The Descent

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'Jeff Long has achieved something that has so far evaded both high-caste genre writers and literary colonisers: he has returned science fiction to its original vigourand – while maintaining all the headlon g readability we associat e wit h the for m –madeitaworthwhilemoraltoolagain.The Descent isSFforthe 2000s, from a writerwh o simply won't be told what h e can't do. There should be mor e lik e it' M. John Harrison

'Atourdeforce.Asubterranean realmsoexpertly realisedandcredible,we feel it hasexisted all along. A dark, pervading , benighte d beauty. If Kim Stanley Robinson'sMartian colonists had headed down instead of up, this is the world they would havefound 'JamesLovegrove

'Withoutquestion,the best thing I've read so far this year. Long proves himself to beawonderful storyteller. Astunningtourdeforce'Peter Crowther

'This flat-out, gears grinding, bumper-car ride into the pit s of hell is one majortakedown of a read. Long writes with unearthly force and vision. What emerges is a War of the Worlds against a world that can't lose. A page-burner of a book' LorenzoCarcaterra

BYTHESAMEAUTHOR

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Fiction

AngelofLightThe AscentEmpireofBones

Non-fiction

Outlaw: The Story ofClaudeDallas DuelofEagles: The MexicanandUSFightfortheAlamo THE DESCENT

Jeff Long

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Copyright © Jeff Long 1999 All rights reserved

The right of Jeff Long to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him inaccordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 .

This edition published in Great Britain in 2000 by Millennium An imprint of Victor Gollancz Orion House, 5 Upper St Martin's Lane,London WC2H 9EA

To receive information on the Millennium list, e-mail us at: [email protected]

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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ISBN 1 85798 9295

Printed in Great Britain by Clays Ltd, St Ives plc

For my Helenas, AChainUnbroken

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is a fairy tale tha t writers are recluses quietl y cohabiting with their muse . Thiswriter, anyway, benefite dfromaworldofotherpeople'sideas and support. Ironically, ascent informed important moments inThe Descent's genesis. The book began as an idea that I presented to a climber, my friend and manager, Bill Gross, who spent thenext fifteenmonthshelpingmerefinethe story. Hisgenius and encouragement fueled every page. Early on he shared the project with two other creative spirits in the filmworld, Bruce Berma n an d Kevin McMaho n at Villag e Roadshow Pictures . Theirsuppor tmade possible my 're-entry' int o New York publishing. There a mountaineerand writer named Jon Waterman introduced me to the talent s o f another climber, literary agent Susan Golomb. She labored to make the stor y presentable, cohesive,and true toitself.Withhersharpeye and memory of terrain, she would make a greatsniper . I than k my editors: Karen Rinaldi for her literary candor and electricity,Richard Marek for his dedicate d grasp and professionalism , and PanagiotisGianopoulos,arisingluminaryinthepublishingworld.Iwant to add special thanks tomy nameless, faceless copy editor. This is my seventh book, and I only learned now that,forprofessionalreasons,copyeditorsarenever revealed to writers. Like monks,they toil in anonymity. I specifically requested the best copy editor i n the country,an d whoever he or she is, my wish was granted. My deep appreciation to Jim Walsh,anotherofthehiddenmindsbehindthebook. Iamnotaspelunker,noranepicpoet.Inotherwords,Ineeded guides to penetrate my imaginary hell. It was my father, the geologist, who set me roaming in childhoodmazes, from old mines to honeycombed sandstone structures, from Pennsylvania toMesa Verde and Arches national monuments. Besides the obvious and well-usedinspirationsfor my poeticlicense,I'mobligedtoseveral contemporary works. Alice K.Turner's Th e History of Hell (Harcourt Brace) was stunning in its scope, scholarship,and wicked humor. Dante had his Virgil; I had my Turner. Another instructor of theunderworld was the indispensable Atla s of the Great Caves of the World, by PaulCourbon. 'Lechuguilla Restoration: Techniques Learned in the Southwest Focus,' byVa l Hildreth-Werker and Jim C. Werker, gave me a 'deeper' appreciation of cave environments . Donald Dale Jackson'sUnderground Worlds (Time-Life Books) neverqui t amazing me with the beauty of subterranean places. Finally, it was my friendSteve Harrigan' s remarkable nove l abou t cave diving , Jacob's Wel l (Simo n andSchuster) ,thattruly anchored my nightmaresabout dark,deep,tubularrealms. The Descent wasinformedby many other people's work and ideas, too many to listwithout a bibliography . However, Turi n Shroud, by Lynn Picknett and Clive Prince (HarperCollins), provided th e basi s for my own Shroud chapter. 'Egil's Bones,' byJess eL.Byock( ScientificAmerican,January 1995), providedmea disease to go withmy masks. Unveiled : Nuns Talking,b y Mary Loudon (Templegate Publishers), gavem e a peek behind the veil. Stephen S. Hall'sMapping the Next Millennium (Vintage)opened my mindto the world of cartography. Peter Sloss, of the Marine

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Geology andGeophysics Computer Graphics at the National Oceanic and AtmosphericAdministration, generously displayed his state-of-the-art mapmaking. PhilipLieberman'sThe Biologyand Evolutionof Language (Harvard) helped me backward into the origin s of speech, a s did Dr Rende, a speech language pathologist at theUniversity of Colorado . Michael D. Coe's Breakin g the Maya Code (Thames andHudson) , David Roberts's 'The Decipherment o f Ancient Maya' (Atlantic Monthly,September 1991) , Coli n Renfrew' s 'Th e Origin s o f Indo-Europea n Languages ' (Scientifi cAmerican,October1989),andespeciallyRobertWright's'Th eQuest for the Mother Tongue' (Atlantic Monthl y, April 1991) gave m e a window on linguistic discovery. 'Unusual Unity' by Stephen Jay Gould (Natural History, April 1997) and 'TheAfricanEmergenceandEarlyAsianDispersalsoftheGenusHomo'by RoyLarickand Russell L. Ciochon ( American Scientist, November-December 1996) go t mywheel s seriousl y spinnin g and led me to further readings. Cliff Watts, ye t anotherclimberandfriend,guidedmetoan internet article on prions, by Stanley B. Prusiner,and gave medical advice about everything from altitude to vision. Another climber,Ji m Gleason, tried his damnedest to keep my junk science to a minimum, all in vain I'm afraid he'll feel. I only hope that my plundering and mangling of fact may pavesom eamuseddiversion. Early on, Graham Henderson, a fellow Tibet traveler, gave my journey directionwit h his observations about Th e Inferno. Throughout, Stev e Long helped map thejourney, both on paper and in countless conversations. Pam Novotny loaned me herZen-like patienc e an d calm, in addition to editorial assistance. Angel a Thieman,Meliss a Ward, and Margo Timmin s provided constan t inspiration. I am grateful toElizabet h Crook, Craig Blockwick, Arthur Lindquist-Kliessler, an d Cindy Butler fortheir crucialremindersofalightattheendofthetunnel. Finally, thank you, Barbara and Helena, for putting up with the chaos that finally cametoorder. Love may notconquerall,buthappilyitconquersus.

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BOOK ONE

DISCOVERY

It is easy to go down into Hell...; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air – there's the rub....

– VIRGIL, Aeneid 1

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IKE

The Himalayas, Tibet Autonomous Region

1988

Inthebeginningwastheword. Orwords. Whatever these were. They kept theirlightsturned off. The exhausted trekkers huddled in the dark cavean dfacedthepeculiar writing.Scrawled with a twig, possibly, dipped in liquid radiumor some other radioactive paint, the fluorescent pictograph s floate d in the blackrecesses . Ike let the m savor the distraction . None of the m seeme d quite read y tofocusonthestormbeatingagainstthemountainsideoutside. Withnightdescendingandthetrailerased by snow and wind and their yak herdersinmutinou s flight with most of the gear and food, Ike was relieved to have shelter ofanykind.Hewasstillpretendingforthemthatthi swas part of their trip. In fact they were of f the map . He'd never hear d o f this hole-in-the-wall hideout . No r seen glow-in-the-dark cavemangraffiti. 'Runes,'gushedaknowingfemalevoice.'Sacredrunesleftby awanderingmonk.'The alien calligraphy glowe d with soft violet ligh t in the cave' s cold bowels. Theluminou shieroglyphicsremindedIke of his old dorm wall with its black-light posters.All he needed was a lash of Hendrix plundering Dylan's anthem, say, and a whiff ofplumpHawaiianredsinsemilla.Anythingto vanquish the howl of awful wind.Outsideinthe cold distance,awildcatdidgrowl... 'Those are no runes,' said a man. 'It's Bonpo.' A Brooklyn beat , the accen t meantOwen . Ike had nine clients here, onl y two of them male . They were easy to keepstraight. 'Bonpo!' one of the women barked at Owen. The coven seeme d to take collectivedelight in savaging Owen and Bernard, the other man. Ike had been spare d so far.They treated himasaharmlessHimalayan hillbilly.Finewithhim. 'ButtheBonpowere pre-Buddhist,'thewomanexpounded. The women were mostly Buddhist students from a New Age university. Thesething smattered very much tothem.

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Their goal was – or had been – Mount Kailash, the pyramidal giant just east of theIndianborder.'A Canterbury Tale fortheWorldPilgrim' was how he'd advertised thetrip.Akor– a Tibetan walkabout – to and around the holiest mountain in the world.Eight thousand per head, incense included. The problem was, somewhere along thetrailhe'dmanagedtomisplacethemountain. It galled him. They were lost. Beginningatdawntoday,thesky hadchangedfrombluetomilky gray. The herders had quietlybolted with the yaks. He had yet to announce that their tents and food were history.The first sloppy snowflakes had started kissing their Gore-Te x hoods just an hourago, and Ike had taken this cave for shelter. It was a good call. He was the only onewho knew it , but the y wer e no w abou t t o ge t sodomize d b y a n old-fashionedHimalaya n tempest. Ike felt his jacket being tugged to one side, and knew it would be Kora, wanting aprivate word. 'How bad is it?' she whispered. Depending on the hour and day, Kora was his lover, base-camp shotgun, or business associate. Of late, i t was a challenge estimating which came first for her, the business of adventure or the adventur e ofbusiness.Either way, theirlittletrekking companywasnolongercharmingtoher. Ike sawnoreasontofront-loaditwithnegatives. 'We'vegota great cave,'hesaid. 'Gee.' 'We'restillintheblack,head-count-wise.' 'Theitinerary's inruins.Wewere behindasitwas.' 'We're fine. We'll take it out of the Siddhartha's Birthplace segment.' H e kept theworry out of his voice, but for once his sixth sense, or whatever it was, had come upshort, and that bothered him. 'Besides, getting a little lost will give them bragging rights.' 'They don'twantbraggingrights.They wantschedule.Youdon'tknow these people.They're notyour friends. We'llgetsuedif they don't make their Thai Air flight on thenineteenth.' 'These are the mountains,' said Ike. 'They'll understand.' People forgot. Up here, itwasamistaketo take even your next breath forgranted. 'No, Ike. They won't understand. They have real jobs . Real obligations. Families.'That was the rub. Again. Kora wanted mor e fro m life. She wanted mor e fro m herpathlessPathfinder. 'I'mdoingthe best Ican,'Ike said. Outside, the storm went on horsewhipping the cave mouth. Barely May, it wasn'tsupposed to be this way. There should have been plenty of time to get his bunch to,around, and back fro m Kailash. The ban e of mountaineers, th e monsoo n normallydidn'tspillacrossthemountainsthisfarnorth.Butas a former Everester himself, Ikeshoul d have knownbetter than to believe in rain shadows or in schedules. Or in luck.They were in for it this time. The snow would seal their pass shut until late August.That meant he wa s going to have to buy space on a Chinese truck and shuttle themhomeviaLhasa–andthatcameoutof his lan d costs. He tried calculating in his head, buttheirquarrel overcame him. 'Youdo know what I mean by Bonpo,' a woman said. Nineteen days into the trip,and Ike still couldn't lin k their spirit nicknames with the name s in their passports.On e woman, was it Ethel or Winifred, now

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preferred Green Tara, mother deity ofTibet. A pert DorisDay look-alike swore she was special friends with the Dalai Lama.Forweeks now Ike had been listening to them celebrate the life of cavewomen. Well,hethought,here'syour cave, ladies.Slum away. They were sure his name – Dwight David Crockett – was a n invention like theirown.Nothingcould convincethemhe wasn't one of them, a dabbler in past lives. OneeveningaroundacampfireinnorthernNepal ,he'd regaled them with tales of AndrewJackson, pirates on the Mississippi, and his own legendary death at the Alamo. He'dmeantitasajoke,butonlyKoragotit. 'You should know perfectly well, ' the woma n went on , 'ther e wa s n o writtenlanguag ein Tibet beforethelatefifthcentury.' 'Nowritten languagethatweknow about,'Owensaid. 'Next you'llbesayingthisisYeti language.' It hadbeenlikethis for days. You'd think they'd run out of air. But the higher theywent ,themorethey argued. 'This is what we get for pandering to civilians,' Kora muttered to Ike. Civilians was hercatch-all: eco-tourists, pantheist charlatans, trust funders, the overeducated. She wasastreet girlatheart. 'They're notsobad,'hesaid.'They're justlookingforaway intoOz,sameasus.' 'Civilians.' Ike sighed. At times lik e this, he questioned hi s self-imposed exile . Livin g apartfrom the worl d was no t easy. Ther e wa s a pric e t o b e pai d fo r choosin g theless-travele d road.Little things, bigger ones. He was no longer that rosy-cheeked lad whohadcomewiththePeaceCorps.Hestillhadthecheekbonesandcowledbrow andcarelessmane.Buta dermatologist on one of his treks had advised him to stay out ofthehigh-altitudesunbeforehisfaceturned to boot leather. Ike had never consideredhimself God's gift to women, but he saw no reason to trash what looks he still had.He'd lost two of his back molars to Nepal's dearth of dentists, and another tooth to a falling rock on the backside of Everest. And not so long ago, in his Johnnie WalkerBlack and Camels days, he'd taken to serious self-abuse, even flirting with the lethalwest faceofMakalu.He'dquitthesmokean dboozecoldwhensomeBritish nurse toldhimhisvoicesoundedlikeaRudyard Kiplingpunchline.Makalustill neededslaying,ofcourse.Thoughmanymorningshe even wonderedaboutthat. Exile went deeper than the cosmetics or even prime health, of course. Self-doubtcamewiththeterritory, a wondering about what might have been, had he stayed thecourse back in Jackson. Rig work. Ston e masonry. Mayb e mountain guiding in theTetons, or outfitting for hunters. No telling. He'd spent the last eight years in Nepaland Tibet watchinghimselfslowly devolve fromtheGolden Boy of the Himalayas intoon e more forgotten surrogate of the American empire. He'd grown old inside. Evennow there were days whenIke felteighty.Next week washisthirty-first birthday. 'Wouldyoulookatthis?' rose a cry. 'What kind of mandala is that? The lines are alltwisty.' Ike lookedat the circle. It was hanging on the wall like a luminous moon. Mandalaswere meditation aids, blueprints fo r divinity's palaces. Normally they consisted ofcircles withi n circle s containin g square d lines . B y visualizin g it jus t so, a 3-Darchitectur e was supposed to appear above the mandala's fla

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t surface. Thi s one, though ,lookedlikescrambledsnakes. Ike turnedonhislight.Endofmystery, hecongratulatedhimself.Evenhewasstunnedby thesight. 'MyGod,'saidKora. Where, a moment before, the fluorescent words ha d hung in magical suspense, anud e corpse stood rigidly propped upon a stone shelf along the back wall. The wordsweren't written on stone. They were written on him. The mandala was separate,painte donthewalltohisrightside. A set of rocks formed a crude stairway up to his stage, and various passersby hadattachedkatas–long whiteprayer scarves –tocracks in the stone ceiling. The katassucke dbackandforthinthedraftlikegently disturbedghosts. The man'sgrimacewasslightlybucktoothedfrommummification,andhiseyes werecalcifie dtochalkyblue marbles. Otherwise theextreme coldandhigh altitude had lefthim perfectly preserved. Under the harsh bea m of Ike's headlamp, the lettering wasfaintandreduponhisemaciatedlimbsandbellyandchest. That hewasatraveler was self-evident. Inthese regions,everyone was a pilgrim ora nomad or a salt trader or a refugee. But, judging from his scars and unhealedwounds and a metal collar around his neck and a warped, badly mended broken leftarm,thisparticularMarcoPolo had endured a journey beyond imagination. If flesh ismemory,hisbodycriedoutawholehistoryofabuseandenslavement. They stood beneath the shelf and goggled at the suffering. Three of the women – and Owen – began weeping. Ike alone approached. Probing here and there with his lightbeam,hereachedouttotouchoneshin withhisiceax: hardasfossilwood. Ofalltheobviousinsults,theonethatstoodoutmostwashis partial castration. Oneof the man's testicles had been yanked away, not cut, not even bitten – the edges ofthe tear were too ragged – and the wound had been cauterized with fire. The burnscars radiated out from his groin in a hairless keloid starburst. Ike couldn't get overth erawscornofit.Man'stenderest part,mutilated,thendoctoredwithatorch. 'Look,'someonewhimpered.'Whatdidthey dotohisnose?' Midcenter on the battered face was a ring unlike anything he'd ever seen before. This was no silvery Gen-X body piercing. The ring, three inches across and crustedwith blood, was plugged deep in his septum, almost up into the skull. It hung to hisbottom lip, as black as his beard. I t was, thought Ike, utilitarian, large enough tocontrolcattle. Then he got a little closer and his repulsion altered. The ring was brutal. Blood andsmokeandfilthhad coated it almost black, but Ike could plainly see the dull gleam of solidgold. Ike turnedtohispeople and saw nine pairs of frightened eyes beseeching him frombeneathhoodsandvisors .Everyone hadtheirlightsonnow.Noonewasarguing. 'Why?'wept oneofthewomen. A couple of the Buddhist s had reverted to Christianity an d were on their knees,crossin g themselves. Owenwasrockingfromsidetoside,murmuringKaddish.

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Koracameclose.'Youbeautifulbastard.'Shegiggled.Ike started. She was talking tothecorpse. 'Whatdidyou say?' 'We're off the hook. They're not going to hit us up for refunds after all. We don'thave toprovidetheirholy mountainanymore.They've gotsomething better.' 'Letup,Kora. Give themsomecredit.They're notghouls.' 'No?Lookaround,Ike.' Sure enough, cameras were stealing into view in ones and twos. There was a flash,thenanother.Their shock gave way totabloid voyeurism. In no time the entire cast was blazing away with eight-hundred-dollarpoint-and-shoots. Motor drives made an insect hum. The lifeless flesh flared in theirartificial lightning. Ike moved out of frame, and welcomed the corpse like a savior. Itwa sunbelievable.Famished,cold,andlost,they couldn't have beenhappier. Oneofthe women had climbed the stepping-stones and was kneeling to one side ofthenude,herheadtilted sideways. Shelookeddownatthem.'Buthe'soneofus,'shesaid. 'What'sthatsupposedtomean?' 'Us.Youandme.Awhiteman.' Someoneelseframeditinlessvulgar terms. 'ACaucasianmale?' 'That'scrazy,'someoneobjected.'Here?Inthemiddleofnowhere?' Ike knewshewasright. The whiteflesh,thehaironitsforearms and chest, the blueeyes, the cheekbones so obviously non-Mongoloid. But the woman wasn't pointing tohis hair y arm s o r blu e eye s o r slende r cheekbones . Sh e wa s pointin g a t thehieroglyphic spaintedonhisthigh.Ike aimedhislightatth eotherthigh.Andfroze.The text wasinEnglish.ModernEnglish.Onlyupsidedown. It came to him. The body hadn' t been written upon after death. The man hadwritten upon himself in life. He'd used his own body as a blank page. Upside down.He'dinscribedhisjournalnotesontheonlyparchment guaranteed to travel with him.NowIke sawhowtheletteringwasn'tjustpaintedon,butcrudely tattooed. Wherever he could reach, the man had jotted bits of testimony. Abrasions and filthobscuredsomeofthe writing,particularlybelowthekneesandaroundhis ankles. Theres t of it could easily have been dismissed as random and lunatic. Numbers mixedwith words an d phrases, especially on the outer edges of each thigh, where he'dapparently decided there was extra room for new entries. The clearest passage layacros shis lowerstomach. '"Alltheworldwillbeinlovewithnight,"'Ike readaloud,'"and pay noworship to thegarishsun."' 'Gibberish,'snappedOwen,badlyspooked.

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'Bibletalk,'Ike sympathized. 'No,it'snot,'pipedupKora.'That'snotfromtheBible. It's Shakespeare. Rome o and Juliet.' Ike felt the group's repugnance. Indeed, why would this tortured creature choosefor his obituary the mos t famous love stor y ever written? A story about opposingclans.Ataleoflovetranscendingviolence. The poor stiff had been out of his gourd onthin air and solitude. It was no coincidence that in the highest monasteries on earth,menendlesslyobsessedaboutdelusion.Hallucinationswere agivenup here. Even the DalaiLamajokedaboutit. 'And so,' Ike said, 'he's white. He knew his Shakespeare. That makes him no olderthantwoor three hundred years.' It wasbecominga parlor game. Their fear was shifting to morbid delight. Forensicsasrecreation. 'Whoisthisguy?' onewomanasked. 'Aslave?' 'Anescapedprisoner?' Ike said nothing. He went nose-to-nose with the gaunt face, hunting for clues. Tellyou rjourney, he thought.Speak your escape. Who shackled youwithgold? Nothing.The marbleeyes ignoredtheircuriosity. The grimaceenjoyeditsvoicelessriddles. Owenhadjoinedthemontheshelf,readingfromtheoppositeshoulder. 'RAF.' Sureenough,theleftdeltoidborea tattoo with the letters RAF beneath an eagle. Itwa srightsideupandof commercialquality.Ike graspedthecoldarm. 'RoyalAirForce,'hetranslated. The puzzle assembled. It even half-explained th e Shakespeare, if not the chosenlines. 'Hewasapilot?'askedtheParisbob.Sheseemed charmed. 'Pilot.Navigator.Bombardier.'Ike shrugged.'Whoknows?' Like a cryptographer, he bent to inspect the words and numbers twining the flesh.Line after line, he trace d each clue to its dead end. Here an d there he punctuatedcomplete thoughts with a jab of his fingertip. The trekkers backed away, letting himworkthroughthe cyphers. Heseemed toknowwhathewasdoing. Ike circled back and tried a string in reverse. It made sense this time. Yet it madeno sense. He got out hi s topographical map of the Himalaya n chain and found thelongitude and latitude, but snorted at their nexus. No way, he thought, and lifted hisgazeacrossthe wreckage ofahumanbody.Helookedbackatthe map.Coulditbe? 'Havesome.' The smellof French-pressed gourmet coffee made him blink. A plasticmugslidintoview.Ike glancedup.Kora'sblueeyes were forgiving. That warmed himmore than the coffee. He took the cup with murmured thanks and realized he had aterrific headache. Hours had passed. Shadows lay pooled in the

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deeper cave like wetsewage. Ike saw a small group squatting Neanderthal-style around a small Bluet gas stove,meltin gsnowand brewing joe. The clearest proof of their miracle was that Owen hadbroken dow n and was actuall y sharin g his private stock of coffee. There was onehand-grinding the beans in a plastic machine, another squeezing the filter press, yetanothe r gratin g a bi t o f cinnamo n o n to p o f eac h cupful . The y wer e actuallycooperating .Forthefirsttimeinamonth,Ike almostlikedthem. 'Youokay?' Koraasked. 'Me?'It soundedstrange,someoneasking after hiswell-being.Especiallyher. As if he needed any more to ponder, Ike suspected Kora was going to leave him.Before setting off from Kathmandu, she'd announced this was her final trek for thecompany.AndsinceHimalayanHighJourneys was nothing more than her and him, itimpliedalarger dissatisfaction. He would have minded less if her reason was anotherman,anothercountry,better profits,orhigherrisks.Butherreason was him. Ike hadbroke nherheart becausehewas Ike, fullofdreamsandchildlikenaïveté. A drifter onlife's stream. What had attracte d her to him in the first place now disturbed her, hislone wolf/high mountains way. She thought he knew nothing about the wa y people really worked, like this notion of a lawsuit, and maybe there was some truth to that.He'd been hoping the trek would somehow bridge their gap, that it would draw herbacktothemagicthatdrew him.Over thepast twoyears she'd grown weary, though.Stormsand bankruptcy nolongerspelledmagicforher. 'I've been studying this mandala,' she said, indicating the painted circle filled withsquirming lines. In the darkness, its colors had been brilliant and alive. In their light,the drawing was bland. 'I've seen hundreds o f mandalas, but I can't make heads or tails out of this one. It looks like chaos, all those lines and squiggles . It does seem tohave acenter,though.'Sheglancedupatthemummy,thenat Ike's notes. 'How aboutyou? Getting anywhere?' He'd drawn th e oddes t sketch , pinnin g words an d text i n cartoon balloons todifferentpositionson thebodyandlinkingthemwithamessofarrowsandlines. Ike sippedatthecoffee.Wheretobegin? The fleshdeclaredamaze,bothin the wayi t told the stor y and in the stor y it told. The man had written his evidence as itoccurredtohim,apparently, addingandrevisingand contradictinghimself, wanderingwithhistruths. He was like a shipwrecked diarist who had suddenly found a pen andcouldn'tquitfillinginolddetails. 'Firstofall,'hebegan,'hisnamewasIsaac.' 'Isaac?' asked Darlene from the assembly line of coffee makers. They had stopped whatthey were doing tolistentohim. Ike ran his finger from nipple to nipple. The declaration was clear. Partially clear. I amIsaac,itsaid,followedbyInmyexile/InmyagonyofLight. 'Seethese numbers?'said Ike. 'Ifigurethismustbea serial number. And 10/03/23 couldbehisbirthday, right?'

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'Nineteentwenty-three?' someoneasked.Their disappointment verged on childlike.Seventy-five years old evidently didn'tqualifyasagenuineantique. 'Sorry,' he said, then continued. 'See this other date here?' He brushed aside whatremainedofthepubic patch.'4/7/44. The day ofhisshoot-down,I'mguessing.' 'Shoot-down?' 'Orcrash.' They were bewildered. H e started over, this time tellin g them th e stor y he waspiecingtogether. 'Looka thim.Onceuponatime,hewas a kid. Twenty-one years old. World War II was on. He signed up or got drafted. That's the RAF tattoo. They senthimtoIndia.HisjobwastoflytheHump.' 'Hump?' someone echoed. It was Bernard. He was furiously tapping the news intohislaptop. 'That'swhatpilotscalleditwhenthey flewsuppliestobases in Tibet and China,' Ikesaid . 'The Himalayan chain. Back then, this whole region was part of an OrientalWesternFront.It wasaroughgo.Every nowand then a plane went down. The crewsrarely survived.' 'Afallenangel,'sighedOwen.Hewasn'talone.They were allbecominginfatuated. 'I don't see how you've drawn all that from a couple of strands of numbers,' saidBernard . He aimed his pencil at Ike's latter set of numbers. 'You call that the date ofhis shoot-down. Why not the date of his marriage, or his graduation from Oxford, orthedatehelosthisvirginity? What I mean is, this guy's no kid. H e looks forty. If you ask me, he wandered away from some scientific or mountain-climbing expedition within the last couple years. H e sure a s snow didn't die in 1944 a t th e ag e of twenty-one.' 'I agree,' Ike said, and Bernard looked instantly deflated. 'He refers to a period ofcaptivity. Along stretch. Darkness.Starvation.Hardlabor.'The sacreddeep. 'Aprisonerofwar.OftheJapanese?' 'Idon'tknowaboutthat,'Ike said. 'ChineseCommunists, maybe?' 'Russians?'someoneelsetried. 'Nazis?' 'Druglords?' 'Tibetanbandits!' The guessesweren't sowild. Tibet hadlongbeenachessboardfortheGreat Game. 'Wesawyoucheckingthemap.Youwere lookingforsomething.' 'Origins,'Ike said.'Astartingpoint.'

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'And?' With both hands, Ike smoothed down the thig h hair and exposed another se t ofnumbers. 'These arema pcoordinates.' 'For where hegotshotdown.It makes perfect sense.'Bernardwaswithhimnow. 'Youmeanhisairplanemightbesomewhere close?' MountKailashwasforgotten. The prospectofacrashsitethrilledthem. 'Not exactly,' Ike said. 'Spititout,man.Wheredidhegodown?' Here's where itgotalittlefantastic.Mildly,Ike said,'Eastofhere.' 'Howfareast?' 'Justabove Burma.' 'Burma!' Bernard and Cleopatra registered the incredibility. The rest sat mute,perplexed withintheirown ignorance. 'Onthenorthsideoftherange,'said Ike, 'slightlyinsideTibet.' 'Butthat's over athousandmilesaway.' 'Iknow.' It was well past midnight. Between their cafe lattes and adrenaline, sleep wasunlikel y for hours to come . They sat erect or stood in the cave while the enormity ofthischaracter'sjourneysankin. 'Howdidhegethere?' 'Idon'tknow.' 'Ithoughtyousaidhewasaprisoner.' Ekeexhaledcautiously.'Somethinglikethat.' 'Something?' 'Well.'Heclearedhisthroatsoftly.'Morelikeapet.' 'What!' 'Idon'tknow. It's aphrasehe uses, right here: "favored cosset." That's a pet calf orsomething,isn'tit?' 'Ah,getout, Ike. Ifyoudon'tknow,don'tmakeitup.'Hehunched.It soundedlikecrazeddriveltohim,too.

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'Actually it's a French term,' a voice interjected. It was Cleo, the librarian. 'Cossetmean slamb,notcalf. Ike's right,though.It does refer toapet.Onethatisfondledandenjoyed.' 'Lamb?' someone objected, as if Cleo – or the dead man, or both – were insultingtheirpooled intelligence. 'Yes,' Cle o answered , 'lamb . Bu t tha t bother s m e les s tha n the othe r word, "favored." That's apretty provocative term, don'tyouthink?' Bythegroup'ssilence,they clearlyhadnotthough taboutit. 'This?' she asked them, and almost touched the body with her fingers. 'This isfavored? Favored over what others? And above all, favored by whom? In my mind,anyway, itsuggestssomesortofmaster.' 'You'reinventing,'awomansaid.They didn'twantittobetrue. 'IwishIwere,'saidCleo.'But there isthis,too.' Ike hadtosquintatthefaintlettering where shewaspointing.Corvée,itsaid. 'What'sthat?' 'More of the same,' she answered. 'Subjugation. Maybe he was a prisoner o f the Japanese.It soundslikeThe Bridgeon the RiverKwaiorsomething.' 'ExceptInever heardoftheJapaneseputtingnoseringsintheirprisoners,'Ike said. 'Thehistoryofdominationiscomplex.' 'Butnoserings?' 'Allkindsofunspeakablethings have beendone.'Ike madeitmoreemphatic.'Goldnoserings?' 'Gold?'Sheblinkedasheplayedhislightonthedullgleam. 'Yousaidityourself.Afavored lamb.And you asked the question, Who favored thislamb?' 'Youknow?' 'Putitthis way. Hethoughthedid.Seethis?'Ike pushedatoneice-coldleg. It was a singlewordalmosthiddenon theleftquadricep. 'Satan,'shelip-readtoherself. 'There's more,'hesaid,andgently rotated theskin. Exists,itsaid. 'Thisispart ofit,too.'Heshowedher.It wasassembledonthe flesh like a prayer orapoem.Bone of my bones / flesh of my flesh. 'From Genesis, right? The Garden ofEden.'

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He could sense Kor a struggling to orchestrate some sort of rebuttal. 'He was aprisoner,' she tried. 'He was writing about evil. In general. It's nothing. He hated hiscaptors.HecalledthemSatan. The worstnameh eknew.' 'You'redoingwhatIdid,'Ike said.'You'refightingtheevidence.' 'Idon'tthinkso.' 'Whathappenedtohimwasevil.Buthedidn'thateit.' 'Ofcoursehedid.' 'Andyet there's somethinghere,'Ike said. 'I'mnotsosure,'Korasaid. 'It'sin between thewords.Atone.Don'tyoufeelit?' Koradid–her frown was clear – but she refused to admit it. Her wariness seemedmorethanacademic. 'There arenowarningshere,'Ike said.'No "Beware." No"Keep Out."' 'What'syour point?' 'Doesn't it bother you that he quotes Rome o and Juliet? And talks about Satan theway Adamtalked aboutEve?' Korawinced. 'Hedidn'tmindtheslavery.' 'Howcanyousay that?'shewhispered. 'Kora.' She looked at him. A tear was starting in one eye. 'He was grateful. It waswrittenall over his body.' Sheshookherheadindenial. 'Youknowit'strue.' 'No,Idon'tknowwhatyou'retalkingabout.' 'Yes,youdo,'Ike said.'Hewasinlove.'

Cabinfever set in.

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On the secon d morning, Ike found that the snow had drifted to basketball-rimheightsoutsidethecave's entry-way. Bythenthetattooedcorpsehad lost its novelty,an dthegroupwasgettingdangerousinitsboredom. Oneby one,the batteries oftheirWalkmanswinkedout,leavingthem bereft ofthemusicand words of angels, dragons,earth drums, an d spiritual surgeons. The n the ga s stove ran out of fuel, meaningseveral addicts wentintocaffeinewithdrawal.It didnothelpmatters whenthe supplyoftoiletpaperranout. Ike did what he could. As possibly the only kid in Wyoming to take classical flute lessons, he'd scorned his mother's assurances that someday it would come in handy.Now she was prove d right. He had a plastic recorder, and the notes were quitebeautiful in the cave . At the en d of some Mozart snatches, they applauded, thenpetered offintotheirearliermoroseness. On the morning of the third day, Owen went missing. Ike was not surprised. He'dseen mountain expeditions get high-centered on storms just like this, and knew howtwisted the dynamics could get. Chances were Owen had wandered off to get exactlythi skindofattention.Korathoughtso,too. 'He's faking it,' she said. She was lying in his arms, their sleeping bags zippedtogether . Even the weeks of sweat had not worn away the smell of her coconut shampoo.Athisrecommendation,mostoftheothersha dbuddiedup for warmth, too,even Bernard.Owenwastheonewhohad apparently gottenleftoutinthecold. 'He must have been heading for the front door,' Ike said. 'I'll go take a look.'Reluctantly he unzipped hi s and Kora's paired bags and felt their bod y hea t vanishint othechillair. He looked around the cave's chamber. It was dark and freezing. The naked corpse towering above the m made the cave feel like a crypt. On his feet now, blood movingagain, Ike didn't like the look of their entropy . It was to o soon to be lyin g around dying. 'I'llcomewithyou,'Korasaid. It tookthem three minutestoreachthe entranceway. 'Idon'thearthewindanymore,'Korasaid. 'Maybe thestorm'sstopped.' But the entry was plugged by a ten-foot-high drift, complete with a wicked cornicecurling in at the crown . It allowed no light or sound from the oute r world . 'I don'tbeliev eit,'Korasaid. Ike kick-stepped his boot toes into the hard crust and climbed to where his head bumped the ceiling. With one hand he karate-chopped the snow and managed a thinview. The light was gra y out there, and hurricane-force winds were skinning the surface with a freight-train roar. Even as he watched, his little opening sealed shutagain .They were bottledup. He slid back to the base of the snow. For the moment he forgot about the missing client. 'Nowwhat?'Koraaskedbehindhim. Herfaithinhimwasagift.Ike tookit.She–they –neededhimtobestrong. 'One thing's certain,' he said. 'Our missing man didn't come this way. No footprints,andhecouldn't have gottenoutthroughthatsnow anyway.' 'But where couldhe have gone?'

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'There mightbesomeotherexit.'Firmly headded,'We may needone.' Hehad suspected the existence of a secondary feeder tunnel. Their dead RAF pilothadwritten about bein g reborn from a 'mineral womb' and climbing into an 'agony oflight.' On the one hand, Isaac could have been describing every ascetic's reentry intoreality after prolonged meditation. But Ike was beginnin g to think the word s wer emor ethanspiritualmetaphor.Isaachadbeenawarrior, after all,trainedforhardship. Everything about him declared the literal physical world. At any rate, Ike wanted tobelievethatthedeadma nmight have beentalkingaboutsome subterranean passage.If he could escape through it to her e, maybe they could escape through it to ther e,wherever thatmightbe. Backinthecentralchamber,heproddedthegrouptolife. 'Folks,' he announced, 'wecoulduseahand.' Acamper'sgroanemitted from one cluster of Gore-Tex and fiberfill. 'Don't tell me,' someonecomplained,'we have togosave him.' 'Ifhefoundaway outofhere,'Ike retorted, 'thenhe's savedus.But first we have tofindhim.' Grumbling, they rose. Bag s unzipped. By the ligh t of his headlamp, Ike watchedtheirpocketsofbodyheat driftoffinvaporousbursts, likesouls. From here on, it wasimperative to keep them on their feet. He led the m to the back of the cave . There were a dozen portals honeycombin g the chamber' s walls , though only two wer eman-sized . With all the authority he could muster, Ike formed two teams: them all together,andhim.Alone.'Thisway wecan cover twicethedistance,'heexplained. 'He'sleavingus,'Cleodespaired.'He'ssavinghimself.' 'Youdon'tknowIke,' Korasaid. 'Youwon't leave us?'Cleoaskedhim.Ike lookedather,hard.'Iwon't.' Theirreliefshowedinlong streams ofexhaledfrost. 'You need to stick together, ' he instructed the m solemnly . 'Move slowly. Stay inflashlightrangeatall times.Take nochances.Idon'twant any sprained ankles. If youget tired and need to sit down for a while, make sure a buddy stays wit h you. Questions?None?Good.Nowlet'ssynchronizewatches....' He gave the group three plastic 'candles,' six-inch tubes of luminescent chemicalsthatcould be activated with a twist. The green glow didn't light much space and onlylastedtwoor three hours.Butthey wouldserve asbeacons every few hundred yards:crumb supontheforestfloor. 'Letmegowithyou,'Koramurmuredtohim.Heryearningsurprisedhim. 'You're the only one I trust with them,' he said. 'You take the right tunnel, I'll taketh e left. Meet me back here in an hour.' He turned to go. But they didn't move. Herealized they weren't just watching him and Kora, but waiting for his blessing. 'VayaconDios,'hesaidgruffly. Then, i n full view of the others, he kissed Kora. One from the heart, broad, abreath-taker. Foramoment ,Koraheldontight, and he knew things were going to beallright between them,they were goingtofinda way. Ike had never had much stomach for caving. The enclosure made himclaustrophobic.Just

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thesame,hehadgoodinstincts for it. On the face of it, ascendinga mountain was th e exac t revers e o f descending into a cave. A mountain gavefreedom s that could be equally horrifying and liberating. In Ike's experience, cavestoo k away freedom in the same proportions. Their darkness and sheer gravity weretyrants . They compressed th e imaginatio n and deformed th e spirit. And yet bothmountains and caves involved climbing. And when you came right down to it, therewa s no difference between ascent an d descent. It was all the same circle. And so he madeswiftprogress. Five minutesdeep,heheardasoundandpaused,'Owen?' His senses were in flux, not just heightened by the darkness and silence, but alsosubtly changed. It was hard to put words to, the clean dry scent of dust rendered bymountain s still in birth, the scaly touch of lichen that had never seen sunshine. Thevisual s were not completely trustworthy. You saw like this on very dark nights on amountain,aheadlightview oftheworld,onebeamwide,truncated,partial. A muffled voice reached him. He wanted it to be Owen so the search could be overan d he could return to Kora. But the tunnels apparently shared a common wall. Ikepu t his head against the stone – chill, but not bitterly cold – and could hear BernardcallingforOwen. Farther on, Ike's tunnel became a slot at shoulder height. 'Hello?' he called into theslot.Forsomereason,h efelthisanimalcorebristle.It was like standing at the mouthof a deep, dark alleyway. Nothing was out of place. Yet the very ordinariness of thewallsandempty stoneseemed topromisemenace. Ike shone his headlamp through the slot. As he stood peering into the depths at atube of fractured limestone identical to the on e he was already occupying, he sawnothing in itself to fear. Yet the air was so... inhuman. The smells were so faint and unadulterated that they verged on no smell, Zen-like, clear as water. It was almostrefreshing.That madehi mmoreafraid. The corridor extended in a straight line into darkness. H e checked hi s watch:thirty-two minutes had passed. It was time to backtrack and meet the group. Thatwa sthearrangement,onehour,roundtrip.But then,atthefaredgeof his light beam,somethingglittered. Ike couldn't resist. It was like a tiny fallen star in there. And if he was quick, thewhole exercise wouldn't last more tha n a minute. He found a foothold and pulledhimselfin. The slotwasjustbigenoughtosqueeze through,feetfirst. Ontheothersideofthewall,nothinghadchanged.Thispart of the tunnel looked nodifferent from the other. His light ahead picked out the same gleam twinkling in thefardarkness. Slowly he brought hi s light down to his feet. Beside one boot, he found anotherreflectionidenticaltotheon eglintinginthedistance.It gave thesamedullgleam. Heliftedhisboot.It wasagoldcoin. Carefully, blood knocking through his veins, Ike stopped. A tiny voice warned himnottopickitup.But there wasnoway... The coin's antiquity was sensuous. Its lettering had worn away long ago, and theshapewasasymmetrical, nothingstampedby any machine. Only a vague, amorphousbustofsomekingor deity stillshowed.

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Ike shonehislightdownthetunnel.Past thenext coinhesawa third one winking intheblackness.Coulditbe? The nakedIsaachadfledfromsomeprecious undergroundreserve, even droppinghispilferedfortunealongthe way. The coins blinked like feral eyes. Otherwise the stone throat lay bare, too bright inthe foreground, too dark in the back. To o neatly appointe d with one coin, then another. Whatif the coins had not been dropped? What if they'd been placed? The thoughtknifedhim.Likebait. Hesluggedhisbackagainstthecoldstone.The coinswere atrap. Heswallowedhard,forcedhimselftothinkitthrough. The coinwascoldasice.With one fingernail he scraped away a veneer of encrustedglacierdust.It hadbeen lyinghereforyears, even decades or centuries. The more hethoughtaboutit,themorehishorrormounted. The trap wasnothingpersonal.It hadnothingtodowithdrawing him, Ike Crockett,into the depths. To the contrary, this was just random opportunism. Time was not aconsideration. Even patience had nothing to do with it. The way trash fishermen did,someone was chumming the occasional traveler. You threw down a handful of scrapsandmaybe somethingcame,andmaybe itdidn't.Butwho came here? That was easy. Peopl elikehim:monks, traders, lostsouls.But why lurethem? To where? Hisbaitanalogy evolved. This was less like trash fishing than bearbaiting. Ike's dadusedtodoit in the Wind River Range for Texans who paid to sit in a blind and 'hunt'browns and blacks. Al l the outfitter s di d it , standar d operatin g procedure , likeworkin g cattle. You cultivated a garbage heap maybe ten minutes by horse from thecabins, so that the bears got used to regular feeding. As the season neared, you started putting out tastier tidbits. In an effort at making them feel included, Ike andhis sister were called upon each Easter to surrender their marshmallow bunnies. Ashe neared ten, Ike was required to accompany his father, and that was when he sawwhere hiscandywent. The images cascaded. A child's pink candy left in the silent woods. Dead bearshangingintheautumnlight, skinsfallingheavily as by magic where the knives tracedlines.Andunderneath,bodieslikemenalmost,asslicka sswimmers. Out,thought Ike. Get out. Not daring to take his light off the inner mountain, Ike climbed back through theslot,cursinghisloudjacket, cursingtherocksthatshiftedunderfoot,cursinghisgreed.He heard noises that he knew didn't exist. Jumped at shadows, he cast himself. Thedrea dwouldn't leave him.Allhecouldthinkofwasexit. He got back to the main chamber out of breath, skin still crawling. His returncouldn' t have take n mor e tha n fifteen minutes . Withou t checking his watch, heguesse dhisroundtripatlessthananhour. The chamber was pitch black. He was alone. He stopped to listen as his heartbeatslowed ,and there wa s not a sound, not a shuffle. He could see the fluorescent writinghoveringatthefaredgeofthechamber.It entwined the dark corpse like some lovelyexoticserpent. Helashedhislightacrossthechamber. The goldnos ering glinted. And somethingelse.Asifreturningtoathought,hepulledhislightbacktotheface. The deadmanwassmiling. Ike wiggled his light, jimmied the shadows. It had to be an optical trick, that or hismemory was failing .

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He remembered a tight grimace , nothing like this wild smile.Where before he'd seen only the tips of a fe w teeth, joy – open glee – now played inhislight.Get agrip,Crockett. Hismindwouldn't quit racing. What if the corpse itself was bait? Suddenly the texttoo k on a grotesque clarity. I am Isaac. The son who gave himself to sacrifice. Forloveofthe Father.Inexile.InmyagonyofLight. Butwhatcouldthisallmean? He'd done his share of hardcore rescues and knew the dril l – not that there wasmuchofadrillforthisone. Ike grabbedhiscoilof 9-mm rope and stuffed his last fourAA batteries intoapocket,thenlookedaround. Whatelse?Twoprotein bars, a Velcroankle brace, his med kit. It seemed as if there should have been mor e to carry. Thecupboar dwaspretty muchbare,though. Justbeforedepartingthemainchamber,Ike casthislightacross the room. Sleepingbagslay scattered on the floor like empty cocoons. He entered the right-hand tunnel.The passagesnakeddownwardatan even pitch, left,thenright,then became steeper.Wha t a mistake, sending them off, even all together. Ike couldn't believe he'd put hislittle flock at this kind of risk. Fo r tha t matter, he couldn't believe the ris k they'd taken .Butofcourse they'd taken it.They didn'tknowbetter. 'Hello!' he called. His guilt deepened by the vertical foot. Was it his fault they'd put theirfaithina counterculturebuccaneer? The goin g slowed . The wall s and ceilin g gre w corrup t wit h lon g sheets ofdelaminatin g rock. Pul l th e wron g piece , an d th e whol e mas s migh t slide . Ik ependulume d from admiration to resentment. His pilgrims were brave. His pilgrimswere foolhardy.Andhewasindanger. IfnotforKora,hewould have talked himself out of further descent. In a sense, shebecame a scapegoat for his courage. He wanted to turn around and flee. The sameforebodingthathadparalyzed himintheother tunnel flared up again. His very bonesseemed ready to lock in rebellion, limb by limb, joint by joint. He forced himselfdeeper. Atlasthe reached a plunging shaft and came to a halt. Like an invisible waterfall, acolumnoffreezingair streamed pastfromreachestoo high for his flashlight beam. Heheldhishandout,andthecoldcurrent poured throughhisfingers. Atthevery edgeoftheprecipice, Ike looked down around his feet and found one ofhissix-inchchemical candles. The greenglowwassofainthehadalmostmissedit. He lifted the plastic tube by one end and turned off his headlamp, trying to judgehow long ago they had activated the mixture. More than three hours, less than six.Time wa s racin g ou t o f hi s control . O n th e off-chance , h e sniffe d the plastic.Impossibly ,itseemed toholda trace ofhercoconutscent. 'Kora!'hebellowedintothetubeofair. Where outcrops disturbed the flow of wind, a tiny symphony of whistles and sirensandbirdcriesanswered back,amusicofstone.Ike stuffedthecandleintoonepocket.The air smelled fresh, like the outside of a mountain. Eke filled his lungs with it. Arush of instincts collided in what could only be called heartache. In that instant, hewantedwhathehadnever really missed.Hewantedthesun. He searched the sides of the shaft with his light – up and down – for signs that hisgrouphadgone this way. Here and there he spotted a possible handhold or a shelf torest upon,thoughnoone– not even Ike in his prime – could have climbed down intotheshaftand survived.

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The shaft's difficulties exceeded even his group's talent for blind faith. They musthave turnedaroundand gonesomeother way. Ike started out. Ahundredmeters farther back,hefoundtheirdetour. Hehadwalkedrightpasttheopeningon his way down. On the return, the hole was practicallyblatant– especiallythegreenglowebbingfromitscantedthroat.Hehadtotake hispackoffinordertogetthroughthesmall aperture. Just inside lay the secondofhischemicalcandles. Bycomparingthetwocandles– this one was much brighter – Ike fixed the group'schronology.Hereindeed was their deviation. He tried to imagine which pioneer spirithad piloted the grou p into this side tunnel, an d knew i t could only have been oneperson. 'Kora,' he whispered. She would not have left Owen for dead any more than he. Itwa sshewhowouldbe insistingonprobing deeper and deeper intothetunnelsystem. The detourledtoothers.Ike followedtheside tunneltoonefork,thenanother,then another. The unfolding network horrified him. Kora had unwittingly led them – him,too–deepintoanundergroundmaze. 'Wait!'heshouted. At first the group had taken the time to mark their choices. Some of the brancheswere marked witha simplearrowarrangedwithrocks.Afewshowedtherightway orthe left way with a big X scratched on the wall. But soon the marks ended. No doubt emboldened by their progress, the group had quit blazing its path. Ike had few cluesotherthanablackscuffmark orafreshpatchofrock where someone had pulled loosea handhold. Second-guessing their choices devoured the time. Ike checked his watch. Well pastmidnight.He'dbeen huntingKoraandthe lost pilgrims for over nine hours now. Thatmean tthey were desperately lost. His head hurt. He was tired. The adrenaline was long gone. The air no longer hadthe smell of summits or jetstream. This was an interior scent, the insid e of themountain'slungs,thesmellofdarkness. He made himself chew and swallow a proteinbar.Ike wasn'tsurehecouldfindhisway outagain. Yet he kept his mountaineer's presence of mind. Thousands of physical detailsclamore d for his attention . Some he absorbed, most he simply passed between. Thetric kwastoseesimply. Hecameuponagloryhole,ahuge,unlikelyvoidwithinthemountain.Hislightbeamwitheredinthedepthsand toweringheightofit. Even worn down, he was awed. Great columns of buttery limestone dangled fromthe arched ceiling. A huge Om had been carved into one wall. And dozens, maybehundreds , of suits of ancient Mongolian armor hung from rawhide thongs knotted toknobsandoutcrops.It lookedlikeanentirearmy ofghosts.A vanquished army. The wheat-colored stone was gorgeou s in his headlamp. The armor twiste d in aslight breeze and fractured thelightintoamillionpoints. Ike admired the soft leather thangk a painting s pinned to the walls , then lifte d afringedcornerand discoveredthatthefringewasmadeofhuman fingers. He droppedit, horrified. The leather was flayed human skins. He backed away, counting the

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thangkas.Fifty atleast.Couldthey have belongedtotheMongolianhorde? He looked down. His boots had tracked halfway across ye t another mandala , thisonetwenty feet acros s and made of colored sand. He'd seen some of these in Tibetanmonasteriesbefore,butnever solarge.Like theonebesideIsaacinthe cave chamber,ithelddetailsthatlookedlessarchitectural than like organic worms. Hi s were not theonly footprints spoiling the artwork. Others had trampled it, and recently. Kora andthegang hadcomethis way. At one junction he ran out of signs altogether. Ike faced the branching tunnels and, from somewher e i n hi s childhood , remembere d th e answe r t o al l labyrinths:consistency .Gotoyour left or to your right, but always stay true. This being Tibet –the land of clockwise circumambulation around sacred temples and mountains – hechoseleft.It wasthecorrectchoice.Hefoundthefirstofthemtenminuteslater. Ike had entered a stratum oflimestonesopureandslickitpractically swallowed theshadows. The walls curved without angles. There were no cracks or ledging in therock, only rugosities and gentle waves. Nothing caught at the light , nothing cast darkness. The resultwasunadulteratedlight.Wherever Ike turned hislampbeam,hewassurroundedby radiancethecolorofmilk. Cleopatra was there. Ike rounded the wing and her light joined with his. She wassitting in a lotus position in the center of the luminous passage. With ten gold coinsspreadbeforeher,shecould have beenabeggar. 'Areyouhurt?'Ike askedher. 'Just my ankle,' Cleo replied, smiling. Her eyes had that holy gleam they all aspiredto,part wisdom,part soul.Ike wasn'tfooled. 'Let'sgo,'heordered. 'Yougoahead,'Cleo breathed withherangelvoice.'I'llstay abitlonger.' Somepeoplecan handle solitude. Most just think they can. Ike had seen its victimsinthe mountains and monasteries, and once in a jail. Sometimes it was the isolationthat undid them. Sometimes it was the cold or famine or even amateur meditation.WithCleoitwasalittleofalloftheabove. Ike checkedhiswatch:3:00A.M.'Whatabouttherest ofyou?Wheredidthey go?' 'Notmuchfarther,'shesaid.Goodnews.Andbadnews.'They wenttofindyou.' 'Findme?' 'You kept callingforhelp.Weweren't goingto leave youalone.' 'ButIdidn'tcallforhelp.' Shepatted hisleg.'Allforone,'sheassuredhim. Ike pickeduponeofthecoins.'Where'dyoufindthese?' 'Everywhere,' shesaid.'Moreandmore,the deeper wegot.Isn'titwonderful?'

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'I'mgoingfortheothers.Thenwe'llallcome back for you,' Ike said. He changed thefading batteries in his headlamp while he talked, replacing them with the last of hisnewones.'Promiseyouwon'tmovefromhere.' 'Ilikeitherevery much.' HeleftCleoinaseaofalabaster radiance. The limeston e tub e spe d hi m deeper . The decline was even, the footinguncomplicated.Ike jogged, sure he could catch them. The air took on a coppery tang,nameless,yet distantlyfamiliar.Notmuc hfarther, Cleohadsaid. The bloodstreaks started at3:47A.M. Because they first appeared as several dozen crimson handprints upon the whitestone , and because the stone was so porous that it practically inhaled the liquid, Ikemistoo kthemforprimitiveart.Heshould have knownbetter. Ike slowed. The effect was lovel y in its playful randomness. Ik e liked his image: slap-happy cavemen. Thenhisfoothitapuddlenot yet absorbed into the stone. The dark liquid splashedup.It sluicedinbrightstreak s acrossthewall,redonwhite.Blood,herealized. 'God!'heyelled,andvaulted wideininstant evasion. A tiptoe, then the same bloodysolelandedagain,skidded ,torquedsideways. The momentum drove himfacefirst intothewallandthensenthimtumblingaroundthebend. Hisheadlampflewoff. The lightblinkedout.Hecametoahaltagainstcoldstone. It waslikebeingclubbed unconscious. The blackness stopped all control, all motion,all place in the world. Ike even quit breathing. As much as he wanted to hide from consciousness,hewaswideawake. Abruptly thethoughtoflyingstillbecame unbearable. He rolled away from the wallandletgravity guide him onto his hands and knees. Hands bare, he felt about for theheadlamp in widening circles, torn between disgust an d terror at th e viscou s curdlayerin g the floor. He could even taste the stuff, cold upon his teeth. He pressed hislipsshut, but the smell was gamy, and there was no game in here, only his people. It wa samonstrousthought. Atlasthesnagged the headlamp by its connecting wire, rocked back onto his heels,fumbledwiththeswitch. There wasasound,distantornear,hecouldn'ttell. 'Hey?' he challenged.Hepaused,listened,heardnothing. Laboringagainsthisownpanic, Ike flipped the switch on and off and on. It was liketrying to spark a fire with wolves closing in. The sound again. He caught it this time.Nailsscratchingrock?Rats? The bloodscent surged.Whatwasgoingon here? He muttered a curse a t th e dea d light. With his fingertips he stroked the lens,searching for cracks. Gently he shook it, dreading the rattle of a shattered lightbulb.Nothing. Was blind, but now I see.... The words drifted into his consciousness, and he wasuncertain whether they were a song or his memory of it. The sound came more distinctly. 'Twa s grace that taught my heart to fear.It washed in from far away, awoman's lush voice singing 'Amazing Grace.' Something about it s brav

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e syllablessuggeste dlessahymnthanananthem.Alaststand. It wasKora'svoice. She had never sung for him. But this was she. Singing for themall,itseemed. Her presence, even in the far depths, steadied him. 'Kora,' he called. On his knees,eyes wideintheutter blackness, Ike disciplined himself. If it wasn't the switch or thebulb...hetriedthewire.Tightattheends,no lacerations.Heopened the battery case,wipedhisfingerscleanand dry, andcarefully removed each slender battery, countingin a whisper, 'One, two, three, four.' One at a time, he cleaned the tip s against his T-shirt, then swabbed each contact in the case and replaced the batteries. Head up,headdown,up,down. There wasanordertothings.Heobeyed. Hesnappedtheplatebackontothecase, drew gently at the wire, palmed the lamp.Andflickedtheswitch. Nothing. The scratch-scratch noise rose louder . It seemed very close. He wanted to boltaway, anydirection,any cost,justflee. 'Stick,'heinstructedhimself.Hesaiditoutloud.It was something like a mantra, hisown, something he told himself when the wall s got steep or the hold s thin or the stormsmean.Stick, asinhang.Asinnosurrender. Ike clenched his teeth. He slowed his lungs. Again he removed the batteries. Thistime he replaced the m wit h the batch of nearly dead batteries in his pocket. Heflippedtheswitch. Light.Sweet light.He breathed itin. Inanabattoirofwhitestone. The imageofbutchery lastedoneinstant.Thenhislightflickeredout. 'No!'hecriedinthedarkness,andshooktheheadlamp. The light came on again, what little there was of it. The bulb glowed rusty orange, grew weaker, the n suddenl y brightened , relativel y speaking . I t wa s les s tha n a quarter-strength. Morethanenough.Ike took his eyes from the little bulb and daredtolookaroundonce more. The passageway wasahorror. In his small circle of jaundiced light, Ike stood up. He was very careful. All around,thewallswere zebra-striped withcrimson streaks. The bodieshadbeen arranged in arow. You don't spend years in Asia without seeing a fair share of the dead. Many times,Ike hadsatby the burningghatsat Pashaputanath, watching the fires peel flesh frombone. And no one climbed the Sout h Co l of Everest these days without passing acertain South African dreamer, or on the north side a French gentlema n sittingsilentl yby thetrailat28,000feet.Andthen there hadbeenthattimethe king's armyopene d fire on Social Democrats revolting in the streets of Kathmandu and Ike hadgone to Bir Hospital to identif y the body of a BBC cameraman and seen the corpseshastilylinedsideby sideonthetilefloor.Thisreminded himofthat.

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It roseinhimagain,the silence of birds. And how, for days afterward, the dogs hadlimped about from bits of glass broken out of windows. And above all else, how, inbeingdragged,ahumanbodygets undressed. They lay befor e him , his people. He had viewed them i n life as fools. In death,half-naked, they were pathetic. Not foolishly so. Just terribly. The smell of opened bowelsandrawmeatwasnearly enoughtopanic him. Their wounds... Ike could not see at first without seeing past the horrible wounds.Hefocusedontheir undress.Hefeltashamedforthese poor people and for himself. Itseeme d like sin itself to see their jumble of pubic patches and lolling thighs andrandomlyexposed breasts andstomachsthatcouldnolongerbeheldin or chests heldhigh. In his shock, Ike stood above them, and the details swarmed up: here a fainttattooofa rose, there acesareanscar,themarks ofsurgeries and accidents, the edgesof a bikini tan scribed upon a Mexican beach. Some of this was meant to be hidden,even tolovers,sometobe revealed. Noneofitwas meanttobeseenthis way. Ike made himself get on with it. There were five of them, one male, Bernard. Hestarte d to identify the women , but wit h a rush o f fatigue h e suddenly forgo t theirnamesaltogether.Atthemoment,onlyoneofthe mmattered tohim, and she was nothere. The snapped ends of very white bon e stood from lawnmower-like gashes. Bodycavities gaped empty. Some fingers were crooked, some missing at th e root . Bittenoff? A woman's head had been crushe d t o a thick, panlike sac. Even he r hai r wasanonymous with gore, but the pubis was blond. She was, poor creature, thank God,notKora. That familiarity on e reaches with victims began. Ike put one hand to the achebehind his eyes, then starte d over again. His light was failing. The massacre had noanswer.Whatever hadhappenedtothemcould happentohim. 'Stick,Crockett,'hecommanded. First things first. H e counted on his fingers: six here, Cleo up the tunnel, Korasomewhere.That leftOwen stillatlarge. Ike stepped among the bodies , searching for clues. He had little experience withsuch extremes of trauma, but there were a few things he could tell. Judging by thebloodtrails,itlookedlikeanambush.Anditha dbeendonewithoutagun. There weren obullet holes. Ordinary knives were out of the question, too. The lacerations weremuc htoodeepandmassedsostrangely, hereupontheupperbody, there atthebacksof the legs, that Ike could only imagine a pack of men with machetes. It looked morelike an attack by wild animals, especially the way a thigh had been strippe d t o thebone. But what animal lived miles inside a mountain? What animal collected its prey in a neat row? What animal showed this kind of savagery, then conformity? Such frenzy,thensuchmethod. The extremes were psychotic.Alltoohuman. Maybe one man could have done all this, but Owen? He was smaller than most ofthese women. And slower. Yet these poor people had all been caught and mutilatedwithin a few meter s of one another. Ik e tried t o imagine himself as the killer, to conceivethespeedandstrength necessary tocommitsuchanact. There were more mysteries. Only now did Ike notice the gold coins scattered likeconfetti around them. I t looked almost like a payoff, he now recognized, an exchangefor the thef t of thei r wealth. For the dead

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were missing rings and bracelets andnecklaces and watches. Everything was gone. Wrists, fingers, and throats were bare.Earringshadbeentornfromlobes.Bernard'seyebrow ringhadbeenplucked away. The jewelry hadbeen little more than baubles and crystals and cheap knickknacks;Ike hadspecificallyinstructe dthetrekkers to leave their valuables in the States or inthehotelsafe.Butsomeone had gone to the trouble o f pilfering the stuff. And then topay foritingoldcoinsworthathousandtimeswhathadbeentaken. It made no sense. It made even less sense to stand here and try to make it makesense. He was not normally the type who couldn't think what to do, and so hisconfusionnowwasallthe more intense. His cod e saidStay,like a sea captain, stay tosort through the crime and bring back, if not his wayfarers, then at least a fullaccounting of their demise. The economy of fear sai d Ru n. Save what lif e could besaved. But run which way and save which life? That was the excruciating choice.Cleopatra waited in one direction in her lotus position and white light. Kora waited intheother,perhapsnotassurely. Buthadn'thejust heardhersong? His light ebbed t o brown. Ike force d himsel f to rifle the pocket s o f his deadpassengers . Surely someone had batteries or another flashlight or some food. But the pocketshadbeenslashedandemptied. The frenzy of it struck him. Why shre d th e pocket s an d even the fles h beneaththem? Thi s wa s n o ordinar y robbery. Stoppin g dow n hi s loathing , h e trie d tosummariz e the incident: a crime of rage, to judge by the mutilations, yet a crime ofwant,tojudgeby thethievery. Againitmadenosense. His light blinked out and the blackness jumped up around him. The weight of themountain seemed to press down. A breeze Ike had not felt before brought to mindvast mineral respiration, as if a juggernaut were waking. It carried an undertone ofgases,notnoxiousbutrare, distant. And then his imagination became unnecessary . That scratching sound of nails onstone returned. This tim e there was n o question of its reality. It was approachingfro mtheupper passageway. AndthistimeKora's voicewaspart ofthemix. She sounded in ecstasy, very near to orgasm. Or like his sister that time, in thatinstantjustasherinfant daughter came out of her womb. That, Ike conceded, or this was a sound of agony so deep it verged on the forbidden. The moan or low or animalpetition,whatever itwas,beggedforanending. He almost called to her. But that other sound kept him mute. The climber in him had registered it as fingernails scraping for purchase, but the torn flesh lying in thedarkness now evoked claws or talons. He resisted the logic , then embrace d it in ahurry. Fine.Claws.Abeast. Yeti. Thiswasit.Whatnow? The dreadfuloperaofwomanandbeast drew closer. Fightorflight?Ike askedhimself. Neither. Both were futile. He did what he had to do, the survivor's trick. He hid in plain sight. Like a mountain man pulling himself into a womb of warm buffalo meat,Ike laydownamongthebodiesonthecold flooranddraggedthedeaduponhim. It was a n act s o heinous it was sin . In lying down between the corpse s i n utterblacknes s and in bringing a smooth naked thig h across hi s and draping a cold armacrosshischest,Ike felttheweightof damnation. In disguising himself as dead, he let gopart ofhissoul.Fullysane, he gave up all aspects of his life in order to preserve it.Hisoneanchorto believingthiswashappeningto him was that he could not believe itwashappeningtohim.'DearGod,'he whispered.

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The soundsbecamelouder. There wasonlyonelastchoicetomake:tokeep openortoclosehiseyes tosightshecouldnotseeanyway. He closedthem. Kora'ssmellreachedhimuponthatsubterranean breeze. Heheardhergroan. Ike held his breath. He'd never been afraid like this, and his cowardice was arevelation. They –Koraandhercaptor–camearoundthecorner. Her breathing was tortured.Shewasdying.Herpainwas epic,beyondwords. Ike felt tears running down his face. He was weeping for her. Weeping for her pain.Weeping, too, for his lost courage. To lie unmoving and not give aid. He was nodifferent from those climbers who had left him for dead once upon a mountain. Evenasheinhaledandexhaledintinybeadlikedropsandlistenedtohisheart's hammeringpumpandfeltthedeadclosehimintheir embrace, he was giving Kora up for himself.Momentby momenthewasforsakingher.Damned,hewasdamned. Ike blinked at his tears, despised them, reviled his self-pity. Then he opened hiseyes to take itlikeaman. Andalmostchokedonhissurprise. The blackness wa s full , but n o longer infinite. There were words written in the darkness.They were fluorescentandcoiledlikesnakesandthey moved. It washim. Isaachadresurrected.

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Have you ever been at sea in a dense fog, when it seemed as if a tangible whitedarkness shut you in, and the great ship, tense and anxious, groped her way toward the shore... and you waited with beating heart for something tohappen?

– HELEN KELLER, The Story of My Life

2

ALI

North of Askam, the Kalahari Desert,South Africa

1995

'Mother?' The girl'svoice entered Ali'shutsoftly.

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Here was how ghosts must sing, thought Ali, this Bantu lilt, the melody searching melody.Shelookedup fromhersuitcase. In the doorway stood a Zulu girl with the frozen, wide-eyed gri n of advancedleprosy:lips,eyelids,and noseeaten away. 'Kokie,'saidAli.KokieMadiba.Fourteen years old.Shewascalledawitch. Over the girl's shoulder, Ali caught sight of herself and Kokie in a small mirror onthe wall. The contrast did not please her. Ali had let her hair grow out over the pastyear. Next to the black girl's ruined flesh, he r golden hair looked like harvest wheatbeside a salted field. Her beauty was obscene to her. Ali moved t o one side to erasehe r own image. For a while she had even tried taking the small mirror off her wall. Finally she'd hung it back on the nail, despairing that abnegation could be more vainthan vanity. 'We'vetalkedaboutthismanytimes,'shesaid.'IamSister,notMother.' 'We have talkedaboutthis,ya'as,mum,'theorphansaid.'Sister,Mother.' Someofthemthoughtshewasaholywoman,oraqueen.Orawitch. The concept ofa single woman, much less a nun, was very odd out here in the bush. For once theoffbeat had served her well. Deciding she must be in exile like them, the colony hadtakenherin. 'Didyouwantsomething,Kokie?' 'I bring you this. ' The gir l held out a necklace wit h a smal l shrunke n pouchembroidere d wit h beadwork. The leather looked fresh, hastily tanned, with smallhairsstill attached. Clearly they had been in a hurry to finish this for her. 'Wear this.The evilstays away.' Ali lifted it from Kokie's dusty palm and admired the geometric designs formed byred ,white,andgreen beads.'Here,'shesaid, setting it back in Kokie's grip, 'you put itonme.' Alibentandheldherhairupsothatthelepergirlcouldget the necklace placed. ShecopiedKokie'ssolemnity. Thi s was no tourist trinket. It was part of Kokie's beliefs. Ifanyoneknewaboutevil,ithadtobethispoorchild. With the sprea d of post-apartheid chaos and a surge in AIDS brough t south byZimbabwean s an d Mozambiquans imported t o work th e gold and diamond mines,hysteria had been unleashed among the poor. Old superstitions had risen up. It wasnolongernewsthat sexual organs and fingers and ears – even handfuls of human fat –were beingstolenfrom morgues and used for fetishes, or that corpses lay unburiedbecausefamily members were convincedthebodieswouldcometolifeagain. The worst of it by far was the witch-hunting. People said that evil was coming up fromtheearth.Sofar as Ali was concerned, people had been saying such things sincethe beginning of man. Every generation had its terrors. She was convinced this onehad been starte d by diamond miners seeking to deflect public hatred away fromthemselves. They spokeofreaching depths in the earth where strange beings lurked.The populacehad turned this nonsense into a campaign against witches. Hundreds ofinnocent people had been necklaced, macheted, or stoned b y superstitiou s mobsthroughou tthecountry. 'Haveyoutaken your vitaminpill?'Aliasked.

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'Oh,ya'as.' 'Andyouwillcontinuetakingyour vitamins after I'mgone?' Kokie's eyes shifted t o the dir t floor . Ali's departure was a terrible pain for her.Again, Ali could not believe the suddenness of what was happening. It was only twodays agothatshehad received theletter informingherofthechange. 'Thevitaminsareimportantforthebaby, Kokie.' The leper girl touched her belly. 'Ya'as , th e baby, ' she whispered joyfully . 'Ever yday .Suncomeup. The vitaminpill.' Alilovedthisgirl,becauseGod'smystery was so profound in its cruelty toward her. Twice Kokie had attempted suicide and both times Ali had saved her. Eight monthsago the suicid e attempts had stopped. Tha t was whe n Kokie had learned sh e was pregnant. It still surprised Ali when the sound s of lovers wafted to her in the night. Thelesson swere simpleandyet profound.These leperswere nothorriblein one another'ssight.They were blessed,beautiful, even dressed in theirpoorskin. With the ne w life growing inside her, Kokie' s bones had taken on flesh. She hadbegun talking again. Mornings, Ali heard her murmuring tunes in a hybrid dialect ofSiswatiandZulu,morebeautifulthanbirdsong. Ali, too, felt reborn . Sh e wondered i f this, perhaps, was why she'd ended up inAfrica. It was as if God were speaking to her through Kokie and all the other lepersandrefugees.Formonthsnow,shehadbeen anticipatingthebirthof Kokie's child. Ona rare trip to Jo'burg, she'd purchased Kokie's vitamins with her own allowance andborrowed several books on midwifery. A hospital was out of the question for Kokie, andAliwantedtobe ready. Lately, Ali had begun dreaming about it. The delivery would be in a hut with a tinroof surrounded by thor n brush, maybe this hut, this bed. Into her hands a healthyinfant would emerge t o nullify the world' s corruption and sorrows . I n on e act,innocenc ewouldtriumph. ButthismorningAli'srealizationwasbitter.Iwillnever see the childofthischild.For Ali was being transferred. Thrown back into the wind. Yet again. It didn'tmatter that she had not finished here, that she had actually begun drawing close tothetruth.Bastards.That wasinthemasculine,asinbishoprick. Alifoldedawhite blouse and laid it in her suitcase. Excus e my French, O Lord.Butthey were beginningto makeherfeellikealetter withnoaddress. From the moment she'd taken her vows, this powder blue Samsonite suitcase hadbeenherfaithful companion.First toBaltimoreforsomeghettowork,thento Taos foralittlemonastic'airingout,'thentoColumbia University to blitzkrieg her dissertation.After that, Winnipeg for more street-angel work. Then a year of postdoc at theVatica n Archives, 'the memory o f the Church. ' Then th e plu m assignment, nine month s in Europe as an attaché – an addett i di nunziatura – assisting the papaldiplomatic delegation at NATO nuclearnonproliferationtalks. For a twenty-seven-year-old country girl from west Texas, it was heady stuff. She'd beenselected as much for her longtime connection with U.S. Senator Cordelia January asforhertraininginlinguistics.They'd playedher likeapawn,of course. 'Get used to it,'January had counseled her one evening. 'You're going places.' That

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was for sure, Alithought,lookingaroundthehut. Very obviously th e Churc h had been groomin g her – formation, it was called –though for what sh e couldn't precisely say. Until a year ago, her CV had showednothing but stead y ascent. Blu e sky, right u p to her fal l from grace. Abruptly, noexplanationsoffered,nosecondchancesoffered, they'd senther to this refugee colonytucked in the wilds of San – or Bushman – country. From th e glitterin g capital s ofWester n civilization straight into the Ston e Age, they had drop-kicked her to therumpoftheplanet,tocoolherheelsi ntheKalaharidesert withabogusmission. BeingAli,shehadmadethemostof it. It had been a terrible year, in truth. But she wastough.She'dcoped. Adapted.Flourished,by God.She'd even started to peel awayth efolkloreofan'elder'tribesaidtobehidinginth ebackcountry. Atfirst,likeeveryone else,Alihaddismissedthenotionofanundiscovered Neolithictribe existing on the cusp o f the twenty-first century. The region was wild, all right,but these days i t was crisscrosse d b y farmers , truckers, bus h planes, and fieldscientists – people who would have spied evidence before now . It had been threemonth sbeforeAlihadstarted takingthenativerumorsseriously. What was most exciting to her was that such a tribe did seem to exist, and that its evidencewasmostlylinguistic. Wherever this strange tribe was hiding, there seemedtobeaprotolanguage aliveinthebush!And day by day shewasclosinginonit. Forthemostpart,herhunthadtodowiththeKhoisan,orClick,languagespokenbyth e San. She had no illusions about ever mastering their language herself, especiallythe system of clicks that could be dental, palatal, or labial, voiced, voiceless, or nasal.ButwiththehelpofaSan¡Kungtranslator,she'dbegunassemblingaset of words and sounds they only expressed in a certain tone. The tone was deferential and religiousand ancient, and the words and sounds were different from anything else in Khoisan.They hinted at a reality that was both old and new. Someone was out there, or hadbeen long ago. Or had recently returned. And whoever they were, they spoke alanguagethat predated theprehistoriclanguageoftheSan. Butnow–likethat–themidsummernight'sdreamwasover. They were takingheraway fromhermonsters.Her refugees.Herevidence. Kokie had begun singing softly t o herself. Al i returned to her packing , using thesuitcase to shield her expression from the girl. Who would watch out for them now?What would they do without her i n their dail y lives? What would she do withoutthem? '...uphondo lwayo/yizwa imithandazo yethu/Nkosi sikelela/Thina lusaphoiwayo...' The words crowded through Ali's frustration. Over the past year, she had dipped hard into the stew of languages spoken i n South Africa, especiall y Nguni , whichincludedZulu. Parts ofKokie'ssongopenedt oher:Lordblessuschildren/Comespirit,comeholyspirit/Lordblessuschildren. 'Ofeditsedintwa/Le matswenyecho....' Doaway withwarsandtroubles.... Alisighed.All these people wanted was peace and a little happiness. When she firstshowed up, they had looked like the morning after a hurricane, sleeping in the open, drinking fouled water, waiting to die. With her help, they no w had rudimentaryshelte r and a well for water and the start of a cottage industr y that used toweringanthill s as forges for making simple farm tools like hoes and shovels. They had not welcomedhercoming;that had taken some time. But her departure was causing realanguish, for she had

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brought a little light into their darkness, or at least a littlemedicineanddiversion. It wasn't fair. Her coming had meant goo d things for them. An d now they werebein g punished for her sins. There was no possible way to explain that. They wouldnot have understoodthatthiswastheChurch's way ofbreakingherdown. It made her mad. Maybe she was a bit too proud. And profane at times . Wit h atemper, yes. And indiscreet, certainly. She'd made a few mistakes. Who hadn't? She was sure her transfer out of Africa ha d to do with some problem she' d causedsomebodysomewhere.Ormaybe herpastwascatchingupwithher again. Fingers trembling , Al i smoothed ou t a pair of khaki bus h shorts an d th e oldmonologu e rolled around in her head. It was like a broken record, her me a culpas.The fact was, when she dove, she dove deep. Controversy be damned. She wasforever runningaheadofthepack. Maybe sheshould have thoughttwicebefore writing that op-ed piece for the Timessuggestin gthePope recuse himselffromallmatters relatingto abortion, birth control,andthefemalebody.Orwritingheressay on AgathaofAragon,the mystic virgin whowrote love poems and preached tolerance: never a popular subject among the goodoldboys.Andithadbeen sheer folly to get caught practicing Mass in the Taos chapelfour years ago.Evenempty, even at three in the morning, church walls had eyes andears.She'dbeenmorefoolish still,oncecaught,to defy herMother Superior – in frontof the archbishop – by insisting women had a liturgical right to consecrate the Host.To serve as priests. Bishops. Cardinals. And she would have gone on to include thePopeinherlitany,too,butthearchbishophadfrozenherwithaword. Ali had come within a hair of official censure. Bu t close calls seemed a perpetualstate for her. Controversy followed her like a starving dog. After the Taos incident, she'dtriedto'goorthodox.'Butthatwa sbeforetheManhattans.Sometimesa girl justlostcontrol. It hadbeenjustalittle over ayear ago,agrandcocktail gathering with generals anddiplomats from a dozen nations in the historic part of The Hague. The occasion was thesigningofsome obscure NATO document, and the Papal nuncio was there. Therewa snoforgettingtheplace,awingofthethirteenth-century Binnerhoef Palace knownas the Hal l of Knights, a room loaded with delicious Renaissance goodies, even a Rembrandt. Jus t a s vividly she recalled th e Manhattan s tha t a handsome colonel,urgedonby herwicke dmentorJanuary, kept bringingtoher. Alihadnever tasted suchaconcoction,andithadbeenyears sincesuchchivalry hadlaid siege to her. The net effect had been a loose tongue. She'd strayed badly i n adiscussionaboutSpinozaandsomehowendedup sermonizingpassionatelyabout glassceilingsinpatriarchalinstitutions and the ballistic throw-weight of a humble chunk ofrock. Ali blushed at the memory, the dead silence through the entire room. Luckily Januaryhadbeen there torescue her,laughingthatdeep laugh, sweeping her off firsttotheladies'room,thento thehotel and a cold shower. Maybe God had forgiven her,but the Vatican had not. Within days, Ali had been delivered a one-way air ticket toPretoriaandthebush. 'They coming, look, Mother, see.' With a lack of self-consciousness tha t wa s amiracl einitself,Kokie waspointingoutthewindowwiththeremainsofherhand. Ali glanced up, then finished closing the suitcase. 'Peter's bakkie?'she asked. Peterwa saBoerwidower wholikedtodofavors forher.It was always he who drove her totowninhistinyvan,whatlocalscalledabakkie. 'No,mum.'Hervoicegotvery small.'Casper'scomin'.'

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Alijoined Kokie at the window. It was indeed an armored troop carrier at the headof a long rooster tail of red dust. Casspirs were feared by the black populace asjuggernauts that brought destruction. Sh e had no idea why they had sent militarytranspor ttofetchher,and chalked it up to more mindless intimidation. 'Never mind,'shesaidtothefrightenedgirl. The Casspirchurnedacrosstheplain. It was still miles away and the road got morecorrugatedonthissideof thedry lakebed. Ali guessed there were still ten minutes orsobeforeitgothere. 'Iseveryone ready?' sheaskedKokie. 'They ready, mum.' 'Let'sseeaboutourpicture,then.' Aliliftedhersmallcamerafromthecot,prayingthe winter heat had not spoiled herone roll of Fuji Velvia. Kokie eyed the camera wit h delight. She'd never see n aphotograp hofherself. Despite her sadness about leaving, there were reasons to be thankful sh e was gettin g transferred. It made her feel selfish, but Ali was no t going to miss the tickfeve r andpoisonsnakesandwallsofmudmixed withdung. She was not going to missthe crushin g ignorance of these dyin g peasants , o r the pig-eye d hatred s o f theAfrikaaners wit h their fire-engine-red Naz i fla g an d thei r brutal , man-eating Calvinism .Andshewasnotgoingtomisstheheat. Aliduckedthroughthelowdoorwayintothemorning light. The scent surged acrossto her even before the colors. She drew the air deep into her lungs, tasting the wildriotofbluehuesonhertongue. Sheraisedhereyes. Acresofbluebonnetsspreadinablanketaroundthevillage. This was her doing. Maybe she was no priest. But here was a sacrament she couldgive. Shortly after th e cam p well was drilled , Ali had ordered a special mix of wild-flowerseedand planted it herself. The fields had bloomed. The harvest was joy.And pride, rare among these outcasts. The bluebonnets had become a small legend.Farmers – Boer and English both – had driven with their familie s for hundreds ofkilometer stoseethisseaofflowers.Atinybandofprimeval Bushmenhadvisited andreacted with shock and whispers, wonderin g if a piece of sky had landed here. A ministerwiththeZionistChristian Church had conducted an outdoor ceremony. Soonenough, the flowers would die off. The legend was fixed, though . In a way, Ali hadexorcisedwhatwasgrotesque andestablishe dthese lepers'claimtohumanity. The refugees were waiting for her at the irrigation ditch that led from the well andwatered theircropof maize and vegetables. When she first mentioned a group photo,they immediately agree d that this was where it should be taken. Here was theirgarden,theirfood,theirfuture. 'Goodmorning,'Aligreeted them. 'Goot morgan, Fundi,' a woman solemnly returned. Fund i was an abbreviation ofumfundis i.It meant 'teacher'andwas,forAli's tastes, thehighestcompliment.Sticklike children raced out from the group and Ali knelt to embrace them. The ysmelle dgoodtoher,particularlythismorning,fresh,washedby theirmothers.

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'Look at you,' she said to them, 'so pretty. So handsome. Now who wants t o helpme?' 'Me,me.Iam,mum.' Ali employed all the children in putting a few rocks together and tying some sticksintoacrudetripod.'Now step backoritwillfall,'shesaid. Sheworkedquicklynow. The Casspir'sapproach was beginning to alarm the adults,and she wanted the picture to show them happy. She balanced the camera atop hertripodandlookedthroughtheviewfinder. 'Closer,'she gestured tothem,'getclosertogether.' The light was jus t right, angling sidelong and slightly diffuse . It would be a kindpicture. Ther e was n o way to hide the ravage s of disease an d ostracism, but thiswouldhighlighttheirsmilesandeyes atleast. Asshefocused,shecounted.Thenrecounted.They were missingsomeone. For a while after first coming here, it had not occurred to her to count them fromday to day. She had been too busy teachin g hygiene an d caring for the il l anddistributing food and arranging the drill for a well and the tin sheeting for roofs. Butafter a couple of months she had grown more sensitiv e to the dwindlin g numbers.Whensheasked,itwasexplainedwithashrugthatpeoplecameandpeoplewent. It wasnotuntilshehadcaughtthemred-handed thattheterrible truth surfaced.When she first had come upon them in the bush one day, Ali had thought it washyenasworking over a springbok. Perhaps she should have guessed before. Certainlyitseemed thatsomeoneelsecould have toldher. Without thinking, Ali had pulled the two skeletal men away from the ol d womanthey were strangling.She had struck onewith a stick and driven them away. She hadmisunderstoodeverything, themen'smotive,the oldlady's tears. This was a colony of very sick and miserable human beings. But even reduced todesperation ,they were notwithout mercy. The factwas,theleperspracticedeuthanasia. It was one of the hardest things Ali had ever wrestled with. It had nothing to dowith justice, for they did have the luxury of justice. These lepers – hunted, hounded,tortured, terrorized –were livingouttheir days o ntheedgeofawasteland. With little lefttodo but die off, there were few ways left to show love or grant dignity. Murder,shehadfinallyaccepted,wasoneofthem. They only terminated a person who was already dying and who asked. It wasalwaysdoneaway from camp,anditwasalways carriedoutby twoormorepeople, asquickly as possible. Ali had crafted a sort of truce with the practice. She tried not to see the exhausted souls walking off into the bush, never to return. She tried not tocounttheirnumbers.But disappearancehada way of pronouncing a person, even thesilentonesyou barely noticedotherwise. She went through the faces again. It was Jimm y Shako , the elder , the y wer emissing .Alihadn't realizedJimmyShakowas so ill or so generous as to unburden thecommunityofhispresence.'MrShakois gone,'shesaidmatter-of-factly.

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'Hegone,'Kokiereadilyagreed. 'Mayherest inpeace,'Alisaid,mostlyforherownbenefit. 'Don'tt'inkso,Mother.Norest forhim.We trade himoff.' 'Youwhat?'Thiswasanewone. 'Thisforthat.Wegivehimaway.' SuddenlyAliwasn'tsure she wanted to know what Kokie meant. There were timeswhen it seemed Africa had opened to her and she knew its secrets. Then times likethis,whenthe secrets hadno bottom. She aske d just the same: 'What are you talkingabout,Kokie?' 'Him.Foryou.' 'Forme.'Ali'svoicesoundedtinyinherears. 'Ya'as,mum.That mannogood.Hesayingcomegetyou and give you down. But we give him, see.' The girl reached out and gently touched the beaded necklace aroundAli'sneck.'Ever'ting okay now.We take care ofyou,Mother.' 'ButwhodidyougiveJimmyto?' Somethingwasroaringinthebackground.Ali realized it was bluebonnets stirring inthe soft breeze. The rustl e of stems was thunderous. She swallowed to slake her drythroat. Kokie'sanswerwassimple.'Him,'shesaid. 'Him?' The bluebonnets' sea roar elided into the engine noise of the nearing Casspir. Ali'stimehad arrived. 'Older-than-Old, Mother. Him. ' Then she said a name, and it contained severalclick sandawhisperinthat elevated tone. Ali looke d more closel y a t her . Koki e ha d jus t spoke n a shor t phras e inproto-Khoisan . Alitrieditaloud.'No,likethis,'Kokiesaid,and repeated thewords and clicks.Aligotitrightthistime,andcommitte dittomemory. 'Whatdoesitmean?'sheasked. 'God,mum. The hungryGod.' Alihadthoughttoknowthese people,butthey were somethingelse.They calledher Mother and she had treated them as children, but they were not. She edged awa yfro mKokie. Ancestor worship was everything. Like ancient Romans or modern-day Shinto, theKhoikhoi deferred to theirdeadinspiritual matters. Even black evangelical Christiansbelieved in ghosts, threw bones for divining the future, sacrificed animals, drankpotions, wore amulets , and practiced gei-x a – magic. The Xhosa tribe pinned its genesisonamythicalracecalledxhosa– angry men. The Pedi worshiped Kgobe. TheLobed

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u had their Mujaji, a rain queen. For the Zulu, the world hinged upon anomnipotent being whose name translated as Older-than-Old. And Kokie had just spokenthenameinthatprotolanguage. The mother tongue. 'IsJimmydeadornot?' 'Thatdepends,mum.Hebegood,they lethimlivedownthere. Longtime.' 'YoukilledJimmy,'Alisaid.'Forme?' 'Notkilt.Cuthimsome.' 'Youdidwhat?' 'Notwe,'saidKokie. 'Older-than-Old?' AliaddedtheClickname. 'Ohya'as.Trimmed thatman.Thengivetoustheparts.' Alididn'taskwhatKokiemeant.She'dheardtoomuchasitwas. Kokie cocked her head and a delicate expression of pleasure appeare d within herfrozen smile. For an instant Ali saw standing before her the gawky teenaged girl shehadgrowntolove, one with a special secret to tell. She told it. 'Mother,' Kokie said, 'I watched.Watcheditall.' Aliwantedtorun.Innocentornot,thechildwasafiend. 'Good-bye, Mother.' Get me awa y, she thought. As calml y as she could, tears stinging her eyes, AliturnedtowalkfromKokie. Immediately Aliwasboxedin. They were a wall of huge men. Blind with tears, Ali started to fight them, punchingandgougingwithher elbows.Someonevery strongpinnedherarmstight. 'Here,now,'aman'svoicedemanded,'what'sthiscrap?' Ali looked up into the face of a white man with sunburned cheeks and a tan armybus h cap. 'Ali von Schade?' he said. In the background the Casspir sat idling, a brutemachin e with radio antennae waving in the air and a machine gun leveled. She quit struggling,amazedby theirsuddenness. Abruptly the clearing filled with the carrier' s wak e o f red dust , a momentary tempest. Aliswung around, but the lepers had already scattered into the thorn bush.Except forthesoldiers,shewasaloneinthe maelstrom. 'You're very lucky, Sister, ' th e soldie r said. 'The kaffirs ar e washing their spearsagain.' 'What?'shesaid.

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'Anuprising.Somekaffirsect thing. They hit your neighbor last night, and the nextfar mover, too.Wecame fromthem.Alldead.' 'Thisyour bag?'anothersoldierasked.'Get in.We'rein great dangerouthere.' In shock, Ali let them push and steer her into the sweltering armored bed o f thevehicle.Soldierscrowded inandmadetheirriflessafeandthedoorsclosedshut.Theirbody odor was different from that of her lepers. Fear, that was the chemical. They were afraidinaway theleperswere not.Afraidlikehuntedanimals. The carrier rumbledoffandAlirockedhardagainstabigshoulder. 'Souvenir?'someoneasked.Hewaspointingatherbeadnecklace. 'Itwasagift,'saidAli.Shehadforgottenituntilnow. 'Gift!' barked anothersoldier.'That'ssweet.' Ali touched the necklace defensively. She ran her fingertips across the tiny beadsframin g the piece of dark leather. The small animal hairs in the leather prickled hertouch. 'Youdon'tknow,doyou?'saidaman. 'What?' 'Thatskin.' 'Yes.' 'Male,don'tyouthink,Roy?'Royanswered,'It wouldbe.' 'Ouch,'saidaman. 'Ouch,'another repeated, butinafalsetto.Alilostpatience.'Quitsmirking.' That drew morelaughs.Their humorwasroughandviolent,nosurprise. A face reached in from the shadows. A bar o f light from the gunpor t showed hiseyes. Maybe hewasa goodCatholicboy.Oneway oranother,hewasnotamused. 'That's privates, Sister.Human.' Ali'sfingertipsstoppedmovingacrossthehairs.Thenitwasherturntoshockthem. They expected hertoscreamandripthecharm away. Instead, shesat back. Ali laidher head agains t the steel, closed her eyes, and let the charm against evil rock backandforthabove herheart.

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There were giants in the earth in those days... mighty men which were of old,men of renown.

– GENESIS 6:4

3

BRANCH

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Camp Molly: Oskova, Bosnia-Herzegovina NATO Implementation Forces (IFOR)/ 1st Air Cavalry/US Army

0210 hours 1996

Rain. Roadsandbridgeshadwashed away, rivers lay choked. Operations maps had to bereinvented. Convoys sat paralyzed . Landslides were carrying dormant mines ontolaneslaboriouslycleared.Landtravel wasata standstill. Like Noa h beached upo n his mountaintop, Camp Molly perched hig h above aconfederac y of mud, its sinners stilled, the world at bay. Bosnia, cursed Branch. PoorBosnia. The major hurried through the stricken camp on a boardwalk laid frontier-style tokeep boots above the mire. W e guard against eternal darkness , guide d by ourrighteousness.It was the great mystery in Branch's life, how twenty-two years afterescapin gfromSt.John'stoflyhelicopters,hecouldstillbelieve in salvation. Spotlights sluiced through messy concertina wire, pas t tan k trap s and claymoresand more razor wire. The company's brute armor parked chin-out with cannon and machine guns leveled at distan t hilltops . Shadows turned multiple-rocket-launcher tubes into baroque cathedral organ pipes. Branch's helicopters glittered like preciousdragonfliesstilledby early winter. Branch could feel the cam p around him, its borders, it s guardians. He knew thesentinel s were suffering the foul night in body armor that was proof against bulletsbutnotagainstrain.HewonderedifCrusaders passingontheir way to Jerusalem hadhatedchainmailasmuchasthese RangershatedKevlar.Everyfortressa monastery,theirvigilanceaffirmedtohim.Everymonasteryafortress. Surroundedby enemies, there were officially no enemies for them. With civilization at large trickling down shitholes like Mogadishu and Kigali and Port-au-Prince, the 'new' Army was under strict orders: Thou shal t have no enemy. No casualties. Noturf . You occupied high ground only long enough to let the politicos rattle sabers andget reelected, and then you moved on to the next bad place. The landscape changed;thehatreds didnot.

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Beirut. Iraq. Somalia. Haiti. His file read like some malediction. Now this. TheDayto n Accords had designated this geographical artifice the ZO S – the zon e ofseparation – between Muslim s an d Serbs an d Croats . I f thi s rain kept themseparated , thenhewisheditwouldnever stop. Backin January, when the First Cav entered across the Drina on a pontoon bridge,they had found a land reminiscent of the great standoffs of World War I. Trencheslace dthefields,which held scarecrows dressed like soldiers. Black ravens punctuatedthe white snow. Skeletons broke beneath their Humvee tires. People emerged fromruins bearing flintlocks, even crossbows and spears. Urban fighters had dug u p theirown plumbing pipes to make weapons. Branch did not want to save them, fo r they were savage anddidnotwanttobesaved. He reached the command and communications bunker. For a moment in the darkrain, the earthen moun d loomed like some half-made ziggurat, more primitive thanthefirstEgyptianpyramid. He went up a few steps, then descended steeply betweenpile dsandbags. Inside, banks of electronics lined the back wall. Men and women in uniform sat at tables,theirfaces illuminatedby laptop computers. The overhead lights were dim forscreenreading. There wasanaudienceofmaybe three dozen.It was early andcoldfor such waiting.Rainbeat withoutpause againstthe rubber doorflapsabove andbehindhim. 'Hey,Major.Welcomeback.Here,Iknewthiswasforsomeone.' Branch saw the cup of hot chocolate coming, and crossed tw o fingers at it . 'Back,fiend,' he said, not altogether joking. Temptation lay in the minutiae. It was entirelypossibl etogosoftinacombatzone,especiall yoneaswellfedasBosnia.InthespiritoftheSpartans,hedeclinedtheDoritos,too.'Anything started?' heasked. 'Notapeep.'Withagreedy sip,McDanielsmadeBranch'schocolatehisown. Branch checke d hi s watch . 'Maybe it' s over an d don e with . Mayb e i t neve rhappened.' 'Oye oflittlefaith,'theskinnygunship pilot said. 'I saw it with my own eyes. We alldid.' All except Branch and his copilot, Ramada. Their last three days had been spent overflyin g the sout h in search o f a missing Red Crescent convoy. They' d returneddog-tire dtothismidnight excitement. Ramada washerealready, eagerly scanning hisE-mailfromhomeataspareduty station. 'Wait'll you review the tapes,' McDaniels said. 'Strange shit. Three nights running.Sametime.Sameplace. It's turningintoavery populardraw.Weoughttoselltickets.'It was standing-room only. Some were soldiers sitting behind laptop duty stationcomputers hardwired into Eagle base down at Tuzla. But tonight the majority werecivilian s in ponytails or bad goatees or PX T-shirts that read I SURVIVED OPERATION JOINTENDEAVORorBEATALL THATYOU CANBEAT,withthe mandatory 'Meat' scrawled underneathinMagic Marker. Some of the civilians were old, but most were as youngasthesoldiers. Branchscannedthecrowd.Heknewmany of them. Few came with less than a PhDoranMDstapledtotheir names.Notonedidnotsmelllikethe grave. In keeping withBosnia's general surreality, they had dubbed themselves Wizards, as in Oz. The UN War Crimes Tribunal had commissioned forensics digs at execution sites throughoutBosnia. The Wizards were their diggers. Day in, day out, their job was to make the deadspeak.

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Becausethe Serbs hadhostedmostofthegenocide in the American-held sector andwould have killed these professional snoops, Colonel Frederickson had decided tohouse th e Wizard s o n base . The bodie s themselves wer e store d a t a formerball-bearin g factory ontheoutskirtsofKalejsia. It hadproved a stretch, theFirst Cavaccommodatingthissciencetribe.Forthefirstmonth or so, the Wizards ' irreverence an d antics and porn o flick s ha d bee n arefreshin g departure. But over the year, they'd degenerated into a tired AnimalHouse schtick, sort of like M*A*S* H of the dead. They ate inedible Meals Ready toEatwith great relishanddrankallthefree DietCokes. Inkeepingwiththe weather, whenit rained, it poured. The scientists' numbers hadtripled in the last two weeks. Now that the Bosnian elections were over, IFOR wasscaling down its presence. Troops were going home, bases were closing. The Wizardswere losingtheirshotguns.Withoutprotection,they knewthey couldnotstay. A large numberofmassacresiteswere goingtogountouched. Out of desperation, Christi e Chambers , MD , had issued an eleventh-hour call toarms over theWeb. From Israel toSpaintoAustraliatoCanyondeChellyandSeattle,archaeologists had dropped their shovels, la b techs had taken leave without pay,physicianshadsacrificedtennisholidays,andprofessorshaddonatedgrad students sothat the exhumation might go on. Their hastily issued ID badges read lik e a Who'sWho of the necr o sciences. All in all, Branch had to admit they weren't such bad companyifyouwere goingtobe strandedonanislandlikeMolly. 'Contact,'Sergeant Jeffersonannouncedatonescreen. The entire room seemed to draw a breath. The throng massed behind her to seewhat KH-12, the polar-orbiting Keyhol e satellite , wa s seeing . Right and left, sixscreen s showed the identical image. McDaniels and Ramada and three other pilotshogge dascreenfor themselves. 'Branch,'onesaid,andthey maderoomforhim. The screen was gorgeous with lime-green geography. A computer overlai d thesatellit eimageandradar datawithaghostlymap. 'ZuluFour,'RamadahelpfullypinpointedwithhisBic.Rightbeneathhispen,ithappenedagain. The satelliteimagefloweredwithapinkheatburst. The sergeant tagge d th e imag e and keye d a differen t remot e senso r o n hercomputer ,this onefed from a Predator drone circling at five thousand feet. The viewshifted from thermal to other radiations. Same coordinates , differen t colors . She methodically worked more variations on the theme. Along one border of the screen,images stacked in a neat row. These were PowerPoint slides, visual situation reportsfro m previous nights. Center-screen was real time. 'SLR. Now UV,' she enunciated.Shehadarichbassvoice.Shecould have beensinginggospel.'Spectro,here.Gamma.' 'Stop!Seeit?' ApoolofbrightlightwasspillingamorphouslyfromZuluFour. 'SowhatamIseeing here, please?' one of the Wizards bawled at the screen next to Branch.'What'sthesignature here? Radiation,chemical,what?'

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'Mostly nitrogen,' said his fat companion. 'Same as last night. And the night beforethat. The oxygen come sandgoes. It's ahydrocarbonsoupdownthere.' Branchlistened. Another of the kids whistled. 'Look at this concentration. Normal atmosphere'swhat,eighty percent nitrogen?' 'Seventy-eight-point-two.' 'Thishastobenearninety.' 'It fluctuates. Last two nights, it went almost ninety-six. But then it just tapers off.Bysunrise,backtoa trace above norm.' Branch noticed he wasn't the only one eavesdropping. His pilots were dropping in, too.Likehim,theireyes were fixedontheirownscreens. 'Idon'tgetit,'aboywithacnescarssaid. 'What gives this kind of surge? Where's allthenitrogencomingfrom?' Branchwaitedthroughtheircollectivepause.Maybe theWizardshadanswers. 'Ikeep tellingyou,guys.' 'Stop.Spareus,Barry.' 'Youdon'twanttohearit.ButI'mtellingyou...' 'Tellme,'saidBranch.Three pairsof eyeglasses turnedtowardhim. The kid named Barry looked uncomfortable. 'I know it sounds crazy. But it's thedead. There's no big mystery here. Animal matter decays. Dead tissue ammonifies.That' s nitrogen,incaseyouforgot.' 'AndthenNitrosomonasoxidizesthe ammonia to nitrate. AndNitrobacter oxidizesthe nitrate to other nitrates.' The fat man was using a broken-record tone. 'The nitrates get taken up by green plants. In other words , th e nitroge n never appearsaboveground.Thisain'tthat.' 'You're talkin g about nitrifyin g bacteria . There' s denitrifying bacteria, too , youknow.Andthatdoes leakabove ground.' 'Let'sjustsay the nitrogen does come from decay.' Branch addressed the one called Barry. 'That stilldoesn'taccountforthisconcentration,doesit?' Barry was circuitous. 'There wer e survivors,' h e explained. 'Ther e alway s are.That' s how we kne w where to dig. Three of them testifie d that this was a majorterminus.It wasinuse over aperiodofeleven months.' 'I'mlistening,'Branchsaid,notsure where thiswasgoing.

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'We've documente d three hundred bodies, but there' s more. Maybe a thousand.Maybe a whole lot more. Five to seven thousand are still unaccounted for fromSrebrenicaalone.Whoknowswhatwe'llfind underneaththis primary layer? We werejus topeningZuluFourwhentherainshutusdown.' 'Fuckingrain,'the eyeglasses tohisleft muttered. 'Alotofbodies,'Branchcoaxed. 'Right.Alotofbodies.Alotofdecay.Alotofnitrogenrelease.' 'Delete.' The fatmanwasplayingtoBranchnow,shakinghishead with pity. 'Barry'splaying with his food again. The human body onl y contains three percent nitrogen.Let's call it three kilograms per body, times five thousand bodies. Fifteen thousand kgs . Convert ittoliters,then meters. That's onlyenoughnitrogentofill athirty-metercube . Once. But this is a lot more nitrogen, and it disperses every day, then returnsever y night. It's notthebodies,butsomethingassociatedwiththem.' Branch didn't smile. For month s he'd been watchin g the forensic s guys bait oneanotherwithmonkey play,fromplantingaskullintheAT&T telephone tent to verbalwi t like this cannibalism jive. His disapproval had less to do with their mental healththanwithhisowntroops'senseofrightandwrong.Deathwasnever ajoke. He locked eyes with Barry. The kid wasn't stupid. He'd been thinkin g about this. 'What about th e fluctuations? ' Branc h asked him . 'Ho w doe s decay explai n thenitroge ncomin gandgoing?' 'Whatifthecauseisperiodic?'Branchwaspatient. 'Whatiftheremainsarebeingdisturbed?Butonlyduringcertainhours.' 'Delete.' 'Middle-of-the-nighthours.' 'Delete.' 'Whenthey logicallythinkwecan'tseethem.'Asiftoconfirmhim,thepilemovedagain. 'Whatthefuck!' 'Impossible.' Branchletgoof Barry's earnest eyes andtookalook. 'Giveussomeclose-up,'avoicecalledfromtheendoftheline. The telephoto jacked closer in peristaltic increments. 'That's as tight as it gets,' thecaptainsaid.'That'sa ten-meter square.' You could see the jumbled bones in negative. Hundreds of human skeletons floatedinagianttangled embrace.

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'Wait...'McDanielsmurmured.'Watch.'Branchfocusedonthescreen. 'There.' Frombeneath,itappeared,thepileofdeadstirred.Branchblinked. Asifgettingcomfortable,thebonesrustledagain. 'FuckingSerbs,'McDanielscursed.Noonedisputedtheindictment. Oflate,the Serbs hadaway ofmaking themselves thetheory ofchoice. Those tale s o f children being forced to eat their fathers' livers, of women beingraped for months on end , of every perversion... they were true. Every side hadcommittedatrocitiesinthenameofGodorhistoryor boundariesor revenge. Butof all the factions, the Serbs were the best known for trying to erase their sins.UntiltheFirst Cavputa stoptoit,the Serbs had raced about excavating mass gravesan d dumping the remains down mine shafts or grating them to fertilizer with heavymachinery. Strangely, theirterrible industry gave Branch hope. In destroying evidence of theircrime, the Serbs were trying to escape punishment or blame. But on top of that – orwithin i t – wha t i f evi l coul d no t exist withou t guilt ? Wha t i f thi s wa s theirpunishment ?Whatifthiswaspenance? 'Sowhat'sitgoingtobe,Bob?' Branchlookedup,lessatthevoicethanatits liberty infrontofsubordinates. For Bob was the colonel. Which meant his inquisitor could only be Maria-ChristinaChambers,queenofth eghouls, formidable in her own right. Branch had not seen herwhenhecameintotheroom. A pathology prof on sabbatical from OU, Chambers had the gray hair and pedigreeto mix with whomever she wanted. As a nurse, she'd seen more combat in Vietnamthan most Green Beanies. Legen d had it, she'd even taken up a rifle during Tet. Shedespised microbrew, swore by Coors, and was foreve r kicking dirt clod s or talkingcropslikeaKansasfarmboy. Soldiers liked her, including Branch. As well, the Colonel –Bob–andChristiehadgrowntobefriends.Butnot over thisparticularissue. 'Wegoingtododgethebastards again?' The room fell to such quiet, Branc h could hear th e captai n pressing key s on herkeyboard. 'Dr.Chambers...'Acorporaltriedheadingheroff.Chamberscuthimshort.'Pissoff,I'mtalkingtoyour boss.' 'Christie,'thecolonelpleaded. Chambers was having none of it this morning, though. To he r credit , sh e was unarme dthistime,nota flaskinsight.Sheglared. The colonelsaid,'Dodge?'

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'Yes.' 'Whatmoredoyouwantustodo,Christie?' Every bulletin board in camp dutifully carried NATO' s Wanted poster. Fifty-fourme nchargedwiththe worstwarcrimesgracedtheposter.IFOR, the ImplementationForces,was tasked withapprehendingevery man it found. Miraculously, despite ninemonths in country and an extensive intelligence setup, IFOR had found not one ofthem. On several notorious occasions, IFOR had literally turned its head in order to notseewhatwasrightinfrontofthem. The lesso n had been learne d i n Somalia. While hunting a tyrant, twenty-fou rRanger shadbeen trapped,slaughtered,anddraggedby their heels behind the armedtrucks calledTechnicals.Branchhimselfhad missed dying in that alley by a matter ofminutes. Here the idea was to return every troop home – alive an d well – by Christmas.Self-preservation wasa very popularidea.Even over testimony.Even over justice. 'Youknowwhatthey're upto,'Chamberssaid. The massofbonesdancedwithintheshimmeringnitrogenbloom. 'ActuallyIdon't.' Chambers was undaunted. She was downrigh t grand. '"I will allow no atrocity tooccurin my presence,"' shequotedtothecolonel. It was a clever bit of insubordination, her wa y o f declaring that sh e an d herscientistswere notalonein theirdisgust. The quote came from the colonel's very ownRangers. During their first month in Bosnia, a patrol had stumbled upo n a rape inprogress,onlytobeorderedtostandbackand not intervene. Word had spread of theincident. Outraged , mere privates i n thi s an d othe r camp s ha d take n i t upon themselves to author their own code of conduct. A hundred years ago, any army intheworldwould have taken awhiptosuch impudence. Twenty years ago, JAG wouldhave friedsomeass. But in the modern volunteer Army, it was allowed to be called abottom-upinitiative.RuleSix,they calledit. 'Iseenoatrocity,'thecolonelsaid.'Iseeno Serbs at work. No human actor at all. Itcoul dbeanimals.' 'Goddammit,Bob.'They'd beenthroughitadozentimes,thoughnever in public thisway. 'In the name of decency,' Chambers said, 'if we can't raise our sword against evil...'Sheheardthecliché coming together outofherownmouthandabandonedit. 'Look.'Shestarted over. 'My peoplelocatedZuluFour,openedit,spentfivevaluabledays excavating the top layer of bodies. That was before thi s goddam rain shut usdown .Thisisby far the largest massacre site. There's at least another eight hundredbodies in there. So far, our documentation has been impeccable . The evidence thatcomes out of Zulu Four is going to convict the worst of the bad guys, if we can justfinis hthejob.I'mnotwillingtoseeit all destroyed by goddam human wolverines. It'sba denoughthey engineereda massacre,butthentodespoilthe dead? It's your job to guardthatsite.' 'Itisnotourjob,'saidthecolonel.'Guardinggraves isnotourjob.'

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'Humanrightsdepends–' 'Humanrightsisnotourjob.' Aburst ofradiostaticeddied,becamewords,becamesilence. 'I see a grave settling beneath ten days of rain,' the colonel said. 'I se e nature at work.Nothingmore.' 'Foronce,let'sbecertain,'Chamberssaid.'That'sallI'masking.' 'No.' 'Onehelicopter.Onehour.' 'Inthisweather? Atnight?Andlookatthearea,floodedwithnitrogen.' In a line, the si x screen s pulsed with electric coloration. Rest in peace, thought Branch.Butthebonesshiftedagain. 'Rightinfrontofoureyes...'muttered Christie. Branch felt suddenly overwhelmed. It struck him as obscene that these dead menandboysshouldbe cheated of their only concealment. Because of the awful way theyha d died, these dead were destined to be hauled back into the light by one party oranother – if not by the Serbs, then by Chambers and her pac k o f hounds, perhapsover and over again.Inthis gruesome condition they would be seen by their mothers and wives andsonsanddaughtersandthesightwouldhaunttheirlovedones forever. 'I'llgo,'heheardhimselfsay. Whenthecolonel saw it was Branch who had spoken, his face collapsed. 'Major?' hesaid.Ettu? Inthatinstant, the universe revealed depths Branch had failed to estimate or evendream . For the first time he realized that he was a favorite son and that the colonelhad hoped in his heart to hand on the divisio n t o him someday. Too late, Branchcomprehendedthemagnitudeofhis betrayal. Branch wondered wha t ha d made him do it. Like th e colonel , he was a soldier'ssoldier. He knew the meaning of duty, cared for his men, understood war as a trade rather than a calling, shirked n o hardship, and was a s brave as wisdom and rankallowed. He had measured his shadow under foreign suns, had buried friends, takenwounds,causedgriefamonghisenemies. For all that, Branc h did not see himsel f as a champion . H e didn' t believ e inchampions . The age wastoocomplicated. And yet he found himself, Elias Branch, advocating the proposition. 'Someone's gottostart it,'he stated withawfulself-consciousness. 'It,'monotonedthecolonel.

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Not quite sure even what he meant after all, Branch did not try to define himself. 'Sir,'hesaid,'yes, sir.' 'Youfindthisso necessary?' 'It'sjustthatwe have comesofar.' 'Iliketobelieve that,too.Whatisityouhopetoaccomplish,though?' 'Maybe,'saidBranch,'maybe thistimewecanlookintotheir eyes.' 'Andthen?' Branchfeltnakedandfoolishandalone.'Makethemanswer.' 'Buttheiranswerwillbefalse,'saidthecolonel.'It always is.Whatthen?'Branchwasconfused. 'Makethemquit,sir.'Heswallowed. Unbidden, Ramada came to Branch's rescue. 'With permission, sir,' he said. 'I'llvolunteertogowiththe major,sir.' 'Andme,'saidMcDaniels. Fromaroundtheroom, three other crews volunteered also. Without asking, Branchhadhimselfanentire expeditionary forceofgunships.It wasaterrible deed,ashow ofsupportvery closetopatricide.Branchbowed hishead. In the great sigh that followed, Branch felt himsel f released forever from the oldman' sheart.It wasalonel yfreedomandhedidnotwantit,butnowitwashis. 'Go,then,'spokethecolonel.

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Branchledlow,lightsdoused,bladescleavingthefoulceiling.The othertwoApachesprowledhiswings,lupine, ferocious. He gave the bird its head of steam: 145 kph. Get this thing over with. By dawn, flapjackswithbacon for his gang of paladins, some rack time for himself, then start itallover. Keepingthepeace.Stayingalive. Branch guided them through the darkness by instruments he hated. As far a s hewas concerned, night-vision technology was an act of faith that did not deserve him.Buttonight,withthesky empty ofallbut his platoon, and because the strange peril –thiscloudofnitrogen – was invisible to the human eye, Branch

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chose to rely on whathisflighthelmet'starget-acquisitionmonocleandtheopticspodwere displaying. The seat screenandtheirmonocleswere showing a virtual Bosnia transmitted frombase. There a software program calle d PowerScene was translatin g al l the current imagesoftheirareafromsatellites,maps,a Boeing 707 Night Stalker at high altitude,and daytime photos. The result was a 3-D simulation of almost real time. Ahead laytheDrinaasithadbeenjustmomentsbefore. Ontheirvirtualmap, Branch and Ramada would not arrive at Zulu Four until afterthe y hadactually arrived there. It tooksomegettingusedto. The 3-D visuals were sogood, you wanted to believe in them. But the maps were never true maps of whereyo u were going. They were only true to where you'd been, lik e a memory of yourfuture. ZuluFourlaytenklickssoutheastofKalejsiainthedirectionofSrebrenicaandotherkilling fields bordering the Drina River. Much of the worst destruction was clusteredalongthisriver ontheborderofSerbia. Fromthe backseat ofthegunship,Ramadamurmured,'Glory,'asitcameintoview.Branch flicked his attention from PowerScene to their real-time night scan. Upahead,hesawwhatRamadameant. Zulu Four's dome of gases was crimson and forbidding. It was like biblical evidenceofacrackinthe cosmos.Closerstill,thenitrogenhadtheappearanceof a huge flower,petals curling beneath the nimbostratus canopy as gases hit the cold air and sheareddown again. Even a s they caught up with it, the deadl y flower appeared on theirPowerScenewithabankofunfoldinginformationinLCDoverprint. The scene shifted. Branch saw th e satellit e vie w of his Apaches jus t now arriving a t where they hadalready passed.Good morning, Branchgreeted histardy image. 'You guys smellit? Over.' That wouldbeMcDaniels,theeight-o'clockshotgun. 'Smellslike a bucket of Mr Clean.' Branch knew the voice: Teague, back in the rearpocket. SomeonebeganhummingtheTV tune. 'Smellslikepiss.'Ramada.Bluntasiron.Quithorsingaround,hemeant.Branchcaughtthefrontedgeoftheodor. Immediately heexhaled. Ammonia. The nitroge n spinoff from Zulu Four. I t di d smell like piss , rottenmornin gpiss,ten days old.Sewage. 'Masks,' he said, and seated his own tight against the bones of his face. Why takechances ? The oxygen surgedcoolandcleaninhissinuses. The plumecrouched,squat,wide,a quarter-mile high. Branch tried to assess the dangers with his instruments and artificial light filters.Screwthisstuff.They said littletohim.Heoptedforcaution. 'Listen up,' he said. 'Lovey, Mac, Teague, Schulbe, all of you. I want yo u t o takepositio n one klick ou t from the edge. Hold there while Ram and I take a wide circlearound th e beast , clockwise. ' He mad e it up a s he went along. Wh y notcounterclockwise?Whynotupandover? 'I'll keep the spiral loose and high and return to your grouping. Let's not mess withthebastard untilitmakes

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moresense.' 'Music to my ear, jef e,' Ramada approved, navigator t o pilot. 'No adventures. Noheroes.' Except for a snapshot he had shown Branch, Ramada had yet to lay eyes upon hisbrand-new baby boy, back in Norman, Oklahoma. He should not have come on thisride,butwouldnotstay back.His vote of confidence only made Branch feel worse. Attimes like this, Branch detested his own charisma. More tha n one soldier had diedfollowinghimintothepathofevil. 'Questions?'Branchwaited.None. Hebrokeleft,bankinghardaway fromtheplatoon. Branch wound clockwise. He started the spiral wide and teased closer. The plume wasroughlytwo kilometersincircumference. Bristlingwithminigunandrockets,hemadethefull revolution at high speed, just incasesomeharebrainmightbe lurking on the forest floor with a SAM on one shoulder and slivovitz for blood. He wasn't her e t o provoke a war, jus t to configure thestrangeness.Somethin gwasgoingonouthere.Butwhat? At the end of his circle, Branch flared to a halt and spied his gunships waiting in adark cluster in the distance, their red lights twinkling. 'It doesn't look like anyone'shome,'hesaid. 'Anybody seeanything?' 'Nada,'spokeLovey. 'Negativehere,'McDanielssaid. Back at Molly, the assemblage was sharing Branch's electronically enhanced view. 'Yourvisibilitysucks,Elias.'Maria-ChristinaChambersherself. 'Dr.Chambers?'hesaid.Whatwasshedoingonthenet? 'It's the old chestnut, Elias. Can't see th e fores t fo r the trees. We'r e wa y too saturated with the fancy optics. The cameras are cued to the nitrogen , so all we'regettingisnitrogen. Any chanceyoumight snuginandgiveittheoldeyeball?' Much as Branch liked her, muc h as he wanted t o go in and do precisely that – eyeball the hell out of it – the old woman had no business in his chain of command. 'Thatneedstocomefromthecolonel,over,'hesaid. 'Thecolonelhasstepped out.My distinctimpressionwasthat you were being given,ah,totaldiscretion.' The fact tha t Christie Chambers was putting the request directly over militaryairwaves couldonly mean that the colonel had indeed departed the command center.The message was clear: Since Branch was so all-fired independent, he had been cutloose to fend for himself. In archaic terms, it was somethin g close t o banishment.Branchhadfraggedhimself.

