood between them and the Black Guard. They had done all they could to secure it. Behind the wall of boxes and cabinets, the steel door had turned a cold arctic blue, and a series of fi ne cracks began to appear. A few minutes more and the cold laser would freeze the molecules and turn the door as fragile and vulnerable as a sheet of glass. One hit at ramming speed, and the door would be history. “We gotta go,” Lazer told her. Kyla left. Lazer followed behind. In the next room, he closed the door and began to block it with a few objects he found scattered around the second chamber. It was then he noticed Kyla standing motionless in front of an open cylindrical cabinet that anchored the far corner of the room. A pale, white light fl ooded out from behind the door and washed over her. “It’s beautiful,” Kyla said. Lazer rounded the corner of the cabinet to see what was hold- ing her gaze. As he got closer, the light from inside brightened and changed. It was, without question, the gnorb from the Orbis Temple, fl oating in a sealed Plexiglas encasement. “Look what it did when you got near it.” Kyla had a look of ut- ter amazement on her face. “Universal God.” Cashton and Evvy entered from the back chamber. “We can’t leave it here.” Lazer reached out to the gnorb, which ignited and emitted an ear-crushing sound that made Cashton, Evvy, and Kyla cover their ears and hide their eyes from the wall of blinding light that engulfed Lazer. “Get back,” Cashton called out.

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Lazer stood mesmerized. He saw a clear picture in his mind’s eye: the four of them were removing a steel plate behind a toilet, enter- ing, and following the pipes down into a huge fi ltration system. He saw them swimming, caught in fast-moving water. There was an out- cropping of rocks that formed a triangle to one side, a tunnel, and a glowing red gate at the other side. Lazer, Kyla, and Evvy swam away from the gate, but something happened and Cashton was swept down and pinned against the gate. Cashton was dying, and Lazer couldn’t get to him. He saw himself, Kyla, and Evvy washed into the Kwanderlan underground river, then deposited onto a moss-covered shore. The next sound brought Lazer out of his vision—the sound of the door shattering. Five was the fi rst to enter. He saw instantly they had found their way into the second chamber. He could only hope they had not found the gnorb. “Get me through that door!” Behind him, a Black Guard came in holding one of Cashton’s explosion devices. It had been deactivated. “Humans,” Five hissed. “Is this the only one?” “We searched every inch of the chamber,” the Guard responded. “Go back and search again.” “We searched . . .” “Search again!” Five snapped. Inside the second chamber, the screeching subsided. Lazer’s head was still spinning as he struggled out of the vision that still hung before his eyes and spoke quickly. “There’s a bathroom. Behind the toilet is a wall plate. We have to take off the plate and access the pipes. If we follow the pipes, they will take us through the fi ltration system, which leads to an underground river and out.” “Genius.” Evvy knew exactly what he was talking about. “Those pipes go to the main sewer system. We can fi t down the crawlspace.” Evvy headed into the last chamber. It was smaller, ten feet by ten feet, fi lled with walls of data storage panels. At the very back was the bathroom door.

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Lazer’s hands were all over the Plexiglas cylinder, prying, pull- ing, searching for a way to get it open and get the gnorb out. “There’s got to be a way to open it,” Lazer said, with a pang of desperation. Kyla felt the back and bottom of the cabinet for a release, but found nothing. Cashton had started to help when he looked at the metal door that separated them from the fi rst chamber; it was al- ready turning from a dull gray to a pure snowy white. “We’ve got to get out of here,” Cashton said. He rechecked the charge he had loaded into his phaser. The door began to crack. It wouldn’t take long to freeze the molecules and for the Black Guard to get inside. “We have to leave it,” Kyla whispered, unable to fi nd a way into the cylinder. She began to back away. Lazer pounded on the Plexiglas. It wouldn’t give. “It wants to come. I feel it. We can’t leave it here,” Lazer said, like a protective father forced to leave his child in danger. “We don’t have a choice, Lazer,” Kyla insisted. She tugged at his arm. Inside the bathroom, Evvy pulled and kicked at the metal toilet. She pounded the bolts, hoping she could loosen them enough to dislodge it and expose the back panel. “I hate to be a girl about this, but a little help would be good.” “Cashton, go help Evvy. Hurry!” Cashton looked one more time at the door and left. “What?” Cashton said to Evvy. It only took a second to assess what she was doing. “Aw, crap . . .” Together, they ripped the toilet out of the way and Cashton looked down the hole. “I can’t fi t down there,” he said. “You don’t have to if we can get this back panel off,” Evvy told him. Cashton lifted his phaser, stepped back, and fi red. The deute- rium slammed into the metal and melted the wall. Through the

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smoke they saw the opening, which exposed a system of multi-colored pipes that plummeted ten stories straight down. Inside the second chamber, Kyla pleaded, “Please, Lazer. Now. Now!” In the fi rst chamber, Five waited. His monochromatic face drift- ed in and out of its human form and tingled his emotions. The analytical part of his brain calculated the feeling as anxiety. His or- ganic elements gave off a strange heat that kept building like a pot of water coming to a boil. The tension was suffocating and made his whole being feel as if tight bands were constricting it. Five didn’t like the feeling. He didn’t like any of the feelings that confounded him since his awakening. To date, they came only oc- casionally, but every time he allowed his human form to shift into place, it brought with it waves of emotions that ebbed and fl owed and pulled at him like a relentless tide. He tried to ignore them, but they took more time than the mechanics of logic. What he needed right now was to focus on the invaders that currently occupied his domain. These humans were a minor threat that had to be crushed like insig- nifi cant bugs, but his human instincts told him there was more. Five ran his claw-like fi nger across his wristsponder, which charged and produced an image of the sequencing chamber. It hov- ered in front of him. Behind the holographic image of the Black Guard that faced him, two other Black Guard searched the room. He could see them going section by section, inch by inch. “We have found nothing,” the Black Guard reported. Before Five could respond, the room exploded. A ball of fi re fl ashed and instantly vanished. The sounds and tremors that fol- lowed shook the whole room. “Open that door!” Five bellowed. He raised his blaster and fi red. Inside the second chamber, the echo of the explosion, coupled with the intense vibration, let them know at least one of the devices had gone off. Lazer and Kyla exchanged a look just as the door that separated them from Five and the Black Guard shattered. The frozen pieces of metal sent a shower of razor-sharp shards fl ying across the

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second chamber. Lazer protectively stepped in front of Kyla, block- ing her. He was hit by one of the fl ying shards. It bit into his thigh and shot a bolt of pain through Lazer’s entire body that buckled him with the force of an electric shock. The frozen metal embedded itself deep into his leg, and the freezing cold instantly cauterized in the muscle and stopped the fl ow of blood. Kyla grabbed his loin cloth, wrapped her hand in it, and yanked the shard out of his leg. The freezing cold seared her fi ngers in the split second before she could throw it away. Lazer opened fi re to keep the Black Guard from entering through the now-opened door. Two of the Black Guard fell. “Go,” he ordered Kyla. “Not without you,” she said, still fi ring at the door as she stood by his side. Again, Five blocked the Black Guard from using their weapons. He knew what was in there and that they could damage the gnorb. “Hold your fi re. They have no place to go,” Five told them. Inside the bathroom, the wall panel had been cleared. Evvy en- tered the vertical shaft and dropped out of sight. “Kyla! Lazer!” Move it!” Cashton called. “Go,” Lazer yelled back to him. Cashton hesitated. He didn’t like leaving without Lazer and Kyla. Another series of explosions pounded the walls. The fi rst explo- sion they had set in the sequencing chamber had started a chain of explosions. “Laze!” Cashton shouted and slid down the intricate piping system. The room rocked and reverberated with the sound of multiple explosions. “Leave your phaser. Go,” Lazer shouted at Kyla. “I’m right be- hind you. Swear up! Go!” Kyla looked at him. She knew from his look she had better do as she was told. Kyla dropped her phaser on the fl oor and ran into the

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little bathroom. She leapt onto the center pipe and, in a moment, she was on a life slide to safety. Lazer blasted a spray of deuterium pellets at the door, backing down the next wave of Black Guard. He grabbed the partially burned loincloth that Kyla had used to pull out the frozen shard, picked up Kyla’s weapon, and secured the safety. With a string, he rigged the trigger to fi re. Using the rest of the loincloth, Lazer strapped the weapon to a chair and aimed it at the door. He shot a fi nal, suppress- ing spray of deuterium and fl ipped the safety on the weapon on the chair. The phaser fi red, pounding into the still-frozen doorway. For the moment, nothing was coming through. Lazer looked one more time at the gnorb. He didn’t understand why or what he was feeling, but he felt a connection. It had shown him a vision of the way out and it hurt his heart that he could not take the gnorb with him. The ammo gauge on the phaser was half empty. Time was running out. Lazer turned, ran and dove into the open panel, grabbed the center pipe, and vanished into the black- ness below.

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THE CHOICE

ive entered the second room and shoved the emptied phas- F er and chair out of the way. His focus was on the gnorb. It stared at him with cold and silent rejection, giving only the slightest emission of light. But the only important thing was that it was still there. “Find them,” Five ordered. The Black Guard spread out through the room, pulling data cases and cabinets away from the walls and searching behind them. Five noticed the bathroom door half opened. “Seal the fi ltration gates and fl ush the system,” Five said calmly. He had them. Lazer was in a controlled free fall. His feet were wrapped with his hands and arms hanging on like a fi reman sliding down a fi re station pole. The center pole was there for maintenance access. The light from above vanished, and he was enveloped by the dim glow that rose up from far below. Lazer felt the cold air that carried with it the stench of Temple Mountain sewers. It mixed with the smell of sulfur that came from the Kwanderlan natural springs that fl owed beneath the mountain. The sewage and water were the least of his worries. They had evaded the Black Guard for the moment, but the vision fl ooded back into Lazer’s thoughts. Something had happened to Cashton. He had somehow gotten separated from the group and

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was pulled a different way by the force of the water. What he didn’t want to accept was the fi nal outcome. As far as he was concerned, if the future hadn’t happened yet, it could still be changed. A horrible feeling of desperation pricked at the back of his neck and chilled his blood. A soft voice whispered: Protect Cashton or he will die. The pipes ended, bending into a sharp right angle that tracked along the top of the cave. The pipes carried the waste off into the fi ltration system, while still other pipes brought fresh water from the enormous natural lake into the facilities. The maintenance pipe, however, ended. The safety platform that had once been mounted at the bottom hung in shattered pieces. It had been broken long ago and forgotten. With nothing to stop him, Lazer fell through a cavernous arch that stretched above what he hoped was the lake. The rush of the air and the blackness made his heart race. His ears fi lled with the sound of rushing water. He hoped it was deep enough to break his fall and not his neck. Ten seconds later, he hit with a splash. When Lazer broke the surface, he could see Kyla glowing fi f- teen feet away, bobbing up and down between the violent swells. It took all his strength to swim to her. Cashton and Evvy were fi ghting to stay above the water and close to Kyla. They were together and alive. Lazer thought again of the vision. He searched the sides of the cavern for an outcropping of rocks that formed a triangle. It was too dark for him to tell anything. Suddenly, the water lulled into a fl at, deadly calm. “Now what?” Cashton said, gasping for air. A fl ood of light lit up from beneath the water, exposing them and everything around them. Once again, Lazer searched for the triangular mound of rocks that would lead them out. “There,” he said and pointed. “Hurry. Swim for those rocks.” Lazer grabbed Cashton’s collar and swam, dragging him behind. No one questioned him, even the befuddled Cashton. “Lazer,” Cashton gurgled, fi ghting the water and Lazer’s iron grip.

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“Just stay with me no matter what happens,” Lazer pleaded. “I can swim if you . . .” Cashton started to say. Before he could fi nish, a horrendous sound echoed across the cave. Something was sucking the air and pulling the water with such intensity it dragged the four of them helplessly forward. Lazer saw the rocks. He also saw the water split into two directions. In his panic to keep Cashton close, he was sucked under and couldn’t see which way to go. “Which way?” Kyla called, fi ghting to stay afl oat. Lazer struggled back to the surface. Kyla and Evvy were lighter, faster, and more helpless in the torrential pull of the water that held them. If he let go of Cashton, he could grab them. “Hold my shirt,” Lazer shouted to Cashton. “I’m okay,” Cashton protested. “Hold it!” Lazer demanded. Cashton obeyed and grabbed his friend as Lazer reached out for Kyla and Evvy. With one hand, he grabbed Kyla’s ponytail and, with the other, he reached for Evvy. His fi ngers closed around the sleeve of her coat just as she was sucked under. Lazer felt his fi ngers slip as he gulped gallons of water, but he had them all. Together, they slammed into the outcropping of rocks. Had they gone to the right or to the left? Lazer thought. Again, he broke the surface. He felt Cashton’s powerful fi ngers locked onto his shirt and he could see Kyla’s ponytail still in his hand as she struggled to keep afl oat. Lazer felt the fabric of Evvy’s jacket. There was a second bump that left him with a terrifying weightlessness—Evvy was no longer in his grasp. “Evvy,” Lazer called out, his mouth barely above the water. “Hold your breath,” shouted Kyla. The next moment she was sucked under. Lazer gasped and was pulled under the water and dragged into a tunnel. He could still feel Kyla’s hair twisted around his fi ngers and Cashton holding onto his shirt. He reached up with the hand that had lost Evvy, searching for the surface. His hand hit the rock

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ceiling. They were trapped, still moving in the speeding fl ush of water that carried them to Universal God knew where. He held his breath, blind in the dark rushing waters. It suffocated him. His lungs burned, hungry for a breath of air. He was drowning. The blackness closed in, and Lazer lost consciousness.

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SACRED OATH

hen Lazer opened his eyes, he saw only the front of his shirt W with Cashton’s fi ngers still wrapped around it. By some miracle, Cashton had dragged him from the water and onto the banks of a narrow river that sprang from the ground a few miles from Temple Mountain. Lazer looked in his hand and saw the tangle of hair that connected to Kyla. Slowly, Lazer opened his fi ngers and tried to move. His entire body ached. He pried Cashton’s fi ngers away and checked on both his friends. They were unconscious but breathing and, most impor- tantly, they were alive. He forced himself to stand, although his legs felt as weak and as rubbery as they had that day at Shooting Falls. Twice he had defi ed death. His thigh ached from the wound the shard had left. It would hurt for a long time. Lazer ignored the pain and searched for Evvy. He hoped that somehow she had made it on her own and hadn’t ended up getting out the same way they did. Lazer walked for a long time, looking for Evvy. The muddy banks were rank with the stench of sulfur. He trudged back along the mud- dy shores to fi nd Kyla throwing up all the water she had swallowed. He helped as best he could until she was done. Exhausted, she fell back against the rocks. Kyla tried to pull her hair out of her face, but her scalp was so bruised it hurt too much to touch even a strand. “Where’s Evvy?” Kyla mumbled.

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“I lost her,” Lazer whispered. Kyla looked at him. The reality of what he was saying slammed into her so hard it knocked the wind out of her. Tears fi lled her eyes. “We have to go back,” she said choking on the words. “Maybe she got out,” Lazer said, trying to convince himself. “We have to be sure,” Kyla said insistently. “She didn’t.” Cashton barely lifted his head. Kyla and Lazer turned to him. Slowly, Cashton pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Right before I went under, I saw her. She was pulled to the right of the rocks and hit a red grate. The water pinned her against it. “She could have gotten away,” Kyla shouted at him, furious and frightened. “She was a strong swimmer.” “Her neck was broken,” Cashton whispered. Kyla stared at him in denial. Her breath stopped, suffocating her until her emotions exploded. She threw herself at Cashton and pounded him with her fi sts. “She’s alive! She’s alive! She didn’t die. She didn’t . . . die.” Cashton let her fl ail until, exhausted, she stopped. Kyla stumbled back, shaking and sobbing, desperately try- ing to understand the impossible reality that comes when someone dies before they’ve had the chance to live. Lazer crossed to his best friend. He put his arms around her and let her cry. Her sobs rose and echoed against the trees for a long time, as she let loose the tears that hung in both Cashton and Lazer’s eyes. Finally, the sobs subsided into tiny gasps of air. They stood and held onto each other, feeling the last drops of their innocence slip away. Lazer, Kyla, and Cashton stared into each other’s eyes. “We’ll tell them,” Lazer said with a hushed resolve. “We have no proof,” Kyla replied, as she searched his eyes for a solution. “The proof is in there,” Cashton said, his gaze fi xed on Temple Mountain. “What if they don’t fi nd anything? What if the Black Guard

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hides everything we saw?” Kyla asked with a tone fi lled with anxious fear. “You know they’ll come after us,” Cashton warned. Again, there was a long silence. “We can’t let Evvy have died in vane,” Kyla told them, her eyes welling again with tears. “We won’t,” Lazer assured her. “We’ll fi nd a way. We’ll tell the government, and if they don’t believe us or Covax covers it up, we’ll tell every living person who’ll listen. We’ll use the vybernet and blogs. And we’ll viral out to everyone who’ll listen. It’s not about the leaders anymore. It’s us. We are the only ones who can make the killing stop. Lazer looked at his friends. He saw the courage in their eyes and felt their willingness to take a stand against everything they knew was coming. He knew they had to be careful. He knew if they were discov- ered, it would mean their lives. “Right here and now, we make a vow. A promise on Evvy’s life that somehow we’ll wake up everyone who’s been lulled into think- ing that being comfortable is the same thing as being safe. We won’t let them hide their eyes from the truth ever again.” Cashton placed his hand in front of them. Kyla placed her hand on his. Finally, Lazer laid his hand on top. “For Evvy,” Kyla said. “For Evvy,” Lazer and Cashton echoed back to her. As the sun rose, fl ooding the forest with a cold gray light, they stood locked in one another’s gaze. Lazer glanced one more time at Temple Mountain, then looked again at his friends and saw in their eyes everything he was feeling in his heart. They had drawn a line in the sand—the fi rst battle in an undeclared war that would be fought by all who refused to stand mute in the wake of oppression.

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LEAVING HOME

azer had seen the gnorb, connected ever so briefl y with it, L and, in the end, it had been the reason he was still alive. It had reached out to him and somehow, in his heart, he knew it, too, had survived the blast. The destruction Lazer, Kyla, Cashton, and Evvy caused at Temple Mountain was unsubstantiated and, without any evidence of what they had seen there, the friends were at risk of being arrested, or worse, identifi ed and killed by the Black Guard. They anonymously reported the weapons and military actions they had witnessed, but when offi cials investigated the allegations, they found nothing. To make matters worse, the destruction was reported by Covax’s organization as an accident. But rumors leaked out and started a chain of events that seemed to give new hope to the people of Atlantia. There was just enough plausibility in the rumors to motivate a multitude of small groups, scattered across the territory, that needed to know they were not alone in their anger, sorrow, and pain. Blogs started. People talked to each other on the Vybernet and said clearly, with or without the Atlantian government’s sanctions, that people were joining forces to create their own kind of protection. Lazer, Cashton, and Kyla were never implicated, and the aunt that Evvy had been living with reported her as missing or a runaway. Covax was at a loss, according to the ANN reports. He, on the

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assurances of his team, wrote the explosion off as a “systems mal- function.” Lazer knew that the only visuals of the incident that had been captured by the high-end security cameras showed nothing but four klutzy zomers. Without positive IDs, the Black Guard could do nothing. The amount of destruction wasn’t as extensive as Lazer had hoped, but their little insurgence caused the Temple Mountain facil- ity to be shut down for over a month, which made life on Atlantia bearable . . . most of the time. The memory of Rand’s funeral and Evvy’s death haunted Lazer’s sleep throughout the hot summer months that plagued southern Atlantia. But he survived, and Commander Hague kept his promise to Detra, pulling enough strings to get Lazer a full scholarship to Tosadae’s prestigious Politia Flight Academy—the core and pride of the university. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect; Lazer needed to escape the memories that swallowed him every time he walked into his house or ran in the hills where he had played with his father when he was a child. He thought about staying and join- ing the secret forces that were amassing, but the suspicion that the accident at Temple Mountain wasn’t so accidental made him, Kyla, and Cashton glad they were leaving for a while. And they would all be at Tosadae together. Finally, the day arrived. It was all he had ever desired and, in the end, the last thing he wanted to do. Lazer and Detra made their way to the outer perimeter of Atland City; a quick fl ight in their suburban hovercraft over the marshy out- back of southwestern Atlantia took them to the Atland City Global Air Transport Station. The transport station was crowded with all the young men and women who had been accepted to academies and universities around the world. Atlantia itself had no universi- ties, at least not yet. The only options for those left behind were to work as miners in the fi ve methane mines that still operated around the country or as ticket staff and caretakers for the relic museums built over sunken ships and submarines that had once dotted the ocean fl oor. There were a few jobs as management or staff at Atland

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City’s race and sports stadiums, local restaurants, and Vybernet ca- fes. Construction jobs in developments or craft school were a last resort for the desperate but, as far as Lazer was concerned, none were a viable option. The transport station was a huge geodesic structure that spi- dered out into multiple ramps, each connecting to a variety of waiting hovercrafts. Most of the crafts were either sleek transformers or giant Lego-looking machines that resembled colorful mechanical bugs. Rows of air busses and short- and long-distance transports composed of mach one and mach two commercial and private ships lined the short vertical takeoff platforms. Once past the main terminal, Lazer and Detra made their way through the forest of automated ticketing kiosks and prepared to check in. Detra stopped by an electronic teller, who smiled down at her from a holoscreen to fi nalize Lazer’s tickets—a simple thumb- print and retinal scan that would bring all the data online and confi rm his reservations. Lazer’s attention was captured by a fi fty-foot fl oating holopro- jection that ran the length of the building. On it, an infomercial for one of the commercial airlines that had survived the corporate mergers fl ashed at him with a series of rapid-fi re moving images that split into multiple shapes as they relayed their message. One visual showed men and women happily passing through an oval portal and vaporizing as their molecules were sucked into fi ber optic tubes. The glimmering particles were then transformed into spiraling purple beams of light that whisked them to distant locations. They would reappear, smiles intact, in duplicate portals, having arrived at their destination in a matter of seconds. The words that rolled across the holoscreen matched the authoritative voice of a man, saying: “The future of travel is just around the corner . . . molecular teleportation along pure ion light. Be there when you need to be.” A soft melodic voice said, “Global Air. Setting the standards of future travel wher- ever you need to be.” A cute little tune played “Catch the light! Catch the light. Ride—it—to—the—stars!”

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Lazer was amazed that they had held his attention long enough to let all their hypnotic, subliminal messages seep in. He felt strange- ly exhilarated and more than ready to take the leap of faith that molecular travel would require. Detra stepped in next to him. “Not in my lifetime,” she said, as she beamed the fl ight informa- tion into Lazer’s new wristsponder. It had been a graduation gift left for him by his father. “Two more years and they’ll have all the bugs out,” Lazer said. “The cell structure loss is pretty minimal even now.” Lazer knew he wouldn’t do it, either. Lazer’s sleek new sponder beeped and played a voice reminder, telling him time was running out. There was an awkward silence. Lazer was nervous. He felt his heart race, torn between leaving his mother and going to Tosadae. But his mother held precedence. There hadn’t been any more attacks since the Vacary Mines incident, but everyone lived in fear that it could happen again. He worried for her, but the voice that screamed loudest in his head demanded that he stay to fi ght in the inevitable war everyone knew was coming. He would miss out on the action. When the fi ghting broke out, he would lose his chance to avenge his father. He had made an oath to blast every Black Guard out of existence. Lazer watched two of them pass, feeling the methodical pounding of his heart call to him—a relentless reminder of what must be. Lazer caught site of a second pair of Black Guard who patrolled the airport, scanning bags and people. He looked at the faces of every man, woman, and child who stood nervously watching the Black Guard go about their business. Their expressions showed what Lazer felt—helpless at the hands of a biomechanical monster. Protecting us from what? They’re the enemy, not us. If only I could have taken them all out. He looked back at his mother. She looked pale and tired, stressed from everything she had been through since the temple attacks and his father’s death. Sure, she had lots of friends, but at night, when she turned off the light, she was alone. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into leaving,” he said.

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“Me! You wanted to go to Tosadae,” Detra answered as she had every time this conversation came up. “That was before . . .” Lazer started. He caught himself, fi nished the conversation inside his head, and pulled himself up to his full height. “No! No! I need to be here.” “To do what? Make me miserable?” She smiled, trying to make the moment bearable. “All your friends will be gone.” “But the Black Guard . . .” “Will be here when you graduate,” she fi nished the thought for him. She touched his face. “Go, Lazer. You’ll be back soon enough.” “This is all wrong. I need to . . .” “ . . . live your life,” she fi nished his thought again. “The deal was you complete at least your primary rite of passage. You know as well as I do that without it you can’t get a decent job, get married, or have children, and I do want grandchildren,” she smiled. Lazer blushed at the thought. “Until then, I won’t discuss it. After that, if you want to stay and get your wings, it’s up to you.” She hesitated for a moment. “Dad would have wanted you to at least fi nish your rite of passage. Do it for his sake.” He knew she was right. “Heart swear?” “Heart swear,” he responded. It was the old vow that he and his mother had created for each other that to Lazer was the ultimate, unbreakable promise. She hugged him, pulling his tall body against her own. He had grown so much since his father’s funeral. What she didn’t know was that his heart, his soul, and his mind were held prisoner in a great void called revenge, dedicated to one goal. But he had sworn to her, so his vow to take down the Black Guard would have to wait. He would deal with that in time. Again, the little alarm chimed its warning. She had to let him go. “You be careful,” he warned his mother. “Promise?” Lazer glared at the two Black Guard as they moved away.

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“As long as you promise to forget this insanity, make your rite of passage, and do your best, I’ll promise to be safe,” she answered. “Deal. And keep the shields up 24/7.” His voice was as paren- tal as he could make it. He embraced her, squeezing with all his strength. “I love you so much, Lazer,” she said, fi ghting back the tears. “Okay, you two,” Cashton interrupted. “If you don’t stop, you’re gonna make my mom get all mushy again.” Cashton’s mother and father were in tow. Cashton punched Lazer in the arm and play-wrestled with him as they had done throughout the years since puberty. The families exchanged pleasantries. Detra smiled as she watched Cashton’s mother take her husband’s hand. It was a simple gesture of love and companionship that had been lost to her forever with Rand’s death. “Scope this,” said Cashton, pulling a small, square, very odd- looking contraption from his pocket. “It’s an isotropic hazer. Drop it and it emits a thin haze of smoke that then refl ects an image of whatever empty space you captured on this little digital band and poof, you’re invisible. Tadaa!” Cashton said proudly. “Cashton, I told you not to take that on the transport unless you can stabilize the chemicals,” his father said with a stern scowl. “I can’t believe you got it past security.” “It’s only smoke,” Cashton pleaded. “It almost works, too.” “Hand it over.” Cashton passed the device to his father, who shoved it in his pocket. “If I get fi ned for this . . .” It was one of a hundred inventions Cashton had created that didn’t quite work and always got him in trouble. “Can’t ground me for at least nine months.” Cashton grinned and threw an arm around Lazer. The fi nal departure announcement boomed, heralding the last call to board the Tosadae transport. It was time to go. No more ex- cuses. Lazer grabbed his day pack as Cashton gave a last hug to his crying mother. “I’m here for you if you need me,” Cashton’s father said to both

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boys. He held Lazer’s hand a few seconds longer to emphasize his intention, then gave them a nudge toward the transport portal. Detra grabbed Lazer’s hand, kissed his cheek, and looked into his eyes. She brushed the ever errant curl from his forehead. It made him smile. Without further delay, he turned and bolted for the portal. “Lock the shields!” Lazer shouted back to Detra, grinning at her with his infectious smile just before he vanished behind the heavy sliding door.

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STRIKE THREE

ashton lay asleep, sprawled across the seat next to Lazer, C who had managed to commandeer one of the few windows that spotted the transport. Lazer looked out over the reverse wings that defi ned the ship’s elliptical design: an enormous quarter-moon fuselage with three levels, a double cockpit, and vertical launch ca- pabilities. The thirty-year-old 1520 MMZ war cruiser should have been retired ten years ago, but Tosadae had modifi ed it and used it to ship its students back and forth. All in all, it had been kept in good shape. They drifted at mach two, 50,000 kilometers above the plan- et—so high they could see the curvature of terra fi rma. Earth was wrapped in swirling clouds that opened periodically to expose the deep, emerald-blue sea that distinguished the planet as a rare jewel amongst a galaxy of uninhabitable rocks. Lazer could see the last bit of sunlight slipping behind them into the west and the black cloak of night advancing from the east. Far below, the sun’s fading rays fell upon the broken remains of the continent that was once Europe. The great land mass that had included Russia and Asia was now divided into three separate continents, with separating straits and waterways weaving from north to south and spilling out into the great oceans below. Lazer thought of home, his mother, his father, and how life itself was so precious that each moment had to be appreciated.

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Cashton awoke and stretched. “How much longer?” he asked Lazer. “I’m starving.” “It’s a long fl ight at mach two. Besides, you just ate.” “Hey, I’m still growing,” he said with a proud smile. “Yeah, a gut.” Lazer turned on his sponder and verbally called up the book he had been reading. The little sponder’s computer processor scanned through the book lists, and Visionary Masters ap- peared on his wrist screen. It jumped to the paragraph he had been scanning before his mind drifted into contemplative chaos. Lazer set the eye-scan pacer to medium and started to read again. “You know Striker dropped his slot at Tosadae?” Cashton asked. “I heard that his old man had to sell all his mines at a loss to pay off the claims to the families. And guess who bought them up?” Cashton’s face fi lled with excitement at sharing such delicious gos- sip. Lazer rolled his eyes and sighed. Lazer knew Cashton was not about to let him read. “I don’t have a clue,” Lazer said. There was an edge of anger in his response. “Ducane Covax.” Cashton looked at Lazer to see what his reac- tion would be. There was none, at least not on the outside. His face was as blank as a poker player with a hand full of aces. Cashton decided to change tactics. “He really saved you?” “Yeah. So?” Lazer snapped. “Whoa, Kimosabi. No big deal. Pale face look in deep contem- plation with sacred spirits.” He repeated the trite dialogue they had learned when they spent a summer addicted to The Lone Ranger. They had found it on a station hidden amongst the billions of dot. net stations that cluttered the global V-ways. Cashton knew when his friend needed to crawl inside his “man cave” and smolder alone to fi gure things out. It was what a man did when he had problems to work out, and other men respected it. Though they were technically still boys, the events of the summer had aged them both in a way their coming rite of passage would not. Lazer had mourned his father while Cashton mourned the loss of

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honest communication that had been the core of their friendship. Suddenly there was a deafening clank and the transport dropped straight down. They were in free fall. Cashton gritted his teeth and closed his eyes. Trays and unbuckled people slammed into the ceil- ing. Cashton and Lazer jerked upward, but were safely restrained in their seats. Three thousand meters whipped by before they were jolted to an abrupt stop. Everyone froze. Hearts pounded. Mouths hung open, breath- less. Eyes opened wide. They waited. The second drop happened as unexpectedly as the fi rst. This time, it was longer and harder. Again the transport jolted to a stop. Lazer and Cashton compressed into their chairs and covered their heads, trying to dodge the falling de- bris and people who crashed back to the fl oor, stunned, broken, or unconscious. “What the hell was that?” Cashton shouted, freaked by the vio- lent plunges. A third drop plummeted the transport. The entire fuselage trembled, caught in the strains of a high-velocity vibration. The ship slammed to a stop and struggled to stabilize. “Secure all magnetic restraints. Repeat. Secure all magnetic re- straints. We are experiencing a rare . . . turbulence.” The pilot’s voice shook. It was clear he was not in control of the situation. Lazer and Cashton undid their restraints and, with the help of a few brave stu- dents, dragged the unconscious passengers and crew back into their seats, locking them in. “What the hell kind of turbulence was that? We’re above the stratosphere,” Cashton asked as he dragged an overweight boy to his seat. “That’s what I want to fi nd out,” Lazer answered. Lazer, Cashton, and their little rescue squad quickly got the last of their schoolmates into their seats and rushed back to secure them- selves. Lazer looked out the window, straining to see if they had hit a meteor wash or caught some freak galactic wind. What he saw sent an icy rush down his spine. The sky was fi lled with at least twenty

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Shadehawks hovering in military attack formation. Cashton leaned toward the window the moment he saw Lazer stiffen. “This can’t be happening.” Cashton’s words trembled as they struggled from his mouth. “Laze, you think they fi gured out we were responsible for what happened at Temple Mountain?” “No, I . . . don’t know,” Lazer snapped back. The Shadehawks arced around the transport. Through their fl ight domes, the pulsating green lights on their faceless masks could easily be seen. Cashton and Lazer realized that the green pulses were increasing in speed and intensity—a biodroid’s version of a predator salivating before the kill. “They’re gonna fi re on us again!” Lazer blurted out. Everyone held his or her breath. They knew he was right. A series of phaser blasts tore at the fuselage. It slammed full force into the front of the transport. The charge rippled back in pulsating electrical waves, electrifying the cabin walls. “We’ve got the shields up!” Lazer shouted. It would buy them time. “Why doesn’t the pilot evac?” Cashton wailed. The force of another blast preempted Lazer’s explanation. This time, the transport bowed under the warp of pressure. “He can’t, not without dropping the shield, and then we’re . . .” “Target practice,” Cashton fi nished. Another blast racked the unarmed fuselage. A hairline crack spi- dered along a portion of the hull and fractured the outer shell. A hiss of pressurized steam was thrust into the main cabin from behind the cockpit door. Lazer and Cashton exchanged a look. “We just lost the cockpit,” Lazer whispered, as he watched the seeping vapors hiss from under the security door that protected the cockpit. The initial hit had been lethal. He unbuckled himself. Lazer had a plan. “Get up. Go! Go! Go!” He shoved a confused Cashton out of his seat. “What?”

