02.08 Renslip

     Jasper stood in the shadows of the parking garage feeling foolish as Espy rolled out the exit. He didn’t understand what had gotten into her. Truth be told he didn’t understand what had gotten into him. But he shook his head and walked to his motorcycle when she was gone. As he unlocked the tethers he wondered what he would do without her, and answered the silent question aloud.
     “I’d be lost.” So why couldn’t he tell her? “Hey, I tried.” He argued with himself pointlessly, knowing the truth. He was afraid of losing her, and more than ever it seemed that event could happen.
     The work of a few moments had the bike free. As he mounted he thought of the crazy old man in the shelter. What had Bartholomew been doing there? Society failures, drug addicts on their final legs, losers in the throes of Sensory System Failure; those were the people that filled the ranks that called the place home. But the old man hadn’t been any of those things. Sure he had spent most of his time lying in that bed, but if it had been a case of being homeless there were better shelters to go to.
     He started the cycle and sank into the enclosed seat; his own little cockpit to remind him of Enforcer days. He knew it would cushion him completely if he drove by wire, and smiled at how thoughtful Rika and Hammond had been. But sitting still wasn’t getting him anywhere, and with yet another shake of his head he started rolling. “What this thing needs, he said to himself, “is a music player.”
     And what he needed was a kick under the tail. He just could not believe in Renslip the Federal agent, anymore than he could not believe in the truth of Rika’s files. Despite Espy’s protesting, the idea of The Tree did not really concern him. He had lived without its comfort all of his life and didn’t figure he needed it now. But the business about “metaphysical energies” was an official sounding label for the nonsense the old man had always spouted.
     Had Bartholomew Renslip really held the keys to what went on in the world, manipulated by some unnamed mad man? As implausible as it seemed, Jasper had to admit something like that would probably drive a man to madness, if only in self-defense. And if he wasn’t as insane as he had always sounded, Jasper thought, then the world’s in a hell of a lot of trouble. Hell, I’m in a lot of trouble.
     Driving across sectors was a lot different than the trip he’d taken by tram. There was a lot of time to think as he crossed the boroughs. Yet despite the hours it took him to reach the far edge of Westlam, he still had no idea what he would ask the old man. The only real certainty he had was that Renslip would still be there. It was a feeling he had, like the ones that so often told him which direction he should go.
     He passed the warren of tangled streets that would take him to the shelter, pulling into a parking garage that was pay only. The attendant that came out of the office gave a sharp whistle at the bike that turned sour when he saw the driver. “A little out of place here with that thing aint ya?”
     Jasper pulled a cred card from his jacket and gave the human a casual smile. “What? This isn’t any good here?” The man came forward with a card reader and handed it over. Jasper swiped his card and punched an extra digit; the ticket spat by the machine gave him rights to park there for a month.
     The attendant raised an eyebrow. “Custom job. Real nice at that.”
     Jasper nodded. “More than you know. What do you do with the extra spaces? I know, you sell them back into the system.” He pocketed his card and handed the machine back, ticket still hanging from the slot. “Tomorrow hey, call it a tip.”
     The man read the numbers on the ticket and smiled. “Hey buddy, have I seen you around before?”
     Jasper smiled wide enough to show all of his teeth. “You’ve never seen me at all friend.” He gave the man an Enforcer salute and rolled into the garage, deep into the rear and lower levels. Leaving the bike unsecured, he left by the pedestrian entrances, threading his way into the tight warrens he could still remember by feel.
     The place looked no different despite the passing time and different hour of the day. Dark shadows, damp brickwork; at no time were the walls farther apart than five feet, and in some places he had to turn sideways to make his way through. The few chambers that opened wide were peopled by the homeless, though as before they were so lost, washed out of life that they hardly gave him a glance as he passed. And why should they? He knew as they did, that anyone going where he was heading had nothing left to steal.
