Deathstalker Rebellion

"Tell them to take two aspirin, and I'll see them in the morning. I am off duty, and I don't have to talk to anyone I don't want to. If you don't like it, take it up with my Union."

"Flynn! It's Mother Superior Beatrice of the Sisters of Mercy!"

There was a pause, and then the door lock snapped off. "Very well. Come in. But on your own head be it."

Toby growled something uncomplimentary and very basic, kicked the door open, and stormed in. He managed about six steps before he came to a dead stop. The door closed behind him and the lock clicked shut again, but he didn't notice. Someone could have slipped a live grenade into his underwear and he wouldn't have noticed. The cameraman's quarters weren't much, being basically cramped and functional, but a few feminine touches had helped to brighten the place up. And the most feminine thing in the room was Flynn, reclining on his bed in a long flowing cocktail dress, with a margarita in a frosted glass in one hand and a book of decadent French verse in the other. He was also wearing a long curly wig of purest gold, and wore subtle but artfully applied makeup. His work boots and sloppy trousers had been replaced by fishnet stockings and stiletto heels, and his fingernails had been painted a shocking pink. All in all, Flynn looked very pretty and completely at ease. Toby closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

"Flynn, you promised me you wouldn't do this. We are not in civilized company now. They would not understand. And the representatives of the Church of Christ the Warrior definitely wouldn't understand. They'd execute you on the spot for deviancy and degeneracy, and shoot me as well just for knowing you. Now, get out of that gear and into something that won't get us both hanged. Mother Beatrice won't wait forever."

"Rush, rush, rush," said Flynn. He drained the last of his margarita, slipped a bookmark into his poetry collection, and put glass and book carefully to one side before rising gracefully to his feet. "Very well, you wait outside while I change into something less comfortable. And bear in mind I wouldn't do this for anyone less than Mother Beatrice. That woman is a saint."

Toby stepped outside and closed the door without actually shutting it, so he could continue the conversation or hiss if he saw anyone coming. He shook his head again. He could feel one of his headaches coming on. "Of all the cameramen, on all the worlds, I had to end up with you. Why me?"

"Because you were desperate for a good cameraman, and no one else would work with you," said Flynn from inside. "After all, you only got your journalist's license because you were on the run from your Uncle Gregor. As it happens, I also felt the need to leave in a hurry. My last gentleman admirer was a high-ranking member of the Clans who also liked to dress up pretty in the privacy of his own quarters.

"Wonderful man. Very interested in yodeling. Only lover I ever knew who could give you head, and sing you a song at the same time. My, how those low notes vibrated. And what that man could do with a vowel… Anyway, we had words and broke up, and he became rather concerned that I might tell all for the right price. And he couldn't have that. If word of his private proclivities were to get out, no one in the Families would ever take him seriously again. It's all right to be a degenerate if you're an aristocrat, but not if it's something silly.

"So, seeing the way his mind was working, I decided it might be in my best interests to leave town for a while, and hole up somewhere suitably distant until he calmed down again. Which is the only reason I agreed to work with you, Toby Shreck. You have to realize, the word on you was not good: an aging PR flack with dreams of reporting and delusions of adequacy. Nothing personal, you understand. For what it's worth, you're doing all right here. I've worked with worse."

Toby scowled, but said nothing. Flynn had most of it right. He'd spent most of his life working as a PR man and spin doctor for Gregor Shreck, despised by his peers and unappreciated by his Family. No one realized how much hard work went into good PR. But he'd always dreamed of being a real journalist, digging out the truth and exposing villainy and corruption in high places, instead of covering it up. But somehow he never had the courage to leave the safe haven of his job and Family. It took being kicked out to wake his ambitions again, and now that he was here on Technos III, he was going to do the best damn job he could. It was his chance to be someone in his own right, not just another of Gregor Shreck's shadows. A chance to finally acquire some self-respect. Mother Beatrice was renowned for not giving interviews, and the press corps took it seriously after she kneecapped a reporter with a meat tenderizer when he tried blackmailing a friend into talking about her. But she was probably the only person on Technos III who could and would tell him the whole story, the whole truth, and to hell where the shrapnel fell. And she had agreed to talk to him… Toby kicked the door frame viciously.

"Flynn! Are you ready yet?"

The door swung open and Flynn strolled out, looking like just another cameraman. The camera perched on his shoulder like a sleepy owl. Flynn did a quick twirl for Toby, to show off his baggy trousers and camouflage jacket. "Well? Will I pass?"

"You've still got lipstick on," said Toby with glacial calmness.

Flynn took out a handkerchief, wiped his mouth, and smiled at Toby. "Better?"

"Fractionally. Now, let's go, before Mother Beatrice changes her mind. Or somebody changes it for her."

They made their way quietly through the narrow corridors, stopping every time they thought they heard something. No one else was about. Most people were asleep, trusting to the electronic guards and surveillance to guarantee their rest wouldn't be disturbed. After all, the rebels had never got this close on the best day they ever had, and no one in the factory would dare run the risk of upsetting security. As a reporter in charge of making the factory complex look good, Toby had security passes for practically every area, and some discreet but heavy-duty bribes had ensured no one would tell about his little late-night jaunt. He hoped.

He led Flynn to the nearest exit in the outer sector, and they stopped to climb into the heavy furs left hanging by the door. Even a short journey through Technos III's winter could be deadly without the right protection. Toby and Flynn bundled up in layers of fur and wool till they could barely move, and then stumbled over to the exit. Toby looked out the window beside the door and winced. The air was thick with swirling snow, blown this way and that by the gusting wind. He didn't look at the thermometer. He didn't want to know. He pulled his fur hat down low over his brow, wrapped his scarf securely over his mouth and nose, cursed quietly for a moment, and then jerked the heavy door open. It swung slowly inward, revealing a two-foot drift of snow that had piled up against the closed door. Toby and Flynn kicked their way through it and lurched out into the winter. The door slammed shut behind them, and they were alone in the night.

The cold hit them like a hammer, and for a moment all Toby and Flynn could do was lean against each other for support. The bitter air seared their lungs, and the wind shocked tears from their exposed eyes. The snow on the ground was a good foot deep. Tireless machines struggled over and over to dig out a clear perimeter around the factory complex, but the snow fell faster than the machines could dig. The wind was almost strong enough to throw Toby off his feet, and he had to lean into it to keep his balance. The freezing air made his teeth ache, even through several layers of thick woolen scarf. He scowled and hunched his shoulders as the wind changed direction yet again. Part of him wanted to turn and go back inside rather than face such nightmare conditions, but Toby wouldn't listen to it. He was a reporter now, on the trail of a hot story, and that was enough to keep him warm inside.

He glanced about him into the thickening snow. Outside the complex's exterior lights, there was only darkness and the storm. There were supposed to be stars out and two small moons, but they were hidden behind the fury of the snows. However, out in the darkness a single patch of light showed defiantly around a long low structure without windows. Toby slapped Flynn on the arm and pointed out the structure, and they lurched off through the thick snowdrifts toward the light. Flynn's camera hovered low behind his shoulder, sheltered from the wind.

The low structure turned out to be a really long tent of metallic cloth, marked with the familiar red crescent of the Sisters of Mercy. As on so many battlefields across the Empire, the tent was a hospital for all who needed it. The Sisters took no sides. The factory complex had just enough space for a single hospital ward, officers only. The foot soldiers, security men, and mercenaries had to rely on the Sisters' mercy. The officers believed this gave their men an extra incentive not to get wounded. It was a big tent, looking bigger all the time as Toby slogged through the snow toward it. He hadn't traveled far, but already his thighs were aching from forcing a way through the thick drifts and fighting the constantly changing winds. Sweat ran down his brow and into his eyes, freezing in his exposed eyebrows. Toby had given up cursing some time back. He needed his breath.

He finally lurched to a halt before the far end of the tent, and found himself facing a very secure-looking steel door with a signposted bell. He hit the bell with his fist because he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, and a viewscreen lit up in the door, showing a Sister's veiled head and shoulders. She didn't look at all pleased to see him. Toby reached inside his furs, pulled out his press pass, and held it up before the screen. The Sister sniffed, and the viewscreen went blank. Toby and Flynn looked at each other uncertainly. They were both shivering uncontrollably, no longer warmed by their exertions. And then the door swung suddenly inward, spilling light and heat out into the night. Toby and Flynn hurried forward into the comforting glow, and the door slammed shut behind them.

Toby pulled the scarf away from his mouth and took off his fur hat, his eyes watering as they adjusted to the new light and warmth. He and Flynn took turns beating the snow off each other, and then Toby turned and smiled ingratiatingly at the Sister who'd let them in. It was always wise to be polite to a Sister of Mercy. They had long memories, and you never knew when you might end up needing their services. This particular Sister looked to be in her late twenties, but already had deep lines around her mouth and eyes. Dealing with death and suffering on a daily basis with no end in sight will do that to you. She wore the usual unadorned white robes and wimple of a Sister in the field, but her robes were spattered with new and old bloodstains. She was also big enough to stop an oncoming tank and had a glare that would have wilted anyone but a reporter. Flynn moved surreptitiously to stand behind Toby, just in case, and Toby tried his ingratiating smile again.

"Hi there. We've come to see Mother Superior Beatrice. I'm Tobias Shreck, and this is my cameraman. We're expected."

The Sister stepped forward, pulled open his furs, and frisked him with brisk efficiency. She did the same with Flynn, while Toby silently prayed his cameraman wouldn't giggle. Assured they weren't carrying any weapons, the Sister stepped back and studied them both, her face set and unforgiving. "She said you two were to be admitted, but you're not to tire her. This should be her rest period. She works all the hours God sends, and then makes time to deal with the likes of you. I don't want her tired. Is that understood?"

"Of course, Sister," said Toby. "We'll be in and out before you know it."

The Sister sniffed dubiously, and then turned and led them down the single narrow aisle in the middle of the long ward that made up most of the tent's interior. Toby and Flynn followed behind at a respectful distance. There were beds on either side of them, crammed together with no space for luxuries like visitors' chairs. They weren't the standard hospital beds of civilized worlds, either, with built-in sensors and diagnostic equipment. These were flat cots with rough blankets and sometimes a pillow. The smell of blood and other, more disturbing smells pushed their way past the thick, masking disinfectant. The patients were mostly quiet, drugged, Toby hoped, but some groaned or moaned or stirred restlessly on the narrow cots. One man with no legs was crying quietly, hopelessly. Flynn's camera covered everything. Many of the patients were missing limbs or half a face. Toby was sickened. You didn't expect to see injuries like these anymore, except on the more primitive worlds. He made himself look away. He was here to cover this. All of it.

"Don't the Wolfes supply you with better equipment than this?" he said finally, trying to keep the anger out of his voice so as not to upset the patients.

The Sister sniffed, without looking back or slowing her pace. "We're on our own here. Officially, the Wolfes are winning this nasty little war, so they can't be seen supplying Technos III with major hospital facilities and supplies. Word might start getting out of the real scale of casualties and how badly the war is going. So they only supply us with the minimum necessary to cope with the low levels of wounded they're reporting. It's important to the Wolfes to give the impression that everything's fine here, and they're fully in charge of the situation. Bastards. I'd drown the lot of them if I had my way. And you can put that in your report, if you wish."

"I'm interested in everyone's views," Toby said diplomatically. "I want to tell people the truth of what's happening here."

"If you are, you're the first. Not that it'll make any difference. The Wolfes will censor anything embarrassing out of your reports before you're allowed to broadcast them."

Toby remained even more diplomatically silent. He expected to be censored; that went with the job and the territory. The trick was in what you managed to sneak past them. Halfway down the long tent, a small area was separated off by tall standing screens. Toby thought at first it was a toilet and was somewhat surprised by the Sister's clear respect and reverence as she tapped on one of the screens.

"It's the press people," said the Sister diffidently. "Do you still want to speak to them, or shall I kick them out?" There was a low murmured answer from within, and the Sister scowled as she turned back to Toby and Flynn. "Thirty minutes, and not a second more. And if you tire her, I'll have your balls."

She pulled back one screen to make a doorway, and Toby and Flynn nodded respectfully to her and eased past her much as one might a growling watchdog. They filed through the doorway, and the Sister pulled the screen back into place behind them. The screened-off area turned out to be just big enough to hold a cot, a washbasin on a stand, and a small writing desk. Sitting before the desk was Mother Superior Beatrice, wrapped in a long silk housecoat with frayed hems and elbows worn dull. She looked pale and drawn, and her bright red hair had been cropped brutally short, but her eyes were warm and her welcoming smile seemed genuine enough. Behind her, her black robes and starched wimple hung from a hat stand, looking almost like there was another person in the small space with them. Beatrice didn't get up, but offered Toby her hand. Her handshake was firm but brief. She turned to Flynn, who leaned over her hand and kissed it. Beatrice's smile widened.

"If you knew what I'd been doing with that hand just half an hour ago, you'd rush out of here to gargle with sulfuric acid." She turned her smile back to Toby. "I'm glad to see you both. I wasn't sure you'd come. Everyone else I've asked didn't want to risk rocking the boat."

"I'm not sure I do, either," said Toby. "It depends on what you have to tell me. Is it okay if my cameraman records this conversation?"

"Of course. That's why I insisted on you both coming here. Sit on the bed. We don't have any more chairs to spare, and you fill too much space standing up."

She settled back in her chair by the desk, and Toby lowered himself cautiously into the cot. He wasn't sure it would bear his weight. It felt hard and unforgiving. Flynn stayed on his feet, moving quietly back and forth to sort out good angles for his camera. Toby ignored him. Flynn would take care of the technicalities; his province as reporter was the interview and what truth he could squeeze out of it. Mother Beatrice had a reputation for being outspoken, but that had always been in the pampered and protected Court, far away from the blood and dying of the frontline. She was supposed to have changed greatly after her experiences in a field hospital, but most of those stories were at least secondhand.

And Toby wasn't sure he believed in saints anyway. He decided to start with something simple and clear-cut.

"You seem very crowded here, Mother Beatrice. Surely, this structure wasn't meant to accommodate so many people at one time?"

"Hell no. It was meant to serve a third as many patients, but that was worked out by civilized people in civilized places. And call me Bea, since I'm officially off duty. We're packed to the walls here because things have been going particularly badly for the Wolfes in the last few campaigns. The lines move back and forth on the map, but they're drawn in other people's blood. Some of our patients are rebels, of course. The Sisters of Mercy serve all sides impartially. Whatever the pressures."

Toby raised an eyebrow. "Do the Wolfes know you're treating rebel wounded?"

"I haven't told them. Not after the way they reacted the first time I raised the matter. I keep meaning to bring them up-to-date, but somehow I never get around to it. I don't see that it's any of their business. They only supply me with the bare necessities, even for their own people. We're a long way out from civilization, and transport costs are obscenely high. So I just do my job as I see best. We do what we can here. Patch people up and send them off. It's not unusual to see the same faces come back two or three times, bleeding from a different place each time. Rarely more than three times. Many can't take the shock of so much surgery. Others… just give up. It's a hard war and a harsh world. We don't see many flesh wounds here.

"Supplies are running low. Blood plasma, anesthetics, most drugs. The Sisterhood sends what it can, but there's a lot of fighting going on across the Empire these days, and the Sisters' resources are spread very thin. Some days this isn't a hospital. Just a butcher's shop."

"How long has the armed struggle been going on here, Bea?" asked Toby, keeping his voice low and confidential, as though it was just the two of them having a quiet talk.

"Generations," said Bea grimly. "People have been born, lived their lives and died here, knowing nothing but the war. Of course, it's escalated since the Wolfes took over the factory. The upcoming ceremony has raised the stakes for both sides. Still, it was only the rising publicity that alerted us to what was happening here and persuaded the Sisterhood to send in a mission. If they knew what was really going on here, they'd send more help. I know they would. But the Wolfes control all contact with the outside."

"What kind of war are we talking about here, Bea?" said Toby, easing her back onto the main subject.

"Pretty basic. The struggle here's settled down into trench warfare. Been stuck in the same pattern for decades. Both sides dig tunnels, but the planet's remaining wildlife lives down below, and it doesn't like competition. Fighting above-ground is almost impossible for any length of time, due to the weather. It changes so unpredictably that shelling is impractical. Same for air cover. And when the wind blows, there's so much dirt and metal floating in the air that it disperses energy beams to nothing over anything other than point-blank range. So most of the fighting is hand to hand, steel against steel, boiling up out of their trenches to fight in the no-man's-land between Wolfe and rebel positions. The frontline surges back and forth all the time, but nothing really changes. The two sides are too equally balanced. Though the arrival of the Church troops should make a difference."

"Jesuit commandos leading elite troops have cleared out resistance on many planets," said Toby.

"Technos III is different," Bea said flatly. "The rebels here have been fighting for generation upon generation for as far back as records go, learning and improving all the time. Hell, they've been breeding for warriors for centuries. And then there's the weather. You need to be superhuman just to survive here. And that's the state of war on Technos III. Right in your face and bloody. The only reason we're not totally swamped with wounded is because most of them don't last long enough to reach here. They die of the heat or the cold, the razorstorms or the blizzards. But there's always enough work coming in to keep us busy, even when we've run out of drugs and plasma, and we have to hold the patients down while the surgeons cut them apart and sew them up, hoping the shock won't kill them anyway."

Toby leaned forward a little, subtly interrupting her. She was starting to repeat herself, and he needed to keep her to the point. He was torn between getting as much good material as he could, and the knowledge that the longer he stayed here, the more likely it was that someone back at the complex would notice he and Flynn were missing, and put two and two together. "How many staff do you have here, Bea? How much help?"

"I have two surgeons, and five Sisters trained as nurses working under me. There was a third surgeon, but he cracked under the pressure and I had to send him away. He didn't want to go. Even cried when I put him on the transport, but he was too far gone, even for us. I'm still waiting for a replacement. Technos III isn't very high on anyone's list of importance. It's just a name to most people. I only came here because I was desperate to get my hands dirty in some real work after the endless sniping and intrigues at Court. If I'd known what I was letting myself in for… I'd probably have come anyway. I never was very good at looking away and pretending I didn't see anything.

"What med tech we have is top of the line, the best the Sisterhood could provide, but it was never meant to handle this many wounded. I live in fear of it breaking down. There's no one here who could repair it. The Wolfes have their own med bay in the factory. Everything you could dream of, up to and including a regenerator. One of the nurses there is sympathetic. I raid their drug supply from time to time, when I'm really desperate, and she covers for me, God bless her." She sighed and shook her head. "Can I offer either of you gentlemen a drink?"

She reached under the writing table and brought out a bottle of murky-looking spirits and two glass specimen jars. She shrugged when Toby and Flynn politely declined and poured herself a large drink. Toby gestured urgently for Flynn to keep filming. Bea was the kind of subject you prayed for in a documentary. A real character, someone who knew everyone and everything, right there in the middle of things but still able to stand back and see the big picture. It helped that she didn't look much like a nun, and the drinking was a nice touch. The viewers didn't like their saints to be too perfect. Her hand shook as she raised the glass jar to her mouth, and Toby felt suddenly, obscurely ashamed. With all he'd seen and heard, none of it had touched him the way it had obviously touched her. She cared, and he was just an unfeeling, recording eye. Just like Flynn's camera. He tried to tell himself he had to be, to get the job done, but that didn't sound as convincing as it once had. He made himself concentrate on Bea as she lowered the almost empty jar.

