Kevin Anderson - Resurrection, Inc.

“Yes, the KEEP OFF THE GRASS patches are just holograms.” In a flat voice he described the shadowy place beneath the city.

“But you didn’t find anyone there?”

“No. No one.”

“The plot thickens…” Nathans mumbled to himself, then he waved it away. He hurried back to stare at the Net screen, then paced again. “I can’t worry about that just now. Where the hell is our High Priest?”

“One other thing,” Jones dutifully added. “When I reported in, I found a message posted for you. News that someone named Zia apparently escaped from the security wing of the main hospital complex this morning. They expect to find her soon.”

Nathans frowned. “Zia? Why in the world would she want to escape?” Baffled, he pushed aside the information with annoyance—it would wait until after the Sabbat.

Jones found himself gathering courage, about to speak up and ask Nathans if the other Guard had meant anything by his deprecating comments about their elite force, when a signal came from the outer corridor. Even before Jones or Nathans could move to answer it, the person on the other side of the door entered the proper password.

“Who the hell?” Nathans whirled, then smiled in relief. “Ah, it must be him.”

Instead the grotesque Zia entered as the door slid open.

Jones looked at her and unconsciously took a step backward. He quickly fumbled to put his opaque helmet back on, self-conscious about his reaction.

Before Nathans could utter a startled comment, Zia turned and barked an order out to the corridor. “Danal! Command: Follow!” Her voice held a sneering tone of condescension.

Head down, the lost renegade Servant sluggishly entered the chambers. He didn’t look around him, didn’t offer any resistance.

“I brought you a present, Francois Nathans,” Zia said.

In an instant Jones also recognized the Servant—Danal the one who had rebelled, caused the riot, jumped into the KEEP OFF THE GRASS patch—

“Vincent!” Nathans clapped his hands in delight, then turned offhandedly to the Elite Guard. “Jones, leave us. I want to hear what he has to say.”

At being dismissed so casually, startled anger and distaste washed over Jones again. I want to hear what he has to say, too! he thought. You can’t just send me away—you’re supposed to trust me, remember? (You’ve been duped… you’re not important to him.) Jones hesitated a moment, but Nathans did not retract his order, wholly absorbed in the prodigal Servant. The Elite Guard stiffened and clenched his teeth.

“Give me your scatter-stun weapon, too, Jones. That one.” Nathans took the weapon himself out of the Guard’s armor, and pointed it directly at Danal. He did not let his attention waver, nor did he glance again at Jones.

The Elite Guard’s nostrils flared in disappointed resentment, but the helmet hid it all. With some difficulty he kept control of himself. Without a word Jones strode out of the chamber, making Nathans scramble-seal the door himself.

Danal stood motionless, making sure that he appeared completely cowed by Zia. She played her part with a gloating zeal, but he knew it was only her eagerness to strike back at Nathans. She no longer seemed interested in preventing the massacre merely to save the other converts.

Nathans grinned in amazement as he stood up. “Well, I don’t understand all the details of this situation.” He came toward the Servant, pointing the scatter-stun directly at Danal’s head. His voice held unexpected warmth, as if he wanted to embrace Danal. “But I must say I’m very pleased to see you back, Vincent.”

“He ransacked The Net,” Zia explained, “and somehow got the idea that I was his Julia. He came to the hospital complex and ‘rescued’ me—but I brought him back to you.”

“Zia, you’ve done remarkably well.” Nathans flashed a glance at her from the corner of his eye, but did not take his attention away from the Servant. “I hereby promote you to Coven Manager—that should please you. We’ll see to the details later. Why don’t you go attend the Sabbat? I’ve got some extra robes stored in the wardrobe inset there. Take one, and please be sure the hood covers your face. Sorry about that, but it’s necessary.”

Anger flared in the woman’s lump-shrouded eyes and she seemed ready to refuse, but Danal made a small frantic gesture he hoped Nathans could not see, waving her away. Zia controlled herself and appeared appropriately submissive.

“Thank you, Master Nathans.” Listlessly, she rummaged in the wardrobe until she found a maroon robe trimmed in black. “I’d really like to attend a Sabbat again. Especially this one.” Without looking back, she draped the robe over her arm as she left. Watching her from behind Danal felt an eerie shiver—she seemed so much like Julia, her walk, her actions….

Danal kept a blank face, but he seethed inside. He had waited long for this moment of confrontation. He had planned carefully, but how could he have forgotten so many things? How could he have been so naive, especially where Nathans was concerned? He had not considered that Nathans could hold him so completely at bay with a weapon, nor had he imagined the man would so quickly dismiss Zia. If only he had thought ahead!

He had not at all expected to see an Elite Guard in the private neo-Satanist chambers. Why would a member of the Guild be here? A neo-Satanist convert? No, Nathans hated the Guild—he would never have allowed an Enforcer, especially not an Elite Guard, so close into his circle.

Unless there were schemes even deeper than Danal had ever suspected….

Nathans nodded toward the weapon. “I’m sorry for this, Vincent, but I was watching when you killed my surrogate, you know. I’m amazed at how fast you moved. You’ll have to explain that to me sometime, but right now I don’t want to take any chances.” Then his voice turned inward, with a deeper sadness that Danal believed was sincere.

“Ah, Vincent, I tried so hard to teach you—I gave you every chance to really understand what has to be done. You were supposed to be my successor. But you didn’t learn. You haven’t learned anything. Those two imposter Servants got through all your defenses with no trouble at all. That was a simple trick, Vincent—you should have caught it.” He shook his head and then snapped his gaze back up to look at the Servant. “You didn’t learn.”

Danal allowed a beatific, all-knowing smile to fall on his face. This would be smooth, simple. He laughed, taunting Nathans with an invincible calmness. “I learned plenty of other things, Francois—things you don’t understand. I’ve looked Death in the face—I know what happens beyond life, all the answers—because when my memories came back, I remembered that, too. All the way through.”

Nathans remained motionless, but the Servant could see him mentally squirming. Before the man could respond, Danal pulled out a second surprise.

“I’ve already removed the imposter, got my revenge on the person who stole my identity. He’s dead now, and he won’t be helping you out tonight. The Van Ryman mansion is mine again.”

Nathans paled, and his mouth dropped open. Then he squeezed his eyes together to force a calm back upon himself. Danal could have taken him then, but made no move. He wanted to see the man defeat himself instead.

Nathans drew a deep breath and stared at the Servant again. Behind his eyes burned a cruelty that caused him to lash back out, as if he were revealing a great and painful secret. “The imposter was your own father. Stromgaard Van Ryman. You killed him—for real this time.”

Danal remained unaffected, not letting Nathans get any satisfaction. He shrugged. “As far as I’m concerned, I killed my father years ago. Anything else is just a bad dream.”