An Alternate Reality Tale of Science Fiction and Fantasy...

While not a professional captain, Michael owned the Pod and operated it with a military-like proficiency. He had blue eyes beneath a wind-blown style of short, brown hair. Indeed, his light goatee and mustache often earned him several nicknames by the crew he staffed, usually along the lines of famous pirates or other less-than savory characters. His flannel shirt he wore casually around his waist, a sweat-soaked t-shirt and some loose, semi-baggy work jeans completing his casual appearance.

If it weren’t for the shielding that glimmered like a transparent, blue shell around the ship, he and the rest of the crew wouldn’t have been able to get this close. As it was, the generators were being pushed to their limits to protect the fragile crew from the steam, boiling waters and miles upon miles of crackling fire.

"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"

Webb turned around as the ship’s acting physician came on deck. He nodded to his long-time friend and turned back to gaze at the wall. "Not the description I’d have chosen at first, Sam, but -yeah- there’s something about it that surpasses just about anything else in the world."

Doctor Conway placed his gloved hands on the railing of the vessel and leaned forward to gaze at the huge wall. An academic in both background and appearance, his neatly styled brown hair was trimmed short above his collar. His clear eyes peered intently at the world through a pair of archaic glasses. Indeed, to complete the image of a scientific scholar, his ever-present, white lab coat fluttered in the hot breezes rippling through the shields. "Five miles high and countless thousands of miles long; cutting from the North Pole to the South Pole and back up to the North again..." He shook his head in disbelief. "I wonder if the Separationists had any idea it would go this far?"

"I don’t think anyone had any idea it would go this far..." Still about a hundred yards from the wall, they’d piloted their vessel closer than most ships ever went. Further out, storms raged; spawned by the steam and constant thermals. This close to the source, though, all they had to deal with were turbulent waters, boiling temperatures and clouds of steamy fog.

In the hissing of the inferno, the two looked on, Sam watching Michael’s practiced eyes taking in the sight; evaluating it carefully.

"Can you get us through it?"

Michael stayed silent, pondering for a few moments more. "I may damage that pretty wall of yours Sam," he said with a nod, "but I’ve never met a barrier that I couldn’t breach." He turned to face his friend, putting his hand on Sam’s shoulder. "Are you really sure you want to do this? They say they’re nothing more than animals on the Other Side..."

"Bureaucratic propaganda, I assure you," the doctor replied with a dry chuckle. "The Separationists are the Eurasian Union’s best rivals. Every culture throughout human history has portrayed its opponents as little more than barbarians or animals." He shrugged. "It’s the human way."

"I didn’t mean it like that."

Sam looked at Michael with his characteristic calm and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He nodded in response. "I’ve still got a few friends in the diplomatic fleet. Down at Fire Gate four, a few Separationists have been seen. I’ve been told that they’re literally animals over there now. Half-human, half-beast." He shook his head. "It’s like something out of a twisted faerie tale."

The hissing of the boiling water was drowned out for a moment as a clap of thunder erupted in the stormy skies overhead. A feeling akin to a divine presence seemed to descend over the area; awe at the forces held in check just off of the starboard bow.

Dr. Conway shook his head slowly. "I don’t care if they’ve all become giant, rampaging wolves," he said. "It won’t matter. All I care about is getting my hands on the Halvaric Sabre. The rest is immaterial."

"Really?" Michael knelt and opened a control panel set into the deck and flipped a few switches. Slowly, a thin holographic monitor crackled into being over the railing. "I don’t call that wall "immaterial" if you ask me," he said, displaying the vital statistics on it for his friend. "Internal temperatures of close to a thousand degrees Fahrenheit with a surface of about 450. The gasses are semi-toxic and are fueled from some unseen source."

"You’re the best demolitions expert and engineer that Associated Chemical and Mineral ever produced, Mike. You’ll get us through."

Michael shook his head with a light chuckle. "I wonder if anyone in the world would have taken this job if they didn’t already know you. Do you have a buyer already lined up for the Sabre?"

Sam smiled thinly. "Of course."

The holo-display scrolled rapidly; displaying energy scan results and read-outs of the blazing chemicals that hung in the air. Michael made a couple adjustments to the screen in silence, his fingers dancing through the suspended light display with deft ability.

Minutes passed as members of the Pod’s crew went about their tasks. Sam looked out over the waters. "How long?"

Michael smiled. "We’ll be ready to go in about an hour." Turning to face the small crew on deck he shouted over the muffled din of the waters outside. "Ok! This is it...! Get things nailed down according to protocol! Those of you at environmental stations, retrieve your orders from the central system! We’re going through!"

The crew members snapped quick salutes and swiftly began final preparations about deck. Sam smiled at his friend’s efficiency. "The diplomatic fleet should never have rejected you..." he said in admiration.

"Yeah," came the sardonic reply, "but then I’d never have met you, now would I, good doctor?"

Sam looked out at the imposing wall and smiled. "Very soon..." he muttered to himself. "Very soon, indeed..."

"Just out of curiosity Sam, if we don’t get vaporized while blowing our way through the wall, how do you intend on breaking into a temple guarded by a society of isolationist, superstitious sorcerers?"

The doctor’s smile stayed in place as he turned to Michael reassuringly. "I’ve been in the business of acquisitions for decades my friend; I’ll just use what I always use."

"What’s that?"

"The shadows, Mike... I’ll simply use the shadows..."

A dragon is a warrior and fierce combatant, his mother had told him. You’ll bring shame on our family if you keep up this foolishness with glass and color and paint!

Sephiroth smiled to himself as he delicately positioned the tiny mirror in the hanging mobile of assorted lenses, glass and polished surfaces. His sharp vision watched the lines of energy in, above and around the sculpture flicker and move, finally resolving themselves into an image of a circle of men and women raising their arms to the heavens. A smile crept across his green muzzle; tiny, snake-like scales displaying his satisfaction at the accomplishment. While after sunset outside, the effect was even more beautiful in the dimly-lit room.

A sudden crash echoed through the temple making him jerk his clawed hand back. With dismay, he watched the conjured image of light flicker and dissipate across the vaulted roof and painted walls. Furious, the young dragon spread his wings and leapt from the ladder to the floor.

The floor shook as his large, clawed feet struck and left marks in the tiled floor. "Who did that?!!" he snarled, looking around at startled acolytes and temple functionaries.

The Temple of Priapus stood silent in the wake of the dragon’s question. The arched, colorful walls seemed to hang onto his last demand and toss it from window to stained glass window. Rows upon rows of pews set in a semi-circle and dusty with remodeling, framed the stunned and nervous expressions of the various temple functionaries. A frustrated artist was one thing; an eight-foot-tall, draconic artist was another...

One brown-robed man raised a timid hand. "I...I’m afraid it was me, s...sir..." he said, indicating a small step ladder lying on it’s side next to him. "I...I slipped and ... and knocked it over while I was washing the windows..."

Sephiroth stepped forward, his teeth showing. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to do this?!!" he demanded, sweeping his arm in a threatening arc. "You can wash a window at any time; my art is a tribute to the Gods themselves!"

"Now, now... Don’t frighten the poor man to death..." came a low, rumbling voice.

The dragon looked up, his wings half-relaxing against his back as the High Priest entered the domed chapel. Large and imposing in his blue robes, he walked down the short flight of stairs that led to from the preparatory chambers to the main sanctuary.

As large as Sephiroth was, even he had to look upwards into the leonine eyes of the priest. He moved heavily; his large, broad paws pressing firmly against the floor tiles with careful balance. Twice the height of a normal man, the feline walked to the dragon and placed a paw upon his shoulder.

"You should calm yourself. Such small set-backs aren’t worth it."

The dragon sighed, a few tendrils of smoke escaping his nostrils as he nodded. "I know, Zirien... I know. It’s just that..."

"It’s just that you’ve used better technology in the past."

He nodded. "You know me too well."

Zirien smiled, his teeth showing brightly against his tawny fur. "You’ve been a ward of the Church long enough. And when haven’t you talked about the days you’d spent with your father in the Eurasian Embassy, playing with their technological toys?"

Slowly, the temple functionaries got back to their work as the High Priest calmed down the fiery dragon.

"I know... It’s just ... it’s just that sculpting light isn’t easy." He spread his hands helplessly. "You just don’t find lenses delicate enough around here. As it is, I have to craft my own and purchase special tools; electronics like that are expensive to import..."

