Date: Sat, 17 Feb 1996 21:51:35 -0500
From: Vctr113062@aol.com
Message-Id: <960217215133_146994250@emout09.mail.aol.com>
To: jevans@MIT.EDU
Subject: Winter 3/16


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	When I accepted my fate as a hunter, I decided to practice the art of
killing in its highest form. In nature, there are animals that consume
plants, predators that consume the plant-eaters, and supreme predators that
consume other meat-eaters. This last, smallest group is said to be at the top
of the food chain. So, too, was I determined to be at the top of whatever
bonds cement serfs, landowners, and warriors in one great pyramid.
	I hunted other hunters.
	My specialty was seeking and destroying other assassins. There is no prey
more challenging than a trained killer, and nothing less was worthy of my
attention. I could afford to be discriminating because the Lin Kuei have so
many enemies from which to choose. They are often at war and constantly in
competition with other criminal organizations. My self-appointed task was to
make rivals disappear.
	There used to be a few who questioned my selectiveness, or even my loyalty
to the Lin Kuei. As soon as I caught wind of such stray whispers, I'd
announce that my honor had been slighted, challenge the rumormonger to ritual
combat, and kill him. After a half-dozen such instances, most everyone kept
their opinions about me to themselves. I maintained my position at the summit
of the pyramid until two years ago, when Pyre ruined everything.

*****************************************************************
	
	Placing my hands flat on the earth, I directed the Power to form a narrow
ribbon of Ice in a straight path through the dragongods' battlefield. It was
not easy to do, considering the heat that worked against me. The further the
slick reached, the more exertion it cost to maintain. At times the dragongods
would step on the Ice slick, cracking it and compelling me to spend more
precious energy repairing the damage. My heart pounded by the time the Ice
slick stretched all the way across the dragongods' territory. There was no
time to rest, though; I had to implement the second step of my plan before
the sweltering temperature rendered the Ice slick useless.
	Keeping my right hand on the beginning of the slick, I directed the Power to
create skates of Ice about my feet. My hands were trembling from the strain.
Just as I concentrated a final burst of Power into finishing the second
skate's blade, the long-jawed dragon started an offensive that caused the
viper-dragon to leap away. The viper-dragon was clearly the lighter of the
two, for when it landed the ground only trembled enough to make me sway. I
kept my eyes on them until the cobra dragon ceased its retreat, then launched
myself onto the Ice slick.
	I hadn't skated upon ice since before my Test, yet my muscles recalled
things my memory had forgotten. Hunching over to present the least resistance
to the air, I propelled myself across the ground much more swiftly than I
could have run. Off to my right, the cobra-dragon hissed furiously; there was
a slapping sound, followed by a confused cry from the long-jawed dragon.
Recognizing what it meant, I pushed off the Icy trail into a midair
somersault, at the same time as the gargantuan beast slammed into the gully's
floor. The earth and everything on it shuddered; parts of the trail cracked,
but enough remained for me to land on it and speed toward safety. 
	The dragongods' tread came closer. I fixed my eyes on the gap in the far
wall and poured everything I had into increasing my velocity further still. A
few more seconds and-
	-my skates lodged on something in the earth and broke into pieces. The heat
had melted the far end of the ice slick into water, as I would have seen if
I'd payed more attention to my path and less to my goal. I turned my fall
into a flip, which became a spring, then a frantic dash. A three-clawed
shadow darkened the earth around me. Diving onto the mud headfirst, I slid
into the groove between the shadow's inner and middle toes an instant before
the foot that cast it plunged into the soil. Mud displaced by the dragon's
tread splashed on my back. 
	A serrated vise clamped on my head and shoulders, and I felt the giddy
sensation of being lifted high and fast. Venomous liquid burned my hands. The
atmosphere tasted bitterly foul. All I could see at first were pinkish folds
of flesh, but then I glimpsed the forked tongue and hollow fangs near the
flat corners of the receded incisors that held me. The viper-dragon had
picked me up with its maw, and meant to swallow me whole. 
	I folded myself in half and brought my legs under and up against the
viper-dragon's flat, low row of bottom incisors. The beast's head was tilted
nearly vertical now; a last-second burst of desperation pulled me around and
forward enough to grasp the rough scales of its lower lip. That lent me
enough purchase to bring my legs in front of the incisors and push off from
them. The slippery rope of its tongue touched me as I glimpsed the ground far
below. To fall from this height would probably kill me, since I was too
drained to cushion the impact with the Power; yet that was a better fate than
being guzzled like noodles. 
	The other dragongod stepped into my line of sight, announcing its renewed
fury with an earsplitting roar; it clamped its jaws on the viper-dragon's
neck and shook its rival back and forth. I was flung into the base of a far
heap of corpses. A dead horse's distended belly softened the landing. The
horse's grinning, half-stripped skull dangled in front of my eyes. Winded but
relatively unhurt, I crawled down from the grisly pile and darted through the
gap between it and another heap ornamented with the skeleton some great,
antlered beast. I did not slow my pace until the dragongods' outcries faded
to a background murmur.
	Only then did I allow myself to rest for a moment. My breath poured out from
my lungs in a slow wheeze. My exposed skin was raw and itching from the
viper-dragon's toxic saliva. I cleaned the foul stuff off as best I could,
and comforted myself with the relieved thought that at least my hide was
intact.
	It didn't stay that way.

