Contest

Must be the bottom.

Hawkins moved cautiously over to the fire door. The handle turned easily and he slid the door open. He peered around the doorframe and instantly felt a rush of bile rise up the back of his throat. He turned back into the stairwell and vomited.

Several moments later, wiping his mouth and coughing to clear his throat, Hawkins looked back out through the doorway.

Aisles of bookcases stretched endlessly away from him, disappearing into darkness, beyond the reach of the mouldy overhead lights. But it was the aisle directly in front of him that seized his immediate attention.

The bookshelf to his left -- twelve feet high and twenty feet long -- had been wrenched free from its ceiling mounts and was now leaning backwards against the bookcase in the aisle behind it. Like two enormous dominoes: one upright, holding up its fallen neighbour.

The opposite bookshelf -- to Hawkins' right -- remained upright. It simply had a gaping hole of splintered wood bored through its core. For some reason, books littered the aisle behind it, as though, Hawkins thought, something had -- well -- something had been hurled right through this bookshelf...

And then there was the aisle in between.

The flat pool of blood that filled the aisle had dried somewhat in the past twenty-four hours, but the stench still remained.

Of course, the body had been removed, but as Hawkins noticed, the sheer amount of blood was staggering. It lay everywhere -- on the floor, on the ceiling, spattered all over the stairwell door. Those books that had remained on the shelves had been sprayed with flying blood. Those that had fallen to the floor had simply changed colour. They were maroon.

Hawkins swallowed as he saw the trail of smeared blood that stained the floor around the shelf with the hole in it. It looked as if someone had been dragged around the shelf, back into the original aisle.

By New York Police Department standards, Paul Hawkins was young. Twenty-four. And his youth, combined with his relative inexperience, had made him the obvious choice for baby-sit assignments like this one. Domestic violence protection, post-trauma custody, that sort of thing. He'd seen battered wives and beaten-up teenagers, but in sixteen months of duty, Paul Hawkins had never seen a murder scene.

He felt it odd that the first thing that struck him about the scene was how the movies got it all wrong. Even the most violent film could never successfully achieve the sheer ugliness of a murder scene. This was it, he thought, as he stared at the wide pool of dried blood before him.

It was ugly. Dirty and crude and brutal. Hawkins wanted to be sick again.

He looked up at the endless rows of bookshelves that lined Sub-Level Two.

Someone -- something -- is down here.

He lifted his flashlight. And then slowly, cautiously, he ventured out into the aisles.

'Daddy,' Holly said, following her father into the stairwell.

'In a second, honey,' Swain turned to Selexin. 'Are you sure there isn't anything else you should tell me about before we go any further? No more exploding devices?'

'Daddy.'

Selexin said, 'Well, there is one thing--'

'Daddee!'

Swain stopped. 'What is it, honey?'

Holly held up the telephone receiver, giving her most winning smile. 'It's for you.'

Swain bent down and took the dead phone. He spoke into it while looking at Holly. 'Hello? Oh hi, how are you? -- Yeah? -- Is that so? -- Well, I'm kinda busy at the moment. Can I call you back? Great. Bye.' He gave the phone back to Holly. Satisfied, she grabbed Swain's hand and fell back into step with him and the egg man.

Selexin spoke quietly, 'Your daughter is really quite charming.'

'Thanks,' Swain said.

'But she provides far more risks to your safety than you should be willing to accommodate.'

'What?'

'I am merely suggesting that you might be better off without her,' Selexin said. 'It might be wise for her to "hole up", as you say. Hide for the duration of the Presidian. If you survive, you will be able to come back for her. If, of course, you care for her that much.'

'Which I do.'

'And likewise,' Selexin went on, 'if you are defeated, she will not also be killed. In any case, to what efficiency can you aspire if you are defending her life as well as your own? An act to prevent her from injury might--'

'Might jeopardise my own life,' Swain said, 'and therefore jeopardise yours. This is my daughter. Where I go, she goes. Not negotiable.'

Selexin took a gentle step back.

'And another thing,' Swain said, 'if something does happen and we are separated, I expect you to look after her. Not to hole her up and hope nobody stumbles onto her, but to make sure that nothing -- nothing -- happens to her. Do you understand?'

Selexin bowed. 'I have been at error and I apologise with all my heart. I was unaware of your attachment to your child. In as much as I can, I will do my utmost to serve your wishes should such an eventuality occur.'

'Thank you. I appreciate that,' Swain said, nodding. 'Now, you were saying there was something else. Something I should know about.'

'Yes,' Selexin regathered himself. 'It pertains to combat, or rather, the end of any fighting. Whenever any contestant defeats another -- either in combat or ambush or otherwise -- the conquest must be confirmed.'

'Okay.'

'And that is my purpose,' Selexin said.

'You confirm a kill? Like a witness?' Swain asked.

'Not exactly. I am not the witness. But I do provide the window for the witness.'

'Window?'

Selexin stopped on the steps. He turned to Swain.

'Yes. And only at your command can the window be initialised. If you would be so kind, would you please say the word "Initialise".'

Swain cocked his head. 'Initialise? Why--'

And then it happened. A small sphere of brilliant white light -- perhaps a foot in diameter -- burst to life above Selexin's white skull cap, illuminating the entire stairwell around them.

'What is it?' Swain asked.

'It's coming from the egg--' Holly marvelled.

Selexin looked at Holly, somewhat surprised. 'Yes. You are correct. My rather odd-looking hat is the source of this teleport, small as it is. If you will, Mr Swain, please say "Cancel" lest my superiors believe you actually have killed somebody.'

'Oh, okay. Ah... cancel.'

The light disappeared instantly.

'You say it's a teleport. Like before?' Swain asked.

'Yes,' Selexin said, 'exactly the same as before -- simply a hole in the air. Only much, much smaller, of course. There is merely another official like myself who is watching at the other end of this teleport. He is your witness.'

Swain looked at the white skull cap on Selexin's head. 'And it comes from that?'

'Yes.'

'Uh-huh,' Swain said, continuing down the stairs.

Selexin followed in silence. Finally he said, 'If I may be so bold as to inquire, where are we going?'

'Down,' Holly said, shaking her head. 'Derrr.'

Selexin frowned, puzzled.

Swain shrugged. 'Like the lady said, down.'

He gave Holly a quick wink -- masking his own very real fear -- and she grinned back at him, reassured by the almost conspiratorial nature of the gesture.

They continued down the stairs.

----ooo0ooo------

The switchboard operator stared at the panel before her in stunned disbelief.

When is this going to stop? she thought.

On the switch in front of her, two rows of incessant flashing lights indicated that there were a hell of a lot of phone calls waiting to be answered.

She took a deep breath and pressed the flashing square that read '9', and began:

'Good evening, Con Edison Customer Service Line, my name is Sandy. How may I help you?'

Her headset rattled with the tinny voice of yet another disgruntled New Yorker. When finally it stopped, she punched the code -- 401 -- into her computer console.

That made fourteen in the last hour, on her panel alone. All coming from inside grid two-twelve -- central Manhattan.

A 401 -- power out due to a probable short in the electrical main. The switchboard operator looked at the words on her computer screen: 'Probable short in the electrical main'. Electronically, she didn't know what a short in the main meant nor how it was caused. She simply knew all the symptoms of power cuts and failures and, in much the same way as a doctor identifies an illness, all she did was add up the symptoms and identify the problem. To know how it was caused was someone else's job.

She shrugged, leaned forward and pressed the next flashing square, ready to face the next complaint.

The lowest floor of the New York State Library is called the 'Stack'. It contains no toilets, no offices, no desks, and no computers. In fact, the Stack holds nothing but books, lots and lots of books.

Like other large libraries, the State Library of New York is less a borrowing library than it is an information library -- chiefly computers, Internet, microfilm and CD-ROMs.

As far as actual books are concerned, only the more recent and popular are on display on the Ground Floor. If patrons seek other books, then they are to be found -- by staff only -- in the Stack, Sub-Level Two.

Wherefore, the Stack acts as little more than a holding pen for several million books.

Lots of books. In lots of bookshelves. And these bookshelves are arranged in a vast rectangular grid formation.

Twenty-two long rows of bookshelves stretch the length of the floor, while horizontal passageways cut across these longer rows at intervals of twenty feet -- creating an enormous maze of right-angled twists and turns, blind corners, and long straight aisles that stretch away into infinity.

An enormous maze, thought NYPD Officer Paul Hawkins as he wandered through the Stack. Wonderful.

Hawkins had been wandering through the dusty aisles for several minutes now and had so far found nothing.

Damn it, he thought, as he turned back for the stairwe--

A soft noise.

From off to the right.

Hawkins' hand whipped to the automatic by his side. He listened intently.

There it was again.

A low, rasping sound.

Not breathing, he thought. No. More like... sliding. Like a broom sweeping slowly over a rough wooden floor. Like something sliding along the dusty floor of Sub-Level Two.

Hawkins drew his gun and listened again. It was definitely coming from the right, from somewhere within the maze of bookshelves around him. He swallowed.

There's someone in here.

He grabbed the radio on his belt.

'Parker!' he hissed. 'Parker! Do you copy?'

No answer.

Jesus.

'Parker, where are you?'

Hawkins switched off the radio and turned to look back at the receding rows of bookshelves before him. He pursed his lips for a moment.

Then he lifted his gun and ventured out into the maze.

Gun in hand, Hawkins quietly zigzagged his way between the bookshelves, moving quickly and easily, searching for the source of the sound.

He came to a halt at the base of a bookcase full of dusty hardcovers. Held his breath for a moment. Waited...

There.

His eyes snapped left.

There it was again. The sweeping sound.

It was getting louder -- he must be getting closer.

Hawkins darted left, then right, then left again -- moving smoothly in and out of the aisles, stopping every few metres at the flat end of a bookcase. It was disorienting, he thought. Every aisle looked the same as the one before it.

He stopped again.

Listened.

Again, he heard the soft brushing sound. Like a broom on a dusty wooden floor.

Only louder now.

Close.

Very, very close.

Hawkins hurried on along a passageway that cut across the long vertical aisles of the Stack until suddenly he was confronted by a wall of bookshelves -- a solid wall of bookshelves that seemed to stretch away into darkness in both directions.

A wall? Hawkins thought. He must be at the edge of the floor -- at one of the long sides of the enormous rectangle.

The sound came again.

Only this time, it came from... behind him.

Hawkins spun, raised his gun.

What the hell--? Had it turned?

Cautiously, he edged his way down the alleyway of books.

The aisle closed in around him. The nearest cross-passageway branched away to his right -- there was nothing but the unbroken wall of bookshelves to his left -- about twenty feet away. It was cloaked in shadow.

Hawkins stepped forward slowly. The passageway came fully into view.

It was different.

It wasn't a T-junction, like the last one. More like an L-shape.

Hawkins frowned, and then he realised. It was a corner -- the very corner of the floor. He hadn't realised that he'd come this far from the stairwell at the centre.

Listening.

Nothing.

He came to the L-junction and listened again. There was no sound.

Whatever it was, it was gone now.

And then Hawkins began to think. He'd followed the sound, the source of which had presumably been unaware of his presence. But its last few movements had been odd.

It was as though whoever it was had lost direction and had started circling...

Circling, Hawkins thought.

No-one would consciously go in a circle, would they, unless they were lost or... or unless they knew someone was following them.

Hawkins' blood went completely cold. Whoever it was, it wasn't just circling.

It was doubling back.

It knew he was here.

Hawkins spun to face the long aisle behind him, jamming his back into the corner shelving.

Nothing.

'Damn it!' he could feel the beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead. 'Damn it, shit!'

