Gale Force

I was told it was none of my business. Officially. This came in a curt e-mail message from

Warden HQ, courtesy of my good friend Paul, who had evidently decided that the only kind of

ball I was going to play was hardball, and therefore he'd better play to win.

I couldn't really resent this, because he was right; I was recovering, I was weak, and it was being

handled by competent people. So I needed to stay out of it.

Naturally, I couldn't stay out of it.

Not really my thing, being sensible. Instead, I did my work quietly, hidden in between the

obvious tasks of drafting the guest list for the wedding (everybody wanted to attend, and no, I

wasn't going to feed the entire North American Warden contingent with lobster tails and open

bar). I researched caterers, florists, and ministers.

Where we were having the actual ceremony, thankfully, was a foregone conclusion. There was a

chapel in Sedona, one of the places where the Oracles reside . . . this one was the home of the

Earth Oracle, a kind of super-Dji

what the Oracles did, exactly, except that they were the direct conduits from the Dji

Earth. If you wanted to talk to her, you went through them.

This particular Oracle was also my kid. Long story, but she'd been born in the Dji

power– David's, and mine. Half-Dji

civil war that had erupted around her literally on the day of her birth.

I'd thought I'd lost her forever, but she was alive, in a sense, if beyond my reach. Oracles didn't

have as much contact with humans, and they couldn't reach us in the way that Dji

If I wanted my daughter, Imara, to be at the wedding of her parents, then I had to bring the

ceremony to her. Super-Dji

chapel, at least on the physical plane. Besides, it was a gorgeous place. I couldn't think of a

better, more sanctified spot to exchange vows.

However, at most, it would hold only a couple dozen people, not nearly enough for the rapidly

spawning guest list. That would be like trying to fit Mardi Gras into a two-room split-level.

Maybe, I decided, we ought to have two ceremonies. A party in Fort Lauderdale, an all-access

blowout to make the rank and file of the Wardens happy. And then a private ceremony in

Sedona.

Maybe I could get the Wardens to kick in for the party as a morale builder.

I was working out the costs, and trying to persuade myself that I felt weak because I was tired,

not because anything above four figures was unacceptable, when the telephone rang. I picked it

up, had a bad reporter flashback, and checked the number. It was blocked, which meant it was

probably a telemarketer. A

''Hello?''

The sound of breathing on the other end made my hackles go up. Couldn't really say why;

breathing was not, in and of itself, a threatening sort of sound. But I knew something else was

coming, and so I wasn't surprised when a rough male voice said, ''You don't care, do you? You

don't give a shit about the dead. The ones who stood up and died for you.''

I flinched, remembering Jerome Silverton, and forced myself to stay still and listen. ''What are

you talking about? Who is this?''

''You didn't even warn them it was coming. You didn't warn your own friends that the Dji

they trusted, the ones they liked, could turn around and rip them in half.'' The hatred in that

voice was chilling. ''Now you're screwing one of them. One of the enemy.''

''The Dji

''You're already on the list,'' the voice said. ''Fair warning, Baldwin. You're a traitor, and we

don't want you in charge. Quit now, before it's too late.''

He hung up. I sat frozen for a few seconds, staring at the phone, then called Warden HQ and

asked for a trace of the last call.

I got nothing. It would take a Fire Warden to disrupt the sort of trace we used, but clearly, our

enemies were ourselves. That didn't bode well for a long-term solution.

I was trying to decide how much of this-if any of it-to tell David, when the doorbell rang. It

took me a few long seconds to lever myself out of the chair, put my laptop aside, and go to

answer it. The apartment was cool and quiet, except for the distant, constant sound of

construction on the other side of the complex, where they were repairing fire damage.

When I got to the door, there was nobody outside. I looked right and left, frowning, and

remembered to look down.

It was a delivery service package, plastered with labels. I didn't remember having ordered

anything, but maybe someone had sent me a get-well present. I reached down for it, but as I did,

David came up the steps at the end of the hallway and turned toward me with his luminous,

lovely smile.

Now that was the best present ever.

''What are you doing up?'' he asked as he came closer. He was tossing newly minted apartment

keys in his hand; I'd insisted that if he was going to marry me, he'd have to start doing more

mundane, human things, too, such as unlocking doors the standard way, and knocking before

entry. He'd found it fu

''Just getting the package,'' I said, and bent down again to pick it up.

As my fingers closed around it, David asked, in pure puzzlement, ''What package?'' and it hit

me like a speeding express train-I was already feeling worse. Woozy. Something was wrong

here.

And he couldn't see the package.

Oh God.

''Get Lewis,'' I said, and backed away, into the apartment. ''Get him fast, David. Go!''

He didn't waste time asking what I was on about; he just blipped away, moving faster than light

could follow. I slammed the door and kept on moving, as far back as I could. I ran into the plate

glass window, slid along to the opening, and stepped onto the balcony, where I braced myself

against the far railing and slowly lowered myself into a deck chair. I was short of breath and

sweating, and it wasn't all just nerves.

That box. Dammit. How many people had been exposed? The driver, for sure. People at the

distribution center . . . I grabbed a pad of paper, threw away the lists of florists I'd compiled, and

began to frantically scribble down anyone I could think of who might have touched the package

during the shipping process. They all needed to be examined and treated.

I was only halfway through the list when the phone rang, and I grabbed the extension sitting next

to the pad. ''Lewis?'' It was. ''Get a disposal team over here, right now. There's a package

outside my door. I think it's the same stuff as in the office building. Antimatter. David can't see

the package at all. Get a team on tracing the package back through the system. People who came

in contact with this thing-''

''Got it,'' he said. ''Look after yourself. Get the hell out of there.''

''I don't want to go near it, and I'd have to if I leave by the door. I'll have to climb down-'' I

didn't feel up to the acrobatics, not at the moment.

I didn't need to. David came out of thin air, moving fast. He picked me up, out of the chair,

stepped up on the balcony railing, and off into open space without a second of hesitation. I didn't

even have time to gasp before his feet hit the ground, and then he was carrying me across the

parking lot at breakneck speed. He dumped me in the passenger seat of my car, took the driver's

seat, and started it up with a touch of his finger to the ignition.