The Trees had stood for many years, source of legend and fairy tale--fact and fiction. Distinguished by their distorted growth patterns, these plants were never meant to grow in Earthly soils under a yellow sun. The Trees were derived from a different dimension: one where the laws of nature binding this world do not apply. Their seeds had been brought through a gate--a portal between worlds, that could only be used by those with both the vision, and the genetic make-up, to access it.

For humans, the ability to travel the route between worlds was limited to those who had somehow incorporated part of that other dimension into their being. Smoke, produced in burning wood from the Trees, could evoke genetic changes--mutations--in those who inhaled it, making the gate both recognisable and usable.

But, human users of the gate could not expect to be alone in their travels. Inhabitants of other worlds were curious about the strange activities in the world of humans, and any excuse was considered invitation enough to explore the unknown wealth of interesting customs that comprised daily life on earth. If the excuse offered the opportunity to perform heroic deeds--and stir up a little trouble along the way--then the lure for visitors was almost irresistible.

And, thus, it came about, that if a neighbour had chanced to pass a certain house near that portal between worlds, he might merely have seen two human females. If his timing were right, however, he may have glimpsed some of the others: two males, whose origins were no longer strictly human, or, perhaps, the glimmering coat of a winged horse. A closer look might have revealed the fearful visage of a gargoyle, or the bright light of a fairy aura.

These creatures, and others, had joined in a clash between good and evil; between the forces of science and nature--but with the natural laws drawn from another dimension. The foe, a human named Garrett Mader, had been vanquished, lost during his attempt to manipulate trans-dimensional forces for power and economic gain.

Now, having won their battle, the heroes romp and cavort in the warmth of late summer, having earned this brief respite before returning to their own world.

Barry Kadocian pounded weakly on the door to the cell, where he had been incarcerated by Garrett Mader. His physical state was poor--he had been without food for three days now. He stumbled over to the bed, unhappily aware that he was spending longer and longer sleeping, but having no energy to do anything else. He started to crawl on to the mattress, to assume the foetal position he'd been inadvertently using during his last two sleeping periods, when he heard the click of the door latch. His reactions were as slowed as everything else about him at this point, but the technician who swung the door wide was greeted with a big smile.

"Mr. Kadocian! What are you doing here? Are you okay?" Shock was apparent in the man's voice.

"Is Mader here?" Memory, and a need for self-preservation, prompted Barry to ask somewhat harshly in reply.

Edward Sherman put one arm around Kadocian, helping him to a stool in the lab. Kadocian glanced around the shambles of the once-immaculate laboratory. A breeze across his face caused him to look up. Sharp spines of glass framed an enormous jagged hole in the smoke-coloured glass ceiling. "What happened here?" Barry asked in a whisper. "Where's Garrett Mader?"

Edward replied hesitantly, uncertain of Kadocian's role in what had happened. "Dr. Mader's been missing for three days, sir. We checked the wreckage, but there was no sign of him."

"Is his car still here?"

Edward nodded. "But he might have taken one of the other cars--or a helicopter."

"What did Elaine say?"

It took Sherman a moment to realise Kadocian was referring to Mader's wife. "She called six times yesterday, and four times today, demanding to speak with him. She thinks he's still here."

And avoiding her. Barry Kadocian looked askance at Ed Sherman, but didn't ask him where he'd gotten his information. The grapevine, in a facility like this, worked overtime. What couldn't be taken outside, was hashed and re-hashed within the compound.

Kadocian didn't state the obvious, either. It was clear to him that the so-called "search" hadn't really been all that thorough. Or else they would have found me. He took a kind of grim pleasure in the knowledge that Mader inspired so little loyalty in his employees. Then he remembered they hadn't exactly scoured the walls looking for him, either.

"This room--what happened in here?" Kadocian sat with a lab coat draped around himself, needing the warmth in his depleted state.

"We don't know. It may've been an explosion--that's one theory that's been suggested--but the glass looks like it imploded, which is causing some confusion."

Barry looked at the ground. Sure enough, if the amount of glass was any clue, then the shattering force must have come from without, because the ground was covered with shards.

"The latest theory is that the destruction was sound-activated--you know, some prolonged note at just the right pitch--"

Kadocian could tell this was the theory Edward favoured; in his excitement he was almost babbling. Barry interrupted his chatter with, "Or a miscalculation by a helicopter pilot?"

The other man suddenly realised how improbable his theory must seem to Kadocian. But, then, Kadocian hadn't seen what the rest of them had. Edward Sherman decided he wasn't going to be the one to enlighten him. He cleared his throat, and changed the subject. "How did you get locked in, Mr. Kadocian?"

There was no point in accusing Mader of imprisoning him. The time for that would be after Kadocian was clear of this facility. For now, an innocuous answer would suffice. "I'm not sure. Someone must have accidentally shut the door." He avoided saying the obvious: that the "someone" should have heard him pounding on the door, just as Sherman had. Instead, he asked politely, "Do you think you could find me some food? I haven't eaten in three days."

Edward nodded, pleased to do something to help. He quickly left the lab, after assuring Barry he'd be right back.

Barry walked carefully over the bits of smoke-coloured glass, listening to them crunch beneath his feet, hoping no pieces would pierce the leather soles of his shoes. Why hadn't they cleaned this mess up yet? Then he answered his own question. It's the result of Mader's strong influence. I should have recognised how much of this operation was tied up in one man. Even in Mader's absence, no one dares to touch his workspace or belongings. I guess I should be grateful that the technician even found me, he thought.

In one place, he saw the floor was stained with brown splatters, which remained as spots and smears. The smears continued across the floor to the operating table with its Velcro straps, and there was a large patch of the brown stain on the bed and the floor directly below. The colour was suggestive of dried blood, and he shuddered slightly at the implication. There were instruments and gauze scattered across the floor, and a chair tipped on its side. What had happened here?