Skin Game

Chapter three Sieging is believing

The next morning, rested and refreshed, Max and Logan joined a number of their fellow outcasts in the Terminal City media center and watched the early morning news on KIPR. The picture showed a dozen police cars layered in front of the main gate in multiple barricades, their light bars flashing red and blue, heavily armed and armored officers running around behind the barricade.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Max said dryly.

“Maybe she will,” Logan said, with a nod to the screen.

The camera had settled on a female newscaster wearing too much lipstick. “As dawn breaks on the siege at Terminal City, the situation is tense but unchanged. While several hundred transgenics remain barricaded inside the restricted area, police and National Guard stand an uneasy watch at the perimeter, each side seemingly waiting to see what the other will do next.”

“No kidding,” Max said to the TV.

“You think they’re coming in?” Logan asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t think they’re that stupid.”

Logan shot her a quick grin. “What about White?”

They exchanged glances — neither really considered Ames White stupid, but both knew him to be incredibly ruthless and reckless, with other people’s lives at least. White, with his antitransgenic agenda, had the most to gain if this siege turned into a slaughter. It didn’t even matter who on which side got slaughtered...

At the thought, Max’s face turned sour and an epithet formed on her pretty mouth. Just as she was about to let it explode out, the hulking figure that was Joshua burst through the door.

“Everyone, come up to the roof,” he shouted, his canine face turned up in a broad smile, his eyes bright with excitement, alive with enthusiasm.

Max turned to Logan, whose shrug and expression said, I have no idea — don’t ask me!

Dix asked, “What?”

But it was too late, Joshua had already bounded back through the door again and they could hear him pounding up the stairs just beyond the wall of the media center.

“Better go see,” Max said. She had great affection for the keenly intelligent but childlike Joshua, and would gladly take time to humor him, even under these circumstances.

Dutifully, they all fell in line behind Max and followed her out the door, then up the stairs, quickly taking the three flights to the roof. When she opened the door, golden sunlight flooded the stairwell. The little ragtag group — Max, Logan, Dix, Luke, and Mole — walked out onto the flat concrete roof, where they found a couple of dozen transgenics already there, including Joshua, Alec, Gem, and her new baby.

With no preamble, Joshua, a couple of X5s, and an X3 raised a makeshift steel flagpole into a base they had built. As Max and the others watched, the quartet hoisted the pole, with the transgenics’ flag — recently painted by Joshua, whose considerable artistic abilities were known to all of them — attached to the top.

Once the pole was in place, they all stepped back and looked up at the banner waving gently in the morning breeze, the sun seeming to make it glow.

Not fighting the swell of emotion, Max stared at the flapping flag, remembering Joshua’s description of the banner’s design.

“This is where we come from,” Joshua had said, “where they tried to keep us.” And he’d pointed to the banner’s bottom third, a broad black band bisected by a red bar code.

“In the dark,” Max had said.

Joshua nodded. “A secret.”

Pointing to the middle band — a wide crimson stretch with a white dove rising from the bar code beneath — Joshua said, “Where we are now... because our blood is being spilled.”

She nodded her acceptance of the appropriateness of that.

Finally, the dogfaced man pointed to the topmost third, a white band. “And this... is where we want to go.”

Max had gotten it immediately. “Into the light,” she said, her voice betraying a gentleness few saw in her.

Now, looking up at Joshua’s design riding the breeze, Max seemed about to burst — partly from pride for what they had accomplished, partly from apprehension for what was to come. Still, for the most part, it was a good feeling.

More important, she thought, how right it felt to be standing here with their own flag.

Max glanced over at Gem and the baby, and another feeling settled on her — as if a great weight were now resting on her shoulders. After all, she was the one who had destroyed Manticore, who had unleashed the transgenics — from beauties like Alec and the late CeCe to beasts like Joshua and Mole; and, free or not, none of them would be under siege in Terminal City if not for her.

But she had carried weight before and survived. Hell, she’d even flourished. She vowed to herself that she would carry this weight too. Logan had said it best, hadn’t he? Freedom wasn’t free.

Alec seemed moved by the moment, and Mole lit up a big cigar and puffed it with pride. They all appeared in better spirits this morning, with the sun shining and their flag flying. They actually had something of their own, and not just a flag: forsaken by God and man, Terminal City was, for good or ill, their own little chunk of the Seattle landscape.

Logan’s hand encased in a white surgical glove, hers in a black leather one, she felt the man she loved take her hand and give it a gentle squeeze. Without looking away from the flag, he said, gently mocking, “Now look what you’ve done.”

It felt so good to be at his side, hand in hand; but she could never let her guard down: if their flesh touched, even if all she did was absently wipe a stray hair from his eyes, even if she accidentally brushed her hand against an exposed section above the surgical gloves, Logan Cale would be seized by that Manticore-implanted virus — specific to his DNA — and he would in all likelihood die.

A tiny smirk dug into her cheek. Most men were allergic to commitment; her man was allergic to her.

