Chapter Fifty-One: Incognito (Drone's Epilogue)

Where are you? Where are you? Identify yourself? What has happened? The transmission has been terminated, but you are still connected? Explain. Identify. Identify. Give us a location. Are you in distress? You are not the kind of person--where--where--where--where---location--

*****

In a darkened room many thousands of miles away from Idlewind Park, from Reno, from Nevada--and in cosmic terms in a place very far from the Hive--an undistinguished looking man sat at a card table. A plump dealer sat at one end; he wore a white, long-sleeved shirt, a burgundy-colored vest, an ill-fitting beret in his head, and a thick moustache. He dealt two cards to each of the three men and one woman sitting, hunched over their respectives stacks of chips. The was, like the dealer, heavy-set and wearing a floral print dress. Her ruddy cheeks were damp with perspiration--not from nervousness but from the humidity. She swept back her shoulder-length bangs and tucked wisps of hair behind her ears. She was not studying her cards--she stared intently at the men she was playing against. She gazed first at the older man in the Hawaiian print shirt; he chewed on a toothpick incessantly, his eyes shielded by sunglasses. The man next to him was young, perhaps in his twenties, an American by the sound of his inelegant Spanish; his facial stubble made him look unkempt, not classy. And then there was the third man, a stranger. She had played against the older man before, and she had seen the young American from time to time over the years but until today had never sat against him in a card game. But this stranger--his countenance was dark, inscrutable; it was as if he were wearing sunglasses even though she could clearly stare into his eyes. They were blank.

The strange man could sense how he was being scrutinized; how the others were attempting to read him as an opponent but also to discern precisely what kind of a person he was. His dark clothing gave nothing away; he spoke impeccable Spanish but it betrayed no regionality or point of origin--no silibant S sound from the Argentine, nothing of the Catalan lisp, nothing of the raw tones of Guatemala or the twang of Chiapas. He was obviously not from around here, but he was certain they could in the least detect that Spanish was not his mother tongue. He allowed himself the luxury of small, thin smiles between plays and light banter as seemed the custom here--but only during breaks. These were people who took their cardplaying seriously.

*****

Location. Identify. I----

*****

The young and old man quickly folded their cards. The woman checked; the stranger checked. The dealer laid out three cards face up on the table of burgundy felt that matched nearly perfectly the hue of his vest--as if the table were a mere extension of his being, or as if he had bled himself onto the surface before him. He looked up at the two players remaining in the game.

The stranger took a moment to decide whether he liked this woman or not. Normally he would be able to descry immediately her entire being, her history, her proclivities. Now it was a little different. He could still sense the distant echoes of the things he could once perceive, but now such knowleedge did not come to him so easy. The woman contemplated her two cards, protecting them from view with a cupped hand. The stranger noted her elegantly painted nails--navy blue with what seemed like small gems (diamonds?) laid in. He admired the artistry as well as the audacity of such adornment. These days he did not feel nearly the level of contempt that he used to for humanity in general. Where once their foibles seemed to him to be the prime evidence for their destruction, he now saw human frailty as their singular saving grace. He watched the long, polished nails with veiled amusement as the woman counted out a stack of chips worth 50,000, but instead of sliding them into the center of the table she toyed with them, letting each flat disc rifle through her fingers. She was fishing for a reaction. Finding none, or rather unsatisfied with the reaction she was getting, she laid her palm flat and tapped the table twice. Check.

All eyes turned to him. He could tell from their narrowed expressions that they found it most curious that he had not lifted his two hole hards. How would he know what to bet? But, more importantly, the stranger knew that although for his purposes he didn't need to look at his cards, he had better do so or else risk giving something away. He was not concerned that they would think anything amiss. On the contrary--to bet without looking at one's cards communicated contempt for the game and for the other players. To bet without looking was to deny that skill played any part in the execution of a bet or a bluff. It would unduly antagonize his newfound comrades, he knew, yet he could not resist, for at least for a moment, entertaining the thought that he might rashly offend the others and strip them of their money. Better to play along, he knew. With studied caution the stranger lifted the corners of his cards and gave them a cursory glance, and his opponents would have been tickled had they known that, to the stranger's surprise, he had incorrectly sensed the red suit of the top card--it was hearts even as his sensory faculties had suggested diamonds. No matter--even as the residual powers of the Hive began to dull somewhat, there was more than enough left for him to continue in this new lifestyle for as long as he remained alive and out of harm's way. How long that would be, meaning how long he would keep out of harm's way, he could not say. Still, at times he was troubled by the faint signals that his remaining Hive senses picked being emitted from from the central nexus. Sometimes they seemed urgent, ominous. But lately, the tone had become one almost of desperation. As if something catastrophic had happened to the Hive; as if they were calling him back, well not him specifically, but all Drones--to protect the Hive. Strange.

