The fogbank drifted forward like an irresistible tide, gleaming softly, silver and gray in the moonlight. A tsunami wall, made from mist and mystery instead of the irresistible force of millions of cubic tons of water.

To the sentries posed aboard the Winters Gale—a container ship registered out of France—it prowled toward them like a herald of doom. So unusual was the phenomenon on these waters, that some rushed below to get camcorders, cameras, or any other recording device they could lay their hands on. And then for the next thirty minutes, they watched silently, mute observers to the veil crawling ominously past them and on toward the Strait of Hormuz.

Soon, interest waned among the crew, and the swirling brume was left to its own devices. An entry was made in the log; other shipping entering the Gulf of Oman from the Red Sea was alerted to the possible dangers for smaller vessels; and business went on as usual.

Or so it seemed.

Ensconced deep within that miasma was a group of people on a very special mission. Most of them were clustered aboard a brand new, UK registered motor launch. For the moment, its powerful engines were idle, and the craft drifted gently along, just another piece of flotsam being taken where the current willed.

Had anyone had been in a position to measure the composition of the cloud, they would have noted something remarkable. For no matter where that boat drifted, the mist followed. In fact, it remained most concentrated around the motor launch itself, as if determined to conceal its existence from the outside world.

But that wasn’t really surprising, as that’s exactly what the fogbank was designed to do! And the person responsible for its existence—sixteen-year-old Assad Ali Omar—was determined to keep things that way.

The boy’s father, Ali Omar Biixi, said, “How are you managing, Son? Are you sure you don’t need to rest?”

“I’m okay for the moment,” Assad replied, “though I may take a break soon. I don’t want to wreck myself before the main phase of our mission gets underway.”

Checking the radar, Ali noted only a handful of ships within a ten mile radius of their position. Acceding to their circumstances, he advised, “If I was you, I’d ease off a little bit. You’ve been generating our curtain for over an hour now. We’re running silent and without lights anyway. If anyone gets too close I’ll give you a heads-up so you can thicken the stew around us. Okay?”

“Okay, Father.”

Nodding in satisfaction, Ali returned his attention to the navigational display and tried to keep himself occupied.

His crew was handpicked and reliable. They were all veteran sailors, and could be trusted to remain alert. And if things got hairy, Ali knew he could depend on them to keep their heads while they got the hell out of there. Nobody was interested in playing the hero.

But the waiting? That was unbearable.

For what must have been the twentieth time in the space of a few minutes, he fingered the mobile scroll phone in his pocket. C’mon. Call us, damn you! Let’s get this done so we can get on with our lives again.

Of course, his plea went unanswered. And soon, the gentle lapping of the waves against the hull began to rock everyone into a waking sleep.

*

Grand Master Hiro Nagasaki was just as nervous as everybody else as the gathered throng waited for the clock to tick down to thirty-two hundred hours.

Whether that was due to the volume of VIPs in attendance, or the fact he’d let an outsider influence the heart of the edifice it was his responsibility to care for, Esther didn’t know. Either way, he was unable to remain still and chitchat for long, preferring instead to paraded stiffly round the main engineering deck, inspecting—and then re-inspecting—the readouts from all thirteen primary stations.

Over the past few days, his team had been hard at work, busily incorporating Esther’s suggestions into the reactor’s relay injection ports. A move that would improve power distribution by a stunning thirty-three percent. Now the moment had arrived, they were all keen to begin the startup sequence that would bring the star base fully online.

It had been agony for Esther.

She was so close to the crystal shard, she was almost salivating.

What made it worse was the fact she couldn’t just relax and reach out to taste the harmonic vibrations the damned thing was giving off. If she dared indulge herself—as everyone else was doing—the relic would recognize her signature and flare in response, announcing her true identity to the whole world.

And she didn’t want it to flare out . . . well, not just yet.

Her gaze kept straying to the countdown. Twenty minutes to go. Just twenty more minutes! Then they’ll discover what my little suggestions can really do.