He couldn't believe it. He'd walked right into a corner. A goddamn corner! Two options -- straight or left. Shit, he thought, at least among the bookshelves he'd have had four. Now he was trapped.

And then suddenly he saw it.

Off to the left, moving slowly and carefully, out into the passageway.

Hawkins' eyes widened.

'Holy shit.'

It looked like nothing he had ever seen before.

Big and long, but low to the ground like an alligator, the creature looked almost dinosaurian -- with black-green pebbled skin, four powerful stubby limbs and a long, thick counterbalancing tail.

Its head was truly odd. No eyes, and -- seemingly -- no mouth. The only distinguishing feature: a pair of long spindly antennae that jutted up from its forehead and clocked rhythmically from side to side.

It was twenty feet away from Hawkins when the tip of its tail finally came into view. The tail itself must have been eight feet long, and it slid across the floor in long, slow arcs, creating the soft sweeping sound. Hawkins saw that the tail tapered sharply to a point at its tip. The whole animal must have been at least fourteen feet long.

Hawkins blinked. For an instant there, behind the tail, he thought he caught a glimpse of a man, a small man, dressed completely in white--

And then the creature's head eased slowly upward-- the folds of its skin peeling back to reveal a hideous four-sided jaw that opened with a soft, lethal hiss. Four rows of hideously jagged, saliva-covered teeth appeared.

'Jesus Christ,' Hawkins stared at the creature.

It moved forward.

Toward him.

One of the animal's forelegs caught his attention. A green light glowed from a thick grey band strapped to the creature's left forelimb.

It was close now -- its jaws wide, salivating wildly, dripping goo all over the floor. Hawkins' eyes were locked on the swaying antennae on its head, clocking from side to side like a pair of metronomes.

It was three feet away...

Two feet...

Hawkins tensed to run, but for some terrifying reason, his legs wouldn't move. He tried to raise his gun, but couldn't -- it was as if every muscle in his body had gone completely, instantly limp. He watched helplessly as, to his horror, his gun slipped from his unresponsive hand and dropped loudly to the floor.

The antennae kept swaying.

One foot...

Hawkins was sweating profusely, breathing in short, rapid breaths. He just couldn't take his eyes off them. The antennae. They seemed to move in perfect rhythm, swaying in smooth hypnotic circles...

He watched -- completely defenceless -- as the creature's sinister-looking head came slowly up to his knee.

Ohshit. Ohshit. Ohshit.

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, like a cobra coiling up off the ground, the creature's long, pointed, eight-foot tail lifted off the floor and swung forward -- over its low reptilian body -- so that now it was pointing forward, arcing over its frame like a scorpion's stinger, the tip of the tail pointing right at the bridge of Paul Hawkins' nose.

Hawkins saw it happen and his terror hit fever pitch. He desperately wanted to shut his eyes, so he wouldn't see it happen, but he couldn't even do that--

'Hey!'

The creature's head snapped left.

And in an instant, the trance was broken and Hawkins could move again. He looked up and saw...

... a man.

A man, standing a short way down the aisle. Hawkins hadn't even seen him approach. Hadn't even heard him. Hawkins took in the man's appearance. He had wet hair, and was wearing jeans and sneakers and a white shirt that hung out at the waist.

The man spoke to Hawkins.

'Come over here. Now.'

Hawkins looked down warily at the big alligator-like creature at his feet. It ignored him completely, simply faced the man in jeans, its body dead still.

If it had eyes, Hawkins thought, it was definitely glaring at him. A low rumbling noise rose threateningly from the back of its throat.

Hawkins glanced back questioningly at the man. The man just kept his eyes levelled at him.

'Come on,' the man said calmly, eyes unmoving. 'Just leave the gun there and walk very slowly over to me.'

Tentatively, Hawkins took a step forward.

The creature at his knee didn't move. It remained steadfastly focused on the man in jeans.

The man pushed Hawkins behind him and slowly stepped backwards, away from the creature.

Hawkins looked down the aisle behind them and saw two figures standing maybe forty feet away -- a small one in white, and another, equally small, who looked like... he squinted... like a little girl.

'Move,' Swain said, pushing Hawkins down the aisle, his back to him.

Swain kept his eyes up, focused on the bookshelves, away from the creature's swaying antennae, watching it only out of his peripheral vision.

The two men stepped slowly down the aisle, away from the frozen creature.

And then suddenly it began to follow them, moving around the corner in a darting crab-like manner that belied its size. Then it stopped.

Swain pushed Hawkins further down the aisle. 'Keep moving. Just keep moving.'

'What the--'

'Just move.'

Swain was walking backwards, still facing the creature. Again it made a darting, scuttling movement ten feet forward, and then stopped again, well short of Hawkins and himself

It's being cautious, he thought.

And then it charged.

'Oh, shit!'

The large animal bounded down the narrow confines of the aisle.

Swain looked frantically for somewhere to run. But he was still ten feet away from the nearest passageway into the maze of bookshelves.

There was nowhere to go!

Swain braced himself, the ground beneath him vibrating under the thumping weight of the fast-approaching creature. Christ, it must weigh nearly four hundred pounds.

Hawkins turned. He saw it over Swain's shoulder. 'Holy Christ...'

Swain just stood there, feet spread wide, taking up the whole aisle.

The creature kept coming. It wasn't stopping.

'It's not stopping!' Hawkins yelled.

'It has to!' Swain called. 'It has to stop!'

The creature bounded forward, bearing down on Swain like a runaway freight train, until abruptly, three feet short of him, it reared on its hind legs and clasped the bookcases on either side of it with its clawed fore-limbs, bringing it to a sudden, lunging stop.

The four-sided jaw stopped just inches away from Swain's unmoving face.

The creature hissed fiercely, challenging him. Its saliva dripped down onto the floor in front of his shoes.

Swain averted his gaze, stared at a nearby bookshelf, keeping his eyes off the animal's oscillating antennae. The horrifying alligator-like creature, now standing up on its hind legs, towered over him, looming above him like an evil apparition.

Swain wagged an admonishing finger at the infuriated animal: 'Ah-ah-ah. No touching.'

And he began to walk backwards again, pushing Hawkins.

Hawkins stumbled down the aisle, looking back over his shoulder every few seconds. This time the creature didn't follow them, at least not immediately.

They reached the little white man and the girl, and were a good thirty feet from the creature when it began moving toward them again.

The little man spoke: 'Sequencing! She's sequencing! '

The man in the loose-fitting shirt and jeans looked at Hawkins, standing there in his well-pressed police uniform.

'We don't have time to talk right now, but my name is Stephen Swain, and at the moment we're all in big trouble. You ready to run?'

Hawkins answered without thinking. 'Yuh-huh.'

Swain looked back down the aisle at the large dinosaur-like creature. Twenty feet. He picked up Holly.

'You know the way back to the stairwell?' he asked Hawkins.

The young cop nodded.

'Then you lead the way. Just keep zig-zagging. We'll be right behind you.' He turned to the others. 'You two ready?' They nodded. 'Okay then, let's move.'

Hawkins broke into a run, the others close behind him.

With a great lunge, the creature leapt forward in pursuit.

Swain brought up the rear, carrying Holly on his hip. He could hear the pounding of the great weight on the floor behind him.

The stairs. The stairs. Got to reach the stairs.

Left, right, left, right.

He could see the cop weaving up ahead, and then finally, beyond the policeman, he saw the central stairwell block. But he couldn't see the doorway.

They were coming from the wrong side.

'Daddy! It's catching up!' Holly yelled from his shoulder.

He looked behind him.

The creature was indeed closing in on them -- a giant black-green monster galloping down the narrow aisle with its salivating jaws bared wide.

Swain wasn't worried for himself. Selexin had been right about that. Whatever it was, it was another contestant, and it couldn't touch him. Not yet. Not until that number on his watch read '7'.

But if it got Holly...

He saw the cop round the central stairwell block up ahead, then Selexin. Swain rounded the concrete block last of all, panting hard.

The door!

He saw Selexin duck inside it, and then the policeman appeared in the doorway, his hand outstretched.

'Come on!' he was yelling.

Swain heard the creature slide around the corner behind him.

He kept running, kept holding Holly to his chest. He was breathing very heavily now. He was sure he was running too slowly. He could hear the creature's snorting grunts close behind him. Any second now it would be all over him, ready to pluck his daughter -- the only family he had left -- right from his very arms...

'Come on!' Hawkins called again.

Behind him, Swain heard the creature's tail slam against a bookcase, heard the sound of books crashing to the floor. Then suddenly, he was at the door and he reached for Hawkins' outstretched arms and Hawkins grabbed his hand and hurled him and Holly inside the stairwell just as Selexin slammed the door shut behind them.

Selexin turned, breathless, exhilarated. 'We made it--'

Bang!

The door behind him shuddered violently.

Swain lifted himself up from the floor, gasping for air. 'Come on.'

They were a whole floor up the stairwell when they heard the door to Sub-Level Two bang open with a loud bone-jarring crack!

----ooo0ooo------

INCOMPLETE--6

Swain frowned at the wristband. He'd missed the arrival of the last two contestants. Now there was no knowing when the next -- and last -- contestant would enter the library.

No knowing when the Presidian would begin.

The group had left the stairwell and were now hiding in an office on Sub-Level One. Like all the others around it, this office was partitioned by waist-high wood panelling with glass reaching the rest of the way up to the ceiling. Everyone was careful to stay low, out of sight, below the glass.

Swain had found a directory of the library attached to the wall of the stairwell and wrenched it free. He was looking at it now while Selexin sat behind the desk, quietly explaining their situation to Hawkins. Holly was sitting on the floor nestled up to Swain, holding him tightly, sucking her thumb. She was still a little shell-shocked by their close encounter with the big creature downstairs.

The directory showed a cross-section of the library.

Six floors -- four above ground, two below -- each a different colour. The two sub-levels below the Ground Floor were both shaded grey and stamped with the label NO public access. The others were brightly coloured:

THIRD FLOOR -- STUDY HALL

SECOND FLOOR -- READING ROOMS, FUNCTION ROOMS, COMPUTER SERVICES

FIRST FLOOR -- ON-LINE SERVICES, CD-ROMS, COPIERS, MICROFILM GROUND FLOOR -- CATALOGUES, CD-ROMS, REFERENCE

Swain remembered the study hall on the top floor with its odd-looking desks. He tried to memorise the rest. Small blue squares picturing a stick-man and woman indicated toilets on every other floor. Another blue square, with a car pictured in it, was tacked to the edge of Sub-Level One. The parking lot.

He checked his wristband again.

INCOMPLETE--6

Still '6'. Good.

He looked over at Selexin and the policeman, and shook his head in wonder.

That young cop was lucky to be alive. It had been only blind luck that had led Swain to his rescue -- the instant when he, Holly and Selexin had been descending the stairs and seen a long shadow stretch out onto the landing below them.

They had watched from the shadows above as the creature -- Selexin said its name was Reese -- stepped slowly into view, accompanied by its guide. It stopped on the landing, seemed to examine the floor with its snub dinosaur-like snout, and then peered down the stairwell.

Then it had slithered quickly down the stairs.

Something had caught its attention.

Curious, they had then followed it down into the Stack and seen it weave purposefully in and out of the bookshelves for several minutes -- stalking something, leading it on. It was only at the last moment that Swain had ventured out into the furthermost aisle to actually see Reese's quarry -- a lone policeman, trapped in the corner.

He'd moved instantly -- stopping only for a piece of last-minute advice from Selexin: avoid all eye contact with Reese's antennae.

And so they had met Hawkins.

Swain turned to Selexin. 'Tell me more about Reese.'