Once he felt he had spent the requisite amount of time staring at his cards he moved a stack worth 50,000 into the pot. "Fifty-thousand."

The woman nodded appreciatively and the two other players sat back in their chairs to wait the outcome. The young American waved to a waitress and ordered a beer. To his embarassed astonishment he had accidentally requested a Mexican beer, not one of the local brews, and he was curtly told that if he wanted his choice he could go to Mexico City to get it. The dealer chuckled politely. The woman with the glamorous nails took another quick peek at her cards; she still caressed the stack of fifty thousand she had seemed to originally intend to bet--and then she drew out another stack of fifty thousand, combined it with the first, and moved it into the pot. Check raise.

All eyes turned to the stranger. He seemed unperturbed by this development that smacked of a trap. This woman knew her game, the stranger decided, and out of instinct he checked his cards once again even though he didn't have to. As he did before, he contemplated, taking his time to do so, and then exhaled slowly as he counted out another 50,000 and added it to the growing pot. He looked up at the dealer as if to urge him on slowly, and as if by command the dealer set aside one card and laid down another next to the first three.

Fortunately, neither side gave away any emotion. The game of silence would continue. The woman, more aggressive, shoved in a full half of her remaining chips; her gorgeous nails clinked on the glass of her mixed drink that remained only half sipped, the ice having melted only shortly before. Equally forceful was the reply of the stranger; his chip count was slightly less than hers, and thus to match her bet he left himself with a much small stack. One more card.

The dealer set out the final card, five face cards now lay in a row on the table. A surprise: she checked. It was unanticipated by the stranger, but he was not overly concerned. They had come this far, so it seemed a pity now if he should suddenly back off and bet timidly. It would demonstrate weakness, which might cause her to be overly confident, and he didn't want to let her off so easy. With a casual glance back again at his two cards he then send his remaining stacks into the middle. All was now in. She, undeterred, pounced immediately and matched his stack. The stranger did not look down as he turned his two cards over, watched the woman flinch, saw her reluctantly show her own, and he only saw the dealer out of the corner of his eye begin the laborious process of shifting the pile of chips towards him.

*****

Return. Identify. Return.

*****

The American smiled and the older man laughed out loud. The woman pursed her lips and also managed to smile, her grin then breaking open into an uncontrolled cackle. She dipped her hand into her half-filled (or half empty) glass and flicked a spray of diluted rum at the stranger. Her laughter now became a howl. Even the dealer managed to smile. The stranger himself also permitted himself a quick flash of a grimace before returning his face back to neutral and composing his newly won money into neat cylindrical stacks.

"See?" see said finally in his monotone Spanish.

"I still don't understand how you do that," the giggling woman managed to speak.

"Me neither," said the American.

The dealer excused himself to go the bathroom and the older man said, "I think I may have figured it out. I almost thought I could tell what she had but not you."

The stranger nodded. "That's good. You?" He indicated the woman.

"Almost, almost." She then added. "I knew you had a red card and a black card. Hah."

"Then you're getting better," the stranger replied.

"And you used to do this for a living?" the American asked.

"You could say that," the stranger nodded. "Let's just say I spent a lot of time in places like these. Those places certainly weren't as classy as this one," everyone assented, realizing he was being sarcastic, "but yes. Really it's not that hard. Well," he corrected himself, "I suppose depending on your willingness to invest the time, I would say that fairly soon most people might be able to do what I do."

