“It was an error, Excellency. I see that now.”

  Elder Philip leaned back in his chair. “However, despite your incompetence, the situation is not yet irretrievable. The Traveler is still on Tellus, still within our operational zone. You will correct your mistakes.”

  Superior Philip straightened. He couldn’t believe his luck. He might still achieve his self-given task. “You’re giving me another chance?”

  “I’m giving you an opportunity to avoid permanent demotion,” Elder Philip said. “The distinction is important. Your mission parameters are simple: eliminate the Traveler. Capture would be preferable for continued study, but elimination is acceptable if capture proves impossible.”

  “I understand, Excellency.”

  “I’m not sure you do. It is my contention that the Traveler is too dangerous for us. He has thwarted the Institute in the Chaunt System and on Garm. I will not allow that here on Tellus. We had hoped to use him, but your buffoonery has made that impossible. It is time to end him once and for all.”

  “What resources will I have?”

  “Sub-Operators Philip Seven and Philip Twelve will accompany you. Seven specializes in technology acquisition and analysis. Twelve has field combat experience and proficiency with improvised weapons.”

  Elder Philip slid a file across the desk.

  Superior Philip picked it up. The file showed two younger Philips. Seven looked eager, with the intense focus of someone seeking advancement. Twelve was older and scarred, with calculating eyes that suggested he’d survived situations that had killed others.

  “Three of us against the Traveler,” Superior Philip said. “Are you sure that’s enough?”

  “You are three trained Institute operatives against one primitive human. The numbers favor you considerably.”

  “The Traveler has consistently survived against superior odds—”

  “Because operatives like you underestimated him.” Elder Philip’s voice carried an edge. “Don’t repeat that mistake. He’s dangerous, yes, but he’s still limited by human biology and human processing capacity. Apply your intelligence systematically and plan accordingly.”

  Superior Philip nodded. “One more question, Excellency. The Traveler’s survival rate suggests he has received outside assistance. Could it be Vegan agents, perhaps, or—”

  “That is an irrelevant speculation. Focus on the mission. You have one hour to brief your team and prepare for deployment. Use it wisely.”

  “I understand, Excellency.”

  “I hope you do. You are dismissed.”

  Superior Philip turned and left the ready room, his mind racing through tactical possibilities and resource requirements. The cramped corridor led toward the equipment lockers where Seven and Twelve would likely be waiting.

  He had one hour to prepare, maybe a little more if he stretched things.

  Superior Philip had studied the Traveler’s record. Mu, Garm, the Chaunt System, Saddoth—every world had thrown superior forces at Jake Bayard, and every time he’d found a way to survive.

  This time would be different, though. This time, Bayard’s luck would run out.

  -35-

  I sat in the ruins of what must once have been a coffee shop, studying Gorthak’s map. The parchment was stained with blood and marked with Tog notations, which I understood because of the ziggurat. Red Xs marked known walker patrol routes. Black circles showed Synthetic Mind strongholds. And scattered throughout the city were small blue triangles, old depots.

  According to Gorthak’s legend, scrawled in his blocky handwriting in the margin, the blue triangles were “metal-places-where-sky-weapons-sleep.” I took that to mean military storage facilities. The Togs had raided most of them over the centuries, but Gorthak had marked several with question marks. He’d told me they hadn’t been able to crack those open.

  But maybe I could with my baan.

  I traced a route with my finger, avoiding the red patrol zones and the massive crater I’d already crossed. The nearest sealed depot was two miles north, in what the map labeled as the “Factory District.” The route would take me through areas the Togs marked as “sometimes-safe.”

  I folded the map and tucked it inside my leather jacket. Anti-grav belts had to be out there somewhere. Military forces could have used them for rapid deployment, aerial reconnaissance, and emergency evacuation. If I could find working belts, I could fly over the toxic lake instead of floating through it again. I didn’t want to have to go around it, as that would take far too long.

  The shop’s back exit led into an alley choked with debris. I picked my way through.

