[FFML] [orig] They Walk In Light 1.7

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Hey, guys. Good news: the Light web page my friend is making should be =
up and running within a week, two at the most. It will have all the =
previous chapters as well as the next three or four up to the end of the =
first part, if i can get them formatted properly. Should be that nice =
.rtf that works so well. So look for that site once I get the address =
out. The second part should be finished soon after that, and thats where =
many of your questions will be answered. Thanks to everyone who sent =
c+c, Im working on mine. (Where are you SPM?)

"I told my wife I didn=92t want her to take drugs during our child=92s =
birth. She grabbed me by the balls and told me that every time she had a =
contraction, I was gonna have one."

-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
-- File: 7.txt

I was conscious before I was awake.

Half your life is spent in another place, talking to other
people, caring about different things. Your personality is different,
your taste in companionship is different. The surroundings are just as
familiar to you as anything you've ever seen in the world, and even
when you realize you're dreaming, you would just as soon forget.

It's different when you are the subject and the object. So
many of our waking hours are spent contemplating the mold of how
we want to be. In a dream you have no desire to ask. The question
isn't there. It is riding the very tip of an insurmountable wave and
not looking back. Only the moment is real.

Alethea's long hair was tickling my nose, as was her warm
breath. She was on her side, facing me and wrapped in a white sheet.
She seemed to be talking in her sleep, her lips moved faintly though
she made no sound. Silent verses. I rarely ever slept late unless I had been drinking
the night before, so it was no surprise that at 7:00 am I was the only
one up in the place.

I didn't think I could slip out of bed without waking Alethea,
so I just lay there with my eyes closed thinking about my new car.

Somehow I was back in, and had avoided the miles of red tape I had
feared. When you've raced in the Gold Cup, civilian life passes in
slow motion. You get used to thinking at 330 mph, and normal
driving is like riding a wheel chair through wet cement. I was
impatient about everything, and the only way I could lie still without
going crazy was to concentrate on racing.

After they sent me underground ten years ago, I was put in a
cell that was only eight feet by ten feet, and had nothing in it except
a toilet, a mattress, and another man. I was allowed no possessions.
Coming from five fast years of driving every day of my life to sitting
in a cell listening to pipes drip water onto the floor and the hum of
rusting machinery, I learned how to separate myself and lapse in to
very realistic daydreams. I would be miles away, well ahead of all
the other cars and closing in on the finishing gates. I dozed there
now, in Zig's apartment, feeling warm flesh against flesh as Alethea
moved around in her sleep. It was okay though. Never having
enough of something meant you would never have the chance to get
sick of it. Zigwell Cane seemed to believe that.

The thought of Zig made me remember what I may have
learned last night; that he had gotten me to deliver a package in all
probability given to him by my friend Wells. Wells' pager number
was that which was written on the slip of paper I found in the
shopping bag, which meant Wells was somehow involved in Zig's
little cover up story. That's aside from the fact that Wells had also
chased me down while I was trying to get to the Capital Plaza post
office. It was possible that Zig had been given the shopping bag
without knowing what was in it, but if I could get into it, I was sure
he could. Though that still didn't mean he knew whose number it
was.

I shook my head in frustration. I was trying as hard as I could
to give him the benefit of the doubt, which was why I didn't just
confront him as soon as I found the pager. But the fact that he
wouldn't tell me anything about what he did know made this very
hard. He said he didn't want me to get hurt at all, and I believed him
without being naive. Yet Wells and his bald buddy were not out for
my interests either, and I couldn't see how the two could be
reconciled.

Wells would be a problem if he was still alive. But that was
unlikely, as any elephant would have surely died after being shot
eight times in the chest and kissing a diving board from six stories
up. If that was true, then no sweat. Zig said he would explain things
soon, so I could hope that this whole business with the package
would be cleared up by the end of the week.

The problem was that I did not even know what the business
was. I had no idea why Wells was after me, except on his word
alone. He had not seemed to want to kill me, but the kind of close
attention I was getting from him and his ex-partner was unwelcome.
After the guy had stepped on my neck, I was not going to give away
any more chances for the same thing to happen. The bombing was
another story. If the cops figured out it was me they were chasing
last Friday, they might very well try to get me for planting the bomb.
I was obviously the most suspicious person who had been to that
post office in the last few weeks. If they got me, they could
conceivably arrest Zig too, something they would dearly love to do
for other reasons.

