Flinx pushed the skimmer to its legal limits. Every additional minute it took him to cover the distance between the city and the coordinates he had been given was another moment that Clarity remained in the unpredictable, unpleasant hands of the fanatics of the Order of Null. While from the time of their first encounter long ago they had struck him as a group that tortured only for a purpose, he had no intention of relying on that initial impression. At the same time he had to take care not to draw the attention of the city authorities who regulated travel in Sphene's vicinity. The consequent enforced delay was agony.

Pip was all over him as well as the interior of the skimmer. Restless and edgy, she would dash from him to one part or another of the craft's transparent canopy and back again, searching for the source of her master's continuing distress. He tried to settle her down, with only limited success. Permanently joined to him empathetically, he could not calm her if he could not calm himself. And no matter how hard he tried, he could not do that.

The other airborne travelers he shot past might be ignoring his high-speed, somewhat erratic flight. Or they might be raging at him. With the rented skimmer's internal communications deliberately disconnected to comply with the instructions he had been given, he had no way of knowing. Nor could anyone contact him via the personal communit he wore on his left wrist. Also in accordance with the Order's commands, he had disabled all of its functions, including the integrated emergency locator beacon. He did not even reach out with his Talent to the pa.s.sengers of the increasingly infrequent transports he pa.s.sed.

Having programmed the coordinates into the skimmer and instructed it to take the fastest point-to-point possible, he raced across lake and river, greenbelt preserve and densely wooded low hills. The craft did not begin to slow until he unexpectedly found himself cruising within the boundaries of one of the capital city's most upscale precincts. Expensive custom villas dotted thickly vegetated hillsides above a gently meandering river whose banks had been channeled, landscaped, and decorated to resemble Earth's fabled Arno.

Descending, the skimmer settled gently to ground on autopilot, touching down on the oval landing pad that fronted one such residence. The structure's two-story portico was an incongruous, slightly absurd, but perfectly rendered reconstruction of the Nymphaeum at Sagala.s.sos, complete to trickling fountains. There was nothing of the ancient Roman about the skimmer's acknowledgment of arrival and touchdown, however. And the generously proportioned middle-aged human who waited to greet him was not clad in a toga. Flinx recognized the man immediately: it was the representative of the Order with whom he had spoken earlier.

As soon as the engine shut down Flinx exited the skimmer and strode over to confront him. He paid no attention to the pistol the man was pointing at him. Exiting from the building's main entrance, several other armed men and women came forward to join them. Much as he wanted to lash out, to flay them with his Talent, to try to sow fear and terror among them, he held back. He dared not act precipitously, especially if they really did have some notion of what he was capable of doing. For one thing, he could not yet sense if Clarity was even in the vicinity.

While he held firmly on to Pip and kept her as calm as he could, one of the men searched him for weapons. His roving hands were quick and professional. After removing Flinx's tool-laden belt, the frisker stepped back.

"He's not carrying nothing dangerous. Nothing obvious, anyway."

The portly speaker nodded. Looking up at the much taller, younger man who had emerged from the skimmer, he opened conversation. His tone was brisk and unafraid.

"Since we want you dead, you're probably wondering why we don't shoot you right here and now. Or why we are even taking the risk to meet with you in person."

Flinx kept his expression as neutral as he could. On his shoulder, Pip squirmed, sensing quiet hostility all around her. "The thought had occurred to me."

"First of all, we of the Order keep our promises," his host explained. "When I communicated with you I said that there might be a way for us to reach an accommodation. While our beliefs limit the range of options that are open to us, some do exist. We are more open to discussion now that you are here and we can kill you anytime. Second, there is certain knowledge we would like to have that is apparently available only to you."

Flinx became aware that the individual members of the armed faction surrounding him were eyeing him with a most peculiar mixture of anger and awe. Knowing who they were and the rough outlines of their beliefs, he could make a reasonable guess as to what kind of information the speaker was after.

"You want to know about the Great Evil that's coming this way. The 'Purity,' as you call it. The 'cleansing' that you worship."

A couple of the men and one of the women surrounding him actually lapsed into silent prayer. It was left to the speaker to articulate their craving.