"If they knew about this thing that happened in---"

"In Nevada. Yes, if they knew," the stranger agreed.

"Come on," the older man announced, "Let's do it again." He shouted to the dealer to return from the bathroom. From behind the men's room door they could hear the dealer shout back, "I've been done with work for hours now! Give me a break! My colon is about to explode!"

More laughter from the table.

"Would you like me to get you something to eat?" the American asked the stranger.

"After what he said? Maybe in a little while."

In the background of the empty game room, he could sense the presence of an ininvited person. It was mostly a shadow, but in his mind the stranger all too easily recognized the latent signature.

The dealer had now returned. "Did you wash your hands?" the old man grumbled. "No, I didn't," the dealer shot back and began to dramatically wipe his fingers all over the deck of cards. "Idiot!" the old man growled and tossed a chip at the dealer's head. It was deftly caught and immediately stuffed in the tip box. "Shall we play again?" he asked.

"No no," the stranger answered, "You all practice some more. I need to take a break myself." He stood up, parcelled his chips out evenly between all the players at the table, and stepped away. As he walked towards the figure in the dark he could hear the dealer shuffling the cards, picking the top one and asking the three remaining players, "What card is it? No. No. Close, but no. Again."

*****

The stranger met up with the newcomer and indicated that they sit in a small alcove. It was lit by medieval looking sconces that flickered orange light off the pale yellow walls and the cobwebs.

"Tanagua."

The figured bowed his head in mock graciousness. "I would have been disappointed if you hadn't recognized me."

"What brings you here to--"

"Sh, sh. No need for formalities. This is just a social visit."

"I know your kind can't lie," the stranger scratched in itch on the bridge of his nose, "but I can't help thinking that this visit isn't just you checking up on my well being."

"There are many kinds of social visits, my friend." And before the stranger could object, "And though you find it hard to believe, I am your friend. I have always had your best interests in mind. Speaking of friends, although you surely don't care: your friend Tedford is doing quite fine, really."

The stranger had not allowed himself the luxury of contemplating what had, in the end, happened to the man who had shown him how to detach himself finally from the Hive. The Hive. The stranger tensed slightly.

"Again, not to worry," Tanagua assured him, "I'm not telling your Hive compatriots where you are. I like you very much where you are now: it suits you this new life. Teaching the locals parlor tricks I see. That's very noble of you."

"It makes them like me and it keeps me safe just in case the Hive does decide to come against me."

Tanagua gazed across the room to where the four were sitting. They both heard the woman exclaim, "I got it! I got it! Three in a row!"

"Why didn't you tell her she has cancer?" Tanagua asked casually. "You can't be that cut off from the Hive not to see that sickly glow of her disease."

"I know," the stranger sighed. "Some things are better--"

"Yes, I know," Tanagua assented. "Left unsaid, unsaid. You know that's the problem with being someone like me: so much goes unsaid. I really do enjoy the limitation of physical, earthly communication. There's a certain level of--shall we say--anticipation about the formulation of a thought, the choice of words. The linear expression of those ineffable feelings that people like us don't have to rely on so much. Well," he reconsidered, "like you used to be able to do."

"I still can," the stranger reminded.

"To a limited degree, I suppose," was the reply. "Still, there is nothing like immediate communication--so complete, so direct. Words, so tricky. So imprecise. But so musical, si?"

It was only then that the stranger realized that they were speaking in elegant Castillian Spanish.

"We taught the older, more precise form of communication to the, um, original people," Tanagua mentioned disinterestedly. "At first when they abandoned it I was very disappointed. To trade pure speech for this gobbly babbly stuff--all tongues clicking and resonating nasal chambers. Even so, there is something to be said for its lilt and cadence. I enjoy this medium."

There it was, the stranger thought, that contempt for humans as a whole. Even though Tanagua and his people claimed to be the spiritual parents of all humankind, there was always a mixture of sadness and bemusement in their attitudes and dealings with people. At the risk of offending his guest, the stranger mentioned his observation, knowing well that it had already been perceived.