The High Priest’s face softened at the young artist’s plight. The tiger-like stripes that crisscrossed the priest’s muzzle and tinted his royal mane outlined his concern. He lowered his voice to a soft tone. "And I would have it no other way..." he said, reassuringly. "The task that requires the most is often the most satisfying to complete. Besides, the Gods will provide what you need..."

Sephiroth smirked and looked sidelong at the huge man. "Oh really?" he snorted, derisively. "Since when did you start regurgitating the party line about the Gods and their gifts?"

Zirien shrugged with a smile. "Oh, I can always fall back on dogma when it’s necessary to motivate people. Besides, technology isn’t so much what’s needed here as your skills." Careful of the equipment around him, he sat down on one of the pews. The old wood creaked with his mass descending on it. While a lion by birth, he looked more like a lion with a tiger’s coloration; a gift from the priesthood upon his ascension to High Priest.

"In the end, Adam" the feline continued, using the dragon’s birth name, "the real important thing is that your artwork is completed and brings hope and joy to those who see it. Remember, the temple is only here for those who can’t hear the Gods in their daily life. To be honest, if more people simply had a better grip on their own spiritual needs, people like me would be unnecessary."

The dragon sat down next to Zirien. "I guess that’s why you’re High Priest; you have all the answers."

"Hardly. Only by taking apart the Universe itself will we have all the answers; and -sadly- all we have are metaphorical tweezers. Luckily, though, it’s not required we figure it all out in a single lifetime." He chuckled and patted Sephiroth’s shoulder fondly. "You have far more answers than you may know, my friend. Just have faith in what you create and you’ll be amazed what light will shine forth."

Sephiroth nodded, his frustration fading as he idly picked up a few dislodged lenses. "I suppose I can still get it working before the next ritual."

"That’s the spirit."

The two men looked up as a slender acolyte strode purposefully up to the High Priest and bowed. "Sir," he said, "you have two visitors. They claim to have had some sort of vision..."

Zirien raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

"Yes, sir. I have seen that they be taken to your study."

The feline rose slowly, the cloth of his robes straining at the muscles and other masculine features his priestly position had granted him. "Of course." The acolyte bowed and retreated; Sephiroth standing and looking back up at the suspended lenses and panes of colored glass.

"I’ll catch up with you later," Zirien said, taking Sephiroth’s hand in his own. "You focus on doing your best to get your work done. Who knows? You may have it ready by the time the sun rises..."

Sephiroth nodded. "Of course..."

Zirien embraced him for a moment, before turning to walk towards his chambers. Over his shoulder, he called, "and if any one else should disrupt your work, remind them that they’ll have to answer to me..." Pausing briefly, the tall feline bowed before a glass case mounted on the wall at the head of the chapel. Hanging within it, suspended by naught but magic, was an elaborately carven sabre. Whispering a brief prayer of respect, he bowed again and departed.

The dragon smiled after Zirien and shot a toothy grin to the functionaries before climbing up the ladder to resume his work.

the Pod tossed violently as it cut through the waters, its engines straining as they increased in speed past two hundred knots. On the bridge, Michael and Sam watched the rapidly approaching wall with as little trepidation as they could muster.

"Deploy air burst..." Speaking into the microphone, Michael watched as twin contrails erupted from the bow of the ship towards the flaming barrier before them.

"Air burst missiles away," came the electronic reply.

Seconds seemed to stretch into eternity as the crew watched the missiles strike the barrier and vanish deep within. From inside the protected cabin, they could almost feel the heat increase outside; the steam so thick that if it weren’t for the digitally enhanced tracking system projected on the windows, it would be hard to see anything but a glowing, orange blur. The wall rushed closer; the missiles deep within it’s hot gasses with no visible result.

Sam’s eyes slowly widened as he felt butterflies multiply in his stomach. Only seconds remained before the rocketing ship would impact the flames. He grabbed Michael’s shoulder frantically as the flames before them filled his vision. "It didn’t work! Damn it Mike, pull back!"

"No!" shouted Michael over the external, flaming din, "Give it a few more...!"

A dull boom erupted outside the ship deep within the wall and the flames seemed to shimmer for a moment before parting to form a rough, burning tube. The prow vanished into the hole as the ship skidded across boiling waters towards the other side. All around the Pod the walls of fire licked at its protective shielding as the gasses that had fueled the conflagration in the immediate area struggled to reignite and coalesce into the space they’d left behind.

"...seconds..." finished the captain, relieved.

A sudden vibration rocked the ship as the walls on either side of it slowly closed in. "The gasses are dissipating!" shouted a crewman.

"I can see that..." replied Webb as he increased the throttle.

A series of shudders ripped through the vessel as the cool darkness of the tunnel egress appeared before them. Sam stared, feeling his stomach sink as he watched the burning aperture slowly continue to close before them. "Mike..."

"Yeah, yeah... I know..."

A straining sound of metal filled the air; the violent shaking of the ship now accompanied by a series of shuddering booms that shook it’s hull. The roaring of the flames on all sides drowned out most conversation as the shielding around the ship began to fail.

"We’re losing the main engine!" came a voice from the speaker. "The rudder’s conducting too much heat into the jet-shaft!"

"Great," Mike mumbled. A half dozen schematics flickered through his mind as he mentally went over his modifications to the boat; desperately trying to figure out how to get one last burst of propulsion that would propel them -for sure- beyond the edge of The Wall. He seized upon it and grabbed the microphone. "Ok, listen carefully; fire two more dispersion missiles out the rear of the ship!"

"Mike; we’ll need those to get back!"

Mike shot a look at Sam and shook his head. "There won’t be a ‘back’ unless we get through in the first place..." Returning to the microphone, he wiped his brow as the temperature of the cabin rose higher. "Ok, you heard me down there; now fire!"

The engines screamed in protest; flames licking at the hull as the twin missiles jetted from the rear of the ship. A shuddering lurch sent Sam to the ground as the Pod rocketed forward. The hole before them shrank smaller and smaller, the dark sky beyond, tantalizingly out of reach as fire continued to press through the ship’s shielding.

Danger lights flickered all over the consoles, trouble lighting coming on across the ship. With a sputter and a bang, the engine sent a shuddering wail through the ship; its velocity starting to ebb.

"Just ... a ... bit ... more..." snarled Mike, his hand still keeping the throttle all the way forward.

Twin explosions erupted behind the ship and -as the crew watched, the flames receded both before and around them; the second air burst shoving them forward and out of the roaring flames of their would-be crematorium.

The crew erupted in cheers as Sam drew himself to his feet. Behind the ship, the hole they’d punched in The Wall slowly closed as their speed slowed and choppy, stormy waters surrounded them. Heavy raindrops began to fall as the engine died. Steam hissed from the metal railings outside the cabin as the crew watched the heated deck of the ship cool in the hot rain.

"We did it..."

Michael nodded to Sam and grinned. "Was there ever any doubt?" he asked. Speaking into the microphone again, he cleared his throat. "Ok, everyone. Good job. Give me an estimate on when we’ll have the engine back and -in the meantime- we can try to figure out how we can get back through that thing when we’re done here... Congratulations!"

He flipped the microphone off as the crew began going about their work . The ship listed in the stormy waves as Michael calmly unfolded a map and gestured for Sam to join him.

"Ok, if we charted this correctly, we should be about thirty miles off-shore, maybe twenty or so miles to the north of old Washington D.C."

"Mike, forget about that," he hissed under his breath, glancing at the nonchalant activities of the rest of the crew. "How are we going to get back?"

The captain grinned and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Listen, that’s my job. You just worry about getting your hands on that artifact you’ve already sold. Leave the machines and crazy inventing to me..." A crash of lightning outside the ship punctuated his glib remark as the two men gazed upon the dark seas beyond The Wall. Already, the light from the flames behind them was fading into the fog.

"Welcome to the Other Side..." said Michael in a serious tone.

Zirien strode into his chambers with a sigh of relief. Out there, in the main sanctuary, everything was so small. In here, amongst his books, scrolls, computers and furniture, he at last felt comfortable. While traditional to have the blessings of Priapus visited upon all members of the priesthood, it was both not enough and too much at the same time. Many were the times that visitors to the temple would look up at him with a worshipful gaze seeming to mistake him for the God he was to represent.

Still, he thought, it’s not all bad. Being looked up to has its perks.

Striding into the large, domed study, he splayed his large, round toes into the plush carpet firmly, feeling their supple caress beneath his enlarged paws. Amidst the ceiling to floor shelves of books and scroll bins, sat the High Priest’s desk, set with his personal computer, papers and trappings of office. The two guests, as promised, were waiting for him, sitting in their oversized chairs like children called before a magistrate.

