After the Dark

Chapter four Vanished

By the next morning the wind had subsided some, but the thirty degree temperature lingered, a guest overstaying its welcome. Come dawn, Max had finally abandoned her perch atop the Needle. As morning bled into the sky, she felt an urge to climb on her Ninja and just keep riding; she might have given in to that impulse if the bike hadn’t been sitting back in Terminal City.

And right now she just didn’t have the heart to go back there and face her friends, and their questions...

Wandering into the city as it woke, Max purchased two cups of coffee at a bakery, balancing them atop a box of bagels, and found herself walking on a kind of autopilot up to the entrance of her former place of employment — Jam Pony Express. Except where pockmarks remained from bullets fired at the building during the hostage crisis six months ago, the place hadn’t really changed since the night when Max left that life behind.

The usual morning hubbub buzzed around the place, that peculiar combination of weariness and energy, of chaos and organization, found at the top of the day in most any workplace. The little ramp that led down to the concrete floor was swept neatly, as usual, and the wire grating that separated Normal — the messenger service’s manager — from his peons still looked like this was visiting day at county lockup... though whether it was the messengers who were the prisoners, or Normal, remained unclear.

Several of Normal’s seemingly endless supply of disheveled young riders milled about, sipping coffee or chatting each other up, some getting ready to take off on their first runs of the day. A few recognized Jam Pony’s most famous graduate and stared openly at Max.

The peaceful settlement of the Terminal City siege had actually made her a local celebrity of sorts. Not reacting to those watching her, Max wondered if this was how Jenny Brooks, the Channel 7 weather girl, felt when she walked the streets.

This fifteen minutes of fame — which seemed to keep renewing itself — was surprisingly hard on Max, who as a loner felt uncomfortable wearing the eyes of others, and who as a longtime fugitive — she had spent most of her life on the run from Manticore, after all — felt uneasy when she could not fade into the landscape.

Doing her best to ignore the stares, she picked up on Normal, active behind his wire window. He had not changed an iota — his blondish hair was cut in its usual flat top, his black glasses continued to try to flee down his nose, and his ever-present earpiece made him look like the world’s least sophisticated cyborg. He landed behind the window and looked up — sensing someone just standing there motionless, which meant a messenger needed a reprimand, of course — and then his mouth creased into something that might have been a smile.

“Well, well, little missy,” he said. He always seemed to savor his words, as if each one was his favorite flavor Lifesaver. “Have you finally come crawling back looking for your job?”

She gave him a good-natured smirk. “That’s right, Normal — the money we’re making hand-over-fist at the Terminal City Mall just can’t compare to the nickels and dimes you used to toss me.”

He pretended to frown. “Well, that’s a good thing — because I don’t have an opening right now.”

“Oh, damn. I’m crushed.” She set the box of bagels on the counter and removed the two cups of coffee from their perch. She turned to find half a dozen messengers standing around her, watching their exchange. Max stopped, feeling awkward.

“Yes, slackers, it’s Max — as seen on TV,” Normal said pleasantly. Then he scowled and yelled: “Get moving! This is not a youth hostel, but I am hostile to youth — packages to be delivered, people — bip bip bip!”

Slowly, grumbling, the group broke up.

Turning back to Normal, she laughed. “That’s a new one — hostel, hostile? Nice.”

Around them, kids were still watching as they threaded off, and Normal’s response was only to shoot Max a cross look; then when all of the messengers had moved along, none of them wanting to be next in line to feel Normal’s wrath, the crew-cut petty dictator flashed her an affectionate smile.

“Truth is, missy,” he said, “you always got a home here, if you want it.”

She tilted her head. “You’re getting soft, Normal.”

“Hey, I said there was a place for you, when this celebrity stuff wears off and you need to make a living again... but you’ll have to carry your weight.”

“Actually, you didn’t say there was a ‘place’ for me, Normal. You said ‘home’... and Normal... that was nice to hear. You haven’t chased off your ‘Nubian princess,’ have ya?”

He pointed with his chin toward the cluster of lockers at the back. “She’s here all right — the granddam of Jam Pony...”

“That’s Original Cindy, all right.”

“Oh yeah — only this morning she seems sorta out of sorts... Maybe it’s female trouble.”

