Gravity & Fire

GRAVITY & FIRE

a novel by

Bill Gourgey

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Author’s Note

Gravity & Fire

Prologue

Loose Ends

Gravity

Shadows in the Night

Dark Doubt

Goblins in the Hall

Threshold

Knocking at the Door

Glide!

Revenge

Embers

Knot Hall

Dark Tidings

Neology

Shocking Revelations

Nome Park

Guardians

La Casa del Capitán

Rendezvous

The Knights of Las Arcas

In Time

Ashes

Attraction

Opposite Reaction

Captain’s Orders

Collisions

Premonition

The Fall of Aerome—La Caída

Reconstruction

Fire

The Knights’ Secret

Progress

Crossroads

In Trouble

El Festival

Foresight

Heart Song

Opportunity

Space Jungle

Shadows

I’m Sorry

Retreat

Lost Links

Motives

The Drone Field

Call Me Sam

Flashback

Operation Madeleine

Home

The Academy

Legacy

Confrontation

Gravity

Surrender

Vows

Smoke

The Cone

Acknowledgements

Glide Trilogy Lexicon

Read an Excerpt from Games & Fate

Other Books by Bill Gourgey

Jacked Arts

Washington, DC 20008

Copyright © 2011 by Bill Gourgey

Copyright © 2017 by Bill Gourgey

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The first edition of this book was called Glide, and while the name of the trilogy remains the same (The Glide Trilogy), each book in the trilogy has been released in a new edition with a new title.

Cover Art—Front cover art, rendering of a g*car by Mass, a NY-based creative agency; title font, Niagara Engraved.

Interior Art—Kublai Khan’s Great Armillary Sphere. Kublai Khan (13th century), leader of the Mongol Empire, had the Great Armillary Sphere made by his astronomer in what is now Beijing. The armillary sphere was used for centuries in the East to aid celestial observations. This image was engraved by Q. Cenni and lithographer George Frauenfelder, based on a photograph by J. Thomson.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017913453

Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1546901501

ebook ISBN: 9781370865826

for Preston and Sawyer

—my agents of the future

Author’s Note

Although the futuristic terms used throughout the trilogy are generally self-explanatory, a Glide Trilogy Lexicon (†) has been included at the end of this book—for amusement as much as reference. The cast of characters on the following pages may come in handy as well.

Finally, each section indicates whether the action takes place somewhere in the story’s present (Glide Age) or in the past (the dark days of the Academy).

The Main Characters

Captain Magigate (ma ji gayt) — Famous inventor Dr. Domino Magigate (Dom); founded Cape Knot Labs; built Isla del Tiempo Muerto; lives part of the year in Knot Hall, his ancestral home in Seaville; had a sister, Lily.

The Prophet — Senator Samantha Biggs (Sam); founder of The Academy; leader of the Special Senate; former CEO of Biggs Industries when it was known as the world’s leading drone and weapons manufacturer.

Dr. Janot (zha nō) — Former Cape Knot colleague of Dr. Magigate, and one of the Knights of Las Arcas.

Em — Captain Magigate’s lover; has a daughter, Louisa Biggs.

The Knights — There were twelve knights in the original group that came from Las Arcas. They include Ipoh (ee pōh), Fortunato, Trinidad, Dr. Janot, Guiomar, Rico, Pepe, Simon, Iago, Mad Mona, Jaime Menos, and Tadeo the Chemist.

Maddy — High school student at City School of Fine Arts (CSFA), where she is studying to be a painter; boyfriend is Mike McGrath; dad is David Langsley; stepmom is Barbara Marshall Langsley, renowned reporter (aka Blabs).

Mike — Seaville High student; girlfriend, Maddy; dad, Fire Marshall, John McGrath; mom, Peg McGrath.

Louisa Biggs — CEO of Biggs; daughter of Em; related to the Prophet, Samantha Biggs.

Lisa — Maddy’s best friend at CSFA; music prodigy; cyber genius; lives in Aerome.

Seaville Friends — Sammy, Lucy, Tonio, and Renata are Mike’s closest Seaville High buddies.