*****************************************************************

	Of all the things I practice to hone my assassination skills, I dislike
forms the least.
	They are my favored means to rehearse balance and control of the body. Some
are reenactments of past or classical struggles; others express the course of
battles that might have been. When I go through each movement, I see the
enemies before me, all their attacks that must be avoided or countered, and
the shock of defeat in their eyes when they fall.
	The form I currently practiced was a short one of my own design, based upon
an encounter with three of the Ivory Claw organization's finest, known
collectively as the Triple Razors because they never ate, slept, or traveled
apart. No one knew where to find them. To draw them out, I'd threatened an
extremely influential underground bookkeeper colloquially known as Sharkskin,
who had strong ties to the Ivory Claw. As I'd hoped, the Triple Razors were
assigned to protect him.
	(Cast powder and spring forward, palm strike.) The primary advantage I'd had
over the Triple Razors was surprise. I pressed that advantage with flash and
smoke powder. If the momentarily dazzling light of the flash didn't blind
them, the smoke powder would. It was a special formula designed to painfully
irritate a person's eyes, unless they were protected by special lenses such
as the ones I wore. Grasping a lungful of air, I plunged into the haze and
drove the heel of my hand into a Razor's larynx. Nearby, Sharkskin coughed
violently and fell to his knees.
	(Turn, drop, snap heel out.) A disturbance in smoky fog warned me of the
other two Razors' approach; I dived underneath a strike forceful enough to
break bones, judging from the disturbance in the vapors. Calculating from
where the attack had come, I kicked and felt my heel drive into the second
Razor's ankle, knocking it from underneath him. The third Razor threw
something in my direction.
	(Roll, spring, cast the Power.) I evaded the missiles with a smooth backward
somersault. The smoke was beginning to thin enough for me to glimpse the
objects as I flowed into a standing position; they were a scattering of
palm-sized razor blades, probably poison-coated. Make that definitely
poison-coated, for one of them had cut the face of the second Razor at the
fog's thinning edge, and he was quivering and shuddering like a fish in a
net. The third Razor should have known better than to cast them blind. The
effects of the smoke were wearing off, so before it completely dissipated I
stretched forward my hands and sent the Power back along the blades' flight
trajectory. He never saw it coming. While the Power kept the third Razor
paralyzed, I approached and dealt a hammer swing to the back of his head. He
slumped forward and collapsed, unconscious. 
	(Finish it.) Lin Kuei tradition has it that a form ends when all the
illusory enemies are vanquished, yet in my mind there was one last,
conclusive step. I used one of the Triple Razors' own poisoned blades to cut
their throats. Two of them were already dying if not dead, but I take no
chances. "Please," Sharkskin had gasped, watching me, "please, I'll give you
anything you want, anything, just don't hurt me, please, I'm begging you!"
	Someone else was in the practice hall. His position was the same as
Sharkskin's had once been. He had approached silently; only the slight
wafting of warm air betrayed his movements. Suspicious, I pivoted in place
and cast the Power at the intruder. He leaped over the Ice, flipping forward
and thrusting his legs in an aerial double kick that snapped my chin back and
knocked me flat on the wooden floor. The tip of his spear pressed against my
exposed throat. Small puffs of ashen vapor spontaneously drifted from various
parts of his dull grey uniform.
	"You have developed keen senses, but you are slow to adapt and rely on the
Power too much," Smoke lectured. "You were fortunate that Sharkskin was
nothing more than a bookkeeper. If he had half a quarter of a warrior's
instincts, he might have assaulted you when your back was turned to him. It
never occurred to you that his pleas might have been a distraction."
	"Sharkskin was exactly what he appeared to be. I checked him out thoroughly
before I used him as bait," I mumbled, my speech a little slurred from the
trauma to my jaw. There was no point in asking Smoke how he'd learned the
details of my fight with the Triple Razors, or that my current form was a
reenaction of it. If he intended to tell me, he would have already done so.
	"A man's life is a complex thing. All the checking in the world will not
uncover every detail. You were fortunate," Smoke reiterated, taking the spear
away from my neck. I rocked back and sprang onto my feet with a quick kippup.
"Have you heard anything about Sharkskin, recently?"
	"No. Should I have?"
	"He has disappeared. My sources tell me that the Ivory Claw executed him, on
suspicion of having set up the Triple Razors. Which he did, though not with
conscious intent."
	"Of course. People make better pawns if they never realize they are on
someone else's chessboard." A minute change flicked across Smoke's slate-grey
eyes, accompanied by an alteration in the corkscrew course of the smoke
plumes that wafted from his form. I waited for him to speak again, because I
knew he had not come solely to tell me about Sharkskin. Smoke and I did not
habitually exchange remarks as if we were friends. Lin Kuei do not have
friends. Smoke was my mentor, and one of the few people in whom I placed a
certain amount of trust, but the word "friend" does not apply.
	"Lord Pyre wants to see you," Smoke said at last, quietly. "A messenger will
soon come. I am here to warn you. Do you know what Lord Pyre has done to all
who faced him in single combat?"
	