“Why don’t you go over to her, Normal, and suggest she take somethin’ for that? Then you’ll find out what female trouble is all about.”

Normal almost blushed. “I just mean... she’s down. Blue. Cranky I’m used to — her in the dumps, that’s somethin’ else... Go say hello to her.”

“Well, jeez, Normal... are you concerned for one of your people?”

“If she has a bad day, I have a bad day... by which I mean, my packages don’t get delivered on time.”

“Right.”

And she grinned at him.

It was infectious, and he turned away, getting back to work, hiding his humanity.

As she strolled toward the back, Max shook her head, surprised at how nice it was to see Normal. Who’da thunk she’d have missed that stick-up-the-butt goofus? The truth was, despite a longstanding prejudice against the transgenics, when she and her fellows had really needed him, Normal came through in a big way.

A stand-up guy, with a good heart... amazing.

It felt surprisingly good to be here, back on her old stomping grounds, with people she could depend on, unlike a certain cyberjournalist. After moving to the back of the huge, rank room — funny, she hadn’t ever noticed the sweat-drenched scent of the place before — she found her best friend sitting on a bench facing her locker, head bowed as if in prayer.

Original Cindy’s Afro was flying at half mast today, brushed down and pulled back into a puff at the back of her skull. She was in jeans and a gray vintage GRRRRL POWER! sweatshirt that looked rumpled, almost slept-in — a rarity for a woman whose wardrobe was always as sharp as she was.

“Anyone for coffee?” Max asked, holding out the cardboard cup.

Original Cindy’s eyes shot up to her — eyes that were red-rimmed either from crying or lack of sleep or both. Then the shapely woman was on her feet and taking her friend in her arms, damn near causing Max to dump the two cups of coffee all over everything.

“Hey hey hey,” Max said, doing a balance act as Cindy hugged her. “Careful, girl — you’ll spill the joe!”

“Where you been keepin’ yourself, Boo?” Original Cindy demanded, backing away but not letting go of Max, her expression alternating between relief and indignation. “Damn, girl! We spent all night looking for your ass.”

Shrugging, Max said, “I had some thinking to do.”

“So you had some thinkin’ to do — thass cool. Only you know what is not cool? Leavin’ your brothers and sisters hangin’, all crazyass-worried and shit.”

“I’m sorry,” Max said, and this had not occurred to her at all. “It’s just... things went kinda sideways... with Logan.”

“Yeah, I know, details at eleven... What, you think he wasn’t the most worried outta all of us? ’Cept for maybe Joshua, who thinks you some kinda saint... and clearly does not know you like I do.”

“Logan came around?”

Original Cindy nodded. “He came and yanked me outta my crib, and we haul butt to Terminal City, to see was you there, and guess what, you wasn’t.”

“What did he...?”

“What’d he tell me? He tell me everything. You don’t tell Original Cindy half a story, Boo — I’m like a priest, except for the religion part. Anyway, Logan come and found me and played me every track, includin’ the bonus cuts — then he and me go out searchin’ for your thoughtless self.”

Max sat on the bench, embarrassed. “Jeez... I am sorry. Really. I... when bad stuff happens, I kinda revert to, you know, a...”

“Selfish bitch?”

Max laughed. “Yeah. That’s it exactly.”

The lovely lesbian smiled and sat next to her. Taking one of the coffees, O.C. said, “Thanks, girlfriend — Original Cindy’s gonna need the caffeine to get through this mother. You and me, we need to talk.”

“I don’t think I can take—”

“You gonna hide from this? Sooner or later you’re gonna have to deal — better do it now, be done with it.”

“I know,” Max admitted. “Sorry about last night... just had to get away.” She let out a long, tired breath. “Logan told you... everything?”

“You mean, do I know about Seth? Yeah. And I’m sorry for your loss, honey... which was two years ago, by the way.”

“I know it’s an old wound, but Logan ripped it wide open.” Shaking her head, Max said, “I can’t believe he lied to me.”

Original Cindy snorted. “He can’t help bein’ a dick — you got a dick, sometimes you gon’ be a dick.”

“You got that right,” Max said, laughing again, holding out her fist so O.C. could bump it, but the woman made no move to complete the ritual. “You gonna leave a sistah hangin’?”

