NOTE: A reviewer wants to know about titanium. Okay... titanium, named for the Greek Titans, is an element found naturally in igneous rock (Atomic Number 22) that is extremely strong and corrosion resistant. While titanium is mainly alloyed with other minerals today and used primarily in aircraft construction... I simply postulate that since it is an element, that some ancient metalworker learned of its properties and forged the rings. The story of Phillip's youth on Niebos has not yet been written... although I have it plotted out. --elle

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Chapter 107

Watcher Compound

Henry Rawlins emerged alone from the dimly lit office. He walked stiffly… as if in pain. Wilderman noted his boss had changed clothes, and that there was a firm set to his jaw, as if he were clenching his teeth.

Rawlins came to the catwalk and stared down at his specimens. He breathed in and out with a measured control. Finally he turned and faced Wilderman. "We will have a new shipment arriving shortly. One of them will fill your requirements for an in-between subject. You will do whatever it takes to achieve our final goal."

Wilderman nodded. "I need Dr. Romney to calibrate…"

"Dr. Romney is no longer your concern," Rawlins warned him… stepping close enough so that the force of his words blew on Wilderman's face. You will handle the calibration yourself."

"I really must protest…"

Rawlins grasped him by his necktie and pulled it tight so tight, that Wilderman gasped for breath. Gradually he forced Wilderman backwards until he leaned precariously over the catwalk rail. "You protest?" the madman said. "Do you feel the need to be replaced?"

"No… no… no sir!" Wilderman managed over his growing stutter.

Rawlins released him and Wilderman coughed, rubbing his throat.

"You have perhaps an hour, Dr. Wilderman. Be ready. I want no further delays." Rawlins turned and leaned on the catwalk railing and grinned at his kingdom.

Wilderman backed away. As he passed his old office… he wondered what lay inside. Any hope of his entering the office, however, was prevented by the presence of the two black-dressed guards. They stared flatly at him. Wilderman knew without even asking them, that they would not help him. With one glance, the scientist took in their body armour and their weapons. They carried automatic weapons and thick custom broadswords were buckled at their waists. They belonged to Rawlins… body and soul. Like him… they eagerly awaited the outcome of Wilderman's tests… hopeful that he would find the answers. Hopeful that they would be the first of a new breed of immortals. This place crawled with others like them.

Wilderman bowed slightly to them as he passed them by and made his way down the metal stairs… listening to the hollow sound his feet made on them. The sounds were as hollow as his soul. Once he'd achieved the main floor, he brushed past several of his aides on his way to the main operating area. He cast himself into the chair behind the console and held his head in his hands. Looking upward… he saw Rawlins still standing and looking down on them all. Wilderman took a deep breath and powered up the computer and the instruments. It had been some time since he'd had to calibrate the instruments himself… it would likely take him almost the entire hour he'd been allotted to do so.

He was lost in the programming when he heard the klaxons sound. The doors of the freight elevator opened and three gurneys were wheeled onto the main floor. Wilderman noted with approval how his people leaped to their tasks… taking the specimens in hand. They would be shaved and prepped in fifteen minutes.

One of the black-garbed men who had accompanied them here approached Wilderman with a computer disc. "This is the information we have on the three new specimens. Rawlins is especially interested in number 66."

Wilderman accepted the disk soberly, "Thank you." He inserted the disk into the computer and loaded the data for all four. He leaned forward as he mentally translated the information as it flashed across the screen. "Yes… number 66 may hold the clue."

He leaned back and pushed the intercom. "I want number 's 66 and 14 brought to the operating area for experimentation. He smiled. If this worked… he might yet find a way out of this morass. He might yet live to see the sky again. He might yet be applauded before the Nobel Committee as a true pioneer of dream research. Julius Wilderman closed his eyes and for a moment… dressed in a tuxedo… humbly bowed to thunderous applause. His white gloved hands reached for the prize. Never had it seemed so close.

-----

Claire Romney lay huddled on the floor of the office… still shivering from the beating that had accompanied her "servicing" of Rawlins. She coughed blood and gingerly pressed her hand to some loose teeth. She shuddered uncontrollably as the memory of his attack upon her flashed in her mind. Never had she been so horribly treated. Her abdomen was likewise swollen where he'd kicked and stomped on her in his fury.

Whimpering she pulled herself into fetal position, and continued to shake. She was so cold! He'd literally ripped her clothes to shreds when he'd been unable to perform adequately due to his injury. He'd roared and pelted her face and body again and again as if it were her fault. She had not been able to do what he wanted… bring him the release he needed. Finally he'd stopped when his phone rang. He'd answered it, grinned, and then pulled her up by her hair. "You will wait for me here. We will continue this later." Then he'd thrown her against the wall and begun to strip off his clothes to change. She'd been afraid to even move.

He was gone now… and still she feared to move… feared he'd return and having found she'd done so… would begin the assault again. And the next time… she opened one swollen eye and regarded the dead form of her predecessor… he'd kill her. She began to sob quietly.

-----

The probes were inserted into their heads. Wilderman measured everything. He wanted it all to be perfect. He tapped the drug pouches. Everything was set up. He glanced up at Rawlins on the catwalk and swallowed nervously. To ask again for Claire Romney's assistance might mean his death. Rawlins simply did not understand how essential Claire was to this procedure.

"Dr. Green," Wilderman said to his tall gangly assistant. "Take the console and call out the readings."

"Yes sir." Green slipped into the chair and took a moment to refamiliarize himself with the readings and the layout. He'd been trained on it as a backup… but he'd yet to be called upon to actually perform. He was understandably nervous.

"All systems are green, Dr. Wilderman. Test subjects' readout within expected parameters."

