Deathstalker Rebellion

So he put it behind him, as just another evil episode in an evil Empire, and went to see BB Chojiro, to comfort and console her over Auric's death. They talked about Auric all through the evening and on into the night, and at the end she cried in his arms. They met again, and again, and fell in love. Julian felt guilty about that for a while, but BB talked him out of it. She made him see that Auric would have been glad for both of them. He cried in her arms then, finally saying good-bye to his brother. After that, Julian and BB were together as often as they could be. It wasn't very often. It was vital that the Clan Chojiro didn't find out. They were very strict and wouldn't have approved at all. And Julian had his obligations to the underground. It was a long time before he told her about that. She was surprised at first, but then she hugged him and kissed him and told him he'd done the right thing in telling her. It wasn't long after that they came for him. Not long at all.

Julian Skye looked at his love, kneeling before him, and knew for the first time who it was who had betrayed him.

"I thought you loved me," he said finally. "How could you do it?"

"It wasn't difficult, darling. My duty has always been to my Clan, first and foremost. Auric knew that. That's why he died trying to be a part of Clan Chojiro. You never did ask me what my real name is. What the BB stands for."

"You told me not to."

"Yes. And you always did what you were told. But the fact that I kept something as basic as that from you should have told you something. BB isn't my name, darling. It's my designation. I'm from Blue Block."

The words hit Julian like blows. He'd heard of Blue Block, but only in whispers. Blue Block was the Company of Lords' deepest secret: a hidden private army of lesser cousins, to be the Families' final defense against the Empress and her people. Every Family provided a number of candidates, willing or unwilling, and sent them to Blue Block, where they were trained and conditioned to be totally loyal to their Clans. Even to the death. They were everywhere, unknown and unsuspected, programmed to get as close as possible to people who mattered. In the last resort, they would be the Lords' last poisoned weapon to throw at Lionstone, or anyone else who tried to take away their power and position. Or so it was said. Blue Block was only a whisper, less than a rumor. Lionstone didn't take it seriously. If she had, she wouldn't have rested until every graduate of Blue Block had been tracked down and executed. She would never have allowed such a threat to her power to exist.

BB Chojiro. Blue Block. Bound to her Clan beyond hope or honor, life or death.

"Our love meant nothing to you, did it?" he said finally.

"There's no room in my life for what you think of as love. I was very fond of you. I still am. That's why I want you to tell the interrogators what they want to know, and get it over with. The interrogator's one of us. He's Blue Block, too. Once he's got everything out of you, he'll put you back together, as much as he can, and you can come back to me. You can be part of Clan Chojiro, just like your brother wanted. You'll have to go through Blue Block, of course, but it's really not so bad. And then you won't care anything about who you used to be or what you used to be."

"If I talk," Julian said hoarsely, "hundreds will die. Thousands will be endangered. The underground would have to scatter again. It might never recover. I can't do that. I won't."

"You will. You know you will. Talk to the interrogator, darling. Do it for me."

"Do it for you?" Julian would have laughed, but his throat was too dry. "Who are you? I don't know your real name. I don't know the real you. I loved you, you bitch. I would have done anything for you, even die for you. Now just looking at you makes me feel sick."

"Don't be like that, Julian; we had some good times together, just the two of us. Remember flying out over the Ravenscar mountains, and chasing each other on gravity sleds in and out of the great waterfalls as they came thundering down? Remember watching the double stars burning brightly over the Tannhouser Gate? Remember us dancing around a fire on the Dust Plains of Memory, dancing and singing as though the night would never end? Those were real times, Julian. Times we shared. We could share them again. We could still have a life together. It's up to you. You'll forget all about the underground, with me."

"BB. Will you do something for me?"

"Of course, darling. Would you like some water?"

"No. Just lean closer."

BB Chojiro smiled and brought her face in close to his. He could smell her familiar perfume. She pursed her mouth for a kiss. And Julian called up all the strength he had left and head-butted her in the face. He couldn't get much force behind it, but the impact was enough to knock her right back on her ass. Shock and surprise filled her face, and then pain as she brought her hands up to her nose. Blood streamed trom her nostrils. Julian chuckled harshly, even though it hurt his throat. BB blinked at him uncertainly over her hands, and then rose jerkily to her feet. She wiped at her nose with a silken scarlet arm, but just succeeded in smearing more blood across her face. She gave up on it and drew herself up, perfectly composed, ignoring the blood. She smiled at him in a brittle, satisfied way.

"Thank you, Julian. I was beginning to feel a little sorry for you. For what you're about to undergo. You've helped remind me why I turned you in. You're scum, the lowest of the low, so far beneath the Families we can't even see you from where we are. And to think I nearly made you one of us. Talk about the Blue Block all you like. Only the interrogator will hear you, and he will see it doesn't go any further, even if he has to edit the security tapes. Think of me while he's working on you. I'll be thinking of you."

She rapped imperiously on the door, and it swung open. BB Chojiro blew Julian a kiss and strode out of the cell, every inch the perfect little aristocrat. Julian seethed inwardly against the restraining straps, but they held him securely. Still, she'd made a mistake in not reactivating the spinal block. He could find some way to kill himself now and escape his interrogators. But he was too angry to think about that. He had to live now, so he could escape and kill BB Chojiro. He would survive everything they could throw at him, waiting for the slightest slip, the smallest mistake that would let him break free. And then he'd kill the interrogators and anyone else who got between him and BB Chojiro. He'd loved her so much, but all he could think of now was his hands around her perfect throat, her mocking smile replaced by a scream of terror. He laughed suddenly, a harsh brutal sound of the darkest humor, and the interrogator paused in the doorway of the cell, as though suddenly aware he was about to enter a small enclosed space with a dangerous animal. But the moment passed, and the interrogator strode in, smiling avuncularly at his prospective victim. He shut the door firmly behind him, so that Julian's screams wouldn't bother anyone walking down the corridor outside.

Finlay Campbell returned from his mission on a limping flyer, bloody and battered and just a little out of breath. The flyers dogging his trail had proved determined, if not particularly skillful, and it had taken every trick he knew to shake them off. He landed the flyer with a defiant thud, and slumped over the controls a moment. Members of the underground came running up to drag the flyer out of sight before it could be spotted, and Finlay straightened up with a jerk. It wouldn't do for word to get around that he was getting soft. He stepped down from the flyer, enjoying the expressions on their faces as they saw what he'd left in the flyer for them. He'd brought St. John's body with him, partly as proof that he'd done his job, partly to upset the Lords over the missing body, and partly as a trophy. He'd had a vague idea about having St. John stuffed and mounted, and stood somewhere prominent so that everyone could enjoy it. But for the moment he couldn't be bothered.

He left the body in the stolen flyer for someone else to take care of, and trudged unwillingly toward the waiting elevators. Blood squelched noisily in one of his boots, from a wound he'd taken in his leg. He'd taken hurts in other places, too, but he kept his back straight. He had a reputation to maintain. He waited impatiently in front of the elevator doors, his hand on the pommel of his sword, drawing strength from it. The doors finally opened, and he strode in. They closed behind him, and he immediately slumped in a corner, held up only by the steel wall. He'd felt better. Getting old, and past it. Be playing checkers next. All he really wanted right now was a bed and several days' uninterrupted sleep, but the underground leaders were waiting for him to make his report. He couldn't make it in writing, of course; that would be far too easy. No, he had to stand there before them and tell them every detail, like a schoolboy in a classroom. He thought fondly of his quarters and a large glass of the good brandy. During the last stages of his trip back, it had only been thoughts of the brandy that had kept him going. That, and memories of Evangeline. She was never that far from his thoughts, whatever he was doing.

