


open. I immediately imagined it to be a van or delivery 
truck. 
Jack greeted the newcomers. "Evenin', tulmen." 
"The last batch was unsatisfactory." The voice had no 
compromise, and even less humanity in it. 
Jack managed to keep fear out of his voice, but he 
radiated it so palpably that I could feel it from within the 
bag. "I know, and I'm sorry about that, but look, this one 
will make it up to you." 
I heard a pair of clicks and the pressure on my chest 
and legs went away. I felt a tug near the top of my head, 
then heard the rasping sound of the zipper being undone. 
For a half-second the air rushing in felt cool; then it turned 
hot and very dry. I smelled dust in the air and the sharp 
scent of burned-out engines and steaming radiator fluid. 
My nasal passages dried out immediately and I could feel 
myself desiccating as they stood there. 
Gruff-voice tried to let laughter override his anxiety. 
"Look, he's mid-30s, clean and in good shape. No scars. 
You can get kidneys, a liver and a heart out of him. His 
eyes should be good, too. Hell, you could even take his 
lungs and give them to Jack, here." 
Panic again surged through me. They're selling off my 
parts, but I'm not even dead yet. They can't do this, I have 
to let them know I'm still alive! 

open. I immediately imagined it to be a van or delivery 
truck. 
Jack greeted the newcomers. "Evenin', tulmen." 
"The last batch was unsatisfactory." The voice had no 
compromise, and even less humanity in it. 
Jack managed to keep fear out of his voice, but he 
radiated it so palpably that I could feel it from within the 
bag. "I know, and I'm sorry about that, but look, this one 
will make it up to you." 
I heard a pair of clicks and the pressure on my chest 
and legs went away. I felt a tug near the top of my head, 
then heard the rasping sound of the zipper being undone. 
For a half-second the air rushing in felt cool; then it turned 
hot and very dry. I smelled dust in the air and the sharp 
scent of burned-out engines and steaming radiator fluid. 
My nasal passages dried out immediately and I could feel 
myself desiccating as they stood there. 
Gruff-voice tried to let laughter override his anxiety. 
"Look, he's mid-30s, clean and in good shape. No scars. 
You can get kidneys, a liver and a heart out of him. His 
eyes should be good, too. Hell, you could even take his 
lungs and give them to Jack, here." 
Panic again surged through me. They're selling off my 
parts, but I'm not even dead yet. They can't do this, I have 
to let them know I'm still alive! 

Yes, there, now they know I'm still alive. 

The inspector laughed harshly. "Come now, aces like 
you know gasses build up in corpses. Only time you'll 
see this deader again is in your nightmares." 
My heart sank. 
"Well, we don't spend as much time around them as 
you Reapers do. We generally get them before they 
become spare parts." 
"So you do. Still warm. Good. Looks clean. Where did 
you get him?" 
I heard Jack swallow hard. "Call came in an hour ago. 
He was in a squat-shack hotel in Slymingtown. Setup 
looked staged, like he had been dumped there. No one 
was asking questions, but Scorpion Security was on its 
way, so we snatched him and called you. How much?" 
"A meg, plus 10% of anything unusual we get." 
"A meg? Are you kidding? I could get three megs 
piecing him out, and still get a point on DNA applications." 
Jack had sounded angry, but the Reaper called his 
bluff. "If you can, do it. You'll find it is a buyer's market, 
Jack, not a seller's. I could see going 1.5 megs, but you'll 
drop to 7% for exotics." 
"With two points on DMA aps?" 
"One, and only because I've forgotten how the last two 


maggot-ranches you gave me weren't fit for dog food. 
Literally, we left them in the desert and the coyotes 
wouldn't touch them." 
"And we keep the effects?" 
"Yes, Jack. We care not for his earthly possessions." 
I felt a hand grasp my forehead and work my head side 
to side. "Good bone structure and no cranial damage. I 
think we can save the brain. This is good. Do we have a 
deal?" 
"Done. Always enjoy doing business with you Reapers." 
"You lie poorly, Jackson, but we tolerate you because 
of your product." The Reaper snapped his fingers. "Gord, 
Kenny, red tag this one and put him in the back. We want 
to do him quickly, before he spoils any more." 
The zipper closed again, shutting me away in the 
stuffy world of rubber and stale flesh. I sagged into a U-
shape as two people grabbed the handles at my head and 
feet. I swayed between them as they carried me along, 
then I heard the rumble of a roll-away door sliding up into 
the truck's ceiling. 
"Which side do we put him on?" one voice asked 
thickly. 
"You sar him; he's vanilla." 
They rocked me three times, then I flew up into the 
truck and landed solidly. Something shifted below me 
and I half expected to be buried beneath an avalanche of 
corpses. I slid a bit sideways, but nothing crashed down 
on top of me. The door slammed shut and the engine 
coughed to life. Gears ground and we lumbered forward. 
I heard another sound in the back of the truck above 
the ticking idle of the engine. I first caught it as a cyclical 
pinging and noted it remained constant. I wondered what 
it was, but not for long: I felt a chill nibbling at my toes and 
fingers. The logic of icing down a truck full of corpses did 
not surprise me, but the reality of it sent a jolt of 
adrenaline through my body. 
The cold and adrenaline combined to do what all my 
willpower had been unable to manage. I started to shiver. 
My limbs trembled uncontrollably. I found myself no 
longer locked in the grasp of paralysis. 
I tried to move my hand under my conscious direction, 
but still found myself unable to do so. Too ambitious, I 
decided. I tried to open my eyes, but realized, in the dark, 
in a body bag, I could not tell if I had been successful. I 
made an attempt at breathing through my mouth, but 
found I still could not open it. 
Despair opened its jaws wide to swallow my spirit 
whole, but the hope inspired by my shivering saved me. 

maggot-ranches you gave me weren't fit for dog food. 
Literally, we left them in the desert and the coyotes 
wouldn't touch them." 
"And we keep the effects?" 
"Yes, Jack. We care not for his earthly possessions." 
I felt a hand grasp my forehead and work my head side 
to side. "Good bone structure and no cranial damage. I 
think we can save the brain. This is good. Do we have a 
deal?" 
"Done. Always enjoy doing business with you Reapers." 
"You lie poorly, Jackson, but we tolerate you because 
of your product." The Reaper snapped his fingers. "Gord, 
Kenny, red tag this one and put him in the back. We want 
to do him quickly, before he spoils any more." 
The zipper closed again, shutting me away in the 
stuffy world of rubber and stale flesh. I sagged into a U-
shape as two people grabbed the handles at my head and 
feet. I swayed between them as they carried me along, 
then I heard the rumble of a roll-away door sliding up into 
the truck's ceiling. 
"Which side do we put him on?" one voice asked 
thickly. 
"You sar him; he's vanilla." 
They rocked me three times, then I flew up into the 
truck and landed solidly. Something shifted below me 
and I half expected to be buried beneath an avalanche of 
corpses. I slid a bit sideways, but nothing crashed down 
on top of me. The door slammed shut and the engine 
coughed to life. Gears ground and we lumbered forward. 
I heard another sound in the back of the truck above 
the ticking idle of the engine. I first caught it as a cyclical 
pinging and noted it remained constant. I wondered what 
it was, but not for long: I felt a chill nibbling at my toes and 
fingers. The logic of icing down a truck full of corpses did 
not surprise me, but the reality of it sent a jolt of 
adrenaline through my body. 
The cold and adrenaline combined to do what all my 
willpower had been unable to manage. I started to shiver. 
My limbs trembled uncontrollably. I found myself no 
longer locked in the grasp of paralysis. 
I tried to move my hand under my conscious direction, 
but still found myself unable to do so. Too ambitious, I 
decided. I tried to open my eyes, but realized, in the dark, 
in a body bag, I could not tell if I had been successful. I 
made an attempt at breathing through my mouth, but 
found I still could not open it. 
Despair opened its jaws wide to swallow my spirit 
whole, but the hope inspired by my shivering saved me. 


admitting panic. It represented a total loss of control, and 
that spelled disaster. It felt as if part of me believed that 
by admitting I was in serious trouble, I would not find a 
way out of it. 
Though I knew I should have been paying attention to 
the motions of the truck, I decided against it. I knew it 
would have been simplea child's gameto keep track 
of twists and turns. By counting slowly and estimating 
speeds, I could have easily cataloged our journey and 
had an excellent chance of backtracking it. I had done it 
before, but not knowing where we had started, and 
unsure if I ever wanted to return there, I let it go. 
I also found, for the brief time I did keep track of things, 
that the driver was doing his best to take us through a 
very evasive and difficult-to-follow route. We changed 
levels several times and traveled both city streets and 
highways. We made no more stops, which I pridefully 
saw as a reflection of my own value, and ended the 
journey with a long downward slope. 
My shivering stopped instantly as the truck door 
opened. I felt all my senses come alive as if I were trying 
to project my mind outside the bag to see where I was. 
I could not, of course, and my attempts were interrupted 
by the jerk on the handle at my head. My body limply 
slithered over other corpses, then I slid free of the truck 
and my legs slapped stiffly on the ground. 
"Key-ryest, Gord, don't let the legs hit!" 
"Geez, Kenny, the guy ain't complaining." 
"But the doctor will. Soft tissue damage, she calls it." 
There was nothing soft about the way my legs and 
heels felt as Gord hefted me up. Hitting the ground had 
hurt and I would have screamed had my jaw not been 
locked. Anger twisted my belly up and burned like fire. 
I wanted to let it run wild like I had the panic, but I 
immediately shunted that energy away and calmed 
myself. 
Then I noticed that the rageor painhad caused my 
fingers to claw inward. They felt stiff, but they had moved. 
One by one I willed them to straighten out again. The 
paralysis fought me, but the commands got through. On 
my right hand, my little finger snapped to attention first, 
then the ring finger and the index. I reissued the order and 
the middle finger complied. 
My left hand responded more sluggishly, but it did 
respond. I tried to curl my toes inward and they also 
worked. Concentrating hard, I forced my fingers back in 
again and the right hand got almost all the way down into 
a fist. The left hand tried, but failed. The fingers did 
straighten out again on command, and I managed to flex 
all the muscles in my right arm, which gave me great 
cause for joy. 
So concerned was I with regaining the use of my limbs 
that I was unprepared for Gord and Kenny dropping me 
on a table. I smacked the back of my head on the surface 
and saw stars in front of my eyes. As they sizzled off like 
Technicolor comets, I heard the bag being unzipped, 
then I was tipped right and left so they could whisk it from 


beneath me. 
They left me lying naked on a cold metal table. 
Despite my eyes still being closed, I could see a golden 
glow from outside my eyelids, and I could feel the warmth 
of the lights on me. I brushed the fingertips of my right 
hand across the surface and felt a shallow groove 
running from beneath me toward the edge of the table. 
A door opened and I heard a woman's voice. "Oh, this 
is a fine specimen. Thank you, tulmen. Andre, roll tape 
on this one. We want to document him." 
"Yes, doctor." 
I heard a wheeled cart roll closer to the table. The clink 
of instruments accompanied its arrival and I did not like 
how close to my head it all sounded. 
From right above me I heard the woman's voice. 
"Subject is a white male, six feet tall, approximately 175 
pounds, moderate body hair which is dark in color. He is 
in excellent condition, with no visible signs of trauma. 
Fluids will be drawn and toxicology run to determine 
cause of death." 
I'm not dead! I made my right hand into a fist. 
"Subject shows no sign of male pattern baldness, so 
we will attempt to preserve the scalp intact as we go in 
after the brain." 
I straightened my hand again and slapped it against 
the table. There, she has to hear that! 
"Doctor, his right hand moved," I heard Andre tell her. 
"I think he is still alive." 
"Andre, I think you are right. This is a complication." 
Had I the ability to do so, I would have smiled. 
"Quickly, Andre, over there, the cabinet." 
Good, get something to fix me. 
"Here?" 


Yes, Andre, you idiot, do what she tells you to do. 

"Yes, Andre, bring them to me." 
"Is this enough?" 
"Four? I suppose, but bring a couple more, just to be 
sure." I heard her pat the instrument table. "Put them 
here. Whenever one is alive there's always more blood. 
You can never have enough towels." 



The whirring buzz of a bone-saw hovered over me like 
a malevolent wasp and wrung the last ounce of adrenaline 
out of me. As the saw descended, my eyes snapped 
open. The doctor brought the instrument down with both 
hands, but my right arm shot up on a desperate collision 
course. Forearm to forearm I blocked her, then shoved 
back with all my strength. 
Her grandmotherly face disappeared in a red mist as 
the saw-blade bridged the gap between her eyebrows. 
She flew back out of sight with her stool clattering 
metallically against the tile floor. I scissored my legs left 
over right and pitched myself off the right side of the 
autopsy table, then half-collapsed as my legs buckled 


beneath me. 
I thought that a disaster, but it turned out to be more 
fortuitous than I ever could have imagined. As I sank 
toward the floor, the snap-kick Andre had aimed at my 
head missed cleanly. From below I posted my left leg up 
into his groin, and that took all the fight out of him. He 
doubled over, moaning. Grabbing a handful of his hair, 
I accelerated his face into the tile floor. 
I sagged down beside him, almost as limp as he was, 
and felt as if I had been de-boned. My limbs moved as if 
they were made of lead and powered by the wind, but I 
gathered them beneath me. Inch by inch, I climbed up 
one leg of the autopsy table and hauled myself back 
upright. I glanced over at the doctor. The only sign of life 
there was the cutter still whirring away in her right hand. 
Andre was out for the count, if not the rest of this 
incarnation, which left me safe for the moment. 

beneath me. 
I thought that a disaster, but it turned out to be more 
fortuitous than I ever could have imagined. As I sank 
toward the floor, the snap-kick Andre had aimed at my 
head missed cleanly. From below I posted my left leg up 
into his groin, and that took all the fight out of him. He 
doubled over, moaning. Grabbing a handful of his hair, 
I accelerated his face into the tile floor. 
I sagged down beside him, almost as limp as he was, 
and felt as if I had been de-boned. My limbs moved as if 
they were made of lead and powered by the wind, but I 
gathered them beneath me. Inch by inch, I climbed up 
one leg of the autopsy table and hauled myself back 
upright. I glanced over at the doctor. The only sign of life 
there was the cutter still whirring away in her right hand. 
Andre was out for the count, if not the rest of this 
incarnation, which left me safe for the moment. 


chance to complete their draws. Cutting to the left, I 
snapped off a shot that sent the one on the right to the 
ground clutching his throat. I hit the other in the shoulder, 
slowly starting him to spin to the right, then dropped him 
with a shot to the middle of his back. 
I glanced at the gun to confirm visually what I already 
knew about it by feel. Colt Krait. Ten millimeter ammo, 
muzzle brake, open sights. Fourteen in the clip, could 
have had the first one in the chamber. I'm running four 
shy of full. 

chance to complete their draws. Cutting to the left, I 
snapped off a shot that sent the one on the right to the 
ground clutching his throat. I hit the other in the shoulder, 
slowly starting him to spin to the right, then dropped him 
with a shot to the middle of his back. 
I glanced at the gun to confirm visually what I already 
knew about it by feel. Colt Krait. Ten millimeter ammo, 
muzzle brake, open sights. Fourteen in the clip, could 
have had the first one in the chamber. I'm running four 
shy of full. 

What is it about this guy and my brain? 

I dropped the Krait on his outline and sent two rounds 
into him. They both hit high chest and sent him tumbling 
backward. Off to my right two men ran round a corner, 
each with a submachinegun in hand, but they discounted 
the sight of me because I was in a lab coat. A head-shot 
put the first man down and a gut-shot jackknifed the 
second man to the slick concrete floor. 
I sprinted across open ground to the ice cream truck. 
The keys were still in the ignition, so I dropped into the 
driver's seat, shifted the pistol to my left hand and 
cranked the engine. It sprang to life, still ticking like a 
bomb. I jammed the clutch down and forced it into first. 
The truck lurched forward and I started it turning in a 
large arc toward the ramp and the big doorway that 
would take me back up to street level. 

Have to get out of this charnel house. Fresh air. The 
sky. Life! 