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'Roger that,' Branch said, idling. Now what? Go? Stay? Searc h on for the goldenapplesof the sun... 'Amassessingconditions,'heradioed.'Willinformof my decision.Out.' He hovered just beyond reach of the dense opaque mass and panned with the nose-mounted camera an d sensors. It was like standing face-to-face before the firstatomicmushroom. If only he could see. Impatient with the technology, Branch abruptly killed theinfrared night vision and pushed the eyepiece away. He flipped on the undercarriageheadlights. Instantly the specter ofagiantpurplecloudvanished. Spreadbeforethem,Branch saw a forest – with trees. Stark shadows cast long andbleak. Near th e center , the trees were leafless. The nitrogen release on previousnightshadblightedthem. 'GoodGod!'Chambers'svoicehurthisears. Pandemonium erupted over the airwaves. 'Whatthehellwasthat?'someoneyelled.Branch didn't know the voice, but from the background it sounded like a small riotbreakingoutatMolly. Branchtensed.'Sayagain. Over,' hesaid. Chambers came back on. 'Don't tell me you didn't see that. When you turned yourlightson...' The comm room noised like a flock of tropical birds in panic. Someone was yelling, 'Get the colonel, get him now!' Another voice boomed, 'Give me replay, give mereplay!' 'Whatthefuck?'McDanielswonderedfromthefloatinghuddle.'Over.'Branchwaitedwithhispilots,listeningtothe chaosatbase. A military voice came on. It was Master Sergeant Jefferson a t he r console . 'Echo Tango,doyouread? Over.' Herradiodisciplinewasamiracletohear. 'This is Echo Tango, Base,' Branch replied. 'You are loud and clear. Is there asituatio nindevelopment? Over.' 'Bigmotiononthe KH-12 feed, Echo Tango. Something's going on in there. Infrared justshowedmultiplebogeys.Yousay youseenothing? Over.' Branch squinted through the canopy. The rai n lay plasticize d on his Plexiglas,smearinghisvision.He angleddowntogiveRamada an unobstructed view. From this distance,thesitelookedtoxicbutpeaceful. 'Ram?'hesaidquietly,ataloss. 'Beatsme,'Ramadasaid. 'Anybetter?' hespokeintohismouthpiece.

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'Better,' breathed Chambers.'Hardtosee,though.' Branchmovedlaterallyfor vantage andtrainedthelightsonground zero. Zulu Four laynotfarahead,nestled amongstark spears ofkilledforest. 'There itis,'Chamberssaid. You had to know what to look for. It wa s a large pit , open and flooded withrainwater.Sticksfloated ontopofthepool.Bones,Branchknewinstinctively. 'Canwegetanymoremagnification?'Chambersasked. Branchheldhispositionwhilespecialistsfiddledwiththeimagebackatcamp. Therebeyon d hi s Plexiglas la y th e apocalypse : Pestilence , Death , War. All but that finalhorseman,Famine.Whatincreationareyoudoing here,Elias? 'Not good enough,' Chambers complaine d over hi s headset. 'Al l we're doin g ismagnifyin gthe distortion.' Shewasgoingto repeat her request, Branch knew. It was the logical next step. Butshenever gotthe chance. 'There again, sir,' the master sergeant reported over the radio. 'I'm counting three,correction,fourthermal shapes,EchoTango.Very distinct.Very alive. Still nothing onyourend? Over.' 'Nothing.Whatkindofshapes,Base? Over.' 'They looktobehuman-sized.Otherwise, nodetail. The KH-12 justdoesn't have theresolution.Repeat. We'reimaging multiple shapes, in motion at or in the site. Beyond that,nodefinition.' Branchsat there withthecyclicshovingathishand. At or in? Branch slipped right, searching for better vantage, sideways, then higher,not venturing one inch closer. Ramada toggled the light, hunting. They rose highabovethedead trees. 'Holdit,'Ramadasaid. Fromabove,the water's surfacewasclearlyagitated.It wasnotawildagitation. Butneither was it the kind of smooth rippling caused by falling leaves, say. The patternwa stooarrhythmic. Tooanimate. 'We're observing som e kind of movement down there,' Branch radioed. 'Are youpickinganyofthisupon ourcamera,Base? Over.' 'Very mixedresults,Major.Nothingdefinite.You're toofaraway.' Branch scowled at the pool of water. He tried to fashion a logical explanation.Nothingabove ground clarifiedthephenomenon.Nopeople,nowolves,no scavengers.Excep t forthemotionbreakingthe water's surface,theareawaslifeless. Whatever was causin g the disturbanc e ha d to be i n the water. Fish? I t was notimpossible , with the

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overflowin g river s an d creeks reachin g throug h th e forest.Catfish , maybe? Eels? Bottom feeders, whatever they were? And large enough toshowuponasatelliteinfrared. There was not a need to know. No more so than, say, the need to unravel a goodmystery novel. It woul d have been reason enough for Branch, if he were alone. Heyearned togetcloseand wrestle the answer ou t of that water. But he was not free toobey his impulses. He had men under hi s command. He had a new father in thebackseat.Ashewastrainedtodo,Branchlethiscuriositywitherinobedienceto duty. Abruptly the grave reachedouttohim. Aman reared upfromthe water. 'Jesus,'Ramadahissed. The Apache shied with Branch's startle reflex. He steadied the chopper even as hewatchedtheunearthly sight. 'EchoTangoOne?' The corporalwasshaken. The manhadbeendeadformanymonths.Tothewaist, what was left of him slowlylifted above the surface, head back, wrists wired together. For a moment he seemedto stare upatthehelicopter.AtBranchhimself. Even from their distance, Branch could tell a story about the man. He was dressedlikea schoolteacher or an accountant, definitely not a soldier. The baling wire aroundhiswrists they'd seenonotherprisonersfrom theSerbs'holdingcampatKalejsia. Thebullet' s exit cavity gapedprominentlyattheleft rear ofhisskull. For mayb e twent y second s th e huma n carrio n bobbe d i n place , a ridiculous mannequin . Then the fabrication twisted to one side and dropped heavil y onto thebankofthegrave pit,halfin,halfout.It wasalmostas if a prop were being discarded,itsshockeffectspent. 'Elias?'Ramadawonderedinawhisper. Branchdidnotrespond.You asked forit, hewasthinkingtohimself.You gotit. Rule Six echoed. I will permit no atrocity to occur in my presence. The atrocityha d already occurred,th ekilling,themassburial. All in the past tense. But this – thisdesecration–wasinhispresence.Hispresent presence. 'Ram?'heasked. Ramadaknewhismeaning.'Absolutely,'heanswered. AndstillBranchdidnotenter. Hewasacarefulman.There were afewlastdetails. 'Ineedsomeclarification,Base,'heradioed. 'My turbine breathes air. Can it breathethi snitrogen atmosphere?' 'Sorry,EchoTango,'Jeffersonsaid,'I have noinformationonthat.' Chamberscameontheair, excited. 'I might be able to help answer that. Just a sec,I'llconsultoneofour people.'

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Your people? thought Branch with annoyance. Things were slipping out of order.Shehadnoplace whatsoever inthisdecision.A minute later she returned. 'You mightas well get it straight from the horse's mouth, Elias. This is Cox, forensic chemistry,Stanford.' A new voic e cam e on . 'Heard your question, ' the Stanfor d ma n said. 'Will anair-breather breathe your adulterated concentrate?' 'Somethinglikethat,'Branchsaid. 'Ahhmm,'Stanfordsaid.'I'mlookingatthechemicalspectrograph downloaded fromthe Predator drone five minutes ago. That's as close to current as we're going to get.The plume is showing eighty-nine percent nitrogen. Your oxygen's down to thirteenpercent, nowhere close to normal. Looks like your hydrogen quota took the biggesthit .Bigdeal.Sohere'syour answer,okay?' Hepaused.Branchsaid,'We'reallears.'Stanfordsaid,'Yes.' 'Yes,what?'saidBranch. 'Yes.Youcangoin.Youdon'twantto breathe this mix, but your turbine can.Nemaproblema.' The universal shrug had entered Serbo-Croatian, too. 'Tell m e one thing,' Branchsaid.'Ifthere's no problem,howcomeIdon'twantto breathe thismix?' 'Because,'saidtheforensicchemist,'thatprobablywouldn'tbe,ah,circumspect.' 'My meter's running,MrCox,'Branchsaid.Fuckcircumspect. HecouldheartheStanfordhotshotswallow. 'Look, don't mistake me,' the man said. 'Nitrogen's very good stuff. Most of what we breathe is nitrogen. Life wouldn't existwithou t it. Out i n California, people pay bi g bucks t o enhance it. Ever hea r ofblue-gree n algae? The idea is to bond nitrogen organically. Supposed to make your memory last forever.' Branchstoppedhim.'Isitsafe?' 'I wouldn't land, sir. Don't touch down, definitely. I mea n unless you've beenimmunize d against cholera and all the hepatitises and probably bubonic plague. Thebio-hazard' s got to be off the scale dow n there, with all that sepsis in the water. Thewhol ehelicopterwould have tobequarantined.' 'Bottomline,'Branchtriedagain,voicepinchedtight.'Will my machineflyin there?' 'Bottomline,'thechemistfinallysummarized,'yes.' The pit of fetid water curdled beneath them. Bones rocked on the surface. Bubblesbreachedlike primordialboil.Likeathousandpairsoflungsexhaling.Tellingtales.Branchdecided. 'SergeantJefferson?'heradioed.'Doyou have your handgun?' 'Yes sir, of course, sir,' she said. They were required to carry a firearm at all timesonbase.

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'Youwillchamberoneround,Sergeant.' 'Sir?' They were also required never to load a weapon on base unless under directattack. Branch didn't drag his joke out any longer. 'The man who was just on the radio,' hesaid.'Ifhe proves wrong,Sergeant, Iwantyoutoshoothim.' Over the airwaves, BranchheardMcDanielssnorthisapproval. 'Legorhead,sir?'Helikedthat. Branch took a minute to get the other gunships positioned at the edges of the gascloud,andto double-checkhisarmamentandsnughis oxygen maskhardandtight. 'Allright,then,'hesaid.'Let'sgetsomeanswers.'

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He entered fromonhighwithhisfaithfulnavigatorathis back, meaning to descend athis own pace. To g o slowly. To winno w out the peril s one by one. With his threegunship s poised at the rear like wrathful archangels , Branc h meant t o own this blightedrealestate fromthetopdown. ButtheStanfordforensic chemistry specialistwaswrong.Apachesdidnot breathe thisgaseousbroth. He was no more than ten seconds in when the acid haze began sparking furiously.The sparks killedthe pilot flame already burning in the turbine, then, sparking more,relit th e engin e with a smal l explosio n beneath th e rotors . The exhaust-ga stemperatur e gaugewentintothered. The pilotflamebecamea two-footwildfire. It was Branch's job to be ready for all emergencies. Part of your training as a pilotinvolved hubris , and part o f it involved preparin g fo r you r ow n downfall . This particula r mechanica l bankruptcy had never happened to him before, but he hadreflexes foritanyway. When the rotors surged, he corrected for it. When the machine started into failureandinstrumentsshorted out,hedidnotpanic. The powercutoutonhim. 'I've got a hot start,' Branch declared calmly. Fed by an oxygen surge, the bushingabovetheirheadshelda fiery bluishglobe,likeSt.Elmo'sfire. 'Autorote,'heannouncednext whenthemachine–logically–failedaltogether.Autorotationwasastate of mechanicalparalysis. 'Goingdown,'heannounced.Noemotion.Noblame.Herewashere.

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'Areyouhit,Major?'CountonMac. The Avenger. 'Negative,'Branchreassured. 'Nocontact.Ourturbine'sblown.' Autorotation, Branch could handle. It was one of his oldest instincts, to shove thecollectivedownandfind that long, steep, safe glide that imitated flight. Even with the engine dead, the rotor blades would continue spinning with the centrifugal force,allowingforashort, steep forcedlanding.That was the theory. At a plunging speed of 1,700 feet perminute,italltranslatedintothirty secondsofalternative. Branch had practiced autorotations a thousand times, bu t neve r in the middl e ofnight, in the middle of a toxic forest . Wit h the powe r cut , his headlights died. Thedarknes s leaped out at him. He was startled by its quickness. There was no time forhis eyes to adjust. No time to flip on the monocle's artificial night vision. Damninstruments.That washisdownfall.Should have beenrelyingonhisowneyes. Forthefirsttimehe feltfear. 'I'mblind,'Branch reported inamonotone. He fought away the image of trees waiting to gut them. He reached for the faith ofhiswings.Hold the pitch flat, the rotors willspin. The dead forest rushed at his imagination like switchblades i n an alley. H e knewbetter thantothinkthe trees mightcushionthem.Hewantedtoapologize to Ramada,thefather whowasyoungenoughtobehisson. WherehaveIbroughtus? Onlynowdidheadmithislossofcontrol. 'Mayday,' hereported. They entered th e treelin e wit h a metallic shriek, limb s raking th e aluminum,breakin gtheskids, reachingtoskintheirsoulsoutofthemachine. Forafewsecondsmoretheirdescentwasmoreglidethanplummet.The bladessheared treetops, thenthetrees shearedhisblades. The forestcaughtthem. The Apache braked inamangle.The noisequit. Wrappednose-down against a tree, the machine rocked gently like a cradle in rain.Branchliftedhisfistsfro mthecontrols.Heletgo.It wasdone. Despitehimself,hepassedout. Hewokegagging.Hismaskwasfilledwithvomit.Indarkness and smoke, he clawedatthestraps, freedthe facepiece,draggedhardattheair. Instantly he tasted and smelled the poison reach into his lungs and blood. It searedhisthroat.Hefelt diseased, anciently diseased, plagued into his very bones. Mask, hethoughtwithalarm. Onearm would not work. It dangled before him. With his good hand he fumbled tofindthemaskagain.He

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emptiedthemess,pressed the rubber tohisface. The oxygen burnedcoldacrossthenitrogenwoundsinhisthroat. 'Ram?'hecroaked.Noanswer. 'Ram?' Hecouldfeeltheemptinessbehindhim. Strappedfacedown,bonesbroken,wingsclipped,Branchdidthe only other thing hewas able to do, the one thing he had come to do. He had entered this dark forest towitness great evil. And so he made himself see. He refused delirium. He looked. Hewatched.Hewaited. The darkness eased. It was not dawn arriving. Rather, it was his own vision binding with the blackness. Shapessurfaced.A horizonofgray tones. Henoticednowastrange,taut lightningflickering on the far side of his Plexiglas. Atfirsthethoughtitwasthestor migniting thin strands of gas. The hits of light penciledinvarious objects on the forest floor, less with actual illumination than through briefflashesofsilhouette. Branch struggle d t o mak e sens e o f th e clue s sprea d al l aroun d him , butapprehende donly thathehadfallenfromthesky. 'Mac,'hecalledonhisradio.Hetraced thecommunicationscordtohishelmet, and itwassevered. Hewasalone. His instrument panel still showed aspects of vitality. Various green and red lightstwinkled , fed by batteries here and there. They signified only that the ship was stilldying. Hesawthatthecrashhadcasthimamongatangleoffallentrees close to Zulu Four.He peered through Plexiglas sprayed with a fine spiderweb. A gracile crucifix loomedin theneardistance.It wasa vast, fragileicon,and h e wondered – hoped – that someSerb warrior might have erected it as penance for this mass grave. But then Branchsawthatitwasoneofhisbrokenrotorbladescaughtatarightangleina tree. Bits of wreckage smoldered o n the floo r of soaked needle s an d leaves. The soakcould be rain. Rathe r late, it came to him that the soak could also be his own spilledfuel. What alarmed him was how sluggish his alarm was. From far away, it seemed, heregistered that the fue l could ignite and that he should extricate himself and hispartner – dead or alive – and get away from his ship. It was imperative, but did notfeelso.Hewantedtosleep.No. He hyperventilated with the oxygen. He tried to steel himself to the pain about tocome,jockstuffmostly, whenthegoinggets tough... He reared up, shouldering high against the sid e canopy, and bones grated uponbones. The dislocated kneepoppedin,thenoutagain.Heroared. Branch sank down into his seat, shocked alive by the crescendo of nerve endings.Everything hurt.Helaid hisheadback,foundthemask.

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The canopyflappedup,gently. He drew hard at the oxygen, as if it might make him forget how much more painwas left to come. But th e oxygen only made him more lucid. In the back of his mind,the names of broken bones flooded in helpfully. Horribly. Strange, this diagnosis. Hiswoundswere eloquent.Eachwantedtoannounceitself precisely, all at the same time.The painwasthunderous. He raised a wild stare at the bygone sky. No stars up there. No sky. Clouds upon clouds.Aceilingwithou tend.Hefeltclaustrophobic.Get out. Hetookafinallungful,letgoofthemask,shedhisuselesshelmet. Withhisonegoodarm,Branchgrappledhimselffree of the cockpit. He fell upon the earth.Gravity despised him.Hefeltcrushedsmallerandsmallerintohimself. Within the pain, a distant ecstasy opened its strange flower. The dislocated kneepopped back into place, and the relief was almost sexual. 'God,' he groaned. 'ThankGod.' He rested, panting rapidly, cheek upon the mud. He focused on the ecstasy. It was tiny among all the other savage sensations. He imagined a doorway. If only he couldenter,allthepainwouldend. After a few minutes, Branch felt stronger. The good news was that his limbs werenumbin g from the gas saturation in his bloodstream. The bad news was the gas. Thenitroge n reeked. It tasted likeaftermath. '...TangoOne...'heheard. Branchlookedupatthecaved-in hullofhisApache. The electronicvoicewascomingfromthebackseat. 'Echo... readme...' He stood away from the earth's flat seduction. It was beyon d hi s comprehensionthathecouldfunctionat all.Buthehadtotendto Ramada. And they had to know thedangers. He climbed to a standing position against the chil l aluminum body. The ship laytilted upon one side, mor e ravaged than he had realized. Hanging on to a handhold, Branchlookedintothe rear cavity. Hebracedfor theworst. Butthe backseat wasempty. Ramada's helmet lay on the seat. The voice came again, tiny, no w distinct. 'Echo TangoOne...' Branchliftedthehelmetandpulleditontohisownhead.Heremembered that therewa saphotographofthe newbornsoninitscrown. 'This is Echo Tango One, ' he said. His voice sounded ridiculous in his own ears,elasticandhigh, cartoonish. 'Ramada?'It wasMac, angry inhisrelief.'Quitscrewingaroundand report. Are youguys okay? Over.'

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'Branch here,' Elias identified with his absurd voice. He was concussed. The crashhadmesseduphis hearing. 'Major? Is that you?' Mac's voice practically reached for him. 'This is Echo Tango Two.Whatisyour condition,please? Over.' 'Ramadaismissing,'Branchsaid.'Theshipistotaled.' Mac took a half-minute to absorb the information. He came back on, all business. 'We've got a fix on you on the thermal scan, Major. Right beside your bird. Just holdyourposition.We're comingintoprovideassistance. Over.' 'No,'Branchquackedwithhisbirdvoice.'Negative.Doyoureadme?'Macandtheothergunshipsdidnotrespond. 'Donot, repeat, donotattempt approach.Your engineswillnot breathe thisair.'They acceptedhisexplanation reluctantly.'Ah,rogerthat,'Schulbesaid. Maccameon.'Major.Whatisyourcondition,please?' 'Mycondition?'Beyondsufferingandloss,hedidn'tknow.Human? 'Never mind.' 'Major.'Macpaused awkwardly. 'What'swiththevoice,Major?'They couldhearit,too? ChristieChambers,MD,waslisteningbackatBase.'It'sthenitrogen,'shediagnosed.Ofcourse,thought Branch. 'Is there any way you can get back on oxygen, Elias? Youmust.' Feebly, Branch rummaged for Ramada's oxygen mask, but it must have been tornaway inthecrash.'Up front,'hesaiddully. 'Goupthere,'Chamberstoldhim. 'Can't,' said Branch. It meant movin g again. Worse, it meant givin g up Ramada'shelmetandlosinghis contact with the outside world. No, he would take the radio linkover oxygen . Communicatio n was information . Information wa s duty. Dut y wassalvation. 'Areyouinjured?' Helookeddownathislimbs.Strangedarts of electric color were scribbling along histhighs,andherealizedthat thebeamsoflightwere lasers. His gunships were paintingtheregion,definingtargets fortheirweaponssystems. 'MustfindRamada,'hesaid.'Can'tyouseehimonyour scan?'Macwasfixedonhim.'Areyoumobile,sir?' Whatwere they saying?Branchleanedagainsttheship, exhausted. 'Areyouabletowalk,Major?Canyouevacuate yourselffromtheregion?'Branchjudgedhimself.Hejudgedthe night.'Negative.' 'Rest, Major. Stay put. A bio-chem team is on its way from Molly. We will insertthemby cable.Helpison the way, sir.'

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'ButRamada...' 'Notyour concern,Major.We'llfindhim.Maybe youshouldjustsitdown.' How could a man just disappear? Even dead, his body would go on emitting a heatsignatureforhours more. Branch raised his eyes and tried to find Ramada wedged inthe trees. Maybe he'dbeenthrownintoth efuneral waters. Now another voice entered. 'Echo Tango One, this is Base.' It was Master Sergeant Jefferson;Branchwantedtolayhisheadagainstthatresonantbosom. 'Youarenotalone,' Jefferson said. 'Please be advised, Major. The KH-12 is showingunidentified movement toyour north-northwest.' North-northwest? Hi s instruments wer e dead . He had no compass, even. But Branchdidnot complain. 'It's Ramada,' he predicted confidently. Who else could it beoutthere? His navigatorwasalive after all. 'Major,'cautionedJefferson,'theimage carries no combat tag. This is not confirmedfriendly.Repeat,we have noideawhoisapproachingyou.' 'It's Ramada,' Branch insisted. The navigator must have climbed from the broken crafttodowhatnavigator sdo:orient. 'Major.' Jefferson's tone had changed. With all the world listening, this was just forhim.'Get outofthere.' Branchhungtothesideofthewreckage. Get outof here? Hecould barely stand.Maccameon.'I'mpickingitup now,too.Fifteenyards out. Coming straight for you.But where thefuckdidhecomefrom?' Branchlooked over hisshoulder. The denseatmosphereopenedlikea mirage. The interloper staggered out from thebrushand trees. Lasers twitched freneticall y acros s th e figure' s chest , shoulders , an d legs. Theintrude rlooked netted withmodernart. 'I've gotalock,'Macclipped. 'Metoo.' Teague's monotone. 'Rogerthat,'Schulbesaid.It waslikelisteningtosharks speak. 'Saygo,Major,he'ssmoke.' 'Disengage,'Branchradioedurgently, aghastattheirlights.So this is how it is to bemyenemy.'It'sRamada. Don'tshoot.' 'I'm vectoring more presence,' Master Sergeant Jefferson reported. 'Two, four, fivemore heat images ,

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two hundred meters southeast, coordinates Charlie Mike eightthree...' Maccutthrough.'Yousure,Major?Besure.' The lasersdidnotdesist.They wentonscrawling twitchy designsonthelost soldier.Even with the help of their neurotic doodles , even wit h the star k clarit y o f hisnearness,Branchwasnotsurehewantedtobesure thiswashisnavigator. Heascertainedthemanby whatwasleftofhim.Hisrejoicingdied. 'It'shim,'Branchsaidmournfully.'It is.' Except for his boots, Ramada was naked and bleeding from head to foot. He lookedlike a runaway slave, freshly flayed. Fles h traile d i n rags from his ankles. Serbs?Branc hwonderedinawe. He remembere d th e mo b i n Mogadishu , the dea d Ranger s dragge d behindTechnicals .But thatkindofsavagery took time, and they couldn't have crashed morethantenorfifteenminutesago. The crash ,heconsidered,perhapsthe Plexiglas. Whatelsecould have shreddedhimlikethis? 'Bobby,'hecalledsoftly. RobertoRamadaliftedhishead. 'No,'whisperedBranch. 'What'sgoingondownthere, Major? Over.' 'His eyes,' saidBranch.They hadtaken hiseyes. 'You'rebreakingup...Tango...' 'Sayagain,say again...' 'Hiseyes aregone.' 'Sayagain,eyes are...' 'Thebastards tookhis eyes.'Schulbe :'Hiseyes?' Teague: 'But why?' There wasamoment'spause. ThenBase registered. '...newsighting,EchoTangoOne.Doyoucopy...' Mac came on with his cyber-voice. 'We're picking up a new set of bogeys, Major.Five thermalshapes.O nfoot.They areclosingonyour position.' Branch barely heardhim. Ramadastumbledasifburdenedby theirlaserbeams.Branchrealizedthetruth.Ramada had tried to flee throug

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h the forest. But it was not Serbs who had turnedhimback. The forestitselfhadrefusedtolethimpass. 'Animals,'Branchmurmured. 'Sayagain,Major.' Wild animals. On the edge of the twenty-first century, Branch's navigator had just beeneatenby wild animals. The war had created wild animals out of domestic pets. It had freed beasts fromzoos and circuses and sent them into the wilderness. Branch was not shocked by thepresence of animals. The abandoned coal tunnels would have made an ideal niche forthem. But what kind of animal took your eyes? Crows, perhaps, though not at night,not that Branch had ever heard of. Owls, maybe? But surely not while the prey wasstillalive? 'EchoTangoOne...' 'Bobby,'Branchsaidagain. Ramadaturnedtowardhisnameandopenedhismouthinreply. Whatemerged wasmorebloodthanvowel.His tongue,too,wasgone. And now Branch saw th e arm . Ramada' s left ar m ha d been strippe d o f all fleshbelowtheelbow. The forearmwasfreshbone. The blindednavigatorbeseechedhissavior.Allthatemerged wasamewl. 'EchoTangoOne,pleasebeapprised...' Branchshuckedthehelmetandletithang by the cord outside the cockpit. Mac andMaster Sergeant Jefferso n and Christie Chambers would have to wait. He had mercyt o perform. If he did not bring Ramada in, th e man would blunder o n into thewilderness. H e would drown in the mas s grave, or the carnivore s would take him downforgood. SummoningallhisAppalachianstrength, Branchforced himself upright and pressedaway fromtheship.He stepped towardhispoornavigator. 'Everything willbeokay,'hespoketohisfriend.'Canyoucomeclosertome?'Ramada was at the far edge of his sanity. But he responded. He turned in Branch'sdirection. Forgetful, th e hideou s bone lifted to take Branch's hand, even though itlackedahanditself. BranchavoidedtheamputationandgotonearmaroundRamada'swaistand hoistedhimcloser.They both collapsedagainsttheruinsoftheirhelicopter. It wa s a blessing of sorts , Ramada' s horribl e condition . Branc h fel t free d b ycomparison . Now he could dwell on wounds far worse than his own. He laid the navigatoracrosshislapandpalmedawa y thegoreandmudonhisface. Whileheheldhisfriend,Branchlistenedtothedanglinghelmet. '...One,EchoTangoOne...' The mantrawenton.

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He sat in the mud with his back against the ship, clutching his fallen angel:Pietà inthemire.Ramada'slimbs fellmercifullylimp. 'Major,'Jeffersonsanginthenearsilence.'Youareindanger.Doyoucopy?' 'Branch.'Macsoundedviolentand exhausted andfullofworrieshighabove.'They'recomin gforyou.Ifyoucan hearme, take cover.Youmust take cover.' They didn'tunderstand. Everything was okay now.Hewantedtosleep.Macwentonyelling.'...thirtyyards out. Canyouseethem?' If he could have reached the helmet radio, Branch would have asked them to calmdown. Their commotion was agitating Ramada. He could hear them, obviously. Themor ethey yelled,themorepoor Ramadamoanedandhowled. 'Hush,Bobby.'Branch stroked hisbloodyhead. 'Twenty yards out.Deadahead,Major.Doyouseethem? Doyoucopy?' Branch indulged Mac. He squinted into the nitrous mirage enveloping them. It waslittle different from looking through a glass of water. Visibility was twenty feet, notyards, beyond which the forest stood warped and dreamlike. It made his head ache.Henearly gave up.Thenhecaughtamovement. The motion was peripheral. It pronounced the depths, a bit of pallor in the darkwoods .Heglancedtothe side,butitwasgone. 'They're fanning out, Major. Hunter-killer style. If you copy, get away. Repeat,beginescapeandevasion.' Ramadawasgruntingidiotically.Branchtriedtoquiethim, but the navigator was inapanic.HepushedBranch's handaway andhootedfearfullyatthedeadforest. 'Bequiet,'Branchwhispered. 'We see you on the infrared, Major. Presume you are unable to move. If you copy,getyour assdown.' Ramadawasgoingtogivethemaway withhisnoise. Branch looked around and there, close at hand, his oxygen mask was danglingagainsttheship.Branchtoo kit.HeheldittoRamada'sface. It worked.Ramadaquithooting.Hetookseveral unabatedpullsattheoxygen.Seizuresfollowedamomentlater. Later, people would not blame Branch for the death . Eve n after Army coronersdetermined that Ramada's death was accidental, few believed Branch had not meantto kill him. Some felt it showed his compassion toward this mutilated victim. Otherssai d it demonstrated a warrior's self-preservation, that Branch had no choice under thecircumstances. Ramada writhed i n Branch' s embrace. The oxygen mas k wa s rippe d away.Ramada' sagony burst outinahowl.

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'Itwillbeokay,'Branchtoldhim,andpushedthemaskbackintoplace.Ramada'sspinearched.Hischeekssuckedi nandout.HeclawedatBranch.Branchheldon.Heforcedthe oxygen intoRamadalikeitwasmorphine.Slowly, Ramadaquitfighting.Branchwassureitsignifiedsleep. Rainpattered againsttheApache.Ramadawentlimp. Branchheardfootsteps. The soundfaded.Heliftedthemask.Ramadawasdead. Inshock,Branchfeltforapulse. Heshookthebody,nolongerintorment. 'What have Idone?'Branchaskedaloud.Herockedthenavigatorinhisarms.The helmetspokeintongues. '...down...allaround...' 'Locked. Ready on...' 'Major,forgiveme...cover...on my command...' Master Sergeant Jefferson delivered last rites. 'In the name of the Father, and oftheSon...' The footstepsreturned, tooheavy forhuman,toofast. Branchlookedup barely intime. The nitrousscreengashedopen. He was wrong. What sprang from the mirage were not animals like any on earth.Andyet herecognized them. 'God,'he uttered, eyes wide. 'Fire,'spokeMac. Branchhadknownbattle,butnever likethis.Thiswasnotcombat.It wastheend oftime. The rain turned to metal. Their electric miniguns harrowed the earth, choppedunder the rich soil, evaporated the leaves and mushrooms and roots. Trees fell incolumns,likeacastlebreakingtopieces.His enemy turnedtoroad-kill. The gunships drifted invisibl y a kilometer out, and so for the first few secondsBranch saw th e worl d turn insid e out in complete silence . The ground boiled with bullets. The thundercaughtupjustastheirrockets reachedin.Darknessvanishedutterly. Nomanwasmeanttosurvive suchlight.It wentonforeternity.

They found Branch still sitting against his shipwreck, holding his navigator across hislap. The metalskinwa sscorchedblackandhottothetouch.Likeashadowin reverse,th e aluminum behind his back bore his pale outline. The metal was immaculate,protected by hisfleshandspirit.

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After that,Branchwasnever thesame.

It is therefore necessary for us to marke diligently, and to espie out this felowe... beware of him, that he begyle us not.

– RUDOLPH WALTHER, 'Antichrist, that is to saye: A true report...' (1576)

4

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PERINDE AC CADAVER

Java

1998

It wasalovers'meal, raspberries plucked from the summit slopes of Gunung Merapi,alushvolcanotowering beneaththecrescent moon.Youwould not know the old blindman was dying, his enthusiasm fo r the raspberries wa s s o complete. N o sugar,certainlynot,orcream.Del'Orme'sjoyintheripe berries wasathin gtosee. Berry byberry , Santos kept replenishingtheoldman'sbowlfromhisown. Del'Ormepaused,turnedhishead.'That wouldbehim,'hesaid. Santos had heard nothing, but cleaned his fingers with a napkin. 'Excuse me, ' hesaid,androseswiftlyto openthedoor. He peered intothenight. The electricity wasout,andhehadordereda brazier to belit upon the path. Seeing n o one, he thought de l'Orme's keen ears were wrong for achange.Thenhesawthetraveler. The man was bent before him on one knee in the darkness, wiping mud from hisblack shoes with a fistful of leaves. He had the large hands of a stonemason. His hairwaswhite. 'Please,comein,'Santossaid.'Letmehelp.'Buthedidnotofferahandtoassist. The old Jesuit noticed such things, the chasm between a word and a deed. He quit swabbingatthemud. 'Ah,well,'hesaid,'I'mnotdonewalkingtonight anyway.' 'Leave your shoes outside,' Santos insisted, then trie d t o change his scold into agenerosity.'Iwillwake th eboytocleanthem.' The Jesuitsaidnothing,judging him. It made the young man more awkward. 'He isagoodboy.' 'Asyouwish,' the Jesuit said. He gave his shoelace a tug, and the knot let go with apop.Heundidtheother andstood. Santos stepped back, not expecting such height, or bones so raw and sturdy. Withhisroughanglesand boxer's jaw, the Jesuit looked built by a shipwright to withstandlong voyages.

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'Thomas.' De l'Orme wa s standin g in the penumbr a o f a whaler' s lamp , eye sshroude dbehind smallblackenedspectacles.'You'relate.I was beginning to think theleopardsmust have gottenyou.Andnow look,we've finisheddinnerwithoutyou.'Thomasadvanceduponthesparebanquetoffruitsand vegetables and saw the tinybonesofadove,the local delicacy. 'My taxi broke down,' he explained. 'The walk waslonger thanI expected.' 'You must be exhausted. I would have sent Santos to the city for you, but you toldmeyouknewJava.' Candles upon the sil l backlit his bald skull with a buttery halo. Thomas hear d a small , rattling noise at the window, like rupia h coins being thrown against the glass.Closer,hesawgiantmothsandsticklikeinsects, workingfuriouslytogetatthelight. 'It'sbeenalongtime,'Thomassaid. 'Avery longtime.'Del'Ormesmiled.'Howmanyyears? Butnowwearereunited.' Thomaslookedabout.It wasa large room for a rural pastoran – the Dutch Catholicequivalent of a rectory – to offer a guest, even one as distinguished as de l'Orme. Thomas guesse d on e wall had been demolished to double de l'Orme's workspace.Mildly surprised, he noted the charts and tools and books. Except for a well-polished colonial-erasecretary deskburstingwithpapers,theroomdid not look like de l'Ormeatall. There wastheusualaggregationoftemple statuary, fossils, and artifacts that everyfiel d ethnologist decorate s 'home' with. But beneath that , anchorin g these bits andpiecesofdaily finds, was an organizing principle that displayed de l'Orme, the genius,as much as his subject matter. De l'Orme wa s no t particularly self-effacing , but neithe r wa s h e the sor t t o occupy on e entire shelf with his published poems and two-volume memoi r an d anothe r wit h hi s yardage o f monograph s on kinship,paleoteleology , ethnic medicine, botany, comparative religions, et cetera. Nor wouldhe have arranged, shrinelike and alone upon the uppermos t shelf, his infamous LaMatièr e d u Coeur (Th e Matter of the Heart), his Marxist defense o f Teilhard deChardin'sSocialistLeCoeurdelaMatière.Atthe Pope's express demand, de Chardinhad recanted, thus destroying his reputation among fellow scientists. De l'Orme hadnotrecanted, forcingthePopeto expel his prodigal son into darkness. There could beonly one explanation for this prideful show of works, Thomas decided: the lover. Del'Ormepossiblydidnotknowthebookswere set out. 'OfcourseIwouldfind you here, a heretic among priests,' Thomas chastised his oldfriend.Hewaved ahand towardSantos.'Andin a state of sin. Or, tell me, is he one ofus?' 'Yousee?' de l'Orme addressed Santos with a laugh. 'Blunt as pig iron, didn't I say?Bu tdon'tletthatfool you.' Santos was not mollified. 'One of whom, if you please? One of you? Certainly not. I amascientist.' So, thought Thomas, thi s proud fellow was not just another seeing-eye dog. Del'Orme had finally decided to take on a protégé. He searched the youn g man for a second impression, and it was littl e better than the first . H e wore lon g hair and agoateeandafreshwhite peasantshirt.There wasnot even dirtbeneathhisnails. De l'Orme went on chuckling. 'But Thomas is a scientist also,' he teased his youngcompanion.

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'Soyousay,'Santos retorted. De l'Orme's grin vanished. 'I do say so,' he pronounced. 'A fine scientist. Seasoned.Proven. The Vatican is lucky to have him. As their science liaison, he brings the onlycredibilitythey have inthemodernage.' Thomas was not flattered by the defense. De l'Orme took personally the prejudicethatapriestcouldnotbe athinkerinthenaturalworld, for in defying the Church and renouncingthecloth,hehad,inasense,bornehis Churchout.Andsohe was speakingtohisowntragedy. Santos turned his head aside. In profile, his fashionable goatee was a flourish uponhis exquisite Michelangel o chin. Like al l o f d e l'Orme' s acquisitions , h e wa s sophysicall y perfect you wondered if the blind man was really blind. Perhaps, Thomas reflected,beauty hadaspiritallitsown. Fromfar away, Thomasrecognized the unearthly Indonesian music called gamelan.They said it took a lifetime to develop an appreciation for the five-note chords. Gamela nhadnever been soothing to him. It only made him uncomfortable. Java wasnotaneasy placetodropinonlikethis. 'Forgive me, ' he said, 'but my itinerary is compressed thi s time. They have me scheduledtoflyoutof Jakarta atfivetomorrow afternoon. That means I must returnt oYogya by dawn.AndI've already wasted enoughofourtimeby beingsolate.' 'We'll be up all night,' de l'Orme grumbled. 'You'd think they would allow two oldmenalittletimeto socialize.' 'Thenweshoulddrinkoneofthese.'Thomasopenedhissatchel.'Butquickly.' De l'Orme actually clapped his hands. 'The Chardonnay? My '62?' But he knew itwoul d be. It always was. 'The corkscrew, Santos. Just wait until you taste this. Andsome gude g for our vagabond. A local specialty, Thomas, jackfruit an d chicken and tofusimmeredincoconutmilk...' Withalong-sufferinglook,Santoswentofftofindthecorkscrew andwarmthefood.Del'Ormecradledtwoof three bottlesThomascarefullyproduced.'Atlanta?' 'TheCenters for Disease Control,' Thomas identified. 'There have been several newstrainsofvirus reported intheHornregion...' For the nex t hour, tended b y Santos, the tw o men sat at the table and circled through their 'recent' adventures. In fact, they had not seen each other in seventeenyears . Finallythey camearoundtotheworkat hand. 'You'renotsupposedtobe excavating downthere,'Thomassaid. Santoswassittingtodel'Orme'sright,andheleanedhiselbowsonthetable.He hadbeen waiting all evening for this. 'Surely you don' t call this an excavation,' h e said. 'Terrorists plantedabomb.We'remerely passersby lookingintoanopenwound.'Thomasdismissedthe argument.'Borduburisoff limits to all field archaeology now.These lower regions within the hillside were especially not to be disturbed. UNESCOmandated that none of the hidden footer wall was to be expose d or dismantled. TheIndonesia ngovernment forbadeanyandall subsurface exploration. There were to ben o trenches.Nodiggingatall.'

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'Pardonme,butagain,we're notdigging.Abombwentoff.We're simply looking intothehole.' De l'Orme attempted a distraction. 'Some people think the bomb was the work ofMuslim fundamentalists . Bu t I believ e it' s th e ol d problem . Transmigrai. Thegovernment' s population policy. It is very unpopular. They forcibly relocat e peoplefro movercrowded islandstolesscrowdedones. Tyranny atitsworst.' Thomas did not accept his detour. 'You're not supposed to be down there,' he repeated. 'You're trespassing. You'll make it impossible for any other investigation tooccurhere.' Santos, too, was no t distracted. 'Monsieur Thomas, i s it not true that it was theChurc hthatpersuaded UNESCOandtheIndonesianstoforbid work at these depths?Andthatyoupersonallywere theagentincharge ofhaltingtheUNESCOrestoration?'De l'Orme smiled innocently, as if wondering how his henchman had learned suchfacts. 'Halfofwhatyousay istrue,'Thomassaid. 'Theordersdidcomefromyou?' 'Throughme. The restorationwascomplete.' 'The restoration , perhaps , bu t no t th e investigation , obviously . Scholar s havecounte d eight great civilizations piled here. Now, in the space of three weeks, we'vefoun devidenceoftwomore civilizationsbeneaththose.' 'Atanyrate,'Thomassaid,'I'mheretosealthedig.Asoftonight,it'sfinished.'Santosslappedhispalmonthewood. 'Disgraceful. Say something,'heappealedto de l'Orme. The responsewaspracticallyawhisper.'Perindeaccadaver.' 'What?' 'Like a corpse,' said de l'Orme. 'The perind e is the first rule of Jesuit obedience. "Ibelon g not to myself but t o Him who made me and to His representative. I mustbehave likeacorpsepossessingneitherwillnor understanding."' The youngmanpaled.'Isthis true?' heasked. 'Ohyes,' saiddel'Orme. The perind e seemed to explain much. Thomas watche d Santo s turn pityin g eye supo n de l'Orme, clearly shaken b y the terribl e ethic that had once bound his frailmentor.'Well,'SantosfinallysaidtoThomas ,'it'snotforus.' 'No?'saidThomas. 'Werequire thefreedomofourviews. Absolutely.Your obedienceisnotforus.' Us,notme.Thomaswasstartingtowarmtothisyoungman.

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'Butsomeoneinvitedmeheretoseeanimage carved instone,'saidThomas. 'Is thatnotobedience?' 'That was no t Santos, I assure you.' De l'Orme smiled . 'No, he argued fo r hours againsttellingyou.He even threatened mewhenIsentyouthefax.' 'And why isthat?'askedThomas. 'Because the image is natural,' Santo s replied . 'An d now you'll try t o make itsupernatural.' 'The face of pure evil?' said Thomas. 'That is how de l'Orme described it to me. I don'tknowifit'snaturalornot.' 'It'snotthe true face.Onlyarepresentation.Asculptor'snightmare.' 'But what if it does represent a real face? A face familiar to us from other artifactsandsites?Howisthat anythingotherthannatural?' 'There,'complainedSantos.'Inverting my wordsdoesn'tchangewhatyou'reafter. A lookintothedevil'sowneyes. Evenifthey're theeyes ofaman.' 'Man or demon, that's for me to decide. It is part of my job. To assemble what hasbeen recorded throughout huma n time an d to make it into a coherent picture . Toverif y theevidenceofsouls.Haveyou taken anyphotos?' Santoshadfallensilent. 'Twice,'del'Ormeanswered. 'But the first set of pictures was ruined by water. AndSantos tells me the second set is too dark to see. And the video camera's battery isdead.Ourelectricity hasbeenoutfordays.' 'Aplastercasting,then? The carvingisinhighrelief,isn'tit?' 'There's beennotime. The dirt keeps collapsing, or the hole fills with water. It's notapropertrench,andthis monsoonisaplague.' 'Youmeantosay there's norecordwhatsoever? Even after three weeks?' Santos looked embarrassed. De l'Orme came to the rescue. 'After tomorrow therewil lbeabundant record.Santoshasvowed not to return from the depths until he hasrecordedtheimagealtogether.After whic hthepit may besealed,ofcourse.' Thomasshruggedinthefaceoftheinevitable.It wasnothis place to physically stopde l'Orme and Santos. The archaeologists didn't know it yet, but they were in a raceagainst more than time. Tomorrow, Indonesian army soldiers were arriving to closethe dig down and bury the mysterious stone columns beneath ton s of volcanic soil.Thomaswasgladhewouldbegoneby then.He did not relish the sight of a blind manarguingwith bayonets. It was nearly one in the morning. In the far distance, the gamelan drifted betweenvolcanoes , married the moon, seduced the sea. 'I'd like to see the fresco itself, then,'saidThomas.

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'Now?' barked Santos. 'I expected as much,' de l'Orme said. 'He's come nine thousand miles for his peek.Let usgo.' 'Very well,'Santossaid.'ButIwill take him.Youneedtogetyour rest, Bernard.' Thomassawthetenderness. Foraninstanthewasalmostenvious. 'Nonsense,'del'Ormesaid.'I'mgoingalso.' They walked up the path by flashlight, carrying musty umbrellas wrapped againsttheir bamboo handles. The air was so heavy with water it was almos t not air. Anyinstan t now, it seemed, the sky must open up and turn to flood. You coul d not callthese Javanese monsoons rain. They were a phenomenon more like the eruption ofvolcanoes,asregularasclockwork,ashumblingasJehovah. 'Thomas,' said de l'Orme, 'this pre-dates everything. It's so very old. Man was still foraging in the trees a t this time. Inventing fire, fingerpainting on cave walls. That iswhatfrightensme.These people, whoever the y were, shouldnot have hadthetools toknapflint,muchlesscarve stone.Or do portraiture or erect columns. This should notexist.' Thomasconsidered. Few placesonearth hadmorehumanantiquitythanJava. JavaMan – Pithecanthropu s erectus, better known as Hom o erectus – had been foundonl y a few kilometer s fro m here, a t Trini l an d Sangiran on the Solo River. For aquarter-millionyears, man'sancestorshad been sampling fruit from thes e trees. Andkillingandeatingoneanother,too. The fossilevidencewasclearaboutthataswell. 'Youmentionedafriezewithgrotesques.' 'Monstrous beings,' de l'Orme said. 'That is where I'm taking you now. To the baseofColumnC.' 'Could it be self-portraiture? Perhap s thes e wer e hominids . Perhaps the y hadtalent sfarbeyond whatwe've giventhemcreditfor.' 'Perhaps,'saiddel'Orme.'Butthen there istheface.' It wasthefacethathadbroughtThomassofar.'Yousaidit'shorrible.' 'Oh,thefaceisnot horrible at all. That's the problem. It's a common face. A humanface.' 'Human?' 'Itcouldbeyour face.'Thomaslookedsharplyattheblindman.'Ormine,' de l'Ormeadded.'What'shorribleisits context.Thisordinaryfacelooksuponscenesofsavageryan ddegradationandmonstrosity.' 'And?' 'That's all. He's looking. And you can tell he will never look away. I don't know, heseems content. I've felt the carving,' de l'Orme said. 'Even its touch is unsavory. It'smos t unusual, this juxtaposition of normalcy and chaos. And it's so banal, so prosaic.That's themostintriguingthing. It's completelyoutofsync with its age, whatever agethat may be.' Firecrackers and drums echoe d from scattered villages. Ramadan , the month ofMuslimfasting,hadjust ended yesterday. Thomas saw the crescent of the new moonthreading between the mountains. Families

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would be feasting. Whole villages wouldsta y up until dawn watching the shadow plays called wayan g, with two-dimensionalpuppetsmakingloveanddoingbattle asshadowsthrownuponasheet.Bydawn, good wouldtriumph over evil,light over darkness: theusualfairytale. One of the mountain s beneath the moon separated in the middle distance, andbecametheruinsof Bordubur. The enormousstupawassupposed to be a depiction ofMount Meru, a cosmic Everest. Buried for over a thousand years by an eruption ofGunungMerapi,Borduburwas the greatest of the ruins. In that sense, it was death'spalaceandcathedralallinone,apyramidforSoutheastAsia. The ticket for admission was death, at least symbolically. You entered through thejaws of a ferocious devouring beast garlanded with human skulls – the goddess Kali.Immediately youwere inamazelike afterworld. Nearly tenthousandsquaremeters –fivesquarekilometers–of carved 'story wall'accompanied eachtraveler. It toldatalealmost identical to Dante's Infern o and Paradis o. At the botto m th e carved panels showedhumanitytrapped insin,anddepictedhideouspunishmentby hellish demons.By the time you 'climbed' onto a plateau of rounded stupas, Buddha had guidedhumanityoutofhisstate ofsamsaraandinto enlightenment.Notimeforthat tonight.It wasgoingontwo-thirty. 'Pram?' Santos called into the darknes s ahead. 'Asalam u alaikum.' Thomas knewth egreeting.Peaceunt oyou.But there wasnoreply. 'Pram is an armed guard I hired to watch over the site,' de l'Orme explained. 'Hewas a famous guerrilla once. As yo u migh t imagine, he's rather old. And probablydrunk.' 'Odd,'Santoswhispered. 'Stay here.'Hemovedupthepathandoutofsight. 'Whyallthedrama?'commentedThomas. 'Santos? He means well. He wanted t o make a good impression on you. Bu t youmakehimnervous.He hasnothinglefttonightbuthisbravado,I'msorry tosay.' De l'Orme set one hand upon Thomas's forearm. 'Shall we?' They continued theirpromenade.There was nogettinglost. The path lay before them like a ghost serpent.The festooned'mountain'ofBordubur towered totheirnorth. 'Wheredoyougofromhere?'Thomasasked. 'Sumatra. I've found an island, Nias. They say it is the place Sinbad the Sailor metthe Old Man of the Sea. I'm happy among the aborigines, and Santos stays occupied withsomefourth-century ruinshelocated amongthejungle.' 'Andthecancer?' Del'Ormedidn't even makeoneofhisjokes. Santos came running down the trail with an old Japanese carbine in one hand. Hewas covered inmudand outofbreath.'Gone,' he announced. 'And he left our gun in apileofdirt.Butfirstheshotoffallthebullets.' 'Offto celebrate withhisgrandchildrenwouldbe my guess,'del'Ormesaid. 'I'mnotsosure.'

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'Don'ttellmetigersgothim?' Santosloweredthebarrel.'Ofcoursenot.' 'Ifitwillmakeyoufeelmoresecure,reload,'saiddel'Orme. 'We have nomorebullets.' 'Thenwe're thatmuchsafer.Nowlet'scontinue.' Near the Kali mouth at the base of the monument, they veered right off the path,passing a small lean-to made of banana leaves, where old Pram must have taken hisnaps. 'Yousee?'Santossaid. The mudwastornasifinastruggle. Thomas spied the dig site. It looked more like a mud fight. There was a hole sunk intothejunglefloor,andabigpileofdirtandroots.Toonesidelaythestoneplates, aslargeasmanholecovers, thatde l'Ormehadreferred to. 'Whatamess,'saidThomas.'You've beenfightingthejungleitselfhere.' 'InfactI'llbegladtobedonewithit,'Santossaid. 'Isthefriezedown there?' 'Tenmeters deep.' 'MayI?' 'Certainly.' Thomasgrippedthebambooladder and carefully let himself down. The rungs wereslic k and his soles were made for streets, not climbing. 'Be careful,' de l'Orme calleddowntohim. 'There, I'mdown.' Thomaslookedup.It waslikepeeringoutofadeep grave. Mud was oozing betweenth ebambooflooring,and thebackwall– saturated withrainwater –bulgedagainst itsbambooshoring. The placelookedready tocollaps euponitself. De l'Orme was next. Years spent clamberin g around dig scaffolding made thissecon dnature.Hisslight bulkscarcely jostledthehandmadeladder. 'Youstillmovelikeamonkey,'Thomascomplained. 'Gravity.' De l'Orme grinned. 'Wait until you se e me struggle to get back up. ' Hecockedhisheadback. 'Allright,then,'hecalled to Santos. 'All clear on the ladder. Youmay joinus.' 'Inamoment.Iwanttolookaround.'

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'So what do you think? ' d e l'Orme aske d Thomas , unawar e tha t Thoma s wasstandin g in darkness. Thomas ha d been waitin g for the more powerful torch thatSantoshad.Nowhetookouthis pocketlightandturnediton. The column was of thick igneous rock, and extraordinarily free of the usual jungleravaging. 'Clean, very clean,' he said. 'The preservation remind s m e of a desertenvironment.' 'Sans peur et sans reproche,' de l'Orme said. Without fear and without reproach. 'It'sperfect.' Thomas appraised it professionally, the material before the subject. He moved thelight to the edge of a carving: the detailing was fresh and uncorroded. This originalarchitectur e must have beenburieddeep,and withinacentury ofitscreation. De l'Orme reached out one hand and laid his fingertips upon the carving to orienthimself.He had memorized the entire surface by touch, and now began searching for something.Thomaswalkedhislight behindthethinfingers. 'Excuse me , Richard,' de l'Orme spok e t o the stone , an d now Thomas sa w amonstrosity , perhapsfourincheshigh,holdingupitsownbowelsinoffering.Bloodwasspillingupontheground,andaflowerspran gfromtheearth. 'Richard?' 'Oh,I have namesforall my children,'del'Ormesaid. Richard became one of many such creatures. The column was so densely crowdedwith deformity and torment that an unsophisticated eye would have had trouble separatingonefromtheother. 'Suzanne, here, she's lost her children.' De l'Orme introduced a female dangling aninfant in each hand. 'And these three gentlemen, th e Musketeer s I call them.' Hepointedatagruesometriocannibalizingone another.'Allforone,oneforall.' It wentmuch deeper thanperversion.Every manner of suffering showed here. The creatures were bipedal and had opposing thumbs and, here and there, wore animalskinsorhorns. Otherwise they could have bee nbaboons. 'Your hunch may be right,' de l'Orme said. 'At first I thought these creatures wereeithe r depictions of mutation or birth defects . Bu t now I wonder i f they are not a windowuponhominidsnowextinct.' 'Could it be a display o f psychosexual imagination?' Thomas asked . 'Perhap s thenightmareofthatface youmentioned?' 'One almost wishes it were so,' de l'Orme said. 'But I think not. Let us suppose ourmaster sculptorhere somehowtappedinto his subconscious. That might inform someofthese figures.Butthisisn'ttheworkofasingle hand. It would have taken an entireschoolofartisans generations to carve this and other columns. Other sculptors wouldhave added their own realities or even their own subconscious. There should be scenesof farmingorhuntingorcourtlifeorthegods,don't you think? But all we haveher eisapictureofthedamned.' 'But surely youdon'tthinkit'sapictureofreality.'

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'In fact I do. It's all too realistic and unredemptive not to be reality. ' De l'Ormefound a place near the center of the stone. 'And then there's the face itself,' he said. 'It'snotsleepingordreamingormeditating. It's wideawake.' 'Yes,theface,'Thomasencouraged. 'Seeforyourself.'Withaflourish,del'Ormeplaced the flat of his hand on the centerofthecolumnatheadlevel. But even as his palm lighted upon the stone, de l'Orme's expressio n changed. Helookedimbalanced,like amanwhohadleanedtoofarforward. 'Whatisit?'askedThomas. De l'Orme lifted his hand, and there was nothing beneath it. 'How can this be?' he cried. 'What?'saidThomas. 'Theface.Thisisit.Whereitwas.Someone'sdestroyed theface!' At de l'Orme's fingertip, there was a crude circle gouged into the carvings. At theedges, one could still make out some carved hair and beneath that a neck. 'This was theface?'Thomasasked. 'Someone'svandalizedit.' Thomasscannedthesurroundingcarvings.'Andlefttherest untouched.But why?' 'This is abominable,' howled de l'Orme. 'And us without any record o f the image.Ho w could this happen? Santos was here all day yesterday. And Pram was on dutyuntil.. .untilheabandonedhispost,curse him.' 'Couldit have beenPram?' 'Pram?Why?' 'Whoelse even knowsofthis?' 'That'sthequestion.' 'Bernard,' said Thomas. 'This is very serious. It's almost as if someone were tryingtokeep thefacefrom my view.' The notion jolted de l'Orme. 'Oh, that's too much. Why woul d anyone destro y anartifactsimplyto–' 'My Church sees through my eyes,' Thomas said. 'And now they'll never see whatthere wastoseehere.' As if distracted, de l'Orme brought his nose to the stone. 'The defacing is no morethanafewhoursold,'he announced.'Youcanstillsmellthefreshrock.' Thomas studied the mark. 'Curious. There are n o chisel marks. I n fact , thesefurrow slookmoreliketh

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emarks ofanimalclaws.' 'Absurd.Whatkindofanimalwoulddothis?' 'Iagree.It must have beenaknifeusedto tear it away. Oranawl.' 'Thisisacrime,'del'Ormeseethed. Fromhighabove,alightfelluponthetwoold men deep in the pit. 'You're still downthere,'saidSantos. Thomas held his hand up to shade the beam from his eyes. Santos kept his lighttrained directly upon them . Thomas felt strangely trapped and vulnerable.Challenged . It made him angry, the man's disrespect. De l'Orme, of course, had no inklingofthesilentprovocation.'Whatareyoudoing?'Thomasdemanded. 'Yes,' sai d de l'Orme. 'Whil e yo u g o wanderin g about , we'v e mad e a terrible discovery.' Santosmovedhislight.'IheardnoisesandthoughtitmightbePram.' 'ForgetPram. The dig'sbeensabotaged,thefacemutilated.' Santos descended in powerful, looping steps. The ladder shoo k under hi s weight. Thomasstepped toth e rear ofthepittomakeroom. 'Thieves,'shoutedSantos.'Templethieves. The blackmarket.' 'Controlyourself,'del'Ormesaid.'Thishasnothingtodowiththeft.' 'Oh,Iknewweshouldn'ttrust Pram,'Santosraged. 'Itwasn'tPram,'Thomassaid. 'No?Howdoyouknowthat?' Thomaswasshininghislightintoacorner behind the column. 'I'm presuming, mindyou.It couldbesomeone else.Hardto recognize who this is. And of course I've neverme ttheman.' Santos surged into the corne r an d stabbed his light into the crac k an d upon theremains.'Pram.'He gagged,thenwassickintothemud. It lookedlikean industrial accident involving heavy machinery. The body had beenrammed into a six-inch-wide crevice between one column and another. The dynamicforce necessary to break the bones and squeeze the skull and pack all the flesh andmeatandclothingintothatnarrowspacewasbeyond comprehension. Thomasmadethesignofthecross.

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We are quick to flare up, we races of men on the earth.

– HOMER, The Odyssey

5

BREAKING NEWS

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Fort Riley, Kansas

1999

On these wide plains, seared in summer, harrowe d by December winds , they hadconceived Elias Branch as a warrior. To here he was returned, dead yet not dead, ariddle.Lockedfromsight,themaninWar dGturnedtolegend. Seasonsturned. Christmas came. Two-hundred-pound Rangers at the officers' clubtoasted the major's unearthly tenacity. The hammer o f God, that man. One of us.Wordofhiswildstory leakedout:cannibalswit h breasts. Noonebelievedit,ofcourse.One midnight, Branch climbed from bed by himself. There were no mirrors. Next morning they knew he'd been looking by the bloody footprints, knew what he'd seenthroughthemeshgrill ecoveringhiswindow:virginsnow. Cottonwoods came to green glory . Schoo l hit summer. Ten-year-ol d Army bratsracin g past th e hospita l on their wa y to fish and swim pointed at the razor wiresurrounding Ward G. They had their horro r tal e exactl y backward : i n fact, themedica lstaffwastrying tounmakeamonster. There was nothing to be done about Branch's disfigurement. The artificial skin hadsaved his life, not his looks. There was so much tissue damage that when it healed,even hecouldnotfind the shrapnel wounds fo r all the burn scars. Even his own bodyhadtroubleunderstandingtheregeneration. Hisboneshealedsoquicklythedoctors did not have the chance to straighten them.Scar tissue colonized his burns with such speed that sutures and plastic tubing wereintegrate dintohisnewflesh.Piecesofrocket metal fusedintohisorgansandskeleton.Hisentirebodywasashellofcicatrix. Branch's survival, then his metamorphosis, confounded them. They openly talkedabou t his changes in front of him, as if he were a lab experiment gone awry. Hiscellular'bounce'resembled cancerin certain respects, though that did not explain thethickeningofjoints,thenew muscle mass, the mottling in his skin pigment, the small,calcium-rich ridges ribbin g his fingernails. Calcium growths knobbed his skull. His circadianrhythms had tripped out of synch. His heart was enlarged. He was carryingtwicethenormal numberofredbloodcells. Sunlight – even moonbeams – were an agony to him. His eyes had developed tapetum, a reflective surface that magnified low light. Until now, science had knownonly one higher primate that was nocturnal , the aotus , or night monkey. His nightvisionnearedtripletheaotusnorm. His strength-to-weight ratio soared to twice an ordinary man's. He had double theenduranceofrecruits halfhis age, sensory skills that wouldn't quit, and the VO2 maxofacheetah.Somethinghadturnedhimintothei

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rlong-soughtsupersoldier. The med wonks tried blamin g it all on a combination of steroids or adulterateddrugs or congenital defects. Someone raised the possibility that his mutations mightbe the residual effect o f nerve agent s encountere d durin g past wars . On e evenaccuse dhimofautosuggestion. Inasense,becausehewasawitnesstounholyevidence,he had become the enemy.Becausehewasinexplicable, hewasthe threat from within. It was not just their needfor orthodoxy. Ever since that night in the Bosnian woods, Branch had become theirchaos. Psychiatrists went to work on him. They scoffed at his tale of terrible furies withwomen' s breasts rising u p among the Bosnian dead, explaining patiently that he hadsuffered gross psychic trauma from the rocketing. One termed his story a 'coalitionfantasy' of childhood nuclear nightmares and sci-fi movies and all the killing he haddirectly seen or taken part in, a sort of all-American wet dream. Another pointed at similarstoriesof'wildpeople'intheforest legends of medieval Europe, and suggestedthatBranchwas plagiarizing myth. At last he realized they simply wanted him to recant. Branch pleasantly conceded.Yes, hesaid,itwasjusta badfantasy. Astate ofmind.ZuluFournever happened. Butthey didn'tbelieve hisretraction. Not everyone was s o dedicated t o studying hi s aberrations. A n unruly physicianname d Clifford insiste d that healing came first. Agains t th e researchers' wishes, hetried flushing Branch's system with oxygen, and irradiated him with ultraviolet light.At las t Branch' s metamorphosis eased . Hi s metabolism an d strength tapered tohuma n levels. The calcium outgrowths on his head atrophied. His senses reverted to normal. He could see in sunshine. To be sure, Branch was still monstrous. There waslittlethey coulddo abouthisburnscarsandnightmares.Buthewasbetter. One morning, eleven months after arriving, ill with daylight an d the ope n air,Branchwastoldtopackup. Hewasleaving.They would have discharged him, but theArmy didn'tlike freaks with combat medals bumming around the streets of America.PostinghimbacktoBosnia,they atleastknew where tofindhim. Bosnia was changed. Branch's unit was long gone. Camp Molly was a memory on ahilltop.DownatEagle Base near Tuzla, they didn't know what to do with a helicopterpilotwhocouldn'tflyanymore,sothey gave Branch some foot soldiers and essentiallytoldhimtogofindhimself. Self-discovery incamouflage: there were worse fates. Withthe carte blanche of an exile, he headed bac k t o Zulu Four wit h his platoon of happy-go-lucky gunners. They were kidswho'dgivenupshreddingorgrungeorthe 'hood or Net surfing. Notone had seen combat. When word went out that Branch was goin g armed int o the earth,these eightclamoredtogo.Actionatlast. Zulu Four had returned to as much normalcy as a massacre site could. The gaseshad cleared. The mass grav e had been bulldoze d flat. A concrete marker with anIslamic crescent and star marked the site. You had to look hard to still find pieces ofBranch'sgunship. The wallsandgulliesaroundthesitewere cored with coal mines. Branch picked oneat random and they followed him in. In later histories, their spontaneous explorationwould become know n as the firs t prob e b y a national military . I t marke d thebeginnin gofwhatcametobecalledtheDescent. They hadcomeas prepared asonedidinthose early days, with handheld flashlightsand a single coil of rope. Following a coal miner's footpath, they walked uprigh t –safetie s off – through neat tunnels trimmed with wood pillars and roof supports. In the third hour they came to a rupture in the walls. From the rock

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debris spilled ontothefloor,itseemed someonehad carved hiswayoutfromtherock. Following a hunch , Branc h led the m int o thi s secondary tunnel . Beyond allreckoning ,the network went deeper. No miner had mined this. The passage was rawbutancient,anaturalfissurewinding down.Occasionallytheway had been improved:narrow sections had been clawed wider, unstable ceilings had been buttresse d withstacked rock.There was a Roman quality to some of the stonework, crude keystonesinsom eofthearches.Inotherplacesthedripof mineral water had created limestonebarsfromtopto bottom. Anhourdeeper, theGIs begantofindbones where bodyparts had been dragged in.Bits and pieces of chea p jewelry and cheaper Eastern European wristwatches lay onthe trail . The grav e robber s ha d bee n slopp y an d hurried . The ghoulis h litterreminde dBranchofakid'sHalloweenbagwitharipinit. They went on, flashing their lights at side galleries, grumbling about the dangers.Branc h told them to go back, but they stuck with him. In deeper tunnels they found still deeper tunnels.Atthebottomofthose,they foundyet moretunnels. They hadno idea how deep it was before they quit descending. It felt like the bellyofthewhale. They did not know the history of man's meanderings underground, the lore of histentative exploration. They hadn't entered thisBosnianmawfor love of caving. These were normal enough men in normal enough times, none obsessed with climbing thehighestmountainorsoloingan ocean. Not one saw himself as a Columbus or a Balboaor a Magellan or a Cook or a Galileo, discovering ne w lands, new pathways, a new planet.They didn'tmeantogo where they went.Andyet they openedthishadaldoor.After two days in th e strange winding corridor, Branch's platoon reached its limit.They grew afraid. For where the tunnels forked for the hundredth time and plungedstilllower,they cameuponafootprint.Anditwasnotexactly human. Someone took aPolaroidphotoandthentheydi-dimaueditbacktothesurface. The footprint in that GI's Polaroid photo entered the special state o f paranoia usually reserved for nuclear accidents and other military slips. It was designate d aBlac k Op . The Nationa l Security Counci l convened . The nex t morning , NATOcommander s met near Brussels . I n top secrecy, the arme d force s o f ten countriespoise dtoexploretherest ofBranch'snightmare. Branch stood before the council of generals. 'I don't know what they were,' he said,once more describin g his night of the crash in Bosnia. 'But they were feeding on thedead,andthey were notlikeus.' The generals passed around the photo of that animal track. It showed a bare foot, wide and flat, with the big toe separate, like a thumb. 'Are those horn s growing onyourhead,Major?'oneasked. 'The doctors call them osteophytes.' Branch fingered his skull. He could have been thebastard child of an accidental mating between species. 'They started coming backwhenwewentdown.' There was, the generals finally accepted, more to this than just a coal hole in theBalkans. Suddenly, Branch found himself being treated not like damaged goods, butlike an accidental prophet. He was magically restored to his command and given freerein to go wherever his senses led him. His eight troops became eight hundred. Soonotherarmiesjoinedin. The eighthundredbecameeighty thousand,thenmore. Beginning with the coal mines at Zulu Four, NATO recon patrols went deeper andwider and began to piece together a whole network of tunnels thousands of metersbelo w Europe. Every path connecte d another, however intricately. Ente r Ital y andyou might exit in Slovakia or Spain or Macedonia or southern France. But there wasno mistaking a more central direction to the system . The caves and

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pathways andsinkholesallleddown. Secrecy remainedtight.There were injuries,tobesure, and a few fatalities. But thecasualties were all cause d by roofs collapsing or ropes breakin g o r soldiers trippingintoholes:occupationalhazardsandhumanerror . Every learningcurve hasitsprice.The secret held, even after acivilian cave diver by thename of Harrigan penetrated alimestone sinkhole called Jacob's Well in south Texas, which supposedly transectedth e EdwardsAquifer.Heclaimedto have found a series of feeder passages at a depthof minus five thousan d feet, which went deeper still. Further, he swore the walls contained paintings by Mayan or Aztec hands. A mile deep! The media picked it up,checked around, and promptly cast it aside as either a hoax or narcosis. A day afterth e Texa n wa s mad e a foo l i n public , h e disappeared . Local s reckone d the embarrassment ha d bee n to o muc h fo r him . I n fact , Harriga n had jus t beenshanghaie d by the SEALs, handed a juicy consultant's fee, sworn to national secrecy,an dputtoworkunraveling sub-America. The hunt was on. Once the psychological barrier of 'minus-five' was broken – thatmagical five-thousand-foot level tha t intimidate d cavers th e wa y eigh t thousandmeter s once did Himalaya n mountaineers – the progres s plunged quickly. One ofBranch's long-range patrols o f Army Rangers hi t minus-seven within a week afterHarriga nwentpublic.Bymonthfive,the military penetration had logged a harrowingminus-fifteen. The underworld was ubiquitou s and surprisingly accessible . Ever ycontinen t harboredsystems. Every city. The armies fanned deeper, acquiring a vast and complex sub-geography beneaththeironminesofWest CumberlandinSouthWalesandtheHollochinSwitzerland andEposChasminGreece andthePicosMountainsin Basque country and the coal pits inKentucky and the cenote s of Yucatàn and the diamon d mines in South Africa and dozensofother places. The northern hemisphere was exceptionally rich in limestone, which fused at lower levels into warm marble and beerstone and eventually, muchdeeper, into basalt. Thi s bedrock was so heavy it underlay the entire surface world.Because man had rarely burrowed into it – a few exploratory probes for petroleumand the long-abandoned Moho project – geologists had always assumed tha t basalt was a solid compressed mass. Wha t man now found was a planetary labyrinth.Geologica l capillaries stretched for thousands of miles. It was rumore d the y mighteven reachoutbeneaththeoceans. Ninemonthspassed.Every day thearmiespushedtheircollectiveknowledgea littlefurther, a little deeper. The Army Corps of Engineers and the Seabees saw their budgets soar. They were tasked to reinforce tunnels, devise new transport systems,dril lshafts,build elevators, borechannels,and erect whole camps underground. They even paved parking lots – three thousand feet beneath the surface. Roadways were constructe dthrough the mouths of caves. Tanks and Humvees and deuce-and-a-halftruck s pouring ordnance,troops,andsuppliesintotheinnerearth. Bythehundreds,international patrols descended into the earth's recesses for morethanhalfayear. Boot campsshiftedtheir theater training. Jarheads sat through films from th e Unite d Min e Workers abou t basi c techniques fo r shoring walls and maintaining a carbide lamp. Drill instructors began taking recruits to the rifle rangesat midnight for point-and-fire practice and blindfolded rappels. Physicia n assistantsand medics learned about Weill's disease and histoplasmosis, fungal infections of thelungs contracted from bat guano, and Mulu foot, a tropical cave disease. None weretol d what practical use an y of this had. Then one day they would find themselvesshippe dintothewomb. Every week th e mas s o f 3-D , four-colo r wor m line s expande d laterall y and vertically beneath their maps of Europe and Asia and the Unite d States. Juniorofficer s took to comparing the adventure to Dungeons and Dragons without, exactly,th e dragons or dungeons. Wrinkled noncoms

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couldn't believe their luck: Vietnamwithout the Vietnamese . The enemy was turnin g out to be a figment of one verydisfigure d major's imagination. No one but Branch could claim to have seen demonswith fish-whiteskin. Notthat there weren't 'enemies.' The signsof habitation were intriguing, sometimesgruesome. A t thos e depths , tracks suggeste d a surprisin g spectru m o f species,everythin g from centipedes and fish t o a human-sized biped. One leathery wingfragmen t stirred images of subterannean flight, temporarily reviving Saint Jerome'svisionsofbatlikedarkangels. In the absence of an actual specimen, scientists ha d named the enemy Homohadalis,though they were the first to admit they didn't know if it was even hominid.The secular term became hada l, rhyming with cradl e. Middens indicated that theseape creatures were communal, if seminomadic. A picture of harsh, grinding, sunlesssubsistence emerged. It made the brute life of human peasantry look charming by comparison. But whoever lived dow n here – and the evidenc e of primitive occupatio n at thedeepe r levelswas undeniable – had been scared off. They encountered no resistance.No contact. No live sightings. Just lot s of caveman souvenirs: knappe d flin t points,carved animal bones, cave paintings, and piles of trinkets stolen from the surface:broke npencils,empty Cokecansand beer bottles, dead spark plugs, coins, lightbulbs.Theircowardice was officially excused as an aversion to light. Troops couldn't wait to engage them. The military occupation went deeper and wider in breathless secrecy. Intelligenceagencies triumphed in embargoing soldiers' mail home, confining units to base, and derailin gthemedia. The militaryexploration entered itstenthmonth.It seemed thatthenewworld wasempty after all, and that the nation-states had only to settle into their basements,catalo g their holdings , and fine-tune ne w sub-borders. The conques t becam e adownrigh t promenade. Branch kept urging caution. But soldier s quit carrying theirweapons. Patrols resembled picnics or arrowhead hunts. There were a few broken bones ,afewbatbites.Every nowandthenaceilingcollapsedorsomeone drove off an abyssal roadway. Overall, however, safety stats were actually bette r than normal.Keepyour guardup, Branchpreached to his Rangers. But he had begun to sound likeanag, even tohimself.

The hammer dropped . Beginning on November 24, 1999, soldiers throughout thesubplanet did not return to their cave camps. Search parties were sent down . Fewcam eout.Carefullylaidcommunications lineswentdead.Tunnelscollapsed. It wasasiftheentiresubplanethadflushedthetoilet.FromNorway toBolivia,fromAustraliatoLabrador,from wilderness bases to within thirty feet of sunshine, armiesvanished.Later it would be called a decimation, which means the death of one in ten.Whathappenedon November 24wasitsopposite.Fewer thanone of every ten wouldsurvive. It wastheoldesttrickinthehistoryofwarfare. You lull your enemy. You draw himin.Youcutoffhishead. Literally. A tunnel at minus-six in sub-Poland was found with the skull s of three thousandRussian, German, and British NATO troops. Eight teams of LRRPs and Navy SEALswere found crucified in a cavern nine thousand feet beneath Crete. They had beencapturedaliveat scattered sites,herdedtogether, and tortured t

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odeath. Random slaughte r wa s on e thing . Thi s wa s somethin g else . Clearl y a largerintelligenc e was at work. System-wide, the acts were planned and executed upon a single clockwor k command . Someon e – o r som e group – ha d orchestrated amagnificen tslaughter over a twenty-thousand-square-mile region. It wasasifaraceofalienshadjustbreacheduponman'sshores. Branchlived,butonlybecausehewas laid up with a recurring malarial fever. Whilehistroops forged deeper below the surface, he lay in an infirmary, packed in ice bagsand hallucinating. He thought it was his deliriu m speaking as CNN broke the terriblenews. Half raving, Branc h watched hi s President address the nation in prime time onDecember 2. No makeup tonight. He had been weeping . 'My fellow Americans,' heannounced . 'It is my painful duty...' I n sombe r tone s the patriarc h enunciate d theAmerican military losse s incurred over the pas t week: in all, 29,54 3 missing. Thewors t was feared. I n the cours e o f three terrible days, the Unite d States had justsuffere dhalfasmany American dead as the entire Vietnam War total. He avoided allmention of the global military toll, an unbelievable quarter of a million soldiers. Hepaused. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, shuffle d papers, then pushed themaside. 'Hell exists.' He lifted his chin. 'It is real. A geological, historical place beneath ourvery feet.And it is inhabited. Savagely.' His lips thinned. 'Savagely,' he repeated, andforamomentyoucouldseehis great anger. 'For the last year, in consultation and alliance with other nations, the United Statesha s initiated a systematic reconnaisanc e of the edge s o f this vast subterraneanterritory . At my command, 43,000 American military personnel were committed to searching this place. Our probe into this frontier revealed that it is inhabited byunknow n life-forms. There is nothing supernatural about it. Over the next days and weeks you will probably be asking how it is that if there are beings down there, wehave never seen them before now. The answer is this: we have seen them. From thebeginning of human time, we have suspecte d their presence among us. We havefeare d them, written poems about them, built religions against them. Unti l veryrecently , wedidnotknowhow much we really knew. Now we are learning how muchwe don't know. Until several days ago, it was assumed these creatures were either extinctorhadretreated fromour militaryadvance.Weknowdifferentlynow.' The President stopped talking. The camerama n starte d bac k fo r the fade-out.Suddenl y he began again. 'Make no mistake,' he said. 'We will seize this dark empire. Wewillbeat thisancientenemy. Wewilllooseourterrible swiftswordupon the forcesofdarkness.Andwewill prevail.InthenameofGodandfreedom,wewill.' The pictureimmediatelyswitched to the Press Room downstairs. The White Housespokesmananda Pentagonbull stood before the roomful of stunned journalists. Eveninhisfever, BranchrecognizedGeneral Sandwell,four stars and a barrel chest. Son ofabitch,hemuttered atthe TV. AwomanfromtheLATimes stood,shaken.'We'reatwar?' 'There hasbeennodeclarationofwar,'thespokesmansaid. 'Warwithhell?'theMiamiHeraldasked.

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'Notwar.' 'Buthell?' 'Anupperlithosphericenvironment.Anabyssal regionriddledwithholes.' General Sandwel l shouldered the spokesman aside. 'Forget what you think youknow,' he told them. 'It' s just a place. But without light. Without a sky. Without amoon. Time is different dow n there.' Sandy always had been a showboat, thoughtBranch. 'Haveyousentreinforcementsdown?' 'Fornow,weareinawait-and-see mode.Noonegoesdown.' 'Areweabouttobeinvaded,General?' 'Negative.'Hewasfirm.'Every entranceissecured.' 'But creatures, General?' The New York Times reporter seemed affronted. 'Are wetalking about devils wit h pitchforks an d pincers? Do the enemy have hooves and horns on their head s an d tails, and fly on wings? How would you describe thesemonsters,sir?' 'That's classified,' Sandwell spoke int o the mike . Bu t he was please d wit h the 'monsters' remark. Already themediawasdemonizingtheenemy. 'Lastquestion?' 'Doyoubelieve inSatan,General?' 'Ibelieve inwinning.' The generalpushedthemike away. Hestrodefromtheroom. Branch slid in and out of fever dreams. A kid with a broken le g in the nex t bedchannel-surfed endlessly. All night, every tim e Branc h opened his eyes, th e T Vshowe d a different state o f surreality. Da y came . Local news anchor s had beenprepped. They knew to keep the hysteria out of their voices, to stick with the script.W e hav e ver y littl e informatio n at thi s time . Pleas e sta y tune d fo r furtherinformation. Please remain calm. An unbroken stream of text played across thebottom of the TV screen listing churches and synagogues ope n to the public . Agovernment Webpagewasset uptoadvise families of the missing soldiers. The stockmarket plunged.There wasanunholymixofgriefandterror andgrim exuberance. Survivors began trickling upward. Suddenly th e militar y hospital s were taking inbloodied soldiers raving childishly about beasts, vampires, ghouls, gargoyles. Lackinga vocabulary for the dar k monstrosity below, they tapped into the Bible legends, horror novels, an d childhood fantasies. Chines e soldiers saw dragon s and Buddhistdemons.KidsfromArkansas sawBeelzebubandAlien. Gravity won out over human ritual. In the days following the great decimation,there was simply no way t o transport all the bodies up to the surfac e jus t so theycoul d be lowered six feet back into the ground. There wasn't even time to dig massgraves inthe cave floors.Instead, bodieswere piledinto side tunnels and sealed awaywit h plastic explosives and the armie s retreated . The few funera l services with anactual bodyfeatured closedcaskets, screwed shut beneath the Stars and Stripes: NOTTOBEVIEWED. The Federal Emergency Management Agenc y was pu t i n charge o f civil defenseeducation. Lacking an y rea l informatio n about th e threat, FEM A duste d of f itsantiquate d literature from the seventies about what to do in case of nuclear attack,andhandeditouttogovernors,mayors,andtowncouncils

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. Turn onyour radio. Lay in asupplyoffood.Stockupon water. Keepaway fromwindows.Stay inyour basement.Pray. Foreboding emptied grocery stores and gun shops. As the sun went down on thesecond night, TV crew s tracked national guardsmen taking up lines along highwaysand ringing ghettos. Detours led to roadblock s where motorists wer e searched andrelieved of their weapons and liquor. Dusk closed in. Police and military helicoptersprowle dtheskies,spotlightingpotentialtroublespots. South Central Los Angeles went up first, no surprise there. Atlanta was next. Fireand looting. Shootings. Rape. Mob violence. The works. Detroit and Houston. Miami.Baltimore. The national guard watched with orders to contain the mobs inside theirownneighborhoods,andnottointerfere. Then the suburbs lit up, and no one was prepared for that. From Silicon Valley toHighlands Ranch to Silver Spring, bedroom commuters wen t rampaging. Out cameth e guns, the repressed envy, the hate. The middle class blew wide open. It startedwit h phone calls from house to house, shocked disbelief twisting into realization thatdeath lurked beneath their sprinkler systems. Strangely, suddenly, they had a lot togetout.They puttheghettostoshamewiththeirfiresandviolence. In the aftermath,the national guard commanders could only say that they had not expected suchsavager y frompeoplewithlawnstocalltheir own. OnBranch's TV, itlookedlikethelastnightonearth.Formany people it was. Whenthe sun rose, it illuminated a landscape America ha d been fearin g since the Bomb.Six-lan e highways were choked with mangled, burned cars and trucks that had triedtoflee.Pitchedbattles hadensued.Gangshad swept throughthetraffic jams,shootingand knifing whole families. Survivors meandered in shock, crying for water. Dirtysmoke pouredintotheurbanskies.It wasa day ofsirens.Weathercoptersand rovingnewsvanscruisedthefringesof destroyed cities.Every channelshowedhavoc. From the floo r of the U S Senate, the majority leader, C.C. Cooper, a self-madebillionaire with his eye on the Whit e House, clamored for martial law. He wanted ninety days , a cooling-off period. He was oppose d by a lone black woman , theformidabl e Cordelia January. Branch listened to her rich Texas vowels cow Cooper'snotion. 'Just ninety days?' she thundered from the podium . 'No, sir. Not on my watch. Martial law is a serpent, Senator. The seed of tyranny. I urge my distinguishedcolleagues to oppose this measure.' The vote was ninety-nine in favor, one opposed.The President, haggard an d sleepless, snatche d a t th e politica l cover and declaredmartiallaw. At 1:0 0 p.m. EST, the generals locked America down. Curfew began Friday atsunset and lasted until dawn on Monday. It was pure coincidence, but the cooling-offperiod landed on the ecclesiastica l day of rest. Not since the Puritan s ha d the OldTestamen t heldsuchpowerinAmerica:observe theSabbathorbe shotonsight. It worked. The first great spasmofterror passedover. Oddly enough , America wa s gratefu l t o the generals. The highways got cleared.Looters were gunned down. By Monday, supermarkets were allowed to reopen. OnWednesday, childre n went bac k t o school. Factories reopened . The ide a was to jump-start normalcy, to put yellow school buses bac k o n the street , ge t moneyflowing ,makethecountryfeel returned toitself. Peoplecautiouslyemerged from their houses and cleaned their yards of riot debris.In the suburbs,

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neighbors who had been at one another's throats or on top of eachother's wives now helped rake up the broke n glas s or scoop out ashes with snowshovels. Processions of garbage trucks came through. The weather was gloriou s forDecember.Americalookedjustfineonthenetwork news.

Suddenly, ma n no longer looked out to the stars . Astronomers fell from grace. It became a time to look inward. All through that first winter , great armies – hastilybuttressed with veterans, police, security guards, even mercenaries – poised at thescattered mouthsoftheunderworld,their gunspointedatthe darkness, waiting whilegovernments and industries scrape d together conscripts and arsenals t o create anoverwhelmingforce. Foramonth,noonewentdown.CEOs,boardsofdirectors, and religious institutionsbadgered them to get on with the Reconquist a,anxious to launch their explorations.But the death toll was well over a million now, including the entire Afghani Talibanarmy, which had practically jumped into the abyss in pursuit of their Islamic Satan.Generalscautiouslydeclinedtosendin further troops. A small legion of robots was commandeered from NASA's Mars project and put touse investigating the planet within their own planet. Creeping along on metal spiderlegs, the machines bore arrays of sensors and video equipment designed for theharshest conditions of a world far away. There were thirteen, each valued at fivemilliondollars,andtheMarscrewwantedthembackintact. The robotswere releasedinpairs–plusonesoloist–at seven differentsites aroundtheglobe.Scoresofscientists monitored each one around the clock. The 'spiders' heldup quite well. As they crept deeper into the earth , communication became difficult.Electroni csignalsmeanttoflashunimpededfromtheMartianpolesand alluvial plainswere hampered by thick layers of stone. In a sense, the labyrinth underfoot waslight-years more distant than Mars itself. The signals had to be computer-enhanced,interpreted, andcoalesced. Sometimesittookmany hours for a transmission to reachthe top, and many hours or days to untangle the electronic jumble. More and moreoften,transmissionssimplydidn'tsurface. What did come up showed a n interior s o fantastic tha t th e planetologist s andgeologists refused to believe their instruments. It took a week for the electronicspiderstofindthefirsthumanimages.Deepwithin th e limestone wilderness of Terbil Tem, beneath Papu a Ne w Guinea , their bone s showed as ultraviolet sticks o n thecomputer scan. Estimates ranged from five to twelve sets of remains a t a depth oftwelv e hundred feet . A day later , mile s inside the volcani c honeycombs aroundJapan' s Akiyoshi-dai, the y found evidence that bands of humans had been driven todepths lowe r tha n an y explored , an d there slaughtered . Dee p inside Algeria'sDjurdjur a massif and the Nanxu River sink in China's Guanxi province, far below thecaves under Mt. Carmel and Jerusalem, other robots located the carnage of battlesfoughtincubbyholesandcrawlspacesandimmensechambers. 'Bad, very bad, ' breathed hardene d viewers. The bodie s of soldier s ha d beenstripped , mutilated,degraded.Headswere missingorarrangedlikemasses of bowlingballs.Worse,theirweaponswere gone. Place after place, all that remained were nudebodies,anonymous,turningtobone.Youcouldnottellwh othese menandwomenhadbeen. Oneby one,theirspidersceasedtotransmit.It wastoosoonfortheir batteries togodead. And not all of them ha d reached their signal threshold. 'They're killing ourrobots,' the scientists reported. By the end of December, only one was left, a solitarysatellitecreepingonlegsintoregionssodeepitseemed nothingcould

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live. Far beneath Copenhagen, the robot eye picked up a strange detail, a close-up of afisherman's net . The compute r cowboy s fiddle d with their machinery , tryin g toresolv e the image, but it remained the same, oversized links of thread or thin rope.They keyed incommandsforthespidertobackupslightlyfora wider perspective.Almos tafull day passedbeforethe spider transmitted back, and it was as dramaticas th e first picture sent from the back of the moon. What had looked like thread orropewasironcircletslinked together. The net was in fact chain mail; the armor of anearly Scandinavian warrior. The Viking skeleton insid e had long ago fallen to dust. Where there had been a desperate black struggle, the armor itself was pinned to the wallwithanironspear. 'Bullshit,'someonesaid. Butthespiderrotated oncommand,andthe den was filled with Iron Age weaponryand broken helmets. The NATO troops and Afghani Taliban and soldiers of a dozenother modern armies were not, then, the first to invade this abyssal world and raise armsagainstman'sdemons. 'What'sgoingondown there?' themissioncontrolchiefdemanded. After another week, the transmissio n bursts conveyed nothing more than earthnoise and electromagnetic pulses of random tremors. Finally the spider quit sending.They waite d three days , the n bega n t o dismantl e th e station , onl y t o hea r atransmissio nbeep.They hastilyjackedthemonitorin,andatlong lastgottheirface.The static parted. Something moved on screen, and in the next instant the screen went black. They replayed the tape in slow motion and sweated out electronic bits ofan image. The creature had, seemingly, a rack of horns, a stub of vestigial tail. Redeyes, or green, depending on the camera filter. An d a mouth that must have been cryingoutwith fury anddamnation–orpossiblymaternalalarm–asit bore down ontherobot.

It wasBranch who broke the impasse. His fever spiked and he resumed command ofwhathad become a ghost battalion. He leaned over the maps and tried to plot wherehi s platoons had been tha t fateful day . ' I nee d to find my people,' he radioed hissuperiors,butthey would have noneofit.Stay put,they ordered. 'That's not right,' Branch said, but di d not argue. H e turned fro m the radios,shouldere d his Alice pack, and grabbed his rifle. He walked between the Germanarmoredcolumnparked atthemouthofthe LeogangerSteinberge cave system in theBavarian Alps, deaf to the officers shouting to him to halt. The last of his Rangers,twelve men , followe d lik e blac k wraiths , an d th e Leopar d tan k crew s crossed themselves. Forthefirstfour days thetunnelswere strangely vacant,nota trace of violence, notawhiffofcordite,nota bullet scar. Even the highlights strung along walls and ceilingsworked. Abruptly, atadepthof4,150 meters, the lights ceased. They turned on theirheadlamps. The goingslowed. Finally, seven camps down, they solved th e myster y of Company A . The tunneldilatedintoahigh chamber.They roundedleftontoasprawledbattlefield. It was lik e a lake o f drowned swimmers that had been drained. The dead hadsettled atop one another an d dried in a tangle. Here and there, bodies had beenpropped upright to continue their combat in the

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afterlife . Branc h led on, barelyrecognizin g them. They found 7.62-mm rounds for M-16s, a few ga s masks, somebroke nFrizhelmets.There were alsoplenty ofprimitiveartifacts. The combatantshadslowlydried on the bone, constricting into tight rawhide sacks.The bowed spines and open jaws and mutilations seemed to bark and howl at the rubberneckers passingamongthem.Herewasth e hell Branch had been taught. GoyaandBlakehaddonetheirhomeworkwell. The impaledandbutchered were horrible.The platoo n wandere d throug h th e gri m scene , thei r light s wagging. 'Major,' whisperedtheirchaingunner.'Their eyes.' 'I see,' said Branch. He glanced around at the rearing, plunging remains. On everyface , the eyes had bee n stabbed and mutilated. And he understood. 'After LittleBighorn,' he said, 'the Sioux women came and punctured th e cavalr y soldiers' ears.The soldiers had been warned not to follow the tribes, and the women were openingtheirears sothey couldhearbetter next time.' 'Idon'tseeno survivors,' moanedaboy. 'Idon'tseenohaddie,either,'saidanother.Haddiewasthehadal, whoever thatwas. 'Keeplooking,'Branchsaid.'Andwhileyou'reatit,collecttags. At least we can bring theirnamesoutwithus.' Somewere covered with masses of translucent beetles and albino flies. On others afast-acting fungus had reduced the remains to bone. In one trough, the dead soldierswere glazed over with mineral liquid and becoming part of the floor. The earth itself wasconsumingthem. 'Major,'avoicesaid,'youneedtoseethis.' Branch followed the man to a steep overhang where the dead had been laid neatlysideby side in a long row. Under their dozen light beams, the platoon saw the bodieshad been dusted in bright red ochre powder, and men sprinkled with brilliant whiteconfetti.It wasa rather beautifulsight. 'Haddie?' breathed asoldier. Beneath the layers of ochre, the bodies were indeed those of their enemy. Branchclimbed across to the overhang . Clos e up now, he saw tha t the whit e confett i wasteeth. There were hundredsofthem, thousands,andthey were human.Hepickedoneup, a canine, and it had chip marks where a rock had hammered it from some GFsmouth .Hegently set itbackontheground. The hadal warriors' head s wer e pillowe d on human skulls. At thei r fee t wer eofferings. 'Mice?'saidSergeant Doraan.'Dried-upmice?'There were scoresofthem. 'No,'saidBranch.'Genitals.' The bodies differed in size. Some were bigger than the soldiers. They had theshouldersofMasai,and lookedfreakishnext totheircomradeswithbandy legs. A fewhad peculiar talons in place of fingernails and toenails. If not for what they'd done totheir teeth, and their penis sheaths mad e of carved bone, they would have lookedquasi-human,likefive-foot-tall prolinebackers. Also scattered among the hadal corpses were five slender figures, gracile, delicate,almost feminine, but

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definitel y male . At first glance , Branch expected them to beteenagers, but under the red ochre their face s were every bit as aged as the rest. Allfiveofthegracilehadalshad shaped skulls, flattened on back from binding in infancy.It wa s amon g thes e smalles t specimen s tha t th e outsid e canine s wer e mostpronounced ,someaslongasbabooncanines. 'Weneedto take someofthese bodiesupwithus,'Branchsaid. 'Whatwewanttodothatfor,Major?'aboyasked.'They're thebadguys.' 'Yeah.Anddead,'saidhisbuddy. 'Proofpositive.It willbeginour knowledge about them,' Branch said. 'We're fightingsomething we've never really seen. Our own nightmares.' T o date , th e U S militaryhad not acquired a single specimen. The Hezbollah in southern Lebano n claimed tohave taken onealive,butnoonebelievedit. 'I'mnottouchingthosethings.No,that'sthedevil,lookathim.' They did look like devils, not men. Like animals steeped in cancers. A lot like me, thoughtBranch.It was hardforhimto reconcile their humanlike forms with the coralhorns that had bloomed from their heads. Som e looked ready to claw their way backtolife.Hedidn'tblamehistroopsforbeingsuperstitious. They all heard the radio at the same time. A scratchy sound issued from a pile oftrophies,andBranch carefully rooted through the photographs and wristwatches andweddingandhighschoolgraduationrings,and pulled out the walkie-talkie. He clickedthetransmitbutton three times.Three clicksanswered. 'Someone'sdownthere,'saidaRanger. 'Yeah.Butwho?'That gave thempause.Human teeth crackledundertheirboots. 'Identifyyourself,over,'Branchspokeintotheradio. They waited. The voicethatrepliedwasAmerican.'It'ssodarkin here,' he groaned. 'Don't leave us,man.' Branchplacedtheradioonthegroundandbacked away. 'Waitaminute,'saidthe chain gunner. 'That sounded like Scoop D. I know him. But wedidn'tgethislocation ,Major.' 'Quiet,'Branchwhisperedtohistroops.'They knowwe're here.'They fled.

Like worker ants, the soldiers scurried through the dar k vein, eac h bearing beforehi m one large white egg. Except these were not eggs, but balls of illumination, castroundand individual by each man's headlamp. Of the thirteen yesterday, there werejus t eight left. Like soul s extinguished, thos e othe r me n and lights were lost, theirweapons fallen into enemy hands. One who remained, Sergeant Dornan, had brokenribs. They had not stopped moving in fifty hours , except t o lay fir e int o the pitchblacknes s behin d

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them. Now , from the deepest point , came Branch' s whisperedcommand: 'Make the line here.' It passed, ma n by man, from the stronges t to the strickenupthechain. The Rangers came to a halt in a forking passage. It was a placethey hadvisitedbefore. The three stripes of fluorescent orange spray paint upon the Neolithic wall imageswere a welcome sight. They were blaze marks made by this same platoon, three toindicatetheirthirdcampontheway down. The exit wasnomorethan three days up.Sergeant Dornan'stinymoanofrelieffilledthelimestone silence. The wounded mansat,cradledhisweapon,laidhisheadagainstthestone. The rest ofthemwentto workpreppingthei rlaststand. Ambush was their only hope. Failing here, no t one would reach th e ligh t of day,which had taken on all the King James connotations they had ever known. The gloryofthelightofday. Two dead , three missing , and Dornan's broken ribs . An d their chai n gun, forchrissake . The General Electric gun with all its ammo. Snatched whol e from theirmidst. You don't lose a weapon like that. Not only did it leave their platoon without suppressingfire,butsomedaysomebravo like themselves was going to meet its solid wallofmachine-gunfiremadeinAmerica. Now a large part y was closin g fast upo n their rear . They could clearly hear theapproach on their radio asthings,whatever they were, passed by the remote mikesthey'd place d o n thei r retreat . Eve n amplified , th e enemy move d softly , withserpentin eease, but quickly, too. Now and then one brushed against the walls. Whenthey spoke,itwasnotinlanguageanyofthese gruntsknew. One nineteen-year-old spec4hunkeredby hisruck,fingers trembling. Branch wenttohim.'Don'tlisten, Washington,'hesaid.'Don'ttry tounderstand.' The frightened ki d looked up. And there was Frankenstein . Thei r Frankenstein.Branchknewthelook. 'They're close.' 'Nodistractions,'Branchsaid. 'Nosir.' 'We'regoingtoturnthisthingaround.We'regoingtoownit.' 'Yes sir.' 'Nowthoseclaymores,son.Howmanyinyour ruck?' 'Three. Everything Igot,Major.' 'Can'taskforanythingmorethanthat,canwe? Onehere,I'dsay. One there. They'lldojustfine.' 'Yes sir.' 'Westopthemhere.'BranchraisedhisvolumeslightlyfortheotherRangers.'Thisistheline.Thenit'sover. Thenweg ohome.We'realmostout,boys.Get your sunscreenready.' They likedthat.Except forthemajor,they were allblack.Sunscreen,right.

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He moved up the line from man to man, spacing the mines, assigning their fields offire, weaving his ambush. It was a spooky arena down here. Eve n i f you coul d putaside these bursts of cave paintings an d strange carved shape s an d the suddenrockfal l and flash floods and the mineralized skeletons and the booby traps. Even ifyoumade this place at peace with itself, the space itself was horror. The tunnel wallscompressed their universe into a tiny ball. The darkness threw it into freefall. Closeyoureyes, andthe mixcould drive youmad. Branch saw the weariness in them. They had been without radio contact with the surface fo r two weeks. Eve n wit h communications, they couldn' t have calle d inartiller y or reinforcements or evacuation. The y were deep an d alone and beset bybogeymen ,someimagined,somenot. Branch paused besid e th e prehistori c biso n painted on the wall . The animal hadspearsbristlingfromits shoulders, and its entrails were trampled underneath. It wasdying,butsowasthehunter who had killed it. The stick figure of a man was topplingover backward,goredby thelong horns. Hunter and hunted, one in spirit. Branch setthe last of his claymores at the feet of the bison and tilted it upon little wire tripodlegs. 'They're gettingcloser,Major.' Branchlooked around. It was the radioman, with a pair of headphones on. One lasttime he perused his ambush, saw in advance how the mines would flower, where theshot would fly true , where it would skip with terminal velocity, and which nichesmightescapetheirexplosionoflightandmetal.'On my word,'hesaid. 'Notuntil.' 'I know.' They all knew. Three weeks in the field with Branch was enough time tolearnhislessons. The radiomancuthislight.Around the fork, other soldiers doused their headlamps,too.Branchfeltthe blacknessfloodthemover. They had pre-sighted their rifles. Branch knew that in the terrible darkness, eachsoldier in his lonely post was mentally rehearsing the same left-to-right burst. Blindwithout light, they were about to be blinded wit h it. Their muzzle flash would ruintheir low-light vision. The best thing was to pretend you wer e seeing an d let yourimaginatio n take careofthe target. Closeyour eyes. Wakeupwhenitwasover. 'Closer,'whisperedtheradioman. 'I hear them now,' Branch said. He heard the radioman gently switch off his radioandset asidehis headphonesandshoulderhisweapon. The packadvancedsinglefile,ofcourse.It was a tubular fork, man-wide. One, thentwo passed the bison. Branch tracked them in his head. They were shoeless, and thesecondslowedwhenthefirstdid. Can they smell us? Branch worried. Still he did not give the word. The game wasnerves. You had to let them all come in before you shut the door. Part of him wasready withtheclaymoresincaseoneofhissoldiers startled andopenedfire. The creatures stan k o f bod y grease an d rare mineral s an d anima l hea t andencruste d feces. Something bony scratched a wall. Branch sensed that the fork wasfilling.Hissensehadlesstodowith soundthanwiththefeeloftheair.However slight,thecurrent wasaltered.Their mass respiration and the motion of bodies had createdtin y eddies in the space . Twenty, Branch estimated. Maybe thirty. God's children, perhaps.Minenow.

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'Now,'he uttered. Hetwisted thedetonator. The claymores blossomed in a single colorless buck of shot. Pellets rattled againstthestone,afatalsquall. Eightrifles joined, walking their bursts back and forth amongthedemonpack. The bursts of muzzle flash seared between Branch's fingertips as he held thembefore his glasses. He rolle d his eyes up into his skull to protect his vision. But thelightningstreaks ofauto-firestillreached in. Unblind and yet not seeing, he aimed by staccatostroke. Confined by the corridors , the stin k o f powder filled their lungs. Branch's heartsurged.Herecognizedon eyellofthemanyyelling voices as his own.God help me,heprayed athisriflestock. In all the thunder of gunfire, Branch knew hi s rifle ran empty only when it quithunchingatthemeatof his shoulder. He switched clips twice. On the third switch, hepausedtogaugethekilling. To his right and left, his boys went on machining the darkness with their gunfire.Maybe he wanted to hea r the enemy beg for mercy. Or howl for it. Instead what heheardwaslaughter.Laughter? 'Ceasefire,'hecalled. They didn't.Bloodup,they strafed,pulled dry, fresh-clipped,strafed again. He shouted once more. One by one, his men stopped firing. The echoes pulsed offintothearterials. The smellofbloodandfreshly chippedstonewaspungent.You could practically spititoutofyour mouth.That laughterwenton,strange initspurity. 'Lights,'saidBranch,trying to keep the momentum theirs. 'Reload. Be ready. Shootfirst.Sortitoutlater.Tota lcontrol,lads.' Their headlamps came alive. The corridor drifted in white smoke. Fresh bloodspoile dthe cave paintings .Closerin,the carnage was absolute. Bodies lay tangled in afoggy distant mass. The heat of their blood steamed, adding to the humidity of thisplace. 'Dead. Dead. Dead,' said a troop. Someone giggled. It was that or weep. They haddonethisthing.A massacreoftheirvery own. Riflestwitchingsidetoside,the spellbound Rangers closed in on their vaporous kill.Atlast,thoughtBranch, behold the eyes of dead angels. He finished refilling his spareclips,scannedtheuppertunnelforlatent intruders,thengottohisfeet. Ever cautious,hecircledthechamber, threw lightdownthe left fork, then the right.Empty.Empty. They'd taken out the whole contingent. No stragglers. No blood trailsleading away. Onehundredpercent payback. They gathered in a semicircle at the edge of the dead. Over by the heaped kill, his men stoo d frozen, their light s casting downward i n a collectio n pool . Branchshouldere dinamongthem.Likethem,he froze.

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'Nofuckingway,'atroop darkly muttered. His neighbor refused the sight, too. 'What's these doing here? What the fuck thesedoinghere?' NowBranchsaw why his enemy haddiedso meekly. 'Christ,'hebreathed. There were twodozenormoreuponthefloor.They were nudeandpathetic.Andhuman. They were civilians.Unarmed. Even maule d by the shrapne l an d gunfire, you could see their awful gauntness.Theirdecoratedskin stretched taut acrossmeatlessribcages. The faces were a studyi n famine, cheeks parsed, eye s hollowed. Their feet and legs were ulcerated. Thesinew y arms lay thin as a child's. Their loins were cased in old waste. Only one thingmightexplainthem. 'Prisoners,'saidSpec4Washington. 'Prisoners?Wedidn'tkillnoprisoners.' 'Yeah,'saidWashington.'They were prisoners.' 'No,'saidBranch.'Slaves.'There wasasilence. 'Slaves?There's nosuchthing.Thisismoderndays, Major.' He showed them the brand marks, the stripes of paint, the rope s linkin g neck toneck. 'Makes 'em prisoners. Not slaves.' The black kids acted like authorities o n the subject. 'Seethoserawmarks ontheirshouldersandbacks?' 'So?' 'Abrasions.They've beenhumpingloads.Prisoners,labor.Slaves.' Nowthey saw.Cuedby Branch,they fannedout.Thishadjustgottenvery personal.Spooked,high-stepping,th etroopsmovedamong the limbs and smoke. Most of thecaptives were male.Besidestheneck-to-neck rope ,manywere shackledat the ankleswith leather thongs. A few bore iron bracelets. Most ha d been ear-tagged, or theirearshadbeenslicedorfringedtheway cowboysjingle-bobbedcattle. 'Okay, they're slaves.Thenwhere'stheirkeepers?' The consensus was immediate. 'Gotta be a keeper. Gotta be a boss for the chain gang.' They went on looking through the pile, absorbing the atrocity, refusing the notionthat slaves mightkeep themselves slaves. Body by body, though, they failed to find a demonmaster. 'Idon'tgetit.Nofood.No water. How'dthey keep alive?' 'Wepassedthatstream.'

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'That's water, then.Ididn'tseenofish.' 'Here we go, see here. Jerky.' A Ranger held up a foot-long piece of dried meat. Itlooke d more like a dried stick or shriveled leather. They found more pieces, mostlytuckedintoshacklesorclutchedindead hands. Branch examined a piece, bent it, smelled the meat. 'I don't know what this couldbe,'hesaid.Thenhedid.It washuman. It had been a caravan, they determined, though an empty one. No one could saywha t these captives ha d been hauling , but haulin g they ha d been, an d for longdistances and recently. As Branch had noticed, the emaciated bodies had fresh soreson their shoulder s and backs, th e kin d any soldier recognized, from a heavy loadcarriedtoolong. The Rangers were grave and angry as they made their way through the dead. Atfirst glance, most of thes e people looked Central Asian . That explained th e strangelanguage . Afghanis, Branch guessed from the blue eyes. To his Lurps, though, thesewere brothers andsisters.That wasenoughforthemtothinkabout. So the enemy had beasts of burden? All the way from Afghanistan? But this wassub-Bavaria. The twenty-firs t century. The implication s were staggering . I f the enemy was able to run strings of captives from so far away, it could also movearmies... beneath humankind' s feet. Screw the hig h ground . With this kind of lowground, the high ground was nothin g but a blind man waiting to be robbed . Their enemy couldsurface anywhere, anytime,likeprairiedogsorfireants. So what's new? Who was to say the children of hell hadn't been poppin g intomankind's midst from the start? Making slaves. Stealing souls. Raiding the garden oflight.It wasaconcepttoofundamentalforBrancht oaccepteasily. 'Herehe is, I found him,' the Spec 4 called near the back of the heap. Knee-deep inthetornmass, he had his rifle and light aimed at something on the ground. 'Oh yeah,thistheone.Here'stheirbossman.Igotthe motherfucker.' Branch and the others hurried over. They clustered around the thing. Poked andkicke d i t a few times . 'It' s dead, all right,' the medi c said, wiping his fingers afterhuntin gforapulse.That madethemmore comfortable.They gathered closer. 'He'sbiggerthantherest.' 'Kingoftheapes.' Two arms , tw o legs : th e bod y looke d long and supple, lying tangle d wit h itsneighbors .It was soakedingore,someitsown, to judge by the wounds. They tried to figureitout,carefully,atgunpoint. 'Thatsomekindofhelmet?' 'Hegotsnakes.Snakesgrowingouthishead.' 'Nah,look.That's dreadlocks.Fulla'mudorsomething.' The long hair was indeed tangled and filthy, a Medusa's nest. Hard to tell if any ofthemuddyhair-tailsonhi

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sheadwasboneornot,buthe surely seemed demonic. And something in his aspect – the tattoos, the iron rin g around his throat. This was tallerthan those furies he had seen in Bosnia, and immensely more powerful-looking thantheseotherdead.Andyet hewasnotwhatBranchhad expected. 'Baghim,'Branchsaid.'Let'sgetoutofhere.' The Spec4stayed asjumpyasaThoroughbred.'Ioughttoshoothimagain.' 'Whatyouwanttodothatfor,Washington?' 'Justoughtto.He'stheonerunningtheothers.He'sgottobeevil.' 'We'vedoneenough,'Branchsaid. Muttering, Washington gave the creature a tight kick across the heart and turnedaway. Like a n animal waking, the bi g rib cage drew a great breath, then another.Washingto nheardtherespirationanddoveamon gthebodies,shoutingasherolled. 'He'salive!He'scomebacktolife.' 'Holdyour fire!'Branchyelled.'Don'tshoothim.' 'Butthey don'tdie,Major,lookatit.' The creature wasstirringamongthebodies. 'Keepyour headson,'Branchsaid.'Let'sjustwalkinonthis,onestep ata time. Let'sseewhatwesee.Iwanthim alive.'They were getting closer to the surface. With luck,they might emerge with a live catch. If the going got complicated, they could alwaysjustcaptheirprisonerandkeep running.Hewatcheditintheirlightbeams. Somehow this one had missed the massed headshot woven into their ambush. Thewa y Branch had set his claymores, everyon e in the colum n was suppose d to havetake n it in the face . This one must have heard something the slaves hadn't, andmanaged to duck the lethal instant. With instincts this acute, the hadals could haveavoide dhumandetectionforallofhistory. 'He'stheboss,allright,he'stheone,'someonesaid.'Gottobe.Whoelse?' 'Maybe,'Branchsaid.They were fierceintheirdesireforretribution. 'Youcantell.Lookathim.' 'Shoothim,Major,'Washingtonasked.'He'sdyinganyhow.' All it would take was the word. Easier still, all it would take was his silence. Branchhadonlytoturnhishead ,anditwouldbedone. 'Dying?'saidthething,andopeneditseyes andlooked up at them. Branch alone didnotjump away. 'Pleasedto meet you,'itsaidtohim. The lips peeled back upon white teeth. It was the grin of someone whose last solepossessionwasthegrin

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itself. Andthenhestarted laughing that laughter they had heard. The mirth was real. Hewas laughing at them. At himself. His suffering. His extremity. The universe. It was,Branchrealized,themostaudaciousthinghe'dever seen. 'Shootthething,'Sergeant Dornansaid. 'Don't,'Branchcommanded. 'Ah, come on,' said the creature. The nuanc e was pur e Western . Wyomin g or Montana.'Do,'hesaid.Andquitlaughing. Inthesilence,someonelockedaload. 'No,'said Branch. He knelt down. Monster to monster. Cradled the Medusa head inboth hands. 'Who ar e you? ' h e asked . 'What' s you r name? ' I t wa s lik e takingconfession. 'He'shuman?He'soneofus?'asoldiermurmured. Branchbroughttheheadcloser,andsawafaceyoungerthanhe'dthought.That waswhen they discovere d somethin g that ha d bee n inflicte d o n non e o f th e other prisoners. Jutting from one vertebra at the base of his neck, an iron ring had been affixed to his spinal column. One yank on that ring, and he would be turne d into ahead atop a dead body. They were awed b y that. Awe d by the independenc e thatneededsuchbreaking. 'Whoareyou?'Branchsaid. A tear streaked down from one eye. The man was remembering . He offered hisnam elikesurrenderinghi ssword.Hespokesosoftly,Branchhadtoleanin. 'Ike,'Branchtoldtheothers.

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First you must conceive that the earth... is everywhere full of windy caves,and bears in its bosom a multitude of mirrors and gulfs and beedling, precipitous crags. You must also picture that under the earth's back, many buried rivers with torrential force roll their waters mingled with sunken rocks.

– LUCRETIUS, The Nature of the Universe (55 BC)

6

DIXIE CUPS

Beneath Ontario

Three years later

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The armored train car slowed to thirty kph as it exited the wormhol e into a vastsubterranea n chamber containing Camp Helena. The track arced along the canyon'sridgelineanddescendedtothechamberfloor. Inside the car, Ike roamed from end toend, stepping over exhausted men and combat gear and the blood , tireless, shotgunready. Through the front window he saw th e light s of man. Through th e rear , the strafed, fouled mouth to the depths fell behind. His heart felt pulled in two, into the future,intothepast. For seven darkweeks theplatoonhadbeenhuntingHaddie,theirhorror,inatunnelspokingoffthe deepest transi tpoint.Forfourofthoseweeks they'd beenliving by the trigger. Corporate mercenaries were supposed to police the deep lines, but somehowthe national militaries were back in the action. And taking the hits. No w they sat onbrand-new cherry-red plastic seats in an automated train, with muddy field gearpropped againsttheirlegsandasoldierdyingonthefloor. 'Home,'oneoftheRangerssaidtohim. 'Allyours,'Ike replied.Headded,'Lieutenant,'anditwaslikepassing the torch backtoitsoriginalowner.They were backintheWorldnow,anditwasnothis. 'Listen,' Lieutenant Meadows said in a low voice, 'what happened , maybe I don'thave to report itall.A simpleapology,infrontofthemen...' 'You'reforgivingme?'Ike snorted. The tiredmenlookedup.Meadows narrowed hiseyes, and Ike pulled out a pair of glacier glasses with nearly black lenses. He hookedthe wings on his ears and sealed the plastic against the wild tattooing that ran fromforeheadtocheekbonestochin. He turned from the fool and squinted ou t the window s at th e sprawlin g firebasebelow them. Helena's sky was a storm of man-made lights. From thi s vantage, thearray ofsaberinglasersformed an angular canopy one mile wide. Strobes twinkled inthedistance.Hisdreadlocks–slashedtoshoulderlength – helped shield his eyes, butnotenough.Sopowerfulinthelowerdarkness,Ike shiedhereintheordinary. In Ike's mind, these settlements were like shipwrecks in the Arctic with winterclosing in, reminders that passage was swift and temporary. Down here, one did notbelonginoneplaceforlong. Every cavity, every tunnel , every hol e along the chamber' s soarin g walls wassaturated with light, an d yet you could still see winged animals flitting about in thedomelike'sky' extendingahundred meters abov e camp. Eventually the animals tiredandspiraleddowntorest orfeed–andpromptlygotfrieduponcontact with the lasercanopy. The work and living quarters in camp were protected from this bone and charcoal debris, a s well as from the occasiona l fal l o f rocks , b y steepl y angledfifty-meter-tal l rooftop s with titanium-alloy superframes . The effect , fro m Ike'swindow ,wasacityofcathedralsinsideagigantic cave. With conveyor belts spanning off into side holes and an elevator shaft and variousventilationchimneys juttingthroughtheceilingandapallofpetroleumsmog,itlookedlike hell, and this was man's doing. A steady stream of food, supplies, and munitionschurneddownthebelts.Ore churnedbackup. The train car glided to a stop by the front gate and the Rangers unhorsed in a file,nearlybashfulin the face of such safety, eager to get past the razor wire and lay intosome cold beer and hot burgers and serious rack time. For hi s own part, a freshplatoonwoulddo. Already Ike wasready toleave.

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Atardy MASHteamcamerushingoutwitha stretcher, and as they passed through the gate, a panel of arc lights turned them as white a s angels. Ike knelt besid e hiswounde dmanbecauseitwastherightthing to do, but also because he had to find hisresolve again. The arc lights were arranged to saturate every thing that entered thisway, andtokillwhatever lightskilleddownhere. 'We'll take him,'themedicssaid,andIke letgooftheboy'shand.Hewasthelast leftinthe car. One by one the Rangers had gone through the gate, turning into bursts ofblindingradiance. Ike faced the camp' s gate, strainin g against the impulse to gallop back into the darkness. His urges wer e so raw they hurt like wounds. Few people understood. Hehad entered thisManichaean state: itwaseithe rdarkness or light, and it seemed thatallhisgray scalewasgone. Withasmall cry, Ike cuppedhishandstohiseyes and leaped through the gate. Thelight s bleached him as immaculate as a rising soul. Like that, he made his way insideonceagain.It seemed moredifficulteachtime. Inside the razo r wir e an d sandbags, Ike slowed his pulse and cleared his lungs.Following regulations, h e shucked hi s clip, then dry-fire d into the sandbo x by the bunker,andshowedhistagstothesentinelsintheir Kevlar armor. CAMP HELENA, the sign read. HOME OF BLACKHORSE, 11TH ARMORED CAV, had been crossed out and replaced withWOLFHOUNDS, 27TH INFANTRY. In turn, that had been replacedwit hthenames of a half-dozen more resident units. The one constant in theupperrightcornerwastheiraltitude: Minus 16,232 Feet. Hunched beneath his battle gear, Ike trudged past troops in their field 'ninjas,' theblack camos issued for deep work, or off-duty in their Army sweats or gym trunks.Whether they were on their way to training or to the mess or the basketball cage or the PX to snarf some Zingers or Yoo-Hoos, one and all carried a rifle or pistol, evermindfu lofthe great massacretwoyears before. From beneath his ropy hair, Ike cast side glances at the civilians starting t o takeover . Most were miners and construction workers, sprinkled wit h mercenaries andmissionaries,the front wave of colonization. O n his departure, two months ago, thereha d been jus t a few doze n of them. No w they seemed to outnumber th e soldiers.Certainlythey hadthehauteurofamajority. He heard bright laughter and was startled by the sight of three prostitutes in theirlate twenties. One had veritable volleyballs surgically affixed to her chest . Sh e waseven moresurprisedatthesightof Ike. The sod a straw slid from her strawberry lips,andshe stared indisbelief.Ike twisted hisfacefromview andhurriedon. Helena was growing up. Fast. Like scores of other settlements around the world, itwas evident not just i n the explosion of new quadrants and settlers from the World.You could see it in the building materials. Concrete told the tale. Wood was a luxurydow n here, and sheet-metal production took time t o develop an d needed th e rightore s in close proximity to be cost-effective. Concrete, on the other hand, had only tobe teased up from the ground and out from the walls. Cheap, quick to set, durable, concretemeant populism.It fedthefrontierspirit. Ike entered a quadrant that, two months ago, had been home to the local companyofRangers.Butthe obstaclecourse, rappeling tower, firing range, and primitive trackha d been usurped. A horde of squatters had invaded. Every manner of tent, lean-to,andgypsy shelter sprawledhere. The dinofvoices,commerce, anddog-eat-dog musictracks hithimlikeafoulsmell.

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All that remained of unit headquarters were two office cubes taped together withducttape.They hada ceilingmadeofcardboard.Ike parked hisrucksack by theouterwall, then looke d twice a t th e roughneck s and desperadoes wandering about, andbroughtitinsidethedoorway.Alittlefoolishly,heknockedonthe cardboardwall. 'Enter,'avoicebarked. Branch was talking to a portable computer balanced on boxes of MREs, his helmetononeside,rifleonthe other.'Elias,'Ike greeted him. Branchwasnot pleased to see him. His mask of scar tissue and cysts twisted into asnarl.'Ah,ourprodigal son,'hesaid,'wewere justchattingaboutyou.' He turned the laptop so that Ike could see the face on the little flat screen, and sothe computer camera could see Ike. They were video-linked with Jump Lincoln, oneof Branch's old Airborne buddies and presently the commanding officer in charge ofLieutenantMeadows. 'Haveyoulostyour fuckingmind?'Jump'simagesaidto Ike. 'Ijustgot a field reportslappe d in front o f me. It say s yo u disobeye d a direc t order . I n fron t o f mylieutenant' s entire patrol. And that you drifted a weapon in his general direction in athreateningmanner.Doyou have anythingatalltosay, Crockett?' Ike didn't play dumb , but h e wasn't abou t to bend over, either. 'The lieutenantwrites afastreport,'he commented.'Weonlypulledintwenty minutesago.' 'You threatened anofficer?'Jump'sbark wastinny over thecomputer speaker. 'Contradicted.' 'Inthefield,infrontofhismen?' Branchsatshakinghisheadin brotherly disgust. 'The man doesn't belong out there,' Ike said. 'He got one boy mangled on a wrongcall. I saw no reason t o keep feeding the lieutenant's version of reality. I finally gothimtoseereason.' Jumpfumedasframesdroppedonthecomputer.He finally said, 'I thought it was acleared region . This wa s suppose d to be a shakedown cruis e fo r Meadows. You'retellingmeyouranintohadals?' 'Boobytraps,'Ike said.'Old.Centuriesold.Idoubtthere's beentraffic through there since the Ice Age.' He didn't bother addressing the issue of being sent to baby-sit ashake-and-bake ROTC student. The computer image turned to a wall map. 'Where have they all gone?' Jumpwondered.'Wehaven'tmade physicalcontactwiththe enemy inmonths.' 'Don'tworry,' Ike said.'They're down there somewhere.' 'I'm not so sure. Some days I mink they really are on the run. Or they've died offfromdiseaseor something.'