"God, this is awful stuff," she said calmly. "But I couldn't work here without it. Two of the Sisters pop amphetamines, and one of my surgeons has a serious drug habit. I don't say anything, as long as they can still work. We all need a little something to get us through the day. And the night. The nights are the worst. That's when most of our patients die. In the early hours of the morning, when the dawn seems farthest away. I don't know how much longer I can stand it here. It wears you down, having to fight for every life, even the simplest wounds. Nothing's simple here. Not even this tent. It's the strongest the Sisterhood could provide, but even it can't cope with the excesses of weather we have here. In the summer it gets so oppressive you can hardly move. In the winter… I've seen the surgeons stop in mid operation to warm their hands in the steaming guts they've just opened up.

"We've all changed here. I never really wanted to become a nun, you know. I fled to the Sisterhood for sanctuary, so I wouldn't have to marry Valentine Wolfe. But I ended up at the mercy of the Wolfes anyway. I never had much time for religion. I just used the Sisterhood as a power base, like many before me. And I only came here because I was bored. But here in hell I found religion after all. In the face of so much evil, you have to believe in God. It's the only thing that gives you the strength to go on."

She rose suddenly to her feet, catching Toby and Flynn by surprise. She emptied the jar of the last of the drink and put it down on the desk. "I've said enough. I'll take you around the beds, so you can see the kind of wounds we're dealing with. Some of the patients might even talk to you, though you'll have to edit out the obscenities."

She led them out of her private area and back down the long aisle between the beds. Flynn filmed everything, sweeping his camera back and forth. The tent was still eerily quiet, and no one wanted to talk to them. Toby supposed they didn't have the strength to waste on moans of pain or complaints. The other Sisters were moving quietly from bed to bed, checking bandages and temperatures, or if there was nothing else they could do, just laying a cool, comforting hand on a fevered brow. Toby kept quiet, too. The last thing this needed was a commentary, and he didn't have any more questions. The answers were too obvious. To his surprise, he felt mostly angry. This kind of thing shouldn't be happening, not in this day and age. He'd covered up enough things himself in the past, as Gregor's PR flack, but never anything like this. A Family's troops dying, to hide a Family's shame. He kept telling himself not to get involved. That this was just a good story. And was surprised to find how close to angry, frustrated tears he was.

"Film as much as you like," said Mother Beatrice. "The odds are no one will ever see it. I keep trying to get reports out, and the Wolfes keep blocking me. They can't afford to admit they're losing the battle here. The Empress might take Technos III and the factory away from them."

"Some news did get out," said Toby. "From transport crews and the like. Of the Saint of Technos III, who threw aside her aristocracy to tend the wounded and the dying. That's what brought us here."

"I'm no saint," said Bea. "Anyone would do what I do if they could see what I've seen."

"We'll get the report out somehow," said Toby. "Even if I have to smuggle the tape out by cramming the cans up my backside."

Bea smiled suddenly. "Well," she said archly, "I always said the Wolfes were a pain in the ass."

Jack Random, Ruby Journey, and Alexander Storm followed their guides down through a maze of tunnels, away from the open trenches and the fury of the rising blizzard. The tunnels sloped sharply downward, their walls revealing the many layers of compacted trash and metal that made up the history of the planet's surface. The air was warmer underground, but the three newcomers were still shivering. Light came from metal lanterns hanging from the low ceiling, a pale yellow glow that was hard on their unaccustomed eyes. People bustled around them as they descended deeper, always in too much of a hurry to do more than stare or very occasionally nod a greeting. They were all heavily muscled, with little covering fat to blur the hard edges. Their eyes were stern and concentrated on the matter in hand, and none of them smiled or uttered an unnecessary word. Tall John and Throat-slitter Mary led the way down in silence, the stiffness of their backs rejecting the possibility of questions. Random and Ruby and Storm stuck close together, as much for shared warmth as mutual support.

"How the hell did they build all these tunnels and trenches in the first place?" said Ruby, scowling at the metal walls. "I can't see whoever the opposition was at the time agreeing to a truce while the rebels brought in digging equipment."

"They probably used captured energy weapons to blast out the original tunnels and then widened them over the years by hand," said Random. "We're looking at the end result of decades of hard work. Maybe longer."

"Damn right," said Tall John without looking back at them. "The original work happened so long ago that no one now even remembers the names of those involved. We've been building our tunnels for centuries, each generation adding what was needed at the time. We have to live underground. It's all that's left to us. In the old days, there were the military satellites, with their tracking systems and weaponry. These days, there's the weather. And besides, the factory complex has its own force Screen. We've always known the only way past the Screen was under it. The Wolfes know it, too. That's why they have their own people digging tunnels, too."

"But you're safe down here, aren't you?" said Storm.

"There's safe, and then there's safe," said Throat-slitter Mary. "Technos III's other life-forms live underground, too. They live in the deep down, where we rarely go, but they come up from time to time, and then we get to argue as to whose territory these tunnels are. We hunt them for food, and they hunt us for food. We win, more often than not. And it helps weed out the weak. See those old stains on the floor? When we make a kill, we splash the beast's blood around, to mark the territory. It keeps the bastards at bay for a while."

"You mean they get up this far?" said Ruby.

"Oh, sure," said Tall John. "In the spring, sometimes there's hardly room to move in here for fangs and claws and nasty dispositions."

"Good," said Ruby. "I could use some exercise."

"Well, that explains the bloodstains," said Storm quickly. "But what about the leg?"

Tall John and Throat-slitter Mary stopped and looked back at him. "What leg?" said Tall John.

Storm pointed silently, and they all looked up at the human leg, complete with trousers and boot, protruding from where the right-hand wall met the ceiling. Tall John scowled. "Mason Elliot! This is your area! Where are you?"

A short stocky man bundled in furs up to his chin stepped out of a side tunnel, an ugly black cigar in one comer of his mouth. "No need to shout, I'm not deaf. All right, gracious leader. I'm here. What is it this time? Lost your keys again?"

"What is that leg doing there?"

"Holding up the ceiling. We had to rebuild part of the wall after the last bloodworm attack, and we were a bit pushed for time. We were short of materials, the body was handy… and no one liked him much anyway. Give it a few weeks and the bloodworms will break through again. We can always remove the body then."

"By which time it'll be stinking to high heaven," said Tall John. "I want that leg brought down now. Get an ax and hack it off. Move it!"

"Certainly, gracious leader of us all." The short man squeezed the end of his cigar out with his fingers and put it hehind his ear. He stood glaring up at the protruding leg as Tall John led his party past. Random brought up the rear and was perhaps the only one to hear the short man mutter, "Now, what am I going to use as a signpost?"

Tall John led them on through the tunnels. Random had a suspicion he was being taken by the scenic route, so he wouldn't be able to describe the way down to anyone else. Random approved. It showed a good grasp of basic security and a healthy dose of paranoia. Unfortunately, since Random passed through the Madness Maze, he couldn't get lost. He always knew where he was in relation to everything else. He didn't think he'd tell Tall John that, though. It would only upset him. Random padded amiably along, enjoying what scenery there was. The tunnels were comfortably broad, but the ceilings were low enough that everyone walked with protectively hunched shoulders. Random suspected that the tunnels had been deliberately designed that way, to hinder and disorient invading forces. Presumably, the rebels were used to them. Random found them a pain in the neck. More people appeared as the tunnel floors finally began to level out. They wore layers of leathers and furs, and they all carried their weapons at the ready. They studied the newcomers with cold, suspicious eyes and did not respond to nods or smiles.

"Do your people always go armed?" said Storm. "Surely, you're in no danger this far down?"

"There's always danger," said Throat-slitter Mary. "If not from sudden security attacks, then from the beasts that live below. There are always people listening, but they can't be everywhere. So we're always prepared. From childhood on, we're trained to be ready to fight for our lives at a moment's notice."

"So where do you get to rest and relax?" asked Storm.

"We don't," said Throat-slitter Mary. "We can relax when we're dead."

Ruby smiled at Random. "You bring me to the nicest places."

Random smiled, but concentrated on what he was going to say to the rebels when he finally got to where he was being taken. He had a strong feeling it wasn't going to make him very popular with the underground community, but it had to be said. He'd led too many armies into battle on the hot words of rhetoric and slanted truths, and seen them die without flinching because he believed the cause was greater than the individual. He wasn't sure he believed that anymore. Either way, he was here to inspire them with the whole truth, not fast-talking. Even if it was a truth they might not want to hear. It occurred to him that he was in the hands of people who might kill him for the word he brought. Random shrugged mentally. They could try.

They came at long last to a reasonably large chamber. The ceiling was at least twenty feet above them, and Random, Ruby, and Storm straightened up with varying sighs of relief. The walls were solid polished metal and ranked seating followed the walls all the way around, interrupted only by the single entrance. The seating was full of people, packed shoulder to shoulder, staring down at the newcomers with harsh, watchful eyes. A man and a woman stood in the center of the open space, waiting. They didn't look particularly welcoming, either. Tall John and Throat-slitter Mary led the three visitors forward.

"This is Ragged Tom and Specter Alice," said Tall John. "Together, we're the council of the underground. Talk to us, Jack Random. Tell us why you have come here."

Jack Random smiled and nodded at the council members, and then at the surrounding watchers. If the numbers were supposed to intimidate him, they'd thought wrong. He'd faced unfriendlier crowds than this in his time and worked under greater pressures. He took a moment to study the two new councillors.

Ragged Tom was an average height, average weight man with nondescript features, who didn't look any more ragged than his contemporaries. Specter Alice, on the other hand, looked crazy as a cornered sewer rat. She was short and old, with greasy gray furs and remarkably similar hair sticking up in spikes. She also had wide-staring eyes and a line of drool leaking from one side of an extremely disturbing smile. Random was just glad she didn't want to shake hands. He felt like throwing things at her, on general principles. Tall John mistook his pause for nervousness and started the ball rolling.

"We've been fighting here for generations, and after all we've been through, we're still fighting. The council therefore came to the reluctant conclusion that just possibly we couldn't do this on our own. We need help. Fighters, weapons, supplies. We were told the Golgotha underground could supply these things. But all they've sent us is you three. No one here has forgotten that the last time we asked for help, the cyberats not only knocked out the military satellites that had been plaguing us, they also screwed up the weather satellites. We've been living in the resultant hell ever since. Give us one good reason why we shouldn't send the three of you back to Golgotha in several small packages, to express our extreme displeasure?"

Random smiled, entirely unmoved. "Firstly, the lack of military satellites and the disrupted weather are all that keep the Wolfes from calling in an Imperial starcruiser to selectively scorch the planet's surface down to whatever level necessary to wipe you all out. Secondly, the only reason the Wolfes haven't brought in a complete army of mercenaries to deal with you is because it would cost them more than it's worth. Start getting too successful too quickly, and they might change their minds. And thirdly, if any one of us is harmed, Golgotha will disown you and you'll never see any help from the outside. Have I missed anything?"

"Just one," said Storm. "It's only a matter of time before the Empire provides the Wolfes with new military satellites, with sensors powerful enough to punch right through the weather, to ensure uninterrupted production of the new stardrive. And that will be the end of all surface fighting, as far as you're concerned. It could also be the end of your first real chance of winning in years. Forget the screwup with the cyberats. That was a long time ago. Let us help, before your time runs out."

"And if one of you so much as even looks at us funny," said Ruby Journey, "I will personally kick that person's ass up around his ears."

Everyone paused to look at Ruby. Absolutely no one present doubted that she meant it. Random coughed politely, to bring their attention back to him.

"According to our reports, your war has been going well of late. Tell us about that."

"The size and number of our tunnels limits the ways the Wolfe security forces can attack us down here," said Ragged Tom in a high chilly voice. "And we're more adapted to the conditions than they are. They don't like coming down this deep. Too many nasty things live down here apart from us. Up on the surface, things are much the same. Our ancestors were genetically engineered to withstand the worse this planet could throw at us. The Wolfe troops don't have our advantages. Just superior numbers and better weapons. But they're only fighting to win; we're fighting to survive. Which is why the trenches are pretty much as they always have been, with neither side holding an advantage for long."

"We don't give up," said Specter Alice in a harsh cracked voice. "We're the refuse, the thrown away, the discarded. We're the Rejects, and we're proud of it. We reject the Empire and all it stands for. The Wolfes are just the latest face the enemy wears. So don't think we're so desperate we'll take your help and never ask the price. We won't swap one master for another. We'll fight and die alone, if need be. So help us or be damned. We bow to no one."

"I like her," said Ruby.

"You would," said Random.

"There's no price for our help," said Storm, smiling reassuringly around him. "All we seek are allies against the Empire, to help in the overthrow of the Iron Bitch. You need fighters, weapons, supplies. We can give you these."

"There is… a further complication," said Tall John.

"Didn't you just know he was going to say that?" murmured Ruby.

"Shut up," murmured Random.

"We're not just fighting for ourselves," said Ragged Tom. "We're also fighting to free the clones working in the factory complex. Like us, they were brought here to work until it killed them. Now they work, eat, exercise, and sleep in the complex. Like us, they rarely see the open sky. If one dies, the Wolfes just clone a replacement from the dead body. They're designed, bred, and trained specifically for the work they do here; work too dirty and too dangerous for humans. They're conditioned never to object, despite the awful conditions they work and live in. They're property. But still, sometimes they dream of freedom. A very few manage to escape. They come here to us because there's nowhere else they can go. There's always a home for them here. They are our brothers and sisters. The Wolfes know this. They've threatened to kill all the clone workers if it looks like our forces will prevent the factory from opening on time for the ceremony. They'd do it."

"Yes," said a quiet new voice. "They would."

Everyone looked around as a tall slender man wrapped in ill-fitting furs stood up in the front row of the seats. His face was drawn and gaunt, his mouth a thin line, his eyes sunk deep in their sockets. There was hardly anything to him, as though the smallest breath of wind would carry him away. His legs trembled as though they could barely sustain his small weight. But his gaze was steady, and when he spoke his quiet voice was firm and measured.

"I'm Long Lankin 32. A clone from the factory. They're working us to death, to make sure the ceremony will take place on time. The work itself is dangerous. Exposure to the forces involved eats away at our flesh and our minds. They can treat us as they wish. No one says anything. The Empress wants her new stardrive. Go ahead and attack. Let them kill us all. The hell they'd send us to can't be worse than the hell we live and work in every day. But if you could free us, we'd fight for you against the Empire to the last drop of our blood."

He sat down suddenly, as though afraid his legs would no longer support him. A loud murmur of encouragement and support ran around the watching audience. Storm nodded soberly.

"He meant it. I'm impressed. It's rare as hell for a clone to break away from his conditioning that much. If they're all like him, we'd have an army I'd back against anyone. Even trained Empire troops."

Random nodded, but said nothing. While he had no doubt Long Lankin's every word had been true and from the heart, he also knew a good publicity stunt when he saw one. The council had put him up to it, to take the edge off their further complication. The council had probably even written his little speech for him, to be sure of having the maximum effect on the audience and the newcomers. It was what Random would have done. However, Random had been a professional rebel long enough not to let his emotions sway him. His mission on Technos III was to stop stardrive production, and if that meant destroying the factory completely, along with all the clones in it, that was what he'd do. Of course, if he could work out a way to aid the Rejects in rescuing the clones first, he'd happily do that. It was, after all, why he'd become a professional rebel in the first place.

"Trench warfare's nothing new to me," he said finally. "We've put in our time in the trenches, haven't we, Alex? Of course, we were younger then. Same with fighting underground. Nothing new about tunnel rats or the blood they spill that the sun will never see. I'm not going to insult you by offering advice on how to fight. I've got a feeling you already know more about that than I'll ever know. But Alex and I have been fighting the Empire all our lives, too. We know strategies and tricks of the trade that might just give you an edge over the Wolfe security forces and the Church troops. We know how their minds work.

"I know you're disappointed that there's only the three of us. But people are flocking to the underground movement on hundreds of worlds, all spoiling for a chance to strike back against the Empire. And unfortunately, there's only so many Golgotha advisers to go around. You have Jack Random's word that you'll get everything you need, in time. But for the moment it's imperative that the Empress be denied the new stardrive the Wolfe factory is producing. With a fleet powered by the new drive, Lionstone could finally be unbeatable. That's why we're here. To help you stop production and, if possible, overthrow the Wolfes. Then it'll be up to you to hold this planet while we take on the rest of the Empire. We'll do everything we can to help you. There might only be three of us, but you'll be surprised what we can do."

"In other words," said Specter Alice, fixing him with her disturbing stare, "you want to just walk in here, take over, and run things yourself. Be the big hero one more time. Right?"

"No," said Random. "I've done that. I'm here to lead only by example. To fight beside you in the frontline. To show you what I've learned in all my years as a professional rebel. Ruby and Alex will be fighting, too, in their different ways. You asked for help; we're here. And together we'll tear that factory apart."

The four Reject leaders moved together and murmured urgently to each other. A loud growl of debate filled the chamber as the onlookers discussed what they'd heard. Random looked casually about him, but was damned if he could tell from any of their faces how his speech had gone over. He thought he'd pushed all the right buttons, but it was hard to be sure. He'd been quite serious. He didn't want to lead them, but he needed to fight beside them. If only to prove to himself that he could still do it. That the legendary Jack Random hadn't died after all in the Golgotha interrogation cells.

He had to admit, the Rejects hadn't seemed at all impressed by him so far. He didn't blame them—much. He was a man in his late forties who looked twenty years older, despite all the improvements the Maze had worked in him. A sudden sound caught his attention, and he looked around sharply. It was a grating, sliding sound, but he couldn't locate its source. The cavern floor began to vibrate under his feet, almost as though a train was going past. The four members of the council broke off their deliberations and looked down at the floor. Their faces hardened, and they drew their swords. People began to stand up in the ranked seating.

"What is it?" said Storm. "What's happening?"

"Crawlers," said Tall John. "Creatures from the depths. They tunnel through metal like it isn't there. Eat anything that doesn't fight back, and most that does."

Ruby Journey's hand dropped to her side where her sword should have been, and then she cursed dispassionately as she remembered she'd agreed to come unarmed. Storm looked quickly about him. Random put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry," said Throat-slitter Mary, hefting her sword. "We'll defend you."

And that was when the floor next to Random cracked open, and a blunt scaly head burst up out of the floor, rising up on a long undulating neck. The head was a good four feet wide, its body thick as two men. It had a wide-gaping mouth full of jagged teeth, and no eyes. There was bedlam around the walls as the people in the lower seats tried to climb away from the danger and up into the higher seats. Tall John struck at the beast's neck with his sword, and the blade just bounced away from the thick scales. The broad head swung around and slammed into him, knocking him off his feet. People were yelling for someone to bring energy guns.

Random stepped forward and hit the long undulating neck with all his strength. His fist punched clean through the scales and sank deep into the flesh within. The beast screamed, a high, harsh sound that grated on the ear. Random braced himself and pushed his hand in deeper. The beast convulsed, black blood springing from its mouth, but Random wouldn't be thrown off. His arm sank into the scaled neck up to his elbow, and then his hand found the long curving spine. It took only a moment to close his hand around the spine and snap it in one quick movement. The beast shuddered the length of its visible body, and then collapsed dead on the chamber floor.