  Three blocks later, I heard the distinctive whine of a walker’s servos.

  I froze against a wall, my pulse rifle ready. The sound seemed to be coming from the next street over, two walkers, maybe three.

  I waited, listening closely. The patrol was moving away from me, a relief.

  When the sounds faded, I continued north. Soon, the buildings showed systematic destruction. Could the Steel Mother have ordered this area cleared to deny cover to Tog raiders?

  Instead of buildings, I used rubble piles for concealment, moving from shadow to shadow. My boots made too much noise on the broken concrete, but there was no helping it.

  In time, the factory district stretched ahead like a graveyard. Massive industrial complexes had been reduced to skeletal frameworks, their machinery stripped away or destroyed. But the basic structures remained.

  I was studying the way ahead when I heard voices. There were harsh barking calls, and getting closer. I scrambled behind a collapsed wall and peered through a gap in the concrete.

  Five Togs were moving through the ruins in my direction. They wore ratty garments, not looking like Gorthak’s group at all. The biggest one stopped and sniffed the air. Then his head turned in my direction. He said something to the others.

  They began to spread out.

  I studied the terrain behind me, noticing a narrow gap between two collapsed walls that led deeper into the factory complex. The space was barely wide enough for a human, maybe too tight for the bulky Togs.

  The Togs were forty feet away. The big one was still testing the air, his tusked head swiveling like a radar dish. I eased back, keeping the concrete between us.

  My boot caught a loose piece of rebar. It scraped against stone with a metallic ring that seemed loud as a gunshot.

  The leader barked. I could hear the other Togs moving faster.

  I turned and ran for the gap.

  Behind me, the Togs roared and gave chase, with heavy feet pounding against concrete. I squeezed through the narrow opening just as a pulse beam streaked for me.

  The passage led into what must have been a machine shop. Lathes and milling equipment lay scattered like broken toys, their metal housings corroded by centuries of chemical rain, no doubt. I weaved between them, using the machinery for cover as more pulse beams lit up the darkness.

  The Togs were too big to follow directly. I could hear them circling, undoubtedly looking for other entrances. The big one was shouting, possibly trying to position his followers to cut off any escape routes.

  I found a service ladder leading to an upper level and climbed fast. The metal rungs were slick with condensation, but they held my weight. Above, a catwalk stretched across the shop floor, giving me a view of the exits.

  Two Togs had positioned themselves at the main entrance. Another was checking a loading dock.

  I moved along the catwalk, staying low and quiet. At the far end, a broken window led to an adjacent building. The gap was maybe eight feet across.

  The pulse rifle went across my back, the baan was clipped tight to my belt. Then I backed up, took a running start, and jumped.

  For a moment, I was flying over the factory floor, eight feet above concrete and broken machinery. Below, one of the Togs looked up just as I sailed past. His eyes widened, but he was too slow to raise his weapon.

  I hit the opposite window hard, crashed through in a shower of glass, and rolled across the floor of what must have been an office building. My shoulder took most of the impact, sending pain shooting down my arm. But nothing seemed broken, and I could still move.

  Outside, the Togs were shouting.

  I found a stairwell and climbed to the third floor. From there, I could see most of the factory district spread out below.

  To the east, near the lake shore, I could see three tall shapes moving through the ruins: walkers, no doubt drawn by the pulse fire.

  I made my way through the office building. I’d let the Togs deal with the walkers.

  Soon, I heard pulse rifle shots and Togs shouting once again.

  I hurried through the factory district, a maze of industrial ruins. Fortunately, Gorthak’s map proved accurate. I left the Togs and walkers battling behind me.

  It took two hours to reach the depot marked on the map. When I found it, I understood why the Togs had never cracked it open.

  The entrance was a blast door that looked like it could stop a tank round: heavy steel, with no visible access panel or control mechanism. The metal was scarred and blackened, but intact. How thick was it?

  Above the door, barely visible, was a sign: “Emergency Supply Cache 7-Delta. Authorized Personnel Only.”

