Chapter 1 - Preparations

The first time he woke, Peter was vaguely surprised at how comfortable he was...considering he’d been kidnapped. In his time as a Ghostbuster, Peter Venkman had been through a great deal, including being captured by some rather unsavory characters, living and not, but this was not at all what he expected when a cross-rip opened on the sidewalk and sucked him through. The surface he was lying on was well padded, the temperature was mild, no foul stenches or horrific screams drifted past him on the air.

Well, this is a first, he thought blearily as he surfaced from the transition shock which had incapacitated him. Snatched by a kinder, gentler ghost. George Bush would be proud.

Long experience had taught Peter never to give anything away to an adversary, so he played dead for a few moments while he listened with every fiber of his being. Nothing. No sounds of someone (or something) moving in the background, not even the faint whisper of someone breathing. Just a very faint tinkling that might have been a distant wind chime.

So far, so good. Let’s see if we’re not in Kansas anymore.

He opened one eyelid a bare slit to survey his surroundings. Still no one. He slowly opened both eyes to make certain. The “room” he was in had walls that appeared to be made of slowly drifting mist with faint, pastel blues and lavenders swirling through it. Peter slowly turned his head. He was lying on something like a featherbed covering a slab which probably would come to about hip height on him when standing. As far as he could see, nothing was restraining him.

Okaaaay, definitely not Kansas. Well, the coast is clear. Time for Petey to blow this pop stand.

Peter started to sit up...and was stopped. Some invisible force pressed him back down into the padding.

“This is so not good,” he muttered as he began to struggle, testing his unseen bonds. Whatever it was, it was strangely gentle but overpowering. Peter found he could shift his position slightly on the slab and even slowly bring a hand to his face to scratch his nose, but any attempt to sit up or scoot over to the edge of the platform was met with resistance.

“You are awake.”

Peter’s head jerked around to see a dim outline of a form through the mist. He glared at it as it came closer.

“Hail, Master of the Obvious,” he snapped with his trademark sarcasm. “I’m awake and I’m mad as hell. If you don’t want to see me royally pissed off, let me off this oversized pillow. I am not now, nor have I ever been, into the bondage scene.”

The being that stepped into the “room” didn’t look very threatening compared to the goopers the Ghostbusters had faced in the past. He estimated it was a little taller than Egon and twice as slender. But it wasn’t human. The head topping the flowing, cream-colored robes resembled that of a lizard with jewel-toned scales weaving simple, elegant patterns across its skin. A ridge of white hair ran like a horse’s mane from the crown of its head and down its neck. Its teeth were pointed but small, and the long-fingered, scaled hands that peeked from the sleeves of the robe ended in well-trimmed, blunt claws. No, it didn’t look that bad, but Peter knew that looks were deceiving, especially when the spirit world was involved.

The entity slowly walked over to the platform and sat down on it next to Peter. It folded its hands in its lap and looked down at the floor. For a moment, Peter thought it looked ashamed.

“I am sorry,” it said almost in a whisper.

Peter’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Not half as sorry as you’re gonna be if you don’t let me up. You realize who you’re dealing with here, Barbizilla?”

“You are called Peter Venkman,” the creature replied. It took a deep breath and looked up into Peter’s face. Large, amber eyes met green. “You are what my people would call a teh’cherin. A hunter of fell spirits.”

“That’s Ghostbuster to you, bunky.”

“You are one of a team of teh’cherin,” the creature continued as if it didn’t notice the interruption. “Of the four, you are wisest in the ways of the mind, knowledgeable in the hidden workings of the soul...”

“Nice to see you’ve done your homework. Have you reached the chapter on the world of hurt you’re gonna be in when the other ‘teh’cherin’ find me?”

The entity’s mouth twitched, almost like it was suppressing a smile, but only for a fraction of a second. Its shoulders drooped and it shook its head as if it were readying itself for an unpleasant task it had been putting off.

“You are strong and stubborn. The bond you have with your fellow teh’cherin is strong. I hope it will be enough.”

A chill ran down Peter’s spine as the look in the creature’s eyes hardened. “Uhhh...enough for what?” he asked as he discretely tested the bonds holding him to the platform. As the creature stood and moved to stand behind his head, Peter increased his efforts, but the bonds tightened. They didn’t hurt, but now he was denied any movement at all. The entity gently brushed a strand of hair from Peter’s eyes and looked down at him. Through his fear, Peter almost thought he saw pain in the amber depths.

“I am sorry. Please believe me when I say that, but I do not ask forgiveness. What I am about to do to you is unforgivable.” 

“What?!” Peter yelped as cool, scaled fingers closed around his head. “What are you gonna do? Leggo of me!”

“I am sorry, but there is no choice.”

And white-hot pain exploded through him.

***

At a particularly loud yell from downstairs, Egon looked up from his latest mold experiment. It had been a quiet Sunday. No ‘busts had been scheduled, and the weather was quite balmy for mid-autumn. The four Ghostbusters figuratively scattered to the four winds to take advantage of it. Ensconced in his lab, Egon had absently noted the sounds of people coming and going all morning but nothing seemed pressing enough to take him away from this particular attempt at hybridization. He turned back to his work, but another shout of exasperation jarred his attention again. This time the physicist frowned. That was Ray shouting...over what, he could not imagine. In any case, high-decibel vocalizations of stress were more the style of Dr. Venkman than Dr. Stantz. His attention now firmly diverted from the mold, Egon also noticed his stomach was loudly protesting the fact that it had been entirely too long since breakfast. He checked the clock, half past three. Definitely time for a break and perhaps a breath of fresh air

He tidied up his workbench and made his way down the spiral staircase to the second level. After throwing together a quick sandwich, he peeked into the rec room from which Ray’s voice (at the moment, a frustrated murmur) was coming. Winston was lying on the couch, his latest mystery novel lying open on his chest apparently forgotten as he watched Ray clicking the mouse of the newly-designated game computer with fervor. It used to be the main lab computer until Egon and Ray finally convinced Peter that the processor was not powerful enough for their latest research programs. When Peter had finally caved in, this one had been relegated to the rec room for games, Net surfing and Ray’s attempts to “drag Peter, kicking and screaming if necessary, into the twentieth century”. The latter project had only been minimally successful, but the old processor was doing quite well in its second life.

“What the...” Ray suddenly snapped at the screen. “No, you’re supposed to rescue him, not eat him!”

Egon’s eyebrows lifted toward his hairline. He couldn’t see the screen from his angle and that non sequitur made absolutely no sense. Winston noticed him standing in the doorway and shot him an amused grin.

“Hey, m’man.” He pointed with his chin toward the sandwich the scientist held. “Finally come down for lunch? I was about to organize a search team to go after you.”

“What, pray tell, is Ray up to?”

“He’s playing ‘Black & White’.”

“And that is?”

Winston laced his fingers together behind his head and grinned. “It’s a new computer game where you get to play a god. Ray’s having a little trouble controlling his ‘divine servant’.”

Just then, Ray pounded on the desk in frustration. “No, no, no! Bad monkey! No pooping on the villagers!”

Winston slapped a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh while Egon’s eyebrows rose even higher.

“So Ray has a divine servant that defecates on the Faithful,” he murmured to Winston after a long pause. He took a deep breath and chuckled quietly. “Only Ray. Sometimes I worry about him. Has Peter returned yet?”

“Nope. He said he was going to run out to check on Mrs. Faversham today. May be a while before he gets back if she has some chores that need doing.”

“Stupid monkey,” Ray muttered as he saved his game and quit the program. Only then did he notice the other two Ghostbusters in the room. “Oh. Hi, guys. Have you been waiting for the computer or something?”

Egon smiled quietly. “Not at all, Raymond. Have you successfully housebroken your Holy Primate of Doom?”

Ray blushed slightly. “Well, he’s not really a monkey. Just kinda looks like one. If I could only figure out how to keep him from eating all my worshipers.”

“Yes, that would be a distressing problem for a deity,” Egon said with a twinkle in his eye. “Have you considered having him neutered?”

 Winston burst out laughing at that. “I can just see it now! Ray Almighty leafing through the Heavenly Yellow Pages trying to find a place to ‘fix’ a holy monkey.”

“Guys!” Ray groaned, but couldn’t help but join in the laughter. It would have likely escalated from there if the phone had not rung. Winston made a long arm to snag the receiver.

“Ghostbusters Central,” he said cheerfully into the mouthpiece.

“Winston! Thank God you’re still there. Are the others all right?”

Winston blinked as he recognized the voice and his adrenals went into overdrive. “Mrs. Faversham? What’s wrong, ma’am?”

“Oh, it’s so terrible!” Mrs. Faversham said, her voice trembling with fear. “Something took Peter!”

***

The second time he woke, Peter was in considerable pain. His entire head throbbed in time with his pulse, the muscles at the back of his neck felt like they were caught in a vice and two sharp pains had settled behind his eyes as if someone had stuck a pair of icepicks through his skull. Peter had experienced a fair share of headaches from migraines, concussions and even as an aftereffect of possession, but this was leaps and bounds beyond any of them.

Ray had better not have scheduled another 8 a.m. bust. This has got to be the Mother of All Migraines, he groaned to himself. God, my hair hurts! I wonder if I can try for the Tylenol on my own without my head falling off my neck. Better not risk it.

“Hey, Spengs,” he called softly, firmly telling his skull that it would not pop off like the lid of a pressure cooker at the sound. “Mind fetching some Tylenol for your buddy? My head’s reaching critical mass here.”

No answer. Just the faint sound of chimes in the distance which, to his sensitized ears, sounded like Quasimodo having a field day in the belltower. Memory started to trickle back.

“Egon?” Peter called a little louder. When there was still no answer, he braced himself and cracked open an eye. The dim light refracting through the surrounding mists impacted his retina and sent his pain levels soaring into the stratosphere. After a heartfelt (though muted) “Damn!” he squeezed his eyelids shut again.

Just my luck, it wasn’t a dream.

His bonds had loosened, but Peter had absolutely no desire to shift position. Any motion sent waves of pain and nausea through him. However, he did manage to lift his hand up enough to check his watch through slitted eyes.

Okay, it’s been about two hours. Mrs. Faversham probably saw me get nabbed, and she would have called the guys right away. Shouldn’t be much longer. As soon as they run down the right frequency, they’ll fire up the ole’ dimensional portal and have me out of here in time for supper. Not that I’ll be eating much with my stomach twisting like this, but what the hell.

“You are awake.”

Venkman’s eyes flew open, ignoring the pain in his fury. “No shit, Sherlock!” he snarled at the entity who had just returned. “Is this the best you can do? I’ve had worse hangovers.”

The creature drifted over to the platform and placed a cool, pebbly-skinned hand on his forehead. Peter batted it off and tried to glare and squint at the same time. The creature’s lips twitched in a sad half-smile.

“You are well named. Peter. Stone. And strong and stubborn as stone you are.”

“Yeah, Yoda. And annoying, sadistic bastard are you!”

The entity winced and looked away. “The pain is an unavoidable consequence of what I must do. Believe me when I say I find no pleasure in it.”

Peter snorted and rolled his eyes. “Well, what an amazing coincidence. And I don’t get off on being in pain. Major misunderstanding, pal. It’s okay, could happen to anyone. Can I go home now?”

The creature shook its head, and Peter felt the restraints tighten once again. “I am sorry.”

“I’m warning you, Mr. Sorry,” Peter said trying to cover his fear with bravado. “My buddies will be storming in here any minute. If you want any chance of not spending the next few eons in the containment grid, you’d better let me go like yesterday.”

The entity looked down with a mix of resignation, dread and determination. “I saw you looking at your time keeping device just now. You must know that time does not march at the same pace in my realm as it does in your world. I will have finished my task with you long before the teh’cherin find a way to pierce the veil.”

Peter looked up in horror as the creature gently grasped his head again.

“I am sorry,” the entity whispered.

And white-hot agony exploded through him.

***

Winston had pushed the speed of sound in their mad dash to the elderly widow’s house in the suburbs. While he concentrated on getting them there post haste and in one piece, Egon poured over their field copy of Tobin’s and Ray kept trying to reach Janine on Ecto’s mobile phone. Each time her answering machine picked up their hearts sank a little lower. What if Peter hadn’t been the only one taken? Just as they’d pulled up to the old Victorian house and piled out the mobile rang. Three hands reached for the receiver, but Winston reached it first.

“Ghostbusters mobile,” he said hopefully. “I hope that’s you, Janine.” Then his eyes lit up and he gave Egon and Ray an “okay” sign. “Glad to hear your voice, girlfriend. We were starting to think whatever nabbed Pete got you, too. Here’s the situation...”

Confident that Janine was safe for the moment, Egon and Ray jogged up to the house, cutting across the lawn to avoid the sidewalk where Peter had vanished and hopefully any ectoplasmic traps left behind. Mrs. Faversham met them on the porch.

“Oh, Ray! Egon! It was so horrible!” Mrs. Faversham cried, holding her hands to her face in distress. Ray forced a reassuring smile and put his arm around her.

“It’ll be okay, Mrs. Faversham,” he said soothingly. “We’ll get Peter back in no time. Won’t we, Egon.”

“Of that there is no doubt,” Egon replied with a determined edge to his voice. Half his attention was already directed at the P.K.E. meter which he slowly panned across the front yard. “Just tell us what happened, ma’am.”

Mrs. Faversham relaxed slightly and looked down into the yard. “Well...Peter had come over earlier. Actually, he was already here when I got home from church.” Even through her distress, she managed a faint smile. “He had come over to rake the leaves for me, but you know how he is. He would never just admit it.”

Ray grinned, sneaking a look at the leaf-free lawn. “No, he never would. What was his story this time?”

“Something about losing a bet. Oh, Peter’s been such a dear friend to me. And if helping me has gotten him hurt...”

“Now don’t think that way, Mrs. Faversham,” Ray chided gently. “This isn’t your fault.”

“But what if it was...something my father called up?”

“You can rest easy on that, Mrs. Faversham,” Egon said. “The entity your father summoned is still safe in the containment unit, and I detect nothing coming from the house itself.” The meter beeped softly but steadily as he targeted it at the sidewalk. “In fact, the only signal is coming from over there.”

Mrs. Faversham’s eyes widened as she looked where the physicist indicated. “Yes, that’s where it happened. After Peter had finished, we had some tea and he would have to hurry to catch the bus if he wanted to get home before supper. Just as he was leaving...” She paused, trying to put the memory into words. “Something opened up right where my walkway met the sidewalk. It was as if someone had taken a pool of water and stood it on its edge. It wrapped itself around Peter like a blanket. Then it folded in on itself and vanished!” She raised one hand to her mouth. “It all happened so fast. Peter didn’t have a chance to escape. He was just...gone.”

Ray and Egon exchanged a look. “Did you see anything through the portal?” Ray asked. “Was there anything on the other side?”

Mrs. Faversham shook her head. “I’m not sure. It seemed so distorted. Maybe.”

Egon nodded grimly. “Stay with Ray and see if you can remember anything else, ma’am. I’ll go take some readings at the site.” He strode down the walkway, his meter held out in front, and made his way toward the area where Peter had disappeared. Halfway there, Winston met him.

“Got something, Egon?” he asked.

“Perhaps. How’s Janine?”

“Mad as hell and ready to kick the ass of every demon in the Netherworld,” Winston grinned. “She wanted to come straight here, but I managed to convince her that we needed her at headquarters. I asked her to postpone tomorrow’s busts and get the trans-dimensional portal ready to go. But she told me in no uncertain terms that we were not leaving her behind on this one.”

“Indeed.”

“Yeah. Her exact words were, `Just try to leave me out, and I’ll put all three of you in traction.’”

Egon allowed himself a small smile as he slowly inched his way forward, taking readings all the while. “You did warn her she might be the next target? If whatever took Peter is only waiting to catch us alone...”

“Way ahead of you, m’man,” Winston interrupted smoothly. “I told Janine to throw on a pack the moment she gets to the firehouse, and she said she’d snag an extra meter and keep it hot just in case something opens up at headquarters.”

“Excellent idea. In fact, an attack of that kind may be the best way for us to find the right frequency.” Egon frowned down at the PKE meter. “Whatever did this is very good at covering its tracks. These residuals are indicative of a powerful but very localized cross-rip. However, these readings are so jumbled I’m having difficulty getting a clear pattern.” Suddenly, he froze and knelt down on the concrete. “Hmmm...”

Winston looked over his shoulder with a grin. “I know that `hmmm’. What’d you find?”

“A very faint residual. Right here.” Egon’s finger traced a line across the walkway just short of the cross-rip site. “It seems to be a separate entity from the rest of the residuals...but it’s connected.”

“Like a tripwire on a booby trap,” Winston said grimly.

“Precisely. What puzzles me is how something so complex as this trap could be created so quickly. There could not have been more than three hours between the time Mrs. Faversham arrived and the time Peter left.”

Winston looked around the yard, then at the surrounding neighborhood...something clicked. “Hey, did Pete come to do some yardwork for Mrs. Faversham?”

Egon looked up, surprised. “Why yes. How did you know?”

Winston indicated the pristine yard and the leaf-littered neighbors with a smug smile. “Elementary, my dear Egon. What I’m saying is, if Pete was gonna do raking, he probably didn’t use the sidewalk at all. The tool shed is over there.” He pointed at a low building at the edge of the property. “He would have cut directly over there and probably didn’t walk through this place till he left.”

“And if this `tripwire’ was set to Peter’s electrometabolic frequency,” Egon said with growing dread, “it could have been set up days ahead of time.”

“Which means whoever’s behind this knew he’d be here and we probably wouldn’t be.” Winston finished, looking around like he expected an attack to come at any time. “I don’t know about you, Egon, but I just got a baaaad feeling about this. Someone knows us way too well. Gonna be much longer with those readings?”

“Not much longer. But I will also need to do a round of the perimeter and the neighboring houses. We need to make sure it is safe for Mrs. Faversham to stay here. If I find anything else, we’ll bring her with us.”

Winston nodded fiercely. “Got ya’, Egon. I’ll tell Ray to help her get some things together just in case. Don’t wander off till I get back. If the bastard’s done its homework this well, it may be waiting for you.”

***

The third time he woke, Peter was filled with dread. Not because awakening would mean more pain. No, by this time the pain had become so constant and consistent that he could almost ignore it. His thoughts were scattered, drifting, disjointed, but as they started to piece themselves together he started to sense a little of what was really going on. The white-hot energy being poured through his mind and body was doing something to him. Like floodwaters pressing against a levee, they were wearing away at...at what? The psychologist didn’t know, but as he floated further into painful consciousness, terror filled him at the thought of whatever it was giving way.

A cool hand lightly touched his face. “You are awake.”

Peter whimpered and tried to pull away. The hand withdrew but not the presence. “This will be the last time. However, I know that is cold comfort to you.”

The last time. The “levee” would break. He would break. And there was nothing he could do about it. Where were the guys? How long had it been here...and there? Did they even know what happened to him? Peter cracked open exquisitely sensitive eyes to look at his tormentor.

“Why?” he croaked.

The entity groaned. “I am prevented from giving you even that comfort. You will know the reason eventually. But for now...necessity drives me.”

Peter made one last desperate effort to pull away from the gentle but merciless hands. “No...please...”

“I am sorry. You can never know how sorry.”

White-hot pain exploded through him...and something broke.

***

“Yeah...I know it’s inconvenient but we’ve had something come up,” Janine rolled her eyes at the ceiling as the third client she’d called (and the most irate one so far) railed at the injustice of having to live with a Class Two fixed repeater in her pantry for one more day. “Look, lady!” she finally snapped. “Even Ghostbusters have emergencies. We’ll get your moan-and-groaner as soon as possible.” Janine jerked the phone away from her ear as the client slammed down the phone on her end. “Hmph! And Dr. V. says my phone etiquette needs work.”

The thought brought full-fledged worry back to the forefront of her mind. Peter Venkman, her nemesis and surrogate big brother was who-knew-where having who-knew-what done to him. She brushed a bit of lint from the sleeve of the jumpsuit she’d thrown on the moment she reached headquarters and shrugged her shoulders to settle the proton pack she wore a little more comfortably. Everything in Egon’s lab was ready to roll. Janine had even pulled the destabilizer out of storage in case they wound up going against a demon. Fortunately, Slimer was off on his daily round of the neighborhood’s garbage cans so she hadn’t needed to deal with his panicking at the news. Now all she had to do was wait.

Waiting, she thought sourly. Half of my job is waiting for these clowns. But not this time. I want a piece of the creep who did this.

She sat down on the edge of her desk (the chair was out of the question with a proton pack on), pulled her thrower and absently checked the settings. They didn’t need it any more than the last five times she’d checked, but it was just something to keep her hands busy and work off nerves.

And once we get Dr. V. back, I’m going to kick his ass for worrying us like this. I swear, Peter must have a psychic “Kick Me” sign on his back or something. He’s almost as bad as Egon.

Janine holstered her thrower and picked up the appointment book from her desk. She’d managed to reach all tomorrow’s clients but one, and the last had not been home the first time she’d called. However, just as she was starting to dial the number, the activated P.K.E. meter she’d left on the desk went off like a three alarm fire.

“Awww, crap!”

Janine jumped off the desk and pulled her thrower in one smooth motion. Slowly, she turned in place, panning her thrower around the ground floor of the converted firehouse, determined not to be caught off guard.

“You guys had better be on your way back,” she muttered. “I think all hell just broke loose.”

About eight feet in front of her desk, the air started to waver like a heat-mirage on a summer day. Only a nanosecond after she noticed the distortion, it took on a golden tinge and seemed to solidify slightly. Ripples chased each other across the surface like water. It reminded Janine of the wormhole entrance in Stargate only it was white and yellow instead of blue. She leveled her thrower and nudged the control knob up to maximum power.

“That’s it, you slime-sucking creep.” A feral grin crept over her face. “Come and take your medicine.”

But before she could fire, the portal’s surface went transparent to reveal...

“PETER!”

Beyond the rippling surface of the cross-rip, the psychologist was cradled in the arms of a tall, reptilian creature. Janine’s eyes quickly scanned the motionless form. No obvious wounds, but Venkman was unconscious and that was never a good thing to be after being kidnapped. The secretary angled her thrower up to aim at the entity’s face.

“Drop him, buddy. Or face the Wrath of Melnitz,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing.

The creature sighed. “I will do that if you wish, but I fear that a fall onto a hard surface would not much improve his condition.”

“Ha, ha. Then lay him down gently, Mr. Literal. And no sudden moves or you’ll be eating protons.”

“My purpose here is to return him to you. However, I may not pass into your world.”

“Oh, so you want me to jaunt over there to the other side and take him from you?” Janine answered, her voice thick with sarcasm. “Think again, buddy. First, he’s too heavy for me to carry. Second, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.” But I’ll do it if I have to, she thought to herself. At least Egon will have the readings to find the damn place and bring in the cavalry.

“There is no need of that,” the entity said soothingly. It slowly lowered Peter’s feet to the floor and shifted its grip so that it was now holding him under his arms. “Come closer. I will hand him to you. You have my word I will not attempt to pull you through.”

“And I’m supposed to trust you just like that.”

“I have done nothing worthy of your trust,” the creature replied, shaking its head. “However, I cannot maintain this portal forever. Unless you wish to add a concussion to Peter’s difficulties...”

Janine didn’t like it. Whoooo boy, did she ever not like it. But she realized there was no choice. If she fired, she would most likely hit Peter who now was shielding most of the entity’s body. If she did manage to hit it directly on the head and it was in direct control of the cross-rip, the portal might collapse trapping Peter in whatever dimension he’d been pulled into. She nodded reluctantly.

“Okay, but no funny stuff.”

Janine inched forward, her thrower still aimed at the creature’s head. When she reached the cross-rip, she let go with her left hand to reach for Peter. At that moment, the entity shoved the unconscious Ghostbuster through the portal. Janine dropped the thrower in a desperate attempt to control his descent. As they tumbled to the floor the cross-rip folded in on itself and flashed out of existence. Janine let loose a string of profanity as she struggled out from under Peter’s limp form.

At least I managed to keep him from hitting his head. Peter’s gonna owe me big time for those bruises on my backside.

She rolled Peter over and felt for his pulse. It was rapid but strong. Gently, she tapped his cheek. “Come on, Dr. V. It’s not nice to worry me like this. Hello? Anyone home?”

Peter let out a faint groan and moved his head slightly, but that was all the response she could get from him. “Hang on, Dr. V. I’m gonna get some help.”

Janine lunged for her desk and dialed 911 for an ambulance. After she confirmed the paramedics were on their way, she hung up and started dialing Ecto-1's mobile number.

“...uuuurrrrhhhh...”

Janine jumped and dropped the phone. She spun around to see Peter moving feebly. “Peter!”

Peter managed to roll on his side and turned his head toward the sound. “J-janine?” He opened his eyes, then quickly squeezed them shut with a strangled cry of pain. Janine darted back to his side.

“Don’t try to move, Dr. V. Don’t you worry. Help’s on the way.”

Peter fumbled about till he found her hand and squeezed it tight, as if reassuring himself she was real. “I’m...home?”

“Yeah, you’re home. A good thing too,” she said, keeping her tone light. “It’s your night to cook supper.”

“No rest...for the wicked,” he riposted with a ghost of a smile. Then his face froze as if he realized something. “The guys! Where are the guys? Are they...” his eyes flashed open which brought a fresh wave of pain. He buried his face in his hands with a moan.

“Shhhh...” Janine soothed. She sat down on the floor and gently pulled his head into her lap. “The guys are fine. They’re at Mrs. Faversham’s house. I was just about to call them. What about you? You look like something Slimer dragged in.”

It took everything she had to keep her distress out of her tone and manage even an approximation of their usual banter. But it worked. Peter relaxed just a bit.

“That bad, huh? Light’s too bright...headache.”

Janine finger-combed his sweat matted hair out of his face. “Just relax till the ambulance gets here, Dr. V.”

“Don’ like hospitals.”

“What makes you think you’ve got a choice? I want a doctor to back me up when I say there’s nothing wrong with you that keeps you from doing your share of the chores.”

Peter smiled slightly. “Slave...driver...” With that, he relaxed into a light doze.

Janine smiled down at him with a mix of worry and fondness that she would never let Peter see himself. “Don’t you ever forget it,” she murmured as she stroked the tangled, brown hair. “And if you tell anyone about this, I’ll strangle you.” She cautiously leaned back to snag the phone dangling from her desk and call the others.

Chapter 2 - Aftershocks

Ecto-1 careened wildly through the Manhattan streets as the Ghostbusters rushed to the hospital. Janine had reached them with the news of Peter’s return when they were about halfway back to the firehouse. As Winston changed course, Ray called Mrs. Faversham to give her an update.

“...We don’t know yet, Mrs. Faversham,” he said. “Yes, we’ll call you as soon as we know something.... Don’t you worry. Peter’s tough. He’ll be fine.” Ray smiled at her response. “I’ll tell him you said so. Bye.”

“How’s she doing, Ray?” Winston asked with a quick glance at the red-headed engineer in the passenger’s seat.

“Better,” Ray answered. “Much better now that she knows Peter’s back. Though she did say she was going to spend the night with a friend.” He glanced back at Egon. “She knows there’s no danger at her house, Egon, but she doesn’t want to be alone just yet.”

“Quite understandable,” Egon replied absently, still skimming through Tobin’s for some indication of what they were up against. Janine had given them a description over the phone just before the ambulance arrived, and he was trying to narrow down the possibilities. “I very much doubt that I would relish solitude after the events of today.”

Ray slumped against the window and stared at the buildings as they flashed by. “Peter will be okay, won’t he?” he asked quietly. “Janine said he was really hurting.”

Egon reached over the seat to pat him on the shoulder. “It’s futile for us to speculate until we have more information, Raymond. But remember what you said to Mrs. Faversham. Peter is strong, and the fact that he regained consciousness on his own is reassuring.”

“In other words, don’t go borrowing trouble until you have to,” Winston concluded as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. Fortunately, it didn’t take long to find an empty space. Ray and Egon sprinted for the entrance to the E.R. but paused...

“Winston!” shouted Ray. “Hurry up!”

“Hold your horses, Ray!” Winston trotted up to them, shrugging on a proton pack. Egon frowned.

“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Winston,” he said. “And it will certainly unsettle the hospital staff.”

Winston snorted. “The hospital staff can just deal. This creep might make a go at snatching one of us next. I’m not taking any chances.”

Egon looked at Ray, who shrugged helplessly, then decided to let it go. The trio burst through the doors to the waiting area and made for the admissions desk. A short, pinched-faced woman looked up at them with distaste as they approached.

“Ahhh, the Ghostbusters. You must be here for Dr. Venkman and his Guardian Valkyrie.”

One side of Winston’s face quirked in a half-smile. “Yes, ma’am. Could you please tell us where they are?”

The clerk’s mouth twisted, but she punched the button to unlock the door to the rest of the Emergency Department. “Acute Care ten.” She gave the pack Winston wore a very pointed look. “And please don’t cause any more fuss.”

“What was that all about?” Ray asked as they hurried through the doors and down the hall.

“Sounds like Janine is in full mother-bear mode to me,” Winston shrugged. “They should have known better than to mess with her when she’s like that.”

“Considering how often we frequent this facility,” Egon said, a little annoyance slipping into his tightly controlled voice, “one might expect a sharper learning curve.”

“Well, some of us do catch on after a while, Dr. Spengler,” drawled an amused voice as they came around the corner into the acute care unit. All three of them skidded to a halt.

“Bethany!” Ray cried as he engulfed their favorite nurse in a bear hug. “I’m so glad you’re on today.”

The stout, coffee-skinned woman returned the embrace with equal enthusiasm. In the course of their depressingly frequent visits to the hospital, the Ghostbusters had gotten on a first name basis with many of the staff. But Bethany Carlson had sort of adopted the team as her pet patients and called dibs on their care whenever she could. She had also become a bit of an intermediary between them and the more straight-laced of the hospital staff. “A good thing I was, Ray honey,” she said with a fond smile. “Janine nearly got security called on her. What with her insisting on keeping that pack on and following Dr. Venkman to every test.”

As Ray released the nurse, Winston claimed a hug as well. “Frankly, ma’am, I don’t blame her. Something that could snatch Pete right off the street could probably do it in the middle of an E.R.”

“That’s what I told the radiology techs,” she said, releasing Winston and giving Egon a quick embrace. “Now, before you go panicking over an empty room and driving Dr. Presterson nuts by running all over his E.R. trying to track them down...”

“She knows us way too well, fellas,” Winston remarked in an undertone.

Bethany lightly slapped his shoulder with a mock glower. “As I was saying, they have Peter in CT right now. You all can wait in his room ‘til they get back, but the administration’s getting antsy about having lots of visitors in the unit. After you see him, you’ll have to limit it to two people at a time.”

“I suppose we can live with that, Mrs. Carlson,” Egon answered. “Could you please tell us how Peter’s doing?”

“He has one mother of a headache, but the doctor said he could have some Demerol if the CT was okay. Oh! I nearly forgot.”

Bethany walked behind the nurse’s station and picked up something. “Janine asked me to give this to you if you got here before she got back.” Her hand came up with a PKE meter Janine had used to record the events in the firehall. She handed it to Egon with an impish twinkle in her eye. “Maybe she thought playing with this would keep you out of trouble.”

Egon eagerly accepted the meter and checked its memory. “Thank you, ma’am. I believe this will keep us safely occupied for some time.”

“It’d better. If I catch you wandering the unit, I’ll toss you in the decontamination showers.” She shooed them away with a motherly smile. “Go on. Get out of sight before Dr. Presterson gets back from break and sees you all here.”

The trio obediently withdrew to the empty treatment room. The unit was a series of glass-walled cubicles surrounding the central nurses’ station. Curtains were hung in the rooms for privacy, but they were pulled back in AC 10 giving the Ghostbusters a good view of the area. Egon immediately sat down in one of the two hard plastic chairs and started going over the readings recorded on the meter. Ray dragged the other chair over to him and plonked into it, looking over Egon’s shoulder at the screen. Winston simply leaned against one of the countertops.

“Wow, this is great!” Ray breathed. “Even accounting for the distortion coming from the cross-rip, that’s got to be at least a Class Eight corporeal manifestation!”

Winston rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Just great, Ray,” he said exchanging a quick commiserating look with Egon. “Got enough to lock down where its home is? I’ll feel a lot safer when we’ve got it trapped and locked away.”

“Hmmmm...unfortunately, that may be more difficult than anticipated,” Egon absently shoved his sliding glasses back into place. “We have the same scrambled readings I got back at Mrs. Faversham’s house. Exactly the same.” He frowned, causing his glasses to resume their slide down his nose. “The first time may have been disruption of the residuals due to variations in the dimensional fabric or environmental factors. However, readings taken when the cross-rip was open should not be showing the same pattern. I fear that someone has found a way to scramble the signals. This will make tracking the entity quite difficult.”

“Gosh,” Ray said with an equal mix of excitement and uneasiness. “It’s like whatever it is knows our standard operating procedure and is trying to anticipate our moves.”

“An unsettling but highly probable possibility. We will need to be extremely cautious.”

“Now aren’t you glad I insisted on bringing at least one pack in with us?” Winston said wryly.

“Egon! Ray! Winston!”

The three men looked up to see Janine striding quickly across the unit with an orderly pushing a gurney beside her. She had her thrower drawn but it was leaning casually against her shoulder. Even across the unit, they could see relief clearly on her face.

“Peter!” Ray shouted as he dashed out of the treatment room to meet them. He grabbed the psychologist’s hand and walked alongside the bed. “How are you feeling, Peter? Are you okay?”

Peter was slightly propped up in the bed. An I.V. was running into his left hand, and a damp cloth had been placed across his eyes. He made no move to remove it, but turned his head slightly toward Ray’s voice and squeezed the hand reassuringly. “Just peachy, Ray,” he croaked. “Got a shot of somethin’ in x-ray. Instead of being certain I’m gonna to die, I just wish I would.”

“Complaining already,” Janine said with a smile. “He’s on the mend. We’re just back from the scanner, and, wonder of wonders, there is actually something resembling a brain in that thick skull. I had to see it to believe it.”

“Heard that. Hope you weren’t counting on that raise.”

“Are you sure you want to give me less incentive to keep you alive, Dr. V?”

The orderly maneuvered the gurney into the treatment room and the other two Ghostbusters converged on it.

“Good to have you back, homeboy,” Winston said gently clasping the psychologist’s shoulder. “We were starting to get worried.”

“Of course you were,” Peter murmured with only a trace of his usual bravado. “Team would have fallen apart without me.”

“I see your ego survived intact, Dr. Venkman,” Egon said dryly, and paused for Peter’s response. When there wasn’t one, he reached down to clasp his hand. “Peter?”

The brown-haired man twitched, then turned his face toward the sound. “Egon? Sorry, Spengs. Kinda sleepy.”

“The shot they gave him must be kicking in,” Janine said quietly.

“All right, children. Are you satisfied that he won’t dry up and blow away in the next ten minutes?” Heads swivelled to see Nurse Carlson standing in the doorway, her arms folded across her ample chest, an amused smile on her dark face and a determined gleam in her eye. “If so, two of you need to vacate the premises. Now, will you go quietly, or do I have to fetch my tranquilizer gun?”

Winston chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “Orders received, ma’am. We’ll withdraw immediately.” He unbuckled his proton pack. “You guys hang on to this. Janine and I will take the first turn in the lobby. I’m sure you’re about to start taking readings on Pete six ways from Sunday.”

“Oh, joy,” Peter muttered just loud enough for them to hear. Janine grinned and patted his shoulder.

“Hang in there, Dr. V. Come on, Winston. I need a break from sentry duty.” And the two of them headed for the waiting room. Bethany smiled with satisfaction.

“Dr. Presterson should be back in a few minutes. He’s probably gone to get the official read from the radiologist, but the preliminary didn’t show any bleeds.” Concern crept into her eyes even though her smile remained steady. However, she simply nodded, pulled the curtains around to give them some privacy and went back to her station.

Ray and Egon looked down at their friend. In that short amount of time Peter had apparently drifted off once more. Egon released Peter’s hand with a gentle pat, then picked up his meter. After a moment adjusting the settings he pointed it at the dozing man. The volume had been muted out of consideration for Peter’s headache, and a good thing, too. From the violently blinking lights and the numbers flashing across the screen, the alarm would have probably brought security down on them. Egon’s eyes widened and he started murmuring softly and fervently in Sumerian. Ray looked over his shoulder at the readings and gasped.

“Oh, Egon! We’ve never seen readings that high in a person outside of a possession!” Ray looked down at Peter, aghast. “Could he be...” He gulped, not wanting to finish the thought, as if that would make it come true.

Egon made a minute adjustment on the meter and relaxed only slightly. “No, Ray. It’s not a possession. There’s no coherent pattern to the PK energy that would indicate the presence an entity. In fact...” He frowned, causing his glasses to slide to the tip of his nose. He violently pushed them back up again. “If it wasn’t for their sheer strength, I would think these were residuals.”

Ray nodded. “That’s right. It’s like he’s been completely saturated with psychokinetic energy. But why?”

“For that matter, how?” Egon’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “In order to achieve this level of saturation in under two hours, the levels of PKE would have to be phenomenal. Much higher than any human could survive.”

“...was longer...” Peter murmured from below them. Ray leaned forward eagerly.

“You heard us, Peter?”

“The last bit. Time went slower...wherever I was. I remember it saying that.”

“How much time passed for you, Peter?” Egon asked. “Can you estimate?”

“More than three hours. Where’s my watch? They took it off to stick me.”

Ray spotted the bundle of Peter’s belongings in a rack under the bed. He dragged them out and rummaged through them until he found the watch. “Gosh, Egon! He must have been in a dimension on an alternate time-stream. If the watch hasn’t been tampered with, Peter was gone for nearly nine hours. Would that be enough?”

“Perhaps. If whoever did this had extremely precise control over energy flows.” He pulled the chair over to the bed, sat down and took Peter’s hand. “Peter, I know it’s difficult for you to stay awake...Correction, even more difficult than usual for you to stay awake right now, but we need to know what happened to you.”

“You just love ruining my sleep, don’t ya, Spengs?” Peter sighed and lifted one hand to slide the washcloth up to his forehead. He opened his eyes a sliver to look at the physicist, then winced and covered them again. “I was charbroiled by the sorriest talking lizard you ever saw. That’s what it kept saying anyway. ‘I’m sorry.’ But it wasn’t sorry enough to stop!” The last sentence was laced with bitterness. Egon squeezed Peter’s hand reassuringly.

“A reptilian humanoid? That matches Janine’s description of the creature that returned you. We entertained the theory that this entity may have actually rescued you from your abductor.”

“No such luck,” Peter said with a snort. “Did it to me three times. Felt like it was shooting napalm through me with a high pressure hose. The last time...” Peter turned suddenly on his side and his grip on Egon’s hand tightened to the point of pain. Ray took Peter’s other hand and crouched down by the bed.

“What happened the last time, Peter?” he asked gently. “Tell us.”

Peter took a shuddering breath and held it for a moment. “The last time...something broke.”

Ray and Egon looked at each other in alarm. “What broke?” Ray asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know,” Peter whispered, his voice showing the tight control it assumed only when he was well and truly terrified. “It hurt. It hurt like hell, but I don’t know what it did to me.”

A brittle silence filled the room as the implications sank in. Ray turned to Egon, his brown eyes wide with anxiety. The question in them screamed at the physicist. What now? Egon suppressed a sigh and managed to force a smile.

“Whatever happened, Peter, we’ll deal with it,” he said, determination lending a hard edge to his voice. “First of all, we should attempt to remove some of that PKE contamination. It may even be exacerbating your pain.”

Peter grimaced. “After all this, you’re gonna neutronize me too?”

“Come on, Peter. You know better than that,” Ray chided. “We can pull it off with a trap.”

“Oh, great. More bright light,” the psychologist groaned as he rolled onto his back. “Well, let’s get it over with.”

Ray pulled the trap off the pack and held it over Peter’s chest as Egon replaced the washcloth and added his hand to shield Peter’s eyes from the glare. Brilliant white light poured out of the trap as it was triggered, and Peter gasped as he felt something pull away. Ray shut off the trap and dropped it to the floor. “Peter! I’m sorry, did it hurt you?”

“S’okay, Ray,” Peter managed to gasp out. “Felt kinda like when you rip a scab off.” His breathing evened out and some of the tension left his face. “Hey, I think you’re on the right track, ‘gon. After the initial kick, my head’s feeling a little better. Maybe if we do it again, it won’t fall off when I try to sit up.”

“Just what do you boys think you’re doing in here?”

Two heads whipped around to look sheepishly at Bethany as the formidable nurse pushed through the curtains. She folded her arms and shook her head sorrowfully. “And here I thought you were actually going to behave yourselves for once, but nooooooo. You just have to set off a light show.”

Peter, his pain now at a level where he could tolerate it, chuckled. “Come on, Nurse Bethie. It’s working better than that happy juice you gave me. Come on, Spengs. How about another hit?”

Egon glanced at the meter. “Hmmmm...I don’t believe repeating the process would help you further. We appear to have gotten the majority of the contamination on the first try.” He turned to the nurse with a contrite look. “I’m very sorry if we disturbed any of the other patients, Mrs. Carlson. However, we do have reason to believe that Peter’s injuries may not be wholly physical in nature. Perhaps we could have waited until we got home before trying to draw off the contamination, but I did not feel comfortable with that delay.”

Bethany’s expression softened as she looked down at the figure on the bed. “I can understand that. You boys are the experts when it comes to ghosts and whatnot. I...” Her voice trailed off, and her mouth hardened into a thin line. She gave each of the men a penetrating look then abruptly reached behind her to pull the curtains closed once more. “I might as well come out and say it,” she said as she walked over to the bed and laid a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I know Dr. Presterson isn’t going to find something to treat. I knew from the moment you got here, Peter, that you’d taken a soul hurt.”