In the rearview mirror I saw bodies tumbling willy-nilly 
from the back. I also saw two more men with pistols 
come running into the area. They triggered off shots, but 
I knew that unless they were even better shots than I was, 
they had no chance of hitting me. Punching the gas, I 
upshifted and steered straight toward the ramp. 
I started up the ramp at 30 mph when the Reaper in 
black appeared in the driver's-side doorway. Blood 
bubbled from the lung-hits he'd taken, but he stood 
there, clutching either side of the doorway as if he'd not 
been hit at all. He opened his mouth to hiss at me like a 
cat and a thin, bloody mist sprayed out. His left hand 
grabbed at the wheel and jerked it toward him. 
I had no clue as to what this pasty-faced lunatic 
wanted to accomplish, but I had plenty of ideas how to 
discourage him. I shoved the Krait in his face and stroked 
the trigger. His visage disappeared in a cloud of smoke 


and fire. He hung in the doorway for a second, then fell 
away, anchored to the speeding vehicle by his left hand's 
deathgrip on the wheel. 
I pressed the Krait to his wrist and fired. The body 
dropped away with a thump, but it had hung there long 
enough to pull the truck over to the left side of the ramp. 
Sparks shot up as I sideswiped a railing, then I jerked the 
wheel back to the right. Oversteering, I pulled away from 
the railing, but managed to hit a girder stanchion on the 
other side at the top of the ramp. 
The airbag deployed as the girder crushed the right 
front quarter of the ice cream truck. I bounced forward 
then back as the vehicle slewed around to the left in a 
fishtail that sowed half-frozen bodies all over the ramp 
and the landing. The truck hit the closed doors going 
backward, which slammed me back into the rear of the 
driver's compartment, then I rebounded into the steering 
wheel. With a screaming crunch, the roll-away door 
snapped off the supports at the top and flowed out into 
the street like a metallic carpet. 
Shocked and battered, with blood leaking from my 
nose, I scrambled back through the truck, over the 
bodies and out into the street. Once clear, I turned back 
and emptied the pistol into the truck's gas tank. It went 
up in a boiling, orange-black ball that rose toward the 
sky, but never actually got there. 
One hundred feet up the fireball flattened against a 
construct of black panels, steel girders and tangled 
wires. In its wake it left ablaze a small structure that 
looked like a bird's nest built beneath the eaves of a 
house. In this case, however, the nest was large enough 
to house humans and the eaves were part of a roof over 
the whole city. The fire's smoke rolled across the underside 
of the panels like a dark thunderhead, then started 
to descend like a malevolent fog. 
They roofed over the city! Something inside me 
crumpled. The claustrophobic feeling of being inside the 
body bag flooded back like a recurring nightmare. The 
sky and the sun and the moon meant freedom to me, yet 
I found myself trapped like a cockroach beneath a black 
steel bowl. How can people exist like this? 
I felt a tugging on my pant leg and saw the Reaper's 
hand had become entangled in the fabric of Andre's 
pants. Revulsed, I shook it free of my leg, then kicked it 
back into the blaze choking the doorway into the Reaper's 
sanctuary. 
All around me the shadows began to move. People 
wearing multiple layers of clothing despite the stifling 
heat, slowly crawled out of the surrounding tenements. 
They shuffled forward, mesmerized by the fire. The reds 
and golden yellows provided the only color in this world, 
and people stared at it as if it were some mysterious 
avatar coming to liberate them from their gray homes. 

and fire. He hung in the doorway for a second, then fell 
away, anchored to the speeding vehicle by his left hand's 
deathgrip on the wheel. 
I pressed the Krait to his wrist and fired. The body 
dropped away with a thump, but it had hung there long 
enough to pull the truck over to the left side of the ramp. 
Sparks shot up as I sideswiped a railing, then I jerked the 
wheel back to the right. Oversteering, I pulled away from 
the railing, but managed to hit a girder stanchion on the 
other side at the top of the ramp. 
The airbag deployed as the girder crushed the right 
front quarter of the ice cream truck. I bounced forward 
then back as the vehicle slewed around to the left in a 
fishtail that sowed half-frozen bodies all over the ramp 
and the landing. The truck hit the closed doors going 
backward, which slammed me back into the rear of the 
driver's compartment, then I rebounded into the steering 
wheel. With a screaming crunch, the roll-away door 
snapped off the supports at the top and flowed out into 
the street like a metallic carpet. 
Shocked and battered, with blood leaking from my 
nose, I scrambled back through the truck, over the 
bodies and out into the street. Once clear, I turned back 
and emptied the pistol into the truck's gas tank. It went 
up in a boiling, orange-black ball that rose toward the 
sky, but never actually got there. 
One hundred feet up the fireball flattened against a 
construct of black panels, steel girders and tangled 
wires. In its wake it left ablaze a small structure that 
looked like a bird's nest built beneath the eaves of a 
house. In this case, however, the nest was large enough 
to house humans and the eaves were part of a roof over 
the whole city. The fire's smoke rolled across the underside 
of the panels like a dark thunderhead, then started 
to descend like a malevolent fog. 
They roofed over the city! Something inside me 
crumpled. The claustrophobic feeling of being inside the 
body bag flooded back like a recurring nightmare. The 
sky and the sun and the moon meant freedom to me, yet 
I found myself trapped like a cockroach beneath a black 
steel bowl. How can people exist like this? 
I felt a tugging on my pant leg and saw the Reaper's 
hand had become entangled in the fabric of Andre's 
pants. Revulsed, I shook it free of my leg, then kicked it 
back into the blaze choking the doorway into the Reaper's 
sanctuary. 
All around me the shadows began to move. People 
wearing multiple layers of clothing despite the stifling 
heat, slowly crawled out of the surrounding tenements. 
They shuffled forward, mesmerized by the fire. The reds 
and golden yellows provided the only color in this world, 
and people stared at it as if it were some mysterious 
avatar coming to liberate them from their gray homes. 

As that quandary struck me, an even more horrible 


question followed in its wake and left me hollow inside. 
My chest tightened and it drove me to my knees in the 
stinking street. 

question followed in its wake and left me hollow inside. 
My chest tightened and it drove me to my knees in the 
stinking street. 


I awoke with a start from the nightmare spurred by the 
day's events, barely remembering any of it. I had wandered 
dark, oppressively hot streets. Behind me a roaring 
conflagration attracted firefighting equipment the 
way an open flame attracts moths. Faceless and weary, 
with the empty gun tucked in my waistband, I staggered 
through the streets and trash-strewn alleys. With each 
step I felt the paralysis reassert control over my body 
until, stiff-legged and lock-jawed, I stumbled face-first 
into a phalanx of garbage cans. 
Now, sitting bolt upright, the sheet covering my sweat-
slicked chest slipped down toward my lap. I found myself 
lying on an overstuffed couch with crocheted doilies on 
the arms and back to hide the spots where the cloth had 
been worn shiny and bare. Over in the corner I saw a 
television and wondered why there seemed to be so 
much cabinet and so little picture tube. The rabbit-ear 
antenna hid within a collection of a dozen black-andwhite 
photographs arranged on top of the TV and a 
blocky, black rotary phone sat atop a dais of thick phone 
books on a table next to it. 
I shivered. I felt as if I had awakened in the first reel of 
a 50-year-old cine noir classic film. That impression 
deepened as I looked over at a chest of drawers built into 
the wall and saw a huge radio with a yellow light softly 
glowing in the little window showing a portion of the 
tuning wheel. Faint strains of monotone Spanish music 
with tinny horns and castanets clicking like the hungry 
mandibles of a giant cockroach came from its speakers. 
Over on the wall, between two windows with the 
shades drawn against the night, I saw a clock. What first 
struck me as unusual about it was that it was analog, not 
digital. That was not an overwhelming problem. I glanced 
at my wrist, where my watch should have been, and 
knew whatever I wore there normally had both a digital 
and analog readout, so I could decipher the meaning of 
the hands and their position. What struck me as absolutely 
odd was that, instead of numerals, there were little 
words at the positions of the clock. 
Those words were what made me uneasy. It took me 
a second or two to see why. They were in Cyrillic and 
corresponded the number at that position on the clock, 
which made sense. What baffled me was why whoever 
owned the house would have a Soviet clock on the wall. 

No one buys Russian if they can avoid it. 

In any language, the clock reported it was 11:30. 
A giggle caused me to spin and look behind me. A 1ittl e 
girl with bright brown eyes looked at me, surprised and 


delighted that I saw her. She clapped her hands to her 
mouth, then went running back down the dim hallway to 
a back bedroom. From my vantage point I could see the 
foot of a bed onto which she leaped, then scampered up 
toward the headboard. I heard voices but could make no 
sense of what I heard. 
The bedsprings creaked, then a man of slender build 
and average height filled the doorway. He wore a tank-
top T-shirt and was in the process of zipping up a pair of 
canvas work pants that were covered with splotches of 
brightly colored paints. As he approached, I saw that the 
girl's coppery complexion and dark hair could well have 
come from him. 
He gave me a smile that showed he still had most of 
his teeth. "Como est usted?" 
"Bien," I answered fluidly. "Buenas noches." 
"Buenos dias." The man scratched at the thin growth 
of beard on his chin. "You have slept for a day and a half. 
It is 11:30 in the morning, Seor..." 
I concentrated, but still could not recall my name. "I'm 
sorry, I'm afraid I don't know who I am. I don't even know 
where this is." 
"You are in Phoenix." He came around and pulled a chair 
away from the wall. My lab coat and pants were folded on it. 
The Krait rested on top, but the clip had been pulled from the 
gun. "I am Estefan Ramierez. The little girl is my daughter, 
Maria. My wife, Consuelo, is still in bed." He set the clothes and 
gun on a TV tray and sat down. 
"Phoenix?" 

delighted that I saw her. She clapped her hands to her 
mouth, then went running back down the dim hallway to 
a back bedroom. From my vantage point I could see the 
foot of a bed onto which she leaped, then scampered up 
toward the headboard. I heard voices but could make no 
sense of what I heard. 
The bedsprings creaked, then a man of slender build 
and average height filled the doorway. He wore a tank-
top T-shirt and was in the process of zipping up a pair of 
canvas work pants that were covered with splotches of 
brightly colored paints. As he approached, I saw that the 
girl's coppery complexion and dark hair could well have 
come from him. 
He gave me a smile that showed he still had most of 
his teeth. "Como est usted?" 
"Bien," I answered fluidly. "Buenas noches." 
"Buenos dias." The man scratched at the thin growth 
of beard on his chin. "You have slept for a day and a half. 
It is 11:30 in the morning, Seor..." 
I concentrated, but still could not recall my name. "I'm 
sorry, I'm afraid I don't know who I am. I don't even know 
where this is." 
"You are in Phoenix." He came around and pulled a chair 
away from the wall. My lab coat and pants were folded on it. 
The Krait rested on top, but the clip had been pulled from the 
gun. "I am Estefan Ramierez. The little girl is my daughter, 
Maria. My wife, Consuelo, is still in bed." He set the clothes and 
gun on a TV tray and sat down. 
"Phoenix?" 

Somewhere in the distant reaches of my mind I knew 
there was an answer to that question, but it was beyond 
my ability to recover it. "How did I come to be in your 
house?" 
Estefan gave me a lopsided smirk. "Los Reapers son 
muy malos. Word got around fast that someone had 
chewed on them real good and many folks thought it was 
Coyote. I did not think so, but I went to check anyway, 
and I found you." 
"Why did you help me?" 
He shrugged. "Five years ago I came up here and 
someone helped me. 'You don't pay back; you pay 
forward,' he told me. I pay forward." 
Off to my left, at the opposite end of the house from the 
bedroom, I heard a knock at the kitchen door. Estefan 
smiled, but after what I had been through, I did not feel 
optimistic. I reached for the Krait and he produced a 
loaded clip for the gun and tossed it to me. I knew, in the 
easy way he did that, he trusted me. As I slid the clip 
home and snapped the slide back and forth, I hoped that 
whoever I was, I was worthy of his trust. 
When Estefan returned to the small sitting room, he 
brought with him the tallest man I had ever seen. Ducking 
his head to get through the doorway, the African-
American man smiled, then straightened up to his full 
height. At least seven and a half feet tall, his loose-fitting 
shirt and faded jeans covered a body with enough 


muscle to rob him of the string-bean physique expected 
of someone so huge. Bearded and balding, he gave me 
a wide, white smile and offered me a hand that would 
have swallowed both my right hand and the Krait if I 
hadn't shifted the gun to my left. 
"I'm Hal Garrett. From what Estefan has said, you're 
a mystery man." 
The name Hal Garrett rang a bell somewhere, but I 
could not place it. "You have me pegged." 
"Anyone who can anger the Reapers is a friend of 
mine." Garrett appropriated Estefan's chair and the 
master of the house retreated to the bedroom where he 
closed the door. "If possible, I'd like to help you with your 
problem." 
As with Estefan, I sensed in Garrett's booming voice 
and easy manner a basic trust and willingness to aid me. 
I found this very gratifying, but likewise suspicious. Still, 
when alone in a foreign land, any alliance is a benefit. 
"What do you want to know?" 
His shoulders heaved like mountains in an earthquake 
as he shrugged. "Anything you can remember that will 
give us a place to start." 
"Us? Is that 'you and me,' or are there other elves who 
will become involved in this quest to find my memory?" 
"For now it's you and me, but I have friends who might 
be able to help solve the puzzle." His manner hardened 
a bit, and this pleased me. I decided Hal Garrett was a 
man proud of his own abilities, but not so vain that he did 
not seek out assistance when he needed it. "Not many 
folks wake up in a Reaper packing house and live to tell 
about it. That alone makes you remarkable." 
"Fair enough. I actually woke up before the Reaper 
chopshop. I found myself fully conscious but unable to 
move any voluntary muscles. Whatever I had been hit 
with, adrenaline seems to help throw it off, and I had 
plenty of that coursing through my veins when I heard 
they meant to sell me off in job lots." 
Garrett nodded easily. "I can see that." 
I closed my eyes and found the memories came 
easily, which frustrated me because they only went back, 
at best, 36 hours. "I was in an ambulance. One of the two 
men was named Jack or Jackson. I was not the first 
person they had sold to the Reapers. A recent deal 
including two bodies proved unsatisfactory. The name 
Harry came up as someone who might be a supervisor 
with the ambulance company. The ambulance crew said 
they found me in Slymingtown." 
"That's 24th and Camelbackthe Esplanade and 
Build-more district. That's north of here a bit." 
"Jack said they found me in a squat-shack in a room 
that looked like a setup. They said Scorpion Security was 
on its way, so they took me and called the Reapers. 
Within an hour of pickup, they'd sold me off. The drivers 
sold me for 1.5 megs, 7% of exotics and 1% of any DNA 
applications from my body. Should I have been flattered?" 
"You don't look like a wastoid or twink, which means 


your insides should be useful. You could probably earn 
that many dolmarks in a week if you wanted to turn 
yourself out as a slumming corporator's night-thrill, but 
that's a fair price for a worm-buffet." Garrett again gave 
me one of his disarming smiles. "You've given me some 
real basics, so we can probably track down the drivers. 
I'll make some calls." 
"Good. Part of their deal was that they got to keep my 
effects, which means they might be a shortcut to solving 
this thing." 
"I hope so." He stood and we shook hands again. "So, 
listen, Mr. Mystery, I've got to go to a local gang powwow. 
I won't be able to help you track these ambulance 
dexters down, but I'll send over another guy who will. His 
name is Rock Pell. Estefan knows him. He'll get you 
around so you can find themand he can be convincing 
if they fan on your questions." 
I smiled. "Thank you. One thing." 
"Yes?" 
"Are you this Coyote Estefan mentioned?" 
Hal threw his head back and roared out leonine 
laughter. "No, no I'm not. I am, however, acquainted with 
him. We have many parallel goals and I am pleased to 
help him when I can." 
"And will helping me help him?" 
"I don't know. I have not heard from him concerning 
you, but I suspect your situation will intrigue him. Rock 
is another of Coyote's associates, so he may have other 
news. I will see you later, I hope." 
"I look forward to it. Thanks." 
Garrett let himself out and Estefan stayed in the back 
bedroom, which gave me time to think. Something Garrett 
had not mentioned, but something I was certain he did not 
miss, was Jack having said he felt my "death" had been a 
setup. It suggested I had one or more enemies and because 
of my current memory loss, I had no idea who they were. This 
did not bode well for my continued survival. 
As Garrett had required of me in recalling details about 
the ambulance, I concentrated to see what I could 
postulate about myself from my experiences. I apparently 
was, at the very least, bilingual because I understood 
and spoke both Spanish and Englishthough 
some of the street slang Hal had hit me with I caught only 
from context. I had no idea what a "twink" or "wastoid" 
was, but I assumed they were derogatory in some form 
or another. Coupled with my shock at Estefan having a 
Soviet-made clock, radio and television in his home, I 
suspected I did not often frequent this socio-economic 
strata. 
Whatever had been used on me to simulate death was 
not a natural thing. Most animal or plant toxins that 
paralyze the neuromuscular systems cause death by 
suffocation when the diaphragm stops working. I knew 
of none that had as its specific or recommended treatment 
a dose of adrenaline. Whatever had been used on 
me was very special stuff, specifically designed to 
paralyze voluntary muscles but not the autonomic ner



vous system. 
That special toxin, and the setup remark, again 
pointed to my having some special enemies. By the 
same token, my familiarity with the Colt Krait and my 
ability to shoot well at extended pistol ranges suggested 
I could take care of myself. Even the kick that disabled 
Andre had been more reflex than thought, which told me 
I'd been trained in martial skills. Taken with my feelings 
about Estefan's possessions, I could see myself as 
having been a corporate security specialist or something 
equally bizarre in the corporate world. 
There were still some loose ends that made no sense. 
In the Reaper area I had only heard Andre say a couple 
of things, but I had pegged his accent and had been able 
to mimic his voice convincingly enough to trick at least 
one guard. That might have been a natural gift, but surely 
one that had been honed by practice. My surprise and 
despair at seeing a roof over the city told me I was not at 
all familiar with Phoenix. If I was a corporate security 
specialist, I had been brought in from outside to deal with 
a problem. 
That problem, quite likely, had cost me my memory 
and almost cost me my life. Without knowing who I was 
or what mission I had been given, my chances of survival 
were slightly higher than those of a blind man doing a 
freesprint across the Autobahn. And, like it or not, those 
long odds were what I was betting my life on. 