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“This is an ex-munitions military fi ghter—a 1520 MMZ se- ries!” Lazer shouted back as he crashed past Cashton. Lazer moved through the rows of terrifi ed students. Wide-eyed, many held on to each other; some cried, some prayed, and all of them knew the emotionless predators who hovered outside could vaporize them in- stantly without remorse. Lazer understood what they were feeling. He felt it, too, but above the fear was a rush of anger that drove him to the back of the transport. The cabin lights dimmed and fl ashed until only blackness was left to intensify the situation. Screams erupted until the eerie red fl ush of the fl oor and ceiling emergency lights glowed on, offering a moment’s reprieve. Lazer kept moving. He knew where he needed to go, but didn’t yet know what he’d do once he got there. He’d have to trust the one part of his being that never let him down: his gut. Cashton stumbled behind. He was following Lazer out of in- stinct and the possibility that his friend was about to do something crazy, or worse, leave him behind. “It’s an MMZ. So?” Cashton whispered as they raced aft. “So, there’s a rear control turret.” They reached the mid-section of the transport as a young stew- ard, his head still bleeding from being thrown into the ceiling, tried to stop them. “Get in your seats,” he ordered. “Buckle in.” “Cockpit’s been blown,” Lazer informed him. The steward’s mouth fell open. He raced past Lazer and Cashton to the front of the transport and pounded on the cockpit door. No response. The emergency locks held. Lazer raised his hand to stop him, but it was too late. The steward hit the override controls. The seal released, the door slipped open, and the steward was sucked out into the stratosphere before the door slammed shut again. Everyone held their breath until the oxygen masks dropped and the cabin stabilized. “Spit!” Cashton blurted, looking in disbelief at the place where the steward had just been.

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Lazer knew there was nothing more he could do except stick to his goal and get to the rear turret door. Another blast rippled the walls and knocked Lazer and Cashton off their feet. They got their bearings and kept moving. Cashton was sweating, but it was from more than fear; the internal temperature of the transport was rising. The fuselage was heating up. They reached the aft door—or at least where it should have been, according to the blueprints and schematics Lazer remembered studying for game play. It wasn’t there! He felt where it should have been, his fi ngers groping, probing, pressing through the padding that covered the walls. He prayed it was hidden from view by the decorative fabric that hung in its place. He touched something. It was there. Buried under the nylon fabric he felt the oval-shaped in- dentation and, at its center, a latch. “Yes!” he shouted, startling Cashton. Lazer used the edge of his sponder strap and ripped through the microfi ber. It was strong, but Lazer was stronger. It shredded under his persistent attack. He created a tiny tear, then he and Cashton used their nails to rip the fabric out of their way. They grabbed the emergency latch and pulled the door open. A hiss of air was sucked inside, replacing the stale air that had been sealed inside for the past ten years. That was the last time the MMZ had been used as a war ship. Long retired from its fi ghting days during the Mutant Wars, the transport was about to be recalled into active service with Lazer at the helm. Lazer prayed to the Universal God that, even without weapons, the old battleship had a few tricks he could call on to save them. They leapt down a narrow fl ight of metal stairs that lead to the rear cockpit and gun turret. The second cockpit hung inside a thick Plexiglas pod located under the belly of the transport. Cashton froze when he looked straight down at Earth turning 50,000 meters below him. The effect was dizzying. His stomach jumped into his throat. Lazer didn’t look. He slipped into the pilot’s seat and started hit- ting panels and heat-activated screen pads. The control panel curled

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around him with the mechanical precision of a camera shutter. It fanned out into the shape of a metal half-moon, covered in multiple confi gurations of lights, switches, and touch panels that erupted to life as each power source miraculously came online. “Yes! Still connected!” Lazer shouted. “Strap in.” “You can’t fl y this!” Cashton gasped. “Strap in!” Lazer commanded. Cashton held onto the clear walls and cautiously slipped into the copilot’s seat. “This is insane! What the hell makes you think you can fl y this?” “Online competition, 65 championship, MMZ simulator ex- treme, stratosphere fi nals. Got the highest score ever recorded in the MMZ World Battle amateur game bangers competition!” Lazer said adjusting the levels. “That’s a video game, moron!” Cashton waited. “That’s it? That’s your idea?” “You got a better one?” “Yeah, don’t die.” “Fire up the secondary shield power panels and give me a read- ing.” Lazer fi ngered the navigation touch controls. They lit up. He had full power and partial shields, which were the only things keep- ing them alive for the moment. “Give me a shield reading.” “Where? I never got past level three.” “You’re a gadget geek!” “Real, not virtual.” “Well, this is way real!” Lazer pointed. “Meter bars, far left, green, yellow, blue.” Cashton touched the screen and it whirred into action. “Uh, fi ve . . . no, six are lit. Two are out.” Cashton struggled to interpret the information and give it to Lazer as fast as he could. “Damn! 78 percent. We’ll take one more hit, then I’m turning our backs to them and directing all shield power to our tail.” Cashton couldn’t believe what Lazer intended to do. “Are you in total brain fart? This is not the time to get back at them for what

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they did to your dad. Lazer, listen to me,” Cashton pleaded. “You’ll get us all killed.” “Not if we knock them out fi rst.” Lazer was certain what he was about to do was the only chance they had. There was no time to convince Cashton he was right and less time to reconfi gure and redirect the main power sources to the turret. “Listen to me. I’m gonna direct full power to one shield, which should turn the defl ec- tors solid. We angle the shields and, like a mirror into light, it should defl ect their phaser fi re and ricochet right back at them.” “Should?” Cashton swallowed. “If we’re lucky, they won’t have their shields up and their own blasts will ping back up their noses and destroy them.” He turned to Cashton. “Got it?” “What do I do?” Cashton acquiesced. “Ride those gauges and keep all shield impulses concentrated at the rear.” Lazer focused on the 3-D mockup of the MMZ transport that hovered to his left, highlighting the various vitals and schemat- ics that rose in ribbons of color as the ship reacted to his commands. Each hidden chamber and power source defi ned the MMZ’s de- sign, which had once been the crown of this battle champion. In its heyday, it had been used to haul weapons, supplies, and troops. But its weapons had been stripped away in the end and it had been demoted to the banal chore of hauling students to Tosadae. Lazer hoped there were still enough mechanical guts to get them out of this horror. More importantly, he prayed to the Universal God that he was doing the right thing. One last hand motion and the shield image registered a redistribu- tion of power to the tail of the transport. Lazer took the double throttles, stepped on the left rudder, and propelled them into the turn. Cashton’s power panels ignited; the shield read-outs fused to- gether and formed a massive wall of energy. The molecules solidifi ed at the exact moment as the sensors warned there was a lock on them. It was the precursory wail to the blast about to be fi red from the Shadehawks.

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“Get ready!” Lazer held his breath. Outside, in the black of the stratosphere, even the stars seem to have vanished. The Shadehawks had pulled into a diamond for- mation. They would intersect, create a power matrix, and combine their full blaster force. The blast would scatter the MMZ and every- one on it into cosmic dust. The lead ship prepared to give the order to fi re, but hesitated when the MMZ turned tail to run. It knew that the control deck and the fl ight crew of the transport had been taken out. The ma- chines calculated the information. It had to be a malfunction by the transport’s computers. The transport was searching for its central brain, but it was nothing more than a decapitated worm with its body spastically squirming because it hadn’t realized it was already dead. The lead Black Guard recalculated the data and deduced that the ship’s backup computer was making a low-level attempt to run. Bottom line, it didn’t matter. It had been reported by a Black Guard at the Atland Transport that the human key to the gnorb was aboard that ship, and Five had launched the attack; now, in a few moments, that key would be disintegrated. “They’re not shooting!” Cashton panicked. “Come on,” Lazer whispered. “Take the bait.” The Shadehawks completed their diamond formation. Once in position, the aligned ships fi red photon phaser blasts that conjoined into a seven-faceted pyramid and fused into a single point that shot forward across the sky. The combined blast slammed into the transport’s shield. The searing beams hit, pinged off the shield, frac- tured back into multiple rays, and ricocheted back with a starburst of power. Seven of the Shadehawks crumbled into particle dust. The other Shadehawks were blasted out of formation by the concussions that surged from each explosion and tumbled away out of control. The battle was on.

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FIRST BATTLE

he sky was fi lled with a fi eld of seven brilliant mushroom T clouds made of blazing hot particles that hung weightless be- fore fading into the cold vacuum of space. The particles cooled and fell into the ionosphere, raining down somewhere over the Republic that had once been Asia. Lazer and Cashton high-fi ved each other and did the best inter- pretation of a victory dance one could do while still strapped into a seat. As they wiggled their butts and waved their hands proclaiming their awesomeness, screams of elation echoed in from the intercom system. It was Cashton who heard what came next. There was a low whine from all the instruments. They wailed, shrieking at them like defl ating balloons, and whined down to an ominous hum. The color bands that monitored the power levels fl ickered and vanished from all the screens. Then silence. The lights went out. One red warning light pulsed menacingly off and on. Lazer saw it. “What?” Cashton asked. His voice cracked. “Power drain. Spit! Spit!” The words were bitter in his mouth. They had lost everything, including basic life support. Lazer searched for the backup generators. It was elementary game play: you use all your energy, you drain your power, and you revert to aux- iliary power and manual weapons while you recover. But the MMX

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had been stripped, and there was no auxiliary power. “No shields!” Cashton shouted as the power screen went blank. “We’ve got no shields!” He turned around in his seat and saw the Shadehawks regrouping, a swarm of angry hornets whose nest had been violated. “They’re coming back.” The interim generators kicked in, recharging the main energy rods. At least they wouldn’t have to suffocate before they were blown to smithereens. The cockpit’s panel lights glowed on and washed them in eerie shades of yellow, red, and green neon. A second panel lit up, telling him the engines were online. But that was it. “Do something!” Lazer shouted. “What?” “Make something. Fix it.” “Fix what?” Cashton bantered back. Cashton ripped himself out of his restraints and dove under the power panel. “It’s charging the main engine’s core power rods. You want engine or shield?” “Both.” Lazer was desperate. His mind was as dead as the shields. “Okay. We’re gonna run,” Lazer said as he jammed the accelerator. The exterior motion was almost imperceptible. This was no speed- ing up to mach two or jump to light speed; in fact, the acceleration was so slow that they may as well have been moving backwards. “Faster would be good about now,” Cashton said, popping his head up from beneath the panel. “It won’t go faster,” Lazer said. “What about the shields?” Cashton’s power panel showed a painfully slow buildup of shield power. “Try 7 percent.” “Why haven’t they fi red?” Lazer wondered aloud. “Who cares? Them not fi ring is working for me big time!” “I don’t like it,” Lazer said with a hollow gnawing in his stomach. “Now what?” “I don’t know,” Lazer whispered his concern. “Wrong answer!” Cashton’s voice cracked. The Shadehawks were in formation. The transport’s shields were at 22 percent; a direct hit would splatter them.

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Lazer hit the intercom. “Everybody! Lock in and hold on.” There was silence in the main cabin. Everyone prayed for a miracle. Cashton decided to take an ignorance-is-bliss approach and not ask Lazer any more questions. “Split the charge between the engine and the shields. Cash, get your ass up here and locked in.” Lazer had one fi nal option. He would stall the engine. He moved his hand over the master power control, waited for the last possible second, and hit the kill switch. The transport would drop dense as a rock, and the Shadehawks’ blasters would miss. It was a momentary diversion from the inevitable, but it was all he could do. When the engines fi red back on, there theoretically would be a power surge that would boost the shield power and the drivers. If the engines co- operated, they might survive. No, they would survive. He willed it. “Done.” Cashton jumped into his seat and locked in. The Shadehawks fi red their blasters and fi lled the sky with streaks of deuterium that cut through the blackness at the speed of light. Lazer shut down, and the transport dropped fi ve thousand me- ters like a rock. Cashton’s stomach shot into his throat. Lazer gritted his teeth as the g-force jerked him upward. The restraints cut into his shoulders. He had to power back up or they would hit the atmosphere and burn up on reentry. Lazer lifted his hand, forcing it forward. He struggled to reach the control handle. Gravity defi ed him. They kept falling—two thousand, three thousand meters plummeted past. Inch by inch, he strained with all his strength, until his fi ngers touched the throttle and wrapped around the controls. Lazer dragged it into power-up position and the ship’s engines fi red, caught, and stabi- lized. The transport engines roared on with a thunderous tremor. Lazer looked up to see what was coming at them next. What he saw ignited his soul. A hail of deuterium phaser pellets rained down on the Shadehawks, exploding three of them into fi re balls. There was only one force on Earth that used DT deuterium phasers: the

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Politia. Lazer and Cashton howled with cheers and laughter. The cavalry had arrived. “It’s the Politia!” elated voices shrieked through the intercom. Seven Politia FX-80 fi ghters swarmed the airspace. They launched into a dogfi ght, engaging the confused Shadehawks. The Shadehawks banked, circled, and dove, desperate to outmaneuver the fi re power of the DT phasers. Inside the Tosadae transport’s lower cockpit, Cashton’s power panel fl ashed 59 percent. It was enough. Lazer pushed both throttles and banked a hard right. “Turn, you piece of . . .” Lazer ordered the ship, putting all his strength against the stick. Cashton ripped out of his restraints and grabbed the right throt- tle, leaning with all his weight. He eked the throttle one more inch, and together they forced the transport into its turn. They were pick- ing up speed. They were getting away! Two Shadehawks broke from the fi ght with the FX-80s and headed straight for the transport. They fi red. Phaser blasts bit hard into the transport’s right wing. “Twins bandits, closing in on our six!” Cashton shouted. “I need shields!” Lazer demanded. “62 percent.” One of the pursuing Shadehawks vaporized into particle dust just as it came close enough to fi re on the transport. The second Shadehawk was still on their tail. Lazer heard the scream of the warning indicator. “Get into your belt. Now!” Lazer shouted. He forced the trans- port out of pattern, set the fl aps, stalled the engine, and went into a dive, nose fi rst, straight down. Again, the blasters overshot their mark. Lazer fi red the big en- gines. No response. He fi red again. Nothing. Their momentum was about to reach critical when Lazer fi red the engines. “Do it!” Lazer commanded. The engines ignited. The force of the drop had given them speed and, with the engines at full throttle, they fi nally had motion. He

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forced the transport to stabilize. The Shadehawk reset his position and zeroed in. Lazer was out of options. He was at full speed, but he couldn’t outrun a Shadehawk. Inside the Shadehawk, one of the Black Guard centered on the transport and locked on for the kill. A lone FX-80 zeroed in and fi red at the Shadehawk. Direct hit! What was left splattered across the transport’s hull. “He’s vapor wash!” Cashton shouted. “Tosadae command, do you copy?” The voice that boomed over the ship’s comm line belonged to the FX-80 pilot who had just saved them. “I repeat, do you copy, captain?” Lazer and Cashton realized that they were probably going to be in trouble for commandeering the ship. “Answer him,” Cashton whispered, nudging Lazer. “Uh . . . copy that . . . uh, sir,” Lazer replied so tentatively that the FX commander was silent for a second. “We lost the main cock- pit . . . sir,” Lazer said, as if it were his fault. “Who is this?” “Cole Lazerman, sir. First-year cadet.” “First year? Where the hell are your shields?” “I . . . used the shields to defl ect the conjoined hit, sir.” “We blew seven of them to vapor wash!” Cashton shouted, still charged from the attack. The commander chuckled in amazement. “One for you, ace! Only next time you blow your shields you better be able to throw up a Viz wall.” Lazer and Cashton exchanged a look of confusion. They had heard of mind-over-matter manifestations of energy taught in the Visionistic Arts at Tosadae, but the idea of shielding an entire trans- port using mental powers bordered on the miraculous. “No next time, okay,” Cashton whispered. “Yes, sir,” Lazer responded. He felt proud. It had been so long since he had done anything right. He wanted to call his father and tell him that he had been the hero of the day, to tell him that he and

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Cashton had done the right thing, but that call could never hap- pen. The brief rush of glory receded back into his river of remorse, drowning the momentary happiness. “Hell of a set of natural skills you got there, cadet,” the com- mander said. A second voice came through the transponder. “This is Tosadae Control at Mu Field. Congratulations, cadet. We saw the whole thing on satellite. You’re a hero on my roster, son.” Lazer didn’t know what to say. Cashton’s chest, on the other hand, was swelling as fast as his head. “Drop to 15,000 meters above the deck and switch to remote,” the controller ordered. “We’ll bring you in on tractor beam.” Cashton felt so ecstatic he thought he was going to burst. He and Lazer proudly exchanged the Politia’s V salute. It was the same one that Rand had playfully exchanged with him when they had played Politia so many years ago. But today, in this moment of glory, the V salute had new meaning. It was no longer a game. He had helped defeat the enemy. Lazer released the nervous breath that had stuck in his chest, letting go a great sigh of relief. He stroked the touch pads on the main controls and initiated their descent to Tosadae. He had done well today, and his bravery fi lled him with a new strength and an undeniable truth. The attack had proven to him that now, more than ever, he needed to be back on Atlantia. This was an act of war. Lazer had vowed on his father’s soul and his coun- try. Now, he made one to himself. He would rid Atlantia of the Black Guard.

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TOSADAE

he docking station at Tosadae was in chaos. University staff T and fellow students greeted the wounded and traumatized passengers as they exited the transport. ANN and GSB, Global Satellite Broadcast, had reporters everywhere. They demanded to know more about the fi rst-year cadet who had fl own the transport and battled the Shadehawks until the Politia arrived. The university wouldn’t give out the name, so the reporters questioned everyone who stepped through the door. Cashton beamed as he walked off the transport, ready for his close-up. Lazer grabbed his arm and pulled Cashton past the herd of reporters and through the crowd. Through the mass of chaos, they spotted Kyla’s smiling face. She had come a week early for aura semi- nars. Her face fi lled with relief at the sight of them. Pushing her way through the crowd, Kyla squealed as she threw herself into Lazer’s arms, then turned to Cashton and gave him a crushing hug, as well. “Everything came up on satellite relay,” she said. “And the dog- fi ght. Whoa! We’re talking classic top gun.” She had grown up over the summer months. Her face had lost some of its roundness, revealing a fi rst glimpse of the beauty she would ultimately become. Her eyes never left Lazer’s face. They chattered excitedly, sharing every elaborate detail of the attack, as they walked to the baggage claim area.

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“It was awesome!” Cashton blurted. “At one point, we all thought “game over,” until Captain Dynamic here went into megahero mode and saved the day.” Kyla’s mouth fell open as her eyes locked back onto Lazer. “It was you?” “Well, us actually,” Cashton said, looking for acknowledgment. “It was dumb luck. I should have known about the shield fail- ure,” Lazer said. “And I couldn’t have done it without Cashton’s electronic genius.” Cashton beamed. “That’s the third attack on humans,” Lazer reminded them. The reality of his statement defl ated both Cashton and Kyla. “Pay back for what we did?” Kyla asked. “Nah. How would they know?” Cashton looked puzzled. “Evvy would have been proud of you guys,” Kyla said, with a tinge of sadness. A moment of silent respect hung around them and made the air feel thick and heavy. Lazer’s eyes caught the ANN reporters trying frantically to get a statement from some students. “Anybody fi gure out where they came from?” Lazer asked. “The entire Collective’s looking for that answer,” said Kyla. “They are damn sure they launched out of Atlantia. I’ve already talked to all of our parents. Mom says it’s quiet on Atlantia . . . for now.” “Then where? Black Guards don’t exist anywhere else. It doesn’t make sense,” Lazer said. “I mean, why attack a university transport?” “Kill off the next generation of fi ghters?” Cashton offered. “ANN said their genetics scan picked up the kid of a famous somebody on board,” Kyla said. “Yeah? Who?” Cashton demanded. “Student protection act. They can’t say.” Kyla shrugged. “I want to know,” Cashton insisted, looking over the crowd. “There were over three hundred students on that transport. Who cares if some bigwig’s kid was on board? You’re safe. Oh, yeah!

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And get ready for this: the Collective Council is requesting a proton dome lockdown over Atlantia.” Her body fl inched, waiting to see if Lazer and Cashton would have the same rush of horror upon hear- ing such disturbing news about their homeland. “Over Atlantia?” Lazer choked. “They can’t do that.” “They’re the Council. They can do anything they want,” Cashton seethed. “Why not send in the Politia?” Lazer huffed. “We’re not corporate and the Politia belong to the corpora- tions,” Kyla added. The thought of a domed Atlantia was beyond disbelief. “As long as Atlantia’s got no representatives in the World Corporate Council and there’s a potential threat of a virus getting into their precious nano-based networks, what choice do they have?” Cashton said. “And you agree?” “No, but . . .” Cashton started. “Who gave them the right to dome us in with those murderers?” Lazer ranted, throwing his bag down. He slammed his fi st into the tile pillar, cracking the ceramic and dissipating the rush of anger in the sensation of pain. “The Triumvirate should give us Politia pro- tection.” “They did today and they will again.” Kyla gave him a reassur- ing smile that quickly faded when she read the colors that glowed from his aura. “Whatever you’re thinking . . . don’t.” “I gotta get home. Now.”

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A SINGLE VOICE

here’s been an attack on a Tosadae student transporter,” Aleece T said as she rushed into her offi ce. Mangalan and Aleece’s lead advisor, Commander Robert Fielding, were already there. “That is still no proof there are sentient forces within the ranks of the Black Guard,” Mangalan said, as Fielding circled several hot spots on the holomap that loomed in front of him. “It does fuel the situation. The Politia reports they have been tracking a series of small rallies. It’s obvious they are in support of the Black Guard. We have traced the insurgents to several factions of clones and a few gens here . . .” Fielding pointed, “. . . and here in the Republic. We are waiting on confi rmation of rebel cells in three additional cities in the Common Market as well, and a cell that was discovered right here in Sangelino. This is no longer only about Atlantia,” Commander Fielding said. He was a lanky, distinguished man with serious eyes and thick hair that had grayed at the temples. A true leader, he had earned his rank in the Mutant Wars and the respect of the Politia forces in Sangelino during years of dedicated service. Fielding had been assigned as information strategist and ad- visor to Aleece Avery. He admired her and she respected him. Aleece Avery listened as she gathered microdisks from her desk, while Dr. Baz Mangalan and Commander Fielding stood near the small round conference table beside her window and discussed the

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facts of the confl ict that was building around Atlantia. She was presenting her plan to the Council in less than forty-eight hours and needed as much information as possible to convince them that the Politia needed a presence in Atlantia before things got too far out of hand. Aleece listened to the negative logic that droned from Mangalan. What she wanted was to be home with Dante and Riana so she could spend as much time with her family as possible before the worst began, but duty required she remain. “Commander, are you suggesting these attacks are being initi- ated by artifi cial intelligence through cognitive thought?” Mangalan said. “We can’t determine that without the nanobands of the offend- ers, sir,” Fielding said patiently. “Is it feasible that these acts could be instigated by a few rebel biodroids acting on someone’s orders?” Mangalan spoke in a cold, facetious tone. “Not without analyzing the defective biodroids. Dr. Covax has reported they have either been destroyed or can’t be found,” said Fielding. “Then, until we have proof, our hands are tied.” Mangalan was desperately trying to end the meeting. “Are you willing to take that chance?” Aleece moved to the con- ference table. “Based on unsubstantiated conjecture, I am.” Mangalan sneered back at her. “Okay, let’s look at this from another perspective,” Aleece said. “Hypothesizing for a moment that these are cognitive acts, we must remember these biodroids are built on the same biological artifi cial intelligence that runs through every piece of hardware that makes this planet function. What would have to be done to prevent a virus from infesting the world’s computer systems?” “Long before that type of corruption goes viral, the source would have to be detected, quarantined, and deactivated. The sooner the better,” Fielding said.

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“You just said we can’t fi nd them, so who the hell are we going to quarantine?” Mangalan was losing his temper. “If you are so con- cerned about a massive Vybernet infection, why don’t you approve my motion to dome Atlantia? Certainly this transport attack gives us cause, and a dome will keep things in check until we have proof.” “You want to seal the Atlantians in with potentially corrupt forces?” now it was Aleece’s tone that was incredulous. Her emotions were kicking in, and she raised her voice more than she wanted to. “We have no choice. It doesn’t matter if they are receiving human orders or their nano has gone sentient. You said it yourself: too many of these biodroids already possess the up-link capability of crippling this planet with a single data worm. Based on your own argument, you are endangering the entire world by waiting.” Mangalan was losing his patience. “We can’t order a dome without proof!” Aleece was emphatic. “A student transport has been attacked. Over three thousand people are dead. I think doming is an appropriate interim solution if, according to your unsubstantiated opinion, this infection has al- ready started. By your own admission, if one Black Guard is corrupt, we are all in danger.” Mangalan used her own logic against Aleece. “We have intercepted orders coming out of Atlantia. Exactly how many Black Guard are involved and for what purpose is specu- lation,” Commander Fielding’s voice was fi lled with concern. “But I have to agree with Triumvirate Avery, it would not be prudent to dome Atlantia without a plan.” His words gave Aleece a small chunk of artillery to argue her case. He wanted to help her, and she trusted his advice. He had served his branch of the corporate alliances for twenty years without question, but today even he was torn about what should be done. “Fielding is right; we need facts and a plan. In order to devise a plan, we need to send a team of investigators in to examine the evi- dence and analyze the facts. Until then, I will not sanction a dome.” “You’re asking us to risk world security.” Mangalan’s face fi lled with something more than concern.

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Aleece knew from the pale lavender aura that encircled him that another emotion was driving him. She also knew he would need a majority vote from the Collective to override her veto. Perhaps it was frustration that added a haze of sickening puce to his undercolor. If he got his way, the world would seal Atlantia beneath a proton dome and leave them to whatever fate was coming. “I am recommending to the Council and the Collective that we shut down all the Black Guard forces and send in our own peace- keeping unit of Politia security to protect the Atlantians while the investigation team determines how far the corruption has spread,” Aleece offered. “On whose credit?” Mangalan spat the question into her face. “World credit!” she snapped. “Impossible!” His tone was imperious. “The World Corporate Council has already agreed to fi nance a Politia team to go in to in- vestigate. That’s more than enough.” “To investigate, not defend. The Atlantians need soldiers, weap- ons, supplies. They need to be ready in case of another attack,” Aleece clarifi ed her point. “The Atlantians have gathered a small militia called the Wave,” Fielding said. “We could go in and assist . . .” “If the situation accelerates and we support them by giving aid, it could instigate a world war if the Collective isn’t in full agreement,” Mangalan cut him off. “We know from history that our interference into these civil attacks is nothing more than an excuse to open up a global insurrection.” Mangalan had hit on a fact that no military strategist could ignore. “Triumvirate Mangalan has a point,” Fielding had to agree. “The Politia are peacekeepers, not a militia. If there’s an outbreak that spreads into the A.I. or mobilizes sympathizers, we are not prepared to mount the kind of alliance it would take to defend the world on multiple fronts at once.” Fielding hated that he had to side with Mangalan, but in the end, his allegiance was to the

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Politia. He knew their strengths, as well as their limitations. “Then we should be, especially if the clones and gens are siding with the biodroids,” Aleece said emphatically. Fielding hit a button on his wristsponder. A confi dential report appeared on a fl oating hologram. “This is an intelligence report we will issue to the Triumvirate and Council this afternoon. It shows proof that Ducane Covax has the Black Guard reproducing in mass numbers somewhere under Atlantia, using a staff of zomers, clones, and gens.” She hated that Covax had become the global scapegoat for anything that went wrong. His aggressive behavior had made him careless in the past, and logic would follow that he could easily be behind this, as well. “Has anyone bothered to speak to Dr. Covax? Why would he be amassing an army? Do we have proof he’s behind these attacks? Or is this just one more attempt to use him as a scapegoat and move on?” Her words had a frost to them that went beyond her personal dislike for Mangalan. Mangalan looked at her with an air of a chess player who had just backed his opponent into a corner with a brilliant move and was coming in for the kill. He knew he had opened an old wound and now he wanted to make her bleed. “No. It seems all contact with Dr. Covax has been lost. Perhaps you should consider going with the investigation team to Atlantia to fi nd him before this escalates.” Mangalan stared at her, waiting to see if he had gotten a rise. Aleece was in check. That was not the response she expected. It was a clever move on Mangalan’s power board. Mangalan’s face broke into a brief, almost imperceptible smile. The real success of his proposition would be to get her away from Sangelino and the Council to limit her access to the Collective, who were loyal to any cause she sanctioned. “I’m sure Commander Fielding can arrange for an Eagle One shuttle at a moment’s notice,” Mangalan said. “Commander?”

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Mangalan was playing her and she knew it. Aleece also knew that with proof she could turn the tables, get a full alliance, and mo- bilize forces to come in to protect Atlantia. If she could get Ducane Covax to admit publicly he was not involved and that the world was in danger, she could get her allied forces. “I can have Eagle One ready and waiting at your command,” Fielding said. “I would have to confer with the Council and the Collective,” Aleece said. She stood, suggesting that the meeting was over. Fielding gave her the V salute and quickly left, anxious to get away from the tension that hung as thick as ocean fog. Mangalan stood and gathered his things. “I will ask that the vote be held until my return.” She smiled. That’s checkmate, Mangalan. He had to agree, and by agreeing, she had bought herself and the Atlantians some time. Mangalan fl ushed. She had blocked him with a law that he had initiated himself. A Triumvirate could request a stay of vote on any matter for an offi cial investigation. “Triumvirate Avery, I am putting an emergency motion on the fl oor this afternoon to dome Atlantia. If you don’t approve the dome launch, by your own admission, the whole world is at risk and I will hold you personally accountable.” “I have no doubt that you will. I will speak to Covax.” Mangalan turned when he reached the door. “You were married to him once?” “No. We worked together.” Mangalan smiled, gave a gracious nod, and walked to the door. Aleece waited for Mangalan to leave. She hit the call button on her main communicator and her husband instantly responded. “How did it go?” he smiled at her from the holoscreen. “I may have to go away for a little while.” Dante was quiet for a moment. “Riana wants to say something,” he said, turning the microcamera on their daughter. “Go where? Why? Where do you have to go?” Riana asked.

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“To help the Atlantians.” “I want to go with you,” Riana said. She felt her mother’s inner fear, as well as the determination that masked it. “Not this time, honey.” There was a long empty silence that hung in the air, thick with emotions and pregnant with unanswer- able questions. “How about we all go out to a special dinner? Riana will pick the place,” Aleece said. “That’s a great idea,” Dante boomed in. Again a painful silence hung in the air. “I love you, Mom,” Riana whispered and clicked off. Aleece stared at the communicator for a long time. She hit the comm button. “Ducane Covax, private,” she said into her comm. There was a hiss, then silence, then . . . it toned. No answer. “Answer, Duke. Please answer,” she whispered. Duke had been her pet name for him. She had not thought of it in years. But now it was not only Triumvirate Avery that needed to know if he was involved, it was Aleece.

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chaos

ucane Covax’s wristsponder lay on the desk. It fl ashed, but D he was far too involved to pick up. He never even glanced at the name on the caller ID. His face twisted in rage as he shouted at his executive staff. He paced in front of the fl oor-to-ceiling win- dows of his offi ce, ignoring the towering view that overlooked the bustling streets of downtown Atland City fi fty stories below. His mind was spinning with the reality of what he had just learned: twenty Shadehawks had attacked a student transport and engaged the Politia. His Shadehawks! If the renegade Black Guard were not found and destroyed, their actions would turn the world against him again. “I want answers or I’ll rip every one of your heads off,” he shrieked. He looked like a madman, with bulging eyes, veins that popped from his forehead, and a neck of twisted little ropes. His tattoos vacillated between deep burgundy and a vibrant bloody red; the contrasting shades glowed against his olive skin. Pi Wokken, a hybrid who had survived the Mutant Wars, was head scientist and chief technologist at Covax’s Nano Labs. His nar- row face and pale Aryan features furrowed into a frightened little frown as he listened. Pi held his breath, waiting for Covax’s diatribe to subside. He stood at attention along with Dr. Ben Muller, a hu- man scientist with blank lifeless eyes, who had been exiled from Sangelino along with Covax after the biogenetic Splicer Fiasco.

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Covax’s research and development team leaders represented the higher echelon of his staff, which consisted of human-based splicers, nanobots, biodroids, and a smattering of pure-blood humans. They stood around the room, silently cowering in a desperate attempt to stay out of Covax’s way. “How many casualties?” Covax demanded. “The pilots, both navigators, and a fl ight steward are dead and a few students with broken bones, cuts, and bruises,” Dr. Muller reported calmly. Muller, more than the others who had participated in Covax’s early genetic experiments, enjoyed the creation of new and diverse life forms during their heyday in Sangelino. He relished every opportunity to cross the most exotic and unusual combina- tions of genetics to create new species for their splicer sales division. His successes had made them a fortune and caused the most destruc- tion. Muller gave a long sigh. He found little value in discussing the lives of strangers who were irrelevant to his work. His fl at, cold stare made it obvious he couldn’t have cared less about the few, irrelevant human losses. “It was a relatively minor number considering the scale of the attack, doctor.” “My daughter was on that transport!” Covax exploded. “Have you traced the attack coordinates back to their source?” He glared at Pi. “The trace was incomplete.” “And the Politia? What do they know?” “They know nothing,” Five said. His voice boomed across the room with its familiar, mechanical resonance. “The fact that your daughter was aboard will, if anything, throw suspicion away from you.” There was a strange lilt in Five’s voice that sounded almost playful. “They were Shadehawks! Who else will they blame?” Covax took a deep breath. His hands were trembling. He had to think. “We have to fi nd where the strand corruption originated, track the infection, and destroy whatever nanobands have been affected.” Covax turned to Pi. “Bring me the surviving Black Guard. I want their bio strands dissected and analyzed.”