“How did you...” Ray started to ask, then his face lit up with delight. “Bethany! You’re psi-sensitive? Why didn’t you tell us?”

Bethany smiled and shrugged. “No, love. I’m afraid I don’t have the Sight. At least, if I do, I’ve not got enough to do much with. But it does run in my family, so I learned a lot about it from my gramma. Now, I can’t tell much of what’s going on here, but Peter’s been hurt and hurt bad.”

Peter’s mouth twisted into a wry half-smile and gave the impression that his eyes were rolling under the closed lids. “Thanks ever so much for clearing that up, Bethie.”

The nurse gently slapped the psychologist’s shoulder. “None of your sass, boy. As I was saying, you’ve been hurt pretty bad and I have a feeling that you may need some help to get healed up properly.”

Egon rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You’re referring to a psionic healer, I believe. A person with the ability to detect and influence psionic based injuries.”

“Well, my gramma just called them `Sight healers’ or `soul doctors’, but I think we’re talking the same thing. You boys heard of them?”

Ray nodded. “A little bit. But they’re really hard to find. They don’t set up openly. I guess because they don’t want to be confused with all the quacks.”

“Partly that, and partly because they don’t want to be badgered to do things they can’t do,” Bethany added ruefully. “They’ve got no power over physical injuries, and, if they set up as a healer publicly, that’s exactly what people would come to them for.”

“You seem to know quite a bit about this,” Peter said, tiredly. “Shall I make a dizzying leap of logic and assume that you’re about to make a referral?”

“As a matter of fact, Dr. Venkman, I am,” Bethany countered. “Sara’s an old friend of my gramma’s and I think she’s just the one to help you.” A sly smile slipped across her face. “In fact, you could be getting two healing approaches from this. Sara’s new apprentice is a doctor in this hospital. Dr. Basco in pediatrics.”

“That would be highly appropriate given Peter’s apparent level of maturity,” Egon remarked dryly.

“Hey!” Peter protested weakly, but any further verbal sparring was cut off as Dr. Presterson finally arrived.

***

“But, Peter...”

“No arguments, Ray. I’d do it myself, but between this headache and my luck with machines, I’d probably blow containment sky-high.”

“Hey, I don’t like it either, m’man, but Pete’s got a point.”

“It is a reasonable precaution.”

“Come on, Egon. You don’t seriously believe Peter would hurt us, do you?”

Night had fallen by the time Peter had been sprung from the E.R., and Winston was driving Ecto with smooth efficiency through the lively streets of the City That Never Sleeps. Janine rolled her eyes in the back seat where she was jammed in together with Egon and Peter. This particular argument had been going on in several different variations for the last five blocks. After all the readings and her fruitless search through Tobin’s for the creature that attacked Peter, they still had no clue what had happened to him except for a psionic scorching, and, since they didn’t know, Peter had insisted on taking maximum precautions.

“I know that Peter would never intentionally harm us,” Egon replied, taking off his glasses to clean them. “However, there are methods of circumventing a person’s standard code of behavior. Especially when we are dealing with the paranormal.”

 “Translation: This whole thing could have been done to turn me into a sleeper agent,” Peter said firmly. “Bottom line. As soon as we get home, Ray cancels my access to the containment unit and I don’t touch a thrower.”

“How very convenient, Dr. V.,” Janine drawled. “Gets you out of early morning busts and emptying the traps. Sleeper agent is right...as in sleeping in. And do you realize you look like a refugee from The Matrix in those shades?”

Peter leaned his head back against the seat and adjusted the extremely dark, wrap-around sunglasses Winston had considerately purchased at the hospital gift shop.

“Come on, Janine,” he moaned pathetically. “Surely you can muster a little more sympathy for your battered boss.” The moan was only half contrived. The E.R. physician had confirmed that there was no intercranial bleed or any other serious problem behind his headache, so he’d decided to treat it as a severe migraine. In addition to the Demerol given in the E.R., Peter had been a prescription for Vicodin to take when it wore off, but, while the pain was no longer incapacitating, the medication seemed to be only blunting it. Even through the sunglasses, he winced at the passing headlights of other cars.

“In your dreams. And don’t call me Shirley.”

“Oh, I can just feel the love,” Peter said with a melodramatic sigh. “Now, Tex...”

“Okay, okay,” the engineer interrupted, raising his hands in surrender. “I still think you’re overreacting, but I’ll void your code on the containment grid as soon as we get home. Then I’ll hit my other books to try to find out what nabbed you.” Ray turned in his seat to look at their secretary. “Do you mind staying late tonight, Janine? I’ll need your help.”

“Heck, you guys had better haul out the cot for me, ‘cause I’m staying over. I’m not about to give that bastard a nice juicy target by going home alone.”

“Okay, that gives us four to divide up the night-watch,” Winston said with satisfaction. “Pete’s not gonna be up to it, but we probably need to have someone awake and on guard all night. After all, that thing did open a cross-rip right in the middle of the firehouse.”

“After I recalibrate the firehouse alarms, we should have ample warning of another portal,” Egon said reassuringly. Winston’s mouth hardened.

“That’s all well and good, Egon,” he retorted as he turned on to Mott. “But I want someone with a proton pack ready to blast at a moment’s notice.”

Egon thought this over for a moment, then acquiesced. “Very well. We will probably be up for most of the night anyway, researching the entity. And I have several tests to run on you, Peter. If you can manage it, I’d prefer to do them before you take any more painkillers.”

Peter sighed as they pulled into the garage. “Okay, bring on the electrodes, Spengs. But I want a shower first.”

Winston shut off the motor. He and Ray climbed out of the converted hearse while Egon and Janine helped Peter out of the back seat. Just as Peter turned toward the stairs...

“PEEEEETEEEERRRRR!!!”

“Awwwww, crap!”

The Ghostbusters’ mascot ghost exploded through the ceiling from the upper levels of the firehouse with a wet SPLAT of ectoplasm and dove straight for the parapsychologist. Peter tried to dodge but his equilibrium was so thrown off by the headache that he started to fall. Egon lunged in to support his friend. As a result, both Ghostbusters were throughly slimed as Slimer tackled Peter.

“Yuck! Forget me staying away from the packs!” Peter snarled with disgust. “This ghost is toast!”

Ray ran over and tried to pull the Class Five off of Peter. “Slimer! Let go. Peter’s been hurt.”

“Peter hurt?!” Slimer pulled away with an alarmed expression and looked the angry man up and down. His yellow eyes widened and bugged out. “Peter different!”

Egon looked up through ectoplasm spattered glasses at the ghost. “Different? What do you mean?”

“He probably sees the scorch marks Barbizilla left on me,” Peter said sourly as he scraped slime off his face and threw it on the ground.

“Is that it, Slimer?” Winston asked. “Can you see what happened to Peter? Do you see where he’s been hurt?”

Slimer shook his head violently, causing everyone to duck flying globs of green. “See Peter better. Brighter!”

“What on earth is that supposed to mean?” Janine asked as she snagged a Kleenex from her desk for Egon to clean his glasses.

“At this point, I don’t really give a damn,” Peter said as he staggered toward the stairs. “You guys can play Twenty Questions with the spud. All I want is a shower so I’ll be relatively comfortable while Egon plays mad scientist with me.” As he started up the steps, he staggered again, this time with fatigue and Winston hurried to support him.

“Careful there, Pete,” he cautioned as he put his hand on the psychiatrist’s shoulder ready to grab him if his legs gave way. “You probably need a good meal too with all you’ve been through.”

Peter stopped and made a face. “With this headache? I’m feeling a little better Zed, but not so good that I can guarantee I won’t be doing the technicolor yawn all over the kitchen.”

The former soldier was adamant. “Then we’ll start with soup. Why don’t you two see what you can do with your books,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll get Pete cleaned up and fed before I turn him over to your tender mercies.”

“A good idea,” Egon said agreed as he started to shed his slimed jumpsuit. He pointed with his chin toward the green ghost whose gaze was locked on Peter as he went upstairs. “Why don’t you see if you can determine what Slimer means by seeing Peter better, Ray?” he asked. “Perhaps that will give us some insight as to what happened.”

Ray nodded as he guided Slimer toward the basement steps. “Okay. I’ll talk to him as I modify containment security. Come on, Slimer.”

“Wanna be with Peter!”

“Later, Slimer. Maybe when he feels better. Right now I need your help.”

Slimer gave one more longing look toward the upper levels, then sighed and allowed Ray to pull him downstairs.

***

Egon put down the printouts and slipped one hand under his glasses to rub his eyes. His shoulders ached from hunching over the pages, and a knot was beginning to develop in the small of his back. To say it had been a rough day was an understatement of mammoth proportions. Now that the immediate danger seemed to have passed, fatigue was beginning to spread through him. However, logically he knew that their peril had not lessened in the slightest. He sincerely wished that the visual image tracker had not been damaged in his last lab accident. It would have been the most accurate tool to evaluate the effects of the psi-attack on Peter, but here had not been time to repair it. The physicist was now limited to a standard EEG and PKE meters.

Damn it, he swore silently as he picked up the notes he’d made from his discussion with Peter about his abduction. This makes no logical sense whatsoever. There are many powerful entities who would desire to capture one or all of us. There are just as many who would want to torture us-- either to extract information or revenge. The more crafty would leap at the opportunity to subvert one of us to get access to the containment unit. But to put Peter through agony one minute, then show concern over his discomfort, and then to return him openly to us... He shook his head. There has to be something we’re missing.

“Hey, Egon? You hungry?”

The physicist looked up to see Ray framed in the doorway to the third floor lab. He was laden down with a tray of sandwiches and a six-pack of soda. Egon blinked, then turned back to his printouts.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much of an appetite right now, Raymond. Perhaps after I finish with the EEG’s...”

Ray shook his head as he kicked the door shut behind him and crossed the floor to the workbench. “Nothing doing, Egon. Janine dragged me out of the basement by my collar when I said the same thing about my books. She told me that the two of us were going to take care of ourselves even if she had to strap us down and forcefeed us. Now, if you want to try to cross her...”

Egon shuddered theatrically and reached for a sandwich. “When you put it that way...”

Ray grinned and slipped one of the sodas out of its plastic ring. “Good call. You have any luck?”

Egon thoughtfully chewed the bite he took from his turkey-on-rye and handed Ray several printouts. “I ran Peter through the full gamut,” he said after he swallowed. “There is a very slight change in both his EEG and his baseline biorhythms. Nothing drastic. In fact, if it had not been for recent events, I would have put it off to natural fluctuations due to the high residual PKE he was still showing. However, after a second attempt to draw off the energy with a trap, there was no change in the pattern.” The physicist leaned over to point out a particular pattern. “The EEG shows some new spiking here and here.”

Ray poured over the graph, his eyebrows coming together in a frown. “It doesn’t look like a pattern that would indicate a seizure waiting to happen. Gosh, that would be awful if it happened.”

“Quite,” Egon quietly agreed as the image of his friend in the throws of an epileptic fit flashed through his mind. Such a result would mean an end to Peter’s Ghostbusting days. Ray flipped through the pages of squiggly lines and reached up to rub his chin.

“Something about that spiking pattern seems familiar,” he finally said as he looked up and snagged a sandwich of his own. “I know I’ve seen it somewhere...”

“You have.” Egon opened a file and pulled out another EEG graph. “Remember Thomas Markam? The dowser we tested at Columbia?”

Ray’s face brightened. “Of course! The one who let us hook him up to an EEG while he was water witching!” The dowser had been somewhat of a coup for the parapsychologists in their academic days. In their attempts to investigate paranormal phenomena, it had been a challenge to find a subject who not only had a reliable, consistent ability, but was also willing to “go under the microscope” as it were. Thomas Markam, an accomplished water witch from the Catskills, was both. Ray snagged the printout and laid it next to Peter’s. “This is great! That spiking pattern is almost identical. Only....” His voice trailed off as he traced the patterns with one finger. “They’re not in the same place.”

Egon nodded, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “That’s correct. Thomas had spiking mainly over the sensory strip of his brain. Peter has it occurring in the lower section of the sensory cortex, part of the temporal lobe and deep within the midbrain.”

“Wow...” Ray breathed. “So maybe the experience has enhanced Peter’s psi-sensitivity.?”

“That is a possibility. We’ve all developed some minor psi-ability from our constant exposure to psychokinetic energy. Our ability to anticipate phone calls, for example.”

Ray snapped his fingers and his eyes lit up with excitement. “And Peter’s been the one to do that the most! I even think he was the first of us to do it. Egon, this might tie in with what Slimer told me. It took a while to make sense of what he was saying, but you know how ghosts have abilities to sense forms of energy? From what I can tell, they rely on this to sense the world almost more than they rely on what we would consider conventional eyesight. When Slimer said he could see Peter better, that he was somehow `brighter’; well, that’s exactly what he meant. Peter’s life energy, essence or whatever you want to call it has either intensified or switched to a wavelength ghosts can more easily `see’.”

Egon pondered this for a moment, then glanced down at the biorhythm readings. “Hmmm...I believe the switched wavelength theory may be more plausible. If Peter’s overall energy levels were intensified, I would expect a greater change in intensity with his biorhythms. That is simply not present here.”

“That makes sense,” Ray agreed. “After I got that straightened out I tried to get him to do comparisons. According to Slimer, if Peter’s `light’ was a flashlight yesterday, then today it’s that high-intensity lamp we use downstairs when we’re doing inspection on the containment unit.” Ray leaned forward, fairly bouncing with excitement. “But this is the wild part. I got an idea to have him compare Peter’s `light’ to other people Slimer knows. You know what? If Peter was a flashlight yesterday and a floodlamp today, then the average person is a Christmas tree light. And I’m a penlight. That goes for you, Winston and Janine, too.”

Egon’s eyes widened behind his glasses as realization sank in. “So if Peter was easier for ghosts to `see’ from the beginning...”

“That’s why he gets slimed so much,” Ray finished with his trademark enthusiasm. “He stands out from the rest of us. Isn’t it great?”

“Or else they are somehow attracted to the `light’ like moths.” Egon mused, his lips twitching into a wry smile. “This is fascinating. However, I doubt Peter will consider the revelation that he has always been a `ghost magnet’ and is now even more of one to be `great’.”

Ray shrugged. “I guess he wouldn’t.” Abruptly, the auburn-haired man’s face fell. “But I guess that doesn’t do us much good with the big picture. Janine and I still haven’t been able to find anything resembling the entity responsible in my books.”

“Don’t be impatient with yourself, Raymond,” Egon said, reaching across the table to clasp his arm. “I know for a fact that you haven’t gone through even half of your reference material.”

“Well, no I haven’t,” Ray confirmed. “The trouble is that this creature is so contradictory. If I could even conclusively nail down whether it’s a malevolent or benign entity, it would help.” He waved a hand at the notes of Peter’s encounter. “From what Peter says, it didn’t want to hurt him. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a benevolent entity who’s being forced into this by another entity.”

“Somehow, I find that theory even less reassuring,” Egon murmured. “Dealing with a malevolent entity powerful enough to coerce a Class Eight would be most unpleasant.”

Ray winced and doggedly finished off the remains of his sandwich. “Well, I’m going back to my books,” he said as he headed for the door. “I figure I can get another couple of hours before either Janine or Winston drags me to bed.”

“And I’ll see how Peter’s doing.” Egon quickly straightened up the papers on the workbench and headed across the hall to the bunkroom.

 By the time they had finished the testing and debriefing, the Demerol had worn off completely. Peter had been quite miserable, so much so that he’d only put up a token protest when Egon insisted on him taking the prescribed painkillers before attempting to get some rest. As the blond physicist silently crept through the darkened room, it seemed that the medicine had done its work and Peter was sprawled under the covers, his face peaceful in sleep. Egon sat down on the chair next to the bed and absently checked the alarm they’d set to warn them of any further incursions into their headquarters. Reassured that the device was working properly, he turned his attention back to the younger man.

Egon sighed quietly as he allowed himself the luxury of briefly relaxing his hold on his emotions and letting himself acknowledge the fact that he was worried sick about his friend. They now had an idea what had been done to him, but they were ignorant as to the purpose. What possible goal could the entity have? Increasing psi-sensitivity could facilitate a spirit’s ability to work through a living host, but there were far more efficient ways to accomplish this than blasting the victim with psychokinetic energy. Furthermore, by doing so in an open fashion, it had put the Ghostbusters on their guard to that very possibility. On top of all this, was the concern over permanent injury to Peter. They simply did not know enough about psionic wounds to predict what effect it would have on a person in the short or long term. Egon desperately hoped Bethany’s healer would have reassuring news on that issue when she arrived the next day.

“You do manage to get yourself into the worst messes,” he whispered so softly that he could barely hear his own voice.

“Pot, meet kettle.”

Egon blinked, startled. “I’m sorry, Peter. Did I wake you?”

Green eyes slitted open and a faint smile curved on the psychologist’s lips. “Why’re you sorry now, ‘gon. You never had any problem waking me from my beauty sleep before.” Peter lifted one hand to push Egon’s sliding glasses back up into place. The physicist frowned with half-hearted annoyance but said nothing.

“Don’ worry, Spengs,” Peter mumbled sleepily. “I’ve been kinda drifting in and out.”

Egon smiled and gently pulled the covers higher over Peter’s chest. “Well, enjoy it while you can. I believe I can allow you one morning to sleep in.”

“Only one?” Peter whined with mock-disappointment. “I should get at least a week with you guys waiting on me hand and foot.”

Egon raised an eloquent eyebrow. “Don’t push your luck, Dr. Venkman.”

Peter grinned, his eyelids drooping. “You’re a hard man, Dr. Spengler.” He yawned and snuggled back down into his pillow. “Next time we remodel, remind me to get some better soundproofing on the walls. What was Ray so excited about, anyway?”

“You heard us?” Egon asked, surprised. Although Ray had been displaying his usual exuberance, he’d been doing so in quiet tones out of consideration for Peter. Furthermore, the door of the lab was shut the entire time. The sound which would have filtered into the bunkroom should not have significantly disturbed Peter whom Egon would have sworn was capable of sleeping through a takeoff of the Space Shuttle.

“Yeah,” Peter said, yawning again. “Though, maybe you should tell me in the morning. Between the headache and the Vicodin, I probably wouldn’t remember if you told me now.”

Egon smiled worriedly at the younger man. “It can wait till then, Peter. I think you’ll find it most...interesting.”

“Why doesn’t that reassure me,” Peter quipped, starting to drift back off to sleep, his brown hair falling into his eyes. Egon reached down and brushed the hair back.

Those spikes over the sensory cortex, he mused to himself. Perhaps the experience enhanced his senses.

“Like the guy on that program Ray likes to watch?” Peter muttered sleepily. “The Sentinel?”

Egon started and pulled his hand away, startled. What had just happened? “Peter, did you hear that?”

“Yeah, Egon. Stop mumbling to yourself and let me sleep already.”

Egon’s eyes widened as the implications sank in. Deliberately, he cleared his mind. He needed to make sure. Taking a deep breath, Egon focused on one single thought.

Peter?

Peter stirred slightly but didn’t respond. Then Egon remembered they’d been in physical contact when Peter had apparently responded to his thoughts. Very gently, he reached out to brush Peter’s hair back from his face again. Peter sighed and leaned into the comforting touch.

Peter?

The psychologist stirred. “What now, ‘gon?”

The physicist took his hand away. “It’s nothing. Go to sleep.”

Egon was grateful for the fog of the painkillers which kept his friend from picking up on his mental state as he very carefully walked from the bunkroom and headed back to the lab.

The psychokinetic energy did enhance his psi-sensitivity. Well, enhance is an understatement. Peter’s right. I do seem to have a tendency for that. He abruptly shook himself and forced his thoughts into line before they could start going in purposeless circles. Oh, God! Peter’s a telepath.

***

Chapter 3 - Gates

He was dreaming. He didn’t know how he knew, but that’s the funny way dreams work. Sometimes the knowledge is just there, and it all makes perfect sense, at least while the dream lasts. Peter looked around at the parallel line of doors stretching into the distance. All night, he wandered through endless hallways, each turning showing still more corridors reaching out into infinity. And the doors, countless doors, in all shapes and sizes. Behind them were treasures, pleasures and secrets in endless variety. The only thing the doors had in common were their locks...they were all broken. Peter was completely free to go wherever he wanted, to take whatever he wished.

And, for some reason, it scared the crap out of him.

***

Winston looked up from breakfast preparations and peeked out the kitchen door as Ray came clattering from the third level and continued down the staircase to the first. No two ways about it. Ray was amazing if only for his energy levels which were matched only by young children and maybe the Energizer bunny. Winston and Janine had joined forces to wrangle the Ghostbusters’ dynamic duo to bed a little after 1 a.m. Now it was 7 o’clock, and Ray was already tearing around the firehouse, determined to find some lead, any lead.

If only we could hook the packs up to him for recharging, he thought wryly as he deftly flipped pancakes on the skillet. Save us a fortune on power. Pete would be overjoyed.

He looked up again as footsteps at a much more sedate pace sounded on the spiral staircase to the third level. A moment later, a rather frowsy looking Janine entered and collapsed into a chair by the table. Winston smiled sympathetically and poured the secretary a cup of coffee.

“So the Wonder Twins are back at it already,” he observed as he turned back to the stove and started transferring pancakes to a plate. He patiently waited for a response while Janine took her first few sips of coffee.

“I tell you, Winston. We’ve gotta invest in one of those tranq guns like Bethany was talking about last night,” she said as her caffeine levels rose out of the red zone.

“It’s tempting,” he agreed, grinning. “Maybe too tempting. You’d probably have Pete stuck all over like a porcupine before the day was out.”

Janine pasted an innocent look on her face and managed to hold it a full five seconds before she let a smirk through. “As if I’d want to give him any reason for extra naptime. Anyway, Egon’s back in the lab working on that imager of his, and I’m sure you heard Ray charging around.”

“Has Egon said anything else?”

“Nope,” Janine said, said shaking her head. “The computer’s crunching away, but no luck narrowing down the frequency of the bastard’s dimension yet. And he still won’t say what he wants all those journals for.”

The dark-skinned man nodded grimly and handed Janine a plate piled with pancakes. “Well, eat up, girlfriend. We’ve gotta be at our best to ride herd on these lunatics.”

“And I don’t really recall that being in my job description.”

“Sure it was. The fine print just after the `Act of Slime’ clause.”

Janine glared up at him. “You’ve been hanging around Dr. V too much, Winston. He’s contaminating you.” She paused to take a bite of breakfast. “But you can cook, so I’ll forgive you.”

Winston grinned and sat down to his own stack of hot cakes. As he ate, his ever-active mind, sharpened by countless mystery novels, ran through the evidence. Last night, Ray had given them the news that the attack on Peter had probably increased his psi-sensitivity. Then Egon came down from the lab and raided the psychologist’s journals for everything he had on human psychic phenomena. When Winston had asked him what was up, the physicist had been evasive. Later, when Winston and Janine went to the lab with the intention of dragging the man to bed by physical force if necessary, they’d found him working feverishly on the broken visual image tracker with the journals strewn open across the workbench. Again, he’d refused to say exactly what he thought was going on; only that he had a theory and wanted to wait until Peter woke to discuss it.

And when Egon gets cagey, I get nervous, Winston concluded as he finished his breakfast.

“I’ve got it!”

Winston and Janine jumped at the sound. Ray came pounding up the stairs and dashed into the kitchen, his broad face lit up like a Christmas tree. He carried one of his old, dusty grimoires with him. “I think I’ve got it, Janine,” he crowed quietly in triumph as he set the book on the kitchen table and opened it to an illustration. “Is this what you saw in the portal?”

Janine hurried around the table and peered down at the book. The old woodcut showed three figures, all reptilian. One was blocky with heavy limbs and a small, bony ridge rising from its head like a squat crown. The second was serpentine with small arms and no lower limbs at all. The third...

“That’s it!” Janine said as she pointed to the willowy figure with the mane-like crest of hair. “That’s what had Peter. Now what the hell is it?”

“It’s a Gaurnim,” Ray said, his voice lowering as he skimmed the entry. “They’re corporeal entities of considerable power. It says here that...” his eyes widened as he read. “Oh, wow!”

Winston and Janine exchanged an exasperated glance. “What is it, Ray?” Winston asked, taking up the gauntlet. “And if you say it’s `great’...”

“Well, not great, but it is kinda neat,” Ray interrupted. “It says here that all three entities in the picture are Gaurnim. Those are gender differences in their forms. The one Janine saw was the female analog. The others are the male-alpha and male-beta. Wonder if it takes all three for reproduction...” He bent over the book engrossed.

Janine made a disgusted face. “What? You’re saying it takes three to tango with those guys?”

“Oh man!” Winston groaned. “That is way more than I ever wanted to know about the sex life of demons!”

“They’re not exactly demons, Winston,” Ray corrected, blushing furiously. “It says here they don’t live in the Netherworld at all.”

“Whatever, Ray,” Janine said as she steered the engineer to a chair and deftly replaced the book with a plate of pancakes. “Get some breakfast inside you, and then you can read all about the Secret Lives of Talking Lizards. And I’m gonna drag Egon down here before he passes out in the middle of the lab from low blood sugar.”

“But...” Ray started to protest, but was quelled by a glare from Janine and quickly turned his attention to emptying his plate. The secretary nodded with satisfaction and headed for the stairs.

***

It was the murmuring that first invaded his sleep. Phantom voices...familiar but too low and indistinct to be recognized. They filtered down the dream-corridors adding an extra layer of uneasiness to already disturbing visions. It wasn’t clear if it was the uneasiness or the intrusion of reality that pushed him toward waking. Perhaps it was a combination of both. Either way, Peter moved out of dreams into a shallow doze...shallow enough for the pain of his headache to wake him.

“Shit!”

Peter fumbled on the bedside table for the sunglasses he’d placed there the night before and didn’t open his eyes until they were shielded. Then he carefully levered himself up into a sitting position and glared at the firepole’s opening in the floor. The murmurs were now louder and recognizable; Janine and the guys with Slimer burbling in the background.

“You think there’d be some consideration for the walking wounded here,” he groused as he staggered out of bed. “But noooooo! Let’s get up at the crack of dawn and throw a party under the sickroom.” He pondered taking another Vicodin for a moment, but the fading memory of last night’s dreams sent a shudder through him.

“Now I remember why I don’t like narcotics,” he muttered to himself as he headed for the bathroom for a quick clean-up and some Tylenol. “I like to sleep, but I like nice dreams when I sleep.”

The voices of his friends faded as he closed the bathroom door behind him. With a sigh of relief, he rummaged through the medicine cabinet and quickly downed two Extra-Strength Tylenol. Wishing fervently for a dimmer switch on the bathroom lights, he pulled off the sunglasses and looked himself over. Company was coming in the form of Bethany’s healer friends, and, if memory served him, they were female. Damned if he was going to let even a scale-10 migraine keep him from impressing the fairer sex.

“The sacrifices I make for my public,” he said with a half-hearted smirk as he fished his razor out of the drawer. But before he could make a start on shaving a sudden loud voice broke the relative silence of the bathroom. His head throbbed at the sound, causing him to drop his razor with a muttered obscenity. Pain mixed with suppressed anxiety and bubbled up as anger. Peter flung open the door and stalked out into the hall.

“Last I checked, this wasn’t the Stock Exchange!” he snarled at the firehouse at large. “My head would really appreciate it if you guys could keep it down to a dull roar here. Is that too much to ask?”

Janine, who was just topping the stairs with a glass of orange juice, stopped in her tracks. “What the hell are you talking about, Dr. V?”

Peter rounded on the redhead. “What am I talking about? I’m talking about a little consideration here, Melnitz. You’d think that I’d be due a little after being kidnapped and tortured. You’d think people could try to keep their voices down ‘til I get rid of this damn headache.”

Janine’s eyes flashed with indignation as she walked over and glared up at her boss. “Now see here, Dr. V! Everyone’s been walking on tiptoe and speaking in whispers this morning. What do you want us to do? Wrap our feet in cottonballs and use sign language?”

“If this is your idea of whispering...”

“Not another word,” Janine overrode him, “or you’ll be wearing this orange juice! The guys are worried sick about you and I’m not going to let you...”

Her diatribe continued, but Peter found himself losing track of what she was saying. It was almost as if she was speaking through a poorly balanced sound system with each word being faintly echoed. He shook his head as if to clear it, but it didn’t help. The murmuring that had awakened him was back with a vengeance. Faint voices, too faint to be understood, but pervasive. And as they increased, so did his headache. Peter involuntarily grabbed the doorframe to steady himself. Janine broke off as she caught the motion and concern quickly replaced ire when she took in the expression on his face. “Peter?” she asked. “What is it?”

The psychologist shook himself. “It’s...nothing.” He forced a weak smile. “Sorry about the blow-up, Melnitz. You know how I am before I’ve had my coffee.”

Janine looked at him, trying to conceal her worry behind an expression of irritation. “Tell me about it. Here.” She held out the glass. “Maybe this will help wake you up enough to be human. Now get your butt downstairs. Egon’s got some theory he won’t spill ‘til you’re up.”

“Just let me get presentable,” he said, quickly ducking into the bathroom before the fragile mask over his anxiety crumbled.

“Hey!” Janine yelped in protest and started to thump on the door, catching herself as she remembered his headache. She heard the water running in the sink and grimaced down at the orange juice she was still holding. “You’d better be quick, Dr. Venkman, or I’ll be back up here with Slimer.” There was no response but a faint sound of splashing. Janine frowned then turned and headed back down the hall to the stairs.

Inside the bathroom, Peter let the water run until he could no longer hear her footsteps. Then he sat down on the edge of the tub. The voices had slowly faded, but this time Peter was not reassured. He knew it couldn’t be his friends. They were all in the kitchen. Janine was right. They would never talk loud enough to be heard all the way in here when they knew how much pain he was in. But if it wasn’t the guys’ voices...

I’m going crazy. The great Peter Venkman headed for the rubber room. I guess I should have been expecting it sooner or later. I always thought it would be Egon driving me ‘round the bend, not some refugee from “The Crocodile Hunter”, but that’s life for you.

He sat there shivering for a while before he started cleaning himself up.

***

The early morning light slanted its way through cracks in the New York skyline as one of the Big Apple’s legion of yellow cabs pulled up to the corner of Mott and Pell. The driver, whose blood levels of caffeine and nicotine would have probably sent the average person into cardiac arrest, sullenly reported the fee due. His passenger handed over the required currency with a calmness that seemed to deflect the cabbie’s rudeness as oiled silk would shed water. She climbed out of the taxi and stood a moment, contemplating the converted firehouse while the taxi screeched off in search of another fare.

Sara Blackwater tucked a strand of iron-gray hair which had escaped her braids behind one ear and sighed. Four decades as a Lakota shaman and healer had given her exquisite sensitivity to power of many kinds, whether one called it “spectral energy”, “auras” or “medicine”. This place screamed to the Inner Senses. It was to be expected given that not only did the Ghostbusters confine powerful spirits on the premises, but also the fact that four Warriors (and she had no doubt the Ghostbusters were true Spirit Warriors) would imbue their dwelling with a powerful medicine of their own. All in all, she would prefer to do this elsewhere; say in a sweat lodge with a full ceremony. However, she doubted these men-of-science, open as they were to the spirit world, would be comfortable with that. And it was her patient’s comfort, not her own that mattered. She used her traditional rites as a focus for her gift, but they were not the source of it. She could (and did) perform healings using symbols which better suited the patient and sometimes used her gift alone without any ceremony whatsoever.

All the same, she groused inwardly. It’s going to be a challenge to work in the midst of all this.

She caught herself toying nervously at the necklace of beads and carved fetishes around her neck and set her mind firmly on the task ahead as she walked up to the door and knocked. After a few moments, she heard approaching footsteps and the door opened to reveal a young, stocky man with a round, good-natured face and reddish hair. He seemed to be brimming with bouncy energy, but Sara’s experienced eye could see the underlying fatigue and stress.

“Good morning,” he greeted her. “Are you...” His voice trailed off uncertainly.

“Bethany’s healer friend?” Sara finished for him with a smile. “That I am.” She held out a hand. “Sara Blackwater at your service.”

“Ray Stantz,” the young man responded as he accepted her handshake. Some measure of relief seeped into his expression as he ushered her into the garage. “We’re so glad you could come. We’ve been so worried about Peter, and, well...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re kinda at a loss.”

The healer nodded understanding. “I’ll do everything I can, which will hopefully be a great deal.” The wrinkles seaming her brown face deepened as her smile spread to a grin. “For someone who claims to have no Sight, Bethany is adept at finding people who can use my help.”

The young engineer returned her grin. “You said it. She took us all by surprise last night. Come on upstairs, and we’ll get Peter for you. Say, do you mind if we take readings while you work? We’ve never actually seen a psionic healer in action before.”

“As long as Dr. Venkman has no objections, neither do I.”

“Oh, Peter won’t mind,” he blithely assured her. “We do this stuff all the time.”

Sara followed the Ghostbuster to the second level, steadying herself against the melange of Warrior medicine and the taint of spirits, and walked right into...well, it wasn’t quite an argument. Yet.

“Egon, I’m a patient woman. God knows I’d have to be given what I have to put up with in this nuthouse. But enough is enough. You’re going to tell us what you think is wrong with Peter and you’re gonna do it right now, or Winston and I will beat it out of you.”

“Uh-oh,” Ray murmured as they reached the top of the stairs. “I warned Egon that Janine wouldn’t wait much longer.”

The two of them emerged into the living room to find a tall, blond man fetched up against the stereo cabinet, pinned there by a shorter, fiery-eyed woman. A handsome African-American stood a little off to one side, his manner showing he supported the woman’s position one hundred percent. The trapped man turned his spectacled eyes toward the stairway and caught a glimpse of Sara and Ray. Relief spread across his face; no doubt from the chance to escape his current predicament as well as the prospect of finally helping his friend.

“Ahhh, you must be Mrs. Blackwater,” he called out, quickly taking advantage of the healer’s arrival to escape the corner. Introductions were quickly dispensed with. Sara had been given a quick run-down of the Ghostbusters when Bethany had called her the night before. Comparing that report to what she now observed, it was reassuring to confirm the nurse’s assessment of the tight bonds of friendship, love and loyalty. They could make things much easier. Time to get down to business.

“Peter’s upstairs getting freshened up,” Winston said after the preliminaries were done. “I’ll go make sure he hasn’t fallen in or something.” He paused as a new thought occurred to him. “Or should we wait a bit? I remember Bethany saying there were two of you. A doctor in the hospital?”

The healer sighed and nodded. “My apprentice, and, as you can probably guess, one with obligations in the mundane world. She had some hospital chores she couldn’t get out of but...”

“Hello? Anybody home?”

Everyone jumped at the voice filtering up from the garage. Sara chuckled and continued. “...but apparently she’s right behind me. We’re upstairs, child,” she answered in a slightly raised voice. A few moments later, another woman came bounding up the stairs, and you would have been hard pressed to come up with an odder couple. Where Sara was short, plump, bronze-skinned and elderly, dressing in full, colorful skirts and blouses, the newcomer was in her early-to-mid thirties, fairly tall and pale skinned with short, spiky black hair. Over surgical scrubs she wore a battered leather jacket.

“The door was unlocked,” the woman said in explanation. “Hope I didn’t miss all the excitement.”

“Not at all,” Egon said smoothly, reaching out a hand in greeting. “We’re very glad you could make it, Dr....” As he glanced down at the hospital I.D. hanging around her neck, he froze. Then, with an infinite amount of control in his voice, he asked, “Are those truly your initials?”

The others quickly looked at the offending name tag. Ray put a hand to his mouth, attempting to hold a giggle in by physical force. Janine and Winston were both biting their lips. Dr. Basco, recognizing their need for a tension breaker after all they’d been through, shook her head with mock resignation (and a concealed wink toward Sara). “Yes, for better or for worse, I’m Tabitha Adrienne Basco. And, for God’s sake, go ahead and laugh before you hurt something. I don’t mind.”

All four of them took advantage of her permission and let loose although they managed to keep it down to subdued snickering out of consideration for Peter’s headache. “Oh, you must have had it rough in grade school,” Janine finally said, sympathy creeping through her amusement.

“You’d better believe I’ve heard every possible joke in the book,” Tabitha said with a rueful chuckle of her own. “But I don’t mind so much now. The kids get a kick out of going to see `Dr. Tabasco’.” The gamin grin she flashed made her look remarkably like a Brian Froud rendition of Puck. “And I can always tell my parents it’s their own fault I turned into a saucy wench.”

“Ugh! Forget healing me. That joke’s worse than the migraine.”

Egon glanced up the spiral staircase. Sara followed his gaze to see Peter leaning against the banister on the top step, his eyes shielded by dark glasses. “Pleased you could join us, Mr. Anderson,” Egon quipped.

“Okay, next Matrix crack gets a punch in the teeth. Morning, ladies,” he said with an attempt at his usual lady-killer smile. “So you’re the ones who are gonna put Humpty-Dumpty back together again. Should I try to make it downstairs without killing myself, or are you coming up?”

Years of experience were all that kept the shock out of Sara’s face. She’d felt the young man’s pain dimly when she reached the second level, but now that she “saw” him directly she was aghast. The damage she “saw” pulsed at her with a sullen heat. Normally, she only experienced that sensation when in direct contact with her patients. Indeed, her work was cut out for her.

“We’ll join you upstairs,” she said, suiting action to words. “We’ll need a comfortable place for you to lie down and I don’t see one down here.”

“Hey, don’t knock our couch,” the dark-haired man protested. “I’ve gotten some good nap time on it.”

“And then you wake up moaning about the wreck it makes of your back,” Winston said knowingly. “Get your ass into the lab. We’ll set up the cot.”

***

Peter stared up at the lab ceiling and forced his muscles to relax. This was it. The cavalry was here. Healer and Co. had been given a brief overview of what happened to him, and they were about ready to begin. They’d fix whatever Barbizilla had done to him. He kept holding to that thought with an iron grip. The voices he’d heard earlier had to have been a side-effect of the psionic injury. Once it was gone, they’d be gone. Over at the workbench, Ray and Egon were setting up equipment to monitor the healing. He smiled at the familiar sight. Even with all their anxiety, the excitement of discovery was leaking through.

If it wasn’t for the fact that my brain got barbequed, they’d probably be bouncing off the walls, he mused. Well, Ray would be bouncing. Egon would go ‘hmmmm...’ a lot and probably let his glasses fall off his nose from the excitement.

And while the Ghostbusters’ science team was busy, Janine and Winston had been drafted into helping with “apprentice work”. At the moment, they were walking around the room waving smoldering bundles of herbs. Dr. Basco was by his cot, cursing under her breath at the lighter which had gone out just before she could light her own bundle.

“You okay, m’man?”

Peter looked up at Winston who had paused in his circuit to clap his friend’s shoulder. “Doin’ great, Zed. Got a doc who’s as hot as her name fussing over me. What more can I ask for?”

The physician in question rolled her eyes as she struggled with a recalcitrant lighter. “He like this all the time?” she asked.

“Naaaaah,” Winston said with laugh. “You caught him on a bad day. He’s usually much worse.”

“Hey!”

“Pipe down and be a nice, well-behaved sick person, Dr. Venkman,” Tabitha said with a stern look on her face that was ruined by the twinkle in her grey eyes. The stubborn lighter finally lit and the apprentice healer carefully ignited a small bundle of sage and sweetgrass. Blowing out the flame, she wafted the smoke around the cot.

“Just what are we doing here anyway?” Janine asked from across the room. “Aside from making the lab smell like a smokehouse?”

 “It’s called `smudging’, Janine,” Winston answered. “It’s supposed to purify places and people.”

Tabitha looked up, pleasantly surprised. “Got it in one, Mr. Zeddemore. I think of it as surgical prep for the spirit. Have you been involved in Native American rituals before?”

The former soldier shrugged. “No, but there was a guy in my unit back in ‘Nam who did this to our barracks. He told me some about it. And call me Winston. We’re not much for titles around here.”

The doctor smiled. “That’s nice. I like to check my title at the door when I leave the hospital. Call me Tabitha or even Tab.”

“How about Tabasco?” Peter suggested.

“Only my close friends can call me that,” Tabitha retorted, obviously enjoying the by-play. “And right now, you’re my patient.”

“But I’ll get better. I bet...” Peter’s comeback was cut off as a spike of pain shot through his head. Tabitha startled at the grimace that twisted his face, then turned to her mentor who was sitting in a chair at the head of the cot, eyes closed.

“Sara?”

“Almost ready, child. I want you to observe. I’ll let you know if I need your help.”

Tabitha nodded and looked back down at Peter. “You were saying?” she asked.

But Peter had already forgotten what he was going to say. The murmuring was back, very faint, but there. He swallowed his fear and forced a smile. “Nothing important. So what’s gonna happen. Laying on of hands?”

“Sort of. It’s an abbreviated version of a Lakota-style healing. If you like, we can do a full ceremony, but we’ll need a sweat lodge and a troop of dancers and drummers.”

“Drumming with this headache? No thanks. I think I’ll pass.”

“Maybe later then,” Tabitha suggested. “Anyway, Sara’s gonna try to `touch’ your injury to see what the extent of it is. Then she’ll stop any further damage and nudge the healing process up a notch or two. Just relax, close your eyes and focus on her singing.”

“Singing, huh? Does she take requests?”

“We will begin now,” Sara interrupted smoothly. Tabitha smiled reassuringly at Peter and took his hands. As the others clustered about, Sara started rhythmically shaking a tortoise-shell rattle in one hand. After three beats, she started singing in Lakota. With her free hand she reached out to touch Peter’s forehead. Involuntarily, he jerked away, reminded of a similar touch the day before.

“Relax,” Tabitha soothed, holding his eyes with hers.

“We’re here, Peter,” Egon said softly. “Nothing’s going to hurt you.”