"Greetings," rumbled the large lion as he strode into the room. "I am High Priest Zirien; I hear you have a message for me."

The two strangers rose as Zirien walked across the carpet. The smaller of the two, a white tiger with deep black stripes, looked like many of the supplicants that the priesthood saw frequently. Very small, probably the runt of his family. Muscular, true, but in scale a diminutive man at best. The tiger gaped up at the larger leonine man, barely coming up to mid-thigh on him.

The second person was undoubtedly stranger. The first thing Zirien noted was the slender, branching antlers that adorned the forehead of the fellow. His ears sprouted up long and slender on either side, an odd mix of lapine and some other species, the High Priest couldn’t identify at first glance. His eyes were silvered and solid in color, giving an eerie quality to his character. Like his smaller friend, the other man was well-defined; probably the result of exercise and physical labor. But his legs; they -too- looked odd on him, as if he were halfway between those of a rabbit and a kangaroo.

The tiger glanced up at Zirien’s face, tearing his gaze from the feline’s large paws for a moment as the High Priest walked behind his desk to sit down. "Uh, he...hello sir. Thank you for seeing me... Uh, "us", that is..."

Zirien nodded as the rabbit-roo nodded and chimed in. "Yeah, my friend here’s been having dreams lately and -well- he’s been too nervous to come here on his own."

The leonine man chuckled good-naturedly and nodded for the two guests to sit. "You have no fears here, my friends. No matter what you may think, the priesthood is hardly the aloof and distant order that it used to be." He turned to the small, white tiger. "So sir, why don’t you tell me what it is that you’ve seen and who, exactly, you are."

The tiger swallowed and licked his lips nervously. "Well," he started, "my birth name was Mike O’Brien, but my chosen name is Puc. I’m the executive cobbler and owner of O’Brien Shoes down in The District and ... and, well, I’ve been having these ...dreams... the last few nights."

The rabbit-roo interrupted. "Thing is, sir, he’s been talking about it ever since; he just couldn’t bring himself to come here alone. I finally convinced him to take some time off and report what he’s seen. I mean, it may be nothing, but on the other hand..."

"On the other hand, if it’s a legitimate vision, I should hear about it," finished Zirien. "What’s your name, sir?"

"Wurragurr," answered the man. "I run the gym that’s across the street from Puc’s shoppe. He and I have been best friends since acting on stage together back in college."

"You’re a Whimsy, aren’t you?" asked Zirien carefully.

Wurragurr nodded, looking a bit defiantly as if used to being treated derisively. "I was bought from an orphanage by a mage who needed a lackey. In the end, I guess, he also needed a test case."

The High Priest nodded. It wasn’t common, but mix-and-match life forms like Wurragurr were often the result of an unscrupulous mage trying a series of transformative spells on an unwilling subject. While many could be changed back to normal, many more were tangled up in magics beyond any hope of reclamation.

"I take it he was arrested?"

The whimsy nodded. "Yeah; he’s been in prison for the past ten years." He shrugged and shook his head. "But I’m not here for your pity; I’m rather fond of how I am and if society doesn’t approve, screw ‘em!"

Zirien shook his head solemnly. "Pity you? Hardly." The High Priest smiled. "I envy anyone strong enough to stand proud like you." He turned to Puc with a nod. "Just as I respect those strong enough to stand by their friends despite societal pressures to the contrary..."

"Thank you..."

"So, tell me about these visions of yours..."

Puc swallowed, a bit embarrassed and sat forward in his chair. "Well, it’s always the same... That’s how I know it’s not just a normal dream. It’s been that way for three nights, now." He paused, looking at his fingers instead of the intent gaze from the High Priest.

Nodding, Zirien motioned for him to continue.

"It always starts with me in ... well, in church. Just sitting in the Priapic temple, but without ... without any clothes on."

"Not surprising. Many who come here dream of such things. We are a fertility order..."

The tiger nodded. "Yeah, but that’s where it starts to get weird. When I look around, I see that everything ...the windows, the pews, the altar... it’s all gotten larger. Much larger. It looks like I’m only the size of a bug or something. The acolytes walk all around me with bare feet; their paws just missing me as I try to get them to notice me."

The whimsy smiled and patted his friend on the shoulder. "Personally, I think that part has more to do with his shoe business than anything else..."

"Wurr...!"

"Sorry."

Zirien suppressed a smile and nodded to the two. "Please, continue. What happens next?"

Puc squirmed in his chair, nervously looking at his feet. "Well, soon, they’ve all filed out of the temple, leaving me alone. Except ... except I’m not alone. There’s someone there in the shadows. I ... I can feel him. His eyes are on me, but it’s like looking into a cave filled with bats. I ... I can see eyes, but not two or four ... more like thousands of them - in the shadows, all around me.

"I guess being small has its benefits, because the eyes don’t see me; instead they keep looking up over my head. It feels as if they’re reaching for something; trying to take something. Then, I hear footsteps from the shadows ... big, booming footsteps. I see huge feet in the darkness, coming closer to me. But, as I turn to run, I see what the eyes are staring at. The Halvaric Sabre. Hanging over the altar."

Puc blushed and cleared his throat. "Then... Then, I feel something hit me and ... and I wake up."

Wurragurr looked from his friend to the priest, trying to gauge the larger feline’s reaction. Much akin to a child, he swung his feet nervously - the large chair making him feel like he was back in school again. After a few moments, Zirien stood; his full twelve feet of body rising like a small tree.

Looking down at his two guests, he fixed Puc with a steady gaze. "I believe you," he said, simply. "But that does not mean that this is a sign or premonition. That has yet to be verified." He walked around the desk still thinking of Puc’s dream, conscious of how his feet pressed heavily upon the carpeting.

"I want you to stay here for a few days, Puc. In the temple complex. I can assign a divinatory priest to sit by you and try to ascertain the validity of your dreams..."

Puc stirred. "Well, that’s all fine and good, but what about my business?"

Zirien nodded to the whimsy. "Perhaps your friend could watch things for a few days? It won’t be long, and the church will be glad to reimburse you for some of your losses... Especially if your dream proves to be a valid warning."

"I could do it, Puc. I mean your staff knows its job well enough to get by without you for a few days. I can always drop in after I close up the gym and check on things."

"I ... I dunno. In the dream, I ... I kept getting the feeling of abandoning something. I don’t want to risk losing the shop over this."

Zirien shrugged as he walked up to look down the length of his robes at the small tiger in the oversized chair. "The choice, as always, is yours. The Priapic Priesthood can help you where we can, but if you truly want to find out if these dreams are a warning about the Halvaric Sabre, they’ll have to be seen to by someone. I suggest that ‘someone’ be one of the divinatory priests."

Puc swallowed, slowly looking up from Zirien’s large paws to his stoic face, high above. He felt himself nodding and smiled weakly. "Well, if it’s only for a few days..." he said, quietly.

Zirien smiled. "Excellent. I’ll see to it that you have a room prepared." He turned to Wurragurr. "Why don’t you go with your friend and help him pack and arrange for his temporary absence from work."

Wurragurr nodded. "Sure thing..." Rising, he jumped down from the chair and held his hand up and out to the larger man. "Thank you, sir..."

Zirien took the smaller man’s paw in his and shook it gently. "It is my pleasure."

Puc crawled down out of his chair and, likewise, shook Zirien’s paw. "Yeah. Thanks..."

The door opened as Zirien ushered the two of them out into the hall. "I look forward to finding out more about your dreams, Puc. And, to put you somewhat at ease, I’ll order a guard around the Sabre immediately. Day and night, someone will be watching it."

Puc smiled weakly and nodded. "Ok, then. I ... I guess I’ll come back once it’s light; in the afternoon."

Zirien nodded. "See that you do; I’ll have everything ready."

Wurragurr waved. "Thank you again, sir..."

"The pleasure was all mine..."

Sam descended the aluminum ladder to the inflated pontoon below as the Pod tossed in the waves off-shore. He tossed his satchel into the boat and looked up to where Michael stood, looking down on him.

"Well, it’s now or never," said the doctor with a smile.

Michael nodded and reached out to shake his friend’s hand. "We’ll meet you here in two days. If you’re not here..."

Sam nodded, cutting him off. "I know."

The slender, professional-looking fellow shook his friend’s hand and slowly climbed down the ladder into the waiting boat. Michael sighed as Sam started the silent motor.

"Just one thing, Sam," he asked. "Tell me why. Why do this? Any of it?"

