When I despair, I remember that all through history the way of truth and love have always won. There have been Cui Dashi and tyrants and murderers, and for a time, they can seem invincible, but in the end, they always fall. Think of it-always.

  ~Mahatma Gandhi

  Eirene entered the Queen’s Court hotel with a casual stride. She paused in the beautifully-restored lobby to admire the elegant salon. Padded chairs and fine couches clustered around expensive area rugs that floated on the emerald tile of the floor, forming little islands of tranquility without interrupting the flow of humanity.

  She worked through the moderate crowd of hotel guests, curious window shoppers, and spa clients as she scanned for defensive measures. The basic hotel security systems were in place as expected, but those didn’t concern her.

  Wearing her fit young form, she blended right in. With her pretty face and thick brown hair, she could have easily headed for the spa or, with her business attire, accessed the offices.

  A pair of men lounged near the elevators. They lacked the look of impatient husbands waiting for their wives and stood a little too far from the elevators to be waiting to board. The sports coats they wore were a little much for the heat of New Orleans, even in the early autumn, and undoubtedly served the same purpose as her blazer.

  Eirene slipped into a chatty bridal party that swept through the lobby, and easily reached the stairway unnoticed. Eyes in the main floor were pretty standard, but whoever was in charge of security didn’t even bother to post another watcher in the stairwell. She trotted up to the third floor, then took the elevator up to the twentieth. From there she returned to the stairwell for the final two flights.

  It took only seconds to bypass the locked security gate blocking access to the top floor presidential suite. Still no guards. Sloppy. When she had been running operational security for Suntara, such lapses would have resulted in severe reprimands. Then again, it wasn’t the most dramatic shift in the world since she had returned from years living in a box.

  Although thick carpeting covered the last flight of steps, the stairway still smelled of cement dust and stale air. The fire door at the top lacked an alarm, but sealed tight all around. Eirene turned the handle with exquisite care and eased it open just a crack until she could slip a thin wire through the opening.

  Using a small display connected to the other end of the wire, which held a miniature video camera, she studied the entrance to the presidential suite. A long, narrow entrance faced the stairs and nearby elevator. A pair of armed guards flanked the ornate wooden outer door of the suite.

  Eirene had made no sound, and had moved the door so slowly that neither of the guards appeared to have noticed it open that fraction of an inch. That lapse was understandable, but they should have had video surveillance set up to monitor the stairwell. Were security breaches so rare these days?

  Time to teach.

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Eirene drew a double-barreled, semi-automatic dart gun from a shoulder holster. She dropped to one knee, braced her shoulder against the door frame, and used her leading foot to push the door open.

  The guards noticed the door swinging wide and their hands moved to their sidearms, but they didn’t draw until they saw her crouched, pistol aimed. The delay was more than long enough. Eirene caressed the trigger and the little gun made the tiniest whooshing sound as it spat chemical-filled darts thirty feet to the first target before his gun cleared the holster.

  She shot the second guard as he was swinging his gun to bear. He was fast, definitely E-ranked reflexes, but her darts worked faster.

  The first dart delivered an electric jolt that disrupted muscle control for a critical three seconds. The second delivered a fast-acting drug cocktail, including a paralytic and a tranquilizer that dropped the guards to the floor before the electric shock wore off.

  Eirene slipped into the hall, gun trained on the motionless forms as she slowly advanced. She kicked their fallen sidearms out of reach. When neither guard moved, she patted their lower backs but found no telltale bulge of concealed soul packs.

  She did not expect them to withstand the darts, but it always paid to be sure. Although she appreciated the lax security, she hated such sloppy work. Enough facetakers had died over the centuries to prove the need for constant vigilance, and she cringed to see the new generation making the same stupid mistakes.

  Before entering the suite, Eirene replaced the magazine with a fresh one. The marvelous little gun was quickly becoming her favorite tool. During the Great War they had thought the new drugs available back then incredible, but in those days they still needed precious seconds to incapacitate. Coupling potent modern drugs with compressed air technology was brilliant. The gun worked like a charm and completely changed the operational considerations.

  Eirene cuffed the fallen guards with steel-mesh zip ties and gagged them. Although they showed no signs of enhancement, it always paid to keep a free avenue for escape. She doubted Tereza would give her much trouble, but she planned to enjoy this new life a long time. She wouldn’t start by making foolish assumptions.

  The door to the suite opened without a sound under her touch. Eirene slipped inside, gun at the ready, but found the entryway clear. The short hallway was hung with several pieces of art, including originals from local artists. She paused to admire the reproduction of Dance in the City by Pierre Auguste Renoir. She had always loved that one, and had told Pierre in 1883 when he completed it that he’d produced a masterpiece.

  The suite opened into the living room and a gourmet kitchen. The dining room on the far side of the kitchen held an antique dining set and crystal chandelier. Italian marble flooring there triggered an unexpected sense of nostalgia for the long-distant home of her first life.

  She passed the library and paused in the entryway to the grand salon with its museum-quality artwork and grand piano. Such opulence was standard for facetaker clients, who lived well and could afford to buy the risky miracle of another life. The floor plan she had studied before beginning her infiltration had shown the suite spanned three thousand square feet.

  The salon was empty, so she crossed to the wall behind the piano. The master bedroom shared that wall and she pressed a listening device to it. After the tiniest wave of static, clear voices spoke from her earpiece.

  “I am happy you approve of the transfer vehicle.”

  Eirene recognized Tereza’s slight New England accent. Although their intel had been pretty solid, she always loved final confirmation.

  “How does this work exactly?” a shaky old man asked.

  “Just relax,” Tereza said. It sounded like she was moving, probably getting into position behind the client. The transfer would begin shortly.

  Perfect.

  Eirene listened for another minute until Tereza began the transfer. A whisper of feeling across her skin like a distant breeze confirmed the woman had embraced her nevra core, the heart of her soul powers.

  Eirene tucked the listening device into her pocket, checked the pistol, and drew a Taser. After a slow count to five, she moved to the bedroom door, gently turned the latch, and slipped into the room.