"Our contacts in Commonwealth Science have only been able to provide details of an astronomical nature. So many pa.r.s.ecs purified, so many suns and so much interstellar hydrogen swept away." Never overtly belligerent even when the talk was of killing him, the speaker's voice abruptly took on a hint of unexpected longing.

"We yearn to know more about that which we strive to facilitate. We feel certain it cannot be wholly and absolutely inanimate. Surely something so vast and all-powerful must be controlled by a consciousness of equal magnitude! A thought process that underlies and directs. Unquestionably there must be more at stake than mere annihilation. There must be purpose, direction, rationale." Eyes alight with the fire of fanaticism searched the face of the barely restrained young man standing before him.

Flinx finally nodded. "Yes. Yes, there is. You're right. I've seen it. I've perceived it."

Excited looks and whispers were exchanged by his guards, though they were careful at all times to keep their weapons trained on him and the flying snake that remained wrapped around his right arm and shoulder.

"Alas, our sources have no access to such extra-physical possibilities." With eyes as hungry as his intellect, the speaker stared at the prisoner. "You must, you have have to share what you know with us." to share what you know with us."

"So I will," Flinx agreed. "I'll tell you everything. But first, take me to Clarity."

"Yes, yes, of course! Even those who serve the Purity must not neglect good manners." Turning, the speaker led the way into the villa. The other members of the Order formed up as an escort on either side of Flinx as well as behind him. Under this heavy guard he was marched into the building.

Slender jets of gel-infused water played in the artificial streams that flanked both sides of the central hallway. At the far end, high double doors opened into an antechamber whose walls and ceiling were decorated in the style of ancient Imperial Rome, albeit a Rome that had been lavished with the latest in contemporary furnishings. Faux Aurelian-era mosaics danced and played on both sides of Flinx as he was led inward.

The next room, the villa's central chamber, had been emptied of furniture, its animated wall mosaics and paintings deactivated. Still more members of the Order were waiting for him. Among them was a singular old man with a bent back. Flinx focused on him immediately. Physically, he was a relic. From the standpoint of emotional strength, however, he easily dominated everyone else in the room. It was also significant that he was one of the very few present who was not visibly armed.

Sitting off to one side on a bench of ersatz marble, a rectangular transparent box held a supine serpentine shape. In a flash Pip spread her wings and, despite Flinx's efforts to restrain her, bolted from his shoulder. The winged form imprisoned inside the perforated, impervious container was alert and active even before she landed atop it. Though they could not make physical contact, mother and offspring proceeded to engage empathetically.

The contemptible folk filling the room would take no more chances with her than they had with Sc.r.a.p, Flinx realized. It didn't matter. Their number was not important and at least for the moment their armaments were of no interest to him. The only thing that mattered was the solitary figure sitting isolated in the center of the chamber.

Sunlight filtering through a circular pane in the ceiling lit Clarity from above. She looked much as she had sounded over his communit-exhausted and abused. The damage that had been inflicted was visible only in her face-and her eyes. It took them, and her, a long moment to recognize him as he rushed toward her.

"F-Flinx?" She shook her head, blinked, and tried without much success to sound angry. "You shouldn't have come. Now that you're here they'll kill us both."

"Maybe," he muttered as he knelt in front of her. "Maybe not." He wanted to take her in his arms. He could have tried, though in her present state it would have been difficult to get even those rangy limbs around her.

From the neck down she was completely encased in a dirty gray foam that had hardened to a plastic-like consistency. Other than her head and neck, only her hands and feet had been left exposed. He started to reach for the foam casing. Her eyes widened.

"No, don't touch me!" She was trying hard not to cry. "If you try to tear or break or drill through the foam in any way, it will blow up!" She looked toward the watching Order members. "At least, that's what they told me when they were spraying it on."

A deepening chill washed through Flinx as he straightened and took a step back. Her captors were taking no chances. She was encased in enough material to bring down the entire building: a possibility that apparently did not bother those who had gone to the trouble of fitting her with the untouchable, volatile sheath.

A voice sounded nearby. The Elder had come up behind him.

