Angelmass

CHAPTER 11

They followed the herald and the Speaker into the room; and as the herald stepped to the front, Forsythe let his eyes sweep around the intricately carved walls and vaulted ceiling. It was just as he remembered it: the Common Chamber of the High Senate, rich with grandeur and history and a sense of power.

For Forsythe, though, it was much more than any of those. It was like coming home.

He took a deep breath, the delicate scent of leather and brass and exotic wood triggering a kaleidoscope of bittersweet memories. Watching from the gallery above during session as his father spoke to the assemblage. Curling up in one of the huge leather chairs late in the evening, or wandering around looking at the carvings on the walls, waiting for his father to finish a conversation and take him home. The first time that, as one of his father's assistants, he had had to come right into the middle of session to deliver some last-minute papers, feeling proud and scared and horribly conspicuous all at the same time.

Standing there, helpless, as his father quietly but firmly handed in his resignation.

Lowering his eyes, Forsythe focused on the men and women sitting in the tiered seats beneath the dome of the ceiling. At the glitter of the angel pendants hanging around each of those high and mighty necks...

The herald pounded his ceremonial staff on the stone floor, the thud echoing through the chamber and quieting the last murmurs of conversation from the tiers. "The High Senate of the Empyrean is now in session," he intoned. "Let all rise and prepare their hearts and minds for service to the people of the Five Worlds."

There was a general shuffle of cloth on leather as the High Senators obediently rose to their feet.

Stepping past the herald, the Speaker walked over to stand beside his own high-backed chair, and for a minute the room was silent. Then, at an unseen signal, the herald pounded his staff again. "May God grant wisdom, compassion, and courage to all who serve," he said. Pounding the staff a third time, he turned and went to his small archway at the back of the room.

The Speaker sat down, the chair creaking slightly with his weight. "Greetings to you all," he said gravely as the rest took their seats in turn. "I welcome you to the thirty-second session of the Empyreal High Senate; I trust you all came back ready to work." He glanced down at the desk display on his left. "Our first order of business this morning will be to welcome three newly elected members into our midst: Karym Daryani of Uhuru, replacing the late Bharat Jain; Arkin Forsythe of Lorelei, replacing the retiring Gabre Kassaie; and Vladmr Grosdova of Sadhai, replacing the late Raimon Sabatyat."

Two deaths and a retirement. It was, Forsythe reflected darkly, a perfect example of how the angels had corrupted the system. In his father's day politics had finally been hammered into a genuinely even-handed struggle, with a competent challenger having a real chance of unseating a less able incumbent. Now, only eighteen years later, the ancient patterns of entrenched imperial power systems had already reemerged.

The experts lauded it, of course, as they lauded everything having to do with angels. The theory was that the angel presence had given the people a new confidence in their leaders' ethical standards, which had in turn allowed them to safely focus more of their attention on the value of experience in choosing those same leaders.

No one seemed interested in the question of whether even ethical politicians could get too comfortable or complacent in their jobs... as comfortable and complacent as many of those same experts were in their own positions. Perhaps that was why the question never occurred to them.

"The new High Senators," the Speaker continued, "will now come forward, to swear their oath before the rest of the assemblage and to receive in return their badge of trust."

Or, in plain language, their angel pendants. Forsythe took a deep breath as, flanked by the other two, he stepped up to the Speaker's podium. Off to the side, near the section of the semicircular table where he would soon be taking his place, he could see Ronyon and Pirbazari standing ready.

"Karym Daryani; step forward," the Speaker said. Daryani did so, touching the other's palm in respect. "You have been chosen by the people of the Mbundu District of Uhuru to serve them as High Senator. Will you accept the responsibilities such service will demand of you?"

"I will," Daryani nodded, his voice holding just the right mixture of humility and confidence.

Forsythe turned his head slowly as the Speaker went through the rest of the ritual, just far enough to see Ronyon out of the corner of his eye. The big man stood unnaturally straight, his lips making small movements as if chewing on a piece of gristle, his eyes darting constantly around the room as if looking for an escape hatch. Don't fall apart on me now, Forsythe mentally urged him. Fall apart later, if you want. But not now.

"...and so, in the name of the High Senate, I present you with your badge of service to the Empyrean," the Speaker was saying. "Wear it always, both as a symbol of your authority and as a commitment to the people."