Seaville Neos — a violent Seaville High gang led by Justin and Stewie who are radicalized Neology Players.

Dr. Longe — Chief Research Officer of Biggs’ Romulus Park.

"There are self-existent dragons

and there are worms who change into dragons."

—Yuan Kien Lei Han

[a 13th century encyclopedia]

PROLOGUE

Isla del Tiempo Muerto

The Past

After the fall of the Academy

"No skill in the world, nothing human

can penetrate the future."

—Sophocles, Oedipus Rex

Loose Ends

Em found it odd that she could remain so focused. Her thoughts felt large and clear, as if magnified by the lens of time itself, which stretched far into the past and, from this apex, arced even into the future. Perhaps my body is so far gone that my spirit has no ballast. I’m drifting now, she thought, to higher ground. She laughed. But to those around Em, the sound that emerged from her throat did not resem­ble mirth: it gurgled, hot and viscous.

When she wasn’t busy seeing outside herself, Em was consumed with pain. Her skin burned from the virus’ trademark rash: small, red blisters that darkened to rusty brown as they spread, then crumbled and flaked away like corroded metal. Her organs roared and throbbed and surrendered one by one, giving themselves up in fury and blood. Each time she coughed up fluids that belonged deep and out of sight, Em saw stars, swirling in black chaos. Every bit of her being down to her last cell screamed in torment.

The Captain sat by Em’s side, disregarding the chances he took being so close, stroking her hands, pushing drenched strands of hair from her forehead. In her coherent moments, he struggled to find reassuring words. He felt Em’s agony as his own. It had been selfish to bring her here. How vain of him to think that the secrets of Isla del Tiempo Muerto could stall Em’s demise long enough for a cure to be found. All he had done was to prolong her suffering. He knew better.

Rust† was notorious for its rapid onset. Once infected, even the hardiest did not survive more than a week. And there was no­where to hide: this germ ate through inorganic hosts as greedily as organic ones—like Em. It had made its initial mark on silicon works in all their forms. Already, the super plague had laid waste to count­less factories, data centers, networks, power grids, and transportation hubs. The interconnectedness of the planet only served to accelerate the contagion’s course and the devastation that followed.

Then it mutated.

When the human strain emerged, one of every eight across the planet quickly succumbed. The engines of commerce ground to a halt. Vulnerable governments collapsed. War escalated.

By now, all but the most remote and rural communities had felt Rust’s dreadful impact. Isolated and strangely preserved, Isla del Tiempo Muerto had been spared.

As the virus spread beyond its intended targets, Em, like many others, had thrown herself at finding a cure. But unlike others, Em had become the reluctant heiress to a sprawling conglomerate, Biggs Industries. She had vast resources at her disposal. And she was moti­vated by the same guilt shared by many former leaders of the Re­sistance—in Em’s case, for the part she’d played, however indirect, in supporting the ecoterrorists who’d released the plague. Back then, no one had understood its threat; it was meant to strike a blow at the dirtiest, greediest industrialists, not plunge the world into a new dark age. But it had, and in her haste to find a cure, Em had exposed her­self. Now, nearly a week ago.

Tell me, Dom, Em said, gasping for breath between words, about the secrets of time. Referring to the Captain by name charged Em’s words like neon. It took them back to when they first met.

The Captain’s angular face looked drawn, his beard unkempt. And his sea-green eyes, which ordinarily shone like living stars, re­treated, emitting nothing more cosmic than sorrow and regret. What do you want to know? he asked softly, dabbing her mouth with a crimson-stained towel. He wore latex gloves and a surgical mask, scant safety measures for such a virulent organism, but he could not bear any other barriers coming between them.

Will we see each other again? Em asked. The effort to speak ended with a violent coughing spell. Em choked, then retched.

Oh, Em, the Captain moaned, burying his face in his sleeve. What more could he do for her? As it was, bringing Em here had been a drastic measure, and it had only made matters worse. He was out of options. Failure fell on his shoulders with the fury of gravity.