For a moment there was utter silence, and then the chamber erupted with cheers and applause from the watching Rejects. The four council members were staring at him with open mouths, and then they put away their swords so they could applaud, too. Random grinned. It seemed he'd finally managed to impress them. Storm was shaking his head in disbelief. Random pulled his bloody arm out of the crawler's neck. Ruby handed him a handkerchief to clean himself off with and leaned in close beside him to murmur in his ear.

"Show-off."

And the war went on.

It was spring, and the temperature soared. The snow and ice melted, flooding the trenches. Life erupted everywhere, strange and deadly forms appearing out of nowhere to clog the trenches and tunnels. It was spring, and hibernation was over. They burst through the floors and the walls, aggressive and carnivorous. Hungry plants, with reaching thorns, thickly furred creatures that seemed mostly fangs and claws, small and large and everything in between, all of them determined to seize their chance at life. They fought each other for food and territory, and the winners fought the rebels for control of the blood-splashed trenches and tunnels. The rebels fought back-to-back with swords and axes and the occasional energy gun, forcing back the ravenous hordes as they had done so many times before. The Wolfe security forces fought the same battle, on the only day in the short year when the two sides didn't make war on each other. And still life exploded from every side, from acid-oozing leeches that spattered the cracking walls, to great hulking creatures that slowly dug their way up from the depths far below, old instincts driving them on and up in search of light and warmth. The waking world gave birth to bloodworms and barbed rippers and spiked golems in their own organic armor. It was spring, and the whole world was alive.

Jack Random and Ruby Journey fought side by side, their flashing blades dripping alien blood and gore. They were strong and fast, and they never grew tired. They seemed to be everywhere at once in the great maze of tunnels, helping where most needed, and nothing large or small could stand against them. And Alexander Storm, who had once fought at Random's side when he was young and in his prime and unbeatable with a sword, now worked to plot strategy and send fighters where they could do the most good. He worked all day with a small army of scouts and runners, and tried not to think of himself as old.

The pressure of exploding life slowed as the day wore on, and spring reached its halfway point. The Rejects under Random and Ruby and Storm took control of their trenches and tunnels again in record time. The Wolfe security forces weren't far behind, but then they had more energy weapons. The second day of spring dawned. The fauna and flora had been taught their place again, and the rebels and Wolfe mercenaries were able to turn their attention back to the more serious business of war.

The rain slammed down in a never-ending torrent. The trenches filled ankle-deep with icy water, the levels always rising just a little faster than it could drain away. The Rejects splashed through the water to their positions, waiting for the signal. Then the whistles blew, and both sides boiled up out of their trenches to meet in the no-man's-land between. Arrows flashed and energy guns roared, and then there was only close quarters and the harsh thudding of steel cutting into flesh and bone. Tides swept this way and that in the great milling mob as two armies became only so many individual struggles, and every man lost track of his fellows. Men and women screamed and died, and blood pooled briefly on the jagged metal floor before the driving rain washed it away.

The fighting surged back and forth, and both sides searched for an advantage they could hold and exploit. The fighters fell and the rains fell, and men and women became dim shapes in the downpour. Some went mad in the horror of the battlefield and the never-ending pressure of the rain, and struck wildly about them, never minding friend or foe. The air became so moist it was hard to breathe. The rain filled eyes and ears and mouths. And still both sides fought on. It was what they did. Random and Ruby fought back-to-back, their swords leaping and striking impossibly fast, and no one could stand against them. Rebels and mercenaries died around them but they went on, unflinching, unbeatable, until finally the whistles blew and both sides fell back, dragging the dead and the wounded with them to the safety of the trenches and tunnels. The rain fell. And that was the second day of spring.

Summer dawned. The rain stopped as though someone had turned off a tap, and the heat rose and rose until it became unbearable, and then went on rising. Water in the trenches turned to steam. The blistering air seared lungs, and every move in the awful heat became an effort. The sun was blinding in a brilliant sky. The Wolfe security forces climbed into specially designed cooling suits. The rebels didn't need them. Neither, to practically everyone's surprise, did Random and Ruby. They just adapted. And when the whistles blew, both sides came howling out of their trenches to fight again. Swords sheathed in bellies, and heads blew apart like rotten fruit as they were touched in passing by energy beams. A rebel screamed as an ax sheared through his arm, and a mercenary spluttered blood as half his face was cut away. Men and women stamped this way and that, fighting for room to swing a sword. The dead and the wounded fell to be trampled underfoot as others struggled to reach the enemy. Screams of rage and pain filled the air along with the war cries. The uneven ground was a crimson mess of blood and worse. At the end of the day the whistles blew and both sides fell back. They took the wounded with them. Wounds festered quickly in the inhuman heat. The dead were left to spoil, to be recovered later, when the heat dropped a little during the night.

Some people volunteered to fight in the night. Small patrols of men and women from both sides for whom the need for vengeance and slaughter had not been burned away during the day. They crept out onto the pitch-black battlefield to fight and die in sudden, silent encounters in the night. Back in the trenches and the tunnels, most got what sleep they could in the stifling heat. The second day of summer came, and the temperature rose still further, a killing heat for all but the strongest. And still both sides came roaring up out of their trenches when the whistles blew. There was killing to be done.

Then it was Autumn, and the temperature dropped like a stone. The whistles blew, and men and women went up and over the top to fight again. The jagged metal killing field was already dark crimson from the splashed blood and offal of the previous day's battle, baked onto the metal by the merciless summer sun. Gale force winds arose, blowing suddenly out of nowhere, strong enough to pick up a man and carry him away. Both sides wore weights on their belts and in their boots to hold them down. The winds picked up scattered metal fragments from miles around and swept them on at blinding speed. Razorstorms that could strip unprotected flesh down to the bone in seconds. Both sides wore armor, which slowed them down even more. Battles became slow, farcical affairs, but blood still spilled, and neither the wounded nor the dead saw the joke.

And finally, winter came again: snow and ice and blizzards and the killing cold. The security forces wore special thermal suits. The rebels didn't need them. Neither did Random and Ruby. They'd adapted. Both sides wore thick goggles, to keep the driving snow out of their eyes. No-man's-land became a blinding white glare of snow and ice, in which small groups of armed men and women moved slowly, silently together, straining their eyes against the storm for signs of the enemy. Blood spattered the snow, red on white, and fighters crashed to the ground and did not move again. Jack Random and Ruby Journey fought on, going out again and again, whatever the weather, or which shift it was. The Rejects roared their names as battle cries and followed them into battle whatever the odds. The cold seared their lungs and chilled the blood in their veins, but their rage was hotter than any cold the winter could throw at them. Two days passed and winter gave way to spring, and it all began again. And that was how the years passed on Technos III.

Through it all, the weather and the hate and the killing, only one side pressed forward. Step by step, yard by yard, the Rejects drove the Wolfe security forces back, pushing no-man's-land closer and closer to the factory complex, as trench after trench fell and was occupied by the rebels. Jack Random and Ruby Journey were everywhere, inspiring the Rejects to new heights of courage and ferocity, and scaring the hell out of even hardened Wolfe mercenaries, and neither the weather nor the enemy could touch them or slow them down. The name of the legendary professional rebel was voiced frequently on both sides now, and that of his deadly new companion; the old legend and the new, who could not be stopped or turned aside. And down in the rebel tunnels, Alexander Storm, who had once been a not-so-minor legend in his own right, worked constantly, tirelessly, plotting strategies with the rebel council, organizing raids and advances, and keeping the tunnels clear of ravenous life-forms that didn't know there was a war going on. And in the few moments he had to himself, he tried hard not to dwell on the fact that he was old, and his longtime friend and companion Jack wasn't, any longer.

Out in no-man's-land, Jack Random felt fitter and stronger than ever, and his sword arm never seemed to tire. He felt like himself again, the legendary hero at whose name the Iron Throne itself had trembled. And if he looked a little younger than he had, only Ruby Journey noticed. And she kept it to herself. The Rejects roared their names and pressed forward, scenting victory.

And good men and women died, as well as bad, and the Sisters of Mercy did what they could for the wounded.

And the war went on.

Daniel and Stephanie Wolfe waited impatiently in what passed for the main reception hall of the factory complex. It was actually just a large storage area that wasn't being used for anything else, but some brave soul had tried to brighten it up with a red carpet and a few flowers here and there. The carpet was just a little tatty, but the flowers bloomed brightly despite the complex's artificially controlled environment. Not being fed or watered for days at a time, they were used to a much rougher life in the world outside.

Daniel scowled fiercely, tapping one foot impatiently and hugging himself to keep from flying apart. Things had not been going at all well for the Wolfes lately, and this particular meeting had the potential for a really major screwup. One badly chosen word, and if he was lucky he'd only be sent home in disgrace. Stephanie stood at his side, cool and calm and very controlled. If only because one of them had to be. By rights, Michel and Lily should have been there, too, to greet such an important new arrival, but Stephanie had decided very early on that they couldn't be trusted to behave themselves. So she had their food drugged and locked them in their rooms, just in case. Officially, they were indisposed, which was true enough. And Cardinal Kassar's presence had not been requested. He'd tried everything, up to and including not so veiled threats, to inveigle an invitation, but Stephanie had no intention of being upstaged. This was a Wolfe affair, and the new arrival was their guest. Kassar could meet him later. Much later.

The only two people she hadn't been able to keep out were Toby Shreck and his cameraman Flynn. The Empress had personally let it be known that she wanted the new arrival's reception carried live on holovision, and though she hadn't deigned to explain why, what Lionstone wanted, Lionstone got—if you were fond of breathing. So Toby and Flynn set up their lights and faded as far into the background as they could, trying hard not to be noticed. This was one show they were determined not to be thrown out of. It wasn't every day you got a chance to film the legendary Half A Man himself, in what remained of his flesh.

There weren't many in the Empire who didn't know the cruel and terrible history of Half A Man. Just over two hundred years ago, he'd had a far too close encounter with a species of alien still not identified or reencountered. He'd been abducted right out of the command chair of his own starcruiser, the Beowulf, disappearing in full view of his bridge crew. There'd been no warning, no trace of alien ship or presence. He was just there one minute and gone the next.

The aliens held on to him for three years, performing experiments on him that he remembered only partially, in his worst nightmares. Mostly, he remembered screaming. Then they sent him back, dropping him out of nowhere onto the bridge of the Beowulf, even though the ship was halfway across the Empire from where it had been. And that was when the nightmare really began. The aliens sent only half of him back. The left half. He'd been split right down the middle, from scalp to crotch, his right half replaced by an energy construct of roughly human shape.

The then Emperor had him examined by the finest scientists and medics of that time, but none of them came up with any explanation worth a damn. They couldn't even agree on why he was still alive, never mind what had happened to him. His right half was now composed of an energy field that had all the properties of matter, but was still clearly energy, though of a form the Empire had never encountered before. The whole Empire was placed on Red Alert for over a year, in case the aliens showed up again. But they didn't, and eventually everyone stood down from Red Alert and calmed down a little. Half A Man, as he'd been named almost immediately by the tabloid news channels, became a main adviser to the Emperor on alien matters and continued to hold that position as years passed, Emperors died, and his human half grew no older by a day. Now, as then, he was largely responsible for setting alien policy within the Empire, and if anyone felt like arguing with him, all it took was one close look at what aliens had done to him to change their minds.

Half A Man was also responsible for the creation of the Investigators. He felt the Empire needed a body of men and women specially qualified to deal with any and all alien threats. He trained them all personally, then and now, in the best ways to understand, control, and kill aliens. The Investigators worshiped him. Which had been known to make the various occupants of the Iron Throne just a little uneasy, down the years. There was no denying the Investigators were necessary and highly proficient at their job, but if they were ever to band together, possibly under Half A Man, it was doubtful if there was a force anywhere within the Empire that could stand against them. Luckily for all concerned. Investigators were by nature a solitary breed who did not care for each other's company. The only thing they had in common was Half A Man. They'd die for Half A Man. Or kill for him. Which was why he'd come to Technos III.

Toby Shreck was fascinated by the man, and so was Flynn, though both of them tried hard not to show it. Half A Man had displayed no fondness for publicity after his return, particularly after the way the tabloids hounded him, and he'd shunned the media spotlight for decades, rarely appearing in public except when ordered to by the Emperor of the day. As a result, coverage of the man tended to be few and far between, and any reporter with new footage could practically name his own price. The reception itself would be going out live, but Toby had no doubt he could sneak some extra footage afterward. Maybe even get an interview. If Half A Man didn't kill him on the spot just for asking. There were rumors.

Everyone's head turned as they heard a particular sound approaching down the corridor outside the reception hall. The sound of one foot tapping on the metal floor. They all drew themselves up to look their best and unconsciously braced themselves. The door swung open, and Half A Man came in. Toby's first thought was That's not so bad. I can handle that. He hadn't been sure how he'd react to such an awful sight in the flesh, so to speak. But the human half looked human enough, and the glowing spitting energy half was just energy.

The human half was a little over six feet tall, in good shape, and conservatively dressed. The half a face was subtly disturbing, but the hair was a common enough dark brown, as was the single eye, and the half a mouth was set and firm. Toby couldn't read any emotion in the mouth or the eye. There wasn't enough information in half a face. He couldn't even decide if it had once been handsome or not. The energy half was entirely human in space, though it spat and crackled constantly. But Toby had a sick feeling it wasn't even close to the same shape as the human half. It had no particular color, or perhaps it was all colors. And it wasn't just its brightness that made it hard to look at.

Toby tore his gaze away from Half A Man, and checked quickly that all his lights were working and in the right place. He and Flynn had had to guess at the exposures. He glanced at Flynn and was relieved to see the camera on his shoulder was already silently capturing everything. Billions of people were watching this meeting live, in this sector alone, and if he didn't screw this up completely, Toby Shreck could finally be on his way to being accepted as a real reporter.

The two Wolfes stepped forward to officially greet Half A Man, then stopped as three newcomers stepped silently through the open door, wearing the formal blue and silver cloaks of the Investigator. Stephanie and Daniel gaped openly. Toby's blood ran cold. Three Investigators together in the same room? This was unheard of. No one had said anything about this. Toby glared at Flynn to make sure he kept filming. There was an even bigger story here than he'd thought.

"Daniel and Stephanie Wolfe," said Half A Man in a perfectly normal voice, "allow me to present my three companions; they are the Investigators Edge, Barr, and Shoal."

Each Investigator bowed briefly as they were named. Edge was a tall, slender man well into his fifties. His long face came to a sharp point at his chin, and his eyes were too wide and too bright. His slight scowl was openly contemptuous. Barr stood like a soldier, every muscle to attention, short and square like a bulldog. He was clearly into his sixties, with close-cropped gunmetal hair. He looked like he was just waiting for an order to kill somebody. Shoal was the youngest, a medium height, compact woman in her late forties, with dark spiky hair and a cool gaze. Toby thought he saw a smile lurking in one corner of her generous mouth, but since she was an Investigator, he was probably wrong. It was common knowledge Investigators smiled only when they were killing. Preferably whole alien species. Slowly. And then Edge spotted the holocamera, and everything went to hell in a hurry.

"Turn that bloody thing off," said Edge, a sword already in his hand. He advanced on Flynn, who backed quickly away, still filming. Flynn had worked in combat zones and knew the first rule of reporting was to keep filming, no matter what. Edge loomed over him, sword ready for a killing thrust. "I said turn it off! No one films me. No one."

Toby stepped forward, hands raised placatingly. "It's on the Empress's orders. She wants a complete record…"

Edge spun around with blinding speed and hit Toby across the face with the back of his hand. Toby hit the floor hard and fought to clear his head. Blood poured down over his mouth from one nostril, and he spat it away. He got one knee under him and then had to stop as his head swam sickly. Flynn had backed up against a wall and couldn't retreat any farther. He was still filming. Toby struggled to find the words that would defuse the situation. There had to be something he could say. He always knew what to say.

"Leave the man alone, Edge," said Barr, his voice thick and slightly slurred. "We obey the Empress's commands—in all things."

"Shut up, you sycophant," said Edge, not looking around. He had his sword pointed at Flynn's throat. "Throw that camera down and smash it, boy. I want to hear it crunch under your heel."

Flynn tried to say Go to hell, but couldn't get the words out of his throat. You didn't talk like that to Investigators—particularly those with a killing madness in their eyes. But he still wouldn't surrender his camera. Edge smiled suddenly, and Flynn's blood ran cold.

"Leave him alone," said Shoal. Her voice was calm and quietly amused. "His kind are like rats. Kill one, and they'll all come swarming around. You heard the man. This is the Empress's idea. You really want to be dragged before her in chains, to explain why you disobeyed a direct order?"

"What can she do to me?" said Edge. "You know why we're here. Too old or too frail to be trusted in the field anymore, but too dangerous to be allowed to run loose. We're not allowed to work for the Clans anymore. We were doing too good a job. She's frightened of us. Of what we might do. I spent all my life in her service, and for what? To end up on this shitball as local enforcers. She wants this event covered? I'll give the precious viewers something to watch they won't forget in a hurry."

He drew back his sword for a thrust that would take Flynn low in the belly. Flynn couldn't move. Toby surged dizzily to his feet, blood spilling down his chin from his smashed nose. He was probably just going to die along with Flynn, but he couldn't just stand by and watch his cameraman being killed. And then Shoal stepped forward and hit Edge professionally on the back of the neck. Edge slumped forward onto his knees, the sword dropping from his suddenly limp finger. Barr looked shocked, but said nothing. Shoal smiled down at the dazed figure before her.

"Do as you're told. Edge, or I'll put a muzzle on you."

"Nicely handled. Shoal," said Half A Man. He nodded to Daniel and Stephanie. "My apologies. Edge has his good qualities, but diplomacy isn't one of them. I'll keep him on a short leash in the future. I suggest we bring this meeting to a close. We've already given the viewing public plenty to gossip about, and I'm eager to begin my work here. Are the files ready?"

"Everything you requested," said Stephanie. "Maps, histories, troop details."

"Might I inquire on behalf of the viewing public, just what your purpose here is, sir?" said Toby.

Half A Man turned his single eye to look at Toby, who was now standing more or less steadily with a handkerchief pressed to his swelling mouth and nose. Half A Man smiled with his half a mouth. "Persistent type, aren't you? Surely, you must have realized by now that asking the wrong questions here can be hazardous to your health?"

"All part of the job, sir," said Toby, lowering the handkerchief so his words could be heard clearly and ignoring the blood that still dripped from his chin. "Would you care to make a comment at this time?"

"Not really," said Half A Man. "But after my associate's outburst, I suppose I'd better." He turned a little to face Flynn's camera directly. His energy half spat and sputtered, and Flynn had to quickly crank down the camera's light sensitivity. Half A Man half smiled for the viewers. "The Empress has decided that those Investigators who are no longer able to give one hundred percent in the field, either through age or injury, will no longer be allowed to retire to work for individual Clans. The privilege was being abused. In future, such Investigators will be trained to work together with armed forces in especially dangerous trouble spots, where their knowledge and experience will be invaluable. This is to be a pilot scheme, to be observed and studied for its successes and limitations. As trainer of all Investigators, I volunteered to oversee the operation. And that is all I have to say. Except that in future, I expect all news teams to keep a respectful distance. For their own safety." He turned back to Stephanie and Daniel. "I'm finished here. Take me to your war room. Shoal, Barr, bring Edge."

