Germs & Fury

GERMS & FURY

a novel by

Bill Gourgey

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

About Book 1

About Book 2

Author’s Note

Vector

Departure

Examination

Corruption

Feeling Trapped

Glimmer

The Festival of Lights

Strangers on a Strange Island

Orphans of the Universe

Turn of the Fates

Not Salome

Transition I Attachment

Gabriel’s Cue

The Lore of Sun Tzu

Time’s Well

Cycles

Quantum View

Fallen

Drone Redux

Tovarishchi

Dreamcatcher

Transition II Penetration

Accidental Allies

Omega

Out of Order…Chaos

Our Time

Narrow Escape

Molly

Vèvè

Knight Down

Database of Everything

Fury

Magi

Transition III Integration

Thieves in the Night

Survivors

C, G, and A

Stake Out

Floats and Fables

What Makes You Tick

Transition IV Replication

Disaster on the Seine

The Prophet’s Offer

Glimmer and the Captain

Precession of the Past

Exchange Particles

Recovery

Revelation

Tell Her I Love Her

Transition V Assembly

Seraphim

The Nome and the NAVE

Parade Day

Transition VI Lysis

Precession

Fate Is Funny

Goblins in the Hall …again

Epilogue

Lou’s Diary

Acknowledgements

Glide Trilogy Lexicon

Other Books by Bill Gourgey

Jacked Arts

Washington, DC 20008

Copyright © 2014 by Bill Gourgey

Copyright © 2017 by Bill Gourgey

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The first edition of this book was called Gene.sys, and while the name of the trilogy remains the same (The Glide Trilogy), each book in the trilogy has been released in a new edition with a new title.

Cover Art—Front Cover: rendering of a Nephilim via an aRWI dashboard display by Mass, a NY-based creative agency; title font, Niagara Engraved; back cover: Dancing Virus, Getty Images.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017913455

Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1546902294

ebook ISBN: 9781370458950

For my three sisters

Deb, Hannah, Rebecca

About Book 1

Gravity & Fire

When Maddy and Mike trespass Knot Hall, a grand seaside estate that appears to be in ruin, they set in motion forces that have been pent up since the dark days of the Academy—a nefarious organization led by the Prophet that brought civilization to the brink by unleashing war and plague to control the dwindling natural resources of an ailing planet. The Prophet, who has been imprisoned on a secret island, escapes just as the Neos, a new organization fashioned after the Academy, assert themselves by bending the considerable technologies of the future to their will—technologies largely devised by the genius inventor Captain Magigate. At last, the Captain must face not only the Prophet but also the ambiguous legacy of his inventions.

About Book 2

Games & Fate

Accomplished virologist Dr. Janot (whose specialty is crossover pathogens that make the leap between organics, inorganics, hardware, and software) threatens the promising Glide Age with his wildly popular augmented-reality gaming world, Neology. Only the genius inventor Captain Magigate can stop him, but Magigate is missing in action—presumably lost in the past, chasing the Prophet. Teenage artist Maddy’s cryptic paintings hold the key to reaching the Captain, but will she discover their secret in time to stop Dr. Janot, whose Connected Reality vision threatens to transform the human experience forever?

Author’s Note

Although the futuristic terms used throughout the trilogy are generally self-explanatory, a Glide Trilogy Lexicon (†) has been included at the end of this book—for amusement as much as reference. The cast of characters on the following pages may come in handy as well.

Finally, unless otherwise noted at the start of a new chapter, the action takes place in the story’s present (Glide Age).

The Main Characters

Captain Magigate (ma ji gayt) — Famous inventor Dr. Domino Magigate (Dom); founded Cape Knot Labs; built Isla del Tiempo Muerto; lives part of the year in Knot Hall, his ancestral home in Seaville; had a sister, Lily.

The Prophet — Senator Samantha Biggs (Sam); founder of The Academy; leader of the Special Senate; former CEO of Biggs Industries when it was known as the world’s leading drone and weapons manufacturer.

Dr. Janot (zha nō) — Former Cape Knot colleague of Dr. Magigate; former knight; CEO of Pax Pharmatronix where he is known as Dr. Jeneuf; founder of Neology, where he is known as Diogenes, the Maker.

The Knights — There were twelve knights in the original group that came from Las Arcas and served Captain Magigate in the days of their war against the Academy. They include Ipoh (ee pōh), Fortunato, Trinidad, Dr. Janot, Guiomar, Rico, Pepe, Simon, Iago, Mad Mona, Jaime Menos, and Tadeo the Chemist.