They all stayed there for a long time after that, just watching the flag flutter. After a while, Logan finally said, “We need to talk.”

Max looked at him, and he glanced meaningfully toward the door.

She nodded.

Joshua ambled over to them, a shy smile on his snout-mouth. He was proud of himself, but obviously embarrassed by the feeling.

“Nice job,” Logan said. “It looks good, Joshua. You have a real touch.”

The one who had been the first of the transgenics — an unfortunate failed experiment who was in some ways the best of them all — shook his wooly mane. “Thanks, Logan.” He turned to Max, who enveloped him in a hug.

“You did good, Big Fella,” she said.

“Thanks, Little Fella,” he said, returning the hug hugely.

The silly nicknames were a small indication of the big brother and sisterly affection these two shared.

The rest of the transgenics broke up and headed back downstairs, their conversation light and hopeful. Taking one last look at the flag, Max allowed herself a little smile, then followed.

Logan and Joshua stood at the bottom of the stairwell, waiting for her to join them, which she did.

“I just want to check the monitors one more time,” Max said. “Before we talk?”

Logan shrugged; he always deferred to her — almost always. “Sure.”

The two men followed her into the media center, where Dix, Luke, and their merry misfit band were back to watching all twenty-five monitors at once.

“Any movement?” Max asked.

Luke shook his head, which more or less resembled a soft-white lightbulb. “The cops seem happy just to keep us in here for now.”

Reverting to his cynical activist mode, Mole asked, “And how long do you think that’ll last?”

No one said anything.

On one of the media monitors a superimposed announcement of a special bulletin flashed across the screen.

“What’s this now?” Dix asked.

The picture abandoned the police barricades beyond the Terminal City fence in favor of an area just outside a checkpoint in another sector, where three police cars and an ambulance sat parked, their lights flashing.

A female voice-over intoned somberly, “A sector officer was found murdered this morning, when his replacement reported for duty.”

The video cut to a pair of EMTs pushing a gurney up to the back doors of the ambulance. Whatever was underneath the sheet on the stretcher, it seemed to be bleeding through everywhere, damp crimson splotches making terrible polka dots.

The female newscaster continued: “Police refuse to comment on the rumor that the officer had been skinned.”

“Skinned?” Luke asked with a touch of disgust, wincing at the thought.

As the ambulance doors closed, the voice-over continued, “If this officer was skinned, it would mark the second such murder in the Seattle metroplex in the last four months.”

Mole harrumphed. “And they’re worried about us?”

“The previous victim, Henry Calvin, a shoe salesman, turned up last March in a part of Sector Three known to be heavily frequented by transgenics.”

“Didn’t take ’em long to try to pin this shit on us,” Dix said.

“One of White’s men?” Logan wondered aloud.

Mole said, “They’re reachin’ — any way to blame this damn thing on us, they’ll find.”

But that was the end of the coverage of the sector cop’s murder, and the news broadcast returned to the studio for other local news. There was a perverse sense of disappointment among the transgenics monitoring the coverage now that the focus was no longer on them.

Turning to Dix and Luke, Max said, “Logan and I have some things to talk over. We’ll be back in twenty.” She glanced at Logan for confirmation and he nodded.

Walking out next to each other, they barely noticed Joshua hanging back far enough to give them privacy, but close enough that — should anything bad happen — he could get to them to protect Max. Girl’s best friend...

Even though she could more than take care of herself, Max didn’t mind the idea of Joshua staying close. Now that Ames White knew where she was, it would only be a matter of time before he and his next squad of muscle bitches came calling again.

They left the building that housed the media center and walked down the rubble-strewn middle of the twenty square blocks that made up Terminal City. Mostly biotech companies back in their day, several had lost containment when the Pulse hit, and the area had long ago been declared off limits to the citizens.

Though the transgenics had been treated against biowarfare agents, the ordinaries couldn’t last for extended periods within the restricted area. No one had any sense of the specifics of that, just the inevitable danger of prolonged toxic exposure. Sooner or later some biological agent or other would take nontransgenics down — which meant Logan, Sketchy, and Original Cindy would have to move on, before long.

Most of the buildings within the walls not only were crumbling, but had long since been ransacked for any valuables. Occasionally the transgenics would find a piece of equipment they could use or cannibalize, but mostly what Terminal City was — before the transgenic squatters moved in, anyway — was a ghost town.

The couple let the first few blocks pass in silence, Max waiting for Logan to get around to telling her whatever it was he had to say. Behind them Joshua — the world’s biggest puppy tagging along — seemed fine about keeping his own company while watching them.

At last Max’s patience reached its limit. “You gonna tell me where we’re goin’?”

Logan, with a tiny smirk, checked his watch. “I wondered how long you could go.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a five-dollar bill and held it up. “You were right, Joshua. Eight-fourteen. She couldn’t go ten minutes without asking.”

The big fella came forward, accepted the bill, turned to Max and said, “Thanks, Little Fella.”

