The giant helicopter flew up over the hills carrying von Slaggerhamer's troop in the cargo bay. The pilot turned to the navigator and opened the closed com link in his helmet. "What do those guys think they're wearing? It's like Mardi Gras back there."

"Ours is not to reason why... Cal. Let's just hope they don't stab anybody with those swords."

Von Slagerhamer stooped over the technician. "Well, what news do you have of the tachyon emissions?"

"They are still increasing, sir! We have also been able to localise the emissions. Satellite tracking have ascertained that the subject is now stationary at these coordinates." The technician handed Von Slagerhamer a printout.

Von Slagerhamer stood before a large loading pallet. It was covered with a black tarpaulin, decorated with the red, white and black hourglass and H symbol of his organisation. The equipment was smaller, more sophisticated, more rugged and more powerful than the huge factory sized machine that he had developed back in the fifties, but without Fist's key algorythms and programming it still could not be used on a living subject. `I will have that information, Johnathon!' How could he have known that the boy had kept key information safely locked in his head?