MY HEART IN STONE

PART 29:

“Have one of these, Terry?”

Terrence Thorne stared down at the small plastic sandwich bag that had been laid

on the table in front of him.  Inside, a small thin wafer of blue metal glinted in the

morning light pouring down onto the terrace where they had chosen to take their

breakfast.  Volos had offered a guided tour of the nearby portions of the city to Glen

and Lisa and Rachel had begged off going with them, asking to discuss business with

her boss before joining them.

“This is a…” he began.

“Microprocessor.  One of NanoCorp’s,” Rachel said.  She had been relatively talkative

this morning, contained, pleasant; but once her family left to go on their tour, she had

pulled out the little bag with a briskness that revealed a readiness to uncork whatever

she had been holding in.

Terry leaned back some, trying to think where Rachel was going with this.  It didn’t

look any more significant than the processors used in the instrumentation panels that

NanoCorp designed and built for military contracts. 

“For control panels, yeah.”

“Does this look like a control panel to you?”  Rachel gently took Cort’s bandaged hand

and held it up. 

“Implants!”  Deidre gasped.  “Since when did NanoCorp start doing implants?”

“Never.  How did you discover this?”  Terry asked Cort.  He had noticed a bandage

secured around the man’s finger, had spent a good portion of the breakfast trying to

remember if it had been there when they first saw each other the night before. 

"Guess I'm allergic to something in it. Been itching like crazy.  So last night when Henri

brought me my wedding duds, I asked him to take a look.  Henri's the doctor who's been

taking care of me since I got to Kamen," he explained further, not sure yet if Terry were

aware of who he was, if Rachel had mentioned him.  "He's become my...friend."

Seeing a wary look form in Terry's eyes, Cort added reassuringly.  "You don't need to

worry about him, Terry.  He's a good man.  Very good.  In fact, there's something I

want to discuss with you concerning him, but later, after you've met him. Anyway, " he

swung his line of thought back to the implant, "he got it out of my hand last night.  Guess

Sid wanted to keep an eye on me, eh?"

Deidre had been trying to gently pull the back of his shirt collar away from Terry’s

neck and press with her fingers along his spine and shoulders, took his unbound hand

and began pressing the pads of his palm.

“Nolia, luv, what are you doing?”  Terry asked, after a few minutes of this, not certain

if he should be amused or annoyed by this.  He knew perfectly well, that is, but Deidre

was trying to be subtle about it and failing.

Her cheeks turned pink.

“She asked if you had one,” she said.  Rachel had her arms folded and a knowing look

on her face.

“What was your last injury, before this?”  Cort asked.

Terry didn’t answer right away, because the mind flashed back to a package several

months before his foray into Peru; a scuffle involving…Dimetri.  He unbuttoned the

top two buttons of his shirt and pushed aside the left lapel, his finger landing on a

roundish scar just below his collarbone…only a few inches above his heart.  He had

always wondered why that particular scar had not softened over time; and it too had

itched, mildly, but he had become so used to it now, he never noticed the natural

gravitation of his hand to casually scratch at it.

“Gunshot wound, before I met you, “ he told Deidre.  “Doctors said I was lucky it hadn’t

struck the femoral artery.  As it was, it was only a matter of pulling out the bullet and

framing it for me.  I nearly did!”  He laughed softly at that thought while she pressed on

the scar with her own finger.  “Ouch!”  She had pressed too hard and something sharp

bit into the underlying muscle.  “If there is one, it must have been when they worked on

me.”

Deidre faced Cort and Rachel, tears brimming in her eyes.  “Can we ask Henri to do

the same?”

"I'm sure he'd be glad to help, Dee," Cort replied. He was chewing on his lip, still

amazed that even Terry would have an implant.  Sid was far more devious than he'd

thought.

“Seems I’d like to meet him after all,” Terry joked.

“It's disturbing, isn’t it?”  Rachel asked.  “We don’t know what information it transmits,

other than where you are at all times.”

“Maybe it’s tied in with warping?”  Deidre asked, wanting to believe there was a good

reason for this.

“No, because you and I don’t have one, do we?  At least, I hope not.  And even if it were,

it did nothing to keep Cort from experiencing what he did with Mikol’s warp,” Rachel

said. 

“Which brings us to our original purpose here this morning,” Terry interjected, re-

buttoning his shirt and slipping his hand into Deidre’s to give it a quiet squeeze.  “Let’s

discuss Mikol.”

"I think I can help you with that."

All eyes turned to the slender man who had walked up and was standing not far behind

Cort's chair.

Cort pushed back his chair enough to stand. "Henri!  Perfect timing!" 

"You were going to discuss Mikol?"

"Yes," Cort smiled.  "And who better than you to have in on the conversation."

"Possibly Gerta," Henri replied, "but I do think I have a great deal to offer in the way

of information."

Cort pulled up another chair just to his left.  "Join us, please?"  He introduced Henri to

Dee and Terry.

"I'm going out to Kamen shortly," Henri explained.  "Perhaps if I showed you some of

the set-up there it would be of greater assistance than merely talking about it?"

“That would be appreciated, thank you,” Terry said.  His trained eye sized up a man

of aging years who carried himself with all the dignity and assurance of a long-practicing doctor, whose own eyes showed a sadness built, layer upon layer, by untold tragedy. 

Cort seemed attached to him, and Henri appeared to respond with a kind of spark that brightened his features, hinting at a youth that had merrier days.

Like a father when he is proud of his son, he mused.  “I was actually hoping you’d say

that very thing,” Terry added.