*

Angelika Papadakos could hardly contain her excitement.

The Council’s rehashed agenda was coming together rather nicely, and the latest twist was an absolute gem she was still trying to get her head around. If it worked, it would boost their designs for future expansion, while weakening the viability of those few companies still powerful enough to be classed as opposition.

Even better, Angelika herself would be expected to play an increasingly important role in an ever flowering empire.

However, she couldn’t afford to let her feelings distract her. She was here to do a job, and an essential part of that entailed her remaining awake and alert.

Surveying her surroundings, she found the space within the orbital firing platform to be remarkably well proportioned. I suppose they planned it this way to allow free access for maintenance crews and the installation of regular upgrades. I know from experience. You can’t always rely on automated AI solutions for everything.

She smiled. Still, I bet they never dreamed anyone would put the room to this use . . . Even if it is one of our own ghost models!

Angelika was careful not to touch a thing. Hovering scant inches off the deck, she adjusted the scanners with her telekinesis and zoomed in on the western coast of the USA. With consummate skill, she then jiggled with the focus until the mountainous region surrounding the greater Los Angeles area came into view. Refining the beam even further, she finally concentrated on the Earth’s mantle in several different areas.

The result of her earlier work was a pleasure to behold.

Thanks to the hypersonic wave emitters, tectonic stresses had increased a thousandfold in the vicinity of each asperity. Fortunately, the crystal fragments continued to absorb the modular stresses generated by those emanations at a corresponding rate, effectively masking the deadly buildup.

Nevertheless, her instruments indicated that once she sent the command cipher to drop the temporal sheath around each cylinder, the outcome would be devastating.

The release of ultra-amplified seismic potential—combined with the simultaneous detonation of the antimatter mines—would create huge voids in the Earth’s crust. And once the psitronic crystals had magnified the resultant blasts, the spine of the San Gabriel Mountains would be shattered, dropping a huge segment of the North American lithosphere onto the much more fragile Pacific Plate.

If their calculations were correct, a region that included Pasadena and San Fernando to the northeast; Santa Monica and North Ridge to the northwest; Long Beach; and all the way down to Palos Verdes and Garden Grove in the south, would be lost to the sea.

It would be glorious!

No motive equals no warning. And no warning means they won’t have time to prepare a response. There’s no way they’ll be able to prevent a catastrophe.

Checking her instruments one last time, Angelika shivered with delight. C’mon Yeung! Send me the damn signal. Let’s get this show on the road!

*

As stealthily as he could, Simon Cooper crept toward his prey.

Leaving nothing to chance, he remained heavily shielded, and completely invisible. Only yards from his target, he could almost taste the sweetness of his impending victory. Gotcha, you little bastard!

Joshua Drake was stretched out upon a thin insulate strip. Using his arms as a pillow, he had a survival blanket wrapped tightly around his slight form, and for the first time in days, he was actually napping while his food roasted on a hastily contrived but sturdy spit.

Now he was closer, Simon could see some sort of adhesive patch attached to the boy’s forehead. He didn’t know what it was exactly, but guessed it to be some kind of recording or measuring device to ensure the child didn’t cheat by employing his abilities.

Not that there’d been the slightest hint of that. Mummy’s darling angel!

Inching forward, the hiker that had been a part of Simon Cooper’s extended persona bestowed a gruff acknowledgement of the youngster’s achievements. Joshua was an accomplished hunter and survivalist. Not only had he managed to navigate the dense jungle with consummate ease, but he’d also gotten a healthy fire going, in spite of the dank, humid conditions so prevalent throughout the region.

Pity he’ll never get the opportunity to enjoy his kill. Law of the jungle and all that. Quite poignant really. . .

Simon came to a stop, his almost victory now only a few paces from him.

Then the damned creepy feeling returned with a vengeance.

