"You are a bad man. This is a bad place. You will wish you hadn't done this!"

  "Quiet! You are in the presence of greatness. And now you can join your father."

  Another platform protruded from the wall alongside Trevor. A circular bulge grew from the machine at the head of that platform. Tiny tendrils wriggled there like worms squirming through rotting meat.

  The monks who guarded Trevor followed the Missionary's orders and lifted the little boy on to the table. Jorgie offered no resistance; his eyes remained fixed on his father in an expression suggesting a thin line between sorrow and rage.

  JB warned, "You are not supposed to do this. It's not allowed."

  The wormy tendrils reached from the bulge and clamped on the child's head like suction cups. Thicker appendages squirmed from the platform and coiled around JB's wrists and ankles, securing him in place. The Missionary hovered alongside while Gannon stood several paces away, unsure if he wanted to watch. The guards-the monks-waited.

  JB grunted and closed his eyes. His lips quivered, perhaps in pain. The Missionary leaned in and his eyes grew wide.

  "Yes! Yes! The machine is pushing into your mind and sifting through the building blocks of your body. The Bishop says you are the purest sample of your race's life pattern. Now I will rip that pattern apart and expose it as weak and unworthy."

  As he spoke, the agent of Voggoth reached to the machine. As the Bishop had done before, a bulb-like appendage sprouted from the wall and enveloped the Missionary's hand.

  Gannon watched, sparing a glance to the top of the contraption high up where the things that resembled the legs of a giant spider stuck in taffy cranked away at their hideous work faster and faster. The droning of the machine grew louder.

  "Let me in your mind," the Missionary urged through clenched teeth. "Let…me…IN!"

  – Tucker used his fingers to silently count to three. When he raised the third digit, one of the other Internal Security agents-the one with a barbed wire tattoo on his bicep-kicked hard, snapping the latch and busting open the apartment door.

  Tucker led the three men inside, swiveling his pistol from side to side as he surveyed the living room. He saw DVDs and compact discs scattered on the carpet in front of a modest entertainment center. He caught a whiff of a harsh chemical smell then spied an open nail polish bottle on the coffee table.

  "She's here," he said to the other two agents. "Denise! Come out, your mother sent us!"

  The men slithered through the apartment. Tucker barged into a small bedroom decorated with old school rock and roll band posters including Led Zeppelin and DEVO. Bright sunlight and a warm July breeze blew in through an open window there. Tied to one leg of the small bed was a rope, the rest dangled out the window.

  Tucker scanned outside and saw nothing but a patch of closely grouped White Ash trees two stories below.

  "Damn it! She's gone rabbit. Let's go."

  Two minutes later Tucker knocked at a first floor apartment where a placard indicated "Supervisor". A one-armed chubby fellow with splotches of sweat all over his green tee shirt opened the door.

  "Yeah? Whatya want?"

  Tucker flashed his Internal Security badge. "I'm looking for Denise Forest. I've got a message for her from her mother. She wasn't home. Do you know where we can find her?"

  "Denise?" The chubby fellow grew a frown as if Denise's name caused a sour taste in his mouth. "Don't surprise me that she wasn't home. Probably out causing trouble."

  "Do you know where we can find her? It's urgent. Important business."

  "Oh yeah, important business," the man considered. "Well, she goes off on her bike and hangs out with friends sometimes down at Church Circle. You might find here there in some of the abandoned buildings. Kid knows how to hide, so she's gunna be tough to find."

  "We'll find her," Tucker assured and then led his men outside to a sedan. The chubby caretaker watched them go and then closed the door. Denise popped up from behind the counter of the eat-in kitchen. She asked Barney, "Where's Church Circle?" — The Order's massive machine pulsated like a beating heart. The strange legs or arms or whatever they were at the top of the mound moved up and down and around faster and faster. The steady drone grew louder and louder sending a tremble through the walls.

  JB lay on the table secured by tentacles with smaller tendrils stuck to his head. His face seemed frozen with his eyes closed and his lips tightly sealed as if chomping a bit.