When the Captain raised his head to look at Em again, a new sense of calm had come over her. Despite the blistering, oozing rash that covered every inch of her skin, despite the terrible pain of her disintegrating organs, despite the burning fever and prolonged dehy­dration, Em seemed to relax. Perhaps her nervous system had finally given way and the pain no longer registered. Or maybe, with nothing left to consume, the greedy organism had finally burned itself out, devouring the last resources its vulnerable host had to offer.

The sticky, angry color of Em’s skin drained away. Long gone was the glow of her soft but stately complexion, penetrating eyes, and insatiable curiosity. And yet the beauty of the woman the Captain knew and had come to love emerged from its spent shell. He could almost see wings of iridescent light unfold around her. The Captain could only describe it as the inexplicable composure that sometimes graces life’s final moments. To see such poise in Em broke the Captain’s heart.

I just want to know, Em said, speaking more clearly than she had in hours, is it possible?

Yes, the Captain stammered, and no.

Em smiled. Typical.

A stocky, dark woman with beaded dreadlocks approached the bed from the other side. She lowered her mask so that her voice would sound strong and clear. We’ll be with you, cherie, no matter where Les Mysteres take you. Da will be good to you.

Em murmured, And I will be with you, Trinidad.

Two men standing behind Trinidad, one tall and thin, the other short and fat, were having a whispered argument. The short man stepped forward. He stripped off one of his latex gloves, pulled an earring from his ear leaving its twin in place, and pressed the charm into Em’s hand.

Para usted, comandante, the man said. Keep it safe for me. I will need it when we meet again, which is always sooner than you ex­pect. He winked at Em and tried to laugh, but the gloom weighed down even his naturally buoyant cheeks.

Em looked at the tiny glass ball caught inside its golden net, but her fingers could not close around it. She smiled. Ipoh, she said to the short man. Cuídame al Capitán. Em tilted her head to look at the tall man beside Ipoh. And you, Doctor.

Por supuesto señorita, Ipoh said, bowing and sweeping off his ban­dana.

We will, Dr. Janot added, nodding his head stiffly. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped beads of perspiration from his bald head.

As she turned her head away, Em coughed and shook. When the spasms finally stopped, she said weakly, Now, dear friends, give me a moment with our Captain.

Trinidad squeezed Em’s shoulder, then backed away, reaching out to take Dr. Janot and Ipoh with her. Moments later, the door closed, but not before a wave of sultry, tropical air rolled in.

Alone in the long, arched Quonset hut, Em and the Captain sat quietly for a while and listened to the ping of insects as they collided with the metal roof and walls. Fuzzy sunlight filtered through dim­pled, wire glass windows overhead.

The Captain had so much to say to Em, yet words of any kind now seemed futile, promises empty, vows transparent. He saw that anything he had to say, any confessions, any secrets—and he had some he should have shared with Em before now—were merely tools to pacify his own conscience and grief.

Em seemed to read his thoughts. You know, Dom, she said, speaking slowly. I have only two regrets.

The Captain sat straight and stared uncertainly into Em’s eyes, which, against all odds, radiated confidence.

And I think you can help me with both, Em said. Her blistered lips cracked when she smiled.

Anything. The Captain’s response was firm but hoarse.

Of course, everything is connected, she went on, even regret. Maybe if I had found the strength and forgiveness, her voice fell to a whisper, to face the Prophet. Em sighed. Her breathing became shallow. Anyway, I see now that principles merely get in the way when it comes to matters of love and kin. Maybe I should not have been so hard on her. Do you think my sister loved me, Dom?

The Captain choked on a suitable response. Em’s thoughts were scattered, but undiluted and overpowering. Of course, he said. In her own way.

In her own way, Em repeated. Her words hung like a veil. I should have faced her after Aerome† fell. When I had the chance. But you know, Dom, I would have only gloated over her defeat. Em tilted her head toward the Captain. For a moment, she caught her breath. To me the Prophet was not of my flesh and blood. She was some ty­rant, some monster who deserved to burn at the stake with every other leader of her vile Academy†. A dark shadow swept across Em’s pale face. But maybe, maybe she was just like the rest of us. Alone. In need of a companion. Someone to challenge her. Guide her. Appreciate her. In the end.