vous system. 
That special toxin, and the setup remark, again 
pointed to my having some special enemies. By the 
same token, my familiarity with the Colt Krait and my 
ability to shoot well at extended pistol ranges suggested 
I could take care of myself. Even the kick that disabled 
Andre had been more reflex than thought, which told me 
I'd been trained in martial skills. Taken with my feelings 
about Estefan's possessions, I could see myself as 
having been a corporate security specialist or something 
equally bizarre in the corporate world. 
There were still some loose ends that made no sense. 
In the Reaper area I had only heard Andre say a couple 
of things, but I had pegged his accent and had been able 
to mimic his voice convincingly enough to trick at least 
one guard. That might have been a natural gift, but surely 
one that had been honed by practice. My surprise and 
despair at seeing a roof over the city told me I was not at 
all familiar with Phoenix. If I was a corporate security 
specialist, I had been brought in from outside to deal with 
a problem. 
That problem, quite likely, had cost me my memory 
and almost cost me my life. Without knowing who I was 
or what mission I had been given, my chances of survival 
were slightly higher than those of a blind man doing a 
freesprint across the Autobahn. And, like it or not, those 
long odds were what I was betting my life on. 
Estefan reappeared, bringing with him his daughter 
and a very shy wife who looked barely, if at all, out of her 
teens. Without saying a word she went directly into the 
kitchen and started clattering pots and pans. Maria took 
up a position in the doorway leading to the kitchen so she 
could watch me and her mother at the same time. 
Estefan again took his chair. 
I kept the gun hidden beneath the sheet that had been 
draped over me. "Garrett said he is sending another man, 
Rock Pell, to help me find the men who sold me to the 
Reapers." 
"Seor Pell es un hombre bueno. If those men can be 
found, he will do it. My wife, she makes us some lunch." 
He pointed to the clothes on the tray. "Those do not fit 
you. Seor Pell will be bringing other clothes that will. 
Con permiso, I will get rid of them." 
"Please, and if you can get money for them, keep it in 
exchange for the inconvenience I have been." I glanced 
back toward the hallway. "Dnde est la ducha?' 
Estefan glanced down. "We don't have a shower, but 
that is the bathroom and you can clean yourself up 
there." 
"Muy bien, gracias." Wrapping the sheet around me 
like a toga, I padded across throw rugs to the bathroom 
and closed the door behind me. I hung the gun by its 
trigger-guard from a hook on the door, then draped the 


sheet over it. As I looked the bathroom over, a depressing 
wave of nostalgia hit me again. 
All of the fixtures looked old and the pipes supplying 
water were not built into the wall. Over beside the lowwater-
use toilet I saw a hand crank sitting atop three feet 
of pipe. From it led another pipe to a shunt valve that let 
water flow to the toilet or up into the newest device in the 
whole room: a storage tank that had a heating element 
on one half of it. 
Below the storage tank, so gravity would feed the 
water, was the rust-stained sink with dual faucetsboth 
of which leaked. Off to the right, next to the door and the 
interior wall, a claw-footed tub dug its talons into tile 
mosaic floor. The floor, which once had some sort of logo 
as the central feature of the design, had been patched 
with so many different sizes and colors of tile that the 
original pattern had been all but lost. 
I reached up and flicked the switch to start the water 
heater working, then I sat on the john and bided my time 
cranking water into the tank and the toilet. I would have 
found that task tedious in the extreme, but after having 
lost complete control of my muscles, having them 
respond for me in this menial task provided its own 
satisfaction. Besides, in the desert, pumping water was 
as close as it got to chopping wood, so it was the least I 
could do for Estefan and his family in return for my room 
and board. 
Despite the decrepit conditions of the bathroom, 
Consuelo had attempted to make the best of it. The 
single window had been framed with frilly curtains. Little 
pictures of insufferably cute angelslikely the front half 
of old Christmas cardshad been framed and hung on 
the wall facing the toilet. A little wall rack held four 
magazines, but all of them were in Spanish and three 
dealt with soap operas, so I refrained from reading them. 
The spare roll of toilet paper hid beneath the skirts of a 
knitted doll. 
I took a quick glance at myself in the medicine chest 
mirror hanging over the sink. While my face looked 
familiar and my black hair seemed a bit long, I did not 
have a quick flash of insight that provided a name. I 
rubbed a hand along my jaw and the black bristles 
lurking there, but I saw no razor on the sink and didn't 
want to go digging around in the Ramierez medicine 
chest. 
Besides, I thought, if someone is out to kill you, 
adopting a beard might, make target recognition and 
acquisition a bit more difficult. 

sheet over it. As I looked the bathroom over, a depressing 
wave of nostalgia hit me again. 
All of the fixtures looked old and the pipes supplying 
water were not built into the wall. Over beside the lowwater-
use toilet I saw a hand crank sitting atop three feet 
of pipe. From it led another pipe to a shunt valve that let 
water flow to the toilet or up into the newest device in the 
whole room: a storage tank that had a heating element 
on one half of it. 
Below the storage tank, so gravity would feed the 
water, was the rust-stained sink with dual faucetsboth 
of which leaked. Off to the right, next to the door and the 
interior wall, a claw-footed tub dug its talons into tile 
mosaic floor. The floor, which once had some sort of logo 
as the central feature of the design, had been patched 
with so many different sizes and colors of tile that the 
original pattern had been all but lost. 
I reached up and flicked the switch to start the water 
heater working, then I sat on the john and bided my time 
cranking water into the tank and the toilet. I would have 
found that task tedious in the extreme, but after having 
lost complete control of my muscles, having them 
respond for me in this menial task provided its own 
satisfaction. Besides, in the desert, pumping water was 
as close as it got to chopping wood, so it was the least I 
could do for Estefan and his family in return for my room 
and board. 
Despite the decrepit conditions of the bathroom, 
Consuelo had attempted to make the best of it. The 
single window had been framed with frilly curtains. Little 
pictures of insufferably cute angelslikely the front half 
of old Christmas cardshad been framed and hung on 
the wall facing the toilet. A little wall rack held four 
magazines, but all of them were in Spanish and three 
dealt with soap operas, so I refrained from reading them. 
The spare roll of toilet paper hid beneath the skirts of a 
knitted doll. 
I took a quick glance at myself in the medicine chest 
mirror hanging over the sink. While my face looked 
familiar and my black hair seemed a bit long, I did not 
have a quick flash of insight that provided a name. I 
rubbed a hand along my jaw and the black bristles 
lurking there, but I saw no razor on the sink and didn't 
want to go digging around in the Ramierez medicine 
chest. 
Besides, I thought, if someone is out to kill you, 
adopting a beard might, make target recognition and 
acquisition a bit more difficult. 


belonged to a hotel. 
Wearing the towel like a kilt, I returned from the 
bathroom and found Estefan talking to a clean-shaven 
Anglo roughly his size, with blue eyes and a buzz-cut crop 
of red hair. "Rock Pell, I assume?" 
"Fully-on, tulman." He tossed me a thick packet just 
slightly larger than the Yellow Pages beneath the phone. 
"These are some clothes. They should fit you fine. If they 
don't, Coy-man said I can drop a couple of aught-aughts 
getting you tripped out in gutter-ware." 
When Pell said "aught-aughts" I saw Estefan's face 
light up. I assumed Pell had meant $100 bills which, 
given the way the house looked, would be a vast fortune 
to the Ramierez household. At the same time I sensed 
from Estefan a fear that Rock would offer him money in 
return for the kindness shown me, which Estefan would 
refusedespite desperately wanting itbecause he did 
what he did for me to return a favor Coyote had done him 
long ago. 
I also got from Pell the feeling that he would offer 
Estefan moneynot because he lacked feeling for Estefan 
and his family, but because it was easier than actually 
figuring out another way to help them. I looked at my 
host. "Estefan, did you go out and buy the bullets for my 
pistol after you'd brought me here?" 

belonged to a hotel. 
Wearing the towel like a kilt, I returned from the 
bathroom and found Estefan talking to a clean-shaven 
Anglo roughly his size, with blue eyes and a buzz-cut crop 
of red hair. "Rock Pell, I assume?" 
"Fully-on, tulman." He tossed me a thick packet just 
slightly larger than the Yellow Pages beneath the phone. 
"These are some clothes. They should fit you fine. If they 
don't, Coy-man said I can drop a couple of aught-aughts 
getting you tripped out in gutter-ware." 
When Pell said "aught-aughts" I saw Estefan's face 
light up. I assumed Pell had meant $100 bills which, 
given the way the house looked, would be a vast fortune 
to the Ramierez household. At the same time I sensed 
from Estefan a fear that Rock would offer him money in 
return for the kindness shown me, which Estefan would 
refusedespite desperately wanting itbecause he did 
what he did for me to return a favor Coyote had done him 
long ago. 
I also got from Pell the feeling that he would offer 
Estefan moneynot because he lacked feeling for Estefan 
and his family, but because it was easier than actually 
figuring out another way to help them. I looked at my 
host. "Estefan, did you go out and buy the bullets for my 
pistol after you'd brought me here?" 

"So you paid street prices for them." I shifted my gaze 
to Pell. "If you think Coyote can spare it, you might want 
to repay him for the ammo. I will take the gun with me and 
I would like the rest of the bullets. Fifty should cover it, 
right, Estefan?" 
Estefan started to protest that he had not paid that 
much, but Pell never heard him. "$50, Estefan? Man, 
they sold you a grande line of dookey, you know?" 
"I don't think it was a buyer's market, Rock. He was in 
a hurry, and I'm happy he did get the bullets, because I 
was out." 
Pell pulled out a wad of bills and started to peel them 
off, one at a time. He stopped at three Reagans and four 
Lincolns, then folded them over and gave them to 
Estefan. Again my host tried to protest, but I shook my 
head. "Putting me up was your favor to Coyote. Buying 
bullets for me was your favor to me. I have yet to pay 
forward for you, but this will show my good faith." 
"Cracias, seor." Estefan pocketed the money and 
handed me a nearly full box of bullets. 
"De nada. Be with you in a minute." 
I retreated to the bathroom and pulled the plastic wrap 
off the package I'd been given. Pell had brought boxer 
briefs, which I found I did not like, but put on anyway, and 
a pair of white tube socks with blue stripes at the top. The 
jeans fit perfectly, though were brand-new and still 
starchy-stiff. I pulled on the black T-shirt and had to 
wonder what the true meaning of having "RoIIerblades 
does slalom" emblazoned on my chest portended, but I 
was in no condition to complain. 
Dressed, I returned to the front room to find everyone 


had retreated to the kitchen where Consuelo was serving 
beans and rice with tortillas. Pell had taken a place at the 
table and eyed the food hungrily. A quick glance at the 
pots on the stove told me the Ramierez family would go 
hungry if they tried to feed all of us, and I knew they would 
make the attempt. 
"Rock, let's go." 
He looked up at me as if I were mad. "It would be 
impolite to refuse..." 
"I know, and I hope Estefan and Consuelo can find it 
in their hearts to forgive me." I made a show of tucking 
the Krait into my waistband at the small of my back. "It 
just occurs to me that if someone was out to kill me, 
having me here puts them in danger." 
Pell hesitated as his hunger fought with what he 
thought was best. He finally nodded, then stood. "Besides, 
we need to get you some real shoes." 
"Among other things." 
"Right." 
I turned to Estefan and shook his hand. "Muchas 
gracias, mi amigo." 
He smiled. "De nada. Hasta luego." 
"Adis." 

had retreated to the kitchen where Consuelo was serving 
beans and rice with tortillas. Pell had taken a place at the 
table and eyed the food hungrily. A quick glance at the 
pots on the stove told me the Ramierez family would go 
hungry if they tried to feed all of us, and I knew they would 
make the attempt. 
"Rock, let's go." 
He looked up at me as if I were mad. "It would be 
impolite to refuse..." 
"I know, and I hope Estefan and Consuelo can find it 
in their hearts to forgive me." I made a show of tucking 
the Krait into my waistband at the small of my back. "It 
just occurs to me that if someone was out to kill me, 
having me here puts them in danger." 
Pell hesitated as his hunger fought with what he 
thought was best. He finally nodded, then stood. "Besides, 
we need to get you some real shoes." 
"Among other things." 
"Right." 
I turned to Estefan and shook his hand. "Muchas 
gracias, mi amigo." 
He smiled. "De nada. Hasta luego." 
"Adis." 


improbable white. Only the barest dusting of soot had 
settled on it. He opened the passenger door on the Ford-
Revlon Elite sports coupe. I pulled the Krait before 
getting in, then shut the door and let the car adjust the 
safety restraints. 
"A sadist designed these belts, eh, Mysterioso?" 
I smiled politely as he started the electra-glide engine, 
and we set on our way. Thinking to stash the pistol, I 
opened the glove compartment. A huge drawer slid 
down, revealing a perfectly organized cosmetics tray. At 
the same time, my sunvisor flipped down, and the twin 
spotlights on either side of the mirror temporarily blinded 
me. 
"Is this factory-standard, or did you special-order it?" 
"Standard. Ever since Revlon bought in, they've really 
done the glove box up right. You know the joke, right? 'I 
had to get a new Elite because my lipstick was used up.'" 
Pell chuckled to himself until he noticed his mirth was 
not, in my case, infectious. "I never use that stuff, of 
course, 'cept maybe some of the black nail polish and 
some mascara when I have to go into Drac City." 
"Drac City?" 
"Bunch of skanky hippy witches and vamp-punks 
from the '90s decided to settle in Scottsdale and breed. 
They turned 'The West's most Western Town' into a little 
slice of Transylvania. They go for skin bleaching and 
canine implants. Got a weird Christian sect there, too, 
that claims Jesus rose from the dead because he was a 
vampireyou know, 'He shed His blood for you and now 
He wants it back' kinda thing." 
"I see," I said when I didn't. Even though I had no real 
idea who I was, I knew I had nothing in common with the 
world Pell was describing. "Look, I need a couple of 
things: Some proper footwear, a shoulder holster, some 
spare clips for the Krait and a bullet-proof vest. Do you 
think Coyote will spring for that?" 
"Are we looking for your identity, or are you going to 
war?" 
"Could be both, dude. Glad you're along for the ride?" 
Pell didn't answer, so I settled back in the plush seat 
to watch the city go by. Above us I could see the seams 
of the solar panels running down the middle of the street. 
This made sense if, as Rock had said, the panels were 
able to vary their pitch enough to let water and debris run 
off. Beneath the panels, buildings varied from old sprawling 
ranch-style homes to a variety of tall and short 
apartment complexes. Strip malls and convenience 
stores dotted the corners of intersections, and occasionally 
whole huge blocks were taken up with open malls. 
In this land of always night, colors appeared muted, if 
at all. Some bright neon signs flashed on and off to lure 
customers into this bar or that video rental center, but the 
thickness of the air seemed to leech the life from the 
lights. Racing through the city in Pell's Elite, I felt like a 
cockroach scuttling across a kitchen floor in fear that 
someone would turn the lights on and squash me. 
"How did the city ever get the populace to agree to 


putting this thing up?" 
Pell shrugged stiffly, and I immediately assumed 
anything he said would be half-fabrication. "Phoenix City 
Council lost some public referendums in the late '80s. 
They decided that was not the way anything could get 
done. Working with the Feds, they had the Environmental 
Protection Agency sue the city because, with the 
ozone layer going wonky, there was an increased incidence 
of skin cancer. Then they also inspired some 
trouble out at the Palo Verde Nuclear Plant. Pinned some 
sabotage on an eco-terrorist group they called Blue 
Thunderfried a couple of people because of it. 
"All of a sudden, every tree-hugger and anti-nuke 
freak pushed for an alternate power source. The city 
threatened to annex large parts of the desert to the 
southeast of here to blanket with solar panels, but the 
same environmentalists protested. In a brilliant compromise, 
the Sierra Club and other groups that live outside 
the city agreed to let the city build the solar collection 
panels above the city. We used to be known as the Valley 
of the Sun, which is still true up there, but down here we're 
the Valley of Midnight." 
"Incredible." As we continued on, I noted, in places, a 
parallel road system approximately 40 feet above us. 
"What's with the dual roadway?" 
"In Phoenix, you can't dig down because the ground 
is baked hard. The upper roads connect some of the 
citadels with each other, though only contract labor uses 
them. Notice how they don't have any exits, just run on 
straight lines?" 
"Yes." 
"That's so regular Mikes like us can't get on them. You 
enter and exit only at corpvils like Lorica or Honeywell & 
Koch. Or City Centeras if we'll ever see the inside of 
that place." 
I decided I did not like Rock's attempt at including me 
in as "one of the boys," and I heard some bitterness in his 
voice when he mentioned City Center. I did not know who 
or what I was, but I knew I was not the same as him. Even 
so, I could see how Coyote could find him useful. The 
man had an open face, but used it well to conceal a 
scheming mind. Pell had correctly seen that he had not 
made a good impression on me, so he sought to change 
it. While he failed, his chameleonlike ability would make 
him very useful as a go-between with different groups. 
Rock pulled into a parking lot and honked the horn. A 
garage door in the side of a warehouse opened up, but 
only barely enough to let the Elite squeak through. Rock 
hit a button on the dash that retracted his antenna, then 
pulled forward. "Watch yourself in here. These neo-Nazi 
freakos are truly bad, but they know their stuff. Be 
careful; these bleach-brains have no sense of humor." 
He frowned. "Knew I should have driven the Benz." 
Rock let the Elite roll forward into the lightless warehouse, 
and that started my palms itching. Behind us I 
heard the door roll shut, then suddenly two dozen arc-
lights flooded the place with light. Instant white-out for 


me, but as I squinted and shaded my eyes, I saw Pell had 
pulled on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. 

me, but as I squinted and shaded my eyes, I saw Pell had 
pulled on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. 

