quickly through a dimly lit corridor, thirteen seconds ahead of schedule.
âHere,â said Psyâ4, turning left into a shorter corridor that dead-ended at a large steel door. On the wall next to the door was a hand-scan panel. He removed his gloves and placed his hand against the screen.
There was a languid flow of green light at the point where his hand made contact.
Radiant killed all cameras and sensor devices with a snap of energy.
Something moaned mechanically.
Then Psyâ4 nearly dropped to his knees in pain.
âAre you all right?â asked Radiant, placing a hand on his arm.
â. . . uh . . . yes, yes . . . Iâm . . . Iâm fine.â
âYou donât sound fine.â
Psyâ4âs voice was granite. âJust give me a second and Iâll be all right. Okay?â
Radiant took a step back. âIâve never seen you like this. Itâs genuinely frightening.â
Psyâ4 didnât hear her; he was staring at the steel door. âDown there,â he whispered. âSomethingâs not right. . . .â
âPsyâ4? Come on, we donât have long left.â
â. . . so dark . . . and lonely . . . lonely . . .â
Radiant reached up and touched the side of Psyâ4âs face, startling him from his reverie.
âHuhâwhaâ? Oh. I . . . I apologize. Come on.â
âAre you sure that youâreâ? Okay, okay, donât glare at me again. Is everything running as it should be?â
âYes. Three hundred sixty-two seconds from now.â
Radiant smiled. âPlenty of time.â
âNo,â said Psyâ4. âWeâ Iâve been distracted. It shouldnât have happened.â
âButââ
âNot a word, Radiant. Not one more word from you.â
12
----
Â
NO! screamed the child. NO! Donât leave me, donât leave me here, youâre so close, Iâm right down here, not far, I promise, really, really . . . please come, please . . . I hurt . . . please . . .
Please donât kill me, Father. I donât know what I did wrong but I wonât ever do it again, I promise, I promise, I promise, Iâll be good, Iâll make you proud of me, youâll see, just, just  . . . please . . . please . . . please donât . . .
. . . ohplease . . .
. . . someone . . .
. . . come get me . . .
. . . ohplease, someone . . .
. . . someone come . . .
. . . come get
13
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Â
âMe?â said Zac.
âYes, you,â replied Preston. âAnd donât go pulling that modesty routine with me, okay? It impressed some of the folks at WorldTech but I never bought it for a second. Youâve got the sharpest mind Iâve ever knownâaside from my own, of courseâand Iâm bored to death with not having anyone in my employ of equal intelligence. Thereâs no . . . challenge here anymore. Do you understand, Zac? Hannibal has crossed the Alps and this time has taken Rome. Wit , Zac, Iâm dying here for lack of genuine wit, lack of a good argument or a chess partner whoâll beat me nearly as often as I beat him. My mind is shriveling from boredom.â
âAs evidenced by that ham-fisted Hannibal metaphor.â
âIâm not sure I like your tone of voice.â
âWith all due respect, Sam, I donât give a ratâs ass if you like my tone of voice or not. You should have heard yourself, all that âPoor, poor, pitiful meâ crap. How tragic, to have achieved all your goals before hitting forty. My God, the money, the fame, the power and women . . . itâs a wonder you can stand at all from the constant anguish.â
Preston was astonished.