He straightened up slowly, pushing himself away from the supporting wall, and sniffed disparagingly at the various aches and pains that bothered him. He didn't really know why he was bothering with this report. All the esper leaders had to do was go take a look at the body in his flyer to know his mission had been a success. But they'd want details. They always did. It gave them the illusion that they were in charge. And since he was dependent on the underground for his few remaining comforts, not to mention further missions, he played along. Grudgingly.

The elevator doors finally opened on a floor that didn't exist on any official plans, and Finlay lurched out into the gloomy corridor. There never seemed to be enough lights in the underground. They probably did it deliberately, just to make the place look mysterious. Either that, or they were saving energy again. Finlay realized his thoughts were drifting again, and made himself concentrate on where he was going. Down here in the subsystems, far below the surface of Golgotha, one abandoned steel corridor looked much like any other. There were a few people about, and he found the energy to grunt a greeting to them as they passed. They all nodded politely to him, and quite right, too. He was Finlay Campbell, damn it.

He finally stomped into the main meeting area, an abandoned workstation that the cyberats had wiped from official memory. It was a large open space bounded with sharp-edged steel plates, and cables dangled everywhere, giving the place an unfinished, transient look. Quite suitably, really, for an underground that might have to pick up its belongings and run at any moment. After the debacle of the attempted storming of Silo Nine and the purges that followed, what remained of the underground lived from moment to moment, and tended to be even more paranoid than it used to. Finlay strode up to the esper leaders waiting for him in the center of the open space, and nodded to them briskly. There were three of them today, powerful espers hidden behind telepathically projected images to protect their identities. At least that was their story. Finlay liked to think they did it to hide really bad skin conditions or unsuccessful hair transplants. Finlay Campbell didn't believe in being in awe of anyone.

The leader, usually referred to as Mr. Perfect, was a tall naked Adonis, his impossibly defined musculature gleaming with sweat, though he never actually did anything but stand there. He had harsh, forbidding features that were just a little too classically handsome. He even had a dimple in his chin, the bastard. Finlay carefully refrained from looking at Mr. Perfect's genitals. It would only depress him. Next to Mr. Perfect, a mandala of ever-shifting shapes and colors hung unsupported in midair, a spinning wheel of interlocking patterns. Finlay didn't like to look at that too much, either. The sudden changes in color and brightness, and the way they swirled away into nothingness, made his head ache. The third leader presented his or her self as a twenty-foot dragon wrapped around the branches of a tall tree. It didn't speak much, as a rule, but its great golden eyes rarely blinked, and it gave the impression of listening very carefully. Finlay also had a lurking suspicion that just maybe the tree might be more than it seemed, too.

To put off making his report, Finlay looked around at the medium-size crowd attending the meeting. Finlay's reports always drew a crowd. He smiled at them pleasantly, and they smiled back and bowed their heads in respect. A few even applauded. There was the usual mixture of elves in their leathers and chains, clones with the same face, and assorted hangers-on, like him, tolerated by the powers that be because they were useful. Apart from the expectant crowd, people were also darting in and out—carrying messages, making their own reports to lesser officials, or just earwigging in the hope of picking up something useful. The underground thrived on gossip.

And then Finlay's roving gaze juddered to a halt, and his jaw dropped as he recognized two faces at the front of the crowd. Two faces he'd never expected to see together, let alone in the underground. Adrienne Campbell and Evangeline Shreck. His wife and his lover, chatting happily together and apparently getting on like a house on fire. His first thought was that it had to be some kind of esper illusion, some extremely nasty joke or trick to throw him off balance, but no one apart from him knew about the two women in his life. So it had to be them. Here. Together. Finlay looked quickly around for the nearest exit. Stuff his report, he had to get out of here. There were some things no man could face. Maybe if he just turned and ran very quickly…

"Finlay Campbell, attend us," said the mandala in a loud and piercing voice that echoed painfully inside his head, and that was that. Apparently, the voice hadn't just been aimed at him, as everyone else was now looking in his direction. Finlay sighed resignedly and strode forward to nod briefly to the esper leaders. He didn't get too close. There was something about the projected illusions that put his mental teeth on edge. He gave them a brisk salute, as much for the crowd as anything, but didn't bother with standing to attention. If they wanted a soldier, they could get one. He was just a troublemaker on a grand scale, with a reputation to live down to.

"Can you slow your colors down a bit?" he said sharply to the mandala. "I'm starting to get seasick. I don't know why you three are bothering with the illusions anyway. I've given up being impressed for Lent. Don't you trust me, after all I've done for you?"

"It's not a matter of trust," said Mr. Perfect in his pleasant, charismatic voice. "What you don't know, someone else can't make you tell them. Security is vital, now more than ever."

Finlay sniffed loudly, carefully not looking in Adrienne and Evangeline's direction. He could feel cold beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "I take it you want a report. All right. I killed Lord William St. John and a lot of his people, stole his personal flyer and got clean away. End of report. Can I go now please? Back in my quarters, a large brandy is calling for me with growing impatience."

He ignored the disappointed murmurs from the crowd, his gaze fixed on Mr. Perfect as the least disturbing of the three leaders. The mandala's colors flowed suddenly in a direction his eyes tried to follow in spite of himself, but couldn't, and then its voice echoed loudly in the wide chamber.

"Normally, we would press you for a more detailed report, but there is no time. We need you to go out on another mission. Immediately."

Finlay stared at the leaders, for a moment almost lost for words. "You want what? I've only just got back, damn it! I've been cut at, shot at, chased halfway to hell and back while dodging in and out the pastel towers on a glorified gravity sled, and only just got away in one piece, and you want me to go out again? Does the phrase Stick it where the sun don't shine sound at all familiar? Have you all gone crazy, or are you just harboring a death wish? On the ground that if you don't change your minds about this new mission in one hell of a hurry, I am going to find what's behind these over-rehearsed mirages of yours and slice and dice all three of you into pie fillings! I am tired, hurt, and completely lacking in the sense of humor department. And no I don't have any sense of loyalty or honor. I'm an aristocrat, remember? I'm not going anywhere till I've had a good long soak in a hot tub, three or four good meals on the same plate, and an extremely long and uninterrupted nap. I am like a disrupter. I need to recharge my batteries between jobs. Right now my batteries are sitting in a corner crying their eyes out, and my get-up-and-go has got up and gone without leaving a forwarding address. In other words, no I'm not bloody going!"

The crowd applauded. This was what they liked to hear. Finlay looked hopefully at the esper leaders, but they'd heard it all from him before, and it hadn't impressed them then. Mr. Perfect rippled his muscles impressively and looked sternly at Finlay.

"This mission is vital. The security of the whole underground is at stake. During your absence, a previously unheard of band of rebels attacked the city. They invaded the Income Tax and Tithes Headquarters, disrupted the computer systems with great efficiency and thoroughness, and made their escape in a Hadenman starship. Our previous contacts with this group had been somewhat tentative, but their actions have established our new allies as a force of great power, if not subtlety. They also brought us news of great importance. Jack Random has returned to lead them."

The crowd burst into applause and scattered cheering. Finlay didn't join in. He'd heard of the professional rebel, everyone had, but the man had to be getting on in years now. And he didn't trust legends anymore. Not since he found he'd become one himself.

"What's all this got to do with the new mission I'm not going on?" he said loudly, and the applause died away as everyone looked interestedly at the esper leaders and waited for their reply. This was why they enjoyed Finlay's reports. He always gave a great performance. Mr. Perfect looked steadily at Finlay.

"Thanks to our new friends' attack, Golgotha's defenses and security systems are currently in tatters. Things are now possible that were not before. You will remember Julian Skye. It was only thanks to him that the underground was able to reform itself after Silo Nine. Skye has been captured. They haven't had him long, but it is imperative that he doesn't talk. He alone knows all the locations, names, and passwords that made our reforming possible. There are blocks and defenses in his mind, but they won't last long once the Empire mind techs really get to work on him. Any other time, we would have been helpless to retrieve the situation, but in the current chaos, who knows what might be achieved by one determined man?"

