The Messiah Choice

7. CHANGE OF GAME

Kris Symonds had not expected to spend the night on Allenby, but had every expectation when she’d started out that she’d deliver her goods and then take the chopper back to Port of Spain. The people at the Institute had been quite nice to her, though, and she’d finally recovered from the terrible motion sickness flying through that storm or whatever it was had given her. She was even giving serious thought to flying back if they said it was fixed in the morning, and had managed to keep down a light snack and some tea they had offered. She did not, however, have a change of clothes or even a purse. It just hadn’t been the kind of job where she’d needed them, and with a heavy briefcase locked on her wrist you took as little extra as you could.

Much of the Lodge was quiet now, although there was always somebody up and about in a place like this, and she sat in the lounge as instructed and waited while they made up a room for her and found her the basics. She badly needed a shower, she decided, and sleep wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

She was thumbing through some old magazine when a young, rather pretty black girl entered. “Miz Symonds?”

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Come with me, please.”

She rose and followed the young woman, noting the thick French accent. Haitian, she guessed, or from French Guiana or whatever they were calling the place these days. They did not go up or down stairs, but went along the rear corridor of the building to an oak door. “Go on in,” the girl told her. “De security boys, dey hav’ ta ask you some questions. Den we’ll get you to your room.”

She didn’t like the sound of this. “Security?”

“Jus’ go in. Dey explain everyt’ing.”

She knew this was a top security installation, but she really wasn’t prepared for this. Oh, well, she decided, there was nothing to it but to get it over with so she could get some sleep. She opened the door and stepped into a small sitting room, with a few comfortable chairs, a couch, and some reading lamps. There didn’t appear to be any other entrance to the room but the door through which she’d entered, and there didn’t seem to be anyone in the room. She stopped, turned, and said, “Hey! Wait a minute!” but the door closed and she could hear a lock being turned. She tried it anyway, to no avail, and started to get nervous. What kind of place was this, anyway?

She went over and sat on the couch, growing more nervous with every passing moment. She hadn’t like that MacDon-ald’s intimation that the storm hadn’t been natural, and she remembered the details on Martinez.

This had seemed a glamorous, exciting job when she’d applied for it. International courier. Expense-paid trips to lots of different places all over the world, really good pay and bonuses, plenty of vacation time. Although she knew that she sometimes carried valuable things, even lots of cash, she had never really worried much while doing the job and certainly hadn’t worried after delivery was made.

She heard a noise from a far corner, and was suddenly aware of another presence in the room. “Who are you?” she asked, masking her fear with bravado. “I mean, what the hell is all this, anyway?”

The figure stepped from the shadows into the light, but it didn’t help at all. He was all black—not his skin or clothing, because you really couldn’t tell much about that—but strangely, unnaturally so, like a cut-out figure of a man on TV, a man-shaped blackness that moved.

“Please pardon my appearance,” said the Dark Man, “but it is necessary for now for a number of reasons to adopt what you might call a high-tech disguise.” The voice was deep and resonant and radiated a strange power. “I wish first to simply ask you some questions. Your answers will determine what happens next.”

“W—Who—what are you?”

“That is no concern of yours,” he replied, walking over and taking one of the chairs facing her. It did no good to be this close. It was like looking at a deep hole that moved and rippled. It was more terrifying than facing a man with a gun. “I wish to know who sent the parcel you delivered tonight.”

“I—I don’t know. I only know when I have to meet the person sending it or I need to get paperwork signed. This was a straight drop, using the coded ’cuffs. I’m not even usually down here! Before this I ain’t never been further south than Puerto Rico, honest!”

“Who gave you the package and your instructions?”

“Mrs. Corvas, the head of the Service in Port of Spain. I just got an order from Mr. Sanchez, who runs the shop in Miami, where I was at the time, to fly down to Port of Spain and make a delivery.”

“You received triple pay for this delivery. Why?”

“How’d you know that? Yeah, well, they told me the usual guy who did this run was killed. I made ’em run the bonus money up when I heard that.”

“And what were your instructions? Exactly.”

“I was to take the chopper, for which clearance had already been made, and meet this Mr. MacDonald at the pad. He would take the case and I would go back and that’s it. Honest!”

“And they told you the specific details about Martinez?”

“Huh?”

“Ms. Symonds, you must be honest with me because it is your only choice. I have great power, and my power increases moment by moment. Right now my unaided power is limited to individuals, one at a time, but it is considerable at that level, and it will continue to increase. I could order you to tell me all and you would do so, but I prefer a different approach because it serves more then one purpose and because it pleases me to do so.”

“What—what are you going to do? Rape me? Butcher me like you did Martinez?”

“Not here, not on this island. It is unnecessary. You need a demonstration of my power, and I will give it. Did you realize, for example, that even while we have been having this little chat you have systematically removed every bit of your clothing and now sit there, legs apart, feeling yourself up?”