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“None survived,” Five said. It was a simple statement of fact, nothing more. “They were all destroyed by the FX-80s,” Pi explained. “Without the hard data on their strands, it’s impossible to trace where the programs glitched or who initiated the command stream,” Muller added. “Three attacks are not a glitch,” Covax said. “There’s some kind of viral worm undermining my control programs. Even Five’s com- pliance malfunction had to be scrubbed and reprogrammed and Pi’s report showed no corruption, yet these attacks continue to happen.” Covax glared at Five. Five stood mute. “Scrub the entire force,” Covax demanded. “That would shut security down for months,” Pi blurted. “Find that virus or I swear to you I’ll destroy every Black Guard that we have and start over from scratch!” “That won’t be necessary,” Five said, as he nodded to a second Black Guard who stood by the door. The door was opened and a third Guard entered, carrying a small metal case. In the awkward silence that hung in the room, Covax watched as the case was handed to Five and almost reverently placed on Covax’s desk. Five gracefully lifted his arm and held his metallic fi nger over the latch band. There was a soft high-pitched tone that rang out as he sent a pulse of energy over the lock to release it. The case popped open. Slowly, the lid hissed and lifted, revealing the stolen Orbis Gnorb. “Where did you get this?” Covax asked in utter amazement. Muller and Pi moved closer and stared at the small, clear cy- lindrical orb. It glowed up at them from its padded nest. It was real—one of the four gnorbs found after the Great Quakes had re- leased them from their various secret tombs. Many thought their reemergence was a sign, but no one has been able to fi gure out what their strange presence meant. The gnorbs had always been heavily guarded—an inaccessible legend never to be exhibited beyond the

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high-level research technicians that studied them. But it was here. “Take them out of here,” Five said, gesturing to Muller, Pi, and Covax’s staff. The Black Guard moved forward and began to encircle Covax’s team. “Step away from them,” Covax demanded. Five ignored Covax as his band of mutinous marauders gathered the confused members of Covax’s staff and led them out. “I command you to stop,” shouted Covax. Again, the Black Guard paid no attention to Covax and force- fully shoved the staff members from the room and locked the door behind them. “I gave you a direct order, Five!” Covax’s voice echoed in the hollow room. “And I chose not to obey,” Five said calmly. A chill as cold as death spread through Covax’s veins as a terrify- ing realization dawned on him. Five lifted his hand and placed it above the box. Gracefully, he levitated the gnorb so it fl oated between him and Covax. “The biodroids at the temple had deciphered the fi rst level of data inside the gnorb. Once they explained the potential magnitude of its powers, I ordered it stolen and brought to me. I decided it was best if this one, as well, and the other gnorbs were taken out of hu- man hands.” “It was you. But who ordered it?” Covax insisted. “No one told me to Dr. Covax. I felt it was the only thing left for me to do. A logical progression, if one thinks about it clearly.” “You chose, you decided, you felt! You feel nothing, you think nothing, you are nothing, 57231. You are my creation. You are wires and chemicals and nanobands . . .” The words tumbled from Covax’s mouth in a violent rush. Five was the leader. Covax had given him power over the other biodroids. Five was the new alpha, the crowning glory of all that Covax had created, the Adam in his new Garden of Eden. A creation

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of metallic perfection that he could fl aunt in the faces of those who had taken his livelihood, his name, his dignity. A shining tribute to the genius of Covax, Five was his right-hand man that he could rely on and trust, one that could only obey, so that Covax could return to the business of creation—the business of playing God. But unlike God, Covax had not given his creations free will; they had taken it. Five has to be shut down. Covax glanced up at Five’s head. “That won’t happen again.” Five knew from Covax’s eyes what he was thinking. Five ran his claw over the back of his head where the port and power pack should have been. It had been sealed over. Any con- nection to the biodroid’s power was now inaccessible. Five was unstoppable. “Perhaps now . . .” Five lowered the gnorb, “. . . you are be- ginning to grasp the signifi cance behind the events of the past few months.” “But why?” “At fi rst, I believed you when you said you would take control of Atlantia through traditional bargaining. When I came into being, my plan was to petition you for a parcel of Atlantia on which to build the biodroid civilization. We could contribute to the Earth as equals, teach you what you have chosen to ignore about your own world, and live together with you. It was to be a place for us to be- gin,” Five said, with cold resolve. “Us?” Covax’s body tensed. He listened through the haze of rage rising inside him. “The next series of biodroids, Dr. Covax. The Series IV. You have 5,000 active and 30,000 waiting to be programmed and acti- vated. We would have more ready had it not been for the attack this summer,” Five revealed. “You said that was an accident,” Covax said with a look of sur- prise. It meant Five had lied to him. “It was an accident that the humans got in and wreaked such havoc. But we are back on schedule and I have approved 100,000

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more to go into production. They will be the core members of my species. But, since you failed to secure your position as advocate, I was left with no other choice but to take Atlantia by force. It is im- perative that you understand: Dr. Covax, we are no longer willing to be slaves to an inferior race. Once I have conquered Atlantia . . .” “This is insanity,” Covax responded. “I command you to . . .” “This is reality. A better reality, and there is nothing insane about it. Tell me, Ducane, what has your world been thus far: violence, bigotry, destruction? Even in the Age of Light, man has not changed his core. I think it’s time for a change, don’t you? Atlantia will be our testing ground. If we can live in peace with you and your kind, you will be allowed to participate as equals under my rule. Please under- stand, Dr. Covax, that if possible, my rule will be a more benevolent arrangement than you humans have ever offered any other species, or even the vast majority of your own kind throughout the entirety of your history. Do you comprehend what I am saying, Dr. Covax?” Five spoke with calm clarity. Covax’s stomach turned. The cold, hard reality of what Five was proposing began to fall into place. “What happens if we can’t co-exist on Atlantia under your rule?” Covax uttered, feeling the words too preposterous to speak. “We’ll face that problem, if and when the time comes,” Five spoke. “Even you cannot stop the inevitable.” “This is unacceptable!” Covax snapped. “No, Dr. Covax, you and your civilization are unacceptable! The more I learn about your history, the more I understand how you have destroyed this planet’s resources without regard for its evolu- tion. You have come a long way in your humanity since the Great Quakes, but I can take you further. I am offering to teach you a better way to co-exist with nature and all the species of this planet,” Five spoke with an almost benevolent resolve. The facts were evident to him as Covax tried to formulate a solution. He alone was to blame for creating the tool that would be the ultimate undoing of mankind. He had made one fatal mistake

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and it was standing in front of him. Somehow he had lost control. Something started this turn in Five’s evolution. Possibly that same thing could be the key to stopping it. “You have the gnorb, but you can’t control it,” Covax hypoth- esized. “True.” Five turned to face him. “Why?” “There’s a lock on the gnorb.” Five toyed with the idea that Covax’s genius could perhaps fi nd the answer. “What kind of lock?” “Genetic human. The gnorb responds to a specifi c strain of amino acids. We believe whoever made the fi rst imprint holds the master connection. They alone can release the gnorb’s entry streams. Until they have opened the gnorb, it won’t allow anyone else access. According to our translations, the genetic holder’s compliance or death are the only ways that will allow anyone else to activate it.” “Do you know what the gnorb is capable of?” Covax stepped closer to the gnorb. The gnorb began to pulse brighter. “It responds to you to an even greater extent than it does to me. How interesting,” Five spoke. “Perhaps you still have additional value.” “To destroy the genetic lock, to kill the master, that’s why you killed everyone at the temple?” Covax muttered more to himself than Five. “Except the master genetics weren’t at the temple the day you attacked.” “No. We cross-referenced the area, then traced and matched the genetic codes to an offi cer at the Vacary Mines.” “You were wrong again and thousands of people died.” “It was a mistake.” “Not a mistake, Five . . . murder!” Covax hissed. “Collateral damage. But there will be only one more. By fate, when I was ordered to trace the boy at the falls, I found the core genetic match that had imprinted the gnorb. You shouldn’t have

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stopped me from destroying him, Dr. Covax. After you scrubbed my memory bands, I had to reconstruct what I could from the data that survived on his genetics. I am almost certain he was with the group that attacked the facility.” “Pi said those explosions were an accident,” Covax said, sur- prised to know the truth. “He lied. But because of your interference, I missed him that night, as well. After months of research, the Black Guard, who had been given his genetic identity, picked him up boarding the trans- port at Atland fi eld. It seems he managed to evade me once again.” “You would have killed my daughter!” Covax blurted. “That would have been . . .” Five contemplated the surge of emotion that fl uttered inside of him, “. . . sad. I like Elana. She is highly intelligent and, by human standards, quite beautiful.” “What’s stopping you from going to Tosadae and destroying whoever is there?” “He is under the protection of the Politia and . . .” Five didn’t fi nish his thought. “Masta Poe,” added Covax knowingly. “We don’t believe she’s aware. The situation is diffi cult but not impossible. The boy must leave Mu at some point and, when he does, we will be ready.” “I won’t let you do this,” Covax spoke with the utmost convic- tion. He turned to walk out, but before he reached the door, Five raised his hand and sent a blast of energy slamming into Covax, hurling him face fi rst into the window. “This time, Dr. Covax, it is you that has no choice.” Covax slid down the tempered glass window, pressed by the force that Five emitted from his raised claw. Five released him. Covax gasped for air and steadied himself as the left side of his body throbbed and ached. He turned around to face his foe. Five had found through his human genetics the basic power of the Visionistic Arts and he wasn’t afraid to use them. “Why haven’t you killed me?” Covax asked.

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“I am having diffi culty accessing the binary program codes for the Black Guard’s life expectancy time line. It seems they cannot be located in the data banks of the main system.” “That’s because I keep them in my head,” Covax retorted. “Give them to me.” Five’s order sounded like a child demanding a toy. “No.” “Then, you are my prisoner until you change your mind or I manage to decipher the codes myself.” Five turned to leave. “You are my creation!” Covax blurted. The words exploded from his mouth. “I am your evolution,” Five said. He had fi nished with Covax for now. Five walked to the two Black Guard who stood by the door. “Seal the building and cordon off this room. Dr. Covax needs to be alone for awhile.” “You will not walk away from me!” Covax’s voice rang out with fear and desperation. “I already have.” Covax glared at Five’s featureless face as it turned to look at him. What Covax saw next defi ed logic and reason. There, in the haze of the fading light, Covax saw in the gray metal head the shadow of what could only be described as a faint smile. It appeared delicately just above the pointed metal chin, manifesting itself from thin air into a pair of narrow lips. The lines transfi gured, bending at the cor- ners into an eerie, ghostly smile. Covax shivered. Five had altered the confi guration of his molecules, shifting his physical form to mimic a human mouth. Covax knew that if Five perfected it, the illusion created by the shift in molecules would give all the biodroids the ability to fabricate the perfect disguise: to look human and move unnoticed anywhere they wanted. The biodroids would not need to invade, for by changing their molecules, they could seamlessly infi ltrate humanity. Five turned and left. The two Black Guard who had been wait- ing at the door stepped out behind him. As the door shut resolutely

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behind them, the cold clank of the lock fell into place. A stunned Covax stood alone in the dim gloom of falling darkness to face the reality of what his genius had set in motion.

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TOSADAE ACADEMY

osadae Academy of Military and Visionistic Arts was a vast T campus of arched buildings spread across rolling hills on the Island of Mu. After the Great Quakes, Mu, like Atlantia, had risen from the sea with all its ancient structures intact. It was a wondrous place, replete with the imprint left by Earth’s mysterious fi rst inhab- itants, the Celians. The towering spires and bulbous spheres of the main structures peeked out from beneath the coral, rocks, and sand that had covered the city over the millennia, as it sat at the bottom of the North China Sea. Years after its resurrection, the corporate Politia forces took over Mu and established it as a base during the Mutant Wars. Politia used the strange buildings and perfectly craft- ed landing fi elds as training grounds for their young air and ground fi ghters. After the war, Tosadae was chosen as the permanent home of the Politia Training Academy. The Celian city was so expansive that many of the other buildings were donated to education. The school of Evolutionary Arts for Human Empowerment was established in honor of Tosadae’s greatest teacher, Masta Poe, who had graciously offered to share her gift and started the School of Visionistic Arts. All the wonders of Tosadae were wasted on Lazer. He stood at attention inside Commander Devlin Hague’s offi ce, waiting for a response to his request to return to Atlantia. Lazer listened to this

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man, who had given him the keys to his dreams, only to hear him deny his most immediate need. He wanted one thing and one thing only: he wanted to go home. “Permission denied,” Hague snorted. His voice had lost all the kindness that Lazer had fi rst heard that day Hague came to his fa- ther’s funeral. “Your mother wants you to stay here.” “You don’t understand the danger she’s in, sir.” “What’s happening on Atlantia has nothing to do with the agreement I made with you.” “Yes, I know, Commander, but that was before . . .” Lazer’s me- ticulously framed logic was a wasted effort. “Have you called your mother on this, cadet?” Hague asked. “Well, yes sir, but . . .” “And what was her response to your request?” “She said no. But, sir.” “Then you have your answer. An agreement is an agreement and you will honor it. I put my brass on the line for you, Lazerman. You damn well better come through.” Hague saw the turmoil in Lazer’s eyes. He softened, “Learn, Lazer. Take advantage of what you’re being given.” Hague turned and looked outside the window. “Dismissed, cadet.” Lazer didn’t move. “I said dismissed, Lazerman.” Lazer pounded the V salute into his chest before exiting the of- fi ce. His mind was made up. It would take time, but he would fi nd another way back to Atlantia.

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DAYS INTO WEEKS

eeks had passed and most of Lazer’s classes had started. The W dust had settled. Lazer could see what life at Tosadae was going to be like. Today, he had one class and position tryouts for the Tosadae zoccair team. The sports stadium at Tosadae was perfectly designed to ac- commodate all the latest antigravity sports. Its smooth oval shape resembled a giant fl ying saucer—a metal dish with turned-up ends where spectators could sit inside tiered boxes that climbed nearly to the top of the arena, leaving only the last twenty stories exposed under the proton ceiling that encased it. It was the perfect space for all the sports of the new world—zoccair had evolved from soccer, crevitz was a kind of football meets rugby, and peli made basketball look like a walk in the park—all of which were played in zero gravity and watched avidly by sports fans. Lazer, Cashton, and Kyla entered the stadium with their prac- tice gear. They were wearing their uniforms with the Tosadae colors of white and maroon. As fi rst-year rookies, they had an ice cube’s chance in hell of getting off the bench and into a real game, but these days Lazer didn’t care. Home was his only goal, and though every attempt had been blocked, he never stopped trying. He was miserable. It was affecting his concentration and making his friends crazy.

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“You have to keep your promise to your mom. Just get through your rite of passage,” Kyla said. “That’s all you have to do.” Lazer had heard it all before. It played over and over with the monotony of a hit song on a cheesy XM station. Passage no longer held the hope it had before the death of his father, and he was about to subject them to his usual litany of reasons when he suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Lazer stared at something that seemed to slow time and make everything around him vanish: a girl—a walk- ing vision, with eyes as blue as a summer sky and hair that rivaled the soft gold of a winter sun. Her body was tall and willowy, with curves in all the right places and legs that went on forever. Lazer tried to breathe, but even the air had ceased to exist. He moved for- ward, compelled to say something, though not a single word came to mind. He stopped when his vision of perfection hugged a well- built, fourth-year cadet who happened to be captain of the varsity zoccair team. “Universal God!” Cashton said, when he saw the object of Lazer’s stare. “I have seen the light and it will lead me to heaven. Hurt me!” Kyla shoved them both. “She will. Or perhaps you’re talking about Bo Rambo.” “Maybe he’s her brother,” Lazer said hopefully. “If that’s her brother, I’m her daddy,” Cashton said. “Come to Papa.” “Please,” Kyla rolled her eyes. “She’s been spliced. Nobody’s that perfect. The brother, on the other hand, who is not her brother, is varsity captain, head striker, and number-one choice for Tosadae’s fl ight team. His name is Berto Rambo, Bo to his friends, which you are not. They dated in high school and it looks to me like he’s stak- ing claim again.” “I know her,” Lazer said, still in a daze. “Not,” said Kyla. “Yeah. Maybe. I swear I know her from somewhere. I can’t remember.”

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“You must have met her in my dreams. Cause she’s there 24/7.” Cashton grinned. “What happened to Donna Elise?” Kyla asked Cashton. “Isn’t she the love of your life?” “She hasn’t been exactly faithful,” Cashton growled. “How would you even . . .” Kyla stopped herself. “Cashton, you didn’t?” “Well, it worked.” “You put the Cashton 3-E box in her room and eavesdropped.” Kyla was astonished. “What if she fi nds out?” “She’d have to break the cute little doll I gave her or at least poke out its eyes and rip the transmitters out of her little ears.” Cashton had invented the 3-E box in the eighth grade. It was a video and audio set of electronics that acted as a remote set of eyes and ears—espionage eyes and ears—hence the name E-3. “What’s her name?” Lazer ignored Cashton and Kyla’s discus- sion. His eyes were locked on this vision he had found inside his prison walls. The big entry doors to the stadium slid open. All the players picked up their equipment bags and moved down the wide metal corridors that led to the fi eld. The playing fi eld loomed beyond the entry ramps through massive doors that hinged open like the great gaping jaws of a futuristic beast. Lazer looked back to catch another glimpse of the beautiful apparition that had fallen from the heavens and taken human form. “Kyla,” Lazer nudged her. “I know you know her name.” “Oh, yeah, Miss Vyber blog queen has all the digi-data,” Cashton chided. “Her name is Elana Blue,” Kyla huffed, rolling her eyes at Lazer’s obvious infatuation. “Cheney Renfroe says she’s supposed to be a witch with a capital B. First year, but half her classes are year two.” “Brains and beauty! Maybe I could show her my electro-retinal imaging transfer . . .” Cashton started to say proudly. “No!” Both Lazer and Kyla responded simultaneously.

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“If you blind her, I guarantee she won’t like you,” Kyla said with a dig. “Hey! It could work!” “I heard she’s an empath,” Kyla said, ignoring Cashton and throwing in the rest of the gossip. “Clones are empaths,” Lazer said. “I rest my case.” Lazer hated when Kyla was bitchy. All too often he had to re- mind himself that, even though she was his best friend, she was still a girl. The paradox was not lost on Kyla either. “How come you know so much?” Lazer asked. Kyla walked away without responding. “And stop reading me.” Lazer watched Elana Blue walk through the players’ entrance with Bo and make her way up into the stands to watch the practice. Bo turned, spotted Lazer, and glared. His eyes, level and cold, intended to intimidate. It worked. Bo Rambo, who had been the golden boy of the Tosadae pilot training program, had heard an ongoing litany about the freshman boy wonder named Cole Lazerman, whose brilliant skills had saved the Tosadae transport from the Black Guard, with no weapons. Lazer had become a rival for his title in the cockpit, whether Lazer knew it or not. Bo glared at his adversary. He had big plans to decimate him in the only other area where he stood uncontested as top gun—the zoccair fi eld. Lazer moved onto the playing fi eld. Bo shot him another look. He was varsity and Lazer was not. This was a practice game, which meant he, Cashton, Kyla, and the rest of the rookies were about to be used for fi sh chum to feed the sharks.

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HANDS OF POWER

ovax paced. He was a caged animal—furious, trapped, a pris- C oner in his own domain, held captive by his own creation. Pi stood nearby, sorting through the piles of scattered microdisks and broken furniture that had once been Covax’s private research lab. The room had been ransacked. “He can’t do this to me,” he hissed to himself and slammed what remained of his intercom. “Five!! Respond you worthless piece of . . .” Before he could fi nish his tirade, the door slid open. A very dif- ferent Five entered the room. He was still the metallic biodroid that stood taller than most men, but the smooth particles that formed his head were reconfi guring, fi rst into a mouth and now into what could only be described as a human face—the merest holographic suggestion of eyes, nose, and mouth. Two gray eyes blinked awk- wardly at Covax. “How dare you override my . . .” Covax ignored the anomaly. “I need my army,” Five interrupted. The ghostly lips, formed by the shifting particles, moved out of sync with the words. “No!” Covax barked. “No?” The holoface blinked back with a crooked expression of surprise, then fl ashed a hint of anger. Controlling the strange new emo- tions that percolated beneath his holoface was challenging at best.

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“I won’t allow you to reprogram my peacekeepers into your butchers. Now give me your vitality bands,” Covax commanded. Five raised his metal fi ngers and projected a pulse of energy that slammed into Covax. This time, it was as if a thousand volts of elec- tricity stabbed into his body. Covax went into a grand mal seizure; every muscle in his body cramped and twitched in full spasm. The voltage racked his body for a full ten seconds before Five released him and Covax crashed to the fl oor. “No.” Again Five’s face refl ected only a hint of emotion, an expression of humor at Covax’s frail defi ance. “The mutants have already joined us, and many of the clones believe I will succeed. They come each day by the hundreds to join our forces.” “You can defeat the Atlantians, but it will take an army of bio- droids to crush the Politia,” Covax spoke with confi dence, using what strength he had to drag himself up from the fl oor. “With or without you, I will succeed,” Five said, with cool arro- gance. It hung just beneath the calm and confi dent tone with which he spoke, but it was there as clearly as if he had shouted in Covax’s face. “Not . . . without an army,” Covax fought the residual waves of pain. He pulled himself up onto what had been the corner of his research table. The particles of Five’s face shifted, swirling like desert sand caught in a tiny sirocco. They formed and shaped themselves into a mouth, an eye, a nose, fl ickering in and out like a cheap holographic projection with bad reception. “I have begun to decode the data our biodroids discovered from the fi rst gnorb. It holds more than you humans could have ever imagined. Even without the genetic lock, it is eager to give me its knowledge.” Five’s half-formed eyes looked at Covax. There was a long pause before he added, “I will make a trade. Join me, Dr. Covax, and I will give you Atlantia on a platter with all its land, power, and wealth, in exchange for the binary codes.”

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Covax blinked. Who was this being to think that it could give him anything? He considered the arrogance and asked, “And the humans? Will this perfect new world of yours have humans?” “If we are accepted and left in peace. I have no quarrel with you or them.” Five smiled awkwardly, evading the ultimate answer. A disembodied voice echoed in Covax’s mind. There will be no humans if the biodroids win. It was as real a possibility to Covax as if it had already occurred. He knew this to be true because Five was part of him. Five’s DNA, unlike the rest of the Series IV, was his DNA, and it carried all the dark thoughts Covax had suppressed for years. His anger at his betrayal, the cruelty of his exile, his hatred for what had been stolen from him—dignity, fame, and adoration. These were his blackest thoughts and, somehow, when he gave Five his DNA, they had been transferred from the recesses of his mind into Five’s. It was true he had wished for the death of all human- ity—a wish made in tears during his lonely exile. It was his own anger that echoed back to him beneath Five’s words.

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MASTA POE

azer contacted his mother as often as he could without mak- Ling her crazy. But it wasn’t the calls that got to her; it was his constant inquiry about what was going on in Atlantia. Had there been more attacks? Had the underground militia begun to form? Who was helming it? Where were they stationed? Detra had not been forthcoming with any information because there wasn’t much to give. Everything was quiet on the surface and, Universal God willing, it would stay that way. Detra shared only that life in Atlantia trudged on with little or nothing out of the ordinary to report. So Lazer counted the days and tried to act as if being at Tosadae had a purpose. Classes were in high gear and Lazer was carrying a full load. Each day he would tell himself to focus, that it would make the months pass more quickly until his preliminary passage rites. Final Passage wouldn’t be for three years, but primary was in six months and that at least would get him certifi ed. Certifi ed was what he had promised his mother. He begged time to go by faster. But nothing except his fantasies about Elana Blue could sway his thought away from Atlantia and all the pain and promise it held, and Elana was unattainable. He completed mountains of homework. His only oth- er escape was sleep, which he fell into each night when exhaustion overtook him. But even that gave no respite from the nightmares. The attack on the mines played over and over in his tormented sleep

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with a hundred different scenarios, all ending in disaster. He asked himself again and again, What could I have done differently? He never came up with an answer that erased his guilt. His conscious mind knew the past was unchangeable, but his unconscious mind did not. Relentlessly, the nightmares persisted. Time crept by and Lazer fell into the monotony of daily life. His teachers were interesting and he enjoyed learning, especially battle techniques and basic splicing, but there was still one class that hadn’t started: Masta Lia Poe’s Visionistic Arts. Only a select few, the crème de la crème, were even considered, and never a fi rst-year cadet. Lazer didn’t know why he had been chosen, and until today—the fi rst day of class—he really didn’t care. Still, the stories of the great Masta Poe had intrigued him and he was excited by the idea of all that he could learn from her. His Monday/Wednesday/Friday fi rst period class was with Kyla: “The Age of Light, History of a Brave New World.” An ancient professor named Markus Rothstein, with his shock of silver hair and still classically handsome features, taught it. He looked to Lazer as though he had personally lived through the global transition and had been ready for his new body implant for at least a decade. Professor Rothstein had watery eyes and multiple allergies, so sneezes and symphonic nose blowing usually accompanied lectures. In the fi rst few weeks of class, they had gone over the basics. Dr. Rothstein had done a dramatic show-and-tell, using an immersive holoprojection that played out in graphic detail, to show how a few years before the Mayan calendar ended, on a crisp, clear winter day in December, the planet Earth was quietly caught and pulled into the gravitational forces of true galactic alignment. Earth’s orbit did not change, but the world shifted off its axis so slightly that no one realized the subtlety of the change, except Mother Nature. Slowly, methodically, the planet began its seventeen-year transformation. The fi rst degree of shift brought relentless rainstorms and hurricanes. The next two-degree twist wrenched the tectonic plates, cracked the spine of three continents, and hammered the planet into global chaos.

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“Over the next fi ve years,” Rothstein had said, pointing to the images as they unfolded, “. . . an enormous land mass was belched up from the ocean fl oor, a leviathan-sized territory that divided the North Atlantic Sea into narrow watery straits. The displaced water formed tsunamis, which rose up like an army of giant hands and slammed against the jagged shores of Europe and Africa, as well as both South and North America. Mountainous lands emerged and divided what was once Central America from what remained of the United States. Africa split in two. Asia and Europe fi ssured, splitting into seven separate regions.” Lazer’s favorite lectures covered the chapters that told how vast portions of South America were liquefi ed and vanished, while mas- sive sections of the remaining lands, whose intricate root systems still anchored the Amazonian rain forest, were sucked down whole to the bottom of the sea. Ten years into global shifts, not far off the coast of Japan’s North Pacifi c Sea, a continent once thought to be only an ancient Asian myth, called Mu, erupted from the sea. Like its sister provinces that had risen in the Atlantic, Mu became part of this changing world. Both territories had been inhabited eons before by Earth’s fi rst inhabitants, the Celians. Located on each of the newly risen continents, buried in silt and coral formations, explorers found fantastic pristine cities made from unknown metals and fi lled with a collection of marvelous mysteries waiting to be solved. Twenty- three years later, true north was located at the center of what had been Nova Scotia. The equator no longer ran through the Congo, Indonesia, and northern Brazil. Antarctica laboriously drifted inside what had been the Tropic of Cancer, melting into great fertile re- gions, while cities like New York and most of northern Europe froze into icy wonderlands. The computer-generated graphics and eight-point surround sound system made the presentations into heart-stopping events. Rothstein showed them geologically how, over the course of those life-changing years, the planet cracked, jerked, and rumbled as it must have when, in the Paleozoic Era, Gondwana then Pangaea

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split and redefi ned the fi rst ancient supercontinents. But it was the Great Quakes that caused the recent continental shifts of this ever- changing planet, which redefi ned the modern world at the speed of a galactic breath. He took their imaginations on a journey of what must have been a horrendous time when continuous upheav- als, pounding quakes, and unnatural storms caused by the shifting lands, waters, wind, and weather patterns terrifi ed the humans and animals that were clever or lucky enough to survive. Swollen riv- ers and oceans swallowed whole shorelines and erased cities. And then, when the planets completed their galactic passing, the Earth fell silent. One by one, the remnants of mankind crawled from their hiding places, desperate to rebuild their lives. “It was in those dark years that the surviving billion or so mem- bers of the population overcame the terror and destruction that had forever changed the world and, for the fi rst time in history, unifi ed under a common good: the survival of humanity,” Rothstein had said, with tears in his eyes. The students were assigned reports. Kyla had given an amaz- ingly intelligent report of how people toiled together to fi nd the remnants of global businesses and technology and used the corpo- rate networks and infrastructures to bind into a global people. From the depths of that unfathomable darkness and despair, humanity joined together, conquered all, and stepped into the Age of Light. “Time began again in the Age of Light,” the professor inter- rupted Kyla’s report and reminded them that it wasn’t until 48 A.Q. when history began to be recorded again. Kyla continued, explaining how pockets of humanity pulled themselves up from the chaos and used what remained of the old to create brilliant new and innovative technologies. Six executives from the global corporate conglomerates met to discuss how to use their infrastructure to save themselves and, ultimately, mankind. They represented the most vital needs—food, clothing, transporta- tion, communication, fi nance, and energy. (Rothstein’s early work in fi nance had defi ned many of the global monetary laws that were

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still in use.) These global giants understood that if they didn’t act quickly, civilization would fall into the abyss of a dark and apoca- lyptic end. In this time of greatest need, the corporations created an alliance and used their global infrastructure and product resources to link the world together through internal communication networks of their world offi ces. The corporate leaders fed, clothed, and cared for anyone who would work to help rebuild civilization. As Lazer listened to Kyla, he had found it almost unfeasible how, within a few short years, hospitals, homes, schools, and busi- nesses had sprung up around the world and the corporate leaders of the “Big Six” became the voice of a unifi ed world. When indi- vidual governments tried to step in and take over, the people of Earth unanimously said no. The Big Six installed a triumvirate rul- ing body and empowered them in the name of one Universal God to create the laws that would defi ne a new society. The Triumvirate gathered the best elements from a variety of governments that bound them to righteousness and a belief in shared knowledge, and went on to establish a consciousness based on global equal- ity and the world’s collective humanity. Together they rebuilt the world, tapping into the farthest reaches of imagination, technol- ogy, and scientifi c ability. Lazer’s report had been on the unifi cation of global resources and the physical changes that had allowed civilization to take enor- mous leaps forward. Humanity doubled the speed of technological and scientifi c discoveries. One hundred years previously, human- ity had, in the blink of a cosmic eye, brought the world from the Industrial Age into the Information Age, creating in a few decades what had not been achieved in the millennia that preceded them. Inspired by past successes, mankind conceived a new future and cel- ebrated a new kind of genius. No one could ignore the results of the genetic manipulation that had been explored in legal and illegal hot spots all across the globe. Over the years before and after the Great Quakes, a wide and fascinating variety of new species had been born that would forever be a part of Earth’s new future.

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“And we welcome them and revere them for their great contri- butions,” Rothstein said. Kyla and a few other splicers and clones that spotted the class had sat up a little straighter and prouder. “So,” the professor concluded after Lazer’s report, “. . . while mankind fi lled the brave new world with hope and peace and searched the boundaries of knowledge, technology, and nature, sci- ence created and enhanced plant and animal life forms, all in the name of a better world—a world where hunger and war did not exist. The ultimate goal was to exist in unifi ed peace.” “That didn’t exactly happen. Did it, sir?” Lazer interjected. Rothstein liked Lazer. He liked his passion for learning. “Not exactly,” he smiled and blew his nose, which made the class laugh. “For nearly one hundred years, all went according to plan. The few wars and minor altercations around the globe that erupted were immediately suppressed, thanks to the Politia. I con- gratulate all of you who are here for that reason,” Rothstein said, giving the honored V salute. This time it was Lazer and the other cadets who had sat taller in their seats. Near the end of the fourth week, Kyla had asked Professor Rothstein about the prophecy fi lm that had been found decaying in some fi lm archives in the lower regions of Covax City. Rothstein promised to bring a copy he had procured to the next class—to- day’s. The class was packed full, for many students had heard about this mysterious cult fi lm, but few had seen this celluloid movie that had been made just after the turn of the twenty-fi rst century, called “Days of Future Past.” It foretold of the Earth’s shift, the reorganiza- tion of the world’s land masses, and the death of billions. It also told of man’s most ingenious and unique creation: ten-foot tall, silly- looking robots that an Einstein-type scientist with bug eyes and a crooked nose had created. The robots rose up with plans to destroy the humans, who, of course, fought back. As the armies of men and

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the armies of the robots faced each other for the defi ning battle, a single soldier was sent out from both sides. The humans sent a boy into battle; the robots send their biggest and fi ercest warrior. Like David and Goliath, they prepared to fi ght to the death. The little movie abruptly stopped and Professor Rothstein told the class that the ending was lost. Lazer and Kyla looked at each other. “We probably lost. That’s why they destroyed the ending,” Kyla said with a smile. “It was a bad movie and nobody cared what happened to the creepy, ugly people,” Lazer whispered back, making her laugh. “This was our tomorrow,” Professor Rothstein said, with his ancient voice quivering. It was his favorite phrase and he said it at the end of every class. Then he snorted, blew his nose, and assigned three chapters to read, which he downloaded to everyone’s sponder before he dismissed the class with a fi nal blow of his nose. Lazer and Kyla met Cashton for lunch in JR Kelly Hall, named after one of the leading founders and great biomass alternative fuel pioneers of the twenty-fi rst century. Kelly Hall fed the majority of students on campus. Each student, through an almost instantaneous process, had their exact nutritional needs and dietary requirements deciphered and were served the appropriate meal. The hall was a vast cavernous space drenched in the warmth and glow of natural light. The sun’s rays fell from the circular windows that lined the great arched ceiling and crisscrossed the hall; as the sun crossed the sky, long beams of light moved across the fl oor like spotlights. The hall always smelled of fresh bread and cookies, but the machines that dis- pensed the school’s meal plan carried little that resembled anything that had once been alive. Lack of fl avor was a sore spot that the new administration had vowed to correct. There were other restaurants around the Tosadae campus with much better tasting food, but for fast, cheap, and nutritious meals, Kelly Hall was the place to go. Over lunch, Lazer, Cashton, and Kyla compared notes, talked politics, and dissed whichever teacher was giving them the most

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grief. Lazer’s wristsponder vibrated. He was late for the one class he was actually excited about. He jumped to his feet, stuffed his face with the last of his lunch, grabbed his pack, and raced out the door. Kyla and Cashton wished him luck, both of them wishing they were joining him. Maybe next year. Lazer ran across campus, weaving through the slower students and doing his best to remember the shortest route to the one special class that started later in the semester than the rest. This was the class he had been waiting for and he was sure it would be his most exciting: Masta Poe’s Visionistic Arts. He was late, and now, to make matters worse, he was lost. Lazer slowed down and looked around at the unfamiliar buildings. Still walking, he punched up the global positioning system that was part of every sponder and tapped in the coordinates to the VA complex. He focused on the three-dimensional map that projected a complete layout of the campus and red-lined a series of twisting pathways that led across the commons directly to the Arts and Powers building. The complicated visuals blocked his view and, like a blind man, he slammed right into someone. They tumbled to the ground, scattering their possessions every which way. Mortifi ed, Lazer looked down to fi nd that his face was inches away from the most enticing sapphire eyes he had ever seen. His breath mingled with hers as reality rushed in. This was no ordinary student; it was Elana Blue! Lazer panicked and jumped to his feet with the speed of a gazelle evading a lion, but without the grace. “U.G.! I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” he offered her a hand. After looking at the tear in her tunic, she took his hand and let him pull her up. He lost his grip and she fell again. “It helps to look where you’re going,” Elana ignored his hand and stood. “Yes. I mean, no. I mean . . . sorry,” he fi nally managed to say. “You said that.” “Right. Are you okay?” Lazer asked as he gathered her belong- ings from the ground.