Rock opened his door and got out. I did the same, 
moving slowly and easily to make it obvious to the 
silhouettes behind the lights that I was unarmed and very 
nearly blind. Throwing his arms wide, Rock greeted a 
short man with long, blond hair, exchanging backslapping 
hugs. "Heinrich, you son of an Alsatian bitch, 
you look great!" 
Heinrich, who looked about as healthy as an albino 
mushroom farmer, grinned broadly. "Stein, you have not 
changed. What can I do you for today?" He snapped his 
fingers, and three-quarters of the lights died. 
Rock nodded toward me. "He needs some boots, a 
vest, maybe a jacket." 
Heinrich came around the front of the Elite and looked 
up into my face. "Gut, they are green." 
"Pardon?" I knew the German expression I wanted to 
use was "Verzeihung," but I felt disinclined to use it for 
two reasons, the primary being that his German and his 
accent had undoubtedly been learned by watching too 
many Nazi wet-dream war movies. 
"I said your eyes are green, and this is good. That 
means there is no blood from the mud people in you." 
I smiled. "Or it means my contact lenses are green." 
I thoroughly detest race-hatred, and I was starting to get 
angry that Rock had brought me here. 
Heinrich leaned close to get another look at my eyes, 
but Rock slapped him on the back and laughed. "He was 
joking, Heinrich." 
"We in the Warriors of the Aryan World Alliance do not 
take racial purity lightly. I have heard he spent the night 
with a beaner." 
"Just sleeping, Heinrich, not swapping blood." Rock 
gave me a frown, then draped his arm over Heinrich's 
bare shoulders and steered him deeper into the warehouse. 
"This is business, remember?" 
"Heinrich, would it make a difference if I were 'tainted?'" 
The little man turned and nodded slowly. "It would 
cost Herr Stein more, and get you less. Your attitude may 
accomplish that yet." 
"Easy, Heinrich, you owe our mystery man here. He 
dusted a Reaper lab. Who knows what they were harvesting 
and selling for transplant." 
" Ja, good point." Heinrich turned back and led Rock 
into the maze of wide shelving units running from floor to 
ceiling. 
Their departure gave me a chance to look around. 
Aside from the obligatory portraits of Adolf Hitler, Evan 
Mecham and Tom Metzger, the place actually looked 
fairly normal. This section of the two-story building had 
no second floor, but a catwalk ran around the walls at 
roughly 12 feet. Armed guards roamed along the catwalk, 
carrying submachineguns and practicing truly 
disdainful sneers. 
All of the Warriors I saw wore the same sort of uniform 


Heinrich had sported. Gray jodhpurs were tucked at the 
knee into gleaming cavalry boots. Black suspenders 
held the pants up, and only three of them wore anything 
more on their upper torso. Those threeone man and 
two of the five women I sawsported gray T-shirts with 
a Nazi eagle emblazoned across the chest like a superhero 
insignia. 
The Warriors appeared to me to be uniformly lean. 
They wore their hair very short, with the men favoring the 
high and tight cut of special military forces or corporate 
security teams. The women tended toward longer hair or 
more stylish cuts, but none of them let their hair get 
beyond shoulder length. And, yes, of course, everyone 
had their hair bleached white blond. 
The odd thing about all of themand it took me a 
moment to catch itwas that they had undergone some 
very subtle cosmetic surgery. On the men, the haircut 
almost hid it, but I could see how implants had been 
inserted beneath their scalp to give their skull more 
height. It literally made their foreheads look larger, which 
would have made them look smarter if not for the piggish 
ignorance in their eyes. 
The guns they carried were impressive. I don't know 
how I did it, but I identified them as Honeywell & Koch 
MP-7s. Like my Krait, those guns took 10mm ammo in 
their 30-round banana magazines. Heinrich had worn a 
sidearm instead of one of the MP-7s. I did not get a good 
look at it, but I guessed it was an antique Walther he kept 
more as a memento than because of its firepower. 
Rock and Heinrich returned quickly with the items I 
needed. The Bianchi shoulder holster fit perfectly and 
Heinrich had even strapped two loaded Krait clips into 
place on it. The Kevlar vest they showed me looked 
sufficient to stop anything this side of a big-game round. 
I grunted and tossed it on my seat. 
They brought me two pairs of boots, which was 
probably Rock's idea. The first was a pair of standard 
punk-issue Doc Martin's. I rejected them a priori and 
opted for the more appealing Schwarzkopf boots. They 
fit snugly, and I laced them up. As I did so, Rock 
wandered off and left me there with Heinrich. 
"You know, my friend, you should not think so harshly 
of us." He opened his arms and took his brethren in with 
one generous gesture. "We are here protecting what our 
people have earned in this world. You are not a stupid 
man. Being in that den, even for one night, would have 
told you what kind of people they are. They dilute us and 
drag all mankind down to the level of beasts." 
I finished knotting off my second boot, then stood 
slowly and towered over Heinrich. "By no stretch of 
imagination am I your friend. What I saw in that home 
was a loving family doing its best to eke out an existence 
by any means possible. They are less a threat to you 
than, say, I am." 
I let my words hang in the air between us. Heinrich 
concentrated hard enough to make me combust by an 
act of his will, but I just got chills looking at him. A couple 


of his roving guards stopped to watch us, and the tension 
built as if we were in a crash-dive on a sub. I watched his 
eyes and read his desire to draw his gun and shoot me, 
but he knew I'd make him eat it. 
Rock arrived and folded his arms across his chest. "I 
go to make a phone call, and you two are at it again. 
Whatever am I going to do with you?" 
Heinrich stepped back and Rock tossed me a black 
windbreaker. "Good day, Stein. You need not bring this 
man back here again." 
"Chill, Heinrich, he's new in town. He has to learn the 
lay of the land." Rock reached into his pocket. "What do 
I owe you?" 
The Nazi rubbed the thumb of his left hand across his 
right palm in irritation. "$150, and the clips with bullets 
are my gift to you, mystery man." He accepted a handful 
of bills from Rock. "I hope you become smart enough 
that you do not need all of them." 
"Don't worry, Hank," I said as I winked at him. "I'll save 
the last clip for you." 

of his roving guards stopped to watch us, and the tension 
built as if we were in a crash-dive on a sub. I watched his 
eyes and read his desire to draw his gun and shoot me, 
but he knew I'd make him eat it. 
Rock arrived and folded his arms across his chest. "I 
go to make a phone call, and you two are at it again. 
Whatever am I going to do with you?" 
Heinrich stepped back and Rock tossed me a black 
windbreaker. "Good day, Stein. You need not bring this 
man back here again." 
"Chill, Heinrich, he's new in town. He has to learn the 
lay of the land." Rock reached into his pocket. "What do 
I owe you?" 
The Nazi rubbed the thumb of his left hand across his 
right palm in irritation. "$150, and the clips with bullets 
are my gift to you, mystery man." He accepted a handful 
of bills from Rock. "I hope you become smart enough 
that you do not need all of them." 
"Don't worry, Hank," I said as I winked at him. "I'll save 
the last clip for you." 
Once Rock had the Elite back on the road, he flicked 
the air conditioning on high, looked and me and shook 
his head. "Now I know why Hal turned you over to me. 
He saw you as trouble from miles off." 
I pulled off the shoulder holster and followed it with the 
T-shirt. "I find it curious that the same Coyote who could 
inspire loyalty in Estefan or Garrett could condone your 
trading with racists." 
"Do you?" Pell's face took on a stern expression. "If 
you're so sharp, tell me, what did you learn while you 
were in there?" 

This is a game of one-upsmanship you will lose, Pell. 

"Well, we can start with the dozen neo-Nazis I saw armed 
with some of the latest in military hardware. They were 
not wearing body armor, so they feel very secure in their 
hideout there. I further note that Heinrich would not have 
had the time to load the two clips in the shoulder holster, 
which means he pulled them from a bin somewhere. The 
Warriors of the Aryan World Alliance are very well 
financed and ready for a war. How's that?" 
Pell blinked twice, then doubtlessly put my observations 
down to luck. "Close enough for my purposes. If 
you saw that much, you know I'm very Protean. Coyote 
uses me to keep different groups happy. You saw what 
you saw, but I got into their armory and can write up a 
report on everything they have. If there's going to be a 
war between them and the Blood Crips, Coyote will be 
able to handicap it perfectly." 
Somehow I doubted "handicapping" gang wars was 
Coyote's purpose in Phoenix, but I said nothing as I pulled 
the Kevlar vest on and fastened it snugly over my chest. 
"Okay, you are a scout, and trafficking with the Warriors 
keeps them happy. Just because you're comfortable 


with them, don't expect me to become Heinrich's best 
buddy." 
"Hey, splash him for all I care. I've known Enrico Vitale 
since childhood, and I don't think he looks good as a 
blonde." Rock turned left onto 40th Street and headed 
north. "Look, that phone call I made was to another of 
Coyote's people. She's a whiz with computers and 
pegged your people as Carl Jackson and Billy Harris. 
They work for the Wheel of Life ambulance company. 
Their unit handled a call to Slymingtown two nights ago." 
I smiled grimly as I pulled my T-shirt back on. "How 
do we find them?" 
Pell let a triumphant grin twist the corners of his mouth 
up. "Jytte pulled Jackson's financial files and saw he 
spends a lot of time at the Du Drop Inn. He runs an open 
tab on his Digital Express card and happens to have 
opened one a half hour ago. A mile past Thomas and 
we're there." 
I nodded. "Excellent." 
"Look, when we get there, let me handle things. The 
Du is not a bad place." 
"No, they obviously cater to only the finest body 
snatchers." 
"Okay, okay, I can sense this hostility, and I understand 
it, but work with me. It's mostly a beer and billiards 
place, see? The folks there don't react well to violence." 
I narrowed my eyes and nodded. "It's your game, but 
I want results." 
"Good." Pell brought the Elite to a stop in front of what 
had started life as a squat triplex about four decades 
earlier. At one time I decided it must have gone for a 
western motif because of the broken wagon wheel on the 
exterior wall and the aged boardwalk leading to the door. 
If not for the Harleys chained to the hitching rail, I could 
have been on the set of a billion western mesmervids. 
As we got out of the car, the heat hit me like a punch. 
I tucked my T-shirt and the tails of the vest into my jeans, 
then pulled on the shoulder holster. Rock saw me do that 
and grimaced, but I ignored him. I retrieved the Krait from 
the glove box, checked to see that the safety was still on, 
then slid it into the Bianchi holster. Despite the heat, I 
shrugged the windbreaker on and let it hide the pistol. 
"You won't need that." 
"Then I won't use it." 
Walking in behind Pell, I saw the bar's interior had not 
substantially changed from its early days, and that 
included an exchange of atmosphere. The smoke in the 
air softened everything, but coiled neon lights doing a 
python around rough-hewn pillars and lots of glittering 
silver streamers did give the bar back a bit of an edge. 
Tiffany lamps advertising beers no one had heard of in a 
quarter century provided the light for three pool tables 
over in the far corner. I drifted toward them, remaining in 
the shadows as much as possible, while Rock crossed to 
the long bar and spoke to the bartender. 
Most of the clientele hovered somewhere between 
blue-collar workers and white trash looking to cadge 


drinks. The waitresses, all two of them, had once been 
pretty women, but working here had clearly hammered 
any lifejoy out of them. The petite one wheeled and 
glared at a man who patted her rump, while the blond 
Rubens woman made a great show of bending over and 
flashing her cleavage to encourage tips. The drink of 
choice looked to be a cut-rate Mexican beer, but shooters 
of whisky or tequila also made their way down lots of 
throats. 
The bartender gave Rock a big shrug about the same 
time I heard Gruff-voice groan over the click of balls and 
say, "Nobody coulda made that combination." 
A guy about an inch or two shorter than me smiled and 
answered him. "Wrongo, Billy, I just did." 
Something about hearing those voices again let the 
terror of my night in the body bag just pour through me. 
All of my muscles tightened at once, as if to prove to me 
that the toxin could not longer control me. I watched the 
two of them for a moment, assessing their every move 
and applying it to what I thought was their threat level. 
Aside from the pool cues in their hands, I saw nothing to 
indicate they would give me trouble, which meant I was 
free to make trouble for them. 
Deep down inside I hungered to make them as scared 
as I had been. 
As Jack bent over to lineup another shot, I stepped up 
behind him and slapped the butt end of his cue-stick with 
the palm of my left hand. He miss-hit a table scratch and 
spun around angrily. He started to shout something, then 
he saw who I was. His face went ashen. "Jesus Christ." 
"You got that half right." I grabbed double handfuls of 
his jeans jacket and hoisted him up onto the table. I 
perched him on the corner of the table, with his butt right 
over the hole. "He returned from the dead, too, but he was 
more forgiving than I am." 
Gruff-voice started to come around the table, but I 
stared him back. "Finding out you're being sold for party 
favors can really piss a guy off, Jack. Lucky for you, I can 
take a joke." I smiled and Jack aped me while nervous 
sweat beaded up on his forehead. 
"What do you want?" 
I reached over and picked up the 8-ball. "I want you to 
think about what I would mean if I called '8-ball in the 
corner pocket.'" I pressed the cool ball against his lips. 
"You can keep the money you got off the Reapers 
because I don't want it, and they won't be asking for a 
refund." I let that sink in for a minute, then continued. 
"You kept all my stuff, my 'effects.' I want my things 
back." 
Jack didn't make much sense trying to speak around 
the 8-ball, so I pulled it away, yet held it up by his left eye 
so he'd remember I still had it. "I don't have your cards 
and stuffI sold that stuff off quick." 
I frowned, masking my true feelings. While the identification 
and credit cards would have been an easy way 
to find out who I was, having them in the hands of others 
could be a blessing. With someone out to kill me, and this 


Jytte having shown how easy they were to use in tracing 
someone, having a whole host of folks using different 
cards all over the place was good. 
"And my cash?" 
"You didn't have much. Only $200, half in dolmarks 
and the rest in Lorica scrip." 
Dolmarks were coin of the realm, more or less. 
Officially the currency in North America was still the 
dollar, but their worth generally fluctuated based on the 
exchange rate with the Deutschmark, so folks knew they 
played the float with any cash they held. Corporate scrip, 
on the other hand, was based on the corporation's net 
worth and tended to be more stable. Furthermore, 
corpscrip could be used at company stores, which 
meant it was the hardest currency most folks could get 
their hands on. 
Generally, though, only corp employees or black 
marketeers had that sort of scratch. Did I work forLorica? 
"I'll take the cash. What else have you got?" 
"Nothin', nothin', honest." 
"Nothin' honest kinda sums up our relationship, doesn't 
it, Jack?" I looked over at Pell. "Rock, buy this lying remo 
a beer because he's going to want to wash this 8-ball 
down right quick." 
Pell was a quick enough study that he nodded and 
ordered one in a loud voice. 
"Don't hold out on me, Jack, because I'm in the mood 
to run the table, and then I'd have to rack you up. I don't 
think you'd like that." I looked up as Gruff-voice again 
moved toward me. "Trust me, Ace, he's not that good of 
a friend." 
"Jack, the wallet. You kept his wallet." 
Jack looked like a video preacher who'd gotten a 
suspended sentence. "Yeah, I have your wallet. It was 
new. I kept it." His hand dived inside his jacket, but I 
slapped it away. He looked at me with hurt in his eyes, 
then he swallowed hard as he figured out what I had 
assumed he was going for. 
I let the 8-ball bonk-bounce across the table as I 
opened his jacket. Sitting in an interior pocket I found a 
wallet that felt more familiar than it looked. I opened it 
and started dropping card after card of his from it to the 
floor. In the cash compartment I removed everything 
except the $200 he said I'd had and tossed it into the air. 
I poked around in a couple of other pockets of the thing, 
grunted, and slipped it into my back pocket. 
"Thanks for the game, Jack." I gave him the coldest 
smile I could imagine. "I hope we don't play again 
because next time it will be sudden death." Shaking his 
hand, I also pulled my watch off his wrist, though I doubt 
he noticed the loss for at least a week. 
I walked out of the Du without looking back, though I 
found myself preternaturally aware of everything happening 
behind me. It is difficult to explain, but I felt as if 
I could see the fear and awe and suspicion of everyone 
in the room. I know I got some of it from the stunned looks 
on certain patrons' faces, and other clues from whis



pered oaths, but there was something more there. I felt 
like a shark isolating the signals from a school of badly 
scared fish, and what's worse, I found myself viewing 
most of them like prey. 
Rock remained in the Du for a second or two longer 
than I did, no doubt basking in the respect he would get 
by being associated with me. I had, after all, spoken to 
him and had called him by name. Given the way he 
worked, the Du would provide him with both customers 
and information. For the foreseeable future, this was one 
habitat in which that chameleon would not have to 
change colors to blend in. 
I, on the other hand, had unconsciously downshifted 
into a personality that overpowered the habitat. Walking 
in, I had been more than content to have Pell handle the 
whole encounter. Had the bartender pointed Jackson 
out to him, Pell would have bought the man a beer, spun 
a tail about wanting paper on me, and would have 
dropped enough of Coyote's dolmarks to buy what I had 
extorted. I couldn't tell if I'd acted to embarrass Pell for his 
failure in getting the bartender to help, or if I just wanted 
to return to Jack a bunch of the fear I'd known when he 
sold me. I suspected it was more of the latter than the 
former, but seeing the shocked look on Pell's face had felt 
good. 
Rock left the Du but said nothing until we were sealed 
in the Elite's air-conditioned cocoon. "He'd have given 
you his wife and his mistress if you'd asked." 
"Probably." I pulled the wallet from my hip pocket and 
opened it again. I slipped my fingers in behind the piece 
of plastic securing the picture and card holder in the 
middle of the wallet. I felt a stiff piece of cardboard and 
pulled it out. The purple bit of cardboard had a number 
printed on it and a serrated edge that told me it had been 
torn from a larger piece of cardboard. I flipped it over. "Do 
you know where Ernesto's Upstreet is?" 
Pell cast a sidelong glance at the valet check I held. 
"You were at Ernesto's?" 
"Is that a problem?" 
"No, just I didn't take you for a snorter. You musta 
been there for the games in the back." He gave me a half 
grin. "Of course, you could have been there for dinner, I 
suppose." 
"Do you suppose you know where it is?" 
"Yeah, 36th and Indian School, on the second level." 
He pursed his lips together. "I'll drive over to a Build-
more access point. That should be good enough to get 
us in, though they might only let you go up." 
"Let's do it, then." 
"Okay. Find anything else useful?" 
I nodded. In the cash section of the wallet, stuck to the 
inner lip, was a small piece of flexible plastic that had 
been sewn into it by the manufacturer. It was designed for 
holding spare car keys or house keys, but held neither in 
this case. Ripping it up, I slid out a small, flat key with 
blocky grooves gnawed out of the lower edge. "Safety 
deposit box key. Probably for a hotel, but maybe a bank. 


It has a serial number." 
"That's interesting." He grinned. "Hidden treasure." 
"Maybe." I returned his smile and let Rock daydream 
about untold wealth. I sat back and just hoped that the 
treasure was the solution to the question, "Who am I?" 