"And, Doc," Cort almost burst in, "Terry's got one of those implant things, too.  We

just discovered that.  Can you help him?"

Henri had been quietly studying Terry.  He'd seen pictures of him before in Mikol's

files, but having him there so close in the flesh and looking so much like Cort still took

a bit of getting used to.  He looked like he could be Cort's older brother and Henri had

noted the man had a certain world-weary air of experience about him.  "I have a

complete medical facility in the castle. It would take just a moment."

"That's what he said to me last night," Cort grinned, "and he was right."

Henri turned his attention to Cort and Rachel.  "Do the two of you feel all right about

going back there? I know...."

Cort inhaled deeply.  "It's all right, Doc.  Just so's I know I can leave when I want."

“I’ll go if Cort goes,” Rachel put in herself.  She would never say it out loud, but she

had been glad to leave Neviditelny, even though Henri lived there still, and had shivered

a bit at the thought of going back.  But she had a feeling it was important that she, and

Cort, make one last trip, if for no other reason than to lay to rest the trauma they had

both experienced.

Henri looked at the young man with an intense fondness that did not escape Terry's

attention.  Then the doctor looked back at Terry, speaking directly to him in quiet acknowledgement of his authority.  "I don't know if you have any idea of what Cort

went through in that castle," he said, "but I can assure you it's a miracle he's still alive. 

Mikol's warp works on a whole different principle than Sid's and every single subject

he retrieved over the last decade died either during or shortly after the transition.  All

of them but Cort."  Again his eyes briefly sought Cort, unable to hide his personal

attachment.  "And he very nearly didn't make it himself.  I have seldom," he closed his

eyes for a moment, "witnessed such suffering."

He could see that Rachel had tensed and was gripping Cort's right hand, but he wanted

Terry to be aware of the events that had transpired.  "This warp...," he licked his lips,

"is not over when it's over.  It separates the cells of the one who is being transported,

scatters them with a horror that is a trauma beyond imagining, and when they are...reassembled...they are marked by it, imprinted by it.  There were times, days after,

when it would almost take him again, when the scattering would begin even though he

was far from the warp chamber. It is not a...pleasant...thing.  Once," here his voice

lowered, almost broke, "I came into his room and he was lying on the floor with Mikol

leaning over him, hitting him again and again as hard as he could."

At Rachel's gasp, he shook his head as though trying to break free of the memory of the

sight.  "I thought he was beating him to death.  But the warp was taking Cort and it was

the hitting that was jarring him, shocking him enough to stop it."

He looked across the table levelly at Terry.  "Such technology was nothing more than

barbarism dressed in modern clothing.  It could not be allowed to continue.  Not if I...,"

he looked off to the side, blinked several times, then continued, "...not if I could stop it."

Terry watched the interplay of the three who had defeated Mikol, felt his standard mode

of operating with victims of kidnapping fall into place.  He could not be sure, but Henri’s

last words sounded as if more than mere rescue had taken place in Mikol’s stronghold. 

Did Henri imply efforts to do more than stop Mikol from retrieving more people?  Henri

did not look to be the sort who could wreak much havoc with man or machinery.  His description of Mikol’s brand of warping was disheartening, to say the least; Sid had

alluded to it once or twice.  Terry needed to see the complex.  He’d read reports of the

early days of NanoCorp’s warp, but none of the side effects he’d come across were

anything like what Henri described.

“But it’s over now…isn’t it?” Rachel asked, glancing up at Cort, searching Henri’s face

for the affirmative.  “You did stop it, didn’t you?  And Cort won’t ever have that problem again…right?”

Henri had his hands in his lap and began playing with his fingers, his eyes down, studying

them as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.  He felt both Rachel's and

Cort's eyes boring into him, waiting.  Finally he sighed deeply and looked up at Rachel,

not wanting to see Cort's expression as he answered.

"I don't know.  That's the bottom line of it.  I simply do not know."  As Rachel's eyes

widened, he then looked at Terry, whose intent stare was easier to bear.  "No one has

ever survived it before. There's no way of knowing how long the imprint of it...lasts." 

He looked back down at his hands.  "No way." 

Everyone was silent for a long moment, then Cort, blew out a long breath and ran his

fingers through his hair, remembering the swirling aqua lights. "I couldn't handle that

again, Doc, I don't think I could."

Henri's eyes lifted, blinking back a slight wetness.  "You're right, Son.  You couldn't,"

he said grimly.  He turned, locking eyes then with Terry across the table.  "You need

to know this, Terry.  Everyone at NanoCorp needs to understand what I'm about to

say."  He put his hand on Cort's shoulder, not taking his eyes off Terry.  "This young

man cannot...hear me...can NOT warp again.  EVER!  Not even with Sid's.  The

elements that comprise his body would simply...break apart.  And never reunite."

Terry listened intently, watched Rachel and Cort turn to each other, both of them paled

by a tinge of green at the thought of not knowing what would come up for them should

they approach warping technology once more.  Deidre herself looked rather unsettled, speechless as much because of a horror for the chance of losing her friends again as for

Henri’s assertion that the warp technology was a perilous bane for Cort. 

As for himself, a part of Terry wanted to argue with the doctor that Henri did not quite

know the advancement of technology a nanotech like Sid could invent, did invent; it was

part of the reason why he wanted to see what was left behind by the replicant originally

known as Roy Batty.  It had been easy to dismiss Sid as merely braggadocios when he

sneered over Mikol’s version of retrievals; but now that he was gaining a better idea

of what Cort, and Rachel, went through, Terry was beginning to wonder if Sid were not

on the mark.  What was it about Mikol’s development that would cause such an anomaly

as the good doctor described, one that had never occurred in Sid’s machine?  That alone

would be worth looking into.