*****************************************************************

	The slope of the path had become so steep that I had to proceed with care. I
followed a trail covered with stone, shale, dust, sand, and glowing reddish
crevices like the ones I'd seen earlier. My surroundings seemed to get hotter
and drier with every step I took. The wind was stronger here, blustering from
an unseen source. The gusts played with the loose earth so energetically my
own footprints disappeared seconds after I made them. Some dust got into my
eyes, making them itch and sting.
	Time passed.
	An ache started to spread through my muscles. I stopped for ten minutes of
stretching exercises, knowing that if I were to pause any longer I might not
be able to continue.
	More sand covered the path the further I made my way down; eventually a
layer of it spread a thick blanket over everything. Occasional dips and
protrusions from the bedrock underneath slowed my progress a little, though I
tried to keep my pace consistent. The slope's grade was in the process of
flattening. I wasn't sure whether this was a good sign until the wind shifted
once more, coming from directly ahead, and I felt a welcome sensation within
the breeze.
	Moisture!
	I held out my hands to the dampness and silently called to it. Water is the
essence of Ice, and Ice is the key to my Power. At last I had the chance to
regenerate my depleted reserves. There was a tainted, sickly smell to the
atmosphere in addition to its increased humidity, but I didn't care. Blood
River had to be nearby. My journey was almost halfway over. I quickened into
a jog, expecting to see the river as soon as I passed the next dip in the
plateau-
	My right leg plunged into the sand, and kept on going. I tried to draw it
out, only to realize that my left leg was also sinking, and swiftly. 
	I'd run straight into a bed of quicksand. The dank, clammy morass reached up
to my chin before I could curse my own stupidity. 

*****************************************************************

	Pyre's use-name refers to his talent: pyrokenisis, the summoning and
manipulation of elemental Fire. The deep crimson color of his ceremonial
uniform symbolizes the searing bonfires he can create at will. Pyre's exalted
position within the Hierarchy meant that theoretically, lesser Lin Kuei could
challenge him for his rank at any time. In practice, only one such duel had
taken place in the past five years. I'd had the privilege of being a witness.