     How had he made it through that first night, so long ago? Crawling, half on his knees, half stretched full length on the ground in supplication to the unfeeling city, he’d gone soiled and bloody, blind and deaf to anything, everything but the need to get away…
     He hadn’t had an attack in months, and this was no place to have another one. Yet in the shadows of those tight corridors he paused. All of it came crashing back: he could smell the acrid stink of unwashed bodies; feel the tremors of their thrashing. And worst of all, between the static bursts of driving music, he could hear them screaming, voices shredding in the throes of inhuman agony.
     Pain in his hands brought him out of it; pain under his nails from the ragged swipe scratching of his flailing against the too close brick. He kept trying to scream with the demonic howls in his head until his sight focused on the wall before him, and he sobbed with a full-bodied shudder, back in the present once more.
     It had long become a defense against the black nightmare to find something to focus on. He reached back into his memories to find the old man. His mannerisms, his arguments; everything about Bartholomew Renslip was archaic. And didn’t that fit with what he knew now? Black Chaos indeed.
     Another ten feet and he was in the courtyard. To his left, the alley where the trucks went in and out, delivering supplies. To his right, the continuing line of dark openings, hollow eyed patches of bleak darkness leading to secretive spaces of the city. And before him stood the courtyard, with its round dais of steps leading to the glass door brightly lit from within. The people’s hospital, the house of the poor, the last refuge, the… The place had so many names it was ridiculous, but as he stood staring up at the carved arch that framed the entrance, he noticed for the first time the motif built into the arch’s keystone. There was the shape of a heart surmounted by a pair of prayer-clasped hands for all visitors to see. Jasper read the lintel stone aloud with a sense of irony.
     “People’s Unselfish Loyalty Serving Eternal, The House of Belonging, Chapter of medicine, est…” He couldn’t help laughing. Sometime in the past the corner of the arch bearing the date had been struck, removing the numbers, and he could imagine the damage had been left on purpose.
     He walked inside feeling as though he already had much of the puzzle solved. The stale medicinal smelling air was the same as it had been before his leaving; the murmur of voices unceasing had not changed. He found the same bored troll orderlies keeping station at the end of the hall, and across the juncture, the admissions desk. He didn’t recognize the white haired spinster that sat tabulating the entries in her ledger books, but it didn’t surprise him. He didn’t remember signing himself into the shelter at all.
     But she remembered him; she looked up as he reached her counter and her pinched features forced themselves into something of a smile. “Well, if it isn’t Master Ringtail. Come back to pay your dues?”
     Caught flat footed, he stumbled over his tongue. “Eh, what do I owe?”
     She laughed at his worried look. “We take donations sir. You don’t owe us a thing but what your conscience dictates. Honestly.”
     She laughed again at his sigh of relief and he decided such encounters were the only fun she ever had. Deciding it couldn’t hurt his chances he pulled his card out and swiped it through her terminal, keying the transfer of a few hundred cred. It was from Rika’s funding, but he couldn’t argue that she would need it anymore than he could claim the shelter didn’t deserve it.
     The woman gave him a look of surprise. And at his questioning reply she rose from her chair to take a stand across the counter. “This is most unusual. Hardly a drop against your expenditures but rest assured the gesture is a gracious one. Tell me, what brings you back? I don’t believe you’ve come just to visit and nobody is ever passing by. You look as if you’re doing quite well for yourself now. I trust you aren’t looking to sign back in?”
     Give me a chance to say, he thought, but smiled at her anyway. “I’ve been all right actually, thanks to my friends and the care of this place.” Let’s not lay it on too thick. Her patient smile agreed. “I’ve run into a few … interesting events and have found an urge to renew an acquaintance here.”
     “Indeed. I wasn’t aware that you made any friends during your stay with us. You gave our orderlies some exercise, and many nurses made note of your sunny disposition, but I can’t recall any friends asking about you.”
     His answering smile showed a bit more of the points of his teeth. “That would be why I chose acquaintance. I never said I liked the crazy old bastard.”
     Her brows rose alarmingly; she looked suitably shocked for a moment before giving a much put upon sigh. “You should watch your language young man. There is no reason to act like an animal, even if …”
     “If I am one, yeah sister I get it. Look, I don’t even know if the old fool is still here, but if Bartholomew is still around …”
     The old woman had the grace to look chastised for a moment, until Jasper dropped the name. Then her lips pursed in thought, and she slapped the sign in book between them closed. A moment of silence passed; he thought, Okay, that’s it then. But she turned, shaking her head. “You remember where to find the nurse’s station? I’ll give them a ring. The old fool is probably asleep. It’s all he seems to do anymore.”
