Forbidden Past

By Robert Greenslade

When the towns Mafia boss, Bulldog, pushed out the good people and allowed savages to run riot, Nearcity crumbled and Fearcity had begun. A new barbaric Rome had emerged. But the city he poisoned had no control when one of its rogues left a girl for dead, slicing off her tongue for perverse pleasure.
A secret buried in scrolls, long forgotten amongst the Vaticans underground library, has been unleashed; forbidden knowledge foretelling of another God A creator different to the divine and more ruthless than Lucifer reigning over the fiery depths has been raised by revenge. It chose to be her guardian and failed Never again.
Mans insatiable desire to play God and judge the weak has provoked a war that will test the boundaries of any nightmare.
A retired secret-agent gunning for revenge; a stubborn bounty hunter ready for bloodshed; and a renowned psychic struggling to understand the abyss of evil smothering the city he loathed. Follow their entwined paths as they journey through hell, caught up in war zone that could wipe out all humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Dec 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496998422

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© 2014 Robert Greenslade. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 12/08/2014

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9841-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4969-9842-2 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

CONTENTS

Omen

Scum

Weak

Upset

Face From the Past

Monstrous

Awake

Recalling the Nightmare

Hackers

Black Magic

The Downfall of Nearcity, and the Rising of Fearcity

Big John

Darkness Unleashed

Promise of Bloodshed

Sacrifice

Hell’s Army

Killing the Problem

Confined Massacre

Preparing for War

Alone

Psychic Warfare

Discovery

The Demon Unmasked

At War Wih the Dead

Anarchy

The Purge

One More to the Butchery

Answers, Not Fairytales

Retribution

Cleansing the Earth

OMEN

T HE SPHERICAL ENERGY that nourished the crops and coloured the land was a late riser this morning. Saddened by the red and blue flashes, it crouched behind the east mountain, hiding away from any witnesses, contemplating whether to show its false but equally powerful glow or cover its face in the nearest cloud. The yellow eye nervously peeped above the green summit, unsure if it was safe to stretch. A slight glint of its bright, warm radiance drifted over the country and it panicked, its whereabouts was discovered; why did it cower, it had nothing to do with the atrocity, it would have dived up and shone the land had it been aware of the vicious attack.

The sun’s conniving sister would flaunt her sultry white dress over the earth and transform the planet into an ice-land, when the mood suited her. She – Isis – was the night queen, it was her time, she was responsible. She should have known, should have done something to prevent the crash, but instead, she done as she always did and teased her little followers; there were millions of them, twinkling with lust, wanting to ravish her pale geisha beauty. It was her fault, not God’s sun. God’s son was not to blame. Like a toddler hiding from the wrath of an annoyed parent it changed its mind and sat behind the mountain, much to the annoyance of the arrogant moon. The stars worshipped their goddess, but if she couldn’t bed down for the day would they still have their fixation if her exquisiteness, especially during the timing of her vertical smile, had aged and withered. The depressed sun sank back into its foliage mattress. It was only yesterday when every blade of grass idolised their yellow king, pointing fascinated fingers at the magnificent circle with vitality. But today, the land was an act of genocide. Each soft and delicate strand was keeled over and rigid. The arthritic plant whose delightful complexion had been green and vivacious was plagued with a brown cancerous death. The wilderness scent was stale. The valley was dead. And the sun cried back to sleep, powerless to revive the world.

Ten years ago I would have said, ‘What the hell,’ but now… the fireman paused for a careful reflection of the olden days, What d’you think, Josh?

Josh, a fellow fireman and well experienced at that, was preoccupied staring at the base of the sky. His eyes were hitched on the furthest mountain.

Hey Josh. He gave forceful nudge on his mate’s arm. It had to be hard to penetrate the thick, fireproof padding; but also, subtly, it was punishment for his ignorance.

Josh broke his fixed interest and turned, half stoned, to him.

Yes?

You alright? I’ve been calling you. You’ve been away-with-the-mixer

Oh yes, what’s wrong?

I was just saying, ten years ago, this wreck would have been made into a myth.

He agreed with a lonely, serious nod. Yeah Ray, I remember, there were morals back then.

