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Well damn, 2002 and we're still all here. 
I wish I could say it makes me think, 
but it usually doesnt. My advice:
Stay away from George Orwell if you're
going to go see Vanilla Sky. The two
do NOT mix well.

If you dont remember what happened last
time in TWIL, check out
www.geocities.com/aescension
for the latest chapter updates.



"Thought forms in the soul in the same way 
  clouds form in the air."
  -Joseph Joubert








    4


  <blip>

  <blip>
  
  <blip>

  YOU'VE GOT NEWS!

  "Good morning. Tom "Tommy" Wilkinson for the 
independent press, freq 720. The city's only unbiased and reliable 
news program for more than thirty-five years. For news, weather, 
and celebrity updates, it's frequency 720."

  A disturbing smarmy jingle cut under his last few words.

  "Today's top story comes live-delayed from the steps of 
City Hall where Police Commissioner Arkoff gave a speech to 
thousands of onlookers commencing the third part of his heavily 
debated citizen action plan. He is called by many the Man in 
Charge, and today Arkoff again flexed his legislative muscle by 
calling into order the CCCXXXIV Mandate Assembly, only the 
fifty-fifth to include his excellency, the Cardinal Doge. Of course 
no reporters were allowed to attend the proceedings which ended at 
ten o'clock AM this morning. But Freq 720 was there to receive 
Commissioner Arkoff at his state address shortly afterward."

  The camera beheld the tall, wide shouldered man at a 
podium bearing the crimson Mandate crest. A red lion standing 
triumphant over an evil white one. Arkoff's stolid visage backed 
the symbolism well. He had begun speaking even before video 
microphones were activated.

  "-of course my pleasure to draw such a turnout at the 
conclusion of a successful congregation of power. The Director of 
Public Relations has graciously condoned this press conference 
and allowed me to speak candidly on these matters of utmost 
importance to our city. It concerns him as it does myself, and every 
freethinking citizen alive to hear it; the word of the Doge, Law 
Incarnate. I merely convey his word and bond.

  "`More.' A word said so eloquently by a wizened mouth 
that has seen more years than any other alive. More jobs, more 
money, more revenue, and more experience. The cries and pleas of 
the city's entire population point in one unified direction. More. 
Poverty, illiteracy, homelessness; these atrocities demand a 
solution no less dire. Should a man do without because his brother 
takes leaves of absence? Could a child be told that his dinner is late 
because the parent and legal guardian spends her money on 
dangerous drugs, never mind the fully legal conveniences of sin? 
His excellency does not agree. A starving belly hears not the words 
of pretense.

  "The city and the people need more. Capital, development, 
and programs selflessly dedicated to the expansion of freedom. 
Freedom that includes the tired, sick, and hungry human masses 
yearning to fulfill their individual dreams. The weak, totalitarian 
idea of mass conservation cannot put the gleam back in the eye of 
an eager, untainted child. We must put in more hours in the office 
and in the home to create for ourselves what we want, what we 
need, what we deserve as the basic thrival rights of citizens of this 
city, and show to the selfish unbelievers that for one to survive, so 
must the whole. I have outlined the next step in my plan, a 
fearsome last-minute plan which will carry us as one breathing 
whole, a step at a time, toward our unified dream of peace and 
loving prosperity."

  Tom broke in. "The speech continued for one half-hour and 
concluded on this final note."

  "Our goal," said Arkoff, "is not an obligatory settlement to 
be compromised with forces ultimately superior. The doge does 
not believe it is so difficult to determine when the city's 
progression impedes on the value of living. Freedom is not a 
bargain at the price of a child's suffering. The Doge assumes it as 
his duty to see that every citizen is granted his chance at happiness. 
Otherwise we are no better than roving animals, eating each other 
for our own pointless survival, blaspheming the city and every soul 
in it. And of course, no Director of the Mandate wants that."

  The crowd erupted mutely. Tom came back with one of the 
gravest in his bag of expressions, and the sentence, "Strong words 
from the man behind the microphone. Before we go live to Levy 4 
with the weather, here's Sarah Wheeler. Sarah?"

  Again, a scene change.

  "Thanks, Tom. The results of last year's population census 
have finally been tabulated and the results posted on your closest 
public-access screen this morning. Fifty-four million people city 
wide. Thirty-five million of which hold full legal citizenship. The 
racial breakdown was of course unreleased but a recent study 
showed that the top three ethnic groups were English, African and 
Japanese, followed further back by Viet, Mexican, German, and 
Thai. And as it has been for as long as this reporter can remember, 
the largest age group is still the children, six to eleven year olds, 
declining close to linearly in either direction.