Maddy — High school student at City School of Fine Arts (CSFA), where she is studying to be a painter; boyfriend is Mike McGrath; dad is David Langsley; stepmom is Barbara Marshall Langsley, renowned reporter (aka Blabs); known as Ginevra in Neology.

Mike — Seaville High student; girlfriend, Maddy; dad, Fire Marshall, John McGrath; mom, Peg McGrath; known as Blaze in Neology.

Lisa — Maddy’s best friend at CSFA; music prodigy; cyber genius; known as Raphael in Neology.

Em — a cyber ghost who is connected with both the Prophet and Captain Magigate; known as Glimmer in Neology. Louisa is Em’s daughter, who took charge as Biggs’ CEO during the heady days of the Glide Age.

Seaville Friends — Lucy (Verruca), Tonio (Pi-Dog), and Renata (Hornet) are Mike’s closest Seaville High buddies.

Dr. Longe — Acting CEO of Biggs; formerly Chief Research Officer of Biggs’ Romulus Park; friend of Louisa Biggs; Maddy’s doctor.

VECTOR

"The Nephilim† were on the earth

in those days—and also afterward…"

—Genesis 6:4

The Past

In the early days of the Academy

Departure

The larger stones do not lie well without the lesser.

—Plato

Magigate! the Prophet barked, flipping an unruly regiment of sleek auburn hair behind her shoulder to get a better view of the landscape below. I don’t have time for treasure hunts and fairy tales. What the hell are we looking for?" She banked the small seaplane in a wide arc to survey the dense, tropical jungle that matted the island’s three volcanoes like green fur, and stretched all the way up their headless cones.

Patience, Sam, Dr. Magigate said, raising his voice against the whine of the props and engines. His face was plastered to the window to take in the terrain below. Now and then he lifted his binoculars for a better look.

Patience? She shot an angry glance at her passenger and copilot, whose lanky frame folded awkwardly into the tight cockpit. The Prophet was tall and lean, too, but she fit comfortably in her pilot’s seat. We’ve been circling the same coordinates for fifteen minutes.

You may not be able to see it, Sam, but I believe I’ve spotted the remains of a small village down there. Magigate leaned toward the Prophet and pointed. And that is just about where the message tells us we ought to be. He compared the coordinates on the plane’s instrument panel with the mysterious email delivered two days ago by a system Magigate had not yet invented—Ariadne—but had recently sketched out in his journal.

The Prophet’s heart skipped a beat and her face flushed as Magigate leaned casually on her arm. She shook her head, muttered something about self-control, and continued to maintain the plane’s steady arc. But she also allowed a fleeting smile.

Can you land this—

Of course I can land it, the Prophet said more sharply than she intended. Magigate seemed oblivious to the effect he was having on her. For one thing, she wasn’t used to following others, and yet she’d dropped everything when he asked her to pursue this quest with him. For another, being so close to him made her feel alive in a way she had not thought possible. She felt as tilted as the wings on her cockpit’s gyroscope. But the feeling thrilled her, too. She even had butterflies in her stomach. Butterflies! She exhaled audibly. Calm yourself, Sam.

In a soft, measured tone, she added, But I can’t land on top of a tree, Dom. We’ll have to set down in that lagoon. She gestured to where the island stretched out its arms to form a small turquoise cove, punctuated by black rocks.

Magigate smiled. I’m glad I convinced you to wear something suitable for hiking, Sam. He touched her shoulder. The site is halfway up that central cone. He pointed to the lush green slope.

The Prophet’s heart fluttered. She frowned at herself and focused on straightening the plane. Adjusting for the slight but steady sea breeze, she pointed the aircraft’s nose at the lagoon, which offered just enough runway inside the breakers. Landing would have been a piece of cake but for the protruding sea rocks that rose like mythical monsters from their tropical underworld. Still, the Prophet loved to fly and thrived on challenge. She eased the pontoons onto the water with hardly a skip and taxied without incident to the silver beach, whose unusual hue came from an admixture of contrasting sands: coral-white and igneous-black.

The Prophet could feel Magigate’s eyes on her and sensed the broad smile on his face, as innocent and filled with expectation as a puppy’s. Ordinarily, she would have had nothing but reproach for his awkward show of affection—she’d dealt with many suitors over the years, some quite suave—but she was too distracted by her own disorienting fixation. The two of them made a pathetic (but also magnetic) pair.