Original Cindy’s eyes went to the floor, then back to Max. “Only Logan, he ain’t no all-the-time-a-dick, Max. He’s human — made a mistake. But he’s a good man... you know, for a man.”

Max dropped her hand. “You’re sticking up for him?”

“How many times you been in love, Boo?”

Max said nothing.

“Logan — he’s the first, ain’t he?”

Defensive, Max blurted, “I been around.”

“I ain’t talkin’ about sex, sugah — we talkin’ love. You love that four-eyed crip, don’t ya?”

Max shrugged.

“And he loves your sorry mean ass.”

Another shrug.

“Listen to Original Cindy. I been in love more times than... more times than I shoulda been. You think just ’cause somebody loves you that means they perfect? You think I ain’t been lied to by somebody who loved me?”

“This isn’t some... little white lie, Cindy.”

“Don’t play the race card, girl. Quit poutin’ and get back in the game.”

“What are you talking about?”

Original Cindy sighed. “Is Logan or is Logan not the single best dealio you ever run into in this whole sorry, solitary world? Present company excluded, of course.”

That made Max smile. “Except for meeting you, Boo... yeah. I suppose. Logan’s the best thing. Or anyway... he was.”

“So. You gonna let one little slip ruin your whole life?”

“It was not a little slip,” Max said, an edge in her voice. “Logan caused the death of my brother — and then he lied to me about it.”

Normal appeared at the end of the aisle and said, “I hate to interrupt this touching reunion, but I have a pressing delivery that—”

“Go away,” Max snapped, and — simultaneously — Original Cindy shouted, “Not now, flat top! Can’t you see we busy?”

Normal’s eyes opened very wide. Then, instead of frowning or lashing back at them, Normal beamed. “Just like the good old days.”

And Normal turned and walked away.

“You know,” Original Cindy said with a smirk, digging a hole in one cheek, “I think I liked him better when he was a whole bastard. This halfa bastard, halfa nice guy shit... it’s confusing.”

That made Max smile...

... but only for a moment.

“Cindy, some things in a... relationship, you can’t undo them. Some things just... cross the line.”

“He didn’t cheat on your ass or anything.”

“Worse. Much worse.”

“Excuse me? Is this Max who used to steal shit from people and peddle the goods to a fence? You remember her, right?... Perfect, faultless Max?”

“Cindy, he lied to me. If there’s no trust—”

“He did not lie.”

“He sure as hell did!”

“This is one of them, sins of oh-mission, as ’posed to sin of co-mission.”

“I don’t see the difference.”

“The man did not lie. He just... kinda held back the truth.”

“There’s a word for that, Cindy.”

“... Bullshit?”

“No... sophistry.” Her mentor Moody had taught her that.

“Sof’ his’try, hard his’try... it should be history, you dig?”

“Some things can’t be forgiven.”

Original Cindy backed away and lifted her head and gazed down at Max, as if she were trying to see her better. “You look like Max and you sound like Max... but you can’t be Max.”

Not at all in the mood for being kidded, Max turned away from her friend.

“’Cause if you was the real Max? You wouldn’t be such a damn fool.”

“Thank you very much.”

“How long you known Logan?”

“... Goin’ on two years.”

“And how much you been through together?”

“... A lot.”

“And who was always there for you no matter how bad things got?”

“You.”

O.C. grinned. “Goes without sayin’, but who else?”

“Joshua.”

Original Cindy punched her lightly in the shoulder. “Thank you for makin’ my point about you bein’ a damn fool.”

Max managed a tiny grin. “Logan has always been there. For me.”

“Yeah. And that’s somethin’, ain’t it, in this post-Pulse piece-of-shit world?... Who I got?”

“Well — you got me.”

“Yeah, and hey, Boo, thass a lot, don’t get me wrong, but that ain’t everything, you dig? Friendship is cool, way cool — but we got needs, you and me, that you and me don’t do for each other.”

Chuckling, Max admitted, “Yeah, I suppose.”

Original Cindy was not chuckling. “Me, I had Diamond... only, she’s gone.”

Diamond Latrell had been Original Cindy’s one true love, or so it seemed to Max; Latrell had been injected with a biotech experiment while in prison. Max helped Logan bring down Synthedyne, the corporation responsible for the experiments, and Diamond managed to pass the bioagent on to Synthedyne’s CEO Sidney Croal before she, too, died.