"Who knows what might be achieved by a small army with lots of weapons?" said Finlay doggedly. "Think of all the other prisoners you could rescue."

"We can't risk losing any more of our people," said the mandala. "Skye is being held in the maximum security area. Even with the present disruption, he will undoubtably be very well guarded, by both human and inhuman guards. One man might sneak in and out, where an army could not hope to You will be that one man."

"Because I'm brave, talented, and entirely expendable?"

"Exactly. It helps that you are also the most likely to succeed in such a desperate mission, despite the odds. What's the matter, Finlay? I thought you liked a challenge?"

"This isn't a challenge, it's a death sentence. And contrary to popular impressions, I don't do suicide missions. Find another sucker."

"You will this time. Skye must be rescued or silenced before he talks. You will decide which option is the most practical, under the cirumstances."

"Hello? Are you listening to me? I'm not going!"

"We have a trace on Skye. All espers in the underground have a telepathic beacon, buried deep in their minds. The Empire hasn't silenced it yet, so we have his exact location. Which means we can teleport you right to him."

"All right," said Finlay. "I'll bite. What's the snag?"

"The Empire must know about the beacon. They've captured enough espers before and silenced their beacons quite efficiently. If Skye hasn't been blocked, it can only be because he is being set up as bait in a trap. They know how badly we need his silence. They're expecting a small army. They won't expect you. However, we feel it only fair to warn you that while we can teleport you in, we will almost certainly not be able to teleport you out again. The Empire will no doubt have taken measures to prevent that."

"Let me get this straight," said Finlay. "You're going to drop me right in the middle of the Golgotha interrogation center, surrounded by legions of armed guards, both human and inhuman, and it's up to me to free Skye and fight my way out?"

"That's right," said Mr. Perfect. "A walk in the park. We have every confidence in you. After all, since it's so obviously a trap, there's always the chance they won't be expecting anyone to actually walk into it. Let alone one man on his own. You should take them entirely by surprise."

"I can't help thinking should is the operative word there," said Finlay. "I told you, I don't do suicide missions. And I haven't heard one thing so far that's going to change my mind."

"That's why they wanted me to be here," said Evangeline. She walked slowly forward to join him, their eyes holding contact all the way. She put out her arms to hold him, but he stopped her with an upraised hand.

"Don't. I'm covered in muck and blood. I'll get your dress dirty."

Evangeline looked him over, trying not to wince at the sight of his wounds, and shook her head sadly. "More blood. More pain and suffering, on my behalf. I've always known you only do this for me. You've never given a damn for the rebellion or the underground, have you?"

"I needed something to do down here," said Finlay uncomfortably. "Something to keep me busy. And I do care, in my way. I still remember what I saw in Silo Nine, down in Wormboy Hell. I will not allow that kind of suffering and horror to continue. I have sworn a death oath, upon my blood and my honor, to fight to put an end to Silo Nine and the system that produced it. The underground's the best way for me to do that. But I'm still not going on this mission, Evie. Not even for you. I know my limitations."

"So do I. You're quite right. It probably will get you killed. But we need you to do this mission. I could come with you, if you like. Fight at your side, die beside you."

"No! I don't want that. I nearly lost you in Silo Nine. I won't risk that again. I need to know you're safe. I wouldn't want to live without you. Is this Skye bastard really so important?"

"If he talks, the underground will have to scatter again. Thousands of clones and espers and their supporters would risk capture or death all over again. It could take anything from ten to twenty years before we could pull ourselves back together again, and that's being optimistic. The underground might not survive at all. Certainly the rebellion would be set back indefinitely. It's the timing that's so ironic. Things are finally going our way, Finlay. These new rebels, with Jack Random to lead them, could be the final spark we need to blow the whole corrupt Empire apart."

"What do you want me to do, Evie?"

"I want what you want: for us to be here, safe, together. But what we want doesn't matter anymore. If Skye talks, what little we have will be taken from us. You have to go, Finlay. You're the only one who stands a chance of bringing this off and coming back alive."

"And if I don't? If I get myself killed, fighting for the damn Cause?"

"Then part of me will die with you," said Evangeline, looking at him steadily. "I know what we're asking of you. What I'm asking. It's tearing me apart. But…"

"But you're still asking."

"Yes. I know my duty. To every esper and clone who suffered in Silo Nine, or suffers every day as non-people in the Empire."

Finlay smiled briefly. "You always did fight dirty."

"I love you, Finlay. If you say no, I'll still love you."

"I love you, Evie. Even though you're asking."

They looked at each other for a long time, seeing nothing but each other, their love so strong and fierce it filled the chamber. The crowd was silent, holding its breath. So Adrienne cleared her throat and stepped forward.

"Don't do it, Finlay. You'd have to be crazy to take on a mission like this. Everyone's been telling me what a great fighter you are, but no one could face these odds and come back in one piece."

Finlay smiled coldly at her. "You never did believe in me, Adrienne."

"That's not the point. Let them find somebody else. There's always somebody else."

"There isn't time," said Finlay. "Weren't you listening?"

"Damn it, stop fighting me! I'm worried about you!"

"Really? What brought that on?"

"Damned if I know. I don't even know what I'm doing here. But Evangeline and I have become rather close just recently, much to our mutual surprise, and since she's clearly not stupid or easily impressed, I'm forced to the opinion that you must be something of the hero and fighter she says you are. Though if you're that good an actor, you should be on the stage. But this assignment has suicide mission written all over it. You might as well walk into the Arena with no weapons and one leg tied behind your back. Don't go, Finlay. I don't want you dying before I've had a chance to finally get to know you. Tell them to stuff their mission. There's always another way, if you look hard enough."

"You don't think I can do it, do you?" said Finlay. "Well, you're wrong, Addie. I can jump in there, grab the bastard, and be gone before the guards know what's hit them. I'm a fighter, Adrienne. The best damn fighter you'll ever meet."

"You're not listening to me!" said Adrienne. "But, then, you never did. You talk to him, Evie."

"But I want him to go," said Evangeline. "Please, Finlay. Do it for me. I don't want to end up in whatever they build to replace Silo Nine."

"It won't come to that," said Finlay. "I'd never let them take you."

"Even you couldn't protect me from the kind of forces Julian Skye would set in motion. And I think I'd rather die than be taken."

"I'd kill every guard and soldier in the Empire before I let them hurt you," said Finlay. "All right. I'll go. But if by some miracle I get out of this alive and reasonably intact, I want something for myself." He glared across at the esper leaders. "You hear that, you bastards?"

"We are not surprised," said the mandala, pulsing calmly. "What do you want?"

"I want Valentine," said Finlay. He smiled widely, and there was no humor in it at all, just a death's-head grin. "I want his head on a stick."

Valentine Wolfe was once an enthusiastic supporter of the underground. He provided financial backing, and whatever support and influence he could bring to bear without compromising himself. But then he waged a sudden and highly successful vendetta against the Campbells, and became the head of his own Family when his father died leading the assault on Tower Campbell. As the new Wolfe, Valentine had access to immense wealth and power and apparently lost all interest in the underground and the rebellion. He no longer came to meetings and ignored all attempts at contact. So the underground left him strictly alone. He could do them a lot of damage if he chose to. He knew names and faces, plans and places. A few hard-liners in the elves wanted him dead, as a precautionary measure. So far the underground leaders had said no. Valentine had remained silent, and they didn't want to upset or alarm other Clan members working with the underground. At the very least, it would set a bad precedent. And as the Wolfe, Valentine was very well protected. An unsuccessful attack by the underground might very well prompt the very disclosure of information they were so desperate to avoid.