Peter took a deep breath and nodded. Sara’s song went on steadily as she placed her hand on the psychologist’s forehead once again. As the haunting tune wove its way through his battered mind, it drowned out the growing murmur, and Peter found himself relaxing. Tabitha smiled encouragingly, then her let her eyes go unfocused. Peter felt his own eyelids grow heavy and let them slide shut as the song cradled him. After a few moments (or an eternity, Peter wasn’t sure), the tune shifted subtly. Instead of simply holding him, it was moving over him, exploring the edges of the scorched place in his mind. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. Peter focused on the song, willing himself not to tense up and resist. To his relief, it didn’t last long. Exploration complete, the song took on a purposeful tone and moved slowly through the damaged area. It felt like a good soaking rain on parched ground. The constant pain Peter had been enduring faded. Not covered up by drugs, but absorbed and smothered by Sara’s gift.

The song faded away into silence. Peter opened his eyes to look up at Sara, gratitude practically radiating off him.

“Thank you, beautiful.”

“Flatterer,” Sara said as she smiled back weakly. The elderly lady swayed suddenly and the rattle slipped from her fingers to clatter to the floor. Peter’s eyes widened and he sat bolt upright on the cot, throwing out an arm to steady the healer before she could fall off the chair.

“Aw, crap!” Tabitha lunged at her mentor. The other Ghostbusters dropped whatever equipment they held and hurried over.

“Is she all right?” Ray asked frantically as they converged on the cot. Sara waved them off.

“I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”

“Just tired my ass,” Tabitha snapped as she worked one arm around Sara’s shoulders and felt her forehead with her free hand. “Try exhausted. Damn it, Sara. Why didn’t you ask for help? That’s what apprentices are supposed to do, isn’t it?”

“You’ve never worked with wounds of this nature before, child,” she said reprovingly. “I have. You profited more by observing this time.”

Tabitha shook her head in frustration. “Okay, teacher. Next time, don’t drive yourself into the ground before asking for help.” She looked up at Winston. “Mind if we borrow one of your beds for a little while? I’ll take her straight home, but I’d like to give her some recovery time first.”

“No problem,” Winston said as he took Sara’s other side and helped her up. “You two can stay as long as you like. We’ll even treat you to lunch. Least we can do for your help.”

They started for the door, but Sara paused. “Wait. We’ve got to tell them...”

“I’ll tell them,” Tabitha said firmly. “I saw everything, and I know exactly what it means.”

The others watched, puzzled, as Winston helped guide Sara out of the lab, then turned to look at each other.

“What was that all about?” Janine asked. “I thought she fixed you, Dr. V.”

Peter grinned. “She did. Of course, how could she improve on perfection?”

“Well, she could have added some humility to the mix while she was messin’ around with your head. Seriously, Egon. What do you think she was talking about?”

The scientist stared thoughtfully at the lab door. “I’m not sure. But we’ll find out soon enough.”

“Peter, it was so neat!” Ray crowed. “We recorded through the whole thing. Wait till you see the readings.”

“And I am looking forward to your account of the experience,” Egon said as he put out a hand to help the psychologist to his feet. “How are you feeling?”

Peter turned to look out the window at the bright autumn sunshine, reveling in the lack of pain. “Pretty good, Spengs. Amazing how not having a steel drum band playing in your skull improves your day.” He raised his arms and stretched lazily. “Not saying I’m completely recovered, though,” he said with a sly smile. “I’d say I need at least three days of pampering until I’m up to working again.” Peter grinned at the exasperated looks on his friends faces, knowing at the same time that they were reassured by his typically outrageous behavior. The pain was gone and all was right with the world.

Or was it?

Now that the pain was gone, Peter noticed something. Something felt...different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what. As if something was missing that he hadn’t even noticed was there before. It most reminded him of getting a tooth pulled. Normally, the curve of teeth around one’s tongue went unnoticed, but, when one was lost, a person really noticed that gap. The smile faded from Peter’s face as he became aware of something else. The murmuring was back, very low. So low that he could probably ignore it if he wanted to.

Oh, God, am I going crazy anyway?

“Peter? What’s wrong?”

Egon was looking at him, his eyes filling with growing concern. This voice, like Janine’s earlier, had a faint echo. Peter stubbornly swallowed his rising fear and pasted a smile on. “S’okay, Egon. I guess I’m still kinda tired. Hope Winston didn’t give Mrs. Blackwater my bed.”

Egon wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Peter...”

“Excuse me.”

Everyone turned to see Tabitha re-enter the lab, followed closely by Winston. Peter’s heart sank even further when he saw the look on her face. They must teach that look in med school, ‘cause he’d seen it on other doctors. It was a particular variety of compassionate look that said, “Your tests came back positive.”

“Peter,” she said. “I need to talk to you about what Sara found. Would you’d rather do this in private?”

He shook his head. “Spill it here, Dr. Tabasco. If that lizard did something to me, the guys need to know.”

Tabitha rolled her eyes at the nickname, but let it go. “Okay,” she said pulling up a stool. “Make yourselves comfortable, folks. We’ve got some ground to cover.”

Peter appropriated the lab’s worn couch. Egon noted the carefully concealed tension in his friend’s shoulders and took a position perched on one arm of the piece of furniture within easy reach. Janine slid into the other side. Ray and Winston dragged over chairs of their own to complete the circle. Tabitha glanced at each of them, then focused on Peter.

“First, let me tell you what Sara was able to do. The energy that was channeled through you behaved not unlike a thermal injury. Now the first step in burn treatment is to remove any source of burning. Much had been removed by your friends last night, but there was enough left to do further damage. That’s what was causing the majority of your pain.”

Peter nodded cautiously. “Makes sense. Felt kinda like burning when Barbizilla had me on the slab. So Sara dunked me in cold water then poured on the aloe vera?”

“Good analogy,” Tabitha confirmed. “You’re not all healed up yet, but she’s nudged the process up a few notches. You’ll make a full recovery from most of the damage.”

Peter felt rather than saw his friends stiffen at that little tidbit of information. Most of the damage. Just what was unfixable? He was already hallucinating. Was that it? A chill ran through him, and he managed just barely to suppress the shudder. A warm hand clasped his shoulder, and Peter looked up into Egon’s comforting blue eyes. From somewhere, reassurance crept in to displace some of his anxiety. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he turned back to Tabitha.

“Okay, Doc. What else did you see?”

She ran one hand through her short hair and rubbed the back of her neck, obviously stalling while she found the best way to explain. “You’ll have to bear with me a bit. It’s kinda hard to describe. There’s a place inside each person which doesn’t seem to correspond to any anatomical structure of the brain, but it is very real all the same. It’s the place where the mind-body conglomerate is most closely bonded to the soul. Sara calls it the `gate of gifts’. This place...well, it’s just like it sounds. If a person has any paranormal abilities, it comes from that site. The power of the soul is channeled through the mind-body which together influence how the gift manifests. In most people, the gate is `closed’ and they exhibit no paranormal abilities. It can open spontaneously or in response to various mental or spiritual disciplines. It can also be closed through active or subconscious rejection of the gift.” A rueful smile flashed for a second. “That’s what happens with most people. We’re all born with the gate cracked open just a bit. That’s why little kids are generally more sensitive to the spirit world. But, as we grow up, we’re told over and over that the world just doesn’t work that way and we believe it, so we close the gate.”

“Oh, wow!” Ray breathed. “So you’re saying that Peter’s become psychic? Egon, this confirms what we found last night!”

“Hold it! Time out, Tex.” Peter made a T with his hands as he shot an annoyed look at the scientist. “Just what did you find out last night?”

“Ooops! Sorry, Peter.” Ray quickly ran through the EEG anomalies and what he had learned from questioning Slimer. The psychologist absorbed the news with growing dismay.

“You mean I’ve turned into ghost catnip?” he wailed. “That I have a lifetime of sliming to look forward to? Some `gift’ I’ve got here.”

“Look on the bright side, Pete,” Winston offered. “If the ghosts are that attracted to you, it could save us loads of time on busts.”

“Yeah, stake Petey out like a goat and watch the nasties with long, pointy teeth descend. If I’m gonna be bait, I want to have some choice in the matter, Zed.” Peter turned back to the black-haired woman. “Okay, Tabby. Barbizilla opened the barn door and the horse is kicking up his heels on the north-forty. How do we catch him and lock him back up?”

“But Peter,” Ray said with dismay. “This is a great chance to study the development of psi-sensitivity.”

The psychologist sighed, leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. “I’m not interested in starting a sideshow act, Ray. I don’t want to know the future. Cassandra had to be the most miserable person in the entire city of Troy. And I’m really not interested in being a slime magnet.” He ran both hands through his hair and looked up. “Let me have it, Doc. How do we close this gate of yours?”

Tabitha closed her eyes for a moment as a pained look flashed across her face. “We can’t. That’s the damage I was talking about earlier.” She opened her eyes and continued doggedly. “When the entity flooded you, it didn’t push the gate open. It blasted it open. What you’ve got is wide open channel. There’s no way to close it because there’s nothing there to close anymore.”

Blood drained from Peter’s face as the full implications sank in. He fell back on the couch, in shock, staring blankly at a point on the floor just in front of him. Running a hand through his hair, he exhaled heavily. “So I’m Karnak The Perpetually Slimed now, and there’s nothing I can do about it?”

Tabitha blinked. “I wouldn’t say nothing. We can’t shut down your gift, but there’s no reason to believe you can’t learn to control it.” The wry smile came back as she slipped off the stool and walked over to the couch. “That’s the trick. Learning to control your talent so it doesn’t end up controlling you. I’ve got psi-healing with a good dose of empathy. I had a few dicey moments before I got a handle on it, and I still have my bad days.” She crouched down to Peter’s eye level. “You’ve got two advantages on me, though. One, you know what’s happening to you, and, two, I believe this is part of your line of work.”

Tabitha managed to intercept his gaze for a second, but he quickly looked away. She looked up at Egon and Janine with a small shrug. “Hard to accept, I know. But Sara and I will help all we can if you want us. I’ll leave you my beeper and office number. Sara doesn’t believe in pagers, but I can track her down pretty quickly if I have to.”

When Peter didn’t answer, Egon cleared his throat. “We really appreciate this, Dr. Basco.”

“It’s Tabitha.”

“Sorry. If there’s anything we can do for you, don’t hesitate to call us either.”

The hobgoblin grin was back again. “I’ll keep that in mind if the walls of my apartment start bleeding, or my pets start speaking Latin.” She stood up and stretched her back. “I’d better go check on Sara. And the woman says I’m stubborn.”

***

The image was slightly distorted. Minor ripples chased each other across the surface of light, but not so greatly that they obscured the image. Sound was transmitted with no distortion whatsoever, which was the more important consideration. Blue and lavender mists still swirled around the cushioned slab, but it was now occupied by the former captor. The Gaurnim sat cross-legged on it, her tail dangling over the edge, as she watched the images in the scrying spell. It was risky. The spell might be detected. Discovery would bring her delicate plan crashing down, but she had to monitor the progress of Peter Venkman.

Fortunately, I am quite adept at covering my tracks.

The healer left the room to the five teh’cherin (five, not four as she’d previously thought). It was reassuring to some extent that the humans had found such a person. The quicker her victim recovered, the more time he had to prepare for what was coming. That is, if her actions had the results she intended. The Gaurnim scrutinized the humans. Peter was obviously (and quite understandably) in shock. The humans named Winston and Ray were looking on, somewhat stunned. The light haired human, Egon, looked troubled. Janine, the one who had so valiantly challenged her, looked at each of them in turn. The red-headed female looked last at Peter, a brief expression of sympathy flashing across her face before assuming a slightly sarcastic mannerism. It was she who broke the brittle silence that hung in the air.

“Come on, Dr. V. It can’t be that bad. I could handle a bit of extra slime if it meant I could pick the winning Lotto numbers.”

Egon finally spoke up. “Peter’s new ability may not necessarily take the form of precognition.”

“Why not?” Winston asked. “He’s been pulling that phone trick for years now.”

“Well...” Egon broke off, strangely reluctant to continue. Janine caught the guarded expression on his face and rounded on him, eyes snapping.

“Okay, Egon. It’s time to spill whatever it is you’ve been worrying at all night. Now start talking, or I’ll personally dump all your mold in the incinerator.”

That jerked Peter out of his shock. “You know what I’ve got, Spengs?”

“I may,” Egon said slowly. The physicist took off his glasses to give them a thorough (but unnecessary) cleaning. “Do you remember when I checked on you in your room last night?”

Peter frowned. “A little. Was probably half in la-la land from the meds.”

Egon nodded and settled his glasses back on his nose. “You complained about the noise Raymond and I were making in the lab. Granted, our walls may not be perfectly soundproof, but, given the levels at which we were conversing, it is highly unlikely that enough sound would have reached the bunkroom to disturb you. Especially when you were under the effects of medication.”

Janine spoke up with an “a-ha” tone. “Oh, my gosh! And then you snarked off at me this morning. I couldn’t see how you could even hear us through one floor and a door.” Her eyes narrowed, and Peter fought the temptation to cower from her glare. “Then you got this deer-in-the-headlights look and bolted for the bathroom.” She poked him in the chest with a perfectly manicured nail. “Looks like you’ve got to spill something too, Dr. V. You gonna do it the easy way or the hard way?”

But Peter seemed rather reluctant to spill. Tension could be seen in every line of his body, and he nervously bit his lip. Winston sighed with exasperation and took the bull by the horns. “Come on, Pete. The silent act isn’t gonna help you. We’ve got to know what we’re dealing with here before we can fix it.”

“Fix it!” Peter exploded, jumping to his feet and pointing at the closed door. “Didn’t you just hear what Dr. Tabby Basco just said? It can’t be fixed. If the voices were the fixable part, they would have stopped after the healing!”

“Voices?!” Ray interrupted. “You’re hearing voices, Peter? When did this start, and why didn’t you tell us?”

The distress in the engineer’s voice stopped Peter in mid-rant. “I noticed it when I woke up. Thought it was you guys at first. Hell, it even sounded a bit like you. But later when Janine laid down the law to me...” He rubbed his eyes with one hand, then looked up with a bleak expression. “I thought it would be fixed by the healing. No muss, no fuss. No need for you guys to worry about me starting to hallucinate on you.”

“I don’t believe these are hallucinations, Peter.”

Green eyes flashed as Peter whirled around to confront Egon. “Well, just what the hell are they, Dr. Spengler? I’m hearing voices that I can’t find a source for. I’ve even got sensory illusions going on. When the voices kicked in, your voices started getting this weird reverb.”

“You’re forgetting one thing, Dr. Venkman,” Egon said sternly. “You’ve just been...perhaps `gifted’ is the wrong word. You’ve had an unknown psi ability thrust upon you. This may be its initial manifestation.” His eyes softened as he realized he’d cut through Peter’s panic to the point where the younger man could think more clearly. “Now, I have theory regarding the nature of the voices you are hearing, and I would like to perform a small experiment to confirm it.”

“Okay, Spengs. Haul out the Colander of Doom,” Peter said with a martyred sigh the effect of which was ruined by the hint of relief in his eyes. “Let’s get it over with.”

“Unfortunately, the visual image tracker has not been fully repaired,” he said with a frustrated scowl at the device. The physicist slid off of his perch on the couch and took a few steps to stand directly in front of Peter. “However, is not necessary at this moment. Close your eyes, Peter.”

“Then I open my mouth and you stick one of your disgusting fungi in it? Haven’t fallen for that one since pre-school, Spengs.”

“Peter.”

“Okay, okay!” Peter said, raising his hands in surrender. “Just remember, I know where you sleep.”

As Peter closed his eyes, Egon took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for a possibly unpleasant task. “All right, Peter. All I want you to do is listen carefully and let us know what you hear. As for the rest of you, I need absolute silence.” Quickly but gently, Egon reached out and gripped Peter’s wrist. They stood there for a few moments in total silence, Egon’s intense, blue eyes fixed on Peter’s face. Janine looked at Winston who shrugged his ignorance. In unison, they turned to Ray who threw up his hands in a “don’t look at me” gesture.

“For crying out loud, Egon!” Peter’s eyes snapped open, and he jerked his hand free. “I’ve told you over and over, speak English! And what does a particle physics lecture have to do with where these voices are coming from?”

A sudden gasp caught Peter’s attention. He turned to see Ray, his face lighting with comprehension. “Peter...you heard Egon?”

“Yes,” Peter said slowly, knowing something screwy was going on. “Didn’t you?”

“I didn’t hear a thing,” Janine answered.

“Egon was standing there dead silent, Pete,” Winston confirmed uneasily. “He didn’t say a word.”

“But I heard him, Zed,” Peter insisted. “Running off at the mouth about quarks and neutrinos. Maybe I’m going nuts here but I think I’d...” His voice trailed off as understanding dawned. Slowly, Peter turned back to Egon, a question in his eyes.

“This happened last night,” the physicist said quietly. “You probably don’t remember, but it occurred when I made skin-to-skin contact with you. I believe we’ve just shown the phenomenon is repeatable. And, from what Dr. Basco has told us, it may likely be permanent.”

Winston and Janine’s eyes widened as they got it, too. Janine cleared her throat nervously.

“So you’re saying Dr. V. is a mind reader?”

“A telepath, Janine!” Ray said, excitement rising in his voice. “Oh boy! Peter’s a telepath! Wait until people hear about this!”

“NO!”

The shout made all four of them jump. Peter’s manner had abruptly changed from bewildered to determined. “We don’t tell anybody,” he ground out in a tone that brooked no argument. “You understand? No one.”

Ray was taken aback by his friend’s vehemence. “But Peter. Think of what this will do for the study of parapsychology.”

“As much as I love my job, Ray, I’ve got my limits and this is one of them.” Peter’s expression hardened. “This stays between the five of us.”

Ray would have continued to argue, but something deep in Peter’s eyes stopped him. The engineer turned to Egon who nodded understanding.

“If that is your wish, Peter, we will honor it. However, there is the issue of getting this ability under control. My review of your journals confirmed that there has been no other confirmed case of full telepathy found to date. You may need assistance in determining how to control it.”

Peter shook his head stubbornly. “We’re just as likely to figure it out as the guys up at Arkham.” He looked at all of them imploringly. “Please, guys. Let’s keep it quiet for now.”

“Okay, Peter,” Ray said, disappointment mixing with confusion in his voice. “If that’s the way you want it.”

“Thanks.” Peter turned and walked wearily toward the door. “Is there any breakfast left downstairs? I’ve got a feeling I have a long day ahead of me.”

The Gaurnim banished the scry spell with a sigh of relief. Telepathy had been awakened in the teh’cherin and not some other gift. She had studied him carefully both from a distance and directly when she brought him unconscious to her domain, but there had still been some element of uncertainty. The human’s determination to hide his gift was also reassuring. Above all else, her plan depended on no one discovering her actions until the irrevocable move was made. Not her people, not the Others. Especially not the Others.

My choices were quite pitiful, she mused. My people act to stop Tirad, and we trigger a war that could destroy many worlds. We sit idle and war comes all the same. No, this was my only chance to stop it. A slim chance. And all it cost was the destruction of two lives. I can only hope Peter Venkman’s life will be easier to repair than mine.

***

Chapter 4 - Motivations

It was something that had to be seen to believe. Even now, Ray was tempted to grab a camera and snap off a few blackmail pictures. Peter was sitting crosslegged on a pillow in the middle of the bunkroom floor meditating. Not at all what you’d expect of the action-oriented Dr. Venkman. Peter had studied meditative techniques as part of his parapsychology training, but it wasn’t something that appealed to him.

“Life’s too short to spend it contemplating your navel, Tex,” he’d said once. “Even if it’s as handsome a navel as mine.”

But now Peter was practicing those techniques as regularly as any Zen monk in an attempt to keep sane, meditating on the image of a wall between himself and the rest of the world in order to build a “shield” to keep stray thoughts out. It worked in theory, but execution was another matter. Ray softly closed the door to the bunkroom and trudged over to the lab.

“Any luck, Egon?” 

“I’m afraid not, Raymond,” Egon said without looking up from the jumble of wires and circuits he was working on. “The power levels required to form an adequate shield are so high that they would cause serious injury if someone was to come in physical contact with the field.”

Ray pulled over a couple of computer printouts and looked over the figures. This was his idea, which again, was sound in theory but execution was running into difficulties. Peter was able to shield...to a certain extent. It took half an hour to an hour’s worth of meditation to build a shield, and they weren’t by any means permanent. Over the course of the day, they faded to the point where Peter was scrambling for a quiet place to regroup and re-shield. After the third night of waking up to find Peter had gone down to sleep on the couch to be out of reach of his friends’ dreams, Ray had begun to wonder if they could find a way to shield him from the outside using a variation on the fields they had developed to contain ghosts.

This should work, the engineer thought furiously. There’s lots of telepathic entities in containment, and we don’t get a peep out of them.

“But we don’t need to completely recreate the containment field, Egon,” Ray said as he looked over the data. “If we can somehow isolate the frequency human thought waves travel on...”

“If human thought is limited to a narrow band in the PKE spectrum, yes, we can construct a dampening field at a low enough power level to be feasible. However, we’re talking about hundreds of thousands of frequencies, and I’m not sure how quickly we can narrow them down.” Egon took his glasses off to rub his eyes. “Especially if Peter continues to be so reluctant to cooperate.”

Ray sighed unhappily and slouched against the workbench. Several times over the last week they had tried to get Peter to participate in experiments to determine the extent of his gift only to be curtly (and sometimes loudly) rebuffed. The only thing he seemed to be interested in was shielding technique.

I get why he wants to keep it a secret. All he had to do was remind me of the Psi Corps on Babylon 5, and I got it. All kinds of people would want the world’s only known telepath working only for them. But this...

“I don’t get it, Egon,” he finally said aloud. “Why doesn’t he want to work with us? You’d think Peter’d be jumping at the chance to study this. But any suggestion that we try to study his ability, and he cuts us off.”

Egon settled his glasses on his nose and looked thoughtfully toward the bunkroom. “I believe the joy of research would pall if you found yourself the subject,” he observed. “Perhaps we shouldn’t press him so hard. This has been an extremely traumatic experience for Peter. It may be advisable to hold off those investigations until he has better control.”

“But that’s just it,” Ray protested. “I don’t think he’s trying to control it. Not really. It’s more like he’s trying to suppress it.” He shook his head. “I’m worried, Egon. I really think it’s going to get him into trouble. I wish he would let us tell Sara or Tabitha. They might have some ideas.”

“Hmmmm...you may have a point,” Egon said with a frown. “We should discuss this with him later.”

“I think we should. Even if we have to hold him down to get him to listen to us,” Ray agreed as he stood up. “Can you manage this solo for a while? I’ve got to go out this morning. I should be back before that bust we have scheduled at four.”

The physicist looked up curiously. “Certainly, Ray. Where are you going?”

“To see Herman Schlitt.”

Egon’s eyes widened. “Are you sure that’s wise? He isn’t what you would call kindly disposed toward us.”

“No, but he does owe us a favor,” Ray answered, his hazel eyes darkening with determination. “And, frankly, we need to call it in. I’ve gotten next to nowhere with the Gaurnim aside from that one reference. Herman’s the only source we haven’t tried.”

“We are in rather desperate need of information,” Egon agreed, adjusting his glasses. “It’s been a week, and there have been no further attacks on any of us. But we still have no idea of the Gaurnim’s motivations.” He frowned down at the workbench. “Get Winston to go with you. She may only be waiting for us to drop our guard.”

Ray shrugged and headed for the door. “Okay, Egon. But I doubt she’ll try to snatch me in the middle of a crowded subway.”

“We can’t take that chance. And be careful with Schlitt, Ray. Kobolds can be quite short tempered.”

***

Beneath the streets of New York City, one hell of a party was going on. At least it sounded that way at a certain subway station. A local Irish folk band billed as “One Last Round” had set up by the north side entrance, and they were currently ripping the paint off the walls with a medley of reels and jigs. Brad Stubblefield, first fiddle and manager of the group, guided his crew to a rousing finale and sat back to bask in the glorious sound of applause and the even more glorious jingle of money as it rained into the open guitar case in front of them.

“Doesn’t get any better than this,” he murmured to his girlfriend as she carefully adjusted the fittings on her uillean pipes.

“Oh, I can think of some improvements,” she said slyly. “Maybe a gig where there’s some decent whiskey available?”

“Doin’ my best, love. Let’s start the next set with `The Clumsy Lover’, then…”

“Hey, Stubbie!” the dulcimer player broke in, pointing with one of his hammers to the stairs from the street. “Lookie over there!”

The two men descending the stairs were in street clothes, but Brad recognized them. “Got ya, mate,” he said, placing his instrument under his chin. “Change of plan, people. Two, three, four!”

And Ray and Winston were welcomed to the New York Transportation system by a Celtic rendition of the Ghostbusters Movie theme. The two paranormal investigators stopped cold in surprise, but quickly grinned and tossed a few bills into the case as they headed for the turnstiles.

“Now that is weird,” Ray said. “Neat, but weird.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that song was written with pipes and hammer dulcimer in mind,” Winston agreed, shaking his head in amusement. The two men ran their commuter cards through the machine and pushed their way through the gate. By the time they reached the stairs to the subway tracks, the song had segued into more traditional music.

“I wish we could have taken Ecto,” Winston remarked as they walked over to the tracks. “I hate the subway.”

Ray shook his head. “Herman’s not going to be happy to see us at all,” he said. “He owes us for getting his son out of that mess with the cave troll, but if we show up as the Ghostbusters, he’ll feel threatened. You know how paranoid he is about anyone finding out he’s not human. So, if we want his cooperation, we need to keep this as low key as possible.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Winston agreed reluctantly. Further conversation was cut off by the roar of the arriving train. The wind of its passage whipped both hair and clothing around. The train slowed to a stop and opened its doors. Ray and Winston stood politely to one side to let an old lady in a yellow sari and a punk rocker with magenta hair spiked up like a demented porcupine exit before boarding. The two men quickly found seats and settled in as the doors slid shut and the train resumed its perpetual journey. Ray leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“If we come up empty here, I don’t know where else we can check. And it doesn’t make sense.” Ray scowled at the grimy floor. “What little I did find on the Gaurnim said they are either neutral or benevolent. Nothing to indicate why one would do something like this.”

“Maybe we got their version of a sociopath,” Winston offered. “Most humans are fairly decent, but we’ve got our share of Charles Mansons and Ted Bundys.”

“But that doesn’t fit with Peter’s description of the experience.” Ray shook his head.

Winston sighed and leaned back against the window. This was territory they’d all been over ad infinitum. “We’ll see what we can pry out of that rock rat. How about that shielding device you were talking about? Think it will work?”

“I hope so. The theory’s sound. It’s just a matter of fine-tuning it to the psycho-kinetic frequency of human thought waves…once we isolate those.”

“Any idea how long that will take?”

Ray shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe Egon will have some news when we get back.”

I damn well hope he does, Winston thought as he carefully kept his face neutral. It wasn’t easy hiding his feelings from any of the guys. Probably the only thing that was keeping Ray from picking up on it was Ray’s own preoccupation. I should have just rolled over and gone back to sleep, Winston thought bitterly. Pete doesn’t need this from me.

Two nights ago, Winston’s subconscious had taken him back to ‘Nam via the Dreamtime Express. That wasn’t anything new. He’d been having nightmares every few months for years now. He could deal with most of them easily, but this one had been a doozy. This particular recurring dream was taken from one of the most disturbing experiences in his tour of duty. One rainy morning, Winston’s squad had been on patrol when they’d been driven to cover by sniper fire. He’d gotten separated in the confusion and was trying desperately to make his way back to the group. By some stroke of luck, he’s stumbled across the sniper’s position. In the dream he’d once again coolly lined up a shot on the gunman’s back. He felt the “break” of the trigger as he fired, and the satisfaction as the sniper went down. He knew he’d probably saved several lives on his team.

Winston called out the “all clear” and crept up to make sure of his kill. When he turned pulled the jungle foliage away from the body, his shock washed through him like ice water injected into his veins. It was definitely the sniper; the gun was still locked in his fist, but he couldn’t have been more than twelve years old.

As the dream ended, the young sniper’s face sometimes morphed into the features of one of his younger brothers at that age. Which one varied each time Winston was cursed with this particular nightmare. This time it had been Charlie. Winston had jolted awake, drenched with sweat, telling himself over and over that Charlie was just fine and trying to reason away the guilt he still felt over shooting that kid. That night, however, he soon realized it wasn’t just his own panicky breathing he heard in the bunkroom. He lifted himself up on one elbow to see who else had won the nightmare lottery…and met Peter’s eyes. The psychologist was also sweat drenched, but he flinched away from the former soldier’s gaze. Winston started to get out of bed.

“What is it, Pete?” he whispered, softly. “Bugs this time?”

Peter quickly but quietly got out of bed and pulled a blanket around his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Zed,” he said in a voice loaded with shame and loathing. With that Peter left the bunkroom and hurried downstairs. Winston started to follow him but stopped cold as something clicked. Peter hadn’t woken up from his own nightmare. He’d been awakened by Winston’s dream. Peter’s sleep had been disturbed by what he’d called “psychic backwash” from the guys’ dreams several times before, but he’d never reacted with such self-contempt. He hadn’t felt the need to apologize. Winston could only think of one thing that could cause that. Peter had somehow seen his dream. Egon and Ray had speculated that Peter’s new ability might develop to the point where he did not need physical contact to pick up coherent thought-forms from others. Maybe the timetable as a little farther ahead than they’d thought.

Sudden, uncontrollable fear wrapped an icy hand around Winston’s backbone. If this was true, then Peter knew what he’d never told anyone outside of his squad commander. He knew what Winston hadn’t wanted anyone else to know, that he’d killed a little boy. Not that he had much choice at the time, but that didn’t change facts. He’d killed a little kid who, if there were any justice in this world, would have been home playing ball with his friends. That bone-chilling fear kept him from following his telepathic friend downstairs. He felt like a heel for it, but somehow he couldn’t make himself move. Fear of pain or death, he’d dealt with those long past, but this was different. The fact that he knew it was completely unintentional somehow made it even more frightening. Winston trusted Peter with his life and more. Peter would never do anything to hurt his friends or violate their privacy, but Peter wasn’t in control of this.

For the last day and a half, Winston had avoided the psychologist. He felt ashamed for doing it, but somehow he couldn’t risk the possibility that Peter would get another glimpse inside him. The last thing Peter needed to know was that Winston was afraid of him.

***

“Yummy! Pie!”

Slimer knew he shouldn’t. The apple pie was in the refrigerator and everyone had told him not to take anything in the refrigerator without asking. But it smelled so good, and Slimer was so hungry. Maybe just one little piece. That wouldn’t hurt anything.

Next thing Slimer knew, he was licking the pie tin clean.

“Uh-oh!” The little ghost looked around furtively. Seeing no one, he hid the ectoplasm-coated tin behind the milk. Maybe they wouldn’t notice. His hunger briefly satisfied, Slimer looked around for something to do. Ray had just left with Winston, so he couldn’t go play with him. Egon was working on something up in the lab, but Slimer didn’t like the feel of whatever it was. Felt too much like a ghost trap. But Peter...

A big, dopy grin spread across the ghost’s face, and he floated through the ceiling to the room above. Peter was still sitting on a pillow, his legs folded under him and his eyes closed. He’d been doing that a whole lot lately. Ray said he was medi-tay-ting. Slimer wasn’t sure what that was, but it looked boring.

The little ghost gazed adoringly at the dark-haired man. He’s always liked Peter. The guys and Janine were all shiny-pretty, but Peter had always been just a little bit shinier-prettier. And now he was like that prism Janine had hung in one of the downstairs windows when the sun caught it just right to send rainbows across the garage. He couldn’t stand it anymore. Arms outstretched, he flew over to give Peter a big hug.

“SLIMER!! Get off’a me!”

Slimer could never understand why Peter didn’t like being hugged.

***

Egon sighed wearily at the commotion and put down the connection he had been soldering. He glanced over his shoulder at the open doorway just in time to see Peter stomp out of the bunkroom, his chest and face liberally coated with slime. The psychologist headed down the hall to the bathroom no doubt to clean up. Egon turned off the soldering iron and followed. Peeking into the open doorway, he saw that Peter had already disposed of his ectoplasm-soaked sweatshirt and was vigorously washing his face.

“I sincerely hope Slimer did not intrude at a critical point.”

Peter splashed water on his face to rinse away the soap. “I thought Ray told him to leave me alone when I’m doing the swami act,” he groused as he snagged a washcloth to attack the slime that had soaked through the shirt to his chest.

“He did. However, given your increase in attractiveness as it were, it may take several lectures before it sinks in.”

“Of all ways my attractiveness could have been increased, why did it have to be to ghosts?! I should start doing this with a trap in my lap. How’s that for a mantra? Ohm-ma-me-pad-may-trap out!” Peter shot his friend an irritated grimace as he threw the washcloth into the hamper and reached for a towel. “The one advantage I’ve gotten out of this whole mess is that I can usually feel the Spud coming, so I can dodge.”

“Which doesn’t work very well when you are preoccupied with shielding,” Egon finished. “That brings us back to my original question. I can’t help but notice that you’ve not yet answered.”

“Nah, I’d already gotten the wall up, Spengs,” Peter replied with a negligent wave as he headed back to the bunkroom for a clean shirt. “I thought that maybe if I kept at it a while longer, I could give it more staying power.” A shadow flickered through his green eyes, almost too quick for Egon to see. “My back isn’t being too forgiving of my last few nights on the couch,” he said as he looked through his closet. “If I can get a shield that will last for more than six hours, I can get back to my own bed.”

“Ray had an idea about that last night. If you could join me in the lab this morning for a few tests…”

“Goddamnit, Egon!” Peter snapped. He spun on his heel to glare at the physicist. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not interested in seeing how far I can pick up psychic backwash or trying to mindmeld or something!”

“If you would kindly allow me to finish,” Egon said coldly as he savagely suppressed his own anger and frustration. “Raymond had an idea that we may be able to modify our containment field design to provide you with an external source of shielding. Does that interest you, Dr. Venkman?”

Peter wilted before the hard look in those blue eyes. “Sorry, Spengs,” he said wearily. He walked over to his bed and sank down on it with a heavy sigh. “Shouldn’t have popped off at you like that. This is…” He wearily rubbed at his eyes. “I’m having real problems with this whole telepathy bit.”

Egon nodded and pulled a chair around to sit across from his friend. “Quite understandable. You’ve just had your entire life turned on its figurative ear. I assure you, Peter. We will find a way for you to control your new ability. You don’t have to be afraid of losing your mind to it. We will simply not let that happen.” A faint twitch around Peter’s eyes told Egon that he’d hit a little short of the mark. “Is that what’s bothering you, or is it something else?”

The guarded look in those green eyes just before Peter turned away was a dead giveaway. Egon changed the course of his questioning as he remembered his earlier conversation with Ray. “It’s been a source of great puzzlement to me why you are so reluctant to study the extent of your ability. It was human psychic ability that first caught your interest in parapsychology. Being concerned about gaining control over your telepathy, that’s to be expected, but I would think you would also exhibit some measure of curiosity. Why aren’t you, Peter? What’s wrong?”

Peter looked at Egon levelly. He saw in the physicist’s expression that he wasn’t going to quit until he got his answer. Peter let his upper body fall backward and lay on the bed with his legs still hanging over the side. “I could have handled precognition,” he said as he stared at the ceiling. “Telekinesis would have been fun. Think of the possibilities for practical jokes. Dowsing and clairvoyance, we could have used them on busts. But if God came down from heaven on a white cloud and said, `Okay, Petey. You get to choose from the Spoon Bender’s Special List,’ telepathy would have been my absolute last choice.”

“I gathered that,” Egon said dryly. “Do you mind telling me why?”

“Because it’s wrong!” Peter answered, almost snarling. “This violates the most basic of privacies, privacy of thought.” His hands clenched into fists, whether in anger or fear or a combination of both, Egon couldn’t tell. “The idea that someone can just waltz into your brain and take what he wants…it doesn’t get scarier than that.”

“I can see why you would be uneasy if you were confronted by a telepath,” Egon ventured, somewhat taken aback by his friend’s vehemence. “But the situation is the reverse of that. Your mind isn’t the one in risk of being violated.” His eyes widened behind his glasses as another possibility occurred to him. “Are you afraid that we would feel violated? That we would be afraid of you? Peter, how could you think that? You know that Ray, Winston and I trust you implicitly.”

Peter groaned in exasperation. “If you’re not scared at least a little, then you’re not half the genius you think you are. And trust? Hell, Egon! The only person on earth I might trust with something like this is Mother Teresa, and I’m sure as hell no Mother Teresa. No one should be able to go mucking around in other people’s heads like this.”

“The `should’ of the matter is a moot point, Peter,” Egon said firmly. “We are dealing with the situation that exists. Like it or not, you have this ability. While you are learning to control it…well, I for one trust you to never intentionally `violate’ me as you so poetically put it. And if something slips, I also trust to the fact that you wouldn’t divulge anything I wished to keep secret.” The corner of the physicist’s mouth lifted in a wry half-smile as several memories surfaced. “As a matter of fact, you have seemed perfectly capable of reading our minds on numerous occasions without the benefit of telepathy. In a way, this is nothing new.”

Peter shot Egon a dirty look. “Nothing new my ass. That was fair play. This is cheating.”

“Indeed,” Egon said, raising an eyebrow. “Please enlighten me, Dr. Venkman. I was unaware that mind-reading was even a game, much less that there is a rulebook available.”

“Oh, Jeeze!” Peter heaved himself back to a sitting position. “Okay, Dr. Spengler. You’ve got a point. There are plenty of times when I can tell exactly what you or Ray or Winston is thinking even when you try to hide it. I know this from body language, speech patterns or just being able to put myself in your shoes for a second and see the world through those runaway spectacles of yours.” Peter reached out to push Egon’s glasses back up in illustration. Egon favored him with a brief glare, but remained silent.

“You guys have pulled the same trick on me,” Peter went on. “But the reason I can do this is that you’ve allowed me to get close enough to learn all those little things that betray what’s really going on inside that overgrown brain of yours. Not only that, but you trusted me enough to let me stay that close when you realized how well I could read you.” A bit of self-deprecating humor touched Peter’s eyes. “I don’t know about you, Spengs, but the first time I realized how well you could read me, it scared the shit out of me. If I hadn’t trusted you so much by then, I probably would have run for the hills.”

Peter fell silent. Egon firmly quashed the impulse to speak, knowing Peter would probably continue if he waited. It didn’t take long.

“Anyway, I can usually tell when you’re hiding something, but the only way I know is because you tell me through countless nonverbal cues that you’re mostly unaware of, and could probably mute if you put enough effort into it. I can even make an educated guess as to what it may be most of the time, but even then it’s only a guess. You still have the option of keeping me in the dark if you really want to.”

A cold finger of visceral fear managed to slip past all of Egon’s rational defenses. He was starting to see where Peter was coming from. “And telepathic ability…” he prompted when Peter fell silent once again.

“It cuts through every barrier you have to protect your self,” Peter continued, grinding out the words as if they were shards of flint. “Trust isn’t necessary. I can sidestep all that long process with one touch.” Peter winced. “Even without a touch now. I wound up sitting in on Winston’s nightmare a couple nights ago with digital color and surround sound. And he was across the damn room.”

Egon’s breath caught in his throat. “You’re picking up full thought-forms without physical contact?”

“Yeah,” Peter confirmed, a little chagrined that he’d let that slip.

“I suppose that’s the real reason you’ve been spending extra time attempting to strengthen those shields.” Egon said, frustration and irritation sharpening his voice. “Peter Venkman, you are the most exasperating person I have ever worked with.” He left his chair, grabbed a t-shirt from Peter’s closet and tossed it to his friend. “It would behoove us to adjourn to the lab and work on Ray’s idea for an external shield. If your telepathy is strengthening as such a high rate, it may outstrip your ability to control it.”

“Oh, just what I wanted to hear, Spengs,” Peter groaned as he pulled the shirt on and stood up. “Lead on, O Wise One! Whip out the electrodes and see if you can build me a psychic jammer.”

“Peter.” The quiet question in Egon’s voice made him pause on the way to the door. “I’ll admit to being a little apprehensive, but I do trust you. Ray, Winston and Janine do, too. You must believe that.”

Peter leaned against the doorframe looking very weary. “I know, Egon,” he said. His voice was so low that Egon almost missed what he said next. “But maybe you shouldn’t.”

***

“`Schlitt’s Rocks and Minerals,’” Winston read off the plain, black-and-white sign over the door of the Brooklyn shop. “Not much for marketing is he?”

“Well, if he wants a low profile, you can’t get much lower than this,” Ray said with a smirk. “Hope he’s not busy. Dealing with us along with interfering with business will only tick him off more.”

Ray pushed open the door and entered with Winston following close behind. No bell went off. Schlitt found them most annoying. Inside the shop was dim but almost obsessively clean. In neat rows on shelves and inside display cabinets stones and crystals of all shapes, sizes and clarities rested. Behind the counter sat a teenager who was so engrossed in his comic book that he didn’t even look up at their entrance. Short, pudgy and surly looking with a large nose and stringy, sand-colored hair, he didn’t present the most attractive of fronts. And that was all this appearance was, a front. Underneath an illusion spell, this `boy’ was no boy at all, but an adolescent kobald. Without the spell, he was even shorter, pudgier and uglier. This family of originally mine-dwelling hobgoblins had moved from Germany to New York three decades ago and had been living quietly in Brooklyn ever since. A state of affairs that the head of the clan took great pains to perpetuate.

Ray walked around several cases and sauntered up to the counter with a bright smile. “Hi, Bobby! What ‘ya reading there?” 

Bobby Schlitt jumped like he’d been stung, causing him to lose his balance on his stool which he’d unwisely tipped back on two legs. After a moment of waving arms and legs in an attempt to regain his balance, he fell to the ground with a heavy thud. “I didn’t do nothin’!” he blurted out.

Ray winced. “Didn’t say you did. We’re just here to talk to your dad. Is he in?”