She stopped, looked from one to the other, then shook her head, not nearly as amused as they were. As she and Logan started forward again, Joshua again hung back, letting the distance widen.

“Okay,” she said, a tiny edge in her voice. “We’ve demonstrated I’m not the most patient person in the world. Granted. I do like to know what’s going on, and where I’m headed.”

“You’re a control freak. Admit it.”

She whispered, “Is Eyes Only calling somebody else a control freak?”

He gave her that sideways, amused, look of his. “We’re all freaks here, right?”

Now she smiled. “Yes we are... Now, are you gonna tell me why we’ve marched all the way back to the ass end of Terminal City?”

Logan pointed at a low-slung concrete building in front of them.

“Medtronics,” Max said, reading the faded sign with the bold blue letters. “Yeah. So?”

“You know what’s behind this building?” Logan asked, something impish in his tone.

What was up with him? She shrugged elaborately. “Let me guess, since you seem to want me to — a parking lot?”

“And beyond that?”

Another shrug. “The back fence and, oh, maybe a bunch of pissed-off cops and National Guardsmen.”

He smiled enigmatically and started walking again, this time toward the front entryway of Medtronics. When they got to the metal door, Logan produced a key that he slipped into the lock, then turned and opened the door. He waved for her to enter.

“Neat trick,” she admitted. “And where did you get the key?”

Yet another shrug — a matter-of-fact one this time. “I own the building.”

Stepping inside, she took a quick glance at the dust-covered receptionist’s desk and pitiful little waiting room. “You owned Medtronics?”

“Not exactly. My uncle Jonas did. After the Pulse, naturally, he couldn’t give it away. When I offered him a pittance for it, a while back, he sold it to me without even a question. Glad to be rid of any real estate attached to Terminal City.”

“I hear that.”

Moving to a door to the right, Logan said, “Come on, Max — you too, Joshua.”

Logan produced a small flashlight, as the building was windowless and dark. His penlight’s small beam was the only illumination as they walked down a long, narrow flight of stairs.

In the basement, he gave the flash to Max. “Hold this a minute, will you?”

She pointed the light at a stack of heavy boxes against the wall where Logan had moved.

“Give me a hand, Joshua?”

The two of them moved the stack out of the way and, to Max’s surprise, their efforts revealed a door with a lock, but no knob.

Inserting another key, Logan pushed the door open, flipped a light switch, and Max found herself at one end of a long tunnel with fluorescent lights strung from the ceiling every thirty feet or so. Still, it seemed dim. The concrete walls had been painted a very pale green, and the tile floor was about the same color. Unlike Medtronics, this area was free of dust, even clean. With the lighting, the effect was of a hospital, or worse, Max thought, a morgue.

“Where does this lead?” she asked. “If I’m right about my directions, we’re at the back of the building.”

Logan nodded. “Tunnel goes under the parking lot.”

“We’re beyond the fence?”

“Yes. This passage leads under the street — and the police barricade and National Guard — and comes up in a building in the next block.”

She struggled to see Logan’s face in the dim light. “A building outside Terminal City?”

“That’s right,” he said with a small self-satisfied smile. “Outside Terminal City.”

“How did Logan know about the tunnel?” Joshua asked him, eyes tight with the desire for knowledge.

Another matter-of-fact shrug. “My uncle built it. There are things like this in a lot of buildings he’s owned. He’d always been a little paranoid, and after the Pulse, he felt vindicated. I knew the tunnel was here when I bought the building, even though my uncle left it off the blueprints and any other documents filed with the city.”

“You knew this tunnel was here,” Max said, the significance slowly dawning on her, “when you bought Medtronics.”

“It’s why I bought Medtronics — the building this leads to is part of Medtronics too, actually. The borders of Terminal City weren’t established until the containment fences went up.”

“Are you telling me you anticipated this siege and—”

“Of course not. But with the influx of transgenics into Terminal City, I thought it might be an advantage to have some real estate nearby. Plus, it was only a matter of time until Eyes Only was going to need a new home anyway.”

“A point Ames White drove home,” Max said, referring to the discovery and destruction of Logan’s penthouse Eyes Only headquarters. Logan had been squatting himself, lately, in Joshua’s old digs, an abandoned house.

“I started looking for new quarters a while ago,” Logan said.

“So you own both these buildings.”

“Yeah. The remains of Medtronics.”

She frowned. “In your name?”

He shook his head. “Dummy corporation. Called Sowley Opticals.”

Now it was her turn to smirk. “That’s a little cute, isn’t it? Nobody’ll ever figure that one out!”

Joshua was frowning. “Figure what, Max?”

“Nothing,” she said.

Logan said, “Eyes Only has a friend in the Records department at City Hall. The records show that Sowley Opticals owned this building from the day before the Pulse. Maybe it is too cute, but in an area of medtech companies, it will actually look legit.” He stepped into the tunnel. “Come on, take a walk with me, Max — and take this, you’ll need it. I’ve got my own.” He handed her the key to unlock the knob-less door.