'Reese?' Selexin said. 'Well, for one thing, Reese is, in human terms, female. Her tail tapers sharply to a point, like a spear. Males of her species possess only blunted tails. This is because in their clans, the female is the hunter, and her chief weapon is her sharp pointed tail.

'Didn't you see, when Reese was moving in on your new friend here,' Selexin nodded to Hawkins, 'that her tail was poised high over her body, in a large arc, pointing forward? And he couldn't move an inch.

'That is why I told you not to make prolonged eye contact with her antennae. Any extended visual contact with them will cause instant paralysis. Just like it did with him.' Selexin gave Hawkins a look. 'That is how Reese hunts. You look at her antennae for too long and you suffer hypnotic paralysis, and -- bang! -- before you know it, she's got you with that tail. Right between the eyes.'

The little man smiled. 'I would say she bears a rather strong resemblance to the female of your own species, aggressive and instinctive. Wouldn't you say?'

'Hey,' Holly said.

Swain ignored the remark. 'Tell me more about her hunting methods. Her stalking methods.'

Selexin took a breath. 'Well, as you no doubt noticed, Reese has no eyes. For the simple reason that she does not need them. She comes from a planet surrounded by opaque, inert gases. Light cannot enter their atmosphere, and the inert gases are impervious to any chemical change. Her race has simply adapted over time to utilise and enhance their other senses: increased auditory acuity, sensitive ampullae for detecting the distressed heartbeat of frightened or wounded prey, and, most of all, a highly evolved scent detection mechanism. In fact, I would say that her sense of smell is her most well-developed hunting tool.'

'Wait a second,' Swain said, alarmed, 'she can smell us?

'Not now. Reese's sense of smell has a very limited range. No farther than, say, a couple of feet.'

Swain breathed in relief. Hawkins did, too.

'But within that range,' Selexin went on, 'her sense of smell is incredibly astute.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean,' Selexin said, 'that the manner by which she detected him,' -- Selexin pointed roughly to Hawkins -- 'was by his scent.'

'But I thought you said her range wasn't that good. How could--'

Swain cut himself off. Selexin was waiting for him again, giving him an expectant 'are-you-finished?' look.

'That is correct,' Selexin said, 'in a way. You see, Reese didn't smell him. What she smelled was the scent he left behind. Do you remember when Reese first came into our view in the stairwell? She bent low and sniffed the floor?'

Swain frowned. 'Yeah...'

'Footprints,' Selexin said. 'A trail not long cold. With any fresh trail like that, Reese doesn't need to smell anything beyond two feet, because she just follows the scent of the trail itself

'Oh,' Swain said.

And then it hit him.

'Oh, shit!'

He shot up to look out through the glass partition above him--

And found himself staring at Reese's menacing four-pronged jaws -- wide open, foully salivating -- pressed up against the other side of the glass, only inches away.

Swain fell backwards, stumbled away from the glass.

Hawkins leapt to his feet, mouth agape.

Reese slammed against the partition, smearing saliva everywhere.

'Eyes down!' Swain yelled, snatching Holly up in his arms. Reese rammed the partition again -- hard -- and the whole office shook. 'Keep your eyes away from the antennae! Go for the door!'

There were three glass doors to this square-shaped office -- one west, one south and one east. Reese was banging on the western wall of the room.

Swain ran for the eastern door, threw it open and charged into the next office, Selexin and Hawkins close behind him.

With Holly in the crook of his arm, he slid smoothly over a desk in the centre of the office, opened the next door.

'Close the doors behind you!' he yelled back.

'Already doing it!' Hawkins called forward.

And then, from behind them, there came a loud crashing sound -- the sound of breaking glass.

Up ahead, Swain continued to run. Over desks, through doorways, dodging filing cabinets, sending paper flying everywhere. Then he came out of the last office and was suddenly faced with something different.

A heavy blue door set into a solid concrete wall.

Hawkins was yelling, 'She's coming! And she seems really pissed off!'

Swain looked at the heavy blue door. It looked strong, with a hydraulic opening mechanism. At the end of the short corridor to his right, he saw another option -- a glassed-in elevator bay. He glanced back at Hawkins racing through the offices behind him.

Better do something...

With Holly still in his arms, Swain turned the knob on the hydraulic door. It opened.

Three concrete stairs. Going down.

He stepped through the doorway, pulled Selexin with him and waited for Hawkins. Hawkins was running hard, through the last glass-walled office.

Beyond Hawkins, Swain could see nothing but offices divided by glass partitions.

And then he saw it. Saw the long pointed tail flashing up above the waist-high wood panelling. It was barging through anything that lay in its path -- like a great white shark's fin slicing through water -- launching desks and filing cabinets and swivel chairs high into the air.

Two offices away and heading directly toward them.

Moving fast.

Closing in.

Hawkins ran past Swain, through the doorway, and Swain shut the big hydraulic door behind him. It closed with a dull thud.

Strong door. Good. It would give them some time.

Holding Holly, Swain took the lead again, heading down the three concrete stairs. White fluorescent lights lit a modern grey-painted corridor. Black piping snaked its way along the ceiling.

The four of them followed the winding corridor for about twenty yards before, suddenly, they burst into open space.

Swain stopped and took in the scene before him.

An underground parking lot.

It looked new -- almost brand new, in fact. Glistening newly paved concrete, white-painted floor markings, shiny yellow wheel clamps on the ground, pristine white fluorescent lights. It was quite a contrast to the old dusty library they had seen so far.

Swain scanned the parking lot.

No cars.

Damn.

There was a Down ramp in the centre of the lot, about twenty yards in front of them. Swain figured that

the Exit ramp going up to the street must be on the other side of the Down ramp.

There came a sudden, loud bang from somewhere behind them.

Swain spun.

Reese was through the door.

He quickly led the others to the Down ramp. It was wide -- wide enough for two cars to pass each other side-by-side. They had just reached the top of the ramp when he heard a hissing sound from behind them.

Swain turned around slowly.

Reese was standing at the entrance to the parking lot, her guide positioned silently behind her.

Swain swallowed--

--and then, suddenly, he heard another sound.

Clop...

Clop...

Clop...

Footsteps. Slow footsteps. Echoing loudly in the deserted parking lot.

Swain, Holly, Selexin and Hawkins all spun at the same time and they saw him instantly.

Coming up the Down ramp.

Walking slowly, purposefully.

A six-foot bearded man, dressed in a broad-shouldered animal-skin jacket, dark pants and knee-high black boots that clip-clopped loudly on the concrete ramp.

And behind him, yet another guide, dressed completely in white.

As the big bearded man stepped onto level ground and stopped, Swain instinctively pushed Holly behind him.

At the sight of the new contestant, Reese became visibly agitated. She hissed even louder.

They all stood in silence -- the three groups forming a precarious, unspeaking triangle.

It was then that Swain looked down at his wristband. It now read:

INITIALISED--7

Seven.

Swain looked up slowly.

The Presidian had begun.

THIRD MOVEMENT

30 November, 6:39 p.m.

----ooo0ooo------

The parking lot was silent.

Somewhere off to his left Swain could hear the drone of New York traffic, the honking of car horns. The sounds of the outside world -- the ordinary world.

Selexin drew up beside him.

'Just keep looking forward,' Selexin was staring intently at the tall bearded man before them.

'He is Balthazar. The Crisean. Small-blade handler: knives, stilettos, that sort of thing; Technologically, the Criseans are not well-developed, but with their hunting skills, they don't need tech--'

Selexin cut himself off.

The bearded man was staring right at them. Looking directly at Swain.

Swain kept his eyes locked on Balthazar.

Just then the big man turned slightly, revealing something hanging from his waist. Something that glinted under the harsh electric light of the parking lot.

A blade.

A sweeping, curving, vicious-looking blade. An extraterrestrial cutlass.

Swain lifted his gaze. A thick leather-like baldric hung over Balthazar's shoulder, attaching itself to the belt at his waist. Fastened to the leather strap were various sheaths and scabbards -- and in them, a whole assortment of lethal throwing knives.

'You see them?' Selexin whispered.

'I see them.'

'Criseans,' Selexin said respectfully. 'Very impressive bladesmen. Very quick, too. Fast. Take your eyes off him for a second and before you know it, you'll have a knife lodged in your heart.'

Swain didn't answer. Selexin turned to him.

'Sorry,' he whispered. 'I shouldn't have said that.'

'Daddy...' Holly said. 'What's happening?'

'We're just waiting, honey.'

With one eye on Balthazar, Swain scanned the parking lot. Looking for something... looking for a way out...

There.

In the south-west corner of the lot, maybe twenty yards away from them -- a pair of elevators, encased inside a brightly lit glass-walled foyer. It was the same elevator bay he had seen earlier, only here it opened out onto the parking lot.

Swain handed Holly to Hawkins, at the same time as he pulled Hawkins' heavy police flashlight from his gunbelt.

'Whatever happens here,' Swain said, 'I want you to run as fast as you can to those elevators over there, okay?'

'Okay.'

'Once you're inside and the doors are shut, let it go halfway up a floor and press the Emergency Stop button. Okay?'

Hawkins nodded.

'You should be safe there,' Swain said, rolling the big flashlight over in his hand. 'I don't think they'll have figured out how to use elevators yet.'

Beside them, Selexin was watching the other two contestants warily. 'What happens now?' Swain asked him.

At first there was no reply. The little man just stared intently at the empty car park. And then, without turning his head, Selexin said, 'Anything.'

Reese moved first. Darting towards Swain. Heavy, bounding steps.

Swain felt adrenalin surge through his body. He swallowed, gripped the flashlight tightly.

Reese kept coming.

Christ, Swain thought, how the hell do you fight a thing like that?

He tensed to run, but suddenly Selexin grabbed his arm. 'Don't,' he whispered. 'Not yet.'

'Wha--?' Swain watched Reese charge toward them.

'Trust me,' Selexin's voice was like ice.

Reese was bounding toward them now. Swain wanted desperately to run. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Balthazar slowly unsheath a pair of throwing knives--

And then Reese turned.

Sharply and unexpectedly. Away from Swain and the group.

Toward Balthazar.

'Ha! She had to,' Selexin whispered proudly. 'Had to. Classic huntsman behaviour...'

Then suddenly, in a blur of motion, Swain saw Balthazar's right arm move in a rapid throwing action-- and abruptly two flashes of silver fanned out from his hand, whistling through the air.

Thud!

A glinting steel throwing knife embedded itself in the concrete pillar between Swain and Hawkins, missing them both by inches!

The second futuristic-looking knife was intended for Reese, but unlike Swain, she was ready for it. Running low and fast, she rolled right when she detected the flying blade coming toward her and -- crack! -- the throwing knife, flying downward, lodged in the floor of the parking lot underneath her, cracking the shiny new concrete, standing almost upright.

Selexin was still praising his tactical decision. 'I tell you, classic huntsman behaviour. You take out the more dangerous prey first, catch it off-guard--'

'Tell me about it later,' Swain said as he glanced over his shoulder to see Reese -- shrieking wildly -- slam into Balthazar, toppling him over backwards.

Swain pushed Hawkins toward the elevator bay. 'Go!'

Hawkins took off, holding Holly close to his chest, running straight for the elevators.

Swain was about to follow them when he turned for a final look at the battle behind him.

Reese had Balthazar pinned to the ground beneath her, jamming his hands down beneath her powerful stubby forelimbs. Balthazar was struggling desperately, reaching for his cutlass on the floor, inches out of his reach.

But the weight was too much.

