Commander Diocullis awoke in his quarters. He stuffed his hands under the small pillow and stared up at the flat gray ceiling. Images of asphyxiating infants still crowded his mind. He started working over what Baine had shown him, but there wasn't enough of the right information amid the welter he had been provided. No operant variable, no cause, just the results. Dio struggled to bring forward a sense of analytical dispassion; the better to sift through the mountain of factoids, but it was hard when his mind knew that lives were flickering out, with every tick of the clock.

A sense of duty tugged at Michael's soul. Even as a boy, he had taken it upon himself to shield others, to intercede. The thought stirred childhood memories.

***

The fresh paint on the cinder block was not yet completely dry. Even though St. Helen's Academy was brand new, the enrollment quota had already been reached. Only his pastor's glowing recommendation had squeaked him in. Such thoughts did not enter Dio's 11 year old mind. He was just happy to be off the Home-Education system, and out every day mixing with 'real' kids in a 'real' school.

Arms pumping, Dio squinted at the ball, batting it forward as he ran. He flicked his eyes up, taking in the two boys playing forward defense. The opposing forwards were playing zone defense, so he wasn't worried about the one cross-field, but on his right, Jon Bissak was trying to get in position to cut him off. Dio jogged right, trying to stay out of the other boy's zone.

Several kids shouted at him by name as he drove his way toward the hoop. Surprisingly, the other kid playing forward jumped his zone, and tore off after Dio, who backed up, spun and fired the ball to his team mate who paced him across the court. Denny, his teammate, almost missed the pass, not expecting one of the star players to give the ball up. Most would have hogged it, even though better positioned players were around.

Dio had watched Denny play in two other games. The boy was good on the catch. He could run a ball like crazy, but with an extreme forward dribble that made for an easy steal, so he wasn't too successful in the game. Dio had seen him panic twice before, losing the ball to guards as he looked about for a better shooter to pass to. Needless to say, he wasn't high in the picks.

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Dio ran directly forward, passing the guards, and raced into the short zone just making it before Denny. The kid's panic attack began, he saw Dio, and pulled his elbows in for a quick pass.

Andy, a tall team-mate, pounded up center and tried to intercept Denny's pass. Dio wasn't certain whether Andy was just stupidly trying to grandstand, or if he felt Denny was going to ditch the ball, and was trying for a recovery. Either way, Andy botched the intercept, and the ball bounced off toward the back splash pylon. Andy, trying to turn away from the hit, spun and fell.

The ball went out of bounds and whistles blew. The players started to take their places for the serve. Andy got up and pushed Denny, who fell.

Nothing was said, possession passed, and the ball was pounded down court.

Andy was just behind Denny. As both broke to follow, Andy leaped around the smaller boy and shouldered him, hard. Dio dodged his away cross court, up behind Andy and pushed him into the folding chairs along the court sides.

"Just you don't try that again, Andy! Leave Denny alone. So you screwed up a pass. Don't take it out on Denny."

Andy swung, and Dio swatted at the boy's arm, slamming Andy back into the chairs.

Later, in Sister Margarita's office, Dio was sanctioned for a week, but Andy was out of sports for the rest of the season ... until his forearm knit.

***

Dio had matured in his methods, but his ideals and hatred of might masquerading as right had never changed and it was those values that had driven him to the military arm of the church. Of course, his natural skill for tactics, not a lust for morality defined his role in the military.

Dio pulled his hands out from under the pillow. Somewhere in the back of his mind, a shadow crept. Everywhere the shadow touched, things became shadows. Not covered by them, but became them. The image overwhelmed him.

Help me to stop this, he prayed.

Unable to rest, Dio rolled out, feet slamming hard on the unyielding tile.

Cold, he thought.

Stalking into the small receiving room adjoining the bedroom of the officer's bivouac, he sat and glared at the phone. Six hours. Maybe the research group on Alcomer had some reports on file by now. At least it was something to do.