The boy scowled up at the two Ghostbusters and clambered to his feet. “Gonna’ call it in, huh? About time, dust-eaters. I’m sick of Pa holding that over me.”

“And you have none to blame but yourself, sprat!” growled a voice from the dim back room, a voice so rough that it went beyond gravely to boulderly. A second short, pudgy figure came into the light. A family resemblance carried over in the illusion. Herman Schlitt appeared to be a middle-aged, balding man with a complexion like bread dough. He wore an old-fashioned suit and waistcoat whose buttons were straining against his belly. “Perhaps you’ll be listening to your old man when he says not to get involved with cave trolls suffering from delusions of grandeur. Perhaps then I won’t have to be going to a pack of techie humans with my hat in hand to save you from the trouble you bought yourself.”

If looks could kill, Ray and Winston would have been cooling corpses on the floor from the resentful glare Bobby fired at them. He pointedly picked up his comic book and buried his nose in it. Herman sniffed disapprovingly and waved the Ghostbusters into the backroom. Winston and Ray exchanged a glance, then followed. As the door swung shut behind them, Ray turned to Herman, troubled.

“You don’t have to be so hard on him, Mr. Schlitt. Good kids can fall in with a bad crowd...”

“And I’ll be thanking you to mind your own damn business, Stantz!” the kobald snarled. “Bad enough he goes and risks exposing our family, but to force me to go to the likes of you surface crawlers then you caught him with the rest of that trouble-making crew.” He spat in disgust. “I hope you’re here to collect that debt. Any debt’s an annoyance. A debt to a human is sand in your shorts.”

Winston held up his hand placatingly. “Okay, okay. Believe me, we all know how kobalds view debt. Let’s settle accounts.”

“Fine by me,” Schlitt said, folding his arms across his belly and glaring up at the two. “What do you want?”

“Information on the Gaurnim,” Ray said. “All you have and from any source you have access to.”

The change that came over the kobald was nothing short of remarkable. In a fraction of a second, he went from hostile to surprised to calculating. “The Gaurnim, eh? Now that is a very interesting vein you’re sounding there.” Schlitt waved the pair to a bookcase-lined corner where a small table stood surrounded by straight-backed chairs. When they were all seated, the kobald folded his hands and rested the elbows on the table in front of him. “The Gaurnim. That’s one sinkhole many of us are keeping an eye on these days. How much to you know about them already?”

Ray looked at Winston who nodded. They had agreed beforehand to keep Peter’s kidnapping a secret and behave as though they’d simply run across an odd reference or heard a rumor. “We know they’re reptiloid entities who inhabit a plane of existence rather far removed from ours,” the occultist said. “They’re reputed to have considerable power, but don’t seem to have dealings with our world at all. Rather stand-offish from what little we’ve found, but not overtly malevolent.”

Schlitt nodded. “A good thumbnail sketch. I suppose you want details then.”

“All you can give us,” Winston agreed.

“One question first.” Their reluctant host leaned forward, a dim fire smoldering in the depths of his coal-black eyes. “Have you seen one?”

Ray blinked in surprise. “Why?”

“Because I need to know if I need to pack up my family and head to the nearest gate,” Schlitt said, growing quickly alarmed. “Great bones of the Earth! If one of them has set foot on this world...”

“Wait a second!” Winston interrupted, remembering Janine’s story. “One of us saw one, but it was through a portal. The Gaurnim didn’t come through to here.”

The hobgoblin cut off his tirade and gave Winston a piercing look, then turned to Ray who nodded confirmation. “Thank the foundations for that small mercy, then. It skirts close to breaking the Pact, but close doesn’t count with them.”

“I think you’d better start explaining,” Winston said with a hint of warning.

Schlitt curled his lip in disgust and, for a second, the Ghostbusters were able to see through his disguise. It wasn’t pleasant, for Schlitt’s true form - at least by human standards - was even uglier than his son’s. “All right, Zeddemore. Better take notes, there’ll be a quiz at the end.”

He sat back in his chair and pursed his lips. “Like you said, the Gaurnim are powerful sons-of-lizards. They’re also very rule and protocol bound. And I’d add to your little summary that they don’t have dealings with this world any more. At one time, they were heavily involved in this world. Quite heavily. Some of your legends about serpent wisdom-keepers grew up from encounters with them in your pre-history.” A cynical smile twisted his features. “But then, as it always does, the shit hit the fan. You see, the Gaurnim had some neighbors the next plane over. The Y’larat. Also powerful, but with much less finesse controlling power flows. They tend to try to bludgeon their way to what they want. Wait a minute.”

The kobald hopped up and pulled a book off the shelf behind him. Flipping it open to a certain entry, he handed it to Ray. “There’s what they look like. Have you seen one of those by any chance?”

Ray looked over the woodcut of a powerfully built humanoid. The head looked like a cross between a fox and a lion with large, slanted eyes in its pointed, mane-bordered face. He handed to book to Winston and said, “No, we haven’t. What does that have to do with the Gaurnim?”

“I’ll get to that. You came wanting information, and I’ll be giving you your money’s worth. The Y’larat started moving in on this world about the same time as the Gaurnim. Then they started taking pot-shots at each other.” Schlitt shrugged. “No one knows exactly how it started. I’m not sure if the people involved really know how it started. But next thing anyone knows, there’s a full-scale territorial war between them that raged over both their worlds and this one. Made Hiroshima look like a schoolyard brawl. By the time it was over, both their homeworlds were a wreck and this one...” He shook his head grimly. “Let’s just say that if a certain drunkard by the name of Noah hadn’t started shipbuilding, you wouldn’t be here having this conversation with me.”

Winston’s eyes widened and he sat up straighter. Ray, of course, was fascinated. “Wow! You’re saying Noah’s flood was an environmental cataclysm brought on by interdimensional war?”

“I guess you could call it that,” Schlitt confirmed, rolling his eyes. “I’d call it two groups of cosmic twits sending everything into a fine state of FUBAR.”

“Who won?” Winston asked. “Though, if they wrecked three worlds between them, maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, it does matter some,” Schlitt said with a shrewd look. “The Gaurnim won, just barely. But it was enough for them to dictate most of the terms of the Pact. A long, hopelessly dry treaty detailing who gets what and who can go where. Thing is, this little place we call `home’ had a special clause all its own. It was the particular bone of contention that started the whole mess, and both sides wanted it. Probably mostly from pride, but it damn near brought the whole settlement down until somehow they agreed to a mutual `hands off’ policy. Basically, this world is off-limits to both Gaurnim and Y’larat. If either of them makes a move on it, the Pact comes crashing down.” A mirthless grin stretched across the kobald’s face. “I’ll tell you, there’s no love lost between the two even with all the millennia between that war and now. All that’s keeping them from each other’s throats is the Pact. If one side breaks it, they’ll be at it again. And this time they won’t be alone. Both sides have been busy making alliances with other planes. Remember a certain Archduke by the name of Ferdinand?”

Winston felt the blood drain out of his face and the mention of the infamous assassination that plunged the world into war. “You’re saying we’ve got a powderkeg situation on our hands here.”

Schlitt nodded grimly. “Now you’re getting the picture. A good many of the Small Folk have been keeping an eye on this lately. The situation’s been heating up over there. The Y’larat have a firebrand, young buck by the name of Tirad, stirring up trouble. This fellow was on the ruling counsel for a time but got himself kicked off and exiled for an attempted coup. However, he’s been showing up in places he shouldn’t be, railing against the terms of the Pact and trying to get support among the mob. The Gaurnim have been making their displeasure known to the Y’larat counsel, and the Y’larat keep brushing it off saying he’s a criminal and rabble-rouser with no real power.”

“I think I smell a rat,” Winston said.

“What do you mean?” Ray asked.

“Think about it, Ray,” Winston said turning to his friend. “You’ve got a dangerous criminal who tried to overthrow the government. Somehow, he’s not only creeping back into the country, but he’s making a very visible and politically dangerous nuisance of himself. You’d think the government would make shutting him down their first priority.”

Ray’s eyes widened. “So you’re saying the Y’larat counsel wants him to be stirring up trouble?”

“Either that or he has some very highly placed friends who are protecting him,” Schlitt put in. “There’s folk on both sides who don’t like the Pact and would gladly kick each other’s teeth in, but one thing they have in common. Neither of them wants to be the first to break the Pact. Like somehow that makes war more justifiable.”

“So, if this Tirad does something that violates the Pact...” Ray said in dismay.

“The Gaurnim may feel justified in breaking their side,” Winston finished. “And, in that case, so do the Y’larat. They just have to say that Tirad was a criminal and was no longer officially part of their society. Plausible deniability, Ray.” 

Ray shook his head in disbelief. Schlitt looked on with faintly concealed contempt. “Is there anything else you boys will be wanting to know?”

“Yes,” Winston said, leaning forward. “Fighting capabilities. Know how we can take them down?”

“What?” the kobald snorted. “Do you plan to face both armies on your own if this mess comes crashing down around our ears?”

“If we have to,” Winston said coldly. Schlitt tried to out-stare him, but something in the former soldier’s eyes made him look away first.

“For the Gaurnim, they’re not quite as strong as your average demon, but they’ve got very fine control over energy flows. They make up in skill for what they don’t have in power. A few of them are telepathic, but that’s rare.” Schlitt frowned as Ray looked up suddenly, but ignored it when the engineer said nothing. “The Y’larat aren’t so precise, but they’ve got plenty of power. And there’s a rumor that some of them can turn people to stone with a glance. Kinda like a basilisk.” He scratched behind one ear. “Never could get confirmation of that, though. And that is the sum total of what I know about the Gaurnim. Will that be all?”

Winston looked questioningly at Ray who nodded. “I believe that will do, Mr. Schlitt,” Ray said. “Thanks.”

“Save your thanks, surface-crawler. My family’s debt to you is now discharged. Get the hell out of my shop.”

***

“Can we call it quits for now, Egon? It’s almost lunchtime, and most humans can’t survive on science alone. I’m about ready to gnaw on my own arm.”

“I’m sure you realize that self-cannibalism is ultimately self defeating,” Egon said perfectly deadpan as he glanced up from the computer screen.

“Another crack like that, Spengs, and I’ll carve a slice off your flank to tide me over,” Peter shot back. “Even your mushroom collection is starting to look appetizing.”

“Touch my fungi, and, if you are lucky enough to consume a non-toxic specimen, I will personally rewire your proton pack to detonate.”

Peter relaxed in the familiar banter. “So the ‘shrooms are off-limits, but I can help myself to a filet of physicist?”

The corner of Egon’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly as he raised an eloquent eyebrow. “I believe the saying is, `you’ll have to catch me first.’” The physicist hit ‘save’ on the computer and started shutting down the imager. “However, since this entire hypothetical conflict can be averted by a quick trip to the kitchen, shall we adjourn for lunch, Dr. Venkman?”

“About time, Dr. Spengler,” Peter said as he pulled off the imager’s headset. He caught his reflection in one of the lab windows and irritably ran his fingers through his hair. “Great! I’m going to have colander hair for the rest of the day.” Tossing the helmet on the workbench, Peter stood up and joined Egon.

“Well, Spengs, got enough to build me that jammer yet, or do I have another session with the Colander of Doom to look forward to?” he asked as they made their way down the spiral staircase.

“I’ve managed to narrow the possible frequencies down considerably,” Egon answered. “Perhaps another session to narrow it further. That should give us a manageable number of frequencies to test.”

“As long as you don’t get used to me being your personal lab rat,” Peter smirked as he opened the fridge and leaned over to peruse its contents. He picked out a package of deli-sliced roast beef and some Swiss cheese and tossed them on the table. “What happened to that pie Winston had in here?”

Egon shook his head disapprovingly as he pulled a loaf of bread out of the cupboard. “Might I suggest that you eat an actual meal before satisfying your sweet tooth?”

“Hey, like they say,” Peter quipped as he looked over his shoulder. “`Life is uncertain. Eat dessert first.’” Peter looked back into the fridge and moved a few cartons around. “I know that thing’s in here some...Awww, crap!” Peter stood up and spun around, brandishing the empty pie tin which still had traces of green slime. “Slimer. I should have known. I’m gonna...”

“Egon! We’ve got trouble!”

Both men jumped as Janine came running into the kitchen. “What is it, Janine?” Egon asked. The secretary handed him a piece of paper.

“Just got an emergency call from the Head Start Pre-school across town. They’ve got what sounds like a Class 5 on a rampage along with two or three Class 2's. No one’s been hurt, and most classes have been evacuated, but they’ve got one group pinned down in the craft room. They need us out there yesterday.”

Egon nodded sharply. “Have you called Winston and Ray? Are they on their way?”

“Ray forgot his cellphone again,” Janine said, frustrated. “When I called Schlitt’s place, they’d already left, and I wound up getting cussed out for my trouble.”

“Schlitt?!” Peter yelped. “Why’d they go see that pug-ugly bastard?” He shook his head. “No, tell me later. Any way we can get hold of them? There’s no way you can bust those goopers as a twosome.”

Janine shook her head. “They could be anywhere on the subway right now, and this can’t wait. Maybe I should call Tully...”

“Tully?” Peter almost yelled. “We want to zap the ghosts, not the kids.” He turned toward the window for a second and chewed his bottom lip, conflict playing in the depths of his eyes. Finally he turned back to his friends. The muscles in his neck were tense, betraying the apprehension he managed to keep out of his face an voice. “Okay, folks. We’ve got work to do. Let’s suit up and get over there.”

Janine and Egon stared at Peter as if he had suddenly grown another head. With the exception of a brief visit to reassure Mrs. Faversham, Peter had not set foot outside of the firehouse since he returned from the hospital.

“Are you sure, Peter?” Egon asked cautiously.

“What? A Five and a couple of Two’s?” Peter said casually as he shoved the food back into the fridge. “The three of us should be able to handle that.”

“Don’t play coy, Dr. V.” Janine scolded. “You know what he means. Are you up to this? Really?”

Peter’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I’d damn well better be. Those kids can’t wait till we can get hold of Ray and Zed. We’ll leave them a note to catch a cab over and meet us. Besides,” he continued, pasting on a cocky grin. “If I don’t get back in the game soon, my public will start thinking I’ve lost my edge.”

“You have to have an edge to begin with to lose it, Venkman,” Janine riposted as they all hurried downstairs to throw on their jumpsuits and gather equipment. It didn’t take long before they were climbing into Ecto and pulling out of the garage. Egon turned in the driver’s seat to shoot one more questioning glance at Peter. The psychologist flashed him one of his winning smiles, but a faint shadow lingered in the depths of his eyes. Egon sighed quietly and hoped they weren’t making a huge mistake as he hit the siren and pulled out into traffic.

***

Chapter 5 - Crisis 

What the hell was I thinking?

Peter gazed sourly out of Ecto’s window at the crowd as Egon pulled up to the pre-school. The police had cordoned off the area around the small, two-story building, but, even at this distance, Peter felt the increased pressure against his shields. I really could have gone for another week of practice before giving this shield dohickey the acid test, he grumbled inwardly. Fear he had shoved down deep the minute Ecto had left headquarters stirred restlessly inside, but he refused to even acknowledge its presence. He knew Egon and Janine were uneasy about him coming, but they had no choice. He firmly held his “Peter Venkman: Celebrity Hero” mask in place and grinned at the two of them.

“Come on, team! We’re late for class.”

Egon glanced at him meaningfully. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Peter?”

“I was born ready, Spengs,” Peter returned, forcing a cocky grin. “Let’s get these goopers before the kids miss naptime.”

The three of them piled out of Ecto-1. One of the police officers hurried over to them.

“About time you got here. We’ve got four kids and a teacher trapped in there.”

“Sorry, but our faster-than-light engine broke down,” Peter snapped. “Where are they?”

The policeman frowned and pulled a quick sketch of the building from his pocket. “The principal drew this up for me since we can’t find the blueprints. They’re on the first level in the back...here.” He pointed at a large room. “There’s one door and a couple windows but the ghosts have them backed into a corner where they can’t reach either one.”

“Are you sure those are our only means of access?” Egon asked, looking over the officer’s shoulder at the diagram.

“Damn right, I’m sure,” he replied in a caustic tone. “Me and my partner tried to get in there. Damn ghosts divebombed us and I nearly got brained with a chair. If there was any other way to get to them, we’d have found it.”

“Okay, we’ll take it from here,” Janine said, efficiently snatching the diagram. The officer scowled, but went back to crowd control. Peter and Janine hauled on their proton packs while Egon took a reading.

“What have we got, Egon?” Peter asked as he handed the physicist his own pack.

“As we suspected from the call, one Class Five and two Class Twos,” Egon answered as he hung the meter on his belt and strapped on his pack. “The Five is not manifesting at the present time, but I’ve got a strong reading on the Twos toward the back of the structure. They must be the entities in the craft room.”

“Great! We get to play hide-and-seek with a Five,” Peter groaned.

Janine elbowed him in the ribs. “First we’ve got to get those kids out of there before we go blasting away, Dr. V. Any ideas?”

Peter looked up at the building. Several windows had been broken. Broken toys and a few pieces of furniture were scattered on the street, but the damage on the whole seemed to be minor. Occasionally, eerie wails and muffled thuds echoed out of the windows.

Don’t hear any kids screaming. That means either their teacher’s keeping them quiet, or they’re too scared to yell...or they’re not able to, he thought with growing alarm.

“How about getting a look at the craft room?” he suggested, unholstering his thrower. “Things might have changed since Officer Krupky over there peeked in.”

“That may be the best course,” Egon agreed. “But keep your throwers set to low power until we’re sure where the children are.”

As they approached the building, Peter found himself becoming more and more uneasy. It was if he could feel the malice and cruel amusement hanging in the air like fog. As they entered the building, the feeling intensified, becoming stronger with every step.

“Uhhhh, Egon,” he said as he carefully edged his way around a broken sandtable lying in the hall. “Not that I doubt your ability to read that meter in the dark and with your eyes closed, but could you check the reading again?”

“Problem, Peter?” Egon asked with a frown.

“Just wanna make sure,” Peter said with a shiver. “This place feels nasty.”

“I’m not feeling anything,” Janine said as she cautiously looked around.

“Neither am I,” Egon confirmed. “Aside from the general feel of a haunting.” The physicist shifted his thrower to one hand while he consulted his meter once again. “As before. One Five and two Twos. The Twos seem to be more powerful than the norm, but they are still within this classification’s range.”

Janine stopped to give Peter a measuring look. “You’re not going to freak out on us, are you, Dr. V?”

“Moi? Freak out?” Peter answered with a brittle smile, although the thought had crossed his mind. “You know me better than that, Melnitz.”

“I don’t believe `freaking out’ is the issue here,” Egon offered as they resumed their quiet stalk down the hall toward the sounds of thudding in the back. “Remember, Peter. You’re much more sensitized to these phenomena now. The question is, will your shields hold up?”

“I guess we’re about to find that out, Spengs,” Peter said, lowering his voice to a whisper. The craft room was just now in sight. “The old sink-or-swim school of psychic training. I think I’ve got it handled, though. I’m not getting thoughts, just a sense of really bad ju-ju. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you sure?” Egon whispered back, his blue eyes hard behind their lenses as he caught Peter’s gaze. Peter sighed.

“Believe me, Egon. The minute I can’t handle it, I’m out of here. I know what a liability I’d be if I lost it.”

Egon looked at his friend for a second longer, then nodded. “Very well. Now let’s see what we’re up against.”

The physicist had been slightly in the lead, so the other two held back as he inched his way along the wall toward the open doorway. They could now hear just under the shrieks of the entities and the occasional thud or crash the muted whimpering of young voices and an older, female voice whispering. Egon carefully shifted to peer around the doorpost, then darted to the other side of the doorway and pressed himself against the wall to check the rest of the room from the opposite angle.

“Careful, Egon,” Janine whispered.

“Yeah, Spengs,” Peter added, remembering what the policeman had said about his experience with this room. “You’ve never been one to lose your head on a bust. Don’t start now.”

Egon didn’t bother to answer the jibe. Peter and Janine held their breaths as he smoothly stuck his head through the doorway just enough to let his eye clear the opening. He jerked back just as a squeeze-bottle smashed against the frame exploding and showering him with purple tempera paint. Quickly, he darted back to join the rest of the team.

“It appears that the ghosts are most adverse to company,” he said, pulling a handkerchief out of a pocket to clean the paint off his glasses. “However, I have managed to pinpoint the position of the civilians. If you would please show me the diagram, Janine.”

She pulled the folded paper out of her pocket and spread it out against the wall. The room itself was oblong with the door near the end of one of the longer walls. The two large windows were on the opposite wall. Egon pointed to the corner of the room which was on the same side as the windows but furthest from the door.

“This is where they are. They’ve taken cover under a table and appear to be unharmed. It will be challenging to get them to the door. The ghosts will probably attack anything that moves in there, and the space is far too small to safely operate the throwers until we get them out.”

Janine winced as a box of popsicle sticks came flying through the door and broke open against the wall of the hallway. “What about the windows? They’re closer to them. Can we get them open from the outside?”

“That particular question is moot considering they’ve both been broken out,” Egon replied. “That would be a quicker escape route, but it would probably take two of us to get them out of there with any speed. And the problem still remains of getting them past the ghosts and over all that broken glass unharmed.”

“Which means someone’s got to keep the goopers busy while you get them out,” Peter said with a groan. “I should have just stayed in bed. I’ve already been slimed once today.”

Egon and Janine looked up in concern.

“Wait just a minute, Dr. V!”

“Peter, you don’t have to...”

“Save it, folks!” Peter interrupted. “Remember, you’ve got the New and Improved Venkman Ghost Magnet on this bust. It’d be so much fun if the ghosts notice me while I’m trying to sneak out the backdoor with the kiddies.” He grinned cockily. “After all, I was the best at distracting goopers before I became a psionic sun-lamp using nothing but my rapier wit and quick reflexes. Let me play to my strengths.”

“Annoyance and general irritation?” Janine asked dryly. “I hate to admit it, Egon, but he’s got a point.”

“Indeed he does,” Egon said, his tone tightly controlled. “But try not to get yourself killed, Dr.Venkman. Two visits to the hospital in one week will not much improve our insurance premiums.”

“And I love you, too, Spengs. Radio me when you’re in position.” 

As his two teammates crept back down the hall, Peter edged forward to try to find some cover to dive for when he entered the room. He’d had plenty of experience distracting ghosts while his team got into position for a bust, and he’d found that having something to shield yourself with when said ghosts got a little too nasty was very helpful.

That overturned table ought to do just fine. Well, Pete, here you are again playing bait. How the hell do I manage to get myself into these messes? I don’t think I’m a masochist. But, then, I do live with Egon.

He pointedly did not think about what he was feeling from the other side of his shields. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was the sheer number of minds around him, but the shields seemed to be wearing down a little faster than normal. Instead of worrying about that, he set his thrower to its lowest possible setting.

Won’t do more than tickle those goopers, but at least I can use it without worrying about neutronizing a kid if our gatecrashers notice them leaving the party early. Okay, Petey, you can do this. Just go in with sarcasm set to full power like always. Hell, this psi-attraction may turn out to be an advantage doing this stuff. Peter snorted at the thought. Yeah, right. And Dean Yeager will be nominating me for Citizen of the Year.

He checked his watch. Just over five minutes had passed since Egon and Janine had left him. Come on, come on, he thought impatiently. If you’ve dragged Egon into an alley for a little nookie, Janine, I’m docking your paycheck.

Finally, his walkie-talkie crackled. “We’re in position. Go.”

“Showtime!” Peter hissed under his breath and took off through the door. The ghosts weren’t hard to spot. But then, Class Twos who like to throw things rarely are. They paused in their trashing to stare at the newcomer. One was a mottled-orange with a long, lumpy body, bugged-out eyes and what seemed like a dozen, spindly arms. The other was shorter and smooth, with tentacles arranged in a fringe around the base of its body and a wailing mouth on the very crown of its “head”. It was also colored a shade a puce guaranteed to turn any normal human’s stomach. Peter grinned up at them, managing to enjoy the familiar surge of adrenaline in spite of the danger.

“What did we tell you kids about throwing things in class? No recess for you.”

The orange ghost snarled and threw the jar of colored sand it held at him. The Ghostbuster ducked and sidestepped quickly. “Okay, no recess and no cookies at snack time!”

Both ghosts started hurling objects at him now, swooping around the room for more ammunition. Peter had to devote almost his complete attention to dodging, but managed to catch a glimpse of Egon climbing through the broken window. Absently, he wondered how he looked to the kids and their rather cute (now that he’d seen her) teacher...and started to reach.

No! he thought furiously, and pulled himself back. It was just enough distraction for the puce ghost to nail him on the back of the head with a wad of sculpting clay. It wasn’t enough to do more than sting, but it did shock him back to the present.

Come on, Venkman! Keep your mind on the game here!

Shouting more abuse, he dove to the floor to escape a flying step-stool and converted the dive into a roll. Winston had taught them all how to control their falls this way. Of course, it was much more difficult when carrying a forty pound pack, but he was back on his feet in seconds. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed Egon handing a tow-headed boy through the window to Janine. However, he’d lost sight of the ghosts.

“Awww, come ON!” he yelled, looking around wildly. “Is that the best you can do? Any kid could beat you guys cold in dodgeball!”

A slight movement out of the corner of his eye was the only warning. Peter looked over his shoulder to see that the two ghosts had grabbed a table.

“Oh, Shit!”

He barely had time to lunge out of the way as they threw it. This time, instead of landing in a controlled tumble, he sprawled face down on the floor in a large puddle of rubber cement.

“Yuck! I hate this stuff,” Peter grumbled as he pushed himself to a kneeling position. His dive had taken him behind some broken crates. He gingerly peeked over them...and ducked back down as two small jars came hurtling. They shattered on the wall above him, showering the psychologist in glitter. “Okay!” Peter yelled. “That’s it! No recess, no cookies and no field trip to the zoo!”

Egon’s voice sang out from the opposite side of the room. “Peter! They’re out!”

“About time!” Peter shouted back, with relief as he turned the power setting on his pack back up. “Let’s stick these bad boys in detention. They do not play well with others.”

“Probably run with scissors, too,” Janine said as she climbed through the window and pulled her proton rifle. “Let’s toast them!”

Egon and Janine fired simultaneously, but the two ghosts corkscrewed out of their way, nailing Egon with a tray of fingerpaints and pelting Janine with chunks of play-doh. Peter jumped to his feet and ran from cover, yelling at the top of his lungs and firing at the ghosts. They shifted their focus back to him, showering him with dried macaroni and bow-tie pasta, but the distraction was just enough. Egon caught the orange ghost dead center, and Janine snagged the puce one as it tried to veer away.

“Got ‘em, Dr. V!” she called. “Give these guys the ultimate `time-out’!”

“Trap out,” Peter said, sliding a trap under each of the ghosts. He stomped on the pedals and fans of white light enveloped the specters, pulling them down with protesting wails as Janine and Egon shut off their streams.

“Class dismissed,” Egon said with satisfaction as the trap doors clicked shut.

“Good job, teach’,” Peter quipped as he walked over and picked up one of the traps. “Pity we can’t paddle them, too.”

“Are you all right, Peter?” Egon asked, looking his friend over for injuries, then searching his face for signs of strain.”

Peter paused for a second, then shot Egon a smile that was only slightly strained. “A little bruised and in dire need of a clean jumpsuit, but I’m fine, Spengs.”

“You look like you’ve been to a rave or something,” Janine observed, noting the glitter in Peter’s hair and dusting his uniform.

“If I keep breathing these fumes for long, I’m gonna feel like I’ve been to a rave,” Peter shot back, eyeing the rubber cement coating his chest.

Egon ignored the levity and pressed the issue. “And your shields?”

Peter let his eyes go unfocused a moment as he “looked” himself over. What he found was reassuring. “They’re holding. A little thinner at this point than they usually are at home, but I’ve been doing a hell of a lot more today. I’m good.”

“Are you sure?” Janine asked.

“As sure as I can be,” Peter said, with irritation creeping into his voice. “Let’s get this over with and go home. Where’s...”

...hate...

Peter’s voice trailed off and his eyes widened as the sensation of burning enmity impacted against his shields. Egon looked at him with concern, and jumped as the PKE meter on his belt started to squeal. He grabbed it and read the screen.

“It’s the Five. It’s starting to...”

“Get down!” Peter yelled and tackled both of his teammates to the floor. The Five flew with a shrill cry right through where their heads had been. Peter looked up just in time to see a blue blur hit the wall and pass through it without a trace.

“I think our Five’s a little pissed off,” Janine remarked as they tried to untangle themselves. “Good call, Dr. V., but I’d better get hazard pay for this.”

Egon fumbled for his meter which had flow from his grasp as he hit the floor. “The Five is still in this building. It’s roughly in this direction.” He turned to Peter. “How did you...”

“I felt it coming. Okay, Spengs?” Peter interrupted with clenched teeth. He had quickly retrieved his thrower and was crouched over his friends, his head turning from side to side as if he feared another attack at any moment...which he did, given what he’d felt through his protections. And, to his dismay, those protections were now deteriorating at an even greater rate. “We can study what is no doubt a fascinating aspect of telepathy later,” he said, covering his fear with a thick layer of sarcasm. “Let’s bust this ghost and get home.” Peter fixed a glare on Egon before he could speak. “And if anyone asks me if I’m up to this one more time, I’m gonna shove that meter where the sun don’t shine.”

Peter rose to his feet and cautiously walked out the door into the hallway. Egon and Janine exchanged a look, and Janine shrugged helplessly. “Wait up, Sparkles.”

The three of them began to search the building room by room. With every second, Peter felt the tension within him mounting as his shields continued to thin. Goddamnit, he snarled inwardly. I’ve got to have better mental control than this. I managed to completely blank my mind when Gozer showed up. Surely I can manage a simple psi-shield. The guys can’t keep doing busts as a trio, or hauling in Janine when they need four. Then I’d have to give her that raise.

“We’re getting closer,” Egon announced as they neared a main classroom. “I believe it’s in there.” He turned to Peter with a question in his eyes. Peter sighed.

“Yeah, I feel it in there, too. Let’s wrap this puppy up.”

Peter advanced on the closed door and lifted one foot to kick it open. A brief surge in the overlying level of malice was his only warning. The Five burst through the door and dove directly at him. Off balance, Peter fell to the floor with the ghost gripping his throat.

...hateyouhateyouhateyou...

Peter fought back and managed to work his fingers in enough to keep the ghost from choking off his breathing. But that did nothing for his shields. Whether from stress or the sheer force of the spirit’s thoughts, his already thin shields cracked open. A flood of undirected anger, hatred and sadistic savagery, surged through him. Peter screamed as he felt himself being overwhelmed.

“PETER, FREEZE!”

Blindly trusting his friend’s voice, Peter froze. The glare of a proton beam lashed out not one foot from his chest. The proton backwash wasn’t close enough to cause his nervous system to short-circuit, but he did experience a unpleasant shock that made all his muscles spasm at once as the beam caught the spirit and threw it off of him. The flood of hate-charged thoughts receded, and Peter lay limp on the floor as a second proton beam joined the first. Voices seemed to echo in the distance as Peter huddled in the remnants of his barriers almost in a fugue.

“Janine, can you reach your trap?”

“No way. It’s taking all I’ve got to just hold this son of a bitch.”

“Peter? Peter, can you hear me?”

Footsteps pounded. “Egon! Janine!”

“Over here, guys! Give us a hand!”

A third proton beam crackled through the room. “What happened to Peter?”

“Later, Ray. The trap!”

A flash of white light, an angry wail and it was over. As the miasma of evil lifted, Peter managed to roll on his side and lift his head. Winston and Ray had arrived. They stood beyond the blinking trap a few yards down the hall from him. They saw him move and ran down the hall.

“Peter? Are you okay?” Ray reached out to help Peter up, but contact brought an instant flood of images laced with worry, fear and guilt. Peter flinched away.

“Please, Ray...not now...”

Hurt flickered across Ray’s face, but only for a second before understanding dawned. “Your shields?”

Peter nodded and hauled himself up to sit against the wall. Egon knelt down beside him and looked into his face, worriedly. “Are they completely down?”

“No,” Peter said shaking his head. “Thin as an eggshell and they’ve got some cracks to put the San Andreas Fault to shame, but give me a few minutes and I think I can pull myself together enough to get out of here. How big’s the crowd?”

“Pretty big, m’man,” Winston answered. “Ghosts holding kids captive. I think every reporter in the city is out there. Ray and I had to fight our way through the mob.”

“We came as quick as we could,” Ray said. “I’m sorry. I should have had my cell with me. It’s...”

Peter pulled his focus inward, leaving the others to deal with Ray’s typical guilt trip. Usually, that was his job, but right now he had neither the time nor the energy. He focused on his protections, willing the shield to become one complete barrier once again. It was difficult, like trying to re-construct a shattered cup without the use of super-glue and having to hold each piece against the others by force. But, finally, the “noise” in his mind started to recede.

I guess that’s it, he thought. Should hold me together ‘til we get home.

He opened his eyes to see all four of his friends staring anxiously at him. Somehow, he managed to dredge up a tired smile. “Can we go home now?”

“Just waiting for you, Dr. Venkman,” Egon said, offering a hand up. Peter hesitated a moment, then reached out to grab it. The patched shields were holding...for now. Peter’s smile firmed into something more genuine as he was hauled to his feet.

“Okay, guys. Let’s go face our adoring public and get home for a well deserved shower.” He brushed some of the glitter from his hair. “And let’s hope none of the other ghosts get the idea to haunt craft rooms. They’re more dangerous than chemical plants.”

I can handle this, he thought as they headed for the exit. Pointedly, he did not think about what might happen if all those people touched him. Just got to keep my shields up...and keep my brain to myself.

***

There’d better not be any reporters at headquarters, or they’ll wind up eating through a straw!

Janine didn’t have much patience with the press at the best of times, but at the moment she was quite ready to go into full battle-bitch mode at the first sight of a microphone. The gauntlet the team had run to get to Ecto had been sheer hell. They were lucky that the teacher they had rescued had been taken off to the hospital along with the children to check for injuries and that the parents had gone with them or else they would have had to deal with their emotional expressions of gratitude. Peter couldn’t have handled that at this point, at least not without revealing to the public that something was very wrong. As it was, they’d used a kind of wedge formation to force their way through the press with Peter in the center where he could call out some off-the-cuff quips in response to shouted questions without having to risk his shields through physical contact.

Janine glanced at the other side of the back seat where Peter was slumped against the door. Once they were safely in Ecto and on their way, Peter’s mask had crumbled. His shields may have held but only by a thread and holding them together had exhausted what little energy he had left. He’d promptly gone glassy-eyed, staring at the back of the front passenger’s seat and rousing only when you asked him a direct question.

Yep, he’s a mess. And the other guys aren’t much better, she grumbled inwardly. Egon was sitting between them, and she could feel the tension thrumming along every line of his body. Ray kept looking back over the seat, the post-bust discussion he was having with Egon half-hearted at best as his eyes kept going to Peter. Winston kept his eyes on his driving, strangely silent.

I swear, I’m gonna chain Ray’s cellphone to him. Until Dr. V. gets this shielding act down, we’ve got to have everyone on tap for emergency calls.

Janine breathed a sigh of relief as they finally turned onto Mott and pulled into headquarters. “Last stop, guys,” she said. “Everybody out.”

Winston and Ray piled out first and headed to the basement to empty the traps. When Peter didn’t respond, Egon frowned and reached out hesitantly to touch his shoulder. “Peter?”

The psychologist jumped. “Wha...Geez, Egon!”

“Just checking to see if you were still with us,” Egon explained, looking intently into Peter’s face. Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“Sorry, big guy. The rubber cement fumes are making me wiggy.” He climbed out of the hearse and slowly, deliberately stretched his back. “First call on the shower.”

The front door opened and that meant one of two things, a client or trouble. If it’s not one damn thing, it’s another, Janine grumbled to herself as she prepared to play “field the visitor” while Peter beat a retreat upstairs.

“Peter! Good to see you, son! I was wondering when you guys would get back. I had enough coffee in that café across the street to float a boat.”

Janine’s heart sank to her toes at the familiar voice. Everyone froze in whatever stage the were at in getting out of Ecto. It wasn’t a client. It was trouble of the worst possible kind.

Oh, God, Charlie. Not now! Who managed to screw up their karma so bad that we have to deal with him, too!

Peter stiffened mid-stretch and abruptly let his arms fall to his sides. “Hi, Dad,” he answered in a flat, almost toneless voice. “Just passing through?”

Charlie Venkman, his cheap suit resplendent in its tackiness, sauntered into the garage. “Sort of. Had some business running over in Jersey and thought I’d stop by and see you.”

“Mr. Venkman,” Egon said warningly as he started unloading the packs from the back of Ecto. “I must caution you, if there was any time that one of your scams would be most unwelcome, it would be now.”

“Scams?!” Charlie placed his hand over his heart melodramatically. “Dr. Spengler, you wound me.”

“Don’t tempt us,” Janine snapped, mentally evaluating various blunt objects in the garage for their effectiveness.

“Today’s a really crappy time for this, Dad,” Peter groaned as he turned away and leaned his elbows on Ecto’s roof. To his credit, Charlie actually looked concerned.

“You look rough, son. Hard bust?”

Peter managed a half-hearted smile. “You could say that.”

“Looks like you need a vacation. And I have just the way to fund it. I’ve got a sweet proposition that should land all of us on easy street...”

Janine had a clear view of Peter’s face over the roof of the car. Peter wasn’t much for showing his true emotions, but he didn’t have the energy to keep them out of his expression this time. In this unguarded moment, she saw a complex series of emotions played over it in a matter of seconds. As Charlie’s business pitch started, first disappointment, then frustration and anger. Those she expected. But suddenly his expression changed to surprise and shock and finally hurt. And all the while, an ominous tension built in the room until...

Get out, you bastard! Get out! Get out! GET OUT!

It was as if Peter was screaming at the top of his lungs, but she could clearly see that his lips were not moving. His eyes were squeezed shut, and his jaw was clenched too tightly for any words to escape. Absently, she noted that Charlie had cut off abruptly to clutch his forehead. A crash echoed from her right as Egon dropped the pack he was lifting. Peter’s shout echoed through her mind, not only the words, but also a bitter melange of pain, grief, despair and rage that she thought would surely blow her skull to bits.

“Peter! Stop this! Now!”

Egon’s voice fell like an axe. Peter’s eyes popped open, and the mental maelstrom ceased. Green eyes widened in horror, and Peter violently shoved himself away from the car.

“Pete! What’s wrong?” Winston yelled as he topped the stairs, Ray close on his heels. Peter spun around to face them, his hands starting to shake as they hung by his sides. His looked frantically at each of his friends, then took off up for the upper level like a bat out of hell.

“Whoa! That boy has some lungs on him,” Charlie said, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Maybe I should have waited ‘til he got cleaned up first. He always did have a temper when he was tired.”

Four baleful gazes zeroed in on the con-man.

“Yes, you should have waited,” Egon said in a tone that was pure ice.

“And he’s not the only one with a temper,” Janine growled. “Out!”

Charlie raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Oh, come now, Miss Melnitz. You know my boy. Give him a little while to cool off, and we can all talk about this like civilized people.”

The red-head’s eyes narrowed, and she stalked toward the older man. “You’d better believe I know `your boy’, Charlie. I know him a hell of a lot better than you do. And I know when he means business. So you’ve got two choices. You can leave voluntarily in one piece or you can leave in an ambulance. What’s it gonna be?”

Winston stepped up beside Janine, casually cracking his knuckles. “You heard the lady. You gonna go the easy way or the hard way?”

Charlie looked over at Egon and winced away from the cold glare he found. He then looked appealingly at Ray who was unhappy, but determined to back his friends. The con-man sighed.

“Oh, well. Have him call me when he feels better, will you? This is a chance that he really shouldn’t miss out on.” He walked away, trying to look casual about it but clearly fighting the impulse to run from the suddenly hostile environment. As the door shut behind him, the Ghostbusters breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay,” Winston asked. “Someone want to tell me what just happened?”

Egon looked up the stairs toward the second level. “It seems that Peter’s telepathic ability is not simply limited to receiving the thoughts of others.”

“Oh, wow!” Ray breathed. “You mean we just heard Peter’s thoughts? I thought he was just yelling.”

“You weren’t here at ground zero,” Janine grumbled, rubbing her temples. “He wasn’t yelling. Not with his mouth, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Winston said. “Whatever it was, I’ve never heard Pete so upset. What happened?”

“His father happened,” Janine answered with disgust. “He was trying to drag Peter into one of his scams again.”

Ray thought about this for a second, then shook his head. “That can’t be it,” he said. “Charlie’s pulled stuff like this before, but Peter’s never reacted like this.”

“I don’t know, Ray,” Winston said. “This may be the first time we’ve heard what’s actually going on inside him.”

“A good point, Winston,” Egon said. “However, I saw Peter’s face just before he projected. I have to agree that what Charlie was doing has never elicited that level of emotion before.” He took a deep breath and adjusted his glasses. “I surmise that Peter’s thinning shields may have allowed him to read something from his father that he found most upsetting,” Egon continued. “It may be that the surge of emotion triggered this new facet of his ability, or perhaps it is just coincidence. However, I believe it is even more imperative that we develop that artificial shield.”

“I should think so,” Winston murmured. “Pete’s temper tantrums are bad enough without getting them beamed directly into your skull.”

“Did you make any progress while we were gone, Egon?” Ray asked. “You said you were going to try to get Peter to cooperate.”

“And I was successful, Raymond. You and Winston should go review my notes. I believe this device will need a different circuit arrangement along with failsafes to prevent injury from power surges.” The physicist sighed. “You can start on that while I go talk to Peter.”

***

Chapter 6 - Consequences

He’ll be making his move soon, the damned fool.

