Contest

If they had set up police tape around the library, it was likely they would have someone patrolling the building, warding off any would-be intruders. He had to find a way...

Swain rummaged through the bin and found some crumpled old newspapers. He was grabbing a handful of them when he caught sight of something else.

A wine bottle.

He picked it up and heard the sloshing of liquid still inside it. Excellent. Swain upended the bottle and poured the excess wine onto his hands. The alcohol stung the scratches on his hands.

Then, with bottle and newspapers in hand, he bolted for the treeline.

7:14

7:13

7:12

Swain thrust himself up against the thick trunk of the tree and felt his pockets.

The broken phone receiver and the equally broken lighter were still there. He cursed himself for leaving the handcuffs back at the train tracks.

In the flashing blue light of the van, he saw the nearest corner of the building.

Thirty yards.

He took a deep breath.

And ran out into the open.

Levine yawned as he leaned on the bonnet of the Lincoln. Marshall and Quaid had gone off to check out the parking lot while he had been left to watch the front of the building.

His radio crackled. It would be Higgs, the agent in charge of the surveillance team he had just sent out.

'Yeah,' Levine said.

'We're on the western side of the building and there's nothing here, sir,' Higgs' tinny voice said.

'Okay,' Levine said. 'Just keep circling the building, and let me know if you find anything.'

'Roger that, sir.'

Levine clicked off the radio.

Swain reached the south-eastern corner of the building and ducked into the shadows of the southern wall.

He was breathing hard now, his heart pounding loudly inside his head.

He scanned the wall.

7:01

7:00

6:59

There. Near the far corner.

Swain ran forward and dived to the ground.

The radio crackled again. Higgs' voice.

'We are approaching the south-west corner, sir. Still nothing to report.'

Levine said, 'Thank you, Higgs.'

Swain lay on the grass next to the southern wall of the State Library, still holding the newspapers and the wine bottle.

He was peering at a small wooden window set into the wall at ground level, not far from the south-western corner of the building. The window was old and dusty, and it looked like it hadn't been opened in years. His wristband still beeped softly.

6:39

Swain leaned close and saw a jagged fork of tiny blue lightning lick out from the old window's frame--

A twig snapped.

Somewhere close.

Swain pulled the newspapers to his body and immediately rolled up against the library wall, his eyes inches away from the tiny sparks of electricity that licked out from the window.

Silence.

And then a soft beep... beep... beep.

The wristband!

Swain thrust his left wrist under his body to muffle the sound of the beeping just as he saw three sets of black combat boots step slowly around the corner.

NSA Special Agent Alan Higgs lowered his M-16 and winced at the figure lying huddled up against the wall before him.

A filthy body, curled up in the foetal position, wrapped in crumpled newspapers in a vain attempt to counter the cold. His clothes were filthy rags and the man's face was covered in black grime.

A bum.

Higgs put his radio to his mouth. 'Higgs here.'

'What is it?'

'Just a bum, that's all,' Higgs said, nudging the body with his boot. 'Rolled up tight next to the building. No wonder nobody saw him when they set up the perimeter.'

'Any problem?'

'Nah,' Higgs said. 'This guy probably never even noticed the perimeter going up himself. Don't worry about it sir, we'll have him out of here in no time. Higgs out.'

Higgs bent down and shook Swain's shoulder.

'Hey, buddy?' he said.

Swain groaned.

Higgs nodded to the other two agents -- like himself, they were dressed in full SWAT gear -- who slung their M-l6s and bent down to pick up the man.

As they did so, the bum grunted loudly and rolled sleepily toward them, feebly stretching out with one hand, pressing it against the face of one of the agents, as if to say, 'Go away, I'm sleeping here.'

The agent made a face and pulled back. 'Oh, man, does this guy stink.'

Higgs could smell the wine from where he stood. 'Just pick him up and get him the hell out of here.'

Swain kept the beeping wristband pressed tightly against his stomach and covered in newspapers as he was carried away from the library building, back into the park.

To his ears it was beeping louder than ever, almost certain to be heard.

But the two men carrying him didn't seem to notice. In fact, they seemed to be trying to keep their bodies as far away from his as possible.

Swain began to sweat.

This was taking too much time.

He desperately wanted to look at the wristband. To see how much time was left.

They couldn't take him away.

He had to get back inside.

'Ambulance?' one of the two carriers asked the third -- and presumably superior -- man walking in the lead.

Swain's body tensed as he waited for the response.

'Nah,' the third man said. 'Just get him outside the perimeter. Let the police pick him up later.'

'Roger that.'

Swain breathed a sigh of relief.

But if they weren't taking him to a hospital to clean him up, and if they weren't police officers, then there were still two questions to answer: where would they take him, and who the hell were they?

The heavily armed men carried Swain through the treeline and across the park, toward the rotunda.

Okay. You can put me down now, Swain willed them. You're taking too long...

They carried him up the steps of the rotunda and laid him down on the circular wooden stage.

'Here will do,' the senior one said.

'Good,' the one whom Swain had rubbed in the face said as he released Swain's arm.

'Come on, Farrell, he doesn't smell that bad,' the senior one said.

Swain breathed again, and his body relaxed.

There would still be time.

Now go, boys. That's good. Keep going...

'Wait a minute...' the one named Farrell said.

Swain froze.

Farrell was looking down at his gloves. 'Sir, this guy is bleeding.'

Oh shit.

'He's what?'

'He's bleeding, sir. Look.'

Stay calm. Stay calm.

They are not going to come over.

They are not going to look at your arm...

Swain's whole body tensed as Farrell held out his gloved hands and the senior man came over.

Higgs examined the blood on Farrell's gloves. Then he looked down at Swain, at the newspapers covering his arms, at the tiny splotches of red that had seeped through the newsprint on his right arm. The strong odour of wine pervaded it all.

Finally, he said, 'Probably just a cut he got falling into a gutter. Leave him be, I'll radio it in. If they think it's necessary, the others can come by later and check him out. I don't think this guy will be going anywhere fast. Come on, let's get back to work.'

They headed back towards the main entrance.

Swain didn't dare move until the sounds of the footsteps had faded off into the night.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

He was in the rotunda, on the stage. He looked at his wristband:

2:21

2:20

2:19

'Why don't you take your time next time, boys?' he said aloud. He couldn't believe it had taken only four minutes. It had felt like an eternity.

But now he only had two minutes left. He had to move.

Fast.

With a final look through the white lattice handrail of the rotunda stage, Swain leapt to his feet, and ran down the stairs.

2:05

Into the treeline, and he stopped beneath one of the heavy oaks.

He reached up and grabbed a thick low-hanging branch and snapped it from the tree. Then he ran out onto open ground again, toward the library building.

1:51

1:50

1:49

In the shadows of the southern wall, Swain came to the ground-level window he had seen before and dropped to his knees. He tightened his grip on the long thick branch and prayed to God that this would work.

He swung the branch down hard at the window. The small window shattered instantly. Glass exploded everywhere.

Instantly, however, a crackling grid of silver-blue electricity burst to life across the width of the window.

Swain's eyes went wide with dismay.

Oh, no. Oh... no.

1:36

Swain swallowed.

He hadn't thought that that would happen. He had hoped that the gap would be too wide, that the electricity would not be able to jump the width of the small window.

But the window was too small.

And now he was left with a wall of jagged, crisscrossing lines of pure electricity in front of him.

1:20

1:19

1:18

Only a minute left.

Think, Swain! Think! There has to be a way! There has to be!

But his mind was now a blur of panic and incredulity. To have got so far, and to end it all like this...

Images of the night flashed across his mind.

Reese in the Stack. Meeting Hawkins. The parking lot. Balthazar. Up to the First Floor. Bellos and the hoods and the Konda in the atrium...

1:01

1:00

0:59

... the Internet Facility and the handcuffs on the door. Up to the Third Floor. The janitor's room. The Karanadon. The elevator shaft. Back down to the Stack. The small red door. Falling through the door with the hoods.

Outside. In the tunnel. The subway train.

0:48

0:47

0:46

Wait.

There was something there.

Something he had missed. Something that said there was a way in.

0:37

0:36

0:35

What was it? Shit! Why couldn't he remember? Okay, slow down. Think. Where did it happen?

Downstairs? No. Upstairs? No. Somewhere in between.

The First Floor.

What had happened on the First Floor?

They had seen Bellos, seen the hoods attack the Konda. Then Balthazar had thrown a knife and pinned one of them to the railing...

0:29

0:28

0:27

Then Holly had pressed the elevator button and they had run into the Internet room.

Holly...

Then the door. And the handcuffs.

0:20

0:19

0:18

What was it?

Holly...

It was there! Somewhere in the back of his mind. A way in! Why couldn't he remember it?

0:14

0:13

0:12

Think, Goddamn it, think!

0:11

0:10

Swain pursed his lips, frowning.

0:09

He swung his head from right to left. No other windows. Nowhere else to go.

0:08

Think back. First Floor. Bellos. Hoods.

0:07

Balthazar. Knife.

0:06

Elevator. Holly pressing the button. Holly...

0:05

Holly? Something about Holly.

0:04

Something Holly said?

0:03

Something Holly did?

0:02

And with the expiration of the countdown came the horror of the realisation.

Stephen Swain was dead.

FIFTH MOVEMENT

30 November, 8:56 p.m.

----ooo0ooo------

In the janitor's room on the Third Floor, Paul Hawkins sat down against the wall beside Balthazar, and nodded, satisfied.

Across the floor from him, in front of the open doorway of the room, lay a large puddle of highly flammable methylated spirits -- and next to him, a box of old-fashioned phosphorus-tipped matches. He had been pleasantly surprised at what he had been able to find on the shelves of the old janitor's room.