  "This year the Mandate reports that it will be cracking 
down on the large unregistered adult population who hold neither 
citizenship nor identification other than drivers licenses. The long 
standing law states that it is illegal to employ non-citizens over the 
age of twenty-one, though over six million of them work in low 
income jobs around the city at present. Gas stations, salons, 
grocery stores, Blockbusters, and even nurseries carry much of this 
aggregate, which the Mandate has referred to as `bulbous weight.' 

  "Subway and sidewalk audits up to this point have accepted 
any form of valid i.d. cards, though this may change in the 
foreseeable future. A new law under consideration would make it 
illegal for civilians to go out in public without carrying copies of 
their citizenship cards. Another form of the bill proposes small 
numbered rings or tattoos which would be administered with the 
paperwork at any DMV."

  Her background changed suddenly, interrupting the idea 
that she had actually been on location at the Train Station.

  "Is this the way to handle the large, unregulated, non-
citizen population? Are rings or tattoos for the mere purpose of 
quick and easy subway identification the answer? This question 
was posed before an assembled panel of anonymous civilians 
covering the wide demographic array I explained earlier. The 
results were interesting though not entirely conclusive. Here we 
see a pie graph-"

  <Click.> 

  I cared to hear no more of that.

  We had had the first winter storm of the year that morning; 
perfect weather for a guy to use as an excuse to stay away from 
outdoor shopping malls. It had started with light rain which 
blanketed a city normally unprepared for precipitation. Sarah 
Wheeler (whom I had briefly met the day before) said on the 
screen that the radar computers had all reported the likelihood of 
three more days of this. Racing in the rain is virtually impossible 
and you can't buy a car without test driving it, so even Diago could 
not blame me for loafing around in Zig's apartment all day. And it 
really wouldn't have mattered, because Alethea had taken my 
motorcycle and absconded in the middle of the night.

  When I discovered this fact at a little after nine, I 
remembered the argument we had six hours earlier. I had yelled at 
her to wake up and smell the sordid stink of urban city around her; 
she had said she would do just that. I never heard her leave. She 
could have at least spared my wallet.

  I tried to order pizza but the phone told me it was too early. 
Zig had taken the last bit of food to bed with him last night and I 
guessed that it had turned into a one sided relationship. He came 
out of his room now and scratched himself before sitting on the 
couch next to me.

  "It's storming outside. No work today," I said after a 
minute.

  "I heard it," he said readily, as if having anticipated my 
thought. 

  "Alethea took off last night. Stole my wheels."

  "I heard it coming," just as readily.

  "Fuck you."

  "Sorry, buddy. I know Diago made you tell your little 
story, and that now it's clear she was not ready to hear it. But I 
swear to god you read her wrong if you thought she was going to 
sit around here and be yelled at because she `doesn't understand 
what it's like.' You should have seen it coming too, and dodged 
the subject."

  "I would have come up eventually."

  "Look, I'm the last one to bitch at anybody about their life, 
seriously. But I can offer some advice as a person who lives off of 
other people's misunderstanding me." Zig stood up and gazed out 
the window.

  "I told you not to take advantage of the girl because it 
would convey my feelings about her, not because I expected you to 
have anything bad in mind. I mean, shit. You're too nice of a guy, 
Screw, and you get sick of it now and then. Which is alright. It 
means you have a core of fallibility and I wouldn't hang around 
you if you didn't. But don't lose your shit around Alie. She doesn't 
need any more of that."

  "What about you?! You haven't had a real relationship in 
more than a year! And the last one dumped you because you sold 
all her underwear for Knicks tickets!" I yelled back.

  "Yeah, your right." Zig cocked his head. "And considering 
the size of those things, I should have gotten floor seats..."

  "If she cant take my past than there's nothing more to 
say."

  "Look, this is about you, anyway. What you want out of 
your life, and if you're even ready to make a choice right now. But 
I wouldn't throw this one away," He said finally.

  I followed him into the kitchen and we started coffee. 

  It was coming down harder now, and the apartment's large 
window panes rattled in their aluminum mullioned frames. The 
illusion of safety. We sat in front of the wide screen and watched 
yesterday's racing highlights over thick Caff. There I was again, 
falling down onto the winner's gate with Jinn close behind. It made 
me shudder, and Zig changed the freq to a movie about bank 
robbers. It was a Marx Brothers play adaptation from thirty years 
ago, and had lost something in the transition. Still, we laughed 
every time Harpo bit someone. 

