The hush that followed was absolute except for the ticks of water moving through the heating pipes.
Something about the word, its implications, and the uppercase H Jack sensed in the pronunciation, sent a sour chime echoing through his head.
Miller recovered first. "Bullshit!"
"Tradition has it that the Heir will bear the scars of the Otherness when he makes his presence known." The Oculus's black eyes fixed on Jack's. "Show them. Let them see your scars."
Jack shook his head. "I don't think so."
He'd been assessing his position during the blather. Six guys—all yenigeri, he guessed—plus the Oculus formed a rough circle around him. No, wait. One more hovering on the fringe: Zeklos. But he had a suitcase in his hand and didn't look engaged.
How to get out of here…
The Oculus looked like a powder puff, but the others… the way they moved, the way the two who had been holding his arms remained behind him, blocking his way to the door, spoke of training and professionalism.
He could try, but his chances of getting past them and to the street were slim. And then if the door was locked…
"I am not giving an order," the Oculus said, "I am making a request. Please show them your scars."
Jack couldn't read those onyx eyes, but he sensed something in the tone that said, It's important that you do this.
Well, why not? Probably feel good to get some cool air against the heat.
"Okay. Since you put it that way."
He pulled off the Jets jacket and threw it on the chair. He untucked and unbuttoned his flannel shirt but didn't take it off. Instead he pulled up his T-shirt.
Everyone stared. Someone gasped, someone said "Jeez," someone said "Holy shit."
Jack looked down and repressed a gasp of his own. He'd never seen the scars so red.
"Mister Tucci," the Oculus said. "Please dim the lights."
A dark-haired yeniceri walked to the wall next to the door and turned a rheostat. As the overhead lights faded, Jack watched his scars.
They began to glow a dull, ember red. What the—?
He heard Davis say, "I'll… be… damned."
Jack's sentiments exactly. It was this place. Had to be. But what here could cause this?
He heard a sound and looked up to see Zeklos's openmouthed stare. He'd dropped his suitcase.
"Thank you, Mister Tucci," the Oculus said. "That will be fine."
As the lights came up, the glow faded. But the burning remained as strong as before.
Jack pulled down his T-shirt. He went to button up his outer shirt but quit after trying the first button. Didn't want to put his shaking fingers on display.
"Somebody want to tell me what the hell is going on?"
The Oculus smiled. "I shall be more than happy to, Mister…?"
Jack hesitated, then figured what the hell.
"Jack… just Jack."
"Very well, Jack. We shall adjourn to my quarters and—"
"Just a goddamn minute," Miller said. "No way we're going to let him get you alone."
"I have nothing to fear from this man."
"I'm not so sure about that. He waltzes in here—"
Jack had had about enough of Miller. "You call that waltzing? Who taught you to dance—Godzilla?"
Someone snickered. Miller threw a glare past Jack's shoulder, then turned to the Oculus.
"It's our job to keep you safe. And until I'm convinced you're safe with a guy caught sneaking around Home carrying a couple of nines, I'm his Siamese twin."
"I agree," Davis said. "Dangerous enough to allow you alone with him, but Diana's up there too. Too risky."
"Very well. You both may come along if you wish."
Davis nodded. "We wish. But I want to know one thing first: What made those scars?"
The Oculus raised his right hand and raked the air before Jack's chest with his index, middle, and ring fingers.
"A rakosh."
"Oh, come on!" Davis said. "They don't exist."
The Oculus turned to him. "Common knowledge in the outside world says we don't either."
"But I thought they were just bogeymen the Twins made up to scare us when we were kids."
The Twins? The words rocked Jack.
"Oh, they are quite real. Or at least they were." Back to Jack. "Are you responsible for their disappearance?"
"All but one."
Another hush.
Finally the Oculus nodded. "I see. I've sensed one somewhere to the south. And only the man who killed them would know that one still lives." He turned and started walking away to Jack's left. "Come. We'll be more comfortable in my quarters."
