Deathstalker Rebellion

CHAPTER TWO

Up to Gehenna and Down to Golgotha

Captain John Silence of the Empire starcruiser Dauntless was going home to die, and was trying hard not to give a damn. After all, he'd only failed in his mission and got most of his people killed. He looked at the brimming glass in his hand and pulled a face. The trouble with sustained heavy drinking was that after a while your tongue went numb, and you couldn't tell what you were drinking. Though given exactly what he was pouring down his throat in great quantity, that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. The food synthesizers could produce alcohol and flavorings, but the combinations, like the quality, were strictly limited. It was supposed to be red wine, but all the red part did was turn his teeth pink. Still, for a wine whose vintage was under ten minutes, it wasn't that bad. Not that it made any difference. He would have drunk it anyway.

His head hurt, his hands were shaking, and his stomach lurched this way and that when he moved. He'd been drinking steadily for almost three days now, taking time out to eat and sleep when he absolutely had to. He didn't drink much normally, and he was finding getting drunk and staying drunk harder work than he'd expected. But he kept at it. Nothing else to do. He was a failure, going home to report that failure to an Empress who'd kill him for it.

And all those good men lost…

He was heading back to Golgotha with bad news and worse, and while the Empress Lionstone might have pardoned him once for screwing up, she wouldn't put up with it a second time. He'd been sent to the Wolfling World on a straightforward mission. Accompanied by a contingent of trained adjusted men, the Wampyr, and the Empress's lover and right-hand man, the Lord High Dram, he'd been commanded to arrest and execute that most renowned traitor Owen Deathstalker, and all with him, and then return to Golgotha with the rebels' heads and the secrets of the legendary Wolfling World. They'd even given him the single Grendel alien ever to be subdued and controlled. An extraordinary and so far unique specimen. The mission should have been a walkover.

Instead Dram's body was down in the cargo hold, the Grendel alien had been killed, which was supposed to be impossible, and the three Wampyr who hadn't died fighting the rebels had been detained by the newly risen Hadenmen. Silence didn't want to think what for. He took another drink. The Hadenmen. Once the Enemies of Humanity. Defeated long ago in a fierce and bloody war, they were supposed to be extinct, or at best sleeping endlessly in the hidden Tomb of the Hadenmen. But Owen Deathstalker had found and woken them, and now they sided with the rebels. And God help the Empire. The walls were falling, and the wolves were running loose among the flock.

He downed another drink and another. He really wasn't looking forward to explaining to the Empress that the Wolfling World was in fact also Haden, home of the Hadenmen. Which meant the rebels now had access to the legendary laboratories of Haden, and all the wonders and horrors they had produced in the past. Science beyond reason, weapons beyond hope of stopping, and all of it aimed at the Empire. By his failure he'd signed the death warrant of civilization and quite possibly all of humanity as well.

No, he had nothing but bad news to lay before his Empress, and she would kill him for it. If his own men didn't do it first. All the men he'd taken down into the caverns deep below the frozen surface of the Wolfling World had died there, facing weapons and horrors they could not have anticipated. And instead of avenging them, Silence had been forced to take his ship and run. His crew didn't understand what he'd seen down there. Why it was vital he abandon everything and flee, to be sure the Empire would get advance warning of the threats to come.

So now his crew despised him. Many hated him. If the Investigator Frost hadn't stood by him and made it very clear she would personally avenge him if he died, he wouldn't have had to worry about facing Lionstone. There would have been a sudden, regrettable accident, and it would all have been over. Which might have been kinder, really, but you couldn't expect an Investigator to understand that. They were trained from childhood to hunt and kill aliens, and the subtleties of human behavior often escaped them. So he left the running of what used to be his ship to his second in command and sat alone in his cabin, drinking. To pass the time, as much as anything else.

There was a knock at his door, and he looked up, just a little blearily. He knew who it was, who it had to be. Only one person ever came to see him these days. He thought about getting up to open the door himself, but decided against it. He didn't trust his legs that much. So he worked his numbed tongue around his slightly slack mouth and said, "Door: open," with as much authority and clarity as he could manage. The door slid open, and Investigator Frost stepped into his cabin. She nodded to Silence, and looked unhurriedly about her as the door closed behind her. Silence didn't look. He knew the place was a mess. He'd never been particularly tidy, but normally his batman took care of things like that. He hadn't seen his batman in five days, and he found it faintly surprising just how bad things could get in five days, when you didn't give a damn anymore.

He did sneak a quick look at himself in the mirror on the wall opposite, and winced. A tall, lean man in his late forties looked back at him, with a pale lined face that could use a shave topped by a distinctly receding hairline. He looked rumpled and badly used, like the unmade bed he was sitting on. His uniform was a disgrace. He'd been sick down it twice, and the left sleeve had never really recovered.

The Investigator, on the other hand, looked utterly immaculate in a tight starched uniform with brightly polished buttons, as though she was just about to step out onto a parade ground. She was tall and lithely muscular, in her late twenties, though her eyes were much older. They were cold and blue, burning fiercely in a pale controlled face topped by auburn hair cropped close to the skull. She wore a gun on her hip, despite shipboard regulations, and a long sword hung down her back. Just standing there at her ease she looked ready and willing to take on a fair-sized army all by herself. And it was a brave man who would have bet on the army. She was handsome rather than pretty, and it was a brave man indeed who'd even smile at her without a direct invitation. In advance, in writing. Frost smiled only when she was killing something. She pulled up a chair, removed and discarded a dirty shirt with thumb and forefinger, and sat down facing Silence. He raised an eyebrow. Frost was usually impeccably formal, even in private.

"What are you doing here, Investigator?" he said tiredly, pleased his voice was still steady, if a little slurred.

Frost sniffed. "I thought we'd agreed you were going to stop drinking."

"You agreed. I just got tired of arguing."

"It won't help, Captain."

"It can't hurt, either," Silence said reasonably. "Things are already as bad as they can get."

"There's always the chance they might improve unexpectedly. We have to keep our wits about us, Captain. Be ready to take advantage of any opportunities that might arise."

"You take advantage, Investigator. I'm too tired, and I really don't care that much anymore. No matter what happens our mission is still a mess. Civilization is doomed, and my men are still dead. They were good men. They followed me into the Madness Maze because I ordered them to. Because I told them it was safe. And not content with that, I ended up sending the survivors head-to-head with Hadenmen. It would have been kinder to shoot them all in the back. Except, that's what I did, really." He sighed, as the familiar guilt and pain washed over him again. He'd lost men before, but never like this. Failed before, but never like this. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Investigator, I have some serious drinking to attend to."

He looked down at his glass, to give her a chance to leave with dignity, but when he looked up again she was still there, staring at him coldly.

"I can feel your distress," she said evenly. "No matter where I am. Ever since our experiences on the ghostworld Unseeli, you and I have been… linked, in some strange way. Not quite telepathy, but close. I chose to disregard it, as did you. We didn't want to be taken for espers. But then we entered the Madness Maze on the Wolfling World, and the link has become stronger. Unavoidable. If I concentrate, I can feel what you're feeling, sense what you're thinking. And sometimes it comes whether I concentrate or not. It's really very annoying. For an Imperial officer, your mind is extremely disorganized. Your feelings are as undisciplined as your thoughts, and my mouth is currently full of the taste of whatever garbage that is you're drinking. It has to stop."

"I can't feel you," said Silence. "But then I wouldn't, would I? You're an Investigator. You don't have any feelings."

"My mind is disciplined," Frost said calmly. "Unlike yours. Is that why you're trying so hard to climb into a bottle and drown?"

Silence glared at her. "In case it has escaped your attention, Investigator, the Dauntless is carrying us back to inform the Empress that not only was our mission shot to hell, not only is her lover and Warrior Prime dead and cold, but also a major rebellion complete with an army of reawakened augmented men is in the offing. She is not going to be pleased with us. Not at all. If we're lucky, she'll just kill us both on the spot. But we haven't been particularly lucky so far, have we, Investigator?"

"So why are we going back?" said Frost.

The words hung in the air between them, refusing to let Silence ignore them. He looked into his glass, but it had no answer for him. He sighed heavily, and made himself meet the Investigator's cold blue eyes.

"Because it's my duty. I may have screwed up everything else in my life, but I still know my duty. The Empress must be warned. I swore an oath upon my honor to serve and protect the Empire to the last drop of my blood, and I still believe in that, irrespective of whoever happens to be sitting on the Iron Throne. The Empire is worth preserving, for all its many faults. All the alternatives are worse; from barbarism and mass starvation on a thousand worlds if the system breaks down, to all kinds of petty dictatorships if the Empress's authority is broken. The rebellion is a threat to civilization itself. I don't even want to think of what might happen if those damned AIs on Shub seized the opportunity to attack while we were preoccupied with a rebellion. And what about the aliens? You saw that thing on Unseeli, with its half-living ship. Lionstone must be warned and made to understand the urgency of the threat. She won't want to believe me, so she'll order a mind probe; and she'll believe that. Whether she wants to or not. So I'm going back because I have to. But you don't have to, Investigator."

He took a long drink. His throat was dry. Frost shook her head. "I have to go back, too. The Empire trained me to be an Investigator, and I don't know how to be anything else. And I wouldn't want to, even if I could. I like being what I am. It's direct and uncomplicated. But only the Empire has any use for an Investigator. So I'm going back, and hope that between now and then something happens to get us off the hook."

"And if nothing does?" said Silence. "If I did run, afterward… would you come with me, Frost?"

"No. I can't. I have to be what they made me." She looked at him for a long moment. "I can warn the Empress. It doesn't need both of us. And it certainly doesn't make any sense for both of us to die."

"I can't do that, Frost. I couldn't leave you to face the storm alone."

"I'd leave you, if I could."

"I know that." Silence smiled at her and wasn't bothered that she didn't smile back. She was an Investigator. And though she was supposed to be nothing more than a cold, calculating killing machine, Silence thought he understood her, even in the things she didn't—or couldn't—say. He didn't need the link for that.

"How's Stelmach?" he said finally. It was as good a way to change the subject as any. Frost snorted.

"Still sulking, because we had to leave his precious alien pet behind on the Wolfling World. Apparently, he only learned to control the Grendel alien by accident and isn't at all sure he can re-create his success again with another subject. Still, you can be sure he's already got some story worked out, to make him look good and us very bad."

"Undoubtably," said Silence. "I swear he was closer to that bloody alien than he ever was to anything human. Mind you, if I'd been christened with the name Valiant and only ended up as a Security Officer, I'd be hard to get along with, too. Whatever report he turns in, you can be sure his main motive will be to stab us in the back."

"Of course. That's what Security Officers are for."

"The point being, that he'll be more interested in looking out for his own interests than in convincing Lionstone of the rebel threat. Just another reason why I have to go back. Dammit."

"We could always kill him," said Frost. "Hard to stab anybody in the back from inside a coffin."

Silence thought about it. "No. It would only complicate things further. He doesn't know enough to really hurt us. He doesn't know about the link."

They'd never told anyone. The link wasn't esp, as far as they could tell, but it wouldn't prevent the Empire treating them as espers, if word ever got out. And espers were second-class citizens, little better than a clone. Certainly it would be the end of their careers as Captain and Investigator. They'd end up as lab animals, specimens to be quarantined, studied, and quite probably vivisected. So they never told anyone.

"Have you heard anything from your daughter recently?" said Frost.

Silence shook his head. His daughter Diana was an esper. She'd been with them when everything went to hell on Unseeli. She'd gone through a lot—enough to break anyone else. But she was his daughter, after all. Diana survived and emerged stronger than she had been before. Strong enough that when they returned to Golgotha from the Unseeli mission, she jumped ship and disappeared into the clone and esper underground. Silence hadn't seen her since or received any word from her. He was glad of that. He would have hated having to turn her in. Diana was his daughter, his only child, and he loved her deeply; but he knew his duty. Which was probably why she'd had the sense not to contact him.

He hoped she was well and happy.

"What's happening with the crew?" he said finally, changing the subject yet again. "Anyone giving you any trouble?"

"They wouldn't dare," said Frost. "A few of them tried giving me the cold shoulder, so I slapped them around a bit, to teach them some manners. They'll be fine, once they get out of the Infirmary. In the meantime everyone else is being very polite and obedient, as long as I'm around. I don't know what they're griping about. So we lost a few people. Sometimes that's part of the job."

"But we lost an entire away team," said Silence. "And all the Wampyr."

"Trust me, Captain. No one gives a damn about the Wampyr."

"But they were the last battle-trained adjusted men in the Empire."

"That's like saying they were the last cockroaches. Everyone on this ship is glad they're gone."

"They were still my men," said Silence. "I was responsible for them. And I just stood there and watched as the Hadenmen led them away."

"There was nothing you could have done. We were outnumbered."

"They'll be dead by now. Cut apart to see what makes them tick; pieces in neatly labeled jars in some Hadenman laboratory."

"Best place for them," said Frost. "I never trusted them."

"They fought beside us," said Silence. "And most of them died doing it. Doesn't that mean anything to you? No, of course it doesn't. I was forgetting. You're an Investigator. All you've ever cared about is killing the enemy. And God I wish I was like you."

He lifted his glass, but it was empty. He reached for the bottle, and Frost put a hand on his arm.

"Please. Don't."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and then a chime sounded suddenly in their ears. Silence raised an eyebrow. It had been some time since anyone had contacted him on the command channel. He activated his comm implant and paused a moment to be sure his voice was calm and steady.

"This is the Captain."

"Bridge here, Captain. Communications Officer. I think you and the Investigator had better come up to the bridge immediately."

Silence frowned. There was something in the man's voice. Something more than concern. "What's the problem?"

"We've had a signal come in, Captain. I think you're going to want to hear this for yourself."

Definitely something in the voice. Something had shaken the Comm Officer right down to his socks. Which was why he'd come running to his Captain. Silence smiled grimly. "All right, I'm on my way. Go to Yellow Alert and prepare all battle stations. Captain out." He broke contact and looked thoughtfully at the Investigator. "Must be something really unusual, or dangerous, if they want both of us on the bridge. Could be an alien contact."

Frost stood up and pulled at her uniform here and there, to ensure everything was as it should be. "I told you something would come up, Captain. Something always does."

"That's what worries me," said Silence. "The way my luck's been going, this could turn out to be something really nasty."

"Good, something." said Frost. "Maybe I'll get the chance to kill something."

Some twenty minutes later. Captain Silence and the Investigator strode onto the bridge of the Dauntless, and headed straight for the Communications station. Silence had taken an emergency purge and was feeling very sober. He also felt like he'd just run a twenty-mile marathon. His legs were shaking, and so were his hands when he forgot to clench them into fists. He'd shaved and climbed into a fresh uniform, but he still felt like death warmed up and allowed to congeal. He bent over the Communications station and studied the board. Nothing seemed obviously wrong. The Comm Officer leaned away a little, and Silence realized his breath must still be really foul. Tough. He made himself concentrate on what the Communications Officer was saying.

"We dropped out of hyperspace just inside the Rim, so we could reestablish contact with the Empire. Our signals still won't cross the Darkvoid. Since comm signals travel through hyperspace it shouldn't be possible for anything to interfere with them, but that's the Darkvoid for you. Anyway, the minute we reappeared in normal space, my station began operating normally again. And the first thing we picked up was a signal in emergency code. No visual, just a voice. It's from the Empire Base on Gehenna. I looked it up. It's an unpopulated world, right out on the far edge of the Empire. Nasty place, by all accounts. The single Base is a scientific research lab, with 107 personnel. They're calling for help. The emergency code they're using is top priority. I think we actually have to be at war with something to use a higher code. Officially, standing orders say we're supposed to head straight back to Golgotha, to report in person on the outcome of our mission, but I thought you ought to hear this, in case you wanted to override."

"Quite right," said Silence. "Let me hear the signal."

He listened intently to the whispering voice coming from the Comm station. It was barely audible, despite everything the Comm Officer could do to boost the signal. Silence looked at Frost, who was frowning thoughtfully, but she just shook her head. Silence turned back to the Comm Officer. "What do the computers make of it?"

"Not a lot, Captain. It's a beacon, repeating a recorded message over and over. The only clear parts are the origin of the signal and the plea for help. We've tried contacting the Base directly, but there's no reply."

"If it's a beacon, how long has it been sending?" said Frost. "And why hasn't anyone else picked it up?"

"Unknown, Investigator. But the signal is very weak, and this is the Rim, after all. Strange things happen out here. Perhaps we only picked it up because we're right out on the Rim, too. What are your orders, Captain?"

Silence looked at Frost again. "We should ignore this. Go straight to Golgotha. The beacon could have been repeating its message for ages. Whatever happened on Gehenna, it's probably over by now."

"Of course, Captain," Frost said solemnly. "But those people could still need our help, and we are the only ship out here."

"Precisely," said Silence. "Our duty is clear. Helmsman, set a course for Gehenna. Investigator, we'll discuss this further in private. Second in Command, let me know when we get there. Otherwise, I don't wish to be disturbed."

His Second sniffed audibly, contempt clear in the sound. Frost spun on him, her hand dropping to her sword, but Silence stopped her with a hand on her arm. He strode over to the command chair, gripped the Second by the throat with one hand, and lifted him effortlessly out of the chair. The Second's eyes bulged, and his tongue protruded from his mouth. He scrabbled at Silence's hold with both hands, but couldn't budge it. He drew his disrupter, and Silence slapped it out of his hand. The gun skidded across the floor until Frost stepped on it. The rest of the bridge crew took in the look on her face, and sat very still at their stations. Silence let go of his Second's throat, and he dropped back into the command chair, gasping for breath. Silence leaned forward so his face was right before the Second's, and locked eyes with him.

"You show disrespect for my rank again, boy, and I'll fire you out of one of the torpedo tubes in your underwear. Now, get on with your business and leave me to mine. Is that clear? Good. I'm glad we had this little talk. Feel free to come to me again if you need anything else explained to you."

He turned and left the bridge, Frost falling in beside him. As he passed the Communications station, the Comm Officer murmured, "Good to have you back, Captain." Silence had to hide a smile. The door slid shut behind him, and Silence let out his breath in a long sigh. He stopped and leaned back against the corridor bulkhead. His head ached sickly, and his hands were shaking again.

"I need a drink," he said tiredly.

"No you don't," said Frost.

"Look, who's hangover is this, anyway?"

"You didn't need any help hauling the Second out of his chair," said Frost calmly. "And with only one hand, too. I'm impressed."

"So am I," said Silence. He pushed himself away from the bulkhead and strode off down the corridor. Frost fell in beside him again, and they didn't say any more until they were safely back in the Captain's quarters. It was no secret that the Security Officer had the whole ship bugged from stem to stern. Silence debugged his quarters on a regular basis, and since he had access to better tech than Stelmach, he was just about keeping ahead. Silence sank into his favorite seat, and Frost pulled up a chair opposite. Silence looked thoughtfully at the half-empty wine bottle and then looked away. Maybe later.

"So, Investigator, it would seem our short time in the Madness Maze changed us more than we realized. For a moment there, the Second seemed to weigh nothing at all. I could have ripped him apart with my bare hands. And part of me wanted to."

"I wonder if I'll get stronger, too," said Frost. "Or perhaps there are other surprises in store for me. I wonder what we might have become, if we'd made it all the way through the Maze…"

"You can always ask the rebels, if we ever get another bash at them. They made it all the way through."