  When it was over, this freq's news program came on, and I 
saw a picture of the huge metal monstrosity I had seen up close the 
week before. It seemed the Aeronaut had been preserved in better 
condition that had once been thought, and that the Director of 
Technology (a small department) had his crews working day and 
night to get it in working order. The funny thing was that they still 
categorically denied knowledge as to what the machine was for. 
Just like I had heard. Then the scene changed and it was me again 
getting my fifteen flesh wounds of fame.

  "It's a good thing the video quality is so bad, or you might 
be in a government lab somewhere right now."

  "I concur."

  "Well, I got a few customer's coming over tonight, so if 
you want to pass your piss tests, you might vacate the place." he 
said.

  "Nah, I'm gonna wait for Alethea to come back with my 
cyc. Then I gotta make up with her, and not the way I want to. Its 
become pretty clear that she needs to handled more delicately. 
Thanks for the advise, Zig."

  "You know, if she left before the storm hit, she may be 
waiting it out. Driving a cyc in the rain is like, really dangerous."

  "Where's she gonna stay?" I asked.

  Zig shrugged. "The mall?"

  "For three days?"

  He nodded. "I'd probably hide in a bathroom stall. What 
about you?"

  "Shut up."




--------





  At around 10:00 the sky became really black and I began to 
get the creeping feeling that it was night. No Alethea, no cyc, and 
swimming in smoke. I opened a window to get some fresh air, and 
was immediately admonished by every voice in the room. So I 
went in the kitchen and stuck my head in fridge, but after a while it 
filled with smoke too. I was back to second hand suffocation.

  "Hey Zig!.Zigwell! Look at me, damn it!"

  He removed his eyes from the Theatre of Literal Impulse 
and then turned to me lazily. Smoke wafted out of his mouth as he 
talked. "Jah?"

  "I'm gonna take a walk. I can't think in here."

  "In the rain?"

  "I have your umbrella."

  "Then knock yourself out."

  "If Alie comes home, tell her to sit tight. I'll be back."

  "Jah."

  The damn Rasta thing again.

  I put on my jacket, made sure my gun was tight against my 
chest, and went out the door. I realized I was tired. But a minute 
later I was outside and deflecting rain drops into unnatural squares. 
Zig's street held my attention for a while, and then I turned left 
onto a back road which led even further south. Soon the apartment 
building was no longer in sight. I walked along smaller and smaller 
streets. Fifteen minutes later and I was in unfamiliar territory.

  I kicked a rat out of my path and it squealed. I had hoped 
that the change of scenery would satisfy my subconscious. But all I 
saw when I looked around was a thousand places I did not want to 
come across Alethea, wet and shivering in her little light blue 
windbreaker. I casually glanced in every alley I passed, knowing I 
was just getting angrier. God, I'm a jackass.

  To my knowledge I had never cried reflexively in my 
whole life. Strange, but that was what I remembered. I probably 
did so when I was a baby, but I did not remember it. When my 
father came home one day and told me my mom had died, I beheld 
him with shock and said something which never came out. He spit 
right on the floor and left the apartment. I never saw him again. 
Well, not until...

  I sat there alone and started to spit myself, thinking it 
would make me able to take it straight like my dad had. Of course 
it did not, but it kept my mind away from crying, which he had 
always told me was an assertion of weakness. His opinion lay 
pathetically branded in my mind that way. It wasn't that I thought 
he was right, but I could never get past the idea that I might be 
wasting important time. Important tragedy time. Some day I'll 
spell out all the important things I did with that time.

  So what is a boy to do when he can't cry? Get furious, 
intentionally confused, and take it out on other people of course. I 
had learned that I was unable to quell both sadness and anger at the 
same time, so I expressed the one I thought to be more manly, 
which means more productive. Those on the outside should be able 
to take it, and if they couldn't, they deserved the practice. Believe 
it or not, you can force your world to run like this if it's the only 
thing you know. Killing my father had not been the hardest thing I 
ever did, but living with it had been. I had done the deed so 
instinctively that a part of me wanted to completely deny 
responsibility. On a temporary insanity plea, I avoided certain 
capital punishment and got ten years. As I lacked sadness, so did I 
lack sorrow, which is the effect of regret. Now, I might even do it 
again if I had the chance.

  People like me hate introspection. I kicked another rat.

  The big thing I hated was other people categorizing my act on 
the basis of my personal connection to the `victim' alone.  
Everyone who had dubbed me an inhuman monster had not known 
the forces which shaped my childhood. As the antithesis of my 
mom, my father had taught me that everyone in my life was just 
another human animal like everyone who wasn't. What do you 
answer to that? That kind of Descartes Reasoning is just a crutch; it 
allows you to maintain any degree of distance from the things that 
depend on you without breaking any real ethical laws. It was how 
the old man got sleep at night. And thus, Diablo ex machina. The 
Turbine was the only way he could have died-I gave him what he 
probably even wanted. No one else except my mother had been 
there and so no one else understood me. The only thing that had 
separated second degree murder from self defense was about eight 
seconds of shock. I had never accepted this.

