Axler, James - Deathlands 43 - Dark Emblem

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Axler,_James_-_Deathlands_43_-_Dark_Emblem

Welles strode to the chamber and yanked open the heavy door

Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner was gone in a puff of smoke, vanished in the

fog, taken away a second time as if he had never existed.

"He's away, Director Welles," a technician stated. "We're showing a ninety-eight

percent probability of a successful matter transfer via temporal annex."

"Do you think he made it, sir?" Chan asked.

"I don't care whether he makes it in one piece or not."

"Then what's the point, sir?"

"Peace of mind. And I'll tell you this much. I hope Tanner made it. Hell, yes, I

hope he made it, the arrogant son of a bitch, and wherever he is, I hope he's

choking on the whatever future hell he's trapped."

Dark Emblem

#43 in the Deathlands series

James Axler

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is

stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and

neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped

book."

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This one's for Richard P. "Rick" Law, my seldom seen Yankee brother-in-law, a

great bear of a man with the necessary combat knowledge and the survival

wherewithal to feel right at home stomping around in the world of Deathlands.

But be warned, Rick— next time we take the wives out on the town, you're

picking up the tab.

First edition October 1998

ISBN 0-373-62543-X

DARK EMBLEM

this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other

means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying

and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden

without the written permission of the publisher, Worldwide Library, 225 Duncan

Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author

and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They

are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author,

and all incidents are pure invention.

® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are

registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade

Marks Office and in other countries.

Printed In U.S.A.

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"I have broken the rainbow

against my heart…

I have blown the clouds of rose color and blood color

I have drowned my dreams."

—Luis Munoz Marin

First elected Governor of Puerto Rico

"All things are taken from us, and become portions and parcels of the dreadful

past."

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson

THE DEATHLANDS SAGA

This world is their legacy, a world born in the violent nuclear spasm of 2001 that

was the bitter outcome of a struggle for global dominance.

There is no real escape from this shockscape where life always hangs in the

balance, vulnerable to newly demonic nature, barbarism, lawlessness.

But they are the warrior survivalists, and they endure—in the way of the lion, the

hawk and the tiger, true to nature's heart despite its ruination.

Ryan Cawdor: The privileged son of an East Coast baron. Acquainted with

betrayal from a tender age, he is a master of the hard realities.

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Krysty Wroth: Harmony ville's own Titian-haired beauty, a woman with the

strength of tempered steel. Her premonitions and Gaia powers have been fostered

by her Mother Sonja.

J. B. Dix, the Armorer: Weapons master and Ryan's close ally, he, too, honed his

skills traversing the Deathlands with the legendary Trader.

Doctor Theophilus Tanner: Torn from his family and a gentler life in 1896, Doc

has been thrown into a future he couldn't have imagined.

Dr. Mildred Wyeth: Her father was killed by the Ku Klux Klan, but her fate is

not much lighter. Restored from predark cryogenic suspension, she brings

twentieth-century healing skills to a nightmare.

Jak Lauren: A true child of the wastelands, reared on adversity, loss and danger,

the albino teenager is a fierce fighter and loyal friend.

Dean Cawdor: Ryan's young son by Sharona accepts the only world he knows,

and yet he is the seedling bearing the promise of tomorrow.

In a world where all was lost, they are humanity's last hope…

Prologue

The Beginning:

Omaha, Nebraska,

November, 1896

Dr. Theophilus Algernon Tanner was a most striking man—not handsome, but

fascinating all the same in the most abstract sense of the word. His countenance

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came equipped with a head of prematurely gray hair that flowed down to his

shoulders, a mouthful of strong, white teeth and a long, thin face with inquisitive

bright blue eyes set below an imposingly high forehead. Tall and lanky, his very

being vibrated with that special inner glow that marked men of potential

greatness.

Dr. Tanner was one of those gifted few who seemed to literally shoot off sparks

while thinking, and that was most of the time, since his mind was always working.

Indeed, his most attractive attribute lay below the surface. Tanner's most notable

feature was the brilliant brain encased in his skull, a mass of tissue containing

more education and raw knowledge than any ten of his academic contemporaries.

He held two degrees by the age of twenty-five—a doctorate of science from

Harvard, and a doctorate of philosophy from Oxford University in England, along

with dozens of other diplomas, honors, awards and accolades. He'd given up

framing and hanging them long ago, choosing to let the proof of his many

accomplishments rest unattended within a wooden cedar chest in his attic.

A vain man could have covered four walls with the prizes of his profession, but

Tanner wasn't a vain man.

Pompous at times, but never vain. He was much too practical for vanity.

Emily Chandler considered herself lucky to have caught him, and she loved her

man with all her heart and soul. The woman was gorgeous, a vision in subtle

beauty. The skin of her heart-shaped face was creamy white, her flawless

complexion the perfect backdrop for her dark eyes and long auburn hair.

