Hodges and two body guards, a Japanese man named Lee and one of the elder Schwartz’s stocky, swarthy crew, were still in the hangar. Lee carried a crossbow, and the other guard had a Mauser. The remaining truck was loaded. Several mortar bombs had detonated on the roof, making patches of debris on the floor. A large rocket bomb had come in through the open hangar door and hit the truck, but failed to go off. It was embedded in a crate, which had been unloaded and set behind a wall of Thing parts. “The mortar bombardment is letting up. But the enemy is entrenched in the museum,” Lou reported. “We cannot complete the loading until they are eliminated.” Most of their bazooka ammunition was stored in a storeroom in the museum.

I barely registered the conversation. I stood against a wall, barely supporting myself. The elder Schwartz crouched brooding by Dianna’s side. She was alive, but there was no telling how long she would stay that way. One thing did register with me: a smell, a somehow familiar smell that seemed to be coming from the broken crate. I moved toward the crate, and as I did, placed the smell: It was a marking scent of a genetically engineered fungus, with which the Colombian government had wiped out 90% of the coca harvest. I lifted a chain of linked Thing cleats for a closer look. Only then did I realize that all eyes were on me.

“Kill this man,” Hodges said tersely. Both bodyguards pointed their weapons at me at once. Before they could try to fire, someone came between me and the guards. It was Dianna! She struck the nearest guard in the face, scratching at his eye. Without flinching, or giving any sound of pain, the guard fired three rounds into her chest. She fell, still scrabbling at his gun hand. He fired another shot; I heard a distinct metallic noise as it bounced off the plate in her head. I slung the cleats over my shoulder, for impromptu armor and rushed for the guards. A bolt from Lee’s crossbow was stopped by the cleats. Finally, I was upon the guard who had shot Di. I swung the cleats like a whip, throwing off his aim, and lunged inside his reach. I hit him twice, as hard as I could, but he absorbed the blows with barely a stagger. I wrapped the cleats around my hand like a brass knuckle and struck once more. The guard fell, the right side of his face a bloody pulp.

I seized the Mauser pistol and pointed it at Hodges. “Hands up!” I ordered. Hodges laughed, but the noise was not that of a human, but some primeval beast. I hesitated, and then pulled the trigger. I distinctly heard the bullet bounce off a steel support directly behind Hodges. I stopped in uncomprehending horror. Hodges was completely unharmed. Then I was struck from behind. The gun went off once more, and then I was down, and the gun pulled from my hands. I raised my head to look at my attacker.

“You should have stayed in the shed,” Lou said sadly.

Hodges stalked toward me, a look of irritation on his face. Schwartz came up behind him. The exotrooper let out a snarling cough and struck, not at me but at Hodges. His right fist (with its perpetual insulting gesture) swung forth with blinding motion, backed by the power of a combat exoskeleton. But somehow, Hodges blocked it. For a moment, I glimpsed the incredible tableau of the exotrooper in the very act of a mighty blow, arrested by Hodges’ raised hands. Schwartz’s prosthetic finger protruded through one palm. Hodges made a strange contortion of his jaw, like a cow chewing cud. He bit down on his own tongue hard enough to draw blood, but did not seem to notice. He let out a contralto squeal that had no comprehensible meaning but the unsettling suggestion of words. I distinctly heard the exoskeleton motors whine from strain. “I thought you knew better, Zaratustra,” he said, in something close to his normal voice. “But I do not hold it against you.” Then he made one last eerie grunt, gave a hard push, and sent the exotrooper tumbling like a pill bug. “Lee, call Heinrich and Heidrich. Prepare for an assault on the museum.”

His gaze turned to me, and only then did I realize that his glasses had fallen off—and that he had no “gaze” at all. One eye was glazed over, and clearly useless. The other was apparently functional, but rolled in random directions, never focusing on anything. Hodges grinned and straightened his neck. I knew then what his perpetual slouch was really like: a puppet held up by stings, a puppet imperfectly animated by another being.” What are you?” I said.