The Build-more checkpoint reminded me more of a 
secret military facility than it did any sort of urban 
subdevelopment. Walls ran from the ground right up 
through Frozen Shade above us. Sections of it reminded 
me of pictures I'd once seen of the old Berlin wall, with 
building fronts as part of the wall with their doors and 
windows bricked over. Graffiti decorated the walls in a 
few places and tattered handbills in others, but the Build-
more corporate logo predominated. 
We tried to enter it at 32nd Street and Camelback but 
the Build-more security guards refused to give Rock 
access to the drive-up ramp despite his having the valet 
ticket and a nice car. "Here, this is the number for my 
phone," he said handing me a preprinted card. "You'll 
have to go up there yourself and use the Ultra-shuttle to 
take you to Ernesto's. When you get your car, head back 
here and drive down. If you have trouble, call me." 
"Got it." I popped out of the car and shoved my wallet 
into my back pocket again. I flashed the valet slip to one 
of the guards who had refused us earlier. He took it from 
me and, resting his Armalite Stormcloud on his right 
shoulder, carefully scrutinized it. He turned from me and 
held it under an ultraviolet light. That caused a green 
barcode to glow on the face of the ticket and a red laser-
beam flickered across it to read it. Seconds later some 
data came up on a small video display. 
"Checks." He took a pass from his desk and pushed 
it down into his timestamp machine. "This will get you on 
the second level, sir. The Ultra-shuttle will be along in 15 
minutes or so." 
I smiled and accepted both the valet slip and the travel 
pass from him. "Thank you." 
"Sir, one thing." The guard leaned in close to me. "I 
know you execs find playing in the shadows down here 
exciting, but I do not recommend it. Every so often, one 
of you doesn't make it back, if you know what I mean." 
Yeah, 1 have a vague idea. "Thanks for the warning, 
Bud. I'll remember it." 
He pointed me toward an elevator marked "Transient," 
and I stepped into it. In accordance with the verbal 
instructions the elevator gave me, I inserted the travel 
pass into the slot, and it immediately climbed to the next 
level up. The door opened and directed me to the transit 
station on my right. 
Being 40 feet up gave me a different perspective on 
the city. From here I could see the labyrinth of upper level 
roads very clearly. They appeared positively deserted 
compared to their counterparts below. They also looked 


clean and well maintained. They avoided repetition of 
the grid pattern used on the streets below, but from what 
Rock had said, I gathered they only went to places of 
importance, so they did not have to go everywhere. 
Looking out over the city, on a level just about 15 feet 
above most of the streetlights, I could see a number of 
tallish buildings, but they all stopped before they hit 
Frozen Shade. They looked like little seedlings languishing 
in the shadows of the massive corporate citadels. 
Looking south I could make out, in the distance, the 
Lorica complex and more to the west, the solid wall that 
formed the City Center. 
Consulting a sign I saw, the circuit that would take me 
to Ernesto's had an estimated transit time of 15 minutes. 
I stepped over to an autovend newsstand and shoved a 
Lincoln into the slot. I mulled over the selection, noting 
for the first time that it was the middle of June, and finally 
chose a Phoenix Metro magazine. If I'm stuck here, I 
might as well know something about the place. 

clean and well maintained. They avoided repetition of 
the grid pattern used on the streets below, but from what 
Rock had said, I gathered they only went to places of 
importance, so they did not have to go everywhere. 
Looking out over the city, on a level just about 15 feet 
above most of the streetlights, I could see a number of 
tallish buildings, but they all stopped before they hit 
Frozen Shade. They looked like little seedlings languishing 
in the shadows of the massive corporate citadels. 
Looking south I could make out, in the distance, the 
Lorica complex and more to the west, the solid wall that 
formed the City Center. 
Consulting a sign I saw, the circuit that would take me 
to Ernesto's had an estimated transit time of 15 minutes. 
I stepped over to an autovend newsstand and shoved a 
Lincoln into the slot. I mulled over the selection, noting 
for the first time that it was the middle of June, and finally 
chose a Phoenix Metro magazine. If I'm stuck here, I 
might as well know something about the place. 


before I found a seat, but I defied inertia and sat without 
mishap. 
The article about Garrett put some things into perspective 
about this Coyote and his organization. I knew 
from Estefan that Coyote had helped him when he 
showed up in the city. It seems equally likely that he 
noticed Garrett's efforts with Sunburst and created a 
liaison so they could share resources and avoid duplication 
of effort. Rock Pell, on the other hand, was useful as 
a gadfly who could flit between various groups and 
gather information. That, in turn, could be used by 
Coyote and Garrett to head off trouble. 
My piecing together those bits of the puzzle helped 
ease my mind. Lurking in the back of my brain had been 
the nagging question "Why are they helping me?" The 
answer, it seemed to me, was that they were helping me 
because I was in trouble. I also suspected that they would 
want me to help them in the future. That harkened back 
to Estefan's "paying forward" remark. Because they 
both helped other unfortunates, I knew I had not been 
singled out for special treatment, which dulled my 
feelings of paranoia. 
In another squealed brake symphony, the Ultra-
shuttle let me off in front of Ernesto's Upstreet. It looked 
like a nice restaurant and, if the line of very expensive 
automobiles parked along the side was any indication, 
one patronized by some of the city's more successful 
mid-level management. The building's facade had been 
done in faux marble, with smooth Doric columns and a 
down-scaled copy of Michelangelo's David, modestly 
augmented with a figleaf. 
The doorwoman waited with her white-gloved hand 
on the door's handle, but I shook my head and walked 
over to the valet's station. I handed the ticket to the 
pimple-faced kid sitting inside the tiny shack. "It's been 
here for the past two days. I was detained." 
The kid shrugged his shoulders and set down a comic 
book. He flashed the ticket through a reader similar to the 
one the Build-more guard had used. "Not a problem, it's 
still here. Gonna have to charge you for the storage, 
though. $27.50." 
I pulled three Reagans from my wallet, and he dutifully 
passed the coded end of them through the barcode 
reader. "Keep the change," I added. 
The kid looked unimpressed, but ran off to get my car 
anyway. I glanced at the screen but I could not decipher 
any of the coding except where it totaled my charges. I 
suspected somewhere in that jumble of numbers and 
letters I could have learned a great deal about my life, but 
I was blind to it. 
I was not blind, however, to the car the kid drove up. 
Fire-engine red, the General Dynamic Motors Lancer 
looked less like a car than it did a shark cruising for 
pedestrians. Sure, it was of domestic make, and probably 
had been put together in GDM's west Phoenix plant, 
but could smoke the international competition with ease. 
I dimly recalled seeing a street sprint evaluation of the 


Lancer up against the Mitsubishi-Ferrari Kamikaze that 
might as well have been the Battle of Midway II. 
The smile on the valet's face came not from the 
Reagan I offered him, but from driving the car on the short 
run from the parking lot. "I took good care of it." 
"And I appreciate it, believe me." I slid in behind the 
wheel, and he closed the door behind me. I fastened the 
lap belt, but before I did up the double shoulder straps, 
I popped open the glove compartment. It was not as large 
as the one in Rock's Elite, nor did it have cosmetics, but 
it did contain something that was more valuable to me 
than gold. 
I pulled the rental receipt and unfolded it. Paydirt! I 
smiled as I read the car had been rented to Mr. Tycho 
Caine. I didn't recognize the name, but I rolled it around 
in my mouth a couple of times and it worked okay. Cool 
name, cool car. Find out who wants you dead, and you 
could be in good shape. I refolded the paper and slipped 
it into my windbreaker's pocket. 
Locking in the shoulder restraints, I slipped the car into 
gear and eased it out onto the road. The Lancer rode as 
easy as water gliding across ice. On the upper shot of 
32nd Street there was no traffic in front of me, and I felt 
sorely tempted to wind the car out. Glancing in the 
rearview mirror for Scorpion Security vehicleswhich I 
realized I could not have identified anywayI noticed a 
Chrysler LeBoeuf pull in behind me and come up fast. 
Somewhere in my head a part of me started to 
calculate the rough odds of someone coming after me so 
immediately. In a metropolis that boasted over 3 million 
people, the odds started long, but became short fast. The 
last place I was known to have been was at Ernesto's. 
Clearly I left there with someone else, or not under my 
own power. I was moved down to Slymingtown and left 
for dead. If whoever had wanted me dead had looked for 
an obit on a John Doe, he would not have seen it. If he 
then heard about the problem with the Reapers, he might 
set up a stake-out on my car to see if I claimed it. 
I felt my heartbeat quicken as I decided I was being 
followed by people who knew something about what had 
happened to me. The chase made my blood race and my 
nostrils flare. I felt the same energetic jolt I had when I 
confronted Jackson. The urge to stop my car, pull my 
Krait and start shooting nearly overwhelmed me. 
At the same time as bloodlust rose up in me, I shunted 
those feelings aside. As I made a quick right turn onto 
Camelback heading east, I knew there was only one way 
to determine if these folks were following me or not. At 
36th I took another right and the LeBoeuf stayed right on 
my tail. Furthermore the driver decided he'd been spotted, 
so he hit the accelerator and pulled into the left lane. 
A hand with a gun appeared through the driver's side 
window. 
I tapped the gas and the Lancer's engine roared 
loudly. The car lunged forward, and the LeBoeuf surged 
ahead to catch up. As I hit the brakes and dropped the 
car out of gear, the Chrysler rocketed past me. The 


passenger pulled the trigger on his pistol as fast as he 
could, but tracking my car while his sailed on was well 
nigh impossible. 
I yanked up on the hand-brake, immediately kicking 
the Lancer into a bootlegger's turn. As the LeBoeuf again 
appeared in my rearview mirror, I hit the foot brake, 
jammed the car into first and popped the clutch. The 
Lancer bucked a bit, forcing me back into the driver's 
seat, but it shot off like an arrow. At my first intersection, 
I cut right and left the Chrysler behind. 
As I entered this narrow side street in the limited 
network of roads above the city of Phoenix, I realized that 
one important factor in evading pursuit is having a better 
knowledge of the battleground than your enemy does. I 
clearly did not have this, or I would not have entered a 
street marked "Dead End." A hundred yards later, as I 
brought the Lancer to full stop just before the roadway 
came to a full stop, I wondered if that sign might not have 
been prophetic. 
The Chrysler filled the street at the far end, offering me 
no chance to get around it. Its headlights flashed in 
tandem off the guard rails lining the elevated roadway. It 
came forward slowly as if a mechanical beast stalking 
prey. 
I popped my restraining belts and stepped out of the 
Lancer. Moving a couple of paces toward the LeBoeuf, 
I pulled my Krait and flicked the safety off. Dropping to 
one knee, I held the gun in both hands and sighted 
carefully. 
Something about being under fire causes most folks 
to panic. The LeBoeufs passenger, to forestall that 
happening, leaned out of his window and aimed back at 
me. His first two shots wounded the tarmac to my left. I 
returned his fire, and when he flopped limply in the 
window with a lot of blood leaking over the rest of the car, 
the driver decided I was his. 
In his position I could see his thinking. As I discovered 
when I shifted over to target him, the LeBoeuf had been 
specially fitted with bulletproof glass and puncture-
resistant tires. The body had been armored too, so all I 
managed to do was strike sparks from the hood or 
spatter lead on the windshield. 
The driver hit the gas. I swapped out my spent clip for 
a new one and triggered two shots as I stood. The car, its 
engine howling demonically, charged straight at me. 
The driver corrected as I took one step to my right, lining 
me up with his hood ornament. At the last second he 
even began to ease off on the gas as he did not want to 
sail on into my car and off the upstreet. 
I leaped back to the left, barely avoiding the dead 
passenger's flailing arms. The driver started to apply the 
brakes, but I triggered off three shots that stabbed 
through the open passenger window. I don't know where 
they hit, but they did, and he lost control of his vehicle. 
As I crammed myself up against the guard rail, his 
LeBoeuf slammed my driver-side door shut, then started 
my car tumbling. 


The Lancer rolled perfectly, with fiberglass side panels 
shattering and flying off into the air. The windscreen and 
rear window both blew out, sending sparklies of glass hail 
down into the streetlights' halo below. With a hideous 
cracking sound, the Lancer flattened the wooden barricade 
marking the end of the road and plummeted out of 
sight. 
The Chrysler, its frame sparking as it scraped over the 
edge, careened after my Lancer. 
I threw myself to the ground as the fireball from their 
final collision lit up the street. Debris pelted me and a 
secondary explosion shook the roadway. When I looked 
up, little fires burned like votive candles to mark the cars' 
passing at the end of the roadway. Flames from below 
licked up as if yet hungry for more and, in the distance, 
I heard the keening wail of sirens. 
I tucked the gun away and jogged along the roadway 
until I came to one of the concrete stanchions holding the 
roadway up. The concrete relief decorations on it made 
climbing down simple enough, and the added light from 
where two cars had crushed a chiropractic office and set 
it on fire provided all the light I needed to see where I was 
going. 
I found a 7-Eleven and dropped a copper Columbus 
coin in the slot. Fishing Rock's card from my pocket, I 
dialed him up. "Rock, this is your mystery man. My car 
was a Lancer." 
"Was? What happened?" 
"Nothing much. Pick me up, and I'll tell you about it." 
"How will I find you. Where are you?" 
"I'm not sure," I laughed, "but I've set a signal fire. You 
can't miss it." 
I hung up the phone and found my hands were 
shaking. I knew it had to be the physical aftereffects of the 
adrenaline rush I'd felt up on the overstreet. As I looked 
at the fire burning a block distant I also knew I felt afraid. 
A fraction of a second slower and I would have been 
jammed between both of those cars. I would have been 
roasting in that fire and that realization sent a shiver up 
my spine. 
I sincerely hoped my shots killed both men before their 
car went over. 
Scorpion Security cordoned off the area fairly quickly 
and their firefighting arm came in and had the blaze 
smothered in no time at all. When Rock rolled up, fire 
marshals had started picking through the steaming, 
foam-covered wreckage. They repeatedly looked at the 
half-melted cars, then back up at the upstreet and at the 
wreckage again. 
"Roger,"Rock said into his carphone as I sat down and 
pulled the door shut. He glanced at the flaming wreckage 
and winced. "If I ever offered to let you drive one of my 
cars, forget it." 
A weak smile lightninged across my face. "My name 
is Tycho Caine. The Lancer was a rental." 
"Glad you know your name." Rock pulled a wide U-
turn in the road and headed us away from the fire. "I 


talked to Hal. He heard from Coyote. You're in for a big 
palaver with a bunch of us. Coyote has decided your 
problem is our problem." 

talked to Hal. He heard from Coyote. You're in for a big 
palaver with a bunch of us. Coyote has decided your 
problem is our problem." 
Rock drove me to what looked like an abandoned 
executive garden office building. A chainlink fence topped 
with concertina wire surrounded the place and had signs 
on it that threatened prosecution of trespassers. The 
windows facing the street had been boarded up and a 
couple of walls had been decorated with graffiti. When 
Rock drove up, he punched a code number into a keypad 
beside the gate and it rolled back automatically. Once we 
were in, it shut again. 
Rock took us around back and parked the car in some 
covered parking. Using another security code, he let us 
in through the back door. Once he made sure the door 
had closed, he pulled a nasty little Nambu automatic 
from an ankle holster and set it on the table in the 
anteroom. He glanced at my holster and I reluctantly did 
the same with my Krait. 
I followed him into another, larger and more well-lit 
conference room with a big table in the middle of it. 
"Everyone," Rock announced to the five other people in 
the room, "this is Tycho Caine, the man with many 
enemies and no memory. Hal Garrett you already know." 
I nodded and shook Hal's hand again. "I hope your 
meeting went well." 
"As well as can be expected." 
Rock pointed to a well-dressed Hispanic man. "This is 
Alejandro Higuera." 
Higuera offered me his hand, and I shook it firmly. He 
looked similar enough in build and features to me to have 
been Estefan's cousin, but there was a world of difference 
between them in culturalization. Alejandro was clean-
shaven except for a thick moustache. His hair had been 
professionally styled, and his suit cost easily three times 
what Estefan made in a good month. A gold Rolex watch 
glinted on his left wrist as he adjusted the knot of his tie, 
and a diamond-encrusted ring flashed on his little finger. 
"Charmed." 
"As am I, Seor Higuera." 
Rock pushed on and pointed to an unlikely pair of 
individuals in the corner. "These are Natch Feral and 
Bat." 
Natch Feral, I gathered, was the girl's street name. At 
first I thought her sloppily groomed, but then I noticed her 
long, kinky hair had been bound and stuffed down the 
neck of her leather jacket to make it difficult to grab in a 
fight. Her eyes had a hint of almond-shaping to them, but 
her hair and cafe-au-lait complexion suggested more 
than just oriental blood in her mix. Small and undoubtedly 
quick, she wore fingerless gloves that exposed 
daggerish fingernails painted black. Her bright blue eyes 
shot old Heinrich's racial heredity theories down in 


flames. 
Bat, on the other hand, looked like an ancient, square-
jawed socialist hero statue that had come to life. He was 
not as tall as Hal Garrett, easily surrendering eight inches 
in height to him. On the other hand, Bat had to outweigh 
Garrett by at least 25 pounds, tossing him up into the 
325+ pound class. From what I could see beneath the 
plain white T-shirt he wore and through his short-cut 
black hair, that weight had been distributed 90%/10% 
between muscles and scars. Bat carried his fists balled, 
and I saw thick lines of scars on his knuckles. Whoever 
this man was, he had been in a lot of fights and, by the 
look of him, he'd won more than his share. 
"Hello," I offered. 
Natch squinted at me, then grunted. Bat let her answer 
serve for him as well. 
The next person in line offered me her hand. "Hello, I 
am Marit Fisk, Mr. Caine." 
I smiled broadly, and I saw reflected in her blue eyes 
her pleasure at her effect upon me. "Tycho, please, Ms. 
Fisk" 
"Then you must call me Marit." 
"As you wish." As I took her hand and shook it, I 
sensed some anger from Rock. I glanced in his direction 
and saw the tightness around his eyes, but I did not care. 
If he had a problem with Marit, that was for him to deal 
with. I did not know if they were lovers, had been lovers 
or, in Rock's dreams, would be lovers, but I could not fault 
him for his taste. 
Tall for a woman, Marit had broad shoulders that 
tapered to a slender waist. Her long black hair covered 
her shoulders and went to the middle of her back. 
Obviously athletic, she was one of the very few women 
who could successfully wear a Spandex bodysuit and not 
suffer for her audacity. The two-inch heels on her boots 
accentuated the length of her legs. Her smile brightened 
a beautiful face and, as she directed it at me, I realized I 
had met the woman with whom I wanted to spend the rest 
of my life. 
From the corner of my eye I caught Natch smiling at 
me. 
"Where's Jytte?" Rock snarled. 
"Right here. I had work to complete." 
Something about the woman appearing in the room's 
other doorway shocked me. At first glance I would have 
called her beautiful. The long locks of golden blond hair 
cascaded in waves over her shoulders and nearly reached 
her tiny waist. Though the jeans jumper she wore was 
hardly stylish, she did belt it in the middle, allowing the 
dress to hint at a very appealing body beneath. Her 
striped blouse was not quite the height of chic and she 
wore it buttoned down at both wrists and up at the throat 
as if to hide as much of her bare flesh as possible. 
As she stepped forward into the light, I saw what had 
set off unconscious warning bells in my head. Her face 
had absolutely no animation at all. She looked to be 
wearing more of a mask of beauty than the real thing, 