"Either way, I think this is something else we should keep strictly to ourselves, Captain."

"I couldn't agree more, Investigator. Let us talk of safer things. What do you think could have happened on Gehenna, that their only call for help was a voice in an automated beacon? Under normal conditions, all they had to do was call on an open channel, and an Empire starcruiser would have been there within hours. That's standard, no matter where in the Empire you are. Of course, we are right out on the Rim, but even so… Could it be the first rebel attack?"

"I doubt it, Captain. First, they don't look anywhere near organized enough to mount a major attack. Secondly, I don't think they've got the resources to mount anything major yet. And thirdly… I've got a bad feeling about this. To take out a planetary Base so quickly and so thoroughly that they only had time to fire off a beacon would require weaponry of immense power. Perhaps greater power than either the rebels or the Empire could muster."

"So what are we talking about here? The Hadenmen? Shub?"

"Perhaps. But I can't help thinking the last time a Base fell silent, we ended up on Unseeli."

"Where we discovered a crashed alien starship of a technology unknown to the Empire and quite possibly superior to anything we have, and a Base full of dead people." Silence scowled thoughtfully. "You think it could be those aliens again?"

"Could be," said Frost. She smiled briefly. "And I'm just in the mood to kick some alien ass."

"I've never known you when you weren't, Investigator. Personally, I'm just glad of a good excuse to put off our return to Golgotha. Possible alien attack is one of the few acceptable excuses we could come up with. But I have to say, I don't like the idea of our losing another planetary Base. It leaves us vulnerable to all kinds of things. And there's always the chance this is some kind of trap, designed to pull in unsuspecting ships."

"Then, we'd better get there first," said Frost. "We are, after all, expendable."

"You speak for yourself," said Silence.

The Dauntless dropped out of hyperspace and settled into orbit around the planet Gehenna, the world of eternal fires. It burned like a blazing coal in the dark; continent-wide flames leaping and flaring but never dying down. Long ago something set light to the surface of the planet, and through some kind of chain reaction the fire had spread till it covered all the world. The poles had melted and the oceans had evaporated, and all that remained was the flames. The surface burned, consuming itself slowly but inexorably. There was evidence that Gehenna had once been inhabited by an alien civilization, but no trace remained of the aliens or their works. Only a handful of strange stone bunkers, huge and impressive but utterly empty, buried deep in the bedrock, away from the all-consuming fires. If they had any secrets, they remained a mystery. No one knew what had happened to the alien civilization: whether they were destroyed by some outside force, or whether they did it to themselves. Whether the fire came first, or was just an aftereffect of whatever destroyed an entire species so thoroughly that not even a hint remained of what they might have been.

The Empire was of course very interested in something that could set an entire planet alight. It would make one hell of a weapon, and Lionstone wanted it. So she gave orders for a Base to be established there, right in the heart of the flames, protected by the strongest force Screen the Empire scientists could provide. According to the Dauntless's records, the scientists in the Base had been working there for nine years and were still no nearer to finding any answers.

Silence led the away team himself. Partly because if the Base had been compromised, he needed to be right there on the spot making decisions, but mostly because he didn't want to go. He still felt like shit, his crew were still sneaking sidelong glances at him when they thought he wasn't looking, and he wasn't at all sure he was up to making command decisions when people's lives might be on the line. But that was why, in the end, he had to go. If he didn't, he might as well resign his Captaincy, and he wasn't ready to do that just yet. So he led the away team. And prayed he was up to it. Frost accompanied him, of course, as the ship's Investigator. More surprisingly, Security Officer Stelmach insisted on coming along, too. Probably because he didn't trust the other two out of his sight. The rest of the team consisted of six marines chosen by lot, and Communications Officer Eden Cross. He'd worked at Gehenna Base briefly, two years ago. He didn't seem at all happy to be paying the place a return visit.

Cross was average height, average weight, dark-skinned and tight-lipped. He hadn't been one of those who conspicuously ostracized the Captain, but he rarely had much to say outside his duties anyway. Though he'd become almost eloquent when it came to trying to find reasons he couldn't or shouldn't be part of the away team. Silence approved of that. He didn't want mindlessly loyal people with him in dangerous situations. He wanted people who were scared, on their toes. Survivors. Interestingly enough, Cross hadn't been a Communications Officer all that long. He'd been passed from one position to another, usually at his own request, apparently because he just got bored after a while, no matter what he was doing. He was an overachiever, in a Service where uniformity was prized above all. He'd either make Captain before he was thirty, or burn out early. As it was, Silence made him pilot of the pinnace that would take them down to Gehenna's surface. Cross would get them down safely or die trying. It wasn't in his nature to do any less.

Silence gripped the arms of his seat tightly as the pinnace dropped like a stone toward the planet below. He accessed the pinnace's sensors through his comm implant, and temperature readings sprang into life before his eyes. He watched blankly as the figures rose in sudden spurts, starting high and moving rapidly from incredible to unbelievable. Silence cut off the figures. They made him nervous. The long slender ship slammed through the overheated atmosphere, rocking and bucking as it plunged into the roaring flames that leapt miles above the endlessly burning surface. Silence made himself let go of the seat's arms. The pinnace's outer hull would protect them against any temperature to be found on a solid world, and there was always the force Screen. The pinnace could handle anything Gehenna could throw at it.

Theoretically.

Silence wasn't convinced. There were already too many unanswered questions about Gehenna, of which the emergency beacon was only the latest. He tried to stir uncomfortably in his seat, but the hard suit wouldn't let him. He'd put on the protective suit before he got into the pinnace, like everyone else. He wouldn't need it till the pinnace landed, but getting into a hard suit was difficult enough at the best of times, when you had plenty of room to move around in. It would have been impossible for a crew of ten to manage in the cramped confines of a pinnace.

A hard suit was part space suit, part armor, and part weapons. It was designed to keep the bearer alive, no matter how inimical conditions got. Once all the systems were connected, the suit guaranteed to keep the wearer cool and calm, no matter what was happening outside it. They tended to be slow and awkward and about as subtle as a flying half brick, but they got the job done. They'd been pretty much superseded by portable force shields and Screens, but they still had no equal for where someone needed to make hands-on investigations. Radiation-proof, environmentally secure, harder than steel, and able to withstand practically anything except a point-blank energy beam, they'd originally been intended as combat armor for extreme field conditions. However, they were too clumsy and slow for that, so the fleet inherited them as go anywhere, do anything suits. Everyone else on the pinnace seemed to be moving easily and confidently within the suits' limits. Silence felt as though he'd been dripped in congealing tar.

Sweat was beading on his face, but he couldn't lift his armored arm high enough to wipe at it. He shouldn't be feeling so hot. The pinnace's life-support systems automatically maintained a comfortable interior temperature. But you couldn't think about the impossible heat outside and not feel something, even if it was only in the mind. The six marines were trying to pass a bottle of something back and forth, and spilling most of it as they overcompensated for the suits' servomechanisms. Silence couldn't help wishing they'd pass the damn thing his way, but he couldn't ask. It would look bad. Weak. It was important he appear strong and confident before his men. Particularly, after what happened the last time he led an away team down to a planet.

He made himself look away. Stelmach was sitting by himself, a quiet, nondescript man, anonymous as any civil servant, staring straight ahead, clearly wishing he was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Frost was frowning slightly, her eyes far away. Times like this were what she lived for. This and the promise of a little mayhem. Gehenna Base promised a fascinating deductive problem and the possibility of killing something. Any happier, and she'd probably explode. It occurred to Silence that she might be studying what was going on outside the pinnace. Therefore, he patched into the ship's exterior sensors through his comm implant, so he could see, too.

His eyes were immediately filled with roaring flames as the pinnace bulkheads appeared to become transparent where he looked. And no matter where he looked, there was always fire. Now and again he thought he caught a glimpse of the dark, hard-baked surface far below, always burning, somehow never completely consumed. There was nothing else. Nothing lived there anymore, as far as anyone knew, and the only surviving structures were deep underground. That would have been the most sensible place for the Base, too, but Lionstone had insisted it be constructed above ground. It was a matter of principle; to show the Empire could build and preserve a Base right there in the heart of hell, where no one else could. The Base should still be intact, behind its force Screen. And if the Screen was still up, the Base personnel ought to be intact, too. The Screen could stand up to anything this world could throw at it. And even if the Screen had fallen, for whatever reason, the Base had been constructed specifically to withstand Gehenna's heat. Silence tried to feel optimistic, but it was hard work. Gehenna was an unforgiving world, waiting always for the smallest mistake or oversight.

"Coming in for landing, Captain," said Cross. "Hold on to your seat belt. It's been a while since I had to land a ship here."

Silence cut off the sensor input, and the pinnace's walls snapped back into being around him. He felt hotter than ever. He realized the others had turned as far in their seats as their suits would allow to look at him, waiting for some last and hopefully reassuring word from him. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice was calm and casual as usual.

"We are landing, people. Power up all systems, and get ready to put on your helmets. Remember, a hard suit can keep you alive for up to a week down here if necessary, but even so take things carefully. Keep your eyes open and watch everyone else's back as well as your own. This place will kill you if you give it the slightest opening. And watch the readings on your energy crystals; hard suits soak up a lot of power, even when you're standing still.

"The moment we're down, the Investigator will exit the craft first. She'll make an immediate assessment of the situation and decide whether the mission can proceed. Assuming we haven't dropped into an actual war zone, the marines will disembark next and set up a defensive perimeter. Then Cross, Stelmach, and I will bring up the rear. Remember, people, this is a rescue mission, not an invasion. You shoot anyone you don't absolutely have to, and I am going to be really annoyed with you. I want survivors with answers, not bodies with holes in. All right, that's it. Secure helmets. Cross, take us in."

He picked up his helmet from his lap, a featureless steel helm that fitted perfectly onto his shoulder yoke. There was a moment of utter darkness as the suit's connections linked up and then the helmet's sensors kicked in, patching into his comm implant to give his eyes a 360 degree view. It was as though his helmet had suddenly disappeared, though he could still feel its weight on his shoulders. The rest of his team looked blind in their blank helmets, which made Cross at the controls look particularly worrying. And then the pinnace slammed down onto the planet's surface and skidded along, barely slowing. Silence and the others clung desperately to the arms of their seats, only their heavy-duty seat harnesses keeping them from being flung into the aisle or smashed against the walls. The ship shook them back and forth and then lurched to a sudden halt as though it had hit something.

Silence hit his seat harness release with a steel fist and rose jerkily to his feet, the whine of servomechanisms loud in his ears as they translated his body movements into suit responses. He stomped down the aisle to the inner air-lock door, where Frost was already waiting for him. Her suit bore the colors of her uniform, just as his did, but he would have known it was her anyway. Only Frost could have got to the door that fast. Most of the marines were still trying to get out of their seats. Silence waited for Cross's raised hand and then hit the inner door release. The door hissed open, Frost stepped inside the air lock, and the door closed behind her. There was a pause, and then Frost's voice sounded calmly in his ear.

"Outer door open, stepping out onto the surface." Another pause. "No problems, all clear. No sign of anything but dirt and flames. Not unlike walking into a crematorium, actually. Come on in; the inferno's lovely this time of year."

Silence smiled despite himself, opened the inner air-lock door, and waved the marines past him. It didn't take long for everyone to cycle through, and Silence stepped out onto the surface of Gehenna with only the slightest of hesitations. At first, all he could see was the flames. A blazing sea of scarlet and gold, leaping high up into the air. Vague shadows moved in the fire around him, and then the hard suit's computer enhancements kicked in, boosting the helm's sensor images until the shadows came into sharper focus as members of his team. He looked down and could only just make out the ground he was standing on. It was baked black, broken apart here and there with deep crevices from which flames belched forth in sudden jets, mixing with the constant glow around him. The temperature readings were unbelievable.

Welcome to hell, thought Silence. Welcome to the broken lands, and the fire that never dies. When the Empress finally has me executed, at least I'll know where I'm going.

"Captain, this is Cross." The Comm Officer's voice sounded loudly in his ear. "If you're ready, I'll get us moving. I've locked onto the beacon; the Base is only a few minutes' walk from here."

"Of course," said Silence. "Good piloting, Cross. Lead the way. Everyone else, power up your weapon systems; but remember what I said about unnecessary firing. I'm all for making a dramatic entrance, but I don't want to end up accidentally killing the very people we're here to rescue. Are you listening to me, Investigator?"

"Relax," said Frost. "I only kill people who need killing."

"I'm sure we're all very relieved to hear that, Investigator," said Cross dryly. "Pay attention please, everyone. Follow me in single file, your hand on the shoulder of the person in front of you. Take your time and don't get distracted. It's only too easy to get lost here. If you do lose contact with the team, your suit will automatically lock onto the pinnace's beacon. Go back there and stay put till we get back. Have I forgotten anything. Captain?"

"No," said Silence. "You're doing fine. Carry on."

He waited patiently while the team formed itself into a single line, and then he put his hand on Stelmach's shoulder in front of him. He could see his steel gauntlet resting on Stelmach's shoulder, but he couldn't feel it. As the line moved off, he realized what Cross had meant about how easy it would be to get lost. Inside the hard suit, the only sense he had left was his sight. The only sound on Gehenna was the constant roar of the flames. He'd automatically turned that down to protect his ears and hear his teammates over the comm. The hard suit cut him off completely from the world. It had to, to protect him.

He trudged on after Stelmach, and the fires raged impotently around him. Sweat was dripping off him again, despite the cool air circulating inside the armor. Time passed slowly, with no landmarks to show any progress. Cross had said the Base was only a few minutes away. Surely, it had been that much already? Or had Cross lost his bearings and begun to lead them in a huge blind circle? He hadn't thought to check the time before they started. The answer suggested itself almost immediately, and Silence was glad the others couldn't see him blushing. He switched the comm to the emergency channel, and the Base's beacon sounded out, loud and reassuring. His sensors placed the Base straight ahead, in what would have been plain sight on any other world. He stared hard into the flames, pushing the computer enhancements to their limits, and a huge dark shape slowly formed before him.

It seemed to leap into being as he drew nearer, and its image grew sharper on the inside of his helmet. It was only then that he realized he shouldn't have been able to see it that close. The shimmer of the Base's raised Screen should have stopped them before this. He called for Cross to stop and then walked himself carefully down the line, shoulder by shoulder, till he was standing next to Cross and the Investigator. At this range he could clearly see the cracked and broken walls of the Base. The outer wall had been designed and built to withstand a sustained barrage from disrupter cannon and everything from earthquakes to a nuclear fire-storm, but something had cracked the Base open like an eggshell. Wide jagged rents crawled up the walls from top to bottom. The main doors were open, with only darkness be-yond. Silence bit his lower lip. One thing at least he could be sure of. This wasn't the result of any earthquake or natural force. The odds were that something had hit the outer walls again and again until they broke apart, and whatever was responsible for the attack could get in.

"This isn't supposed to be possible," said Cross's voice in his ear. "I saw the specifications for the outer walls. This Base was designed to survive intact even if the Screen went down. It was ten times tougher than any Base has ever been. And why would they lower the Screen anyway?"

"You're missing the point," Frost said calmly. "Something did this. Something unknown. And to be able to do this, this unknown force must have had a technology not only equal to our own, but quite possibly superior. So where is this unknown force? Still inside the Base? Or if it's not inside, where has it gone and is it coming back anytime soon?"

"Good questions," said Silence. "But you're missing something, too, Investigator. The force Screen is down, and the walls are broken in so many places they might as well not be there. So why hasn't the whole Base gone up in flames along with everything else on this infernal planet?"

"Only one way to find out," said Frost, and Silence didn't need to see past her featureless steel helm to know that she was smiling.

"Lead the way, Investigator," Silence said calmly. "But remember, answers not bodies."

"Of course, Captain. Of course."

She moved past Cross and strode forward into the open doors. Silence moved after her, with Cross's hand on his shoulder, and the marines and Stelmach followed. The Security Officer was being very quiet, but Silence doubted that would last long once they got inside. A place like this was bound to be full of sensitive material that lowly Captains and lesser ranks weren't supposed to know about. Silence didn't give a damn. If there were answers here he was going to find them, no matter where he had to look.

He stepped carefully through the gaping doors, his gaze sweeping back and forth, but everything seemed quiet. It was dark, and Silence turned on his suit's exterior lights, mounted on his shoulders. More light pushed back the darkness as the rest of the away team turned on their lights, and the foyer slowly formed around them. The first thing Silence noticed was that it was raining. It took him a moment to realize that it was the sprinkler system, still somehow operating. Except the water should have evaporated in this heat. He checked the exterior temperature from his suit's sensors, and the figure appeared immediately low, down on the inside of his helmet. It was only a few degrees above standard temperature, despite the broken walls and open doors. Which should be impossible. With the Screen down and the walls breached, there was no way the Base could be maintaining a standard temperature.

"Investigator, check your sensors. What temperature do you have?"

"Same as you, Captain. Standard, near as damn it. I'd swear there was an energy Screen still protecting us, but nothing registers on my sensors. What we do have here is standard gravity, and a breathable atmosphere, but don't ask me what's maintaining them. We could survive here without our suits, if we had to."

"Don't even think it," Silence said quickly. "Don't even take your helmet off. Since we don't know what's maintaining these conditions, we can't be sure they won't cut off at any moment. Also, I want full quarantine procedures followed. Suit integrity is to be preserved at all times. Is that clear, everyone?" Quick affirmatives came back to him from the rest of the team. Frost just grunted, but that was to be expected. Silence glared about the deserted foyer. "Marines, move out and set up a defensive perimeter. Investigator, don't wander too far away just yet. Stelmach, don't touch anything. Cross, you've been here before. First impressions?"

"The place is a mess," said Cross. "Whoever came through here really wrecked the place. I can't tell anything from this."

Silence had to agree that the Communications Officer had a point. The foyer looked as though a grenade had gone off in it. Maybe several grenades. Furniture had been overturned and scattered everywhere, much of it wrecked or reduced to little more than kindling. The main reception desk, a huge slab of iron wood, had collapsed in the middle, as though something extremely heavy had sat on it. None of its built-in instruments were functioning. There was no trace of life anywhere. There were wide cracks in the walls through which could be seen the hellish glow of the fires outside. But strangely, the bronze light didn't penetrate far into the darkness. The sprinkler rain had touched and soaked everything, forming pools and little lakes here and there.

"No blood and no bodies," said Frost from the far end of the foyer. "But somebody put up a fight. There's damage to the walls and ceiling from discharged energy weapons. No sign they actually hit anything, though."

Silence looked up at the jagged holes in the ceiling. Trust Frost to spot something everyone else would have missed.

"Why the ceiling?" said Stelmach suddenly. "How big were their attackers?"

"Let's try and keep an open mind," said Silence. "We don't have any hard evidence yet that there were any attackers. This could turn out to be just another really bad case of cabin fever. Unlikely, I'll admit, but we have to consider all possibilities. Frost, run an energy scan on these disrupter holes. See how old they are. Stelmach, see if you can find a working terminal somewhere in this mess that'll let you access the Base computers. The Commander's log might give us a few clues. And Cross, how come the sprinklers are still working? Surely, they should have run out of water long ago?"

"The sprinkler systems feed off the underground lake," said Cross. "It's a long way down, but there are millions of gallons down there. It could rain forever in here, on a planet of eternal fires. It's like a miracle."