A long strand of bloody saliva dripped from his gaping mouth. Then, abruptly, he spoke, in a different voice, the same one he had used when Zaratustra tried to strike him: “You ask what I am? Ask rather what I have been! Before the Law was spoken, I was Lawlessness. Before there was Light, I was Darkness. Before there was Fire, I was Ice. I am the incarnate Tiamat, Primal Chaos! Bow before me, mortal, and you shall only die!” With one last chuckle, he turned to leave. “Tanaka, you know what to do.” He, Lee and the injured guard climbed onto the truck, and it rolled out of the hangar.

Lou drew his .45. I gazed into his eyes. Somehow, I was not surprised or angry but only deeply sad. “Why, Lou?” I said.

“For my country. And because I know which way the winds of change blow. I hope, in the new world, we might be friends again.” What happened was too quick to perceive. One moment, I was looking down the barrel of a gun. The next, Lou was on the floor with a broken neck, and Di on top of him.

Just then, an explosion roared through the hangar. The doors leading from the museum flew off their hinges. I was thrown back to the floor. A familiar voice called out, “I’m here to kill Ophites an’ sell AmWay—and I seem to have left my briefcase in Saskatchewan!”

Carlos came into view. He was armed with a caseless 7 mm assault rifle, fitted with an over-under 4-gauge grenade launcher. “Zaratustra! I’m the last surviving member of Long-Range Reconnaissance Team 557!” he shouted.
“Come forth, Zaratustra! We have business to settle, and let’s keep it between us!”

The exotrooper seemed to pop out of the darkness. He carried Dianna in his arms. I stepped between him and Carlos. “Are you for us or against us?” I said.
“I am for myself, and my boys,” he said. “And I am against the God who made this world. All other attachments are only a matter of expediency. And who are you for?”

I stood there in stunned silence. Finally I said, “I am for Dianna.”
“Not a pious answer, but a noble one,” he said. “And what will you fight for when she dies—in all likelihood within the hour? All life is loss, Flockman. Surely you have seen that. Why should you fight? What for?”

“If not for what I have, then for what was lost,” I said, “and for what
might be had again.”

“Listen up,” Carlos said. “Here’s what I propose. Ted, you go forward. Get Dianna. Come back to where you are now. Then step aside.” I numbly did as he said, dreading every step closer to the man of metal. Finally, Zaratustra gently put Di in my arms. Her heart was still beating. In my
elation, I did not see the elder Schwartz bringing his wrist canisters to bear, until I was looking down the barrels. But, at that moment, Carlos fired a brilliant flare round over our heads that made the exotrooper stagger. I lurched out of the way. A second genade exploded in the air. This one shot a needle-like subprojectile downward into Zaratustra’s armor. The exotrooper went tumbling across the concrete like a pill bug, his armor striking sparks on the concrete. With a great crash, he made his unplanned exit from the hangar.

“You challenged him to a duel, and then you cheated?” I said in a daze.
“Right, and he cheated back. So, on average, it was a fair contest.” A volley of bullets started whizzing in from outside. “Hold your fire,you bloody idiots! We’re on the same side!” Carlos shouted. Moments later, half-a-dozen armed men were in the hangar. One of them greeted Carlos.

“So, Dr. Wrzniewski, you made it,” Dr. Ling said.
“Should I be pleased?”
“I think the question is, should I be pleased that you showed up,” Carlos said.

I touched Dianna’s face, and she sighed faintly. “She’s still alive,” I said. “We need to help her.”

“You think that any of us can help her?” Ling said. “Don’t you understand what is going on? Charles Hodges Jr. is an Aryan Ophite Perfect. He is leading a conspiracy to change the past. We do not know the details of his plan. We do know that he has several dangerous bioagents, including the Yersinia strain released at Omega Facility. We have good reason to believe that he also has a radiogenic device. Given his equipment, there is no question where he is going: the eastern front, circa 1941. By all objective reckoning, the decisive period in the most important theater of the Second World War. And if he succeeds, what will happen to her, and to all of us? We are in a battle, not only for our lives, but for our existence—perhaps even for our souls.”
“More than that, maybe,” I said. “Remember Schwartz’s story? He said a paradox might destroy the universe… Why? Why would anyone do it?”