"Normally I would disagree with your shortsightedness, Mr. Ex-Drone," he said, "but in this instance I would have to say you are not far from the mark. Do not mistake me, we love them very much. Too much, really. It is a pity they never know how much until, well, until they slip back to us. And by then it's too late. And yet you cannot help feeling, after working so many--it's all about quantity you realize, not time--after having to individually work with so many of these people, it is very difficult to maintain a sense of composure, of surprise. Really, they don't surprise me like I feel I should be surprised. All the same mistakes, all the same excuses for their failings. Really, these days all I can stomach to speak to are those prophet types. At least they understand their weaknesses and have the wherewithal to accept themselves for what they are."

The stranger glanced longingly at the table of his new friends. "Not to suggest that I dislike your company--although I do dislike your company," he began, "but I think you mentioned something about something important you wanted to tell me? I'd really like to get back to my game."

"All in good time," Tanagua said in a calm voice. "And I did not say I had something important to tell you, although I do."

"Then---?"

"I am disappointed that my company annoys you so much!" he said coyly. "How many of these people would simply kill to have a heavenly visitor sit with them for one second? And you--I visit you unbidden, without your fervent prayer or hour of desperate need, and you treat my visitations as if it were a humiliating medical exam."

"As far as I'm concerned this is a humiliating medical exam."

Tanagua actually beamed--beamed being the correct terminology. The stranger always knew that the divine, the heavenly, or whatever quality Tanagua and his people represented, had a sense of humor--but instead of laughing as his cardplaying friends did, these entities actually emitted rays of warm light the momentarily caused the alcove in which they sat to glow.

"I won't waste any more time than is necessary," although--as the stranger knew--time meant nothing to Tanagua and his kind. "I just wanted to let you know: the Hive is dead." Tanagua paused for effect. The stranger sat passively, unsure of what to say. He could only manage to say, "I don't understand."

"You do," Tanagua replied, "you do."

"No I don't. Not really."

Tanagua's glow receded into him. "That stunt you played in the park. What did you really think was going to happen, my boy?"

The stranger's mind traveled back to that final moment in Idlewood park. The rupture in the midst of the blizzard, the ground trembling, the sound of millions of bees cascading around them all. The deafening noise--and then the darkness.

"I--I--was doing what I was told, what I was instructed to do."

"Nothing of the sort, not really. Come now--if you can't be honest with a heavenly being then who can you be honest with?"

The stranger was baffled. "I don't know. I don't know. But I've been hearing the Hive still. I can still feel them. They can't be gone. We can't be--"

"Echoes, only echoes. What you are now hearing are the faintest of reverberations, the last distress call for help. It was a truly amazing collapse. I haven't see a fall like that since," Tanagua gave the stranger a sideways glance, and as if to project what sorrow he felt to the stranger's mind he transmitted a brief vision of a fiery fall of what seemed like a billion red stars hurling themselves into a void. "Very sad. It is an echo that I am sure you will hear for many years--even after you are dead and come back to us."

"I still don't understand. I did what I was asked."

"No, you did what you were supposed to do."

The stranger could see this coming--the lesson, the moral. Heavenly beings had the annoying habit of always having the last word, and that last word was always laced with an I-told-you-so attitude that would have been unbearably condescending had it not been uttered by God's only representatives. How people of faith put up with such treatment was beyond him.

"Okay, so tell me already."

The loss of the Hive was bittersweet for the stranger. That he had been one of them--he could never forget. That he had gained such extraordinary powers being associated with them--he also could never forget. It was like being his own superhero; it was like belonging to a super-secret government organization. He lived in his own spy-adventure movie, but without the romance. Drone-hood was a solitary occupation bereft of companionship. But the pain, the drudgery of the work, and above all being unable to shut out the hum of human thought--that he did not miss. Nor did he miss the constant voice in his head, directing him, dictating to him, announcing to him his every action and deed. Nor did he miss the unsavory aspects of his assignments--the subterfuge, the lies, and especially the killing. Notwithstanding the compact the Hive had with Tanagua's people--more like an unexpressed bargain that exempted the Hive from divine wrath for their deeds--the stranger could never fully erase from his consciousness the wrongness of his many acts, even if these harsh actions were served out to return a cosmic balance to human affairs. And though he lacked companions, he did not lack for what passed in the Hive for friends. What had happened to them? he wondered. Dead? Exiled, like him? Wandering lost? Imagine, he thought, millions of people returning as if from the dead. And with such residual powers as he now possessed. Unlinked and uncontrolled.