	Pyre never had to touch his opponent. 
	As soon as the duelmaster signaled for the fight to begin, Pyre unleashed
the full brunt of his Talent. His mastery of the Power was unheard-of in
centuries of Lin Kuei history. He didn't need to channel it through his
hands; he simply focused his gaze, and the entire arena burned. Livid orange
flames ate Pyre's victim inside and out, pouring from his mouth, ears, and
eyes while his clothing and skin blackened. He staggered toward Pyre, but
didn't last two steps. The heat was so intense that some of the witness'
clothing caught afire, and I had to help put it out. When it was over, there
was nothing recognizable left of Pyre's contender. The inferno had reduced
his bones to ash.
	"Yes, I know what Pyre has done to his challengers," I assured Smoke. "Why
do you ask? I do not want to be part of the Hierarchy. I'm not going to
challenge Pyre, and he has no reason to challenge me."
	"Trust your instincts, not Lord Pyre. Do not even speak to him unless spoken
to. Age has made him devious, paranoid, and easy to offend. He may take the
most innocent remark or gesture as a threat to his authority. Be wary, and
tell no one of this meeting." Smoke brought his palms together in front of
himself, fingers pointed upward. Light, breezy wisps of Power flickered from
his fingertips. The ashen plumes surrounding his body immediately thickened
into a single swath that encompassed him and dispersed, leaving behind no
trace of his presence.
	Fifteen seconds later, Pyre's messenger approached me with a personal
summons.

*****************************************************************

	There was barely enough time to gasp a lungful of air before the ooze
covered my head. (Quicksand is only sand saturated with water,) I thought to
myself. (I can control it. I will control it.) Focus was critical. The ache
in my muscles, the sensation of being sucked down like grime into a sewer,
and the shortness of breath in my lungs had to be ignored. Ice was all that
mattered - the immediate creation of a large chunk of pure Ice, with a
narrowed middle section so that my arms could more easily grasp it. Even as I
seized the piece, I channeled still more Ice through my hands to increase its
volume. Suspended underneath the amorphous mixture of sand and water, with my
eyes blighted by countless particles, I was too deprived of my senses to know
whether my plan was working or merely slowing my descent. My supply of air
was running out, and my consciousness with it. I didn't dare pour any more
energy into the Ice float, for now it took all the strength in my body and
psyche just to maintain my hold upon it. 
	I was on the verge of blacking out when I felt a cool breeze waft across my
fingers. Committing my waning stamina to one last heave, I dragged my head
out of the depths. My ragged breathing was hampered because I clutched the
Ice float so tightly that it put pressure upon my diaphragm.
	I'd bought myself some time, but the heat of the sun's rays on my face
reminded me that the Ice float would not last long. Did enough Power remain
within me to freeze the quicksand bed? Creating the one float had been hard
enough. If I were to overestimate the limits of my psyche, I might black out
from the exertion, and that would prove my doom. Was it worth the risk? Would
freezing only part of the quicksand bed be more effective?
	(You have developed keen senses, but you are slow to adapt and rely on the
Power too much.)
	And why the hell was I thinking of Smoke at a time like this?