though all I saw was her flesh. Her dark eyes did not 
match the blond hair or her fair complexion, and while 
she was statuesque, she moved with a coltish awkwardness 
that reminded me of the herky-jerky motions of a 
manual transmission car driven by someone who's not 
yet gotten the hang of the clutch. 
I extended my hand to her. "Hello, I am..." 
"Tycho Caine, I know." When I looked shocked, her 
eyes tightened a millimeter or two. "Rock reported the 
crash, and I managed to tap into the Scorpion site 
commander's datafeed. Tracing the car tag numbers 
and identification numbers got me the rental record. I 
have your financial file, and I even have your Digital 
Express bill. The Mizuno Sheraton in City Center still has 
your room and is racking up charges each day." 
Marit rested her right hand on my left shoulder and, in 
a husky voice, introduced me. "This is Jytte Ravel. She 
is our communications coordinator and, lucky for us, 
one of the better computer empaths in the world. It was 
probably more difficult for her to hide her tracks than it 
was for her to get any of the information she's compiled." 
I knew computer empaths were what once had been 
simply called hackers. Using an uncanny amount of 
intuition and frighteningly competent programming skills, 
they were able to burrow into computer networks. Clearly 
this Jytte had the run of the city's computers, which 
made her very valuable. I gave her an appreciative smile 
and acknowledged her skill with a nod. 
Jytte seemed to warm up beneath Marit's praise. I 
extended my hand to her, and she took it after a 
moment's hesitation. Her flesh felt cool to the touch, and 
her arm oddly light. She held my hand rather gently, and 
we shook once before breaking. 
Hal moved to the chair at the head of the table. "Jytte, 
any information on the two bodies Tycho here put 
down?" 
The blond automaton nodded slowly as she took a 
seat toward the middle of the table. "I have caused one 
to be identified as Tycho Caine, and I sewed enough 
discord in that file to keep it that way for a couple of days. 
The other is Paul Gray. He was a private investigator who 
worked mostly for Lorica Industries. He used a man 
named Wallace Griffin on a lot of his contracts, so I 
suspect this is who the other body was. The LeBoeuf was 
a Lorica fleet car." 
I think her face made an attempt to frown as she added 
one other point. "Mr. Caine used his own credit card to 
secure the rental car, but the bills were going to a Lorica 
dummy corporation. Someone on the 101st floor was 
picking up some of his bills." 
I took a chair opposite Hal, and Marit seated herself at 
my right hand. Natch sat across from Jytte, Alejandro sat 
next to her and Rock sulked in a chair between Jytte and 
Hal. Bat remained in the corner with his massive arms 
folded. "Lorica was paying my bills? Why would they put 
someone on me, in that case?" 
Hal shrugged. "Perhaps whatever you were supposed 


to do had a time limit, and you missed your deadline. 
Someone might have wanted to take their retainer back 
out of your hide." He glanced at Rock. "Anything juicy 
going down with Lorica?" 
Rock shook his head. "No beheadings at board meetings, 
if that's what you mean. The Witch has fully 
consolidated her power since the takeover two months 
ago. Nerys Loring does not look like that much of a 
change from her father, Nero, but the way she ousted him 
was a work of art. He might have been old, but not that 
old. Engineers get a lot of use out of their experience, and 
the man who planned Frozen Shade and the maglev 
circuit should have had a couple more projects in him." 
Natch made a clicking sound with the corner of her 
mouth. "Word on the street was that some loyalists 
retired Daddy to Casa Vaco real fast. She doesn't know 
where he is, and wants him found." She looked at me with 
an evil grin. "You good at hide and seek, Caine-man?" 
"I don't know." I put my hands flat down on the table. 
"So far I've only been good at shooting things and 
starting fires." 
Everyone grinned except for Bat. 
He chuckled. 
This did not make me feel good. 
Marit patted my hand, then left her fingertips touching 
my wrist. "Hal, looks like a double tie back into Lorica to 
me. It occurs to me that if we could get Mr. Caine into the 
Lorica Industries reception in City Center tomorrow 
night, we might be able to shake something loose." 
The big man smiled broadly and nodded. "Good idea. 
Can we get him in?" 
Alejandro nodded confidently. "I have an invitation to 
go." 
Marit grinned like a predator. "Good, we can make it 
a threesome." When Hal's head came up, she added, 
"You don't think, Hal dear, they would even try to keep 
me out, would you?" 
Again Bat chuckled, and Hal shook his head. "No, I 
don't suppose they would. Good, your being there will 
unsettle things enough that we might get very lucky." 
"Jytte, can you alter the Mizuno files enough to move 
Mr. Caine to another room if someone checks?" 
Jytte nodded an affirmative answer to Marit's question. 
"You will want me to change the door combination 
to the room his things are in, correct?" 
"Yes. If you do that, we can get his things back." Marit 
looked over at Hal. "Depending upon what he has in his 
room, we may have to buy him some new clothes for the 
reception." 
"Go to it, Coyote said he has carte blanche." 
Jytte confirmed Hal's statement with a nod. A phone 
began to ring in the room she had come from, so she got 
up to answer it. 
Rock leaned back in his chair. "Okay, sport, after we 
get your stuff at the hotel, I know a place we can get some 
crush'n duds for you." 
"Accent on the dud there." Marit slipped her left hand 


through my right arm. "I'll take him to his hotel, then to 
buy clothes. This is a party in the clouds, Rock, not some 
Eclipse soire where the highlight is crushing beer cans 
on your forehead." 
Her remark stung Rock deeply, but before he could 
reply to it, Hal cut him off. "She's right, Rock. Besides, I 
need you here. I want a full report on what you saw in the 
Warriors' warehouse. I got the Blood Crips to hold off 
from a major offensive, but I'm going to need you to use 
your charm on WAWA and the Zombies." He looked at 
the rest of the group. "Keep your eyes and ears open. If 
you hear anything odd going down with Lorica, call in to 
Jytte. She's coordinating with Coyote for us." 
As if summoned by the use of her name, Jytte 
reappeared in the doorway. "Mr. Caine, Coyote would 
like to speak to you." She held out a solid lump of a black 
phone to me. 
I took the handset and brought it up to my ear. In the 
background I heard a humming sound as if some 
electrical device was causing light interference. "Hello?" 
"Ah, Mr. Caine, how good to speak with you. You have 
been a busy boy since you came to our city." 
"Apparently." 
"Indeed." He paused for a second, and I realized I 
found his voice a touch mechanical. No doubt machine 
altered to make it difficult to identify. "Mr. Caine, my 
people and I will do all we can to solve the mystery of your 
identity. I know we will succeed, but I have one thing to 
ask in return." 
I smiled. "Paying forward, you mean." 
"Precisely." I heard a bit of laughter in his voice. "I'm 
glad you are so quick because, you see, one of the people 
in the room with you is a traitor. I would like you identify 
and deal with him before he succeeds in killing you." 

through my right arm. "I'll take him to his hotel, then to 
buy clothes. This is a party in the clouds, Rock, not some 
Eclipse soire where the highlight is crushing beer cans 
on your forehead." 
Her remark stung Rock deeply, but before he could 
reply to it, Hal cut him off. "She's right, Rock. Besides, I 
need you here. I want a full report on what you saw in the 
Warriors' warehouse. I got the Blood Crips to hold off 
from a major offensive, but I'm going to need you to use 
your charm on WAWA and the Zombies." He looked at 
the rest of the group. "Keep your eyes and ears open. If 
you hear anything odd going down with Lorica, call in to 
Jytte. She's coordinating with Coyote for us." 
As if summoned by the use of her name, Jytte 
reappeared in the doorway. "Mr. Caine, Coyote would 
like to speak to you." She held out a solid lump of a black 
phone to me. 
I took the handset and brought it up to my ear. In the 
background I heard a humming sound as if some 
electrical device was causing light interference. "Hello?" 
"Ah, Mr. Caine, how good to speak with you. You have 
been a busy boy since you came to our city." 
"Apparently." 
"Indeed." He paused for a second, and I realized I 
found his voice a touch mechanical. No doubt machine 
altered to make it difficult to identify. "Mr. Caine, my 
people and I will do all we can to solve the mystery of your 
identity. I know we will succeed, but I have one thing to 
ask in return." 
I smiled. "Paying forward, you mean." 
"Precisely." I heard a bit of laughter in his voice. "I'm 
glad you are so quick because, you see, one of the people 
in the room with you is a traitor. I would like you identify 
and deal with him before he succeeds in killing you." 
Strapped into Marit's GDM Ariel, I remained silent as 
she sliced through traffic on the Squaw Peak Parkway. 
She drove quite well for someone bent on doubling the 
speed limit, and the low sports coupe clung to the 
roadway as if its wheels were made of Velcro. The 
roadway itself went up and down like a rollercoaster, 
providing me an occasional glimpse of upstreet facilities 
from a downstreet roadway. 
I kept a smile on my face so Marit would view my 
silence as mute approval of her driving, but I also used 
it to hide my confusion as I mulled over what Coyote had 
told me. I had only just met his people, and I was coming 
to trust them, when he sent a cruise missile through my 
confidence window. Immediately I began putting each of 
his aides into a box and examining them for motives. 
The basic problem I had, of course, was that I did not 
know enough about them to start making any judgments. 
Rock Pell was easy to put on the list as the top 
candidate because he could have used his car phone to 


alert Lorica that I was going after my car. Then again, I'd 
already rationalized a workable explanation for why they 
were waiting, so the only mark against Pell was that I 
found him self-centered and uncaring, but if that was a 
capital crime, I'd run out of bullets long before dispensing 
justice to all who deserved it. 
Coyote had not said how he wanted the situation dealt 
with, but I had no doubt he expected me to kill that 
individual. Oddly enough, that didn't cause me any 
problem, which helped convince me I was a troubleshooter 
that corps brought in to deal with problems. I just 
found myself hoping I could uncover the traitor before he 
or she got a chance to do me. I also hoped Coyote's 
problem wasn't bigger than he imagined, because a 
second or third traitor in the group would severely 
confuse any effort to find one of them. 
"Cover your eyes," Marit directed me. 
"What?" 
"Cover your eyes, we're leaving Eclipse." Marit signaled 
and pulled the Ariel into the right exit lane. Above 
us I saw a sign announce: "You are entering City Center. 
Unauthorized vehicles are subject to confiscation ,and 
the owners will be prosecuted." 
"City fathers have no sense of humor, eh?" 
"No." She hit the gas as the car started up a steep 
incline. "For nearly 20 years they did everything they 
could, from having festivals to sponsoring a Grand Prix 
to get folks to come to downtown. The harder they 
worked to get folks down here, the more folks went out 
to the hinterlands to watch ostrich festivals and medieval 
fairs. It was only when they restricted access to the sort 
of uppercrust clientele they wanted anyway did the rush 
to rediscover City Center begin." 
"Forbidden fruit?" 
"Exactly, now cover your eyes." 
I got my right hand up just in time as her car nosed its 
way over the peak of the incline and into daylight. The 
sunlight hurt my eyes at first, but they quickly adapted, 
and I lowered my hand. "My God, that's beautiful." 
"From Tartarus to Olympus we are bound." 
City Center looked like a shining crystalline city of the 
future that had risen through a glossy black ocean. The 
base of the urban island spread across the western 
horizon for almost five miles and extended upward for 
about five stories. A dozen towers stood like mountains 
above that, with three extending over 100 stories into the 
air. Copper trim and rosy marble blended with mirrored 
silver towers to create a jewel of a city floating in the 
photovoltaic sea. 
Off to the right I saw the gray supports for what looked 
to be a magnetic levitation train line running into City 
Center at the southern edge. I looked back along the line 
and saw two more smaller man-made islands to the 
south. "What are the little ones?" 
"Directly south is the Sumitomo-Dial citadel and back 
southeast is the Honeywell & Koch complex. One maglev 
circuit connects all seven of the satellite citadels with 


each other, while others connect them with City Center. 
If you live in the towers, your feet never have to touch the 
ground." 
The roadway sloped back down, and I saw it ran 
straight into the middle of the island approximately eight 
stories above the Frozen Shade. We passed through the 
mirrored glass walls, and I suddenly found myself inside 
what could have been seen as a massive mall. Above 
me, covered walkways and peoplemovers crisscrossed 
the sky to move bodies from one tower to another. 
Below, descending for another two very tall stories, 
escalators took people to an incredible labyrinth of white 
marble corridors and stores of every description possible. 
Marit pulled off the roadway at a valet parking area. 
We both got out, and a fresh-faced kid got into the Ariel. 
He handed her a ticket and she tipped him $5. As we 
stepped up on to the curb, he headed the car down a 
narrow roadway that led to a tunnel. 
"Where's he taking your car?" 
Marit slipped her left hand through my right arm. 
"We're currently four levels above Frozen Shade, which 
is roughly 18 stories above the ground. Level Five, the 
one just at Frozen Shade is a vast parking area. When we 
get set to leave, they will bring the car to whichever road 
exit we have chosen." 
I frowned as we walked forward and got on an 
escalator going down. "City Center is a rather big place. 
How do we get around without a car?" 
"All around the outside of Level Six, and at crossing 
points on Level Seven, shuttle-coaches will take us 
wherever we need go to." With her free hand she pointed 
diagonally across the wide plaza. "The Mizuno Sheraton's 
lobby is on Level Seven, otherwise we would take an 
elevator down to Six and go around." 
"Let me see if I have this straight: Level Five is a 
parking garage and Level Six has a train." 
"A train and shops. Down there are mostly department 
stores like Comrade Montgomery Ward or bookstores, 
newsstands and drugstores. Anyone can go 
down there, and that's where we have theaters, arcades 
and restaurants that are best suited to kids. Level Seven 
has some fine restaurants and some of the finer specialty 
stores. Mostly European or top-of-the-line Latin products 
available there. Level Seven even has the new 
Mercado, which looks just like a Mexican Village. It's 
delightful, you'll love it." 
As she spoke and we slowly ascended through Levels 
Eight and Nine, I saw some familiar store names. Clearly 
prices escalated as one ascended in levels, as did items 
of quality. Level Eight might as well have been sliced out 
of Tokyo and flown over. Level Nine seemed to cover 
most of the German manufacturers and some of the very 
best American companies, with the latter's stock in trade 
being fine weapons. 
"If access is restricted, who gets in?" 
Marit gave my arm a reassuring little squeeze. "Those 


who work in the shops and the offices here take up Levels 
One through Four. They seldom spend time outside 
work above Level Six, but they are allowed. Many folks, 
I am told, celebrate anniversaries or special occasions by 
attending functions up here. The executives or career 
folks live in the various towersoffices tend to start at 
Level 15 and work up. The ultra-rich, like Nerys Loring, 
live above the clouds. Folks between her and the normal 
working folks also live out in Paradise Valley, if they can 
afford it, and commute in. Eclipsers cannot enter City 
Center on their own, but they can come here as guests." 
"So that means seldom, if ever." 
"'Cept when they look like you," Marit grinned. 
We left the escalator and started walking through the 
crowds toward the Mizuno Sheraton. It did not look 
familiar to me, but then nothing had, so that was not a big 
shock. The crowds were not that big, but it was easy to 
see, from the gawking and pointing, who were the 
untermenschen who had come up to see City Center and 
who were the folks who spent too much time here to be 
impressed. Despite the fact that they looked clean and 
well-fed, I felt a certain pity for them. They seemed less 
people than hamsters trained to wander through a maze 
to amuse their master. 
At one point in the big mezzanine, I saw a whole city 
park that had been transplanted upward. A cute little 
white picket fence bordered it, and toy boats floated 
across a central pond. Nannies in uniforms watched little 
boys and girls playing ball or using the swing-set. The 
children all wore very fine clothing, with shorts, knee-
socks and white shirts predominating among the boys 
and frilly dresses, gloves and bonnets among the girls. I 
looked around for a sign to indicate this was some sort 
of play or costume drama, but every indication I saw 
suggested what I was looking at was real. 
"Do people actually make their kids dress like that to 
play in this oversized terrarium?" 
Marit nodded solemnly. "Burton Barr Park is only for 
those who can afford it. They want their children to have 
the best of everything. You're looking at a breeding 
ground for the people who will someday control City 
Center and the corpvils surrounding it." 
When we finally arrived, two young women greeted us 
at the hotel doorway. We smiled politely, and Marit 
laughed as one girl whispered her name to the other. 
Without pausing, we swept through the lobby, and Marit 
directed me to the correct bank of elevators. Having 
gotten the information on my room from Jytte while I 
spoke with Coyote, she led the way on our quest. 
"Four-three-three-seven," she breathed as she 
punched the combination into my door. The red LED 
shifted to green, and the door clicked open. She waited 
for me go through the doorway first, and I obliged her. I 
hoped against hope that something in the room would 
seem familiar enough that it would spark my memory. 
No such luck. 
The room had a west-facing window in it, which gave 


us a breathtaking view of the setting sun, but other than 
that it was unremarkable. It was, after all, a hotel room 
and allowed no room for personalization. Moreover, 
aside from some change in an ashtray, it hardly looked 
as if I had been here at all. 
I sighed audibly. "Time for a careful, methodical 
search." 
Marit agreed with a nod. "I'll start with your closet." 
She opened the door and whistled appreciatively. "You 
have good taste. Italian, I think, for the suits. The shoes 
are definitely Bucci Imports." 
I smiled as I opened a dresser drawer. There I saw four 
pairs of jockey shorts all folded neatly. Beside them were 
four pairs of colored socks, likewise neatly folded in the 
middle. The next drawer down had four shirts. Three 
were white and the other was a light blue. Each looked 
freshly laundered and well starched. 
"This is odd." Marit had taken one of the suit jackets 
from the hanger, leaving the pants hanging over the 
hanger crossbar. 
The jacket looked like a normal black, double-breasted 
jacket with dark buttons on the front and sleeves. 
"What's wrong?" 
Marit frowned and pouted delectably with her lower 
lip. "I know this is an Armando suitone of the last photo 
shoots I did had a man modeling this design." 
"And?" 
"This one has no tags." She opened the jacket so I 
could see the lining. "The designer label, washing instructions 
and size tags have been cut out." 
I glanced back at the shirts in the second drawer. 
"Same thing here. Do you think that suit has been worn?" 
"Perhaps, but not folded up in a suit bagno way." 
I crossed to the bathroom and flicked the light on. 
Arrayed neatly on the counter I saw a shaving kit that 
purportedly belonged to me. The toothpaste tube had 
maybe one squeeze gone from it. The toothbrush looked 
new, as did the blade in the razor. The can of shaving gel 
might as well have been brand new. The bottle of aspirin 
had not, in fact, been opened. 
Returning to the room puzzled, I saw Marit had shifted 
from the closet to my dresser. She'd opened the other top 
drawer and had appropriated the sunglasses therein. 
"Serengeti Vermillions, very nice. Christian Dior sweater, 
an Iceberg sweater and a nice set of gold cufflinks set with 
a diamond. Whoever bought these things for you has 
good taste, and was probably getting a kick-back from 
the merchants." 
I shook my head. "I don't follow you." 
Marit lifted up the sweater that, while it had no labels, 
I trusted to be made for Christian Dior. "This is your size, 
and even a style that would look good on you, but this 
powder yellow is not your color. You have such gorgeous 
green eyes and strong features that you'd not want a soft 
color like this. And the cufflinksnone of your shirts 
have french cuffs. I suspect the buyer got a gift in 
exchange for taking them off the merchant's hands." 