He felt a little safer now. Any unwanted guests passing through that doorway would be in for a big--

And then, abruptly, he heard it.

The windows above him rattled slightly, while the floor shook gently.

Hawkins couldn't quite guess what it was.

But it sounded like a muffled explosion.

Selexin and Holly stopped at the top of the stairwell as the wooden banister beside them began to shudder.

'Did you hear that?' Selexin asked nervously. 'I felt it,' Holly said. 'What do you think it was?'

'It sounded like a blast of some sort. An explosion. From somewhere outside--'

He cut himself off.

'Oh no...'

'Clear?' 'Commander' Harry Quaid called again.

Marshall ducked behind the wall at the top of the ramp as Quaid rounded the corner and joined him.

The second blast rushed outward from the bottom of the concrete entry ramp. A billowing cloud of grey smoke raced up the ramp and shot out onto the street, thundering past Marshall and Quaid.

Fragments of metal -- the remnants of what had been the steel grating that closed off the library's parking lot -- clattered loudly to the ground.

The smoke cleared and Marshall, Quaid and a small cohort of NSA agents made their way down the charred ramp, stepping over the gnarled pieces of steel that now littered the slope.

Marshall stopped at the bottom of the ramp and stared in awe at the sight before him.

Across the wide rectangular opening of the parking lot -- filling the exploded round hole in the middle of the steel grating -- was an enormous grid of bright blue electricity, crackling and sizzling, lashing out every few seconds with long ringers of high-voltage lightning.

Marshall folded his arms as Quaid stood beside him, gazing at the criss-crossing grid of light before them.

'We knew it,' Quaid said, not taking his eyes off the wall of blue light.

'We did indeed,' Marshall said. 'So. They electrify the whole building, cutting it off, sealing it so that nothing can get in or out...'

'Right.'

'So, why have they done it?' Marshall asked. 'What the hell is going on inside this building that we're not supposed to see?'

----ooo0ooo------

Holly tapped her foot impatiently as she waited on the Third Floor landing of the stairwell. Selexin was peering around the open fire door into the study hall.

The room was a mess.

An absolute mess.

A diagonal line of pure destruction ran all the way across the study hall -- from the doorway to the janitor's room in the far corner, right up to the stairwell door. Desks crushed beneath the weight of the Karanadon lay in splinters, strewn all over the floor.

In the dim blue city light, Selexin could just make out the doorway to the janitor's room on the far side of the room. There didn't seem to be anybody there at the moment. In a dark corner of his mind, Selexin wondered what had happened to Hawkins and Balth--

Suddenly a shadow cut across his view of the janitor's room.

A dark shape, barely distinguishable in the hazy blue darkness, about the size of a man, but much, much thinner, moving stealthily between the desks of the study hall, heading toward the janitor's room.

Selexin ducked back behind the stairwell door, hoping that it hadn't seen him.

Then he grabbed Holly's hand and they began to descend the stairs.

In the janitor's room, Hawkins leaned back wearily against the concrete wall. He was watching Balthazar walk gingerly around the room.

Now that his eyes were clear of Reese's saliva and his vision seemingly restored, Balthazar seemed to be getting his strength back. A few minutes before, he had managed to stand up on his own. Now he was walking.

Hawkins looked out through the doorway -- over the wide puddle of methylated spirits he had poured -- into the study hall.

Everything was silent.

Nobody was out there.

He turned back to watch Balthazar pace awkwardly around the room, and as he did so, he failed to notice a sharp triangular head loop itself smoothly and silently around the doorway.

It looked inside, slowly tilting its head from side to side, alternating between Balthazar and Hawkins.

It never made a sound.

Hawkins turned idly and saw it. He stopped cold.

The head was a long, sharp, flat isosceles triangle, pointing downwards. No eyes. No ears. No mouth. Just a flat, black triangle, slightly larger than a man's head.

And it just hovered there, in the doorway.

The body was still out of view, but Hawkins could clearly see its long thin 'neck'.

Now, inasmuch as everything he had seen so far was basically 'animal' -- with eyes, limbs and skin -- this thing, whatever it was, was totally alien.

Its 'neck' was like a string of white pearls flowing down from the flat, two-dimensional triangular head. Presumably it flowed into a body that was still out of his sight.

Hawkins continued to stare at the creature -- just as it seemed to stare curiously back at him.

And then Balthazar spoke. A deep, husky voice.

'Codex.'

'What?' Hawkins said. 'What did you say?'

Balthazar pointed at the alien. 'Codex.'

The Codex moved forward -- effortlessly, smoothly -- floating through the air.

It crossed the threshold of the room and Hawkins saw that it had no body at all. The string of pearls that formed its neck was, in fact, about five feet long. And it dangled down from the head, curling upward at the tip, never touching the ground.

And at the tip of the tail, burning brightly, was a green light that glowed from a tight grey metal band. The Codex was another contestant.

The tail slithered back and forth like a snake's, hovering upright, one foot above the ground.

'Oh man,' Hawkins grabbed the matchbox and pulled out a phosphorus-tipped match. He struck it on the floor.

The flare of white light made the Codex hesitate. It stopped above the pool of methylated spirits.

Hawkins held the match aloft, the flame slowly burning its way down the white wood of the matchstick, blackening it.

He swallowed.

'Aw, what the hell,' he said. And he dropped the match into the pool.

Levine was standing out in front of the library when his radio sputtered to life.

'Sir! Sir! We have a light! I repeat: we have a light! Looks like a fire. Third floor. North-east corner.'

'I'm on my way,' Levine said. He switched channels on his radio. 'Sir?'

'What is it, Levine?' James Marshall sounded irritated by the interruption.

'Sir,' Levine said, 'we have confirmation of activity inside the library. I repeat, confirmation of activity inside the library.'

'Where?'

'North-east corner. Third Floor.'

Marshall said, 'Get over there. We're on our way.'

The walls of the janitor's room flared bright yellow as a curtain of fire burst upward from the pool of methylated spirits, engulfing the Codex.

Hawkins and Balthazar stepped back from the flames, shielding their eyes. The Codex could not be seen through the blazing wall of fire.

And then it emerged.

Floating forward. Through the flames. Oblivious to the heat.

It moved inside the janitor's room, clear of the fire.

'Oh, man,' Hawkins said, edging backwards.

Balthazar spoke -- again, just one word in a flat monotone.

'Go.'

Hawkins said, 'What?'

Balthazar was staring intently at the Codex. 'Go,' he repeated solemnly.

Hawkins didn't know what to do. The Codex was hovering right in front of them. And even if he got past it, he still had to get through the fire -- the fire that he had set up to keep intruders out. It had never occurred to him that that same fire might serve to keep him in.

There was no way out. There was nowhere to go.

Balthazar turned to Hawkins and looked him squarely in the eye. 'Go... now!'

And with that Balthazar launched himself at the Codex.

Hawkins watched in astonishment as the Codex leapt forward at the same moment and coiled its thin body three times around Balthazar's throat.

With both hands, the big man pulled desperately at the Codex's stranglehold around his neck. He stumbled backwards into the remains of the cyclone fence that divided the room, tripped, and fell to the floor beneath the shelves packed with detergents and cleaning agents.

Hawkins was still just standing there, stunned, watching the battle in awe, when Balthazar cried, 'Go!'

Hawkins blinked and turned immediately. He saw the fire, spreading across the room, creeping across the floor toward him. He saw the dusty methylated spirits bottle he had used, lying on the floor, inches away from the approaching flames.

Too late.

The flames devoured the bottle as Hawkins dived over the nearest pile of wooden boxes.

Under the intense heat, the glass bottle -- still half full -- exploded like a Molotov cocktail, shooting out missiles of glass and fire in every direction.

Beyond the cyclone fence, Balthazar was back on his feet again, struggling with the Codex.

He fell back heavily against the wooden shelves and they collapsed under him. Glass spirit bottles, plastic detergent bottles and a dozen aerosol spray cans crashed to the floor.

Hawkins saw the shelves collapse, saw all the bottles hit the floor -- cleaning agents and detergents that carried conspicuous red warning signs: DO NOT mix with DETERGENTS OR OTHER CHEMICALS, and highly flammable aerosols with their own glaring warning labels.

The fire moved inexorably forward, across the room.

'Oh my God,' Hawkins' eyes darted from the fire on the floor to the chemicals lying in its path.

Behind the cyclone fence, the Codex's body was still coiled tightly around Balthazar's throat. Balthazar's face was twisted in a tight grimace, his cheeks beetroot red.

Hawkins spun to warn him about the fire and in that instant their eyes met, and Balthazar, staring intently at Hawkins, tightened his grip on the Codex's snake-like body.

Hawkins saw it in the big man's eyes. Balthazar knew what was going to happen. The fire. The chemicals. He was going to stay in the room. And keep the Codex with him.

'No!' Hawkins cried, realising. 'You can't!'

'Go,' Balthazar gasped.

'But you'll--' Hawkins saw the flames creeping steadily across the floor. He had to make a decision fast.

'Go!' Balthazar yelled.

Hawkins gave up. There was no more time. Balthazar was right. He had to go.

He turned back to face the fast-approaching wall of fire, and, with a final glance back at Balthazar -- locked in battle with the Codex -- Hawkins said softly, 'Thank you.'

Then he covered his face with his forearm and plunged into the fire.

Levine arrived at the north-east corner of the library building just as Quaid and Marshall came running up. The agent in charge of the perimeter, Higgs, was there waiting.

'Up there,' Higgs said, pointing at two long rectangular windows up on the third floor, just below the overhang of the library's roof.