“It’s a matter of applied theology,” Carlos said. “The Ophites have no allegiance to any god of this world. Quite the contrary: they believe this world is the creation of an evil demon called—Yaldaboth? Yog-Sothoth? Somethin’ like that. They believe that human—or at least, everyone of the right color—are pieces of the true God that was overthrown, trying to escape. For the true god to reign again, this world and its God must be destroyed. So, to them, the end of the universe isn’t just an acceptable outcome, but an ideal one!”

“Hodges,” I said dazedly. “What is he, really?”
“Human. Technic’ly speaking,” Carlos said.
“What about his head?” I said.
“That’s simple to explain: He’s hydrocephalic,” Ling said. He pronounced it strangely as “hi-dro-kef-ay-lic”, but I understood it well enough to stare at him in disbelief. “That’s correct. The majority of his brain case volume—possibly on the order of ninety percent—is filled only by water. Most hydrocephalics show a degree of mental impairment, but often much less than would be expected, and some perform so well that they reach adulthood before being diagnosed. Usually, the condition is a congenital defect, but Hodges’ condition is more likely a result of cancer. By age seven, he was a patient at one of Chablan’s clinics. The late doctor specialized in treating congenital defects. But he used his legitimate research to pursue his real interest of `psychic’ research. He believed that those with sensory handicaps or abnormal brain development were more likely to display psychic or paranormal abilities. He personally believed that these abilities were nothing less than the power to channel an occult force, or being.”

“Aye,” Carlos said. “And don’t tell me he couldn’t get results. Suppose that at some point, Hodges became ‘Hodges plus X’. And the real question then is, what’s the X? The only answer I’ll swear to is, something we have to kill at any cost…if we can. And I think we can. We can’t count on any weapon, and the more technologically sophisticated the weapon, the less it can be trusted. But even it must have limitations. It’s not of flesh and blood, or metal and fire, but not necessarily superior. That’s the only explanation why Hodges didn’t stay here to wait for us. Its power isn’t strong enough—yet. It gets its power, I should think, from all the things one would expect: fear, hate, treachery, sacrifices made in its name. Evil begets evil, as they say—and greater evil. Evil squared or cubed! But that, I think, is its weakness. If a lesser evil begets greater evil, then even a small good may undo great evil. It will send its servants in first, so as not to take chances, and grow stronger, if need be, by their deaths. Then it will come. When it does, I will be waiting for it with this—” He patted his assault rifle. “—And this.” He showed me a hammer tucked in the back of his belt.

“A number of his men appear to be Chablan’s subjects,” Ling said calmly and clinically. He touched a pool of blood on the floor, where the guard I struck had fallen. Only then did I see that it had a strange, rusty hue. “This could only have come from one of the ‘supermen,’ a genetically altered subject. This blood is a different color, because it has a different type of hemoglobin. It is also already coagulated. Only the opening of an artery could have caused the loss of this much blood. I suppose he fell down and appeared to lose consciousness? That is their way of responding to injuries. They become immobile; their metabolism slows down. But they can recover within minutes.”

“What about Zaratustra?” I said. “Is he a ‘superman’?”
“No—not exactly. He appears to have gotten the way he is naturally,” Ling said. “From childhood, he displayed abnormal psychology and physiology. He was born to Ophites of an unusually radical faction. At age 7, his parents were jailed, and he was placed in a psychiatric care facility. His psychological evaluation became a published case study, which described his condition as Hyperactive Obsessive-Compulsive Dissociative Disorder. He was placed on a high-powered amphetamine, which, in the reverse of the usual effect, moderated his behavior. He was released in 2035, and promptly reconnected with the Ophite movement. He was jailed by the Serbians in 2038 for the killings of three other Ophites. Dr. Chablan appears to have requested his release into his custody for the express purpose of replicating his condition. He was the prototype for the supermen that followed, and also served as Chablan’s de facto head of security. He was captured by EU troops in 2046, and sent to a field hospital with an untreatably infected injury to the third finger of his right hand. He escaped shortly after the digit was amputated. He is probably the most dangerous human being on the planet, dead or alive. ”

“You seem to know a lot about him,” Carlos said darkly. “Would you by any chance know how he escaped from the hospital? Or where Dr. Nibeaux really got his funding?”
“What do you expect me to say?” Ling said. “Certain decisions were made by certain parties, with unexpected negative repercussions.”
“You mean, the Ophites turned around and bit certain parties in the butt, and my unit got wiped out by their mess. Under any other circumstances, I would shoot you right here, right now.”