  The bottom line was that Alethea had been there to hear it 
at the wrong time. There was no other way she could have reacted, 
or way I would have expected her to. The instant I shouted the first 
word, my heart sank. I had broken my covenant which forbade me 
from ever trying to damage such purity of heart in others as well as 
myself. I saw the look on her face when she realized the same 
thing, but it was far too late. I left the room, and she left me in the 
solitude I deserved. A slap in the face would have been infinitely 
preferable. It was what made me want to love her so much that 
made the pain so bad. I shook my head, and cursed. Animosity was 
never far away.

  A few cars passed me on the right splashing puddle water 
onto my shoes. I was surprised that there was not more traffic on a 
cold Monday night. Coming around another corner, I saw that 
West Main St. was empty too. Strange. Storms often lightened 
traffic on the highways, but residential roads were usually 
unaffected. In the distance I could see the outline of the old 
stadium which had been abandoned to the gangs decades ago. Who 
knew which one occupied it now. There were flickering lights on 
around the top though I saw no one standing in sight. Just like 
here. I walked down the sidewalks under a black umbrella and 
looked around for open stores or movie theater lines. There was 
nothing. 

  I saw a few more lights on in an apartment building a few 
blocks away, but that was about it until a boy whizzed narrowly 
past me on a bike. I was going to yell at him to watch where he 
was going, but remembered I had been accused of the same thing 
many times. The water coming off of his tires sprayed me with 
more dirty water and I began to believe my umbrella was useless. 
Still, it was only water.

  Damn it! Why couldn't I make up my fucking mind 
anymore? I needed Alethea.

  Still walking, I looked around me again for movement. 
There wasn't a whole hell of a lot. Maybe while I had been gone 
the weather computers had predicted hail. Wouldn't want to be out 
in that.

  Then from a distance, I saw headlights. The car must have 
been going at quite a pace because I could see the driver's head 
after only a second or two. He appeared to be alone in the vehicle, 
but that was all I could tell. He ran through a pair of red lights, and 
then ran a third as he passed me. The windows were fogged up, 
and I could not recognize the face, but I did see that he had a white 
hat on. I turned as he went by, weaving around in his lane.

  Then suddenly, as I had resumed my walk, I heard tires 
screech from behind me. I whirled around and saw that another car 
had turned onto West Main and had stopped in the middle of the 
road. The speeding car braked and fish-tailed wildly. I winced as 
the two machines hit. The stopped car was demolished. 

  Neither one caught fire in the downpour, but the first car 
slid along the wet road into the front of a corner street store. The 
wall size glass panes shattered inward and the noise was 
tremendous. I ran toward the wreck as fast as I could.

  There was not much left of the car that had been hit. I was 
able to tear off long strips from its convertible top, but found the 
cab to be empty. The running engine was turning the rain water 
into steam and there were bent keys in the ignition, but no driver. I 
gave the car a shove and it fell off its side back onto the tires. I 
looked around again, but did not see anyone. They must have 
crawled away unseen.

  I left that car, and ran another fifty feet to the other one 
which was halfway into the Halls of Hair salon. Glass covered the 
sidewalk and as I got closer, I heard moaning coming from the 
driver's side door. I walked up and saw in the window, a body 
crumpled between the front seat and the dash. I tried the door 
handle, but it came off in my hand.

  "Hey, can you hear me? Are you alright?" I tapped on his 
shoulder. It was very firm.

  The man tried to get up, but the mangled steering wheel 
was hold him back. I could not wrench the door open, so I held on 
to it, and stared at the ground. I mentally pushed it away from me, 
and got two feet off the ground before the weight of the car broke 
the hinges and the door came free. I dropped lightly to the ground 
and shook the fuzz from my vision before working on the steering 
wheel. After a moment it gave way too, and flew out the 
windshield. I'll tell you about my impulsive open-mindedness 
later.

  I pulled the man up in his seat, and he groaned.

  "Oh god." he got out.

  I scrutinized his face because it seemed familiar in the light 
of the street lamp. He had a light complexion and was slightly 
chubby. His closely shaven face made him look almost like a baby. 
There was blood leaking out from under his cap which obscured 
his eyes. Then I realized that it was not a hat, but a mess of white 
gauze bandages. I started to lift them when he brought up a hand to 
stop me.

  "Hold on," I said. "You're bleeding."