She blushed, waiting for Magigate to say something, anything, as the plane came to a full stop. When he didn’t, she blushed some more, pulled her hair back in a pony, and attempted a casual remark to fill the awkward silence. What an unusual color for sand. Without waiting for his reply, she opened the door and hopped lightly from the cockpit, avoiding the water lapping halfway up the pontoon.

Magigate tried to follow her example, but missed his footing and splashed clumsily up to his knees. The Prophet chuckled. No, she giggled. She actually giggled in a way that was as adolescent as Magigate’s ungainly exit. She could hardly believe herself. Overnight, she’d digressed from legendary world leader to lovesick disciple.

It’s a rare combination of crushed magma and coral, Magigate explained in his bookish but engrossing way. The man could make quantum physics sound thrilling, so intense was his enthusiasm for knowledge, science, and especially the forces of creation. This belt of Earth’s crust was once very active, but the hot zone beneath us has shifted out to sea. He waved his hand toward the ocean. It’s very beautiful. He reached down and scooped up a handful of the sand to examine it.

I prefer my sand brown, the Prophet declared. With a playful gleam in her eye, she planted her hands on her hips. It means there’s oil beneath. But I must admit, this is quite unusual. She reached for a handful. It’s so silky. It’s as if the grains are made of precious metals. She grabbed another handful and let it sift through her fingers. To see a world in a grain of sand, she whispered, surprising herself. When had she ever taken time to examine the hue of sand, and then quote classic poetry? She shook her head. Butterflies again.

The Captain heard her whispered remark. William Blake, he responded, beaming.

The Prophet looked up at Magigate. How did he manage to convey that youthful sense of awe even as a grown man?

You’re a man of letters, too? Her eyes sparkled.

Magigate shrugged. Did you know, Sam, Blake was on to something with that line. In fact, Saharan sand—the kind you like—contains many of the popular earthly elements in each grain. We just have to figure out how to shrink down our mining techniques to get at it. But I have an idea to miniaturize smelting—

The Prophet cut him off with a look of both frustration and admiration. Come on, Magigate, let’s get this over with. I hate to say it, but I’ve got a council to run. Those piranhas back in Aerome won’t wait for me—especially Wooten. If I know him—and I do—he’s already made his move. The longer we linger, the harder it will be to clean up his mess.

Patience, Sam, Magigate said with a sublime expression that the Prophet found disconcerting. Something tells me we’ll have our hands full enough when we reach these coordinates. He held up his tablet and pointed to the mysterious message. It was a cryptic email that included a meticulous illustration of himself, the Prophet, and what appeared to be their prospective progeny (judging by looks), all set in intersecting rings and surrounded by the silhouette of a cathedral. Not just any cathedral—the Prophet had identified it as Notre Dame. Below the image were the lat-long coordinates they’d decided to investigate, and were now nearby. Equally mysterious was the sender: Magigate himself. He had no recollection of sending the message, but then again, how could he if he’d not yet sent it, which is what he suspected. It was a confusing thread of logic, but it also made sense, according to the little-understood recursive properties of time.

The Prophet didn’t believe him; at least she claimed she didn’t, even if her actions (putting her life on hold, chiefly a war council, to make this journey) demonstrated otherwise. She told him she would give him just enough time to prove himself, or fail trying. Now they were close to their destination; just a short hike up the steep slope of the central volcano and they would be there. Wherever there was.

Your divinations worry me, Dom. The Prophet returned to the plane to get supplies. She balanced on a pontoon to avoid the gently lapping surf and opened a hatch door to retrieve a pair of backpacks and some water bottles, tossing them on the beach at Magigate’s feet. "Something tells me, she added, gesturing toward the dense canopy on the other side of a pile of black boulders that surrounded the lagoon. We’ll have our hands full of venomous snakes, stinging insects, and itchy plants before the day is out."

Although she was afraid to share it, the Prophet had a premonition, too. Something told her she would never see this plane again, even as she went through the motions of preparing for an early departure—tying it up in case the tide came in, checking the fuel level, and examining the props and flaps. She shrugged away the troubling vibe. Come on, she said. Those clouds on the horizon are closing in. There’ll be weather by nightfall.