"Don't start getting religious on us," said Frost. "I'd hate to have to puke inside this helmet."

"Over here," Stelmach said suddenly. "I've found someone."

"Stay put," said Silence sharply. "Don't touch anything. Investigator, check it out."

The Security Officer was crouching beside the collapsed main desk. Frost moved quickly in beside him and studied the situation for a long moment. "It's a hand, Captain. Human. Unprotected. No obvious booby traps attached, according to my sensors. Help me move the desk, Stelmach."

They moved awkwardly around the desk in their clumsy suits, and Cross and Silence moved forward to help them. A pale colorless hand protruded from under one side of the desk. Working together, the four of them used the power of their suits' servomechanisms to lift the massive ironwood desk and put it carefully to one side. And then they all stopped and looked at what they'd uncovered. It had been a woman once, but most of her was missing. The bones were still there, piled loosely together, but picked so clean of flesh they seemed almost polished. The only flesh left was on the face and part of the arm attached to the hand they'd found. Most of her long hair was still there, but something had cracked open the back of the skull and removed the brains. Sprinkler water pattered down on the head and ran down the staring face like tears.

"Picked clean," said Frost. "And judging by the ragged end of the remaining arm, I'd have to say this was brought about by teeth, rather than any blade or sharp instrument. Same with the back of the skull; brute force did that, not a cutting tool. I wonder why they left the face and the arm…"

"Perhaps it, or they, were interrupted," said Cross.

"What could have done this?" said Stelmach, his voice thick with nausea. "What kind of creature…"

"Move away and take some deep breaths," said Silence. "Vomiting inside a hard suit is not a good idea."

"I'm all right," said Stelmach angrily. "I can handle it."

"It was a good question," said Cross. "What kind of creature would feed like this?"

"Practically anything," said Frost. "If it was hungry enough. The thoroughness is interesting, though. They didn't just go for the fat and the muscle; they took everything. That's unusual. More commonly, different species feed off different parts of the body… Maybe the attackers killed her first, and then something else came along afterward, and fed off the body."

"There are no living things anywhere on this planet," said Cross. "Unless the attackers brought something with them."

"Still think this was cabin fever, Captain?" said Stelmach.

"I'm not ruling anything out yet," said Silence calmly. "This is looking more and more like an alien attack, I agree, but we still have no hard evidence that anything other than humans were ever here. Remember, the Hadenmen are loose again. And there's always Shub and its Furies. Investigator, could the tissues taken from this body have been intended for study, rather than food?"

"Quite possibly, Captain. It would explain the thoroughness."

"This can wait," Silence decided. "I want this whole Base checked out, floor by floor. There'll be time for questions and hypotheses after we're sure this place is secure."

He gestured sharply to the marines. With Frost in the lead the party moved on deeper into the Base, weapons at the ready. Things grew worse the further in they got. There was destruction everywhere, and more partial bodies. Doors had been torn out of door frames, holes punched through walls, instruments wrecked, the pieces scattered to no apparent purpose or pattern. Every room had been torn apart and wrecked, but nothing obvious had been taken. The number of bodies mounted steadily. The amount consumed or taken varied, but the heads were always left intact apart from the brains, leaving so many silently screaming faces. Silence felt a slow core of cold anger building within him. This wasn't an attack, it was a slaughter; and he swore silently to every new dead face that he would take a bloody revenge for them all.

Frost just seemed increasingly interested, but she was an Investigator, after all. Cross said very little, except to comment on the increasing destruction and identify the occasional face in a choked voice. Stelmach had nothing to say, but kept very close to the others. The six marines maintained their defensive perimeter, checking every open doorway and turn of the corridor with trained weapons. Tension built inexorably as the away team moved on through the darkness, their only light what they had brought with them. Shadows loomed and danced; the only sound was the dull thuds of steel boots on the floor and their own increasingly harsh breathing. No one felt like talking much. There was still no trace of any actual alien, but broken swords lay discarded here and there, shattered on something harder than steel, and there was more damage to walls and floor and ceiling from discharged energy weapons. Here and there great holes had been punched through the thick steel walls, as though by some incredible force. Silence couldn't have done it, even with all the strength of his powered armor. The last creature he'd seen capable of such a feat had been the genetically engineered aliens he'd discovered sleeping in the vaults on Grendel. The thought disturbed him, so he kept it to himself, for later. And everywhere they went, the water came down in an endless rain, as though trying to wash away what had happened.

On the second floor Frost stopped suddenly and knelt down, shining her lights onto something on the floor. The others crowded around her, adding their lights to hers. The Investigator studied the pool of dark liquid thoughtfully and then stirred it slowly with a steel finger. It was a thick, sticky liquid that tried to cling to her finger when she pulled it away. She had to shake her hand hard to get it free.

"What is it, Investigator?" said Silence finally.

"Too early to say, Captain. I've seen smaller splashes of it here and there, but with nothing to suggest what it is or where it came from. But it looks organic."

"Alien blood?" said Cross.

"Maybe," said Frost uncommittedly. "I'll take some samples, and the Dauntless labs can run tests on it."

"Follow full quarantine procedures," said Silence. "Just in case."

"Of course, Captain."

Of course. She knows what she's doing. Let her get on with her job. Silence took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he straightened up. He looked about him and scowled inside the safety of his helm. It wouldn't do any good for the others to see how frustrated he was getting. They'd ended up in one of the main control centers on the second floor, and it was even more of a mess than anywhere else, if that was possible. Most of the instrumentation had been ripped out of its settings and partially dismantled. As though the dismantlers had never seen anything like it before. Perhaps they hadn't. Not for the first time, Silence remembered the alien ship he and Frost had found crash-landed on Unseeli, with its strange and unnatural biomechanical systems. A ship that had been grown as much as made. The single alien from that ship had killed every human being in Unseeli's Base Seven and transformed the Base itself in horrid alien ways. Hopefully, that wasn't what they had here. The signs were different.

"Stelmach, try and find a computer terminal you can access. I need the Commander's log."

"I'm doing my best, Captain. There are some working systems still on-line, but reaching them's the problem. Whatever came through here really trashed the place."

I want results, not excuses! Silence nearly snapped, but kept it to himself. "Do your best, Stelmach. We won't leave here till you've exhausted every possibility." He looked around as Cross came over to join him. "Anything new?"

"Not exactly, Captain. There's something wrong here. Apart from the obvious. There aren't enough bodies."

"Explain."

"Given the size of the contingent running this Base, we should have encountered far more bodies than we have. Unless they're all piled up somewhere we haven't found yet, I'd have to say as many as seventy to eighty per cent of the Base personnel are missing. Which suggests to me that the invaders may have taken the surviving personnel with them when they left."

"As hostages."

"Or specimens."

"But there is a chance they could still be alive?"

"Unknown, Captain. They could have been taken to the alien craft for… study."

And that was an interesting choice of word, Silence thought unhappily. It could mean anything from observation to vivisection. Either way, it was a complication Silence could have done without. He came to Gehenna to investigate what had happened at its Base, not go chasing blindly off after missing personnel. But he couldn't just ignore them. Not if there was a chance, however small, that some of them might still be alive. He scowled, torn over what to do for the best. His duty was clear; discovering what had happened in the Base had to have top priority Whatever had trashed the Base so thoroughly could be a threat to the Empire itself. Just at the time when the last thing it needed was another threat. But he couldn't abandon people to death or worse. He couldn't. He made himself stop frowning. His head was beginning to ache again. Facts. He needed hard facts to help him make his decision.

"Stelmach…"

"All right, all right! I think I've got something…"

Silence and Frost moved over to join Stelmach and Cross beside a comm panel that didn't look quite as wrecked as the others. It still looked pretty bad, and from the way Stelmach and Cross were fiddling about with its innards, there was clearly still a lot wrong with it.

"Bear with us for a moment, Captain," said Stelmach without looking up from what he was doing. "I've cobbled together parts from a dozen panels, and if we're very lucky, it might just condescend to work for us."

"I helped," said Cross.

"All right, I was going to tell them. This man's wasted in Communications, Captain. He knows more about the inside of comm tech than I do, and I thought I knew everything. Ever thought about a career in security work, Cross?"

"Save the recruiting speeches for later," said Frost. "What have you got?"

"If we're extremely lucky, access to the security systems. There are surveillance cameras throughout the Base, and their files are kept separate from the rest, hidden away for obvious reasons. Apparently, the aliens didn't dig deep enough to find them."

"Yeah," said Silence. "Right. That sounds like Security."

"You'd better hope I'm right, Captain," Stelmach said stiffly. "Whatever happened here, it's over. The attackers are long gone. These security files could be the only records of what actually happened here."

"We'll applaud later," said Frost. "Get on with it."

Stelmach sniffed loudly, just to let them know his feelings were hurt, and then he and Cross made the last few connections. The information in the security files downloaded directly through their comm implants so that visions from the past played directly on the inside of their helmets. They were patchy and incomplete, flashes of sight and sound, a swift succession of scenes from throughout the Base, but taken together the story they told was clear enough. Of what happened the day the aliens came to Gehenna Base.

They were insects, of all shapes and sizes. Spiders and bugs and praying mantises and yard-long centipedes, scuttling and crawling in an endless tide. They varied in size from less than an inch to bigger than human, and everything in between. Horrid combinations of dull carapaces and shimmering wings, too many legs and eyes, and all of them moving incredibly quickly in sudden darting movements. They snapped and stung and tore at human victims with clawed limbs. Some had clacking mandibles big and strong enough to rip a man's head from his shoulders with an ease that was almost obscene.

Silence's skin crawled with instinctive reaction. There was something awful and unnatural about insects that big. That organized. He watched with mounting horror as the insects swarmed through the Base, crawling over all the surfaces, running along the walls and ceiling, jumping up and dropping down on the Base personnel, biting and tearing without pause or mercy. Blood splashed everywhere, and the smaller insects licked it up. Disrupters and cold steel took their toll on the invaders, but there were so many insects, thousands of them, and they never stopped coming. And men and women died from poisoned bites and stings or lay shuddering on the floor while smaller insects burrowed in their flesh. Huge bugs like living armor tore human limbs away with horrid ease and waved them like dripping banners. People screamed and fought and died, and still the insects pressed on.

"Interesting," said Frost quietly. "I've never seen so many apparently different and unconnected species acting together. Could be a mass consciousness, a gestalt or group mind. Or maybe they're all drones, following orders from some hidden and protected queen. I can't be more certain without specimens to examine. But I'll tell you one thing for sure, Captain. Those big bugs aren't natural. Insects don't get that large. Body structure won't allow it. Which implies they were genetically engineered, constructed and adapted for various functions. Maybe all of them were. Which in turn suggests a level of biotechnology well in advance of anything we have."

"How can you be so calm?" said Cross angrily. "Those bastards slaughtered men and women and tore them apart, and you sound as though this was nothing more than a training session!"

"All part of the job," said Frost.

"Damn you, those were real men and women!"

"She knows that," said Silence. "But she's an Investigator. She's seen worse. Now, be quiet and watch the records."

"I think this new file shows the beginning," said Stelmach. "It's the last intact one."

The Base's force Screen shut down suddenly, for no reason anyone in the Base could understand. Which was supposed to be impossible. The personnel weren't too worried—at first. The Base had been designed to protect them from the heat of the fires, even without the Screen. And then the insects came, cracking the Base open like an eggshell to get at the unprotected flesh within. The Base called for help with increasing desperation, but the comm systems were useless. Jammed. Which was also supposed to be impossible.

Finally, one by one, the cameras stopped recording as the insects discovered and destroyed them. And after that, there was only darkness.

The control room surroundings reappeared on the insides of everyone's helmets as the security file came to an end, and they all stood quietly for a long moment.

"There was a pattern to the invasion," said Frost. "The larger insects broke things, the medium range attacked people and investigated human tech, and the smaller ones cleaned up after them, sucking up blood, carrying away machinery, and eating the fallen, whether human or insect."

Silence closed his eyes, but he could still see the images of men and women screaming, struggling helplessly, or crying out for help that never came. He was glad he'd seen only glimpses of the carnage. He didn't think he could have stood seeing the horror of it in real time. He opened his eyes and breathed deeply to clear his head. He had to be cool and centered if he was to have his revenge on the bugs.

"They were specialized by function." Frost was still speaking, and Silence made himself pay attention. "Designed for specific purposes. But what did they want here?"

"What aliens always want," said Stelmach. "To destroy humanity."

Silence swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "It isn't usually that simple, Stelmach. We know what happened here, but not why. And without the why, we can't hope to predict what they'll do next. They could be anywhere inside the Empire by now. There has to be a reason for all this destruction and slaughter. Investigator, you said the insects appeared to have been designed for specific tasks in this assault. That implies there was an aim to be achieved, an end to be reached."

Yes," said Frost. "Almost certainly. I get the impression they were after information, as much as anything. They certainly seemed to pay special attention to the computer records. People were mostly killed or attacked when they got in the way or tried to interfere with the search. I think they were looking for something."

What could they have wanted here?" said Cross. "Gehenna is the farthest planet in this sector of the Empire. There's nothing beyond here but the Darkvoid."

"And they couldn't have come this far through the Empire without being noticed," said Stelmach. "So they must have come from… outside the Empire."

"Nothing lives in the Darkvoid," said Frost. "Apart from the traitors on Haden."

Then, maybe they came from the other side of the Darkvoid," said Silence slowly. "And this was the first human outpost they discovered. But why just attack? We always try to communicate first. If only to find out what we're getting into. Did the Base have something the aliens wanted? Something they knew the Base personnel wouldn't give up voluntarily?"

"I think we're reaching a bit here," said Cross.

"Of course we are," said Frost. "It's all we've got. Now, unless you've got something useful to say, shut the hell up. We're thinking. So they took tech apart, killed people in search of something. Information. What did they want to know that we wouldn't tell them?"

"Weaknesses," said Stelmach. "Defense stations, weaponry, secrets…"

"The location of homeworld!" said Silence. "Destroy Golgotha, and the whole Empire would be crippled!" A shudder ran through Silence as his thoughts raced ahead of him.

"You thought this was a trap, Investigator, but it isn't. It's a decoy intended to keep us occupied here while the aliens head for Golgotha! Heads up, everyone. We're leaving."

"Oh, come on," said Cross. "This is really reaching."

"No," said Frost. "It feels right. It's what I'd do."

"But what about the missing personnel?" said Cross. "What if they're being kept somewhere here on Gehenna? If we go chasing off after a theory, they could die here! What if we're wrong about this?"

"Then, we're wrong," said Frost. "Now, shut up and move. Homeworld must be protected, at all costs. No wonder you keep being transferred, Cross. You talk too much."

"We are leaving, people!" said Silence. "Investigator, lead the way. Cross and Stelmach, stick with me. Marines, bring up the rear. If anything moves, shoot it. We don't have any friends here anymore."

And so they made their way back out of the Base, breasting the endless sprinkler rain like swimmers in a race. It was hard to run in the heavy, clumsy hard suits, but they did it anyway. There was no telling what kind of advance the aliens had on them. The attack on the Base couldn't have happened long ago. What was left of the human bodies hadn't had time to corrupt much. That meant a few days at most. So everything depended now on what kind of stardrive the alien ship had, and whether it was the equal of the Dauntless's new drive. The Dauntless was supposed to be the fastest thing in the Empire, but Silence and Frost knew something the others didn't. The amazing new stardrive was based on a drive Silence and Frost found in the alien ship crash-landed on the planet Unseeli. Which meant there was no telling how fast the new alien ship might be. Especially, one that had apparently crossed the Darkvoid from one side to the other; something no Empire ship had ever dared attempt.

Usually, the Empire found aliens and made decisions about their future. The aliens could join the Empire, be subjugated, or die. No other choices were available. This time, something had found the Empire. And all Silence could do was hope the Dauntless got back to Golgotha in time to give a warning. Before the aliens arrived and started making decisions about humanity.

* * *

The Dauntless dropped out of hyperspace and plunged into orbit around Golgotha, all weapons systems charged and ready, and immediately began broadcasting warnings on all channels. Sensors raked the darkness for signs of the alien ship, and only then discovered that the homeworld's defenses were in a complete shambles. The Dauntless homed in on the main starport, only to find everyone was shouting at everyone else, and no one was listening. Cross ran through all the comm channels, but the chaos had spread even to the most restricted emergency channels.

"What the hell is going on down there?" said Silence. "Did the alien ship beat us here?"

"No sign of anything on the sensors," said Frost immediately. "But that's not all that's missing. There are supposed to be six starcruisers constantly on patrol, orbiting Golgotha, as the Empire's last line of defense. I can't find a trace of any of them."

Silence looked across at the comm station. "Cross, are our warnings getting through?"

"Impossible to say, Captain. The channels are such a mess that priority's a joke."

"Let me try," said Stelmach, moving in beside Cross. "I have access to security channels that most people don't know about."

"Go ahead," said Silence. "Frost, use the long-range sensors. Get me some pictures of what's going on down there."

Frost grunted something, preoccupied with her instruments, but after a moment the viewscreen suddenly flickered into life. The starport and its landing pads had been systematically destroyed. Smoke rose up from blazing buildings, and broken starships lay scattered across the broken pads like so much shattered crockery. The steelglass control tower was cracked like a jigsaw, and everywhere fires blazed out of control. Emergency services were doing what they could, but things had obviously got out of their control long ago. There were bodies everywhere, and Silence had no doubt there were many more he couldn't see.

"The alien ship got here about six hours ago," said Stelmach. "Launched an attack while the control tower was still trying to identify it. It blew up the ships on the pads and then made dozens of strafing runs, raking the port and the city with energy weapons of an unfamiliar type. Force fields and Screens were no protection. They either failed or the energy weapons blew them aside. Known casualties are in the hundreds of thousands. As yet the Empress is in no danger; she's safe in the Imperial Palace, deep below the surface. We can only hope the aliens don't know she's there."

"This is insane!" said Silence. "How could one ship have done so much damage unchallenged?"

"It appears the aliens got a lucky break," said Cross. "As far as I can make out, the rebel underground launched some kind of sabotage attack only a few hours before the alien ship arrived. They then made their escape on a Hadenman ship. The six starcruisers took off after it. Security were busy chasing their own tails trying to sort out the extent of the sabotage, and got caught napping."

"It wasn't security's fault!" Stelmach said quickly. "The rebels crashed nearly all of the computer defenses. We were helpless."

"Forget about laying the blame and get me some information I can use," said Silence. "Where's the alien ship now?"

"On the far side of the planet," said Frost. "It's on its way back here. Two, three minutes tops, depending on whether it stops to blow something else up."

"What are you going to do, Captain?" said Cross.

"Blow it to shit," said Silence.

"No," said Frost immediately. "Normally, I'd agree with you. Captain, but for now we need answers more than revenge. We have to know more about them, where they come from. If this ship really did cross the Darkvoid to find us, who knows what else might be following them? We need prisoners to interrogate and the ship as intact as possible, to study."

"Any other restrictions you want to lay on me?" said Silence.

"There's also the case of the missing Base personnel," said Cross stubbornly. "If they're being held on the alien ship…"

"Then they're expendable," said Silence. "I'll save them if I can, but I'm not making any promises. Same to you, Investigator. Stopping the attack comes first. Homeworld must be protected. And if it comes to blowing the alien ship apart rather than letting it escape, that ship is dead."

