James Axler – Exile to Hell

At least Lakesh had given him the whole story when they returned from Dulce. As Kane had already figured, Anson had accompanied his father to Dulce to bring back Balam. Only Anson and Balam made it. Having seen what went on there, knowing what would be the fate of the elder Kane, and not allowed to mount a rescue mission, Anson was consumed with guilt and horror. The knowledge was too much for him to bear and live.

Lakesh had tried to tell Kane how sorry he was for not warning him that his father was there, but the apology was unnecessary.

According to Lakesh, Dulce was not the only installation where the cloning of human DNA and the splicing of it with Archon genetic material was occurring. Furthermore, the hybrids they encountered in Dulce were only of a certain type. There were others.

Kane stopped and admired the sunset. It was difficult not to envision it setting behind the Administrative Monolith, but the glow around the mountain peaks was certainly more picturesque.

The others joined him. Without preamble, Lakesh said, “Friend Kane, I had hoped that affairs would take a slower pace after your return. They have not. I’ve just come back from Cobaltvilleand from an emergency meeting of the Trust.”

“Minus a few, I imagine.”

“There are always more where Abrams, Ojaka and Guende came from. Besides, they’re not dead. Just discouraged. Unfortunately the baron lives, as well.”

Kane shrugged. “More where he came from, too.”

Grant said, “They’re looking for us, Kane. In dead earnest. They’ve convened a council of the nine barons.”

Kane stepped closer to the edge, kicking a loose stone into the chasm. The wind tugged at his hair, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He saw the forests below, then raised his gaze to the mountains, the sun and sky. Beyond that lay the vast web of the universe. He had the feeling that his father was out there, gliding among the stars, watching what he did next. Hoping and aspiring and having faith in his son.

He turned and looked at Brigid, letting their eyes meet in a wordless exchange. He liked her strength and flexibility, though at times she irked him with her cool logic. There was something else about her that spoke to a part of him that was hidden, unpracticed, unacknowledged. As if in approval, he nodded at her, then scanned the faces of the others. They were good faces, strong faces, all different, showing age and wisdom, pain and determination, the courage of youth, and a kind of beauty and endurance. Human faces. Exiles from the world of their birth.

“Well,” he said at length. “So the Council of the Nine are after us. All that means is we have our work cut out for us. Not just to save our skinsbut to find the weapons to reclaim our blue planet.”

Once again he turned toward the abyss. “Like it or not” he stabbed his hand toward the purplish haze of the Outlands “we’re in this together.”