The last time they spoke, the Executor had given Sellers the command to deploy the Apocryphos, and then had told him to stay on board and await further instructions. But if the deployment proceeded as planned, Sellers didn't think he'd be receiving any further instructions, and he certainly had no intention of staying on board any longer than necessary. He recognized a cue to escape when he heard one.

He had arrived here aboard the Apocryphos' main control module, among the last of the components transmitted during the remote-assembly sequence. Unlike the other parts of the fortress, the core module had been developed and built at the Nov-OS complex in Fifth Jerusalem, under Sellers' direct supervision, instead of being outsourced to one of the production facilities scattered among the outer star systems. It housed both the Zohar emulator and the Apocryphos mainframe, and, at the moment, it also housed Sellers--a problem he intended to correct as soon as he had finished running the activation sequence.

The emulator itself wouldn't awaken until the Executor willed it, and by then Sellers planned to be as far out of range as possible. Since the emulator had only a shadow of the limitless energy potential of the Original Zohar, the resulting phenomenon should remain isolated within the Second Miltian region, but it never hurt to take precautions. Sellers trusted his own calculations, but not enough to risk his life on them.

At the main control panel, he watched the start-up checks proceed smoothly as the mainframe linked with the other sectors, confirming that no errors had occurred in the assembly process. The inner and outer defense systems lit up in concentric rings on a screen displaying a map of the fortress in cross section; another screen registered when the weapon sleeping at the base of the central shaft stirred briefly and returned a string of data on its current output levels. That weapon wouldn't be waking up yet either--another reason to get out of here before it did, as if he needed any other incentive.

Once he had finished the activation procedures, the rest would take care of itself. Sellers waited about thirty seconds for further instructions--that way no one could accuse him of disobeying orders--then directed his hover-chair out of the control room and down the corridor, a succession of reinforced doors clanging shut behind him as he breezed past the security checkpoints.

The outer part of the fortress spiraled around the main shaft, so there was no clear demarcation between floors, only a gradual ascent or descent from one sector to the next. Sellers made his way to the hangar in Sector 180, where he had arranged to meet a couple of agents working undercover for the Julian Sect--those self-righteous, self-styled puritans who called themselves the true believers of the faith. The ranks of Ormus were lousy with them, to an extent perhaps even the Executor wasn't aware of; Sellers himself had been astonished by their numbers when he cracked their secret radio code. Officially, the Julians despised Sellers for collaborating with the Executor, but they had proven most cooperative after he offered to preserve their cover in exchange for assistance in his escape.

The two agents he was meeting in 180, Keil and Magni, had stolen information from the Patmos facility and escaped shortly before the remote-linking experiment wiped out the rest of the personnel there. They were posing as guards in one of the escape hangars, but in reality they had been sent to infiltrate Apocryphos in an attempt to shut down the mainframe before anything untoward happened. Sellers had promised to slip them the access codes for the main control room if they agreed to look the other way as he boarded an escape capsule. By the time they found out the codes were useless--a hash of improvised gibberish--Sellers would be on his way to the Atalya system, where he had quietly and anonymously invested his earnings from Nov-OS in an attractive bit of property in a resort city. There he could finally settle down and spend some quality time with the data he had lifted from Juli Mizrahi's files. He had no doubt it would come in useful during the next phase of his research.

Sellers looked forward to it; at last he would have the chance to continue his work with the integrity of an independent researcher, without having to answer to Ormus or anyone else, without political or ideological entanglements to hold back his pursuit of knowledge. At last the world would see that his intentions had been pure all along, that the only master he had ever served was himself, the only creed he had followed that of the scientific method and the laws of the universe. And fortunately for Sellers, the laws of the universe favored those who looked out for themselves.

He was almost beside himself with anticipation by the time he reached Sector 180, although his spirits were dampened a little when he didn't see Keil and Magni right away. That was the trouble with relying on other people to carry out his plans--just as in many of the experiments Sellers had conducted over the course of his career, the only thing he could rely on unconditionally was human error. His heart beat faster: suppose it wasn't human error after all? Perhaps the Julian Sect had set him up. He ventured farther down the passage, and caught his first glimpse of the two agents--sprawled in the midst of a red-black splash across the hangar floor.