"Understood," said Frost. "You'd have made a good Investigator, Captain."

"Thanks a whole bunch," said Silence. "Cross, where is it?"

"It's coming," said Cross. "Should be in visual range any time now."

"Red Alert," said Silence. "All shields up, everyone to their battle stations. Power up all weapons and tie in fire-control systems. Cross, download our log so far, along with any other useful information concerning the aliens and what happened at Gehenna Base, and launch the files in an emergency buoy. If anything should happen to us, the information can be retrieved later by whoever survives this mess."

"It's coming," said Cross. "I have it in my sensors. Its speed is incredible."

"Put it on the viewscreen," said Silence.

The scene on the viewscreen changed to show the great glowing curve of Golgotha, and the darkness and the stars beyond. One of the stars was moving rapidly toward them, jumping in size as Cross increased magnification. The alien ship finally sprang into view, and Silence leaned forward in his command chair. The alien craft appeared to be a huge hull of sickly white webbing, tied and tangled together. It reminded Silence of a wasp's nest or a cocoon. Insect imagery. The ball had no details of shape or structure and no identifiable technology.

"How big is it?" Silence said finally.

"About two miles in diameter," said Cross. "I'm listening on all channels, but I'm not picking up anything from the alien craft."

"Sensors indicate mainly organic material," said Frost. "Presumably protected by some kind of force shield, but the few energy readings I'm picking up make no sense at all. No identifiable drive, or weapons, or… anything, really."

"Try talking to them," said Stelmach. "Maybe we can negotiate."

"Unlikely," said Frost. "Even the best computer translators take months to produce a working language. Besides, I'd say they've already made their intentions clear."

"Damn right," said Silence. "I don't negotiate with butchers. Anything else on the sensors?"

"Getting some high-energy readings as we get closer, nothing familiar. Wait a minute. Something's happening. The energy readings are building…"

Flaring energy leapt out from the alien ship, crossing the intervening miles in a moment, and crackled across the Dauntless's force shields. It seethed and hissed all over the shields, testing, searching for weak spots. Alarms went off all over the Dauntless as slowly, inexorably, the crackling energy tore through the force shields, seeped through the outer hull, and burst into the ship's interior. Blazing light leapt out of workstations on that side of the ship, incinerating crew members where they stood. More alarms sounded every minute, and fires burned unattended in a chaos of screams and shouted orders. Emergency systems were bypassed, and the energy spread.

"Evacuate that section!" said Silence. "Get out as many as you can, and then isolate the section and seal it off. Set up a series of force shields in the corridors. See if you can slow it down at least. Frost, talk to me. What is that stuff? What is it doing to my ship?"

"Sensors indicate pure energy, Captain," said Frost calmly. "But it also has definite physical properties. Possibly some form of plasma energy in suspension, but don't quote me. It's ignoring everything we throw at it. And if these readings are to be believed, the energy has begun to infiltrate our instrumentation in that section, subverting it and taking it over."

"We just lost sectors H through K," said Cross. "They're no longer responding to central control, or auxiliary backups. Life-support systems are shutting down in those sectors."

"Is everyone out?" said Silence.

"Most of them," said Cross. "Those that didn't get out won't last long."

"Evacuate the adjoining sectors," said Silence. "Seal them off with as many interior force shields as we can generate. Any injured are to get themselves to the Infirmary. Everyone else is to stay at their posts. Investigator, any recommendations?"

"Our shields won't hold back the energy for long, Captain. Defensive measures are strictly temporary. This would seem to indicate the need to take the offensive. If the alien ship has any force shields, my sensors can't find them. It's looking more and more like our best bet is to hit them with everything we've got and see what happens."

"I was hoping we'd have something else we could try first," said Silence. "I don't like playing our main hand this early. But needs must prevail when the devil drives. Gunnery Officer, target the alien ship. Hit it till its shields go down and we start inflicting actual damage, and then break off and stand by for new orders."

The Dauntless's disrupter cannon opened fire in sequence, one after another, maintaining a constant barrage of destructive power. Strange energy fields suddenly flared into being around the alien ship, shimmering fiercely. The disrupter cannon pounded away at them, but they held firm. Within the Dauntless, the strange crackling energy spread slowly but inexorably from one section to the next, infiltrating and subverting essential systems as it went. Life support was going down sector by sector. Crew members died at their posts, or running for their lives.

A workstation on the bridge exploded suddenly, throwing its operator lifeless to the floor, his clothes and hair burning fiercely. Strange energies danced on the bridge air like heat lightning. Silence yelled for people to back away from the blazing workstation, but for everyone else to hold their posts. Fires licked along one wall, hot and blazing.

The disrupter cannon fired and fired, and suddenly the alien ship's fields went down. Chunks of the sickly white webbing were blown away into space. And as suddenly as that, the strange energies infesting the Dauntless disappeared. Workstations returned to normal, emergency systems began taking care of fires, life support was reestablished, and the attack was over. Silence ordered the disrupter cannon to break off firing, but to stand ready to resume the attack as necessary. The fires went out, the injured were helped, and the dead were dragged away. When the last alarm went off, it was eerily quiet on the bridge.

"All right," said Stelmach. "What do we do now?"

"We board the alien ship," said Frost. "We've done them some damage, but we have no way of telling how much, or how long it'll take them to make repairs. So we'd better strike now while they're still weakened."

"Agreed," said Silence. "I want that ship taken intact, so our people can take it apart and see what makes it tick. Especially, the shields and the weapons. We might have to face them again. But even so, given the state of the Dauntless, I can't authorize more than a small boarding party. You, Investigator, myself, and a dozen marines."

"Sounds good to me," said Frost.

"You can't leave the ship now, Captain," said Stelmach. "There are damage reports coming in from all over."

"Then, you deal with them. I'm needed on the boarding party. If only because I'm one of the few people here to have faced aliens and lived to tell of it. Cross, you work with the Security Officer. See he has all the support he needs."

"Yes, Captain," said Cross. "But I do feel I should point out that Regulations clearly state…"

"All right, you've pointed it out. Now, forget it. With all the trouble I'm in, a few more broken Regs are the least of my worries. You don't need me, Cross. This ship is dead in the water. Just watch over her, and don't let Stelmach get too carried away with his new responsibilities. Anyone calls, you know where to find me. Let's go, Investigator. I want a close-up look at the kind of ship that can trash an entire city and starport and almost took out an Imperial starcruiser."

"Right," said Frost. "And with a bit of luck, we'll get to kill some aliens, too."

"There's always the chance they're playing possum," said Stelmach.

"Then, they'll soon be dead possums," said Silence.

The Dauntless maneuvered carefully with the little power she had left to set herself alongside the alien craft, which made no move to acknowledge her presence. Sensors picked up no energy readings or life signs. Silence lay quietly in his hard suit inside the torpedo tube, listening to the reports over his comm implant. He didn't place too much reliance in the sensors. He had a strong feeling the alien ship was still perfectly capable of keeping its secrets to itself. He stirred uncomfortably, as best he could. He was lying facedown in one of his own torpedo tubes, the shoulders of his hard suit brushing against the steel walls, and he barely had room to twitch his fingers, never mind attend to the itch that was building with slow malevolent intensity between his shoulder blades. Normally, he'd only have to wear a hard suit maybe half a dozen times in a year, and this was the second time in one mission. He sighed deeply and ran through his suit's built-in diagnostics again. Anything to keep his mind occupied. As soon as the Dauntless got close enough, he was going to be fired out of the torpedo tube toward the alien ship, and he wasn't looking forward to it one bit. Even if it was his idea. There was no entry port he could fly a pinnace to, and blowing a hole in the alien craft big enough to dock a pinnace might have all kinds of unpleasant consequences. That just left climbing into a hard suit and knocking on the door the hard way.

Silence sighed again and wished he'd made time to visit the toilet first. The suit's facilities were efficient but primitive. The inside of his helmet had nothing to show him but the inside of the torpedo tube, and whatever displays he felt like calling up. It felt like he'd been stuck in the tube for hours, but the suit's timer, blinking officiously low on his left, insisted it had been barely twenty minutes. Silence wondered idly if this was what the inside of a coffin looked like, and then rather wished he hadn't.

"Captain, Dauntless is in position," said the Second in Command's voice suddenly in his ear. "Launching now."

Silence had an almost overpowering urge to say No, stop, I've changed my mind, and then pressure exploded around him, and he was shot out of the torpedo tube and into space. It was very dark, but the stars were very bright. They whirled around him in dizzy arcs, and then settled down as the hard suit orientated itself and its built-in computers locked onto the alien ship. The rocket pack on his back kicked in and nudged him toward the alien craft with a series of carefully considered bursts. The huge white ball hung silently before him, blank and ominous. This close, the tangled strands of webbing looked more like thick twisting cables. It also looked disturbingly organic. Alive. And quite possibly not nearly as damaged as it was pretending to be.

He could see the damaged areas increasingly clearly as he drifted closer. They were deep, ragged pits in the sickly white surface, sinking deeper than even his suit's augmented vision could follow. The ragged edges of the broken cables hung limply, unmoving. Silence frowned and studied them closely. He kept thinking he saw some of them twitching just on the edge of his vision, but when he looked at them straight, they were still.

He could see Frost, coming into view beside him, and his sensors told him the dozen marines were spread out around him in a narrow curve. Their presence was immediately reassuring, and he began to breathe a little more easily. He hadn't spent much time in actual space since his cadet days at the Academy, and he'd forgotten how cold and lonely it could be. Golgotha lay below him, great and golden and giving him at least a sense of up and down, but the sheer size of space was horribly intimidating. And lovely though the stars were, they were a hell of a long way off. It was also a hell of a long way down, but he was trying very hard not to think about that. If anything were to go wrong with his suit, he could end up dying in a variety of really unpleasant ways. But nothing was going to go wrong. The suit's diagnostics were fine, and its computers would get him to the alien ship far more safely than he could have managed on his own. At which point he would no doubt encounter some really disgusting alien life forms, more than ready to kill him in even worse ways. Join the Imperial Navy and see the universe. He smiled despite himself. He'd still rather be here than stuck helplessly back on the bridge, worrying about what Frost and the marines were getting into.

He concentrated on the alien ship growing steadily larger all the time. It filled space before him, expanding like a small planet as he drifted toward its surface. The white cables were now thicker than a landing craft, impossibly long as they stretched away in each direction, and pocked with small and large holes, as though something had been gnawing on them. Silence found that thought disturbing. What the hell could the alien craft have encountered in its long travels through the Darkvoid that had actually tried to eat it? He put the thought out of his mind and concentrated on his landing.

Silence and the Investigator and the marines drifted down onto the surface of the alien ship, like so many settling seeds on a forest floor, and collected on the edge of one of the holes the Dauntless had blasted in the outer surface of the ship. It was a good thirty feet across and went down at least a hundred feet. There was no telling how much deeper it went. The hard suits' sensors couldn't follow that far. Even though they should have been able to. Silence checked his other instruments. No ambient heat from the hole, no radioactivity, no magnetic fields, and only low traces of gravity. Maybe one-tenth human level. Whatever secrets the alien ship had left, it was keeping them jealously to itself. Silence activated his comm implant.

"Dauntless, this is the Captain. Do you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Captain," said Cross immediately. "Sensors are locked on your position, and we have full telemetry on your hard suits. Wherever you go once you're inside the alien craft, we'll be able to follow your movements and advise you."

"I feel safer already," said Frost. "Keep your guns trained, Cross. Whatever happens, this ship is not to be allowed to escape. You will prevent such an escape with all means necessary, whatever the cost. Is that clear?"

"Captain?" said Cross uncertainly.

"Do as the Investigator says," Silence said flatly. "She's the expert here. If it comes down to the bottom line, we're all expendable. The Investigator and I perhaps a little more so than others. We're going in now. Let's all stick together, people. And whatever we find inside this ship, don't get distracted. I want information, not dead heroes. Investigator, if you'd care to lead the way, we can get this show on the road."

"Of course, Captain."

Frost stepped off the edge of the pit and began to fall slowly down into the great hole the Dauntless had made, helped on her way by short bursts from her backpack. Silence followed her, and one by one the marines came after him, in a long line of slowly falling bodies. The shoulder lights on their hard suits pushed back the darkness as they fell, but there wasn't much to see. The inside walls of the pit were composed of the same thick white cables, pressed and twisted together. The controlled fall seemed to go on for ages, and then the floor of the pit loomed suddenly up beneath them. Frost touched down first, got her balance in a moment, and looked quickly about her, built-in weapons at the ready. Silence joined her a moment later. The massive cables beneath his feet didn't give at all, bulging around him like waves in a frozen sea. The marines drifted down around him, dropping out of the gloom into the light like great silver snowflakes. They landed easily, with casual skill, and moved out to form a defensive circle around Silence and the Investigator, who was thoughtfully studying the floor of the pit.

"Interesting," she said finally. "We hit this ship with everything we had. When its shields went down, the outer skin of the hull, or whatever the hell this stuff is, took the full brunt of disrupter cannon firing at virtually point-blank range. Solid steel would have melted and run like water, where it didn't immediately evaporate. But I can't find any trace of heat or structural damage."

"Self-regenerating?" said Silence, and the Investigator shrugged.

"Maybe. If it is, it's far beyond anything we've got. And why just repair the walls? Why not seal over the hole?"

"Because they knew we'd be coming, and they wanted to control where we landed," said Silence. "The word trap suggests itself to me. Suggestions?"

"Blast a way through to the interior," said Frost. "I brought enough shaped charges to blow a path through a small moon. Once we're inside, we'll see if anyone comes to complain about the noise."

"If you're going to start messing about with explosives, I am getting myself and my men out of here," Silence said firmly. "I never met an Investigator yet who understood the concept of subtlety when it came to explosives."

And then he broke off and looked sharply at the wall beside them. Two of the thick white cables were twisting slowly apart to form a tunnel leading deeper into the ship. Frost leaned in cautiously, her suit lights illuminating the tunnel as far as they could. It seemed entirely empty. Silence tried his suit's sensors, but they weren't picking up anything. As far as they were concerned, the tunnel might not even have been there.

"Silence to Dauntless. You picking up anything on your end?"

"We're patched into your suits' comm signals, Captain," Cross murmured in his ear. "We can see everything you can. But long-range sensors have nothing to add. I can say we're not picking up any life signs yet. We've heard from Golgotha starport; they're still too busy putting themselves back together to be able to offer us any help. The good news is that the six starcruisers who went chasing off after the Hadenman ship apparently lost contact with it. They're on their way back. Should be here in just under an hour."

"Well, that's something, I suppose." Silence turned to Frost. "Your call, Investigator. Do we go in?"

"Into a possible trap, possibly crammed with murderous aliens? Of course, Captain. Nothing to be gained standing around here."

"I had a feeling you were going to say that. All right, lead the way. Marines, stay close behind us. Be ready to fire at a moment's notice, but exercise caution. There's always the chance we might find the missing personnel from Gehenna Base in here somewhere. I'd like to get them out of here alive if at all possible. Lead on, Investigator."

Frost stepped carefully into the tunnel and moved in step by step. Silence and the marines moved after her. The cables making up the tunnel's inner walls were smoother, thinner, but just as unyielding to the touch. Their white color had thin blue traces in it, like veins. Silence increased the magnification of what he was seeing, and the wall seemed to leap toward him. The cables were pulsing slightly in a regular rhythm. He stepped the view back to normal and touched the wall with the tips of his steel fingers. The built-in sensors detected no warmth of life, only a faint stickiness. The walls were rounded, like the floor and the ceiling, as though he and his team were walking through the bowels of some enormous beast. And maybe they were at that. Silence glanced back over his shoulder, to see how the marines were coping, and only then realized that the tunnel had closed itself off behind them. The cables had fitted together again, thick and impenetrable. Silence quickly alerted the others and then spun around to see for themselves. Frost was all for going back and blasting it with her disrupters, but Silence stopped her.

"Let's follow the tunnel first. See where it leads. We can always come back and blast it later. Dauntless, have you followed what's happened here?" There was nothing but quiet in his ears. "Hello, Dauntless? Do you hear me?" He listened hard, but all he could hear was his own harsh breathing. "Investigator, see if you can raise them."

Frost tried, and then the marines, to no avail. Frost growled something under her breath and then turned to Silence. "It's not the suits. All the diagnostics check out. Something's blocking the signal. We're on our own, Captain."

"Not for the first time. Press on, Investigator. I don't think the occupants of this ship let us in just to hold us here. I think… they're expecting us."

Frost sniffed loudly and led the way on. And as they penetrated farther into the ship, the cables continued to open before them, creating more tunnel, and closing off behind them, to prevent turning back, so that Silence and his people moved constantly in a traveling pocket within the webbing.

The cables varied even more in size now, and there were other changes, too. The corpse-white cables swirled around and over each other, tangled together beyond sense or meaning, some little more than a finger's width. The floor was no different, and more than ever Silence felt like he was walking on a spider's web, sending out rhythmic signals of where he was and where he was going. The impression grew stronger as all the strands grew increasingly sticky to the touch. It got harder to pull their boots free from the floor, and soon only the power of the hard suits' servomechanisms kept them going. Strange lights pulsed within the rounded tunnel walls, come and gone so quickly it was difficult to decide what color they might have been. Sometimes Silence thought they weren't any color he'd ever seen before. But still there was no sign of any construction or device, or any sign at all of whatever crewed the alien ship.

The tunnel puckered in suddenly from all sides, so that the away team had to crawl through on their hands and knees, one after the other. And on the other side they rose to their feet as they found themselves in a great, egg-shaped chamber, with a high ceiling and smooth polished walls. Dark shapes and oddities budded out from the floor and walls, carefully formed but enigmatic in meaning. Frost snapped out a warning not to touch them, which Silence for one found completely superfluous. He wouldn't have touched any of them on a bet. For no reason he could put a finger on, his mind kept throwing up an image of himself stuck helplessly to one of the dark shapes, while the chamber filled slowly with digestive juices. He was sweating inside the hard suit, despite the cool air it was circulating.

They moved on through the vast chamber, stepping slowly and carefully, touching nothing, and finally left the chamber through another of the puckered holes. Beyond lay more tunnels, opening before them and closing after them, and more chambers studded with various shapes, none of them immediately comprehensible to the human mind. Until finally the away team encountered another, smaller chamber, and discovered what had happened to the missing Gehenna Base personnel.

The chamber was some hundred feet in diameter, the walls pockmarked in rows both vertical and horizontal, and a thin layer of vapor covered the floor, beading wetly on the hard suits' armor. There was light of a kind, a harsh unforgiving blue-white glare that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Long flat slabs of some unfamiliar metal were scattered across the floor, held just above the vapor, and on those slabs, held firmly by some unseen force, were the remains of the Base personnel. Some were only parts: organs and limbs and faces. A dozen complete torsos had been messily vivisected, and from the few with heads attached and the expression on their faces, Silence had no doubt at all that these men and women had been alive and aware when the vivisection began. Anywhere else he might have felt sick, for all his experience, but right then he was too full of rage and fury to feel anything else.

"They'll die for this," said Frost in a calm, cold voice. "Every living thing on this ship shall pay in blood and suffering."