*****************************************************************

	Smoke's warning echoed in my mind as I entered Pyre's uncomfortably warm
reception chamber. Almost everything within was made of polished black stone:
walls, floor, sparse furnishings. Ornately chiseled patterns of vines, birds,
dragons, and men adorned the walls. A string of small glass jars rested on a
stone ledge. Each jar contained liquid and a blobby, flaccid thing compressed
inside. 
	Pyre's rank far outstripped mine, so I kneeled and touched my forehead to
the floor. I had no idea why he wanted to speak to directly me, instead of
using an intermediary. My memory recalled a picture of him standing aloof
while his burning victim writhed like a tortured snake. Pyre's uniform had
concealed his face, hair and body; all I'd seen of him was his eyes, which
constantly changed color in the unsteady firelight. They appeared bored, as
if he'd done this hundreds of times before. For all I knew, he probably had. 
	"You may rise," Pyre said, graciously. As I did so, I noticed two Lin Kuei
retainers flanking his either side. Both were clad in matching ceremonial
uniforms tinted a lighter shade of crimson than the highlights of Pyre's
outfit. "Sub-Zero, isn't it? Yes, it must be. Smoke has told me about you.
You're still learning to control your Power, but I have faith in your
abilities."
	What?
	I'd trained to harness my Power for years. My teaching had progressed from
straining to lower the temperature of a small room, to preserving a melting
ice cube during the hottest summer months, then finally mastering the
creation of true Ice at will. I'd graduated from Smoke's tutoring when I
paralyzed him with a freezing blast of the Power. Did Smoke truly consider me
a novice? Had I failed to earn my teacher's respect? 
	Enough of this. Pyre was speaking, and it was my duty to pay attention. I
dismissed the questions from my mind and focused upon my superior. An uneasy
feeling remained, and continued to worry me long after I'd forgotten the
queries that caused it.
	"Before I explain your presence here, there's something I'd like to show
you. It's so extraordinary - are you still looking at the floor? Really,
there is no need for displays of formality. Come on, head up. It's all
right."
	I did not want to disobey, yet my years among the Lin Kuei had ingrained the
knowledge that lesser clansmen _do not_ make eye contact with the Hierarchy.
I'd once known a fellow initiate who made that mistake. For his impertinence,
he lost his eyes and tongue, had his tendons severed, and was pressed into
the ranks of the Lin Kuei's slaves. The clan prefers its bondsmen blind,
mute, and lame because this make them easier to control; in addition, it has
the advantage of discouraging infiltration. All slaves must never wear any
covering over their scarred calves or eye sockets, and must open their mouths
for inspection at least once a day, to ensure that no unmutilated spy lurks
among them. The Lin Kuei have many rivals, but few enemies would voluntarily
cripple themselves on the distant hope of blending with the slaves.
	"Still feeling reticent? Do I have to spell it out for you, then? This
audience is private. Only my grandsons are watching, and they can be trusted.
I give you my word that for the length of this meeting, I will take nothing
that you say or do as an offense. Of course, you had better observe the forms
outside these walls, or I'll have Ember here drain the vitreous humor from
your eyeballs and use it to preserve your severed tongue on my mantlepiece."
The warning was quite amiable, as if he were admonishing a child not to sit
too close to the fireplace. "Now, look at me." To resist further might have
incited Pyre's displeasure, so I did as he requested.
	The person in front of me differed greatly from the specter I'd once
observed in ritual combat. Pyre was a small man, slightly stooped from age.
For some reason, he'd chosen to forego his mask, exposing a wizened face
creased with lines from every possible facial expression. His stiff, grey
moustache was perfectly trimmed. He beamed with warmth and good will. Was
this the irascible, easily provoked overlord Smoke had warned me about? What
had happened to the basilisk-man that could cremate a person with a single
glance? 
	Only one detail hinted that Pyre was more deadly than he appeared. His solid
black bodysuit retained sleeves and gloves that fully covered his hands. All
other clansmen with the Talent, including Smoke and myself, must have our
arms and hands free to project our Power. Decorating Pyre's bodysuit was the
Lin Kuei ceremonial cloth overlay, including the divided vest, frontscloth
tied with a sash, and guards on the forearms, hands, and shins, all colored
deep crimson.
	"That's better," Pyre affirmed. "Now where was I... ah, yes." He indicated
the black stone wall behind us. Ember stepped forward, tucking a stray wisp
of reddish hair underneath his hood, and raised his hands. Rivulets of Fire
flowed from his fingertips, splashing against the stone. When Ember ceased
his outburst, the wall began to move with a dull, rumbling noise.
	"Takes a minimum of five hundred degrees Kelvin to make it budge," Pyre
explained with a wink. "This way, quickly, before it cools." He strode
through the scorched stone opening, which still pulsed with enough heat to