Not daring to move, Simon concentrated on diffusing his aura to dissipate any signal he might inadvertently be emitting. It would slow him down fractionally, but if he delivered an adequately powerful psychic shock the moment he blew the drone, Guardian sensors might not realize what had happened. In the confusion, they may even think the energy spike was an esoteric burst from their prodigy as he died in a tragic accident. Which won’t be far from the truth. I’ll just break his neck and make it look like he fell from one of the branches.

Simon was about to resume his advance, when Joshua declared, “I know you’re there. So you might as well stop hiding and come out.”

What the fuck?

Adopting a musical lilt, Joshua teased, “Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

You aggravating little . . . Enraged, Simon began to coalesce.

“String! You do realize you’re going to. . .” The words choked off in Joshua’s craw.

A mighty roar ripped through the undergrowth to Simon’s right. Its resonance caused the hairs on the back of his neck to rise instantly. Before he could turn, some form of extrasensory banshee tore through his mind, rooting him to the spot. Disoriented, Simon was smashed to the floor by the crushing impact of a five hundred pound sledgehammer made from sinew and flesh. The blur of dappled markings dominated his sight as he hit the ground and instinctively rolled. It was only the fact that his atoms had not fully merged again, that saved him.

Scrabbling to his feet, Simon was confronted by a prehistoric nightmare.

A huge saber-toothed predator bore down on him, blocking the child from sight. The massive muscles of its chest and forelegs rippled with every movement. A deep thud echoed off into the bushes in response to each measured step. Bristling with rage, it made no attempt to employ its uncanny stealth any more. A gaze that burned like acid bore into him, its impact a tangible kick to the guts.

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The creature’s upper lip curled back as it growled, revealing a further row of razored teeth, each bigger than his own hand. A second telepathic howl threatened to drive Simon to his knees.

In slow-motion, the beast flattened its ears and hunched down. Its hind quarters started to tremble as it gathered the potential to spring the intervening gap.

For the first time, Simon was able to unclog his wits sufficiently to comprehend Joshua Drake was shouting. “No, String! Away!”

St . . . ing n . . . you ar . . .!

Oddly enough, he could barely hear the boy’s echoing psychic plea.

Strange. Are we being scanned?

Pained frustration crossed Joshua Drake’s face. Hesitating, he ripped the pad from his head. Too late, his mind bellowed: STRING, I SAID NO!

Snarling with a fury that would have welded lesser beings in place, the mountainous feline launched itself forward. Daggerlike talons arced toward Simon’s throat.

But Simon wasn’t a lesser being.

He was of the Fallen.

As the Veran sent him sprawling to the leaf-strewn carpet once more, Simon delivered a devastating reflex surge of uncontrolled energy. A sizzling snap crackled through the air and the breath was snatched from his lungs.

He lay there, dazed for a moment, before recognizing the smell of burnt flesh and mewling whimpers of pain.

STRING!

The thought was loud and clear this time. Its tone laced with barely contained passion.

“Oh no! String! Not you . . . please, not you!” the boy’s physical voice pleaded, “Why didn’t you listen?”

Simon shook his sensibilities clear and looked up.

Across the burnt and blackened body of the beast, his gaze met that of the human child. A child barely thirteen years of age. A thirteen year old whose grief-marred visage gradually set into a mask of pure hatred. His pupils expanded into two wells of darkest pitch. Something stirred in the darkness.

Horrified, Simon scrambled backward. By all that’s unholy!

Joshua surged to his feet, hands raised, fingers hooked into claws. Power—unbridled and unrestrained—answered his call, flooding into his body from the very fiber of the causational matter strands about them.

Simon hastened to summon his transfiguration program as death manifested in the ether about him.

He only just made it.

Even so, it cost him.

A swirling vortex of single-minded loathing squeezed in on him from all side and commenced tearing what remained of his physical form to pieces. Thinking his natural glory would bring some respite, Simon was appalled to discover the terrible shredding sensation continued unabated.

He had no choice.

Beaming the self destruct sequence toward his Mimic Drone, Simon initiated an emergency teleport and fled the scene.