The marines stirred restlessly, looking this way and that for something to aim their weapons at. Silence knew how they felt, but kept an icy firm control on his anger. "You can kill the aliens only after the specialists have squeezed every drop of information out of them, Investigator. Until then, I want captives, not corpses. Marines, remember your orders. Minimum force only, unless in life-threatening situations. Use your own judgment, but you'd better be prepared to back it up later. There will be a time for vengeance, but we must have the information this ship holds. We might have to face more of its kind in the future."

"Don't lecture me," said Frost. "I know my duty."

"Sorry, Investigator. Just speaking for the record. There's nothing more we can do here. Mark this chamber's location on your suits' maps, and we'll move on. We can send people in to retrieve the bodies later. Right now we have to find the control section. I want this ship immobilized and helpless before it can finish its repairs. I also want a good look at the crew, and more and more it seems the only place we can be sure of finding them is at the control center. They wouldn't dare abandon that."

He led the way across the chamber, moving carefully between the crimson spread-eagled bodies on the slabs, trying hard not to look at them. It was easier to control his anger that way. It seemed to take forever to reach the opening on the far wall, but as he drew near it puckered shut in a mass of solid, tightly packed cables. Silence prodded it here and there with his steel fingers, but it didn't give anywhere. He hadn't thought it would. He hit it once with his fist, and then turned back to the others. They stared at him silently with their featureless steel helmets. Slowly, and without any fuss, the light was going out. The slabs with their grisly specimens began to disappear into rising vapor. It didn't take much imagination on Silence's part to picture the alien crew massing on the other side of the closed portal.

"Marines, I feel we are quite definitely now in a life-threatening situation. Feel free to shoot anything that moves that isn't us. I'd like a few specimens left alive, just a few, so if anything runs, let it. Investigator, make an opening here."

Frost aimed her armored right hand at the closed opening, and the disrupter built into the glove blasted a hole right through the tightly packed webbing. A sickly green light spilled into the chamber through a ten-foot-wide hole, and everyone braced themselves for an attack that never came. Silence and Frost edged forward and peered through the new opening. Hanging ends of ruptured cables hung twitching and jumping from every side, but showed no signs of knitting themselves together. They pattered weakly against the hard suits, but did no harm. Beyond the opening lay a narrow milky-white tunnel with smooth, faintly glowing walls. It was barely eight feet in diameter, only just big enough to take the away team in their hard suits, and Silence couldn't help wondering if that was deliberate. There was no sign of any enemy.

"I'll take the lead," said Frost. "This is Investigator business now."

"Couldn't agree more," said Silence. "After you."

Frost stepped through into the narrow tunnel, the gauntlets with built-in guns held out before her. Silence followed, and the marines brought up the rear. The floor of the tunnel gave disturbingly under their weight, as though it might rupture at any moment and spill them into whatever lay waiting below. But somehow it held. Silence pressed on and tried hard not to think about it. He'd lost all track of where he was in relation to the ship's exterior. He wasn't actually lost. The suit had kept track of all his twists and turns, and could easily lead him back. But he still didn't know where he was precisely; he just had a strong feeling he was getting deep and deeper in, being lured remorselessly toward the dark heart of the alien craft. He checked his air supply, but he'd barely touched it so far. Theoretically the re-breather could keep him alive for up to a week. Under normal conditions.

He deliberately didn't finish that thought and instead studied the tunnel walls to either side of him. They were flat and smooth, not cabled, more like membranes. They pulsed and fluctuated to no apparent purpose, and waves of pale color briefly tinged the milky white like passing thoughts or dreams. The passage was also narrowing, slowly but inexorably. Silence used his suit's sensors to measure the diameter of the tunnel and compared it to the size it had been when they entered it. He frowned at the answer and calculated how long it would be before the tunnel grew too small for his team to continue on. He liked that answer even less. Four minutes, thirty-seven seconds. No buts or maybes.

"Investigator, marines, stop right where you are."

They did so. Frost didn't look back, but he knew she was watching him quite clearly on the inside of her helmet. Silence measured the tunnel behind him with his suit's sensors and wasn't at all surprised to discover that the tunnel had already narrowed beyond the point where they could pass through it.

"I was wondering when you'd notice," said Frost. "It would appear the aliens have us where they want us. Shall I blast it?"

"What the hell," said Silence. "When in doubt, make a loud noise. Let someone know we're here, and we're not at all happy about it."

Frost aimed her built-in disrupters at the narrowing tunnel before her, and the milky-white walls split apart in a hundred places as insects beyond counting burst in on the away team. The bugs ranged in size from many-legged things the size of a fist, which swarmed all over the hard suits looking for weak spots and entry points, to huge bulky things with their own armor and vicious pincer claws. The tunnel was briefly full of flashing disrupter bolts, and insects fried as the tunnel walls blew apart, but once the guns fell silent the away team disappeared beneath a writhing mass of silent insect life. Tiny things swarmed over the suits' sensors, and Silence was suddenly blind and deaf. He tried to brush the insects away with his powerful steel hands, but there were just too many of them. Warnings flashed up before his eyes as acid began to eat into his armored joints, threatening the hard suit's integrity. Screams sounded in his ears as the insects invaded a marine's armor and began to eat him alive. More screams followed.

"Frost!" said Silence. "You still have those explosives?"

"Enough to blow us all to hell, if that's what you want."

"I was thinking more of just enough to blow the insects to shit without rupturing our suits. Think you can manage that?"

"No problem. Brace yourself."

When it came, the explosion was powerful enough to briefly fill the inner screen of Silence's helmet with a dozen warnings, but they faded out one by one as the suit held. He brushed vaguely at himself, and sight and sound returned as dead insects fell away and the sensors cleared. The tunnel hung in tatters around them, and beyond and around them lay the secret of the alien ship; the vast, imposing shape of the Queen of the alien hive.

She filled the space beyond the tunnel, a great bloated sac of living tissue, hundreds of yards across, living walls of pale pulsating flesh, studded here and there with black lid-less eyes. Ridiculously small atrophied limbs protruded in places, remnants of a forgotten earlier life. Metal instruments and gleaming cables plunged into her great flesh from all around, as though she was built into the ship or it had been grown around her.

Silence tore his gaze away and looked around him. The swarming insects had been blasted away by the force of the explosion. Dead and injured alien forms lay everywhere, some twitching feebly. But Silence had no doubt more were already on their way. Eight of the marines were still standing, looking numbly to him for instructions. The Investigator only had eyes for the Queen. Silence checked the four fallen marines for life signs, but he already knew what he'd find. Their suits had ruptured from the combination of the explosion and insect damage. Four more good men lost to the aliens. Silence looked up sharply as his suit's sensors picked up scrabbling sounds, drawing nearer.

"Investigator, more insects on the way. Recommendations?"

"Hit the Queen. She's the heart and mind of them all."

"You heard the Investigator, marines. Hit the Queen with everything you've got."

Vivid light seared from the away team's disrupters and blasted away great chunks of the Queen's body. The pale flesh boiled and vaporized and blew apart, only to seal itself together again in moments. The Queen was just too big for them, too huge even for energy weapons to do any real damage. She towered over them, vast and monolithic, and from everywhere at once lesser aliens came suddenly swarming into what was left of the tunnel. There seemed no end to the living wave, and Silence knew that this time no weapon he had would be enough to stop them. They would just keep coming until their sheer numbers overwhelmed the away team. If he was lucky he'd die then.

Damn. More good men lost. Frost. I wish…

And then everything changed. The enigmatic gift he'd acquired from the Madness Maze blazed brightly in his mind and Frost's, and they were linked again, mind to mind, soul to soul. A vast, incomprehensible roar filled their heads: the alien thoughts of a million insects, and thundering through it like a great heartbeat, the commands of the Queen.

It took Silence and Frost only a moment to patch into the roar of the mass mind, seize control, and impose their own commands upon it. The insect tide turned away from their human prey and fell upon the Queen. They swarmed all over her gigantic body and began to eat her alive. The last thing Silence and Frost heard before the link broke and they fell back into their own heads again was the Queen, screaming. They both grinned savagely.

Only human again, Frost and Silence looked at each other. They couldn't see each other's faces, but they didn't need to. Silence glanced briefly at the stunned marines watching the insects devour their own Queen, and decided explanations could wait. He activated his comm implant and accessed Frost on the command channel.

"It's not the same as the creature we found on Unseeli," Frost said calmly. "And it's nothing like what those poor bastards found on Wolf IV. So what exactly have we got here? The creators of those killer aliens in the vaults on Grendel? Or the ancient enemy the Grendel Sleepers were created to fight? Or something else entirely?"

"Beats the hell out of me," said Silence. "Let the specialists worry about it. We need to talk, Frost. This… link of ours. It's getting stronger. I don't know how much longer we can keep it hidden."

"We have to," said Frost. "They mustn't know what really happened here. They'd reclassify us as espers. Strip us of our rank. Turn us into lab rats. I'd rather die than live like that."

"There's always the underground."

"Not for us."

"No," said Silence. "Not for us. Aliens like these could return at any time, and only a strong and undivided Empire can hope to stand against them. So we'll keep quiet about what happened here. Act like it's a mystery to us, too. Lionstone doesn't need to know."

"On the other hand," Frost said thoughtfully, "Lionstone was actually really quite lucky here today. With the fleet gone and the planet's defenses in disarray, Golgotha was practically defenseless. If we hadn't turned up when we did, this ship could have trashed half the damn planet. We saved her Imperial ass. Could be she'll be grateful. Grateful enough to overlook our recent failures. What do you think?"

"Not a chance," said Silence.

CHAPTER THREE

Drowning Men

Finlay Campbell, outlaw and terrorist, once the most fabled fop and dandy of his age, and under another name secretly the Masked Gladiator, darling of the bloodthirsty Arena fans, hung upside down on the end of his rope and wondered if perhaps he was getting a little too old for heroics. Spread out below him lay the wide streets and bristling avenues of Golgotha's main city, the Parade of the Endless. It took its name from the endless supply of would-be heroes who came thronging every year to try their strength and courage in the Arena the city hosted. The aristocracy lived in the city, too, in their tightly guarded pastel towers, because after all this was the very best place to be, to see and be seen, in all the Empire. Apart from Lionstone's Court in the Imperial Palace, but you went there only when summoned. And if you were wise, you made out your will before you went. Just in case.

Finlay decided that his thoughts were drifting in unnecessary directions. Hanging upside down with the blood rushing to your head will do that to you. He sighed once, reached up and took a firm grip on his line, and hauled himself back up, hand over hand, till he reached a convenient resting place on the side of Tower Silvestri. Luckily, the Silvestri Family went in for rococo design, so that the sides of their tower were crusted with hundreds of niches and unexpected curves, full of ugly little statues with exaggerated genitals and faces only a mother could love. Finlay squeezed in beside a particularly well-endowed gargoyle with dyspepsia and got his breath back. All this time and trouble just to climb a nine hundred-foot tower. Definitely getting past it. Be taking milk in his coffee next.

If it hadn't been for his safely line, he'd have made a really nasty sploch on the ground below. That was what you got for hurrying. Normally, he'd have known better, but he'd fallen behind schedule. His own fault. He'd stopped off on the way to the tower to indulge himself with a good meal at a decent restaurant. Nowhere fashionable. He couldn't afford to be recognized. But since his Clan had fallen prey to an extremely hostile takeover by Clan Wolfe, he'd been forced to flee for his life. And the only people he could flee to were the clone and esper underground, who were fine when it came to courage and ideals and sticking it to authority, but rather lacking in the comforts department. In particular, Finlay missed the fine cuisine his position entitled him to. While never exactly an epicure, he knew what he liked. Soup so clear you could swim in it. Meat served very rare. In fact, just kill the beast, dismember it, wave the meat in the direction of the fireplace, and then slap it down in front of him, that was all he asked. A few out-of-season vegetables, just for bulk and fiber, and finally, a disgustingly sticky sweet to finish on. Heaven. Absolute heaven.

He'd been denied it for so long, and the smells wafting out of the little tucked-away bistro he passed proved just too tempting. A quick glance at the watch face embedded in his wrist had assured him he was well ahead of schedule, so… he allowed himself to be weak. He hadn't looked at his watch again till after his third helping of dessert and was horrified to see how much time had flown while he indulged himself. He dropped a handful of coins on the table and ran out the door like a man ashamed of the tip he was leaving. He'd got to the base of Tower Silvestri with aching lungs, a stitch in his side, and his recent meal rumbling rebelliously in his stomach. It was a wonder the guards hadn't heard him. He followed the agreed-upon approach, slipping between patrols, and threw himself at the side of the tower like a sailor fresh home from the sea visiting his wife. He was still very late, and he'd hurried the climb. Which was how he nearly came to be decorating half the pavement with his insides.

He checked his watch again. He was cutting it very fine. He worked on his breathing, slowing it determinedly back to normal as he stared out over the city. The pastel towers stretched away in all directions, a forest of metal and glass and alien stone, gleaming prettily in the sunlight. He glanced at his reflection in the mirrored steel behind him. He needn't have worried about anyone recognizing him in the bistro. He didn't look at all like he had used to. In his glory days he'd looked like nothing so much as a multicolored bird of paradise, dressed always in the brightest silks and graces current styles allowed. Tall and graceful and fashionable to the very moment, from his polished leather thigh boots to his velvet cap. On his last visit to Court, with his florescent face and metallized hair, he had worn a long cutaway frock coat that showed off his exquisite figure, and a pair of jeweled pince-nez spectacles he didn't need, and everyone there had bowed to him as one of the not-so-secret masters of fashion. Now look at him.

The face in the reflection could have been anyone. No cosmetics to camouflage a minor defect or bring out the bone structure. No bright colors to loudly announce status and rank, or attract the attention of other proud peacocks. Finlay's face these days was thin and drawn, with deep lines accentuating the mouth and eyes. He was just twenty-five and looked at least ten years older. His long hair was a yellow so pale it was almost colorless. At Court it had shone a bright metallic bronze, curled and bouncing over his shoulders. Now it hung limp and lifeless, and he didn't give a damn. He wore a simple leather headband to keep it out of his eyes. He knew he should cut it short. It would have been much more practical. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to do that. It would have been too much like cutting his last link with the person he used to be.

Once his clothes had been the peak of fashionable excess. Now he wore a loose-fitting thermal suit with a chameleon circuit that took on the colors of his surroundings. Finlay smiled briefly, and the man in the reflection smiled back, but Finlay still didn't recognize him. That man looked rough and hard-used, and very, very dangerous. His eyes were cold and careful, and his smile had only a sad humor in it. He could have been an ex-soldier or a mercenary, hired muscle for sale to anyone with the right price. He had the look of that most dangerous of men: someone with nothing left to lose.

No, he thought firmly, and made himself look away. He still had his love for Evangeline, and the new cause he'd embraced. As a noble, he'd never thought about the lot of those beneath him, let alone the non-people, the clones and espers at the very bottom of the heap. Then he came face-to-face with the horrors of Silo Nine, also known as Wormboy Hell, where rogue espers were imprisoned, tortured, and eventually executed, and what he saw there changed him forever. Now he fought for justice for all, and if he couldn't have that, he'd settle for revenge.

Which was what had brought him to Tower Silvestri in the first place. He forced himself to his feet and began climbing again. His arms and legs trembled from the strain, but they'd get him where he had to go. The underground had offered him a choice of stimulants, chemical miracles to put a little pep in a tired man's muscles, but he'd turned them down. He'd never needed chemical courage in the Arena, and if he wasn't quite the man he used to be, he was still the best the underground had. He laughed breathlessly as he flung himself on, clambering over jutting gargoyles and howling stone faces like a swift-moving shadow, his chameleon suit blending him seamlessly into his surroundings.

Maybe after this the Silvestri Family would take the time to rethink their image. Gothic rococo was all very well and picturesque, but it made sneak missions like this a breeze. On a high-tech building like Tower Shreck, with its featureless walls of steel and glass, he would have been spotted in a minute. But like everyone else, both Clans put their faith in extensive high-tech security systems, which to be fair were all you really needed, most of the time. They were more than enough to see off your average thief, spy, or industrial saboteur. They were enough to keep out anyone, unless you happened to have the backing of those cunning cybernetic anarchists: the cyberats, bless their dark little hacking hearts, who were currently feeding Tower Silvestri's systems a bunch of comforting lies, with no mention at all of the silent figure darting up the defenseless exterior.

He reached the end of his line and stopped to lean companionably on the forbidding stone statue of some noted Silvestri ancestor. He pulled up the line and wound it securely around his waist. He'd come as far as he needed. Just as well, given the state of his aching arms and legs and the cold sheen of sweat on his face. He scowled, breathing deeply. He'd built his muscles as a gladiator in the Arena, and despite his recent enforced absence from the killing sands, he prided himself he was still in damned good shape. The climb alone would have killed a lesser man. He flexed the muscles in his arms and legs, blocking out the pain. He was almost there. Just a little farther. He swung carefully out and around the stone statue and made his way slowly across the face of the tower, finding hand and footholds where he could. Forget the pain building in his muscles and back. Forget the precarious holds, the gusting wind, and the long drop down. Just climb, foot by careful foot, and concentrate on his mission and the kill at the end.

For most of his adult life, the world had known Finlay Campbell only as a fop and a dandy, highly visible at Court, and a constant disappointment to his renowned warrior father. No one knew of his secret second life as the Masked Gladiator, undefeated champion of the Golgotha Arena, except for the man who trained him and the woman who loved him. When circumstances forced him to flee for his life, Finlay had been forced to reveal his prowess as a fighter to the underground. It was the only coin he had to buy their acceptance. There was no room among them for passengers; particularly, if you were neither clone nor esper but merely only human. They sent him on a mission, alone and unsupported, to prove himself or die, and when he came back trailing blood and victory, they shrugged and allowed him his place among them. But though they knew him as a fighter, he never told them about the Masked Gladiator. They didn't need to know that.

He also hadn't told them about his need, the constant burning need for action, violence, and sudden death that had driven him to the Arena in the first place. There were times when it seemed to him that he felt really alive only when he was killing someone. Evangeline Shreck had silenced or at least pacified the need when she was with him. Their love had been all he needed or desired, but their time together had only ever been one of snatched moments. Their Families had been at daggers drawn for generations, and both young lovers had always known that they could never hope for a future together. Somehow that foreknowledge fanned the flames of their love rather than diminished it, and the man who once lived only to kill lived instead for the moments of peace he found in her arms.

But now he lived down below, in the underground, and she had returned to the world above, to Tower Shreck and her awful father. Her position and connections among the occupants of the pastel towers made her too valuable for her to be excused for long. So they held each other one last time and tried not to cry, and said good-bye in choked voices. He went with her as far as he could, and then stopped and watched her walk away until she disappeared into the distance. They'd promised each other they'd be together again, but neither of them really believed it. Happy endings were for other people. Finlay Campbell walked back to the underground alone, and if a part of him died that day, he kept it to himself. It didn't interfere with his being the killer the underground needed for their ongoing struggle.

He'd never thought of himself as a rebel. Never thought about the society he moved in, any more than a fish considers the water it swims in. He took its delights and perquisites for granted, and never knew or cared whose work and suffering provided them. He had been an aristocrat other aristocrats bowed to, heir to one of the most powerful Families in the Empire, possessed of power and wealth beyond counting.