"The Hive," Tanagua announced, seemingly oblivious to the stranger's mixed emotions, "collapsed as a result of your picnic in the park. You brought people together who should not have been brought together."

"But I thought---"

"I know what you thought, but don't interrupt me or I will transmit this knowledge to you all at once and give you an aneurism."

The stranger quieted.

"Your instructions were to eliminate the rogue Drone Tedford. Why didn't you?"

"I did. I was going to. It took some time. For the toxin."

"If you had eliminated him outright, if you had taken him out as you had originally planned, all would have been well."

"But?" the stranger was intrigued.

"But something happened. He escaped."

"He--he caught me off guard. He gave me the password."

"Yes," Tanagua agreed. "The password of the Drone in distress."

"It was a call for help," the stranger noted.

"And it stopped you, for a while," Tanagua reminded.

"He attacked me."

"That was the unexpected element, wasn't it. Few have ever attacked a Drone and lived to tell; but he did, because he used to be a Drone. He knew who you were. He knew how to confuse you. Because no one had ever had to hunt down a former Drone before. He was the first to successfully detatch himself. And you were sent, not because you were the best--"

The stranger made a move to protest but Tanagua kept on.

"--not because you were the best but because of all the Hive you were the closest to him in spirit. Your doubt about belonging to the Hive was as strong as his; your willingness to leave was equal to his, and so that made you the ideal assassin because you could think like him. The Hive knew this, the Queen knew this, and they decided that rather than risk sending one of their best agents to find and kill this escaped Drone, you were the more appropriate candidate because your signature, your emanations, were so much like his."

Tanagua continued. "What they did not count on was his weapon--that toxin. Its intended use was only to stun you, to temporarily block your connection to the Hive long enough for him to escape you. What he didn't count on, what you didn't count on, and certainly what the Hive didn't count on was that in doing so he actually exacerbated your initial condition---"

"My resistance to the Hive," the stranger added.

"Yes," Tanagua affirmed. "And much more. It started a chain reaction. At first you recovered, but the toxin did its own work, almost like the one you administered to Tedford and his friend. Silently but effectively."

"You see," he continued, "How Tedford escaped from the Hive was by locating a rift in the network, a small but important conduit that had been severed many years ago when the Hive first formed and grew. Tedford located this rift and in time managed to tear it open. It was painful, traumatic. Imagine realizing that only a small sinew connects your hand to your wrist. What would it take for you to consider tearing your hand off your arm in order to be free? And how much pain that would it cause knowing that to sever that sinew you had to cut through muscle, blood vessels, cartilidge, tendons, and nerve tissue to get to that one tiny membrane that is so easily cut. But he did it--he was the first and only to succeed. But he took something with him--the essence of that conduit which, oddly enough, was like the liquid essence of a simple bee sting. So simple, so basic. But there you have it.

"And when he left he still took with him his Hive powers, or a shadow of them. He was not supposed to return--that was always the deal. Your life is saved by the Hive but only to do the Hive's bidding. When he left, you were sent.

"But in the same way that a severed limb, well, how shall I put it? In the same way that a severed limb thrashes about and sends sprays of blood everywhere, so Tedford's escape made quite a mess, so to speak. To follow this metaphor--it bled, and it bled profusely. And in turn it affected other people."

The stranger gazed mournfully at Tanagua.

"It is impossible to pinpoint this rift in space or time, but it affected many people, unintentionally. It was like, to use another metaphor, a spill of toxic waste or a release of a deadly nerve gas. You were the mop up crew. You had to eliminate all traces of this fissure, and eliminate all the people it had affected."

"So that's why those people had Hive powers. I knew I had to kill them. A Drone never asks, a Drone just does, and sometimes we are given an explanation."

"And that was why they were drawn to your place, that park; the Nexus."

"Like bees to a flowerbed I suppose," the stranger volunteered.