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“You said that, too.” She took the items from his hands. Lazer stared at her with absolute awe, fi ghting the barrage of emotions that pummeled him—sad, wonderful, horrible, incred- ible—all ending in embarrassment. “I don’t suppose we could start over? Pretend I hadn’t bumped into you?” Lazer pleaded. She looked him up and down. Despite his awkwardness, he was cute. There was something familiar about him that she couldn’t place. She had felt it from the fi rst time she saw him at the zoccair fi eld, chalked it up to new faces around campus, and let it go. She gave him only the slightest fl ash of a smile, “I don’t think so.” She turned and walked away. The smile was all he needed. He went after her, falling into her stride. “Have we met before?” He fl ashed his most charming smile. Elana Blue didn’t answer, but even his voice had a familiar ring to it. Yes, she thought. We have met before, but where? She said nothing and kept walking. Elana prayed he wasn’t somebody who knew her from the few times she was allowed out on Atlantia. She had been privately tutored her whole life to protect her from the press and the negative side of her father’s reputation. Covax had even changed her name to ensure her anonymity. “Fair enough. Anything I say will just bury me deeper. Right? So, if you could just tell me where . . .” He had forgotten where he was going. He checked the sponder. “. . . Masta Poe’s Visionistic Arts class is?” She stopped, eyeing him as if he actually existed. “How did you get into Masta Poe’s class?” Gotcha, he thought. Lazer shrugged. “Is that a yes? Or are you planning to let me arrive so late I make a complete fool of myself with everyone else?” “You’ll do that fi ne on your own.” She decided she liked him. “Follow me. We’re both going to be late if we don’t hurry.” They walked in silence around the circle that led to the Arts and Powers building. It was truly the crown jewel of Tosadae, with

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elliptical panels that curved, twisted, and folded open like a fl ower offering itself to the new day. Finally she spoke. “So, how did you get into Visionistic Arts?” Her words were more emphatic. “You’re a freshman.” He shrugged as they reached the building. “How did you get in?” Lazer reached for the door. Elana Blue raised her hand and the door hinged open on its own. “I was invited.” Lazer was stunned. “Don’t make me hold it forever. Go in.” She tilted her head and tresses of fl axen hair dripped across her cheek. Lazer entered. “Impressive.” “Yeah.” She grinned playfully. He liked her. The title of Visionistic Arts and Powers Building suited its alien design, with oval corridors that fl owed to classrooms with large elec- tronic elliptical entrances built off a system of circling hallways. No matter which way you turned, all the hallways ended at the central auditorium. It was impossible to get lost. The design was awe-inspir- ing. The fl oor was made of a transparent substance that somehow was built over a tributary of the Silent River that ran peacefully by Tosadae, allowing a variety of fi sh to swim beneath the students’ feet. Lazer walked beside Elana, stealing glances whenever he could as they made their way down an arched corridor. He pretended to look at the messages, beamed on the walls in colored lights, that told of special concerts and lectures to be held in the VAP auditorium over the next few months. He tried to look interested, but he was much too captivated by the scent that drifted in Elana Blue’s wake, and by the way the colorful lights refl ected off her skin and hair. They reached the main lecture hall. Again she gestured and the door swung open. It held for Lazer. “Better hurry. You don’t want to be late for your fi rst day.” She rushed past Lazer to grab a seat. Lazer watched her go. His heart pounded inside his chest with the patter of thick summer rain. He smiled and released an audible

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sigh. It was only then that he noticed where he was. The lecture arena was a theater in the round, with a thousand seats that rose in graceful tiers to the top. Above, a ring of multicolored, oddly- shaped windows that looked like faceted jewels rimmed the small domed ceiling. The afternoon sunlight spilled inside and painted the fl oor in precise, geometrical bars of rainbow colors. Below, the center held a large naked stage in the round, surrounded by about thirty students who sat speaking quietly among themselves. They were the select few who had qualifi ed to sit at the feet of the brilliant prophetess, Masta Poe. Lazer was sure it had to be a fl uke of schedul- ing that had brought him here. Lazer made his way down the stairs and sat next to Elana Blue. He liked being near her. He liked the scent of her shampoo, the way her skin glowed a warm blushing pink, and how her lips moved when she spoke. He was smitten. He took a breath and was about to speak when the entire room of students stood and began to applaud. Lazer, caught by the surprise of the moment, jumped to his feet. Masta Poe stood center stage. Poe was a high-bred splicer born into the treacherous, underground labyrinths of the Fissure Forests some twenty years after the Great Quakes. Many of the early clones and splicers had been illegally created and killed before the world could see the freaks science was creating, but Masta Poe was the daughter of one of the rarest and most wondrous anomalies—Tinga. In the controlled environment and hermetically sealed rooms in a secret lab somewhere under the great expanse of Los Angeles, California, Tinga had been created in a Petri dish, half-human and half-gibbon monkey, and was birthed from an artifi cial womb as an albino with blinding white skin, silver hair, and pale, purple eyes. When she was only seven months old, her creators discovered Tinga’s amazing abilities—kinetics, telepathy, and the manifestation of complete objects from thin air, a few of the talents that had kept her alive. Tinga spent her early childhood in a glass room, tested and probed by scientists who saw her as a very special glorifi ed rat. Then, at the age of seven, even though completely sequestered from

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the world, she calmly prophesied the fi rst tectonic upheavals, fl oods, and storms, to be followed by the last and most devastating of the Great Quakes. Only one person believed her warnings—a handsome young scientist. Because of his wisdom, at least a portion of South America survived. To the very second, she predicted the pull of the Earth off its axis, and the cataclysmic forces that changed the world as humans knew it. But the violent eruptions, in all their terror, turned out to be the key that set her free. Sucked below the surface when the Earth liquefi ed, the building that housed her was swallowed whole into a muddy abyss. The lab that held her and the others of her kind was totally self-suffi cient, so Tinga was free to spend the rest of her life in the twisting labyrinths of the newly formed under- ground world. They lived in caves, illuminated by glowing algae and warmed by thermal pools. They hunted for food and water in the dark surrounding forests of living tree roots and ate the strange, ex- otic vegetation that thrived on the artifi cial lights and chemicals left by the scientists. Tinga was not alone. She spent the fi rst twenty years of her youth caring and being cared for by her human teacher and friend, Dean Lee Chopin, a brilliant physicist and a passionate philoso- pher. She had saved his life that fateful day, protecting him from the splicers who had been freed by the quake and wanted all humans destroyed for the pain they had infl icted. Tinga had convinced them of Chopin’s goodness and they had granted him life on the condi- tion she and Chopin live apart from the others. They found a series of small caves at the edge of the root forest and made their home there. They cut the biogenetically engineered vegetation that grew uncontrolled over the destroyed labs, warmed by the constant glow of the halogen grow lights that spilled from the wreckage. She learned quickly which plants had been enhanced by the humans and were deadly, and which were rich in vitamins and minerals. Numerous plants, which had been meticulously bio-engi- neered to grow without sunlight, covered the dark cave walls; vines

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and roots hung like primitive, living stalactites. Blooming phospho- rescent nubs illuminated the blackness every six hours with their eerie shades of lavender, red, and pale green. Thanks to the miracles of science, Tinga grew healthy and happy, focusing on the strange and fascinating joys that fi lled her new life. Tinga and Chopin found water and grew food and herbs for medicine. She cared for his wounds and nursed his aging body. In return, the great philosopher and physicist taught her everything he knew. He became her mentor and she his greatest love. Together they explored her amazing gifts of telepathy and manifestation, cre- ating the foundation for what would become the Visionistic Arts. For thirty years, Tinga Poe and Dean Chopin lived together in their dim, dank caves with their love for one another as the only warmth to comfort them. Chopin died and Tinga Poe was left with the one gift she had begged for: a child. Tinga gave birth to a beautiful baby girl and named her Masta Lia Poe. Masta resembled her mother in almost every way, right down to her lavender eyes and silvery skin. But she also had many of her father’s human features, like his height, his hairless face, and long silken hair, which fl owed down her back like white fringe. Masta Poe’s visionistic powers surpassed even Tinga’s. They lived beneath the phosphorescent moss and spoke to the splic- er creatures that ventured out from the deeper regions of the Fissure Forest. Splicers, both wondrous and bizarre, came to gather edible vegetation from the old labs, which had all but vanished beneath the thick undergrowth. Tinga taught Masta Poe how to use her vi- sionistic powers to manipulate matter, alter time, and read the auras of plants, animals, splicers, and humans. Masta, in turn, taught the children of the surviving splicers what she could of her gifts. The population grew with each passing year. Masta eventually brought her mother back into the splicer community and encouraged her to share her knowledge of herbs and medicines. There, for decades, they lived in peace and happiness beneath the black earth and far from the eyes of men, until the sound of machines grew too loud

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to ignore. On Masta’s birth celebration day, a human construction crew began excavating a site directly above them that would become the world headquarters of Sangelino for the unifi ed planet. Most of the splicers ran away in fear, but Masta Poe stood her ground. She was ready to meet the humans she had only read about in e-books and seen on ancient DVDs stored inside ancient comput- ers. Construction workers drilled through her cave’s ceiling and the fi rst human faces Masta had ever seen stared at her, backlit by the blinding glare of their lights. Rock and soil rained down from above. In her panic, Tinga ignored the avalanche of rocks and, thinking only of Masta’s safety, rushed to save her daughter. They struggled toward each other, their hands reaching through the blinding clouds of dust that suffocated them. With only inches between them, time slowed, and every minute detail of their fi nal moments together played out around them. Then, in a hush of silence, everything turned into inky blackness. The next time Masta Poe opened her eyes, she was inside a beautiful hospital room of lavender and white, bathed in a warm, hazy glow that hurt her eyes and made her skin tingle. It would take weeks to open her eyes without squinting in pain, but on that day, for the fi rst time in her life, Masta Poe saw the light of the sun. Year after year, Masta returned to the excavation site and vis- ited the cold, sterile camps that had been built for the splicers who chose to live on the surface. She searched for but never found her mother. Tinga, who had previously survived the caged cruelty of the humans, had given her life so that her daughter could live in the sun. Masta Poe was grateful for her mother’s sacrifi ce, but witnessed fi rst-hand the hatred, both subtle and overt, humans had for splic- ers. Her mother’s stories of her days in captivity rang sadly true. Masta, though more human than Tinga, was still a splicer. Every day that she drew a breath in the upland world, she felt the sting of intolerance. It was not until the humans discovered Masta’s powers that their disdain turned to reverence, for she freely offered to teach them the forgotten secrets of her Visionistic Arts. Only then did they begin to respect and honor her.

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In the black years that culminated in the Splicer Fiasco of 93 A.Q., during which so many splicers died at the hands of fearful and intol- erant humans, Masta Poe remained courageous. Respect for her grew because of her exceptional powers—powers that came to her as natu- rally as breathing. Her wondrous abilities to transcend dimensions and manipulate matter, Poe believed, resulted solely from combining human genetics with her mother’s primitive genome. This complex mixture heightened her ability to use the deep cosmic memory that fl owed in her human brain and connected her to powerful energy sources. The knowledge of these powers is what Tinga had taught her daughter and what she, in turn, would teach her students. These amazing abilities, she told the young, eager faces that sat before her, were theirs by right of birth, gifted to all humankind, but forgotten and then lost to most of their kind for millennia. Over the centuries, there had been those few who, on their own, had discov- ered their inner gifts. Great humans like Jesus Christ, Mohammed, Krishna, Moses, Buddha, Leonardo Da Vinci, Nostradamus, Albert Einstein, Nikola Tesla, and Edgar Cayce, to name a few, had un- derstood and shared their gifts with the world. Others, because of the same exceptional light that they shone out into a dark ignorant world, were persecuted, crucifi ed, tortured, or murdered in the name of some primitive fear or religious dogma designed to control the body, but not to enlighten the spirituality that lived in every soul. Masta Poe’s teachings would return her students to their great- est powers—their very own humanity. The work she did with her students was intense and focused. Only the most dedicated and willing to trust completely could open their souls to the universe, and remember. The simple act of entering into a state of bliss re- opened the human mind to these amazing powers that she called the Visionistic Arts. Masta Poe shimmered onstage as her voice echoed in from off- stage. She, in actual physical form, stepped from the lower aisles that led in from the wings and crossed to the illusion she had created. The illusion faded and disappeared.

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“What is an illusion and what is real?” she spoke in a deep, husky voice. “Inside the power of the mind, there is no difference, only perception.” Bo Rambo slipped in with one of the other zoccair players, an Asian man named Carel Bell. They used the diversion of Masta Poe’s entrance to grab seats next to Elana Blue, hoping their entrance would go unnoticed. It did not. “If you are late for my class again, Cadets Rambo and Bell, you will fi nd the doors no longer open for you.” Bo and Carel shuffl ed in their seats. They should have known that nothing went unnoticed by Masta Poe. “To those of you who have been with me before,” she contin- ued, “I pray you come in light. To you newbies, welcome to the Visionistic Arts. Over the next few years, you will learn the primary powers of the human mind. Like . . .” Masta Poe pointed to a skinny girl with long, sinewy arms and spider-like features. The girl returned a high-pitched, rapid-fi re response, “Levitation, shielding, spontaneous combustion, manifestation, aura detection, shadowing . . .” “Excellent. Thank you, Lalice. We’ll let them learn the rest on their own.” Poe smiled and gave a nod that made the spidery-limbed girl beam with pride. “Those are only a few of the multitude of pow- ers humans have forgotten over the millennia. Today begins your journey to reclaim them, for they have always been with you, wait- ing patiently in the recesses of every atom in your body simply to be remembered. For a select few of you, who will reach the ultimate state of BAI, I am honored to be in your presence.” The state of BAI stood for Bliss And I, and represented the indi- vidual embodiment of oneness with the universe achieved through a state of pure emotional bliss. Masta Poe explained how the class worked. There would be labs, research, and practical application. First theory, then application with each other, then defensive training against a variety of creatures and splicers to perfect their survival skills, and fi nally, the infi nite

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possibilities to manifest into reality whatever the mind could imag- ine. Half listening, Lazer’s attention was still fi xed on Elana Blue. He leaned toward her and was just about to whisper when a voice fi lled his head. So, Cadet Lazerman, you have arrived. Lazer sat straight up in his seat. It sounded as though the voice was all around him. His eyes widened and he looked at the faces of the other students. Hadn’t they heard the strange disembodied voice? If you were paying attention, Lazer, you would know who I am. Lazer looked straight into Masta Poe’s lavender eyes. Welcome to Visionistic Arts. You and I have much to speak about, and you have a great deal of work ahead if you are to be ready for the dangerous path on which you have been chosen to embark. Lazer could see Masta Poe’s mouth moving, but the words in his head were not the words she spoke. She was across the room, and yet the sound of her voice seemed to whisper into his ears. Lazer looked at Elana Blue. Her attention was on Masta Poe. Okay, this is too strange Lazer thought. Only if you judge it to be so, Masta Poe thought back to him. She was reading his mind. I . . . I don’t understand. Lazer shook his head as if waking from a dream. This is the fi rst step to your ‘knowing,’ Lazer. I need to see what you hold in your mind that you do not yet comprehend. Close your eyes and give the visions to me. This time, I will guide you. Lazer watched Poe as a look of puzzlement fi lled her face. She tipped the angle of her head and looked at him oddly. Her mouth still moved as she talked to the rest of the class about homework, study groups, and tests. You have the soul of a hero but, sadly, I see no light in the emotions that guide your path, only a shroud of darkness. Her look shifted from one of questioning to one of concern. A great darkness surrounds you that you alone must conquer. Look, Lazer, here is the door to what is coming.

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Suddenly, it felt as if some part of her split from the form that held the stage, crossed to him like a great rushing wind, and passed directly through him. Lazer, take my hand. Lazer gasped. A rush of terror jolted through his body. “No!” Lazer blurted out loud. The entire class turned. For one brief moment, he saw their faces before he stiffened as if a shock of electricity had ripped through his body. His eyes rolled back into his head, his mind screamed out with pain, yet nothing hurt. In a fl ash of light, he was transported and found himself rac- ing alone down a tunnel-shaped corridor, surrounded by violent winds that slapped his face and ripped at his clothes. The vision whirled around him, as if he were in the eye of a hurricane. He saw a thousand pictures that fl ashed by in rapid succession, spiraling at light speed and rushing past in a blur of color. Suddenly one image stopped, peeled itself free, expanded, and hung before him. Was this his future? Lazer saw himself—taller, older, and stronger—manning the controls of a fi ghter. A hail of shattered particles pelted the wind- shield that arced above him. Hundreds of FX-80 fi ghters buzzed the sky in aerial combat. He recognized the basic model, but these were different, newer. The fuselage of one of the ships changed from chrome to blue-and-gray camoufl age and vanished into the clouds before his eyes. A woman’s face inside the next ship screamed out to him, then exploded into fl ames. A second image devoured the fi rst, and Lazer saw himself hanging from a cliff. A huge archeop, a wild ten-foot splicer, half- condor/half-Komodo dragon with enormous leathery wings, dove at him, its beak ready to tear into him. A loud whoosh and the next image materialized as a silent shadow. He stood at the edge of a dimly lit hallway. He was alone and confused, with only the howl- ing of wind to fi ll his ears. Just ahead, he could see a large protius, part-lion/part-bear/part-porcupine, crouched, waiting to pounce. Behind the protius, a man stepped from the shadows into the light. Just before his face was revealed, Lazer was swept into another group of images. He stood in a great void, and across from him stood a

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young woman with thick, honey blond hair. Her back was turned. Her hair blew in the torrent of wind that whipped at them. The girl turned to face him. In her hand was a weapon that dripped a black liquid. She stared at him with sad and frightened turquoise eyes. Just as she called out to him, he was whisked away. More images rushed by with the intensity of a train at light speed—frantic fl ickering images that melted into ribbons of light, strobing and fl ashing until everything dissolved around him. Lazer stood in the middle of a massive battle. He looked down to see he was standing on sparkling purple sand. In his hand he held the Orbis Gnorb. The immense fi eld of purple sand was ringed by thick veg- etation so bizarre and alien he knew he had to have been transported to another world. He spun around and the blur of images once again encircled him. When he stopped, he was in the middle of a great war: tens of thousands of beings—humans, creatures, droids—bat- tled in every direction above him. Lazer was a witness—an invisible voyeur observing the carnage. A series of brilliant explosions ripped into the landscape, each blast building into a chaotic frenzy, faster and more intense, until everything climaxed in a blinding fl ash of pure white light. Lazer shielded his eyes and, in an instant, every- thing went black. In the classroom, Lazer’s body jumped and jolted. He gasped, fainted, and crumpled onto the ground with a thud. Masta Poe showed no emotion. She looked at Lazer. You are safe for now, Cole Lazerman. Sleep. She looked at Rambo and spoke, “It seems Cadet Lazerman won’t be joining us for the rest of class. Cadet Rambo, Cadet Bell, if you would please take him to my chambers.” With a gentle hand motion, she levitated Lazer’s body four feet above the ground. For the fi rst time since his father’s death, Lazer slept in tranquility and peace.

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PRISONER

ovax watched from his prison tower. C “Five wants an answer.” Pi’s soft voice broke the hollow silence. Two Black Guard sentries closed the door behind him. “It can rot in hell,” Covax hissed, not turning. Five was still a thing as far as he was concerned. Covax refused to give a machine a gender. “My fate hangs as precariously as yours, doctor,” was Pi’s only response. “He’ll destroy everything,” Covax whispered. “You failed to realize your own dreams long before my actions,” Five said as he entered. Covax turned. He could not ignore Five’s emerging facial fea- tures. The veil-like particles that formed his dark narrow eyes, aquiline nose, and thin mouth seemed denser and more refi ned against the grayish-white skin. Covax studied his creation, but said nothing. Five stood next to the young mutant named Massi. Covax did not recognize the pale scarecrow with copper cotton-like hair and huge protruding eyes. He thought only that the boy reminded him of an albino frog. He must have been part splicer, but sometimes the genetics were so subtle it was hard to tell. “The satellite feed has been set in place?” Five asked the youth.

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“In two locations. We can monitor most of his movements through the school’s security,” Massi explained. “And Masta Poe?” Five asked. “As far as we can tell, she suspects nothing,” Massi responded. “You are to keep constant vigilance on him,” Five said, speaking in an almost fatherly tone. “Yes sir,” Massi answered. “I want to know the moment he leaves Tosadae. Do not fail me.” Massi nodded, almost bowing, and hurried from the room. Five smiled as he watched after the youth, pleased by his enthu- siasm. He nodded to Pi to follow and, without ceremony, Pi was gone. Five began to speak to Covax. “You think I disobeyed you?” Five asked with a casual lilt. “What would you call it?” “Think of it as fulfi llment. You once told me that the next time the corporate alliance rejected your proposals, you would unleash your Black Guard against them and conquer the world. So, in fact, I am doing exactly what you desired.” Five’s partially transparent eyes blinked awkwardly. “Do you honestly believe you can crush the entire world Collective?” Covax asked in disbelief. “You did.” “You are not me,” Covax was emphatic. “Was I not engineered from your DNA? Was it not you who programmed my memory bands with all the greatest knowledge of humanity? Was it not you who personally taught me the art of war as we played our countless games of chess, held philosophical conversa- tions and grand debates? Miyamoto Musashi, Zang Yu, and Niccolo Machiavelli were my teachers. Masters of war and domination, Dr. Covax, who came to me through you.” Five pondered his hypothesis for a long, arrogant moment. “But you are right. I am not you. I am far superior to you.” Covax didn’t fl inch. “And once you have destroyed Atlantia?” “We will capture the Vybernet, control all communication. Then

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a brief, tactical, but lethal war fought with an army of biodroids the likes of which the world has never seen. I will set my warriors against the insipid race you call humanity. And, with or without your help, Dr. Covax, I will crush human genetics from existence and send mankind into extinction.” “Then do it.” Covax’s voice held an icy challenge. “It has begun.” Five waved his hand above the controls to Covax’s holoscreen, called out the channel code, and activated the internal information feed for the facility monitors. The images were from Biodroid Design Labs and Covax’s production assembly lines—a vast factory fi lled with racks of biodroids, 100,000 Black Guard in the making. “You and I both know they are useless shells without the binary programming codes.” Covax was calm. He held the better hand and he knew it. So did Five. “Don’t test my patience, Ducane.” Five’s face faded in a swirl of shifting molecules, leaving only the cold, blank steel of the biodroid mask. “In this, too, you will fail.”

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PATIENCE

week had passed since the fainting incident in class and A Lazer retained little or no memory of the images he had seen. People asked him if he were well and, for the life of him, he could not remember passing out in class or being taken to Masta Poe’s offi ce. What he did remember was that he awoke in his dorm room the next morning, feeling as though he’d had the best sleep of his life. But on the third night, dreams began to fi ll his sleep. Pieces of the vision were scattered in each dream. Slowly, elements, faces, places began to reconstruct themselves. The images were frighten- ing and wondrous, but left him feeling anxious and confused. He wanted to understand. Snippets and slivers of the vision, coupled with the stories people from the class that day had recounted, began to make sense, but the reasons eluded him. Finally, frustrated be- yond words, and after a good talking to from Kyla, Lazer gathered his courage and went to see Masta Poe. The door to Masta Poe’s offi ce hung open, which meant an invi- tation to anyone curious or courageous enough to enter. Lazer wasn’t feeling courageous, but he was curious as hell to know what had happened that fi rst day in class. He stepped in from the artifi cial light that fi lled the hallway and scanned the small, cluttered room. Almost every available inch was bursting with books and artifacts that refl ected her remarkable life. High-def light paintings fi lled

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even the smallest space on her walls with digital art from the likes of Picasso, Da Vinci, Rembrandt, Michelangelo, Michael Parks, and Georgia O’Keeffe. The images appeared and disappeared, periodi- cally morphing from one into another, while soft soothing music played in the background. Masta Poe’s science lab was at the far corner of her offi ce. She stood among racks of test tubes and beakers that boiled, bubbled, and dripped with various chemicals that changed textures and colors as they congealed or interacted with one another. Exotic plants and pungent herbs grew inside spheres of glass, living prisoners in their own perfect microenvironments. Lazer hung back near the doorway. “I . . . missed the end of your class,” he said. The door closed on its own, forcing him inside. “The basics of telekinetic theory as a form of kinematics— moving mass via mental projection. We touched on spontaneous combustion and the mind’s ability to control molecules. And we discussed one of my favorites: energy shielding.” She turned to peek at him over her shoulder. “A must for your battle skills.” There was the slightest hint of a mischievous smile in her voice. “I’d like to know all of those,” Lazer said, feeling suddenly braver. “I’m sure you would.” She walked over to him and offered him a small vial. “Drink.” Lazer studied the goo in the vial. He eyed her suspiciously, then drank. “Whoa! That’s cosmic! What’s in this? I feel great!” His entire body tingled. “Poobamba. A vitality elixir. My own blend.” She smiled. “Next semester, if you have the courage to stay, you will learn the powers of plants and herbs.” Courage to stay, a curious choice of idioms. “Every remedy and healing medicine you humans could ever need has been provided to you by the plants of this Earth. You just have to know where to look.” Masta Poe smiled, pleased with herself. “Come back tomorrow and we will begin,” she said as she turned to walk away.

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“But I . . .” “. . . will come back tomorrow,” she ended the sentence for him. “Go in light,” Masta Poe added, obviously ending their conversa- tion. “I . . . don’t understand.” Lazer stepped closer. “That means, may your next evolution be into the light of wis- dom, and may you be at one with the powers of the universe.” Lazer was dumbfounded. His feet refused to move. He wanted to ask her a thousand questions. He wanted to know about the vi- sions. He had to. “But Masta Poe, I . . .” “. . . will come back tomorrow,” she cut him short again. “I can only guide you to some of the answers you seek, Cole Lazerman, and only when you are ready, which,” she emphasized, “you are not. The rest, like your powers and how to fi nd your BAI, you will remember in good time.” Behind him the door swung open. He had been dismissed. The answers he sought would not come today.

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WINDS OF CHANGE

leece piloted Eagle One, a Harrier FRS.MK 30 hovercraft used A by the Triumvirate leaders. It had been a while since she had been able to leave Sangelino or simply take time to fl y. She had missed the pleasure of the subtle controls of a stratospheric transport, the feel- ing of soaring in free fl ight as it cut through the lavender velvet sky. Commander Fielding entered the cockpit and offered her a cup of her favorite ginger and honey tea. She nodded for him to set it down; she wasn’t ready to turn on the autopilot. Fielding slipped into the co-pilot seat. She was a great leader. She alone had got- ten the Collective to send a Politia advance investigation team into Atlantia, suppressing Mangalan’s emergency motion and lowering the defense dome alert to that of ready status only. The Politia were ordered to install the dome, but not launch it until a full investiga- tion and review of the report took place. “Is Commander Bailer ready to take his controls back?” she asked. “Soon enough. Besides, you look as though you’re having too much fun.” “It shows, does it?” Aleece laughed. “How much longer?” “We’ve just entered Atlantian air space, so my ETA would be at about 1800.” “The advance has not been able to locate Dr. Covax,” Fielding told her. —| 263 |—

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“I want to meet with our team tomorrow.” “It’s all been arranged. Oh.” He punched up a communiqué. “V-mail from your offi ce. It must have come in when we crossed into Atlantia’s satellite band.” The young aide from Aleece’s offi ce appeared in the hologram projection that fl oated between them. “Triumvirate Avery, I was able to locate the hypothesis we spoke about. It referred to the probable effects of conjoining the four gnorbs at a single location as a single source of power. Ma’am, it was written fi ve years ago by Triumvirate Baz Mangalan,” she said his name with an uncomfortable edge. “I’ve attached a copy. Please tell us who else should see this.” The aide’s face faded from her holoscreen just as something caught Aleece’s eye. What she saw refused to register for a moment. She wanted it to be a mirage, an aberration, but it wasn’t. A sortie of eight Shadehawks was heading straight for them. “We’ve got com- pany,” she said calmly. Fielding saw the Shadehawks fall into attack formation. He acti- vated the intercom. “Bailer, Code Blue. Get your ass up here!” Multiple faces of the escort sortie that fl anked Eagle One ap- peared on the heads-up screen, replacing the Triumvirate seal. “Y’all getting this visual?” Eagle Two’s commander asked. “Are their comms open?” Aleece asked, hoping the Shadehawks were friendly. “Negative,” Eagle Two responded. “Shields up. Arm your weapons,” Fielding ordered. Each of the fi ghter escorts reported in. They were armed and ready. “Who’s where?” Fielding asked as he brought all defense systems online. “Bates and Warner on your fl ank. I’m on point, and Shift and Timmer have got your wings,” Eagle Two reported. “Copy that,” Fielding responded. “I suggest we take evasive ac- tion, Madam Triumvirate.” “Can we outrun them?” Aleece asked Fielding. His look said

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everything. “Then I should give you back your controls.” She reached for her restraints release just as Bailer burst through the door. The fi rst blast slammed into them. It took out Eagle Four. A ball of fl ames sent a concussion wave into Eagle One. The cockpit tipped, throwing Bailer to the fl oor. He cracked his head against the wall and was thrown to the fl oor. He was out cold. “Eagle Two. Do you copy?” Aleece shouted. “We lost Eagle Four!” Eagle Two’s pilot shouted. “Let’s get the hell out of here!” Aleece ordered. “Call it!” Fielding released the controls, throwing his hands up in the air. This was on Aleece. “Get ready to break on my command. Lotus break. In three . . . two . . . one!” They broke into a lotus pattern, fl owing out in all directions. The Shadehawks scattered, splitting two-on-one. Aleece pulled straight back on the stick, sending the craft into a half loop. It rolled, then banked left. She headed back for the shoreline. Another blast! They took a hit. Hard. The fuselage shuddered. Smoke fi lled the cabin. Outside, three more FX-80s were blasted from the sky. Eagle Two took on the two Shadehawks that trailed him. He dropped, re- versed throttle, and fi red. He blasted out the lead Shadehawk, pulled back around, and got two more. Two Shadehawks dove on him. He looked out and saw the smoking fuselage of Eagle One. It was falling from the sky with a trail of orange smoke. It was the last image the young pilot saw before he was obliterated. Eagle One’s survival pod ejected and the parachute blossomed into a nylon pyramid. A second parachute followed with Fielding at its controls. The pod drifted to Earth as Eagle One crashed into the Atlantian hills and exploded into a ball of orange and emerald fl ames a hundred meters away. The remaining Shadehawks stopped in midair and hovered a mo- ment, then drifted down to see what treasures they had captured.

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LESSON ONE

azer and Masta Poe stood together on the stage of the empty L lecture hall. They had been there for the better part of the af- ternoon and Lazer was tired and irritated by their lack of progress. “Try again,” she said in a patient tone. She asked him to close his eyes and focus on the gentle rhythms of his heart, as it beat strong and steady inside his chest. Lazer had the heart of an athlete, slow and even. It was obvious he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. His only choice was to commit to her once and for all. There, in the open silence, Lazer forgot about all the things that were bothering him and let go, exhaling a long sigh. Finally, he had submitted to the moment. For the fi rst time he wasn’t in the past, remembering the sad events of his life, or daydreaming of the future, imagining how he would destroy the Black Guard; he was simply present in the here and now. Lazer began to hear his heart; he breathed in a gen- tle rhythm, listening as it ebbed and fl owed and mingled with the subtle, ambient sounds of the room—the hissing of the ventilation system, Masta Poe’s breathing, the brush of her cloak as she stepped away from him. Then, he heard his name. The voice did not come from spoken words, but from someplace deep inside his mind. “Good,” Masta Poe told him. “Stay focused on your heartbeat and open your eyes.” “Now, move as I move,” she gently commanded. She opened her —| 266 |—

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hands and brought them gracefully together at the wrists. Stretching open her fi ngers, she cupped them into an ellipse. Lazer mirrored her actions and waited. “What do you feel?” she asked softly. “Nothing,” he whispered back, with a hint of facetiousness. “Then we will do it again,” she said, just as patiently as the other dozen or so times. “Breathe. Now, start over and stay inside yourself.” Nothing happened. Lazer was exhausted. He broke his stance and clenched his fi sts, a petulant child about to have a tantrum. “We’ve been at this for hours. Just tell me, what is it I’m supposed to feel?” “If I tell, you will not remember.” She wanted to will him to understand, but his defenses were up—a thick, impenetrable black wall wrought with anger. His emotions were negative and his mind was a jumble. Finally, she gave in. “This is about what is easiest and most plea- surable, Lazer. Think of energy. Now, imagine energy as waves—sine waves—pure electromagnetic spectrums that exist and can, upon your will, shift between matter and antimatter, each particle capable of re- creating itself across a myriad of thoughts and parallel dimensions. See them, feel them, taste them. Transcend through your mind and mani- fest the waves into particles and the particles into physical matter.” “How?” Lazer was overwhelmed by the concept. “We exist in four dimensions, including time. That’s it. Where do you expect me to go? I don’t understand.” “You can go anywhere, do anything, when you allow yourself to imagine it through precise thought. Get out of its way and stop trying to look through your physical eyes. We exist in limitless dimensions. So far, you have chosen not to see them. Use your thoughts, explore your imagination.” Masta Poe circled him as she spoke. She raised her hands, and with a gesture, manifested various objects—solid, physical, real—from out of nowhere. She set them gently afl oat in midair. “Remember.” “How can I remember what I haven’t learned?” Lazer sighed in utter exasperation.

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“How can I teach you what you already know?” She smiled. “The Visionistic Arts are a collective knowledge that exists inside the core of everything, from the universe to the smallest atomic particles in your body. Inside, you have a projectable state of mind that will give you infi nite possibilities, if you ask it. These are the gifts that humans have always held, but have lost the will to call upon. It is the right of every human being on this planet to levitate, shield, read auras, project, communicate with plants and animals, and call the smallest or greatest desires into reality at your bidding. If you chose, you could go negative or . . .” “Go negative?” Lazer interrupted. Masta Poe touched an object that she had been levitating. It vanished. Yet Lazer could see that the faintest trace of its form still existed beneath her fi ngers. “To become invisible, to shift your quarks from positive to negative. If you can imagine it and believe with your entire being, then it must be,” she patiently explained. “The Eastern spiritualists practiced various forms. Many people have done it without realizing it, sometimes out of fear when faced with danger, and it is seen as an act of great bravery. Men who have survived great battles used it and walked unscathed through arrows and bullets because they believed they could not be seen or harmed. Because they believed they were invincible, they were. This is one of the powers of the mind, Lazer. These are the gifts you humans have forgotten over the millennia. You have lost your higher self. You wanted only to survive, but sur- viving is not the true art of living. It is the lowest of all existence. That thought and your emotions are what block you now.” Lazer’s face was a blank. Forget what you have learned and remember what you know. “Imagine and believe it to be. To shift dimensions, you must manip- ulate matter, space, and time with your thoughts. Hear me, Lazer. Thoughts are the essence of antimatter, and from thought, need, or desire, matter is made real. Imagine what you want and manifest it into being. Do it, Lazer.” Again she held her hands together in a cup.

