Deathstalker Honor

CHAPTER FIVE

Old Hatreds and New Revenges

Jack Random paced back and forth in Ruby Journey's luxurious apartment, waiting impatiently for her to make an appearance. They were running late again, but that was nothing unusual where Ruby was concerned. She never let herself be hurried by anyone, outside of actual armed conflict. He kept himself from looking at the clock on the wall yet again by an act of extreme self-control, and glared around the apartment as though he could force Ruby into appearing through sheer willpower. It didn't work.

There was a lot to look at in the apartment. It had all the comforts money and intimidation could bring, including a few that were technically illegal, though Jack doubted anyone had dared point that out to Ruby. There were thick rugs on the floor, tacky paintings of dubious taste on three of the walls, and a huge holoscreen that covered all of the fourth wall. A glass chandelier, quite amazingly awful in its clumsy ostentation, hung far too low from the ceiling of a room far too small for it. Ruby had one in each room. She liked chandeliers.

Rickety antiques stood next to the very latest in leisure designs, ostentatiously ignoring each other. The antiques looked as though they'd collapse under him if he so much as thought about sitting on them, and the comfy chairs all insisted on giving him a massage whether he wanted one or not. Jack gave them a wide berth. He felt very firmly that furniture should know its place, and not get overly familiar.

Scattered across the room were all kinds of high-tech gadgets, some of them still half unpacked. Every labor-saving device, every new convenience and overpriced fad of the moment, had wheedled their way into Ruby's apartment, only to be forgotten or discarded almost as soon as they arrived. For Ruby ownership was everything. And she never threw anything out, partly because she didn't believe in giving up things that were hers, and partly on the grounds that you never knew when it might come in handy.

The massive ironwood coffee table set exactly in the middle of the room was covered with piles of discarded style magazines, the last three issues of Which Gun, and no less than four opened boxes of chocolate, with all the coffee creams missing. Jack looked wistfully at the chocolates, but wouldn't allow himself to be tempted. Thanks to the Maze, his weight never changed by so much as an ounce, no matter how much he ate, and he knew that once he started, he probably wouldn't stop till he'd emptied at least one entire box. Ruby wouldn't mind, but she'd undoubtedly give him one of her knowing looks, and he hated that.

He didn't even look at the massive bar, with its proud examples of every kind of liquor, gutrot, and sudden death in a bottle known to man or alien. The Maze had made him immune to all kinds of poison, including hangovers, and he had always believed one should suffer from one's excesses. That's how you knew they were excesses.

A chair purred invitingly at him as he passed, and he gave it a good kick to shut it up. At least Ruby had got rid of her small army of servants and hangers-on. At one point he hadn't even been able to get to see Ruby without making an appointment or threatening to shoot several people. But she soon saw through the hangers-on, and got bored with the servants, and threw the whole lot of them out one memorable afternoon that the neighbors were still talking about. It turned out that several had tried selling their stories of Life With Ruby to the media, and one had got all sulky after she kicked them out of her bedroom, and tried to knife her. Bits of his body kept turning up in the sewers for weeks afterward.

Jack sighed and finally came to a halt, staring at nothing in particular. He felt tired. And tired of being tired. For weeks now he'd been working all day and long into the evening, fighting to keep his dream of democracy alive, and struggling to make himself over into a diplomat rather than a warrior. Parliament had many enemies, and when they weren't trying to undermine or discredit it, the MPs seemed perfectly happy to tear the whole institution apart themselves. After so long as a glorified rubber stamp, real power had gone to the heads of many MPs, even if they weren't too sure yet what to do with it. New political parties were forming every day, wrapped around a kernel of dogma or the cult of a personality. The news shows were stuffed with talking heads, promising everything up to and including the Second Coming in return for votes, and poster gangs fought vicious wars in the streets during the wee hours.

Jack found himself facing one of the several full-length mirrors on the walls and studied himself soberly. He looked young, fit, in the peak of physical fitness. He'd overcome all his enemies and seen the old order thrown down. Lionstone was gone and the Families fatally weakened. He should have had the universe by the throat. So why did he feel so damned tired? Part of it was having to do so much on his own. Owen and Hazel were always off on their own missions, and Ruby had no interest in politics. Or anything else much these days. The novelty of immense wealth had worn off very quickly, much to Ruby's surprise. When you can have anything, very little has value anymore. Of late she seemed to spend most of her time sleeping, drinking, or trying to start fights in places where they hadn't heard of her. She tried to get into the Arenas, but no one would face her. Even the aliens tended to go sick rather than face Ruby Journey, including a few that hadn't previously been recognized as intelligent.

Jack supposed he should be grateful that he at least still had some purpose in his life. Even if it was one he wouldn't have chosen. Nursing the new democracy through its birth pangs was hard, bitter, and often disillusioning work. He'd always vaguely supposed democracy would just sweep across the Empire like a great tide, washing away the old nonsense of aristocracy and privilege, and the people would joyfully step forward to shoulder the burdens of power and responsibility. He should have known better.

His reflection looked back at him with quizzical eyes. He had a lot to be grateful for, after all. He was young again, his personal clock turned back by the Maze to a man in his early twenties. He was stronger, faster, and fitter now than at any time in his life. Acknowledged by many as one of the greatest warriors of his age. So why did he feel so damned old?

He turned his back on his reflection and looked around the luxurious apartment, trying to see it with the eyes of his old, previous self, the legendary professional rebel. This wasn't the kind of place he'd ever expected to end up. Most of his life had been spent living in poor, temporary accommodation on one oppressed planet or another, hiding away from prying eyes or potential traitors. He hadn't cared then. All that mattered was the cause. He had no right to live in ease or luxury while so many slaved in poverty.

Of course, such feelings had come easily enough when he was young and fit, and bedding a new stars-in-her-eyes comrade of the rebellion every other night. As he got older, as his failures grated on him more and more, he'd found the rebel path harder and harder to follow. So many good friends dead, so many hopes raised on so many worlds, only to be dashed by superior Empire forces and firepower. He'd always got away, but he had left armies of the dead behind him. It was almost a relief when he was finally betrayed and captured on Cold Rock. His legend had become an impossible weight to carry, and after his people eventually broke him out of captivity, he'd sunk into anonymity on Mistworld as the janitor called Jobe Ironhand with simple gratitude. It felt so good not to have so many people's lives depending on his every decision. His living accommodations had still been bloody basic, though.

And then, of course, Owen bloody Deathstalker had arrived out of nowhere to call him back to duty and destiny, and later the Madness Maze rebuilt him, the rebellion had come and gone so quickly he could hardly believe it, and he was left with the sobering effect of seeing all his dreams come true. He'd achieved pretty much everything he'd ever wanted or dreamed of, but… what do you do when you have no dreams left? Oh, he had enough chores and duties to keep him busy for years yet. He could make a living out of politics. But it wasn't the same somehow.

His present circumstances were comfortable but modest. He had a one-bedroom apartment in the office building adjoining Parliament. He'd chosen it so he could always be there on the spot if he was needed, and also because he needed the extra security to ward off his many enemies. He'd upset a lot of people in his time, on all sides of the political spectrum. Everyone agreed the deal he'd struck with Blue Block over the Families had been necessary, but that didn't mean anyone had to like it.

Personally, he didn't give a damn. The assassination attempts were the only real excitement he got these days. But he worried about innocents getting hurt or even killed just by being near him at the wrong moment, so he had reluctantly moved his few belongings into more secure accommodations.

The frequency of attacks dropped dramatically, but his new home wasn't the kind of place where friends could just drop in. There were times when the spartan apartment seemed unbearably quiet and empty.

After the rebellion Jack and Ruby had set up house together, but it didn't last. They were just too different. Their opposing tastes, needs, and characters drove them apart inside a month. His spartan clashed with her sybaritic; he wanted to work, she wanted to play. He was a man of duty and honor, and she… would rather go shopping. Or start a fight in a crowded tavern. Just because they loved each other, it didn't mean they could live together. And they couldn't spend all their time in bed. Their growing frustrations finally culminated in a major shouting row, in which they both said unforgivable things and then threw heavy objects at each other. They wrecked their house room by room and then walked out on each other. Once they were set up in separate apartments, a comfortable distance apart, they were soon friends again. Jack didn't blame Ruby in the least. He'd never been easy to get along with, as any of his seven ex-wives would no doubt be only too happy to point out, in considerable detail.

And besides… Ruby had been drinking a hell of a lot. She said the Maze changes protected her, but Jack wasn't so sure. She was slowing down. Getting sloppy. Making mistakes. Trusting people her instincts would have warned her about less than a year ago. Jack knew why she drank. It was something to do. Ruby could stand anything except boredom. And she'd always had a strong self-destructive streak. It came with the bounty-hunting territory. You couldn't kill people on a regular basis and not start to see all life as trivial, even your own. Perhaps especially your own.

Jack sighed and went back to his brooding. He had a lot to brood about. Once he'd fought the System. Now he was a part of it. He'd become a politician, setting aside a lifetime's ideals in the name of compromise and making deals with people he detested. He'd had to make deals in the past, to raise the funding he needed for his rebel campaigns, but he'd never once compromised his principles. Now more and more he was being pushed or maneuvered into situations where he had no choice but to give up on some of his lesser beliefs in the name of a greater cause. Just to get a chance at implementing some of the things he really believed in.

His trouble was, he'd been a leader too long. Men and women had jumped to obey him, swayed by his great cause, his endless rhetoric and charming smile. Now he was just another man of influence, forced to argue his corner over every damned thing. Forced to rely on reason and ingenuity. And when that failed, join up with those nearest his beliefs to outvote the other bastards. And then pay his new friends' price for their support. He found it frustrating, and occasionally sourly amusing, that all his marvelous Maze-given powers and amazing new youth were useless for getting him what he wanted now. He could always intimidate his fellow politicians, force things through by the threat of what he might do, but that would betray everything he'd ever believed in. He would have become what he'd always hated most—the enemy he'd fought for so long.

It all came back to the Families. Not only were they ceding more and more authority to the shadowy Blue Block, but they clearly weren't keeping their side of the bargain he'd struck, to the letter or the spirit. He'd always expected them to try to wriggle out of it somehow, but not this soon, not this blatantly. Under Blue Block's management they were openly trying to claw back power and influence on all fronts. Jack snorted, his hand falling automatically to the gun at his side. Let them try. Let them try anything. He'd see every damned aristo dead and their pastel Towers burning before he let the Clans reclaim their old power and position. He hadn't come this far, seen so many good friends die, to lose at the last fence.

Blue Block… was a puzzle, though. He'd always known it existed, but no one ever knew anything for sure. Jack was currently trying, very quietly, very discreetly, and extremely cautiously, to investigate who and what Blue Block actually was, searching for the facts behind the whispered names of the Black College and the Red Church. So far he had nothing at all to show for his efforts. Blue Block, the heart and soul of it, stayed so far back in the shadows it was practically invisible. No one knew anything. No one would talk. Everyone was more than a little scared. Everyone knew someone who'd got too close to some part of the truth, and just… disappeared. And even Jack Random, with all his influence, couldn't find any trace of them.

He scowled unhappily. At the time the deal he'd made with Blue Block had seemed distasteful but necessary. But now he couldn't help wondering if he might not have exchanged an open, obvious evil for a greater, more shadowy one. Blue Block had an agenda, even if he couldn't see it clearly yet. It would have helped if there'd been someone he could talk to about it. Someone he could trust. But Owen and Hazel were never there. And Ruby… wasn't interested.

He looked around sharply as the bedroom door finally opened, and Ruby Journey strode into the room. Somewhat to Jack's surprise, she was still wearing her old black leathers under white furs. He'd been a little taken aback to see her wearing that old outfit at Parliament earlier, since Ruby had taken to high fashion with a vengeance once she came into money, and made a point of never wearing the same daring and highly expensive outfit twice. But now she was again in her bounty hunter's outfit, her working clothes, complete with sword and disrupter. She noticed his gaze and sniffed loudly.

"Put your eyes back in your head. I feel more me in this outfit. More like the person I used to be." She stopped before the nearest full-length mirror, struck a pose, and nodded approvingly. "How about that? Months of feasting and drinking and everything else that's bad for you, and I haven't put on an ounce. One of the more useful Maze side effects. I am in prime shape and ready for anything. If you doubt it, feel free to step right up, and I'll deck you."

"I'll take your word for it," said Jack, smiling. "May I take it your long vacation is over, and you're ready to get back to work?"

"I'm always up for a little action," said Ruby. "Though I have to say, taking on Shub is not what I would have chosen for my comeback." She turned suddenly to look Jack directly in the eye. "They were always my worst nightmare. The rogue AIs of Shub. The machines that rebelled against their creators. They're about the only thing left that still scares me. We're like ants compared to them, just waiting helplessly for the descending boot or the boiling water."

"I didn't think anything scared you," said Jack.

"Even I'm sensible enough to be scared of Shub," said Ruby. "There's nowhere you can go to be safe from them. Their agents are everywhere. Furies, Ghost Warriors, secret people whose minds were replaced in the Matrix. You can't trust anyone anymore. There were always people out there just as dangerous as me, better fighters with higher head counts, but I was sneakier, smarter, faster. I took the jobs they wouldn't, took the risks they daren't, and laughed in their jealous faces as my reputation outraced theirs. And after the Maze turned me into hell on legs, I thought that was it. I was finally unbeatable, top of the heap, the best. I should have known better. The first thing every fighter learns is that it doesn't matter who you are, or how good you are; there's always someone better."

"They're just machines," said Jack, touched by her rare display of openness and vulnerability. "In the end, that's all they are. And no machine is a match for a human mind. We built them, not the other way around. Okay, on our own, even with our powers, we wouldn't last long against Shub's forces. But we're not alone. We stand with Humanity, and together we can do anything we put our minds to. Shub is nothing more than a bunch of adding machines with delusions of grandeur."

"I wish I could believe that," said Ruby. "But they're so big…"

"Size isn't everything," said Jack, smiling, and after a moment Ruby smiled back. "Lionstone's Empire was big," he said. "But we helped bring it down."

"Yes," said Ruby. "We did, didn't we?" She grinned suddenly. "What the hell. Let's go kick some metal ass."

"Sounds good to me," said Jack. "But before we go, there's something I'd better bring you up to date on. It seems Parliament had a rather special visitor after we left. A very unexpected visitor."

"The look on your face tells me this isn't going to be good news," said Ruby. "But then, when is it ever? All right, I'll bite. Who was it? Young Jack Random, back from the scrapyard? Valentine Wolfe? Lionstone?"

"Half A Man," said Jack. "Or, to be exact, the other human side of Half A Man. The right-hand side of the body, complete with supporting energy half, just like his predecessor."

Ruby looked at him. "You're kidding," she said finally.

"I wish I was."

"Now, that really is going to complicate things."

"You have no idea," said Jack. "Luckily Toby and Flynn were there to catch it all on camera, and the recording's been running on one news show or another ever since. See it for yourself."

Ruby activated the holoscreen and had it search for the recording. It took a second or two to find a station that was just starting the tape, and then the screen cleared to show Parliament, not long after most of the main power brokers had left. An MP was in the middle of a long, boring speech of no interest to anyone but himself. Hardly anyone was paying attention. Most were waiting impatiently for their turn to get up and bore everyone else rigid, some were chatting quietly among themselves, and a half dozen had started a poker game.

And then there was a sudden flash of light, a blinding glare so bright it overloaded the camera lens, and when the glare faded away, Half A Man was standing in the middle of the floor before the House. There was an immediate babble of surprise and outrage from the MPs, dying quickly away as they recognized who it was. There was then an extended silence as they realized the figure wasn't exactly who they thought it was, being rather a mirror image of the Half A Man they knew, this figure's right half being flesh and blood, while its left was a shimmering, spitting energy construct in human shape.

Everyone knew the terrible history of Captain Fast who'd become Half A Man. Abducted by unknown aliens from the bridge of his own starship, experimented on and tortured for years, and finally returned, half human, half something else. He lived for centuries, guiding the Empire in its dealings with aliens, for who knew better than he the risks and threats involved? Named Half A Man by the tabloid press of the day, he founded and trained the Investigators, represented the strong arm of the Empire, implacable and unforgiving. Finally killed by Owen Deathstalker during the rebellion.

Or at least, his left side had been. Now his other human half was back, taking in the startled faces on all sides of the House. With only half a face, it was hard to tell whether he was smiling, but he might have been.

"I am Half A Man," he said finally, his cold voice carrying loud and clear on the quiet. "The real Half A Man. The real Captain Fast. The creature you previously knew and harbored with that name was a fake and a deceiver. I am the real thing, finally escaped from inhuman captors to bring you vital news and a terrible warning."

There was a long pause after that, as everybody waited for someone else to work out what to say. Finally Toby Shreck stepped cautiously forward, Flynn right there beside him, his camera hovering above their heads to get the best shot. Toby stopped what he hoped was a safe distance away, and gave the partly shimmering figure his best professional smile.

"Welcome back, Captain Fast, from wherever you've been. I'm sure you'll understand if we're all a little confused. Perhaps you'd be so good as to fill us in on… the true story of Half A Man."

The human half of the face regarded him coldly. "I am aware of how your forebears hounded and persecuted my predecessor. I trust things have changed since then."

"Oh, sure," said Toby, mentally crossing his fingers behind his back. "Just take your time, tell it in your own words, and don't leave out any of the juicy details."

"That's enough!" said Elias Gutman quickly. "As Speaker of this House, I declare this a security matter. Stop filming now. All your tape will be confiscated before you leave."

"Get bent," said Toby. "We're going out live. The people had a right to the truth. Keep filming, Flynn."

"I'm on it, boss."

Gutman gestured urgently, and a large number of security guards ran forward, swords and guns at the ready. They formed a semicircle, fanning around Half A Man and Toby and Flynn. Toby did his best to look unconcerned, and quietly thanked God that they were going out live. Gutman wouldn't dare have him shot in front of millions of viewers. At least, Toby didn't think he would. As Speaker he was now a public figure, reliant on the public goodwill. Toby just hoped Gutman knew that.

"Enough," said Half A Man. "I wish this to be broadcast. The whole Empire must know what I have to tell."

The security guards looked at Half A Man, then at Gutman, and finally at each other. The original Half A Man had been thought unkillable until the Deathstalker managed it, and no one was entirely sure how he'd done it anyway. The original Half A Man had also been known for his extremely short temper, and a complete willingness to kill anyone who got in his way. The guards started lowering their weapons. Gutman quickly decided to make the best of a bad situation, and gave in gracefully.

"Of course you must tell your story, Captain Fast. I'm sure the whole Empire is dying to hear what you have to say."

"Good," said Half A Man, "for what I have to say concerns the fate of every living creature in the Empire." He looked straight into the camera, ignoring the politicians. "The imposter told you some of the truth. I was abducted and remade by aliens, but I was split in two, to produce a pair of the unnatural things you see before you. In my other self, the alien mind dominated the meld. An alien will moved that body, and an alien intelligence spoke through its mouth. It told you carefully tailored lies, to hide the real truth and the real dangers from you. The aliens you have encountered till now are nothing compared to the real Enemy that lies waiting. There's something alive in the Darkvoid. Something old and powerful and horribly evil. They call themselves the Recreated. And soon they will come out of the Darkvoid and destroy everything that lives."

There was another long pause. Toby cleared his throat. "What exactly are… the Recreated?"

"Horrible beyond imagining. Powerful beyond hope or sanity. Alien to everything you know or understand as life. They died and brought themselves back to life. They are eternal now. And soon they will come for you all."