“Then…I should probably say this now,” came Rachel’s wavery voice and Terry raised

his head to see she was looking at him.  She winced as she tried to speak again.  “I don’t

want to leave NanoCorp.  Not when there’s Bud and John, and Dee and you, Terry…

especially you.  You’ve always been there for me, you’ve been one of the best men I

have ever known…but…” she swallowed, tears breaking from her eyes.  “Wherever

Cort goes, I go.  And if he mustn’t warp again, neither will I.”

“Oh, Rache,” Terry murmured, and straightened, not sure how he felt about that.  He

could not blame her in the least, of course, but…. “Can we talk about it, at least?  Not everything you’ve done has been with retrievals.  It could be that way with you, too,

Cort.”

"All I can think about right now, Terry, is marrying my lady,” Cort replied with visible

regret, but his decision firm.  He drew Rachel’s arm through the loop of his, covered

her hand with his.  “This technical stuff, you know, I've got no handle on it.  That sort

of thing I leave to the judgment of those of you who are experts.  All I know,” he

concluded, drawing a deep breath, “is that I damn sure don't want to end up...scattered."

“Don’t leave us completely, y’all,” Deidre said, in tears herself.  “There’s got to be a

way!  Who will Bud and I have to harass when it comes to fencing?  Who’s gonna give

Terry a reason to brush up on his shooting skills?”  She saw them laugh, but was too

distraught to be cheered by it.  She glanced at Terry several times, ostensibly hoping

her lover could say something persuasive as well, but Terry said nothing.  Rachel and

Cort did not have much more to say, either.

“I do understand what you’re saying, doctor,” Deidre turned on Henri, her Alabama

accent prominent.  “Don’t think I’m not understanding.  But you don’t know what the

four of us went through, in Zucchabar, in Rome…”

Terry slipped his free arm around her and pulled her gently closer.  “Shhh!  Nolia…

not everything has to be decided right now,” he told her; but he was looking at Rachel

and Cort as he said this.  Before things got too much more emotional, he stood up and

hitched his shoulders as though he were shrugging on a new task.  “Shall we go

walkabout?”  He held his hand out to Deidre to help her rise.

They left a note with the front desk to give to Glen and Lisa to meet them at the Golden

Angel at a certain time that afternoon for lunch, that they were retracing the events that

caused Rachel to come to Hromada in the first place.  Then, with the limo at Terry’s

beckon, they drove the short distance it took to leave the city and round the hill upon

which the medieval fortress of Neviditelny Kamen hunched.

“It’s like something out of a fairy tale!”  Deidre exclaimed as the single round tower

with its conical cap hove into view.  “I mean, the picture we had of it doesn’t do it justice.”

“It’s really not that big…at least not from the surface,” Rachel said, looking out her

window and remembering once again how insurmountable the walls had seemed when

she was looking for a way in; and how crabbed and mean it had seemed looking out

from its walls. 

“Until you get below….” added Cort with a bit of a frown.

The limo stopped at the circular drive that terraced the short path leading over the

shorter bridge into the castle and the five of them got out.  Henri toggled the speaker

panel that would announce his return and minutes later, the great door swung open

to allow them passage through the portico and into the tiny courtyard.

“Any place you wish to start, my young friends?”  Henri asked.

Terry was already pacing the perimeter, taking in as much detail as he could.  Mikol

chose well his hiding place.  If the underground were the true heart of his operations,

the crumbling walls of the castle served to conceal his residence as nothing more than

the favorite haunt of an eccentric and elitist millionaire.  Very clever bastard, he

thought.  A crow made its territorial caw somewhere on the other side of the wall and

a cat lurked against a dark wall, probably heading to the kitchen.  On one hand, there

was the tower; on the other the square-shaped keep, the main residence, where Mikol

kept his office as well as any company he chose to bring.  He turned to see Cort and

Rachel standing close to each other, hand in hand.  Cort’s expression was grim.  Rachel

was white-faced.

“Where did Mikol keep his records?  Or did he?  Is there anything in his office I can

look over?”  Terry moved in for his own purpose.  Whatever the feeling about Kamen,

he wasn’t going to leave without getting as much information about Mikol’s operations

as Henri would let him, especially in his ability to spy.

And it would not be for Sid’s files, either.  No.  First rule of negotiations: have more

information than the other guy.

"Let's save the papers and such for last, all right?" Henri said. "The whole system

has fallen apart with the death of Mikol. All that's left is the actual Grovensky

Construction, which I find rather...ironic. But the hidden purpose, the robotics, all

of it was centered entirely around Mikol himself. Without him, it ceases to exist. Much

of that was aided by Gerta's efforts.  She was in the act of destroying the bottom level

of the foundation upon which it was all built when Mikol killed her." He paused,

looking at Rachel. "She was a remarkably brave woman."

“Yes, she was,” Rachel agreed.  When Terry and Deidre looked in askance, she told

them, “I think I’ve told you about her.  Gerta was Mikol’s assistant.  She was the one

who helped me find a way into the castle.  She set me up as a housekeeper and she

risked a lot in doing that, because Mikol did not like the idea of an American in the

castle at all.  He wanted to keep things local, from Hromada…but Gerta reminded

him that he had…a reputation and no one would come forward.”