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Branch grabbed at the interlude. 'It looks like a stalemate to me,' he said to Jump. 'My clown cancels out yours. I think we're agreed.' The two majors knew Meadowswasadisaster.Andit wascertain they'd never sendhim out with Ike again. That wasgoodenoughfor Ike. 'Fuckit,then,'Jumpsaid.'I'mgoingtobury thereport.Thistime.' Branch went on glaring at Ike. 'I don't know, Jump,' he said. 'Maybe we ought toquitcoddlinghim.' 'Elias, I know he's a special project of yours,' Jump said. 'But I've told you before,don't get attached. There's a reason we treat the Dixie cups with such caution. I'mtellingya, they're heartbreakers.' 'Thanks for the burial. I owe you.' Branch punched the computer's off button andturnedto Ike. 'Nice work,'hesaid.'Tellme,areyoutrying tohangyourself?' If it was contrition he wanted, Ike offered none. Ike helped himself to some boxesandmadeaseat.'Dixie cups,'hesaid.'That'sanewone.MoreArmy slang?' 'Spook,ifyoumustknow.It means'use once, throw away.' The CIA used it to refert otheirindigenous guerrillaops.Now it includes the cowboys like you that we haul infromthedeepanduseforscoutwork.' Ike said,'It kindofgrowsonya.' Branch'smoodstayed foul.'Yoursense of timing is unbelievable. Congress is closingthe base on us. Selling it. To another pack of corporate hyenas. Every time you turnaround,thegovernment's caving in to anothe r cartel. We do the dirty work, then themultinationalsmoveinwiththeircommercialmilitias and land developers and miningequipment. We bleed, they profit. I've been given three weeks to transfer the entire unittotemporary quarters twothousandfeet belowCampAlison.Idon't have a lot oftime, Ike. I'm busting nuts to keep you alive down here. And you go and threaten anofficerinthefield?' Ike raisedtwofingersandspreadthem.'Peace,dad.' Branchexhaled.Heglancedaroundhistinyofficespace in disgust. Country-westernlope d in mega-decibels nearby. 'Look at us,' Branch said. 'Pitiful. We bleed. Thecorporation sprofit.Where'sthehonorinit?' 'Honor?' 'Don't hand me that. Yeah , the honor. Not the money. Not the power. Not thepossession. Just the bottom line for being true to the code. This.' He pointed at hisheart. 'Maybe youbelieve toomuch,'Ike suggested. 'Andyoudon't?' 'I'mnotalifer.Youare.' 'You're not anything,' Branch said, and his shoulders sagged. 'They've gone aheadwith your court-martial up top. In absentia. While you wer e still in the field . One AWOLturnsintoa desertion-under-fire charge.'

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Ike wasnotparticularlydevastated. 'SonowIappeal.' 'Thiswastheappeal.' Ike didn'tshowtheslightestdistress. 'There's aray ofhope, Ike. You've beenorderedtogoupforthesentencing. I talkedwith JAG, an d they thin k you ca n throw yoursel f on the merc y of the court . I'vepulle dall the strings I can up there. I told them what you did behind the lines. Some important people have promised to put a good word in for you. No promises, but it soundstomelikethe courtwillshowleniency.They by Godoughtto.' 'That's my ray ofhope?' Branchdidn'trisetoit.'Youcandoworse,youknow.' They'd argued thi s one into knots. Ik e didn't retort. The Army had been less afamily than a holding pen. It wasn't the Army that had broken hi s slavery anddragge d him back to his own humanity and seen to it that his wounds were cleanedandshacklescut.It wasBranch.Ike wouldnever forgetthat. 'Youcouldtry anyway,' Branchsaid. 'Idon'tneedit,'Ike softlyreplied.'Idon'tneedever togoupagain.' 'It'sadangerousplacedownhere.' 'It'sworseupthere.' 'Youcan'tbealoneand survive.' 'Icanalways joinsomeoutfit.' 'What are you talking about? You're facing a dishonorable discharge, with possiblebrigtime.You'llbean untouchable.' 'There's otheraction.' 'Asoldieroffortune?'Branchlookedsick.'You?'Ike droppedit. Both men fell silent. Finally Branch got it out, barely a whisper. 'Fo r me, ' heswallowed. If it wasn't so obviously hard for him to have said it, Ike would have refused. Hewould have set hisrifle in one corner and shoved his ruck into the room and strippedhis encrusted ninjas off and walked naked fro m the Rangers and their Army forever.Bu t Branch had just done what Branc h never did. And because thi s man who hadsaved his life and nurtured him back to sanity and been like a father to him had laidhis prideinthedirtbefore Ike's feet,Ike didwhathehadswornnever to do again. Hesubmitted. 'So where doIgo?'heasked. BothofthemtriedtoignoreBranch'shappiness.

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'Youwon'tregret it,'Branchpromised. 'Soundslikeahanging,'Ike crackedwithoutasmile.

Washington DC

Midwayuptheescalatoras steep asanAztec staircase,Ike could take nomore.It wasnot just the unbearabl e light. His journey from the earth's bowels had become agruesomesiege.Hissenseswere inhavoc. The worldseemed insideout. Now as the stainless-stee l escalator ros e t o ground zero and the howl of trafficpoureddown,Ike clungt othe rubber handrail. At the top, he was belched onto a citysidewalk. The crowd jostled and drove him farther away from the Metr o entrance.Ike was carrie d b y noises and accidental nudges into the middl e of IndependenceAvenue. Ike hadknownvertigo in his day, but never anything like this. The sky plummetedoverhead. The boulevar d spilled every which way. Nauseated, h e staggered into ablare o f car horns. He fought the terrifying sense of open space. Through a tinyaperture oftunnelvision,hestruggledtoawallbathedinsunlight. 'Get off, you,' a Hindi accent scolded him. Then the shopkeepe r saw hi s face andretreated backinside. Ike lai d his cheek agains t th e brick . 'Eighteent h an d C streets,' h e begge d a passerby. It wasawomaninheels.Herstaccato abruptly hurriedinawidearc aroundhim.Ike forcedhimselfaway fromthe wall. Acrossthestreet, hebegantheawfulclimbupa hillock girdled by American flags at fullmast.Helifted his head to find the Washington Monument gutting the sheer bluebelly of day. It was th e cherr y blossom season, that was evident . He could barely breathe forthepollen. A flock of clouds drifted overhead , gave mercy, then vanished . The sunlight wasterrible. He moved on, flesh hot. Tulips shattered his vision with their musket fire ofbrilliant colors. The gym bag in his hand – his sole luggage – grew heavy. He waspantingforair,andthat stung his old pride, a Himalayan mountaineer in such a statea tsealevel. Eyes squeezed tight behind his dark glacier glasses, Ike retreated to an alley with shade.At last the sun sank. His nausea lifted. He could bare his eyes. He roamed thedarkest parts ofthecityby moonlight,urgent asafugitive. No prowling for him. He raced pell-mell. This was his first night aboveground sincehe was snowbound in Tibet long ago. No time t o eat. Slee p coul d wait. There waseverything tosee. Like a tourist with the thighs of an Olympic sprinter, he plunged tirelessly. There were ghettosandParisian boulevardsandbright restaurant districtsandaugustgated embassies.Thosehedodged,holdingtotheemptier

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places. The nightwasgorgeous.Evendimmedby urban lights, the stars sprayed overhead.He breathed thebrackish tidalair.Trees were budding. It was April, all right. And yet, as he hurtled across the grass and pavement andleaped over fences and dodged cars, Ike felt only November in his soul. The night'svery mercy condemned him. He was no t lon g for this world, he knew. An d so hememorizedthemoonandthemarshes and the ganged oaks and the braid of currentsontheslowPotomac. Hedid not mean to, but he came upon the National Cathedral atop a lawned hill. Itwa s like falling into th e Dark Ages. An entrenched mo b of thousands o f faithfuloccupied the grounds, their squalid tent city unlit except for candles or lanterns. Ikehesitated , then went forward. It was obvious that families and whole congregationshad come here and were living side by side with the poor and insane and sick and addicted. Flyingbuttresses dangledhugeCrusade-like banners with a red cross, and the twinGothic towers flickered inthecastof great bonfires.There wasn'tacopinsight.It wasas if the cathedra l had been relinquished to the true believers. Peddlers hawkedcrucifixes, New Age angels, blue-green algae pills, Native American jewelry , animalparts, bullets sprinkled with holy water, and round-trip air travel to Jerusalem oncharte r jets. A militia was signing up volunteers – 'muscular Christians' for guerrilla strikes onhell. The muster table wa s piled with literature and Soldie r o f Fortune magazines,and manned by frauds with Gold's Gym biceps and expensive guns. A cheap trainingvideoshowedSunday-schoolflamesandactorsmadeup as damned souls pleading forhelp. RightbesidetheTV stoodawomanmissingonearmand both her breasts, naked tothe waist, daring them wit h her scars like glory. Her accent was Pentecostal, maybeLouisiana , and in her one hand she held a poisonous snake. ' I wa s a captive of thedevils,'shewastestifying.'ButIwasrescued. Only me, though, not my poor children,noralltheothergoodChristiansdown deeper intheHouse.GoodChristiansinneed ofrighteou s salvation. Go down, you brother s with strong arms . Brin g up the weak.Carry thelightoftheLord into that Stygian dark. Take the spirit of Jesus, and of theFather, andtheHolySpirit....' Ike backed away. How much was that snake woman being paid to show her fleshand proselytize and recruit these gullible men? Her wounds looked suspiciously likesurgery scars,possiblyfrom a double mastectomy. Regardless, she did not speak likeaformercaptive.Shewastoocertainofherself. To be sure, there were human captives among the hadals. But they wer e notnecessaril y in need of rescue. The ones Ike had seen, the ones who had survived forany length of time among the hadals, tende d to sound like a sum of zero. But onceyou'd been there, limbo could mean a kind of asylum from your own responsibilities.It was heresy to speak aloud, especially among liberty-preaching patriots like these tonight, but Ike himself had felt the forbidde n rapture of losing himself to anothercreature's authority. Ike made his way up the step s dense wit h humanity an d entered the medievaltransept. There were touchesofthetwentieth century: the floor was inlaid with stateseals , and one stained-glass window bore th e imag e of astronauts o n the moon.Otherwis e he might have been passing through the crest of a Blac k Plague. The airwasfilled with smoke and incense and the smell of unwashed bodies and rotten fruit,and the ston e walls echoed with prayers. Ike heard the Confiteor blend with theKaddish.AppealstoAllahmixe d with Appalachian hymns. Preachers railed about theSecond Coming, the Ag e o f Aquarius, th e On e True God, angels. The petition was general. The millenniumwasn'tturningouttobemuchfun,itseemed.

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Before dawn, mindful of his debt to Branch, he returned to 18th and C streets,Northwest , where he had been told to report. He sat at one end of the granite stepsand waited for nine o'clock. Despite his premonitions, Ike told himself there could benoturningback.Hishonorhadcomedowntoamatter ofthemercy ofstrangers. The sun arrived slowly, advancing down the canyo n of office buildings like animperial march. Ike watched his footprints melt in the lawn's frost. His heart sank at the erasure. An overwhelming sadness swept him, a sense of deep betrayal. What right did hehave to come back int o the World? What right did the World have to come back into him? Suddenly his being here, trying to explain himself to strangers, seemed like aterribleindiscretion.Whygivehimselfaway? Whatifthey judgedhi mguilty? For an instant, in his mind a small lifetime, he was returned to his captivity. It hadno single image. A great howl. The feel of a mortally exhausted man's bones hardagainsthisshoulder. The odor of minerals. And chains... like the edge of music, neverquit ein rhythm, never quitesong.Wouldthey dothattohimagain?Run, hethought. 'I didn't think you'd be here,' a voice spoke to him. 'I thought they would need tohuntyoudown.' Ike glanced up. A very wide man, perhaps fift y years old, was standing on thesidewalkinfrontofhim. Despitetheneatjeansanda designer parka, his carriage saidmilitary. Ik e squinted lef t an d right, but the y were alone. 'You're th e lawyer?' heasked. 'Lawyer?' Ike was confused. Did the ma n know him or not? 'For the court-martial . I don't knowwhatyou'recalled. My advocate?' The mannodded,understandingnow.'Sure,youmightcallmethat.' Ike stood. 'Let's get it over with, then,' he said. He was full of dread, bu t sa w no alternative towhatwasi nmotion. The manseemed bemused.'Haven'tyou noticed the empty streets? There's no onearound. The buildingsar eallclosed. It's Sunday.' 'Thenwhatarewedoinghere?'heasked.It soundedfoolishtohim.Lost. 'Takingcareofbusiness.' Ike coiled inside himself. Something wasn't right . Branch had told him to reporthere ,atthistime.'You're not my lawyer.' 'MynameisSandwell.' Ike could not fill the man's pause with any recognition. When the man realized Ikeha dnever heardofhim, hesmiledwithsomethinglikesympathy. 'Icommandedyour friendBranchforatime,'Sandwellsaid.'It wasin Bosnia, before

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his accident, before he changed. He was a decent man.' He added, 'I doubt thatchanged.' Ike agreed.Somethingsdidnotchange. 'I heard about your troubles,' Sandwell said. 'I've read your file. You've served uswell over th e pas t three years . Everyon e sing s you r praises . Tracker . Scout.Hunter-killer . Once Branch got you tamed, we've made good use of you. And you'vemad egooduseofus,gottenyour poundoffleshbackfrom Haddie,haven'tyou?' Ike waited. Sandwell' s 'us' gave an impression that he was still active with themilitary. But something about him – not his country laird's clothes, but something inhismanner–suggested hehadothermeatonhis plate,too. Ike's silences were starting t o annoy Sandwell. Ike could tell, because the nextquestio n was meant to put him on the spot. 'You were piloting slaves when Branchfoundyou.Isn'tthatcorrect? Youwere akapo.A warder. Youwere oneofthem.' 'Whatever you want to call it,' Ike said. It was like slapping a rock to accuse him ofhispast. 'Youranswer matters. Didyoucross over tothehadals,ordidn'tyou?' Sandwellwaswrong.It didn'tmatter what Ike said. In his experience, people made theirownjudgments, regardless ofthetruth, even whenthe truth wasclear. 'Thisis why peoplecannever trust yourecaptures,' Sandwellsaid. 'I've read enoughpsych evaluations . You'r e like twilight animals. You live between worlds, betweenligh t and darkness. No right or wrong. Mildly psychotic at best. Unde r ordinarycircumstances , it would have been folly for the military to rely on people like you inthefield.' Ike knew the fear and contempt. Precious few humans had been repossessed fromhadal captivity, and most went straight into padded cells. A few dozen had beenrehabbed an d put t o work, mostl y a s seeing-eye dog s for miners an d religiouscolonies. 'I don't like you, i s my point,' Sandwell continued. 'But I don't believe you wentAWO Leighteenmonths ago.I read Branch's report of the siege at Albuquerque 10. I believe you wen t behind enemy lines. But it wasn't som e grand act, to save yourcomrades in the camp. It was to kill the ones that did this to you.' Sandwell gestureda tthemarkingsandscarson Ike's faceandhands.'Hatemakessensetome.' Since Sandwell appeared s o satisfied, Ik e di d no t contradic t him . I t wa s theautomati c assumption that he led soldiers against his former captor for the revenge.Ik e had quit trying to explain tha t to him the Army was a captor, too . Hate didn'tenter the equation at all. It couldn't, or he would have destroyed himself long ago.Curiosity,thatwashisfire. Unawares,Ike hadedgedfromthecreepofsunbeams.HesawSandwelllooking. Ikecaugh thimself,stopped. 'Youdon'tbelonguphere.'Sandwellsmiled.'Ithinkyouknowthat.' Thisguy wasaregularWelcomeWagon.'I'll leave theminutethey let me. I came to clear my name.Thenit's backtowork.'

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'You sound like Branch. But it's not that simple, Ike. This is a hanging court. Thehada l threat isover. They're gone.' 'Don'tbesosure.' 'Everything is perception. People want the dragon to be slain. What that means iswedon't have anymore needforthemisfitsandrebels.Wedon'tneedthetroubleandembarrassment and worry. You scar e us. You loo k like them. We don't want thereminder.Ayear ortwo ago, the court would have considered your talents and valuein thefield.These days they wantatightship.Discipline.Order.' Sandwell kept the fascism casual. 'In short, you'r e dead. Don't take it personally.Yours isn'tthe only court-martial. The armies are about to purge the ranks of all therawness and unpleasantry. You repos are finished. The scouts and guerrillas go . It happensattheendofevery war.Springcleaning.' Dixie cups. Branch's words echoed . He must have known about, or sensed, thiscomingpurge.These were simpletruths. ButIke was not ready to hear them. He felt hurt,anditwasarevelationthathecouldfeel anythingatall. 'Branch talked you into throwing yourself on the mercy of the court,' Sandwellstated. 'Whatelsedidhetellyou?'Ike feltasweightlessasadeadleaf. 'Branch? We haven't spoken since Bosnia. I arranged this little discussion throughoneof my aides.Branch thinksyou'remeetinganattorney who'safriendofafriend.Afixer.' Why the duplicity?Ike wondered. 'It takes no great stretch oftheimagination,'Sandwellwenton.'Why else would youput yourself through this , if not for mercy? As I'v e said, it's beyond that . They'v ealread y decidedyour case.' His tone – not derisive but unsentimental – told Ike there was no hope. He didn'twaste timeaskingthe verdict. Hesimplyaskedwhatthepunishmentwas. 'Twelve years,' Sandwellsaid.'Brigtime.Leavenworth.' Ike felt the sky coming to pieces overhead. Don't think, he warned himself . Don'tfeel. But the sun rose and strangled him with his own shadow. His dark image laybrokenonthesteps beneathhim. Hewasaware ofSandwellwatchinghimpatiently.'Youcame here to see me bleed?' he ventured. 'I came to give you a chance.' Sandwell handed him a business card . It bore thenam e Montgomery Shoat. There was no title or address. 'Call this man. He has workforyou.' 'Whatkindofwork?' 'Mr Shoat can tell you himself. The important thing is that it will take you deepertha n the reac h o f any law. There are zones where extradition doesn' t exist. Theywon' tbeabletotouchyou,downthatfar.Butyou

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needtoactimmediately.' 'Youworkforhim?'Ike asked. Slow this thing down, he was telling himself. Find its footprints, backtrack abit,getsomeorigin.Sandwell gave nothing. 'Iwasaskedtofindsomeonewithcertainqualifications.It was pure luck to find youinsuchdelicatestraits.'That was information of a kind. It told him that Sandwell andShoatwere uptosomething illicit or oblique, or maybe just unhealthy, but somethingthatneededtheanonymityofaSundaymorningforitsintroduction. 'You've kept this from Branch,' Ike said. He didn't like that. I t wasn't a n issue ofhavingBranch's permission,butofapromise. Running away would seal the Army outofhislife forever. Sandwellwasunapologetic.'Youneedtobecareful,'hesaid.'Ifyoudecide to do this,they'll mount a search for you. And the first people they'll interrogate are the onescloses ttoyou.My advice:Don'tcompromise them. Don't call Branch. He's got enoughproblems.' 'Ishouldjustdisappear?' Sandwellsmiled.'Younever really existed anyway,' hesaid. There is nothing more powerful than this attraction toward an abyss.

– JULES VERNE, Journey to the Center of the Earth

7

THE MISSION

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Manhattan

Ali entered in sandals and a sundress, as if they were a magic spell to hold back thewinter. The guard tickedhernameoffalistandcomplainedshewas early andwithout her party, but passed her throug h the station . He gave some rapid-fire directions.Thenshewasalone,withtheMetropolitanMuseumofArt to herself. It was like being the last person o n earth. Ali paused b y a small Picasso. A vastBierstad tYellowstone. Then she came to a banner for the main exhibit declaringTHEHARVEST OF HELL. The subtitle read 'Twice Reaped Art.' Devoted to artifacts of theunderworld,mostoftheexhibit'sobjectshadbeenbroughtbac ktothe surface by GIsan d miners. Al l but a few ha d been stole n from humans and brought int o the subplanettobeginwith,thus'twicereaped.' Ali had come well ahead of her engagement with January, in part to enjoy thebuilding, but mostly to see for herself what Hom o hadalis was capable of. Or, in this case,whathewasnotcapableof. The show'sgist wasthis:H.hadalis was a man-sizedpackrat. The creatures of the subplanet had been plundering human inventions foreons. From ancient pottery to plastic Coke bottles, from voodoo fetishes t o HanDynasty ceramic tigers, to an Archimedean-type water screw, to a sculpture b yMichelangel olongthought destroyed. Among the artifacts made by humans were several made fro m them. She came tothe notorious 'Beachball' made of different-colored human skins. No one knew its purpose, bu t th e sa c – once inflated, now fossilized as a perfect spher e – was especiallyoffensivetopeoplebecauseitsocoldlyexploite dtheracesas mere fabric. By far the most intriguing artifact was a chunk of rock that had been prie d fromsome subterranean wall. It was inscribed with mysterious hieroglyphics that vergedo n calligraphy. Obviously, because it was included in this 'twice reaped' display, the curators had judged it to be human graffiti that had been taken down into the abyss.Bu t as Ali stood pondering the slab of rock, she wondered. I t did not look like any writingshehadever seen. Avoicefoundher.'There youare,child.' 'Rebecca?'shesaid,andturned. The woman facing her was like a stranger. January had always been invincible, anAmazon with that ampl e embrace and taut black skin. This person looked deflated, suddenly old. With one hand locked upon her cane, the senator could only open onearmtoher.Aliswiftlybenttohugher,andfelttheribsinherback. 'Oh, child,' January whispered happily, and Ali laid her chee k agains t th e haircroppe dshortandgone white.She breathed inthesmellofher. 'The guards told us you've been here an hour,' January said, then spok e t o a tallmanwhohad trailed behind her. 'Isn't it what I predicted, Thomas? Always chargingoutaheadofthe cavalry, ever sinceshewasa child. It's notfornothingthey called herMustangAli.Shewasalegendin Kerr County.Andyouseehowbeautiful sheis?' 'Rebecca,' Ali rebuked her. January was the most modest woman on earth, yet the

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worst braggart. Childless herself, she had adopted severa l orphans over the years ,an dthey hadalllearne dtoendurethese explosionsofpride. 'Oblivious, I'm telling you,' January went on. 'Never looked in a mirror. And whenshe entered the convent,itwasadarkday.StrongTexas boys,she had them weepinglikewidowsundera Goliad moon.' And January, too, Ali recalled of that day. She hadwept while she drove, apologizing again and again for not understanding Ali's calling.The truth wasthatAlinolongerunderstooditherself. Thomas stayed out of it. For the moment, this was the reunion of two women, andhe kept himself incidental. Ali acquired him with a single glance. He was a tall, rangyma n in his late sixties, with a scholar' s eyes and yet a hard-beaten frame. H e wasunfamiliar to Ali, and though he was not wearing a collar, sh e knew he was a Jesuit:shehadasenseforthem.Perhapsitwastheirsharedoddity. 'Youmustforgiveme,Ali,'Januarysaid.'Itoldyou this would be a private meeting.ButI've broughtsome friends.Ofnecessity.' NowAlisawtwo more people circulating through the far end of the exhibit, a slightblind man attended by a large younger man. Several more elderly people entered afardoor. 'Blame me, this was my doing.' Thomas offered his hand. Apparently, Ali's reunionwasatanend.Shehad thoughttheentire day belongedtoher and January, but therewa sbusinesslooming. 'I've wantedto meet you, more than you know. Especially now,beforeyoustarted outfortheArabiansands.' 'Yoursabbatical,'thesenatorsaid.'Ididn'tthinkyou'dmind my telling.' 'Saudi Arabia,' Thomas added. 'Not the most comfortable place for a young womanthesedays. Theshari a is in full enforcement since the fundamentalists took over andslaughteredtheroyalfamily.Idon'tenvy you,a fullyear drapedinabaya.' 'I'mnotthrilledwiththeprospectofbeingdressed likeanun,'Aliagreed. January laughed. 'I'll never understand you,' she said to Ali. 'They give you a yearoff ,andbackyougoto your deserts.' 'ButIknowthefeeling,'Thomassaid.'Youmustbeeager toseetheglyphs.'Aligrewmore wary. This was not something she had written or told to January. To January,Thomas explained, 'The southern regions near Yemen are especially rich.Proto-SemiticpictogramsfromtheSaudis'ahlal-jahiliya,theirAgeof Ignorance.' Ali shrugged as if it were common enough knowledge, but her radar was up now.The Jesuitknewthings abouther.Whatmore?Couldhe know of her other reason forthis year away, the step back she had taken from her final vows? It was a hesitationthe order took seriously, and the desert was as much a stage for her faith as for herscience.Shewonderedifthemothersuperiorhadsentthis man covertly to guide her,then dismissed the thought. They would never dare. It was her choice to make, not someJesuit's. Thomasseemed toreadhermisgivings.'Yousee,I've followed your career,' he said. 'I've dabble d i n the anthropolog y o f linguistic s myself . You r wor k o n Neolithicinscription s andmotherlanguagesis–howtoputthis?–elegantbeyondyour years.'H ewasbeingcarefulnottoflatter her,whic hwaswise.Shewasnoteasilycourted.

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'I've read everything I could find by you,' he said. 'Daring stuff, especiall y fo r anAmerican. Most of the protolanguage work is being done by Russian Jews in Israel.Eccentricswithnowhereto go. But you're young and have opportunities everywhere,ye t stillyouchoosethisradicalinquiry. The beginningoflanguage.' 'Why do people see it as so radical?' Ali asked. H e had spoken to her heart . 'Byfindingourway backto thefirstwords,we reach back to our own genesis. It takes usthatmuchclosertothevoiceofGod.' There, shethought.Inallitsnaïveté. The coreofhersearch,mindandsoul. Thomasseemeddeeply satisfied.Not thatsheneededtosatisfy him. 'Tellme,asaprofessional,'heasked,'whatdoyoumakeofthisexhibit?' She was being tested, and January was in on it. Ali went along with them for themoment, cautiously. 'I'm a little surprised,' she ventured, 'by their tast e for sacredrelics.' She pointed at strand s of prayer beads originall y from Tibet, China, SierraLeone, Peru, Byzantium, Viking Denmark, and Palestine. Next to the m was a displaycase with crucifixes and calligrams and chalices made of gold and silver. 'Who wouldthin k they'd collectsuch exquisitely delicatework? ThisismorewhatIwouldexpect.'Shepassedasuitof twelfth-century Mongolianarmor, pierced and still stained withblood. Elsewhere there wer e brutall y use d weapon s an d armor, an d device s oftorture.. . though the display literature reminded viewers that the devices had beenhumantobeginwith. They stoppedin front of a blow-up of the famous photo of a hadal about to destroya n early reconnaissance robot with a club. It represented modern mankind's firstpubliccontactwith'them,' one of those events people remember ever after by wherethe y were standing or what the y were doing at th e moment . The creature lookedberserk anddemonic,withhornlikegrowthsonhisalbinoskull. 'Thepity is,'Alisaid,'we may never know who the hadals really were before it's toolate.' 'It may already betoolate,'Januaryoffered. 'Idon'tbelieve that,'Alisaid. Thomas and January traded a look. He made up his mind. 'I wonder i f we might discus s a certain matte r with you,' he said. Immediately, Ali knew thi s was thepurpos eofherentirevisittoNew York, which Januaryhadarrangedandpaidfor. 'Webelongtoasociety,'Januarynowstarted toexplain.'Thomashasbeencollectingus from around the world for years. We call ourselves the Beowulf Circle. It is quiteinformal, and our meetings ar e infrequent. W e come together at variou s place s toshareourrevelationswithoneanotherandto–' Beforeshecouldsay more,aguardbarked, 'Putthatdown.' There wasasuddencommotionasguardsrusheddown.Atthecenter of their alarmwere two of those people who had come in behind Thomas and January. It was the youngermanwithlonghair.Hewasheftinganiron swordfromoneofthedisplays. 'Itisforme,'hisblindcompanion apologized, and accepted the heavy sword into hisopenpalms.'Iasked my companion,Santos–' 'It's al l right, gentlemen,' Januar y told the guards . 'Dr . de l'Orme i s a renownedspecialist.'

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'Bernard de l'Orme?' Ali whispered. He had parted jungles and rivers to uncoversitesthroughoutAsia. Readingabouthim,shehadalways thoughtofhim as a physicalgiant. Unconcerned, de l'Orme went on touching the early Saxon blade andleather-wrapped handle , seeing it with his fingertips. He smelled the leather, lickedtheiron. 'Marvelous,'hepronounced. 'Whatareyoudoing?'Januaryaskedhim. 'Remembering a story,' he answered. 'An Argentine poet once told of two gauchoswho entered adeadly knifefightbecausetheknifeitselfcompelledthem.' The blind man held up the ancient sword used by man and his demon both. 'I wasjustwonderingaboutthe memory ofiron,'hesaid.

'Myfriends,'Thomaswelcomedhissleuths,'weshouldbegin.' Ali watched them materialize from the darkened library stacks. Suddenly, Ali feltonly half dressed. In Vatican City, winter was stil l scourging the bric k street s withsleet.Bycontrast,herlittleChristmasholidayin NewYork Citywas feeling downrightRoman, as balmy as late summer. But her sundress served to emphasize thes e oldpeople's fragility , fo r the y wer e col d despit e th e warmt h outside . Some wore fashionableskiparkas,whileothers shivered in layers ofwoolortweed. They gathered around a table made of English oak, cut and polished before the eraof great cathedrals. It had survived wars and terrors, kings, popes, and bourgeoisie,and even researchers. The walls were massed with nautical charts drawn beforeAmericawasaword. Here was the set of gleaming instruments Captain Bligh had used to guide hiscastaways bac k t o civilization. A glass case hel d a stick-and-shell ma p used b yMicronesia n fishermen to follow ocean currents between islands. In the corner stoodthe complicate d Ptolemaic astrolabe tha t ha d been use d i n Galileo' s inquisition.Columbus' smapofthe New World occupied a corner of one wall, raw, exotic ; painteduponasheepskin,itslegsusedtoindicatethecardinaldirections. There was also a large blow-up of Bud Parsifal's famous snapshot from the moonshowin gthe great blue pearl in space. Rather immodestly, the former astronaut tookaposition immediately beneath his photo, an d Ali recognized him. January stayed byhe rside,nowandthenwhisperingnames,andAliwasgratefulforher presence. As they seated themselves, the door opened and a final addition limped in. Ali at first thought he was a hadal. He had melted plastic for skin, it seemed. Darkened skigoggles were strapped to his misshapen head, sealing out the room light. The sightstartled her, and she recoiled, never having seen a hadal, alive o r dead. He took thechairnext toher,andshecouldhearhimpantingheavily.

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'Ididn'tthinkyouwere goingtomakeit,'JanuarysaidtohimacrossAli. 'Alittletroublewith my stomach,'hereplied.'The water, maybe. It always takes meafewweeks toadjust.' He was human, Ali realized. Hi s shortness o f breath was a common symptom ofveterans freshly returning t o higher altitudes. She' d never seen one so physicallymaraudedby thedepths. 'Ali, meet Major Branch. He's something of a secret. He's with the Army, sort of an informalliaisonwith us.Anoldfriend.Ifoundhiminamilitaryhospitalyears ago.' 'Sometimes I think you shoul d have left m e there,' he bantered, and offered hishan d to Ali. 'Elias will do.' He grimaced at her, then she saw it was a smile – withoutlips. The hand was like a rock. Despite the bull-like muscles, it was impossible to tellhisage.Fireandwoundshaderased thenormallandmarks. Besides Thomas an d January, Ali counted eleven of them, including de l'Orme'sprotégé, Santos. Except for her and Santos and this character beside her, they wereold .Alltold,they combined almost seven hundred years of life experience and genius –not to mention a working memory of all recorded history. They were venerable, ifsomewhat forgotten . Mos t ha d left the universities or companies or governments where they had distinguished themselves. Their awards and reputations were nolonger useful. Nowadays they lived live s o f the mind, helped along by their dailymedicines.Their boneswere brittle. The Beowulf Circle was a strange gang of paladins. Ali surveyed the chill y bunch,placing faces , rememberin g names . Wit h littl e overlap , the y represente d morediscipline sthanmostuniversitiesha dcollegestocontain. Again, Ali wished for something besides thi s sundress. I t hung upon her like analbatross.Herlonghair tickledherspine.Shecouldfeelherbodybeneaththecloth. 'Youmight have told us you would be taking us from our families,' grumbled a manwhose face Ali knew from oldTime magazines. Desmond Lynch, the medievalist andpeacenik. He had earned a Nobel Prize fo r his 1952 biography o f Duns Scotus, thethirteenth-century philosopher, then had used the prize as a bull y pulpit to condemneverything from the McCarthy witch-hunt s t o the Bom b and, later, th e wa r in Vietnam . Ancient history. 'So far fro m home,' he said. 'Into such weather. And at Christmas!' Thomassmiledathim.'Isitsobad?' Lynch made himself look deadly behind his briarwood cane. 'Don't be taking us forgranted,'hewarned. 'You have my oath on that,' said Thomas more soberly. 'I'm old enough not to takeon eheartbeat for granted.' They were listening,allof them. Thomas moved from face to face around the table. 'If the moment were not so critical,' he said, 'I would never trespass upon you with amissionsodangerous .Butitis.AndImust.Andsowearehere.' 'But here?' a tiny woman asked from a child's wheelchair. 'And in this season? I tdoe sseemso... un-Christianofyou,Father.'

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Vera Wallach, Ali recalled. The New Zealand physician. She had singlehandedlydefeated the Church an d banana republicans in Nicaragua, introducing birth controlduring the Sandinist a revolution. She had faced bayonets and crucifixes, and stillmanagedtobringhersacramenttothepoor:condoms. 'Yes,' growled a thin man. 'The hour is godforsaken. Why now?' He was Hoaks, themathematician. Ali had noticed him toying with a map that inverted the continentalshelves and gave aview ofthesurfacefrom insidetheglobe. 'Butit'salways thisway,' said January, countering the ill humor. 'It's Thomas's wayo fimposinghismysteries onus.' 'Itcouldbeworse,'commentedRau,theuntouchable,anotherNobelwinner.Borntothe lowest caste in Uttar Pradesh, he had still managed the clim b to India's lowerhouse of Parliament. Ther e he had served as his party's speaker for many years. Later, Ali would learn, Rau had been on the verge of renouncing the world, sheddinghisclothesandname,andthrowinghimselfonto the pathway of saddhus living day todayby giftsofrice. Thomas gave them several more minutes to greet one another and curse him. Inwhispers t o Ali, January wen t o n describing various characters . Ther e wa s theAlexandrian , Mustafah, of a Coptic family that extended on his mother's sid e toCaesars.ThoughChristian,hewasan expert onsharia,or Islamic law, one of the fewtoever be able to explain it to westerners. Saddled with emphysema, he could speakonlyin shortbursts. Across the table sat an industrialist named Foley, wh o had made severa l sidefortunes , one in penicilli n during the Korean War, another i n the bloo d and plasmaindustry,beforegoingonto'dabble' in civil right s and underwrite numerous martyrs.H ewasarguingwiththeastronautBudParsifal.Alirecollectedhistale: after teeing offon the moon , Parsifal ha d gon e searchin g fo r Noah' s Ar k upo n Moun t Ararat, discovere d geological evidence of the Red Sea parting, and pursued a legion of othercrazy riddles.Clearl ytheBeowulfCirclewasacrewofmisfitsandanarchists. Finally they had gone full circle. It was Thomas' s turn . ' I a m lucky to have such friends,' he said to her. Ali was astonished. The others were listening, but his wordswere for her. 'Suc h souls. Over many years, during my travels, I've enjoyed theircompany .Eachofthem has labored to bend mankind away from its most destructiveideas .Their reward' –hewryly smiled–'hasbeenthiscalling.' Heusedthatword,calling.It wasnocoincidence.Somehowhehad learned that thisnunwasfalteringinhervows. The callinghadnotfaded,butchanged. 'We've lived long enough to recognize that evil is real, and not accidental,' Thomas went on . 'And over the year s we've attempted to address it. We've done this bysupportin goneanother,andby joining our various powers and observations. It's thatsimple.' It soundedtoosimple.Intheirsparetime,these oldpeoplefoughtevil. 'Ourgreatest weaponhasalways beenscholarship,'Thomasadded. 'You'reanacademicsociety,then,'Alistated. 'Oh, more like a round table of knights,' Thomas said. There were a few smiles. 'I wishtofindSatan,yousee.'Hiseyes metAli's,and she saw that he was serious. They

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all were. Alicouldn'thelpherself.'TheDevil?'Thisgroup of Nobel laureates and scholars hadmadeevilincarnateintoa gameof hide-and-seek. 'TheDevil,'Mustafah,theEgyptian,wheezed.'That oldwives'tale.' 'Satan,'Januarycorrected,forAli'sbenefit. They were all concentrating on Ali now. No one questioned he r presenc e amongthem,whichsuggested shewas already wellknown to them. Now Thomas's recitationof her Saudi plans and the pre-Islamic glyphs and her protolanguage quest took onforce. These people had been studying her. She was getting head-hunted. What wasgoingon here? WhyhadJanuarybroughtherintothis?'Satan?'shesaid. 'Absolutely,'Januaryaffirmed.'We'rededicatedtotheidea. The reality.' 'Which reality would that be?' Ali asked. 'The nightmarish demon of malnourished,sleep-deprived monks ?OrtheheroicrebelofMilton?' 'Hush,'saidJanuary.'We may be old, but we're not silly. Satan is a catchall term. Itgive s identity to our theory of a centralized leadership . Cal l him what yo u want , amaximu mleader,acaudillo.AGenghisKhan orSittingBull. Or a council of wise men,orwarlords. The conceptissound.Logical.' Aliretreated intosilence. 'It's a word, no more, a name,' Thomas sai d to her. 'Th e term Sata n signifies ahistoricalcharacter.A missinglink between ourfairytaleofhellandthegeological factof it. Think about it. If there can be a historical Christ, why not a historical Satan?Considerhell.Recenthistorytellsusthatthefairytaleshaditallwrong,andyet right.The underworldisnotfullofdeadsoulsanddemons,yet ithashumancaptives and an indigenous population that was – until recently – savagely defending its territory.Now , despite thousands and thousands of years of being damned and demonized inhuman folklore, the hadals seem very much like us. They have a written language, youknow,'hesaid.'Atleast they did, once upon a time. The ruins suggest they had a remarkable civilization.They may even have souls.' Ali couldn't believe a priest was saying such things. Human rights were one thing;the ability to know grac e was something entirely different. Even if the hadals provedto have some genetic lin k with humans, their capacity for souls was theologically unlikely. The Churchdidnotacknowledgesoulsinanimals,not even amongthe higherprimates. Onl y ma n qualified for salvation. 'Let me understand,' she said. 'You'relookin gfora creature namedSatan?' Noonedeniedit. 'But why?' 'Peace,' said Lynch. 'If he is a great leader, and if we can come to understand him,we may forgealasting peace.' 'Knowledge,'saidRau.'Thinkwhathemightknow, where hemightleadus.' 'And if he's merely the equivalent of an ancient war criminal,' said the soldier Elias,

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'thenwecan seek justice.Andpunishment.' 'Oneway oranother,'saidJanuary,'we'restriving to bring light to the darkness. Ordarknesstothelight.' It sounded so naïve. S o youthful. S o seductive and abundant with hope. Almost, thoughtAli,plausible– hypothetically.Andyet, aNuremberg trialforthekingof hell?Thenshesaddened.Ofcoursethey wouldbe attracted to tilting at windmills. Thomashaddrawnthembackintotheworld,justasthey were dyingoutfromit. 'Andhowdoyouproposetofindthis creature – being, entity – whatever he is?' sheasked. It was meant to b e a rhetorical question. 'What chance do you have of findingan individual fugitive when the armies can't seem to find any hadals at all ? I keephearingthatthey may even beextinct.' 'You'reskeptical,' Vera said.'Wewouldn't have it any other way. Your skepticism iscrucial. You'd be useles s t o us without it. Believe me , we wer e just like you when Thomas first presented his idea. But here we are, years later, still coming togetherwhe nThomascalls.' Thomas spoke . 'Yo u asked how do we hop e to locate the historical Satan? Likereachingintomud,we mustfeelaroundandthenpullhimloose.' 'Scholarship,' sai d th e mathematicia n Hoaks . 'By revisiting excavations andreexamining the evidence, we compile a more carefu l picture . Lik e a behavioralprofile.' 'Icallitaunifiedtheory ofSatan,'saidFoley.Hehada businessman's mind, given tostrategy and output. 'Some of us visit libraries or archaeological sites o r sciencecenters around the world. Others conduct interviews, debrief survivors, cultivateleads. I n thi s wa y w e hop e t o outlin e psychologica l patterns an d identif y any weaknesses that might be useful in a summit conference. Who knows, we may evenb eabletoconstructaphysicaldescriptionofthecreature.' 'Itsoundslikesuch...anadventure,' saidAli.Shedidn'twanttooffendanyone. 'Look at me, ' Thomas said. There was a trick of light. Something. Suddenly heseemed a thousand years old. 'He's down there. Year after year, I've failed to locatehim.Wecannolongeraffordthat.' Aliwavered. 'That'sthedilemma,' said de l'Orme. 'Life's too short for doubt, and yet too long forfaith.' Alirecalledhisexcommunication,andguessedithadbeenexcruciating. 'Our problem is that Satan hides in plain view,' de l'Orme said. 'He always has. Hehideswithinourreality. Even our virtual reality. The trick, we're learning, is to enterth e illusion . I n tha t way, w e hop e t o fin d hi m out . Would yo u pleas e showMademoisell evonSchadeourlittlephoto?'heaskedhis assistant. Santos spread out a long roll of glossy Kodak paper. It showed an image of an oldmap.Alihadtostandto seeitsdetails.Mostofthegroupgathered around. 'Theothers have hadthebenefitof several weeks to examine this photo,' de l'Orme explained. 'It's a route map known as the Peutinger Table. Twenty-one feet long byon efoothigh in the original. It details a

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medieval network of roads seventy thousandmiles long that ran from the British Isles to India. Along the road were stage stops,spas,bridges, rivers, andseas.Latitudeand longitude were irrelevant. The road itself was everything.' The archaeologist paused. 'I had asked you al l to try to find anything ou t of the ordinaryonthephoto.I particularlydirectedyour attentionto the Latin phrase 'Herebe dragons,' midcenter on the map. Did anyone notic e anything unusua l in thatregion?' 'It's seven-thirty in the morning,' someone said. 'Please teach us our lesson so wemay eatourbreakfast.' 'Ifyouplease,'del'Ormesaidtohisaide. Santos lifted a wooden box onto the table, brought out from it a thick scroll, andbegan to unroll it delicately. 'Here is the original table,' said de l'Orme. 'It is housedhereinthemuseum.' 'Thisis why wewere broughttoNew York?' complainedParsifal. 'Please, compar e fo r yourselves,' sai d d e l'Orme . 'A s yo u ca n see , th e photoduplicate s the original at a scale of one-to-one. What I wish to demonstrate is thatseeingisnotbelieving.Santos?' The youngmandrew onapairof latex gloves, produced a surgical scalpel, and bentover theoriginal. 'What are you doing?' an emaciated man squeaked in alarm. His name was Gault,andAliwouldlaterlearn thathewasanencyclopedist of the old Diderot school, whichbelieved that all things could be know n and arranged alphabetically. 'That map isirreplaceable,'heprotested. 'It'sallright,'del'Ormesaid.'He'ssimplyexposinganincisionwe've already made.'The excitement o f an act o f vandalism i n front o f their eye s wok e the m up.Everyon e came close to the table. 'It is a secret the cartographer built into his map,'de l'Orme said. 'A well-kept secret. If not for a blind man's bare fingertips, it mightnever have beendiscovered.There issomethingquitewickedaboutourreverence for antiquity.We'vecometotreat thethingitselfwithsuchcarethatithaslostits originaltruth.' 'Butwhat'sthis?'someonegasped. Santos was insertin g his scalpel into the parchmen t where the cartographe r hadpaintedasmallforested mountainwithariver issuingfromitsbase. 'Becauseof my blindness,I'mallowedcertaindispensations,'de l'Orme said. 'I touchthings most other peopl e may not. Several months ago, I felt a slight bump at thisplac e on the map. We had the parchment X-rayed, and there seemed to be a ghostimageunderneaththepigment.Atthatpointweperformed surgery.' Santosopenedatinyhiddendoor. The mountain lifted upon hinges made of thread. Underneathlayacrudebu tcoherentdragon.Its clawsembracedtheletterB. 'The Bstands forBeliar,' said de l'Orme. 'Latin for "Worthless." Another name forSatan. This wa s th e manifestatio n o f Satan concurren t wit h th e makin g o f the Peutinge r Table . I n th e Gospe l o f Bartholomew, a third-century tract , Belia r isdraggedupfromthedepthsandinterrogated.He gives an autobiography of the fallen angel.' The scholars marveled at the mapmaker's ingenuity and craft. They congratulateddel'Ormeonhisdetective work.

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'Thisisinsignificant.Trivial. The mountainonthis doorway lies in the karst countryoftheformerYugoslavia. The river comingfromits base is probably the Pivka, whichemerges fromaSlovenian cave knowntoday as PostojnaJama.' 'ThePostojnaJama?'Gault barked inrecognition.'ButthatwasDante'scave.' 'Yes,'saiddel'Orme,andletGaulttellthemhimself. 'It's a large cave, ' Gaul t explained . 'I t became a famous tourist attractio n i n thethirteenth century. Noblesandlandownerswouldtourwithlocal guides. Dante visitedwhileresearching–' 'MyGod,'saidMustafah.'Forathousandyears thelegendofSatanwaslocated righthere.Buthowcanyoucallthis trivial?' 'Becauseit leads us nowhere we've not already been,' said de l'Orme. 'The PostojnaJamaisnowamajor portalfortrafficgoinginandoutofthe abyss. The river has beendynamited. A n asphalt roa d leads into the mouth . And the drago n has fled. For athousan d years this map told us where he once resided, or possibly where one of hisdoorwaysintothesubplanetlay.ButnowSatanhasgoneelsewhere.' Thomastook over again. 'Herebeforeusisanother example of why we can't stay in our homes, believing weknowthetruth.Wemust unlearnourinstincts, even aswe depend on them. We mustput our hands on what is untouchable. Listen fo r his motion. He's out there, in oldbooksandruinsandartifacts.Insideourlanguage and dreams. And now, you see, the evidencewillnotcometous.Wemustgotoit,wherever it is. Otherwise we're merelylookin g into mirrors o f our own invention. Do you understand ? We must lear n hislanguage .Wemustlearnhisdreams. Andperhapsbringhimintothefamilyofman.'Thomasleanedonthetable.It gave a slight groan beneath his weight. He looked atAli. 'The truth is, we must go out into the world. We must risk everything. And we mustnot return withouttheprize.'

'EvenifIbelievedinyour historicalSatan,'Alisaid,'it'snot my fight.' The meeting had adjourned. Hours had passed. The Beowulf scholars had gone off,leaving her alon e with January and Thomas. Sh e felt wear y and electrified a t the sametime,buttriedtoshowonlyasmooth face. Thomas was a cipher to her. He wasmakingheracipherto herself. 'I agree,' Thomas replied. 'But your passion for the mother tongue helps us in ourfight,yousee.Andsoour interests marry.' SheglancedatJanuary.Somethingwasdifferentinhereyes. Ali wanted an ally, but whatshesawwasobligation andurgency.'Whatisityouwantfromme?' What Thomas next told her went beyond daring . He was toyin g wit h a yellowedglobe,andnowletitspint oahalt. He pointed at the Galápagos Islands. 'Seven weeksfro m now, a science expedition i s to be

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inserte d through the Pacifi c floor into theNazca Plate tunnel system. It will consist of roughly fifty scientists and researcherswh o have beenrecruited mostlyfromAmerican universities and laboratories. For thenext year, they'llbeoperatingoutofastate-of-the-art research institutebasedontheWoodsHolemodel. It's saidtobelocatedataremote mining town. We're still workingto learn which mining town, and if the science station even exists. Major Branch hasbeenhelpful,but even militaryintelligencecan'tmakeheadsortails out of why Heliosisunderwritingtheprojectandwhatthey're really upto.' 'Helios?'Alisaid.'Thecorporation?' 'It's actually a multinational cartel comprisin g dozens of major businesses, totallydiversified, ' Januar y said . 'Arm s manufactur e t o tampon s t o computers . Babyformula , real estate, car assembly plants, recycled plastics, publishing, plus televisionand film production, and an airline. They're untouchable . Now , thank s t o theirfounder , C.C. Cooper, their agend a ha s taken a sharp turn . Downwar d into thesubplanet.' 'Thepresidentialcandidate,'Alisaid.'Youserved intheSenatewithhim.' 'Mostly against him,' January said. 'He is a brilliant man. A true visionary. A closet fascist. And now a bitter and paranoid loser. His own party still blames him for thehumiliation of that election. The Supreme Court eventually tossed out his charges ofelectionfraud.Asaresult,hesincerelybelieves theworld'souttoget him.' 'Ihaven'theardathingabouthimsincehisdefeat,'saidAli. 'He quit the Senate and returned to Helios,' January said. 'We were sure that was theendofhim,that Cooper would quietly go back to making money. Even the peoplewhowatchsuch things didn't notice for a while. C.C. was using shells and proxies anddummy corporation s to sna p u p acces s right s an d tunnelin g equipmen t andsubsurfac etechnology.Hewascuttingdealswithgovernments ofninedifferent PacificRim nations to joint-venture the drilling operations and provide labor, again hidden behind numerous layers. The result is that while we've been pacifyin g the regionsunderneat h our cities and continents, Helios has gotten the jump on everyone else insuboceanicexplorationanddevelopment.' 'Ithoughtthecolonizationwasunderinternationalauspices,'saidAli. 'Itis,'saidJanuary,'withintheboundariesofinternationallaw.But international law hasn't caught up with nonsovereign territories. Offshore, the law is still catching upwithsubterranean discoveries.' 'I didn't understand this either,' sai d Thomas. 'I t turn s ou t that subterraneanterritor y beneath the oceans is still like the Wild West, subject to the whim s ofwhoever occupies it. Recall the British tea company in India. The fur companies inNorth America. The American lan d companies in Texas. In the cas e o f the PacificOcean ,thatmeansahuge expanse ofcountrybeyondinternationalreach.' 'Which translates as opportunity for a man like C.C. Cooper,' said January. 'TodayHelio s own s mor e seafloo r dril l hole s tha n any othe r entity, governmenta l orotherwise . The y lea d i n hydroponi c agricultura l methods . The y ow n th e latesttechnolog y for enhanced communications through rock. Their labs have created newdrugs to help them pus h the depths. They've approached the subplanet the wayAmeric a approache d manne d landings on the moon forty years ago, as a mission requiring life support systems, modes of transportation and access, an d logistics.Whiletherest ofthe world'sbeentiptoeingintotheir planetary basements, Helios hasspentbillionson research anddevelopment, andispoisedtoexploitthefrontier.'

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'In other words,' Thomas said, 'Helios isn't sending these scientists down out of thegoodness of its heart. The expedition is top-loaded with earth sciences and biology.The object of the expedition is to expand knowledge about the lithosphere and learn more about it s resources an d life-forms, especiall y thos e tha t ca n b e exploitedcommerciall yfor energy, metallurgy,medicine,andotherpracticaluses. Helios has nointerest i n humanizin g ou r perceptio n o f th e hadals , and s o th e anthropologycomponen tis very small.' Atthementionofanthropology,Ali started. 'Youwantmetogo?Down there?' 'We'remuchtooold,'Januarysaid. Ali was stunned. How could they ask suc h a thing of her? She had duties, plans,desires. 'You should know,' Thomas said to Ali, 'the senato r didn' t choose you. I did. I'vebee n watching you for years, following your work. Your talents are exactly what weneed.' 'Butdownthere...'Shehadnever conceivedherselfonsuchajourney. She hated the darkness.Ayear without sun? 'Youwouldthrive,'saidThomas. 'You've beenthere,'Alisaid.Hespokewithsuchauthority. 'No,' said Thomas. 'But I've traveled among the hadals by visiting their evidence inruinsandmuseums.My task hasbeencomplicatedby eonsofhumansuperstition andignorance. But if you go back far enough in the human record, there are glimpses ofwhat the hadals were like thousands of years ago. Once upon a time they were morethanthese degraded,inbred creatures wereckonwithtoday.' Herpulsewashammering.Shewantednottobeexcited.'Youwantme to locate thehadals'leader?' 'Notatall.' 'Thenwhat?' 'Languageis everything.' 'Deciphertheirwritings?Butonlyfragmentsexist.' 'Downthere, I'mtold, glyphs are abundant. Miners blow up whole galleries of themevery day.' Hadalglyphs!Wherecouldthislead? 'A lot of people think the hadals have died off. That doesn't matter,' said January. 'Westill have tolivewithwhatthey were. Andif they're merely in hiding somewhere,then we've got to know what they'r e capable of – not just their savagery , but thegreatnes s they onceaspiredto. It's clear they were once civilized. And if the legend istrue, they fell from their ow n grace. Why? Could such a fall be lying in wait for mankind?' 'Restoretheirancient memory tous,' Thomas said to Ali. 'Do that, and we can trulykno wSatan.'

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It camebacktothat,theirkingofhell. 'No one has managed to decode their writings,' Thomas said. 'It's a lost language, possibly – probably – lost even to these remnant creatures. They've forgotten theirown glory. And you're the only person I can think of who might find the languagelocke d within hadal hieroglyphics and script. Unlock that dead language, and we mayhav e achancetounderstandwhothey once were. Unlock that language, and you mayjus tfindthe secret ofyour mothertongue.' 'All that said, I want to be perfectly clear.' January searched her face. 'You can sayno ,Ali.' Butofcourseshecouldnot.

BOOK 2

INQUISITION

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Canst thou draw out leviathan with an hook?

– JOB 41:1

8

INTO THE STONE

The Galápagos Islands

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June08

It seemed the helicopter wa s boun d west foreve r acros s th e cobal t blue water,landless , stained red by the sunset. Nigh t chased he r acros s th e infinit e Pacific. Childishly,Aliwishedthey couldstay aheadofthedarkness. The islands were all but covered with intricate scaffoldin g and decks, miles and miles of it, ten stories hig h in some places. Expecting amorphous lava piles, Ali was affrontedby theneat geometry. They'd been busy outhere.NazcaDepot– named forthe geological plate it fed to – was nothin g but a vast parking garage anchore d onpylons. Supertankers floated alongside, mouths open, taking on small symmetrical mountains of raw ore conveyed by belts. Trucks hauled containers from one level toanother. The helicopter sliced between skeletal towers, landing briefly to disgorge Ali, whorecoiled at the stench of gases curdling into mists. She had been forewarned. NazcaDepot was a work zone. There were barracks for workers, but no facilities, not evencot sor a Coke machine, for passengers in transit. By chance, a man appeared on footamongthevehiclesandnoises.'Excuseme,'Aliyelledabove theroarof the helicopter. 'HowdoIgettoNine-Bay?' The man' s eye s ra n dow n he r lon g arm s an d legs , an d h e pointe d wit h noenthusiasm . She dodged among the beam s an d diesel fumes, down three flights toreachafreight elevator withdoors thatopened up and down like jaws. Some wag hadwritten 'Lasciat e ogn i speranza, voi ch'entrate' over the gate, Dante's welcominginjunctionintheoriginal. Ali got into the cage and pressed her number. She felt a strange sense of grief, butcouldn'tfigureoutwhy. The cage released her ont o a deck thronge d wit h other passengers . There werehundred sofpeople downhere,mostlymen,allheadinginonedirection.Evenwith thesea breeze brooming through, the air was ran k with their odor, a force in itself. InIsrael and Ethiopia and the African bush, she had done her share of traveling amongmasses of soldiers and workers, and they smelled the sam e worldwide . It was thesmel l ofaggression. With loudspeakers hammerin g a t the m t o queue, t o present tickets , t o showpassports , Al i was swept int o the current . 'Loade d weapons ar e no t permitted.Violator s will be disarmed and their weapons confiscated.' There was no mention ofarrest orpunishment.It wasenough,then,thatviolators would be sent down without theirguns. The crow d bor e he r pas t a bulleti n boar d fift y fee t long . I t wa s divided alphabetically , A-G, H-P, Q-Z. Thousands of messages had been pinned for others tofind: equipment for sale, services for hire, dates and locations for rendezvous, E-mailaddresses,curses.TRAVELER'S ADVISORY,a Red Cross sign warned. PREGNANT WOMENARESTRONGLYADVISED AGAINST DESCENT. FETAL DAMAGEAND/ORDEATHDUETO...' A Department of Health poster listed a Hit Parade of the top twenty 'depth drugs'andtheirsideeffects.Ali wasn'tpleasedtofind listed two of the drugs in her personalmedkit. The lastsixweeks hadbeenawhirlwindof

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preparation,withinoculationsandHelios paperwork and physical training consuming every hour. Day by day, she waslearninghowlittlemanreally knewaboutlifeinthesubplanet. 'Declare your explosives,' the loudspeaker boomed. 'All explosives must be clearlymarked.Allexplosives mustbeshippeddownTunnelK.Violatorswillbe...' The crowd movement was peristaltic, full of muscular starts and stops. In contrastto Ali's daypack, norma l luggage here tende d towar d meta l case s an d stenciledfoot-locker sandhundred-pound duffelbagswithbulletprooflocks.Ali had never seenso many gun cases in her life. It looked like a conventio n of safari guides, with everyvariet y of camouflage and body armor, bandolier, holster, and sheath. Body hair andneckveinswere derigueur.Shewasgladfortheirnumbers,because some of the menfrightenedherwith theirglances. Intruth,shewasfrighteningherself.Shefeltoutofbalance.This voyage was purelyo fherownvolition,ofcourse. Allshehadtodowasstopwalkingandthejourney couldstop.Butsomethingwasstarted here. Passing through the security and passport an d ticket checks, Al i neared a greatedific e made of glistenin g steel. Rooted in solid black stone, the enormous steel andtitaniumandplatinumgateway looked immovable.Thiswas one of Nazca Depot's fiveelevator shaftsconnectingwiththeupperinterior, three miles beneath their feet. Thecomple xofshaftsand vents had cost over $4 billion – and several hundred lives – todrill.Asapublictransportationproject,itwas no different from a new airport, say, orthe American railway system a hundred and fifty years ago. It was meant to servicecolonizatio nfordecadestocome. Out o f necessity, th e pres s o f soldiers , settlers, laborers , runaways , convicts,paupers ,addicts , fanatics, and dreamers grew orderly, even mannerly. They realizedat last that there was going to be roo m for everyone. Ali walked towar d a bank ofstainless-stee l doors side by side. Three were already shut. A fourth closed slowly as shedrew near. The laststoodopen. Ali headed for the farthest, least crowded entrance. Inside, the chamber was like a smallamphitheater,wit hconcentricrowsofplastic seats descendingtoward an emptycenter .It wasdarkandcool,a relief from the press of hot bodies outside. She headedforthefarside,oppositethedoor.After aminutehereyes adjustedtoth edim lightingand she chose a seat. Except for a man at the end of the row, she was temporarilyalone. Ali set her daypack on the floor, took a deep breath, and let her musclesunwind. The seat was ergonomic, with a curved spine rest and a harness that adjusted foryour shoulders and snapped across your chest. Each seat had a fold-up table, a deepbin for possessions, and an oxygen mask. There was an LCD screen built into everyseatback . Hers showed a n altimeter readin g o f 000 0 feet . The cloc k alternatedbetween realtimeandtheir departure inminus-minutes. The elevator was scheduledto leave intwenty-four minutes.Muzaksoothedtheinterim. A tall curved window bordered the walkway above, much like an aquarium wall.Water lapped against th e upper rim. Ali was about to walk up for a peek, then gotsidetracke dwithamagazinenestledinthepocket besideher.It wascalledThe NazcaNews,andits cover borean imaginative painting of a thin tube rising from a range ofocean-floor mountains, an artist's rendition of the Nazc a Depot elevator shaft. Theshaf tlooke dfragile. Ali tried reading. Her mind wouldn't focus. She felt barraged with details: G forces,compression rates, temperature zones. 'Ocean water reaches its coldest temperature

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–35 degrees –at12,000 feet belowthe surface. Below that depth, it gradually heats. Waterontheocean flooraverages 36.5degrees.' 'Welcome to the moho,' a sidebar opened. 'Located at the edge of the Eas t Pacific Rise,NazcaDepotaccessesthesubplanetatadepthofjust3,066fathoms.' There wer e nugget s an d sidebars scattered throughout . A quot e fro m AlbertEinstein : 'Something deeply hidden had to be behin d things.' There was a table ofresidua l gases an d their effec t on various huma n tissues. Another article featuredRockVisionTM,whichproducedimagesof geologic anomalies hundreds of feet ahead ofaminingface.Aliclosedthemagazine. The backpage advertised Helios,thewingedsunonablackbackdrop. Shenoticedherneighbor.Hewasonly a few seats away, but she could barely makeouthissilhouetteinthedim light. Hewasnotlooking at her, yet some instinct told Ali she was being observed. Facedforward,hewaswearin gdarkgoggles,thesortweldersuse.That made him a worker,shedecided,then saw his camouflage pants. A soldier, she amended. The jawline wasstriking.Hishaircut–definitelyself-inflicted–wasatrocious. Sherealizedthemanwasdelicatelysniffingtheair.Hewassmellingher. Several figures appeare d at th e doorway , and the presence of more passengersemboldenedher.'Excus eme?'shechallengedtheman. He faced her fully. The goggles were so darkly tinted and the lenses so scratchedand small, she wondere d how much of anything he could really see. A moment later,Ali discovered the marking s o n his face. Even i n the dim light, she could tell the tattoos were not just ink printed into flesh. Whoever had decorate d him had taken aknife to the task. His big cheekbones wer e incised and scarified. The rawness of it joltedher. 'Do you mind?' he asked, and came a seat closer. For a better smell? Ali wondered.Shelookedquicklyat thedoorway.Morepassengerswere filingthrough. 'Speakup,'shesnapped. Unbelievably, the goggles were aimed at her chest . H e even bent t o improve hisview .Heseemed to squint,reckoning. 'Whatareyoudoing?'shedemanded. 'It'sbeenalongwhile,'hesaid.'Iusedtoknowthese things....' Hisaudacityastoundedher. Any closer,andshe'dlayheropenpalmacrosshisface. 'Whatarethose?'Hewaspointingrightather breasts. 'Areyouforreal?'Aliwhispered. He didn't react. It was as if he hadn't heard her. He went on wagging his fingertip.

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'Bluebells?'heasked. Ali drew into herself. H e was examinin g her dress? 'Periwinkles,' she said, then doubtedhimagain.His facewas too monstrous. He had to be trespassing against her.Andifhewasnot?Shemadeanotetosay aquick actofcontritionsomeothertime. 'That'swhatthey are,'themansaidtohimself,thenwentbacktohis seat, and facedforwardagain. Aliremembered a sweatshirt inherdaypack,andputiton. Now the chamber filled quickly. Several men took the seats between Ali and that stranger. When there were nomoreseats,thedoorsgently kissed shut. The LCD saidseven minutes. There was not another woma n or child in the chamber . Al i was gla d for hersweatshirt. Some were hyperventilating and eyeing the door, full of second thoughts.Several had a sedated slackness and looked at peace. Others clenched their hands oropened portable computers or scratched at crossword puzzles or huddledshoulder-to-shoulderfor earnest scheming. The man to her left had lowered a seatback tray and was quietl y laying out twoplastic syringes. One had a baby-blue cap over the needle, the other a pink cap. Heheld the baby-blue syringe up for her observation. 'Sylobane,' he said. 'It suppressesth e retinal cones and magnifies your retinal rods. Achromatopsia. In plain English, itcreates a supersensitivity to light. Night vision. Only problem is, once you start youhave tokeep doingit.Lotsofsoldierswithcataracts uptop.Didn'tkeep up.' 'Whataboutthatone?'sheasked. 'Bro,' he said. 'Russian steroid. For acclimation. The Soviets used to dose theirsoldierswithitin Afghanistan.Can'thurt,right?' Heheldupawhitepill.'Andthislittleangel'sjusttoletmesleep.'Heswallowedit.That sadness washed over her again, and suddenly she remembered. The sun! Shehadforgottentogetafinallookatthesun.Toolatenow. Ali felt a nudge at her right. 'Here, this is for you,' a slight man offered. H e washoldingoutanorange.Ali acceptedthegiftwithhesitantthanks. 'Thankthatguy.'He pointed down the row to the stranger with tattoos. She leanedforwardtogethis attention,butthemandidn'tlookather. Alifrownedattheorange.Wasitapeace offering? A come-on? Did he mean for herto peel and eat it, or sav e it for later? Ali had the orphan's habit of attaching greatmeanin g to gifts, especially simple gifts. But the more she contemplated it , the lessthi sorangemadesensetoher. 'Well,Idon'tknowwhattodowiththis,'shecomplainedquietly to her neighbor, themessenger. He looked up from a thick manual of computer codes, took a moment to recollect.'It'sanorange,'hesaid. Far more than seemed right, it irritated her, the messenger's indifference, the ideaofagift,thefruititself.Ali waskeyed up, and knew it. She was frightened. For weekshe r dream s ha d bee n fille d wit h awfu l images o f hell . Sh e dreade d he r ownsuperstitions . With each step of the journey, she was certai n her fears would ease. Ifonly it weren't too late t o change her mind ! The temptation t o retreat – to allowherselftobeweak –wasterrible.And prayer was not the crutch it had once been forher.That was

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concerning. She was no t the onl y anxious one. The chamber took on a moment-to-momenttension. Eyes met, then darted away. Men licked their lips , rubbed their whiskers,too kbitesattheair.Shecollectedthetiny gestures intoherown anxiety. Ali wanted to put the orange down, but it would have rolled on the tray. The floorwas too dirty. The orange had become a responsibility. She laid it in her lap, and itsweight seemed too intimate. Following th e instructions on the LCD, she buckled intothe seat rig, and her finger s were trembling. Sh e picked up the orang e again andcuppedherfingersarounditandthetremblingeased. The walldisplaytickeddownto three minutes. As if signaled, the passengers began their final rites. A number of men tied rubbertubin g around their biceps and gently slid needles into their veins. Those taking pillslooked like birds swallowing worms. Ali heard a hissing sound, men sucking hard ataerosol dispensers. Others drank from small bottles. Each had his own compressionritual.Allshehadwasthisorange. Its skinglistenedinthedarkness inhercuppedhands.Lightbentuponitscolor.Herfocuschanged.Suddenlyit becameasmallroundcenter ofgravity forher. Atinychimesounded.Alilookedupjustasthetimedisplaydissolvedtozero.The chamberfellsilent. Ali felt a slight motion. The chamber sli d backward on a track and stopped. Shehear d a metallic snap underfoot. Then the chamber moved down perhaps te n feet,stoppe d again, and there was another snap, this time overhead. They moved downagain,stopped. She knew from a diagram inThe Nazca News what was happening. The chamberswere coupling like freight cars, one atop another. Joine d in that fashion, the entireassembl y wasabouttobe lowered upon a cushion of air, with no cables attached. Shehadnoideahowthepodsgothoistedbacktothesurfaceagain.But with discoveries ofvast newpetroleumreserves inthe bowels of the subplanet, energy was no longer an issue. She craned to see through the big curved window. As they lowered on e pod at atime , the window slowly acquired a view. The LC D said they wer e twent y feet underwater . The water turneddark turquoise,illuminatedby spotlights.ThenAli saw themoon.Rightthroughthe water, afullwhitemoon.It wasthe mostbeautifulsight.They dropped another twenty feet. The moon warped. I t vanished. Sh e held theroun dorangeinherpalms. They dropped twenty feet more. The water turned darker. Ali peered through thewindow. Something was out there. Mantas. Giant manta rays were circling the shaft,draftingonstrange muscularwings. Twenty feet lower, the Plexigla s wa s replace d b y solid metal. The window wentblack, a curved mirror. She looked down into her hands and breathed out . Andsuddenlyherfearwasgone. The center of gravity wasright there, in her grasp. Couldthatbehisgift?Shelookeddowntherow. The stranger hadlaid his head back againstthechair.Hisgoggleswere liftedontohisforehead.Hissmilewassmalland contented.Sensing her,heturnedhishead.And gave herawink. They dropped.Plunged. The initial surge of gravity made Ali grab for purchase. She grasped the armrestsan d slugged her head

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against the back of the seat. The sudden lightness set off biologica lalarms.Hernauseawasinstantaneous.A headacheblossomed. According to th e LCD , the y didn' t slow . Thei r spee d remaine d a constant,uncompromisin g 1,850 feet per minute. But the sensatio n started to even out. Alistarted to feel her way inside the plummet. She managed to plant her feet and relaxhe rgripandlookaround. The headacheeased. The nause ashecouldhandle. Half the chambe r ha d dropped aslee p o r into drugged semiconsciousness. Men's heads lolled upon their chests. Bodies dangled loosely against seat harnesses. Mostlooked pale, punch-drunk, or sick. The tattooed soldier seemed to be meditating. Orpraying. She made a rough calculation in her head. This wasn't adding up. At 1,850 feet perminuteandadepthof3. 4miles,thecommuteshould have taken no more than ten oreleven minutes.Butthe literature described 'touchdown' as seven hours away. Sevenhour softhis? The LCD altimeter soared int o the minu s thousands, then decelerated . At minus 14,347 feet,they braked toahalt.Aliwaitedforanexplanation over theintercom, butnone came. She glance d around at the asylu m o f half-dead fello w travelers anddecide dthatinformationwaspretty unnecessary, solongasthey got where they weregoing. The window came alive again . Outside th e shaft' s Plexi-gla s wall, powerful lightsilluminated the blackness. To Ali's awe, she was looking out upon the ocean floor. Itmigh taswell have beenthemoonout there. The lights cut sharply at the permanent night. No mountains here. The floor wasflat, white, scribbled with long odd script, tracks left by bottom-dwellers. Ali saw a creature treading delicately above the sedimen t upon stiltlike legs . It left tin y dotsupo ntheblankness. Farther out, another set of lights came on. The plain was littered with hundreds ofinert cannonballs. Manganese nodules , Ali knew fro m her reading . There wa s afortun e in manganese ou t there, and yet it had been bypassed for the sak e of fargreater fortune deeper down. The vista was lik e a dream. Al i kept trying to make sense of her place in thisinhumangeography.Butwith each further step,shebelongedlessandless. A gruesome fish with fangs and a greenish light bud for bait steered pas t thewindow . Otherwise itwas lonelyoutthere. Dreamless.Sheheldtheorange. After an hour, the pod started down again, this time slower. As it descended, theocea n floor rose to eye and ceiling level, the n wa s gone . There was a brief lightedglimps e of cored stone through the window. Then quickly the glass fell black and she waslookingatherselfagain. Now it begins, thought Ali, the edg e o f the earth . And it was lik e passing insideherself.

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INCIDENTATPIEDRASNEGRAS

Mexico

Osprey crossed th e bridg e lik e a turist a, on foot, wearing a daypack. He left thesunburned GI s behin d thei r sandbag s i n Texas . O n th e Mexic o side , nothingsuggestedaninternationalborder,n obarricade,nosoldiers,not even aflag. By arrangemen t with the loca l university, a van wa s waiting . To Osprey's greatsurprise , his driver was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She had skin likedark fruit , and brilliant red lipstick. 'You are the butterfly man?' she asked. Heraccentwaslikeamusicalgift. 'Osprey,' hestammered. 'It's hot,' she said. 'I brought you a Coca-Cola.' She offered him a bottle. Hers was beadedwith condensation.Lipstickcircledthetip. Whileshedrove, helearnedhername.Shewasan economics student. 'Why are you chasing the mariposa ?'she asked. Maripos a was the Mexican term for the monarchbutterfly. 'It's my life,'heanswered. 'Yourwholelife?' 'Fromchildhood.Butterflies.Iwasdrawnby their movements and colors. And theirnames. Painted Ladies! Red Admirals! Question Marks! Ever since, I've followedthem .Wherever themariposasmigrate,Igowith them.'

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Hersmilemadehisheart squeeze. They passed a shantytown overlooking the river. 'You go south,' she said, 'they gonorth.Nicaraguans, Guatemalans,Hondurans.And my ownpeople,too.' 'They'll try to cross over tonight?' Osprey asked. He looked past their white cotton pantsanddecaying tennisshoesand cheap sunglasses to glean hints of ancient tribes, Mayan,Aztec,Olmec.Onceupona time, their ancestors might have been warriors or kings.Nowthey were paupers,driftwoodaimingforland. 'They kill themselves trying to leave theirorigins.Howcanthey resist?' Osprey glanced across the Rio Grande's coil of brown, poisoned water at the buttsid e of America. Heated to mirage, the buildings and billboards and power lines didseem to offer hope – provided yo u coul d factor ou t the necklac e o f razor wireglitterin g in the middle distance, and the sparkl e o f binoculars and video lensesoverseein gthepassage. The vancontinuedalongthe river. 'Whereareyougoing?'sheasked. 'TothehighlandsaroundMexicoCity.They roostinthemountainfirstandsthrough thewinter.Inthespringthey'll return thisway tolaytheireggs.' 'Imeantoday,Mr Osprey.' 'Today.Yes.' Hefumbledwithhismaps. She stopped suddenly. They had reached a place overcome by orange and blackwings.'Incredible,'Ada murmured. 'It's thei r res t stop for the night, ' Osprey said. 'Tomorrow they'l l b e gone . Theytrave l fifty miles ever y day. In another month , all of the masse s of monarchs willreachtheirroost.' 'They don'tflyatnight?' 'They can't see in the darkness.' He opened the van door. 'I may take an hour,' heapologized.'Perhapsyo ushould return later.' 'I'll wait for you, Mr Osprey. Take your time. When you're finished, we ca n havedinner ,ifyou'dlike.' IfI'dlike?Dazed,Osprey tookhisrucksack andgently closedthedoorbehindhim.Remembering his purpose, he headed west into the sinking sun. His inquiry dealtwith the monarchs' age-old migration path. Danau s plexippus laid its eggs i n North America,thendied. The youngemerged withnoparents toguideit,andyet each yearfle w thousands of miles along the sam e ancestra l rout e t o the sam e destinatio n inMexico. How could this be? How could a creature that weighed less than half a gramhave a memory? Surely memory weighed something. What was memory? There wasnobottomto the mystery for Osprey. Year after year, he collected them alive. Whilethey wintered,hestudiedtheminhislaboratory. Osprey unzippedhisdaypack andtookoutabundleof folded white boxes, the samekind that Chinese food comes in. He assembled twelve, leaving their tops open. Histask was simple. He approached a cluster of hundreds, hel d a box out , and two orthree alightedinside.Heclosedthebox.

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After forty minutes,Osprey hadeleven boxes danglingby their wire handles from astring around his neck. Hurrying, badly distracted by the girl in the van, he trottedacros s a sagging depression toward the final cluster. The depression gave way. Withmonarchsclingingtohisarmsandhead,heplungedthroughaholeinthe ground. The fall registered asaclatter ofrocks,thensuddendarkness. Consciousness returned in bits. Osprey struggled to take stock. He was in pain, butcouldmove. The hole was very deep, or else night had arrived. Luckily he hadn't losthisrucksack.Heopeneditandfoundhis flashlight. The beam was a source of both comfort and distress. He found himself lying at thepitofalimestone sinkhole,battered but unbroken. There was no sign of the hole he'dfallen through. And his landing had crushed several boxes of his beloved monarchs. Foramoment,thatwasmoredefeatingthanthefallitself. 'Hello,' he called out several times. There was no one down here to hear him, butOsprey hoped his voic e might carry through the hole somewhere overhead. PerhapstheMexican woman would be looking for him. He had a momentary fantasy that shemight fall through the hole and they could be trapped together for a night or two. Atanyrate, there wasnoresponse. Finally he pulled himself together, stood up, dusted himsel f off, and got on withtrying to find an exit. The sinkhole was cavernous, its walls riddled with tubularopenings. He poked his light into a few, thinking one of them must surely lead to thesurface.Hechosethelargest. The tube snaked sideways. At first he was able to crawl o n his knees. Bu t itnarrowed, forcin g him to leave his day-pack. At last he was reduced to musclingforward o n elbows and belly, carefu l t o scoot hi s flashlight and the remainin g fiveboxesoflivebutterfliesaheadofhim. The porous walls kept tearing his clothing and hooking his trouser cuffs. The rockcuthisarms.Heknocked hishead,and sweat stung his eyes. He was going to emergeintatters , reeking,farcical.Somuchfordinner,he thought. The tube grew tighter. A wave of claustrophobia took his breath. What if he gotwedged inside this place ? Trapped alive! He calmed himself. There was no room toturn around , o f course . H e coul d onl y hope th e arter y le d somewher e more reasonable. After an awkward, ten-foot wrestling match, with both arms abov e his head andpushingmightilywithhis toes,Osprey emerged intoalargertunnel. His spirits soared. A faint footpath was worn into the rock . All he had to do wasfollowitout.'Hello,'he calledtohisleftandright.Heheardaslightrattlingnoiseinthedistance.'Hello?' he tried again. The noise stopped. Seismic goblins, he shrugged, andstarted offintheoppositedirection. Another hou r passed, an d still the pat h ha d not led him out. Osprey was tired,aching,andhungry.Finall yhedecided to reverse course and explore the path's otherend. The trailwentupanddown,thencametoa series of forks he hadn't seen before.He went one way, then another , wit h increasing frustration. At last he reached atubularopeningsimilartothe one that had brought him here. On the chance it mightreturn him t o the original chamber, Osprey set his butterflies and light on the ledgeandcrawledinside. He'dgottenonlyashortdistancewhen,tohis great annoyance,the rock snagged hisankle again. He yanked to free himself, but the ankle stayed caught. He tried to seebehindhim,buthisbodyfilledtheopening.

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That was whe n he felt th e tub e move. I t seemed to slip forward a n inch or so,thoughheknewitwashis bodysliding backward. The disturbing thing was, he hadn'tmovedamuscle. Nowhefeltasecondmotion,thistimeatugathisankle.It wasno longer possible toblame the roc k fo r catching his cuff. This wa s somethin g organic. He could feel itgetting a better grip on his leg. The animal, whatever it was, suddenly began pullinghimback. Osprey desperately tried holdin g on to the rock, but it was like falling down aslipperychimney. His hand s slid across the surface. He had enough presence of mindtoholdontohislightand the boxes of butterflies. Then his legs cleared the tube, and in thenext instanthisbodyandheadpoppedfree.He dropped to the tunnel floor in aheap. One of his boxes fell open and three butterflies escaped, drifting erraticallythroughhislightbeam. He whipped the flashlight around to fend off the animal. There in his cone of light stoodalivehadal.Osprey shoutedhisalarmjustasitfledfromhis light. Its whitenessstartled him most of all. The bulging eyes gave it an aspect of enormous hunger, orcuriosity. The hadal ran one way, Osprey the other. He covered fifty yards before hi s lightbeamilluminated three morehadalscrouchinginthetunnel'sfar depths. They turnedtheirheadsfromhislight,butdidn'tbudge. Osprey cast his flashlight back the way he'd come. Not far enoug h away prowledfourorfivemoreofthe white creatures. Heswunghisheadbackand forth, awestruckb y hispredicament.HetookhisSwissArmy knif efromapocketandopenedits longer blade.Butthey camenocloser,repulsedby hislight. It seemed utterly fantastic. He was a lepidopterist. H e dealt wit h animals whoseexistence dependedon sunshine. The subplanet had nothing to do with him. Yet herehe was, caged beneath the ground, faced with hadals. The terrible fact bore down on him. The weight o f it exhausted him. Finally, unable to move in either direction,Osprey satdown. Thirty yards tohisrightandleft,the hadals settled in, too. He flipped his light fromside to side for a while, thinking that was keepin g the m a t bay . At last it became apparent the hadals weren't interested in coming any closer for the tim e being . Hepositioned the flashlight so that its beam cast a ball of light around him. While thethree monarchs that had escaped from his box fluttered in the light, Osprey began calculatinghowlonghisbattery mightlast. He stayed awake as long as possible. But the combinatio n of fatigue, his fall, andadrenaline hangover finally mastered him. He dozed, bathed i n light, clutching hispocketknife. Hewoke dreaming of raindrops. They were pebbles thrown by the hadals. His firstthoughtwasthatthe pebbleswere meanttotormenthim.Thenherealizedthe hadalswere trying to break his lightbulb. Osprey grabbed the flashlight to shield it. He hadanother thought. If they could throw pebbles, they could probabl y throw rock s big enoug h to hurt o r kill him – but the y hadn't. That was whe n he understood the y mean ttocapturehimalive. The waitin g went on . They sa t a t th e edge s o f his light. Thei r patienc e was depressing .It wa ssoutterly unmodern,aprimitive'spatience,unbeatable.They weregoin gtooutlasthim,hehadnodoubtatallabou tthat. Hours turned into a day, then two. His stomach rumbled with hunger. His tonguedriedinhismouth.Hetold

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himselfitwouldbebetter this way. Without food or water,h emightstart hallucinating. The lastthinghewanted wastobelucidintheend. As time passed, Osprey did his best not to look at th e hadals , but eventually hiscuriositytookover. He turned his light on one group or the other, and gathered theirdetails. Several were naked except for rawhide loin strings. A few wore ragged vestsmad e of some kind of leather. All were male, as he could tell by their penis sheaths.Each sported a sheath mad e from an animal horn, jutting from his groin, and tiederect withtwine,likethosewornby NewGuineanatives. It waseasy toanticipatetheend.Hisbattery begantofail.Toeitherside, the hadalshadmovedcloser. The light fadedtoadim ball. Osprey shook the flashlight hard, andthe beam brightened momentarily, and the hadals withdrew another fiv e o r tenyards. He sighed. It was time. C'es t la vie. He chuckled, and laid the blad e along hiswrist. He could have waited unti l the las t instant of light before making the cuts, butfearedthey might not be done well. Too shallow, and it would simply be a painful nip atthe nerves. Toodeep,andthe veins might convulse and close off. He needed to getthe strokes right,whil ehecouldstillsee. Hepulled evenly. Bloodjumpedfromthesteel.It leapedoutofhim. In the shadows,heheardthehadalsmurmur. Carefullyheswitchedtheknifetohislefthandand did the opposite wrist. The knifefellfromhis grip. After a minute he felt cold. The pain at the end of each arm turnedto a dull ache. His blood spread on the stone floor. It was impossible to separate thedyinglightfromhisfadingvision. Osprey laid his head back agains t the wall . His thoughts settled. Increasingly, avision of the beautiful Mexican woman had begun visiting him. Her face had come toreplacehisbutterflies,allof whom had died because his light was not enough. He hadarranged each monarch beside him, and as he slumped sideways, their wings lay likeorangeandblacktissueontheground. Off in the distance , the hadal s were chirping and clicking to one another. Theiragitationwasobvious.He smiled.They'd won,but they'd lost. The lightshrank.It died. Her face rose in the darkness. Osprey let out a low moan.The blacknesspillowed him. Onthebrinkofunconsciousness,hefeltthehadalspounceonhim.Hesmelled them.Feltthemgrabbing at him. Tying his arms with rope. Too late, he realized they werebindin gtourniquetsabove hiswounds.They were savinghislife. He tried to fight, butwastooweak. In the weeks ahead, Osprey returned to life slowly. The stronger he got, the morepain he had to endure. He was carried sometimes. Occasionall y they forced him to walk blindly down the tunnels. In pitch darkness, he had to rely on every sense butsight. Some days they simply tortured him. He could not imagine what the y weredoin gtohim. Captivity talesswirledinhishead.Hebegan to rave, and so they cut his tongueout.That wasneartheendofhissanity. It was beyon d Osprey' s comprehension that the hadals summoned one of theirfinest artisans t o peel th e upper layers of skin, no more, from tip to tip of each shoulder and down to the base of his spine. Under the artisan's direction, the woundwas salted to prepare his canvas. Its seasoning took days, requiring more abrasion, moresalt.Finallyanoutlineofveinsandborder was applied in black, and left to growover.

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After another three days, a rare blendofbrightochrepowderwaslaidon. Bythattime,Osprey's wishhadcome true. He was mad from pain and deprivation.Hisinsanityhadnothingto do with the hadals freeing him to roam in their tunnels. Ifmadnesswasthepassword,thenmostof their human captives would have been free.Whocouldunderstandsuchcreatures? Human quirks and fallibilities were a constantsourceofpuzzlement. Osprey's freedomwasa special case. He was allowed to go wherever his whim tookhim.Nomatter which bandhestrayed behind,they madesuretofeedhim,and it wasconsideredmeritorioustoprotect him from dangers and guide him along the trail. Hewasnever givensupplies to carry. He carried no claim mark or brand. No one ownedhim.Hebelongedtoeveryone, a creature of great beauty. Childrenwere brought to see him. His legend spread quickly. Wherever he went, itwas known that this was a holy man, captured with small houses of souls around hisneck. Osprey wouldnever knowwhat the hadals had painted into the flesh of his back. Itwoul d have pleasedhi mnoend.For,every timehemoved,withevery breath hetook,itseemed themanwascarriedalongby iridescent orangeandblackwings.

The frontier is the outer edge of the wave – the meeting-point betweensavagery and civilization... the line of most rapid and effective Americanization. The wilderness masters the colonist.

– FREDERICK JACKSON TURNER, The Significance of the Frontier in American History

9

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LA FRONTERA

The Galápagos Rift System, latitude 0.55°N

Promptly at 1700 hours, the expeditionaries boarded their electric buses. They wereloade d with handouts and booklets and notebooks numbered and marked Classified,and were sporting pieces of Helios clothing. The black SWAT-style caps had provedespeciallypopular,very menacing.Alicontented herselfwithaT-shirt with the Helioswinged-sun logo printed on the back. With scarcely a purr, the buses eased from thewalledcompoundoutontothestreet. Nazca City reminded Ali of Beijing, with its hordes of bicyclists. At rush hour in aboomtown with streets so narrow, the bikes were faster than their buses. They hadjobs to get to. Through her window, Ali took in their faces , their Pacifi c Rim races,theirhumanity.Whatafeastofsouls! Declassified maps showed boom cities like Nazca as veritable nerve cells reaching tendrils out into the surroundin g space. The attractions were simple: cheap land,motherlodesofpreciousmineralsandpetroleum ,freedomfromauthority,achancetostart over. Alihadcomeexpectingglumfugitivesanddesperadoeswithno other placeto go . Bu t these wer e th e face s o f college-educate d offic e workers, bankers, entrepreneurs, amotivated service sector.Asaportcityofthefuture,Nazca City wassaid to have the potential of San Francisco or Singapore. In four years it had become the major link between the equatorial subplanet and coastal cities up and down thewestern sideoftheAmericas. Ali was relieved to see that the people of Nazca City looked normal and healthy.Indeed, because the subplanet attracted younger, stronger workers, the populationabounde d in good health. Most of the statio n cities like Nazca had been retrofittedwit h lamp s tha t simulate d sunlight , an d s o thes e bicyclist s wer e a s ta n asbeachcombers . Practically everyone had seen soldiers or workers who had returnedt othesurface several years ago suffering bone growths and enlarged eyes or strangecancers, even vestigialtails.Forawhile,religiousgroups had blamed hell itself for thephysical spoliation, calling it proo f of God's plan, a vast gulag where contact meantpunishment. But a s sh e looke d around , i t seeme d th e research lab s an d dragcompanie s really ha d mastered th e prophylaxi s fo r hell . Certainl y thes e peopleexhibite d n o deformities. Al i realized tha t her subconsciou s fears of turning into atoad,monkey,orgoathadbeenfornothing. The city was a vast indoor mall with potted trees and flowering bushes, clean, withthe latest brand names . There were restaurants and coffee bars, along with brightlylitstores sellingeverything from work clothes and plumbing supplies to assault rifles.The neatness was slightly marred by beggars missing limbs and sidewalk merchantshawkingcontraband. AtoneintersectionanoldAsianwomanwassellingmiserablepuppieslashedalivetosticks.'Stewmeat,'oneofthe scientiststold Ali. 'They sell it by the catty, 500 grams,alittlemorethanapound.Beef,chicken,pork,dog.' 'Thanks,'saidAli.

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Obviously it intrigued him. 'I went exploring yesterday. Anything that moves goesintothepot.Crickets, worms,slugs.They even eatdragons,xiaolong,theirsnakes.'Ali peered out.Alonggossamersausage stretched besidetheroad,twenty feet high,a football field in length. The plastic had bold hangu l lettering alon g the front . Ali didn'treadKorean,butknewagreenhousewhenshesawone.There were more,lyingend t o en d like gigantic plump pupae . Throug h thei r opaqu e wall s sh e sawfieldworker s tending crops, climbing little ladders propped in orchards. Parrots andmacaws soare d alongsid e the convo y o f buses. A monkey scampere d past . The subsere –thesecondarypopulationofinvaderspecies–was thrivingdownhere. Inthefardistanceadetonationrumbledgently.She'dfeltsimilarvibrationsthrough herbedspringsallnight. The incessant construction work was evident everywhere. Itdidn' t take long to detect the man-made edges o f this place. The neat righ t anglesabutte d raw rock. Pressure fissures spiderwebbed the asphalt. A patch of moss hadgrownheavy andpeeledfromtheceiling,exposingmeshand barbed wire and surginglasers overhead. They reacheda newly cut ring road girdling the city, and left behind the traffic jamofcyclists and workers. Picking up speed, they gained a view of the enormous hollowsalt dome containing the colony. It was life i n a bell jar here. The entir e vault,measurin g three miles across and probably a thousand feet high, was brightly lit. Upin the World, it would be approaching sunset. Down here, night never came. NazcaCity's artificialsunlightburnedtwenty-four hoursaday,Prometheus onacaffeinejag.Except for a catnap, sleep ha d been impossibl e last night. The group's collectiveexcitement verged onthechildlike,andshewascaughtupin their spirit of adventure.Thi smorning, exhausted withtheirimagining,they were ready fortherealthing. Ali found her fellow travelers' last-minute preparations touching. She watched onerough-and-ready fello w across the aisle bent over his fingernails, clipping them justso, as if his mortal being depended on it. Las t night, several of the youngest women,meetingforthefirsttime,hadspentthewee hoursofthemorningfixingone another'shair. A little enviously, Al i had listened to people placing calls to their spouses orlovers or parents, assuring them the subplanet was safe. Ali said a silent prayer forthemall. The buses stoppe d nea r a train platform an d the passengers disembarked. If ithadn't been bran d new , the trai n would have seemed old-fashioned. There was aboarding platform trimmed with iron rails painted black and teal. Farther along thetrack,thetrain was mostly freight and ore cars. Heavily armed soldiers patrolled thelandingswhile workers loadedsuppliesontoflatcarsattherear. The three frontcarswere elegantsleepers withaluminumpanelsonthe outside andsimulated cherrywood and oak in the hallways. Ali was surprised again at how muchmoneywasbeingplowedintodevelopment down here. Just five or six years ago, thishad presumably been hadal grounds. The sleeper cars, on glistening tracks, declaredhowconfidentthecorporateboardswere ofhumanoccupation. 'Where are they taking us now?' someone grumbled publicly . He wasn't th e onlyone . People had begu n complaining that Helio s was cloakin g each stage o f theirjourneyinunnecessary mystery. Noonecould say where theirsciencestationlay. 'PointZ-3,' answered Montgomery Shoat. 'I've never heardofthat,'awomansaid.Oneoftheplanetologists,Aliplacedher. 'It'saHeliosholding,'Shoatreplied.'Ontheoutskirtsofthings.' Ageologiststarted to unfold a survey map to locate Point Z-3. 'You won't find it onanymaps,'Shoatadded

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withahelpfulsmile.'Butyou'llsee,thatreally doesn'tmatter.'Hisnonchalancedrew mutters, whichheignored. Last evening, at a catered Helios banquet for the freshly arrived scientists, Shoatha d been introduced as their expedition leader. He was a superbly fit character withbulging arm veins and great social energy, bu t he was curiousl y off-putting . I t wasmorethantheunfortunateface,pinched with ambition and spoiled wit h unruly teeth.I t was a manner, Ali thought. A disregard. He traded on a thin repertoire of charm,yet didn't care if you were charmed. According to gossip Ali heard afterward, he was the stepson of C.C. Cooper, the Helios magnate. There was another son by blood, alegitimate heir to the Coope r fortunes, an d that seemed to leave Shoat to take onmorehazardousdutiessuchasescortingscientiststoplacesatthe remote edgesoftheHeliosempire.It soundedalmostShakespearean. 'Thisisour venue forthenext three days,' he announced to them. 'Brand-new cars.Maiden voyage. Take your pick,anyroom.Singleoccupancyifyoulike.There's plentyof room.' He had the magnanimity of a man used to sharing with friends a house notreallyhis.'Spreadout.Shower, take anap,relax. Dinneris up to you. There's a diningcar one back. O r yo u ca n order room service and catch a flick. We've spared no expense. Helios'sway ofwishingyou–andme–bon voyage.' Noonepressed the issue of their destination any further. At 1730 a pleasant chimeannounced their departure. As i f casting loose on a raft upon a gentle stream , theHeliosexpeditionsoundlesslycoasted int o the depths. The track looked level but wasnot, sloping almost secretly downward. As it turned out, gravity was the workhorse.Theirenginewasattachedtothe rear and would only be used to pull the cars bac k tothis station. One by one, drawn by the earth itself, the cars left behind the sparklinglightsofNazcaCity. They approachedaportaltitledRoute 6. An extra, nostalgic 6 had been added withMagic Marker. In a different ink, someone else had attached a third 6. At the lastminut eayoungbiologisthoppeddown from th e train and took a final quick snapshot, thenrantocatchupagainwhiletheothers cheered him. That made the m all feel welllaunched. The train slid through a brief wall of forced air, a climate lock, and theypasse d inside. Immediately th e temperatur e an d humidit y dropped. Nazca City's tropicalenvironment vanished.It wasten degrees colderin the rail tunnel, and the air was asdry as a desert. At last, Ali realized, they were entering the unabridged hell. No fireandbrimstonehere.It feltmorelikehighchaparral,likeTaos. The tracks glittered as if someone had taken a polishing rag t o them. The trainbegan to pick up speed, and they all went to their rooms. In her berth, Ali found awicker basket with fresh oranges , Tobler chocolate, and Pepperidge Farm cookies.The little refrigerator wasstocked.Herbunkhadasingleredroseon thepillow.Whenshe lay down, there was a video monitor overhead for watching any of hundreds offilms. Old monster movies were her vice . Sh e said her prayers , then fel l asleep toThe m andthehissoftracks. In the morning, Ali squeezed into the small shower and let the hot water runthrough her hair. She could not believe the amenities. Her timing with room servicewa sjustright,andshesatby thetinywindow with her omelette and toast and coffee.The windowwas round and small, like a cabin port on a ship. She saw only blacknessout there, and thought that explained the compressed view. Then she noticed ELLIS BULLETPROOF GLASS etched in small letters on the glass, and realized the wholetrainwasprobably reinforcedagainstattack. At0900theirtrainingresumed inthediningcar. The firstmorningon the train was given to refresher courses i n things like emergency medicine, climbing techniques,basic gun craft, and other general information they were supposed to have learnedover the past few months. Most had actually done their homework, and the session wasmorelikeanicebreaker.

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That afternoon, Shoat escalated their teachings. Slide projectors and a large videomonitor were se t u p a t on e en d o f th e dinin g car . H e announce d a serie s ofpresentation s by expedition members on their variou s specialtie s an d theories. Aliwa senjoyingherself.Show-and-tell,withicedshrimp andnachos. The first two speakers were a biologist and a microbotanist. Their topic was thedifferenc e between troglobite, trogloxene , an d troglophile. The first category trulylive d in the trogl o – or 'hole' – environment. Hell was their biological niche. Thesecond ,xenes, adaptedtoit,likeeyeless salamanders. The third,troglophiles like batsandothernocturnalanimals,simplyvisitedthesubterranean worldonaregular basis, orexploiteditforfoodorshelter. The twoscientistsbeganarguing the merits of preadaptation, the 'predestination todarkness.' Shoat steppe d to the front and thanked them. His manner was crisp, yetrandom .They were hereonHelios'snickel.This washisshow. Through the remainder of the afternoon , various specialist s were introduced andgave their remarks. Ali was impressed by the group's relative youth. Most had their doctorates. Few were older than forty, and some were barely twenty-five. Peoplewanderedinandoutofthediningcarasthehourswoundon,butAli sat through it all,fixingfaceswithnames,drinkingintheesotericaofsciencesshe'dnever studied. After a patio-type supper of hamburgers and cold beer, they had been promised ajust-released Hollywood movie. But the machine would not work, and that was whenShoatstumbled.Tothispoint,his day of orientation had featured scientists who werepractice d speakers, or at leas t i n command of their topics . Seeking to enliven theeveningwithachangeofentertainment,Shoattriedsomethingdifferent. 'Sincewe're gettingtoknoweachother,'heannounced, 'I wanted to introduce a guywe'll all come to depend on. We are extremely fortunate to have obtained him fromthe U.S. Army, where he was a famous scout and tracker. He has the reputation ofbeing a Ranger's Ranger, a true veteran of the deep. Dwight,' he called. 'DwightCrockett.Iseeyoubackthere. Comeonup.Don'tbeshy.' Shoat'stracker was apparently not prepared for this attention. He balked, whoeverh e was, and after a minute Ali turned to see him. Of all people, the reluctant Dwightwas that very same stranger she'd insulte d on the Galápagos elevator yesterday.Wha tonearth washedoing here? shewondered. With all eyes on him now, Dwight let g o of the wal l and stood straight. He wasdressed in new Levi's an d a white shir t close d to the throa t and buttoned a t eachwrist . Hi s dar k glacie r glasses glittere d lik e insect eyes . Sportin g tha t awfulFrankenstei n haircut, he looked completely out of place, like those ranc h hands Alihad sometimes seen in the hill country, troubled i n human company, better left in thei r remote line shacks. The tattooing and scars on his face and scalp encouraged ahealthydistance. 'WasIsupposedtosay something?'heaskedfromthebackofthecar. 'Comeuphere where everyone canseeyou,'Shoatinsisted. 'Unreal,'someonewhisperednext toAli. 'I've heardofthisguy.Anoutlaw.' Dwight kept his displeasure economical, the slightest shake of his head. When hefinally came forward, th e crow d parted. 'Dwight's the on e you reall y want t o hearfrom,' Shoat said. 'He never go t around to graduate school , he doesn't have anacademi c specialty. But talk abou t authority in the field . He spen t eleve n years inhadal captivity. The last three years he's been hunting Haddie for the Rangers and Specia lForcesandSEALs.NowI've read your résumés, folks. Few of our group have

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ever visited the subterranean world. None of us has ever gone beyond the electrifiedzones. But Ike here can tell us what it's like. Out there.' Shoat sat down. It was Ike'sstage. Hestoodbeforetheirpatter ofapplause, and his awkwardness seemed endearing, alittlepathetic.Alicaughta fewofthemurmuredremarks abouthis scars and exploits.Deserter, she heard. Berserker . Cannibal. Slave runner. Animal. It was all traded breathlessly, in the superlative. Strange, she thought, how legends grew. They madehimsound like a sociopath, and yet they were drawn to him, excited by the romanceofhis imagineddeeds. Dwight let them have their curiosity. The tracks sibilated in their growing silence,and people turned uncomfortable. Ali had seen it a hundred times, ho w Americansand Europeans chafed at silence. In contrast, Dwight was downright primal with hispatience. Finally his reticence prove d too much. 'Don't yo u have anything t o say?'Shoa tsaid. Dwight shrugged. 'You know, I haven't had such an interesting day in a long time. You people know you r stuff.' Ali wasn't prepared for that. None of them were. Thisodd brute had been sitting in the rear al l afternoon, deliberately unremarkable,quietl ygettingeducated.Bythem!It wasenchanting. Shoat was annoyed . Mayb e this was suppose d to have been a freak show. 'Howaboutquestions. Any questions?' 'MrCrockett,'awomanfromMIT started. 'OrisitCaptain,orsomeotherrank?' 'No,'hesaid, 'they busted me out. I don't have any rank. And don't bother with the "mister," either.' 'Very well.Dwight,then,'thewomanwenton.'Iwantedtoask–' 'NotDwight,'heinterrupted. 'Ike.' 'Ike?' 'Goon.' 'The hadal s have disappeared,' sh e said. 'Every day civilization pushes the nightbackalittlefurther. My question,sir,is whether it'sreally sodangerousout there?' 'Things have away offlyingapart,'Ike said. 'Notthatwe'llbegoingoutinharm'sway,'thewomansaid.Ike lookedatShoat.'Isthatwhatthismantoldyou?' Ali felt uneasy . He knew somethin g they didn't. On second thought, that wasn't sayingmuch. Shoatmovedthemalong.'Question?'hesaid. Ali stood. 'You were their prisoner, ' she said. 'Can you shar e a little about yourexperience? Whatdid they dotoyou?Whatarethehadalslike?' The dining car fell silent. Here was a campfire story they could listen to all night.What a resource Ike

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could be t o her, wit h his insights into the hadals ' habits andculture.Why,hemight even speaktheir language. Ike smiledather.'Idon't have alottosay aboutthosedays.'There wasdisappointment. 'Do you think they're still out there somewhere? Is there any chance we might seeone?'someoneelse asked. 'Where we're going?' Ike said. Unless Ali was wrong , he was provokin g Shoa t onpurpose,dancingon theedgeofinformationthey were notyet supposedtohave.Shoat'sannoyancebuilt. 'Wherearewegoing?'amanasked. 'Nocomment,'Shoatanswered for Ike. 'Haveyoubeeninourparticularterritory yourself?' 'Never,'Ike said. 'I used to hear rumors, of course. But I never believed they couldbetrue.' 'Rumorsofwhat?' Shoatwascheckinghiswatch. The train gave asoftlurch.They braked toa slow halt. People went to look through thesmallwindowsand Ike was forgotten, momentarily. Shoat stood on a chair. 'Grabyourbagsandpersonaleffects,folks.We're changingtrains.'

Alisharedanopenflatcarwith three menand freight, mostly heavy equipment parts.She sat against a John Deere crate labeled PLANETARIES, DIFFERENTIALS. One of themenhadbadgasand kept grimacingi napology. The ride was smooth. The artery was man-made, bored to a uniform twenty-footdiameter . The trackbed was crushed gravel sprayed with black oil. Overhead, barebulbsbleddownrusty light.Ali kept thinkingof a Siberian gulag. Wires and pipes andcablesveinedthewalls. Cavities opened to the sides. They didn't see any people, just crawlers and loadersandexcavators and pipe layers, piled rubber tires,andcement ties. The track made aslithery sound under their wheels, seamless. Ali missed the click-clack of rail joints. Sheremembered a train journey with her parents, falling asleep to the rhythm whiletheworldpassedby. Ali gave oneofherfreshapplestothe man who was still awake. They'd been grownin the hydroponic gardens a t Nazc a City. H e said, 'My daughter loves apples, ' andshowedherapicture. 'Whatabeautifulgirl,'Alisaid. 'Kids?'heasked. Alipulledajacket over herknees.'Oh,Idon'tthinkIcouldbear to leave achild,' sheansweredtooquickly. The manwinced.Alisaid,'Ididn'tmeanitthatway.'

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The train was relentlessly gentle. It never slowed, never stopped. Al i and herneighbors improvised a latrine with privacy by pushing some of the crates together.They hadacommunalsupper,eachcontributing somefood. At midnight the walls brightened from cinnamon to tan. Her companions were allsleeping when the train entered a band of marine fossils. Here exoskeletons , thereancien tseaweeds, there aspray oftiny brachiopods. The bore-cutter had sheared therichfindwithimpunity. 'Didyouseethat,Mapes!'avoiceyelledfromacarahead.'Arthropoda!' 'Trilobitomorpha!'Mapesshriekedinecstaticresponsefrombehind. 'Checkthosedorsalgrooves!Pinchme!' 'Lookatthisonecomingup,Mapes!EarlyOrdovician!' 'Ordovician, hell!' Mapes bellowed. 'Cambrian, man. Early. Very early. Look at thatrock.Shit,maybe even latePrecam!' The fossilsjumpedandwrithedand wove like a miles-long tapestry. Then the wallswentblankagain. At three inthe morning, they came upon the remains of their first ambush. At firstitseemed likenothingmor ethanacaraccident. The clues began with a long scrape mark on the left wall where a vehicle of somesort had struck the stone. Abruptly the mark leaped to the right wall, where itbecam e a gouge, then ricocheted to the opposite side and back again. Someone hadlostcontrol. The evidence became more violent , mor e puzzling . Broken fragment s o f stone mixedwithheadlight glass,thenatornsectionofheavy steelmesh. The gashesandscrapeswentonandon,left,thenright. Miles farther, the crazy bounce ended. All that remained of the reckless ride was atangleofmetal. The destroyed backhoehadbeentornopen. They drifted past . The stone was scorched , but furrowed , too . Ali had seen warzone sinAfrica,and recognizedthestarred splatter printofanexplosion. Around the bend, they came on two white crosses planted Latino-style in a grotto carved into the wall . Tufts of hair, rags, an d animal bones had been naile d to thestone. The rags,she comprehended,were leatherhides.Skins. Flayed skin.Thiswas amemorial. After that,milespassedinsilence.Hereitwasatlast– all their childhood legends ofdesperate fights waged against biblical mutants – before thei r eyes , unintended,wher e fate had given it. This was not a TV report that could be turned off. This wasnotapoet'sinfernoin a book that could be put back on the shelf. Here was the worldthey livedinnow. At around three, Ali fell asleep. When she woke, the stone was still in motion. Thetunnel' s smooth walls

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became les s regular . Fracture s appeared . Pressur e cracksfiligree dtheceiling. Crevices lurked like darkened closets. Ali saw a cardboard sign inthe distance. WATTS GOLD, LTD. it announced. An arro w pointed at a secondary pathbranching off into the gloom. A few miles farther on, the wall breached upo n another ragged hole . Ali looked inside, and lights sparkled fa r awa y i n the darkness . B LOCKWICKCLAIM,asignsaid.BEWAREOFDOG. From there on, side roads and crude tunnels fed off every mile or so, sometimesidentified as a camp or mining claim, anonymous and unwelcoming. A few were lit at their deepest points with tiny fires. Others were as dark as wells, forlorn. What kindof people gave themselves to such remoteness? H. G. Wells ha d gotten it right in hisTimeMachine.The underworldwaspeoplednotwithdemons,butwithproles. Ali smelle d th e settlement lon g befor e the y reache d it . The smo g was partpetroleum , part unrefined sewage, part cordite and dust. Her eyes began watering.The airgotthicker,thenputrid.It wasfive o'clockinthemorning. The tunnel walls widened, then fle w open upon a cavernous shaf t steepin g inpollutio n and overhung by bright turquoise cliffs lit, in a civic fashion, with severalspotlights . Otherwise, Point Z-3, locally know n as Esperanza, was dimly illuminated.The burdenofdarkness was evidently too much to overcome with their thin ration ofelectricityfromNazcaCity.Despite the cheerful Matisse-like cliffs, it did not look likea friendlyhomeforthenext year. 'Heliosbuiltascienceinstitutehere?'askedoneofAli'scompanions.'Whybother?' 'Iwasexpectingsomethingalittlemoremodern,'agreedanother.'Thisplacedoesn'tlooklikeit'sheardoftheflush toilet.' The traincoastedthroughanopeninginaglitteringbriarpatch of razor wire. It waslike a city made of knife-sharp Slinkys. Concertin a piled atop glittering concertina. The coils lay twent y feet high in places. The razor wir e got more space than thesettlement itself,whichwassimplyamobof tents onsmallplatforms whittled into thedescendinghillside. The trainsloweduponaridgethatfellonthefarsideintoachasm. Farther alongthebarrier, they sawadesiccatedbodysuspendedhighontheoutsidesectionofanaccordionsnarl ofwire. The creature's grimacewasalmost joyful. 'Hadal,' saidascientist.'Must have beenattackingthe settlement.' They all craned to see. Buttherags hanging from the body were American military. The soldier had been tryingtoclimbhisway in over theconcertina.Somethinghadbeenchasinghim. The railway ended in a bunker complex bristling with electric cannons. There wasno question about its function. If the settlement came under attack, people weremean ttocomehere.Thistrainwouldbetheirlast hopeofexit. Asqualidsettler incanvaspantsmadenoteson a piece of paper as they rolled past.Except forthesteel teeth, hemight have beenanextra inahillbillymovie. 'Howyoudoing?'oneofAli'scompanionscalleddown.The settler spat. The trainslidinsidethebunkerandstopped. Immediately it was set upon by gangsof men with huge hands and bare feet. The workers were degraded, som e scarcelyrecognizableasanatomicallymodernhumans.It wasn'tjusttheHulkmusclesandAbe

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Lincolnbrowsandcheekbonesandtheirgutturalexchanges.They smelleddifferent:amusk odor. And some of them had bone growing right through their flesh. Many hadstrips o f burlap draped over their head s t o protect them from the railyard's dim lighting. While Ali and the others climbed down from the flatcars, the yard workerscas toffchainsand straps andmanuallyunloaded crates weighinghundreds of pounds.Ali was fascinated by their enormous strength and deformities. Several of the giantsnoticedherattentionandsmiled. Ali walke d alon g th e flatcar s between boxe s an d crates an d earth-movingequipment .She joinedacrowdonaflatlandingdramaticallyperchedat the rim of thegreat chasm. The landing was bordere d with a stone rampart like those a t GrandCanyo n or Yosemite, but instea d o f viewing scope s along the wall , there were gunmounts and electric cannon. Far below, she saw the upper reaches of a path snakingbackandforthalongtheridgewall,sinkingintopitchblackness. Some of the locals were mingling with the expedition members. The y ha d notwashed in many months or years. The patches on their caked clothing looked more soldered on than sewn. The y gaped with coal miners' eyes, brilliant white hole s intheirgrime.Alithoughtshesawmild insanity here, the sort that zoo animals fall into.The handlesontheirgunsandmacheteswere shinywithuse. A famished-looking man with freshly scraped cheeks was delivering a welcomespeechonbehalfofthe township. He was the mayor, Ali guessed. He proudly pointedout the turquois e cliffs , then launche d upon a brief history of Esperanza, its firsthumanhabitationfouryears ago,the'coming'oftherailroada year later, how the lastattack –'wellover' twoyears ago – had been repulsed by local minutemen and about recentdiscoveriesofgold,platinum,andiridiumdeposits.Hethenbegan a descriptionof hi s town' s future , th e plan s fo r cliff-fron t skyscrapers , a nuclea r generator, round-the-cloc klightingfortheentire chamber, a professional security force, anothertunnel for a second rail line, and one day maybe even their own elevator tube to thesurface. 'Excuseme,'someonecuthimoff.'We'vecomealong way. We're tired. Can you justtellus where thescience stationis?' The mayor looked helplessly at the notes for his speech. Bits of tissue stuck to hisshavingnicks.'Science station?'hesaid. 'The research institute,'someoneshouted. Shoat stepped in front of the mayor. 'Go inside,' he told the scientists . 'We've arrange dforhotfoodand clean water. Inanhour,everything willbeexplained.'

'There isnosciencestation,'Shoattoldthem.Ahowlwentup. Shoat waved them quiet. 'No station,' he repeated. 'No institute. No headquarters.N olaboratories.Not even abasecamp.It wasallafiction.' The auditorium, deep within the bunker, exploded with curses and shouts. Thoughappalledby the deception,AlihadtogiveShoatcredit. The group's outrage verged onthehomicidal,buthedidn'tcower. 'Justwhatareyoudoing?'awomancriedout. 'On behalf of Helios, I am protecting th e greates t trade secret of all time,' Shoatresponded.'It'samatter ofintellectualproperty. Amatter ofgeographicalpossession.'

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'Whatareyouravingabout?' 'Helios has spent vast sums to develop the information you're about to see. You'venoide ahowmanyother entities–corporations,foreign governments, armies – wouldkillforwhatwillbe revealed. Thisisthelast great secret onearth.' 'Gibberish,'someoneyelled.'Justtellus where you'rehijackingusto.' Shoat never flinched. 'Meet the chief of Helios's cartography department,' he said,andopenedadooronon ewall. The cartographer was a diminutive man with leg braces. His head was large for hisbody. He smiled automatically. Ali had not seen him on the train, and presumed hehad arrived earlierto prepare forthem.H ecutthelights. 'Forget the moon,' he told them. 'Forget Mars. You're about to walk on the planetinsideourplanet.' A video screen lit up. The first image was a still of a yellowed Mercator map. 'Here was the worl d in 1587,' he said. The cartographer's silhouette bobbed across thebottom of the large screen. 'Lacking facts , young Mercator plundered the accounts ofMarco Polo, which were themselves based on plundered hearsay and folklore. Here,for instance' – he pointed at a misshapen Australia – 'was a total fabrication. Amedieval hypothesis . Logi c suggested tha t th e continent s in the nort h mus t becounterweighte d b y continents in the south , and so a mythical place called TerraAustrali s Incognita was invented. Mercator incorporated it on this map. And here'sthe marvel ofit.Usingthismap,sailorsfoundAustralia.' The cartographer pointed his pencil high. 'Up there is another landmark inventedout o f Mercator' s imagination . The y name d i t Polu s Arcticus . Again , explorersdiscovere d the Arctic by relying on the fiction of it. A hundred and fifty years later,the French cartographer Philippe Buache drew a gigantic – and equally imaginary –Antarctic Pol e to counterweigh t Mercator' s imaginar y Arctic . An d onc e again, explorers discoveredit by using a map made of myth. So it is with hell and what youare about to see. You might say my mapping department has invented a reality foryoutoexplore.' Ali looked around. The one figure in the audienc e that struck her was Ike. Herfascinationwithhimwas becomingsomethingofan enigma. At the moment he lookedsingularlyodd,wearingsunglassesinadarkened room. The oldmapbecamea large globe slowly revolving behind the cartographer. It wasa satellite view, real-time. Clouds flocked against mountain ranges or moved across theblueoceans.Onthenightside,city lightsflaredlikeforestfires. 'WecallthisLevel 1,'saidthecartographer. The globefrozestillwiththe vast Pacificfacingthem.'UntilWorld WarII, wewere suretheoceanfloorwasahuge flat surface,covered withauniformthicknessofseamud.Then radarwasinvented,and there wasquiteashockinstore.' The videoimageflickered. 'Loandbehold,itwasn'tsmooth.' A trillion gallons of water vanished i n an instant. They were left staring at theseafloor, drained of all water, its trenches and faults and seamounts lik e so manywrinklesandwarts.

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'At great cost, Helios has peeled the onion even deeper. We've consolidated anaerial-seismicmosaicof overlappingearth images.Wetookevery piece of informationfrom earthquake stations an d sonic sleds towed behin d ships and from oil drillers'seismographs and from earth tomographies collected over a ninety-five-year period.Then we combined it with satellite data measuring the heights of the ocean surface,reverse-albedo, gravity fields, geo-magnetics, and atmospheric gases . The methodshave all been used before, but never all in combination. Here's the result, a series ofdelaminated views ofthePacific region, layer by layer.' 'Nowwe're gettingsomewhere,'one of the scientists grunted. Ali felt it herself. Thiswasbig. 'You've seenseafloortopographiesbefore,'thecartographer said. 'But the scale was,atbest,oneto twenty-nine million. What our department has produced for Level 2 isalmostequivalenttowalkingonthe oceanbottom.Onetosixteen.' He tapped a button on his palm mouse, and the imag e magnified. Ali felt herselfshrinkin g like Alice in Wonderland. A colored dot in the mid-Pacifi c soared andbecam eatoweringvolcano. 'ThisistheIsakov Seamount,east of Japan. Depth 1,698 fathoms. A fathom, as youknow,equalssixfeet.W eusefathomsfordepthreadings,feet for elevations. You'll beusing both. Fathoms for your position relative t o sea level, and feet to measure theheightsof cave ceilingsandothersubterranean features. Justremember t o convert to fathomswhenyou'redownthere.' Down there? thoughtAli.Aren'twe already? The cartographer moved his mouse. Ali felt flung between canyon walls. Then theimage threw themonto a plain of flattened sediment. They sped across it. 'Ahead liestheChallengerDeep,part oftheMariana Trench.' Suddenly the y were plunging off the plai n into a vertical chasm. They fell. 'Fivethousand nine hundre d seventy-one fathoms,' he said. 'That's 35,827 feet. Six-point-eight milesdeep. The deepest knownpointonearth.Untilnow.' The image flickered again. A simple drawing showed a cross-section of the earth'scrust. 'Beneath the continents, the abyssal cavities are not exceptionally deep. Theymostl y exploi t surficia l limestone , whic h i s readil y erode d b y wate r int o such traditiona l features as sinkholes and caves. These have been th e focu s of publicattentionlately because they're close to home, underneath cities and suburbs. At lastcount, the combined military estimate of continental tunnels ran to 463,000 linearmiles,wit hanaverage depthofonly three hundredfathoms. 'Where you're going is considerably deeper. Beneath the ocean crust, we're dealingwith a whole differen t rock from limestone, much newer in geological terms than thecontinentalrock.Untilafewyears ago,itwas presumedthattheinteriorofoceanrockwasnonporousandmuchtoohotandpressurizedtosustainlife.Nowwe knowbetter. 'The abyss beneath th e Pacifi c is basalt, whic h gets attacked every few hundredthousan d years by hug e plumes of hydrogen-sulfide brine, or sulfuric acid, whichsnake u p from deeper layers. This aci d brine eats through the basalt like wormsthrough an apple. We now believe there may be as many as six million miles ofnaturally occurring cavities in the rock beneath th e Pacific , at a n average depth of 6,100 fathoms.That's 36,600feet belowsealevel,orsix-point-ninemiles.'