And as quickly as that, they all filed out and were gone, Edge staggering along between Shoal and Barr. Toby and Flynn waited until the door had closed securely behind them and then relaxed with explosive sighs of relief. Flynn turned off the camera and concentrated on breathing deeply. Toby dabbed gingerly with his handkerchief at his tender mouth and nose, both of which felt as though they'd swollen to double their proper size.

"Did you get all that, Flynn? Tell me you got all that."

"Every damn second," said the cameraman. "Even though I nearly had an unpleasant incident in my underwear doing it. I really thought he was going to kill me."

"Of course he was. He's an Investigator. Luckily, we were going out live, and the others were sharp enough to know what that meant. The whole point of this new scheme is to show that aging Investigators can still be controlled and employed in useful ways. Half A Man couldn't afford to have Edge going berserk in front of billions of viewers before the scheme had even properly begun. Did you pick up on what he said about the Clans? No more Investigators to work as enforcers and assassins for the Families. Her Imperial Majesty would appear to be getting concerned about the growing power and influence of certain prominent Houses. Naming no names, of course. But you can bet it's no accident the pilot scheme is taking place on a Wolfe planet."

"Of course," said Flynn. "Makes you wonder what'll happen to those Investigators who can't hack it as part of a team. They've always been trained to act as individuals. Hell, I've heard of Investigators who overruled Captains on their own starships. I can't see Lionstone allowing them to just retire. Or an Investigator happy to spend the rest of his days sitting by the fire bouncing his grandchildren on his knee."

"Good point," said Toby, looking sadly at the bloodstained mess that had once been a perfectly good handkerchief. "I get a strong feeling it'll be a case of learn to fit in, or else. As in, die with your boots on or under an executioner's warrant. I wonder how that's going to go down with the other Investigators."

"They'll probably approve. They're a cold bunch of bastards when all's said and done. Not many survive to reach retirement age anyway. It's that kind of job. Probably prefer to die fighting, given the chance."

"Or they might just prefer to take somebody with them," said Toby. "Maybe even a lot of somebodies. In future, I think we'll keep a very respectful distance from Investigator Edge."

"Damn right," said Flynn. He looked at Toby thoughtfully. "I saw you trying to get up and help me. Were you worried about losing me or your only cameraman?"

"To be honest," said Toby, "I was mostly worried that if you got killed, they'd find out about the lacy underwear you've got on under your clothes. I mean, I have my reputation to think of."

When the meeting in the war room was finally over, the Wolfes invited Half A Man and the three Investigators to join them for a meal and several drinks; but they all declined, more or less politely. Investigators weren't social creatures, and Half A Man hated being stared at. For a long time he hoped that eventually he'd get used to it, but he never did. And the Wolfes weren't even subtle about it, for all their smiles and pleasant words. So Half A Man saw each of his Investigators to their separate quarters, had a few private but very emphatic words with Edge, and then allowed himself to be shown to his own quarters.

The flunky they'd assigned to escort him to his quarters kept a lot of distance between himself and his charge, and didn't hang around for a tip. Half A Man looked around the single room. All the necessities, and even a few luxuries. More than he'd been supplied with on the ship that brought him here in such a hurry. Not that he gave much of a damn. He was here to work, not lounge around.

He sat down on the single chair, turned off the massage function, and pulled it up to the writing table. He activated the built-in viewscreen, accessed the complex's computers, and called up the local troop records. Mercenaries from a hundred worlds, under a dozen company commanders, with Wolfe security people as overall supervisors. The mercenaries had mostly good records before they came to Technos III. Their battles with the local rebels, the Rejects, made interesting but depressing reading. Neither side could be said to have an overall advantage, but just by refusing to be beaten for so long, the rebels were winning. The reason was obvious. It was the Rejects' world, and they worked with it, while the Wolfe troops needed temperature-control suits, armor, and re-breathers just to cope with the changing weather. What technical advantages the Wolfe troops had were pretty much wiped out by the weather, and both sides knew it.

The Wolfes had lost a lot of men fighting the rebels. There were no figures for the Reject dead, but Half A Man doubted they were anywhere near as high. The few captured Rejects never talked. They died under interrogation when they couldn't manage to kill themselves first. And on top of all that, it appeared the rebels now had new leaders, recently arrived from offworld. No less than the legendary Jack Random himself, the professional rebel, if the Wolfes' reports were to be believed. Half A Man had followed Random's career down the years. He'd always known that someday they were fated to meet. The two great legends of modern times. He frowned slightly. The last he'd heard, Random had been a broken old man. These reports spoke of a younger man, a powerful fighter. Perhaps some newcomer had taken up the old name. He sighed and shut down the screen. As if he didn't have enough problems in his life. Including, most especially, the three Investigators the Empress had placed under his command.

He'd always known Edge was going to be a problem. The man was a psychotic killer, violent and insubordinate. In any other occupation these would have been serious drawbacks, but in an Investigator they were a positive bonus. Up till now, his surly behavior and occasional regrettable incidents had been tolerated because he never failed to get the job done, one way or another. But now he was getting older and slower, and the job was sometimes too much for him, though he'd never admit it. He showed less and less self-control, and clearly enjoyed the blood he spilled during his violent outbursts. You could never tell what would set him off. He had no friends, and his enemies daren't touch an Investigator.

He didn't respond to reason, kindness, or military discipline. To control him in the field, you had to prove you were the better man and keep on proving it, by brute force if necessary. In a working Investigator such qualities could be condoned, even encouraged on occasion, but in a man close to enforced retirement, he was a danger to himself and everyone around him. It helped that Edge was somewhat intimidated by Half A Man's legend, but then, most people were.

Barr was the other end of the spectrum. A military man through and through, gung ho and eager for battle, dedicated to the Empire and its Empress. A dangerous fighter with any weapon, he was never happier than in the midst of action, probably because he had no social skills whatsoever. He didn't like people. Luckily, he liked aliens even less. He was here on Technos III because he'd been ordered here, and he'd fight and kill and if need be die to carry out those orders. Or at least, he always had in the past. Now that his Empress had apparently lost faith in him and was contemplating retiring him from the field, he might start feeling differently about things. He wasn't stupid, just single-minded. He wouldn't retire from action. He had nothing to retire to. He'd bear watching.

Shoal was a whole different kind of problem. Sharp, bright, and terrifyingly efficient, Shoal was one of the top ten Investigators in the field at the moment, and she knew it. She was dying slowly of a rare degenerative nerve disease. There was no cure except for regeneration, and that was available only to the aristocracy. If she'd been young and in her prime. Half A Man might have been able to get her an exception, as a personal favor to him. But even before the disease took hold, there'd been talk she was getting older, slowing down. The Investigator's life was a hard and brutal one. She wasn't bitter. She was a good soldier. For the moment her faculties were still clear, and her experience would be invaluable. He could rely on her—probably.

Half A Man pushed his chair away from the table, stood up, and moved over to the bed. He lay down on it without bothering to pull back the bedclothes. He didn't sleep anymore. Hadn't since the aliens worked on him. But he still made a point of resting a few hours every night so he could dream. Sometimes in his dreams he remembered some of the things they'd done to him, and then he woke screaming. But he needed to dream. He had to remember exactly what had been done to him. All of it, no matter how bad it got. Because the real horror was that the change they'd worked in him wasn't over yet. Every year the energy construct that made up the right half of his body grew a little larger, by eating up a little more of his human half. Only a very little. But it was an ongoing process that showed no signs of stopping or even slowing down. Eventually, all his humanity would be gone, and he had no idea at all who or what he might be then.

It also seemed to him more and more that the energy half of his body was slowly changing shape, becoming gradually less human and more something else. Something alien. He had no memory of what the aliens who changed him looked like, except briefly in his nightmares, but he found the hints in his changing energy half disquieting and disturbing. But even worse than that, he was beginning to worry that the energy half might have its own subordinate intelligence, its own secret thoughts, and just possibly its own hidden agenda. It was vital he hang on grimly to what was left of his humanity and his mind, for fear of what might replace it.

Which was one of the few reasons he had to be glad he was here on Technos III. It would be good to be back in the field again. Mostly he ran a desk these days, but the Empress had wanted results on Technos III fast, and he grabbed the chance with both hands. Things were so much simpler in battle. It always felt good to be killing the Empire's enemies. According to all the reports, the Rejects and their new leader, whoever he really was, would make a good enemy. They were clever, cunning, and brave fighters. A real challenge for once. He'd enjoy killing them. And just maybe he could use the occasion to teach Edge, Burr, and Shoal to be part of an armed fighting force. Why not? He'd taught them how to be Investigators in the first place.

Toby Shreck had charmed, persuaded, and bullied various factory personnel into letting him use part of the complex's communications center as a mixing room for the broadcast he had to put together for the next day. He had a hell of a lot of footage, courtesy of the redoubtable Flynn, who was probably currently relaxing in his quarters in a nice little twin set and pearls, hopefully behind a locked door, leaving Toby to do all the hard word of choosing which precious moments of recorded history would make it into the final mix. Toby glared at the viewscreens and control panels before him, poured himself another stiff drink, used it to wash down a couple of uppers, and stuck his cigar back in his mouth. Two in the morning, wired out of his skull, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts could follow. That was how you got your best work done. If you were Toby Shreck on a tight deadline.

He missed having room service to shout at, but otherwise this was business as usual. The whiskey burned in his chest and in his mind, the uppers hammered through his bloodstream, and the cigar smoke kept him balanced as he sorted the gold from the dross. He had to make this compilation look good. Really good. The live footage of Half A Man and his Investigators had made people sit up and take notice, and won him his best viewing share ever. But it hadn't made him any friends among his fellow reporters, who had been besieging the Wolfe complex with requests, demands, and pleas for entry visas ever since. The Wolfes, not surprisingly, were stonewalling. They still thought they could control things, as long as it was just Toby Shreck and his cameraman. Toby grinned around his cigar. He'd show them.

But he couldn't continue to rely on lucking into great found footage. He'd caught everyone's attention, but to hold onto it he'd have to follow up with a bloody good program about what was really going on down here on Technos III. It hadn't been easy. Everyone in and around the factory complex was being very careful about what they said in front of Toby, whether Flynn was with him or not. The word had come down from Above. Luckily, he already had enough good stuff to rock the Wolfes back in their luxuriously designed and expensive shoes. This particular compilation would make a fine example of what he could do, showing off his talent and establishing him as a major name in the news business. If it didn't get him killed first. It would also be a perfect thumbing of the nose to all those who had snubbed or insulted him. He rolled his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, grabbed a few chocolates from the nearby box, and knocked back another belt of whiskey. He was supercharging now. Start with the Mother Bea footage. That was the mother lode.

He ran the tapes again, glaring in concentration at the tiny screens before him. He had two and sometimes three running at once, to keep up with his rocketing thoughts. Flynn had got some great panning shots of the hospital tent with the factory complex in the background, to show off the relative size of each. Then there were shots inside the tent, with the wounded lying still and silent, only sometimes moaning quietly on their narrow cots. He called up the master shot of Mother Superior Beatrice explaining who would and would not be allowed treatment, according to the Wolfes. Then a close-up of her tired, nearly defeated face.

"In the winter… I've seen the surgeons stop in mid operation to warm their hands in the steaming guts they've just opened up."

Yes, that would make them sit up and take notice. The Sisters of Mercy were well loved and well respected throughout the Empire. They weren't supposed to be forced to work in conditions like that, not even by the high and mighty Wolfes. Assuming, of course, he could smuggle this past the censors. There were a lot of people who thought they were in authority here who'd demand to see the tape in its entirety before it went out. Toby grinned around his cigar. He had an idea or two.

More whiskey and another chocolate.

The next tapes were from the brief interview Half A Man had reluctantly granted him. He hadn't wanted to, and Toby had had to use the Empress's name as a threat more than once just to get the man to stand still long enough for Flynn to point his camera at him. Half A Man looked even weirder on holo film. Something about the energy field that made up his right side interfered with the holocamera, giving the field a strobing, shimmering look that was actually painful to the eye after a while. Look at it long enough, and it felt like you were falling into it. Into a hell without end. Toby sniffed. He'd just have to do a lot of cutting back and forth between Half A Man and himself. It'd distract from Half A Man's speech, but he wasn't saying anything new. Toby leaned a little closer, frowning at the screen before him. The half a face was hard to read on its own, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in the harsh, clipped voice.

"Anything that distracts humanity from defending itself from invading aliens cannot be permitted to continue. It must and will be stopped, by whatever means necessary. The Empire needs the new stardrive this factory will produce. The rebels through their actions are threatening that production. I will put an end to that threat, even if it means wiping out the rebel population, down to the last man, woman, and child. The Empire must be protected. I know what aliens are capable of."

Toby pursed his mouth unhappily as he hit the tape stop. Any aliens who could produce such a thing as Half A Man had to be seen as a threat to humanity as a whole. But no one had seen a trace of those aliens for over two centuries. And there was always a chance negotiating with the rebels would put an end to the war a damn sight quicker than a ruthless program of genocide. They weren't asking that much. But Half A Man saw this as a matter of principle. And authority. He could be very single-minded for someone who no longer had a single mind, and he wouldn't even discuss the argument.

Toby's fingers moved quickly over the console keys, calling up quick shots of the three Investigators Half A Man had brought with him. Half A Man had refused point-blank to allow them to be interviewed, but Flynn had sneaked some footage anyway. Edge looked like a psycho killer who'd just had his favorite cutthroat razor stolen. Barr looked like a machine just waiting for orders. And Shoal… looked like she'd seen it all before and hadn't been impressed the first time. They all looked very dangerous, completely unswerving, and entirely professional at what they did. Poor rebel bastards didn't know what was going to hit them.

That was when the control-room door burst open, and Daniel Wolfe strode in, only to come to a sudden halt as he discovered how little room there was. It rather spoiled the effect of his dramatic entrance. He scowled at Toby as the reporter turned unhurriedly around in his swivel chair. Daniel leaned forward menacingly, and Toby just happened to blow cigar smoke in his face. Daniel coughed despite himself and did his best to tower over Toby.

"Listen to me, worm. I want to see every inch of your tape before it's broadcast. This is a Wolfe complex, and we decide what leaves here and what doesn't. You even try and sneak something past me, and I'll have security throw you in the cells and have your superiors send a replacement who understands how the universe works. You'll like the cells. On a good day you can look through the bars in your window and see the wall we put traitors against before we shoot them. And out here, we decide who the traitors are. So make the Wolfes look good. Make the factory look good. If you know what's good for you. Little man."

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Toby lifted the bottle of whiskey, toasted the closed door with it, and drank straight from the bottle. He'd been expecting pressure, but nothing quite so blatant. Bloody Daniel Wolfe and his ambitious superbitch sister. She was the one behind the threats. Daniel didn't have it in him to come up with a speech like that on its own. Stephanie probably wrote it out and made him memorize it. Typical Wolfes. Thugs with pedigrees. A thought occurred to him, and he smiled nastily around his cigar.

He turned back to the mixing console, and it took only a few moments' searching to call up the footage he had in mind. He ran the shots in slow motion. Daniel and Stephanie together. Michel and Lily together. Smiles and glances and shared body space. Everyone with an eye in their head knew Michel and Lily were having it off. They'd been very careful not to say or do anything incriminating in public, but you only had to look at their body language to see the truth of how they felt about each other. The way their eyes sparkled when they met, the way their bodies oriented on each other no matter where they were in the room, the way certain words and phrases were subtly, unconsciously emphasized. He had it all on tape. They might as well have taken out peak time ads.

Of course, Daniel and Stephanie hadn't noticed a thing, being rather more interested in each other. In fact, some of their quieter moments seemed to suggest that they might be a little closer in their affections than most brothers and sisters. Toby sniggered and beat a fast tattoo on the edge of the console with both hands. He couldn't say anything outright, of course, but a little carefully arranged footage should do the job for him, with both couples. People in society would catch up on it and start the word spreading. Before too long the Wolfes would become a laughingstock, in and out of Court. That would teach Daniel bloody Wolfe to burst in and act the heavy with poor little Toby Shreck.

And that was when the door burst open again, and Cardinal James Kassar had his try at making a dramatic entrance ruined by crashing straight into the chair that Toby had thoughtfully placed before the door after the last visit. Kassar kicked the chair aside and glared at Toby, who leaned back in his chair and gave the Cardinal his best innocent face. It didn't fool Kassar for a moment, but then it wasn't meant to.

"I've had a communication from my superiors in the Church," said Kassar, the cold controlled anger in his voice more than matched by the open fury in his ruined face. "The gist of which was, your live broadcast made both myself and the Church look ridiculous, because you didn't wait for me to get there. They went on for some time, but they were basically just repeating themselves. The word 'laughingstock' was mentioned, along with 'recall' and 'demotion." Listen carefully, you little toad, you are not going to ruin my career while furthering your own. From now on I see everything you've got before it goes out, and if you do anything that might undermine my or the Church's authority here, I will personally excommunicate you with a rusty saw. Is that clear?"

"Oh, perfectly," said Toby. "Couldn't be clearer." He took a quick drink from his bottle. "I would offer you some whiskey, Cardinal, but I've only got the one bottle. I feel I should at this stage in all honesty point out that I do have principles."

"Mess with me again, and your principles will be going home in separate jars."

Kassar about-faced and marched out with extreme dignity, slamming the door behind him. Toby waited a cautious few seconds, and then gave the closed door the finger before getting up and jamming two small wedges under the bottom of the door. That should put an end to any more storming ins. He turned back to the console and leaned over the screens again. He knew just the bit of tape he wanted. A nice stretch of Cardinal Kassar drilling his Church troops in the blistering summer heat; standing at his ease in the shade while shouting and bullying and generally carrying on like the tight-assed little dictator he was. Toby grinned and bit down hard on his cigar. He wouldn't even have to sneak this past Kassar. The damn fool was so full of himself he'd probably think it made him look good.

Toby took another drink from his bottle and then put it firmly to one side. The uppers were rocketing through his system like ricocheting bullets, and he felt great. He called up some footage of the trenches surrounding the factory. The circles of hell from which no man returned unchanged. Patch in some shots of the elite Jesuit commandos drilling the fanatical Church troops, and then cut back to the wounded in the hospital tent. Toby rocked back and forth in his chair. Someone was banging on the door. The wedges would keep them out. Toby's fingers flowed over the keyboard. He was on a roll now. If the Wolfes and the Cardinal and all the other bastards thought they could keep him from filing the story of his life, they were crazy. They could view the tape as often as they liked; it wouldn't make any difference. They'd probably never even heard of the palimpsest method. Record something on a tape, then record over it. Playback just shows the upper recording, but the right kind of machine will pick up the earlier recording, still there, underneath. The process hadn't been around long, but Toby had always believed in being up to the minute. There'd be a stink afterward, but interest in Technos III would be so high the Wolfes wouldn't be able to censor him anymore. Toby Shreck laughed aloud and worked on into the early hours of the morning.

A handful of Rejects led Jack Random, Alexander Storm, and Ruby Journey down through a series of dimly lit corridors and tunnels, far below the surface of Technos III. The tunnels grew increasingly narrow, sometimes barely wide enough for two men to walk abreast. The walls were smooth in some places, where they'd been blasted out of the living rock by energy weapons, and torn and jagged in others, where tools and bare hands had done the work. Random tried very hard not to think about the increasing weight of rock above his head. As the professional rebel, he'd spent his share of time working from hidden underground caverns and tunnels, away from prying eyes and sensors, but he'd never learned to like it.