The two windows glowed bright yellow, with the occasional flash of orange flames.

'Jesus Christ,' Marshall shook his head. 'The goddamn building is on fire. That's just what I need.'

'What do we do?' Levine said.

'We get inside,' Harry Quaid said flatly, gazing up at the glowing windows. 'Before there's nothing left.'

'Right,' Marshall scowled, thinking. 'Damn it. Damn it!' Then he said, 'Levine.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Call the fire department. But when they get here, tell them to hold off. We don't want them going in there until we've had a good look inside. I just want them here in case that fire gets out of con--'

'Hey. Hold on a minute...' Quaid called. He had wandered off down the side of the building and was now standing at the south-eastern corner.

'What is it?' Marshall said.

'What the fuck...?' Quaid disappeared down the southern side of the building.

'What is it?' Marshall followed, rounding the corner after Quaid.

Quaid was thirty yards down the southern wall, almost at the south-western corner of the building. He called back to the group. 'Special Agent Higgs, you in charge of surveillance tonight?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Tell me, did you find anybody around here earlier? Anybody near this wall?'

Higgs didn't understand what was going on. Quaid was peering at the base of the wall, at what appeared to be a small window down near the ground.

'Well -- uh -- yes, sir. Yes, we did,' Higgs said. 'We found a drunken bum asleep up against this wall not long ago.'

'Was he down near this corner? Near the window down here?' Quaid asked.

'Uh, yes. Yes he was, sir.'

'And where is this drunken bum now, Higgs?' Quaid asked, kneeling on the grass, still looking at the base of the building.

Marshall, Levine and Higgs came closer.

Higgs swallowed. 'We put him in the rotunda over there, sir.' He pointed back over his shoulder. 'I was going to call it in, but I didn't think there was any hurry.'

'Special Agent Higgs, I want you to go straight to that rotunda and find that bum for me, right now.'

Higgs hurried off immediately.

Quaid glanced up at the others as they saw what he had been looking at.

'What the...?' Levine gasped.

'Well would you look at that,' Marshall said as he saw the spiderweb of electricity that spread across the small ground-level window. Tiny shards of glass lay strewn on the grass around the base of the window.

There was nobody in sight.

Quaid leaned close to the window. It was just big enough for a man to fit through. But why would somebody break it? That would serve no purpose whatsoever.

Unless they wanted to get in...

Higgs came running back. He spoke breathlessly.

'Sir, the bum is gone.'

----ooo0ooo------

Hawkins burst through the flames and fell out of the doorway and dropped to the floor of the study hall.

He checked his body. His police trousers and parka had survived the dash through the fire intact and unharmed. But for some reason his head stung like crazy.

He reached up to touch the crown of his head and suddenly felt the searing heat.

His hair was on fire!

Hawkins frantically took off his parka and smothered the tiny flames on his head with it. The heat died down quickly, and he began breathing again.

The janitor's room was glowing bright yellow now, lighting up the study hall outside. Flames flared out through the doorway.

It wouldn't be long now, he thought.

Hawkins crawled to the side of the doorway, pushed his back up against the wall.

He only had to wait a few seconds.

The chemicals inside the janitor's room combined well. After the first aerosol can exploded in a ball of gaseous blue flame, a chain reaction of chemical explosions was set in motion.

The concrete wall behind Hawkins cracked under the weight of the shock wave as a golden fireball blasted out through the doorway, rocketing past Hawkins, setting the study hall aglow in a flash of brilliant yellow light.

Marshall, Levine and Quaid all looked up at the same time as the entire third floor of the building flared like a fiery flashbulb, lighting up the night.

Voices came in over their radios:

'--fire is spreading!--'

'--corner room just exploded--'

'Holy shit,' Levine breathed.

It sounded like thunder.

Close, booming thunder.

The whole building rocked under the weight of the explosions.

On the Second Floor of the library, Holly and Selexin reached desperately for handholds as they tried to stay on their feet.

The Second Floor of the New York State Library was comprised mainly of two large computer rooms. In the centre of each room, long wooden tables were covered with PCs. A tangle of air-conditioning units and aluminium air ducts hung from the ceiling, providing much-needed humidity control for the computers. Glass-walled reading rooms lined the perimeter of the floor.

The explosions from the Third Floor were growing in intensity, and on the Second Floor they were received with all their violent force.

The glass walls of the reading rooms shattered all around Holly and Selexin. Computers fell from the edges of the tables, crashed to the floor.

Selexin pulled Holly under one of the long tables in the centre of the floor and they huddled together, covering their ears, as the building shook and the explosions boomed and monitors and keyboards fell from the tables all around them, smashing down onto the floor.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

In the study hall, Hawkins pressed his hands tightly against his ears as waves of flames lashed out from the doorway next to him.

Several of the L-shaped desks around him were on fire -- ignited by the initial flamethrower-like finger of fire that had blasted out from the janitor's room.

The explosions were bigger now -- bigger than he had expected them to be, bigger than any chemical fire he knew.

They were almost, well... too big.

Why had that--?

Hawkins froze. Something else must have happened. But what?

And then he saw it.

A small pipe, running horizontally, high up on the wall near the ceiling.

It ran out from the janitor's room, across the wall of the study hall -- above the northern windows -- and then, halfway across, it turned abruptly downwards and ran down to the floor, and then through the floor down to the other floors below...

A gas pipe.

There must have been a gas valve in the janitor's room that he hadn't seen. A gas water heater or a gas--

The small pipe ignited.

Hawkins watched in horror as a yellow-blue flame sped in a thin line across the pipe's horizontal length, and then turned as the pipe did, darting downwards, heading for the lower floors.

Hawkins watched as a droplet of fire fell from the gas pipe and landed on one of the wooden desks. With a sudden whoosh, the desk went up in flames.

Hawkins leapt to his feet. The explosions from the janitor's room were finally beginning to die, but that didn't matter anymore.

A fire was spreading through the gas piping.

Soon the whole building would be alight.

He had to find a way out.

----ooo0ooo------

In a small toilet on Sub-Level One, somebody else was feeling the shuddering explosions that were rocking the New York State Library.

Stephen Swain MD sat with his back pressed up against the white-tiled wall of a cubicle in the ladies' room of Sub-Level One. The water in the toilet bowl next to him splashed about wildly as the building around it tilted and swayed.

Another explosion boomed and the building shook again, although not as drastically as it had before. The explosions seemed to be losing their muscle.

Swain checked his wristband. It read:

INITIALISED--6

DETONATION SEQUENCE TERMINATED AT:

* 0:01 *

RESET

The top line flickered, then changed to:

INITIALISED--5

High above Swain's head, just below the ceiling, the grid of blue electricity was still sizzling. Beyond the glowing window he could hear the faint voices of the NSA agents.

He pressed himself closer against the tiles and breathed deeply.

He was back inside.

It was the thought of Holly that had done it.

Holly on the First Floor, in the dilapidated Internet Facility. When the hoods had been pounding on the door and Swain had handcuffed it shut, he had found Holly over by the window.

She had been holding the broken telephone receiver up against the electrified window. When the phone was brought in close to the window, the electricity seemed to pull back in a wide circle.

Away from the phone.

At the time, Swain hadn't realised what was happening, but he knew now.

It wasn't the phone that the electricity had been pulling away from, but the magnet inside the phone. The earpiece of a telephone is like a common stereo speaker: at its centre one will find a relatively high-powered magnet.

And as a radiologist, Stephen Swain knew all about magnetism.

People commonly associate radiologists with X-rays, but in recent years radiologists have been endeavouring to discover new ways to obtain cross-sections of human bodies -- views taken by looking down on the body from above the head.

There are a number of techniques used to obtain these cross-sections. One well-known method is the CAT-scan. Another more modern method involves the splicing and ordering of atomic particles and is called Magnetic Resonance Imaging.

Basically -- as Swain had explained to the troublesome Mrs Pederman earlier that day -- MRI works on the principle that electricity reacts to magnetic interference.

And that was exactly what had happened when Holly had held the receiver to the window -- the magnetic waves disrupted the very structure of the electronic waves and, hence, made the wall of electricity pull away from the magnet in order to maintain their frequency.

To get inside again, Swain had grabbed the receiver from his pocket and held the ear-piece to the window. The electricity had instantly pulled back from the receiver, forming a wide two-foot hole in the grid, and Swain had simply thrust his arm in through the hole.

The wristband, once detecting itself to be inside the electric field again, stopped its countdown immediately.

Just in time.

After a minute's careful wriggling and squirming -- to make sure he did not move his body beyond the two-foot magnetic circle in the electric grid -- Swain was back inside.

In fact, he had just pulled his right foot inside the window when he fell from the high window sill. The electric grid sizzled immediately back into place and Swain fell clumsily onto the toilet seat below.

Inside.

----ooo0ooo------

Paul Hawkins was halfway across the study hall when the explosions ceased.

Only the loud crackling sounds of a fire out of control remained. The desks over by the janitor's room were now blazing wildly. The janitor's room itself was still glowing bright yellow. The whole study hall was bathed in a flickering golden haze.

Suddenly there came a crashing sound from behind him and Hawkins spun.

There, hovering in the doorway to the janitor's room, silhouetted by the flickering yellow flames behind it, was the Codex.

Hawkins froze.

Then he saw it wobble slightly.

The Codex was hovering unsteadily. It began to swirl dizzily. And then, abruptly, its flat triangular head snapped upward and the Codex fell, crashing down on top of a crumpled desk.

After that, it didn't move.

Hawkins sighed with relief.

He was about to turn back for the stairwell when he caught sight of something on the floor not far from the door to the janitor's room. Something white. Slowly, Hawkins stepped forward until he could see what it was...