“Thanks,” she said, but she was having trouble processing this. She knew she should be grateful that Logan had done such shrewd planning, but she felt somehow... betrayed. No, that was too strong. He hadn’t taken her into his confidence — he was up to his old, Eyes Only, secret ways again.

As before, Joshua let the distance grow so the two of them could have some privacy. Their feet barely made a sound as they strode down the tile floor.

“Something wrong, Max?” Logan said, the smirk gone.

“No.”

“Max, I can read you better than that.”

“... You did all this without telling me?”

“Some things are on a need-to-know basis, Max... and you didn’t need to know this yet. I’m sure you have secrets you’re keeping, to protect me better.”

That was true.

Logan kept his voice low. “You’re going to have to talk to them, you know.”

“Who?”

“The cops, the National Guard... probably even someone from the feds.”

Max shook her head slowly. “All I want is for us to be left alone.”

“Terminal City is a toxic island, Max. The time for speeches is over. Brass tacks now.”

“Okay. Say it.”

“If you initiate negotiations, Eyes Only can get that word out to the world. If you do nothing, sooner or later, they’re going to come in... and you know what that means.”

Genocide.

“Like it or not,” Logan was saying, “we’re about to enter a media war... and we need all the good press we can get.”

She winced in confusion as they walked along. “A media war? How is this—”

“Why do you think White tried to turn Jam Pony into a bloodbath?”

“To kill me.”

“That’s one reason... but he was going to kill everyone in the place. Ordinaries like me and Cindy and Sketchy too.”

“Yeah, I know — that’s why I stopped Joshua from snapping White’s spine. Carnage makes us look like the monsters everybody thinks we are.”

“Bingo. Now you’re gettin’ media savvy.”

She grunted something like a laugh and it echoed in the tunnel. “Don’t you ever get tired of being right?”

“I’m always tired of being right, Max... Ames White is going to fight you — not just you, Max, all of you — and not inside the gates of Terminal City, not right away. But in the media.”

“It won’t be hard,” she said. “You saw those crazy assholes outside Jam Pony, and on TV. Everybody in Seattle already thinks we’re monsters.”

Logan stopped for a moment; he seemed about to touch her, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes held her.

“Not everybody,” he said. “Not me, not Original Cindy, not Sketchy... and now not even Normal.”

“And you think we can convince everyone?”

“If a right-wing nutcase like Normal can be brought around, anything is possible.”

Now that they’d stopped, Joshua was catching up to them.

“Have to convince people, Little Fella,” he said, those soul-ful puppy-dog eyes cutting to her core. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand. Have to change their minds. Make them understand.”

She stared into Joshua’s unabashed sincerity, knowing he was right, but also knowing — even after all they’d suffered, all Joshua had suffered — that he was naive.

“There’s an old pre-Pulse saying among the Normals of the world,” Max said. “Shoot first and ask questions later.”

Logan said, “That’s another reason for you to start negotiations as soon as possible, Max... before they start shooting. Besides, how much food and water is there in Terminal City? Realistically, how long can you hold out here?”

“Longer than they think we can,” she said automatically.

“But is living the rest of your life in Terminal City — just waiting for the day they storm the place — is that what you’re looking for?”

Max shook her head. “Of course not.”

“Well, you’ve had your moment of triumph — we have a flag flying. But it’s time for a reality check, Max. You better get started talking to the other side.”

They had made it to the end of the tunnel now, and Logan unlocked another door. They all passed through and found themselves in the basement of a darkened building, where feline DNA allowed her to see the piles of desks, filling cabinets, and office chairs around them.

Logan clicked his flashlight back on and led the way up the stairs to the first floor. Though the windows were all boarded, this floor was much cleaner than the basement, and a revelation compared to the other Medtronics building back in Terminal City.

High-ceilinged, with a tile floor, the large room was separated by partitions into an office on the right, a living room in the center, and a kitchen and dining area to the left. Numerous monitors and a pile of computer equipment cluttered two desks in the office area, and miles of wire seemed to snake everywhere. There was also a video camera that would serve as the new Eyes Only link to the world. The living room was home to a large leather sofa, three chairs, and a coffee table. A giant area rug only slightly smaller than a city bus covered the floor. The kitchen had a big fridge, a huge oven, a microwave, and even a butcher block island in the middle, and a cozy dining area with room for six. Two doors at the far end of the room led to a bathroom and bedroom respectively.

“Pretty cool,” Max said, eyes wide, impressed.

It reminded her of Logan’s old apartment. The penthouse had been beautiful, always spotlessly clean, and decorated in a spare modern manner that truly reflected Logan. That had been before Ames White traced an Eyes Only transmission, and his minions had trashed the place, shot it to hell, wrecking everything and sending Logan into hiding.

