Skin Game

Chapter seven Passing in school

Empty of vehicles, the lower floor of the parking ramp — the building where the siege had begun — swelled with the ragtag citizens of Terminal City.

Except for the handful on guard duty, the entire outlandish contingent of transgenics showed up for the town-hall-style meeting Max had called. Though the sun was rising, the parking garage remained mostly dark and still rather cold. May in Seattle — especially this close to the water — was rarely warm. Though the morning chill had no particular effect on the transgenics, on the other side of the fence the cops were certainly huddled in their cars sipping coffee and slugging doughnuts.

With Joshua, Alec, Mole, Dix, and Luke in her wake, Max swept into the middle of the crowd, and the din of conversation died away. Dressed in her customary black, Max stood out from the disheveled if distinctive mess that was the throng. Most had shown up here with little more than shabby, scavenged clothes on their backs, and living in the hovels of Terminal City did little to improve their appearance.

They may have resembled a Halloween ball for the homeless, but their Manticore-bred military discipline still held and, to Max, they looked wonderful. The community was coming together, the rivalries and prejudices of the varying transgenics types — from ND X-Series, “beautiful” people like Max and Alec, to the ND Transhumans like Dix (a Nomlie), Mole (a second-generation model DAC), and Luke (a Mule) — forgotten, or at least put aside for the greater good. The unique populace of Terminal City did not want to spend their lives in a toxic ghost town any more than they wanted to spend them running; but this biohazard village was starting to look like a suitable alternative, at least for the short run.

Jumping onto a box so she could be seen as well as heard, Max called out, “I’m proud of all of you — we’ve taken a stand. We’ve shown we can live and work together, and that provides hope for the future — if we can get along with each other, winning over the ordinaries oughta be no big trick.”

Her good-natured sarcasm went over well, grins flashing all around in every unusual face.

“But it’s time for a reality check — time to stop patting ourselves on the back, and start dealing with the hand we been dealt, here.”

The crowd stayed riveted on her every word.

“First, although we still have running water, it probably won’t be long before they cut it off. We can smuggle in bottled water, but that’s not going to serve the needs of a community this size. Ideas?”

Lightbulb-domed Luke stepped out of the crowd. “When we moved in here, we built our own generator. We’re close enough to Lake Washington that we can build our own water system too.”

With a quick nod, Max said, “Good — how close are you to completion?”

Luke frowned. “Well... we started on design when we moved in, but—” He shrugged. “—execution could take weeks.”

Gazing out into the crowd, Max asked, “Any of you X2s and X3s got any engineering and construction skills we can tap into?”

A dozen or so hands were raised.

“Can you guys get with Luke and pitch in with the water problem?”

Some nodded, and started shuffling through the crowd toward Luke, to fall in alongside him.

Somewhere in the middle a voice shouted, “What about the cops? What about the soldiers?”

Voices erupted throughout the assembly, echoing off the cement walls of the parking ramp:

“We should attack!”

“We should go to ground!”

“Wait for them to come in — and slaughter their asses!”

The cries came fast and loud, and Max let them get it out of their systems for a while; then, finally, she raised her hands for silence.

“If we fight with these armies of the ordinaries,” she said, “we will never win them over.”

Someone cried, “Who cares?” Then followed shouts of “Fight!” and “Kill ’em!” For several frightening moments it looked as though the tightly packed throng of transgenics might turn into an angry mob.

Max held up her hands for silence again, and reluctantly the crowd quieted. Now, she had to shout to be heard over the rumblings of the crush of people. “This is exactly why they want to sweep us under the rug.”

The grumbling subsided slightly.

“They think we are animals — monsters trained to kill. That all we want to do is kill. Is that true?”

The garage went tomblike silent now.

“Don’t you have dreams? Desires? Am I the only one who wants a normal life?”

Heads started to nod in the crowd, accompanied by a murmuring of assent.

“What happens here... what happens now... is up to us. If we want to be a part of this society—”

“Why would we want to be part of that?” a voice yelled.

“Because that’s the only real option,” Max said. “We are soldiers, and we are special people, more special than those we call ordinary... but we are as small in number as our hearts are large. We are barely a city — not enough of us to form our own outcast nation.”

The truth of that hung over the chamber, an awful cloud portending an inevitable storm.

