The tall cylinders housing the long-range missiles marched off into the darkness in serried rows. It was a technological forest, an orchard whose fruit was death. The old terror that had haunted generations lurked here, magnified and somehow made perverse by the silence and cleanliness of the chamber. Death should not be sanitary, nor should it be so easy to send, especially by someone who could hide away from the consequences of his actions. He did not know why the American elf and his partners wanted this abomination neutralized, nor did he really care. He just hoped their fix was going to be a good one.