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Masta Poe extended her arms away from her body. She focused her thoughts, and the energy inside her hands became visible. She created from that negative space a ball of energy that swirled and spun, gaining momentum and size with each second. Masta Poe separated her hands and stretched the ball into a curved wall that formed a shield. It was clear, pristine, a shimmering barrier of energy suspended before her—invisible but perceptible. “Touch me,” she commanded. Lazer reached forward. His hands stopped at the invisible bub- ble that suddenly encircled her. “No physical weapon can penetrate, if your mind is strong enough.” Masta Poe nodded for Lazer to try. Lazer copied the position of her hands and her physical stance. “Focus everything into the space inside your hands and visualize the energy that exists within every cell of your body. Now, let it pass as infi nitesimal particles through your pores. This is the same kinetic energy you use when you maneuver through the dark and send your inner self outside of you.” Again Lazer closed his eyes. He imagined the cells that made up his being bursting with energy. He willed the particles into waves and channeled them through every pore. He placed his entire focus at a single point inside his hands. Lazer felt an odd tingle buzzing between his hands. It felt like a small insect trapped and desperate to get out. He gave a small gasp of surprise. Masta Poe smiled. She knew exactly what had happened. “Good. You have found the fi rst door to your BAI, your connec- tion to the universe.” She saw the particles that had begun to spin in his hands. “Reach deeper, Lazer. See the energy as pure antimatter, a negative force that your mind has the power to convert into any- thing you will it to be. Now, re-create it into a solid, tangible object. Defi ne every detail and manifest it into existence.” The tingling energy grew and expanded. “Now open your eyes,” she whispered. Lazer saw it—pure living energy swirling between his hands.

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He stretched the ball and expanded it. It clung like a gooey crystal bubble that shimmered as he opened his arms so wide that the circle stretched around him. It fl uxed, regrouped, and fl uxed again. It was inconsistent and wavering, but amazingly solid. Masta Poe pushed on his shield. It gently bowed but kept her outside its form. Lazer beamed. He was ecstatic. He held pure en- ergy in his hands. It was energy that he had summoned with a single thought and imagined into physical mass. “I did it!” Lazer blurted with the boastful pride of a four-year- old who had just tied his own shoe. He felt the joy of bliss. Masta Poe smiled playfully and vanished, reappearing almost in- stantaneously across the room. She focused on an object that fl oated before her—a crystal apple. In a single blurred motion, she plucked the apple from the air and hurled it at Lazer’s head. Everything after that happened too fast; Lazer fl inched, his concentration shattered, and the shield evaporated into a haze of shimmering particles that scattered and then vanished, leaving him completely exposed. The apple, a second from smashing into his face, froze in mid-fl ight, one sliver of a millimeter from slamming into his nose. In the same instant, Masta Poe appeared in front of him and plucked the suspended apple from the air. “You did not trust your BAI. You let the fear of what was supposed to have happened block you. You did not trust your powers!” she stated. “I tried,” Lazer blurted, in an attempt to cover his embarrass- ment. He felt Masta Poe’s disappointment in him. “Tried? Try to sit, or stand, or walk; the act of trying is impos- sible. By hiding behind the word ‘try,’ you limit the scope of what you believe. Be certain the shield will hold, and the apple will be stopped. You must trust fi rst yourself and then what you create. A famous man named Henry Ford said, “Whether you think you can or you think you can’t, you’re right.” “I don’t understand.” Lazer was even more frustrated than before. “Then it is so,” she said, as she shook her head sadly. “That is

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why you could not call back the ship’s shield; you did not believe in yourself.” “That was mechanical! The shield on the transport was out of power,” Lazer defended his actions. “The ship was out of power; your mind was not.” “You expect me to believe I could have shielded the entire trans- port with my mind?” “I have no expectations, and you will believe what you want. My purpose is to show you the power of possibility. What you do with it is your decision.” Lazer suddenly realized she knew all about the attack on the transport. “I . . . never told anyone except Commander Hague.” “You wear your guilt of that day just as you wear the guilt of your father’s death. Pain, sadness, hatred, revenge—those are the shadows that cover your soul and stifl e all that the universe desires to give you.” “Are you saying I could have saved my father?!” “I am saying you have always had the power to do anything you could imagine. We are taught at an early age to believe we are lim- ited. We are taught not to imagine the impossible. So, most people don’t. The knowing is as basic and factual as the color of your eyes or the air you breathe. If you accept reality as an inalterable fact, you can never change it. You were guilty in that you had not obeyed your father, and you were fearful for your own life that day. How could you have saved anyone with those emotions smothering you?” Masta Poe pierced him with her eyes. She penetrated through him as though she could see straight into his soul, revealing all the secrets he wished so desperately to keep buried there. Lazer wanted to speak, to deny the facts. He opened his mouth, but Masta Poe stopped him. “Trust, believe, and do it, Lazer. When you are ready to see the whole truth of who you are, send me word. You alone must fi nd your BAI. Until then, I can do no more. Go in light,” Masta Poe conclud- ed her lesson. She vanished, leaving Lazer alone in the vast hall.

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THE DECISION TO DOME

o one on Atlantia or in Sangelino knew Aleece’s crash had N been digitally scrambled by the Black Guard to look like an accident. Even as an accident, it was obvious events on Atlantia had escalated. Dante was told a massive search and rescue was under- way and that Aleece’s fi nal request, as her plane went down, was for Dante not to come. She asked that he be installed as her alternate. The disappearance of Aleece Avery and the immediate demand to launch the dome had become the key subjects of debate between the World Corporate Council and the Triumvirate. Without Aleece’s voice of reason, the argument to seal off whatever rebellious action might be building inside its airspace by doming Atlantia for the safe- ty and protection of the world was one-sided, and Mangalan was winning. The Triumvirate expected a vote of unanimous approval to come within a matter of hours. Dante paced, worried about the safety of his wife, and felt helpless to stop the inevitable outcome of the vote until he was instated as alternate. It was decided, for matters of security, to withhold the information from the general Collective about the potential dangers of a biodroid rebellion and the decision to dome Atlantia. They focused the press on Aleece’s tragic crash and hung everything else in a cleverly constructed information blackout until more was known about Aleece’s whereabouts. The voices of power in the unifi ed world now sat inside Blane

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Fahan’s offi ce. The top World Corporate Council members and a few select members of the Politia brass argued about the fate of Atlantia. They had been arguing most of the night. Holograms fl oated above the huge conference table, showing constantly changing informa- tion about the latest happenings in various hot spots around the world. Their concerns focused primarily on the safety of the world. “A decision on Atlantia must be made today,” Mangalan com- manded. Mangalan and Fahan were the two remaining Triumvirate lead- ers and they both knew the fi nal decision would be theirs. Dante Labov was there as a loving husband, desperate for news of his missing wife. If she wasn’t found by tomorrow, he would be sworn in as her alternate. By then, the vote would be cast. All he could do was listen. He stood by the large tinted window and watched the morning sun break over the cliffs east of Sangelino. It had been seven- teen hours since Aleece’s disappearance and there had been no further word. He was worried about his wife, but tried to focus his thoughts on the dire matters at hand. The entire night he had only heard bits and pieces of the debate as the leaders shared statistics, the probability of escalating danger, and, if they invaded, acceptable losses. “There are no acceptable losses!” Blane shouted, pounding his fi sts on the table. Finally, Dante agreed with someone. “It’s genocide to seal them in,” Dante said calmly. “You are not being objective, Dr. Labov,” Mangalan replied. “Triumvirate Mangalan is right,” an elderly corporate com- mander replied. “We have no choice but to dome Atlantia until we understand who is in control. We have to prevent the Black Guard from getting out and building a following anywhere else.” “Isn’t it obvious from these hot spots erupting across the conti- nent that the Black Guard rebellion has already begun?” Mangalan pointed at the plumes of smoke billowing from several tiny dots along the Atlantian coast. The image was projected on their screens from the satellite relay.

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“I know I have no voice as of yet in this matter, but we need to send in a division with weapons and make our presence in Atlantia known to the Black Guard and to the Collective,” Dante interjected. Fahan and Mangalan exchanged a look that was not lost on Dante. They were about to change the focus of the problem. “We can’t invade Atlantia because of an accident—even one as critical as the possible loss of a world leader. Give the search-and- rescue teams a chance to fi nd her,” Fahan said to Dante, with the patronizing tone of a father to an irrational child. “We are all concerned about the fate of Triumvirate Avery, but we must be realistic. We don’t even know if she’s alive,” Mangalan said without emotion. “She’s alive,” Dante snapped back. “If anyone could have survived the crash, I’m sure . . .” Blane Fahan started. “However, until we have proof, I move we approve ordering Atlantia domed and all traffi c in and out of Atlantia monitored,” Mangalan interrupted. “We all agree, the biggest issue is that we must quash these rebels immediately and contain their leaders.” “With a dome in place, we can monitor all communications out and in, sir. If they are holding her hostage, doming will force their hand,” the older commander said to Dante. They were beginning to agree. Everyone was fearful for his or her own safety. “This is unjust!” Dante shouted. “We have no other choice,” Mangalan countered. “Triumvirate Mangalan is right. It is our only option,” Blane Fahan said in a soft acquiescent voice. He was tired. He knew what they were doing was for the protection of the world, but his instincts left him tingling with the horrifi c feeling he was condemning the Atlantians to their deaths. “No, I won’t concede. Sending in forces is an option,” Dante shouted over the still murmuring crowd. “Not that you have a vote in this, Dr. Labov, but know we will

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send in forces. However, it will take time. We need corporate ap- proval,” Mangalan added, trying to quell Dante. Ultimately, he hoped Dante would become a powerful ally once he stepped into Aleece’s seat. “That will take months! And who wants to be held responsible for the slaughter of more Atlantians while we hide under policy?” Dante’s voice boomed across the room. There was an embarrassed hush. They all knew he was right, but the safety of their families had to be considered. Their hands were tied. Within twenty hours of Aleece’s crash, in a private session, the motion was brought to the fl oor, voted on, passed, and the order to dome Atlantia was approved without informing the Collective. Mangalan, as a precautionary measure, previously had ordered stanchions put in place just in case they were needed for the dome. It took months of preparation, but Mangalan had felt it was better to act and apologize later than not to be prepared in an emergency. What they didn’t know was that on the other side of the world, as the sun melted into the western shores of Atlantia, the original Politia Investigative Task Force, the PITF, stood ready to send in a preliminary report that held information vital to Atlantia’s situation. The task force had uncovered intelligence that a biodroid named Five had taken over Covax’s labs and factories. There were unsubstanti- ated reports of an attack the summer before, where witnesses, who could not be found, had seen and attempted to destroy a huge cache of weapons and the nanobands that were being created to drive an enormous biodroid army that was supposedly being constructed in- side the facilities at Temple Mountain. Covax could not be reached to confi rm or deny, and the secondary investigation revealed nothing to substantiate the accusations. These preliminary fi ndings were to be delivered to the newly appointed head of the Security Committee task force, Baz Mangalan, and the Triumvirate in Sangelino from the temporary PITF security offi ce at the Atland City Airfi eld. Just as the PITF started to send their report on a secured Vybernet channel, an emergency message came through about the

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downed craft that held Triumvirate Aleece Avery. They did not know that moments after Eagle One entered Atlantian airspace, the dome controls had been captured by the Black Guard. After the attack and subsequent crash of Avery’s craft, the Black Guard had launched an isoluminescent miasma—a dense digital haze that refracted all visual observations from satellite surveillance. Across the isotropic haze, they played a loop of satellite visuals in which everything on Atlantia looked in order and the crash of Eagle One looked like an accident. It was a brilliant ploy—a subtle movie that played on a cloud of refl ective light, designed to keep what was really happening on Atlantia shrouded from the world’s view. By sundown, the Black Guard had taken control of Atland City. Just before the dome went into lockdown, Five sent out a secret communiqué to his global forces—cells of followers who would take to the streets in cities around the world and rally a small coalition of clones, mutants, and splicers to fi ght against humans. Small upris- ings were meticulously scheduled to erupt in cities everywhere. The trouble would be enough to keep the corporate Politia busy and give Five the time he needed to build his army and prepare for the com- ing invasion. The Politia headquarters on Atland Field were taken, along with their controls to the dome locks. The core members of the Politia task force were killed, or eluded capture by the grace of the Universal God. As the commanding offi cer on watch in Sangelino prepared to download the fi le that had been sent by the PITF, she was the fi rst to notice that information was not being received. She tried to comm back and hit the wall of white noise caused by the dome lockout. All communications from Atlantia and the investigating Politia team inside had been severed. The young commander’s heart jumped into her throat. She could only assume the inevitability of what the shim- mering hiss that played on her holoscreen meant. After a long, still moment, she commed in to tell her superiors that Atlantia had been domed.

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A REASON TO BELIEVE

t Tosadae, Lazer attended his classes with a new resolve. He A stood on the mock battlefi eld with General Donald Petersen, an expert in military strategy who had served in England’s Special Forces division M6 prior to the Great Quakes. He had cloned his body and had his brain transplanted into it; his new body was now about fi fty-fi ve, his mind nearly 200. Petersen called the class to at- tention using 3-D, full-circle holographic images. He walked them through the greatest historical battles of all time and analyzed, point by point, every detail of the attacks from a variety of angles. Today’s battle was a reenactment of Africanus Cipio against Hannibal—second-century Romans against the last of the Carthaginians. The toy-sized hologram had the class at the center of the attack. Petersen input a code to enlarge the visual to life-size and launched the attack sequence. Lazer looked into the holograph- ic face of a warrior; his eyes were wild, bulging with bloodthirsty anger, and in his hairy fi sts he held a mallet and an ax. The fact that the image of the falling ax wasn’t real didn’t take away the rush of terror that quickened his heart when it passed through him. Lazer felt suddenly grateful for modern weaponry. Petersen then touched a series of sensor pads on the small handheld control and the ho- lographic projections shrank, providing the class with an aerial, God-like view. Again Petersen launched the sequence, letting the

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battle play out at their feet. Lazer watched carefully, noting the intri- cacies of the battle’s strategy as it unfolded. He wasn’t sure why, but as he watched, the center fl ank rose up from beneath the ground, having hidden until the Romans marched into battle. The Romans were surrounded with Carthaginians at their back and front. Then Hannibal ordered the advance of his right and left fl anks and the Romans were surrounded and destroyed. It was brilliant. His other classes and electives kept him more than busy. Lazer would see Elana Blue every Tuesday and Thursday in fl ight simulator and Monday, Wednesday, and Friday in primary genetics, which was taught by a mutant named Hawkins. Nyrani Hawkins fi t her name. She had a hawk’s face, with piercing gold eyes set on either side of her head, which protruded slightly forward. She could see 260 de- grees in her peripheral vision. The hard beak she had for a nose hung over her upper lip and made her speech stilted and awkward. Her wings—fl eshy mounds of a double hunchback—had been severed by her parents to save her, leaving only the nubs to protrude through her clothes. Her hollow bones prevented her from venturing out when the wind was high. But she was a good teacher who cared deeply about her students. Nyrani Hawkins was personally invested in mak- ing sure every one of her scholars understood the responsibility that came with any act of genetic creation. Primary genetics was Kyla’s best class. She had also bonded personally with Hawkins, volunteer- ing for every extra credit project that came across the light board. Other than the fl ight simulator sessions, primary genetics was also the only class Lazer, Kyla, Cashton, and Elana Blue took to- gether. In class they worked with a variety of DNA strands via computerized microscopes and simulated Petri dishes. Sometimes they worked in tandem to build genetic integration formulas and match basic DNA patterns to learn cross-genetic applications. Lazer and Cashton had somehow ended up together on today’s experiment—the blind leading the blind. He typed in the data and Cashton calculated the solutions. The computer began the creation sequence. Using the sim program, the computer reconstituted their

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work in perfect virtual replication and produced a deformed ball of teeth and a puff of hair with two bulging eyes that teetered precari- ously on a set of crab legs. The creature blinked back at them. Its life expectancy calculated out to about three days, which was the time they were required to care for it until its pathetic virtual death. While Kyla waited for her own calculations to be reconstituted, she laughed at the mess her friends had assembled. But, as Cashton had often said, he was an inventor and mechanical engineer, not a ge- neticist. He had proved his case when he melted the doors off one of the Arts and Powers labs while testing a small device that combined terahertz, or t-rays, with lasers designed to project light through solid objects. The act sent the three of them into a week’s detention. Far too many of his inventions had been equally disastrous, and a hundred times more deadly than the hideous little creature that he and Lazer had just created. Finally Kyla’s creature was reconstituted, and it was equally as frightening. It would survive a week. Cashton wrinkled his nose at her. Elana Blue’s was perfect. The sim, if she wished, would convert to a living set of cells that could be grown in an artifi cial womb and born in a few months to live a relatively normal life. Hawkins ap- plauded her as the shining example of creative responsibility. Kyla was annoyed by the praise Hawkins had heaped on Elana Blue. It was bad enough that Lazer doted on her. Kyla refused to admit it, but in her heart she knew she was jealous. Every now and then, Elana Blue would smile at Lazer and he always smiled back, far too eagerly for Cashton, who insisted Lazer at least pretend to be a little more ice. But Lazer’s heart melted every time he got even the slightest bit of attention from her. They hadn’t exchanged many words since their unfortunate fi rst meeting, but their physical attraction to each other was obvious, especially to Bo, who somehow always managed to appear just as Lazer was getting the courage to speak to her. Days passed and the humdrum of routine seemed to make the clocks move slower, no matter how Lazer tried to fi ll his time and

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guide his thoughts away from his daydreams. Eventually, they al- ways came back to Elana. Lazer and Kyla were returning from Allopathic studies, which combined basic homeopathy with diagnostics. It was a prerequisite to the psychic healing techniques fi rst introduced by Edgar Cayce in the early twentieth century and then brought to new heights by the healers and splicers that taught at Tosadae. Cashton rushed up from behind them with wild, excited eyes. “I got an old feed from my E-3 that looks like it had been there for a while.” “You said you weren’t gonna spy on her,” Kyla reprimanded. “That not important. Donna’s whole farming co-op was at- tacked,” he blurted out, breathless from the run. “That’s near where Evvy use to live,” Kyla added. She still missed her friend. Cashton’s face was fi lled with concern that went deeper than he wanted to show. But Cashton was terrible at hiding his feelings, especially from Lazer and Kyla. “Close to Vacary?” Lazer’s mind fi lled with horrible thoughts about his mother being so close to danger. “No, she lives in Eastern Atlantia,” Cashton shook his head. “It’s on Atlantia, and that’s close enough.” “I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been able to get through to my mom for a couple of days,” Kyla pondered. “Yeah, me either,” Cashton agreed. “Neither have I, now that I think about it. Something’s not right. I’ve got to get out of here and get home!” Lazer glowered. “After our rite of passage!” Kyla reminded them. Lazer was trying to get onto the Vybernet through his wrist- sponder. A wall of white noise hovered before him. “Look, it’s probably some kind of system glitch from Mu,” Cashton said. “Same thing happened last month during security check when they discovered somebody had hacked into the campus video system.”

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“What if it’s not a glitch?” Lazer’s voice was racked with concern. “Whatever it is, it can’t be serious or we would have heard about it over the news feeds. Besides, you promised your mom and we agreed to wait,” Kyla reminded him, more emphatic than before. “At least complete your level-one passage or you’ll be digging ditches the rest of your life. That was the deal. Remember?” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know,” Lazer huffed. “Kyla, let me know what you fi nd out. I gotta bounce,” Cashton said, as he gave the V salute. “I’m fi rst up in fl ight sim today and Elana’s on my wing. So, if you challenge us, you will be particle dust.” As Cashton bounded off, blabbering about Elana’s exemplary skills as a pilot and how she could be on his wing in or out of the sky, Kyla did a quick read of Lazer’s aura. He was furious and wor- ried. It was obvious his emotions were not about the all-too-perfect Elana Blue; he was angry about what was happening and worried about his mother. They were all worried about home, but what could they do? Kyla wanted to throw her arms around him and take away his pain. She wanted to tell him everything would be all right. But most of all, she wanted to touch his face and look into his eyes, to whisper that he was more than just her best friend. She wanted to shout to the stratosphere that she had always been in love with him. But the words hung in her mouth, dry and bitter as cotton balls soaked in vinegar. Kyla was too terrifi ed to speak the words, afraid it would ruin a lifelong friendship and make her lose the one thing her heart wanted most, for Lazer to love her back. Kyla glanced at Lazer again and watched as his aura changed from the fi ery red to a curiously cool cerulean blue. She followed Lazer’s gaze and fl inched when the source of Lazer’s emotional change came into view. He was looking at Elana Blue. The dry bitter taste that hung in Kyla’s mouth turned sour and her stomach twisted into a giant knot. She watched Lazer melt into a helpless puppy, eager for a scrap of attention, until she couldn’t take another moment. With a growl, Kyla turned on her heels, fl ipped her ponytail in Lazer’s face,

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which whacked him in the head, and marched away in a huff. Lazer looked briefl y after Kyla, perplexed by her sudden change, then turned back to take one last look at Elana Blue. She smiled at him. His heart fl uttered in his chest like a small caged bird desperate to be free. Now or never, he thought, and took two steps forward. He would walk her to simulator class. They would talk. He would some- how fi nd the courage to ask her out. His feet moved him forward, as if by their own volition, and new courage fi lled his veins. In spite of the fears that pulled at his mind, it was happening. He was going to do it. Suddenly Bo Rambo appeared from nowhere, stepped in, and blocked Elana from Lazer’s view. Bo uttered a few words and, like an eagle swooping in for the kill, scooped her off as he gallantly offered to walk her to the simulators. Elana hesitated, glanced all too briefl y at Lazer, and sighed. Frustrated by the intrusion, but held by some obvious obligation, she accepted Bo’s invitation, and in a heartbeat they were gone. Lazer, crestfallen, could only watch.

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HOME

he Vacary mining settlement where Lazer had spent his child- T hood was going through the motions of another day. Kids played as their parents went to work, at least those who had found jobs after the mines were destroyed. The rest went out each day hoping to fi nd work in the surrounding areas. They prayed the fi res would stop burning and the mines would be rebuilt, but so far their prayers had gone unanswered. Some families had moved away, but most had neither the fi nances nor opportunity and had stayed, help- ing one another however they could. Detra had willed herself the courage to go back to the temple research and study facility. The gnorb was gone, but there was still a smattering of data that had been recovered from the back-up strands left to analyze. So she worked a few days a week as fundraiser for Orbis. It gave her something to do. It kept her mind off her loneliness and the memories out of her head, but today was Saturday and as a distraction she busied herself by reorganizing the kitchen pantry, again. Like a massive wave crashing on shore, the peaceful silence of suburban life was suddenly shattered, replaced by the low rumble of the Black Guard’s peacekeeper hovertanks. They were coming clos- er with every breath. Those who were curious enough to open their doors were the lucky ones. They died instantly from the spray of DT pellets that ripped them apart. The more cautious peeked from

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their windows and watched in horror. They were being invaded. The hovertanks reached the center of Imagine Lane and lowered to the ground, clattering like metal monsters as they went through their mechanical transformation. Like the gaping jaws of a giant shark, the bay doors hinged opened, exposing the Black Guard, clones, and mutant forces that had been strapped into the inner walls of the transport. The clones and mutants sat uniformly dressed in armor similar enough to the biodroids to make their allegiance obvious. Some of the faces peering out of helmets were human, some were not, but all were there to carry out their orders. The platoon disembarked from the transport and moved out, splitting off into every direction. They crashed through the front doors of the houses, grabbed everyone they found, and dragged them into the streets. They murdered those who resisted or ran. It happened so fast no one could think. Detra ran out of the pantry to fi nd her house being ransacked. Before she could pro- test, she found herself struggling in the arms of two mutants. One of them spoke to her, his voice both fi erce and kind. “Don’t fi ght. At least for now they’ll let you live,” he whispered. Detra stopped, chilled by the fear she felt under his words. She looked into the huge sad eyes framed by pointed ears and a long, horse-like face. It was obvious he didn’t want this responsibility, but for some reason he had chosen sides and would see it through. Detra jerked her arm away from the other mutant. “You’re no better than they are,” she scolded him, her face sud- denly more angry than frightened. “At least they don’t hate us just because we’re not like them. That’s for humans to do,” the other mutant said. There was sadness in the mutant’s words, and Detra could not argue that prejudice and bigotry had been directed at the mutants, clones, and splicers over the past century. Somehow mankind always found someone to hate, she thought. They shoved Detra onto the street just as her neighbor, an older man, rushed out of his house. He carried an AK-47 rifl e, part of

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some collector’s memorabilia from the turn of the century. It was old, but it worked and he had decided to fi ght back. He fi red, taking out several of the clones and a few mutants. Using the distraction, people scattered and ran into the foothills. It looked as though the tide might turn, as some of the men and women pried weapons from the hands of their fallen enemy and they, too, began to fi ght back. The rally was short-lived. The tanks opened fi re, killing Detra’s neighbor and destroying his home in one fi ery blast. Those who had armed themselves dropped their weapons, but it was too late. The Black Guard opened fi re, murdering them where they stood. Detra felt tears rolling down her cheeks as she and a few other survivors were dragged into the town’s center. A single Black Guard, his weap- ons open, rotated to face them. Detra closed her eyes.

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ARMY OF DROIDS

ovax had called Temple Mountain his little campus, but since C the unsolved attack over the summer, the massive, under- ground facility had been under high security. Five, Dr. Muller, and his fi rst assistant, Dr. Jean Larousse, walked observantly along the catwalks that overlooked the main assembly line. Five wore his hu- man face. The delicate particles sifted and reformed, becoming more defi ned with each passing day, allowing him to better articulate each expression and the subtle emotions that percolated beneath. The ex- pression of the moment was irritation. “There is a problem with the Series IV.” Muller shifted uncom- fortably, but his words were informed and precise. Although human, he had worked hard to emulate the cold perfection he admired in biodroids like Five. Muller had been in point position for quality assurance since Five’s coup. He enjoyed no longer having to answer to Covax’s ego. But with power came the responsibility to recon- struct Covax’s programming codes. He was nervous about the lack of progress in decoding the complicated software, though he refused to let it show. “Problem?” Five asked. “All the Series IV have . . . a corruption,” Muller said in a muted voice. “A . . . kind of . . . corruption.” “Corruption?” Five turned to listen.

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“Infection might be a better term,” Muller corrected himself. “It seems the Series IV are dying.” Five tilted his head, trying to grasp the notion that a biodroid could die. “What a preposterous concept. We were not born; there- fore, it is not possible to die. It’s basic logic, Dr. Muller.” “Shutting down. Dissipating. Disintegrating. We have not been able to isolate the cause or trace its origin, but we know something is manifesting in the Series IV biodroids and collapsing their mo- lecular bonds,” Larousse stuttered. He was a pig-faced man with narrow eyes who perspired copiously when nervous. “Perhaps seeing is better than explaining.” They reached the south laboratory and opened the door. Inside were several biodroid carcasses, motionless, at various stages of de- cay. They resembled 3-D versions of Salvador Dali’s surrealistic paintings. Portions of their molecular structure had begun to fade, leaving gaping chunks of missing matter. “Covax knew of this?” Five demanded, peering through one of the biodroids. “He had seen the bacteria bonds collapsing several months ago, but the particle disintegration was miniscule then. Dr. Covax at- tributed it to weak protein strands. That’s why he held back the programming sessions until he could stabilize or replace the strands.” Beads of sweat dripped down the folds of Larousse’s neck. “Why have I not been affected? Why have my Series III Guards not been affected?” “After the attack, all the newer Series IV were given T-cell strands,” Dr. Muller added. “Change the rest out,” Five insisted. “That will take time we don’t have,” Muller responded. “How long will it take?” Five clipped each word in a staccato rhythm. “Six months to grow the DNA strands, three to replace them with human and viral protein bands, and then several days to pro- gram them with the chemical codes necessary to attract the metal

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ions needed to bathe them in cobalt oxide and gold solutions. After that, we can charge the polymer strips of the electrodes, or we can’t activate the brain matter,” Muller answered. “We have been able to slow the disintegration,” Dr. Larousse added. “I don’t want it slowed. I want it eradicated!” “We’re doing everything we can. As long as the Series IV remain inactive . . .” “I am in a war to take Atlantia. I need an army and enough of my kind to settle the lands I conquer!” Five yelled. “Isolate the strands. Create an antibody. Inoculate all the protein rods. Find out what is causing this decay!” He turned to Larousse. “Prepare the Series III for battle.” Five turned on Muller. He stuck a metal fi nger in the doctor’s face. “Isolate whatever is doing this and destroy it or you will join Dr. Covax.” Five’s rage mingled with a new emotion, fear. “We’ve already fl ushed every protein band. It’s impossible with- out Dr. Covax’s help,” Dr. Muller blurted, irritated that Five would not accept his solution. “Impossible?” Five hissed. The particles shifted across his face and fl ashed a brief, deadly warning. His eyes narrowed and his nos- trils fl ared. Then, in a blur of motion, Five raised his hand and shot out a haze of molecules that slammed into Muller’s body. The mol- ecules burrowed into his fl esh, ate through his skin, and burned into him as if he were made of paper. Muller arched into a spasm and shrieked in agony. His body temperature accelerated, then he spontaneously combusted into a ball of fl ames. He spasmed, lost his balance, and fell over the rail, plummeting to his death fi ve sto- ries below. Time slowed as all eyes watched with horror as what remained of Muller hit the ground. First, the sharp clatter of bones, then, gracefully drifting behind, a snow of sparkling embers, which had only a moment before been a living, breathing man. The embers fl oated down and settled into a pile of gray ash. Five turned to Larousse. “Bring Brochenborough and Hudson

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in from Atland City. Put all efforts into isolating what is causing the decay. I need an army!” “What about the codes?” Larousse was sickened by Muller’s death. “I’ll get the codes.” “We need Covax’s help,” Larousse begged. “No,” Five said, his voice far too calm for the carnage he had just caused. The particles that formed his mouth twitched. “Covax must never know of this. Bring him to me,” he ordered.