Sam looked, up; the tone in his friend’s voice -for the first time since he’d known him- sounding very concerned. He smiled and shook his head. "Well, it beats tending wealthy aristocrats who don’t know a hangnail from a serious infection...!" He unmoored the boat and started towards shore with a wave. "Besides; it’s fun!"

Michael couldn’t help but chuckle and wave to his friend as he rode away. "Fine! Just don’t have so much fun that we have to come bail you out; Ok?"

Sam nodded, shouting back. "See you in two days!"

With that, the pontoon slid quietly into the night, heading for the rocky shore. The waves tossed the small craft as Sam carefully guided it through the shallows towards the narrow, rocky stretch of beach they’d scouted from the Pod. By the time he got to shore and pulled the inflatable pontoon to safety, Michael’s ship was already making its way around the headland to the North.

"Goodbye..." he said quietly under his breath.

With a glance to the waterline on the rocks. Sam dragged his small boat up the beach to where it would be concealed yet still protected from high tide. Lashing it to a few boulders, he hit a small button on a hand-held remote. The pontoon flickered for a moment, shimmered and faded from sight; only a faint shadow and outline visible to the naked eye.

The short cliffs that surrounded his landing point were fairly craggy, making it fairly easy for the nimble man to make his way slowly up the rock face. After an hour of careful climbing, he reached the top and looked to the South; the dim, pre-morning lights of a city stretching out before him like a canvas of stars.

Walking briskly, he moved towards a small dirt road nearby as the sun started to rise through the ever-present clouds to the East. With a few taps at a concealed panel on his belt buckle, Sam activated his ace-in-the-hole.

[Bio Breakdown Commencing] echoed a small, electronic voice.

A shudder ran through his body. The nanomachines he’d injected himself with were already doing their job and starting to rearrange his cellular structure. His body went numb as he started to feel the pressure of his skin hardening, crimping, folding in on itself. He spread his arms to the sides, feeling his clothing bunch up on his shoulders as his skin blackened and began to crack.

With a smile that seemed to break apart into first two, then three, then many, many more, the doctor’s body slowly fell apart, dissolving out of his clothes, into a swarm of tiny, black insects. Soon, only the lab coat, shoes and other clothes were left where Sam had been standing.

The colony, with one mind, scattered with inhuman speed into the grasses and -as the sun rose on the roadside- moved South.

An old road sign, green with chipped paint, bore the simple destination: "The District - 2 miles".

The rainbow shimmered in his palm, split and then scattered itself across the steps leading from the street to the main, temple entrance. Sephiroth felt a smile creep over his tired features as he turned the small lens over and over in his palm, cleaning it with a soft cloth. As the sunlight hit it, a faint, virtual art-show would ripple into existence in the air around him, expand and -eventually- fade. It was very valuable; one of the few imports of advanced technology from the Outside that was allowed through the Fire Gates. A Beiman Lens was one of those rare, technological items that the young dragon regretted not having available for everyday use.

Sunlight spread down the streets while traffic -both pedestrian and motorized- increased. The shadows receded and Sephiroth was able to shrug off the heavy cloak he wore to keep warm. Very carefully, he cleaned the lenses and tools he’d been using in the temple sanctuary. Each was a miracle of cutting-edge science; forged by nanomachines and lathed in zero-gravity environments to molecularilly-specific measurements. Having access to such tools would almost make it worthwhile to emigrate to the Eurasian Union; but no one in their right mind would ever do that. Would they?

The dragon licked his lips as he felt his stomach rumble. He’d been working without a break all night long and his dinner the night before had been made up of half a plate of leftover fish from the Market Street Fish Fry three days prior. Many small street vendors would be opening for business soon and -likewise- numerous District cafes and restaurants would be serving breakfast shortly to the working throng that had started to fill the streets. Still, with a heft of the small purse he kept at his belt, he knew he couldn’t afford it.

Magical or scientific, neither world seemed to value the artists. He lived from paycheck to paycheck when he could pick up a few hours at the local library, but -lately- work had been scarce. Right now, he was living on commissions, alone. He had managed to get a new apartment, but without a roommate, it was looking less and less likely that he’d be able to keep it. Well, he thought sarcastically, at least I haven’t unpacked, yet. When I get evicted, I’ll be able to take all the boxes I’ve been living out of, pretty easily...

A shadow fell over Sephiroth as he contemplated his financial woes. Looking up, he squinted into the morning sunlight to see a slick-looking, black feline. Clad in a slightly scruffy trenchcoat and carrying a large, paper-wrapped bundle over one shoulder, the stranger nodded to the dragon amiably. "’Morning... Are you in need of some meditative tracts before morning services?"

Sephiroth blinked as the man handed him a small pamphlet inscribed with prose and erotic imagery.

"’Priapic Meditations - Issue 3’?" asked the dragon, reading the title.

The cat smiled and sat down next to Sephiroth setting his package on the steps next to them. "Yep; hot off the presses." Extending a hand with finely manicured claws, he introduced himself. "I’m Thom Montgomery; I head up publications for the Temple."

Sephiroth flipped through the pages with a smile. "Well, maybe if I had a date tonight, I’d want one..."

"Not here for the services, eh?" he asked, putting out his hand for the pamphlet.

"Nope." Sephiroth shook his head and handed the pages back to the publisher. "I was commissioned by the temple to create a sculpture." He leaned back with a smile. "Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I don’t believe in the Gods... It’s just that I haven’t been to a temple since I was a teenager."

The cat smirked. "Let me guess... It was a good source of erotica."

"Hey, I was a teenager. What do you expect?"

Thom carefully placed the pamphlet in his parcel. "Well, I’ll let you in on a secret... As far as the Priapic Temple goes, most adults pick up these meditative tracts for the same reason as the teenagers. Theologically-sanctioned porn; what a business!" He shook his head in cynical amusement and checked his watch. "As it stands, if I hadn’t inherited half of my stock from the previous temple publisher, I probably be a security guard or something."

Leaning back against the stairs, the dragon looked at the black cat with a nod. There was a tone to the feline’s voice that almost sounded regretful; an emotional aura that the dragon had felt all too many times, himself. "But you probably wouldn’t be happy with that either, I’d guess. Frustrated artist?" he asked.

Thom nodded. "Writer," he replied. "But it’s not easy to find financial support unless you pander to the masses. I finally gave up on it when I was thirty; I’ve been in the temple’s employ ever since."

"Yeah; I think that’s how it is everywhere, nowadays. No matter how creative or uplifting your work is, if you don’t give in to public pressure to create pop-art, you’re finished."

"Not that there’s anything wrong with porn..."

"Oh, far from it," Sephiroth replied with a smile. "I’m just saying that it’s not something that the public wants to admit to enjoying."

Thom stood up, hoisting his parcel over one shoulder. "And yet, they come and worship Priapus. Think people will ever realize the irony of it all?"

Sephiroth carefully packed away the last of his lenses in his artist’s case and stood next to Thom. "Maybe, but probably not. Prudes will be prudes and the artistically challenged will remain artistically challenged. Society only changes when faced with disaster or revolution."

An odd look flashed briefly across the feline’s face. His whiskers bristled for a moment as he cast a side-long glance at the young dragon. "You think?"

The dragon nodded, looking into the cat’s face with sincerity. "Yeah; social upheaval seems to be the only way things ever really change." He picked up his tool kit and put out a clawed hand to the smaller feline. "Still, I have to be getting home; it was nice meeting you."

Thom shook Sephiroth’s hand and nodded. He looked curiously at the philosophical artist; a chance meeting that mirrored his own, hidden thoughts. "Likewise. You know, I’m around the temple complex most mornings. Maybe I’ll see you some other day."

"Possibly."

More pedestrians passed by, climbing the stairs as morning bells rang to signal the start of first services. Sephiroth smiled a farewell to the cat, heading down the stairs to the sidewalk. Thom looked after the dragon and -after a few seconds- dashed down after him. "One second," he shouted, catching up.

Quickly, he pulled out the small publication he’d shown Sephiroth earlier. With a grin, the cat placed it in the artist’s hand and chuckled. "First one’s free..."

Sephiroth laughed and nodded, curling it up against the box he carried. "Thanks, Mister Montgomery."

The feline’s smile widened. Perhaps this artist might be a useful associate in the future. He’d have to keep tabs on him.

"Call me Thom."