The tunnels twisted and turned and branched endlessly, a dark maze of such complexity that any outsider would be helplessly lost in a few minutes. Random had no doubt that was deliberate. The Rejects didn't trust anyone with their secrets all at once, not even him. He'd have been disappointed in them if they had. As always, he knew exactly where he was, but he didn't like to tell them and spoil their fun. So he strode along quite happily. Ruby at his side, Storm puffing along behind him. Random was getting a little worried about Storm. His old friend had been in the field with him for many years, fighting the Empire's best on more planets than either of them cared to remember. But they'd both known they were getting too old for it, even before they got their asses kicked so conclusively on Cold Rock. Since then, Random had been given a new lease of life, courtesy of the Maze, and reveled in it, but Storm had been left behind, still growing older and slower. He hadn't taken the growing differences between him and Random at all well, but Random was at a loss what to do about it. Storm was doing good and valued work as an adviser and strategist, but it wasn't the same, and both of them knew it. So when Storm had insisted on coming along on this particular mission, just to stretch his legs, Random hadn't had the heart to say no.

"How many miles of these tunnels are there?" said Storm, trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice and failing.

"No one knows for sure," said Long Lankin 32. The ex-factory clone looked as thin and malnourished as ever. He found the going hard, too, but like Storm he refused to be left out of things, so the two of them had naturally gravitated together. "The only maps are in the Rejects' heads, and they only know part of the whole layout. So we're protected if any of us are captured. The Rejects have been digging these tunnels for centuries now, repairing old ones and blasting out new tunnels, so the maps are always changing. Sometimes I feel I need a guide just to help me find the toilet in the early hours of the morning.

"The Wolfe security forces dig tunnels of their own, too, just to complicate things. Sometimes the excavating teams run into each other, and then all hell breaks loose. The war goes on down here, as well. Tunnel rats clawing at each other in the darkness. The mercenaries don't last long in the tunnels. They can't take the constant darkness and claustrophobia. The pressure drives them crazy. The Rejects, on the other hand, actually like it down here. The protective layers of stone and metal make them feel secure. Crazy bastards. No offense, people."

The twenty or so Rejects walking with them smiled and nodded, not insulted. Alexander Storm summoned up enough breath for another question.

"How deep do these tunnels go? It feels like we've been descending for hours. Any further, and we'll need an express elevator to get back to the surface."

"The surface can do without us today," said Specter Alice. She'd developed a fondness for Storm and attached herself to him whenever possible, to his clear distress. She was after all old and short and ugly, and her furs hadn't been washed since they were still on the animals that provided them. And there was madness in her eyes, right up front where everyone could see it. She smiled chummily at Storm and tried to take his hand. He avoided it with the dexterity of long practice. She wasn't put out.

"We're heading down to one of our man meeting chambers," she said happily. "Time you saw where the real decisions get made. Don't worry; we won't go down too far. Dangerous things live in the deep down. Creatures that have adapted to the depths and the dark, away from the weather and the war. Mostly, we don't disturb them, and they don't massacre us. Don't worry, dear; you stick with old Specter Alice. She'll keep you safe."

Storm smiled weakly, not feeling at all safe, and looked determinedly ahead in the hope of discouraging further conversation. Random had to hide a smile of his own. Storm had been something of a lady-killer in his day. At his side, Ruby sighed heavily, and he turned his attention to her. She was scowling, her mouth turned down sullenly.

"I hate walking," she said, apropos of nothing in particular. "I'm a bounty hunter, not a health freak. Where are all these tunnel rats and deadly creatures? I could do with a little excitement. I didn't come to Technos III to be a tourist. When do I get to kill somebody?"

"I like her," said Long Lankin 32. "She's got the right attitude."

They walked on and on. Storm had more and more trouble keeping up with the pace, even with Specter Alice at his side to encourage him. Random felt guilty. Every day he looked younger, felt younger, and Storm looked older. Where once they had been comrades in arms, now they looked more like father and son. Storm hadn't said anything yet, but Random knew his old friend was aware of the growing differences between them. Random tried not to think about the differences too much. He didn't like the idea that he might be becoming an altogether different person. Even if he did feel alive again for the first time in years. He fell back to walk beside Storm and wondered whether he did it out of friendship or pity.

"Why did we ever come here?" Storm said quietly to him. "War is young man's work. We're too old for this, Jack. We should be sitting beside a fire in a tavern, telling outrageous stories of our youth. We've earned that. We spilled enough blood, in enough battles. Why do we have to do it all again?"

"Because the war isn't over," said Random. "We swore an oath, remember? We swore upon our blood and our honor that we would fight the Empire until either it fell or we did."

"Young men swore that oath," said Storm. "Young men who knew nothing about war or politics, or the reality of how the Empire works."

"Are you saying you don't believe in the Cause anymore?"

"Of course I still believe in the Cause! I'm here, aren't I? I'm just saying it's time for someone else to carry the banner. Someone younger, who doesn't feel the cold in his bones or wake up coughing his lungs up every morning. We've done our bit. And I'm too old to die on a strange world beside strange people, fighting to free a few clones from a factory."

"You'll get your second wind soon," said Random lamely. "You'll feel better then."

"Don't bloody patronize me, Random," said Storm, and they strode along in silence after that.

Until the Reject in the lead came to a sudden halt and raised a hand to stop those behind him. Everyone stood quietly together in the pool of the lanterns' light, staring into the gloom ahead of them, listening carefully. Storm looked anxiously about him, but Random and Specter Alice were too busy listening to pay him any attention. Random frowned, concentrating, reaching out with his altered senses. He could just make out a low, regular thudding, overlapping itself again and again, coming from somewhere up ahead in the tunnel.

"What is it?" he asked quietly. "What's coming?"

"Wolfe tunnel rats," said Specter Alice. "They have devices for detecting movement in nearby tunnels. They're close now. Brace yourselves."

And as suddenly as that, everyone had a weapon of some sort in their hands. Mostly, swords and axes, with the occasional length of spiked chain. Random and Ruby moved automatically to stand together, swords at the ready, leaving Storm to fend for himself. He glared at their unresponsive backs and hefted his own sword uncertainly. The steady thudding grew nearer and nearer. Random's free hand hovered over the disrupter on his belt, but he didn't draw it. He didn't like to think what a ricocheting energy beam would do in these close quarters. He just hoped the Wolfe fighters had had the same thought. The wall to his right cracked apart suddenly, torn from floor to ceiling, and men in armored battle suits lurched out into the tunnel. They moved surprisingly quickly amid the whine of supporting servo-mechanisms and tore into the massed group of rebels with massive axes and long swords that only powered armor could have wielded.

The two sides clashed together, the rebels darting around and among the slower armored men, searching out their blind spots and weak points with flashing swords and axes. There wasn't much room for maneuver in the confined space. Instead, there was an endlessly shifting, boiling mass of bodies packed together, taking a stand just long enough for a solid blow before slipping away again. The slower and the unlucky cried out, and blood spurted in the thick air, and those who fell to be trampled underfoot rarely rose to fight again. Swords and axes bounced harmlessly away from the solid plates of the Wolfe armor, but there were weaker, vulnerable spots at joints and junctures, for those who knew where to look for them. But the armored men could take a dozen hits and press on unharmed, while a blow powered by their servomotors could cut clean through a Reject's body. And there were far more armored men than Rejects.

One by one the rebels fell, pushed farther and farther back down the tunnel. Three armored men were down, dispatched by blows to neck or eyes, but only three out of many. Still the Rejects fought on, determined and far from desperate. Their long adaptation to Technos III's extremes had made them somewhat more than human, and they were much more used to the fighting conditions underground. They swarmed around the armored men, ducking and dodging blows with almost impossible speed, never letting up in their attack. And slowly, step-by-step, their retreat stopped.

Right in the thick of it all, Ruby Journey braced herself and swung her sword with both hands. The blade powered around in a tight arc and sheared clean through a soldier's armored neck. The helmeted head bounced away across the sea of heaving shoulders before finally falling to the floor, the look of astonishment still clear on the bloody face. Random laughed and roared his approval. He brought his sword around in an arc, only to see the blade bounce harmlessly back from a suddenly raised armored arm. The impact jarred the sword right out of his hand, and it fell to disappear in the mess of heaving bodies. The Wolfe mercenary grinned and drew back his sword for a killing thrust. Ruby saw and cried out, but she was too far away to help. Raw fury blazed up inside Random, and he punched his opponent in the chest with all his strength. His bare fist hammered through the battle armor and plunged on into the man's chest. The Wolfe soldier screamed horribly as Random's fist closed around his heart and tore it out. Random held the still beating heart up in his hand, blood running down his arm as he laughed victoriously.

For a moment the battle seemed to stop, everyone frozen where they were, and then it began again, only this time the rebels were forcing the soldiers back. Random and Ruby pressed forward and could not be stopped, and the Rejects took new heart from their example. More of the armored men fell, screaming. Some turned to flee, but there wasn't room in the packed space, and they just got in the way of their fellows. Specter Alice crowed victoriously as she straddled the shoulders of a man in armor, leaning forward over him, her bloody dagger stabbing again and again through the eyeholes of his helmet.

In the end, not one Wolfe soldier got away. Their broken armored bodies littered the floor, stretching away down the tunnel. There were rebel dead, too, but not nearly so many. It seemed there was blood everywhere, running down the walls and pooled on the floor. Random and Ruby grinned at each other, and the Rejects crowded around them to congratulate them and slap them on the back and shoulder. Random scrubbed happily at the blood on his hand and arm with a cloth, and had a nod and a smile for everyone, until his eyes met Storm's. His old friend had broken a little apart from the others. There was blood on his sword and his clothes, but little of it seemed to be his. He was breathing hard, and his sword trembled in his hand. He looked at Random as though he was a stranger. Random moved over to join him, but stopped some way short, held back by the coldness in Storm's eyes.

"Who are you?" said Storm. "The Jack Random I remember couldn't do things like that. Nothing human could."

"I've… been through changes," said Random. "I'm more than I was. But I'm still me."

"No you're not," said Storm. "I don't know who you are anymore."

He turned away and walked off down the tunnel by himself. Random let him go. If only because there was a certain amount of truth in what his old friend had said. He looked up to see Specter Alice staring at him. He shrugged, and she shrugged back and went after Storm. Ruby Journey had meanwhile cleared a space around her with snarls and curses, and was methodically cleaning her sword with what had once been a fine silk handkerchief. Ruby wasn't much for congratulations or camaraderie. She wouldn't feel like talking with him now, either. Random shrugged again. He'd just done what he had to, as he had so many times before.

But he could still feel the heart beating out the last of its life in his hand while he laughed. That wasn't like him. Not like him at all.

He pushed the thought aside as another occurred to him. He couldn't help wondering if the Rejects had deliberately chosen a path that would intercept armored Wolfe tunnel rats, just to see what the legendary Jack Random and his friends were capable of when not part of a Reject army. It was the kind of thing he would have done once. But though he was also impressed with the way the Rejects had handled themselves, ready to risk death just to test him, he was a little disturbed that they hadn't even tried to take any prisoners. There came a time when hatred just got in the way of winning a war. In the end you won more victories by accepting the other side's surrender than by wiping them out to the last man. Or did the hatreds run too deep, here on Technos III?

The Church troops, known collectively as the Faithful, were training together in the great open area between the factory complex and the first trench, and Toby Shreck and Flynn were there to cover it all. Absolutely no one was glad to see them there, but Toby and Flynn were used to that by now. Officially, the soldiers of the Church of Christ the Warrior and the hardened Wolfe mercenaries were supposed to be one integrated fighting force by now, but both sides had centuries of tradition, not to mention white-hot enmity, behind them. Consequently, what had been intended as an orchestrated set piece of hard drill and weapons training was rapidly deteriorating into a complete mess, as the Faithful and the mercs strode to outdo each other in sheer viciousness, if not skill.

Cardinal Kassar was there in his black battle armor, topped with a billowing crimson cape, screaming orders and counterorders till he was purple in what remained of his face. The color clashed with his outfit and warned of future heart problems, but no one felt like getting close enough to tell him. He cursed and yelled at the top of his parade ground voice, trying to force his men to behave through sheer force of personality. But not even the horrible punishments he was threatening were enough to restore order. The mercs were damned if they were going to be shown up by a bunch of pansy hymn singers, and the Church troops were determined to show a bunch of professional thugs what could be achieved by people trained in the one true faith. It was all getting very nasty, and not a little bloody. Both sides got their heads down and got stuck in.

Jesuit commandos were running back and forth between the lines, screaming orders and breaking up fights with impartial venom toward both sides, using whatever force was necessary. They darted here and there, snapping at their charges like incensed sheepdogs, but even they couldn't be everywhere at once. Still, it was clear to practically everyone present that it was only their efforts that were preventing a complete breakdown of authority. Even battle-hardened mercenaries had enough sense to be wary of the Jesuit commandos. They were the elite of the elite, hardened cold-eyed killers said to be second in the Empire only to the Investigators themselves. They fought in battles alongside their men and kept body parts as souvenirs. And not the usual ones, either.

Cardinal Kassar stopped himself shouting with an effort, gritting his teeth to hold the words back. His hands had clenched into fists, and his whole body strained to run forward and lay heavy hands on the disobedient bastards running amok before him. But he couldn't do that. He knew Flynn's camera was covering him as well as his men, and he couldn't afford to be seen losing control. Everything else had gone wrong so far on this mission, but up till now he'd always found someone else to blame it on. A public failure now could undermine the whole purpose of his mission, to restore order on Technos III, and, just as important, do a hell of a lot of damage to his career prospects. So this particular display was going to go right, even if he had to start executing people at random to prove he was serious.

Toby Shreck studied Kassar from a safe distance and smiled contentedly. He knew a man on the edge of apoplexy when he saw one. He also recognized a complete military cock-up when it was coming unraveled right in front of him. He hadn't seen such a complete mess since Valentine Wolfe slipped a little something into a marching band's mid-time tea break, just for a laugh. The tape of that particular event was a popular best-seller for over six months. He glanced quickly at his cameraman.

"Tell me you're getting all this, Flynn. They couldn't be providing us a better show if they'd rehearsed it."

"Relax, chief. Billions of people all across the Empire are watching this live."

Toby grinned at the magic word live. His previous piece had already gone out to first-class ratings, the highest share Imperial News had ever achieved. Some stations were still running it and paying through the nose for the privilege. There had been talk of major awards for Toby and Flynn, and, more importantly, large bonuses. The Wolfes had gone into cardiac arrest when they first saw the piece, especially the Mother Beatrice bits, and screamed for their lawyers, but Stephanie and Daniel had somehow managed to transfer all the blame onto Valentine. They'd promised to make changes, but so far nothing significant had changed on Technos III.

The one really good thing to come out of the uproar was the Wolfes' concession to Imperial News that Toby and Flynn would in the future be permitted to cover all important events live. There was a massive audience in the Empire waiting impatiently to see what Toby and Flynn would come up with next. Which was, of course, their main problem. A good act needs a good encore. Toby for one had not expected anything good to come out of covering a program of drill and weapons training, but he'd had to agree for want of anything else to show. No one else would talk to him now that he was being constantly shadowed by Wolfe security, and his audience was getting impatient.

Now he smiled contentedly as a bunch of the Faithful brought down a bunch of mercenaries and gathered quickly around for a bit of putting the boot in. He should have had more faith in the ability of the Wolfes and Cardinal Kassar to screw up everything they touched. He looked again at Flynn, covering the chaos before him with practiced ease. The camera was currently hovering high above the confusion, with Flynn seeing everything it saw through his comm implant link. It scooted back and forth as Flynn's attention was caught by each new outbreak of violence. For all his faults, and he had many, Flynn was an excellent cameraman. Of course, he'd become unbearably cocky and insufferable since the amazing reception of the first broadcast. Toby was just glad the man hadn't turned up in a black basque and feather boa, like he'd threatened.

"Heads up, chief," said Flynn quietly. "Something wicked this way comes."

Toby looked around and winced inwardly as he saw Kassar striding determinedly toward them. He felt a distinct twinge of unease, but was careful to keep it out of his face. People like Kassar seized on weaknesses. He bowed formally to Kassar and gave him a smile so natural he almost fooled himself.

"Good morning, Cardinal. Isn't it a lovely day? I think the early autumn is the closest Technos III has to civilized weather. Until the razorstorms start, of course. Now, how may we assist you?"

"You can start by turning that damned camera off until we've got things under control."

"Sorry, Cardinal," said Toby pleasantly, "your superiors' orders were quite specific. They wanted us to cover everything that happens here today."

Kassar snorted, but had enough sense to say nothing. He'd seen the orders. The Church had felt the need for a propaganda piece to back up its ongoing negotiations for increased influence at Court, and Toby and Flynn and the Technos III Faithful had seemed the safest bet for good ratings. They'd also hoped that a well-viewed piece showing the great skills and discipline of the Church troops might go some way to restoring the damage done by Toby and Flynn's previous piece. Kassar could have told them… but as usual, no one had asked him. His fists were clenched so tight he could feel the nails driving into his palms, but he made himself smile frostily at the two newsmen.

"Of course. Make sure you get some good footage. But I want to see every inch of your tape before it gets broadcast. The Church has very kindly supplied me with new equipment, specifically designed to detect such things as palimpsests. Or anything else you might try to sneak past me."

Confident that this time at least he'd got the last word, Kassar turned and stalked back to his milling troops, clearing his aching throat. This time, they were going to listen. Or else. Lots of all else. Flynn watched him go.

"Do you think we should have reminded him this is going out live?"

"Not our fault if he doesn't read his own orders carefully," said Toby briskly. "I can't believe they made that idiot a Cardinal."

"Family connections," said Flynn.

"Isn't it always?" said Toby. "The man's a bully and a blowhard. Do even his own men like him?"

"Are you kidding? It's only the Jesuit commandos that have kept his men from slipping a fragmentation grenade into his toilet bowl. And even the Jesuits are getting pretty fed up with him. Still, he has his admirers in the hierarchy. After all, utter ruthlessness is what gets you on in the Church of Christ the Warrior."

"Good point. Does Kassar ever go into battle alongside his troops, or is he strictly a rear echelon sheep-botherer?"

"Give the man his due, he does like to be in the thick of things. I don't believe he's missed a single battle since he got here. Offer him a chance to kill as many people as he can get his hands on and he's as happy as a clam." Flynn paused, and looked thoughtful. "Which is a strange expression, when you think about it. Are clams renowned for being particularly happy?"

"Don't change the subject."

"What was the subject?"

"I forget," said Toby. "Just keep filming. Things seem finally to be calming down, unfortunately. Maybe he threatened them all with mass crucifixions."

"Wouldn't surprise me. I just hope he gives me time to set up some proper lighting first."

Toby sighed. "There goes our chance of hanging onto our ratings. He'll get it all under control, everyone will obey orders and play nicely together, and our viewers will change channels in droves. There's no justice."

And that was when everything went to hell in a hurry. Explosions went off all around the drill area, blasting open the jagged metal plain. The noise was deafening, and black smoke billowed up, throwing everything into confusion. More explosions roared on all sides. Shrapnel flew in the air, and Church troops and Wolfe mercs alike abandoned their discipline to run for cover. The black smoke filled the sky, blocking out the sun, so that an artificial twilight fell across the scene. There were fires blazing all over, and no one could make themselves heard.

