The Shibboleth (41 page)

I release the door and move onward, down the hall, until finally …
finally
… I stand in front of the entrance.

It is here. I feel it in all the ways I can feel. Beyond the capacity of my fellow man. In all my years. I feel it.

I push the door open. I move my body into the small, antiseptic-smelling room. There's the huff and hiss of a breathing apparatus, the soft dings of a pulse fed through a machine. I stand by the bed, looking down.

The ruin of years has not been kind to Lucius, languishing in this hospital. My old friend. He looks like a bundle of sticks with a white mop for a head. Wasted and liver-marked.

My mentor. Or what is left of him.

Or what is in him.

I feel something moving, something obscene stirring, coiling and uncoiling in its strength, hinting toward massiveness that makes it hard to comprehend.

Before me lies Armstead Lucius Priest, my old friend, and inside
him now stirs all of our destruction. The dragon reborn into the world. The star-spanning darkness that will find us all.

Something in me, some receptive lone particle, quivers and thrums in the ether, and the dragon answers. The darkness swells.

And his eyes open.

He sees me.

It sees me.

It stirs, and I can feel the gaping maw of its awareness. The compulsion to throw myself into the abyss pricks itself up and into my consciousness, and most of it is not me. Most of it. The great necessity of death spreads itself like a lover beneath me.

I stumble out. I stumble away, heedless and sightless, like a beggar in a desert, blinded by the sight of a black sun.

I stumble. I fall.

Darkness covers me.

Quincrux removes his hand, withdraws his mind from my own. There was no fighting him, when it happened. With his touch—
his proximity
—he was inside me and moving. Showing me his own mind. It happened so fast. The clock says it's only been moments.

“So, it's …” I need to order my thoughts. “What? What is it?”

“You know as much as I. The insomnia, the dark emanations from the East … it is stirring.”

“What happens if it wakes? That's what the Riders were warning me of. To rejoin Jack—and I guess you—before the ‘elder awakens.'” That's a stinker of a thought, like a turd in the punch bowl. It has the whiff of prophecy. “But it seemed to me the Riders wanted me to go gallivanting off to face down the damned thing by myself.”

Something clicks in my mind, my memory.

“What is it, Shreve?” Quincrux asks. Weird how we're just sitting here, chatting.

“It used the word
ember
. It said, ‘These embers …'”

“And you are thinking it meant Ember Schultz?”

“Her name is Schultz? Who gives their kid the name Ember knowing it'll always be tagged with Schultz?”

“Dead parents,” he says, humorlessly. He pushes back, away
from me. He takes another cigarette from the package of Peter Stuyvesants.

“All of my clothes, I mean, every piece of clothing I have, is gonna stink of that. I'm wearing everything I got.”

“Amy, please requisition more clothing for Mr. Cannon. It seems he'll be staying with us for the duration.”

“And the thing in the East?” I ask, glancing at Ruark. I'm still uncomfortable talking about it in front of people. “People are dying from lack of sleep. We've got to do something. We should do what the Riders say …” The thought terrifies me, but it seems like the only alternative. “Send me and Jack.”

He shakes his head. “No. That is simply folly. You are so green as to be useless, and your partner Jack requires a burr under his saddle to function at levels becoming a member of our Society.” He looks thoughtful. “And we already have plans in motion to neutralize the entity.”

“How?”

“It is not a matter of concern for you.”

“How you figure? That Rider didn't come looking for you. Doesn't this make you nervous?”

He places his cigarette in the ashtray and stares at me. “It makes me very nervous. As much as we've shared,” he says meaningfully, “you are in a unique position to understand how seriously I take this threat. But it is only a matter of days before it will be resolved.”

“Tell me.”

“Suffice it to say, I am dispatching our Orange Team to deploy a new technology that will eliminate the threat.”

“What technology?”

“A bioelectrical technology.”

“That doesn't make any sense.”

He obviously doesn't like being questioned. I wonder why he allows me to continue doing it.

“In the early eighties, we found a woman who could generate a stasis field. An absolutely impenetrable one. Anything inside the field was held inviolate and time did not pass. After billions of dollars of research, we've managed to duplicate that same effect through a combination of genome manipulation, biotechnology, and computers.”

“You're gonna place the body of this Priest fellow in the field.”

“Yes. And lock it away. Forever.”

“You're gonna stick it in a dark hole, is that it? Didn't work too well with me.”

“I allowed you to leave your confinement. The entity will not have the same fate as you.”

“Hope that stasis thingy works better than your Helmholtz fields.”

It doesn't faze him. “You would be amazed.”

“You know, because I've been walking right through them.”

“This is known.” He inclines his head toward Negata, lurking silently in the corner. “It is good that Mr. Negata is with us to keep you company.”

“And you've put the screws to my brother.”

He ignores that. He probably doesn't like being reminded that he's an extortionist and kidnapper. Being a murderer is fine; it's so much cleaner, to deprive someone of life. But these lower crimes, these crimes of necessity, they besmirch his self-image.

But the implications of this technology, if true, are
staggering. No more wars. Colonizing other planets. Journeying to the stars. The mind boggles.

And they want to use it to lock away a dragon.

Oy gevalt, this guy.

“You gonna go with it? This stasis bomb?”

“No. My last encounter with the thing taxed me beyond all endurance. And I think whatever is left of Lucius in there, if there's any part of him that hasn't been replaced with the
other
, is sensitive to the presence of telepaths more than telekinetics.”

“So you're just gonna send meatheads and jocks? Good plan.” Both he and I know only a mind can contest another mind. And the dragon is one big throbbing, ugly awareness. A mind. “Send me.”