"What are you saying?" 
"What I'm saying, my sweet, is that this might have 
been your room, and you might actually have stayed 
here, but this stuff was in here and waiting for you when 
you arrived." 
I glanced back at the closet. "Even the suit bag and 
suitcase there?" 
She smiled. "Not even the remnant of an airline 
baggage stub on them." She shrugged. "If this room has 
any secrets, they're going the be the devil's own to 
unlock." 
"Unlock." I slammed the heel of my right hand against 
my forehead. I reached for my wallet and fished out the 
safety deposit box key. "Maybe the secrets are locked 
away in their vault. 
With the key in hand, getting whatever treasure I had 
locked away in the vault was not a problem. A perky 
young woman at the concierge desk required me to sign 
my name on the signature card they had given me when 
I put things into the vault. I found it very easy to forge my 
own signature. Satisfied, the girl took the key and 
returned from the back with an aluminum attach case. 
I thanked her, then Marit and I walked through the 
hotel lobby. Before we stepped out into the central mall 
area, I excused myself and retreated to the nearest men's 
room. I checked the stalls, then chose the last one and 
locked myself in. Seating myself as comfortably as 
possible, I pulled the case into my lap. 
The case had two latches, each with a three-digit 
combination. Looking at it I realized I had no idea what 
the correct combination was, and I did not think I had 
time to experiment with all the various possibilities. Most 
folks, when setting such a combination, will chose a 
number or date significant to them so they would not 
forget it, but I'd forgotten who I was, so that was of no use 
to me. 
I knew, from everything I had seen in my unconscious 
activities, that I was a very methodical person. The lack 
of memories did not destroy my underlying personality. 
I still functioned the way I normally would, but I did not 
know who I was. I needed to let myself run on autopilot 
to figure out the combination. 
Given the way I reacted to things, I doubted sincerely 
I would have opted for a personal date or significant 
number. That would be easy to crack if someone got a 
line on me. Chances were I used a random selection of 
numbers when setting the combination. If I did that, I 
either memorized the result, or had a gimmick for 
remembering it. 
Mnemonic tricks are an interesting phenomena. Roy 

"What are you saying?" 
"What I'm saying, my sweet, is that this might have 
been your room, and you might actually have stayed 
here, but this stuff was in here and waiting for you when 
you arrived." 
I glanced back at the closet. "Even the suit bag and 
suitcase there?" 
She smiled. "Not even the remnant of an airline 
baggage stub on them." She shrugged. "If this room has 
any secrets, they're going the be the devil's own to 
unlock." 
"Unlock." I slammed the heel of my right hand against 
my forehead. I reached for my wallet and fished out the 
safety deposit box key. "Maybe the secrets are locked 
away in their vault. 
With the key in hand, getting whatever treasure I had 
locked away in the vault was not a problem. A perky 
young woman at the concierge desk required me to sign 
my name on the signature card they had given me when 
I put things into the vault. I found it very easy to forge my 
own signature. Satisfied, the girl took the key and 
returned from the back with an aluminum attach case. 
I thanked her, then Marit and I walked through the 
hotel lobby. Before we stepped out into the central mall 
area, I excused myself and retreated to the nearest men's 
room. I checked the stalls, then chose the last one and 
locked myself in. Seating myself as comfortably as 
possible, I pulled the case into my lap. 
The case had two latches, each with a three-digit 
combination. Looking at it I realized I had no idea what 
the correct combination was, and I did not think I had 
time to experiment with all the various possibilities. Most 
folks, when setting such a combination, will chose a 
number or date significant to them so they would not 
forget it, but I'd forgotten who I was, so that was of no use 
to me. 
I knew, from everything I had seen in my unconscious 
activities, that I was a very methodical person. The lack 
of memories did not destroy my underlying personality. 
I still functioned the way I normally would, but I did not 
know who I was. I needed to let myself run on autopilot 
to figure out the combination. 
Given the way I reacted to things, I doubted sincerely 
I would have opted for a personal date or significant 
number. That would be easy to crack if someone got a 
line on me. Chances were I used a random selection of 
numbers when setting the combination. If I did that, I 
either memorized the result, or had a gimmick for 
remembering it. 
Mnemonic tricks are an interesting phenomena. Roy 
Biv is one that recalls the different colors in visible light 
by grouping their first initials: red, orange, yellow, green, 
blue, indigo and violet. I knew I remembered the difference 
between port and starboard because port and left 
have the same number of letters in the English language. 
I knew that whatever mnemonic trick I used, it would be 
something simple, like the left/port examples and just as 

constant. 
Staring at the combination, a possible solution struck 
me. Down and even have the same number of letters. If, 
in locking the case, I took the correct combination and 
moved all the even numbers down one position, then 
moved all the odd numbers up one position, the mnemonic 
would likewise solve for the combination. As long 
as I tested that down-even/up-odd theory using odd 
numbers for position changes, the formula would reverse 
itself. 
Smiling, I set to work. Somewhere, in the back of my 
mind, I worked out that the key number had to be 1. 
Tycho Caine has 10 letters in it, which reduced to 1 when 
you add the two digits. Keying things to my name worked 
well because, except in weird circumstances, no one 
forgets his name. 

constant. 
Staring at the combination, a possible solution struck 
me. Down and even have the same number of letters. If, 
in locking the case, I took the correct combination and 
moved all the even numbers down one position, then 
moved all the odd numbers up one position, the mnemonic 
would likewise solve for the combination. As long 
as I tested that down-even/up-odd theory using odd 
numbers for position changes, the formula would reverse 
itself. 
Smiling, I set to work. Somewhere, in the back of my 
mind, I worked out that the key number had to be 1. 
Tycho Caine has 10 letters in it, which reduced to 1 when 
you add the two digits. Keying things to my name worked 
well because, except in weird circumstances, no one 
forgets his name. 

That thought hit me like a slug right between the eyes. 

Maybe I'm not Tycho Caine after all. 

I applied my thumbs to the latch buttons, and the case 
popped open. I carefully lifted the lid and chewed my 
lower lip. No wonder the Krait felt so comfortable. 
Inside, nestled in a bed of black foam I saw a number 
of things. The first was a Colt Krait. The only difference 
between it and the gun I wore in my shoulder holster was 
that this automatic was blued-steel, not bright, and a 
florescent orange pip marked the front sight. It was 
loaded and ready for action, with two spare clips in a 
foam cut-out by the grip. 
Above and around it I saw all the pieces of an Armalite 
M-27 "Keyholer" sniper rifle. It fired a copper-jacketed 

7.62 NATO round, and I had three clips of 30 bullets each 
and one small clip of five bullets that looked to have been 
drilled and patched to make them explosive. The receiver 
had been fitted for an Allard Technologies Espion 
UV laser scope. Pressing the battery check button in, it 
showed it was ready to go and had been sighted out to 
750 meters. The rifle, I knew, had a midrange trajectory 
variable of +2-inch at the sight's focal distance, but could 
hit a target at a klick and a half if the shooter was good 
enough. 
Somehow I knew I was good enough. 
Aside from the weaponry I found four stacks of $100 
bills bound in 10 meg packets. I slipped one of them into 
my pocket. Another small hole in the foam yielded 10 
gold eagle coins, each worth approximately 600 dolmarks 
in a bank, or roughly double that on the black market. 
Lastly, a slit in the foam produced a passport and driver's 
license for me in Tycho Caine's name. 
I carefully closed the case and reset the combination 
as per the mnemonic. 
Marit smiled sweetly as I rejoined her. "Did you learn 
anything?" 
"I think so." I slipped on the Serengeti sunglasses from 
my room. "I am Tycho Caine. And as nearly as I can tell, 
I'm not in Phoenix for my health, nor anyone else's, for 

that matter." 

that matter." 
"So you're not a doctor? So much for my mother's 
dreams of me marrying one." Marit again took my arm 
and led me from the Mizuno Sheraton. "What is it you 
would say you do, exactly?" 
"I don't know, exactly. I appear to be a troubleshooter 
who specializes in retirement." I let my reluctance to 
discuss the matter bleed into my voice. "I am, however, 
now well financed. Given that packing up and formally 
checking out of the hotel would likely set off some alarms 
somewhere, I will need some new clothing and other 
essentials." 
"And you need something for the reception tomorrow 
night." 
"In fact, I do." I pointed out into the tree-lined mall area 
with the case. "Please lead on." 
Marit had not struck me as the type who would shy 
away from shopping. We ascended to Level Eight and 
started wandering the broad walkway encircling the 
open mall area. Marit laughed and pointed to various 
window displays. She paused for a moment or two to 
study a rainbow collection of sequin-studded shoes, then 
pulled me in the direction of another store. "If I look too 
long, I'll just have to buy a pair. I can no more resist them 
than someone else could resist a puppy in a pet store 
window. Here we are." 
I glanced up at the sign and read the kana symbols. 
"You have to be kidding." 
She frowned. "No, The Gentleman's Wardrobe is 
probably the best men's clothing store and haberdashery 
in City Center." 
I read the English name of the store for the first time 
as she said it and laughed. "Do you know what the 
Japanese name for this place is?" 
"No." 
"Dansei no ningen. That means 'virile man.'" 
"Trust me," she giggled, "you can pass." 
"You know how to flatter me." 
The men working in the store recognized Marit almost 
immediately and, when assured I was her friend, they 
became very attentive. Roger, a man I would have 
guessed as being a year or two younger than me and of 
a similar slender build, whipped a tape measure from 
around his neck and set to work. As he figured dimensions, 
he announced them to one of two aides standing 
behind him, pen pointed and pad ready. 
"Will Caine-san require just a suit, or are we looking for 
a whole change of image here?" 
Marit smiled coyly. "Mr. Caine wishes a complete 
wardrobe. Good looking, but a bit conservative. He will 
require formal wear for the reception tomorrow, two 
business suits and four days of casual wear. He'll also 
need underwear, socks, and a full shaving kit." 


"Understood, Ms. Fisk." Roger stood and lifted my 
arms away from my sides. He looped the tape measure 
around my chest. "And should we account for both the 
shoulder holster and bulletproof vest, or just one of 
them?" 
" Just the vest, I think, Roger," I replied. He grinned as 
I added, "Conservative on all the clothing except, perhaps, 
what I will wear to the reception tomorrow. I want 
to make an impression." 
Roger rolled his eyes to heaven. "If you are with Ms. 
Fisk, you will. Still, I think we can accommodate you. "He 
turned from me and started giving numbers to his 
assistants. One of them scurried off to gather up the 
items he had ordered, while the other continued to 
faithfully record everything Roger said. At the end Roger 
took the pad and pen from his aide and dispatched him 
with a wave. 
Roger flipped the page on the pad over and squinted 
at me. He sketched something on the paper, frowned, 
then added heavier lines. He looked at me again, made 
one last adjustment on his picture, then smiled and 
showed it to me. "Here, what do you think of this? It has 
traditional elements and will be in style, yet is different 
enough to get you noticed. You'll also note, cut this way, 
we could easily conceal the holster if you still wish to use 
it." 
I studied the drawing for a moment, then smiled. "And 
you can have this ready for tomorrow night?" 
"You'll know it was a rush job only by the price you 
pay." Roger raised his left eyebrow. "The boy-mayor 
may have to attend in last year's suit, but no one notices 
him anyway." 
"You do very good work, Roger." 
"So kind of you to say so, sir." 
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the $10,000 
stack of bills. I saved ten of the Trumans for myself and 
handed him $9000. "Let's put this on account. You have 
my measurements, and you can do custom work. Tip 
your staff generously for their help. I will have more for 
you to do." 
Pocketing the meg, I turned to Marit. "If you're hungry, 
we can get something to eat, then pick up the off-theshelf 
stuff later." 
She shook her head. "Roger, just have it delivered to 
my apartment. We can get it there, later." 
"Very good, Ms. Fisk. Mr. Caine, it has been a pleasure." 
"Nine meg poorer and nothing to show for it," I 
laughed as we walked away from The Gentleman's 
Wardrobe. 
"You can trust Roger. He'll gouge you on the price of 
the suits, but he's honest otherwise." She looked out 
across the vast open gulf between one half of the mall and 
the other. "Do you like Japanese food?" 
I shrugged. "I don't know." 
"Feeling adventurous?" 
"Marit, I've been living an adventure for the last 36 


hours. I've been shot at, chased, and nearly dissected. 
What could a restaurant offer that could worry me?" 
Without answering me she pointed to a restaurant a 
quarter of the way around the mall from our present 
position. "Osome, you'll love it. C'mon." 
I offered her my elbow, and we set off. "I have this 
impression, Marit, from the hotel and the store staff, that 
you have a bit higher profile than most of the other people 
I met today. Am I correct, or has my amnesia begun to 
slop over into my reasoning?" 
"I'm more notorious than I am famous, I am afraid." 
Her right hand swept up over her head as she tucked hair 
behind her left ear. "There was a time when I would not 
have been allowed access to City Centerjust like 
everyone you met today except for Alejandro and, 
maybe, Hal. Like the others I grew up a Mike..." 
"Mike?" 
"Ah, bureaucratspeak. Marginal Income, Knowledge 
Exiguous, Sterile. MIKES was a classification used by 
United Nations bureaucrats to classify various populations 
in the newly freed Eastern Europe in the 1990s. 
They were the ones that were judged to be able to 
maintain a minimal existence without government handouts, 
yet their chances for advancement in the society 
were seen as non-existent. The term has bled over into 
popular use." She looked toward the people crowding 
City Center. "To the folks here it retains its original 
meaning and is something you threaten young, misbehaving 
children with becoming. The folks in Eclipse, on 
the other hand, cling to it defiantly. Every time something 
in their lives improves, they've beaten the margin and 
take pride in the victory." 
We arrived at the restaurant and removed our shoes 
at the door. After we put on slippers, we were taken to a 
low table by a Japanese woman in traditional dress. The 
tables were cunningly arranged over a pit into which 
people could put their legs if they could not tolerate 
kneeling throughout dinner. I put my case down in the leg 
well and knelt. 
Marit watched me and pouted slightly. "Now we can't 
play footsie." 
I smiled, but shook my head. "Very poor manners in 
a fine restaurant like this. You're a big girl, you should be 
able to behave yourself for a little while." 
"A little while, perhaps. I'll just save it up." 
The waitress came, and we ordered sushi a la carte. 
Marit also ordered a whisky sour, but I refrained from 
getting a drink. "Marit, you were saying you grew up a 
Mike?" I kept my voice low as I asked the question. 
She nodded. "My parents owned a small store at Oak 
and 36th Street. That's fairly near the Lorica Citadel, so 
we got some traffic from the Proles working for them. I 
made it through high school, then someone mentioned 
that Lorica was hiring candidates for their security forces. 
I applied and, because of some complicated quota 
formula put together by Nerys Loring, I was accepted as 
a cadet. I trained and, after six months, was put on the 


force. That was five years ago." 
"How did they train you?" 
"Weapons training, both handguns and long guns, 
unarmed combat, antiterrorist tactics and crowd control. 
We also took courses in proper manners for parties, how 
to be discrete, and some very basic detective skills. For 
the most part we were trained to be seen but not heard, 
to protect our execs and keep folks from unauthorized 
access to the citadel." 
"Interesting." As she spoke I cataloged information on 
the potential threat level of opposition at Lorica. "Still, 
that's not the sort of duty that's likely to make you 
infamous." 
She smiled shyly but her blue eyes sparked mischievously 
through a thin veil of black hair. "No, no, it isn't. 
I had been with the security force for just over a year when 
Lorica decided it needed a corporate video to instruct 
their executives how to act in various security situations. 
At times the gang wars in Eclipse threaten the citadels, 
so we wanted our people to know what to do in that sort 
of emergency. I was picked to be one of the security 
people in the video." 
She fell silent as the waitress brought our food and her 
drink. Marit broke apart her chopsticks and rubbed them 
together to get rid of splinters. I aped her, unknowing if 
I knew how to use them. As I tried to imitate the way she 
held them, the chopsticks dropped perfectly into place 
in my right hand. I picked a single grain of rice from my 
plate and ate it. 
Marit nodded her appreciation of my dexterity, then 
continued. "Back in those days, I was not much to look 
at. My mother belonged to a rather repressive church, so 
cosmetics and clothes like these were seen as the devil's 
tools. I guess I'd grown up figuring that I'd meet my Prince 
Charming when he off-loaded beer flats into my father's 
store, so I never set about dolling myself up as bait." 
"So Cinderella awaited the cinematic fairy godmother's 
touch?" 
She smiled. "Ugly Duckling tale from beginning to 
end. When they got through with me, I couldn't recognize 
myself in the mirror. All of a sudden I looked beautiful. In 
shock, I think, I did everything I was told to do on the set 
and the video became a hit within Lorica. I'm told copies 
have even showed up in rental shops under 'Action/ 
AdventureDo It Yourself' headings. 
"That video brought me to the attention of the marketing 
department in Lorica. All of a sudden I found myself 
shucked out of flak-suits and stuffed into slinky gowns so 
I could 'smile and point at the product.' An agent found 
me, and I signed a modeling contract, though Lorica 
hired me exclusively. Suddenly I found myself one of the 
Nomenklatura." 
"A gnome."I spread some wasabeon tekka-maki and 
smiled. "Such success leads me to find your spending 
time in Eclipse rather odd." 
"Oh, the first year was wonderful. I moved my parents 
into the Lorica Citadel, and I bought a place of my own. 