     It surprised him that she seemed to agree on his opinion of Renslip, and with a grin of validation he thanked her. But his smile fell away as he wandered further down the hall. If Renslip had Pulse ties, and was the man from the files, then he was anything but a fool. It suddenly occurred to Jasper that a man with the obvious skill and favor of the powers that be might not even have cut those ties. And if that were the case, it would be suicide to ask the questions that he was about to voice.
     He turned the corner and there was the desk. The nurses there looked the same to him. One looked up and saw him; she turned to another and spoke. “Here he is.”
     The second woman turned around with a grin from ear to ear. “Master Ringtail! How pleasant to see you, and aren’t you looking well? Oh, if someone had told me the day you arrived … oh, but I’m just so proud of you!” She positively gushed, and he had to smile, even through his annoyance at the ever-happy therapist. But though he grumbled inwardly, he found himself accepting her hug. He couldn’t be upset at the woman that had taken so many pains to rehabilitate him, even if her efforts had done nothing but hold him steady until the arrival of Espy.
     It irked him when he attempted to address her and found he didn’t know her name. But she paid it no mind, taking his elbow and steering him toward the bedding quarters. “Now I won’t guess what runs through that one’s head. You know when you left he started taking an interest in the outside again. Went into the vid lounge everyday and laughed at the screens. And then one day he just quit. Got all upset at something he saw and that was it. He just lays in his bed and sleeps now …”
     “Crazy old man. Hey? Maybe you’d know. How old is he?”
     That stopped her prattle as she thought about it and then answered, “I can’t really say. He’s always been here, as long as I have.”
     “And you’ve never thought that odd? How many residents do you have like that?”
     “None. You’re the first one I’ve ever seen to walk out. And do you know what’s funny? He told me the first week you were gone that he thought you’d come back.”
     It was his turn to stop in his tracks. For one moment he considered turning around and walking out, but at her look he shook his head and went on. Might as well go through with it, he thought. Besides, it doesn’t feel wrong.

     The rows of beds had not changed. Jasper noted that the house seemed to be full, and it did not surprise him, for there always seemed to be a waiting list for these places now. He wondered how he had gotten immediate placement at times, and could only suppose he was lucky.
     He picked out Bartholomew immediately. The old man’s bed was where it always had been, facing the walk through the room’s center. During his stay Jasper had been torn between wondering how the man ever slept, and hoping he’d be asleep as he passed. But now it seemed he slept quite well, eyes closed, hands at rest, the ever-present synthwood cane lying close at hand.
     Jasper leaned on the bed’s end; the nurse stepped up beside the old man’s head and leaned in close. To their surprise Bartholomew spoke before she could say a thing. “You’re late Ringtail. Late, but fashionably so. Nurse Cranz, get me my robe. I shall take the young man’s company in the weight room.”
     The nurse was completely shocked, Jasper not far behind. “The weight room Master Renslip? But no one goes there …”
     “Precisely. What better place to have a private conversation? Rehab indeed, lazy bastards …”
     Ten minutes later they were walking sedately on the facility quarter track, past white lit holo-windows and stationary machines sitting quietly gathering dust. Jasper kept the uncomfortable pace in deference to the old man, who seemed to genuinely need it, hobbling so and leaning heavily on his cane. He wondered why Renslip bothered, thinking they could speak faster if he’d simply sit. But Bartholomew did not even glance at the vacant benches.
     “So. Weight room huh? I didn’t know they had one.” It was a place to open up, and the old man knew it. He seemed different somehow. Jasper thought him more focused.
     “You never asked. Not your style anyway. You seem to favor bothering trolls.” Jasper raised a brow and the old man gave him a dry humorless laugh. “I saw that stunt two months ago. There’s easier ways to get yourself transportation boy.”
     “Ha! That shows what you know. The bike was a bonus. Wasn’t like we ever had time for an interview.”