Ling answered, “It is far too late to discuss what was done. For now, all that matters is stopping Hodges. We had contact with an insider who could have locked the Ophites out of the TDD computer. He failed, and the launch is already initiated. It cannot be stopped. If we can hold the museum, we can at least prevent Hodges from loading his most dangerous bioagents. If that should fail, the final contingency is to take the control room.”

I dropped wearily to my knees. “I don’t care what happened,” I said. “I don’t care what’s happening now. We have to help Di.” I stroked her face. Suddenly, her eyes flew open.
“Hi, Ted,” she said weakly. I jerked back involuntarily. “Don’t be afraid. Just me… We’re at the wall, Ted. The wall of darkness. I understand it better now. At first, I thought it was death. But now I see… it’s uncertainty. Can’t see beyond it, ‘cause the outcome is unknown, undetermined. But you can break through it, Ted. I’ll be waiting for you on… the other side.” Then her eyes closed. I stood up jerkily.
“Fight now, cry later,” Carlos said. Then he hurried off.

We moved into the museum. I took Lou’s .45 and a spare clip. Ling handed me a .50 revolver, which resembled a scaled-up version of Robertson’s pistol. “This is a .50 Browning weapon, loaded with hyper-velocity rocket-assisted AP rounds,” he said. “There are five rounds in the cylinder, and here are five more. It may penetrate exotrooper armor. Peak velocity is reached 30 meters from the muzzle. Remember that at shorter ranges, they hit harder when the target is further away.”

There were twenty of us, all together. Ling ordered half of them to cover the front of the museum. “These guys couldn’t stop a persistent salesman, let alone a full frontal attack,” Carlos said in cheerful Indonesian.

“Of course not,” Ling said. As he spoke, there was a strange, electronic “ZZZap”. One of the KK dropped dead. I recognized the strange electronic sound of an electromagnetic rail gun.

Everyone ran for cover. Dr. Ling and I got to the shelter of two L-shaped wooden display cases, at the lower left corner of the intersection of the main aisles. Together, the cases formed a square enclosure. One of them consisted mainly of a fiberglass tub that held a 12-foot-long armored amphibian. Ling crouched behind his briefcase, and carefully raised his machine pistol. He had barely begun to raise the weapon before someone opened fire. There was another “ZZZap”, and a projectile tore through the intervening wood (and the amphibian) and shattered against Ling’s briefcase. Carlos fired two bursts and one grenade, and the KK joined in with a veritable storm of fire. Both potato guns went off. “I didn’t see him; I just fired where I thought he was,” Carlos explained sheepishly.

I scuttled from the dubious shelter of the case to a steel beam twenty feet to the right. As I moved, I caught a glimpse of two disks, shining in the shadows like the eyes of a cat. “He’s on the stairs!” I shouted as I dived to safety. “I think he’s wearing glasses!” A shot bounced off the beam. Carlos, Ling and the others returned fire, driving the terrorist deeper into the shadows.

“That’s Omar,” Ling said. “I have dealt with him before, even met him once. He was a specialist in electronic weaponry who left a job for a military research firm to take up bank robbery, piracy and counterfeiting. It’s not so much a career for him as it is a means to some very peculiar ends…” Ling nimbly avoided a furious volley of shots. “He seems to recollect our encounter.”

I peered around the girder, hoping to get a shot at Omar, when I heard the terrorist say one word: “Now.” I took cover just in time to avoid a three-round burst from an automatic shotgun. Two dozen tungsten pellets chewed into a nearby steel beam like metal piranhas. Omar’s gun fired again, but now the sound went, “Zzzap-pft.” I smelled smoke and heard him cursing. He was clearly going to be out of the fight for the moment. Marcos fired four more bursts in Carlos’ general direction. “If you’re going to spray, at least control your weapon!” Carlos shouted defiantly.