She started, and looked down at herself, and found it was true. Her clothing was in a heap on the floor. She wanted to stop her self-arousal and pick up the clothes, but found she could not.

“You see? Your mind, as well as your body, belong to me. They are my playthings, to do with as I will. Only your soul, for what that is worth, is yours, for it can be surrendered only voluntarily. So, relax. Don’t fight it because you can not. I have no cause to harm that which I own. Now, down on your knees before me on the floor. There! See?”

Her terror was now absolute, but she couldn’t even faint. She couldn’t do a thing he didn’t tell her to do.

“Now, I wish to know the consignor of the briefase. I wish to know the true employer of Mr. MacDonald.”

“I don’t know,” she answered truthfully, for she could answer no other way to him now. “I know only that it is a pretty big crowd, at least from money and power. Timmons Courier is mostly owned by them, I think. It’s a front for their use. You don’t ask questions and you get big bucks.”

“It is partly owned by Magellan,” the Dark Man told her, “but not entirely, nor is it controlled by Magellan. I wish to know of your past in this company. I want to know where, and to whom, you have delivered things since you joined it two years ago.”

She rattled off what names she remembered, and dates, and places, and people. A lot of embassies, a few government agencies in both the U.S., Britain, and western.Europe, and several small companies, none apparently connected. The government names were interesting, particularly those of minor nations, but the companies were more intriguing to him, for the majority of them had no connection with Magellan at all and were based in small countries who chartered them for profit with no questions asked.

There could be no question in the mind of anyone listening that the primary purpose of the service was to bypass traditional computer and telecommunications channels, no matter how good today’s scramblers were. And there was also no question that all formed some sort of intelligence network outside of normal channels.

“What are you thinking now?” he asked her. “Speak freely.”

“I’m thinking you have to do somthing. I’ll be missed. You got to kill me, I guess.”

The Dark Man sighed. “My dear, you have been thrown deliberately to the wolves, an expendable lamb brought in because you knew the least. Tomorrow that helicopter will return, but it will not make it. It will crash into the sea and be lost from sight. There will be no survivors, and no recovery of your body, although sufficient effects will wash up to make your death credible.” He got up from the chair and towered over her. “Now—rise. Rise and come to me.”

She stood up, and found herself walking right into him. She did not meet a human form or any resistance, but seemed suddenly cold and surrounded by darkness, with no form, no solidity. And then, quite suddenly, she was again on solid ground, but outdoors, atop a weird looking rock in the middle of a pretty, moonlit meadow. She was still naked, and walked to the other end, the low end, of the rock and turned to face the Dark Man, who stood on the rounded high point.

They were not alone. She had some limited freedom, and looked around to find that there were figures around the rock. They were all women, ranging in age from the teen to perhaps the thirties or forties. All were naked, and all had a wild, savage look on their faces and in their eyes, and all were looking at her.

“You have a free choice to make,” said the Dark Man calmly. “One choice and one only. You are of no use to me unless you are joined with us, freely and of your own will.”

The women took up a chant, and the Dark Man made a pass with his hand. Lines of light seemed to run fluidly across the grass of the meadow, forming an intricate pattern that surrounded the stone. There was the sudden crackle of electricity in the air in the area between the Dark Man and the terrified woman, and the onlookers, the worshippers, fell down and continued to chant some more.

The shape in the center took form, a strange and wondrous form, of a creature that was humanoid but not human. It was an angelic form, with great wings mounted at the shoulders and down the back emerging from flowing robes, and a face that was at once beautiful and wondrous and beyond any description.

“Behold Belial, once an angel and now a prince of Hell,” the Dark Man said. “Fall down and worship him, and give yourself to him and to his Lord and sovereign. We offer you pleasure. We offer to sponge away all guilt, all worry, all fear, and exchange it for that which is wondrous. We offer life, and beauty, and truth, in exchange for your acceptance of and worship of those who would rule a proper universe against a God gone insane. Few are offered this clear choice with such clear evidence.”

The creature in the center was so wonderful, so beautiful, that it almost commanded worship, as it had an ancient days, for the angels were created second only to God, and the rulers of Hell were angels always.

“Now consider a God who would not only permit but encourage war and plague and massive suffering and misery. Consider a God who would not only allow, but command the Lord Satan to do his worst to humanity. Fall down and worship now, and give your soul freely to the ones who will end this madness! You know the words, for they have been provided you! Do it now, or die in horrible torment here, piece by piece and bit by bit, so at last in your death your soul will go to your God who will not help you now. He’s here! Now! All around you! He sees and hears and knows this, and could stop it in an instant, yet he allows it, as he allowed Hitler and Stalin and Mao, as he ignored the anguished screams of the Holocaust and a thousand other Holocausts over the ages. Fall down now, and give yourself to sanity!”

