A bunch of metal parts were spread out in an orderly fashion all over the table. Rick was picking them up, one at a time, and wiping them off with a cloth as if they were part of a collection of fine china that would be under the intense scrutiny of distinguished dinner guests. With smooth, gentle movements, the cloth delicately removed the dust that had accumulated there as Rick’s eyes scoured them for any imperfections. He checked each and every one of the pieces and, when he was completely satisfied, he dropped the cloth on the floor.

  He looked at his watch, then closed his eyes and started putting the pieces together with the skill of someone who had completed this same operation countless times. His agile fingers fastened the iron pieces together and quickly snapped them into place. When he finished, he opened his eyes. In his hands was a regulation pistol in perfect condition. The magazine was full of ammunition and a silencer was screwed into the barrel. Rick checked the time elapsed on his watch and smiled, quite pleased with himself.

  He set the pistol aside and got set up to assemble a long-range rifle. It was comforting to once again be working with weapons he had perfect control of, weapons he’d learned to trust. He’d spent more than a full day testing out the sword of fire without making any significant progress. He’d trusted that, as Jack had said, his memories of the other world would help, but since his memory had refused to bring any useful information to light, what little he was able to figure out about the sword’s secrets was a consequence of classic trial and error. After several hours with the sword, he’d arrived at the conclusion that its proper handling required the knowledge of an infinite number of concealed aspects that made it the most complex weapon he’d ever laid hands on.

  The fact that it behaved differently depending on who was holding it was one of the details he found most disconcerting. If a gun had a range of a thousand yards, no one could get the bullet to go any farther than that. Obviously, two different people could, however, either manage to hit the target or not hit the target at that distance, but the maximum reach of the weapon was, quite logically, fixed and invariable. But that’s not how it worked with the sword. Rylan and he had worked hard at drawing identical lines of fire with motions carried out at the same speed. They couldn’t. The line that Rick traced hung there longer and the fire burned with more intensity. Many attempts later, they noticed they were able to tell who had traced each line. Somehow the bearer imprinted part of himself on the weapon when using it. And, having observed Rylan so many times, Rick found he could recognize his arcs of fire among ones that had been drawn by other people.

  The second thing that escaped his understanding were the unexpected effects produced by the symbols they drew in the air, like the invisible shield that appeared when they cut an “X” in the air. The bigger the lines, the bigger the surface of the shield—which seemed logical enough. Not so logical was the discovery that Rick’s shields were more resistant than Rylan’s. They’d spent nearly an hour throwing all kinds of objects against them. An ashtray thrown with all Rick’s might would go through Rylan’s barrier but not through his own. Neither of the blazing “Xs” could stop a bullet. However, Rick was sure that, in the right hands, those magical defenses could do much more. They tested out every rune they could draw, but they got no new effects even though they did notice subtle differences when they hadn’t done something quite right. A line would behave differently depending on whether it was traced from top to bottom or from bottom to top, or on which hand was holding the sword—and those were only two examples. They noticed more nuances when they turned their wrists as they tore through the air, and on and on . . . until they realized that everything they knew about the sword was nothing more than the tip of the iceberg.

  They were pressed for time so they’d had to leave the rest of the tests for after their trip through the portal. Rylan was still highly enthused, as much over the sword as over Rick. He was inundating him with constant and copious suggestions for future experiments, duly infused with clumsy words of praise. Rick was relieved to have this break from the tireless scientist; it felt good to check over his equipment in peace. His new coworkers had practically become extensions of his own body. And he surely wasn’t going to be able to get rid of them anytime soon seeing how they’d be crossing the new portal with him.

  He was in the middle of assembling his rifle when the sound of the door opening broke his concentration. The butt fell on the floor, and Rick opened his eyes, irritated. Susan came in the room, closing the door behind her.

  “I didn’t know you were busy,” she said apologetically.

  “I was finishing up preparations.” Rick picked up the butt of the rifle and continued with its assembly. “We have to be ready for anything.”

  “I came to see what you need.” Susan sat down on a chair next to him. Rick couldn’t take his eyes off her long, brown hair. She was wearing it down instead of pulled back in a ponytail like she usually wore it, and when she sat down he noticed it completely covered her back. “It’s almost time; you should hurry.”

  “What’s so urgent? Nothing will happen if we start a half hour later. The world the portal leads to isn’t going anywhere.”

  “I know that. It’s Nelson. He’s impatient. He keeps asking where you are.” Rick sneered in annoyance. “He says we should have already left.”

  “Well, he can wait a little longer,” declared Rick grumpily. “He better learn to control himself. I don’t intend to have to watch over him like a child when we’re there, nor am I going to let him do something stupid and put us all in danger.”

  “He’ll be fine; don’t worry. It’s just a case of nerves,” said Susan, trying to appease him.

  “I hope so.” Rick finished with the rifle and started checking the ammunition. “Is Rylan with him?”

  “Yes. We’re just waiting for you.”

  “I see. And Nelson sent you to get me, right?”

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  “Actually, it was Rylan’s suggestion . . . That guy thinks the world of you.”

  “Tell them I’ll be down shortly. I don’t want to overlook anything. As soon as I finish checking everything over, I’ll meet up with you all and we’ll get going.”

  Susan stared in astonishment at the extensive collection of weapons spread out on the table. There were four knives of different sizes, a huge quantity of bullets of different calibers, two pistols, a rifle, magazines, and a slew of other objects she wasn’t sure about, though she had a pretty good idea of what they were all used for. Rick was in the process of carefully putting them all in various pockets and compartments of his military uniform, and Susan had to wonder how in the world he could ever remember where each one was.

  “Aren’t you taking a few too many weapons? I can’t imagine how you can move with all that on you.” Susan stood up and walked toward the door.