Reese's jaws were salivating wildly above his head, the saliva gushing in heavy torrents all over Balthazar's face. And then Reese began to slash at him with her foreclaws -- vicious sweeping slashes that drew whole chunks of flesh from Balthazar's chest.

It was disgusting, Swain thought. Disgusting, violent and brutal.

He watched in horror as Balthazar shook his head rapidly from side to side, screaming in pain trying to avoid eye contact with Reese's swaying antennae, trying to get his head clear of the blinding saliva, while at the same time feebly attempting to fend off her savage blows. It was desperation. The total and utter desperation of a man fighting for his very life.

And Stephen Swain felt angry. Indignant and furious at the whole scene in front of him.

He spun quickly to see Hawkins and Holly reach the glassed-in elevator bay and enter it. Hawkins quickly pressed the UP button on the wall. Neither of the two elevators opened immediately. The lifts were on the way.

They'd be safe.

Swain turned back to face the battle, the anger welling up inside him. Balthazar was still struggling, swishing his head from side to side, his cries of pain drowned out by the saliva gushing down into his screaming mouth. Reese was still firmly on top of him, violently slashing, squealing maniacally.

And then Swain saw Reese's tail rise. Slowly and silently behind her, like an enormous scorpion, out of Balthazar's view.

And with that, Swain knew what he had to do.

He ran.

Straight at them.

Reese's tail was poised now, arcing high over her head... ready to strike... and then Balthazar saw it too and he began to scream...

With Hawkins' heavy police flashlight in front of him, Swain slammed into Reese, knocking her off Balthazar, sending all three of them sprawling onto the concrete floor.

Reese fell onto her back and Swain tumbled on top of her. She let out an ear-piercing shriek as her body writhed about on the concrete, bucking and kicking, trying desperately to throw Swain clear.

Swain's grip on her slipped and suddenly he was in mid-air and all he could see was a kaleidoscope of grey walls, white fluorescent light and concrete pavement. He hit the floor hard, chest-first, and rolled onto his back--

--only to see Reese's sharp tail rushing toward his face!

Swain swerved his head left and the tail hit the concrete with a loud thud.

Swain glanced quickly at the spot where his head had been. Broken chunks of cement surrounded a small crater the size of a tennis ball in the concrete floor.

Jesus Christ.

Swain was still on the floor, rolling fast. Reese was crab-walking next to him, moving equally fast, banging her tail down like a piledriver.

The tail came crashing down again, right next to Swain's head.

In the nanoseconds of time in which the mind operates, Swain tried to weigh up his options. He couldn't run. There was no way he could get up and clear in time. And he couldn't fight Reese. Christ, if a warrior like Balthazar couldn't beat her, how the hell could he?

No, somehow he had to get out of here. But to do that, he had to do something that would buy him enough time to get clear.

And so Swain did the only thing he could think to do.

With all his strength he swung Hawkins' heavy police flashlight -- baseball-style -- at Reese's tail, planted in the concrete.

He aimed for the tip of the tail, the thinnest part, from the side.

The flashlight hit its mark -- hard -- impacting against the tapered tip of the tail. There was a loud, bloodcurdling snap! of breaking bone as the tail bent instantly and Reese roared in agony, instantly pulling away from Swain.

Swain seized the chance.

He leapt to his feet and looked over at the two elevators inside the glass-walled foyer. The doors to the left-hand elevator were opening and Hawkins, carrying Holly, was getting inside, looking back questioningly at Swain with every step.

'Go! Go!' Swain yelled. 'I'll catch up!'

Hawkins ducked inside the elevator and hit a button and the elevator doors closed. Swain swung back to the fight.

Reese had backed off several steps, consumed with her broken tail. Balthazar was now rising unsteadily to his feet, his head bent as he tried to clear the saliva from his eyes.

Swain stumbled over to Balthazar. The big man's eyes were still covered in gooey saliva, the exposed skin on his chest horribly shredded and caked in thick blood, his face locked in a grimace of extreme pain.

Swain grabbed his arm and simply said, 'Come with me.'

Balthazar said nothing, merely allowed Swain to take his arm and pull him away. Swain looped the big man's arm over his shoulder and helped him towards the elevators.

Selexin just stood there, gaping at Swain in utter amazement.

'You coming?' Swain said as he dragged Balthazar past the little man.

Stunned, Selexin looked from Swain to Balthazar's guide -- who just shrugged uncomprehendingly -- then to Reese, and then finally to the elevators. Then he hurried after Swain.

Swain burst into the glass-walled elevator bay, hit the UP button. Balthazar was still draped over his shoulder, his guide right behind him. Swain spun to see Reese banging her tail on the concrete floor. Two loud bangs were followed by a third that emitted a sickening cracking sound.

Reese roared savagely and Swain knew at once what that meant. She had straightened the fracture. Once she was over the instant pain she would be moving again--

Reese was moving again. Toward the elevator.

Swain jammed his finger down on the up button. 'Come on! Come on!'

Reese was darting left and right, scuttling in a crablike manner across the wide parking lot floor, coming closer...

She stopped. Fifteen yards away from the elevator bay.

Swain noticed that this time her tail didn't swish menacingly back and forth behind her. It just sat there, limp on the floor, motionless.

Reese hissed softly in the silence of the parking lot, her antennae swaying hypnotically above her head. Swain watched her through the glass walls of the elevator bay, entranced.

Selexin shoved him hard, jolting him sideways. 'Don't look at the antennae!'

Swain blinked back to his senses. He couldn't even remember looking at the antennae...

There was a loud bing from behind him and he spun to see the second elevator's doors grinding open.

'Everybody inside,' he said, suddenly back to life, hurling Balthazar into the lift. Once inside, he hurriedly pressed '1' and then door close.

Nothing happened.

Swain looked out and saw Reese bounding toward the glass elevator bay.

He pressed door CLOSE repeatedly.

The doors remained open.

Reese was getting closer, charging.

Suddenly there was a click and the elevator doors slowly began to close.

Smash!

Glass exploded everywhere as Reese burst through the clear glass door of the elevator bay. She landed clumsily inside the small foyer, sliding across the floor on a carpet of tiny glass fragments, sprawled out on all four legs.

The doors were inching closer.

And then, to Swain's horror, Reese slid to a halt right in front of the elevator and started getting to her feet.

The doors kept closing. Reese was on her feet again. The doors were almost joined. Reese tensed herself to leap--

And the doors joined.

And the lift began to move upward.

Swain exhaled with relief.

And then with all her weight Reese hit the exterior doors.

Hard and loud. Denting the doors inward, tearing them apart at the centre, shaking the whole elevator and stopping it with a loud scraping lurch.

Two feet above the ground.

The lift rocked. Selexin clutched at Swain's leg for balance. Balthazar sat in the rear corner, head bent, body limp, swaying with the elevator's movement.

Swain regained his balance and saw the doors, pushed inward, creating a gap one foot wide at the centre.

Too narrow, he thought. She can't get in.

Reese rammed the doors again.

The elevator shook. The gap widened.

Swain pressed the up button on the panel, but the elevator still didn't move. The large inward dent in the doors was keeping them from closing, and the lift wouldn't move again until they were shut.

Reese now had her snout and antennae inside the elevator doors. She was snapping her jaws ferociously from side to side, flinging saliva everywhere, desperately trying to force the doors open -- her antennae slicing through the air like twin whips.

Swain tightened his grip on Hawkins' flashlight and stepped toward her.

Suddenly Reese surged forward, rocking the elevator. Swain fell, slipping on the wet floor, falling backwards, the flashlight flying from his hand into the corner of the lift. He looked up to see Reese lunging ferociously at his feet, snapping wildly, held back by the doors -- saw the frenzied, salivating jaws, the four sets of bared, jagged teeth only inches away from his feet. About to--

Swain turned his eyes clear, took a deep breath and in a flashing instant thought, I can't believe I am going to do this. Then he kicked hard, landing the sole of his shoe squarely on Reese's front teeth, breaking three instantly.

Reese recoiled, shrieking fiercely as she fell backwards onto the floor below.

Swain kicked again, this time at the doors, in a vain attempt to straighten the large inward dents. He gave them three hammering blows, but barely made an impression. The doors were double-strength, too strong.

And then suddenly -- whack! -- a giant leather boot came crashing down on the battered doors, and the dents straightened markedly.

It was Balthazar!

He had slid over to where Swain was lying and, despite his injuries, had unleashed a powerful kick of his own at the doors.

Whack! Whack!

Two more thunderous blows and the dents straightened fully and the doors eased shut and Balthazar fell to the floor in exhaustion and the elevator lifted and at last, there was silence.

----ooo0ooo------

'Grid two-twelve,' the assistant said, reading from his clipboard. 'The area bounded by 14th Street and Delancey on the north-south axis. Medium rise zone: standard commercial-residential area, couple of buildings on the National Register, a few parks. Nothing special.'

Robert K. Charlton sat back in his chair.

'Nothing special,' he said. 'Nothing special, except that in the last couple of hours, we've 'had over a hundred and eighty complaints from an area that hardly ever says boo.'

He handed a sheet of paper over his desk to his assistant.

'Take a look at that. It's from the switch. One girl down there has had -- what is it now? -- fifty-one, no, fifty-two probable 401s on her own. All from two-twelve.'

Slightly overweight, 54 years old, and a man who had spent way too much time in the same job, Bob Charlton was the evening watch supervisor for Consolidated Edison, the city's main electricity supplier. His office was situated one floor above Con Ed's switchboard and it was hardly ostentatious. It comprised a wraparound Ikea desk -- with a computer on it -- surrounded by that beige-coloured shelving common to middle-management offices the world over.

'And do you know what that means?' Charlton asked.

'What?' his assistant said. His name was Rudy.

'It means that somebody has got to the main,' Charlton said. 'Cut it off. Shut it down. Or maybe even overloaded it. Shit. Run down to Dispatch and see if any of our guys were down in that grid today. I'll give the cops a call, see if they've found any punks cutting cables.'

'Yes, sir.'

Rudy left the room.

Charlton swung around in his swivel chair to face a map of Manhattan Island he had pinned to the wall behind his desk.

To Charlton, Manhattan looked like a warped diamond -- three perfectly straight sides, with one side, the north-eastern, jagged and twisted. Electrical grids stretched across the island's breadth like lines on a football field.

He found the horizontal rectangle that displayed grid two-twelve. It was down near the southern end of the island, a few miles north of the World Trade Centre.

He thought about the report.

Medium rise zone. Standard commercial-residential area, couple of buildings on the National Register. A few parks.

The National Register.

The National Register of Historic Places.

He thought about that. Lately Con Ed had been bullied by the Mayor's Office into linking up some of the older buildings of the city to the new mains. Not surprisingly, there had been a truckload of problems. Some of the older buildings had circuitry dating back before the First World War, others didn't even have circuitry. Linking them up had been unusually difficult and it wasn't uncommon for one building's overload to screw up the networking for an entire city grid.

Charlton flicked on his computer and called up the file on the National Register. It wouldn't have all the historically protected buildings in the city, only the ones that Con Ed had worked on. That would be good enough.

He called up grid two-twelve. There were five hits. He pressed display.

The screen scrolled out a more detailed list of names and Charlton was leaning forward to read them when the phone rang.

'Charlton.'

'Sir, it's me.' It was Rudy.

'Yes?'

'I'm down in Dispatch, and they say that none of their guys has been in two-twelve for nearly three weeks.'

Charlton frowned. 'You sure?'

'They've got records on disk if you want them.'

'No, that will be fine. Well done, Rudy.'

'Thank you, si--'

Charlton hung up.

'Damn.'

He was hoping it had been someone from Dispatch. At least then it would have been traceable. There would be a record of where the break -- or shutdown, or overload -- in the main was. A record of where the work had been done.