"Yes, you could say that. It nourished their powers in a huge way; it feed them, even as it rejuvenated you."

"And I tried to kill them. I tried."

"You did try. But you were also a damaged agent, unhinged. Only a few strands held you to the Hive. And when you invoked your strongest power--you undid something that should not have been undone. You broke open the Nexus and it flowed unchecked; it was as if you had accidentally burst open a dam. Had you been at your full strength you could have controlled the emission of power, destroyed those unfortunate people, and called it a day. Instead, because of your damaged condition, the fissure expanded unchecked. And the Hive? Well, you try holding back a flood like that. It was quite interesting to watch. In that instant you did such irreparable harm. Such a small thing doing such great damage. The proverbial leak in the dam--and you came along and blew it up."

The stranger could only imagine.

"And the others?" he asked. "The other drones? The Queen?"

"They are where they should be, of course." Tanagua rose up. "And the Queen? A Queen is nothing without her Hive." He was clearly finished saying what he had to say.

"And as you can see the world goes on," Tanagua added. "Even in its new, transformed state. Such power as the Hive had--we have always felt--and when I say 'we' I mean all of us--the big guns up there as well." Tanagua made a comical guesture pointing heavenward. "We always felt that such authority was always best held by the Hive. You all did such good and thorough work. You were right, you know--I am simply a servant; but I do good work. And so did you and all of your colleague. Power like that--to even out things. Well, it was an important job, and it was better that some other agency took care of those matters instead of us. Can you imagine if someone like me had to do you job? The Adversary would be in stitches just thinking about it. No no, it was better for us all to have you doing that work. A noble job, a necessary one, most especially because of this whole free will thing--we're not allowed to intervene. We are only allowed to know. Such a paradox."

"So what happens now? To all that power?"

"Oh," Tanagua sighed. "Obviously it is out now--among the people. No longer stuck behind a dam to be utilized by your sort. All of them--no doubt they've been splashed by it, some more than others. Fortunately for us, most will never ever know. Heaven forbid"--here Tanagua made that heavenward-pointing gesture again--"they should find out. Now that would be chaos!"

"What do you mean? That they find out they have the power to balance things? To see deeper, farther, and all that? That would be chaos?"

"You," Tanagua intoned, "had a mission tied to your powers. Your abilities were inseparably connected to your directions--violate your directions and you lost your power. Theoretically. When Tedford severed himself he made it possible to have power without authority--a frightening thought. That's why we had to get involved--to monitor the situation, anyway. You saw what those people in the park were starting to learn, to know, to do and perceive."

The stranger was curious, "And now? Is this any better? You stood by and watched a cataclysm occur. And now the powers of the Hive are out, flooding everywhere. All that power--unbound by authority to exercise it. I say you have a mess on your hands."

"I admit things look grim for those people out there. Such choices they have now--such abilities. Only more chances for disappointments. Or for terrible things. Believe me when I say," Tanagua turned his gaze from the people at the table back to the stranger, "that in my job, in my position, there is great sadness and disappointment. Yes, your little accident has increased the opportunities for calamity--but it has been much worse.

"There was a time, you know, when the world was filled with violence. Oh much worse than now and much worse than your little fiasco might cause. There was a time when abilities and power and knowledge much greater that what you had with the Hive was available to just about everyone. The abuse of that knowledge and power was astounding--not surprising (we don't get surprised) but astonishing nevertheless. So we watched as you killed yourselves off, and then we did the rest of the killing off--you know, that great flood episode? And once things got rolling again we subdivided those powers--you see they exist and we delegate, remember? Your Hive, your former Hive, the former Hive, got some of it. Other groups got others as well. And, not to worry, other groups have ended like yours as others has arisen.

"But who will balance things now?" the stranger demanded. "Who will do the work of the Hive?"

"I am not given to know that exactly. Perhaps the task of balancing wrongs is better left to a more looser structure, one not so cloaked in arcana as the Hive." Tanagua shrugged, and looked over to the people at the table. They were still amusing themselves with cards and chips.

"Them?" the stranger was incredulous.