“No.”

“Send me. I can be your link to the mission. Your man on the inside.” God help me for saying this. “You can sit in the backseat.” I tap my temple.

“Quite a generous offer, Mr. Cannon, but no.”

“Why not?”

“Two reasons.” He raises a tobacco-stained finger. “You haven't proven yourself to me. You are obstinate. You aren't a team player.”

True
. But screw this guy. I can play well with others. The goddamned world is at stake. Maybe he didn't bring me here to make me his own toy soldier. Maybe he brought me here to take me off the battlefield.

“Two.” He raises another finger. “The impenetrables seem to want you to come into
proximity
—” There's that word again. “With the entity in Maryland. Until I know the Riders' goals, I
have no intention of doing what they want. So if they want you to encounter this
thing
, I will work to thwart that, if I can.”

“I think you're making a mistake.”

“It is within the realm of possibility.”

“Everything is in the realm of possibility.”

“Not everything.”

“Name one thing. You've got a stasis field. Kids can fly. I can possess people and read minds. What is impossible?”

“You going to Maryland.” He snuffs out his cigarette. “Thank you for your time and candor, Shreve. I think this is a good step forward for you.” He turns to his laptop and pecks at the keyboard. “You are dismissed.”

On my way out of Admin, the statue of Armstead Lucius Priest stares blankly out the front bay window at the dark. Ruark is nowhere to be found. I was hoping for a ride in her golf cart.

I trudge up the slope on the northwestern path up to the male dorms, away from the manicured quad where I encountered the mountain lion. Nice night out, a bajillion stars illuminating the sky, a half-moon washing the valley in pale light.

Roberto greets me as I enter the dorms and begin to take the long stairs up to my room.

Ruark and Davies are there when I enter. Davies has his rifle up, pointed in the vicinity of the window, where both Jack and Tap stand, watching.

“What's going on here?”

I realize Ruark's tried to slip Hollis out while I was occupied with Quincrux. They all turn to look at me where I stand in the doorway. Hollis is halfway through packing his things in his bag. His expression is of pure terror.

“Hollis is going home,” Ruark says. “The Society wasn't a right fit for him.”

“What? Why isn't it?”

Hollis looks wrung out. “No, it's okay, Shreve,” he says. “It's fine. I want to go home.”

Something's not right here.

There's a long silence while Hollis stuffs clothes into his bag. Davies shifts his weight and readjusts his rifle. I don't know any way to say it and not have Hollis panic. If he panics, somebody's going to get shot.

I look around. Negata is nowhere about. The Helmholtz isn't running. Feigning indifference, I say, “Okay, Hollis.” I lie down on my bed and cross my arms behind my head. “Sorry you're not gonna be around.”

“Come on, Mr. Hollis, we don't have all night,” Ruark says.

Hollis looks at me, stricken.

“Hollis,” I say. “It's gonna be all right, man.”

I get up, stick out my hand. Hollis takes it, tentatively. “Nice to meet you, bud.”

“Thanks, Shreve. Uh … thanks,” he says, and then he hugs me.

Over his shoulder, I see Negata appear in the doorway. Ruark notices him too.

“Mr. Negata, while we're escorting Mr. Hollis to his—” She pauses. “His
exit interview
, I'd like you to remain here with Mr. Cannon. Just as a precautionary measure.”

I sit back on my bed. “I'm going to sleep.”

Negata looks at me, unblinking. He moves to the side and allows Ruark, Hollis, and Davies to leave.

“Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out,” I say.

Ruark stops, gives me an
I'm-about-to-make-your-night
grin, and lifts her walkie-talkie. “Exchange, over. Exchange?”

The radio squelches something inaudible back.

“I'm going to need the boys' dorm Helmholtz field pushed to maximum. Divert power from elsewhere if you have to.”

In seconds, I can feel the ether hissing and vibrating in the fillings of my teeth. It's the strongest I've ever encountered.

When they're gone, Negata silently steps backward, into the hall, and swings the door firmly shut.

The instant the latch closes, I hop up, move to the window.

“Jack, I'm gonna need your help.”

“We can't do anything!” Jack says. He splays out his fingers at the wall, like he's going to give a small burst. Nothing happens. “We're stuck.”

“Not quite, bro. Tap, watch the door.”

Things have changed now one of us is in obvious jeopardy. He may not like us, but he is one of us. “Uh, what do I do if he comes in here?”

“He comes in, out the window as fast as you can and scream like the dickens.”

“He's gonna eat me for breakfast.”

“Just watch the damned door, will you? I have to hurry.”

While I can't get out on the campus, I can get to the farthest edges of the field to try to do what I'm about to do. I shimmy out the window, climbing up to what I've come to think of as our patio. Jack's right behind me.

Once I'm there, I feel the ether, gauging the strength of that hideous field. Weaker, but still crackling like hot oil. Our patio is a five-by-five-foot area where the dormers and three planes of roofing meet in a flat area, but there are more areas to the roof. The angle up leads to some vents and beyond to the apex of the building.

With no time to waste, I scurry up, over the heavy slate tiles, higher and higher. The wind is fiercer now, colder, whipping down from those great heights, and it plays havoc with my balance. Jack seems to be having no problems. We keep moving up and up until we come to the peak where I had hoped there'd be a flat area. No dice. The roof immediately slants away in a tight angle, descending down to the rest of the building, the eastern side. From here, my body draped stomach-down on the peak of the building, pressed tight like some pathetic mountaineer, I see the valley spread out below me and illuminated by the moon. The lights on the buildings look small and pathetic underneath the canopy of stars and the brilliant lunatic sway of the half-orb hanging so low in the heavens.