The two men watched the wreckage with folded arms. It was a sight that should have provoked a horrified response in all fire men, but this type of tragedy was a common recurrence in these parts. The hydraulic metal cutters, known in the services as the ‘jaws of life,’ had eaten away the roof hours ago and they were now observing the last stage of the rescue – seeing the crisp female driver being placed on the stretcher and carried to the air ambulance. Her charred Caucasian body was burnt black except for blotches of raw, pink flesh where the skin had either incinerated or peeled off with the gentlest touch.

I tell you Josh… I dread to think how many skin grafts she’s going to need.

Yes, he agreed again, distracted by the premature sun down.

Josh, what are you looking at, you’re like a zombie there, man?

Up there, at the mountain. He replied

What’s up there? Ray asked

Josh had a glance at his watch, it’s eight: forty six.

I need more than that mate?

It’s eight: forty six, and it’s already sundown.

What do you mean, it’s already sundown, don’t be daft.

Look.

Ray took a step forward.

It’s probably the start of a new season.

Josh answered a weak, Maybe

Come on mate, let’s go. He said pulling on his arm. Out of all the team, Josh was the one fireman he could trust, whole heartedly, in a blaze and he didn’t like this worrying phase he was going through; a change of scenery would do them good. Come on. He persisted, giving another tug.

Wait… what’s that?

What now? Ray moaned. This time, he saw a peculiar creature tucked away in the brambles spread over forgotten woodland.

What is it?

I don’t know. It’s too far away.

The two men crept closer.

It was a revolting, misshapen oddity of the animal kingdom that, solely on size alone, could be identified as a disturbing relation from a hare’s lineage, but its deformity made it too awful and difficult to know for sure. It was picking rich blackberries from the thorny stems.

Must be a rabbit… myxomatosis does rot them away. It screws them up.

Josh looked at him weirdly, Who you trying to kid? Have you seen the damn thing? It’s using its hands to get the berries.

Fascination consumed them both. It was a strange sight. They couldn’t take their eyes off it. It was pure exploitation, being entertained by the sight of nature’s living mistake. Josh didn’t know why but he felt like a pervert, ogling at a diseased troll rabbit, minding its own business.

You’re right Ray muttered, that’s no dying rabbit, what is thar ovthre… his words lost their flow and muffled when the small, wingless gargoyle – ugly as hell – strayed from appeasing its belly and swivelled on long, plank feet to face them. It was neither startled nor curious. It was as if it half expected an audience and wanted its minute of stardom.

Jesus… the thing’s revolting

It had a triangular mouth, with a chubby lower lip and an upper sewn with facial sinews over two grey incisors no bigger than a small matchstick. Blue slime spilled over the hanging jaw panting red vaporous breath more toxic than mustard gas. The tongue flopped over the bottom puffy lip, looking too heavy to retract back into the mouth. The shape of the eyes followed the path of the elongated head, refusing to let go of the scaly, elf ears. The gloomy, purple dinosaur skin was fit for a radioactive swamp; nuclear sludge would slide off like water off a ducks back. The belly had an obese swell; it was too plump and sweaty for a full stomach. If it wasn’t so grotesque, the stick arms would be a mark of laughter having five chunky fingers on the end of them, and its erect posture left the men in amazement, standing like a regular human being; on a private, gut level, it was creepy.

Josh extended his left arm as if directing the flow of aircraft.

What are you doing? Ray asked, taking his attention away from the creature.

Have you seen it…? It’s two foot tall, looks like a mutant, and is standing exactly like us… it’s bloody eerie… I wanna see if it has our type of intelligence.

Don’t be silly, it’s probably the devolutionary start of an extinct species.

What species is that!? Now who’s silly?

It had to come from somewhere? Anyway…, look at it. It’s not copying your movement, so it must be a dull animal after all.

A female starling settled on the ground, excited by the squashed, scattered berries. She tried picking up two in her yellow beak, and having failed the first attempt, the second was a proud achievement, knowing that her starving young were going to be full. Her mouth was packed, but there was a slight space at the very tip, just enough to scoop up a flat berry at the brim of the tangled brambles. She was in two minds whether to fly off. She couldn’t decide. She hopped back and forth checking out the earth where she was, but she had collected the lot; her jittery head couldn’t help looking at the delicious squished remains, supple enough to fill her beak. She gave a little hop and then dived for the temptation.