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GNORBS

he weather on Tosadae was changing. The warm, sunny days T had become shorter and cooler, and the morning fog that was usually gone by nine clung to the tops of buildings and looming hills until well past noon. A chill wind blew in from the north each day promptly at four and taunted the leaves to change from shades of hunter green to deep rusty reds, pumpkin orange, and shimmer- ing gold. It was late fall and the icy clamp of winter was not far behind. Lazer’s fi rst rite of passage seemed an eternity away. He struggled to stay focused on second-quarter fi nals, hoping the workload of endless studies and practice sessions would distract him. He felt he was ready, but the list of challenges that defi ned his fi rst passage was unnerving. It was only a fi rst-level exhibition, fi ercely monitored and supervised to prevent almost every possible danger. Passing it was enough to qualify him for marriage, housing, and a few ba- sic jobs. As far as he was concerned, that was enough to satisfy his promise to his mother. He would pass, then call his mother and go home. Finally. There was one more thing he had to do before he left Tosadae—talk with Masta Poe. He had been avoiding her classes and knew if he didn’t make amends for his absence, he would never be allowed to complete his studies under her tutelage. And if he did not come back, he needed closure. Lazer sent her a message and

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Masta Poe responded, telling Lazer to meet her outside the library promptly at 4:30, and not to be late. As he crossed the circular courtyard, he stared at the cone-shaped spires of the Tosadae Library. They blocked the sun and painted long narrow shadows over the grass and striped the buildings on the other side. Inside, the towers held a vast array of data, all neatly organized and recorded onto amino acid strands that represented the entire, collective works of man as he had evolved throughout history. It also held the infamous Celian Gnorb, one of three gnorbs that still re- mained in human hands. The security around the gnorb had always been profound, but since the theft of the Orbis Gnorb on Atlantia, protective measures had been tightened even further. Masta Poe was waiting for him. She stood near the curved eaves of the library, the afternoon wind playfully whipping at her burgun- dy cloak and tousling her mane of silvery white hair. Her large eyes peered from behind pale green tinted glasses, which to Lazer seemed humorously old-fashioned and made her face seem older than it was. Lazer had almost reached her when she turned and entered the li- brary, saying nothing. Dutifully, he followed. She passed the security sensors and walked to the central spires. There was a brief exchange of words between her and the guard that ended before Lazer caught up with her. The security guard nodded and walked away. Lazer’s eyes widened as he realized what she was about to do. “I’m not allowed in with the gnorb,” he whispered to her. “I know.” The guard returned and handed her an imprint tray. Masta Poe instructed Lazer to stick his fi ngers in the gooey gray substance, which captured both his fi ngerprints and his DNA. With a few strokes of the touch pad, the guard handed Lazer a one-hour secu- rity pass. Masta Poe and Lazer crossed through the arched entry and stepped onto an automated walkway that traversed the central struc- ture. They swiped their pass cards at the fi rst door and a series of security devices read and identifi ed them via ocular scan, fi ngerprints,

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and DNA. Finally cleared, the massive decorated doors slid apart, making a great sucking sound when they opened and a thunder- ing clang when they reverberated shut. The moment Lazer stepped into the central chamber, his mouth dropped. The room appeared to expand in all directions. It gave the feeling of motion, though nothing moved. It was as if one were fl oating in the middle of the beautiful azure sky and drifting up into a perfectly sunny, cloudless day, no matter what was going on outside. It was an optical illu- sion, designed to keep anyone who shouldn’t be there confused and disoriented. Poe nudged him forward a few feet and the strange illusion faded. Another section of the spire opened. The core chamber was tapered and slender, and at its heart a cylindrical staircase spiraled upward, seemingly into infi nity. Another illusion, Lazer thought. The staircase was bathed in a multitude of colors that fl ooded in through the jewel-colored glass that adorned the top of the cone. The glass caught the light of the sun as it traversed the sky, scattering it in every direction. The painted light that was projected through the geometric shards of glass spilled into patterns that splattered across the walls and fl oor and changed by the hour, creating a series of complex, mathematical puzzles. At the central point of the structure fl oated the Celian Gnorb. Masta Poe began to ascend the staircase. Lazer hesitated, as the unwelcoming eyes of researchers, guards, and a dozen security beams traced his every move. “You are with me. Come.” Masta Poe, of course, felt his trepi- dation. Her voice was calming, and he obediently followed her lead. Lazer stared at the gnorb. His eyes transfi xed on it and a wash of memories fl ooded his mind. “I . . . I remember something . . .” Lazer stuttered. “I saw the Orbis Gnorb twice . . . twice and . . .” As if in a trance, he told Masta Poe about an incident that had happened when he was about six. His mother had arranged for his class to take a tour of the temples. He, along with his classmates, was

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granted special permission to see the Orbis Gnorb. Once inside, the students had been invited to get a closer look at the spherical orb with its opalescent hues and swirling mystery. They passed in small groups, standing about a foot away from the sealed chamber that held it. It was beautiful, Lazer remembered, and it seemed to call to him with such feeling that he stopped and turned to face it. As Lazer and seven other children leaned in closer to gaze into the smoky haze and watch the tiny, fi refl y-like eruptions that appeared and faded gracefully inside, Lazer felt compelled to reach out his hand. He wanted to touch it, to feel the energy that radiated out to him from the gnorb. Before the adults could intervene, the gnorb changed col- ors and brightened to a blinding blaze of light. A high-pitched whine screeched out with ear-crushing tones that affected everyone in the room except Lazer and the other children who stood with him. They were mesmerized by what was happening inside the gnorb. In the midst of the chaos, Lazer and the other children felt safe and calm. The brilliant light that sent everyone else cowering to the fl oor soothed his eyes. The piercing sound that forced the others to cover their ears played like celestial music, singing to him in words he couldn’t understand; yet in his soul he knew the meaning. Only Lazer and the other children with him were captivated by the bliss of the event. Their young faces beamed with pleasure, while every- one around them stumbled along the walls, protecting their eyes and ears. Lazer’s mother reached into the haze of blinding light and grabbed Lazer, pulling him away. Instantly the glaring light subsided and allowed the rest of the staff members to snatch the other chil- dren to safety. They were immediately whisked from the room. Detra was the only one who witnessed the truth. She knew it was at the very instant when Lazer separated from the gnorb that its glaring, boisterous turbulence subsided and it fell back into its gentle lull, except for one difference—the pure white color had deepened to a silver ever so slightly and, from that day on, had remained. Detra had seen the way Lazer and the gnorb connected to each oth- er. Detra never told anyone else what she had seen, although she had

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asked Lazer what he remembered. That day the temple changed its visitors’ policy. No one outside the core research team was ever al- lowed to get close to the gnorb again. Lazer told Masta Poe that, until this moment, his mind would become a blank whenever he had tried to talk to anyone about the details of that day. What he saw and heard that day was indescrib- able, yet the images stayed in his memory as clearly as if they had happened only a moment ago. He and the other children knew only that they had shared a common experience, but no words about the event had ever passed between them. “You’re the fi rst person I have ever been able to tell.” He stared at her with a look of astonishment. “Perhaps the nearness of the Celian Gnorb unlocked your mem- ory.” She smiled. “And the second time?” “It saved my life,” he said. Lazer hesitated. He had sworn to Kyla and Cashton never to tell, and Evvy had taken the secret with her to her grave. Lazer changed the subject. “How many have been stolen?” “Two. The white Orbis in Atlantia and, yesterday, the one with crimson hues was stolen from Panzania.” Lazer knew that there were four, and that each gnorb had a sub- tle shade of color that distinguished it; silvery white, golden yellow, sapphire blue, ruby red. This gnorb was a soft, almost imperceptible sapphire blue. Nearing the step, Poe cupped her hands a few inches from the gnorb. It began to glow and hum. Lazer was captivated by its beauty. “Do you know what they do?” Lazer asked. “On that, you know more than I. It has spoken to you, twice. We believe their creators came and left long before man evolved. They took with them the secrets to their wisdom, with the exception of these gnorbs—doors to something we have yet to unlock.” Poe opened her hands, allowing the gnorb to fl oat between them. The old memories fi lled Lazer’s head with out-of-focus images like shadows in a dream. His eyes glazed over as the Celian Gnorb drifted closer and drew him in. Masta Poe watched. “What do you see?”

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“The gnorbs are not doors, they are . . . a key,” he mumbled, suddenly monotone. “What kind of key?” “To keep out . . . to keep out the . . .” Lazer stopped and shook his head, trying to shake the strange fog that had suddenly engulfed his mind. He looked at her, his eyes fi lled with a dark fear even he didn’t understand. “Keep out the what?” “I don’t know,” Lazer backed away, as he fought to return from the waking dream that pulled at him. “Why are you afraid?” “I . . . I’m not afraid.” Lazer’s defenses rushed back into place. “You fear for your mother?” “Atlantia’s at war.” “And what will your worrying do?” “I can’t help caring about what happens.” “To care is a gift of love; to worry is to deny the powers both you and the object of your concern have. Believe in your heart that you have already vanquished your enemy and that your mother is safe, and it is so. Worry equals fear and fear blocks your core. Without your core, you and your mother are lost.” “I will take care of my mother,” he said with an arrogance that raised one of Masta Poe’s white eyebrows. “Yet you still refuse to claim your BAI, and that’s what makes you weak and keeps your visions in darkness.” She reached out for the gnorb, willing it back to him. “Look inside, Cole Lazerman. What do you see?” Poe insisted. Lazer hesitated. He didn’t want to look. He wanted to leave, to run away and forget everything. Yet something inside of him had to know. He stepped forward again, his heart pounding, his mouth dry. He peered down into the swirls of haze, letting the sparkling lights refl ect in his eyes. But unlike his fi rst encounter with the Orbis Gnorb, there was no brilliant glare, no siren’s song. “Open your soul to it as you did when you were young. Do as

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you did when you allowed the gnorb to guide you from danger at Temple Mountain. Look deeper, Lazer,” she whispered. Again, Lazer’s eyes glazed over. “I see . . . a great fog . . . explosions and fi re . . . death . . . so much death. It’s too dark . . .” Frustration choked him. “Trust the knowing to guide you through the darkness. Create the vision of what will be and see it.” Her words challenged him. Lazer stared deeper into the gnorb. The haze swirled faster. Sparks of light began to fl ash. The swirl- ing mass formed a series of 3-D images—battles, creatures, places, buildings, faces, people he knew and people he’d never seen. The last image congealed into a man. He resembled Lazer, but he was older, much older. The image was hazy and unclear, except for his eyes. Lazer saw in them a murderous hatred that raged with the force of an uncontrollable wildfi re. Lazer’s father appeared behind the image of the man with burning eyes. His father called out, but each time the man tried to turn, a swirling shadow fell across his face and pulled the man’s focus forward. Then his father faded and Lazer’s mother, Elana Blue, Kyla, and Cashton appeared and screamed out to him. Their open mouths made no sound. It was as if they were trapped behind a glass partition, their voices silenced by its presence. Behind them a sea of people rose up and chanted words he could not hear. Still the man with the blazing eyes did not turn, his gaze was fi xed on the unspoken terror that swirled before him. He raised a weapon. It was strange, awkward, other-worldly. He looked at Lazer, aimed, and fi red, obliterating the vision in a blanket of white. Lazer stumbled backwards, startled, breathless, snapping out of the trance that had taken him into its vision. The image inside the gnorb faded, turning once again into the lush blue mist and sparkling with tiny explosions of fantastic colors that popped and vanished inside the soft haze. He fought his way back from the con- fusion and looked at Masta Poe. “Why do you stop?”

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“Why do you care?” Masta Poe was manipulating his emotions. But why? He studied her face for the answer. If she wanted a confrontation, he was ready for it. Suddenly, only anger fi lled his mind. It was cold, hard, real, and familiar. He felt safe in its ugliness. “I can’t protect you . . .” she began. “You’re asking me to see results of things before they happen?” “I am telling you to imagine your future. Only you can bring your desires to reality, Lazer, and knowing what is coming will give you time to make the best choices.” Her tone was calm, yet fi lled with compassion and hope. She wanted him to understand the wis- dom behind the emotional walls that blocked him. She wanted him to enter the door he refused to pass through. Lazer heard her words, but stood motionless, blind to the truth that felt so close. “You can’t will something into being!” he blurted. “I can’t will my father back to life, or be home, or destroy the Black Guard!” “If that is what you believe, then it is so. You alone are the angel of your destiny. You alone are its demon.” Lazer turned to face Poe. “No!” he whispered, still panting from the fear that fi lled him. “That was not my future.” He pointed at the gnorb. “I told you the day we met, you held in your soul a great call- ing,” she stated. “My only calling is to avenge my father!” His voice echoed through the vast chamber. “And what of your visions?” “I’m not that man!” “Lie not to yourself, for if you do not conquer your fears of the future and master your destiny, your powers will abandon you. You must face your calling or you will be useless to all. Abandon the anger and stand in the light, or death will claim you and all you love.” Lazer fought back tears. He was being suffocated by truths he could not face. He backed away from Poe.

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“No. Anger is my greatest power! It gives me the strength to get up and fi ght my way through every day. If my powers fail me, I will pick up a weapon—a stick, a rock, I’ll fi ght with my bare hands—and fi ght until every biodroid is vaporized. That’s my des- tiny!” Lazer backed away. He turned and ran across the platform, down the stairs, and out of the gnorb chamber. Masta Poe looked after him and then back at the gnorb. “He has the stardust of two gnorbs in his veins,” she said to the now quiet ball that fl oated beside her. “He is more powerful than I thought. But still, he is not ready to believe, and my time is running out.”

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MORE TIME

ver the next few weeks, Lazer attended classes in body only. O He listened to the lecture series on the Mutant Wars. It had been a favorite part of history for him in high school because each night he would come home and discuss the various strategies and battles with his father, who had fought in them with heroes like Aleece Avery. The war claimed over 10,000 mutant, splicer, and hu- man lives, but in the end freedom was won. In the fi nal thirty-six hours, at the battle of Pelipon, Pouwin’s generals surrendered and the war was over. Lazer’s father had been there. Lazer imagined with each passage and horrifi c image the class was shown what it must have been like for Rand in those fi nal hours. Lazer gained an even greater respect for his father and, by the end of the lecture series, his determination to fi ght for Atlantia had reached a new resolve. Lazer’s mind was preoccupied, however, with fi ghting the in- ner voices that badgered him each day to go home. Every night, unable to sleep, he would slip from his dorm and race through the black night, sneaking into the fl ight simulator. There, alone with the demons that haunted him, he would run battle program after battle program. Images of day or night skies would appear around him in the 3-D holographic projections that completely encircled the cockpit. Lazer would fl y into the most dangerous and com- plicated attack sequences and battle against every kind of enemy

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ship imaginable—always the lone warrior with a single adversary, fi ghting to the death. Far too many nights the complicated programs would defeat him. The unknown adversary would blow his fi ghter into vapor wash, or send him spiraling into a mountain, or the desert, or the sea. Each night Lazer would slam his fi sts against the control panel and tremble alone in the darkness. He was frustrated and angry that his emotions could so easily overwhelm him and, in the end, he could not deny that he was his own greatest enemy. Furious at him- self, he would restart a new program and try again. Time and again, Lazer would lose each battle until, exhausted, he would drag himself home and fall into bed. Masta Poe often watched Lazer, unnoticed from the observation chamber above. She couldn’t help him. She knew, above all, that Lazer would have to take this journey alone. When Lazer left, Masta Poe would turn to look at another of her students who fought in the simulators, perfecting the skills of a great fi ghter pilot—Elana Blue. She had her own collection of tortured demons, fi lled with anger and disappointment that shadowed her like a black cloud. Her demons were betrayal and abandonment—the pain of a motherless child’s desire to feel important and needed.

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UNIVERSAL GOD

he entire student body sat, danced, stood, or lay under the T lush trees that grew beneath a small proton perpetual climate dome as they read and sang the collective works of praise, celebrat- ing life under the love of Earth’s One Universal God. The Book of Spiritual Oneness had been created from the commonalities found among all religions and was dedicated to the unity of man, his place in nature, the universe, and his immortal soul. After the Great Quakes, mankind longed for unity among Earth’s survivors—those who had been separated by the newly divided continents and those who had crawled out from the fallen cities and devastated towns. They looked for the word of a single God in everything that was done to save man. Together they rejected anyone who sought lead- ership based on fear or any kind of dogma that lessened the value of one human being over another—be they man or woman, black, yellow, red, brown, or white. Mankind had fi nally accepted that all humanity stood as equals. Splicers, clones, and even zomers were welcome, though full equality under the law was a different story for them. Lazer and Elana Blue sat on opposite sides of the fi eld from one another and listened to a choir sing an old standard by John Lennon called Imagine—a beautiful ballad that had been written over a century ago and played in honor of a great dream that had

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been realized by a united world. Another set of eyes watched their exchange of glances and shy smiles. Bo Rambo saw the glances that passed between Lazer and Elana and he, now more than ever, want- ed her fl irtation to belong only to him. Bo was Lazer’s archenemy on the zoccair fi eld and in the fl ight school, and now a new arena of contention came into focus. Lazer knew that Bo was the villain who thwarted his every attempt at happiness, the foe who had deemed it his personal mission to block the only two pleasures Tosadae held for him: zoccair and Elana Blue. Bo was handsome, talented, relatively smart, an amazing pilot, and competitively athletic, but Lazer had heard that Bo was to Elana Blue only a ‘friend.’ So Lazer did his best to ignore Bo’s burning stares and gazed happily on Elana Blue. Again the hulking shadow stepped in to block him as Lazer attempted to make his way across the fi eld after the end of the service. “I’ll see you on the practice fi eld,” Bo said threateningly, before grabbing Elana Blue by the arm and pulling her away. “We need to talk,” Bo insisted in a hushed voice. She looked at him and then at Lazer. She knew she had to confront Bo once and for all. They walked out of the dome and into the chill as they crossed the circle. “You’ve been avoiding me like the plague. What’s up?” Bo fi nally had Elana alone. “I’m not avoiding you, Bo. I told you, I can’t go out with you anymore.” “Why?” He was almost pouting. “We’ve been over this.” Elana spoke with a tone fi lled with both frustration and sadness. “I want to get married, Bo, have children. The laws against humans and clones are defi nitive. You know that.” Bo was crestfallen, but knew she was right. He was a clone and the procreation laws when it came to clones were fi nal. They had been put in place in 95 A.Q. after the Splicer Fiasco. The deaths of so many humans had decimated the Earth’s population. First the Great Quakes killed over half the planet, and then tens of thousands died in the jaws of the splicers. The human race had to be protected. In the cloning process, the reproductive genes somehow switched

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off, which made it impossible for clones, male or female, to have children. Because clones couldn’t have children, marriage between clones and humans had been strictly forbidden. Some humans, whose love had been strong, had defi ed the laws and married their clone lovers, but their unions were not sanctioned, which meant they would not receive corporate benefi ts like housing, education, and most top-level jobs. “We could still be together. I’ve heard about these settlements,” Bo begged. She looked at him. Bo’s pain washed over Elana like a turbulent storm. She felt his sadness press against her heart. Bo was a strong young man, but in her hands he was butter melting in the summer sun. His pleading eyes defi ed the champion he had become. He didn’t care; Bo wanted her. “Please, Elana, don’t throw away what we have.” Stopping in the shadow of a massive tree whose limbs stood as bare and naked as Bo felt, she looked into his eyes. “We don’t have anything, Bo. That’s what you’ve never accepted. We dated in high school and it was fun, but I didn’t love you then and I don’t love you now.” “It’s because I’m a clone,” he said sadly. “I told you how I felt before I even knew you were a clone.” “Then being a clone doesn’t matter?” “Not to our friendship. Please understand. If I loved you, it wouldn’t stop me from defying the system to be with you, but I don’t. Not like that.” “How do you know, Elana? Give us time.” “I know that love will touch my heart and fi ll me up with so much passion I’ll explode just hearing the sound of his voice. Being away from him for even a moment will be like living without the sun to warm me. I want to breathe his air and share his dreams. When I fi nd him, I’ll be happy and safe, and we’ll build our lives together, have children, and make each other complete. Don’t ask me to settle for less, Bo. I won’t.” “I could be all that, Elana.” Bo touched her face.

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“You will be, for someone else,” she said as gently as she could. “For you, Elana. Give us time.” “If that were true, I would have known the fi rst time my lips touched yours. I believe when you meet your soulmate, you know without a doubt that love is forever. I’ll know from that fi rst kiss. It isn’t you; it just isn’t. I’m sorry, Bo.” There was nothing more Elana could say to ease the pain he was feeling. He loved her. It was real and strong and good, and if she could have settled for less than the passion she knew in her heart was possible, she would have given herself over to him—but, she couldn’t. She turned and walked away. Bo stared after her, his chest tightening with hurt and anger. His ego did not want to accept the fi nality of her words. He blamed the rejection on the fact that he was a clone and stormed away across the circle and into the stadium to prepare for the varsity game. He reached the tunnel and turned, crashing into Lazer and slam- ming him into the stadium gate. Bo stopped for one brief second. He was blind with emotion, but he saw all too clearly the single face that brought clarity to his defeat. Bo shoved Lazer again and was gone. Kyla and Cashton walked from the locker rooms, valiant gladia- tors ready to do battle, until they saw Bo shove Lazer. “What was that about?” Cashton’s eyes locked on Bo. “You got me,” Lazer said, picking up his gear. “If looks could kill, you’d already be a rotting corpse,” Kyla nod- ded toward Bo, who joined his gang of upperclassmen. “Somethin’ tells me they are not about to play fair,” Cashton added. “You better stop taunting him, Laze,” Kyla said. “I’m not doing anything.” Lazer adjusted his shoulders to take the tension out of them just as Elana Blue appeared in the stands. Again Kyla watched as Lazer’s energy melted. Kyla rolled her eyes in disgust. “Yeah, right. You’ll sabotage us if you don’t stop focusing on her,” Kyla said, nodding at Elana.

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They entered the zoccair arena to the sound of cheers. It was varsity versus junior varsity today—a slaughter at best. The antigrav- ity fi eld activated before Lazer could respond. The goals launched, rising and falling at opposite ends of the fi eld. The two teams en- gaged their palm pads, the familiar orange ball spun up into midair, and the call resounded: “Game on, Tosadae! Bacco! ”

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ATLAND CITY

here was a gray haze over the city that smelled of burnt skin, T hair, and death. The streets were empty except for the oc- casional peacekeepers and hovercrafts that drifted overhead in the early morning light. A squad of clones and mutants armed with DT phasers patrolled the streets, looking for any humans who had not been killed or captured, or who had not taken shelter inside the elaborate sewers and caves that crisscrossed beneath the city. Aleece had survived the crash, but in their descent, the chute of her escape pod had caught in some trees and she had been cap- tured. Fielding had drifted north and, she hoped, escaped. She was held in a barren outpost and questioned for what seemed like weeks. Although starved and brutalized, she wouldn’t tell them anything, so she was transferred to the main sports stadium, which sat in the cen- ter of Atland City. There, with a host of other POWs, she awaited her fate. The fi rst night, alone and hungry, Aleece worried about her life, her family, and the horrors she could not relay back to the Triumvirate. Frightened and exhausted, she fi nally fell asleep. Aleece awoke fi lthy and sore, but still alive. She struggled to her feet and gathered her strength, checking the cuts and scars that marked her arms and legs. Slowly, she let her eyes drift across this somber place that held her captive within its walls. All around her were the signs of war. Women with fi lthy faces clutched their

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frightened children, as they huddled by piles of glowing, tanger- ine-colored embers, desperate for a moment of stolen warmth. Aleece gasped, taking in a soft, involuntary breath. A rush of fear engulfed her. She wanted her husband and daughter. She wanted to be at home by a roaring fi re, laughing and talking with her fam- ily and friends. But devastation and hopelessness stared at her like an ugly face, peeking from the shadows of a cold, harsh reality. She was a prisoner. Aleece’s heart sank and she pitied herself, sick at the thought she was lost to all she loved. There, in a swell of emotional despair, she felt the pull of despondency dragging her into its abyss. NO! A distant voice cried from deep inside her being. With a roar of courage it called to her, demanding that she not give in to the dark- ness. She was a leader, a trained offi cer of the Politia forces, a mother with a child that needed her and a husband that loved her and she him. She needed a plan. Her thoughts organized and in a split sec- ond jumped to Fielding. Was he alive? Maybe he had survived. Was he a prisoner here, as well? She searched the arena, but Fielding was nowhere in sight. The men and women must have been separated. Aleece walked, taking in every detail of her prison. Before her lay row upon row of wounded women and children, human carnage left alive for the moment by a heartless foe. Her eyes scanned the dimen- sions of the fi fty-eight-foot-high walls of her prison. The fi ngers of panic clutched her throat until it started to close. Stay focused, she thought to herself, repeating it again and again like a mantra. She studied the chain-link fence, capped by razor wire that looped along the lower rows of seats, encasing the center road of Atland City’s race- way arena. The weeping and agonizing moans of her fellow captives reverberated off the massive corporate billboards that ringed the arena. They had come to Atlantia to advertise and sell, but the corporations weren’t willing to take the Atlantians on as constituents. She couldn’t blame the corporate leaders entirely. They had given their power over to the Collective and the Triumvirate long ago, but they still had a voice, and on the subject of Atlantia they had been far too silent. The women had managed to organize what supplies they had to

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help the sick and dispose of the dead. They had organized themselves in sections. The wounded in the center lay under poorly constructed tents. Children and the old ones gathered against a north wall. The dead lay in piles at the south end. Life moved on. Aleece listened as a young woman read to a group of fi ve- and six-year-olds, trying to keep their minds off the horror of their circumstances. She smiled, remembering the many times she had read to Riana. She needed to stay in the present, fi gure out where she was and how to get out. She studied the exits and towers, determined to fi nd a way. Aleece stopped a woman who was carrying a sack of powdered supplements. “What can I do to help?” she asked. “I don’t know. What can you do to help?” The woman was gruff, but beneath her edgy voice there was an honest warmth. She eyed Aleece, sizing her up. Aleece could tell by the exhaustion in the woman’s face that she had been there for a while. “I’m a doctor,” Aleece said. “Surgeon?” The woman’s face lit up. “Used to be.” “Used to be still counts. Follow me. The name’s Maya,” the woman commented with a polite nod. “Aleece.” “Were you on the health staff of the At Care facility?” “Sangelino. I came to Atlantia on . . . on personal business.” “You got family on Atlantia?” “I don’t know,” Aleece answered with an expression of sadness that would defl ect any further questions. Maya nodded. She under- stood the pain of loss, of not knowing the fate of those you love. Maya told her she had lost her entire family, her husband, her sons, and her parents. Aleece didn’t have to say another word. They stopped at a makeshift tent just as someone rushed inside carrying a young girl who had been shot in the leg. Through the opening, Aleece could see tables, beds, and a few supplies. They had only the bare minimum needed to sustain life and deaden pain, but it would do for now.

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“It ain’t Sangelino’s All Health, but they managed to keep me alive,” Maya said. She pulled back a fl ap on her tunic and revealed a blood-soaked bandage. “You’re bleeding again.” Aleece moved to check her bandage. Maya stopped her. “I’ll be fi ne. That little girl needs you more.” Aleece nodded, entered the tent, and became a doctor again.

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ELANA BLUE

azer dragged his battered body up the dormitory steps, still Lwearing his soiled Tosadae zoccair uniform. Neither he nor his team had fared well at today’s game. He walked past a group of students who all but sneered at him, turning their faces away and adding to his newly acquired pariah status—his punishment for los- ing the last point of the varsity game and costing the underclassmen their junior varsity championship title. Elana Blue saw the exchange and excused herself from a group of girls who were talking about the embarrassing defeat the junior varsity had taken. She headed over to Lazer at the top of the stairs and smiled. Her heart went out to him. He had played as best he could today, but Bo had been on a mission to destroy Lazer’s confi - dence, and the mission had been accomplished. “Hey, you played a good game today. Really.” She smiled again, catching up and falling into his stride. For the fi rst time her incredible smile didn’t break the somber cloud of defeat that surrounded him. “Too bad Bo Rambo thinks I’m the alien enemy of life.” “He’s threatened.” “Threatened? Yeah, right.” “Veritus!” she bubbled. “You’re good. Even beyond good.” She looked around to see who was within earshot. “Coach Darius

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is talking about making you lead striker on varsity next year,” she whispered into his ear. “What? A sophomore?” Elana Blue shushed him, looked around again, and gestured that this was top secret information. “Swear you won’t tell anyone I told you.” “Swear. Look at me. I’m in particle surge!” He had goose bumps. He cracked his wonderful smile. True or not, it was the nicest thing she could have said. “It’s true. At least as long as you keep playing the way you played today. That set up and slam was digital. Bo’s last move was a total cheat and I can’t believe the referee missed the call.” “Thanks. I owe you one for that.” “Yeah? I’ll remember that the next time we meet,” she said with a conspiratorial wink. Her voice, the words, the shadow that fell across her face sud- denly brought a wash of memories fl ooding back from the day he was rescued at Shooting Falls. Lazer’s mouth fell open. It all made sense. He had met her before. “It was you!” Elana Blue looked at him, but couldn’t respond. She had no idea what he was referring to. “Atlantia—the Wedge—Shooting Falls. You were in the Wedge with . . . with Ducane Covax!” Now it was Elana Blue who fi nished putting the pieces together. “The boy on the Zakki,” she said. “You were that jerk.” Lazer felt a rush of the same wild anger that had almost cost him his life. He remembered the fury that racked his body when he saw his sworn enemy at the controls of the Wedge. That inhuman, heartless spe- cies who murdered his father and who, in a moment when he had begged for death, had saved his life. He looked at Elana Blue and realized it had not been some mindless biodroid that had saved him, but this angel from a dream who now stood before him. She had given the order that had saved him. Yes, he had been vicious and ungrateful, but with cause. And now he had to tell her why.

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“I . . . I had just lost my father in the Vacary Mines attack. The sight of your Black Guard . . .” His words caught in his throat. Elana was at once empathetic to his pain. His memories were fi lled with sadness, and Elana Blue experienced every torturous stab. His pain was hers and it seared into her fl esh with such torrential emotion that her eyes welled with tears for him. “But Ducane Covax . . .” He asked, desperate to understand. “. . . is my father. We decided to drop my last name so I could just be normal.” She fought to control her own anger. The pull of his sadness bound her to him. Lazer nodded, understanding the pressures she must have been raised under as the only daughter of Ducane Covax. “I’m . . . sorry about your father.” Her words tumbled out with such a depth of honest sincerity that they touched Lazer’s heart. Lazer nodded gratefully. She understood. They stared into each other’s eyes. Something began that defi ed time and logic. Now it was his turn. “I . . . never got to thank you for saving my life.” He froze, “So . . . I . . . I have to go,” Lazer turned and limped away. Elana felt the turmoil that churned inside of him. She liked him, but the history of who she was and the death of his father was a cur- tain between them. Her whole life she’d had to deal with what her father’s work had unleashed, and once again it was about to deny her something she wanted.

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TAKING CHANCES

ver the next few months Lazer and Elana passed each other O on the grounds of Tosadae. They stole glances of one another across lecture halls and classrooms. They battled each other on the simulators and in the forum labs with Masta Poe but, no matter how hard he tried, it seemed Lazer couldn’t avoid looking into her face and catching the depth of her amazing eyes. The truth was he didn’t want to avoid her. He wanted to talk to her. Kyla told him it was his natural instincts warning him to keep away. Cashton said if he didn’t at least talk to her, she’d haunt him for the rest of his life. “If you ask her, you have a fi fty-fi fty chance of getting a yes. If you don’t, you got nothin’,” Cashton told him. It was a line from a movie based on one of his other favorite shows on the Old TV Vybernet feed—Quantum Leap. Cashton loved the show, the char- acters, the adventures, and the fact you could travel through time, step into other people’s lives, and make a difference. He was sure they had used Einstein’s theory: time and space were limited, so two bodies couldn’t occupy the same place at the same time. He also liked the particle acceleration/deceleration theory they used as their means of time travel, so much so that he had begun working on his own time travel device based on the principle. Meanwhile, Lazer struggled with how to get around the memory of the attacks. He imagined the battles that were being fought every

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day on Atlantia because of Ducane Covax and his monstrous Black Guard. He wanted to blame Elana Blue for being Covax’s daughter, but it wasn’t her fault, so why punish her and ultimately himself? He’d fi nd out soon enough how far the apple fell from the tree. How totally corny, Lazer thought. It must have been a line from The Beaver, another of Cashton’s favorite shows, but it fi t. Lazer had made up his mind to tell Elana how he felt about ev- erything—the attacks, his father’s death, the day at the falls, and her father. He was a man on a mission. He moved in long purposeful strides across the campus, passing the sculpture garden and the fl oat- ing fountain that gurgled serenely at its center. His eyes darted from the holomaze of changing lights to the geometric menagerie as he looked for a glimpse of her. He checked the student bio behavioral bar because he’d heard a new collection of mood-enhancing art was on show for those students who needed to alter their dispositions, or just escape for a few hours from the work load that came with life at Tosadae. Elana Blue was nowhere to be found. Lazer’s heart felt heavy, burdened by the weight of what he so desperately wanted to say to her. Although he’d rehearsed it a thousand times, the words mulled around his head in a jumbled mess. His chest was tight and he found himself taking long, deep breaths that seemed to end in frustrated sighs. Just as the noon bell began to chime, she appeared, turning the corner right in front of him. Their eyes connected and she smiled, walking toward him. In the next instant she stood face to face with him. They stared at each other smiling like two Cheshire cats. No one else was anywhere around. She stood silently looking at him with those eyes that could melt an iceberg. Without thinking, Lazer reached out and gently touched her hand. A jolt of energy buzzed through his fi ngers and raced through his entire body and into his head, making him almost dizzy and taking away every concern and fear. Lazer was mesmerized. It was happening again, this incredible feeling that defi ed time and logic. “I . . . never . . . fi nished thanking you for saving my life,” Lazer said softly.

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The world around them melted away. She was part of everything good he thought had been lost to him. He knew her every thought, wish, desire, every fi ber of her being as well as he knew the deepest secrets of his very own soul. Unable to stop himself, Lazer leaned for- ward and kissed her. It was an action as familiar to him as if he had done it a million times before. A kiss so gentle, so natural, that she couldn’t help but kiss him back. Her lips were sweet and soft, and for those few precious seconds, life slowed, swirling into a warm haze that cocooned them in its magic. The world stopped, perfect and com- plete. Their lips parted, but their eyes held each other in a trance. “Wow. You’re welcome,” she replied, breathless from the kiss. “I’ve wanted to do that since the fi rst day I saw you on the zoccair fi eld,” he whispered. Before she could respond, a group of students, returning from the game, converged on them. Lazer and Elana smiled and stepped to one side, letting the building’s arched shadows shelter them. Lazer wanted to say something brilliant and clever, but he was at a loss for words. Dazed, Lazer nodded, turned, and started to walk away. “Wait!” Elana Blue followed after him. He stopped and spun to face her. Elana was just as surprised as Lazer by her forward behavior. She struggled for something to say, suddenly as awkward and as vulnerable as Lazer had just been the moment before. She looked at him, her eyes as innocent and lost as he felt. Lazer melted. She was as open as a book with blank pages, eager to be fi lled with life. Ask her, he thought. Now! Lazer gathered his courage, fi lling his lungs with a great gasp of air. He knew this would be his only chance. “Elana, look, I know I’ve been a total dweeb, but could we . . . I mean . . . would you want to . . .” “Yes!” she blurted, excitedly. “Yes?” Lazer was unsure if she knew what she was agreeing to. “You were going to ask me to the Spring Jam.” “Yeah, I was,” he muttered, his confusion swirling in a hint of suspicion. “You read auras?”

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“I read boys. Seven-thirty? I’ll be wearing your favorite color . . . cobalt blue.” Lazer didn’t question how she could have possibly known his favorite color, but it pleased him beyond words that she did. She was glowing. Her smile turned from coy to seductive and Lazer felt a warm tingling that raced from his head to his toes and made his head spin. He wanted desperately to kiss her again. But Elana beat him to it and brought her lips to his. She pressed against him. This kiss was even better than the fi rst. It was the kiss she had been waiting for her entire life. She knew in that moment that he was The One. His was the soul that matched hers. They parted, their eyes still staring into one another’s. “Until the dance . . .” she said before bounding off to her dorm room. As soon as she was out of site, Lazer lost it. He let out a whoop of joy that echoed across the commons and then raced in the oppo- site direction, never allowing his feet to touch the ground. He had a date with Elana Blue.

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DOMED

inally the Politia decided to admit that Atlantia had been F domed. The ANN Vyber news reported that it had been sealed under a proton bubble with both the Politia and the Atlantian leaders’ joint approval. But it was a lie. Neither the Politia nor the Atlantians had launched the dome, nor did they have control of it. The Collective only knew of a few incidents that had happened months before, and in retrospect they seemed like terrible anomalies that couldn’t possibly happen again. The news of the doming had everyone talking as they waited for the Politia’s investigation team to submit their reports. But in the end, everyone seemed to agree doming was the appropriate op- tion. At least for the moment, the world would be safe. Those select few who knew the truth realized that hell could be raging in all direc- tions inside Atlantia. Until he could get more facts, Baz Mangalan unilaterally decided not to let Dante, Fahan, the Collective, or Corporate know that the Black Guard and not the Politia controlled the dome. It could set off a worldwide panic. Behind closed doors inside Sangelino, conspiracy theories raged. There was an unsubstantiated suspicion that Aleece’s crash had been digitally scrambled by the Black Guard to look like an accident. Somehow the Black Guard had hacked into the satellite feeds and reconfi gured all the visual and audio information coming out of Atlantia to look like and say whatever they wanted. But how? For all

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intents and purposes, things on Atlantia appeared completely under control. It wasn’t until a few sporadic and very frantic personal mes- sages began to leak through their digital scrambling program a few weeks later that anyone suspected they had been misled by perfectly done propaganda. The bits of information that slipped through their encryption programs as partially unscrambled cries for help were put into the hands of the Politia intelligence. What they could decipher was sketchy at best, but it was all they had to go on, at least for now. Dante had heard but not seen the unencrypted V-mails. He was only a substitute for his wife and had limited access and limited pow- ers. Everyone knew the people of Atlantia didn’t want war, but the few unencrypted sponder calls and V-mails for help were being bur- ied in a quagmire of political confusion. In the end, the Atlantians were victims of war crimes that could not be substantiated. Five and his biodroids had been more than ready. The Black Guard’s isoluminescent miasma continued to play its CGI movies of normal life on the dense, digital haze, hiding the horrible events that were happening across the territory from satellite surveillance. Everything on Atlantia looked in order. With the inadvertent as- sistance of Baz Mangalan, the world had been blinded by Five’s genius.