  The Missionary loomed over the child with fiery wide eyes. One of his arms remained attached to the roaring contraption.

  "OPEN YOUR MIND! OPEN IT TO ME!"

  Two zombie-like monks stood silently by with no reaction to the Missionary's struggle but Gannon instinctively stepped back, ready to retreat. His finely honed sense of self-preservation suggested that things neared a breaking point; a breaking point not for the boy but for The Order's monstrous machine.

  "YOU INSOLENT CHILD! STOP…FIGHTING…DO NOT RESIST!"

  The ribs supporting the fleshy walls of the vile mechanism bulged then retreated then bulged again as if a great force pushed out from within. Gannon retreated another step.

  The Missionary's glare changed. The fury on his face-pure rage-slipped away. His eyes stayed wide not in anger but in…but in fear.

  "No! NO!"

  His attention shifted from the boy on the table to his arm attached to the raging machine. He tried to yank it free but could not. "Let go!" The boy's eyes snapped open. The machine churned harder and faster and louder. "Let GO OF ME!"

  A horrible sickening crunch sounded beneath the scream of The Order's machine. The Missionary gasped and collapsed to his knees. As he did, what remained of his arm finally snapped away from the hideous contraption revealing a bloody stump.

  Voggoth's Missionary man screamed. The stone-faced Monks wavered but for lack of orders did not move.

  The tendrils on JB's head drew back as if shocked by electricity. The slimy bonds around his wrists and ankles warped from green to gray then fell to the floor and squirmed like wounded snakes.

  The Missionary stumbled to his feet staring at his stump as JB sat up.

  "Like, what the shit is going on?" Gannon gaped at the young boy. For the first time since he watched Tokyo die, Brad Gannon wondered if he had chosen the wrong side.

  "Your machine is empty!" The boy shouted. "I am filling it! It belongs to me now."

  The Missionary scrambled to escape and ordered, "Purify him! Purify him with your blades!"

  Both monks unsheathed their swords and descended on the young boy who greeted their approach with a devilish smile. As they raised their weapons for the kill, a pair of thin black poles, or maybe they were legs, unstuck from the top of the machine and seemingly stepped down, skewering the monks.

  The Missionary placed his remaining hand against his temple and cried, "I am infected! Get out of my mind! Get your poison out of my mind!" Gannon saw a patch of the Missionary's head turn gray as he hurried toward a side hall shouting "Defenses!"

  Those defenses came to life. A woeful alarm that sounded similar to a dentist's patient howling through a mouth of cotton reverberated through the base but it could not match the shaking and roaring machine in volume. High up a section of wall bulged and then stretched into the form of a barrel. JB glanced toward the weapon. A rash of gray patches grew on the barrel. JB looked to Gannon as the human turncoat staggered side to side like a mouse caught in an open field below the shadow of a hawk.

  The gun barrel curled and straightened, literally spitting bullets. The rounds slammed into Gannon one after another, tearing apart his body into chunks of flesh. The one-time actor turned quisling disintegrated into a pile of steaming garbage.

  More monks tried to enter the chamber from side corridors. The gun swiveled and fired, killing several and forcing others to retreat.

  JB jumped from the platform and approached his father. As he did, the fibrous bands over Trevor's eyes withered and withdrew as did his bonds.

  "Father! Father! Can you hear me?"

  No response.

  The machine grew unstable. Something popped; another something hissed. What remained of the working appendages at its top snapped apart spewing debris.

  "Father! Wake up! I can't control it much longer! It's going to come apart!"

  He grabbed Trevor's head with both of his tiny hands and shook. Gray splotches popped up on the machine walls as if a disease like chicken pox infected Voggoth's contraption.

  Trevor's eyes opened then shut.

  "It's me, Jorge! Your son! We have to go!"

  The gun fired again, blasting to pieces a spider sentry as it marched into the room. Gooey alien innards mixed with the remains of Brad Gannon.

  Trevor tried to open his eyes again; then again. His hands flexed then fidgeted as unused nerves and muscles struggled to reactivate.