And then, the bottom line. If we were shoved underground
again, I don't think I could take it. I know I couldn't take it. I was
barely hanging on when they let me out the last time. And Alethea
would be all alone.

I could not let this happen. If the cops did come after me, I
would take Alethea and leave the city. I didn't know where I would
go specifically, as I had never traveled before. But going to prison
again was not an option. I might even kill myself. I didn't
like the idea anymore than the next man, but the other options were
worse. I could either become the greatest racer ever, or rot in a cell,
all because of that damn shopping bag.

Alethea moved around aside of me, and lifted her head up.

"Why are you awake?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "Just am."

"Well go back to sleep, you weirdo. Its seven thirty in the
morning." She laid her head down again next to mine, and draped an
arm over my chest. "And don't even think about getting out of bed
for the next two hours."

Reprimanded, my eyes closed again and I tried to find sleep.
But my mind was going too fast, so I only managed to bore the hell
out of myself. I would normally be heading to the track at this time,
and to tell you the truth it was where I wanted to be right now.
Nothing against lying in bed with women, but you have to keep
things in perspective. It was time.

Twelve thirty came and went. Maybe Alethea took
barbiturates. No one normally slept this much sober. I finally
climbed out of bed, knowing it would wake her. She rolled over on
her back, and groaned. I said I'd make coffee and I left the room. As
I passed Zig's door, I saw it was open. I went into the kitchen where
there was a note on the fridge.

Screw, had to leave early to finalize business plans. Won't be
back until late, if at all tonight. If you go to the track, take Alethea with you.
Zig
P.S. Heard you got lucky last night.

He could charm the color out of roses. I crumpled up the note
and threw it in the incinerator bin. There was a coffee packet in one
of his cabinets, and I turned on the hot water before I left the kitchen to get dressed. I'd have to call Diago and explain why I never
showed up this morning. I could imagine his face. He'll be fuming.
But if I tell him the shit that happened to me last night, he might be
willing to change his mind.

Putting on my jacket, I remembered the pager in the inside
pocket. It still had my call registered on it. The address given by the
phone was likely the home of the owner of this pager. Might be a
good idea to drive by. Even if only to make sure it wasn't the home
of some minor Director, or anyone else I had to worry about even
more. I probably would be in the area tonight, as I often drove the
cars back to Diago's house after racing them. While I waited for
Alethea, I reloaded my gun. Just so I could bite back.

Two cups of coffee were poured, and the shower started
running in the other room. I yelled for Alethea to hurry up, and
sipped hi-caff. Diago wasn't answering his cell phone, so I decided
to get over there damn quick.

She finally got out, and I put down the cup.

"Wow."

"What?" she asked lightly, turning on her toes.

"You're an angel!"

"Huh? Oh, the wings. No, I got them with some underwear I
ordered."

I walked over and felt the white ala's on her back. "Soft and
feathery."

She smiled and walked into the kitchen. "Don't get your
hopes up. I'm not wearing them all day."

"Alright. But maybe tonight?"

She said nothing, but I got another smile. Things never
slowed down around here.

After a provincial lunch we took my cyc over to the practice
track. No one was there, so we rode further down the road to Diago's
private garage. It was a two-story navy blue monstrosity, and the
envy of every jock in the city. It was visible for three blocks in every direction. We found him here up to his armpits in the Raging Bull's engine compartment. I stepped between the piles of motor parts
littering the wide concrete floor, knocked on the hood, and he
glanced up at me. There was grease all over his neck and shoulders,
and he did not look happy to see me.

"Where the hell have you been!?"

"My alarm didn't go off?"

"Bullshit! Come on, Screw! We got less than a week, for god's sake!"

"Sorry."

"Don't give me any of that sorry crap. I don't want to hear it.
The Bull blew a cylinder, so you'll have to use Jarred's spare car.
She's parked over there; keys in the god damn ignition. And I tell
you, if you destroy my last car, you won't be able to race on
Sunday."

I shrugged.

"Because I'll have broken your legs," he finished. "Get out of
here, and don't let me see your face until six o'clock."

"No problem."