The Captain felt the keen point of Em’s dying insight. It stung.

Em made a gurgling sound, a cough that threatened to choke, but she was not to be denied. Not yet. I wish…I wish…maybe I could have helped her. She turned away from the Captain and lay silent for a while, still as stone.

The Captain nodded. "But how can I help?" he asked, shifting uncom­fortably. Em knew the Captain kept the Prophet under lock and key. But she did not know where. She had never wanted to know. In fact, she had forbidden any mention of the Prophet. Until now. And that suited the Captain because to acquaint them would require him to reveal secrets he’d kept from both—out of shame.

Had the time come, at last? Should he tell Em that his prisoner was in another Quonset hut just a few yards away? Did Em expect him to produce the Prophet? For that matter, should he bring the Prophet here to see…to see what? To his re­lief, Em had no such rendezvous in mind.

Tell her, Em coughed. Her whole body shuddered. Again. And again. And each time it gave up something more of its dwindling vi­tality. Tell the Prophet that I wish things had turned out differently. Tell her for me, Em closed her eyes and swallowed hard. Tell her I would have liked to get to know her…again.

Em could never have imagined how her request would pierce the Captain’s heart. Hot emotions, which had circulated just beneath the surface for so long, suddenly gushed out. For him to deliver such a message to the Prophet would require—it would require his own confession, humiliation, and more suffering. And that would be just the start. Most likely, when she learned the truth, the Prophet’s toxic position toward the Captain would metastasize into blind hate. He closed his eyes. Like desert jewels, tears tumbled down the creases of his cheeks and splashed onto Em’s clawed hand.

Ever since Em had revealed her connection to the Prophet, his conscience had descended into chaos. Every de­cision he’d made since then seemed either wrong or rife with por­tent—especially his decision to employ his invention Glide, in all its manifestations, in their struggle against the Academy.

Em could not see the Captain’s grief. And please, Dom, when the time is right, tell her about Louisa. For Louisa’s sake. She’s so young. So young. Don’t deny her family. Em tried to squeeze the Captain’s hand, but her fingers refused. You must tell Louisa the truth. About yourself, too. Prom­ise me.

This last request exploded over the Captain like an errant gre­nade. He trembled violently and gripped Em’s wrist.

A hardly perceptible shiver ran through Em’s body, draining what reserves she had left. Even the effort to move her lips seemed too much. A thin sigh escaped. One last thing, she whispered. Lily was right, Dom. Right about Glide. Em seemed to be reading the Captain’s mind. Her wasted face managed a gentle smile. And right about you. You’re a good man, Dr. Magigate. Em opened her eyes, tried to look toward the Captain, but settled for the windows above.

When a spirit slips from gravity’s dominion, it takes a moment for the vacated host to relinquish its earthly duties, even one as ruined as Em’s. Lost in his own self-pity, the Captain missed Em’s ascent, but he felt the residual twitches and tremors of her deserted limbs. And yet, they hardly registered.

The Captain was drowning in his own misery. Where he excelled at science and reluctantly at war, he failed with equal grandeur at matters of the heart. How could he ever satisfy Em’s dying request? How could he ever live up to her expectations?

The Captain’s sister, Lily, would have told him to follow the truth, wherever it led. But what if it leads, the Captain whispered to his spectral sibling while squeezing Em’s lifeless hand, right back to me?

GRAVITY

Cape Knot Laboratory

Seaville

The Past

In the early days of the Academy

"Gravitation is not responsible

for people falling in love."

—Albert Einstein

Shadows in the Night

As her team’s unmarked van circled the lot, keeping to its perimeter to avoid the lights, Lieutenant Stringer watched a paring-thin moon poke over the surrounding treetops.

Rabbit’s in the hole, sir, one of her agents reported. All clear. Only security vehicles on scope, as anticipated.

Behind the lieutenant, two agents sat back-to-back in the van’s windowless cargo hold. Each faced a row of monitors, and watched live feed from an array of hidden cameras trained around the deserted façade of Cape Knot, a secluded laboratory facility tucked into Seaville’s undulating dunes and coastal scrubland. Stringer swiveled to face them. She nodded. Proceed.