“Like it or not, we are part of this land... a land that pretends, anyway, to be a haven for the tired, the poor, the huddled masses, the wretched refuse... That’s from a song they used to sing in America. Admittedly, you don’t hear it much anymore; but those are the kind of words — words of freedom — that this country was built on.”

Faces frowned in thought as emotion fought reason in these outcasts.

“You don’t want to be part of that society out there, because the people are hateful... because they’re afraid of us, and want to kill us without even knowing us...”

Voices called out, “That’s right,” and other cries of agreement with this all too obvious notion.

Max continued, her tone doggedly rational. “Well, the only way they’re going to get to know us, out there, is if we give them the chance.”

Again the crowd quieted.

“And the only way for them to not be afraid of us is to get to understand us. That we are people, with hopes and dreams and families.”

Heads again began to nod.

Max wheeled as she spoke, connecting with them all. “The only way to get the ordinaries to stop hating is to educate them in our shared humanity... but they think we only want to kill. Is that true? Are we bloodthirsty monsters?”

Someone yelled, “No,” but the one voice seemed very small in the parking ramp.

Max’s face tightened with determination, and she racheted up the volume: “I said... is that true?”

This time about half the crowd shouted, “No!” and “Hell, no!”

She raised both fists, high. “Is... that... true?”

“No!” they all yelled — many voices, one voice.

Relief flooded through her — Max had won them over again. Now, while she had them, she needed to get them involved in solving their problems. She lowered her arms, and her voice to a firm, resonable level: “We have some issues we need to deal with.”

They all watched her attentively.

“In order to keep the police and National Guard from attacking,” she said, “I had to promise one of their representatives that none of us would leave Terminal City until this is negotiated.”

She saw several of them trading looks, and she knew what they were thinking: had they gone from being a nation to a gaggle of prisoners? But the reality was, many of them — most of them, in fact — had nowhere beyond the metal-mesh borders of Terminal City to go, anyway.

Oh, a few looked like they wanted to bolt now; but if they were truly united, the others would help persuade them.

She made a mental note to smuggle in some cigars to keep Mole happy.

Again she spoke, her voice ringing off the cement rafters. “They’re also claiming that one of us on the outside is killing ordinaries.”

“So what?” an X3 toward the front blurted.

Max shot him a look that silenced him. “Some of you have seen the news reports of a murderer who is skinning his victims.”

Nods and murmuring were the only response.

“That’s just the sort of crime the antitransgenic forces would love to lay on Terminal City’s doorstep.”

“Are you asking,” an X5 near the front asked, “to turn in one of our own?”

“If we have a maniac among us, yes — for our own safety. If we are a nation, a city, we need to live by the rule of law — and if we have a murderer in our midst, it is no betrayal of ourselves to see him brought to justice.”

The reptilian Mole asked, “Our justice? Or theirs?”

“I don’t have an answer to that yet. That’s something we will decide as a group — it’s day at a time, people. We are learning to walk, here... so be careful not to run.”

Nods again, even from Mole.

“For now, come to me if any of you know anything about this — particularly if there is one of us on the outside so troubled that these atrocities make a terrible kind of sense.”

Again she wheeled around as she spoke to them.

“Remember — the last thing we need right now is for the ordinaries to prove we are the fiends they say we are.” She gestured to her little council of advisors — Alec, Joshua, and Mole — and added, “If you can help, if you know anything, please come to us.”

No one moved, no one spoke; but she had expected as much — that anyone here who came to her with information would do so only after long, private thought.

“Thank you for your courage,” she said, “and your patience — we’re doing the best we can and we’ll make sure that this turns out the way we all want it to.”

The crowd slowly dispersed, conversation echoing off the cement walls... but calm conversation; this was no mob, rather the concerned citizens of Terminal City. It made Max feel proud; still, she knew what she had accomplished in the meeting was all too tentative. The compound remained a powder keg.

Max, Joshua, Alec, and the others headed back to the makeshift headquarters of the media center, and were just entering when Max’s cell phone rang.

“Go for Max.”

“They’re still listening,” the computer-altered voice warned.

Clemente.

“I thought you might call,” she said.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“We do.”

“I’ve seen the news tape — you know which one I mean...”

The detective was referring to Max and Alec leaping that fence to deal with the drunks and the media.