The herald had returned during that last, carrying a small wooden box. Now, he lifted the hinged lid; and with a delicacy that bordered on the reverent, the Speaker reached in and withdrew an angel pendant. The crystal sparkled brilliantly in the light as he lowered the chain over Daryani's inclined head and settled it comfortably around his neck. "I welcome you, High Senator Daryani," he said.

There was a short burst of polite applause. Daryani touched the Speaker's palm again, then turned and climbed the steps to his new seat.

The Speaker turned to Forsythe. "Arkin Forsythe," he intoned. "Step forward."

Forsythe had never had much patience with official ceremonies, but over the years he had learned to put up with them. This one, at least, had the virtue of being short. They went through the routine: the Speaker asking the rote questions, Forsythe giving the rote answers; a straight duplicate of Daryani's swearing in.

Until the herald started forward with his wooden box.

"And so, in the name of the High Senate, I present you with the badge of service to the Empyrean."

"A word, if I may, sir," Forsythe said.

The Speaker stopped, his eyes narrowing. Perhaps he was remembering the elder Forsythe's refusal to wear an angel. "You may speak," he said, a note of caution in his voice.

Forsythe let him worry for another second. "I will, of course, accept the badge of service," he said.

"And will wear it with the humility and honor it deserves. I ask, though, that as a further symbol of my commitment to the Empyreal people—" he glanced to his side—"that two of the common people—my aides—be permitted the honor of placing it around my neck."

He watched as a whole series of emotions flashed across the Speaker's face: relief that Forsythe was not, in fact, going to make a scene; annoyance that he was so cavalierly being asked to change his routine without prior notification; and finally, the equally annoyed recognition that, while he might have the technical right to refuse, to do so would leave him looking petty and stiff-necked in front of his colleagues. "Your request is unorthodox," he rumbled. "But with the High Senate's permission I will grant it." He looked over at Pirbazari and Ronyon. "Step forward."

Pirbazari nudged Ronyon, and together they walked toward the others—Ronyon, Forsythe noted uneasily, looking even more agitated than he had a minute ago. The Speaker nodded, first to the herald, and then to them. "Proceed."

Pirbazari nodded back and turned to the herald, taking the angel pendant out of the box. He held it up for a moment; then, with appropriate dignity, handed it to Ronyon. Gingerly, the big man took it, holding it as if it were something hot. He looked at Forsythe, licked his lips once, and stepped over to him—

And in a sudden flurry of fumbling fingers dropped it on the floor.

He was down on his knees before anyone in the chamber even got out a gasp, his big hands scrabbling across the floor and finally getting a grip on it. With a jerky motion he climbed back to his feet, chain and crystal clutched in a tangle in his hand, his whole body shaking and a wild look of fear plastered across his face. Forsythe gave him a reassuring smile and bowed his head slightly; still trembling, Ronyon untangled the chain and eased it carefully over Forsythe's head. Straightening up, Forsythe smiled again as Ronyon backed up hastily to stand beside Pirbazari.

The pendant felt strangely heavy, pressing against his breastbone and tugging at the back of his neck. Dimly, Forsythe wondered how long it would take him to get used to it.

"Thank you both," the Speaker said, nodding gravely to Ronyon and Pirbazari. He looked back at Forsythe, his expression more wry than angry at the momentary fiasco. "And now," he said, "I welcome you, High Senator Forsythe."

"Thank you, sir," Forsythe murmured over the applause. Touching the Speaker's palm, he stepped over to Pirbazari and Ronyon; and, with them beside him, headed to his new place at the table.

And wondered if the whisper of guilt nagging at him over what he'd just done was coming from the angel.

"...and this is your private office," the young page said, opening the door and stepping aside to let Forsythe enter.

"I see," Forsythe nodded, craning his head to peer inside. As with the rest of the complex—the outer screening office, the central work area with its rows of desks, and the ring of private offices around the central room's edge—the bulk of the furniture and equipment was already in place, leaving only some personal items and a few boxes of records to be dealt with. "My communications system is operational?" he asked the page.

"Yes, sir, as of yesterday evening," the other answered. "Full computer and archives access, too."

"Good." Forsythe glanced at Pirbazari and Ronyon, standing a few paces back. Took a second look at the expression on Ronyon's face... "That will be all for now," he told the page. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, High Senator," the other said. "I'm on call to you anytime you need me." Ducking his head in a well-practiced gesture of respect, he headed across the common room and left.