I walked quickly away. The Bull must have been in pretty
bad shape for him to be in this bad of a mood. Alethea walked with
me across Diago's personal junkyard until we got to an old garage
that looked more like a barn. Inside sat the Blue Thunder, under a
layer of dust half an inch deep. Jarred must not have liked to drive
her at all, because she was not that old of a car. Like all rear engine
models, the Blue Thunder had an extremely high top speed, but very
poor handling. Only the most veteran car jocks drove rear engine
cars since it was so difficult for rookies to control them efficiently. I had never owned one, but I had driven them occasionally when my
own cars were under repair. I hoped I would not have to use this one
on Sunday as I was still a little rusty. But if this was the only
machine available, it would be good to get some practice in.

The keys were there as Diago had said, and Alethea and I
drove back to the practice track. It was a little before one P.M., so I
had a good five hours of wheel time ahead of me. And as long as
Diago didn't show up to time me, I would only have to stop once or
twice to refuel.

I got my suit on, had the onboard computer run a systems
check, and then started driving. I started out at low speeds just
getting a feel for the Blue Thunder. The wheel was extremely
delicate, but it could cut away from obstacles easily, and before long
I was circling the track at 335, catching air every time I went up or
down the ramps.

After two hours of flooring it, I had to stop to refuel. When I
went back out again, Alethea came with me and sat in the small
passenger seat. Going really fast scared her at first, but after she
started to like it she shouted for me to go even faster.

"We really shouldn't try to push it over about 360," I said
over my shoulder.

"Why not? I'm ready for it."

"But I don't think the car is. At least not on this track."

"You think you'll hit something?"

"Maybe. Or spin out again. Believe me, the limits on these
things have been tested. There comes a point where you just have to
accept that."

"I trust you," she said, leaning forward in my seat betraying
the hint of a thrilled grin. It disturbed me that she had grown
comfortable with this so quickly. I had never had a woman do that in
a six-wheeler before.

"...I hope that's enough."

We were in and out of the car until after eight when Diago
showed up to the track himself wondering where the hell I had been
again. We took the cars back to his house, and from there Alethea
and I found a place to eat in the plaza. There were still roadblocks all around the IMHR building, and uniformed cops were directing the
traffic. Diago had later decided not to fire his assistant, and per my
request had gotten him to repaint my cyc so the cops would not
recognize it. Alethea and I were not harassed at all, and rode around
the city for another hour after eating.

It got to be late at night, and I wanted to see Wells' building
before I went back to Zig's apartment. I told Alethea that I had
business on the north side, and that I was going to take her home.

But she refused to go, saying I couldn't be leaving her behind all the time anymore. I explained that the date would mainly consist of a
little felony B and E and that it might get tricky, but you know
women. They love the whole idea of danger until it actually snaps in
their face. I was not really anticipating any confrontation, but had
told her that just as a warning.

She smiled prettily, appropriately.

I realized that I had never written down the address
anywhere, so we stopped by a pay phone and I checked the number
again. As I was standing in the phone booth, I saw something spray
painted on the glass roof in red lettering. It said "Das Uberdog" and
under that was written "Civis Civus Sum." I had never heard either
of these two phrases, but the first sounded more familiar. I think I
may have heard it mentioned at Zig's party last Friday, but I had
been too out of it at the time to put it in context.

The public phone spit out a card with the address printed on
one side, and an advertisement for hair care products on the other. I
pocketed it, and got back on my cyc, where Alethea had been toying
with the gel screen.

Thinking she might be upping the intake, I laughed and said,
"Should I be worried?"

"No, I just paged home."

"Oh. Do you need to use the phone?"

"No, there wasn't anyone there."

"By the way, where is home? You never said anything about
it. Do your parents still live there?"

"Well," she said after thinking for a second, "we used to have
an apartment on Lanz Island. My dad got the place through his job,
some upper level government position. I guess they're still there. I
wasn't born there though. I grew up in a small house in the North-
West."

"Me too. Where?"

"Rockford Arts. Have you ever been there?"

I nodded. "Yeah, Diago lives a few miles south. But from
what I hear the Arts are a restricted community for the University
staff. Was your father a professor?"