Terry huffed.  “Small wonder why.  We had reports that he was notorious for dealing

with trespassers.  There were some cases of missing backpackers that somehow got

hushed up some years ago.  Local authorities gave enthusiastic assurance that the

hikers had been returned to their families, but we couldn’t reach them to confirm.”

“I would bet the bones at the base of the castle would give you definite confirmation,”

Rachel said to Terry.

"You saw the bones??" Henri gasped, horrified that she might.

"Bones?  What bones?  Whose bones?  Where?" Cort asked, his words piling atop one

another as he stared at Rachel.

Rachel opened her mouth once or twice, realizing that she had blundered into a subject

she was reserving until she could find the words.  She only wanted to relive it once, if

at all.

“I was following Gerta,” she began.  “She let slip that she worked for Grovensky

Construction and I had to leap upon that, as it was my only lead.  Everyone else

clammed up real tight when I tried to ask about it… and there was Gerta, telling me

right there, in the market square!  She saw me wearing your brooch, Dee,” she said,

turning to her russet-haired friend.  “You were right: it does bring good luck…or at

least, it was a stroke of brilliant luck that we came across each other the way we did. 

And so…I followed her.  I had to.  And I saw her take that trail, the one that goes down

the slope some and bypasses the main road.  She was walking very fast, and I soon lost

her, but once I was there on the trail, I wanted to get a better sense of the shape of the

castle.  I dunno,” she laughed at the thought of her foray.  “I don’t know what I was

thinking, but I left the trail and started climbing into this ravine…and then followed

the ravine into this gorge and…” her sight rose and met Henri’s anguished eyes, “found

Mikol’s victims.  And Dimetri.  Apparently, he fell out of favor with Mikol not long after

he was taken from Gladiator.  It was me coming back from that,” she said, turning to

Cort, “when I saw you at the wall’s edge.”

"What do you mean, Rachel, that 'you found Dimetri'?  I don't think I like the sound

of that," Cort responded, concern in his eyes.

"She found what was left of him, Cort," Henri supplied with a sigh. "When he returned

from Gladiator without you, Mikol was...displeased. Dimetri went off the parapet, near

where Mikol had Rachel."

"Off the parapet?" Cort repeated. "You mean that's what happened to folks who didn't

do what Mikol wanted?"

"I'm afraid so," Henri nodded. "Quite a few, in fact."

“A pile of bones,” Rachel reiterated.

“Sounds like right up my alley,” Deidre muttered.  “No, I don’t mean to be macabre!” 

she cried when Cort and Rachel and Henri turned slightly shocked expressions to her. 

“I mean, forensic anthropology was one of my favorite subjects in school.  And…and…

I did an internship at the University of Tennessee…that’s where they….well, where

they study decomposition…and such…” her voice trailed off. 

“That’s right!  You’ve mentioned that before!”  Rachel said, catching the fond look

Terry gave Diedre.  “Good.”  She gave Dee a wide grin.  “Bones. Very scary. You go

first.”

Henri led them into the passage that ended at the elevator to the high tower, Terry's

expression darkening as he saw all that had to be done in order to survive the attempt.

Henri shrugged.  "Mikol was a bit paranoid about security."

As they entered the top room, Henri explained, "This is where Cort was kept."

Deidre and Terry moved into the room slowly, as though they were trespassing.  Rachel

grabbed Deidre’s hand and pulled her forward to the window.  “You should see the

view,” she told them.  She had felt a small amount of dread coming up the stairs into

the tower room, thinking the sight of the bed would make her think of Mikol…as

seeing the crenellations had recalled Mikol’s running grace as he sprinted along their

tops.  But she could only remember more…joyous…moments as they entered, and

exchanged a look with Cort that, if she had held it longer, would surely have blushed

deep red.  Deidre called Terry over to show him as well.

Cort walked over to the black splotch on the wall and was fingering it lightly. 

“Stardust," he said softly to Rachel, who had come up beside him.

“What did you do with the coal?”  She asked, frowning slightly at the streak.  She had

forgotten it completely, even while they had lingered in the tower. 

"That IS the coal," Cort said, "or all that's left of it.  I was...frustrated. Couldn't figure

out what it meant and, well, that's all that's left."

Rachel leaned her head against the wall, trying to imagine what Cort was thinking when

he found the coal in his pocket.  An odd giggle came out.

“Poor Cort.  There I was, in the living room, trying to wake you up and when you did,

there was a lump of coal in your pocket.  Good thing I wasn’t Santa Claus, right?”

"You look better without a white beard," he chuckled. "And you're not nearly plump

enough.  But you coulda left me an orange...though I guess there wouldn't have been

much of a message in that."  His smile faded somewhat.  "You have no idea how hard I worked...trying to puzzle the messages out."

“I’m so sorry,” Rachel murmured.  “It was all I could think to do…at the time.  I

latched onto that because I thought it was something you would understand.”

“Rachel, luv, I hate to do this to you,” Terry broke in from across the room, “but would

you tell us again what Mikol did…?”  Rachel looked up at Cort and kissed him softly

before joining them.

Cort went to the little window, as Deidre, Terry, and Henri listened to Rachel  He

looked out at the view that had become so familiar. He had known such aloneness,

before, looking out that window.  Now he turned, gazing at a roomful of people that

he loved.  And he did, he loved everyone there. Just seeing them wandering about,

studying the area where he'd been kept, caused his throat to constrict.  Rachel.  Terry. 