A blue tongue, jellied with peculiar saliva, whipped with the power and length of a lizard’s tail, captured the poor starling and ate it. Brown speckled feathers, lost for purpose, wafted aimlessly in all directions.

Jesus Josh, I thought that thing was harmless?

Josh looked on, putting two and two together. Nah mate, it wasn’t picking berries for itself, it was placing them over the floor, luring its dinner.

Ray understood. It made sense. Intelligent little bastard.

Ay… I told you.

Wait… what’s it doi-?

A sardonic smile jutting out three daggered bottom teeth revelled in the show it gave, knowing it disturbed them.

Cheeky little bastard! Ray blurted. His disgust was broadcasted too loud and there was a tug on his arm.

Gentlemen… let’s stay professional and keep it down, better yet, shut up altogether. We have one fried girl and the other could be just as dead. Now get in the fire engine, we’re leaving, our job is done.

Yeah, ok Rich Ray said compliantly. He was ashamed of his outburst, but it was the goblin creature that provoked it. If the rest had only seen it, they’d realise. He had a look back at the brambles. All the nettles, tangled thorn bushes, and natural barbed wire fencing were barren of creepy little monsters.

Hey Rich? he called, looking forward again. No one acknowledged him. Richard, Josh, the other two firemen, three police officers and four paramedics were all in a state of trance. Josh? What you looking at…? Rich, what’s going on? Talk to m- his jaw dropped in aghast. A stone coffin was being carried by six pallbearers wearing black, baggy robes. They hovered along the road following the ambulance as it pulled off, floating with no ruffled movement.

Josh? Who’s died? Where did they come from?

Ray, they just turned up.

Yes, but where from?

Richard interrupted, beats the hell out of me. We can’t even see their faces.

Were these kids participating in a ritualistic sacrifice or something, because these buggers look the part? Ray mentioned

They are ghouls, Josh ruled, I’ll stake my life on it. There were no objections.

The six gliding bearers whose robes were cut from the darkest night, delayed their stalking and stopped where they were.

Josh? Richard whispered

Yeh…? he replied

You shouldn’t have gambled your life because I think they heard you.

All the Druidic hoods turned and faced the firemen. One police officer fainted; a paramedic shrieked and ran on foot in the opposite direction; and the rest of the emergency staff paid no attention to the unconscious copper and lunatic medic for they were frightened stiff of what was masquerading under the black covers.

Two hoods were hollow of any being; even a spectre would have been graciously welcomed compared to the twisted sight of animate clothing. The others had vile skulls looking out. Blobs of dusky gunge – skin, after it liquidized and peeled off – rolled down the frontal bone, along gully of the glabella, and got sucked in through the nasal slots in one disgusting loop. Clumps of imprisoned worms festering inside the decomposing skulls fell from every hole.

That’s disgusting! Ray blurted

Richard and Josh were too appalled and speechless to put their opinion into words.

The ghosts glided onwards, continuing the grave path they had chosen, suddenly fading away like dregs of mist disappearing out of sight.

Rich?

I’m not commenting on the matter, get in the truck, we are going. He stressed, rushing to the fire engine.

Is it me Josh, or were they following the ambulance?

Josh hoped they were haunting the ambulance, because for ghosts to manifest clearly and interact with the crowd, it could only mean an omen, for someone… but whom?

Ray, I don’t know, and I don’t want to know… I’m getting on the truck, and if you’re not behind me, we’re leaving you here.

After everything he had witnessed today, Josh never looked back, he marched to the revving fire engine, ignoring the world around him.

Ray gave one final glance at the brambles. Shitting hell, I’m getting outa here. He said running after Josh.

SCUM

T HE HOSPITAL’S TWIN, lethargic, sliding entrance doors moved so decrepitly that he wanted to put three bullets through them and step over the green frame where the glass window should have been. Lightning couldn’t move fast enough at this present time, let alone malfunctioning doors. Before they had a chance to achieve a foot, he squeezed between the gap and parted them forcefully with his hands and back until he was able to slip inside.

A slight tapping on the window tried to get his attention, "Excuse me…" Someone spoke behind the glass entrance.