Fortunately, the penthouse had been off-the-books, and in the many weeks of Logan keeping a low profile, White had apparently not been able to trace it to its true occupant. So both Logan — and his Eyes Only identity — seemed secure.

“It’s time,” Logan said to her, “to get Eyes Only up and running again anyway — we’ve been off the air too long.”

As she looked around Logan’s new quarters, she said, “This didn’t happen overnight.”

“I’ve been working on this pad for a while,” Logan admitted, “sort of having it as a backup.”

“Then you’ll move here, from Joshua’s?”

“The plan is, kind of hop back and forth. I think it’s probably wise to maintain two bases of operations, for Eyes Only — Joshua’s place gives us a sort of safe house, away from Terminal City.”

Smiling, nodding, she said, “You did really good.”

He liked hearing that. “Did I?”

“You couldn’t stay in Terminal City without risking a toxic backlash.”

“So I’ve left — but I’m still in your backyard.”

“Right. And we have a way in and out of here... starting with getting Sketchy and Original Cindy back to Jam Pony. We can use contacts in the outside world.”

From the far end of the room, by the boarded windows, Joshua said, “Cops.”

“Say what?” Max asked, coming over.

Turning to her, Joshua said, “Hole in one of the boards. I can see police.” He returned to his post, peeking through the tiny hole.

Logan joined Max and the dog man. They took turns looking through the spy hole, Logan first, then Max. She saw pretty much the same thing she’d seen on the monitor, only now from the opposite angle, from behind the barricade.

Stepping away, she said, “Looks like they’re digging in.”

“You knew they would,” Logan said.

She gestured to the window. “You better cover that hole at night — even a pinhole of light could give away your position.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Just remember, that tunnel of yours runs in two directions... Are you sure it’s safe here for you?”

He looked at her thoughtfully, and his answer was no glib comeback. “I wish I could say I’m certain, but that’s just not how this works. I can tell you, there’s no record of the building being anything but abandoned since my uncle ceased its use. And, thanks to his paranoia, there’s another tunnel down there that leads to another Cale-owned building on the other side of this block... well away from these barricades.”

“Good,” she said.

“I can use that to get in and out. The police are all concentrating on what’s in front of them. They don’t seem worried about what’s behind them. When we need to, we can even use the tunnels as a supply line.”

“You make a habit of it, don’t you?”

“Of what?”

“Coming through for me.”

He looked at her and she at him, and that would just have to do — no touching. Love didn’t just hurt, it killed.

“We better get back,” she said.

“Better,” he said.

On the walk back, down in the fluorescent-lit tunnel, Joshua seemed lost in thought and hung back even farther than before. When he finally exited the tunnel, Max asked, “What’s up, Big Fella?”

He shook his head, the mane bouncing. “Thinking.”

“What about?”

“The ones still outside.”

Logan frowned. “What ‘ones,’ Joshua... You mean the transgenics outside of Terminal City?”

“Yes,” Joshua said.

“What about them?” Max asked.

“Not sure yet. Still thinking.”

Without another word, the big man brushed by them and up the stairs to the first floor of the Terminal City branch of Medtronics.

Though Max wanted to, she didn’t press him. Joshua, like most men, only talked when he wanted to, and pushing him wouldn’t help.

“Maybe he’s wondering,” Logan said, “if we can safely bring any straggling transgenics inside Terminal City?”

“Through your tunnel, maybe? A sort of underground railroad?”

Logan lifted both eyebrows. “Frankly, they’re probably safer in the outside world.”

“Probably. But at least in Terminal City they have an identity... a ‘country.’ And they don’t have to ‘pass’ as ordinaries.”

When she and Logan got back to the media center, Dix greeted them with, “Nothing’s changed. They seem to be settling in now. They must think they’re going to wait us out.”

“All right,” Max said. “You know where Original Cindy and Sketchy are?”

Dix checked the monitors of their security system. “I think Sketch is asleep in the back of the ambulance... and Original Cindy is up on the roof.”

“Get someone to wake Sketchy, would you? And send him up to join us on the roof. I need to talk to both of them.”

She and Logan went upstairs. Since the police hadn’t sent up so much as a hoverdrone, the roof seemed safe enough. Original Cindy stood just this side of the flagpole, watching the barricade at the main gate. The roof gave them a pretty good vantage point to watch what the police were up to, at least at the main gate.

When she heard them, Original Cindy turned. “Whassup?”

Max took a step forward. “We were just talking about you.”

“Original Cindy’s always a popular topic of conversation.”

“Cin, we’re talking about you getting out of Terminal City.”

Original Cindy frowned and waved that off. “Girl, you ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy. You just afraid with my natural leadership, these fools are all gonna gravitate to-ward me.”

With a light laugh, Max put a hand on Original Cindy’s shoulder. “You gotta go, girl — it’s for your own good.”

“My own good?” She shook her curly Afro. “This about your own good. See, you my Boo, and I ain’t walkin’ out on your puny ass while you’re in the middle of some heavy shit.”