Video successfully acquired, the second agent said. He held up his hand and lowered his fingers one by one as he activated a false loop. Friendly feed active in three, two, one, mark.

Stringer swung around and gestured for her driver to stop. She adjusted her headset and motioned for silence. Cheshire Team online, Stringer reported to the Director, speaking slowly to accommodate the satellite delay. We’re invisible now, sir. And we have their eyes. With an approving nod to her agents, Stringer positioned her night goggles to scan the surrounding shadows and await further instructions.

All four headsets crackled simultaneously with the Director’s satellite-relayed command. Then proceed to phase two, Alice. Extract rabbit. Keep it simple. Over and out.

Stringer squeezed the dials on her goggles to steady an unexpected tremble: their mission was live! Affirmative, she replied.

Switching off the Director’s channel, Stringer turned to her team and cautioned, "We may be digital ghosts, but these lab rats keep strange hours. Just because there aren’t other vehicles doesn’t mean our target’s alone. There may be other guests at this tea party." She tapped her driver’s shoulder and pointed to a service road that led to the back of the nearest building.

There, Hatter, she said, back us into those trees.

The van pulled away from the lot and disappeared into the sand pines.

That simulation loop gives us sixty minutes, Stringer reminded her team. Not a second more. She held out her wrist and tapped her watch. Fifty-six, twenty-one to go, she said.

Moments later, three masked figures, heavily armed, slipped from the van into the surrounding brush. The driver remained.

Outside, Stringer breathed deeply. She didn’t like being cooped up. She preferred action to surveillance. Remember, she hissed into her headset, alive. We want the rabbit alive. That’s imperative.

As she motioned to the others to follow, the lieutenant allowed a rare smile. She loved this prime-time thrill. She felt proud to serve—handpicked by Director Haley to join the new, very exclusive Federal Affairs and Intelligence Resources Academy. Everyone in covert ops knew Academy agents were the best, mere shadows in the night.

Dark Doubt

One twelve, August first. No. Second," Dr. Magigate said. Journal entry eight-two-three. Cape Knot. Project Pi. He fought back a yawn, wiped a smudged sleeve across his face, and rubbed his eyes with latex-gloved knuckles. LUCKI, he said, addressing his homemade supercomputer nicknamed LUCKI for Learning Universal Cape Knot Interface, capture these new settings and make appropriate adjustments.

Yes, Doc-tor, LUCKI responded in its flat, monosyllabic speech.

The young scientist often relied on his digital lab mate during marathon sessions to keep himself awake. In fact, he had taught his virtual companion how to tell jokes, play music, and even read long passages from literature to keep him company. One of these days he would get around to upgrading his assistant’s outdated voice algorithms, although he rather liked its quirky cadence.

Magigate had been alone in his lab continuously for nearly three days. He was on the brink of a breakthrough. Beyond incremental progress, he had no fresh evidence and no defensible proof to suggest his invention was any closer to actuality than a few days ago, but he felt it.

Interstitial boundary too irregular. Increase Polyena implantation. Uh, he paused. He squinted and scratched his ear. Point three percent should do, he said.

Making adjustments now, Doc-tor, LUCKI responded. Moments later, the Ion Implantation System began to hum as LUCKI prepared the superconductor sample for another round of tests.

Magigate kept his usual pose for this time of night, which meant his lanky frame straddled a low, rolling stool as he hunched gnomishly over one of his workstations. His white lab coat swept the floor as he swung between tables stacked with beakers, monitors, oscilloscopes, galvanometers, a spectrometer, a centrifuge, processor racks, whiteboards, three dimensional models, and a dizzying array of otherworldly homemade robotics designed for his lab exclusively. Only the breathy whir of computers and shrill buzz of fluorescent lights filled the silence, occasionally seeping into his thoughts like tinnitus.

Polyena virus surviving at twenty C, he noted. Latest strain appears more resilient than anticipated. He frowned and squinted.

Remember to verify antidote test, he said, twisting the ends of an overgrown beard. He hated sloppy science. Make antidote test a priority, LUCKI, he grumbled.

Noted, Doc-tor.