Forsythe caught Pirbazari's eye. "I want you to get on the net, Zar," he told the other. "Get a dump of the last skeeter report from Lorelei and give it a quick sift—I want to know what's been happening out there."

"Yes, sir." Turning with his usual military precision, Pirbazari strode off to his office.

Forsythe cocked an eyebrow toward Ronyon. Come on in, he signed to the other. I'd like to talk to you.

He ushered Ronyon into his new office, closing the door behind them, and led the big man to the chair facing his desk. The other dropped into it, his posture that of a man trying to burrow his way backwards into the furniture.

Forsythe went around the desk and sat down. I just wanted to tell you, he signed, that you did very well this morning.

Thank you, Ronyon signed, his fingers showing the same lack of enthusiasm as his face.

You seem unhappy, Forsythe pointed out. Do you want to talk about it?

Ronyon lowered his eyes to the floor. That wasn't a good thing I did, he signed slowly, his eyes avoiding Forsythe's.

Of course it was, Forsythe insisted, leaning slightly over the desk so that his signing would be visible in Ronyon's peripheral vision. What could be wrong with it?

Ronyon looked up again, his face screwed up in anguish and confusion. It was just like telling a lie.

Forsythe pursed his lips. We've been through this, Ronyon, he reminded the other. Remember? This is a very special, very precious gift that we've been given, and it's our job to protect it. You understand that, don't you?

Ronyon dropped his gaze to the floor again. I guess so.

Well, then, Forsythe continued, what better way to keep it safe than to hide it from people who might want to steal it?

Ronyon shrugged, a hunching movement that reminded Forsythe of a turtle hiding under the edge of its shell. I don't know, he signed at last. I just know it feels just like I do when I tell a lie.

I know, Forsythe soothed. But think about what I told you, all right? If you do, I'm sure you'll realize this is the best way to keep our angel safe.

Okay. Ronyon swiped at his nose. Okay. I guess I should give it back to you now?

He dug the angel pendant out of his pocket and started to get up. Just put it down there, Forsythe signed quickly. Underneath the cushion in that chair will do.

Ronyon looked at him, eyebrows raised in astonishment. It's the last place, Forsythe added, that a thief would think to look for something as valuable as an angel. Right?

I don't know, Ronyon said, his face still puzzled. But he dutifully stuffed the pendant down the side of the cushion, poking several times before the entire length of chain disappeared.

Thank you. Forsythe eyed him. There's still something bothering you.

Ronyon hunched another shrug. People are going to think I'm clumsy.

Forsythe hid a smile. That wonderfully simple mind of Ronyon's—straightforward, uncalculating, concerned only with the surface effects of human interaction. Probably incapable of grasping the idea, even if Forsythe had wanted to try and explain it, that it was often a tactical advantage to be underestimated. Some of them might, he conceded. But not the people whose opinions really matter.

People like Mr. Pirbazari, for example, will just think you were nervous. They know things like that just happen sometimes. No one remembers them for long. Really.

Ronyon swallowed. I guess.

Then let's put it behind us and get to work, Forsythe told him, putting some executive firmness into his face and fingers. There's supposed to be a studio somewhere around here for my use. I want you to go find it and see what it's like. Okay?

Okay. Ronyon levered himself out of the chair, already looking happier. I'll go find out everything.

Should I tell Mr. Mils, then?

That's a good idea, Forsythe agreed. And then you can come and tell me, too.

Okay.

Forsythe watched him hurry out of the office, marveling at how easy it was to cheer up the big man.

A little praise, a little job, and all worries were as good as forgotten.

He looked down at the chair Ronyon had been sitting in, and his smile faded.

He'd done it. In plain view of the entire High Senate he'd switched a real angel pendant for a masterfully constructed fake one. And, for good measure, he had worn the fake in public long enough for everyone to be absolutely convinced he was properly under its influence.

The charade had gotten off to an excellent start. Now all he had to do was make sure it didn't come crashing down around his ears.

Which meant, for starters, that he was going to have to find a better hiding place for the real pendant than under a chair cushion. Far enough away from him, but at the same time not too far. There were stories of people who could sense the presence of angels from as far as two meters away, and he couldn't risk having one of them sitting there wondering what had gone wrong with his personal radar.