Then the Wolfes slaughtered and scattered the Campbells, and he was suddenly just another face on the run, with any number of Wolfes and their hired swords snapping at his heels, ready to kill him on sight. His only safety now lay with the underground, whose rationale he distrusted and whose ideologies mostly left him cold. He understood their hatred for the way things were. What had been done to the espers and clones in Wormboy Hell was indefensible, for any reason. The torture and suffering he'd seen had turned even his hardened stomach. It took him a little longer to realize that espers and clones faced similar, smaller horrors every day of their lives, in or out of Silo Nine. They were non-people. Property. Their owners could do anything with them they wanted. Finlay always had.

He'd never been much interested in politics, and never would, but he had developed a grudging respect for the rebels, and a willingness to fight on their behalf. Apart from that he didn't have anything much in common with them. He had nothing to say to them and didn't understand or care about what interested them. They thought he was naive, and he thought they were boring. He also spent a lot of time sulking because he no longer had access to the pretty clothes and sparkling parties that had so distracted him when he wasn't in the Arena. The underground didn't have time for nonessentials like fashion or parties. When he wasn't sulking, Finlay tended to brood about the destruction of his Clan, the triumph of his enemies the Wolfes, and what Evangeline was doing without him. All in all, he was a pain in the ass most of the time, knew it, and didn't give a damn. So the underground did their best to keep him busy with missions, for both their sakes. It wasn't difficult. The underground had a lot of enemies, and Finlay had an endless need for a little action.

So he volunteered for all the high-risk missions. The underground accepted, and they were both happy. It was hard to tell which of them was the more surprised that he kept coming back alive.

This mission was pretty typical. The underground had marked a powerful and particularly vocal opponent for death, and Finlay was to be their instrument. Only this time the target and intended victim was the notorious Lord William St. John, Second in Command to the Lord High Dram himself, and therefore constantly surrounded by a small army of well-armed guards and high-tech security. Never moved in public without his people covering the ground for miles around in advance. A portable force Screen for emergencies and his own personal flyer to carry him everywhere. Completely untouchable. Unless you were mad, desperate, or supremely skilled. Like Finlay, who was all three at various times, according to his needs. Which was why he was currently crawling up the side of Tower Silvestri like a tiny gray spider, hopefully overlooked by all.

He finally reached the relatively deep recess he'd noted earlier on the architectural plans the cyberats had dug up for him, and he pulled himself into it. There was just room for him to curl up into a ball and still keep a weather eye on the scene below. He was about a hundred and twenty feet up, and snug as a bug in a rug. Waiting. Lord William St. John would be here soon, according to the underground. Billy boy the bully boy, whose word was death for clones and espers and anyone else who got in his way. Billy the Butcher, hated and reviled by practically everyone, but entirely untouchable because of his position. The Empress was said to be quite fond of him.

And he was coming here to Tower Silvestri, stopping off with his armored entourage to pay his compliments to his friend and ally Lord Silvestri, on his way to officially open a new orphanage nearby. Appropriate really, given how many orphans St. John and his people had created over the last few years. Since Dram became the Empress's official Consort, as well as Warrior Prime, he'd had to delegate most of his duties in the field to his Second in Command, St. John. Billy boy had taken over the pursuit and persecution of potential rebels, and the execution of rogue clones and espers, and did it all with great efficiency and even greater gusto. Blood and death followed in his wake, and he was never known to bring in his prey alive. Cruelty and slaughter were his pastimes; mercy was not in him. The underground had voted unanimously for his death. St. John's execution would send a message to the Imperial Palace that could not be ignored.

No one would weep for his passing, not even his own kind. Of late, St. John had taken to playing politics, seeking to improve his position to something more than just the Lord High Dram's shadow. He went about it with his usual vim and venom, and made enemies among his rivals with sneering abandon. Opening a new orphanage was safe and uncontroversial, and bound to get St. John good publicity. The man of action with a soft spot for big-eyed children. Couldn't fail. All the big holo networks would be there. Finlay grinned. They didn't know it, but they were in for some of their best ever ratings.

Finlay hadn't missed the similarities between himself and St. John. They were both men with a need for blood and death, and a willingness to get their hands dirty in the process. As soldiers in a war they'd have been heroes, feted by all, with medals and commendations. They'd have been comrades, perhaps even friends. Sitting around a roaring fire in winter, with drinks in their hands, toasting old campaigns and lost comrades. But if there was a war, Finlay and St. John were on different sides. And the similarities between Finlay and St. John just made it that much more of a challenge.

Finlay looked up sharply. He could hear the publicity circus approaching. A brass band led the way, marching down the street in full ceremonial uniforms, playing something pointedly martial and patriotic. After them came a full company of St. John's private guards, conditioned by mind techs to be loyal unto death, surrounding a small personal flyer on which St. John stood tall and proud, smiling and waving to the crowds that packed the street. Finlay sniffed, unimpressed. The crowds had appeared with suspicious speed. One might almost think they'd been paid to gather in just the right place to impress the holo cameras.

St. John was looking good in his everyday uniform with no decorations. Nice touch, that. Meant to suggest that at heart he was just one of the boys, just another soldier doing his job. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a barrel chest and a handsome face—the best the body shops could supply. And if his smile was a little practiced and his eyes a little cold, well, people were used to that in the politicians.

Finlay ignored the man, concentrating instead on his flyer. It was really nothing more than a large personalized gravity sled with extra armor, decorated so lavishly with precious metalwork and studded jewels that even Finlay's taste was faintly appalled. You needed style to bring off that kind of excess, and Finlay had a strong suspicion St. John wouldn't know style if it walked up to him on the street and bit his nose. Just another reason to kill him, and put him out of everyone else's misery. The air was shimmering slightly around the flyer; force Screens generated by the craft to ensure the onlookers kept a respectful distance. Strong enough to turn aside an energy beam or the blast from an explosion. St. John's security people knew their business. However, force shields kept out everything. Including air. So the force shields covered only the sides of the craft, leaving the top open so St. John could breathe. It wasn't much of a risk. At the first sight of a flyer or gravity sled approaching from above, the top would be sealed instantly and maintained for us long as it took the potential threat to pass. No problem. Unless of course there was no flyer, no gravity sled. Just one man crouching precariously in a recess in the wall of the tower above St. John.

Finlay grinned. He'd spotted the opening the moment the underground had explained St. John's security setup to him. Attack from above was thought to be impossible, given the surrounding towers' security systems, but even the most sophisticated instruments could be fooled or bypassed by a man willing to take risks; a man who didn't care whether he lived or died. The openness of that thought shocked Finlay for a moment, mostly because it was true. He could live without a Family or his place in society, but he couldn't go on without Evangeline. Events were conspiring to keep them apart, possibly forever, and a life without Evangeline wasn't worth a damn to him. He looked down at the entourage moving into place below him, and his smile widened into a death's-head grin. Someone was going to die soon. St. John stopped his flyer before the tower's main entrance, directly below Finlay, and was preparing to begin his speech. All Finlay had to do was draw his gun and shoot the little toad through the head.

Except, of course, that would have been far too easy. Finlay Campbell had a reputation to uphold.

And he liked to get his hands dirty.

A flick of his hand was all it took to send his rope darting down the side of the tower till it hung unsuspected over St. John's head. It had the same elusive qualities as his chameleon suit, and was for all intents and purposes invisible, even to security systems. Finlay eased himself out of his concealing niche, clinging tightly to his rope, and leaned out over the long drop. He paused, savoring the moment, and then pushed himself away from the side of the tower, sliding down the rope with gathering speed. Leather gloves protected his hands from the growing friction. Wisps of heated smoke escaped between his fingers as he hurtled down, but he waited till the very last moment to clasp his hands shut, slowing his descent. He freed one hand and drew the dagger from his belt. At the last moment St. John must have heard or sensed something. He looked up, and it was the simplest thing in the world for Finlay to let go of the rope, drop down, and stab St. John neatly through the eye.

The Lord convulsed, his arms flying wide, but he was already dead. Finlay's feet hit the deck of the flyer hard, his leg muscles absorbing the impact. He jerked the dagger out of St. John's ruined eye in a gush of blood, and the Lord slumped bonelessly to the deck, twitching and shuddering. The flyer was still rocking sickly from the impact of Finlay's sudden arrival, and the handful of guards on the flyer with St. John were too busy trying to regain their balance to put up much of a defense when Finlay tore into them with his sword and his dagger and his death's-head grin. He swung his sword in short, chopping arcs, doing the most damage possible without risking the blade getting caught in flesh or clothing. He laughed breathlessly, cutting down the disorientated guards with brutal professionalism, and if sometimes their blades came too close for comfort, he didn't give a damn. He was in his element, doing what he was born to do, and loving it.

His sword slammed into a guard's gut and out again in a flurry of blood, and the blade rose quickly to parry a blow from another guard that would have taken his head off. Finlay was glad someone was making a fight of it. He threw himself at the guard, and for a moment they stood head-to-head, neither giving ground. And then something in the guard's eyes gave him away, and Finlay flung himself to one side, just as the other guard behind him lunged forward. Finlay laughed nastily as the other guard ran through his previous opponent, and cut the man down from behind while his sword was still trapped in his comrade's body. There were only three guards left now, and Finlay disposed of them quickly. He didn't have the time to savor it.

He ran the last guard through with a flourish, jerked the sword out in a welter of blood, and looked about him, taking in the situation. He wasn't even breathing hard. Only a few minutes had passed since he'd struck St. John down, and outside the flyer most of the dead Lord's security people were still trying to figure out some way of getting into the flyer so they could get at his assassin. The force shields were still keeping everyone well back, as they'd been designed to, and as yet it hadn't occurred to any of them to try climbing Tower Silvestri, as Finlay had. One poor fool fired his disrupter at the flyer, and they all had to duck and dodge as the energy beam ricocheted back. Someone with his wits about him was yelling for extra flyers, and Finlay took that as a sign it was time for him to leave.

He moved quickly over to the flyer's controls, stepping carefully over the bodies, and lifted the flyer up into the air. A quick glance around showed him more flyers approaching at speed from the south, and he sent his flyer weaving quickly in and out of the pastel towers, accelerating rapidly to a speed his pursuers would be hard-pressed to match if they had any sense of self-preservation. He laughed aloud and stamped his feet on the deck for the simple pleasure of hearing his boots squelch in the pooled blood of his enemies. He'd done it again, made the kill that everyone said was impossible, and got away with it. He'd shake off the flyers behind him and make his escape. He always did. He glanced back at the dead Lord William St. John, lying very still with a surprised look on his bloody face, and Finlay laughed again. It sounded loud and confident; and if it was a crazy kind of laugh, too, well, Finlay could live with that.

Adrienne Campbell, wife of Finlay, once the scourge of polite company and owner of the biggest, loudest, and foulest mouth in all society, sat fuming before her blank viewscreen and wondered whom to call next. She'd tried practically everyone she could think of, including some she would have sworn she wasn't talking to, but no one would talk to her. Some made excuses, some were rude, but most just instructed their servants to say that they were not at home, the liars. Adrienne had fallen from grace when the Campbell Clan went down in flames, and she was taking it hard. She was now banned and ostracized from the very society she once dominated through the sheer strength of her personality. But that was when she had the power and position of Clan Campbell behind her. Now she was just one of the very few survivors of a broken Clan, and isolated as she'd never been before. No one would talk to her. They were afraid that what happened to her might be catching.

Her cousin by marriage. Robert Campbell, had been protected from the fall by his position in the military. The fleet looked after its own. It was only through his influence and protection that Adrienne had survived the vendetta pursued so viciously and methodically by the triumphant Wolfe Family. Blood had flowed in the streets, with no one to answer the begging and the screams, but she had been left strictly alone. As long as she didn't interfere. So she hardened her heart and locked her door, and didn't answer the desperate knocking that came again and again. They begged and threatened and called her name, and some of them cried; but she sat as far away from the door as she could, with her hands over her ears. It didn't help. She could still hear when the Wolfes came to drag the screaming voices away. Sometimes they stopped screaming suddenly, and the silence that followed was worse.

Finally, the voices stopped coming, and no one knocked at her door anymore. Adrienne Campbell was alone. The Wolfes now owned everything the Campbells had, leaving her nothing but a few scraps of personal jewelry. Her credit rating had been revoked. A few very minor Campbell cousins escaped the bloodbath, usually because they had connections or protection, like Robert, but they wanted nothing to do with her. She didn't blame them. The reign of the House of Campbell was over in every way that mattered.

Adrienne was of average height and a little less than average weight. Nothing like fear and desperation to back up a restricted diet. She'd lost pounds in the past few months she would have sworn would be with her till the day she died. She couldn't go out to buy food or even order it through her viewscreen. She had no money. She was dependent on Robert for everything now, and he had his own problems. He still did what he could, bless him. When he could. And whereas previously she'd proudly worn the latest and most garish outfits society had ever seen, outside of her husband, she now made do with a wrinkled housecoat of plain, subdued colors. She'd had to leave her wardrobe behind when she fled for her life. She didn't really miss her clothes. She'd worn most of them only to annoy and upstage her fashion-obsessed husband. But it was the principle of the thing. She couldn't bear to think she looked boring. Robert provided her with clothes now, when he thought of it, just as he'd provided this bolt-hole. Like most men he had no taste at all.

She scowled at her reflection in the viewscreen. Adrienne had a sharp face: all planes and sudden angles, her scarlet mouth currently compressed into a flat angry line. She had dark, determined eyes, and a ridiculously turned-up nose that had seemed like a good idea at the time. She still had her great mop of curling golden hair, though it looked more than a little distressed at the moment. All in all, she'd looked better.

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. She was too tired and dispirited even to stay angry for long. How far had she fallen to end up here like this. A bedraggled wreck in a dingy apartment, trying to wheedle invitations and support from boring acquaintances and lesser Families she would have disdained only a few months previously. Not that Adrienne was a snob. It had always been a point of pride with her that she despised everyone equally.

Now here she was, trying to improve her position by playing politics with the only card she had left: Finlay. He'd managed to disappear very thoroughly, which surprised Adrienne. The Finlay she'd known had never been that good at anything. Still, a lot of people wanted him, for reasons they mostly preferred not to discuss, and thought perhaps they could get to him through her. Either through bribes or threats. Adrienne knew nothing, but took their money anyway, and spun them out as long as she could with hints and promises before they finally wised up. She ignored the threats. Robert and his friends in the military were protecting her, and everyone knew it. No one was ready to go head-to-head with the fleet over knowledge they weren't even sure she had. The fleet had a long memory for insults, and it bore grudges. So Adrienne played her little games, a small fish in a big pond, and tried to avoid being eaten by the sharks.

She assumed she was currently ahead of the game. She was still alive, after all. If you called this living. She sniffed angrily and glared at her reflection in the viewscreen. She'd spent a lot of time with her thoughts lately and had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that she didn't like herself much. She was too busy being negative about everything to be positive about anything, even herself. But she knew she was right about this one thing. Adrienne had built her personality quite carefully and deliberately, being hard and harsh and uncompromising, because that was the only way she knew to get things done. Being soft just got you hurt, or even killed. High society had always believed in the survival of the fittest. Besides, she'd enjoyed being rude and obnoxious and loud. If only because she was so very good at it. But all her strength and all her hardness and all her clever, vicious words hadn't been enough to save her when the House of Campbell fell.

Her children were safe, at least, in a military school. Not quite the future she'd intended for them, but a safe haven, none the less. Robert had arranged it for her. Strange to think that that young man with the naive background and the vague smile was now the Campbell, head of the Family. There was no one else with a better claim but Finlay, and he had given up all claims to power and position when he chose to disappear into the underground. Now only a few very minor cousins remained with any legitimate claim to the title, and they were mostly still in hiding—keeping their heads well down till the storm passed and the waters calmed. The rest were mostly dead, or missing and presumed dead. A few had married hastily into lesser Houses, giving up their name in return for protection. Some of those had gone missing, too. The Wolfes had a long reach and endless malice.

Adrienne knew that if she had any pride, she should give up on society, as it had given up on her. But she couldn't. It was all she knew. The great game of influence and intrigue was the only game worth playing, and it was infinitely addictive. She'd do anything, promise anything, to get a foot in the door again. It was either that, or retreat into the underground, which she despised. She had no taste for rebellion, full of thugs and non-people and the lower classes. And she'd never been one to hide her light behind a bushel. On the whole, apart from her present circumstances, Adrienne liked things as they were. If she could only find just the right leverage, she had no doubt she'd be accepted back into society again. They had to take her back. She was one of them. She might have verbally attacked society on occasion, but she was lost outside it. All she knew was how to be an aristocrat and play the game.

Which was why she'd been reduced to making more and more desperate calls to fringe elements, lesser Houses, and those "personalities" who lived on the edge of events for whatever crumbs they could pick up from the greater players. Renowned for taste and repartee and knowing all the latest gossip, they passed in and out of fashion according to a season's taste or whim.

But one figure was always there, raising laughter and eyebrows with barbed bons mots and the perfect put-down. Chantelle. Not so much a friend, more an honored rival, but Adrienne had known her for years. Chantelle had no aristocratic blood or political power, but somehow still commanded everyone's attention at those soirees she deigned to attend. She decided fashion, chic, and everything else that mattered with a gorgeous smile or a flared nostril, and never gave a pretender an even break. You could break fingernails on her charm, but she never forgave a slight. She and Adrienne had always had a lot in common. Including several ex-lovers, who kept their mouths firmly shut on certain matters, if they knew what was good for them. If Adrienne could get Chantelle's backing, no one would dare insult her, or refuse to take her calls. If Chantelle accepted you, so did society. If society knew what was good for it.

Adrienne braced herself and made the call. There was always the chance Chantelle would see her own possible future in Adrienne's fall and feel sympathetic. Adrienne jumped despite herself as the viewscreen cleared to show Chantelle's frowning face. The doyen of fashion was wearing last night's rather lived-in gown and makeup, suggesting she'd only just got in from a late night, or more accurately, an early morning. Her long hair gleamed a lustrous bronze with silver highlights, and her heart-shaped face glowed florescent. And only the truly picky would have pointed out that the sheen on her hair was looking rather dull in places, and that the makeup around her mouth was smeared. Adrienne bore it in mind in case she needed ammunition later on. She smiled bravely into the viewscreen, but before she could speak Chantelle sniffed loudly.

"I wondered when you'd get around to me. Yes I do know why you're calling, and no I can't help you. You are out, Adrienne dear, so far out I can't even see you from where I am, and nothing short of a major miracle or direct divine intervention will get you back in. Your Clan is scattered, your influence broken, and your credit rating has sunk so low you'd need an earthmover to find it. Personally, I don't think it could have happened to a more deserving person. You were never really one of us, Adrienne, with your big mouth and bullying ways. You never understood decorum or proper behavior. The right way of doing things. You aspired to be a scandal, but truth be told, you were always too boring for that. If I were you, I'd run to your friends for protection. But then you don't have any friends, do you? Good-bye, Adrienne. Don't call this number again."

Chantelle's face disappeared from the viewscreen. "Goodbye, Chantelle," said Adrienne. "I do hope you have dysentery soon."

She was debating whether to call Chantelle again, just to remind her that her choices in dress had always inspired projectile vomiting in anyone with a smattering of taste, when her viewscreen chimed, alerting her of an incoming call. For a moment Adrienne just sat there. No one had called her since she arrived here. Not least because most people weren't supposed to know where she was, and those who did were careful to contact her only in person. Adrienne drew herself up and accepted the call. Maybe she'd won the lottery. The viewscreen cleared to show Lord Gregor Shreck, head of Clan Shreck. A short, fat butterball of a man, with a bulging fleshy face and deep-set eyes, the Shreck was one of the most dangerous men in society, mostly because he never cared what his actions cost him as long as he got what he wanted.