“I know, Cin,” Max said. “I’m so sorry...”

“True love’s a bitch, ain’t it? To try an’ find in this world, I mean... and you done found it, Boo. And ’cause your lover boy held back somethin’, ’cause he was afraid it would hurt you and he didn’t want to risk losin’ you... ’cause he ain’t perfect, you’re ready to crumple that up and toss it away like a damn candy wrapper?”

“Cin... I can’t trust him.”

“Well, of course you can’t,” O.C. said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a man, ain’t he?”

“He’s a man.”

“Then sayin’ you can’t trust him is like sayin’ water’s wet. That’s why the divorce rate is sixty-forty against, right?”

“I guess.”

“But you can trust him for some things.”

“Such as?”

Original Cindy took one of Max’s hands in both of hers. “Trust that he’s gonna love you till he dies.”

“... You think?”

She nodded. “Trust he’s always got your back and ain’t never gonna let nothin’ bad happen to you, not if he can help it.”

“Then why did he not tell me about Seth for all that time, only to spring it on me now?”

“You rather he never tell ya?”

“... In a way.”

“So it’s okay for you to lie to yourself; it’s just other people who can’t lie to you. Boo, the man’s tryin’ to be honest. He knows he screwed up, and he was tryin’ to fix it... not make it worse.”

“But he did.”

“Girl! You wanna pout till doomsday? Or you want a man in your life that couldn’t take your fine ass to bed till he owned up with you ’bout something that was burnin’ a hole in him? Boy’s got a damn conscience, and you kicked him outta your life not for bein’ dishonest... but for bein’ honest!”

Stunned by Cindy’s take on the situation, Max sat and quietly considered her friend’s words.

Finally, she was starting to see this from outside herself. It would have been easy for Logan to keep up the lie — all he had to do was keep his mouth shut. She never would have found out about Seth if he hadn’t told her...

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” Max asked Original Cindy.

“Tired of what?”

“Being right.”

O.C. grinned and took a long drink from her coffee. “Oh, it’s a burden, baby... Now, then — what you gonna do about this shit?”

That question was hard to answer.

Making a face, Original Cindy said, “That coffee’s cold. Let’s go get some fresh, and talk this sucker out.”

Max shook her head.

“Why not?”

“I really think I’ve heard everything you have to say on this subject.”

Worried, Original Cindy said, “That won’t stop Original Cindy from houndin’ you. You best give in.”

“Know what? Think I ‘best’ go talk to Logan.”

Original Cindy’s face lit up. “Now you’re talkin’, Boo.”

“I suppose I owe it to him to at least... try to straighten things out.”

“See, girl? You ain’t terminally infected with the bitch bug, after all! Maybe ol’ Kelpy took that one on, too.”

Max yelped a laugh and gently slugged her friend’s arm.

O.C.’s smile melted into a frown.

“Oh,” Max said. “Didn’t mean to hit you hard or anything...”

“Ain’t that, Boo. It’s just... if you’re finally goin’ to see Logan, and we’re not goin’ out after fresh coffee... thass tragic in its own self.”

“How so?”

“It means... Original Cindy’s got to go to work.”

They both laughed, and then they hugged.

Max felt a tear working its way down her cheek. As they broke, she hastily wiped it away.

But Cindy had caught the action, and said with the surprising gentleness this tough woman carried, “Don’t worry, Boo. It’s gonna work out. You two both too pretty to be unhappy.”

“Oh, you,” Max said, nodding and trying to smile, wanting to share her friend’s confidence; but truth was, she held little hope.

There was that damned word again: hope.

And maybe this apprehension was why — on her way to see Logan — she stopped first at the control center in Terminal City. She told herself she was doing this out of a sense of responsibility, but she knew nonetheless that she might just be stalling.

Still, she hadn’t spent this long a time out of touch with the others since the beginning of the siege. She was their leader, and it bothered her that she’d given so little thought to her responsibilities, that she had gone off by herself without consideration for her friends, who — like Original Cindy — had probably been worried about her.