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'Sixmillionmiles?'someonesaid. 'Correct,' said the cartographer. 'Very little of that is passable fo r human beings,naturally. But what is passable is more than enough. Indeed, what is passable seemsto have beeninuseforthousandsof years.' Hadals,thoughtAli,andheardthestillnessallaroundher. The screenfilledwith gray, shotthroughwithsquigglesandholes. The overall effectwasofwormsburrowing throughablock of mud, surfacing and diving into the netherzone. 'The Pacific floor covers roughly 64,186,000 square miles. As you can see, it's riddle dwiththese cavities,hundreds and thousands of miles of them. From Level 15,roughl yfourmilesdown,thedensity ofroc kandourlimitedtechnologydrop our scaleto 1:120,000. But we've still managed to count some eighteen thousan d significantsubterranean branches. 'They seemtodead-endorcircleon themselves andgonowhere. All except one. Wethinkthisparticulartunnel was carved by an acid plume relatively recently, less thana hundred thousand years ago, just moments in geological time. It appears to havewelle d up from beneath the Mariana Trench system, then corkscrewe d east intoyounger an d younger basalt. This tunnel goes from Point A – where we sit thismorning–allthe way acrosstoPointB.'Hewalkedfrom east to west across the frontofthescreen,pullinghispencilpointacross the entire Pacific territory. 'Point B lies atpoint-seven degrees north by 145.23 degrees east, just this side of the MarianaTrenc hsystem. There itdipsdeeper, beneaththeTrench. 'Where it goes, we're not quite sure. It probably links with the Carolinia n system west of the Philippines . A profusion of tunnels shoots throughout the Asian plate systems, giving access to the basements of Australia, the Indonesian archipelago,China, and so on. You name it, there are doorways to the surfac e everywhere . Webelievethese connectwiththesub-Pacific network hereatPointB,butourscanis stillinprogress. It's a cartographic missing link for the moment, as the source of the Nileoncewas.Butnotforlong.Inlessthanayear, youaregoingtotellme where itleads.'It tookAli andtheothersaminutetocatchup. 'You'resendingusout there?' someonegasped. Ali was staggered . Sh e couldn't begin to grasp th e enormit y o f the endeavor.Nothin g January or Thomas had told her was preparation for this. She heard peoplebreathing har d all around her. Wha t could this mean, she wondered, a journey soaudacious ? Why send them all the way across to Asia? It was a stratagem of somesort, a geopolitical chess move. I t reminded he r les s of Lewis an d Clark's travers etha n of the great expeditions of discovery once launched by Spain and England andPortugal. It struck her. Thei r journey wa s mean t t o be a declaration, a pronunciament o.Wherever th e expeditio n went , Helio s woul d b e assertin g it s domain . An d thecartographe r had just told the m where they were going, beneath the Equator, from SouthAmericaalltheway toChina. Inaflash,Alisawthegranddesign. Helios – Cooper , th e faile d Presiden t – intende d t o la y clai m t o th e entiresubbasemen t of the oceanic bowl. He was going to create a nation for himself. But anationthesizeofthePacificOcean?Sh ehadto relay thisinformationtoJanuary.

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Alisat in the darkness, gaping at the screen. It would be larger than all the nationson earth put together! Helios would own almost half the globe . What could youpossiblydowithsuchimmensespace?Howcould youmanifestsuchpower? Shewasawedby thegrandeurof it. Such imperial vision: it was virtually psychotic.Andsheandthese scientist swere tobetheagentsingainingit. Herneighborswere lodgedintheirown thoughts. Most were probably weighing therisks,adjustingtheirsearc hgoals,adaptingtothevastness of the challenge, reckoningtheodds. 'Shoat!'amanbellowed. Shoat'sfaceobliginglyappearedatthepodiumlight. 'Noonesaidanythingaboutthis,'themansaid. 'Youdidsignonfora year,' Shoatpointedout. 'You expect us to traverse the Pacifi c Ocean? A mile to three miles beneath theocea nfloor?Through unexploredterritory? Hadalterritory?' 'I'llbewithyouevery step oftheway,'Shoatsaid. 'Butnoone'sever gone west oftheNazcaPlate.' 'That'strue. We'llbethefirst.' 'You'retalkingaboutbeingonthemoveforanentire year.' 'Precisely our reason for sending you a workout schedule over the last six months.Allthoseclimbingwalls and StairMasters and heavy squats weren't for your cosmeticenhancement.' Alicouldsensethegroupcalculating. 'You have noideawhat'soutthere,'someonesaid. 'That'snot exactly true,' Shoat said. 'We have som e idea. Two years ago, a militaryreconnaisance probe d som e of the path . Basicall y they foun d th e remain s o f aprehistori c passageway, anetwork of tunnelsandchambers that are well marked andhave been improve d an d maintained over a period of several thousand years. Wethinkit may have beenakindofSilkRoadforthePacificabyss.' 'Howfardidthesoldiersget?' 'Twenty-three miles,'Shoatanswered.'Thenthey turnedaroundandcameback.' 'Armedsoldiers.' Shoatwasunflappable.'They weren't prepared. Weare.' 'Whatabouthadals?'

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'There hasn't been a sighting in over two years,' Shoat said. 'But just to be safe,Helio shashireda security force.They willaccompanyusevery step oftheway.' A gentleman stood. He had Isaac Asimov muttonchop s and black horn-rims, andha dX'edoutthe word 'Hi' on his name tag. Ali knew his face from the dust jackets ofhis numerous books: Donald Spurrier, a renowned primatologist. 'What about human limitations?Your projectedroutemustbefivethousandmiles long.' The cartographer turned to the glowing map. His finger traced a set of lines thatambled back and forth across the equatorial rhumb. 'In fact, with all the bends andturns and vertical loss and gain, a better estimate is eight thousand miles, plus orminusathousand.' 'Eightthousandmiles?'saidSpurrier.'Inasingleyear? Onfoot?' 'For what it' s worth, ou r train ride just gave us an easy thirteen hundred mileswithoutastep.' 'Leavinga mere 6,700miles. Are wesupposedtorunnonstopforayear?' 'MotherNature islendingahand,'thecartographer said. 'We've detected significant motion along the route, ' Shoa t said. 'We believe it's ariver.' 'Ariver?' 'Movingfromeast towest. Thousandsofmileslong.' 'Atheoretical river. Youhaven'tseenit.' 'We'llbethefirst.' Spurrierwasnolongerresisting.'Wewon'tgo thirsty, then.' 'Don'tyousee?'Shoatsaid.'It meanswecanfloat.'They were dazzled. 'Whataboutsupplies?Howcanwehopetocarry enoughforayear?' 'We start with porters. Every four to six weeks thereafter, we will be supplied bydril lhole.Helioshas already begundrillingsupplyholesforusatselected points. Theywil l drill straight through the ocean floor to intersect our route, and lower food andgear. At those points, by the way, we'll have brief contact with the World. You'll beable to communicate with your families. We'll even be abl e to evacuate the sic k or injured.' It allsoundedreasonable. 'It's radical. It's daring,' Shoat said. 'It's one year out of your lives. We could havespen t it sitting on our butts in a hole like this. Instead, one year from now, we'll godown in history. You'll be writing papers and publishing books about this for the resto f your lives. It will cement you r tenure, gain you chair s of departments, win you prizes and acclaim. Your children and grandchildren will beg you for the tale of what you'reabouttodo.' 'This is a huge decision,' a man said. 'I need to consult my wife.' A general murmur agreed.

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'I'mafraidthecommunicationslineisdown.'It wasablatant lie, Ali could see it. Butthatwaspart oftheprice.He wasdrawingalinefor them to step across. 'You may, ofcourse, post mail. The next train back to Nazca Cit y leaves two months from now.'Helioswasplayinghardball,atotalembargooninformation. Shoat surveyed them with reptilian coolness. 'I don't expect everyone here tonightto be with us in the morning. You're free to return home, of course.' In two months' time, on the train. The expedition would have a tremendous head start on any leakstothemedia.Helookedathiswatch. 'It'slate,'hesaid.'Theexpedition departs at0600. That leaves only a few hours foryoutosleeponyour choices.That's enough,though.I'mafirm believer thateachofus comesintothisworldwithourdecisions already made.' The lights came up. Ali blinked. Everywhere, people were leaning forward ontoseatbacks, rubbing their hands, making calculations. Faces were lit with excitement.Thinkin g fast, she looked for Ike's reaction to judge the proposition. But he had leftwhilethelightswere stilloff.

He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby becomeamonster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

– FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE, Beyond Good and Evil

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10

DIGITAL SATAN

Health Sciences Center, University of Colorado, Denver

'She was caught in a nursing home near Bartlesville , Oklahoma, ' Dr. Yamamotoexplainedtothem. Thomasand Vera WallachandFoley,theindustrialist,followed thephysician from her office. Branch came last, eyes protected by dark sk i goggles,sleeves buttonedateachwristtohidehisburnscars. 'Itwasoneofthosehomesthatgiveadultchildrennightmares,' Dr. Yamamoto wenton. She couldn't have been more than twenty-seven. Her lab coat was unbuttoned.Underneat hit,aT-shirt readTHELAKE CITY 50-MILE ENDURANCE RUN.She exuded vitality and happiness, Branch thought. The wedding ring o n her finger looked only afewweeks old. They took an elevator up. A sign, supplemented wit h Braille, listed the floor s byspecialty . Primate s occupied the basement . The upper floor s were Psychiatry andNeurophysiology.They got off on the top floor, which bore no title, and started downanotherhallway. 'It turns out the administrator at this Bartlesville scam had served time fo r avariety of frauds and forgeries,' Dr. Yamamoto said. 'He's back in, I guess. I hope. Areal prince . Hi s so-calle d facilit y advertised itsel f a s specializin g i n Alzheimer's patients .Behindthescenes,he kept thepatientsjust barely alive in order to keep the Medicare/Medicaid checks coming in. Bed restraints, horrific conditions. No medicalpersonnel whatsoever. Apparently ourlittleintruderwasableto hide there for over a month beforeajanitorfinallynoticed.'

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The youngdoctorhaltedatadoorwitha keypad. 'Herewe are,' she said, and gentlyentered thecode.Long fingers.Asoft,suretouch. 'Youplayviolin,'Thomasguessed. She was delighted. 'Guitar,' she confessed. 'Electric. Bass. I have a band, Girl Talk. Allguys,andme.' She held the door for them. Immediately, Branch sensed th e chang e in light andsound. No windows in here. No spill of sunbeams. The slight whistle of wind against brickquit.These wallswere thick. To the right and left, doorways opened onto rooms orbiting computer screens . A plaqu e read DIGITA L ADAM PROJECT, NATIONAL LIBRARY OF MEDICINE. Branch didn'tseeasinglebook. Yamamoto's voice adjusted to the new quiet. 'Lucky for us it was the janitor who noticed,' she continued. 'The administrator and his gang of thieves would never havecalle d the police . To mak e a lon g story short, th e cop s came. They were suitablyhorrified.Atfirstthey were sure it was animals. One of th e cops used to trap coyotesandbobcats.Heset outsomeoldrusty legtraps.' They reached a set of double doors. Another keypad. Different numbers, Branchnoticed . They entered in stages: first a guard, then a scrub room, where Yamamotohelped them put on disposable green gowns and surgical masks and double pairs oflatex gloves, then a main room with biotechs at work over test tubes and keyboards.Sh eledthemaroundgleamingbanksofequipmentandpickedupher narrative. 'Thatnightshecamebackformore.Oneofthe traps caught her leg. The cops cameroaring in. She was a complete surprise. They were not at all prepared. Barely fourfeet high and, even with her tibia and fibula broken in half, she still almost beat fivegrown men. She came very close to escaping, but they got her. W e would havepreferre d alivespecimen,ofcourse.' They cametoadoorlabeledNIPPLESALERTonahandwrittensheet. 'Nipples?'askedVera. Yamamoto notice d the sig n and snatched i t down. 'A joke,' she said. 'It's cold inthere. The roomis refrigerated. Wecallitthepitandthependulums.' Branchwasgratifiedby herblush.Shewas a professional. What's more, she wantedtolookprofessionalto them.Sheledthemthroughthedoor. Inside, it was no t as cold as Branch had expected. A wall thermometer readthirty-on e degrees Fahrenheit. Very bearable for an hour or two of work. No t thatanyonewasinhere. The workwasallbeing doneautomatically. Machinery susurrated , a steady rhythm. Shh. Shh. Shh. As though to quiet aninfant.Anumberoflights pulsedwitheachhush. 'They killedher?' Vera asked. 'No, it wasn't that,' Yamamoto said. 'She was alive after they got the nets and ropeon. But the tra p was rusty . Sepsis se t in. Tetanus. She died before we arrived. Ibroughtherhereinafootlockerpackedwithdry

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ice.' There were four stainless-steel autopsy tables. Eac h held a block of blue gelatin.Each block was positioned against a machine. Each machine flashed a light every fiveseconds. 'WenamedherDawn,'saidYamamoto. They looked into the blue gelatin and there sh e was , he r cadaver froze n andsuspendedingelandcut crosswiseintofoursections. 'We were halfway through computerizing our digital Eve when the hadal came ourway.' Yamamoto indicated a dozen freezer drawers along one wall. 'We put Eve backintostorageandimmediatelywentto workonDawn.Asyou can see, we've quarteredhe r bod y an d bedde d th e fou r section s i n gelatin . These machine s are calledcryomacrotomes . Glorified meatshavers. Every few seconds they cut ahalf-millimeter off the botto m of each gelatin block, and a synchronized cameraphotograph sthenewlayer.' 'Howlonghasitbeenhere?'Foleyasked. It,notshe,Branch noticed. Foley was keeping things impersonal. For his own part,Branch felt a connection. How could you not? The small hand had four fingers and a thumb. 'Two weeks. It's just a function of the blades and cameras. In another few monthswe'll have a computer bank with over twelve thousand images. She'll end up as fortybillio nbytes ofinformationstoredonseventy CD-ROMdisks. Using a mouse, you willbeabletotravel througha3-DimageofDawn'sinterior.' 'Andyour purpose?' 'Hadal physiology,' Dr. Yamamoto said. 'We want t o know how it differs fromhuman.' 'Is there anyway toaccelerate your inquiry?'askedThomas. 'We don't know what we're looking for, or even what questions to ask. As it is, wedon'tdaremiss anything.There's notellingwhatmightlieinthesmallestdetail.' They separated and went to different tables. Through the translucent gel, Branchsawapairoflowerlegsand feet.There wastheplacethetrap hadsnapped her bones.The skinwasfishwhite. He found the head-and-shoulders section. It was like a bust in alabaster. The lidswere half shut, exposin g bleached blue irises. The mouth was slightly open. Workingfromtheneckupward,themachine'spendulum wasstillatthroatlevel. 'You've probablyseenalotlikeher,'Dr.Yamamoto spoke at his shoulder. Her voicewassevere. Branch cocke d hi s hea d an d looke d closer , almos t affectionately. 'They'r e alldifferent, 'he said.'Kindoflikeus.' He could tell she'd expected something coarse o r stormy from him. Most peopletoo konelookathimand assumedhecouldn'tgetenoughofHaddie'sblood.

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The physician's voice softened. 'Judgin g by her teeth and the immaturit y of herpelvicgirdle,'she said, 'Dawn was probably twelve or thirteen years old. We could beway off on that, of course. We have nothing to compare he r with , so we're simplyguessing.Specimens have beenvery hardtoget.You'dthink after somuchcontact, somanykillings,we'dbeswimminginbodies.' 'Thatisodd,'saidVera. 'Dothey decompose faster thannormalmammalremains?' 'Depending on the exposure to direct sunlight. But the scarcity of good specimenshasmoretodowith desecration.'Branchnoticedthatshedidnotlookathim. 'Youmeanmutilation?' 'It'smorethanthat.' 'Desecration,then,'saidThomas.'That'sastrongterm.' Yamamotowent over tothestorage drawers andpulledout a long tray on rollers. 'Idon't know, what do yo u call it?' A hideous animal lay on the metal, scorched black,teeth bared,dismembered,mutilated.It could have beeneightthousandyears old. 'Caughtandburnedone week ago,'shesaid. 'Soldiers?'askedVera. 'Actually, no. This came from Orlando, Florida. A regular neighborhood. People arescared.Maybe it'sa formof racial catharsis. There's this revulsion or anger or terror.Peopl e seem to feel they have to lay waste to these things, even after they've killedthem.Maybe they thinkthey're destroyingevil.' 'Doyou?'askedThomas. Heralmondeyes were sad.Thendisciplined.Either way, compassion or science, shedidnot. 'We offer rewards for undamaged specimens,' she told them. 'But this is about thebest that comes in. Thi s guy, for instance. He was captured alive by a group ofmiddle-agedaccountantsandsoftware engineers playing touch football at a suburbansoccerfield.Bythetimethey gotfinishedwithhim,hewasapieceof charcoal.' Branchhadseenfarworse. 'Allaroundthecountry.Allaroundtheworld,'shesaid. 'We know they're coming upinto our midst. There are sightings and killings every hour, somewhere in metro and rural America. Try to get a whole, undamaged cadaver in the lab, though. It's a realproblem.It makes research very slow.' 'Whydoyouthinkthey're comingup,Doctor?Seemslikeeveryone hasatheory.' 'Noneofushere has a clue,' Yamamoto said. 'Frankly, I'm not convinced the hadalsarecomingupinany greater numbers than they have historically. But it's safe to saytha t humans are more sensitize d t o the hadals ' presence these days, and so we'reseeing them more clearly. The majority of sightings are false, a

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s with UFOs. A greatnumbe r have been sightings of transients and freight riders and animals, even tree branche sscratchingatthewindow,nothadals.' 'Ah,'saidVera, 'it'sallinourimagination?' 'Not at all. They're definitely here, hiding in our landfills, our suburban basements,our zoos, warehouses, nationa l parks. I n ou r underbelly. Bu t nowhere nea r the number sthepoliticiansandjournalistswantu stobelieve.As far as invading us, comeon.Who'sinvadingwho here? We'retheonessinkingshaftsand colonizingcaves.' 'Dangeroustalk,'saidFoley. 'At a certain point, our hate and fear change us,' the young woman said. 'I mean,wha tkindofworlddowe wanttoraiseourchildrenin?That's important,too.' 'But if they're not appearing in any greater numbers than before,' argued Thomas, 'doesn't that throw ou t all the catastroph e theories w e kee p hearing, that a greatfamin eorplagueor environmentaldisasteristoblamefortheircomingamongus?' 'That's one more thing our research may help answer. A people's history speaksthroughtheirbonesand tissue,' said Yamamoto. 'But until we collect more specimensandexpandourdatabase,Ican'ttellyouanything morethanwhatthebodiesof Dawnandafewofherbrothers andsisters have toldus.' 'Thenweknowalmostnothingabouttheirmotivation?' 'Scientificallyspeaking,no.Notyet. Butsometimeswe–the staff and I – sit aroundand invent lif e stories fo r them.' The youn g docto r indicated her stainless-steelmausoleum .'Wegivethemnamesandapast.Wetr y to understand how it must havebee ntobethem.' She touched the sid e of the cuttin g table wit h the hada l female's head . 'Dawn iseasilyourgroup's favorite.' 'This?'saidVera. Butclearlyshewascharmedby thestaff'shumanity. 'Heryouth,Iguess.Andthehardlifesheled.' 'Tellusher story, ifyoudon't mind,' said Thomas. Branch looked at the Jesuit. LikeBranch, he had a raw exterior that people misjudged. But Thomas felt an affinity forthe creatures that was unfashionable at the moment. Branch thought it perfectly incharacter.Weren'tallJesuitsliberationtheologists? The young woman looked uncomfortable. 'It's not really my place,' she said. 'Thespecialists haven't gone over the data yet, and anything we've made u p is pureconjecture.' 'Justthesame,' Vera said,'wewanttohear.' 'All right, then. She came from very deep, from an atmosphere rich in oxygen,judging by the relatively small rib cage. Her DNA shows a relevant difference fromsample s sent to us from other regions around the world. The consensus is that thesehadalsall evolved fromHomoerectus, ourownancestor. It's common knowledge thatweshareda mother and father long ago. But then the same can be said about us and orangutans,orlemurs,or even frogs.Atsomepointweallsharegenesis.

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'One surprise is how alike the hadals are to us. Another is how unalike they are tooneanother.Haveyou ever heardofDonaldSpurrier?' 'Theprimatologist?'saidThomas.'Hewashere?' 'Now I'm really embarrassed,' Yamamoto said. 'I'd never heard of him, but peopletold me later he's world-famous. Anyway , he stopped u p to see our little girl oneafternoon and essentially conducted an impromptu seminar fo r us. He told us that Homo erectus spun off more variations than any other hominid group. We're one ofthe spin-offs. Hadals may be another . Erectu s apparently migrated fro m Africa toAsiahundredsofthousandsofyears ago,andth esplintergroupspossibly evolved intodifferent forms around the world , before goin g into the interior . Again, I'm no t anexpert onsuchthings.' To Branch, Yamamoto's modesty was engaging, but a distraction. They were here today on business, to glean every possible clue that she an d her colleague s hadharvested from this hadal corpse. 'In great part,' Thomas said, 'you have just statedou r purpose, to understand why we turn out the way we do. What more can you tellus?' 'There's ahighconcentrationofradioisotopesinhertissue,butthat'stobe expected,comin g from the subplanet , a stone cavity bombarded by mineral radiation from alldirections. My own hunch is that radiation may help explain the mutations in theirpopulation. But please don't quote me on that. Who really knows why any of us turnouttheway wedo?' Yamamoto passed a hand over the block of blue gel, as if stroking the monstrousface . 'To our eye, Dawn looks so primitive. Some of our visitors have remarked onwhat a throwback sh e is . They thin k she's s o much closer to erectus an d the Australopithecene sthanweare.Infact,sheisevery bitas evolved asweare, just in adifferentdirection.' That had been one surprise for Branch. You expected stereotypes and racism andprejudices from the ordinary masses. But it was turning out that the sciences werejus t as rife with it. Indeed, intellectual biase s – academic arrogance – helped explainwhy hellhadgoneundiscoveredforsolong. 'Dawn'sdentalformula is identical to yours and mine – and to hominid fossils threemillio n years old: two incisors, one canine, two premolars, three molars.' Yamamoto turnedtoanothertable.'Thelowerlimbsare similar to ours, though hadal joints havemor e sponge in the bone, which suggests Dawn might have been even more efficientatwalkingthanHomosapienssapiens. Andshedidalotof that, walking. It's tough tosee through the gel, but if you look hard, she put a lot of miles on those feet . Thecalluse sare thicker than my thumbnail. Her arches have fallen. Somebody measuredher:sizeeleven,quadruplewide.' Shemovedtothenext table,thethorax andupperarms.'Sofar,few surprises here, either. The cardiovascular system is robust, if not perfectly healthy. The heart'senlarged , meaning she probably came up rapidly fro m minus four or five miles. Herlungsshowchemicalscarring, probably from breathing gases vented from th e deeperearth .That's anoldanimalbitethere.' Yamamototurnedtothefinaltable.It heldtheabdomen and lower arms. One handwas clenched, the other graceful. 'Again, it's hard to get a clear view. But the fingerbones have a significant crook, midway between ape and human digits. That helps explainthestorieswehear about hadals scaling walls and pulling themselves throughundergroundnooksandcrannies.'

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Yamamoto gestured at the abdominal chunk. The blade had begun at the top andwasshavingbackandfort htowardthepelvicarea. The pubishadscantblackhair,thestart ofwomanhood. 'We did nail down part of her short, savage history. Before mounting her in gel andstarting the cuts, we reviewed the MRI and CT images. Something about the pelvicsaddle didn't look right, and I got the head of our Ob/Gyn department up for a look.Herecognizedthetraumaright away. Rape.Gangrape.' 'What'sthisyou'resaying?'Foleyasked. 'Twelve years old,' said Vera. 'Can you imagine? That explains why she came up, though.' 'Howdoyoumean?'askedYamamoto. 'Thepoorthingmust have fledfromthe creatures thatdidthistoher.' 'I didn't mean to suggest it was hadals who did this to her. We typed the sperm. Itwa sall human. The injuries were very recent. We contacted the sheriff's departmenti n Bartlesville, an d they suggested we tal k t o the male attendants at the nursinghome. The attendants denied it. We could take samples from them, but i t wouldn't change anything. This kind of thing's not a crime. One group or another helped themselves to her. The y had her locke d in a refrigerated meat locker for severaldays.' Again,Branchhadseenworse. 'What a remarkable conceit civilization is,' said Thomas. His face looked neitherangry nor sad, but seasoned. 'This child's suffering is ended. Yet, even as we speak,similar evil plays out in a hundred different places, ours upon them, theirs upon us.Untilwecanbringsomesense of order to bear, the evil will continue to have a hidingplace.' Hewasspeakingtothechild'sbody,itseemed,perhapsremindinghimself. 'What else?' Yamamoto asked herself aloud. She looked around at the body parts.They were atthe abdominalquadrant.'Herstool,'Yamamoto started again, 'was hardanddarkandrank-smelling.Atypical carnivore'sstool.' 'Whatwasherdietthen?' 'Inthelastmonthbeforedeath?'saidYamamoto. 'Iwould have thoughtoat-bran muffinsandfruitjuicesandwhatever else one mightscavenge i n a geriatric kitchen . Food s with fiber an d roughage, eas y t o digest,'suggeste dVera. 'Not this gal. She was a meat-eater, no two ways about it. The police report wasclear. The stoolsample onlyconfirmedit.Exclusively meat.' 'But where –' 'Mostlyfromthefeet and calves,' said Yamamoto. 'That's how she went undetectedforsolong. The staff thoughtitwas rats or a feral cat, and just applied ointments andbandages.ThenDawnwouldcomebackthe next nightandfeedsomemore.' Vera wassilent.Yamamoto'slittle'gal'hadnotexactly lentherselftocuddling.

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'Notpretty, Iknow,'Yamamotocontinued.'Butthenshedidn't have apretty life.'The bladehissed,theblock movedimperceptibly.' 'Don't get me wrong. I'm not justifying predation. I'm just not condemning it. Somepeople call it cannibalism. But if we're goin g to insist they're no t sapien s, thentechnically it's no different from what mountain lions do to us. But these incidents dohelpexplain why peoplearesoscared.Whichmakesgood, undamagedspecimens thatmuchhardertoobtain.Anddeadlinesimpossibletomeet.We'reway behind.' 'Waybehindwhom?'askedVera. 'Ourselves,' said Yamamoto. 'We've been handed deadlines. And we haven't madeone yet.' 'Who'ssettingyour deadlines?' 'That's the grand mystery. At first we thought it was the military. We kept gettingraw computer models for developing new weapons. We were supposed to fill in theblanks – you know, tissue density, positions of organs. Generally provide distinctionsbetween our species and theirs. Then we started getting memos from corporations.But the corporations keep changing. Now we're not even sure about them. Fo r our purposes ,itreally doesn't matter. The lightbill'sgettingpaid.' 'I have a question,' Thomas said. 'You sound a little uncertain about whether Dawnandherkindarereally a separate species.WhatdidSpurrier have to say?' 'He was adaman t tha t hadal s ar e a differen t species , som e kin d o f primate.Taxonomy' s a sensitivesubject.RightnowDawnisclassifiedasHomo erectus hadalis .HegotupsetwhenImentionedthemovetorename them Hom o sapiens hadalis.In other words, an evolutionary branch of us. He said the erectu s taxon is wastebasket science.LikeIsaid,there's alotoffearoutthere.' 'Fearofwhat?' 'It runs against the current orthodoxy. You could get your funding cut. Lose yourtenure.Notgethiredor published. It's subtle. Everyone's playingitvery safefornow.' 'Whataboutyou?'Thomas asked. 'You've handled this girl. Followed her dissection.Whatdoyouthink?' 'That's not fair,' Vera scolded Thomas. 'She just got through saying how dangerous thetimesare.' 'It'sokay,'Yamamoto said to Vera. She looked at Thomas. 'Erectus orsapiens? Letm eput it this way. If this were a live subject, if this were a vivisection, I wouldn't doit.' 'Soyou'resayingshe'shuman?'askedFoley. 'No.I'msayingshe'ssimilarenough,perhaps,nottobeerectus.' 'Call me a devil's advocate , certainly a layman,' Foley said. 'But she doesn't looksimilartome.' Yamamoto went over to her wall of drawers and pulled a lower tray out. It held acarcass even more

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grotesque thantheones they'd seen. The skin was wildly scarified.Bodyhairhadgrownrampant. The face was all but hooded with a cabbage-like domeoffleshycalciumdeposits.Somethingclosetoaram'shornhad grownfromthe middleoftheforehead. Sherested oneglovedhandonthe creature's ribcage.'AsIsaid,theideawas to finddifferences between our tw o species. W e know there ar e differences . Thos e areobviou s to the naked eye. Or seem to be. Bu t so far all we've found are physiological similarities.' 'Howcanyousay he'ssimilar?'askedFoley. 'That's exactly the point. We were sent thi s specimen by our lab chief. Sort o f adouble-blindtest tosee whatwe'dcomeupwith. Ten ofus worked on the autopsy foraweek. Wecompiledalistofalmost forty distinctionsfromtheaverageHomosapienssapiens. Everything from blood gases to bone structure to ophthalmic deformities todiet. We found traces of rare minerals in his stomach. He'd been eating clay and variousfluorescents.Hisintestinesglowedinthe dark. Only then did the lab chief tellus.' 'Tellyouwhat?' 'ThatthiswasaGermansoldierfromoneofthe NATO task forces.' Branch had known it was human from the start, but h e let Yamamot o mak e herpoint. 'That can't be.' Vera began lifting and opening surgical cavities and pressing at thebonyhelmet.'Whatabou tthis?'shesaid.'Andthis?' 'Allresidualsfromhistourof duty. Sideeffectsfromthedrugshewastoldto take or fromthegeochemical environmentinwhichhewasserving.' Foleywas shocked. 'I've heard of some amount of modification. But never anythinglikethisdisfigurement.' SuddenlyrememberingBranch,hestoppedhimself. 'Hedoeslookdemonic,'Branchcommented. 'All in all, it was an instructive anatomy lesson,' Yamamoto said. 'Very humbling. Icameaway withone abidingthought.It doesn'tmatter ifDawn stems fromerectus orsapiens.Gobackfarenoughandsapiensiserectu s.' 'Are there nodifferences,then?'Thomasasked. 'Many. Many. But now we've seen how many incongruities there are between one humanandanother. It's becomeanepistemologicalissue.Howtoknow what we think weknow.'Sheslidthe drawer shut. 'Yousounddemoralized.' 'No. Distracted, perhaps. Derailed. Off track. But I'm convince d we'll start hittingrealdiscrepancyin three tofivemonths.' 'Oh?'saidThomas. She went back to the tabl e where Dawn's head and shoulders were slowly, veryslowl yfeeding intothependulum.'That'swhenwe'llbeginenteringthebrain.'

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Begin at the beginning... and go on till you come to the end: then stop.

– LEWIS CARROLL, Turtle Soup

11

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LOSING THE LIGHTBetween the Clipperton andGalápagos Fracture Zones

In groups of four, they were winched into the depths off the cliffs of Esperanza. Likegreat naval guns, a battery of five winche s faced out along the chas m rim, motorsroaring,their great spools of wire cable winding out. Freight and humanity alike rode the nets and platforms down. The chasm was over four thousand feet deep. Ther e were no seat belts or safety instructions, only frayed come-along straps and oilychains and floor bolts to secure crates and machinery. The live carg o managed for itself. The massive wincharms creaked and groaned. Ali got her pack nestled behind her,and hitched herself to the low railing with carabiners an d a knot. Shoat came overwit haclipboardinhand.'Goodmorning,'she yelledintotheroarand exhaust fumes.Ashehad predicted, a number of them had quit the game overnight. Five or six sofar, but given Shoat's and Helios's manner, Ali had expected more to resign. Judgingby Shoat's pleased grin, it seemed he had, too. She had never spoken with him. A suddenfearflashedthrough herotherfears,thathemight suddenly remove her fromtheexpedition. 'You're the nun,' he said. You coul d never call the pinche d face and hungry eyesdisarming ,buthewas personableenough.Heofferedhishand,which was surprisinglythin,giventhepumpedbicepsandthighs. 'I'mhereasanepigrapherandlinguist.' 'Weneedoneofthose?Youkindofcameoutofnowhere,'hesaid. 'Ididn'thearabouttheopportunityuntillate.'Hestudiedher.'Lastchance.' Ali looked around the deck and saw some of those who were staying. They looked ferocious, but forlorn, too. It had been a night of tears and rage and vows o f aclass-action sui t agains t Helios . Ther e ha d even bee n a fistfight . Part o f theresentment , Ali realized, was that these people had made their minds up once, and Shoathadforcedthemtodoitagain. 'I've made my peace,'Aliassuredhim. 'That'soneway ofputtingit.'Shoatcheckedhernameonthelist. The cables came taut overhead. The platform lifted. Shoat gave it a hearty shoveand walked awa y as they went swinging into the abyss. One of Ali's companionsshouted good-bye tothegroupofscientists stayingbehind. The sound of the winch engines vanished high overhead. It was as if the lights ofEsperanzahadbeenflicke doff.Suspendedby a wire, they sank into blackness, slowlyspinning. The overhang was stupendous . Sometime s th e clif f wall was s o far awa ythei rflashlights barely reachedit. 'Live worm on a hook,' one of her neighbors said after the first hour. 'Now I knowhowitfeels.' That wasit.Notanotherwordwasuttered by anyofthemalltheway down.Alihadnever knownsuchemptiness. Hourslater,they nearedthefloor.Chemicalrunoffandhumansewage had pooled inafoulmarshstretchingalong thebaseandextendingbeyondthelightacross the floor.The stench cut through Ali's dust mask. She gasped,

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then dumpe d the stenc h with disgust .Closerstill,herskinprickledwiththeacidity. The winch landed them with a bump on the edge of the beach of poisons. A hand –somethingmeaty, but gnarledandmissingtwofingers–grabbedtherailinginfront ofher.'Bajarse, rápido,' the man barked. Rags hung from his head, perhaps to soak uphis sweat ortoshieldhimfromtheirlights. Aliunhookedherselfandclamberedoff,andthe character threw her pack off. Theirplatformstarted torise. The lastofherneighborshadtohoptotheground. She looked around at this first wave of explorers. There were fifteen or twenty ofthem, standing in a clump and shining their flashlights . One man had drawn a big handgunandwasaimingitvaguely towardthe remoteness. 'Badplacetostand.Better move before something falls on your heads,' a voice said.They turned toward a niche in the rock. Inside sat a man, his assault rifle parked tooneside.Hehadnightglasses.'Follow that trail.' He pointed. 'Keep going for about an hour. The rest of your people will catch up soon enough. And you , pendej o, thegunslinger.Putitbackinyour pantsbeforesomeonegets shot.' They did as he said. Lights wagging, they followed a trail that meandered aroundthecliffbase.There wasn ochanceofgettinglost.It wastheonlytrail. A bleak fog hung across the floor . Rags of gas drifted a t thei r knees . Smal l toxiccloudsswirledathead level,blindingwhiteintheirheadlamps.Hereandthere, licksofflamespranguplikeSt.Elmo'sfire,then extinguished. It was a swamp, deathly quiet. Animals had come here by the tens of thousands.Drawnby thespillageor non-native nutrients or, after a while, by the meat of earliervisiting animals, they had eaten and drunk here . Now their bones and decay spoiledamongtherocksmile after mile. Ali paused where two of the biologists were conversing by a pile of liquefying fleshand spiny bones . 'W e know that spine s and protective armo r ar e th e proo f ofexpandin g numbers o f predators in an environment,' on e explained to her. 'Whenpredators begindevouringpredators,evolutionstarts building body defenses. Proteinis not a perpetual-motion machine . It has to begin somewhere. But no one's ever foun d where thehadal food chain begins.' At least to date, no one had found evidenceofplantsdown here. Without plants, you had no herbivores; what you ended up with wasanentireecologybasedonmeat. His friend pried the jaws open to examine the teeth. Something scaly an d clawedcame crawling out , anothe r invade r specie s fro m th e surface . 'Jus t th e wa y I expected, ' thefriendsaid. 'Everything ishungrydownhere. Starved.' Ali moved on and saw at least a dozen different sizes and shapes of skulls and rib cages, a brand-new menagerie that was not entirely new to her imagination. One set of bones had the dimensions of a short snake with a large head. Something else hadoncetransported itsel fon two legs. Another animal could have been a small frog withwings.Noneofitmoved. Soon Ali was sweating and breathing hard. She'd known there would be a period ofadaptation to the trail, that it was going to take time to acclimate to the depths, tobuil d up their quadriceps and adjust to new circadian rhythms. The stench of animalcarcasses and the minin g network's sewage didn't help. And an obstacle course ofrusting cables, twisted rails, sudden ladders, and staircases mad e progres s more difficult.

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Alireachedaclearing.Agroupofscientistswasrestingatastonebench. She got outof her pac k an d joined them. Farthe r on , the trai l droppe d i n a deep, windingstaircase . The masonry seemed old, fused with accretions. Ali looked around forcarved inscriptionsorothersignsofhadalculture,but there wasnone. 'That'sgottobethelastofourpeoplecomingdown,'atrekker said. Ali followed his pointing finger. Like tin y comets , three point s o f ligh t slowly descende d in the darkness with silvery filaments for tails. Ali was surprised. For allthe walking they'd done, the platform s wer e not so far away, maybe just a mile. Higher, at the edge of the rim, the town of Esperanza was visibl e against the blacknight , a dim bulb indeed. For a moment she saw the boomtown's painted cliffs. The brigh tbluecolortwinkledinthetoxicmistlikeawishingstar,andsoshemadeawish.After their rest, thetrail changed. The swampreceded. The reek of death fell away. The trailroseatapleasantincline.They cametoa ledgeoverlookingaflatplateau. 'Moreanimals,'someonesaid. 'They're notanimals.' Once upon a time, in Palestine, people had made human sacrifices in the valley ofHinnon, later using the valley as a dumping ground for dead animals and executedprisoners . Cremation fires coul d be seen burning there night and day. With timeHinnon became Gehenna, which became the Hebrew name for the land of the dead.Ali had become something of a student of the literature of hell, and could not help wonderingifthey hadstumbleduponsomemodernequivalentofHinnon. Asthey trekked ontotheplateau,theimage resolved itself. The bodies were simplymen lying in an open-air camp. 'They must be our porters,' Ali said. She estimated ahundredormoremengathered here.Cigarette smokemixedwiththeir pungent bodyodor.Dozensofblueplasticdrumsshapedononesideto fit the human spin e gave heraclue. They had reached th e rendezvou s point. From here the expedition would trulylaunch . Like uninvited guests, the scientists waited at the edge of the encampment,notquitesure what came next. The porters did nothing to accommodate them. Theywen tonlyingabout,sharing cigarettes and cups of hot drinks or sleeping on the bareground.'They look...tellmethey didn'thirehadals,'awomansaid. 'How could they hire hadals?' someone asked. 'We're not even sur e the y existanymore.' The porters'incipienthornsandbeetlingbrowsand their body art, almost defectivei n its jailhouse shabbiness, had a certain patho s to it. Not that anyone woul d havepitie d these men to their faces . They had the bricklik e stare and keloid scars o f astreet gang. Their clothing was a mishmash of LA ghetto an d the jungle. Some worePatagonia shorts and Raiders caps, others wore loincloths with hip-hop jackets. Most carriedknives.Alisawmachetes–butnovines. The blades were for protection, fromtheanimalsshe'd beenpassingforthe last hour, and possibly from any stray hostiles, butabove allfromoneanother. They hadfreshwhiteplasticcollarsaroundtheir necks. She'd heard of convict laborand chain gangs in the subplanet, and maybe the collars were some sort of electronicshackles.Butthese menlookedtoophysically similar, too familial, to be a collection of prisoners. They must have come from the same tribe, the front end of a migration.They wereindios, thoughAlicouldnotsay from which region. Possibly Andean. Theircheekboneswere broadandmonumental, theirblackeyes almostOriental.

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Ahuge young black soldier appeared at their side. 'If you'll come this way,' he said, 'thecolonelhashotcoffeeprepared. Wejust received a radio update. The rest of yourgrouphastouched down.They'll beheresoon.' Attached to his dogtag chain was a small steel Maltese cross, the official emblem ofthe Knight s Templar . Recentl y revive d throug h th e largess e o f a sport s shoemanufacturer , the military religious order had become famous for employing formerhigh school and college athletes with little other future. The recruitment had starteda tPromise Keepers andMillionManMarchrallies,andsnowballedintoa well-trained, tightlydisciplinedmercenary army forhiretocorporationsandgovernments. In passing a knot of the indio s, she saw a head rise; it was Ike. His glance at herlasted barely a second. She still owed him thanks fo r that orang e i n the Nazcaelevator . Buthe returned hisattentiontothecircl eofporters, hunkering among themlikeMarcoPolo. Ali saw line s and arcs drawn on the stone in their midst, and Ike was shiftingpebblesandbitsofbonefrom oneplaceto another. She thought they must be playinga game, then realize d h e was querying the indio s, getting directions or gatheringinformation. One other thin g she saw, too. Near on e foot, Ike had a small pile ofcarefullystacked leaves, clearlyalast-minutepurchase.She recognized them. He wasa chewer ofcoca leaves. Ali moved on to the soldiers ' part of the camp . All was in motion here, men incamouflageuniforms bustlingaround,checkingweapons.There were at least thirty ofthem, even quieter than the indio s, and she decided the legend must be true aboutthe mercenaries' vows o f silence. Except fo r prayer o r essential communication,speec hwasconsideredanextravagance among themselves. Drawn by coffee fumes, the scientists found a stove perched on rocks an d helpedthemselves, the n starte d pokin g through th e neatl y arrange d crates an d plastic drums,lookingfortheirequipment. 'Youdon'tbelonghere,'theblacksoldiersaid.'Pleasevacate thedepot.'Hemovedtoblockthem.They went aroundhimandrooteddeeper. 'It'sokay,'someonetoldhim,'it'sourstuff.' The huntturnedunruly. 'My spectroscope!'someoneannouncedtriumphantly. 'Ladiesandgentlemen,'avoice requested. Ali barely heardhim over theshoutingandjostleofequipment. Asinglegunshot cracked the air. The bullet had been aimed out from camp, angledtoward the ground . Where i t struck th e bar e bedroc k fift y fee t out , the round blossome dintoashowerofsplintered light. Everyone stopped. 'Whatwasthat?'ascientistsaid. 'That,' announce d the shooter , 'wa s a Remington Lucifer.' H e was a tall man,clean-shaven, slim i n the fashion of field officers. He wore a chest rig with a shoulderholster for his modest-sized pistol. He

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had black an d charcoal-gray camouflagedSWA T pants bloused into lightweight boots. His black T-shirt looked clean. A pair ofnightglassesdangledathisthroat. 'It is an ammunition specially developed for use in the subplanet. It is a .25-caliberround,madeofhardene dplasticwith a uranium tip. Different levels of heat and sonicvibrationshapeitsfunctionalcapabilities.It can create adevastating wound, break upintomultiplefléchettes,orsimply create a blinding distraction. This expedition marksthe official debut for the Lucifer and other technologies.' The accent was Tennessee aristocracy. Spurrier approached the soldier, muttonchops fluffed, hand outstretched. He had delegatedhimselfthescientists'spokesman.'YoumustbeColonelWalker.' Walker bypassed Spurrier's outstretched hand. 'We have two problems, people.First, those loads you have looted were packed by weight and balanced for carrying.Their contents have been carefully inventoried. I have a list of every item in everyload . Every load is numbered. You have now set our departure back by a half hourwhiletheloadsarerepacked. 'Problemtwo,oneof my menmadea request. Youignoredit.'Hemet their eyes. 'Inthefuture,youwillplease treat suchrequests as direct orders. From me.' He shut hisholstercasewithasnap. 'Looting?'ascientistprotested. 'It'sourequipment.Howcanweloot ourselves? Justwho'sinchargehere?' Still wearing his pack, Shoat arrived. 'I see you've met,' he said, and turned to thegroup. 'As you know, Colonel Walker will be our chief of security. From here on out,he'llbeinchargeofourdefenseandlogistics.' 'We have toaskhimforpermissiontodoscience?'amanobjected. 'Thisisanexpedition,notyour personaloffice,'saidShoat.'The answer is yes. Fromnow on, you'll need to coordinate your needs with the colonel's man, who will directyoutothepropershipment.' 'We'reagroup,'saidWalker. With his uniform and trappings and his lean height, hehad undeniabl e presence . I n on e han d h e carried a Bibl e boun d i n matchingcamouflage . 'The group takes priority. You simply need to anticipate your individualrequirements, and my quartermaster willassistyou. Forthesake oforder,you'll havet ospeakwithhimattheendofeachday.Notinthemorningwhilewearepacking, notin themiddleofthe day whileweareonthetrail.' 'I have toaskpermissiontoget my ownequipment?' 'We'llsortitout.'Shoatsighed.'Colonel,is there anythingelseyou'dliketoadd?'Walkersatontheedgeofarock withonebootplanted. 'My jobishiredgun,'he said. 'Heliosbroughtmeontoprovide preservation forthisenterprise.'Heunfolded a sheafof pages and held it up. 'My contract,' he said, skimming the clauses. 'It's got somerather uniquefeatures.' 'Colonel,'Shoatwarned.Walkerignoredhim. 'Here, for instance, is a list of bonus payments that I get for each one of you whosurvives thejourney.' The colonelhadtheirfullestattention.Shoatdidn'tdareinterrupt.

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'It reminds me a lot of a bounty,' said Walker. 'According to this, I get so much forevery hand, foot, limb , ear, and/or eye that I deliver intact and healthy. That's yourhands, your feet, your eyes.' He found the part. 'Let's see, at three hundred dollarspereye, that's six hundred per pair. But they're only offering five hundred per mind.Gofigure.' The outcry went up. 'This is outrageous.' Walker waved the contract lik e a whiteflag.'Youneed to know something else,' he boomed out. They stilled, somewhat. 'I'vepu t my time i n down here, an d it's time t o smell the roses , i f you will . Dabble inpolitics, maybe. Do some consulting work. Spend some downtime with my wife and kids.Andthat's where youcomein.' They drew quiet. 'You see,' said Walker, 'my aim is to get filthy rich off you people. I mean to collectevery penny of this entire schedule of bonuses. Every eyeball, every testicle, everytoe .Doyouever askyourselves whoyoucan really trust?' Walkerfoldedhiscontractandclosedit in his daybook. 'Let me submit that the one thinginthisworldyoucan always trust is self-interest. Andnowyouknowmine.'Shoatwaspayingpainfulattention. The colonel had just threatened the expedition'sunion–and saved it.Butwhy? wonderedAli.WhatwasWalker'sgame? HeclappedtheKingJamesagainst his thigh. 'We are beginning a great journey into the unknown. From no w on, this expedition wil l operate within guidelines and theprotectionof my judgment. Our best protection will be a common set of ideas. A law.That law , people , i s mine . Fro m her e on , w e wil l observ e tenets o f militaryjurisprudence .Inreturn, Iwill restore youtoyour families.' Shoat's neck made a slow extension, turtle-like. His soldier of fortune had justdeclared himself the ultimate legal authority over the Helios expedition for the nextyear . It wasthe most audacious thing Ali ha d ever seen. She waited for the scientiststoraisetheroofwiththeirprotests. But there wassilence.Notoneobjection.ThenAliunderstood.The mercenary hadjustpromisedthemtheir lives.

Likeanyexpedition,they settled into themselves by inches.Apacedeveloped. Campbrokeat0800.Walkerwouldreadaprayer tohis troops – usually somethinggrimfromRevelationorJob orhisfavorite, Paul to the Corinthians –The night is farspent, the dayisat hand; let us therefore cast off the works of darkness, and let usputon the armorof light – before sending a half-dozen ahead to audit the risks. Thescientist s woul d follow. The porters brought u p the rear , protected-driven, it wasbecoming evident –by thesilent soldiers. The division of labor was succinct, the linesuncrossable. The porters spokeQuechua, once the language of the Incas. None of the Americans spokeit,andtheir attempts touseSpanishwere rebuffed.Ali tried her hand at it, but the indio s were not disposed to fraternizing. At night the mercenaries patrolled theirperimeter in three shifts, guarding less against hadal adversaries than against theflightoftheirownporters. In those first weeks they rarely saw their scout. Ike had vaulted into the night oftunneling, and kept himself a day or two ahead of them. His absence created an oddyearning among the scientists. Whe n

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they aske d abou t hi s welfare, Walke r was dismissive . The manknowshis duty, hewouldsay. Ali ha d presume d th e scou t wa s par t o f Walker' s paramilitary , bu t learnedotherwise . He was not exactly a free agent, if that was the term. Apparently ShoathadpurchasedhimfromtheUSArmy. H ewasessentially chattel, little different fromhis hadal days. Ike's mystery mounted, in part, Ali suspected, because people wereabl e to attach their fantasies to him. She limited her ow n desires t o eventually interviewin g him about hadal ethnography, and possibly assembling a root glossary,thoughshecouldnotget thatorangeoutofhermind. Forthetime being, Ike did what Walker termed his duty. He found them the path.He led them into the darkness. They all knew his blaze mark, a one-foot-high crossspray-painted onthewallsinbrightblue. Shoatinformedthemthepaintwouldbegindegrading after a week. Again, it was anissue of his trade secrets. Helios was determined to throw any competitors off theirscent. As one scientist pointed out, the disappearing paint would also throw them offtheirownscent.They would have noway ofretracingtheirown footsteps. To reassure them, Shoat held up a small capsule he described as a miniature radiotransmitter. It was one of many he would be planting along the way, and would liedormantuntilhetriggered ittolifewith his remote control. He compared it to Hanseland Gretel's trail of crumbs, then someone pointed out that th e crumb s Hanseldroppe dhadallbeeneatenby birds.'Always negative,'hegripedatthem. In twelve-hour cycles, the team moved, then rested, then moved again. The mensprouted whiskers. Among the women, roots began to grow out, eyeliner and lipstickfell from daily fashion. Dr. Scholl's adhesive pads for blisters became the currency ofchoice, even morevaluablethanM&M's. Ali had never been part of an expedition, but felt herself immersed in the tradition ofwhat they were doing. They could have been whalers setting sail, or a wagon trainmovingwest. Shefelt asifsheknewitallby heart. For the firs t te n days their joint s and muscles were in shock. Even thos e hardyathlete s among them groaned in their sleep and struggled with leg cramps. A small cult built around ibuprofen, the anti-inflammator y pain tablet. But each day theirpacksgotalittlelighteras they ate food or discarded books that no longer seemed soessential. One morning, Ali woke u p with her hea d on a rock an d actually feltrefreshed. Their farewell tans faded. Their feet hardened. More and more, they could see inquarter-light andless.Ali likedthesmellofherselfatnight,herhonestsweat. Helioschemistshadinfusedtheirproteinbarswithextra vitaminD to substitute forlost sunshine. The bars were dense with other additives, too, boosters Ali had neverhear d of . Among other things , her night vision grew richer by the hour. She feltstronger.Someone wondered if the food bars might not contain steroids, too, elicitinga playful round of science nerds flexin g their imaginar y ne w musculatures fo r oneanother. Ali liked the scientists . Sh e understood the m i n a way Shoat and Walker nevercould . They were here because they had answered their hearts. They felt compelledby reasons outside themselves, for knowledge, for reductionism, for simplicity, in asenseforGod. Inevitably, someonecameupwith a nickname for their expedition. It turned out tobeJules Verne whomost appealedtothisbunch,and so they became the Jules VerneSociety , soon shortened to the JV. The name

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stuck. It helped that for hisJourney toth e Center of the Earth, Verne had chosen two scientists for his heroes, rather thanepic warriors or poets. Above all, the J V liked the fac t tha t Verne's small party of scientistshademerged miraculouslyintact. The tunnels were ample. Their path looked groomed. Someone – apparently longago – had cleared loos e stones an d chiseled corners t o form walls and benchesalongside the trail . It wa s hypothesize d tha t th e stonecuttin g migh t have beenaccomplishe d centuries ago by Andean slaves, for the joints and massive blocks wereidentica ltomasonryatMachuPicchuandinCuzco. At any rate, their porters seemedtoknowexactly whatthebencheswere for as they backed their heavy loads onto theoldshelves. Alicouldn'tget over it. Miles went by, as flat as a sidewalk, looping right and left ineasy bends, a pedestrian's delight . The geologists, especially, wer e astounded. Thelithospher e was supposed to be solid basalt at these depths. Unbearably hot. A deadzone. But here was a virtual subway tunnel . You coul d sell tickets t o this, oneremarked. Don't worry, saidhispal,Helioswill. One nigh t the y campe d nex t t o a translucen t quart z forest . Al i hear d tinyunderworl d creatures rustling,andthesoundofwater trickling through deep fissures.This was their first good encounter with indigenous animals. The expedition's lightskept theanimals in hiding. But one of the biologists set out a recording device, and inthe morning he played for them th e rhyth m of two- and three-chambered hearts:subterranea n fishandamphibiansandreptiles. The nocturna l sound s wer e unsettlin g fo r some , raisin g th e specter o f hadalpredator s orof bugsorsnakeswithdeadlyvenoms. For Ali, the nearness of life was a balm. It was lif e she had come in search of, hadal life. Lying on her back in theblackness,shecouldn'twaittoactuallyseetheanimals. For the mos t part, their fields were sufficiently diverse to forestall professionalcompetition. That meant they shared more than they bickered. They listened to oneanother's hypotheses with saintly patience. The y put on skits at night. A harmonicaplayer performed John Mayall songs. Three geologists started a barbershop routine,calling themselves theTectonics.Hellwasturningouttobefun. Ali estimated they were making 7.2 miles per day on foot. At mile fifty they held acelebration, wit h Kool-Ai d an d dancing . Al i di d th e twis t an d th e two-step. Apaleobiologis tgotherintoa complicatedtango,anditwaslikebeingdrunkundera fullmoon. Aliwasariddle to them. She was a scholar, and yet this other thing, a nun. Despite her dancing, some of the women told her they feared she was deprived. She nevergossiped , never joined in the girl talk whe n the goin g got raw. The y knew nothingabou t her past lovers, but presumed at least a few. They declared their intention of findingout.Youmakemesoundlikeasocialdisease,Alisaid,laughing. Don't worry, they said,youcanstillberepaired. Inhibitionsreceded.Clothingopened.Weddingbandsstarted tovanish. The affairs unfolded in full view of the group, and sometimes th e sex, too. There were someinitialattempt s at privacy. Grownmen and women passed notes back andforth, held hands in secret, or pretended to discuss important business. Late at nightAlicouldhearpeoplegruntinglikehippiesamongthestonesandheaped packs.

In their secon d week, they came upon cave art that might have been lifted fromPaleolithic sites at

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Altamira. The walls held beautifully rendered animals and shapesand geometric doodles, some no larger than postage stamps . The y were alive withcolor .Color!Inaworldofdarkness. 'Lookatthatdetail,' breathed Ali. There were cricketsandorchidsandreptiles,andnightmareconcoctionsthat lookedlikesomethingthe geographerPtolemy or Bosch might have drawn, beasts that werepar t fish or salamander, part bird and man, part goat. Some of the depiction s usednaturalknobsintherockforeye stems orgonads,orspalled divot s for a hollow in thestomach,ormineralveinsforhornsorantennae. 'Turn off your light,' Ali told her companions. 'Here's how it would have looked byth eflameof a torch.' She swam her hand back and forth across her headlamp, and intheflickeringlighttheanimalsseemed to move. 'Some of these species have been extinct for ten thousand years,' a paleobiologistsaid.'SomeInever kne wexisted.' 'Whowere theartists,doyouthink?'someonewondered. 'Not hadals, ' said Gitner, whose specialty was petrology, the history and classification of rocks. He had lost a brother in the national guard several years ago,andhatedthehadals.'They're verminwh o have burrowedinto the earth. That's their nature,likesnakesorinsects.' Oneofthevolcanopeoplespoke.Withhershaved headandlong thighs, Molly was afigure of awe to the porters and mercenaries. 'There might be anothe r explanation here, 'shesaid.'Lookatthis.'They gathered beneathabroadsectionof ceiling she hadbeenstudying. 'Okay,'Gitnersaid,'abunchofstickfiguresandboobiedolls.Sowhat?' At firs t glance , that did seem to be th e exten t of it. Wielding spears and bows,warriors mounted wild attacks on one another. Some had trunks and heads made oftwin triangles. Others were just lines. Crowded into one corner stood several dozenVenusesloadedwithvast breasts andobesebuttocks. 'These looklikeprisoners.'Mollypointedatafileofstickfiguresropedtogether. Ali pointed at a figure with one hand on the ches t o f another. 'I s tha t a shamanhealingpeople?' 'Human sacrifice,' muttered Molly. 'Look at his other hand.' The figure was holdingsomething red i n one outstretched hand. His hand was resting not on top of thefigure'schest,butinsideit.Hewasdisplayingaheart. That evening, Ali transferred some of her sketches of the cave art onto her daymap .Shehadconceivedth emapsasa private journal.But,oncediscovered, her maps quicklybecameexpeditionproperty, a reference pointforthemall. FromherworkondigsnearHaifaandinIceland,Alicamearmedwiththe trappingsof the trade . She had schooled herself in grids and contours and scale, and wentnowherewithoutherleathertubeforrolls of paper. She could wield a protractor withcommand, cobble together a legend from scratch. The y wer e les s map s tha n atimetable with places, a chronography. Down here, far beneath the reach of the GPS satellite, longitud e and latitude an d direction were impossible to determine. Theircompasses were rendered useless by electromagnetic corruption . And so she made the days of the month her true north.

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They were entering territory without humannames,encounteringlocationsthatnooneknewexisted. Asthey advanced, she begantodescribetheindescribableandtonametheunnamed. By day she kept notes. In the evening, while the camp settled, Ali would open her leather tube of paper and lay out her pens and watercolors. She made two types ofmaps, one an overview, o r blueprint, o f hell, which corresponded t o the Helioscompute r projection of their route. It had dates with the corresponding altitudes andapproximatelocationsbeneathvarious features onthesurfaceortheoceanfloor. Butitwasher day maps,thesecondtype, thatwere herpride.These were charts ofeach day's particular progress. The expedition's photographs would be developed onthesurfacesomeday,butfornowhersmall watercolorsandline drawings and writtenmarginalia were their memory. She drew and painted things that attracted her eye,lik e the cave art, or the green calcite lily pads veined with cherry-red minerals thatfloate d in pools of stil l water, o r th e cave pearl s rolle d together lik e nest s ofhummingbir deggs.Sh etriedto convey howit was like traveling through the inside ofalivingbodyattimes,thejointsandfoldsofthe earth,theliver-smooth flowstone, thehelictites threading upward like synapses in search of a connection. She found itbeautiful. Surely Godwouldnot have inventedsuchaplaceasHisspiritualgulag. Even th e mercenarie s an d porters like d to look at he r maps . People enjoyedwatchin g their voyage come alive beneath her pen and brush. Her maps comforted them.They saw themselves inthe minutiae. Looking at her work, they felt a sense ofcontrol over thisunexploredworld. On June 22, her day map included a major piece of excitement. '0955 , 4,506 fathoms,'itread.'Radiosignals.' They ha d not yet broke n cam p that mornin g whe n Walker' s communicationsspecialis tpicked up the signals. The entire expedition had waited while more sensorswere laid out and the long-wave transmission was patiently harvested. It took four hours to capture a message that was a mere forty-five seconds long when played atnormalspeed.Everyone listened.Totheirdisappointment,itwasnotforthem. Luckily, one woman was fluent in Mandarin. It was a distress signal sent fro m aPeople'sRepublicofChin asubmarine.'Get this,'shetoldthem.'Themessagewas sentnineyears ago.' It gotstranger. 'June25,'Alirecorded,'1840,4,618fathoms:Moreradiosignals.' This time, after waiting for the long waves to pulse in through the basalt andminera l zones, what the y received wa s a transmission fro m themselves. I t was encrypted in their unique expedition code. Once they finishe d translating it , the message spoke of desperate starvation. 'Mayday.. . i s Wayne Gitner.. . dead.. . amalone...assist...' The eeriepart wasthatthedispatchwasdigitallydatedfivemonthsinthe future. Gitner stepped forward and identified the voice on the tape as his own. He was ano-nonsense fellow , an d indignantl y demanded a n explanation . On e sci-fi buffsuggestedthatatimewarpmight have been causedby the shifting geomagnetics, andsuggested the message was a prophecy of sorts. Gitner said bullshit. 'Even if it was atimedistortion,timeonlytravels inonedirection.' 'Yeah,' said the buff, 'but which direction? And what if time's circular?' However ithadbeendone,people agreeditmadeforagoodghost story. Ali's map legend for that dayincludedatinyCasperghostwiththe description'PhantomVoice.'

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Her maps noted their first genuine, live hadal life-form. Two planetologists spied itinacrevice andcame racingtocampwiththeir capture. It was a bacterial fuzz barelyhal faninchindiameter,asubsurface lithoautotrophicmicrobial ecosystem, or SLIMEin theparlance.Arock-eater. 'So?'saidShoat. The discovery of a bacterium that ate basalt impeache d the nee d for sunlight. Itmean ttheabyss was self-sustaining.Hellwas perfectly capableoffeedingonitself. OnJune29they reachedafossilized warrior. He was human and probably dated tothe sixteenth century. Hi s flesh had turned to limestone. His armor was intact. Theyguesse d he had come here from Peru, a Cortes or Don Quixote who had penetratedthi s eternal darkness for Church, glory, or gold. Those with camcorders and stillcamerasdocumentedthelostknight. One of the geologists tried to sample the sheathof rockencrustingthebody,onlytochipanentirelegoff. The geologist' s accidenta l vandalis m wa s soo n exceeded b y th e group' s verypresence . In th e space of three hours, the biochemicals of their combined respiration spontaneously generated a grape-gree n moss . It wa s lik e watchin g fire . Thevegetation , spawned by the air from inside thei r bodies, rapidly colonize d the wallsan dcoatedtheconquistador.Evenasthey stoodthere, the hall was consumed with it.They fledasiffleeing themselves. Aliwonderedif,inpassingthislostknight,Ike hadseenhimself.

INCIDENTINGUANGDONGPROVINCE

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People's Republic of China

It wasgettingdark,andthisso-called'miracle'citydidn't exist onanymaps. Holly Ann wished Mr L i would drive a little faster. The adoption agency's guidewasn' t much of a driver, or, for that matter, much of a guide. Eight cities, fifteenorphanages,twenty-two thousanddollars,an dstillnobaby. Herhusband,Wade, rode with his nose plastered to the opposite window. Over thepast ten days they'd crisscrossed th e souther n provinces , endurin g floods, disease, pestilence,andtheedgesofafamine.His patiencewasinrags. It was odd, everywhere the same. Wherever they visited, the orphanages had allbeen empty of children. Here an d there they'd found wizened little deformities –hydrocephalic, mongoloid, or genetically doomed – a few breaths shor t o f dying.Otherwise,Chinasuddenly,inexplicably,hadnoorphans. It wasn't supposed to be this way. The adoption agency had advertised that Chinawasjammedwith foundlings.Female foundlings, hundreds of thousands of them, tinygirlsexiledfromone-childfamiliesthat wanteda son. Holly Ann had read that femaleorphanswere stillsoldasservants orastongyangxi,child brides. If it was a baby girlyou wanted, no one went home empty. Until us, thought Holly Ann. It was as if the Pied Piper had come through and cleaned the place out. And more than just orphanswere missing. Children altogether. You saw evidence of them – toys, kites, streetside chalkboards.Butthestreets were barren ofchildrenundertheageoften. 'Wherecouldthey have gone?'HollyAnnaskedeachnight. Wade had come up with a theory. 'They think we've come to steal their kids. Theymus tbehidingthem.' Out of that observation had grown today's guerrilla raid. Surprisingly, M r L i hadagreedtoit.They would dropinonanorphanagethatwasoutofthe way, and with nopriorwarningoftheirvisit. As night descended, Mr Li drove deeper through the alleyways. Holly Ann hadn'tcomeexactly expecting pandasinrainforestsand kung fu temples beneath the GreatWall , but this was lik e a madman's blueprint, wit h detours and dead ends all heldtogether by electricwiresandrusty rebar andbambooscaffolding.South China had tobe the ugliest place on earth. Mountains were being leveled to fill in the paddies andlakes. Rivers were being dammed. Strangely, even as these people leveled the earth,they were crowdingthesky. It waslikerobbingthesuntofeedthenight. Acidrainstarted hittingthewindshield in sloppy kisses, yellowish and festering like spit.Deepcoalmines honeycombed the hills in this district, and everyone burned themines'product. The air reeked. The asphalt turned to dirt. The sun dropped. This was the witching hour. They'dsee nitinothercities. The policemeningreen uniforms vanished. From doorways and windows and niches in the towering alley, eyes tracked the gweil o – white devils – andpassedthemontomoreeyes. The darkness congealed. Mr Li slowed, obviously lost. He rolled down his windowandwaved aman

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over fromthesidewalkand gave himacigarette. They talked. Afteraminute ,theman got a bicycle and Mr Li started off again, with his guide holding onto the door. Here and there the bicyclist issued a command and Mr L i would turndownanotherstreet. Rainsprayed throughthewindowintotheback. Sideby side,thecarandthebicyclistmadeturnsforanotherfiveminutes. Then themangruntedandpatted the rooftop.Hedetachedfromthemandpedaled away. 'Here,'MrLiannounced. 'You'rejoking,'Wadesaid. Holly Ann craned her neck to see through the windshield. Surrounded b y barbedwire, the gra y wall s of a factory comple x squatted befor e the m i n thei r harshheadlights . Bits of ominous black thread had been tied to the barbe d wire, an d thewalls carried huge, ugly character s i n stark re d paint . Half-finished skyscrapersblocke dherview totherear. They hadreachedsomesort of dead epicenter. In everydirection ,thestone-stillnessradiatedoutfromhere. 'Let's get this over with,' Wade said, and got out of the car. He pulled at the gate.Concertina wire wobbled like quicksilver. Holl y Ann's first impressio n gave way toanother.Thislookedlesslikea factory thanaprison. The barbedwireandinscriptionsappearedto have onepurpose: enclosure. 'What kind of orphanage is this?' she askedMrLi. 'Goodplace,noproblem,'hesaid.Butheseemed nervous. Wade banged at th e industrial-styl e door. The brick-and-pig-iron decor dwarfedhim.Whennoone answered,hesimplyturnedthehandle and the metal door opened.He didn't turn around to gesture yes or no . He just went inside. 'Great, Wade,' HollyAnn muttered. Holly Ann got out. Mr Li's door stayed closed. She looked through the windshieldan drappedontheglass .Helookedupatherthroughhislittle cloud of tobacco smoke,eyes wishing her from his life, then reached under to turn of f the ignition . Thewindshiel d wipers quit knocking back and forth. His image blurred with rain. He gotout. On second thought, she reached into the back and grabbed a packet of disposablediapers.MrLileftthe headlightson,butlockedallthedoors.'Bandits,'hesaid. HollyAnnled. The viciously stroked words loomed on either side of them. Now she sawthe scorch mark s where flames had lapped at the brick. The foot of the wall wascoatedwithcharredglassfromMolotov cocktails.Whowouldassaultanorphanage?The metal doo r was cold . Mr L i brushed pas t he r an d went into the blackness. 'Wait,'shesaidtohim.Buthisfootstepsreceded downthehallway. Reminding herself o f her mission , Holly Ann stepped inside. She drew in a deepbreath, smellin g for evidence. Babies . She looked fo r cartoo n figure s o r crayonsquiggle s or smudges of little handprints on the lowe r walls. Instead, long staccatopatterns ofholesandchipsviolatedtheplaster.Termites, shethoughtwithdisgust. 'Wade?'she tried again. 'Mr Li?' She continued down the hallway. Moss flowered incracks. The doors were all gone. Each room yawned black. If there were windows,they had been bricked up. The place wa s sealed tight. Then she came to a string ofChristmaslights.

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It was the strangest sight. Someone had strung hundreds of Christmas lights – redand green and little white flashing lights, and even red chili-pepper lights and greenfrog lights and turquoise trout lights like those found in margarita restaurants backhome.Maybe theorphanslikedit. The airchanged.Anodorinfiltrated. The ammoniaofurine. The smell of baby poop.There was no mistaking it. There were babies in here. For the first tim e i n weeks,Holl yAnnsmiled.Shealmosthuggedherself. 'Hello?'shecalled. An infant voice bubbled in the darkness. Holly Ann's head jerked up. The tiny soulmightaswell have calle dherby name. She followed the sound into a side room reeking of human waste and garbage. Thetwinkl e of Christmas lights did not reach this far. Holly Ann steeled herself, then gotdownonherhandsand knees, advancing through the pile by touch. The garbage wascold. It took all her self-control not to think about what sh e was feeling . Vegetable matter. Rice . Discarded flesh. Above all , she trie d no t t o thin k abou t someone throwin gaway aliveinfant. The floor canted down toward the rear. Maybe there had been an earthquake. She felt a slight current of air against her face . It seemed to be comin g up from somedeeper place. She remembered the coa l mines around here. I t was possibl e they'dbuil ttheircityuponancienttunnelsthatwere nowcollapsingunderth eweight. Shefoundthe baby by itswarmth. As if it had always been he r own , as if she were collecting it from a cradle, shescooped up the bundle. The little creature was sour-smelling. So tiny. Holly Annbrushedherfingertipsacrossthebaby's belly:the umbilical cord was ragged and soft,asiffreshly bitten.It wasagirl,nomorethanafew days old. Holly Ann hel d the littlebodytohershoulderandlistened.Herheart sank. Instantly she knew. The baby wasill.Shewas dying. 'Oh,darling,'shewhispered. Herheart wasfailing.Herlungswere filling.Youcouldhearit.Notlongnow. HollyAnnwrappedtheinfantinhersweater and knelt in the pile of putrid garbage,rocking her baby. Maybe this was how it was meant to be, a motherhood that lastedonlyafewminutes. Better than never at all, she thought. She stood and started backtowardthehallwayandChristmaslights. Asmallnoisestoppedher. The sound had several parts, like a metal scorpion lifting itstail,poisingtostrike. SlowlyHollyAnnturned. Atfirsttherifleandmilitaryuniform didn't register. She was a very tall and sturdywoma n who had not smile d for many years. The woman's nose had been brokensideways longago.Herhairmust have beencutwith a knife. She looked like someonewhohadbeenfighting–andlosing–herentirelife. The womanhissedsomethingatHollyAnninaburst ofChinese.Shemade an angry gesture, pointing at the bundle inside Holly Ann's sweater. There was no mistaking herdemand.Shewante dtheinfant returned tothesewage pileinthathorribleroom.Holly Ann recoiled, clutching the baby tighter.

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Slowly she raised the packe t ofdisposabl ediapers.'It'sokay,'sheassuredthetallwoman. Like two different species, the women studied each other. Holly Ann wondered ifthi smightbetheinfant's mother,anddecideditcouldn'tpossiblybe. Suddenly the Chinese woman scowled, and batted aside the diapers with her riflebarrel. Sh e reached fo r the infant. Her peasant hand was thick and callused andmanly. In her entire life, Holly Ann had never made a fist in real anger, to say nothing ofswingingone.Herfirst eve r connected on the woman's thin mouth. It wasn't much ofapunch,butitdrew blood. HollyAnnstepped backfromherviolenceandwrappedbotharmsaroundthebaby.The Chinese woman wiped the bead of blood from her mouth and thrust the riflebarrelout.HollyAnnwasterrified.Butforwhatever reason,thewomanrelented withawhisperedoath,andmotionedwithherrifle. Holly Ann set off in the direction indicated. Surely Wade would appear at anyminute.Moneywouldchang ehands.They would leave thisterrible place. Withthegunatherback,HollyAnnclimbed over apileofbricks and torn sandbags.They reachedaset ofstairs andstarted up. Something crunched underfoot like metalbeetles. Holly Ann saw a deep layer of hundreds o f bullet casings coated wit h wetverdigris. They wenthigher, three stories, then five. Holding the child, Holly Ann managed tokeep up the pace. She didn't have much choice. Suddenly the woman caught at HollyAnn'sarm.They stopped.Thistimetherifle wasaimedbackdownthestairshaft. Far below, something was moving . It sounded like eels coilin g in mud. The twowomen shared a look. For an instant they actually had something in common, theirfear. Holly Ann softly armored the infant with her hand . After another minut e theChinesewomangotthemonthemoveagain, faster thistime. They reached the top floor. The roof gaped open in violent patches, and Holly Anncaughtsnatchesofstars . Shesmelledfreshair.They clambered over a small landslideofscorchedwoodandcinderblocksand approachedabrightlylitdoorway. Bags of cement had been piled like sandbags as a barricade. The fronts ha d beenslashed open and rainwater had soaked th e spillage , turning it to hard knuckles ofconcrete .It waslikeclimbingfoldsoflava. Holly Ann struggled, one arm clutching the infant. Near the top, her head knockedagainst a cold cannon barrel pointing where they'd come from. Hands with brokenfingernailsreacheddownforherfromtheelectric brilliance. All th e dramatic s changed . It wa s lik e enterin g a besiege d camp : soldierseverywhere , guns, blasted architecture, rain cutting naked through great wounds inthe roof. To Holly Ann's enormous relief, Wade was there, sitting in a corner, holdinghishead. Once the room might have been a small auditorium, or a cafeteria. Now the spacewasilluminatedwith Stalinistklieglightsand looked like Custer's Last Stand. Soldiersfrom th e People's Liberation Army, mostly men in pea-green uniforms orblack-striped camouflage, were all business amon g their weapons . They gave wideberth toHollyAnn.Several elitespointedatthe baby insideher sweater. Inthe distance, Mr Li was appealing to an officer who carried himself with the ironspineofaheroofthe

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people.Hiscrewcut was gray. Helookedweary. Shewent over toWade.Hewasbleedingintoboth eyes from a laceration across thescalpline.'Wade,'she said. 'Holly Ann?' he said. 'Thank God. Mr Li told them you were still below. They sentsomeonetofindyou.' Sheavoidedhisbear hug.'I have somethingtoshowyou,'sheannouncedquietly. 'It's ver y dangerou s here, ' Wad e said. 'Something' s goin g on . A revolutio n orsomething .I gave Liallourcash.Itoldhimto pay anything,justgetusoutofhere.' 'Wade,'shesnapped.Hewasn'tlisteningtoher. Avoicesuddenlyboomedintheback, where Mr Li stood. It was the officer. He wasshoutingatHollyAnn's rescuer, the tall woman. All around her, soldiers looked angryo rashamedforher.Obviouslyshehad allowe d some terrible breach. Holly Ann knewithadtodowiththisbaby. The officerunsnappedhisleatherholsterandlookedather.Hedrew hispistolout. 'GoodLord,'HollyAnnmurmured. 'What?'saidWade.Hestood there likesomebewilderedmonster.Useless. It was her call . Holly Ann astonished herself. A s th e office r approached her , shestarte d offto meet hi mhalfway.They metinthecenter oftherubble-strewn room. 'MrLi,'HollyAnncommanded. MrLiglaredather,butcameforward. 'TellthismanI have selected my child,' she said. 'I have medicine in the car. I wishtogohomenow.' Mr Li started to translate, but the officer abruptly chambered a round. Mr Liblinkedrapidly.Hewasvery pale. The officersaidsomethingtohim. 'Putonfloor,'MrLisaidtoher. 'We have all the necessary permits,' she explained quite evenly. She said it directlytotheofficer.'Outinour car,permits,understand?Passports.Documents.' 'Pleaseyouputonfloor,'MrLi repeated very softly. He pointed at her baby. 'That,' hesaid,asifitwere a dirty thing. HollyAnndespisedhim.DespisedChina.DespisedtheGodthatallowedsuchthings. 'She,'saidHollyAnn.'Thisgirlgoeswithme.' 'Notgood,'MrLisoftlypleaded.

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'Shewilldieotherwise.' 'Yes.' 'HollyAnn?'Wadeloomedbehindher. 'It'sababy, Wade.Our baby. I found her. On a pile of garbage. And now they wanttokillher.'HollyAnnfelt theinfantstirring. The tinyfingernailspulledatherblouse. 'A baby?' 'No,'MrLisaid. 'I'mtakingherhomewithus.' MrLishookhisheademphatically. 'Givethemthemoney,'sheinstructedhim. Wadeblustered foolishly.'We'reAmericancitizens.Youdidtellthem,didn'tyou?' 'Thisisn'tforyou,'MrLisaid.'It'satrade. Thisforthat.' Shecouldfeel the infant's hunger, miniature lips groping for a nipple. 'A trade?' she demanded.'Whoareyo utradingwith?' MrLiglanced nervously atthesoldiers. 'Who?'sheinsisted. MrLipointedattheground.Throughit.'Them.'HollyAnnfeltfaint.'What?' 'Ourbabies.Their babies.Trade.'The infantmadeatinysound. Over Mr Li's shoulder, Holly Ann saw the officer aiming his gun. She saw a puff ofcolorspitfromthe barrel. HollyAnn barely feltthebullet. Her fall to earth was more like floating. All the waydown ,sheheldthechildin safety. Above her,violentshadowsthundered.Moregunswentoff.Hernameroaredout.She smiled and rested her head gently against the bundl e at he r shoulder . Little no-name. No-luck. I belong to you. Before they could reach her, Holly Ann did theonly thing left to do. She unveiled the daughter China had refused. Time to saygood-bye. Inhersearcharoundtheworld for a child, Holly Ann had seen babies of every raceandcolor.Hersearchhad changedher forever, she thought. Black eyes or blue, kinkyhairorstraight,chocolateskinoryelloworbrowno rwhite,crooked,blind,or straight:noneofthat mattered. As she opene d the sweate r wrappin g th e baby , Holl y An n full y expecte d to recogniz e her

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common humanity in this tiny being. Every infant was a chalice. Thatwa sherconviction.Untilnow. Evendying,HollyAnnwasabletokickthethingaway fromher. OhGod,shecursed,andclosedhereyes. A sound like giants walking wakened her. She looked. It was not footsteps, but theoldmancarefully plantingoneshotatatimeashe tracked thefoundling. Finallyitwasdone.Andshewasglad.

...nature hath adapted the eyes of the Lilliputians to all objects proper for theirview...

– JONATHAN SWIFT, Gulliver's Travels

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12

ANIMALS

The July Tunnels

Inagutofcoiledgranite,themortalfed. The meat was stil l warm from life. It was mor e tha n food, less than sacrament.Flesh is a landmark, if you know its flavor. The trick was settin g you r clock, so tospeak,thencategoricallymarkingtheshiftsinton eorodor,orchangesin the skin andmuscleandblood,asyoumovedthrough the territory. Memorize the particulars, andyou could begin to orient yourself in a cartography based on raw flesh. In terms oftaste, th eliverwasoftenmostdistinct,sometimestheheart. He crouched in the pocke t o f darkness with this creature squeezed between histhighs, the chest cavity opened. He rummaged. Like a mariner finding north, hecommitted to memory the organs, their relative position and size and smell. Hesampleddifferentpieces,justa taste. Palmed the skull, lifted the limbs, ran hi s handsalongthelimbs. He'd never encountered a beast quite like this one. Its uniqueness did not registera s a new phylum or species. The kill barely registered at the level of language. And yet it would permanently acquaint him. He would remember this creature in everydetail. Headheldhightolistenforintruders,heinserted his hands in the animal's hide andlethiswonderrun.Hewas utterly respectful. He was a student, no more. The animalwashisteacher. It wasnotjustamatter of locating yourself east or south. Depth was sometimes farmore consequential, and the consistency of flesh could serve as an altimeter of sorts.In the deep seas, such bathypelagic monsters as anglerfish were slow moving, with ametabolic rate as low as one percent of fish living near the surface. Their body tissuewaswatery, withlittlemuscleandnofat.So it was at certain depths in the subplanet.Down some channels, you found reptiles or fish that were little more than vegetableswit h teeth. Even the ones that weren't poisonous weren't worth eating . Their foodvalueverged onplainair.Eventhemhe'deaten.

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Again, there were more reasons to hunt than filling your belly. With care you could plot a course, find a destination, locate water, avoid – or track – enemies. I t madesimple survival somethingmore,ajourney.A destiny. The bodyspoke to him. He felt for eyes, found stems, tried to thumb open the lids,but they were sealed. Blind. The talons were a raptor's, with an opposing thumb. Hehad caught it drafting on the tunnel's breeze, but the wings were much too small forrealflight. He started at the top again. The snout. Milk teeth, but sharp as needles. The wayth e joints moved. The genitals, this one a male. The hip bones were abraded from scraping along the stone. He squeezed the bladder, and its liquid smelled sharp. Hetookonefootandpressed itagainstthedirtandfelttheprint. Allofthiswasdoneindarkness. Finally, Ike was done. He laid the parts back inside the cavity and folded the armsacrossandpressed the bodyintoacleftinthewall.

They entered aseriesofdeep trenches that resembled terrestrial canyons, but whichhad not been cut by th e flow of water. These were instead th e remain s o f seafloor spreading, fossilized here. They had found an ocean bottom – bone dry – 2,650fathomsbeneaththePacificOceanfloor.That nightthey madecampnear ahugecoral bedstretchingrightandleftintothedarkness.It was like a Sherwood Forest made ofcalcified polyps. Great, oaklike branches reached up and out with green and blue andpinkpastelsanddeep reds secreted, according to their geobotanist, by an ancestor ofthegorgonianCoralliumnobile.There were desiccatedsea fans under their spreadinglimbs, so old their colors had leached to transparency. Ancient marine animals lay at theirfeet,turnedtostone. The expedition ha d been o n its feet for over four weeks, and Shoat and Walkergranted the scientists' request for an extra two days here. The scientists got hardlyany sleep during their stay at the coral site. They would never pass this way again.Perhapsnohumanever would.Franticallythey harvested these traces ofan alternateevolution. In lieu of carrying it with them, they arranged the material for digitalstorageonthei rharddisks,andthevideocameraswhirrednightandday. Walkerbroughtintwowingedanimals.Stillalive. 'Fallenangels,'heannounced. They wer e upsid e down, strung wit h parachut e cord , stil l half-poisone d fromsedative . Asoldie rhadbeenbittenby one,andlaysickwithdry heaves. Youcould tellwhichanimalhaddelivered thebite;itsleftwin ghadbeencrushedby aboot. They weren't really fallenangels,ofcourse.They were demons.Gargoyles. The scientistsclusteredaround,gogglingatthefeeble beasts. The animals twitched.Oneshotacherubicarcof urine. 'Howdidyoumanagethis,Walker?Wheredidyougetthem?' 'Ihad my troopsdopetheirkill.They were eatinga third one of these things. All wehadtodowaswaitforthemt

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o return andeatsomemore,andthengocollectthem.' 'Are there more?' 'Twoor three dozen.Maybe hundreds.Aflock.Orahatch.Likebats.Ormonkeys.' 'Arookery,' saidoneofthebiologists. 'I've ordered my men to keep their distance. We've set a kill zone at the mouth ofthesubtunnel.We'reinno danger.' Shoathad apparently beeninonit.'Youshouldsmelltheirdung,'hesaid. Several of the porters, on seeing the animals, murmured and crossed themselves.Walker' ssoldiers brusquely directedthem away. Live specimensofanunknownspecies,especiallywarm-bloodedhighervertebrates, were notsomething that came walking into a naturalist's camp. The scientists movedinwithtapemeasures andBicpensandflashlights. The longest one measured twenty-two rapturously colored inches. The rich orchidhues–purplemottlingint oturquoiseandbeige–wasonemore of those paradoxes ofnature:whatusewassuchcolorationinthe darkness? The big one had lactating teats – someone squeezed out a trickle o f milk – andengorgedcrimsonlabia.At firstglance,theotherseemed to have similar genitalia, butaBictipopenedthefoldstoexpose asurprise. 'WhatamIseeinghere?' 'It'sapenis,allright.' 'Notmuchofone.' 'Remindsmeofaguy Iusedtodate,'saidoneofthewomen. But even as they bantered and joked, they were intently gleaning data from thesebodies. The tall one wa s a nursing female, in heat. The other was a male with erodedthree-cusp molars,callusedfootpadsand chippedclaws,and ulcerated patches wherehi s elbows and knees and shoulder bones had abraded against rock. That and other evidenceofaging eliminated him as the female's 'son.' Perhaps they were mates. Thefemale ,atanyrate, probablyhadoneormoreinfantswaitingforhertocomehome.The twoanimals revived fromWalker's sedative in trembling bursts. They surfacedintofullconsciousnessonly to hit the shoc k of the humans' lights and sink into stuporagain. 'Keep those ropes tight, they bite,' Walker sai d as the creatures shivered andstruggle d and lapsed back int o semiconsciousness. They were diminutive. It didn'tseempossiblethese couldbethehadals who had slaughtered armies and left cave artan dcowedeonsofhumans. 'They're not King Kong,' Ali said. 'Look at them, barely thirty pounds apiece. You'llkillthemwiththose ropes.' 'Ican'tbelieve youdestroyed herwing,'abiologistsaidtoWalker.'Shewasprobablyjustdefendinghernest.' 'What'sthis,'Shoat retorted, 'AnimalRightsWeek?'

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'I have a question,' Ali said. 'We're supposed to leave in the morning. What then?They're nothousepets. Dowe take themwithus?Shouldwe even have themhere?'Walker'sexpression,pleasedtobegin with, drew i n on itself. Clearly he thought herungrateful.Shoatsawthechange,andnoddedatAliasiftosayGood work. 'Well, we've got them here now,' a geologist said with a shrug. 'We can't pass up anopportunitylikethis.' They ha d no nets, cages , o r restraining devices . Whil e the animal s wer e stillrelativel y immobile , the biologists muzzled them with string and tied each to a packframewithwingsandarmsoutstretched, and feet wired together atthebottom.Theirwingspreadwasmodest,lessthantheirheight. 'Do they possess true flight?' someone asked. 'Or are they just aerial opportunists,draftingdownfromhigh perches?' Over the nex t hour, such details were debated with great passion. One way oranother,everyone agreed they were prosimians that had somehow tumbled from thefamilytree ofprimates. 'Look at that face, almost human, like one of those shrunken heads you see in theanthroexhibits.What'sth ecranial measurement onthisguy?' 'Relativetobodysize,Mioceneape,atbest.' 'Nocturnal extremists, just as I thought,' said Spurrier. 'And look at the rhinarium,this wet patch of skin. Like the tip of a dog's nose. I'm thinking lemuriforms here. Anaccidentalcolonizer. The subterranean eco-niche must have been wide open to them.They proliferated. Their adaptation radiated wildly. Specie s diversified. It only takeson epregnantfemale,youknow,wanderingoff.' 'Butfriggingwings,for Pete's sake.' The gargoyleshadbegunstrugglingagain.It wasaslow,blind writhing. One made anoisemidway between a bark andapeep. 'Whatdoyousupposethey eat?' 'Insects,'onehazarded. 'Couldbecarnivorous–lookatthoseincisors.' 'Areyougoingtotalkallday? Orfindout?'It wasShoat. Before anyone could stop him, he pulled his combat knife, with its blood gutter anddouble-edgedtip,andi nonemotioncutthemale'sheadoff. They were stunned. Ali reacted first . Sh e pushe d Shoat . H e didn' t have the size of Walker's athlete-warriors, buthewassolidenough.Sheputmoreweightintohersecondshove,and this time got him backed off a step. He returned the push, open-handed againsther shoulder. Ali staggered. Quickly, Shoat made a show of holding the knife out andaway, likeshemighthurtherselfontheblade. They faced each other. 'Calm yourself,' hesaid.

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Later Ali would say her contrition. For the moment she was too full of fury at himandjustwantedtoknock himover. It tookaneffortto turn away from him. She wentover tothebeheadedanimal.Surprisinglylittleblood cameoutoftheneck stem. Nextt oit,theotheronewasbuckingwildly, curved clawsgrabbingattheair. The group's protest wasmild.'You'reawart, Montgomery,'onesaid. 'Get on with it,' Shoat said. 'Open the thing up. Take your pictures. Boil the skull.Get your answers.Then pack.'Hestarted hummingWillieNelson:'"We'reon the roadagain."' 'Barbaric,'someone muttered. 'Spare me, ' said Shoat. He pointed his knife at Ali . 'Our Good Samaritan said itherself.They're nothous epets.Wecan'tbringthemwithus.' 'Youknewwhat I meant,' Ali said to Shoat. 'We have to let them go. The one that'sleft.' The remaining creature had quit struggling. It lifted its head and was attentivel ysmellin gthemandlisteningt otheirvoices. The concentrationwasunsettling. Aliwaitedforthegroupto ratify her.Noonedid.It washershowalone. Allatonce,Alifelt powerfully isolated from these people, estranged and peculiar. Itwa snotanewfeeling.Sh ehadalways been a little different, from her classmates as achild, from the novitiates at St. Mary's, from th e world. For some reason, she hadn'texpected ithere,though. She felt foolish . Then it came to her. They had separated themselves from her becausethey thoughtitwas herbusiness. The business of a nun. Of course she wouldchampion mercy. It madeherridiculous. Now what? she asked herself. Apologize? Walk away? She glanced over at Shoat,wh owasstanding besideWalker,grinning.Damnedifshewasgoingtolosetohim. AlitookoutherSwissArmy knifeandtriedpickingopenablade. 'Whatareyoudoing?'abiologistasked. Sheclearedherthroat.'I'mlettinghergo,'shesaid. 'Ah, Ali, I don't think that's th e best thing right now . I mean, the animal' s got abrokenwing.' 'We shouldn't have caught it in the first place,' she said, and went on picking at theknife. But the blade was stuck. Her fingernail broke on the little slot. This was goingcompletelyagainsther.Shefeltthe tears wellinginhereyes, and lowered her head sothehairwouldatleastcurtainouttheirview. 'You're in my way,' a voice said behind the crowd. There was an initial jostling, andthen the circl e abruptly opened up. Ali was even more surprise d than the res t ofthem.It wasIke whostepped upbeside her. They had not seen him in over three weeks. He had changed. His hair was getting shaggy and the clean white shirt was gone, replaced with a filthy gray camo top. Ahalf-healedwoundmarked one arm, and he had packed the ugly tear with red ochre.Ali stared athisarms,bothof them covered with scars and markings and – along theinsideofoneforearm–printedtext, likecheatnotes.

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Hehadlostorhiddenhispack,buttheshotgunandknifewere in place, along with a pistol that had a silencer on it. He was wearin g th e bug-eye d glacier glasses, andsmelled like a hunter. His shoulder came against her, and the skin was cool. In herrelief,ever soslightly,Alileanedagainstthatsureness. 'Wewere startingtowonderifyou'dgonecountryagain,'ColonelWalkersaid. Ike didn'tanswerhim.HetookthepocketknifefromAli'shandandflippedthe bladeopen.'She'sright,'hesaid. Hebent over theremaininganimaland,inanundertone that only Ali could hear, hesaid something soothing, but also formal, an address of some sort. Almost a prayer. The animalgrew still,andAlipriedupapieceofthe cordforIke tocut. Someonesaid,'Nowwe'llseeifthese thingscanreally fly.' ButIke didn'tcutthecord.He gave aquicknicktotheanimal'sjugularvein. Gaggedwithwire,thesmallmouth gulpedforair.Thenitwasdead. Ike straightenedandfacedthegroup.'Nolivecatches.' Withoutasecondthought,Aliballedher fist and clipped him on the shoulder, for allthegooditdid.It waslike slugging a horse, he was so hard. The tears were streakingherface.'Why?'shedemanded. Hefoldedherknifeandsolemnly returned it.'I'msorry,' sheheardhimwhisper,butnot to her. To Ali's astonishment, he was speaking to what he'd just killed. Then hestraightenedandfacedthegroup. 'Thatwasa waste oflife,'hesaidtothem. 'Spareme,'saidWalker. Ike lookeddirectly athim.'Ithoughtyouknewsomethings.' Walker flushed. Ike turned to the rest of them. 'You can't stay here anymore,' hesaid.'Theotherswillcome lookingnow.Weneedtokeep going.' 'Ike,'saidAli,asthegroupdispersed.Hefacedher,andsheslappedhim.

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Thus is the Devil ever God's ape. – MARTIN LUTHER, Table Talke (1569)

13

THE SHROUD

Venice, Italy

'Ali has gone deeper,' January reported gravely, while the group waited in the vault.Shehadlost a great deal of weight, and her neck veins were taut, like strings holdingher head to her bones. She sat on a chair , drinking mineral water. Branch crouchedbesideher,quietlythumbingthroughaBaedeker's guidetoVenice. This was the Beowulf Circle's first meeting in months. Some had been busy inlibraries o r museums; other s ha d been har d a t wor k i n th e field , interviewingjournalists , soldiers, missionaries, anyon e with experience of the depths . The questhadengagedthem.

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They were delighted to be in this city. Venice' s winding canals led to a thousandsecret places. The Renaissancespiritpleasantlyhauntedthese sun-gorgedplazas. Theiron y was that on a Sunday spilling over with light and church bells, they had cometogether inabankvault. Most of them looked younger, tanned, more limber. The spark was bac k i n theireyes again. They were eager to share their findings with one another. January madehersfirst. Shehad received Ali'sletter onlyyesterday, delivered by one of the seven scientistswho had quit the expedition and finally gotten free of Point Z-3. The scientist's tale,and Ali's dispatch, were disturbing. After Shoat and his expedition had departed, thedissidents had sulked fo r weeks, stranded among violen t misfits . Male and femalealikehadbeenbeatenandrapedandrobbed.Atlastatrainhadbrought them back to Nazca City . No w aboveground , the y wer e undergoin g treatment fo r an exoticlithospheri c fungu s and variou s venereal diseases , plu s th e usua l compression problems. But their misadventures paled next to the larger news they had broughtout. January summarize d th e Helio s stratagem. Readin g excerpts fro m Ali's letter,writte nrightuptothe hour of her descent from Point Z-3, she sketched out the plantotraverse beneaththePacific floor and exit somewhere near Asia. 'And Ali has gonewiththem,'shegroaned.'Forme.What have Idone?' 'Can't blame yourself.' Desmond Lynch popped his briarwood cane against the tilefloor.'Shegotherselfint oit.Wealldid.' 'Thankyoufortheconsolation,Desmond.' 'What can be the meaning of this?' someone asked. 'The cost must b e prodigious, even forHelios.' 'IknowC.C.Cooper,'January said, 'and so I fear the worst. He seems to be carvingoutanation-state allhis own.'Shepaused. 'I've had my staff investigating, and Heliosisdefinitelypreparingforafull-scaleoccupationof thearea.' 'Buthisowncountry?'saidThomas. 'Don't forget,' January said, 'this is a man who believes the presidency was stolenfro m him by a conspiracy. He seems to have decided a fresh start is best. In a placewhere hecanwrite alltherules.' 'Atyranny. Aplutocracy,'saidoneofthescholars. 'He won't call it that, of course.' 'But he can't do this. It violates international laws. Surely –' 'Possession is everything,' January said . 'Recall the conquistadore s i n the NewWorld . Once they go t an ocean between them an d their king , they decided to setthemselves upintheirownlittlekingdoms.It threatened theentirebalanceofpower.' Thomas wa s grim . 'Major Branch, surely you ca n intercept the expedition . Tak eyou rsoldiers. Turn these invadersbackbeforethey spark morewar.' Branchclosedhisbook.'I'mafraidI have noauthority todothat,Father.' ThomasappealedtoJanuary.'He'syour soldier. Order him. Give himtheauthority.'

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'It doesn't work tha t way, Thomas. Elia s is not my soldier. He's a friend. As forauthority , I've already spoken with the commander in charge of operational affairs,General Sandwell. But the expedition's crossed beyond the military frontier. And, asyoupointedout,hedoesn'twanttoprovoke thewarall over again.' 'What are al l your commando s and specialists goo d for? Helio s can slip somemercenarie sintothe wilderness,butnottheUSArmy?' Branch nodded. 'You're sounding like some of the officers I know. The corporationsarerunningamok downthere. We have toplayby therules.They don't.' 'Wemuststopthem,'Thomassaid.'Therepercussionscouldbedevastating.' 'Even if we had the green light, it's probably too late,' January said. 'They have atwo-monthhead start. Andsincetheir departure, we've heardnothingfromthem. Wehave no idea where they are exactly. Helios isn't sharing any information. I'm sickwit h worry. They could be in great danger. They could be walkin g into a nation ofhadals.' Thisledthemtoadiscussion of where the hadals might be hiding, how many mightstill be alive , wha t thei r threat really was. In Desmond Lynch's opinion , the hadalpopulatio n was sparse and scattered and probably in a third or fourth generation ofdie-off.Heestimated their worldwide numbers at no more than a hundred thousand. 'They're anendangeredspecies,'hedeclared. 'Maybe thepopulation's retreated,' Mustafah,theEgyptian, ventured. 'Retreated? To where? Whereis there togo?' 'I don't know. Deeper, perhaps? Is that possible? How deep doe s the underworldgo?' 'I've been thinking, ' said Thomas. 'Wha t if their aim was to come out from theunderworld?Tomaketheir placeinthelight?' 'Youthink Satan's looking for an invitation?' Mustafah asked. 'I can't think of manyneighborhoodsthat wouldwelcomesuchafamily.' 'It would need to be a place no one else wants , o r a place no one dares to go. A desert, perhaps.Ajungle.Realestate withanegative value.' 'ThomasandI have beentalking,'Lynchsaid.'After acertainpoint, where elsecanafugitivehide,except inplain sight?And there may beevidencehe'suptojustthat.'Branchwaslisteningcarefully. 'We've learned of a Karen warlord i n the sout h of Burma, close to Khmer Rougecountry, ' Lynch said. 'It's said he was visited by the devil. He may have spoken withourelusiveSatan.' 'The rumor s may be nothin g more tha n a forest legend,' Thomas qualified. 'Butthere's alsoachancethat Satanisattemptingtofindanewsanctuary.' 'If it's true, it would almost be wonderful,' said Mustafah. 'Satan bringing his tribesoutfromthedepths,like

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MosesleadinghispeopleintoIsrael.' 'Buthowcanwelearnmore?'saidJanuary. 'As you migh t imagine, the warlord will never come out of his jungle for us tointerview,'saidThomas.'An d there are no cable links, no phone lines. The region hasbeen gutted by atrocity and famine. It's one of those genocide zones, apocalyptic. SupposedlythiswarlordhasturnedtheclockbacktoYear Zero.' 'Thenhisinformationislosttous.' 'Actually,'Lynchsaid, 'I've decidedtogointothejungle.' JanuaryandMustafahandRau reacted with one voice. 'But you mustn't. Desmond, it'smuchtoodangerous.' If discovery waspart of Lynch's goal, the adventure was another. 'My mind's madeup,'hesaid,relishing theirconcern. They were standing in a virtual cage, with a massive steel door and gleaming bars.Farther in, Thomas could make out walls of safe deposit boxes and more doors with complexlockmechanisms.Their discussionwentonasthey waited. The scholars began presenting evidence. 'He would be like Kublai Khan or Attila,' Mustafah stated . 'O r a warrio r kin g lik e Richar d the First , summonin g al l ofChristendo m t o marc h upo n th e infidel . A characte r o f immens e ambition . AnAlexande r oraMaooraCaesar.' 'Idisagree,'saidLynch.'Whya great warrior emperor? What we're seeing is almostexclusively defensive an d guerrilla. I'd say, at best, our Satan is someone more like GeronimothanMao.' 'More like Lon Chancy than Geronimo, I should say,' a voice spoke. ' A charactercapableofmany disguises.'It wasdel'Orme. Unliketheothers,del'Ormehadnotbeen restored by hismonthsofdetective work.The cancer was a flame in him, licking the flesh and bone away. The left side of hisface was practically melting, the eye socke t sinkin g behind his dark glasses . Hebelonge dinahospitalbed.Yet because he looked so weak beside these marble pillarsandmetalbars,heseemed thatmuchstronger,aone-lung,one-kidney Samson. At his side stood Bud Parsifal and two Dominican friars, along with five carabiniericarryin griflesand machineguns.'This way, please,' said Parsifal. 'We have little time. Ouropportunitywiththeimagelastsonlya nhour.' The two Dominicans began whispering with great concern, obviously about Branch.One of the carabinier i set his rifle to the side and unlocked a door made of bars. As the group passed through, a Dominican said something to the carabinier i, and theyblocke d Branch's entrance. He stood before them, a virtual ogre dresse d in a wornsportsjacket. 'Thisman'swithus,'JanuarysaidtotheDominican. 'Excuseme,butwearethecustodiansofaholyrelic,'thefriarsaid.'And he does notlooklikeaman.' 'You have my oathheisarighteousman,'Thomasinterrupted.

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'Please understand,' th e fria r said . 'These are days of disquiet. We must suspect everyone.' 'You have my oath,'Thomas repeated. The Dominican considered the Jesuit, his order's enemy. He smiled. His power wasexplicitnow.He gestured withhischin,andthecarabinieriletBranchthrough. The troupe filed deeper into the vault, following Parsifal and the two friars into aneven largerroom. The roomwas kept dark until everyone was inside. Then the lights blazedon. The Shroud hung before them, almost five meters high. From darkness to radiantdisplay, it made a dramati c firs t impression . Jus t th e same , even knowin g itssignificance , the relic appeared to be little more than a long, unlaundered tablecloththathadseentoomanydinnerparties. It wassingedandscorchedandpatchedandyellowed. Occupying the center, in longblotches like spilled food, lay the faint image of a body. The image was hinged in themiddle, at the top of the man's head, to show both his front and back. He was nakedandbearded. One of the carabinier i could not contain himself. He handed his weapon to anunderstandingcomradeand kneltbefore the cloth. One beat his breast and mumbled meaculpas. 'As you know,' the older Dominican began, 'the Turin Cathedral suffered extensivedamag efromafirein 1997. Onlythroughthegreatest heroismwasthe sacred artifactitself rescued from destruction. Until the cathedral's renovation is complete, the holysydoinewillresideinthisplace.' 'But why here, if you don't mind?' Thomas asked lightly. Wickedly. 'From a templetoabank?Aplaceof merchants?' The older Dominican refused to be baited . 'Sadly , th e mafios i and terrorists willstoop to any level, even kidnapping Church relics for ransom. The fir e a t TurinCathedra l was essentially an attempt to assassinate this very artifact. We decided abankvault wouldbemostsecure.' 'AndnottheVaticanitself?'Thomaspersisted. The Dominicanbetrayed hisannoyancewith a birdlike tapping of his thumb against thumb.Hedidnot answer. Bud Parsifal looked from the Dominicans to Thomas and back again. He consideredhimselftoday's master ofceremonies,andwantedeverything togojustright. 'Whatareyoudrivingat,Thomas?'askedVera, equallymystified. De l'Orme chos e to answer. 'Th e Church denied its shelter,' h e explained. 'Fo r areason. The shroudis aninterestingartifact.Butnolongeracredibleone.' Parsifal was scandalized . As curren t presiden t o f STURP – the semi-scientificShrou d of Turin Researc h Project, Inc . – he had used hi s influence to obtain thisshowing.'Whatareyousaying,del'Orme?' 'Thatit'sahoax.' Parsifal looked like a man caught naked at the opera. 'But if you don't believe in it,why didyouaskmeto

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arrangeallofthis?Whatarewedoingin here? Ithought–' 'Oh, I believe in it,' de l'Orme reassured him. 'But for what it is, not for what youwould have itbe.' 'But it' s a miracle, ' th e younge r Dominica n blurte d out . He crosse d himself, incredulou satth eblasphemy. 'Amiracle,yes,' del'Ormesaid.'Amiracleoffourteenth-century scienceandart.' 'History tells us that the image isachieropoietos, not made by human hands. It isthe sacred winding cloth.' The Dominican quoted, '"An d Joseph took the bod y andwrappe ditinacleanlinenshroud,andlaiditinhis ownnewtomb."' 'That'syour proof,abitofscripture?' 'Proof?'interjectedParsifal. Nearly seventy, there was still plenty of the golden boyleft in him. You could almost see him bulling through a hole in the line , forcing theplay.'Whatproofdoyouneed? I've been comin g here for many years. The Shroud ofTurin Researc h Project ha s subjected thi s artifact t o dozens of tests, hundreds ofthousands of hours, and millions of dollars of study. Scientists, including myself, have applie devery mannerofskepticismtoit.' 'But I thought your radiocarbon dating placed the linen's manufacture between thethirteenth andfifteenth centuries.' 'Whyareyoutestingme?I've toldyouabout my flashtheory,' Parsifalsaid. 'That a burst of nuclear energy transfigured the body of Christ, leaving this image.Withoutburningthecloth toash,ofcourse.' 'A moderat e burst, ' Parsifa l said . 'Which, incidentally , explains the alteredradiocarbondating.' 'Amoderateburst ofradiationthat created a negative image with details of the faceand body? How can tha t be? At best it would show a silhouette of a form. Or just alargeblobofdarkness.' These were old arguments. Parsifal made his standard replies . D e l'Orme raised othe rdifficulties. Parsifal gave complicatedresponses. 'AllI'msaying,'saiddel'Orme,'isthatbeforeyoukneel, it would be wise to know towhomyoukneel.'Heplaced himselfbesidetheShroud.'It'sonethingtoknowwho the shroud-manisnot. But today we have a chance to know who heis.That's my reasonforaskingforthis display.' 'TheSonofGodinhumanform,'saidtheyoungerDominican. The olde r Dominican cu t a sideway s glanc e a t th e relic . Suddenl y hi s wholeexpressio n widened.HislipsformedathinO. 'AsGodis my Father,'theyoungeronesaid. Now Parsifal saw it, too. And the rest of them, as well. Thomas couldn't believe hiseyes.

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'What have youdone?'Parsifalcriedout. The manintheShroudwasnoneotherthandel'Orme. 'It'syou!'Mustafahlaughed.Hewasdelighted. Del'Orme'simagewasnaked,handsmodestlycrossed over hisgenitals, eyes closed. Wearingawigandafake beard.Sideby side,themanandhisimageonthe cloth wereth esamesize,hadthesameshortnose,thesame leprechaunshoulders. 'DearChristinheaven,'theyoungerDominicanwailed. 'AJesuittrick,'hissedtheolder. 'Deceiver,'howledtheyounger. 'Del'Orme,whatintheworld?'saidFoley. The carabinier i were excited by the sudde n alarm. Then they compared ma n toimageand put two and two together for themselves. Four promptly dropped to their kneesinfrontofdel'Orme.Oneplacedhis foreheadonthe blind man's shoe. The fifth soldier, however, backedagainstthewall. 'Yes,itismeonthiscloth,'saiddel'Orme.'Yes, atrick.ButnotofJesuits.Ofscience.Alchemy,ifyouwill.' 'Seize this man,' shouted the older Dominican. But the carabinier i were too busyadorin gtheman-god. 'Don'tworry,' del'OrmesaidtothepanickedDominicans,'youroriginalisinthe nextroom , perfectly safe. I switched this one for the purpose of demonstration. YourreactiontellsmetheresemblanceisallI'dhopedfor.' The older Dominican swung his wrathful gaz e aroun d the roo m and fastened thelook of Torquemada upon that fifth carabiniere, haplessly backe d agains t the wall. 'You,'hesaid. Thecarabinierequailed.So,thoughtThomas,del'Ormehadpaidthe soldier to help spring thi s practical joke . The ma n wa s righ t t o b e frightened . H e ha d just embarrassed anentireorder. 'Don'tblamehim,'del'Ormesaid.'Blameyourself.Youwere fooled. I fooled you justtheway theothershroud hasfooledsomany.' 'Whereisit?'demandedtheDominican. 'This way, please,'del'Ormesaid. They filed into the next chamber, and Vera was waitin g there in her wheelchair.Behin d her, the Shroud was identical to de l'Orme's fake, except for its image. Here the man was taller and younger. His nose wa s longer. The cheekbones were whole.The Dominicanshurriedtotheirrelicandalternated between scrutinizingthelinenfordamageandguardingitfromtheblind trickster. De l'Orme became businesslike. 'I think you'll agree,' he spoke to them, 'the sameprocessproducedboth

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images.' 'You've solved the mystery of its production?' someone exclaimed. 'Wha t did youusethen,paint?' 'Acid,'anothersuggested. 'I've always suspected it. A weak solution. Just enough to etchthefibers.' De l'Orme had their attention. 'I examined the reports issued by Bud's STURP. Itbecam e clear to me th e hoax wasn't created with paint. There's only a trace ofpigment , probably from painted images being held against the clot h to bless them. Anditwasnotacid,orthecoloration would have been different. No, it was something elseentirely.' He gave itadramaticpause. 'Photography.' 'Nonsense,' declared Parsifal. 'We've examined that theory. Do you realiz e howsophisticate d th e proces s is ? The chemical s involved? The step s o f preparing asurface , focusing an image, timing a n exposure, fixing the end product? Even if thiswere a medieva l concoction , wha t min d coul d have graspe d th e principle s ofphotographysolongago?' 'Noordinarymind,I'llgrantyouthat.' 'You're not the first, you know,' Parsifal said. 'There were a couple of kooks yearsago .Cooked up som e notion that it was Leonardo da Vinci's tomfoolery. We blew 'emoutofthe water. Amateurs.' 'Myapproachwasdifferent,'del'Ormesaid.'Actually,youshouldbepleased,Bud.Iti saconfirmationofyour ow ntheory.' 'Whatareyoutalkingabout?' 'Your flash theory,' said de l'Orme. 'Only it requires not quite a flash. More like aslowbathofradiation.' 'Radiation?' said Parsifal. 'Now we get to hear that Leonardo scooped Madame Curie?' 'Thisisn'tLeonardo,'del'Ormesaid. 'No?Michelangelothen?Picasso?' 'Be nice, Bud,' Vera interrupted mildly. 'The rest of us want to hear it, even if youknowitallalready.' Parsifalfumed.Butitwastoolatetorolluptheimageandkickeveryone out. 'We have here the image of a real man,' de l'Orme said, 'A crucified man. He's tooanatomicallycorrectto have been created by an artist. Note the foreshortening of hislegs,andtheaccuracyofthese bloodtrickles,ho wthey bend where there are wrinklesin the forehead . An d the spik e hol e in the wrist . Tha t wound is most interesting.Accordingtostudiesdoneon cadavers, youcan'tcrucify a man by nailing his palms toacross . The weightofthebody tears themeatrightoffyour hand.'

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Vera,thephysician,nodded.Rau,thevegetarian, shivered withdistaste.These cultsofthedeadbaffledhim. 'The one place you can drive a nail in the human arm and hang all that weight ishere. ' He held a finger to the center of his own wrist. 'The space of Destot, a naturalhole between all the bones of the wrist. More recently, forensic anthropologists haveconfirme dthepresenceofnailmarks throughprecisely thatplacein knowncrucifixionvictims. 'It is a crucial detail. If you examine medieval paintings around the time this clothwas created, Europeans had forgotten al l about the spac e o f Destot, too. Their artshow sChristnailedthroughthepalms. The historicalaccuracyofthiswound has been offeredasproofthatamedievalforgercouldnotpossibly have fakedth eShroud.' 'Well,there!'saidParsifal. 'There ar e tw o explanations, ' d e l'Orm e continued . 'Th e fathe r o f forensic anthropolog y and anatomy was indeed Leonardo. He would have had ample time – andthebodyparts –to experiment with thetechniquesofcrucifixion.' 'Ridiculous,'Parsifalsaid. 'The othe r explanation, ' de l'Orme said , 'is that this represents the victim of anactualcrucifixion.'He paused.'ButstillaliveatthetimetheShroudwasmade.' 'What?'saidMustafah. 'Yes,' said de l'Orme. 'With Vera's medical expertise, I've managed to determinethat curious fact. There' s no sign of necrotic decay here. To the contrary, Vera hastoldmehowtheribcagedetailsareblurred.By respiration.' 'Heresy,'theyoungerDominicanhissed. 'It'snot heresy,' saiddel'Orme,'ifthisisnotJesusChrist.' 'Butitis.' 'Thenyouaretheheretic,gentlefather.Foryou have beenworshipingagiant.' The Dominican had probably never struck a blind man in his entire life. But youcouldtellby hisgrinding teeth howclosehewasnow. 'Verameasuredhim.Twice. The manon the shroud measures six feet eight inches,' del'Ormecontinued. 'Lookatthat.Heisatallbrute,'someonecommented.'Howcanthatbe?' 'Indeed,' sai d d e l'Orme . 'Surel y th e Gospel s woul d have mentione d Christ'senormous height.' The elderDominicanhissedathim.

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'Ithinknowwouldbeagoodtime to show them our secret,' de l'Orme said to Vera.He placed one hand on her wheelchair, and she led him to a nearby table. She held acardboardboxwhileheliftedouta small plastic statue of the Venus di Milo. It nearlyslippedfromhisfingers. 'MayIhelp?'askedBranch. 'Thankyou,no.It wouldbebetter foryoutostay back.' It was like watching two kids unpack a science fair project. De l'Orme drew out aglassjaranda paintbrush. Vera smoothedaclothflatonthetable and put on a pair oflatex gloves. 'Whatareyoudoing?'demandedtheolderDominican. 'Nothingthatwillharmyour Shroud,'del'Ormeanswered. Vera unscrewedthejaranddippedthebrushin.'Our"paint,"'shesaid. The jar held dust, finely ground, a lackluster gray. While de l'Orme held the Venusby thehead,shegently feathered onthedust. 'Andnow,'del'Ormesaid,addressingtheVenus,'say cheese.' Vera grasped the statue by its waist an d held it horizontally above the cloth . 'Ittakes aminute,'shesaid. 'Pleasetellmewhenitstarts,' del'Ormesaid. 'There,' said Mustafah. For the image of the Venus was beginning to materialize onthefabric.Shewasin negative.Eachdetailbecamemoreclarified. 'Ifthatdoesn'tbeat all,'Foleysaid. Parsifalrefusedtobelieve.Hestood there shakinghishead. 'Theradiationheatsandweakens thefabriconone side, creating an image. If I holdmy statue herelong enough,theclothwillturndark. If I hold it higher, the image willbe larger. Hold it high enough, and my miniature Venus become s a giantess. Tha texplain sourgiantChrist.' 'Ourpaintisalow-gradeisotope,newtonium,'saidVera. 'It'sfoundnaturally.' 'And you painte d yourself with it – your own nude – to create the forgery outthere?' askedFoley. 'Yes,'saiddel'Orme.'WithVera's help.Sheknowshermaleanatomy,Imustsay.'The olderDominicanlookedin dangerofsuckingthevery enameloffhis teeth. 'Butit'sradioactive!'Mustafahsaid. 'To tell the truth, the isotopes made my arthritis feel better for a few days after. I thoughtmaybe I'dstumbledontoacureforawhilethere.' 'Nonsense,'Parsifal stormed in, as if remembering his hat. 'If this were the answer,we'd have detected

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radiationinourtests.' 'Youwould detect it on this cloth,' Vera admitted. 'But only because we spilled dustonto it. If I'd been careful not to touch the cloth, all you woul d detect is the visualimag eitself.' 'I've been to the moon and back,' said Parsifal. Whenever Parsifal fell back on hislunar authority, he was near the end of his rope. 'And I've never come across such a mineralphenomenon.' 'The proble m is that you have never been beneat h the earth's surface,' said de l'Orme. 'I wish I could take credit for this. But miners have been talking about ghostimages burnt ont o boxes or the side s of their vehicle s for years now. This is theexplanation.' 'Then you admit there are only traces of it on the surface,' Parsifal declared. 'Yousay that man only recently found enough of your powder there to have an effect. Sohowcouldamedievalconartist gethishand sonenoughtocoatan entire human bodyand create thisimage?' Del'Ormefrownedatthequestion.'ButItoldyou,thisisnotLeonardo.' 'What I don't understand' – Desmond Lynch rapped wit h his cane, excited – 'iswhy? Whygotosuch extremes? Is italljustaprank?' 'Again, it's all about power,' de l'Orme answered. 'A relic like this, in times sosuperstitious ? Why, whol e churches came into being around the drawing power of a single Cross splinter. In 1350, all of Europe was transfixe d b y th e displa y o f asupposed Veronica's veil. Do you kno w how many holy relics were floating aroundChristendom in those days? Crusaders were returning home with all manner of holy war loot . Besides bones and Bibles from martyrs and saints, there were the babyJesus 'milk teeth, his foreskin– seven ofthem,tobeprecise–andenough splinters tomakea forest of True Crosses. Obviously this was not the only forgery in circulation.Butitwasthemostaudaciousandpowerful. 'What if someone suddenly decided to tap into this benighted Christian gullibility?Hecould have beena pope, a king, or simply an ingenious artist. What could be morepowerfulthanalife-sizesnapshotoftheentire body of Christ, depicting him just afterhi s great test on the Cross and just before his disappearance into the Godhead? Doneartfully,wieldedcynically,suchanartifactwould have theability to change history, to create afortune,torule hearts andminds.' 'Ah,comeon,'Parsifalcomplained. 'What if that was his game?' de l'Orme postulated. 'What if he was attemptin g toinfiltrateChristianculture throughtheirownimage?' 'He?His?'saidDesmondLynch.'Whoareyoutalkingabout?' 'Why,thefigureintheShroud,ofcourse.' 'Very well,'growledLynch.'Butwhoistherascal?' 'Lookathim,'del'Ormesaid. 'Yes,we're looking.'