"Sort of. He did a lot of work in getting grants for the
agricultural sciences. I think he started out in hydroponics and then
moved on to bigger and better things. I seem to remember that he
didn't enjoy very much at the time. He was always telling us how the
Director was finally going to notice his work and promote him to
some better position on the Island. My mother thought he was just
being ambitious for our sake, but then one year his job actually came
through."

"Must have been nice."

"Yeah. We were so happy to go. I had a free ride to the
University lined up and we had a lot more money. All of the children
of the diplomats hung out together up there, I met more people that I
could possibly keep track of. It was kind of a wild place, since no
one wanted to be the one to get us in any trouble. And you know
what that does to a teenager."

"Yeah. So you were happy for a few years, though, right?"

"Very happy. And my parents got along great. It was strange
though. After a while they both missed civilian life more and more
and became very distant. I didn't understand, they had gotten what
they had always wanted, and they were open about it too. But it was
just so obvious that a lot was missing, and it only became worse. My
dad was fighting with his boss, and my mother would leave for the
city for days at a time."

"Not--"

"No, I don't think she was seeing someone else. I'm sure of
it. But it was really hard on everyone we knew. By the time they
took me out of school, I was glad to be away."

"How long ago was this?"

"Last September."

"Right at the beginning of winter. You couldn't have waited
for Spring Break."

She laughed. "You're right, I should have."

"So you miss them? Is that why you paged?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just felt like doing it."

"Cool." I climbed on the cyc. "Don't stress it on my
account."

"Thanks," she said.

To get into the far northern part of the city, anywhere
between eleven-thirty and one, you follow the Parkway through the
Plaza underpass which loops around Abrahms Memorial, passes over
the Aqueduct, and takes you up to Guenevere's Way, a small
highway that passes through the Portals. From there it straightens out
and becomes the prime meridian of the city, a straight shot to the
northernmost micro-arc of the Turbine. It ends on the Midnight Ring
station. I could see the Turbine's perfect black line against the
horizon even now, exerting its influence on all who beheld it. You
cannot take in a engine of that size and not reconsider your own
place in the city.

We crossed the wide steel bridge that transverses the
Aqueduct near its terminus, a ruddy maelstrom where the waters
descend into the city's heart and disappear to places unknown.
Nothing that had crossed the barriers sectioning off this end of the
Aqueduct had ever been recovered. It was like giving yourself to
Capital Plaza for good. The Parkway bridge continued its wide left-
hand arc until touching down on asphalt where Guenevere's Way
began. I increased the throttle here; the speed limit was much higher
and there were no more stops until we passed through the three
Portals. I wanted to make it through before eleven o'clock when
police vehicles would begin auditing incoming traffic.

The streetlight's yellow glow whizzed by at 180 mph and
Alethea's grip around my chest became tighter with exhilaration.
Then we began to notice Guenevere's change.

The sight of high skyscrapers on either side of us gave way to
smaller and small structures, finally surrendering to a speed wall
which trapped the slipstream of my motorcycle in with the five or six
other cars before and behind my own. A hollow howl could be heard
through the muffling of my crash helmet, and Alie's heavier civilian
model. Something in my gut prepared to protect itself against the
oncoming sensations. Sweat gathered above my eyebrows as I
increased speed to a wild two hundred. My tires had grown three
inches in every direction to handle the stresses.

The yellow light began to red shift. The shy grew gray as
wind and moisture cycled above us in a perpetual cloud. The speed
walls narrowed the asphalt down to two wide lanes. My hair was
raising on the back of my neck as static electricity gathered between
the pair of us, caused by the friction between ions captured in high
fluctuation areas. I looked ahead. There was a great glowing sphere
far ahead of us on the road. Tones of red, orange and brown swirling
faster as we approached. A magnetronic dam.

Alethea's voice crackled in my headset. "I used to do this
every day in my coup coming home from school. I never understood
it."

"Well," I said. "Its simple."

The great sphere loomed closer and became the only light as
speed walls stretched up and overhead completing the tunnel. The
color red blocked out everything else. The winds and current were
caught in a churning howling mass, forced against the Portal but
unable to break through. We leaned forward and I licked my lips
nervously. Almost there.