  "Please, father! Please…"

  Finally his eyes stayed open, but they were not the eyes of JB's father. They were not the eyes of the Emperor. They were the eyes of a madman, driven beyond the edge of sanity by the machine that had amplified all his guilt and fear and shame and turned hours of torment into weeks; days into years.

  The body of Trevor Stone rolled off the platform as some combination of mental impulses caused a physical reaction. He fell to the ground with a heavy thump. A forlorn groan-a beast's groan-slipped from his lips.

  As small as he was in comparison to his dad, the determined son grabbed his father's arm with both hands and tried to drag him.

  "We have to go! We have to get out of here! Please, oh please…"

  The splotches covering the great machine spread as the infection multiplied and advanced. Patches of gray formed on the walls of the chamber which splintered like drying skin creating lacerations spilling vile liquids and jells.

  The basic instincts that remained in Trevor Stone allowed him to blindly react to the boy’s shouts. He tried to stand but fell, and then crawled on all fours like a wild animal; then he stood again but took only two steps before stumbling once more.

  Jorge pulled and tugged, willing his dad from the room in steps, crawls, and staggers. As they moved, the walls of the complex cracked and trembled as the contamination spread.

  Others came to stop the father and son, but the defenses of the base belonged to the boy. Gun emplacements, binding tentacles, and all the machines inside Voggoth's lair turned against The Order, controlled by a child.

  25. Lines of Battle

  After several days of cloud cover, the sun finally broke through to kick off a hot and humid North Carolina Saturday. As the temperatures rose and the air turned sticky, Nina walked on wet ground through a small patch of woods to the north of Causeway Drive. There she came upon the damaged Eagle transport hidden among the overgrowth and drooping branches. Hauser-after regaining his senses-had done an excellent job in wedging the ship into cover.

  They had been living at Jim Brock's since Thursday and Nina felt pinned down. She worried about moving in fear of exposing themselves, but also feared that one of Brock’s friends would eventually turn them in.

  "What's our status?"

  Hauser knelt just inside the open door of the transport, Nina stood on the ground below.

  "We're good," the pilot with the burn mark on his forehead answered. "There are a couple of accessory systems that are still out but nothing important. The rest is just cosmetic. We can get going any time we want."

  "Going? I guess," she answered. "But I think we're out of places to go."

  Jim Brock caught the end of the conversation as he approached the hidden transport with a brown bag in hand and a frown on his face.

  He said, "You've got to get going. And soon, too."

  Nina sighed and apologized for the one-hundredth time, "Listen, I'm sorry we just dropped in on you like this."

  "I know. I'll bet it was just about the last thing you wanted to do," he handed the bag to Hauser and explained, "Breakfast."

  "Hey, thanks man."

  While Hauser accepted the gift, Brock and Nina walked around the nose cone of the silent ship. A large frog hopped off while a song bird of some type crooned in celebration of the new day. Nina started, "Your wife probably isn't too thrilled about us being here, I'll bet." "She's not. But you've got to get moving for more than that. Your friend is in bad shape." Nina ran a hand over her forehead to wipe away moisture forming there.

  As a favor to Jim, one of the local doctors made house calls to treat Gordon and actually engaged in what might qualify as low-level surgery.

  She asked, "What's the doc say today?"

  "He said there's nothing more he can do. The bullet is lodged in his spine. There might be some internal bleeding and there's probably an infection because he's been running a fever and drifting in and out of consciousness since he's been here. Mrs. Stone says he's barely spoken more than a few words and most of them haven't made sense. Point is he needs real medical attention. You should get him to the hospital in Raleigh or he is going to die."

  Nina snapped, "And if I take him to the hospital in Raleigh Internal Security will pick him up and he'll die anyway. Damn it."

  "You have to do something."

  "I know. I thought maybe you could have helped me get in touch with Shep."

  Jim said, "But he got arrested," referring to the headline 'TOP RANKING GENERAL ARRESTED IN COUP PLOT’ from yesterday’s paper.

  "So I don't know where else to turn."