"Having become all too familiar with your peculiar combative abilities, young man, we of course have taken appropriate steps." He pointed the cane he was holding at the terrified, immobilized woman seated before them. "She is encased in a latex-based high explosive, which has been intermingled with sensitized nanowiring. Attuned to the microscopic cabling are four b.u.t.ton-sized wireless detonators taped to her thighs, any one of which can by itself set off the entirety of the solidified amalgam. If you attempt to penetrate the material to retrieve the triggers, the material will detonate. The detonators themselves have been individually randomly coded and locked, so they cannot be deactivated remotely."

Flinx digested this. "Then how can she be freed from the foam without setting it off?"

"An optical wormgrip can be slipped through the slight gap between her body and the encas.e.m.e.nt to safely remove the detonators. They can then easily be switched off." The Elder smiled thinly. "Sometimes simple mechanical procedures are more expedient than complex electronics." He indicated their surroundings. "We intentionally do not have a wormgrip anywhere on this property so you cannot take one of us hostage and demand that we bring it forth. We cannot be forced to turn over that which we do not have." Eyes that had seen much and were the harder for it met Flinx's.

"Once you have unburdened yourself of the knowledge we seek, someone will be sent to obtain and bring back the tool necessary to free her."

Flinx scrutinized the hardened explosive spume that had been sculpted around Clarity, looking for a weakness, looking for something the Order might have overlooked. The casing was not skintight-the Elder had explained that there was a gap between foam and body. They had to leave her room to breathe, to sweat, and to twitch a little. But there was no way he could get a hand, much less an arm, into and down the narrow gap between the solidified sheath and her neck, ankle, or leg. He could not get up inside the congealed foam to remove the detonators without the kind of flexible, specialized probe the old man had described. Even if he could have slipped a hand up inside he knew he would not be given the time to try.

If the Elder was telling the truth, deactivating four simple mechanical switches would be enough to completely eliminate the danger to the immobilized, imprisoned Clarity. Except Flinx could not reach them. Nor could she.

How to neutralize their captors and free her? Engaging them in combat would not secure her release. Even if he did strike, all one of them had to do was shoot or strike hard at the foam casing to set off the sensitive material and kill them all.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing, it seemed, except stall for time by complying with their request. Their eagerness grew palpable as other members began to edge nearer to the human who had perceived the Purity.

"Tell us of the holy place." The rotund speaker was pleading even as he brandished a lethal handgun in Flinx's direction.

"Speak to us of the coming cleansing!" Hands outstretched, palms upward, a woman beseeched the tall young man in their midst whom she was sworn to kill.

"What is it like? ... Does it have shape and form? ... Can you do more than sense its presence? ..."

The cl.u.s.ter of killers was pathetic in their zeal. Their expressions, their importunate stares, their forthright emotions hung eagerly on whatever he might say even as he could perceive their desire to witness his demise. Even the Elder exhibited unfeigned emotion. Looking forward to and dedicating themselves to the pending death of every living thing in the galaxy, they were desperate to know the particulars of the onrushing instrument of destruction whose arrival they had devoted themselves to facilitating.

"Why should I?" Folding his arms across his chest, Flinx regarded the closing circle coolly. "Clarity's right. When you've heard everything you want to hear from me, you'll kill us both."

The Elder's expression darkened and his lips trembled slightly as he spoke. "You said that you would tell us everything if we brought you to this woman."

Flinx shrugged indifferently. "What can I say? Maybe the prospect of imminent death has affected my memory."

Keeping his pistol trained on Flinx at all times, the portly speaker came up beside the Elder and whispered into his ear. The older man listened, nodding occasionally, until his a.s.sociate had finished. Then he turned back to Flinx.

"We will make you a proposal. If you will tell us what we wish to know-everything that is of interest to us concerning the cleansing-we will allow both of you to live. But not to go free. I am sure you understand that we cannot let you go free so long as we feel that you may pose a threat, however slight it may be, to the triumphant approach of the Purity. So we will allow you to live out your natural lives together, in each other's happy company. But only if you agree to do so under our constant supervision." Leaning both hands on the top of his cane, he eyed Flinx intently. "Under the circ.u.mstances, I am sure you can see that this is an offer that is more than fair. Certainly it presents you with a better prospect than death at our hands."

