Contest

guide disappeared into the shaft.

Swain turned back to face Balthazar.

The big man was still sitting slumped in the corner. Slowly, he looked up at Swain.

Whatever he was, Swain thought, he was badly injured. His eyes were red, his hands bloodied and scratched. Some of Reese's saliva still bubbled on his beard.

Swain spoke gently, 'I don't want to kill you. I want to help you.'

Balthazar cocked his head, not understanding.

'Help,' Swain held out his hands, palms up -- a gesture of aid, not attack.

Balthazar spoke -- softly -- in his strange guttural tongue.

Swain didn't understand. He offered his hands again.

'Help,' he repeated.

Balthazar frowned at the communication breakdown. He reached down for the long dagger Swain had held before, now back in its sheath across his chest.

He pulled it out.

Swain stood dead still -- unflinching -- staring Balthazar squarely in the eye.

He can't do that. He can't.

The bearded man reversed the knife in his hand, and placed the handle in Swain's palm. Swain felt the warmth of Balthazar's hand as they both gripped the knife -- pointed at Balthazar's chest.

Balthazar then pulled their hands toward his chest. Swain didn't know what to do, except allow Balthazar to pull the glistening blade closer, and closer, and closer to his body...

And then Balthazar guided their hands sideways, sliding the knife back into its sheath.

As Swain had done before.

He looked up at Swain, his eyes bulging red, and nodded.

And then Balthazar spoke again -- slowly, deep-throated -- trying to get his mouth around the word Swain had just used.

'Help.'

----ooo0ooo------

The elevator doors rumbled open and Stephen Swain peered out to see the First Floor of the State Library.

Dark and quiet.

Empty.

The first thing Swain noticed about the First Floor was the peculiar way it had been arranged: it was an enormous U-shape, with a wide gaping hole in the centre, so that one could look down onto the Ground Floor atrium.

Clearly, the floorspace of this floor had been sacrificed to provide for a grander, higher-ceilinged Ground Floor -- in the process, making the First Floor of the State Library little more than a glorified balcony. A mezzanine.

The elevators themselves stood at the south-east corner of the floor, to the right of the curved base of the U-shape. Opposite them -- at the open-end of the U-- stood the enormous glass doors of the library's main entrance.

Off to his left, Swain saw a room filled with photocopiers. A door at the far end of the room had internet facility stamped on it. The rest of the floor was deserted and dark, save for the blue streams of reflected city light that penetrated the enormous glass doors and windows way over at the other end.

Swain pulled Balthazar out of the lift and dragged him over to the hand-railing overlooking the Ground Floor. He was propping the big man up against the railing when the others joined them.

'What do we do about that?' Hawkins said, indicating the open elevator behind them. He spoke softly in the darkness.

'Turn the light off,' Swain whispered. 'If you can't find the switch, just unscrew the fluorescent tube. Apart from that,' he shrugged, 'I don't know, leave it there. As long as it's here, nobody else can use it.'

As Hawkins headed back toward the elevator, Swain saw Selexin draw up alongside him. The little man was peering cautiously up at the ceiling all around them.

'What are you doing?' Swain asked.

Selexin sighed dramatically: 'Not all the creatures in this universe walk on floors, Mister Swain.'

'Oh.'

'I am looking for a contestant known as the Rachnid. It is a trap-laying species -- large and spindly, but not particularly athletic -- known for lying in wait in elevated caves and hollows for long periods of time, waiting for its prey to step underneath it. It then lowers itself silently to the floor behind its victim, clutches it within its eight limbs, and constricts it to death.'

'Constricts it to death,' Swain said, glancing nervously up at the uneven shadow-covered ceiling above him. 'Nice. Very nice.'

'Daddy?' Holly whispered.

'Yes, honey.'

'I'm scared.'

'Me too,' Swain said softly.

Holly touched his left cheek. 'Are you all right, Daddy?'

Swain looked at her finger. It had blood on it.

He dabbed at his cheek. It felt like a cut, a big one, running down the length of his cheekbone. He looked down at his collar and saw a large red stain on it -- a lot of blood had been running down his face.

When had that happened? He hadn't felt it. And he certainly didn't remember feeling the sting of being cut. Maybe it was when he was thrown on top of Reese, after bowling her over. Or when Reese was bucking and kicking like a mad horse. Swain frowned. It was a blur. He couldn't remember.

'Yeah, I'm okay,' he said.

Holly nodded at Balthazar, up against the steel railing. 'What about him?'

'Actually, I was just about to check,' Swain said, getting up onto his knees, hovering over Balthazar. 'Could you hold this for me?' he offered Holly the heavy police flashlight.

Holly flicked on the torch and held it over Swain's shoulder, pointed at Balthazar's face.

The big man winced at the light. Swain leaned forward, 'No, no, don't shut your eyes,' he said gently. He held Balthazar's left eye open. It was heavily bloodshot, reacting badly to Reese's saliva.

'Could you bring the light in a bit closer...'

Holly stepped forward and as the light came nearer, Swain saw Balthazar's pupil dilate.

Swain leaned back. That wasn't right...

His eyes swept over Balthazar's body. Everything about him suggested that he was human -- limbs, fingers, facial features. He even had brown eyes.

The eyes, Swain thought.

It was the eyes that were wrong. Their reaction to the light.

Human pupils contract when hit by direct light. They dilate -- or widen -- in darkness or poor light, so as to allow as much light as possible onto the retina. These eyes, however, dilated in the face of brighter light.

They were not human eyes.

Swain turned to Selexin. 'He looks human, and he acts human. But he's not human at all, is he?'

Selexin nodded, impressed. 'No, he is not. Almost, though -- in fact, as close as he can be. But no, Balthazar is definitely not human.'

'Then what is he?'

'I told you before, Balthazar is a Crisean. An excellent blade-handler.'

'But why does he look human?' Swain asked. 'The chances of some alien from another world evolving to look exactly like man would have to be a million to one.'

'A billion to one,' Selexin corrected him. 'And please, try not to use the term 'alien' too