But there would be time for all that later. The important goal, that he stay uncontaminated, had been achieved.

There was a tap at the door. "Come," Forsythe called.

Pirbazari poked his head into the office. "You have time for a quick item from the skeeter?"

Forsythe waved him in. "Let me guess. Another intrusion by the Pax."

"Yes, sir," Pirbazari said grimly, crossing the room and handing Forsythe a cyl. "From the configuration, looks like another mid-sized warship."

"Any shooting?" Forsythe asked, plugging the cyl into his reader.

"Not this time," Pirbazari said. "Of course, it was only in the net for about forty seconds before they

'pulted it out."

"Forty seconds is plenty of time to shoot if they'd wanted to."

"Agreed," Pirbazari nodded. "Which implies they didn't want to."

The record of the encounter came up on the screen, and Forsythe took a minute to watch it. The Pax ship came in, moved around a little as if trying to get out of the focus, then disappeared as it was catapulted out of the system.

Exactly the same thing that had happened to the last Pax ship. And the one before that. "That makes, what, three ships in two weeks?" he asked, backing up to the best view of the Pax ship and freezing the image.

"Right," Pirbazari said. "Counting that big monstrosity, the Komitadji."

Forsythe glared at the display. "One ship might just be harassment. But not three. What do you suppose they're up to?"

"I'm not sure." Pirbazari leaned over the desk to tap at Forsythe's keyboard. "But this may be significant: the ships all went to different nets."

Forsythe frowned at the display. "Coincidence?" he asked, though he was pretty sure what the answer would be.

"I doubt it, sir," Pirbazari shook his head. "You have to come from a particular direction to be caught by a particular net. That, or wait until the one you want has moved around in its orbit."

Forsythe rubbed his fingers gently on his desktop. Pirbazari was right, of course... and to hit each of three different quadrants from as far away as the Pax would take careful selection of catapult launch sites indeed. "They're looking for something," he said. "But what?"

"Wreckage from the Komitadji, maybe?" Pirbazari suggested. "You'll remember EmDef had to do a fast recalibration on that one. Could be they did it too fast and wound up sending the thing through a star after all."

"We can always hope," Forsythe grunted. "But in that case, shouldn't a single reconnoiter have been enough to show the ship wasn't destroyed at Lorelei? And shouldn't the follow-up ship have been sent to the same net?"

"There's another possibility." Pirbazari hesitated. "It could be they're mapping out the system.

Defenses, belt mining and refinery centers, comm focal points. Maybe even Lorelei itself; we really don't know how good their optics are."

Forsythe stared up at him, a cold knot settling into his stomach. "You realize what you're saying."

Pirbazari met his gaze steadily. "Yes, sir. Pre-invasion reconnaissance."

Forsythe looked back at the display. "And they've even turned our own net system against us," he said. "Using it to get maximum coverage with minimum effort. Clever bastards."

Pirbazari nodded. "Anyway, I thought it might help you to have this before the joint Resource/Commerce meeting this afternoon."

"Yes. Thank you." Forsythe glanced at his watch. "Do me a favor, will you? Pull up the report we wrote and integrate this new material into it. You have a copy?"

"Yes, sir," Pirbazari said. "Incidentally, I also checked on the media coverage of the ceremony this morning as you asked."

"My father's name come up?"

"Inevitably," the other said dryly. "But they didn't play on him nearly as much as they could have.

The general consensus these days seems to be that his resignation was a reasonable and legitimate act of conscience."

Forsythe snorted. "Generous of them to allow him his ethics," he said scornfully. "Maybe they've forgotten that was even possible before the angels came along."

"Sure couldn't prove it by some of them," Pirbazari agreed. "Mostly, though, they left your father alone and focused on your own record and prospects in the High Senate."

Forsythe nodded. "I hope they didn't dump too much on Ronyon for dropping the angel."

"Not a bit," Pirbazari said with a smile. "In fact, I don't think more than two or three of them even mentioned it. Whatever anyone thinks of you or your politics, everybody likes Ronyon."

"He's an eminently likable person," Forsythe said. So there went the last potential snag with this whole thing. If the media had been even slightly suspicious, they might picked at it until it came unraveled.

But as Pirbazari said, everyone liked Ronyon.

"At least we're done with the pomp and ceremony," he went on. "Let's get that report ready."