But, if they let Finlay kill him, working on his own, they could pass if off as a personal feud. Just a Campbell and a Wolfe fighting again. It was a tempting thought. As long as Valentine was alive, the information in his head was a threat hanging over them. While not as great a threat as Julian Skye, he could do a lot of damage, if he chose. There was also the question of exactly how much influence the Lord High Dram had over Valentine. Dram had also been a major player in the underground, in his alias as Hood, only to betray them during the attack on Silo Nine. He was directly responsible for the scattering that had put Julian Skye on the spot in the first place. So far, he'd made no attempt to contact or control Valentine, but the potential threat of blackmail was always there.

Finlay knew all this was going through the leaders' minds. He didn't need to be a telepath for that. They and he had already argued both sides of this problem many times before. They'd always said no. But things were different now.

"Very well," said the dragon, curled around his tree. He fixed his glowing golden eyes on Finlay. "In the unlikely event that you return from this mission successful and alive, you may pursue your vendetta against the Wolfe. The underground will neither hinder nor support you. All consequences will be upon your own head. We will of course, if necessary, discard and renounce you."

"Sounds good to me," said Finlay. "I've always known where I stood with you."

"Be clear as to the purpose of your mission," said the mandala, its colors rippling agitatedly. "You must either rescue or silence Julian Skye, according to the situation you encounter. He must not be allowed to talk. Once we have teleported you in, you're on your own. We can't help you. We can, however, offer a little support in advance."

One of the elves stepped forward and presented Finlay with a small flat box. It was polished steel, with a single button on it, colored a dramatic red. Finlay hefted it thoughtfully. He'd never seen one before, but he knew what the box was, what it had to be. A mindbomb. A terror weapon despised and outlawed throughout the Empire. Once activated, it attacked the minds of all non-espers, disorienting and scrambling their thoughts. Its victims hallucinated, then became insane, and finally catatonic. It was a vicious, take-no-prisoners weapon, a last resort for the truly desperate. It was very rare; like the esp-blockers, the mindbomb was based around living esper brain tissue. It was almost unthinkable for the esper leaders to admit to possessing such a thing, let alone handing one over to him. They really must think he wouldn't be coming back to talk about it. Finlay couldn't help wondering whether the brain tissue had come from a volunteer, and if it was still somehow aware and thinking. He repressed a shudder and slipped the metal box into his pocket. He nodded respectfully to the elves and threw the leaders another brisk salute, indicating the audience was over, as far as he was concerned. He took Evangeline by the arm and led her off to one side. Adrienne followed. The images of the esper leaders disappeared like popping soap bubbles. The crowd began to break up, chattering animatedly. Finlay had given them enough material to keep them gossiping for weeks.

Finlay knew the underground expected him to kill Skye. They thought him incapable of subtlety. They also thought he'd kill Skye to make it easier for him to escape the interrogation center. They were wrong both times. Finlay was determined to bring Skye back alive. Partly, because he'd failed to rescue so many others from Silo Nine and had sworn never to fail again, and partly to prove to the espers that they were wrong about him. He wasn't just a killing machine, a weapon they could just aim and unleash on their enemies. Despite everything that had happened to him, he was still more than that. He had to be, for Evangeline's sake. He smiled at her and nodded briskly to Adrienne.

"Never thought to see you two together without weapons in your hands. How the hell did you get together?"

"Circumstances can make for strange bedfellows," said Adrienne. "I've always known that."

"I'll bet you have," said Finlay.

"You don't have to take this mission," said Evangeline. "Despite everything I've said, I don't want you to die."

"I do have to take this mission," said Finlay. "And not just for the obvious reasons. You never did understand why I needed to fight in the Arena. I need the action, the thrill of the blood, the balancing on a blade's edge between life and death. Now that my other life in the Empire is gone, I need the thrill a little more. It's all I have to keep me occupied."

"You still have me," said Evangeline.

"I hardly see you these days," said Finlay. "It used to be, when I was with you, I could forget the Arena, the blood, and the killing. But now you have your responsibilities in the world above, and so little time to be with me. You have to understand what drives me, Evie. It isn't very pretty or honorable, but it's me. I need to kill, like a predator in a world of prey. Nothing's happened to change that. It's just that the life I'm living now has brought it closer to the surface."

"The world above doesn't matter," said Evangeline. "And my responsibilities can go to hell. There are too many of them these days. They clog up my head and keep me from seeing what's really important. I'll move down here permanently if that's what you need, and to hell with what the underground wants. In the end, there's just you and me and what we mean to each other. Everything else is just clutter."

Finlay took her in his arms and kissed her, and their passion beat on the air like the wings of a giant bird. Adrienne watched thoughtfully. It had been a day of surprises. This new Finlay was a man she'd only seen in glimpses before, puzzling flashes of a hidden nature that had disturbed and frightened her. She didn't like to think she could have been so wrong about someone so close to her. Pretty Finlay in his gorgeous outfits, a mad dog killer from the Arena… and Evangeline, a quiet mousy little thing at Court, with hidden horrors and a kind of courage Adrienne could only marvel at. They were both a little ragged around the edges just now, but Adrienne liked them a lot more. She'd always had a weakness for the mentally challenged. Finlay and Evangeline had been in different worlds for too long, becoming different people who had nothing in common except their love, but in the end it was enough. It was strong and real enough to hold even them together. Adrienne could recognize that. She'd have had to be blind not to.

But for once, she didn't know what to do for the best. Finlay would have to be really crazy to go on this mission, but all the signs were he was a long way down that road already. Nothing she could say or do would change his mind. She wasn't used to that. She'd never been in a situation before where her arrogance and mastery of words couldn't get her what she wanted. She'd relied on her acid tongue to get her own way for so long, that she was frankly lost for an alternative. She didn't want to lose this new, interesting Finlay, now she'd found him. She was surprised to find how much that mattered to her. Finlay and Evangeline finally came up for air, and she coughed meaningfully. It was a good cough. On a good day, she could silence a room with it. The two lovers turned to look at her without letting go of each other.

"Before you say anything," Evangeline said firmly to Finlay, "Adrienne and I have become friends. She gave me the strength to do something very unpleasant but utterly necessary that I'd been putting off for far too long. And no, I'm not going to tell you what. Suffice it to say it's because of her support that I'll be able to spend more time down here in the future."

"Thank you for that at least, Addie," said Finlay.

"You're so welcome," said Adrienne. They looked at each other for a long moment, but had the sense to leave it at that.

"So," said Finlay. "What are your plans, Ad? Going to join the rebellion?"

"Maybe," said Adrienne. "Things have been getting pretty tough for me upstairs. I could use a new direction and a measure of security. Tell me, Finlay, were you really a fighter in the Arena?"

"He was the Masked Gladiator," said Evangeline, and she and Finlay both laughed aloud at the expression on Adrienne's face. She quickly pulled herself together and managed to laugh with them.

"Who knows," she said, "if I put my mind to it, maybe I can nag Lionstone into making reforms."

"If anyone could, you could," said Finlay generously.

Finlay teleported into the interrogation center with a sword in his hand and grim determination in his heart. He snapped into being halfway down a dimly lit corridor, facing half a dozen rather surprised-looking guards. They had swords in their hands, too, but it didn't help them. Finlay plowed straight into them, his sword flashing in short, brutal arcs, and blood-choked screams filled the corridor. He killed them all in under a minute, and then stood poised and ready, listening for reinforcements. The seconds passed, and no one came to investigate. The few brief sounds from the onesided slaughter obviously hadn't traveled far. Finlay sniffed dismissively, flicking drops of blood from his blade. Not much fun. Strictly amateur hour. No challenge at all. If this was the Empire's idea of a trap, this mission was going to be a walkover. Then he noted the cameras set into the ceiling, watching him with glowing unblinking eyes, and decided it might be a good idea if he got a move on after all. Given what the cameras had just observed, reinforcements were probably already on their way, in great numbers, with guns and guard dogs. He'd never liked dogs.