Her terror had not diminished, but the sight of the great creature and the words of the Dark Man penetrated a level of consciousness beyond the terror. She hadn’t been to church since she was fourteen, and she hadn’t given anything religious much thought, but now it faced her, and the clock was running out on a decision.

“Do you think a God who would allow His own son to be agonizingly crucified will intervene to save you? Pray now, for now you begin to die. Now you must decide—to join freely with us, or to go to your God!”

The angelic creature changed suddenly, in a moment, into one of terror, a monstrous, misshapen thing that roared and drooled and slobbered and shook its bat wings, and gestured to her with a taloned finger from which came a living stream of electrical fire. It struck her and she was instantly in horrible agony, the most terrible pain she could remember or imagine. She cried out, “No! I will do anything! No!”

The agony stopped, but she could feel its aftermath and smelled in her own nostrils the smell of her own charred flesh. Again the figure was angelic, and it waited.

Her mind cracked, and she fell upon the stone, and the words came as she asked them to. “I worship thee, oh mighty Prince of Hell,” she gasped, “and give my immortal soul now and forever to thee and thy Lord Satan, now and forever more to the end of time!” The words had been placed there by others, but at that moment she meant every word of it.

The creature looked down at her and gave a wondrous smile, and reached out and touched her head, and instantly her wounds were healed, her body made not only whole but better than it was, powerful and beautiful and totally free of blemish. She surrendered utterly and felt tremendous peace and joy, and she would do willingly whatever was commanded of her.

She got up, and faced the creature, and it took her wrist and made a single sharp cut across a vein, but it didn’t hurt a bit. She turned and got down from the rock, and saw the other women gather around, and they, too, had identical cuts. And she took each in turn and drank a little of their blood, and they a little of hers, and it burned like fiery liquor in their mouths.

And the creature turned and gave its blessing to them all, and the cuts faded, healed as if they had never been, and then it faded out, like a will o’ the wisp in the night, and then the glowing liquid forms of energy on the meadow faded as well, and they were at peace and filled with joy.

The Dark Man chuckled softly to himself and took out his hornpipes and blew a tune, and soon they all were dancing to it, she along with them, without a thought or care in the world.

Angelique had gone to her suite after being dropped off by Greg, and the girls had prepared a light snack at the kitchenette installed in the adjoining converted suite where they now lived. Being constantly tired of late, since the dreams had become so regular and so vivid, she elected to go to bed early, and they made no objection.

Still, lying there in the near-darkness, she didn’t immediately go to sleep. She kept thinking of Jureau, of the scratches, of how real the dreams seemed, and she couldn’t help wondering and worrying. Perhaps Greg was right, she thought. I am still a stranger here, and far out of my element. Had she simply been overwhelmed by it all, or in truth was she now a key pawn in some great struggle for the heart and soul of a monster corporation? Had she, in fact, delivered herself into the very hands of the enemy and refused to take herself out of harm’s way?

She knew almost at once that she would go, particularly now that Greg had indicated that he, too, wished to leave. She resolved, at last, to tell him so the first thing tomorrow, and to move out with all possible speed. That decided, she sank into an increasingly deep sleep, the best sleep she had experienced in perhaps weeks.

She awoke suddenly, her mind clear, although she had a slight headache from the depth of the slumber. There had been no dreams, at least none that she could remember, and she was thankful for that.

It was still dark; she turned her head to the left to see the illuminated face of the clock that was always on the night-stand, but she saw nothing. She was aware now of an odd smell, of damp wood and mustiness that certainly should not be in a place as newly remodeled as this. It was difficult to see, but she sensed something strange and different about the place, and began to imagine phantoms moving in the darkness. The sound of insects seemed abnormally loud, and, now that she thought of it, it seemed pretty sticky and oppressive in the room although it should have been air conditioned and filtered. Either there had been some sort of power failure, or…

She became suddenly frightened as she realized that this was not her bed or her bedroom at the Lodge. This is not real! she tried to assure herself. This is just another one of those realistic dreams.

But she didn’t believe it. This was as real as anything she had ever experienced, without any of the mental fuzziness or odd changes she went through in the dreams.

She lay there for quite some time, unable to move, unsure as to what to do. Finally she tried to call out for help, for assistance, but her throat was sore and her voice could barely manage much above a hoarse whisper.

And then, quite suddenly, she felt rather than saw or heard someone enter. She was not, in fact, even sure how he entered, for there was no sound of a door opening and closing, but she knew he was there, knew it as certainly as she had known it back in her father’s study.

“My apologies for being delayed,” said a deep, resonant voice, and she gave a start and an involuntary little cry of terror. “We had not expected to reach this point quite so soon, but you rushed us with your actions and showed great power to overcome the holds designed for you, and we have had to account for some people and baggage we did not expect and would not have had to deal with at all otherwise.”