Dee.  And Henri.  The sight of them brought the remembered aloneness into such

sharp focus that, chin trembling, he had to turn back to the window to gather himself.

A bit later, on the parapet, Cort stood, fingers laced tightly through Rachel's as Terry

leaned out over the stones, looking straight down. "It's a...long...way," Henri whispered.

“It’s where Mikol had me…strapped,” Rachel said, and fell silent.  Her voice sounded

strange in the wind that curled around the tower.  She chose to bury her face in Cort’s

jacket instead of continuing.

“It’s okay, Jedi,” Deidre said, rubbing Rachel’s arm.  “You don’t have to talk about

it right now.  Neither of you do.  We can put some space behind it and then deal with it.”

Terry turned to lean against one of the crenellations, fixing in his mind the spacing the

parapet allowed, mentally noting the placement of the sun.  It was fast approaching noon,

and he had more technical things on the brain.  He could insist on a breakdown of the

events that transpired here, but all in all, the results were clear: Mikol fell to his death,

and Cort had acted in enough time with enough strength and will to keep Rachel from

doing the same.  Unless there was a serious investigation, it really didn’t matter if

Rachel and Cort did not want to recount their trauma.  There were plenty of things in

his own past that he’d just as soon forget. 

“Let’s go down and see the rest of the place” was his only request.

They went down the steps from the high walkway, breathing a sigh of relief when they

stood in the courtyard once more, Henri leading the way across the brief space to the

stairs that led to the squarish keep and into the first floor.  They passed by the stairwell

that led to the kitchen and Rachel and Cort paused long enough to detail their ‘first

encounter’.

“It’s funny now,” Rachel said.  “But Henri can tell you, I was in pretty bad spirits.  I

had to pretend I had fallen and injured myself and go home, otherwise I would have

given myself away.”

So much had been happening that Cort had not really had time to stop and think about

that scene in the kitchen when he'd come upon Rachel at the sink.  Now he remembered

how he'd looked at her, how her presence had disturbed him so that he'd wanted to get

out of there, fast.

He came up close beside her, not wanting the others to hear. "I'm so sorry for that,

Rachel.  I wish I could change it, make it different.  I wish I hadn't..."

“It’s okay, it’s all right!”  Rachel whispered back, cupping his face.  “I feel bad that I

scared you.  My only contact with what was going on was Gerta and she told me that

Mikol wouldn’t let her near you, so she had no idea that your memory was erased; and

I was so sure that you’d take one look at me and know that help was on its way, that I

didn’t think that there might be other factors involved.  If I hadn’t said anything, would

you have thought to come looking for me?  Or would you have gone on thinking you

would have to deal with Mikol on your own?”

"If you hadn't said anything, I would have thought nothing more than that you worked

in Mikol's kitchen.  I don't think I would have come looking for you, no." 

He remembered the expression on her face, that look of...expectation.  He'd had no idea

why she'd looked at him so.  It had all seemed just so...strange, so confusing, and he'd

wanted nothing more than to get away from it.  Looking back...now...it was hard for

him to believe how he had not known her.  How...how could he NOT know her?

“Well, it was like I told Henri: I was no Venus di Milo rising from the sea,” Rachel said,

a bit of amusement returning to her voice.  She smiled up at him.  “But it worked out,

sweet love!  We both had blessed help from Henri and I’m thankful, very thankful.”

They followed the stairs into the dining room, then passed the living room and Henri’s

office.  The next flight took them to the landing that led to Mikol’s bedroom, which

Terry made a brief mention of perhaps investigating for items that might give more

personal information about Mikol, but which Henri, seeming uncomfortable with doing

so at that moment, suggested that they wait until they saw the rest of the castle.

“We’ll be just a moment,” Rachel told Deidre as they followed Henri.  The door to

Mikol’s bedroom was wide open, probably had been since that day.  She and Cort

turned to each other to share a meaningful look.  When the others had turned the

corner and ascended the next flight of stairs, the two of them made a hasty step to look

inside the room.  They gazed quietly at the room for several seconds then locked eyes.

“We shouldn’t….no further,” Cort whispered, bending down until his mouth hovered

over hers.  “Or else I’ll be tempted to…”

“Do you think they’ll miss us?”  Memories of their reunion made the blood rush through

her veins, made her skin, her entire body extra sensitive to his presence.  Of course, she

was only kidding…maybe.  She glanced up the stairwell again. 

Cort’s eyes were afire, but he pulled back and gave her a huge grin. "This kills me to

say, darlin', but we're getting married tomorrow, and, well, I think it'd be good today...

to wait.  Besides, Terry's likely to come through the door any minute and I'm not the

sort of man who likes...interruptions."  He kissed her then and, holding her chin lightly,

said, "But it's not because I don't want to.  So get me out of this room quick."  He

laughed, looked again at the bed while shaking his head, and said, "Tomorrow...nice

and slow," then took her hand and pulled her away.

"This is Mikol's office," Henri was announcing as they came up the stairwell. "I had

Vaclav move his files and computer down to the underground section of the castle.

Thought it might be better to get it all gathered together. Shall we go there next?"

“All the files?”  Terry asked, stepping into the office to give it his own eagle-eye once-

over.  Indeed, the room had been stripped off all but the large desk and two chairs. 

Henri had left nothing to chance.  “May I look in the drawers?”

"Certainly," Henri nodded. "They are unlocked. Help yourself."