He looked up and down the corridor, and wished he'd thought to ask for a map. The corridor was sparsely lit by dull-glowing lamps set into the ceiling. The walls were bare featureless steel, with no markings or signs. Narrow doors led off into interrogation cells at regular intervals—solid steel doors, sealed with electronic locks. Deep shadows lay undisturbed to every side, and there was a strong smell of disinfectant in the air, almost but not quite masking other, more unpleasant smells. Julian Skye was here somewhere, but exactly where was anyone's guess. The underground had taken pains not to send him to the exact location of Skye's beacon. Materializing inside a locked cell, where everyone would be expecting him, had not struck anyone as a good idea, least of all Finlay. So they picked the nearest open space and dropped him there. Finlay looked around him vaguely, hefted his sword, and for want of anything better to do, moved over to the nearest door. There was a small viewscreen set into the solid steel. Finlay activated it, and the screen showed him what was inside the cell.

The man spread-eagled on the metal table had been expertly flayed. Not a square inch of skin remained on him, but he was still very much alive. He moved feebly, struggling against unseen restrains. Raw red muscle glistened wetly. Naked eyes bulged from lidless sockets. Blood seeped constantly onto the table, carried away by grooves and runnels cut into the metal. New blood flowed into a pulsing vein from an IV drip. Finlay turned off the screen and leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the cell door.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn't rescue everyone. He didn't have the time. The underground had been quite specific about that. He had to get to Skye before he could spill anything important. Finlay took a deep breath and let it out. To hell with them, and to hell with the Empire. He was damned if he'd let obscenities like this continue. He used the lock-scrambling mechanism the underground had provided, and the cell door swung silently open.

Finlay slipped inside, and the man on the table whimpered in anticipation of fresh pain. Finlay leaned over him, making soothing shushing noises, and the prisoner quietened. It was only then that Finlay realized the man had been riveted to the table by firing metal spikes through his limbs and body. There were dozens of them. Finlay had no way of removing them, short of levering them out one at a time, and the shock alone would almost certainly finish the poor bastard off anyway. But he couldn't leave him to suffer like this. Finlay stood a moment, mind racing as he tried to come up with some other alternative, but in the end there was only one thing he could do. He smiled reassuringly down into the prisoner's naked, hopeful eyes, and slipped the point of his sword into the exposed, beating heart. There was a brief splash of blood, the flayed man jerked once, and then he stopped breathing. Finlay kicked at the table once in frustration and then left the cell.

He stalked down the corridor, throwing open the cell doors one by one, freeing those prisoners he could. He killed the others. Some of them begged him to do it. The survivors spilled out into the corridor, milling about him, trying to thank him with voices grown raw from screaming. Finlay armed some of the sturdier ones with weapons from the guards he'd killed and then left them to their own devices. At least, that was the plan.

There was the sound of running feet and then a full company of armed guards rounded the corner at the far end of the corridor, and came charging toward him. Finlay smiled. This was more like it. And then there was the sound of running feet behind him, and he turned to see another company of armed guards approaching from the other end of the corridor. The freed prisoners crowded in close around Finlay. He sighed regretfully. It would have been an interesting fight, but he knew his limitations. Besides, he had to think of the prisoners. He pulled the mindbomb from his pocket and pressed the big red button.

The guards before and behind him stumbled to a halt, clutching at their heads and screaming. Their thoughts shattered and fragmented, their minds scrambled beyond sense or meaning, and in a moment they had changed from an organized army into a crazed, panic-stricken mob. Finlay and the freed prisoners watched, impressed, protected by their immediate proximity to the mindbomb device. Finlay turned it off and left the prisoners to deal with the still shrieking mob, while he went on about his business. A long delayed revenge filled the corridor, and blood spattered the shining steel walls. Finlay carried on opening doors and freeing prisoners, until finally he came to the cell with Julian Skye in it, and he stopped in the doorway, held by the shock of what he was seeing.

The young esper lay on his back on another of the damned steel tables, held firmly in place by restraining straps. The back of his head had been shaved and cut open, and a section of the skull removed. Dozens of colorful wires disappeared into the exposed brain tissue, leading back into an ugly piece of machinery beside the table. Two mind techs, in their familiar white gowns, looked up from what they were doing and smiled pleasantly at Finlay as he hesitated in the doorway. They both had disrupters holstered on their hips, but neither made any move to draw them. Finlay moved slowly forward into the cell, ignoring the growing chaos of screams and pain and fury in the corridor outside. There were no guards in the cell, no obvious protection or booby traps. The mind techs eyed the blood dripping from his sword and smiled briefly at each other. They were both tall and slender men, with pale aesthetic faces like monks, one clearly older than the other. The elder looked back at Finlay and smiled again.

"Welcome, dear boy. We've been expecting you. Or someone like you. I'm afraid if you came to rescue dear Julian, you're a little too late. Any attempt to move him now would undoubtably kill him. We're using an esp-blocker to restrain his talents, and its function cancels out the effects of the mindbomb you used. Nasty little device, but quite ineffective in here. And you might as well put that sword away. I only have to touch this control under my hands, and dear Julian will experience pain beyond your capability to imagine. Put the sword away, please. Now."

Finlay sheathed his sword, but his eyes didn't waver. "What are you doing to him?" he said finally, and his voice came out cold and harsh and very deadly. The mind tech smiled, unmoved.

"We're invading his thoughts. Not that long ago, we would have used one of Wormboy's little pets, but thanks to your terrorist friends we are obliged to use older, more direct methods. It's essentially a simple and very effective mind probe, electronically stimulating the areas of the brain we're interested in. This one, for example, is tied directly into the pleasure-pain center. Guess which part we're interested in. The procedure itself is surprisingly painless. I imagine he felt some discomfort from the original invasive procedures, but the brain itself has no pain sensors. It makes our job so much easier, to be able to inflict pain only as needed. And what pain he feels then…

"These other wires are concerned with short- and long-term memory. We can play back his memories on that screen on the wall in as much detail as we require. Soon we'll have everything we want, regardless of the patient's wishes. The procedure is, unfortunately, quite destructive to the brain tissues in the long run, but the health or even life of this patient is of no concern to anyone once we have what we want. Except, of course, you. The guards will be here soon, to take you away. In the meantime, please refrain from any violent action, or you can listen to your friend screaming."

It had grown quiet in the corridor outside. Finlay frowned. Either the prisoners had run out of guards to kill, or the guards had succeeded in restoring order. He had no way of knowing which. He should just kill the mind techs, and then kill Skye. But as long as there was still a chance of getting the poor bastard out alive, he couldn't do that. He needed the techs to remove the wires, but he didn't know how to make them do that. Kill one, and the other could take a very nasty revenge on Skye. But he couldn't just hang around waiting while the mind techs stalled; sooner or later the guards would come for him. He looked across at Skye's face, pale and sweating, and the esper's eyes met his. His mouth worked.

"Please…" he said faintly, fighting to get the word out.

"You see?" said the mind tech. "He understands the reality of the situation."

"Please," said Julian Skye. "Kill me…"

The mind tech looked down at him sharply. Finlay laughed softly, and there was no humor in the sound at all. "No, doctor, he understands the reality of the situation completely. My mission is to put him beyond your reach, one way or the other."

He drew his disrupter in one swift movement, and shot the mind tech with his hands by the controls. The younger tech lunged for the controls. Finlay drew a dagger from his sleeve and put it expertly through the technician's eye. He tell backward, clutching at his face with both hands, and then hit the floor hard and lay still. Finlay nodded once, satisfied, put his disrupter away, and moved forward to lean over Skye. The esper looked up at him and tried to smile. The marks of a recent bad beating were still clear on his luce, but his gaze was clear.

"Knew they'd send someone. If I could just hold out long enough."