It was an additional shock to realize that he was speaking not English but French, even matching her Gaspe accent.

“Who—who are you?” she rasped weakly.

“You know who I am. They call me the Dark Man, although that’s just a descriptive term created by a string of voodoo and obi cults in the Caribbean and west African areas. It fits rather well, never the less, and will do for now.” There was a sudden flash and a dark finger touched an old fashioned kerosene lamp which caught and then grew into a warm, flickering glow. It illuminated the room, but not the Dark Man, whose entire form seemed a seamless shape of the blackest black.

She was, she saw, in some sort of log cabin; a one room affair with a small cast iron wood stove, some cabinetry and pots and pans hanging from wall hooks, and some wicker-style furniture. There was a single solid wooden door with a wood bar for a lock, and that bar was in place. The area just next to the stove had a small window, and there were two more small windows with wooden shutters hooked closed on either side of the door.

“Where is this place?” she asked him. “Where have you taken me?”

“It is a cabin in the woods on the island. It’s been here for years. It’s to the west of the Institute and down about halfway, about a hundred yards in from the western cliffs. It was built just after your late father purchased the island, and housed the planners and surveyors who came first, to plan the whole thing. There were several, but only this one wound up being kept in good repair, primarily because your father liked coming down here in the early days, when things were just building up top, to spend some time in solitude. The others were dismantled and are long gone, but this one has been here, forgotten by almost everyone, unused for more than seven years, its lone trail pretty well overgrown.”

“Have you brought me here, then, to do away with me? If so, I am ready. I can stand this no longer.” It was brave talk and she didn’t mean a word of it, and he knew it.

“Do away with you? Certainly not! You are quite special, Angelique, more than you know. Greatness awaits you, a greatness that all will envy and that others will covet, but it is for you alone. You are quite safe here. No one even remembers this place exists, and no one ever comes to this part of the island. It is as virginal as when it was as yet unseen by man. None will harm you, and so charmed are you that not even a mosquito will dare bite you, nor an illness infect you. Unfortunately, it is not yet your time, although that time is soon. It may also be necessary, at times, to produce you or to produce your witnessed prints. So, until such time as all is right and we have need of you, this will be your home. I apologize that it is not as fancy or as comfortable as the Lodge, but it is far more secure.”

She was appalled. “You expect me to lie here, doing nothing, going nowhere, for days, weeks, months!”

“Only if we have to. I doubt if that will be necessary, so long as you behave.” He walked to the foot of the bed, his boots sounding very solid on the old wooden floor, and stretched out a dark hand. “Rise, Angelique!”

And she did so, getting up to a sitting position, shifting over to the side of the bed, then, steadying herself with one hand, getting to a standing position. It was so remarkable, so incredible, that she was overcome with emotion that for a moment blotted out all the other, darker circumstances.

“I—I stand! I walk! I feel!” she exclaimed. “I am once again whole!” She flexed her fingers and her toes and almost cried with joy.

“You have never been otherwise,” the Dark Man told her. “The doctors were correct in stating that there was no medical reason for your paralysis. They erred only in being men of pure science. They could not know, and if they had known could not have accepted, the effectiveness of a true curse.”

Almost instantly, her sheer joy turned to hatred and extreme anger. “You mean you did that to me? You cost me all those years of my life? You made me go through hell!” Her throat was still sore and her voice raspy, but so great was her anger that the room almost shook with the words. She moved to attack him physically, all thoughts of well-being gone, but he put up a dark hand and she stopped, frozen, unable to advance.

“It was quite necessary, once we realized who you might be and saw the potential there. It preserved you—innocent, virginal, unattached, and naive. It froze you as you were, a young girl unsullied by the world.” He paused a moment, and his tone became more practical. “You will notice that the curse is not lifted, merely suspended at our whim. That suspension can be lifted at any time, for any reason, and you will become as bad as you were or worse than you were. If we wished you could become an automaton, seeing, hearing, smelling, feeling, thinking—but unable to control any part of your body whatever voluntarily, doing only what you were told to do. It’s up to you.”

“You won’t get away with this! I’ll be missed at the Institute. Security will search for me. Greg will—”

“Greg is most probably dead by now,” he told her bluntly. “I should like to have interrogated him, as I should have liked to talk with your father, but others intervened. I should not count on Security. You will have to bear their watching eyes on their little monitors if you stray into habitable territory, I fear, but don’t expect any help from that quarter. As for any others, this island is at the moment being placed under a security blanket. In modern, tense times like these, those in power tend to believe what their computers print out, particularly when it is confirmed by people in their own employ. This island has become a tiny independent republic for the duration of this—er, emergency, and will be run as one from this point on, with the aid and support of Magellan and the NATO and Caribbean pacts. No one will get on, or off, this island without our knowledge and permission. No one will be able to communicate in any way with the outside world unless we first approve it.”