“Yes, I know the tape you mean.”

“And it shows our deal being broken.”

“Technically, perhaps — but we were merely defending our borders. There was no choice. You should see that, too.”

“And which side of that fence were you on?”

“I told you we had no choice. You know damn well we were merely defending ourselves from arsonists.”

“And terrorizing the press? Is that any way to win the PR war?”

“... I hear you.”

“I hope you do. But you’re not winning any points for trust, right now.”

The phone went dead in her ear.

Max settled in to watch tapes of news coverage of the transgenic siege.

And while she did, Joshua tugged Alec by the sleeve and — when Alec only frowned, in confusion — the dog man latched onto his friend by the wrist and led him into the hallway.

The iron grip of the gentle giant always surprised Alec, who gingerly reclaimed his hand and shook it a little.

“You don’t know your own strength, big guy,” Alec said.

Sheepishly, Joshua said, “Sorry. It’s important.”

“What is?”

Joshua began to sway back and forth, agitated. Alec could tell already that this wasn’t going anywhere good...

“I think I know something.”

“I’m sure you do, buddy.”

“I mean... something that would help Max.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Alec said, still having no idea what they were talking about, but rather used to Joshua’s torturous routes to what he had on his mind. “You should help her if you can.”

“Help Max if I can... but Joshua can’t.”

Alec said, “Oh... kay...” As usual, he and Joshua not only were not on the same page, they weren’t even in the same book. “You can help, but you can’t.”

Grinning, an eager puppy now, Joshua said, “Yes. You’ve got it, Alec! I knew you would know what Joshua should do — what should I do?”

“Whoa, boy.” Alec blew out air while he ran a hand through his hair; then he shook his head. “Explain it to me first. How exactly can you help Max?”

“I... know a guy.”

That was a start.

“Okay,” Alec said. “And?”

“And... the guy is passing.”

Alec nodded. He understood — a transgenic passing as human. “Lot of those around. And this helps Max how?”

“Guy might know who’s killing on the outside.”

Alec perked up. “How would he know?”

Joshua looked at the floor, then up at Alec. “They knew each other at Manticore.”

“They?” Alec asked. My God, this was like pulling teeth — and Joshua had some big teeth...

“The guy,” Joshua said, “and Kelpy.”

Alec frowned. “Kelpy? Is that a name?”

“It’s a name: Kelpy — Chameleon Boy.”

Alec felt like he needed a map to follow the conversation. “Chameleon Boy?”

“Kelpy... he could be the one.”

“The one?”

“The one... taking skins. Killing.”

Finally, Alec felt like he was in the same conversation as Joshua; and this was indeed important. “Kelpy’s on the outside?”

“Yes — Max freed him, like she did me, and so many of us.”

“Where on the outside?”

“That Joshua doesn’t know. But...”

Again, Alec could discern the drift. “You think this guy you know might know where Kelpy is?”

Joshua nodded vigorously.

“Great. Good job, Joshua. Now — let’s go tell Max.”

Pawlike hands went up, as if in surrender, and Joshua’s eyes flared. “Can’t!”

Alec, about to head back into the media center, froze. “Can’t?”

“He’s passing for human. If I tell Max, and she tells that detective...”

“You’re afraid this guy’s cover will be blown.”

“Cover blown?”

“People will know he’s transgenic. He won’t be able to pass, anymore.”

“Yes, Alec! Yes — guy’s cover blown.”

Alec shook his head. Leave it to Joshua to have a moral dilemma about this; anyway, Alec sure as hell wouldn’t. “You know Max, Joshua — she won’t blow your friend’s cover.”

Joshua shook his head. “No way. Joshua promised guy.”

“All right — then you and I’ll slip out, and just... talk to your friend.”

“Can’t!”

Figuring he understood Joshua’s hesitance, Alec said, “We’ll find a way out of here without being seen. Then we’ll talk to your friend, and we’ll find this Kelvin, and talk to him too.”

“Kelpy.”

“Kelpy, Kelvin, whatever.” Alec placed a hand on Joshua’s big bony shoulder. “We’ll find a way out, buddy — take care of business and be back before anyone notices.”

The big mane shook from side to side. “Can’t go! Max said so.”

“She didn’t mean us,” he lied. “We’re part of the inner circle.”