"Dear Adrienne," said Gregor, his voice oozing a charm that didn't reach his eyes. "I have a proposition for you. A little give-and-take to our mutual advantage. Are you interested?"

"Depends," said Adrienne in her most frosted voice. It didn't do to get chummy with Gregor. He took advantage. "What do you want from me? As if I didn't know."

"You never liked him, Adrienne, even if he was your husband. And you really haven't got anything else to bargain with that anyone wants. You don't have to do anything difficult. Just contact Finlay and persuade him to emerge from the underground at an agreed time and place, so we can be waiting for him. We'll take him away, and you can return to society, as though nothing had ever happened."

"You don't have that much influence."

"I will have once I have Finlay."

"What makes him so important?"

"You don't need to know, dear."

"What will happen to him?"

"What do you care? I'd suggest you make good use of this offer while it still stands. Finlay is currently very hot, and a lot of people want him. He's just killed Lord William Sr. John and has made a rather amazing escape."

"Wait a minute," said Adrienne. "Hold everything. Finlay's killed someone?"

"Yes. I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't seen the holo recordings. He's really quite an excellent swordsman. I can only assume he's been taking lessons in the underground. But not to worry. I'll have more than enough men standing by to handle him."

"St. John's dead? The Empress's own personal attack dog?" Adrienne shrugged. "Can't say I ever liked the man. Thought he was God's gift to women, and he had clammy hands. I had to hit him around the ear with a candlestick once."

"That's as may be, Adrienne. Will you help us, or do I have to apply a little pressure? You have two very lovely children. Quite charming. Be a shame if anything were to happen to them."

"You touch my babies, and I'll rip your balls off with my bare hands," said Adrienne. Gregor continued as though she hadn't spoken.

"Robert isn't the only one with friends in the military. Think about it. And call me when you've made your decision. Don't take too long. If all else fails, I might decide to do terrible things to you, in the hope Finlay would come to rescue you. Rather a distant hope, I'll admit, but we could do all kinds of interesting and inventive things to you while we were waiting for your husband to show up."

"I'd smack you right in the mouth, Shreck, if I wasn't afraid of catching something disgusting from you," said Adrienne in a voice so cold she barely recognized it. "Now, remove your loathsome presence from my viewscreen. My neighbors will think I've got a toilet overflowing in here. If I change my mind, I'll contact you. But don't hold your breath."

Gregor Shreck just laughed. Adrienne hit the off switch, and a sudden echoing silence filled the room. She sniffed and stretched slowly to get the tensions out of her body. She must be losing her touch. She should have been able to handle a creep like the Shreck. There was a time she could goad a man into an impotent homicidal fury with just a few well-placed barbs. But this time Gregor held all the major cards, and he knew it. Worst of all, she was considering his offer. Finlay had never meant much to her, and she couldn't risk anything happening to her children. Robert had sworn he'd protect them, but when all was said and done, he was only a junior officer in the fleet. And if Finlay really was going around killing people… She bit her lip. If she allied herself with the Shreck, and Robert found out… Robert had been due to marry the Shreck's niece, Letitia, in an arranged marriage. They'd almost completed their wedding vows when Gregor killed her, rather than have her dishonor him. He'd strangled her with his bare hands while the Campbells held Robert back. He'd never forgiven the Shreck for that.

Adrienne's scowl deepened, if she was going to do this, Robert must never know. Which meant she'd have to shake off the people Robert had protecting her, before she could start making arrangements to contact the underground. She'd be putting herself at risk. Gregor wouldn't be the only one to think of using her as bait in a trap to catch Finlay. Not that he'd come anyway, the bastard. Finlay had never made any secret of his feelings, or rather lack of them, for her. They had absolutely nothing in common except the children, and on the few occasions they absolutely had to meet, they could hardly exchange a dozen words without sniping at each other. After a dozen words they tended to escalate rapidly to shouting invectives and throwing things.

It had been an arranged marriage, of course. Neither of them had had any say in the matter. Personally, she'd always thought Finlay was mentally disturbed, with his obsession over clothes and fashions, and his recent exploits only seemed to confirm that. But would he really stand by and do nothing while his wife was tortured to death? Would she, if the situation was reversed? Well, yes, probably. Adrienne had always known she was a hard bitch at heart. But Finlay had put his own life at risk to save hers when she was mortally wounded during the Wolfe hostile takeover. If he hadn't got her to the regeneration machine in time, she would have died. She could still feel the sword punching through her belly and out her back. Sometimes she dreamed about lying helpless on the gravity sled's desk, awash in her own blood, while Finlay strove desperately to shake off the pursuing Wolfe craft. She woke drenched in sweat and couldn't sleep again until the morning brought comforting light. Finlay had saved her life, when he didn't have to. But typical of the man, he had to do it in a way that insulted and humiliated her.

She hadn't known about Evangeline Shreck then. She'd known there was someone in his life, some other woman who mattered to him in a way she never had. But she hadn't known who till she woke up in the regeneration machine in Evangeline's apartment in Tower Shreck. Robert and his people were standing guard over her, but Finlay and Evangeline were long gone. Robert had got her to safety, Evangeline finally resurfaced, free of guilt or any connection to Finlay, and returned to her apartment. But Adrienne had never found the courage to call her.

Adrienne sighed and looked around her at her cramped quarters. It had started out life as Robert's bachelor pad, somewhere for him to crash and burn on his infrequent leaves, and hadn't improved since. It might almost be worth making a deal with Gregor, just to get out of this dump. She'd had Jacuzzis that were bigger. And it was strictly masculine territory, with no frills or fancies or real comforts. She itched to transform the place according to her tastes. But one, she didn't have the money, and two, Robert would have a fit. He actually liked it this way. Men. Probably washed his underwear in the hand basin, and clipped his toenails in the bidet. He let her have what money he could, but it wasn't much. Clan Wolfe now possessed all the old Campbell assets, bad cess to the bastards. She'd been selling what personal jewelry she'd been wearing on the day, piece by piece, to keep her head above water, but it was nearly all gone now. She hadn't got much for them. She was limited in where she could go. Old friends didn't want to know her, and businesses were afraid to make enemies of those in society who openly gloated over Adrienne's downfall. It appeared her big mouth had offended practically everyone at one time or another. Adrienne sniffed. Hell with them if they couldn't take a joke.

If she were to work with the Shreck and betray Finlay, he'd probably let her name her own price. She could be rich again and part of society and laugh in the faces of all those who'd ostracized her…

There was a knock at the door, and she spun around sharply, face flushed as though she'd been caught doing something wrong. As though whoever it was had known what she was thinking, she made herself breathe steadily and glared at the door. Two callers in one day. She was getting popular. She forced her voice to be calm even as she asked who it was, and then tensed again as Robert Campbell identified himself. He'd made it clear right from the beginning that he wouldn't be visiting her often. There was a limit to how much he could be seen helping her. He had his career to think of. And his own safety. Adrienne understood. If he was here now, it must be important. She flushed again. He couldn't know about the Shreck's offer already. He couldn't. She made herself open the door, and Robert came breezing in, wearing full fleet uniform with a kit bag over his shoulder. He nodded and smiled at her, dropped the kit bag on the floor, and looked around his apartment.

"Just a flying visit, I'm afraid, Adrienne. My orders came through this morning. I've been posted to one of the new E-class ships, the Endurance. Massive bloody craft, with twice the usual weaponry, as well as the new stardrive. She takes off tomorrow, two weeks of tests and shakedowns, and then we're off to patrol the Rim for six months. Which means not only will I not be able to protect you anymore, but the fleet is going to want these quarters back for someone else. Sorry to spring this on you, but I wasn't given any warning myself. I've got some friends here in the city who'll try and look out for you, but I can't speak for their loyalty if anyone starts putting the pressure on."

"I understand," said Adrienne, and she did. The Shrecks' contacts in the military were already at work, arranging things. Removing her options one by one till she had no one left to turn to but Gregor Shreck.

"There is someone who might be prepared to help you," said Robert. "But you're really not going to like it. I've contacted Evangeline Shreck. She was, and is, Finlay's love, but she's a good sort, for a Shreck. She'll do anything for Finlay. Even protect you. Go and see her, Addie. You might find you have more in common than you think. Now, I've got to go. They're expecting me on the Endurance. I'll try and keep in touch. Good-bye. Good luck."

He grabbed up his kit bag, pecked her quickly on the cheek, and left, closing the door quietly behind him. Adrienne scowled, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She'd always known her residence here was only temporary, but it still came as something of a shock to be thrown to the sharks so suddenly. The question was, did Evangeline know about her father's plans for Finlay? Was she, perhaps unwittingly, a part of them? If so and Adrienne warned her, that would put Evangeline in her debt. Adrienne nodded, smiling coldly. She always felt more comfortable when dealing with people from a position of power. She would go and see Evangeline Shreck. If only so she could hear about a side of Finlay she'd never known herself.

Evangeline Shreck stood before the single great window in her apartment in Tower Shreck, looking out at the world beyond, a prisoner in her own home. The door wasn't locked, of course. Nothing as obvious as that. But if she were to try and leave the tower without getting her father's permission first, polite guards would calmly but firmly insist that she return to her apartment while they waited for instructions from the Shreck. And they'd walk back with her, just to make sure she didn't get lost along the way. The Shreck wanted her going outside as little as possible. Officially, he was concerned that the Empress might try and seize her, to become one of her maids—a mentally conditioned slave with no will of her own. Lionstone had already done it once with the Shreck's niece. No one had done anything. No one had said anything. No one dared, not even the Shreck.

But mostly Gregor was concerned that Evangeline would he revealed as a clone, in these very anti-clone days. If it were ever revealed that the Shreck had cloned his daughter after she died suddenly, and then passed the clone off as the real thing, there would be outrage in the Court and in society. Being replaced by a clone of oneself was an aristocrat's worst nightmare. Gregor would be punished and ostracized, and the clone Evangeline would be destroyed—mostly for the crime of having fooled them all for so long.

But even that wasn't the whole truth. The Shreck kept her a prisoner because he could. He wanted to love, cherish, and own her completely, as he had his real daughter. For the Shreck had loved his daughter not as a father, but as a lover. Which might have been why he killed her. Evangeline didn't know the true story. The Shreck insisted it had been an accident, but he liked to drop hints, now and again, that no one ever defied him and lived to boast of it. Evangeline kept her head bowed and did as she was bid. For though she hated her father and would have killed him in a moment if she could, she had no choice. By playing the loving, dutiful daughter, she bought the Shreck's protection for her true love Finlay's wife and children, as she had promised Finlay she would. He never knew the price she paid. He must never know, or he would come storming up out of the underground to take a terrible revenge, not caring if he died as a result. Evangeline cared, so she never told him. She loved him so much she played a role that was destroying her, and never once allowed herself to think how unfair that was.

Evangeline was cracking up, though she hadn't realized that yet. She had too many commitments to too many people. To her father for his protection. To Finlay and his family for his love. To the clone and esper underground for the Cause. They all wanted something from her, and sometimes their needs clashed. It was getting harder to keep them separated. Different lies for different people, until the truth got lost in the smoke. She still loved Finlay with all her heart, though she saw him less and less. The underground kept him busy with missions he never explained to her. She had been the underground's contact with the Court and society, but since she got out so rarely now, she was of less and less use to them. She couldn't explain. They might tell Finlay. And, of course, she couldn't ever tell her father about Finlay or the underground. He'd kill her for what she'd done—for defying him, for daring to love someone else.

After all, he could always clone another Evangeline. He'd done it before.

And so she walked up and down in her apartment, thinking furiously, beating at the shifting walls of her various personas, getting nowhere, going quietly insane. She hardly opened her mouth to anyone, for fear of saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. And always worried that the next person at her door would be from security, with a warrant to drag her away to the interrogation cells. They'd make her talk. Everyone depended on her silence—lover, father, and Cause—and she felt less and less dependable with every day that passed. So far she had kept herself from cracking up through sheer force of will. Partly, because of her love for Finlay, and partly, because of all those who would suffer if she was weak. If she allowed herself to be weak.

And so the weight she carried grew ever heavier, and she could not, would not, put it down. Poor Evangeline.

She jumped despite herself as her comm unit chimed politely, alerting her to an incoming call. She knew who it was, who it had to be, but she went to answer it anyway. She sat down before her dressing table, and the mirror cleared to become a viewscreen, showing her the fat smiling face of her father. A cold hand clutched at her heart. She had to fight to get her breath, and she clenched her teeth together to keep her mouth from trembling.

"Just called to let you know I'm on my way," said Gregor Shreck. "Think loving thoughts till I get there, my precious. And wear the pink nightgown. The one I like. I won't be long. And then we can have some fun, just you and I. Won't that be nice?"

The fat smiling face disappeared, and the mirror returned, showing Evangeline her own face again. For a moment she didn't recognize it. Her face was thinner than it had been, the pale skin stretched taut over the protruding cheekbones. Her eyes had a trapped, hunted, haunted look. She tried a smile, rehearsing for her father, but it looked more like a grimace. She had a feeling the Shreck preferred it that way. And then there was a knock at the door, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She stared blankly at the door, her heart hammering in her chest. It couldn't be him already. Had they come at last to drag her away, screaming and kicking, to the torture of the mind techs, where neither lover nor father nor Cause could save or succor her? She snatched up a heavy pair of scissors from the dressing table. Not as good as a knife, but close. She'd make them kill her. She'd be safe then. Somehow she backed away from hysteria and got a grip on herself, precarious though it was. She moved slowly to the door, still clutching the scissors. It seemed to take forever to get there. When she opened the door with a hand that hardly trembled at all, Adrienne Campbell was standing there waiting for her. Evangeline stared blankly at Finlay's wife, and all she could think was Oh, great. Another complication.

"Well?" said Adrienne. "Aren't you going to invite me in? We have so much to talk about."

"Oh, hell," said Evangeline. "I haven't got time for this."

"We need to talk."

"This isn't a good time. I'm… expecting someone. Could you come back again?"

"I doubt it," said Adrienne, smiling slightly. "Your security people didn't want to let me in at all. I had to speak to them very firmly. Even so, they were still going to turn me away until I demanded a strip search. That slowed them down. I may have fallen from grace, but I am still a Campbell and noble born. Let them try to explain to their superiors that they'd strip-searched an aristocrat, and their next job would be delivering bad news to the Empress. I understand there are always vacancies. They were falling all over themselves to apologize as they let me in, poor bastards."

"What do we have to say to each other?" said Evangeline.

"I don't know," said Adrienne. "But we do have at least one thing in common. Or rather, one person. Have you heard from Finlay lately?"

"Oh, hell. You'd better come in. But you can't stay."

She stepped back to open the door wide, and Adrienne Campbell strode in like she owned the place. She always did. It was practically a trademark. Evangeline realized she was still holding the scissors and tossed them onto a nearby chair. She didn't want to be tempted. Adrienne looked around Evangeline's apartment with a slightly arched eyebrow, implying with a glance that she'd seen much better, but was too well-bred to mention it. She picked out the most comfortable chair with infallible instinct, and sank into its embrace with a single graceful movement. She smiled graciously and waited patiently while Evangeline pulled up a chair and sat opposite her. There was something of the Empress visiting one of her lesser subjects in Adrienne's manner, but Evangeline didn't take it personally. That was just Adrienne for you. She might have fallen from favor, but she hadn't fallen far. Evangeline still felt like slapping her face, on general principles. A giggle almost escaped her, but she forced it back. She didn't have the time for hysterics. She settled herself opposite Adrienne and met her gaze with a cool calm look.

"Finlay never loved you," she said flatly. "You must know that."

"Oh, of course. I never loved him. Our marriage was arranged for various business and Family reasons that no doubt seemed good at the time. We might have made a go of it, but we quarreled walking out of the church, and it all went downhill after that. He had his lovers, and I had mine, and we were both very civilized about it. You look shocked, dear. Surely, you didn't think you were his first?"

"No. He never talked about his other women. But I knew. It didn't matter. He never loved them. Not the way he loved me. I'm just surprised you admit to having lovers, too. I wouldn't have thought love was your style."

"Oh, I've had my moments, dear. You'd be surprised how many men have a secret yen for a good tongue-lashing. In more ways than one."

"Why have you come here, Adrienne?"

"I… need to talk to you. About Finlay. Before the Wolfes declared vendetta and ambushed us at a Family meeting, I would have sworn Finlay cared no more for me than I did for him. But when I was injured and near to death, he put his own life at risk to save mine. He even brought me here, to you, to find the protection I needed. I just wondered… if you knew why."

Evangeline nodded slowly. "He said you were very brave. That you were wounded fighting to protect the Clan. He admired that."

"The Finlay I knew was a fop and a dandy," said Adrienne. "He wore a sword, but I never once saw him draw it. He never took me to the Arena. Said the sight of blood made him feel faint. But when the Wolfes came howling into Tower Campbell, he tore into them with sword and gun like he'd been doing it all his life. To save me, he outran and outfought a dozen pursuers, all trained fighting men. And now I hear he's on the run, after killing the notorious Lord St. John, despite all the Lord's guards. I can't help feeling there must be another Finlay, one I never knew."

"You're right. There was."

"Can you tell me about him?"

"I don't think it's my secret to tell. You'd have to ask Finlay yourself. But I will say he was the bravest, finest man I ever knew. The fop and the dandy were just masks he wore, to keep people like you at bay. To keep you from seeing the real him."

"Married all these years, and I never knew the real him." Adrienne smiled briefly. "But, then, I never looked."

"You never cared."

"That, too. I care now."

Evangeline looked at her steadily. "Why? What's changed? What's happened to bring you here, to me, asking questions about Finlay?"

For the first time Adrienne looked away, but her voice remained steady. "I need help, and there's nowhere else to go. Do you really think I'd be here if I didn't have to be? Robert was protecting me and the children, but he's being sent offplanet. Your father helped arrange it. He's been putting the pressure on. Threats to me, to my children. I can look after myself, but the children must be protected. I need help; some weapon I can use to defend me and mine. That I ended up here should give you some idea of how desperate I am. You loved Finlay, and I married him. He's been a part of both our lives and put us both through a lot, one way and another. Perhaps we can find something in common. I'm sorry you had to hear about your father's part in this. I know you and he are close, but…"

"No," said Evangeline abruptly. "We're not… close."

Adrienne raised an eyebrow. There had been something in Evangeline's voice… "In public and at Court, you're always together. You certainly give the appearance…"

"Appearances can be deceptive. Please, you must go now. He'll be here soon, and he mustn't find you here. I want you to leave now."

"Why? What's so important about a father visiting his daughter?" Adrienne's eyes narrowed. "There's a secret here. I can smell it, like I can smell your fear. What is it? Has he been hurting you? The Shreck's a bully and a bastard, like most men, but I never knew he was violent to his own Family," Adrienne stopped, silenced for a moment by the sudden rush of misery suffusing Evangeline's face. Tears ran down her jerking cheeks as she gasped for breath. Adrienne leaned forward and took Evangeline's hands in hers. "Now, now, don't take on so, pet. Whatever it is, I'll fix it. I'm good at fixing things. And there never was a man born that was worth tears like this. Is it your father? Has he been beating you? I can talk to some people at Court…"

"No. He's not… violent. He…" Evangeline's throat clamped shut suddenly, cutting off her words. She could feel the heat in her cheeks as her face flushed with shame. Her father's words thundered in her head. You can't tell anyone. Ever. Or they'll find out you're a clone. And you know what they'll do to you, then. And you know what I'll do to you if YOU ever so much as hint to anyone else. They wouldn't believe you, anyway. But if you ever do, I'll hurt you, Evie, little Evie. I'll hurt you till your throat goes raw from screaming. Don't you ever dare tell!