"Long ago men realized that energy was made up of three
things," I said, almost to myself. "X-rays, Y-rays, and Z-rays. They
knew nothing about the real essence of these things and had no way
of describing them, but could control their radiation with using a
field of heavier 'dead' energy particles called magnetrons."

And slam, we were in and through. In a second the turmoil of
hot, stale air was behind us and everything went from red all the way
to black. And then, just as quickly, we were out, out of the tunnel
and beyond the glow. It was suddenly quiet and calm.

"Each of the three Portals acts as a filter, and combines the
total X, Y, or Z ray potential of a thing entering it with a reservoir of like energy. Inside the second dam, all of the Y-ray energy potential in the cyc and our bodies will be mixed with a tremendous reserve of random, directionless Y-rays. This has a few interesting effects."

Up ahead, much closer now, the night sky once again
zippered itself shut and the road became a textured azure blue, and I
suddenly could not remember what color the last sphere had been.
All there is, all there was, was the deep sea blue of the advancing
wall.

"It reads and erases any digital information stored on your
person or vehicle. It resets all electronic circuits. It can flood and
destroy large energy sources; anything you're not supposed to be
carrying. Hence all the safety regs written on those street signs we all ignore."

The giant convex lens drew itself to a furious height and
accepted us. Only us. (My mind spiked with shock and sensations
blew up in sick cartoon mushroom clouds.) Then nothing. I looked at
my hands. Still driving just fine. The tach had red lined at 220.

And now, very close, the last. Kelly green with hints of
yellow. Swirling. This last one always felt so wrong. Good thing I
was going fast.

"And personally, I think it fucks with your head too. Just for
a second. But if you concentrate, you can catch it sometimes."

Pop-Flash-Hiss.

We were through. Alethea squeezed and did not reply.

The walls to either side quickly receded and I took a turn
down the road at an exit marked "Lower Bride- Four Miles." The
card had said that was it. Taking the residentials the short way
around, we found ourselves on Ferry Blvd. within ten minutes. The
neighborhood was very quiet this time of night.

Wells' address, 2005, was not hard to find, and when we
pulled up to the curb in front, we could see he must have been
pulling significant figures. There was a reflecting pool in the front
lawn, surrounded by expertly cut hedges. Alethea's mouth was wide
open taking in the view. I got off my bike and walked to the gate. It
wasn't locked.

Someone had unlocked it from inside, apparently by
punching in the code on a keypad located twenty feet up the
driveway from the main gate. There was no sign of a guard post and
even though we were in the nicest part of town, this city was no
place to leave your doors unlocked. A little odd, maybe.

Alethea walked toward the gate and pushed on it. It swung
inward on well greased hinges. She motioned me to follow her. But I
was still glancing over each shoulder.

I could tell that the gate had not been opened by the normal
means, because I was holding the smothering remains of the
automatic sensor box in my hand.

The same person must have toasted it when they realized
they couldn't get in through the intercom. This supposed intruder
was therefore armed. I dropped the thing, not wanting Alethea to see
it. Any enemy of Wells was a friend of mine, but burglars don't
come under either heading. I pulled out my piece, took Alethea's
hand, and walked through along the drive.

There were no sounds in the night except a distant low
rumble from the north east highway. The lawn was well kept, and
the pool was even strained of leaves. No birds, no squirrels; I didn't
even think I heard any insects. To tell you the truth I did not really
want to be there myself anymore. The place was inert. I imagined
jumping into the water and there not even being a splash. All other
houses in the city seemed far more appealing to me at the moment;
the noise, the lights, the imperfections. Alethea hung on my arm, and
was staring at the ground.

"You ok?" I asked. I could see she was as shaken by the
place as I was.

"I'm all right. Lets just look in a window and get out of here,
ok?"

I nodded. At least we were on the same page.

The lawn was even larger than it had looked to be, at least
from outside the front gate. We were about a hundred yards away
from the main building, which was flanked on either side by smaller
buildings with no visible windows or doors. All three had expensive
looking green trimming around their edges, and were surrounded by
small gardens. There was a six foot wide bird bath. The floral beauty
overlaid by a sense of stillness was frightening. It was not really
death which pervaded the scenery, more of a lack of life. The idea
was not particularly threatening, but I had a feeling the owner of the
property was not going to be on the cover of People magazine
anytime soon. A shame for such a nice place to be so wasted like
this.