make me ill. His grandsons followed. I held my breath and hurried through the
gaping stone rent moments before it slid back into place, cutting off light
from the chamber. Pyre's second grandson rubbed his fingers together,
bringing to life a small flame in his cupped right hand. He fanned it a
little, gradually coaxing its glow brighter. His hand trembled from the
stress of calling the Power. That and the wavering light of his tiny beacon
were enough to make it clear that he was only a student of the Power, even if
I hadn't sensed the relative weakness of his aura. Studying his smaller
stature and the smooth skin at the corners of his eyes, I estimated him to be
about the age of my younger brother. He was clearly no match for Ember, or
me, for that matter. I wondered why Pyre chose to have such an unskilled
attendant, even if he was family. Was there no one else in the entire Lin
Kuei that Pyre could trust? And if Pyre truly was that suspicious, then why
was he taking me into his confidence? 
	The tiny flame's light was just bright enough for the three of us to find
our way through the tunnel and down the stone steps to which it led. At last
Pyre stopped before a square iron door. Something was very wrong about that
door. I felt a little queasy, looking upon it. It was riveted, with a tiny
eye-level slit too small for someone on this side to peer through, but its
most ominous feature was the metal box attached to the latch. A ring of faint
bulbs illuminated the box, revealing a pad of Arabic numbers underneath the
recessed outline of a human hand. It appeared to be a locking device, but I'd
never seen anything like it before. 
	"You are about to encounter something amazing," Pyre addressed me, resting
his hand on the door's riveted surface. "Few of our clan know this project
exists. There are some who might be uncomfortable with the concept, so it is
better if they don't learn of it just yet. The repercussions would be very
severe. Do you understand my meaning?"
	"Yes, Lord Pyre." If I were to tell anyone what I was about to see, I'd be
tortured to death.
	"Excellent." He precisely fitted his hand into the recessed outline. Lights
flashed; a thin chime sounded. A voice too monotone and flat to be human said
"Identification verified. Access granted, Lord Pyre." The door opened of its
own accord, sliding to the side and disappearing within a slot embedded in
its frame. At first, dim reddish lights only half-illuminated the room
beyond, which had no other exits or entrances. Then Pyre stepped through, and
an unseen generator hummed as ceiling lamps turned themselves on.
	The chamber was a laboratory, and a very messy one at that. Mechanical parts
and wires covered virtually every surface. Some were just scattered
aimlessly, but most were formed into pieces resembling human body parts -
torsos, legs, arms, or helmeted heads. The "skin" of such prototype members
was a transparent plastic, covering inner gears, grease, and colored wire
strands. A unique box hummed quietly in the corner. Its near side glowed with
light, showing a constantly changing pattern of green wires bent into grids
resembling three-dimensional objects. A large container with an insulated lid
rested against the back wall. My sensitivity to temperature told me that it
was a freezer - and the reddish stains on the floor next to it plus my sense
of smell offered a clue as to what was frozen inside. To the freezer's left
was a nightmare that has troubled my sleep ever since.
	It was an artificial thing constructed in the rough shape of a man, with
plastic skin, a skeleton of metal, and innards of pumps and tubes. Wires ran
along its limbs in the place of nerves. Black, oily liquid greased its
mechanisms instead of blood. The thing was only partly finished, lacking an
arm and a leg. The forehead of its metal skull had been cut away; inside I
saw empty space, save for the frayed tips of wires leading out from its neck.
	"Behold," Pyre proudly exclaimed, "unit LK-4D4! It's not done yet, of
course. You don't know how much it has cost to get this far. This prototype
was born from the resources of entire corporations under the Lin Kuei's
control. We are close to making the perfect - no, the _ultimate_ warrior!
Envision, if you will, a Lin Kuei soldier that doesn't need food or sleep,
that can see a gnat flying in pitch blackness, that cannot be stopped by
blades or guns, that has the strength of ten men!" Eagerness flavored his
voice. "The only problem is the central processing unit. We can't make one
with the capability to function in every contingency, not just yet. We've
tried, but the program invariably crashes within twenty-four hours of
installation. Then I gave the matter some thought and realized that I already
had the perfect 'computer' - it was inside my head all along!"
	No. He couldn't mean-
	"Just imagine it!" Lord Pyre hissed, stepping in front of the empty shell,
which exactly matched his frame and build. "A tireless, ageless body superior
to ordinary flesh in every way! We have the secret of immortality in our
hands, Sub-Zero. Eternal life for the entire Lin Kuei clan! Our numbers have
been steadily decreasing over the past centuries, but now we can preserve
them forever! What do you think of that?"
	I thought he was a madman.