He looked over his shoulder with fiery eyes, ignored the petty plea and stormed forward on a war path. The antiseptic smell was souring his stomach. The waiting area was packed with patients awaiting attention. If they weren’t crying, they were moaning about poor service, and those were the tolerable ones. The rest were alcoholics and heroine addicts; they loved to cause trouble if their prescription was not issued on time, and their arena was this place – Scumbags.

He slammed his hand on the desk, hard, grabbing the attention of every person in sight.

Yes Sir? said the soft spoken receptionist.

My name is Jackson. I need to know what room Lucy Jackson is in, this instant.

Are you related?

This pointless question was wasting precious time.

Listen! She’s my daughter and this… he said, holding up his government identity badge, is the ‘instant’ I was talking about. Now give me her room number!

The lady’s lips trembled slightly, shaking her voice. But despite having never been verbally shouted at like that she held it together as she typed the keyboard, speedily. Yes Sir. I’ll have it for you in two seconds.

No words could describe how patient he was, waiting for the location of his daughter, unsure if she was out of the worst.

Hey! Cough, cough, sputtered a drunken bloke. His buttocks had spent three hours moulding the grey plastic cushion around his bony frame, yet his intoxicated mind could not keep his upper body stable. He swayed from side to side like the floor was drifting him out to sea. Drool that was composed more of alcohol than saliva hung from his drooping lower lip and stuck to his brown patchy stained jumper, reeking of a curry odour. His lips glistened when he slumped over, at an angle, and his over indulged vodka filled stomach returned some of its contents. His eyes closed unwillingly.

Abusive, beer riddled filth like this always played the victim, scrounging for drugs. But what they really wanted was attention, something to do. Their lives were so meaningless and crammed with jealousy that they couldn’t bare anyone giving them an undeserved smile. They treat it as patronising. The fact that it could have been simple pleasantry or a gesture of understanding never crossed their minds. Their desire was to bring anyone down to their level, never mind the predicament they were in was self inflicted by years of inebriation. No, these people didn’t care for anybody other than themselves, and that was not saying much.

The drunk felt the vibration of footsteps pass his feet again, opening his eyes to an unclear sight. He recognised a blue figure drifting by, the kind that looked remarkably similar to that of staff uniform. He wriggled upright, onto his elbow and sat up, not wanting to miss the opportunity before it disappeared into another ward again for hours on end.

Hey! I’m talking to you!

The nurse ignored the drunk and carried on walking. Tolerating bouts of anger like that was part of the shift, a regular theme, but it never ceased to be unsettling. Every day it was getting worse; more drunks, more violence, and more workload, as escaping staff retired before they were fatally attacked.

Hey! The drunk continued to blather, outraged at her ignorance, kicking his heel against his seat to spike the nurse’s attention. Her pace increased, along with fear, still refusing to turn around.

Jackson, silent as he was, heard every ounce of the commotion behind him; and so did everybody else because most of the waiting area had emptied. His tolerance was diving into the depths of his darkest revenge at an alarming rate.

Mr Jackson, your daughter is in room nine, down the hall.

Thanks! he said insincerely.

There was a racket when a lager can burst against the wall, Whore!

The nurse stood terrified where she was. Her shoulder and parts of her cheek were soaked where the lager splashed.

Jackson, who had just left the reception and was straddling along the path to the most upsetting time of his life, stopped, spun around and gave the drunk a life changing ultimatum. Listen here, filth! Get out of this hospital or I’m going to end your future! Got that!?

The drunk took one glimpse at Jackson and laughed himself silly.

A mundane looking man wearing an all black cotton suit and shoes polished so pristine they mirrored the lights on the ceiling stared back at him with deep hatred and a yearning for blood that only the life of this drunken yob can satisfy.

Up yours! The drunk shouted in a feat of hysterics, nearly toppling off the chair. Jackson backtracked five feet and discretely lifted a pencil off the corner of the reception desk, swift and concealed like a professional thief, holding it between his index and middle finger with the palm tight and away from prying eyes; no one knowing any different, except the lady behind the desk wondering what was so interesting about the office stationary. Jackson walked gracefully towards the harassing, semi conscious man.

The drunk was interrupted during his third gulp of lager by Jackson deliberately standing toe to toe.

