The login screen vanished, replaced by a spinning wheel. Just as Deirdre was thinking she should have plugged the computer into a phone jack, another chime sounded. The screen went black. Then words scrolled into being, as if typed by invisible hands: DNA authentication scan accepted. Seeker Agent

Deirdre Falling Hawk-identity confirmed.

Working...

Deirdre let out a low whistle. So this thing was wireless; she could take it anywhere. More glowing words scrolled across the screen, and her breath caught on her lips.

Welcome, to Echelon 7.

What do you want to do?

The cursor blinked on and off, expectant. Deirdre sat back in the chair and ran a hand through her red-black hair.

What was she supposed to do? There were no menus on the screen, no windows to explore, no buttons to click. Just the glowing words.

It asked you a question, Deirdre. So why not answer it?

She swallowed a nervous laugh, then leaned forward and tapped out words on the keyboard.

I want to find something.

She pressed Enter. A moment later, new words appeared on the screen.

What do you want to find?

Deirdre hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys. Then, quickly, she typed three words.

Fire and wonder.

Again she pressed Enter. The words flashed, then vanished, and the screen exploded into a riot of motion and color. Dozens of session windows popped into being, each overlapping the next. Text poured through some of the windows like green rain, while in others images flashed by so quickly they were superimposed into a single blurred montage of stones covered with runes, medieval swords, pages of illuminated manuscripts, and ancient coins-each gone in less than the blink of an eye.

Deirdre leaned closer to the screen. Some of the data windows contained menus and commands she recognized; they belonged to various database systems in the Seeker network she had accessed in the past. But most of the windows bore interfaces like nothing she had ever seen before, their indecipherable menus composed in glowing alien symbols. Atop everything was a single flashing crimson word: Seeking... Trembling, she reached out to touch the computer.

The screen went black.

Deirdre jerked her hand back. What had she done? Had she damaged it somehow? Then her heart began to beat once more as glowing emerald words scrolled across the screen.

Search completed.

1 match(es) located:

/albion/archive/case999-1/mla1684a.arch

So it had found something. But where? Deirdre didn't recognize the server name; wherever this file was located, it wasn't in a database she had ever searched before.

What did the file contain? Text? Images? And concerning what subject? Deirdre had no idea, but she intended to find out. Display search file. [Enter]

The cursor flashed for several seconds, then the computer let out a beep.

Error. Unable to access file mla1684a.arch.

File does not exist.

Deirdre swore, then typed another command. What hap pened to search file? [Enter]

File mla1684a.arch has been deleted from the system.

Deirdre typed with furious intensity. When was file mla1684a.arch deleted? [Enter]

The computer whirred, chirped.

File mla1684a.arch was deleted from the system at timestamp:

Today, 22:10:13

A coldness stole over her. It was hard to move, but she craned her head up and forced her eyes to focus on the art deco clock on the mantle. 10:12 P.M.

Two minutes ago. The file had been deleted from the system two minutes ago. But that had to be...

"Just seconds after your search query located it," Deirdre whispered to no one.

She pushed back from the table and reached for the phone on the wall. Fumbling, she punched the number of the flat where Farr had been staying. One ring, two.

She had to talk to Farr; he would know what to do. He knew everything, didn't he? Three rings, four.

"Come on, Hadrian, answer. Bloody hell, come on."

A click. The ringing ended, and a voice spoke in her ear. But it wasn't Farr's low, compelling tones. Instead it was a robotic drone.

"The number you have reached has been disconnected. If you feel you have reached this recording in error-"

Deirdre slammed the phone back onto the wall. No, it was no error. Farr had left. But where was he going? There had been something about him earlier-a power, a peril-she had never seen before. Then, with a shiver, she remembered his last words to her.

You see, there's still one class of encounter we haven't had yet....

Deirdre sank back into the chair, staring at the computer screen. It was the first thing every Seeker learned upon joining the order: the classification of otherworldly encounters. Class Three Encounters were common-rumors and stories of otherworldly nature. Class Two Encounters were rarer, but well represented in the history of the Seekers-encounters with objects and locations that bore residual traces of otherwordly forces. And Class One Encounters were the rarest-direct interaction with otherwordly beings and travelers.

But Farr was right. There was one more class of encounter, one that had never been recorded in all the five centuries of the Seekers' existence. A Class Zero Encounter. Translocation to another world oneself.

Deirdre clenched her hands into fists. "What are you doing, Hadrian? By all the gods, what are you doing?"

But the only answer was the soft, ceaseless hum of the computer.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR.

MARK ANTHONY learned to love both books and mountains during childhood summers spent in a Colorado ghost town. Later he was trained as a paleoanthropologist but along the way grew interested in a different sort of human evolution-the symbolic progress reflected in myth and the literature of the fantastic. He undertook this project to explore the idea that reason and wonder need not exist in conflict. Mark Anthony lives and writes in Colorado, where he is currently at work on the next book of The Last Rune. Fans of The Last Rune can visit the website at http://www.thelastrune.com.

ALSO BY MARK ANTHONY.

Beyond the Pale.

The Keep of Fire.

The Dark Remains.

BLOOD OF MYSTERY.

end.