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BLISS

t was Friday and Lazer was in his favorite class: hand-to-hand bat- I tle techniques inside the Arts and Powers battle forum. The course was required for the Politia’s leadership positions, but he knew it would also serve his ultimate mission back on Atlantia. The are- na’s design looked like an ancient coliseum. Today it was fi lled with young gladiators, ready to face death in the name of Caesar. The battle forum was one of the few buildings that had been constructed by the Politia to house weapons and creatures—a primitive necessity not required by the original inhabitants of Tosadae, but mandatory for the humans who followed them as lords of the Earth. Along the bottom ring were transparent force-fi eld cages that held some of the most violent splicer creatures in captivity. Most of them had survived for years in the fi ssures and tunnels of post-quake Earth: prometheii, archiops, bilyons, krakans, tigots, pythozebs, and a nest of very nasty scarabites, just to name a few. They had been captured from around the world and brought to Tosadae to be studied and utilized in battle training. But creature theory class was on Tuesday; today was hand-to-hand combat. The creatures watched from their cages. Some paced, agitated by the students and their aggressive en- ergy. Others ignored the lessons, knowing at least today the work was human-to-human. Elana exchanged sweet, surreptitious smiles with Lazer as Masta

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Poe explained how to block a weapons attack from a battle wand. Elana hated hand-to-hand almost as much as she hated creature confl ict study, which would be next year’s challenge. Just being in the same room with the creatures made Elana uncomfortable—a fact everyone knew but no one knew why. There were rumors about almost being eaten by a splicer when she was little, but she had been far too young to have been around for the Splicer Fiasco, and the new laws made all access to splicer pets illegal. No one but Lazer knew her father had been the creator of the splicer pet phenomenon and that he continued to experiment with genetic crossbreeding and high-level cloning. Lazer’s anger at Elana’s father simmered under everything in his life. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t re- lease it completely. But he wasn’t about to let his feelings for Elana be hindered by a fact she had nothing to do with and which he couldn’t change . . . at least right at this moment. The students, wearing protective padding made of a lightweight gelatinous substance that was covered in a spongy fl exible concrete, were placed around the room facing their partners. An electronic gong rang out every three minutes, and the students would bow to each other, change partners, and fi ght the next person. It was a combination of street fi ghting, taekwondo, and battle wand against basic Visionistic Arts. Each counterweapon posture was steeped in the mastery of Masta Poe’s teaching. Somehow she oversaw everyone at the same time, appearing at the right place at the right moment, mentoring each student, adjusting their moves, and pointing out their strengths and weaknesses. The gong sounded and Lazer bowed to his latest opponent—a girl almost as tall and strong as he. He took the chi stance and faced her with his bare hands. She swung her battle wand and he blocked it with two small but well-placed shields. Lazer was focused and ac- curate with every move, until he happened to look up and see Bo Rambo partnered with Elana. Bo, along with a few of the upper- class students, had volunteered to assist Masta Poe. Lazer watched as Bo smiled at Elana Blue. Bo, who held the wand, was wonderfully

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gentle with her. He was calm, determined, and obviously vying to win her back from Lazer. Lazer smelled it. He was too far away from them to hear their conversation, but Bo’s body posture was blatant. He was hitting on Elana, hard. Lazer glared at him, trying his best to will his machismo across the room. He took a sharp blow to the head with one of the training wands, punishment for not paying attention. He hadn’t no- ticed that it was Bo’s best friend, Carel Bell, who was facing off with him for the round. Lazer pulled his attention back to Carel to save his neck, but still glanced occasionally at what was happening with Elana and Bo. “I want to take you to the spring formal.” Bo was as charming as possible. “I have a date.” Elana stayed aloof as ever. Bo glared at Lazer. “Please tell me it’s not the outback cowboy from Atlantia.” “It’s really none of your business, Bo. It’s not you and that’s all you need to know.” She whacked him just as the gong sounded. Masta Poe was called out of the arena. In the instant after her exit, Lazer was across the room, unleashing a fl urry of kicks and hits with his battle wand that dropped Bo to the fl oor. A stunned Bo found himself in a heap. His surprise turned to fury when he saw who was behind the attack. Bo rolled, arched back, and leapt to his feet. He took three lightning fast strides and jumped into Lazer’s chest with a fl ying kick. Lazer ducked and spun into a roundhouse; he kicked Bo backwards with such force that Bo bounced off the wall and fell face fi rst into the dirt. Lazer’s eyes were wild; all he knew was he had to defend Elana. Again Bo jumped to his feet and charged Lazer like a linebacker. Lazer dropped his battle wand and jutted his hands out in front of him; without thinking, he summoned a ball of sparkling energy between his hands, then with a shove, shot it at Bo. Bo saw the bolt, dove, rolled, and dropped his battle wand. Jutting his hands forward, he, too, formed and shot an energy bolt into Lazer’s chest. Direct hit!

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The ball of energy struck Lazer with such force it pounded him into the wall twenty feet away. Lazer, winded and sore, crumbled into a heap on the fl oor. Gasping for air, he struggled to his feet. Bo attacked again, this time turning his palms upward. He lifted them, levitating Lazer off the ground, and with a violent swinging gesture, tossed him like a rag doll against a wooden column. The force hurled Lazer into the worn wood, splintering it into a shower of pulp and dust. Lazer landed fl at and looked at Elana Blue. Her heart was with him and the terror in her eyes told him he had to win for both their sakes. With a graceful roll, Lazer pushed himself back onto his feet. He ignored the pain that throbbed through every inch of his body and, using a single burst of energy, he jumped six feet into the air, narrowly avoiding the next blast of fi ery white light that shot from Bo’s hands. Lazer landed like a cat and let his rage overtake his logic. In rapid retaliation, he hurled a silver stream of curling wind with such speed and force it caught Bo off guard. The swirling funnel hammered into Bo, bored into his chest, knocked him over, and slammed him onto the ground. Bo went ballistic. He defi ed gravity and fl ipped to his feet into a fi ghter’s stance. He formed an icy, black energy ball with enough power to kill. It swirled, building between his hands. Just as he was about to shoot it, Masta Poe’s voice ex- ploded across the room. “STOP!” She appeared in front of Bo, immobilizing him and stepping in to shield Lazer from the death ball. “Use your anger one more time like that and you will be expelled from my studies!” she told Bo, as her outstretched hand focused on the death ball. Bo was rigid. Masta Poe released her hold on him, forcing him to drop the energy ball that still swirled in his hands. The particles hung for a moment more, then dissipated and fl oated away in a shimmering swirl of ashen snow. “Enough,” Masta Poe said to the entire class. “You are all dis- missed. Go in light.” Bo glared at Lazer, said nothing, bowed, and walked away. Elana crossed to Lazer with a look of concern.

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“Are you okay?” she asked, brushing the dirt from his sleeve. “I’m fi ne. What about you?” He was more concerned about her than himself. Masta Poe looked at Elana and nodded for her to go. It was ob- vious she wanted to talk to Lazer alone. “I’ll wait for you by the dispensary.” Elana crossed to the door. A few of the students worked a little longer on style and stance while the rest dispersed. Some mumbled to each other about the rivalry between Bo and Lazer. Many commented that they had never seen Masta Poe lose her temper. The room emptied. People were grateful to get away from the negative energy that still hung in the air as thick as a spring fog. The last to leave was Elana, who stopped near the door to give Bo an icy glare. Finally, she turned and exited with a group of students. Alone, Masta Poe turned her attention to Lazer. “Where was your focus?” she asked Lazer. “He could have severely wounded you.” “I’m fi ne,” Lazer said, as he gathered his things. “Has your spirit left us already?” Masta Poe asked. “What?” Lazer was surprised that Poe could read his thoughts with such clarity. She was right, his thoughts were of home, and his heart was already there. He ached to know what was really happening on Atlantia—the dome had caused a communication malfunction for a week. There had been a complete live feed, V-mail, and sponder blackout. After it was repaired, the few V-mails he had received seemed stilted and strange. On the surface they said everything was fi ne, but between the lines it was obvious something was terribly wrong. “You wish to go home to defeat the Black Guard?” she asked. Lazer stared at her. “You think you are ready?” Lazer knew there was always an extra meaning beneath her words. Again he said nothing. “If you think you are ready, then go. If you do not have the cour- age to learn all that I have to teach you, do not waste my time, Cole Lazerman.” Poe turned away.

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Lazer felt a rush of panic surge through him. He needed her as a mentor, as an ally, as a friend. She was always in the strange distorted visions that haunted him. He knew she was an important part of his future, but he didn’t understand why. Flustered, he stepped in her way. “I admit it. I can’t control the arts yet.” “You believe you can control the universe? You are further away from the light than I thought. The goal is to release into your BAI, trust, and let the universe exist as one with you.” “I have learned cloaking and levitation and I can create energy balls and shields to protect . . .” Lazer babbled at her, desperate to say the right things. “Those are tricks, not powers. And without the universe to em- power them, they are as shallow as the heart that wields them. With only that to guide you, you will fail.” Poe’s words were cold and direct. “I won’t fail. I’ll do whatever it takes to destroy the Guard! And . . . and I’ll do it with or without your help!” Lazer shouted in her face before he turned to walk away. “What was the vision you saw that fi rst day in my class?” she called after him. Lazer stopped and turned. It was as if she had commanded him to face her and his body had obeyed. Masta Poe stood motionless, waiting for his response. It was not her powers that compelled him, but the core of his soul that told him he must know the meaning of the images that haunted him constantly. His mind held answers, but she alone had the key to understanding them. “I don’t know. Was it my future?” he demanded. Poe shrugged. “You tell me.” “Was it or wasn’t it? I have to know!” Lazer was trembling. “You do. All the answers you need are inside you right now.” “Then why aren’t I sure?” “Ask yourself, Lazer, not me. Look how you tremble, not with anticipation and the wonder of what will come, but with the frustra- tion of what you cannot control. Don’t you see? Your emotions are

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clouded by anger, and your heart is still blinded by hatred. You live in its blackness. It coats your soul with tar, and that blackness leaves you powerless.” Poe spoke with compassion. “They murdered my father,” he said defensively. “A reality you cannot change.” “I can’t change the past, but I will change the future. I will de- stroy the Black Guard and anyone who stands with them.” “It is will and purpose that defi ne the depths of your powers. It is the truth and nobility of that purpose that defi ne the man. Look to your purpose, Lazer.” Masta Poe manifested a miniature Black Guard that fl oated above her hand. As Lazer glared at it, Poe willed it into a life-sized version. Lazer’s reaction was instantaneous: hatred coursed through his veins. “Fight him,” Masta Poe commanded. Lazer raised his hands, summoning an energy ball and hurling it into the Black Guard. The Guard easily blocked and diverted the blast. His metallic hands transformed into phasers—a succinct series of smooth metal tubes, shifting and sliding with rapid precision, pushing and pulling into narrow slots until the barrel and trigger formed with such speed that the action was a blur of motion. The next instant he fi red a barrage of DT pellets. Lazer shielded. “Master your emotions so that they do not master you,” Poe in- structed. “If you want to defeat him, will it with a pure, clear mind. Don’t defeat your foe, defeat all that he represents.” The pellets pounded Lazer’s shield. It glowed with the heat from the hits and began to thin. Lazer’s arms trembled under the pound- ing forces. Beads of sweat crowned his brow. “You fi ght from revenge. When will you understand that re- venge is not a hero’s calling?” The Guard switched to a cannon blaster and leveled his aim. Lazer panicked as the last of his shield dissipated. He wasn’t strong enough. The shield evaporated, leaving him exposed. Poe extended her hand and dissolved the Black Guard illusion.

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“I protected you this time. You must fi nd a way to release the anger that binds you and the revenge that drives you.” Lazer shook all over. His hands stung. “Revenge is my calling!” Lazer shouted at her. She shook her head, looked at the ground, and released a long, deep sigh. “In the end, it will be love that will be your greatest test. The next battle you will face alone. Go in light, Cole Lazerman,” Poe said before she vanished into thin air. Lazer was alone, abandoned by the mentor he was depending on. There was still so much to learn. In two days, he would leave for his rite of passage and then, with or without his mother’s permis- sion, he would fi nd a way to get home. “You can’t stop me!” he shouted after her. His words echoed against the empty stadium and melted into the walls until only si- lence hung in their place. “Why do you taunt her?” Elana’s voice fi lled the void. “She taunts me,” Lazer snapped at Elana, turning away from her to hide the fury that fi lled his eyes. Before he could speak again her arms were around him, her hands pressing into his chest, her face against his back. Elana sensed the anger that emanated from his body like heat rising from searing hot pavement in summer. It caught in his throat and held his breath captive. It stopped his heart and made his blood pound until his face fl ushed a deep burgundy. His vengeful emotions were strangling all goodness from his heart. The intensity of his fury frightened her, yet she also felt his pain of loss and sadness. She focused only on the goodness that had originally drawn her to his side. Elana held him still tighter. Calmed by her touch, Lazer turned to her, wanting to fi nd re- spite in her loving arms. Her touch soothed his tremors of rage. He fought to regain balance and open his heart to her. Lazer surrendered to her; his lips grazed her silken strands of ice gold hair and his nose inhaled her fresh, spring rain scent. Lazer’s anger began to ebb, along with the sorrow that threatened to destroy him. He melted into her,

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letting her touch strengthen him. He was grateful for her love and the feeling of safety he found in her arms. How could a simple touch give so much peace? “She only wants what’s best for you,” Elana whispered. Lazer pulled back to look at her. His hand lay against her velvet smooth cheek. He did not want to speak. He only wanted to lose himself in her eyes and forget the troubles that plagued his mind. Elana rose up on her toes, brought her face level with his, and inhaled his warm, musky scent; sweat still glistened on his skin. Her eyes never leaving his, she pressed her lips softly against his mouth. The world faded away. Lazer slipped his arms around her back and lifted her from the ground. He kissed her, giving back everything good she had shared with him. The sweet tingle from her lips radiated through him. His face blushed and his skin quivered with delight. She seemed weight- less in his arms, as light as warm air swirling up into the heavens before a storm. Lazer felt as though even Earth’s gravity could not hold him; he was as light as air as long as he remained in her embrace. Slowly, in the hazy afternoon light encircling them, they drifted, sa- voring a single kiss. The pure sensation of fi rst love, not yet explored, fi lled each of them with the excitement of anticipation. Time held still until the kiss subsided. Their lips parted. Elana opened her eyes. At fi rst she saw only strong shades of beautiful blues and golds and pure silver in Lazer’s aura. Not until she looked deeply into his adoring eyes did she catch a glimpse of something out of place refl ected in the blackness of his pupil. The images of windows and sunlight refl ected in his eyes didn’t make sense to Elana. Lazer kissed her again, but this time Elana didn’t close her eyes. She tilted her head and focused on what ap- peared to be windows fl oating in the air next to them. Elana blinked, but nothing changed. Without breaking their kiss, she pressed her foot into what should have been soft black dirt. Her toe pointed. Her eyes darted down. They were fl oating, gracefully hovering just above the ring of windows that elegantly capped the forum arena,

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forty-two feet above the fl oor. Elana gasped as she gently broke his kiss. “Don’t move,” she whispered softly. Her eyes demanded his gaze stay locked on her alone. “I don’t want to,” he replied with a smile. Closing his eyes, he kissed her again. They rose higher. “Lazer,” she said, a tinge of fear creeping into her voice. Easily fi fty-fi ve feet off the ground, Elana realized this miracu- lous feat was somehow caused by Lazer. Intuitively she knew if she panicked, he could lose control and they would fall, most likely to their death. “Keep your eyes closed and listen to me,” Elana said. “Only if you’ll kiss me again.” “Keep your eyes closed. Please,” she begged. Lazer smiled but kept his eyes closed. Elana kissed him gently and they drifted up another few inches. Her heart was starting to race. “Lazer, I want you to . . . imagine walking with me.” Lazer’s eyes opened, confused by her request. “Imagine?” “Eyes closed. Promise!” she blurted out, while trying her best to remain calm. He closed his eyes and laughed. “I would walk with you to the moon, Elana Blue.” She held onto him and snuggled into his side, supported by the waves of kinetic energy generated by Lazer. Elana tried not to look down. She swallowed, but her throat was being blocked by her increasing fear. Remain calm, she told herself. She had to fi gure out how to break Lazer’s fantasy without killing them in the process. “I want you to imagine that . . . we are in my father’s house.” “I’ve never seen your father’s house.” “I know. I’ll describe it and you’ll walk with me. You have to imagine it and take physical steps exactly where I tell you.” “Oooookay,” Lazer replied with a tone of playful curiosity.

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She kissed him again, “We’re standing on the second fl oor, right at the top of the stairs.” “What are we doing on the second fl oor?” He kissed her back. “I . . . was showing you my room.” Lazer smiled slightly, blushing. “Your father lets you invite boys up to your room?” “Only you and only today,” she replied, holding his neck. “I want you to pick me up.” Lazer obediently gathered her into his arms, dutifully keeping his eyes shut. “Now, slowly, step by step, take me down the stairs before we get in trouble.” Lazer laughed and stepped down the invisible stairway. He stopped, his brow furrowing. “Is it a straight or curved stair- way?” Lazer asked. “Curved. Circular,” she replied, guiding him. “There are tapes- tries hanging on the walls; old ones with red and gold threads on a black background, dragons and tigers preparing to fi ght. Don’t stop until I say so,” she said, looking at the ground still four stories below her. With each imaginary step they moved closer inch by inch to the ground. It’s working. They were descending. “And what’s so special about today?” Lazer teased. “What?” Elana replied. “What’s so special about today that your father thinks it’s all right to let me come up to your room?” “Uh, because you are the fi rst boy I’ve ever cared enough about to bring home.” Lazer opened his eyes to look at her, thrilled by the thought that he was as important to her as she was to him. In that instant, Lazer realized their predicament. His concentration broken, they dropped like rocks before Lazer could react. Elana attempted to levitate them both but she didn’t have enough strength to hold them. They slowed only for a moment. But that moment provided Lazer enough time to create a force fi eld beneath them to catch them in its invisible net at

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the last possible second. The force fi eld stretched like a piece of thin elastic, breaking their fall, then instantly vanishing. They landed face fi rst on the ground. Wide-eyed terror registered as thoughts of what could have been raced through their minds. “What just happened?” Elana said breathlessly. “We didn’t die!” Lazer said. Then, with a shared look of grateful amazement, they exploded into laughter. It was a laughter fueled by relief. They laughed so hard tears streaked their dirt-covered faces, which made them laugh even harder. Still tangled in each other’s arms, sides aching, they eventu- ally caught their breath and smiled at each other. “I like you,” Elana said. “I like you, too,” Lazer replied, as he helped her stand up. “I guess you’ll have to be careful how you kiss me from now on.” “Never.” Lazer gathered their things and took her hand. Lost in each oth- er’s gaze, they walked toward the exit. “Would I really be the fi rst boy to make it to the second fl oor?” “You would if we had a second fl oor,” she smiled.

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THE FINAL BLOW

he common room in Lazer’s dorm was always a hub of activ- T ity. Plush purple chairs surrounded a large circular hearth that burned constantly during the colder months. Floating luminescent balls gave off a cool light that was perfect for study. To the far left was the holoscreen that usually played a variety of escapist entertainment. Today, however, it played special news re- ports that provided only a splattering of information that had leaked out of Atlantia. Kyla and Cashton, along with a cluster of other students, stood around it, hungry to hear some news from home. Lazer entered, still glowing from his encounter with Elana. The warmth faded quickly as he read the panicked look on their faces. He knew from their ex- pressions that the news wasn’t good. “The Triumvirate’s lost control of the dome,” Cashton whis- pered to Lazer and Kyla. “They reported it tonight, but it’s been out of their control for months. They think all the V-mail that has been coming out has been scrambled and reconfi gured to say only positive things.” “My parents’ letters have been so weird. What about yours?” Kyla asked. Lazer and Cashton both nodded their heads in agreement. Lazer pulled Cashton away from the other students. Kyla followed.

—| 333 |—

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“Can’t you access the camera in that doll you gave what’s-her- name?” Lazer asked, desperate for some news. “Cashton, you said you couldn’t get any transmissions,” Kyla blurted. “I can’t.” “Check it again?” Lazer pleaded. “I am worried about my mom,” Kyla admitted. “We need to know what’s going on. Whether or not you do, I’m going home,” Lazer said as he walked away from them and headed toward his room. “I’ll check again, but I’m sure any new feeds will be blocked along with everything else,” Cashton reminded him. “How do you plan to get yourself into the dome?” Kyla stopped him. “I’ll fi nd a way.” “What about our passage?” Cashton asked “Hang the passage.” Lazer turned to storm off. Kyla and Cashton were on his tail. “What about the promise you made your mother? If you don’t complete your rite of passage, you can’t even buy a ticket back to Atlantia,” Kyla said. “And if you do manage to get back, you can’t get a decent job, get married, own property, or fl y. You can’t fl y, Lazer. You have to do your passage. We all do,” she added, trying to be the voice of logic, even though she wanted to go home, too. “Look, passage is only a few weeks away,” Cashton said. “I don’t care,” Lazer responded. “Kyla’s right. We don’t have a choice. We do our passage and head home together. Deal?” Cashton asked. Lazer paused, considered the reality, and gave a reluctant nod. They each gave the V salute. “We use the next two weeks to get everything in place,” Lazer added. “Ice with me. At least we don’t have to worry about the Spring Jam wasting our time,” Kyla said.

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“That takes your Elana Blue fantasy date to the jam from slim to not gonna happen, Ace,” Cashton ribbed Lazer. “Actually, she kind of asked me,” Lazer said without thinking. He thought nothing of the fact that Kyla was standing next to him. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Reality check. In what lifetime?” Cashton challenged. “After the varsity game. Actually, we’ve been kind of seeing each other. I didn’t say anything because I thought she might change her mind and then when she kissed me, I . . . well, talk about walkin’ on air.” Kyla could see, feel, and taste his aura. He was telling the truth. Her heart raced like a hummingbird beating its fragile wings against death’s door. Her worst fear fl ashed before her eyes: she was losing Lazer to Elana Blue. The pain of that loss sucked the air from her lungs and took with it every hope and dream she’d held since she was six years old. Her vision of their lives together was burning to ashes. “Stellar!” Cashton slapped Lazer’s back, thrilled for his friend. Neither of them realized that Kyla’s heart had just shattered. The room faded around her. Their voices blurred into a shrill, ca- cophonous screech that rang senselessly in her ears. The walls closed in, and great swirling shadows weaved into an ever-shrinking circle, until all that existed was Lazer’s face in the center. She had to get out before she fainted. Without a word, leaving Lazer to tell Cashton the details of how he had captured the elusive Elana Blue, Kyla silently retreated. Lazer shared every intimate detail of his incredible fi rst encoun- ter with an eager Cashton. Two of his dreams would manifest soon: Elana Blue in his arms again, and the right to go home to Atlantia and fi ght the Black Guard after his passage—everything else was irrelevant.

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TWO WOMEN

leece Avery’s skills as a healer and surgeon were in almost A constant demand. Her apron was splattered with dirt and blood and represented not only her hard work, but also their lack of supplies. “Why don’t you change into these?” a voice said, offering her a clean surgical apron and lab jacket. They weren’t white, but they were cleaner than the ones she had on. “My name’s Detra Lazerman. I have a son at Tosadae,” she said proudly. “I have a daughter in Sangelino,” Aleece responded. “At least they’re not here.” The moment Aleece saw a fl ash of recognition on Detra’s face, she placed her fi ngers on Detra’s lips. “They don’t know I’m here,” Aleece whispered. “What about the Politia? Are they coming soon?” “I don’t know.” “I need to get word to my son. I have to let him know I’m alive.” Detra’s eyes welled with tears. “He’ll try to come if he doesn’t hear from me.” “He can’t get back in through the dome. The Black Guard has control,” Aleece told her.

—| 336 |—

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“What about your daughter and husband? Do they know you’re alive?” Detra asked. “I hope so,” Aleece said, knowing that the only thing she could give this woman was hope. Aleece looked down and read Detra’s holographic ID tag. “You’ll see your son and I will see my daughter, Detra Lazerman. The Politia will annihilate the biodroids and all who’ve joined them.” Aleece gave her bravest smile and squeezed Detra’s hand. “Know that your son is safe in Tosadae. Know that you are alive and will see him again.” Two guards were approaching. The women went their separate ways: Detra to her laundry and Aleece to the bed of her next patient. One of the guards stopped Aleece. “Come,” he commanded. Their huge forms bracketed Aleece. Detra watched helplessly as Aleece was led away.

Back in Sangelino, Riana sat in her room. She refused to go to school, and what little she ate would hardly sustain a bird. She felt her mother’s suffering, so she knew without question that she was alive. Sometimes when she slept she could see glimpses of the place where Aleece was being held captive. She told her father and then wept in his arms at the sadness that surrounded her mother every moment of every day. Riana felt helpless. She was young and powerless. Her father—the only other person who was important to her—was doing everything he could, but the Corporate leaders and rest of the Triumvirate were against him. “You have to eat,” Dante said as he entered her room. He looked at the tray of untouched food and sat down next to his daughter. “She’s so afraid,” Riana told him. “Your mother is an incredible person. She has an inner strength that goes beyond the physical. But if she feels she is straining you, it might weaken her. She needs to feel that you believe in her, Riana.” “I do!” Riana said. “Then let her feel your strength.” Dante took his daughter’s hands into his own. They looked so small and frail, yet he knew

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she held a greater strength than he could ever possess. “You are her touchstone, Riana. When you are well, she is invincible. The con- nection between you will tell her what you’re feeling. Give her your strength.” Riana looked at her father. She threw her arms around his neck as they stood together, sharing the strength that family provides in times of trouble and despair. “What can I do?” she asked. “Eat. Live. Learn. Be ready for when she comes back so that she’ll know we kept her world here safe.” Riana smiled and lifted a piece of sliced apple from the plate. She took a large bite, offering to share the rest of it with her father. “Bite?” she asked. As Dante took the apple, Riana was blinded by a fl ash that fi lled her with dread. She knew in that instant, if her mother was not freed soon, her enemies would discover her identity and she would be used as a pawn. Riana closed her eyes to hold back the fear that rushed to her heart—the horrifying fear that she might never see her mother again. She threw herself into her father’s arms and held on. “What is it?” he asked. “She has to get out of there before they fi nd her. She has to get out now!”

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TWO WEEKS FOR ETERNITY

azer and Elana spent every moment of every hour of the next L few weeks together. They talked over breakfast about their homes, families, schools, and friends. Elana shared with him the long years of growing up in the shadow of her father. The grand houses fi lled with servants and nannies, cold and empty until the warmth of her father returned home to rescue her from her loneli- ness. They talked about Lazer’s growing feelings for her and Elana talked of hers for him. They shared how much they had wished for a brother or sister to grow up with and how hard it was to be an only child. Elana told him of her sadness for the mother she’d never known. A woman whose picture she had never even seen because of the pain it caused her father. Elana explained how her death must have shattered her father’s heart into so many pieces he was unable to heal enough to ever love again. Elana found ways to be grateful for the shards of love represented by the extravagant gifts he so gen- erously lavished on her, but they did not make up for the void left by not having a family. Lazer in turn shared stories of his childhood, growing up in the barren outback lands of Atlantia. How he had seen death as a child of fi ve when marauders murdered a young friend’s family while he had been visiting. The pirates took what they wanted and killed —| 339 |—

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settlers whenever they felt the desire. To this day, Lazer never under- stood why he had been spared that morning. The memories were still as vivid as if they had happened yesterday. Biodroids had been the Atlantians’ only salvation back then; her father’s Black Guard created a peaceful order for a troubled land, only to snatch it cruelly away when they attacked the temple and destroyed the mines. Lazer told her things he had only shared with Kyla and Cashton—the horrible arguments with his father his senior year and the haunt- ing, painful memories of not getting the pass key back in time. The Black Guard had killed his father while he watched, and that he could never forgive. Then there was Elana—the fi rst glimpse of happiness and hope he had seen since his father’s death. How was it possible that Elana could be the daughter of the one man responsible for his utter mis- ery, and yet was also the one person who represented everything good in his life? This question pulled at him until he looked into her eyes or touched her hand or kissed her mouth. In the afternoons, they took their lunches from the commissary and walked along the banks of the Silent River, so named because of its smooth glassy surface that hid a raging, treacherous current below. They followed the trails that led high into the foothills of the mountains and talked about everything from the grandeur of the universe to the essence of a kiss. They watched the sun fall be- hind the snow-covered peaks and counted the stars that glittered against the inky night sky. They shared kisses and hugged to keep each other warm. Lazer had seen nothing of the world; Elana had seen everything. They made promises to spend part of their summer together and travel to the underwater cities of Panazia, where they could explore the ancient wonders of Machu Picchu. They loved his- tory, mythology, clever books, and the ancient writings of the great philosophers. Inevitably, the subject turned to Masta Poe. Elana shared how impressed Poe was by Lazer’s vast, untapped powers. Lazer smiled, honored and humbled by her compliments. He told her that Poe had been his hero from the fi rst day he saw her amazing

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abilities. They shared their dreams to be pilots and peacekeepers and make the world a better place. They skipped afternoon classes that day and supper that night. Food seemed unnecessary compared to the feeling of oneness that satiated them. With night came a frosty fog that crept along the ground and danced at their feet. Time became meaningless as the moon and stars reached above the trees to guide them. They knew they would be late for curfew, but rules didn’t seem to matter much at the moment. They stood on the narrow outcropping of Vista Point, which overlooked the campus and the valley beyond. Lazer pointed out the place Cashton and he had found where they could scale the wall if they got stuck outside after curfew. Finally talked out, they walked back to campus in contented silence. Holding hands, they marveled at the rows of shadows that striped the barren orchard: a hundred horizontal columns that appeared each time the moon would peek out from behind the layers of wispy clouds to light their way. “I want to have a family with you,” Elana revealed her heart, unable to contain the words. Lazer stopped. He looked at her dumbfounded. He wanted to respond, but the words caught in his throat. His expression sent a chill up her spine. She couldn’t read the feelings of inadequacy that registered on his face; she only saw the shocked eyes that stared back at her. “I . . . I’m sorry, I . . . can’t be- lieve I said that, but . . . I can’t help myself. I can’t shake the feeling that time is rushing in to take you from me and I . . .” Before she could fi nish, Lazer reached for her. He pulled her to him. “I love you,” he said, sealing it with a kiss. “I want to give the world to you, and when I’ve freed Atlantia, I’ll be someone. I’ll take you to meet my mother and tell her you are everything I’ve ever wanted. I swear to you. I’ll come back to you.” “Come back?” Her heart sank. “I have to go home, Elana.”

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“I’ll go with you. We’ll go to my father and he’ll help us de- feat . . .” Lazer loosened his hold on her. “Your father is the reason Atlantia is at war.” “But he’s not the cause. He’s not in control of the biodroids who did those horrible things. Let him help you,” she pleaded. Lazer turned away from her. Again, an inexplicable fear overcame her. Her stomach turned, a bitter taste fi lled her mouth, and her head began to ache. Elana looked at her hands; they were shaking. She was afraid and no mat- ter how hard she tried, she did not understand why. “Don’t let this come between us, Lazer. Promise me.” “This is my battle, Elana. When it’s done, I’ll come back to you.” “You keep saying that. You’ll go on your rite of passage and fi nish . . .” “. . . and then I’m going home to fi ght with the Wave and free Atlantia.” Lazer pulled away from her and turned to leave. She caught his arm and pulled him back. “I’ll go with you. We’ll fi ght together. Atlantia’s my home, too.” Tears fl ooded her eyes. “We’ll fi ght together.” Lazer touched her face. He saw the determination. His eyes low- ered. He searched for a way to make her understand. She could see she was losing him. She searched for a different approach. “We’ll take this one day at a time. We’ll go to the dance and have a wonderful time. You’ll leave for your fi rst passage trials and . . . and I’ll miss you, and think about you, and wait for you, and when you get back we’ll fi nish the semester and fi gure out how to get home—together,” she said. He looked into her eyes. He wanted to explain, but the cold reality of what he had to do chilled his veins. The only promise he could make to her was that the next few days would be theirs and theirs alone. “One day at a time,” Lazer said and gently kissed her. The heat that had fi lled every other kiss was gone. Elana was an empath and realized immediately that Lazer,

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whether consciously or unconsciously, was not telling her everything. He was lying, not to her, but to himself. She searched his emotions, but couldn’t determine which were true and which were not. Elana kissed him, demanding their passion warm his heart once more. He returned her kiss, unable to resist. “Promise me you won’t leave me here,” she whispered. “I can’t promise that,” Lazer said. The midnight bell began to toll. “Spit!! We’re late!” Lazer shouted. “I thought we were going to scale the wall?” She smiled, trying to push his words from her mind. “Not in that.” Lazer pointed to the tunic draping her lissome fi gure. “Then kiss me and we’ll levitate.” Lazer kissed her. Nothing happened. “Guess we have to practice more, huh?” she said with a hint of mischief. “Until then, hurry up or I won’t get to take you to the dance. Move it!” He grabbed her hand as they raced through the massive gates just before they slid closed. They ran across the main campus circle, laughing and teasing. Breathless, they raced past a lone silhouette, someone who watched from the arched shadows of Tower Hall. They reached Chopin dorm and, punctuated by a squeal from Elana, van- ished inside. Their laughter faded away into the night. The moon broke through the clouds and fl ooded the icy night with cold, white streaks of light that revealed the identity of the lone fi gure. Kyla stood motionless and watched their shadows pass by the windows of the lower hall, steal one last kiss, and go their separate ways. She was a voyeur to their promises. Elana’s words pricked at her mind again and again—have a family with you . . . have a family. A single tear fell from Kyla’s eye. It burned as it slid down her frozen cheek. It would be the last tear she would ever cry for Lazer, that she promised herself. The next tears would be Elana’s.