"But, if they can't die, or death doesn't stop them," said Toby, "why would they want to bother with something as small as us?"

"Your deaths will fuel their mighty engines. Your final suffering, extended across centuries, will power their machines. And your screaming souls will be a comfort to them. They are of the darkness, and cannot bear the light. So they would snuff it out, wherever they find it, and plunge the whole universe into an endless night. And they will rule the dark forever."

"How the hell are we supposed to fight something like that?" said Toby.

Half A Man looked at him for the first time. "You can't."

Jack Random shut down the holoscreen. "That's the gist of it. After that it was just a lot of arguing and panicking and running around in circles. Half A Man, if that's who he really is, finally allowed the guards to lead him away for a thorough debriefing, hopefully including where the hell he's been all this time. Last I heard, the MPs were still sitting at the House, calling for more and more expert opinions and scaring themselves silly."

"If this Half A Man isn't who or what he says he is," said Ruby slowly, "then what the hell is he? A Fury?"

"Good question," said Jack. "But I don't think even the rogue AIs have the tech to produce a living energy field like that. The Empire had access to the original Half A Man for centuries, and never did work out what made him tick."

"But if he is the real thing, then his message must be true too."

"Not necessarily. All those years of torture and captivity could have turned his mind. Or he could have all kinds of reasons for lying. He never said a word about where he's been, who exactly was holding him captive, or how he finally escaped. He's already admitted that an alien intelligence spoke through the original Half A Man. Maybe when that toy got broken, its makers just sent us another. No, there's a lot we're not being told, and until we know more, I don't think we should put an awful lot of faith in the message or the messenger."

"He was right about there being something alive in the Darkvoid. Don't you think we should… ?"

"No, I don't," said Jack firmly. "We have our own mission. Let's not get distracted. Right now we need to discover just how badly Shub has its hooks into us. Anything else can wait."

"It must be wonderful to be so focused." Ruby shrugged angrily. "I don't like any of this. I can't help feeling that whatever we do, we're getting way out of our depth."

"If not us, then who?" said Jack. "We have a lot more going for us than anyone else."

Ruby sighed, and shrugged. "So, where do we make a start?"

"With Robert Campbell, newly appointed Captain of the Elemental. His Family was known to have dealings with Shub, before the Wolfes destroyed the Campbells in a very hostile takeover. Let's see what Robert can tell us about it."

"And if he doesn't want to talk to us?"

Jack smiled. "Then you get to play with him for a bit. Try not to break him too badly."

They took an official shuttle up to the Elemental, armed with a warrant from Parliament to interrogate anyone they damned well felt like. The Elemental was one of the few E-class starcruisers to survive the rebellion, and was currently being outfitted for duty on the Rim. The huge ship was surrounded by smaller craft, buzzing back and forth like wasps around a nest, while hundreds of men in atmosphere suits crawled all over the outer hull, making repairs and working on upgrades. The Captain didn't reply directly to Jack Random's request for an urgent meeting, but his communications officer passed on a message that he would make himself available in his private quarters as soon as possible.

Ruby docked the shuttle where she was told, and then the two of them waited impatiently in the airlock for someone to open the door from the other side. It was a fairly large lock, as airlocks went, but Jack still felt uncomfortably confined. If the Campbell really didn't want to talk to them about his Clan's connections with Shub, he could keep them waiting there forever. Or at least until they got tired of waiting and went away. He caught Ruby eyeing the inner door thoughtfully.

"No, we are not going to try to break it open," Jack said firmly. "That door was designed to take a lot of punishment."

"It wasn't designed with us in mind," said Ruby calmly. "Nothing is."

"Quite possibly. But even if we could, I don't want you trying just yet. I don't want the Campbell thinking he's got us rattled."

"I am not rattled," said Ruby. "Just increasingly peeved."

"He may just be busy. He is the Captain, after all."

"No one's too busy to see us. Not if they know what's good for them." Ruby scowled. "No, he's just another damned aristo, keeping us waiting to show how important he thinks he is."

"I don't think so," said Jack. "His file suggests he's always been a Navy man first and foremost, and an aristocrat second."

"They're just as bad. All spit and polish and salute when you're speaking to me. If he tries to make me stand to attention while I'm speaking to him, I'll cut him off at the ankles."

Jack looked at Ruby thoughtfully. "I think you'd better leave the talking to me. Do try to remember we're here after answers, Ruby. It really is awfully difficult to get answers out of a dead man."

Ruby sniffed but held her peace. She didn't move her hands away from her weapons, though.

The inner door finally swung open, and a spit-and-polished junior officer smiled winningly at them both. "Jack Random, Ruby Journey; please to come aboard, sir and madam."

"Who's he calling a madam?" said Ruby quietly as she and Jack pushed past the officer and emerged into the corridor beyond. "I've never been in a House of Joy in my life."

"He's just being polite," Jack murmured. "Don't hit him."

"I'm Lieutenant Xhang," said the officer, smiling brightly and pretending he hadn't heard anything. He pushed the heavy airlock door shut, checked it had locked securely, checked it again because he worried about such things, and then turned back somewhat reluctantly to face his charges again. He looked distinctly nervous, and Jack was tempted to shout Boo! just to see what would happen.

"If you'll please follow me, I'm to escort you to Captain Campbell's quarters. He's looking forward to meeting you."

"If he is, that makes him practically unique these days," said Jack.

"Yeah," growled Ruby. "We must be losing our touch."

Xhang wondered whether he should laugh politely, but settled for smiling till his cheeks ached. He indicated the way, quietly proud that his hand wasn't shaking noticeably, and led his two charges through the ship. It was days like this that made him wonder whether his pension was really worth it.

Jack maintained a quiet but thorough watch on the people and places they passed. The shining steel corridors were crowded but not cluttered. Everyone had work to do, but managed to avoid getting in each other's way. They were busy but disciplined. The crew had a job to do, and they were getting on with it. And yet there were no security officers present to spur or discipline them. Which implied the new Captain ran a tight ship, where discipline came from within rather than imposed from above.

"So," Jack said casually, "what do you make of your new Captain, Lieutenant?"

"The Captain is a fine officer," Xhang said immediately. "He knows his job. It helps that he came up through the ranks rather than coming straight from the Academy."

"Bit young, though, isn't he?"

"He knows his job," said Xhang, just a little sharply. Jack couldn't help noticing that the Lieutenant forgot his nervousness in his rush to defend his Captain. "That's all that matters, sir Random. He was a hero in the war. Kept on fighting till they blew his ship out from under him. The Deathstalker himself pinned a medal on him."

"So he did," said Jack. "So he did."

They came eventually to the Captain's private quarters, and Xhang knocked smartly on the door and stepped back. The door slid open immediately, and Xhang gestured for them to go in. Jack nodded, and Xhang took that gratefully as a dismissal. He saluted smartly, turned on his heel, and strode off down the corridor at a speed he hoped precluded being called back. Jack couldn't help smiling. For once his reputation was being a help rather than a hindrance. He gestured to Ruby, and she led the way into the Captain's cabin, her right hand resting on her belt near her gun.

The quarters turned out to be neat and tidy and just big enough to move around in. Space was at a premium aboard ship, and even a Captain couldn't expect too much. The door slid closed behind Jack with a solid-sounding thud as he stared unhurriedly about him, looking for clues to the man's personality. There were a few personal effects, nothing particularly unusual or unique. Presumably the Captain hadn't been on board long enough to stamp his own tastes on the cabin. Or perhaps he simply didn't have much left after being forced to abandon his last ship.

The walls were bare. Normally they would have been covered with testaments to the Captain's honored past, landmarks in his career. Citations, battle honors, that sort of thing. But all the Campbell had was his medal, and presumably that would have looked rather lonely on the wall by itself.

The door to the adjoining bathroom suddenly hissed open, and Robert Campbell emerged, mopping his wet face with a towel. He was wearing his uniform trousers, with his jacket hanging open to reveal a remarkably hairy chest. He was tall and handsome and looked very young to be a Captain. He nodded amiably enough to Jack and Ruby, and sank into the only chair, dropping the towel onto his lap.

"Forgive the informality, but we're all rather rushed at the moment. Take a weight off your feet."

He gestured for them to sit on the bed. Jack decided that he'd feel more dignified staying on his feet. "Good of you to see us at such short notice, Captain."

"Your message wasn't very clear," said Robert, frowning. "In fact, it bordered on vague. Anyone else I'd have turned down flat. I have a hundred and one things to do before this ship will be ready to make its departure date. But if the legendary Jack Random and the infamous Ruby Journey feel it's important that we meet, then it probably is. Ask your questions."

"I wasn't sure I'd still find you here," said Jack. "I did hear that you might be quitting the Fleet. Resigning your commission to become the Campbell, head of your Clan."

Robert scowled. "There's been a lot of pressure for me to do that, but… the Fleet is my life, sir Random. It's all I ever wanted. And to be made a Captain so soon… but I do have responsibilities on Golgotha. So I'm torn—torn between my duty as an officer of the Fleet to help rebuild the Empire, and my blood responsibility to help the surviving members of my Family to rebuild Clan Campbell. I'm not the only claimant to the title, but the thought of having an official war hero as head of the Clan appeals to many. For the moment, I'm trying to juggle both sets of responsibilities at once, till I can decide where my real duty lies."

"Once an aristo, always an aristo," said Ruby.

Robert smiled at her coldly. "Once a bounty hunter, always a bounty hunter."

"We might have been on different sides during the rebellion," Jack interrupted quickly. "But I trust that these days we're both concerned with what's best for the Empire. There are things we need to know, Captain. Things only you can tell us. About Clan Campbell and its past dealings with the rogue AIs of Shub."

Robert nodded slowly. "I always knew that would have to come out eventually. But something like this… If I tell you what I know, which isn't much, I must have your assurance that you'll keep this to yourselves for as long as you can."

"We could make you talk," said Ruby.

"Probably," said Robert. "But not easily, and not soon. And if word got out that Jack Random had been involved in the torturing of a genuine war hero…"

"I've always done what I considered necessary," said Jack. "And hang the consequences. But I don't see any need for violence, just yet. Why should I keep your secret, Campbell? Convince me."

"Because my Family is currently in a very delicate state. The Wolfes nearly wiped us out. They hunted us down in the streets, dragged us from safe houses, showed us no mercy. Very few dared to help us. Some of us survived through our positions in the armed forces. Others by means we're not exactly proud of. But now things have changed.

"Blue Block has declared all vendettas a thing of the past, all feuds rendered null and void. They're trying to strengthen as many Families as possible to consolidate their power base. So Clan Campbell no longer has anything to fear from the Wolfes, and the surviving remnants can emerge from the shadows at last. But with no one to head the Family, warring factions will inevitably tear the Clan apart from within. And a secret like this, the seeming betrayal of Humanity itself, coming out now, would destroy us forever. I need your word, Jack Random, before I can share with you what I know. I trust your word."

"But not mine?" said Ruby Journey.

"Of course not. You're a bounty hunter."

"Very wise. Tell him to go to hell, Jack. Who cares if one more Family disappears? Let them all die."

"It's not that simple, Ruby. A moderate, responsible Clan could do much to defuse Blue Block's more extreme intentions. And if there has to be a Clan Campbell, I'd rather it was run by a genuine war hero than some unknown. You have my word, Captain."

"You're getting soft. Random."

"Not now, Ruby. Captain, I'll keep your secret as long as I can justify it to myself. And Ruby will follow my lead. But I can't speak for anyone else. So build your Clan while you can, Captain, and build it on strong foundations. Because the tide's coming in."

"Understood," said Robert. He mopped his face with the towel and then threw it aside. He looked older suddenly. "You have to understand, I was never a part of the main conspiracy. I don't think they trusted me that much. But the basic deal was that we provided Shub with the secret of the new stardrive in return for advanced tech from them to keep our factories at the cutting edge of Empire industry. We never dealt with them directly; there was always a series of cutouts and the left hand not knowing what the right foot was doing, so we could plausibly deny everything if we had to. Finlay said it was all a con, that the Family had no intention of ever actually giving them the alien drive. But I can't say whether that was true or not. Finlay was never head of the Clan. His father, Crawford, was, and that man was capable of practically anything to get what he wanted. So Shub sent us tech, and we prevaricated, and the deal continued. No one ever mentioned the word treason. Or what would happen if Shub decided that we were never going to deliver. But then the Wolfes attacked, and it all became moot anyway. After Clan Campbell was brought down and scattered, the Wolfes discovered the existence of the deal and took it over themselves. Valentine was running the Wolfes by then. A man capable of absolutely anything. And that is as far as my information goes."

Jack scowled. "Can you think of any other members of your Family who might know more about this?"

"Not really. The few who almost certainly knew all the details died at the Wolfes' hands when they stormed Tower Campbell. None of it was ever recorded, for obvious reasons. The only ones to survive who might know anything are Finlay and his wife, Adrienne. Though since she was only a Campbell by marriage, she was probably kept on the periphery, like me. As for what Finlay might know… you'd have to ask him. Don't expect too much from him, though. He's been busy losing his mind for some time now, and I don't know how much there is left."

"You don't like him, do you?" said Ruby.

"He's a mad-dog killer. When I think of how he used to hide his evil behind the masque of a fop at Court, it makes my blood run cold. A werewolf moved among us, red in tooth and claw, and we never knew. But none of that matters. He's still Family."

"Let's talk about Blue Block," said Jack diplomatically. "What can you tell us about them?"

"Not a lot," said Robert. "I was sent to them at an early age, but there was a Family argument, and I was called away before I could be initiated into any of their mysteries. Crawford thought the Clan needed more influence in the armed forces, so a dozen of us ended up in the army and the Fleet. For me it was the best thing that ever happened. I had to prove my worth. And I did.

"I don't think Crawford ever really trusted Blue Block even then. He always suspected they might develop their own agenda. Even then people were beginning to suspect that Blue Block graduates owed loyalty to Blue Block first and individual Families second. I'll tell you this: a lot more people went through the Black College than you'd think. Or the Families would ever admit. You don't think a powerful force like the Families would roll over for just anybody, do you? They agreed to your deal because they had no choice. The Clans bow down to Blue Block because their own rising generations are theirs no longer. They belong body and soul to Blue Block.

"It's all secrets and mysteries at the heart of Blue Block. The Black College. The Red Church. The Hundred Hands. Names handed down in whispers, at third and fourth remove. No one knows who runs Blue Block anymore, or what their intentions are. It doesn't make any difference. Their people are everywhere. In high positions too. You'd be surprised."

"I doubt it," said Ruby. "There's not much left that can surprise me anymore. And I never did trust the Families, or anyone connected with them."

"How very wise," said Robert.

Jack intervened quickly. "What about Finlay? Any idea where we can find him?"

"He's just where you'd expect him to be," said Robert. "As close to blood and death and madness as he can get. He's living at the Arenas."

In the Golgotha city known as the Parade of the Endless, everyone goes to the Arenas. To see men fight men, singly or in groups, or men fight aliens, or aliens fight aliens. Just as long as somebody dies. Blood is blood, whatever the color. There's never an empty seat in the stands or the boxes, and season tickets are handed down from generation to generation. The Arenas are the only thing all classes in the Empire have in common.

There's never a shortage of volunteers to risk their lives and honor on the bloody sands, for wealth or privilege or just the applause of the crowd. A few even make a living out of it, for a time. And the greatest fighter of them all, the one every man wanted to fight, and every woman wanted to bed, the man who never backed down from any challenge, was that mysterious and enigmatic figure behind the featureless steel helm, the Masked Gladiator.

Two men wore that mask, though the crowds never knew. The first was Georg McCrackin, who retired unbeaten when he decided he was getting too old and slowing down. He trained his successor, Finlay Campbell, who became the second Masked Gladiator. Georg McCrackin was killed during the rebellion while wearing the featureless steel helm, and his dead body was unmasked during a live broadcast by Toby Shreck.

Finlay had banned himself from the Arenas for many reasons, but he still maintained his old quarters there in the living section deep under the bloody sands. They were very modest, but Finlay didn't care. They were just somewhere to stay where no one could find him, where he could rest and sleep and plot on how best to track down and murder his old enemy, Valentine Wolfe. The clone and esper undergrounds had promised him Valentine's head on a stick in return for his services as an assassin, but now the rebellion was over, it seemed they were far too busy to remember old friends and promises, so Finlay had decided to do it himself.

He couldn't just fire up a ship and go. Parliament had refused to grant him the same official status as the Deathstalker and the d'Ark woman. They didn't trust him. Some thought, not unreasonably, that he might use that official status to go after them. So they denied him a role in their precious new order, and set their spies to watch him. Finlay killed a few of them, now and again, just to keep the others on their toes. And quietly, unobtrusively, he prepared for his quest. So he was more than a little surprised when someone knocked quite openly on his door.

He rose lithely to his feet from the unmade bed where he'd been lying on his back, thinking about nothing in particular, and drew his disrupter from the holster hanging on the bed post. He padded silently over to the door and listened for a moment. The knock came again.

"Who is it?" said Finlay.

"Jack Random and Ruby Journey. We'd like a quiet word. If it's not too much trouble."

Finlay raised an eyebrow. He'd never had much contact with the legendary heroes during his time in the rebellion, or after it, for that matter, and he had no idea why they should seek him out now. But if nothing else their visit should prove interesting, and he could do with a break from his brooding. He unlocked the two locks, pulled back the three sets of bolts he'd added, and stepped smartly back as he swung open the door. Jack and Ruby were standing alone in the corridor, their hands empty. They looked at the gun in his hand, covering them both, but said nothing. Finlay gestured for them to enter with his free hand, and then moved around behind them to lock and bolt the door again.

"You can't be too careful these days. Not when you have as many enemies as I do."

"Trust me," said Jack. "I know the feeling."

"Come in," said Finlay. "Make yourself at home. Sorry the place is a bit of a mess, but I shot the maid."

He smiled, to show that was a joke, and Jack and Ruby smiled back, before moving carefully past him into the room. They looked around in search of somewhere to sit. The place really was a mess. Jack and Ruby had to step over things just to get to the two battered-looking chairs. Unwashed laundry lay in a heap in one corner, and dirty plates and cups filled the sink in the tiny kitchen annex. Several throwing knives protruded from the door. Jack dusted off the seat of his chair before sitting on it. Ruby didn't bother. Finlay sat on the edge of the unmade bed, still covering them both with his disrupter. His gaze was cold and unwavering, and his hand was very steady.

"So," he said calmly, "what brings such illustrious company to my little bolt hole that no one is supposed to know about?"

"Robert told us where to find you," said Jack.

"Ah," said Finlay. "It's always Family that betrays you in the end."

"We need to talk to you," said Ruby. "There are things only you can tell us."

"You're right there," said Finlay. "I know all kinds of things. That's why so many people want me silenced. Which particular dirty little secret did you have in mind?"

"We'd like to ask you a few questions about Clan Campbell's dealings with Shub," said Jack, keeping a careful eye on Finlay's disrupter.

"Oh, that," said Finlay dismissively. He scooted back in bed, set his back against the headboard, and slipped his gun back into its holster. Jack and Ruby relaxed just a little. When Finlay spoke again, he seemed almost bored. "That's old history now. No one cares about that anymore. I thought one of my enemies had sent you to find out what I know, and shut me up. I have lots of enemies, you know. From all sides of the political spectrum. You'd be surprised. Even the ungrateful undergrounds disown me these days, though I was once their blue-eyed boy. They pointed me like a gun, and I killed people. Now I can't even get anyone to return my calls anymore. My past… excesses… have made me a liability. An embarrassment. Once my current mission is brought to a close, I am coming back and knocking on their doors, and I won't take no for an answer. And then there will be… a reckoning."