"Begin Phase One!" Wilderman leaned over the specimens and held his breath as both suddenly flinched and reacted to one another's presence. He glanced at the monitor… at the two figures in the arena, facing one another. He gave them a moment, listening to Green's figures. "Phase Two!" he barked. Their hands clenched in the restraints. On the monitor… swords appeared in their hands. Once more he waited and listened, nodding his head as the readout of figures continued. This was always where things began to go horribly wrong with the oldest specimens… the point where they refused to go further. This time the figures crouched and began to circle. Wilderman nodded with a chuckle. He had them! "Phase Three!" His voice was raised in triumph. On the monitor… the figures began to battle one another… their swords silently crashing into one another's… their movements designed to confuse their opponent… pull them off balance so that they could manage to get an opening… take their opponent's head.

The battle seemed to rage between them while on the gurneys the subjects thrashed within their restraints. This time… they would do it themselves. This time… there would be no need for outside intervention. This time… one of the immortals would die at the hands of the other within the dream… and the machine would record it. Then, they'd know what it was that was really transferred in the quickening… what it was that made these people… immortal.

"Phase Four!" shouted Wilderman above the hum of the machine. Above on the catwalk… Henry Rawlins grinned darkly. The dawn of a new age… was at hand.

-----

Liverpool

"Tell us again why you cut off his head!" Detective Nelson Patton sounded almost bored.

"I wanted to be certain he was dead," Burt said truthfully.

The detective leaned forward. "You blew his bleedin' brains out! Of course he was dead. Now why did you cut his head off?"

Burt smiled. "To be certain my children were safe."

Patton let out an exasperated breath, and threw his hands in the air. He glanced at the one-way glass and shrugged, unable to see what his superior wished him to do. Looking at the officer standing behind the handcuffed American… Patton rose. "I'll be right back." He rose and exited to stand beside Captain Sidles.

The black captain of detectives stood with his hands behind him. He stared through the glass without emotion. "He's obviously insane. Perhaps grief at what happened to his children, to his mother-in-law affected his ability to decide rationally."

"He's not insane. He knew what he was doing… and he knew we'd arrest him."

"What should we charge him with? Mistreatment of a corpse? That's a misdemeanor. He pays his fine and he's released."

"Sir. I think there was more to it. Give me time to work with him… talk with him… I'll figure it out. As a young officer on the street… I was on scene of several bizarre head-hunting murders in London. There were three in a single night. They were never solved. He," the detective pointed at Meyers, "may have the answers to solve all those murders."

Sidles shook his head. "He's a grieving father whose children were almost killed by a madman. His children will need him. Fine him and cut him loose."

"But sir!"

"Cut him loose." The captain turned and returned to his office. Beneath the large watch on his left wrist… was a Watcher's tattoo. He sat behind his desk and gazed out at the night skyline, his fingers steepled before him. With a sigh, Sidles dialed his superiors. "I'm letting Meyers go as you ordered. I'll make certain the entire file is lost and the affair disappears from all records." He hung the phone up. Slowly he swiveled around once more to gaze dully at the Liverpool skyline.

-----

By dawn, Burt had returned to the hospital. Abigail was still sleeping where he'd left her. One of the Sisters had come in and sat with her… keeping an eye on her and on Dawson. Burt mumbled his thanks as the Sister left.

He leaned over Dawson's pale form and slowly brushed his hair from his eyes. Dawson's eyes fluttered open. He stared flatly at Burt… then smiled. "Hi Daddy… Did you come to take us home?"

Burt smiled. "I did indeed Dawson… I did indeed." He felt like crying… and he knew there was no shame in it. His children were fine. They were hurt and they'd been terrorized. But they were young… so very young… and if time heals all wounds… then perhaps the horrors of this day would fade from their memories.

Anna whimpered and sat up. "Daddy!" she cried out with a smile and lifted her arms to him. He gathered up and let her see her brother's face.

"See… Dawson's awake."

"Hi Dawson… did you take a long nap?"

Dawson nodded and then grimaced. "My head hurts."

"Just lie still," Burt said as he settled on the side of his son's bed and embraced both his children.

"Can you tell us a story, Daddy?" Abigail said. "I've missed your stories."

Burt smiled. "Let's see now… Once upon a time… a long time ago… magical beings lived on the earth."

"Were they fairies?" Abigail asked.

"They were… but not tiny creatures like Tinkerbell… They were tall and beautiful. They lived a very long time. And they lived in peace with all the other people."

A Sister passing by smiled as she listened for a moment to the father telling his children a fairy story. She'd heard its like before… for as long as she could recall. She found herself humming to herself and smiling as she continued her rounds.

-----

Paris, Joe's hospital room

The vibration of her cell phone woke Amy. She dropped her father's hand and rubbed her eyes as she glanced at the number. "Peter? What's the word?" She listened as she watched the easy breathing of her father and the steady flash of the monitors now on silent mode so they could sleep. She turned on a light and grabbed a pad of paper… swiftly writing down a location and some map coordinates. "Okay… I got it. I'll pass the word… and Peter… stay safe. I'll give MacLeod your number so you two can work together. Oh… Burt and the children are fine. Thanks for asking." She shut the phone off and noticed Joe's smile. "We've got them Dad. All we have to do is organize an attack."

"Call Pierre," Joe said. "Watchers have to be involved in the final assault. If they aren't… then the war will widen… and more will die."

Amy nodded. She leaned forward and clasped her father's hand. "We won't let that happen." She called MacLeod and passed Peter's information on to him. Then she called Pierre. "Monsieur Gautier… my father wants to talk to you." She gently held the phone to Joe's ear.

"Pierre!" Joe chuckled. "Doin' fine. Now listen… this is what I need you to do."