  I pulled the soggy wrap off his head and saw that the blood 
was coming from a large laceration in his forehead. I saw scab 
tissue, and figured that it had been an older wound that he had 
reopened in the crash. Again, he pushed me back while trying to 
speak through a mouth full of rain water and blood. I shook away 
his strong hands and cleared the grime from his face with my 
jacket sleeve. He opened his eyes, and they met mine. I gasped.

  "You!"

  The bald man with the forehead wound squinted and froze. 

  I had wondered what had happened to his body after I had shot him 
a week ago. But I never suspected he had lived through it, or the 
subsequent fall out my window. Wells had picked his henchmen 
tough. I reached for my gun and pointed the mean end at him. He 
stopped squinting at me, and grabbed his bloody skull. The bastard 
didn't recognize me.

  I poked him in the chest with my barrel, and said, "Hey, 
fucker. You know who I am?"

  He raised an eyebrow at me and said nothing. He sat up, 
and half slid out of the seat until he was leaning against the side of 
the torn up car. Standing a few inches taller than me, he was a sight 
I did not see often. I lowered my gun and looked back toward the 
other wreckage in the middle of the street. I did not hear any 
sirens, but it would not be long.

  "What the hell happened?" I asked.

  "Uhh.I was followed."

  "What? There's no one else around."

  "Wait. Where is the man who hit me? The man in that 
black car there. Where is he?" His voice was high and nasal. It 
gave him an all around pathetic look. I had never him speak 
before; when he was with Wells, the other had done all the talking.

  "I don't know. No one was behind the wheel when I got 
there. Didn't you see the car when it pulled onto the road?"

  "No, he pulled out of the wrong lane so I would not see him 
coming. He must have gotten ahead of me somehow.maybe back 
at the turnpike. I don't know. But if he is dead, I need to see the 
body."

  "Someone is after you?"

  "Yes. Or actually, not really." His eyes darted around 
furtively, obviously searching. "Look, thank you for your help, but 
you must leave before any Taurs show up."

  "What, you mean gang? Is that who's after you?"

  "I told you, they are not after me! Now leave!!" He was 
clutching his forehead, and his fingers were becoming sticky with 
blood. I had written baldy off long ago when my gyrojets opened 
his third eye. Obviously there had been some extensive damage to 
his frontal lobes, because he did not seem to remember me or my 
gun. I pulled it out again and put my hand up to stop him as he 
made for the other wrecked car.

  "Hold it, Fester. Maybe you don't know who I am, but I 
know enough about you. If you're gonna try to kill anyone else 
then I'm obliged to finish what I started." I poked his raised hand 
which held his head. He winced in pain, and then stared at me 
again.

  "Oh, god. Not you."

  "Yes, it's me."

  "What happened to Allan Wells?" he asked, and it looked 
like he was getting even more nervous.

  "I killed him."

  "Impossible. He was the master! You could not have killed 
him! No one-"

  "I crushed him and he deserved it. And your friend Guy 
Jinn is gone too. You are the only one left and I don't think you are 
in much condition to put up a fight." To emphasize this, I exerted a 
little force on him. He would figure out that I was learning to use it 
sooner or later, and if I intimidated him now, he might not try 
anything funny at all. He squealed a little in his whiny voice, and 
backed up against his rear door.

  "Stop it! Stop it! I hate that!"

  "You mean you can't do it?"

  "No, damn it! I never could."

  "How did you fly, then?"

  "It was Wells lifting us both. The master did all manner of 
things to me while I was in his employ."

  "So the chamber didn't work on you."

  "It doesn't for about ninety nine percent of test subjects. I 
was useful for other reasons."

  "What reasons? What were you two after me for?"

  He paused, wiping the rain water off his face. We studied 
each other. I was an odd case; I actually felt nervous when I 
thought I had too much control of a situation. It was unnatural. I 
was sure he had noticed this already. I gathered even more 
concentration.

  The man then said, "Maybe a deal, Mr. Screw. If you do 
not want Rufius to find and butcher you, you would do well to 
listen. Get me out of this mess, and I'll tell you all I know."

  "You mean the mess with the cops?"

  "No, with the Taurs. They are coming for me now, and I 
cannot run."

  I turned in the direction he was pointing and very faintly 
started to hear what I thought was the slapping of boots on wet 
pavement. It sounded like three or four people, but I could not tell 
for sure. Steam rising out of manholes had created a light fog all 
around.

  "They are trying to capture me, but will resort to murder if 
they have to." 

  "How familiar."

  He returned my slight grin. "Yes, I see the irony here. But 
still, you may want to help me."

  "I may."

  "There is a rifle in the back of my car. Take it with you. We 
have to hide."

  "Alright."