Tanagua did not immediately discount the strangers hypothesis. "You can sense it. Whatever powers we lent the Hive--it is out now. It's flowed everywhere now. Unchecked. If only they knew what could be done with it. If only. You knew, or if you didn't you suspected that they might actually be partakers of these gifts."

This was true. The stranger had suspected all along. "Partakers, yeah maybe. But to actually participate in balancing? I don't know." He paused to consider.

"In the meantime, someone should probably start training them right. Who knows where else these abilities have gone--or who else might be wanting to harnass them for something other than the task of balancing."

"You people," the stranger shook his head. "You could try to intervene once in a while. It would help immensely."

"Not our job," Tanagua was adamant.

"Should anyone tell them?" the stranger asked.

"Hmm?"

"Should anyone tell them about this--the Hive, their new abilities? Balancing?" The stranger felt his chance to get direct answers sliding away from him.

"Who knows," Tanagua replied, and stepped through his effectual door and was gone. The stranger was fairly certain he would never again have such direct contact with the divine ever again.

*****

"Welcome back!" the woman with the pretty nails crowed.

"Who is your friend--invite him over," the American said.

"Oh he had to go," the stranger answered. He returned to his seat, pondering his next move.

"Too bad," the woman said, "our dealer's intestines are not cooperating with him; he may have to leave and we could use a dealer."

The stranger surveyed the table. He reached over to the sitting deck of cards and shuffled them. He peeled off the top card, looked at it. Turning to the woman, he said, with great effort, "Okay, it's your turn to guess."

Chapter Fifty: Idlewood Park is Melting in the Dark

It happened so suddenly, so forcefully, that to all present it was over before it had even properly begun.

To the detatched observer, this is what happened, or seemed to happen:

Six people in a section of Idlewood Park converged on each other. They approached each other warrily and yet with purpose; it was almost magnetic. There was a cluster of three people: the proverbial tall dark stranger, and with him a man and a woman who were clearly a couple; two men who were approaching the first man, and the fifth was also approaching the couple, but angling more towards the woman.

The tall dark stranger suddenly raised his arms in what appeared to be a gesture of salute--or was it warning? And as he did so, a wind arose from behind him that picked up with such velocity that it became clear to those in the park that some kind of storm had caught them unawares. The sky darkened as a bank of clouds formed and thickened, rapidly turning from white to gray to ominous black. The wind swirled in a circular motion--would it become a funnel cloud? people wondered as they hastened to the cars and vans and SUVs, clutching children and any belongings that hadn't yet blown away. Consider the outrageousness of such a fear: a funnel could in Reno?

In a brief moment the only people left were the six, who were now facing each other, looks of terror on all faces except for the tall dark stranger.

And then the snow began to fall. It trickled down at first in tiny flurries then immediately grew to the size of great snowballs. The cold was cutting and severe, and soon at their feet lay a deep blanket of white. Had anyone outside the six been able to hear the stranger speak, they would have heard this spoken:

"I summon you here by virtue of the Hive."

The man in the couple, a tall black man named Tedford, recognized this speech. It was the preamble to execution. The stranger, who he knew only as the Drone, was about to kill them all. He had been tricked, he and his partner Krystal had been tricked--he knew it now. There would be no antidote; he was caught after all, and he was bait to draw in these other people. But why? Why Will and Tony as well? Why this other person? He could not save Krystal now; he had found her because he knew she was special somehow--he wasn't sure why, but he had known that she had Hive abilities which needed protection and guidance. Instead, he had brought her trouble.

The Drone, in total control, now lowered his hands, palms downward, and an orange glow began to pulsate from beneath the snow that lay in the midst of the six people now converged at this one spot. The snow and clouds around them formed a natural wall that excluded sight, sound, and the other forms of knowing that might try to intrude. No one else would be privileged to see what was about to happen. Only rarely did the Hive permit itself such a dramatic display of power--it was to teach these people a lesson. And also to raise the level of their fear, so important for this very moment.

"By my right and by my hand," the Drone continued, "I am given power to enacted this deed, and to you I say, 'Your time of usefulness is over. I now release you."