The strange thing about last night was, she had enjoyed the time to herself, the solitude, even if she had been basking in something approaching self-pity. Within her the call of the maverick was struggling to be heard. She wondered if her life would always contain these contradictory urges, reflecting the periods when she’d been a part of a group... as at Manticore, or with the L.A. street gang, the Brood... and those other times when she’d been very much on her own, scratching for survival, based upon her own skills and wits.

Seattle had begun as a quest for anonymity — once Seth was lost to her, Max only wanted to blend in with the crowd, a loner on the watch for her Manticore pursuers. But over the course of two years, another family had gathered itself around her: Cindy and Joshua and Sketchy and Alec and the other transgenics, and even Normal, and, yes, most of all Logan.

Was the presence of this family a comforting one in her life, or merely smothering?

She passed through those tall forbidding gates, made the walk to the heavy steel door that led into the control center, the weight of that door seeming to transfer to her as she swung it open.

Made up of two distinct sections, upper and lower, the control center resembled electronics stores Max had seen in pre-Pulse vids and movies. The back section of the lower half was given over to a large layout table where the group held council sessions; right now it was largely covered by a map of Terminal City and the surrounding neighborhoods. The front section was a pyramid of video monitors, a dozen screens where four transgenics kept an eye on the local media and what the world out there was up to. Four stairs led to a raised level, where another thirteen monitors were pyramided, showing the Terminal City security system, both interior and the perimeter. From a command chair up there, Dix supervised the entire operation.

Down below, huddled over the map, Mole, Alec, and Joshua were in the midst of a powwow.

Mole was first to notice her return. “Hey, boss lady — where the hell you been?”

She tossed him a sarcastic smile. “Mr. Warmth — sweet to see you, too.”

“Hey,” Mole said, grinning, considering the appellation. “I think I like that — Mr. Warmth.”

Max cheerfully flipped him off and asked, “Status?”

“Nice and quiet,” he said. “Somehow we survived a night without you.”

Joshua — just your average dog man in an army field jacket, T-shirt, and jeans — lumbered around the table and enveloped her in a bear hug. “Little Fella!”

His silly yet somehow endearing nickname for her gave Max a sudden rush of warmth.

Also, she was struggling to keep breathing — the transgenic’s fondness for her was exceeded only by his grasp.

Squeezing out words like the last smidgens from a toothpaste tube, Max managed, “Heeey... Big Fella. What’s shaking?”

Joshua released her from his crushing embrace, and the noble, shaggy face studied her. “Joshua was shaking, till now. Now that I see Max is all right.”

“Sorry to worry you,” she said, meaning it. “I had to think about some stuff.”

Suddenly Alec was at her side. As usual, the X5’s attire seemed parked halfway between beach boy and biker, a gray leather jacket over a T-shirt and dark jeans. “Logan told us about Seth.”

Max couldn’t read the handsome face, and asked, “So how do you feel about it?”

“Logan recruiting Seth?”

“Logan recruiting Seth and getting him killed.”

Alec half smirked. “Come on, Max — Seth musta got himself killed. He was one impulsive dude, right? Anyway, he was a big boy — he knew the game and he knew the stakes.”

“What about Logan lying to us?”

Alec grunted something that might have been a laugh. “Oh yeah, I’m pretty worked up about that. I mean, I never lied to anyone, my whole life, right?... And I’m sure you’ve been straight with Logan, hundred percent, since day one.”

That made her flinch a little, but she managed to cover.

Of course she’d lied to Logan — plenty of times, since they’d met; in the early days particularly, before trust had been built up. But this was different — this mattered; this had been about something important. Yet the sense that she was guilty of judging by a double standard burned in her stomach.

Max said, “You guys seem to’ve got by fine without me last night.”

“Well, you sent us on a merry chase,” Alec said. “But yeah — Terminal City stands in all its glory.”

“Can you guys get by without me awhile longer?”

Alec shrugged. “Girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

From the sidelines, Mole pitched in: “We’ll be fine, Max. Take some time. Chill.”

Alec’s smirk widened. “Like you’re capable of chilling.”

She ignored that.

“Okay then,” she said to the group. “I’ll be at Logan’s for a while, you need me.”

Joshua said, “Logan is a good man, Max. Don’t be mad at him.”

“Or at least be fair and make sure he’s wearin’ that exoskeleton thingie,” Alec said. “You know... ’fore you kick his ass?”