Magigate allowed a weary smile. We’re close, he said, lowering his voice to capture a rare upbeat editorial on progress.

His thoughts drifted toward his goal—toward what it would mean to the modern era if he succeeded. But before he could savor that pleasant fiction, the bitter taste of reality hit him again.

Don’t underestimate the Prophet, he muttered reflexively to his digital lab mate. Realizing his mistake, he swore to himself and quickly added, Strike that last entry, LUCKI.

Yes, Doc-tor.

It was late. He was getting careless, but that might apply to more than an inadvertent recording. Patience was not one of his virtues.

Magigate leaned back and sighed. He felt so tired that he felt old. But old, he reminded himself, was relative. Soon enough there would be a day when he would look back and think: how young! So, he pressed on, impatiently. And time galloped by under his fluorescent sun where day and night followed no rhythm but his own dogged determination and the apparatus’ high-pitched refrain. More than ever he sensed the limitations of one life’s worth of time. He had always anticipated that by now (now being one of those long-range compass points once imagined in youth that is finally at hand) he would have felt more fulfilled.

Although he had become the latest global phenom, with scientific achievements that stood among the world’s greats, doubt gnawed at his conscience. Ironically, the more accomplished others called him, the less accomplished he felt.

As silly as it seemed, to the point that he was embarrassed to even think it now that his thoughts were crowded with so many serious frontier-breaking theories, Magigate had held in his mind since he was a boy a vision of himself as a man, roughly the age he was now, all dressed up in the colorful costume of his trade, walking—actually, dancing and hopping—down a path illuminated by an ethereal glow. And though the waxing light in his dream obscured the horizon, he required no line of sight to know that the path he followed so joyfully led in the right direction, unfurling on cue like sparkling ribbon aimed at a destination as magical as the Emerald City. As he hopped and danced in his dream, he sensed his own long shadow hooked to his heels, stretching like a gossamer cone—as light as the void it represented, as distinct as all it signified, and remaining safely where a shadow should when the future shines so bright.

More than anything, he remembered the dream’s unstained clarity. Everything had seemed as alive and fresh as if it had been lived in. All these years later, even the memory would not fade.

But sitting here now, in the middle of the night, he could not have imagined feeling less confident in the road ahead. Dark bags of doubt drooped beneath his sea-green eyes, which managed to glint nonetheless with their hallmark gemstone luster. He knew he would not give up on his latest project, but he no longer knew if it was safe to avail society of such a pioneering invention. Too many shadows all around.

Dr. Domino Magigate had been heralded by some as the greatest inventor since Thomas Edison, not only in the practical application of advanced science, but also in his frenetic drive to produce more. And yet, despite these parallels to a legend who held more than a thousand patents—who built the first electric power station and designed the first practical light bulb, who pressed the first LP and rolled the first motion camera—the young Magigate felt like he tottered on the precipice of failure. He had begun to feel like all his achievements were nothing more than a deceit. For, even as Edison had become legendary, that legend stood on the edge of a knife; it could also be argued that he was a forefather of industrial pollution, climate change, and…couch potatoes.

The more he considered his own inventions, the more Magigate felt like Daedalus, whose brilliance manifested itself in menacing creations that would taunt the hubris of heroes, tempting them and often leading to tragic conclusion. He knew, of course, that the menace lay not in the inventions, but in the indiscretion of those who seized upon them, like Daedalus’ son Icarus who flew too close to the sun with his wax wings. Still, the inventor bore responsibility for his creations, one way or another. Did he not?

Magigate often wondered how content the great inventors would feel if they could spy on the progress of their legacies. He thought of Henry Ford and Nikolaus Otto. He thought of Marie Curie, Alexander Bell, Albert Einstein, and Enrico Fermi. He thought of Nikola Tesla, father of all things wireless. How well would they cope with the futures they’d figured so prominently in creating?

Driven by a creational philosophy—by the belief that true harmony with geneses can only be achieved by exploration and discovery, propelled by invention—Magigate accepted the disenchantment any inventor would feel when confronted, especially after the fact, with the undesirable derivatives of his work. But would the fuzzy hesitation he now felt morph into something harder, colder, clearer? Would he feel any culpability for the juggernauts he might be unleashing? Even so, how could any man truly control his impact on generations beyond his own? The equation of possibilities was maddening.