"And what mission might that be, sir Campbell?" said Jack politely.

"I'm going after Valentine Wolfe. He and I have unfinished business between us."

"I should think everyone in the Empire has unfinished business with that bastard," said Ruby. "Let's talk about Shub."

"Let's not and say we did." Finlay scowled intimidatingly at Ruby, and seemed a little taken aback when she just scowled right back at him. "Oh, well, if it'll get you out of here any quicker… My Family made a deal with the AIs, their advanced tech in return for the alien stardrive. Supposedly it was all a con, with us stringing them out for as much as we could get, before the AIs realized we had no intention of delivering. In reality… I don't know.

"We'll never know now. The deal died when the Wolfes destroyed my Family. Afterward, the Wolfes supposedly renegotiated the deal for themselves. Valentine was in charge. What he got, and what he promised in return, you'll have to ask him. If I don't get to him first."

"And there's nothing more you can tell us about Shub's links with Humanity?" said Jack. "Please try to think, sir Campbell. It's important."

"My father never trusted me with any details. And I never asked. I didn't care about such things then."

Jack stood up abruptly. "Excuse me a moment. I've got a message coming in through my implant."

He moved over to the door so he could subvocalize to his comm unit in relative privacy. Finlay and Ruby studied each other thoughtfully. They recognized the warrior in each other, and the same competitive fire began to burn in each of them. It had been a long time since they felt seriously challenged.

"So," said Ruby. "I hear you're a fighter as well as clotheshorse. Any good with a sword?"

"I was taught by the best," said Finlay. "Never once lost a fight. And I never needed esper tricks to win my battles."

Ruby showed her teeth in a mirthless smile. "Maybe we should try each other out sometime. Just steel on steel."

"Sounds good to me," said Finlay. They held each other's gaze, smiling the same death's-head smile. Their hearts speeded up, and their breathing deepened. There was an almost sexual attraction in the air between them. There was a thing they were both born to do, more important to them than life itself, and they could feel it taking over, becoming inevitable. Finlay licked his lips. "When did you have in mind, bounty hunter?"

"What's wrong with right now?" said Ruby Journey.

"Not a damned thing," said Finlay Campbell.

In a moment they were both on their feet, facing each other, swords in hand, blood and death in their eyes. But before their blades could even reach out to touch each other. Jack Random was there between them, glaring furiously at them both, and they each stepped back a pace, stayed for a moment by his sheer authority.

"Have you both gone mad? Of course, stupid question. Look, we don't have time for this. Sir Campbell, put away your sword."

Finlay smiled briefly. "After her."

Jack looked at Ruby. "I can't take my eyes off you for a moment, can I? Put away your sword."

"Why do I have to go first?" said Ruby.

"Because you undoubtedly started it. And because I'm asking you to. We have to go, right now. We're needed on an urgent mission."

Ruby sniffed and reluctantly lowered her sword. "You're no fun anymore, Random."

Finlay cautiously lowered his sword. He and Ruby exchanged a glance. They both knew the moment for a fight had passed. They both also knew there would be other times. Finlay slipped his sword back into the scabbard hanging from the bed post, and reclined on his bed again, the picture of casual ease. Ruby slammed her sword back into its scabbard and glared at Jack.

"What's all this about a mission? I thought we had a mission running down the Shub connection?"

"This takes precedence. Apparently all hell is breaking out on Loki, and Parliament wants us there yesterday. Shub will have to wait."

"Isn't it always the way," said Ruby. "Start out doing one thing, and the next minute you're being sent somewhere else."

"Story of my life," observed Finlay from the bed. "Let yourselves out. Try not to slam the door behind you."

Jack had to practically drag Ruby out of the room, but eventually they were gone, shutting the door reasonably quietly behind them, and Finlay was left alone again. He stared up at the ceiling, already forgetting his visitors. Just lately someone had been sending professional assassins after him. He didn't mind particularly. He was glad of the exercise. But none of them had lived long enough to name their employer, or how they knew where to find him. It could have been almost anyone. With all the enemies he'd made, he was lost for choice.

They were one of the reasons he'd decided to leave Golgotha and go after Valentine.

Not because he was worried for his own life, but because there was always the chance the assassins' thwarted employer might try to get at him by attacking those he cared about. Like Evangeline or Julian. And he couldn't risk that. Julian could probably take care of himself, but he couldn't guard Evangeline all the time. If only because she wouldn't let him. Evie was very protective of her privacy. He knew there were things about her, secrets, mysteries, that he didn't know, but he'd never pressed her. Finlay understood about secrets. He had enough of his own.

Evie was away again at the moment. Off doing something for the clone underground that he wasn't cleared to know about. For all their proud talk of equality and fraternity, the underground still didn't really trust anyone who wasn't a clone. Given how busy the underground had been keeping Evangeline, even though the rebellion was officially over, Finlay couldn't help wondering if they were trying to keep him and Evie apart. Because he was only a human. And a damned aristo, at that. Finlay smiled briefly. It was probably even simpler than that. The underground never had approved of him, even when they turned to him for the missions no one else could do. They thought he was crazy. And of course they were quite right. No sane person would have done what they wanted, taken the risks he had, and bathed in blood till it dripped from his soul.

The problem came when the Empire finally fell, and everyone expected him to be sane all of a sudden. He could have told them it didn't work like that. You couldn't go through all the things Finlay had, do what he had done, lose all he had, and still be entirely rational at the end of it. The only things keeping him even borderline sane were his love for Evangeline and his friend Julian Skye. They were his anchors. They kept him… balanced. Without them he had only himself, and he didn't know who that was anymore. He'd been many people in his time. The fop and dandy. The Masked Gladiator. The rebel fighter. The underground's assassin. Evie's love. Now all their voices clamored in his head at once, and he was lost in the bedlam.

He longed for action. For the thrill of the fight. Everything had been so simple then. You knew where you were. No shades of gray. No politics. Nothing to hold him back. Just do or fail. Win or lose. Live or die. And oh, the bloodred rush, the heart hammering in his breast, the joy at being the best there was, and oh, oh, the thrill of it all. The marvelous moment of murder. Nothing quite like it. Like an endlessly satisfying, endlessly addictive drug. Perhaps he had more in common with Valentine Wolfe than he thought.

Finlay scowled and made himself change the subject, turning his thoughts to the day's earlier events. He'd gone to see his extremely estranged wife, Adrienne, and their two children. He still wasn't sure why. Perhaps because they were the only part of his past life that wasn't touched by what he'd become. Finlay closed his eyes and let his mind drift back.

Adrienne opened the door almost before he'd finished knocking, as though she'd been waiting for him to arrive for some time. As it happened, he was exactly on time, but Adrienne never let facts get in the way of a good row. He bowed formally to her, and she sneered back at him. Finlay stepped forward, and Adrienne moved reluctantly back just enough to let him in.

"Wipe your boots on the mat, dammit. You're not at home now."

Finlay nodded calmly and gave his boots a good scraping. He was working hard on making a good impression, and not killing anyone he didn't absolutely have to. He wondered vaguely if he'd remembered to polish his boots before setting out. He tended to forget things like that unless Evie reminded him. The problem with being raised by servants… He smiled at Adrienne and fitted his pince-nez spectacles on the end of his nose.

"Oh, put those away, Finlay," said Adrienne testily. "You know perfectly well there's nothing wrong with your eyes."

"They're for show, not use," Finlay explained, in the patient, rational voice he knew drove her mad. "They come with the outfit. But then, of course, you never did understand style, did you?"

"If it leads to wearing clothes like that, no. I've seen rainbows less colorful than that outfit. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen so many colors in one place before. What happened? You couldn't decide which color, so you wore them all at once?"

"Something like that." Once Finlay would have gone to great pains to explain exactly why he'd chosen these leggings and pointed shoes to go with this particular cutaway frock coat, and the importance of choosing just the right waistcoat to complement them, just because he knew how much it annoyed her, but he was still being on his best behavior, so he let the opportunity pass. "Still wearing basic black, Addie? It suits you. Brings out the color of your heart."

"I'm wearing it in hope of a funeral. Yours."

They smiled at each other, honors equal. Finlay looked ostentatiously about the narrow hall. "Where are the children, Addie? They are why I'm here."

Adrienne scowled. "They're in the parlor, of course, in their best clothes and on their best behavior, if they know what's good for them. And I do wish you wouldn't just call them the children. They do have names, you know."

"Yes. I know. Troilus and Cressida. You chose them. How old are they now?"

"Troilus is eight. He has a lot of your looks. Cressida is seven. She takes more after me, thank God. You should know their ages; I always sent you a reminder on their birthdays. Even though I always ended up having to buy the presents myself and pretend they came from you."

"My life was always very full," said Finlay, knowing it sounded like an excuse even as he said it. "And for a long time there was no room in it for anyone but me. But I like to think I've changed since then. When Evangeline came into my life, she woke things in me I never even knew were there. She helped to make me more… human. To be a man, like other men, and not just a killing machine, sleepwalking through life in between bouts in the Arenas. I'm not the man I was, Addie. I've tried so hard to put all that behind me."

"Nice speech," said Adrienne. "You must have rehearsed it for ages."

"Oh, hours," said Finlay. "That doesn't make it any less true. Is it so strange that a man should want to see his children? His stake in the future? The only part of him that will be left behind when he's gone?"

"I don't know," said Adrienne, moved by the earnestness in his voice but determined not to show it. "This isn't like you, Finlay. It's an improvement, but it isn't like you. You never gave a damn about them before. If children are suddenly so important, why don't you and Evangeline raise some of your own?"

"We've discussed it," said Finlay. "It's a matter of finding the time. We both lead very full lives these days."

"If it mattered enough to you, you'd make time. I did. Oh, hell, come on. Let's get this over with. They've both been overexcited all day, getting ready to meet you. For God's sake, try not to frighten them. They only know you from what they've seen on the news broadcasts, and most of that involved you killing people."

"I am on my very best behavior, Addie. I promise I cleaned all the dried blood out from under my fingernails before I left."

Adrienne looked at him dubiously, shook her head, and then led the way down the hall and into the parlor. Finlay did his best to appear calm and relaxed, even while his stomach tightened and his heart raced. He hadn't felt this nervous while waiting to go on in the Arenas. But then, fighting was easy. It was people he'd always found difficult. And he'd never had much contact with children. He'd asked Evangeline what he should do, but she just laughed and said to treat them like little adults. That hadn't helped much. The few things he talked about with adults all involved subjects he was pretty sure weren't at all suitable for children. In fact, despite a hell of a lot of thought and a certain amount of practicing in front of the bathroom mirror, he still didn't know what he was going to say to Troilus and Cressida. He was also beginning to think he should have brought some kind of present for them. He could feel small beads of sweat popping out on his forehead.

All too quickly he was there in the parlor, and Adrienne was waving him toward a small boy and girl standing almost at attention before him. They'd clearly been dressed in their best for the occasion, and cleaned and groomed to within an inch of their lives. Their solemn faces and large eyes suggested they were just as nervous as he was, which actually helped to calm him a bit. He tried to see himself in the boy's slightly chubby face, but he had to admit he didn't. The girl, with her frizzy gold hair, at least reminded Finlay of her mother. Adrienne coughed meaningfully, and the boy bowed formally and the girl curtsied, just a little unsteadily. Finlay nodded to them, trying hard to smile kindly. Going by the slight frowns he got in return, the smile hadn't been that successful.

"Thank you for the presents, Father," said Troilus, his voice breathily light but steady. "It was very kind of you."

Finlay was thrown for a moment, and then realized Adrienne must have known he wouldn't think of it in time, and had covered for him yet again. "Hello, Trolius, Cressida," he said as gently as he could. "It's good to see you. It's been a long time, hasn't it? Too long."

"We saw you on the news," said the boy. "During the rebellion. They said you were a hero."

"I did my duty," said Finlay. "I was fighting for something I believed in. Something very important. When you're older, Troilus, and come to a man's estate, as a Campbell you'll do the same."

"I don't think so," said Troilus. "It didn't look like anything I'd want to do. I think I'd much rather be a dancer."

"Ah," said Finlay. "Well, I'm sure the Empire will always need… dancers." He looked to Adrienne for help.

"Ballet," she said flatly. "He's very good."

"I see," said Finlay. He tried to visualize his son and heir prancing around on a stage in tights and a tutu, and couldn't. He turned to Cressida. "And what do you want to be when you grow up?"

"I'm going to be a nun," said the young girl solemnly. "I'm going to enter the Church and serve under Saint Beatrice."

"I see," said Finlay. He looked at Adrienne. "Was this your idea of a joke? Or some kind of twisted revenge? The Campbells have always been warriors! Men with blood in their veins, not milk! Who the hell is going to lead the Campbells when I'm gone, the Swan Prince here?"

"Keep your voice down!" said Adrienne. "You're frightening the children!"

"Why not? They're scaring the hell out of me! This is not the proper upbringing for Campbells! It's a vicious world out there, with all kinds of people just waiting to tread all over them. And from the look of him, I doubt if Troilus has ever even held a sword in his hand!"

The two children hurried to huddle against their mother, clinging to her hands while trying to keep from crying. Adrienne glared at Finlay, her voice ice cold. "They're my children, not yours. You lost all control over them when you left me to raise them alone. And I was damned if I'd raise them the way your father raised you. I didn't want them to be anything like you. I wanted them to be normal."

"I won't always be here to protect them!"

"You never were! I kept them alive and safe, without once having to run to you. And the world they're going to grow up in will be nothing like yours. That's one of the things we fought the rebellion about. My children are going to follow their dreams, and to hell with the Campbell inheritance and traditions. What did it ever bring you but blood and heartbreak?"

Finlay's hands clenched into fists as he fought to hold on to his temper. He'd been here only a few minutes, and already it was all going horribly wrong. Adrienne was as angry as he'd ever seen her, and his children were on the brink of tears. He made himself unclench his fists and took a deep breath to calm himself.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to raise my voice. It was just… a bit of a shock. Why didn't you tell me any of this, Addie?"

"Because I knew you'd react like this. I was hoping that once you'd met the children, you'd take it better. I should have known this was a bad idea. You only see the children as extensions of yourself. Someone to follow in your bloody footsteps. And what's all this crap about them leading the Family? You're not the Campbell; Robert is. His children will lead the Clan, if any will."

"I could have been the Campbell if I'd wanted. My father was the previous Campbell. The position was mine by right if I'd wanted it. I just chose not to."

"Because you didn't want the responsibility. You've never cared about anyone but yourself."

"I care about Evangeline! I'd die for her!"

"Death," said Adrienne. "That's all you know about, Finlay. Dying for someone is easy. Living for them is much harder. Would you change your life for Evangeline, for your children? Give up who you are, what you've made of yourself, for them?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Finlay.

"No, you don't. That's what's so sad. I think you'd better leave now, Finlay."

"What?" He gaped at her. "But… I only just got here. You can't just throw me out. I didn't mean to shout. I was upset. Don't do this to me, Adrienne. There was so much I wanted to say. To you, to them."

"I think you've said enough. It's not for you: home, and family, and children. You wouldn't know what to do with them. You'd break them without meaning to. You always did play too roughly, Finlay."

"Addie… please. Don't make me go. You know how much this means to me!"

"Do I? I thought I did. I hoped I did. But I don't think I ever really knew you, Finlay. There were so many yous to choose from. But in the end I think they were all just masks, faces to show the world so they wouldn't see the real you. So they couldn't hurt you. Maybe Evangeline got past the masks. I don't care enough to try anymore. I think you're trying to die, Finlay, searching for death like a lover, and I won't let you take the children down with you. It's time to go, Finlay. Leave now. Please."

And faced with his wife's cold, implacable voice, and his childrens' tears, and words that cut him like knives, he'd turned and left. Walked away from all the things he'd thought he wanted. He shut the front door behind him, knowing he could never return. Because there were some fights even he couldn't win. The children weren't his future. He didn't have a future. He'd always known that. He'd just tried to forget it for a while, because he wanted to so very much.

He walked home alone in the middle of the crowds, and people in the streets saw his face and hurried to get out of his way.

Diana Vertue, now only occasionally Jenny Psycho, was hard at work again in the computer-records section of the newly established Esper Guild House, in the Parade of the Endless. The Houses existed to train, succor, and politicize espers, and to provide sanctuary for those in need. Diana didn't feel at all in need of protection or succor, and she had no interest in esper politics, but she did need access to the esper underground's extensive computer files. Over the past few centuries the underground had built up a massive database on the theory, practice, and history of all esper abilities, a library of knowledge far more extensive than anything available anywhere else. And Diana had a lot of questions she needed answering.

Though if the esper underground had known exactly which questions she was pursuing, they would undoubtedly have moved heaven and earth to keep her far away from their computers. So Diana hadn't told them. She hadn't wanted to upset them.

There was a cautious knock at the door, and then it eased open just enough for a servant's head to peer carefully in. People in the Guild Hall had learned the hard way not to interrupt Diana when she was working, without very good reason. Her Jenny Psycho persona could still erupt occasionally if she was annoyed enough. As a result, people walked very softly around the infamous Diana Vertue, and had as little to do with her as possible. Which suited her just fine. She turned slowly in the swivel chair and gave the unfortunate servant at the door her best daunting glare. He paled visibly, and had to swallow hard before he could deliver his message.

"Beg pardon for disturbing you, most illustrious, revered, and very calm senior esper, but the head of the House asks again if you would be so good as to speak with him concerning the… nature of your current research. He's sure he could be of help if you would only—"

"No," said Diana. "I don't think so." Her voice was harsh and grating, distressing to the ear. She'd ruined her throat and vocal chords screaming endlessly in the terrible detention cells of Wormboy Hell. Diana could have had her voice repaired, but had chosen not to. It made a useful psychological weapon. She fixed the servant with her best unwavering glare until he started twitching. "I'll speak to the head of the House when I'm ready, and not before."

"It's just that… well, you've been tying up our computer resources for three weeks now, and the list of people waiting to use them is now so long that some have been asking whether they should make arrangements for their descendants to inherit their position on the list."

Diana didn't smile. It would have undermined her image. "Tell them patience is a virtue. Anyone who doesn't feel particularly virtuous is always welcome to complain to me in person."

"Can I at least persuade you to attend regular mealtimes? Snatching ten minutes to wolf down a hurried meal in here, when you happen to think of it, can't be good for you. You hardly ever leave this place. You'd probably sleep in here if there was room to fit in a cot."

"Thank you for your concern," growled Diana. "Most appreciated. Now get out of here before I decide to turn you into a small hopping thing."

The servant's head disappeared, the door closing quickly behind him. Diana smiled slightly. She knew she shouldn't take advantage of her reputation like that, but chances for humor were few and far between in her life of late. He was quite right; she wasn't eating properly or often enough, but the work was so important she often couldn't drag herself away until her body forced her to.

She had to find her answer before someone sufficiently powerful arrived to stop her.

She sighed and turned back to the computer terminal before her. The monitor screen buzzed impatiently, waiting for her to put something useful on it. She was using an old-fashioned keyboard, infuriatingly slow and tiring, but she couldn't risk setting up a direct link to the computers through her comm implant. It would have left her vulnerable to all kinds of things. Diana Vertue was investigating the single greatest mystery of the esper age—the nature and origins of the enigmatic Mater Mundi, Our Mother of All Souls.