"What do you want?! Get your feet away from mine?!" He said, cursing as he lost most of the precious alcohol down his chin; his unfortunate eyes in line with Jackson’s groin.

Jackson stayed where he was. He had cunning, hypnotic eyes and the stillness of a gargoyle statue, the kind you wouldn’t want in your presence, but if it was, having no way of deterring your focus away from it, drawing you into its grasp.

I said! Get away from me!

The drunk almost managed to toss his empty can upwards into the face of his pushy yet stereotypical ‘harmless’ enemy, but Jackson had already calculated that offence – and another twenty others – making the unstable guy no threat at all. Before the can had a chance to leave the hand, a knee shot forward like an arrow, lifting off from the opposite foot for extra momentum and hitting the drunk’s nose with a skull fracturing thud. The head was immersed with blood when it bounced off the chair, and as it was about to flop forward, Jackson clenched his fist with the pointy lead tip protruding three inches above his knuckles and uppercutted the head, aiming the pencil for the right nostril. The alignment was perfect. The upward force of the punch was solid. It buried the pencil inside the skull and his middle knuckle knocked out two teeth in the process. The drunk’s head rested on the back seat. The body jolted twice, like it wanted to restart and switch back on but couldn’t because the control system – the brain – was dead.

Jackson had a glance around. Everybody had dispersed from the room, including the nurse and the receptionist.

Who’s going to save you now? Jackson said looking down at the bloody, piss stained loafer on the seat. I know you don’t deserve this, but I’m going to do you a favour he said, smiling sadistically. He kicked the guy’s nose with the heel of his shoe and drove the remaining pencil up through the brain; killing him.

Now you owe me one. He said grinning.

He brushed his shoe along the blue cotton seat, wiping the blood away. He straightened his shirt, tugged his blazer presentable, and made his way to the recovery room of his daughter.

WEAK

T HE CORRIDOR HAD no beginning, and no end. His feet were moving, but having no particular direction. The further he got, the more disorientated he became; the thought of that unbearable sight. His fingers were skimming the wall as he went, helping his stability. His awareness was caged in the memories of his daughter’s life. He was lost in the past. The skin around his lower eyelids wrinkled, straining to hold back the tears. The purple bags of sleep exhaustion under his eyes dampened when the painful memory of his baby’s first word – Dad, surfaced. He felt dead inside.

Jackson’s drowsy mind switched back to alert when he bumped into the shoulder of a grey figure. His hand felt the smooth cotton material of a suit when he used the firm, athletic arm inside it to lift his hunched shoulders up straight.

Mr, are you alright? You’re going to have to watch yourself.

Yes. Jackson replied, rubbing his eyes.

I’m sorry Mr. You are going to have to carry on your walking. This room is out of bounds.

Jackson was there. He arrived at the room that held his worst nightmare. His daughter was on the other side. He could feel her; her pain; her pleading; why he never came when she begged.

Mr, you are going to have to get going. the man said for the last time before forcibly removing.

The other suit that was standing on the opposite side of the door gave a non compassionate order, backing up his partner, Move.

So these are the security I asked for, Jackson mulled, sizing them up. They weren’t up to much, especially the one to the right, tapping his foot while counting the smudge marks on the floor, bored out of his mind – it must have nearly killed him to say that single word. He locked eyes with the man on the left, the more dominant of the two, and tested him. The man didn’t break eye contact, but felt uncomfortable. He looked at Jackson, pupil to pupil, secretly wanting to turn away. After six seconds of a standoff, the man scowled, jutting his head forward, a whisker away from Jackson’s nose, expecting him to move back after an invasion of his personal space. The plan did not work, much to the annoyance of the guard.

I warned you! said the man unclipping hand cuffs from his belt.

Jackson held up his I.D. Gentlemen… I’m Jackson he said, breaking eye contact to acknowledge the guy on the right.

The two men suddenly became centimetres taller and focused on his every word with undeterred attention from their glued eyes.

Yes. They replied, synchronized.

What’s her condition? Has it changed? He asked bravely

No Sir. It’s still the same.

Has anyone been acting suspicious?

No Sir, said the suit on the right, You’re the first non-medical personnel who has come down this hall since we’ve arrived.