     “You drew attention to yourselves! What ever possessed you to pull such a fool stunt?”
     “Look, I’m not here to explain myself! I’m here to explain you … No! I’m here for you to explain you. Uh … I’m here …”
     “I know why you’re here boy. You’re here to ask me about Andrew. But you’re wasting your time.”
     “Andrew? Is that his name?”
     “Andrew Wer Verrat. Was his name. He never uses it now. Doubt it even fits him anymore.”
     “So … he changed it? What good does that do … he never changed his PIN.”
     “No. He doesn’t need it. Whatever name he has now, you’ve no need to speak it.”
     Jasper thought about that for a moment and then shrugged. “All right. Bartholomew Renslip and Brian O’Sama. Why did two of the most influential men of their age drop out of society, and why is He still pulling strings out there? Why are you in here, and what is The Blood really about?”
     If he thought name-dropping would get a reaction he was mistaken. The old man’s lip curled, but that was it. They made it a quarter of the way around the track before he answered.
     “You know what happened to the others? Then you don’t need to ask. The influential men … they were the men to pay for it all. You don’t know their names because they’re buried in corporations. Star. Truecorp. Bestway. Rightweild. And a thousand more. But there are only seven left of those who have the true power, and they’ve set themselves like dominos to fall. I worked for their fathers, they worked for …
     You never tried it? Tell me it’s not within you.”
     “The Blood right? No. I never used it. I never will.”
     “Good. I don’t have to tell you what it is. You already know. Black chaos in pure form.”
     “You tried to tell me before, didn’t you? I still don’t understand it any better.”
     “But you believe me now, don’t you? Not just a crazy old man now, am I?” Jasper did his best to look ashamed, despite growing impatience. Bartholomew laughed honestly. “Better late than never I suppose. I would give it all back to you, were it possible.”
     “What?”
     “The Tree boy. The Tree. Oh, I don’t regret the power, or the years. But the price … Ah the price was too damn high to pay. So many gone for that bastard, but it’s all too late now.”
     This was a different kind of crazy, and having nothing to say, Jasper just kept walking.
     “All right. Pay close attention. When I was young I was one of the few left that could feel ley lines … damn few left that could tap into the power. They call it magic boy, but it’s just another form of energy. If you have the receptors, you can use it.”
     “Like … what, wizards and …”
     “Forget those stories boy! Forget fireballs and that crap! Foolishness. Parlor tricks. Magic acts … simple things to impress simple minds, and meaningless. You want to see that, look to the dragonkin. But a handful of them left too, and that stuff … the energy comes from them … inside, not out.”
     “All right. Then what good is it? Everlasting life?” It was said with a smile, but Renslip wasn’t laughing.
     “Not quite boy. Everlasting? Try, unnatural. By itself the power is nothing. The Lir called it a backlash. A mistake. That which we call magic was a link to a life force we were never meant to feel. Certainly we were never to use it!”
     Jasper laughed. “As if that were possible. Look but don’t touch, don’t press the red button, don’t open the box … neither of our people could leave things alone …”
     “God’s gift, a two edged sword. Benign until we were given a glimpse of the tools of creation. You can blame the Betrayer for that.”
     Jasper shook his head. “Okay. This sounds like the sermon I didn’t come to hear. Are the Blood Prophets still sending their people to ‘thou shall not Fridays’?”
     Renslip cackled in a long burst of laughter that quickly soured. “They’re no more real prophets than you or I boy. You want a prophet? Talk to O’Sama. But you’ve already done that haven’t you?”
     Jasper choked. “Him? A real prophet? More like crazy; as crazy as I ever thought you to be. And I’m still not convinced about you …”
     “Neck deep in it and still denying the flood exists! You are blind boy, blind! Open those eyes and see what’s around you.”
     “I’ve tried old man! All I see is Plascrete and misery.”
     Bartholomew started to reply and stopped in mid-stride, eyes closed, clutching his cane with white knuckles. When the raconid turned back to look he saw the old man quivering in the midst of some sort of spasm.