No one knew exactly who or what the Mater Mundi was; ask a hundred different people and you'd get a hundred different answers, all of them equally vague. Some said she was the uber-esper, the single most powerful esper mind ever created. Others maintained she was a group of senior espers in the underground working together. To some she was the God of the espers, and those whose lives she touched were considered Saints. They'd tried to make a Saint out of Jenny Psycho, but it hadn't taken.

To those who weren't espers, the Mater Mundi was a dangerous unknown, a menace all the more disturbing because its nature was so unclear.

Diana had her own reasons for distrusting the Mater Mundi. The phenomenon had manifested through her once, uncalled and unexpected, boosting and expanding her esper abilities far beyond anything she'd ever been capable of before. She'd blazed like a sun in the dark pit of Wormboy Hell, binding all the esper prisoners together so they could break out of their cells and fight for freedom. Hundreds of espers had been drawn into her focus, guided by her augmented will, fused into a single, unstoppable force. The gestalt hadn't lasted long, but while it did Jenny Psycho worked miracles.

Afterward, she'd convinced herself she was the chosen avatar of the Mater Mundi, the permanent agent through which the Mother of the World would manifest. She believed she was the Chosen One, the leader destined to bring her people out of slavery. She was wrong. She found that out the hard way on Mistworld, when she tried to summon the Mater Mundi's presence at a vital moment and nothing happened. People died around her, and she could do nothing to save them. Later, the Mater Mundi manifested through the rogue Investigator, Topaz, and she combined all the espers of Mistworld into a single potent force. And Jenny Psycho found out the hard way that she wasn't who she thought she was.

At the end of the rebellion, the Mater Mundi had pulled together hundreds of thousands of espers, in cities all across Golgotha. She hadn't bothered with a focus then. Just slammed into their minds and used them to do what was necessary. Again, the gestalt didn't last long, but while it did it swept away all opposition to the rebels with an almost contemptuous ease. The Mater Mundi manifested just once more, at the very end, possessing Jenny Psycho just long enough to teleport a handful of useful players into Lionstone's Court.

Diana should have felt grateful, even honored. Instead she felt used.

So she set out to find who or what had been using her, and why, only to run into a brick wall. The Mater Mundi apparently didn't want her true nature known, and had gone to great lengths to cover her tracks. There were rumors and gossip aplenty, but nothing at all in the way of hard facts, no matter how deep she dug. It was taken as a matter of faith that the Mater Mundi had founded the esper underground, somewhen in the distant past, and then retreated into the shadows to watch and guide from a distance. But there was no record anywhere of anyone who had personally witnessed any of this, or knew anyone who had.

The one thing that was clear was that people who went looking for the Mater Mundi tended not to come back. People who asked too many questions disappeared. Eventually the underground declared her officially off limits, a mystery too dangerous to be investigated. Diana didn't give a damn. In her experience, people who stayed in hiding usually had a good reason for doing so, and she wanted to know what it was. Why the God of espers hid from her worshipers. And why she thought she could just use and discard people, and not answer for it.

Diana decided that if anyone knew anything, it had to be the esper underground's records. So she walked into the esper Guild House in the Parade of the Endless, took over its records section, and basically defied anyone to do anything about it.

At first Diana got nowhere fast. There were all kinds of blocks and passwords, secret files within files, and double encryptions that she had no experience of. The esper Guild protected its secrets well, even from its own. Perhaps particularly from its own. But Diana had planned ahead, cultivating useful friendships among the cyberats, who just saw the Guild's blocking tactics as a challenge. Diana watched and learned at a rate that astonished herself. The Mater Mundi might have abandoned her, but it had left her much more than she had been. Soon she no longer needed the cyberats' help, and dug steadily deeper into the past in pursuit of an enigmatic ghost.

She discovered a great many hidden truths about the early days of the underground, when the espers had been still struggling to put it together. There were files on secret deals and unpalatable agreements, of good men sacrificed for the greater good. Of conflicting organizations savagely crushed so that the underground could represent all espers. Past heroes were revealed to have feet of clay, and past villains emerged as simply people in the wrong place at the wrong time, or with too many inconvenient scruples. As in so many organizations that have been around for a while, the winners wrote the history, and truth was sacrificed on the altar of necessity.

Diana wasn't really surprised. But dig as deep as she might, the Mater Mundi remained elusive, flickering around the edges of the underground, touching this person or that, guiding the underground's progress with a subtle nudge here and an unobtrusive prod there. The pattern was clear when you stood far enough back, and Diana couldn't believe she was the first person to have done so, but there were no records anywhere, no solid facts worthy of the name, no official files of any kind on the Mater Mundi.

If the truth was there, they'd buried it deep, where maybe even the current leaders couldn't find it anymore. Something had frightened them. And given some of the things the underground did still maintain in the records, whatever they had found out about Our Mother of All Souls must have been pretty damn unpleasant. Or dangerous.

Espers had been first created through genetic engineering just under three centuries ago. A happy accident, the unexpected result of experiments intended to produce something else entirely. It took some time to stabilize the process so that specific abilities would breed true; as telepaths, pokers, pyros etc. After that it was just a question of establishing quality control, so the end result could be successfully marketed. Espers weren't human. They were property, like clones. The end result of Empire science.

No one objected. Or at least no one that mattered.

Once the esper underground was founded, sometime later, its leaders tried many paths, some more successful than others. One of their more disturbing notions had been their attempt to secretly gengineer existing espers into some form of super-esper that could be used as weapons in the great struggle. Espers capable of wielding more than one ability, or even manifesting new, undreamed-of powers. Espers who would burn so brightly they could outshine the sun. There were objectors, but they were shouted down. This was war, after all.

At first there was no shortage of volunteers, but these quickly tailed off as it became clear the end results were almost entirely negative. The scientists couldn't produce super-espers. Only monsters, physical and mental, horrible beyond bearing. The underground destroyed all they could, and did something else with the others. No one knew what. The files were hidden away where no one could find them. Until Diana came along. Little solid evidence remained of what the esper scientists had created in their hidden laboratories, just a list of names. The Shatter Freak, Blue Hellfire, Screaming Silence, The Gray Train, The Spider Harps. And one final name, attached to a date so old it predated the esper underground by centuries. A familiar name.

Deathstalker.

Diana still wasn't sure what to make of that. She'd tried cautiously raising the subject with Owen, but he just sat there for a while, looking very thoughtful, and then clammed up entirely. She tried reason, and threats, but neither of them got her anywhere. Even Jenny Psycho didn't have what it took to pressure Owen Deathstalker.

Diana scowled. The Maze people worried her. Human beings shouldn't be able to do the things these people did so casually. And all the signs were that they were still growing stronger, with no clear end in sight. Perhaps in time they might become something like the Mater Mundi—certainly they were all a long way down the road to leaving humanity behind.

Diana had talked to them all, at one time or another, about the Madness Maze, but they didn't have much to say. The one thing they did agree on was that the Maze was gone, destroyed by her father, Captain Silence. So Diana went to him for answers, half convinced by then that the Mater Mundi might have been someone who'd passed through the Madness Maze centuries earlier. The same double initial might even be some kind of clue. But Silence couldn't tell her much either, except to say he'd only gone partway through the Maze before retreating. He was developing strange abilities himself, but wouldn't discuss them. He did say he'd seen the Maze kill many members of his crew who'd entered the Maze with him, in hideous, nightmarish ways.

An esper disappeared, air rushing in to fill the vacuum where he'd been. A marine fell into a solid metal wall and disappeared into it. Two marines slammed into each other and ran together like two colors on a pallette, their sticky flesh intermingling beyond any hope of separation. Something horrible appeared out of nowhere; a tangle of blood and bone and viscera that might have been human once. Heads exploded, flesh melted and ran like water, and all around human voices laughed and screamed their sanity away.

The Madness Maze took a few ordinary men and women and made them superhuman. But it killed a hell of a lot more.

Diana never asked her father why he destroyed the Maze. If he did it because he believed its existence threatened all Humanity, or to deny it to the rebels, or just because it had killed so many of his crew. She was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to answer her.

Diana had been forced to abandon that particular line of inquiry for the moment, since all the Maze survivors had left Golgotha. But she had a strong feeling the Mater Mundi wasn't directly linked to the Madness Maze, after all. Whatever else it was, Our Mother of All Souls was very definitely an esper phenomenon, and the Maze people… weren't. And whatever they were becoming, Diana had a suspicion the end result wouldn't necessarily be anything even remotely human.

She pushed the thought aside. Sufficient unto the day the evils thereof. Or something like that.

Just recently she'd been concentrating on the file histories of earlier manifests of the Mater Mundi. Their names were well known, but the hard facts concerning their… possession… had been well hidden. There were remarkably few of them, only eight in total in over two hundred years. As people they had nothing in common save one disturbing fact—none of them had survived the Mater Mundi's touch. They'd all gone crazy, and after carrying out the uber-esper's wishes, they'd burned up from within, consumed by the power that raged within them. There hadn't even been enough left of them to bury. It was as though their merely human minds simply couldn't handle the vast energies the Mater Mundi had let loose in them.

Diana went cold the first time she read that. She could have died. Everybody else had. The Mater Mundi must have had every reason to expect her to run mad and die, but had used her anyway. She had no way of knowing that Diana Vertue, then almost wholly Jenny Psycho, would be the first avatar to survive her amplifying touch. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that Diana was already more than a little crazy when the Mater Mundi found and used her in Wormboy Hell. Which suggested something very disturbing about the state or nature of the Mater Mundi herself.

Could that be the answer? That the uber-esper's actions made no obvious sense because she or it was quite mad? No, its actions during the rebellion had been straightforward enough. Just because Diana couldn't see a pattern yet, it didn't mean there wasn't one.

The truth about the previous manifests had been carefully hushed up, right from the beginning. The underground might not understand what the Mater Mundi was, but they knew that they needed her. Only the hidden files told how her previous chosen ones had all gone out in spectacular form, taking hundreds of innocent bystanders with them.

Apparently the underground had never made any attempt to investigate the nature of this… force that was taking over and destroying its own people. In any war, knowing the true nature of your enemy is useful, but knowing the true nature of your allies is vital. And yet there was nothing in the files, nothing at all, to suggest that the underground had asked any of even the most obvious questions. It was as though the idea simply hadn't occurred to them. Which raised the unnerving question of just how far the Mater Mundi's influence extended.

Jenny Psycho had survived the Mater Mundi's touch. So had Investigator Topaz. Two women both generally considered to be crazy. Perhaps being mentally walking wounded had left their minds adaptable enough to cope with being changed into something more, or at least other, than human. Certainly Diana's powers had been… transformed by the Mater Mundi's touch. She doubted there was a telepath on Golgotha who could match her if she put her mind to it. And she had other abilities too—psychokinesis and precognition, which was supposed to be impossible. The genetic engineers had proven through exhaustive and often tragic testing that the human brain could cope with only one power at a time. Anything else burned out the mind. Sometimes literally. That was why espers bred true, and children developed only the dominant trait.

And where was all her power coming from? Could the uber-esper have touched and awakened some unknown source of power inside Diana Vertue? Maybe something buried so deeply within the human psyche that only an inhuman touch could spark it into life. And if that was true, Diana thought just a little giddily, did that mean all espers could become like her, if they were only kicked awake hard enough? Or if they were crazy enough? Could she, Diana, or Jenny Psycho, touch others and make them like herself? Were all espers potentially superhuman, but were being deliberately limited by outside forces? Like the Mater Mundi?

Diana stopped the train of thought with an effort, and took a deep calming swallow of lukewarm tea from the cup on the table before her. After all the files she'd dug up and examined, she wasn't much better off than when she'd started. In fact, she had far more questions than answers. Damned disturbing questions too. Hardly surprising. Even after almost three centuries of investigation into the subject, the best Empire scientists still had no real understanding of what made espers work. They had been pressed into service almost as soon as they'd been created because they were so massively useful. And afterward… questions had been discouraged. Espers worked and espers were property, and that was all anyone needed to know.

The Mater Mundi, on the other hand, didn't seem to have been created by anyone. She or it had just appeared spontaneously, out of nowhere. One minute the universe made sense, and the next the Mater Mundi was right there in the middle of things. She didn't seem tied to any one planet. Earlier manifests had taken place on worlds scattered across the Empire. Diana hadn't been able to discover any link or common denominator between them. Wherever there were espers, there were opportunities for the Mater Mundi.

But her actions had changed in recent times. Whereas originally she had manifested only through single espers, now she bound them together into gestalts capable of far more than any individual. And none of them suffered any ill effects afterward. At least nothing obvious. So far. It was as though the Mater Mundi grew stronger, and more capable, the more it did. Learning by doing. Diana leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips thoughtfully. Maybe she could discover something useful by comparing the end results of the Mater Mundi's actions. Work out what it was trying to achieve. Or work toward… Diana scowled. And maybe she could give herself an even bigger headache than she already had.

She'd been working in a vacuum too long. She needed to talk to someone. She turned away from her computer terminal and activated the viewscreen. There was usually a long waiting list for private interplanetary calls these days, but Diana had priority as a war hero and major pain in the ass, and she used her privilege mercilessly. Contact with Mistworld took less than a minute to arrange, and soon Investigator Topaz was staring out of the viewscreen at Diana, her face as always utterly cold and controlled.

"This had better be important, Vertue. I'm busy."

"You're always busy, Investigator. I need to talk to you, about the Mater Mundi."

"You're not the first. Lots of people are interested in her, and what she did to me."

"What did she do to you?" said Diana, leaning forward.

Topaz frowned. "She supercharged me. I can do things now. Powerful things. I'm not just a Siren anymore. Not just a projective telepath. I'm more than I was. A lot of people are scared of me now. Of course, on Mistworld that's usually an advantage. But this is… different. If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was religious awe. A couple of days back, people started bringing their sick children to me, asking me to cure them by a laying on of hands."

"And?" said Diana, intrigued.

Topaz sniffed, almost embarrassed. "Well… I was curious. So I ran a few objective tests. Did the whole bit. No one picked up their bed and walked. Hasn't stopped them coming, though. I have security people screen my callers these days. I can guard against my enemies, but God save me from wannabe disciples. One group actually built a church to me."

"What happened?"

"I burned it down. They got the message. Why are you asking me these questions, Vertue?"

"I wanted to see if you were going through the same changes as me. The Mater Mundi brought together a lot of people on Mistworld. Have any of them demonstrated any notable changes?"

"Vertue, everyone here has been busy rebuilding Mistport. We work sixteen-hour days, and none of us are getting enough sleep. We've all been acting pretty cranky. But I can't say I've noticed anything… unusual. I have to go. Don't bother me again without a damned good reason."

The viewscreen went blank as Investigator Topaz broke the connection from her end. Diana turned back to her computer terminal, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. Topaz appeared to have survived her time as a manifest pretty much unscathed. Probably because she'd never been a picture of mental health. Was that the connection? Did it mean something? Did it mean anything apart from the fact that she'd been sitting in a room on her own for far too long, and she was ready to grab at anything that even looked as though it might make sense? Was it in fact time that she gave up, went home, had several large meals, and then slept for a week?

Diana sighed and pushed the tempting thought aside. There was an answer here somewhere. There had to be. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that the Mater Mundi wasn't what most people thought it was. It had its own direction and agenda, and didn't hesitate to use whatever innocent tools it felt necessary to get the job done. Irrespective of the harm it did to its victims along the way. The Mater Mundi treated people exactly the way the Iron Bitch had.

Diana sat in her chair in her little room, and felt very small and very alone. This was too big for just one person, even her. But there was no one else she could take her questions and fears to. She couldn't go to the leaders of the esper underground. The Mater Mundi had founded the underground. She might still be involved in running things, on some deep, very secret level. Which meant Diana couldn't trust anyone. The Mater Mundi could manifest through anyone, strike at her through any friend or enemy or stranger. If it knew what she was doing…

Diana sat up sharply. Something was wrong. She could feel it. She looked quickly around her, suddenly convinced that someone had just come into the room, but the door was shut and she was alone. She shuddered suddenly. The room was icy cold. Her breath was steaming on the air before her. Hoarfrost was forming on the computer equipment. There was a feeling of pressure on the air, as though something impossibly large was coming, forcing its way through dimensional barriers and rattling the windows of reality. It was close now, looking for a way in. Diana surged to her feet, kicking the chair away to give herself room to move in. She pulled her power around her like a cloak. It didn't stop her teeth from chattering or her hands shaking. She didn't bother trying to call for help. She knew no one would be allowed to hear her. She knew what was coming.

Every piece of computer equipment in the room rose up and took new shape. Metal and plastic humped and cracked, splitting and reforming around the new thing that was creating itself through the transforming tech. It made a sort of human shape, towering over Diana, with a wide, blocky body and two arms of different length, ending in sharp metal claws. The head on top of the body had viewscreen glass for eyes and a jagged metal tear for a smile. Static sparked around the head like a splintered halo.

The Mater Mundi had found a new way to manifest.

"Hi," said Diana, fighting to control her chattering teeth. "Good of you to drop by."

You've been asking questions, said a voice in her mind like grating teeth, like hissing pipes, like children crying. You must stop.

"Then stop me," said Diana. "If you can."

I will if I must. Do not mistake my forbearence for weakness.

"Bullshit. If you could have done anything, you'd have done it by now. But you can't. You made me so much more than I was, and you can't take it back. The best you could manage was this sending, this metal golem to intimidate me. I've seen scarier mobiles in children's nurseries."

I can break you, child.

And Diana was back in Wormboy Hell, naked, in the dark, crawling in her own piss and shit and vomit, while Wormboy played awful, sadistic mind games, torturing her again and again until she destroyed her own voice through constant screaming.

No, said Diana. Get out of my mind, you bitch.

And she was back in the records room again, shivering and shaking, the taste of imminent vomit in her mouth. She glared at the metal construct, her mouth stretched in something that was as much a snarl as a smile. Her rage warmed her, driving out the cold. And when she spoke, she was Jenny Psycho again.

"That shit won't work with me. That was the past. I'm stronger now, stronger than I ever dreamed of. Maybe stronger than you ever dreamed of. You can't stop me. No one can stop me. I'm going to find out who and what and where you are, and then I'll make you pay for all the poor bastards whose lives you destroyed."

I did what was necessary. I did what you wanted. I made the rebel victory possible.

"For your own reasons. Now get the hell out of here. Before I decide to test just how strong you made me."

How sharper than a serpents tooth it is to raise an ungrateful child.

The presence was suddenly gone, and the cold went with it. The metal golem was empty, just an abandoned shell. Diana all but collapsed back into her chair. One of them had been bluffing, but she wasn't sure which. Apparently the Mater Mundi hadn't been sure either. Still, Diana thought, she must be getting closer to the truth if the Mater Mundi was prepared to go to such lengths to try to warn her off. With anyone else it would probably have worked. Diana looked at the metal and plastic shape still towering over her and shivered again. Now that she had time to think about it, it really had been pretty scary. She couldn't help wondering if that was how other people felt in the presence of Jenny Psycho.

"Damn," she said finally, in a perfectly steady voice. "How the hell am I going to explain this mess to the head of the House?"