I peered around the beam and saw the second terrorist, standing next to an ankylosaur across the aisle from us. He was firing the weapon like a berserker would use a broadsword, flailing wildly, destroying almost at random. For some reason, there were pieces of duct tape all over the gun. The shotgun jammed, and the terrorist yelled and removed a piece of tape. I was startled to recognize “his” voice. “That’s Dr. Marcos!” I exclaimed. A Kommie just venturing into the open perished under a burst. Another volley nearly bored a hole in the case I hid behind.

I fired Lou’s .45 at her around the corner of the case, but missed. I thought I heard the click of the shotgun jamming. Marcos retreated between the ankylosaur’s front legs. She said something indecipherable and pulled off a piece of duct tape. Then she fired a blast that nearly took my head off. I got a glimpse of a strange, hand-painted symbol that the duct tape had covered. I quickly concluded that it was an occult sigil. Marcos was trying to use magic to keep her gun working! After the last blast, she retreated.

“Turn off your sights,” Carlos said. I was the only one to comply. Suddenly, the museum lights went out. There were cries of dismay from the KK: Whatever had knocked out the lights had also knocked out their laser sights and night scopes.

“They must have an EMP device!” someone shouted.

“Not a device,” Carlos said. “It’s HIM.”

There was a prolonged, unnerving silence. Ling fired a smoke grenade. Something in the smoke revealed a beam of light, almost a meter wide, that played back and forth across the museum. “We’re being painted! Take cover!” Ling shouted. “Be sure there’s something over your head!” He held his open briefcase over his head. Carlos dived under the ankylosaur. I retreated back to the cases.

It was none too soon. PTRD bursting rounds pounded methodically through the walls. Whoever was firing was getting off shots faster than many men could with a bolt-action rifle. I knew it had to be one of the Schwartzes. Three men were killed by as many shots. I fired the revolver along the line of the spotlight, resting a folding unipod on the case. The next shot embedded itself in the wooden case, mere inches away from my face. I fired two more shots, and the search light finally went out.

I turned on the night scope on the revolver and looked outside. The squat form of a demolition drone was making its way toward the front door. I fired the last two shots in the cylinder at it. It spun in circles, spurting smoke and sparks. Moments later, the armored tractor came roaring toward the front door. A machine gun on the hull opened up, killing another hapless Kommie. A potato gun shell exploded against the hull, knocking out the machine gun. When the tractor came to within five meters of the door, five men climbed out. Four of them had the unmistakable form of supermen. They all wore armor-plated gas masks, but I recognized one by his missing arm. Hodges had sent at least one of his casualties back into combat! The two leading supermen carried heavy bullet-proof shields, as thick as an exotrooper’s breastplate. The leader fired a smoke grenade through an opening in his shield.

Under the cover of the smoke, the Ophites fanned out. The potato gunner got off one more shot, killing the one “normal” man as he moved against our right flank. He lived just long enough to scream. A concussion grenade silenced the potato gunner for good. On the left, two more Kommies retreated from an onslaught of submachine gun fire, only to be cut down by Dr. Marcos. I glimpsed a shield bearer through the smoke as he wound his way through a cluster of display cases of Nemegt animals. I fired the revolver. The shot punched through his shield and body armor before the rocket motor was spent, and exploded. The man fell without a cry. The other shield bearer abruptly emerged from the smoke and dropped to his knees next to a pareiasaur, 15 meters away. I fired twice more and scored a hit to his shield, but the round hit with insufficient speed and ricocheted. Some sort of burden fell off his back. He fired a grenade that crashed into the case. It was a dud, but it still hit with enough force to knock me down with splinters of wood and glass in my cheek.

At that moment, Heidi came crashing in through the ceiling. He hit the Dunkleosteus on the way down, and crashed head-first into the ankylosaur. He landed on his side, and immediately fired a burst of chaff at Carlos. Carlos retreated across the aisle, taking cover behind the dicynodont. The exotrooper unlimbered a machine gun and started blasting. Two more Kommies perished. The gunfire was joined by the whiz of a bowstring. Lee had crept in through the passageway to the time bell, and moved to cut off the retreat.