She shook her head, but couldn’t hold back the smile. “You’re bad, Alec. Truly bad.”

“That’s the rumor,” he said.

Almost at a run, she took the tunnel between the two former Medtronics buildings, the one inside the Terminal City fencing and the one on the other side. Logan owned both buildings in the name of a fictional company, Sowley Opticals. Even though the siege was over and she could use the streets, the private passage of the tunnel felt more comfortable.

The tunnel had concrete walls and ceiling, and a tile floor, all a dull hospital green; fluorescent lights hung every thirty feet or so. Her boots were almost silent on the floor and Max stayed quiet, keeping her breathing shallow as she strolled toward the far end. She liked the silence down here — sometimes so still, she could hear her own blood coursing through her veins.

Going up the stairs at the far end, she could see a slice of light from Logan’s apartment around the door, which was partially open — usually, it would be closed and locked, and she wondered if Logan had company.

That would be perfect: here she was ready to try to forgive him, and on the other side of that door, he’s crying on some other girl’s shoulder — Asha, maybe...

As she reached for the knob, shaking off her lover’s paranoia, she could detect voices in there; but this wasn’t Logan’s voice, nor Asha’s for that matter — these voices spoke something that wasn’t even English...

Not convinced anything was wrong — but hardly ready to cheerfully call out, “Anybody home?” — she stepped quickly, quietly inside...

... and saw a man with a gun.

A squat Latino with a buzz cut and a dour, puffy face, Logan’s “guest” wore jeans and a black T-shirt and no coat, despite the bitter cold outside; an F was tattooed on the man’s right forearm, the branches of the letter formed from forearms and clenched fists. He held an Uzi loosely in both hands.

The tattoo marked the visitor as a member of the Furies, a gang from Sector Eight — a guest who would hardly be stopping by Logan’s to sing Christmas carols. The Furies considered themselves the badasses to end all badasses, but in Max’s opinion these Latinos ruled Sector Eight by sheer strength of numbers.

With over a hundred soldiers in their ranks, the Furies were broken up into units of ten — “packs,” which tended to include specialists in arson, theft, torture, sniping, and various other skills, making each little unit self-contained for assorted fun and games.

If the asshole with the Uzi was here, she knew the rest of his pack wasn’t far away. Logan not in sight, she stood alone, here — which made the likely odds at least ten to one. She considered going back for Joshua and the others, and she could have outrun these clowns and ducked their bullets, or maybe she could just slip back out and use her cell to bring the gang running, yeah, that would be the smart move...

... only the guy heard or sensed her now, and his flat-featured face lifted to scowl at her.

He grunted, and it might have turned into a word, but that was all the sound he got out before Max took two swift steps and leapt as he brought up the gun, way too late. Her foot connected with his throat and he toppled over, crashing to the floor, the Uzi bouncing away — fortunately not firing, though making enough of a clatter to attract Logan’s other “guests”...

Furies appeared from everywhere — they’d spread out through the apartment — and she took a tally, even as she started dispatching the gang members.

Soon she realized that two full packs filled Logan’s digs! Twenty-to-one odds were a hell of a handful for even someone as skilled as Max...

She was a dervish, though, kicking this one, sweeping the feet out from that one, punching a third to the floor. The odds didn’t matter — fighting through these invaders and locating Logan were her only goals now. It didn’t matter that he’d lied about Seth, or that they’d had a spat, nothing mattered but getting to him... and his being alive.

She kicked one Fury in the groin, and he went down howling as two more converged on her, from behind; she leaned back, grabbed each of them by the back of the skull and slammed them together face first. They dropped in a bloody, silent heap, their faces smears of red that seemed if anything an improvement.

That was when she saw Logan, five Furies on him like army ants, dragging him from the bedroom toward the front door.

What the hell?

What did a street gang have to gain by kidnapping Logan?

She jumped, kicking to either side, each foot connecting with the head of a Fury, sending both bangers to a dark place. As they fell, she landed nimbly, then turned toward the five Furies who had hauled the struggling Logan to the door.

Logan spotted her and yelled her name — and in the sound of his voice there were myriad emotions, from fear to regret, and love was in there, too.