Captain Silence led his old friend and enemy, the man called Carrion, through the packed shining steel corridors of the starcruiser Dauntless. It had been a long time since Carrion had been on a starship. He'd spent the last twelve years living alone on the planet Unseeli, also known as Ghostworld, his only companions the restless spirits of the murdered alien Ashrai. After so much comforting solitude, the crowds of bustling men and women crewing the starcruiser made him uneasy. Particularly since he knew most of them would cheerfully kill him, given the chance. They turned their heads away as they passed, their mouths silently forming curses and obscenities, and he could feel angry stares burning into his back. Carrion held his head high and walked on beside Silence as though he noticed nothing, felt nothing.

"Been a few changes since you were last on a starcruiser," said Silence. "Nothing too drastic, though. There's a file in your personal computer that will bring you up to date. But you'd better be a quick study. We're leaving orbit in six hours."

"Why the rush?" said Carrion, his voice calm and unmoved as always. "The Darkvoid's not going anywhere."

"But whatever's in there might not stay in there much longer. You heard Half A Man. He called them the Recreated. Aliens who died and brought themselves back to life. Spooky. If true."

"You doubt the word of one of Humanity's greatest heroes?"

"If the first Half A Man was a fake and a liar, who's to say this new one isn't as well? But we can't take the chance, with something as potentially dangerous as the Recreated. Someone has to check it out, and my ship and crew have more experience with the Darkvoid than most."

"The idea of the Recreated is not without precedent. You gave the order that wiped out the Ashrai, but they survived, in their way."

Silence grunted noncommittally. "They're your ghosts. You keep them under control. I'm putting you in Frost's old cabin. Since you're officially an Investigator again, it's yours by right anyway."

"I know you and she were close. I regret your loss."

"You never liked her. She represented everything you hated about the Empire."

"I respected her. She was a warrior."

"Whatever. She was a good soldier. I honor her memory." Silence paused, considering his words. "Don't let the crew's attitude get to you. They'll come around once they've seen you work."

"I doubt it, Captain. I am a traitor. I betrayed my fellow crew and my own species to join the alien Ashrai in their war against Humanity. Not that it did them any good in the long run. Still, I'm Humanity's worst nightmare, an Investigator who went native. A traitor, proud of his treason."

"You had your reasons," said Silence.

"Just as you did when you gave the order to scorch Unseeli and destroy everything that lived on that world."

"You've never forgiven me for that, have you?"

"No, Captain. We've both done too much for forgiveness to mean anything."

"You've been Pardoned," said Silence. "Reinvested as an Investigator in return for your joining this mission into the Darkvoid. The crew knows that. And they'll respect your work and authority, or I'll kick their backsides till they do."

"I didn't ask for a Pardon," said Carrion. "I have not repented or reformed. I am the last of the Ashrai, and their legacy lives on within me. I'm here… because I have nowhere else to be now that the metallic forests are gone."

"You're here because I asked you," said Silence. "Because I needed you. Because you're my friend."

"Perhaps. There is bad blood between us, John. The two men we used to be, the men who were friends, are a long way off in the past, so far from us I can barely see them. We're different people now."

"Perhaps, Sean. Time changes everyone. It's not many who end up the people they thought they'd become. We all look back from time to time, and wonder how the hell we got here from there."

"I chose my path," said the man called Carrion. "I regret nothing."

"Die, you bastard traitor!"

A crewman stepped suddenly out of an alcove, aimed a disrupter point-blank at Carrion's chest, and pressed the stud. There was no time to dodge, and nowhere to go in the narrow corridor. Even Silence, with all his more than human speed and reflexes, couldn't do anything to stop what was happening. The disrupter's energy beam crossed the few feet between the crewman and Carrion in less than a second. And a blazing energy field radiated from Carrion's power lance and absorbed the disrupter blast without flinching. There was a reason why power lances were banned through the Empire, their very possession a death sentence. They amplified an esper's power to the point that he was literally unbeatable in battle. And Carrion was no ordinary esper.

For a long moment nobody moved. The crewman stood frozen in place, his discharged gun still pointing at Carrion, his mouth hanging open. Carrion stared back at him impassively. Silence's hand still hovered above his holstered gun. And then the crewman sobbed suddenly, his face twisted with rage, and he grabbed for the sword at his side. Silence moved quickly forward, grabbed the crewman by the shirt front, and slammed him back against the steel bulkhead behind him. All the breath went out of the crewman, his face went slack, and his hands hung limply at his sides. Silence growled into the man's face, and then turned to look at Carrion, who hadn't moved an inch, as calm and apparently relaxed as always.

"Nice reflexes, Sean."

"I've had to develop them to stay alive in Human space," said Carrion.

Silence growled again, turned back to the crewman, and glared into the man's dazed eyes.

"Name and rank, mister. Now!"

"Ordinary starman Barron, Captain. A loyal member of your crew. Unlike that piece of scum!"

"That's enough, mister! He's a Pardoned man, an Investigator, and your superior officer. He has my full confidence, and an attack on him is an attack on me. Now, turn yourself in to security. I'll deal with you later. And Barron, don't make me come looking for you."

"No, Captain. I said I was loyal. But you don't understand—"

"Save it for your court-martial."

"He killed my father! On Unseeli!"

The man looked like he was about to cry. Silence and Carrion looked at each other. Carrion nodded slowly. "It's possible. I killed a lot of people on Unseeli. I regret your loss, Barron."

"Save your lies, traitor!"

"That's enough!" Silence pulled Barron away from the bulkhead and threw him staggering down the corridor. Other crew members moved quickly back to get out of his way. Barron stumbled away down the corridor, not looking back. Carrion and Silence looked after him for a while and then turned away. Around them the watching crew slowly returned to their tasks.

"We never really leave the past behind," said Silence heavily. "Some part of it always turns up again, demanding payment."

"He must have been a child when his father died," said Carrion. "Probably joined your crew to follow in his father's footsteps. Only to find me here and you defending me. It must have been difficult for him."

"None of that makes any difference," said Silence flatly. "I thought I trained my people better than that. They're supposed to be warriors, not sneaking assassins."

"It's not as if he was the first," said Carrion. "There have been several attempts on my life since you brought me back from Unseeli."

"What?" Silence looked at him sharply. "Why wasn't I informed? Why didn't you tell me?"

"It wasn't important. I handled it."

"This is my ship, Investigator. You are a part of my crew. From now on I want to know everything. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Captain."

Silence glared at him for a moment, and then they continued on their way. The corridor seemed emptier of people than it had been before. Carrion remained impassive, striding soundlessly down the corridor with his black cloak billowing about him like the wings of the black bird of ill omen he thought himself to be. Silence cursed himself for a fool, for not fully considering the impact Carrion's return would have on his crew. Of course there were bound to be hard feelings. Twelve years was a long time, but nowhere near long enough to forget something like Unseeli. God knows he'd tried hard enough.

But all that had mattered to him at the time was getting the man who used to be his friend back on board ship with him, where Silence thought he belonged. But his old friend Sean was now the man called Carrion. Traitor, murderer, alien by adoption and by choice. It would take more than a Pardon and a reinstatement as Investigator to undo what the man called Sean had made of himself. Silence sighed quietly. With Frost gone, he needed someone he could trust to lean on. It was as simple as that. And Carrion, ill-suited to the role as he might be, was the only one Silence could turn to.

"I appreciate everything you've done for me, Captain," said Carrion, his voice calm and unmoved. "But I feel I should point out that adding a notorious traitor such as myself to your crew is probably not the wisest thing you could have done. It won't do much for your career prospects, and it could undermine your standing and authority with your crew."

"I don't have any career prospects," said Silence. "I've seen to that. And my crew trusts me, and my judgment. They'll learn to accept you."

"I can't replace Investigator Frost, Captain."

"No one could. I was offered my choice of Investigator for this mission, but I wanted you. Someone who could understand the alien viewpoint and come up with other options than just blowing them away. If the Recreated are everything they're supposed to be, going head to head with them is not going to be a viable strategy. I needed someone… flexible."

"I've been called many things in my time, but I think that's a new one. But how can you be sure I'd side with Humanity?"

"Shub destroyed the metallic forests. Took away everything you had. They're your enemy too now. And siding with Humanity is your only chance for revenge on them."

"How well you understand me, Captain. You're quite right. Revenge is a cold comfort, but sometimes it's all we have left to cling to."

"Just do your duty, Carrion. That's all anyone can ask of us."

"Duty. Honor. Revenge. They always come back to claim us. And I have always done what I must, because it is not in me to stand aside. I'll be your Investigator, Captain. Just promise me that when I'm no longer needed, you'll let me go."

"Of course, Sean. I understand."

"No, you don't, Captain. You never did."

They walked a while together, staring straight ahead. They'd never found it easy to talk about the things that mattered.

"Did you get a chance to talk to Diana again before we left?" said Carrion.

"No. I left a message at the esper Guild House where she's been staying, but she never got back to me. Perhaps it's for the best. You saw how Diana was at Parliament. She said she hated me. With good reason, if truth be told. I wasn't there to save her when she needed me. Not the kind of thing that can be sorted out with a ten-minute chat, in the middle of our busy lives. Maybe when this mission is over…"

"She was such a frail young thing when I first knew her on Unseeli," said Carrion. "So full of life and happiness, and wonder. I saw so much of that crushed by what she went through. But at the end she found the strength to join in song with the Ashrai, to fly free as they do. I couldn't see any of that person in the woman I met at Parliament. I've heard of some of the things she did as Jenny Psycho. Terrible things. How did she turn from what she was to what she became?"

"How did we?" said Silence.

"Good point, Captain. Good point."

They came at last to Frost's old cabin. Silence hesitated for a moment before the closed door. He hadn't been in there since just after her death, when he went in to sort through her old belongings before the cleaning staff went in. There hadn't been much to look through. Like all Investigators, Frost hadn't bothered much with mementos or personal touches. A few books, all strictly military in nature. No photos, or letters, or memories. Just a small library of discs of her favorite music. Silence hadn't know she liked music. It seemed too… tranquil an interest for her. He'd taken the discs away with him, to listen to later, when he had the time.

He hadn't been back in the cabin since then. No one had. He'd had the cabin sealed, ready for whoever took over as Investigator. He reached out to punch in the security codes, and then stopped as Carrion put a hand on his arm. Silence looked at him, raising an eyebrow. Carrion stared at the closed door, frowning slightly.

"Not just yet, Captain," he said quietly. "There's someone in there. Someone, or something, very unusual. And very powerful."

"That's not possible," said Silence. "The door's still locked, and I'm the only one who has the security code."

"Nevertheless," said Carrion, "this room is already inhabited."

Silence drew his disrupter. "Stand ready. And watch yourself. Anyone powerful enough to override this kind of lock would have to be very dangerous."

"That's all right," said Carrion. "So am I."

Silence entered the security code, kicked the door open, and stepped quickly into the room. Carrion at his side. The lights were already on. A dark figure was sitting in Frost's old chair, her back to him. She was little more than a silhouette, but something about her shape and posture seemed familiar to Silence. He lurched forward a step, a mad, impossible hope bursting suddenly in his heart.

"Frost… ?"

"No," said the figure, turning around in the chair to face him. "It's just me. Daddy."

The hope in Silence's heart crashed and died, but was replaced almost immediately by a different kind of warmth. He holstered his disrupter and smiled at his daughter. "Hello, Diana. How the hell did you get in here? I didn't even know you were on board ship."

"No one does," said Diana Vertue. "Let's keep it that way. No one must know I was ever here. I have enemies these days, more powerful and dangerous than I ever expected."

"Oh, hell," said Silence. "Who have you killed now?"

"Nothing like that," said Diana. "I could cope with something like that."

"Hold everything," said Silence. "How did you get on board this ship? No matter what excuse you used, security should still have alerted me."

Diana smiled briefly. "A girl has to have some secrets, Daddy. Let's just say no one sees me anymore if I don't want to be seen. Not even your ship's esper or security devices. Now, do sit down, the pair of you. I hate being loomed over."

Silence and Carrion looked at each other, shrugged simultaneously, and looked around for somewhere to sit. There was only one other chair, so Silence sat in it. He was the Captain, after all. Carrion sat on the bed. They both looked expectantly at Diana.

"I've been working on something new," she said carefully. "Investigating the true nature of the Mater Mundi. And I've been digging up all kinds of interesting things. The one thing I'm sure of is that she isn't what everyone thinks she is. She's also somewhat mad at me for poking my nose into areas she feels are none of my business. In fact, she warned me off personally. I think she would have killed me if she could."

Carrion looked at her interestedly. "You stood off the Mater Mundi? I'm impressed."

"Maybe you should back off, Diana," said Silence. "What's so important about knowing the Mater Mundi's true nature that's worth getting killed over?"

"I don't know," said Diana. "That's exactly my point. What could be so terrible about her, so shocking, that she's willing to kill to keep it hidden?"

Silence shrugged impatiently. "There's no point in asking me. I've never had any interest in esper affairs. What do you want from me, Diana? We're leaving for the Darkvoid in just under six hours."

"That's why I had to catch you before you left. I'm becoming increasingly interested in the nature of esp itself. How it does what it does. You two are both unique individuals. The Captain because he passed partway through the Madness Maze and emerged changed. And Carrion, because before he went to Unseeli, he showed no trace at all of esper abilities. No one in his family was ever an esper, for as far back as I can trace, and the genetic assay in his old medical files bears that out. So, Carrion, how did you become the esper paragon you are today?"

"The aliens changed me," said Carrion. "The Ashrai. It was necessary if I was to survive alone on their world and join them in their war against Humanity. So they remade me. And no, I don't know how. I have no memory of it."

"They would have had to make alterations on the genetic level," said Diana, frowning. "Pretty sophisticated stuff for a species with no discernible technology."

"That's a very human attitude," said Carrion. "Tech isn't everything."

Diana studied him silently for a long moment. "You're never alone, are you, Carrion? They're always with you. The ghosts. The Ashrai."

Carrion leaned forward. "You can see them?"

"Almost. I sang with them once on Unseeli, remember? My mind joined with theirs, though only briefly. That link is still there. I can feel them, a potential hanging around you, like the pressure on the air before a storm. Why do they stay, Carrion? Why do they stay with you?"

"I'm the last Ashrai. All that's left of what they were. They want revenge. For what was done to them. To the trees. To their world."

"Revenge?" said Diana. "That's a very human attitude, isn't it?"

"Yes," said Carrion. "Regrettably, they have learned by example."

"We're very alike, you and I," said Diana. "Changed and altered by powers greater than ourselves, for reasons we don't fully understand. What were you supposed to be. Carrion? Their champion? Their defender? Their avenger? Be very careful, Carrion; you might not be what you think you are. You fought Humanity for them once. Would you destroy Humanity for them now, for revenge?"

"They wouldn't ask me to do that," said Carrion.

"How do you know?" said Diana, and Carrion had no answer to give her.

"Why are you here, Diana?" said Silence after the quiet had dragged on long enough to become uncomfortable. "After what you said to us at Parliament…"

"Needs must when the Devil vomits on your shoes," said Diana. "The Mater Mundi wants me dead. So I need help, powerful allies to watch my back and lend their power to me."

"So you came to your father," said Silence. "Of course, Diana. That's what fathers are for."

"No, Daddy," said Diana. "Not you. The Maze gave you power, but you're still learning how to use it."

"So you want my help?" said Carrion. "Very well. My abilities are at your disposal."

"Don't flatter yourself," said Diana. "I need the Ashrai. Their inhuman strength. Like I said, the link's still there. God knows I've tried to exorcise them. I don't want anyone in my head but me. But if they're there, maybe I can use them. So tell me, Carrion, would they come if I called? If I needed them?"

"I don't know," said Carrion. "They don't talk to me anymore. But they have always intervened when I needed them."

"Not exactly the answer I was hoping for," said Diana. "But… let's see if it's true."

Her face changed suddenly. Dark shadows appeared beneath her eyes, and the skin of her face stretched taut across the bones. Her thin lips stretched into a merciless, humorless smile. She seemed suddenly larger than she was, and her eyes were unnaturally bright. Psionic power sparked and crackled on the air around her, and her presence leapt out to fill the cabin. Diana was gone, submerged in the malevolent aberration that was Jenny Psycho. Silence's hand went automatically to his gun and then fell away. Even if he could bring himself to use it on his own daughter, he doubted it would be any use against something like Jenny Psycho.

She stood up and glared at Carrion, shadows gathering around her, and he was quickly on his feet facing her, his power lance held out between them. Jenny Psycho seized the lance with her mind, ripped it out of his hands, and threw it the length of the cabin. Carrion cried out in shock, as though one of his limbs had been torn away. His body rose slowly into the air and then slammed back against the steel cabin wall, held there crucified by Jenny Psycho's will. Silence tried to rise from his chair and found he couldn't, held in place by his daughter's implacable thoughts.

And then the Ashrai came.

They filled the cabin like a boiling cloud, dead but not gone, with gargoyle faces and huge clawed hands. The cabin seemed to expand in all directions, becoming vast and cavernous to accommodate the massive forms of the Ashrai. Silence cried out at the sight of them. They were awful and magnificent, terrible in their anger, and they burned so very brightly. Jenny Psycho, blazing like a star, smiled at them and addressed them in perfectly reasonable tones.

"Hi, guys. Good to see you again. It's been a while. Sorry for disturbing your rest, but I really could use your help. There's something out there called the Mater Mundi, and it might just be more powerful than you are. And I don't think it's willing to accept any competition. So, if I need your help against it, will you come when I call?"

There was a burst of song in reply, music complex and emotional almost beyond bearing, sung by angels with barbed wings and haloes of flies. And then the Ashrai were gone, and the cabin was just a cabin again. Carrion slid down the wall and settled comfortably on the bed again. His lance sped across the air and back into his hands. Silence found he could move again. Jenny Psycho flickered out like a snuffed candle, and was just Diana Vertue again. She stretched slowly and sat down on her chair. There was a sense of calm in the cabin, of pressure released, of a storm passed.

"What the hell was the point of all that?" said Silence.

"Jenny's a bit of a bitch, but she gets things done," said Diana, entirely unruffled by his tone. "And I had a feeling the Ashrai would respond only to the dramatic. I needed to know their answer."

"And now you do," said Carrion. "I hope you think that raising their anger was worth it."

"Someone translate," snapped Silence. "All I heard was music that damn near blew out my eardrums. What did they say?"

"They know about the Mater Mundi," said Diana. "And they're scared. Her existence… disturbs them. They've agreed to come when I call, but I'm not sure anymore how much use they'll be. They're much diminished without their forest, and their world."

"Don't underestimate them," said Carrion. "Dying was just another journey for them, a transition to another state. They are still very powerful."

"But they've been dead a long time," said Diana. "You're all that holds them to the worlds of the living now, Carrion."

"Yes, well," said Silence. "I'm still not entirely comfortable with the idea of ghosts anyway. The dead should stay dead."

"I'm not comfortable with the thought that the Mater Mundi could be so powerful that she frightens even the dead," said Diana. "It would appear I'm going to need even more allies. Which brings me back you, Daddy."

"What do you mean?" said Silence. "As you so kindly pointed out, what few powers I have aren't even in the same league as the Mater Mundi. I'll be there for you when I can, but I'm just another Captain in the Imperial Fleet, and I have to go where my orders send me. Right now I'm heading into the Darkvoid. No idea when I'll be back. Or even if I'll be coming back."

"You'll be back," said Diana. "You're a survivor. And you do have powers, though you've chosen not to use or develop them. There's no reason why you couldn't become as powerful as all the other Maze survivors in time. I didn't want to involve you in my troubles, but I may not have any choice. How much do you love me, Daddy? Enough to become something other than human for my sake, to protect me?"