"What do I do?" said Finlay. "I don't understand this machinery. Is there any way I can get this stuff out of your head?"

"No. But I can now."

Skye closed his eyes and concentrated. For a long moment nothing happened, and then one by one the colored wires began to squirm and wriggle their way out of the exposed brain tissues. They fell to coil harmlessly on the floor, like so many dead snakes, and when the last one finally worked its way free, Skye relaxed so utterly that Finlay was worried that the esper was dead. He checked the pulse in Skye's neck, but it was strong and regular. He set about undoing the restraints, working as fast as he could. The guards had to be on their way by now. He sat Skye up on the table and blood ran down the esper's neck from the ugly wound in the back of his head. Finlay gingerly pulled the flaps of cut skin together to cover the exposed brain, and held them in place with a handkerchief wrapped around the esper's shaved head. Luckily, it was a clean one. Skye's eyes opened suddenly, as though he'd just been thinking. He looked at his reflection in the steel wall and smiled.

"Nice work. I look like a pirate. But this doesn't change anything. There's no way you can get me out of here, and I won't let them take me again. So kill me."

"That's not an option," said Finlay.

"Don't tell me that wasn't part of your orders. My silence is what matters. I know how the underground works."

"Dying is easy. Anyone can do it. But if you give up, if you choose to die rather than fight for a chance at life and freedom, then the mind techs will have won. They'll have broken you. Stay alive, break free, and get your revenge on the bastards who ordered this done to you. That's what the underground and the rebellion are all about. Now if I can get you out of range of the esp-blocker, can you find us a way out of here?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Julian smiled weakly. "It's worth a try. They had to turn the esp-blocker's influence way down, to avoid damaging my brain while they were working on it. And being this close to a mindbomb did the blocker some damage. That's how I was able to get those wires out of my head. If you can get me a few corridors away, the rest of my esp should return. And then I'll show you some real fireworks."

Finlay grinned. "A man after my own heart. Let's go."

He helped the young esper down from the table and supported him for a moment till his legs got their strength back. Although he did his best to hide it, Finlay was concerned about Skye's condition. The Empire had clearly beaten the hell out of him before they started tinkering with his brain. If it came to a fight, or even a prolonged chase, they could be in real trouble. He decided he'd think about that when he had to, and not before, and led the way out of the interrogation cell. Dead guards and espers lay scattered the length of the corridor, but everyone else had gone. The fight had moved on, deeper into the heart of the complex. Finlay wondered who was winning. Skye looked up and down the corridor, and then moved forward to take the lead.

"The layout of these places is pretty standardized," he said brusquely, stepping gingerly over the bodies. "I did a study on the Empire's interrogation centers for the underground a while back. We were planning rescue missions with telepaths and mindbombs. But that was before the scattering. If I remember correctly, these corridors should all eventually tie in to a central rotunda. From that I should be able to find us a way to the main flyer station. Then all we have to do is fight our way past a dozen guards, hot-wire a flyer without setting off all the explosive booby traps, and then get the hell out of here before they crank up the esp-blockers and knock out my powers again."

"No problem," said Finlay.

"There's going to be a lot of guards between us and there."

"I've still got the mindbomb."

"Save it. It's only good for half a dozen blasts or so, and then the brain tissue burns up."

"We can do without it," said Finlay. "You've got me."

Skye looked at him. "Are you always this confident?"

"Of course. Why do you think the underground chose me for this mission? So stop worrying. It'll give you ulcers. You stick with me, and I'll get you out of here."

Skye smiled genuinely for the first time. "You just might, at that."

He led the way down one corridor after another, never hesitating at a turn or a blind corner. The corridors all looked the same to Finlay, but he trusted Skye. The young esper was standing straighten now, though the pain in his head clearly bothered him. His eyes were brighter, and there were two spots of color in his pale cheeks. He still looked as though a strong wind would blow him away, but his confidence was returning. And then they turned a comer, and Skye stopped dead in his tracks, his head cocked slightly to one side, as though listening. Finlay looked quickly about him, but the corridor was deserted.

"Talk to me, Skye. What is it?"

"We're in trouble."

"I guessed that. Be specific."

"When we were all held in Silo Nine, Wormboy allowed mind techs and other scientists to experiment on the inmates. Most died. They were the lucky ones. The survivors were monsters, changed in body and mind, no longer human. A few escaped during the underground assault, but most were too securely confined. After Wormboy was killed during the assault, the monsters were transferred here, in the hope of finding some new way of controlling them. The authorities must really not want us escaping. They've released a dozen of the monsters into the corridors. They're insane with rage and pain. They'll attack anything that moves. And they're heading right for us."

Finlay looked quickly around him again, but all seemed quiet for the moment. "How's your esp? Is it back yet?"

"Some. But even a full psistorm wouldn't stop minds like these."

"Any chance you could contact the underground and get us a teleport out of here?"

"No. This whole place is surrounded by esp-blockers. You got in only because they let you in. We either find our own way out, or the monsters will be picking what's left of us out of their back teeth."

Finlay thought hard. "What about maintenance tunnels, air ducts, that sort of thing?"

"All securely locked off and guarded. This is a prison, remember? Brace yourself. They're coming."

Finlay took up a stance between Skye and the direction he'd indicated, sword in one hand, gun in the other. The first sounds of approaching feet reached him, loud and uneven. He could hear roars and howls and sounds that had no place in a human throat. The sounds drew nearer, and Finlay took aim with his disrupter. And then the monsters surged around the corner at the end of the corridor, and all Finlay could do was stare. Some had bulging brains that had broken apart their skulls from the inside and thrust out through the cracks. Some had bony thorns thrusting out through their flesh. Others had white, livid flesh, already rotting away from their bones. High tech had been grafted onto and into that flesh, replacing body parts with augmentations until hardly any of their humanity was left. Just flesh in metal cages. Some still looked mostly human, but rippled the walls of the corridor as they passed, as though reality itself was shifting around them, disturbed by their inhuman and uncontrolled esp.

Finlay breathed heavily. There were bad odds, and then there were bad odds, and this was both. He switched his gun from one target to another, but whichever he took out, the others would get him long before the gun could recharge for another shot. And for once it didn't matter a damn how good a swordsman he was. Cold steel was no match for esp. He looked at Skye.

"You know these things better than I do. Is there any way we can reach them? You're an esper, damn it, you must still have something in common with them!"

"I'll try," said Skye. "But they're not really espers anymore. They've moved beyond that."

He reached out with his esp, but it was like looking at flaring lights in the night, all color and brightness and fury, without meaning or content. If they had thoughts, he couldn't understand them. All he could share was the rage and horror and suffering that filled their lives. So he did the only thing he could. He gathered up the fury in their minds, threw it back at them, and made each of them think it came from the others around them. The monsters screamed and fell upon each other, rending and tearing, and blood that was not always red flew on the air. Esp clashed with esp till the air shimmered and sparkled and the steel walls ran like water from the strength of it. Skye stepped backward, his hands to his head, trying to block it out. Finlay holstered his gun and dragged him away from the carnage in the corridor.

"Don't lose it, Skye! There must be another way out of here. We'll find it!"'

They ran down the corridor together, Skye shaking his head over and over again. He tried to say something to Finlay, but couldn't get it out. Finlay understood. Some of the monsters could have been people the esper knew before they ended up in Silo Nine. Some might even have been friends. There but for the grace of God and the underground… And then they rounded a corner, and Finlay jerked them both to a halt. A full company of guards was blocking the way ahead. They raised their guns to fire, and Finlay dragged Skye back around the corner just in time. A few energy bolts flashed past them, but most of the guards had enough sense not to fire blindly. Using a disrupter in a confined space was always risky. You never knew when the beam might ricochet right back at you. Finlay pulled the mindbomb out of his pocket, but Skye put a restraining hand on his arm.