“But you can not keep this up forever!” she told him. “Sooner or later someone will get suspicious and they will demand to come and see for themselves!”

“By that time, we will be in total control of every living thing here. You would be surprised at how long it could be sustained. You see, we control more than you or anyone has dreamed by now. We can access the data banks upon which they rely, make a saint into a KGB spy, order suspicious probers to duty in Greenland or Antarctica from a dozen military forces. We can cause diversions—wars in the Middle East, for example, and other threats to vital areas—that will take their minds off us. And we do not have to do it forever, only for a short while. Three or four months. People believe their computers. They depend upon them and the telecommunications networks that tie them together. You would be shocked at what we can do without any resort to the supernatural.”

“What are you?” she practically screamed at him. “Are you a man? A demon? The devil himself?”

The Dark Man laughed. “Perhaps I am none of those. Call me John the Baptist, if you will.”

“You profane and mock the sacred!”

“Well, it has always been the fashion to do so. Perhaps you have been too insulated. The world goes around saying, ‘Jesus Christ!’ at the slightest provocation, and ‘God damn!’ is probably the second most popular profanity humanity uses. The world is full of the profane. Hell is rampant, as it always has been. And do you know why? Because that’s the way God ordered it to be. He’s supposed to be all-seeing, all-knowing, omniscient and omnipresent, yet He’s never gotten over the fact that He made humanity in His own image and humanity proceeded to screw itself up. He ordered humanity tested, and humanity failed, so He ordered humanity to be tempted, tormented, and punished, rather than face the fact that He, Himself, was obviously imperfect or mad, in that He created an imperfect thing.”

“It is you who are mad! There was war in Heaven before the Fall!”

“A later invention; a rationalization by his more intelligent followers to explain the contradiction. It is not so, and Job proves that Hell served God’s will by God’s command. Nothing is clearer.”

“You can not judge God by man’s standards! It is impossible for any lesser being to understand God’s will and ways!”

“I will agree that madness is a relative term. By our lights we are sane and God, and God’s followers and defenders and rationalizers, are mad. It is a point of view. Consider the evil that God knows of and allows. Consider that He must know what is going on here, yet does nothing to help, nothing to stop it. His solution to the mess was to crucify Jesus in agony. Since that time, the Christian church has primarily venerated its martyrs and been dominated by the charlatans and the power-mad. He allowed the Holocaust and condemned His chosen people who survived to eternal warfare. His other aspects are as bad. Many have sacrifice, including human sacrifice, and all sorts of cruel rites. The Japanese Shintoists actually looked forward to suicide under certain conditions. The Shi’ites venerate masochism and beat themselves with chains. The Hindus use Him to freeze society in an odd variation of the divine right of kings. The only thing as stupid and wasteful as a Crusade is a Holy War. This is madness. This is a universe based upon madness.”

“And in the name of restoring sanity you reduce people to animals, kill, torture, maim, send monsters to crush people to death, cause wars, do all that you boast of doing! That is some sanity!”

“In World War II, millions were sacrificed by much of the world to defeat Hitler, who was the greater evil. We feel that the entire universe is at stake. All of humanity, and countless other races out there among the stars. The innocent will suffer and pay the price as it always has been in wars. As to our methods, we are constrained to use them. God’s rules, you know. We must play by the rules, as must you, until the battle is joined. The war against Heaven, you see, has not yet been fought. God will not intervene here on Earth, and for a cold, practical reason. It means nothing to Him. You mean nothing to Him. We threaten only the Earth, not Heaven. But it is here that it must start—according to the rules. We must make a move here first in order to attack His seat of power.’’

“And you will lose! That, too, is the rules!”

“Will we? Would we even attempt it if we didn’t believe we could attain victory? John of Patmos warned Christians to shape up because God was returning soon and it would be too late. Yet here we are, two thousand years later, more or less, and ‘soon’ has lost its meaning. John was a fanatic and a mystic and he was certainly either insincere or wrong on his timetable. There is no reason to believe his outcome, either. We know Him. We know His location and His weaknesses. And even if we lose, which we do not intend, we would rather lose and suffer the true death of oblivion than to live under a God like that.”

She was shaken and stunned by his statements. Her initial terror had subsided now, and she felt in control once again. She would still have gone after him if she could, but it was useless. He had far too much power, and had to be fought by ways she did not know. What was most chilling was his matter-of-fact brazen blasphemy and his commitment to Armageddon and beyond even if it meant losing.

He sensed her confusion and despair, and jumped on it. “Think of it this way, my dear. Armageddon is coming, as was prophesied and commanded by God. The time is now truly soon. Is it blasphemy to oppose or prevent it when it is so clearly God’s will? It is an interesting point, and one we may debate off and on in the times to come. Now, we must deal with the more immediate and intimate situation. We must deal with you.”