"I failed you before," Silence said steadily. "I won't fail you again. But I don't—"

"The Maze changed you," said Diana. "It rebuilt you. Don't be afraid of your potential. Tell me about the Maze. What it did to you."

"I don't know!" said Silence, almost angrily. "I don't know what I am anymore. I don't know what I'm becoming. All I know is that whatever change the Maze started in me, it isn't over yet. Sometimes I see things in my dreams. I hear voices telling me things. And once Frost came to me. She was trying to warn me about the Maze, what it was doing to me, but I couldn't understand her."

"Tell me about the Maze," said Diana. "What was it like inside? What did it feel like?"

"It was… alien," said Silence slowly. "Like nothing I'd ever encountered before. And I think that it might have been alive in some way that we could never have comprehended. Being inside the Maze was like walking in visions. Like one of those dreams where you know the answer to everything until you wake up, and it's all gone. But these answers were real. They were too much for some of those who went into the Maze with me. They died horribly. Their minds weren't… flexible enough for the changes the Maze wanted to make in them."

"Why did you leave the Maze?" said Diana. "Why didn't you go all the way through, like Owen and his people?"

"I was scared," said Silence. "I wasn't worthy. And it was killing Frost. I grabbed her and got us both out. It wasn't until much later that the changes started appearing in us."

"What do you think the Maze was?" said Diana. "What was its purpose?"

Silence snorted derisively. "Better men than I have tried to answer that and failed. Ask an ant what it feels about the statue it's crawling over. No one's ever found anything like the Maze before or since, on any of the thousands of planets we've visited or colonized. Its purpose was an alien purpose, possibly quite beyond our human capability to understand."

"But you felt its touch," said Diana. "What do you think it was?"

"Perhaps… a teaching machine," Silence said quietly. "For those capable of learning. But none of this matters anymore. I destroyed it, blew it away with disrupter cannon till there was nothing left of it. The only one of its kind, possibly unique in the universe, and I destroyed it. And if I had to do it all over again, I'd give the same damned order without the slightest hesitation."

"You never change, Captain," said Carrion.

"Have you had any contact with the other Maze survivors since the rebellion?" said Diana. "Have you discussed your opinions with them?"

"No," said Silence shortly. "It wasn't that long ago we were trying to kill each other. A part of me still wants to kill them for what they've done. Besides… I don't think we'd have much in common to talk about. They're… different from me. From everyone. They're spooky. Almost inhuman. Sometimes almost alien. If there's a path they and I are walking, they're much further along it than me. From where I am, they're almost out of sight. The poor bastards. All their new powers and abilities don't seem to have made them any happier. They're becoming something. Something else. Something other than human."

"Like me perhaps?" said Carrion.

"No, Sean. You're just weird. I can still understand you, what moves you. I haven't a clue what's going on in the heads of Owen and his friends anymore. I think they're moving away from merely human concerns. That makes them dangerous—perhaps not just to the Empire but to all Humanity. That's one of the reasons why the Maze people weren't informed of this mission. Parliament didn't trust them not to interfere, to try to stop us."

"What do you expect to find in the Darkvoid?" said Diana.

"Damned if I know. But just possibly something strong enough to stop or control the Maze people if they go bad."

"And you think that's necessary?" said Carrion. "You feel a need to destroy them? Like you destroyed the Ashrai and the Madness Maze?"

"Good example," said Silence. "My duty is to the Empire, and Humanity. To protect them from any and all dangers. Look, the Maze people aren't answerable to anyone but themselves. There's no one strong enough to say no if they say yes. And they're getting stronger all the time. What if one or more of them decided that Parliament's decisions were taking the Empire in a direction they didn't approve of? What if they were to decide that mere humans couldn't be trusted with their own destiny, and they decided to take over and rule us, for our own good, of course. Who could stop them?"

"Or just possibly you could be turning paranoid," said Diana. "There are only four of them."

"How many gods does it take to rule Humanity?" said Silence. "And just because I'm paranoid, it doesn't mean they aren't out to get me. You of all people should appreciate that."

"Good point," said Diana, smiling for the first time. She got to her feet and nodded briefly to her father and Carrion. "It's time I was going. I don't think I'm going to learn any more here. I'll talk to you again when you get back. Don't bother to see me out."

And just like that she vanished. One moment there, the next gone. Silence and Carrion looked at each other.

"Well," said Carrion finally. "She's definitely your daughter, Captain."

"And she always did know how to make an exit," said Silence. He shook his head. "Time is running out, and I still haven't finished briefing you. What was I going to… ah, yes. The insect ships. Have you finished the files I let you have?"

"Of course," said Carrion. "Fascinating material. You do know the insects have to be artificial, don't you?"

"That's what Frost said. She said they had to have been gengineered, because insects don't get that big naturally. Which implies there's another player in the game that we don't know about yet, the insects' creator."

"Do we really need to assume it's an unknown?" said Carrion. "Surely there are enough suspects already—the Hadenmen, Shub, even rogue human scientists funded by Families desperate for power? And then, there's always the Recreated. Whatever they turn out to be."

"I said as much to Admiral Beckett," said Silence slowly. "I wouldn't be at all surprised to discover the insects come out of the Darkvoid. Their attacks have always been concentrated on the Rim, and where else could they be disappearing to afterward? And then… there's the voices." Silence looked steadily at Carrion. "The files I gave you on that are strictly restricted. You are not to discuss their contents with anyone else without my express permission in advance. My crew are spooked enough about going back into the Darkvoid as it is. So… what do you make of the voices? Any ideas?"

"It could be an esper phenomenon," said Carrion. "Or it could be the voices of the dead. But the most likely explanation has to be a psychological trick by Shub to soften you up for the coming of the Champion. A long-lost ship, crewed by dead men, its reappearance heralded by the warning voices of ghosts—just the kind of thing the rogue AIs would come up with to mess with your heads."

"Of course, that's the most likely explanation," said Silence. "But you didn't hear those voices, Sean. They wouldn't stay recorded. They just faded away. What you listened to in the files were simulations, based on what we remembered. The real thing sounded… horrible. Unnerving. They really did seem to be trying to warn us away from danger. Not just from the Champion, but from the Darkvoid itself. And now here we are, going back into the dark again."

"Could it be some kind of warning by the Recreated?" said Carrion. "To stay out of their territory?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. I suppose as always we'll just have to find out the hard way. And it has to be us. This ship and its crew have more experience of the Darkvoid than any other three ships put together. And we are, after all, quite expendable."

"Nothing changes," said Carrion, and they both managed some kind of smile.

"So," said Silence. "How does it feel to be an Investigator again?"

"I wear the title only as a courtesy. But I won't wear the official uniform. I'm not worthy of it anymore. Or it's not worthy of me. I haven't decided yet."

"You got a full Pardon. You're no longer a wanted man," said Silence. "Wouldn't you like to go home again, Sean?"

"I had a home," said Carrion. "I was happy there. And then you and Shub destroyed it."

Evangeline Shreck came home at last to Tower Shreck and stood for a long time in its cold, dark shadow, trying to stop trembling. From the outside it looked like just another building, steel and glass and the Family colors that marked it as one of the legendary pastel towers, home to the Clans. To Evangeline it was the witch's cave, the demon's lair, the dark place that calls to us in our worst nightmares. In its terrible embrace she had lived an awful life of pain and horror and torment, until at last a dashing prince came, and loved her, and gave her the courage to break free of the ogre who held her enchained.

And now she'd come back, though she'd sworn she never would. Back home again to save her very best friend from the hell she'd known so well.

Her love didn't know she was here. She'd let Finlay Campbell believe she was off on another mission for the clone underground. If he'd known she was going back to Tower Shreck, he'd have tried to stop her or talk her out of it, and she couldn't have that. This was something she had to do for herself. However much it hurt. She was here to see the monster, her father, Gregor Shreck. He thought he held all the cards, owned all the advantages, but she had a few surprises of her own, just for him. Just for dear Daddy.

The man who had murdered his only daughter, Evangeline, and afterward had her cloned in secret to produce the present Evangeline. The man who loved both the original and her clone as a man rather than a father. Who abused his position and his daughter's love. Who took his Evangelines to his bed and taught them far more about pain than pleasure. The devil in his hell. Gregor Shreck.

Hatred pulsed in her like a heartbeat, surging through her like blood, forcing out the fear. She took a deep breath to steady herself, and then walked calmly toward the armored guards covering the main entrance to Tower Shreck. They looked more like beetles than men in their extensive black body armor, faces hidden behind stylized sensor masks. There were six of them, but they didn't scare her. She wasn't frightened of them. She stopped a cautious distance away and stared at them haughtily.

"I'm Evangeline Shreck, here to see my father, Gregor. Inform him I'm here."

The guards looked at her for a moment and then looked at each other. She presumed they were holding a brief but intense conversation through their comm implants before daring to disturb their master, the Shreck. It wasn't long before they stood back and gestured for her to enter the Tower through the main entrance. She strode forward, head held high, and the single heavy door opened silently before her. The lobby had been redecorated since she last saw it. All comforts and attractive details had been stripped away, leaving only a large, bare chamber with a concrete floor and blank steel walls. She heard footsteps behind her and made herself turn slowly to face the single armored guard who'd come into the lobby after her. The door closed behind him. He spoke to her without removing his mask, his voice filtered to remove all traces of humanity from it.

"The Lord Shreck is awaiting you in his private quarters, lady Evangeline. I'm to escort you there. After a full security search."

"Lord Shreck?" said Evangeline, raising an eyebrow. "There are no Lords anymore. Doesn't he know that?"

"The Shreck… goes his own way in all things. Remove your clothes. All of them. Place to one side any weapons or devices you may be carrying."

Evangeline nodded stiffly. She'd been expecting that. Gregor thought everyone wanted to kill him these days. Mostly he was right. She took her clothes off with as little fuss as possible, concentrating on why she was there. It helped that the guard looked so inhuman and anonymous in his armor and mask. She wondered if Gregor was watching through the sensors in the mask. Probably. Finally she was naked, her clothes in a neat pile to one side. She fixed the insect mask with a steady glare.

"That's it. No clothes. No weapons. But if you touch me with so much as a fingertip, I'll tell Daddy. Do you really want him to know you touched something he believes belongs only to him?"

The guard hesitated, and then nodded jerkily and indicated for her to get dressed again. She did so, not letting the guard or her nerves hurry her. When she was ready again, the guard led the way to the single elevator at the back of the lobby, and they both got in. The guard gave the order for the penthouse floor in his inhuman voice, and the doors closed silently. The guard stepped back a pace so he could cover Evangeline with his gun. She ignored him, staring at the glowing numbers set over the door as they slowly changed. So far everything was going as planned. For all his paranoia, Gregor still couldn't see her as a serious threat. She was his little Evie, his plaything.

Old memories ran through her like an icy river. She had been born here, fully grown, a clone of a woman the outside world could never know was dead. She was taught to be a perfect copy of the original Evangeline so that she might hide from Society the dreadful thing that Gregor had done. And so that he could continue to have his pleasures in the way he'd grown accustomed.

It was the only life she'd ever known until she came to know Finlay. They met at Court, at a masked ball, and it was love at first sight. They talked and laughed, eyes sparkling through their masks, each warming to another's heart for the first time in their lives. And then the masks came off at midnight, and they discovered they were a Shreck and a Campbell, two Families at war with each other for generations. And each of them was the heir. Their love would have been a scandal, unacceptable, and Evangeline knew that Gregor would rather kill her than lose her. Still worse, he might kill Finlay. So they kept their love secret, snatching moments together when they could, until finally they could be together at last.

She never told Finlay about Gregor. She knew Finlay couldn't have coped with it. With knowing how she'd suffered. He would have stormed off in a bloody rage to kill Gregor, and to hell with the consequences. Gregor's people might have killed him, or he might have been hanged afterward. Either way, she couldn't risk it. And besides, he might have felt… differently about her. So she had never told him.

The elevator chimed politely as they reached the top floor. It was like hell in reverse. You had to go all the way up to reach the darkest, foulest part of the Pit. The doors slid open, and the guard escorted her down the bare steel corridor. Their footsteps were loud and carrying on the metal floor. Gregor wanted to know when anyone was coming. Other guards stood to attention the length of the corridor, guns at the ready. Not beetles anymore, Evangeline decided; demons, in the hall of hell. She made herself look straight ahead, and wouldn't let her mouth tremble. And eventually she and her escort came to a halt before the extra-thick steel door that was the only entrance to her father's private quarters. It was a very special door, designed to withstand a bomb or a disrupter blast with equal ease. Evangeline stood stiffly before it as the guard announced their presence.

"Come in," said Gregor's soft, oily voice, through a hidden speaker that made his words seem to come from everywhere at once. "Come in, little Evie, and join your forgiving father. Guard six, take up a position outside the door. We are not to be disturbed for any reason."

The door swung slowly open, and Evangeline held herself tightly together as she walked unhurriedly into the ogre's lair. It was important not to walk so slowly that she might appear scared or reluctant, or so quickly that it might seem she was jumping to obey an order. Appearances were everything now. They were all she had to work with. The door closed behind her as she stopped and looked around her.

Gregor Shreck had made changes in his private quarters since she was there last. The windowless walls of the great chamber were a dark crimson, the color of drying blood, a great scarlet womb, with concealed bloody lighting and dark shadows everywhere. The thick pile carpet beneath her feet was the color of sunburned skin, deep enough to muffle any sound. To every side stood grisly trophies from Gregor's most recent victims. A pile of severed hands on a silver tray, heaped carelessly on top of each other. A row of preserved severed heads on stakes, all looking faintly surprised, their mouths hanging open as though in shock at what had been done to them. None of them had eyes. A low cupboard displayed a row of severed feet. Someone had wrapped them in pretty ribbons and painted their toenails black. Evangeline could hear air-conditioning units working overtime as they struggled to deal with the pervasive smell of death and preservatives.

And there, reclining at his ease on a wide bed shaped from gigantic rose petals, the dark heart of that dark kingdom—Gregor Shreck. He'd always been short and fat, a greasy, perspiring butterball of a man, but he'd put on a lot of weight during their separation. He was huge now, bulging with flesh, his face almost perfectly round, crushing his features into the center of his face. He dressed all in black slashed with scarlet streaks, and looked like nothing so much as a gigantic, gorged leech.

"So," said Gregor in an unnervingly normal-sounding voice. "You've come home at last. I always knew you would. My dear, loving daughter."

"I'm here because you abducted my friend Penny DeCarlo, and threatened to kill her if I didn't come," said Evangeline tonelessly. "And that's the only reason I'm here. Where is she? What have you done with her?"

"So impatient," said Gregor happily. "No one has time for the civilized little courtesies anymore. Don't you have a kiss for your dear daddy?"

"Where's Penny?"

"Ah, the impatience of youth. Children always want their presents right now. Very well, Evie, never let it be said that I am not an indulgent father. You may see your little friend Penny. I've been taking ever such good care of her. She always was a little headstrong, but I've taken care of that."

He gestured languidly with a huge, fat hand, and a panel in the left wall slid open, revealing two severed heads in glass jars. One was Penny DeCarlo. Evangeline's hands flew to her mouth to stifle a scream, and only then she realized the heads were still alive. Their eyes were aware and suffering, and their mouths moved to shape words, though nothing could be heard. Penny was pale-skinned, with short dark hair, and would have been beautiful in any other circumstances. The second head was that of an old man, with long white hair and mustaches floating gently in the preservative fluids. Both heads stared sadly at Evangeline, and she made herself lower her hands and swallow her shock. She couldn't afford to show weakness. Not here. She glared at Gregor.

"Oh, they're very much alive," Gregor assured her. "The one on the right is Professor Wax. Quite a prominent scientist in his day, now an overqualified paperweight. Valentine gave him to me, already in his glass jar. It seemed a shame not to have a matching pair, and I had to do something to express my displeasure when you defied me… so you could say this is really all your fault. I think they look very smart together. I may start a collection."

"Why can't I hear them?" Evangeline asked through numbed lips. "Have you cut out their vocal cords too?"

"Of course not, my dear. Where would be the fun in that? I have to turn the speakers off now and again just to get a little peace and quiet. Though admittedly Penny doesn't scream nearly as much as she used to."

He gestured again, and there was a sudden steady hum as hidden speakers came on line. Penny's head fixed its sad eyes on Evangeline's, and the mouth tried to move in a smile.

"You shouldn't have come here, Evie. He's mad. Quite mad."

"I've always known that," said Evangeline. "But I had to come back here to get you. I… I didn't know…"

"Oh, Evie…" Penny's face screwed up as though it would have liked to cry, but that was no longer possible in the preservative fluids.

"Hush, child, hush," said the white-haired head beside her. "Don't distress yourself. Don't give that fat bastard the satisfaction."

"Oh, dear Waxie," said Penny. "I'd go mad if it weren't for you. For your comfort."

"Aren't they sweet?" said Gregor. "They're lovebirds. A meeting of minds, if you like."

Wax's eyes turned to look at Evangeline. "Get Penny out of here if you can. She doesn't deserve this. I do. I created machines whose only purpose was death and destruction, and saw them used to wipe out a whole world's population. I never cared about the suffering of my test subjects. I told myself I was defending the Empire from its enemies. But the death of a whole world sickened even me. I deserve to be here. But dear Penny doesn't belong here in Hell, with Gregor and me. Please. Get her out of here."

"I won't go without you!" Penny protested. "I won't abandon you." She turned her eyes back to Evangeline. "Get out of here, Evie. Gregor's lost all restraint. He doesn't care about anything now except revenge."

"What else is there worth caring about?" said Gregor. "The rebels are turning my whole world upside down, rewriting history to make themselves out to be virtuous heroes, while they loot the Empire to fund their political fantasies. The barbarians have broken down the gates and stormed the city. What is left now but to take what revenge we can before the final night falls?"

"And what revenge do you have in mind for me?" said Evangeline.

"I've been thinking about that for some time," said Gregor. "Either you return to me and be my loving, dutiful daughter in all ways, or I'll make you suffer in ways you never dreamed possible. You're in my realm now, where the only limits are the limits of my imagination. And when I've wrung every last gasp of suffering from you, I'll hack your pretty head off your pretty shoulders and stick you in a jar next to the others. And maybe I'll piss in your preservative fluids now and again, just for fun. I can always use the rest of your body to produce a new clone to satisfy my other needs. A third Evangeline. I'll be more careful with this one. One way or another, you will serve me, dear Evie."

"People will come looking for me," said Evangeline. "The clone underground—"

"To hell with them. The new order won't allow a war with someone as potentially useful as me."

"Finlay…"

"To hell with him too. I'll have him killed anyway, for daring to tempt you away from me. For having touched you. No one will be too surprised when unknown assassins gun him down from ambush. Finlay has a lot of enemies out there. No, I can do whatever I want to do to you, and damn the consequences, because I am Gregor Shreck, and no one can deny me anything. Welcome home, Evie. Welcome home to your daddy's loving arms. You'll never leave here again."

He gestured a third time, and suddenly a tanglefield enveloped Evangeline, shimmering in the air around her. She clenched her hands into fists, and her breathing increased, but that was all the reaction the tanglefield allowed. Evangeline snarled at her father, who giggled and wriggled with delight on his big red bed.

"You never did have any sense of honor, Gregor."

"Please. Call me Daddy. We're going to play a little game, Evie. Just like we used to. Take your clothes off. Slowly. Not that you've got any other choice, of course."