"Not a good idea. Use the mindbomb, and there's no telling what it might do to the monsters. It might snap them out of the confusion I put them in and bring them down on us again. And even if it doesn't, do you really want to send that many armed men insane at such close quarters?"

"You have a point," Finlay said reluctantly. "Monsters behind, guards ahead. Damned if we do, damned if we don't." He put the mindbomb away. "Looks like we'll have to do it the old-fashioned way. Don't worry. I'm the best there ever was with a sword, and this is where I get to prove it."

Skye looked at him. "There are too many of them, and they've all got guns. Disrupters don't care how good a swordsman you are."

"If I can get into the middle of them fast enough, they won't dare use their guns for fear of shooting each other. Sure the odds aren't good, but when have they ever been? The important thing is to fight, and if need be, go down fighting. As long as there's still a chance, however slim, we fight on. That's what the underground is all about. Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky."

"You could surrender," said Skye. "They really only want me."

"That is not an option," said Finlay. "I said I'd get you out or die trying, and I will. Now, be quiet and let me concentrate. There's a way out of this, if only I can see it. There's always a way out."

"No," said Skye. "Sometimes there isn't. We've armed guards ahead and monsters behind, and nowhere else to go. It was a nice try, Finlay, but it's over."

"Then, we take as many of them with us as we can," said Finlay. "Because as long as we're still fighting, they haven't really beaten us."

Skye smiled suddenly. "Thanks for coming after me. I never really expected anyone like you. At least this way I get to die on my feet."

"Don't give up yet," said Finlay. "We could still get lucky."

And that was when the roof fell in. The floor buckled and rose up under their feet, and the walls split apart with screams of rending steel. The guards were yelling in confusion, and alarm sirens blared deafeningly from all directions. Skye and Finlay clung to each other for support, Finlay trying to shield the fragile esper with his own body. There was a constant rumbling roar of shifting metal and concrete as the building rocked slowly around them. The lights snapped out, and for a long moment there was only darkness before the dull red glow of emergency lighting returned. In the distance there were sudden, sharp explosions, and from everywhere came the sound of screaming. Some of it didn't sound human. The floor bulged upward slowly and then settled, and the rumbling died away. Everything was still. People were shouting orders or screaming for help. It all sounded a long way off. Finlay straightened up, still supporting the esper with one arm. Blood was flowing down his face from a long gash on his temple, but he ignored it. He could hear the crackling of fires and smell the beginnings of smoke in the air.

"What the hell was that?" said Skye, staring blearily about him into the crimson light. "Could it have been an earthquake?"

"That was a miracle," said Finlay. "And since they tend to be few and far between, I suggest we get the hell out of here before the authorities get their act together, and we need another miracle."

He led the way over the uneven floor, with Skye sticking close behind him. Around the comer, the guards were all dead. The ceiling had caved in on them. Finlay stepped carefully over and around the great slabs of concrete, avoiding the occasional sharp edges of ruptured steel. A guard stirred as he passed, and Finlay paused just long enough to cut the man's throat before moving on.

"Was that really necessary?" said Skye.

"Yes," said Finlay, not looking back. "Now he can't tell anyone which way we went. Never allow the enemy anything they can use against you."

Skye shook his head admiringly. "You're a real fighter, my friend. I haven't seen anyone like you since my brother Auric."

"What does he do?"

"He doesn't. He died in the Arena, butchered by the Masked Gladiator, may his soul rot in hell."

Finlay Campbell, who had once been known as the Masked Gladiator, said nothing. Together he and Julian Skye made their way through the devastated corridors of the interrogation center, and nobody stopped or challenged them. When they finally walked out the front door and saw what had happened to the surrounding city, they knew why.

They made their way through the ruins of the starport with no more trouble than anyone else. The streets might be blocked with debris from toppled buildings, but security was a joke. The authorities had their own problems to worry about. Skye found a way down into the largely untouched maintenance tunnels down below, and from there it was a relatively easy trip back to the underground center. Only to find that everyone was far too busy to talk to them. The main meeting chamber was a mass of confusion, swamped with people rushing this way and that, shouting orders and information to people who weren't listening. Finlay finally grabbed the nearest person, slammed him up against the nearest wall, stuck his face in close, and demanded to know what was going on. His victim glared at him incredulously.

"Where the hell have you been? Golgotha's been attacked by an alien starship! Completely unknown, like nothing anyone's ever seen before. It trashed most of the starport before it was finally driven off."

Finlay scowled. "What happened to the defense systems?"

"They're still down from the new rebels' attack on the Tax HQ! When the alien ship arrived, there was nothing left to stop it. The deaths and damage in the city have been horrific. We rode out most of it down here, but up above everything's gone to hell in a handcart, for us and the Empire. Most of our above ground agents are either dead or scattered. Communication chains have been shattered."

He was starting to babble, and Finlay shook him hard to get his attention back. "What's the underground doing to take advantage of the situation?"

"God only knows. Everyone's got a different idea or plan for saving the moment, or at least for providing damage limitation, but no one's listening to anyone else. I've heard everything suggested, from launching attacks on Empire installations while they're still vulnerable, to taking all the underground even deeper into the subsystems in order to avoid the inevitable backlash when Golgotha's population discovers the alien's attack was made possible only because the new rebels lowered the planetary defenses. Can I go now, please? I was on my way to the toilet, and if anything, my need is even worse now than it was."

Finlay let him go and led Skye through the crowd, listening to as many voices as he could. The only thing everyone seemed to agree on was that the whole mess was the fault of the new rebels. People had a lot of ideas about what should be done about them, with drawing and quartering coming a close second to very slow impalement.

And then the three esper leaders suddenly manifested in the center of the chamber, silencing the chaos with a telepathic bellow so loud that even Finlay heard it. Everyone subsided, holding their heads and wincing. Mr. Perfect, the mandala, and the dragon in its tree glared around them, and only a few people, including Finlay, were able to look back.

"If you've all quite finished running around like a chicken that's just had its nuts chopped off," said Mr. Perfect icily, "perhaps we could discuss the situation in a calm, intelligent, and above all quiet manner. First off, things are not as bad as they seem. Most of us came through the attack alive, thanks to how far we live beneath the surface. Our cells above can be rebuilt, and communications reestablished.

"However, we are in no condition to mount attacks against anybody, let alone Empire installations we have no way of even getting to through the current chaos. In addition, Finlay Campbell has returned safely with Julian Skye, against all the odds, rescued before he could be made to talk. So we need no longer worry about having to scatter again. Feel free to applaud, but keep the noise down. We've got a headache."

There was scattered applause, but the crowd remained restive and uncertain. Some parts seemed actually mutinous. Skye looked a little put out at the muted reaction to his safe return, but Finlay didn't give a damn. He hadn't done it for the applause. He looked around for Evangeline, or even Adrienne, but the crowd was too big. Mr. Perfect began speaking again, a frown marring his classical features, like graffiti on a famous portrait.

"It is imperative we establish proper contact with the new rebels as soon as possible. We sent Alexander Storm and the Stevie Blues to join the raiding party and return with them, but it's clear we're going to need a cooler, more politically minded envoy to represent our views in the future. We need an ambassador to link both of us together. It is vital that future raids or attacks be decided by both of us, in advance, precisely to prevent this kind of destruction happening again. What little good will the underground had among the general population vanished with the alien ship's first strafing run. The council has discussed this, and we have a volunteer to be our ambassador. Evangeline Shreck."

Finlay mouthed the word no, but his reaction was lost in the applause from the crowd, which this time seemed louder and more genuine. Evangeline was suddenly standing before the esper leaders, head respectfully bowed. She turned around to acknowledge the applause from the crowd, and her eyes met Finlay's as though she'd expected him to be right where he was. She looked away, but there was no guilt or weakness in her cold, composed face. Finlay started to push his way forward through the crowd. Skye tried to follow him, but lacked the strength to force his way past the people packed together before him. He called the Campbell's name, but if Finlay heard, he paid it no attention, and Skye was quickly left behind.