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'It'saself-portrait.' 'The portrai t of a trickster,' said Vera. 'He covered himself with newtonium and stood before a linen sheet. He deliberately perpetrated this artful dodge. A primitivephotocopyofthesonofGod.' 'Igiveup. Are wesupposedtorecognizehim?' 'Helooksalittlelikeyouupthere, Thomas,'someonejoked.Thomasblewhischeeksout. 'Longhair,goatee.Looksmorelikeyour friendSantos,'someone teased del'Orme. 'Nowthatyoumentionit,'del'Ormemused,'Isupposeitcouldbeanyoneofus.'It wasturningintoagame. 'Wegiveup,'saidVera. 'Butyouwere soclose,'saiddel'Orme. 'Enough,' barked Gault. 'KublaiKhan,'del'Ormesaid. 'What?' 'Yousaidit yourselves.' 'Saidwhat?' 'Geronimo. Attila. Mao . A warrior king . Or a prophet. O r just a wanderer, little differentfromus.' 'You'renotserious.' 'Why not? Why not the author of the Prester John letters? The author of a Christ hoax?Perhaps even the authorofthelegendsofChristandBuddhaandMohammed?' 'You'resaying...' 'Yes,'saiddel'Orme.'Meet Satan.'

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Those new regions which we found and explored... we may rightly call a NewWorld... a continent more densely peopled and abounding in animals than our Europe or Asia or Africa.

– AMERIGO VESPUCCI, on America

14

THE HOLE

The Colon Ridge Zone

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'July 7,' Ali recorded. 'Camp 39: 5,012 fathoms, 79 degrees F. We reached Cach e I today.' Shelookeduptogather inthescene.Howtoputthis? Mozart was flooding the chamber over Dolby speakers. Lights blazed with the glutofcable-fedelectricity. Wine bottles and chicken bones littered the floor. A conga lineof filthy, trail-hardened scientists was snaking across the tilted floor. To Th e MagicFlute. 'Joy!'sheprintedneatly. The celebrationrockedaroundher. Until this afternoon it had been one vast, unspoken doubt that the cache would behere. Geologists had muttered that the fea t wa s impossible , suggesting tha t thetunnel sshiftedaboutdownhere,asdodgy as snakes. But just as Shoat had promised,the penetrator capsuleswere waitingforthem. The surface crews had punched a drillhole through the ocea n floor and landed the cargo dead on target, at their exact elevatio nandplaceinthetunnels.Afewmeters totherightorleft,orhigher or lower,and everything would have been socketed in solid bedrock an d irretrievable. Theirretreat to civilization would have been vexed , to say the least , fo r their food wasrunninglow. But now they had all the provisions and gear and clothing necessary for the nex teigh t weeks, plus tonight's wine and loudspeakers fo r the oper a an d a holographic 'Bully for You' speech from C.C. Cooper himself. You are the beginning of history, his smalllaserghost toastedthem. Forthefirsttimeinalmostfive weeks, Ali could write on her day map their precise coordinates:'107 degrees, 20 minutes W / 3 degrees, 50 minutes N.' On a traditionalmap of the surface, they were somewhere south of Mexico in blue, islandless water.A n ocean-floor map placed them beneat h a feature called the Colon Ridge, near thewestern edgeoftheNazcaPlate. Alitookasipofthe Chardonnay that Helios had sent. She closed her eyes while theQueen of the Nigh t san g her brokenhearted aria. Someone up top had a sense ofhumor. Mozart's magical underworld? At least the y hadn't sent Th e Damnation ofFaust. The three forty-foot cylinder s la y o n their side s amon g th e dril l rubble , liketipped-ove r rocket ships. Their discarded hatch doors set among cables tangled in asteel rat's nest, salt water trickling down from a mile overhead. Various lines hung fromthe three-foot-wide holeintheceiling,onefor communications,twotofeed them voltagefromthesurface,anotherdedicatedtodownloadingcompressed vid-mailfromhome. One of the porters sat besid e th e second electric cable, recharging a small mountain of batteries for their headlamps and flashlights and lab equipment and laptopcomputers. Walker's quartermaster and various helper s wer e working overtime, sorting theshipment, stockpiling boxes, shouting out numbers. Helio s had also delivered themmail,twenty-four ouncesperperson.

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As part of her vow of poverty, Ali had grown used to only small portions of homenews. Yet she was disappointed at how little mail January had sent her. As always,the note was handwritten on Senate letterhead. It was dated two weeks earlier, andthe envelop e ha d bee n tampered with , whic h possibl y explaine d th e sparseinformatio n i t contained . January ha d learne d o f thei r secret departure fromEsperanza ,andwasheartsickthatAlihadchosentogodeeper. 'You belong... Where? Not out there, not unseen, not beyond my reach. Ali, I feellike you've taken somethingfromme. The world was big enough without you slippingaway like a shadow in the night. Please call or write me at first chance. And pleasereturn.Ifothersareturningback,gowiththem.' There wasobliquementionoftheBeowulfscholars'progress:'Workproceeds on thedamproject.'That was theircodefortheidentificationofSatan.'As of yet, no location,few specifics, perhaps ne w terrain.' Fo r som e reason, January had included a fewenhanced photographs of the Turin Shroud, with some three-dimensional computerimagesofthehead.Alididn'tknowwhattomakeofthat. Shelookedaroundcamp,andmosthad already rifled their care packages and eatentreats sent from home and shared the snapshots from their families and loved ones.Everyone had gotten something, it seemed, even the porters and soldiers. Only Ikeappeare d to have nothing. He kept busy with a new spool of candy-striped climbingrope,measuringitincoilsandcuttingandburningthetips. Not all the news was good. In the far corner, a man was trying to talk Shoat intogettinghimextracted via thedrillhole.Alicouldhearhim over the music. 'But it's mywife, 'he kept saying.'Breastcancer.' Shoat wasn't buying it. 'Then yo u shouldn' t have come,' he said. 'Extractions areonl yforlife-and-death emergencies.' 'Thisislifeanddeath.' 'Your life and death,' Shoa t stated, and went back t o uplinking with the surface,makin ghis reports and gettinginstructionsandfeedingthe expedition's collected datathrough a wet, dangling communications cable. They'd been promised a videophoneline at each cache so people could call home, but so far Shoat and Walker had beenmonopolizingit.Shoattoldthem there wasahurricane on the surface and the drill rigwasin jeopardy.'You'llgetyour chance,ifthere's stilltime,'hesaid. Despite the glitche s and some serious homesickness, the expedition was in highspirits. Their resupply technology worked. They were loaded with food and supplies forthenext stage.Twomonthsdown,tentogo. Ali squinted int o their holida y of lights. The scientist s looke d jubilant tonight,dancing, embracing, downin g Californi a wine s sen t a s a toke n o f C.C . Cooper's appreciation , howling at the invisible moon. They also looked different. Filthy. Hairy.Downrightantediluvian. She'd never seen them this way. Ali realized it was because, for over a month, shehad not really see n. Since casting loose of Esperanza, the y had been dwellin g in afractionoftheirnormallight.Tonighttheir twilight was at bay. Under the bright lightshe could see them, freckles , warts, and all. They were gloriously unbarbered andbewhiskered and smeared with mud and oil, as pale as grubs. Men bore old food intheirbeards.Womenhadrat'snests.They hadstarted doingacowboy line dance – tothebirdcatcher Papagenosinging'Love'sSweet Emotion.'

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Justthensomeoneambushedthe opera and plugged in a Cowboy Junkies disc. Thetemp oslowed.Lovers rose,clenched,swayed onthe rocky floor. Ali'sscanning arrived atIke onthefarsideofthechamber. His hair was growin g out at last . Wit h his cowlick and sawed-off shotgun , hereminded Al i of som e farm ki d hunting jackrabbits. The glacie r glasses wer e adisconcertin g touch; he was forever protecting what he called his 'assets.' Sometimesshe thought the dark glasses simply protected his thoughts, a margin of privacy. She feltunreasonablygladhewasthere. The momentherglancetouchedonhim, Ike's head skated off to the other side, andshe realized he'd been watchin g her. Moll y and a few o f Ali's other girlfriend s hadteased thathehadhiseye onher,andshe'dcalle dthemwicked.Butherewasproof.Fair's fair,she thought, and spurred herself forward. There was no telling when hemightvanishintothedarkness again. The wine had an extra kic k t o it, or the depth s ha d lowered he r inhibitions. Whatever, shemade herselfbold.Shewentdirectly tohimandsaid,'Wannadance?'He pretended to have just noticed her. 'It's probably not a great idea,' he said, anddidn'tmove.'I'm rusty.' Hewasgoingtomakeherworkforthis?'Don't worry, I've had my tetanus shots.' 'Seriously,I'moutofpractice.' AndI'min practice? shedidn'tsay. 'Comeon.' He tried one last gambit. 'You don't understand,' he said. 'That's Margo Timminssinging.' 'So?' 'Margo,' he repeated. 'Her voice does things to a person. I t make s yo u forgetyourself.' Ali relaxed. He wasn't rejecting her. He was flirting . 'Is tha t right?' sh e said, andstayed right there in front of him. In the pal e light of the tunnels , Ike's scars andmarking shadaway ofblendingwiththerock. Here,lit brightly, they were terrible allover again. 'Maybe you woul d understand,' h e reconsidered. Ike stood up, and the shotguncamewithhim;ithadpink climber'swebbingfora sling. He parked it across his back,barreldown,andtookherhand.It feltsmallinhis. They wentto where the others had cleared away rocks for a makeshift dance floor.Alifelteyes following them. Paired with partners of their own, Molly and some of theotherwomenwere grinning like maniacs at her. Oddly, Ike had been designated partoftheir Ten MostWanted list. He had an aura. It cut through the vandalized surface.Peoplewonderedabouthim.AndhereAliwas,getting first crack at him. She vampedlikeit wastheprom,wavingherfingersatthem. Ike acted smooth enough, but there was a young man's hesitation as he faced herand opened his arms. She hesitated, too. They got themselves arranged, and he wasjust as self-conscious about their physica l touch as she was. He kept the bravado smile,butsheheardhisthroatclearastheirbodiescametogether. 'I've beenmeaningtotalkwithyou,'shesaid.'Youowemeanexplanation.'

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'Theanimal,'heguessed.Hisdisappointmentwasblunt.Hestoppeddancing. 'No,' she said, and got them in motion again. 'That orange. Do you remember? Theon eyou gave meonth eridedownfromtheGalápagos?' Hebackedoffastep togetalook.'That wasyou?'Shelikedthat.'DidIlooksopathetic?' 'Youmeanlikearescue job?' 'Ifyouwanttoputitthatway.' 'I used to climb,' he said. 'That was always the biggest nightmare, getting rescued.Youdoyour best tostay incontrol.Butsometimesthingsslip.Youfall,.' 'Iwasindistress,then.' 'Nah.'Nowhewaslying. 'Sohowcometheorange?' There wasnoparticularanswer she wanted here. Yet the circle needed completing. Something about that orange demanded accounting for, the poetry in it, his intuitionthat she had needed just such a preoccupation at just that moment. It had becomesomething of a riddle, this gift from a man so raw and brutalized. An orange? Wherehad that come from? Perhaps he'd read Flaubert in his previous life , befor e hiscaptivity . Or Durrell, she thought. Or Anaïs Nin. Wishful thinking. She was inventinghim. 'There itwas,'hesaidsimply,andshegotasensehewasdelighting in her confusion. 'Ithadyour nameonit.' 'Look,I'mnottrying toobsess here,' she said. Immediately his words about stayingin control came drifting in. She faltered. He'd pegged her problem, cold. Control. 'Itwasjustsoright,that'sall,'shemurmured.'It'sbee namystery tome,andInever gotachancetosay –' 'Strawberry blondes,'heinterrupted. 'What?' 'I confess,' he said. 'You're an old weakness of mine.' He didn't qualify between theuniverse ofblondesan dthesingularityofthisone. It took Ali's breath away. Sometimes, onc e men found out she was a nun, theywoul d dare her in some way. What made Ike different wa s hi s abandon. He had acarelessnessinhismannerthatwasnot reckless, but was full of risk. Winged. He waspursuing her, but not faster than she was pursuing him, and it made them like twoghostscircling. 'That'sit,then,'shesaid.'Endofmystery.' 'Whysay that?'hesaid.

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Thiswasturningouttobeanicedance. 'Ilikehersinging,'shesaid. He took in her long body. It was a quick glance. She saw it, and remembered hisscrutinyoftheperiwinkle sonhersundress.Hesaid,'Youdolivedangerously.' 'Andyoudon't?' 'There's adifference.I'mnotadedicated,youknow,'hefaltered,'aprofessional...' 'Virgin?'sheboldlyfinished. The winewastalking.Hisbackmuscles reflexed. 'Iwasgoingtosay "recluse."' Ike pulled her tighter and stroked his front across hers , a languorous swipe thatmovedher breasts. It drew asmallgaspoutofher. 'Mister Crockett,' she scolded, and started to pull away. Instantly he let go, and hisrelease startled her more.There wasnotimeforelaboratedecisions.Scapegoatingthewine,shescoopedhimcloseagain,gothishand seated atthehollowofherspine. They danced without words fo r another minute . Ali tried t o let hersel f b e taken away by themusic.But eventually thesongswouldstopandthey would have to leave thesafety ofthisbrightlylitfloorandresume theirinvestigationofthedarkplaces. 'Nowit'syour turntoexplain,'hesaid.'Justhowdidyouenduphere?' Unsure ho w much he really wanted t o hear, sh e edited herself. He kept asking questions, and soon she found herself defining protolanguage and the mother tongue. 'Water,' she said, 'in Old German is wassa r, in Latin aqua. Go deeper int o the daughter languages, an d the root starts to appear. In Indo-European and Amerind,water is hakw, in Dene-Caucasian kwa. The furthest back is haku, acomputer-simulatedproto-word. Notthatanyoneusesitanymore. It's aburied word,aroot.Butyoucanseehowawordgets rebornthroughtime.' 'Haku,' Ike said, though differently than she had, with a glottal stress on the firstsyllable.'Iknowthatword.' Ali glanced at him . 'From them?' sh e asked. Hi s hadal captors. Exactly as she'dhoped,hehadaglossaryi nhim. Hewinced,aswithaphantompain,andshecaughtherbreath. The memory passed,ifthat'swhatitwas.She decidednottopursueitforthemoment, and returned to herown tale, explaining how she had come to collect and decipher hadal glyphs andremnanttext. 'All we need is one translator who can read their writings,' she said. 'Itcouldunlocktheirwholecivilizationtous.' Ike misunderstood.'Areyouaskingmetoteachyou?'She kept hervoiceflat.'Doyouknowhowto,Ike?' He clicked his tongue in the negative. Ali instantly recognized the sound from hertime among the Sa n Bushmen in southern Africa . That, too? she wondered. Clicklanguage?Her excitement wasbuilding.

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'Evenhadalsdon'tknowhowtoreadhadal,'hesaid. 'Then you've never actually seen a hadal reading,' she clarified. 'The ones you metwere illiterate.' 'They can'treadhadalwritings,'Ike repeated. 'It'slosttothem.Iknewone once. He could read English and Japanese. But the old hadal writing was alien to him. It was agreat frustrationforhim.' 'Wait.' Ali stopped, dumbfounded. No one had ever suggested such a thing. 'You'resayingthehadalsread modernhumanlanguages?Dothey speakourlanguagestoo?' 'Hedid,'said Ike. 'Hewasagenius.Aleader. The rest are...muchlessthanhim.' 'You knew him? ' Her pulse raced. Wh o else coul d he be speaking of except thehistoricalSatan? Ike stopped.Hewaslooking at her, or through her, with those impenetrable glacierglasses.Shecouldn't begintoreadhisthoughts. 'Ike?' 'Whyareyoudoingthis?' 'I have asecret.'Shewantedtotrust him.They were stilltouching,and that seemed agood start. 'WhatifItold you my purpose was to get a positive identification of thatman, whatever he is? To get more information about him. A description of his face.Cluestohisbehavior.Evento meet him.' 'Youwon't.' Ike's voicesoundeddead. 'Butanything'spossible.' 'No,' he said. 'I mean you won't. By the time you ever got that close, it wouldn't beyouanymore.' She brooded. He knew something, but wasn't telling. 'You're makin g him up,' shedeclared.It was peevish,alastresort. The dancersflowedaroundthem. Ike held out one arm. Turned just so in the light , Ali could see the raise d scarswher e a glyph had been branded in the flesh. To the naked eye, the scars lay hiddenbeneathmoresuperficialmarkings.She touched them with her fingertips... the way a hadalmightincompletedarkness.'Whatdoesitmean?'sheasked. 'It's a claim mark,' he said. 'The name they gave me. Beyond that, I don't have a clue. And the thing is, the hadals don't, either. They just imitate drawing s their ancestor sleftalongtime ago.' Alitraced herfingersacrossthescarring.'Whatdoyoumeanby aclaimmark?' Heshrugged,regardingthearmas if it belonged to someone else. 'There's probablya better term for it. That's what I call them. Each clan has its own, and then eachmembe r hisown.'Helookedather.'Icanshow youothers,'hesaid. Ali kept herexpressioncalm.Inside,shewasready toshout.Allthis time, her questhad held Ike for its answer

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. Why had no one else asked this man these questions inyears past? Perhapsthey had,andhehadn'tbeen ready. 'Wait, let m e get my notebook.' She could barely contain herself. Here was thebeginningofherglossary. The start ofaRosettastone.Bycrackingthehadalcode,shewouldopenawholenewlanguagetohuman understanding. 'Notebook?'hesaid. 'Todrawthemarkings.' 'ButI have themwithme.' 'You have what?' Hestarted tounbuttonhispocket,thenstopped.'You'resureaboutthis?'She stared impatientlyatthepocket, willingittoflyopen.'Yes.' He pulled out a small packet of leather patches, each roughly the size of a baseballcard,andhandedthemt oher.They hadbeensliced in a neat rectangle and tanned tostay soft. At first Ali thought the leather was vellum of some kind, and that Ike hadusedthemto trace orwrite on.There were faintcoloreddesignsonone side.Thenshe sawthatthecolorscamefromtattooing,andtheweltlikeridgeswere keloidscars, andthere were tiny,pallid hairs. It was skin, all right. Human skin. Hadal skin. Whateverthi s was. Ike did not see her misgivings; he was too busy arranging the strips on herstill, cupped palms. He gave a running commentary , intent, even scholarly. 'Twoweeks old,' he said of one. 'Notice the twisted serpents. I've never come across thatmotif.Youcanfeelthemtwiningtogether, very skillful, whoever incisedhim.' He laid a pair of patches side by side. 'These two I got off a fresh kill. You can tellfrom the linke d circles, they'd been traveler s from a long way off, from the sameregion. It's a pattern I used to see on Afghans and Pakis. Captures, you know. DownbeneaththeKarakoram.' Aliwasstaringasmuchathimasattheskinpieces.She had never been squeamish,butshewasstilledby his collection. 'Nowhere'stheshapeofabeetle,canyoumakethatout?Seehowthewingsarejustopening? That's a different cla n from others I've known, closed wings, wings wide.And this one here has got me stumped, it's nothing but dots. Footprints, maybe? Acountingoftime?Seasons?Idon'tknow. 'Obviously thi s is a cave-fish design. See the ligh t stalks dangling in front of its mouth?I've eaten fish like that. They're easy to catch by hand in shallow pools. Waitforthelighttoflash,thengrabthemby thestalks.Lik epullingcarrotsoronions.' He set down the last of his patches. 'Here's some of the geometries you see on the borders of their mandalas. They're pretty standard for down here, a way to rituallyenclose the outer circle and hold in the mandala's information. You've seen them onthe walls. I'm hoping someone in our bunch can figure them out. We've got a lot ofsmart peoplehere.' 'Ike.'Alistoppedhim.'Whatdoyoumean"fresh kill"?' Ike pickedupthetwopatchesshewasreferringto.'A day old.Maybe two.'

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'Imean,what.Whatwaskilled?Ahadal?' 'Oneoftheporters. Idon'tknowhisname.' 'We'remissingaporter?' 'More like ten or twelve,' Ike said. 'You haven't noticed? In twos and threes, overth epast week. They'r e sickofWalker'sbullying.' 'Does anyone else know?' No one had remarked on this to her. It signified a wholeotherlevelofthe expedition, one that was darker and more violent than she – or theotherscientists–hadcomprehended. 'Ofcourse.That's alotofhandstolose.'Ike could have beentalkingaboutanimals inamule train. 'Walker's got more of his troops patrolling the rear than the front. Hekeeps sendingthemofftocatchoneoftherunaways. H ewantstomakeanexample.' 'Topunishthem? Forquittingajob?' Ike looked queerly at her . 'Whe n you're running a string of men,' he said, 'onerunaway can turn you inside out. The whole bunch can come apart on you. Walkerknow s that. What he can't seem to get through his skull, though, is that by the timethey run away, it's too late to keep them. If they were mine,' h e added frankly, 'itwouldbedifferent.' The stories about Ike's slaving were true then. In some capacity or another, he'drule d over hisfellow captives.Shecouldtry hisdarkalleys another time. 'And so theycaugh toneoftherunaways,'Alistated. 'Walker's guys?' Ike stopped. 'They're mercenaries. Herd mentality rules. They'reno tgoingtospread themselves outorsearchdeep.They're afraid. They drop an hourbehind,stay clustered,comebackinagain.' That left one option, as far as Ali could see. It made her sad. 'You did it then?' shesaid. Hefrowned,notunderstanding. 'Killedtheporter,'shesaid. 'WhywouldIdothat?' 'Youjustsaid,tomakeanexample.ForColonelWalker.' 'Walker,'Ike snorted.'He'll have todohisownkilling.'Shewasrelieved. Foramoment. 'This poor fella didn't make it far,' Ike said. 'I doubt any of them did. I found himmostlyrendered.' Rendered? That wa s somethin g you di d to slaughtered cattle . Again , Ike wasmatter-of-fact . 'What are you talking about?' sh e asked. Ha d one of the escape d porters turned psychotic? 'It'sthese two,I have nodoubt,'Ike said.Heheldupthepairedleatherpatches withthelinkedcirclesofscartissue .'I trackedthemtrackinghim.They took him together,onefromthefront,onefromabove.' 'Andthenyoufoundthem.'

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'Yes.' 'Andyoucouldn'tbringthembacktous?' The absurdity shockedhim.'Hadals?'hesaid. Nowsheunderstood.Thishadn'tbeen a murder. He'd told her the first time. Freshkill .It hither.'Hadals?'she said.'There were hadals?Here?' 'Notanymore.' 'Don'ttry toplacateme,'shesaid.'Iwanttoknow.' 'We'reintheirhousenow.Whatdoyou expect?' 'ButShoattoldusitwasuninhabitedthroughthistunnel.' 'Blindfaith.' 'Andyouhaven'ttold anybody?' 'Itookcareoftheproblem.Nowwe're clearagain.' Part of her was glad. Live hadals! Dead now. 'What did you do?' she asked quietly,notsureshereally wantedthedetails. He chose not to give any. 'I left them in a way that will speak to any others. We won' t have trouble.' 'Then where dothese comefrom?'sheasked,pointingathiscollection. 'Otherplaces. Other times.' 'Butyouthink there may bemore.' 'Nothing organized . No t i n an y numbers . They'r e jus t drifters . Wanderers.Opportunists.' Shewasshaken.'Doyoucarry these aroundwithyoueverywhere?' sheasked. 'Think of it as taking their driver's license or dogtag. It helps me get the bigger picture . Movement. Migrations. I learn from them, almost like they were talking tome.'Heheldonepatchtohisnoseandsmelled. Thenhelicked it. 'This one came fromvery deep.Youcantellby thecleannessofhim.' 'Whatareyoutalkingabout?' Heofferedittoher,andsheturnedherhead. 'Have you ever eaten range-fed beef?It tastes differentfromacow that'sbeeneating grain and hormones. Same here. Thisguyhadnever eaten sunlight. He'd never been to the surface. Never eaten an animalthathadgoneuptop.It wasprobablyhisfirsttimeaway fromthetribe.' 'Andyoukilledhim,'shesaid.Helookedather.

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'You have no idea how brutal this looks,' she said. 'Dear God. What did they do toyou?' He shrugged. In the span of one heartbeat, he had fallen a thousand miles awayfro mher.'I'llfindhim,'he said. 'Who?' Hepointedattheraisedscarsonhisarm.'Him,'hesaid. 'Yousaidthatwasyour name.' 'Itwas.Hisnamewas my name.Ihadnonameexcept forhis.' 'Whose?' 'Theonewhoownedme.'

Four days farther on,they foundShoat's river. Ike hadbeensentahead.Hewaswaiting for the expedition at a chamber filled withthunder. They had been hearin g it for days. In the cente r of the floo r lay a greatvertica l shaft, shaped at top like a funnel. A city block wide, the hol e roared u p at them. The wallssweated. Small streams sluicedintothemaw.They girdledthe rim, tryingto see the bottom . Their lights illuminated a deep, polishe d throat. The stone wascalcareous serpentine with green mottling. Ike lowered a headlamp on a rope. Twohundred meters down, the tiny light skipped an d skidded sideway s on an invisiblecurrent. 'I'llbedamned,'Shoatsaid.'Theriver.' 'Youdidn'texpect ittobehere?'someonesaid. Shoat grinned. 'Nobody knew. Our cartography department gave it a one-in-threechance . On the other hand, it was the most logical way to explain the continuum intheirdata.' 'Wecameallthisway onawildguess?' Shoat gave a happy-go-luck y shrug . 'Kic k of f you r shoes, ' h e said , 'n o morebackpacks . Nomorehoofingit.Fromhere,wefloat.' 'Ithinkweshouldfirststudy thesituation,'oneofthehydrologistssaid. 'We have noideawhat'sdownthere. What'sthe river's profile?Howfastdoesitrun?Wheredoesitgo?' 'Study itfromtheboats,'Shoatsaid. The porters did not arrive for another three hours. Since leaving Cache I, they hadbeenfreightedwith doubleloadsfordoublepay,somecarryingin excess of a hundredandfiftypounds.They depositedtheircargoin

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adry areaandwent over toa separatechamber , where Walkerhadarrangedahotmealforthem. Ali came across to Ike, where he was rigging lines into the hole. At their parting onthe danc e floor, she' d been drun k an d brimming with curiosity and , ultimately,repulsion. Now she was as sober as a pebble, an d the repulsio n had abated. 'Whathappen swiththem?'sheasked,referringtotheporters. 'Everyone's wondering.' 'Endoftheroad,'hesaid.'Shoat'sretiringthem.' 'They're going home? The colonel's been hunting the runaways down, and nowthey're allbeingturned loose?' 'It'sShoat'sshow,'Ike said. 'Willthey beokay?' Thiswasnoplaceto cut men, two months out from the nearest civilization. But Ikesa wno reward inarousin gherindignationall over again.'Sure,'hesaid.'Whynot?' 'Ithought they'd beenguaranteedemploymentfora year.' He hooked a coil of rope with one hand and busied himself with knots. 'We've gotworries of our own,' h e advised. 'They're about to become a powder keg. Once theyfigur eoutwe're ditchingthem,it'samatter of timebeforethey goforus.' 'Forus?'she started. 'Forrevenge?' 'It's mor e basi c than that,' Ik e said . 'They'l l wan t ou r weapons. Ou r food. Everything. From a strictly military point of view – Walker's view – the expeditiousthingwouldbetofragthemandbedonewith it.' 'Hewouldnever dare,'Alisaid. 'You don't see it?' he asked. 'The porters are segregated from the rest of us now.That side cave isacage withno door. They can only come out one at a time, and thatmakesthemeasy targets ifthey gettiredofbeing coopedup.' Ali couldn't believe this other, meane r layer to the expedition . 'He' s not going toshootthem,ishe?' 'No need. By the time they finally decide to poke their heads out, we'll probably belonggonedownthe river.' All over again, the quartermaster opened the loads and laid out the supplies from Cache I. One of his firs t tasks was to distribute specially made survival suits to thesoldiers an d scientists . Mad e b y Jagge d Edg e Gear fo r NASA , th e suit s wer econstructe d of a ripstop fabric that was waterproof but land-friendly. He issued thesuits in sizes from small to extra large. A wiry mercenary ran them through thebasics. 'Youcanwalk in it, climb in it, sleep in it. If you fall overboard, pull this emergencyrin g and the suit will self-inflate. It preserves your body heat. It keeps you dry. Andit'sshark-proof.'

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Someonemadeajokeaboutamagicsuitofarmor. The suit s wer e a composite of rubbery shorts , sleeveless vests , an d skintightoversuits. The fabri c was night-stripe d with charcoal gray and cobalt blue. As thescientist striedontheirelastic clothing, the unsettling effect was of tigers on two feet.There were afewwolfwhistles,maleandfemale. They tried lowerin g a video camer a t o examine th e lowes t reache s of the shaft.Whenthatdidn'twork, Walkersentdownhiscrashdummy: Ike. Not so many years before, a trail must have led from the chambe r dow n to theriver. Ike had already spent part of a day looking for it. But along the mos t likelytunnel, there was a boulder-choke triggered b y recent tremors. Hadal evidence waseverywhere – carved pillars, washed-out wall paintings, spouts to lift streamlets,rock s piled to divert them – but no suggestion that the hole had ever been used theway the y were abouttouseit,toaccesstheriver fromstraightabove. Ike rappelled int o the ston e throat, fee t braced agains t the veined rock. At thebottom of the firs t rope , a hundred meters down, he peeked upward throug h thefalling water. They were watchinghim,waitingto seewhatwouldhappen. The shaft gave way to a void. Ike had no warning. His feet were suddenly pumping againsttheblackness.Hehalted,danglingina vast, quietbubbleofnight. Casting around with his light beam, h e found the rive r fifty feet below. He haddescendedintoalong, windinggeologicalcupola.Its vaulted ceilinghungabove theflatriver surface. Strangely, the thunderous noise stopped the moment he left the shaft.It waspracticallysilenthere.Hecouldhearthewater slitheringpast,little more. If not for his rope leadin g up through it, the shaf t hol e might have disappearedamong all the other gnarle d features above and around him. The walls and ceilingwere scaled with igneous puzzles. It was a complicated space wit h one logic – theriver. Helethimselfdowntheline and locked off within reach of the water. It ran smoothas black silk. Tentatively, Ike reached his fingertips against it. Nothing leaped up to bite him. The current was firm. The water felt cool and heavy. It had no smell. If ithadcomefrom the Pacific Ocean, it was no longer sea water; the journey inward hadfilteredanysaltfromit.It wasdelicious. Hemadehis report ona short-range radio that Walker had given him. 'It looks finetome,'hesaid. They lowered like spiders on silk threads. Some required coaxing for the rappel,includin gseveral ofthe soldiers.Clients,thought Ike. The launchwas tricky. The rafts were ropeddownwiththeirpontoonsfullyinflated and the seats and floorassembled.They reminde dIke oflifeboatsdescendingfromadoomedship. The river swept away theirfirst attempt. Luckily,noonewasinit. At Ike's instruction,thenext raft was suspended just above the water while a teamof boatmen rappelled down on five other ropes. They might have been puppet s onstrings , all hanging in the air. On the count o

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f three, the crew pendulumed into thedangling raft just as it touched the water. Two men didn't release fro m their ropes quickl y enough, and ended up swinging back and forth above the river while the raftdrifted on. The othersgrabbedpaddlesandbegan digging at the water toward a hugepolishednaturalrampnotfar downstream. The operationsmoothedoutonceasmallmotor was lowered and attached to one ofthe rafts. The motorized boat gave them the ability to circle in the water and collectpassengersandbagsofgearhangingonadozen differentropes. Some of the scientistsproved tobequitecompetentwiththeropes and craft. Several of Walker's forbiddingavengers lookedseasick.Ike likedthat. The playingfieldwasgrowingmorelevel. It took five hours to convey their tons of supplies down the shaft. A small flotilla ofrafts ferried the carg o to shore. Except for the on e raft, an d the sacrific e of theirporters, the expedition had lost nothing. Ther e was general contentment about theirstreamlining. The Jules Verne Societywasfeelingableand sanctioned , as though theycoul dhandleanythinghellhadtothrowatthem. Alidreamedofthe porters thatnight.Shesawtheirfacesfadingintoblackness.

Send forth the best ye breed–Go, bind your sons to exile To serve your captives' need. – RUDYARD KIPLING, 'The White Man's Burden'

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15

MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE

Little America, Antarctica

Januaryhadexpected aragingwhitehellwithhurricanesand Quonset huts. But theirlanding strip was dry, the windsock limp. She had pulled a lot of strings to get them heretoday,butwasn'tquitesurewhatto expect. Branch could only say that it had todo with the Helio s expedition. Events were developing that could affect th e entiresubplanet. The plane parked swiftly. January and Thomas exited down the Globemaster'scargoramp,pastforkliftsan dbundled GIs. 'They're waiting,'anescorttoldthem.They entered an elevator. January hoped it meant a n upper-story room with aview. She wanted to watch thi s immense land and eternal sun. Instead they went down. Ten storiesdeep,thedoorsopened. The hallwayledtoabriefingroom,darkandsilentinside.Shehad thought the roomempty. But a voice near the front said, 'Lights.' It was spoken like a warning. Whenthelightscameon,theroomwasfull.Withmonsters. Atfirstshethoughtthey were hadalscuppinghands over eyes. Butone and all wereAmerica n officers. In front of her, a captain's jarhead haircut revealed lumps andcorrugationsonaskulltheshapeandsizeofa footballhelmet. As a congresswoman, she had chaired a subcommittee investigating the effect s ofprolonged tours o f duty into the interior . Now, surrounded b y officers of her ownArmy, she saw for herself what 'skeletal warp' and osteiti s deformans really meant:an exile among their peers. January reached fo r the term: Paget's disease. I t sent skeletaltissueintoanuncontrolledcycleofbreakdown and growth. The cranial cavity wa s not affected, an d motion and agility wer e uncompromised. But deformity was rampant.Shequickly searchedforBranch,but for once he was indistinguishable fromthecrowd. 'Welcometo our distinguished guests, Senator January and Father Thomas.' At thepodium stood a

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general name d Sandwell, known to Januar y a s a n intrigue r ofextraordinar y energy. Hisreputationa safieldcommanderwasnot good. In effect, hehad just warned his men to beware the politician and priest now in their midst. 'Wewere justbeginning.' The lights went out. There was audible relief, men relaxing back into their chairsagain .January'seyes adjustedtothedarkness.Alargevideoscreen was glowing aquablueononewall.Mapscameup, a seafloor topo, then a wireframe view of the Pacific,thenaclose-up. 'Tosummarize,'Sandwellsaid,'asituationhasdevelopedinourWestPac sector, at aborder station numbered 1492. These are commanding officers of sub-Pacific bases,andthey aregathered hereto receive ourlatest intelligenceandto take my orders.' January knew tha t was fo r her benefit. The general was declaring that he haddetermined a course of action. January was not annoyed. She could always influencetheoutcome, if need be. The fact that she and Thomas were even in this room was atestament toherpowers. 'When one of our patrols was first reported missing, we assume d the y had comeunderattack. Wesent a rapid response unit to locate and assist the patrol. The rapid responseunitwentmissing,too.Andthenthelostpatrol'sfinaldispatchreachedus.'Regret pulledatJanuary.Aliwa soutthere, beyondthelostpatrol. Concentrate, shecommandedherself,andfocusedonthegeneral. 'It's called a message in a bottle,' Sandwell explained. 'One patrol member, usually the radioman, carries a thermopylae box. It continuously gathers and digitizes videoimages. In case of an emergency, it can be triggered to transmit automatically. Theinformatio nisthrownintogeologicalspace. 'The proble m is , different subterranea n phenomen a retar d ou r frequencie s at differen t rates. In thiscase, the transmission bounced off the upper mantle and came backupthroughbasaltthatwasfolded.In short,thetransmissionwaslostinstoneforfive weeks. Finall y w e intercepte d th e messag e wav e a t ou r base abov e theMathematicia nSeamounts. The transmissionwas badly degraded with tectonic noise.It too k u s anothe r tw o week s t o enhanc e wit h computers . A s a consequence, fifty-seve n days have passed since the initial incident. During that time we lost threemor erapidresponse units.Now we know it was no attack. Our enemy is internal. Heisoneofus.Video,please.' 'Final Dispatch – Green Falcon' a title read. A dateline jumped up, lower right. ClipGal/ML1492/07-03/2304:34. Whispering, January translated for Thomas. 'Whatever it is, we're about to seesomethingfromthe McNamaraLine station 1492 at the Clipperton/Galápagos tunnelonJuly3,startingatfifty-six minutesbefore midnight.' Heatsignatures pooled out from the blackness on screen. Seven souls. They looked disembodied. 'Herethey are,'saidSandwell.'SEALs.Basedoutof UDT Three, WestPac. A routinesearch-and-destroy.' The patrol's heat signatures resolved on screen. Hot-gree n souls metamorphosedintodistincthuman bodies.Asthey approachedthecameras,theSEALs'faces took onindividual personalities . Ther e wer e a fe w whit e kids , a coupl e o f blacks , aChinese-American. 'These are edited clips taken from the lipstic k video wor n by the radi o operator.They're puttingontheir lightgear. The Lineisvery closenow.' 'The Line' was shorthand for a robot perimeter first conceived during the VietnamWar,anautomatic

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MaginotLine that would serve as a countrywide tripwire. Here, inremote parts of the underworld, the technology seemed to be holding the peace.There hadbeennext tonotrespassingfor over three years. The screenflared to a lighter blue. Triggered by motion detectors, the first band oflights – or the last, depending on which direction one was traveling, inward or out –automatically flipped on from recesses in the tunnel walls. Even wearing their darkgoggles ,theSEALshunchedandturned their faces away. Had the y been hadals, theywoul d have fled.Ordied.That wastheidea. 'I'll fast-forward through the next two hundred yards,' Sandwell said. 'Our point ofinterest liesatthe mouth.' AsSandwell fast-forwarded, theplatoonseemed tospeedthrough ribs of light. With eachsuccessivezone they entered, morelightssnappedon,and the zone behind them went dark. It was like zebra stripes. The carefully woven combinations of light andother electromagneti c wavelength s were blinding and generally lethal to life-forms bred in darkness. As the subplanet was being pacified, choke points like this one had been outfitte d wit h arrays o f light s – infrared , ultraviolet , an d othe r photon transmitters – plus sensor-guided lasers, to 'keep the genie bottled.' Evidence of thegeniebegantoappear.Sandwellresumed normalspeed. Bones and bodies littered the deadly bright avenue, as if a vicious battle had beenfought here. In full view , spotlit by the megawatt of electricity, the hada l remainswere almostuninteresting. Few hadanycoloration totheirskinsandhides.Even their hairlackedcolor.It wasnotwhite,even, justadead,parchedhuesimilartolard. Asthepatrolnearedthe tunnel's far end – what Sandwell had termed the mouth –attempts at sabotage became obvious. Lights ha d been broken , o r blocked withprimitive tools, or plugged with stones. The hadal sappers had paid a high price fortheir efforts. The SEALs came to a halt. Just ahead, where th e tunnel mouth turnedblack,lay true wilderness. Januaryswallowedhersuspense.Somethingbadwasabouttohappen. 'Anybody seeit?'Sandwellasked the room. No one replied. 'They walked right pastit,'hesaid.'Justtheway they were supposedto.' Again he fast-forwarded. At high speed, the troops took off their packs and begantheir janitoria l duties, replacing parts and lightbulbs in the walls and ceiling, andlubricating equipment an d recalibrating lasers . The on-screen clock raced throughseven minutes. 'Here's where they findit,'Sandwellsaid. The videoslowed. A group of SEALs had clustered around a spur of rock, obviously discussing acuriosity. The radioman approached, and his lipstick video camera gave a view of a smallcylinderthesizeofalittlefinger.It waslodge d in a crevice in the rock. 'There itis,'Sandwellannounced. There was no soundtrack, no voices. One of the SEALs reached for the cylinder. Asecond tried to caution him. Abruptly, on e man fell backward. The res t simplyslumpe dtotheground. The lipstick cameraspun madly, and came to rest – sideways –uponaview ofsomeone'sboot. The boottwitchedonce,nomore.

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'We've timed it,' Sandwell said. 'It took less than two seconds – one-point-eight, tobeexact –for seven men to die. Of course, it was in its concentrated form at release.But even weeks laterand three miles away, after dispersingonthe air current, it tookjust over two seconds – two-point-two – to kill our rapid response units . In otherwords,itisnearly instantaneous.Witha one-hundred-percent mortalityrate.' 'Whatisthis?'ThomashissedatJanuary.'Whatisthismantalkingabout?' 'I have noidea,'she muttered. 'Hereitisagain,slower,withmoredetail.' Frame by frame,Sandwellshowedthem the death scene from the cylinder onward. This time, the finger-length of metal tube revealed its parts: a main body, a smallglass hood, a tiny light. Magnified, the SEAL's fingers reached in. The tiny light beadchangedcolors. The cylinderdelivered the faintest burst of a n aerosol spray. Men fellto the ground, as slowly as drowned sailors. This time, January was able to see evidence of the biological violence. One of the black kids twisted his face to thecamera, mouth gulping, and his eyes were gone. A man's hand swept past the lens,bloodwhippingfromthe nails. Once again the boot twitched and something, a humanliquid,seepedfromthelaceholes. Gas,Januaryrecognized.Orgerms.Butsofast-acting? The officers caught up with the information in a single leap. CBW – chemical andbiological warfare – wa s the part of their training they least wanted to engage in thefield.Buthereitwas. 'Oncemore,'Sandwellsaid. 'Impossible, absolutely impossible,' an officer said. 'Haddie doesn't have anywherenea r this kind of capability. They're Neolithic throwbacks. They barely have thesophisticatio n to make fire. They acquire weaponry, they don't invent it. Spears andboobytraps,that'stheircreative limit.Youcan'ttellmethey're manufacturingCBs.' 'Sincethen,'Sandwellcontinued,disregardinghim, 'we've found three more capsulesjustlikeit.They have detonatorsdesignedtobetriggered by a coded radio command.Onceplaced,they canonlybeneutralized with the proper signal. Tamper with it, andyou saw what happens. And so we leave them untouched. Here's a video of the mostrecentcylinder.It wasdiscoveredfive days ago.' Thistimethe players were dressed inbiochemsuits.They movedwith the slownessof astronauts in zero gravity. The dateline was different. It saidClipGal/Rail/09-01/0732:12. The camera angle shifted to a fracture in the cave wall. Oneofthe suited troops started to insert a shiny stick into the crack. It was a dentalmirror,Januarysaw. The next anglefocusedonanimageinthemirror. 'This is the backside of one of thecapsules,'Sandwellsaid. The lettering was complete this time, though upside down. There was a tiny barcode , and an identification in English script. Sandwell froze the image. 'Right side up,'heordered. The cameraangle pivoted. SP-9, theletteringsaid,followedby USDoD. 'It'soneofours?'avoiceasked. 'The "SP" designates a synthetic prion, manufactured in the laboratory. Nine is thegenerationnumber.'

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'Is that supposed to be good news or bad news?' someone said. 'The hadals aren'tmanufacturingthe contagionthat'skillingus.Weare.' 'The Prion-9 model has an accelerant built in. On contact with the skin, it colonizesalmostinstantly. The la b director compared it to a supersonic black plague.' Sandwell paused. 'Prion-9 wa s tailore d for the theate r in case thing s got out of hand downbelow. But once they built the prion, it was decided that nothing could get so out ofhandtoever useit. Simply put, it's too deadly to be deployed. Because it reproduces,small amounts have the potential to expand and fill an environmental niche. In this case,that nicheistheentiresubplanet.' Ahand closed on January's arm with the force of a trap. The pain of Thomas's griptraveled upherbone.H eletgo.'I'msorry,' hewhispered,andtookhishand away.Januar y knew better than to interrupt a military briefing. She did it anyway. 'Andwhat happens when this prion fills its niche and decides to jump to the next niche?Whataboutourworld?' 'Excellent question, Senator. There is some good news with the bad . Prion-9 wasdevelope d fo r use i n the subplane t exclusively. It only lives – and only kills – indarkness.It diesinsunlight.' 'In other words, it can't jump its niche. That's the theory?' She let her skepticismhang. Sandwell added, 'One other thing. The synthetic prion has been tested on captivehadals.Onceexposed, they dietwiceasfastaswedo.' 'Nowthere's anedgeforyou,'someonesnorted.'Nine-tenthsofasecond.'Captivehadals?Tests? Januaryhad never heardofthese things. 'Last o f all,' Sandwell said, 'all remaining stocks o f this generatio n have beendestroyed.' 'Are there othergenerations?' 'That'sclassified.Prion-9wasgoingtobe destroyed anyway. The order arrived justdays after the theft. Except for the contraban d cylinders already in the subplanet, there arenomore.' A question came from the dark room. 'How did the hadals get their hands on our ordnance,General?' 'It'snotthehadalswhoplantedtheprioninourClipGal corridor,' Sandwell snapped. 'We have proofnow.It wasoneofus.' The video screen came on again. January was certai n h e was replayin g th e firsttape . It looked to be the same black tunnel, disgorging the sam e disembodie d heatsignatures. The hot green amoebas becam e bipedal . She checked th e dateline . Theimage s came from Line station number 1492 . But the dat e was different. It read 06/18. Thisvideohadbeenshottwoweeks earlierthantheSEALpatrol. 'Whoarethese people?'avoiceasked. The heat signatures took on distinct faces. A dozen became tw o dozen, all strung out. They weren't soldiers. But with their night glasses on, it was impossible to sayexactl y whoorwhatthe

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y were. The firstarray oftunnel lights automatically engaged.And suddenly the figures on screen could be seen yelling happily and stripping theirglassesoffandgenerallyactinglikeciviliansonaholiday. Their Helios uniforms were dirty, but not tattered or badly worn. January made aquick calculation. At thi s point, the expeditio n ha d been i n its second month oftrekking. 'Look,'shewhisperedtoThomas. It wasAli.Shehadapackonand looked healthy, if thin, and better fit than some ofthe men. Her smile was a thing of beauty. She passed the wall camera with no ideathatitwastapingher. Without turning her head, January noticed a change in the soldiers around her. Insome way, Ali'ssmile testifiedtotheirnobility. 'TheHeliosexpedition,'Sandwellsaidforthosewhodidnotknow. Moreandmorepeoplefilledthescreen.Sandwelllethiscommandersappreciate thewholepotpourri.Someone said,'Youmeantosay oneofthemplantedthecylinders?'AgainSandwellset themstraight.'I repeat, it was one o f us.' He paused. 'Not them.Us.Oneofyou.' January fastened upon Ali's image. On screen, the young woman knelt by her packand unrolled a thin sleeping pad on the stone and shared a candy with a friend. Hersmallcommunionwithherneighborswas endearing. Ali finished her preparations, then sat on her pad and opened a foil packet with a folded washcloth and cleaned her fac e and neck. Finally she folded her hand s andexhaled. Yo u coul d not mistake her contentment . A t the en d of her day , she wassatisfiedwithherlot.Shewashappy. Ali glanced up, and January thought she was praying . Bu t Ali was lookin g at thelight sinthetunnelceiling. It verged on worship. January felt touched and appalled at thesametime.ForAlilovedthelight.It was that simple. She loved the light. And yetsh ehadgivenitup.Allforwhat? Forme,thoughtJanuary. 'Iknowthatsonofabitch.'It wasoneoftheClipGalcommandersspeaking. At center screen, a lean mercenary was issuing orders to three other armed men. 'Hisname'sWalker,'thecommandersaid. 'Ex-Air Force. Jockeyed F-16s, then quit togo into business for himself. He got a bunch of Baptists killed on that colony venturesout hof the Baja structure. The survivors sued him for breach of contract. Somehowhe ended u p in my neighborhood . I hear d Helio s was hirin g muscle . The y got themselves acluster-fuck.' Sandwell let the tape run another minute without comment. Then he said, 'It's not Walkerwhoplantedtheprioncapsules.'Hefrozetheimage.'It'sthisman.' Thomas gave a start, all but imperceptible. January felt th e shoc k of recognition.She looked at his face quizzically, and his eyes skipped to hers. H e shook his head.Wrong man. She returned he r attentio n t o the imag e on screen, searchin g hermemory . The vandalizedfigurewasnoonesheknew. 'You're mistaken,' a soldier stated matter-of-factly fro m the audience . Januaryknewthatvoice.

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'MajorBranch?'Sandwellsaid.'Isthatyou,Elias?' Branch stood up, blocking part of the screen. His silhouette was thick and warpedandprimitive.'Your informationisincorrect.Sir.' 'Youdorecognizehimthen?' The image frozen on screen was a three-quarters profile, tattooed, hai r trimmedwith a knife. Again January sense d Thomas' s recoil . A click of teeth, a shift inbreathing. H e was starin g at the screen. 'Do we know this man?' she whispered.Thomasliftedhisfingers:No. 'You've madeamistake,'Branch repeated. 'Iwishwehad,'saidSandwell.'He'sgonerogue,Elias.That's thefact.' 'Nosir,'Branchdeclared. 'It's our own fault,' Sandwell said. 'We took him in. The Army gave him sanctuary.We presumed he had returned to us. But it's very possible he never quit identifyingwiththehadalswhohadcapturedhim. You've all heardoftheStockholmsyndrome.'Branchscoffed.Athissuperiorofficer.'You'resayinghe'sworkingforthe devil?' 'I'm saying h e appears to be a psychological refugee. He's trapped between twospecies,preyingon each . The way I look at it, he's killing my men. And taking aim at thewholesubplanet.' 'Him,' breathed January. Now the shock was hers. 'Thomas, he's the one Ali wroteusaboutjustbefore leavingPointZ-3. The Heliosscout.' 'Who?'askedThomas. January drew the name from her mental bank. 'Ike. Crockett,' she whispered. 'Arecapture . He escaped from the hadals. Ali said she was hoping to interview him, gethisremembrances ofhadallife,enlisthis knowledge. What have I gotten her involvedwith?' 'Judgingby hisworksofar,'Sandwellcontinued,'Crockettisattemptingto lay a beltof contagion along the entir e sub-Pacific equator . Wit h one signal he can trigger achain reaction that will wipe out every living thing in the interior, human, hadal, andotherwise.' 'Givemeyour proof,'Branchinsistedstubbornly.'Showmeonecliporonepicture ofIke planting CBs.' January heard heartbreak mixed in with his defiance. Branch had someconnectionwiththischaracter onscreen. 'We have nopictures,'Sandwellsaid.'But we've retraced the original batch of stolenPrion-9. I t was stole n from our West Virgini a chemical weapons depot. The theftoccurred the same week that Crockett visited Washington, D.C. The same week hewas to face a court-martial and a dishonorable discharge, an d then fled. Now four ofthosecylinders have beendiscoveredinthevery samecorridorhe'sguidingtheHelios expeditionthrough.' 'If the contagion goes off, he dies too,' said Branch. 'That's not Ike. He wouldn't killhimself.Anyonewho knowshimcantellyou.He'sasurvivor.' 'Infact,that'sourclue,'Sandwellsaid.'Yourprotégéhadhimselfimmunized.'There wassilence.

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'We interviewed thephysicianwhoadministeredthevaccine,'Sandwell went on. 'Heremembered th e incident , an d fo r goo d reason . Onl y on e ma n ha s eve r beenimmunize dagainstPrion-9.' Aphotographflashed on the screen. It showed a medical release form. Sandwell let them have aminutewit hit.There wasadoctor'snameandaddressatthe top. And at thebottom,aplainsignature.Sandwellreaditaloud: 'DwightD.Crockett.' 'Shit,'gruntedoneofthecommanders. Branchwasstubborninhisloyalty. 'Idisputeyour proof.' 'Iknowthisisdifficult,'Sandwellsaidtohim. Men stirred uneasily, January noticed. Later she would learn that Ike had taught manyofthem, saved som eofthem. 'It's imperative that we find this traitor,' Sandwel l told them. 'Ike has just madehimselfthemostwantedma nonearth.' Januaryraisedhervoice.'Letmeunderstand,'shesaid.'Theonlypersonimmune tothisplague,today,isthemanwh oisplantingit?' 'Affirmative,Senator,'Sandwell said. 'But not for long. In order to contain the prionrelease,we've closedth eentireClipGalcorridorwithexplosives. We're evacuating thesubplanet within a two-hundred-mile radius, including Nazca City. No one goes backin again until they get vaccinated. W e start with you, gentlemen . W e have medicswaiting for you in the next room. Senator, and Father Thomas, you're both welcome tobevaccinatedtoo.' BeforeJanuarycoulddecline,Thomasaccepted.Heglancedather.'Incase,'hesaid.A map filled the screen. It zoomed in on a vein within the earth. 'This is the Heliosexpedition'sprojected trajectory,' thegeneral continued. 'There's probably no way wecancatchthemfrombehind,meaningwe have to intercept them from the side or thefront. The problem is, we know where they've been, but not exactly where they'regoing. 'The Helios cartel has agreed to share information about the expedition's projectedcourse. Over th e nex t months , we'l l b e workin g closel y wit h thei r mapping department totry topinpointthe explorers. Meanwhile,wehunt.' 'We're going to commit all possible assets. I want squads sent out. Exit pointscovered .We'llflushhimout. We'lllaytraps.We'llwaitforhim. And when he's located,you're to shoot him dead. On sight. That order comes from the top. I repeat, kill onsight.Beforethisrenegadecankillus.' Sandwellfacedthem.'Nowisthetimetoask yourselves, is there any man here who cannotdealwiththemissio nasdescribed?' He was asking one man alone. They all knew it. Their silence waited for Branch torecusehimself.Hedid not.

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New Guinea

The phone call at 0330 woke Branch in his berth. He slept little anyway. Two daysha d passed since the commanders had returned to their bases and begun harrowingthedepthstofind Ike. Branch, however, wa sassignedtomissioncontrolat SouthPac'sNewGuinea headquarters. It hadbeendressed upasahumanitarian gesture, butwas fundamentallyaway toneutralizehim.They wantedBranch'sinsightsinto their prey,bu tdidnot trust himtokill Ike. Hedidn'tblamethem. 'MajorBranch,'avoicesaidonthephone.'Thisis Father Thomas.' Ever sinc e the briefing , Branch had been expectin g a cal l fro m January . Hisconnectio nwaswith her,not with her Jesuit confidant. He'd been surprised when the senator brought the man to their Antarctic meeting, and was not pleased to hear hisvoice.'Howdidyoufindme?'heasked. 'January.' 'Thisprobablyisn'tthe best phonelinetobeusing,'Branchrankled. Thomasdisregardedhim.'I have informatio naboutyour soldierCrockett.'Branchwaited. 'Someoneisusingourfriend.' Ourfriend?thoughtBranch. 'I've just returned fromvisitingthephysicianwhoadministeredthevaccine.'Branchlistened.Hard. 'IshowedhimaphotoofMrCrockett.' Branchscrewed thephonetighteragainsthisear. 'I think we can agree he has a rather distinctive look. But the physician had neversee n Crockett inhislife. Someoneforgedhissignature.Someoneposedashim.' Brancheasedhisgrip.'IsitWalkerthen?'That hadbeenhisfirstsuspicion. 'No,' said Thomas. 'I showed him Walker's photo. And photos of each of his hiredgunmen. The physicia nwasadamant.It wasnoneofthem.' 'Thenwho?' 'I don't know. But something isn't right here. I'm trying to obtain photos of all theexpedition members t o sho w him . The Helio s corporatio n i s provin g les s thanaccommodating . In fact, the Helios representative told me there's officially no suchexpedition.' Branchmadehimselfsitontheedge of the fiberglass bed rack. It was difficult to be calm. What was thi s priest's game ? Wh y was he playing detective with an Armyphysician ? And placin g phone calls in the middl e of the nigh t like this, trumpetingIke's innocence?'Idon't have photos,either,'sai

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dBranch. 'It occurred to me that another source of images might be that video General Sandwellplayedforus.It seemed to have alotoffaces.'Sothatwasit.'Youwantmetogetitforyou.' 'Perhapsthephysiciancouldpickhismanfromthecrowd.' 'ThenaskSandwell.' 'Ihave.He's no more forthcoming than the corporation itself. In fact, I suspect he'ssomethingotherthan whathepretends tobe.' 'I'llseewhatIcando,'Branchsaid.Hedidn'tcommithimselftothe theory. 'Is there anychanceofstoppingthesearchforCrockett, oratleaststallingit?' 'Negative. Hunter-kille r teams have been inserted . They'r e going deep, a montheach.Beyondrecall.' 'Thenweneedtomovequickly.Sendthatvideotothesenator'soffice.' After he hung up, Branch sat in the semidarkness. He could smell himself, theplasticizedflesh,thestinkofhi sdoubt.Hewasuselesshere. That was their intent. Hewas supposed to stay quietly parked at the surface and wait while they took care ofbusiness.NowBranchcouldnotwait. Obtaining the ClipGal videos fo r the pries t might have its value. Bu t even if thephysician put his finger o n the culprit, it was too late to reverse Sandwell's decision.Most of the long-rang e patrol s ha d already passed beyond communication. Everyhou rputthem deeper intothestone. Branch got to his feet. No more hesitation. He had a duty. To himself. To Ike, whohadnoway toknow whatthey hadinmindforhim. Branchstrippedoffhisuniform.It wasliketakingoffhis own skin; it could never beputonagain after this. What a peculiar thing a life was. Nearly fifty-two, he had spent mor e tha n threedecade s with the Army . What he was about to do should have seemed more difficult than this. Perhaps his fellow officers would understand and forgive him this excess.Mayb e they'd justthinkhe'dfinallygoneoffhisnut.Freedomwaslike that. Naked, he faced the mirror , a dark stain upon the dark glass. His ruined flesh glistened like a pitted gem . He was sorry, suddenly, neve r to have had a wife or children.It would have beenniceto leave a letter fo r someone, a last phone message.Instead hehadthisterrible companion,abroken statue inhislookingglass. Hedressed incivilianclothingthat barely fit,andtookhisrifle.Next morning,noonewantedto report Branch AWOL. Finally,GeneralSandwellgottheword.He was furious and did not hesitate to issuetheorder.MajorBranch wasinontheconspiracy with Ike, he declared. 'They're bothtraitors.Shootthemonsight.'

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It was a monstrous big river down there.

– MARK TWAIN, The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

16

BLACK SILK

The Equator, West

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The paladinchasedalongthe river's paths, devouring great distances. He had learnedof yet more invasion, but this time along the ancient camino and nearing their finalasylum.Andsohehadcometoinvestigate this trespass, ordestroy it,on behalf of thePeople. He fought all memory. Suffered privations. Shed desire. Cast off grief. In service tothegroup,hegladly effacedhisheart. Some give up the world . For others , th e worl d is taken away. Either way, gracecomes in the moment. And so the paladi n ran, seeking t o erase all thoughts o f hisgreat love. In her lifetime , the woman had borne him a child and learned her station andrightfuldutiesandbecome mastered. Captivity hadbrokenhermindandspirit.It hadcreated a blank table for the Way to be written upon. Like him, she had recoveredfro m the mutilations and initiations. On the merits of her nature , sh e had risen up fromherlowlybestialstatus.Hehadhelped create her, and, as happens, had come to lovehis creation.NowKorawasdead. Strippedofclan,withhiswomandead,he was rootless now and the world was vast.Ther e were so many ne w regions and species t o investigate, so many destinationscalling to him. He could have forsaken th e hada l tribes and gone deeper into theplanet,or even returned tothesurface.Buthehadchosenhispathalong timeago.After manyhourstheascetictired.It becametimeto rest. Heleftthetrailracing.Onehandtouchedtherockwall.With an intelligence all theirown, his fingertips found random purchase. Part of his brain changed direction andtoldthehandtopull,andhisfeet wentwithhim.He could have been running still, but suddenly he was climbing at a gallop. He scuttled diagonally up the arched sides to acavity nearmid-ceiling,alongsidethe river. Hesmelledthecavity toknowwhatelsehadburrowedhere,andwhen. Satisfied, hedrewhimselfintothestone bubble.He wedged his limbs tight, socketed his spine justso, and said in full his night prayer, part supplication, part superstition. Some of thewords were in a language that parents and their parents and their parent s hadspoken . Words that Kora had taught their daughter. Hallowe d be Thy name, he thought. The paladin did not close his eyes. But all the while his heart was slowing. Hisbreathing almost stopped. He grew still. M y soul to keep. The river flowed beneathhim.Hewenttosleep. Voiceswokehim,ricochetingoffthe river's skin.Human. The recognition came slowly. In recent years he had purposely tried to forget thissound.Eveninthemouths ofquiet ones, it had a jarring discord. Bone-breaking in its aggression. Barging everywhere, like sunlight itself. It was no wonder that morepowerfu l animals ran from them. It shamed him that he had once been part of theirrace, even ifithadbeen over a half-century ago. Here,speechwasdifferent.Toarticulatewasjustthat,tojointhingstogether. Everypreciou s space – every tube, ever y burrow, ever y gap and hollow – relied on itsconnectiontoanotherspace.Lifeinamazedepende duponlinkage. Listen to humans, and their very speech denied the construct. Space addled them.Withnothingabove thei r heads, no stone to cap the world, their thoughts went flyingoff into a void more terribl e tha n an y

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chasm . N o wonde r the y wer e invadingwilly-nilly .Manhadlosthismindtoheaven. Gradually he filled his lungs, but the water smell was to o powerful. No chance ofscent.That lefthimechoe storeckonwith.Hecould have leftlongbeforethey arrived.H ewaited. They arrived in boats. No point guards, no discipline, no caution, no protection fortheir women. Their lights were a river where a trickle woul d have sufficed . Hesquintedthroughatinyhole between his fingers,insultedby theirextravagance. They poured beneath his cavity without a single glance up. Not one of them! They were so sure of themselves. He lay still in the ceilin g in plain view, a coil of limbs,contemptuousoftheirself-assurance. Their rafts strung throug h the tunne l in a long, random mass. He quit countingheadstofocusinsteadonthei rweak andstrays. There waslittletorecommendthem.They were slow,withdulledsenses,and out ofsynch. Each conducted himself with little reference to the group. Over the next hourhe watched different individuals imperil the group's safety by brushing the walls orcasting aside bits of uneaten food . It wa s mor e tha n sign they wer e leavin g topredators . They were leaving the taste of themselves. Every time on e rambled hishan d along the rock , he painted human grease on the wall. Their piss gave off apungentsignature.Shortof openingtheir veins and lying down, they could have donenothingmoretoinvitetheirownslaughter. The ones with tiny hurts did nothing to disguise their pain. They advertised theirvulnerabilities, offered themselves as the easiest quarry. Their heads wer e too big,and their joints were askew at the hips and knees. He couldn't believe that he hadbeen born like them. On e changed little bandages on her feet and threw the oldbandagesintothe water, where they washedtoshore.Hecould smell her details fromuphere. There were many women among them. That was the unbelievable part. Chatteringand oblivious. Unguarded. Ripe women. In such a fashion, Kora had come to him inthedarkness,longago. After they had passed deeper with the river's current, he waited a n hour for hiseyes to recover from thei r lights . Muscle by muscle, he released himself from thecavity. He hung by one arm from its slight lip, listening not so much for stragglers asforotherpredators,for there would surely be those. Content, he let g o and landed onthetrail. Indarkness he moved among their refuse, sampling it. He licked the foil of a candywrapper,sniffedthe roc k where they had rubbed against it. He nosed at the female'sbandages,thentookthemintohismouth.Thiswa sthetaste ofhumans.Hechewed.He trailed them again, running along old paths worn into the shore stone, reachingthemasthey camped.Hewatched. Many of them talked or sang to themselves, and it was like hearing the insid e oftheirminds.Sometimeshis Korahadsunglikethat,especiallytotheirdaughter.Repeatedly, individuals would wander from camp and place themselves within hisreach.He sometimes wondered if they had sensed his presence and were attemptingtosacrifice themselves tohim.Onenighthestolethroughtheircamp while they slept.Theirbodies glowedinthedarkness.A lone female started as he slid past, and stareddirectl yathim.Hisvisage seemed horrifying to her. He backed away and she lost hisimageandsankbackintosleep.Hewasnothingmorethana fleetingnightmare. It was difficult to keep from harvesting one. But the time wasn't right, and therewa s no sense in frightening them at this early stage. They were heading deeper intothe sanctuary allontheirown,andhedidn't know their rationale for coming here yet.

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Andsoheatebeetles,carefultomashthemwithhistonguelestthey crunch.

Dayby day,theriver becametheirfever. They made a flotilla of twenty-two rafts roped together, some lashed side by side,others trailing singly far behind, for the sake of solitude or mental health or scienceexperiments or clandestine lovemaking. The large pontoon boats ha d a ten-mancapacity,including1,500 pounds of cargo. The smaller boats they use d as dinghies totransport passengers from one polyurethane island to another during the day, or forfloatin ghospitalbedswhen people got sick, or for ranger duty, rigged with a machinegunandoneofthe battery-powered motors.Ike wasgiventheonlyseakayak. There wasnotsupposedtobe weather down here. There could be no wind, no rain,no seasons: scientifically unfeasible. The subplanet wa s hermeticall y sealed, a nearvacuum, they'd bee n told , it s thermostat locke d a t 8 4 degrees Fahrenheit , itsatmospher emotionless. No thousand-foot waterfalls. No dinosaurs, for Christ-sake. Most of all, there wasnotsupposedtobe light. But there was all of that. They passed a glacier calving small blue icebergs into theriver. The ceilings sometimes rained with monsoon weight. One of the mercenarieswa sbittenby a plate-armored fish unchangedsincetheageoftrilobites. Withincreasingfrequency, they entered caverns illuminatedby atype of lichen thatate rock. In its reproductive stage, apparently, the lichen extended a fleshy stalk, orascocarp, with a positive and negativ e electrical charge. The result was light , whichattracted flatworms b y the millions . These were eaten, in turn, by mollusks thattraveled ontonew,unlitregions. The mollusksexcreted lichensporesfrom their guts. The spore s mature d t o eat th e ne w rock . Ligh t sprea d b y inche s throug h the darkness. Ali loved it. What excited the botanists was not just the production of light energy,bu t the decompositio n of rock, a lichen by-product. Decomposed rock was soil, whichmeantvegetation,andanimals. The lando fthedeadwasvery muchalive. The geologists were elated. The expedition was about to leave the Nazca Plate andtraverse beneath the East Pacific Rise. Here the Pacific Plate was just being born asfreshly extruded rock, which steadily migrated west with a conveyor-belt motion. Itwoul d take 180 million years for the roc k t o reach th e Asia n margin, there to bedevoured – subducted – back into the earth' s mantle. They were going to see the entirePacificplategeology,frombirthtodeath. In the third week of August, they passed through the rise between the roots of anamelessseamount, an ocean-floor volcano. The seamount itself sat a mile overhead, serviced by these ganglia reaching deep int o the mantle for supplies of live magma.The riverine wallsbecamehot. Faces flushed. Lips cracked. Those still carrying Chap-stick even used i t on theirsplittingcuticles.Bythe thirtiethhour,they knewwhatitwasliketoberoastedalive.Head draped wit h a red-and-white checkered cotton scarf, Ike warned them tokeepcovered. The NASA survival suitswere supposedtowicktheir sweat to a secondlayer to circulate and cool. But the humidit y insid e their suit s becam e unbearable.Soo n

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everyone had stripped to underwear, even Ike in his kayak. Appendix scars,moles , birthmark s al l wen t o n display ; late r th e revelation s woul d fue l new nicknames. Alihadnever knownthirstlikethis. 'Howmuchlonger?'avoicecroakedfromtheline.Ike grinned.'Drink,'hesaid. They moved on, mouths open. The batteries of their boa t motors ha d run down.They paddledlistlessly, spooningatthe river. At one point the tunnel wall became so hot, it glowed dull red. They could see raw magmathrough a gash opened in the wall. It arched and seethed like gold and blood,roiling in the planetary womb. Ali dared on e glance and darted her fac e away andstroked on.Its hushwaslikea great geologicallullaby. The river loopedaroundandthroughthevolcano'ssearingrootsystem. There were,a salways,forksandfalse paths.Somehow,Ike knewwhichway togo. The tunnel began to close on them. Al i was near the end of the line. Suddenly screamsissuedfromthever y back.Shethoughtthey were underattack. Ike appeared,hiskayak scooting upriver likeawater bug. He passed Ali's raft, then stopped. The wallsha dplasticizedandbulged in on the tunnel, confining the very lastraftonits upriver side. 'Whoarethey?' Ike askedAliandherboatload. 'Walker'sguys,'someoneanswered.'There were twoofthem.' The shoutingonthefarsideoftheopeningwasanonymous. The hemorrhagedstonemadeanoiselikeaship'sribs cracking. The outersheathofstone splintered, throwing shrapnel. Walker and his boat of men came paddling from lower down. The colonel assessedthesituation.'Leave them,'hesaid. 'Butthoseareyour men,'Ike said. 'There's nothing to be done. It's already too narrow to get their raft through. Theykno wtoretreat ifthey getcutoff.' The soldiersinWalker's boats were lockjawed withfear,veins snaky fromwristtoshoulder. 'Well,thatwon'tdo,'Ike said,andshot upriver. 'Getbackhere!'Walkershouted after him. Ike darted his kayak through the narrowing channel. The walls were deforming byth eminute. Part ofhis checkered scarf touched the walls and caught fire. The hair on hisheadsmoked.Hepoppedthroughthemaw atfullspeed. The sidesbloatedinbehindhim. The bottomtenfeet of the opening fused shut withakiss. A gap remained open near the ceiling, but it was easily nine hundred degreesFahrenhei tthroughthere. Noonecould conceivablyclimbthrough.

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'Ike?' calledAli. It wasasifhehadjustchangedintosolidrock. The new wall quickly choked back the river. Even as Ali's boat of people sat there,the river's bottom gre w more exposed , inch by inch. The corridor was fillin g withsteam.It wasgoingtobearacetokeep aheadof thedeprivation. 'Wecan'tstay here,'someonesaid. 'Wait,'Alicommanded.Sheadded,'Please.' They waited an d the riverbe d drained lower. In another few minutes their raftwouldbesittinguponbare stone. Ali'scrackedlipsparted.Godthe Father, she prayed. Let thisonegofree. It was not like her. True devotion was not quid pro quo. You never cut deals withGod. Once, as a child, she had pleaded fo r her parents ' return. Ever since, Ali haddecidedtoletbewhatwas.Thy willbedone. 'Lethimlive,'shemurmured. The wallsdidnotopen.Thiswasnotafairytale. The stonestayed welded. 'Let'sgo,'saidAli. Then they heard a different sound . Dammed on the fa r side , the rive r had built height. Abruptly, ajetof water shotthroughthemoltenaperture atthetop. 'Look!' Like Jonah being vomited from the whale, one, then two men came blasting fromthe hole. Sheathed in water, they were protected from the scalding rock and thrownclearintothelower river. The twosoldiers staggered downstream through the thigh-deep water, weaponless,burned, naked. But alive. The raft of scientists returned and pulled the two bleating, shockedmenontotheirfloor.'Where'sIke?' Aliyelledto them, but their throats wereto oswollentospeak. They lookedto the hole of spouting water, and a shape sprang through the torrent.It was long and black with mottled gray, Ike's empty sea kayak. Next appeared hispaddle.Ike camelast. He held onto the gunnel of his kayak, half cooked. When his strength returned, heemptied the craft of water and got himself in and came paddling down to them. Hewasburned,butwhole,rightdowntohis shotgun. It had been the closest of calls, and he knew it. He took a deep breath, shook thewater fromhishair,and didhis best tostopdownthebiggrin.Helookedeach of themin theeye, lastofallAli. 'Whatarewewaitingfor?'hesaid.

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Manyhourslater,theexpeditionfinisheditsmarathonbeneaththe seamount. Theypulle d onto a shoal of green basalt in cooling air. There was a small stream of clearwater. The twolucky soldiers were returned to Walker, naked. Their gratitude to Ike wasobvious. The colonel's shameatabandoningthemwaslikeadangerouscloud. For the next twenty hours, people slept. When they woke, Ike had stacked somerockstopoolthe stream forthemtodrink.Alihadnever seenhimsohappy. 'Youmadethemwait,'hesaidtoher. In full view of the others, he kissed her on the lips. Maybe that was the safest wayh ecouldthinktodoit.Sh ewentalongwithit, even blushing. By now, Ali was beginning to recognize the archangel inside Ike's sausage ski n ofscarsand wild tattooing. The more she trusted him, the more she did not. He had anesprit, a n air of immortality. Sh e could see how each brush wit h great risk wouldserv e tofeedit,andhow eventually even akissmightdestro y him.

Naturally,they calledtheriver Styx. The slowcurrent loftedthem.Some days they barely dipped a paddle, drifting withthe flow. Hundreds of miles of shoreline stretched by with elastic monotony. Theyname d some of the more prominen t landmarks, an d Ali jotted th e name s down toenter ontohermapseachnight. After a month of acclimation, their circadian rhythms were finally synched to thechangeless night. Sleep resembled hibernation, profound crashes into dream, REMspracticall y shaking them. Initially they lapsed into ten-hour stretches, then twelve.Eac h time they closed their eyes , it seemed they slept longer . Finall y their bodiessettle d onacommunalnorm:fifteenhours.After that much sleep, they would usuallybegoodfor athirty-hour 'day.' Ike had to teach them how to pace such a long waking cycle, otherwise they wouldhave destroyed themselves with exhaustion. I t took stronger muscles and thickercallusesandconstantattention to respiration and food to stay mobile for twenty-fourhour sormoreatatime. Ifnotfortheirwatches,they would have sworntheirbiologicalclockswere thesameasonthesurface.There wer e many advantages to this new regimen. They were ableto cover vastly more territory. Also, without the su n and moon to cue them, the ybega ntolive,inasense,longer. Time dilated. You could finish a five-hundred-page novel in a single sitting. Theydevelope d a craving fo r Beethoven and Pink Floyd and James Joyce, anything ofmagnum-opuslength. Ike tried to instill in them ne w awareness . The shape s o f rocks, th e tast e ofminerals ,theholesof silenceina cavern: memorizeit all, he said. They humored him.Heknewhisstuff,whichtooktheburden off them. It was his job, not theirs. He wenton trying.Somedayyouwon't have your instrumentsandmaps,he said.Or me. You'll

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needtoknow where you are with your fingertips, by an echo receding. Some tried toemulate his quiet manner, others his unspoken authority with things violent. Theylike dhowhespookedWalker'ssolemn gunmen. That hehadbeenamountaineerwasobviousinhis economy and care. From his bigstone walls in Yosemite and his Himalayan mountains, Ike had learned t o take thejourney one inch at a time. Long before the underworld ever came into his life, Alirealized, it was th e climbin g that ha d shaped Ike's tactil e perceptions . I t camenaturall ytohim to read the world through his fingertips, and Ali liked to think it had givenhimanedge even onhis first accidental descent from Tibet. The irony was thathistalentforascenthad becomehisvehicleforthe abyss. Often, before the others woke each morning, Ali would see him flickering off upontheblack water, nota riffleinhiswake.Atsuch times she wishfully imagined this was therealmanwithinhim. The sightofhimslipping monk-likeintothewilderness made herthinkofthesimpleforceofprayer. He quit using paint and simply blazed the wall with a pair of chemical candles andwent on. They would float past his cold blue crosses glowing above the waters like aneon JESUS SAVES. They followed him through the aperture s and rock meatus . Hewoul d be waiting on a scarp of olivine or reefs of iron, or sitting in his night-coloredkayak, holdingontoanoutcrop.Alilikedhimatpeace. One day they drifted around a bend and heard an unearthly sound, part whistle,partwind. Ike had found a primitive musical instrument left by some hadal. Made ofanimal bone, it had three holes on top and one on the bottom . They beached, and som eoftheflute players tookturnstrying tomakeitworkforthem. One got a trickleofBachout,anotherabitofJethroTull. Thenthey gave itbackto Ike, andheplayed what the flute was meant for. It was a hadal song, with clots of melody and measured rhythm. The alien sound spellboundthem, even the soldiers . This was what move d the hadals? The syncopation, thecheepsandtrillsandsuddengrunts,and finally a muffled shout: it was an earth song,completewithanimalandwater soundsandtherumbleofquakes. Ali was mesmerized, but appalled, too. More than the tattoos and scars, the boneflutedeclared Ike's captivity. It was not just his proficiency and memory of the song,butalsohisobviousloveforit.Thisalienmusic spoketotheheart ofhim. WhenIke wasdone,they clappeduncertainly. Ike lookedatthebonefluteasifhe'dnever seensuchathing,then tossed it into theriver. Whe n the other s ha d left, Al i fished along the botto m an d retrieved the instrument. They madeasportofsightinghadalfootpaths.Wherethe caverns narrowedand theshore vanished, the y spie d foot- an d handholds traversing abov e th e waterline,linkin g the riverside beaches. They found strands of crude chains fixed to the walls,rusting away. One night, failing to find a shore to camp upon, they tied to the chainsand slept on the rafts. Perhaps hadal boatmen had used the lengths of chain to haul upriver, or hadals had clambered barefoot across the links. One way or another, theancientthoroughfare hadclearlybeenconnected. Where the river widened, sometimes sprawling hundreds of meters across, thewater seemed tostopand they sat nearly becalmed. At other times the river coursed powerfully. You coul d not call rapids what the y occasionally ran. The water had adensitytoit,andthecascadespouredwithAmazon-liketorpor. Portaging was seldomnecessary.

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At the end of each 'day,' the explorers relaxed by small 'campfires' consisting of a single chemical candle laid on the ground. Five or six people would gather around toshareitscoloredlight.They would sit on rock s and tell stories or mull over their ownthoughts. The pastbecamemoreexplicit.They dreamedmorevividly. Their storytelling grew richer. One evening, Ali was consumed by a memory. She saw three ripe lemons onthewoodencutting boardinhermother'skitchen,rightdowntothesunlightspanglingofftheirpores.Sheheardhermothersingingwhile they rolledpie dough in a storm offlour.Suchimagesoccurredtohermore frequently, more vividly. Quigley, the team'spsychiatrist, thought the distracting intensity of their memories might be a form ofdementiaormil dpsychoticepisode. The tunnelsand caves were very quiet.You could hear the hungry flipping of pagesaspeoplereadthe paperback novelscirculatingamongthemlike rumors. The tap-tapo f laptop keyboards went on for hours a s they recorded data o r wrote letters fortransmissionatthenext cache.Gradually the candles would dim an d the camp wouldsleep. Ali's map grew more dreamlike. In lieu of a definite east-west orientation, sheresorted towhatartists call a vanishing point. That way, all the features on her charthad the same reference point, even if it was arbitrary . Not that they were lost, ingeneral.Invery broad terms, they knewexactly where they were, a mile beneath theocean floor, movin g west b y southwes t between th e Clipperto n an d Galápagosfractur e zones. On maps showing seafloor topography, the region above was a blankplain. Onfootthey hadaveraged lessthantenmilesa day. In their first two weeks on theriver, they floated ten time s that, almost 1,300 miles . At thi s rate, i f the rive rcontinued ,they wouldreachtheunderbellyofAsia within three months.

The darkwater wasnotquitedark;ithadafaintpastelphosphorescence.Ifthey keptthei r light s off, the rive r would surface fro m the blacknes s a s a phantom serpent,vaguely emerald.Oneofthe geochemists opene d his pants and demonstrated how, indrinkingthe water, they nowpissed streams offaintlight. Aided by the river's subtle luminescence, the patient ones like Ali were able to seeperfectly well in the surfac e equivalen t of near-night. Ligh t that had once seemednecessary now hurt her eyes. Even so, Walker insisted on strong lights for guardingtheirflanks,whichtendedtodisruptthescientists' experiments an dobservations. The scientists took to floating their raft s a s far a s possible from the soldiers' spotlights . N o on e though t twice about their growing segregation from the mercenariesuntiltheeveningoftheircampo fthemandalas. It had been a short day, eighteen easy hours with few features to remark on. Thesmal larmadaofrafts roundedabend,andaspotlightpicked out a pale, lone figure onabeachinthedistance.It couldonlybe Ike at a campsite he had found for them, andyet hedidn'tanswertheircalls.Asthey drew closer,they sawhewassittin gfacingtherockwallinaclassiclotusposition.Hewasonashelfabove theobviouscamp. 'What'sthiscrap?'grousedShoat.'Hey,Buddha.Permissiontoland.' They cameonshorelikeaninvasionparty, swarmingfromtheirrafts onto dry land,securingtheirhold.Ike was

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forgotten as people ran about claiming flat spots for theirsleepingplaces,orhelpedunloadtherafts.Only after the initial flurry did they returnthei rattentiontohim. Alijoinedthegrowingcrowdofonlookers. Ike's backwastothem.Hewasnaked. Hehadn'tmoved. 'Ike?' Alisaid.'Areyouokay?' His rib cage rose an d fell so faintly, Al i could barely detect the movement. Thefinger sofonehandtouche dthefloor.Hewasmuch thinner than Ali had imagined. Hehad the collarbone s of a mendicant, not a warrior, bu t hi s nakedness wa s no t thesourceoftheirawe. He had once been tormented: whipped , carved, even shot . Long, thin lines ofsurgicalscartissue bracketed hisupper spine where doctors had removed his famousvertebral ring.Thiswholecanvasofpainha dbeen decorated – vandalized – with ink. Intheirwavinglights,the geometric patterns and animal images and glyphs and text were animatedonhis flesh. 'Forpity'ssake.'Awomangrimaced. His wickerwork of ribs and embellished skin and scars looke d like history itself,terrible events laid one over another. Ali could not get the thought out of her head: devilshadhandledhim. 'Howlong'shebeensittinglikethis?'someoneasked.'What'shedoing?' The crowd was subdued. There was something immensely powerful abou t thisoutcast . He had suffere d enclosure and poverty and deprivation in ways they could not fathom. And yet that spine was a s straight a s a reed, tha t min d intent ontranscendin gitall.Clearlyhewasatprayer. Nowthey sawthatthewall he was facing contained rows of circles painted onto therock. Their lights bleached the circles faint and colorless. 'Hadal stuff,' a soldier saiddismissively. Ali went closer . The circle s wer e fille d wit h lightl y draw n line s an d scrawls,mandala sof somekind.Shesuspectedthatindarkness they wouldglow. But trying togleaninformationfromthemwithsoman ylightsonwasuseless. 'Crockett,' snapped Walker, 'get control of yourself.' Ike's strangeness was startingtofrightenpeople,and Alisuspectedthecolonelwasintimidatedby theextent of Ike'smut esuffering,asifit detracted further fromhis ownauthority. WhenIke didnotmove,hesaid,'Coverthatman.' Oneofhismenwentforwardandstarted to drape Ike's clothing over his shoulders. 'Colonel,'thesoldiersaid,'Ithinkhemightbedead.Comefeelhowcoldheis.' Over the next few minutes the physicians established that Ike had slowed hismetabolism to a near standstill. His pulse registered less than twenty beats , hisbreathin glessthan three cyclesperminute. 'I've heard of monks doing this,' someonesaid.'It'ssomekindofmeditationtechnique.' The groupdriftedofftoeatandsleep. Later that night, Ali went to check on him. Itwa s just a courtesy, she

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told herself. She would have appreciated someone checkingon her. Sh e climbed the foothold s to his shelf and he was still there, back erect,fingertip s pressed to the ground. Keeping her light off, she approached him to drapehis shirt across his shoulders, for it had fallen off. That was when she discovered thebloodglazinghisback.Someone else had visited Ike, and run a knife blade across theyoke ofhis shoulders. Aliwasoutraged.'Whodidthis?'shedemandedin an undertone. It could have beenasoldier.OrShoat.Ora groupofthem. His lungs suddenly filled. She heard the air slowly release through his nose. As in adream,hesaid,'It'sallth esame.'

*

When the woman parted from her group and went up a side chute awa y from theriver, hethoughtshehad gonetodefecate.It was a racial perversity that the humansalways went alone like this. At their moment of greatest vulnerability, with theirbowelsopenandanklestrapped by clothing and clouds of odor spreading through thetunnel, just when they most needed their comrades gathered around for protection,eachinsiste donsolitude. Buttohissurprise,thefemaledidn'tvoidherbowels.Rather,shebathed. Shestarted by sheddingherclothing.By the light of her headlamp, she brought herpubis to a lather with the soap bar and sleeved her palms around each thigh and ranthem up and down her legs. She didn't come close to the fatted Venuses so dear tocertain tribes he had observed. But neither was she bony. There was muscle in her buttocksandthighs. The pelvicgirdleflared,a solid cup for childbearing. She emptied abottle over hershouldersandthewater snakedalonghercontours.Rightthen,hedeterminedtobreed her. Perhaps, he reasoned, Kora had died in order to make way for this woman. Or she was a consolation for Kora's death, provided by his destiny. It was even possible she was Kora, passed from one vessel to this next. Who could say? In search o f a newhome,soulswere saidtodwellinthestone,huntingways throug hthecracks. She had the unblemished flesh of a newborn. Her frame and long limbs were notwithout promise. Daily life could be severe, but the legs, especially, suggested anability to keep up. He imagined the body with rings and paint and scars, once he hadhis way. If she survived the initiation period, he would give her a hadal name thatcouldbefeltandseenbutnever spoken,justashehadgivenmanyothersnames.Justashehad himselfbeengivenaname. The acquisition could occur in several ways. He could lure her. He could seize her.Or he could simply dislocate one of her legs and bear her off . If al l else failed , shewouldmakegoodmeat. In his experience, temptation wa s mos t preferable. He was adroit, even artisticabout it, and his status among hadals reflected it. Several times, near the surface, hehadmanagedtoenticesmallgroupsinto his

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handling. Ensnare one, and she – or he – could sometimes be used to draw others . I f i t was a wife, her husban d sometimesfollowed. A child generally guaranteed at leas t on e parent. Religiou s pilgrims were easy. It wasagameforhim. He stayed inert in the shadows, listening for others who might have been drawnhere , human or otherwise. Assured of their seclusion, he finally made his move. InEnglish. 'Hello?'Heloftedthewords furtively. Hedidnothingtodisguisehisdesire. She had turned for a second bottle of water, and at his voice she paused. Her headrotated left and right. The word had come from behind, but sh e was judgin g morethanits direction. He liked her quickness of mind, her ability to sift the opportunitiesaswellasthedangers. 'Whatareyoudoingout there?' the woman demanded. She was sure of herself. Shemade no attempt to cover herself. She faced upslope, nude, overt, blazing white. Hernakednessandbeauty were toolsforher. 'Watching,'hesaid. 'I've beenwatchingyou.' Somethinginhercarriage–thelineofherneck,thearchofherspine–acceptedthevoyeurism. 'Whatdoyouwant?' 'What do I want?' Wha t would she want t o hear s o deep in the earth? He wasremindedofKora.'The world,'hesaid.'Alife.You.' Shetookitin.'You'reoneofthesoldiers.' He let her own desires pronounce her. She had been watching the soldier s watchher, he realized. She had fantasized about them, though probably no one of them inparticular. For she had not asked his name, only his occupation. His anonymityappealed to her. It would be less complicating. Very probably she ha d gone off alone likethishopingtolurejustsuchaonehere. 'Yes,'hesaid.Hedidnotlietoher.'Iwasasoldieronce.' 'So,areyougoing to let me see you?' she asked, and he could tell it was not a greatneed . The unknown wasmoreprimary. Goodlassie,hethought. 'No,'hesaid.'Notyet. Whatifyoutold?' 'WhatifItold?'sheasked. He could smell her change. The potent smel l of her se x was beginnin g to fill thesmallchamber. 'They wouldkillme,'hesaid. Sheturnedoutthelight. Alicouldtellthathellwasstartingtogettothem. This was Jonah's vista, the beast's gut as hollowed earth. It was the basemen t oftheirsouls.Aschildrenthe y had all learned it was forbidden to enter this place, shortofGod'sdamnation.Yet herethey were, andit scaredthem. Perhaps not unnaturally, it was he r the y bega n t o turn to . Men and women,scientists and soldiers, began seeking he r ou t to make their confessions . Freightedwith myths, they wantedout from their burde

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n of sins. It was a way of keeping their sanity.Strangely, shewasnot prepared fortheirneed. It wasalways donesingly.Oneofthemwould drift back or catch her alone in camp.Sister, they would murmur. A minute before, they had called her Ali. But then theywoul dsay Sister,andshewouldknowwhat they wanted of her: to become a strangert othem,alovingstranger, nameless,all-forgiving. 'I'mnotapriest,'Alitoldthem.'Ican'tabsolveyou.' 'You're a nun,' they would say, as if the distinction were meaningless. And then itwould start, the recitatio n o f fears and regrets, their weaknesses and rancor andvendettas, theirappetites and perversions. Things they dared not speak aloud to oneanother,they spoketoher. In ecumenica l parlance , i t wa s no w calle d reconciliation . Thei r hunge r fo r itastonishedher. At times, she felt trapped by their autobiographies. They wanted hertoprotect themfromtheirown monsters. Ali first noticed Molly's condition during an afternoon poker game. It was just thetwo of them in a small raft. Molly showed a pair of aces. That was when Ali saw herhands. 'You'rebleeding,'shesaid. Molly'ssmilewavered. 'Nobigdeal.It comesandgoes.' 'Sincewhen?' 'Idon'tknow.'Shewasevasive. 'Amonthago.' 'Whathappened?Thislooksterrible.' There was a hole scraped in the flesh of each palm. Some of the meat looked coredout.It wasn'tan incision,butitwasn'tanulcer, either. It looked eaten by acid, exceptaci dwould have cauterizedthewound. 'Blisters,'saidMolly.Hereyes haddevelopeddarkcircles.She kept herscalpshavedshortoutofhabit,butitno longersuggested bountifulgoodhealth. 'Maybe oneofthedocsshould take alook,'Alisaid.Mollyclosedherfists. 'There's nothingwrongwithme.' 'Iwasjustconcerned,'saidAli.'Wedon't have totalkaboutit.' 'Youwere implyingsomething'swrong.'Molly'seyes begantobleed. Taking n o chances, the team' s physicians quarantined the two women in a rafttuggedahundredyards behindthe rest. Ali understood. The possibility of some exotic disease had the expedition in a stateo f terror. But she resented Walker's soldiers watching them with sniperscopes. She wa s not allowed a walkie-talkie to communicate with the grou p because Shoa t saidthey wouldonly use it to beg and wheedle. By the morning of the fourth day, Ali wasexhausted. A quarter-mile to the front, a dinghy detached fro m the flotill a and started backtoward her. Time for th e daily house call. The doctors were wearing respirators andpaperscrubsand latex gloves. Ali had called

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them cowards yesterday, and was sorrynow .They were doingtheirbest. They drifted close and nodded to Ali. One flashed his light on Molly. Her beautifullipswere cracked. Her lush body was withering. The ulcerations had spread over herbody.Sheturnedherheadfromtheirlight. Oneof the physicians came into Ali's boat. She got into theirs, and the other doctor paddledherashortdistanceaway totalk. 'Wecan'tmakesenseofit,'hesaid.His voice was muffled by the respirator. 'We didthe blood test again. It could still turn out to be an insect venom, or an allergicreaction.Whatever itis,youdon't have it.Youdon't have tobeoutherewithher.' Ali ignored the temptation. No one else would volunteer, they were too frightened.AndMollycouldnotbe alone.'Anothertransfusion,'Alisaid.'Sheneedsmoreblood.' 'We've given her five pints already. She's like a sieve. We may as well pour it intothewater.' 'You've givenup?' 'Ofcoursenot,'thedoctorsaid.'We'llallkeep fightingforher.' The doctorpaddled her back to the quarantine raft. Ali felt cold and wooden. Molly wasgoingtodie. As they paddled away, the physician s discarded thei r protective garments. Theytor e the paper suits fro m their limbs, stripped away their latex gloves, and left themlikeskinsfloatingonthecurrent. Molly's wounds deepened. Sh e began to sweat a rank grease through her pores.The y put her on antibiotics, but that didn't help. A fever set in. Ali could feel its heatjustby leaningacrossher. Another time, Ali opened her eyes and Ike was sitting in his gray and black kayakalongsid ethequarantin eraft,foralltheworldakillerwhalebobbingon slow currents.Hewasnotwearingtherequisitescrubsand respirator, and his disregard was a smallmiracletoAli.Hetiedhiskayak tothemandslippedfromitontotheraft. 'Icametoseeyou,'hesaidtoher.Mollylayasleep between Ali'slegs. 'It'sinherlungs,'Alireported. 'She'ssuffocatingonfungus.' Ike slipped one hand beneath Molly's cropped head and raised it gently and bentdown. Ali thought he meant to kiss her. Instead, he sniffed at her open mouth. Herteeth were stainedred.'It won'tbelong,'hesaid , as if that were a mercy. 'You shouldsay prayers forher.' 'Oh, Ike,' sighed Ali. Suddenly she wanted to be held, but could not bring herself toask for it. 'She's too young. And this isn't the righ t place . She asked me what willhappe ntoherbody.' 'I know what t o do,' he said, and did not elaborate. 'Has she told you how thishappened?' 'Nooneknows,'saidAli. 'Shedoes,'hesaid.

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Later, Molly confessed. There was non e of that Sister, Sister for her. At first itseemedlikeajoke.'Hey, Al,'sheopened.'Wannahearsomethingoffthewall?' Small spasms clenched and unclenched the woman's long body. She strained to getcontrol,atleastfromth eneckup. 'Onlyifit's good,' Ali kidded. You had to be like that with Molly. They were holdinghands. 'Well,' said Molly, and her small grin flickered on, then off. 'About a month ago, I guess,Istarted thisthing.' 'Thing?'saidAli. 'Yeah.Youknow,whatdothey callit?Sex.' 'I'mlistening.'Aliwaitedforapunchline.ButMolly'seyes were desperate. 'Yes,'whisperedMolly.NowAliunderstood. 'Ithoughthewasasoldier,'Mollysaid.'That firsttime.' AliletMolly orchestrate the tale. Sin was burial. Salvation was excavation. If Mollyneededhelpwiththe shovelwork,Aliwouldstep in. 'He was in the shadows,' said Molly. 'You know the colonel's rules against soldiersfraternizingwithus infidels. I had no idea which one he was. I don't know what came over me.Pity, Iguess.Ipitiedhim.SoI gave himdarkness,Ilethimbeanonymous. I lethim have me.' Ali was not at all shocked. Taking a nameless soldier seemed perfectly Molly-like.Herbravado was legend.'Youmadelove,'saidAli. 'Wefucked,'Mollycorrected.'Hard.Okay?'Al iwaited.Wherewastheguilt? 'Itwasn'ttheonlytime,'saidMolly.'Night after night, I went out into the darkness,andhewasalways there, waitingforme.' 'Iunderstand,'saidAli,butdidnot.Shesawnosinhere.Nothingtoreconcile. 'Finally it was like curiosity killed the cat. Who's Prince Charming, right? I had toknow.'Mollypaused.'So onenightIturnedon my light.' 'Yes?' 'Ishouldn't have donethat.'Alifrowned. 'Hewasn'toneofWalker'ssoldiers.'

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'Oneofthescientists,'saidAli. 'No.' 'Well?'Whomdidthat leave? Molly'sjawtightenedwiththefever. Shebeganshivering. After aminute,Mollyopenedhereyes. 'Idon'tknow,' she said. 'I've never seen himbefore.' Ali accepted that at the level of denial. If Molly was hiding from her lover's secretidentity ,thenitseemed t o be part of Ali's task as confessor, in this case, to ferret outthe incubus. 'You know, that's impossible,' she said. 'There are no strangers in thisgroup.Not after fourmonths.' 'Iknow.That's whatI'msaying.'Shewas,Alisaw,horrified. 'Describe him to me,' Ali said. 'Before your light.' Together they would build thecharacter.Andthenturnon thelight. 'He smelled... different. His skin. When he was in my mouth. He tasted different.You know how a man has this taste? White or black or brown, it doesn't matter. Hisjuices.Histongue. The breath fromhislungs. They have this...flavor.' Alilistened.Clinically. 'Hedidn't.My midnightman.It wasn'tlikehewasablank.Butit was different. Likehehadmoreearth inhisblood. Darkness.Idon'tknow.' That didn'thelpmuch.'Whatabouthisbody? Was there anythingthat distinguishedhim?Bodyhair? The sizeof hismuscles?' 'While I had him between my legs?' Molly said. 'Yeah. I could feel his scars. He'sbee nthroughthe wringer.Oldwounds. Broken bones. And someone had cut patternsint ohisbackandarms.' There was only one among them like Molly had just described. It occurred t o AlithatMollymightbetrying tohidehisidentityfromher.'And when you turned on thelight–' 'My first thought was a wild animal. He had stripes and spots. And pictures andlettering.' 'Tattoos,'Alisaid.Whyprolongit?ButthiswasMolly'sconfession. Molly nodded yes. 'It all happened i n an instant. He knocked th e ligh t from myhand .Thenhe disappeared.' 'Hewasafraidofyour light?' 'That'swhatIthought.Later Iremembered something.Inthatfirst second, I said anameoutloud.NowIthinkit wasthenamethatmadehimrun.Buthewasn'tafraid.' 'Whatname,Molly?'

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'Iwaswrong,Ali.It wasthewrongname.They justlookedalike.' 'Ike,' stated Ali.'Yousaidhisnamebecauseitwashim.' 'No.'Mollypaused. 'Ofcourseitwas.' 'Itwasn't.ButIwishtoGodithadbeen.Don'tyousee?' 'No.Youthoughtitwashim.Youwantedittobehim.' 'Yes,'Mollywhispered.'Becausewhatifitwasn't?'Alihesitated. 'That'swhatI'msaying,'Mollygroaned.'What I had between my legs...' She winced atthememory. 'Someone'soutthere.' Aliliftedherheadbacksuddenly.'Ahadal!But why didn'tyoutellusbeforenow?' Molly smiled. 'So you could tell Ike?' she said. 'And then h e would have gone hunting.' 'Butlook,'saidAli.She swept herhandattheruination.'Lookwhathe gave toyou.' 'Youdon'tgetit,kid.' 'Don'ttellme.Youfellinlove.' 'Why not? You have.' Molly closed her eyes. 'Anyway, he's gone. Safe from us. Andnowyoucan'ttell anyone,canyou,Sister?'

Ike was there fortheend. Molly gasped wit h birdlike breaths . Greas e sweated fro m her pores . Al i keptwashin gherbod ywithwater scoopedfromthe river. 'Youshouldrest,'Ike said.'You've doneyour best.' 'Idon'twanttorest.' Hetookthecupfromher.'Liedown,'hesaid.'Sleep.' When she woke hours later, Molly was gone. Ali was groggy with fatigue. 'Did thedocscomeforher?'she askedhopefully. 'No.' 'Whatdoyoumean?'

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'She'sgone,Ali.I'msorry.' Aligotquiet.'Whereisshe,Ike? What have youdone?' 'Iputherintheriver.' 'Molly?Youdidn't.' 'IknowwhatI'mdoing.' For an instant, Ali suffered a dreadful loneliness. It should not have happened thisway. Poor Molly! Doomed to drift forever in this world. No burial? No ceremony? Nochancefortherest ofustosay farewell? 'Who gave youthatchoice?' 'Iwastrying tomakethingseasierforyou.' 'Tellmeonething,'shesaidcoldly.'WasMollydeadwhenyouputherin?' She wanted to punish him for his strangeness, and the questio n genuinely shookhim .'Murder?'hesaid.'Is thatwhatyouthink?' Before her eyes , Ike seemed to fall away from her. A look crossed hi s face, thehorrorofa freak faced withhisownmirror. 'Ididn'tmeanthat,'shesaid. 'You'retired,'hesaid.'You've hadenough.' He got into his kayak and took the paddle and pulled at th e river. The darkness covered him.She wonderedifthiswashowitfelttogomad. 'Pleasedon't leave mealone,'shemurmured. After a minute she felt a tug. The rope came taut. The raft began moving. Ike wastowingherbacktohuman society.

INCIDENTATREDCLOUD

Nebraska

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The thirdtimethewitchesstarted fiddlingwithhim,Evandidn'tfight. Hejustlayasstillashecould,andtriednottosmell them. One held him around thechest from behind while the others took turns working at him. She kept whisperingsomething in his ear. It was mumbo-jumbo, in circles. He thought of old Miss Sands,withherrosary beads.Butthisonehad breath thatsmelledlikeroadkill. Evan locked his eyes on the stars spread above the cornfield. Fireflies meanderedbetween constellations . With all his might, he fastened on the North Star. Wheneverthe y lethimloose,thatwould be his beacon home again. In his mind he saw the backdoor, the stairs, the door to his room, the quilt upon his bed. He would wake in themorning.Thiswouldbenothingbutabaddream. The night lay as black as engine oil. There was no moon, and the yard lights lay amile away, barely a twinkle between thestalks. The firsthalf hour his kidnappers hadbeen mere silhouettes,darkcutoutsagainst thestars. They were naked. He could feeltheir flesh . Smell it. Their titties were long and tubular, like in th e old NationalGeographic s lying boxed in the cellar. Their ratty hair moved like black snakesagains tthe stars. Evanwaspretty surethey weren't American. Or Mexican. He knew a little Spanishfromtheseasonal workers, andtheoldlady'schantwasn'tthat.He decided they werewitches .Acult.Youheardaboutsuchthings. It wasacomfortofsorts.He'dnever givenmuch thought to witches. Vampires, yes.An d the winge d monkeys in Th e Wizard of Oz, and werewolves, and flesh-eatingzombies. And hadals, of course, though this was Nebraska , so safe th e militia s haddisbanded.Butwitches?Sincewhendidwitcheshurtyou? Andyet they scared him. He scared himself. In his whole eleven years of life, Evanhad never imagined such feelings down there. What they were doing felt good. But itwasforbidden.Ifhismomanddadever foun dout, they'd bust. Part ofhimfeltthis wasn't fair. He shouldn't have been so late bicycling home. Still,it wasn't his fault the witche s ha d jumped up along the count y road . He'd pedaledaway as fast as a fox, but even afoot they'd run him down. It wasn't his fault they'dbrough thimtothemiddleofthisfieldtodothingstohim. The problemwas,he'dbeenraisedtobeaccountable.It washispleasure.Anditwasdirty. Sniggering about boobies and panties after school was one thing. This was different.Stayinglate after baseballwashisfault. Andtakingpleasure,that was reallyhisfault.They were gonnabust. In the initial moments of stripping him bare, the witches had ripped his shirt,shredded it . Evan couldn' t reconcile that. I t was a new shirt, and the destruction scared him more than their animal strength or the hunger they'd gone at him with.His mom and sisters were forever mending clothes and ironing them. The y wouldnever have ripped a shirt to tatters and tossed i t in the dirt . Or don e these otherthings.Never. He didn't know exactly what wa s happenin g to him. It was the dirty thing youweren't supposedtotalk about,thatwas plain enough. Copulation. But what preciselythe act consisted of, that was the mystery. In daylight, he could have seen what was involved. Thi s wa s mor e lik e wrestling wit h a blindfold on. So far, mos t o f hisinformationhadcomethroughtouchandsmellandsounds. The newnessandpowerof the sensation confused him. He was ashamed to have cried out in front of women,mortifiedthatitinvolved hisunit.

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They'd doneittwicenow,likemilkingacow. The firsttime,Evanhad been alarmed.There was no fighting off the bodily release. It felt like heat shooting out of his spine.Afterward, themesslayashotandthickasbloodon hisbellyandchest. Afraid they'd bedisgustedwithhim,Evanstarted to apologize. But the whole bunchof them had thronged aroun d him, dipping their finger s into his wet spots. It wasalmostlikechurch.Butinsteadofcrossing themselves, they smeared it between theirlegs.Sothat'showit'sdone,hethought. It wentbeyondhiswholeworldofknowledge.Forsomereason, Evan was remindedofasciencevideo he'd seen, in which a praying mantis female ate her mate when theact was over. That was reproduction. Until now he'd been mystified by the terribleconsequencesofdoingit.Nowthenotionofpunishmentfollowingthesin made perfectsense .Nowonderpeoplediditinthedarkness. Evanwanted them to quit, but secretly he didn't, too. Certainly the cluster of nightwomen wanted more. After the firs t time , thinking it was over , he'd asked, 'Ca n Iplease go home now?' His words had agitated them. If grasshoppers or beetles couldtalk, this was how they'd sound, clicking and muttering an d smacking their lips . Itdidn' t make any sense to him, but he got the gist. He was staying. They went at himagain.Andagain. Thisthirdtimewasprovingtroublesome.Maybe anhourpassed.Their rubbing andyankingandspittingonhim didn'tseemtobeworking.Hesensedtheirfrustration.The one holding him from behind went on with her singsong chanting and rocking. 'I'llbeagoodboy,'heassuredherinan exhausted whisper. She patted his cheek withacallusedpalm.It waslike being petted withastick. Evan genuinely wante d t o help out. What they didn't know was tha t he had anarithmetictest inthe morning.Hewassupposedtobestudying. Gradually his eyes adjusted to the night. Their pale skin took on a faint glow. He could begin to see them . He and his buddies had all seen TV shows with bikini girls,and several had big brothers with Playboy s. It wasn't a s if he had no clue what awoman' s body looked like. But these women had no sunshine in them, no joy. They were allbusiness.Evanfeltlikehewasthe center of a farm task, like the cow. Or likethe hogs his dad butchered each winter. Like a beast at harvesting. They'd been athimforhours. There might have been five of them, or as many as a dozen. They kept leaving andreturning. The witches moved with watery grace, close to the ground, as if the sk y were a weight. The cornstalks rustled. They orbited him like bleached white moons.Theirstenchebbed,thensurged. They took turns, arguing over him in insect syllables. Each seemed t o have adifferen t idea about manipulating him. Evan had grown used to the one by his head.She seemed to be the oldest. Her chest wall had the feel of a washboard against hisear.Evangrew passive againsther,andthearmrelaxed. Shewasn' tunkind, just firm.Herskinnyarmwasamarvel, afewsinews covered with skin, but as strong as balingwire. Whensomeoftheothersslappedorproddedhim,shecluckedatthem,annoyed.One, smaller than the rest, was taking lessons from the others. Evan decided she wastheyoungest,maybe hisownage.They urgedherto mounthimacoupleoftimes,butshewas awkward andEvandidn'tknowwhatwasexpected ofhim.Sheseemed asfrightenedashewas.He gravitated toherinhisthoughts. He couldn't see their faces exactly, and didn't want to. This way he could imagine himselfsurroundedby neighborladiesandhis teachers andsomeofthegirlsatschool.He added the pretty waitress at the Surf and

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Turf downtown. He attached familiarmaskstothese benightedfacesloomingoverhead, anditconsoledhim.It let him havename sforeach. Whatruined his conjuring was their smell. Even Mrs. Peterson, the halfwit who satin theparkallday,would never have letherselfgetfoullikethis. These women stank.They were rancid and unwashed, an d smelled worse than a stockyard. The dungcrustingtheirflankshadthegrassy sweetness ofcowmanure.Whenthey muttered athim,hecouldsmelldeepinsidetheirthroats. He was greasy with their juices and saliva. That was another shock, how wet they were between their legs.Nothinginhisfriends'centerfoldshad prepared him for that.Orfortheirgreed andhunger.Periodically one dipped her head, and it felt warm andsoftdownthere, likethehotcompresseshisgrandmausedtomake. Theirhandsandfingerswere as dry as lizard skin. They'd rubbed him raw, but thehurtwaslargelynumbedby hisfatigue.Helayintheircenter,anditseemed the starswheele dina great circle over him. Cricketssang.Anowlswoopedby. Evansuddenly wondered if the witches might be the reason so many dogs and cats had disappeared over the last month. Maybe theanimalshadrunoff.Anotherthought came to him. What if they'd been eaten? A gustofwindrattled thecornrows.Heshivered. The witches entered a rhythm around him. It was like a dance, though they werekneelin g or hunkered down on their heels. He set himself adrift on the pulse of theirmotions, the chant , thei r hand s an d mouths . Eva n gre w hopefu l whe n severa lwhispere d approvingly. All at once he found himself approaching that same los s ofcontrolasbefore.Hetriednottogrunt,butitwastoomuch. Abruptly the blood heat o f liquid spattered across hi s chest. Eva n wince d at the salty spray. Tasted it. Andfrowned. Thistimeitwastheheatofrealblood. In the sam e instant , a rifle shot ruptured the quiet . Something , a body, floppedheavily acrossEvan's thighs. 'Evan,boy,'avoicecommandedacrossthecornrows.Hisfather!'Liedown.' The sky crackedopen. A ragged volley of deer rifles, shotguns, varmint pistols, andold revolvers shattered the constellations. Bullets slapped apart the corn leaves. Thegunfir erattled likepopcorn. Evanlaystillonhisback.It waslikedrifting on a raft. Staring up at the Milky Way.What he would remember most was no t the shooting, or the men yelling, or thewitches scattering. Not the headlights careening through the walls of green corn, orthepitchforkliftingthatyounghadalgirlintothewildlylit,raddled sky, where he saw theslightstubofatailonherrump and her grub-like pallor and her face, the chimp'seyes, theyellow teeth. Nottherack-rack ofshotgunshells getting chambered. Not hisfatherstandinghighoverhead andliftinghi sheaduptothe stars tobellowlikeabull.No.Whathewouldremember wastheoldwomanby his head, how just before theysho t the bones from her face, she bent down and kissed him by the ear. It was thekindofthing agrandmadid.

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The Aztecs said that... as long as one of them was left he would die fighting, and that we would get nothing of theirs because they would burn everythingor throw it into the water . – HERNÁN CORTÉS, Third Dispatch to King Charles V of Spain

17

FLESH

West beneath

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the Clipperton Fracture Zone

FollowingMolly'sdeath,they castloweronthe river, anxioustoresume their sense ofscientific control. The banks narrowed , th e wate r quickened. Becaus e they movedfaster, they had more time to reach their destination, which was th e nex t cache inearly September. They began to explore the littoral regions bordering the river,sometime sstayinginoneplacefortwoor three days. The region had once abounded with life. In a single day they discovered thirty newplants, including a typ e of grass that grew from quartz and a tree that looked like something out of Dr. Seuss, with a stem tha t dre w gase s fro m the groun d andsynthesized them int o metallic cellulose. A new cave orchid was name d for Molly.They foun d crystallized anima l remains. The entomologist s caugh t a monstrous cricket , twenty-seven inches long. The geologists located a vein of gold as thick as afinger. In the nam e of Helios, who held the paten t rights o n all such discoveries, Shoatcollecte dtheir reports o ndisceachevening.Ifthe discovery hadspecialvalue,like thegold, he would issue a chit for a bonus payment. The geologists got so many theystarte d usingthemlike currency among the others, buying pieces of clothing, food, orextra batteries fromthosewhohadextras. For Ali, the most rewarding thing was further evidence of hadal civilization. Theyfoun d an intricate syste m of acequia s carved into the rock to transport water frommiles upriver intothehanging valley. Inan overhang partway up a cliff lay a drinkingcup made from a Neanderthal cranium. Elsewhere, a giant skeleton – possibly a human freak –layinshacklessolidwithrust.Ethan Troy, the forensic anthropologist, thought the deeply incised geometric patterns on the giant's skull had been made at least a year before the prisoner's death. Judging by the cut marks around the entireskull, it seemed the giant had been scalpe d and kept alive a s a showcase fo r theirartwork. They collectedaroundacentralpanelemblazonedwithochreandhandprints.In thecenterwasarepresentation o fthesunandmoon. The scientistswere astonished. 'Youmeantosay they worshipedthesunandmoon?At fifty-six hundredfathoms!' 'We need to be cautious, ' Ali said. But what els e coul d this mean? Wha t gloriousheresy, thechildrenof darkness worshipinglight. Ali got one photo of the sun and moon iconography, no more. When her flashbillowed , the entire wall o f pictographs – its pigments and record – lost color, turnedpale,thenvanished. Ten thousandyears of artwork turnedtoblankstone. Yet with the animals and handprints and sun and moon images burned away, theydiscovere da deeper se t of engraved script. A two-foot-long patc h o f letters ha d been cu t int o the basalt . I n th e abyssalshadows , the incisions were dark lines upon dark stone. They approached th e walltentatively , asifthistoomight disappear. Ali ran her finger s along the wall . 'It might have been carved to be read. Like Braille.'

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'That'swriting?' 'A word. A single word. See this character here.' Ali traced a y-tailed mark, then abackward E . 'And this. They're not capped. But look at the linear form. It's got thestance an d th e stroke o f ancien t Sanskri t o r Hebrew . Paleo-Hebrew , possibly.Probabl yolder.OldHebrew.Phoenician,whatever you wanttocallit.' 'Hebrew?Phoenician?Whatarewedealingwith,thelosttribes ofIsrael?' 'Ourancestorstaughthadalshowtowrite?' someonesaid. 'Orelsehadalstaughtus,'Alisaid. She could not take her fingertips from the word . 'Do you realize, ' she whispered, 'man has been speaking for at least a hundred thousand years. But our writing goes back no further than the upper Neolithic. Hittite hieroglyphics. Australian aboriginalart.Seven, eightthousandyears, tops. 'This writing has got to be at least fifteen or twenty thousand years old. That's twoor three times older than any human writing ever found. These are linguistic fossils.We could be closing in on the Adam and Eve of language. The root origin of humanspeech. The firstword.' Ali was enraptured . Looking around, she could tell the other s didn't understand.This was big. Human o r not, it doubled or tripled the timeline of the mind. And shehadno one to celebrate it with! Settle down, she told herself. For all her travels, Ali'swasapaperworldoflinguistsandbishops,oflibrary carrelsandyellow legalpads.Shehadoccupiedaquietplacethatdidn'tallowcelebration. And yet, just once, Ali wantedsomeone to knock the head off a bottle of champagne and douse her wit h bubbles,someonetogather herupfora wet kiss. 'Holdupyour penbesidetheletters forscale,'oneofthephotographerstoldher. 'Iwonderwhatitsays,'someonesaid. 'Who knows?' Ali said. 'If Ike's right, if this is a lost language, then even the hadalsdon'tknow.Lookhow they haditburiedundermoreprimitiveimages. I think it's lostallmeaningtothem.' Returning to their rafts, for some reason, the name circled around on her. Ike. Herslowdancer. On September 5, they found their firs t hadals . Reaching a fossilized shore, theyunloade dtheir rafts and hauled gear to high ground and started to prepare for night.Thenoneofthesoldiersnoticedshapeswithinthe opaquefoldsofflowstone. By shining their lights at a certain angle, they could see a virtual Pompeii of bodieslaminatedinseveral inchestoseveral feet oftranslucentplastic stone. They lay in thepositions they had died in, some curled, most sprawled. The scientists an d soldiersfannedoutacrosstheacresofamber,slippingnowandthenontheslic kface. Pieces of flint still jutted fro m wounds. Some had been strangle d wit h their ownentrail sordecapitated. Animalshadworkedthroughall of them. Limbs were missing,chest and belly walls had been plundered. No question, this had been th e en d of a wholetribeortownship.

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UnderAli'ssweepingheadlamp,theirwhiteskin glittered like quartz crystal. For allthe heavy bone in their brows and cheeks, and despite the obvious violence of theirend,they were remarkably delicate. H. hadalis – this variety, at any rate – looked faintly apelike, but with very littlebody hair. They had wide negroid noses and full lips, somewhat lik e Australianaborigines, but were bleached albino by the perpetual night. There were a few slightbeards, little more than wispy goatees. Most looked no older than thirty. Many werechildren. The bodies were scarred in ways that had nothing to do with sports or surgery: noappendectomyscarsin this group, no neat smile lines around the knees or shoulders.These had come from camp accidents or hunts or war. Broken bones had healedcrookedly.Fingershadbeenloppedoff. The women's breasts hung slack, thinned and stretched and unbeautiful, basic tools like their sharpene d fingernail s and teeth ortheirwideflattenedfeet ortheirsplayedbigtoesforclimbing. Ali tried integrating them into the family of modern man. It did not help that theyha d horns and calcium folds and lumps distorting their skulls. She felt strangelybigoted . Their mutations or disease or evolutionary twist – whatever – kept her atarm's length. She was sorr y to be walkin g on them, ye t glad to have them safelyencased in stone. Whatever had been done to them, she imagined they would have bee ncapableofdoingtoher. That nightthey discussedthebodieslyingbeneaththeircamp. It wasEthanTroy whosolvedtheirmystery. Hehadmanagedtochiploose portionsof the bodies, mostly of children, and held them out for the rest to see. 'Their toothenamel hasn't grown properly. It's been disrupted. And all the kids have rickets andother long-lim b malformations. And you onl y have t o look to see thei r swollenstomachs . Massive starvation. Famine. I saw this once in a refugee camp in Ethiopia.Younever forget.' 'You'resuggestingthese arerefugees?' someoneasked.'Refugeesfromwho?' 'Us,'saidTroy. 'You'resayingmankilledthem?' 'Atleastindirectly.Their foodchainwasruptured. They were fleeing.Fromus.' 'Nuts,' scoffed Gitner, lying on his back on a sleeping pad. 'In case yo u misse d it,those are Stone Age points sticking out of them. We had nothing to do with it. Theseguy s gotkilledby otherhadals.' 'That'sbesidethepoint,'saidTroy. 'They were depleted.Famished.Easy prey.' 'You're right,' Ike said. He didn't often enter group discussions, but h e had beenfollowing this one intently. 'They're on the move. The whole world of them. Thi s isthei rdiaspora.They've scattered. Gone deeptoavoidourcoming.' 'What'sit matter?' saidGitner. 'They're hungry,'said Ike. 'Desperate.That matters.'