When I tried to get up again, I was greeted by yet another volley from Marcos’ shotgun, and a short burst of machine gun fire. I took several hits to the chest. The Thing cleats stopped them, but I had the wind knocked out of me. Peering around an opening between the cases, I glimpsed the machine gunner. It was a legless superman; presumably the same one maimed clearing mines, firing from the cover of the pareiasaur. The leader’s “burden” had been another fighter.

Dr. Marcos moved toward me, while the shield bearer and the one-armed superman ran toward the storeroom, killing or driving back KK who threatened Heidi’s flanks. Only Ling prevented a total rout. He leaped from between the display cases, blocking a blast from Marcos’s shotgun with his briefcase, and stunned the exotrooper with a grenade to the helmet. He followed that with a short burst that hit the shield bearer in the leg. The superman staggered, and Ling hit him in the face mask, knocking him down. He loaded another grenade for a coup de grace. Before he could shoot, the legless superman shot him in the right arm. His shot went high and wide.

Ling switched the pistol to his left hand and fired back at the machine gunner, but the angle was poor, and he could not control his gun with his weaker hand. Fortunately, the superman faired no better. His gun jammed, and he rolled to cover beneath the pareiasaur, leaving it behind. Ling did succeed in driving Marcos back to cover; she fired one more blast and retreated to the Mongolian diorama. Meanwhile, the one-armed man rushed in and supported the shield bearer. The last of Ling’s men fired at them, but his shots only bounced off the shield, and Lee took him down from behind. Peering over the ravaged display case with revolver in hand, I saw the shield bearer take off his mask. I recognized him by the hideous wounds on his face and neck; wounds I had inflicted in the hangar. I cried out Dianna’s name and fired instinctively, without resting the unipod on the case. The recoil hurt as much as actually getting hit and the rocket round went wide and exploded against a beam in a miniature blue-white fireball. There were cries from the supermen, and several shots that might otherwise have found Dr. Ling as he retreated went wide.

Heidi and the shield bearer stood together before the closet. A Chechen emerged from the closet, “walking” a kettenkrad in low gear. He was clearly shaken. Omar came down from the balcony and climbed into the driver’s seat. At Omar’s order, the Chechen took a shield. The men with shields stepped to either side of Omar. The one-armed superman and the bowman took position just behind them, while the exotrooper stood before them all, a machine gun in his hands. Together, they moved forward.

Ling handed the case to me. “Hold this up, and give me some cover,” he said. “I’m going to take down the exotrooper.” The exotrooper was standing with his back to us, firing a machine gun at Carlos. Holding the gun with both hands, Ling scuttled out crabwise from the cases. I moved toward Marcos, holding up the suitcase with both hands. A single blast struck the suitcase. I shifted the case to my left and drew a pistol with my right. When I tried to return fire, I got a very nasty surprise. A spray of bullets came at me from the other side. It was the legless superman, firing through a display case about 10 meters away with a Mauser pistol. He paused to reload and clear away some broken glass for a clearer shot. Marcos used a spell and took aim, not at me but at Dr. Ling. I emptied the .45, hitting her several times in the chest and head. She stumbled in mid-burst and fell. I dropped the pistol and snatched up the briefcase with both hands.

There was a loud bang, an audible metallic clang, and an eruption of smoke from the direction of the legless superman. His pistol had backfired, sending the breechblock into his face. Meanwhile, Ling brought down the one-armed man with a short burst that penetrated an eyepiece of his mask, then fired his grenade launcher at Heidi. The launcher released three pairs of steel balls, each pair connected by a wire. Two sets of balls bounced or broke, but one wrapped around the exotrooper’s ankles. He stopped, and then came crashing to the floor, directly in the path of the kettenkrad. Omar swerved to avoid the exotrooper, almost running down the shield bearer. The shield bearer leaped out of the way, leaving Omar and the kettenkrad vulnerable.