Finlay burst through the final few ranks, not caring if he hurt or affronted anyone. No one objected. Finlay's reputation as a swordsman and a crazy bastard was well-known throughout the underground. He stood face-to-face with Evangeline, and she met his gaze unflinchingly. Finlay took her by the arm and pulled her a little away from the esper leaders. She went with him unresistingly, but her face never changed.

"Why are you doing this, Evie?" he said finally. "Why are you going away and leaving me?"

"I'm not leaving you," Evangeline said calmly. "I'm just going on a mission. I'll be back before the year's out. My position as ambassador is only temporary, until the council can decide which of them will replace me."

"Why did they choose you?"

"Because I asked them. I wanted to go. I need to get away from things for a while. I've done too much, been involved in too much. I owe too many commitments to too many people, and I can't keep them straight in my head anymore. Leaving Golgotha will give me time to think. It's been a long time since I could just be myself, with no responsibilities to anyone but myself."

"You don't have to go do that. We can leave the underground, be together, just the two of us. I'm here only because you are."

"That might have been true once, but not anymore. You said yourself, you need the action, the blood and slaughter of the missions they give you."

"None of that means more to me than you. You're the heart that beats in my breast, the air in my mouth. I can't live without you."

"Yes you can. For a while. I need this, Finlay. I need… I don't know what I need, but it isn't here. Adrienne helped me to see that."

Finlay nodded grimly. "I might have known she'd be at the back of this. She's never happy unless she's screwing up my life."

"No, Finlay. This was my decision. I need to get away from the subsystems, my father…"

"And me?"

"That, too. Nothing's really going to change. We hardly ever see each other anyway. I have my duties, and you're always off on one of your missions…"

"That can change. I can change. What do you want from me?"

"Your understanding. I still love you, Finlay. I'll always love you, no matter where I am or you are. But I can't go on like this. It's tearing me apart, and I can't stand it anymore. I have to take some control of my life. Don't fight me on this, Finlay. It's important to me."

He took a deep breath and nodded abruptly. "Then it's important to me, too. Go. I'll manage." He opened his arms to her, and she came into them, and for a long time they stood together, blind to the outside world. Finlay held her close, like a drowning man, and if his strength hurt her, she never said. He could feel tears prickling his eyes, but he wouldn't let them out. "What am I going to do without you, Evie?"

"You'll find something to keep yourself busy. You swore a blood oath, remember, on your name and honor, to avenge Jenny Psycho and what was done to her, to put an end to Silo Nine and the system that produced it. Now the council has seen what you can do, they'll give you more important work in the underground. If you ask them."

"Maybe." He pushed her gently away and looked searchingly into her eyes. "You do what you need to do, Evie. That's all that matters in the end. But I still wish they could have chosen someone else."

"Everyone else was too important, too well connected, or too busy. The only use they had for me was my influence over my father and to keep you in line. My father and I… have become estranged. And I promised the council you wouldn't be a problem. Don't make a liar out of me. They chose me because I have proven diplomatic skills, and because I'm entirely expendable. I was the perfect candidate."

"We seem fated to be kept apart," said Finlay. "Someday, when all this is over, maybe we'll be able to have a simple, everyday life together, like everyone else. I'd like that."

"Yes," said Evangeline. "So would I."

There was a sudden commotion behind them as everyone turned to look at someone who'd just entered the chamber. An excited babble began as the crowd recognized who it was. There was cheering and applause, and a name ran through the crowd, growing louder and louder, from a chant to a roar to a battle cry. Jenny Psycho! Jenny Psycho! Jenny Psycho!"

"Oh, hell," said Finlay. "Just what we need. More complications."

Jenny Psycho, who used to be called Diana Vertue, but had mostly forgotten that, was short and blond with a pale face dominated by sharp blue eyes. She had a large mouth and a smile that showed more teeth than humor. Once she'd been just another low-level esper, like so many others, but then the underground had planted her in the notorious esper prison Silo Nine to be their agent. The uber-esper Mater Mundi had manifested through her to blow the place apart. Jenny had been touched by greatness, transformed by the Mater Mundi's fleeting presence, and since her escape from Wormboy Hell, she'd become a new, major force in the underground. She'd taken the code name for her own and entered esper politics with a vengeance. Wherever she went, a small crowd of fanatical followers went with her, and they were with her now, scowling at anyone who dared to get too close. Finlay sometimes wondered whether she was a political force or a religious icon. Perhaps she wasn't sure herself. Certainly her popularity had been growing in leaps and bounds of late. It must have if someone as disinterested as Finlay had noticed it.

Having made one of her usual unexpected and highly dramatic entrances. Jenny Psycho pressed forward and the crowd opened up before her, as though pushed back by the sheer force of her personality. She'd become one of the most powerful espers the underground had ever known, and you could feel it in her presence. It all but crackled on the air around her, a palpable force that was part charisma and part enigma. A rabble-rouser, a cunning politician, and a tireless warrior for esper rights and wrongs, she was respected, worshiped, and adored by the many, and watched very carefully by the esper leaders.

She was also just a little crazy, but people made allowances. No one expected saints to be normal. She had been touched by Our Mother Of All Souls, and with the Mater Mundi currently quiet and unavailable, people were willing to settle for the next best thing. She stopped at the front of the crowd before the esper leaders and smiled unpleasantly, as though she could see past the images they projected to the real people beneath. Who knew? Maybe she could. Evangeline leaned in close beside Finlay.

"If I'd known she was going to turn out such a pain in the ass, I'd have thought twice about springing her from Silo Nine."

Finlay shrugged. "She preaches direct action, and that's a popular stance to take these days. And she was a focus for the Mater Mundi."

"So were you and I, and we're no crazier now than we were before. Though admittedly, it's hard to tell in your case."

Finlay smiled despite himself and made himself concentrate on Jenny Psycho as she began speaking. She had a harsh, unattractive voice. She'd damaged her vocal cords screaming in Wormboy Hell. It didn't matter. When she spoke, you had to listen. You had to.

"I'm back again, people. Make the most of me while I'm here. The Empire threw me into Silo Nine and put a worm in my head to control me, but with the Mater Mundi's help I broke out. You can break out, too. Work with me, and we can all become more than we are. No one can compel me now; not even the worm they left in my head. The council said taking it out would kill me, but I don't believe that anymore. Watch. And learn."

She pushed her long golden hair back behind her ears, so that her face could be clearly seen. She put a hand to her forehead and frowned, as though listening or concentrating.

Her left temple bulged outward suddenly, and the skin broke, splitting apart. Blood ran down Jenny's face, but she ignored it. There was a sharp, cracking sound, and the bone of her skull broke apart at the left temple. Something small and gray and bloody crawled out of the crack, and fell into Jenny's waiting hand. It pulsed and twitched feebly, a genetically engineered horror that existed only to imprison and torture captive minds. Jenny closed her hand around the worm and crushed it with one swift gesture. Blood and gray pulp oozed through her fingers. Jenny opened her hand and let what was left fall to the ground.

The crowd went mad, cheering and applauding and stamping their feet. Jenny Psycho began to speak again, but Finlay wasn't listening. He appreciated the theater of what she'd done, but distrusted her message. The call to direct action was all very well and fine—he'd raised it himself on more than one occasion—but there was nothing of strategy or planning in Jenny's call. All the underground had to do was trust in her and the Mater Mundi, and all would be well. And the crowd believed that because they wanted to. She promised strength and revenge and glory, and everything else the beaten down craved so desperately. Finlay looked out over the cheering crowd and wasn't impressed.

Drowning men will clutch at any straw.