Max felt a wave of affection for her attitude-filled friend. “You know you can’t stay here. Sooner or later, this bad bioshit’s gonna take a toll on you.”

“So if I feel sick, I’ll come up here on the roof and breathe the sweet Seattle air, smog and all. Right now I feel as fine as I look, and you know how fine that is. Anyway, this is about something bigger than feeling sick and shit.”

Logan stepped between them, a friendly referee. “The truth is, Cindy, you can do Max more good on the outside.”

She smirked and put her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you do her some good on the outside?”

“I plan to,” Logan said, his voice quiet but firm. “I’m leaving Terminal City tonight.”

“You bailin’?”

“Hardly. Cindy, we can do Max and her people more good — and be safer, ourselves — out there.” He gestured toward the city on the horizon.

“I ain’t worried about bein’ safe. Do I look like I’m worried about—”

Max stepped forward and touched Cindy’s shoulder. “I need live allies, not dead martyrs. You dig?”

As Original Cindy chewed on that, Logan pressed closer to her. “Look at her! Max is worried about both of us, and Sketchy too. And if she’s got us on her mind, she’s not keeping her eye on the prize.”

Her face creasing into a severe frown, Original Cindy said, “Well, hell — when you put it like that...”

“We do need you outside,” Max said. “You and Sketchy...”

“You rang?” Sketchy said as he ambled across the roof. Still wearing the SWAT suit, he looked like a lanky cross between a surf bum and a storm trooper.

“We were talking,” Max said, “about you, Original Cindy, and Logan leaving Terminal City.”

Sketchy’s long, narrow face contorted into a frown, and Max thought, Great, here we go again...

But Logan pulled the blond-haired bike messenger turned reporter off to one side. “You’ve already helped a hell of a lot, Sketch. You know the transgenics all appreciate that — Max especially.”

Sketchy glanced at Max and Original Cindy, then looked back at Logan and said, “Yeah. I caught that drift. Me and the dudes downstairs, we been... bondin’.”

Logan managed to hide his amusement at this stoneresque response. “Well, good,” he said. “’Cause now we need your help on the outside.”

“Outside?” Sketch asked. “As in... on the outside?”

“Yeah.”

“Is there a way out?”

Logan said, “If there was a way to get you out, safely out... would you be willing to help?”

Sketchy shrugged. “I came this far. How?”

“For one thing, as a reporter.”

Brightening, Sketch said, “You’re kidding! That’s what I do, man.”

And that was true — sort of. For most of the last year — in addition to working at Jam Pony — Sketch had taken a job as a stringer and part-time photographer for one of the local tabloid papers. It wasn’t exactly the Washington Post, but Max and Logan — in the coming media war — were in no position to be choosy — they needed all the help they could get.

And they all knew that the rag Sketchy worked for loved nothing more than stories about transgenics.

“I know Eyes Only is trying to help,” Logan said. Only Max and a small handful knew that Logan was Eyes Only; the others, like Sketchy, thought Logan was merely an Eyes Only source. “But Eyes Only is just one man... and he’s not in the print media. You could be a big help.”

Standing just close enough to hear, Max watched as Sketchy’s head seemed about to explode with pride and possibilities.

“I could do that,” Sketch said. “I was born to do that!”

“You think your editor will go along?” Logan asked.

“Why wouldn’t he? Transgenics make great copy!”

“That paper’s been feeding the fear, Sketch. The paranoia. We need to get the real story out.”

Sketchy considered that, then said, “You want positive stories about transgenics, right?”

“Yes. Otherwise, you’re part of the problem.”

“I’m not part of the problem!... Can I get pictures?”

Logan shot a glance at Max, who nodded. “We’ll get whatever we can,” Logan said.

“With exclusive pics,” Sketch said, “I think my editor’ll go along, and be happy to! I mean, if we’re the only protransgenic newspaper in the city, that’s got to sell some copies, right?”

Logan nodded, put a hand on the skinny guy’s shoulder. “Now you’re thinking like a newspaperman.”

Sketchy beamed. “I could get a byline and everything...”

“If this fool can be a help out there,” Original Cindy said, “Original Cindy can do some real shit. What you got in mind?”

Max turned her attention back to her best friend. “You can help get us supplies in, for one thing. And you can get us information, and we may even need you to deal with some hot-property fences and stuff, should we be forced to make our living by... well, less honorable methods than bike messengering.”

“If you mean takin’ down some more dope dealers,” Original Cindy said, “they ain’t nothin’ more honorable than that... Hell yes, I could do all that, girl.”

Max knocked fists with her friend, and felt like one of the weights had at least shifted, if not totally lifted off her shoulders.

That night, she, Logan, and Joshua led Original Cindy and Sketchy to the Medtronics building, down the stairs and into the tunnel. They spoke as they walked, voices echoing a little.

“How we gonna stay hooked up, girl?” Original Cindy asked Max. “You got your cell?”