"I've got a lot of questions," Jack said.
"And I have the answers… at least most of them."
Jack wanted to hear those answers—maybe he'd finally connected with someone who didn't speak in riddles and non sequiturs—so he followed.
Davis and Miller tagged along.
8
The Oculus's second-floor office was spacious but spare. Despite the open space, it had a mausoleum feel. Maybe because of the bricked-up windows. He seated himself behind a desk and pointed toward a padded swivel chair opposite.
Miller and Davis stationed themselves behind and to either side of Jack, standing like soldiers at parade rest. Jack's head and neck still ached, but his scars didn't burn so much. Were they getting used to the place?
The Oculus leaned back and steepled his fingers. His black eyes fixed on Jack.
"Now… Jack. Tell me all about yourself."
Yeah, that'll happen, he thought. Right after Steely Dan does a Christmas album.
"I'm just a guy who's been in the wrong place at the wrong time now and then. I thought you were going to answer my questions."
"Very well. Ask away."
Jack leaned forward. "Who the hell are you people?" He jerked his thumbs over his shoulders. "How did these guys know what was going down in that basement, and why did they care? What—?"
The Oculus smiled and held up his hands. "One at a time, please. Let's start at the beginning. I assume you know about the Conflict."
Jack sensed another uppercase letter. "You mean between the Ally and the Otherness?"
The Oculus nodded. "Good. Then I don't have to explain. It's so difficult to explain."
Jack could appreciate that. After all he'd been through, all he'd seen and experienced in the past year and a half, he still found it difficult to accept the idea of two incomprehensibly vast cosmic forces locked in an eternal war Out There. "Ally" and "Otherness" were human designations. No one knew their real names—maybe they had none.
The kicker was, rather than being the grand prize, humanity and its corner of reality were a two-dollar chip in a high-stakes game that spanned the multi-verse. And apparently chips changed hands now and then. Neither side could call itself a winner until it had all the chips. There might never be an overall winner, but the game went on. And on.
And although Earth wasn't a particularly valuable chip, the stakes here were high. Higher than high: the ultimate.
Right now humanity was in the Ally's pocket. The Ally was an indifferent landlord—did minimal upkeep but didn't charge rent. The Otherness, on the other hand, had renovation plans, inimical changes that would suck the life out of humanity and turn the planet into a surreal hell.
Or so Jack had been told.
"'How about explaining who you are," Jack said. "Start with whose side you're on."
The Oculus looked offended. "Why, the Ally's, of course. I am one of the Oculi."
Well, that cleared up a lot.
"Which is?"
"A network of men and women around the globe who act as conduits to whatever tiny part of itself the Ally has assigned to watching this particular possession. I am, so to speak, one of the Ally's eyes."
"You chose this?"
"No. It chose me. Oculi interbreed. When we die, our children take our places."
"How long has this been going
on?"
"We began a long, long time ago. Before recorded history. Back in the First Age."
Jack jerked his thumbs over his shoulders again. "Where do these yeniQeri fellas fit in?"
The word had the desired effect: shocked silence.
Nothing wrong with keeping them off balance wondering how much he knew.
Miller broke it. "The fuck is this guy?"
The Oculus glanced at him. "I told you: the Heir."
"Like hell. The Heir is going to be chosen from the yenigeri."
The Oculus remained impassive. "Apparently not." He returned his attention to Jack. "How do you know about the yeniceri?"
Might as well come clean.
"I overheard the word. I gather it's a form of janissary, correct?"
A nod. "Correct. From the Turks who institutionalized the practice."
Thank you, Abe.
"Which means these guys were kidnapped as kids and—"
''Not kidnapped. That was the Turkish corruption of the practice. The heritage of these men long precedes the Ottoman Empire; it stretches all the way back to the First Age. By tradition they are culled from the world's foundlings and orphans, children sentenced—by misfortune or malice or parental callousness—to brief, miserable lives."
"Brutish, nasty, and short."