     “Hey? Hey! What’s wrong, do you need a nurse?” Just as Jasper was about to panic Bartholomew drew a long ragged breath. He shook his head, free hand waving in dismissal of his unwilling companion’s concern. Yet it took him longer to gather the strength to speak. When he looked up, the raconid saw bright specks of energy fading in the old man’s eyes.
     “Nothing … it is nothing. You must forget my prattle for the truth I tell.” The sparkling energy had faded, leaving him looking normal. Yet when he started walking down the track once more he went slower, drawing Jasper with him in his wake. He shook his head sadly. “I am the last of them now; the last of those to bleed The Tree for progress.”
     Who could understand the mad? Certainly not the silent raconid, who waited for the old man to continue.  “We studied The Tree and could not understand its secrets. The Lir refused to give us anything. And we were desperate to unlock them … immortality, instant healing; nothing could touch the powers The Tree contained.”
     “So you cut it down.”
     “Ha! Aren’t you paying attention? It couldn’t be done.”
     “What? Look, everyone knows The Tree got the saw, and I have it on good authority that it wasn’t the Lir.”
     Bartholomew laughed dryly. “We couldn’t hurt it boy. Oh, we tried. But it couldn’t be done. Pull a leaf, it grew back immediately. Core samples sealed themselves as fast as we could pull the drill out. You simply could not cut it down. Every ley line on the planet led right to it; we simply didn’t know where to begin. No matter what we tried, all of our results led us to the conclusion that we were dealing with a natural plant. But it was just as obviously no simple tree.”
     “All right. Fascinating, but it is gone now. Fertilizer, if you remember? So if you could … I don’t know, maybe, get on with it?”
     The old man gave him a sour look that turned worse when the raconid just shrugged. Shaking his head sadly he hobbled to a bench and sat down. “Fine. To simplify it, The Tree was in two places. The physical tree that your kind lived in was not the real plant. That tree was … you could say it was a mirror, but distorted. The image changed whenever you blinked.”
     “Huh? I don’t get it. What does that have to do with Andrew and the Blood?”
     “Nothing. Nothing and Everything. If you can get the concept of the Tree in two places at once, then you know what happened to Andrew. You cannot harm what he became.”
     “And what is that?”
     “I don’t know.”
     “What? All this crap and you don’t know? I should have known you were wasting my fucking time …”
     “Shut your mouth! I do not know, for there is no name I can give to it that would help you. I saw him only once after the change … you would not believe what I could tell you.”
     “You’ve got that right. All your yammering about chaos and order and you don’t make any sense. Tell me something to do!”
     The old man’s mouth set in a hard line. “All right boy. You came this far. Finish it. Expose Him. Reopen the portals. Bring the house down, and make The One rebuild it.”
     Jasper looked disgusted. He brushed his knees with his hands and stood. “Okay. I’ll get right on that. You take care of yourself.” Crazy old shit. He turned to walk away and Bartholomew grunted.
     “You don’t even know where to start.”
     The raconid whirled angrily. “You think? Listen old man, I came here for answers! Who you are, who we’re facing, what to do. But the shit’s getting deep and I’m tired of wasting my time in it. Now are you going to help me or not?”
     Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed but Jasper did not care. The old man sighed and held up his hands, palms facing each other several feet apart. He brought them together with a clap that rumbled through the room like thunder. The raconid jumped, both at the unexpected noise and at the steel in Reslip’s gaze. The aged hands parted again.
     “Pay attention. My hands … think of them as two points in the portal system. You know the quickest path between two points is a straight line, yes? Well, physically, it would be, but any metaphysicist will tell you that space and time are curved.” Jasper nodded, still attentive from the thunderclap. “Good. If you wanted, you could walk it, portal to portal, or fly, or sail, or even pass through space. You can think of me, attached to my hands, as the world. There are set laws to obey, and as long as you follow them, you’ll be walking from left … to right.”
     Jasper thought for a moment, then nodded, kneeling before his instructor. “All right. But portals didn’t work that way. Step into A …” He held up his left hand and then dropped it, replacing it with his right. “Step out of B.”