Now there was no knowing where the break was. Other shorts could be detected with Con Ed's computers, tracing every line. But for that you needed the main to be on-line.

But with the main down in a particular grid, that grid became a black hole as far as computer tracing was concerned. And the break lay somewhere within that black hole.

Now it was guesswork.

Charlton swore. The first thing to do was call the police. See if they had pulled in someone in the last twenty-four hours hacking at the cables somewhere. Anything like that.

He sighed. It was going to be a long night. He picked up the phone and dialled.

'Good evening, this is Bob Charlton, I'm the evening watch supervisor down here at Consolidated Edison. I'd like to speak with Lieutenant Peters, please. Yes, I'll hold.'

As he waited on hold, Charlton looked idly back at the map of Manhattan Island. Soon his call was put through and he turned away from the map altogether.

All the while the computer screen on his desk remained on.

And for the whole time he was on the phone, Bob Charlton never noticed the last line of the list of historic buildings on the screen. The line read:

GRID 212: LISTING No. 5

NEW YORK STATE LIBRARY (1897)

CONNECTED TO NETWORK: 17 FEBRUARY 1995

After a few moments, Charlton said excitedly, 'You did -- when? I'll be down there in twenty minutes.' Then he hung up, grabbed his coat and quickly left his office.

A few seconds later, he returned and leaned across his desk.

And switched off his computer.

----ooo0ooo------

Swain pressed the red emergency stop button and the elevator creaked loudly to a halt. He reached up for the hatch in the ceiling.

Balthazar, his energy now completely spent after repairing the elevator doors, sat propped up against the corner of the lift, his head bowed, groaning. His guide stood unsympathetically beside him, glaring at Selexin.

Swain was opening the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator when the other guide spoke. 'Come on, Selexin, get on with it.' He nodded at Balthazar. 'Finish it.'

Swain stopped what he was doing and turned to face the others.

Selexin said, 'That is not for me to decide. You of all people know that.'

The other guide spun to face Swain. 'Well? Look at him' -- a jerk toward Balthazar in the corner -- 'he cannot fight anymore. He cannot even defend himself. Finish it. Finish it now. Our fight is over.'

Swain swallowed. The little guide possessed an unusual strength in his defiance -- the strength of a man who knows he is about to die.

'Yes,' Swain said slowly to himself. 'Yes.'

He looked again at Balthazar. It was only then that he noticed just how big the bearded man was. Not six foot. More like six-eight. But that didn't seem to matter now.

Balthazar lifted his head and stared up at Swain. His eyes were severely bloodshot, red-rimmed; his chest ripped to shreds.

Swain took a slow step forward and stood over him.

Selexin must have noticed his hesitation. 'You must,' he said, softly. 'You have to.'

Balthazar never took his eyes off Swain. The big bearded man took a deep breath as Swain reached down and slowly -- very slowly -- unsheathed one of the long daggers from the baldric draped across his chest. The dagger hissed against the sheath as Swain pulled it out.

Balthazar shut his eyes, resigned to his fate, unable to offer any defence.

Knife in hand, Swain shot a final questioning glance at Selexin. The little man nodded solemnly.

Swain turned back to Balthazar, lowered the knife, pointed it at the big man's heart. And then he did it.

He slid the blade gently back into its sheath.

And then he stepped away, back toward the hatch in the ceiling of the elevator, back to what he'd been doing.

Balthazar's eyes opened, puzzled.

Selexin rolled his eyes.

The other guide was simply thunderstruck. He said to Selexin, 'He can't do that.' Then to Swain, who was back at the ceiling, tossing open the hatch, 'You can't do that.'

'I just did,' Swain said. The hatch banged open.

He turned, not looking at the other guide, but rather, straight at Selexin. 'Because that's not what I do.'

With that, Swain grabbed Hawkins' police flashlight and poked his head up through the open hatch. He had something else on his mind.

He peered up into the dark elevator shaft, flicking on the flashlight. He was hoping that Hawkins had done what he had told him to do.

He had.

The other elevator lay right there, only a few feet away, right alongside Swain's elevator, halted halfway between this floor and the one above. Swain aimed the beam of the flashlight up into the shaft. Greasy cables stretched up into the darkness. The doors to the next floor were about eight feet above him. On them were written the black-painted words: ground floor.

The shaft was silent.

The other elevator sat still, perhaps a foot above Swain's, a small slit of yellow light betraying a crack in its side panelling.

'Holly? Hawkins?' Swain whispered.

He heard Holly's voice -- 'Daddy!' -- and he felt a wave of relief wash over him.

'We're here, sir,' Hawkins' voice said. 'Are you all right?'

'We're fine here. How about you two?'

'We're okay. Want us to come over?'

'No. You stay where you are,' Swain said. 'Our elevator has taken a beating, the doors are busted. They probably won't open again, so we'll come over there. See if you can open the hatch in the roof.'

'Okay.'

Swain dropped back into his elevator and surveyed the group around him -- Balthazar and the two guides. Hmmm.

'All right, everyone, listen up. We're all going over to the other elevator. I want you two little guys to go first. I'll handle the big fella. Got it?'

Selexin nodded. The other guide just stood there, his arms folded defiantly.

Swain scooped up Selexin and held him up to the hatch. The little man disappeared into the darkness.

Swain poked his head up through the hatch after him and saw Selexin step up onto the roof of the other elevator. A weak haze of yellow light appeared above the other lift. Hawkins must have opened the hatch.

Swain motioned to the other guide. 'Your turn.'

The guide looked cautiously at Balthazar, then said something in a grunting guttural language.

Balthazar responded with a dismissive wave and grunt.

As a result, the guide reluctantly offered his arms to Swain, who duly lifted him up through the hatch. The guide disappeared into the shaft.

Swain turned back to face Balthazar.

The big man was still sitting slumped in the corner. Slowly, he looked up at Swain.

Whatever he was, Swain thought, he was badly injured. His eyes were red, his hands bloodied and scratched. Some of Reese's saliva still bubbled on his beard.

Swain spoke gently, 'I don't want to kill you. I want to help you.'

Balthazar cocked his head, not understanding.

'Help,' Swain held out his hands, palms up -- a gesture of aid, not attack.

Balthazar spoke -- softly -- in his strange guttural tongue.

Swain didn't understand. He offered his hands again.

'Help,' he repeated.

Balthazar frowned at the communication breakdown. He reached down for the long dagger Swain had held before, now back in its sheath across his chest.

He pulled it out.

Swain stood dead still -- unflinching -- staring Balthazar squarely in the eye.

He can't do that. He can't.

The bearded man reversed the knife in his hand, and placed the handle in Swain's palm. Swain felt the warmth of Balthazar's hand as they both gripped the knife -- pointed at Balthazar's chest.

Balthazar then pulled their hands toward his chest. Swain didn't know what to do, except allow Balthazar to pull the glistening blade closer, and closer, and closer to his body...

And then Balthazar guided their hands sideways, sliding the knife back into its sheath.

As Swain had done before.

He looked up at Swain, his eyes bulging red, and nodded.

And then Balthazar spoke again -- slowly, deep-throated -- trying to get his mouth around the word Swain had just used.

'Help.'

----ooo0ooo------

The elevator doors rumbled open and Stephen Swain peered out to see the First Floor of the State Library.

Dark and quiet.

Empty.

The first thing Swain noticed about the First Floor was the peculiar way it had been arranged: it was an enormous U-shape, with a wide gaping hole in the centre, so that one could look down onto the Ground Floor atrium.

Clearly, the floorspace of this floor had been sacrificed to provide for a grander, higher-ceilinged Ground Floor -- in the process, making the First Floor of the State Library little more than a glorified balcony. A mezzanine.

The elevators themselves stood at the south-east corner of the floor, to the right of the curved base of the U-shape. Opposite them -- at the open-end of the U-- stood the enormous glass doors of the library's main entrance.

Off to his left, Swain saw a room filled with photocopiers. A door at the far end of the room had internet facility stamped on it. The rest of the floor was deserted and dark, save for the blue streams of reflected city light that penetrated the enormous glass doors and windows way over at the other end.

Swain pulled Balthazar out of the lift and dragged him over to the hand-railing overlooking the Ground Floor. He was propping the big man up against the railing when the others joined them.

'What do we do about that?' Hawkins said, indicating the open elevator behind them. He spoke softly in the darkness.

'Turn the light off,' Swain whispered. 'If you can't find the switch, just unscrew the fluorescent tube. Apart from that,' he shrugged, 'I don't know, leave it there. As long as it's here, nobody else can use it.'

As Hawkins headed back toward the elevator, Swain saw Selexin draw up alongside him. The little man was peering cautiously up at the ceiling all around them.

'What are you doing?' Swain asked.

Selexin sighed dramatically: 'Not all the creatures in this universe walk on floors, Mister Swain.'

'Oh.'

'I am looking for a contestant known as the Rachnid. It is a trap-laying species -- large and spindly, but not particularly athletic -- known for lying in wait in elevated caves and hollows for long periods of time, waiting for its prey to step underneath it. It then lowers itself silently to the floor behind its victim, clutches it within its eight limbs, and constricts it to death.'

'Constricts it to death,' Swain said, glancing nervously up at the uneven shadow-covered ceiling above him. 'Nice. Very nice.'

'Daddy?' Holly whispered.

'Yes, honey.'

'I'm scared.'

'Me too,' Swain said softly.

Holly touched his left cheek. 'Are you all right, Daddy?'

Swain looked at her finger. It had blood on it.

He dabbed at his cheek. It felt like a cut, a big one, running down the length of his cheekbone. He looked down at his collar and saw a large red stain on it -- a lot of blood had been running down his face.

When had that happened? He hadn't felt it. And he certainly didn't remember feeling the sting of being cut. Maybe it was when he was thrown on top of Reese, after bowling her over. Or when Reese was bucking and kicking like a mad horse. Swain frowned. It was a blur. He couldn't remember.

'Yeah, I'm okay,' he said.

Holly nodded at Balthazar, up against the steel railing. 'What about him?'

'Actually, I was just about to check,' Swain said, getting up onto his knees, hovering over Balthazar. 'Could you hold this for me?' he offered Holly the heavy police flashlight.

Holly flicked on the torch and held it over Swain's shoulder, pointed at Balthazar's face.

The big man winced at the light. Swain leaned forward, 'No, no, don't shut your eyes,' he said gently. He held Balthazar's left eye open. It was heavily bloodshot, reacting badly to Reese's saliva.

'Could you bring the light in a bit closer...'

Holly stepped forward and as the light came nearer, Swain saw Balthazar's pupil dilate.

Swain leaned back. That wasn't right...

His eyes swept over Balthazar's body. Everything about him suggested that he was human -- limbs, fingers, facial features. He even had brown eyes.

The eyes, Swain thought.

It was the eyes that were wrong. Their reaction to the light.

Human pupils contract when hit by direct light. They dilate -- or widen -- in darkness or poor light, so as to allow as much light as possible onto the retina. These eyes, however, dilated in the face of brighter light.

They were not human eyes.

Swain turned to Selexin. 'He looks human, and he acts human. But he's not human at all, is he?'

Selexin nodded, impressed. 'No, he is not. Almost, though -- in fact, as close as he can be. But no, Balthazar is definitely not human.'

'Then what is he?'

'I told you before, Balthazar is a Crisean. An excellent blade-handler.'

'But why does he look human?' Swain asked. 'The chances of some alien from another world evolving to look exactly like man would have to be a million to one.'

