Free Kill Switch by Jonathan Maberry Page A

intelligent and no one with this unique combination of skills and psychosis.
    â€œâ€¦ and then I came through a door in the ice and I was in this immense city,” the boy said, continuing a long narrative that had begun with a shipwreck and a walk of days across mud flats that gradually turned into an ice sheet. “Huge city with stone buildings made from geometric shapes. Cones and balls and blocks of all kinds. Wild, because some of those stones were bigger than the Great Pyramid. I saw the pyramids, did I tell you? We went to Egypt when I was nine.”
    â€œYes,” said Greene, “you described that trip with great precision. You have a remarkable eye for detail.”
    Prospero nodded, accepting that as a statement rather than a compliment. “This was bigger, and it looked like the stones were carved out of single blocks. They had to be a million tons. And just thinking about that level of technology knocks me out. Humans couldn’t do that, you know. We don’t even know how the pyramids were built, and each of these blocks was as big as a whole pyramid.”
    â€œDid you see any people in this city?” asked Greene.
    â€œPeople?” echoed the boy. He looked momentarily confused by the question. “You know, I … I’m not sure how to answer that. I don’t know if the word ‘people’ applies. There were citizens, I guess you’d say. Things that lived there. Really strange, very weird.”
    â€œDescribe them. Were they like the creatures you sketched?”
    â€œNo. They weren’t my people. They were different. A separate race.”
    â€œWere they the Elder Things? You mentioned them before but you haven’t explained what they are.”
    Prospero thought about that and began nodding. “I … think so. And maybe the reason I didn’t go into what they are is because I wasn’t sure. Not before last night, anyway. Not before this last dream. You’re right; I think they are the Elder Things.”
    â€œAnd who exactly are these Elder Things? Are they aliens? Are they gods? What is the name of their race?”
    â€œI don’t know. They’re too old for that. Names don’t matter to beings like that.”
    â€œHow can a name not matter? What about identity?”
    â€œThey know who they are. I guess that’s all that matters. But … maybe I’m wrong. There are names, I suppose.”
    â€œI thought you said they didn’t need names,” said Greene.
    â€œ They don’t,” said Prospero, nodding, his eyes still unfocused, “but people need to call them something, don’t they?”
    â€œCan you explain that to me?”
    The boy said nothing for a few moments, clearly struggling with the task of explaining the interior logic of a series of dreams. Greene knew that dreams can make perfect sense and be completely clear in the mind but often could not be clearly expressed because spoken language and freeform thought do not always share the same vocabulary.
    Prospero grunted and then his eyes came into very sharp focus. “I once read that the Judeo-Christian version of God as a white man with a beard isn’t based on anything in the Bible. People made that up because they need to identify with whatever they worship. Every religion does that.”
    Greene nodded. That had been in one of the books he’d given Prospero to read last year when they were discussing the boy’s complex understanding of his own evolving view of spirituality.
    â€œThese beings,” said Prospero, “don’t need names for themselves, okay? But the people who worship them gave them names. Just like people made statues and carved three-D images on walls of gods and demigods and angels and all that. Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, Christians. They all carved those images on walls. What’s that called?”
    â€œBas-relief?” suggested Greene.
    â€œRight,” he