Max shook her head. “Cell phones are no good. The police will be monitoring all signals coming in or going out of Terminal City.”

“For some messages,” Logan said, “we can use Eyes Only bulletins.”

“Busting in on TV transmissions,” Sketchy said. “Sweet — but you think he’ll help?”

Logan nodded. “I know Eyes Only, and he’s always been on the transgenics’ side.”

“Cool dude,” Sketchy said.

“Yeah, I’d say Eyes Only is a pretty cool dude,” Max said, glancing at Logan and giving him a secret smile.

“So what else we going to do to stay connected?” Original Cindy asked.

Logan asked Max, “You think Cindy and Sketch’ll be watched by the police or White’s people?”

Max shook her head. “I don’t think either White or the cops know that these guys helped us—” She turned toward Cindy and Sketchy. “—so there’s no reason for them to surveil you. But watch your backs.”

“Always,” Original Cindy said.

“Then,” Logan went on, “how about using Joshua’s house as a drop site?”

The house was a condemned, abandoned one, where the mysterious Sandeman — a key figure at Manticore, and by some accounts the “father” of all the transgenics — had once lived. Joshua had squatted there, and then Logan, and its appearance as a run-down derelict structure kept it useful.

“I like that,” Max said with a short nod.

Not missing a beat, Logan kept going. “If the blinds are up, there will be a message inside; if the blinds are down, nothing.”

“Rad,” Original Cindy said.

Sketchy said, “Not rad — what are you talking about? Joshua’s house...?”

“Original Cindy will show you where it is,” Max said.

“Where exactly will the message be?” Sketch asked.

Logan and Max traded looks.

Then Max said, “There’s a desk in the living room. We’ll put any messages in the top center drawer.”

Sketchy looked perplexed. “Life and death riding on this, and the secret hiding place is a desk drawer?”

Max explained: “There’s no reason to hide anything any more than that. The house looks abandoned, and anyone who’s coming poking around has run into Joshua... and those people usually don’t come back.”

“So,” Sketch said, nodding, concentrating, “best not to overthink it.”

“Truer words,” Max said.

Original Cindy said, “Yeah, Sketch — don’t pop a vein over it, ’kay?”

“As Max would put it,” Logan said, “we better jet — it’s dark, but those cops are going to start getting restless... and we don’t want to get caught on the street.”

Max and Logan had worked out the escape plan during the day. Logan had sent an e-mail message to Bling, his physical therapist and occasional Eyes Only associate, to bring Logan’s car to the end of the second tunnel at precisely nine o’clock. By then Logan would be there with Sketchy and Original Cindy and the three of them would pile into the car and disappear into the night.

Just in case, Max would pick that moment to call the cops and suggest the beginning of negotiations. They figured the police would get so wrapped up in that, they wouldn’t give a civilian car driving out of the neighborhood beyond Terminal City a second glance.

Sketchy gave Max a quick hug. “I’m sorry for all the times I let you down... I didn’t mean to—”

“Forget it,” Max interrupted. “When it mattered, you came through.”

Nodding feebly, Sketchy said, “Thanks. I’ll make it up to you — I’ll do the best I can to help.”

She grinned. “Always knew you would. You may be a lard-ass bike messenger, but you got a good heart, Sketch. You should remember that more often.”

The goofus was starting to tear up.

“Don’t even,” she said, raising a single digit. “Get the hell out of here and get back to work. You’ll be lucky if Normal doesn’t fire your lazy ass.”

Grinning again, Sketchy slipped through the door.

Original Cindy put her arms around Max. “You watch behind you, Boo, ’cause I ain’t got your back.”

“You too.”

Original Cindy’s smirk dug a dimple. “You think Normal’s holding a job for a bitchin’ Nubian princess who just happens to be playin’ for the home team?”

Max grinned. “In a lot of ways I think you scare him more than I do... Oh yeah, he’ll have a job for you.”

The hug went on a few seconds longer, neither of them wanting to let go. Then Sketchy ducked back in and said, “Group hug! Can I join in?”

“In your skinny-ass dreams, maybe!” Original Cindy said.

He disappeared back through the door, Original Cindy sprinting behind him, yelling something about kicking his ass until his ears bled.

With her friends this close to safety, Max couldn’t help but smile.

Logan hung back and said, “So... I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah. Take care out there.”

“I will,” he said, his eyes boring into hers, their feelings burning back and forth, riding the connection. “And you too.”

She gave him a little nod. “I will. You better get going before Cindy kills Sketchy’s skinny ass. Of course, if she does, we won’t need my diversion.”

Still refusing to take his eyes from hers, he said, “Seeya.”

“Yeah, seeya.”

This is where they would have kissed — if hers wasn’t a literal kiss of death.

Then Logan Cale edged through the door, paused for one last look at her, and shut the door. Joshua stepped forward, gave her a quick hug.

“Gonna be okay, Little Fella,” he said.

“Yeah, I know.”

He said, “We better go.”