Before setting off, the Prophet unzipped her backpack and rummaged through its contents to make a mental inventory: a first-aid kit, flashlight, energy bars, a Gore-Tex wrap, matches, a small length of rope, and a few other sundry items that might come in handy if things got rough. But her hand settled on the small, gold staff—a replica of Hermes’ staff, which Magigate had called a Nome Wand, even though he could not explain what it was without using highly abstract terms—at the bottom of her pack. She pushed the wand out of her thoughts, zipped up the pack, hoisted it on her back, and trudged off after Magigate, who was already picking his way through the stony barrier that separated the sand from the trees.

Careful, Sam, Magigate said as he balanced precariously on one of the black boulders and reached down to help her up. These rocks are slippery.

I’m fine, the Prophet insisted, ignoring his outstretched hand; but just as she said it, she slipped and her ankle caught between two of the boulders. She stifled a cry and sucked in her breath sharply.

Magigate bent to help her.

Ow! she cried as he pulled at her shoe. Instinctively, she swatted him across the backs of his shoulders. That hurts.

Sorry, Sam, Magigate said sheepishly. He worked carefully to free her foot from her shoe and then the shoe from the rocks. When the Prophet tried to stand, however, she nearly collapsed in pain.

Damn! she howled. I don’t have time for this. She sat down hard and buried her face in her hands. A tear trickled down the side of her face.

Magigate seemed at a loss. He sat down beside her, but when he tried to examine her ankle, she slapped his hand away.

I think you’ve sprained it, he said softly.

Of course I’ve sprained it, the Prophet barked.

Maybe you should wait here while I—

The Prophet shook her head vigorously. She bit her lip to calm herself, then reached for his hand and squeezed it. I’m coming, Dom. But staring at my ankle, is not going to make it better. She removed her backpack and pulled out the first-aid kit. When Magigate reached over to try to help, she stopped him.

Sorry, Dom. I didn’t mean to snap at you. But let me take care of this. See if you can find me a walking stick. Something that can bear my weight.

Half an hour later, Magigate and the Prophet had resumed their journey, picking their way slowly and awkwardly through the edge of the rain forest. As the Prophet had predicted, storm clouds moved in and the wind began to pick up.

Let me help you, Sam. Please, Magigate said after she stumbled for the third time.

The Prophet grimaced. The frustration on her face threatened to erupt in tears. What are you going to do, carry me?

If I have to. Magigate reached out a hand. He smiled playfully. But let’s start by having you lean on me.

It was hard for the Prophet to accept that she needed his help, but she did. She bit her lip to quell a tremble. Fine, she murmured, extending her hand toward his. I mean…thank you.

Magigate simply smiled, but when he wrapped his arm around the Prophet’s waist, two sensations struck her at once and nearly threw her off balance: the first was the strong physical attraction she’d been feeling since they’d set out on this journey, only now it coursed through her like a drug—it felt so good to be held by the waist, especially by him. The second sensation, however, was dangerously inexplicable—another unwanted vision as clear and precise as the others she’d been experiencing of late. In it, she and Magigate were walking arm in arm up a path through this very rain forest. She was wearing a kimono, he a calico vest. The vision was so overwhelming, she wobbled and nearly pulled them over.

Easy, Sam, Magigate said, gripping her firmly. Follow my lead.

Rain came. But for a long time, it hardly penetrated the dense canopy overhead. The Prophet leaned heavily on Magigate’s shoulder as he held her waist and steered her up the steep slope.

Let’s halt here, Magigate said when they reached a narrow plateau that led to a small opening in the volcano’s slope. He was breathing hard.

The opening was just tall enough for Magigate to duck into and deep enough for them to take shelter from the rain. He eased the Prophet into a seated position and found a small black rock to prop up her foot. She exhaled audibly with relief.

I’ll bet this is one of the volcano’s relief fissures, he said when the Prophet was settled. I wonder if it still emits Vulcan gases. Did you know, Sam, that the oracles at Delphi used to retreat into caves to inhale the psychotropic gases that gave them their visions? It’s been proven that—

As usual, the Prophet interjected with a practical observation. Judging by the rest of the island, Dom, this volcano has been dormant for a long time. She grunted as she eased her head against the wall, and closed her eyes. I’d be more concerned about who or what lives in here than Vulcan gases.

You’re right, of course, Magigate conceded, snapping his fingers. It would be fun to explore, nonetheless. I’ll bet there’s a maze of tunnels and caverns inside this dormant cone. He ran his fingers along the glossy black stone. Just then, a high-pitched wail from the forest jarred him from his thoughts.

What was that? the Prophet asked opening her eyes. She rubbed the backs of her wet arms for warmth.