“Inner circle?”

“Yeah — she meant all the others, you know, at the big meeting. She said if anyone had any info, to tell us — remember?”

Joshua thought about that, nodded.

“So when they bring info to us, we’re supposed to do something about it, right?”

“Right — like tell Max.”

“Yeah, but we can’t tell Max. You don’t want to blow your friend’s cover, remember? So we gotta handle this ourselves.”

“Ourselves.”

“Right. And if we can solve these murders, we’ll be heroes.”

Joshua’s eyes brightened. “Heroes?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alec said, getting into it now. “We’ll be heroes, Max’ll be happy, and we’ll all get the hell out of Terminal City.”

“Max happy?”

“She’ll be ecstatic if we can find out who this skinner is. All we have to do is figure a way out of Terminal City.”

Joshua shrugged. “Tunnel,” he said.

“We don’t have time to dig a tunnel, bro,” Alec said.

Joshua stepped closer, grabbed Alec by the sleeve. “Already have a tunnel — Joshua’s in the inner inner circle!... Come on.”

Half an hour later, the handsome X5 and his caninelike friend stood on the street beyond Logan’s building. Joshua wore a motorcycle helmet that covered most of his face, and they both had on loose, anonymous jackets. The cops were all looking toward Terminal City, so Alec and Joshua just quietly walked away into the cool overcast Seattle morning.

“Where’s your friend live?” Alec asked.

“Far.”

Alec nodded. “Of course he does. We wouldn’t want this to be too easy, would we?”

Joshua frowned in confusion. “Why not?”

“Just jokin’.”

“I see. Alec likes to lighten up even serious situations.”

“Yeah. I’m a laugh riot. Well, come on, big guy — we’ll work on our little transportation problem.”

Alec longed for his motorcycle, but figured that was a lost cause. The cops had probably impounded it as soon as Normal told them who he was; and though Normal seemed far more tolerant toward trangenics now, he would still be cooperating with the cops.

So, they’d have to steal a car. Such contingencies were not a problem for Alec, who was a pragmatic, situational-ethics kind of guy. What with the siege at Terminal City, there were fewer cops on the Seattle streets, but — having watched the news with Max — Alec knew that those fewer cops were also shooting more and chasing less.

They would have to be careful.

Alec considered calling Logan Cale for a ride; but Logan hadn’t been in his new Medtronics pad when they’d exited, and Alec didn’t have Cale’s cell number with him. Anyway, Alec knew that Logan would’ve talked to Max about them all staying within the fence line, and Logan just might rat them out for being outside — the guy was totally pussy-whipped by Max, after all.

Safer to steal a car, Alec decided.

Three blocks later, Alec saw what he wanted: a gray Catbird parked against the curb, with no one around. Five minutes or so after that, he and Joshua were riding in style — a GM, the Catbird was one of those new ones with four-wheel drive, room for eight, and — if they were lucky — it would have a nice selection of movies. Gray seemed such a nice, nondescript color, plus Alec had switched plates with a sky green Olds.

For the first time since they’d left Terminal City, Alec felt safe and in control.

“Okay, bro — where’s your friend live?”

Joshua said, “Queen Anne.”

Alec counted the checkpoints between here and there. Getting through them would be tough anytime, and even harder doing it in daylight. “This guy, does he work?”

“Guy has good job.”

“Yeah?”

“Janitor,” Joshua said with a envious smile.

Alec made a mental note to explain to Joshua the difference between a job and a good job. “Does the guy work during the day?”

“Sure,” Joshua said.

“So, then — he won’t be at home now, he’ll be at work.”

“Yeah, right.”

Back to pulling teeth again. “Do you know where he works?”

“Works at school.”

“Joshua — do you know which school?”

The big guy looked lost for a long minute, and in the meantime Alec drove around aimlessly, avoiding checkpoints and adhering to the speed limit.

“Suzuki,” Joshua said at last.

Nodding, Alec asked, “Ichiro Suzuki Elementary?”

“Yes! Suzuki Elementary.”

Alec allowed himself a smile. Named after the legendary Japanese immigrant baseball player, Ichiro Elementary was one of the few public schools that had stayed open, post-Pulse. The beauty of Joshua’s friend being there, instead of at home, was that now the transgenics in the stolen car would pass through only one checkpoint, not five.