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'Ancienthistory.Thisbunchdiedalongtimeago.' 'Whydoyousay that?' 'The accretion of flowstone. They're covered in it. At least five hundred years ' worth,probablymorelikefivethousand.Ihaven'trun my calculations yet.'Ik e went over tohim.'Letmeborro wyour rockhammer,'hesaid. Gitner shoved it into Ike's hand. These days he seemed chronically fed up. Theirendless debate about hadal links to humanity gnawed at what little good humor he'dever had.'DoIgetitback?'hesaid. 'Just a loaner,' Ike said, 'while we sleep.' He walked over and placed it flat next tothewallandwalked away. In the morning, Gitner had to borrow another hammer to cut his free. Overnightthehammerhadbeen covered witha sixteenth ofaninchofclearflowstone. It wasamatter ofsimplearithmetic. The refugees had been slain no more than fivemonthsago. The expeditionwasfollowingthetrailoftheirflight.Andit was very neartofresh.

Even th e mercenarie s ha d come to depen d o n Ike's infallibl e sens e o f danger.Someho w the word got around about his climbing days, and they nicknamed him ElCapforthemonolithinYosemite. It was a dangerous attachment, and it annoyed Ike even more than it annoyed their commander. Ike didn't want their trust. He dodgedthem.Hestayed outofcampmoreandmore.ButAlicouldseehis effect, all the same.Some of the boys had tattooed their arms and faces like Ike's. A few starte d goingbarefoot or slinging their rifles across their backs. Walker did what he could to stemtheerosion.Whenoneofhisghetto warriorsgotcaught sitting cross-legged at prayer,Walke rputhimonsentry duty fora week. Ike resumed hishabitofstayinga day or so ahead of the expedition, and Ali missedhis eccentricities. She woke early, as always, but no longer saw his kayak plying outintothetubularwildernesswhilethecampstill slept.Shehadnoproofhewas growingmoreremote fromthem,orher.Buthis absences made her anxious, especially as she wasfallingasleepatnight.Hehadopenedagapinher. On September 9 they detected the signal for Cache II. The y ha d crossed theinternationa l date line without knowing it. They reached the site, but there were nocylinders awaiting them. Instead they foun d a heavy stee l spher e th e siz e of abasketball lying on the ground. It was attached to a cable dangling from the ceiling ahundredfeet overhead. 'Hey,Shoat,'someonedemanded.'Where'sourfood?' 'I'msurethere's anexplanation,'Shoatsaid,butwasclearlybaffled. They unbolted the curved casing. Inside, seated in poly-foam, was a small keypadwit h a note. 'To the Helios Expedition: Supply cylinders are ready for penetration atyour prompt. Key in the first five numeral s of pi, in reverse, then follow with poundsign.'They guessedit was a precaution to safeguard their food an d supplies from anypossiblehadalpiracy. Shoat needed someone to write down pi for him, then keyed it in. He tapped thepoun dkey, andasmallre

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dlightchangedtogreen.'Iguesswewait,'hesaid. They made camp on the bank and took turns spotlighting the underside of the drillhole. Shortly after midnight , one of Walker's sentinel s calle d out. Ali heard thescrapin gofmetal.Everyone gathered and shonetheirlightsupward, and there it was,a silvery capsule sinking toward them on a glittering thread. It was like watching arocketshipland. The groupcheered. The cylindersizzledontouchingthe river, then slowly lowered onto its side and thecable looped in a tangle in the water. Its metal sheath was blued with scorch marks.They mobbedit,onlytofallbackfromitsheat. Noneofthe penetrators atCacheI had been seared this way. It meant the cylinderhad passed through som e kind of volcanic zone, probably a tendril of the MagellanSeamounts .Alicouldsmellthesulfursmokingonits skin. 'Oursupplies,'someonelamented.'They're gettingcookedinside.' They made a bucket brigade, passing plastic bottles up and down the line to splashon the cylinder. The metal steamed, colors pulsing from one thermal complexion toanother. Gradually it cooled enough for the m t o cog off the bolts. They got theirknivesintotheseamsandpriedthehatchlooseand threw openthe doorway. 'God,what'sthatstink?' 'Meat.They sentusmeat?' 'Theheatmust have started afireinthere.' Lights stabbed at the interior. Ali looked over shoulders, and it was hard to see forthesmokeandstenchan dheatpouringthroughthehatch. 'GoodLord,what have they sentus?' 'Arethosepeople?'sheasked. 'They looklikehadals.' 'Howcanyousay that? They're tooburnedtotell,'someonesaid.Walkerpushedtothefront,Ike andShoatright behindhim. 'Whatisthis,Shoat?'Walkerdemanded.'WhatisHeliosupto?' Shoatwasrattled.'I have noidea,'hesaid.ForonceAlibelievedhim. There were three bodiesinside, strapped one above the other in a makeshift cradleofnylonwebbing.While thecylinderwasvertical,they would have been suspended intheharnesseslikesmokejumpers. 'Thoseareuniforms,'someonesaid.'Lookhere,U.S. Army.' 'Whatdowedo?They're alldead.' 'Unbucklethem.Get themout.'

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'Thebucklesaremeltedshut.We'll have tocutthemout. Let itcooloffsomemore.' 'Whatwere they doingin there?' oneofthephysicianswonderedtoAli. The deadlimbslolled.Oneman had bitten off his tongue, and the flap of muscle layonhis chin. Then they heard a moan. It came from below the hatch opening, whereth ethirdmanhungsuspendedandoutoftheir reach. Without a word, Ike vaulted into the smoking interior. He straddled the bodies athatch level and slashed at the webbing, clearing out the dead first. Crawling deeper,he got the third man cut free and dragged him to the hatch , where a dozen handsfinishedtheextraction. Ali and a few others were tending the dead, laying bits of burned clothin g across their faces. The man uppermost in the cylinder, where the heat and fire would havebee nworst,hadshot himself through the mouth. The middle man had strangled on astrap now fused into his neck. Their clothing had caught fire, leaving them dressedonl y in their harnesses and strapped with weapons. Each bore a pistol, a rifle, and a knife. 'Checkthese scopesout.'Ageologistwassweepingtheriver with one of the soldier'srifles. 'These things are rigged for sniper work at night. What were they coming to hunt?' 'We'll take those,'Walkersaid,andhismercenariescollectedalltheotherweapons.Ali helped lay the third ma n on the ground, then stood back. His lungs and throathadbeenseared.Hewascoughingupaclearserousfluid ,and his temperature controlwasshot.Hewas dying. Ike knelt beside him, along with the doctors and Walker andShoat.Everyone waswatching. Walkerpeeledbackapieceofcharredcloth.'"First Cavalry,"' he read, and looked at Ike. 'These areyour people.Whatarethey sendingRangersdownfor?' 'I have noidea.' 'Youknowthisman?' 'Idon't.' The doctors covered the burned man with a sleeping bag and gave him water todrink. The manopenedhi sonegoodeye. 'Crockett?'herasped. 'Guessheknowsyou,'Walkersaid. The wholecampstoodbreathless. 'Whydidthey sendyou?'Ike asked. The man tried to form the words. He struggled beneath the sleeping bag. Ike gavehi mmore water. 'Closer,'saidthesoldier. Ike leanedin.Hebenttohear. 'Judas,'themanhissed.

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The knife drove straightupthroughthesleepingbag. The fabric or pain spoiled the assassin's thrust. The blade skipped along Ike's ribcagebutdidnotenter. The soldierhadenoughstrength forasecondslash across Ike'sback ,thenIke caughthiswrist. WalkerandShoatandthedoctorsfellback from the attack. One of the mercenaries reacted with three quick shots into the burned man's thorax. The body bounced witheachround. 'Ceasefire!'Walkeryelled.It was over thatfast. The onlysoundwasthewater flowing. The expedition stared in disbelief. No one moved. The y had seen th e attack andheardthesoldier's whisperedword. Ike kneltintheirmidst,dumbfounded.Hestillheldthe assassin's wrist in one hand,andthegashalonghisribs flowedred.Helookedaroundatthem,bewildered.Suddenly,aterrible keeningnoiseroseupfromhim. Ali didn't expect that. 'Ike?' she said from the ring of onlookers. No one dared go closer. Ali stepped out from the circle and went to him. 'Stop it,' she said . They haddepende d on his strength for so long that his frailty endangered them. Before theireyes , hewascomingundone. Helookedather,thenfled. 'Whatwasthatallabout?'someone muttered.

For lack of shovels, they drifted the bodies out into the river. Many hours later, twomorecylinderswere loweredtothem,eachfilledwithcargo.They ate.Helioshad sentthem a feast for a hundred people: smoked rainbo w trout, veal in cognac, cheesefondue, and a dozen different kind s of bread, sausages , pasta , an d fruit. The crispgreenlettuceinthesalad brought tears of joy. It was, said a note, meant to celebrateC.C . Cooper's birthday. Ali suspected otherwise. Ike was meant to be dead, and thisbanquetwasineffecta wake. The attempt on Ike's life had no explanation or context or justice. What made it allthe mor e irrationa l was tha t Ik e wa s thei r mos t value d member . Eve n the mercenarie s would have voted for him. With him as scout, they had felt like theChosen People, destined to exit the wilderness on the heels of their tattooed Moses.Butnowhehadbeenlabeledatraitor,andwasinexplicablymarked fordeath. The communication s cable to the surfac e ha d been frie d b y th e magm a zoneoverhead, and so the expeditio n ha d only conjecture and superstition to fall backupon.In a way they all felt targeted, for in their experience Ike had been the best ofmen, and he was being punished for sins they had never known. It felt as though agreat storm had opened upon them. The group's response was a little worry, then aloto fdenialandbravado. 'Itwasamatter oftime,'saidSpurrier. 'Ike wasgoingto come unwrapped sooner orlater.Youcouldseeit

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coming.I'msurprisedheheldupthislong.' 'Whatdoesthat have todowithanything?'Alisnapped. 'I'm not saying he brought it down on himself. But the man's definitely in torment.He'sgotmoreghoststhan agraveyard.' 'What do you d o to get the U.S . Army on your case?' Quigley, the psychiatrist,wondered. 'I mean that was a suicide mission. They don't throw good men away onnothing.' 'And that "Judas" stuff? I thought once the court-martial was over, they werefinishe dwithyou. Talk about badluck. The guy'sabornoutcast.' 'It'slikethewholeworld'sagainsthim.' 'Don't worry about him, Ali,' said Pia, for whom love had come in the form of Spurrier.'He'llbeback.' 'I'm not so sure,' Ali said. She wanted to blame Shoat or Walker, but they seemedgenuinely disoriented by the incident. If Helios had meant t o kill Ike, why not use their own agents? Why involve th e U.S . Army? And why would the Arm y involveitselfwithdoingHelios'bidding?It madenosense. While the rest slept, Ali walked from the light of their camp. Ike had not taken hiskayak orhis shotgun, s o she searched on foot with her flashlight. His footprints lopedalongthebank'smud. She was furiou s wit h th e group' s smugness . The y ha d depende d o n Ik e for everything. Without him, they might be dead or lost. He had been true to them, butnow,whenheneededthem,they wer e not true tohim. Wewere his ruin. She saw that now. They had doomed Ike with their dependence.He would have been a thousand miles away if not for their weakness and ignoranceand pride. That's what had kept him bound to them. Guardian angels were like that.Doomedby theirpathos. But blaming the group was a dodge, Ali had to admit. For it was he r weakness, her ignorance, he r pride that had bound Ike – not to them, but to her. The group'swell-being was merely a collateral benefit. The uncomfortable truth was that he hadpromisedhimselftoher. Alisortedherthoughtsasshepickedherway alongthe river. In the beginning Ike'sallegianc e to her had been unwanted, a vexation. She had buried the fact of hisdevotion under a heap of her ow n fictions, satisfying herself that he pursued the depthsforreasonsofhisown,forhis fabled lost lover or for revenge. Maybe that hadbeensointhebeginning,butitnolongerwas.Sheknewthat.Ike washereforher. She found him in a field of night, no light, no weapon. He was sitting faced towardtheriver in his lotus position, his back bare to any enemies. He had cast himself ontothemercy ofthis savage desert. 'Ike,'shesaid. His shaggy head stayed poised and still. Her light cast hi s shadow onto the black water, where it was immediately forfeit. What a place, she thought. Darkness sohungryitdevoured otherdarkness.

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She came closer and took off her backpack . 'Yo u missed your own funeral,' shejoked.'They senta feast.' Notamotion.Evenhislungsdidnotmove.Hewasgoingdeep.Escaping. 'Ike,'shesaid.'Iknowyoucanhearme.' One of his hands rested in his lap; the fingertip s o f his other hand touched thegroundwithalltheweightofa ninsect. Shefeltlikea trespasser. Butthiswasn'tcontemplationshe was invading, it was thestart ofmadness.He couldn'twin,notby himself. Ali approached from one side. From behind he looked at peace. Then she saw thathis face was drawn . ' I don' t know what's goin g on,' she said. He was resistin g herwithi nhis statue stillness.Hisjawwas clenched. 'Enough,'shesaid,andopenedherpackand pulled out the medical kit. 'I'm cleaningthosecuts.' Ali started brusquely with the Betadin e sponge. But she slowed. The flesh itselfslowedher.Sheranher fingersalonghisback,andthebone and muscle and hadal inkand scar tissue and the calluses from his pack straps astonished her. Thi s wa s thebod yofaslave.Hehadbeenharrowed.Every mark wasthemark ofuse. It disconcerted her. She had known the damned in many of their incarnations, asprisoners and prostitute s and killers and banished lepers. But she had never met aslave.Such creatures weren't supposedto exist i nthisage. Ali was surprise d at ho w well his shoulder fit in her hand. Then she recoveredhersel fwithatidy pat. 'You'll survive,' shetoldhim. She walked a little distance away and sat down. For the rest of that night, she laycurled in a ball with his shotgun, protecting Ik e while he finished returning t o theworld.

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Am notI A fly like thee? Or art not thouA man like me? – WILLIAM BLAKE, 'The Fly'

18

GOOD MORNING

Health Sciences Center, University of Colorado, Denver

Yamamotoemerged fromthe elevator withasmile. 'Morning!'shesangtoajanitormoppinguparoofleak. 'Idon'tseenosun,'hegrumbled. They had an old-fashioned blizzard raging out there, four-foot drifts , minu s ninedegrees.They were undersiege.Shewould have thelabtoherselftoday.

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Yamamotofoundlastnight'sguardstillon duty, asleep.Shesenthimofftothedormto get some rest and hot food. 'And don't come back until this afternoon,' she said. 'Icanholddownthefortmyself.Noone'scomingin anyway.' Shewaslikethatthese days, mother to the world. Her hair was thicker, her cheeksinconstant bloom. She hummed to the Womb, as her husband called it. Three moremonths. The Digital Satan project was nearing completion. The lab was gettin g downrightgam ywithfast-food wrappers, sixty-four-ounce soda cups recycled as pencil holders,and mummified birthday leftovers. The bulleti n board wa s bush y wit h doctoredsnapshots of lab personnel, excerpts of articles, and, most recently, employmentnotice sforpositionshereandabroad. She entered without double-gloving or a surgical mask. All kinds of lab rituals hadfallen by the wayside, yet another sign that the project was getting short. Vial s laycouchedonaTacoBellbox.Someonehadmadea mobile of the computer chips they'dfrie d over themonths. MachineTwopumpedoutitsendlesshush-hush-hushnursery-room rhythm.Excep t for the head , a young hadal female ha d just disappeared fro m existence,bones and all. Yet now she could be resurrected with a CD-ROM and a mouse. She wasabout to become electronically immortal. Wherever there was a computer, therecoul d be a physical manifestation of Dawn. In a sense, her soul was truly in themachine. Forseveral weeks now,Yamamotohadbeen beset with awful dreams of Dawn. Thehada l girl would be falling off a cliff or getting swept out to sea, an d she would bereaching for help. Others in the lab related similar nightmares. Separatio n anxiety,the y self-diagnosed.Dawnhadbeenpart ofthegang.They were all goingtomissher.All that remained wa s th e uppe r two-thirds of the hadal' s cranium. It was slowgoing. Machine Two was calibrated to make the finest slices possible. The brainoffere d their most interesting exploration. Hopes remained high that the y mightactuall y unravel the sensory and cognition process – i n effect, making the dead mindspeak.Allthey hadtodoforthenext tenweeks wasbaby-sit aglorifiedbologna slicer.Patiencewasamatter ofDietPepsiandribaldjokes. Yamamotoapproachedthemetaltable. The topof the girl's cranium was pale whiteinside the block of froze n blue gel. It looked like a moon suspended i n a square ofouter space. Electrodes fed out from the top and sides of the gel . At the base , theblad esliced. The camerafired. The machinehadparedaway the lower jaw, then worked back and forth across theupper teeth andinto th e nasal cavity. Externally, most of the flared, batlike nose andall of the stretched, fringed earlobes were gone now. In terms of internal structures,they' d shaved throughmostofthemedulla oblongata leading up from the spinal cord,and reduced most of the cerebellum – which controlled motor skills – at the base of the skull to digital bits. No lesions or abnormalities so far. For a necrotic brain, allsystems were remarkably intact, practically viable . Everyon e was marveling . HopeI' mthathealthy after Idie,someone hadjoked. Things were just starting to get interesting. From around the country,neurosurgeonsandbrai nand cognition specialists had begun calling or E-mailing on adailybasistokeep updated.Certainparts of th e brain, like the cerebellum they'd justpassed, were fairly standard mammalia n anatomy. The y explained wha t mad e theanimalananimal,butdidlittletofillinwhatmadethehadalahadal. No longer would Dawn be jus t so much subterranean animal carcass. From thelimbic system upward, she would once again become her own person. A personalitymight emerge, a rational process, clues to her speech, her emotions, her habits andinstincts. In short, they were about to peek out through Dawn's

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cranial window andglimpse her worldview. It was tantamount to landing a spacecraft on another planet. Morethanthat,thiswaslikeinterviewinganalienforthefirsttimeand asking for herthoughts. Yamamoto feathered through the electrodes , sortin g the right-side wires, layingthem out neatly on the table. It was still a slight mystery why Dawn seemed to be generating a slight electrical pulse . Her chart should have showed a flat-line, butevery now and then an irregular spike would jump up. This ha d been goin g on for months. It was a fact that , i f you waite d lon g enough, electrodes would eventually detect vitalsigns even fromabowlofJell-O. Yamamotomovedaroundthe table to the left side and fanned out the wires on herpalm. It was almost like braiding a child's hair. She paused to peer down into the gelblockatwhatwasleftofthehadalface. 'Goodmorning,'shesaid.The headopeneditseyes.

Rau and Bud Parsifal found Vera in a western clothing store in Denver Internationalterminal,trying on cowboyhats.Onecouldnot have invented a more perfect antidoteto the darkness on everyone's mind. Everyone had an opinion, a fear, a solution. Noone knew where any of it was going down there, what the y might find, what kind ofworld their children were going to grow up in. But here, i n this gigantic, sweeping,tentliketerminal saturated withsunlightandopenspace,you could forget all that andsimplyeatice cream.Ortry oncowboyhats. 'HowdoIlook?' Vera asked. Raupatted hisbriefcaseinapplause.Parsifalsaid,'Lordspareus.' 'Didyoucometogether?' sheasked. 'LondonviaCincinnati,'saidParsifal. 'MexicoCity,'saidRau.'Webumpedintoeachotherintheconcourse.' 'Iwasafraidnoonewasgoingtomakeit,' Vera said.'Asitis,we may betoolate.' 'Youcalled,wecame,'saidParsifal.'Teamwork.' Hispaunchandhated bifocals made thegallantrythatmuch morecharming. Raucheckedhiswatch.'Thomasarrives withinthehour.Andtheothers?' 'Elsewhere,' sai d Vera, 'in transit, incommunicado, occupied. You've heard about Branch,Isuppose.' 'Hashelosthis mind?' Parsifal said. 'Running off into the subplanet like that. Alone.Ofallpeople,you'dthink he'dknowwhatthehadalsarecapableof.' 'It'snotthemI'mworriedabout.' 'Pleasenotthat"the enemy isus"business.'

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'Youdon'tknowabout the shoot-to-kill order then?' Vera asked. 'All the armies gotit.Interpolhasit.' Parsifalsquintedather.'What'sthis?ShootBranch?' 'January's done what she can to revoke it. But there's a certain General Sandwellwhohasavindictive streak. It's peculiar. January's trying to find out more about this general.' 'Thomas is furious,' Rau added. 'Branch was our eyes and ears in the military. Nowwe'releftguessingwha tthearmies may beupto.' 'Andwho may beplantingthevirus capsules.' 'Nasty business,'muttered Parsifal. They met Thomas at his gate, straight from Hong Kong. The gaunt cubic angles ofhisfaceformedamassof shadows,deepeninghisAbeLincoln features. Otherwise, fora man who'd just been expelle d from China, h e looked remarkably refreshed. Heglancedaroundathisgreetingparty. 'Acowboyhat?'hesaidtoRau. 'WheninRome...'Raushrugged. They proceeded to the exit, grouped around Vera's wheelchair, catching up on oneanother'snews. 'MustafahandFoley?'askedVera. 'They're okay?' 'Tired,' said Thomas. 'We were detained in Kashi for several days . I n Xinjiangprovince . Our camera s and journals were confiscated, our visas revoked. We areofficiallypersonaenongratae.' 'Whatintheworldwere youdoingoutthere, Thomas?' 'I wanted to examine a set o f Caucasian mummies an d some of their writingfragments .Fourmillennia old.Germanicscript.Tocharian,tobe exact. InAsia!' 'Mummies in the Chinese outback,' Parsifal fumed. 'Cryptic writings. What will thattellus?' 'This time I have to agree with you,' said Vera. 'It does seem remote from ourmission. Sometimes I wonder jus t what i t is I'm really doing. For the past threemonth s you've ha d m e reviewin g abstracts o n mitochondria l DN A an d human evolution .Tellmehowdataonplacentalsamplesfrom Ne w Guinea gets us any closertoidentifyingaprimordialtyrant?' 'Inthisinstance,themummiesandtheirIndo-Europeanscriptwouldseem to provetha t Caucasia n nomads influenced Chinese civilizatio n fou r thousan d year s ago,'Thoma ssaid. 'And they expelled you for that?' Parsifal said. He fogged the glass with his breathan ddrew acrucifix.'Or didtheCommiescatchyougivinglastritestothemummies?' 'Something far more dangerous is my guess,' Rau said to the group. 'If I'm correct,Thomas, you were proving that Chinese civilization did not develop in isolation. Thelikelihoo dthat early Europeans may have helpedgerminatetheirculture is extremelythreatenin gtotheChinese.They're avery proud people, these children of the MiddleKingdom.' 'Butagain,whatdoesthat have todowithus?'askedVera.

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'Everything, perhaps,' Rau ventured. 'The notion that a great civilization might bemodifiedor even inspired by the enemy or by a lesser race or by barbarians is highlyrelevant.' 'PlainEnglishwilldojustfine,Rau,'Parsifalgrumbled. Thomasremainedsilent.Heseemed tobeenjoyingtheirguesswork. 'Whatifhumancivilizationdidn'tdevelopinisolation?Whatifwehadmentors?' 'Whatdoyou have inmind,Rau?'Parsifalsaid.'Martians?' 'Alittlemoredowntoearth.'Rausmiled.'Hadals.' 'Hadals!'Parsifalsaid.'Ourmentors?' 'What if the hadals helped create our civilization through the eons ? What if they cultivatedourbenightedancestors,exposed tomankinditsownnativeintelligence?' 'Haddiewasournursemaid?Those savages?' 'Careful,'saidRau.'You'restartingtosoundliketheChinesewiththeirbarbarians.' 'Isthatit?' Vera asked Thomas. 'You were looking at China as a paradigm for earlyhuma ncivilization?' 'Somethinglikethat,'Thomassaid. 'Andsoyoutraveled tenthousandmiles,andwenttojail,allto prove a theory?' 'A bit more, actually. I had a hunch, and it bore out. As I suspected, the Caucasiantexts i n Xinjiang weren't writte n i n Tocharian script . No r i n an y othe r human language . The reports were all wrong. Mustafah and Foley and I took one look at themummiesandknew.Yousee,themummieswere tattooedwith hadal symbols. TheseCaucasia nnomadswere operating as agents. Or messengers. They were transportingdocumentsintoancientChina.Documentswritten insomeformofhadalscript. If onlywecould readit!' 'But again,' Parsifal said, 'so what? That was four thousand years ago. And we can't readit.' 'Four thousand years ago , someone sent thes e peopl e on a mission to China,'Thomassaid.'Aren'tyou alittlecurious?Whosentthem?' A van too k them t o the medica l center. At the entranc e to the Rend e ResearchWing, they entered int o a crush o f cop s an d televisio n cameras . A phalan x of university representatives were takin gturnsoffering themselves to the wolves. Frostbillowedfrom every mouth. Apparently the logic behind an outdoor press conferenceinmidwinterwasthatitwouldbebrief. 'Again, I urge you to use common sense,' a deanlike figure was soothing the lenses. 'There's nosuchthingaspossession.'

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A pretty news anchor, soaked from the thighs down with snowmelt, shouted fromthe crowd. 'Dr. Yaron, are you denying reports that the university medical center isconductingexorcismasatreatment atthe present time?' A bearded man with a white grin leaned into the microphone . 'We're waiting,' hesaid.'Theguy withthe chickenandholywater stillhasn'tshowedup.' The copsattheslidingglassdoors weren't about to let anyone in. Vera's medical IDwas no help. Finally Parsifal flashed some old NASA credentials . 'Bu d Parsifal!' one said.'Hell, yes, comein.'They allwantedt oshakehishand.Parsifalwasradiant. 'Spacemen,' Vera whisperedtoRau. Insidethelab wing, the activity was equally manic, if less frenzied. Specialists werestudyin g charts, X rays , and film images or mousing at compute r models . Portablephones lay trappe d on shoulders as people read data from screens or clipboards.Businesssuitsintermixedwithshoulderholstersand surgical scrubs of various colors.The hubbub reminded Vera of the aftermath of a natural disaster, an emergencyroo m stretched beyondcapacity. They pausedby agroupwatchingavideo.Onscreen,ayoungwomanwasbent overabloc kofbluegelonasteel table. 'That's Dr. Yamamoto,' Vera whispered to Rau andParsifal.'ThomasandImetherlasttime.' 'Here she goes,' a man in the group said. He had a stopwatch in one hand. 'Three,two , one. And... boom.' Yamamoto abruptly stiffened on screen, then sank to her knees.Foramomentshesatonherheels, staring,then tumbled to one side and wentintoviolentspasms. The Beowulfscholarscontinuedwalking. Other rooms held other screens and images: the bottom o f a skull seemed toblosso m open; a cursor arro w navigated up arteries, strayed upon neural arms, ahighwayofdreamsandimpulses. Vera knocked at an open door. A blond woman in a lab smock was hunched over amicroscope. 'I'm looking for a Dr. Koenig,' Vera said. The woman looked over, thencamerushingto Vera witharmswide. 'Vera,you'reback.Yammietoldmeyouvisitedmonthsago.' Vera introduced them. 'Mary Kay was one of my star pupils, when I could get herattention. Always offo ntriathlonsandrockclimbs.Wecouldnever keep upwithher.' 'Theolddays,'saidMary Kay,probablyallofthirty year's old. Judging by the place,medicinehadbecomethe exclusive domainoftheyoungandfit. 'You picked a bad time to visit, though,' she said. 'The entire facility's up in arms.Government agenciesall over theplace. The FBI.' The purple circles under the youngdoctor'seyes were hertestimony.Whatever thi s emergency was,she'dbeenhardatitformanyhours. 'Actually, w e heard something was happening,' Vera said. 'We've come to learneverything possible.Ifyo ucanspareafewminutes.' 'Of course I can. Let me finish one thing. I was about to run through some of theearly stuff.' 'Putmetowork,' Vera insisted.

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Grateful, Mary Kay handed Vera a folded EEG readout. 'These are the charts forday one of our hadal prep, almost a year ago. I've synched the video to 2:34 P.M.,whe n they first quartered the body. If you don't mind, track the grap h whil e theymak ethecuts.There shouldbesome activity when the saw goes through. I'll tell youwhen.' Shetappedabuttononher keyboard. The frozenimagestarted playing. 'Okay,' said Mary Kay.'Ready? They're abouttosever thelegs.Now.' It looke d like a butcher's bandsa w o n screen . Worker s manipulate d th e longrectangl e o f blue gel sideways. Two of them lifted away a section after it passedthroughthesaw. 'Nothing,' Vera said.'Noresponseonthechart.Flat.' 'Heregoestheheadsection.Anything?' 'Noresponse.Notabump,'saidVera. 'Justwhatisitwe're supposedtobelookingfor?'Parsifalasked. 'Activity. Apainresponse.Anything.' 'Mary Kay,'saidVera, 'whyareyoulookingforlifesignsinadeadhadal?' The physicianlookedhelplesslyat Vera. 'We're considering certain possibilities,' shesaid,anditwasclearthe possibilitieswere unorthodox. She ushered them down the wing, talking as they went. 'Ove r the pas t fifty-tw oweeks , our computer-anatomy division has been sectioning a hadal specimen forgenera l study. The project leader was Dr. Yamamoto, a noted pathologist. She wasworkingaloneinthelabonSundaymorningwhenthis happened.' They entered a large roo m that reeked of chemicals and dead tissue. Rau' s firstimpression was that a bomb had exploded. Bi g machines lay tippe d o n their sides.Wire s had been pulled from ceiling panels. Long strips of industrial carpet lay rippedfromthefloor.Crimescenepeopleandscientistsalikewantedanswer s from what wasleft. 'A security guard found Dr. Yamamoto crouchin g in the fa r corner . H e called forhelp. That was his las t radio dispatch. We located him hanging from the pipes abovethe ceiling. His esophagus was torn out. B y hand. Yammie was lyin g in the corner. Naked .Bleeding.Unresponsive.' 'Whathappened?' 'At first w e though t someon e had broken i n to either burgl e o r sabotage the premises , an d that Lindsey had been assaulted . Bu t as you ca n see, there are nowindows, and only the on e door. The doo r wasn't tampered with , which raisedconcernsthatsomehadalsmight have climbed through the vent system with the aimof destroying our database. We were studying hadal anatomy, after all. The project was underwritten with DoD grants. Arms makers have been clamoring for our tissueinformationtorefine theirweaponsandammunition.' 'Where's Branch when we need him?' Rau said. 'I've never heard o f hadals doingsuchathing.An attack

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likethis,itimpliessuchsophistication.' 'Anyway, that'swhatwethoughtatfirst,'Mary Kay continued.'You can imagine theuproar. The police came . We started to transport Yammie on a gurney. Then sheregainedconsciousnessandescaped.' 'Escaped?'saidParsifal.'Shewasstillfrightenedoftheintruder?' 'Itwasterrible. She was wrecking machines. She slashed two guards with a scalpel.They finally shot her with a dart gun. Like a wild animal. That's when she lost thechild.' 'Child?' Vera asked. 'Yammie was seven months pregnant. The sedative o r stress o r activity... she miscarried.' 'Howdreadful.' They reached a n eight-foot-long autops y table. Vera had seen the human bodyinsulted in a hundred different ways, shattered by trauma, wasted with disease and famine. But she was unprepared for the slight young woman with Japanese featureswh olay stretched out, covered withblankets,herheada Medusa-like riotof electrodepatches and wires. It looked like a torture in progress. Her hands and feet had beentieddownwithamakeshiftarrangement of towels, rubber tubing, and duct tape. Theautops ytable's usualoccupantsdidnotrequire suchrestraints. 'Finally, one of the detectives sorted out the fingerprints and identified our culprit,' saidMary Kay.'Yammiedidit.' 'Didwhat?'murmuredVera. 'Youmeanitwasher?'saidRau.'Dr.Yamamotokilledtheguard?' 'Yes.Histhroattissuewasunderhernails.' 'Thiswoman?'Parsifalsnorted.'Butthosemachinesmustweighatoneach.'Tooneside,Thomas'sfacewas shadowedwithdarkthoughts. 'Whywouldshedosuchathing?'askedRau. 'We'rebaffled.It may berelated toagrandmal,thoughherhusbandsaidshe has nohistoryofepilepsy.It couldbe a psychotic rage no one ever suspected. The one videomonitor she didn't manage to demolish shows her falling into unconsciousness, mengetting u p and destroying the machine s used fo r cutting tissue. The target of heranger was very specific, these machines, as if she was avengin g hersel f fo r a greatwrong.' 'Andkillingtheguard?' 'Wedon'tknow. The killing took place off camera. According to the security guard'sradio report, he foun d her in a fetal position. She was clutching tha t.' Mary Kaypointe dtoadesktop. 'Goodlord,'saidVera. Parsifalwalked over tothedesk.Herewasthesource of the stench. What remainedofahadalheadhadbeen

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positioned between a 7-Eleven Big Gulp cup and the DenverYellow Pages. The blue gel that had once encased it was mostly thawed. The liquidseepeddownintothedesk's drawers. The lower half of the face and skull had been lopped away by the machine's bladessocleanlythatthe creature seemed tobematerializingfromtheflatdesktop.Its blackhair was smeared flat upon the misshapen skull. A dozen small burr holes sprouted electrode wires. After so many months preserved from air, it wa s now in a state ofrapiddecomposition. More disconcerting than the decay and missing jaws were the eyes. The lids werewid e open. The eyes bulged, pupils fixed in a seemingly furious stare. 'H e lookspissed,'saidParsifal. 'She,' commente d the physician. 'The protruding eyes are a sympto m ofhyperthyroidism. Not enough iodine in the diet . She probably came from a region deficientinbasicmineralslikesalt.Alotofhadalslooklikethat.' 'Whatwouldpromptanyonetoembrace suchathing?'askedVera. 'That's what we asked ourselves. Had Yammie started to identify subconsciouslywit h her specimen ? Di d something trigger a personality reaction ? Identification,sublimation , conversion. W e went throug h al l the possibilities . But Yammie wasalway s so even. And never happier than now. Pregnant, fulfilled , loved.' Mary Kaytucke d th e blanke t aroun d Yamamoto' s neck , brushe d th e hai r bac k fro m herforehead .Alongbruisewassurfacingabove her eyes. In her frenzy, the woman musthave flungherselfagainstthemachinesandwalls. 'Then th e seizure s returned. We hooked her up to an EEG. You've never seen anythinglikeit.A neurologicalstorm,morelikea tempest. Weinducedacoma.' 'Good,'saidVera. 'Except it didn't work. We keep getting activity. Something seems to be eating itsway through the brain, short-circuiting tissue as it goes. It's like watching a lightningboltinslowmotion. The big difference here is that the electrical activity isn't general.You'dthinkanelectricaloverloadwould be brain-wide. But this is all being generatedfro mthehippocampus,almostselectively.' 'Thehippocampus,whatisthat,please?'Rauasked. 'The memory center,'Mary Kay answered. 'Memory,' Rau repeated softly. 'And had this hippocampus been dissected by yourmachineyet?' They alllookedatRau.'No,'said Mary Kay. 'In fact, the blade was just approachingit.Why?' 'Just a question.' Rau peered around the room. 'Also, were you keeping laboratoryanimalsinthisroom?' 'Absolutelynot.' 'Ithoughtnot.' 'Whatdoanimals have todowithit?'Parsifalsaid.

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ButRauhadmore questions. 'In clinical terms, Dr Koenig, at its most basic, what ismemory?' 'Memory?' sai d Mary Kay . 'I n a nutshell, memory i s electric charge s excitingbiochemical salong synapticnetworks.' 'Electricwires,'Rausummarized.'That'swhatourpastreducesto?' 'It'smuchmorecomplicatedthanthat.' 'Butessentially true?' 'Yes.' 'Thank you,' Rau said. They waited for his conclusion, but after a few moments itbecameclearhewasdee pincontemplation. 'What's strange,' said Mary Kay, 'is that Yammie's brain scans are showing nearlytwohundredpercent of thenormalelectricalstimulusinahumanbrain.' 'Nowondershe'sshort-circuiting,' Vera said. 'There's somethingelse,' said Mary Kay. 'At first it looked like a big jumble of brainactivity. But we're starting t o sort i t all out. And it looks like we're tracking twodistinctcognitivepatterns.' 'What?'saidVera. 'That'simpossible.' 'Idon'tfollowyou,'saidParsifal. Mary Kay'svoicegrew small.'Yammie'snotaloneinthere,'shesaid. 'Onemoretime,please,'Parsifaldemanded. 'You have tounderstand,'Mary Kay said,'noneofthisisforpublicdisclosure.' 'You have ourword,'saidThomas. She stroked Yamamoto's arm . 'W e couldn't make sense ou t of the tw o cognitivepatterns. But then, a few hours ago, something happened. The seizures stopped.Completely. And Yammie began to speak. She was unconscious , but sh e starte d talking.' 'Excellent,'saidParsifal. 'Itwasn'tinEnglish,though.It wasn'tanythingwe'dever heard.' 'What?' 'We happened t o have an intern in the room. He'd served as a Navy medic insub-Mexico. Apparently the militar y plant s microphones in remote recesses. He'dheardsomeoftherecordingsandthoughthe recognizedthesound.'

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'Nothadal,'saidParsifal.Confusion aggravated him. 'Yes.' 'Rubbish.'Parsifal'sfacewasturningred. 'We obtained a tape of hadal voices fro m the DoD' s library, top secret. Then wecompared it with Yammie's speech. It wasn't identical , but i t was clos e enough.Apparently, human vocal cords need practice to handle the consonants and trills and clicks.ButYammiewasspeakingtheirlanguage.' 'Wherecouldshe have learnedtospeakit?' 'That's exactly the point,' said Mary Kay. 'As far as humans go, there aren't morethan a handful of recaptures that speak it in the world. But Yammie was. It's all ontape.' 'Shemust have heardsome recaptures then,'Parsifalsaid. 'It'smorethansimplemimicry,though.Seethatwall over there?' 'Isthatmud?'askedVera. 'Feces.Herown.Yammieusedittofingerpaintthosesymbols.'They allrecognizedthesymbolsashadal. 'Wecan'tfigureoutwhatthey represent,' said Mary Kay. 'I'm told that someone onascienceexpeditionbelo wthePacificwasstartingtocrackthe code. An archaeologist.Van Scott or something. The expedition's supposed to be a big secret. But one of theminingcoloniesleakedbitsofthe story. Onlynowtheexpedition's disappeared.' 'VanScott.It wouldn'tbeawoman,wouldit?' Vera asked.'VonSchade?Ali?' 'That'sit.Thenyouknowofherwork?' 'Notnearly enough,'saidVera. 'She'safriend,'Thomasexplained.'We'redeeply concerned.' 'I still don't understand,' Parsifal said. 'How could this young lady be mimicking analphabet that humans have only just discovered exists? And aping a language thathumansdon'tspeak?' 'Butshe'snotmimickingorapingthem.' 'Arewetosupposethe creatures ofhellarechannelingthroughthispoorwoman?' 'Ofcoursenot,MrParsifal.' 'Whatthen?' 'Thisisgoingtosoundawfullyhalf-baked.' 'After th e nonsens e we jus t witnessed ou t front?' sai d Parsifal . 'Possession. Exorcism .I'm

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feelingpretty warmedup.' 'In fact,' Mary Kay said , 'Yammi e seem s t o have becom e he r subject . More precisely ,the hadalhasbecomeher.' Parsifalgaped,thenstarted togrowl. 'Listen.' Vera stoppedhim.'Justlistenforaminute.' 'Bud'sright,'Thomasprotested. 'Wecameallthisway tohearsuchnonsense?' 'We'rejusttrying togo where theevidencepointsus,'Mary Kay pleaded. 'Let me get this straight. The soul from that thing,' said Parsifal, pointing at thedecayin gcranium,'jumped insideofthisyoungwoman?' 'Believe me,' Mary Kay said, 'none of us want to believe it, either. Bu t somethingcatastrophic happene d to her. The charts spiked right before Yammie fellunconscious. We've gone over the video a thousand times. You see Yammie holdingthe EEG leads, and then sh e falls down. Maybe she conducte d an electric current throughherhands.Ortheheadconductedoneintoher.Iknowitsoundsfantastic.' 'Fantastic? Try lunatic,' Parsifal said. 'I've had enough of this.' On his way out, hestopped by the sectione d skull. 'You should clean your necropolis,' he declared to theroomfulof people. 'It's no wonder you're hatching such medieval rubbish.' He openeda magazine and dropped it over the hadal head, then stalked out. From the tent ofglossypages,thehadaleyes seemed topeer outatthem. Mary Kay wastrembling,shakenby Parsifal'svehemence. 'Forgiveus,'Thomassaid to her. 'We're used to one another's passions and dramas.Wesometimesforget ourselves inpublic.' 'I think we should have some coffee,' Vera declared. 'Is there a place we can collectourthoughts?' Mary Kay ledthemtoasmallconference room with a coffee machine. A monitor onthewalloverlookedthe laboratory. The smell of coffee was a welcome relief from thechemicaland decay stench.Thomasgotthem all seated and insisted on serving them.HemadesureMary Kay gotthefirstcup.'Iknowitsoundscrazy,'she said. 'Actually,'Rausaidquietly after Parsifalwasgone,'weshouldn'tbesosurprised.' 'And why not?'Thomassaid. 'We're talking about old-fashioned reincarnation. If you g o back i n time, you findversion softhetheory arealmostuniversal.Fortwenty thousandyears the Australianaborigines have tracked an unbroken chain of ancestors in their infants. You find iteverywhere, inmanypeoples,fromIndonesianstoBantustoDruids.You get thinkerslike Plato and Empedocles and Pythagoras and Plotinus trying to describe it. TheOrphi c mysteries and the Jewish Cabala took a crack at it. Even modern science hasinvestigated the activity. It's quite accepted where I come from, a perfectly naturalphenomenon.'

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'But I just can't accept that , i n a laboratory setting, thi s hadal's soul passed intoanothe rperson?' 'Soul?' said Rau. 'In Buddhism there's no such thing as soul. They talk abou t anundifferentiated stream o fbeingthatpassesfromone existence to another. Samsar a,they callit.' In part goaded by Thomas's skepticism, Vera challenged the idea, too. 'Since whendoes rebirth involv e epilepti c seizures, homicide , and cannibalism? You cal l this perfectly natural?' 'AllIcansay is that birth doesn't always happen without problems,' Rau said. 'Whyshould rebirth? A s fo r the devastation ' – an d h e gestured a t th e T V vie w ofdestructio n–'that may have to do with man's limited capacity for memory. Perhaps,asDr.Koenigdescribed, memory isamatter ofelectricalwiring. But memory is also amaze.An abyss. Whoknows where itgoes?' 'Whatwasyour questionaboutlabanimals,Rau?' 'I was just trying to eliminate other possibilities,' he answered. 'Classically , thetransfer occurs between a dying adult and an infant or animal. But in this case thehada l had only this young woman at hand . And it found an occupied house, so tospeak.Nowit'sdisablingDr.Yamamoto's memory inordertomakeroomfor itself.' 'But why now?'askedMary Kay.'Whyallofasudden,likethis?' 'Icanonlyguess,'Rausaid.'Youtoldmeyour mechanicalblade was about to dissectthe hippocampus. Maybe this was th e hada l memory's way of defending itself. Byinvadingnew territory.' 'Itinvadedher? That's anoddway ofputtingit.' 'You westerners,' said Rau, 'you mistake reincarnation with a sociable act, like ahandshake o r a kiss . Bu t rebirt h i s a matte r o f dominion . O f occupation. Ofcolonization ,ifyouwill. It's likeone countryseizinglandfromanother,and interposingits own people and language and government. Befor e long , Aztecs ar e speakingSpanish , or Mohawks are speaking English. And they start to forget who they once were.' 'You're substituting metaphors for common sense,' said Thomas. 'It doesn't get usanyclosertoourgoal,I'm afraid.' 'But think about it,' said Rau. He was getting excited. 'A passage of continuousmemory. An unbroken strand of consciousness, eons long. It could help explain hislongevity.Fromman'snarrowhistorical perspective, itcouldmakehimseemeternal.' 'Who'sthisyou'retalkingabout?'Mary Kay asked. 'Someonewe're lookingfor,'Thomassaid.'Noone.' 'Ididn'tmeantopry.' After allshe'dsharedwiththem,herhurtwasevident. 'It'sagameweplay,' Vera rushedtoexplain,'nothingmore.' The video monitor on the wall behind them had no sound, or else they might havenotice dtheinitial flurry

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ofactionin the laboratory. Mary Kay's pager beeped and shelookeddownatit,thensuddenlywhirled in her chair to see the screen. 'Yammie,' she groaned. People were rushing through the laboratory . Someone shouted a t th e monitor , asoundless cry. 'What? 'saidVera. 'CodeBlue.'AndMary Kay flewoutthedoor.Ahalf-minutelater,she reappeared onthemonitor. 'What'shappening?'askedRau. Vera turnedherwheelchairtofacethemonitor.'They're losingthepoorgirl.She'sincardiac arrest. Look,here comesthecrashwagon.' Thomas was on his feet, watching the screen intently. Rau joined him. 'Now what?' hesaid. 'Thosearetheshockpaddles,' Vera said.'To jump-start herheart again.' 'Youmeanshe'sdead?' 'There's adifference between biologicalandclinicaldeath.It may notbetoolate.' UnderMary Kay's direction , several people were shoving aside tables and wreckedmachinery , making room for the heavy crash wagon. Mary Kay reached fo r thepaddlesandheld them upright. To the rear, a woman was waving the electric plug inonehand,franticallycastingaroundforanoutlet. 'Butthey mustn'tdothat!'Raucried. 'They have totry,' saidVera. 'Didn'tanyoneunderstandwhatIwastalkingabout?' 'Whereareyougoing,Rau?'Thomasbarked. ButRauwas already gone. 'There heis,'saidVera, pointingatthescreen. 'Whatdoeshethinkhe'sdoing?'Thomassaid. Still wearing his cowboy hat, Rau shouldered aside a burly policeman and made asprightly ho p over a spilled chair. They watched a s people backed awa y from thestainless-steel table, exposing Yamamoto t o the camera. The frail young woman laystill, tie d an d tape d t o th e table , wit h wire s leadin g of f t o machines . A s Rauapproached ,Mary Kay stoodhergroundonthefarside,shockpaddlespoised. He wasarguingwithher. 'Oh, Rau!' Vera despaired. 'Thomas , w e have to get him out of there. This is amedicalemergency.' Mary Kay said something to a nurse, who tried to lead Rau away by the arm. ButRaupushedher.Alabtec hgrabbedhimby thewaist,andRaudoggedlyheldontotheedge of the metal table. Mary Kay leaned to place the paddles. The last thing Verasa wonthemonitorwasthebodyarching. WithThomaspushing the wheelchair, they hurried to the laboratory, dodging cops,firemen,andstaffinthe

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hallway. They encountered a gurney loaded with equipment,and that consumed another precious minute. By the time they reached the lab, thedrama was over. People were leaving the room. A woman stood at the door with onehandtohereyes. Inside, Vera andThomas saw a man draped partway across the table, his head laidnext to Yamamoto's, sobbing . The husband, Vera guessed. Still holding the shock paddles, Mary Kay stood to one side, staring vacantly. An attendant spoke t o her.When she didn't respond, he simply took the paddles from her hands. Someone elsepatted herontheback,andstillshedidn'tmove. 'Good heavens, was Rau right?' whispered Vera. They wove through the wreckagea sYamamoto'sbody was covered andliftedontoa stretcher. They had to wait for thestream ofpeopletopass. The husband followedthebearers out. 'Dr.Koenig?'saidThomas.Wirescluttered thegleamingtable. Sheflinchedathisvoice,andraisedhereyes tohim.'Father?' shesaid,dazed.Vera andThomasexchangeda concernedlook. 'Mary Kay?' Vera said.'Areyouallright?' 'Father Thomas? Vera?' saidMary Kay.'NowYammie'sgone,too? Where did we gowrong?' Vera exhaled. 'You had me scared,' she said. 'Come here, child. Come here.' Mary Kay kneltby thewheelchair.SheburiedherfaceagainstVera's shoulder. 'Rau?'Thomasasked,glancingaround.'Now where didhego?' Abruptly, Rau burst from his hiding place in a heap of readout paper and piledcables. He moved so quickly, they barely knew i t was he . As h e raced pas t Vera'swheelchair ,onehandhookedwide,andMar y Kay gruntedandbentbackward in pain. Her lab jacket suddenly gaped open from shoulder to shoulder, and red marked thelongslashwound.Rauhadascalpel. Now they saw the lab tech who had tried to pry Rau loose from the table. He satslumpedwithhisentrails acrosshislegs. Thomas yelled something at Rau. It was a command of some kind, not a question.Vera didn'tknowHindi ,ifthat'swhatitwas,andwastooshockedtocare. Rau pause d and looke d at Thomas, his fac e distorted with anguish andbewilderment. 'Thomas!'criedVera, fallingfromherchairwiththewoundedphysicianinherarms.In the one instant Thomas took his eyes from the man, Rau vanished through the doorway.

The suicide was aired on national television that evening. Rau couldn't have timed itbetter, with national media already gathered for the university's press conference inthestreet below.It wassimplyamatter of trainingtheircamerasonthe roofline eightstoriesabove. With a fiery Rocky Mountain sunset for a backdrop, the SWAT cops edged closerand closer to Rau's

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swaying form, guns leveled. Aiming their acoustic dishes, soundcrewson the ground picked up every wor d of the negotiator's appeal to the corneredman. Telephot o lense s traine d o n hi s twiste d face , tracked hi s leap . Severa lquick-thinkin g cameramen utilized the same bounce technique, a quick nudg e up, toself-edittheimpact. There was no doubt the former head of India's parliament ha d gone insane. Thehada lheadcradledinhis armswasallthe proof anyone needed. That and the cowboyhat. Brother, thy tail hangs down behind.

– RUDYARD KIPLING, The Jungle Book

19

CONTACT

Beneath the Magellan Rise, 176 degrees west, 8 degrees north

The campwoketo tremors onthelast day ofsummer. Like th e rest, Ali was aslee p o n the ground . She felt th e earthquake work deepinsideherbody.It

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seemed tomoveherbones. For a full minute the scientists lay on the ground, some curling in fetal balls, someclutching their neighbors ' hands or embracing. They waited in awful silence for thetunneltocloseuponthemorthefloortodrop away. Finallysomewagyelledout,'Allclear.It was just Shoat, damn him. Wanking again.'They al l laughed nervously. Ther e wer e n o mor e tremors , bu t the y ha d beenreminde dofhowminusculethey were. Alibracedforan onset of confessions from herfragileflock. Later in the morning, several in a group of women she was rafting with could smellwhat was left of the earthquake in the faint dust hanging above the river. Pia, one ofthe planetologists, said it reminded he r o f a stonecutters' yard near he r childhood home ,thesmellofcemetery markers being polished and sandblasted with the namesofthedead. 'Tombstones?That's apleasantthought,'oneofthewomensaid. To dispel the sense of omen, Ali said, 'See how white the dust is? Have yo u eve rsmelle d fresh marble just after a chisel has cut it?' She recalled for them a sculptor'sstudio she had once visited in northern Italy . He had been working on a nude withlittlesuccess,andhadbeggedAlitoposeforhim,tohelpdrawthewoman outfromhisblockofstone.Foratimehehadpursuedherwith letters. 'Hewantedyoutoposenaked?'Piawasdelighted.'Hedidn'tknowyouwere anun?' 'Iwasvery clear.' 'So?Didyou?' Suddenly,Alifeltsad.'Ofcoursenot.' Life in these dark tubes and veins had changed her. She had been trained to erasehe r identity in order to allow God's signature upon her. Now she wanted desperatelyt obe remembered, ifonlyasapieceofsculpte dmarble. The underworld was having its effect on others, too. As an anthropologist Ali wasnaturally alive to the entire tribe's metamorphosis. Tracking their idiosyncrasies waslike watching a garden slowl y gro w rampant. They adopted peculiar touches, oddways of combing their hair, or rolling their survival suits up t o the knee or shoulder.Many of the men had started going bareback, the upper half of their suit s hanging fro m their waists like shed skin. Deodorant was a thing of the past, and you barelynotice d the body smells, except for certain unfortunates. Shoat, particularly, wasknown for his foot odor. Some of the women braided each other's hair with beads or shells. It was just for fun, they said, but thei r concoction s got more elaborat e each week. Some of the soldiers lapsed into gang talk when Walker wasn' t around , and theirweapons suddenly flowered with scrimshaw. They carved animals or Bible quotes orgirlfriends' names onto the plastic stock s and handles. Even Walker had let his beardgrow into a great Mosaic bush that had to be a garden spo t for the cave lice thatplaguedthem. Ike no longer looked so much different from the rest of them. After the incident atCacheII, hehadmade himselfmorescarce.Many nightsthey never sawhim, only hislittle tripod of glowing green candle s

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designating a good campsite. Whe n he didsurface,itwasonlyforamatter ofhours.Hewas retreating into himself,andAlididn'tknow how to reach him, or why it should matter so much to her. Maybe it was thatth e one in their group who most needed reconciliation seemed most resistant to it.There wasanother possibility, that she had fallen in love. But that was unreasonable,shethought. Ononeof Ike's rare overnights at camp, Ali took a meal to him and they sat by thewater's edge. 'What d o you dream?' she asked. When his brow wrinkled, she added, 'Youdon't have totellme.' 'You've been talkin g with the shrinks, ' he said. 'They asked the sam e thing. It'ssuppose dtobeameasure offluency,right?IfIdreaminhadal.' Shewasunsettled.They allwantedapieceofthisman. 'Yes, it's a measure. And no,Ihaven'ttalkedwithanyone aboutyou.' 'Sowhatdoyouwant?' 'Whatyoudreamabout.Youdon't have totellme.' 'Okay.' They listenedtothe water. After a minute, she changed her mind. 'No, you do havet otellme.'Shemadeit light. 'Ali,'hesaid.'Youdon'twanttohearit.' 'Give,'shecoaxed. 'Ali,'hesaid,andshookhishead. 'Isitsobad?' Suddenlyhestoodupandwent over tothekayak. 'Where are you going?' This was so strange. 'Look, just drop it. I was prying . I'msorry.' 'It'snotyour fault,'hesaid,anddraggedtheboatto water. Ashecuthisway downthe river, itfinallydawnedonher.Ike dreamedofher.

OnSeptember 28they homedinonCacheIII. They had been picking up increasingly strong signals for two days. Not sure whatother surprises Helios might have in store, still uncertain what the Ranger assassinshad been up to, Walker told Ike to stay behin d while he sent his soldiers in advance.Ike made no objections, and drifted his kayak among the scientists ' rafts, silent andchagrinedtobeoffpointforachange.

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Where th e cach e was suppose d t o b e towered a waterfall . Walke r an d hismercenarie s had beached near its base and were searching the lower walls with thepowerfulspotlightsmountedontheir boats. The waterfall rifled down a shield of olive stone from heights too high to see, beating u p a mist tha t threw rainbows in theirlights. The scientists ran their rafts onto shore and disembarked. Some quirk in thecul-de-sac'sacoustics rendered theroarintoawallofwhitenoise. Walker came over. 'The rangefinder reads zero,' he reported. 'That mean s thecylinder sarehere somewhere.Butallwe've gotisthiswaterfall.' Ali could taste sea salt in the mist, and looked up into the great throat of thesinkhole rising into darkness. They were by now two-thirds of the wa y across thePacifi c Ocean system, at a depth of 5,866 fathoms, over six miles beneath sea level. There wasnothingbutwater overhead, anditwasleakingthroughtheoceanfloor.' 'They've gottobehere,'saidShoat. 'You've been carrying your own rangefinder around,' Walker said. 'Let's see if thatworksany better.' Shoatbackedaway andgraspedattheflatleather pouch strung around his neck. 'Itwon'tworkforthiskindof thing,'hesaid. 'It's a homing device, specially made for the transistorbeaconsI'mplantingalongthe way. For an emergency only.' 'Maybe thecylindershunguponashelf,'someonesuggested. 'We're looking,' said Walker. 'But these rangefinders ar e calibrated precisely . Thecylinder s shoul d be withi n two hundred feet. We haven't seen a sign of them. Nocables.Nodrillscars.Nothing.' 'One thing's certain,' said Spurrier. 'We're not going anywhere until those suppliesarefound.' Ike tookhiskayak downrivertoinvestigate smallerstrands.'Ifyou find them, leavethem . Don't touch them. Come back and tell us,' Walker instructed him. 'Somebody'sgotyouintheircrosshairs,andIdon'twant you close to our cargo when they pull the trigger.' The expeditionbrokeintosearchparties,butfoundnothing.Frustrated, Walker putsomeofhismercenariesto workshovelingatthecoarsesandincasethecylinders hadburrowedunder.Nothing.Tempers beganto fray, and fewwantedtohearonefellow'scalculationsabouthowtorationwhat little food remained until they reached the nextcache ,fiveweeks farther on. They suspendedthesearchto have their meal and rejuvenate their perspective. Alisat with a line of people, their backs against the rafts, facing the waterfall. SuddenlyTroy said,'Whatabout there?' Hewaspointingat thewaterfall. 'Insidethe water?' askedAli. 'It'stheoneplacewehaven'tlooked.' They lefttheirfoodandwalkedacross to the edge of the tributary feeding from the waterfall's base , tryin g to see through the mis t and plunging water. Troy's hunchspread,andothersjoinedthem.

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'Someonehastogoin,'Spurrier said. 'I'lldoit,'saidTroy. BynowWalkerhadcomeover. 'We'll take itfromhere,'hesaid. It too k anothe r quarter-hou r t o prepare Walker' s 'volunteer, ' a huge , sullenteenager from Sa n Antonio's West Sid e who'd lately started branding himself withhadal glyphs. Ali had heard the colonel tongue-lashing him for godlessness, and thisscout duty was obviously a punishment. The kid was scared a s they tied him to theendofarope.'Idon'tdowaterfalls,'he kept saying.'LetElCapdoit.' 'Crockett'sgone,'Walkershoutedintothenoise.'Justkeep tothewall.' Hooded in his survival suit, wearing his night-vision glasses more as diving gogglesthanforthelowluxboost, theboy started in, slowly atomizing in the mist. They keptfeedin gropeintothewaterfall,but after a few minutes there was no more tow on theline.It wentslack. They tuggedat the rope and ended pulling the whole fifty meters back out. Walkerheld the end up. 'He untied himself,' Walker shoute d t o a second 'volunteer.' 'Thatmean sthere's ahollow inside. This time, don't untie. Give three tugs when you reachthechamber,thenattachittoarockorsomething. The ideaistomak ea handline, got it?' The second soldier set off more confidently. The rope wormed in, deeper than thefirsttime.'Where'she goingin there?' Walkersaid. The line came taut, then seized harder. The belayer started to complain, but therop esuddenly yanked fro mhishandsanditstailwhippedoffintothemist. 'Thisisn't tug-of-war,' Walkerlecturedhis third scout. 'Just anchor your end. A few moderate pulls will signal us.' In the background, several mercenaries were amused.Their comrades in th e mist were having some fun at the colonel's expense. Thetensio nrelaxed. Walker's third man stepped through the curtain of spray and they started to losesight of him. Abruptly he returned. Still on his feet, he came hurtling from the mist, backpedalinginafrenzy. It happened quickly. His arms flailed, beating at some unseen weight on his front,suggesting a seizure. Backward momentum drove him into the crowd. People spilledtothesand.Helandeddeepintheirmidst, amongtheirlegs,andhespunspineup andarched,heavingaway fromtheground.Alicouldn'tseewhathappened next. The soldier let loos e a deep bellow . It came from his core, a visceral discharge. 'Move away, moveaway,'Walkeryelled,pistolinhand,wadingthroughthecrowd.The soldiersagged, facedown,but kept twitching. 'Tommy?' calledatroop. Brutally, Tommy came erect, what was left of him, and they saw that his face andtorsohadbeenrippedto scraps. The bodykeeled over backward. That waswhenthey caughtsightofthehadal.

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Shewassquattinginthesand where Tommy hadcarriedher, mouth and hands and dugsbrilliantwithbloodand theirlights,blinded,aswhiteastheabyssal fish they hadseen.Ali'sview lastedjust a fraction of a second. A thousand years old, that creature.Ho wcouldsuchawitheredthingaccomplishthebutchery they hadjustseen? Witha cry, the crowd fell away from the apparition. Ali was knocked to the groundand pummeled by the stampede . Above her, soldier s fumbled at thei r weapons . Abootglancedoff her head. Overhead, Walker came crashing through the frantic herd,moreshadowthanmanamongthewheelinglights,hishandgun blazing. The hadal leaped – impossibly – twenty feet onto the shield of olive stone. In thestrobingpatchwork of lights, she was ghastly white and rimed, it seemed, with scalesor filth. This was the repository for the mother tongue? Ali was confused. Over thepast months they had humanized the hadals in their discussions, but the reality wasmore like a wild animal. Her skin was practically reptilian. Then Ali realize d i t wasskincancer,andthehadal'sfleshwasulceratedandcheckered withscabs. Walker was fearless, running alongside the wall and firing at the scampering hadal. She was makin g for the waterfall , an d Ali guessed i t was th e soun d that was hercompass. But the stone grew slick with spray or the hold s were polishe d off orWalker'sbulletswere strikingthemark.Shefell.Walkerandhismen closed in aroundher,andallAlicouldseewere eruptionsoflightfrommuzzleflash. Dazed from the kick , Ali crawled t o her feet and started over to the cluster ofexcited soldiers.She understoodfromtheir jubilation that this was the first live hadalany of them had ever seen, muc h less fought. Walker's crac k tea m of mercenarieswere nomorefamiliarwiththe enemy thanshewas. 'Backtotheboats,'Walkertoldher. 'Whatareyougoingtodo?' 'They've taken ourcylinders,'hesaid. 'You'regoingin there?' 'Notuntilwe've pacifiedthewaterfall.' She saw soldiers prepping the bigger miniguns mounted to their rafts. They wereeage r and grim, and she dreade d thei r enthusiasm . Fro m he r passage s throughAfrica n civil wars, Ali knew firsthand that once the juggernau t go t loose, it wasirrevocable. Thi s wa s happenin g too quickly. She wanted Ike here, someone whoknewthe territory and could measure the colonel's hot backlash. 'But those two boys arestillinside.' 'Madam,' Walker answered, 'this is a military affair.' He motioned, and one of the mercenariesescorted herby thearmto where the last of the scientists were enteringtheir boats. Ali clambered aboard and they pushed off from shore and watched the showatadistance. Walker trained all their spotlights on the waterfall, illuminating the tall column sothat it looked like a vast glass dragon clinging to the rock , respirating. H e directedthemtoopenfireintothewater itself. Ali was reminded o f the kin g who tried t o order th e ocean' s waves to stop. Thewate r swallowed thei r bullets. The white noise devoured their gunfire, turning it intostrings of snapping firecrackers. They laid o

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n with their gunfire, and the water toreopeninliquidgouts,onlytohealinstantly.Someofthespecial uranium-tipped Luciferrounds struck the surroundin g walls, clawing divots i n the stone . A soldier fired a rocketintothebowelsofthefall,andthetrunk belchedoutward, revealing a nebulousgapinside.Momentslaterth egapsealedshutasmorewater poureddown. Thenthewaterfallbegantobleed. Under potent spotligh t beams, th e water s hemorrhaged. The tributary bloomedred, and the color fanne d unevenly to midriver and carried downstream. Ali thoughtthatifthegunfiredidn'tdraw Ike, surely theblood trail would. She was frightened byth emagnitudeofwhatWalkerhaddone.Gunningdownthemurderous hada l was one thing. But he had, seemingly, jus t opened the veins of a force of nature. He hadunleashed somethinghere,shecouldfeelit. 'WhatinGod'snamewasinside there?' someonegasped. Walker deployed his soldiers with hand signals. Sleek in their survival suits, theyflanke dthewaterfall, scurryinglikeinsects. The riflesintheirhands were remarkablystil landsteady, andeachsoldierwaslittlemore than the moving parts of his weapon.HalfofWalker'scontingent entered themistfromeachsideofthetributary. While thescientistswatchedfrombobbingrafts,the other half zeroed in on the waterfall, readyt opumpmore roundsintoit. Several minutes passed. A man reappeared, glistening in his amphibian neoprene.Heshouted,'Allclear!' 'Whataboutthecylinders?'Walkeryelledtohim. The soldier said, 'In here,' and Walker and the rest of his men got off their belliesandwentintothewaterfall withoutawordtotheircharges. At last the scientists paddled back to shore. Some were terrified that more hadalsmight come leaping at them, or shied from the blood they'd seen and stayed in the rafts.Ahandfulwenttothedeadhadalfor a closer look, Ali included. Little remained.The bulletshadallbutturnedthe creature insideout. Ali went with five others inside the waterfall. Since the spray had already soaked her hair, she didn't bother pulling her hood up. There was the slightest of trailshuggingthewall, and as they squeezed along it above the pool of water, the waterfallbecame a veil backlit by the spotlights. Deeper, the spotlights turne d to liquid orbs,and finally the waterfall was too thick to allow any light. Its noise muffled all soundsfromth eoutside.Aliturnedonherheadlampand kept edging between the water androck.They reachedaglobular grottoinside. All three of their missing cylinders lay by the entrance, heaped wit h hundreds ofyard s of thick cable. Fully loaded , each of the cylinder s weighe d over four tons; itmust have taken enormous effort t o drag the m int o this hiding place. Two of thecables, Ali saw, ran upward into the waterfall. That suggested thei r communicationslinesmightbeintact. Underthebadlyabraded black stencil declaring HELIOS, the name NASA surfacedin ghostlyletters along onecylinder'sside. The outersheathing was pitted and gashedwith bullet and shrapnel tracks, but was unruptured. A soldier kept clearing his eyeso f water spray as he worked on opening its hatch door. The hadals had tried to forceentry with boulders and iron rods, but had only managed to break off many of thethick bolts. The hatches were all in place. Ali climbed around the mass of cables andsawthatthefirst bodyshecameacrosswasWalker'svolunteer,thebig teenager from

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San Antonio. They had torn his throat out by hand. She braced herself for more carnage. Deeper in , Walker's me n had laid chemical lights on ledges an d stuck them intoniches in the wall, casting a green pall through the entire chamber. Smoke from explosionshunglike wet fog. The soldierswer e circulatingamongthedead.Aliblinkedquicklyatthedensepilesof bone and flesh, and raised her eyes to quel l her sickness.There were manybodiesinhere.Inthegreenlight,thewallsappearedto be sweatingwithhumidity, butthesheenwasblood.It waseverywhere. 'Watch the broken bone ends,' one of the physicians warned her. 'Poke yourself on oneofthose,youcoul dgeta nasty infection.' Ali forced herself to look down, if only to place her feet. Limbs lay scattered. Thewors tofitwere the hands,beseeching. Several soldiers glanced over at Ali with great hollows for eyes. Not a trace of their earlierzeal remained. She was drawn to their contrition, thinking they were appalledby theirdeed.Butitwasmoreawfulthanthat. 'They're allfemales,'muttered asoldier. 'Andkids.' Ali ha d t o loo k close r tha n she wante d to , pas t th e painte d fles h and thebeetle-browe d faces . Onl y minute s before , the y ha d bee n a roomfu l o f peopleoutwaitin g the humans outside. She had to look for their sex and their fragility, andwhatthesoldierssaidwastrue. 'Bitchesandspawn,'onejived,trying tovitiate theshame.But there were no takers.The y didn'tlikethis:no weapons,notasinglemale.Aslaughterofinnocents. Above them, a soldier appeared at the mouth of a secondary chamber and beganwavinghisarmand shouting.It was impossible to hear him with the waterfall behindthem, but Ali overheard a nearby walkie-talkie . 'Sierr a Victor , thi s is Fox One.Colonel, 'anexcited voicereported, 'wegotliveones. Whatd'youwantustodo?' AlisawWalkerstraightenfromamongthedeadandreach for his own walkie-talkie,andsheguessedwhathis commandwouldbe.He had already lost three men. For the sakeofconservation,hewouldsimplyorderthe soldierstofinishthejob.Walker liftedthewalkie-talkie tohismouth.'Wait!'sheyelled,andrusheddowntohim. Shecouldtellheknewherintent.'Sister,'he greeted. 'Don'tdoit,'shesaid. 'Youshouldgooutsidewiththeothers,'hetoldher. 'No.' Their impasse might have escalated. But at that moment a man bellowed from the entranceandeveryone turned.It was Ike, standing on top of the cylinders, the watersheetin gfromhim.'What have youdone?' Hands lifted in disbelief, he descended from the cylinders. They watched him cometoabody,andkneel. H e set his shotgun to one side. Grasping the shoulders, he liftedherpartway fromthe ground and the head lolled, white hair kinky around the horns,teeth bared. The teeth hadbeenfiledtosharppoints.

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Ike was gentle. He brought the head upright an d looked at th e fac e and smelledbehindherear,thenlaid herflatagain. Next toherlayahadalinfant,andhecarefullycradleditinhisarmsasifit were stillalive.'You have noideawhat you've done,'hegroanedtothemercenaries. 'This is Sierra Victor, Fox One,' Walker murmured into the walkie-talkie. His handwascuppedtoit,butAli heardhim.'Openfire.' 'Whatareyoudoing?'shecried,andgrabbedtheradio from the colonel. Ali fumbledwiththetransmitbutton.'Yo uholdyour fire,'shesaid,andadded,'damnyou.' She let g o of the transmi t button an d they heard a small confused voice saying, 'Colonel, repeat. Colonel?'Walkermadenoeffortto wrestle backthewalkie-talkie. 'Wedidn'tknow,'oneboysaidto Ike. 'You weren't here, man,' said another. 'You didn't see what they done to Tommy.An dlookatA-Z. Tore histhroatout.' 'Whatdidyou expect?' Ike roared at them. They grew subdued. Ali had never seenhimferociousbefore. And where didthisvoicecomefrom? 'Theirbabies?'Ike thundered.They backedaway fromhim. 'They were hadals,'saidWalker. 'Yes,' Ike said. He held the shattered child at arm's length and searched the smallface,thenlaidthebody againsthisheart.Hepickeduphisshotgunandstood. 'They're beasts, Crockett.' Walker spoke loudly for everyone to hear. 'They cost usthree men. They stol e our cylinders and would have opened them. If we hadn'tattacked, they would have lootedoursuppliesan dthatwould have beenourdeath.' 'This,'Ike said,clutchingthedeadchild,'thisisyour death.' 'Wearedeepbeyond–'Walker started. 'You've killed yourselves,' Ike saidmorequietly. 'Enough,Crockett. Jointhehumanrace.Orgobacktothem.' The walkie-talkie in Ali's hand spoke up again, and she held it up for Ike to hear aswell.'They're startingt omovearound. Say again.Shouldweopenfireornot?' Walker snatched the walkie-talkie from her, but Ike was equally fast. Withouthesitation , he pointed his sawed-off gun at the colonel's face. Walker's mouth twistedinhisbeard. 'Givemethatbaby,' she said to Ike, and took the little body. 'We have other thingstodo.Don'twe,

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Colonel?' Walkerlookedather,eyes hugewithrage.Hemadeuphismind.'Hold your fire,' hesnarledintothewalkie-talkie. 'We'recomingforalook.' The stone floor buckled underfoot, and she had to skirt deep plung e holes. Theyclimbe d a slick incline t o the higher, smaller chamber. The deadly hail of gunfire hadnotreachedthisfarexcept asricochets,whichha ddonedamage enough. They passedseveral morebodiesbeforegainingthehighfloor. The survivors were huddled in a pocket, an d they seemed able to feel the lightbeams agains t their skin . Ali counted seven of them, tw o very young. They weremute , movin g only when someone trained a headlamp on them for too long. 'Nomore?'Ike askedthesoldiersguardingthem. 'Them. They tried to get away.' The ma n indicated another eleve n o r twelve,sprawle dnearaduct. The hadals kept their faces away from the light, and the mother s sheltered theiryoung. Their flesh gleamed. The markings and scars undulated a s their musclesshifted. 'Arethey fatties,orwhat?'amercenary saidtoWalker. Several of the females were indeed obese. More correctly, they were steatopygic,with enormous surpluses of fat in their buttocks and breasts. To Ali's eye, they wereidentica l to Neolithic Venuses carved from stone or painted on walls. They weremagnificen tin their size and decoration, and their greased and plaited hair. Here andthere, Alicaughtsightoftheapelikebrowsandlowforeheads,andagainitwas hardtoreconcilethemasquitehuman. 'These aresacred,'Ike said.'They're consecrated.' 'Youmakethemsoundlike vestal virgins,'Walkerscoffed. 'It's just the opposite. These are their breeders. The pregnant an d new mothers.Their infants and children. They know their species is going extinct. These are theirracial treasure. Oncethewomenconceive , they're brought into communal coveys likethis. It's like living in a harem.' He added, 'Or a nunnery. They're cared for andwatched over andhonored.' 'Is there apointtothis?' 'Hadals are nomadic. They make seasonal rounds. When they move, each tribe keeps itswomeninthe center ofthelineforprotection.' 'Some protection,' a soldier spoke up . 'We just turned their nex t generation intohamburger.' Ike didn'treply. 'Wait,'saidWalker.'You'resayingweintersected themiddleoftheirline?'Ike nodded. 'Whichmeansthemalesareofftoeitherend?' 'Luck,'Ike said.'Badluck.Idon'tthinkwewanttobeherewhenthey catchup.' 'Allright,'Walkersaid.'You've hadyour look.Let's getthis over with.'Instead,Ike walkedintothemidstofthe

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hadals. Ali couldn't hear Ike's words distinctly, but heard the rise and fall of his tone andoccasionaltongueclicks. The females responded with surprise, and so did the soldiersaiming their rifles at them. Walker cut a glance at Ali, and suddenly sh e feared forIke's life. 'If even one tries to run,' Walker told his men, 'you ar e to open fire on thewholepack.' 'ButtheCap'sinthere,'aboysaid. 'Fullauto,'Walkerwarnedgrimly. AlileftWalker'ssideandwentoutto Ike, placingherselfinthe line of fire. 'Go back,'Ike whispered. 'I'mnotdoingthisforyou,'shelied.'It'sforthem.' HandsreacheduptotouchIke andher. The palmswere rough,thenailsbroken andencrusted. Ike hunkered among them, and Ali let different ones grab her hands and smellher.Hisclaimmark wasofspecialinterest. One wall-eyed ancient held on to hisarm. She stroked the scarified nodes and questioned him. When Ike answered her,she drew away with revulsion, i t seemed. She whispered t o the others , wh o grewagitate d and scrambled to get distance from him. Still perched on his toes, Ike hunghishead.Hetriedanotherfew phrases,andtheirfrightonlyincreased. 'Whatareyoudoing?'Aliasked.'Whatdidyoutellthem?' 'Myhadalname,'said Ike. 'Butyousaiditwasforbiddentospeakitoutloud.' 'It was, until I left the People. I wanted to find out how bad things really are withme.' 'They knowyou?' 'They knowaboutme.' From the hadals' loathing, it was clear his reputation was odious. Even the childrenwere afraid of him. 'This isn't good,' Ike said, eyeing the soldiers. 'We can't stay here.Andifwe leave –' The walkie-talkie announced that two of the cylinders had been opened and Shoathad a communications line in operation. Ali could see by his face that Walker wantedtobeshedofthisbusiness.'Enough,'Walker said. 'Just leave them,'Alisaidtohim. 'I'mamanwho lives by his word,' Walker replied. 'It was your friend Crockett whodeclaredthepolicy.No livecatches.' 'Colonel,'Ike said,'killingthe hadal is one thing. But I've got a human in this bunch.Shootherdown,andthat wouldbemurder,wouldn'tit?' Ali thought he was bluffing to buy time, or else talking about her. But he reachedamongthehadalsand grabbedthe arm of a creature who had been hiding behind theothers.She gave ashriekand bit him, but Ike

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dragged her out, pinning her arms andhoistingherfree.Alihadnochancetoseeher. The othersclutchedather legs,andIkekicke datthemandbacked away. 'Move,'hegruntedtoAli.'Runwhilewecan.' The hadalsset up a piercing wail. Ali was certain they were about to rush after Ikean dwhatever itwashe' djustkidnappedfrom them. 'Move,' shouted Ike, and she ran tothesoldiers, who opened a way for her and Ike and his catch. She tripped and fell.Ike stumbledacross her. 'InthenameoftheFather,'Walkerintoned.'Light'emup.' The soldiers opened fire on the survivors. The noise was deafenin g in the smallchamber, and Ali closed her ears with both palms. The killing lasted less than twelveseconds . There were a few mop-up shots, then the gunfire was over and the roomstan kwithgasvented fromtheirguns.Aliheardawomanstillscreaming, and thoughtthey'd woundedoneorwere torturingher. 'Thisway.'Asoldiergrabbedher.Hewastakingcare of her. She knew him from hisconfessions,Calvino,an Italianstallion.Hissinshadbeenapregnantgirlfriend,atheft,littlemore. 'ButIke –' 'Thecolonelsaidnow,'hesaid,andAlisawabrawlinprogress against the back wall,with Ike near the bottom o f the pile. In the corner lay their little massacre. Al l fornothing, she thought, and let the soldier lead her away, back to the grotto floor, outthroughthewaterfall. For the next few hours, Ali waited by the mist. Each time a soldier came out, shequestionedhimabout Ike. They avoidedhereyes and gave noanswer. AtlastWalkeremerged.Behindhim–guardedby mercenaries–came Ike's save.The y hadboundthefemale's arms with rope and taped her mouth shut. Her handswere covered with duct tape, and she had wire wrapped around her neck as a leash.Her legs were shackled with comm-line cable. She'd been cut and was smeared withgore. Forallthat,shewalkedlikeaqueen,asnakedasbluesky.Sh ewasnotahadal,Alirealized. Belowtheneck,mostHomos of the last hundred thousand years were virtually thesame,Aliknew.She focusedon the cranial shape. It was modern andsapiens.Exceptforthat, there waslittleelsetopronouncethe girl'shumanness. Every eye watched th e girl . She didn't care. The y could look. They could touch.They coulddoanything. Every glance,every insultmadehermoresuperiortothem.Her tattoos put Ike's to shame. They were blinding , literally. You could barely seeher body fo r the details . The pigment that had been worke d into her ski n all butobliterateditsnaturalbrowncolor.Herbellywasround,andher breasts were fat, andshe shook them a t one soldier, who pumped his head in and out with a downtownrhythm. There wasnoindicationshespoke Englishoranyotherhumanlanguage. From head to toe, she had been embellished and engraved and bejeweled andpainted .Every toewascircled with a thin iron ring. Her feet were flat from a lifetimeof walkingbarefoot.Aliguessedshewasnomorethanfourteen. 'We have been advised by our scout,' Walker said, 'that this child may know whatliesahead.Weleave. Immediately.'

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ExcludingthelossofWalker's three mercenaries,itseemed they had escaped withoutconsequence from Cache III. They had acquired anothe r si x week s o f food andbatteries, andhadmadea hasty uplink with the surface to let Helios know they werestil linmotion. There wasnosignofpursuit,despitewhichIke pushed them thirty hours without acamp.Hescaredthemon. 'We'rebeinghunted,'hewarned. Several ofthescientistswhowantedtoresignand return theway they'd come, chiefamongthemGitner,accuse dIke ofcollaboratingwithShoattoforcethemdeeper. Ike shruggedandtoldthemtodowhatever they wanted.Noonedaredcrossthatline. On October 2, a pair of mercenaries bringing up the rear vanished. Their absencewas not noticed for twelve hours. Convinced the me n had stolen a raft and were making a renegade bid to return home, Walker ordere d five soldier s to track andcapturethem.Ike arguedwithhim.What caused the colonel to reverse his order wasnot Ike, but a message over the walkie-talkie. The camp stilled, thinking the missing pairmightbereportingin. 'Maybe they justgotlost,'oneofthescientistssuggested. Layers of rock garbled the transmission, but it was a British voice coming over theradio.'Someonemadea mistake,'hetoldthem.'Youtook my daughter.' The wild childmadeanoiseinherthroat. 'Whoisthis?'Walkerdemanded. Aliknew.It wasMolly'smidnightlover. Ike knew.It wastheonewhohadledhimintodarkness onceuponatime. Isaac hadreturned. The radiowentsilent. They castdownriveranddidnotmakecampfora week.

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Every lion comes from its den,All the serpents bite; Darkness hovers, earth is silent,As their maker rests in lightland.

– 'The Great Hymn to Aten,' 1350 BC

20

DEAD SOULS

San Francisco, California

Headfirst, the hadal drew himself from the honeycom b o f cave mouths. He pantedfeebly,starved, dizzy, rejectinghisweakness. Rimecoatedthe perfect round openingsofconcretepipes. The fogwassocold.

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Hecouldhearthesickanddyinginthe pyramided tunnels. The illness was as lethalas a sweep of plague or a poisoned stream or the venting of some rare gas through theirarterialhabitat. Hiseyes streamed pus.Thisair.Thisawfullight.And the emptiness of these voices.The sounds were too far away and yet too close. There was to o much space. Yourthoughts had no resonance here. You imagine d something and the idea vanished intonothingness. Like a leper, he draped hides over his head. Hunched inside the tattered skincurtains ,hefeltbetter, more abletosee. The tribeneededhim. The other adult maleshad been killed off. It was up to him. Weapons. Food. Water. Thei r search fo r themessiahwould have towait. Even given the strength to escape, he would not have tried, not while children and women still remained here alive. All together they would live. Or al l together theywoul d die. That was the way. It was up to him. Eighteen years old, and he was nowtheirelder. Who was left? Only one of his wives was still breathing. Three of his children. An image of his infant son rose up – as cold as a pebble. Aiya . He made the heartbreakint orage. The bodies of his people lay where they had pitched or reeled or staggered. Theircorruption was strange to see. It had to be something in this thin, strangling air. Orthelightitself,likean acid. He had seen many corpses in his day, but none so quicklygonetorotthis way. A single day had passed here, and not one coul d be salvaged formeat. Every few steps, he rested his hands on his knees to gasp for breath. He was awarrio randhunter. The groundwasasflatasa pond top. Yet he could scarcely standonhisfeet!Whataterrible placethiswas.Hemove don,stepping over aset ofbones.He came to a ghostly white line and lifted his drape of rags, squinting into the fog.The linewastoostraighttobeagametrail. The suggestionofa path raised his spirits.Maybe itledto water. Hefollowedtheline,pausing to rest, not daring to sit down. Sit and he would lie, lieand he would sleep and never wake again. He tried sniffing the currents of air, but itwas too fouled with stench and odors to detect animals or water. And you couldn't trust your ears for all the voices. It seemed like a legion of voices pouring down uponhim.Notonewordmadesense.Deadsouls,hedecided. Atitsend,thelinehitanotherlinethatranrightandleftinto the fog. Left, he chose,the sacred way. It had to lead somewhere. He came to more lines . He made more turns,someright,someleft...inviolationoftheWay. Ateachturnhe pissed his musk onto the ground. Just the same, he grew lost. How couldthisbe? A labyrint h without walls? He berated himself. If only he had gone leftatevery turnashehadbeentaught,hewould have inevitably circledtothe source, orat least been able to retrace his path by backtracking right at every nexus. But nowhe had jumbled his directions. And in his weakened condition. And with the tribe's welfar e dependent on him alone. It was precisely times like these that the teachingswere for. Stillhopefuloffindingwater or meat or his own scents in the bizarre vegetation, hewent on. His head throbbed. Nausea racked him. He tried licking the frost from thespiky vegetation, but the taste of salts an d nitrogen overruled his thirst. The groundvibrated withconstantmovement. He did everything in his power to focus on the moment, to pace his advance andcurtaildistracting thoughts.Buttheluminouswhiteline repeated itself so relentlessly,and the altitude was so severe, that his attention naturally meandered. In that way,h e failed to see the broken bottle until it was halfway through

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the meat of his barefoot. He cut his shriek before it began. Not a sound came out. They'd schooled him well.He took the pain in. He accepted its presence like a gracious host. Pain could be hisfriendoritcouldbehisenemy, dependingon hisself-control. Glass! He had prayed for a weapon, and here it was. Lowering his foot, he held the slipperybottleinhis palmsandexaminedit. It was an inferior grade, intende d for commerce, no t warfare. It didn't have the sharpness of black obsidian, which splintered into razor shards, or the durabilit y ofglas scraftedby hadalartisans.Butitwould do. Scarcely believing his good fortune, the young hadal threw back his rag-headdressan d willed himself to see in the light. He opened to it, braced by the pain in his foot,marrying to the agony. Somehow he had to return to his tribe while there was still time.With his other senses scrambled by the foulness and tremors and voices in thisplace,hehadtomake himselfsee. Something happened, something profound. In castin g off the rag s coverin g hismisshape nhead,itwas asifhebrokethefog.Allillusionfellaway andhe was left withthis. On the fifty-yar d line of Candlestick Park , the hada l found himself in a darkchaliceatthepitofauniverse ofstars. The sightwasahorror, even foronesobrave.Sky ! Stars! The legendary moon! Hegrunted,piglike,andtwisted incircles.There were his caves intheneardistance,andinthemhispeople.There lay the skeletons of his kin. He started across the field,crippled, limping, eyes pinned to the ground, desperate. The vastness all around himsucked at his imagination and it seemed he must tumble upward int o that vast cupspreadoverhead. It gotworse.Floatingabove his head he saw himself. He was gigantic. He raised hisrighthandtowardoff the colossal image, and the image raised its right hand to wardhimoff. Inmortal terror, hehowled.Andtheimagehowled.Vertigotoppledhim. Hewritheduponthecleatedgrasslikeasaltedleech.

'FortheloveofChrist,'General Sandwell said, turning from the stadium screen. 'Now he'sdying.We'regoingtoendupwithnomales.' It was three in the morning and the air was rich with sea, even indoors. The creature's how l lingered i n the room , piped in over a n expensive se t o f stereo speakers. Thomas an d January an d Foley, th e industrialist , peered throug h night-visionbinocular s at the sight. They looked like three captains as they stood at th e broadplate-glas s window of a skybox perche

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d o n the ri m of Candlestick Park . The poorcreature wentonfloppingabout in the center of the arena far below them. De l'Ormepolitely sat to one side of Vera's wheelchair, gathering what he could from their conversation. Forthelasttenminutes they'd been following the hadal's infrared image in the coldfog as he stole along the grid lines, left and right at ninety-degree angles, seduced byth elinearityorchasingsome primitive instinct or maybe gone mad. And then the foghad lifted and suddenly this . His actions made a s little sens e magnifie d on thelive-actionvideoscreenasintheminiature reality below. 'Isthistheirnormalbehavior?'Januaryaskedthegeneral. 'No.He'sbold. The rest have stuck close to the sewer pipes. This buck's pushed thelimit.Alltheway tothe fifty.' 'I've never seenonelive.' 'Look quick. Once the sun hits, he's history.' The general was dressed tonight in apair of pressed corduroys and a multi-blue flanne l shirt. Hi s Hush Puppies padded silentl y o n the thic k Berber . The Bulov a was platinum . Retirement suite d him,especiall ywithHeliostolandin. 'Yousay they surrendered toyou?' 'First time we've seen anything like it. We had a patrol out at twenty-five hundredfeetbelowtheSandias. Routine. Nothing ever comes up that high anymore. Then outofnowherethisbunchshowsup.Several hundredofthem.' 'Youtoldus there areonlyacoupledozenhere.' 'Correct.LikeIsaid,we've never seenamass surrender before. The troopsreacted.' 'Overreacted, wouldn'tyou say?' saidVera. The general gave her his gallows dimple. 'We had fifty-two when they first arrived.Les sthantwenty-nine atlastcountyesterday. Probably fewer by now.' 'Twenty-five hundred feet?' said January. 'But that's practically the surface. Was itaninvasionparty?' 'Nope.Morelikeaherdmovement.Femalesandyoung,mostly.' 'Butwhatwere they doinguphere?' 'Not a clue. There's no communicating with them. We'v e go t the linguist s andsupercomputers workin g full speed, bu t i t might not even be a real languag e theyspeak . Fo r ou r purposes tonight , it' s jus t glorifie d gibberish . Emotiona l signing. Nothin ginformational. But the patrol leader did say the group was definitely headingfor the surface. They were barely armed. It was almos t like they were looking for something.Orsomeone.' The Beowulf scholars paused. Their eyes passed th e questio n around the skybo xroom .Whatifthishada lcrawlingacrossthe frosty grassof Candlestick Park had beenembarked onaquest identicaltotheirown,tofin dSatan?Whatif this lost tribe reallyhadbeensearchingforitsmissingleader...onthesurface?

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Forthepast week they had been discussing a theory, and this seemed to fit. It was GaultandMustafah's theory, the possibility that their Satanic majesty might actuallybe a wanderer who had made occasional forays to the surface, exploring humansocietie s over the eons. Images – mostly carved in stone – and oral tradition frompeoplesaround the world gave a remarkably standard portrait of this character. The explorer came and went. He popped up out of nowhere and disappeared just asreadily. He could be seductive or violent. He lived by disguise and deception. He wasintelligent,resourceful,andrestless. Gault and Mustafah had cobbled the theor y together while in Egypt. Ever since,they had carried on a discreet phone campaign to convince their colleagues that thetrue Satanwas unlikely to be found cowerin g in some dark hole in the subplanet, butwas more apt to be studying his enemy from within their very midst. They argued thatthehistoricalSatanmightspendhalf his time down below among hadals, and theothe rhalfamongman.That hadraisedotherquestions. Was their Satan, for instance,thesamemanthroughoutthe ages,undying, an immortal creature? Or might he be aseriesofexplorers, or a lineage of rulers? If he traveled among man, it seemed likelyhe resembled man. Perhaps, as de l'Orme had proposed, he was th e character in theShroud.Ifso,whatwouldhelooklikenow?Ifitwas true thatSatanlived among man,what disguis e would he be wearing? Beggar, thief, or despot? Scholar, soldier, orstockbroker? Thomasrejected the theory. Hisskepticism was ironic at times like this. After all, itwashewhohadlaunched themonthisconvolutedwhirlwindof counter-intuitions andupside-down explanations. He had enjoined them to go out into the world and locatenewevidence, old evidence, all the evidence. We need to know this character, he hadsaid. We need to know how he thinks, what hi s agenda consists of, his desires and needs, his vulnerabilities and strengths, what cycles he subconsciously follows, whatpathsheislikelytotake. Otherwise wewillnever have anadvantage over him. That'showthey hadleftit,atastandstill,thegroup scattered. FoleylookedfromThomastodel'Orme. The gnomelikefacewas a cipher. It was de l'Orme who had forced this meeting with Helios and dragged every Beowulf memberonthe continent in with him. Something was up. He had promised it would affect theoutcomeoftheirwork,thoughherefusedtosay how. All of this went over Sandwell's head. They did not speak one word of Beowulf'sbusinessinfrontofhim. They were stilltrying tojudgehowmuch damage the generalhaddonetothemsincegoing over toHeliosfive monthsago. The skybo x wa s servin g a s Sandwell' s temporar y office . The Stick , a s heaffectionatel y called it, was in serious makeover. Helios was creating a $500 millionbiotech research facility in the aren a space . BioSpher e withou t th e sunshine , he quipped. Scientists from around the countr y wer e bein g recruited. Crackin g the mysteries of H . hadalis had just entered a new phase. It was being compared tosplitting the atom or landing on the moon. The hadal thrashing abou t on the dyinggras sandfadinghashmarks waspart ofthefirst batchtobeprocessed. Here, where Y.A. Tittle and Joe Montana had earned fame and fortune, where theBeatlesandStoneshad rocked, where thePopehad spoken on the virtues of poverty,taxpayer s were funding an advanced concentratio n camp. Once completed, it wasdesignedtohousefivehundredSAFs –Subterranean Animal Forms–atatime.Atitsfar end, the playing field was beginning to look like the basement of the Roman Colosseum ruins. The holding pens were i n progress. Alleyway s woun d betweentitaniu m cages. Ultimately the old arena surface and all its cages woul d be covered over with eight floors of laboratory space. There was even a smokeless incinerator,approve dby theEnvironmentalProtectionAgency,for disposingofremains.

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Down on the field, the hadal had begun crawling toward the stack o f concreteculverts temporaril y housin g hi s comrades . The Stic k wouldn' t b e read y fornonhuma ntenantsforanotheryear. 'Truly a march of the damned, ' de l'Orme commented . 'I n the spac e of a week,severa l hundredhadals have becomelessthantwodozen.Shameful.' 'Live hadals are as rare as Martians,' the general explained. 'Gettin g the m t o the surface alive and intact – before their gut bacteria curdles o r their lun g tissues hemorrhageorahundredotherdamnthings–it'slike growinghaironrock.' There-had beenisolatedcasesof individual hadals living in captivity on the surface.The record was an Israeli catch: eighty-three days. At their present rate, what wasleftofthisgroupoffiftywasn'tgoingtolastthe week. 'Idon'tseeany water. Orfood.Whatarethey supposedtobelivingon?' 'We don't know. That's the whol e problem. We filled a galvanized tu b wit h cleanwater, and they wouldn't touch it. But see that Port a Pott i fo r the constructionworkers ? A few of the hadals broke in the first day and drank the sewag e andchemicals .It took'emhourstoquitbuckingandshrieking.' 'They died,you'resaying.' 'They'lleitheradaptordie,'thegeneralsaid.'Aroundhere,wecallitseasoning.' 'Andthoseotherbodieslyingby thesidelines?' 'That'swhat'sleftofanescapeattempt.' From this height the visitor s coul d see the lowe r stands filled with soldiers andringed with miniguns trained on the playing field. The soldiers wore bulky oversuitswit hhoodsand oxygen tanks. On the giant screen, the hadal male cast another glance at th e nigh t sky andpromptl yburiedhisfaceinth eturf.They watchedhimclutchatthegrassasifholdingontothesideofacliff. 'After ourmeeting,Iwanttogocloser,'saiddel'Orme.'Iwanttohearhim.Iwanttosmellhim.' 'Out of the question,' said Sandwell. 'It's a health issue. Nobody goes in. We don'twantthemgetting contaminatedwithhumandiseases.' The hadal crawled from the forty to the thirty-five. The pyramid of culvert pipesstood near the ten. Farther on, he began navigating between skeletons an d rottingbodies. 'Why are the remains lying in the open like that?' Thomas asked . ' I shoul d thinkthey constituteahealth hazard.' 'Youwantaburial?Thisisn'tapetcemetery, Father.' Vera turnedherheadatthetone.Sandwellhaddefinitelycrossedover. He belongedto Helios. 'It's not a zoo, either, General. Why bring them here if you're just going towatchthemfester anddie?' 'I told you, old-fashioned R-and-D. We're building a truth machine. Now we'll getthefactsonwhatreally

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makesthemtick.' 'And what's your part in it?' Thomas asked him. 'Why are you here? With them.Helios.' The generalbridled.'Operationalconfiguration,'hegrowled. 'Ah,'saidJanuary,asifshehadbeentoldsomething. 'Yes, I've left the Army. But I'm still manning the line,' Sandwell said. 'Still taking thefighttotheenemy. Onl ynowI'mdoingitwithrealmusclebehindme.' 'Youmeanmoney,'saidJanuary.'TheHeliostreasury.' 'Whatever it takes to stop Haddie. After all those years of being ruled by globalistsandwarmed-over pacifists,I'mfinallydealingwithrealpatriots.' 'Bullshit,General,'Januarysaid.'You'reahireling.You're simply helping Helios help itselftothesubplanet.' Sandwell reddened. 'These rumors about a start-up nation underneath the Pacific?That's tabloidtalk.' 'When Thomas first described it, I thought he was being paranoid,' said January. 'Ithought no one in their right mind would dare ri p the ma p to shreds and glue thepieces together and declare i t a country. But it's happening, and you're part of it,General.' 'But your map is still intact,' a new voice said . They turned . C.C . Cooper wasstanding in the doorway. 'All we've done is lift it and expose the blank tabletop. Anddrawn a new land where there was no land before. We're making a map within themap.Outofview. You can go on with your affairs as if we never existed. And we cangoonwithouraffairs.We'resteppingoffyour merry-go-round, that'sall.' Years ago,Timemagazinehad mythologized C.C. Cooper as a Reaganomic whiz kid,lauding his by-the-bootstraps rise through computer chips and biotech patents andtelevision programming. The article had artfully neglected to mention hismanipulationof hard currency and precious resources i n the crumbling Soviet Union,orhissleightofhandwithhydroelectric turbines for the Three Gorges dam project inChina. His sponsorship of environmental an d human-rights groups was constantlybeingshovele dbeforethe public as proof that big money could have a big conscience,too. In person, the entrepreneurial bangs and wire rims looked strained on a man hisage. The formersenator had a West Coast vitality that might have played well if he'dbecomePresident.Atthis early hour,itseemed excessive. Cooper entered, followed by his son. Their resemblance was eerie, except that thesonhadbetter hairand worecontactsand had a quarterback's neck muscles. Also, hedidnot have hisfather'seaseamongtheenemy. Hewasbeinggroomed,but you couldsee that raw power did not come naturally to him. That he had been included in thismorning'smeeting–andthatthemeetinghadbeenofferedinthe deep of night, whilethe city slept – said much to Vera and the others. It meant Cooper considered themdangerous, and that his son was now supposed t o learn abou t dispatchin g one'sopponentsaway frompublicview. Behind the two Cooper men came a tall, attractive woman in her late forties, hairbobbedandjetblack.She hadinvitedherselfalong,thatwasclear.'EvaShoat,' Coopersaid to the group. 'My wife. And this is my son, Hamilton. Cooper.' As distinct fromMontgomery, Vera realized. The stepson,Shoat.

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Cooperledhisentourageto the table and joined the Beowulf scholars and Sandwell.Hedidn'tasktheir names.Hedidn'tapologizeforbeinglate. 'Your country-in-progress is a renegade,' sai d Foley. 'N o nation steps out of theinternationalpolity.' 'Says who?' Cooper asked agreeably. 'Forgive my pun. But the international politymay gotothedevil.I'm goingtohell.' 'Do you realiz e th e chao s this will bring?' January asked. 'Your control of oceanshipping lanes alone. Your abilit y t o operat e withou t an y oversight . T o violate internationalstandards.Topenetrate nationalborders.' 'But consider the order I'll bring by occupying the underworld. In one fell swoop, I return mankind to its innocence. This abys s beneat h ou r feet wil l no longer beterrifying and unknown. It will no longer be dominate d by creatures like that.' Hepointedatthestadiumvideo. The hadal was lapping its own vomit fro m the turf. EvaShoatshuddered. 'Once our colonial strategy begins, we can quit fearing the monsters. N o more superstitions.Nomore midnightfears.Ourchildrenandtheirchildrenwillthinkoftheunderworld as just another piece of real estate. They'll take holidays to the natural wonder s beneath our feet. They'll enjoy the fruits of our inventions. They'll own theuntappedenergy oftheplanetitself.They'll befree toworkonUtopia.' 'That's not the abyss man fears,' Vera protested. 'It's the one in here.' She touchedtheribsabove her heart.' 'Theabyss is the abyss,' said Cooper. 'Light one and you light the other. We'll all bebetter forthis,you'll see.' 'Propaganda.' Vera turnedherheadindistaste. 'Yourexpedition,'Thomassaid.Hewas angry tonight.'Where have they gone?' 'I'mafraidthenewsisn'tgood,' said Cooper. 'We've lost contact with the expedition.Youcanimagineour concern.Ham,doyou have ourmap?' Cooper's son opened his briefcase and produced a folded bathymetric map showingthe ocean floor. It was creased and marked with a dozen different pens and greasepencils . Cooper traced his finger helpfull y across the latitudes and longitudes. 'Theirlastknownpositionwaswest-southwest of Tarawa, in the Gilber t Islands. That couldchange,ofcourse.Every nowandthenweharvest dispatchesfromthebedrock.' 'You'restillhearingfromthem?'askedJanuary. 'In a sense. For over three weeks now, the dispatches have been nothing but bitsand pieces of older communications sent months ago. The transmissions get mangledby the layers of stone. We end up with echoes. Electromagnetic riddles . It onlysuggest s where they were weeks ago.Wherethey aretoday,wh ocan say?' 'That'sallyoucantellus?'askedJanuary. 'We'll find them.' Ev a Shoa t suddenly spoke up. She was fierce. Her eyes werebloodsho tfromcrying.

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Coopercutaglanceather. 'You must b e worrie d sick, ' Vera sympathized. 'Montgomery is your only child?'Coopernarrowedhis eyes atVera. Shenoddedtohim.Herquestionhadbeenphraseddeliberately. 'Yes,' said Eva, then looked at her husband's son. 'I mean no. I'm worried . I' d be worrie difitwere Hamiltondownthere. Ishouldnever have allowedMonty togo.' 'Hechoseithimself,'Cooper tautly observed. 'Only because he was desperate,' Eva snapped back. 'How else could he compete inthisfamily?' Vera saw Thomas across the table, rewarding her with the slightest hint of a smile.Shehaddonewell. 'Hewantedtobepart ofthings,'Coopersaid. 'Yes,part ofthis,'Evasaid,throwingherhandattheskybox view. 'And I've told you, Eva , h e is a part of it. You have no idea how important hiscontributionwillbe.' 'Mysonhadtoriskhislifetobeimportanttoyou?'Cooperdisengaged.It wasanoldargument,obviously. 'Whatprecisely isthis,MrCooper?'Foleyasked. 'Itoldyou,'saidSandwell.'A research facility.' 'Yes,'saidJanuary,'aplacetoseason your hadal captives. By the way, General, areyouaware the term was onceusedaboutAfrican slaves arrivinginthiscountry?' 'You'll have to excuse Sandy,'Coopersaid.'He'sarecent acquisition, still adapting to the language and life on campus. I assure you, we'r e not creating a population ofslaves.' Sandwellbristled,but kept silent. 'Thenwhatdoyouneedlivehadalsfor?Whatisityou'reresearching?' Vera asked.Cooper steepled his fingers gravely. 'We're finally starting t o collect longer-termdat a on the colonization,' he said. 'Soldiers were the firs t grou p to go down in anynumbers.Sixyears later,they're thefirsttoshowrealsideeffects.Alterations.' 'The bony growths an d cataracts?' sai d Vera. 'Bu t we've see n thos e sinc e thebeginning. The problemsgoaway withtime.' 'Thisisdifferent.In the last four to ten months we've been monitoring an outbreakof symptoms . Enlarge d hearts, high-altitud e edemas , skeleta l dysplasia , acuteleukemia , sterility, skin cancer. The hornin g and bone cancers have come chargingback. The most disturbing development is that we're starting to see these symptomsamong the veterans' newborns. For five years we've had nothing but normal births. Now, suddenly, their newborns ar e displayin g morbid defects. I' m talkin g about mutations. The infantmortality rate hassoared.' 'Whyhaven'tIheardofthis?'Januaryaskedsuspiciously.

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'For the same reason Helios is rushing to find a cure. Because once the public findsout,every humaninsid etheplanetisgoingto evacuate. The interioris going to be leftwithout security forces, without a labor force, without colonists. You can imagine thesetback. After so much effort and investment, we could lose the whole subplanet towhatever thisis.Heliosdoesn'twantthattohappen.' 'What'sgoingon?' 'Intwenty-five wordsorless? The subplanetischangingus.' Cooper gestured at thecreature onthestadium screen.'Intothat.' Eva Shoat laid a hand upon her long throat. 'You knew this, and you let my son godown?' 'The effects aren't universal,' said Cooper. 'In the veteran populations, the spli t isroughly fifty-fifty. Half show no effect. Half display these delayed mutations. Hadalphysiologies. Enlarged hearts, pulmonary and cerebral edema, skin cancer: those areall symptoms that hadals develop when they come to the surface . Somethin g isswitching on and off at the DNA level. Altering the genetic code. Their bodies begin producingproteins,chimericproteins,whichaltertissuesinradicallydifferentways.' 'You can't predict which half of the populatio n will develop th e problems? ' asked Vera. 'Wedon't have aclue.Butifit'shappeningtosix-year veterans, it's eventually goingtohappentofour-month minersandsettlers.' 'AndHelioshastofindasolution,' observed Foley. 'Or else your empire beneath theseawillbeaghosttown beforeitever starts.' 'Invulgar terms, precisely.' 'Obviously,youthinkthere's asolutioninthehadalphysiologyitself,' Vera said.Cooper nodded. 'Genetic engineers call it "cutting th e Gordia n knot." W e have toresolve th e complexities . Sor t ou t th e viruses an d retroviruses, th e gene s andphenotypes . Examine th e environmenta l factors . Ma p the chaos. And so Helios is building a multibillion-dollar research campus here, and importing live hadals for research purposes.Tomakethesubplanetsafeforhumans.' 'But I don't understand,' said Vera. 'It seems to me research and developmentwould be a thousand times less complicated down below. Among other things , whystres s your guinea pigs by transporting the m t o the surface ? You coul d build thissame facility at a subterranean station for a fraction of the cost . You'll need topressuriz etheentirelaboratory to subplanetary levels.Whynot just study the hadalsdown there? There wouldbenotransportation costs. The mortality rate would be far lower.Andyoucouldtest you r results oncolonistsinthefield.' 'That'snotanoption,'del'Ormesaid.'Oritwon'tbesoon.'They allturnedtohim. 'Unless he brings up a sample population of hadals, there won't be an y hadals to samplesoon.Isn'tthatthe idea,MrCooper?' 'Noideawhatyou'retalkingabout,'Coopersaid. 'Perhapsyoucouldtellusaboutthecontagion,'del'Ormesaid.'Prion-9.'

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Cooper appraised the littl e archaeologist. 'I kno w what yo u know . We've learnedthat prio n capsules are being planted along the expedition' s route. But Helios hasnothing to do with it. I won't ask you to believe me. I don't care if you do or not. It's my peoplewhoareatriskdownthere. My expedition.Except fo ryour spy,' he added, 'thevonSchadewoman.'January'sexpressionhardened. 'What'sthisaboutacontagion?'Evademanded. 'I didn't want t o worry yo u an y more, ' Cooper said to his wife . ' A derangedex-soldie r ha s attached himsel f to the expedition . He' s lacin g th e rout e wit h asyntheti c virus.' 'MyGod,'hiswifewhispered. 'Despicable,'hisseddel'Orme. 'Whatwasthat?'Coopersaid. Del'Orme smiled. 'The individual planting this contagion is named Shoat. Your son,madam.' 'Myson?' 'He'sbeingusedtodeliver asynthetic plague.Andyour husbandsenthim.'The assembly gawkedatthe archaeologist.EvenThomaswasdismayed. 'Absurd,'Cooperblustered. Del'OrmepointedinthedirectionofCooper'sson.'Hetoldme.' 'I've never seenyouin my life,'Hamiltonreplied. 'True asitgoes,nomorethanI've seenyou.'Del'Ormegrinned.'Butyoutoldme.' 'Lunatic,'Hamiltonsaidunderhisbreath. 'Ach,' chided de l'Orme. 'We've talke d about that sharp tongu e before. No morehumiliating the wife at cocktail parties. And no more fists with her. We agreed. Youwere toworkongoverningyour anger,yes? Containingyourtide.' The youngmandrainedgray beneathhisAspentan. De l'Orme addressed them all. 'Over the years, I've noticed that the birth of a sonsometimes tempers a wild young man. It can even mark his return to the faith. Sowhen I heard of the baptism of Hamilton's son , your grandson, Mr Cooper, I had anidea. Sure enough, it seems fatherhood change d our spoiled young sinner. He hasthrownhimselfontothe Rock with that special fervor of a lost man found. For over ayear now, Hamilton's kept away from his heroin chic and his expensive call girls andhehascleansedhimself weekly.' 'Whatareyoutalkingabout?'Cooperdemanded.

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'Young Cooper has developed a taste for the holy wafer,' said de l'Orme. 'And youknowtherules.No Eucharistbeforeconfession.' Cooperturnedtohissonwithhorror.'YouspoketotheChurch?'Hamiltonlookedafflicted.'Iwasspeakingto God.' Del'Ormetippedhisheadwithmockacknowledgment. 'Butwhatabouttheconfidence between penitentandconfessor?' marveled Vera. 'I left the cloth long ago,' de l'Orme explained. 'But I kept my friendships andpersonal connections. It wa s simpl y a matter of anticipating this venal man' s meaculpa, and then installin g myself in a small booth o n certain occasions. Oh, we'vetalke d fo r hours, Hamilton and I. I've learned much about the House of Cooper.Much.' The elderCoopersatback.He stared outtheskybox windowintothenight,orat his ownimageintheglass. De l'Orme continued. 'The Helios strategy is this: for disease t o rage through theinteriorinone vast hurricane of death. The corporate entity can then occupy a worldconvenientlysterilizedofallits nasty life-forms.Includinghadals.That's why Helios ispreserving a population up here. Becaus e they'r e abou t t o kil l everythin g that breathes downbelow.' 'But why?' Thomasasked. De l'Orme gave the answer . 'History, ' he said. 'Mr Cooper has read his history.Conquestisalways the same. It's mucheasiertooccupyanempty paradise.' Cooper gave asulfurousglanceathisfoolishson. Del'Ormecontinued.'Helios obtained the Prion-9 from a laboratory under contracttotheArmy. Who obtainedit for Helios is blatantly obvious. General Sandwell, it wasalso you who recruited the soldier Dwight Crockett. That's how Montgomery Shoatcouldbeimmunizedunderascapegoat'sname.' 'Monty'sbeenimmunized?'hismothersaid. 'Yoursonissafe,'saiddel'Orme.'Atleastfromthedisease.' 'Whocontrolstherelease ofthecontagion?' Vera askedCooper.'You?'Coopersnorted. 'Montgomery Shoat,' guessed Thomas. 'But how? Are the capsules programmed toreleaseautomatically ?Is there aremote control?Acode?Howdoesithappen?' 'Youmeanhowcanyoustopit?' 'ForGod'ssake,tellthem,'Evasaidtoherhusband. 'It can't be stopped,' Cooper said, 'That's the whole truth. Montgomery coded thetrigger device himself. He's the only one who knows what the electronic sequence is.It's a mutual safeguard. This way his missio n can't be compromised by anyone. Not you,'hesaidtoThomas,thenadded bitterly, 'andnotanindiscreetson

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.Andwe,inourhaste,can'ttrigger thevirus beforehedeterminesthetimeisripe.' 'Then w e have to find him,' said Vera. 'Give us your map. Show us where thecylinders have been placed.' 'This?' Cooper slapped at the map. 'It's merely a projection. Only the people on theexpeditionknow where they've been.Evenifyoucouldfindhim,Idoubt Montgomeryremembers where heplacedthecapsules alongaten-thousand-milepath.' 'Howmanyare there?' 'Several hundred.Wemeantobethorough.' 'Andtrigger devices?' 'Justtheone.' ThomasstudiedCooper'sface. 'Whatisyour calendarforgenocide?WhendoesShoatmeantostart theplague?' 'I told you. When he decides the time is ripe. Naturally, he'll need the expedition'sservices for as long as possible. They provide him transportation, food, company,protection.He'snotsuicidal.He'snot a kamikaze . He insisted on being vaccinated. Hehasastrongsenseofsurvival. Andambition.I'msure,when the time comes, he won'thesitatetofinishthejob.' 'Even if it means killing off the expedition. Your people. And every human colonistandminerandsoldier downthere.' Cooperdidnotanswer. 'What have youmadeoursoninto?'Evasaid.Cooperlookedather.'Your son,'hesaid. 'Monster,'shewhisperedback.Justthen, Vera said,'Look.' She was staring at the video screen. The hadal had reached the piled sewer pipes.He was pullin g himsel f upright befor e th e dark , roun d openings. The video screenshowe d him forty feet tall. His bare rib cage, scored with old wounds and ritual markings; bucked in quick, pumping waves. The creature was vocalizing, that muchwasevident. Sandwellwent over and rotated the round button on the wall. The audio feed cameover the speakers. It soundedlikethehootingandhuffingofacapturedape. A face had appeared at the mouth of one sewer pipe. Then other faces surfaced at other openings. Crusted and wet with their own filth, they came ou t from their cementburrowsandfelluponthe ground at the hadal's feet. There were only nine ortenofthemleft. The hadal's voice changed. He was singing now, or praying. Beseeching or offering.To his own image, of all things. To the vide o screen . The others, wome n and theiryoung,begantoululate.

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'What'shedoing?' Stillsinging,thehadaltookachildfromoneofthefemalesandcradleditinhis arms.Hemadeasacramentalmotion,a siftracingashesonitsheadorthroat, it was hard tosee. Then he set the child aside and took another that was held up to him andrepeated his gesture. 'He'scuttingtheirthroats,'Januaryrealized. 'What!' 'Isthataknife?' 'Glass,'saidFoley. 'Wheredidhegetglass?'Cooperroaredatthegeneral. An emaciated female stood before the butcher hadal. She cast her head back andopene d her arms wide and it took her killer a minute to find the artery and saw her throatopen.Asecondfemalestood. Voiceby voice,theirsongwasdying. 'Stophim,'CoopershoutedatSandwell.'Thebastard'skillingoff my pack.'Butitwastoolate.

Love is duty. Hetookinthecrookofhisarmhisownson,ascold as a pebble. He criedoutthenameof themessiah.Weeping,hemadethecutandheldhisfinal child while it bleddownhis breast. Atlasthewasfree tojoi nhisownbloodwiththeirs.

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BOOK THREE

GRACE Inter Babiloniam et Jerusalem nulla pax est sed guerra continua.... Between Babylon and Jerusalem there is no peace, but continual war....

– ST BERNARD, The Sermons

21

MAROONED

The sea, 6,000 fathoms

Noonehadever dreamedsuchaplace.

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The geologist s ha d spoke n abou t ancien t paleo-oceans buried beneath thecontinents, but onl y as hypothetical explanations for the earth's wandering poles andgravity anomalies. The paleo-oceans were mathematicalfancies.Thiswasreal.Abruptly – on October 22 – it was there, motionless, calm. Men and women whohadbeen racing downriver for their lives stopped. They climbed from their rafts andjoine d comrades standin g agape upo n the pewter-colored sand. The water spread before them, an enormou s flat crescent. The slightest of waves licked at th e shore. The surfacewassmooth.Their lightsskimmedfro mit. They had no idea the shape or size of the water body. They sent their laser beamspulsingupward, searchingfor a ceiling that finally measured a half-mile overhead. Asfor the length of the sea, the surface bent. All they could say with certainty was thatthe horizon lay twenty miles distant, with no obstructions in between and no end insight. The pathsplitrightandleft around the sea. No one knew which led where. 'There's Walker'sfootprints,'someonesaid,andthey followedthem. Farther down the beach , they found their fourt h cache. Side by side, the threecylinder slayasneatas merchandise.Walker'smenhad reached the site hours earlierandstockpiledthecontents within a makeshift firebase. Sand had been heaped into acircularbermwithentrenchingshovels.Machinegunswere trainedon fieldsoffire.The scientistsapproachedonfoot.Oneof the mercenaries came out and put a handup.'That'sclos eenough,'hesaid. 'Butit'sus,'awomansaid. Walkerappeared.'Thedepotisofflimits,'heinformedthem. 'Youcan'tdothat,'someoneshouted. 'We'reinastate of high alert,' Walker said. 'Our highest priority is the protection offood and supplies. If w e wer e attacked and you wer e inside our perimeter, therewoul d be chaos. This is the wisest course. We've located a campsite fo r you o n theopposite side of that rock fall over there. The quartermaster ha s issued your rationsandmail.' 'Ineedtoseethegirl,'Alisaid. 'Offlimits,I'mafraid,'Walkersaid.'She'sbeenclassifiedamilitaryasset.' The way hesaiditwasodd, even forWalker.'Who'sclassifiedher?'Aliasked. 'Classified.'Walkerblinked.'Shehasvaluableinformationabouttheterrain.' 'Butshespeaks hadaldialect.' 'IplantoteachherEnglish.' 'Thatwill take too long. We can help, Ike and me. I've assembled glossaries before.'Thiswasherchanceto digintotherawlanguage. 'Thankyouforyour enthusiasm,Sister.'