Without answering, Magigate stepped toward the mouth of the cave to look out over the dense canopy, soggy, dripping, and teeming with tropical species. Low-flying clouds raced past, sometimes obscuring the view. Howler monkeys. There’s something familiar… Magigate began, muttering to himself.

Yes, there is, isn’t there. The Prophet looked up at him. Their eyes met and locked. Does he feel it, too? she wondered. She wanted to ask him if he had experienced the same sense of déjà vu that had been growing on her all afternoon. Instead, she asked, How much farther?

Magigate smiled a knowing and sympathetic smile that made the Prophet feel uncomfortably needy. But she also relished the intimacy of their adventure. Where is this going? she wondered. How will it end?

Magigate consulted his GPS. Not much farther, Sam. Less than half a mile to where I saw the remains of the huts.

As good as it feels to rest, the Prophet said, gingerly rubbing her ankle, we should keep moving. The rain’s already slowing. Using the wall and her walking stick, she struggled to her feet.

Magigate caught her by her waist and helped her up.

The Prophet attempted to straighten her shirt, which was wet and clung to her skin, but gave up, opting instead to gather straggling strands of hair and restore them to her ponytail. Let’s go. With my handicap, she frowned at her foot, we’ll be lucky if we get there before dark.

But they did get there before dark. In fact, as soon as they arrived at the small clearing that matched their destination’s coordinates, lingering wisps of clouds sped off to the next set of islands in the chain strung along this stretch of sea, and the copper light of sunset ignited the canopy below them.

It’s stunning, the Prophet said softly. She leaned heavily on Magigate’s shoulder.

I agree, Sam.

They stood there, side by side, watching the sun slip toward the ocean. Quite unexpectedly, Magigate pulled the Prophet close and kissed her. Slowly. Passionately. With the lush fervor of the surrounding jungle. A kiss that conveyed countless years of pent up desire. A kiss the Prophet could not resist. Of course, she did resist, but only briefly before yielding and reciprocating with the same intensity that had been her hallmark in life. She could feel Magigate kissing her as if she were the only thing in the world to him. She wanted him to feel the same way. To feel like he was more important to her than anything she’d ever contemplated. Her skin tingled. Time stopped. On this untamed island in the middle of nowhere, time stopped.

At last, Magigate withdrew. I don’t know what possessed me, he said breathlessly. No, that’s not true. I do know. You cast a spell on me, Sam, though I’ve spent the last few weeks trying to deny it. Ever since our night together…I can’t stop thinking about you. I feel like—

The Prophet pressed a finger to Magigate’s lips. She wanted to relish the moment.

Magigate understood. He held the Prophet closer and returned to the view. They lingered until the sun pinged the sea. Its crimson reflection shimmered and stretched like a cosmic ribbon to the island’s shore.

Magigate smiled and, taking the Prophet’s hand, led her toward one of the deserted huts, sheltered in the alcove of a yawning cave. Its construction was simple but sturdy, with a wooden frame strung together by hand-twisted twine. The thatched roof had partially collapsed, but the walls still stood intact and the entrance was distinct.

Do you think an indigenous people lived here? the Prophet asked, breaking their silence at last. And how long ago?

Let’s see. Magigate ducked through the entrance and turned to help her. Along the walls of the hut, clay pots, primitive tools of stone, bone, and wood, and other relics offered clear evidence of habitation. The center of the hut had been the fire pit. It was small and probably used only for cooking in this sultry climate.

Just then, a ruby ray of the setting sun sliced through the doorway, cutting a clean line down the center of the hut, bifurcating it. The Prophet stood on one side of the errant ray, Magigate on the other. Another chilling wave of déjà vu swept over the Prophet. This time, she could not let it go. Do you feel it, Dom?

I do, Sam, Magigate said without hesitating. I’ve felt it since we arrived here. He reached across the light and squeezed her hand. With that gesture, the sun slid below the horizon, but to their surprise, the light between them did not fade.

The Prophet gasped. What is that? She pointed to a bright pinpoint rising above the circular pit, swelling as it rose.

Magigate stepped toward the Prophet in a protective gesture. I don’t know… he began to say, but a look of wonder spread across his face. Quickly, Sam. The wands. He tore off his pack and helped the Prophet with hers. Moments later they pulled out their matching golden wands and held them up.

The light grew brighter, almost blinding, illuminating their faces and casting shadows on the thatched walls.

What’s happening? the Prophet asked. Her eyes widened. She reached for Magigate. Don’t let go, Dom. I don’t want to lose you—again.