It would, Flinx thought, if you weren't lying through your biochemically regenerated teeth. Able to read the emotions of those around him, Flinx knew immediately and without question that the Elder, the speaker, and their fervently impatient colleagues had absolutely no intention of carrying out or implementing any such seemingly benign proposal. As soon as he was finished talking, they would kill him, and Clarity thereafter. This realization handed him his first weapon for the clash to come.

They did not know that he knew.

He snuck a furtive glance in Pip's direction. She was wholly preoccupied with trying to find a way into the toxin-resistant box in which Sc.r.a.p was imprisoned. If he called to her or shouted an order she would likely respond, but he held back. There were too many guns in the room. Too many of the Order for her to take out at once.

Some of the small tools on his belt, like the cutter, could double as weapons. But they had taken that before allowing him inside. It seemed they had left nothing to chance. Except Flinx himself.

To provide cover for his furious planning he started to talk, giving a simplified depiction of his essence traveling through s.p.a.ce, his mind-self covering immense cosmic distances in a direction that had only been made known to him years ago. They listened raptly but did not lower their weapons or their guard. While a part of him rambled on with no particular attention to detail or accuracy, the rest of him concentrated on projecting a single dominating, overpowering emotion. Trapped in dangerous surroundings he would typically have tried to project an overriding fear, or perhaps unbridled confusion. He was afraid that the fanatical members of the Order would not respond adequately to the first or wholeheartedly to the second.

So, since they worshipped death and annihilation, he projected life.

Feelings that underscored the beauty of existence, the fulfillment to be had from simply existing, the joy and wonder of continuing consciousness poured out of the tall redhead to inundate the chamber in an emotive flood of intense, all-consuming, ardent delight at the sheer ecstasy of being-each emotion carefully and consciously counterpointed with what the loss of life really meant.

They resisted-he could feel them resisting the projection-but his choice of emotions had taken them completely by surprise. Perhaps antic.i.p.ating the same kind of emanations of hatred or fear, panic or alarm, that he had projected on their colleagues in the course of the fight at the shuttleport more than a year ago, they were not prepared for an emotional plea for life. As the emotive ant.i.thesis of everything the Order stood for, it hit them hard, each and every one. "One by one, they began to fall to the ground in ecstatic reverie."

Only just conscious of what was happening as his colleagues began to slump to the ground, the speaker tried to aim his pistol at Flinx. Caught up in a surge of support for continued existence and happiness the likes of which he had never encountered or imagined, he failed to get off a shot. Instead, he fell to the floor like the rest of the acolytes and lay there, trembling with the thrill of knowing how good, how important, and how sheerly true true the simple pleasure of being alive could be. the simple pleasure of being alive could be.

Of them all, the strongest resistance came from the Elder. More deeply indoctrinated in the philosophy of the Order than any of his presently helpless brethren, he stumbled forward and tried to swing his cane at the volatile foam encasing Clarity. Flinx had no trouble concentrating on and sustaining his life-affirming projection while knocking the old man's attempt aside. Thwarted in his effort, the Elder too finally succ.u.mbed to the tall young man's remorseless emanation of contentment.

Flinx surveyed the chamber with satisfaction. Wallowing in the joy he empathetically projected, every member of the Order now lay sprawled on the polished stone floor, each caught up and ensnared in a personal paroxysm of bliss that stemmed from the sheer joy of being. So powerful and focused was Flinx's projection that he felt confident the effects would persist for a good twenty or thirty minutes after he drew back into himself.

Though she had seen what he could do and knew what he was capable of, Clarity still found herself staring in amazement at the man who had come back for her.

"Flinx? What did you do do to them?" to them?"

Bending to pick up the first of many hand weapons that had been set aside and forgotten by their owners, he smiled softly. "I challenged their thinking. And in so challenging it, I changed it. For the better, I think. It probably won't last. By the time the effect wears off, the most zealous among them, at least, will begin to recover their beliefs." He looked over to where she sat encased in her volatile, dirty gray prison.

"By then I expect you and I and Pip and Sc.r.a.p will be long gone from this place. By tonight we should be well away from this entire world."

Without warning, something struck his right hand hard and hot. Flinching in pain and surprise, he drew his fingers back quickly from the pistol they had been reaching for and looked around to his left.

"Flinx ...!"