     “Right. That isn’t the world. To take out the curve of space - time, to really travel that straight line, you need a new set of laws … a new reality, a power source independent of your own.”
     “The Tree?”
     “The Tree. If I were The Tree, then as you see, it is my power that brings the portals together.” He brought his hands sharply together again, laughing as Jasper flinched in expectation. “The important thing to remember is the three points boy. Without power, you’ll be walking, but you can still get somewhere. It’ll just take you longer.”
     “Three points. Okay, and we lost The Tree …”
     “No boy. The real Tree is still there, somewhere that you mere mortals cannot feel it. To bring back your Tree, will take power … magic if you will, that you don’t have.”
     Jasper nodded point for point, accepting until the end, where he again turned on Bartholomew, looking as if he had been slapped. “Power that I don’t … care to run that by me again? What in the hell am I supposed to do then?”
     “Keep your cool! Flying around half cocked in anger is exactly what He wants us to do. It’s the kind of thing that feeds him power.”
     “Oh sure! Let me just sit here on my ass and sing chants like the Blood Prophets! …”
     “Are you done? Good. You don’t have the power boy. I don’t have the power. Andrew took his knowledge from the pages of a book … a tome of power and chaotic spell craft whose contents were absolute evil. They weren’t even written on real paper… it was some kind of skin. Such exists; you cannot fathom just how terrible the designs were.”
    Jasper sighed and rolled his eyes, sitting back down on the floor. “A book, okay. And everyone involved just let it happen…”
     “Everyone involved is dead!” At Jasper’s look Bartholomew grabbed him by the shoulder. “You saw the news files! You saw the reports … all the accidents, the safety failures and security breeches …”
     “All for a book?”
     The old man saw the skepticism. “All for the scattered pages, found by our portal research teams. Those few that came into my possession, I passed them immediately to Andrew. It is the only reason he came to me about The Tree; it is the only reason he allowed me to live.”
     “And you believe this? A book? What the hell was in it?”
     Renslip clasped his gnarled, arthritic hands together and shuddered. “The first groups to find them knew only that they had gotten a hold of some archaic Lir text. There were formulae: chemical, metaphysical, structural … we found new ideas and interesting theories. Not all were harmless, but most seemed delicately plausible and innocently benign.
     But the more we were able to translate, the more frightening things became. It wasn’t beyond our science and dreams. But the genetic coding … the molecular shifts and energy applications; they demanded certain steps and changes in thought. We were being guided down a path where nature, order … and life were to be disposable. When I found the first steps of spells for summoning, that is when I forwarded my pages to Andrew.”
     “I thought you said to forget wizards and such.”
     “Wizardry is nothing more than science by another law. People that don’t understand technology call it magic. You can summon anything if you know how to call it, but I can’t think of one creature you want to be around once you’ve forced it to come to you. Whatever Andrew discovered, whatever he called, he paid for it dearly.”
     “And you want me to expose this thing?”
     “You have to. There is going to come a time … a battle, and if this thing has its way, then there will be no place in this world left for the living.”
     Jasper tried to put pieces together and couldn’t. “I don’t get it. A battle … war with the Federals?”
     “No! Forget those people boy! Think bigger. Think about The Betrayer!”
     “You think about him. The Betrayer? The One? The last battle, the end of all things, the … the, Armageddon? Is that what you mean old man? When the dead walk again and good wars against evil?”
     Bartholomew nodded sharply. “We are facing the end times.” He said it solemnly, and was startled when Jasper laughed.
     “Bull shit! Everyone thinks they’re living at the end. Everyone jumps at the portents but guess what? Generation after generation … everyone keeps going and the world is still here.”
     “You don’t believe me then?”
     “No I don’t. It’ll take more than fancy sound effects to make that happen. Where’s The One? I haven’t heard of the second coming. Where are the walking dead old man? Show me some proof, huh?”
     “I thought you had already experienced The Blood.”
     It was the raconid’s turn to shudder. But he still shook his head. “Death old man. Pure death. But I’ve never seen anyone get back up after dying.”
     “And the Burnouts?”