He stopped cold.

It was a guide. Or at least what was left of him.

It had probably been the Codex's guide, stationed outside the janitor's room while the Codex had gone inside for the kill.

The guide's body lay in a wide pool of blood underneath one of the L-shaped desks and it had been mangled beyond recognition.

Small clusters of parallel red slashes ran across its face, arms and chest -- one of which had broken its nose, making for an especially gruesome excess of blood. Deep scratches on the little man's palms suggested futile defensive efforts. His eyes and mouth were wide open -- frozen in eternal terror -- a snapshot of his horrifying final moments.

Hawkins winced at the sickening sight -- it was disgusting, brutal. And then, as he looked more closely at the clusters of slashing cuts all over the guide's body, he had a sudden, terrifying realisation. Parallel cuts indicated claws...

Bellos' hoods had done this.

It was time to get out of here.

Hawkins immediately turned back for the stairwell--

--only to see a big black hand rush toward his face. And then he saw nothing.

Stephen Swain stepped cautiously out from the ladies' room and saw the familiar glass-walled offices of Sub-Level One.

He checked his wristband and found that the screen had changed again.

INITIALISED--4

Another contestant was dead. Only four were left now.

Swain wondered which contestants were still alive. He shrugged off the thought. Hell, he only really knew of three others -- Balthazar, Bellos and Reese. Including himself, maybe they were the only four left.

Got to find Holly, he told himself. Holly.

He stepped out among the offices. Across the floor, through the glass partitions, he saw the elevator bay. He also saw the heavy blue door that led out to the parking lot. It was open.

Swain hastened over to the door and examined it. It had been torn from its hinges, presumably by Reese when she had been chasing them before.

He remembered the chase into the parking lot, remembered Balthazar coming up the concrete ramp from the floor below...

The floor below.

Sub-Level Two, the Stack.

That was where he had been separated from Holly and Selexin, so it was the obvious place to start looking for them.

He had to get down there.

Go down the stairwell?

No. There was another way. A better way.

He remembered Balthazar again, coming up the ramp in the parking lot. That was the way in. Balthazar had come from another, lower, parking level. And that level had to have an entrance of some sort, a door that would open onto Sub-Level Two.

With that Swain ran through the big blue door and out toward the parking lot.

----ooo0ooo------

From the outside it looked like a scene from The Towering Inferno. The State Library of New York -- standing proudly in the centre of a beautiful inner city park -- with long flaming tentacles spraying out from two flat rectangular windows up near its roof, while rows of windows on the third and second floors were illuminated by a glowing golden haze.

John Levine was back at the front of the library, watching as the building before him burned.

Behind him, the big blue NSA van pulled out from the kerb and headed for the western side of the library building.

Levine watched as the van jumped the kerb and drove straight onto the grass lawn surrounding the library. Then it disappeared around the corner.

He turned back to see headlights -- lots of headlights -- and he knew what that meant. The fire department was arriving -- closely followed by the media.

Multi-coloured vans screeched to a halt just outside the perimeter of yellow tape. Sliding doors were flung open and cameramen charged out. Behind them, pretty reporters emerged from their vans, fluffing and primping.

One bold young reporter hustled straight over from her van, ducked under the yellow police tape and walked straight up to Levine and thrust a microphone into his face.

'Sir,' she said, in her best, most serious voice, 'can you tell us exactly what is happening here? How did the fire start?'

Levine didn't answer. He just stared at the young woman, silent.

'Sir,' she repeated, 'I said, can you tell us--'

Levine cut her off, speaking softly and politely, facing the young reporter, but clearly addressing the three NSA agents standing nearby.

'Gentlemen, please escort this young lady outside the perimeter and inform her that if she or anyone else crosses that line again they will be arrested on the spot and charged with Federal offences relating to interference with matters of national security, sentences for which range between ten and twenty years, depending on what sort of mood I'm in.'

The three agents stepped forward and the reporter, mouth agape, was led ignominiously back to the perimeter.

Levine was watching her legs as she walked off when his radio came to life. It was Marshall.

'Yes, sir?'

'Quaid and I are at the entrance to the parking lot,' Marshall said. 'TV there yet?'

'They're here all right,' Levine said.

'Any trouble?'

'Not yet.'

'Good. We'll be down here from now on. This fire has raised the stakes. Now we have to get inside before the whole place burns down. Is the truck on the way?'

'It just left,' Levine said. 'You'll be seeing it any second now.'

The ramp leading down from the street to the underground parking lot was on the western side of the library building.

Marshall was standing at the base of the ramp, not far from the metal grille that closed off the parking lot. In the centre of the grille, just touching the ground, was the large circle of criss-crossing blue electricity.

Behind him, the big NSA van reversed around the corner and backed slowly down the ramp.

'Okay,' Marshall said into his radio, seeing the van, 'it's here. I'll call you back soon. For now, you just keep those firemen and reporters behind the tape. Okay?'

'Okay,' Levine's voice said as Marshall hung up.

The van stopped and the back doors burst open and four men dressed in SWAT gear jumped down onto the ramp. The first of them -- a young technician -- came straight up to Quaid and they spoke quietly. Then the technician nodded vigorously and disappeared inside the van. He re-emerged several seconds later carrying a large silver box.

Quaid walked over to Marshall, standing in front of the electrified metal grille.

Marshall said, 'How long will it--?'

'We'll be in there soon,' Quaid said calmly. 'We just have to do the math first.'

'Who are you going to get to do it?'

'Me,' Quaid said.

The technician placed the heavy box down on the concrete next to Quaid, then bent down and flipped open its silver lid to reveal three digital counters. Each counter displayed red numbers, which at the moment read: 00000.00.

Quaid then pulled a long green cord out from the box and led it over to the metal grille. The cord had a shiny steel bulb at the tip.

Another heavily armed agent came over and handed him some insulated black gloves and a long pole with a loop of rope attached to its end. Quaid put the gloves on and inserted the steel bulb into the loop at the end of the pole.

He took a long, slow breath. Then he pointed the pole away from his body, toward the wall of crisscrossing blue lightning.

The steel bulb at the end of the pole glistened as it edged closer and closer to the wall of blue light.

Marshall watched tensely. Quaid swallowed.

The NSA team stared in anticipation.

None of them knew what would happen.

The bulb touched the electricity.

The counters in the steel box immediately began to tick upward slowly, measuring the voltage. They sped up slightly, the numbers getting larger and larger.

And then they went into overdrive.

On the Second Floor of the library, Holly and Selexin huddled together underneath one of the large central tables. On the floor all around them lay the crumpled remains of a dozen shattered computers.

The glass walls of the Reading Rooms had once been like the glass partitions on the First Floor -- glass from the waist up, wood from the waist down -- only now they had been shattered beyond recognition by the explosions, reduced to little more than gaping windows with jagged edges.

Worse still, on the eastern side of the floor, in two of the reading rooms, fires had started.

Selexin sighed sadly. Next to him, Holly was sobbing.

'Are you all right?' he asked, concerned. 'Are you hurt?'

'No... want Daddy,' she whimpered. 'I want my Daddy.'

Selexin looked over at the doorway leading to the stairwell. It was shut. 'Yes. I know. I do, too.'

Holly stared at him, and Selexin could see the fear in her eyes. 'What's happened to him?' she sniffed.

'I do not know.'

'And those things that pushed him out through the door? I hope they die. I hate them.'

'Believe me,' Selexin said, still eyeing the door, 'I dislike them intensely, too.'

'Do you think Daddy's coming back inside?' Holly asked hopefully.

'I am sure he is already back inside,' Selexin lied. 'And I would wager that at this very moment he is probably somewhere in the building looking for us.'

Holly nodded, wiping her eyes, encouraged. 'Yeah. That's what I think, too.'

Selexin smiled weakly. As much as he wanted to believe that Stephen Swain was still alive, he was extremely doubtful. The labyrinth was electronically sealed for the sole purpose of keeping the contestants in. Only an inexplicable fluke had created an opening in the building at the time of electrification -- it was highly unlikely that another existed.

And besides, he had heard the explosion himself. Stephen Swain was most certainly dead...

And then, out of the corner of his eye, Selexin saw movement.

It was the stairwell door.

It was opening.

Swain hurried down the grey corridor and stepped out into the white fluorescent light of the car park.

It was exactly as he remembered it. Clean, shiny concrete, white floor markings, the DOWN ramp in the centre.

And it was quiet. The car park was totally empty.

Swain hurried over to the DOWN ramp and had just started to descend it when he heard someone shouting.

'Hello! Hey!'

Swain turned around, puzzled.

'Yes, you! The guy at the top of the ramp!'

Swain searched for the source of the shouts. His gaze fell on the entry ramp. It was off to the left, down a long, narrow passageway, closed off to the outside world by a big steel grille. At the bottom of the grille was a round exploded hole that glowed blue with crisscrossing lines of electricity.

Beyond the hole in the grille, however, was a man, dressed in blue combat attire.

And he was shouting.

----ooo0ooo------

Holly sat frozen underneath the long wooden table. Selexin stared at the slowly opening door.

Apart from the muffled crackling of flames that came from the fire in the reading rooms, the Second Floor of the New York State Library was completely silent.

The door to the stairwell continued to open.

And then slowly -- very slowly -- a big black boot stepped through the doorway.

The door opened wide.

It was Bellos. He was alone. The two remaining hoods were nowhere to be seen.

Selexin raised a finger to his lips and Holly, her eyes wide with fear, nodded vigorously.

Bellos walked into the open central area of the Second Floor.

His boots crunched softly on the broken glass of the computer monitors as he passed within a foot of the table under which Holly and Selexin hid.