Pleased with how this was turning out, Alec sped off toward that checkpoint.

The line waiting to pass through was mercifully short and they sat for only a couple of minutes before the checkpoint cop — an athletic young man with brown hair and a ready smile — waved them forward.

“Good morning,” the cop said.

Alec said, “Morning. Jam Pony messengers.” He held up his ID, hoping to hell the guy just glanced at it and didn’t check it through the computer, where it might be flagged.

The cop’s smile disappeared. “Thought you guys rode bikes.”

“We do, or anyway we probably will again. But after the hostage thing with those damn transgenics, boss made us team up and take cars. Safety in numbers kinda deal.”

“Makes sense. You can’t be too careful with those freaks running around.”

“Hell no,” Alec said firmly.

Leaning down, the cop looked through the window at Joshua sitting in the passenger seat in his red motorcycle helmet. “What’s his story?”

With a quick grin, Alec explained, “He’s worried about getting hit in the head.”

“Yeah, head,” Joshua mumbled through the helmet.

“Had a bad run-in with a mugger with a brick, last week.” Alec leaned out and his tone turned intimate. “God only knows what another head shot would do to him.”

The cop nodded. “Guess you guys do hit some rough neighborhoods.”

“Yeah — me, I wear a cup.”

“Don’t blame ya,” the cop said with a chuckle. “Get movin’, fellas.”

“Yes, sir,” said Alec as he pressed the gas pedal and got them slowly, steadily the hell out of there.

The school, long, low, and brick, crouched in the middle of a huge, surprisingly well-tended green lawn. To Alec, sitting in their car parked across the street, the building looked like a museum piece, a postcard from a past he’d seen only in photos and on video.

“So,” Alec asked, “you know where he is in there?”

“Never been to school,” Joshua said ambiguously, as they both got out of the car.

“No matter,” Alec said, “we’ll find him. How many places can there be to look? What’s his name, anyway?”

“Hampton.” His motorcycle helmet still perched on his head, Joshua came around the car to the driver’s side. “Maybe Joshua should go alone.”

Alec tried to figure out where the big guy was headed with this one. “Why would you think that?”

“Alec might scare Hampton.”

Alec managed not to laugh in Joshua’s face. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hampton is passing, Alec. You show up, an X5... that might scare him. Make him blow his cover.”

“What about havin’ you make the scene, big guy?”

Joshua’s eyes went wide. “Hampton knows me.”

“Only you never dropped by school here before, did you?”

“You think having Joshua show up would scare him? Maybe I should leave the helmet on.”

“Definitely leave it on. But we’re both gonna go — all right?”

Alec took Joshua by the arm — no more inane discussion — and they crossed the street, strode through the front door, and Alec immediately realized that this job could be a lot tougher than they thought. A corridor ran perpendicular to the door — it seemed to go on endlessly in either direction; looking both ways, he saw entrances to hallways that ran perpendicular to this main one. He guessed that this main hall probably had a twin at the other end of the building.

This was going to take a while.

Directly across the hall from them was a door marked OFFICE.

“Should Alec go one way and Joshua another?” the dog man in the helmet asked.

Alec knew a bad idea when he heard one, and turning Joshua loose on his own devices was definitely one. The real question was which was riskier, separating and maybe finding Hampton sooner, or staying together and risking exposure by being in the building longer.

“We should stay together,” Alec said.

“Which way, then?”

The questions never got easier. Sighing, Alec said, “Wait right here — I’m going into the office. Maybe they’ll know where Hambone is.”

“Hamp-ton.”

“Whatever. I’ll be right back.”

Joshua nodded and hugged the wall, trying to make his six-foot-six-inch frame look inconspicuous.

Alec crossed the hall, opened the door and walked into a long narrow room halved by a counter. To his left, as he came in, empty chairs lined the wall and, to his right — just past the end of the counter — a closed door beckoned, the top half pebbled glass with the words VICE PRINCIPAL painted in black letters on it.

To his far left, laid out in the same fashion, he saw that door’s twin with the word PRINCIPAL stenciled on it. Beyond the counter, as if guarding the wall of cubbyholes behind her, a huge woman at a small desk sat in a tablecloth of a floral dress, her gray hair piled high on her head, the ghost of some long-ago trend in hairstyles.