New openings had appeared in the metal plain, and rebels came boiling up out of the new tunnels they'd dug underneath. They fired energy guns they weren't supposed to have and lobbed grenades in all directions. The mercenaries and the Faithful tried to pull themselves together, but they were scattered and confused, and the rebels tore right through them. Steel flashed, and blood flew in the air and pooled on the jagged metal ground. Toby Shreck watched it all with his jaw somewhere down between his knees.

"Holy shit. Holy shit! Flynn, tell me you're getting this!"

"I'm getting it! I'm getting it! The light's lousy and there's smoke everywhere, but I'm getting it!"

The Empire forces retreated in an utter rout, fighting here and there in small clumps, but mostly just running for their lives with their heads well down. Explosions were still going off, and there seemed no end to the army of rebels pouring up out of the hidden tunnels. Jesuit commandos were screaming at their men to stand and fight, but their words were lost in the chaos. Some rebels threw themselves at the Jesuits, and they reluctantly retreated, holding off the greater numbers with stunning swordplay. Kassar spun this way and that in the middle of everything, completely thrown, unable to think what to do for the best. The rebels streamed past him, pursuing the fleeing Faithful and mercenaries. Some had finally pulled themselves together and stopped to stand and fight, and the metal plain was quickly dotted with dueling figures. And that was when Toby Shreck recognized a familiar face. He grabbed Flynn by the shoulder and pointed urgently.

"There! Three o'clock! Do you know who that is? It's only Jack bloody Random, the professional rebel himself! No one's seen him in action since the fiasco on Cold Rock. I didn't know he was on Technos III. Did you know he was on Technos III? Oh, who cares! Just keep filming. Jack Random's comeback, and we're covering it live! People have been awarded their own holo network chat shows for less!"

"If that is Jack Random, he's looking very good for his age," said Flynn, concentrating on his camera's movements. "Vicious, too. He's cutting through that batch of mercs like old man Death himself. Who's that with him?"

"Don't know the old man," said Toby, flinching reflexively as another explosion went off. "The woman's wearing a bounty hunter's leathers, but I don't know the face. We can run a trace later. You stick with Random. He's the story here."

He jumped back with a shriek, as a rebel appeared out of nowhere right in front of him. His eyes were dark, and blood dripped from his sword. Flynn yelled and called his camera back to hover protectively between him and the rebel. Toby realized there were just as many rebels running behind him as in front and froze where he was. Flynn stood his ground. The rebel looked at Toby and Flynn, smiled, winked into the camera, and then disappeared back into the chaos. Apparently, even rebels understood the need for good publicity. Toby began to get his breathing back under control and was very glad he'd decided to wear brown trousers that morning.

Someone blew a whistle. Others took it up, and suddenly the rebels were breaking away from fights and pursuits and turned to fall back, disappearing down into the tunnels under the metal plain. They were all gone in a matter of a few minutes, blowing preprepared charges to seal off the holes to their tunnels, leaving the Faithful, the mercenaries, the Jesuit commandos and Cardinal Kassar standing in a daze, looking around and trying to figure out what the hell had just hit them. Smoke drifted in the air, and flames burned here and there from bodies hit by energy guns. There were dead everywhere. Hardly any rebels. They'd taken most of their wounded and dead with them. It all seemed very quiet. Kassar looked over at Flynn, still filming, and lurched toward him, his eyes wild.

"You! Stop filming! And give me that tape! Now!"

"Sorry, Cardinal," said Toby Shreck, somehow keeping an ecstatic grin off his face. "I'm afraid this has all been going out live, as your superiors insisted. Do you have any comment you'd care to make at this time?"

Kassar raised his disrupter and blew the hovering camera out of midair. Flynn glared at him.

"You'll be hearing from my Union about that."

Random, Ruby, and Storm laughed breathlessly together as they ran with the Rejects, plunging down narrow tunnels and away from the pursuing Wolfe forces. The assault had gone exactly as planned, with minimum casualties on their side and maximum death and embarrassment to the Wolfes and the Church. A clone working in the factory complex had provided them with the exact timing necessary to be sure of camera coverage. Now the Rejects ran back through the new tunnels and on into older, established parts, keeping up a good pace for all their tiredness. The explosive-sealed openings wouldn't hold the Wolfe troops back for long. They weren't supposed to. The battle wasn't over yet. Down below, in the darkness and familiar confines of the rebel underworld, the Rejects would teach a final, deadly lesson to their enemies.

The tunnels sloped steeply downward for some time, and then opened up suddenly into a vast cavern. Random lurched to a halt, as the path before him split apart to form a number of even narrower trails leading down and along the sides of the cavern. The vast open space was dizzyingly huge, as though someone had hollowed out the inside of a mountain. The ceiling was hundreds of feet above, and the cavern floor seemed as far below. Random stood very still, staring about him, as rebels jostled to get past him, running confidently down along the narrow trails. The walls were mostly smooth, polished by who knew how many centuries of running water and other abrasives. There were bright streaks of metallic blues and greens and golds, harsh traceries of long forgotten industries. Light from the rebels' lanterns glistened brightly on metal stalactites and stalagmites, hanging ponderously from the ceiling or jutting up from the curling yellow mists that hid the cavern floor. Ruby and Storm were at Random's side, quietly urging him forward, but he couldn't move. It was as though he'd stumbled into a giant cathedral, the vast hidden soul of Technos III. He couldn't seem to get his breath. He felt like a fly crawling over a stained-glass window in some old, abandoned monastery.

He finally allowed himself to be persuaded on, following Specter Alice down a long series of steps into the misty depths below. All around him the Rejects were scattering into prearranged hiding places and ambush positions. Random slowly realized that to them, this awesome place was nothing special. They didn't see the glory and the spectacle of such a natural wonder. They had no time for that. They saw it only as a good place to launch an ambush, as just another killing ground in their never-ending war. Specter Alice led Random, Ruby, and Storm into a concealed depression in the cavern wall, giving a good view of the single entrance above. She made sure Storm was settled comfortably beside her, drew her disrupter, and then settled himself down to wait. The energy gun seemed very large in her small bony hand. Thin wisps of yellow smoke drifted up from the floor below, smelling of brimstone. The Rejects had melted into their hiding places like so many silent shadows, and now they waited patiently with gun in hand for their enemy to come to them. The great cavern was still and quiet.

Random edged over so he could put his mouth next to Specter Alice's ear. "How long has this place been here?"

"Who knows? It's been here longer than us, that's for sure."

"It's wonderful."

"Damn right. Perfect place for an ambush. We can control everything that happens down here. The Wolfes' troops don't even know what they're walking into. Poor bastards. There will be blood and suffering, and the slaughter of our enemy. Now, shut up. They'll be here soon. You can play tourist later when we've killed them all."

The sound of approaching running feet came from above, and Random crouched down, gun in hand. It wouldn't be the first time he'd turned a place of beauty and wonder into a battleground. He'd seen many wonders and marvels in his day, on many planets, and left them littered with the dead and the dying. For all his noble cause, he sometimes thought that the only real legacy he'd leave behind him was a bloody trail of death and destruction. And then the Wolfe and Church troops came pouring out into the cavern, led by the three Investigators, Barr, Edge, and Shoal, and there was no time left for introspection or regret. This was the killing time, the dance of the quick and the dead, and all in the name of the noble cause of rebellion.

The great cavern blazed with light as both sides opened up with energy weapons. The brilliant beams spat in a hundred directions, crisscrossing, ricocheting from the solid metal walls. There were screams and war cries and desperate orders as the Faithful and the Wolfe mercenaries scurried for cover. Rage and the need for revenge had brought them this far, running recklessly through the dark in pursuit of a mocking enemy, but the deadly energy beams brought them to a sudden halt, as though they'd slammed into a wall. Men fell dead and dying, sometimes screaming, sometimes not, and bodies littered the narrow paths, burning quietly. The survivors found hiding places from which to return fire, until the cavern finally fell silent as the energy weapons were exhausted. There was a pause, interrupted only by the moans of the wounded and the dying echoes. Then both sides drew their swords, emerged from their hiding places, and went out onto the misty cavern floor to meet each other.

The Rejects and their enemies slammed together, steel against steel, hand to hand. No quarter asked or given. This was a blood feud for the Faithful and the mercenaries now. For the Rejects, it always had been. The two sides pressed endlessly forward, breasting the yellow mist like a tide, with no place for caution or second thoughts. Swords clashed and blood flew, and the great floor of the chamber became a mass of struggling figures.

Random and Ruby fought back-to-back, as always, unbeatable and unstoppable. Storm fought doggedly behind them, swinging his sword with the studied deliberate skill of many years' experience. Enemies swirled around the three of them, but could not bring them down. Ruby Journey killed and killed and laughed aloud, in her element at last. Random fought with a cold, focused precision, concerned only with ending the fighting as soon as possible. He fought for his cause and took no pleasure in the killing. He burned that out of him long ago. Storm struggled on, already gasping for breath, his sword seeming to grow heavier with every blow and parry. After all, he was only human.

Finally, almost inevitably, the three most famous fighters of the rebellion found themselves facing off with the three greatest fighters of the Empire forces, the Investigators Barr, Edge, and Shoal. The milling crowd seemed almost to part to bring them together, as though they were the microcosm by which the greater struggle would be decided. Edge faced off against Ruby, Barr against Random, Shoal against Storm. They paused with something like mutual respect and then threw themselves at each other. Blades crashed and sprang apart, and then the greater crush of fighting bodies slowly separated the three couples and carried them away from each other.

Random put his back against a metal stalactite and held his ground as Edge hammered at him with his sword. Random dodged the blows he could and parried those he couldn't, content to let the Investigator tire himself out. Except that Edge didn't get tired. Instead, the Investigator's strength seemed to grow with every blow as his fury grew with every failed attack. His mouth was stretched in a mirthless smile, and his eyes were dark and wild. Random ducked deep to avoid a double-handed swing, and Edge's blade sheared clean through the tip of the metal stalactite behind him. It came to Random that fighting defensively against an Investigator was a good way to get yourself killed. Maze-improved or not.

He boosted, feeling the blood hammer through his veins and thunder in his head, and launched himself at Edge. He fell back a step, startled, and then held his ground and would not be moved, for all of Random's boosted strength and speed. He was, after all, an Investigator, and even an aging Investigator was a match for most things the universe could send against him. That was his job. But Random had been through the Madness Maze, and he wasn't like most things in the universe anymore. He smiled, very sanely, into Edge's crazy grin, and let his guard drop just a little. Edge's sword flew forward instantly, to take advantage of the opening. And Random's free hand came up impossibly quickly, slapping the blade to one side. For an endless moment they stood together, Edge wide open and knowing it, and then Random's sword slammed into Edge's chest and punched out his back. Edge let out a small bark of pain, Wood spraying from his grimacing mouth, and then he sank to his knees as the strength went out of him. Random pulled his sword free, and Edge collapsed onto his face, as though only the sword had been holding him up. Random decapitated him anyway, just in case. Edge was an Investigator, after all.

Ruby boosted the moment she realized her opponent was an Investigator. Barr might be the oldest of the three, but he was still far more dangerous than most men could ever be. So she dared him into a corps a corps, faces close together over crossed blades, and then she spat in his left eye. And in that split second while he was distracted, she pulled a knife from her belt and stuck it between his ribs. She felt blood gush out over her hand before he pushed himself back and away from her. She launched a furious attack, with all her boosted strength and speed behind it, and he backed away, step-by-step. Blood poured down his side with every movement, but still he wouldn't give in to the dreadful wound in his side, parrying her every blow, his face calm and unmoved. In the end Ruby had to use all her strength to beat aside his blade and all her speed to bring the edge of her sword flashing back across his exposed throat.

Blood spurted, splashing her face. She stepped back, wiping it off her forehead so it wouldn't run down into her eyes. She smiled as she saw her cut had sliced half through his neck, and then the smile faded as she realized Barr was still standing. He was an Investigator, and he was damned if he'd go down into the dark without taking his enemy with him. He threw himself at her, his sword swinging around in an unstoppable arc. Ruby dropped to one knee and ducked under it. Her head jerked slightly as Barr's blade cut off a chunk of her hair. She thrust her sword deep into Barr's belly. He grunted once and backed away, pulling himself off the transfixing blade. Ruby let go of her sword and surged up off her knee. She grabbed Barr's head between both her hands, forced him over backward, and slammed the back of his head down onto the jagged tip of a metal stalactite. It slammed through his head and the point burst up out of his right eye. Barr convulsed and then was finally still, the breath going out of him in a long frustrated sigh. Ruby retrieved her sword, breathing hard, and then looked Barr over carefully from a safe distance, just in case. He had been an Investigator, after all. Satisfied that he really was dead at last, Ruby leaned over and kissed him on the bloody lips, then straightened up and looked around to see how Random was doing.

The battle was pretty much over. The rebels had had the advantages of position and surprise, and a familiarity with the killing ground. For all their experience and their fury, the Faithful and the Wolfe mercenaries never stood a chance. Most were dead. The few survivors had formed a defiant group around the one surviving Investigator, Shoal. Ruby moved to stand beside Random facing her. Neither of them mentioned Storm. Shoal looked from one to the other, her sword dripping blood, and then she grinned quickly, turned, and darted up an unguarded path and out of the cavern. The others scrambled after her, and the Rejects let them go. Someone had to tell the Wolfes of the great rebel victory.

The battle was over. The Rejects moved among the wounded, dispassionately finishing off the enemy and doing what they could for their own kind. They had no place for prisoners in the underground, and the long journey to the Sisters of Mercy would kill them anyway. Random and Ruby put away their swords and went to look for Alexander Storm, a swordsman long past his best last seen facing off against Investigator Shoal. They moved among the bodies, occasionally turning them over to study the blood-flecked faces, but he wasn't there. They eventually found him hiding in a concealed hollow, well away from the main action. He wasn't hurt. He looked up at them, and in his face there was only anger and resentment.

"I ran," he said defiantly. "So would any sane man, faced with an Investigator. I'm not inhumanly fast and strong, like you. I was no match for her, and we both knew it. So I turned and ran, and she let me go. She had more important things to do. After all, how dangerous could one old fool be?"

"You were doing fine until she came along," said Random. "You were fighting just like you used to."

"I was tired and hurting, and I couldn't get my breath. I can't fight like I used to anymore. I'm an old man past his prime. Just like you used to be. Only you're not, anymore. Are you?"

"Alex…"

"I saw you fighting. No one's that fast or that strong. Not even the Jack Random of legend. I don't recognize you anymore, Jack. What are you? A Fury? A Hadenman? An alien? Because I don't think you're human anymore."

"I'm your friend," said Random. "Just as I always have been."

"No you're not. You're looking younger all the time. No one can stand against you, not even Investigators. Whatever you are now, you have nothing in common with the likes of me anymore. Maybe you did die when the Empire had you, after all. Or at least the Jack Random I used to know."

He pushed past them and walked away. Random started after him. "Alex, please… I need you."

Ruby stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Let him go. He's right. We're not the people we used to be. We're better. And you don't need him. You've got me."

Random looked at the bloody mask of her face for a long moment. "Yes," he said finally. "I've got you."

Mother Beatrice of the Sisters of Mercy held the flap of the hospital tent open so that the stretcher-bearers could bring in more wounded. There were many gravely injured after the unexpected rebel attack, and already the tent was full to overflowing. There was already no room left for cot beds. Beatrice had had them thrown out, to pack more wounded in. Now they lay shoulder to shoulder on bloody sheets, screaming and moaning and whimpering and waiting to die. The stench of blood and vomit and naked guts was almost overpowering, despite all the disinfectant the Sisters were splashing around. Beatrice knew she'd get used to it after a while, but that didn't help her now. The smell made her head spin, and she clutched at the tent flap for support. Or maybe it was just the hopelessness of it all. Beatrice and her people were doing all they could, knowing as they did that most of the time it wasn't going to be enough. After Toby's broadcast, drugs and plasma and medical supplies had come flooding in from the Sisterhood and other charities, as well as the reluctant Wolfes, but no more doctors or nurses. Technos III wasn't that important, and they were needed elsewhere. No one had foreseen a bloodbath like this. She'd never seen so many casualties from one battle. Normally, they just died. Her new resources meant Beatrice could keep more of the wounded alive, but that meant a greater strain on her still limited space and supplies. Damn the rebels. Damn the Wolfes. And damn her for coming here because she thought she could make a difference.

Beatrice wiped at her sweaty forehead with the back of her hand, not knowing she left a crimson smear behind from her bloodstained hand. When she thought of what she could do with a real med lab and real equipment, it made her feel sick and useless, so mostly she tried not to think about it and got on with what she could do. She pushed her tiredness aside and went back into the tent. Back into hell. She made her way slowly down the length of the tent, stepping over bodies and patients, helping the doctors and the nurses where she could. Even if it only meant holding a patient's hand or placing a cool hand on a fevered brow. Sometimes she had to help hold a man down while the doctors operated. They were saving the anesthetics for those who wouldn't survive the shock of extended surgery. For quick in-and-out jobs they usually just gave the poor bastard something to bite on. To muffle the screams as much as anything.

She moved on, doing what she could, praying silently to her God for strength. The bodies were being carried away almost as soon as they stopped breathing. Partly because they needed the space for the living, but mostly because the Wolfes were storing the bodies for future use as organ donors. They'd paid for the mercenaries' services, so they owned the bodies. And far be it for the Wolfes to overlook a source of profit. Of course, none of the wounded here would benefit. Transplants were for officer class only.

Beatrice gritted her teeth to keep from swearing. Or crying. It was important that she didn't appear upset or worried. She had to look calm and confident, as though everything was under control. The patients needed to believe that. The poor bloody bastards.

She moved on, her shoes squelching in pools of blood and other fluids. The stench from open gut wounds and those who'd fouled themselves in dying was almost overpowering. And then she stopped, as it seemed to her she recognized a face. She knelt down beside the twitching, delirious man and frowned thoughtfully. Half of his left arm was missing, severed above the elbow. He'd taken other sword hits, too. Beatrice bit her lip. Of course she knew the face. She'd seen it often enough in the factory complex. This wasn't a Church soldier or a mercenary. This was a clone. And since the Empire didn't allow clones to use weapons, this had to be an escaped clone. Presumably, a rebel from the recent assault. She shrugged and got to her feet. She was a Sister of Mercy, and all were welcome here. And to hell with what the Wolfes said. She beckoned to the nearest nurse.

"This one's a rebel," she said quietly. "Do we have any more?"

"Thirty-two so far. You did say…"

"Yes, I did. Keep their faces covered. With bandages if you have to. What the Wolfes don't know won't hurt them, and we don't need the complications. Any news on more supplies?"

"Most of it's still held up in orbit. Since the attack, the Wolfes are only allowing essential craft-landing permission. Security, they say."

"Bastards. I'll contact the Sisterhood again when I get a chance. See if they can put some pressure on."

"What do we do with the rebels once they're well enough to be moved? Can't just leave them here; we need the space. But what's the point in healing them if we just have to hand them over to Wolfe security afterward?"

"Don't worry about it. The rebels will spirit them away as soon as they can safely be moved. They always do." Beatrice looked back over her shoulder as raised voices came from the entrance to the tent. She saw who it was and scowled. "Here comes trouble. Get those faces covered. Now."