He stopped.

Right in front of them!

Holly held her breath as the big boots swivelled on the spot, the body above them looking around in every direction.

Then the knees began to bend and Holly almost squealed at the prospect of it: Bellos was going to look under the table!

Bellos' legs crouched and a wave of terror swept through Holly's body.

The long tapering horns appeared first.

Then the evil black face. Upside down. Peering at them.

And at that moment, a wicked grin broke out across Bellos' face.

In the parking lot, Swain edged cautiously toward the exit ramp.

'Hellooo!' the man behind the grille called. 'Can you hear me?'

Swain didn't reply. He moved forward, toward the grille, focusing on the man on the other side.

He was a stocky man, dressed in blue fatigues and a bulletproof vest, like a member of a tactical response team.

The man called again. 'I said, can you hear me?'

Swain stopped, twenty yards away from the electrified grille.

'I can hear you,' he said.

At the sound of Swain's voice, the man behind the grille turned instantly and spoke to someone else, someone Swain could not see.

The man turned back, held up his palms and spoke very slowly. 'We mean you no harm.'

'Yeah, and I come in peace,' Swain said. 'Who the hell are you?'

The man continued to speak in that kind of slow, articulate voice one uses with an infant.

Or, perhaps, an alien.

'We are representatives of the government of the United States of America. We are' -- the man spread his arms wide -- 'friends.'

'All right, friend, what's your name?' Swain said.

'My name is Harold Quaid,' Quaid said earnestly.

'And what department are you from, Harold?'

'The National Security Agency.'

'Yeah, well, I've got some bad news for you, Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency. I'm not the alien you're looking for. I'm just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.'

Quaid frowned. 'Then who are you?'

Something inside Swain's head told him not answer that question.

'I'm just a guy.'

'And where are you from?'

'Around.'

'And what are you doing in a building that's got a hundred thousand volts of electricity running through its walls?'

'Like I said, Harold, wrong place, wrong time.'

Quaid changed tack. 'We can help you, you know. We can get you out of there.'

'I've already been out, thanks,' Swain said. 'It's hazardous to my health.'

Quaid turned away for a second and conversed briefly with the man behind him. He turned back to Swain. 'I'm afraid I didn't catch that last thing you said,' he called. 'What was it again? Something about your health?'

'Forget it,' Swain said, rapidly losing interest in this conversation.

The NSA was not so selfless as to come all the way out here to save innocent humans caught up in an electrified library. It was bigger than that, it had to be. The NSA was here for contact -- extra-terrestrial contact. Somehow they must have figured out that something was going on inside the library and now they wanted the aliens.

And, presumably, anyone who had come into contact with the aliens.

'No, I mean it,' Quaid said reasonably, 'come a little closer and say it again.'

Swain took a step back. 'I don't think so, fellas.'

'No, no. Please! Listen. We're not going to hurt you. I promise.'

'Uh-huh.'

'But if you'll just step a little closer...'

The dart whizzed by Swain's head, missing it by inches.

It had come from behind Quaid -- from somebody who must have crept up behind him while he had kept Swain occupied. They must have shot the tiny dart through a gap in the electric field.

Swain didn't wait to think about it. He turned and ran, bolting for the DOWN ramp in the centre of the parking lot.

And as he raced down the ramp toward Sub-Level Two, the last tiling he heard was the echoing voice of Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency shouting fiercely at some poor unseen subordinate.

At the base of the outer ramp, Quaid swore.

'Fuck! We had him!'

He turned to the Lab agent holding the tranquilliser gun. 'How the fuck did you miss? I can't believe you could miss him from--'

'Hold on, Quaid,' Marshall said, resting a hand on his shoulder. 'We may have lost the guy, but I think we just hit the jackpot. Take a look at that.'

Quaid turned. 'Take a look at what?'

Marshall pointed at the parking lot and Quaid followed the line of his finger. His jaw dropped immediately.

'What the hell is that?' he breathed.

'I don't know. But I want it,' Marshall said.

Through the grid of blue electricity they could see it clearly, whatever it was.

It looked monstrous, like a large, low-bodied dinosaur -- at least fifteen feet long, with a rounded, blunt snout and two long antennae that clocked rhythmically from side to side above its head.

Quaid and Marshall watched, entranced, as the creature limped slowly across the parking lot. It stopped at the top of the down ramp, where it seemed to sniff the ground for an instant.

Then it slithered quickly down the ramp and out of sight.

'Well, well, well. What do we have here?' Bellos said, peering under the table.

Selexin was trying hard to keep his body from shaking -- and obviously not succeeding. Holly sat frozen beside him.

'Why, tiny man, your memory is as short as you are. I told you I would find you. Or did you forget?'

Selexin swallowed. Holly just stared.

'Perhaps your memory needs a little... refreshing.' Bellos began to stand. 'Get out from under there.'

Holly and Selexin scrambled out to the far side of the table. Bellos stood on the other side, his wounded guide draped over his shoulder. The flickering fires in the nearby reading rooms were now looking decidedly out of control.

Bellos cocked his head mockingly, 'Where will you run to now, tiny man?'

Selexin glanced over toward the stairwell, and saw the two hoods step menacingly into the open doorway, cutting off their only escape.

'Uh-oh,' he whispered.

When he looked at Bellos again, he saw that his golden breastplate was now smeared with thick red streaks of blood. On the black background of Bellos' forearm, Selexin saw his grey wristband clearly.

And saw the glowing green light suddenly flicker off.

The red light next to it blinked to life.

'Uh-oh,' Selexin said again.

Bellos began to strut around the long table. He seemed to be in no hurry. Savouring the moment. He didn't appear to notice the red light now illuminated on his wristband.

'Why have you done this?' Selexin asked.

'Done what?'

'Broken the rules of the Presidian. Cheated. Why have you done this?'

'Why not?'

'You have broken the rules of the contest in order to win it. How can you respect the prize if you cannot respect the tournament? You have cheated.'

'When one is caught breaking the rules, one is a cheat,' Bellos said, walking around the end of the table. 'I do not plan to be caught.'

'But you will be caught.'

'How?' Bellos asked, as if he already knew the answer to the question.

Selexin spoke quickly. 'A contestant can expose you. He can say 'Initialise' and show those watching at the other end that you have hoods with you.'

'It would be a brave man who would attempt such a thing while he was running for his life. Besides,' Bellos said, 'who here knows that I have hoods?'

'I do.'

'But your master was last seen falling out of the labyrinth. And he is the only one who can initialise the teleport on your helmet.'

Selexin paused for a moment. Then he said, 'Reese.'

'What?'

'Reese knows,' Selexin said, remembering the hoods attacking Reese back on the First Floor.

'But you do not know if Reese is still alive.'

'Is she still alive?'

'Amuse me,' Bellos said. 'Let us suppose for the moment that Reese is still alive.'

'Then she can report you. She can initialise the teleport on her guide's helmet and expose you.'

'And what about her guide?'

'Excuse me?' Selexin frowned.

'Her guide,' Bellos said smugly. 'Surely you cannot believe that if I let Reese live, I would also allow her guide to do so.'

'You killed Reese's guide before you attacked Reese?'

Bellos smiled. 'All's fair in love and war.'

'Clever,' Selexin said. 'But what about the hoods? How did you plan to get the hoods out of the labyrinth. Surely you were not just going to leave them here.'

'Trust me, the hoodaya will be long gone from the labyrinth by the time I step through the final teleport,' Bellos said.

Selexin frowned. 'But how? How can you remove them from the labyrinth?'

'I will simply use the same method I used to bring them here.'

'But that would require a teleporter...' Selexin said, 'and the co-ordinates of the labyrinth. And no-one but the organisers of the Presidian knows the location of the labyrinth.'

'On the contrary,' Bellos looked down at Selexin, 'guides like you know the co-ordinates of the labyrinth. You have to, because you are teleported with each contestant into the labyrinth.'

Selexin thought about that.

The process of teleportation involved a guide being sent to the contestant's home planet. There, the guide and the contestant would enter a teleporter, alone. Once inside, the guide would enter the co-ordinates of the labyrinth and the two of them would be teleported.

Selexin's case had, of course, been different, since humans knew nothing of teleporters and teleportation. He and Swain had been teleported separately.

'But you would still need a teleporter to get the hoods out of here,' Selexin said. 'And there are no teleports to be found on Earth.'

Bellos offered an indifferent shrug, conceding the point. 'I suppose not.'

Selexin was angry now. 'You forget that this is all based on the assumption that you will be the last contestant remaining in the labyrinth. And that is yet to be determined.'

'That is the risk I take.'

'Your great-grandfather won the Fifth Presidian with no need for treachery,' Selexin said spitefully. 'Imagine what he would think of you now.'

Bellos waved a dismissive hand. 'You do not realise, do you? My people expect me to win this contest, just as they expected my great-grandfather to do so, too.'

'But you are not the huntsman your great-grandfather was, are you, Bellos?' Selexin said harshly.

Bellos' eyes narrowed. 'My, my. How boldly we speak when we are about to meet our maker, tiny man. My great-grandfather did what he had to do to win the Presidian. So will I. Different methods, for sure, but tiny man, you must realise that the end does justify the means.'

'But--'

'I think I have had enough of your talk,' Bellos cut him off. 'It is time for you to die.'

Slowly, Bellos rounded the near corner of the table, moved toward Selexin and Holly. Selexin looked desperately about himself. There was nowhere to run to now. Nowhere to hide.

He stood there rooted to the spot, in front of Holly, watching Bellos come closer.

And then -- slowly, silently -- something behind Bellos caught Selexin's eye.