“May I help you?” she asked in a high-pitched small voice that didn’t suit her body type in the least.

It was Alec’s opinion that these ordinaries could do with a little DNA tampering themselves.

“Jam Pony messenger. I’m looking for a Mr. Hampton. I believe he’s a janitor here.”

The woman nodded, making various chins collide, forced herself to her feet and trundled toward the counter. “I don’t see a package.”

“My partner has it outside.”

She looked unimpressed. “Employees are not allowed to receive personal items here at the school.”

“Ma’am, I don’t know anything about that. If you could just tell me where to find him—”

“You’ll need to sign in first, then sign back out when you leave.” She glanced toward a clipboard with a pen chained to it. “And Mr. Koopman will be informed about this.”

“No skin off mine,” he said, picking up the pen and looking down at the graphed paper. Beside Name he wrote “Reagan Ronald,” put down delivery as the purpose of his visit and “Janitorial” as his destination.

“Janitor’s room is down the main hall. Take a left up the first hall, then he’s the third door on the right. If Mr. Hampton is not there, I don’t know where he is.”

“Thanks for being so helpful,” he said, in a manner so faintly sarcastic, he hoped she’d be thinking about it for a long time.

Outside, Alec waved at Joshua and the big guy fell in step next to him.

“And I thought Manticore was bad,” Alec said, not liking the school experience much so far.

“School people tell you where Hampton is?”

“Where he probably is.” Alec didn’t bother to tell Joshua about the woman’s negative reaction to Hampton getting a personal delivery. Some things were better left unsaid.

Walking briskly, the duo turned left down the shorter hallway. Most of the doors were closed, so no teacher or pupil faces looked out to see them. The third door on the right stood ajar. They could see a man Alec’s size with dark hair and a tidy goatee — another X5.

Not surprising — pretty easy for X5s to pass.

The guy was bent over a sink, filling a bucket, completely engrossed in what he was doing.

The sink occupied the right wall of the tiny room; brooms, mops, buckets, and the like stood like a rack of rifles along the back wall. You could take the boy out of Manticore, but you couldn’t take Manticore out of the boy.

When Joshua said, “Hello, Hampton,” the guy nearly jumped out of his skin.

Joshua — now a step into the cramped janitor’s room — removed his helmet. “It’s okay, Hampton. It’s me — Joshua.”

The X5’s brown eyes were wide with shock and displeasure. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Hampton stepped past Joshua and tried to pull the door closed, but smacked it into Alec.

Nostrils flaring, Hampton demanded, “And who the hell is this asshole?”

Joshua said, “This asshole is Alec. He’s another friend. X5.”

Hampton’s anger gave hard edges to his sarcastic smile. “Great! Happy to see you, bro — come on in. Let’s have a party.”

“Thanks,” Alec said, and stepped in, pulling the door closed behind him.

Turning his attention back to Joshua, the janitor said, “You know I’m trying to pass. What the hell’s the idea—”

“That’s why we came,” Joshua said. “So no one would know.”

Hampton looked at Alec for help.

Alec said, “We figured you’d rather talk to us than the cops or maybe the feds.”

The janitor’s frown dug deep grooves into his handsome face. “What the hell’s this about?”

“Take it easy,” Alec said. “Just hear us out.”

Hampton let out a deep sigh, forcing himself to calm down. “Okay, fellas — just make it quick, okay?”

Joshua looked at Alec, prompting him to take the lead, and the janitor turned his attention toward Alec too.

“Here’s the deal, Hampton,” Alec said in a rush. He knew the guy didn’t want them there one second longer than necessary. “You’ve seen the tube — somebody’s killing people. And skinning them.”

The janitor nodded. “Couple of ’em cops. Sure. What the hell’s that got to do with us?”

“Could be Kelpy,” Joshua put in.

Hampton’s face turned long and pale and sad — as if Joshua had just told him his brother had died. “Oh, damn... You sure?”

Alec shook his head. “No. But the cops think a transgenic’s responsible, and Joshua thinks this Kelpy might be... disturbed enough to be doing this weird shit.”

“Men in uniforms,” Joshua said, “were mean to Kelpy in the basement.”

“I bet,” Hampton said dryly.