  I punched through the back window, which was cracked 
anyway. Feeling around, my hand touched on a hard case and I 
pulled it out. It was wider than a violin case, and had a label on the 
handle which said `Weirham.'

  "That you?" I asked.

  "Yes. And the gun is some sort of energy rifle. I have never 
fired it, so use your own weapon until you find it necessary. Now 
help me, I hurt my hip in the crash. We have to get off the streets."

  I put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him along side 
me. We hobbled down a through street, and then went into an 
alley. Kicking trash out of my way, I listened to the patter of 
footsteps that got closer. I turned corners at random, until Weirham 
was able to walk on his own and we decided to make for the 
nearest subway terminal. It was four streets away, and on the other 
side of Adams City Park. There was a large open field in the 
middle there, and we would be easy targets if the lame man and I 
tried to cross it. On one side was a fishpond and on the other was a 
large patch of trees. The pond was functional of course, and was 
only three and a half feet deep and full of rusty water. So we ran 
into the trees.

  Looking back I saw three men in black jackets running in 
our direction. They were about two hundred yards back, and were 
openly carrying their side arms. The short one who was lagging 
behind dragged an older model G79 in the grass and laughed as he 
stared at the ground. I realized that all three of them were laughing 
as they ran.

  "They are on accelerants," said Weirham. "Rufius makes 
them take the pills before doing jobs so they wont get tired or 
thirsty."

  "I know all about Taurs and drugs. If we can get on the 
subway they may get stopped by cops for weapon possession. And 
why do I keep hearing about this Rufius?"

  "He was Wells' master. He is also commands the Taur 
gang now. I have never met him, so I don't know what he's like."

  "Why is he sending them to do the wet work?"

  "There is no one left. Now hurry, they are almost into the 
woods."

  "Way ahead of you, old man."

  I kept running. My first plan had been to somehow get back 
to Zig's place which was only a few miles north of here. But gang 
boys in berserker mode were not the kind of company I wanted 
tagging along. Public places always had cops nearby, so that is 
where I wanted to go. And subway terminals even had metal 
detectors, though they were frequently in disrepair. It was 
something to hope for at least. I held on to Weirham's sleeve and 
kept moving. We were almost through.

  When we cleared the opposite tree line the three gang boys 
were so close I could hear them muttering to each other. I crouched 
low and pulled out my Beretta. The dented steel grip fit perfectly 
into my hand, and without hesitation I squeezed off five shots at 
the closest one. He howled as he took all of them in the chest, even 
after hiding behind a small tree. I turned to fire at the next guy, but 
the short one started firing his automatic at me, and I had to run for 
cover. Weirham had ran behind a car in the nearly deserted parking 
lot, and I followed him through the pouring rain. I could still hear 
the first man screaming from the woods; accelerants keeping his 
heart beating even though he was virtually dead.

  The two Taurs exited the woods about fifty feet apart, and 
shot at the car we were behind. Five-five-six slugs riddled the large 
machine, but did not penetrate. Thank god there was one thing that 
this city could make right. They walked toward me and split up to 
trap us from both sides. I growled in frustration.

  "Take this," I said to Weirham. "Shoot through the 
windshield at that one. I'm gonna try something else."

  "I'll try," he said, and started shooting.

  I opened the expensive looking black box and saw a squat 
chrome rifle with about seven barrels. It was really heavy, but I 
was desperate. I aimed the thing at the black man who was 
reloading his two guns. Shaking my head, I pulled the large trigger. 
The thing exploded in my hands.

  "Holy shit!" I yelled, as the air in front of me scorched a 
giant phosphoric hole out of itself and I was blinded. The smell of 
burning kevlar came from my forearms, which I felt as I collapsed 
to the pavement.

  Weirham screamed "No!! I thought you knew! You can't 
fire an energy weapon outside in the rain! Get up! They are almost 
upon us!"

  "Then why the fuck didn't you tell me a minute ago?! 
Gimme back my gun!"

  As I yanked it out of the man's shaking hands, the short 
Taur rounded the car I was behind and raised his gun. I pulled my 
trigger before he did, but mine clicked in emptiness, and his did 
not. Weirham squealed and dropped onto his stomach while I 
scrunched myself under the car. The gang boy ran toward us firing, 
and lacking a better idea, I summoned my psionics and targeted his 
legs. The effect was immediate.

  Weirham looked up, and then rolled his head back at me 
and said, "Why didn't you do that before?"

  "I don't like it, and it doesn't always work. Remember, I 
just figured this shit out a week ago. I'm out of mags. Come on, we 
have to run!"