Clarity's shout of his name was warning enough, but it was unnecessary. He had already located the new threat. As soon as he recognized and identified it he realized that the members of the Order, being aware of his unique abilities but ignorant of their extent, had antic.i.p.ated their own potential inadequacies in dealing with him. So in the event their quarry somehow managed to overcome them despite their careful preparations, they had organized a backup.

The Qwarm was a brute, even for a member of the a.s.sa.s.sin's Guild. Taller than Flinx, he outweighed the younger man by fifty kilos or more. Muscles bulged beneath the tight black suit he wore. The death's-head belt, the form-fitting skullcap covering the shaven pate, the crimson insignia: all served to identify the professional killer on sight. The black composite pistol he gripped almost disappeared in his huge fist. Flinx recognized the type. It fired a very focused, very narrow heat beam. Set to blister and not to kill, the perfectly aimed single shot had caused Flinx to pull back sharply from the pile of weapons he had commandeered from the members of the Order.

A loud humming filled the air. Alarmed, Flinx whirled and tried to warn Pip off-too late. Drawn away from Sc.r.a.p's prison by the new threat to her master, she had soared ceilingward before launching herself at the Qwarm.

An ordinary a.s.sailant she would have taken out easily. There was nothing ordinary about the Qwarm. Reacting to her attack with lightning-like reflexes, the a.s.sa.s.sin raised his weapon. A desperate Flinx projected fear in the man's direction. It had no effect.

Like all the elite of his specialized, dedicated criminal Guild, the veteran Qwarm had trained himself until he was literally emotionless. Unable to feel anything, he did not respond to the emotions Flinx flung at him.

In all the years they had been companions, in all the brawls and sc.r.a.pes and battles they had fought, Flinx had never seen anyone fast enough to intercept Pip with a weapon. That record was broken as a needle-thin beam from the a.s.sa.s.sin's gun ripped through her right wing. Though the shot missed her body, the partial loss of lift caused her to spiral to the ground. She landed hard, but alive and still full of fight. But she had landed too far away from her foe to reach him with her venom. Within his transparent prison a hysterical Sc.r.a.p beat in a frenzy at the impervious walls.

As the Qwarm turned implacably back toward Flinx, Clarity cried out a fresh warning. Her alarm was hardly necessary. Flinx and his a.s.sailant were the only figures in motion within the circular chamber.

He studied his adversary. The man was big, powerful, and agile. Completely hairless, he looked to be about fifty. The suggestion of age was in itself unsettling. Unlike in popular fiction where professional killers tended to be youthful and attractive, the successful ones, the truly dangerous ones, were ordinary in appearance and lived to a respectable age. The handsome and reckless tended to die young. That this Qwarm was still alive and healthy told Flinx all he needed to know about his opponent's skill level.

He continued to try to force the issue emotionally, projecting a full and varying range of sentiments at the looming executioner. Fright, panic, alarm, loss, despair, friendship-empathetically, he ran the full gamut of feelings in his attempt to somehow, in some way, reach his a.s.sailant. Nothing had any effect. A walking emotional void, the Qwarm felt nil.

Flinx steeled himself. He was quick, long of limb, and in good condition. If he could get in underneath the killer's first shot, he could strike upward to deflect the arm holding the pistol. There was a distinctive thranx fighting move Truzenzuzex had taught him long ago that just might catch a human a.s.sa.s.sin, even a professional, off guard. But before Flinx could launch himself forward, the Qwarm did something entirely unexpected.

Moving slowly and deliberately, the a.s.sa.s.sin put his weapon aside, setting it down on a nearby padded bench. Then he straightened and eyed his target. And waited expectantly.

In one respect Flinx was fortunate. Any other opponent, any ordinary aggressor, would simply have tried to shoot him down where he stood. A professional, however, functioned according to a different code. The most professional of all their kind, the Qwarm followed strict rules of combat. If Flinx had been armed he would likely already have been shot. In contrast, by standing defenseless before a highly trained senior Guild member he acquired a certain degree of innocence. That would not grant him mercy, but according to the rules of the Guild it would allow for opportunity, slim as that might be. He was still going to die. The only difference was that it would be by the Qwarm's actual instead of metaphorical hands.

