Hosts

"Okay, lowly merchant. Show me your wares. I've got a feeling I'm going to need some specialized equipment to help me through the night…"

SATURDAY

1

"It's quarter to three, Jack. Aren't you ever going to sleep?"

Exhausted, Kate leaned in the doorway of the bedroom. Jack was a silhouette against the window overlooking the street.

"Not tonight, I'm afraid."

He turned toward her and she jumped when she saw two glowing green spots where his eyes should have been. Then she remembered the strange headgear he'd do

He'd brought it back from his trip, coming and going via the roof somehow. He'd been gone almost two hours—the longest two hours of her life. When he'd returned he'd said almost nothing, and seemed even grimmer than when he'd left. He didn't look good. Pale, a glassy cast to his usually clear eyes. She chalked it up to stress. More than enough of that going around. She wondered how she looked to Jack. Probably worse.

At least the bomb was gone. He'd said he'd left it back at his place.

"Can I make you more coffee?"

He lifted his mug. "I'm set, thanks. Why don't you go lie down, close your eyes, and try for some sleep."

"Someone tried to bomb us! Someone wants us dead! How can I sleep?"

"I've got the watch. Nothing's going to happen while I'm here, I promise you. You're tired; sleep will come if you let it. Trust me."

She did trust him—more than anyone. And she was desperately tired. She needed sleep but even more she needed the escape it offered from the gnawing anxiety that had seeped into her.

She stepped back into the bedroom and crawled under the covers; she lay flat on her back, folded her hands between her breasts, and closed her eyes.

I'll pretend I'm dead, she thought. Why not? That's what someone wants.

Lord, what a thought. What had happened to her life? Facing the fact that she wasn't the all-American soccer mom she'd always thought herself to be had been tough, but she'd finally come to accept being bent in a straight world. She'd thought her life was turning topsy-turvy then, but that was nothing compared to this past week.

And poor Jeanette… where was she now? What was she doing?

Are you thinking of me, Jeanette? she asked the dark. I think of you constantly. Does a single thought of me ever cross your mind? Or are you so taken with this cult that nothing else matters?

And Kevin and Elizabeth… she'd been away from them too long… had to get back to them… she's…

… floating…

No. Not floating. Flying. She has multiple transparent wings jutting from her shoulder blades, vibrating in a buzzing blur, propelling her through a hive-like structure, a glowing golden maze of myriad stacked hexagonal tubes that stretches away in all directions, reaching into infinity.

And in the air about her, a hum, myriad voices joined in singing a single note.

As she flies on she sees that the tubes are not empty. People within them, faces staring out at her, strangers, but calling her name.

Kate… Kate… Kate…

Who are these people? There seem to be millions of them, but with only half a dozen different faces. She's never—

And then Kate recognizes Jeanette reaching for her from one of the tubes, smiling, calling her name. Kate turns toward her, but as she nears, Holdstock lunges from an adjacent tube, clawing for her. Kate veers away and comes face to face with another Jeanette… and another… thousands of Jeanettes calling her name, the sound so loud, deafening.

Kate… Kate … Kate…

She flees, soaring through the hive at blinding speed, zigging and

zagging, dodging this way and that until she sees an opening in the wall. She flashes through into the outer darkness. It's cold and lonely-out here, especially after the warmth and light of the hive, but darkness or no, she knows she must keep going, must flee those voices that never tire of calling her name.

Kate… Kate … Kate…

The voices slow her, pull her back, prevent her from reaching escape velocity. Finally her outward momentum ceases. For a single heartbeat she pauses, suspended between the hive and open space. Then she begins falling backward. She turns and sees the hive from away and above. It's blue and brown and cloud swirled…

It's Earth…

2

"Fuck!" Joe shouted. He pushed back in the passenger seat and began kicking the dashboard. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

"Easy, Joe."

Stan checked his watch again: 3:14 and no explosion.

"He must have found it!"

"Think about that, Joe. You think he'd still be up there if he found a whole block of C-4 in his apartment? No way. He'd be heading for the hills."

"So you're sayin' I fucked up, is that it?"

Stan heard the menace in his brother's tone. Had to tread carefully. Lots of pride at stake here. Better simply to lob the question back.

"Joe, no rig you've ever made has ever misfired, right?"

"Right."

"But something did go wrong tonight. What? What's different about tonight?"

"Nothin'! I made the simplest damn fucking rig ever! I always keep in my head what you told me when we first started out: Keep it simple—the more bells and whistles, the more chances for a malfunction. So I had no bells and whistles. And I used two detonators instead of one, just for insurance."

"You said you disabled the display. Could that—?"

"Naw, I triple checked it, reco

Stan didn't want to mention Joe's scarred-up hand and how he was pretty sure that was why his rig had failed. Hard to solder fine wires when one of your hands looks like melted wax.

"So let's go back to my question: what's different about tonight?"

"I told you: Nothin'!"

"But there is: how you're burning up. Every time we've done a job it's been business, pure and simple. Never emotionally involved. Never knew the people on the receiving end. But tonight's not like that. We want this guy. And when you get emotions involved, things go wrong."

"That wasn't it, Stan. I—"

"How big a hard-on you got for this guy, Joe? Think about it."

Joe sat silent, staring out the windshield. Finally he shook his head.

"Shit." His voice was laden with disgust. "I fucked it up."

"It's all right," Stan told him. "The night's not over yet." He started the car. "You get out and wait here. Watch the place while I go cook up something."

My turn now, he thought. And this time no mistakes.