  “It’s not so bad. It’s just a matter of practice. At least this time they won’t catch me by surprise.”

  Rick got down on his right knee and began placing the knives in sheaths strapped around his left leg.

  “We’ll wait until you’re ready,” she said, opening the door.

  “Hold on a minute.” Rick looked up as Susan turned back toward him. “Do you trust Jack?”

  Susan raised her eyebrows, evidently surprised by the question.

  “Of course,” she responded firmly. “Don’t you?”

  “I don’t know much about him. I guess I have a hard time understanding rich people.”

  “Jack wasn’t always rich,” Susan explained.

  “I’m sure he took advantage of the Wave to build his empire. And those are the worst kind—the ones who benefit from others’ misfortune.”

  “No. He made his fortune before the Wave,” clarified Susan. “He told me about it. But he didn’t inherit it or anything like that. He earned it. He didn’t give me all the details, but he said he got his start playing poker.”

  That sounded absurd. Rick had never heard of any tycoons with all kinds of political influence that got their start at a poker table.

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Almost five years. I met him during the war against the North. I was in the hospital, attending to an incessant barrage of wounded patients. Jack was brought in unconscious, with a bullet in his right shoulder. Once he recovered, he insisted on thanking me. That’s how we met.” Rick frowned. “I can guess what you think of him; he’s obviously no angel, but we’re living in really hard times and you can’t survive by being soft. You’ll get to know him better. He’s one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever known. And he certainly holds you in high esteem.”

  “How do you know that? Did he tell you that?”

  “He doesn’t need to. I see it in the way he talks to you. He wouldn’t bother to explain his plans to you if he didn’t. He wants you to understand him and share his point of view.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Rick wasn’t convinced. If Jack wanted him on his side it was because he saw him as useful to his plans. All things considered, though, that didn’t exclude him from having a certain appreciation of Rick—although after seeing how he reacted to Scott’s death, he sincerely doubted Jack would bring flowers to his grave if the worst were to happen.

  “Everything will be fine,” assured Susan, reading his mind. “I’m glad you agreed to accompany us. I feel much better having you by my side.”

  Before he could say anything, Susan walked out and closed the door behind her. Rick decided not to jump to any conclusions about what she’d told him about Jack. It didn’t matter anymore. Right now the only thing he wanted to do was focus on the mission at hand. He finished getting his arsenal situated on his body and went out to join the rest of them.

  He went up the steps to the Victoria Palace theater, a building that had fallen prey to indigents and beggars after the Wave. As one would expect, there was no longer anything cultural or artistic about the place, and people used the building in whatever way suited their needs. It was filthy and in disrepair. The paint was peeling off the walls and the place was steeped in dampness. No one had done any maintenance on it for a very long time, probably not since the Wave.

  When Nelson and Rylan discovered the portal inside the theater, Jack took care of clearing it out. Not wanting to raise suspicions about his activities, he offered one of his warehouses to the inhabitants of the place. They didn’t hesitate a single second in accepting his offer; they weren’t about to pass on a new home that was much bigger and better cared for.

  Rick got to the third floor and walked up a partially lit hallway to the door of the room where the portal was.

  “I don’t understand why he’s taking so long,” he heard Nelson say from inside.

  “He’ll be here. It’s no big deal,” Rylan defended him.

  The fact of the matter was that Nelson’s voice had acquired the irritating ability to drive Rick up the wall in the three short days he’d been dealing with him. He sighed at the unattractive prospect of being in charge of this annoyingly impatient scientist for the whole trip. He seriously considered trying to throw him off the mission. After all, Rylan would still be there to take care of the research. But Rick knew he’d never agree to leave his older brother behind.

  Rick took a long, deep breath and went into the room, trying to look relaxed. The floor was cleared and part of the portal was visible, looking much like the one in the foundry from the first mission. Jack wasn’t kidding when he said this portal was smaller than the first. The columns were shorter and closer to each other so they took up less space—maybe a total of fifty square feet. The only thing that was the same as his memories of the portal at the foundry was the activation rune. The same strange symbol was drawn on the floor, outside the area that lay between the pillars. Rick contemplated it for a few seconds, remembering the seal that fit in the center of the inscription.

  “It’s about time!” rebuked Nelson. Rylan and Susan both looked at Rick apologetically. “Of course you took your good old time.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” replied Rick, somehow managing to restrain himself. “How about if you relax a little. We’re headed to a dangerous place and I don’t want your nerves to get us in trouble.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” Nelson declared defiantly. “You should have been here a half hour ago. You heard Jack; this is a race.”

  The temptation to clear things up once and for all was like a nagging itch that Rick desperately wanted to scratch. He slowly removed his backpack and then immediately sent a tense, icy glare the scientist’s way.

  “Let’s all calm down,” Susan intervened, standing in front of Rick, forcing him to meet her eyes. We’re here to work as a team. Come on, let’s get started.”

  Inhaling deeply, Rick allowed himself to be led away from Nelson as Rylan went behind his brother and reached up awkwardly to grab hold of his shoulders.

  “I’m calm, really,” said Rick. “But if that jerk doesn’t learn to control himself, I won’t be held responsible.”

  “I think it’s better if we get started as soon as possible,” Susan suggested. “If we get going we’ll have our minds occupied and all this tension will dissolve. You’ll see.”

  Rick took the seal out of his backpack, hoping Susan was right. The strange stone that activated the portal was quite light, and its shine gave away that it was not made from any earthly mineral. Rick went over to the activation rune and the rest of them followed him.

  “Let’s get going,” he announced. “I’ll activate the portal. When the Fog forms, I’ll go through first and then you all can follow me. Understood?”