And she was always smiling, a small hidden grin that played on her lips as if she

were finding joy from her own private amusements. To the average man of the

period, she might have come across as threatening, her shining intelligence

inescapable despite her feminine beauty.

Seen from afar while exiting a Harvard campus library one spring afternoon by a

yearning Theo Tanner, she was utterly desirable. When the good Mr. Tanner had

opportunity to address a gathering of female students a few weeks later, he

gleefully said he opposed the idea that women should ever be allowed to vote in

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order to raise her ire and gain her attentions.

He found having her spend many late hours trying to persuade him of his folly to

be a much easier way of meeting her than going right up and asking her to

accompany him out to dinner or a show. During his younger days of intense study

and teaching, he was a gangly twenty-year-old intent on mastering the universe.

One hour with Emily Chandler and he knew he had at last found something he

coveted even more than knowledge, for Theo Tanner had never been in love

before. He'd never made the time for romance, spending his years striving forward

to better himself, to understand the world and its surroundings, to read, to seek, to

know. His quest for knowledge was tempered with caution, hence his twin majors

of study and expertise.

Now, at the age of twenty-eight, he was perched on the cusp of true happiness. In

four more years, he'd be present at the turn of the century, and he was only

beginning to guess at the marvels the future would bring. Still, daring to venture

beyond the mortal coils of the known into the great unknown was the mission of

any worthy scientist, but having the proper moral code to know what to do with

your discoveries was another matter.

That was why he had double-majored, taking his second degree in philosophy,

staying up all hours of the night and always reading, learning, cramming his

already-stuffed mind with even more information. He was constantly talking out

loud to himself, a habit from childhood he'd never managed to break, or repeating

the words he was reading over and over, ingraining them in his memory for future

use, whether on exams or in the real world. Once he learned something, Theo

Tanner didn't forget.

The family made a point of taking a daily walk, either before he left to go to his

morning classes, or after Tanner returned home in the afternoon from the

university. The air was good for the children, and allowed the family a chance to

exercise and share pleasantries with their fellow citizens as they strolled the

sidewalks surrounding their cozy two-story home. In these early months of winter,

Emily would bundle up young Jolyon and place him inside the carriage, while

Tanner assisted Rachel in buttoning her coat and wrapping the child's long red

scarf around her delicate neck.

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Then the front door would be thrown open, and away the family would go.

Tanner was wearing his long overcoat with small golden buttons, belted snugly at

his waist. A high collar and a cravat were held in place by a gleaming diamond

pin. He carried a handsome ebony walking stick with a gold-plated tip and handle

to match the buttons of his coat.

His right arm was linked around Emily's slender limb. She wore her own long

overcoat, which came down to her knees and fastened up primly and warmly to

her neck. On her head was a wide-brimmed hat with a long cluster of white and

gray feathers bobbed on the left.

"I say, Theophilus, hold up!"

A stout man in a worn black wide hat and matching cloak was racing up behind

them, calling out Tanner's name repeatedly as he came closer, the leather soles of

his shoes slapping down on the wooden sidewalk.

"Hello, Jonathan," Tanner replied easily as the man in the hat and cloak came

thudding to a stop. "Glad to see you out bettering your body this brisk morning."

"Better? My body? Huh. Don't believe so. Whew!" the man gasped back in reply,

striving to catch his wind from the sprint.

"I hope you are well, Mr. Nolan," Emily added.

"Never better, dear Emily," Jonathan Nolan replied, and tipped his hat to Rachel.

"Good morning to you, Miss Rachel."

"H'lo," the young girl said, embarrassed at the direct attention. She turned shyly

and averted her eyes to look across the street. A horse-drawn carriage clattered up

and came to a stop at the curb. Rachel loved horses and she admired the creature

as it waited patiently for the passenger in the carriage to step down, pay the

driver's fare, and then depart.

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"What can we do for you, Jonathan?" Tanner asked. "Working on another

scientific article for your newspaper? I would be glad to proof it for you this

evening at home after our supper. Anything for a man trying to enlighten his

readers. No time right now, I am afraid—unless you want to loan me a copy to

take along."

"No, no article this time, actually, but as always you shall be the first I contact for

a quote or to check facts," the overweight man replied. "I just came from Martin's

Books and he mentioned the book you ordered had arrived—a first edition of

Houseman's A Shropshire Lad."

Tanner looked puzzled. "I must confess, Jonathan, that while I have long coveted

such a volume, I had placed no such order. Martin must be in error."

"No, Theo, he is not." Emily sighed. "I placed the order. I know you frequent

Pages Bookstore, and I tried another in the hopes of avoiding your discovery of

my surprise. The book was to have been for Christmas."