  We both stood up and ran toward another parked car as the 
other Taur finished loading his guns and began shooting. I dove to 
the pavement as I saw the vehicle explode into fire as a shot tagged 
the gas tank. He must have been using HEAT rounds. I 
concentrated on his chest as he turned his guns on me and threw 
him back. His body flew against a street light, and I was about to 
crush him against it when Weirham yelled at me, and I noticed my 
other foe was getting to his feet. Knowing I couldn't handle the 
two of them at the same time, I turned tail and ran out of the 
parking lot and across the adjacent street. I was still seeing bright 
flashes of color from the explosion. Sunspot suicide.

  We made it to the subway entrance without being shot at, 
and before I jumped down the stairs, I glanced behind me. One of 
the men was laughing out loud while he picked up his bent G79. 
The other one was nowhere to be seen. I searched my pockets for 
another magazine, but did not find any. I must have dropped them 
all when the energy rifle shorted out in the rain. Cursing, I 
followed Weirham underground where the roar of trains in my ears 
was a welcome change from that of powder.

  When I reached the platform I searched desperately for a 
cop, but did not see any. No security guards, no audit officers. 

  "Quick, onto the train. They won't make it if we hurry."

  I pushed people aside and ran into the train's tiny 
bathroom. Through a shaded window I concentrated on the stairs I 
had just come down, and got ready to smash any gang members 
who came down. Before the cars even started moving I saw the 
glint of Weirham's dangerous little toy in the hands of a fat, 
screaming Taur who I now realized could not have been more than 
seventeen. 

  I leaned forward in the small space, looked across the 
opportunely empty expanse,  and hit him with every thing I had. It 
had not occurred to me before, but my force wave was ballistic. 
Before hitting my target, the train wall in front of me erupted 
outward, and pieces of it flew over the crowd outside. The gang 
boy fired the rifle as he was sent flying against the concrete wall 
behind him, splashing the contents of his tattooed head in swirls 
reminiscent of Van Gogh. Those hit by his lightning bolt were 
even less fortunate.

  "The other one will not make the same mistake," Wierham 
said from my right side.

  "You mean the tall black guy?" I asked.

  "Yes. He would probably be the leader. We must get on a 
different train and ride it until we reach its terminus so as not to be 
followed."

  "Then what?"

  "Then when we are completely and absolutely certain the 
Taurs do not know where we are, we find a quiet spot uptown and 
I tell you what you will need to know."

  "About this Rufius guy."

  "Yes. Though this may not be news to you. Wells once 
mentioned that the two of you knew each other."

  "This is the first I've ever heard of him."

  "It won't be the last."

  I paused.

  "This had better be worth it, Weirham. If I get shot saving 
your vile ass, I swear I'll claw my way out of the coffin and 
strangle you. I ain't goin down with the ship alone."

  "I know."

  I finally started to hear police sirens and the two of us 
walked out of the hole I had made, disappearing into the screaming 
mob. I stepped over the bodies of an old man, and a woman who 
had been on crutches. I'm sorry. Looking away quickly, I spotted 
and picked up the energy rifle from where the dead Taur's hand 
had let it fall. I wrapped it in a discarded newspaper and then 
followed Weirham to a new north bound train line which passed 
through capital plaza. There were so many people running around 
that the third gangster could have been twenty feet from me and I 
wouldn't have known it. I scanned every face I passed, but did not 
find the one I sought. Once the sliding doors opened we found 
seats in the back and tried to look inconspicuous, which was hard 
since we were drenched in rain.

  The engine started, and our car lurched ahead. A few 
seconds later, florescent tunnel lights whizzed by and strobe-lit the 
crowded aisle. I took out the gun, and saw that it was an EWA-7. 
Special Forces issue. I dried it off on my shirt and reset the tiny 
fuses. It had wasted most of its internal battery during the short out 
which had burned the color out of my jacket sleeves. I looked over 
at the large bald man who sat aside me, looking anxious and grim.

  "Wells was working for the Mandate, huh?"

  "Indirectly, yes."

  "And Rufius was, directly."

  "So to speak. Of course it isn't all that simple."

  "Explain," I said. We had some time.

  "Government agencies are individually run by members of 
the Mandate with near autonomy. Believe it or not, the Gold Cup 
Racing Board is one such institution. If you get a bad Director, 
there is next to nothing the public can do about it. It's the way the 
Mandate divides up the power between themselves. Rufius tips the 
scale even by their standard." He sighed and stared out the 
window. "Wells used to come for me after meeting with the man in 
the early morning, and we would.find people. And do things to 
them just so he could vent his tension and anger. Rufius is the only 
person I know who was able to crack Wells' shell, and make him 
leak a little humanity. It came out only as hate and hysterical rage, 
but it still scared me."