     Jasper gave him a chuckle. “You’ve got your story down pretty well. I’ve never seen one. I can’t see any of them using the stuff …”
     “That’s because you’ve never seen one. Without it, they would die. The Blood’s beginnings lie in military and industrial application. The ending … will be horrifically worse. All of it goes back to Him. If the Blood Prophets have anything right, it is that.”
     Jasper leaned forward intently. “Is Andrew … whatever he is, is he the fountain?”
     Bartholomew did not reply for a long moment. Finally he answered, “He is. But you must not face Him directly boy. It will be your undoing.”
     Jasper sighed. “Sit and do nothing old man? That doesn’t sit well with me and mine.”
     “No. The One is coming. He has been summoned; he just doesn’t know.” Again there came the skeptical look from the raconid. “This world has already been attacked. It decays; there is not much time left to it. At such places and times, you may see the hand of The Betrayer. The One, he is the answer to the black chaos. His is the power of light, he …”
     “All right, all right. I get it. Boy do I get it. And I know someone who’ll explain it better. Stuck in a Lir legend, but if this ‘One’ is the only one that can face this fountain, what the hell am I supposed to do? Cheer him on?”
     “Yours boy, is to support him. So, yes. You can cheer for him too.” A raised eyebrow met his quip. “Look, if The Betrayer already has an agent here in Andrew; if the world is already set to receive Him, then what is left for The One? He walks straight into a trap. The One can face The Betrayer; that is the nature of his magic and what He was created for. But to do so, he has to have a place to start; solid ground to stand on. You and your friends my boy, will be that solid ground.”
     “Suppose I believe that. Where do I start? Do I go to the Enforcers or do I continue to fight them? And if I am to help this ‘One’ how will I know him? What does he look like?”
     “I wish I could tell you. Don’t go to the Enforcers! You already know Andrew has the government in his pocket. But ‘The One’ - He is the ultimate Lir. He is, in their tongue, “The Hope of Us All” … a savior, just as our legends describe him too. And this too may help you. The Betrayer describes him in the Lir histories to be ‘A Wanderer with no true shape of his own.’ More than this I do not know.”

     Jasper bid the old man goodbye with a strange feeling, as though he had a reason to be fond of him. But Renslip was adamant at their parting. “Do not come back looking to find me boy.” For a brief moment the raconid considered offering sanctuary, but the old man was already shuffling back toward his bed and Jasper found he just couldn’t see keeping his company. Instead he asked him why he shouldn’t come back.
     Bartholomew answered, “You may find my body boy, but you won’t be finding me. Now get out of here! You’ve got work to do, and it won’t get done if you dawdle here.” And once again it made no sense, but for some reason, it felt like the right thing to do. Jasper told the old man to take care of himself and wandered back to the front of the building.
     The white haired spinster was asleep at her desk. Jasper considered waking her, decided against it, and then paused to dig in his pocket, coming up with a handful of paper. It only came to around forty credits, but he tossed it on her desk anyway, stopping only to write ‘thank you’ on the back of one of the notes with the counter pen.
     He was brimming with unanswered questions on the way back to his cycle, so he didn’t even notice the dark of the alleys. The old man had given him answers, but only if you believed in fairy tales. The One and The Betrayer … titans in a battle eons old before he or this world was even thought of, and Bartholomew Renslip thought he was to be mixed up in the thick of it.
     No, Jasper did not really believe the prattle, though he had to admit the Feds and this scientist seemed to go hand in hand. Was this ‘Andrew’ really some kind of magic summoned monster? He did not know, but if the man had created The Blood he certainly had some kind of talent for great evil, and the lack of morals to put it to terrible use.
     But marching in to cut the head off the beast did seem an impossibility. To harass, to badger his forces and interfere with his plans … to destroy as much of his drug as could be done … and to expose what he was to the world at large …
     Jasper wasn’t a fool. He knew where their better chances lay. Depending on what Espy would find out, they could figure out something. And who knew? It couldn’t hurt to tell Espy what the old man had said. They could get a laugh out of his craziness.
     Yet he could not laugh about it as he mounted his bike for the trip back to the apartment. Something made him believe that Espy would take Bartholomew’s words to heart more than he ever could.