"Right," Pirbazari said, moving toward the door. "Maybe it'll be enough to finally get some action."

"Let's hope so," Forsythe said as the other pulled open the door. Because if it doesn't, he added darkly to himself, they may not get another chance. Not before there are Pax troops on Lorelei.

"...so the bottom line here," High Senator Bjani of Uhuru said, slouching back in his chair and stabbing a pair of fingers at the graphs he'd put up on the central display, "is that the decision to move most of the hyperspace nets further out in their respective systems has played more havoc with shipping than we originally thought it would. So much so that if they don't get some sort of relief the smallest companies are likely to go under within the next few months." He sent a questioning look around the table. "Suggestions?"

Forsythe looked around the table, too, carefully keeping his mouth shut. As the newest member of the Resource Development Committee it really wasn't his place to respond first, particularly not in a joint meeting with fifteen other High Senators present. But from the graphs the Commerce people had drawn up it was clear that the proper approach would be to strike a deal between the shippers and the various mining interests.

And the psychological leverage, he knew from long experience, would go to whoever first offered the suggestion. He threw a glance at old Mleru Jossarian beside him, hoping the senior Lorelei representative here would be fast enough to jump on it before anyone else did.

He wasn't. "It seems pretty obvious," Schmid of Balmoral spoke up. "If those graphs are right, the bulk of the problem lies in the cost of mineral shipments, principally those from the Lorelei asteroid mines. Perhaps the gentlemen from Lorelei could offer some help."

"I'm sure we can," Jossarian nodded sagely. "A modest adjustment of profit margins via the tax structure should take care of it. I can have the proper papers drawn up and sent to the entire High Senate for vote by tomorrow morning. Then all it'll take—"

Forsythe's tongue unfroze. "Just a minute," he said.

The entire table looked at him. "You have something, Mr. Forsythe?" Jossarian asked mildly.

Forsythe stared at him, tongue threatening to freeze up again. Couldn't Jossarian see it? "Sir, we can't just give away Lorelei's profits," he told the other, keeping his voice low. "Certainly not without getting something in exchange. The majority of the shipping companies are headquartered here on Uhuru—we need a solid commitment, in print, from Mr. Bjani and his people before—"

"Please." Jossarian patted Forsythe's hand, giving him an indulgent smile. "Excuse us," he said to the rest of the table. "You'll have to forgive my colleague; he's new to how we do things here. As I said, I should be able to get a vote on this by tomorrow afternoon and the orders sent to Lorelei by the next day." He looked at Bjani. "Will a fifteen percent reduction be acceptable?"

"It should," the other said, tapping keys on his board. The curves on the display flattened noticeably.

"Very acceptable indeed," he nodded. "It will, of course, put a strain on your mining licensees, particularly the smaller companies. My numbers indicate a five percent reduction in equipment transport fees by our licensed shipping companies should be adequate compensation."

Jossarian was already busy with his own board. "Looks good," he said. "Though I'll need to run the numbers a bit more carefully to be sure."

Bjani nodded. "Certainly. Call me whenever you're done and we'll double-check them together."

Jossarian looked at Forsythe. "You see?" he said gently. "It all gets done. And in a much more civilized fashion."

"Indeed," Forsythe murmured. Yes, the High Senate was indeed civilized. Civilized and peaceful; and if this was a representative example of their work, highly productive besides.

And it chilled him straight to the bone.

Because it wasn't breeding or smiles or even efficiency that made a good politician. It was, instead, the absolute, single-minded goal of protecting and nurturing his constituents' interests.

And you never protected those interests by giving something away for free. Never.

It didn't matter that Bjani had turned around and granted the Lorelei miners a quid pro quo out of the goodness of his heart. It didn't even matter that the proposed trade-off would probably benefit the Empyrean as a whole. What mattered was that Jossarian had been sent to Uhuru to do a job. And he hadn't done it.

Forsythe dropped his gaze from Jossarian's placid face to the sparkling crystal resting against his chest. Once, he knew, Jossarian had been one of the best politicians on Lorelei, a man his father had always talked about with respect and admiration.

But that was before the angels.

"Well," Bjani said, glancing at his display. "I believe that completes all the old business we had on line for this afternoon. Does anyone have any new business they'd care to bring up?"