Movement.

From above.

From behind one of the air-conditioning ducts in the ceiling.

Slowly, ever so slowly, a spindly black body began to unfold itself from the ceiling behind Bellos.

It made no sound.

Bellos hadn't noticed it. He just kept approaching Selexin and Holly -- while behind him, the large spindly creature assumed its full, ominous, nine-foot height.

Selexin was dumbstruck.

It was the Rachnid.

The seventh and last competitor in the Presidian. It looked like a giant stick insect, small-headed, multi-limbed. He saw its eight bone-like limbs slowly expand, preparing to wrap themselves around Bellos' body and squeeze him to death.

Then suddenly the Rachnid struck -- quickly, violently -- closing its arms around Bellos with stunning speed, wrenching him off his feet, lifting him high into the air.

At first, Selexin and Holly were stunned by the sheer rapidity of the attack. It had happened so fast. The slow ominous descent of the Rachnid had instantaneously transformed itself into brutal violence. And now all of a sudden Bellos was in the air, in the grip of the Rachnid, struggling with this new opponent.

The hoods moved immediately.

The able-bodied one galloped from the doorway, leapt up onto the table and flung itself at the Rachnid, jaws bared, defending its master. The second, injured hood moved more slowly, but with equal fervour, clambering up onto the table and diving into the fray.

The element of surprise now appeared completely worthless as the Rachnid -- confronted by the unexpected appearance of the two hoods -- dropped from the ceiling, shrieking. It landed with a loud smack! on the table below, its eight spindly limbs flailing wildly in a desperate attempt to ward off the three-pronged attack.

Holly and Selexin were both staring at the scene in amazement when suddenly they both had the same thought.

Get out of here.

They bolted for the stairwell door and burst into the darkened stairway.

'Up or down?' Holly asked.

'Down,' Selexin said firmly. 'I saw another contestant up on the Third Floor before.'

They had barely taken five steps down the stairs when there came a deafening -- but familiar -- roar from the bottom of the stairwell.

'The Karanadon,' Selexin said. 'It's awake again. I saw the red light on Bellos' wristband. Come on,' he grabbed Holly's hand. 'Upstairs.'

They started up the stairs again, and as they ran past the door to the Second Floor, Selexin glanced inside and saw a flashing glimpse of Bellos on the table, kneeling astride the Rachnid, locked in combat.

But now Bellos clearly had the upper hand.

The hapless Rachnid was pinned beneath him, flat on its back, squealing insanely as one of the hoods ripped one of its arms clean off. The Rachnid shrieked. Off to one side, the other hood -- the injured one -- was busy mauling the Rachnid's guide.

And then Bellos coldly broke the Rachnid's neck and in an instant the squealing stopped. Then Bellos stood and called the hoods to stand behind him, and pointed his guide's head toward the dead body on the table.

'Initialise!' he said loudly.

A small sphere of brilliant white light appeared above the guide's head and Selexin was suddenly captivated.

Holly pulled on his arm. 'Come on, let's go!'

Selexin ducked back behind the door and the two of them hurried up the stairs.

----ooo0ooo------

The first thing that struck Stephen Swain about the lower parking level was its size. It was smaller than the parking floor above it. And it had no exit for cars. You could park down here, but you had to go back up to the floor above to get out.

There were three doors, each set into a different wall. One, leading east, had emblazoned across it, emergency exit. Opposite that door was another that read TO STACK. A third door -- an older one -- lay on the southern side of the parking lot. A few letters were missing from its nameplate. It simply read: -- LER ROOM -- NO ENTRY.

And there was a car in this parking lot.

A single, solitary car.

A tiny Honda Civic turned silently into the northwest corner, waiting patiently for its owner to return.

Swain tensed at the sudden thought that perhaps there was someone else inside the library. The owner of the car, somebody they had not seen yet.

No, he told himself. Couldn't be.

Then he began to think of the other possibilities -- like sending the little hatchback blasting through the electrified grille in a fiery blaze of glory, and maybe getting out of the library.

But as he came closer to the little Civic, all his grandiose thoughts faded to nothing.

He sighed.

The car's owner would not be here.

And the car itself would not be blasting through any electrified grille.

This car wouldn't be going anywhere.

Swain looked sadly at the two heavy yellow clamps that held the little car firmly to the concrete floor of the parking lot, and then at the painted blue stripe on the concrete beneath it.

The car had been parked in a handicapped zone, and since it didn't have a sticker on the windshield, the authorities had put the clamps on it.

Swain smiled sadly at the useless car in front of him. At the hospital he'd seen it happen a thousand times, and he always felt that the creeps who parked in the handicapped zones deserved to get clamped.

But now, in the parking lot of the New York State Library, this car offered him absolutely nothing. A gun without any bullets.

It was then that Swain noticed the low hissing noise.

He turned around.

'You never give up, do you?' he said aloud.

For there, standing at the base of the down ramp -- her tail slinking back and forth behind her, her antennae clocking from side to side, and her four-sided jaw salivating wildly -- stood the very first contestant Stephen Swain had met that night.

Reese.

Holly and Selexin clambered up the dark stairwell and stopped once again on the Third Floor landing. From the bowels of the stairwell came another deafening roar.

The Karanadon.

Somewhere down there.

Selexin stopped in front of the closed door to the study hall, remembering the thin shadow he had seen in there before -- the shadow of the Codex.

'The door's closed,' Holly whispered.

'Yes...' Selexin said as if it were quite obvious.

'Well--'

'Well what?'

Holly leaned close. 'Well, we didn't close it. When we were here before, we just left. We didn't close the door. Remember?'

Selexin didn't remember, but at the moment he didn't care whether the door had been closed or not, they had to go somewhere.

'You are probably right,' he said, gripping the door handle. 'But right now, there is nowhere else to go.'

The little man turned the handle and opened the fire door. He pulled it wide.

And then he fell instantly backwards.

Beside him, Holly turned and vomited explosively.

'Bring it over! Bring it over!' Quaid called. It had started to drizzle softly and a light rain now fell on his head. Quaid didn't even notice it.

The four NSA agents carrying 'it' heaved and grunted as they lowered it to the ground beside the electrified grille.

As they did so, Quaid looked down at the silver box with the counters.

The middle counter read: 120485.05.

One hundred and twenty thousand volts. One hundred and twenty thousand volts of pure, borderless electric current. Kind of like an electrified fence, only without the fence.

Quaid turned his attention to the object that the four agents had just put down beside him. 'It' was the thick lead casing for Sigma Division's portable Radiation Storage Unit.

A portable RSU is basically a pressurised vacuum set inside a four-foot-high lead cube. It is used to contain any radioactive object discovered in the field until it can be brought back for study at the huge electromagnetic Radiation Storage Facility in Ohio.

In other words, it was a glorified thermos flask, surrounded by a thick, waist-high lead casing.

Quaid had ordered that the portable RSU in the van be dismantled and the heavy lead casing be brought out.

'It won't work,' Marshall said, looking down at the big lead cube, which now had its top and bottom faces removed.

'We'll see,' Quaid said.

'That electric field will cut right through it.'

'Eventually, yes, but maybe not right away.'

'What does that mean?'

'That means that it might buy us enough time to get a couple of men inside.'

Marshall frowned. 'I'm not sure...'

'You don't have to be sure,' Quaid said roughly. 'Because you are not the one who'll be going in.'

Selexin never took his eyes off the doorway. Beside him, Holly was still retching over a puddle of vomit, tears welling in her eyes.

Slowly, clumsily, Selexin got back to his feet, all the while staring wide-eyed up into the doorway.

There, silhouetted grimly by the blazing yellow flames inside the study hall, hanging upside down from the ceiling, drenched in glistening blood, was the horribly mutilated body of New York Police Officer Paul Hawkins.

In the lower parking lot, Swain kept his eyes fixed on Reese's tail, trying to avoid eye contact with her paralysing antennae.

She moved forward.

Toward him.

Slowly.

Then abruptly her forefoot tripped and she stumbled slightly.

It was only then that Swain remembered where he had last seen Reese. It was back on the First Floor, when the hoods had attacked her, and he and the others had fled for the stairs.

There was no doubt about it. Reese was injured. Battered and bruised from a fight with the hoods that she had only just survived.

Swain looked at himself, covered in the filthy black grime of the elevator shaft and the subway tunnel. He glanced at his wristband.

INITIALISED--3

Another contestant was dead. There were only three of them left now. The Presidian was nearing completion and the remaining contestants were injured and dirty and exhausted. It was now a battle of endurance.

There was a sudden flare of yellow from the right and Swain saw a gas pipe near the ceiling catch fire.

He stole a glance back at Reese -- still trudging wearily forward -- then at the little Honda Civic next to him -- still utterly useless.

Then back up at the gas pipe. At the soft blue-yellow flame that began to shoot along its length. Swain's eyes followed the pipe, ahead of the flame. The pipe disappeared into the wall, right above the mysterious door marked -- 'LER ROOM -- NO ENTRY.

Then Swain had a sickening thought.

Gas. Gas mains.

'--LER ROOM.'

Boiler room.

Oh my...

The racing blue-yellow flame scooted across the ceiling, following the path of the gas pipe. Then it disappeared into the wall above the door.

A long silence ensued.

Then...

The explosion was huge. It sounded like a cannon going off as the door to the boiler room blasted outward in a thousand pieces, followed by a billowing cloud of smoke and flames. Swain was thrown backwards onto the bonnet of the Civic.

Quaid wobbled slightly as the ground shook. An explosion somewhere.

'We have to go in now,' he said to Marshall.

'How many--?'

'As many as we can.'

'How do you know you'll get through?' Marshall asked.