She ran her clawed fingertips absently around the edge of the recording crystal as it projected its information in front of her eyes. The Gaurnim Assembly had access to many sources of intelligence. This particular member had more sources than most, and they had proved most valuable in the recent troubles. She deactivated her crystal and wiped it with an almost negligent exercise of will. Laying the now blank recording medium on her desk, she leaned back and stared at the mists as they continued their stately dance. This was her public “office” as it were. Not the hidden sanctum where she had held and tortured a human. That place was hidden, at least for now.

Tirad will make his move. Those short-sighted dull-scales in the Assembly will react and we’ll go charging blindly down the path of the First Cataclysm like a herd of magakte. If only Sker would listen to reason. Realize how he’s being played. She shook her head in frustration. Futile of me, contemplating might-have-beens. What is must be dealt with...which I have to the best of my ability. Her hair crest slicked down against her skull and neck, the Gaurnim expression of anxiety. I can only wait. Something I have never liked. But if something doesn’t happen soon, I may have to prod Sker. I may have been too subtle.

Approaching presences caught her attention. Not so much the presences themselves; their thoughts were tightly controlled to minimize projection. It was the stir they created in other minds as they passed that alerted her. But they were definitely headed toward her sanctum.

Then again, perhaps I wasn’t too subtle.

She schooled her expression to one of careful neutrality, consciously forcing her crest into a relaxed position. Two male-alphas wearing the insignia of Assembly Guards marched in and flanked the entrance. A moment later, an aged male-beta followed them. The extensive scarring along his left flank prevented him from moving with a beta’s usual graceful undulations. His left arm was twisted and withered, hanging limp at his side, all marks earned during the Great War. His eyes glittered with anger. The female rose from her desk and bowed to her fellow Assembly member.

“Honorable Sker, to what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

Sker’s lip curled in scorn. “Honorable Ba’aque,” he sneered, turning the title into an epithet with his tone. “You are hereby under arrest for crimes against the laws of the Gaurnim.”

Ba’aque felt a strange mix of gratification and despair at his words but was careful not to betray this and gave him a puzzled look instead. “Crimes, Honorable Sker? What are these crimes that you speak of?”

Sker jerked his way closer to her desk. “You are a formidable opponent on the debate floor, Ba’aque,” he said. “But did you really think you could cover this up forever? Urging the Assembly to bow down to those filthy Y’larat in the name of preventing pain and destruction while, at the same time, you engaged in perverse experiments on sentient beings from the Forbidden World!” The beta drew himself up proudly. “Perhaps now your supporters will see the folly of your position. You are hereby under arrest for the capture and unlawful holding of a sentient being, premeditated assault upon a sentient being and endangering the Pact! Will you come quietly and be judged before the Gaurnim?”

Ba’aque forced her features into an expression of cold pride. So he had taken the bait. The subtle clues she had left had led Sker, who hoped to find information to discredit his rival, to “hidden” journals; carefully composed journals which painted her as a sociopath, carrying out cruel and pointless experiments which could easily seen as poor excuses for sadism.

“I am ever at the Assembly’s service,” she said as she walked around her desk. The guards flanked her as they headed out into the passage. As they walked, she bleakly contemplated her future.

“Once you decide on a path, face the consequences of that path without flinching.” The passage from her favorite philosophy book failed to comfort her. Time to face my consequences. Two can play plausible deniablity, Tirad. And I believe I can beat you at this game.

***

Oh, God, Egon thought, his heart sinking into his toes. Peter wasn’t on the second level, but Egon hadn’t really expected to find him there. However, as he had made his way to the spiral staircase, something in the kitchen caught his eye. One of the cabinets was hanging open. The cabinet where they kept the liquor.

Come on, Peter. I know you’re stronger than that.

Egon hurried up the stairs. They all knew that alcohol deadened psychic awareness, but that was one route Peter had steadfastly refused to take. Had this latest shock finally pushed him over the edge? Egon had to get to him quickly. He didn’t even bother to check the third level. Peter wouldn’t be there, not in the state he was currently in. Egon headed straight for the stairs to the roof.

He let himself out into the breezy afternoon. The air was cooling as fall advanced, but the roof had been baking in the sun all day and radiated warmth. A few wispy clouds sailed overhead. All in all a beautiful day, but Egon had no eyes for it. Peter wasn’t in sight of the door, but before Egon could even turn around to look for him, a voice called out.

“Over here, Spengs. I’m on the other side.”

Peter’s voice, dull and flat, but not slurred as it would be with intoxication. Marginally reassured, Egon walked around to the other side of the roof. Peter was sitting propped against the back of the shed which sheltered the stairs. His knees were pulled up almost to his chest with his crossed arms resting on top of them. He stared into the distance, sunlight glinting off the glitter that clung to his hair and clothes. Peter seemed fairly calm now, but it was the numb calm of someone who had been hurt so deeply that he simply couldn’t register any more pain.

“Before you ask, yes, I felt you coming, and, no, I haven’t got my shields back together yet. Can’t get my mind focused enough.” He listlessly turned his head to look at Egon. “I didn’t hurt anyone down there, did I?”

Egon slowly walked over and dropped down to sit crosslegged in front of Peter. “No, we’re uninjured.”

Peter nodded and let out a slow breath. “Thank God for small favors. Does dad know?”

“Meaning did you your father discern that you’re a telepath?” Egon shook his head. “No. He simply thought you were shouting. We didn’t enlighten him before we threw him out.”

“Good, I didn’t really want to deal with his plans to get rich off of this little development,” Peter said with a hint of anger. “Don’t you guys have a bust this afternoon?”

“Janine’s rescheduling it for tomorrow,” Egon replied.

“Hey, don’t call it off on my account.”

“Peter,” Egon said, his tone a mild rebuke.

“Okay, okay,” Peter capitulated with a resigned shrug. “You probably would have had to postpone it anyway, as late as we got back.”

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the breeze whistling past the roof and the faint sound of cars from the street below. Finally, Egon nodded toward the full bottle of bourbon, obviously unopened, which sat beside Peter. “May I ask what you plan to do with that?”

“Just reviewing my options,” Peter said with a grimace. “Trying to figure out if that little performance down there moves me into the ‘danger to myself and others’ category.” He picked up the bottle and looked at it contemplatively. “I’m a little scared that, if I dive in here, I won’t be coming back up for air.”

“Well, I would seriously take issue with classifying you as dangerous,” Egon said sternly. “I hope you will trust my judgement where that is concerned.”

Peter gave Egon a long, penetrating look, then a ghost of a smile crept across his face. “I do,” he said. He leaned forward and placed the bottle on the roof in front of Egon. “How about I let you decide when I need that?” Peter stared at the bottle bleakly for a second, then buried his head in his arms. “‘Cause I really don’t trust my own judgement at this point, Spengs. You know, I never could understand people who turn to drugs and stuff to deal with their problems. I think I’m starting to now.”

Egon was shocked, even more than he was when he’d seen the open liquor cabinet. What could Peter have possibly read in his father’s thoughts to bring him to this point? “Peter?” he asked hesitantly. “What happened? What did you see?”

The only answer was a slight tremble in Peter’s lanky frame. Egon grit his teeth together and persisted. “I know you don’t feel comfortable talking about this, but, if it hurt you this badly, you need to get it out. I promise not to tell anyone what you saw in your father’s mind...”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality, Egon?” Peter’s voice was brittle with irony. “I guess you’d qualify. You’ve probably picked up enough from yours truly over the years to start your own counseling service.” Peter looked up, his eyes glinting with unshed tears as words kept tumbling out, faster and faster. “I wonder what kind of ethical code would apply to a psychic psychologist. Would save a lot of time finding out what people’s hang-ups really are. That is, if I could do it and face myself in the mirror each morning.”

“Peter.” Egon put enough steel in his voice to derail his friend’s growing hysteria. Peter jumped, then slumped against the shed. Egon had to fight the urge to reach out and clasp the psychologist’s hand. It was impossible while his shields were in this condition. Being overloaded by another’s thoughts would certainly do Peter no good at this delicate moment. “Please, Peter,” Egon continued gently. “What happened?”

A wave of despair and grief surged through Egon, carried by three words that echoed in his mind. No, I can’t.

“Yes, you can, Dr. Venkman,” Egon said, forcing the invading emotions to one side. For once, his tendency to suppress his feelings came in handy. Peter looked up, surprised, then sighed in shame.

“I’m sorry, Egon,” he said wearily. “It’s just...” He dropped his eyes to stare at a point on the roof just in front of his feet. “You know, every time my dad tries to pull one of his stunts, I ask myself the same questions. What kind of idiot does he think I am? How can he do this to me? Does he really...love me?” The threatening tears started to spill over. “Well...I guess I finally got my answer.”

Egon stared at Peter, stricken and disbelieving. “Peter, your father does love you,” he said automatically as he had dozens of times before when Peter had been hurt by his father’s thoughtlessness. “He just...”

“Damn it, Spengs!” Peter snapped. “I think I’m in a better position to know this than you!” The brief energy the anger gave him flowed away in the next second, and Peter closed his eyes, tears shining on his lashes. “I guess in order to love anyone you’ve got to have a certain attitude about people to start with,” he continued in a dull voice. “Dad lumps everyone into one category. ‘Things to be used’. I kinda knew he felt that way about most people.” Peter’s eyes opened. Such pain and loss shone from their green depths that Egon felt his own heart breaking. “But I really hoped he saw me differently.” Peter sighed and rested his head on his arms once more. “He does see me a little differently, I guess. He feels some affection, but it’s the fondness a hunter would have for a good hound dog, or like you have for your favorite meter. But, in the end, they’re just tools, things to be used and forgotten when you don’t need them. That’s not what I’d call love.”

Egon didn’t know what to say. Sometimes, he had suspected this about Charlie Venkman, but he had never wanted to believe it was true. The idea was so heinous that he’d forcibly turned away from it, urging Peter not to cut ties with his father even when he had every justification to do so. But now, to know that Peter’s father not only did not truly love his son, but also that he was incapable of ever doing this without a radical and, at his age, highly unlikely change of worldview was devastating. He could only imagine how painful it was for Peter to have that last smoldering ember of hope for a normal relationship with his father finally snuffed out.

“Peter...I’m sorry.”

“‘Sokay, Egon,” Peter replied bitterly. “I guess I should have expected it. Like father, like son.”

Later that night, as he thought over the day’s events, Egon was surprised that his brain didn’t have whiplash from all the shocks. “How can you say that?” he demanded, outrage creeping into his voice. “You’re nothing like Charlie!”

“Well part of me is!” Peter shot back. Despair and hopelessness were plain in his expression. “Why else can’t I control this thing? I know I shouldn’t be reaching into people’s minds, but it happens before I can stop it!”

“What are you talking about?” Egon demanded, leaning forward.

Guilt overwhelmed the other emotions on Peter’s face. He let his arms fall to his sides as he leaned back. “I...didn’t tell you everything this morning, Spengs,” Peter finally said. “This so-called gift. It’s got an active mode as well as a passive one. I wonder what people are thinking and, next thing I know, I’m in their minds reaching out to just what I was wondering about. That’s what happened down there with Dad.” He swallowed nervously and closed his eyes with shame. “And that’s what happened with Winston the other night when I saw his dream.”

Egon looked at Peter quietly for a long moment. Ray was right. Peter had been suppressing his telepathy, but he didn’t believe for a moment that this new problem was due to a defect in Peter’s character. It had to be the nature of the “gift” itself. However, he would have to break through Peter’s hurt and self-hate before his friend would listen to him. And he could think of only one way to do that.

“Peter, you said earlier that you trusted my judgement. I’m about to put that to the test.”

Peter looked up, startled. “What?”

Egon held out his hand to his friend. “There’s something you need to see.”

Peter’s eyes widened with fear. “Oh, no, Spengs. You don’t want me to...”

“I thought you said you trusted my judgement,” Egon chided gently. “Do you?”

***

Peter stared at the offered hand. He wanted to take it. He wanted to bat it aside and run like fury. He wanted to look into his best friend’s heart, but he was afraid. Afraid of what he’d find there. Afraid of what he might do. He looked up at Egon. The physicist’s gaze did not waver and neither did his hand. He appeared to be ready to sit there patiently for as long as necessary. The remnants of Peter’s shields kept Egon’s surface thoughts away, but he knew what his friend was saying silently to him. He knew the way he’d known what his friends were thinking before events a week ago turned his world upside down. Egon was saying you may not trust yourself, but will you at least trust me?

The gentle pressure of that trust forced Peter to choke back his fear. Slowly, he reached out a trembling hand and placed it in Egon’s. Physical contact opened a flood-gate of sensation, but Egon grasped Peter’s hand firmly before he could pull it away. A brief moment of disorientation, then Peter got his bearings. He felt his friend pulling him toward a particular place in his thoughts. Peter let himself be guided, forcibly keeping his attention away from the myriad of images surrounding him.

Here, Peter heard in his mind. He looked and saw...himself. In stark contrast to the image he’d found in his father’s mind, this person wasn’t a “thing”, a tool bound by familial obligation to be used when convenient and then forgotten. This was a person with character and intelligence. A comrade-in-arms, a voice of comfort, a sly grin with a witty comment. He had vision that pierced through facades, but compassion that kept him from exploiting what he saw out of selfishness. It wasn’t perfection that he saw. There was also pride, impatience, vanity and a streak of avarice, but the flaws were far outweighed by the rest. This was a brother, worthy of love and love was given to him freely.

This was how Egon saw him.

Peter felt tears running freely down his face as knowledge of Egon’s love soothed the aching wound that his father had left in his soul. And, along with the pain, some of his self-doubt began to recede. He smiled gratefully at his friend, and, before he could react, Peter pulled Egon into his mind and showed the physicist how much he loved him in return.

Turnabout’s fair play, Spengs, he thought impishly as Egon gasped in surprise. As they finally released their grip, both of them were weeping openly.

“Thank you, Peter,” Egon finally said, clearing his throat.

Peter shook his head. “No, thank you, Egon. You know, that was almost worth all the rest,” he said wistfully.

“Indeed it was,” Egon said with a wistful smile of his own. “Now, regarding ‘all the rest’, are you willing to trust my judgement there as well?”

Peter sighed and quirked a corner of his mouth. “Well, it’s obvious my way’s not working,” he said, his voice thick with emotion and fatigue. “What ya got in mind?”

Egon leaned back, quickly reaching a hand under his glasses to wipe away tears. “I do not think your inability to control the active mode of your telepathy is the result of subconscious flaw on your part. The urge to know what other people are thinking is a very human one. You are unique in that you have the ability to actually do something about it.” Egon quirked an eyebrow at his friend. “I believe you would have figured this out for yourself if not for the stress you’ve been under.”

Peter winced. Logically, he knew Egon was right. He also knew that it was hardest to apply psychological principles when you yourself were the ‘patient’. He nodded in agreement, and Egon continued.

“You have also been attempting, consciously or subconsciously, to suppress your telepathic ability. However, it is likely impossible for you to do this effectively. Remember the ‘gate’ Tabitha told us about. In a sense, you’re trying to hold back a flood with your bare hands. You’re pushing your ability away. As a result, it is controlled largely by your subconscious which would explain why you find yourself involuntarily reaching for other minds in response to your very human instinct to know what others are thinking.”

Peter thought it over and couldn’t find any flaw in Egon’s explanation. “I’ve got the picture, Egon. So what do I do about it?”

Egon leaned forward with a rueful smile. “You let us help you. Instead of working only on shielding out other people’s thoughts, you need to learn to control all aspects of this talent. Take the control away from instinct and give it to your conscious mind.”

A chill ran down Peter’s spine as he thought about this. “So...you want me to go poking around in your head, Spengs? Now I know you’re crazy.”

“I trust you, Peter. We all trust you.”

Peter turned his head and stared at the clouds floating by as he tried to make sense of the chaos in his thoughts. He didn’t like it, but he was out of options. “I trust you, too. Do we get started now?”

Even if he hadn’t felt the surge of relief through his fragile shields, Egon’s smile would have given it away. “I didn’t think you were such a glutton for punishment, Dr. Venkman,” he said lightly. “At the moment, you’re so exhausted you can barely think straight.” Egon pushed himself to his feet, snagging the bottle of bourbon on his way. “First, you’re going to have a much delayed lunch, along with a shot or two of this,” he said indicating the bottle.

“Whoa! Hold the phone, big guy!” Peter started to protest, but Egon overrode him.

“You said you would let me decide when you need this, Peter, and right now you do. Just enough to let you get some rest.” He grabbed Peter by the elbow and hauled him to his feet. “You’re going to have lunch, take a shower and go to bed. If you wake up this evening with enough energy to shield yourself and work, we’ll get started tonight. If not, we’ll begin in the morning.” Egon looked intently into Peter’s eyes. “Let us help you, Peter. Don’t close us out.”

Peter smiled tiredly. “Okay, Spengs. I won’t. What’s for lunch?”

***

The mist forming the walls of the Gaurnim prison was thicker, shaded muddy green and grey. A stone bench was the sole piece of furniture. Ba’aque sat quietly in her gloomy cell, listening impassively to her friend’s tirade. At least, she was impassive on the surface. Her soul twisted in pain behind the toughest shields she could build.

“Tell me it isn’t true,” the younger female pleaded. “Tell me Sker is planting evidence. I know you couldn’t have done this!”

Oh, how she longed to tell her friend the truth, to repair her shattered image. But, if she did, her delicate plan would come crashing down, destroying their only hope of averting war.

“I assure you that Sker is far too honorable to plant evidence, Adorfa,” Ba’aque answered coolly.

“Then are you saying it’s true?” Adorfa demanded, her crest slicked down in distress. Ba’aque didn’t answer. She simply gave her young friend an icy glance. Adorfa read in it what Ba’aque intended, and her distress was quickly supplanted by anger and betrayal.

“You’ve destroyed us,” she growled. “Sker’s faction has acknowledged that Tirad is rogue, but if he brings only one other Y’larat to Earth, they will demand that Assembly declare war. You have destroyed any hope we had of countering them! And for what? For some perverse curiosity as to the break-point of the human mind?!”

“There are too many veterans with bitter memories of the last war in the Assembly,” Ba’aque remarked. “We had no hope of countering Sker in any case.”

“You have certainly seen to that!” Adorfa’s lips curled away from her teeth in fury. “And to think I trusted you. That I actually admired you, you sherkeka-born filth.” The Gaurnim spun on her heel and barked out an order. The barrier at the portal to the cell dissolved and she stepped through. “May your soul rot in the darkness!” she snarled over her shoulder just before the barrier returned.

Ba’aque sighed inwardly. She had known this sacrifice would be necessary for her plan, the sacrifice of her friends’ trust and respect. But that did not make it any less painful.

There is no turning back. I’ve burned my last bridge.

***

Winston measured out some insulated wires and cut them to fit Ray’s specifications. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the engineer and physicist crouched over the table next to him. Egon had rejoined them in the lab a little while ago with a report of his talk with Peter. Their friend had given Egon permission to tell them everything and he had in his usual dry manner. Well, maybe not quite his usual manner. Egon’s voice was just a trifle too clinical, the tell-tale sign of great stress, and he had more than enough reason for stress given what he’d related. Ray almost had to be physically restrained from running down to the kitchen when he heard the news about Peter’s father, but they’d managed to convince him that Pete needed some time to rest. But, when Winston heard about the active aspect of Peter’s telepathy, he realized that he needed to have his own private chat with the younger man sometime soon. Preferably after Peter had a chance to get some food in him. In the meantime, he busied himself with helping with powerfeed design and going over the information they’d gathered today in his head.

Okay, I think we can safely assume the Gaurnim meant for Peter to become telepathic, he thought as he picked up a soldering iron. No other explanation makes sense. If what Schlitt and Ray say about their control of power flows is right, she should have known what she was doing. The question is why. Winston quickly soldered the connections in place, letting Ray and Egon’s conversation wash over him. Unless we’re dealing with a total psycho here (and we can’t rule that out) the Gaurnim isn’t out to hurt us. From what Pete said she didn’t want to be doing this to him at all and seemed to be hurting just as much as he was, but she kept saying it was necessary. It’s not like they need telepaths over in her world. They’ve got their own. Winston frowned as a new thought occurred to him. Wait a minute, they’ve got telepaths over there, but they aren’t allowed over here. Maybe she wants to use Pete as some sort of psychic listening post if the Y’larat make a move.

“Ray, Egon,” he said aloud, catching his friends’ attention. “Tell me, can telepaths read each other across dimensions?”

Ray looked up, his hazel eyes narrowing in thought. “I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I mean, it takes a lot of power to breach dimensional barriers. Egon?”

“It does seem highly unlikely,” Egon agreed, adjusting his glasses. “It would take a great deal of energy to reach across the dimensions telepathicly even to a minor degree. And a powerful telepath on the other end would barely pick it up. Why do you ask?”

Winston cursed silently. “That shoots my idea out of the water,” he said and gave Egon an overview of their news from the kobald and his own theory. Ray smiled sympathetically and shook his head.

“Sorry, Winston. It was a good idea, but they’ve probably got much better ways of keeping tabs on our dimension. Scrying spells and stuff like that.”

“Oh, well,” Winston said with a shrug. “It was worth a shot.”

They all bent back to their work, and, presently, Winston glanced up at the clock on the lab wall.

Twenty minutes. Guess that’s long enough for the ‘medicine’ to take effect, he thought as he excused himself. Egon and Ray barely looked up from their circuit boards and print-outs, absorbed in their work as usual. Winston’s part of the job was largely done, and they could work without him for a while.

Time for my own session of True Confessions.

The former soldier made his way down the stairs, shoving his reservations firmly aside. He had a job to do here. His friend was hurting, and his own anxieties may be contributing to it. Time to drag it out into the light of day and deal with it.

“Hey, Pete. Not hit the shower yet? You look like Tinkerbell’s been after you.”

Peter looked up from the remains of his lunch with half-lidded eyes and a tired smile. “Heading there next, Zed,” he said, brushing at his hair with one hand. “That is, if I can make it up the stairs. Egon poured the booze freehand when he made me this bourbon-and-Coke. I told him we needed to blunt my senses, not put me under the table.”

Winston chuckled as he pulled out a chair and sat down next to Peter. “Given your tolerance, I guess he’s not taking any chances.”

“Well, if I wake up with a hangover, it’s all his fault.” Peter stretched and finished off the dregs of his drink. “So what’s up, Winston? The Wonder Twins got the lab wired to blow yet, or did you come down to take a break from the rarified airs of science?”

Winston took a deep breath and grasped the bull by the horns. “Actually, Pete. I need to talk to you.”

“That was my third guess.”

“First,” Winston plowed ahead, “I want to make something clear. I do not blame you for what happened the other night. That wasn’t your fault, and if I catch you pulling a guilt trip over it, I’m going to kick your ass all the way around the garage.”

“Yeah, right.” Peter gave a slightly tipsy snicker. “And risk denting Ecto-1?”

“Okay, I’ll beat you around the bunkroom and sic Slimer on you,” Winston countered with a grin. He quickly sobered, however. “The second thing. I don’t know how much you’ve been picking up from me, Pete, but I’m pretty sure you’ve noticed how gun-shy I’ve been around you the past couple of days.” Winston looked up at his friend who sat there patiently, his face revealing nothing. Winston sighed and continued. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. To tell the truth, it scared me when you read my dream. Not because I’m scared of you, if you know what I mean. I just...” He shrugged helplessly. “Well, it’s the situation that’s scary, I guess. But you needed me, and I started pulling back. I’m sorry, m’man.”

Peter smiled. “Damn it, Winston. That’s the first normal reaction I’ve seen out of you three since this whole thing started. You think I’d blame you for being scared? I’ve been freaking terrified. Any sane person would be scared in this situation.”

“I don’t think Egon’s scared, though,” Winston argued. “And I know Ray isn’t.”

Peter laughed quietly. “I rest my case. You know how it is. `There’s no one sane but me and thee...’”

“‘...and I’m not too sure about thee,’” Winston finished the quotation. “Well, maybe I can’t be blamed for the fear, but I can be blamed for pulling back. Forgive me, buddy?”

“Did you have to ask?” Peter leaned forward and gripped Winston’s arm where the sleeve covered it. “You guys have cut me all kinds of slack with this. I guess I should cut you some, too.”

Winston smiled in relief. “Thanks, Pete. I guess it was past time for me to face my fear.”

“And let it pass over and through you?” Peter grinned, letting go of Winston’s arm and leaning back. “Has Ray finally got you to start reading Dune? The great mystery afficionado is finally stooping to sci-fi?”

Winston groaned silently. Trust Peter, dead on his feet and half-drunk to pick up on an obscure reference and put two and two together. “I sincerely hope Egon gave you enough to drink that you won’t remember that when you wake up, Mr. Lisan al-Gaib.”

“Sorry, Zed,” Peter said, more of his usual cockiness surfacing. “I’m nowhere near plastered enough for that.”

Winston shook his head in amused exasperation, but he couldn’t help but notice the lingering shadows in his friend’s eyes. Peter had taken a severe blow today, and no matter how he tried to act normal, Winston knew he couldn’t bounce back quickly from something like that. “Pete,” he said tentatively. “About your dad...I’m sorry about that, too.”

Peter’s grin faded like snow in the rain. “I know, Zed. I’m not gonna lie to you and say I’m okay with it but...” He sighed wearily. “Maybe it was what I needed to make the final break. God knows, I didn’t have a healthy relationship with him to start with.”

“Peter,” Winston started to protest. “Don’t burn your bridges here. People can change.”

“Yeah, they can change,” Peter agreed. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath where my dad’s concerned.” Peter rubbed his eyes and slowly stood up. “One advantage is, if he does, I’ll probably know, but until then.” Peter shook his head. “I’m sick of being used, Zed. If that’s all he wants me for, he can go find another damn tool.” Peter swayed slightly and Winston quickly stood up to steady him. Peter managed to dredge up a smile for his friend. “Besides, you guys have been my family more than he ever was. I haven’t lost much. Just a dream.”

Winston slid one arm around Peter’s shoulders and hugged him. “Yeah, but losing dreams sometimes hurts even more.”

Peter nodded wearily. “Yeah, but it won’t kill me.” He took a deep breath and straightened up. “That shower’s long overdue. Mind following me up the stairs and giving me a shove if I need it?”

***

The hidden room was dark and dank. Unavoidable conditions given that it was far underground. Uncomfortable but endurable, and he had much experience with enduring discomforts. Strong fingers leafed through reports from his operatives and allies. The Counsel was in a fine state of chaos thanks to his friends. The Gaurnim Assembly was also in a ferment over some misdeed by one of its members. Politically, the time was right.

The only thing lacking was power, and his followers were secretly hoarding the necessary energy for their task. Hoarding energy, weapons, secrets to use as leverage. All the pieces were falling into place. In a matter of days he would strike.

Tirad leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his well-groomed, russet mane. Soon he would open the gate to the Forbidden World and begin his vengeance for thousands of years of humiliation. He would fulfill the purpose for which his father and grandfather trained him, the ascension of the Y’larat to their rightful place as lords and masters. No one, not the short-sighted fools on the Counsel, not the prancing, scale-skinned Gaurnim would stand in his way.

Tirad pushed aside his reports and pulled out a worn paper, a map of a city on the Forbidden World. The city he would open his portal to. Delicately, he traced a circle around a particular marking.

“Very soon now,” he crooned to himself. “Very soon.

***

Chapter 7 - Breakthrough

“Nope. Still reading you guys loud and clear.”

Ray chewed his lip in frustration and shut down the field. “Sorry, Peter. I didn’t think it would take this long.”

Peter rolled his eyes and leaned back precariously on the tall stool on which he was perched in the center of the lab. “Ray, so help me God, if you apologize one more time I’m gonna hang your Dopey Dog from one of the flagpoles at Rockefeller Center. I’ve heard you say `I’m sorry’ so much it’s about to drive me nuts.”

“I’m so...Okay, Peter,” Ray caught himself with a sheepish grin. “It’s just...I was really hoping we’d get this done tonight.”

Peter hooked one ankle around a stool leg and used his other foot to nudge the shoebox-sized device resting on the floor beside him, eliciting an annoyed glance from Egon who was kneeling down adjusting it. “And how many frequencies are possible here even with all the narrowing down we did? What’d you say, Spengs? A couple hundred?”

Egon looked up from his work, glasses down to the very tip of his nose. “Approximately one hundred and sixty-five. And would you please stop fidgeting while I’m working?”

Peter smirked and reached down to ruffle Egon’s hair, grinning at the withering glare he received. “And it takes almost fifteen minutes for each trial given that you have to practically reset the widget each time.” He shrugged casually. “So it takes a couple of more days. At least you geniuses were able to pull a working field generator out of your bag of tricks in record time and without blowing the place into orbit. I can put up with another couple nights on the couch if I have to. All I have to do is sit here and tell you guys how you’re doing. My kind of experiment.”

“Indeed,” Egon quipped, not looking up from his adjustments. “A role that requires minimal work and brain power. Right up your alley, Dr. Venkman.”

Ray gave Peter a half smile as he gave Egon’s hair another swat, then went back to looking over the failed frequencies on their list. Maybe he could find a pattern to them to eliminate other dead ends to speed up the process a bit. Despite Peter’s reassurances, he didn’t think his friend was getting enough sleep even on the couch. Now that Peter had finally agreed to let them study his ability in all aspects, they’d placed his passive reception range at 20 feet. Even sleeping on the couch, he was probably picking up enough from his friends to disturb him.

And that’s close enough for him to return the favor, Ray thought with a shudder. The projective aspect had added yet another complication to an already chaotic situation. Ray, Winston and Egon had all awoken in a cold sweat from dreams full of fear and pain with a sensation of cool, scaled hands gripping their heads and the image of large, sad, amber eyes. Once they woke, the images and sensations persisted in a bizarre parallax, and they realized it was Peter’s nightmare they were experiencing. Fortunately, Peter woke slightly on his own before they had to go down and shake him out of his dreams. He seemed to be unaware of the event, and the other three had decided not to tell him. They all felt Peter had more than enough to worry about.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ray saw Peter suddenly tense, but, before he could even look up, the psychologist dove from his stool just as Slimer came arrowing through the wall yelling, “Peeeeetuuuuurrr!”

The green spirit went right through the space Peter had been sitting the moment before and skidded to a stop as he found himself looking down the business end of a proton thrower. Peter had been most selective in the direction he’d taken.

“Okay, Spud,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye as he powered up the thrower. “How do you want it? Medium rare or extra crispy?”

Slimer yelled in alarm and shot over to Ray to hide behind the engineer. Ray sighed and endured the chill of ectoplasm as the ghost clung to his back, burbling “Not fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, Slimer,” Ray said. “Now, if you want to stay, you have to be quiet and leave Peter alone. Can you do that?”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh!” Slimer answered and nodded vigorously.

“If you are quite finished, gentlemen,” Egon asked dryly, “could we please continue with the next trial?”

“Whatever you say, big guy,” Peter said with a melodramatic groan as he powered down the thrower and took his place once again on the stool. “Throw the switch, Ray.”

This time, when the field engaged, Peter jumped slightly and took on a listening pose. Ray shot Egon a hopeful look. Did we do it? Looks like we did something.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

Slimer’s piercing scream nearly made Ray jump out of his skin, not to mention nearly deafening him since the ghost was just behind him. Egon sent several tools flying from the workbench as he spun around in alarm, and Peter nearly fell off his stool, barely saving himself by slamming a foot to the floor for balance.

“Slimer! What’s wrong?” Ray demanded as he spun around. Slimer grabbed him around the neck in a panicked hug and started to bawl.

“Ray! Peter gone! Peter vanish! Peter gone!”

“What the...I’m right here, Spud,” Peter said with some irritation. He waved a hand in the air. “Hello! This is Houston calling Slimer. Do you copy?”

The Class Five looked up at Peter’s voice, confused, but then started wailing again that Peter was gone. Ray’s eyes lit with comprehension. “My gosh! It works!” He spun back around to face Peter. “Can you `hear’ anything off us, Peter?”

Peter blinked and closed his eyes for a moment. A slow, relieved smile spread across his face. “Shields up, Captain Stantz.” He heaved a sigh and opened his eyes again. “Blessed silence. No thoughts in here but my own.”

“I hope you don’t get lonely with so little company, Peter,” Egon teased, elation creeping into his voice. Peter snorted and picked up a wad of bubble wrap to throw at the physicist.

“I am so unappreciated in my time. Okay, we have a working shield. What’s wrong with the Spud?”

“It’s like we were thinking before,” Ray answered excitedly. “Slimer `sees’ people using a psychic wavelength as much as a visual one. When that shield went up, as far as he is concerned, you just disappeared.”

“Hmmm...and I think I have additional confirmation of this,” Egon said, pointing a PKE meter at Peter. “Your biorhythm reading has altered as if part of it is being damped out. Try projecting. We need to make sure this shield works in two directions.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Peter said and closed his eyes, this time with an amused smile. After a moment, he glanced at his friends’ and grinned. “Congratulations, Wonder Twins. It works.”

“And exactly what were you trying to think at us, Peter?” Egon asked sharply.

“We probably don’t wanna know,” Ray murmured. “Slimer, leggo! Peter’s right here. See?”

Ray shut down the shield and Slimer’s head came up like a hunting dog. A wide grin spread across his face and he shot through Ray to embrace Peter. “Peter! Peter back!”

“Yuck! Slimer!” Peter groaned in distaste as ectoplasm soaked through his shirt. Ray chuckled and walked over to them.

“Now be nice, Peter,” he chided. “Poor Slimer’s been through a terrible shock.”

“If he doesn’t let go of me soon, he’ll get another,” Peter said sourly, but made no other move to disentangle himself.

“Hey, what’s the hubbub?”

Winston was at the doorway leaning in. He quickly scanned the room and took note of the expressions on his friends’ faces. “I take it this means good news.”

“Very good news, Zed,” Peter said. “I get to have a good night’s sleep for the first time in almost two weeks.” The psychologist’s head came up in that listening pose again and he started to peel the ghost’s arms from around his neck. “Slimer, get off! I’ve got a phone call.”

***

To Peter’s immense disgust, Slimer was even more difficult to dislodge than usual. As he struggled free, he listened absently to his friends’ discussion as they started to move the shielding equipment into the bunkroom.

“You know that phone trick’s been puzzling me ever since this whole thing started,” Winston was saying. “How does a precognitive suddenly turn into a telepath?”

“Probably because it wasn’t really precog in the first place,” Ray answered. “If human thought is an energy waveform that can be transmitted, maybe it can use other wave forms as a carrier. Say the wave forms transmitted by communication wiring.”

“So you’re picking up people over the phone, Pete?”

“Sort of,” Peter answered as he finally got Slimer to let go. “Kinda makes sense. When people call here, they’re thinking about us, which produces a focused thought in our general `direction’. The energy of ole’ Ma Bell gives it a boost and...three...two...one...”

Right on cue, the phone rang. Peter let it ring twice before answering. This old trick had gotten a boost as well in that he could sort of `recognize’ who was calling, an enhancement which had been invaluable in avoiding his dad’s phone calls these last few days. Whoever it was this time seemed familiar, but for the life of him, Peter couldn’t place this person’s identity.

Well, let’s see who our mystery caller is, he thought as he picked up the receiver.

“Ghostbusters,” he said. “You got a ghost. We’ll make it toast.”

“And good evening to you, too, Dr. Venkman,” came an amused drawl from the other end. “How’s your head?”

The voice caused the final piece to fall into place. “Well, if it isn’t Dr. Tabasco. Calling to check on your work or just finally giving into my irresistible charm?”

“Good God, Peter,” she replied with a snort. “You’re so full of it. I’m tempted to slip thirty cc’s of lactulose into your coffee.”

“Excuse me?”

“Trust me, if you don’t know what I meant, you don’t wanna find out.” There was a brief pause as her mood sobered. “To tell the truth, Peter, I was calling to check on you. It’s been almost two weeks and neither Sara or I have heard yackum from you.”

Peter leaned against the workbench and stifled a sigh. Of course that was why she’d called. Doctor or healer’s concern, and probably a hefty dose of curiosity as well. Although she didn’t know the nature of his “gift,” she sure as hell knew he had one.

“`Yackum’? What the hell is that?” he asked, trying to deflect the issue for at least a couple of moments while he decided what to do. “Am I gonna have to remind you to speak English like I do for Egon?”

“What? Oh, sorry. Bit of Tennessee slang. Mom grew up in Knoxville, and I picked it up from her. Means `nothing’. And don’t ask me where it came from, `cause I’ve got no clue.”

Peter shrugged. “Nah. I leave the linguistics to Spengs. Well, if you want to know how I’m doing, yeah, the headache’s gone. Sara does good work. I’ll have to recommend you two to some of our clients who’ve had to deal with possession and other nasty stuff.”

“Okay, headache’s gone, but I know good and well that’s not all that’s going on here.” Tabitha’s voice had taken on a “don’t you dare try to bullshit me, buddy” kind of tone. When he didn’t answer for a moment, he heard her sigh over the receiver. “Hello? We lose our connection, or are you gonna make me use my indirect questioning skills? You know, one of the most irritating things about being a doctor is having to coax the truth out of patients. Could we please skip that part?”

Peter found himself smiling. Even over the phone, he could see the exasperated eye-roll he knew Tabitha was doing on her end. He could also see the worried expression on her face.

Hell! Maybe it’s more than just my imagination. She’s kinda psychic, too. Maybe her thought forms are able to travel more clearly on a carrier wave.

He wrenched his train of thought away from this interesting tangent. Peter had a decision to make. Would he trust her? She had knowledge and experience that could probably help him, and, intellectually, he knew her secret would be safe with her, through force of medical confidentiality if nothing else.

But it was still putting trust in an “outsider.” Something Peter never relished.

For crying out loud, Petey! he snapped at himself. Time to get past your `issues’ and act like a grown-up. Okay, here goes nothing.

“Actually, Tabby, I have had some problems with...the other thing. I really don’t feel comfortable talking about it over the phone, but you think you and Sara could manage another house-call?”

There was no doubt about it this time. The almost imperceptible wave of relief wasn’t coming from him or his friends in the next room. “Sure thing, Peter. Sara’s out of town right now. She’s got some family obligations upstate, but, if you don’t mind dealing with a lowly apprentice, I can come over tomorrow evening when I get off-shift.”

“Believe me, Dr. Hot-stuff,” Peter said with a grin. “There’s nothing lowly about you. Tomorrow it is. Say five-thirty-ish? I think our schedule’s free then.” If Tabitha had been face-to-face, he would have winked at her. “And maybe we can go out afterward for some private counseling over drinks?”

“Do you ever quit?” Tabitha asked with a chuckle. “Five-thirty it is, and I think I will bring that lactulose with me. See you tomorrow, Peter.”

“See ya then.” Peter hung up the phone feeling much lighter than he had for two weeks. Tonight, he could finally sleep without worrying about waking up in his friends’ heads. And, tomorrow, Tabitha could show him what the hell was wrong with his shielding technique. He’d made some improvement over the last few days now that he was working with Egon and Ray, but he still would be severely limited when it came to going out on busts if he didn’t get a whole lot better.

Think about that tomorrow, Peter mused as he stretched lazily in anticipation of a peaceful night’s sleep. I’m going to bed and God help the poor bastard who dares disturb me before noon.

***

“Is everything ready?” 

“All is prepared, and we will certainly be recovered when you call.”

“And the others?”

“All have reported in. We’ll signal them just before we leave.”

Tirad looked across the cavern-turned-refuge with satisfaction. His followers had gathered together to lend him their strength along with all the power they had purloined for this purpose. A quiet thrum of anticipation filled the air and Tirad had never indulged in an intoxicant as powerful as this. At last, after all their planning and preparation the plan was to be set in motion.

“I thank you all for your sacrifice,” he said, raising his voice so that all of his disciples could hear. “Future generations of Y’larat will thank you as well. Our names will be spoken with reverence and gratitude by our children. Children who will be born free of the burden of humiliation. Free of the bounds placed on us by aliens and short-sighted leaders. Today, true life comes at last to the Y’larat. All that came before will be seen as a fever dream.”

Tirad clasped the shoulder of his trusted lieutenant. “It is time,” he said simply. “At last, it is time.”

He stepped away from the group of Y’larat and began calling together the strands of his power, weaving them into a tool for his will. One by one, his followers channeled their power caches into him and finally added their own personal power to the mix. It would leave them utterly exhausted for hours afterward, but he would arrive in the Forbidden World with his strength largely intact and able to do what was required. It galled him that, even with all this power, he could only open a gate large enough for one being to pass through while his adversaries could part the veil like so much gossamer.

The first thing I will do once I drive the Gaurnim to their knees will be to force them to give up their power manipulation secrets.

But the thought had to be quickly shunted aside as the long process of burning a hole through to another world consumed all of his attention.

***

“Ready, Berni-me-love?”

The russet-haired woman looked up from her pipes with a teasing smile. “I was born ready, Stubbie-boy. With what shall we bless the poor, benighted souls of Central Park West?”

Stubbie sucked in one cheek as he rosined his bow. “How about `The Clumsy Lover’?”

Bernadette shot him a saucy wink. “You always want to play that one. Must be your theme song.”

The fiddler grinned back at his partner in music and love. “That’s not what you said last night,” he countered with a leer. “Come on, love. Let’s make rent.”

The uillean piper made one final adjustment to the bellows on her instrument. “When did Dave and Joey say they’d be back?”

“Tonight. They only have to clean up some code and the project’s done.” One Last Round’s guitar and dulcimer players had day jobs as web masters. They could usually set their own hours, but there was the occasional conflict. “That’s plenty of time for us to get our act together for the gig. And I checked. They do have good whisky, you little drunken wench.”

“Drunken wench my foot,” she said with a snort as she arranged her fingers over the stop-holes on the pipe. “Just because some of us have a taste for the finer things in life.”