  "Damn. Rufius can use psionics too?"

  "Oh yes. He taught Wells and White. Wells taught the man 
who impersonated Guy Jinn and tried to teach me, but I was 
completely unresponsive to the treatment. Usually that has the 
unfortunate side effect of death, but not in my case for some 
unknown reason. That is why they hired me."

  "Who is White?"

  "Rufius' first student. I think the two of them may be 
related somehow, but I don't know. White was more adept than 
Wells, and Rufius kept him close at hand for help with his work. 
White only had one student, but he got away before fully maturing 
his power. Now the old man stays in his Apothecary and works on 
the new subjects." 

  "The student got away?"

  "Yes, I don't remember much now (he touched the wound 
on his forehead) but it seemed that he matured faster than was 
normal, and went insane. White wanted to continue the treatment 
ad infinitum, but the sentiments were obviously not shared."
He turned to me, and became very serious. "If you want to 
stop Rufius, you will have to kill White as well. He may not be as 
proficient with his psionics as his master, but White has ambition 
that will not be satiated with playing second chair. This can be 
good for you, or it can damn your effort from the start. You see-"

  I cut him off. "Wait! What's that?!"

  "What?"

  "That! There!"

  Weirham craned his neck around the people in front of us. 

  "Well, I don't see...oh...Oh god... He brought friends."
The black Taur with a smile on his face walked down the 
isle of the car in front of ours. Behind him were at least six other 
gang boys with their right hands in their jackets which bore the red 
bull tag. They shoved commuters out of the way and came right at 
us.

  I bolted out of my seat and ran to the back of the car with 
Weirham close behind. There was one more car of passengers and 
then the rear locomotive, which we made for. The train was 
decelerating rapidly as it approached the next station, and we 
found it hard to keep fully upright.

  "Oh shit! The door is locked!" I turned around and saw the 
Taurs only one car away, now carrying their guns openly, and 
laughing out loud. That whiny laughing. "Get down!" I yelled to 
the ten or so civilians in this last train car.

  I pulled out the EWA-7 and took the safety off. Aiming it 
at the door, I waited for the gang boys to open it and get what they 
doubtlessly deserved. 

  They finally came through and the first one stepped into my 
car. But it was not the black man from before. It was the fat biker I 
choked the night before at Korre's.

  I got a `Remember me?' in a scratchy voice. His gang 
jacket was old and tattered, and had likely spent many a night 
under a park bench. The body underneath had not been very far.
"Old friends never die, they just lie in wait." 

  He grinned. "Well put."

  As we both raised our guns at each other, the train finally 
jerked to a stop, and reflexively we all reached for a pole. 
But in that instant, I realized my folly. I wouldn't be able to 
fire the damn gun with only one hand-  I deliberately missed the 
pole, and continued to fall forward onto the floor as the shooting 
started. Glass was heard shattering behind me. I rolled onto my 
back, aimed the gun upward, and pulled the triggers.

  The crescendo of multiple machine guns firing rose in my 
ears immediately, and I flinched, dropping the rifle. But I was not 
harmed. I opened one eye and saw the Taur gang being torn apart 
by a spray of bullets coming from outside the train, probably on 
the loading platform. Figuring it to be cops, I got on my hands and 
knees and nudged Weirham who was huddled whimpering in a 
fetal ball.

  "Move! That window looks like our best bet."

  He nodded, and we crawled away while a fire fight raged 
less than twenty feet away. The echo in the small train 
compartment made the shots sound like bottles breaking. Weirham 
jumped through the glass first, and as I turned to glance behind me, 
I was surprised to see that it was not the police at all. It was 
another gang, but these guys carried themselves professionally. 
They were primarily dressed in black and dark gray, and carried 
Mauser assault rifles.

  "What the hell?" I said, and stared.

  Weirham's hand reached through the window and pulled 
me through, backwards. I fell onto the other platforms concrete 
deck in pain.

  "Come on!" he yelled. His fat hand was shaking furiously.

  "Wait! It's not the cops! It's some sort of gang war!"

  "Then we better run twice as fast!"

  "Good advice," said a voice from the shattered train 
window. It was the third Taur from the trio who followed us into 
the park. The tall man's beard had blood in it, and he was holding 
his two guns, one on each of us. We froze in our tracks.

  "Son of a-" I started to say.

  But the rest was drowned out by the gunshot which took his 
head completely off his shoulders. My eyes widened as material 
shot across my jacket. I cringed in surprise as I somehow 
distinguished footsteps in the glass approach the window. The 
shooter poked his head out.

  "Don't argue with me, Screw. We're going, now." 

  It was Christopher Dais.




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