The small man nodded. "You find yourself in an interesting situation, Mr. Montgomery," he began. His voice was as gray, as nondescript-as empty-as his face. "Through no choice of your own, you've been drawn into important events.

"These events have been developing for some time," he continued quietly. "The beginning of the pattern was woven"-his lips twisted into a smile that didn't reach his eyes, and that contained no human amusement-"well, the weaving began long before you were born, as a matter of fact. Now, circumstance has conveyed you into the middle of affairs, and the weaving of the pattern has changed because of it."

I looked at him, and I shook my head. "I haven't got a fragging clue what you're talking about, chummer," I said flatly.

"It's self-evident, isn't it?" the shaman asked rhetorically. "You have been woven into the pattern, Mr. Montgomery. You are now part of the tapestry of events, not just an observer. There are those who can sense this about you." And now he shot a sidelong glance at Akaku'akanene. "The weaving of the pattern is almost complete."

I snorted. "Look, I'm not in the mood for sophomoric philosophy, okay?" I snapped. "Cut to the fragging chase."

The Insect shaman paused, then nodded. "The Hawai'ian Islands have several sites of power," he said quietly. "Puowaina, Haleakala, Honaunau Bay… among others. There are ways to draw mana from those sites, for those with the knowledge, and the willingness to pay the price.

"There are those who wish to use those sites for their own purposes," he went on. "They consider those sites to be like motherlodes of mana, from which they can draw magical energy."

"I didn't think that was possible," I put in.

"For most mages or shamans, it isn't," he confirmed. "But there are ancient techniques that allow it. They're complex, though, and they're time-consuming. And they all carry with them a significant risk."

"What risk?"

"Power of any kind has to come from somewhere" the shaman said. "Within the Gaiasphere, it's generated by living material-by the 'biomass' itself. Certain sites of power, though, are like conduits to other"-he paused in thought- "other places," he continued carefully. "Mana can be drawn through those conduits."

I nodded. This suddenly seemed to be making at least some sense. To some degree it was tying in with the thoughts I'd had when I'd visited the sacrifice site in Punchbowl. "I scan it," I said. "You don't want these slags to get their mitts on all this power, is that it?"

The shaman shook his head firmly. "That wouldn't be a concern. On a local level the amount of power available is considerable. On a more global scale, however, it's insignificant."

"Tacnukes as compared to city-buster ICBMs?" I suggested sarcastically, thinking of Chicago.

He surprised me by nodding. "A reasonable analogy. But that's not the concern." Oh, really? I thought. "The issue is that the… the places from which the mana comes…" He trailed off, as if seeking just the right word.

"They're occupied, aren't they?" The words were out of my mouth before I was even fully aware of the thought process behind them. Chilling-and even more so when the Insect shaman nodded agreement.

"There are certain entities in these other places," he agreed judiciously. 'The same barrier that prevents the free flow of mana also denies them access to the Gaiasphere."

"And if you weaken that barrier enough to suck through the mana…?" It was my turn to trail off.

His silence was enough of an answer.

"What are these 'entities'?" I wanted to know.

The shaman shrugged. "Their exact nature varies unpredictably. It's enough to say that nobody would be well-served should they be able to penetrate the barrier."

Something just didn't hang together here. 'This is bull-drek," I said slowly. "What about the slags who are trying to siphon the power? Don't they know about these entities?"

"They know."

"And they're still doing it?"

"Perhaps they think they can control the entities," the gray-faced man said, "or possibly block them once the barrier is weakened. They're wrong, in both cases. The entities will overwhelm them or suborn them… if that hasn't occurred already."

I held up my palms to stop him. "Okay, time out, let's see if I get this. Somewhere, in some volcano somewhere, there's going to be a shaman slotting around with this barrier thing-"

"More than one shaman is necessary," the gray-faced guy put in. "There are forces of stability that naturally counter any premature weakening of the barrier. Those forces must be overcome."

Premature? Interesting word. I'd think about that later.

"Okay, amendment noted. So a whole drekload of shamans are slotting around with the barrier, trying to siphon in some mana. And instead of power, what they'll get is this cosmic nasty that'll… what? What'll happen?"

"Suffering," the shaman said, his voice sounding cold and distant. "Death. Devastation. Initially limited to the islands, but believe me, it will spread."

I nodded as if I understood. "And this cosmic nasty's going to make life drekky for you guys too, I assume?"

His eyebrows rose. "Members of the Hive? No," he said firmly. "The entities that come through won't waste any efforts on us. Not until more convenient prey is no longer available."

I didn't like the sound of that at all… if I believed this miserable slag, of course. And did I? The jury was still out. "Uh-huh," I said neutrally. Then I leaned in close and poked him in the chest with my finger. "Then why the frag are you telling me this, huh? The way you're talking, it sounds like this is going to be no skin-or chitin or whatever-off your hoop. So why bother? Why not just sit back and watch the fragging fun?" My rage was back, a cold fire burning in my chest. I could feel my pulse pounding in my temples. "Hey, it'll probably be a pretty good fragging show, won't it? Maybe you'll pick up some pointers on how to spread suffering, death, and devastation, right?" I paused theatrically. "Or maybe that's the fragging point, huh? You don't want someone else pissing in your pool, is that it? Anyone the cosmic nasty scrags is one less for you to possess or kill or turn into a fragging monstrosity, right? Frag, you just don't want the competition?'

The shaman was totally unmoved. Flecks of my spittle glistened on his cheeks and forehead-I'd leaned in real close-but he didn't seem to notice or care. "Our intention isn't to spread death and suffering," he said quietly.

'Tell that to the people in Chicago!"

"It wasn't we who detonated the nuclear device," he responded calmly-and all the more infuriatingly because he was right, of course. "All our actions were in self-defense."

"Yeah, right, they were!"

"You don't know us, Mr. Montgomery…"

"And I don't want to!" I spat back.

"… But believe this if you can. We are not your enemy.

We bear no ill-will toward metahumanity. Quite the opposite, in fact, as your sister can vouch."

"Don't you mention my sister, drekwipe!"

"Our goals and our agenda are our own," he went on, undismayed. "Sometimes they may conflict with yours; most of the time they're totally unconnected with yours. And sometimes-as in this case-our best interest and yours coincide."

"And I'm supposed to take that on faith, is that it?" I wanted to know.

'That's up to you," the shaman said simply.

I paused. My mind was in chaos, churning thoughts conflicting wildly with each other. I wished there was some god I could believe in, some Great Referee to whom I could yell "Time out!" No luck. The Insect shaman was still watching me with his glassy eyes and expressionless face. I couldn't remain angry at him, I found, not without some kind of response from him. It was like trying to hold a grudge against a footstool or a fragging doorstop. I sighed again. "Okay, hoa," I said quietly. "Just for the sake of argument, let's say I swallow the line you're feeding me. What then? What do you want from me?"