  Brock leaned against a tree and said, "But you came to me. You trusted me, even though you know I’d support the new President and what he stands for. Why?"

  Nina scratched the back of her neck and answered, "Listen, we don't agree on a lot of things. I know most of the people around here never liked Trevor or what he did. But I also know you people aren't traitors. I mean, I guess I just figured you wouldn't turn us in."

  "I'm flattered. It's also good to see you again, regardless of why. You really haven't kept in touch much these last few years."

  Nina said, "What do you mean? Denise has been down here to visit you a bunch of times and the two of you are always talking on the phone. Well, when the connection holds up."

  "Denise, sure, but you and I don’t talk much. Whenever I’d catch you at home you’d hand the phone to her like it was a hot potato."

  Nina furled her brow and confessed, "Well look, every time we talked it always seemed to get down to how Trevor was doing this wrong or the war should be over or whatever. I kind of got sick of being preached to."

  He chuckled and mocked, "Me? Preach? I guess so. That's the teacher in me always trying to lecture. Sorry about that. But you still trusted me."

  "Like I said, I knew you'd do the right thing. I know that no matter what you think about Trevor or Godfrey, you want what's best for us. I guess I think you're just about wrong about everything but you've still got a good heart."

  "Thanks. I think. But don't trust me too much. Or rather, sooner or later the doc is going to talk or someone else is going to figure out what's going on and who my strange house guests are. Sooner or later Internal Security is going to get a tip. I'm saying-"

  "You're saying we can't stay here forever, even if it weren't for Gordon. Look, I get it. I'm just not sure where to turn. I don't know who else to trust." "Like I told you when we first met, everybody needs someone. Even the strong." "Problem is my people are either locked up or on the run." "Even Denise? Are you worried about her?" "Yes I am," Nina nodded.

  "Wait a second," Brock hit upon an idea. "Denise. That's it. I know someone else who thinks pretty highly of you. Someone well connected. I bet you can trust her."

  "Who's that?"

  "I helped you adopt Denise, but so did someone else. Someone who made the final decision. And if I remember right, she might be in a position to help. It's worth a chance."

  "Listen, I don't like to take chances."

  "Nina, sometimes in life you have to take chances on people. You took one by coming here. You trusted me. Now you have to trust someone else, or Knox is going to die and sooner or later the people chasing you are going to catch you."

  "And what about that, Jim? If everything I've found out is true, it could mean the end of President Godfrey and maybe even the return of Trevor Stone. Would you like that? Are you willing to be an accomplice to that?"

  "Well I might not get invited to the good parties down here anymore."

  Her stare would not allow him to blow off the question.

  He answered honestly, "If what you told me is true, then Godfrey has gone against everything he's stood for since I started listening to him. If it's true, then he's worse than Trevor Stone ever was. So yeah, I'll help. As much as I can. Besides, I don't think I could say no to you.

  "So then," she asked. "Who is this person I'm supposed to trust?"

  – The sound of the phone ringing startled Lori Brewer from the trance-like state she had fallen into while reviewing file after file of adoption records. What had once been a small part of her job as Administrator had become the focus of her entire existence since the change in governments morphed her position into Regional Director of Adoption and Child Placement. The phone rang again. She eyed it suspiciously, worried her mind played tricks. She cautiously lifted the receiver. "Hi, um, hello, this is Lori Brewer." "Mrs. Brewer, you have to listen to me. There isn't much time and I'm sure your phone is bugged." Much to the caller's surprise, Lori recognized the voice immediately. "Nina?" The familiar use of her first name by Mrs. Brewer caught Captain Forest off-guard, but she had no time to get side tracked.

  "Yes. There isn't much time. Ashley Stone asked me to get involved. Listen, I need your help. That is, I need your husband's help, especially. Do you remember that you helped me adopt my daughter?"

  "Yes. Yes I do."

  "Do you remember who I adopted her from?"

  Mrs. Brewer stumbled then answered, "I might. Either way I've got the records here…somewhere." She thought of the archives piled in the garage.