Forsythe braced himself. "Yes, sir, I have," he said. "I'd like to draw the joint committee's attention to my report on the recent Pax incursions into the Lorelei system. As a Pax invasion would impact rather severely on both commerce and resources," he added quickly, to forestall the obvious objection, "I feel it's within the province of this assembly to at least discuss the matter."

There was a brief shuffle of what might have been discomfort around the table. Bjani remained unperturbed. "I've read your report, Mr. Forsythe," he acknowledged. "As well as your conclusions.

Setting aside the question of whether this is, indeed, a proper forum for such a discussion, it seems to me that you're perhaps taking all of this a little too seriously."

Forsythe stared at him. "Too seriously? With all due respect, Mr. Bjani, I find it highly unlikely that the Pax is throwing all these ships at Lorelei just for the fun of it."

" 'All these ships' is a relative term, Mr. Forsythe," Bjani said soothingly. "Three ships in two weeks hardly qualifies as an invasion fleet."

"They're not likely to just keep escalating numbers until they happen to have enough to do the job,"

Forsythe countered. "They're also not going to give up the services of three warships for several months unless they stand to gain something equally valuable from it. They're up to something... and in my opinion, that something can only be a pre-invasion reconnaissance."

"Your opinion, and that of former EmDef Commander Pirbazari as well, I note," Rodrez of Sadhai rumbled, his fingers playing across the scan buttons on his display. "I see he co-authored this report."

"He did," Forsythe said. "And I would hope that, given his experience and reputation, his views on military matters would carry even more weight with the High Senate than mine do."

"None of us means to belittle Commander Pirbazari's qualifications," Bjani said. "Nor yours, for that matter. It's simply that, in our opinion, you're both missing the point."

"That point being?"

"That the Pax can't take over the Empyrean," Bjani said, his voice quietly confident. "And that they know it."

Forsythe consciously unclenched his teeth. "Perhaps you've forgotten the first ship they sent in two weeks ago, the Komitadji," he said. "That ship could, in all probability, have taken Lorelei all by itself."

"And what happened to it?" Bjani shrugged. "It failed to make even a dent in the EmDef forces arrayed against it before being 'pulted."

"That's not victory," Forsythe said bluntly. "That's a holding action. Read your history, Mr.

Bjani—no one has ever given up territorial ambitions just because it looked like it would take some time and effort to achieve them."

"I have read my history, Mr. Forsythe," Bjani said, a slight edge creeping into his voice. "And perhaps territory is indeed what the Pax once wanted. But not anymore. What they want now is profit."

"You've never dealt directly with the Pax," Jossarian murmured from beside Forsythe. "We have; and we understand them. They love money—love it so much, in fact, that their entire political structure is built on that basis. And the leaders are fully aware that to conquer the Empyrean will cost them far more than they stand to gain."

"Normal military tactics simply can't handle the existence of hyperspace nets," Hammura of Seraph put in. "We're like a pre-aircraft mountain nation with only a handful of roads leading in. Easy to defend, incredibly hard to attack."

"Certainly the Pax is up to something," Bjani said. "They're trying to rattle us, hoping we'll get nervous enough to negotiate away concessions they can't win by force." He locked eyes with Forsythe. "But they won't succeed, because we have a strength the Pax can never understand. Our unity. We have no cracks for them to drive wedges into; no factions and jealousies for them to split off and exploit. Unity in mind, and purpose, and heart."

"And all due to the angels," Forsythe muttered, the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth.

"Indeed," Bjani nodded, a small smile on his face. "This is a turning point in mankind's path, Mr.

Forsythe. You've read history. Now watch it being made."

He looked around the table. "Now. Any other new business?"

It took until late that night; but by 11:30 Forsythe finally had his computer system set up to search all information nets and official channels for ongoing research work on angels and Angelmass.

Perhaps, he thought more than once during that long evening, the Pax propaganda was in fact true.

Perhaps the angels really were robbing the Empyrean's leaders of their humanity. He didn't know.

What he did know was that, for whatever reason, the members of the High Senate had lost the ability to fight for their people's best interests. Perhaps for their very survival.

And it was those same leaders who were determined to flood the Empyrean with even more angels.

Leaning back in his chair, Forsythe keyed for a test run-through of his new system. Somewhere out there, buried amid all the studies being done on the angels, there must be something that would give him a handle on stopping this quiet invasion.

He only hoped he could find it before it was too late.