She took a last glance at the door and said, “Yeah, we better.”

As they walked back down the tunnel, Joshua’s face turned somber again, just as it had that morning.

“You still worried about our brothers and sisters outside?” Max asked.

“They don’t have family out there. Even Freak Nation has freak family. But out there,” he said, and pointed vaguely toward the ceiling, “out there, they’re alone. Might get scared by things they don’t understand.”

“What?” Max asked.

“Like Isaac. Afraid.”

Isaac had been Joshua’s test-tube twin brother, a gentle soul. But abuse from the guards at Manticore had snapped the young transgenic’s mind, and when Max had set them all free, she’d turned loose a serial killer who preyed on men in uniform.

But she couldn’t figure how Isaac tied in with whatever was bothering Joshua.

“What are you talking about?” she asked him.

“What Mole said this morning.”

That only served to confuse Max more. “What did Mole say this morning?”

“When we saw the news story about the murdered policeman.”

“Yeah?”

“Mole said, ‘And they’re worried about us?’ ”

“Go on.”

“What if the one who killed the cop is one of us?”

“Joshua, don’t pay any attention to what they said on TV — they’re going to blame us for every bad thing that happens in the city, for a while.”

He turned those soulful, sorrowful eyes on her. “What if — we deserve the blame?”

“Why would you even think that?”

The dog man gazed toward the city. “Our brothers, our sisters... they could be out there now, alone. Scared, like Isaac.”

All of a sudden, Max saw where he was going. “You think a transgenic really may have killed that cop?”

Joshua shrugged. “People are afraid of what they don’t understand. We are people too... Could be.”

“But it could just as easily be one of them too.”

He shrugged again. “Could be.”

“You... you think it’s one of the basement people?”

She was referring to the animal DNA experiments — like Joshua himself — who’d literally been caged up in Manticore’s basement.

“A lot down there had it bad, Max... real bad. Isaac, Dill, Oshi, Kelpy, Gabriel. Many bad things done to our brothers. Guards were afraid of what they didn’t understand and they did bad things.”

Joshua didn’t have a theory — he had nothing to go on but his experience, and in his life, if someone was killing men in uniform, it was a transgenic. Like Issac. Max tried to rid herself of the thought...

... but it didn’t go away easily.

Hustling back to the media center, Max laid out her orders, then, with Joshua and Alec accompanying her, she walked up to the blockade at the main gate at exactly nine P.M.

Half a dozen officers pointed guns at them from behind cars. Illuminated only by the light bars, Max could nonetheless see the hatred in their eyes. She knew that each now fought the impulse to pull the trigger and kill the three transgenics without hearing a single word.

In her earphone came Dix’s voice: “Jesus, Max, you really set them off. Security cameras show them hunkering down at every post. They’re getting ready for a fight.”

Not changing her passive expression, she yelled, “Where’s Detective Clemente?”

A very white man in a camouflage uniform and Kevlar helmet inched up so his head and neck were visible above the roof of a police car. “I’m Colonel Nickerson, National Guard!... I’m in charge here.”

“You may be in charge of them, Colonel, but you’re not in charge of me... and I only talk to Clemente.”

“He’s not part of this anymore,” Nickerson said. He was practically yelling, and Max didn’t know if it was because he wanted to be heard... or just because he was scared.

“They’re on the street,” Dix said in her ear, meaning Logan, Cindy, and Sketch. “Everything’s go so far.”

“Colonel Nickerson,” she said, her voice emotionless and almost bland, “do you want to see a peaceful end to this little situation?”

“Yes, I do. The question is... do you?”

Max nodded and took a couple of steps toward the fence. She heard guns being cocked as she moved — deadly little echoey clicks in the night.

Nickerson came out from behind his car and faced her.

“I’ve never wanted anything but to live peacefully,” Max said.

In her ear Dix said, “They’re in the car — it’s started and they’re moving off. No one seems to have even noticed their asses!”

“Then why the hostage situation at Jam Pony?” Nickerson asked, with some edge in his voice. “And why all this?”

“Do you know an NSA agent named Ames White?”

The question seemed to catch Nickerson off guard. “No — never heard of him.”

Max could buy that — just as White had excluded the local PD from carrying out his dark agenda at Jam Pony, the National Guard colonel might well be out of the Ames White loop here at Terminal City. “That’s why I need to talk to Detective Clemente.”

Nickerson looked confused.

“By the time I get you up to speed, this mess may have blown up in all our faces... The clock’s ticking, Colonel, and there’s nothing you or I can do to slow it down. The only thing we can do is work with it, and if you really want a peaceful ending to this, then you’ll do what expedites that. And that would start with finding Detective Clemente and getting his ass down here... now.”

“I don’t know...”

“Otherwise, you’re lying about not knowing Ames White... and I’ll know where I stand with you.” Max looked at him hard. “Bip bip bip, Colonel.”

Then she, Alec, and Joshua turned and walked into the welcoming gloom that was their Terminal City home.