“Is he gone?”
“Yes.” Doctor Obre stood in the doorway of the little bathroom. “Asila, you’re scrubbing your hands too hard. Dry them off.”
“I’m almost finished,” Asila said.
Tanal Obre leaned forward and turned the faucet off. “You are finished. We had a deal, Asila. If you don’t stop the constant washing I’m going to put you under sedation, even if I have to use restraints.”
Asila’s trembling hands hung, dripping, over the empty sink. Her wet, limp hair framed her unfocused stare. Doctor Obre took a clean towel and gently dried the girl’s reddened hands. When she finished, she hugged Asila tightly. Asila squeezed back and began to cry softly.
“I—I thought I was ready to see him.”
“I’m glad you tried,” Tanal said as her hand softly patted Asila’s back. “When you asked to see Calon, I knew you had the determination to win this battle.”
“Is the fight worth winning? Sometimes I wish that I had died.”
“Here. Sit down and let me comb your hair.” Tanal pulled a chair close and Asila let herself be lowered into it. Tanal picked up the hairbrush and slowly began to draw it through Asila’s hair. They both faced the mirror, and Tanal could see Asila’s face. The girl had stopped crying, but the vacant stare remained, her eyes locked on an invisible spot in front of her chest.
“Calon risked his life to save yours, Asila. Would you have done the same for him?”
“Yes. He means a lot to me.”
“If you could risk death for him, couldn’t you also risk life for him?”
Asila took a deep breath and was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know if he wants me anymore. His voice was different, he acted different.”
“Calon is afraid, just like you. He’s afraid to express affection because you might consider it sexual and he doesn’t want to trigger painful memories.”
“He acted cold, not nervous. He thinks I’m soiled—that I betrayed him.”
The brush paused and Tanal put a hand on Asila’s shoulder. “It’s normal to feel that way, Asila, but that’s not true at all. You’re creating excuses that are more comfortable than reality.”
“Are you saying I imagined what happened?” Asila’s eyes were sharp now, and steeled on Tanal’s image in the mirror. “I nearly died. There were eyewitnesses. What do you think happened? Do you think these are self-inflicted just to get attention!” Asila jerked her bathrobe collar away from her throat to reveal the bandages. “Are you saying this isn’t reality?”
“It is reality,” Tanal said softly. “I believe every part of what, but it’s the why that I doubt.”
“The why? It’s because Kulguct wants me dead. He wanted Mom dead, he wanted Granddad dead, and he wants me dead. What other reason is there?”
Tanal began brushing again. “Your mother and I were very close friends, Asila. I cried for weeks when she . . . when she was gone. Helping you is the one thing I can still do for her. Will you let me?”
Asila gave a tiny nod.
“Even if I prescribe nasty tasting medicine in the process?”
Asila smiled slightly and said, “I’ll try my best. It’s very hard.”
“Let’s start with the worst first. First, I know what you’ve been thinking, and you did not surrender to that man.”
Asila’s pale face turned a shade whiter and her eyes grew wide. It wasn’t a look of anger this time, but one of fear.
“Asila, you’ve been blaming yourself for what happened. You think you caused it. You’ve begun to think that you were a willing participant, haven’t you?”
Asila’s voice was hoarse. “What makes you say that?”
“Because every rape victim has those exact feelings. But they’re very deceptive, very destructive, and totally unfounded doubts.”
“But I didn’t fight hard enough,” Asila said. “I must have wanted it to happen.”
“Even if you didn’t fight at all, it still doesn’t mean you wanted it. You’re rationalizing your response because the reality is so hideous in comparison. The ugly, awful, horrifying truth is . . . you weren’t in control.”
“I don’t understand,” Asila said.
“I don’t either, I really don’t. Assault victims would rather be guilty participants rather than admit they weren’t in control of their lives. But you know that if you had truly wanted it to happen at that moment, then you’d want to happen again, and we know that’s not how you feel.”
Asila’s eyes dropped to her hands. “I’m terrified it will happen again. But I’m more terrified that I want it to happen again. He did something to me, to my mind. I screamed the entire time, but I couldn’t make a sound. I knew I was dying the whole time, that I was being eaten alive, but I never felt any pain. He paralyzed me physically and mentally. I wasn’t paralyzed with fear, but with pleasure—intense, mind-searing pleasure.”
“It gets everybody like that the first time.”