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Walker pointed at twent y bubble-wrapped bottles lyin g in the sand . 'Helios sentwhiskey. Drink it or pour it out. Either way, it stays here. We'r e no t taking liquidweightwithus.' Only afterward would the scientists realize the whiskey was part of Walker's plan.That night they sulked an d drank. Thei r estrangement from the mercenarie s hadbeen building for months. The massacre had made the divide even wider. Now they were twocamps. The bottlespassed freely. 'We'reninety-eight-pound weaklingsdownhere,'someonecomplained. 'Howmuchmorecanwe take?' awomanasked. 'ByGod,I'mready togohome,'Gitnerannounced. Ali saw the mood and decided to stay clear of it. The group was pungent with fearand grief and confusion. She went looking for Ike to share thoughts, only to find himpropped among the rocks with his own bottle. Walker had turned him loose, thoughwithout his guns. She was mildl y disappointed in Ike. Stripped o f his weapons, heseemed impotent, more dependent on his ability to commit mayhem than wa s right. 'Whatareyoudrinkingfor?'shedemanded.'Tonightofallnights.' 'What'swrongwithtonight?'hesaid. 'We'recomingapart.Lookaround.' Inthedistance,Walker'smilitiahadset upstrobe lightstodefend their walls. In theforeground, in staccato silhouette, drunken dancers were doing dance moves andshedding their clothes. But there was no music. You could hear arguing and despairandlovers grindingeachotherintothehardsand.It soundedlikeAugustina ghetto. 'Wewere toobigtostart with,'Ike commented.Ali stared athim.'You'renotconcerned?' He tipped the bottle, wiped his mouth. 'Sometimes you just have to go with it,' hesaid. 'Don'tgiveuponus,Ike.'Helooked away. Aliwanderedtoanisolatedspotmidway between thetwocampsandwenttosleep.Inthemiddleofthenight,she wasawakenedby ahandclampedacrosshermouth. 'Sister,'amanwhispered. Shefeltaheavy bundle thrust intoherhands. 'Hideit.' HeleftbeforeAlicouldsay aword. Alilaidthebundlebesideherandunfoldedit.Shefeltthrough the contents with herhands: a rifle and pistol, three knives, a sawed-off shotgun that could only belong toIke, and boxes of ammunition. Forbidden fruit . Her visitor coul d only have been asoldier , and she felt certain it was one of the burned ones Ike had

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brought to safety.Bu t why theguns? FearfulthatWalkerwas putting her through some kind of test, Ali almost returnedth e bundle of weapons t o the fir e base. Sh e went to ask Ike's opinion, but h e hadpassedout.Finallysheburiedtheshadowy inheritancebeneathacliffwall. Earlyinthemorning,Aliwoketo a phosphorescent sea fog blanketing the beach. In the quiet, she felt, rather than heard, footsteps padding through the sand. She stoodandmadeoutfiguresstealingthroughthefog, specters hauling treasure. As one cameclose, she saw it was a soldier, who gestured for her to be quie t an d sit down. Sheknew him slightly, and for him had copied a short verse from Saint Teresa of Avila, her favorite mystic.Thismorninghedidn't meet hereyes. She sat down and stayed mute as the last of them file d past. The y were headedtoward the water, but even then she didn't guess. It was only after a few minutes,whe nnooneelseappeared,thatshegotupand walked to the shoreline and saw theirlightsdwindlingsmoothlyacrossthestillblacksea. She thought Walker must have sent out a dawn reconnaissance of some kind. But there were norafts leftonthesand;Aliwalkedbackandforth, looking for their boats,sure she had misplaced their location. The pontoon tracks were clear, though. Theraft shadallbeentaken. 'Wait,'shecalled after thelights.'Hello.' It wasanabsurdmistake.They hadforgottenher. Butifitwasamistake, why hadthat soldier motioned her to sit down again? It waspartofaplan,sherealized. They hadmeantto leave her. The shockemptiedher.She'dbeenleft.Marooned. Ali's sense of loss was immediate and overpowering, similar to that time, long ago,when a sheriff's deput y had come to her hous e to break the new s o f her parents'accident. The sound of coughing reached through the fog, and the full truth came to her. Shehad no t bee n abandone d alone . Walke r ha d forsake n everyon e no t unde r hisimmediat ecommand. Trippinginthesand,sherushedacrossthebeach and found the scientists scatteredwher e their debauch had dropped them, still asleep. They woke reluctantly, andrefusedtobelieve her. Five minuteslater,asthey stoo don the edge of the sea, wherethei rrafts hadbeenlying,theawfulfactseepedin. 'What'sthemeaningofthis?'roaredGitner. 'They've strandedus?Where'sShoat?He'dbetter have anexplanation.'ButShoatwasgone,too.Andtheferal girl. 'Thiscan'tbehappening.' Ali watched thei r reaction s a s extensions o f herself . Sh e fel t numb . Enraged.Paralyzed . Like her friends and comrades, she wanted to shout and kick at the sandandfallonherback. The treachery was beyondbelief.

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'Why have they donethis?'someonecried. 'They must have leftanote.Anexplanation.' 'Listen to you,' Gitner jeered. 'You sound like teenagers who just got jilted. This isbusiness, people. A race fo r survival. Walke r jus t jettisone d a bunc h o f empt ystomachs .I'msurprisedhedidn'tdoit sooner.' Ike came over from the cache site with a piece of paper in one hand, and Ali saw arow of numbers on it. 'Walker left a portion of the foo d and medicine. But thecommunicationslineis destroyed. Andthey took alltheirweapons.' 'They've leftus here like a speed bump,' someone cried. 'A sacrificial offering to thehadals.' Aligrabbed Ike's arm,andherexpressionmadethempause.Suddenlyhervisitor inthe middle of the night mad e sense. 'Do you believe in karma?' she asked Ike, andthey followedhertotheburiedblanketofgunsand knives'. It took less than a minutetodigitout.Thenittookanhourtoargueaboutwhogotwhichoftheweapons. 'I don't get it,' Gitner said. 'Ike saves the guy. But then he gives the hardware to a nun?' 'It'snotobvious?'saidPia.'Ike's nun.'They alllookedatAli. Ike detouredit.'Nowwe have ourchance.'Hefinishedloadinghissawed-off. In the depot they picked through the boxes and cans. Walker had left more than expected, but less than they needed. Further, his men had plundered care packagessent down to the scientists by anxious familie s and friends. The interior of the sandfortwaslitteredwithlittlegiftsandcardsand snapshots. It added insult to the crime,andputthescientistsintogreater despair. The scientists numbered forty-six. A careful accounting showed they had food for 1,334 man-days, or twenty-nine days at full rations. That could be stretched, it wasagreed.Byhalvingthei rdailyintake,thefoodwouldlasttwomonths. Their exploratio n wa s dead . Al l tha t remaine d wa s a rac e fo r survival . Theexpeditio n faced two choices. They could try to return to Z-3 – Esperanza – on foot.Or they could continue in searc h of the next cache, more supplies, and an exit fromthesubplanet. Gitner was adamant: Esperanza was their only hope. 'That way, at least we're notdealingwithacomplete unknown,'hesaid.Withtwomonths'rations,they would havetim e enough to reach what was left of Cache III, splice the comm line together, andcall in more supplies. He called anyone wh o did not agree a fool. 'We don't have aminutetowaste,'he kept saying. 'Whatdoyouthink?'they asked Ike. 'It'sacrapshoot,'hesaid. 'Butwhichway shouldwego?' Ali could tell that Ike had made up his mind. But he wanted no responsibility forthei rdecisions,andgrew quiet.

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'There's nothing but hole to the west,' Gitne r declared. 'Anyon e tha t wants t o goeast,gowithme.' Ali was surprise d whe n Ike turne d craft y an d bartered wit h Gitner over theweapons .Hefinally letgooftherifleand its ammunition and the radio and a knife foranextra fiftydays'rationsofMREs. 'If you don't mind,' he said, 'we'll just take a stabaroundthiswater.' Now that he had the majorit y o f the weapons , food, and followers, Gitner didn'tmindatall.'You'reoff your nut,'Gitnertold Ike. 'Whatabouttherest ofyou?' 'New territory,' saidTroy, theyoungforensicsexpert. 'Ike'sdone okay sofar,'saidPia.Alididn'tdefendherchoice. 'Thenwe'llremember you,'Gitnersaid. He quickly wrangled his crew together and got them packed for their journey,proddingthemwiththe possibilitythatWalker might decide to reclaim what was left.There was little time for the two groups to say good-bye. People from each coalitionwere shaking hands, bidding one another to break a leg, promising to send rescue ifthey gotoutfirst. Just before leaving, Gitner approached Ali with his new rifle. 'I think it's only fairthatyougiveusyour maps, 'hesaid.'Youdon'tneedthem.Wedo.' 'My day maps?' Ali said. They were hers. She had created them with all the art inher,andsawthemasan extensionofherself. 'Weneedtoremember allthelandmarkspossible.' It was the first time Ali actively wished Ike would stand up for her, but he didn't.Witheveryone watching, she gave thetubeofmapstoGitner.'Promiseto take care ofthem,'sheasked.'I'dlikethembacksomeday.' 'Sure.'Gitnerofferednothanks, just hitched the tube into his backpack and startedu p the trai l beside th e river. His people followed. Besides Ali and Ike, only sevenpeopl estayed behind. 'Whichway dowego?' 'Left,'said Ike. Hewassosure. 'ButWalkerwentrightwiththeboats,Isawhim,'Alisaid. 'Thatcouldwork,'Ike allowed.'Butit'sbackward.' 'Backward?' 'Can't you feel it?' Ike asked. 'This is a sacred space. You alway s walk t o the leftaroun d sacre d places . Mountains. Temples. Lakes . That' s jus t ho w it' s done.Clockwise.' 'Isn'tthatsomeBuddhistthing?'saidPia. 'Dante,' said Ike. 'Ever read the Inferno ? Each time they hit a fork, the party goesleft. Always left.Andh

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ewasnoBuddhist.' 'That's it? ' marveled a burly geologist. 'All these months we've been following apoemandyour superstitions?' Ike grinned.'Youdidn'tknowthat?'

The first fifteen days they marched shoeless, like beachcombers. The sand was coolbetween their toes. They sweated under heav y packs. A t night their thigh s ached.Driftingonrafts hadtaken itstoll. Ike kept them in motion, but slowly, the pace of nomads. 'No sense in racing,' hesaid.'We'redoingfine.' They learned the water. Ali dipped her headlamp underneath the surface, and shemay as well have tried shining her light from the back of a mirror. She cupped thewater inherpalmsanditwaslikeholdingtime. The water wasancient. 'This water – it's been livin g here for over a half-million years,' the hydrologist Chelseatoldher.It hadascentlikethedeepearth. Ike stirred the sea with his hand and let a few drops onto his tongue. 'Different,' he pronounced. After that, he drank from the sea without hesitation. He let the others makeuptheir own minds, and knew they were watching closely to see if he sickenedorhisurinebled.Twiggs,themicrobotanist,wasespecially attentive. Bytheendofthesecondday,allwere drinkingthewater withoutpurifyingit. 'It'sdelicious,'saidAli.Voluptuous,shemeant,butdidnotwantto say it out loud. Itwa s somehow different fro m plain water, the way it slid on the tongue, its cleanness.Shescoopedahandfultoherfaceandpulleditacross thebonesofher cheeks, and thesenseofitlingered.It wasallinherhead,shedecided.It hadtodowiththisplace. One day they saw small sulfurous flashes along the black horizon. Ike said it wasgunfire, maybe as much as a hundred miles away, on the opposit e side of the sea. Walke rwaseithermakingtroubleorhavingit. The water was their north. For nearly six months they had advanced with noforesight,trustingnocompass, trapped inblindveins.Nowthey had the sea. For oncethey could anticipate their geography. They could se e tomorrow, and the day afterthat . It was not a straight destiny, there were bends and arcs, but for a change theycoul d see a s far a s their visio n reached, a welcome alternative t o the maz e of claustrophobi ctunnels. Althougheveryone washungry, they were not famished, and the water was alwaysthere to comfort them. Two and three and four times a day, they would bathe awaythei rsweat. They tiedstringstotheir plastic cups and could scoop up a drink withoutbendingorbreaking stride. Ali's hair had grown long. She loosed it from its braid andletithang,lushandclean. They were pleased with Ike's regime. He did not drive them. If anyone tired, Iketoo ksomeoftheirload. Once when Ike went off to investigate a side canyon, some ofthem tried lifting his pack, and couldn't budge it. 'What does he have in there?'Chelse a asked. No one dared look, of course. That would have been lik e tamperingwithgoodluck.

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When they turne d thei r las t ligh t off at night , the beac h gleame d wit h EarlyCretaceous phosphorescence. Ali watched fo r hours as the san d pulsed against theinkysea,holdingbackthedarkness. Shehadtaken tolyingon her back and imaginingstars andsayingprayers. Anythingnottosleep. Ever sinceWalkerhad overseen themassacre,sleepmeantterrible dreams. Eyelesswomenpursuedher.Inthe nameofthe Father. OnenightIke wokeherfromanightmare.'Ali?'hesaid. Sandwasstickingtohersweat. Shewaspanting.Sheclungtohishand. 'I'mokay,'shegasped. 'It'snotquitethateasy,' Ike breathed, 'withyou.' Stay, shealmostsaid.Butthenwhat? Whatwasshesupposedtodowithhimnow? 'Sleep,'said Ike. 'Youletthingsgettoyoutoomuch.'

Another week passed.They were slowing.Their stomachsrumbledatnight. 'Howmuchlonger?'they asked Ike. 'We'redoingfine,'heheartened them. 'We'resohungry.' Ike looked at them, judging. 'Not that hungry,' he said mildly, and it was cryptic.Ho whungrydidthey have tobe?wonderedAli.Andwhatwashisrelief? 'WherecanCacheVbe?Wemustbenear.' 'What's the date?' sai d Ike. H e knew the y kne w th e nex t cylinder s wer e notschedule d to be lowered for another si x days . That didn't keep them fro m trolling hopefully for the cach e signals. All of them ha d tiny cach e locators built into theirHelios wristwatches. First Pia, then Chelsea, used up their watch batteries trying toget some signal. It was magical thinking. No one wanted t o talk abou t what wouldhappe nifWalkerandhispiratesreachedthecachebeforethem. The six days passed, and still they didn't find the cache. They were covering only afew miles a day. Ike took on more an d more o f their weight . Al i found herselfstrugglingwith barely fifteenpoundsonher back. Ike recommended they ration themselves. 'Share one packet of MREs with two orthree people,' he suggested. 'Or eat just one over a two-day period.' He never tookaway theirfoodandrationeditforthem, though.

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They never sawhimeat. 'What'shelivingon?'ChelseaaskedAli.

For twenty-three days Gitner led his castaways with eroding success. It seemedimpossible,butintheir second week they had somehow misplaced the river. One dayi twasthere. The next itwasjustgone. Gitner blamed Ali's day maps. He pulled the rolls of parchment fro m her leathertub e and threw them on the ground. 'Good riddance,' he said. 'Nothing but sciencefiction.' With the river gone, they had no more use for their water gear. They abandonedtheir survival suitsina rubbery pileofneoprene. Bytheendofthethird week, peoplewere fallingbehind,disappearing. A salt arch they were using as a bridge collapsed, plunging five int o the void.Unbelievably ,both of the expedition's two physicians suffered compound fractures oftheir legs. It was Gitner's call to leave them. Physician, heal thyself. It was two daysbefor etheirechoingpleasfadedinthetunnelsbehind. As their numbers dwindled, Gitner relied on three advantages: his rifle, his pistol,and the expedition's supply of amphetamines. Sleep was the enemy. He still believedthey would find Cache III, and that the comm lines could be repaired. Food ran low.Two murders soon followed. In both cases, a chunk of roc k had been use d an d thevictims'packshadbeenplundered. At a fork in the tunnel, Gitner overrode the group' s vote. Without a clue, he ledthem straight into a tunne l formation known as a spongework maze, or boneyard. Atfirst the y thought little of it. The porous maze wa s fille d with pockets and linkedcavities and stone bubbles that spread in every direction, forward and down and upandtotherear. It waslikeclimbingthroughamassive,petrifiedsponge. 'Now we'r e gettin g somewhere, ' Gitner enthused. 'Obviously some gaseousdissolutionate upwardfromtheinterior.Wecangainsomeelevationinahurry now.'They ropedup, those still left, and started moving vertically through the pores andoviducts. But they tangled their ropes by following through the wrong hole. Frictionbraked their progress. Holes tightened, then gaped. Packs had to be handed up and throughandacrosstheinterstices.It wastime-consuming. 'We have to go back,' someone growled up to Gitner. He unroped so they could notpull on him, and kept climbing. The others unroped, too, and some became lost , towhich Gitner said, 'Now we're reachin g fighting weight.' They could hear voice s atnigh t as the lost ones tried to locate the group. Gitner just popped more speed andkept hislighton. Finally, Gitner was left wit h only one man. 'You screwed up, boss,' he rasped to Gitner. Gitner shot him through the top of the head. He listened to the bod y slithe r andknoc k deeper and deeper, then turne d and continued up, certain the spongeworkwould lead him out of the underworld into the sun again. Somewhere along the way,h ehunghisrifleonanoutcrop.Alittle farther on,helefthispistol. At0440on November 15, thespongeworkstopped.Gitnerreachedaceiling.

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He pulled his pack around in front of him, and carefully assembled the radio. Thebatter y level was near the red, but he figured it was good for one loud shout. Withenormous exactitude he attached the transmission tendrils to various features in thespongework, the n sa t o n a marble strut and cleared his thoughts and throat. Heswitchedtheradioon. 'Mayday, mayday,' he said, and a vague sense of déjà vu tickled at the back of hismind.'ThisisProfessor WayneGitnerofthe University ofPennsylvania, a member ofthe Helios Sub-Pacific Expedition . My party i s dead. I am now alone and requireassistance.I repeat, pleaseassist.' The battery died. He laid the set aside and took up his hammer and began clawingaway attheceiling.A memory thatwouldn'tquite take shape kept nagging at him. Hejusthitharder. In mid-swing, he stopped an d lowered th e hammer . Si x months earlier, he hadlistenedtohisownvoice enunciating the very distress signal he had just sent. He hadcircledtohisownbeginning. Forsome,thatmight have meantafresh start.Fo ramanlikeGitner,itmeanttheend.

I sit leaning against the cliff while the years go by, till the green grass growsbetween my feet and the red dust settles on my head, and the men of theworld, thinking me dead, come with offerings... to lay by my corpse.

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– HAN SHAN, Cold Mountain,c.640 CE

22

BAD WIND

The Dolomite Alps The scholars had been building toward this day since their first night together. Forseventeen months, their journeys – Thomas's capriccio s – had cast them across theglobe like a throw of dice. At last they stood together again, or sat, fo r de l'Orme's castle perched high atop a limestone precipice, and it took very little exertion to getoutofbreath. For once, Mustafah's emphysema gave him the advantage: he had an oxygen set,and could merely crank the airflow higher. Foley and Vera were sharing an Italianaspirinpowderfortheirheadaches.Parsifal,the astronaut,wasmakingabluffshow ofhisathleticnature,butlookedabitgreen,especiallyasde l'Orme took them on a tourofthecurving battlements overlookingthestepped cragsandfarplains. 'Don't like neighbors?' Gault asked . Hi s Parkinson's had stabilized. Couched in alargewheelchair,he lookedlikeaPinocchiomanipulatedby naughtychildren. 'Isn't i t wonderful?' said de l'Orme. 'Every morning I wake and thank God forparanoia.'Hehad already explainedthe castle's origins: a German Crusader had gonemadoutsidethewallsofJerusalem,andwasexiled atopthese rocks. It was rather smallforacastle.Builtina perfect circleonthevery edgeofthecliff,italmost resembled a lighthouse. They finished their tour. January was sitting wherethey' d left her , deplete d by malaria, facing south to the sun with Thomas. Downbelow, lining the dead-en d road, were their hired cars. Their drivers and severalnurse swere enjoyingapicnicamongthe early flowers.

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'Let's go inside,' said de l'Orme. 'At these heights, the sun feels very warm. But theslightestcloudcansend thetemperature plunging.Andthere's astormcoming.' Thicklogsblazingontheiron grate barely tookaway theroom'schill. The dininghallwas stark, wallsbare,not even atapestry oraboar'shead. De l'Orme had no need fordecorations. They sataroundatable,andaservant came in with bowls of thick, hot soup. There were no forks, just spoons for the soup and knives to cut the frui t an d cheese andprosciutto. The servant pouredwineand thenretreated, closingthedoorsbehindhim.De l'Orme proposed a toast to their generous hearts and even mor e generousappetites . He was the host, but it was not really his party. Thomas ha d called this meeting, though no one knew why. Thomas had been brooding ever since arriving.They gotonwiththe meal. The food revived them. For an hour they enjoyed the company of their comrades.Most had been strangers at the outset, and their paths had intersected only rarelysinc eThomashad scattered them to the winds in New York City. But they had cometo share a common purpose so strongly that they might as well have been brothersandsisters.They were excited by oneanother'stales,gladforoneanother's safety. Januar y recounted her last hour with Desmond Lynch in the Phnom Penh airport.He had been headin g t o Rangoon, then south, in search of a Karen warlord who claimedto have metwithSatan.Sincethen,noone hadheardawordfromhim. They waited for Thomas t o add his own impressions, but h e was distracte d andmelancholy.Hehad arrived late,bearingasquarebox,allbutunapproachable. 'And where isSantos?'Mustafahaskeddel'Orme.'I'm beginning to think he doesn'tlikeus.' 'Off to Johannesburg,' d e l'Orm e said . 'I t seem s anothe r ban d o f hadal s hassurrendered . To agroupofunarmeddiamondminers!' 'That's the third this month,' said Parsifal. 'One in the Urals. Another beneath the Yucatán.' 'Meek a s lambs, ' sai d d e l'Orme , 'chantin g in unison . Lik e pilgrim s entering Jerusalem.' 'Whatanotion.' 'You'd think it would be much safer to go deeper. Away from us. It's almost as ifthey were afraid of the depth s beneat h them. As afraid as we are of the depths beneathus.' 'Let'sbegin,'saidThomas. They had been waiting a long time to synthesize their information. At last it began,knives in hand, grapes flying. It started cautiously, with a show-me-yours-and-I'll-show-you-mine prudence. In no time, the exchange turnedinto a highly democratic free-for-all. They psychoanalyzed Satan wit h the vigo r offreshmen . The cluesledoffinadozen directions.They knewbetter, butcouldnothelpeggingonthewildtheorieswithwildertheoriesoftheirown.

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'I'm so relieved,' Mustafah admitted. 'I thought I was the only one coming to theseextraordinary conclusions.' 'Weshouldsticktowhatweknow,'Foleyprudishlyremindedthem. 'Okay,'saidVera. Anditonlygotwilder. He was a he, they agreed. Except for the four-thousand-year-old Sumerian tale ofQueen Ereshkigal, o r Allatu in the Assyrian, the monarch of the underworld wasmainly a masculine presence. Even if the contemporary Satan proved to be a councilof leaders, it was likely to be dominated by a masculine sensibility, an urge towarddomination ,awillingnesstoshedblood. They extrapolated from prevailing views of animal behavior about alpha males,territorialimperative, and reproductive tyranny. Diplomacy might or might not workwith such a character. A clenched fist or an empty threat would probably just incitehim. The hada l leader woul d not be stupid : t o the contrary , hi s reputation fordeceptio n and mask s an d inventivenes s an d cunnin g bargain s suggeste d realcross-cultura lgenius. He had the economic instincts of a salt trader, the courage of a soloist crossing theArctic.He was a traveler among mankind, conversant in human languages, a studentofpower,anobserver able to blend in without notice, an adventurer who explored atrandomorforprofitor, like the Beowulf scholars and the Helios expedition who wereexplorin ghislands,outofscientificcuriosity. His anonymity was a skill, an art, but not infallible. He had never been caught. Buthehadbeensighted.No oneknewexactly whathelookedlike,whichmeanthedidnotlooklikewhatpeople expected. Heprobablydidn't have redhornsorclovenhooves oratail with a spike at the tip. That he could be grotesque or animalistic at times, andseductive or voluptuary or even beautiful a t othe r times , suggeste d a switch ofdisguise s oroflieutenantsorspies.OralineageofSatans. The ability to transfer memory from one consciousness to another, no w clinicallyproven, wa s significant , said Mustafah. Reincarnatio n mad e possibl e a 'dynasty'simila rtothat of the Dalai Lama theocracy. That was a jolt, the notion of Satan as anongoingreligiousmonarchy. 'Buddhismwithextreme prejudice,'quippedParsifal. 'Perhaps,'del'Ormeproposedirreverently, 'Satanwouldbebetter off just dying outandbecominganidea, rather than struggling to be a reality. By sniffing around man'scampallthese years, thelionhas degenerated into a hyena. The tempest has becomejustapuffofbadwind,afartinthenight.' Whether the literature and archaeological and linguistic evidence were describing Satan himself or rather his lieutenants and spies, the profile was consistent with an inquiring mentality. No doubt about it, the darkness wanted to know about the light. Buttoknowwhat? Civilization? The humancondition? The feelof sunbeams? 'The more I learn about hadal culture,' Mustafah said, 'the more I suspect a greatcultur eindecline. It's as if a collective intellect had developed Alzheimer's and slowlybeguntoloseitsreason.' 'I think of autism, no t Alzheimer's,' sai d Vera . ' A vas t onse t o f self-centeredpresentness . An inability to recognize the outside world, and with that an inability tocreate. Look at the artifacts coming up from subplanetary hadal sites. Over the last

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three to five thousand years, the artifact s have been increasingl y huma n in origin:coins, weapons, cave art, hand tools. That could mean that the hadals turned awayfro m menial and artistic labor as they pursue d higher arts, or that they jobbed theday-to-day minutiae out to human artisans whom they'd captured, o r that the yvalue dstolenpossessionsmorethanhomemadeones. 'But match it with the decline in hadal population over the pas t severa l thousandyears. Some demographic projections suggest they might have numbered over fortymillio n individuals subglobally at th e time Aristotle and Buddha lived. The figure isprobablylessthan 300,000 at present. Something's gone terribly wrong down there.They haven't grown more sophisticated . The y haven't pursued th e higher arts . Ifanything, they've simply become packrats, storing their human knickknacks in tribal nests, increasingly unaware of what they have or where they are or even what theyare.' 'Vera and I have talked about this at length,' said Mustafah. 'There's a tremendousamount of fieldwork t o be done, of course. But if you go back a million years in thefossilrecord,itappearsthehadalswere developinghand tools and even amalgamatedmetal artifacts far ahead of what humans were producing on the surface. While manwas still figuring out how to pound two rocks together , the hadal s were inventing musical instruments made of glass! Who knows? Maybe man never did discover fire.Maybe we were taught it! But now you have these grotesque creatures reduced tosavagery , theirtribes drainingoffintothe deepest holes. It's sad,really.' 'Thequestionis,'saidVera, 'doesthisoveralldeclinereflectinallthehadals?' 'Satan,'saidJanuary.'Aboveall,doesitaffecthim?' 'Without having met him, I can't say for sure. But there i s always a dynamicbetween a people and thei r leader. He's a mirror image of them. Kind of like God inreverse. We'reanimageofHim?HowaboutHimas animageofus?' 'You'resayingtheleaderisn'tleading?That he'sfollowinghisbenightedmasses?' 'Of course,' sai d Mustafah. 'Eve n th e mos t isolate d despot reflect s hi s people.Otherwis e he's just a madman.' He gestured at the space around them. 'No differentfromtheknightwhobuiltthiscastleonto pofamountainina rocky wilderness.' 'Maybe that's what he is,' said Vera. 'Isolated. Alienated. Segregated by his genius. Wandering the world, above and below, cut off from his own kind, trying to figuresomeway intoourkind.' 'Arewesoattractive tothem?'Januarywondered. 'Why not? What if our light and civilization and intellectual and physical health istheir salvation, so to speak? What if we represent paradise to them – or him – theway theirdarkness andsavagery andignoranc erepresent ourhell?' 'AndSatan'stiredofbeingSatan?'askedMustafah. 'But of course,' Parsifal said. 'What could be more in keeping? The ultimate traitor.The Judasofalltime.A serpent ascending. The rat jumpingofftheship.' 'Or a t leas t a n intellec t contemplatin g hi s ow n transformation, ' said Vera.

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'Anguishing over hisdirection.Trying todecide whether he really can bring himself tocutloose.' 'What's so wrong with that?' asked Foley. 'Wasn' t that Christ's agony ? Isn' t thatBuddha'sconundrum? The savior hits his wall. He gets worn out being the savior. Hegetstiredofthesuffering.It meansourSatanis mortal,that'sall.' January opened her palms to them like pink fruit. 'Why get so fancy?' she asked. 'Thetheory works perfectly finewithamuchsimplerexplanation.Whatif Satan cameuptocutadeal?Whatifhe wantsto find someone like us as badly as we want to findhim?' Foley's pencil fanned a nervous yellow wing in the air. 'But that's wha t I'v e beenthinking!'hesaid.'Infact,I thinkhe's already foundus.' 'What?' three ofthemaskedatonce. EvenThomasraisedhiseyes fromhisdarkthoughts. 'Ifthere's onething I've learned as an entrepreneur, it is that ideas occur in waves.Idea s transcen d intelligence . In differen t cultures . Differen t languages . Differentdreams .Whyshouldtheideaofpeaceb e any different? What if the notion of a treatyo rasummitora cease-fire occurredtoourSatan even asit occurredtous?' 'Butyouconjecturehe'sfoundus.' 'Why not? We're not invisible. The Beowulf endeavor has been globetrotting for ayear and a half. If Sata n is half as resourceful as you say, he's heard of us. And yes,locate dus.Andperhaps even penetrated us.' 'Absurd,'they cried.Buthungeredformore. 'Speakfromtheevidence,'saidThomas. 'Yes, the evidence,' said Foley. 'It's your own evidence, Thomas. Wasn't it you whoproposed that Satan might contact a leader as desperate – and enigmatic and vilified –as himself? A leader like this jungle warlord Desmond Lynch went off to find. As Irecall, you once suggested Satan might want to establish a colony of his own, on thesurface, i n plain sight as it were, in a country like Burma or Rwanda, a place sobenightedand savage noonedarescrossitsborders.' 'You'reproposingthatIamSatan?'Thomasdrollyasked. 'No.Notatall.' 'I'mrelieved. Thenwho?' Foleywentforbroke.'Desmond.' 'Lynch?'belchedGault. 'I'mquiteserious.'

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'What are you talking about?' January protested. 'The poor man's vanished. He'sprobabl ybeeneatenby tigers.' 'Perhaps. Bu t what i f he had secreted himsel f in our midst? Listene d t o ourthoughts ?Waitedforan opportunitylikethis,achanceto meet adespot and make hispact?Idoubthe'dbidusafondadieubefore disappearing forever.' 'Absurd.' Foley laid his yellow pencil neatly alongside of his pad. 'Look, we've agreed onseveral things.That Satani sa trickster. A master of anonymity. He survives throughhis disguises and deceptions. And he may have been trying to strike a bargain... forpeaceorahiding place, it doesn't matter. All I know is that Senator January last sawDesmondalive,onhisway intoajunglenoonedarestoenter.' 'Do you realize what you're saying?' asked Thomas. 'I chose the man myself. I'veknow nhimfordecades.' 'Satanispatient.Hehasloadsoftime.' 'You'resuggestingthatLynchplayedusalongfromthebeginning?That heusedus?' 'Absolutely.' Thomas looked sad. Sad and decided. 'Accuse him yourself,' he said. He set his boxonthetableamidthe fruitandcheeses.Beneath FedEx paperwork, it bore diplomaticsealsprintedinbrokenwax. 'Thomas,isthis necessary?' Januarysaid,guessing. 'This was delivered to me three days ago,' said Thomas. 'It came via Rangoon and Beijing.Here's why Iconvenedthismeetingwithallofyou.' Lynch'sheadhadbeendippedinshellac.Hewouldnot have been pleased with whatithaddonetohisthick Scottishhair,normallyparted attherighttemple.Throughtheslightlyparted lidsthey couldseeroundpebbles. 'They scooped his eyes out and put in stones,' said Thomas. 'Probably while he wasstillalive.Whilehewas alive,too,they probablymadethis.'He drew out a necklace ofhuman teeth. 'There arepliermarks onseveral.' 'Whyareyoushowingusthis?'Januarywhispered. Mustafah looked down at his plate. Foley's arms wer e limp upon the chai r rests. Parsifal was astounded: he and Lynch had clashed over socialism. Now the bleedingheart's mouth was locked tight, the bushy eyebrows plasticized, and Parsifal realizedhewouldwondertohisdeath about the courage of his own convictions. What a bravebastard ,hewasthinking. 'One other thing,' Thomas continued. 'A set of genitals was found inside the mouth.Amonkey'sgenitals.' 'How dare you, ' whispered d e l'Orme. He could smell the death, sense it in theother'spall.'Here,in my home,atourmeal?' 'Yes. I've brought this into your home, at our meal. So that you will not doubt me.'Thomas stood, his big

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knuckles flat on the oak plank, the insulted head between hisfists. 'Myfriends,'hesaid,'we have reachedtheend.' They couldnot have beenmorestunnedifhehadproducedasecondhead. 'Theend?'saidMustafah. 'We have failed.' 'Howcanyousay suchathing?' Vera objected.'After allwe've accomplished.' 'DoyounotseepoorLynch?'Thomassaid, holding the head aloft. 'Can you not hearyourownwords?Thisis Satan?' They didnotanswer.Heset thehorribleartifactbackintothebox. 'I'm as responsible as you,' Thomas tol d them. 'Yes , I spoke t o the possibilit y ofSatan visiting some despot tucked away in a remote wasteland, and that misled you.Butisn'titjustas possible Satan would have desired to meet and appraise a differentkind of tyrant, say, the hea d of Helios? And because we met with Cooper at hisresearch complex, does that mean another one of us must b e Satan , perhap s evenyou ,Brian?No,Ithinknot.' 'Fine, I flew off the curve,' said Foley. 'One wild deduction should not impeach oursearch.' 'This entire endeavor is a wild deduction,' Thomas said. 'We've seduced ourselveswit h our own knowledge. We're no closer to knowing Satan than when we began. Wearefinished.' 'Surelynot yet,' saidMustafah. 'There's stillsomuchtoknow.'Theirfacesall registered thatsentiment. 'Icannolongerjustifythehardshipsanddanger,'saidThomas. 'Youdon'tneedtojustifyanything,' challenged Vera. 'This has been our choice fromthe start. Lookatus.' Despite their ordeal s and the assaul t o f time, they were not the spectra l figures Thomashadfirstcollecte d in the Metropolitan Museum of Art and sparked to action.Their faces were bronzed with exotic suns, their ski n toughened b y winds and thecold,their eyes lit with adventure. They had been waiting to die, an d his call to armshad saved theirlives. 'Clearlythegroupwantstokeep going,'saidMustafah. 'I'mjuststartinginwithnewOlmecevidence,'Gaultexplained. 'And the Swedes are developing a new DNA test,' said Vera. 'I'm in daily contact.They thinkitsuggestsa wholenewspeciesbranch. It's justamatter ofmonths.' 'And there was another ghost transmission from the interior,' said Parsifal. 'From the Helios expedition. The date code was August 8, almost four months ago, I know.Butthat'sstillafullmonthmore recent than anything else we've managed to receive. The digita l strin g need s enhancement , an d it' s only a partia l communication,somethin g about a river. It's not much. But they're alive. Or were. Just months ago.Wecan'tjustcutloosefromthem,Thomas.They're dependingonus.'

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Parsifal'sremark wasnotmeanttobecruel, but it drove Thomas's chin down to hischest. Week by week, hi s face had been growing more hollowed. Haunted, it seemed,by whathehadputinmotion. 'And what about you?' January asked more gently. 'This has been your quest sincebeforeanyofuscameto knowyou.' 'Myquest,'Thomasmurmured.'And where hasthatbroughtus?' 'The hunt, ' said Mustafah, 'has intrinsic value. You knew that in the beginning.Whetherweever sightedou rprey, muchless brought him to earth, we were learning about ourselves. By fitting our own foot into Satan's tracks , we've come that muchclosertodispellingancientillusions.Touchingthe reality ofwhatwereall y are.' 'Illusion?Reality?'saidThomas.'We'velostLynchtothejungle.Rautohis madness.And Branch to his quest. And sent a young woman to her death in the center of the earth. I'v e taken you fro m your families and homes. And every day we continue bringsnewrisks.' 'But,Thomas,'saidVera, 'wevolunteered.' 'No,'hesaid,'Icannolongerjustifyit.' 'Thenleave,'camedel'Orme'svoice. Out the window behind his head, dark thunderheads were piling for an afternoonstorm. His face was positively radiant with the reflected flames. His tone was stern. 'You may handthetorchon,'hetoldThomas,'butyou may notextinguishit.' 'We'retoodamnedclose,Thomas,'Januarysaid. 'Close to what?' Thoma s asked . 'Amon g us, we have over five hundre d years ofcombinedscholarship andexperience. And where have wegottenwithitin a year andahalfofsearching?'Hedroppedthestrandof Lynch's teeth intothe box, like so manyrosary beads.'That oneofusisSatan.My friends,we've lookedintoth edark water solongithasbecomeamirror.' A streak of lightning lanced between two limestone towers in the middle distance.Its thundercracked throughtheroom.Downbelow, the hired drivers and nurses fledforthecarsjustasamountainsquallattacked. 'You can't stop us, Thomas,' said de l'Orme. 'We have our own resources. We haveou rownimperatives . We'llfollowthepathyouopenedtous,wherever it may lead.'Thomasclosedtheboxandrested hisfingersonthe cardboard. 'Followitthen,'he said. 'This pains me to say. But from this day on you follow yourpath without the blessin g and imprimatur of the Holy Father. And you follow itwithout me. My friends, I lack your strength. I lac k your conviction. Forgive me mydoubt .May Godblessyou.'Hepickedupthebox. 'Don'tgo,'whisperedJanuary. 'Good-bye,'hesaidtothem,andwalkedintothestorm.

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It had ceased to be a blank space of delightful mystery....

– JOSEPH CONRAD, Heart of Darkness

23 THE SEA

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Beneath the Mariana and Yap Trenches, 6,010 fathoms

The sea stretched on.They had been walking for twenty-one days. Ike kept them ona short leash. He set the pace, resting every half hour, circulating among them like Gung a Din, filling their water bottles, congratulating them on their endurance. 'Man,where were you guys whenIneededyouonMakalu?'hewould say. Next t o Ike, th e stronges t wa s Troy , th e forensic s kid, who' d probabl y beenwatchin g Sesame Street at the time Ike was battling his Himalayan peaks. He did afine job trying to be Ike-like , solicitous and useful. But he was wearin g down , too.SometimesIke postedhimatthefront,aplaceof trust, hisway ofhonoringtheboy.Alidecidedthe best helpshecouldbewastowalkwithTwiggs, whom everyone else wantedto hogtie and leave. From the moment he woke, the man whined and beggedandcommittedpetty thefts. The microbotanistwasa born panhandler. Only Ali coulddeal with him. She treated him like a teenage novitiate wit h pimples. When Pia orChelsea marveled at her patience, Ali explained that if it wasn't Twiggs, it would besomeoneelse.Shehadnever seenatribewithoutascapegoat. Their tents were history. They slept on thin sleeping pads as a pretense of their formercivilization.Only three ofthemhadsleepingbags,because the three pounds ofweighthadproventoomuchforthe rest. When the temperature cooled, they pressed together and draped the bags over their collective body. Ike rarely slept with them. Usuallyhetookhisshotgunandwandered away, returninginthemorning. On one such morning, before Ike came in from his night patrolling, Ali woke andwalke ddowntotheseato cleanherface.A boggy mist had come in off the water, butshe could see to place her feet on the phosphorescent sand. Just as she was about toskirtalargeboulder,sheheardnoises. The sounds were delicate and bony. Instantly sh e kne w thi s was no t English,probably not human. She listened more keenly , then gentl y worked ahead severalmor esteps totheflankoftheboulderand kept herselfhidden. There seemed to be two figures down there. In silence she listened to the voicesmurmu randclick and slowly dial her into a different horizon of existence. There wasnoquestionthey were hadals. She was breathless. One sounded little different from the water lightly lappingagainst the shore. The othe r was less joined at the vowels, more cut and dried at theedges of his word strings. They sounded polite or old. She stepped from around therocktoseethem. There weren't two, but three. One was a gargoyle similar to those that Shoat andIke had killed. It was perched upon the very skin of the water, hands flat, while itswings fanned languidly up and down. The other two appeared to be amphibians, orclose to it, like fishermen who have no memory but the sea, half man, half fish. Onelay on his side on the sand, feet in the water, while the other drifted in repose. Theyha dthesleekheadsandlargeeyes ofseals,but with sharpened teeth. Their flesh wasslickandwhite,withsmallblac khairsfletchingtheirbacks. Shehadbeenafraidthey wouldflee.Abruptly shewasafraidthey wouldnot.

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Oneoftheamphibiansstirred andtwisted toseeher,showinghisthickpizzle.It waserect. He'd been stroking himself, she realized. The gargoyle flexed his mouth like a baboon,andthedentalarcadelookedvicious. 'Oh,'Alisaidfoolishly. Whathadshebeenthinking,tocomeherealone? They watche d he r wit h the composur e o f philosophers in a glen. On e o f the amphibianswentahead and finished his thought in their soft language, still looking ather. Aliconsideredrunningbacktothegroup.Sheset onefootbehindhertoturnand go.The gargoylecutthebriefest o fsideglancesather. 'Don'tmove,'muttered Ike. Hewas hunkered on top of the boulder to her left, balanced on the balls of his feet.The pistolinonehand hungrelaxed. The hadals didn't speak anymore. They had that peculiar Oriental ease with longsilences. The one went on stroking himsel f with apelike bemusement , no t at allself-consciou s or purposeful. There was nothing to hear but the wate r licking sand,andtheskinsoundoftheonefondlinghimself. After awhile,thegargoylecastonemore glance at Ali, then pushed forward againstthe water's surface and departed on slow wings, never rising more than a few inchesabovethesea.Hediagonaledintothemistandwa sgone. By the time Ali brought her attention back to the amphibians , one had vanished.The lastone– the masturbator – reached a state of boredom and quit. He slid belowthe water, anditwasasifhe had been drawn into a mouth. The lips of the sea sealedover him. 'Did that really happen?' Ali asked in a low voice. Her heart was pounding. Shestarted forwardtoverify thehandprintsinthesand,toconfirmthereality. 'Don'tgonearthatwater,' Ike warnedher.'He'swaitingforyou.' 'He'sstill there?' HerZenhadals,lurking?Butthey were sopacific. 'Youwanttobackup,please.You're makingmenervous,Sister.' 'Ike,'shesuddenlybubbled,'youcanunderstandthem?' 'Notaword.Notthese.' 'There areothers?' 'Ikeep tellingyou,we're notalone.' 'Buttoactuallyseethem...'

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'Ali,we've beenpassingamongthemthewholetime.' 'Oneslikethose?' 'Andonesyoudon'twanttoknowabout.' 'Butthey lookedsopeaceful.Like three poets.'Ike tsk'ed. 'Then why didn'tthey attack us?'shesaid. 'I don't know. I'm tryin g t o figure i t out. It's almos t like they kne w me. ' Hehesitated.'Oryou.'

Branchlagged,weary. He kept cutting their trail, but their spoor wandered, or else he did. It was likelyhim, he knew. Insect bite s had made him sick, and the best thing would be to find aburrow and wait until the fever passed. With s o much human presence around, hedidn'ttrust theburrowing,though. To stop would be to attract predators from many miles around. If one found himconvalescingina cubbyhole,itwouldbeallover. AndsoBranch kept onhisfeet. Alifetimeofwoundshamperedhispace.Delirium sapped his attention. He felt veryold .It seemed asthough he'dbeenvoyagingsincethebeginningoftime. He came to a narrow sinkhole with a skinny rivulet trickling down. Rifle across hisback,Branchroped int o the abyss. At the bottom, he pulled the line and coiled it andmovedon.Hewasnewtothisregion,butwasno taneophyte. He came upon a woman's skeleton. Her long black hair lay by the skull, which wasunusual, because it made good cordage when braided. That it had been left told himthere were many more such humans available. That was good. Predators would belesspronetohunthim. Through the day, Branch found more evidence of humans: whole skeletons, ribs, afootprint, a dried patc h of urine, or the distinctive smell of H . sapiens in hadal dung.Someone had scratched his name on the wall, along with a date. One date from only twoweeks before gave himhope. Then h e found the blubbery pile of survival suits, of which a number had beenspearedorhacked.Toa hadal,theneoprene suits would seem like supernatural skinsor even live animals . He rummaged throug h the pil e and dressed in one that waswholeandfit. Shortly afterward, BranchfoundtherollsofpaperwithAli'smaps.Heracedthrough theminchronologicalorder. Attheend,someoneelse'shandhad scrawled in Walker'streachery atthesea, and the group's dispersal. It all came together for him, why thisbandhadbecome separated andvulnerable, why Ike wasnowhereto be found amongthem.Branchsawnow where he needed to go, that subterranean sea. From there hemight fin d more signs. Ali's chronicle made perfect sense to him. He took the mapsandwenton. A day later,Branchrealizedhewasbeingstalked.

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He could actually smell them on the airstream, and that disturbed him . It meantthey had to be close, for his nose was no t keen. Ik e would have sensed the m longbefore .Againhefeltold. Hehadthesametwochoicesevery animaldoes,fightorflight.Branchran. Three hourslaterhereachedthe river. Hesawthetrailleadingalong the water, butit was too late for that. He faced around, and there were four of them fanning out inthetalusabove,aspaleaslarvae. A slender spear – reed tipped with obsidian – shattered on the rock next to him.Another pierce d th e water. It would have been easy to shoot the one youngsternearin gonhisleft.That stillwould have leftthree, andthesame necessity forwhat henowdid. The leap was clumsy, impaired by his rifle and the tub e o f maps wrappe d inwaterproofing . He had meant to strike open water, but his right foot caught a stone.He heard his right knee snap. He clung to the rifle, but dropped the maps on shore. Momentumalonecarriedhimintothecurrent. The current suckedhim under. For as long as he could hold his breath, Branch let the river have him. At last hetriggered the survival suit andfeltitsbladdersfill.Hewasbuoyedtothesurface like acork. The fastest hadal was still tracking him alongside the river. The moment Branch'sheadpoppedabove water, thehadalmadeahurriedcast. The spearlodgeddeepjustasBranch fired a burst from underwater, and the waterchoppe d upward in lon g rooster tails. The hadal spun, was killed, and hit the waterflat. The river flowedon,takinghimaroundbendsandcrooks,away fromthedanger.Forthenext fivedays, Branch hadthedead hadal for company as they both driftedto the sea. The river was like a mother, impartia l to her children' s differences. Hedran kher water. Hisfever cooled. The spearfelloutofhim eventually. Parasiticeelsgently suckedathim.They tookhisblood,buthiswound stayed clean.Somewherealongthe way, hegothiskneebackinjoint. Withallthatpain,itwasnowonderhedreamedsomuchashedriftedtothesea.Back along the riverbank, a monstrosity, painted and inked and ridged with scars,picked up the tube of maps. He unrolled them fro m the waterproofin g an d pinnedtheir corner s wit h rocks whil e hadals gathered around. They had no eye for suchthings.ButIsaaccouldseethecare and detail the cartographer had lavished on thesepages.'There is hope,'hesaidinhadal. For days they had been remarking on a nebulous gleam the color of milk, occupyingthe rump of their horizon. They thought it might be a cloudbank or steam from awaterfall or perhaps a beached iceberg. Ali feared the y wer e sufferin g collectivehunge r delusions, for they'd begun stumbling on the trail and talking to themselves.N ooneimaginedaseaside fortress carved fromphosphorescentcliffs. Five stories high, its walls were as smooth as Egyptian alabaster. It ha d been whittledfromsolidrock. Beerstone, Twiggs told them. The Romans used to quarry itinancientBritain.WestminsterAbbey wasmade ofit.A creamy white calcite, it cameout of the ground as soft as soap and over the years dried to a hardness perfect for sculpting.Headoreditforitspollenresidues.

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Longago,hadalshadskinnedaway the face of this wall, denuding its softer stone tocut out a complex of rooms and ramparts and statues, all of one piece. Not one blockorbrickhadbeenaddedtoit,asinglehuge monument. Three times as broad as it was tall, the dwelling was empty and largely in collapse.It breasted theseaand was clearly a bulwark anchoring the commerce of some greatvanishe dempire.Youcouldseewhatwasleftof stonedocks and pier slips submergedaninchbeneaththe water. Evenweak withhunger,they were beguiled. They wandered through the warren ofrooms looking across the night sea and, to the fortress's rear, onto the crags below.Stairs had been cut into the cliff sides, seemingly thousands of them, leading off intonewdepths. Whoever–orwhatever –thehadalshadbuiltthisdefensivemonsteragainst,it wasnot humans. Ali estimated the fortress dated bac k a t leas t fiftee n thousan d years,probabl y more. 'Man was still chipping flint in caves while this hadal civilization wasengagedinriverine trade acrossthousandsofmiles.Idoubtwewere muc h of a threatt othem.' 'But where didthey go?'Troy asked.'Whatcould have destroyed them?' As they wandered through the crumblin g hulk, they encountered a people fromanothertime. The fortress roomsand parapets were builttoHomoscale, with ceilings planedataremarkably standardsixfeet. The wallsheld traces of engraved imagesand script and glyphs, and Ali pronouncedthe writings even olde r than what they had seen before. She was sure no epigrapherhadever laideyes onsuchscript. Deep in the cavernous interior stood a freestanding column, rising twenty metersint o a large domed chamber in the heart of the building. A high platform separatedthe mfromthespire'sbase.They made a complete circuit around the immense room,following the narrow walkway and shining their light s on the spire' s uppe r section.Ther e were nodoorsorstairways leadingontotheplatform. 'Thespirecouldbeaking'stomb,'saidAli. 'Oracastlekeep,'saidTroy. 'Oragood old-fashioned phallic symbol,' said Pia, who was there because her lover,the primatologist Spurrier, trusted Gitner even less than he trusted Ike. 'Like a Sivarock,orapharaoh'sobelisk.' 'Weneedtofindout,'Alisaid.'It couldberelevant.' Relevant,shedid not say, to hersearchforthemissingSatan. 'Whatdoyoupropose,growingwings?'askedSpurrier.'There arenostairs.' Withapencil-thinbeamoflight,Ike traced aset ofhandholds carved into the upperhalf of the platform's circular wall. He opened his hundred-pound pack and laid outthecontents,andthey alltookapeek. 'You'restillcarryingrope?' marveled Ruiz.'Howmanycoilsdoyou have in there?'Al isawapairofcleansocks. After allthese months? 'LookatallthoseMREs,'saidTwiggs.'You've beenholdingoutonus.' 'Shutup,Twiggy,' Piasaid.'It'shisfood.'

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'Here, I've been waiting,' said Ike. He handed around the food packets. 'That's thelastofthem.Happy Thanksgiving.'Anditwas, November 24. They were ravenous. With no further ceremony, the vestiges of the Jule s VerneSociet y opened the pouches and heated the ham and pineapple slices and filled theirpinchedstomachs.They madenoattempt t oration themselves. Ike occupied himself uncoiling one of his ropes. He declined the meal, but acceptedsome of their M&M's, though only the red ones. They didn't know what to make ofthat,theirbattle-scarred scoutfussing over bitsofcandy. 'Butthey're nodifferentfromtheyellowandblueones,'Chelseasaid. 'Surethey are,'Ike said.'They're red.' He tied one end of the rop e t o his waist. 'I'll trail the rope,' he said. 'If there'sanythingupthere, I'llfixthelin eandyoucancome take alook.' Armed with his headlamp and their only pistol, Ike stood on Spurrier's and Troy'sshoulder s and gave a hop to reach the lowest handhold. From there it was onlyanothertwenty feet tothetop.Hespideredup, grabbedthe edge of the platform, andstarted topullhimselfover. But he stopped. They watched him not move for a whole minute. 'Issomethingwrong?'askedAli. Ike pulled himself onto the platform and looked down at them. 'You better see thisforyourself.' He knotted loops in the rope to make them a ladder. One by one, they climbed up,weak,needinghelp.It wasgoingto take morethanonemealto restore theirstrength. Between themselves and the tower, ninety feet in, a ceramic army awaited them. Lifeless,yet alive. They were hadal warriors made of glazed terra-cotta. Facing out toward intruders,they numberedinthe hundreds,arrangedinconcentriccirclesaroundthe tower, eachstatue bearing a weapon and a ferocious expression. Some still wore armor made ofthin jade plates stitched with gold links. On most, time had stretched or broken thegold,andtheplateshadtumbledtotheirfeet,leavingthehadalmannequinsnaked. It was hard not to speak in a whisper. The y were awestruck, intimidated. 'Whathave westumbledinto?' askedPia. Somebrandishedwarclubsedgedwithobsidianchips,pre-Aztec. There were atlatls – spear throwers – and stone maces with iron chains and handles. Some of theweaponry carrie d Maori-typ e geometrics , bu t ha d to predate Maor i cultur e b yfourtee n thousand years. Spears and arrows made of abyssal reed had been fletchednotwithbird feathers butwithfishspines. 'It'sliketheQintombinChina,'saidAli.'Onlysmaller.' 'And seven timesolder,'saidTroy. 'Andhadal.' They entered thecircles of sentinels tentatively, setting their feet carefully, like t'aichi students, so as not to

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disturb the scene. Those with film left too k pictures. Ik edre w his pistol and stalked from one to another, culling facts meaningful only to him.Alisimplywandered.Troy joinedher,dazed. 'These furrows i n the floor , they're filled with mercury,' he said, pointing to thenetwork cut into the ston e deck. 'And it's moving, like blood. What could be themeaning?' It wasfairtoguessby thedetailsthatthe statues had been built true to life. In thatcase, the warriors had averaged an extraordinary five feet ten inches – fifteen eonsago. As Troy pointed out, it was always a mistake to generalize too much from thelooksofan army, forarmiestendedtorecruitthehealthiestand fittest specimens in apopulation. Even so, during the same Neolithic period the averag e H . sapiens malehad stoodfivetoeightinchesshorter. 'Next to these guys, Conan the Barbaria n woul d have been nothin g more tha n a mesomorphicruntleadingabunchofhumanpipsqueaks,'Troy said. 'It kind of makesyou wonder. With their physical size and this level of social organization and wealth,why didn'tthehadalsjustinvadeus?' 'Whosays they didn't?'askedAli.She went on studying the statues. 'What intriguesme is how flexed the cranial base is. And how straight the jaws are. Remember thatheadIke broughtin? The skullfitdifferently o n the neck. I distinctly remember that.It extended forward,likeachimp's.Andthejawhadapronounced thrust forward.' 'Isawthat,too,'Troy said.'AreyouthinkingwhatIam?' 'Reversal?' 'Exactly.Imean,possibly.'Troy openedhishands.'Imean,Idon'tknow,Ali.' In lay terms, a straight jaw – orthognathicism – was an evolutionary climb abovethe more primitive trait o f a jutting jaw. Anthropology did not deal in terms ofevolutionar y ascent, however, any more tha n it recognized evolutionary decline. Astraight jaw was called a 'derived' trait. Like all traits, it expressed an adaptation toenvironmental pressures. Butevolutionary pressures were in constant flux, and couldleadtone wtraits thatsometimes resembled primitive ones. This was called reversal. Reversal wasnotagoing backward,but rather aseemingtodoso. It was not a returnt o the primitive trait, but a new derived trait that mimicked the primitive trait. Inthis case the hadals had evolved a straight jaw fifteen or twenty thousand years ago,as seen on these statues, but had apparently derived a jutting jaw that was highlysimia n and primitive i n its look. For whateve r reason, H . hadalis seemed to be inreversal . For Ali, the significanc e lay i n what thi s meant t o hadal speech an d cognition. Astraightjawprovideda widerrangeofconsonants,andan erect neck-skullstructure –basicranial flexion – meant a lower larynx or voice box, and that meant more vowelrange. The factthat fifteen-thousand-year-old hadal statues had straight jaws and anerect head, and Ike's trophy head did not, suggested problems wit h modern hadal speech, an d possibly wit h his cognition . Al i remembere d Troy' s remark s aboutsymmetr y in the hadal brain, too. What if subterranean condition s had evolvedHaddi e from a creature capable of sculpting this fortress, firing these terra-cottawarriors ,andplyingtheseaand rivers, intoavirtual beast? Ike had said hadals couldnolongerreadhadalscript.Whatifthey hadlosttheirabilitytoreason?What if Satanwas nothing more tha n a savage cretin? Wha t if the Gitner s and Spurriers of theworldwere right,andH.hadali sdeserved nobetter treatment thanaviciousdog?Troy was troubled. 'How could they reverse so quickly, though? Call it twentythousan dyears. That's nottimeenoughforsuchapronouncedevolution,isit?' 'Ican'texplain it,' Ali said. 'But don't forget, evolution is an answer to environment,and look at th e

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environment . Radioactiv e rock . Chemica l gases. Electromagneticsurges .Gravitationalanomalies.Wh oknows?Simpleinbreeding may betoblame.' Ike wasjustaheadwithRuizandPia,examining three figureswaving swords of fire,looking them i n the fac e as if checking his own identity. 'I s somethin g wrong?' Aliasked. 'They're notlikethisanymore,'Ike said.'They're similar,butthey've changed.'AliandTroy lookedateachother. 'Howdo you mean?' Ali thought he would speak to some of the physical differencessheandTroy had noticed. Ike raised hi s hands to the entir e tableaux. 'Look at this. This is – this was –greatness. Magnificence.In all my timeamongthem, there wasnever anyhintofthat.Magnificence? Never.'

They spent the rest of the first day and the nex t exploring. Flowstone ooze d fromdoorways, collapsing sections. Deeper in, they found a wealth of relics, most of themhuman.There were ancientcoinsfromStygia and Crete mixed with American buffalo nickels and Spanish doubloons minted in Mexico City . The y foun d Coke bottles,Japanes ebaseball cards,anda flintlock. There were books written in dead languages,a set ofsamurai armor, an Incan mirror, and, beneath that, figurines and clay tabletsandbonecarvings from civilizations long forgotten. One of thei r strangest discoverieswas an armillary, a Renaissance-era teaching device with metal sphere s inside one another to depict planetary revolutions. 'What in God's name is a hadal doing withsomethinglikethis?'Ruiz wantedtoknow. What kept drawing them back was the circular platform with its army surroundingthe stone spire. However priceless the human artifacts were, scattered through thefortress, the y wer e mundan e compared wit h the towe r display . O n th e secondmorning , Ike found a series of hidden nubbins o n the towe r itself. Using these, he madeadaring,unprotectedascenttothetopofthecolumn. They watched him balance atop the spire. For the longest time he just stood there.Thenhecalleddownfor themtoturnofftheirlights.They sat in the darkness for halfanhour,bathedby thefaintlyincandescentfloor. Whenheropeddownagain,Ike lookedshaken. 'We're standing on their world,' he said. 'This whole platform is a giant map. Thespir ewasbuiltasaviewin gstation.' They glancedaroundattheirfeet,andallthey sawwere wigglingcutmarks ona flat,unpaintedsurface.Butthroug htheafternoon,Ike ledthemoneatatimeup the ropesand they saw with their own eyes. By the time he took Ali up for her view, Ike hadmade the trip six times and was becoming familiar with parts of the map. Ali foundthe top flat and small, just three feet square. Apparently no one but Ik e had feltcomfortablestanding on top, so he had rigged a pair of loops for people to sit in whilehangingalongside.Alihungbeside Ike, sixt y feet up,whilehernightvisionadapted. 'It'slikeagiantsandmandala,butwithoutthesand,'Ike said.'It's weird how I keeprunning across pieces of mandalas down here. I'm talking about places like sub-Irano runderGibraltar.IthoughtHaddiemust have kidnapped a bunch of monks and put themtoworkdecorating.ButnowIsee.'

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Andsodidshe.Inagiant circle all around her, the platform beneath them began toradiateghostlycolors. 'It's some kind of pigment worked into the stone,' said Ike. 'Maybe it was visible atground level at one time. I lik e the ide a of an invisible map, though. Probablycommoners like us would never have had access t o this knowledge. Onl y th e elitewoul d have beenpermitted tocomeuphereandgetthewhole picture.' The longer she waited, the more her vision adjusted. Details clarified. The incisionsflowingwithmercury becametinyrivers veiningacrossthesurface.Linesofturquoiseandredandgreenintertwinedandbranchedinwild patterns: tunnels. 'Ithinkthatbigstainmark isoursea,'said Ike. The blackshape lay quite close to the tower base. Paths threaded in from far-flungregions. If this was reality, then there were whole worlds down here. Whether theyha d once been known as provinces or nations or frontiers, the gaping cavities stoodlikeairsacswithina great roundlung. 'What'shappening?'Aligasped.'It'scomingalive.' 'Youreyes arestillcatchingup,'Ike said.'Justwait. It's three-dimensional.' The flatness suddenly swelled with contours and depth. The color lines no longeroverlappedbuthadlevels alltheirown,dippingandrisingamongotherlines. 'Oh,'Alimurmured,'IfeellikeI'mfalling.' 'I know. It opens and opens and opens. It's all in the art . Somehow, Himalayancultures must have plagiarized it a long time ago. Now the Buddhist s use i t just todraw blueprints for Dharma palaces. Meditate long enough, and the geometries turnintoanopticalillusionof a building. But here you get the original intent. A map of thewholeinnerearth.' Even the black blot of the se a ha d dimensions. Ali could see its flat surface and,underneat h it, the jagge d contours of its floor. The river lines looked suspended inmidspace. 'I'mnotsurehowtoreadthis thing. There's no north-south, no scale,' said Ike. 'Butthere's adefinitelogichere. Lookatthe coastline of our sea. You can pretty much seehowwecame.' It was different from the wa y sh e ha d been drawin g her ow n maps. Lackingcompassbearings,the mapsshe continued to make were projections of her westwarddesire , essentially a straight line with bends. These lines were more languorous andfull.Nowshecouldseehowtightlyshehadbeendiscipliningher fearofthisspace. Thesubterranea n worldwaspracticallyinfinite,morelikethesky thantheearth. The sea wa s shape d lik e an elongated pear. Ali tried in vain to distinguish anyfeatures along the right-hand route Walker had taken. Other than extrapolating thatrivers intersected hisroute,shecouldn'trea ditshazards. 'This spire must represent the map's center, this fortress,' Ali said. 'An X to markthespot.Butit'snot actuallytouchingthesea.Infacttheseaissomedistanceaway.' 'Thathadmestumped,too,'Ike said.'Butyouseehowallthelinesconverge here, at thespire?We've all looked outside and there isn't that kind of convergence. The trail wecameoncontinuesfollowingtheshoreline.And

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onepathleadsdownfromthe back,asinglepath.NowI'mthinkingwe're justa spot on one of many roads.' He pointed towhere asinglegreenline departed fromthesea.'That spotonthatroad.' If Ike was right, and if the map's proportions were true, then their party hadcovered lessthanafifthofthe sea'scircumference. 'Thenwhatcouldthisspire represent?' Aliasked. 'I've beenthinkingaboutit.Youknowtheadage,allroadslead to...' He let her finishit. 'Rome?'shebreathed.Coulditbe? 'Whynot?'hesaid. 'Thecenter ofancienthell?' 'Canyoustandontopforaminute?'Ike askedher.'I'llholdyour legs.' Aliworkedherkneesontothemeter-wide apex, andthengottoher feet. From thatextra height, she saw all the lines drawing in toward her feet. Abruptly she had thesensationofenormouspower.It wasasif,foramoment, theentireworldfusedin her.The center was here, and it could only be the one center, their destination. No w sheunderstood why Ike haddescendedsoshaken. 'Whileyou'reupthere,'Ike said,hishandsfirmupon her legs, 'tell me if you see themapdifferently.' 'Thelinesaremoredistinct,'shesaid.Withnothingtoholdonto,nothingatherbackor front, the panorama surged in toward her. The great web of lines seemed to beliftinghigher.Suddenlyitwasasifshewere notlooking down,butup. 'DearGod,'shesaid. The spirehadbecomethepit. Shewasseeingtheworldfromdeepwithin.Herheadbeganspinning. 'Getmedown,'shepleaded,'beforeIfall.'

'I have something to show you,' Ike said to her that night. More ? she thought. Theafternoon' srevelation shad exhausted her.Heseemed happy. 'Can'tit wait until tomorrow?' she asked. She was tired. Hours had passed, and she wasstillreelingfromth emap'sopticalillusion.Andshewashungry. 'Notreally,'hesaid. They had made camp within the colonnaded entry, where a stream of pure water issued from an eroded spout. Their hunger was telling. Another day of explorationshad weakened them. The ones who had climbed atop the spire were weakest. Theyla y on the ground, mostly curled around

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their empty stomachs. Pia was holdingSpurrier , who suffered from migraines. Troy sat with Ike's pistol facing the sea, hisheadslumped,halfwaytosleep.Fromhereon,thingswere goingtogetnobetter. Alichangedhermind.'Leadon,'shesaid. Shetook Ike's handandgottoherfeet.Heled her inside and to a secret passage. Itcontaine ditsownflightof carved stairs. 'Goslow,'hesaid.'Save your strength.' They reachedatower juttingabove thefortress. They hadtocrawl through anotherhidden duct to more stairs. As they climbed up the final stretch of narrow steps, she sawarich,buttery lightabove.Helethergoin first. Ina room overlooking the sea, Ike had lit scores of oil lamps. They were small clayleaves thatcuppedthe oilandfeditalongagroovetotheflameatonetip. 'Wheredidyoufindthese?' sheasked.'And where didtheoilcomefrom?' In one corner stood three large earthenware amphorae that might well have beensalvagedfromanancient Greek shipwreck. 'It was all buried in storage vaults under the floor. There's got to be fifty more ofthese jars down there,' h e said. 'This must have been somethin g like a lighthouse.Maybe there were otherslikeit farther alongthe shore,asystem of relay stations.' A single lamp might have bee n enoug h to let he r se e he r fingertips . I n theirhundreds ,thelamps turnedtheroomtogold.Shewonderedhowitwould have lookedtohadalshipsdriftingupontheblackseatwenty thousandyears ago. Alisneakedalookat Ike. He had done this for her. The light was hurting his eyes alittle,buthedidn'tshield themfromher. 'We can't stay here,' he said, wiping at his tears. 'I want you to come with me.' Hewas trying not to squint. What was beautifu l to her was painful to him. She wastempted to blow out some of the lamps to ease his discomfort, but decided he mightbeinsulted. 'There's noway out,'shesaid.'Wecan'tgoon.' 'Wecan.'He gestured attheendlesssea.'It'snothopeless,thepathsgoon.' 'Andwhatabouttheothers?' 'They cancome,too.Butthey've givenup.Ali,don't give up.' He was fervent. 'Comewithme.' Thiswasforheralone,likethelight. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'You're different. I'm like them, though. I'm tired . I want tosta y here.' Hetwisted hishead away.

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'IknowyouthinkI'mbeingcomplacent,'shesaid. 'Wedon't have todie,'Ike said. 'No matter what happens to them, we don't have todiehere.'Hewas adamant.It didnotescapeherthathespoketoheras'we.' 'Ike,'shesaid,andstopped.Shehad fasted in her day, and knew it was too soon fortheeuphoriatobeaddling her.Buthersenseofcontentmentwasrich. 'Wecangetoutofhere,'heurged. 'You've broughtusasfaraswecango,'shesaid. 'You've done everything we set outto do. We've made our discoveries. We know that a great empire once existed downhere.Nowit'sover.' 'Comewithme,Ali.' 'We have nofood.' His eyes shifted ever so slightly, a side glance, nothing more. He said nothing, butsomething about his silence contradicted her . He knew where there was food? Itjarre dher. His canniness darted before her like a wild animal. I am not you, it said. Then his glancestraightenedandhewasoneofthemagain. Shefinished.'I'mgratefulforwhat you've accomplished for us. Now we just want tocometo terms with where we've gottenin our lives. Let us make our peace,' she said. 'You have noreasontostay hereanymore.Youshouldgo.' There, she thought. All of her nobleness in a cup. Now it was hi s turn. H e wouldresistgallantly.Hewas Ike. 'Iwill,'hesaid. Afrownspoiledherbrow.'You'releaving?'sheblurted,andimmediately wished shehadn't.Butstill,hewasleavin gthem? Leavingher? 'I thought about staying,' he said. 'I thought how romantic it would be. I imaginedhow people might find u s ten years from now. There would be you. And there would beme.' Aliblinked. The truth was,she'dimaginedthesamescene. 'Andthey wouldfindmeholding you,' he said. 'Because that's what I would do afteryo udied,Ali.Iwouldhol dyouin my arms forever.' 'Ike,' sh e said , and stopped again . Suddenly sh e wa s incapabl e o f mor e than monosyllables. 'Thatwouldbelegal,Ithink.Youwouldn'tbeChrist'sbride after youdied,right? He could have your soul.Icoul d have whatwasleft.' That was a bit morbid, yet nonetheless the truth. 'If you're asking my permission,'shesaid,'theansweris

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yes.' Yes, hecouldholdher.Inherimagination,ithadbeen theother way around. He had died first and she had held him. But it was all the sameconcept. 'Theproblemis,'hecontinued,'I thought about it some more. And to put it bluntly,Idecideditwasapretty ra wdealforme.' Shelethergazedriftaroundtheglowingroom. 'I'dgetyou,'heanswered himself,'toolate.' Good-bye, Ike, shethought.It wasjustamatter ofsayingthewordsnow. 'Thisisn'teasy,' hesaid. 'Iknow.'VayaconDios. 'No,'hesaid.'Idon'tthinkyoudo.' 'It'sokay.' 'No, it's not,' he said. 'It would break my heart. It would kill me.' He licked his lips.Hetooktheleap.'To have waitedtoolatewithyou.' Hereyes spranguponhim. Her surprise alarmed him. 'I should be able to say it, if I'm going to stay,' hedefendedhimself.'Can'tI even say thatmuch?' 'Saywhat,Ike?' Hervoicesoundedfaraway toher. 'I've saidenough.' 'It'smutual,youknow.'Mutual?That wasthe best shecouldoffer? 'I know,' he said. 'You love me, too. And all God's creatures.' He crossed himself,gentl ymocking. 'Stop,'shesaid. 'Forgetit,'hesaid,andhiseyes closedinthatmaraudedface.It wasuptoherto break thisimpasse. Nomoreghosts.Nomoreimagination.Nomoredeadlovers: herChrist,hisKora. As her hand reached out, it was like watching herself from a great distance. Theymigh t have been someoneelse'sfingers,except they were hers.Shetouchedhishead.Ike recoiledfromhertouch. Instantly, Ali couldseehowsure he was she pitied him.Once upon a time, with a face untarnished and young, that might not have been aconsideration . But he was wary and filled with his own repulsiveness. Naturally hewould distrustatouch. Alihadnotdonethis forever, itseemed.It could have felt clumsy or foolish or false. If she had contrived it in any way, given th e slightes t though t to it beforehand, itwoul d have failed.

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Which was not to say her hands were steady as she opened herbuttonsandslidhershouldersbare.Sheletthe clothingdrop,allofit. Nude,shefeltthewarmth ofthelampsonherflesh.Fromthecornerofher eye, she sawthelightfromtwenty eons agoturnherintogold. As they moved into each other, she thought that here was one hunger at least thatnolongerhadtogo begging.

Chelsea'sscreamwokethem. It hadbecomeherhabittowashherhairattheedgeofthesea early eachmorning. 'Another fish in the water,' Ali murmured to Ike. She had been dreaming of orangejuice and birdsong – a mournin g dov e – an d th e smel l o f oa k smok e o n thehill-countr yair. Ike's armsfitaroundher justso. It was a shame to spoil the new daywit hafalsealarm. Thenmoreshoutsroseuptotheminthetower. Ike lifted from the floor and leanedout the window, his back dented and pockmarked and striped with text and imagesandoldviolence. 'Something'shappened,'hesaid,andgrabbedhisclothesandknife. Alifollowedhim down the stairs, the last to reach the group gathered on the shore.They were shivering.It wasn'tcold, but they had less fat on them these days. 'Here'sIke,'someonesaid,andthegroupparted. Abodywasfloatinguponthesea.It lay there asquietasthe water. 'It'snothadal,'Spurrier wassaying. 'Hewasabigguy,'saidRuiz.'CouldhebeoneofWalker'ssoldiers?' 'Walker?'saidTwiggs.'Here?' 'Maybe hefelloffoneoftherafts anddrowned.Andthenfloatedhere.' He had glided in to shore like a ship with no crew, headfirst, faceup, bleached dead whiteby thesea.His limparmswaftedinthecurrent. The eyes were gone. 'I thought it was driftwoo d and started out to get it,' Chelsea said. 'Then it got closer.' Ike waded into the water and hunched over the bod y wit h his back t o them. Alithough tshesawtheglint ofhisknife. After a minute he returned to them, towing thebody. 'It'soneofWalker's,allright,'hesaid. 'Acoincidence,'saidRuiz.'Hewasboundtodriftashoresomewhere.'

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'Here, though, of all places? You'd think he would have sunk. Or rotted . Or been eaten.' 'He'sbeenpreserved,' Ike said. Ali saw what the others seemed not to see, an incision in one of the man' s thighswhere Ike hadprobed. 'Youmeansomethinginthe water?' saidPia. 'No,'Ike said.'They diditsomeotherway.' 'Thehadals?'saidRuiz. 'Yes,'Ike said. 'Thecurrents.Chance...' 'Hewasdelivered tous.' The groupneededalongminutetoabsorbthefact. 'But why?' askedTroy. 'Itmustbeawarning,'Twiggssaid. 'They're tellingustogohome?'Ruizlaughed. 'Youdon'tunderstand,'Ike quietlytoldthem.'It'sanoffering.' 'They're makingasacrificetous?' 'I guess if you want to put it that way,' Ike said. 'They could have eaten him themselves.'They fellsilent. 'They're givingusadeadmanforfood?'whimperedPia.'Toeat?' 'Thequestioniswhy,'Ike said,staringacrossthedarksea.Twiggswasaffronted.'They thinkwe're cannibals?' 'They thinkweprobablywanttolive.' Ike did a horrible thing. He did not push the bod y bac k out to sea. Instead hewaited. 'Whatareyouwaitingfor?'Twiggsdemanded.'Get ridofit.'Ike didn'tsay anything.Hejustwaitedsomemore. It wasappalling,thetemptation. FinallyRuizsaid,'You've misjudgedus,Ike.' 'Don'tinsultus,'Twiggssaid. Ike ignored him. He waited for the group. Another minute passed. They glared athim.Nobodywantedto

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say yes and nobody wanted to say no, and he wasn't going tosay itforthem.EvenAlididnotrejecttheideaout ofhand. Ike waspatient. The deadsoldierbobbedslightlybesidehim.Hewaspatient,too.They were all thinking similar thoughts, sh e was sure , wonderin g what i t wouldtaste likeandhowlongitwouldlastandwhowoulddothe deed.Inthe end, Ali took itonestep further, andthatwastheiranswer.'Wecouldeathim,'shesaid.'But when he wasfinished,whatthen?' Ike sighed. 'Exactly,'saidPia after afewseconds. RuizandSpurrier closedtheireyes. Troy shookhisheadever soslightly. 'Thankheavens,'saidTwiggs.

They languished in the fortress, too weak to do much except shuffle outside to pee.They shifted about on their sleeping pads. It was no t comfortable, lying around onyourownbones. So this is famine, thought Ali. A long wait for the ultimate poverty. She had alwaysprided herself on her gift for transcending th e moment . You gave up your worldlyattachments,butalways withthe knowledge you could return to them. There was nosuchthingwithstarving.Deprivationwasmonotonous. Beforetheirstrength dwindled anymore, Ali and Ike shared two more nights in thetower room among the lighted lamps. On November 30 , the y descende d t o the makeshift camp with finality. After that she was too lightheaded to climb the stairsagain. The starvation made them ver y old and very young. Twiggs, especially, looked aged, his face hollowed and jowls hanging. But also they resembled infants, curled inupon their stomachs and sleeping more and more each day. Except for Ike, who waslikeahorseinhisneedtostay onhisfeet,theircatnapsreachedtwenty hours. Ali tried to force herself to work, to stay clean, say her prayers , and continue todrawher day maps.It wasamatter ofgettingGod'sdailychaosinorder. On the morning of December 2, they heard animal noises coming from the beach.Those who could sit struggled upright. Their worst fear was coming true. The hadalswere comingforthem. It sounded like wolves loping into position. You could hear whispere d snatche s ofwords . Troy began t o totter off in search of Ike, but his legs wouldn't work wellenough.Hesatdownagain. 'Couldn'tthey wait?'Twiggsmoanedsoftly.'Ijustwantedtodiein my sleep.' 'Shut up, Twiggs,' hissed one of the geologists . 'And turn ou t those lights . Maybethe y don'tknowwe're here.' The man got to his feet. In the preternatural glow of stone, they all watched him stagger across to a porthole near th e doorway . Wit h the stealt h of an intruder, hecautiousl yliftedhis

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headtotheopening.Andslidbackdownagain. 'Whatdidyousee?'Spurrier whispered.The geologistwassilent. 'Hey,Ruiz.'Finally,Spurrier crawledover. 'Christ,thebackofhishead'sgone!'Atthatinstanttheassault commenced. Hugeshapespouredin,monstroussilhouettesagainstthegleamingstone. 'Oh,dearGod!'screamedTwiggs. Ifnotforhiscry inEnglish,they would have beenshreddedwithgunfire.Instead there wasapause. 'Holdyour fire,'avoicecommanded.'Whosaid"God"?' 'Me,'pleadedTwiggs.'DavisTwiggs.' 'That'simpossible,'saidthevoice. 'Itcouldbeatrap,'warnedasecond. 'It'sjustus,'saidSpurrier,andshinedhislightonhisownface. 'Soldiers,'criedPia.'Americans!' Lightssnappedonthroughouttheroom. Shaggymercenariesrangedrightandleft,stillcrouched,ready toshoot. It was hardto say who was more surprised, the debilitated scientists or the tattered remains ofWalker'scommand. 'Don't move, don' t move,' th e mercenarie s shoute d a t them . Thei r eye s wer erimme dwithred. They trusted nothing.Their rifle barrels darted like hummingbirds, searchingforenemy. 'Getthecolonel,'saidaman. Walker was carried in, seated on a rifle held on each side by soldiers. To Ali , helookedstarved, until she saw his blood. The knifed-open rags of his pant legs showeddozens of bits of obsidian embedded in the flesh and bone. It was pain that hadhollowedhisfaceout.Hisfacultieswere unimpaired,though.Hetookin the room witharaptor'seye. 'Areyousick?'Walkerdemanded. Ali saw what he saw, gaunt men and women barely able to sit. They looked likescarecrows. 'Justvery hungry,'saidSpurrier.'Doyou have food?' Walker considered them. 'Where's the rest of you?' he said. 'I recall more than justnineofyou.' 'They went home,' said Chelsea, prone beside her chessboard. She was lookin g at Ruiz'sbody.Nowthey couldseethatthegeologisthadbeensnipedthroughtheeye.

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'They're goingbacktheway wecame,'saidSpurrier. 'Thephysicians,too?'Walkersaid.Foramomenthewashopeful. 'It'sjustusnow,'saidPia.'Andyou.' Hesurveyed theroom.'Whatisthisplace,ashrine?' 'Away station,' Pia said. Ali hoped she would stop there. She didn't want Walker toknowaboutthecircula rmap,ortheceramicsoldiers. 'Wefoundittwoweeks ago,'Twiggsvolunteered. 'Andyou'restillhere?' 'Weranoutoffood.' 'It look s defensible,' Walke r sai d to a lieutenant i n burned clothing . 'Set your perimeters. Secure the boats. Bring in the supplies and our guest. And remove thatbody.' They set Walker on the ground against one wall. They were careful, but laying hislegsoutwasanagonyfor him. Mercenaries began arriving fro m the beac h with heavy loads of Helios food andsupplies. No t on e retaine d th e loo k o f th e immaculat e crusader s Walke r had assiduously groomed. Their uniforms were in rags. Som e were missing their boots.Ther e were leg wounds and head injuries. They stank of cordite and old blood. Theirbeardsandgreasy locksmadethem looklikeamotorcyclegang. Theirveneer ofreligiousvocationhadrubbed away, leaving tired, angry, frightenedgunmen. The rough way they dumped the wetbags and boxes spoke volumes. Theirescapeattempt wasnotgoingwell. After a few minutes, Walker returned his attention to the scientists. 'Tel l me, ' hesaid,'howmanypeopledi dyoulosealongthe way?' 'None,'saidPia.'Untilnow.' Walker made no apology as the geologist Ruiz was dragged from the room by theheels. 'I'm impressed,' he said. 'You managed to come hundreds o f miles through awildernesswithoutasinglecasualty.Unarmed.' 'Ike knowswhathe'sdoing,'saidPia. 'Crockett'shere?' 'He's exploring,' Troy quickly inserted. 'He goes off days at a time. He's looking for CacheV.Forfood.' 'He's wasting his time.' Walker turned his head to the black lieutenant. 'Take fivemen,'hesaid.'Locateour

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friend.Wedon'tneedanymoresurprises.' The soldiersaid,'Youdon'thuntthatman,sir.Ourtroops have had enough, the lastmonth.' 'Iwillnot have himroamingatlarge.' 'Whyareyoudoingthis?'Alidemanded.'What'shedonetoyou?' 'It'swhatI've donetohim that's the problem. Crockett's not the sort to forgive andforget.He'sout there watchingusrightnow.' 'He'llrunoff.There's nothinghereforhimanymore.Hesaidwe've givenup.' 'Then why the tears?' 'Youdon't have todothis,'Alitoldhimsoftly. Walker grew brisk. 'No live catches, Lieutenant, do you hea r me ? Crockett' s firstcommandment.' 'Yes sir,'thelieutenant breathed out.Hetaggedfiveofhismenandthey started intothebuilding. After the search team left, Walker closed his eyes. A soldier pulled a knife from his boot sheath and slit open a box of MREs and gestured at the scientists. It was up toTroy to feebly carry packets tohis comrades.Twiggskissedhis,thentoreitopen withhis teeth. Ali's first bit e o f processed militar y spaghett i wa s delicious. She made her bitessmall.Shesippedher water. Twiggsvomited.Thenstarted over again. The room was beginning to fill up. More wounded were brought in . Two menmounte d a machine gun at the window. All told, including herself and her comrades,Ali counted fewer than twenty-five people remaining from the original hundred andfiftywhohadstarted thejourney. Walkeropenedhisbloodshoteyes. 'Bring everything inside,' he ordered. 'The boats,too.They're vulnerable ,andthey announceourpresence.' 'But there's twelve of them ou t there.' Fifteen les s than they'd started with, Alirealized.Whathadhappene doutthere? 'Bringthemin,'saidWalker.'We'regoingtofortupafewdays. This is the answer toourprayers, atoeholdinthis evilplace.' The soldier'spigeyes disagreed.He threw hissalute.Walker'sholdwasslipping. 'Howdidyoufindus?'Piaasked. 'Wesawyour light,'saidWalker. 'Ourlight?'

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Ike's oillamps,thoughtAli.It hadbeenher secret withhim.Abeacontotheworld. 'YoufoundCacheV,'saidSpurrier. 'Haddiegothalf,'saidWalker. 'Callitthedevil'sdue,'saidavoice,andMontgomery Shoat entered theroom. 'You?You're stillalive?'saidAli.She couldn't hide her distaste. Being abandoned byth e soldiers was one thing. But Shoat was a fellow civilian, and had known Walker'sdirty scheme.Hisbetrayal feltworse. 'It's been quite the excursion,' said Shoat. He had a black eye and yellow bruisesalon g one cheek, obviousl y fro m a beating. 'Haddie's been pickin g us to pieces forweeks. Andtheboys have beenworkin gdouble-timetofitmein.I'm starting to think we may notcompleteourgrandtourofthesub-Pacific.' Walkerwasinnomoodforacourtjester.'Isthiscoastlineinhabited?' 'I've onlyseen three ofthem,'Alisaid. 'Three villages?' 'Three hadals.' 'That's all? No villages?' Walker's black beard parted in a smile. 'Then we'v e lostthem,thanktheLord. They'll never beableto track usacross open water. We're safe.We have foodforanothertwomonths.Andw e have Shoat'shomingdevice.' Shoat wagged a finger at the colonel. 'Ah-ah,' he said. 'Not yet. You agreed. Threemor e days tothe west. Thenwe'lltalkaboutretreat.' 'Where's the girl? ' asked Ali. As mor e o f the mercenaries came in, she saw theclawed hands and hadal ears and pieces of male and female genitalia dangling fromtheir belts and rucksacks and rifles. Yeats's poem echoed in her mind : Th e centercanno t hold;... The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony ofinnocence isdrowned.... 'I misjudged her,' Walker rasped. He needed morphine. Ali suspected what thesoldiershadprobablydone withit. 'Youkilledher,'Alisaid. 'Ishouldhave.She'sbeenuselesstome.' He gestured, and two soldiers dragged theferalgirlinandtiedhertothe wall nearby. The firstthingAlinoticed was her smells. The girl had a raw odor, fecal and muskyan d layered wit h sweat. He r hair smelled lik e smoke an d filth. Blood and snotstreaked theducttape. 'Whathasbeendonetothischild?' 'She'sbeenanungodlytemptationto my men,'Walkeranswered. 'Youallowedyour men–'

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Walker peered at her. 'So righteous? You're no different, though. Everyone wantssomething from this creature. Go ahead, extract your glossary from her, Sister. Justdon't leave thisroomwithoutpermission.' Troy stoodanddrapedhisjacketon the girl's shoulders. The girl backed away fromhis chivalry, then opene d her legs as far as the ropes would allow, and pumped hergroinathim.Troy backed away. 'Iwouldn'tfallinlovewiththatone,boy.'Walkerlaughed.'Feraenaturae.She'swildby nature.' AliandTroy wenttofeedthegirl. 'Whatyoudoing?'asoldierdemanded. 'Takingoffthisducttape,'Alisaid.'Howelsecansheeat?' The soldier gave a hard yank at the tape, and snatched his hand away. The girl allbutgarroted herselfonth ewire,lunging for him. Ali fell back. Laughter sprinkled theroom.'Allyours,'hesaid. The feeding needed caution . Ali spoke t o her wit h a low voice, enunciating theirnames,andtrying to disarm her. The food was noxious to the girl, but she took it. Atone point she spit the applesauc e ou t an d made some elaborate complaint, whichemerged withextraordinary softness.It wasn't just the volume tha t was soft, but the formal delivery. For all her ferocity, the girl sounded almost pious. She seemed to bespeaking to the food, or discoursing on it. Her temperament was sophisticated , notsavage. When she was done, the girl lay back on the rock floor and closed her eyes. Therewa snotransition between themealandsleeping.Shetookwhatshecouldget. Two days passed.Ike stilldidnotshowhimself.Ali sensed he was somewhere close,butthesearchteams cameupempty. The soldier s bea t Shoat senseless, trying to pry loose th e secret of hishoming-devic e code. His stubbornness drove them to a fury, and they only stoppedwhenAliplacedherbodyacrossShoat's .'Killhim and you'll never learn the code,' shetold them. Nursin g Shoat added to her duties , fo r she was already taking care ofWalker and several other soldiers. But someone had to do it. They were still God's creatures. Walker wavered in and out of fever. He railed in tongues in his sleep. The soldiersexchanged dar k looks. The room filled with deadly intent, and Ali grew more andmor econcerned. The onlygoodnewswas thatIke wasnowheretobefound. On the second night, Troy bravely tried to stop a mercenary from taking the girloutside to some waiting friends. The soldiers gave him a pistol-whipping that wouldhave goneonbutfor the girl's laughter, and her strangeness made them lose interestinhittin gTroy. Muchlatershewas returned totheroom, sweaty and with her mouthduct-taped. Stillbleedinghimself,Troy helpedAlibathethegirlwithabottleof water. 'She'scarriedchildren,'Troy observed inalowvoice.'Haveyouseenthat?' 'You'remistaken,'Alisaid.

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But there amongthetattooedzebralines and hatch-marks hid the stretch marks ofpregnancy.Herareolae were dark.Alihadmissedthesigns. On the third night, the mercenaries came for the gir l again. Hours later she wasreturned, semiconscious. While she and Troy washed the girl, Ali quietly hummed atune.Shewasn't even aware ofituntilTroy said, 'Ali,look!' Ali raised her eyes from the yellowing bruises on the child's pelvic saddle. The girlwasstaringatherwith tears running down her cheeks. Ali lifted the hum into words. 'Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come,' she softly sang. ''Tisgracethatbroughtme safethusfar,Andgracewillleadmehome.' The girl began sobbing. Ali made the mistake of taking the child in her arms. Thekindnes s triggered a terrible storm of kicking and thrashing and rejection. It was ahorribl e enlightening moment, for now Ali knew the girl had once had a mother whohadsungthatsong. AllnightAlispentwiththecaptive,watching her. In her fourteen years the girl hadexperienced more of womanhood than Ali had in thirty-four. She had been married,or mated. She appeared to have borne a child. And so far sh e had kept her sanitythroug hbrutalmassrapes.Herinnerstrength wasamazing. Next morning Twiggs needed t o go to the bathroo m fo r his first time since thestarvation. Being Twiggs, he did not ask the soldiers' permission to leave the room. Oneofthemercenariesshothimdead. That spelledtheendofwhatlittlefreedomtherest ofthemhad.Walkerorderedthescientists bound, wired, and removed to a deeper room. Ali was no t surprised. Forsom etimenow,shehadknowntheirexecutionwas imminent.

And darkness was upon the face of the Deep

– GENESIS 1:2

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TABULA RASA

New York City

The hotelsuitewasdarkexcept fortheblueflickerofthe TV. It was a riddle: television on, volume off, in a blind man's room. Once upon a time,de l'Orme might have orchestrated such a contradiction just to confound his visitors.Tonighthehadnovisitors. The maidhad forgottentoturnoffhersoaps. Now th e scree n showe d th e Time s Squar e bal l a s it descende d towar d thedeliriousl y happymob. De l'Orme was browsing his Meister Eckhart. The thirteenth-century mystic hadpreachedsuchstrange thingswithsuchcommonwords.Andinthebowelsof the DarkAges,soboldly. God lies in wait for us. His love is like a fisherman's hook. No fish comes to thefisherma nthat isnotcaugh t onhis hook. Once ittakes the hook, the fish is forfeit toth e fisherman. In vain it twists hither and thither – the fisherman is certain of hiscatch. And so I say of love. The one who hangs on this hook is caught so fast thatfoot and hand, mouth, eyes and heart are bound to be God's. And the more surelycaught, the moresurelyyouwillbefreed. No wonder the theologian had been condemned by the Inquisition andexcommunicated.Go dasdominatrix!Moredizzyingstill,manfreedofGod. God freedofGod.Andthenwhat? Nothingness. You penetrated the darkness and emerged intothe same light you had left in the first place. Then why leave in the first place ? de l'Orme wondered. Fo r th e journe y itself ? I s tha t th e best w e have t o do with ourselves? These were histhoughtswhenthephonerang. 'Doyouknow my voice,yes orno?'askedthemanonthefarend. 'Bud?'saiddel'Orme. 'Great... my name,'Parsifalmumbled. 'Whereareyou?' 'Huh-uh.' The astronautsoundedsluggish.Drunk. The GoldenBoy?

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'Something'stroublingyou,'del'Ormesaid. 'Youbet.Is Santoswithyou?' 'No.' 'Whereishe?'Parsifaldemanded.'Ordoyou even know?' 'The Koreas,' said de l'Orme, not exactly certain which one. 'Another set of hadalshas surfaced. He's recording some of the artifacts they brought with them. Emblemsofa deity stampedintogoldfoil.' 'Korea.Hetoldyouthat?' 'Isenthim,Bud.' 'Whatmakesyousosurehe's where yousenthim?'Parsifalasked. Del'Ormetookhisglassesoff.He rubbed his eyes and opened them, and they were white,withnoretinaorpupil.Distantfireworksstreaked his face with sparks of color.Hewaited. 'I've beentrying tocalltheothers,'Parsifalsaid.'Allnight,nothing.' 'It'sNewYear's Eve,'saiddel'Orme.'Perhapsthey're withtheirfamilies.' 'Noone'stoldyou.'It wasanaccusation,notaquestion. 'I'mafraidnot,whatever itis.' 'It'stoolate.Youreally don'tknow?Where have youbeen?' 'Righthere.Atouchoftheflu,Ihaven'tleft my roominaweek.' 'Ever heardofThe New York Times? Don'tyoulistentothenews?' 'I gave myself thesolitude.Fillmein,ifyouplease.Ican'thelpifIdon'tknow.' 'Help?' 'Please.' 'We'rein great danger.Youshouldn'tbeatthatphone.' It came out in a tangle. There had been a great fire at the Metropolitan Museum'sMap Room two weeks ago. And before that, a bomb explosion in an ancient cliffsidetemple librar y a t Yungan g i n China , whic h th e PL A wa s blamin g o n Muslimseparatists . Archives and archaeological sites in ten o r more countrie s ha d been vandalizedordestroyed inthepastmonth. 'I've heard about the Met, of course. That was everywhere . But the res t of this,whatconnectsthem?' 'Someone's trying to erase our information. It's like someone's finishing business.Wipingouthistracks.'

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'What tracks? Burning museums. Blowin g up libraries. What purpose could thatserve?' 'He'sclosingshop.' 'He?Whoareyoutalkingabout?Youdon'tmakesense.' Parsifal mentioned several other events, including a fire at the Cambridge Libraryhousin gtheancientCairo genizahfragments. 'Gone,'hesaid.'Burnedtotheground.Defaced.Blowntopieces.' 'Thoseareallplaceswe've visited over thelast year.' 'Someone has been erasing our information for some time now,' said Parsifal. 'Untilrecently they've been smal l erasures mostly, a n altered manuscript here, a photonegative disappearin g there . No w th e destructio n seem s mor e wholesal e andspectacular . It's likesomeone'strying tofinishbusinessbefore clearingoutoftown.' 'A coincidence,' said de l'Orme. 'Book burners. A pogrom. Anti-intellectuals. Thelumpe narerampant these days.' 'It'snocoincidence.Heusedus. Like bloodhounds. Turned us loose on his own trail.Hadushunthim.Andno whe'sbacktracking.' 'He?' 'Whodoyouthink?' 'But what doe s it accomplish? Even i f you wer e right , h e merel y erases ourfootnotes ,notour conclusions.' 'He erases hisownimage.' 'Thenhedefaces himself. What does that change?' But even as he spoke, de l'Ormefeltwrong.Werethose distantsirensoralarmstrippinginhisownhead? 'Itdestroys ourmemory,'saidParsifal.'It wipescleanhispresence.' 'But we kno w him now. At least we know everything the evidence has alreadyshown .Our memory is fixed.' 'We'rethelasttestimony,'saidParsifal.'After us,it'sbacktotabularasa.' Del'Ormewas missing pieces of the puzzle. A week behind closed doors, and it wasasiftheworldhad changedorbit.OrParsifalhad. Del'Ormetriedtoarrangetheinformation.'You'resuggestingwe've ledour foe on atourofhisownclues.That it's aninsidejob.That Satanisoneof us. That he – or she? –isnowrevisitingourevidenceand spoiling it. Again, why? What does he accomplishby destroying all the

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past images of himself? If our theory of a reincarnated line ofhadalkingsistrue, thenhe'll reappear next time withadifferentface.' 'But with all his same subconscious patterns,' said Parsifal. 'Remember? We talkedabout that. You can't change your fundamental nature. It's like a fingerprint. He cantry to alter his behavior, but five thousand years of human evidence has made himidentifiable. If not to us, then to the next Beowulf gang, or the next. No evidence, nodiscovery. Hebecomestheinvisibleman.Whatever thehellheis.' 'Lethimrampage,'del'Ormesaid.HewasspeakingasmuchtoParsifal'sagitationas about their hadal prey. 'By the time he finishes his vandalism, we'll know him bettertha nheknowshimself.We'reclose.' He listened to Parsifal's hard breathing on the other end. The astronaut mutteredinaudibly . De l'Orme coul d hear win d lashing th e telephon e booth . Clos e by , a sixteen-wheel truck blatted down through lower gears. He pictured Parsifal at someforlornpitstopalongan interstate. 'Gohome,'del'Ormecounseled. 'Whosesideareyouon?That's whatIreally calledabout.Whosesideareyouon?' 'WhosesideamIon?' 'That's what this whole thing is about, isn't it?' Parsifal's voice trailed off. The windinvaded.Hesoundedlik eamanlosingmindandbodytothestorm. 'Yourwifehastobewondering where youare.' 'And have herenduplikeMustafah?We'vesaidgoodbye.She'll never see me again.It's forherowngood.' There was a bump, and then scratching at de l'Orme's window. He drew back intohis presumption o f darkness, put hi s spine against the corduro y sofa . He listened.Claws raked at the glass. And there, he tracked it, the beat of wings. A bird. Or anangel.Lostamongtheskyscrapers. 'WhataboutMustafah?' 'You have toknow.' 'Idon't.' 'He was foun d last Friday, in Istanbul. Wha t was lef t o f him was floatin g in theundergroundreservoir a tYerebatan Sarayi.Youreally don't know? He was killed thesame day a bomb was found in the Hagia Sofia. We're part of the evidence, don't yousee?' With great, concentrated precision, de l'Orme laid his glasses on the side table. Hefeltdizzy. He wanted t o resist, to challenge Parsifal, to make him retract this terriblenews. 'There's onlyonepersonwhocanbedoingthis,'saidParsifal. 'You know it as well as Ido.' There wasaminute of relative silence, neither man speaking. The phone filled withblizzard gales an d the beep-bee p o f snowplows setting of f to battle th e driftedhighways .ThenParsifalspokeagain.'Iknow

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howcloseyoutwowere.' His lucidity, hiscompassion,cementedtherevelation. 'Yes,'del'Ormesaid. It wasthe worst falseness he could imagine. The man's obsession had guided them.And now he had disinherited them, body and spirit. No, that was wrong, for they'dneve r been included in his inheritance t o begin with. From the start, he had merelyexploite dthem.They hadbeenlikelivestocktohim,toberiddento death. 'Youmustgetaway fromhim,'saidParsifal. Butdel'Orme'sthoughtswere onthe traitor. He tried to configure the thousands ofdeceptions tha t ha d bee n perpetrate d o n them . A king's audacity! Almos t inadmiration ,hewhisperedthename. 'Louder,'saidParsifal.'Ican'thearyou over thewind.' 'Thomas,'del'Ormesaidagain.Whatmagnificentcourage! What ruthless deception!It wasdizzying,the depth s of his plotting. What had he been after then? Who was hereally? And why commissionapossetohunt himselfdown? 'Then you've heard,'shoutedParsifal.Hisblizzardwasgettingworse. 'They've foundhim?' 'Yes.' Del'Ormewasastounded.'Butthatmeanswe've won.' 'Haveyoulostyour mind?'saidParsifal. 'Have you los t yours? Why ar e you running ? They've caught him. Now we caninterview himdirectly.W emustgotohimimmediately. Give methedetails,man.' 'Caughthim?Thomas?' De l'Orme heard Parsifal's confusion, and he felt equally dumbfounded. Even afters omanymonthsspent treatingthehadalasa common man, Satan's mortality did notcomenaturally.How could onecatch Satan? Ye t here it was. They had accomplishedtheimpossible.They hadtranscended myth. 'Whereishe?What have they donewithhim?' 'Thomas,youmean?' 'Yes,Thomas.' 'ButThomasisdead.' 'Thomas?' 'Ithoughtyousaidyouknew.'

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'No,'groaneddel'Orme. 'I'm sorry. Hewasa great friendtousall.' Del'Ormedigestedtheconsequences,butstillhedidn'tunderstand. 'They killedhim?' 'They?' shoutedtheastronaut.WasParsifalnothearinghim,orwere they stumblingoneachother'smeaning? 'Satan,' enunciated de l'Orme. His thoughts raced. They'd killed the hadal Caesar?Didn'tthefoolsknow Satan'svalue? Inhismind'seye, de l'Orme saw some frightenedyoungsoldierwithahighschooleducation emptyinghisrifleclipintotheshadows,andThomastumblingfromthedarkness intothelight,dead. Butstilldel'Ormedidnotunderstand. 'Yes, Satan,' said Parsifal. His voice was growing indistinguishable from the noise ofhis tempest. 'Youdo understand.My sameconclusion.Mustafah.NowThomas. Satan.Satankilledthem.' Del'Ormefrowned.'Yousaidthey foundhim,though.Satan.' 'No.Thomas,'clarifiedParsifal.'They foundThomas.ABedouin goatherder came onhimthisafternoon.Hewa s lying among the rocks near St. Catherine's monastery. Hehad fallen – or been pushed – from one of the cliffs on Mount Sinai. It's obvious who killed him. Satan did. He's hunting us down, one by one. He knows our patterns. Ourdaily lives. Our hiding places. While we were profiling him, the bastard was profilingus.' At last de l'Orme understood what Parsifa l was tellin g him. Thomas wa s no t thedeceiver. It was someone even closertohim. 'Areyoustill there?' askedParsifal. Del'Ormeclearedhisthroat.'What have they donewithThomas'sbody?'heasked. 'Whatever deser t monk s do to their dead . Probably no t much in th e wa y ofpreservation . They wanttogethimintothegroundassoonaspossible.He'llbeburiedonWednesday.There atthemonastery.'He paused.'You'renotgoing,areyou?' So much to plan. So little, really. De l'Orme knew exactly what needed to happennext. 'It'syour head,'saidParsifal. Del'Ormeset thephonebackinitscradle. Savannah, Georgia

Shewokeinherbedto ancient dreams, that she was young again and beaux pursuedher. The many became few. The few became one. In her dreams she was alone, likenow, but alone differently, an ache in men's hearts, a memory that would never end.And this one man would never stop searching for her, even if she

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was lost in herself,even ifshegrew old. Sheopenedhereyes andtheroomwasawashinmoonbeams. The coarse linen curtains stirred with a breeze. Crickets sang in the grass off herporch. The windowhad comeopen. Atinylightloopedandspiraledintheroom,afirefly. 'Vera,'saidamanfromthedarkcorner. Shejerked,andtheglassesflewfromherfingers. Aburglar,shethought.Butaburglarwhoknewhername?Whospokeitsosadly? 'Whoisit?'shesaid. 'I have beenwatchingyousleep,'hesaid.'Inthislight,Iseethelittlegirlyour fathermust have loved.' Hewasgoingtokillher. Vera couldhearthedeterminationinhistenderness. A form rose in the moon shadows. Released of his weight, the wicker chair creakedinit sweave, andhe stepped forward. 'Whoareyou?'sheasked. 'Parsifaldidn'tcallyou?' 'Yes.' 'Didn'thetellyou?' 'Tellmewhat?' 'WhoIam.' Awinterchillsettled onher. Parsifalhadcalledyesterday, andshe had cut short his roadside augury. The sky is falling, that's all she coul d make of his nonsense. Indeed, his burst of paranoid adviceand omens had finally accomplished what Thoma s ha d failed to do: convinced hertheirquest forthemonsterwasamonsteritself. It had struck herthattheirsearchforthekingofdarkness wasautogenetic, broughttolifefromnothingmorereal thantheirideaofit.In retrospect, theirsearchhadbeenfeeding on itself for months, on its own clues and predictions and fancy scholarship.Now it was beginning to feed on them. Just as Thomas had warned, th e ques t hadbecome dangerous. Their enemies were not the tyrant s and would-be tyrants , theC.C. Coopersoftheworld,ortheirfabledSatan of the underworld. Rather, the enemywa stheirownoverheated imaginings. She had hung up on Parsifal. Repeatedly. He had called back several times, rantingandraving,soundinglik eaYankee carpetbagger trying toscareheroff the plantation.I'mstayingput,shetoldhim.

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Hehadbeenrightthen. Her wheelchair sat next to her nightstand. She did not try to talk him out of the murder. She did not question his method or test for his sadism. Maybe he would beswiftandbusinesslike.So youdieinbedafter all,shethoughttoherself. 'Didhesingsongstoyou?'themanasked. Vera was trying to arrange her courage and thoughts. He r heart was racing . Shewantedtobecalm. 'Parsifal?' 'Yourfather,Imeant.' Hisquestiondistractedher.'Songs?' 'Beforeyouwenttosleep.' It was an invitation. She took it. She closed her eye s and threw herself int o thesearch.It meantignoringth ecricketsandpenetratingher jackhammer heartbeat anddescendingintoremembrances shehadthoughtwere gone forever. But there he was,and yes, itwasnight, and he was singing to her. She laid her head back on the pillow,andhiswordsmadeablanketandhisvoicepromisedshelter.Papa,shethought. The floorboardsqueaked. Vera regretted that.If not for the sound, she would have stayed with the song. Butthewood returned hert otheroom.Upthroughtheheart shecame,backintothelandofcricketsandmoonbeams. She opened her eye s and he was there , barehanded, with the firefly spinning acrookedhalohighabove hi shead.Hewasreachingforherlike her lover. And then hisface entered thelightandshesaid,'You?'

St. Catherine's Monastery,Jabal Musa (Mt Sinai)

De l'Orme arranged the cups and placed the loaf of bread. The abbot had providedhim a meditation chamber, the sort enjoyed for thousands of years by men and womenseekingspiritualwisdom. Santos would be charmed. He loved coarsenes s an d simplicity. The wine jug wasclay. The table's plank s had been hew n and nailed at leas t five centuries ago. Nocurtaininthewindow.Noglass,even. Dust and insects were your prayer mates. LikewordsfromtheBible,aboltofsunlightstabbed thedarkness of his cell. De l'Orme feltits warmth upon his face. He felt it travel east to west across his cheeks. H e felt it setting. It was cool this high, especially compared with the desert heat on his ride in. Theroa d was no longer so good. De l'Orme had suffered its potholes. Because tourists nolonger came here in such abundance, there was less reason to maintain the asphalt.The Holy Lands didn't pull them i n like they used to . The revelation of hell as acommon network of tunnels had achieved wha t hel l itself coul d not, the en d of

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spiritual fear. The death of God at the hands of existentialism and materialism hadbee n grievous enough. Now the death of Supreme Evil had turned the landscape ofafterlife into a cheap haunted house. From Moses to Mohammed to Augustine, thecarnie shadbeengoodfortheirday,butnoonewasbuyingitanymore. Along with the road that le d to its high walls, St. Catherine' s wa s fallin g intodisrepair. De l'Orme ha d listened to the scandalized abbot tell how a number of themonks had turned idiorhythmic, acquiring property in the now-abandoned touristvillage,eatingmeat,puttingiconsandmirrors and rugs in their monasti c apartments.Such corruption led to disobedience, of course. And what wa s a monastery without obedience? Even the shapeless bramble tree in St. Catherine's courtyard, said to beMoses'burningbush, wasdying. De l'Orme drew a lungful of the evening breeze, breathing the incense like oxygen.He could smell an almond tree nearby, even now, in winter. Someone was growing a smallpotofbasil.And there wasasweet odor,ever sofaint:thebodiesofdeadsaints. Anthropologists called it second burial, this practice of disinterring their dead aftersevera l years andaddingthebones and skulls of monks to the monastery's collection.The enamel hous e was jokingl y called the University. The dea d g o on teaching through theirmemory, sowentthetradition.Andwhatwillyou teach them, Thomas?del'Ormewondered. Grace? Forgiveness? Orawarningagainstthe darkness?Evenin g vespers was beginning. Remarkably, a caged parakeet had been allowedint o the courtyard. Its song matched th e monks ' Kyrie eleison, the note s of a tinyangel. At moments like this, de l'Orme longe d to return to the cloth , or at leas t t o the hermit'scell.Ifyouletit be just as it was, the world was a surfeit of riches. Hold still,andtheentireuniverse wasyour lover.Butitwastoolateforthat. Santos arrived in a Jeep that rattled on the corrugated dirt. He disturbed a herd ofgoats, you could hear the bells and scurry of hooves. De l'Orme listened. Santos wasalone.Hisstridewaspowerfulandwide. The parakeet stopped. The Kyri e eleisons did not. De l'Orme let him find his ownway. After a few minutes, Santos put his head inside de l'Orme's chamber . 'Ther e youare,'hesaid. 'Comein,'saiddel'Orme.'Ididn'tknowifyou'dmakeitbeforenightfall.' 'HereIam,'saidSantos.'Andlook,you have oursupper.Ibroughtnothing.' 'Sit,youmustbetired.' 'Itwasalongtrip,'Santosadmitted. 'You've beenbusy.' 'IcameasquicklyasIcould.Is heburied,then?' 'Today.Inthecemetery.' 'Itwasgood?' 'They treated himasoneoftheirown.Hewould have beenpleased.'

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'Ididn'tlikehimmuch.Butyoulovedhim,Iknow. Are youallright?' 'Certainly,' sai d de l'Orme. He made himself rise an d opened his arms an d gaveSanto s an embrace. The smell of the younge r man's sweat and the barre n Mosaicdesert wasgood.Santoshadthesuntrapped i nhispores,itseemed. 'Heledafulllife,'Santossympathized. 'Who knows what more h e might have discovered?' said de l'Orme. He gave thebroad back a tap and they parte d th e embrace . D e l'Orme sa t carefull y o n histhree-legged wooden stool. Santos lowered his satchel to the floor and took the stooldel'Ormehadarrangedonthefarsideofthetable. 'Andnow?Wheredowegofrom here? Whatdowedo?' 'Let'seat,'saiddel'Orme.'Wecandiscusstomorrow over ourmeal.' 'Olives. Goat cheese. An orange. Bread. A jug of wine,' Santos said. 'All the makingsforaLast Supper.' 'If you wis h to mock Christ, that' s you r business. But don't mock your food,' de l'Ormesaid.'Youdon't needtoeatifyou'renothungry.' 'Justalittlejoke.I'mfamished.' 'There should be a candle, too,' said de l'Orme. 'It must be dark. But I had nomatches.' 'It'sstilltwilight,'saidSantos. 'There's lightenough.I prefer theatmosphere.' 'Thenpourthewine.' 'What could have brought him here, I wonder,' said Santos. 'You told me Thomashadfinishedwiththe search.' 'It'sclearnow,Thomaswasnever goingtobefinishedwiththesearch.' 'Was there something here he was looking for?' De l'Orme could hear Santos's puzzlement . He was really asking why de l'Orme had instructed him to come all thisway. 'IthoughtatfirsthehadcomefortheCodexSinaiticus,'de l'Orme answered. SantoswouldknowthattheCodex wasoneof the oldest manuscripts of the New Testament.I t totaled three thousand volumes, only a few of which still remained in this library. 'ButnowIthinkotherwise.' 'Yes?' 'Ibelieve Satanluredhimhere,'del'Ormeanswered. 'Luredhim?How?' 'Perhapswithhispresence.Oramessage.Idon'tknow.'

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'He has a sense of theater, then,' Santos remarked between bites of food. 'The mountainofGod.' 'Soitappears.' 'You'renothungry?' 'I have noappetitetonight.' The monks were hard a t wor k i n the church . Their dee p chan t reverberatedthroug h the stone. Lord have mercy. Christ have mercy. Lord have mercy. DomineDeu s. 'AreyoucryingforThomas?'Santossuddenlyasked. De l'Orme made no move to wipe away the tears flowing down his cheeks. 'No,' hesaid.'Foryou.' 'Me?Butwhy? I'mherewithyounow.' 'Yes.' Santosgrew quieter.'You'renothappywithme.' 'It'snotthat.' 'Thenwhat? Tellme.' 'Youaredying,'saiddel'Orme. 'Butyou'remistaken.'Santoslaughedwithrelief.'I'm perfectly well.' 'No,'saiddel'Orme.'Ipoisonedyour wine.' 'Whataterrible joke.' 'Nojoke.' Just then Santos clutched his stomach. He stood, and his wooden stool cracked ontheslabs.'What have youdone?'hegasped. There was no drama to it. He did not fall to the floor. Gently he knelt on the stoneandlaidhimselfdown.'Is it true?' heasked. 'Yes,'saiddel'Orme. 'Ever sinceBorduburI've suspectedyouofmischief.' 'What?' 'Itwasyouwhodefacedthecarving.Andwhokilledthatpoorguard.' 'No.'Santos's protest waslittlemorethanarespiration.

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'No?Who,then?Me? Thomas?There wasnooneelse.Butyou.' Santos groaned. His beloved white shirt would be soiled from the floor, de l'Ormeimagined. 'Itisyouwho have set aboutdismantlingyour imageamongman,'hecontinued.The respirationthreaded upfro mthefloor. 'I can't explain how you were able to choose me so long ago,' said de l'Orme. 'All I knowisthatIwasyour pathway toThomas.Iledyoutohim.' Santosrallied,forthespaceofonebreath.'...allwrong,'hewhispered. 'What'syour name?'askeddel'Orme.Butitwastoolate. Santos,orSatan,wasnomore.

He had meant to keep his vigil over the body all night. Santos weighed too much forhimtoliftontothecot, andsowhentheairgrew coldandhecouldnotstay awake anylonger,del'Ormewrappedthe blanket around himself and lay on the floor beside thecorpse. In the morning he would explain his murder to the monks. Beyond that, hedidn'tcare. Andsohefellasleep,shouldertoshoulderwithhisvictim.The incisionacrosshisabdomenwokehim. The pain was so sudden and extreme, he registered it as a bad dream, nothing topanicabout. Thenhefelttheanimalclimbinsidehischestwall, and realized it was no animal buta hand. It navigated upward with a surgeon's dexterity. He tried to flatten himself,palms against the stone, but hi s head arched bac k an d his body coul d not retreat,coul dnot, fromthatawful trespass. 'Santos!'hegaspedwithhisoneandonlysacofair. 'No,nothim,'murmuredavoiceheknew.Del'Orme'seyes stared intothenight. They did it this way in Mongolia. The nomad makes a slit in the belly of his sheepanddarts hishand inside and reaches high through all the slippery organs and drivesstraigh t t o the beatin g heart . Done properly, it was considere d an all but painlessdeath. It tookastronghandtosqueeze theorgantostillness.Thishandwasstrong. De l'Orme did not fight. That was one other advantage to the method. By the time the hand was inside , there was nothin g more t o fight. The body itsel f cooperated,shocked by the unthinkabl e violation. No instinct could rehearse a man for such amoment.Tofeelthefingerswraparoundyour heart...Hewaitedwhilehi s slaughtererheldthechaliceoflife. It tooklessthanaminute. He rolled his head to the left and Santos was there beside him, as cold as wax, de l'Orme'sowncreation. Hishorrorwascomplete.Hehad sinned against himself. In thename of goodness he had killed goodness.

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Year upon year he had received the youngman's goodness, and he had rebuked and tested it and never believed such a thingcouldbereal.Andhehadbeenwrong. Hismouthformedthenameoflove,but there wasnoairlefttomaketheword. Toastranger, itmight have seemed del'Ormenow gave himself to the sacrifice. Hegave a small heave, and it drove the arm deeper. Like a puppet, he reached for thehand that manipulated him, and it was a phanto m within the bones of his chest.Gently helaidhisownhandsabove hisheart.Hisdefenselessheart. Lord have mercy. The fistclosed. Inhislastinstant,asongcametohim.It surgeduponhishearing,allbut impossible,sobeautiful.Achildmonk'spure voice?Atourist's radio, a bit of opera? He realized itwastheparakeet cagedinthecourtyard. Inhismind,he sa w the moon rise full abovethemountains.Butofcoursetheanimalswouldwake to it. Of course they would offer theirmorningsongtosucharadiance.Del'Orme had never known such light, even inhisimagination.

Beneath the Sinai PeninsulaThroughthewound,entrance.Throughtheveins,retreat. Hisquest wasdone. Inthenatureof true searching,hehadfoundhimself.Nowhispeople needed him asthey gathered in their desolation. It was his destiny to lead them into a new land, forhewastheirsavior. Downhesped. Downfromthe Egypt eye of the sun, in from the Sinai, away from their skies like asea inside out, their stars and planets spearing your soul, their cities like insects, allshell an d mechanism , their blindnes s wit h eyes , thei r vertiginou s plain s andmind-crushin g mountains. Down from the billions who had made the world in theirown human image. Their signature could be a thing of beauty. But it was a thing of death.Their presence had become the world, and their presence was the presence ofjackalsthatstripthe musclefromyour legs even asyoutry tooutrunthem. The earth closed over him. With each twist and bend, it sealed shut behind him. Itresurrecte d senseslon gburied. Solitude!Quiet!Darknesswaslight. Once again he could hear th e planet' s joints and lifeblood. Stirrings i n the stone. Ancient events. Here,time was like water. The tiniest creatures were his fathers andmothers. The fossils were hischildren.It madehimintoremembrance itself. Helet his bare palms ricochet upon the walls, drawing in the heat and the cold, thesharp an d the smooth . Plunging, galloping, he pawed a t th e fles h of God . Thismagnificen trock.This fortress of theirbeing.ThiswastheWord.Earth. Moment by moment, step by step, he felt himself becoming prehistoric. I t was ablesse drelease from humanhabits. In this vast, capillaried monastery, through theseopenings and fretted spillways and yawning chthonic fistulae, drinking from pools ofwater older than mammal life altogether, memory was simply

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memory . It was notsomethin gtobemarked oncalendarsorstoredinbooksorlabeledingraphs or drawnon maps.Youdidnotmemorize memory anymorethanyoumemorizedexistence. He remembered his way deeper by the tast e of the soi l and by the drag of aircurrents that had no cardinal direction. He left behind the cartography of the Holy Lan d and its entry caves through Jebel el Lawz in the elusive Midian. He forgot thename of the Indian Ocean as he passed beneath it. He felt gold, soft and serpentine,standingfromthewalls,butnolongerrecognized it as gold. Time passed, but he gaveu p countingit.Days?Weeks? Helosthis memory even ashegainedit. Hesawhimselfand did not know it was himself. It was in a sheet of black obsidian.Hisimageroseupasa blacksilhouettewithintheblackness.He went to it and laid hishandsonthevolcanicglassand stared athisface reflectingback. Something about theeyes seemed familiar. Onward he hurtled, weary, yet refreshed. The depths gave flesh to his strength.Occasionalanimals providedhim the gift of their meat. More and more, he witnessedlife in the darkness, heard its chirps and rustling. He found evidence of his refugeesand,longbeforethem,ofhadalnomadsandreligioustravelers. Their markings on thewallsfilledhimwithgriefforthelostgloryofhisempire. Hispeoplehadfallenfromgrace,steeply and deep and for so long they were hardly aware of their own descent. Yet now, even in their emptiness and misery, they werebein g pursued in the name of God, and that could not be. For they were God'schildren ,andhadlivedinthewilderness long enough to wash their sins into amnesty.The y had paid for their pride or independence or whatever else it was that hadoffende d the natural order, and now, after an exile of a hundred eons, they had beenreturned totheirinnocence. For God to continue punishing them was wrong. To allow them to be hunted intoextinction wa s a sacrilege . Bu t then , fro m th e ver y beginning , hi s peopl e hadchallenge dthenotion that God eve r showed mercy. They were his lie. They were hissin.It hadalways beenafalsehope that God might deliver them from His own wrathintolove.No,deliverancehadtocomefromsomeothersoul.

