Chapter 1
OLD NEWYORK-AD. 2076.
From a half block away, the ganglord saw the crowd gathered at the street corner ahead. He was a giant of a man, a fighter of
many years. Beneath his protective leather pants and vest, his tough hide was covered with old scars. As was his shaved head.
During his many years of fighting, each scar along the way had taught him something new. He had learned those lessons well.
It had been years since anyone had dared to challenge him, years since he had been forced to fight.
And now someone dared to speak in public against the laws he, Zubluk, had set.
Squinting against the glare of the sun, Zubluk smiled grimly and touched the sword hanging at his side. Even though four of
his men walked behind him--armed with spears and swords and crossbows-this appeared to be an occasion when the ganglord
himself would enjoy dealing out the punishment.
As the ganglord and his bodyguards moved closer, they heard the old man's words.
"There is a truth," the old man was saying to the crowd. "It is a truth that will set you free from any earthly burden of
pain or poverty or ganglord slavery. "
Zubluk's grim smile became a frown. Dangerous as the old man's words were, there was also the matter of how loudly and
clearly he spoke. Only electronic technology gave a voice that kind of power. Mainside technology. The man was not a Welfare,
for one of the slum dwellers would have immediately sold such technology for water.
What is a Mainsider doing in the slums? Zubluk wondered. The World United government did not permit anyone to cross the
rivers back to Mainside. Ever. Taking a ferry into Old Newyork was always a one-way trip; the Mainside shores were guarded
by land mines and soldiers who patrolled with dogs.
Zubluk was not stupid. No man reached his level of brutal power without brains. He knew Mainsiders also had other technology
and weapons far more effective than swords or crossbows. And Zubluk had heard rumors of a man in the Scorpions' territory who
had used an electric are to defend a family from slavers.
Zubluk and his four men reached the edge of the crowd. The people's attention was directed forward on the old man and his
words. The ganglord spun an old woman around, and she shrieked at the sight of his shaved head and scarred face. She put up
her hands to block a blow.
"Bah," he said, and pushed her aside. He did not have time to waste on crushing insects when much bigger prey stood before
him.
Her cry had drawn the attention of others, and the slum dwellers reacted in instant panic. Murmurs traveled ahead, like
ripples of water from a dropped stone.
"Zubluk has arrived! Zubluk has arrived!" The ganglord strode ahead, unafraid of the people massed around him and his men. No
Welfare had ever dared to fight a ganglord, let alone one with Zubluk's terrifying reputation.
Zubluk reached the front of the crowd. He got his first clear look at the old man.
In another time, the street corner where the old man stood had held a magnificent statue. It had guarded an entrance to a
park and its lawn and trees and ponds with water fountains. Then came the great Water Wars. And in the aftermath of the wars
were Technocrats and the World United government. No longer did people drive gasoline-powered vehicles. No longer was New
York proud and free. Instead, it had become a giant slum prison called Old Newyork, where gangs reigned supreme and preyed
upon weak Welfares.
The magnificent statue had long since been pulled down for the value of its bronze. All that remained was its high, wide
concrete base, stripped, too, of its bronze plaque. Behind it, the once beautiful park was filled with leaning shacks on
littered paths. The fountains had been drained by people desperate for water. Abandoned skyscrapers with darkened, broken
windows stood behind the park. Other buildings, bombed during the great Water Wars, had become gigantic heaps of rubble,
like mountains overshadowing a village.
In those shadows where the statue once had been, the old man--Benjamin Rufus-now stood.
Zubluk did not know it, but twenty-four hours earlier, Benjamin Rufus had been one of the wealthiest and most powerful men
on Mainside. Rufus had given up everythin~--name, fortune, freedom--just to come to this street corner.
He looked just like any other tired, old man fighting the heat in the Welfare slums of Old Newyork. He was thin and stooped,
his gray hair cropped short. Yet there was something in the old man's eyes--something rar~ in the slums. A joy. A peace. And
no fear.
From where he stood on top of the statue base, the old man immediately saw the giant ganglord and his four bodyguards. Yet
the old man's words did not falter.
"Look no further than your own love, fear, joy, and hatred," he said to the crowd in calm, slow words. "Look no further than
the empty longing of your hearts. Surely these longings tell you that your body is more than just flesh. These longings let
you know that you carry a soul. Let this knowledge then point you toward the God who breathed your soul into you. Let me tell
you about his Son, who came into this world to save you." "Silence!" roared Zubluk.
"You cannot silence truth," the old man answered.
"You can silence a man," Zubluk said. "You can rip his tongue from his head."
For a moment, Zubluk considered unsheathing his sword. But there was the matter of the dangerous Mainside technology.
Zubluk's shrewdness outweighed his need to show bravery. Zubluk waved his four massive bodyguards forward.
On the statue base, the old man smiled with a trace of weariness.
When the bodyguards were less than ten paces away from the old man, he pressed his elbow against his side. This released his
'tric shooter from a strap attached to his forearm, hidden beneath his coat. Without pausing, he lifted his arm and aimed at
them, chest high. He pulled the trigger. In as little time as it took to move his arm from left to right, an are of bright
blue light swept across the four men. They crumpled with screams of agony.
Rufus brought the gun back to center and aimed it directly at Zubluk. But by then it was too late.
The giant warlord had stepped back into the crowd and grabbed a woman. He wrapped one massive arm around her shoulders and
held her in front of him as a shield. With his other arm, he pressed the blade of a knife against her throat. The old man's
gun arm wavered.
"You'll never make a head shot from that distance," Zubluk snarled. "Drop it, or she dies." The woman did not cry out in
fear. She remained still, watchful.
"If she dies," Rufus said. "You lose your shield. I only stunned your bodyguards. But if you kill her, I won't stop at
stunning you. I'11 stream the juice until you die too."
For several moments, there was silence. The great crowd had frozen.
"I know you," Zubluk said to Rufus, almost as if there were no woman, no knife, no 'tric shooter. "I have seen you before."
"Perhaps," Rufus said, "but it matters little. I have a message to bring to the people of Old Newyork." "Not while I rule,"
Zubluk said. "I will hunt you down and--"
Zubluk broke off with a curse of pain as the woman snapped her head down and clamped her teeth on his wrist. She bit so hard
that his blood streamed from her mouth. Then she twisted and pushed away from him.
Rufus took advantage of the confusion and streamed Zubluk. The crackling are of bright blue light hit him squarely in the
chest. With a single grunt, he fell first to his knees then face forward onto the ground.
The woman did not flee. She walked directly toward Benjamin Rufus. She was of medium height, dressed in rags, and smudged
with dirt. A shawl covered most of her face, and it was difficult to see her age.
At the base of the statue, she reached up.
"Take my hand," she said to the old man. "Let me help you down. Then come with me. You will need someone to keep you safe
here in the slums."