Baun reluctantly glanced at the speaker—the old marine Daboni—and then his eyes snapped back to the fantastic sight in the middle of the chamber. Set in the floor, in the center of the domed room, was a massive, shallow bowl of pale-blue crystal. The bowl was smooth except for its jagged edge, where protruding shards cast rainbows on the curves of the surrounding walls. But it was the boulder, at the bottom of the basin, which held Baun’s attention.
It was a rough, gray stone and from it emerged a creature roughly human in shape. It would be human, except for the outstretched wings, and the face of the thing. The tiger-like features were frozen in a roar of rage, exposing sharp fangs. The slanted eyes were squeezed shut and lined with intensity, and the heavy brow was creased with deep wrinkles. Pointed ears, oddly notched, protruded from the creature’s mane. It wasn’t the mane of a lion, however. It was cropped and stylized, with the beard on each chin-line sweeping up to a point. On either side of it’s muzzle hung a thick, wide, tapering moustache that reached to the beast’s chest, as did the goatee.
The rest of the creature, at least from the waist—for it was rough stone below the waistline—was very human except for the texture of fine fur that covered all but the palms of the hands. The hands surprised Baun because they were not tipped with claws, as he would expect. The arms were flung out and the fingers were curved in anticipating hooks. But instead of talons poised to shred the air, the hands were tipped with short, neat fingernails.
“The detail is unbelievable,” Baun said. “I’ve never seen a sculpture so realistic.”
“It’s not a statue.”
Baun turned to Daboni with wide eyes. “But that’s stone.”
“Yep, and so is the Proctor, now. The way I hear it, that thing was oozing up out of the stone and somebody stuck a knife between its ribs. It froze while halfway out, and it’s been solid stone for about forty years now. Ever since, they’ve kept tourists out with that phony cave-in, and most of the small passages are walled up to keep anything else like it from getting out. There must be more than one ‘proctor’ because mister fangs here, while he fits the general description, is not the benevolent visitor of legend.”
“So they think Ms. Griff’s attacker came through this—what is it—this gateway?”
“See that?” Daboni pointed off to the right, where technicians were on their hands and knees, picking up a pile of red crystal shards. “Before the graceful Mr. Quar tripped over a power cord, before he fell flat on top of it and smashed it, that was a shell—a cocoon or pod. The techs have been chattering about it all day. My squad comes over from Fort Sholkirk every month to recon the passages, and it wasn’t here two weeks ago. How else could it get here? Any passage that’s not blocked has motion sensors. I thought our scouting trips were to keep civilians out, but now I’m hearing a different tune. The inspections were to ensure no bad’uns slipped out, and it sounds like bad things have snuck out several times since mister fangs appeared.”
“Yeoman!” Chayna Vadid was glaring from the far side of the chamber. “Can you walk and gawk at the same time? We need that comm cable over here.”
The length of the room was exactly ten paces, while the width was only five paces. Calon didn’t pace the diagonal because two chairs in the tiny “apartment“ stood in the way. He could make the room smaller, of course, by lowering the bed from the storage compartment in the wall. Or he could add two paces by blocking the bathroom door open with his suitcase, but a few additional steps wouldn’t alleviate the insanity. As he faced the locked door for the thousandth time he pounded it with both fists and bellowed.
To his surprise, it slid open and he stood facing Prime Commander Kleric. One eyebrow was raised, and Strant asked, “May I come in?”
“Yes, sir.” Calon quickly stepped back and allowed Strant to enter.
Strant scanned the room, which was bare except for Calon’s suitcase, which lay on the desk built into the wall. Strant motioned Calon to the other chair and took the seat at the desk. Carefully setting the suitcase aside he placed his palm on the ID pad and a wall panel slid back to reveal a console.
“You can now access the entertainment and communication channels—books, music, movies, mail. My yeoman is very conscientious about these things, but he’s tied up with the present chaos just like the rest of us. I apologize for the delay. I’d be going crazy too if I were waiting it out in this room.”
“Am I prisoner?” Anger tinged Calon’s voice.
“No, not technically. It’s an unusual situation, Mr. Myler. You have the right to be here, but you’re not allowed to know where you are or what’s going on. Any answers will be slow in coming because of the protocols, but the biggest barrier is their price tag.”
“I have the uneasy feeling that even asking their price has a price.”
“When you proposed to Asila, didn’t she explain the obligations you’d inherit? Didn’t she explain her military connections or the potential dangers?”