Captain Jennings looked over the gently rocking prow of the EUS Omaha with a practiced eye. The steam that rose from the boiling waters around Fire Gate One obscured normal vision, but her ocular implants filtered out most of the vapor and fog. Small, flickering green displays danced across her retinas as she watched an automated, robotic Separationist trade vessel make its way slowly through the locks into Eurasian Union territory.

Fire Gate One, an artificial island, was resistant to the superheated gasses that separated the two cultures on either side of The Wall, and was shielded through its middle to allow passage for authorized vessels and diplomats. While the channel itself was protected from the raging inferno by a ten-meter-thick arch of polycarbonate steel, the waters all around the island still bubbled and hissed constantly. Indeed, the retinue of dock workers now moving to moor the craft to the port facilities were all clad in protective environment suits to shield them from the lethal air temperature.

"Welcome to Hell..." she whispered to the docking ship.

About a half kilometer from the E.U. side of the Fire Gate, Jennings could still feel the heat. She’d gotten used to it over the years and her post had earned her the reputation of being one of the toughest women in the Diplomatic Fleet. It was a reputation that seemed ironic, considering her diminutive height. She knew she cut an unimposing figure at her height of one-point-six meters, but she more than made up for it in ability. She wore the typical, soft tan naval uniform on which was displayed her rank insignia, an elaborate-looking pin worn over her heart. Her hair was pulled back in a tight braid that ran down the upper half of her back, held in place by a tightly-fitting blue band.

A small, electronic chirp echoed in the back of her mind from the ship’s communications system, alerting her to an incoming message. "Keep an eye on that Separationist incoming," she shouted to a petty officer on deck, as she turned and made her way to the bridge. Her polished, black boots echoed on the slick deck as she made her way to the main cabin. Deftly, she crossed a slick patch of oil, with a natural agility that most saw as proof that she’d been raised by cats. Catching a glimpse of her reflection in a window, she smiled at the deceptively harmless image she tended to project.

The Captain stepped onto the bridge and briskly acknowledged the requisite "Captain On Deck" before proceeding to the private comm room. Shutting the door behind her, Jennings sat down and had her neural implants transfer the incoming signal directly to her sensory input centers. The world around her flickered for a moment, to be replaced by a large symbol of the Eurasian Union, followed by an identity code.

"Authorize. Code: M-one-C-zero-L-E."

The image faded, to be replaced by an automated report filling her vision.

"Captain," reported the artificial voice, "there is evidence of a Wall breach. Coordinates: thirty-nine-point-four degrees North longitude, fifty-point-seven-two degrees West latitude. Traces of chemical detonation within The Wall; molecular signatures indicate 86% probability of Associated Chemical and Minerals Explosives payload."

Jennings raised an eyebrow. "When?"

The remote probe calculated. "0200 hours, this morning."

The broadcast view shifted to the probe’s external cameras, drifting above the waters near The Wall far to the North of the Omaha’s position. Structural diagrams showed the still partially dissipated gasses and the probable path the offending vessel had taken only six hours earlier. Jennings nodded, downloading the visual record to her augmented memory for later retrieval.

"Any evidence of the trespasser’s identity?" While Associated Chemical had many clients, the specific compounds that could be used to pierce The Wall were extremely rare, probably custom-ordered and would require pretty high security clearance to attain.

One man was always on Jennings’ mind whenever illicit dealings with ACME came up. She crossed her fingers that, finally, her hunches might be borne out.

"Searching; acquiring e-Warrant for access to Associated Chemical and Minerals Explosives mainframe..." The remote probe’s response was interrupted by a sudden crackle of static. The image froze, the blinking words, "Incoming Transmission", filling her vision. "Probe one: continue investigation and hold transmission;" she instructed. "Incoming: relay."

The probe’s transmission retracted to a small circle in the corner of her vision as the new message displayed. She felt her heart beat faster as her surroundings darkened. A curved table materialized around her, rising up out of the darkness to form a ten-foot high, curved pulpit. Twelve figures sitting in shadow rose into view behind the it and raised their right hands in greeting. Captain Jennings snapped to attention before the leaders of the Diplomatic Fleet and saluted.

"Captain..." The deep voice reverberated in an unnatural fashion, sounding -to Jennings- as if it had been augmented for effect. If nothing else, the Leadership Council of the Diplomatic Fleet certainly knew how to impress themselves upon others.

"Gentlemen," she responded curtly, "to what do I owe this honor?"

One of the shadows leaned forward to peer over the edge of the raised platform down to where Captain Jennings stood at attention. "We have urgent orders for you, Captain; but there has been some concern over the ...impact... they may have if not executed properly."

The unusual statement caught the cybernetic officer off-guard. "’Concern’?" she asked, a look of mild annoyance crossing her face. "Gentlemen, if there is some doubt about my abilities to carry out a mission, I think it would suit us best to simply state the facts up-front." That should do it. Always keep the upper brass guessing with a stern reproval of their tone.

"It isn’t that, Captain," came a second voice from the shadows. "Your record is impeccable; your skills and abilities beyond question."

"Then why is there any ‘concern’?"

Silence filled the illusionary room.

"We fear that Webb may be involved."

Lisa’s heart felt as if its control chip had pushed it into ‘adrenaline’-mode. It seemed that the Council was several steps ahead of her on this one; not that this should be of any real surprise...

"We also feel," continued another shadowy figure, "that your impartiality may be compromised if this mission is brought to your attention."

"With all due respect, sir," she responded professionally, "no matter my past dealings with Michael Webb, you wouldn’t have even mentioned this to me if you didn’t feel I could put them aside for the good of the mission..." Inside, Jennings smiled; there were benefits to a spotless career. If she played her cards right, she might just get her ‘justice’ after all.

The shadows contemplated, their unseen eyes staring down at the Captain while they considered her words. Finally, a consensus seemed to be reached. "Captain Lisa Jennings," spoke the central shadow, "you are hereby given this directive: you are to proceed to Fire Gate One with a small, stealth vessel. A small strike team will be chosen for you and will be waiting..."

"Excellent," she thought, a slight smile creeping across her lips.

The voice continued. "You will proceed, with full diplomatic authority into Separationist waters and seek out Michael Webb. We have reports from an inside operative that he was hired to help aide in the theft of a religious artifact located in Old Washington D.C. ... "The District". You are to locate Webb, approach him and offer him a full amnesty for his past crimes in return for his help in apprehending the perpetrator."

Jennings blinked; her composure shaken for a moment. "Excuse me, sir. Offer him an amnesty?"

The shadow nodded. "Indeed. His past crimes against the Union may be impressive, but his testimony and aide in this matter could help us avoid a rather embarrassing situation with the Separationists."

The Captain couldn’t believe what she was hearing. "Are you serious?" she asked, her voice rising just a bit. "Over fifty lives were lost because of Webb’s treachery; and that’s just here on Earth! What about the colonists he murdered on Mars? Or the Europa Research Stations?"

"Captain!" The demanding tone brought Jennings’ emotions back under her control. She instantly regretted her words; outbursts like that could cost her the command of this mission. But, still... Amnesty for Webb? It was inconceivable!

"I’m sorry, Sir," she replied, "the mission comes first; you have your reasons."

The silence from around the virtual pulpit indicated that the Counselors were deep in discussion in their real-world location; probably reevaluating her usefulness in light her outburst. Patiently, Captain Jennings waited.

"Captain Jennings..." The central shadow resumed his speech, his unseen eyes laying heavily upon the Captain’s shoulders. "While we have doubts about utilizing someone with such a personal link to Mr. Webb’s past, there is no doubt that anyone else in the Diplomatic Corps would be less-qualified than you to lead this mission. By a vote of seven to five, the Council has agreed to continue with our appointment. However, be aware that Webb’s cooperation is top priority!"

Another shadow nodded. "No matter your personal feelings on this matter, the apprehension of Webb’s employer and the cooperation of Michael Webb are crucial. Do you understand?"

Jennings snapped off another salute. "Yessir!" Inwardly, though, she added, "For now..."

"Then download the following details to personal memory; we’re transmitting your target and official instructions..."

The data began to download and -slowly- Jennings’ eyes grew wide. The Council was right ... this was bigger than Michael Webb and all of his transgressions... Still, that didn’t mean that as soon as he outlived his usefulness she wouldn’t take advantage of that fact. Inwardly, she smiled as she pondered what she’d finally do to Webb once she had caught up with him.

The blistering heat of The Wall aside, the prospects made her feel ... warm.