As he had throughout his life, he would take whatever chance was offered. He had received instruction in hand-to-hand combat from Tse-Mallory and Truzenzuzex. If he could not overwhelm his overmuscled executioner, maybe he could surprise him.

If you are out-sized, you counter with speed, he had been taught. Without waiting for a formal invitation, he threw himself at his a.s.sailant. Arms extended in front of him, the waiting Qwarm dropped into a fighting crouch. Beneath the gleaming black and crimson skullcap there was no eagerness in his countenance, no disdainful grin on his face. He was just doing a job. Guild convention required that it be consummated in a way that would take slightly more time than originally antic.i.p.ated. No matter. The end would be the same.

At the last instant Flinx spun in midair parallel to the floor and kicked out, first with his right leg, aiming for the a.s.sa.s.sin's groin, second with his left, in an attempt to make contact with the blunt bridge of the man's nose. Neither strike was compa.s.sionate. Both were intended to disable or kill. In a fight for his life and Clarity's there were no rules. One could not lose gracefully. You won, by any means possible. Or you died.

Demonstrating extraordinary agility for one so ma.s.sive, the Qwarm dropped onto his back. One scything hand blocked Flinx's first strike. The second kick pa.s.sed over its intended nasal target as the a.s.sa.s.sin thrust sharply upward with both feet to strike the younger man solidly in his solar plexus.

As the air whooshed out of him Flinx found himself flying through the air. He landed hard on his back, fighting for breath. He would roll fast, kip to his feet, and attack again before the Qwarm could regain his ...

Hands in striking position, the a.s.sa.s.sin was already standing over him.

How had he recovered so quickly? Flinx had barely hit the floor before the killer was looming over him. He readied himself as best he could to block the expected leg thrust or punch. Lying p.r.o.ne, he was vulnerable to all that and more.

Empathetic projecting had failed. Hand-to-hand combat had failed. What other weapons did he have available to him? He unleashed a stream of words. Already aware that emotion would have no effect on his designated a.s.sa.s.sin, he kept his voice steady and rational. Pleading, crying, begging, would weigh no heavier on the Qwarm in verbal form than they had emotionally.

"If you kill me," Flinx declared as calmly as he could, "then any descendants of yours, the entire Guild, and every living creature is going to die when something unimaginably vast and malevolent sweeps through this corner of the cosmos."

Perceiving no need to hurry, the a.s.sa.s.sin considered this most peculiar plea for clemency. "The unlikeliness of what you put forward aside, it does not sound to me like something a stripling like yourself could influence." A hand drew back, gathering force to strike a killing blow.

Flinx did something he had never done before in his life. He boasted.

"I am civilization's last hope."

Coming from a beaten young man lying on the polished floor of an exurban residence on the fringes of the city of Sphene, this was such a blatantly outrageous declaration that the senior Qwarm was disposed to pause, if only to deliver a final a.s.sessment.

"You do not look to me like the last hope of anything except yourself." The killing hand tightened.

Lying on his back gazing up at the a.s.sa.s.sin, his chest heaving, out of time and ideas, Flinx tried one last tack. Knowing what he did of the Qwarm he had little hope it would work, but he had to try.

"Whatever the Order is paying the Guild, I'll triple it. I have access to resources far beyond what you can see or imagine."

"He's telling the truth!" From her body jacket of explosive foam, Clarity pleaded with the killer. "About having money and and about saving the galaxy." about saving the galaxy."

The Qwarm allowed himself a single sigh. "I am sorry. I do not believe the latter. As for the first, you should know that the Guild's reputation is built on a cherished tradition of fulfilling each and every contract to the letter of the respective agreement. Even if I were personally attracted to such an offer, as a member of the Guild I could never agree to it. Were I to do so, my own brothers and sisters would hunt me down and swiftly put paid to any such idiosyncratic escapade." The killing hand rose higher. "Consider yourselves fortunate I was hired to dispatch you quickly and efficiently, and not to make your pa.s.sing linger."

The fist started to descend toward Flinx's face, almost faster than the eye could follow. He barely had time to close his eyes. Encapsulated in explosive, Clarity screamed. Slithering toward the combatants, a grounded Pip desperately spat venom that landed more than a meter short of its target. The Qwarm's precise, methodical killing strike struck home.

And just brushed Flinx's left ear.