“She only spoke of her grandfather’s assassination once or twice, and even less about her mother’s murder. She was vague, but I thought it was because the memories were painful. Her dad was ambiguous, too, although I knew there was a military connection. They had started over again, as far from the military—and its painful associations—as possible. I didn’t realize they were avoiding classified secrets. I thought they were avoiding negative thoughts.”
“That’s true enough, and I truly wish she could leave those memories behind. Yesterday’s harsh reality, however, proved that civilian life is still too dangerous for Asila. Now she’s my guest until I can absolutely guarantee her safety. If you should suggest the deadly idea that she leave the safety of this facility, you truly would be my prisoner. It would be a very long time until you saw Asila again—if ever.”
“So that’s the price to pay? Encourage her to stay?”
Strant nodded. “That’s just to maintain your current arrangement. Your console can now communicate with the outside world and you may now find the situation bearable. This room will be civilian soil, with no extraordinary restrictions. Beyond that door, however, you will rarely pass—it’s too easy to see or overhear classified information. Temporarily, you’ll have an armed escort when visiting Asila, but once she’s recovered all visits will occur only in this apartment.”
“And my other options?”
“You could go back home and video conference with Asila. She’d be allowed to visit you occasionally, with bodyguards, but that wouldn’t be much of a marriage. Finally, there’s the option where you participate in, rather than circumvent, the military situation.”
“A permanent military career? Without civilian rights you could put me in solitary confinement for the rest of my life.”
Strant sighed and shrugged. “I could already do that. But no, the only permanent price is confidentiality, not enlistment. You could eventually return to civilian life—when I can guarantee Asila’s safety.”
“What guarantee do I have that I won’t be reassigned, relocated, or sequestered by one of your superiors? Some smeking Vice Admiral could have us permanently separated on a whim.”
“One arrangement would precludes interference.”
Calon’s frown deepened. “As a bondsman?” Calon turned and looked at the wall, shaking his head in disgust. “That’s an oxymoron—a binding can’t be coerced.”
“Legally this isn’t coercion, but I admit it violates the spirit of the ceremony.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that I don’t have any smeking choice.”
“One always choose their actions. It’s the consequences we can’t control.”
Calon glared at Strant and inhaled in a long, noisy breath. He let it out in an equally noisy huff before standing up and walking to the other side of the apartment. With his back to Strant he stared at the blank wall and said, “That’s some price tag—sell my very life to you. I don’t even know you. How can I entrust my free will to someone I don’t even know?”
“Asila knows me,” Strant said. “And Asila trusts me.”
“What’s stuck to its back?” Key pointed a triangular piece of glassy ebony between the Proctor’s shoulder blades.
Daboni grunted and said, “That’s the tip of the knife or sword that killed it. Chayna’s mentioned Zon’s name a few times today, so Zon must have thrown it. I don’t know if it was glassy to begin with, or if it turned to glass when the bad’un turned to stone. If you look closely at his chest, you can see a bit of the handle peeking out from between the folds of his tunic.”
“Iyo!” Baun shook his head in wonder. “Imagine the force it took to penetrate that deeply, and through bone.”
Daboni lifted a finger and pointed to Baun and said, “Not just strong, mind you. Throwing a sword that hard, and that accurately, in the heat of battle no less, is an amazing skill. Nigh unto impossible without magic.”
Key snorted. “Magic? Come on Daboni, you’re boonis if you think we’ll swallow one of your ghost stories. It’s a fake, just like the fake cave-in. The tourist bureau put it here to attract and crank visitors, right Baunee?”
Key looked over his shoulder at Baun. Key was sitting on one of the crates, while Daboni stood leaning against a refrigerator-sized crate. Baun was reclining on a heap of empty canvas bags piled in a narrow spot between a row of crates and the smooth chamber walls.
“Well . . .” Baun shrugged.
Key rolled his eyes and growled, “Moski.” With a grunt he turned back to face the center of the chamber and said, “I forgot you’re part of an ancestral conspiracy. I’ll ask one of these techs for the plumb—one that isn’t a superstitious Gammeran.”
The three men were quiet as they watched the technicians scurry from one piece of equipment to the next. The trio had happily complied with Commander Vadid’s orders to await further instructions in this peaceful spot. Over the bustle, they could hear Chayna directing the chaos. She moved to a group of waiting scientists to inspect their handiwork. They had finished picking up the red shards that had once been a crystal pod. Baun recognized Barrad’s name and the scientists chuckled at Chayna’s remark. Then four of the green-clad group hefted the huge crate and moved carefully towards the exit.