'How do you know we won't?' Quaid said.

Marshall pursed his lips. 'No-one has ever seen anything like this before...'

Quaid just stared at him, waiting for him to make the call.

Then Marshall's eyes narrowed. 'Okay, do it.'

Swain rolled off the bonnet of the little Honda to see Reese turn to face the blazing boiler room.

Overhead sprinklers came instantly to life, dousing the whole parking lot with streams of water. It was like standing in a thunderstorm -- booming explosions from the boiler room amid the pouring rain of the sprinklers.

Swain brushed the torrents of water from his eyes as he tried to see what Reese was doing. To his right -- halfway between Reese and himself -- he caught a glimpse of the door on the western wall of the lot, the door he wanted.

The door that read: TO STACK.

'Ready? Okay, push!' Quaid yelled.

The NSA team heaved on the big lead casing, pushing it toward the electrified grille of the parking lot.

Quaid had got them to turn the big lead cube onto its side, so that the open ends -- the top and bottom -- were now pointed sideways, toward the crackling grid of blue electricity.

When the lead cube was a foot away from the blue lightning, Quaid, now dressed in full assault gear -- helmet, bulletproof vest -- called them to a halt.

Marshall handed him an M-16 assault rifle, equipped with a high-tech-looking underslung unit. It looked like an M-203 grenade launcher, except that it had two sharp silver prongs at its end instead of a wide gunbarrel. It was a Taser Bayonet -- a modern version of an ancient weapon. Instead of attaching a long dagger to the end of your rifle, you attached a couple of thousand volts.

'Some firepower,' Marshall said.

'Don't leave home without it,' Quaid said, taking the weapon.

Marshall reached into his coat.

'One more thing,' he said, pulling a sheet of paper from his pocket. It was the list of times and energy recordings taken from the Eavesdropper satellite. 'Have you got your copy?'

Quaid patted his back pocket. 'Don't you think I know the damn thing off by heart by now? Thirteen surges of energy after we picked up the initial electricity field in the city. That's the starting point. Thirteen things for us to find.'

'If you get in,' Marshall said.

'Yeah,' Quaid said grimly, 'if I get in. You just make sure you're ready for whatever I bring out.'

'If we're not ready, it'll be because we're already inside with you.'

'Good,' Quaid turned to the agents around him. 'Okay, boys. Let's do it.'

The agents began pushing the lead cube toward the wall of criss-crossing blue electricity. Quaid walked slowly behind it, waiting at the open rear end of the cube.

The front end of the cube touched the electricity.

Sparks flew.

Quaid ducked instantly to look through the open rear end of the lead cube. He could see right through it. The electricity wasn't able to cut through the lead.

The NSA agents kept pushing until the cube was half inside, half outside the blue wall of light.

The lead was still holding.

They now had a tunnel through which Quaid could crawl through the electrified wall.

Gun in hand, Quaid dived inside the cube -- and for a moment, disappeared from sight -- and then he emerged on the other side of the electric grid, thumbs up.

'All right,' he called back. 'Send the others through.'

The rest of the NSA entry team -- all of them armed with Taser-equipped M-16s -- were lined up behind the cube.

The first agent in the line, a young Latin-American named Martinez, immediately dived head-first into the cube.

There came a sudden gut-wrenching crack! just as Martinez's legs disappeared inside the tunnel.

'Quickly, move! Before she goes!' Marshall yelled.

And then, without warning, the thick lead cube snapped like a twig under the weight of the surging electric wall just as Martinez emerged from the other side, his gun hand trailing behind him. The cube collapsed instantly, cut clean across its middle -- likewise Martinez's M-16, which was sheared right through its trigger guard, the lethal electricity missing the young commando's fingers by millimetres.

The wall was back in place.

Quaid and Martinez were cut off.

'You guys all right?' Marshall asked through the grille.

'One gun down, but we're okay,' Quaid said, handing Martinez his own SIG-Sauer pistol, to replace the younger man's ruined M-16. 'Guess we're on our own from here. Be back soon.'

Quaid and Martinez hustled off into the parking lot, heading toward the down ramp.

Marshall watched them go. When finally they were gone, his face creased into a smile.

They were inside the library.

Yes.

Swain stood in the corner of the lower parking lot, drenched in the pouring rain. On the other side of the floor, billowing flames lashed out from the boiler room, impervious to the relentless downpour of the ceiling sprinklers.

Reese continued to limp toward him.

Somehow, she seemed determined to reach him despite the protests of her aching body; consumed by an obsession that would not rest until Stephen Swain was dead.

Swain began to think. He couldn't kill Reese, she was just too big, too strong. And even if she was injured, she would still rip him apart in a fight.

How do you do it? he thought. How do you kill a thing like that?

Easy. You don't.

You just keep running.

Swain took a step backwards and felt his legs touch the little Honda.

He was in the corner.

Wonderful.

He stepped out along the wall of the parking lot, away from the car, toward the door leading to the Stack.

Reese moved quickly, paralleling the move, cutting off his escape.

Swain stopped about ten feet from the Honda, his back to the wall. He could feel the thick spray of the sprinklers hammering down against his head.

He looked at his feet, at the thick pool of water that seemed to be growing around him. It wasn't even a centimetre deep, but it stretched nearly all the way across the vast concrete floor, constantly expanding as the overhead sprinklers supplied it with a constant rain of water.

He was standing in it. Reese was, too.

His eyes followed the path of the spreading pool of water.

The pool seemed to be branching out in every direction, even over toward the eastern wall, toward the door marked emergency exit.

The Emergency Exit.

Swain's mind began to race.

The Emergency Exit would have to be an exterior door, a door leading directly outside.

And if it was, then...

He froze in horror. Reese still stood opposite him. The expanding pool of water crept slowly toward the Emergency Exit.

If it was an exterior door, then it would be electrified.

And if the pool of water reached it...

'Oh dear,' Swain said aloud as he looked at the water in which he was standing. 'Oh dear...'

Run! his mind screamed. Where? Any--

'Don't move!' a voice shouted.

Swain's head jerked upright.

Reese snapped around.

Two men stood at the base of the ramp in the centre of the parking lot.

It was Harold Quaid of the National Security Agency and another agent, both dressed in SWAT gear. Quaid held a strange-looking M-16 assault rifle in his hands. The other agent held a silver semi-automatic pistol.

Swain froze.

He glanced over at the Emergency Exit -- at the sprinklers on the ceiling that showed no sign of stopping -- at the growing pool of water that continued to edge closer to the door.

It was three feet away.

He must have made to move because Quaid called again. 'I mean it! Don't move!'

Swain stood stock still.

The water edged closer to the door.

Reese scuttled off to Swain's left, away from Quaid.

Quaid and his partner edged out from the ramp, their respective guns up, eyeing Reese, eyeing Swain. They stepped out into the water.

The spreading pool was now two feet from the door.

Rain from the sprinklers kept falling.

Swain wanted to run--

'Just stay there!' Quaid barked, aiming his gun threateningly at Swain. 'I'm coming over!'

One foot...

The water was almost at the door...

Screw it, Swain thought. Either way, I'm going to die.

'Don't move--' Quaid yelled as Swain broke into a run, racing for the Civic in the corner, every step splashing in the water.

Gunfire erupted.

Swain sprinted along the concrete wall, inches ahead of a line of bulletholes.

I'm not going to make it, he thought as heavy drops from the sprinklers pounded against his face. Not going to make--

He dived for the car.

The water touched the door.

----ooo0ooo------

Swain landed on the bonnet of the little Honda with a loud thud and covered his head with his hands. At the same moment, Quaid's gunfire ceased.

Swain wasn't sure what he expected to hear. The sizzling of electrostatic currents shooting through the water. Maybe even a scream from Quaid, whom he had last seen standing in the middle of the pool of water, firing at him.

But nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

The parking lot remained dead silent, save for the constant shoosh of the sprinklers.

Swain slowly lifted his hands from his head and saw Quaid and the second NSA agent -- still standing near the central concrete ramp, their feet still in the pool of water -- staring curiously at him as he lay on the car bonnet.

Reese, however, was nowhere in sight.

The pool of water had reached the Emergency Exit and flowed right under it without incident.

Swain could think of only one explanation. It wasn't an exterior door. It hadn't been electrified. There must be another door beyond it.

Sprinkler rain continued to fall.

And then suddenly -- ferociously -- Reese burst forward from behind the second NSA agent, and abruptly, the man's ribcage exploded, replaced in an instant by the pointed tip of her tail, protruding grotesquely from his chest.

Quaid spun but he was too slow.

Reese was already moving -- extracting her tail from Martinez's body, letting the corpse drop to the floor like a rag doll -- and then trampling roughly over the body and hurling herself at Quaid, bounding into him, pitching him forward, knocking him to the floor with a splash.

She must have circled the central ramp, Swain realised, and then come up behind the two NSA agents, who had been threatening him.

Threatening her kill.

But Quaid was not giving in without a fight. He rolled onto his back just as Reese leapt onto his chest, jaws salivating, antennae swaying. Quaid reached up with his M-16, holding it above the water, and vainly sprayed the ceiling with automatic gunfire. At the same time, Swain thought he saw a flicker of white light flash out from the high-tech-looking unit attached to the barrel of Quaid's assault rifle.

The struggle continued in the pouring indoor rain -- but Reese was too strong, too heavy.

Her thick right forelimb came crashing down on Quaid's right arm -- his gun arm -- and Swain heard the nauseating crunch of breaking bone.

The gun stopped firing instantly, and as Quaid's arm broke horribly in two, the M-16 flew from his grasp, skittling across the water-covered floor of the parking lot, landing a few feet away from Swain's Civic.