"Precisely. They are plucked from that fate, given a home, and educated in a wide array of skills and knowledge, including the arts of combat. They graduate to become members of the Militia Vigilum."
Militia Vigilum… that explained the emvee. Sort of.
"You've got me on that one."
The Oculus's smile carried a touch of condescension. "The Militia Vigilum were ancient Rome's corps of firefighters. The designation is apt. As a group these yeniceri have had many names through time. The original, from the First Age, is unpronounceable, but a form of firefighting is one of their major duties, so they adopted Militia Vigilum. When the Otherness starts a fire, they douse it."
"And Cailin was a fire?"
"Was that the child's name? Yes, she was going to be sacrificed to the Otherness in a most painful fashion."
"How did you know that?" This had been bugging Jack since last night. "How did you know where she was?"
A small smile. "I am one of the Ally's eyes of this world… its vision. When it sees fit, it sends me visions—we call them Alarms. Sometimes they concern fires to be doused, and sometimes…" The smile faltered, then faded. "Sometimes of dangers that require preemptive action. Sometimes we are required to start fires."
The Oculus didn't look too happy about that part of the job.
"Preemptive how?"
"Figuratively speaking, it shows me a lit cigarette butt in a woods, then shows me a foot grinding it out."
"How about a little less figuratively?"
"It's not the sort of thing I wish to discuss. At least not yet. Let's talk of other matters."
"Okay, then. So those three cockroaches were worshipping the Otherness?"
"Not directly. The Otherness neither needs nor wants worshippers. No Otherness religion. It prefers to work sub rosa, through other religions."
"Okay, but what did those guys expect to get in return for slicing up Cailin?"
The Oculus shrugged. "Who can explain beliefs? Some people are sensi-tive to the Otherness and, wittingly or unwittingly, do its work. The results are satanic cults and fanatical offshoots of established religions."
"The Islamic nuts."
"Goat humpers," Miller said.
The Oculus shook his head. "Not just Muslims. Look at the Crusades. Religious zealots are fertile ground for the Otherness. Ironic, isn't it. The fanatics think they're serving their religion when all the while they're strengthening the means of its ultimate demise—pushing closer to the destruction of all religions. Nine-eleven provided a bonanza for the Otherness… the deaths, the pain, the terror… a nectar of chaos to feed it."
"Sounds like it's winning."
The Oculus nodded. "It is, I'm afraid. Here, in this Home building, lives a squad of the Ally's firefighters, part of its army on earth, protectors of the Oculi and warriors against the Otherness. But it's a shrinking army."
"Don't tell me you can't find any abandoned children."
"No, that's not the problem. There are fewer Oculi than ever as well."
"Which means what? The Ally's losing interest in this place?"
Part of Jack hoped that was true. Maybe he'd get his life back. But then another part of him quailed at the thought of humanity—and that meant Gia and Vicky and the baby—facing the Otherness alone.
The Oculus looked away. "Perhaps. I can't be sure, and I can't explain it, but that is what I sense."
"Maybe it's found a more interesting marble for its collection. Like Jupiter or Saturn. They're a lot prettier."
"No, only living worlds are prized. It's almost as if the Ally thinks we're dying here, and so it devotes less and less attention to us. Perhaps because it's seeing less and less activity."
Jack couldn't buy that.
"Humanity's bigger and more active than ever."
"I said seeing less activity. For the past three years someone has been systematically killing the Oculi, and many yeniceri along with them."
Now came Jack's turn at shocked silence.
This explained the yeniceri paranoia. And he had a pretty good idea who they feared.
"Is the person behind this—?"
The Oculus's hand shot up. "Do not name him. He knows when his name is spoken and seeks out the speaker."
Jack had heard this before. It struck him as Harry Potterish, but he respected the sources and so he abided.
"Okay. The one I'm thinking about… his name begins with R, am I right?"
The Oculus nodded. "It's safer to call him 'the Adversary.'"
"Where's the Sentinel while all this is happening?"