Like a flock of blackbirds rising from a cornfield, a laughing cluster of children dashed from a nearby school into the neighboring park adjacent to the shopping district. It was the lunch hour and -desperate to escape the suffocating confines of their classrooms- the children practically caused a traffic jam as they ran to enjoy their single hour of freedom. Wurragurr looked up, smiling as he caught sight of two Whimsies in their number: one a slender and agile blend between a squirrel, ferret and some sort of feline, and the other a large, somewhat gangly mixture of a dog and raccoon. He shook his head as he watched the children play.

"Why can’t adults have that kind of trust?" he asked Puc, wistfully.

The small, white tiger looked in the direction of the kids and shook his head absently. "I dunno..." His tone sounded down, and Wurragurr’s cheerful expression quickly fell into one of concern.

"Look, everything’ll be fine..." he said, putting a paw on Puc’s shoulder.

The two of them sat at one of the many, iron tables at the small, sidewalk café. The sun had persisted through all the overhanging clouds and -now- shone pure and bright in the Noon sky. While "L'endroit" was one of the finest bistros amongst the otherwise cheap row of outdoor restaurants and knickknack shops along The Strip, none of the nice foods Wurragurr had sprung for seemed to be easing his friend’s spirits at all.

Puc looked up at his lunch companion and shook his head, dubiously. "You know, I should believe that; I really should. But, still..." He trailed off, idly tapping his miniature baguette against the rim of his soup bowl. Finally, he sighed and looked the jackelope-like man in the eyes. "It’s just that I’ve never felt such strong emotions before; not in dreams, not while awake ... never!" He dipped his bread in the cooling onion soup and sighed. "I just know this is going to end badly..."

"You don’t know that... Besides, it’s just a dream."

"It’s not just a dream, Wurr; I’ve explained that."

"How do you know?" The Whimsy chewed on his lower lip for a moment, thinking. "After all, it’s the Priesthood that’s the expert on things like this, right? And you’ll be in their care ... what do you possibly have to fear?"

Puc snorted. "You want a list?"

"Ok, just stop it!" Wurragurr, annoyed, half-stood and leaned across the table to tightly grip Puc’s shoulder. "Look, even if this is some sort of supernatural dream foretelling the end of the world, right now it’s just a dream! You can’t do anything beyond what you’ve already done and -quite frankly- you’ve got friends to help you through it!"

The white tiger looked startled as his friend’s tone. "Ok, Ok... Leggo..." He snarled a bit, pulling back from the Whimsy’s grasp and tossed the remainder of his bread to the nearby birds.

An uneasy silence descended as Wurragurr sat back in his chair.

"After I went home last night; after seeing the High Priest, I didn’t dream..." Puc’s words sounded hollow, strangely devoid of emotion in the cheerful, sunny day. "I ... I thought everything would be all right, but it wasn’t..."

"What do you mean? You didn’t have the dream again; that’s good enough..."

"No, it’s not," interrupted Puc. "I slept, but I didn’t dream. At all. About anything." Slowly, he raised his eyes to peer into Wurragurr’s. For a moment, it almost looked as if he were about to cry. "My mind ... it ... it was a black void. It was empty. Completely. I ... I don’t know how to describe it, but it felt ...Gods... it felt worse than a nightmare. It was nothingness, Wurr; do you understand? Nothingness!"

The small tiger’s shoulders shook slightly, as if he were holding back tears. Wurragurr took a deep breath and reached across the table again, to take his friend’s hand. "I guess, well, I guess I understand..." he said, searching for words.

Puc nodded. "As much as anyone can, I suppose..."

"As much as anyone," echoed the Whimsy. He drew a long breath and just held Puc’s hand until, after several minutes, the tiger withdrew it. "You know," said Wurragurr calmly, "I meant what I said. You have friends that’ll help you. Come Hell or High Water, all you have to do is call us." He smiled. "Even if it is the end of the world..."

"Thanks..."

Wurragurr smiled and picked up his fork to continue his meal. With a sharp change to his expression, he stabbed downward with his fork and grimaced. "Ewwww... Y’know, if I’d wanted meat in my salad, I’d have ordered it..." Pulling up his fork, he revealed a rather large, squirming cockroach, impaled on the tines.

"Ewww... Wurr, that’s disgusting!"

"You’re telling me... Waiter!" The Whimsy shouted to a passing employee with a tone of voice that would have frozen water by The Wall. "Waiter! There’s a bit of a problem..."

The slender, feline man sauntered over to the Whimsy’s table and scowled. "Yes...?" His tone seemed to drip with the implication that his time was too valuable to waste on a Whimsy who only ordered salads.

"Here," replied Wurragurr, presenting the fork to the man. "I don’t think I need the extra protein in my diet, thank you."

The waiter’s eyes grew wide and he quickly looked around to see if any other customers had witnessed the exchange. Almost with a magician’s dexterity, he spirited the fork out of the Whimsy’s hand and replaced it with a clean one from within one of his apron pockets...

"Sir, you don’t know how embarrassing this is! You have my most humble apologies..."

Wurragurr sighed. It didn’t matter if it was an honest mistake or not, it was so hard to find good service if you were a Whimsy that he couldn’t shake the feeling the roach had been on purpose. Still, today wasn’t the day for protests or shouting. He glanced at Puc and nodded. "Yeah, yeah... Look, just get me a new salad and -this time- keep it strictly vegetarian...."

"Certainly, sir... And, uh, your meal is on the house..." The waiter took Wurragurr’s salad and briskly walked back indoors to go yell at the cook. Wurragurr picked up a piece of bread and eyed it suspiciously.

"You suppose this is where they hide the cyanide?" he asked, sarcastically.

Puc stood and picked up his small suitcase from the sidewalk next to his chair. A few stray clouds had started to roll in and the perfect sky became just that much less perfect. "Naw... Just a mistake, I’m sure."

Wurragurr looked up. "Leaving so soon?"

"I really should get to the Temple; otherwise, I might get too nervous..."

The jackalope-roo stood. "Well, hang on then; I’ll get my salad to go."

Puc shook his head and motioned for his friend to sit down. "Naw, you’ve already done enough. Thanks for watching the store for me, by the way. You’re a real life-saver."

"What are friends for? Your business will be all ready for you when you get back from your little stay at the Temple; trust me." Wurragurr walked over and bent down to give his friend a comforting hug. "Everything’ll be all right; you’ll see..." he said in a low voice.

Puc hugged him tightly and nodded. "I hope so..." Suitcase in hand, the small, white tiger turned to go. Wurragurr watched after him, standing there even as his replacement salad was delivered. In the distance, he could hear the Temple bells begin to ring.

As Puc trudged up the street towards the Temple Complex, he muttered to himself, "Still, things are going to end badly I just know it..."

People had more in common with insects than they liked to admit; it just took a unique perspective to see it. Like a broken kaleidoscope, its colors scattering every which way, the bustling throng of The District moved in and out of buildings, up and down streets, each on their own particular mission. Taken individually, it was nothing more than chaos, but when looked at through many eyes, all at once, a pattern emerged. Here a surge, there a swell; patterns amidst the chaos. Predetermination? Maybe a little. Predictable? Sometimes. Insect like? Definitely.

Sam’s eyes took in the view from a hundred different vantage points around the blocks that surrounded the Priapic Temple Complex. It was a strange bestiary that he’d had to get used to seeing at first, but after a few hours the bestial throng looked no more out of place to him than any street in Amsterdam or London.

Occasionally, strange lifeforms that looked out of place -short of a C.S. Lewis novel or a tale by the Brothers Grimm- would nearly step on one of his manifested insect bodies, but -from underfoot- everyone tended to look alike. Hopefully, that wouldn’t hinder him from meeting his contact. He winced as one of his insect bodies got skewered by something while it hid in a green, leafy shrub along The Strip.

It didn’t hurt very badly, but he’d have to make up for the lost mass by consuming some extra protein later today. He’d only lost seven of his drone bodies today; his experience as a communal life form having gotten better since he’d originally developed it. Several of his bodies located a clock and checked the time. A few minutes before Noon. It was almost time.

It hadn’t been easy finding a way to contact someone past The Wall, but given enough investment from the unknowing, idle rich he tended to work for, he could buy just about any technology he wanted. Technology that was even good enough to make contacts in such inhospitable places. Now, all he had to do was wait...