Magigate knew that to achieve his potential, like his predecessors, he would have to set aside his dark doubt. Still, he wanted to be different. It wasn’t a matter of sanctimony or ego: he simply wanted peace of mind.

Magigate’s older sister, a renowned healer and world traveler, always told him that certain people were destined for reincarnation and that he was probably one of them; she could tell by the fate lines in his hands. Though skeptical of her superstitions and prognostications, just in case his fortune-telling sibling was right, Magigate did not want to be disappointed when he returned, which elevated his concern as Project Pi flew toward its finish line. What would become of his latest invention? The question orbited his lab like a dark planet.

Magigate’s anxieties first took on a sinister hue with his invention of synthetic eyesight, which he called magic eyes—Magis—and ranked above all others. Not only would his Magi invention illuminate the world for millions who lost or never had sight, but he had devised such a delicate blend of genetic, biological, chemical, and electronic grafting—a truly unprecedented synthesis he’d dubbed anthrobotics†—that Magis also sparked a new paradigm for invention. Some called it science fiction, others a miracle. Dr. Magigate ignored the press, focusing on his next project and remaining modest.

Too much orb, not enough egg, was all he would say when asked to compare a Magi to the real thing. The prototypes he built looked preternatural—as smooth as hard candy, as phosphorescent as predatory amber, as tough as tempered glass. Eventually, the young scientist knew, someone else would design the gelatinous, watery cosmetics of the real thing. He had always preferred to work on breakthroughs, leaving the detailing to others.

No sooner had Magigate filed the patent for his Magi invention than agents from the FAIR Academy arrived at Cape Knot to question him and offer a great sum of money for the rights. He refused them, but that visit had planted the first dark seeds.

What did the Academy want with it? he’d asked.

The agents offered an evasive answer.

Would the public be able to buy Magis at an affordable price?

Yes, they said, but not immediately. First, FAIR scientists would have to ensure that Magis were appropriately studied for the sake of national security.

That worried Magigate. His knee-jerk reaction had been to rush Magis to market, defying the Academy’s concerns, and elevating his position on their persons-of-interest list.

Not long after, Biggs Industries, the world’s leading defense contractor and holding company for a vast industrial empire, had offered him the most prominent position in its research and development arm. The former CEO of Biggs Industries, Samantha Biggs, known as the Prophet (a media nickname so catchy that it stuck even in her inner circles) had wined and dined the young scientist at her family’s estate, offering him the helm of her new global research program. The Prophet, who was now a senator, and not just any senator but chief of the newly formed Special Senate to Accelerate Interior Deliberation (more simply known as the Special Senate†), told Magigate that he would have an unlimited budget to build or buy whatever he required to advance the most important initiatives of Biggs Industries’ world-renowned laboratory, Romulus Park, which happened to be Cape Knot’s proclaimed rival.

The evening had been a turning point for Magigate, mostly because the Prophet had surprised him. He’d expected some pompous politician whose overtures he could easily dismiss. But, the night did not turn out that way. In fact, just the opposite.

Tell me, Doctor, she’d said, settling her willful gaze on Magigate, what do you want to accomplish most in this life? They were sitting in the drawing room of her magnificent estate, overlooking the expanding but controversial city of Aerome†. She’d flown him in from Seaville, just for the occasion, in one of her private helicopters. From the start, she’d insisted that he call her Sam. Of course, he’d reciprocated, and asked her to call him Dom.

Magigate remembered thinking how young the Prophet looked in person. And how beautiful. Her stately features reminded him of gems and precious metals: light brown eyes with tinges of emerald and gold; a sheaf of thick coppery hair; unblemished pearl skin. The media made her seem so much older. You mean besides world peace, global prosperity, and the elimination of pain and suffering for all? he’d answered, laughing.

The Prophet responded with a perfunctory smile. I mean things that may truly be accomplished in your lifetime, by you, she’d said, pressing for candor.