Unfazed, the legless man pulled off his ravaged gas mask and came tumbling and rolling at me with a knife in one hand. He covered the distance in a matter of seconds. I dropped the suitcase and hit him over the head with my best judo chop. All I got for my troubles was a bloody gash on my own wrist. He countered with a devastating punch with his knife hand; the weapon had a set of brass knuckles built in. He grabbed me by the hair with his other hand and twisted me around for a more efficient throat-cutting, presumably assuming I was too dazed to resist. Almost involuntarily, I grabbed hold of the briefcase, and brought it up just in time to block the knife. Before he could strike from another angle, I grabbed his arm and hauled his whole body forward. His head slammed against the corner of the briefcase with a loud crack. I threw him over my shoulder. As he let out a single animal grunt, I grabbed the briefcase and lunged between Ling and Marcos, just in time to block another blast. Ling made good on the time. He fired into the kettenkrad’s drive train, causing the vehicle to fish tail. Omar was thrown from his seat. Lee vaulted onto the trailer and shot out its coupling with the tow vehicle, just before the vehicle overturned.

The last superman advanced on Carlos, blocking a hail of bullets and one grenade with his shield and countering with a chaff grenade. Omar, Lee and the Chechen moved in to push the cart themselves, while Heidi struggled to untangle his legs. I darted back to the shelter of the cases. I had one shot left in the revolver. Another blast from Marcos hit the case. As I drew the weapon, the legless man suddenly landed with a dull thud beside me. He wearily raised his knife. Suddenly, there was a muffled explosion. The grenade had gone off! The superman fell forward, a gaping hole in his back and a visible convexity in the body armor over his chest. I snatched up the rifle and aimed upward, at the damaged supports of the Dunkleosteus. I didn’t fire until the dunk screamed. The fish broke loose and came swinging down, crushing the superman. Just as Heidi extricated himself from Ling’s snare, Carlos leaned around the dunk and shot him in the neck joint with a grenade, blowing the helmet off. The Chechen dropped his shield and shouted, “There is no God but Allah—and he is against us!” Then he drew a pistol and shot Lee. Then he turned to Omar and cried to him in an unfamiliar tongue. In answer, Haman pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the heart. The dying man shot him point-blank in the chest. The Kazakh fell back against the trailer.

Ling returned to me and retrieved his briefcase. He pulled out his machine pistol, and advanced toward the case with gun in one hand and the briefcase in the other. “Ling,” I shouted, “look out!” Dr. Marcos had just emerged from cover. Ling raised his briefcase just in time to stop a blast of flechettes. Her gun jammed again. Omar called out to Marcos for help. She used another spell, but instead of trying to fire immediately, she pulled out a knife and cut Omar’s throat. He fell down, convulsing. As if given new strength, Marcos flung herself against the cart and pushed it along, firing all the while. Her wild volleys kept Carlos and Dr. Ling at bay. I crawled out of the enclosing cases, putting a little extra wood between me and her.

Marcos’ gun did not go silent until she ran out of ammunition. She continued to push the cart with all her might. Ling leaned out from an opening between the cases and shot off one of the wheels. This not only slowed down the cart, but caused it to swerve left. Moments later, it crashed into the case. Marcos tried to pull the cart back on course, but it was hopeless. She collapsed in exhaustion beside the cart.

Ling stood up and opened his briefcase. In an efficient but unhurried manner, he placed an explosive charge on the cart. “This is a thermate charge,” he explained. “It will burn the bioagents.” He quickly hooked it up to an electronic detonator. But when he pressed the button, nothing happened. He inserted a magnesium fuse and tried to light it, but his lighter would not work.

Hodges’ laughter echoed down from above. “What good is a bomb, little man, if it will not go off? What good is fire against the Lord of Ice and Darkness? Now, untermensch, die!” There was an ominous groan from the fish’s remaining support. Ling pulled out a match and struck it against the book. It did not light. He struck it again, and yet again. The fish broke loose, and its tail fell forward onto the ankylosaur. On the third try, the match lit, but it was too late. The fiberglass fish slid sideways, and the very tip of its tail shattered Ling’s skull. Hodges emerged imperiously from the passage to the time bell. “All in all, very impressive, for a bunch of untermenschen,” he said. “But you will still all die.”