“Is that a chimney?” Key was looking at the apex of the domed ceiling. Directly above the Proctor was a circular hole about eight feet in diameter.
“Nope,” Daboni said. “Just a shaft that drops straight down from a cave about half the size of this room. It’s quite a maze getting to it. My squad’s patrolled the Teeth every month for more than ten years, and I wouldn’t dare wander off the main passageways without a map—and a very good flashlight. If you fell down that shaft, mister fangs here would be covered in your intestinal goo.”
“Pilot Troyaz!”
All three men turned to see Chayna marching grimly towards their group.
“Yes, commander?” Key stood and saluted Commander Vadid. Daboni straightened and added his salute, while Baun had only enough time to struggle to an upright sitting position.
Chayna distractedly returned Key’s salute. “I’ve just heard from our illustrious Lieutenant Quar and he’s unable to launch his air truck.”
“Lieutenant Barrad Quar?” Key faked his surprise. “I thought he left hours ago.”
“Apparently it took that long for the situation to grow desperate enough to overrule his pride. He just now admitted, though very obtusely, that he blew the brake vents during a sloppy landing. Now the safeties won’t allow a launch and he can’t figure out how to do the manual override. Is that something you can handle?”
Key nodded thoughtfully. “Yes ma’am. But it could take awhile depending on the damage. If Lieutenant Quar is in a hurry, he could get back to Sanctuary faster by taking one of the unused air trucks at our base camp. It would also give us more time to do a full repair of Barrad’s truck.”
“Tempting,” Chayna sighed. “I’d love to see Ampado furious at his own infallible fly boys. But no, the situation is critical. I also learned that he landed the air truck just outside this cave’s entrance.”
Daboni went rigid. “He landed an air truck inside the ring? Inside the teeth?”
Chayna nodded with a look of disgust. Turning back to Key she explained, “Barnobia has a treaty with Gammera that gives us access to the Teeth. But it has strict provisions to safeguard the sanctity of the site. Landing any spacecraft inside the ring of teeth is a desecration. I need that air truck outside the ring by the quickest means possible.”
Chayna turned to Daboni and said, “You’ll need to escort Mr. Troyaz back to the surface. I still want everyone travelling in pairs for at least another day.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Daboni said. Chayna nodded an acknowledgement and marched back to the busy crowd of technicians. Daboni turned and headed for the exit in the opposite direction.
Key paused and turned to Baun. “Well bunkie, I guess I’ll see you back at camp.”
Baun lay back and said “I hope Chayna doesn’t keep me long. I haven’t eaten or slept in—what—two days?”
“And think of the fun you’re about to miss, Baunee boy. Barrad already thinks that freighter pilots are morons, so a big guy like me must have an especially tiny brain. I won’t disappoint him and he’ll have to explain it over and over again, very slowly to stupid ol’ me. Think of all the humiliation you’ll miss.”
Baun grinned wearily and said, “Just be sure to save me a dinner in case I’m late.”
Key waved a goodbye and Baun settled back down on the pile of sacks. He rolled onto his back and stared at the rainbow pattern projected on the ceiling. He couldn’t see the rest of the room from where he lay, and his eyes were drawn to the circular shaft in the center of the ceiling. All day he’d seen the rough stones that formed the Teeth of Karnath. In only three locations had he seen the smooth stone of an intentional hand—the stairs leading to the Crystal Chamber, the dome ceiling of the chamber, and the perfectly circular shaft in the chamber’s ceiling. So if the shaft weren’t a chimney, it still had to have some purpose. Why was it created?
“It’s refreshing to see you imperfect, doc,” Strant said with a mischievous smile as he sat next to Tanal’s desk. Her tiny office was spotless as always, but her clean, white uniform had wet spots on the front and back.
“Just water and tears,” Tanal said. “I’ve been hugging a wet and crying girl.”
“Has the situation deteriorated?”
“It’s a sign of purging and of healing. A crying Asila is healthier than a zombie Asila. She got angry this time, but it was cathartic.”
“Good, good,” Strant said nodding. “I wish Calon didn’t cherish his personal fury so fervently. He has every right to be enraged, but it’s eating him alive. He’s concerned more about the injustice than he is the victim.”