Behind him, a final scream rang out into the heavens.

NOOOOOO!

*

Pea souper!

Ali had never heard the term before, but he liked it. It conveyed a certain impression that really summed up what Assad’s fogbank was all about.

Thirty minutes ago, a British tanker had sailed majestically by. As most modern shipping did nowadays, it relied on its instruments to navigate safely. The pirates’ much smaller craft had been tossed about like a cork. But, because Ali’s crew was professional to the last man, they had managed to maintain a complete silence and the larger vessel passed without even realizing the White Sails were there.

It had been alarming to watch the two inch thick, steel plated hull steam by and listen to the rhythmic thrum of her submerged rotors. However, thanks to the way sound travels over water, it was calm enough for Ali to be able to hear that phrase, uttered by an opposing crewmember who was obviously a native of London. . .

“. . .Bloody hell, Mike! It’s a real pea souper out there. Any thicker and we’d have to use an icebreaker to carve our way through. . .”

Whoever Mike was, he had laughed at the comment. But all too soon, both he and his shipmates had faded away into the night, unaware of the brief respite they had provided for those strangers concealed in the gloom only yards below them.

The lull didn’t last for long.

They were only eight miles offshore from Yemen, and almost upon their goal. This close to the Bab-el-Mandeb Strait, traffic on the commercial lanes was much heavier and the White Sails had to maintain a high level of concentration to ensure they wouldn’t get run down by the much larger vessels now surrounding them.

Then—through an unexpected gap in the mist—their objective appeared, only fifty yards ahead: the Savage Wind, a nuclear container ship out of Tokyo, which looked to be at anchor after clearing the straits.

Excellent! Ali thought. This will make our task so much easier. What a stroke of luck.

Gathering his men in a tight formation around him, he summarized the details of their plan one last time. “We are now approaching the target under cover of darkness and Assad’s ability. Remember, while blanketed by his shadow, their radar, radios, and other navigational aids will be rendered useless. Sadly, we are still vulnerable to an actual collision, so we need to remain alert and move swiftly.

“Jagpal, prepare each appliance carefully. I want them up on deck by the time we pull alongside. Samuel, hand out the nine millimeters and AK47s. Don’t forget! As per our instructions, we are to use silenced pistols to remove any obstacles in our way. The only time we will revert to the machineguns is if we are discovered and have to shoot our way out.

“Team one, headed by myself, will head down to the cargo hold. Team two, under Jagpal, will keep the way clear for a rapid exit. If we proceed with caution, we should get in, out and away without incident. They’ll never know we were here. However . . . Teman? If you do hear fighting, put a rocket through her starboard side toward the bow. That will keep them nicely occupied down at the other end while we jump ship and make for the north coast.

“Questions?”

There were none.

Ali excused himself and sent a brief text message to Sylvester, who was standing by in a fast skiff at the very edge of the fogbank. Once completed, he joined the others and made ready.

It only took a few minutes to close the distance, and soon, they were lowering tires over the side and preparing to board.

An eerie silence descended. To Ali, it felt as if the sea had chosen to inhale and hold its breath. Scanning the access points, he spotted an ungated walkway and loading balcony only twenty feet above them. That will do!

He turned to Samuel, and whispered, “Rubber tools only!”

Nodding, Samuel picked up a length of knotted rope with a triple-headed grapnel arrangement on the end, and moved onto the forward deck. After judging the distance, he played out a length of line. He then commenced swinging the weighted end back and forth, gently at first and then with greater vigor. Once he had sufficient momentum, he stepped forward and heaved the fluke into the air. It sailed over the edge of the balcony, and a dull thud—as loud as thunder in their ears—echoed out into the night.

Everyone went still.

By the time a few minutes had passed without any form of challenge or other response, it was clear they had not been detected.

Pulling the lead taunt, Samuel hefted additional loops over both his shoulders and made room to leap up. Barefoot, he swiftly climbed the rope and disappeared over the ledge. Moments later, three further lines were dropped.

