Chapter The Fourth:

In Which Vicious Gets The Cold Shoulder, and Amon Takes The Plunge

Amon dropped the headset and turned back to the bank of monitors. "I still can't raise them," he growled. This mission seemed to have been spiraling steadily out of their control since the start, and now communications had gone down as well. "They need to hurry. The matrix is becoming unstable, and if this interference keeps up we won't even be able to monitor them from here."

"There does seem to be a lot of static, sir," Wendy offered uncertainly. Technology wasn't her strong suit. "Would you like me to have someone check the connection?"

Amon shook his head, his eyes fixed on the monitor. "This interference isn't from a bad connection," he murmured. "It's almost… I'm not sure how to classify it. It seems to be coming from an outside source."

Wendy leaned closer, staring intently at the screen. "Sir… Do you suppose it could be some sort of deliberate interference?"

Amon turned to look at her, surprised. "That's one theory. Deliberate, you say?"

"It could be an accident, but no matter how I look at it, it seems like someone is jamming our signal."

Amon's eyes widened in alarm, and he swung back to the monitors. "Deliberate jamming," he said, working furiously at the controls, "or unintentional interference from their own signal…"

Wendy looked confused. "Sir?"

Amon's jaw tightened as he skimmed the readouts. "I don't think we're the only ones visiting the neighborhood today," he answered. "We may have to deal with more interference than we think."

---

"You'll be left here, you know."

Vicious half turned his head at the sound, and his hand crept to the hilt of the katana propped against his shoulder. He had heard no one approach; yet the voice had come, unmistakably, from the platform behind him. He had been seated on the altar steps, watching the deserted sanctuary for… hours? days? and his solitude had been perfect – but now he could clearly hear footsteps on the dais. The sound echoed around the empty cathedral, teasing his ears. He hesitated a heartbeat, then leapt up, whirled and drew his sword in one swift motion.

Instead of challenging the unwelcome visitor face to face, Vicious found himself staring at the man's unmoving back. Rainbows of light from the high rose window played over a wealth of silver hair as the stranger examined the elaborate gilded screen behind the altar. Vicious held his position, waiting for the man to make the next move.

A tremor of disturbed laughter sounded from the transept, and Vicious spun again, off guard. It took him a moment to locate the source of the sound; he finally spotted, in a recessed chapel, a young man – hardly more than a boy – toying with the votives, tipping them to watch the wax and flame play.

"They're taking him away, and you'll be left to waste away with this world." The soft words echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling, and Vicious turned back to the man nearest him. The voice was smooth and feline, but the tone was indifferent and almost casual. The stranger finally turned away from the screen, and Vicious eyed him with reasonable suspicion.

He was uncommonly tall, with a sheet of silver-grey hair that fell below his knees. His features were delicate enough to seem feminine, but the broad shoulders and muscular chest more than compensated for the softness of face. The eyes were the most arresting feature; they were wide-set and slanted, a striking blue-green color, and they burned with an abnormal brightness. The man was shirtless, but wore a long black coat finished with leather straps and what appeared to be armored plates. He was also, Vicious noted for the first time, carrying an impossibly long sword.

Another ripple of laughter came from the transept. The man flicked his head to the side. "Leave the candles, Dilandau," he called. "We don't want to burn the church down, yet." The boy, called to heel by his master, slunk to the front and amused himself by poking at the faces of the saints in the altarpiece.

Vicious lowered his katana, but did not sheathe it. The silver-haired man chuckled and dropped a meaningful glance toward his own naked weapon, which seemed by Vicious' reckoning to be longer than the man was tall. Vicious could see that his usual method of staring down and intimidating his opponents was not going to be useful here.

"What do you want?" he ventured at last, disliking the heavy silence more than having to speak first.

The stranger chided him with a soft tsk, tsk. "So hasty. And no time for introductions, either. I can see that we're going to have to work on that." Anger surged in Vicious' chest, and he started to lunge forward – but before he could slash the man in half, the stranger fixed him with his brilliant blue-green eyes. Vicious felt ice prickle through his body, paralyzing his limbs and sealing his feet to the floor. He struggled, but it was futile – even his fingers were frozen fast.