“I hope it’s a passing preoccupation because their relationship can’t withstand the strain. Has Calon decided what he’s going to do?”
“I insisted he take a week to decide, but at least he knows his options now.”
“Are you sure you can handle a second bondsman?”
Strant gave Tanal a fake frown. “Doctor Obre, wherever did you hear such an outrageous rumor?”
Tanal smiled impishly and said, “I created it all by myself and I intend to maliciously spread it throughout Sanctuary.” Her smile waned and she said “It’s the only humane option, although I doubt Calon appreciates your generosity. But seriously, Strant, won’t another bondsman be difficult for you? How’s Baunerji working out?”
“We’re like father and son in the fullest sense. We’ve developed a close bond, but Baun can also be an errant child to worry over. He has a strong sense of justice that occasionally transforms into a liability. In fact, he’s with Chayna for a few days until Ampado cools off.”
“I heard.” Tanal slid her tablet into a desk drawer that was neatly arranged. She then swiveled her chair to face Strant and folded her hands in her lap. “I also heard that Asila marked him. Does Baun know what it means?”
“No,” Strant said stiffly, “and I’m not going to say anything, because we don’t really know what it means. With Lianea, it was a totally different situation. She confirmed what everyone already knew.”
“But there will be rumors and Baun will hear them.”
Strant gave an exasperated sigh and said, “By the time he returns to Sanctuary the rumors will be dead and the mark will be gone. Discussion would only create a self-fulfilling prophecy.” Strant leaned forward and pressed his index finger to doctor’s desk. “And if it truly is a prophecy, then nothing I say or do can avert its fulfillment.”
“Prime Commander Kleric,” Tanal said with a cold bow of her head, “For the record, I disagree with your course of action. Your reluctance to talk to Baun is personally motivated. Your unrestrained feelings for Lianea, a woman long dead, conflict with the well being of a living crew member.”
Strant leaned back and folded his arms. “Smek, Tanal, that’s low.”
“Any lower than taking your frustrations out on a good friend?”
“I apologize.”
“And?”
“And, yes—damn you for rubbing my face in it—I’m avoiding the issue. I will talk to Baun about the mark despite the pain of opening old wounds. But I won’t call it a prophecy until I’m proved wrong.”
“Strant, I’m not asking you to forget, and I’m not asking you to stop feeling—especially when history is repeating itself. But you can’t rewrite your history using their lives. Be absolutely certain that you help, not manipulate, or the devastation will be irreparable.”
Rebuttals streamed through Strant’s mind, each more volatile than the last. He looked down and to the side, the muscles rippling along his jaw line. As chief physician, she was authorized to scrutinize his emotional stability. As a subordinate, however, she did not have the right to critique the minutia of his methods. No, it’s just pride. From his friend and confidant he should expect friction occasionally—even welcome it when the conflict honed their relationship, like iron sharpening iron. As Strant sat back he blew a sigh and softly said, “I can’t walk the knife’s edge without help. The line between helping and manipulating is so fine. Apathy is the only guarantee that it won’t be crossed. What are your recommendations?”
The taunt ridges of Tanal’s brow relaxed and she glanced down at the floor, with lips pursed, and then looked into Strant’s eyes. “Just be careful, okay? I’m here if you need to bounce ideas around.”
“Ideas are in short supply right now. Yesterday I was drinking from a fire hose, and today I await each droplet. Calon is reviewing his options, Chayna’s camp is preparing for nightfall, and the forensic team at the Griff home hasn’t found even a single hair from the attacker. All that broken glass, all those bullet holes, and not a single drop of blood. You wouldn’t have an update, would you, doc?”
Tanal smiled grimly. “As a matter of fact, I do. I have some totally worthless data just begging to become information.” She laid a palm on the ID pad of her desk and the wall above the desk slid back to reveal her console. Her hands rested on the empty desk surface and their fingertips tapped in chords until an image filled the screen of the console.
“They look like bubbles,” Strant said.
“They’re cells from a tissue analysis performed on Kellor Griff this morning.”
“Shouldn’t I see a nucleus, chromosome strands, protoplasm?”
“The cells are completely empty, even the cytoplasm is missing. Yet the cell membranes haven’t collapsed.”
Strant leaned forward and squinted at the cell images. “Did the membranes hardened? A rigor mortis on the cellular level?”