She held Adrienne's hands tightly, as though trying to draw strength from them. She was sitting with the one woman she'd hated the most, and was closer than ever before to telling her secret, the one thing she'd never told anyone, even Finlay. Because perhaps only a woman like Adrienne could hear it and not judge. Hear the pain and the horror and not the shame. And, surely, only a woman like Adrienne wouldn't give a damn that she was only a clone…

"Tell me what it is, dear," said Adrienne, keeping her voice calm and steady so that Evangeline wouldn't realize how much her grip was hurting her hands. "We girls have to stick together. It's a man's Empire, even with an Empress on the Iron Throne, but we don't have to take any shit from anyone. Men may have the power, but we're smarter than they are. Whatever it is, I'll find a way around it. He's been locking you up here, hasn't he? That's why we only ever see you together, right? Take out an action against him. Divorce the bastard. Society would stand with you. They don't have any time for that kind of petty bullying."

"You don't understand. He doesn't… hurt me. Not like that."

"What way, then? What has he done to you, to put you in such a state?" And then Adrienne stopped and looked at her. Evangeline braced herself for a look of pity, or even disgust, but instead she saw only shock, giving way to anger. "My God. He's been bedding you, hasn't he? Shitty little bastard. He's been forcing you, hasn't he? Don't you worry, pet. Society will crucify him for this!"

"No!" said Evangeline sharply, fighting back the tears so she could speak clearly. "No one must ever know. If Finlay ever found out, it would kill him. Or he'd try to kill Daddy and be killed anyway. I've kept the secret this long. I can keep it a little longer. To keep Finlay safe. I can't help you, Adrienne. I can't even help myself."

"Now, stop that," Adrienne said briskly. "All right, we can't go to society, but there are other ways. I never met a man yet who couldn't be outthought and outmaneuvered by a woman who put her mind to it. Let me think for a moment. I'll find a way out of this that won't involve Finlay. You're quite right. He mustn't know. He'd only overreact. Men are like that, bless them."

"And if you help me, I have to help you," said Evangeline. "Is that the deal?"

"No deals," said Adrienne. "Not this time. I'd help anyone in your situation. Now, let me have my hands back and dry your tears; then we'll figure out how best to stick it to the Shreck."

"Will you, my dear?" said Gregor Shreck, standing in the open door of the apartment. "How very intriguing."

Both women looked around, startled. Evangeline jumped to her feet, her hands rising to her mouth. Her skin was white as a sheet, and her eyes were very wide. Adrienne took her time getting to her feet. She didn't want the Shreck thinking he could fluster her. She gave Gregor her best icy glare.

"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"In my own home?" said the Shreck, smiling widely. "Now, why should I do that? The tower is mine, along with everything and everyone in it. I own them. Isn't that right, Evangeline? Now, be a dear, and tell your new friend to run along. I have so much to say to you."

"No," mumbled Evangeline, staring at her shoes.

"What was that?" said Gregor. "I don't think I can have heard you correctly, my dear."

"No," said Evangeline, lifting her head to stare at him defiantly. "I'm tired of being scared. You lied to me, Daddy. You swore to me you were protecting Adrienne and her children and all the other surviving Campbells. Now I find out from Adrienne that you've been threatening them, to get at Finlay. You lied to me."

"It's politics, dear. Things change. I don't expect you to understand. All you need to know is that I'm doing what's best for the Family."

"If your Clan found out that you've been screwing your daughter, they'd disown you," said Adrienne calmly. "Such a tacky crime, Gregor. And backed up with a coward's threats and lies. I'm disappointed in you, Gregor. I never thought you were much of a man, but I never suspected you had to bully women into your bed. Now, turn around and get out of here. You ever lay a hand on this poor dear again, and I'll see everyone in your Family knows your dirty little secret. They'll remove you as head and throw you out of the Clan. They can do that if enough of them agree, and I can't see any of them disagreeing over a nasty little mess like this. Without a Clan, no one will talk to you, or politic with you, or do business with you. You'd be an outcast, just like me. Only I can handle it. You couldn't. Don't slam the door when you leave."

"And you'd agree to this?" said the Shreck to his daughter. "You'd turn against your own father, who loves you so dearly?"

"What you do to me isn't love, Daddy. And you lied to me. I'd like you to leave now, please. And don't ever come in without knocking again."

"Think you're so clever, don't you, both of you," said the Shreck, his broad glistening face flushing red with rage. "Think you're smarter than me. But you should know, dear Adrienne, that you don't know everything. You see, Evie hasn't told you her real secret. She wouldn't dare. So you tell this Campbell bitch to leave, Evie, or I'll tell her what you really are."

"No need to put yourself out. Daddy. I'll tell her." Evangeline drew herself up and threw Adrienne a look that was part defiance and part plea. "I'm a clone. Daddy had me made to replace the daughter he murdered. That's how he's controlled me all this time. Or so he thinks. You never knew I was part of the clone underground, did you, Daddy dear? No, I can see from your face that you didn't. You threaten me, and the underground will have you killed. You tell anyone about me, and I'll disappear into the underground. I only stayed because Finlay made me promise I'd protect his Family. You don't have a hold over me anymore. You never did, really, apart from my own fear. You told me you owned me, and I believed you. I don't believe that anymore."

"Good for you, girl," said Adrienne. She looked triumphantly at the Shreck. "Get out of our sight, you nasty little toad."

Gregor Shreck looked from one woman to the other, struggling for words, then turned abruptly and left, slamming the door behind him. Adrienne let out her breath in an explosive sigh and collapsed back into her chair. Evangeline remained where she was.

"Well?" she said quietly. "How do you feel about me now, now that you know I'm just a clone?"

"My dear, after everything you and I have been through, your being a clone is the least of it. I'm actually rather fascinated. I've never known anyone in the underground before. Apart from Finlay, of course, but I think we've established I never really knew him."

"How do you feel about me being a rebel, then?"

"Damned if I know. This is all happening a little fast, even for me. I suppose I should be shocked and outraged, but I haven't been shocked since I was fourteen, and I'm too emotionally exhausted to be outraged. You're a clone and I'm a bitch, and the Empire doesn't have much use for either of us. So to hell with them, and long live the underground. Do you have a battle hymn? I feel like singing something loud and defiant."

The viewscreen on the dressing table chimed suddenly, and they both jumped. They smiled at each other, and Evangeline moved over to answer it. Adrienne got up and moved quickly out of sight. "Better if no one knows I'm here for the moment, Evie."

Evangeline nodded, sat down before the dressing table, and accepted the call. The mirror cleared, and she nodded as she recognized a familiar face. It was Klaus Griffin, her immediate contact in the underground. As far as the outside world was concerned, he was her costumier. For once he wasn't smiling, and Evangeline sat up a little straighter.

"Are you alone, Evangeline?"

"Of course. Is there a problem?"

"This call is being shielded. We can talk freely. We need you to come below, to talk to Finlay. It's urgent. Can you get away?"

"If I have to. What's wrong with Finlay? Is he hurt?"

"No. But it's imperative he undertake a particular mission and we need you down here to convince him to go."

"Why wouldn't he want to?"

"Because this one will almost certainly get him killed."

"And you expect me to talk him into it? Are you crazy?"

"We need you, Evangeline. We need him. The safety of the entire underground is at risk. He's our only hope. Will you come?"

"I'll come, but I'm not promising anything. Finlay's gone on enough missions for you. You've no right to expect this of him. And don't you dare try and talk him into this before I get there. He's not going anywhere until I've talked to him, and maybe not even then. Damn it, Klaus, we've done so much for the underground already. Find somebody else."

"It has to be him. How long before you can get here?"

"Give me an hour." She broke contact and glared into the mirror. "Bastards. Do they really think I'd betray Finlay, even for the Cause?"

"This gets more fascinating by the minute," said Adrienne, coming over to join her. "Dear Finlay, the last best hope of the underground? I'm beginning to think you're right, and I never did really know him. Since you apparently know him better than I, what do you think? Would he go on a suicide mission if it was important enough?"

"Oh, yes. That's what worries me. Most of his recent missions would have been suicide runs for anyone else. He never was very strong in the commonsense department, and since he lost his Family, he's become increasingly reckless. He feels guilty for having survived, when so many died. If this mission is so dangerous that even Finlay would hesitate, it must be really bad. I've got to go, Adrienne. Thank you for all your help; I wish there was something I could do for you."

"There is," Adrienne said briskly. "Take me with you. There's no place safe here for me anymore now that I've made an enemy of your father. If I'm to find protection for my children, the only people left to turn to are the underground. Though, God knows what I've got to buy their protection with. Gossip, maybe. I know more secrets about more people than half the Court put together. Some of it has got to be prime blackmail material. Besides, whatever you eventually decide, you're going to need my help to convince Finlay. I always could talk him into anything. I think I'm going to enjoy being part of the underground."

"What makes you so sure they'll accept you?"

"What makes you think they'll have any choice? I can be very determined when I put my mind to something. Besides, I really can't wait to see this whole new Finlay I've never known. I have a feeling I might like him a lot more than the old one. Shall we go?"

Julian Skye, rogue esper and agent of the underworld, had been handsome once, but that was before the Empire interrogators got their hands on him. They'd started with a vicious beating, not because they expected him to talk, but just to soften him up. They didn't even ask any questions. Two of them took it in turns holding him up, while the third worked him over in brutal, efficient ways, until every part of him moaned with pain. Then they hurt him some more. They paid special attention to his face. Damage there was psychologically damaging as well. Eventually they left, and he sat naked and alone in the interrogation cell, held upright by the thick straps holding him to the bare metal chair, waiting for them to come back and start again. One eye was swollen shut, his nose had been broken, and dried blood crusted his face. They'd left his mouth pretty much untouched. He was expected to be able to answer questions when they finally got around to asking him any.

He'd been left alone to consider his position and worry about what was to come. And Julian Skye, who'd always thought he was a hero, was ashamed to find he couldn't stop crying. He was a young man, with a young man's courage and ideals, but he'd had the courage systematically beaten out of him. All he had left now were his ideals, and they didn't seem as strong and convincing as they once had. He finally managed to sniff back his tears, though the occasional harsh sob still took him by surprise, and looked around him as best he could. He was in a bare, featureless room, deep below the surface, in the dark metal bowels beneath the Imperial Palace. The walls were bright shining steel, without windows or details, showing vague distortions of himself in the painfully bright light from the single unit directly above him. He could feel the heat from the unit beating on the top of his head, as though his brains were on fire. The door was a dull black metal, right in front of him, sealed electronically. It could be opened only by someone from the outside with the correct access codes.

Julian Skye sat naked in his metal chair, stripped of everything that might give him physical or psychological comfort. They'd even taken away his suicide option; a hollow tooth with poison in it. They ripped it right out of his jaw with a pair of pliers. He probed the gaping hole with his tongue now and again, as though hoping it might be there this time. It had been a small hurt compared to what came afterward, but he still cried when he thought of it. The tooth had been his last hope. He'd pissed on himself, and he couldn't clean it off his legs. Just more of the softening-up process.

He knew he had no one but himself to blame for his capture. Julian Skye had always been too wild for the slow and steady underground, too bold and impetuous even for the esper terrorists of the Esper Libereration Front, the elves. So he'd been left alone to run his own operations with his own people—attached to the underground, but not a part of it. Which was how he'd come to be in the middle of everything when the raid on Silo Nine went to hell in a hurry, and the underground had to scatter. He'd been the only one at a safe enough distance to take charge. He ran things for as long as he could, setting up safe houses and new names and passwords, until he, too, was compromised by the treachery of the man called Hood, and he had to run for his life. He'd got away, as he always did, leaving the security guards nothing but the echo of his mocking laughter. Julian Skye was an old hand at the great game of intrigue, after all, despite his young years. He thought he was unbeatable, untouchable. He was wrong. Truth was, he'd just been lucky. And his luck finally ran out when he made the mistake of trusting the wrong person.

At least he wasn't in Silo Nine, with one of Wormboy's engineered worms burrowing in his brain, controlling his thoughts. If nothing else, the underground had made a thorough job of trashing the detention center and destroying Wormboy, before the raiding force was betrayed and routed. It would be years before the Empire could get it up and running again, even if they could create another artificial esper like Wormboy to be their perfect gaoler again. And the worms wouldn't work without him. Which was why Skye was being held in a detention cell, mentally neutered by an esp-blocker. He smiled slightly for the first time. He might be prevented from using his esper abilities, but at least his thoughts were still his own. His smile quickly disappeared. The mind techs would get his thoughts out of him, along with anything else they wanted.

He wondered what would happen to him in the end, when they'd got everything they wanted from him and he had nothing left to tell them. Wipe his mind clean, probably, and replace it with a new personality more suited to the Empire's needs. They'd send it back to the underground with his face in front of it, and a convincing story to cover his escape; and what little he hadn't already betrayed would be wiped out in quick order, long before the espers could crack his new persona. Or perhaps he'd do such a good job betraying the underground right here in this cell that they wouldn't need him anymore. He'd heard they saved some of the monsters from Silo Nine. The espers and clones they'd experimented on, stirring their sticky fingers in their subjects' DNA, shaping their flesh and their minds into new, monstrous shapes. Maybe that was his destiny. To be no longer human, except on the genetic level. To be a living weapon, unleashed as needed on the Empire's many enemies.

He didn't care. He just wanted it to be over. The pain and the fear and the horror. He wasn't a hero anymore, if he ever had been. Just a man, waiting to be broken. A small gush of rebellion surged within him at the thought. He wasn't broken yet. Don't think about what they want. Keep it out of his mind. Bury it deep. Make the mind techs work for it. Buy time. Don't think at all. Be a blank page. Give them nothing to work with or on.

But he couldn't stop thinking. His body hurt too much to be ignored, and held helpless and naked in his chair by a dozen thick straps that cut painfully tight into his flesh, he had nothing else to do but think. He was safe for the time being. Underground espers had gone deep into his head long ago and constructed a series of mental blocks there, impervious shields that would keep out all but the most powerful Empire espers. He'd activated the safeguard with a conditioned code word the moment he realized he was trapped, and the shields had come slamming down in his brain. Now he no longer had the information his torturers wanted. It was locked away where he couldn't get at it. Can't tell what you don't know. Push the blocks too hard and his mind would self-destruct, taking the information with it.

So for the moment they were being very careful what they said to him. When they chose to speak to him. Between the beatings. They couldn't use an esper on him without first removing the esp-blocker from the cell, and the moment they did that he'd have access to his own esper abilities again. He'd rip this place apart with a psistorm like they'd never seen. The only way into his head now was through the mind techs. The Empire's specialists in pain and truth and mental conditioning. They'd use drugs and technology and all the psychological tricks they'd spent centuries perfecting. Until finally the shields went down, and he had nothing to hide behind anymore. Then he'd break and tell them anything they wanted to know. He'd beg to do it.

He knew it had to happen. Everyone broke eventually. All he could hope to do was hold on for as long as possible, to buy the underground time to rescue or kill him. He wasn't putting much hope in a rescue. He wasn't afraid to die anymore, not after what his tormentors had done to him and what he knew they planned to do, but he was afraid of being made to betray the underground. Once he was safely dead, his secrets would die with him. He couldn't do it himself. After pulling out his poison tooth, the interrogator had put a full spinal block on him. He could still feel everything, but all he had left were involuntary movements, and the straps took care of them. He could hear himself whimpering, but couldn't stop it. He'd never been so scared. But then, he'd never thought he'd end up here. Getting caught was something that happened to other people. He was crying now. He could feel the tears trickling down his cheeks. He would have screamed if he could. It didn't matter. He'd scream enough later.

There was the sudden sound of electronic locks disengaging, and the sealed door swung slowly open. Julian would have cringed away, but even that was denied to him. His chief interrogator strode in, a tall slender man dressed all in white, so the bloodstains would show up dramatically. So much of pain is in the mind. He nodded briskly to Julian and moved around the chair, taking his time, checking the straps were still tight and the spinal block on the back of his neck was still in place. He was always polite and never raised his voice. He didn't need to. His movements were sharp and precise and very efficient. Julian didn't know the man's name. He didn't need to know, so nobody told him. The interrogator moved around to stand before Julian.

"You have a visitor, Julian. I've adjusted the spinal block so you can talk freely. Make the most of your time together. When you've finished, it'll be my turn to talk to you."

The interrogator left, while Julian tried to get his thoughts in order. Who the hell could it be, that the mind techs would allow the visit to a man they were in the middle of softening up? Some other poor bastard from his team, perhaps. Someone else they'd caught, that they thought he cared about. Someone they could hurt or kill in front of him. He moved his head slowly back and forth, partly in denial, partly just to feel it move after being still for so long. He licked his lips and tasted dried blood and salt from his tears. He heard footsteps approaching and braced himself as best he could.

And then BB Chojiro stepped through the door and into the cell, and Julian thought his heart would stop. She looked beautiful, as always, a petite little doll of a woman, with long dark hair and sharp Oriental features. She wore a bright scarlet kimono, to match her lips, and looked at him steadily with dark lustrous eyes. She stopped before him, and the door swung shut behind her. Julian looked at her and felt the horror rise in him again. They knew about BB. If they hurt her… he thought he'd go out of his mind, just at the thought. She stepped forward, moving even here with the perfect grace of all her Clan, and produced a small metal box from inside her sleeve. She pressed the single stud on the top, and the spinal block released the rest of its hold on him. He slumped forward, held up only by the restraining straps. His fingers spasmed helplessly. BB Chojiro knelt before him, so she could look right into his face. Julian tried to smile for her, but it felt more like a grimace. She put away the metal box and produced a silk handkerchief to wipe some of the blood and tears from his face. Her touch was very gentle.

"My poor Julian, what have they done to you? You used to be so strong, so sure. Now they've broken your wings, and you'll never fly again."

"BB," he said hoarsely, forcing his mouth to obey him. "Have they hurt you? What…"

"Don't try to speak. Just listen. I can't stay long. I want you to tell them everything, Julian. I want you to tell them everything you know. It's for the best, really. You know they'll get it out of you anyway. They always do. Only what will be left of you then won't even know who I am. If you cooperate, they'll let you go eventually, and then we can be together again, just like we were before. You'd like that, wouldn't you, Julian?"

He looked at her and didn't say a word. He'd known her less than a year. She'd been his younger brother's lover originally. Auric Skye had tried to get a position in Clan Chojiro, so that he could be with her. To impress the Clan, he fought the Masked Gladiator in the Arena. The Gladiator killed him. Auric never stood a chance against that legendary butcher of men. Julian had told him that, but Auric wouldn't listen, and Julian had watched in silence as they dragged his brother's body away across the bloody sands. Julian would have avenged Auric if he could, but he at least had the sense to know he couldn't beat the Masked Gladiator in a fair or unfair fight.