Jack had been told, but he wanted to see if these folks knew.
The Oculus gave his head a sad shake. "No one knows. He hasn't been heard from for almost half a millennium. No one has an explanation."
Jack had been told that someone named Glaeken used to be the Defender, or Sentinel as these folks called him, but he was just a man now—an old man with no powers. But Rasalom didn't know that. And Jack hoped he never found out, because he guessed that being the Heir meant he'd have to step into Glaeken's shoes should the need arise.
The Oculus said, "But how do you know of the Adversary?"
"We've met."
Jack heard sharp intakes of breath from the Oculus and Davis.
Miller said, "He's shitting us. Or if he isn't, it proves he's not the Heir. The Adversary would never let the Heir live."
Jack shook his head. "He says killing me would be doing me a favor… would spare me some misery to come."
Jack's stomach clenched and unclenched in the ensuing silence. He remembered Rasalom's words. How could he forget? They'd been branded on his memory.
Physical pain is mere sustenance. But a strong man slowly battered into despair and hopelessness… that is a delicacy. In your case, it might even approach ecstasy. I don't want to deprive myself of that.
He'd lost the last two surviving members of his family in the past month. Was that what Rasalom had meant by "slowly battered into despair and hopelessness"? Jack had been depressed afterward. But hopeless? Despairing? Not even close.
Jack didn't know how, but he was convinced that Rasalom had been behind those deaths. Maybe not directly responsible, but involved. The result was unrelenting rage—at Rasalom, and at the Otherness.
"What's he like?" Davis said.
"Just a guy. He doesn't wear a cape or have a vulture sitting on his shoulder. Pass him on the street and you'd never give him a second thought. Just an ordinary, everyday guy… until you look in his eyes and he lets you see what's going on in—"
"Daddy?"
Jack glanced to his right and saw a chunky preteen girl standing in the doorway. She had blond hair, blue eye
s, a pimple on her chin, and an open book in her hands.
""What is it, Diana?"
"Can you please help me with this algebra problem?"
The Oculus smiled. "What were you told about interrupting meetings?"
She looked down. "Sorry. But I'm just not getting it."
"It's hard at first, 1 know. Keep trying. I'll be in as soon as I finish here."
She smiled.'"Kay."
When she was gone the Oculus turned back to Jack.
"My daughter. I took her out of school when the Adversary began killing off the Oculi. Now I homeschool her." He smiled ruefully and shook his head. Jack couldn't read those eyes, but he sensed the man's love for his daughter. "I never realized what an awesome responsibility it was."
"What about her mother?"
"Dead. A fire in a Midwest Home. The Oculus there and her son—our son—were killed. I had taken Diana to raise, so she was spared. But our boy…" His mouth twitched. "He would have taken his mother's place had he lived, just as Diana will take mine, but…"
Jack wondered about that. Diana had normal blue human eyes. Would she develop her father's black eyes as she got older?
Whatever. Jack had had enough of this for now. His scars still itched but had stopped burning. He still had questions, but he felt too much like a prisoner here. He needed to walk free, get back to the real world, feel New York City pavement beneath his feet.
He stood.
"Okay, you help your daughter while I—"
The Oculus shot to his feet. "You're not leaving!"
"That's the plan."
"But there's so much I wish to know! About the Sentinel—"
"Wouldn't know him if I tripped over him." He turned toward the door. "Bye."
Miller stepped in front of him.
"Not so fast. You'll go when he says you can go."
Jack turned to the Oculus, checking Davis's position as he moved. Close enough for Jack to land a side kick to his knee hard enough to bring him down if it came to that. Miller wouldn't be so easy. Miller wouldn't be easy at all.
And of course, they were armed and he wasn't.
Better be cool.
"Am I a prisoner?"
"No, of course not, but—"
"Then I'd like to go."
"But you were led here for a purpose—to join us."
Right. He'd get on the sign-up line right behind Godot.
Hardbingers rj-10 Page 8