Jackson was not sure if that was a good sign or a bad one, but he was here now, so that didn’t really matter. He nibbled on his lower lip, scathing the dry skin.

O.k. I’m going in to see her. If anyone wants in, let me know… Including nurses?

They nodded.

He gently held the silver door handle and pushed it down, opening the door slightly to reveal a vertical line of darkness.

Before he set foot in the room, he faced back at the guard, who also turned to him.

"The next time anyone, ANY… ONE, stares you eye to eye, he emphasised, You don’t pussyfoot around, you arrest him or you shoot him. Either way I don’t care. You don’t let anyone challenge you in this hall. Do you get me?" He commanded.

Yes Sir.

Jackson’s eyes switched sharply to the other guard, standing with the heel of the previously tapping shoe flat against the peach wall behind; his buttocks comfortably resting on his calf, boredom catching him once again.

You! Jackson bellowed

The guard jumped. His shoe slipped off the wall and clacked when it landed.

If you don’t pay attention and stay awake, I will personally shoot you… Got it? Emotionally torn eyes were filled with promise, and the guard knew it.

Yes Sir! he yelled, showing no more incompetence.

UPSET

T HE HOSPITAL DOOR creaked open. Lucy heard the voices of other patients in the background and an overhead speaker calling for a doctor Richards. Morphine was due for the second dose; gradually waking her up to the shocking realisation that a little movable lump of stinging muscle was all she had left of her tongue. Her mouth was sticky from a mixture of blood and the white dehydrated slime gathered against the edges of her lips; she was unable to swallow saliva facilely and clear her throat. She squeezed the bed sheet between her fists, frustrated and terrified. She could still feel the wave of motion the tongue used to make when it carried the saliva along the top pallet and guided it down to the gullet; then she’d choke pitifully as her awareness was not adjusting to the injuries as fast as she needed. She was suffering from amnesia. All she had was snippets of memory. The clearest scene was driving along in a car with her dearest friend; everything else was a blank, fortunately.

The gentle prodding of two fingertips against the sterilized handle muted much of the annoying moans from the rusty hinges to that of an octave above chattering mice. The cries and pleads for anaesthesia in the background faded, and then there was unnerving silence of the unknown, once again, when the door clicked shut.

There was a presence in the room. She could sense someone was there, in the corner, watching, but for some reason she did not feel afraid, not like before. There was a warm, comforting vibe circulating around her. Whoever this person was, she felt relaxed in their company. Despite the burning pain, her body softened and the heart monitor beeped at a more moderate pace. She was blinded by bandages cushioning the gashes in her head. The migraine that oscillated from temple to temple, relentlessly keeping her semi conscious and forbidding her to sleep, had gone. But she still suffered memory loss.

Who was it? She thought. It couldn’t be my friend; she would’ve been talking to me by now. No, it couldn’t be her. I doubt it would be my uncle too. I know his presence anywhere, she confidently assured herself. No, it must be my father. He is analytical like that, always silently calculating the end result.

Footsteps echoed from the door and stretched all the way along to the bottom of her bed.

What the hell’s happened to you? Jackson whispered to himself.

She was right. It was her father, towering over the bed with his shadow covering her face and his eyes scanning every part of her badly damaged body. The emotion inside of him, seeing his daughter like this, was trying to get the better of him, but he would not let it, he could not cave in. He had to be strong for his angel.

This is my fault. Even though the college is a ten minute drive away, I still should have kept my eye on you despite the phone calls. I know the accident was done by someone. It doesn’t take a genius to work that out… I’ll find’em. A sigh of guilt portrayed out of his mouth when his eyes focused down to the floor.

He began to mumble to himself under his breath.

This is just damn beautiful… My daughter’s tongue has been cut out along with every shattered bone in her arm and legs and no one knows a damn thing about what happened. He followed the rays of the sun cocooning the bed into a mattress of lava, guiding him out the window to the most breathtaking sundown he had ever experienced. The tip of the sun shone its last beam of orange energy before it sank beneath the city. The room lit up like a summer’s day. It was like a room from the golden palace; fit for a Pharaoh; a gift from the gods. Miniature stones of fire were reflecting in the glass of every electrical device. The temperature rose to a soothing warmth. He was bathed in glowing light. It was as though the sun was giving him a message; a message that