The nurse nodded quickly and turned away. Beatrice made her way back to the entrance as quickly as she could and blocked it with her body. She nodded for the flustered nurse to leave it to her, and the nurse nodded gratefully and left her to it. Beatrice smiled icily at the newcomer.

"Cardinal Kassar, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company at this extremely busy time?"

"You've got rebel wounded in here," said Kassar flatly. "I've had reports. I want them handed over to my people for questioning. Now. They shouldn't be here anyway. I've got more hurt men coming in."

"Something else gone wrong?"

"None of your business."

"You're the one filling my tent with wounded. That makes it my business. And as a Sister of Mercy, I'll treat anyone who needs my help. That's my job."

Kassar smiled coldly. "Screw your job. Either you turn those rebel scum over to me now, or I'll have my men come in and drag them out."

Beatrice nodded calmly. "Always knew you were a bit of a bastard, James. But don't let your anger over losing a battle push you into doing something you'll regret. The Sisterhood still has a lot of pull with the Church back on Golgotha. And right now I'm the Sisterhood's favorite daughter. I'm doing great things for their image. You mess with me, and my superiors will have your superiors come down on you like a ton of bricks in a wind shaft."

"We're a long way from Golgotha, Beatrice. By the time you can get word out, it'll all be over. Your precious rebels have information I need, and I'm going to squeeze it out of them, drop by drop. They'll suffer as my men have suffered. And there's not a damned thing you can do to stop me."

"Wrong," said Beatrice. "Look down, Cardinal."

They both looked down, and there was Beatrice's hand, holding a scalpel pressed lightly against Kassar's groin. They both stood very still.

"You wouldn't dare," said Kassar.

"Try me," said Beatrice. "Like you said, we're a long way from Golgotha. Accidents happen. You don't give a damn about your men being hurt. You're just desperate to salvage some small success from this unholy mess, so your precious career doesn't go down the toilet. Well, this is my territory, James, and we do things my way here. You try and walk over me, and I swear I'll geld you, right here and now."

Kassar looked into her steady eyes and believed her.

"I'll be back. With armed men."

"No you won't. I've got a hidden camera recording this. You really want your men to see you backed down by a mere Sister of Mercy? That would really kill your promotion chances. Now, get out of here. I'm sick of looking at you."

Kassar nodded jerkily and stepped carefully backward. "I won't forget this, bitch."

"That's the idea. Now, piss off. I have work to do."

Kassar turned and strode away, his stiff back radiating helpless rage. God help the first person he ran into back at the complex. Beatrice watched him go, hefting the scalpel thoughtfully. There wasn't actually any hidden camera, but Kassar wouldn't believe that. It was the sort of thing he'd do, after all. She'd do well to keep a watchful eye on the Cardinal after this. He was a spiteful man, and he never forgot an insult. Beatrice couldn't find it in herself to care. She had more important things to concern her. She turned around as one of the doctors called her name urgently and trudged back through the blood and death to see what she could do to help.

Cardinal James Kassar was still fuming when he joined Half A Man in his quarters for their prearranged meeting. He'd fix the bitch. Though maybe not personally. And not until he'd got the tape. Wouldn't do for anyone else to find out how she'd humiliated him. He nodded curtly to Half A Man, who was standing at parade rest beside a bed Kassar suspected he never used anyway. It was hard to think of Half A Man doing something as human and vulnerable as sleeping. The spitting energy field that made up the right half of the man's body was openly disturbing when seen up close. It seemed to be no color and every color all at once, and if you looked at it too long it swallowed up your gaze till you were lost in it. Kassar kept his gaze fixed on what was left of Half A Man's face. Though even that didn't seem very human anymore.

"Let's get to the point," Kassar said harshly. "I need to debrief what's left of my men after today's debacle. You have instructions from my superiors on how to deal with the Wolfes?"

"Very simple instructions," said Half A Man. When he opened his mouth to speak, Kassar could see energy seething within it. He made himself concentrate on what Half A Man was saying. "You're to plant explosives I've brought with me in certain delicate parts of the factory. I have a map that will show you the exact positions. The explosions will do just enough damage to slow down stardrive production, without actually putting it in jeopardy. The purpose is to make the Wolfes look incompetent. The Church will then be in a strong position to take over control of stardrive production in the best interests of the Empire. Apparently, your superiors feel the need for rather more influence at Court."

Kassar nodded. "Easy enough to arrange. I know just the man for the job. Very discreet and, if need be, completely expendable. You supply the map and the explosives, and I'll take care of the details. No one will notice anything until the bombs go off." He stopped and studied Half A Man thoughtfully for a moment. "You've never struck me as particularly religious before. Why risk your much-vaunted impartiality to smuggle in explosives for the Church? What are you getting out of this?"

"Something I want very badly. Nothing you need to know about."

"Well, I want something, too," said Kassar. "Mother Superior Beatrice of the Sisters of Mercy. She's running a field hospital here. I want her killed. Horribly. You arrange that for me, and I'll keep quiet about what I know."

"I could kill you right now," said Half A Man.

"You can't make this work without me," said Kassar evenly. "You don't have the contacts. Only my men have unsupervised access to the kinds of places the bombs will have to go. Anyone else, and the Wolfes' security people will start asking awkward questions. You need me."

"The quality of people entering the Church has gone right down the drain in recent years," said Half A Man. "Very well. I'm empowered to be… flexible, to get the job done. I'll see that Beatrice meets an unpleasant end."

"I'll tell you when," said Kassar. "I need to check if a certain tape exists first."

"Very well. But Kassar… don't ever try to pressure me again. I have a very short and unpleasant way with people who annoy me. You'll find the map on my writing table, along with instructions on where to find the explosives. They're to be timed to go off during the Wolfes' ceremony to celebrate stardrive production finally going on-line. Shreck and his fellow news reptiles will be there to capture it all for posterity."

"Good," said Kassar. "I've got a little surprise of my own planned for Toby Shreck. He won't just be recording the news; he's going to be part of it."

Daniel and Stephanie Wolfe were arguing again, though at least they had the sense to do it somewhere private for once. Stephanie paced back and forth in the private Family reception hall, throwing words like knives at her brother, who stood sulking by the built-in bar, glaring down into his drink. Michel and Lily stood together a respectful distance away, large drinks in their hands, being ignored by their spouses, as usual. The hall had belonged to the Campbells first, and their crest still showed faintly on one wall where it had been imperfectly removed before the Wolfe crest had been superimposed over it. Despite the hostile takeover by the Wolfes, the factory complex still had a strong Campbell presence. Wolfe security men were still turning up hidden booby traps in the function rooms and logic bombs in the computers. All food and drink had to be shipped in from offworld. All of which helped to explain why Stephanie was in a particularly foul mood before things started going wrong.

She stopped for breath for a moment, and there was an ominous silence in the hall. Daniel had a lot of things he felt like saying, but knew better than to try and interrupt his sister while she was in full rant. Besides, what he felt like saying really needed to be shouted for full effect, and he didn't trust the room's soundproofing. There were bound to be a few Campbell loyalists still hidden in the complex personnel, not to mention spies from the Church. And it wouldn't do for he and his sister to be overheard plotting treason against their own Family. Not even by the handpicked men they had standing guard outside the only door. Guards were necessary, even inside the complex, to protect against rebel sympathizers and infiltrators. And to make sure the Cardinal and his people kept their distance. Kassar's hatred for Wolfes in general and Valentine in particular was well-known, and there was no sense in putting temptation in his hands. It was open knowledge that the Church of Christ the Warrior felt it ought to be in charge of stardrive production.

As usual, the Empress was sitting back and letting things sort themselves out.

"I still think we shouldn't be discussing this in front of them." Daniel said finally, gesturing with his drink at Michel and Lily.

"They won't talk," said Stephanie dismissively. "What's good for us is good for them, and they know it. And it's important they know what we're planning, so they won't say or do the wrong thing through ignorance. Besides, they know what would happen to them if they talked, don't you, darlings? Of course you do. Now, pay attention, Daniel. We have to go through with this. That rebel attack during a live holotransmission made us look very bad. Us, as well as Valentine. It's a dangerous setback to our plans, and we're running out of time. We have to come up with something that will make us look good and Valentine appear utterly incompetent, before stardrive production actually starts. Once it's up and running, Valentine will be the Empress's favorite blue-eyed boy, and it will take a miracle to dislodge him."

"Agreed," said Daniel. "But I still don't want us discussing this in front of witnesses. I can trust you not to speak whatever the pressures, but I can't say the same about our dear spouses. We might be married to them, but that doesn't make them Family."

"Oh, all right. We'll discuss this further in my private quarters. Michel, Lily, stay here till we send for you. You don't need to know the details anyway. Just do as you're told. And try not to drain the bar dry, for a change."

She swept out the hall majestically, with Daniel following, as always. Michel and Lily waited until the door had closed firmly behind their respective spouses, and then they threw themselves into each other's arms. Their mouths met hungrily, bodies pressing together, clutching at each other like someone drowning and going under for the third time. The occasions when they could be together had been few and far between on Technos III, but that only fanned the flames of their passion. Perhaps because it underlined that the only people they could depend on were each other. They finally broke apart a little, still in each other's arms, breathing heavily into each other's mouths, eyes locked on eyes.

"We have to do it," said Lily, her voice harsh with need and urgency. "It's our only chance to be free of them and have our own life, together. I've got a guard eating out of my hand. He can get us explosives from the armory. Afterward, we can kill him in a way that will point at rebel infiltrators. Then all we have to do is plant the bomb in just the right place, to go off at just the right time, and that will be the end of dear Daniel and dear Stephanie. May they rot and burn in hell.

"No one will suspect us; there are far too many other more obvious enemies, from the rebels to the dear Cardinal himself. We'll be ever so regretful, of course, but we'll be the only ones in a position to take over here. Valentine won't want to come all the way out here, away from those noxious substances he thrives on, just to run a factory, and we're the only Family he can trust. Once we've shown him we can handle things, he'll leave us alone and turn his attentions elsewhere. We'll be able to marry at last. He won't object, not once we point out it's the only way of keeping the factory wholly in the Family."

"Don't you feel any guilt?" said Michel. He suddenly pushed her away from him, and she stumbled back a step, caught off balance. She looked very slight and vulnerable on her own, with her huge dark eyes, dark as the night. Michel made himself concentrate on what he was saying. "We are married to them, after all. They made us Wolfes. Aristocrats. I was an accountant, and you were a librarian and minor authority on tarot readings. If I hadn't met you, I would have been more than happy to be a Wolfe's husband and live an aristocrat's luxurious life."

"But we did meet," said Lily, moving in close again so that her breath was sweet in his mouth. "And you loved me as I loved you, more than being an aristo, more than life itself. If we can't be together, I don't care about anything else. Guilt? What has that got to do with us? Daniel never tried to be a husband to me. Never loved me, never liked me, never spent a moment in my company that he didn't have to. Was Stephanie ever any different? Did she ever give a damn about you, except as a fashionable accessory, something big and muscular to be flashed at Court? Jacob Wolfe only arranged our marriages because we brought necessary small businesses into the Family that he didn't want going to anyone else. Our families sold him the businesses along with us because of the dowries he offered. No one asked us. No one ever asks us."

Michel nodded slowly and took her in his arms again. She nestled contentedly against him, and they stood together for a while.

"Well?" said Lily finally. "Will you do it? Will you help me set the bomb?"

"Of course I will. I never could say no to you. But Lily… let's not have any false illusions between us. Even if we do kill Daniel and Stephanie and get away with it, our love isn't going anywhere. People like us don't have happy endings. Valentine and Constance will wage open war to see which of them will take control of the factory, and we'll just be in the way. They won't let us marry. Rather than let us emerge as a joined power base, they'll most likely separate us and send us to different ends of the Empire. They'll destroy our love casually, offhandedly, just because they can."

"It doesn't have to be that way," said Lily without raising her head. "We're small fry, Michel. Constance and Valentine will be so busy fighting each other they won't even notice us until it's too late. Even the smallest of snakes that crawls unnoticed through the grass can have a deadly poison in its fangs. We'll bring them down, my love. Destroy them all for not loving us."

"Dream on, dream child," said Michel. "Maybe it'll work out that way, maybe it won't. It doesn't matter. I'd rather be damned with you than live without you."

At about the same time as various Wolfes were plotting various treasons, a regular propaganda broadcast from Technos III being reluctantly hosted by Toby the Troubador was suddenly interrupted by a burst of static. Viewers caught a brief glimpse of Toby looking off camera and saying What the bloody hell… and then he disappeared into static, which in turn was replaced by a new face that filled the screen. He looked to be in his early forties, darkly handsome, hard-used but still charismatic. His eyes were steady and his smile was compassionate. When he spoke, people listened.

"Good evening, my friends. My name is Jack Random. Some of you may have heard of me. It's all true. I am presently assisting rebel forces on the Wolfe-owned world of Technos III to win their freedom and their dignity. It was their world once, but long ago it was taken from them by those with more power and influence at Court. An old story, nothing to write home about. But Technos III is the present home of the factory producing Lionstone's new stardrive. You've heard a lot about this new drive and the many benefits it will bring you. What they haven't told you is that the new drive is being produced by slave labor in life-destroying conditions."

The scene changed to show long lines of people working in a vast low-ceilinged chamber. The illumination was painfully bright, and strange colors tinted the air from no obvious source. The air rippled sometimes, and things that had seemed near were suddenly far away, and vice versa. The scene was unsteady, suggesting it had been recorded on a hidden, smuggled-in camera. Men, women, and children worked together, crawling in and around great metal and crystal structures. They were slowly, laboriously building something piece by piece with handheld tools and instruments. Many of those working had warped bones and bodies. Some were missing fingers. Some had no jaws or eyes, as though something had eaten them away. The scene continued in silence for a while, to let it sink in, and then Jack Random's voice began again.

"Whole Families work here, building the stardrives, doing work too delicate and too important to be trusted to machines. Automated machinery can't handle the necessary working conditions. They go crazy and malfunction. Same with computers. Only people are adaptable enough. The poorly understood forces that move inside even partially completed drives are horribly destructive to human tissues. The Families you see work in these conditions fourteen hours a day, seven days a week. When they're too weak or too disfigured to work, they're taken away and disposed of. There are always replacements. Because the people you're looking at are clones. And no one gives a damn what happens to clones. But I give a damn. And so do the rebels of Technos III."

The scene changed again, to a long panning shot of rebels lining a trench in the rain. There were men, women, and children, all of them armed and ready to fight. Their faces looked tired but determined. Random's voice-over continued. "There are no noncombatants in the rebellion, because the Empire would kill them all anyway for daring to have opinions of their own. For daring to protest over the theft and devastation of their world. They're fighting for their lives and their future, and their work shifts never end. I'm fighting beside them now. Just as someday I may fight beside you, for your life and your future. Because the Empire doesn't care who it destroys in its endless search for wealth and power and self-gratification."

Jack Random's face filled the holoscreen again. Ill used, but still compassionate. Strong, dependable, determined. The man with scars in his eyes. "Tonight, my friends, we bring you the truth for once in your lives. What is happening here on Technos III could happen to any one of you. If some aristo wants your planet he can take it, and no one will stop him. If he then decides to work you all to death, no one will raise a voice in protest, as long as the profits remain steady. The Empress is gathering more and more power to herself, demanding more and more from her subjects, all in the name of an alien invasion that may never come. Parliament can't stop her. It's grown lazy and corrupt, like the aristocracy. Whatever you own, they can take from you. Whatever you believe in, they can destroy. And they will if they're not stopped.

"I'm not asking you to run out and join the rebellion. Not yet. Just remember what you've seen and heard here today, and think about it. Disregard the lies the Empire tells you about the kind of people who join the rebellion. We're just like you, except that we've dedicated ourselves to a simple truth. That all men, human or clone or esper, are created equal and should have an equal say in their destiny. You can help us. If you wish to…"

And that was when holoscreens all across the Empire suddenly went blank. Static buzzed importantly to itself for a while, and then local channels rushed to take over, hurriedly filling the air with comforting Muzak and game shows. Later, the broadcast interruption would be explained away as just another cyberat prank. None of it was real. There was nothing for anyone to be concerned about. Viewers would be able to see the real conditions on Technos III when the Wolfe Family graciously allowed cameras to observe the first completed stardrives coming off the production line, at a special ceremony in two days' time.

Back on the surface of Technos III, outside the factory complex, Cardinal Kassar lowered his gun with a satisfied smile. One shot from his disrupter had blown the complex's main transmission aerial into pieces, cutting off all broadcasts from the planet. He looked around as Daniel and Stephanie came hurrying up the slope to join him, with Toby and Flynn in close pursuit. Kassar smiled at them and waved imperiously at the wrecked aerial.

"I fancy that will stop the rebels pumping out their poisonous lies through your equipment. Frankly, I'm surprised you didn't have safeguards against this kind of thing happening."

"As it happens, we do," said Stephanie in tones so cold a snowman would have shivered to hear them. "If the rebels had just stayed on-line a little longer, my security people would have been able to track down the source of their signal, and we could have sent men in to destroy their equipment. As it is, not only do we have no idea where the rebels were transmitting from, but you have just shot out our only link with the outside universe. All our other aerials were slaved to this one. Without it, we are completely out of contact with the Empire. Which means that the ceremony that was to be transmitted live in two days' time, as ordered by the Empress herself, will no longer be possible. Unless your people can put the bloody aerial back together again!"

"Ah," said Kassar. "Yes…"

"May I also point out," said Toby, perhaps enjoying the moment just a little too much, "that if you hadn't shot the aerial down, I would have been able to put a rebuttal piece on the air in a few hours, thus undoing whatever damage the broadcast might have done. An awful lot of people are going to be really unhappy with you, Cardinal, if your people can't get the aerial up and working again soon."

Kassar looked at the shattered pieces of aerial lying across the metal slope. "Oh, shit."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Stephanie. "I shall expect hourly reports from your people until the aerial is functional again. And if it isn't ready in time for the ceremony, I will personally have your balls. Assuming the Empress doesn't get to them first."

She nodded briskly to Daniel, and the two of them turned and strode back down the slope and into the factory complex. Kassar glared at their backs and hurried after them. Toby and Flynn looked at the wrecked aerial. They seemed fairly cheerful, all things considered.

"Was that really Jack Random, do you think?" said Flynn.

"Oh, yes. I cross-checked our earlier sighting against Imperial News' files. It's him, all right. Looking a bit battered by life, but in damn good shape considering his age and history. And if I did have any doubts, that broadcast just put them to rest. That was classic Jack Random. Exactly the kind of thing he was famous for."

"Then, those shots of the clones building the drive were the real thing?"

Toby looked at Flynn firmly. "I don't know. If, just for the sake of argument, they were true, then you can be bloody sure the Wolfes would have us killed out of hand if we were found sneaking around there in search of an exclusive. There are limits to how you can treat people, even if they are only clones. Lionstone must want those drives really badly."

"So we just ignore the story?"

"Since when were you so idealistic? People are dying all across the Empire every day. There's nothing we can do about it. Every now and again we get a chance to put some small thing right, like Beatrice's hospital, but don't let it go to your head. Even if we did manage to get footage of the clones working on the drives, the odds are we couldn't get it on the air. Not now. And you can bet Imperial News would disown us on the spot. Learn to content yourself with little victories, Flynn. If you like having your head attached to your shoulders."