One by one, both teams scrambled onto the ship. Once the last man was aboard, two nylon nets were lowered back down onto the yacht. The remaining White Sails made haste to wrap the nuclear devices inside several layers of hessian sacking, whereupon they were placed within the nets and hauled up onto the balcony.

Pausing only to get their bearings, team two made their way forward and fanned out across the deck. Taking up their positions, they melted into the shadows, went still and ceased to exist.

Team one gathered around their bundles and began carrying them toward the Above Deck Machine Room. Situated at the stern, this compartment provided a separate control center away from the main bridge. Although most of it was situated down below—sandwiched between the equipment rooms and main engineering—Ali knew the area would provide access to the service elevator. Something they would need to facilitate the speedy completion of their task.

So far, they’d been aboard for less than five minutes and hadn’t seen anyone. While a little odd, Ali wasn’t complaining. Their task was fraught with enough danger as it was. And with Assad in tow, he was grateful for the lucky streak they were enjoying.

Even so, the further they descended into the bowels of the vessel, the more things didn’t add up. A nuclear container ship would usually be very well guarded. Crewmembers would normally be patrolling about everywhere, no matter the time of day or night.

But this place was a floating ghost town!

Ali radioed through to Jagpal on the upper deck. He frowned to discover nobody on team two had witnessed any sign of life either. Just as unsettling was the fact that Jagpal had kept observations on the pilot house, radio room, and battery room with binoculars. And they seemed to be deserted as well! I don’t like this. The sooner we dump these damned things and get out of here, the safer I’ll feel.

Eventually, after fifteen minutes of sweat, toil, and tension, Ali arrived outside the main cargo doors. Ominously, they were unlocked.

The first to peep inside, Samuel gasped. “Sage, take a look at this!”

Pushing him aside, Ali stepped through.

Here was no storage area crammed full of decommissioned nuclear apparatus and fuel rods. Instead, Ali found himself gawping at a hold so empty, it echoed to the sounds of their whispers and wary footfalls.

Silent alarms bells sounded in his head.

Signaling to his men, Ali pointed out two locations, and said, “Position the devices there and . . . there. Arm them and let’s get out of here.”

Next, he lifted the radio to his lips, and hissed, “Jagpal? Get your team moving. We’re leaving . . . now!

“Teman? We’re on the way. Have the boat ready to go, and tell Sylvester to start making his way to the secondary rendezvous point. Oh, and Teman . . . I want at least three rocket launchers primed and ready for use, for when we get back onboard.”

As quietly as possible, Ali and his men began to run.

That’s when the power went out!

*

Esther was too stunned to move.

The Solaris1 main alert klaxon had just tripped, and for a second, everyone stared at each other in mute astonishment.

At first, Esther assumed her calculations must have been faulty. Without thinking, she started to scan the modified core where the new Prime Synthesis Reactor was situated. As she did so, some of the assembled Guardians began teleporting away, presumably to man their emergency stations. Others hurried toward adjacent terminals.

Checking the matrix, Esther could see the merging of arcane energies appeared to be stable and well within acceptable parameters. Puzzled, she turned to Grand Master Nagasaki, and said, “Everything is as it should be. Is this supposed . . .?”

A fleeting thought pattern—hot with panic— seared across her perceptions: Get us out of here!

Simon? What the hell?

She glanced at the clock: You’re five minutes too soon! What are . . .?

Fuck the timing. Move or die!

Without a second thought, Esther reacted, unleashing a sizzling halo of energy that sent everyone near her crashing to the floor. Taken by surprise, Guardians and civilian technicians alike writhed in agony, struggling to counter the effects of the neural charge burning its way along their nervous systems.

She didn’t wait to see how many people she had managed to incapacitate. Spotting the nearest Engineering Command Terminal, she reached out and blended to it.

Designed to serve as a second bridge in the event of a disaster, the panel allowed override access to all principal star base functions. Meshing with that system, Esther entered the codes she had obtained from Jose Calderon prior to departure and ordered a purge of the new defense protocols.