She wasn’t sure whether she was gratified or not by that change of subject.

“This island is constraint enough for you. We’ve tried with your nocturnal sojourns to built up your muscles and restore your coordination and balance, and I think that has succeeded. To keep you at the Lodge we would have to keep you immobile and perhaps also incommunicado. This would take a staff as large or larger than we have used to date, and might result in a contest of your inheritance on the grounds of incapacity. Better that you be somewhere else to everyone here not involved in our business, and that you be here and in control of everyone outside the island. It is most convenient just to stick you over here, with the basic needs, and allow you to get used to being a whole person once again.”

That was yet another shock and surprise. “That’s all? Just leave me here?”

“Oh, I know what you’re thinking, so we will dispose of those thoughts right now. A few small restrictions—spells, if you like, curses if you don’t—to insure a harmonious retreat. First and foremost, you will find it impossible to speak to anyone but me or one in my service. Should you attempt to write something, you will find your hand frozen, unable to do it. It would make little difference, anyway. Everyone knows that you are paralyzed and couldn’t write and so would doubt the notes, but it is better to be safe than sorry. Should you think about trying to leave the island, I would think again. First, if we discover it and stop you, you will pay a dear price. Second, even if you somehow evaded everything and made it—and I remind you that you never did learn how to swim—the paralysis of your voluntary actions would not only return, it would be total. You would become a human vegetable, unable to communicate in any way, and your paralysis would last the rest of your life unless I, personally, were to lift it.”

That was sobering. She was still relishing the very fact that she could feel her whole self once more. God help her, she didn’t know if she could give up that freedom again willingly. Damn them!

“Finally, we can’t have you just walking into town or the Lodge. Too many messy questions. Stretch out your arm, now that you can, and watch.”

She did as instructed, not daring to guess at what he planned to do. There was silence for a moment, as if he were concentrating, and then a dark arm reached out and actually touched hers, although she tried to shrink away. It felt cold as ice and a certain energy seemed to flow from him along her skin. As it did, with a mild, tingling sensation, she saw her arm, lightly tanned, turn much darker. She felt the sensation flow from the arm to all parts of her body, even her hair.

“Not much of a change,” he told her, “but now your skin is a deep tan and your eyes brown and your short, fluffy light brown hair is long, straight, and black as night. Mute and like this, no one will recognize you, no one will guess or believe even if they note the physical resemblance, yet it can be reversed as easily as it was done in case we need to produce you. And we will make one last adjustment.”

He gestured with his hand, and the nightgown which she wore was violently jerked from her body with a ripping sound. It flew across the room and struck the wall, where it collapsed in a heap. She had always worn a bra, not only for some control and appearance but to prevent chafing and other problems. Now the bra snapped in the back like a rubber band stretched too tight, and the entire thing flew to the same wall and landed in the same place as the gown. Before she could feel acutely embarrassed, though, the adult-style diaper, which she’d always had to wear because of her lack of bowel control, snapped and followed the rest, leaving her stark naked in the room.

She reached in her embarrassment for the sheet on the bed, musty as it was, to hold it up in front of her, but the moment it was up, it, too, was snatched away.

“It is an elemental force, a prankster, but it is effective. You will wear no clothing. None. Any that you attempt will flee from you. Force it on and it will burn like fire until you remove it. Feel free to go anywhere you like, but if you go into civilized territory you will discover that to them you are an illiterate mute with a paranoid fear of any clothing. Your choice is clear. The freedom of living here, and in the woods, or being locked up in an asylum until we need you, as any sane human being would do for one such as you. You wouldn’t like the asylum we would use.”

“You bastard!” she snarled, and spat at him.

He laughed with the confidence that power brings. “I am being kind to you. Do not test my patience or my kindness. It won’t be so bad. In the cabinets you will find a small camper stove with sufficient fuel to cook things one at a time if you like. I realize you’ve had no real experience cooking, but you might wish to boil water or something. Fruits, vegetables, breads, cold cuts, canned foods, and the like will be regularly provided, and feel free, at night, to supplement with the fruits of the Institute orchards—coconuts, bananas, whatever. There is a well about four meters in back of the house and to the side. It works and the water is good. For bathing, there is a small creek and waterfall due south, about ninety meters or so down and toward the sea. The water is warm and there is a small pool formed at the bottom if you wish to bathe rather than shower. Please be careful, though. It runs due west of another forty meters and then goes over the cliffs to the sea in a sheer drop.”

“It would serve you right if that happened!” she taunted, it being the only weapon she had.

