Paradigms Lost (26 page)

Tai didn’t understand the nature of what he was doing. It was an art, a technique, a skill taught to him so long ago that only in his dreams would he remember the teaching. Yet, in his bones he understood it. He would not fail the Master, even now.

The ocean was his soul. How, then, could anything withstand it? How could a drug, however potent, have any effect when diluted unnumbered times in the waters of his mind? It could not. And so it did not.

Tai felt his mind clearing. Yet, just by noticing that, he trembled at the edge of this transcendent moment. He knew he might not reach this point again; it required the desperation and, perhaps, the paradox of the drugged calmness to reach it.

But the very instability was the key. Like the shaken ocean, his soul gathered into a roiling wave. He spun and gathered the force of the oceans into his movements, a fluid lunge at a wall of armored, tempered glass that could withstand explosive shells.

But what is anything next to the power of a tsunami? What use armor plate against the relentless pressure of a glacier?

The wall bulged outward like cardboard, bulged and then shattered into a billion fragments that glittered in the laboratory lights like diamonds. In that moment, he saw the shocked faces of the scientists in the lab, and the calmness evaporated. Berserker fury took him.

Breathing hard, Tai slowly came back to sanity. He was splattered with blood from head to toe. He chose not to look at what he had left behind him. In front of him was a door, and behind that door . . .

“FATHER!”

He hugged Seb and Tai fiercely for a moment, then pulled away. “Go. The way out is clear. Run.”

“But what about you?” Seb asked, fighting to keep from crying.

Tai shook his head. “I have to go after Genshi, Kei, and Kay. But I won’t have you stay here any longer. Go. And keep going. As far away from here as you can get, to another country if you can. Don’t look back. I will find you. If it takes a year or a dozen years, I will find you. Just make sure that you’re safe.”

Seb was torn, but then looked at little Tai and realized what his father meant. It was his time to be a protector. “Yes, Father.”

Tai watched until the two were out of sight, then he loped down the corridor. Turning the corner, he backpedaled to a halt.

Dr. Ping Xi was there, holding a black box. “Tsk. Are you forgetting something, Alpha?”

“I AM NOT ALPHA!” Loathing and fear held him where he was. Dr. Xi was the only thing that frightened him.

“Do you think I left everything to chance? The coded transmissions this sends out will detonate a small implant in your brain. A hideous waste, one I would rather avoid. But your children will serve well enough in the lab. You have become, as the Colonel would say, a far too expensive luxury.”

The black box pulled his gaze like an evil magnet. One button, and he would cease to exist. He didn’t doubt Dr. Xi. The doctor never lied; it wasn’t in his nature.

But was it better to live in the grip of the Project?

That thought decided him. He would win either way. But his children . . .

He had to succeed. He remembered his Master’s movements. He had to combine his own speed with the Master’s inhuman accuracy. And only one chance to get it right.

He let his shoulders sag, as though realizing he was hopelessly trapped. Then he lunged forward, leaping like a missile across the forty feet separating them.

He saw Xi’s eyes widen, and knew in that instant that he was too late; the bastard had more than enough time to press the button.

But he saw the finger hesitate; perhaps, in the end, it was too hard for the doctor to destroy his greatest work. And then he was on Dr. Ping Xi, and his blood tasted like freedom.

CHAPTER 37

Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

I rubbed my temples, trying to take all of this in. “Okay, let’s see if I have this straight. You are some kind of genetic experiment? And this wanted poster stuff about you is all lies made up by the Evil Government Conspiracy?”

If Kafan had been a cat, his fur would have bristled; as it was, he did a pretty good imitation by glaring at me. “I don’t like your tone of voice.”

“Gently, Raiakafan,” Verne said sternly. “The story is not one to be accepted easily. Jason has a mind that is open . . . but not so open that he is utterly credulous.”

Kafan snorted, but turned back to me. “It’s not the government, except a few key people. At least that is the impression I got. The group that . . . made . . . me is a self-contained organization. There were references to a prior group to which they belonged, but I never heard much. Educating me did not interest them.” He stood up, as he had many times during his story, and paced a circle around the room like a caged lion. “Why do you find this so hard to believe? I haven’t been here that long, but I know that genetic engineering
is
part of your civilization, while magic is not, yet you accept Verne . . .”

“That’s why,” I answered. “First, I’ve seen Verne and other things like him in action. I don’t ignore the things I actually see. But I know a fair amount about genetic engineering, at least for a layman, and I
do
know that we haven’t gotten
close
to the level of technology we’d need to make something like you claim to be. And other elements—this ‘super martial arts’ or whatever it is you say got you out of their holding cells . . .” I chuckled, then looked apologetic. “. . . Sorry, but that kind of stuff comes out of video games and bad Hong Kong flicks. Accepting it as ‘real’ just isn’t easy.”

Kafan shrugged helplessly. “I can’t help what you believe. I know what I am.”

“What happened after you killed Dr. Xi?” Sylvie asked.

Kafan’s gaze dropped to the floor. He stood still for a moment, and the slow sagging of his shoulders told us more than we wanted to know. “I failed.

“I found where they were keeping Gen, Kei, and Kay. And I got in. But by then, the Colonel had organized a counterattack. I was separated from them . . . I had Gen, but Kay and our daughter . . .”

Syl put her hand on his shoulder. He turned his back, but didn’t pull away; he shook for a moment with silent sobs. Then he turned around. “They were back in
their
hands.”

“And the Colonel?”

The iron-cold expression returned. “I tracked him all the way to Greece, where he had a secondary headquarters. But he’d tricked me. Even as I killed him, he laughed at me. I’d come all the way across the continent and all that time, Kay and Kei were back in another part of the lab complex!”

