Reality Echo by James Axler Page A

warriors. While Enlil and the other overlords had withdrawn in recent months, their absence from the battlefield could not be considered permanent.
    And now, here was a being identifying itself as Thrush once more.
    Kane winced as another wave of nausea rocked him. “You’re from another casement?”
    That elicited a chuckle. “I am part of an infinite consciousness, Kane. It is more likely that I will see your end than you would see mine.”
    “Especially since mine is hanging in the air,” Kane grumbled. He spit in a futile effort to clear his mouth of the sharp, bitter tang of bile.
    “You look a little uncomfortable there, Kane,” the metallic drone noted with a hint of glee.
    A bubble of sour gas burped up into Kane’s mouth. He winced at the empty heave’s foul trespass. “I’d offer to put you in a sleeper hold then dangle you upside down, but I don’t think you have a stomach to upset.”
    “Not all of us are composed of simple polymers, hydraulics and circuits, Kane,” the thing said. “If you prick me, I will bleed.”
    Kane couldn’t shake the feeling of familiarity in the enemy’s voice. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. “Great. A prick who bleeds. Would you like to demonstrate?”
    “Oh, I wish, Kane. I would love nothing more, but you see, I’m not here to kill you. I don’t even want to hurt you seriously, because my real contention is with the errant young Sam.”
    “He likes to call himself Enlil now,” Kane corrected.
    A metallic sigh hissed. “A rose by any other name still needs to be cut if it’s the wrong color.”
    Kane struggled to focus his eyes, but a shove of a warm, human-feeling hand, left him swinging. “You want Enlil, so you do what…lure us out here to hang us up like beef?”
    “The enemy of my enemy is…”
    “Could you fucking stuff the stupid clichés and maybe keep me from swinging? Because I swear, I will aim for your boots the next time I spew,” Kane growled.
    “Sorry.” Powerful fingers hooked Kane’s belt, and his swaying halted. Thrush was too close for Kane to see anything but a powerfully muscled chest layered in the dark, synthetic fabric of a shadow suit.
    “Oh, no,” Kane groaned.
    “What’s wrong?” the familiar-sounding voice asked. “Oh, you’re finally becoming aware of the situation.”
    “Let me see your damn face!” Kane growled.
    “Touchy, touchy,” Thrush-Kane replied. He stepped back, and finally, Kane’s vision was clear enough for him to see that the metallic-toned voice had come from his own face. Hard, predator-sharp gray-blue eyes glinted to match the cruel smile on the doppelganger Kane’s lips. It was identical to him, right down to the amount of scruffy beard growth on his jaw and the faint scar on his cheek.
    Build-wise, it wasn’t hard to imagine that the Thrush Continuum could easily replicate Kane’s height and build. Kane had seen enough of both robotics and cloning to realize that his double was a hybrid of both technologies. It was also no wonder the voice soundedfamiliar, but so hard to place. Through the filter of Kane’s own head, he only really had a chance to hear what he sounded like when listening to recordings of himself. The resonance of his eardrums and his skull had been enough of a filter to make instant recognition impossible.
    “They’re not going to fall for you if you sound like you’re talking through a tin can,” Kane snarled.
    “That was just a show for your sake, Kane,” the doppelganger replied, the metallic nature of his voice fading until he sounded perfectly human. “I wanted you to figure things out first.”
    “All right, then. Pin a medal on me, or put a bullet in my head,” Kane snarled.
    The duplicate shrugged. “Why would I want to do that? I’m just delaying you.”
    “For what?” Kane asked.
    “Well, if I’m not able to use the resources of Cerberus to strike a fatal blow against Enlil, then I’ll certainly need you around to avenge your slaughtered