“Well let’s earn the cash to buy those finer things,” Stubbie broke in as he shook his sun-streaked hair out of his eyes and tucked his fiddle under his chin. And off they went on a musical tour of the British Isles. Notes bounced off the walls of the subway station, ricocheting around corners to draw in curious listeners. It was a good time to set up, late morning when people were just beginning to go on lunch breaks or, if they didn’t have to work, were heading to Central Park for relaxation. As change and bills began to pile up in the fiddle case resting on the concrete floor, Stubbie smiled in satisfaction. He’d been right about switching to a different spot for a bit. Novelty sometimes brought in extra cash, and he’d checked this particular section of the New York Subway out. There hadn’t been a good Celtic band setting up here for a while. Probably would be a good idea to alternate busking here with their regular spots across town.

Stubbie gave himself up to the music, keeping half an eye on the fiddle case to make sure some punk didn’t try to make off with their take. He didn’t notice that, in the shadows slightly off to his left, the air was developing a subtle shimmer.

***

Winston looked up from his third cup of coffee as Ray practically bounced into the kitchen. “Sleeping Beauty still at it?” he asked.

“Ten-thirty and still sawing logs,” Ray answered with a grin as he reached for one of the donuts Janine had brought this morning. “It really does work. This is great!”

Winston chuckled and finished off the dregs of his cup. “That it is. Now that Peter’s back to sleeping twelve hours a day, maybe things can start to get back to normal around here.”

“That’s not all, Winston,” Ray said around a mouthful as he plonked down in the chair across from the former soldier. “If we can build a device which can block thought wave forms then, in theory, we can build one that can boost them. Maybe even boost them enough to where people who don’t have psychic ability can pick them up. Think of what this would do for communications!”

Winston shook his head and started picking up the breakfast dishes as Ray rattled on about waveforms and power-flow rates, gesturing occasionally with his half-eaten pastry. The creation of an artificial shield for Peter had lifted a heavy weight off of everyone. It was good to see Ray in full cry once again instead of persistently worried.

“Think Pete’s gonna want to come on the bust today?” Winston asked when Ray finally seemed to be winding down.

“Maybe,” Ray answered cautiously. “He did okay when we went after that class three yesterday. But I hate to wake him up when he’s finally getting some rest.”

Winston snorted and closed the dishwasher. “Well, I’d hate even more to come back and face the fit he’ll pitch when he wakes up and finds out we left without telling him.”

Ray winced. “Good point. Well, we can give him another twenty minutes before we rouse him.” An impish twinkle appeared in his hazel eyes. “A pity we can’t send Slimer to wake him. The little guy won’t get near that field.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Yeah, Winston thought. Things are getting back to normal.

***

This can’t be right.

The series of figures flashing on the screen on the computer monitor continued their innocent blinking, caring nothing for the doubts of their observer. Egon shoved his glasses farther up on the bridge his nose and ran the test again. The same result came up.

“Well, it’s being rather persistent for incorrect data,” the physicist murmured as he ran the test a third time to make certain. This time, his eyebrows came together in a forbidding frown. This was not good.

“Oh, God! Please tell me that frown doesn’t mean what I think it means.”

Egon looked up from the computer. “Awake already, Peter? Is the shield still functioning properly? I thought it would require a crowbar and explosives to get you out of bed before noon.”

Peter smirked and pulled himself away from the lab’s doorframe. “Ha-ha, Spengs. The last couple weeks have so screwed up my circadian rhythms that, when Ray woke me up looking for a clean shirt, I couldn’t get back to sleep even at this godforsaken hour of the morning.”

“Eleven o’clock is hardly `godforsaken’ to those of us in civilized society.”

Peter collapsed on the lab’s ratty couch and yawned hugely, eyelids still at half-mast. “Sure thing. But, to quote Lazarus Long, that old saying about the early bird just goes to show that the early worm should have stayed in bed.” He jerked his chin toward the computer. “And this is a fine way to wake up. I find you going over your ambient PKE readings with an expression on your face that tells me something nasty might be joining us for lunch. What’s up?”

Egon slipped easily into lecturing mode. “Ambient PKE has taken a sudden climb overnight, and the curve is much steeper than any we have recorded before. We may be looking at the emergence of another powerful supernatural entity into our world.”

“Awwww, crap!” Peter groaned. He let his head fall back against the top of the sofa as he sprawled bonelessly across it. “Don’t tell me. I think I’ve got the routine down by this time. For the next few days, we get to break our necks busting ghosts as they slip through this gate-under-construction. And this is just the warm-up act before Old Big And Nasty tries to crash our party.”

“Something like that,” Egon confirmed with a barely concealed smile. “We need to talk to Raymond. I’m not aware of any prophecies that correspond to this date, however...”

“If anyone knows obscure prophecies, it’s Ray,” Peter finished. “Got ya, Spengs. I’ll send him up as I grab some coffee downstairs.”

But Peter’s trip to the kitchen was aborted as a piercing alarm went off on the lab’s permanent PKE sensor. Egon jumped and spun around to begin furiously tapping commands into the computer. Peter darted over to look over his shoulder.

“I take it this is `bad’, right Egon?”

“Quite bad,” the older man agreed. “PKE readings just increased exponentially.” He murmured something in Sumerian under his breath. “I believe the gate may be opening ahead of schedule.”

Peter swore and sprinted to the lab’s doorway. “Ray! Winston! Get your asses up here, pronto! How ahead of schedule are we talking, big guy?”

“I estimate in the next twenty to thirty minutes.”

“Can we track it down?”

“With readings this high, I could do it blindfolded.”

Ray and Winston came thundering up the stairs. “What’s going on?” Winston asked.

“Saddle up, partners,” Peter ordered as he pushed past them into the bunkroom. “All hell has officially broken loose.”

***

A faint movement out of the corner of his eye was all the warning Stubbie got. As he turned slightly to see what was going on, the gate ripped open in a blaze of iridescent white. Blinded, he stumbled backward into Bernadette, knocking them both to the ground, instinctively protecting their instruments. They squeezed their eyes shut against the light and clung to each other as panicked screams and the tap-tap-tap of running footsteps filled the subway station.

Hail, Mary, Mother of God... Brad found himself praying as he kept his body between Berni and...whatever it was. Finally, the light blazing through his eyelids dimmed and he cautiously looked up, blinking away tears and fighting a headache as spots danced in his visual fields.

“The hell...” he murmured. What he saw took his breath away. Standing in front of them was a tall, muscular creature. He (and it was most certainly a he) stood on two legs and flexed long arms ending in claw-tipped hands as though he was trying to work out a muscle cramp. He was dressed in a pair of tight breeches which were made of something similar to leather and came down only to his knees where the wraparound thongs of sandals were tied off. The rest of the creature’s covering consisted of a fine, cream-colored pelt that seemed to cover his entire body. The russet mane around the vulpine face gave him the illusion of being even bigger and taller than he already was.

The beast finally stopped stretching and looked around. His eyes narrowed and a low growl rumbled in his throat. Stubbie was by no means an expert in supernatural creatures, but he thought this one looked decidedly pissed. He nudged Berni to try to make a discrete exit, but, before they could make a move, the creature turned its glittering, black eyes on them.

***

“Which way now, Egon?” Winston asked as he ran Ecto-1, sirens blaring, through an intersection.

“Keep going northwest. And more speed would be recommended. We just had another spike in PKE. The gate may already be open.”

Ray glanced at the map he had unfolded in his lap and held it up with growing excitement. “Egon! Look where we’re going!”

“Yes, Ray. That would be a highly probable location for the gate.”

A hand grasped the top edge of the map and pulled it down to reveal a rather irritated Dr. Venkman leaning over the front seat. “You guys wanna tell us what’s up, or do you want me to pull it out of your braincases? Wait a second...”

Peter turned back just in time to pick up the mobile phone as it rang. “What’s up Janine?” he asked. “Really...oh that’s just swell...” Peter’s face hardened. “Yeah, Spengs and Ray probably had it figured out already from the way they were going on.” Whatever Janine said next managed to trigger a smile. “Don’t I always? See you on the news tonight, Melnitz.”

Peter hung up the phone and turned around to face Egon and Ray once again. “Okay, would this highly probable location for your gate be anywhere near Central Park West?”

“The energy signature does appear to be emanating from that direction,” Egon answered. “And interdimensional barriers have been notoriously weak in that area. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, Janine just got a call from the police. Chewbacca’s weird cousin is terrorizing a subway station over there. Step on it, Zed.”

***

Tirad gritted his teeth in frustration. Even with all the power at his disposal, he had not been able to open a gate close to his target. The veil was simply too strong and resisted his attack. At the last moment, he had found a weakness and drilled his way through. But this place was far distant from his intended destination. If only he could make more sense of the names and markings on the map he’d acquired.

Movement caught his attention. Close by, two humans cowered on the ground.

Well, I’m sure the natives can tell me where to go, he thought smugly. He stepped forward, placing himself squarely between the humans and the exit. Slowly, he reached into the pouch hanging from his belt and pulled out the map.

“I require assistance,” he said, blessing the foresight which had prompted him to learn the language of this particular human social group. “Will you give directions?”

***

Stubbie’s first inclination was to laugh out loud. Here he’d just had a creature straight out of a comic book appear beside him in a blaze of glory, pull out a battered, tourist’s map and ask for directions. The situation was hilarious. However, something about the way the creature held himself (perhaps the predatory-looking teeth and claws) made him stifle his chuckles.

“Sure thing, mate,” he said, helping Bernadette to her feet and carefully placing his fiddle in his case. “Where do you need to go?”

The creature crouched down on the floor of the subway station and unfolded the map. “I must go here,” he said in an almost purring voice. “Show me the quickest way.”

Stubbie glanced over his shoulder at Berni. She nodded and glanced significantly at the exit which they would have to get past Tall and Hairy to get at. He nodded back and looked down at the map and found the marking the claw-tipped finger was indicating.

“Hey, that’s our neighborhood. You’re in luck.” Brad traced down the street names crossed inside the circle. “That’s Ghostbusters Headquarters. What do you need to see the Ghostbusters for, ma...uurrrk!”

“You waste time! Tell me!”

The vice-like grip that closed on his throat nearly cut off his air. The fiddler clawed futilely at the hand as the pointed face leaned toward him, lips curling back from sharp teeth.

“Brad!” Bernadette screamed and threw herself at the creature. “Let him go!”

He’d always been proud of how scrappy his lover was, and at the moment he was really glad she had a killer right hook. His attacker’s head snapped back as her fist connected with his jaw, but, before she could throw another punch, the creature turned and glared at her. The woman froze in mid-swing and collapsed on the pavement, eyes staring blindly ahead.

“Berni!” he cried, struggling to get free. The grip on his throat tightened ‘til Stubbie’s vision started to darken. As he stopped fighting, the hold loosened slightly. He felt the creature’s hot breath on his face as it drew him closer.

“Is that your female? Do you care what happens to her?”

Brad glanced helplessly at the crumpled form beside them and gulped. “Yes,” he gasped.

“Then tell me what I need to know, or I will make this very painful for both of you.”

He had no choice. Stubbie reached down and pointed out the subway station’s location on the map.

***

Ecto pulled up to the curb near the subway entrance. The police had cordoned off the area and several officers were stationed at the top of the stairs to the terminal.

“Okay, guys,” Winston said as he pulled packs out of the back of Ecto. “Let’s get ready to rock. This our gate, Egon?”

“Affirmative,” the physicist answered as he aimed his meter at the stairs. “The gate has come and gone, but I’m reading a strong, Class Eight corporeal manifestation below.”

“A demon?!” Ray asked excitedly as he looked at the meter’s viewscreen over Egon’s shoulder. “Wow! It’s pretty strong.”

“And the cops say it’s holding a couple of street musicians down there,” Peter added as he jogged over from where he’d been getting a briefing. “We’ll have to hold off on the destabilizer until we get them clear.”

“How are you holding up, Pete?” Winston asked. Peter closed his eyes for a second, then nodded.

“I’m good to go. Whatever’s down there feels nasty, but I’ve got it handled. Shall we?”

The Ghostbusters shouldered their proton packs (Egon bringing along the destabilizer for when they could safely use it) and slowly, cautiously made their way down the stairs into the terminal.

“Well, at least whoever it is isn’t playing around with the lights this time,” Peter remarked as he looked around at the glowing florescent tubes overhead. Carefully, they climbed over the turnstiles and crept down the passage. When they reached a T-junction, Peter quickly darted across and took up a post pressed against the wall across from them. “Heads up, guys,” he said as he peeked around a corner. “I think I see our demon.”

Ray peeked around the other corner and gasped as he saw the creature. “That’s no demon, Peter.”

Winston caught the tone in Ray’s voice and edged his way around to where he could get a glimpse as well. “Oh, hell.”

“What’s wrong?” Egon demanded.

“That’s a Y’larat,” Ray whispered, the blood draining out of his face. “He just broke the Pact.”

“Oh, is that all?” Peter asked sarcastically. “So, instead of a normal old demon, we get to bust a renegade dimension-jumper who’s about to bring World War Cubed down on our heads. Wonderful.” He powered up his thrower with a grim smile. “Let’s bust ‘im.”

“But, Peter,” Ray protested. “The Gaurnim took you for something connected to a Y’larat invasion. We need to find out...”

“We don’t have time!” Peter snapped. “We’ve got to get this guy contained before the Gaurnim Gestapo finds out he’s here and bring in the Marines.”

“Pete’s right, guys,” Winston said in a tone of steel. “We’ve got no time to lose.”

Peter and Winston took point as they entered the hallway, Egon and Ray following somewhat reluctantly behind. The Y’larat was holding a sandy-haired man by the throat, crouching over something spread on the floor. He looked up as the Ghostbusters approached.

“Welcome to America!” Peter said with a grin. “We’re the Immigration Authority. May we see your green card?”

“So the Ghostbusters are here already,” the Y’larat growled. He glared at the man he was holding and the musician promptly went limp and fell to the ground next to an apparently unconscious woman. “Do not interfere,” he said warningly as he stood up. “I am Tirad op Hwir and I do not look kindly on delays.”

“What? No green card, Mr. op Hwir?” Peter continued. “I’m sorry, then. You’ll have to come with us.”

The Ghostbusters opened fire on Tirad. The beams danced over the creature’s form, sending shadows dancing across the subway. Tirad laughed at them.

“Fools! Did you really think you could stop a Y’larat so easily?”

Peter caught a glimpse of Tirad’s eyes narrowing, and felt something hit his shields. No, it didn’t just hit them. It latched on and tore at them. Where they found cracks, something poured through and attempted to get a grip on his thoughts. Furiously, Peter fought back, re-enforcing his barriers from within, using every trick he’d managed to discover to seal the leaks. He distantly felt the thrower cut off and slip out of his hands as protecting his mind required more and more attention. Soon, it demanded all his attention. His world narrowed to himself and the attacker with no room for anything else. After a seeming eternity, the attack suddenly stopped. Peter found himself kneeling on the floor, hands pressed to his head. A soft sound behind him caught his attention and he turned just in time to see Tirad disappear around the corner at the end of the long hallway.

“Come on, guys!” He cried. “He’s getting away!”

Peter snatched up his thrower and made it three steps down the hall before he realized he was quite alone. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he turned around.

“Guys?”

Egon was closest to him. He was kneeling on the floor facing toward the fallen musicians. Peter hurried over to his friend and shook his shoulder. “Come on, Egon. We’ve got places to go and demons to bust.”

The physicist simply stared blankly ahead. Peter waved his hand in front of Egon’s eyes. No response. Peter looked around for Winston and Ray. Winston was still standing, but he was slumped against one of the support columns. Ray was on the floor, curled up on his side. Both of them had the same glassy stare Egon did. As Peter got a second look at the civilians, he noticed their eyes were open, too. A bit of Ray’s briefing on the Y’larat floated through his mind.

It’s rumored that some of them can turn people to stone with a glance.

***

Chapter 8 - Revelation

“Something’s comin’ out!”

“YOU! STOP WHERE YOU ARE AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP!”

Tirad stood blinking in the sunlight as he paused at the top of the steps and smiled lazily at the humans spread out in an arch around the entrance to the tunnel. Enforcers from the looks of them. They had that authoritative look about them and held devices not carried by the others milling around behind their lines. Weapons he presumed.

“My God! What is it?” one of them asked. “And where are the Ghostbusters?”

“Who cares?” snapped another before raising the horn-shaped amplifier to his mouth again. “I SAID PUT YOUR HANDS UP! IF YOU CONTINUE TO MOVE FORWARD, WE WILL OPEN FIRE!”

“Oh, I think not,” Tirad contradicted him in an off-hand manner. “Run along, little humans. I have work to do.”

As Tirad started walking forward once more, the click of weapons being readied echoed around the circle. “THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING!” the human with the amplifier shouted.

“And I have given you all the warning I intended to,” the Y’larat countered...and struck. There was a few seconds of silence in which the only sound was the clatter of pistols falling from lax hands onto the concrete before the onlookers started screaming in panic and fled. Tirad laughed as he passed through the circle of blankly staring police officers and continued on his way. From the directions he had coerced from the musician, it would be quite a walk to his target, but he had time. After all, he had quite adequately dealt with its guardians.

***

“I summon the Servants of the Gaurnim,” intoned the male-alpha who stood at the center of the circular chamber. “I summon the Guardians of Order. Let them be gathered in the Hall of Ages as was established by our Founders. Let the Assembly be joined.”

“As we have been summoned, so have we come,” answered the Assembly. Nearly two hundred Gaurnim sat in simple chairs on the raised terraces around the mosaic circle where the summoner stood. “We come to share counsel,” they continued in the Ritual of Opening. “We come to choose between paths. We come to dispense judgement. May the Founders guide us in all things.”

The Gaurnim in the center bowed his head. Over his robes, he wore the Sigil of the Voice. On the day it had been entrusted to him, he had given up his own name, for Voice of the Assembly was to be the sum total of his identity. But today the sigil seemed like a heavy burden on his shoulders. As Voice, it was his place to both lead the Assembly and pronounce their judgements. And he knew that his next act could well be to condemn one he loved like a daughter. “Today, we gather to judge the actions of one of our number,” he said. “Ba’aque stands accused of many crimes. Let her stand forth. Let the evidence be brought before us. May the Founders guide us.”

The door to the Hall of Ages opened and Ba’aque strode down the aisle to the center escorted by two of the Guard. Her crest was carried carefully neutral. She stopped a few paces away from the Voice and avoided his gaze. The Voice’s heart tore within him. Ba’aque had been his favorite protege, and to see her here in the judgement circle...

He sternly brought his thoughts under control. He had a duty to be performed, and personal considerations had no part in it.

“I come as summoned, Voice of the Assembly,” Ba’aque said simply. “I come to answer accusations against me.”

The Gaurnim nodded curtly and turned to the Assembly. “Who brings accusation against Ba’aque? Let him stand forth!”

“I bring accusation,” snapped a voice from the lower tier of seats. Sker rose from his couch and made his halting, jerking way onto the center floor. “I bring accusation against Ba’aque of kidnapping, torture and violation of the Pact!”

“The Assembly hears you, Honorable Sker,” the Voice acknowledged. “Honorable Ba’aque, do you hear the charges against you?”

“I hear them,” she replied.

“How do you plead?”

Finally, Ba’aque raised her head to meet the Voice’s eyes. The pause couldn’t have been for more than a few seconds, but it seemed like an eternity to him. “I plead...”

The door to the Hall of Ages burst open. Every head turned as one toward the disturbance as a young male-beta wearing the colors of the Guard slithered down the aisle. “What is the meaning of this?!” the Voice demanded, his suppressed anger beginning to leak through at the interruption.

“Forgive the intrusion,” the young male said, his crest slicked-down practically flat against his skull. “It is for no small matter that I intrude on your deliberations. I bring most urgent news. Our scryers have detected Tirad on the Forbidden World!”

A wave of anxious murmuring swept the Assembly, peppered here and there by anger and vindication. The Voice scowled and clapped his hands. “Silence in the Assembly!” he shouted. As the noise died, he turned back. “Are they sure it is Tirad? Is he alone?”

The Guard nodded. “Yes, to both questions. They made quite certain of that.”

“But if he is alone, it will not be for long!” Sker sneered. “You know that as well as I do, Voice of the Assembly. We should prepare to open gates for our army immediately.”

The Voice slowly drew himself up, then slowly, deliberately turned to face the Assembly member. He said nothing. He only stared at Sker, silent rebuke plain on his face, until the old male-beta’s crest lowered and he turned away.

“Bring the scryers to the Hall,” the Voice instructed the Guard. “We will watch developments from here. Send word to the generals to make ready for attack, but we will NOT attack until we have a clearer violation of the Pact than the trespass of one renegade.” He waved for Ba’aque’s guards to approach. “The trial must wait until this matter is resolved. Return the Honorable Ba’aque to her cell.”

“Your pardon, Voice of the Assembly,” Ba’aque said sharply. “My trial is postponed, but am I already found guilty?”

The Voice spun to face her, stung by the sharp words and their implications. “You know better than that,” he answered. “Your guilt or innocence is yet to be decided.”

“Have I then been relieved of my position?” she asked. “If so, for what reason? And, if I have not been relieved, why am I being sent from the Assembly during an emergency? If my memory does not fail, all Assembly members must be present if not incapacitated during such events.”

Another wave of murmuring swept the Hall, but the Voice felt his crest falling in embarrassment. She was right. Ba’aque had not yet been found guilty, which meant that she still had the right and responsibility to be here.

“My apologies, Honorable Ba’aque,” he finally said, waving the Guards back. Sker favored him with a withering glare but remained silent. The Voice ignored him. In all things the laws and forms must be obeyed.

***

“Come on, Egon! Don’t do this to me!”

Peter slapped the physicist’s cheek gently. Getting no response, he shook him, then pinched him hard on the earlobe. All through it, Egon’s blue eyes just stared blankly into space. This was Peter’s second go around with him. He’d gone to Winston first, mostly to get him into a sitting position before something made him lose his balance and fall on his face, then, after getting no response, tried Ray. No dice.

“Goddamnit, guys. Wake up!” Peter shouted in frustration and fear. “Sleeping on the job is not in your contracts. You’d better believe I’m gonna remember this next time you haul my ass out of bed at oh-dark-thirty.”

The only response was his own voice echoing back to him from the subway tunnel. Peter leaned over Egon once again and stared into his eyes. “Up and at ‘em, Spengs,” he said as he shook his friend again. “Or I’ll tell Slimer that your mold collection makes a great pizza topping.”

Still nothing. Peter took a steading breath as the panic that roiled inside threatened to surge out and paralyze him. Okay, Venkman. Get your shit together. You’re the only one of the team functional right now, and you’d damn well better stay that way! Gently, he took the PKE meter from Egon’s hand.

“I promise I won’t break it, Spengs,” he quipped. “Just need to borrow it to see how Fuzzy-Wuzzy put the whammy on you.”

Peter pointed the meter at each of the fallen Ghostbusters in turn. It registered nothing but residuals. Pointing it at the two musicians produced the same result.

“All right, so whatever caused it probably isn’t hanging around. Hope you don’t mind me talking to myself here, guys. You’re not in any shape to be my sounding boards, so I gotta make do.” Peter put the meter down and crouched by Egon’s side. “Okay, fact number one: the Y’larat’s `turning into stone’ ability is a more poetic than factual description. You’re certainly sitting there like rocks, but don’t you ever think I ever took you for granite.” Peter smiled weakly. “Sorry about the pun, but I’m trying to keep from flying off the handle here. Moving right along. Fact number two: you guys got zapped and I didn’t. Why...” Peter clapped a hand over his face as the answer came to him. “I’m an idiot! I just spent the last few minutes fighting to keep my shields up against something. I bet that something was what got you. Sorry, guys. I’m not at my most brilliant when you’re scaring the crap out of me with a zombie act.

“Sooooo, this is an attack on the mind that can be repelled by psychic shielding. That probably makes the attack telepathic in nature. Son of a bitch!” Peter yelled. “So that’s what Barbiezilla meant by `necessary’.” Peter fell silent several seconds while he got himself back under control. He reached out and absently patted Egon’s shoulder. “If you guys can hear me, I’m okay. Just getting more pissed off by the minute.” He turned to face Egon again. “I guess we’re about to find out if the little gift she gave me has a practical use in the field. ‘Cause that’s the only way I can think of to figure out what Chewbacca did to you.

“Sorry about this, Spengs, but I’m coming in.”

Peter lowered his shields gingerly and reached out to touch Egon’s face. An overwhelming sense of helplessness laced with fear flooded into him. Peter hardened his will and kept on looking. He saw where Egon’s mind had been locked into a memory loop which essentially paralyzed him, trapping his mind in the past. The despair echoed into Peter’s own thoughts, invoking the memory of his possession by the demon Watt and threatening to pull him into a memory loop of his own. With a frantic pull, Peter wrenched himself out of Egon’s mind. Reaching out to Winston and then Ray, he found the same pattern.

“Okay, so that’s how he zaps you,” he said, shaken by the experience. “Well, as terrific as I am, I can’t take Fuzzy-Wuzzy down solo. If I could fight it off, maybe I can fix it. I hope.”

Peter reached out and clasped Egon’s face in both hands this time. As he made the connection, he fought his way down through the miasma of helplessness and hopelessness to the place where Egon’s consciousness was running around in circles like a mouse trapped in a jar. It was like he was pushing his way upstream against a mudslide. Peter leaned in until their foreheads touched to strengthen the contact...

***

He was coming back. He always came back, and his parents wouldn’t be coming tonight. Father said he was tired of all this attention seeking and told Mother they shouldn’t encourage his behavior. Egon curled up with his back pressed against the headboard of his bed, staring at his closet door, as the sounds of his mother’s footsteps faded down the hall.

He looked around at the compulsively neat room. Books, papers, journals, his latest experiment...all were in their proper places. Their order mocked the chaos his nights had become. He found himself looking for a hiding place, any hiding place, although he knew it would be futile.

It’s just my imagination, he told himself over and over. It’s just a mental construct of subconscious insecurities. It can’t hurt me. It isn’t real.

Egon repeated the things his father had told him over and over, but it didn’t help. He knew the Bogeyman was coming, and, tonight, his mother wouldn’t come when he screamed. The Bogeyman would stay and stay and stay and never leave!

The young boy pulled the soft, freshly laundered blankets up to his nose as the cracks around the closet door started to emit an eerie, green light. He wanted to pull the blankets over his head, but, every time he’d done it before, it had somehow made it worse. The doorknob turned and the closet door slowly creaked open. He was here. The towering form filled the doorway, casting a black shadow over the bed. Egon bit down on the blankets to stifle a cry and trembled violently as the creature stepped into the room. The Bogeyman didn’t hurry. Why should he? After all, he had all night.

A cruel smile graced the apparition’s face. “Heeeeelloooo,” it crooned at him as it stepped into the room.

“And goodbye!”

Egon jumped at the sudden shout, and jumped again at the sharp CRACK that echoed through the room a second later, followed by the Bogeyman’s pained bellow. The spell of fear broken, the boy looked on in amazement as his nemesis hopped around on one foot, clutching his other leg in his hands. Then Egon caught sight of another intruder, a dark-haired boy wearing worn blue jeans and a rumpled, grey t-shirt. He watched in amazement as the stranger hefted the baseball bat and struck again.

CRACK!

The Boogeyman screamed as his other knee was smashed and fell backwards into the open closet. The dark-haired boy slammed it shut and spun around with a cocky grin.

“Figures you’d get stuck here, Egon,” he remarked as he tossed his improvised weapon into a corner.

Egon stared at the intruder and rubbed his eyes. How had he gotten here? Why hadn’t his parents come to investigate all the commotion? And why did this young boy seem so familiar? As the boy walked up to the bed, Egon looked him over carefully. He’d never seen him before, but he knew him. His rescuer smirked at his confusion. “Come on, Spengs,” he said. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me.”

The nickname did it. “Peter?”

“The one and only,” Peter said as he jumped up on the bed and grabbed Egon by the wrist. “Let’s blow this pop stand.”

The chill, damp smell of the New York subway intruded on his consciousness. Egon’s eyes snapped open to stare directly into Peter’s. He felt his friend’s relief for a second before Peter pulled back both physically and telepathicly to give him a tired smile. “Welcome back, Egon,” he said after a few panting breaths.

Egon shook his head to clear the remaining fogginess. “Peter...what happened?”

Peter was already pulling himself over to where Ray was crumpled on the floor. “Telepathic assault and memory loops, big guy,” he said as he turned the engineer over on his back. “If you can’t make one of your brilliant leaps from that, I’ll give you the whole story after I wake the rest of you zombies up.”

With that, he pressed his forehead against Ray’s and fell silent.

***

“Mommy, wake up!”

Ray reached across the back of the car seat and grabbed his mother’s shoulder again. He was scared. He was so very scared, and he didn’t understand how his mother could sleep through all of this. He’d fallen asleep on the trip back from grandma’s, but he’d woken up fast when he’d heard his daddy shouting and felt the jolt of the car when it stopped. The car horn was blaring so loud that it would have woken him up even if he’d been a naughty boy and stayed up late reading comic books all night before, but Mommy just sat there with her head bent on her chest. It occurred to Ray that she shouldn’t be sleeping like that. She’d wake up with a sore neck.

Ray looked around the darkened car. The sun had been setting when they’d left grandma’s house and now it was full dark. The road was also pretty far out in the county so it was really, really dark. No comforting glow of streetlights. No passing gleam of headlights from other cars making wavy patterns through the rain streaming down the windows. And the front part of the car was so twisted up that he couldn’t see daddy at all.

“Daddy? Mommy won’t wake up!”

No response from Daddy either. Ray knew he wasn’t supposed to get out of the car by himself if they were stopped in a strange place, but he didn’t know what else to do. It took three tries to get his seatbelt loose. Climbing to his knees on the seat, the five-year-old clumsily unlocked the door, but when he pulled the handle, the door remained stubbornly shut. He was trapped! Ray scrambled back and started shaking his mother’s shoulder again, tears of fear now rolling down his face.

“Mommy! Wake up! I’m scared!”

The woman’s head waggled like a rag doll’s at the frantic shaking. Ray squinted at her. Her hair was wet. It was raining outside. Did the roof have a leak? No, it wasn’t rain. Something dark which smelled funny was on her face. Maybe some of the oil leaked out of the engine and splashed on her. “Mommy?”

A glimmer of light through the driving rain caught his attention. Ray scrambled to the window as a single headlight made its way around the sharp curve in the road. Franticly, he waved. Yes! He saw them! As it slowed, he got a better look at the vehicle splashing through the water standing on the road. A motorcycle. Mommy didn’t like people who rode motorcycles. They were “hell-yons”, but maybe she wouldn’t mind one right now if he wanted to help. Ray pounded on the window.

“Help! Get us out! Please get us out!”

The rider leaped off the bike and ran for the car, pulling his helmet off and letting it fall in the mud as he went. The tall teenager pulled at the back door. He scowled when the warped frame prevented it from opening and said a very dirty word. Ray hoped Mommy was too sound asleep to hear it.

“Get back!” the stranger snapped as he stooped to pick up his helmet, and Ray scrambled as far across the seat as he could. Shielding his face with a corner of his black leather jacket, the young man smashed the window with the helmet. Ray stifled a scream of fright at the sound of breaking and covered his head with his arms. The crashing died down to a faint tinkling as the stranger cleared the shattered glass from the frame. “Okay, Ray. Come on over.”

He was too desperate to get out of the now scary car to consider his parents’ admonitions not to go with strangers or to wonder how this stranger knew his name. Ray scrambled carefully over the glass-strewn seat. Strong hands grabbed him under his shoulders and lifted him clear. “Mommy! Something’s wrong with Mommy,” he yelled as the rain quickly soaked him to the skin. When the hell-yon didn’t put him down immediately, Ray pounded his fist against the sodden, black leather jacket. “Get her out!”

“Oh, God. I’m so sorry you had to come back here, Ray.”

Confused, Ray looked up into the teenager’s face. The rain had already slicked the dark hair against his skull. The dripping front locks straggled down into his eyes. Those green, pain-filled eyes looked back at him. It was hard to tell with all the rain running down his face, but it looked like he was crying. Did hell-yons cry? Weren’t they supposed to be too tough to cry?

“Ray,” the stranger said gently. “It’s me. It’s Peter.”

His voice. Ray knew that voice. Memory flowed back...and Ray broke down in tears. Mommy wasn’t sleeping. She was dead. Daddy was dead. Peter hugged him close. “Come on, Ray,” he murmured into his hair. “Time to go home.”

At first, Ray thought the rain had followed him. Large drops splattered against Ray’s face, mixing with his tears to flow down the sides of his face and into his hair. But, no, this rain wasn’t cold. He blinked his eyes as the fog cleared from his vision. “Peter?”

The psychologist pulled back, digging a knuckle into his eyes. “I’m gonna roast that bastard over a slow fire when I get my hands on him,” he growled. “Okay, time for Zed’s wake-up call.”

Ray levered himself up on one elbow and reached for Peter as if to keep him close, but he was so unsteady that he nearly fell over. From behind him, a hand grabbed his shoulder and steadied him. “Careful, Raymond.”

“Egon?” Ray pulled himself up to sitting and flung his arms around Egon’s neck. “Oh, Egon!” he sobbed, the grief over his parents’ loss now as fresh as the day he lost them. Egon rubbed his back comfortingly and looked over Ray’s shoulder at Peter, who was now leaning over Winston.

***

This was it. His turn to buy the farm.

As it was, he’d already bought a piece of it. It had been a routine patrol, or so they had thought until gunfire erupted from a clump of bushes just up a hill. Winston’s squad had scattered for cover, and a bullet had come out of nowhere to make itself painfully at home in Winston’s left thigh. From the sound of it, the rest of his buddies weren’t fairing much better.

Now, hiding in the brush where he’d dragged himself, all he could do was wait. He’d lost his rifle when he’d taken the hit and wound up tumbling down the hillside. All he had left was his pistol, and that wouldn’t do him much good against a pack of Viet Cong with AKs. His only chance was to lie low until things calmed down and his buddies could make pick up.

The gunfire died out. Winston lifted his head slightly, then quickly ducked it back down as he caught a glimpse of several Vietnamese guerrillas creeping down the hill. His ears strained to pick up the slightest sound to indicate where they were going. The rustling paused for a moment, then a burst of automatic weapons fire was followed by a choked scream. Winston recognized the voice, Corporal Collins. It was clear that the rest of the squad had either pulled back or been wiped out, and now the Cong were looking for survivors. He started praying as hard as he ever had before. The Cong were headed in his direction. He wasn’t in good enough cover to hide from a through search and, at this point, moving would only bring them down on him faster. Winston tried to press himself deeper into the damp undergrowth. Sweat trickled into his eyes, stinging, but he didn’t dare move to wipe it away.

This is it, he thought, his heart sinking. I’m sorry, Mom. Sorry, Dad. I promised you I’d make it home. I’ve never broken a promise, but I don’t see how I’m gonna keep this one. Carefully, moving at a bare snail’s pace, he inched his pistol out of its holster, determined to take a few with him before he bought it. Please, God. If you love any of us, end this stupid war before my brothers’ numbers come up.

Winston held his breath as the footsteps came closer...and closer...

RAT-ATAT-ATAT!

Winston jumped as weapons fire burst out almost directly behind him. As the Cong dashed for cover, a camo-clad form jumped down beside him. Winston nearly put a slug in him before he realized that, under the camouflage paint, this soldier was definitely not Vietnamese.

“Whoa, buddy!” the grunt said with shock. “They say no good deed goes unpunished, but that’s a bit much.”

Winston suddenly recognized the man.

“Pete? What the hell are you doing here?”

“The same as always,” Peter grinned from under the paint. “Saving your sorry ass.”

The rustling of leaves changed into the rustling of newspaper caught near a ventilation shaft as the present faded back into existence, and Winston became aware of warm hands cupping his face and a forehead touching his own.

“Pete,” he said. “I love you like a brother, but, if you kiss me, I’m gonna have to slug you.”

“You’re welcome, Zed,” Peter responded dryly as his hands dropped and he sat back heavily on the concrete floor and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Aaaaahhh...Someone pass the Motrin.”

Winston rose shakily to his knees and looked around. No sign of the Y’larat. Egon and Ray were crouched over the creature’s victims, taking readings. Satisfied that the rest of the team was relatively safe, he turned back to Peter. “You okay, homeboy?” he asked, rubbing at his leg which still had a faint ache in it from the remembered injury. Peter shook his head hard and sat up.

“I’ve been better. Mind helping me over there? Looks like I’ve got another couple of people to pull out of the Way-Back Machine.”

Pushing aside his questions for the moment, the former soldier hauled Peter to his feet and kept a grip on his elbow as they crossed the short distance separating them from the others. Egon and Ray looked up as they approached.

“Okay, Spengs,” Peter drawled as he dropped down on the floor beside them. “You figure it out, or do I have to play lecturer?”

“Thanks to your hints, I believe I have accurately deduced the nature of the attack,” Egon said with a thin smile. “Do you wish to check my notes?”

Peter waved negligently as he bent over one of the victims, the young woman who stared blankly at the ceiling. “You go ahead. I’ll jump in if you get off track and herd you back with a cattle prod.”

“Spill it, guys,” Winston said. “What just happened?”

Ray looked up from the sandy-haired man in front of him. “We were trapped in a memory loop,” he explained. “Seems like the Y’larat is at least partially telepathic. He forced us to relive memories where we were at our most helpless which resulted in practical paralysis.” An excited grin bloomed on his face. “That must be why the Gaurnim kidnapped you, Peter! She must have known about this.”

“One problem with that, Ray,” the psychologist said sourly, continuing his examination. “If the Gaurnim are such aces with energy, she probably could have given me this little present without smashing my brain open with a psychic sledgehammer. And if she was trying to help me, why the hell didn’t she just tell me? Or at least slip a copy of Telepathy For Dummies into my pocket.” He shook his head and looked up at his friends. “So does this thing wear off or am I going to have to pull these two back to reality?”

Egon frowned down at his meter. “I don’t believe this will be permanent. The residual PKE appears to be the maintaining factor in the fugue. When it fades, the victims should snap out of it.”

“And how long will that be?” Winston asked. “I can’t help but notice our bogey is long gone. We need info on what he wanted and where he’s going. Our best place to start is with them.”

“I would estimate they should regain consciousness within an hour,” Egon said after a short pause.

“Too long,” Peter concluded with a weary sigh. “Be right back, fellas.”

The other three Ghostbusters waited quietly while Peter leaned down to touch foreheads with the woman. A few seconds later, she stiffened with a cry and shoved him away violently. Peter fell backwards, clutching his temples and groaning.

“Pete!” Winston almost shouted as he caught the younger man. Egon was on his other side a second later helping support him while Ray soothed the sobbing woman, casting worried looks over her head.

“What happened?” Egon asked. “None of us had this reaction.”

“But you guys know me, Spengs,” Peter growled as he shook his head again. “And that girl...let’s just say she was in a very bad place. Had to force her out since she wouldn’t come with me.”

“That would be a problem,” Winston said grimly.

“You said it, Zed. Okay, one more to go.”

Fortunately, whatever memory trapped the fiddler was not as traumatic as the piper’s. He came to gasping for air and looking around wildly.

“Careful, m’man,” Winston said to the victim as Peter pulled back. “It’s over. You’re back.”

“Thank...thank God!” the musician panted. His eyes widened as the woman’s sobs registered. “Berni!”

“She’s fine...relatively speaking,” Egon said, helping Winston pull the young man up to a sitting position so that he could see his girlfriend huddled on the floor. He shook of their hands and scrambled over to gather her into his arms. As he sat there, rocking her, something clicked.

“Awww, hell! The spook!”

“That’s right,” Ray said. “We need you to tell us what happened here.”

“The bleeding hell you do!” the man snapped. “You’ve got to get your asses going. That walking rug wanted one thing. He wanted to know how to get to your base!”

Egon blinked, then his eyes widened as he made the connection, and muttered something the other’s didn’t understand but sounded like a curse. With one fluid motion, he jumped to his feet and started running for the entrance. “Come on!” he shouted over his shoulder. Winston pulled Peter, who still looked a but shell shocked, to his feet and dragged him along. Ray turned back to look at the couple crouched on the floor. The sandy-haired man jerked his chin in the direction the other Ghostbusters were running. “Haul ass, boyo. We’ll be okay.”

Ray nodded reluctantly and sprinted to catch up with the others. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, ambulance crews were working among the fallen police officers. Several of them converged on the Ghostbusters when they saw them and started shouting questions. Egon and Ray pushed past them and ran for Ecto-1. Peter gave a resigned sigh and started toward the nearest victim, but Winston grabbed his shoulder and held him in place.

“It’s not fatal, and it wears off,” Winston said in response to the questions, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor. “It happened to us down there and we’re fine. Just take care of them ‘til they come ‘round. Now get out of our way. We’ve got a demon to bust.”

Peter turned a puzzled look on Winston as they pushed their way through the EMT’s. “Okay, Zed. What was that all about?”

“Just putting the kibosh on your budding Messiah complex,” he said. “You’re practically worn out from pulling five people back, and you want to tackle two dozen? If it won’t kill them, they can wait. We need you on your feet. Besides...” Winston cocked his head and gave the psychologist a crooked smile. “You changed your mind about keeping this little thing quiet? We probably can with the two down there, but I saw at least three camera crews out there.”

Peter swore under his breath and nodded. “You’re right. Thanks, buddy.”

“Guys! Come on!” Ray yelled, and they hurried the last few feet to the vehicle. Egon was already in the driver’s seat and talking on the cellphone to Janine.

“After you lock down the containment unit, get the shield generator from the bunk room and take it down to the garage. Turn it on and stay in the field until we get back...I understand. We’ll be there A.S.A.P.”

He hung up the phone just as Peter and Winston slid into their seats and started the engine. The other men grabbed for their seatbelts as the physicist pulled off with the tire’s squealing and sirens blaring.

“The Y’larat is on foot. Given the distance between here and headquarters, we should be able to get there ahead of him even taking an alternate route.”

“If you don’t wrap us around a lamppost on the way there, Egon,” Winston yelped and clutched at the seat as Egon took a corner practically on two wheels. “Careful with Ecto! I take it the situation is `very bad’?”