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The dead have no rights.

– THOMAS JEFFERSON, near the end of his life 25

PANDEMONIUM

January5

The endbeganwithasmallthingAlispiedonthe ground. It could have been an angellying there, invisible to all but her, telling her to be ready. Not missing a step, shelande d her foot on the message and crushed it to bits. It was probably unnecessary.Whoelsewould have readsomuchinaredM&M? Not much later, while crouched awkwardly in the shadowy noo k designated theirlatrine ,Alidiscovered anotherredcandy,thistimelodgedin a crack in the wall abovetheir sewage. Squattin g abov e th e poo l of muck, her wrist s rope d tigh t b y the mercenaries , Ali could still get the fingers of one hand down the crack. Expectin g anote ,shefeltahard,smoothknob.Whatsheslidfrom the stone was a knife, black for nightwork,withabloodgutter andutilitarianweight.Eventhehandlelookedcruel. 'What are you doing in there?' the guard called. Ali slipped the knif e into herclothing, and the guard returned her to the little side room that was their dungeon.Heart knocking in her ears , Ali took her plac e beside th e girl . She was afraid , butjoyous.Herewasherchance. Andnow?Aliwondered.Would there beanothersign?Shouldshecutherropesnowor wait? And what di d Ik e think she was capabl e of? He had to know there werelimits .ShewasawomanofGod.

Three mercenaries stalked ten feet apart through the terracotta army surroundingthespire.'Thisisa waste oftime,'saidone.'He'sgone.IfIwashim,I'dbegone.' 'Whatarewedoinganyway, stuck here? The colonelwantsmorefight?'

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'It's a deathwatch, man. He wants us to hold his hand while he rots. And the wholetimewe're feeding prisoners.Ididn'tseeno grocery ontheway in.' 'The best target's theonestandingstill.We'rejustbeautiful,man.Sittingducks.' 'Myvery thoughts.' There wasapause.They were stillfeelingoneanotherout. 'Sowhat'stheword?' 'Desperate times , man . Desperate measures. The colonel's eating our time. Thecivilian sareeatingour food.Andthedyingaredead. It's calledlimitedresources.' 'Makessensetome.' 'Sowhoelseisin?' 'You two make twelve. Plus the mope, Shoat. He won't let g o of the cod e for hishomingdevice.' 'GivemeanhourwithShoat,I'llgiveyouhiscode.Andhismama'sphonenumber.' 'You're wasting your time. He gives that up, he knows he's dead. We just have to waituntilhe activates th ebox.Thenhe'sdogfood.' 'Whendowedoit?' 'Packyour toothbrush.Soon,realsoon.' 'Ow,' barked one.'Fuckingstatues.' 'Begladthey ain'treal.' 'Hangon,girls.What have wehere?' 'Coins!Lookatthis.' 'These arehandmade.Seethecutedges? They're old.' 'Fuckold.Thisstuff'sgold.' 'Abouttime.Andthere's morethisway.' 'And over here,too.Abouttimewefoundsomebooty.' The three separated , pluckin g coins from the groun d with all the eleganc e ofchicken sina yard. They worked farther and farther apart fromoneanother. Finallytheonewithabackward Raiders cap got down into a duckwalk with his rifleacrosshislap,whichfreed bothhandstosnatchat the treasure. 'Hey, guys,' he called,

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'mypocketsarefull.Rentmesomespaceinyour rack.' Anotherminutepassed.'Hey,' he yelled again, and froze. 'Guys?' His hands opened.The coinsdropped. Slowlyhereachedforhisrifle. Toolate,heheardthetinklingofjade. The Chinesehad a special word,ling-lung,to describe the musical jingling that jadejewelry made as aristocrats walked by. There was no telling what the hadals mighthave calledittwenty eonsearlier.Butasthe statue next to him came alive, the soundwasidentical. The mercenar y starte d t o rise . The proto-Aztec wa r clu b me t hi m o n the downstroke . Hi s head popped clear wit h surgica l neatness . Obsidia n reall y wassharpe rthanmodernscalpels. The statue shedits jade armor and became a man. Ikesockete d the club back into its terra-cotta hands, and hefted the rifle. Fair exchange,hethought.

The mutineerscarriedtherafts downto the sea and loaded them with the expeditionsupplies.Thiswasdonei nfullview of their commander, whom they had bound into awire cocoon and hung raving from the wall. 'Neither death, nor life, nor angels, norprincipalities, nor powers, no r things present, nor things to come, nor height, nordepth,noranyother creature shallbeableto separate usfromthe vengeance of God,'heshoute datthem. In their side room the prisoners could hear Walker. Love, not vengeance, thoughtAli,lyingonthefloor. The colonelhaditwrong. The quotationwasRomans, and it hadtodowiththeloveofGod,notHisvengeance.A mootpoint. Their guard lef t t o help load the getawa y vessels. He knew th e civilian s weren'tgoing anywhere. The time had come. Ike had given her all the advantage he could. She was going tohave toimprovisefrom hereon. Alidrew outtheknife. Troy liftedhishead.Shelaiditagainstherwristbondsandthebladewassharp. Therop epracticallydisintegrated. SherolledtofaceTroy. Spurrier heard them and looked over. 'What are you doing? ' he hissed. 'Are youcrazy?' She flexed her wrists and shoulders and got to her knees to unravel the wireleashin ghernecktothewall. 'Ifyoumakethemmad,they won't take uswiththem,'Spurrier said. Shefrownedathim.'They're nottakingus withthem.' 'Ofcoursethey are,'Spurrier said.Butshehad shattered hishope.'Justwait.' 'They'llbeback,'Alisaid.'Andwedon'twanttobehere.' Troy hadtheknife,andwent over toChelseaandPiaandSpurrier.

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'Getaway fromme,'Spurrier said. PiagrabbedAli'shandsandpulledherclose.She stared atAli,eyes wild. Her breathsmelle d like something buried. Beside her, Spurrier said, 'We shouldn't make themmad,Pia.' 'Stay, then,'Alisaid. 'What about her?' Tro y was kneelin g by the captiv e girl. Her eyes were on his,unwavering,watchful. The gir l might bolt for the entranc e o r start screamin g o r even tur n o n herliberators. On the othe r hand, leaving her was a death sentence. 'Bring her,' said Ali. 'Leave thetapeonhermouth,though.And keep her hands tied. And the wire aroundherneck,too.' Troy hadtheknifebladeunder her rope, ready to cut. He hesitated. The girl's eyesflickere dtoAli.Tinged withjaundice, her eyes were catlike. 'You keep her tied, Troy.That' s allI'llsay.' Spurrierrefusedtoescape.'Fools,'hehissed. Piastarted outthedoor,thenturnedback.'Ican't,'shesaidtoAli. 'Youcan'tstay here,'saidAli. 'HowcanI leave him?' AligraspedPia'sarmtopullher,thenletgo. 'I'msorry,'.Piasaid.'Becareful.'Alikissedherforehead. The fugitives stole from the room into the interior fortress. They had no lights, but thewalls'luminescence fostered theirprogress. 'I know a place,' Ali told them. They followed her without question. She found the stairsIke hadshown her. Chelseawaslimpingbadlyfromwhatever themercenarieshaddone. Ali helped her,and Troy helped the girl. At the top of the stairs, Ali led them through Ike's secretentranc eintothelighthouseroom. It was dark in the room, except for one tiny flame. Someone had pried open thefloorvault andemptiedit. Andleftasingle clay lamp burning. Ali lowered herself intothe vault , an d helped Chelsea descend . Tro y lowere d th e captiv e girl . Al i wassurprise dathowlightshewas. 'Ike'sbeenhere,'shesaid. 'It feels like a tomb,' said Chelsea. She had started shivering. ' I don' t want t o be here.' 'Itwasastoragevault withjars,'Alisaid.'They were filledwithoil. Ike's taken them somewhere.' 'Whereishenow?'

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'Stay here,'shesaid.'I'llfindhim.' 'I'llgowithyou,' said Troy, but reluctantly. He didn't want to leave the girl. He haddeveloped some kind of obsession with her during the pas t fe w days . Ali looked at Chelsea: she was in terrible shape. Troy would have to stay with them. Ali tried tothinktheway Ike would. 'Wait in here,' she said. 'Keep low. Don't make any sounds. We'll come back for youwhenit'ssafe.' The tinyflamelittheirdrawnfaces.Aliwanted to remain here with them, safe withthelight.ButIke wasoutthere , andhemightneedher. 'Take theknife,'Troy said. 'Iwouldn'tknowwhattodowithit,'Alisaid. ShecherishedTroy's andChelsea'slooksofhope.'Seeyousoon,'shesaid.

Their rafts rocked on the seiche. You couldn't feel or hear the tremors, but deeperdesign s were stirrin g th e se a wit h swells. The foo d and gear wer e lashe d withmuleskinner knots. They had the chain gun mounted, the spotlights on. It was goingto b e heav y goin g fo r eleve n men , but thei r cornucopi a promise d month s ofsustenanceandwouldlightenasthey exited. Half of the soldiers waited on the rafts while half went back to tidy up. They haddrawn straws forthe wet work.It wasdisgustingtothemthatShoataskedtowatch.You didn't leave witnesses alive, not even the walking dead. Long before they diedof starvation, any one of the survivors might pen some damning deposition. Thingslikethatcouldhauntyou.It mightbetenyears beforeanycolonistfoundthis fortress,but why riskthetestimony ofghosts?That waswhat had confounded them about thecolonel.He'dtreated thisasa calling,whenallalongitwasjustacrime. They worked from front to back and kept it professional. Each of their woundedcomrade sgota well-placedmercy shotbehindtheeyes. Walker they left alive, strungto the wall , babblin g scripture . Fuc k him . I n a millio n years , h e wasn' t going anywhere. All that remained wer e the civilian s in the sid e room. Two entered. 'What's thisbull?'oneshouted. Spurrier looked up, shielding Pia. 'They ran away. We could have gone with them,' hesaid.'Butlook,we stayed.' 'Dumbfuck,'theothersoldiersaid. They rolled two fragmentation grenades into the room and hugged the outer wall,then hosed what was left with a clip each. They returned to the front room. It wasquiet,nowthatthewoundedhadfinishedpleading .OnlyWalkerstillmoaned. 'Thatsucked,'saidoneofthemercenaries. 'Youain'tseennothing yet,' Shoatsaid.Hewas just finishing inserting another of hishomingcapsulesintothe wall.

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'Whatareyoutalkingabout?' 'Visualizewhirledpeas,'Shoatsaid. 'Hey, Shoat,' called another. 'Why keep stringin g those homers ? W e ain't evercomin gbackthisway.' 'Hewhoplantsa tree, plantsposterity,' Shoatpronounced. 'Shutup,mope.'

They watched from just below the water. Others occupied the heights, camouflagedwithpowderedrock, stone-still.Their composurewasreptilian.Or insect. A matter ofclans.Isaachadarrangedthemjustso. Hadthemercenaries thought to illuminate the cliffside, they might have detected afaint pulse, the rippl e of many lungs respirating. Thei r lights on the wate r simply ricochetedofftheoscillatingsurface. The humans thoughtthey were alone. The party of executioners appeared at the fortress gate, in no hurry. They walkedwithheavy legs,like peasantsattheend of the day. Until you've done it, you have noidea:Killingisaformofgravity. 'Vengeancewillbemine,'Walker'smadvoicebellowedfromthefortress. 'Haveaniceday,'someone muttered. The flicker of fire coruscated through the doorway. Someone had started a bonfirewiththelastofthe scientists'papers. 'We'regoinghome,boys,'thelieutenantcalledtohismenashewelcomedthem. The lanc e tha t impale d hi m bor e a beautifu l exampl e o f Solutrea n Ic e Agetechnology . The flint blade was long and leaf-shaped, with exquisite pressure flakingandasmearoftoxicpoisonmilked fromabyssal rays. It wasaclassicimpalement,driving straight up from the water and penetrating thelieutenant's anus precisely , pithing him the way, long ago, the lieutenant had readiedfrogsinjuniorhighschoolsciencelab. No one suspected. The lieutenan t staye d erect, o r nearly so . His head bowedslightly,butotherwise hiseyes stayed open,thesmilepinnedwide. 'Madeintheshade,Lewt,'oneofthesoldiersrepliedtohim. Down at the far end of the line of boats, a shooter calle d Grief sa t straddlin g therubber pontoon. He heard a sound like oil separating an d turned and the se a wasslidin gopen.There wasjustenoughtimeto se e a wall-eyed happy face before he wasseizedandpulledunder. The water sealedshutabove hisheels. The mercenaries spread out across th e sand , angling for different boat s beachedalon g the shore . Tw o carrie d thei r rifle s b y th e handle-sight . On e drape d his,cruciform ,acrosshisshoulders.

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'Let'sgo,pendejos,'calledoneoftheboatmen.'Icanfeeltheirghosts.' It wassaidthatRomanslingerscould hit a man-sized target at 185 meters. For therecord, the stone that cored Boom-Boom Jefferson was slung from 235 meters. Hisneighbor heard th e watermelon-lik e thum p through Boom-Boom's chest wall, and lookedtoseetheonce-notorious center for the Utah Jazz stiffen and drop like a hugetree decidingitwastime. Ten secondshadpassed. 'Haddie!'criedtheneighbor. They'd been through this before, so the surprise was not surprising. They knew toreact with no thought, t o simply pull the trigger and make noise and light. They hadno targets yet, but you didn't wait for targets, not with the hadals. In the firs t fewmoments , firepower was your one chance at jumbling their puzzle pieces and turningthepicturearound. And so they fired at the cliff walls. They fired at the sand. They fired at the water.The y firedatthesky. They triednottofireononeanother,butthatwasthe collateral risk. Their special loads gave spectacular results . The Lucifer round s struck rock and shattered into splinters of brilliant light, July Fourth with intent to kill. They plowedthe sand, blew up the water in arcing gouts. High overhead, the ceiling sparkled withlethalconstellations,andbitsofstoneraineddown. It worked.Haddiequit. Foraminute. 'Holdfire,'yelledaman.'Countout.I'mone.' 'Two,'yelledanother. 'Three.' There were only seven left. The mercenaries closest to the boats raced downshore. Three forged back towardthe fortress through molasses-thicksand. 'I'mhit.' 'Thelieutenant'sdead.' 'Grief?' 'Gone.' 'Boom-Boom?' 'Isitover? DidHaddieleave?' Thishadbeenthe pattern for weeks, hitand run. Thehadal sownedthenightina place where nightwas forever. 'FuckingHaddie.How'dthey findus?'

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Huddled just inside the fortress gate, Shoa t took in the scen e an d converted theodds.Hehadnotquitelef twhenthe attack began, and saw no reason to announce hisgoodhealth.Hetouchedthepouchcontaininghis homingdevice.It waslikea talismanto him, a source of comfort and great power. A way to make this dangerous world vanish. Withafewsimpletapsonthe keypad, he could eliminate the threat altogether. Thehadal s would turn into illusions. But so would the mercenaries , and they were stillusefultohim.Amongotherthings,Shoatdidn'tenjo ypaddling.Heheld his apocalypsepouch and considered: Use you now or use you later? Later, he decided . No harm inwaiting a few minute s mor e t o see how the dus t settle d out there. It seemed thehadals might have driven home their point, so to speak, an d boogied back int o the darkness. 'Whatshouldwedo?'shoutedasoldier. 'Leave. We got to leave,' yelled another. 'Everybody get onto the boats. We're safeonthewater.' Several oftherafts were driftingunmanned. The chaingunnerwaspaddlinghis ownboatbackto shore. 'Let's go, let's go!' he shouted to three comrades crouched against the fortress wall. Uncertain, th e three landboun d men stoo d an d peered aroun d fo r an y moreambushers . Seein g no one, they snapped fresh clips into their rifles and tried toprepare themselves for the sprint. The soldiers in the boats kept waving at them tocomealong. 'A hundred meters, ' on e of the trappe d mercenarie s estimated . ' I di d that innine-point-nin e once.' 'Notinsandyoudidn't.' 'Watchme.' They offloaded their packs and shed every extra ounce, their grenades and knivesandlightsandinflatable vests. 'Ready?' 'Nine-point-nine?You're really thatslow?'They were ready. 'Set.' A woman's cry fell upon them from the highest reaches of the fortress. Everyonehear dit. Even Ali, winding her way down through the fortress, stopped to listen, andknewthatTroy haddisobeyedher. The mercenaries looked up. It was the feral girl, leaning from the windo w of thetower overlooking the sea . Wit h the tap e pulled from her mouth , she unleashed asecondcallfrom deep in her throat. Her ululation echoed upon them. It felt like theirown hearts liftingacrossthe waters. Shecould have beencallingtotheearth orthesea.OrinvokingGod. Asifsummoned,thesandcametolife. Alireachedawindowintimetosee.

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Midway between the fortress and the water, a patch of beach bulged and grew intoasmall mountain. The hump rose up and took on the dimensions of an animal. Thesan d guttered from its shoulders and he became a man. The mercenaries were tooastoundedtolay waste tohim. He was not muscular the way an athlete or bodybuilder is . But the fles h on himstretched inropy plates. I t seemed to have grown on his bones out of need, and thengrownsomemore,withlittlesymmetry. Ali stared downathim. Hisbulkandheightandthesilverbands on his arms evinced pedigree of some sort.Hewasimposing,astallas mostofthemercenaries, even majestic. For an instant shewonderedifthisbarbaricdeformity mightnotbethe Satanshewasseeking. The mercenaries' spotlights fixed his details for all to see. Ali was close enough to recognizehim as a warrior simply from the distribution of his scars. It was a forensic fact that primitive fighters classically presented their left side in battle. From foot to shoulder this barbarian's left hemisphere showed twice the old injuries as his right.Hisleft forearm had been sliced and broken from parrying blows. The calcific growthsprouting from his head had a fluted texture, and the tip of one horn had beensnappedinbattle. In his right hand he carried a samurai sword stolen in the sixteenth century. Withhis ferocious eyes and earth-painted skin, he could have been one of the terra-cotta statues inside the fortress keep. A demon guarding the sanctum. Then he spoke, anditwasLondon-accented.'Willyoubeg,lad?'he said to his first kill. She had heard this voice over theradio.Shehadseen Ike's eyes growwideattheremembrance ofhim.Isaac shookthesandfrom his body and faced the fortress, oblivious to his enemies.He searched the heights , dragging masses of air in through his nostrils to catch ascent. He smelled something. Then he called back to the girl, and there wa s noquestio nwhatwashappening. They hadstolenthebeast'sdaughter.Nowhellwantedherback. Beforethesoldierscouldpulltheirtriggers,thetrap closed. Isaac leaped on the first soldierandsnappedhisneck. The main raft pitched upward and dawdled on edge, its occupants windmilling intotheblack water. More lance s harpoone d u p throug h th e raf t floors , an d a desperate manmachine-gunnedhi sownfeet. Spotlightsslewed.Strobes auto-activated. Obsidian hailed down on hadals and humans alike. The last of Walker's outfit facedtheir own weapons here and there, taken from their dea d comrades over the pastmonths . Those who could figure out the safety mechanisms and triggers wreaked asmuchhavocontheirownkindasonthesoldiers.Many simplyused theriflesasclubs.The three soldiers trapped near the fortress tried for the doorway, but hadalspouncedfro m the walls and blocked their way. Backed against the wall, one bellowed 'Rememberthe Alamo!' and his partner, a macho from Miami, said, 'Fuck the Alamo, viva la Raza,' and nailed him through hi s brainpan. The thir d soldie r shot thegang-banger on principle, then sucked the barrel and triggered his last round. Thehadal swere properly impressedby thesuicides. Outonthe water, thechaingunhosed arcs of light into the black horizon. When thebeltfeedfinallyjammed,th elonelastgunnergrabbed a paddle and set out across thesea. In the silence that followed, you could hear

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his dogged flight, stroke by stroke,likethebeatingofwings. Inside the fortress, Colonel Walker was feasted upon alive. They didn' t bothercuttinghimdownfromthe wall,butsimply carved piecesoffwhileheraved scripture.

High in the honeycombed fortress, Ike raced in search of Ali. The minute he'd heardthewildgirlcry out,he' dstarted hisrace. Still dripping water from his hiding place at theedgeofthesea,hesprintedupstairsanddown corridors. He might have known Ali would use his knife to free the others. Of course a nunwouldn'tknowwhentolet well enough alone. If only she had done as he'd meant andlefttheothershog-tiedtotheirfates,her disappearancewould have beenimmaculate. This storm of hadals would have swept through like a summe r shower. They wouldhave hadtheirwashing of spears, then gone on and left Ike hidden with Ali, none the wiser. Instead the Peopl e were now combing this cliff structure, hunting for theirproperty, that feral girl. They would not stop until they got what the y wanted, heknew ,andthatwouldincludeAlinow.Oneway or another,thatgirl would betray her,nomatter whatkindnessAlihadshownher. HehadtofindAlifirst,and take itfromthere. The hadalassaulthadbeencrystallizingfordays. In their ignorance, Walker and hismercenarieshadfailedtose ethesigns.Buttuckedinacubbyholeinthe cliffs, Ike hadbeen watching hadals arrive almost from the hour Walker landed, and their strategywa sclear.They wouldwaitforthesoldierstobegindepartingonboats,and duringthetransition from land to sea, the y woul d attack. Anticipatin g all of that, Ik e hadarrange d diversions and scouted hiding places and selected what parts of the humandepot he wanted for himself. I n addition to Ali, he wanted tw o hundred pounds ofmilitary rations and a raft. They didn't need more. Two hundred pounds would feed hertothesurface.Andhewouldliveofftheland. Ike's one hope was his disguise. The hadals did not know he was operating on theirfringe,dressed like them, in powdered rock and ochre and rags of the human enemy.For months he had been eating as they ate, harvesting creatures of all kinds, feedingonthe meat, warm or cold, raw or jerked. He had their smell now, and some of theirstrengths. His spoor was hadal spoor. His sweat tasted like hadal sweat. They wouldnotbelookingforhim.Yet. He reached the tower stairs and dashed t o the top . Embellished like the savage, riggedwithwargear,allbutnaked,Ike burst intotheroom. Chelseawasperchedinthewindow,legsout,waitingasifforabusride. Toher, what entered was a hadal beast. Chelsea tipped herself outward just as Ikeyelled ,'Wait!'Inthe finalinstantsheheardhim. 'Ike?' shesaid.But there was no getting back from gravity what she had given. Shetumbledfromthe window. Ike didn't waste a second glance. He went straight to the vault in the floor, and itwasempty. Alihadleft. Troy andthegirlwere nowheretobeseen. The great circle was wrapping him again. That was the way. Everyone had a circle.Hehadlostawoman

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once,and now was losing Ali. Was that his fate, to play Orpheustohisown heart? HehadalmostsurfacedfromthemazewithAli,andnow the maze was beginning allover again. God help me, h e thought. He looked down, and it seemed that the newlabyrint h was growing from his feet, extending in Daedelian twists, his next millionmiles. Start from scratch, he told himself. It was the old paradox. He had to lose hispathinordertofindit. Ali had left no clues. He looked. No footprints. No blood trail. No blaze marks withherfingernails. He ranged the room, trying to get a sense o f things. Who had been here . When. Wha thadmotivated theirleaving.Littlecametohim.Maybe she had taken Troy andthegirlwithher,thoughitseemed unlikely Ali would have left Chelsea alone. It cameto Ike. Alihadgonesearchingforhim. The realization was not immaterial. It meant Ali would be looking for him in placesshethoughthemightbe.I fhe could anticipate her guesswork, then he might yet findher. But the prospect was bleak. She wouldn't know to look in the cliffside pockets,two hundred feet off the deck, or in his hideout, burrowed among sand worms and tuber clams.She'dbelookingthroughoutthefortress, nowswarmingwithhadals. Ike weighedhisoptions.Discretionwassafer,buta waste of precious time. He couldcreepandstealthroughth ebuilding,butthiswas a race, not hide-and-seek. The onlyalternative wastoreveal himselfandhopeshewould dothesame. 'Ali!' he yelled. He went to the doorway and shouted her name and listened, thenwenttothewindowand shoutedagain. Far below, hadals crouching around their human windfall glanced up at him . Theboat s were being stripped. Supplies were being looted. Rifles were chattering in long,randombursts, allforthenoiseand fireworks. Someofthebiggermercenarieswere under the knife, he saw, providing impressivestringsofmeatthatwouldb ecured over heatsourcesorpickled in brine. At least twohad been captured alive and were being bound fo r transport. Chelsea's body was inuseby a pack of skinny fighters pretending she was a live captive. Clan leaders oftengave decease d propert y t o thei r follower s a s a vicariou s experience , a wa y ofamplifyin gtheirownprestige. There were agoodhundredormorehadalson the beach, probably that many morewending through the fortress proper. I t was a huge number of warriors to bringtogether in one place. Already Ike had counte d eleven different clans. They had laidtheirtrap well;itsuggested aknowledgeofhumansthatwas extraordinary. Ike darted his head out the window. Hadals were scaling the fortress face , allmergingtowardhim.He tookquick, careful aim at the amphorae he had strung alongthe fortress crown, and fired three times, each time rupturing a clay vessel andignitingitsoil.In sheets of flame, the oil poured down the wall. The hadals scrambledright and left on the vertical face. Some jumped, but several were caught in the firstphase. The blue flames curdled down the stone in diminishing streams. A storm of arrowsand stones rattled against the wal l outside his window. Some arced inside . He had theirattentionnow. Ike could hear more scurrying up the tower stairs, and calmly stepped to the doorway.Heputasingleshot

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throughthemassofamphoraeropedabove the landing.Oil from twenty jar s gushe d dow n the stairs , a cataract o f fire. Hadal screamsguttered up. Ike went to the rear window and called Ali's name again. This time he saw a singletiny light working dow n the corkscrew trail, a half-mile deep. That would be human,he knew. But which human? He reached fo r his stolen M-16. He'd shot the clip dry,bu titssniperscopestillworked. He thumbed the On switch and swung it through the depths and found the light. It was Troy down there, with the feral girl. Ike smearedhi scheekagainsttheriflestock.Aliwasnowheretobeseen. That waswhenheheardher. Her echo seemed to rise up inside his skull, and through the flames in the landingandfromdeepwithinthe building.Heputhisearagainstthestone.Her voice was stillvibrating,comingthroughthewalls. 'Oh,dearGod,'shesuddenlygroaned,andhisheart twisted inhischest.They hadher. 'Justwait,'shepleaded.Thistimeher voice was more distinct. She was trying to becourageous,heknewher. Andheknewthem. Thenshesaidsomethingthatfrozehim.ShespokethenameofGod.Inhadal. There wasnomistakingit.Sheplacedtheclicksandglottalhaltandwordsjustright.Ike wasstunned.Wherecould she have learned that? And what effect would it have?H ewaited,headtightagainstthestone. Ike waswildwithfearforher.Hewashelplesshere. He had no idea where she was,on the floo r below or in some deeper room. Her voice seemed to be comin g fromthroughoutthe fortress. He wanted to run in search of her, but didn't dare leave thisonesweet spotonthewall.Heliftedhisear,andhervoiceended.Heset it backon theplanedstone,andshewas there again.'Here,'shesaid.'I have this.' 'Keeptalking,'hemurmured,hopingtounravelherlocation.Instead shestarted playingaflute. He recognized that sound. It was that bone flute Ike had discarded months ago onthe river. Ali must have kept it as a memento or artifact. Her effort was little morethanafewtootsandawhistle.Didshereally thinkthatwouldspeaktothem? 'Well,Ike,' shesuddenlysaid.Butshewastalkingtoherself.Sayinggood-bye.Ike gottohisfeet.Whatwas happening? Herushedtotheoppositewindowasa group emerged from the gateway. Ali was intheircenter.Asthey crossedthebeach,shewastiedandlimping,butalive. 'Ali,'heshouted. Shelookedupathisvoice. Abruptly asimianshape reared upinthewindow, toes scraping for purchase on thesill. Ike tumbled backward, but it had him, ripping long furrows wit h its nails. Ikepulle d the pink sling across his chest an d slid his shotgun underarm, fro m back tohand ,andpulledthetrigger. When he saw her again, Ali was on one of the rafts , and not alone. The raft wasmoving away from the beach , drawn fro m beneath b y amphibians. She sat i n theprow, looking up at him. Ali's captor turned t

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o follow her glance, but was too distantfor Ike to identify. He reached for the night scope and panned across the water, invain. The rafthadpassedaroundthecliffside. That wasallIke hadtimefor. Hewasthelastoftheirenemy, andthey were climbingthewallsto get him. Quicklynow,Ike fishedabove the window. The primacord lay where he'd tucked it in a niche.Stealing a demolition kit from the mercenarie s had been disgracefull y simple . He'dhad days to place the C-4 and hide the wires and rig the heavy jar s of oil. With two deft motions, he spliced the leads to the hell box and gave the handle a sharp twistandapull-outanda push-in. The fortress seemed tomeltinuponitself. The amphoraeofoil erupted like sunlightalongthecrownofthe building, even asthecrown shattered torubble. There had never been such pure golden light in this benighted cavity. For the firsttime in 160 million years , the chamber became visible in its entirety; and it was liketheinsideofawomb,withthe matrix ofstress fractures forveins. Ali got one good look, then closed her eyes to the heat. In her mind, she imaginedIke sittinginth eraftacrossfrom her, wearing a vast grin while the pyre reflected offthelensesofhisglacierglasses.That puta smileonher face. In death, he had become thelight.Thenthedarkness heaved inagain,andthefigurewasnotIk e but this othermutilatedbeing,andAliwasmoreafraidthanever.

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Here I stand; I can do no other. God help me.Amen.

– MARTIN LUTHER, Speech at the Diet of Worms

26

THE PIT

Beneath the Yap and Palau Trenches

She had been stalking him for two days, gaining insights as long and winding as thetrail into the great pit. The human was limping. He had a wound, possibly several.Tim eandagainheexhibitedfear. Was he in true flight or not, though? She didn't know this human well. In the briefmoments she'd seen hi m in action, he'd seemed more adept than the others. Butoutwardly he appeared to be wearing down. The tortuous path was catching up with her,too. She licked the wall where he had leaned, and his taste quickened her decision. Shestill lacked information, but wa s hungry , an d his salt and meat were suddenly tootempting .She gave intoher stomach.It wastimeto make the kill. She began to closethegap. It took another day of careful pursuit . Sh e nursed thei r distance, careful not tostartle him.There were to omanyhuntertalesofanimalstakingfrightandboltingintosome abyss, never to be retrieved. Also, she didn't want to run him any more thannecessary. That wasted the energy in his flesh, and already she considered his fleshhers.

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Finallythey reachedasqueeze, where boulders had all but choked the passage. She sawhimpuzzling over thejumbleofstone,watchedhim spy the hole near his feet. He got down and wormed into the pass. She darted forward to hamstring him while hislegswere stillexposed .Asifanticipating her, he drew his legs in quickly. She loweredtheknifeand squatted down,waitingwhilehis soundsdiminishedashewentdeeper.Atlastitgrew quietinthere, and she knelt and thrust herself into the opening. Theston e felt slightly soapy and amphibian from so many bodies, hadal and animal,slithering through. She prided herself for being nearly as quick horizontally as on her feet.Inchildhoodracesthrough suchnarrowpassages,shehadusuallywon. The squeeze passage was longer than she'd thought, though not as long as some,whichcouldgoonfordays . There were legends about those, too. And ghost stories, ofwholetribes snakingtheirway intoathinvein,on ebehindtheother,onlytoreach thefeet of a skeleton that bottle-necked the tunnel. She had no qualms about this one:there wastoomuchfreshanimalsmellforittobeacul-de-sac. The passagetightened,and there wasan awkward kinksideways andup. It was thekind of bend that took a contortionist shift. Every now and then she' d encounteredthesepuzzles, where your kneesorshoulders mightpopoutofjointifthemove wasn'tcarefully rehearsed. She was limber and small, and even so it took tw o false starts todecipher the move. She torqued through on her back, surprised that the larger manhad madeitthroughwithsuchfacility. Sheemerged,knifefirst. She was just clambering to her feet when he stepped from behind. He dropped arop e around her throat and pulled. She slashed backward, but he kneed he r i n thespine and that flattened her. He was fast and strong, noosing her wrists and elbowsandcinchingtheropetight. The capture took ten seconds. It was accomplished in complete silence. Only nowdidsherealizewhohad beenstalkingwhom. The limp,the awkward visibility,thefear –all a ploy. He'd offered himself as a weakling, and she'd fallen for it. She started toscreech her outrage, only to taste the rope across her tongue as he finished gaggingandtrussingher. It occurredtoherthathemightbeahadal disguised with human frailties. Then she saw by the fain t light of the ston e that he was indeed a human, and was indeedwounded.Byhismarkingsshereadthathehadbeen a captive once, and immediatelyknewwhichone.From their legends, she recognized the renegade who had caused somuch destruction t o her people . He was renowned . Feared an d despised. The y considere d him a devil, and the story of his deception was taught to children as anexampleof estrangement anddisorder. He spoke to her in pidgin hadal, his clicks and utterances almost impenetrable. Hispronunciationwas barbaric, and his question was stupid. If she understood correctly,the traitor wanted to know which way the center lay, and that alarmed her, for thePeople could scarcely bear more harm. He gestured downward in the direction they were already headed. Thinking he might be lost, and could be made more lost , she calmlyindicatedtheoppositedirection.Hesmiledknowinglyandpatted herhead–anegregiousifplayfu linsult–andsaidsomethingin his flat language. Then he tugged at herleashandstarted herdownthetrail. At no time in the mercenaries' captivity had the girl been very concerned. She hadbeenaloneamongthem, and that was like being a shadow to your own body. Her lifewas simply a part of the greater sangh a,or community, and without the sangh a she was essentially dead to herself. That was the way. But now this

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terrible enemy wasbringingher back to life, back into the People's midst, and she knew he meant to use her against the sangh a in some way. And that would be worse than a thousanddeaths.

Ike had spent a week finding the girl, and then another week baiting her. Where thetrail led, he could onl y guess. Bu t she had seemed set on following it, and so Ike trusted itsomehowledto where hewantedtogo. For seven months he had been gatherin g evidenc e of the hadals ' diaspora. Stop,open your senses, and you could feel the whole underworld in motion, almost as if itwere drainingintoa deeper recess. This deepeningpit,hefeltcertain,wasthat recess.It was reasonable to think it might lead to the center of that mandala map they hadfound in the fortress . Somewhere down here must li e the hu b of all subterranean roads.There hewouldfindananswertotheriddleofthePeople's vanishing. There hewouldfindAli.Withthegirlin hand,Ike feltready atlasttoproceed. Knowingshewouldtry tokillherself rather thanabet his invasion, Ike searched thenaked girl twice. He ran his fingers along her flesh and found three obsidian flakes embedded subcutaneously – one along the insid e of her bicep, the other two on herinnerthighs–forjustsuchan emergency. Withtheknife,hemade quick incisions just largeenoughtoextrude thetinyrazorbladesandridherofthoseoptions. Thiswasthehostagehe'dneeded,butalsoshewasahadalcaptive who,like himself,had managed to thrive among the hadals . Ike studied her . Virtuall y every humanprisoner he'd encountered down here had bee n sickly and demented and merelywaitin gforuseaspackanimals, meat, or sacrifice, or to bait other human s down. Notthisone.Asmuch as one could command her own destiny, she commanded. Thirteenyear s old,Ike guessed. The girlwasnotasimposingasshelooked.Infact,shewas almost slight. Her secretla y in her statel y presence and wonderful self-sufficiency. Ik e saw th e cla n marksaround her eyes and along her arms, but didn't recognize the clan. Clearly she hadbeenraisedahadalfrom early on. Just as clearly she had been cultivated for important breeding. He r breasts wereimmaculat e and unpainted, two white fruit s standin g out from the accumulatio n oftribal symbols covering the rest of her body. In that way, suckling infants weregrante d peac e fo r their firs t mont h or so of life. With time the child would beginlearningtheway by readinghermother'sflesh. Over the past two weeks he had watched her purify herself with blood and water repeatedly, washing th e mercenaries' sins off her body. Sh e smelled clean, and herbruiseswere healingquickly. Her only other possession besides the obsidian blades was her trail food, a poorly curedforearmand clawedhandwiththeHelios wristwatch still attached. Much of thegoodmeatwasgone.She'd been getting down to the bone. Ike had passed the rest ofTroy twelve days ago. His own watch had been ruined in the destruction of the fortress, so he took thisone. It was January 14 a t 0240 hours , not that time ha d relevance anymore. Thealtimete r read 7,950 fathoms. They were over nine miles below sea level, deeper bymile s than any recorded human descent. That in itself was significant. For the depthitselfheldpromiseofahadalark,orstronghold. Muchtheway Aliand her handlers – that Jesuit and his bunch – had hypothesizedacentralizedhadal warlor d through sheer deduction, Ike had been piecing together aprimary refuge to closet all the vanished

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hordes. They had to have gone somewhere.It wasn't likely they had scattered to multiple hiding places, or armies and colonistswould have been straying across them. H e had seen a rendezvous of several clans once,a matter of a few dozen hadals squatting in a chamber. The meeting had lasted many days whilethey toldstoriestooneanotherandexchangedgifts.It was a cyclicalevent, Ik e ha d figured out , part o f a nomadi c seasona l roun d dictate d b y theavailabilit yoffoodorwater alonganestablishedroute. He'd learned in the Himalayas that there were circles within circles. The circle, orkor,around the central temple in Lhasa, for instance, lay within the ko r around thewhole city, which lay within the ko r around th e whol e country. He was mor e thaneve r convinced that hadals adhered t o some ancient kor down here, a circle that revisited sometraditionalasylumorark. The fortress hadstrengthened his theory with its antiquity and its obvious purposeasaway station along a trade route. Above all, the assault on the fortress had sealedhis hunch. Against such a small group of human marauders, the hadals had mountedan attack inunusuallyabundantnumbers.Moreimportant,they ha d attacked with anextraordinary variety of clans. Haddie was massing down here in a place they meantto keep secure,aplaceasoldastheirracialmemory. Andso, rather than return totheseaandtry to track Ali'scaptorsat a disadvantageof weeks, Ike chose to keep descending. If he was right, they would all be meetingsoone r rather than later, and now he wouldn't be showing up empty-handed. In themeantime, whether it was days or months or years, Ali would need to use her witsand inner strength to survive without him. He could not spare her from what he hadsuffered at the beginning of his captivity, and he could not afford despair, so he triedtomakehis memory blank.He triedtoforgetAlialtogether. One morning, Ike woke dreaming of Ali. It was the girl, though, her arms bound,straddlin g him, kneadin g him through his pants. She was offering herself fo r hispleasure, her body ripe, chest high. Her loins moved sinuously in a figure-eight, andIke wastempted, butonlyforamoment. 'You're a good one,' he whispered wit h genuine admiration. The girl used everyadvantage , every means. And she utterly despised him. That had been young Troy'sdownfall ,hisinabilitytoseepasthis infatuation. The boy had succumbed to this sameseduction,Ike wassure,andthathadmeanthisend. Ike liftedthegirltooneside.It wasnotherblatantmanipulationorhermenacethatgave himpause,orhisdreamof Ali.Rather, the girl was familiar to him somehow. Hehad met her before , and it unsettled him, because it must have been during hiscaptivity and she would have been a young child. But he couldn't remember suc h achild. Day by day, they plunged deeper. Ike remembered the geologists' belief that amillionyears agoabubbleof sulfuricacidhadblossomedfromthemantleand ravagedthes e cavities into the upper lithosphere. As they wended into the vast, uneven pit,Ike wonderedifthismight not have been the very avenue that acid bloom had cut inrisingupfromthedeeps.It appealedtothemountaineerinhim, the physical mysteryo fit.Howdeep couldthispitbe?Wheredidtheabyss becomeunbearable? The girlfinishedthearmbone.Ike locatedanestofsnakes,andthat gave themfoodfor another week. A stream of water joined their trail one day, and thereafter theyha d fresh water. It tasted like the abyssal sea, which suggested the sea leaked intothispitasitwasfedby higher rivers. At 8,700 fathoms – almost ten mile s deep – they reached a ledge overlooking acanyon. The stream of water joined others and became a waterfall that leaped intofreefall . The stone was shot through with

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fluorines, providing a ghostly luminescence.They were standing at the rim of a hanging valley, partwa y u p the wall . Theirwaterfallwasoneofhundredsthreadingthewalls. Theirpathsnakedacrossthe shield of olive stone, carved into solid rock, where thenaturalfissures gave out .Chunksofenormousstalactitebridgedasection. Iron chainstraversed blankspots. The climbdowntook all of Ike's attention. The pathway was old and bordered by aprecipicefallinga thousandfeet tothefloor. The girl decided this was her opportunitytoterminate therelationship.She abruptly pitchedherselfofftheedge,bodyand soul.It was a good effort and almost took Ike over with her, but he managed to pull herkickingandthrashingbackto safety. Forthenext three days hehadtobe on constantguard againstany further suchepisodes. Near th e bottom , fog drifted i n big ragged islands , like New Mexico clouds. Ikethough t the waterfall s mus t b e feedin g the fog. They came to a series of broken columnsforming a sprawling course of polygonal stairs. Each column had snapped offat a ninety-degree angle , exposing neat , fla t tops . Ik e notice d th e girl' s thighstremblin gfromthedescent,and gave hera rest. They were eating little, mostly insects and some of the shoots topping reeds that grewby the water. Ike could have gone scavenging, but chose not to. Progress aside,he was using the hunger to make the gir l more pliable . They were deep i n enemyterritory , and he meant to get deeper without her setting off any alarms. He figuredhungerwaskinderthantightenedropes. The soundofwaterfallspouringfromthewallsmadeasteady thunder. They movedamongfinsofrockthatsliced thefogandmenacedthemwithfalse trails. They passed skeletonsofanimalsthathadgrown exhausted inthe maze. The fog had a pulse to it, ebbing and flowing. Sometimes i t lowered aroun d theirheads or feet. It was only by chance that Ike heard a party of hadals approachingthroughonesuchtidalbankoffog. Ike wasted no time bulldogging his prisoner to the ground before she could makeany trouble. They stretched flat, bellies to the stone, and then for good measure heclimbed on top of her an d clamped one hand over her mouth. She struggled, but quicklyranoutofbreath.Hesettled hischeekontoherthickhair,andhis eyes rangedbeneaththeceilingoffog.Its coldmasshungjustinchesabove thestone. Suddenly a foot appeared by Ike's head. It seemed to reach down from the fog. He could have grabbed the ankle without reaching. Its toes were long. The foot gripped the stone floor as if shoveling gravity. The arch had flattened wide over a lifetime oftravels. Ike looked at his own fingers, and they appeared thi n and weak next to thatbrute testament ofcrackedandyellownailsandveinedweight. The foot relinquished its hold upon the earth as its mate set down just ahead. The creature walkedon,soft asaballerina. Ike's mindraced.Sizesixteen, atleast. The creature wasfollowedby others.Ike countedsix.Or seven. Oreight.Weretheysearchin g for him and th e girl? He doubted it . Probably it was a hunting party, orinterceptors,theirstone-age equivalentof centurions. The paddingoffeet stoppednotfarahead.SoonIke couldhearthehadalsat the siteofakill,crackingsticks. Bones,heknew.Bythesoundofit,theirprey had been largerthan hominid. Then he heard what sounded like strips of carpet being torn. It wasskin, he realized. They were rawhiding the dead thing, whatever it was.

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He wastempted to wait until they left, then go scavenge the remains. But while the fog held,hegotthegirlon herfeet andthey madeabroadarcaroundtheparty. The panels of stone grew wild with aboriginal scrawl, old and new. The hadal script –cutorpaintedtenthousandyears ago–overlaidimagesoverlaidonotherimages.Itwa sliketext foxingthrough text inoldbooks,aghostlanguage. They continued through the labyrinth , Ik e leading his hostage b y the rope . Like barbarians approachin g Rome, they passe d increasingl y sophisticate d landmarks.The y walked beneath eroded archways carved from the bedrock. The trail became atangle of once smoothly laid pavers buckled by eons of earth movement. Along oneuntouched portion, the path lay perfectly flat, and they walked for half a mile upon a mosaicofluminouscobbles. Among these fins of rock, the thunder of waterfalls was muted . The canyon floorwould have been flooded if not for canals that cleverly channeled the water along thesidesoftheirpath.Hereand there the acequias had broken down with time and theywade d through water. For th e mos t part the syste m was intact . Occasionally theyhear dmusic, and it was water passing through the remains of instruments that werebuil tintothe walkway. They were getting close to the center, Ike could tell from the girl's apprehension.Also,they reachedalong bankofhumanmummiesbracketingthetrail. Ike andthegirlmadetheirway between them.WhatwasleftofWalkerandhismen had been tied standing up, thirty of them. Their thighs and biceps had been rituallymutilated. They looked barrel-chested because thei r abdomen s had been emptied. The eyes hadbeenscoopedout and replaced with marble orbs, round and white. Theston e eyes were slightly too large, which gave them a ferocious, bulging, insect stare.Calvin o was there, and the black lieutenant, and finally Walker's head. As an act of contempt ,they hadlacedWalker'sdriedheart intohisbeardforall to see. If they hadrespected himasanenemy , itwould have beeneatenonthespot. Ike was glad now that he'd starved his prisoner. At full strength, she would have presented a serious challenge to his stealth. As it was, she could barely walk a milewithoutresting.Soonshecouldfeastandbe free,hehoped.AndAli–the visitor in hisdreamseachnight–wouldbe restored tohim. OnJanuary23,thegirl attempted todrownherselfin one of the canals, leaping intothewater andwedgingher bodyunderanoutcrop.Ike hadtodragherout, and it wasalmosttoolate.Hecuttheropegagand finally got the water out of her lungs. She laylimpby hisknees,defeated andill.Exhausted by theirbattle,both rested. Somewhat later she began singing. Her eyes were still closed. It was a song for herown comfort, sung softly, in hadal, with the clicks and intonations of a private verse.A t first Ike had no idea what it was, her singing was so small. Then he heard, and itwaslikebeingshotthroughtheheart. Ike rockedbackonhisheels,disbelieving.Helistenedmoreclosely. The words wereto o intricate fo r his small lexicon. But the tun e wa s there , scarcel y a whisper: 'AmazingGrace.' The songsenthimreeling.It wasfamiliartoher,andbeloved,hecouldtell,as it wasto him. This was the last thin g he had ever heard from Kora, her singing as she sankintotheabyss beneath Tibet so many years ago. It

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was the very anthem he had casthimself into the darkness for. I once was lost, but now am found / Was blind, butnowIsee. Shehadputherownwordstoit,butthetunewasidentical. Hehadtaken Isaac'sclaimoffatherhoodtobethe truth, but saw no resemblance tothatbeast atall.Promptedb y thesong,Ike nowrecognizedKora's features in the girl.Ike groped for other explanations. Perhaps the gir l had been taught the melody byKora .OrAlihad sung it to her. But for days, he had been carrying a vague, troublingsenseof already knowingher. There was something about her cheekbones and forehead, the way that jaw thrustforwar d in moments o f obstinacy, and the general length of her body. Other detailsdrewhisattention,too.Coulditreally be? So much was the image of her mother. Butsomuchwasnot,hereyes, theshapeofherhands,thatjaw. Wearilysheopenedhereyes. He had not seen Kora in them because they were notKora's turquoise eyes. Maybe he was wrong. And yet the eyes were familiar. Then itstruck him.Shehadhiseyes. Thiswashisown daughter. Ike sagged against the wall. Her age was right. The color of her hair. He compared their hands, and she had his same long fingers, his same nails. 'God,' he whispered.Whatnow? 'Ma.You.Where,'hesaidinhisfractured hadal. She quit singing. Her eyes rode up to his, and her thoughts were easy to read. She sawhisdaze,andit suggested anopportunity.But when she tried prying herself fromthe wet stone,herbodyrefusedto cooperate. 'Pleasespeak moreclearly,animalman,'shesaidpolitely,inhighdialect. To Ike's ear, she had expressed something like What? He tried again, reversing hisquestionandfumbling forthe right syntax and possessive. 'Where. You own. Mother.Tobe.' She snorted, and he knew his attempts sounded like grunting to her. All the while she kept her eyes directed away from his knife with the black blade. That was herobjec tofdesire,Ike knew.Shewantedtokil lhim. Thistime he traced a sign on the ground, then linked it with another sign. 'You,' hesaid.'Mother.' Shemade a gentle sweeping motion with her fingers, and that was his answer. Onedidnotspeakaboutthe dead.They becamesomeone–orsomething–else. And sinceyoucouldnever besurewhoorwhatformthat reincarnationmight have taken,it wasmostjudicioustogivethedeadnomention.Ike letitgoatthat. Of course Kor a was dead . An d i f sh e wa s not , there woul d probabl y b e norecognizin g whatwasleft.Yet here was their legacy. And he needed her as a pawn totrade away forAli.That had been his working plan. Suddenly it felt as though the liferafthehadcraftedfrom wreckage hadjust wrecked all over again. It wasexcruciating,theappearanceofadaughterhehadnever known,changed intowhathehadalmostbeen changedinto.Whatwas he supposed to do now, rescue her?Andwhatthen?Obviouslythehadalshadtaken herinandmadeheroneofthem. Shehadnoideawho he was or what world he came from. To be honest, he had little ideahimself.Whatkindofrescue was that? He looked at the girl's thin, painted back. Since capturing her, he had treated herlikechattel. The only

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thing good to say was that he had not beaten or raped or killedher.Mydaughter?Hehunghishead. How could he possibly trade away his own flesh and blood, even for a woman heloved? But if he did not, Ali would remain in their bondage forever. Ike tried to clearhis mind. The girl was ignorant of her past. However harsh, she had a life among thehadals. To take her out of here would mean tearing her by the roots from the only people she knew. And to leave Ali meant... what? Ali could not possibly know he hadsurvived the fortress explosion,muchlessthathewassearchingforher.Likewise,shewouldnever knowifhe turnedaroundanddraggedthischildaway fromthedarkness.Indeed,knowingher, even if she did know, Ali would approve. And where would that leave him?Hehadbecomeacurse.Everyone heloveddisappeared. Heconsideredletting the girl go. But that would only be cowardice on his part. Thedecisio nwashisto make. He had to make it. It was one or the other, at best. He wastoomuchofarealistto waste amoment imaginingthewholehappyfamilycould makeitout.Hewastormented therest ofthatnight. Whenthegirlawoke,Ike presented herwitha meal of larvae and pallid tubers, and loosenedherropes.He knewitwouldonlycomplicatematters to restore her strength,andthattheslightestguiltathavingdepletedthechild wasadangerousmoralism.Buthecouldnolongergoonstarving hisowndaughter. Guessingshewouldnever tellittohim,heaskedhername.She averted her eyes at the rudeness. No hadal would give such power to a slave. Soon after he started herdownwardonthetrail,thoughmoreslowlyin considerationofherfatigue. The revelation tortured him. After his return to the human side, Ike had vowed tokeep his choices black and white. Stic k t o your code. Stray, and you died. If youcouldn'tdecideamatter in three seconds,itwas toocomplicated. The simplestthingby far,thesafest thing, would have been to cut loose and escapewhile he could. Ike had never been a believer in predestination. God didn't do it to you,youdidittoyourself.Butthe present situation contradictedhim. The mystery o f it weighed o n Ike, an d their slo w descent slowe d more. Theheavines shefelthad nothing to do with their altitude, now eleven miles deep. To thecontrary, as the air pressure thickened, he was engorged with more oxygen, and the effectwasa hardy lightnessofthekind one felt coming down off a mountain. But nowthe unwanted effect of so much oxygen in his brain was mor e thought s an d more questions. Though he couldn't say exactly how, Ike was certain he must have selected eachcircumstance leadin g to his own downfall. And yet what choices had his daughtermade to be born in darkness and never know the light or her true father or her own people?

*

The journey down was a journey o f water sounds. Blindfolded, Ali passed th e firstnumbe r of days

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listening to the sea scythe by as amphibians drew their raft on. The next days wer e spen t descendin g alongside cascades an d behind immens e falls.Finally , reaching more even ground, she walked across streams bridged with stones.The water washerthread. They kept her separate from the two mercenaries who'd been captured alive. Butonone occasion her blindfold slipped and she saw them in the perpetual twilight castby phosphorescent lichen. The men were bound with ropes of braided rawhide, andarrows still projected from their wounds. One looked at Ali wit h horrified eyes, andshe made the sig n of the cros s for his benefit. The n her hada l escort cinched the blindfold over her eyes again, and they went on. Only later did Ali realize why the mercenariesweren't blindfolded,too. The hadalsdidn'tcareifthetwosoldierssawthepathdown,becauseneitherwouldever have the opportunitytoclimbbackout. That was the beginning of her hope. They weren't going to kill her anytime soon.Thinkingofthetwo soldiers'certainfate,shefeltguiltyforheroptimism.ButAli clungtoitwithagreed she'd never known. It had neve r occurred to her before how base a thing survival was.There wasnothingheroicaboutit. Prodded, tugged, carried, pushed, she staggered into a cavity that could have been thecenter ofherbeing. Shewasn'tharmed.They didn'tviolateher.Butshesuffered.Foronething,shewasfamished,notthatthey didn'ttry to feed her. Ali refused the meat they offered, though. The monster who led them came to her. 'But you have toeat, my dear,'hesaidin perfect King'sEnglish.'Howelsewillyoufinishthehajj?' 'Iknow where themeatcamefrom,'sheanswered.'Iknewthosepeople.' 'Ah,ofcourse.You're nothungryenough.' 'Whoareyou?'sherasped. 'Apilgrim,likeyou.' But Al i knew . Befor e th e blindfold , she' d see n hi m orchestratin g th e hadals,commandin g them,delegating tasks. Even without such evidence, he certainly lookedthe way Satan might, with his cowled brow and the twist of asymmetrical horns andthe script drawn upon his flesh. He stood taller than most of the hadals, and earnedmorescars,and there was something about his eyes that declared a knowledge of lifeshedidn'twanttoknow. After that,Aliwasgivenadietofinsectsandsmallfish.Sheforceditdown. The trekwen ton.Herlegsachedatnight fromstrikingagainstrocks. Ali welcomed the pain. Itwa s a way not to mourn for a while. Perhaps if she'd been carrying arrows like the mercenaries were, itwould have beenpossiblenottomournatall. But the reality wasalwaysthere, waiting.Ike wasdead. At last they reached the remains of a city so old it was mor e lik e a mountain incollapse. This wa s thei r destination . Ali knew becaus e the y finall y too k of f herblindfol dandshewasabletowalkwithout beingguided. Weary, frightened, mesmerized, Ali picked her way higher. The city was up to its neckinatropicalglaciero fflowstone,whichspun off a faint incandescence. The resultwas less light than gloom, and that was enough. Ali could see that the city lay at thebottomofanenormouschasm.Aslowmineralfloodhadallbutswallowed much of the city, but many of the structures were erect and honeycombed with rooms. The wallsand colonnadeswere embellishedwith carved animals and depictions of ancient hadallife,allofitblendedinsubtle arabesques.

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Debauched by time and geological siege, the city was nevertheless inhabited, or at leastinuse.ToAli's shock,thousandsofhadals–tensofthousands,for all she knew – had come to rest in this place. Here lay the answer to where the hadal s had gone.Fromaroundtheworld, they hadpoureddowntothissanctuary. JustasIke had said,they were inflight.Thiswastheirexodus. As the war party threaded through the city, Ali saw toddlers resting against theirmothers' thighs, exhausted with flu. She looked, but there were very few infants oragedinthelistlessmob.Weaponsofalltype s layon the ground, apparently too heavyt olift. In their listlessness, the hadals imparted a sense of having reached the end of the earth. It had always bee n a mystery to Ali why refugees – no matter what rac e –stoppe d where they did, why they didn'tkeep goingon.There was a fine line betweena refuge e and a pioneer; and it had to do with momentum once yo u crossed a certain border.Whyhadthese hadalsnotcontinued deeper? shewondered. They climbed a hill in the center of the city. At the top, the remnants of a buildingstood above the amberlike flowstone. Ali was led into a hallway that spiraled withintheruins.Herprisoncellwasalibrary.They leftheralone. Alilookedaround,astoundedby thetreasury. Thiswastobeherhell,then,alibraryof undeciphered text? If so, they'd matched the wrong punishment with her. The yha dleftaclaylamp for her like those Ike had lit. A small flame twitched at the snoutofoil. Ali started to explore by its light, but wasn' t carefu l enoug h carrying it, and theflame guttered out. She stood in the darkness , filled with uncertainty, scared andlonely. Suddenly the journey caught up with her, and she simply la y dow n and fellasleep. WhenAliwoke,hourslater,asecondlampwasflickeringintheroom'sfarcorner.Assheapproachedtheflame,a figureroseagainstthewall,wrappedin rags and a burlapcloak.'Whoareyou?'aman'svoicedemanded.He soundedweary andspiritless, like aghost.Alirejoiced.Clearlyhewasafellowprisoner.Shewasn'talone! 'Whoareyou?'sheasked,andfoldedtheman'shoodbackfromhisface.It wasbeyondbelief.'Thomas!'shecried. 'Ali!'hegrated.'Canitbe?' Sheembracedhim,andfeltthebonesofhisbackandribcage. The Jesuithadthe same furrowed face as when she'd first met him at the museuminNew York. Buthisbro whad thickened and he had weeks of grizzled beard, and his hair was long and gray and thick with filth. Crusted blood matted his hair. His eyes were unchanged.They'd always beendeeply traveled. 'What have they done to you?' she asked. 'How long have you been here? Why areyouinthisplace?' She helped the old man sit, and brought water for him to drink. He rested againstthewalland kept patting herhand,overjoyed. 'It'stheLord'swill,'he kept repeating.For hours they exchanged their stories. He had come looking for her, Thomas said,once news of the expedition's disappearance reache d th e surface . 'You r benefactor, January , was tireless in reminding me of the Beowulf group's responsibilities to you. FinallyIdecided there wasonlyonethingtodo.Searchforyoumyself.' 'Butthat'sabsurd,'saidAli.Amanhisage,andallalone.

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'Andyet, look,'saidThomas. He'd descended fro m a tunnel in Javanese ruins, praying against the darkness,guessing at the expedition' s trajectory. 'I wasn't very good at it,' he confessed. 'In notimeIgotlost.My batteries woredown.Iranout of food. When the hadals found me,it was more an act of charity than capture. Who can say why they didn' t kill me? Oryou?' Ever since, Thomas had languished among these mounds of text. 'I thought they'dleav e my boneshere amongthebooks,'hesaid.'Butnowyou'rehere!' Inturn, Ali told of the expedition's sad demise. She related Ike's self-immolation in thehadalfortress. 'Butareyousurehedied?'Thomasasked. 'Isawitmyself.'Hervoicecaught.Thomasexpressed hiscondolences. 'ItwasGod'swill,'Ali recovered. 'AnditwasHiswill that led us here, to this library.Now we shall attempt to accomplish the work we were meant for. Together we maycom eclosertotheoriginalword.' 'Youarea remarkable woman,'Thomassaid. They se t abou t th e task wit h acut e focus , groupin g text s and comparingobservations .Atfirs tdelicately,thenavidly,they examinedthebooks,leaves, codices,scrolls, and tablets. None of it was shelve d neatly. It was almos t as if the mas s ofwriting s had accumulated here like a pile of snowflakes. Setting the lamp to one side,they burrowedintothelargestpile. The materialon top was the most current, some in English or Japanese or Chinese.The deeper they worked, th e olde r the writing s were. Pages disintegrated i n Ali'sfingers.Onothers,theinkhadfoxedthroug h layer after layer ofwritings.Some bookswere locked tight wit h mineral seep. Bu t much of it yielded lettering and glyphs.Luckilytheroomwasspacious, because they soon had a virtual tree of languages laidou tonthefloor,pileby pileofbooks. At the end of five days, Ali and Thomas had excavated alphabets n o linguist hadever seen. Stepping back from their work, it was obvious to Ali they'd barely made adent in the heaped writings. Here lay the beginnings of all literature, all history. In asense,itpromisedtocontainthebeginnings of memory, human and hadal both. Whatmightlieatits center? 'We need to rest. We need to pace ourselves,' Thomas cautioned . He had a badcough.Alihelpedhimtohi scorner,andforcedherselftosit,too.Butshewasexcited. 'Ike told me once, the hadals want to be like us,' she said. 'But they're already likeus. And we're like them. This is the key to their Eden. It won't give them back theirancient regime. But it can bind them, and give them concordance as a people. It canbridgethegap between themandus.Thisisthe beginning of their return to the light.Or at least of the sovereignty of their race. Maybe we ca n find a mutual language. Maybe we can make a place for them among us. Or the y can make a place for usamongthem.Butitall starts here.' The torture of Walker's men began. Their screams drifted up to Ali and Thomas.Periodically the sounds tapered off. After a night of silence, Ali was certain the menhaddied.Butthenthescreaming started again. With pauses, it would go on for many days.

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Beforethey couldcontinuetheirscholarship,AliandThomas received avisitor.'He'stheoneItoldyouabout,'she whisperedtohim.'Heleadsthem,Ithink.' 'Youmightberightabouthim,'Thomassaid.'Butwhatdoeshewantwithus?' The monsterapproachedwithaplastictubemarkedHELIOS.It wasbadly scratched.Aliimmediately recognizedhermapcase.Hewentdirectly toher,and she could smellfresh blood on him. His feet were bare. He shook out the rol l of maps and openedthem. 'These cameinto my possession,'hesaidinhiscrispEnglish. Ali wanted to ask how, but thought better of it. Obviously, Gitner and his band ofscientistshadfailedto escape.'They're mine,'shesaid. 'Yes,Iknow. The soldierstoldme.Also,I've studied the maps, and your authorshipis clear. Unfortunately they're not real maps, but only your approximation of things.They show how your expedition proceeded i n general. I need more. Details. Detours.Side trips. Diversions. And camps, every camp, every night. Wh o was in them, whowasn't. I need everything. You have to re-create the entir e expedition fo r me. It's crucial.' Ali glanced at Thomas, fearful. How could she possibly remember it all? 'I can try,' shesaid. 'Try?' The monster wa s smellin g her. 'Bu t your very existence depends o n your memory.Iwoulddomorethantry.' Thomasstepped forward.'I'llhelpher,'hevolunteered. 'Helpherquickly,then,'themonstersaid.'Nowyour lifedependsonit,too.'

OnFebruary 11, at 1420 hours and 9,856 fathoms, they reached a cliff overlooking avalley. It wasnotthe bottomofthepit;youcouldseeagapingholein the far distance.Butitwasageologicalpauseinthatabyss they had beenfollowing. Beforeshetriedagaintomartyr herself,Ike tiedhis nameless daughter to a horn ofrockalongthewall.Thenhe floppedonhisstomachalongtheedgetogetaview of thelandandsortthroughhisoptions. It had the shape an d size of a crater, lit with a sienna gloom. Veins of luminousmineralsspideredthrough theencirclingwalls,andthefogwaslambent,flickering liketongues. He could make out the architecture of this enormous hollow, two or threemile sacross,anditshoneycombedwallsandthe vast, intricatecityitcupped. Five hundredmeters beneathhisperch, the city occupied the entire floor. It was atonce magnificent and destitute. From this height he could clearly se e th e wholeobsolet emetropolis. Spiresandpyramidsstood in ruins. In the distance, one or two towering structuresros e nearly as high as the rim , though their top s had crumbled away. Canals hadharrowed the avenues deep, carving meandering canyons. Much was i n collapse orflooded or had been overrun with flowstone. Several giant stalactites had grown soheavy they hadfallenfromtheinvisibleceilingandspeared buildings.

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It took Ike time t o adjust to the scal e of this place. Only then did he begin todistinguish th e multitudes . The y wer e s o numerou s an d packe d together andenfeeble dthatallhesawat first was a broad stain upon the floor. But the stain had aslightmotiontoit,liketheslowagitationofglaciers.Here and there, winged creatureslaunche dfromcliffsideaeries,dartingthroughthefog. In effect, the refugees were camping not in but atop the old city. He couldn't makeout individual figures from this distance, but he guessed there had to be thousandsdow nthere. Tens ofthousands.Hehadbeen rightaboutthesanctuary. They must have come from throughout the planet to this single place. Even thoughIke had guessed they were migrating to a central location, their numbers astoundedhim. Haddie was a solitary race, as willing t o demolish one another as their enemy,prone to wandering in small, paranoid packs. He'd decided there were probably nomorethanafewthousandleftintheentiresubplanet.There hadtobe fifty times thatrighthere. Forthemto have gathered this way, andinapparentarmistice,ithadtobeliketheendoftheworld. Their abundance was good news and bad. It all but guaranteed that Ali would endup in the refuge e horde, if she was no t already among them. Ik e had devised nospecificgambit,buthadbeenrelyingonamuc hsmaller mob to deal with. Finding herfromadistancewasgoingtobeimpossible,and infiltrating them a length y nightmare.Just locating her coul d take months. And all the whil e he would have to tend thehostage , hi s daughter. The prospect threw him into a downward spiral. He looked athiswatch–Troy's watch–and notedthetimeanddateandaltitude. Heheardthepadoffeet,and started to rise up, knife in hand. He had time to see arifle butt. Then it axed int o his face, he felt it clip his temple, and all the brawl wentoutofhim. BythetimeIke revived, hewas bound hand to foot with his own rope. He pried hiseyes open.Hiscaptorwa swaiting, seated fivefeet away, barefootandin rags, sightingon Ike's face through a US Army night-vision sniperscope. A pair of binoculars hung fromhisneck.Ike sighed. The Rangershadfinallyhoundedhimto earth. 'Wait,'Ike said.'Beforeyoushoot.' 'Sure,'saidtheman,hisfacestillburrowedbehindtherifleandsight. 'Justtellmewhy.'Whathadhedonetodeserve theirvengeance? 'Whywhat,Ike?' The executionerliftedhishead.Ike wasthunderstruck. ThiswasnoRanger. 'Surprise,'Shoatsaid.'Ididn'tthinkitwaspossible,either, an ordinary joe trumping the great Ik e Crockett . Bu t you wer e easy. Talk abou t braggin g rights. I mugSuperma nandgetthegirl.' Ike couldn't think of what to say. He looked across at his daughter. Shoat hadtightenedherbonds.That wassignificant.Hehadn'tshotthegirloutright. Bearded and emaciated, Shoat had not lost his daft grin. He was very pleased withhimself. 'In certain ways,' he said, 'we're the same guy, you and me. Bottom feeders.Wecanliveoffotherpeople'sshit.Andwe always makesureweknow where the backdooris.Backatthepresidio,Iwas ready, justlikeyou.' Ike's faceachedfrom the rifle butt, but what hurt most was his pride. 'You trackedme? 'hesaid. Shoat patted the rifle with the sniperscope. 'Superior technology,' he said. 'I couldseeyoufrom a mile off,

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clear as day. And once you netted our little bird, things were even easier.Idon'tknow, Ike, yougot slow and you got sloppy. Maybe you're gettingold.Anyhow'–heglancedbehindhim over theprecipice– 'we've reached the heart ofthe matter, haven'twe?' WhileShoattalked,Ike gathered thefew clues. A rucksack sat against the wall, halfempty. Over near th e watchfu l girl, Shoat had scattered the plasti c refuse from a single military rations packet. It told Ike he had been unconscious long enough to betied, and for Shoat to finish a meal. More important, the man ha d come alone; therewa s just one pack an d the remain s o f one MRE. And the MR E meant h e was not feedin gofftheland,probablybecausehedidn'tknowhowto. Obviously, Shoat had foraged through the destroye d fortress an d found a few essentials: the rifle, some MREs. Ike was mystified. The man had his ticket home;why pursuethedepths? 'Youshould have taken araftorjuststarted walking,'Ike said.'Youcould have beenpartway outofhere.' 'I would have, but someone took my most vital asset.' He lifted the leather pouchthat hung from his neck like an amulet. Everyone knew it held his homing device. 'It guarantees my exit. I didn't even know it was gone until I needed it. When I openedthepouch, there wasonlythis.'Heunlacedthetopandshookoutaflatjad eplate. Sureenough,Ike saw,someonehad stolen his device and replaced it with a piece ofantiquehadalarmor. 'Nowyouwantmetoguideyouout,'heguessed. 'I don't think that would work very well, Ike. How far could we get before Haddiefoundus?Oryoudidme in.' 'Whatdoyouwantthen?' 'Mybox.That wouldbenice.' 'Evenifwefoundit,what'sthatdoforyounow?'With or without his homing device,thehadalscouldstillfindthe man.AndIke could,too. Shoat smiled cryptically and aimed the jade plate like a TV remote control. 'It letsmechangethechannel.' Hemadeaclicksound.'HatetosoundlikeMr Zen, but you'rejustanillusion, Ike. Andthegirl.Andallofthemdow nthere. Noneofyouexists.' 'Butyoudo?'Ike wasn'ttauntinghim.Thiswasakey toShoat'sstrangeness. 'Yeah.Yeah, Ido.I'mliketheprimemover. The first cause. Or the last. When all ofyouaregone,I'llstillbe around.' Shoatknewsomething,orthoughthedid,but Ike couldn't begin to guess what. Thema n had recklessly followed them into the center of the abyss, and now, surroundedby the enemy, had waylaid his only possible ally in getting out. He could have shotthem from a distance at any time over the past several weeks. Instead, he'd savedthe m for something. There was a logic at work here. Shoat was smart and sane, and dangerous.Ike blamedhimself.He'dunderestimated theman. 'You've gotthewrongguy,'Ike said.'Ididn't take your box.'

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'Of course not. I've thought a lot about it. Walker's boy s wouldn't have botheredwith any tricks. They would have just put a bullet through me. You would have, too.So it was someone else, someone who needed to keep the theft quiet. Someone whothinkssheknows my code.I've gotitfigured out, Ike. Who it was, and when she tookit.' 'Thegirl?' 'YouthinkI'dletthatwildanimalclosetome?No.ImeanAli.' 'Ali?She'sanun.'Ike snortedtoderidethenotion.Butwhoelsecoulditbe? 'A very bad nun. Don't deny it, Ike. I know she's been playing hide-the-snake with you.Icantellthese things,I've gotgoodpeoplesense.' Ike watchedhim.'Soyoufollowedmetofollowher.' 'Goodboy.' 'Ididn'tfindher,though.' 'Actually, Ike, youdid.' Shoatgrabbedaloopofropeanddraggedhimto the edge. He draped his binocularsaround Ike's neck, and cautiously loosened the rope binding Ike's hands to his feet,thenbacked away, aiminghispistol. 'Take a look,' Shoat announced. 'Someone you kno w is down there. Her and ourtwo-bit warlord.His satanicmajesty. The guy whoranoffwithher.' Ike wrestled to a sitting position. The news of Ali energized him. His hands werenum b from the ropes, but he managed to paw the binoculars into place. He scannedup and down the canals and choked avenues and ruins lit green by the night vision. 'Lookforaspire,thengoleft,'Shoatinstructed. It took several minutes, even with Shoat describing the landmark s whil e lookingthroughtheriflescope. 'Seethepillars?' 'ArethoseWalker'smen?'Twomenhung,slumped.NeitherwasAli.Yet. 'Just taking a rest,' Shoat said. 'They've been getting some rough treatment. Andthere's another prisoner , too. I've seen hi m with Ali. They keep taking him away,though.' Ike searchedhigher. 'She's there,' Shoat encouraged. 'I can see her. Unbelievable, it looks like she'swritinginherfieldbook. Notesfromtheunderground?' Ike went on searching. A hill of flowstone knobbed above the masses, enfolding allbuttheupperstoriesofa carved stone building. The walls had collapsed on Ike's sideof the building, exposing to view a spacious room with no roof. And there she was,sittingonachunkofrubble.They hadfreedherhandsandlegs; why not?

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Two storiesbelow,shewassurroundedby thehadalnation. 'Lockedin?' 'Isee her.' They hadn't started her rites of passage yet. The branding and shacklesandmutilationswere usuallystarted inthe first few days. Recovery could take years.Bu tAlilookedwhole,untouched. 'Good.' Shoat yanked the binoculars away. 'Now you've got your scent. Yo u knowwher e youneedto go.' 'You want m e to infiltrate an entire city of hadals and steal back your homingdevice?' 'Givemesomecredit,man.You're mortal.There aresomethings even you can't do.Besides, why sneakwhen youcanmakeagrandentrance?' 'Youwantmetojustwalkinandaskforyour property?' 'Better youthanme.' 'EvenifAlihasit,thenwhat?' 'I'm a businessman, Ike. I live and die by negotiation. Let's see where we can get withthem.Alittlebitofold-fashionedbartering.' 'Withthem? Down there?' 'You'llbe my proxy. My private ambassador.' 'They'llnever letAligo.' 'AllIwantis my box.' Ike wastruly mystified.'Whywouldthey giveittoyou?' 'That's what I want to talk to them about.' Shoat reached over to his rucksack and pulled out a thin, battered laptop computer embossed with the Helios logo. 'Ourwalkie-talkies are all gone. But I've got a two-way comm device set up with mylaptop .We'regoingto have avideoconference.' Shoat opened the lid and turned the machine on. He stepped back, plugging aportable earphone into on e ear, and held a small camera/speaker ball in front of hisface. On screen, his face rotated and mugged. 'Testing, testing,' his voice spoke overth ecomputer speaker. Against the wall , the fera l gir l grunted, eye s wide with fear, a stranger to suchmagic. 'Here's what you're going to do, Ike. Take the laptop down into night-town there.Once you reach Ali, open the laptop up. Make sure the computer's in line of sight, astraight shot from you to me. I don't want to lose transmission. Then ge t their president e on the horn for me. While you're at it, give this whelp back t o them. Agood-fait h gesture. I'll take itfromthere.' 'What'sinitforme?'

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Shoatgrinned.'That's my man.Whatwouldyoulike?Your life?OrAli's? Wanna bet Iknowtheanswer?' It was exactly the chance Ike had wanted for her. 'Al l right,' he said. 'You're theboss.' 'Goodto have youonboard,Ike.' 'Cut my ropes.' 'Ofcourse.'Shoat wagged the knife as if Ike were a naughty child, then tossed it ontheground.'Butfirstwe needtounderstandeach other. It's going to take you a whiletocrawl over hereandcutyourselfloose.Andby thattimeI'llbe locked and loaded ina cozy sniper's nest not too far away. You're going to escort this cannibal downthrough that rabble an d back t o her people . And set up my link with their CEO,whoever thatguy is.' Shoatset thecomputeronthefloorandbackedtowardatall,jaggedholein the wall.Ike hadhiseyes ontheknife. 'Notricks,nodetours,nodeceit. The laptop'sswitchedon.Don'tturnitoff.I want tobeabletoheareverything yo usay,'Shoat said. 'And don't come looking for me. Frommy cubbyhole, I've got a clear sho t all the wa y down the trail . Screw up, and the fireworksbegin.ButIwon'tshootyou, Ike. It's Ali that pays for your sins. I'll kill herfirst.And next, just to piss them off, their leader. After that I'll work through targetso f opportunity. But there's not going to be a bullet for you. I promise. You can livewithyourself.Youcanlive withthem.Hellcan have youback. Are weclear?' Ike started crawling. And in the lowest deep, a lower deep Still threat'ning to devour me opens wide, To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heav'n.

– JOHN MILTON, Paradise Lost

27

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SHANGRI-LA

Beneath the intersection of the Philippine, Java, and Palu Trenches

Ike descendedintotheancientcity,leadinghisdaughterby arope. The city loomed intheorganictwilight,apuzzl eofremnants,fusedarchitecture,andeyeless windows. Onthefloorofthevast canyon,attheruins'edge,Ike slungShoat'slaptopcomputeron one shoulder and bent th e plasti c candle he had been given, breaking the vialinside. The wand came alive wit h green light . Even withou t his sniperscope, Shoatwoul dbeableto track hisprogressthroughthecity. For the first half-mile or so there was no outright challenge , although animalsscuttled alon g the flowstone . With each step, Ik e trie d t o piec e together some alternative to what was already in motion. Shoat's spiderweb seemed unbreakable.Ike couldpracticallyseethebackofhisownheadthroughthe electronic scope. If onlyhe were the prey, he thought. He could duck the bullet , or take it. But Shoat had clearlypronouncedhistargets: Alifirst.Ike continuedthroughthefossilizedcity.Newsofhuman trespass was rippling forward through the city. In the penumbra ofhis green light, shapes that normally would have appeared as silhouettes against thepaleglowofstonenowlurkedasshadows. The candle's neon glow was devastating his night vision. Then again, from the beginnin g of this doomed expedition, he' d been squandering his nocturnal powers, even eating human food. There was no disguisinghisoriginsanymore. Click languag e cricketed i n th e gloom . H e coul d smel l hadals crowdin g thepenumbra , musk y and smeared with ochre. A rock thrown from the shadows struckhi monthearm,nothard,justtogoadhim. Winged beasts swept inches overhead. Ike maintained his stoic gait. Several otherscircledoutofreach.He feltwarmspittledribblingdownhisneck. Amonstrositycame racing from ahead and blocked the way. Squat, encrusted withfluorescentmud,he sportedapenissheathandbattle scars and brandished an ax. Heflickedhistonguelikeareptileandbulgedhis eyes, all challenge. Ike kept his motionspassiveandthebeast letthempass. The plastic slicks and mineral convolutions of the city floor began to angle upward.Ike approache d tha t ris e i n th e city' s cente r whic h h e ha d spie d throug h thebinoculars . The campgrew dense withrefugees,andthe canals were fouled with theirrawoffalandsewage.They layonthebare ground,illand hungry. In his years of captivity, Ike had never seen a fraction of the traits and stylesgathere d here. Some had flippers for arms, others feet that were tantamount tohands. There were heads flattened by binding, eye

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sockets genetically emptied. Thevariet y of body art and clothing was wild . Some went naked, som e wore armo r orchai nmail.Hepassedeunuchsproudlyscalped at the groin, warriors with hair wovenwith beads an d horns woven with scalps, and females bre d for their smallness or fatness. Through it all, Ike kept his expression impassive. He climbed the pathway windingtoward the hilltop, and the mass o f hadals thickened. Her e an d there, stripped rib cage sarchedabove ravaged carcasses.In timesofsuchwant,he knew, human chattel wentfirst. Behind him, the girl kept pace. His daughter was his passport. There were nochallengesto Ike's advance, and he continued through the city. From the cliffs above,Ike had seen how the pit didn't bottom out, but only paused. And yet the entire raceseemed to have rooted here. They showed no signs of taking their nomad spiritdeeper. It made him want to plunge farther int o the hole , to scale the inversemountain , just to see what new sights there might be. His curiosity mad e him sad,becauseitwasunlikelyhe'dlivetosee anotherhour,muchlessanotherland. Apileofruinsprojectedfromthetopoftheheapedflowstone,andIke aimed for thehighest structure. Climbing higher, Ike and the girl reached Walker's men. The twomercenaries were lashed to broken columns , not with rope, bu t wit h their ownentrails .Seeingherenemy, the girl capered. Ike let her. One lifted his eyeless face tothe jubilation. They had taken his lower jaw off, too. The tongue lay spasti c o n histhroat. After a minute they continued. They crested the mound. The ruins on the flat topoccupied several acres. Hadals lay or sat about on the amorphous folds of stone, but,strangely, hadnottaken up residence in the crowning structure itself. Again, Ike wasstruck by theirsenseofwaiting. The wall on one side of the main building had crumbled, and Ike and the girlclambered u p its rubble. Warrior s bluffe d charges an d hooted threats and insults.None came closer than the edges of his light, though, and the effect was a riptide ofgreenishshadows. They reached that top floor of the ruins Ike had seen through the binoculars. Theroo f had caved in or been peeled off, and the result was a high stage open to Shoat's sniperscope. The gallery was more spacious than Ike had expected. In fact, he sawthatitwassomekindoflibrary,densewithholdings. Ike stopped in the cente r of the room . This wa s where he'd sighted Al i reading,thoughshewas gone now. The floor was flat, but listing, like a ship beginning to sink.This was as good a place as any. It gave him a sense of space, expose d t o the equivalent of sky. If he had his choice, Ike didn't want to die in some little tube of acavity. Let it be in the open. Also, as instructed, he needed to stay in Shoat's line of sight. While h e waited, Ik e wa s furiousl y gatherin g information , patching togethercontingenc y plans and dead-reckoning trajectories, trying to locate the players andweapons in this new arena, searching for exits and hiding places. It was a matter ofhabit,nothope. Hefoundabrokensteleandplacedthecomputerontop,ateye level.Heopened thelid. The screen was lit with Shoat's face, a miniature Wizard of Oz. 'What are theywaitin gfor?'Shoat'svoicespokefromthemonitor. The feral girl backed away from it.Nearby hadalsscurriedintotheshadowsandsoftlyhootedtheiralarm. 'There's ahadalpacetothings,'Ike said. He glanced around. Scores of stone tablets were propped side by side against one wall, codices lay ope

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n like long road maps, and scrolls and skins painted with glyphsand script lay in piles. To enhance her readings, they had provided Al i with Heliosflashlightstaken fromtheexpedition.Shewas hard on the trail of the mother tongue.Another ten minutes passed. Then Ali was sent out from the jumble d interior. She came to a halt fifteen or twenty feet away. Tears were running down her face. 'Ike.'Shehadmournedhim. Nowshewasmourninghimall over again. 'I thought you weredead . I prayed for you. Then I prayed some more, that if you were somehow alive, you'dknownottocomeforme.' 'I must have missed that last one,' Ike said. 'Are you okay?' As he'd noted through the binoculars, they hadn't started inscribing her yet, nothing that he could see. Shehad been amon g them for over three weeks now. By this time they had usuallyknockedoutthewomencaptives'front teeth andbegunother initiations. The fact thatAliborenoownershipmarks gave himhope.Maybe abargainwasstillpossible. 'ButI kept hearingWalker'ssoldiers. Are they dead?' 'Don'tmindthem.Whataboutyou?' 'They've been good to me, considering. Until you showed up, I was thinking theremigh tbeaplaceforme here.' 'Don'tsay that,'Ike snapped. Theirseductionofherhadbegun.No great mystery there. It was the seduction of astorybook land, the seductio n of becoming an expatriate. You fell for a place likedarkest Africa or Paris or Kathmandu, and soon you had no nation of your own, andyou were simply a citizen of time. He'd learned that down here. Among the humancaptive s there were always slaves, the walking dead. And then there were the rarefe wlikehim–orIsaac–whohadlosttheirsoulstothisplace. 'ButI'msoneartotheword. The firstword.Icanfeelit. It's here,Ike.' Their lives were on the line. Shoat's storm was about to rage, and she was talkingabout primal language? The wor d wa s he r seduction . She was his . 'Ou t o f thequestion, 'hesaid. 'Hi,Ali,'Shoatsaidthroughthecomputer.'You've beenanaughtygirl.' 'Shoat?'saidAli,staringatthescreen. 'Stay calm,'Ike said. 'Whatareyoudoing?' 'Don'tblamehim,'Shoat'simagesaid.'He'sjustthepizzadelivery boy.' 'Ike, please,' she whispered. 'What is he up to? Whateve r you're doing, I've been givenassurances. Let metalktothem.YouandI–' 'Assurances?You're stilltreatingthemlikenoblesavages.' 'Icanhelpsave themfromthis.'

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'Save them? Lookaround.' 'I have a gift.' Ali gestured at the scrolls and glyphs and codices. 'The treasure ishere,the secrets oftheir past,theirracialmemory, it'sallhere.' 'They're illiterate.They're inbred.Starving.' 'That's why they need me,' she said. 'We can bring their greatness to life again. Itwil l take time, but now I know we can do it. The interconnections are braided withintheirwritings. It's asdifferentfrommodern hadalasancientEgyptian is from English.Butthisplaceisthekey, agiantRosettastone.Alltheclues are here, in one place. It'spossibl eIcandecipheracivilizationtwenty thousandyears dead.' 'We?'said Ike. 'There's anotherprisonerhere. It's themostextraordinary coincidence.I know him.We'vestarted thework.' 'Youcan't return them to what they were. They don't need stories from the goldendays.'Ike drew theair throughhisnostrils.'Smell,Ali.That's death and decay. This isthecityofthedamned,notShangri-la.I don't kno w why the hadals have all gatheredhere. I t doesn't matter. They're dying off. That's why they take our women and children. It's why they've kept you alive. You're a breeder. We're stock. Nothingmore.' 'Folks?'Shoat'stinyvoiceinterrupted. 'My meter's running.Let's getthis over with.'Ali faced the screen, not knowing he was seeing her through the crosshairs o f hisscope.'Whatdoyouwant,Shoat?' 'One,theheadhoncho.Two, my property. Let's start withOne.Patchmethrough.'Shelookedat Ike. 'Hewantstodeal.Hethinkshecan. Let himtry. Who'sinchargehere?' 'The one I came looking for, Ike. The one you've been looking for. They're one andthesame.' 'Butthey're notthesame.' 'They are. He's the one. I spoke to him. He knows you.' Using click language, Alispoke the hadal name for their mythica l god-king . 'Older-than-Old, ' sh e sai d inEnglish. It wasaforbiddenname,andtheferalgirl gave asharp,astonishedlookather. 'Him.' Ali gestured at th e clai m mark tattooed on Ike's arm, and he grew cold. 'Satan.' His eyes went racing through the hada l shapes lurkin g in the hollo w behind Ali.Coulditbe?Here? Suddenlythe girl gave a small cry. 'Batr, ' she said in hadal. It caught Ike off guard.Father, shehadsaid. Hi s heart jumped at the address, and he turned to see her face.Butshewassmelling the shadows. A moment later, Ike caught the scent, too. Exceptforoneglimpseofthefiendastheancienthadal fortress wasbeingsieged, Ike had notseenthismansincethe cave system in Tibet. If anything, Isaac had grown more imposing. Gone was the sticklike ascetic's body.Hehadputonmuscle weight,meaning the hadals had granted him higher status and,withit,greater sharesofmeat.Calcium outgrowthsformedatwisted horn on one sideof his painted head, and his eyes had an abyssal bulge. He

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moved with the grace of a t'ai chi master. From the silver bands cinching his biceps to the protrudin g demon stare and the antique samurai swor d i n one hand, Isaac looked born to rule downhere,acaudillo fortheunderworld. 'Our renegade,' Isaac greeted him. His grin was ravenous. 'And bearing gifts? M ydaughter .Anda machine.' The girlbuckedforward.Ike hauled her back, making another wrap of rope aroundhis fist. Isaac's lip peeled back over his filed teeth. He said something in hadal toointricateforIke tounderstand. Ike gripped the knife, stifled his fear. This was Ali's Satan? It would be like him todeceive her into thinking he was the khan . To deceiv e Ike's ow n daughter intobelievin ginafalsefather. 'Ali,'Ike murmured,'he'snottheone.' He didn't speak the name of Older-than-Old,even asawhisper.He touchedhisclaimmark toindicatewhohemeant. 'Ofcourseheis.' 'No.He'sonlyaman.Acaptive likeme.' 'Butthey obey him.' 'Becausehe obeys theirking.He'salieutenant.Afavorite.'Alifrowned.'Thenwhoistheking?' Ike heardafaintjingling.He knew that sound from the fortress, the tinkling of jadeagainst jade. Warrior armor, ten thousand years old. Ali turned to peer into theshadows. Aterrible gravity began pulling at Ike, a feeling you got when your holds failed andthedepthspeeledyou away. 'We'vemissedyou,'avoicespokeoutoftheruins. As a familiar figure surfaced from the darkness, Ike lowered his knife hand. He letgo of his daughter's rope , and she darted from his side. His mind filled. His heartemptied.He gave himselftothe abyss. Atlast,thought Ike, fallingtohisknees. Him.

Shoat hummed tunelessly in his sniper's nest, his rifle nested i n a stone grooveoverlookin gthe abyss. H e kept hiseye tothescope,watchingthe tiny figures play out hisscript.'Tick-tock,' hewhispered. Time to nail the coffin shut and start the long road back out. With the exit tunnelsterilizedby synthetic virus, there would be no critters left to dodge or run from. Hisworstdangerswouldbesolitudeandboredom. Basically,hefaceda lonely half-year ofwalkingwithadietofPowerBars,whichhe'd secreted atcachesallalong the way.Findin g the hadals mobbed together in this foul pit had been a stroke of good luck.Helios researchers had projected i t would take upward of a decade for the prioncontagion to filter throughou t

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th e sub-Pacifi c networ k and exterminate the entireabyssal food chain, including the hadals . But now, with his last five capsule s tapedinsidethe laptop computer shell, Shoat could eradicate the nuisance population yearsahea dofschedule.It wastheultimateTrojanhorse. Shoat felt the high of a survivor. Sure, there'd been some rough spots, and there were boun d to be mor e ahead . Bu t overall , serendipit y ha d favore d him . Theexpeditio n had self-destructed, though not before carrying him deep. Themercenarie s had unraveled, but only after he'd largely run out of uses for them. Andnow Ike had conveyed the apocalyps e straigh t into the heart of the enemy. 'And flightsofangelssing thee to thy rest,' he muttered, setting his eye to the sniperscopeonceagain. Justaminuteago,ithadseemed Ike wasready torunoff.Now,oddly,hewason hisknees, groveling in front of some character emerging fro m the inne r building. Nowthere wasasight, Crockett servile, headgluedtothe floor. Shoat wished for a more powerful scope. Who could this be? It would have beeninterestingtoseethe hadal'sfaceindetail. The crosshairswould have todo. Pleased to meet you,Shoathummed.Hopeyouguessedmyname.

'So you've returned tome,'thevoicesaidfromtheshadows.'Standup.'Ike didn't even raisehishead. She stared down at Ike's bare back, frightened by his subjugation. It upended heruniverse. He had always seemed the ultimate free spirit, the original rebel. Yet nowhekneltinabjectsurrender, offeringno resistance,noprotest. The hadalkhan–theirrex, ormahdi,orkingofkings, however ittranslated – stood motionless with Ike at his feet. He wore armor made of jade and crystal plates, andunderthataCrusader'schain-mailshirt,sleeves short,eachlinkoiledagainstrust. She felt sick with realization. This was Satan? This was the one Ike had been seeking,faceby face, in all those hadal dead? Not to destroy, as she'd thought, but toworship. Ike kowtowed blankly, his fear – and shame – transparent. He ground hisforeheadagainsttheflowstone. 'Whatareyoudoing?'shesaid,butnotto Ike. Thomas solemnly opened his arms, and from throughout the city the hadal nationsroareduptohim.Ali saggedtoherknees,speechless.Shecouldn'tbegintofathom the depths of his deceptions. The moment she comprehended one , another croppe d upthatwasmore outrageous, from pretending to be her fellow prisoner to manipulatingJanuary'sgroup,toposingashumanwhenallalonghewashadal. And yet, even seeing him here, draped in ancient battle gear, receiving th e hadalcelebration , Ali could not help but se e him as the Jesuit , austere and rigorous andhumane. It was impossible to simply purge th e trust and companionship they'd builtover these past weeks. 'Stand up,' Thomas ordered, then looked at Ali, and his tone softened. 'Tell him, ifyouplease,togetoffhis knees.I have questions.' Alikneltbeside Ike, herheadby hissothatthey couldheareachother over theroarofthehadals'adulation.Shera nherhandacrosshis knotted shoulders, over the scarsathisneck where theironringhadcinchedhisvertebrae.

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'Getup,'Thomas repeated. Ali looked up at Thomas. 'He's not your enemy,' she said. An instinct urged her toadvocatefor Ike. It ha dtodowithmorethan Ike's submission and fear. Suddenly shehad her own grounds for fear. If Thomas wa s truly their ruler, then it was he who'dpermitted Walker's soldier s to be tortured through all these days. And Ike was asoldier. 'Not in the beginning,' Thomas conceded. 'In the beginning, when we first broughthim in, he was mor e lik e an orphan. And I brought hi m into our people. And ourreward? He brings war and famine and disease. We gave him life and taught him theway. Andhebroughtsoldiers,andguidedcolonists.Nowhe's come home to us. But asourprodigalson,orourmortalenemy? Answer me.Standup.' Ike stood. Thomastook Ike's left hand and lifted it to his mouth. Ali thought he meant to kiss the sinner's hand, to reconcile, and she felt hope. Instead he parted Ike's fingers andputthe index finger into his mouth. Then h e sucked it. Ali blinked at the lewdness ofit. The old man took the finger in all the way to the bottom knuckle and wrapped hislipsaroundtheroot. Ike looked over atAli,jawsbunching.Closeyour eyes, hesignaled.Shedidn't. Thomasbit. His teeth snappedthroughthebone.He yanked Ike's handtooneside. Ike's blood slashed across Thomas's jade armor and into Ali's hair. She yelped. Hisbodyshivered. Otherwise he gave noreactionexcept tolowerhisheadin supplication.Hisarmremainedoutstretched. More fingers?Alithought. 'Whatareyoudoing?'shecriedout. Thomaslookedatherwithbloodylips.He removed thefingerfromhismouthasifitwere a fishbone, and wrappe d it in Ike's mutilated hand , which he then released. 'Whatwouldyou have medowiththisfaithlesslamb?'NowAlisaw.HerewastherealSatan. He'dmisledherfrom the start. She'd misled herself. With their systematic study ofher maps, and their promising interpretation of the hadal alphabets, glyphs, andhistory,Alihadtrickedherselfintothinkingshe understood the terms of this place. Itwa sthescholar'sillusion,thatwordsmightbetheworld.Butherewasthe legend withathousandfaces.Kindly,then angry; giving,thentaking.Human,thenhadal. Ike knelt,hisheadstillbent.'Sparethiswoman,'heasked. The paintoldinhisvoice.Thomaswascold.'Sogallant.' 'You have usesforher.' Ali was astonished , less by Ike trying to save the day than by the fac t he r dayneede dsaving.Untilafew minutesago,hersafety had seemed a reasonable bet. NowIke's bloo d wa s i n he r hair . N o matte r ho w deepl y sh e penetrated wit h herscholarship,itseemed,the cruelty ofthisplacewasadamant. 'I do,' said Thomas. 'Many uses.' He stroked Ali's hair, and the armor tinkled likechandelierglass.She

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started atthe proprietary gesture. 'She will restore my memory. She'll tell me a thousand stories. Throug h her , I'llremembe r allthethings timehasstolenfromme.Howtoreadtheoldwritings,howtodreamanempire,howtocarry apeopletogreatness. S omuchhasslidfrom my mind.Whatitwaslikeinthebeginning. The faceofGod.Hisvoice.Hiswords.' 'God?'shemurmured. 'Whatever you want to call him. The shekina h who existed before me. The divine incarnate.Beforehistor yever began.Atthe farthest edgeof my memory.' 'Yousawhim?' 'Iam him. The memory of him. An ugly brute, as I recall. More ape than Moses.But,yousee,I've forgotten. It's liketrying toremember themomentof my own birth.My firstbirthaswhoIam.'Hisvoicegrew as faintasdust. Firstbirth? The voiceof God? Ali couldn't fathom his tales, and suddenly she didn'twant to. She wanted t o go home, to leave this awful place. She wanted Ike. But fatehad sewn he r int o the planet' s belly . A lifetime of prayers, an d here sh e was, surrounde dby monsters. 'Father Thomas,' she said, less afraid than unable to use his other name. 'Since wefirst met, I've been faithful to your desires. I left behind my own past and traveledher eto restore your past.AndI'llstay here, justaswediscussed.I'llhelp master yourdeadlanguage.That won'tchange.' 'I knew I could count on you.' But her devotio n wa s simpl y on e more o f hispossessions,shesaw thatnow. Alifoldedherhandsobediently,trying nottosee Ike's blood staining his beard. 'Youcandependonmeuntilthe endof my life.Butinreturn, youmustnotharmthisman.' 'Isthatademand?' 'He has his uses, too. Ike can clarify my maps. Fill in my blanks. He can guide youwherever youwantmet o take you.' Ike's headliftedslightly. 'No,' Thomas said, 'you don't understand. Ike doesn't know who he is anymore. Doyou realize ho w dangerous tha t is? He's become a n animal for others to use. Thearmie s use him to kill us. The corporations use him to lay bare our territory and toguide murderers who plant it with disease. With plague. And he hides from his ownevilby leapingbackandforthfromoneracetotheother.' Besidehim,themonsterIsaacsmiled. 'Plague?'saidAli,inpart todigressfromThomas's finality. But also because he keptmentionin git,andshehadn oideawhathemeant. 'You've broughtdesolationonto my people.It followsyou.' 'Whatplague?'

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Thomas'seyes flashedather.'Nomoredeceptions,'hethundered.Alishrankfromhim. 'Mysentiments exactly,' areedy voicepipedoutfromthelaptopcomputer. Thomas turned his head as if hearing a fly buzzing. He scowled at th e computer. 'What'sthis?'hehissed. 'AmancalledShoat,'Ike said.'Hewantstotalkwithyou.' 'MontgomeryShoat?'Thomasspokethe name as if expelling a fetid stench. 'I knowyou.' 'Idon'tknowhow,'Shoatsaid.'Butwedo have mutualconcerns.' Thomasgrabbed Ike's armandspunhimface-outtothedistant cliffs. 'Where is thisman?Is henear?Is he watchingus?' 'Ah-ah, careful, Ike. Not a word more,' Shoat warned. His finger wagged a t themfro mthescreen. Thomasstoodrootedbehind Ike, motionlessexcept forhishead switching from sidetoside,piercingthe twilight.'Joinus,please,MrShoat,'hesaid. 'Thanksanyhow,'Shoat'simagesaidonthescreen.'Thisiscloseenoughforme.' The surreality wasbreathtaking,acomputerscreeninthis underworld. The ancient speaking to the modern. Then Ali noticed Ike's eyes darting about. He was gatheringin thebrokenchamber,estimatingit. 'You'll be down soon enough, Mr Shoat,' Thomas said to the computer. 'Until then,there's somethingyou wantedtotalkabout?' 'ApieceofHeliosproperty hasfallenintoyour hands.' 'Whatdoesthisfoolwant?'Thomasasked Ike. 'It'salocator.Ahomingdevice,'Ike said.'Heclaimsitwastaken fromhim.' 'I'mlostwithoutit,'Shoatsaid.'ReturnittomeandI'llbeoutofyour hair.' 'That'sallyouwant?'askedThomas.Shoatconsidered.'Ahead start?' Thomas'sfacefilledwithrage,butheregulatedhis voice. 'I know what you've done,Shoat.IknowwhatPrion-9 is.You're goingtoshowme where you've placed it. Everysingl elocation.' Aliglancedat Ike, andhelookedequallypuzzled. 'Common ground, ' Shoa t enthused , 'th e basi s for every negotiation . I've gotinformatio nyou want,and you've gotaguarantee of my safepassage.Quidproquo.' 'Youmustn'tfearforyour life,MrShoat,'Thomasstated. 'You'regoingtolivea verylon gtimeinourcompany. Longerthanyouever dreamedpossible.'

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It was plain to Ali that he was stalling, searching. Beside him, Isaac, too , wasscanning the gloom for an y evidenc e o f the hidde n man. The gir l stood at oneshoulder ,whispering,guidinghisexamination. 'Myhomingdevice,'Shoatsaid. 'Ivisitedyour motherrecently,' Thomassaid,asifjustrememberinga courtesy.Murmurin g to the side , Isaac had begun dispatching hadal warriors. Their fluidshapeswere indiscerniblefromtheshadows.They streamed downfromtheruins. 'Mymother?'Shoatwasdisconcerted. 'Eva. Three months ago. An elegant hostess. It was at her estate in the Hamptons.We had a long chat about you, Montgomery. She was dismayed to hear about whatyou've beenupto.' 'That'snotpossible.' 'Comedown,Monty.We have thingstotalkabout.' 'What have youdoneto my mother?' 'Why make this difficult? We're going to find you. In an hour or a week, it doesn'tmatter. You're not leaving,though.' 'Iaskedyouabout my mother.' Ike's eyes quitroaming.Alisaw them fix on hers, intent, waiting. She took a breathan dtriedtostillher confusionandfear.Sheanchoredherselftohiseyes. 'Quidproquo?'saidThomas. 'What have youdonetoher?' 'Wheretobegin,' Thomas said lightly. 'In the beginning? Your beginning? You werebor nby C-section...' 'Mymotherwouldnever sharesucha–'Thomas'svoicegrew hard.'Shedidn't,Monty.' 'Thenhow...'Shoat'svoicefaded. 'I found the scar myself,' Thomas said. 'And then I opened it. That wound throughwhichyoucrept intothe world.' Shoathadfallensilent. 'Comedown,'Thomas repeated. 'I'lltellyouwhichlandfillIleftherin.'Shoat'seyes filledthescreen,thenbacked away. The screenwentblank.Whatnow?wonderedAli. 'He'sstarted torun,'ThomassaidtoIsaac.'Bringhimtome.Alive.' A look of peace flickered across Ike's face. With Thomas lurking over one shoulder,heraisedhiseyes to the faraway cliffs.Alihad no idea what he was searching for. Shelooked around at the dark cliffs, and

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there it was, a twinkle o f light. A momentarynort hstar. Ike dove. Inthesameinstant,Thomasignited. The hadalarmorandCrusader'schainmailandtheshirtofgolddidnothingtoshieldhim. Normally the round woul d have punched through his back and then quickenedinto a fireball and phosphorous shrapnel. But in Thomas, clad in back a s well as infront, it found no exit. The heat and fléchettes went wild inside him. Hi s flesh burstintoflame.Hisspinesnapped.Andyet hisfallseemed infinite. Ali was mesmerized. Flames leaped up from the neck of Thomas's armor, an d he drew in a great gasp. The fire poured down his throat. He exhaled, an d the flamessho t from his mouth. His vocal cords seared, Thomas wa s silent . There was a softclatter ofjadescalesfallingtoearth asthegold sutures holdingthem together melted.The warlord towered above her.It seemed hehadtotopple.But his wil l was strong.His eyes fixed o n the height s as if to fly. A t last his knees sagged. Al i felt herselfplucke d fromtheground. Ike carried her, racing for a toppled pillar in the gloom. He threw her behind thepillarandleapedto join he r as Shoat's havoc commenced in earnest. He was an armyunt o himself, it seemed. His ammunition struck like lightning bolts, detonating inbursts of white light and raking the library with lethal splinters. Bac k and forth, hestrafed theruinsandhadalsfell. The carved pillar gave cover from incoming rounds, but no t from the ricoche t offléchettes.Ike pulled bodiesontopofthemlikesandbags. Ali cried out as precious codices and inscriptions and scrolls were shredded andburst into fire. Delicate glass globes, etched with writings on the inside through somelost process, shattered. Clay tablets, describing satans and gods and cities ten timesolder than the Mesopotamian creation myth of Emannu Elish, turned to dust. Theconflagratio n spread into the bowels of the library, feeding on vellum and rice paperand papyrus anddesiccatedwoodenartifacts. The city itself seemed to howl. The masses fled downhill from the ruins , even asmartyrs piled around Thomas i n an attempt t o protect thei r lor d from furtherdesecration .Withashriek,Isaaclaunchedintoth edarkness insearchofthe assassins,andwarriorssped after him. Ali peered aroundthepillar.Shoat'smuzzleflashwas still sparkling at the eye of hisdistant sniper nest. A single shot would have accomplished everything Shoat neededtoescape.Instead, hisragehadgottenthe better ofhim. While the chaos still held, Ike went to work transforming Ali. He was rough . Theflames , the blood, the destruction of ancient lore and science and histories: it was toomuch for her. Ik e began yanking her clothes away and smearing her with ochregrease fromthebodiesaroundthem. Heusedhisknifeto cut tanned skins and hair ropes from the dead. He dressed herlikethem,andstiffenedher hair into horn shapes with the gore. Just an hour ago shehad been a scholar excavating texts, a guest of th e empire. Now she was filthy withdeath.'Whatareyoudoing?'shewept. 'It'sover. We'releaving.Justwait.'The shootingstopped.

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They'd foundShoat.Ike stood. Crouchedagainstthebonfireofwritings,whilethewoundedstillthrashed about andminced blindly across the needlelike shrapnel, he pulled Ali to her feet. 'Quickly,' hesaid,anddrapedragsacrossherhead. They passed near Thomas, who lay heaped with his faithful, burned and bleeding,paralyzed within his armor. His face was singed, but intact . Incredibly, he was stillalive .Hiseyes were openandhewasstaringal laround. The bullet must have cut his spinal column, Ali decided. He could only move hishead.Half-buriedwith Shoat'sothervictims,herecognizedIke and Ali as they lookeddown at him . His mouth worked to denounc e them, bu t hi s vocal cords had beenseared andnosoundcame. More hadals arrived to tend their god-king. Ike ducked his head and started downthe ramp, towing Ali. They were going to make a clean getaway, it seemed. Then Alifeltherarmgrabbedfrombehind. It was the feral girl. Her face was streake d with blood, and she was injure d andaghast. Immediately she saw their scheme, the hadal disguise, their run for the exit. Allshehadtodowascry out. Ike gripped his knife. The girl looked at the black blade, and Ali guessed what she was thinking. Raised hadal, she would immediately suspec t th e mos t murderousintention. Instead, Ike offered the knife to her. Ali watched the girl's eyes cut back and forthfromhimtoher.Perhaps shewasrecallingsome kindness they had done for her, or amercy shown. Perhaps she saw something in Ike's fac e that belonge d to her, a connectio nwithherownmirror.Whatever herequation,shemadeher decision. The girlturnedherheadaway foramoment.Whenshe looked back, the barbarianswere gone.

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I went down to the moorings of the mountains; The earth with its bars closed behind me forever; Yet You have brought up my life from the pit.

– JONAH 2:6

28

THE ASCENT

Likeafishwith beautiful green scales, Thomas lay beached on the stone floor, mouthgaping, wordless, dying, surely. His strings wer e cut. Below the neck , he could notmoveamuscleor feel his body, which was a mercy, given the scorched wreckage leftby Shoat'sbullet.Andyet hewasinagony. With every labored breath he could smell the burnt meat on his bones. Open hiseyes, and his assassin hung before him . Close them, an d he could hear hi s nationsstubbornlywaitingforhis great transition. His greatest torment was that the fire hadseared hislarynx andhecouldnotcommandhispeopletodisperse. He opened his eyes and there was Shoat on the cross, teeth bared. They had doneanexquisitejobofit, driving the nails through the holes in his wrists, arranging smallledgesforhisbuttocksandfeet sothathewould nothangby hisarms and asphyxiate. The crucifixhadbeen positioned at Thomas's feet so that he could enjo y the human'sagony. Shoat was going to last for weeks up there. A hank of meat dangled at his shoulderso that h e could fee

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d himself . His elbows ha d been dislocate d an d hi s genitalsmutilated ;otherwise he was relatively intact. Decorations had been cut into his flesh.His ears and nostrils had been jingle-bobbed. Lest anyone think the prisoner had noowner,thesymbolfor Older-than-Old hadbeenbrandedontohisface. Thomas turned his head away from the grim creation. They could not know thatShoat'spresence gave hi mnopleasure.Eachview only enraged him more. It was thisman who had been planting the contagion alon g the Helios expedition's trail, yet Thomascouldnotinterrogatehimtolearntheinsidiousdetails.Hecouldnotabort thegenocide. He could not warn his children and send them fleeing into the deeperunknown . Finally, most enraging, he could not le t go of this ravaged shell and crossintoanewbody.Hecouldnotdieandbereborn. It wasnotforlack of new receptacles. For days now, Thomas had been surroundedby rings of females in every stage of pregnancy or new motherhood, and the smell oftheir scented bodies and breast milk was i n the air. For a minute he saw not living women,butStoneAgeVenuses. In the hada l tradition, they were overfed and gloriously pampered during theirmaternity. Likewomenofan y great tribe,they wore wealth upon their naked bodies:plastic poker chips or coins from a dozen nations had been stitched together fornecklaces, colored string and feathers and seashells had been woven into their hair.Somewere covered indriedmudandlookedliketheearth itselfcomingtolife. Theirwaitingwasaformofdeathwatch,butalso of nativity. They were offering thecontentsoftheirwombsforhi suse.Thosewithnewbornsperiodicallyheld them aloft,hoping to catch his attention. Eac h mother's greates t desire wa s tha t the messiahwould enter herownchild, even thoughitwouldmeanhisobliteratingthesoul alreadyinformation. ButThomas was holding himself back. He saw no alternative. Shoat's presence wasa minute-by-minute reminder that the virus was out there, set to annihilate hispeople. To try and inhabit a developed mind meant riskin g his own memory. Andwhatwastheuseofreincarnatingintothebodyofaninfant,ifhewashelpless to warnabouttheimpendingplague?No,hewasbetter residing in this body. As a precaution,he – and Januar y and Branch – had been vaccinate d b y a military docto r at thatAntarcti cbasemanymonthsago,when th e presence of prion capsules was first beingrevealed. Even racked and paralyzed, this shot, burned shell was at least inoculatedagainstthecontagion. Andsotheirkinglayinabodythat was a tomb, caught between choices. Death was sorrow.Butasthe Buddh a had once said, birth was sorrow, too. Priests and shamansfrom throughout the hadal world went on drumming and murmuring. The childrenwentoncrying.Shoat went on writhing and mewling. Off to one side, the daughter ofIsaac continued her fascinatio n with the computer , tappin g at key s endlessly , amonke ywithatypewriter. Thomasclosedhiseyes againstthenightmarehehadbecome.

After a week ofclimbing,Ike andAlireachedtheserpentinesea. The lastofthe Heliosraftsrested nearthelipof itsdischarge, which plunged into a waterfall, miles deep. Itcircle dinan eddy by the shore like a faithful steed. A single paddle was still lashed toonepontoon. 'Climb in,' whispered Ike, and - A l gratefully lowere d hersel f ont o th e rubberflooring . Ike had kept them moving almost constantly since their escape. There hadbeennotimetohuntorforage,andshewas weak withhunger.

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Ike pushed the raft out from shore, but did not begin paddling. 'Do you recognizeanyofthis?'heaskedher. Sheshookherhead. 'Thetrailsgoinevery direction. I've lost my thread, Ali. I don't know which way togo.' 'Maybe thiswillhelp,'saidAli.Sheopenedathin leather sack tied around her waist,anddrew outShoat's homingdevice. 'Itwasyou,'Ike said.'Youstoleit.' 'Walker's men kept beating Shoat. I thought they might kill him. This seemed like somethingwemightneed someday.' 'Butthecode...' 'He kept repeatingasequence of numbers in his delirium. I don't know if it was thecodeornot,butI memorizedit.' Ike squatted onhisheelsbesideher.'Seewhathappens.' Ali hesitated. What if it didn't work? She carefully touche d the numbers on thekeypad andwaited. 'Nothing'shappening.' 'Try again.' This time a red light flashed for ten seconds. The tiny display read ARMED. Therewa s a single high-pitched beep, and the displa y rea d DEPLOYED. After that the redligh tdiedout. 'Nowwhat?'Alidespaired. 'It'snottheendoftheworld,'Ike said,and threw theboxinthe water. Hefishedoutasquare coin he'd found on the trail. It was very old, with a dragon on one side andChinesecalligraphyontheother.'Heads,wegoleft. Tails,right.'He gave itaflip.

They climbedaway fromtheluminescentwaters oftheseaandits rivers and streamsint o a dead zone separating thei r worlds . They had bypassed the region on their descent via the Galápagos elevator system, but Ike had dipped into this barrier zoneonother travels. It was too deep for photosynthesis to support a surficial food chain,and yet too contaminated by the surface for the subplanetary biosphere to survive.Fe w animals passed up or down between those worlds, none by accident. Only the desperate crossedthroughthislifeless,tubular desert. Ike backed them away from the dead zone, found a cavity that Ali could capablydefend,thenwenthunting .Attheendofa week he returned withlongstrings of dried meat, and she did not ask its source. With these provisions, they reentered the deadzone. Theirprogresswashamperedby boulderchokes,hadalfetishes,andbooby traps. Itwa s also made difficult b y their gain in altitude. The air pressure was decreasing asthey approachedsealevel.Physiologically they

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were climbing a mountain, and simple walking became an exertion. Where the path turned vertical and they had to scalecracksorinsidetubes,Ali'slungssometimesfeltneartobursting. Shesatupgaspingforaironenight.After that,Ike employed an old Himalayan ruleof thumb: climb high, sleep low . They would ascend through the tunnel s to a high point, then descend a thousand feet or so for the night. In that way, neither of them developed pulmonary or cerebral edema. Nevertheless, Ali suffered headaches andwa svisitedby occasionalhallucinations. They had no way to track time or chart their elevation. She found their ignoranceliberating. With no calendar or hour to mark, she was forced into the moment. Withevery turn, they might see sunlight. But after a thousand turns withou t an end insight,sherelinquishedthatpreoccupation,too.

Next Thomas heard silence. The plainsong and chants and drumming, the sound ofchildren,thetalkof women:ithadstopped.All was still. Everywhere the People wereasleep , to all appearances exhausted by their vigil and rapture. Their silence was arelie ftotheears ofatrainedmonk. Quiet, hewantedtocommandthecrucifiedlunatic.You'llwake them. Only then did he hear the hiss of aerosol, the fine mist leaking from Shoat's laptopcomputer.Thomas workedtheairintohis scarred lungs, then worked to thrust it outasashoutorawhistle.Hispeoplewere never waking,though. He stared inhorrorat Shoat. Taking a bite of the meat hanging by his cheek, Shoatstared rightbackathim.

Ike's beard grew. Ali's golden hair fell almost to her waist. They were not really lost,because they had started their escape with little idea where they were anyway. Ali foundcomfortinherprayers eachmorning,butalsoinhergrowingclosenesswith thisman.Shedreamedofhim, even lyinginhisarms. OnemorningshewoketofindIke facingthewallinhis lotus position, much the wayshe' d first seen him. In the blackness of the dead zone, she could make out the faintglow of a circle painted on the wall. It could have represente d som e aborigine'sdreamtime or a prehistoric mandala, but she knew fro m the fortress that it was a map . She entered Ike's same contemplation, and the lines snaking and crossing oneanother within the circle took on dimension and direction. Their memory of the wall paintingguidedthemfor days t ocome.

Badly lamed, Branch entered the ruins of the city of the damned. He had given upfindin gIke alive.Intruth ,fevers anddeliriumand the poison on that hadal spear hadharrowed him so that he could barely remembe r Ike at all . His wanderings wounddeepe r lessfromhisinitialsearchthanbecausetheearth'scorehad become his moon,subtly pulling him into a new orbit. The myriad pathways had reduced to one in hismind.Now herehewas. Alllaystill.Bythethousands.

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Inhisconfusion,hewasremindedof a Bosnian night long ago. Skeletons lay tangledinfinalembrace.Flowston ehadabsorbedmanyofthedeadback into the plastic floor.The putrescence had become an atmosphere all it s own. Currents of stench whippedaround building corners lik e squalls of rowdy ghosts. The one sound, besides thewhistleofabyssal wind,wasofwater incanalsslicingaway atthecity'sunderbelly.Branchmeandered throughtheapocalypse. In the center of the city he came to a hill studded with the ruins of an edifice. Hescannedit through his night scope. There was a cross on top, and it held a body. Thecros sdrew himasachildhoodrelic,a vestige ofsomeArthurianimpulse. His bad leg, plus the closely packed dead, made the climb arduous. That remindedhim of Ike, who had talked about his Himalayas with such love. He wondered if Ikemigh tbesomewhere aroundhere,perhaps even onthatcross. The creature on their crucifix had died much more recently than the rest of them,unkindly sustained by a shank of meat. Nearby, a Ranger's sniper rifle lay broken inpiecesbesidealaptopcomputer.Branchcouldn't say whether he'd been a soldier or ascientist.Onethingwascertain,thiswasnot Ike. Hehadbeen newly marked, and thegrimaceheldajumbleofbad teeth. Asheturnedtoleave, Branchnoticedthecorpseofa hadal dressed in a suit of regaljade. Unlike the others, this one was perfectly preserved, at least from the neck up.That curiosity led to another. The man's face looked familiar to him. Bending closer,herecognized the priest. How could he have come to be here? It was he who'd called with information of Ike's innocence, and Branch wondered if he'd descended to sav e Ike, too. What a shock hell must have been for a Jesuit. He stared at the face,strainingtosummonthegoo dman'sname. 'Thomas,'hesuddenly remembered.An dThomasopenedhiseyes.

New Guinea

They stoodstock-still in the mouth of a nameless cave, with the jungle spread beforethem.Allbutnaked,a littleraving,Ali resorted towhatsheknew,andbegantoofferahoarseprayer ofthanks. Like her, Ike was blinded and shaken and afraid, not of the sun above the ropelikecanopy, or of the animals, or of whatever waited for him out there. It was no t theworldthatfrightenedhim.Rather,hedidnot knowwhohewasabouttobecome.There comesatimeonevery bigmountainwhenyoudescendthesnowsand cross a borderbacktolife.It isafirstpatchofgreengrassby thetrail,orawaft of the forestsfar below, or the trickle of snowmelt braiding into a stream. Always before, whetherh e had been gone an hour or a week or much longer – and no matter how manymountainshehadleft behind – it was, for Ike, an instant that registered in his wholebeing.Ike was swept withasensenotof departure, butofadvent. Notof survival. Butofgrace. Nottrustinghisvoice,hecircledAliwithhisarms.

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