The last thought the Prophet had before feeling like she was being swept away was to wonder if she had said the word again. She could feel Dom’s hand in hers, but she couldn’t see or hear him. And she smelled something sweet. Like apples. She had a brief vision of snakes and luscious gardens, which made her laugh, but then the light shifted around her. She heard voices. Several voices. She tensed and squeezed Magigate’s hand.

Magigate, though, had an uncanny sense of what to expect when he pulled out his wand. He couldn’t explain it, but the ritual seemed familiar. As the light shifted around him and he lost track of Sam (other than the fierce grip she had on his hand), Magigate recalled the conversation he’d had with his sister, Lily, just before departing for the island. He’d called her, feeling the need for her reassurance.

In her profound way, Lily had encouraged him to follow his hunches, however mysterious they may be. Then she’d laughed and said, I was looking for an island. Someplace I could establish as my own private preserve for the species I’ve been rescuing from the dying Amazon. You’ve saved me the trouble, Dom, of searching for one. I’ll contact the appropriate authorities and secure it as soon as possible.

Magigate’s pleasant recollection was disrupted by the sound of harsh voices. Wherever he and Sam were now, they were not welcome.

Examination

Maddy shivered violently. She felt queasy, overpowered by the nauseating smell of her own sweat—stale, cold, mingled with other cloying odors. The plaintive cries of animals coming from outside her room frightened her. Strange sounds. Haunting, mournful melodies. Yes. That was it: the sounds were musical. Not like anything she’d ever heard before, and certainly not like lab animals howling in pain or whimpering in fear as she might have expected from the dungeons of Rue le Regrattier, Dr. Janot’s private laboratory and lair. These sounded alien and intelligent, as if conversations were being held in a language of chords. She had no recollection of these sounds from her first captivity, which seemed like eons ago. She couldn’t be sure of the days any more than she could be sure of the sounds. Back then she’d been unconscious most of the time.

Now, the straps holding her against the metal rails of the gurney bit into her wrists and ankles. Her arms and legs felt numb. Unfamiliar medical instruments surrounded her, casting ominous shadows on the walls and ceiling. A crisp, white sheet had been hastily thrown over her naked body. Her head was strapped down, too. Her toes, which felt like ice cubes, protruded from the end of the sheet; between them she could see a door, and through the door’s porthole window, the hall. At first, she’d considered herself lucky to be able to see that far, but now she knew she’d been positioned this way on purpose. Shadows flitted by the tiny window, and once she thought she saw a pair of round luminescent eyes pressed to the glass. Inquisitive eyes. Alien eyes. But she might have been hallucinating, too, or maybe Janot was using a Cyband† again to induce unsavory thoughts and images.

In the last clear memory she had, guards dressed in g*suits† were coming for her in the Quonset hut on Isla del Tiempo Muerto. After they bound and gagged her, she lost consciousness. But she was conscious now, and terrified.

The door opened. A doctor dressed in full surgical regalia with a cap, mask, smock, and gloves entered the room. As soon as he spoke, Maddy knew it was Janot, who insisted on being called Jeneuf.

Welcome back, Princess, Jeneuf said in his trademark timbre. His voice was lower and more ominous than Maddy remembered.

Why am I here? she stammered. The words lodged in her throat. She hadn’t noticed how dry her tongue and lips were.

Jeneuf smiled.

Maddy couldn’t see his smile behind the blue mask, but his eyes gave away his sadistic delight. I need to examine you, my dear.

He pulled the sheet off Maddy. Although it was no more than a thin linen covering, she instantly felt the dank dungeon air. Another violent shiver.

It’s a shame, really, Jeneuf said, running his gloved fingers along the contours of her body. That such lovely young skin has been so badly ravaged. He pressed his fingers into the pockmarks polka-dotting her body. Then again, he went on, as if dictating a surgical procedure, it’s a miracle, really, to have survived at all given the advanced symptoms. Loosening the straps, Jeneuf turned Maddy’s wrists so that her palms faced up. He released the straps on her ankles, too, turned her feet, and ran his fingers up her thighs. Dr. Longe must be commended for your spectacular recovery. A most virulent organism—Rust†. Or perhaps Magigate’s antidote had some special healing properties? Jeneuf began to apply pressure, squeezing Maddy’s muscles, depressing her abdomen. One can never rule out the impossible when dealing with the likes of Magigate.