“Your firm beliefs will prevent suicide, and forces you will never see will check on you from time to time to help prevent accidents. I believe that is it. I must go now. Oh—no, one more thing. Be cautious and fearful of men, for some have uncontrollable urges. We care not about women, but should you be deflowered by a man your usefulness to us is over. The price of such an act, willing or not, is your mind, for it will drive you mad, yet you will then become a willing slave to our own interests. You can’t win. You may as well relax and accept your fate; leave the fight to others.”

“Wait!” she called out to him. “Why keep me alive at all? Am I some sort of virgin sacrifice?’’

He paused and considered his words. “You will not be sacrificed. You are far more valuable alive than dead. Do not worry. In the end, greatness and freedom await you! But, I must go. Until later, adieu.” He turned and stared at the lantern, which immediately went dark.

The door did not open, but she knew he was gone. She could feel it, standing there in near total darkness. It was, in fact, too dark to search through and find anything, yet she could not simply go to sleep. No matter what had happened to her, she could move, she could feel her body and control it. She carefully felt her way across to the front wall, and then along it to the door. The bar was heavy, but she managed to lift it and move it out of the way, then reach down as she had dreamed of being able to do all these years and opened it, then stepped outside.

Although it was quite dark outside, there was far more light than inside the cabin and her eyes, coming from total darkness, had no trouble seeing. It was hot and humid, as always, and there was a mild breeze that caressed her body and made it tingle. For all the trouble she was in, there was something exciting, even erotic, about the situation that she couldn’t fight down. She decided she would make use of what night was left, since she couldn’t imagine wandering long in daylight—not like this.

Oddly, though, the dreams—no, not dreams, for she now knew they were real—had prepared her to an extent for this. They had planned it from the start, it was clear. She felt confident moving around in the dark and felt no fear of the woods, and she knew she wouldn’t hesitate to climb high if need be.

She thought suddenly of Greg, and tears welled up inside her. Poor Greg. She had loved him, and would love him, but she could not help him. Who could fight such a power as this unless it was with the grace of God?

She knelt down and said prayers for his soul, putting them far ahead of prayers for her own sake. It was the least she could do.

There was only one window of any size in the little church, a stained glass affair in a crescent shape just over the door. It suddenly shattered with a crash despite the muffled sounds.

“Red! Watch it! Move back towards the altar!” MacDonald cried, and the constable scrambled up and over the pews and out of the aisle, almost beating the young man to the pulpit.

They turned back to the gaping hole where the window had been and, in spite of the darkness, saw a shape come through. At first it reminded MacDonald of a snake, but then he realized that it was an arm—a massive arm that ended in a huge, clawed hand. It was almost too big for the opening, and wasn’t nearly long enough, but it did reach the back few rows and began groping, then ripping up pews and tossing them every which way like so many match sticks in the wind.

“Jesus Christ!” the old constable swore, hardly conscious of how it sounded from the altar of a church. “You sure can see that bastard now! What in the bloody hell is that thing?”

They ducked as a random pew flew and crashed into the rear wall just behind them.

“I don’t know, Red, but I’ll bet you one or more of those big dishes up on the hill are pointed right at us right now.”

“You mean the thing’s being broadcast here?”

“Nothing else makes sense,” he responded, when the crash and din allowed. “Somebody discovered one hell of a weapon up there and they’re using the computer to do their dirty work.”

“Then why in hell don’t he just zap you and be done with it? Them things got to be able to cover anyplace on the island!”

“Partly because he’s got a weird mind, and partly because, having finished off Sir Robert this way, he’s got to be consistent to keep everybody going crazy.”

The great arm withdrew, but the pounding did not resume. The respite allowed them a few moments to catch their breath, although they could hear the creature outside and knew that it was still there, trying in its apparently limited way to figure a different way in.

Greg looked around at the chapel, which was in shambles but still intact, and sighed. “They sure knew how to build ’em in the old days, Red. Thank God!”

The constable nodded. “You said, ‘he.’ You know who’s behind all this, then?”

“Yeah, I know, but I can’t prove a damned thing. That’s the hell of it.” He chuckled and hefted the briefcase, which he’d carried through all of the flight and the ordeal in the church as if it were attached to him. “I got it tonight, which is why they made for me. In one way it’s a good sign, since this is so stupid. He must know I can’t pin a thing on him, and he’s got all the cards up there. He panics too easily for his own good. If we’re lucky, that’ll be his undoing.”

“Who is it, lad?”

“Uh-uh. He probably doesn’t know you’re involved, Red, and if you get out of this you’ll be a witness to the monster. If you know, you’ll try something and get yourself splattered or worse.”

“I want t’know the name of the slimy bastard who’s doing this, boy! I don’t take kindly to it!”

“Relax. Let others take care of it. You got a family here, Red. They’re not gonna let you off the island, and there’s no way you could get away with your wife and youngest.”