Thousands of eyes fed information into millions of nano-computers processing his collated intellect from it’s home in so many, tiny, artificial insect forms. The technology had been hard to come by, but -best of all- was completely unique. His own researches into neuro interfaces gave him the idea of breaking down an intellect into widely separated, redundant archives that interacted in a swift, real-time fashion. Occasionally, there was some lag if he used the form during storms or solar flares but, for the most part, it was seamless. Not only that, he could move faster, quieter and more unobtrusively in almost all environments this way. Splitting his body apart to create the microscopic network of nano-computers that housed his consciousness was merely a modification of a genetic re-engineering technique he used to help preserve the beauty and youth of his pampered clients.

If only one of them could see what he’d turned that science into ... it would be enough to make him smile, if he still had a human mouth.

All around him the temple bells began to chime in a reverberating chorus of tones. High and low, the sounds echoed throughout The District. His tiny, surrogate bodies felt the impact of the sound waves in a way that far exceeded human hearing in subtlety. Now, it was just a matter of time.

His contact should arrive shortly.

"...So it is with the divine passion of our brothers and sisters that we, as a whole, experience the full spectrum of daily life. In those small, insignificant moments of pure pleasure, we grasp -at last- the designs of the Gods in our lives. Each of us, today and on all days, should go forth and embrace sensuality; learn from it and possess it ... otherwise, it shall possess you and you will be a poorer person for it. Thank you. Priapus’ blessings upon you all, Fare Well..."

Zirien stepped from behind the tall pulpit and nodded to the assembly now departing from the morning service. The Noon-time bells had rung, indicating that his sermon had run a bit long again. It had been a small turn-out, to be sure, but he felt that -for a change- he’d gotten through to them. The full nature of the philosophical conundrum of Divine Ecstasy was a far more complicated issue than any one sermon could encompass but perhaps, this time, he’d encapsulated it just enough so that the gathered throng would appreciate it’s subtleties.

His eyes scanned the crowd as they slowly made their way from the sanctuary. Animals and beasts, embracing and greeting one another as the choir sang softly in the balcony above and behind them... He’d lived all his life as a feline and it felt as natural to him as breathing. But he knew in his heart it hadn’t always been so. A hundred years ago, they’d all have been human. From that perspective, it looked almost surreal as they filed out between the pews.

A small, white form at the back caught his eye as he made his way down the steps to the side exit from the altar. "Puc..." he whispered under his breath. With a friendly wave, he beckoned the small man to join him.

Lugging a huge suitcase, the tiny tiger made his way, with some difficulty, against the flow of people up to the front of the temple to where the High Priest waited.

"Hello, again..." said Puc with a nervous smile.

"Hello..." The large feline put a huge paw on the tiger’s shoulder and turned to lead him through the side door. "It’s a brave thing you’re doing, you know," he said calmly. Through his sensitive finger pads, he could feel Puc’s shoulders shaking, and not just with the strain of carrying his luggage.

"Brave? What do you mean?"

The two stepped into a narrow corridor that ran behind the sanctuary. Deep blue tapestries covered the walls, each one embroidered with a different, theologically inspiring scene. Tableaus of sensual love, passion and carnal exploration surrounded the two of them as they made their way further into the complex.

"What I mean is that you are a brave tiger for facing your fears like this..."

"Oh." Puc looked up at the towering man next to him and swallowed heavily. "I thought you were, uh, implying that there was some -er- danger."

Zirien arched an eyebrow and slowed his pace slightly for the shorter legs of his charge. "But I was..." he said, calmly.

Puc’s heart began to race faster, half considering a retreat from the Temple back to the safety of the sidewalk café.

The narrow corridor soon ended in a large, wooden door, standing slightly propped open to let some air from outside freshen the stuffy interior. Through the door’s crack, the small tiger could see sunlight. With a casual push from his oversized paw, Zirien shoved it fully open, revealing a large courtyard...

Puc’s eyes grew wide as he peered out on the inner sanctum of the Priesthood. Carefully sculpted plants grew amongst organically-arranged paths, snaking here and there between the inner walls of the buildings that made up the Temple Complex. Walnut trees, oaks and cherries all grew side-by-side along the pathways. Clusters of Priests and Acolytes moved here and there, cutting through the courtyard on their way to prayers or some other Temple function. It was beautiful.

"It is always dangerous," came Zirien’s voice, interrupting Puc’s appreciation of the courtyard.

"What?"

Zirien smiled and calmly led the small man towards the courtyard’s center. There, an enormous statue of Priapus stood, water cascading down it’s surface and fountaining up from it’s feet into a pool of rushes, reeds, grasses and lily pads. Slowly, the giant of a feline sat and gestured for Puc to do likewise. The smaller man climbed up on the tall, stone bench and looked up at Zirien.

"My dear fellow, it is always dangerous to confront your nightmares and fears... In fact, if you hadn’t been able to do so, I probably would have discounted your dreams as a fiction conjured by your subconscious."

"I don’t understand."

"Well, you see, a nightmare of any sort is always hard to face; but less-so if it is based in something groundless or alien to your own experiences. A person who can see such things and then runs away from them probably doesn’t have the capacity to face the problem in the first place ... or is making up greater dangers in their own minds just to compensate for the real dangers they are avoiding.

"The fact that you came here at all shows that you not only have courage, but that if this dream of yours is truly a premonition of things to come, it is all the more likely to be beatable. Does that make sense to you?"

Puc considered, his heart rate slowing down and a relative peace descending on him. "I think so..." he replied, quietly. He swung his feet off of the high bench on which he sat with Zirien, and shook his head. "But I’ve never thought of myself as particularly brave, though..."

"Few, are the brave people who do."

The tiger’s blue eyes rose to peer intently up at Zirien’s face. A hope flickered in them and the High Priest smiled; if only that flicker could be fanned into a full flame, his job would be done. "Sir?" asked Puc, quietly, "what if there is no danger coming?"

Zirien smiled. "Then you’ve marshaled your bravery to confront your fears; if nothing else, you can come away from this with that knowledge."

"And if it’s real?"

A sigh escaped the High Priest’s lips. He looked down at his charge and ran a comforting paw over his head, ruffling his hair. "We can’t control the whims of the Gods," he said, "but we can face the daily trials that they test us with." Leaning back, he gazed up at the fountain, into the stony face of the God he’d dedicated his life to. "They’re only dreams, Puc; even if they manifest as more than that, you’re safe here."

Puc nodded, and pushed down the feelings of dread he’d been experiencing all morning. They were still there, he could feel them, but he chose to control them, instead. Deftly, the small tiger slid off of the bench and walked around to Zirien’s large feet, looking up at the High Priest. "Very well, I’ll trust what you say. But you should know, I have had a horrible feeling all morning about this ... that it won’t end well." He sighed. "It’s not going to rule me, but I can’t shake it; something terrible is going to happen. I ... I just thought you should know." He cast his eyes down at Zirien’s oversized feet and sighed.

The High Priest considered carefully and, then, slowly nodded. "I believe you." Zirien slowly, his toes splayed out to support his massive frame. The bulges and curves of his heavily augmented body made his robes rustle and shift broadly as Puc stepped back from him. "I will treat this as the utmost of threats, little tiger. If calamity is not to be avoided, we shall meet it with bravery and intelligence."

Puc smiled. "Still, there’s something you should know..."

The small tiger was interrupted by an Acolyte dashing across the courtyard to approach the High Priest. The newcomer was another member of the priesthood, to be sure: a gigantic, masculine equine, standing at an enormous height, yet still shorter than the High Priest. "Lord Zirien," he said with a bow, "you’re needed."

"Of course; what is the problem?"

"A woman is here; she needs sanctuary from her ... from her husband."

Zirien scowled and raised his hand to stop the Acolyte. "I understand," he said, feeling a bit of disgust. Marital problems were often brought to his doorstep and were an abusive relationship was involved, he often had to restrain himself from dispensing a little ‘justice’ on the abuser. "Indeed, I’ll meet with her and handle this," he continued. "In the meantime, please take Puc, here, to a private room in the Sanctum Wing."

The Acolyte nodded and bowed. "As you wish, sir."

Puc looked up with a bit of nervousness returning to his face. Zirien glanced back, a fixed gaze of confidence upon his features. "Keep your spirits high; tonight there will be someone to monitor your dreams; we’ll face this nightmare together, Puc. Don’t doubt that..."

With those words, the towering feline turned and strode away at a swift pace.

Puc swallowed, watching him go. "He really has to slow down for everyone else, doesn’t he?" he asked no one in particular.

"Yes," replied the Acolyte, "I think it’s a curse and a blessing to be that tall. But, still, it’s what Priapus wants for his Priests, so who are we to question it?" He smiled warmly and slowly guided Puc around the fountain. "Let’s get you settled in, all right?"