Suddenly, Jeneuf’s expression turned venomous. He grabbed Maddy’s hair and pulled her head back, exposing her neck. I intend to discover what makes you tick, Princess, he hissed. You may have survived Rust, and now my Renaissance†, but you will not thwart me again.

As abruptly as his rancor erupted, Jeneuf’s expression resumed its clinical tranquility. He let go of Maddy’s hair and turned to a nearby sink where he removed his gloves and began to wash his hands.

Maddy felt another wave of nausea. Her skin tingled and itched as beads of sweat erupted.

‘All men can see these tactics whereby I conquer, but what none can see is the strategy out of which victory is evolved,’ Jeneuf said, almost humming the words. Sun Tzu was an oracle, Princess, a soothsayer who understood that war is the engine that turns the cycle of life. Peace but a respite. Victory the objective. Jeneuf shut off the water and turned to face Maddy, casually drying his hands and putting on a fresh pair of gloves as he spoke. To achieve victory requires strategy, discipline, and order. Jeneuf reached for a stainless-steel tray across which various handheld instruments were neatly arrayed. He picked up a palm-sized MRI scanner and adjusted its controls.

I have worked hard to achieve the order required to assure victory. He began to run the scanner up and down Maddy’s body, stopping at points to examine the projected hologram. And I will not have a small agent of chaos, Jeneuf pressed a finger painfully into Maddy’s solar plexus, such as yourself disrupting my moment of victory. Not again.

Maddy coughed. I—I don’t know what you mean. She trembled and coughed again.

Don’t be coy with me, Princess, Jeneuf said threateningly. He pointed to the holo†, to an image Maddy did not understand. What happened to my nanophages†?

I—I don’t—

They have all been destroyed! Jeneuf thundered, shaking the scanner in Maddy’s face. I want to know how you did it. And I want to know how you recovered so quickly from your Renaissance symptoms. Who helped you? Who was it? Who betrayed me? The veins in Jeneuf’s neck and temple bulged with fury.

Even if Maddy wanted to answer—to tell Jeneuf about Glimmer, who Jeneuf would have remembered as Em from his early days with the Resistance, when he and Captain Magigate were still young—she could not have. Even if she had found her voice, why would Jeneuf believe her? Glimmer’s very existence defied reason. Jeneuf would only think Maddy was mocking him. Her lips trembled and her skin felt suddenly cold and clammy.

Not to worry, Jeneuf went on, regaining control. I intend to find out. He reached for a scalpel and held it against Maddy’s skin.

N-no! Maddy screamed as Jeneuf plunged the scalpel into her lower abdomen. She writhed.

I wouldn’t do that, Jeneuf sneered. It will only make a mess of things.

Maddy went limp. The initial shock gave way to the pain of the incision. Jeneuf reached for a needle and extracted a small core of tissue from one of her organs.

By now, Maddy felt nothing. Her breathing was shallow. The room swirled. More than anything, she wanted to remain conscious. She had to know what he was doing to her. She could feel blood running down her hip, pooling, presumably, on the white bed linens.

Jeneuf positioned his sample on a strip and inserted it into a quantum microscope. As he huddled over the instrument, Maddy’s incision began to throb and sting. She clenched her teeth.

As I suspected, Jeneuf muttered after a long interval. The nanobot’s circuitry has been tampered with and the phage has been flushed. He turned back to Maddy and, leaning against the microscope, folded his arms across his chest and studied her. His eyes narrowed.

I want to know how this happened, he said, pointing to the amplified holo of his nanobots. And I will. But first, what did you say in your message to Magigate? His voice was low and menacing.

I—I don’t—

No! Jeneuf roared. He stepped forward and leaned over Maddy, his expression twisted with malice. Don’t you dare play me for a fool. I know you sent a message to Magigate. You and your little friend. Through Ariadne. What did it say? He gripped Maddy’s arm and squeezed.

Overwhelmed, Maddy began to sob. Her sides heaved uncontrollably. Tears streamed down the side of her face, and blood flowed from her wound.

What did it say? Jeneuf demanded again.

It—it was just a picture, Maddy said. She flicked her wrist as a way of gesturing to her v.fone† bracelet. It’s on there.

Jeneuf unclasped Maddy’s bracelet and stuck it in his pocket. Then, to Maddy’s surprise, he washed down her incision with a strong-smelling antiseptic, applied a cell-regenerative salve, and ran a palm-sized inductor over the incision, which closed the wound and formed a thin scar. When he was through, he removed his mask, cap, and gloves. He returned to the sink where he scrubbed his hands.