He recoiled into the passage, choking, but the sight had etched itself on the backs of his eyelids in acid before he could pull his gaze away.

"Plotting your escape again, Dr. Sellers?"

His heart stalled for a moment before it started up again, faster than before.

"And just where were you planning on going?" The voice came from behind him, deep as still water. "There are only so many safe hiding places in the universe. And you're running out of opposing sides to defect to."

Sellers forced himself to take a deep breath, to slow his racing heartbeat. "I don't intend on taking sides this time, Dmitri." It was a wild guess--he was even less certain now than he had been at the beginning--but if he guessed correctly, he would give the impression of knowing more than the Executor thought he did, and that was a valuable advantage when he had few options left.

Laughter from behind him. Not a good sign. Curiosity got the better of his fear, and swallowing hard, he steered his chair around in the direction of the voice.

If it was Yuriev, he had certainly chosen a bizarre incarnation this time. The man in the passage ahead--his silhouette blocking most of the carnage in the hangar, a minor consolation--wore a shapeless black garment that left only his face exposed. And the Executor's face was terrifying, gray and saturnine like something carved out of the dark side of Lost Jerusalem's moon, the eyes a dull red gleam in the shadows thrown by the light overhead. The smile was the worst, though. Sellers had never seen Yuriev smile like that, and he never wanted to see that expression on anyone's face ever again. Then it occurred to him that he probably wouldn't live long enough to see another human face anyway.

He scowled, tried to keep his voice from shaking. "You're not Dmitri Yuriev."

"But it was a good guess," said the Executor. "In fact, he was a former employer of mine, and my predecessor. I understand you worked closely with him as well, in which case I offer you my condolences. He was a difficult man to work for. At least, he was when I knew him. But that was a very long time ago."

"Who the hell are you?" Sellers clenched his fists against the arms of his hover-chair and fought the urge to turn and race for his life down the passageway.

"That's not important." The Executor moved closer, his strides concealed under the dark cloak. "If I were in your position, I'd have other concerns on my mind right now. Do you remember our conversation about loyalty, Dr. Sellers?"

He didn't answer. The lights in the corridor flared bright for a moment, or maybe his perception had faltered; he was starting to feel dizzy from the shock, and he was afraid he would pass out.

"I must admit, you have some nerve," said the Executor, with mingled contempt and admiration. "You saw how I dealt with traitors, and yet you dared to defy me anyway. I'd call it brave of you if it weren't so pathetic and self-serving." He stood directly above Sellers' chair now and gazed down at him, his mouth wrenched into a sneer. "Hmph. You look frightened. Don't worry, I'm not like Yuriev. When I become God, I'll be merciful and benevolent, like the God of the Messiah. I may even offer my forgiveness to those who repent for their wrongs. And I wouldn't want your loyalty to go unrewarded. I'd like to make you an offer."

Sellers glared into the red eyes; it was getting harder to see clearly, the light growing brighter and sharper in the passage around him and casting the Executor's face deeper into shadow. "Very well," Sellers hissed. He didn't trust the Executor to keep his word, but Sellers clung to the hope that if he made a show of listening, perhaps he could buy enough time to revise his escape plans.

The Executor smiled again--and he really did look benevolent, in a frightening way, as if he knew he was under no obligation to show any mercy. "Here is my proposal, Dr. Sellers. How would you like to continue your research indefinitely under my protection? Safe from the outside world and all those who would interfere with your progress, you could pursue whatever subjects appealed to your interest. Nothing would escape the reach of your brilliant mind, and you'd be hailed throughout history as a savior of humanity--a great man who brought enlightenment to a darkened world. There is a price, of course ... but you're not exactly in any position to bargain, are you?"

Sellers nodded, but he no longer comprehended the words; there seemed to be no point in refusing. The light had erased the walls and floor of the passage and left only the Executor standing before him, a silhouette now, his face veiled in darkness, and then he too was gone and there was only the light.