Terry pulled open each one, felt the side panels and undersides of the drawers, crouched

down for a view into the darker recesses.  This took longer than usual because of his one

arm in the cast.  Deidre was on the verge of asking that he stop, else they would be late

getting back to town, when Terry let out a brief ‘huzzah!’ and held up a small envelope

he had pried from an unknown crevice.  Inside the envelope was a key.

“Not for the desk, is it?”  He asked, leaning back to see if the key fit into any of the locks

in the drawer.  Too big.  Terry returned the key to its package and got up to hand it to

Deidre.  “No worries, we’ll get to that later.”  He reached up with his free hand and was absentmindly scratching the old wound in his chest, when he caught himself and grinned

at Henri  “Think we might pause and see if I’ve been tagged like Cort?”

“Of course.  My surgical supplies are downstairs as well.”

As they stepped off the elevator into the underground section, Henri explained, "This

place is built like a bunker.  It's possible Mikol thought it might be bombed from the

outside one day.  I don't know.  Who knows what Mikol...thought."  He smiled wanly

and opened doors as he went down the long corridor, introducing them to Julian and

Franco, who were in one of the labs, rather at loose ends, not knowing what their job

was any more.

"I'm going to be needing you two," Henri said to them, "to carry a load of files and

laptops out to the limousine that's parked just beyond the bridge."  Then he turned

and looked directly at Terry.  "You may have whatever you like.  Nothing here serves

any purpose...not any more."

The next room was Henri's medical office where he motioned Terry to sit on the

examination table.  The other three watched as Henri's fingers probed Terry's upper

chest, locating the tiny implant.  "Thank goodness they don't put these in body cavities,"

Henri murmured as he filled a syringe.

When the area was numb, Henri made a small incision and within seconds had dropped

the bloody implant into a small dish.  "Now for a stitch or two and it'll all be done."

Henri then led them into the main control room, pointing out to Terry where the records

were kept. Several laptops had been stacked already on a desk. "If you'll pardon me a

moment, I'd like to get my files on Cort. They might be of use to you."

As the door closed behind Henri, Cort grabbed Terry's sleeve.  "You can see he's not

keeping anything back from you, right?”

“Too right,” Terry agreed.  Deidre had returned to the hallway, infinitely curious about

its length and the number of doors that lined the way; Rachel had followed, probably out

of her own curiosity as well.  “I’m beginning to wonder if he was not the real man behind

the operations here…and I can see that’s probably a good thing, in light of what happened.”

"He's a good man. I know," Cort continued. "And he knows...stuff...lots of stuff that could

be of benefit to NanoCorp.  And," he looked toward the closed door, " he has no place to

go now."  He cleared his throat, looking meaningfully at his older counterpart.  "I don't

want to leave him behind.  I...can't...leave him behind."  He licked his lips.  "Is there...

do you think... some way...he could, well, he could come to Emerald City?"  He breathed

deeply, waiting for Terry's reaction.  "Is that...would that...be...possible?"

Ah.  Terry studied Cort’s face several seconds, his own mind racing.  NanoCorp drew

from the best in the medical field to staff Sid’s in-house clinic, and all had a good rapport

with the employees.  Some had experience working with some of the side effects of

warping, although Sid and he went to great lengths to quell any more questions than

necessary about the retrievals.  Sid saw that they were paid well enough to know that

getting too nosy would put a serious cramp in their lifestyle, not to mention their reputation.  None of them knew as much about the history of the technology and what it involved as

Henri apparently did. 

He found himself smiling.  More than the distinct advantage Henri’s expertise would

present, knowing it would please Cort to look after someone who had ensured his

survival was the best reason he could think of.

“I don’t see why not,” Terry replied.  “But,” he broke in at Cort’s relieved sigh, “have

you discussed this with him?  What if he doesn’t want to leave?  Don’t worry about

the paperwork…you know I can handle that…,” he added, “but perhaps Henri has

other plans?”

"I haven't actually spoken with him about the possibility, " Cort admitted.  "But I know

for sure he is not looking forward to Rachel and me leaving here. And, well, this whole

operation seems to be at an end. There's nothing really for him to do here any longer.

If it's ok with you, Terry, I'll talk to him this afternoon, see how he reacts."

Terry clapped Cort on the arm, nodding.  “Let him know he’s welcome at NanoCorp,

then, in whatever capacity he wishes to serve.  We couldn’t ask for a finer addition.”

Cort grinned widely.  "Thanks, Terry.  Means a lot to me.  A lot." 

With Henri's input, Terry decided what he wanted to take with him.  Henri called for

Franco and Julian to bring a large cart, and the two younger men soon departed with

their load.  "Before we leave, I expect you'd like a look at the warp chamber itself. 

There's nothing removable in there, but I imagine you'd like to compare it with Sid's,"

Henri said.

"This is it," Henri said, pushing a control button that caused a thick, titanium door

to hiss upward.

The chamber itself was small, about 10 feet square, and with the five of them inside,

seemed rather full somehow. Its walls were made of some shiny material that had

almost a rainbow effect to it if you tipped your head when looking at it. The ceiling

was vaulted and crisscrossed with metallic ribbing. Other than a small panel of

buttons just beside the door, the walls were smooth. The floor was comprised of

mesh, with a space of about 6 inches, below which lay a secondary floor. 

Henri stood near the door, explaining to Terry about the panel of buttons.  The actual

control room lay directly across the hallway and Henri pointed from the panel to the

glass front of the control room several times as he talked.