Her earnestness caught him off guard.

You’re so young, Dom, with so much time stretching before you, she’d added, speaking poignantly. For me, it’s to turn the tide on our inevitable demise. It’s no secret that our planetary systems are failing, and with them, civilization. Long-anticipated mass migrations have begun. Governments are stretched thin. Commerce is more corrupt than ever. It’s why I’ve poured so much into Romulus Park. Through our research initiatives the Biggs goal is no less than to restore our faith in a promising future. Is that so different from your own aspirations at Cape Knot? Why don’t we merge our efforts?

Magigate was surprised by her plea. Until now, to suggest so much as collaboration with Romulus Park was anathema to the principled objectivity of Cape Knot. But he found himself considering her offer, so potent was her appeal.

Why don’t you run our newly combined entity? the Prophet had pressed. She’d reached for his hand and held it. "The world needs a man like you…more than ever. I need you, Dom, she’d added in her raspy voice, and only after a long pause said, to help me realize my dreams."

To say that Dr. Magigate, who was not a worldly man in the romantic sense, had been flattered by the generosity of her offer, but even more by her intimate overture, would be an understatement. Indeed, following hours of drinks and conversation that had begun stiffly, but grown steadily warmer and more comfortable, he found himself surrendering to a strange but memorable affair that lasted well into the next morning. He knew it was possible that the Prophet had put on an act and pulled out all the stops, quite literally, to get what she wanted, but he was fairly convinced otherwise. She’d shared things she wouldn’t have shared with just anyone. He could tell that he’d surprised her as much as she’d surprised him. The warmth of their encounter lingered even now.

Life grants epic moments sparingly, if at all. Magigate reflected on that night, wondering about fate, wondering why he resisted even when the roots of his soul trembled with desire. If he wanted to change the world—no, if he wanted to experience the world—Samantha Biggs was the one to do it with. He could only guess that, despite his heart, he did not trust her. Too much ambition, which, he knew, might also be said of himself. Or was it simply a matter of mettle? After all, he had always felt more comfortable in the presence of particle accelerators than people.

Either way, earlier in the evening, after weeks of soul searching and self-doubt, he’d finally mustered the courage to call the Prophet and politely decline her offer to run Romulus Park. The call had started well, but ended badly. She’d used few words, but her disappointment was profound. Now, he sensed he’d made a superhero enemy not only for himself, but also Cape Knot. And that sense of danger both justified his decision and haunted him.

Had he made a mistake?

Sitting in the cold fluorescent glow of his lab, Magigate shivered. For nearly three years, he’d been working on an invention that, if successful, would far surpass Magis as a revolutionary technology—Project Pi. What would the Academy have to say? Would they walk away again if he refused them? What about the Prophet, with whom he’d been tempted to share his secret? Magigate sighed. Before long, he’d need answers. Too many lives, including his own, hung in the balance.

Goblins in the Hall

Cheshire team’s lieutenant led the way with more haste and less stealth now that her men had gained entry to the building and chloroformed the guards. Being a research facility, the rooms had been numbered logically but not intuitively. Unless, Stringer thought, your intuition was muddled by too many PhD’s. If she had not memorized the blue print, they might have wasted precious minutes taking wrong turns and backtracking.

Hatter, room B1A32, Stringer said, cupping her mouth.

Affirmative Alice, Hatter confirmed, staring at his monitor in the back of their van. He studied the configuration of the building—a magnificent beachfront estate expanded to accommodate an independent laboratory purportedly funded by the resident scientists’ patent royalties. With little effort, however, the Academy had determined that most of the funding derived from a private trust established by their person of interest—actually, by his small and dwindling aristocratic family who owned the estate. From the outside, Cape Knot blended unassumingly into its dune, marsh, and scrubland surroundings; but the blueprint revealed a complex of halls and rooms well-concealed from both satellite and electronic surveillance.

For years, Cape Knot had been the source of great intrigue and controversy: on the one hand, incubating a never-ending supply of inventions that sprouted new business models and addressed myriad social and civic challenges; on the other hand, disregarding industrial convention and the protocols of product lifecycles, thereby rendering generations