I finally walked up the front steps, and peered in a window
next to the door. I saw no one inside, so I tried the handle. This one
was locked.

"Lets go around back, and see if any other doors are open." I
said to Alethea.

We did this thing, but had no luck. Aside from the front gate,
the place was locked tight. I had originally expected this to be the
case and had come knowing I would have to break in. I did not know
what I was looking for, but I was sure I would find something. It was
possible that Wells himself would be here if he was still alive. I was
suddenly sure he had not been killed, and even if I could not justify
my fear rationally, it was still there, and had to be dealt with.

The back lawn was even more expansive than the front, stretching out for at least eight or ten acres. Here, patterns of bushes
sculpted the grounds, creating the illusion of a flow away from the
main building. Someone had taken some time with this, and not in
the cold meticulous way I would have expected from Wells. No one
appeared to be at it at the moment, so I found a window and punched
my gun though one of the smaller panes of glass. It shattered without
much noise, and I didn't hear any alarms go off.

After unlocking the window and climbing through, I was not
surprised to see that Wells' interior decorator was an ex-surgeon.
The place was all chrome, and spotlessly clean. Unlike the grounds,
nothing inside was meant to give false impressions about the owner.
Form followed far behind function here, from the unpainted floor to
the dozens of fluorescent light on the ceiling. There was a staircase
leading up, and a door next to it which presumably lead to a
basement level. I looked at Alethea.

"Well?" she said.

"I don't know, what do you think? Heaven or Hell?"

She looked around and then said, "I guess we could start
upstairs and work our way down. But after that I'm serious, we get
out of here, ok?"

"Alright, this shouldn't take long. I just want to know if
anyone's here."

I crept up the steps with my gun in my hand. I did not hear
anything. Upstairs there was a short hall way with three doors. The
first one was a store room filled with boxes. I tried to pick one up,
but it was incredibly heavy. I ripped a few layers of packaging tape
off the top, and saw large metal battery packs. Unmarked, gray, 90-
volts. A lot of outdoor appliances used these, as well as certain lines
of military weaponry. But there must have been thousands in this
room, and I had never seen Wells use a gun. Maybe they were for his
crack squad of lawnmower men, I didn't know. I sealed the box up
again, and went into the next room.

This one was a stark bedroom, as was the room next to it.
There was a white cot in each with fresh silk sheets. No closets
either. The second one had a bathroom which was equally clean.

Something about this whole place puzzled me. The building was
probably the biggest personal residential structure of its kind I had
ever seen, yet the three rooms up here did not have nearly enough
floor space to cover the whole second floor. The walls were also
concrete, and I did not see any secret doors around. There must be
more rooms on this level, but I obviously could not get to them from
here. Alethea and I backtracked down the stairs, and onto the ground
floor. It was still empty.

"I hope the basement gives us more to show for our trouble."

"I'm starting to wonder about that," she said, holding onto
my arm.

Turning on the light, we went down the stairs which lead into
a large empty area with a hardwood floor. It was about the size of a
basketball court, but had a large wooden column in the center that
connected to the ceiling. There were no markings anywhere except
for a red circle painted sloppily on the floor around the column. I
could now hear noises coming from across the room where there was
a set of double doors. Odd tones.

This was it, I thought to myself. Alethea was looking around
worried, but I grabbed her hand and headed across the room.
When I got to the center, I gaped at the wooden pole. It was
covered in red, as was the floor around it. But as I had feared, it was
not paint. Having turned yellow around the top and bottom, the
splashes here were far too wide for one person to shed in the short
amount of time it had to remain a liquid. Metal links were set into
the wood which suggested a man could be tied to it easily. Alethea
saw it and let out a little shriek. There was still no sign of anyone
around, so I continued across the floor to the far door. There were
noises coming from here, mostly mechanical in nature. There was no
window on the door, and when I tried the handle I saw that it was
locked.

"Come on!" Alethea said in a pleading tone. "Can't we go?
No one is here! Lets leave before the cops come!"

"Wait. Half an hour ago you were begging me to come
along."

"You didn't tell me we were hitting up the Bates Motel!"

"Hell, I didn't know any of this would be here either! Do you
want to wait outside?"

"Of course not!"