They stood in silence for a while, thinking their separate thoughts. Flynn stirred finally. "If Jack Random could win a victory here, it could be the start of the great rebellion itself."

"God, I hope so," said Toby. "Lots of good material to be found in a war. Reporters' reputations can be made on the battlefield."

"You speak for yourself," said Flynn. "The moment the shooting starts, I shall be diving for cover and keeping my head well down, and you can do your own camera work."

"The trouble with you, Flynn," said Toby as they started back down the slope toward the complex, "is you have no ambition."

"My ambition is to live to a hundred and three," said Flynn firmly. "At which point I hope to be shot by an outraged wife."

"Sometimes I wonder about you, Flynn," said Toby. "And sometimes I'm sure."

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, when things were traditionally the quietest, Jack Random, the professional rebel, and Ruby Journey, the foremost bounty hunter of her day, according to her, emerged from the farthest trench the rebels controlled and sat on the edge of the jagged metal field, looking across at the huge factory complex, silhouetted against the rising sun. The Wolfe forces had recently been driven back and were too busy establishing their new front to be any threat. They also hadn't got around to setting up snipers yet. Random and Ruby would have known they were there, even if they couldn't see them. So they sat casually together, enjoying the strange and vivid hues of the sunrise.

It was the first day of summer and already uncomfortably hot with the sun barely above the horizon. Random and Ruby had come out onto the surface ostensibly to study the ground for the day's attack, but actually they were just looking for a little time in each other's company. Conditions underground were crowded at best and often claustrophobic, and after a while even the best intentioned of people could really get on your nerves. The Rejects had taken to treating them both like heroes of legend, promised saviors who would lead the rebels to inevitable victory over the forces of darkness. Neither Random nor Ruby were particularly happy about this.

"I was never meant to be a hero," said Ruby firmly. "The pay's lousy and the working conditions suck. I'm a rebel because I was promised first crack at the loot when the Empire finally falls apart. And because that cow Lionstone put a bounty on my head. The way some of these Rejects have been looking at me, you'd think I could do the three-card trick with one hand while walking on water. I have a horrible suspicion they're going to start asking for my autograph soon."

"It's in people's nature to want heroes," said Random. "Someone to follow, who'll make the hard decisions for them. They build us up larger than life, pin all their hopes and dreams on us, and then turn nasty when we let them down by being only human after all. I've seen this all before, Ruby. It's one of the reasons I gave up being the professional rebel and ran away to hide on Mistworld. I got tired of carrying everyone else's hopes and expectations on my shoulders. They were never that broad in the first place. I've spent most of my life trying to get people to think for themselves and take responsibility for their own destinies, but it's an uphill task. All too often they'd rather cheer and follow a leader, some smiling charismatic bastard who can inspire them into being more than they thought they were. I sometimes think they'd be happy to drag Lionstone off the Iron Throne and replace her with the first smooth-talking hero to come along. Even me."

"Emperor Jack," said Ruby. "I like it. You'd shake things up."

"I'd hate it," said Random. "No one can be trusted with that much power, not even me. It's too much of a temptation. I've seen the way power corrupts, even when people take it on with the best of intentions. Perhaps particularly people like that. There's no one more dangerous than a man who knows he's right. In the end he'll sacrifice any number of people in the name of his belief, friend or enemy. In my experience people can't be trusted in the singular when it comes to power. Democracy works because it's a mass consensus. On the whole people are always better off when they can throw out any leader who starts believing his own press releases."

They watched the metal plain before them in silence for a while. The early morning was eerily quiet after the roar of battle only hours before. There were fires burning here and there, and the occasional Empire war machine, riddled with disrupter fire and abandoned where it fell, sparked and twitched and dreamed of killing. The factory complex was a dark forbidding shape studded with dull crimson glows that came and went, like doors opening and shutting in hell. The faint shimmer of its protective Screen could just be seen in the growing light. Like an ogre's castle, protected by magic, fueled on innocent blood, powered by hate and fury.

"What's up with Storm?" said Ruby. "He's been going all funny around you just lately. I thought he was supposed to be your friend?"

"He is," said Random. "We've known each other since we were teenagers. Fought side by side in more battles than I care to remember. You should have seen him then, Ruby. Handsome, dashing, deadly with a blade in his hand. I was the one they sang songs about, but he was the one who got all the women. He was my good right hand, the one thing I could depend on in a changing universe. But now I'm… changing, and he can't cope."

"You look younger," said Ruby.

That was an understatement, and they both knew it. Random had shed twenty years of hard living over the past few weeks and now looked to be a man in his late thirties. His frame bulged with new muscles, and a new energy burned within him. His face had filled out from the gaunt mask it had once been, though many of the old lines of pain and worry remained. All in all, as far way from the shattered wreck of a man Ruby had first encountered on Mistworld.

"I feel younger," said Random. "Stronger, faster, fitter. I feel like I used to feel when I was a legend."

"Could it be jealousy?" said Ruby. "Because you're younger and he isn't?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I'm beginning to remember things about Alexander Storm. Toward the end, he lost his faith. He no longer believed in giving his life to the Cause. We'd fought the Empire for decades and got nowhere. He wanted to retire and let younger men take a crack at it. He wanted his comforts and an easy life. He thought he'd earned it. We were both getting too old for the field of battle, though I wouldn't admit it. I led my people into battle on Cold Rock, and he came with me; not for the Cause, but out of loyalty to an old friend. He was always a good man, when it mattered. We were massacred. Wiped out. I think I remember Alex running at the end. I didn't, and I got captured, so he was probably right.

"I lost track of him after that, until he turned up as representative of the Golgotha underground. I should have known he'd never be able to give up the Cause completely. But now here we are again, fighting together in the field, and I'm the man I used to be, and he isn't. I'm a legend again, and he's just an old man with a sword that's too heavy for him, and failing breath. And just maybe I remind him of the time on Cold Rock when he turned and ran and I didn't. But then again, maybe that's just a false memory. I don't remember much about Cold Rock, or anything else from that period of my life."

"Hardly surprising, after what the Empire mind techs put you through," said Ruby. "They had you in their clutches for a long time. Those sick bastards could mess up anyone's mind. You're lucky you're still sane."

"I sometimes wonder if I am. There are too many places in my mind I can't see too clearly. Places with closed doors and heavy locks. They could have planted all kinds of control words or remote-control programming inside me, and I'd never know it, until they activated them. You saw what that renegade AI Ozymandius was able to do with Owen and Hazel in the Hadenman city. I could be an unexploded bomb, just waiting to go off where I could do the most damage."

"You're a morbid bugger to be around, you know that? Sometimes I wonder why I stick with you."

"Because I blind you with my charm and charisma."

"You wish. No, it's mostly because I admire what you've done with your life. You found something you believed in and put your life on the line for it over and over again. I've never believed in anything except hard cash. Honor spoils and courage fades, but you can always trust in gold to pay your bills. Maybe I'm hoping if I hang around you long enough, some of that hero thing will rub off on me."

"Ruby, why do you always put yourself down?"

She shrugged. "It's a dirty job, but someone's got to do it. Don't ask me questions, Jack. I don't have any answers. I'm here because I choose to be. Settle for that."

"I'm not the only one who's changing. You are, too, Ruby. Whether you like to admit it or not, you're becoming just as much a hero and legend as me."

"I bloody hope not. In my experience most heroes end up dying noble but tragic deaths at an early age. I think I'll skip that part of the legend. I'd rather just be the trusty sidekick, the one with the good advice and snappy dialogue, who emerges after the dust has safely settled to make her fortune through a ghost-written and thoroughly commercial set of memoirs. The only changes I'm going through are what the Maze did to me. You're not the only one who's feeling younger. It's not as noticeable on me, but I reckon I've lost a good five years. I'm faster, stronger, sharper. When I'm fighting, it's like the other guy's in slow motion. I recover faster, too. A warrior notices things like that. But, Jack, it's occurred to me that this reverse aging might not necessarily be a good thing. I mean, what if it doesn't stop? Where are we going to end up? As kids? Babies? What?"

"Whatever the Maze did to us, it's an ongoing thing," said Random thoughtfully. "Even if the Maze itself isn't around anymore. I have to believe there's a purpose behind what's happening. I think the process is refining us, turning us into the best, strongest versions of ourselves that we can be. The changes aren't just physical, remember."

"Yes, I know. I'm linked to you, and the others. I always know where you are, even when you're not around. Sometimes I can tell what you're thinking—or feeling; you dirty old man, you. And sometimes, when I'm in a fight, I can tell where an attack's coming from, where a sword's going to be, even what's going on behind me. Eerie. I always was a good fighter, but the Maze is taking me way beyond that."

"To put it simply," said Random. "We're becoming more than human."

"Or maybe inhuman," said Ruby. "The Madness Maze was supposed to be an alien construct, remember? Maybe the Maze was programmed to turn anything that went through it into copies of the species that built it. We could end up with six arms and antennae coming out our ears."

"And you have the nerve to say I've got a morbid mind. Look, let's start worrying about things like that when they start happening, all right? We have other things to concern ourselves with."

"Such as?"

"Don't take this wrong, Ruby, but… I can't help noticing you never take prisoners. Even before we came here, you never fought just to wound or stop your opponent. You always kill them."

"Best way," said Ruby briskly. "A dead man isn't going to suddenly sit up and try and stick a knife in you."

"A dead man can't be converted to our Cause, can't be made to see the error of his ways. What if we'd killed you when you attacked us back in Mistport? No, as and when we overthrow Lionstone, we're going to have to replace her with a system that can govern efficiently, or there'll be chaos. That means we'll have to use the same people she relied on to keep the wheels turning. We can't just kill everyone on the other side. We're going to need some of them."

Ruby shrugged. "That's your area of expertise. Mine is killing people."

"Look, you used to be a bounty hunter. Didn't you ever bring any of them in alive?"

"Not if I could help it. Too much paperwork."

Random sighed. "I am working with a barbarian."

Ruby grinned. "Civilization's overrated. Jack, I'm really not interested in this ethics shit. I'm a professional killer. That's what I do. My only other interests are sex and loot. Not necessarily in that order. All you have to do is choose the targets and point me at them. Like the upcoming raid on the factory. Want to run that by me again?"

"Don't think I don't know when you're changing the subject," said Random. "But given the blank looks you were showing me during the last briefing, I suppose I'd better. All right, this is the simplified version in words of one syllable or less. Tomorrow the Wolfes will be hosting a major ceremony that will show them beginning mass production of the new stardrive. Live coverage on all the holo networks. The Empress herself will be watching. To ensure a clear and uninterrupted broadcast, they'll have to lower the factory complex's force Screen. And that's when we go in and hit everything that moves that isn't a clone. We'll overrun their defenses, free the clone workforce, trash everything in sight, and then get the hell out of there while the security forces are still trying to figure out what hit them. And all of it on live holo coverage. It'll be a major coup for the rebellion. Should win us a lot of new converts. And it sure as hell will bring stardrive production to a dead stop, until they can repair the damage and ship in a new clone workforce. And then we'll just hit them again."

"The raid will do the Rejects a lot of good, too," said Ruby. "Show them what they're capable of and establish them as a power base in their own right. A force the Empire might have to consider negotiating with if it wants its precious stardrive. Right?"

"Very good, Ruby. I'll make a tactician out of you yet. And all of this has brought us back to where we started. To why I don't want the Rejects focusing on us as heroes. Once we've proven to them that they're strong enough to kick the Wolfes' ass pretty much at will, as long as they keep their act together, our job here will be over. Before we move on to some other mission, it's vital these people have learned to believe in themselves. That they can win this without us. All they needed was someone to come in from outside and show them new ways of fighting. I never wanted to be a leader, Ruby, or a hero. I just wanted to fight for the right of people to be free. Even free of the cult of the hero. Heroes are great at fighting evil and injustice, but in practice they usually make piss poor political leaders."

"I just fight because I'm good at it," said Ruby. "And because I enjoy it."

"We're going to have to work on that," said Random. Ruby grinned. "Why improve on perfection?"

Investigator Shoal stood at parade rest in Half A Man's private quarters and silently wondered what the hell he wanted with her at this unearthly hour of the morning. Her eyes were drooping despite herself, and she had to keep fighting back a yawn. She had a strong feeling Half A Man hadn't been to bed at all yet, if he ever slept. There had been a time when she could fight all day and still get by on only a few hours of sleep a night, but that was some years ago now. She was slowing down, needing more and more rest during missions. Forty-eight wasn't old, by any means, but Investigators had to be the best of the best. It said so in the job description.

She looked around the room unobtrusively as she waited. Calling it spartan would be polite; there wasn't a trace of personality, or even humanity, in the furnishings. No personal touches at all. It could have been anybody's room or nobody's. Half A Man was sitting in the only chair, his single-eyed gaze directed at the opposite wall, concentrating on something she probably had no concept of. Shoal tried not to stare at him, but it was hard not to. The seething energy construct that made up his right side was endlessly fascinating. If you looked at it long enough, you started to see things. Disturbing things. But you couldn't help looking anyway. Half A Man looked around at her suddenly, and only her training kept her from jumping.

"I know, Investigator," said Half A Man in his surprisingly normal voice. "It's far too early in the morning, and there are certainly other more productive things you could be doing with your time. But I need to talk to you. Sit down. You make the place look untidy standing around like that."

Shoal automatically looked around for a chair she already knew wasn't there, and then realized he meant the bed. She sat down gingerly on the edge, kept her back straight, and looked at Half A Man attentively. He wasn't exactly known for being talkative, so presumably whatever he had to say was going to be vitally important to their mission here. Half A Man sighed quietly, his half a mouth moving in something that might have been meant as a smile.

"Relax, Shoal, I'm not going to eat you. Despite whatever rumors you may have heard. I just need to talk. There aren't many I can talk to these days. Most people think me cold and inhuman, and it suits my purposes to encourage that impression. And it's mostly true. But I do still have a human side, if you'll pardon the expression, and now and again I need someone to talk with, as one human to another. I knew your grandfather."

Shoal looked at him uncertainly, not following the change in subject. "More than I did, sir. Investigators aren't encouraged to have family ties. They might distract us."

"Probably wouldn't have been allowed to talk to you about me anyway. Your grandfather was a good man. Good starship officer. Would have made a good Captain if he'd only had the right Family connections. When I heard they were detailing you to this mission, your name rang a bell, so I looked you up in the files. You've had a very impressive career, Shoal. Until you came here, but that seems to be true of a lot of people. Anyway, it seemed to me that if I could talk to anyone here, it would be you. And I have to talk to somebody. You do understand that anything you hear in this room cannot be repeated to anyone, on penalty of death?"

"Yes, sir. Of course. What did you want to talk to me about, sir?"

"My past. Who I used to be. When I was still just a man like any other, and my name was Vincent Fast. That used to be a joke; that I was fast enough getting into trouble, but rarely fast enough to get out of it. That turned out to be true in the end, but no one tells the joke anymore. They wouldn't dare. Wasn't much of a joke in the first place. I like to talk to people now and again, in private. It helps me keep track of how human I still am. I'm always afraid that I'm losing what's left of my humanity; that once I reach a certain point I won't notice or care anymore. You won't have noticed, but every day there's just a little less of my human side and that much more of my energy side. Takes a computer to measure the process accurately, but it's there. I'm losing myself, bit by bit. I've still got a fair amount of time ahead of me, unless the process decides to accelerate for some reason. But what's left of me isn't that human anyway.

"I don't eat or drink anymore. Cold and heat don't bother me. I'm a lot older than I have any right to be. The energy construct keeps me alive when I should have died long ago.

And sometimes I wonder what the aliens had in mind, that they needed me to live for so long. I've tried to kill myself more than once, but I can't do it. My energy half won't let me. That's why I'm talking to you now. Investigator. If in your opinion the energy half is taking control of me, overriding my humanity, I want you to kill me. Destroy my human half completely, with sustained disrupter fire. That should do it. I'm asking you because you're one of the few people on this planet capable of doing the job, because I trust your judgment… and because you have your grandfather's eyes. He was a good man. He would have killed me if he'd thought it necessary. How about you?"

"If that's what you need," Shoal said slowly. "I can't argue with your logic. You'd make a hell of a threat to the Empire if you got out of control. Lionstone would have me killed for depriving her of your talents, but that's my problem. I'm an Investigator, and I've always taken my oath seriously. My life for humanity. If you're in such a talking mood, sir, can you tell me anything about the aliens who changed you? The official reports aren't very helpful. Even the ones only open to Investigators."

"For a long time I didn't remember anything," said Half A Man. His voice was very quiet, and he didn't look at her. "Perhaps because I didn't want to. Then I started to remember things in my dreams. Of late the dreams have come more often, and I remember more of them. I don't know if that means anything. I hope not. All I do know for sure is that they're still out there, somewhere. Waiting.

"Forget the official, tidied-up story. This is what really happened. Their ship appeared out of nowhere. Huge and vast, dwarfing us like an ant next to a mountain. Its shape made no sense. We tried to talk to it, and it opened up with weapons of a kind we'd never encountered before. Blew our shields away like they were nothing and blew the ship apart. Only took a few seconds. The lucky ones died in the explosions. The rest of my crew died trying to breathe vacuum. And I woke up in the belly of the alien ship, strapped to an operating table. There was no sign of any aliens. Machines reached down, with long slender blades and other tools, for cutting and lifting and breaking. They opened me up to see how I worked, digging through my guts as the blood spurted. I screamed, but no one listened. I wanted to die, but the machines wouldn't let me.

"I don't know how long it went on. Seemed like forever. I went crazy more than once, but the machines brought me back. Until finally I was allowed to pass out, and when I woke up only half of me was left. My left side was intact, not even a scar, but my right side was an energy construct in human form. It obeyed my every thought, but I couldn't feel it. It wasn't mine. Not really. The restraining straps disappeared, and I got up off the table. With no trace anywhere of all the blood I'd spilled, I left the room and walked out into the ship itself.

"It was huge, none of it on a human scale. There were shapes and structures, but none of them made any sense. There was technology, machines everywhere, but I couldn't understand what they did, or what they'd been designed for. Somewhere something was screaming, shrill and awful, and it never stopped. It might have been pain, or triumph, or horror. And though it never once paused for breath, I had no doubt its source was organic. Something alive. Forever screaming. Just hearing it would have been enough to drive a normal man insane, but I'd been through so much already I wouldn't let myself be broken this time. I had to be strong. I had to survive. The Empire had to be warned.

"I found the aliens, or they found me. Even now, all I remember of them is hints, details, impressions. As though to comprehend them completely, whole, would be more than any human mind could stand. Even now. They were vast and inhuman, draped over impossible machinery with which they were intimately connected. I'm still not sure whether the ship itself might have been alive in some way.

"It took a while before the aliens became aware of me. We communicated, though I couldn't tell you how. They're advanced far beyond us. Their minds work in more than three dimensions. I think they see the future as clearly as the past, as though there was no difference between them. In the depths of their ship, lesser creatures died constantly, their life energies powering the huge ship. They died and were brought back to life and were killed, over and over again, their torment never-ending. But it wasn't their scream I heard. The aliens showed me other things, most of which I didn't understand. All of it was vile and terrifying, evil beyond anything humanity has ever done or could do."

He stopped speaking, his single eye squeezed shut. For a long time there was only silence in the small room. Shoal stirred uneasily.