The older man sighed, knowing it was true enough. “So how do you plan to get out of here? They got the damn computer, boy! Even if you get out, they can stick you on the most wanted list of fifty nations as the man who murdered the Queen and stole the Crown Jewels, and the stupid shits in every law enforcement body in the world will shoot first and ask questions later.”

He nodded. “I know. One step at a time, Red. John Tussey still have that little sailboat of his over at the fishing pier?”

“Yeah, but it’s beached and tied down ’cause of the surf.”

“I’ll get it in quick enough if I have to carry it out beyond the breakwater on my back. I have to get off, though, that’s for sure. Ross is one of those types who’d cheerfully obey a shoot-first order if he had written instructions in hand, particularly if it was me.”

“That’s right enough. But—say! Listen!”

The air was suddenly alive with sound. A stiff sea breeze blew through the broken window and cracked walls and loosened joints, whistling as it did so. The nearby surf crashed with regularity in the distance, and they didn’t have to shout any more. The awful sound-deadening effect was gone, and through the broken window they could see what might be the first light of dawn.

Red looked at MacDonald. “Gone? Or a trick?”

“I don’t know. Wait a couple of minutes, though, just to make sure. You might tell me why the night shuttle never came down and why you were riding up on horseback.”

“The first was the cause of the second, of course. I didn’t like it when Harry never showed, so I checked and found that none of the damned carts they left would start. Nothin’ to do but get one of the horses and go on up and find out. I was on my way when I ran into you.”

“Uh huh. Bet those carts work now. Hang on. I’m going forward. You keep a look at that window just in case.”

He approached slowly, tensely, stepping over debris and ready at any cause to dash back to the altar, but he finally reached the door. Gingerly, he pushed it open with a foot, half expecting something to grab it and pull him out to his death, but nothing happened. He cautiously peered out and saw, looking up the mountain, that all of the orange guide lights were illuminated.

Red was suddenly behind him, carryng a candlestick. Cautiously, they stepped out into the churchyard and beheld the flip side of their own ordeal. The exterior looked in bad shape, with parts of masonry fallen away and roofing tiles all over the place. The walk to the church was paved, and the area immediately around was cinder, so there weren’t any tracks as such to see, but almost none of the cinder remainded.

There was blood all over, and part of horse scattered this way and that, some in clumps that could not be recognized. The head, however, they spotted over in the cemetery.

“Stuck it right on Sir Robert’s grave, the bastard,” Red muttered. “Come on. Let’s get you away before they realize they failed and send down a few boys with guns.”

Although it was crudely chocked on the beach, the two men had no trouble getting the small sailboat into the water, although it took some effort and determination to get it far enough out to keep it from being immediately taken back in. Red was invaluable; MacDonald doubted that he could have managed it alone. Now, though, with it bobbing and under control, it was time for Red to leave. The sun was now up, and back in the village there could be seen lights in some of the windows and there could be heard the sounds of many people arising to the new day.

Red looked back uncertainly. “What’ll I tell ’em, Greg?”

“Just tell it exactly like it was. Don’t leave anything out. If anything, it’ll confirm what they think I know. Answer all their questions, submit to all their tests, even lie detector or drugs. And turn it over to them. Tell ’em it’s too big for you.”

“And where’ll you head?”

“I’m not going to say that, Red. I’m not out of the woods yet, either. I’m going to be hunted today, I think, and the odds are even they’ll find me. If I don’t—well, just hang loose. I’ll be back.”

“You’re crazy if you come, lad, just as I’m crazy to stay, but you’d better get goin’ before all bloody hell breaks loose.” He sat in the boat, soaked through, and stuck out his hand. “God protect you, Mac, as He did last night.”

“You too, Red,” he responded, taking the hand and clasping it warmly.

With that, Red went over the side and with little effort made it back to the beach. MacDonald hoisted sail and made for the open sea as fast as he could, praying for a stiff wind in the right direction and good weather. Because of the direction of the breeze, he went up along the sheer cliffs on the west side of the island.

He hadn’t expected to get this far, and hadn’t thought beyond it, but now he realized what a hue and cry there would be and just what a search would be on—and it was going to be a clear, sunny day. There were plenty of islands to hide out on for a few hours and catch some sleep while keeping the small boat under some cover, but he knew they’d think of that.

But he’d studied this island in minute detail when he’d challenged and beaten their old security system. Some things he hadn’t included in his reports or plans, and his mind raced now. There were a few jagged inlets on this side, with sheer walls and good cover from both landforms and brush. He picked the second one he came to, and managed to anchor the small boat and cover it with brush and bushes under a rocky outcrop. He settled down then, on board, using the seat for a pillow, and tried to relax.

Let them search all the nearby islands. He’d remain here, right under their noses, until dark. Then he’d make his run. When you’ve cheated a damned monster, Ross and his ilk didn’t seem nearly so threatening.