  I walked around the structure, looking for weaknesses. It was built into a hillside and probably extended deep underground. There were no windows, no ventilation shafts big enough for a human, and no obvious back entrance.

  I pulled out the baan and activated it, pressing the blade against the door’s surface. Slowly but surely—much slower than ever before—it sliced through the thick metal, leaving edges glowing orange that slowly cooled. The door was many inches thick, but the baan worked steadily through it.

  Ten minutes later, I’d carved a hole big enough to crawl through. Beyond was darkness that smelled of dry air and old machinery. I switched off the baan and pulled out a second emergency light stick.

  I cracked it so the green glow revealed a treasure trove.

  Equipment racks lined the walls, filled with military gear that looked almost new despite being centuries old. The sealed environment had preserved everything: weapons, armor, communication devices, and in one corner, exactly what I’d been hoping to find.

  Anti-grav belts hung from hooks. There were dozens of them in different sizes and configurations. Some were clearly pilot models, lightweight and streamlined. Others were heavy-duty industrial units, no doubt meant for cargo handling.

  I grabbed one that I considered a pilot model and examined it. I understood the control surfaces: direction pad, altitude adjustment, and power toggle. The power cell showed three-quarters charge after all these years. Whatever technology the pre-war civilization had used, it built things to last.

  I strapped on the belt and activated it. Immediately I felt lighter, my boots barely touching the ground. I adjusted the controls, rising a few feet into the air.

  I spent the next half hour going through the cache. Most of the weapons were too bulky to carry, but I found compact energy cells that would power the pulse rifle longer. There were armor plates that might stop walker beams, ration packs that hadn’t spoiled, and medical supplies that could prove invaluable.

  I took what I could carry in a pack. I wasn’t sure the obelisk on Mu would allow me to bring a pulse rifle, so I was thinking I’d just take the one.

  I shrugged. It was time to leave.

  -36-

  As I turned to leave, something caught my eye on the equipment rack that I’d missed during my initial sweep. It was a small cube, six inches on each side, sitting alone on a shelf marked “Training Materials.” It was made of an unknown dark metal.

  On a whim, I picked it up. The metal was warm to the touch. I could also sense energy thrumming inside. That struck me as odd.

  I turned it around, looking for an activation switch, but it was smooth. No— I noticed faint lines. With nothing else to try, I touched them, and then in different sequences. On the third try, the cube began to glow.

  I almost dropped it in surprise, then stopped myself out of prudence. Instead, I studied it, wondering how it could be training material.

  The light was soft, barely visible. Then it pulsed brighter, and suddenly the air above the cube shimmered.

  I hurriedly set it down and backed away. Had it just irradiated me?

  The light solidified. Wait. That was a holographic image. It stood just above the cube.

  Oh… a training module, yes, that made sense now.

  I laughed in relief and stepped up, studying the holoimage. It showed a soldier with a faint yet glowing outline. The glow around the soldier was clearly generated by the cube. I realized it reminded me of one of the functions of the fiery staff from Mu, the protective field it could produce.

  Now, the holoimage soldier began to speak in the native tongue, which I understood—it must have been a purer form of what the Togs used. To me, the soldier had a harsh accent, as I knew the Tog language from the ziggurat.

  “This is a personal defense system of limited if effective duration.” The soldier pointed to a belt with a huge buckle in front. “The units are recommended for elite Officers Grade Three and above in strike-commando formations.”

  The soldier now ran as if advancing across open ground. From offstage, as it were, a pulse beam struck the soldier but failed to penetrate to him. It happened again and this time, I realized the pulse beam scattered across the shimmering barrier, dispersing harmlessly.

  An immediate application came to mind. Would the obelisk system allow these onto Mu? They weren’t weapons strictly, but shields. Could I bypass the anti-tech weapon ban in this way?

  The darts from the air rifles that had slaughtered my Pterodactyl Riders surely wouldn’t be able to pierce such shields. How could that work? If each rider wore a personal shield, would that extend to the pterodactyl? Would that cause a faster power drain to the belt or buckle unit? What if the riders timed the belt usage as they dove at Saddoth dart riflemen?