At that moment in his hands appeared two sharp blades. The orange glow in the ground peeled back the snow like a spreading infection--heat and cold mingled in a frenzy of water, steam, and ash. This was the pit into which the Drone would cast his offerings. The others stood by terrified. As he stepped forward to commit his first act of balancing--that is, the act of killing--he felt a sharp pain tear through the joints of his body. It was clear this was unexpected, and the Drone hesitated momentarily. While thus distracted the two men--one named Tony and the other Will--broke from the trance that held them, surveyed the situation, and made an instinctual lunge at the assailant with the knives. The sixth member of this party, a man named Dave, made his own lunge, this time in a protective gesture over the woman Krystal as the assassin heaved up and attempted to slice at her. All the while the man Tedford stood watching in horror. He could not move; the Drone had assured his own victory by doubly insuring that at least his central prey would die by this time, either by the knife or the poison.

Will and Tony pinned the Drone down, but each time they succeeded they were thwarted by the Drone's otherworldly strength. Dave held Krystal tightly as she tried desperately to reach out to Tedford who was now unable to breathe--she too could feel her own lungs constricting, and she felt herself falling towards the edge of the reddening abyss even as she was being held in the arms of this man--whose name she suddenly came to understand was Dave.

The rift in the ground began to waver--and a seizure of pain wracked the Drone's body. He had never felt such agony--it had nothing to do with the two men who were forecefully pummeling his body and attempting to wrench the weapons from his hands. The snowstorm swirled stronger and more intensely around them--and he could barely see Tedford in the closing dark. To him it felt as if clawed fingers were reaching into his chest and stomach and squeezing his internal organs until they came apart in fleshy chunks of blood and pulp. He howled for pain and confusion--something had gone wrong. The powers of the Hive--were utterly out of his control now. Something was missing, absent--and he felt himself tumbling, falling somewhere; not into the void that had opened up in ground, but elsewhere. Not even the pain of his own knives, now out of his hands, now being plunged into his face and neck by two men, not even that could match the pain he felt now. He was being torn from the Hive.

Darkness closed in. The Drone no longer felt the weight of his attackers--Tedford's defenders--nor the sickening slicing sound of those cold blades; all was dark. Will and Tony, exhausted from their exertion, rattled now by the ferociousness of their attack, crumpled to the now frozen ground and gasped for breath as snow drifts piled upon them like desert sand. Dave, clutching Krystal to him to keep her warm, stared in amazement as the rift in the ground seethed then buckled. He felt his own pain--one of overload. Too many sensations hit him at once--he could suddenly see into infinity, into the void that was the firmament. He saw lights and heard sounds of great heights and depths; every one of his atoms were open receptors flooded with information until he felt he would burst and burst again. But through all the cacophony of sensation he could still feel the tiny heart beneath him beating, slowing through the effects of a deadly poison, and with a final effort he willed it, that heart, to keep on beating, to resist. She just had to keep going.

And Tedford? Some would say his heart stopped beating and that he died standing where he was. Others could say that it was not the poison but the cold which eventually froze him, and he died of exposure. Still others, had they been there, might have seen, very slightly out of reach of the normal range of visible light, a thin sliver of space open up much like a door, and a pair of arms reaching through, drawing Tedford in, and the sliver close up and leave not a trace of itself behind. Either way it is impossible to say because his body was never found, nor could it have. At that moment the rift in the ground collapsed on itself, the sound and reverberations of which were felt as an earthquake to the surrounding municipality. Buildings shook slightly, and the river sloshed as if it had been water in a bathtub.

The wind let up, and in a short time the heat of summer returned.

The sight was awkward as it was incomprehensible. In the middle of Idlewood Park lay four bodies, still very much alive. The grass around them was wet yet also singed. Two men lying near each other rested on their backs staring up into the now blazing sun--but it did not matter, for--upon closer inspection--it was later discovered that they were both now blind. Not too far from them was a couple, but not the couple that had been there before. She was still there, but now she was being wrapped in the arms of a strange man whom she now knew all about though they had not spoken a word.

It would take a long while for paramedics to arrive to ascertain their condition, owning to the brief panic that had arisen from the small quake. But, most observers agreed, they would be fine.