But she could do nothing — there were too many of the bastards — and that she was still kicking ass when the five dragged Logan out into the bright sunshine of the frigid morning provided no damn solace at all.

Time was key — seconds could mean life or death. She punched the nearest one and wrenched the weapon from his hands, a small submachine gun. She hated guns and had vowed years ago that she would never use one, but she needed to save Logan and — filled with revulsion as she was — this seemed the only way to even the odds.

She jerked back the bolt on the weapon, but before she could fire, a Buddha bunch of arms closed over and around her and she found herself wrestling with half a dozen Furies for control of the weapon. They weren’t stronger than her, not hardly; but there were just so goddamn many of them!

Finally, she released the Uzi and returned to the hand-to-hand combat at which she excelled. Besides, the Furies were loyal, a family however dysfunctional, and if she stayed in close, they wouldn’t dare fire automatic weapons into a crowd of their cronies.

She hadn’t, however, seen the Tazer.

The two prongs dug into her back, and she knew instantly what had happened, even before the violent shaking started and the thought of reaching Logan was driven from her mind by the searing pain that consumed every cell of her being as she did a macabre marionette’s dance at the end of the two wires feeding voltage into her back.

She tried to fall but couldn’t, the electricity holding her up until all the Furies had exited the building, the one controlling the Tazer leaving last. She vibrated for a second more, then dropped over, unconscious.

Max awoke with a violent start, the smell of ammonia filling her nostrils. “Wha... what... Logan! They got Logan!”

A hand rested on her shoulder, and she turned, drawing reflexively back to punch, pulling it as she looked up into the reptilian face of Mole.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s me.”

“They got him! They got Logan!”

“Easy — settle,” Mole said.

She looked around now to see that Alec, Joshua, and a couple of X3s she didn’t recognize were combing the apartment. The Furies had cleaned up their wounded and taken them along, too. She took some small satisfaction knowing that she had inflicted a good deal of damage on them; grabbing Logan hadn’t come free for the sons of bitches.

Mole helped her into a kitchen chair. “How’d you know to come?” she asked, her body a mass of pains, her head pounding to an unseen but insistent drumbeat.

“Luke,” he said, referring to Dix’s lightbulb-headed best buddy. “He was going out for supplies when he saw a bunch of bangers pilin’ into a truck and taking off. He figured that couldn’t be good, called us.”

“The Furies,” she said. “They took Logan.”

Alec walked in holding a piece of black T-shirt. “Looks like their ‘uniform.’ What the hell would those idiots want with Logan?”

They all took turns looking at each other and shrugging.

“Logan’s rich, isn’t he?” Mole asked. “Maybe it’s a snatch job. Anybody see a ransom note?”

No one had.

“They’re organized,” Alec said, sitting on the table near Max, “but I didn’t think they were organized enough to manage something like this.”

“Where’s their HQ, anyway?” Mole asked. “Let’s just go snatch him back.”

Max shook her head. “I doubt that even the Furies are stupid enough to keep him at their crib. If they saw us coming, they might just kill him and run.”

Mole frowned. “Well, what the hell do you suggest, then?”

“Don’t know yet,” Max said, still groggy.

Alec said, “Well, I do.”

Max looked up at him.

“Leave it to me,” he said.

Any idea was better than what she had — nothing — but the typical smugness in Alec’s tone made Max think “leaving it to him” wasn’t a wise strategy.

During the siege, trying to help, Alec and Joshua had nearly gotten themselves killed, been captured by Ames White, and almost singlehandedly destroyed any opportunity the transgenics had for a negotiated peace with the ordinaries. That was the most recent example of “leaving it to Alec”...

On the other hand, Alec seemed to have changed in recent months, and for the better. The new Alec had actually become a valuable member of the community, even of her inner council. He was considered by many the likeliest choice to run for the city council seat that would become Terminal City’s official voice in Seattle politics.

That was the “new” Alec. But the gleam in Alec’s eye suggested the old Alec was back in town, and that was almost as troubling as anything the Furies might manage.

“We won’t be leaving this to you, Alec,” she said.

“No?”

“No, but I’m ready to hear you out.”

“You won’t regret it,” Alec said, flashing that smile, and he hopped off the table and pulled up the chair next to her, and she heard what he had in mind and, hardly believing it herself, found herself going along with him.