His face covered with saliva, Quaid screamed madly as blood streamed out from his cracked right elbow.' With his other arm he tried pathetically to hold Reese at bay.

And then Swain saw Reese's tail arch.

Smoothly and gracefully, behind her flailing antennae. Out of Quaid's sight.

Swain didn't have time to move.

The tail came down hard.

Viciously hard.

The pointed tip penetrated Quaid's head in an explosion of red, shooting straight through the skull, emerging on the other side. Quaid's body spasmed violently with the impact, his feet lifting off the ground, and then abruptly his body went completely limp.

Swain watched in horror as Reese coldly withdrew her tail from the dead man's skull. Her tail came clear and the bloodstained head dropped to the floor with a soft splash.

Then she looked up at Swain.

And hissed at him fiercely.

Your turn.

Reese stepped clear of Quaid's body, her whole body coiled, tensed, invigorated by the scent of battle.

Sprinkler rain hammered down on her pebbled dinosaurian back.

Swain stepped off the little Honda, eyeing her cautiously, wondering what the hell he was going to do now. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

Quaid's M-16.

Lying in the water to his right, five yards away. Lifeless. Abandoned.

Swain didn't waste a second. He dived for the gun.

Reese leapt forward.

Swain's fingers slapped hard against the water as he grabbed the gun, lifted it clear of the pool and whirled it around to face the charging Reese.

He jammed down on the trigger.

Click!

No bullets! Quaid must have run it dry.

Not fair!

Reese was close now. She leapt at him in the driving rain, flying through the air, forelimbs raised, jaws bared -- a giant attacking alligator.

Swain somersaulted left, just as Reese came crashing down on the spot he had just occupied, landing in the shallow water with a massive splash.

Swain got to his feet, turned to see where Reese was--

Thwack!

An immense weight crunched into his chest, driving him backwards. It was Reese's shoulder, slamming into him.

Swain was lifted fully off the ground by the impact and then suddenly -- whump -- he landed with a thud on the bonnet of the parked Honda.

The car beneath him shuddered violently on its suspension and then before he knew it his ears were filled with the most terrifying sound he had ever heard in his life and he opened his eyes to find that he was looking into Reese's wide-open jaws from a distance of six inches.

It made for a very peculiar sight: Swain -- on his back, on the bonnet of the Civic, his arms splayed wide, dangling over its sides -- with Reese, standing upright, her hind legs resting on the parking lot floor, her stubby forelimbs planted firmly on the bonnet of the car on either side of him.

She lowered her snout over his chest, as if sniffing him, smelling him, savouring her victory over him.

Swain kept his eyes averted -- not daring to look at her antennae -- while also keeping them clear of the torrent of saliva that now splattered down onto his chest.

Through the sprinkler rain, he could see their combined shadows on the wall nearby -- her body bent over his -- resting on the shadow of the car.

She had him.

Reese hissed fiercely.

And at that moment, on the wall, Swain saw the shadow of her tail rise behind her back.

This was it.

This was the end.

Reese knew it. Swain did, too.

And then suddenly he felt it -- somehow it was still in his hand, hanging over the edge of the bonnet -- and like the dawn of a new day, a new realisation hit him and Swain looked up into Reese's eyeless face and said, 'I'm sorry.'

And with that Swain jammed down on the second trigger of the M-16 he was still holding -- the trigger that was attached to the gun's barrel-mounted Taser -- and fired it into the pool of water beneath the car.

A bolt of electricity flashed out from the prongs of the Bayonet and slammed into the water at the base of the Honda.

Instantly, a blinding flare of light illuminated the parking lot as a thousand branches of jagged white lightning snaked out across the surface of the water at astonishing speed.

Reese shrieked in agony as the electricity from the M-16's underslung Taser shot through the water and up into her body -- via her hind legs which were still planted in the shallow pool.

She shuddered violently, her whole lizard-like frame convulsing and spasming, causing the Honda beneath her to rock.

Swain just tried to keep himself clear of her body as it absorbed the stunning surge of electricity.

And then, in a final, lurching fit of electrocution, Reese vomited all over his chest -- a disgusting greeny-brown slime -- before she reared up on her hind legs and fell to the ground, splashing into the pool of water.

Dead.

For its part, the little Honda Civic -- with Swain still on it -- stood its ground as the electricity from the Bayonet hit its tyres but proceeded no further, its attempts to climb the car frustrated by the rubber.

Moments later, the sprinklers stopped.

The parking lot was silent once more.

Flat on the bonnet of the Civic, Swain breathed again. The initial flare of white light was gone and now only weak glints of electricity flickered up from the water.

The surge of power from the M-16's Bayonet had dissipated. The water was back to normal. The Bayonet itself was spent, sizzling, shorted out by the water contact. Swain let the gun splash to the ground.

He looked down at Reese. Strangely, in death her bulky dinosaurian body seemed even larger than it had in life. He also saw the bodies of the NSA agents, Quaid and Martinez, lying motionless on the watery floor.

He shook his head in astonishment, wondering how the hell he had managed to survive this confrontation.

And then his wristband beeped.

INITIALISED--2

Now there was only one other contestant left -- and he still hadn't found Holly and Selexin.

Swain took a deep breath and heaved himself off the car. His feet hit the concrete with a soft splash.

It wasn't over yet.

----ooo0ooo------

'We have to,' Selexin said urgently.

'You can. But I'm not,' Holly said.

'I am not going to leave you here.'

'Then we can just stay here together.' Holly folded her arms resolutely.

They were still standing on the Third Floor landing of the stairwell, outside the study hall.

After seeing Hawkins' mutilated body suspended from the ceiling and throwing up, Holly had slumped down against the nearest wall and stared off into space. Now she was flatly refusing to enter the study hall, which meant walking past the body, and -- worse still -- through the blood.

Selexin looked about himself nervously. Down the stairs, he could see the open door to the Second Floor. Inside the study hall, upside down, he saw Hawkins' body swaying gently from the ceiling.

Whatever had done this -- Selexin suspected it had been Bellos and his hoods -- it had ripped his arms right out of their sockets and torn off his head, accounting for the enormous pool of blood underneath the swinging body. Clusters of parallel gashes cut across Hawkins' body -- claw marks. Hood marks. When combined with the ominous yellow glow of the fire in the study hall, it made for a particularly grisly sight.

'You can shut your eyes,' Selexin suggested.

'No.'

'I can carry you.'

'No.'

'You must realise, we cannot stay here.'

Holly remained mute.

Selexin shook his head in frustration and again looked down the stairs.

He froze.

And then he turned back to Holly, picking her up roughly whether she liked it or not.

'Hey--'

'Shh!'

'What are you doing--?'

'We're going inside. Right now,' Selexin said, pulling her toward the door, looking over his shoulder.

Resisting, Holly followed his gaze down the stairwell. 'I said, I don't want--'

Her voice trailed off as her eyes came to rest on the door to the Second Floor. She fell silent.

A faint rectangle of light stretched out onto the Second Floor landing, and slowly -- very slowly -- Holly saw a dark shadow extend into it.

The source of the shadow appeared and Holly watched in terror as a hood stepped out onto the landing and looked up into her eyes.

The M-16's underslung unit had writing on it: taser BAYONET-4500.

Jesus, Swain thought, as he stood over the body of Harold Quaid, it made it sound like a new model motorcycle.

Swain had seen Taser shock victims before. Usually you recovered with a monster of a hangover, chiefly because police Taser sticks were unchangeably set at minimum voltage.

But this rifle-mounted Taser unit was not standard police issue. And if Quaid really was NSA, who knew what sort of voltage it was packing.

Swain looked down at Reese, lying face down in the shallow pool of water. One thing was certain: NSA Tasers weren't set to simply stun. This one had carried enough voltage to kill Reese.

Swain held the M-16 in his hands. With its magazine empty and the Taser shorted out, it was useless. He discarded the assault rifle and bent down to examine the bodies of Quaid and Martinez. They might have something else on them.

Martinez's SIG-Sauer pistol, or what was left of it, lay half-submerged in the water. It had been completely flattened -- Swain guessed Reese must have stepped on it -- and now it was little more than a collection of bent metal and broken springs.

Swain rummaged through the pockets of the two NSA men's uniforms. He found a pair of small Motorola walkie-talkies, four extra batteries for the Taser unit, extra clips for the SIG-Sauer, two telescoping truncheon sticks, and each man had two CS tear-gas grenades.

Swain wondered if Karanadons were susceptible to tear gas -- probably not. Hell, if he used the grenades, Swain thought, he'd probably only succeed in incapacitating himself. The radios were no help -- after all, who was he going to call? And he didn't like his chances with the truncheons against someone like Bellos. No, Harold Quaid and his partner had little to offer him.

He wondered how they had got inside the library in the first place. The parking lot presumably. But something must have gone wrong -- otherwise they would have had ten more guys with them, and much more artillery. Surely they wouldn't come searching for aliens with only two guns between them.

Then Swain found something.

In Quaid's back pocket. A sheet of paper. A list:

LSAT-560467-S

DATA TRANSCRIPT 463/511-001

SUBJECT SITE: 231.957 (North-eastern seaboard: CT, NY, NJ)

NO. TIME/EST LOCATION READING

1. 18:03:48 CT. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN

Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:09

2. 18:03:58 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN

Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06

3. 18:07:31 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN

Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:05

4. 18:10:09 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN

Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:07

5. 18:14:12 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN

Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:06

6. 18:14:37 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN

Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02

7. 18:14:38 N.Y. Isolated energy surge/Source: UNKNOWN

Type: UNKNOWN / Dur: 0.00:02

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