'A billion to one,' Selexin corrected him. 'And please, try not to use the term "alien" too liberally. Such a harsh word. And besides, in your current situation, aliens do form the standing majority.'

'Sorry.'

'Nevertheless,' Selexin went on, 'you are correct. Balthazar is not human, nor is his form. Balthazar, and for that matter one other contestant named Bellos, is amorphic. Able to alter his form.'

'Alter his form?'

'Yes. Alter his exterior shape. Just as your chameleon can change its skin colour to blend in with its surroundings, so too can Balthazar and Bellos do the same, only they do not alter their colour: they alter their entire external shape. And it makes sense. One makes one's self human when competing in a human labyrinth, because any doors or handles or potential weapons will all be made for the human form.'

'Uh-huh,' Swain said, turning back to attend to Balthazar.

Hawkins came back from the elevator.

'It took a bit of doing,' he said, 'but I finally got the tube out of its--'

Swain held Balthazar's other eye open, peering at it under the light of the flashlight.

'Out of its... what?' he said, not turning around.

Hawkins didn't reply.

Swain looked up. 'What is it--' he cut himself off.

Hawkins was staring out over the railing, at the Ground Floor atrium down below. Swain swivelled around, following Hawkins' gaze down into the atrium.

'Oh my God,' he said slowly. And then quickly he turned to Holly, reaching for the flashlight. 'Quick, turn it off.'

The flashlight went out. Blue moonlight covered them again and Stephen Swain peered out over the railing.

The man was just standing there. Tall and black. Two tapering horns rising high above his head. The soft moonlight glinted off the lustrous gold metal attached to his chest.

He was standing next to a glass display case down in the atrium. Just standing there, staring intently into one of the aisles in front of him, at something out of Swain's view.

Swain felt a chill.

He's not staring, he thought. He's stalking.

Selexin came up beside him.

'Bellos,' he whispered, not taking his eyes off the horned man in the atrium below. There was a sense of awe in his voice, a reverence that was unmistakable. 'The Malonian contestant. Malonians are the most lethal huntsmen in the galaxy. Trophy collectors. They have won more Presidia than any other species. Why, they even conduct a six-way internal hunt to determine who amongst them will compete in the Presidian.'

Swain watched as he listened. The horned man -- Bellos -- was a magnificent specimen of a man. Tall and broad-shouldered, built like a house, and, except for his golden chest, completely dressed in black. An imposing figure.

'Remember. Amorphic,' Selexin said. 'It makes sense to adopt the human form. Makes better sense to adopt a highly developed human form.'

Swain was about to reply when he heard Hawkins whisper behind him, 'Oh Christ, where's Parker?'

Swain frowned. Hawkins had said something about that before. Parker was his partner. Stationed in here for the night with him. Maybe she was still here, somewhere inside...

'Salve, moriturum es!'

The voice boomed throughout the atrium. Swain jumped, a wave of ice-cold blood shooting through his veins.

He's seen us!

'Greetings, fellow competitor. Before you stands Bellos

Swain's mind was racing. Where could they go? They'd have a good head start. They were still one whole floor above him.

'... Great-grandson of Trome, the winner of the Fifth Presidian. And like his great-grandfather and two Malonians before him, Bellos shall emerge from this battle alone, conquered by none and not undone by the Karanadon. Who be'st thou, my worthy and yet unfortunate opponent?'

Swain swallowed. He took a deep breath and was about to stand up and reply when he heard another noise -- a strange clicking-hissing noise.

Coming from below.

From somewhere else in the atrium.

Swain dropped like a stone, out of sight. Bellos hadn't seen them.

He was challenging someone else.

And then, slowly, another contestant came into view. From the left. A dark, skeletal shadow creeping slowly amongst the bookcases.

It moved stealthily toward Bellos.

Whatever it was, it was large -- at least six feet long -- but thin, insect-like, with long angular limbs not unlike those of a grasshopper, that clung to the vertical side of one of the bookcases. Although Swain couldn't see its face very well, he could see that its sinister-looking head was partially covered by a steel, mask-like object. Its movements were accompanied by a strange mechanical breathing noise.

'What is it?' he whispered.

'It is the Konda,' Selexin said. 'Very vicious warrior species from the outer regions; remarkably evolved insectoid physique; and, according to those who gamble on the Presidian, highly fancied to take it out. Keep your eyes on its two foreclaws -- the tips of each thumbnail secrete a highly poisonous venom. If the Konda punctures your skin and then inserts its thumbnail into the wound, believe me, you will die screaming. Its only weakness: its lungs cannot handle the toxicity of your atmosphere, hence the breathing apparatus.'

The Konda was getting closer to Bellos, an ominous shadow moving steadily along the vertical sides of the bookcases.

Bellos didn't move. He just stood beside the display case, rooted to the spot.

Swain felt a strange sensation as he looked down on the atrium. A kind of voyeuristic thrill to be watching something that no-one else would ever see. That no-one would ever want to see.

The Konda crept cautiously toward Bellos, picking up speed as it closed in--

Suddenly, Bellos held up his hand.

The grasshopper-like Konda stopped instantly.

Swain frowned.

Why had it--?

And then something else caught his eye.

Something in the foreground, something in between Swain and the Konda.

It was small and black -- a shadow superimposed on the darkness -- slinking swiftly and silently across the bare wooden tops of the bookshelves, heading towards the Konda from behind.

From behind.

Swain watched in amazement as another identical creature made its way across the tops of the bookshelves from the other direction. Its movements resembled that of a cat. Menacing in its supreme stealth.

Selexin saw them, too.

'Oh, sweet Lords,' he breathed, 'hoodaya.'

Swain turned to face the little man. Selexin was staring off into space, wide-eyed and white with fear.

Swain spun back around.

Two more of the small creatures -- each about the size of a dog -- were creeping on all fours across the tops of the bookshelves, jumping easily from top to top, across the aisles below. Swain saw their jet-black heads -- saw their long needle-like teeth and their bony but muscular limbs -- saw their thin snaking tails swishing menacingly behind them.

Selexin was whispering to himself: 'He can't do that. He can't. Good lord, hoodaya.'

The four smaller creatures -- hoodaya, Swain guessed -- had now formed a wide circle above the aisle containing the insect-like Konda.

The Konda hadn't moved an inch. It hadn't noticed them.

Not yet.

Bellos lowered his hand. And then he turned away.

Swain saw the Konda immediately shift its weight.

It hasn't got a clue, he thought as he gripped the railing. Hasn't got a prayer...

It was then that the four hoodaya leapt down from their perches.

Into the aisle below.

Hideous, high-pitched, alien shrieks filled the atrium. The bookshelves on either side of the aisle shook as the Konda flung itself violently from side to side in the face of the sudden onslaught.

Swain saw Hawkins' face go blank with horror. Selexin was just stunned. Swain pulled Holly close to him, turned her face away from the scene, 'Don't watch, honey.'

The godawful shrieking continued.

And then, without warning, the near bookcase fell over and suddenly Swain saw the whole grisly scene -- saw the Konda, screaming madly, completely covered by the four hoodaya, its two venom-tipped forelimbs splayed wide, pinned to the ground by two of the hoods, while the other two attack creatures tore ferociously at its face and stomach. In seconds the Konda's steel breathing mask was ripped from its head and the hapless creature's shrieks became desperate, hoarse gasps.

And then, abruptly, the pained gasping stopped and the Konda's body slumped to the ground, limp.

But the hoodaya didn't stop. Swain saw their long needle-like teeth open wide and plunge into its hide. Blood spurted out in all directions as one hoodaya ripped a large chunk of flesh from the Konda's carcass and held it aloft in triumph.

Swain's head snapped left as he heard another noise.

Footsteps.

Rapid footsteps. Soft, barely audible, getting softer. Running away.

One of the hoods heard it, too -- lifted its head from its feeding. It leapt from its mount on the Konda's body and raced off into the nearest aisle, heading for the stairwell.

Swain didn't know what was going on until he heard a stumbling noise, like someone being crash-tackled to the floor.

And then he heard another scream -- a desperate, pathetic yelp -- that stopped no sooner than it had begun.

Swain heard Selexin gulp next to him and he realised.

It had been the guide. The Konda's guide. Swain saw the look on Selexin's face. The other guide had never stood a chance.

Swain looked back at the dead Konda and the hoods on top of it.

'Selexin.'

No reply.

Selexin was simply staring into space, in shock.

'Selexin,' he whispered, nudging the little man back to his senses.

'W... what?'

'Quickly,' Swain said harshly, trying to get Selexin out of his daze. 'Tell me about them. These hoodaya, or whatever the hell it is you call them.'

Selexin swallowed. 'Hoods are hunting animals. Bellos is a hunter. Bellos uses hoods to hunt. Simple.'

'Hey,' Swain said. 'Just tell me, okay.'

'Why? It won't matter. Not anymore.'

'Why not?'

'Mister Swain, I commend you. Your previous efforts had until now given me some hope of survival. Already you have exceeded any previous human effort in the Presidian. But now,' Selexin was talking quickly, desperately, 'now I have the misfortune to tell you that you have just witnessed the signing of your own death warrant.'

'What?'

'You cannot win. The Presidian is over. Bellos has defiled the rules. If he is discovered, which he won't be because he is too clever, he will be disqualified -- killed. But if he isn't, he will win. No-one can escape Bellos if he has hoods. They are the ultimate hunter's tool. Remorseless and vicious. With them by his side, Bellos is unstoppable.'

Selexin shook his head.

'Do you remember the Karanadon?' he said, pointing to the green light on Swain's wristband.

'Yes.' Swain had actually forgotten about it, but he didn't tell Selexin that.

'Only one hunter being has ever successfully killed a Karanadon in the wild. And do you know who that was?'

'Tell me.'

'Bellos. With his hoods:

'Great.'

There was an awkward silence.

Then Swain said, 'Okay then, how did he get them here? If he was brought here just like I was, wouldn't you guys have made sure that he didn't bring anything with him?'

'That's exactly right, but there must have been a way ... something he found that no-one thought of... some way to teleport them in--'

'Hey,' Hawkins touched Swain's shoulder. 'He's doing something.'

Bellos was bent over the Konda's body, doing something that Swain couldn't see. When at last he stood, Bellos had the Konda's breathing mask in his hands. A trophy.

He fastened the mask to a loop on his belt, and then he barked a sharp order to the three hoods that were still feasting on the Konda's torso. They immediately jumped off the dead contestant's body and stood behind Bellos, at the same time as the fourth hood returned from the stairwell, large shreds of blood-stained white cloth dangling from its teeth and claws.

Then Bellos walked over to a semi-circular desk in the middle of the atrium. Swain could just make out the words on the sign hanging above it: INFORMATION.

Behind him, he heard Hawkins take a quick breath.

Bellos bent down behind the Information Desk, picked up something in one of his large black hands and carried it back over to the Konda's body.

As soon as he saw it, Swain knew what it was. It was small, white and limp. Bellos' own guide.

Bellos said something quickly, and the hoods darted behind the Information Desk. Then he draped his guide's lifeless body over his shoulder and pointed it toward the dead contestant.

'Initialise!' Bellos said, loudly.

Instantly, a small sphere of brilliant white light appeared above the dead guide's head, illuminating the wide open space of the atrium. Instinctively, Swain bent lower behind the railing, away from the light. The white sphere glowed for about five seconds until it vanished abruptly and the atrium was dark once more.

Selexin turned solemnly to Swain. 'That, Mister Swain, was Bellos confirming his first kill.'

----ooo0ooo------

Swain turned to the group gathered around him. 'I think it's time to get out of here.'

'I think you're right,' Hawkins was already moving away from the railing.