"Then just let me see what's in here. I thought you trusted
me."

She cursed under her breath. I jumped forward and kicked the
door. It flew off its hinges, and clattered back into the room beyond.
Must have been weaker than I thought. As we stepped forward into
the room, the source of the noise became apparent.

In an dimly lit area even larger than the previous one, large,
dirty metal desks stretched from wall to wall. There were consoles
with flickering infrared screens, power capacitors attached to stacks
of computer equipment, and a circle of dentist chairs in the center.
There was so much metal and wiring around it was almost
impossible to go forward with out climbing over things. I noticed a
robot like form in a corner and another lying prone on a table. There
were boxes of parts scattered randomly around the room, and I
knocked a few of them over trying to get across. The grunge and dirt
was a stark contrast to the surgical cleanliness we had seen in the rest of the house.

In the dim light I could see the ring of padded chairs in the
middle of the room. Appendages that looked like metal arms
protruded from the sides, and each was fitted with a hypodermic
needle. There were five of them, and they were all empty, save one.
It was the chair facing away from me as I approached it, and all I
could see was a pair of dangling legs.

I got ready to fire, and turned the chair around so I could see
who was in it. Alethea screamed, and I felt like doing so too.
Missing an arm, and a chunk of his chest, an aging fat man sat
staring at the ceiling through eyes glazed over with his own blood. A
chainsaw, maybe. He was very dead. I recoiled from the sight and
turned around. Alethea grabbed onto me, and shook.

"What the hell happened here?!" she cried.

"I don't know, I--I know that man. He was a cop."

"So!?"

"He was my parole officer!"

"What? Are you serious?!"

"Christ, I just saw the guy last week. Derring talked to him
over the weekend, this must have happened yesterday!"

"We are getting the hell out of here now." She grabbed my
hand and practically yanked me off my feet back toward the door.
But I resisted after a second.

"Wait, please."

"No! Damn it, haven't you seen enough? What's the matter
with you?!"

"Babe, Wells is probably in this house right now, and
knowing him like I do, he may even be watching. In order for
nothing like this to happen again (I thumbed the body) I have to find
him first. To see if he survived."

"But why?!" she said in a pleading tone. "I though you were
afraid of him! You don't even know who he is! Just let it go! Let's
leave now!"

God, I thought, why did I ever bring her to this place.
"Believe me, I never wanted to put you in any risk, but we can't just
run out now and I'm not leaving you alone." I pulled her close and
whispered. "And then there's the chance that if he sees me try to
leave he'll give up on trying to reason with me. If he resorts to real
violence, we're both in a lot of trouble. Did Zig tell you what
happened last night to my apartment building?"

"Yes, but--"

"You have to be strong, Alie. For me, this once. I don't want
to be here any more than you do. I'm scared too."

"Screw, I can't. I just can't."

"You can. Come, please," I said and sighed. "There's another
staircase across the room."

There was a torn down set of drapes sitting under a desk
nearby, and I quickly draped it over the corpse. I was careful not to
touch anything else, so there wouldn't be fingerprints for the police
to find. If they showed up right now, they might try to pin this on
me, and that would definitely be the third strike.

Wells was no longer just an interested party out to recruit me
for some Mandate related business. I was suddenly very glad I had
never agreed to come with him on his terms when he had asked me
last night. He should have realized it before me; the lack of rigid
method betrayed him. Too bad he couldn't have found someone else
in this city to play with.

Climbing the new set of stairs, I was glad to be out of that
room. Wells would have a lot to answer to now, not only by the
police but by me personally. His business was starting to hit a little
too close to home. I considered the possibility that my parole officer
had been killed in an attempt to get at me. I did not like the
implications this had for the rest of my friends. Especially Zig.

Maybe he had also been contacted by Wells, and had wanted
to put his number in the safety deposit box as insurance for his life.
This might also explain the fact that the building was bombed a few
days later; it could have been Wells destroying evidence. But the
number would be on Zig's phone bill as well, so destroying a little
piece of paper would be pretty useless. I concluded one thing almost
for sure, had I come back here with Wells last night, it would have
been me in that chair. He hadn't made to serious of an attempt
earlier, but that was probably because he was afraid to do it publicly.
In the privacy of his own cellar, who knows what would have
happened.