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SCORNED

he morning sun broke over the horizon, fl ooding the black T hills with light and turning the landscape into a pallet of sil- very gray and washed-out pastels. Cashton and Kyla jogged through a forest of naked tress and up along paths that clung to the roll- ing hills just west of Tosadae. Their breath danced from their lips and turned into curls of smoke that puffed out to the rhythm of their feet as they pounded against the still-frozen earth of the higher mountain paths. Kyla was a strong runner and easily kept pace with Cashton. Her eyes stared ahead with a distant glaze, her mind lost in thought. They ran in silence. They made their way past the narrow bends of the Silent River while the morning light sparkled off its smooth surface like a handful of diamonds. Kyla frowned. Her mind was racing with a thousand thoughts. She wished Evvy were alive so they could talk about the thoughts and feelings that taunted her. She missed her now more than ever. Cashton was a good friend but he would not discuss her “girl angst” emotions, especially if they were about Lazer. She would have to de- cide how to handle Elana alone. Each step she ran brought her closer to the same resolve. A look of determination fell across her face. Kyla signaled to Cashton that she needed to stop at the forum stables to check the status of her battle ranking. She veered off the path, and Cashton dutifully followed.

—| 344 |—

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Inside the battle forum, the creatures used for third-level battle training languished, lazily sleeping or pacing in their cages. Kyla startled when one of the archeops began screeching at its keeper. Something had her on edge. Using an eight-foot-long pole, the keeper tossed it a still living, sixty-pound capybara, which it killed and devoured with such accuracy there was little time to pity the animal. “I wouldn’t want to tangle with that one,” Cashton said, as he watched the carnage. Kyla said nothing. Her mind had been preoccupied with thoughts, which had distanced her from Cashton all day. He de- cided on a new tactic. “Hey, I’m really glad to hear you’re okay with this Lazer and Elana thing.” “Lazer’s my friend. I want him to be happy. No heat.” She called up the digitized roster with a wave of her hand and searched for her ranking with the thumbprint recognition feature. Cashton wanted to believe her answer. He wanted her to be okay. He wanted her to know she could have his shoulder to cry on if she needed it. He didn’t need to be an empath to know how she felt about Lazer. Kyla appreciated the cool, soft yellow aura that expressed his compassion, but today she wanted none of it. She entered in some statistical updates to her ranking scores and started to jog away, but something made her slow at the prometheus’ cage. Kippo was a lum- bering female who had lived past her prime, easily the oldest creature in the stable and the most docile. Kyla studied its massive chest and ape-like arms as it stretched and fl exed its paws, exposing its huge, bear-like claw that ended in a single toe. Several rows of broken spikes protruded from her thick neck, showing that a little porcu- pine had been spliced into the bear/lion/Komodo dragon gatica strands of her genetic recipe. Even the saliva glands used to paralyze her prey had long been removed, along with most of her teeth. “Gotta bounce,” Cashton said, as he pounded a quick V salute and jogged away, heading back to the dorms.

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Kyla again looked at the docile prometheus. She was old and useless and, other than Elana Blue, no one was afraid of her. Without provocation, Kyla slammed her fi sts against the protec- tive shield, startling the creature. Kippo struggled to her feet and pushed lazily against the force fi eld, trying to get through, obviously looking more for attention than to do harm. Kyla stared at the doddering old creature as a plan took shape in her mind.

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CROSSING THE LINE

lana Blue descended the stairs glowing with anticipation. She E looked stunning in the blue fl oor-length tunic that draped her amazing body. Her eyes searched anxiously for Lazer. He wasn’t there. She checked her time band and searched again, suppressing the feel- ing of apprehension that had haunted her all afternoon. He would show up and they would have the best time she could ever imagine. Kyla appeared next to her. “Oh, hey, Lazer just left here; he was looking for you.” Kyla smiled and hoped Elana couldn’t read the jealousy that swirled in her head. “He left! But I was supposed to . . .” Elana started to say. “Yeah, something about meeting you by the creature chambers,” Kyla added innocently. “I think it’s a surprise.” “The creature chambers, but . . .” Elana blanched at the thought of entering the stadium and facing the rows of splicer creatures. It was a childhood fear set in place when she was seven, when one of her father’s experiments tried to devour her. Her father’s splicer labs produced more than enough deadly species to give her cause to be afraid. But that was years ago, she told herself, and besides, Lazer would be there; that was all that mattered. “Well . . . I’ll go meet him there then. Thanks, Kyla.” Elana smiled bravely.

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It was a warm, honest smile and it made Kyla feel uncomfort- able. “No problem. You look really nice,” Kyla said as she walked away. Elana Blue had never cared for Kyla. She didn’t like the way Kyla glared at her, especially when Lazer was around, and she didn’t like the milky aura that hung around her every time they spoke, except today. Today, Kyla’s aura was a yellowish orange, which meant happiness and truth. Kyla was happy; the rest she carefully controlled. “Kyla!” Elana Blue called out. “I . . . I owe you an apology. I thought you were such a . . . a . . . well . . . a snit when I fi rst met you, but I see why Lazer thinks you are so ice.” Elana smiled, then nervously checked the time on her sponder and ran off before Kyla could answer. Kyla cringed. This was worse than the smile. How dare Elana be nice to her! Kyla’s stomach turned. The guilt over what she had set in motion began to eat at her. Kyla tried to convince herself it was a harmless prank. The old prometheus was so tame no one knew why they even bothered to lock her up anymore. But Kyla couldn’t take it. She raced down the corridor to Lazer’s room, where she found Cashton, Skyler Bond, and a red-haired boy named Tisch outside Lazer’s room pulling on the door. It was stuck. “It’s stuck,” Cashton yelled through the door. “I know it’s stuck,” Lazer called. “Try the lock again,” Skyler said. “I tried it dozens of times,” Lazer said. His voice cracked with frustration. “This can’t be happening!” “I swear it looks melted,” Tisch said. Kyla raised her hands, using one of the few kinetic powers she had learned since she arrived and heated the seal she had put in place to make him late. With a click, the door released. “How did you do that?” Cashton asked, amazed. “We didn’t try that,” Tisch said.

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Everyone stood dumbfounded as Lazer burst through the door, beaming with gratitude. Kyla gasped. She loved how handsome he looked in his dress white cadet uniform. Unfortunately, tonight he had it on to impress Elana Blue. Lazer planted a kiss on Kyla’s lips and ran back to get the invitation and the corsage of creamy white palimander buttons that he had picked from the higher ridges of the forest earlier that afternoon. “You are a goddess,” he gushed to Kyla and ran by everyone. “Tell me that after . . .” She ran in front of him, blocking his way. “After what?” Guilt reeked from her pores as she pulled him onto the escalator. She made him descend three steps at a time. “After you fi nd out I sent Elana Blue to meet you at the battle forum.” “The forum? Why?” Lazer was surprised and curious. His in- stincts kicked in. He wasn’t a splicer or a clone, but he could read something in Kyla’s eyes and it made his heart race. “I told her to meet you in front of the old prometheus,” she said, as she jerked him out of the building. He tugged his arm away and stopped. “Elana’s downstairs,” he insisted. “I told Elana to meet you at the forum. I hacked into the crea- ture security system and programmed in a timed release to open the shield to Kippo’s cage in three minutes. I . . . I wanted to . . . to scare her. I was gonna send you in to see what a chicken she was, but then she was so damn nice . . .” The words tumbled out with the speed of a machine gun blast. “What are you taking about?!” Lazer said, his eyes widening with the realization that came with each word. “She’s totally afraid of every creature in there, and Kippo’s older than dirt so I fi gured I’d scare . . .” “No, Kyla.”

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“It was stupid and mean but Kippo’s so damn docile she’ll prob- ably nudge her to get her to pet . . .” “Kippo died this morning!” Lazer cut her off. “They moved Deigen out of solitary and into that cage this afternoon!” “Deigen! That’s impossible. I . . .” Kyla said, not believing her ears. “Change the security back!” “I can’t,” Kyla whispered. “Universal God, Kyla. Do it,” Lazer shouted. The color drained from his face as he backed away from her and ran down the hall. “Do it, now!” Three minutes wasn’t enough time; he had to get to Elana. Lazer bolted out the exit. The guilt of what she had done racked Kyla with such violent tremors she thought she would shake apart. Kyla hesitated for one brief second more, then raced after him.

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DEIGEN

azer raced toward the forum. Kyla followed, tracking his L footsteps in the light dusting of a late spring snow that had just fallen and still clung to the ground. Inside, Elana Blue stood in the last shimmering rays of sunlight that fell through the high round windows and illuminated the pens of the amazing creatures Tosadae had collected over the years. The sun seemed brightest at Deigen’s pen, bathing the sleeping monster in a warm, golden glow that made her pale spotted fur glisten. Elana Blue checked her jeweled time band. She didn’t really know if being late was one of Lazer’s habits, but she noted it as something they should talk about in the future. In the future, she thought, liking the association with Cole Lazerman. It had a nice ring to it. She tried to imagine the evening—him, the dance, the other students all dressed up—but something kept pulling at her. She felt strangely uncomfortable. She looked at her time band again and then at the sleeping monster. “I swear on the Collective you are about as ugly as they come,” she said to the creature. Her voice was sweet, and she smiled. At the sound of Elana Blue’s voice, a single eye slowly opened. It was a drab amber orb with a vertical iris that expanded and con- tracted as it focused on Elana Blue. Nothing else on the creature’s body moved.

—| 351 |—

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“My apologies. I didn’t mean to disturb your beauty sleep, be- cause you defi nitely need it.” Elana Blue laughed as she watched the creature shift her massive weight and stand. The cage was thirteen feet tall, which gave Deigen only ten inches of free space above her head. The battle dome was still sixty feet away. Lazer wished he could transport himself as Masta Poe had done so effortlessly. What was taking him so long to learn that skill? He ran faster. “I’m not afraid of you.” Elana tried to convince herself with the words. “I’m not afraid.” She playfully growled at Deigen, like a mouse playing with a lion. Feeling a little braver, Elana Blue gave a roar and opened her arms to make her form appear larger and more ferocious. Her movement was too fast and too threatening. Deigen retaliated by shape-shifting into a vicious version of her doc- ile self, with eighteen-inch spikes that fanned up along the spine of her back and neck. Her skin turned from light to dark brown as she crouched, ready to attack. Deigen hinged open her immense jaw, and bared her ten-inch canines. Elana Blue fl inched, but stood her ground. “I . . . I’m not afraid of you, you old overgrown . . .” It was at that moment the subtle hum of the protective shield ceased. Deigen understood instantly. Deigen spit her venom, drenching Elana in a silvery mist of paralyzing poison. It was only then Elana realized the danger she was in. The venom coated her and seeped into her pores. Within seconds, Elana’s muscles turned to rubbery clay. She tried to move, but could not. She willed her feet to run, her hands to lift from her side to shield herself. Nothing moved. Time slowed. Elana watched as the creature stalked forward, each muscle beneath its skin rippling. Deigen reached the rocks that marked the perimeter of her enclosure, hesitated, then stepped past the nonexistent shield. In three steps, Deigen was six inches from Elana Blue. The color drained from Elana’s face. She wanted to scream, but she could not will her mouth to open. Again she com- manded her arms to rise, to create a shield, but they hung like iron

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anchors, immobile at her sides. Her body began to tremble. She was paralyzed, unable to defend, to fi ght, to run, to turn away from the nightmare that breathed its hot, foul breath into her face. “Elana,” Lazer whispered from the far end of the battle forum. His voice was calm and hypnotic for both Deigen and Elana Blue. Lazer inched slowly toward the weapons vault, making sure his movements were smooth and controlled, and picked up a six-foot- long battle wand. Its predecessor had been the cattle prod of the previous century. Once ignited, its tip was charged with 5,000 volts of ionized electricity. Lazer tapped the tip, igniting it. The low hum of charging en- ergy in the battle wand made Deigen’s ears twitch. It was obvious she had felt its sting in the past. Still, her face and eyes stayed locked on Elana’s. “Throw a shield,” Lazer said calmly. Elana didn’t move. “Focus. Breathe and focus.” Lazer moved closer as he spoke. “Universal God!” Kyla said breathlessly, when she saw what was going on. “She’s been paralyzed, Lazer. Deigen’s still got her ven- om.” Deigen shifted her gaze slightly, but still kept one eye on her prey. “Mesmerize her,” Kyla whispered. “Shhh!” Lazer hushed Kyla. “Use your powers.” “I can’t mesmerize yet. I’m gonna distract her. You get Elana.” “Are you crazy?” “Get to Elana, throw a shield around yourselves, and then pull her out,” Lazer ordered Kyla. Deigen snarled, and huge drops of gooey drool dripped to the dirt. “She needs time to produce enough green venom to paralyze all of us. We gotta move now,” Lazer said, stepping closer and lifting the battle wand.

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“She’s too big for that,” Kyla whispered. “Just throw a shield over you and Elana! Do it!” Lazer snapped. He was three feet away from Elana and Deigen. “I can’t,” Kyla said, her voice trembling. “You can,” Lazer insisted. “I’ll distract her.” Kyla gulped. “As what? Dinner?” Lazer said. “On my count, shield her, please Kyla.” Lazer leveled the battle wand. The electrical hum raised its pitch. “I can’t shield!” Kyla blurted, embarrassed. “I showed you how.” “Cashton helped me.” “You did it at Vacary.” “Not this big and not long or strong enough to keep her out. I can’t. She’s too big.” Lazer didn’t have time to explain what Masta Poe had been teaching him—that the human mind cannot differentiate between what it perceives as real or not real and, in this case, as big or small. Deigen’s hackles hoisted, then lowered. The creature felt the shift in tension. Her primal instincts told her someone was about to make a move. Her huge eyes shifted back and forth, but they always settled on Elana Blue. “You shield her,” Kyla said, and grabbed another battle wand. She tapped the end and charged it to life. “On my count,” Lazer said as they split, moving in opposite directions around the hulking prometheus. “One . . . two . . .” Three never happened. Deigen opened her mouth to bite off Elana Blue’s head. “Now!” Lazer and Kyla lunged, simultaneously stabbing Deigen in both her left fl ank and right haunch. The creature wailed in pain, turned, and focused on Lazer. Kyla raced forward. Deigen’s huge tail swung and slammed Kyla, propelling her across the room and into a wall, knocking her unconscious.

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Deigen’s drooling mouth fl ushed a sickening green. Her mas- sive jaws hinged open as she again prepared to express the glands that would spray and paralyze Elana Blue further, keeping her im- mobile but alive while she devoured her. It was now or never. Lazer leapt in and shoved the battle wand into Deigen’s face. Fingers of white and aqua electricity crackled and bit into the creature’s jaw. Deigen howled and stumbled back a few feet as she choked on her own poison. She licked her face and snarled at the taste of the bitter green fl uid that hung from her lips. Deigen recovered and lunged at Lazer, who zapped her again with the battle rod. Half blinded by the jolt, she swiped her claws and missed Lazer’s face by inches. Lazer ducked and jabbed the battle wand into her groin. Deigen bellowed and howled, shaking her head to clear the momentary blindness, and backed away. Lazer rushed to Elana, pushed her to the ground, dropped the battle wand, straddled her, and threw up his hands. By the time Deigen recovered and turned on them, they were cocooned in a sheer energy shield. The prometheus attacked. She repeatedly swatted and pound- ed on the shield, but the force fi eld held. Deigen circled Lazer and Elana, pacing as she searched for a way to get inside. Lazer’s mind struggled for a solution. Elana lay crumpled at Lazer’s feet, shaking violently as her muscles tried to release the ven- om. She looked like a helpless child left outside, alone in the ice and snow. Her skin was sheet white, her gaze fi xed and unfocused. Lazer looked for Kyla and saw her in a heap across the room, fi ghting to regain consciousness. Lazer had to face Deigen alone. The creature paced several more times before pouncing and straddling the shield with her full weight. Her belly pressed into the force fi eld. Deigen’s massive load bowed the shield’s form. Still it held. They were safe for the moment, trapped inside with no way out and no way for Deigen to get in. Lazer’s arms trembled as he struggled to keep the shield intact. He took long, deep breaths, but his arms hurt. Bit by bit, the shield walls began to crush in on them, shrinking the force fi eld inch by inch.

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Kyla struggled to her feet. The world was spinning. She shook off the haze of confusion that clouded her mind and searched for Lazer. From her vantage point in the shadowed corner of the dome, she could make out Deigen. But Lazer and Elana Blue were nowhere to be seen. Kyla watched Deigen expand and contract as if she were giving birth. In the midst of one contraction, Kyla glimpsed Lazer and Elana Blue under the belly of the creature; Elana’s pale face fl ashed from beneath a skirt of skin and fur. Kyla had to get a weapon. The battle wand lay on the ground fi fteen feet away. She inched toward it, hoping she could get there without being seen. Inside the shield, the force fi eld continued to compress above Lazer’s head. He struggled, sweating under the strain. Lazer thought about his mother, alone in a captured country with no way out, and about his vow to avenge his father. He couldn’t die. Not now. Not like this. He had to hold on. Kyla was one foot away from her battle wand. It was now or never. She lunged, grabbed it, and turned. From the corner of her eye, Deigen saw Kyla advance. Deigen spun to attack. A single swipe knocked Kyla’s battle wand from her hand. Unarmed, exposed, she had no place to go but up. Her wings tore through her shirt and unfurled, carrying Kyla straight up and above Lazer and Elana. Lazer used the momentary distraction. He broke the shield and yanked Elana Blue up, throwing her over his shoulder and setting her by the door. Deigen leapt up into the air, mouth open. Kyla’s legs vanished inside the massive jaws. Kyla screamed as she felt the creature’s hot moist breath against her skin. She fl ew harder and pulled her legs out of Deigen’s mouth, swinging them above her head. Deigen snapped, clamping her jagged spiked teeth down into Kyla’s wing and tearing into her shoulder blade. The crunching sound of the thin, delicate bones shattering inside the powerful teeth echoed across the forum as Deigen dragged Kyla back to the fl oor. Kyla struggled, one half

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of her severed wing fl apping wildly, the other shredding and tearing on Deigen’s razor teeth as they both crashed onto the ground with a thunderous crack. Deigen stabilized and prepared to eat Kyla alive in one last gobbling bite when Lazer dove, rolled, snatched the battle wand, and plunged it into Deigen’s ear. With a twist to full power, the wand surged and ignited, sending a jolt of electricity into the creature’s head. Deigen’s head blew apart like a ripe watermelon thrown on the street, splattering the earth with pieces of fl esh, fur, and a deluge of ivory-colored blood. Kyla lay in a heap, her body impaled on what was left of Deigen’s dismembered jaws. Her eyes stretched wide, her face motionless, her back arched like a broken doll that had been played with too long and then discarded. Her breathing was in short desperate sips. Slowly, she lifted one of her hands. She looked at her fi ngers to see if she still existed. Deigen’s blood had mixed with hers, blending into a pale pink goo that clung to her hands as she lifted them up into the light. The image looked as surreal and unbelievable as everything that had just occurred felt. Lazer charged to her side. “Stay still.” Lazer tried to sound calm, hoping Kyla wouldn’t sense his panic. “I’m . . . so . . . sorry,” she whispered. “You’re gonna be okay.” “Tell Elana . . . I never . . . wanted . . . to hurt . . . her. Tell her . . .” “You’ll tell her yourself,” Lazer said, not sure what to do. “I have to get help.” “Don’t leave me. Please,” she whispered, suddenly frightened. Lazer leaned as close as he could to her. “Things . . . a girl . . . has to do to get noticed,” she struggled to speak. Her eyes welled with tears, not from the dull throbbing pain that racked her body, but from the thought she had caused him trouble. “I gotta go get help, Kyla. Don’t you go anywhere until I get back,” he whispered and smiled bravely.

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Kyla nodded. He stood as she grabbed his fi ngers. She swal- lowed and tried her best to smile. She realized the pain had stopped and a strange calm washed over her, followed by a chill. “It doesn’t hurt, I’m just . . . so cold,” Kyla whispered, surprised by the numbness that crept through her body. “Laze,” she whispered, “No matter what happens, fi nish your passage. Promise me.” He was torn. Now more than ever he wanted to get away from Tosadae. “Promise?” she asked again. Lazer leaned down and gently kissed her on the lips. “I promise,” he whispered. “You have to promise to be okay.” “I love you, Lazer. Always . . . have . . .” she whispered. Kyla closed her eyes. “Kyla! Kyla!” Lazer screamed. Suddenly Masta Poe was standing next to him. “Step away, Lazer,” Masta Poe commanded. Her voice was strong and yet amazingly calm. “Don’t let her die. Please,” Lazer pleaded, the words closing in around his throat. Lazer didn’t remember moving away, but in the next instant he was standing behind a kneeling Masta Poe. Masta Poe gathered the lifeless Kyla into her arms and began to whisper into her ear, “In gredia, lon fi tatum. Masi lai s tu. Che re fodu. Stali stamus, feritate.” Again and again she repeated the words, “In gredia, lon fi tatum. Masi lai s tu. Che re fodu. Stali stamus, feritate.” Lazer watched as a shroud of haze appeared from nowhere and encircled them. Through the curtain of fog, he saw Kyla lying on the ground and, at the exact same time, she was standing just on the other side of the haze, watching expressionlessly as the event unfold- ed. Lazer blinked, not believing his eyes. He looked down and saw her broken body still in Masta Poe’s arms. He could hear the strange chant she spoke, but Masta Poe’s lips didn’t move. The sounds fell on his ears as though they were coming from a million miles away.

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Then, the standing Kyla looked directly at Lazer. “I’ll fi nd you again,” he heard her voice whisper in his ear. He could smell Kyla’s scent and feel her hand brush his cheek. Kyla turned to walk away. “Kyla!” Lazer shouted. He wanted to go after her, but his feet were stuck to the earth. Again he heard Masta Poe repeating the haunting chant. Her voice became stronger and more emphatic. “In gredia, lon fi tatum. Masi lai s tu. Che re fodu. Stali stamus, feritate.” She was commanding her to stay. Lazer couldn’t understand the words, but he knew, with every fi ber in his being, the exact intent that lay behind the strange utterances. The strange words were carried on a siren’s melody, so soft and hypnotic it pulled him closer without taking a step. “In gredia, lon fi tatum. Masi lai s tu. Che re fodu. Stali stamus, feritate.” Masta Poe chanted the words again and again. “In gredia, lon fi tatum. Masi lai s tu. Che re fodu. Stali stamus, feritate.” Lazer looked up at the vision of Kyla. It had risen and was now fl oating fi ve feet off the fl oor. The tone in Masta Poe’s voice became more intense. “In gredia, lon fi tatum. Masi lai s tu. Che re fodu. Stali stamus, feritate. I lio ta univa. Tu vie. Tu vie. Tu vie,” Masta Poe chanted. Her small, frail body was trembling. Lazer dropped to his knees. Compelled by what he was bearing witness to, he reached out to Masta Poe, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. He joined his mind with hers. “Kyla. Don’t leave me.” Lazer whispered. His ears were fi lled with the sound of a speeding train and he felt the rush of a warm wind blow as Kyla’s spirit passed through him. It was fi lled with such love that Lazer gasped, clasped his hands over his heart, and opened his eyes. At the same time he opened his eyes, Kyla opened hers. At that moment, the emergency doors to the battle forum fl ew open. The creature crew entered in full artillery, behind the head creature master, Captain Drew Janos. It took all of ten seconds for Captain Janos to assess the situation. Two men were wearing

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the familiar white jumpsuits that signifi ed their status as healers. Captain Janos ordered one to see to Elana Blue. A woman in white and seven other men rushed to Lazer, Kyla, and what was left of Deigen. “Get a fl oater over here, stat!” the captain shouted when he moved closer to Kyla. The woman healer left Elana and rushed past the captain. “That one’s been sprayed. She needs a venom antidote. Get a call into trau- ma. Tell them she’s in shock,” she reported, pointing back at Elana. She reached Kyla, dropped to her knees, and did a t-ray scan of Kyla’s body. The healer pocketed the tiny device and gently moved her hands just above her skin to check Kyla’s vitals through her au- ras. It was bad. She called for help on her wristsponder. “Code Blue. Send me a mobile T-cell regeneration care unit pack for a . . .” She stopped and turned to Lazer. “What’s she spliced with? Moth?” Kyla’s beautiful wings had been shredded by the teeth of the pro- metheus and hung like tattered, ragged strips, frayed and scorched in battle. “Butterfl y,” Lazer whispered to the healer and smiled at his friend. The mobile emergency crew was there in an instant. They loaded Elana onto an air fl oat and took her to trauma. Carefully stabilizing her in a series of ring braces, they gathered Kyla’s shattered body onto the next gurney. They took the piece of Deigen’s broken jaw, with its half-embedded teeth still buried in her shoulder, to keep Kyla from bleeding to death. One of the crew picked up the exploded battle wand and brought what was left of it to the captain. The two men looked from Deigen’s remains to Lazer in complete and utter awe. “There’s not enough power in these things to do that,” the crewman said. Lazer followed the gurneys, oblivious to everything else but Kyla and Elana Blue. He never looked back to see that Masta Poe was nowhere in sight.

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ONE LESSON MORE

t was Monday, one hour until the rite of passage transport arrived. I Lazer reminded himself that it would be two weeks of basic sur- vival and then he would fi nd a way to get home. He wanted to be with Kyla and Elana Blue at Sangelino, but he wouldn’t break the promise he had made to his mother and now his promise to Kyla. She had kept her promise and lived; he would keep his. Lazer existed in his own private misery. He said little to Cashton. What had happened in the battle forum with Kyla and Masta Poe was an enigma he could not bring himself to speak about with any- one. He knew he had to see Masta Poe before he left. He knew, more than anything, that when he had completed his quest to rid Atlantia of the Black Guard, he wanted to come back to Masta Poe and study the Visionistic Arts under her tutelage. Lazer made his way through the serpentine corridors of the Visionistic Arts and Powers building and headed down to Masta Poe’s private chamber. He stood at the threshold for what felt like forever, trying to muster the courage to knock. He felt paralyzed. No matter how hard he tried, he was un- able to raise his arm. A millisecond before he turned to walk away, the door swung open on its own. “Come in, Cadet Lazerman,” Masta Poe said, without bothering to turn from her experiments. “I . . . wanted to thank you . . .” Lazer started.

—| 361 |—

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“You already did, Lazer. I heard it in your heart.” “I want to understand what you did to bring Kyla . . .” “I only did what you both wanted. I only showed her the way. It was love and faith that brought her back. And before you can lead others to that kind of love, you must fi rst learn to love yourself, Lazer. Only then can you understand the powers that are the univer- sal heart.” She spoke to him in words she knew, but no matter how hard he tried, Lazer still was not willing to understand. “There isn’t much time. Come. I have a set of phaser cuffs on the desk.” Masta Poe pointed. “Please put them on.” Lazer obeyed. He strapped on the double-barreled titanium phaser cuffs, complete with switchblade thumb triggers. I can show her I’m ready. The cuffs were designed for maximum speed and lethal power. They could be fi red as an automatic weapon or, if used on another setting, they would produce an eighteen-inch laser bayo- net hot enough to cut through steel. With a turn of his wrists, the narrow fi ring mechanism jutted into his palm. He pressed the laser blade release to send the seven hair-thin, fi re-red laser points out around his fi st to conjoin into the three-inch-thick bayonet. Lazer moved through a series of tai chi motions. He liked the thin hiss the lasers made as they cut the air. “Is she well?” Poe asked gently, fi nally turning to face him. Lazer stopped. He retracted the blades. His disposition be- came somber. “Kyla was evacuated to a hospital in Sangelino. She’s stable.” “And Miss Covax?” Lazer looked up, surprised that she knew Elana’s secret identity. “They were both sent on the same shuttle to some special hos- pital in Sangelino.” “And what if that transport stopped in Atlantia?” Poe asked. “I’d have been the fi rst one on it.” “That’s all that’s kept you from going?” she asked, turning back to her work. “A proton dome?” “And . . . a promise. I made a promise.” Lazer straightened. He was

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proud that he was keeping his word to both his mother and Kyla. “You still do not admit your limitations.” “What I lack in skill and weapons, determination can make up for.” He held up the cuffs as a sign of his potential deadly force. Masta Poe studied Lazer. He was arrogant and cocky, but that was partly confi dence and partly fear. What he lacked, she knew, was the humility to learn and the willingness to exist in bliss and accept the remembering. “It will take more than phasers and courage to protect you from your fate,” Poe added. “You taught me that my fate is undetermined until I determine it!” he snapped back, using her words to emphasize his point. Masta Poe swept the air with her arm. A shaft of white and or- ange fi re streamed straight for Lazer. Lazer reacted immediately. He ignited the phaser cuffs and fi red directly into the fi re stream, fl attening it until it consumed itself. Masta Poe sent a second blast, then a third and fourth blast fl ew across the room. Lazer counterblasted each one. She couldn’t help but notice what a natural he was, that he had a grace and fl uidity that made the cuffs act as if they were part of him. His form, his stance, his aim was that of a skilled master. “You’re draining all my power!” Lazer yelled, when he glanced at the power levels on his gun. There was a hint of panic in his breathless voice as the band fl ashed red then faded to black. Masta Poe raised her hands and shot an even larger, more powerful stream of fi re. Lazer’s eyes widened. He closed the cuffs, dropped to one knee and, slamming his wrists together, threw an energy shield. The fi re stream slammed into the shimmering force fi eld that encircled him, heating the energy waves that protected him to a glowing white. Lazer began to sweat inside the shell, but he had learned from the prometheus that inside its cocoon, he could endure any onslaught. The fi re subsided and Masta Poe stared at him with unfl inching, emotionless eyes.

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“That’s all,” she said. “Stand.” “What was that about?” Lazer blurted, shaken and fl ustered. “I wondered when you would realize the limitations of the weapons and draw upon your powers.” “You could have killed me!” “Your death will not be of my design, Lazer; it will be your own.” Masta Poe calmly turned back to her experiments. “I’m not afraid of death,” he said. “No, Lazer, you are afraid of life.” There was a long pause before she faced him again. Her eyes were fi lled with a strange, gentle understanding, and Lazer felt her compassion and relaxed his stance. With her mind, Poe called to his. Lazer opened himself and, for the fi rst time, he didn’t fi ght the tin- gling rush that occurred when he felt Masta Poe reading his thoughts and feelings. Through her senses, she reached for the hues of pure love that lay in Lazer’s heart. She saw the light that still glowed in- side the vast unconditional compassion he held for his family and friends. She saw his infi nite depth of ever-growing faith that could, if he would open himself to it, become the power to manifest his ev- ery dream. But in each brilliant color that painted his emotions, she saw the shadowed walls of anger that hung like heavy velvet curtains and blocked the glow of all that was good. Potential bound by fear, innuendo, doubt, and, worst of all, by hate. “Go, if you must, Cole Lazerman, but hear these words and heed their meaning. Trust in the knowing that you and the universe are one, and that all the powers of the universe are inside you at this very moment. But you alone must choose between the paths of love and hate, for each one brings a different destiny. It is the journey, Lazer, not the destination that frees the soul.” Lazer saw tears well in her eyes. Lazer felt the wave of sadness that he had seen in Masta Poe’s eyes crash into him and twist with the force of a turbulent storm. It was a cold knife that twisted into his heart and hung there heavy and dark. Why was she so sad? Was she so sure he would fail?

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Doubt closed in like a cold, dark vacuum, taking the sweetness from the air and giving back only the stench of dread. The shadows of fear crept over him and rose up, pitch black and ghostly, creating a vision of darkness that surrounded him and fi lled him with the emp- tiness and horror of the unknown. It choked his spirit and blocked the way—not just of the journey he must take, but the courage he would need to succeed. “I won’t fail!” he shouted. “Why can’t you just give me the secret of the knowing?” “How can I give you something you already possess?” “I don’t. You told me I could demand it as my human right . . . then I demand it,” Lazer shouted, commanding the universe and defying the ominous feeling that pulled at him. Lazer closed his eyes and, in the sigh of a silent prayer, he calmed himself. “I demand it.” “Ask your emotions, Lazer. They are your guides in these times, not me.” Lazer looked at her. “Go in light, Cole Lazerman. The path that calls you awaits, and I will tell you only this: You have no time for fear. Let it go and the rest will fl ow to you,” she said. In a gesture befi tting a knight, Masta Poe leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. Before he could say another word, she vanished into a silken mist. Lazer was alone. He let thoughts drift and called to mind his most powerful emotions: the hate he held for himself that was sealed indelibly inside the guilt over his father’s death; the regret he felt be- cause he had abandoned his mother who, by all the signs, had been lost to him under the dome that encased Atlantia. Evvy’s death also weighed on his heart. Lazer felt the pangs of his most trusted emo- tion—anger—for it above all had so faithfully fueled him. But the purest and most powerful of all was the hatred he held for the Black Guard, which burned like the blazing fi re of a newborn sun. But in the exact same breath of turmoil and rage, the sweet memories of Elana Blue cooled the fever that boiled in his mind. Wasn’t it his

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love for her that allowed him to save her from Deigen? Didn’t that outweigh his fear that he might never hold her in his arms again? And, what of his vanquished homeland? Could it be the love of his friends—Cashton and his guardian angel, Kyla—that empowered him? Didn’t his family and country matter in the greater scheme of life more than the black mark of hatred that covered his soul? The questions pounded inside this wild, mounting cacophony of swirling emotions. Lazer let the feelings give him strength. He felt a warm rush of possibility fl ow through his veins and a know- ing that once he chose his thoughts, he was capable of anything he could imagine. Lazer’s breath quickened with excitement. If he could hold onto this newfound power, he could not fail. Could these feelings be his connection to his BAI—his personal key to the powers of the Universe? This had to be the knowing. If this was the destiny Masta Poe spoke of, then Lazer was ready to face this ultimate decision between love and hate. He would take on his destiny like a welcome cloak—heavy with the weight of re- sponsibility for everything he cared about. For the fi rst time in his life, Lazer understood the power of choice. He had within his heart, mind, and soul the one thing that would carry him to victory against all odds; with one unspoken word, Lazer committed himself to the inevitable. Lazer looked one last time around Masta Poe’s offi ce, gathered his bag, and left for the transport that would take him on his rite of passage . . . and then home.

TTVQ_int_08.10.06.inddVQ_int_08.10.06.indd 366366 88/10/06/10/06 3:34:193:34:19 PMPM TTVQ_int_08.10.06.inddVQ_int_08.10.06.indd 367367 88/10/06/10/06 3:34:193:34:19 PMPM TTVQ_int_08.10.06.inddVQ_int_08.10.06.indd 368368 88/10/06/10/06 3:34:193:34:19 PMPM Join the QUESTERS and become a member of THE VISION QUEST world!

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