Swain grabbed Balthazar and heaved him onto his shoulder. 'Holly,' he whispered, 'quick honey, the elevator.'

'Okay.'

He turned to Hawkins, 'We'll go back to the elevator. Stop it between floors again. That's been the safest place to hide so far.'

'Fine by me,' Hawkins said.

Swain began dragging Balthazar away from the railing, with Holly by his side and Hawkins, Selexin and Balthazar's guide in front. They all headed for the open, darkened elevator.

And then it happened.

The elevator's doors began to close.

Swain shot a look at Hawkins, who immediately dashed forward, trying to get to the doors in time. But the doors joined just as he got there.

'Damn it!' he cursed.

Swain came up beside him, looked up at the numbered display above the elevator doors. The illuminated number was moving down the line from l to G and then to SL-1.

'The elevator...' he whispered.

'Jesus Christ,' Hawkins said, realising, 'they figured out how to use the goddamn elevator.'

'They're intelligent--' Selexin said.

'They're animals, for God's sake,' Hawkins said, perhaps a little too loudly.

'Alien, yes. Animal, no,' Selexin whispered. 'I would say understanding a contraption like your elevator would be regarded as remarkably intelligent.'

Hawkins was about to say something in retort when Swain cut in, 'All right. It doesn't matter. We'll find somewhere else to...'

'Hey Daddy, don't be silly,' Holly said, standing next to the elevator call button. 'I can get the elevator back for you.'

Swain's eyes went wide with horror.

'Holly, no!' He lunged to stop her, but it, was too late.

Holly pressed the UP button.

Swain closed his eyes and bowed his head. The round UP button glowed brightly in the darkness of the First Floor.

He couldn't believe it. Now, whoever was using the lift wouldn't even have to guess which floor they were on. Nor would they even have to figure out how to use the elevator. Because now that Holly had pressed the call button, once the elevator picked up its new passenger, it would automatically stop here, on the First Floor'.

Holly said, 'What did I do? Didn't I do the right thing, Daddy?'

Swain sighed, 'Yes. Thank you, honey. You did the right thing.' He handed Balthazar over to Hawkins, and walked quietly back to the balcony overlooking the atrium.

Bellos was still standing behind the Information Desk, putting down his guide, oblivious to their presence.

At least that's good, Swain turned back toward the elevator, head down in thought. They still had to go. Something would be coming up in that elevator very soon and he didn't want to be here when it did.

Finally he looked up toward the elevator.

Holly was staring straight at him.

Selexin and the other guide both stood there with their mouths wide open.

Hawkins was just standing there, too, propping up Balthazar, staring fixedly at Swain.

But it was Balthazar who seized Swain's attention.

The tall bearded man had his left arm draped over Hawkins' shoulder for support. His right was held high, a glistening, evil-looking silver blade in his hand.

Poised.

Ready.

Swain didn't know what to do. What had happened? Balthazar was ready to throw a knife at him and the others weren't doing anything...

Balthazar threw the knife.

Swain waited for the impact. Waited to grab his chest and feel the burning pain as the blade lodged deep into his heart...

The knife whistled through the air at astonishing speed.

Right past him.

Swain heard a thud as the nasty-looking knife lodged into the railing behind him. The steel railing.

Then Swain heard the scream.

A piercing, wailing scream of pure agony.

Swain spun to see that Balthazar's knife had pinned the hood's left foreclaw to the steel railing. The force of the throw was so strong that it had lodged the knife several inches into the steel. It had caught the hood as it had been attempting to climb over the railing from the Ground Floor below -- right behind Swain.

The hood screamed, and for an instant Swain saw its features up close. Four muscular black limbs, all with long dagger-like claws; a long slashing tail; and strangest of all, the head. It seemed as if the head of this dog-sized animal was nothing more than two gigantic jaws. There were eyes on it somewhere, but all Swain could see were its needle-like teeth, bared wide with the help of its massive lower jaw.

And beyond the hood, Swain caught a glimpse -- a split-second glimpse -- of Bellos, standing by the Information Desk.

Gazing up at him.

Smiling.

He had known all along...

Swain turned away, stumbling away from the railing as the hood wrenched at its pinned foreclaw. It seemed to Swain that the knife fixing the claw to the railing was the only thing holding the hood up.

At that moment there was another whistling through the air and suddenly a second knife thudded into the forearm of the hood, slicing right through the narrow bone just above its pinned foreclaw, cutting the claw clean off.

With a shriek, the hood dropped instantly out of sight, falling to the atrium way below -- leaving in its place a bony five-fingered claw, impaled on the railing by the first throwing knife.

Hawkins yelled to Swain, 'Here! Over here!'

Swain saw the ramshackle group hurrying toward the photocopying room to his right. He ran after them and when he reached the door to the photocopying room, he looked back over his shoulder to see the first of the remaining hoods slink slowly and menacingly over the railing.

Swain shut the door behind him and looked around the photocopying room.

Hawkins was leading the way with Balthazar over his shoulder, throwing open the other door at the far end of the room, the one that read: internet facility. Apart from that door, a solid concrete wall separated the two rooms. Swain followed as Holly and the others hurried through the doorway behind Hawkins.

Swain paused at the threshold. He was standing on a dusty handwritten sign that must have fallen from the door some time ago. It read:

STATE LIBRARY OF NEW YORK

INTERNET/ON-LINE SERVICES FACILITY

CLOSED FOR REPAIRS.

WE REGRET ANY INCONVENIENCE.

'I don't know if this is such a good idea,' he stepped inside, shutting and locking the door after him.

Suddenly, there was a loud bang from somewhere behind him and Swain spun around. He peered out through a small rectangular window set into the door -- and saw that the hoods were pounding on the outer door of the photocopying room.

He turned to face the Internet room.

'Sorry,' Hawkins said, lowering the weary-looking Balthazar to the floor.

The Internet facility of the State Library of New York -- a relatively new addition to a relatively old building -- was little more than a wide empty room, with open-ended wires hanging down from an unpainted ceiling and bared electrical outlets on the walls. No computers. No modems. Even the light switch next to the doorway was merely a stumpy metal housing with lots of frayed wires. A corner room, there were windows along two of its sides, but no other doors.

There was only the one entrance.

It was a dead end.

Wonderful, Swain thought.

The banging outside continued. He looked back out through the small rectangular window in the door. The photocopying room's outer door was still, except that every few seconds it would vibrate suddenly as the hoods rammed it from the other side.

Hawkins and Holly were standing at the windows, gazing out helplessly over the park outside.

Swain pulled Holly back protectively. 'Don't get too close,' he said, pointing at the window frame, at the tiny blue talons of electricity that lashed out around its edges.

'Uh, excuse me, but I think we have more pressing problems than the windows,' Selexin said impatiently.

The pounding of the hoods on the outer door continued.

'Right.' Swain's eyes swept the room, looking for something he could use. Anything he could use. But there was nothing here. Absolutely nothing. The room was completely bare.

And then, with a sudden, loud crash, the outer door to the photocopying room burst inwards.

'They're inside,' Hawkins said, racing to the door, peering out through its small window.

'Christ,' Swain said.

In an instant, the first hood hit the door. Hawkins stepped back as the whole door shook.

'Get back!' Swain said. 'They'll go for the window!'

The second hood went for the window set into the door.

Shards of glass sprayed everywhere as the window exploded inwards. The hood clung to the broken window, reaching into the room, lashing out indiscriminately with a single claw.

The other hoods were ramming the door, pounding it repeatedly.

'What do we do?' Hawkins yelled. 'It won't hold for long. The other door didn't!'

'I know! I know!' Swain was trying to think.

The hoods continued to pound loudly on the door. The door's hinges creaked ominously. The hood with its arm inside the broken rectangular window was now trying to stick its head through, but the gap was too small. It hissed and snarled maniacally.

Swain spun. 'Everyone to that corner,' he pointed to the far corner. 'I want--'

He stopped -- listened to the sound of the soft rain pattering against the windows. Something had changed. Something he almost hadn't noticed. He listened in the silence.

The silence.

That was it.

The pounding had stopped.

What were they doing?

And then Swain looked at the door.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the doorknob began to rotate.

Hawkins saw it, too. 'Holy shit...' he gasped.

Swain dived for the door.

Too late.

The knob continued to rotate and then...

...click!

It was locked. Swain breathed again.

The knob turned again. Clicked again.

Turned. Clicked.

They're testing it, over and over, he thought in horror.

It was at that moment, as Swain was staring up at the door from the floor, that a long black claw slid slowly and silently through the broken window.

The bony black arm reached downward, slowly flexing its jagged razor-sharp fingernails. The lethal black claw was moving across and down to the right when suddenly Swain realised what it was doing.

Swain snapped round to look at Balthazar -- to see if the big man could throw another knife at the claw. But, having thrown the two knives earlier, Balthazar was now spent. He just sat on the floor with his head bowed. Swain saw the knives on his baldric, thought about using one, but then decided he didn't want to get too close to the hood's vicious-looking claw.

'Quickly,' he said to Hawkins. 'Handcuffs.'

Puzzled, Hawkins reached for his gunbelt and pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Swain grabbed them.

The clawed hand edged slowly downwards, coming closer to the doorknob.

'It's trying to unlock the door...' Hawkins breathed in awe. As soon as it turned the knob from the inside, the door would unlock straight away. Unlock. And open...

Swain reached up to the door, trying to prise open the cuffs. But the cuffs wouldn't open.

The doorknob rattled again and Swain jumped, ready for it to burst open.

The door remained shut.

It had come from the outside. One of the hoods outside was trying to turn the knob again. The door was still locked. But the clawed hand on the inside was still getting closer to the knob on this side.

'They're locked! The cuffs are locked!' Swain shouted in disbelief, fumbling with the cuffs.

'Shit, of course.' Hawkins pulled some keys from his pocket. 'Here. The smallest one.'

Swain took the keys, hands shaking, and tried to insert the smallest key into the cuffs.

^'Hurry up!' Selexin said.

The claw was at the knob now. Feeling.

Swain's hands were shaking so much that the key slipped out of the cuffs' keyhole.

'Quickly!' Selexin yelled.

Swain inserted the key again, turned it. The cuffs popped opened.

'There!' he said, moving across the floor, sliding underneath the doorknob.

The clawed hand was moving over the knob now, trying to get a grip on it.

Swain reached for the light switch next to the door. Its wired remains flowed out from a solid, stumpy metal housing. Swain clamped one ring of the cuffs through a gap in the metal housing.

The clawed hand slowly began to turn the doorknob.

Swain reached up to the knob, sliding the second ring of the cuffs in behind the clawed hand and around the narrowest part of the doorknob -- the part closest to the door itself.

Then he clamped the cuff tightly around the doorknob just as the clawed hand turned it fully. There was a loud click! as the door unlocked. The door swung slightly inward, opening an inch.

And then suddenly, shockingly, the door was rammed from the outside.

The handcuffs went instantly taut, securing the door to the metal housing on the wall.

The door was open six inches now and Swain fell backwards as one of the hoods swiped viciously at him through the narrow gap between the door and its frame.

The hoods were snarling loudly now, scratching at the doorframe, hurling themselves bodily at the door.

But the cuffs held.

The gap between door and frame was too narrow.

The dog-sized hoods couldn't get in.

'Well done,' Hawkins said.

Swain wasn't impressed. 'If they can't open it, they'll soon break it down. We have to get out of this room.'

The hoods kept pounding on the door.

Swain turned around -- searching for another way out -- when suddenly he saw Holly standing over by one of the windows. She was bent over the window sill as if she were injured.

'Holly? You all right?' He hurried over to her.

'Yes...' Distracted.