“We need to find him,” Alec said. “And at least talk to him.”

Looking up at Joshua, Hampton said, “And you boys thought I’d know where to find him.”

Joshua said, “Yes.”

“Guys, I’m sorry. Haven’t seen him for a while.”

“How long?” Alec asked.

“A month, maybe two. And he was getting pretty bizarre at that.”

“Bizarre how?”

Hampton shook his head. “Being human was all he could talk about — the only thing that mattered to him anymore.”

“Passing for human?” Joshua asked.

“No — being human.”

“We are human,” Alec said.

“Not exactly,” Hampton said.

“Anyway,” Alec said, picking up the prior thread, “you say you have no idea where he is? Can’t you give us a lead, anyway?”

Shrugging, the janitor said, “Kelpy had an apartment over in Queen Anne.”

Alec said, “Isn’t that where you live, Hampton?”

“Yeah, on Sixth. Bobby’s place is on Crockett.”

“Bobby?”

“Yeah. He uses the name Bobby Kawasaki. Only a few of us know about Kelpy.”

“Bobby Kawasaki... you’re shitting me.”

“No,” Hampton said, frowning, “I’m not. Why?”

“Nothing,” Alec said.

But really it was something: Alec knew the name.

It belonged to a Jam Pony messenger. He’d heard Normal call out for the guy before; but for the life of him, Alec couldn’t put a face with the name.

“Can you give us Kelpy’s — Bobby’s — address?”

Hampton did.

“Thanks,” Alec said, and turned back to his towering companion. “Better put your helmet back on, Joshua.”

But before Joshua could take that advice, the door to the small room swung open.

Alec turned to see a skinny man in his late fifties, in shirt and tie, his hair short and gray, his brown eyes huge with fear as he stared up at Joshua’s helmetless head.

“Oh, my God,” the man squeaked. He tried to shut the door but Joshua came running out, knocking the visitor aside. Alec turned and immediately punched Hampton in the face, and the janitor crumpled to the floor in a heap. Joshua stood in the hall, aghast, as Alec slipped into the corridor as well.

The guy in the tie snatched a walkie-talkie off his belt and held it up to his mouth. “This is Vice Principal Koopman — they’re here! The freaks are here — they must be trying to grab the children!”

Alec ripped the radio out of the guy’s hands and threw it against the brick wall, smashing it into a thousand pieces. Then he and Joshua sprinted up the hall, into the main corridor and out of the building.

Once the car was a safe distance from the school, Joshua asked, “Why did you punch Hampton?”

“To protect his cover. They’ll think he was fighting us. He’ll be all right.”

Joshua nodded. “That went sideways.”

“Yes, it did.”

“FUBAR.”

“FUBAR, indeed,” Alec said.

The X5 knew that once this made the news, Max would be righteously pissed, and there would be hell to pay. The only way to make this better was for them to find Kelpy or Bobby, or whatever the hell he was calling himself now.

The sector cops would be looking for them, and having to go to Queen Anne meant five more checkpoints to clear, which meant the smart money was on stealing a different car. In a grocery store parking lot, Alec traded the gray Catbird for a maroon Ford. They passed through the checkpoints with no real trouble and finally got to the address Hampton had given them for Kelpy.

The odd couple climbed the stairs to the eighth floor, and found Kelpy’s door seventh down on the left. No light was visible under the door, but Alec was through taking chances for the day. Using the old Manticore hand signals, they came up with a plan. Alec slid to one side and pressed himself against the wall. Still wearing the helmet, Joshua stood in front of the door and knocked.

“Pizza,” he said.

There was no response from the other side.

Knocking a second time, louder this time, Joshua repeated, “Pizza.”

Still no one came to the door.

“Fine,” Alec said. “We do it the hard way.”

“Hard way?” asked Joshua.

Easing his friend aside, Alec used burglar tools — two picklocks — on the door. Soon the two were standing within a small studio apartment, as silent as it was dark.

Alec hit the light switch, but the dim forty-watter overhead did little to improve the gloom inside the tiny flat. “Not exactly living high, wide, and handsome, is he?”

Joshua said, “Not high, not wide,” clearly not knowing what he was saying.