“Monumentally bad,” Egon corrected. “This is Tirad, the Y’larat who Schlitt informed us was trying to start a war between his people and the Gaurnim. It probably took every bit of power he had to open a gate large enough for one entity, and I imagine that it would be quite difficult to fight a war with only one soldier. He needs a way to bring more of his followers over to this side.”

“Oh, no!” Ray groaned, comprehension dawning. “The containment unit!”

“Precisely.”

Winston and Peter exchanged a dark look in the back seat. Winston contented himself with gritting his teeth, but Peter launched into a detailed and obscenely colorful description of Tirad’s ancestry.

“Spengs,” he finally said, winding down. “You and Ray have got to find a way to defuse that potential bomb we’re living on top of. This is getting pretty damn monotonous.”

***

Chapter 9 - Riposet

He knows we’re watching, curse him!

Ba’aque sat ramrod-straight on her chair, eyes riveted on the image hanging in the air. The center of the Hall was now occupied by three scryers. They pooled their power to pierce the Veil and show the Assembly what they saw. Within the misty circle, Tirad strode with casual arrogance down a street of the city humans named New York. And with every obscenely confident step, Ba’aque’s hopes faded a little more. No sign of the teh’cherin. No sign of her former captive. Around her, fellow Assembly members spoke in hushed tones. Anticipation was building among Sker’s faction and dread in those who once followed her. Heads turned as the door to the Hall opened and a Guard silently made his way down to the Voice with his message. Ba’aque’s crest flattened against her skull. The armies were ready. It would take only one move from Tirad to trigger a cataclysm.

Was it all for nothing? she asked herself in despair.

***

Winston braced himself in his seat as Egon wrenched the steering wheel to the left, barely slowing as he turned onto Mott. With the help of their police scanner, their siren and a flagrant disregard for speed limits, they’d managed to detour around the Y’larat and get ahead of him.

I just hope he’s none the wiser, Winston thought as Ecto slalomed around slower vehicles. We’re gonna need every bit of help we can get.

“He’s sure taking his time,” Ray said as he looked up from listening to the radio. “He’s only just now made it to West 14^th Street.”

“And why should he hurry, Tex?” Peter asked. “It’s a lovely day. The sun is shining through the smog. The pigeons are crapping on everything that moves. Just the perfect day to start Armageddon.”

“I don’ know, Pete,” Winston objected. “I think it’s a bit chilly for the End of the World.”

“Then wear a sweater,” the psychologist retorted. “Seriously, though. Any ideas on how we’re gonna stop Chewbacca? Without getting zombified again, that is. Pulling you guys back to reality is entirely too much work.”

“And we all know how much you hate that, Dr. Venkman,” Egon replied as he swerved around a taxi. “Fortunately, recent events have forced us to develop a countermeasure for Y’larat attack.”

“The shielding unit!” Ray exclaimed. “Of course. It blocks all telepathic transmissions. We can use it for protection.”

“Marvelous! More silver lining on Petey’s little stormcloud,” Peter said with distaste. Winston shot him a sympathetic smile.

Guess I can’t really blame him for that attitude, he said to himself. If that lizard had only just talked to us instead of barging in and blasting Pete’s brains out!

“How big’s the diameter on that field again?” Winston asked, thinking ahead to battle strategy. “‘Cause we’re gonna look pretty silly squished together like sardines when we take this dude on.”

“Maximum range is eight feet,” Ray said. “But the rate he’s going, we should be able to put together another one before he gets to headquarters. Maybe two.”

“That will be our priority,” Egon agreed. The firehouse was just ahead. The physicist braked abruptly and turned into the open garage.

“Egon!” Janine shouted as Ecto’s engine shut down. She was standing beside her desk with the activated shield unit resting on it, proton thrower at the ready. “‘Bout time you got here. What’d you guys do? Stop for pizza?”

“Of course, Melnitz!” Peter said with a grin as he pulled himself out of the hearse. “Sorry we didn’t save you any.”

“Figures, you rat!” she shot back as she holstered the rifle. “So what’s the story? Is it safe for me to move?”

“Safe? You? Wearing that skirt?” The psychologist leered and ducked as Janine lobbed a phonebook at him. “Seriously, Janine. Big, Mean and Hairy is far, far away at the moment. And we’ll probably need all hands in the lab to get his welcoming party ready.”

“But we need an early warning system,” Ray said, pausing on the stairs. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Slimer! Where are you?”

A green head poked its way through the ceiling. “Ray?”

“Come down here, Slimer. We’ve got a job for you.”

Slimer dropped down to hover just in front of Ray, one hand snapping up in a salute. “Aye-aye, Ray!”

Raymond pointed out the door. “We need you to go down the street about four blocks and keep watch. There’s a Y’larat coming this way. When you see him, come back and tell us right away.”

“Yerat?” Slimer asked, scratching his head in confusion. Winston sighed as he started up the stairs, hoping it wouldn’t take too long for Ray to get the ghost to understand. He froze mid-step as his mind filled with the image of Tirad standing in the subway. Just as abruptly, it was gone.

“That’s what you’re looking for, Spud. Get out there and don’t get distracted.”

“Roger, Peter!” Slimer cried as he shot through the wall.

“My God!” Janine whispered. “Was that what we’re up against?” Winston then realized that it wasn’t a memory he’d experienced. Everyone turned to Peter who sighed and ran one hand through his hair.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Figured it’d save us some time. And don’t you start thinking I’m gonna get in the habit of being Slimer’s official translator, Ray!”

“If we get out of this alive,” Egon said with a quirked eyebrow, “you must find a way to focus your broadcasts.”

Winston suddenly got the whimsical mental image of Peter sitting casually atop a radio tower, Aerosmith music radiating from him. In spite of the situation, he had to suppress a snicker as he followed the rest upstairs. Good Lord! Just what we need. Radio Free Venkman.

***

Yes, run away little humans.

Tirad curled his lip in amusement as a group of people who had just turned the corner in front of him, skidded to a halt, then backpedaled and fled back the way they had come.

Run far, far away. Maybe some of you will survive to serve the Y’larat in the new order.

He ran over the directions in his mind. His next turn would be onto “Lafayette”, then “Bleecker Street” and finally “Mott”. His goal was almost at the end of that particular road. His pace quickened as he looked carefully at each sign, spelling out the symbols to find one that matched the map.

He took his time, savoring the warmth of the sun on his fur, the terror he inspired in the humans as he passed. He had waited a long time for this day, and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

***

“Is this what we pay you for, Melnitz? To sit around all day?”

Janine shot a scathing look up at her employer as she pressed the squelch button on the radio. “Yes, it is, Dr. V. And, believe me, you don’t pay me anywhere near enough.”

Peter smirked and dropped in a boneless sprawl across a nearby armchair. Janine wondered (not for the first time) if the psychologist was part cat...or perhaps had a shark’s cartilage skeleton.

“And just what are you doing down here, Dr. Venkman?” she asked. “I thought the lab was top priority.”

“For your information,” he replied loftily as he leaned back and closed his eyes. “I provided my colleagues with such excellent assistance that they decided to reward me with a well-deserved break.”

Janine’s eyes raked over Peter’s form, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the pale skin and general air of exhaustion. Translation from Venkmanese, she thought to herself, they threw him out before he ran himself into the ground. She’d been given a quick briefing on the events in the subway station before resuming her post at the radio. She was surprised Peter was still on his feet at this point.

“Guess it was rough out there today,” she finally said, dropping the antagonistic mask. Peter’s eyelids rose to half mast for a moment, then, with a heavy sigh, slid shut again.

“You could say that. Swimming upstream through someone’s braincase really takes it out of you. This must be how a salmon feels at the end of the spring rush.”

“As long as you don’t go into a mating frenzy on me, Dr. V.” Janine smirked. Peter propped one eye open to shoot her a half-hearted leer.

“Only if you ask nicely.” He smiled at Janine’s snort and hauled himself to a slightly more upright position.

“The boy geniuses had better get those extra shields working, or I’m docking their pay,” he said with a worried glance at the stairs. “Believe me, Janine. You do not want to go through what they did.”

“It’s not exactly on my dream list,” she replied tartly. “And having you wander around in my subconscious is not in my contract.”

“Trust me, Melnitz. There’s no place in the world I’d rather avoid,” he shot back. “I’ve got enough mental scarring as it is.” Abruptly, he broke off his part in their informal one-upmanship contest. He leaned forward, crossing his arms on his knees, and stared at the floorboards. Janine cocked her head to one side as a worried frown creased a faint line between her eyes.

“Hey.” She got up from her seat and stepped over to Peter’s armchair. Sitting on the arm, she nudged his shoulder. “What’s wrong, Dr. V.?”

Peter turned his head to look up at her, his eyes troubled.. “It’s just...well, I guess you kinda know how difficult this whole thing is for me. It’s bad enough that I had to...go into the guys’ minds to pull them out of the pit. But I kinda had permission from them beforehand. And they trust me.”

“Yeah, they trust you,” Janine agreed, but she couldn’t resist adding, “Heaven only knows why.”

“Careful, Melnitz,” Peter warned. “Remember who signs your check.”

And, color me nuts, but so do I, she said to herself. She briefly wondered if he could hear her, then shrugged off the thought.

Peter dropped the banter and continued. “The guys know me, but the other two.” He shook his head. “Tirad had put the whammy on a couple other people when we got there. We needed information so I...” he broke off and rubbed his face with his hands. “I had to be rough with one of them to get her out of it. It was wrong. Every bit of it was wrong, but I didn’t have a choice.”

Janine let one of her rare, gentle smiles come through as she patted Peter’s shoulder. “You did the best you could, Dr. V. When you’re hip deep in crap, you just have to use what you’ve got. I’m sure the guys will agree that you only did what was necessary.”

NECESSARY!

Janine was completely unprepared for the blast of anger, fear and self-disgust that hit her as that word echoed in her mind. She heard a small clatter from upstairs, probably a tool hitting the floor. She was about to shout at Peter to stop it, but he seemed to realize it on his own. He relaxed his clenched fists and cut off the projection.

Sorry, guys.

The words that drifted through her mind were bone-weary. Peter looked up at her with an expression to match.

“Sorry about that, Janine. It’s just...I’m really starting to hate that word.”

“You okay, m’man?” Janine turned around to see Winston on the stairs to the third floor. Peter waved him over.

“Aside from feeling like Tolay used me for a toothbrush, I’m just peachy, Zed.” Peter propped his feet up on the coffee table and slid down in the chair until he sat on the base of his spine. “What happened? You get tossed out on your ear, too? Endangered one of Egon’s fungi with a wildly flailing soldering iron and got yourself exiled from the sanctum sanctorum?”

Winston rolled his eyes and dropped onto the couch. “Get serious, homeboy. We’ve gotta talk strategy.”

“What strategy?” Peter asked lazily. “Once we’ve got the shields, we hide behind them and Tirad goes BOOM.”

“Think, Pete,” Winston said in mild rebuke. “Those shielding units aren’t the most portable things around to begin with, and the power packs that Egon and Ray are hooking them to so that we don’t have to use really, really long extension cords are even less portable.”

Janine recalled the size of the devices she’d seen being put together in the lab and found herself agreeing with Winston. “Yeah, it’d be a neat trick trying to run around carrying one of those things while trying to hit the broad side of a demon with a proton beam.”

“Okay, Winston, you don’t have to draw me a diagram,” Peter said with a groan. “You’re saying that mobility is going to be an issue if we don’t want to go zombie.”

“Especially since two of us are going to have to double up,” Winston confirmed with a nod. “We’re only gonna have three of those things.”

“You mean four of us are gonna double up,” Janine broke in, challenge in every line of her body. “I’m not sitting out this one and that’s final!”

Peter looked at Janine, then turned to Winston and shrugged. “Have it your way, Melnitz. What were you thinking, Zed?”

“Some kind of ambush,” he answered. “Thing is, we’ve got to have a way to get him right where we want him, or he’ll fly the coop.”

Peter fell silent and chewed his lower lip for a moment. When he looked up, he did not look happy. “Okay, good news and bad news. Good news is I have an idea.”

Janine snorted. “And the bad news is you have an idea.”

Peter made a buzzer sound. “Wrong! Thank you for playing, Miss Melnitz. Do you have a guess, Mr. Zeddemore?”

“Bad news is that I’m gonna hate it?” Winston asked.

“You, me, the Wonder Twins and maybe even Janine here.”

Janine glared at the psychologist. She could already tell she was gonna hate this plan.

***

What is this?

Tirad frowned as he caught sight of a vehicle in the distance, sitting square in the middle of the road. For the last few blocks, his path had been practically deserted by both cars and pedestrians as word spread of his coming. Perhaps a foolhardy enforcer had a mad notion to be a hero. The Y’larat chuckled quietly at the notion. I suppose I should kill this one, he thought. If the humans are to be of any use as servants, such stupidity must be culled from the breed.

Amusement faded and was slowly replaced by alarm as he drew closer to it. It wasn’t an enforcer vehicle. It was that graceless conveyance used by the Ghostbusters! This planet’s enforcers were pathetic, but the Ghostbusters were a true threat if they had found some way to fight off his memory-lock. Tirad froze in his tracks as his keen eyes examined the situation. The only other visible occupant of the street was a single, brown-clad human standing in front of the white car. He then reached out with his Other Senses. Y’larat psi-talent was mainly projective in nature, but it was usually sufficient to detect the presences of other sentient lifeforms. Again, only one mind and this one...

Oh, ho! Tirad thought with satisfaction. Shielded! Amateurish but effective. So that is how you managed to fight off my mind-hold.

Almost lazily, Tirad resumed his advance. His lip curled in a smirk as the human tensed and readied his weapon. He does not lack for courage, I’ll give him that, the Y’larat thought. Perhaps I can bring him to see reason. It would be a shame to waste such potential.

He stopped several yards away from the vehicle and crossed his arms across his chest. “You do realize that your efforts are quite futile,” he told the human. “I admit that I am surprised to find that not all humans are head-blind. Perhaps if your friends shared your ability, you would have a chance against me. But alone?” Tirad shook his head in mock sorrow. “It is insane to throw your life away for nothing.”

He saw a muscle in the human’s jaw twitch, but the Ghostbuster did not waver. He raised his weapon to center on Tirad’s chest.

“I always thought sanity was overrated,” he all but snarled, desperation plain on his face. “Besides, I don’t think I’d sleep well at night if I didn’t at least try to keep you from turning the Big Apple into the world’s biggest glass-top coffee table.”

The Y’larat frowned. “A...what?”

“Blow up containment,” the human grated out between clenched teeth. “I figured out your little game. You blow containment, make your little gate and, in the process, make Chernobyl look like a cherry bomb. Nuh-uh, Chewbacca. That’s not going to happen on Peter Venkman’s watch!”

“Oh, that,” Tirad laughed with a negligent wave of his hand. “I suppose if I had to blast through your device’s defenses, there would be a certain amount of...collateral damage. But, if you will be reasonable, I believe we can avoid it.”

The human startled, his eyes going wide in shock, then narrowing in suspicion. “Excuse me if I find that a little hard to swallow. I didn’t fall off the turnip truck yesterday, you know.”

“But I am being quite truthful, Peter Venkman. If I am able to devote my energy and attention solely to building the gate without distraction, I will be able to channel all the power of your containment unit into the gate. There will be nothing left over for this `Chernobyl’ you speak of.” The Y’larat dropped his jaw in a grin. “All you would have to do is open your prison for me.”

“Yeah, right!” Venkman snapped. “I open it for you, your buddies come in, then the Gaurnim join the party for a nice little Holocaust. Somehow, that just doesn’t sound like a fun night on the town.”

“You are remarkably well informed, human,” Tirad observed, now somewhat impressed. “But you need not fear those mincing scale-skins. Your people need only ally with me. Become willing servants of the Y’larat, and, once we grind the Gaurnim and their collaborators into the dust, your race will have power like unto kings.”

Venkman snorted in derision. “Pull the other one, bunky,” he said. “First, I may be a prince among men, but I don’t claim to speak for all of them. Second, you seem to be suffering from a major delusion of grandeur, because, from what I’ve heard, you don’t speak for the Y’larat either. They threw you out of office, right?”

Tirad felt a growl escape his throat and his hands curled into claws as long smoldering rage bubbled to the surface. “And they will soon realize their error,” he growled. He took another step forward, forcing the human to back up against his vehicle in fear. “True, I do not now lead the entirety of the Y’larat, but my allies on the Counsel are ready. Once the gate is opened, the Gaurnim will attack. In the confusion of that crisis, my friends will stage their coup.” His eyes glittered as he looked down at the human. “So you would be wise to keep that fact in mind.”

The Ghostbuster laughed nervously. “I guess you’ve got all your ducks in a row then.”

“I do attempt to plan for most contingencies,” Tirad replied, getting his temper back under control with effort. “You were unexpected, but I have learned to be flexible with my plans. Even if others of your race do not willingly join my new order, there could be a high place for you.”

Venkman shrugged. “Ehhhhh...can’t say I ever cared for government work. Long hours, lousy pay and daily migraines.”

“Perhaps something of more personal value, then?” Tirad asked, his voice lowering. “It is painfully obvious that you know next to nothing of shielding technique.” He chuckled quietly as the human looked up at him in alarm. “Oh, you do quite well for someone who has not had training. And your shields probably are quite effective in the short term.” He cocked his head to one side and gave Venkman a sad smile. “But how often do they fail? You must spend most of your waking hours patching holes as they crumble around you. How long can you keep this up until you flee into exile from all other minds...or until it drives you mad?”

Tirad savored the surge of triumph as he saw his barbs strike home. The human was actually considering his offer. Yes, this would make things much easier. “Do you accept my generous offer, Peter Venkman?” he asked. “Your city and your mind safe. Your race exalted. All this and more I offer in return for a small amount of cooperation.”

The human stared at Tirad, his face an expressionless mask, then he caught sight of something and smiled. “Sorry, Fuzzy-wuzzy, but I think we can handle all that on our own. HIT IT!”

Tirad was ready for the proton blast Venkman fired at him...but was caught totally off-guard by the three that came from behind. With a howl of pain, he poured energy into his physical shields.

How?

He turned slightly to see the three other Ghostbusters, along with an unfamiliar woman, scattered across the street in an arc. It was obvious now. Peter Venkman was a diversion to let the others get into position. But why hadn’t he sensed them? Pushing that thought to the side as irrelevant, he reached out with his mind to lock their consciousness away once more.

What? Impossible!

He could feel Venkman’s resistance behind him, but the other humans appeared to be completely unaffected. With a snarl of frustration, he put all his energy into his physical shielding.

“Fools!” he cried. “Do you really believe you can outlast me with your devices?!”

***

Great! Got ourselves a goddamned stalemate! Peter grumbled silently as he concentrated on holding his proton thrower steady. Between him, Zed, Ray and Janine, they had Tirad pinned down, but, until they found a way to get past his shields, Egon couldn’t risk using the destabilizer.

And it was going so well for one of my plans. Although they had no real idea of the extent of the Y’larat’s psi-ability, Peter had argued that, even if Tirad had realized that one of them had fought off the mind hold, he probably figured one Ghostbuster wasn’t a threat since he simply left him behind. In that case, he probably wouldn’t be too surprised to see Peter, but wouldn’t expect the other Ghostbusters, especially when they went in hiding behind their artificial shields.

Lucky for me Tirad likes to run his mouth as much as I do. Easy as pie to keep him busy while the team sneaked in. Maybe a little too easy. I should have known Murphy couldn’t resist a chance to screw with me. He blinked furiously to clear the sweat dripping into his eyes.

“No good! We’re not getting through!” Winston yelled.

“Boost the power!” Egon ordered from across the road. The whine of the proton packs went up in pitch as they complied with the instruction. Tirad staggered under the increased assault, but his shields still held. Peter glanced at the power indicator on his pack. One-third depleted already and dropping fast.

Okay, this is not good. We don’t get this wrapped up soon, all we’ll have left to throw at him is harsh language. At least Chewy isn’t projecting anymore. I was ready for it this time, but I didn’t need that drain...

Like a bolt from the blue, inspiration struck.

Son of a bitch! I’m sure he doesn’t need the drain either. Peter observed their adversary closely. He’s gotta be feeling the strain now. Okay, you bastard! Time for a taste of your own medicine!

“It’s a good thing you insisted on me keeping the radio on, Spengs,” he murmured into the microphone Ray had run to his collar. Going in wired in case he got into trouble with Tirad was the only way he got the team to agree to his plan. “I’m gonna try something. Be ready.”

He knew that he couldn’t simply broadcast his thoughts the way he had earlier. This had to hit Tirad and Tirad alone or it would do more harm than good. Peter focused his attention completely on the Y’larat standing before him as he deliberately gathered every bit of anger inside him and condensed it into a stiletto blade of pure rage. He held it back, letting it build inside until he was practically quivering with fury, then let it fly. It worked! He pierced Tirad’s weakened psychic shields like a bullet and drove his way deep into the Y’larat’s consciousness.

Payback’s a bitch! he laughed in his enemy’s mind as he twisted the ‘knife’ and Tirad howled in shock and pain. That’s for Egon! And that’s for Ray! And that’s for Winston! With each name, he stabbed deeper and deeper.

The entity tried to strengthen his mental defenses, pushing Peter out of his thoughts, but doing so took his attention away from his physical shields. He howled again as the proton beams penetrated. As he tried to increase his physical defenses, Peter renewed his attack. Tirad kept see-sawing back and forth between two battlefronts, only able to respond to one attack at a time. Peter shut off his beam, needing all his concentration to keep his attack from bleeding over into his friends’ minds , but three beams seemed to be doing the trick at this point. He kept up the pressure, dropping his own shields to divert the energy into his mental duel. It demanded so much concentration that he was only dimly aware of the rising sense of triumph in his friends. Tirad’s pain and fear...that he felt in great detail due to the link he had established, but he stubbornly ignored it.

“Now, Egon!”

The lower-pitched drone of the destabilizer joined the cacophony and Tirad’s screams became frantic as he felt his body losing cohesion. Peter fumbled for his trap and managed to slide it under the Y’larat without letting up much on his front.

“Trap out!” he yelled to the team.

“Now, Peter!” Ray yelled back.

Peter stomped on the pedal and light exploded upward from the box, pulling Tirad down into it.

“Bye-bye, Fuzzball!” Janine called from her position next to Egon. “And say hello to the other wannabe emperors we’ve got in containment!”

Curse you! Tirad’s mind-voice echoed down the link as Peter started pulling back. Curse you and yours to the end of time!

Tirad lashed out at Peter one last time as the trap doors closed. His shields gone, Peter had no defense at all. Rage, hatred and blinding terror burned their way down the freshly healed channels of his mind. Belatedly, he tried to block, but it was too late. Tirad’s parting shot sent him flying into oblivion.

***

Sker stared at the scrying image, numb with shock. He, along with the entire Assembly, had watched Tirad’s march through the human city. He had recognized the lone human who had challenged the Y’larat agitator as the one Ba’aque had kidnapped and later released. He had thought it an interesting coincidence.

It was quite obvious now that it was anything but a coincidence. Sker was stubborn, but he was no fool. While the other humans attacked the invader with their technology, that one had attacked with his mind. Sker had seen mind-warriors in action before, and he knew the signs. It had been telepathic fighting which had finally turned the tide in the War, so he had studied the techniques carefully in his preparations for the next war which he had thought inevitable. But Tirad disappeared into the humans’ trap, taking with him all of Sker’s plans to remove the Y’larat menace once and for all. All that was left was the scrying image which now showed the mind-warrior lying insensible on the ground, blood trickling from one nostril. His image was joined by others as his comrades rushed over to give aid.

“Enough,” the Voice said. “It appears that there is no longer a danger of the Pact being broken. You may break the scry.”

As the scryers released the image, the Voice turned to a nearby Guard. “Carry this message to the generals. All troops may stand down.”

As the Guard hurried out with his message, Sker turned his gaze to Ba’aque. Fury was boiling up within him now. He realized what Ba’aque had done, how she had used him. And it was obvious from the looks the rest of the Assembly were giving her, that they had figured it out as well. Her supporters looked at her with restored faith and perhaps rebuke for not trusting them with knowledge of her plans.

Very well, Honorable Ba’aque, he seethed. Your plan was clever, but you had to break our law to accomplish it. Do not think for a moment I will allow you to get away with no penalty. In all things, the laws and the forms must be obeyed.

“Our emergency now ended, we shall resume the trial of Ba’aque,” the Voice said, gesturing for Sker and Ba’aque to rejoin him in the circle. “Honorable Ba’aque, how do you plead?”

Ba’aque turned slowly to face Sker who was practically bristling with repressed fury. She closed her eyes and nodded to herself, as if she had confirmed something she had expected.

“Honorable Assembly,” she said in a clear voice. “I, Ba’aque, do hear-by plead guilty to all charges and submit myself for punishment.”

***

Chapter 10 - Judgment

What the hell was I thinking?

Tabitha Basco tossed her chart onto the nearest clear space on the nursing station’s desk, dropped into a nearby chair and arched her back in a vertebrae-popping stretch.

Damn, I sound like a sack of potatoes hitting the floor. Why in the world did I think covering afternoon ER admissions today was a good idea? Maybe if all hell didn’t break loose on call last night it wouldn’t be so bad, but for crying out loud!

“They working you hard, Tab?”

The pediatrician hung her head back over the edge of the chair to give Nurse Bethany an upside-down grimace. “Are we running a special on vomiting and diarrhea today or something?” Tabitha eyed the chart Bethany cradled in one arm, straightened up in her chair and spun it around to face her. “Please don’t tell me that’s another one. I’ve just admitted my fourth case of rotavirus and haven’t even had time to stop for lunch. If I have to see one more kid with the squirts, I may scream.”

“No, honey,” the nurse reassured her with a chuckle. She made one last notation on the triage form, then dropped the chart into the physician pick-up box. “This is a 22 year old who’s ‘weak and dizzy all over’. You’re safe for the moment.”

“Thank God!” Tabitha picked up her own chart, scribbled one last note on the orders sheet and handed it off to the admissions clerk. “There we go. God willing, I can use the last bit of my shift to catch up on dictations.”

“What’s the matter?” Bethany asked with a grin. “You got a date tonight, honey? Finally decided to take Sheila’s advice and give Dr. Lang a try?”

“No, I’ve not got a date,” Tabitha responded with mild irritation that was only half feigned. The pediatrician’s love life (or lack thereof) was a favorite subject for gossip among the nursing staff.

“Actually, it’s sort of moonlighting,” Tabitha continued. She glanced around the ER to see who was in earshot, then said, “I called Peter Venkman last night. He finally wants to talk.”

“I was wondering when that boy would develop some sense,” Bethany said with a mixture of relief and irritation. Like Sara and Tabitha, she’d also been worried about the Ghostbuster. “I’ll warn you, honey. Don’t let him blow smoke at you. Getting a straight answer out of that boy’s like pullin’ teeth.”

“I kinda noticed that,” Tabitha said with a tired grin. She slouched in her chair for a moment, eyelids lowering halfway. Definitely time for another night on the town. I’ve picked up way too much emotional junk from my patients. “Okay, the energy to get out of this chair’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

Bethany rolled her eyes and got up to grab the younger woman’s shoulder. “On your feet, Doc,” she snapped out in her best drill instructor tone. “Get some lunch into that collection of bones and whipcord you’re hauling around. And, while you’re at it, you can buy me some coffee in gratitude for my gentle care.”

Tabitha snickered and dragged herself to her feet. Bethany had apparently come to the conclusion that the young doctor needed a keeper and volunteered herself for the task when their paths crossed. “Yes, ma’am!” she snapped out. “This way to the Café Clostridia.”

But before they could even leave the nursing station, Tabitha’s pager went off.

“It figures,” she groaned as she pulled it from its holder. She looked at the numbers on the screen and her eyebrows raised. “Hmmm...I don’t think I know this one.”

“Another physician recruiter?” Bethany asked.

“If it is, I’m gonna bite his head off,” Tabitha replied as she headed for the nearest phone. “It’s bad enough they clog up my voice mail at home, but this really pisses me off.”

Tabitha punched in the number and waited. The other end was picked up on the first ring.

“Hello?” said a vaguely familiar voice. “Is that you, Dr. Basco?”

“This is Dr. Basco,” Tabitha confirmed, disturbed by the strain in the voice. “Did you page me?”

“You’d better believe I paged you!” the caller continued. “I’m glad you’re quick on the draw. This is Janine. Remember me? I work for the Ghostbusters. We need you and Sara over here pronto. Peter’s got himself hurt again.”

“Whoa, hold on a minute, Janine!” Tabitha ordered. “Peter did what?”

***

“Okay, we’ll be waiting.”

Ray looked up as Janine hung up the phone and pulled off her glasses to rub her eyes. “Can they come?” he asked.

“Dr. Basco’s coming. Seems like Sara’s out of town, but she’s gonna call her,” Janine answered as she got out of the front seat and walked around to Ecto-1's back door where Ray was sitting. Their confrontation with Tirad hadn’t been far from headquarters, so they had returned long before she’d managed to get a hold of Basco through her paging service. But the trip back hadn’t exactly been a picnic. Ray shuddered as the memory replayed itself in his mind.

If we only knew for sure what happened. Was it overload, backlash or maybe a parting blow from Tirad? Ray wondered.

All their euphoria over victory had evaporated as Peter collapsed on the concrete. Ray, being the closest, had been the first to reach his side. Outwardly, Peter seemed uninjured except for a nosebleed that practically stopped itself. He began to regain consciousness almost immediately, but when he did, he let out a physical and telepathic scream of agony that had sent all of them to their knees.

I should have seen it coming, Ray thought guiltily as he looked at Peter who was still sprawled in Ecto’s cargo compartment with an activated shield unit at his side. He attacked Tirad psionicly. I should have known he couldn’t keep his shields up at the same time. I should have brought a unit over to him first thing.

They’d been saved by the fact that a human being can only take so much pain before passing out. Peter’s scream had cut off as he lost consciousness and left them all with lingering headaches, but no other damage. It had been obvious they couldn’t take him to the hospital in this condition. True, they had their external shields, but anyone trying to assess or treat Peter would have to go inside them, both exposing Peter to mental overload and exposing themselves to his projection.

Not that conventional medicine would be able to help him at this point anyway, Ray mused as he watched his friend who was silent and still save for an occasional muscle spasm and barely audible moan. And the cat would be well and truly out of the bag about his telepathy if someone got caught in one of his blasts in a hospital. I’m glad we could get a hold of Tabitha at least. I just hope she’s up to this.

“What’d Tabitha say about the sedative?” Ray asked as Janine leaned through the door to check on Peter herself.

“She said we’d probably better give it to him. It’d be easier for her to work on him if he isn’t blasting her every time she gets inside the shield,” the secretary replied in a tone that showed how little she liked the idea. For that matter, Ray didn’t care for it much himself, but at the moment, consciousness was not Peter’s friend.

I’m just glad Tabitha didn’t ask what kind of sedative we’re gonna give him, Ray thought with relief. Some time ago, Peter had obtained some injectable Ativan and hypodermic syringes to use in case of a possession. He’d told them not to ask how he got them, and Ray was happy not knowing.

He looked up as Egon hurried down the stairs. Winston followed close behind carrying a cot. “What kept you guys?” Ray asked.

“Egon stopped to pull up the drug info on the net,” Winston explained, gesturing to the physicist who was tapping the side of the syringe to clear the tiny air bubbles.

“It is only prudent to double check the dosage,” Egon remarked tightly. “About half a milligram should be adequate.”

Ray took the hypodermic from Egon long enough for him to climb into the back of the hearse. When Egon volunteered to administer the dose, there had only been token protest. Everyone knew the physicist was likely the best at keeping his thoughts orderly and under control. Therefore, he had the least chance of setting the injured telepath off again. But there was still a great deal of risk for him to be inside the shield with Peter in this state. With quick, smooth movements, he unzipped Peter’s jumpsuit, pulled it down far enough to bare one shoulder and held his hand out. The younger man barely flinched at the jab of the needle. Within seconds, the dose was given, and Egon quietly crawled back out of Ecto.

“Let’s give that about five minutes to take effect,” Ray said quietly. “Then I think we can move him safely. Make him comfortable ‘til Tabitha gets here.”

“Sure thing, Ray,” Winston agreed as he and Janine set up the cot. “But we’d better be careful how we touch him or he’ll probably get overloaded anyway.”

“We’ll do it with gloves,” Egon added. “But I suggest we simply set up the cot down here. Minimal disturbance at this point would be wise.”

Ray sat back down on Ecto’s bumper and mentally willed Tabitha to hurry.

***

Tabitha cursed the traffic signal in front of her. This had been the fifth red light in a row she’d hit, and every little delay was grating on her nerves.

I guess I’m lucky Bethany understands my other job, she thought ruefully. The nurse, after listening to her half of her conversation with Janine, had made things easy for her.

“Don’t talk. Go!” she’d ordered the pediatrician, yanking Tabitha’s leather jacket off the chair where she’d left it and throwing it at her. “I’ll call Williams and tell him an emergency’s come up. He owes you for that time his kid broke her leg anyway.”

She’d hugged Bethany with relief that one worry was taken off her shoulders. A good thing too. Stuck in traffic two blocks from Ghostbuster headquarters, the apprentice healer had plenty of others to occupy her time.

Damn, I know what to do. If it’s backlash, Peter probably won’t be that much worse than the other time. But I sure wish Sara was here. I could use some backup if things get dicey. He’s got a gift at full power now, and that always adds problems.

Finally, the light turned green and Tabitha hit her accelerator. Her thoughts sped along as if they were trying pacing her car, now mulling over what Sara had told her over her cell phone when she’d finally gotten through to her teacher.

Telepathy. Full telepathy, even. Janine had opened up about the nature of Peter’s psychic abilities after she learned that he was probably planning to tell her about it at her visit later tonight. Good Lord, why did his gift have to manifest that way? Even if I patch him up now, it probably won’t do him much good in the long run. She shook her head impatiently. One thing at a time, Tab.

A few nail-biting minutes later, she found herself pulling up to Ghostbuster headquarters. There was just enough room on the driveway outside the closed doors for her tiny Kia to fit. Not wanting to waste time, she parked it there and ran up to pound on the door. She braced herself against the maelstrom of anxiety she could already pick up as Egon opened the door.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” he said as he all but dragged her inside.

“Hey, it’s my job.” she said with a slightly self conscious shrug. “Where is he?”

“Toward the back,” he answered. “We didn’t want to risk moving him around too much.”

And I can’t feel him at all, was her surprised thought. They weren’t kidding about that shield.

It was quite eerie, when they finally reached the desks. Although her gift had developed relatively late, Tabitha had gotten used to “seeing” the presence of other people in her mind. Egon, Winston, Ray and Janine, she could feel them like miniature suns scattered around her, but the unconscious man on the cot might as well have been a corpse as far as her empathy was concerned. As it was, she had an intense urge to check a pulse even though she could see him breathing.

With that, maybe he’ll have a chance once I get him patched up. If I can get him patched up.

Taking a steading breath, she forced a smile. “I take it you gave him the sedative?” she asked.

“Right after we got off the phone with you,” Ray confirmed. “You really think you can help him?” His enormous brown eyes begged her to say “yes”. Hell, she wanted to say “yes” but she wasn’t one hundred percent sure she could.

“I’m gonna give him my best,” she said instead, turning to rummage in her bag. “I’ll know more when I take a good look at him. That shield’s nice, but it’s blocking him from me. Don’t turn it off yet, though. Let’s see if I can work inside it first.”

“You should be able to,” Egon reassured her.

“That’s good,” she said, pulling a bundle of sweetgrass and a lighter from her bag. “What’s your price for one of those gadgets? I’d love to have it in my apartment. Crowded living’s hard on an empath sometimes.”

“Can’t you shield it out?” Janine asked, her tone unexpectedly sharp.

“Most of the time,” Tabitha said slowly. “Let’s talk about that later. Right now, I’ve got work to do.” She held the herb bundle and lighter out to Winston. “You mind doing the honors?”

“Not at all, ma’am.”

Tabitha was acutely aware of the eyes on her as she started her pattern of measured breathing to prepare for the healing. Three slow breaths and the scent of sweetgrass sent her mind into the highly focused state where she could work within. She stepped forward and knelt at the head of Peter’s cot and was thrown off balance as the shield closed around her. Although she’d dismissed the others’ emotional input from her conscious mind to work, their complete cessation was a shock. It took several seconds to regain her mental balance before she could begin. Carefully, she lowered her shields and ‘looked’ at the damage. What she saw reassured her slightly.

“Good news,” she said, not looking up. “He looks pretty much like he did when Sara worked on him. The channels took a good scorching from the backlash, but nothing else is damaged. A little more intense than I remember it, but he’s fresh from the scene where Sara got him a full day after the fact. I can handle this.”

“But are you going to fall on your nose afterward?” Winston asked, no doubt remembering how exhausted Sara had been after the previous healing. Tabitha gave him a sheepish grin.

“I guess we’re gonna find out now, aren’t we? Here we go.”

Tabitha didn’t think much of her own singing voice, but the Lakota healing song provided the focus for her mind to work. Quietly, almost under her breath, she sang as she reached out to gently touch Peter’s temples. Letting the last of her shields go, she gently explored the damage, drawing the fire she saw into herself and smothering it. She moved much more slowly than Sara had. This was her first time working solo and she couldn’t afford to make a mistake in this delicate work. It was a challenge not to pull away as each shred of pain sent a thread of agony through her own soul when she touched it. Her own being howled in protest at the intrusion of this jarring discord into its balanced harmony, but she disregarded its cry, only paying enough attention to know if something was truly about to overwhelm her system. As the fires were extinguished, she felt Peter’s mind stirring slightly. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction.

NO!

Peter went stiff under her hands and his mind lashed out. Her shields down, Tabitha had no defense as he seized her in a merciless grip. Paralyzed, she hung in limbo, unable to even curse herself for her carelessness. Peter had just been in a telepathic battle. She had forgotten he might interpret her actions as an attack.

Who are you? he demanded. She didn’t answer, but she didn’t have to. Her mind lay completely open to him, and, oh God, she could feel how strong he was! He could rip her mind to shreds if he wanted to. She knew he at this moment he was seeing completely into and through her, and she had never in her life felt so naked. Or so terrified.

Tabitha? With recognition, the hold vanished and fury was replaced with shame. Peter’s body relaxed under her hands, and she found she could move again. Oh, God I’m sorry. I thought you were him.

It’s...it’s all right, she thought back at him, trying to push aside her fear and regain her equilibrium.

No, it’s not all right, he sent back stubbornly. For a moment, she felt him struggling as if arguing with himself, then his mind turned back to her with grim determination. Here.

Before she could protest, he had taken hold of her once more, this time opening his mind to her as hers had been opened to his.

You didn’t have to do that, she thought, staggered by the gesture.

Tit for tat, Tabby cat, he retorted.

“Tabitha! Dr. Basco!”

The anxious voice jerked Tabitha out of rapport. She looked up to see the other Ghostbusters watching with anxiety writ large in their eyes. “What’s wrong?” Egon asked.

“It’s okay,” she said, shaking her head a bit to clear it. “Forgot there was a risk working with psi-sensitives.”

“How is he?” the physicist persisted.

“I’ll be fine, Spengs,” Peter murmured. “Tabby just stumbled on some adventures of my misspent youth is all.”

“Peter!” Ray cried and started to lunge forward, catching himself at the last minute before hitting the shield. “You’re okay.”

“Correction, I will be okay once Tabasco here finishes up. Almost finished, Doc?”

“A couple more minutes, Peter,” she said with a nervous laugh. “And try to keep your misspent youth to yourself.”

“Spoilsport,” he muttered as she sank back into rapport with him.

You know, this is not how I pictured our little meeting tonight.

Peter’s thoughts were starting to blur as he relaxed enough for the drug to reassert its hold on him, but Tabitha could still pick them up faintly.

I know. Best laid plans and all.

Hey! You weren’t supposed to hear that.

Then stop projecting. You’re a telepath. I’m an empath, and we’re currently in rapport. What do you expect?

Good point.

With that, his thoughts blurred into unconsciousness once more, and Tabitha moved quickly to finish her work. It was harder this time to focus on the damage, to reach out and touch it once more. She remembered how draining it had been for Sara to do so and that was without having to deal with a telepathic attack. Tabitha was younger and had more reserves, but those same reserves were being strained by her other profession, the long hours, the irregular meals, the strain of being immersed in pain almost every day. Once again, Sara’s warning about the folly of serving two masters flickered through her mind and was ruthlessly shoved aside. That wasn’t important now. Her patient was the priority, and she bent her will back towards his injuries. Energy flowed out of her at an ever increasing pace as she neared the end of her work, but it was enough. Just barely enough.

Finally, she let her hands fall away from Peter’s head to clutch at the edges of the cot as the room swam around her. “That’s it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Between the stress and the sedative, he’ll sleep for the rest of the day and probably well into the night. It’s best just to let him. And keep him under the shield ‘til he wakes up and puts his own back together.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” Ray asked as everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m trying to figure that one out, myself,” the physician answered, struggling to pull her own shields back into place. “I think I’m gonna need some help up. And some Gatorade if you have it. I picked a hell of a day to miss lunch.”

“Oh, good grief!” Janine said in disgust. “Is it a law that once they put ‘doctor’ in front of your name, you have to lose every shred of common sense?” She stomped up the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “You get her up here safely, Ray. I’ll get some soup on.”

Tabitha leaned gratefully on Ray’s shoulder as he supported her to her feet and steered her toward the stairs. With the close contact, she felt his hope and gratitude through her shields and felt singularly unworthy of it. She may have solved Peter’s short term problem, but she would soon have to break the news about the long term. Peter wasn’t the first human telepath. Sara had told her about others. The problem was that nearly every one of them had gone insane.

***

Uhhh, God? This is Winston. I know all things work together for good and all, but could you please make them work a little faster?