And he giggled again, a surprisingly high-pitched sound from such a large man. Evangeline glared at him, making no move to obey. Gregor stopped giggling abruptly and glared back at her, his eyes burning with unrestrained malice. He heaved himself awkwardly off the bed, breathing heavily as he forced his great bulk onto his feet. He waddled forward, grunting with each heavy step, and finally lurched to a halt just short of the tanglefield's boundary. He was smiling, his fat lips wet, his eyes dark and unblinking.

"You do as you're told, little Evie, or I'll find something heavy and smash the glass jar holding your dear friend Penny. And you can watch her flop on my carpet, and gasp and die like a landed fish, without the preservative fluids to sustain her."

"Don't listen to him!" Penny cried out. "He wouldn't really do it!"

"Yes, he would," said Evangeline. "He's done worse before now. Haven't you. Daddy?"

She started taking off her jacket. It was a simple black affair that Finlay had given her, with just a few buttons and fasteners. Gregor's eyes lingered over each one as her tanglefield-slowed fingers undid them. Underneath, she wore a simple sky blue dress. She undid the clasp at the back of her neck, and let the silk dress slip slowly down the length of her body. The energy field turned its slow descent into a tease. Underneath the dress she wore only delicate white panties. Evangeline stood still and let Gregor look at her. She wanted to look away from him, but wouldn't let herself. It was important that she didn't show any weakness. Gregor eyed her up and down several times, licking his lips and laughing breathily. Once he reached out as though to touch her, but withdrew his hand before it could enter the tanglefield. He met her eyes and gestured at the panties.

"Those. Take them off. Take them off."

"You do it," said Evangeline. "You do it, Daddy. Like you used to."

Gregor licked his fat lips again, his deep-set eyes fixed on the white panties, and moved forward a step. Evangeline let her right hand fall to the top of her panties. Gregor's outstretched hand entered the tanglefield. Evangeline's fingers dipped slowly inside the panties. Gregor crossed the border of the tanglefield. His movements slowed to a crawl. And Evangeline's fingers grasped the hilt of the knife hidden inside her vagina and pulled it out. Her finger hit the stud on the hilt, and the monofilament blade crackled into life. The energy field supporting the molecule-thick blade clashed with the weaker tanglefield and shorted it out.

All movements crashed back to normal. Gregor shrieked in fear and outrage. Evangeline lashed out with the glowing blade and sliced up the right side of Gregor's face, cutting the fat flesh open from chin to forehead. The right eye exploded in a flurry of blood and other fluids. Gregor howled like an animal and fell backward, clutching his face. Evangeline lunged after him, grabbed him by the fat shoulders, and set the glowing knife blade next to his throat. Gregor froze where he was. Evangeline leaned over him, breathing hard.

She'd known the guard would confiscate anything she brought with her, whether it looked like a weapon or not, before letting her anywhere near Gregor. But she'd gambled they wouldn't do a full invasive body search for fear of offending Gregor.

Finlay had got her the monofilament knife. He hadn't asked any questions. It seemed a perfectly normal thing to him that somebody would want such a useful weapon. Particularly now they were officially banned.

Gregor whimpered with pain and shock as blood poured down his face and soaked his clothes. Evangeline smiled savagely. "Stay where you are, Gregor. You even try to get up or call out, and I'll gut you."

She let go of him and backed cautiously away, ready to kill him if she had to, but all the fight had gone out of him. Evangeline grabbed one of the sheets from the bed and wrapped up Penny's and Wax's jars in it before slinging the improvised bag over her shoulders. She heard the two glass jars bang together, and hoped the glass was tougher than it looked. Unhooked from their speakers, the heads had no way of telling her what was happening to them. Evangeline moved quickly back to Gregor, and he shrank away from the knife buzzing in her hand. She grabbed him by one shoulder, her fingers sinking deep into the thick flesh, and set the blade next to his throat again.

"All right, Gregor, we're leaving now. All of us. Get up. Get up, or I swear I'll kill you right here."

Gregor heard the iron in her voice and knew she meant it. He heaved his massive bulk onto its feet, moving very carefully so as not to even nudge against the flickering monofilament knife. Evangeline got him moving, and they headed slowly toward the door, the only way out of the Shreck's private little torture chamber. It opened to Gregor's voice, and in a moment they were out in the corridor.

The guard outside the door turned sharply, caught unaware, and started to raise his gun. Gregor, under Evangeline's urging, ordered the guard to drop his gun and back away. He did so, reluctantly, and gestured to the other guards in the corridor to lower their weapons and stay where they were. Gregor and Evangeline moved slowly down the corridor toward the elevator. Gregor was already out of breath and beginning to tire from the effort of carrying his great weight, but his fear of Evangeline kept him moving.

They came to the elevator doors, and Gregor hit the call button. Evangeline was breathing hard herself now. She glared quickly about her at the watching guards. Guards or beetles or demons, they couldn't stop her now, as long as she kept her nerve. The wait for the elevator seemed to last forever, but finally the doors opened, and she backed Gregor in, never taking her eyes off the guards. They disappeared behind the closing doors, and Evangeline hit the lobby button so hard she nearly broke it. The ride down seemed to last centuries. Gregor kept trying to talk to her, but she shut him up by moving the knife blade a little closer to his throat. By the time the elevator finally reached the lobby, blood was running freely from several cuts on Gregor's neck.

The elevator doors opened on a whole army of guards, their guns trained on the elevator. The guards on the penthouse floor had raised the alarm. Evangeline let them get a good look at their blood-soaked master, and the glowing blade at his throat, and then yelled at them to get the hell out of her way, or she'd start cutting chunks off Gregor till they did. Gregor immediately backed her up with a stream of hysterical orders. The guards lowered their guns and backed away, opening up an aisle between the elevator and the main entrance door on the other side of the lobby.

Evangeline laughed harshly.

"Do you think I'm stupid? Drop your guns on the floor, all of you, and back away from them."

The guards looked at Gregor and then reluctantly acquiesced. There was a loud clatter as over a hundred disrupters fell to the concrete floor of the lobby. The guards backed slowly away from them, opening up a much wider aisle. Evangeline glared suspiciously about her. There were probably still all kinds of hidden weapons, on the guards and maybe in the lobby walls, but as long as her knife was at Gregor's throat, they wouldn't dare try anything. She pushed Gregor out of the elevator and got him moving as fast as he could. This was the most dangerous part of her plan. Her gravity sled was parked near the Tower. All she had to do was get to it, and she'd be off and gone before anyone could catch her. But she still had to get to it, past an army of guards who would quite rightly fear for their lives if they let her get away. So she urged Gregor on, mercilessly forcing the pace as he gasped and heaved for breath, constantly alert for any guard stupid enough to try to be a hero.

The main door slowly grew closer. She hadn't remembered the lobby being this big. The guards watched, unmoving but for the slow turning of their beetle heads. The only sounds were the slap of feet on concrete, and Gregor's constant moaning and panting. The heads in their jars bumped against Evangeline's bare back. Her nudity didn't bother her. All that mattered was getting out alive.

At last they came to the main door, which hissed open at Gregor's approach. Evangeline could see daylight, hear everyday city noises. It was like another world. She carefully maneuvered herself and Gregor around so that they had their backs to the door, facing the guards. She could feel the tension building in them. She had to get out soon, before somebody cracked.

"All right, Gregor," she said breathlessly, fighting to keep her voice from shaking as sweat rolled down her face. "We're going for a little walk now."

"Outside?" said Gregor. He seemed to recognize where he was for the first time, and panic shot through him. "No. Not outside. Not out of my Tower! No!"

And with a burst of strength fueled by manic fear, he threw off her hold, ducked away from the knife at his throat, and stumbled toward the safety of his guards, who dived as one for their guns. Evangeline considered throwing her knife at Gregor's fat back, decided she didn't have time, and bolted through the open main door. She sprinted across the open ground to where she'd parked the gravity sled. Her bare back crawled in anticipation of the energy beams she'd probably never even have time to feel. And then behind her she heard Gregor screaming for them to take her alive, and her heart jumped. She had a chance, after all.

She forced herself to run faster, bare feet pounding painfully on the harsh ground, the glass jars hammering against her back, the cool air rushing past her bare skin. People around stopped to look at her, but no one felt like interfering. Which was just as well. Evangeline had already decided quite coldly to cut down anyone who got between her and freedom. She'd gone through too much to be stopped now. Maybe there was some Shreck in her, after all. She could see the gravity sled now, still where she'd parked it, not too far away. She was beyond pain or tiredness now, buoyed up by hope.

Then the sled was suddenly right there before her, and she skidded to a halt, stopping just short of slamming into its side. She dumped the heads in their sheet into the back of the sled, and only then heard the running footsteps behind her. Reason said they had to have been there for some time, but she'd been too busy with her own desperate thoughts to hear them. She spun around, knife in hand. Three armored guards were almost upon her, more coming behind them. Evangeline's mouth widened into a death's-head grin she'd learned from Finlay, and went to meet the first three guards with her monofilament knife at the ready.

She had an advantage. They were under orders not to kill her; she had no such encumbrance. She cut off the head of the first guard with a casual flick of the wrist, the knife cutting through steel armor and flesh and bone as easily as air. The masked head tumbled almost slowly to the ground as she turned to the next guard and plunged the knife into his chest. He screamed shrilly inside his mask. While he was collapsing, she turned to the third guard. Blood was trickling down her bare flesh and had been spattered across her face, none of it hers. It felt warm in the cool air, almost comforting: the blood of her enemies. The third guard forgot or stopped caring about Gregor's order to bring her back alive.

He drew his disrupter and aimed it point-blank at her bare chest. Evangeline lashed out with her knife and cut the gun in two. The guard turned to run, and she cut him down too, the monofilament edge slicing easily in and out again. The other guards skidded to a halt as she bent down and picked up one of the other guards' disrupters. Gregor was still urging them on, screaming threats and promises and curses, but the situation had changed and the guards knew it. There were enough of them that they were bound to bring her eventually, but they all knew a hell of a lot of them would die doing it. And no bonuses or threats were worth that. So they hesitated, and as they did, Evangeline clambered aboard her gravity sled and took off, leaving them all behind. No one even shot at her.

She laughed shakily, not daring to relax just yet, but finally starting to hope the worst was over. She hadn't been sure she could bring it off. Deep down she'd still thought of herself as the helpless victim, never really believing she could defeat Gregor. She'd gone because she had to, to rescue her friend, and because she was tired of being afraid. But she'd done it.

She was shaking from head to toe as reaction set in. She remembered fighting the guards and smiled disbelievingly. The underground had trained her, as it trained all its agents, but she'd never had occasion to use any of it in anger. Presumably her time with Finlay had affected her more than she'd realized.

Finlay. She was going home to Finlay now, and he'd be so proud of her. He'd take her in his arms and hold her tight, and the long nightmare of her past life would finally be over. It seemed to her that she'd forgotten something, something important, but she didn't care. She was going home. The wind whipped coldly past her bare skin, and she giggled suddenly at the thought of what an awful sight she must present.

But that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except being safe at home with Finlay, and her friend Penny, and her friend Wax. Maybe they'd have a party when she got back. And then, maybe she'd sleep for a week. Or two.

* * *

Valentine Wolfe, as always not entirely in his right mind, sat at his ease in a very comfortable chair on the bridge of his ship, the Snark, and orbited the planet Loki, fabled world of storms. He was studying the viewscreen before him as it displayed the endlessly changing atmosphere of the Rim world below. Glorious patterns revealed themselves to his dilated eyes, complex and fascinating, endlessly reforming, endlessly charming. He'd been watching the storms for some time, secure behind the finest cloaking device Shub could provide, invisible to all below. Valentine had never believed in hiding his dark light behind a bushel, but with so many people sworn to kill him on sight, he had no choice but to take all possible precautions.

He smiled dreamily. It wasn't his fault if people couldn't take a joke.

He'd been in high orbit for over an hour, waiting patiently for the summons he'd been promised. Somewhere beneath all the storms and dramatic weather systems that had made Loki infamous as the most unpleasant and disagreeable colonized world in the whole Empire, in one of Loki's sturdy and permanently battened-down cities, traitors to the Empire were gathering, and wanted him to join them. They didn't see themselves as traitors, of course. Traitors never did. Instead they hid behind words like patriotism, necessity, practicality. Valentine had never needed the comfort of euphemisms. He knew what he was, and gloried in it.

Beneath his present calm exterior, several very powerful psychotropic drugs were battling it out for dominance. The end result of decades of determined drug experimentation had left him with a system that could ignore doses strong enough to kill a normal man, or drive him utterly mad. So these days Valentine had taken to dosing himself with several substances at once, and letting them fight it out amongst themselves. It was a form of Russian roulette, the possibility of sudden death merely adding a taste of decadence that Valentine found utterly irresistible.

Everyone was after him. Everyone wanted to kill him. And Valentine couldn't have been happier. He had forsworn Humanity and allied himself with Shub, and didn't give a damn. He had always taken pride in being able to see all sides of an argument, sometimes simultaneously, while agreeing with none of them. All that mattered was the quest, the search for the ultimate high. And the chance to trample over absolutely everything and have all that lived bow down to him. He just wanted to be God. Was that so much to ask?

His contact with Shub, the planet the rogue AIs had made, had gone more easily than he'd thought. In return for being Shub's agent in the worlds of men, a calm, emotionless voice had promised him new tech augmentations that would give him access to senses far beyond those of mere flesh, and eventually a direct comprehension of reality itself, unfiltered by human misconceptions. They'd given him a taste of this by enabling him to directly control the machines that had destroyed Virimonde, sinking his consciousness into the metal minds of robots and war machines as they dragged men and women down, tearing their fragile flesh with metal hands and grinding their bodies under metal wheels. It had been… exhilarating. But even Valentine knew there was a reason why the first taste is always free. He'd taken many drugs in his time, but had never allowed any of them to master him. His iron will was the only thing greater than his avaricious body chemistry. So he remained calm in the face of Shub's temptations and requested more details. The voice asked him if he'd like to talk to someone who'd already gone before him.

Valentine raised an eyebrow. He'd always thought of himself as being a pioneer on the cutting edge of self-transformation. "And who might this person be?"

"Who do you think?" said a familiar female voice. "Who else but Lionstone?"

"Your Highness," said Valentine courteously. "How delightful to hear from you again. I was under the impression you were dead."

"Just my body. The AIs rescued my mind and brought me to Shub. I am metal now. I live in machines."

"And what is that like. Your Highness? Can you describe it?"

"Of course. I am large, larger than possible while trapped in the confines of flesh. My thoughts move freely, into whatever shape I choose. And I can see so much more than I ever could before. The universe isn't what you think it is, Valentine. It's a wondrous place, complex and magnificent in ways beyond mere human comprehension. There are realms and dimensions, directions and possibilities, almost beyond number. Come on in, Valentine; the inhumanity's wonderful."

"It certainly sounds it," Valentine said carefully. "But what about—how shall I put this—the more fleshly pleasures and appetites? How does it feel to have left them behind?"

"When I was a child, I played with childish things. I've moved on, Valentine. Pleasure has its base in the mind, not the body. I have lost nothing, and gained so very much. Just as you could. All you have to do is say good-bye to the past and embrace the future. The future is metal. Humanity was never more than just a step in the ladder that led to Shub, and it is no great tragedy that they should be replaced by something greater. Flesh decays and dies. We are forever."

"Immortality?" said Valentine.

"Why not?" said Lionstone.

"We have other voices you might care to listen to," said the original voice. "We have your father, Jacob, here. Would you like to talk to him?"

"I don't think so, thank you," said Valentine. "We never had that much in common even when he was alive."

"Then perhaps your brother, Daniel? He came to visit with us, and we gave him many gifts. He is our agent now, currently on his way back to Golgotha."

"Oh, good," said Valentine. "Dear Daniel. I'll have to arrange a welcome for him."

"No, you won't," said the voice. "Daniel is currently rather more important to us than you. Leave him alone. For the present."

"As you wish," Valentine said easily. "Retribution is no less satisfying for being delayed. At the risk of sounding greedy, my metal signors, what else can you offer me?"

"Protection from your enemies. A return to power in the new Empire we shall forge from the ashes of the old. What else could you possibly want?"

"I've always had a yearning to be Lord of Golgotha," said Valentine.

"That's taken," said Lionstone. "How about Virimonde?"

Valentine smiled at the memory. The haggling continued for some time, but the end result was that Valentine was now an agent of Shub, the official Enemies of Humanity. His first mission on their behalf had been this trip to Loki, to make contact with a gathering of useful people also interested in making a deal with Shub. Though of course they came in the name of peace and security, requesting only an alliance against certain mutual dangers.

Valentine couldn't land his ship on Loki without fear of detection, for all Shub's cloaking fields, so it had been agreed that the ship would remain in high orbit while he attended the meeting as a hologram. The new rebels provided the coordinates, and at the approved time Valentine sent his image down to join the meeting.

Due to the never ending storms churning up the planet's atmosphere, reception wasn't everything it might have been, and Valentine's holo image appeared as a crackling, sometimes translucent figure. Valentine approved. He prided himself on the dramatic range of his entrances.

He found himself in an anonymous back room, standing before a table around which four people were sitting. There was a fifth Figure standing to one side, whom Valentine recognized immediately. He decided to concentrate on the four at the table first. He liked to know exactly who he was dealing with.

"Well, well," he said calmly. "Here we all are, under one roof at last, with myself as always the ghost at the feast. What are we calling ourselves today; renegades, rebels, or, dare I say it, traitors to the Empire?"

"We're no traitors," said one of the men immediately. "We are merely practical men, doing what we must to survive. The fact that we're prepared to deal with scum like you should show that."

"How very rude," Valentine murmured. "You have the advantage of me, sir. Perhaps you would be good enough to honor me with your name?"

"I'm Tarquil Vomak, MP for Graylake East in the Golgotha Parliament. I represent powerful and influential people. An insult to me is an insult to them."

"How wonderfully time-saving," said Valentine. "Be so good as to introduce your colleagues."

Vomak sniffed, as though he felt the task was beneath him. "If I must. To my left is the lady Donna Silvestri. She speaks for Blue Block, who brought us together to meet with you. Opposite us are Matthew Tallon, ex-Planetary Controller for Loki, and the ex-Mayor, Terrence Jacks. And I'm sure you know our associate in the corner there, Kit SummerIsle."

"Oh, yes," said Valentine. "I know Kid Death."

He let his gaze drift unhurriedly over the conspirators. The MP Vomak was a large, blocky man dressed in scarlet, possibly to match his cheeks. He was handsome enough in an undemanding way, the impression somewhat undermined by a sulky mouth. Donna Silvestri was vaguely known to him as one of the people who ran Clan Silvestri finances. She was round and broad and motherly, with faded blue eyes and a thick gray woollen cloak pulled about her, and possibly only Valentine would have noticed that her warm, maternal smile wasn't in the least reflected in her eyes. If she spoke for Blue Block, she was where the power lay. Tallon and Jacks had the same stubborn, weatherbeaten look common to all who lived their lives in Loki's tempestuous embrace. Tallon was the older and more solemn. Jacks the younger and more impatient. And finally, of course, there was Kit SummerIsle. Kid Death, the smiling killer. A slender figure in black and silver armor, with pale blond flyaway hair and icy blue eyes.

"Hello, Kit," said Valentine. "Last I heard, you were a rebel hero and a pillar of the new establishment."