Alec dispatched Joshua to start on the kitchen side, while he handled the other. They took their time, moving ahead slowly, hoping not to miss any bit of evidence that would either prove Kelpy was the killer or exonerate him. After checking the stove, Joshua opened the refrigerator door and stood, staring.

“What have you got?” Alec asked.

“Tryptophan in the fridge,” Joshua said, holding up a white bottle big enough for five hundred or so doses.

“Take it.”

“That’s stealing, Alec.”

“Take it!”

Joshua stuffed the bottle in his pocket. In the bathroom, in a cupboard under the sink, Alec found a canvas bag. Inside he found the wallets, pistols, stun rods, and badges of two sector cops and an NSA operative named Calvin D. Hankins.

“Not exactly the jackpot I was hoping to hit,” he said.

Ducking into the bathroom, Joshua looked at the items and frowned, and his voice quivered as he asked, “Kelpy... Kelpy is skinner, isn’t he?”

“Looks that way... Sorry, big guy.” Alec loaded the evidence back in the bag. “We’ve got to get this stuff to Max, ASAP.”

“Okay. But Alec — she won’t be happy. We won’t be heroes.”

“No, but she’ll be pleased we found this before the cops or Ames White. Did you find anything?”

Joshua shook his head.

As they walked out into the main room, Alec noticed a door next to the one they’d busted in. A closet, had to be. “Did you look in there?” he asked.

Joshua shook his head. “Didn’t see it.”

Glancing from Joshua to the door, Alec turned the knob and opened it.

Inside they saw something even their Manticore hardened eyes were unprepared to process.

A dress mannequin stood on the floor, wearing a Frankenstein patchwork, an incomplete garment, whose sections were various tones, ranging from brown to off-white, depending in part upon their relative freshness.

The garment in progress consisted of the stitched-together flesh of Kelpy’s victims.

“Crazy bastard’s making a human suit,” Alec said.

“Why, Alec? Why?”

“To be human, I guess. Somewhere in his Manticore-fried brain, he came up with that hot one... Wait... what the hell...?”

Hating to touch the thing, Alec swiveled the mannequin slightly.

On the blank head of the thing, Kelpy had pasted a photo of a white face with spiky hair, wire frame glasses, and a serious save-the-world look.

Joshua said simply, “Logan’s picture. Alec — why is Logan’s picture on that statue?”

“Not good,” Alec said. “Not good.”

Walking down the eighth floor hall, Bobby Kawasaki knew something was wrong.

He could almost smell it. At his apartment he paused and saw the faint glow beneath the door.

Someone was inside!

Not wasting a moment, his fear spiking, Bobby stripped, tossed his clothes down the hall, and blended into the wall.

Not thirty seconds later, his head covered by a motorcycle helmet, Bobby’s old friend Joshua stepped into the hall. A young man who appeared to be an X5 followed, the canvas bag of goodies hanging from his arm.

They took a few steps in the opposite direction and Kelpy attacked.

Reaching into the bag, Kelpy pulled out a stun rod before the X5 could react. He touched the X5 with the rod, and the young man yelled as he shook violently.

Growling, Joshua spun toward Kelpy, but not in time...

Snatching up the second stun rod, Kelpy hit Joshua in the chest even as the beast man lunged forward with a lionlike roar that turned into a shriek. Kelpy hit both of them again, and left them twitching but unconscious.

He dropped one of the stun rods, keeping the other with him. There was much to do now and very little time to do it. The cops would probably be on their way, if any neighbors had heard and reported the ruckus. That meant getting his project, and getting out of there, as fast as he could.

Kelpy would have to move his plan up now — he would need to work faster.

But that was all right: the sooner he finished, the sooner everything would go his way. He removed his project carefully from the mannequin and packed it in a suitcase. He dressed quickly, once again becoming Bobby Kawasaki, bike messenger. Slinging the suitcase’s strap over his shoulder, Bobby took one last look around the rathole. He wouldn’t miss it a bit.

Leaving the apartment — forgetting to collect his Tryptophan in the fridge — Bobby picked up the canvas bag, felt the weight of the pistols inside and thought about killing Joshua and his intrusive playmate, still lying helpless in the hallway.

Then he heard sirens, the elevator buzz, and decided discretion might well be the better part of valor. Turning, he walked to the stairs at the far end of the hall and disappeared... in that way that only Bobby/Kelpy could.