A background hum lifted above the din and the entire grid began shutting down.

Esther took advantage of the ensuing confusion by activating the hyper-jump gate. I think it’s time I wasn’t here. But first. . .

Dropping her shields, she leaped into the air, summoning her transcension program as she went. For good measure, she let fly with a pair of supercharged lightning bolts. One fried the primary computers, preventing the cancellation of her instructions. The second—aimed as it was at the main engine room viewport—pierced the triple layered polycarbonate resin with ease, shattering its integrity.

Already hard-pressed, the remaining Guardians and gifted scientists now had to contend with hurricane force winds and a rapidly depleting oxygen supply.

Esther couldn’t have cared less. By acting so openly, she had allowed the crystal fragment to recognize her presence. As it chimed to life, she synchronized her aura to its multifaceted exuberance, and triggered a discordant feedback loop. The gravity sheath holding the psitronic fragment in place blew out, sending an overload cascade coursing through the Quad-RAM interface link. Faster than the eye could follow, the shard flew from its mounting bracket and into her grasp, emitting a corresponding effusion of blinding light as it did so.

A further distracting flash signaled the activation of the back door she had positioned within the hyper-gate’s event horizon. Extending her astral sight, Esther watched in relief as Simon crossed the geodesic plane.

Reaching out to his dissipating essence, she yelled: Tell Yeung to go now! I’m just going to finish up here before. . .

YEUNG? A mighty voice imposed.

A chill coursed through Esther’s complexus. Shit! It’s her.

Too late, she jumped toward the still open pathway.

So swiftly that she didn’t comprehend what was happening at first, the escape window slammed shut in her face. Then the gate itself was barricaded off behind a fiercely potent wall of energy.

Esther turned to face her antagonist.

An angelic apparition flared into existence before her. At almost eleven feet in height, it exceeded Esther’s strength and spectral brilliance. More frighteningly, the psyche generating that majesty displayed an immutable determination that smacked of unwavering devotion to duty . . . and Esther’s death.

This was not an entity to face off against.

Psychic talons started squeezing in on Esther’s position.

Anatt Yasin’s aura darkened as she repeated herself: What was that you said about notifying Yeung?

Esther was desperate. Trying to distract her adversary while she thought of a solution, she teased: Such a pity! We could have been friends you know . . . in another life.

No form of recognition or response was forthcoming. Instead, Esther felt her defenses being tested. Then they started to crumble. Alarmed, she increased the strength of her shields, and phased in her integrated MiMi unit.

The bear trap intensity of Anatt Yasin’s grip eased for a split-second, before adapting and returning with a vengeance.

Slivers of pain exploded, deep within Esther’s soul. An icy dominion insinuated itself across her will. The Lord Marshal’s mind grated: I asked you where you were going. And why Yeung would be so interested?

Esther was shocked. Fuck, they’ve overcome the implant! But how is that pos. . .

Not wanting to hang around to find out, she reacted intuitively. Bringing the amplified power of the crystal to bear, she loosened the jaws of the trap for long enough to activate an escape pod. A heartbeat later, and the waiting pyramid layers sucked her into a bewildering morass of intertwined and replicated pathways and dead-end conduits.

She was free.

Goddamn it, that was close!

Checking the integrity of her tunnels, Esther relaxed a little. Not only were they guaranteed to confound any pursuit the Deputy Lord Marshal might decide to send after her, but, they were also laced with a number of booby-traps.

At this moment, Esther was fervently wishing her opponent would chase her.

It would be immensely gratifying to watch the bitch manifest on top of the photon sphere of a black hole. Talk about ‘surprise sweetie!’

Pity I’ve only got two ambushes like that.

Then she snorted as a profound thought crossed her mind.

Mind you, knowing her the way I do now . . . she’d probably chew the damned thing out and sentence it to fatigue duties for even daring to try!

Shame, I really did like her!