Hardbingers

6

Ybarra, one of the yenigeri on duty, placed a folded copy of the morning Times on the Oculus's desk.

"As requested, sir."

"Thank you."

As Ybarra left, the Oculus picked up the paper but did not unfold it. He feared the headline. If it said nothing about the Bay Ridge apartment, the woman and the child would have another day, perhaps more, to live. But if the story was there…

He took a breath, held it, then unfolded the paper. The air blew out of him in a choked whoosh when he saw a headline identical to the one in the Alarm.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head. He'd have to gather the yeniceri. He'd have to tell them about the Alarm. He'd have to send them out to kill that woman and child.

The Oculus rested his elbows on the desktop and pressed his eyes against the upturned palms. At times like this he wished he hadn't been born with the gift. Because, in its own way, the gift was a curse. The Alarms could not be ignored—the Ally saw what was to be and demanded action. The enormity of the responsibility was appalling. If he kept the Alarm to himself, what would be the consequences? The Ally was not capricious. If it told him that a situation had to be addressed, then that was what must happen. To ignore it would be tantamount to aiding and abetting the Otherness.

He wished he were like any other man, wished he could wake up in the morning and go about his business without the crushing burden of the gift, without worrying about when the next Alarm would sound.

But the only escape from the Alarms was death. At times he'd considered that option, but then he'd think of poor Diana, and of how his mantle would fall on her shoulders when he was gone. He wished to spare her for as long as possible. For that reason alone he vowed to live to a ripe old age.

But now he had to deal with the matter of the Alarm.

He buzzed downstairs. Ybarra answered.

"Gather the yeniceri. We've had an Alarm."