The pounding continued. The hoods' snarling and hissing filled the room.

'What are you doing?' he said quickly.

'Playing with the electricity.'

Swain stole a glance back at the door as he came up beside her and looked over her shoulder. Holly was holding the broken telephone receiver two inches away from the window sill. As she moved it closer, the small forks of blue lightning seemed to pull away from it in a wide circle -- away from the phone.

Swain had forgotten Holly still had the phone receiver at all. He frowned at what he saw, though. He didn't know why the electricity should move away from the phone receiver. After all, the phone was dead...

The pounding and the grunting of the hoods continued.

The door still held.

'Can I have that?' Swain said quickly. Holly gave him the phone as he looked back at the door.

Then, abruptly, the pounding and the snarling stopped.

Silence.

And then Swain heard the hoods scamper out of the photocopying room.

'What's going on?' Hawkins said.

'I don't know.' Swain moved to look out through the gap in the door.

'Are they coming back?' Selexin said.

'I can't see them,' Swain said. 'Why did they leave?'

Peering out through the gap in the door, Swain saw the outer door to the photocopying room swinging wide open, left ajar by the hoods. Beyond that, quite a way away and shrouded in darkness, the doors to the elevators.

And then he saw the reason why the hoods had left so abruptly.

With a soft ping the doors to the far elevator slowly began to open.

----ooo0ooo------

Slow night, Bob Charlton thought wryly as he stepped into the bustling offices of the New York Police Department's 14th Precinct.

He had been here a few times before, but this time the main foyer was much less crowded -- there were only about eighty people here tonight. He stepped up to the reception desk and shouted above the din: 'Bob Charlton to see Captain Dickson, please!'

'Mr Charlton? Henry Dickson,' Dickson said, extending his hand as Charlton entered the relative silence of his office. 'Neil Peters said you'd be coming down. What can I do for you?'

'I've got a problem downtown that I was told you could help me with.'

'Yeah

Charlton said, 'Sometime in the last twenty-four hours we lost a main in one of the south-central grids. Lieutenant Peters said that you picked up a guy in that area earlier today.'

'Where's your grid?' Dickson asked.

'It's bounded by 14th and Delancey on the north-south axis.'

Dickson looked at a map on the wall next to him.

'Yeah, that's right. We did pick up a fella in that area. Just this morning,' Dickson said. 'But I don't think he'll be much use to you. We picked him up in the old State Library.'

'What was he doing there?'

'Small-time computer thief. Apparently they've just put in a new set of Pentiums down there. But this poor bastard must have stumbled onto something bigger.'

'Something bigger?' Charlton asked.

'We found him covered in blood.'

Charlton blinked.

'Only it wasn't his blood. It was a security guard's.'

'Oh my God.'

'Damn right.'

Charlton leaned forward, serious. 'How did he get inside? Inside the library, I mean.'

'Don't know yet. I've got a couple of babysitters down there now. As you can see, we're pretty busy round here. Site squad'll be going in there tomorrow to determine point of entry.'

Charlton asked, 'This thief, is he still here?'

'Yeah. Got him locked up downstairs.'

'Can I talk to him?'

Dickson shrugged. 'Sure. But I wouldn't get your hopes up. He's been talking gibberish ever since we brought him in.'

'That's okay, I'd like to try anyway. Some of those old buildings have booster valves in funny places. I'm thinking he might have busted something on his way in. That okay with you?'

'Sure.'

Both men stood up and walked toward the door. Dickson stopped.

'Oh, a word of warning, Mr Charlton,' he said. 'Try to hold your stomach, this ain't gonna be pretty.'

Charlton winced as he looked again at the black man in the small cell in front of him.

Quite obviously, they hadn't been able to get all the blood off his face. Perhaps those designated to wash him had retched, too, Charlton thought. Whatever the case, they hadn't finished the job. Mike Fraser still had large vertical streaks of dried blood running down the length of his face, like some bizarre kind of warpaint.

Fraser just sat there on the far side of the cell, staring at the concrete wall, talking rapidly to himself, making darting gestures at some invisible friend.

'That's him,' Dickson said.

'Jesus,' Charlton breathed.

'Hasn't stopped talking to that wall since we put him in here. Blood on his face has dried, too. He'll have to get it off himself later, when he's got sense enough to use a shower.'

'You said his name was Fraser...' Charlton said.

'Yep. Michael Thomas Fraser.'

Charlton stepped forward.

'Michael?' he said gently.

No response. Fraser kept talking to the wall.

'Michael? Can you hear me?'

No response.

Charlton turned his back on the cell to face Dickson. 'You never found out how he got into the library, is that right?'

'Like I said, site squad goes in tomorrow.'

'Right...'

Dickson said, 'You won't get anything out of him. He hasn't said a word to anyone all day. Probably can't even hear your voice.'

'Hmmm,' Charlton mused. 'Poor bastard...'

'It's hearing your voice,' Mike Fraser whispered into Bob Charlton's ear.

Charlton jumped away from the cell.

Fraser was right up close to the bars, only inches away from Charlton's head. Charlton hadn't even heard him come across the cell.

Fraser kept talking in an exaggerated whisper,' Whatever it is, it's hearing your voice! And if you keep talking...'

The black man was pressing his bloodstained face up against the bars, trying to get as close to Charlton as possible. The streaks of dried blood running vertically down his face gave him an aspect of pure evil.

'Whatever it is, it's hearing your voice! And if you keep talking!' Fraser hissed crazily. He was starting to wail.

'And if you keep talking! Talking! Talking! Ah-ah-ah!' Fraser was looking up at the ceiling, at some imaginary creature looming above him. He held up his hands to ward off the unseen foe. 'Oh my God! It's here! It's after me! It's here! Oh God, help me! Somebody help me!'

Frantically, he began to shake the bars of the cell. Finally he fell limp, his arms hanging through the bars. At last Fraser looked up at Charlton.

'Don't go there,' he hissed.

Charlton leaned closer, spoke gently. 'Why? What's there?'

Fraser offered a sly, evil grin through his mask of dried blood. 'If you go, you go. But you won't comeback alive.'

'He's nuts. Lost it, that's all,' Dickson said as they walked back to the main entrance of the station.

'You think he killed the guard?' Charlton asked.

'Him? Nah. Probably stumbled on the guys who did, though.'

'And you think they messed him up? Scared him to death by painting him in the guard's blood?'

'Something like that.'

Charlton stroked his chin as he walked. 'I don't know. I think I better check out our links with that library. It's worth a shot. Might be that whoever got hold of Michael Fraser decided to hack up my junction line, too. And if they hacked the junction at the booster valve, it would definitely be possible to bring the whole main down.'

They reached the doors.

'Sergeant,' Charlton said as the two men shook hands, 'thank you for your time and help. It's been, well, interesting, to say the least.'

----ooo0ooo------

Stephen Swain peered out from behind the handcuffed door of the New York State Library's rather generously named Internet Facility.

The doors of the darkened elevator were fully open now but nothing was happening.

The elevator was just sitting there.

Open and silent.

For their part, the hoods were nowhere to be seen. Having hustled out of the photocopying room, they must have been out on the balcony somewhere. Hiding...

Swain watched intently, waiting for something to emerge from the lift.

'Could be empty,' Hawkins whispered.

'Could be,' Swain replied. 'Maybe whoever pressed the button never got in.'

'Shhh,' Selexin hissed, 'something is coming out.'

They turned back to face the elevator.

'Uh-oh,' Hawkins said.

'Oh man,' Swain sighed, 'doesn't this guy ever quit?'

The tail emerged first, pointing forward, hovering horizontally three feet above the ground. Swain could easily see the slight kink in the tail a few inches from the tip where he had broken the bone. The antennae came next, followed by the snout, cautiously moving out from the elevator.

'She is not a guy,' Selexin said. 'I told you that before, Reese is female.'

'How did she figure out the elevator?' Hawkins asked as they watched Reese lower her snout and sniff the floor.

'I imagine,' Selexin said, 'she smelled Mister Swain's residual scent on one of the buttons--'

Abruptly, Reese's snout snapped up and pointed directly at them. Swain and Hawkins ducked instantly behind the door. Selexin didn't move.

'What are you doing? She cannot see you,' he whispered. 'She can only smell you. To hide behind the door won't extinguish your scent-trail. Besides,' he added sourly, 'she probably already knows we are here.'

Swain and Hawkins resumed their positions at the door.

Hawkins said, 'So why isn't she coming after us?'

Selexin sighed. 'Honestly, it is a wonder that I bother explaining anything to you. I would think that the reason why Reese has not come directly after us is perfectly obvious.'

'And what is that?' Hawkins said.

'Because she smells something else,' Selexin said. 'Some other creature that I would safely assume is far more worrisome to her than you are.'

'The hoods,' Swain said, not taking his eyes off Reese. She was standing perfectly still at the mouth of the elevator.

'Correct. And since they were out there only very recently, their scent is probably very strong,' Selexin said. 'I would therefore assert that at the moment, Reese is feeling particularly concerned.'

For a long minute they watched Reese in silence. Her long, low, dinosaur-like body didn't move an inch. Her tail was poised high, tensed, ready to strike.

Hawkins said, 'So what do we do?'

Swain was frowning, thinking.

'We get out,' he said finally.

'What!' Selexin and Hawkins said at the same time.

Swain was already reaching up for the handcuffs, unlocking them.

'For one thing, we can't stay here,' he said. 'Sooner or later one of those bastards out there is going to break down this door. And when that happens, we'll be trapped. I say we get ready to run as soon as something happens.'

'As soon as something happens?' Selexin said. 'A rather inexact plan if you don't mind my saying so.'

Swain put the cuffs in his pocket and shrugged at the little man. 'Let's just say that I've got a feeling something is about to happen out there. And when it does, I want all of us to be ready to make a break for it.'

Several minutes later, Swain had Balthazar draped over his shoulder while Hawkins held Holly by the hand. The door was open a full two feet.

Outside, Reese stood rigidly in front of the elevator, visibly tensed, alert.

They waited.

Reese didn't move.

Another minute ticked by.

Swain turned to face the group. 'All right, when I say go, run straight for the stairwell. When you get there, don't stop, don't look back, just go straight up. When we hit the Third Floor, I'll lead the way from there. Okay?'

They nodded.

'Good.'

Another minute passed.

'It does not look like anything is going to happen,' Selexin said sourly.

'He's right,' Hawkins said. 'Maybe we better put the cuffs back on the door...'

'Not just yet,' Swain said, staring intently out at Reese. 'They're out there, and Reese knows it... There!'

Abruptly, Reese spun to her right, away from them. Something had caught her attention.

Swain tightened his grip on Balthazar. 'All right everybody, get ready, this is it.'

Slowly, Swain pulled the door open and ventured into the photocopying room. The others followed him to the outer door.

Reese was still facing the other direction.

Swain rested his free hand lightly on the outer door, his eyes locked on Reese, praying that she wouldn't turn around and charge.

He opened the door wider, and stepped out.

He could see the stairwell now, off to the left. Reese and the elevators were about twenty feet to the right. Beyond Reese, he could see the wide empty space that fell away to the Ground Floor atrium below. He figured if he could just ease out of the doorway and quietly make his way to the--

Suddenly, Reese whirled around.

For an instant Swain's heart stopped. He felt like a thief discovered with his hands in the till -- totally exposed. Caught in the act.

He froze.

But Reese didn't stop to face him.

She just kept turning until she came a full three hundred and sixty degrees. A full circle.

Swain breathed again. He didn't know what was happening until he realised that Reese's quick circling movement wasn't a threatening move at all.

It was a defensive move.