"Far, far too hasty," murmured the stranger, circling Vicious' motionless body, still gazing at him with those radiating eyes. Were they glowing, or was it just light from the stained glass? "If we're to work together, I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more civil. That means not trying to kill me, in case you were wondering."

Work together? Vicious' mouth was frozen shut, but the stranger answered as if he'd spoken the words aloud. "Exactly. You see, I believe I could use someone of your particular… shall we say talents? in my organization. And though you don't like the idea, you do need me. I am the only one who can free you from this place. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to disintegrate with the matrix and float in interphase space for eternity." The stranger stopped directly in Vicious' immovable line of sight and looked him in the eyes. "Shall we continue as we are? Or would you rather discuss the matter more civilly?"

Vicious' mind burned inside his frozen body. At last, weighing his odds, he chose the only reasonable path he could see. I'm listening, he thought.

The stranger smiled – a sadistic twist of the lips – and turned away. Vicious fell to his knees, suddenly free of the ice. His hands were shaking too badly to grip his sword, and he turned his face to the other man with a mixture of hatred and awe.

"I'm glad we could come to an understanding," the stranger purred in his low, seductive voice. "Now listen carefully; for as much as I'd enjoy prattling with you all night, we really haven't much time."

---

Amon pushed away from the monitor, cursing under his breath. "Call Transport and have them prepare a portal," he growled at Wendy. "I'm going in after them."

Wendy jumped to the communications panel and sent the alert, then trotted after him as he stormed out of the room. "Sir? What's happening?"

"The matrix is starting to go," he answered, without looking back. "Probably because of that outside interference. Call Doujima and have her meet me at the portal." Wendy turned back to make the call, but she heard him continue quietly to himself. "They don't stand a chance if they can't even see them coming…"

---

Vicious stood in the narthex, gazing back at his sanctuary. The red dusk cast a fiery light through the high windows, blending even the bright hues of the stained glass into a hot glow that washed over the pews. The stranger, too, was bathed in red as he stood before the altar. Vicious watched as the man bowed his head as if in prayer before the marble piet. An instant later the long sword flashed, and the statue fell in pieces around him. An eerie laugh echoed through the cathedral as the silver-haired man turned and strode back to the narthex, his shadow swirling around him in the flame-colored light. He paused beside Vicious, and there was a moment of absolute silence in the church.

"I'll go with you," Vicious said finally, gazing at his sheathed katana. "But there is one thing I must do before I leave."

The stranger nodded. "We must move quickly," he said by way of an answer. "They're almost to the exit. Dilandau!"

The boy's deranged cackle could again be heard from the transept, and after a moment he trotted up the aisle to join them. He seemed supremely pleased with himself.

"Did you finish?" the stranger asked the young man with an almost paternal interest. Dilandau nodded enthusiastically and began peeling wax off of his fingertips.

As the trio passed through the grand arched doors to the street, the building behind them erupted into flames.

---

Amon checked the clip in his gun, reassuring himself that the bullets were real. He had not used Orbo since becoming Aware; aside from having no effect on normal humans, the liquid-filled cartridges would be useless outside the world where they had been created. Even so, he had used a gun so rarely since becoming Director that the feel of the smaller, lighter weapon was unfamiliar in his hand.

He secured the gun in his shoulder holster – some habits would never change – and turned at the sound of running footsteps. Doujima was tapping down the hallway, her stylish boots slipping a little with each step. She braced her legs and skidded to a stop just short of where he was standing.

"What's going on?" she panted, winded from the sprint. "They told me it was an emergency. Has something happened?"

"Not yet," he answered soberly. "I want you to stand by here. Wait for me to contact you before taking any definite action. You probably won't be called in, but I want backup ready in case something happens to me. Although, if it comes to that, you'll have to seal the portal quickly and quarantine the connection."

"Do you think something will try to get through?"

He frowned. "I picked up some unusual interference," he said. "Enough to make me think there are other interlopers involved. I don't know if they're intending good or ill, but it's making the entire matrix extremely unsteady." He glanced at a digital readout above the portal. "I don't have time to explain it all now. Wait here; I'm going in."

Doujima felt for her own weapon as he disappeared through the doorway. "Be careful," she breathed, watching the portal grow blank again. "Bring them back quickly."