“The membrane elasticity exhibits no disintegration, an additional anomaly. They contain no solids, no liquids, and no gasses—nothing but a void.”
“Doc, nature hates a vacuum.”
“Who said this was natural?”
The door opened without warning and Ampado stepped into the room. He watched with a critical eye as Calon awkwardly struggled to a sitting position on the rumpled bed.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Myler.” Ampado stepped to the console and silenced the canned laughter.
“Afternoon? That was an awfully long flight for only a few hours time difference.” Calon straightened his shirt and moved to a chair. “We must be near the capitol.”
Ampado smiled and shook his head in mock sadness. “Good try. This facility is synchronized with the capitol for administrative efficiency. Our time zone is unrelated to our location.” Ampado offered his hand, which forced Calon to stand in order to shake it.
“I am Commander Ampado Suel. I command the special combat units of this facility, and direct some of the operational divisions of this base.” Ampado released the young man’s hand and waved Calon to a chair. Ampado took the other seat and steepled his hands.
“Combat units? Mr. Kleric gave the impression that this was research facility.”
Ampado smiled thinly. “This facility is a double-bladed sword in Barnobia’s arsenal. Strant Kleric focuses primarily on research and administration, so his discussions center on those aspects. Unfortunately, I’m denied the pleasure of sharing the details my own pride and joy. Let’s just say that the weaponry and soldiery at this command exceeds the minimal task of protecting Strant’s scientists and office staff.”
“Let me guess, you’re here to make me an offer.”
“I take it that Strant’s offer was unappetizing. My offer may be equally repugnant, but at least your options are multiplying. What harm can come from listening?”
Calon crossed his arms. “What have you got?”
“What do you want?”
“I want out of here. I want to see Asila.”
“Then why didn’t you take Strant’s offer?”
“He wouldn’t let me. I have to wait a whole week—like I’m too stupid to know what I’m doing.”
Ampado shook his head slowly. “You shouldn’t have to wait that long. I wonder why he’s holding back?”
“Can you get me out sooner?”
Ampado shrugged. “Perhaps today, or tomorrow at the latest.”
“With strings attached, right?”
Ampado’s smile was tight. “If you find a deal without strings, then someone is lying. Which strings can you live with? Can you trust the person holding the other end?”
“I can get a desk job with Strant. It certainly is safer and less painful than soldiering.”
“Asila will be so glad that you played it safe. She’ll be so proud that you didn’t risk anything for justice. I’m sure tracking down her rapist is every bureaucrat’s top priority. Best leave the job to someone else.”
“I am not a coward!” Calon stood and pointed a finger at Ampado. “I stood toe-to-toe with that monster and I’d do it again.”
“That’s exactly what I offer Mr. Myler. A chance to stand toe-to-toe with that monster and do it again. But this time with a real weapon in your hands. You’ll never see justice from behind one of Strant’s desk. Sign with me, and I’ll make you judgement incarnate.”
“Welcome son of Sklain.”
The dream ripped Baun from the deepest end of the sleep cycle and left him with a spinning head and a pounding heart. He struggled to an upright position with trembling arms and groggily climbed over the crates. Baun sat massaging his eyes, miserable in the shock of interrupted slumber. Fatigue clung stubbornly to his every limb but he managed to stand unsteadily. He rolled his head to appease his stiff neck and then let out a fervent groan as he stretched with a cat-like passion.
It was his own groan that brought instant sobriety. Or rather the echo of his groan. With a chill, he realized that he was alone in the quiet chamber. The room was still brightly lit, and the equipment hummed to themselves, but Baun could hear no sound of human life.
Smek, I hope they’re not too far ahead. Baun stepped briskly toward the exit and was nearly at it when he heard the rustle of cloth. With a single motion he drew his gun and whirled to face the chamber. His eyes swept over the piles of crates and monitoring equipment.
“Hello?” Baun kept his gun raised as he edged closer to the center of the room. Licking his lips, he inched toward a pile of crates that might provide cover. He continued to scan the room, but there was no movement and no unusual sound—just the drone of electrical equipment, the soft beep of monitoring devices, and his own nervous breath.
He gazed around the room a final time. This time his eyes fell on the statue in the center of the room. With a gasp, he stepped back and tripped on the boxes. With a dull thud his head made contact with the stone wall, and Baun crumpled to the floor.
The Proctor glared down at the yeoman’s unconscious form.
“Silly ass,” it growled.