Cort was not listening.  He had gone to the far wall away from the door and was leaning

his back on it.  As soon as he'd entered the place, he'd become aware of a buzzing sensation

in his nerves.  He didn't like it.  He hoped Henri would hurry, that Terry wouldn't ask

too many questions, that they could leave quickly.  Closing his eyes, he tried to breathe

slowly, deeply, hoping that would calm the buzzing that seemed, despite all his efforts,

to be growing louder.  Why wasn't it bothering the others?  Couldn't they hear it, too?

Rachel stepped away from Cort, curiosity having overtaken her sense of self-preservation because of Terry’s keen desire to glean as much information about their enemy as he

could.  Mikol’s chamber had an aura of primitive workings, compared to the sleek

featureless room Sid had designed, and the button panel seemed almost quaint.  Her

own mind was so busy in its own estimation that she did not see Cort fall back to lean

against the wall, brows knitted together with pain; did not heed the signs that his

proximity to the warp chamber played havoc with his senses.

With a sudden ferocity, the buzzing magnified, filling his head until he thought his

eardrums would burst with it.  He clapped his hands over his ears, pressing hard, but

it didn't help.  The sound was coming from inside his head.  He made a long, low

moaning sound and Henri's head snapped around, his eyes widening.  "Oh GOD!"

Henri cried, pushing through the others and gripping Cort's shoulders.  "Open your

eyes, Cort!" he ordered. "Let me see your eyes!"

At the sound of Cort’s agonized moan, Rachel practically leaped toward him, just as

Henri rushed forward and they both landed at Cort’s side. 

“What’s going on?  What’s going on?” she cried, as Henri called out to Cort.

“The warp! Dammit, it’s the warp!”

Cort's face was in a tight grimace.  He couldn't hear what Henri said, not over the

buzzing.  Even with Henri holding his shoulders, he began to sag, his knees bending,

sliding down the wall.  Henri went down with him, ended kneeling in front of Cort,

who was sitting now on the mesh, his hands still clasped to his ears.  "CORT!"  Henri

shouted. "I need to see your eyes!"  He fumbled desperately at Cort's face, managing

to pry open one lid part way.

Aqua lights swirled in the widened pupil.  "Oh God, oh God!" cried Henri.

Cort was keeping up a low, agonized moaning and began to bash the back of his head

against the wall, trying to make the buzzing stop.  Henri and Rachel both grabbed at

him, pulling him away, but he was writhing with the pain and they couldn't hold him,

falling sideways on the floor, Rachel grasping frantically for his head.  The aqua swirls

were taking him.  He could feel them wrapping themselves around his cells, trying to

pull him apart.  Through clenched teeth he began to pant, "No, no, no..." over and over.

He couldn't bear it.  He just couldn't.  Not simply the pain of it, but the loss of it.  He

thought he was screaming in the horror of it all, but he was barely croaking out the

endless "no's."

His skin was taking on an aqua glow and Rachel reached for his right hand, which had

now fallen to his side.  Her hand passed right through his.

“Henri!”  She let out her own wail, a low moan that rose in pitch with her level of panic. 

She tried to grasp his upper arm and had the same lack of success.  “What do we do? 

He’s going, leaving…stop it, stop it, stop it!”  She clutched at her hair, beyond reason

in her fear.

Henri saw the look on her face, saw Cort's face, too, and he leapt to his feet, staggering

to the door, screaming for Franco and Julian.  They came running from a nearby room. 

"Get him OUT!  Get him out of the castle.  ALL of you!  Get out NOW! GO!"  He cast

one look back at Cort, who lay bluish and limp on the mesh.  "Hurry," he added, "before

it's too late."

“What can we do?”  Deidre asked of Terry, when they had scrambled to get out of the

way.  He didn’t answer, already casting about for some idea, some mechanism to grasp

…and finding nothing.  Only Henri knew the controls, the set up much more mechanical

than NanoCorp's; that much Henri had been showing him as they stood there in the

chamber, unwitting instigators of Cort’s distress. 

“Do as he says,” he told Deidre and led her out into the hallway.

“But Rachel…”

“She won’t leave him.  Give Henri room.”

Franco grabbed for Cort's shoulders, intending to lift him, but couldn't.  There was

nothing solid for him to get a hold of.  He raised his eyes, looking up at the panting

Henri.  A look of absolute fierceness formed on the doctor's face.  "Give me one

moment and then try again." 

He dashed across the hallway, flipping levers, turning dials, all to no avail.  Finally he

picked up a metal chair and swung it with all his strength at a panel.  Sparks shot

everywhere and for a moment, the aqua lost its hold on Cort enough to permit Franco

to grab his legs while Julian slipped his arms up under Cort’s armpits and they both

lifted him.  Rachel and Deidre followed up, one on either side, Rachel calling out to

Cort repeatedly. 

Henri was hanging onto the doorframe of the control room.  "HURRY!" he urged as

they ran.  "To the elevator!"  He watched as they made their way down the hall, Terry

looking back over his shoulder at him as they turned a corner.

He turned back to the control room. So long as this room existed, it was obvious Cort

would never be safe. He couldn't have that.  Even now, though, he realized, it might well

be too late.  The warp could yet take Cort, killing him.  "No," he said aloud to the room. 

He racked his brain.  What was it Gerta had once told him?  She had built some fail-safe

device into the controls.  Somewhere.

But...where?