Puc nodded. "I’ll need to see him again, though."

"You will."

"Well, you see, my dreams are different, now..."

The Acolyte nodded as he led Puc into the depths of the Temple Complex and left the broad, open courtyard behind.

Thom Montgomery stepped from between the broad, phallic pillars at the front of the Temple Complex as the final peals of the Noontime bells faded into the warm afternoon air. Shouldering his bundle of inspirational tracts, he briskly made his way down the stairs, his dark fur blowing softly in the breeze that swept through the lower streets. He sighed deeply, smelling the air. He could just scent the cinnamon from a vendor’s street cart a block away.

A sweet roll would be good right about now, he thought. But there was no time for that.

Pausing briefly at the bottom of the stairs, he handed out a few coins to some Whimsies seeking alms. He nodded to them and continued on his way to the sidewalk that ran along the Western side of the Complex. Here, across the street from the Temple, businesses were planted row-on-row like teeth jutting up from the asphalt streets. Almost blasphemous, after a fashion, he thought, watching the businessmen come and go in the shadow of the spiritual edifice. They ignored the spires and beauty of it all, their care for anything but the most superficial of its meanings blindingly apparent.

Almost blasphemous.

What he was about to do, now that was blasphemous! Well, probably closer to treason, but the comparison was still valid.

Slowly, he made he way down the sidewalk with his pack, nodding genially to those who walked on this side of the street. He passed relatively few of the insurers, attorneys and investors who worked in those buildings on the other side; those edifices always seemed full of people who refused to walk on the Temple-side.

Thom often thought that it would be amusing if they’d burst into flames like the vampires of legend, if they stepped on holy ground... The image of flaming stock brokers made him smile as he ducked into a narrow, covered alleyway set into the side of the Temple Complex. A faded sign that read "Deliveries Only" stood out on the cobblestone wall and, in the depths of the shadows, even at Noon, the dark-furred cat became nearly invisible.

Things had to change, he thought. The dichotomy between the rich and the poor had to come to an end; the hypocracies of society needed to be exposed for what they were. Again and again, he repeated his mantra that this was for the good of all society ... this had to be done.

A rustling amongst the vines that clung to the walls caught his attention. In the depths of the alley, right up against the small deliveries door, the leaves moved and shifted as if alive. Thom suppressed a shudder and stepped up to the stone, vine-covered wall. His sharp eyes adjusted to the dim light and focused on the veritable swarm of cockroaches crawling up, down and over the shadowy foliage.

"Welcome," he said, putting his hand up to the vines. Thom forced a smile as a small number of the bugs crawled up onto his palm.

There was no turning back, now.

The skimmer cut through the choppy waters at over three hundred knots, creating a cavernous wake and sending towering plumes of ocean foam high into the afternoon air. The Wall, already fading into obscurity in the East, no longer warmed Captain Jennings’ skin. It was an odd feeling. Has it really been so long since I’ve been away from my post? she asked herself. Strange to think of something as Hellish as Fire Gate One as my home...

Standing in the control cabin of the Omaha’s fastest skimmer, she and her crew rocketed towards shore. Too bad it wasn’t the location she was supposed to go for her rendezvous with her Separationist contacts. The remote probe had done its job; its long-range scans of Separationist waters were hampered by The Wall, but a few blips from its array had turned up a probable lead about fifty miles North of The District heading along the coast. Easily within the bounds of where a ship that broke through The Wall could have gotten to.

Webb was out there, she could feel it in her bones.

The team the Council had given her wasn’t the best, and certainly wouldn’t have been her first choice, but given her earlier outburst, they were probably there to keep an eye on her. It’s all right, she thought looking over her shoulder at the assembled strike force, I’ll be a good girl for my watchers, oh yes... But as soon as Webb is no longer useful, no army in the world will keep me from my revenge. She smiled at the thought before returning to her work.

She didn’t know how loyal her team was to the letter of the law, but she had to go on the assumption that they’d make a fuss over not meeting up with the Separatrionists.

Skillfully, she mentally interfaced with the ship’s navigation system and began feeding it the new coordinates that would take them on an intercept course with the suspect vessel. Her hack-job on the skimmer’s computer was flawless and, soon, it began to bear North in a slow, subtle arc. The crew wouldn’t detect a thing until she told them of their new destination. And, by that time, it would be far too late to abort.

Her course of action might create a minor International incident between the E.U. and the Other Side, but -as far as she was concerned- the mission came first. They were to be the first Eurasian Union officials to be allowed on land in Separationist territory in well over a hundred years. It was supposedly an honor, one that the Captain had no intention of indulging in if she could avoid it. If nothing else, the xenophobic Separationists should appreciate her endeavors to keep E.U. officials off their soil. In fact, if everything worked according to plan, soon Webb would be in custody and his employer, captured.

And all without ever touching precious, Separationist soil.

And, if Webb’s employer had already made landfall? Well, at least she could still head South to the ports of The District and meet up with their contacts from the Other Side, as originally planned. Either way, Captain Jennings was going to prevail.

Michael Webb was going down.

As the sun arced Westward, the skimmer continued on its new course, the coast still a good distance away, but growing closer with each passing second. A proximity scan from the skimmer’s long-range sensors flashed through the cybernetic captain’s mind, alerting her to the presence of a vessel. It was sooner than she expected, but it matched the earlier scans her probe had taken through The Wall.

She turned to the bridge crew and pushed her excitement down in deference to a more professional demeanor.

"Ok everyone, suit up for combat..."

The Wall - A flaming wall five miles high that follows the 50 degree Longitude line from pole to pole as well as the 130 degree Longitude line. It decimated vast parts of the Brazilian rain forest when it was created two centuries ago, nearly totally destroyed Korea and the Phillipines, cut a wall across Australia, melted portions of the polar ice cap and Antarctica and screwed up world weather patterns. A plane of infrared heat extends beneath it into water and earth to a depth of about a mile. It is about two miles thick and is heated to about 450 degrees Fahrenheit.

The Separationists - Colloquialism describing the mystics that walled off half the world away from those they considered mundane and a threat to their way of life. Their technology is about 100 years behind that of the rest of the world; about equivalent of mid-21st century. However, their arcane mastery makes up for any lack in this area.

The Other Side - Colloquialism used by residents of the Eurasian Union to describe the lands owned by the Separationists. It encompasses Japan, the Hawaiian Islands, North America, South America and the Caribbean.

The Eurasian Union - The largest government outside of the lands claimed by the Separationists. It is a coalition of smaller governments from Europe, the Middle East and Asia. They possess advanced technology, roughly equivalent to the mid-22nd century.

Fire Gates - A series of magical openings in The Wall for commerce and diplomatic exchanges. Each is tightly controlled similar to how the Panama Canal is governed and controlled but with a touch of the Berlin Wall thrown in for good measure.

The Diplomatic Fleet - A naval agency of the Eurasian Union established to maintain contact with The Separationists.

Associated Chemical and Mineral Explosives - A prominent engineering and chemical research firm. They have many government contacts and offices all over the Eurasian Union.

Priapus - An ancient Roman deity who was a God of fertility. He is usually portrayed as a male with a disproportionately enormous erection. His priests in this world are similarly endowed and magically enhanced to be extremely large, powerful and fertile.

The District - This is the current name of the area that was once Washington D.C. and it’s surrounding suburbs in the old United States. It isn’t necessarily a center of government (it might be, depending on what other writers decide) but is a major city of commerce and trade.

A Whimsy - A magically-crafted life form that is a mix-and-match between various other species. Not common, but enough of them exist that they have taken a sort of sub-culture role in the lands of The Separationists. It is illegal to change other people without their consent.

Birth Name and Chosen Name - The Separationists have a tradition where they have a normal "birth name" given by their parents and a second name, chosen by themselves upon becoming adults, that is their "chosen name".

The Halvaric Sabre - A holy relic of the polytheistic Separationists. Currently held by the Priesthood of Priapus, it has theological significance and may have other properties aside from it’s value as art and an artifact.

The Beiman Company - A Eurasian Union firm that manufactures the finest art supplies in the world. Their lenses, used in holographic sculpture, are created in nano-machine vats and then micro-lathed with extremely fine water lasers. Only a fraction of their product line is available for import to the Separationists due to trade laws.

Polycarbonate Steel - An alloy created in zero-gravity factories that is extremely heat resistant and relatively light weight. Manufactured exclusively in the Eurasian Union.

The Strip - An outdoor shopping district located in the heart of The District. Home to many sidewalk cafes, delis and bistros.