It was the morning after their confrontation with Tirad. True to Tabitha’s prediction, Peter had slept until well after midnight when he woke up briefly and allowed the guys to force some supper on him before dragging himself upstairs to his own bed for the rest of the night. Tabitha, who hadn’t been in much better shape, stayed overnight as well. After breakfast, she and Peter had retreated to the lab to discuss shielding technique. Or so he’d thought. Not five minutes later, Peter had yelled for everyone to join them and the other shoe dropped.

“Are you saying that there is nothing Peter can do to improve his shielding?” Egon asked. His voice was cold and analytical and did nothing to hide his distress from his friends. “Surely there must be something you can do. Tirad said that he could be taught how to build more effective shields.”

Tabitha leaned forward in her seat and crossed her forearms on her knees. “I don’t know. Maybe he knows a way. Maybe he was blowing smoke. All I know is that Peter’s doing exactly what I and every empath I know do to shield, and I quite frankly don’t know how to do it any differently. That’s why the standard operating procedure for psi-healers has been to shut down the gift of any new telepath we find. Sometimes we have to do it with the empaths as well if they can’t handle the load and don’t want to go into isolation. We have simply not found a way to build a good enough shield and the pressure of other thoughts and emotions drive them off the deep end.”

“And, because of how I got this little present, I guess that’s not an option with me,” Peter finished grimly.

“Wait a minute,” Winston said, thinking about what she’d just described. “You’re an empath, and you haven’t been shut down. How do you cope?”

“With great difficulty,” Tabitha said sourly. “And with techniques that Sara doesn’t exactly approve of. You don’t find a lot of empaths in medicine for obvious reasons, but my ability developed late. So late that I was already most of the way through medical school when it became obvious.” She looked up with a self-deprecating smile. “I was too stubborn to change tracks to a...well, a career with less emotional ‘noise’, so I had to find a way to deal with the nastiness I pick up in the hospital and clinic. The shield leaks both good and bad emotions into me. When I get too much of the bad, I go clubbing.”

That answer took everyone by surprise. Winston exchanged incredulous looks with Peter while Janine protested verbally. “Clubbing? You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“Hey! It works,” Tabitha said with a shrug. “At least in the short term. The same leaks that spill depression into me let me take in the mania from everyone around me having a good time and the two balance out. As a result, I’ve gotten a reputation as quite a party animal.”

“Sounds like the psychic version of using uppers and downers,” Peter said with a frown. “Doesn’t sound to healthy in the long run.”

“No, it probably isn’t,” Tabitha agreed. “And Sara gives me hell about it. I guess I want to have my cake and eat it too. I don’t want to give up medicine, but I don’t want to give up my gift either.” She sighed and looked up at Janine. “So I guess I can’t argue with what you said last night about doctors and their lack of common sense.”

“But maybe you don’t have to!” Ray broke in, his voice rising with hope. “Maybe you can’t shield yourself well enough by yourself, but we’ve got our artificial shield. If we can refine it. Miniaturize the components...”

“Can you miniaturize the power source?” Peter interrupted. “Not that I’m particularly looking forward to getting a job as a lighthouse keeper, but those things suck a whole lot of juice.”

“That is an important issue, Peter,” Egon agreed. “However, our shield unit is only a prototype and a rushed one at that.”

“I’ll admit that shield gizmo of yours may be the key,” Tabitha said cautiously. “Maybe if I could be certain of a ‘quiet’ place to rest and regroup, I wouldn’t have to rely on getting myself high like that. I meant what I said about wanting one. You can name your price.”

An impish look sprang into Peter’s eyes. “Oh, really?” he said with a smirk.

All further conversation was abruptly cut off by the high-pitched wail of the alarm. And it wasn’t just the burglar alarm either. It was the one Egon and Ray designed to alert them to intrusion by ghosts, spirits and other otherworldly entities. Ray, Winston and Peter all lunged for the lab’s proton pack, but Winston claimed it first. Egon had his PKE meter out and was feverishly taking readings.

“It’s downstairs,” he said, over the wail of the siren. “Likely in the garage.”

Between us and the other packs, damn it, Winston cursed.

“What’ve we got?” Ray shouted. “A big one?”

“Class Eight, corporeal,” the physicist reported. “No sign of a gate. It must have simply walked in.” His eyes widened suddenly in shock behind his glasses. “It’s the Gaurnim!”

Everyone froze at the news. Winston turned to look at Peter whose face had gone hard as stone. The psychologist stood still for a moment, then turned and snapped, “For crying out loud, someone turn of that noise! It’s not like it’s gonna scare her away.”

Ray scrambled to the control panel and silence quickly descended on the room, accentuating the tension. “Are you sure it’s her?” Winston asked, moving to cover the door with the thrower.

“The frequency is identical,” Egon confirmed. His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “That’s strange. I’m picking up the same frequency, but it’s much weaker in intensity from the readings Janine took when Peter was returned.”

“Thank God for small favors,” Winston said fervently. “Is she headed up here?”

“No. The signal is stationary.”

“She’s waiting for us,” Peter said with absolute certainty in his voice. He turned to Winston, his eyes like chips of green ice. “The pack, Zed. Give it to me.”

“Wait a minute, Pete,” Winston protested, but Peter overrode him.

“Damn it, Zed!” he snarled. “We’ve got to get her bottled up before she blows the damn Pact. And I owe that scaly bitch! Big time!”

“Give it to him, Winston,” Egon said calmly. He had handed the meter off to Ray and was pulling the destabilizer out of its locker. The former soldier gave him a doubtful look, but nodded and unbuckled his pack to hand it over.

I hope you know what you’re doing, Egon, Winston muttered to himself, as Peter slung it on savagely. “She moved any, Ray?” he asked aloud.

“Not a bit,” the engineer answered. “What’s the plan?”

“Whatever she’s here for, it probably involves me,” Peter said in a dead flat voice. “I’ll go down the stairs. Spengs, you take the fire escape and come in from behind. Maybe between the two of us, we can keep her busy while the rest of you get the packs.” He turned to Tabitha as Ray started handing out radios. “And you stay here,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument. “If things get hairy, you go down the fire escape and run like fury.”

Tabitha raised her hands placatingly. “Don’t you worry,” she said. “Last place I want to be is in a firefight.”

Peter nodded curtly. “Janine, you’re with Spengs. Ray, be ready at the firepole. Zed....”

“I’ve got your back, homeboy,” Winston finished. “Let’s move.”

They waited a moment for Egon and Janine to get onto the fire escape. Then Peter started making his way down the stairs to the second level with Winston and Ray following close behind. Slowly, quietly, they crept to the next flight of stairs and paused. Winston pulled back a bit and keyed his radio.

“Egon, what’s your twenty?”

“I’m at the front of the building now. The door appears to have been unlocked somehow and left open.”

Ray had crept over to the opening for the firepole and peered over the edge. After a quick look, he pulled back and crawled back over to the other two. “She’s sitting in one of the chairs by Janine’s desk,” he whispered. “We can probably get to the packs easily.”

“If we’re quick. And very lucky,” Winston amended, thinking about how powerful a creature they were dealing with.

“Maybe we should try to talk to her first,” Ray said, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “She doesn’t seem to be getting ready for an attack.”

“Oh, I’m gonna talk to her,” Peter hissed. “I’m gonna give her an earful, all right.” With that, he started down the stairs. Ray’s face grew tight with worry and he started to scramble back into position. Winston grabbed his arm and shook his head. With the Gaurnim on the other side of the room, Ray would be better off trying for a pack with him.

“We’re moving, Egon,” Winston whispered into the radio, then slowly followed Peter. He caught his first glimpse of the Gaurnim as he crouched behind the banister, ready to dart for the lockers. Peter kept his thrower trained on the creature and went down the stairs sideways. Winston caught movement out of the corner of his eye on the garage floor and looked to see Egon run through the open front door, crouched nearly double as he sprinted to take cover behind Ecto-1. Through all this, the Gaurnim looked unconcerned. She sat quietly in a chair facing the stairway. A large coat and wide brimmed hat lay on Janine’s desk, confirming that it had not directly gated to the firehouse. The white mane straggled into her dulled eyes. Winston couldn’t be sure, but it almost looked like the creature was tired, exhausted even.

Peter paused as he reached the foot of the stairs. He glanced at Egon who nodded back at him, then started walking toward the entity. As he approached, the Gaurnim looked up. “You have recovered from your battle, Peter Venkman,” she said in a quiet voice. “I had hoped you would.”

“Oh, really,” Peter sneered. “I suppose you’re sorry about that, too.”

She nodded her head slowly. “More than I can express. I’m sorry for all the pain I put you through, but I had no choice. It was...”

“Necessary?!” Peter snapped, practically shaking with anger. “Okay, I’ll buy that we needed a telepath to fight Tirad, but why didn’t you just tell me? Goddamnit! If you’d just told us what was going on, I’d have volunteered for it, but you just...”

“I had no choice!” the Gaurnim cried. “I tried! I tried to find another way. A way to stop Tirad that would not violate the Pact.”

“Is your presence here not a violation of the Pact as well?” Egon asked, his voice as hard and cold as steel. The Gaurnim turned to look at him and gave a humorless chuckle.

“No, I assure you, Egon Spengler. As the presence of a lone Y’larat criminal did not violate it, neither does the presence of a single Gaurnim pariah. I assure you, the Assembly took my crimes against you quite seriously.”

“How seriously?” Egon demanded.

“To be stripped of half my power and eternally exiled.” She shuddered as if in pain. “In their eyes, I am no longer Gaurnim.” She looked up at Ray and Winston crouched on the stairs and glanced at Janine standing just inside the front door. “The rest of you may as well come in. I am not here to fight you.” She slumped in her chair. “In fact, I could not fight you if I wished. The Assembly was most thorough in their penalties.”

“Get the packs,” Peter ordered, not taking his eyes off the Gaurnim. Ray, Winston and Janine wasted no time in complying. They quickly surrounded the creature. After a few awkward moments, Winston said. “Okay, lady. Are you going to explain yourself, or should we just chuck you into containment?”

“I will answer your questions. You more than deserve to know the reasons.” She dropped her gaze to the floor and sighed. “If I had helped you directly in any way, the Y’larat would have claimed Pact violation and the war I wished to prevent would happen anyway. With my own people pushing to fight, the only chance to stop the fatal act was for you to defend your own world, but you lacked the ability to overcome Tirad’s mind-hold.” She looked up at Peter, her eyes pleading. “You were my only chance. I knew that you had telepathic potential, but awakening it in the normal way would have been painfully obvious to anyone who cared to investigate. Even training you in its use would have left marks that Tirad could easily recognize as my interference. No, the only way I could find to arm you that would not bring about a cataclysm was to work as I did, in secret, making it appear that your awakening was an accident. An unintended side-effect of a sadist’s playtime.” A wan smile with only a hint of triumph crossed her face. “And it worked. You need not fear for a war in your world anytime soon. At least not one that is of our doing. The Pact is intact, and those advocating war in both the Gaurnim and Y’larat governments have been set back thanks to what Tirad revealed to you in your battle.”

“You were watching?” Ray asked.

“The entire Assembly watched. They were most impressed by your collective abilities.”

“But if they saw what happened, why did they exile you?” the engineer asked, puzzled. “I mean, didn’t they see what you did?”

“Of course they saw,” she replied. “And when they saw, they had no choice but to punish me. I had assaulted a sentient being and endangered our entire world. Although my intentions were good, I am most assuredly a criminal. In all things, the laws and the forms must be obeyed.” The Gaurnim sighed heavily. “In any case, if they withheld my just punishment, the Y’larat would know that you were no accident, Peter Venkman.”

“Plausible deniablity,” Peter muttered.

“Exactly. And they were, in their own way, merciful because of my intentions. The usual penalty for such crimes is death.” The tone in her voice made Winston wonder if she truly considered that a merciful sentence.

“What’s your name?” he found himself asking. The Gaurnim looked up, surprised.

“I am called Ba’aque.”

“Why are you here, Ba’aque?”

“For that matter, how did you get here?” Egon demanded. “At half power, you could hardly have built a gate on your own.”

“You are correct,” she said simply. “The Assembly ordered a gate created to take me to my chosen world of exile. As for why I chose your world...” The Gaurnim’s crest slicked down against her skull. She moved forward abruptly, prompting them all to bring up their weapons, but she simply slid out of the chair to her knees before Peter. “I have accepted the penalty of my people for my crimes against them.” She looked up at the psychologist. “But I have yet to receive your penalty for my crimes against you. Pass your judgment.”

Peter’s face was an expressionless mask. “What the hell are you looking for?” he asked. “Penance? I’m no goddamn priest. If you want absolution, you’ve come to the wrong place.”

“I have come to pay my debt,” Ba’aque snapped back as him as if her pride had been stung. “I do not ask for forgiveness or absolution. I deserve neither, but I pay my debts. Pass your judgment on me, and I will bide by the sentence, even if it is to join Tirad in your containment unit. Or, if you wish, you may flay my mind as I flayed yours. You are certainly strong enough.”

“Yeah, right,” Peter said with a sarcastic bark of a laugh.

“I’m perfectly serious. You went mind-to-mind with a most formidable opponent. You could do that with ease. And I would deserve every lash.”

Winston felt a chill of apprehension at that assessment of Peter’s strength. If he did go insane as past telepaths had done, with that level of power the results would be devastating. From the look on Peter’s face he could tell similar thoughts were going through the psychologist’s mind. Silence stretched out between them. Finally, Peter powered off his pack and holstered his thrower, slamming it onto its hook almost vindictively. Fists clenched at his sides, he looked away from the Gaurnim. Winston looked quickly to each of the others and gave a barely perceptible nod. They didn’t put up their weapons, but they did relax slightly and waited.

“You said something about not being able to train me earlier. That it would violate the Pact. What about now?”

Ba’aque looked up and nodded in understanding. “As far as the Assembly is concerned, whatever I do is no longer done by a Gaurnim.”

“Okay, here’s your punishment if you want it so freaking badly. You teach me how to control this damn gift you gave me. You answer any questions we have about your people, the Y’larat or anything else we want to know.” He turned away abruptly and stomped toward the stairs. “And, after that’s done, I don’t want to see your scaly face again.”

***

Chapter 11 - Coda

It doesn’t get much better than this!

“Come on, Ray! Spooky’s about four doors down.”

Ray grinned as he looked up from his PKE meter. “Dead on, Peter! Let’s get him!”

“Unfortunate choice of words, Tex,” Peter said as he pushed his pace to a trot. Ray sped up a little to stay abreast of his friend. This was their third bust of the week, and the most complex they’d had since Peter had been able to rejoin the team full-time. Their latest assignment, a hotel haunted by a nasty Class Six and a plethora of Two’s and Three’s, was running them ragged. The Six had been challenging but relatively quick to trap. The others, however, had been scattered throughout the fifteen floor building, requiring the Ghostbusters to split up.

And Peter’s getting better and better at homing in on them, Ray chortled inwardly. This is just so cool!

“Care to make a guess as to the class?” the engineer asked as they came up on their target. Peter gave him a pained look.

“It feels nasty, Ray,” he said. “And quite frankly, that’s as far as I care to go.”

“But, Peter,” Ray coaxed, dropping his voice to a whisper as they paused in front of the door to the penthouse. “You should be able to tell if you just give it some practice.”

“What? And put Egon out of a job as our meter-reader?” his friend shot back with mock horror. “No thanks, Ray. I’ll do okay with things the way they are. I enjoy good wine, but I don’t need to be able to tell the year, vineyard and age of the person who stomped on the grapes by taste.”

Ray shook his head as Peter kicked open the door and resolved to get Egon to help bring the psychologist around. Although they had gotten an incredible amount of information on psi-ability from Ba’aque, they had only scratched the surface. He jerked himself back to the present (and the ghost making a royal havoc of the wet bar) before Peter could snap at him to pay attention.

“Sorry, buddy,” Peter quipped. “You’re over the limit, and I’m cutting you off.”

The whip-thin specter threw its rocks glass against the wall and darted to the side as Peter’s proton beam flicked out, driving it right into Ray’s beam. Seconds later, it was safely trapped.

“Don’t you just hate it when ghosts can’t hold their liquor?” Ray asked with a wry chuckle. He pulled his PKE meter off his belt and checked the screen. “I think that’s it. Egon and Winston must have gotten the other Class Three downstairs.”

“Good,” Peter said, picking up the smoking trap and hanging it on his belt. “Let’s grab the guys, drop off our bill and head home.”

Ray didn’t bother radioing Winston and Egon. He didn’t need to, not when he had Peter with him. One aspect of his telepathy Peter had actually been eager to develop was the ability to sense and home in on the presences of his friends.

If he can pick us out of a crowd, Ray thought with mild irritation, I’m sure he can do the same thing with ghosts. Oh, well. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This satisfies his mother hen instinct. He gave Peter a calculating look when he wasn’t looking. Now maybe Egon and I can convince him that learning to differentiate ghosts would help keep the team safe.

“Now, let’s see...” Peter muttered, punching one of the “Down” buttons as they reached the elevator bank at the end of the hall. “There is a God!” he crowed as it lit up at his touch. “Looks like they got the power back to these babies.”

“Awww, come on, Peter,” Ray scolded. “Let’s just take the stairs. The others were only three levels down.”

“Were being the operative term,” Peter responded, catching his reflection in one of the antique mirrors hanging in the hallway and brushing a few stray strands of his hair back into place. “They must have chased that gooper halfway to the lobby. Besides, I need to conserve my strength.”

“Why?” Ray asked with an impish twinkle in his eyes. “Got a hot date tonight?” And about time too, he thought. You’re just not the hermit type.

“Yeah, that’s right, Ray,” Peter sighed as the elevator doors opened with a “ping”. “I’m sure you know her. White mohawk and one hell of a dry skin condition.”

“Oh,” the engineer said, the wind taken out of his sails, as he stepped inside and leaned against the dark paneled wall. “I thought you were having your lesson with Ba’aque this morning.”

Peter hit the eighth floor button with perhaps a little more force than necessary. “She finally made connections with some of the other illegal aliens we’ve got in the Big Apple and they wanted a meeting,” he explained, his face an expressionless mask. “So we postponed ‘til this afternoon.”

“Really? What do they want?”

Peter shrugged. “I don’t know. Make sure she’s got new I.D.? Job search, maybe? Check to make sure that illusion spell you found passes muster? Whatever. I really couldn’t care less.”

Ray took the hint and dropped the subject, but, as the elevator descended, he found himself obsessively going over his latest personal dilemma. Peter was his friend, and he had every right to feel the way he did about Ba’aque. The trouble was he couldn’t bring himself to dislike, much less hate, Ba’aque, because she wasn’t really a bad person. Over the past month, Ray had learned enough about her from their questioning sessions to determine that. A sharp wit was balanced by an extremely kind and gentle nature. Ray had no doubt that what she had been forced to put Peter through had been just as painful to her own soul.

She’s a good person who got caught in a no-win situation, Ray sighed inwardly as he stared at the floor. And now she gets to pay the rest of her life for making the only thing close to a right choice she could find.

Ray wanted to help her. To even maybe be friends with her and help her get settled into life in this world, but he couldn’t do that without feeling like he was betraying Peter. There was slight jolt as the elevator stopped and the doors opened to reveal Egon and Winston, both covered in a generous coat of fuchsia colored ectoplasm.

“Not one word, Dr. Venkman,” Egon said warningly as they stepped into the elevator.

“Who, moi?” Peter asked with feigned innocence, barely choking back a snicker. “You honestly believe I would find my colleagues’ misfortune amusing, Dr. Spengler?”

“You bet we do,” Winston growled as he hit the button for the lobby.

***

Ba’aque examined her opponent and abruptly switched tactics. She changed her mental imagery from a blade to a point of extreme cold. The shield froze and grew brittle under her attack, preparing it for the final blow. With the speed of thought itself, she punched her target and felt the defenses give way. She darted in to deliver the coup de grace, but found herself caught in a sticky morass that wrapped around her probe before she could withdraw it. Peter followed the probe back and “tagged” her before she managed to extricate herself.

“Ufff...” she grunted as he released her. “Well done. I see you took the lesson on secondary defenses to heart.”

The human shrugged. “I learned that one from my dad. Give people what they expect to see and you can usually blind-side them.”

Ba’aque’s crest fluffed out in surprise. “You mean that was deliberate. You let me break through your shield?”

Again Peter shrugged, this time his mouth twisting in a half-smile. “Of course. When you punched through into my trap, your momentum did half the work for me.”

“Ahhh...it is a fortunate teacher who has a student who can instruct her as well,” she said as she centered herself once again. “Shall we...how do you say it? Have another go?”

“If you say so.”

And the battle lines were drawn once more. It was a unique fight in many senses of the word. To physical eyes, the human and the Gaurnim were simply sitting in the Ghostbusters’ lab staring at each other across a table. On the mental plane, however, it was quite another story. A duel was fought which was part martial art and part rock-paper-scissors. Each telepath watched intently for weaknesses in the other’s shields and tried to break through them while countering attacks on their own defenses. But how they did so was mainly through imagery. Peter attacked with a thin, sharp probe intending to pierce through Ba’aque’s shield. Ba’aque countered by forcing the shield out into a sharp curve and “hardening” it so that the probe glanced off like a needle hitting a steel cup. At the same time, the Gaurnim lashed out with a mental claw, while Peter made his shield rubbery and slick so that she could not get a good grip on it.

The trick was knowing the right images to use at the right time. That had been the problem humans had encountered with shielding. In visualizing a wall, they had been on the right track. However, they had not figured out how to build a foundation for that wall to sit on. They could make the “bricks” composing it as strong as they wished, but, without a stable foundation, it was no wonder their shields kept collapsing. Peter had proved to be a quick study once he was shown what he had been doing wrong. And not only Peter Venkman. The healer Tabitha had come to Ba’aque for lessons as well.

I suppose that is another serendipitous outcome of my exile, Ba’aque thought in a tiny corner of her mind which was not occupied with her battle. Perhaps that is my destiny. To be teacher to the humans in this art. I wonder what Sker would think about that.

This time, superior experience balanced perfectly with innovation and strength. The two telepaths fought each other to a stalemate. They disengaged from each other, exhausted from their efforts. Ba’aque looked at her student appraisingly and nodded. It was time.

“I believe this portion of your penalty is fulfilled,” she said.

Peter looked up sharply and brushed his sweaty hair back from his face. “What are you talking about? That’s it?”

Ba’aque pressed her hands against the tabletop, fanning her fingers out across the wooden surface. “Yes. I have nothing more to teach you in this area. Practice now is what you require, but you do not require my presence for that.”

Peter looked at her levelly, his face as hard as granite and shields so tight she could barely even register his presence in the room with her. Deliberately, he pushed his chair back and shoved himself to his feet. “So you’re going,” he said as he turned to face the window.

“If that is your wish,” Ba’aque said, casting her mind back to her meeting earlier in the day. “There is a kelpie who lives by the Hudson River who offered to let me stay with her until I acquire the paperwork I need to work in this city. I’ll leave the number where I can be reached in case any of you have more questions for me.” She paused, waiting for an answer. The human only stood there, seemingly locked in his own thoughts, and what little she could sense of those thoughts was thick with tension. Finally, she rose gracefully to her feet and started to gather the tattered remains of her power to weave an illusion of humanity about herself.

Tomorrow I should look into this Reiki therapy Etain spoke of, she thought. It is a form of healing remarkably similar to our bio-energy balancing. I suppose I could make a living at it with some instruction.

A wave of bleakness swept over her as she contemplated the long years ahead of her. Yes, humans were not the only sentient beings on this world. There were others who lived among them, hiding their true visages, as she would have to, with magic. Far more than even the Ghostbusters knew about. But now, terrible, terrible loneliness came flooding into Ba’aque’s heart to mix with the crushing guilt she knew she would never be free of. The maelstrom of dark emotions shattered her concentration. Resolutely, she cleared her mind to gather her power once again.

“Wait...”

The soft command made Ba’aque startle. Slowly she turned around. Peter was still standing with his back to her. His fists were clenched and his shoulders tight, but abruptly he relaxed. She looked on questioningly as he threw a glance at her over his shoulder. “You...you don’t have to go that far,” he said.

“I don’t have to what?” the Gaurnim asked, puzzled by the human’s behavior. Peter sighed and turned to face her.

“The whole not seeing your face again bit,” he said, resting a hip on the table and crossing his arms. “Let’s face it. You might not have any more to teach me about this telepathy gig, but I am nowhere near good enough to teach someone else.

“Yet,” she corrected, gently.

“Okay, not yet,” Peter said with a shrug. “We’ll probably need to work together again, and that’s gonna be pretty damn hard if I slap you with a restraining order.”

“Yes,” Ba’aque agreed. “That would be rather difficult.”

Peter dropped his eyes to the floor. His face was once again a mask, but it was cracking a bit. A barely noticeable tremor of the muscles around his eyes betrayed great inner conflict. Finally, he seemed to reach a decision. Pressing his mouth into a thin line, he took a deep breath and looked into Ba’aque’s eyes. His shields relaxed slightly as he said, “I don’t think we’ll ever be friends, Ba’aque. That’s asking a bit much. But I think I can manage to forgive you.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, Ba’aque was shaken to her very soul. He was telling the truth. His shields were open enough for her to see that, but the very notion was inconceivable! She whispered, “You don’t have to...”

“I know, I know,” he interrupted. “I don’t have to. Hell, I quite frankly don’t want to, but it’s something I gotta do.”

“But...why?”

“Oh, I guess I’ve got a few good reasons,” he said with patently feigned nonchalance. “Ray the Eternally Loving would like to be your friend but gets the guilts every time he even thinks about it because he thinks I’d get mad. Not to mention it’s damned hard to work with someone if you’re holding a grudge.” His mouth twisted ruefully. “And, as a psychiatrist, I’ve seen up close how holding grudges can screw you up. It’d be a crime to let that happen to such a handsome soul as myself.”

Ba’aque found herself smiling at the human’s posturing. “It is indeed,” she said in unconscious imitation of Egon’s dry tones. Peter smirked, then suddenly sobered.

“And I’d have to be a pretty shitty human being to have all the pain you’re putting yourself through shoved down my throat for the last month and not do something about it.”

Ba’aque was staggered by this revelation. She had spent considerable energy trying to hide this from Peter during their lessons. He had been put through too much manipulation for her to want to even indirectly play on his feelings.

“I know you’re a strong telepath, Peter Venkman. Far stronger than I am, but how did you...”

“Oh, please!” he said with a snort. “Remember the homework you did on me when we first met? I’m Mr. ‘Wisest in the Ways of the Mind’. Granted, it helps, but I never needed telepathy to ‘read’ people before.”

“I am well rebuked,” Ba’aque said with a wan smile. “I know I do not deserve this mercy, but I thank you for it all the more.”

With that, she spun the illusion of a tall, middle-aged Asian woman about herself and glided to the door. For the first time in ages, a tiny seed of hope sprouted in her soul.

***

Egon paused as he reached the top of the stairs to the roof and fingered the envelope in his pocket. All things considered, today had turned out remarkably well in spite of the fact that he’d been practically bathed in ectoplasm on the bust. The fact that Peter had managed to make peace with Ba’aque was a great relief. His smoldering resentment along with his continued self-isolation had worried them all.

I’m glad he was able to work it out without any prodding this time, Egon said to himself. Correction, he worked out half of his difficulty without prodding. It’s high time we completed the cure.

He opened the rooftop door and stepped out into the early twilight. The balmy Indian Summer weather was long gone. The wind whipping over the buildings was sharp with chill, prompting the physicist to wrap his jacket a little tighter about himself. Peter was standing at the edge of the roof, one foot propped up on the parapet with his crossed arms resting on the bent knee. Although Egon knew that Peter had probably sensed him coming, he didn’t look from his contemplation of the New York skyline as his friend joined him. After a measuring look at Peter, Egon turned and stared out over the buildings as well.

“You did a very noble thing today, Peter,” he finally said. Egon caught slight movement out of the corner of his eye as Peter shrugged.

“That’s me, Spengs. Just add ‘noble’ to my list of sterling qualities.”

Egon rolled his eyes. “Of course. Right after ‘narcissistic’ and before ‘obstinate’.”

“No, you’re the obstinate one, Egon,” Peter retorted, a grin evident in his voice. “With me, it’s ‘steadfast’ followed by ‘studly’.”

“Indeed, Dr. Venkman.” Egon quirked an eyebrow. “However, the impact of this list is greatly lessened by the fact that one of the first entries is ‘delusional’.”

Peter snickered. “Envy is such an ugly thing to see in a man of science, Dr. Spengler.”

“Seriously, Peter,” Egon continued, sobering. “I know how hard you must have found it to forgive Ba’aque. And I for one am very proud that you found the strength to do so.”

Peter dropped his gaze to the street below. “Yeah, it was tough. You know, I’m the first to admit that I’m not the nicest Joe on the block, but this...” His voice trailed off as he seemed to search for the right words. “Part of me didn’t want to do it. A huge, freaking part of me saw her hurting and wanted to keep it going. Wanted her to suffer.” He sighed heavily as he looked back up at the darkening skies. “That was the hardest part. Beating the bastard within into submission. It didn’t want to give up. Hell! It’s still pretty damn angry that I went and let her off the hook.” He turned to Egon with a rueful smile. “Why is it that doing the right thing has to hurt so much?”

Egon smiled gently and rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “‘The healing of evil–scientifically or otherwise–can be accomplished only by the love of individuals,’” he quoted. “‘A willing sacrifice is required. The individual healer must allow his or her own soul to become the battleground.’”

“‘Whenever this happens there is a slight shift in the balance of power in the world,’” Peter finished. “M. Scott Peck. You’ve been swiping my psychology books again, Spengs. Though I wouldn’t say that I love the lizard lady.”

“But you did have compassion for her,” Egon chided gently, giving Peter’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Just keep that in mind when your ‘bastard within’ throws a tantrum.”

“You’re gonna put me out of a job at this rate.”

“Hardly.” Egon gave Peter’s shoulder one more squeeze before he let his hand drop away. “Now, you had better get downstairs and clean up or we will be late.”

Egon was careful to keep his amusement at Peter’s surprise out of his face. “Late? Late for what? You didn’t schedule a night bust, did you?”

“Of course not,” Egon reassured him. “However, we are going out on the town, and I’m sure you would wish to be seen in clothing more formal than your sweatshirt.”

It wasn’t often that Egon was able to completely blindside Peter. It made the look of complete and utter shock on the psychologist’s face all the more entertaining. “Okay, who are you and what have you done with the real Egon?” Peter asked slowly. “You don’t do ‘nights on the town’, Spengs. Not willingly, anyway. What gives?”

Egon permitted himself a trace of a smile as he pulled the envelope from his pocket. It had arrived in the mail two days ago and provided the inspiration for the team’s plan to pull Peter back into the mainstream. “The musicians we rescued from Tirad last month have sent us an invitation to their show at O’Sullivan’s Pub as well as passes so that we do not have to pay the cover charge. Between the quality of their music and the wide selection of ethanol-based beverages available at that establishment, I believe that a good time will be had by all.” He handed Peter the envelope, barely catching the quickly suppressed look of anxiety that flashed through Peter’s eyes. “And they sent you a personal message as well. I suggest you hurry. We should be leaving in half an hour.”

With that, Egon turned and headed back to the stairs. The psychologist had continued to avoid public situations aside from busts, most likely from continuing anxiety over his shields. This ‘night out’ was a challenge, indirect as it was, to face this last shadow, and Egon had carefully rigged it so that Peter’s pride would not let him back away. And, from the last glimpse the physicist had caught, Peter probably understood exactly what Egon was doing.

Well, he has likely figured out part of what we’re doing, Egon thought smugly as he descended the stairs. Now to make sure phase two of the plan is underway.

***

Yeah, guys. This is subtle. About as subtle as a sledgehammer between the eyes, Peter thought as he paused in the entryway and looked over the crowded tables of the pub. He reluctantly admitted to himself that being forced to take the plunge was probably the best way to get him to stop stalling and overcome his new social phobia already.

Social phobia, Peter thought to himself in irritation. Now there’s two words I never thought I’d be labeled with.

He managed to keep himself from jumping at the gentle touch on his arm. “You okay, Peter?”

He turned slightly to see Ray looking at him with concern. Peter managed to find a mostly genuine smile to give him.

“Doin’ great, Tex. Though finding a seat in here’s gonna be fun.”

Janine snorted as Egon helped her out of her jacket. “If you hadn’t taken so long getting that mop of yours just right...and people say women take too long to get ready.”

“Maybe Pete’s just more in touch with his feminine side than the rest of us,” Winston suggested playfully and held up his hands to ward off the Glare of Doom he received from Peter as well as the wadded up flyer Janine hurled at him.

“You made it! Great!”

Peter turned to see the fiddler from the subway weaving through the people milling around the bar.

If it hadn’t been for the short, cryptic note that had accompanied their tickets, he probably would have beat a strategic retreat rather than confront the man he’d mind-probed without permission.

We managed to figure out what you did for us, it had read. It’s okay. And no one will hear about it from us unless you say so.

“You must be Brad Stubblefield,” Peter said, managing to keep his tone light. “Didn’t get much of a chance to make introductions last time we saw you.”

“Hell! As if I needed introductions with you guys,” Brad said with a delighted grin and glanced over Peter’s shoulder at Janine. “Though, I don’t believe I’ve met the lovely lady with you.”

“Lovely lady? Where?” Peter asked, looking around intently and earning himself a whack on the back of the head from the woman in question. “Ouch!”

“In the interests of preventing a concussion,” Egon stepped in smoothly as Ray and Winston snickered in the background, “I am pleased to introduce Janine Melnitz, without whom our lives would be pure chaos.”

Brad’s grin spread and he bowed dramatically over the secretary’s hand. “Ahhh, if I wasn’t madly in love already, I’d have to run off with you, lovely.”

Janine preened and shot both Peter and Egon a smug smile. “Nice to see that some good taste survives in this world. Pleased to meet ya’, Mr. Stubblefield.”

“Hey, to you folks, I’m Stubbie. Come on, I’ve got you a table up front.”

They fell in behind the musician who slowly led them through the milling people. At one pause to let the crowd thin, Peter leaned closely and murmured in Stubbie’s ear.

“Okay, how did you figure it out?”

Stubbie gave him a sidelong look and nodded once. “Berni and I compared notes afterward once the shock had worn off a bit. We also heard about how long it took the cops to snap out of it and figured you must have done something to pull us back from where that bastard magicked us.” He grasped Peter’s elbow as the crowd thinned to pull him along beside him as they resumed walking. “Also figured you’d be worried about keeping it secret. Lots of people with the Sight do in this town.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed. They all suspected that the psychic people Ray befriended were only a fraction of those actually living in New York. “And you know this because...”

“Hell, I’m sleeping with one,” Brad answered with a smirk. “Berni’s a stone-talker. Not to mention the Sight runs in my family, too.”

Stubbie paused as a couple of people called his name from a few tables over and waved.

A mineral-energy sensitive, huh? Peter thought as the fiddler exchanged a few short pleasantries. Maybe she’d be the one to go over those weird crystals Ray picked up. Damned things are ‘hot’ on a PKE meter and damned if we can figure out why. But he decided to leave that idea for later.

“That’s one of the reasons we wanted you here tonight,” Stubbie continued. “With your job, you probably know that you’re not alone.” The fiddler gave him a sly wink. “But I thought you might want to know that not all of us are New Age fluffy bunnies either.”

The memory of some of Ray’s weirder friends came to mind, and Peter found himself snickering. “What a relief,” he whispered. “Thanks, Stubbie. I’m glad you and Bernadette are okay with this. I really didn’t like what I had to do with you guys.”

“Hey, battlefield situation, mate.” Stubbie stopped at an empty table. The rest of the team had fallen slightly behind, and he waved them over. “Here you go, folks. Best seats in the house. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to finish tuning up. And the first round is on me.”

The group chorused their thanks as they took their seats and the musician ran up to rejoin the others on the stage. Peter tilted his chair back on two legs and was surprised to find himself relaxing. True, he could hear a faint murmur of thoughts through his shields (shielding out absolutely everything could be exhausting), but they were no more troublesome now than the half-heard conversations around him. And he was even starting to feel a bit of what Tabitha had described. Picking up the prevailing mood of jocularity and fun in sort of a contact high cubed.

Okay, this is almost too easy, Peter’s pessimistic side complained. Catching the quickly hidden, concerned glances from his friends, he told pessimism to take a hike and stood up. “Okay, we’ve got free drinks with our names on them and it looks like the waitresses have their hands full. Name your poison.”

Peter quickly took his friends’ orders and wove his way back to the bar. As he waited for the drinks, the pub’s manager stepped up to the microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! O’Sullivan’s is proud to present...One Last Round!”

Applause swelled as the musicians stepped up. Stubbie tapped out the time signature and they launched into a lively reel. Peter leaned back against the polished wood, his foot beginning to tap to the beat. Irish wasn’t his favorite music, but it certainly was fun. Before the last of the drinks arrived, something else caught his attention. He felt another familiar mind enter the pub. With a delighted grin, he turned.

“Tabby!” he called. “Over here!”

The apprentice healer looked around for a second before she zeroed in on his voice. Her face lit up in surprise. “Peter!” she called back, quickly dodging through the crowd to the bar where she gave him an enthusiastic hug. “Talk about your small worlds. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Dr. Tabasco,” he echoed with an impish grin. “I almost didn’t recognize you. I thought all you wore was scrubs.”

Tabitha gave him a mock scowl and gently punched his arm. “Go on, you! When your job has a daily threat of being puked, spat or peed on, you’d not want to wear your good clothes on the job either.”

“Good point,” Peter agreed, giving her faun-colored suede pants and deep burgundy blouse an appreciative look. “So what brings you here? I thought you didn’t need the party scene to keep sane thanks to the Gaurnim School of Higher Psionics.”

“Hey, I found partying fun in and of itself before I had to do it,” she shot back. “In fact, it’s more fun now that it’s a choice instead of a need.” She turned to the bartender for a moment. “Bailey’s on the rocks, please,” she ordered and turned back to Peter. “As for why I’m here tonight? Stroke of luck, really. Bethany somehow got her hands on a pass for the cover charge. She doesn’t care for this style of music, so she gave it to me.”

“Wait a minute! You’ve got a pass, too?” Suspicion flared in Peter’s mind. He turned to look across the tables at his friends. They all quickly looked everywhere but the bar, but smugness practically radiated from their table.

“What is it?” Tabitha asked, following his gaze. Peter rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“I’m afraid we’re the objects of what Spengs would call a ‘benevolent conspiracy’,” he explained. Just you wait, people, he sent in a narrow projection. Let’s see how you like me beaming “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” into your brains and getting it stuck there for a few days.

He indulged in a vulpine grin as shock replaced the smugness, followed by various, gruesome images of what they’d do to him if he followed through on the threat.

“Ohhhhh, I see,” Tabitha said wryly. “Well, Bethany’s been about the only nurse who hadn’t tried to play matchmaker for me.”

“And it’s all completely redundant,” Peter said with mock sadness. “I mean, I am irresistible.”

“Well, maybe not irresistible, but certainly entertaining,” Tabitha said with a wry, half-smile as she accepted her drink. The rest of Peter’s order was completed, and he began gathering the glasses.

“So you’re finally being drawn in by my ravishing good looks and dashing charm?” he asked playfully as he tried to work out the best way to transport three pints of beer, a Shirley Temple and a Coke. Tabitha deftly took part of his burden.

“Well...maybe I am.”

Peter stopped cold. He hadn’t expected that. He looked up at her with a question plain in his eyes, which triggered a chuckle which Tabitha quickly suppressed.

“What? Is this the first time a girl has actually fallen for that line?” she asked.

“Well, no,” Peter said. “But the ones that did weren’t exactly med school graduates, if you know what I mean.”

“Why not?” she asked airily. “I.Q. isn’t always the same as horse sense.” She took a contemplative sip of her drink and said in a low voice, “No, I’m not falling for your charm or image. You let me see clean through that, remember?”

Peter nodded warily. “Well, yeah. It seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“I can’t say I remember much of it,” she continued. “Human memory probably doesn’t have enough room to store the gestalt of a whole other person.” She paused for a moment as music swirled around the room. The band had switched from pure instrumental music to lively singing, but Peter was only dimly aware of the lyrics in the background.

“But, what I do remember...I kinda liked,” Tabitha finished a little bashfully. “And I think I’d like to get to know the rest of you again.” An impish smile began to play at the corners of her mouth. “Though perhaps at a slightly slower pace.”

Peter felt an answering smile stretch the corners of his mouth. He also didn’t remember many details of his rapport with Tabitha, but what he did recall intrigued him. “I think I would like that,” he said, dropping his fun-time mask. “I’d like that a lot.”

Suddenly, the lyrics Stubbie was singing broke through to him.

In this beautiful life

There’s always some sorrow

It’s a double edged knife

But there’s always tomorrow

It’s up to you now if you sink or swim

Just keep the faith that your ship will come in

It’s not so bad. And I say,

Hey, hey, hey

It’s just an ordinary day

And it’s all in your state of mind

At the end of the day

You’ve just got to say it’s all right...

Okay! Okay! Peter thought with silent laughter at whatever forces might be listening. I get the point already!

“Come on, Tabby cat,” he said aloud with a grin. “Let’s get these drinks back to the others before they dry up and blow away.”

Author's Notes: The quotations in the final section are from: 1) People of the Lie: Hope For Healing Human Evil by M. Scott Peck, M.D.; and 2) "Ordinary Day" by Great Big Sea. Ba'aque and the Gaurnim, Tirad and the Y'larat, Herman and Bobby Schlitt, Bethany, Sara, Tabitha, Stubbie and Berni are all products of the author's imagination and may not be used without permission.

Special thanks to Robin Schindler, Princess Artemis, Dean Warner, Dev, Lethe and Tam for your encouragement and patience in being my beta readers.