Cyr. Patiently the cyberdetective would explain that the computer half of his investigatory symbiosis did not "take over" when his human half joined with it. "A cyberdetective is part man and part computer, meshed as completely as the two can ever be. The highly microminiaturized components of the bio-computer remember and relate things in a perfectly mathematical manner that a human mind could never easily grasp, while the human half of the symbiote gives a perception of emotions and emotional motivations that the bio-computer could never comprehend. Together we make a precise and thorough detective unit."And also a very dangerous creature. Which St. Cyr never went on to explain...

    The job was an exciting challenge for Katherine, and a needed change from the events she'd sooner forget. And her new employer was a charming and gracious lady. If only all of the people of Owisden and the little mountain village that huddled against the estate for protection were so nice, Katherine's happiness would be assured. However, beneath the charm stirred other emotions, other forces. There was evil in that mountain valley, a brooding evil that worshipped at a dark altar... an altar that had been built for unspeakable sacrifice! And Katherine was marked from the moment she arrived - marked to die!

    They are funded by a reclusive billionaire, and they have always gotten what they wanted. Now they want everything.Enraged by the Chinese-American détente, the Committe conceives a sinister plot to destroy vital portions of the Chinese population. Their weapon is a Chinese youth (code name: Dragonfly) who has been surgically implanted with a deadly virus. He has no memory of what has been done to him, yet he walks around, a human time bomb, set to explode at the right moment and release the plague within him, killing hundreds of thousands of his countrymen. He must be found.

    Four men who had never failed in a heist before, on their fourteenth operation in three years: Shirillo, watching in the long grass; Pete Harris with a submachine gun; Bachman in the getaway car; and Mike Tucker, art dealer and professional thief; the perfectionist. As the big Cadillac slewed round the bend, none of them realized that this time Tucker had made a fatal miscalcuation that would plunge them all into a blood war against the Mafia.

    There were two lights, actually, both a warm amber shade and of dim wattage. They appeared to pulse and to shimmer -- and then they were gone, as if they had never been: blink!I hurried to the barn door, slid it open, and stepped into the snow-filled night. The arctic wind struck me like a mallet swung by a blacksmith who was angry with his wife, and it almost blew me back into the stable row. Switching on the nearly useless flashlight, I bent against the wind and pulled the door shut behind me. Laboriously, cautiously, I inched around the side of the barn in the direction of the window, peering anxiously at the ground ahead of me.I stopped before I reached the window, for I found precisely what I had been afraid that I would find: those odd, eight-pointed tracks which Toby and I had seen on the slope earlier in the day. There were a great many of them, as if the animal had been standing there, moving back and forth as I searched for better vantage points, for a long while -- at least all of the time that I had been inside with the horses.It had been watching me.

    The journey promises to be a memorable one.

    An innocent pup of the Degnan Packstead, Marika thought it was just a tale to frighten the young. Then the Grauken-possessed, cannibalistic nomads swept down from the far north -- and the winter of death began.Marika's pack now has to fight for its life -- even if it means calling upon the treacherous witchlike Silth who can slay by mind alone. But young Marika has powers, too... enormous, untamed mental energies. Can Marika be a weapon against their foes? Or will she become something far greater than the Silth, something fearfully whispered of only in legends... Doomstalker.

    Paul Wilson combines medical and political intrigue in this brilliant thriller dealing with Washington's escalating war against drugs. Someone has kidnapped Dr. John VanDuyne's little daughter and all he has to do to get her back is poison his best friend--the president of the United States.

    Then, as quickly and inexplicably as it had struck, the disease–dubbed Transcription Divergence Syndrome (TDS)–vanished, leaving behind a population divided into three new branches of humanity: giant gray-skinned argos, hairless seal-like betas, and grotesquely obese charlies.Paxton Abel Martin was fourteen when TDS struck, killing his mother, transforming his preacher father into a charlie, and changing one of his best friends, Jo Lynn, into a beta. But Pax was one of the few who didn’t change. He remained as normal as ever. At least on the outside.Having fled shortly after the pandemic, Pax now returns to Switchcreek fifteen years later, following the suicide of Jo Lynn. What he finds is a town seething with secrets, among which murder may well be numbered. But there are even darker–and far weirder–mysteries hiding below the surface that will threaten not only Pax’s future but the future of the whole human race.

    A teenager with no past, no family - and no memories. Carol and Paul were instantly drawn to her, this girl they named Jane - she was the daughter they never had. It was almost too good to be true.

    To the Servants of Twilight, however, he is an evil presence who must be destroyed - an Anti-Christ who must die.The terrifying ordeal for Joey and his mother begins in the supermarket car park where an old woman accosts them and pursues them with her terrible threats. Christine's world is turned into a nightmare of terror. Only her love for her child, and the support of the one man who believes her, gives her the chance to survive the Servants of Twilight...This book was originally published under the pseudonym Leigh Nichols.

    Professor Maxon performs secret experiments to make a "perfect race" of humans, finally succeeding with "Number Thirteen."

    Here are eleven of her finest stories, surprising tales in which the impossible becomes real, the real becomes impossible, and strangeness lurks at every turn.The end of the world comes not with a bang but a series of whimpers over many years in "The Last of the Winnebagos."The terror of pain and dying gives birth to a startling truth about the nature of the stars, a principle known as the "Schwarzschild Radius."In "Spice Pogrom," an outrageous colony in outer space becomes the setting for a screwball comedy of bizarre complications, mistaken identities, far-too-friendly aliens--and even true love.The last of the Winnebagos --Even the queen --Schwarzschild radius --Ado --Spice pogrom --Winter's tale --Chance --In the late Cretaceous --Time out --Jack --At the Rialto

    Once she was somebody’s enemy. Now the former Canadian special forces warrior lives on the hellish streets of Hartford, Connecticut, in the year 2062. Racked with pain, hiding from the government she served, running with a crime lord so she can save a life or two, Jenny is a month shy of fifty, and her artificially reconstructed body has started to unravel. But she is far from forgotten. A government scientist needs the perfect subject for a high-stakes project and has Jenny in his sights. Suddenly Jenny Casey is a pawn in a furious battle, waged in the corridors of the Internet, on the streets of battered cities, and in the complex wirings of her half-man-made nervous system. And she needs to gain control of the game before a brave new future spins completely out of control.

    An explosion of light and sound made the sheep wail, the chickens squawk, and the children scream. And then the ranchers heard a noise they thought could only have come from the devil himself.For forty years, Majestic Agency director Wilfred Stone helped the CIA pretend the landing never happened. Then his conscience got the better of him.This is the real story, told to reporter Nicholas A. Duke by the guilt-racked shell of the man who once worked tirelessly to cover it all up. It is a truth so terrifying that Whitley Strieber had to call it fiction.