Franco and Julian practically tumbled out the gateway, hauling Cort between them,

Rachel stumbling alongside trying to hold onto him, Terry's good arm around Dee as

they closely followed.  Just a few feet from the limo, Franco tripped and the four of

them landed in a bit of a tangle.  Just then a highly muffled, but still loud *FWOOM*

burst out from inside Kamen and the curtain wall to the left of the gateway cracked

and sagged, several large stones from near its top dropping into the ravine.

The blue cast to Cort's skin faded instantly, but his head and neck were tipped sharply

back over Franco's leg and he looked terrible.

“Cort?  Cort, can you hear me?”  Rachel called out to him while Franco tried to extricate

his leg as gently as possible.  She felt his neck for signs of broken vertebrae, eased his

head upon the grass.  He looked so pale!  “Cort!”  Her voice cracked, as tears came

spilling out all at once.  Her heart was leaping in all directions from its socket in her

chest, pumping erratically, skipping its rhythm because of panic, running, of abject

horror at what the warp-field had done to him.  She felt for his pulse, but was too shaken

to feel any sign of life in his limbs.  She patted him on his arms, his shoulders, his cheeks,

to reassure herself that the blue transparency had not taken hold, that he was still solid. 

But he wasn’t responding at all, and she leaned over his face at last, not caring if her

teardrops fell on it, barely breathing enough air for sobs.  “Speak to me, sweet love. 

Please speak to me,” she wept.

The first thing he became aware of was the feel of breath, close and warm on his cheek. 

Was it Rachel's?  He hoped it was Rachel's.  He wanted to open his eyes, to see if it were

her, but his lids still felt too heavy.  A sensation was flowing through him that he could

only think of as "re-gathering," as if the pieces of him had been strewn around some

field.  So he lay there, feeling her breath, waiting, unable at the moment to move.  What

had happened?  He felt all muzzy, his thinking scattered.

Then he became aware of sunlight, shining through the skin of his lids, warm on his brow. 

But drops of wetness were also falling on his face and he lay there wondering how it could

be raining if the sun were shining.  He couldn't remember exactly what he'd been doing,

but let that go.  The rain and the sun were enough, were more than enough for him to

think about for now.  Yes.  Rain and sun.  Together they made things grow.  He liked that.

A clear image of his Grandmother's garden formed, a tall row of sunflowers nodding their

heavy heads behind the bean towers.  She made the towers of tall sticks, lashed together

at the top like a narrow teepee.  When he was little, he could worm his way inside them

and sit, quiet as a mouse, while she pretended she couldn't find him.  He always giggled,

though.  Always.  And she always found him.  Always.

"Grandmother," he whispered aloud, completely unaware of the effect of the word on

Rachel.

Rachel froze at that word, feeling her senses and mind rip in two at the dichotomy of

emotion his choice of responses evoked.  He was conscious, alive, intact!  Or…did he

think she was his grandmother? 

Oh no!  The last time he saw his grandmother, he had nearly died!  She sat up straighter

on her knees, hardly knowing what to do.  She looked helplessly at Terry, at Dee, who

stood nearby, aggrieved themselves, confused by Cort’s reply.  Cort was moving his head

now, eyes still closed, as though still in that half-way place between dream and waking. 

Then, as if suddenly realizing his muscles were switched back on, his arms twitched and

his hand fell into her lap.

She stared down at the gentle curl of his fingers, the grace of his hand as it lay upon

the cotton fabric of her skirt.

And she wore green today.

So she did what she knew would always be her reply: picked up his hand with hers and

kissed each finger, down to his palm, laid it along her cheek, kissed it again.  And waited.

He felt himself being straightened.  Someone was moving his legs.  Why were they doing

that?  He tried to move the fingertips of his right hand.  Ah, yes, they did move!  Was he

lying down?  He thought, if he were, that he'd find grass under his hand. But it was some

sort of cloth.  Someone...who?...must have felt his movement, for his hand was taken up

and he felt kisses all over his palm.  Grandmother?  No, she was gone.  Who would kiss

his hand like that?

His lids fluttered several times, then opened.  "Ra...Rachel?" he stammered, his throat

feeling terribly dry.

“Oh, my darling,” she breathed.  “Oh, God…Cort.  You…I thought I had lost you for

good.” 

He looked up at her, studying her face as she talked.  God, how beautiful she was with

the sunlight on her hair like that.  He tried to speak, couldn't, swallowed hard and

licked his lips, trying again.  She leaned close, her face mere inches from his.  "Will...

will you marry me?" he whispered, attempting a lopsided grin.  "Tomorrow?"

Rachel could not help but laugh in pure joy.

“Yes.  Tomorrow, and every day, if you want me to,” she replied and kissed him.

When she removed her lips from his, he smiled up into her eyes.  "Scared you, huh?"

Rachel chose this moment to look up at Dee and Terry, who approached and crouched

down beside him.  Franco and Julian were nearby, wiping their faces.

“You scared us all,” Rachel said.

"Scared myself," he added; then a sudden stricken look filled his eyes and he raised his

head so quickly he went all dizzy and had to close them a long moment before he could

speak.  Open again, they sought out Terry's.

"Henri," he gasped, "where is Henri?"  He saw, horrified, Terry's long, silent look back

at the castle, then turned his gaze to Rachel.  "He's all right, isn't he? Tell me he's all

right!"

Terry couldn’t answer, too overwhelmed by the frenzy to get Cort to safety, too dismayed

by the implosion of Mikol’s workings.  He had paused to see if Henri would follow, puzzled

that the doctor had chosen to stand in the doorway and belt out orders to depart in haste

while he remained; had cried himself for Henri to come, that they were in the clear, but