  This could be my answer, although I granted that there were plenty of ifs in this.

  At that point, the holoimage sank into the cube as its glow faded back to its dormant state.

  If I could find enough shield generators, I had a possible answer against the Saddoth dart riflemen. The idea filled me with hope.

  I looked around with new eyes, searching for anything I might have missed. Shield generators, power packs, anything related to personal defense systems. I went through every equipment rack, checking behind larger items, examining labels and technical specifications.

  There was nothing like these shield generators in here.

  The cache had anti-grav belts, weapons, medical supplies, and general military equipment. But there were no personal shields. Either they’d been stored elsewhere, or this facility had never been equipped with them. The training cube suggested the technology existed, but that didn’t mean every cache would have it, right?

  I picked up the cube again, wanting more information. I needed inventory data, location markers, something that would tell me where to find the actual hardware. I touched the activation sequence again, and the hologram returned.

  This time I studied for details I might have missed before, anything that might indicate where the shields were manufactured or stored. The soldier wore a patch that read “7th Rapid Response” but that switched as the pulse shots started. Then it became, “Defense Research Division.”

  The latter sounded like a place that might have prototype equipment.

  I tried to cycle through more scenarios, but there weren’t any. This was it, or as much as I could make the cube do.

  I searched the empty shelf and found, hidden by dust where the cube had been, a plastic-covered sheet. It was a schematic showing the cache network across Ploor. Most were marked as “General Supply” or “Weapons Storage.”

  But one was marked as “Advanced Systems Research.”

  I squinted, seeing another small sign, “University District.” According to this, it was five miles northeast of here—or whatever unit of distance the people of Tellus had used for miles.

  The shield technology might actually be out there. I just had to find it.

  I slipped on my heavy backpack, picked up my pulse rifle and headed outside.

  For good measure, I checked Gorthak’s map, plotting a route to the University District that would avoid known walker patrol zones and crater fields.

  I told myself to settle down. Even if these shield belts were out there, they might be long since drained or broken down. This was a longshot at best.

  I needed to leave Tellus and get back to Mu. If nothing else, I had to leave before I sucked up too much radiation again. The transfer from obelisk to a Mu ziggurat should heal me like the pool had—if I was lucky.

  That was only a possibility.

  I needed to get out of here.

  -37-

  The anti-grav belt lifted me up and away from the depot, my boots dangling as I rose. The thrust controls took some getting used to. This wasn’t like riding a pterodactyl, where the beast did most of the work. This was all on me, every adjustment and correction.

  I climbed to about a hundred feet, high enough to clear most buildings but not so high that I’d be silhouetted against the sick yellow sky. It would be foolish to make myself an easy target for every walker or Tog in the district. Even so, I still felt exposed and needed to do this as fast as possible.

  I’d used a belt like this on Tynar and later in the Chaunt System. This thruster control was better and more precise than the one on Chaunt Two.

  After some experimentation, I realized flying without a pterodactyl was both easier and harder. It was easier because I had complete control. I didn’t have to worry about the beast’s moods or exhaustion. It was harder because I had to pay attention all the time. There was no autopilot or creature instincts to rely on. It was just me, baby, trying not to slam into a building or drop out of the sky.

  I slid around the tallest buildings, hoping no mutant crossbow marksmen would try to feather me. Once, I saw a Tog patrol—five of them moving in a hunting-pack formation. Several minutes and a mile later, I spied two walkers and sped up to hide behind a nearly intact skyscraper. I dipped lower as I passed over a crater. Nothing to hit here. It wasn’t the same crater I’d crossed before; this one was smaller. I did see a giant mantis look up at me, and that gave me chills. I left the crater and flashed over wreckage. I heard a squeal, and three thin mutants with too many finger joints dashed into hiding. They seemed more primitive than the Togs. Had they all been human once? Before the centuries of radiation and war twisted them into these different breeds of survivors?