Time passed. Maddy felt the seconds like drumbeats.

There was a point in my life, Princess, Jeneuf said in a soft, thoughtful tone, full and deep like a cello. He turned to face her and leaned against the sink, carefully drying his hands, one finger at a time. When I worshipped the ground Magigate walked on. There’s no denying the man is a genius, unparalleled in history. But he is also a fraud, a caricature of a scientist, as naïve as a child, as reckless as an adolescent. His very existence threatens the order of things.

Maddy wasn’t sure whose voice it was that spoke, because she hardly had the courage to even look at Jeneuf, but she heard herself asking, Whose order?

Mine! Jeneuf said, momentarily allowing his wrath to show. The universe’s, he added, measuring his words. Sentience, you see, is a gift that, until now, mankind has wasted on petty politics, aesthetic whimsy, and pie-eyed aspirations, all the while marching toward his ultimate purpose despite himself.

Purpose? Again, Maddy’s own voice surprised her.

To reach for the gods! To exist with one foot in the secular and one in the divine.

But how—

That’s what I want to know, Jeneuf said, stepping toward Maddy. He had a small cup of water in his hand, which he set on his instrument tray by the bed.

To Maddy’s surprise, he loosened the strap across her forehead and gently brushed aside her matted hair. I want to know how you recovered from my Renaissance. Someone aided you—and I have a feeling I know who. He will be dealt with. But, I also suspect that Magigate’s Rust antidote contains some panacea that has lingered in your system. I intend to explore that possibility more fully. Jeneuf’s voice trailed off as he reached for a pill bottle in the pocket of his lab coat. He pulled out a small blue tablet and, cradling Maddy’s head, placed it on her lips. She struggled, trying to spit it away, but Jeneuf glared at her so menacingly, she gave in. He held the cup to her lips and tilted it faster than she could swallow. Water ran down her chin. For a moment, the pill lodged in her esophagus before completing its journey.

What did you give me? she spluttered.

A test, Jeneuf sneered. But before the test begins, you’ll want some sleep. If I’m not mistaken, you’ll need all your strength to survive my test. Jeneuf chuckled to himself as he reached for a vial and needle on his tray. He filled the needle with an amber fluid and flicked it to remove air bubbles. He then plunged the needle into Maddy’s neck.

She tried to jerk away, but he was too fast. Her eyes grew wide as Jeneuf emptied the needle into her carotid artery.

Maddy felt an intense burst of heat course through her body. Her skin prickled and grew slick with perspiration. She felt nauseous again. The room began to spin.

Let’s see. She heard Jeneuf’s voice, but now it was detached from his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling. "Let’s see if your remarkable immune system can overcome both Renaissance and Gene.sys." That last word echoed and boomed through the room with the force of a symphony.

Maddy’s sight dimmed. She heard Jeneuf moving around, but could not locate him. Then she heard the door open. The first transition will not begin for at least twenty-four hours, she heard him say. And that’s the easiest one. He laughed. The door closed, but his laugh lingered, haunting the room like an evil spirit.

Corruption

More than anything, Barbara wanted to tear the Cyband off her head. Grrr! It was just like wearing a cast—confining, immobilizing—only in this case it was not the motion of a limb or joint being restricted, but the range of her thoughts and vision. As cool and sophisticated as the aRWI† could make the world seem—and the journalist in her did admire how flawlessly Neology’s† gaming interface integrated with her own physiology and environment, not to mention the thrilling sensation that surged through her veins whenever the aRWI rebooted—Barbara would gladly admit that she had been wrong about Neology (and she never admitted to being wrong about anything), if it meant that she could roll back the events of the past few weeks and return to life without Cybands and Connected Reality†. Unfortunately, she had not been wrong. For more than a year she had been predicting, through numerous articles and in-depth investigative reporting, that the Neos were plotting a devastating assault on society. But not even her dire outlook had predicted that a plague would spread across the world overnight, riding on the backbone of the InfiNet†. Nor could she have guessed that the Neos would be shrewd enough to position themselves as the salvation for mankind—Neology was the only place where people could find relief from the killer plague sadistically known as Renaissance.

Despite the implausibly convenient twist that made Neology a haven and the real world lethal, the Authorities† had been unable to pin the plague on the Neos, but Barbara knew that the Authorities’ alternative explanation, which blamed the mysterious and missing Captain Magigate—owner of Nome Park Island and keeper of drones—for both the plague and the shocking aerial