I winced; Sylvie looked sympathetic. “So what brought you here?”

“In my travels across the continent . . . I started remembering other things from my past. The few things I told you, Mr. Wood. And I thought that America was the best place to begin looking, especially once I saw the news about the werewolves and realized that there was someone here who was able to deal with such things.”

“So can you prove this story of yours?” I asked.

Kafan narrowed his eyes, then smiled—an expression that held very little humor. “I think so.” He turned and looked out the archway, towards the entrance hall where the stairs went to the second floor. “Gen? Genshi! Come in now, Gen.”

There was a scuffling noise with little scratching sounds, like a dog running on a wooden floor, followed by a thump and a high-pitched grunt. Then a small head peeked around the edge of the doorway, followed by an equally small body crawling along on all fours.

The little boy had a mane of tousled blond hair, bright green eyes . . . and a layer of honey-colored fur on his face. His hands were clawed, as were his feet, and canine teeth that were much too long and sharp showed when he gave us a little smile and giggle, and crawled faster towards his father. His long, fur-covered tail wagged in time to his determined crawl.

“Genshi! Walk, don’t crawl.”

Genshi pouted slightly at his father, but pushed himself up onto two legs and ran over to Kafan, jumping into his arms and babbling something in what I presumed was a toddler’s version of Vietnamese. Kafan replied and hugged him, then looked at us.

Sylvie was smiling. I was just speechless. “Can I see him, Kafan?” Sylvie asked.

Kafan frowned a moment, but relented. “All right. But be careful. He’s very, very strong and those claws are sharp.” He said something in a warning tone to Genshi, who blinked solemnly and nodded.

Sylvie picked up the little furry boy, who blinked at her and then wrapped his arms around her neck and hugged her. Syl broke into a delighted grin. “What a little darling you are. Now, now, don’t dig those claws in . . . there’s a good boy . . .” she continued in the usual limited conversation adults have with babies.

I finally found my voice. “All right. Can’t argue with the evidence there. I find it hard to believe, though, that you were the only product of their research. They couldn’t have built a whole complex around you alone.”

Kafan’s smile became once again as cold as ice. “They didn’t. When I went to kill him, I found that the Colonel was no more human than I am. Some kind of monster.”

“Crap.” I didn’t elaborate out loud, but to me it was obvious: if Kafan was telling the truth, these people were not only more technologically advanced than anyone I’d ever heard of, but they were also crazier than anyone I’d ever heard of. Attempting experimental genetic modifications on yourself? Jesus! I thought for a moment. “But . . . something’s funny about your story. If you were a lab product, what’s this about Verne being your father? And what about your training under this whoever-he-was?”

“That,” said Verne, “is indeed the question. For there is no doubt, Jason, that I did, indeed, have a foster son named Raiakafan Ularion—Thornhair Fallenstar as he would be called in English—and there is no doubt in my mind that, changed though he may be, this is indeed the Raiakafan I raised from the time he was a small boy. I knew Raiakafan for many years indeed; he could never have been the subject of genetic experiments. Yet here he is, and there is much evidence that these people he speaks of exist.

“These two things, seeming impossible, tell me that vast powers are on the move, and grave matters afoot. For this reason, I must tell you of the ancient days.

“I must speak . . . of Atla’a Alandar.”

CHAPTER 38

It was an Age Undreamed of . . .

The Sh’ekatha, or Highest Speaker, gazed in bemused wonder at the tiny figure before him. Beneath the tangled mass of hair, filled with sticks and briar thorns, two serious, emerald-green eyes regarded him. Across the back was strapped a gigantic (for such a small traveller) sword, three feet long with a blade over five inches wide. A bright golden tail twitched proudly behind the boy, who was dressed raggedly in skins.

Yet . . . yet, despite his appearance, there was something special about this boy, more than merely his strange race. The way he stood . . . and that sword. Surely . . . it was workmanship of the old days.

“Yes, boy? What do you wish?”

The boy studied him. “You are . . . in command here?” he asked in a halting, uncertain fashion. The voice was rough, like a suppressed growl, but just as high-pitched as any child’s.

V’ierna smiled slightly. “I am the Sh’ekatha. I am the highest authority that you may speak with at this time, yes.”

The boy frowned, trying to decide if that met with whatever requirements he might have. Then his brow unfurrowed and he nodded. “My Master sent me to you.”

V’ierna understood what he meant; he had been being taught by a Master of some craft, and now this Master wished the Temple to continue and expand his education. “But there is no certainty that there will be an opening here, young one. We select only a small number of willing youngsters, and then only when there is proper room for them.”

The boy shook his head. “You have to take me. You have to teach me. That is what he said.” He blinked as though remembering something. “Oh, I was supposed to show you this.” He reached over his back and unsheathed the monstrous blade. Holding it with entirely too much ease for such a tiny boy, he extended the weapon to the Sh’ekatha.

Puzzled, V’ierna studied the weapon. Old workmanship, yes, and very good. But that didn’t . . .

It was then that he saw the symbol etched at the very base of the sword: Seven towers between two parallel blades.

His head snapped up involuntarily. He scrutinized the child more carefully now. Yes . . . now that he knew what to look for . . .

He gave the blade back. “Have you a name, young one?”

“Master said that you would give me one.”

“Did he, now?” V’ierna contemplated the scruffy figure before him. Certainly born of no race in this world. He smiled. “Then your name is Raiakafan.” He reached out and gently pulled a briar free of its tangled nest. “Raiakafan Ularion.” He turned. “Follow me, Raiakafan. Your Master was correct. There is indeed a place for you.”