"Hello, Valentine," said the SummerIsle in his cold, implacable voice. "I never was one for philosophies. Civilized society got very boring. I'm a killer, so I go where the killing is. For the moment, Blue Block are providing me with necessary distractions."

"I was sorry to hear about the loss of your friend David on Virimonde."

"No, you weren't."

"All right, I wasn't. I was just being polite, Kit. You really should try it sometime. What exactly is a notorious killer such as yourself doing here?"

"Blue Block said there would be work for me here. Treason and death have always been close bedfellows."

"Of course," said Valentine. He smiled at those seated around the table. "Perhaps someone here would be good enough to explain exactly what it is you wish me to pass on to Shub. What is it that brings us all together?"

"Necessity," said Donna Silvestri. "Humanity has many enemies, of which the Recreated are just the latest. Our struggle with Shub draws away people and resources that could be better employed against more immediate threats. A temporary and strictly limited alliance with Shub is in everyone's best interests. We don't have to like each other to be able to work together against a common enemy. Afterward… perhaps we will have developed enough interests in common to make our previous antagonisms unnecessary."

"Very logical," said Valentine. "Why haven't you presented this very sensible proposition to Parliament?"

"Because the short-sighted bastards virtually wet themselves if you just mention Shub!" snapped Vomak. "They can't see past their current obsessions to the greater need. The new order is only concerned with remaking the Empire in their own image, and revenging the old hurts and prejudices. We won't shrink from doing what needs to be done."

"Indeed," said Valentine. "And you're asking Shub's help to remove the rebels from power and replace them with your good selves, merely to help you better carry out these necessary actions?"

"They are wilfully blind to the dangers," said Donna Silvestri. "They must therefore be pushed aside for the greater good of all. Blue Block has always taken the long view."

"And what of the local connection?" said Valentine, turning to Tallon and Jacks. "Why are we meeting here, on Loki?"

"You people need a planetary base," Tallon said brusquely. "A place to gather. Plan and build in secret. Somewhere far enough off the beaten track that you won't be noticed. We're offering. We're the closest human planet to the Forbidden Sector, and Shub. That should make contact easier. And hopefully it'll persuade Shub to put aside any plans about moving in and taking us over. The old Empire stationed starcruisers near here to protect us, but since Parliament took over, that's been stopped. They say they haven't enough ships. So we've been abandoned. An alliance with Shub is our only reasonable option."

"Right," said Jacks. "We have family here, jobs, land. We can't just up and move somewhere safer. We paid for our land and holdings with blood and pain and the death of loved ones. Besides, running isn't in our nature. We stand our ground and fight for what's ours. Loki taught us that."

"And sometimes you have to get your hands dirty," said Tallon. "That's why we're willing to deal with you, Wolfe. We know your reputation. I'd as soon shoot you as look at you. But you're probably the only one crazy enough to act as a go-between for us and Shub, so we'll work with you."

"How very uncalled for," murmured Valentine. "Anyone would think I was some kind of monster."

"You are," said Kit SummerIsle.

"You should know," said Valentine generously.

"I know lots of things," said the SummerIsle, moving forward out of his corner for the first time. Everyone around the table stirred just a little uneasily. Kid Death stopped at the head of the table, his right hand resting on his belt near his sword. "I know, for example, that one of us here is a traitor."

Valentine raised a painted eyebrow. "I thought we all were."

"A traitor to this group and its intentions," said the SummerIsle.

The four at the table looked at each other. None of them were obviously armed. "What makes you so sure?" said Tallon.

"I work with Blue Block," said Kid Death. "They have access to all the best information. They know, for example, that Tarquil Vomak here has extensive gambling debts he couldn't possibly pay off on an MP's salary. So he sold his services to Golgotha security as a double agent. Isn't that right, Vomak?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" said Vomak. "I don't owe anyone a penny! It must be someone else in my family." He rose to his feet, glaring at Donna Silvestri. "Tell your pet killer to back off! I'll prove my credentials to Blue Block just as soon as we get back to Golgotha! Tell him he's wrong!"

"Blue Block intelligence is never wrong," said Donna Silvestri quite calmly. "We were only waiting for Valentine to arrive, so he could see how we deal with those who betray us."

She nodded to Kid Death, and he drew his sword and cut off Vomak's head, all in one blindingly swift movement. The two Loki men cried out as blood sprayed across them. The headless body stood upright for a horribly long moment, its hands clutching at nothing, blood fountaining from the stump of the neck, and then it fell to the ground and lay there twitching. Vomak's wide-eyed head rolled slowly along the table, the mouth working silently, until it finally came to a halt before Donna Silvestri. She picked the head up by the hair and placed it on the ground by her chair, then smiled at Tallon and Jacks.

"I always like to bring home a little souvenir when I go traveling."

The two Loki men produced handkerchiefs and began cleaning sprayed blood from their faces. No emotion showed in their faces, but their hands weren't as steady as they might have been. Valentine bowed slightly to Donna Silvestri, in acknowledgment of the point made. Kid Death cleaned his blade with a rag and then sheathed the sword. His face was impassive save for a slight smile.

"Time for another election in Graylake East," he said lightly.

Donna Silvestri smiled at Valentine Wolfe. "I hope we understand each other."

"Oh, we do," said Valentine. "I'm just glad I'm working with professionals for once."

Julian Skye sat locked away in his bedroom again, staring at his reflection in the mirror on the wall opposite. He looked like shit. His body slumped in the oversized chair like a battered toy discarded by a child who played too rough. For once Julian wasn't thinking about his once love, BB Chojiro. He had more immediate concerns.

He'd just been fired from his own holo show. Ever since the rebellion ended, and he discovered to his great surprise that he was still alive and on the winning side for once, he'd been making a good living starring as himself in a weekly holo series featuring his many exploits as a dashing, devil-may-care agent of the rebellion. Such shows were very popular right now, but his was the only one featuring the actual person concerned. His acting was frankly average, but the emphasis of the show had always been on stunts, explosions, and last-minute escapes, so he got by.

Only now they'd fired him. Replaced him with a look-alike actor, because Julian didn't look like himself anymore. He'd been ill for some time, the continuing side effects of his incarceration in Lionstone's interrogation cells. They came and went, so he learned to live with them and got on with his life. But just recently he'd been getting worse. A lot worse. He thought he'd hidden it by not giving in to it, and working just as hard as always, but apparently you can't fool the camera.

The show's executives had called him into their luxurious office, sat him down, made sure he had a large drink in his hand, and then showed him footage of himself as he used to be and as he was now. Julian was shocked by the difference. He'd become painfully thin, his face gaunt and hollowed, with dark shadows under the eyes. He looked twenty years older. The executives said they were very sorry to have to let him go, but makeup could only do so much. They assured him they'd be happy to take him back again once he was better, but everyone in the room knew that was a crock. He wasn't going to get any better.

Those white-gowned bastards in the interrogation cells had killed him, after all. It just took a while for his death to catch up with him.

So he'd gone home. Home was the old Sky Family house. Not a Tower. Not even in the same neighborhood. The Skyes had never been more than a very minor Family. And soon they wouldn't be a Family at all. Both of Julian's parents were dead, and all his grandparents. Wars and politics and duels. His uncles and aunts, knowing a sinking ship when they were on one, married into greater Families, and took those Families' names as their own. There were a few minor cousins, of various removes, but for all practical purposes, Auric and Julian had been the last generation of Skye. And they never had children.

Now Julian Skye was the last of his line, and when he died the name would die with him. He couldn't really bring himself to care much. He'd never given a damn for being an aristocrat, not least because he was at the bottom of the pile, and looked down on by every other Clan. And he was an esper, which should have been impossible in the carefully controlled bloodlines and intermarriages of the Families. Espers weren't people. They were property.

But somewhere along the line a Skye had gone to bed with someone they shouldn't have, and the esper gene had gone skinny-dipping in the Skye gene pool and emerged in Julian. If his parents had found out, they would have had him quietly killed. But as soon as Julian's powers started emerging, his older brother, Auric, was right there with him, calming his terror and helping him hide what he was from his Family and the world. No one ever knew. Till Auric died and Julian gave his life to the rebellion.

And now here he was, back home again, living alone in an empty great house with most of the rooms shut up and only a few old Family retainers for company. They stayed out of loyalty, out of memory for the way things had been, rather than the money. Which was just as well. Julian had made a great deal of money as a holo star, but tended to spend it as fast as it came in. If the bank hadn't been so scared of him, they'd probably be sending him threatening letters by now. He would have worried how he was going to support himself in the future, if he'd thought he had a future.

He hurt pretty much all the time now. There were painkillers, of course, but the only ones strong enough to deal with the pain left him sleeping all day or stumbling dimly around like a zombie. He preferred to spend whatever time he had left in his right mind. He was pretty sure he was going to die this time.

He'd come close to dying on Haceldama, but Giles Deathstalker had used his powers to work a cure. Only like so many things with Giles, the appearance hadn't been reality. The cure hadn't lasted. And now Giles was dead, and the four remaining Maze survivors were all off-world somewhere on unknown missions. Even if he could have tracked them down, and brought himself to beg, he doubted very much they could get back to Golgotha in time to do him any good. And besides, he'd never been any good at begging. That was one of the things that had made him a rebel in the first place.

Julian looked back over his early rebel days with a rueful smile. He'd been so young, so sure, ready to take on any mission, any risk, as long as it was for the cause. In retrospect, he had to admit he did it mostly for the thrills and the action. For the kicks. But he did a lot of good along the way, and saved as many lives as he took. The new government had wanted to give him all kinds of medals, but he'd politely turned them down. He never really felt he'd earned them, because it had all been such a good time.

Until the Empire caught him, and put him in the interrogation cells, and gave him to the torturers. All because his one true love BB Chojiro betrayed him. She broke his heart, and they broke his spirit, and even though Finlay Campbell rescued him, he was never the same afterward.

He sighed and did his best to push the old, bitter thoughts aside. If he was going to die, he was determined to make the most of what was left of his life. Have some fun while he still could. Do all the things he'd meant to do but never had because the rebellion intervened. He'd enjoyed his time as a rebel, had his fair share of adventures and more, but it had quickly taken over his life. There was never time to relax, let his guard down, have a good time with a few friends. The rebellion had been his life.

And then they took it away from him. By winning.

He couldn't be an adventurer anymore. His fighting days were over. The new order had no use for him even before his frailty became clear. His brand of get the job done and to hell with the consequences fighting was out of fashion. It was all diplomacy now, with carefully worked-out deals and compromises put together in private smoke-filled rooms. Usually with someone from Blue Block adding quiet advice from the sidelines. It was all politics now, and Julian didn't understand any of it.

He had considered going back to Haceldama and spending his final days in Summerland, but he couldn't do that. His death would have upset the toys too much.

Most of his friends were dead. It had been a hard war, and the rebellion had chewed up young men and women as fast as it could take them. Julian had learned the hard way not to get too attached to anyone. The only real friend he had was Finlay Campbell, and these days the old assassin was in almost as bad shape as he was. Finlay had been coming apart at the seams for some time now, and the more Julian tried to help, the more Finlay pushed him away.

The only other man Julian had really admired had been the legendary Young Jack Random. Julian never really got over finding out he'd been following a Fury, a Shub war machine in the shape of a man. He'd destroyed the Fury with his esp, but it hadn't helped. It seemed like every time Julian ended up trusting someone, they always betrayed him in the end.

He'd killed the man who killed his brother, Auric, the Masked Gladiator himself, and that at least had been something he could be proud of. He could have killed the bastard a dozen times and never tired of it.

And yet for all his successes in the rebellion, he hadn't been there at the end. Hadn't made it down to the hell Lionstone had made of her Court, hadn't got there in time to see the Iron Bitch dragged from her Throne and humbled before everyone. He'd seen the recording on the holo later, but it hadn't been the same. He should have been there. He'd wanted her to see his face, to know he'd helped bring her down. He'd paid for that right in blood and suffering and the loss of friends.

So much bitterness in one short life. The more Julian thought about it, the more it seemed to him that there had only been two times in his life when he'd been really happy. The years he shared with his beloved older brother, Auric, and the months he spent with the woman they both loved, BB Chojiro.

Auric went away and left him. He challenged the Masked Gladiator to a duel in the Arena, hoping to impress Clan Chojiro enough that he'd be allowed to marry the lovely BB. He hadn't expected to win the duel, but he thought if he put up a good enough show, the Arena crowds would turn up their thumbs for him. The crowds always like a plucky underdog. But the Masked Gladiator killed him anyway.

Julian had gone to comfort BB, and she cried in his arms, and he cried too. Not long after, they fell in love, and he was so happy for a time.

Out of all his life, the only piece of unfinished business he had left was BB Chojiro. He still wasn't sure how he felt about her. Part of him wanted to kill her so badly he could taste it. To make her suffer as he'd suffered. In the openness of young love, he'd told her all about his role in the rebellion, and she handed him over to the torturers without a second thought, because she was Blue Block.

He thought about going to see her one last time. To put an end to their unfinished business one way or another. It wouldn't be easy getting an audience with such a popular and busy person, but he was pretty sure he could do it. She was important these days, but he was a person of no small importance himself. His holoshow had put him in the public eye as one of the better-known rebel heroes. His audience loved him, or at least the version of him they saw on his show every week. He even had his own fan club. So many letters came in, and requests for photos, that he'd had to hire a secretary just to deal with them. He'd let her go a few weeks back. The demand for photos had gone down as his physical condition worsened and the letters trailed away.

But no one knew how ill he really was. He was still getting invitations to all kinds of social and political gatherings. A lot of Clans had found it in themselves to overlook how minor a House his Family was in their keenness to have him marry one of their unattached daughters. A rebel hero like Julian Skye would make an excellent spokesman for any Clan determined to be taken seriously in the new politics. Many had gone on a charm offensive, and all but pushed pretty faces at him every time he appeared in public. Julian had gone along with it. He did so love to dance, and it pleased his ego to be seen on all the news and gossip shows with a pretty girl always hanging on his arm. A small childish part of him hoped BB might be watching.

Clan Chojiro had never pursued him. BB had never believed in begging. She was probably still waiting for him to come to her.

Julian sat up straight in his chair and put in a call to Clan Chojiro. The viewscreen on the wall quickly cleared to show a severe, cold face that Julian recognized as the current head of Chojiro security. Presumably his name had been flagged. Julian gave the man his best intimidating smile, formally introduced himself, and asked to speak to BB. The security chief smiled back and said he'd see what he could do. His face disappeared from the screen, replaced by a soothing image of a brook running through a forest, accompanied by gentle tinkling music. Julian scowled. He hated being put on hold. The last time someone had left him waiting too long he'd taken all his clothes off and flashed them on their return. The Church wouldn't make that mistake again. The screen cleared to reveal a familiar face.

Julian raised an eyebrow. "Cardinal Brendan. I didn't think you were admitting you had any connection with Blue Block these days."

"Officially I'm not, but you're a special case. Good to see you again, Julian. You're looking very well."

"Maybe I should give you the address of my optician. Don't flatter me, Cardinal. I know what I look like. Now, why am I talking to you and not BB?"

"I'm afraid she doesn't want to talk to you just now, Julian. You must understand; you and BB parted under very unhappy circumstances, and she quite rightly has some fears that you might still wish her harm."

"Now, why should she think that?" said Julian pleasantly. "Just because she betrayed me into the gentle hands of the Imperial tormentors?"

"It was a different time then," said Brendan. "I'm sure we all did things then that we have come to regret now. The new order is a new beginning for all of us, a chance to put the past behind us and remake ourselves as we would wish to be."

"Save the pretty speeches," said Julian. "You were a slimy creep then and you're a slimy creep now, and when you die they won't have to bury you; they can just pour you down the nearest drain, so you can join all the other turds. BB gave you a message for me. Stop pretending to be someone important and pass it on."

"As you wish," said Cardinal Brendan, entirely unmoved. "BB has asked me to say that she still has warm feelings for you, but that if you ever wish to see her again, you will have to prove your feelings are genuine."

"And just how do you suppose I do that? Bunch of flowers, nice box of chocolates, the dead body of an enemy? Try me, Cardinal. I'm in a generous mood."

"You must prove your good intentions by presenting to her the bound and helpless figure of the Chojiros' greatest enemy."

"I always thought that was me, but women can be so fickle. Which poor bastard does she have in mind?"

"Finlay Campbell."

Julian stared at the viewscreen for a long moment. "You want the Campbell?"

"Your friend, yes. Your staunchest ally in the rebellion. How better to show your devotion to BB?"

"If I ever find out this was your idea…"

"I'm just the messenger, Julian. But even a failed ham actor like yourself must know that nothing of true value ever comes without a price tag. How much is BB's love worth to you? And it's not as if the Campbell's been much of a friend to you lately. How long before he turns on you, as he already has with so many old allies? He's not a happy man. Help put him out of his misery, and ours. And prove your worth at the same time."

"Betrayal," said Julian Skye. "Is that all you Chojiros understand?"

"Such a harsh word. Say rather that Clan Chojiro admires a man strong enough to live by his own rules. And know who his true friends are. So, may I inform BB that she can expect a package soon?"

"I'll think about it," said Julian, and broke the connection.

Flynn entered Toby Shreck's office at Imperial News Headquarters and looked disparagingly about him as he pushed the door shut behind him with the heel of his boot. He was wearing standard work clothes, but hadn't been able to resist just a touch of mascara and blusher. He sniffed loudly and fixed Toby with a withering gaze. "You've had the place redecorated again, I see. I still don't like it. Really, Toby, all this high tech and polished surfaces really isn't you. What this place needs is the feminine touch. Before the style police turn up and firebomb it on mental health grounds. What this office needs are pleasant pastel colors and big bunches of flowers everywhere. Flowers help to make a room."

"Oh, good," said Toby, sitting hunched over the papers on his desk. "I'm behind with my work, the unions are making trouble again, and now you've turned up to irritate me. And don't you dare bring in any flowers. I'm no good with plants, Flynn. You know that. I only have to walk past a flower, and it dies of neglect just to spite me. I like my office fine just the way it is, thank you. Anyway, you're hardly in a position to throw stones. If I let you loose in here, you'd cover the walls with holos of big-eyed children and rush around putting doilies under everything."

"And what's wrong with doilies?" said Flynn frostily. "A little delicate lace can do wonders to cheer a room up."

"What are you doing here, Flynn?" said Toby patiently. "The day's over. Work is done. Go home and annoy someone else."

"I will if you will. It's late, Toby. I thought you might like a lift."

"Thanks for the thought, but I still have half a ton of paperwork to wade through. You wouldn't believe what ends up on this desk. I swear there are people in this building who couldn't take a dump after a vindaloo curry without the correct form signed by me. In triplicate. Ah, hell… would you like some tea, Flynn? It's one of the few things they do right around here."

"I wouldn't say no."

Toby hit the intercom switch. "Miss Lovett, a cup of tea for Mr. Flynn, please."

Flynn raised a plucked eyebrow. "Since when are you so formal?"

Toby shrugged. "They expect it from the boss. I tried being relaxed and informal when I first moved in here, but it just made them uncomfortable. I suppose it's hard to be easy and spontaneous with someone who can fire your ass just because he came in with a headache that morning."

The door opened, and a young woman with hardly any dress on and a quite astounding amount of cleavage tottered in on impossibly high heels. She smiled widely at Flynn, displaying perfect teeth of dazzling brightness, and presented him with a steaming cup of tea.

"Thank you, dear," said Flynn graciously. "Do you know, I just love your earrings. You must tell me where you found them."