Nolan blushed with embarrassment. "Dash it all, I am terribly sorry. I can—"

A shrill scream cut him off, and it took a few seconds before Tanner realized the

sound was coming from his daughter. A second after his realization, the child

gripped his hand with bone-crushing force. Jolyon, his sleep disrupted, also began

to wail from the confines of the carriage.

"Rachel, what is it, child? What?" Tanner thundered, kneeling to reach eye level

with the girl. Her eyes were still looking out upon the empty street, the horse and

carriage now long gone. He peered out, his eyes searching for what had upset her

so, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

Nothing at all.

Tanner canceled his classes at the university for the day, choosing to stay at home

with his daughter. He didn't press Rachel for an explanation, instead waiting for

the girl to speak to him when she was ready. The day passed slowly, with Tanner

trying to concentrate on a book but failing miserably. Finally, much later that

night, as he tucked his older child into bed, the youngster at last described what

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had frightened her on the sidewalk.

"I saw something, Father. In the air." Even at her young age, Rachel was her

father's child, and her choice and usage of words were precise.

"Saw what, dear Child? A bird? Bat? Flying squirrel? What?" Tanner asked,

offering up suggestions, none of which seemed to be correct.

"The air looked odd," Rachel continued. "Like it was hot. And there was an eye in

the middle of it."

Tanner mused over that revelation for a moment.

"An eye belonging to whom?" he finally asked.

Rachel was evasive. "A big eye, Father. I think it was looking at me from

heaven."

Even as his mind tried to process what his little girl was telling him. Tanner spoke

in calm tones, slipping easily into the patented parental know-it-all mode. "Then,

Child, if the eye was from heaven, there is no reason for you to be frightened.

After all, logic dictates there is no reason for you to be scared if God is looking

down at us."

The explanation seemed to placate the girl. "You think so, Father?"

"I do," Tanner said firmly.

"Very well, then, Father," Rachel replied sleepily, her memory of the magical eye

apparently already vanishing into the depths of her young mind after Tanner's

reassurances. "Good night."

"Good night, Child," he replied and kissed her softly on the forehead.

"So?" Emily asked when her husband joined her in their own bed.

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"We have no cause for fear, my dear one," Tanner remarked as he pulled the

heavy down comforter over his body, and quickly explained Rachel's biblically

tinged interpretation of what she'd seen hovering in the air.

"That is sweet," Emily said, snuggling closer to his shoulder. "We must be truly

blessed if God is watching us."

"Aye, indeed," Tanner said sleepily as he placed a comforting arm around his

wife. "Blessed."

So why did his daughter's story nag at him so? Rachel wasn't prone to childish lies

or exaggeration. Like her mother, she was quite direct and forthcoming. He found

his parental concern battling his scientific curiosity, and determined he'd return

tomorrow to the same spot and spend some time observing the area of air that had

disturbed his child, thereby satiating both. For while Tanner was a man always

fascinated by the unknown, he was a father even more interested in the well-being

of his children.

The fright young Rachel had suffered cast a pall over the family's usual walks,

and with Emily's agreement to stay behind and watch over the children, Theo

Tanner had chosen to make these daily excursions alone, always stopping at the

same corner where the mysterious organ of sight had previously levitated. He

would loiter there for hours, waiting. Each day, he waited longer, making his trips

during the same time span in hopes of glimpsing the oculus, yet nothing

happened. No shimmering of light, no blinking of an unearthly eyeball, no haze

hanging in the air before his own astonished eyes—nothing.

A week passed without further incident, and Tanner decided he was ready to try

the usual daily family outing again. This time, he chose an afternoon for the walk.

The air was brisk, yet warm for the climate and time of year. Emily took extra

care in bundling up the baby, nonetheless, before placing little Jolyon into the

carriage. Tanner placed his hand in Rachel's and down the front steps everyone

went. Down and to the right, past the rainbow of color inside Bowman's Flower

Shop, the sinfully good aromas emanating from Elliot's Bakery, the Boyd and

Hurst and Felts' residences. Turn right again and there was the empty lot with the

sign promising a new business establishment soon courtesy of one Mr. Wesley

Keith Johnson, Esq., although naught had changed in the past two years since he'd

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Axler,_James_-_Deathlands_43_-_Dark_EmblemWellesstrodetothechamberandyankedopentheheavydoorDr.TheophilusAlgernonTannerwasgoneinapuffofsmoke,vanishedin\thefog,takenawayasecondtimeasifhehadneverexisted."He'saway,DirectorWelles,"atechnicianstated."We'reshowinganine\ty-eightpercentprobabilityofasuccessf...

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Axler, James - Deathlands 43 - Dark Emblem

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