I traveled, I attended parties and even had a couple of bit 
parts in films shot in Hollyweird. I was on top of the world. 
I had just turned 20, and I was definitely an enfant 
terrible." She sipped some green tea. "As they say, 'Pride 
goeth before a fall.'" 
"Actually, it's 'Pride goeth before destruction, and an 
haughty spirit before a fall.' Proverbs 16:18." 
My correcting her brought her head up. "You are rather 
amazing, Mr. Caine." She smiled. "Of course, with that 
name, why should I be surprised at your quoting the 
Bible." 

I traveled, I attended parties and even had a couple of bit 
parts in films shot in Hollyweird. I was on top of the world. 
I had just turned 20, and I was definitely an enfant 
terrible." She sipped some green tea. "As they say, 'Pride 
goeth before a fall.'" 
"Actually, it's 'Pride goeth before destruction, and an 
haughty spirit before a fall.' Proverbs 16:18." 
My correcting her brought her head up. "You are rather 
amazing, Mr. Caine." She smiled. "Of course, with that 
name, why should I be surprised at your quoting the 
Bible." 


someone in City Center and the best way they can hurt 
them is to screw up some sort of power play going down 
in Eclipse." 
Marit smiled impishly. "I just do my job and collect 
information, rumors and lies that I funnel to Coyote. 
Then, when he needs me to do something, I do it." 
"Like help me?" 
"Exactly." 
I squeezed her hand. "Jytte seems rather different. 
What is her story?" 
Marit shrugged uncomfortably. "Jytte is very private, 
but she has told me something. Do you mind if I don't 
violate her confidence?" 
I shook my head. "I'd be upset if you did. I just want to 
put her into perspective. She's clearly had body augmentation 
surgery. I gather it did not go well." 
Marit took a sip from her drink. "Every so often you 
hear rumors about someone or something that gets 
tagged with the name Pygmalion." 
"Like the sculptor from Greek mythology." 
"Right. It's said he likes bringing beauty to life. He 
kidnaps people who are not beautiful and changes them. 
I think this would be a good thing, if he actually asked 
the people he worked on if they minded." 
I nodded. "From the job done on Jytte, this Pygmalion 
could make a great deal of money with his skills." 
"Ah, but that would necessitate two things: his doing 
what the client wants and his willingness to let his clients 
leave. Jytte escaped and, in the process, has blanked out 
much of what she endured at his hands. She has no idea 
who Pygmalion is. There are other times when a beautiful 
corpse gets dumped in Drac City or Boxton and Eclipsers 
just assume it is one of Pygmalion's failures. Most of 
those are suicides. I guess some folks can't stand being 
made pets." 
"I can't blame them." 
"Nor can I." Marit smiled. "Jytte is slowly coming to 
terms with herself, but she feels much more at home with 
her machines. I can't remember when I last saw her 
outside the meeting place." 
We spent the rest of the meal eating in relative silence 
because the tables filled up around us. In many ways I 
think we would have run out of things to talk about 
anyway because Marit was better at getting information 
out of people than she was sharing it. Despite her having 
been open about what had happened to her, she had 
been detail-vague, so that I would have had to work hard 
to attach names with people. I suspected that might be 
a natural defense mechanism, especially after having 
been up so far and then having fallen so low, but I also felt 
Coyote would have encouraged that tendency in her. 
Of course, had the discussion turned to me, it would 
have ended soon enough. So far in the day I had 
discovered I could read Japanese, could quote the Bible 
and had excellent taste in weapons of individual destruction. 
I doubted those revelations would have made for 
good table conversation. That went double for my 


excursion with the Reapers. 
I paid the bill and tipped well, but left the money on 
Marit's side of the table so the waitress would remember 
her and not the boy-toy escort she'd had. Marit noticed 
what I had done and laughed loudly enough to draw 
attention to herself, and that triggered a host of whispers 
that covered me with anonymity as we left the restaurant. 
Marit led me all the way around the mall to the elevator 
bays between the Goddard Towers. One stood not as tall 
as the other and she, naturally, pressed the button for the 
larger, grander of the pair. "Where are we going now?" 
"You'll see." 
A bit uneasy about venturing off to a mystery destination, 
I let myself take solace in the fact that in the 
briefcase I had enough hardware to hold off almost 
anything this side of a heavy weapons squad of security 
guards. As the elevator doors closed, Marit inserted a 
coded card into a slot on the wall. 
"27th floor selected. Thank you, Ms. Fisk," the elevator 
intoned. 
"Cute." 
She smiled. "It gets better." 
She was right. The elevator took off swiftly enough to 
put a bend in my knees. "Thanks for the warning." 
"De nada." 
As we reached the 27th floor, the back of the elevator 
opened, and we stepped into another box. Marit pushed 
the "Close Door" button. The cage shut itself up, then 
sent us hurtling along sideways. It eventually slowed and 
moved to the left before stopping. When it did, the front 
of the cage opened up, revealing the foyer of a sprawling 
apartment. 
"Welcome to my home." 
I stepped from the transversor box, and the doors 
clicked shut behind me. The foyer, which was easily the 
size of Estefan's living room, opened on to a living room 
and dining area that could have accommodated his 
whole house. The wall I faced, which looked out to the 
south, had a full view of the Sumitomo-Dial corporate 
citadel and, beyond it, to South Mountain Park. With 
nightfall all I could see was the black outline of the 
mountain against the stars and the red beacons atop the 
broadcasting towers there. 
The rooms themselves looked like layouts from a 
home decorating magazine. The living room featured 
white leather couches and chairs, with glass tables and 
track lighting arranged to illuminate the abstract pictures 
hanging on the walls. The dining room was a bit more 
traditional with a cherry wood table and matching chairs 
that were so polished they all but glowed. A hutch and 
some smaller wooden pieces contained crystal and 
china. A gold and crystal chandelier hung over the 
middle of the table, ready to impale the bowl of fruit that 
served as a centerpiece. 
Marit pointed to the right and the shorter half of her 
apartment. "That way is the kitchen. Anything you can 
find in there you can eat. I don't really know what I have, 


but Juanita and Anna never seem to complain about the 
food when they are here during the days." 
Pointing off in the other direction she indicated the 
doors on the right side of the long paneled hallway. 
"Those are the guest bedroom, my office and my media 
room. At the end of the hall is the master bedroom. The 
doorway on the left is the guest bathroom." 
I frowned and set my briefcase by the wall. "I don't see 
the things we bought earlier." 
Marit thought for a second, then shrugged. "Roger 
probably had one of his boys hang the suits in a closet 
and put the other clothes away for you. We might have 
given Roger the wrong impression." Her smile slowly 
grew. "Of course, we do have to figure out where you are 
going to stay tonight." 
I don't think I'd been making any assumptions, but 
that question had never occurred to me. Clearly going 
back to the hotel was as potentially dangerous as 
retrieving my carperhaps more so after Paul Gray died 
trying to kill me. Similarly, returning to Estefan's home 
would be unwise. Not only would it put him in jeopardy, 
but it would make me easy to find again. Estefan might 
like Coyote and feel that he owed him, but that did not 
mean his neighbors had not seen me or could keep their 
mouths shut if they had. 
"The hotel and Estefan's place are out." I looked down 
angrily. "And, without credit cards, all the money in the 
world will not get me a hotel room." 
Marit shook her head. "You misunderstood me. I 
always assumed you would spend the night here. I was 
just trying to determine if you would have the guest room 
all to yourself or, if, perhaps, you felt adventurous." 
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean, Ms. Fisk, you 
would give me the master bedroom?" 
She came to me and slid her hands up over my chest 
and around my neck. "I could do that or you can consider 
this: You can remember, what, the past 48 hours?" 
I brushed her lips with mine. "Approximately." 
"And during all that time people have been trying to 
kill you?" 
"It seems that way." 
She slipped my jacket off and let it fall to the floor. 
"Then why don't we spend time tonight ensuring that 
tomorrow, when you think back on your life, you will 
have something to smile about." 

but Juanita and Anna never seem to complain about the 
food when they are here during the days." 
Pointing off in the other direction she indicated the 
doors on the right side of the long paneled hallway. 
"Those are the guest bedroom, my office and my media 
room. At the end of the hall is the master bedroom. The 
doorway on the left is the guest bathroom." 
I frowned and set my briefcase by the wall. "I don't see 
the things we bought earlier." 
Marit thought for a second, then shrugged. "Roger 
probably had one of his boys hang the suits in a closet 
and put the other clothes away for you. We might have 
given Roger the wrong impression." Her smile slowly 
grew. "Of course, we do have to figure out where you are 
going to stay tonight." 
I don't think I'd been making any assumptions, but 
that question had never occurred to me. Clearly going 
back to the hotel was as potentially dangerous as 
retrieving my carperhaps more so after Paul Gray died 
trying to kill me. Similarly, returning to Estefan's home 
would be unwise. Not only would it put him in jeopardy, 
but it would make me easy to find again. Estefan might 
like Coyote and feel that he owed him, but that did not 
mean his neighbors had not seen me or could keep their 
mouths shut if they had. 
"The hotel and Estefan's place are out." I looked down 
angrily. "And, without credit cards, all the money in the 
world will not get me a hotel room." 
Marit shook her head. "You misunderstood me. I 
always assumed you would spend the night here. I was 
just trying to determine if you would have the guest room 
all to yourself or, if, perhaps, you felt adventurous." 
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you mean, Ms. Fisk, you 
would give me the master bedroom?" 
She came to me and slid her hands up over my chest 
and around my neck. "I could do that or you can consider 
this: You can remember, what, the past 48 hours?" 
I brushed her lips with mine. "Approximately." 
"And during all that time people have been trying to 
kill you?" 
"It seems that way." 
She slipped my jacket off and let it fall to the floor. 
"Then why don't we spend time tonight ensuring that 
tomorrow, when you think back on your life, you will 
have something to smile about." 
Awakening in a dark typhoon, with its deafening winds 
shrieking, is not a pleasant experience. I sat bolt upright 
in the bed, clawing the sheets with my right hand to find 
Marit, but she was gone. Sweat poured off me as if it were 
blood and my throat had been cut. I tried to swing my legs 
off the bed, but I met resistance. As I looked down I saw 
the lower half of my body had been wrapped in a gray silk 
cocoon. 


When the wind's howls changed from sound so keenly 
sharp that it made my teeth buzz to colors no less painful 
or vibrant, I realized I was dreaming. Even so, the 
knowledge that I was trapped in a dream did not drain the 
fantasy of its power. Instead the rainbow winds became 
a vortex that focused itself beyond the window looking 
east and eclipsed the dawning sun. The whirlwind flashed 
with crimson and a neon green, then pulsating, electric 
blue tendrils climbed up through it like ivy assaulting a 
wall. 
I hate dreams and always have because here my mind 
creates problems it knows I cannot solve. It confronts me 
with situations I would avoid. Like an ancient oracle, it 
poses riddles that it calls answers, then leaves me to 
agonize over meanings that are trivial at best and drawn 
from experiences I do not really remember. 
Dreams drain off the mental strain that would drive the 
sane mad. 
This dream, however, was different, and I recognized 
it instantly. While it did not surprise me that I might feel 
this dream alien, given its womb was made of memories 
I had no way to access, I felt this dream came from 
outside. This was not a dream of my making, yet it 
imposed itself on me and used the symbolism I would 
use. Like a cancer, it masked itself in things I recognized 
so I could not escape it. 
The sizzling blue tendrils hooked over the vortex's 
event horizon as the plane of the dream shifted. I saw the 
tentacles thicken as whatever they were attached to 
pulled itself up out of the hole that now lay parallel to the 
floor. As the thing neared the top, the tentacles lost their 
suppleness and hardened into a thin blue outline-chitin 
with spikes and bumps and horns kinking its flesh. The 
creature itself, to my eyes, became a thing visible only as 
a thick, smoky-gray translucence that leeched light from 
the sun it eclipsed. 
Talons and elbows appeared first, with two arms 
becoming four as it heaved its bulk out of the hole. I could 
not see its face, but atop its head I saw a crown with seven 
spires surrounding one grander tower in the center. I 
could not tell if this was something the creature wore, or 
was part of it. 
One pair of legs appeared, then another to clutch the 
edge of the hole. The creature remained perched there 
like some arachnoid gargoyle watching me from the roof 
of a church. One arm stretched out in my direction, each 
segment of exoskeleton telescoping out like an antenna. 
Three talons, each set at a 120-degree angle from the 
other, reached for me, and I heard the chitin click as they 
met and missed barely a millimeter from my nose. 
"The pet no longer wishez my carez?" The creature 
spoke in scents and colors, but I heard words form in my 
brain. "Iz the pet infirm?" 
Behind me, suddenly, where nothing could stand or 
be, I sensed another presence. When this one spoke, I 
actually heard the words with my ears. I wanted to turn 
to look at him, but I found myself held even more rigidly 


than I had been in the toxin's grasp. This is a dream. Your 
body is asleep. Not moving is natural. 

than I had been in the toxin's grasp. This is a dream. Your 
body is asleep. Not moving is natural. 


one of the lavender silk sheets on the bed. It probably 
ended up being good that I'd wrapped it around myself 
becausedespite having triggered the dreamI was 
naked beneath it, and it saved me some embarrassment 
in this encounter. "Juanita o Anna?" 
"Juanita, Senor." 
My stomach growled. "What time is it?" 
"Noon. Senorita Fisk said to fix you breakfast when 
you woke up." Juanita smiled. "I have put fresh towels in 
the bathroom for you, and I can make food while you 
shower." 
"Good. Just a sandwich, I guess." 
"Bueno, seor." 
"Gracias," I said to her retreating back. I freed myself 
from the sheet and wandered into the bathroom. Shutting 
the door behind me, I saw myself in the triptych 
mirrors and realized I'd not shaved for at least three days. 
My beard was coming in black and gave my lean face an 
edge. Maybe I won't shave it all off. 
Unlike Estefan's home, here I did not need to pump 
water up to a holding tank. The oval tub was set 
diagonally across one corner of the room and was almost 
big enough to have given my ill-fated Lancer a good 
washing. I stepped in and thought for a moment that I 
might need a ladder to climb back out again. Pulling the 
curtain shut, I turned the water on and began washing. 
Freed of any important tasks, my mind started mulling 
over the dream I'd had. The only vivid symbol, aside 
from the monster, was the strange design on the shadow 
man's ring. It had been formed by melding the letter R 
with the Eye of Horus design. I could not remember 
having seen it before, but it could have been something 
floating to the surface from before I lost my memory. I 
made a mental note to ask Hal about it. 
The presence of the monster and its referring to me as 
its "pet" did not really surprise me, especially after Marit 
used that term to describe Pygmalion's victims. I was not 
in control of my current situation and, in many ways, it 
did feel like others were toying with me. The shadow man 
was clearly a metaphor for my hidden identity or Coyote. 
It seemed obvious to me that the message of the dream 
is that with help, I would be able to put all of this behind 
me. 
I smiled. Dreams are never that simple. 
I turned off the water and dried myself off. Using the 
electric razor in the shaving kit Roger had sent up, I 
removed all of my beard except for a narrow band 
running the line of my jaw to my chin and on up as a 
moustache. While I knew that would be insufficient to fool 
anyone who was hunting for me, I liked how it made me 
look. 
Back in the bedroom I scouted around and discovered 
my clothes had, in fact, been placed in the master 
bedroom. I matched a blue button-down shirt with my 
jeans and boots. I wore the vest beneath the shirt and 
ended up adding a navy blue sweater. Marit kept her 
apartment cold. 


I found Hal waiting for me in the living room. He stood 
and gave me a warm smile. He wore gray sweats with the 
Suns logo emblazoned on his chest. "You look better and 
better each day. How do you feel?" 
"More myself?" 
Garrett laughed, then joined me as we walked toward 
the dining area. I saw Juanita had set two places and an 
open beer stood at each one. "Hope you don't mind. 
Juanita offered, and I can't remember ever having turned 
down a meal." 
I took the place at the end of the table, facing the 
windows. "By all means. I'd rather have someone to talk 
to while I eat." 
Hal sat at my left hand. "Marit is out making some 
arrangements for a little problem Coyote has to deal with. 
She will be back in a couple of hours to start getting ready 
for this evening." 
I nodded to Juanita as she set a plate in front of me. 
"This problem, it has to do with the Warriors and the 
Blood Crips?" 
Hal picked up his turkey sandwich and held it in both 
hands with his elbows on the table. "The Warriors are 
looking to expand their territory or, at the very least, 
reclaim some turf they lost two years ago. They are 
pushing the BCs east, which is backing people right up 
against Lorica. The BCs don't really want the area the 
Warriors seem determined to take, so I've been trying to 
negotiate a solution. It's tough going." 
"I imagine." I crunched a potato chip. "Anything new 
in my situation?" 
The black man wiped a little mayonnaise from the 
corner of his mouth." Jytte says you're still dead as far 
as any official sources are concerned. The funds you 
gave Roger have been pushed aside into an account 
named Uriah Thompson just to keep the fiction of your 
death intact. Roger knows, and the change was made 
before anything showed up on his computer anyway. We 
have even dummied an inquiry from San Francisco from 
a relative of yours inquiring about obtaining your remains 
from the crash." 
I thought for a second as he attacked his sandwich 
again. "Roger works for Coyote?" 
Garrett's eyes hardened a bit as he swallowed. "Coyote 
helped Roger at one point, same as me, same as all 
of us. So, yes, he reported on you to Jytte." Hal glanced 
over at where I had left the case I had gotten from the 
hotel's safe. "And, no, Marit has not told me what is in the 
case, but she did mention you had it so that Jytte could 
erase any notice of its having been recovered." 
"How did he recruit you?" I lifted my own sandwich to 
my mouth and bit down. 
Garrett smiled in spite of himself. "One night I got a 
phone call. I had been on the fence about retiring from 
basketball. I felt the attrition rate on highly paid players 
was getting a bit high, and the law of averages and I were 
on a collision course. I had already formed the Sunburst 
Foundation, but thought I could spend my last year in the 


NBA plugging it and get more money to fund it. 
"This caller, who was calling on my unlisted home 
phone, identified himself as Coyote. I'd never heard of 
him before, but he told me that if I decided to play that 
season, I would have my left hand broken in the 10th 
game of the year. I would come back in time for the drive 
to the playoffs, but I would die in a seventh and deciding 
game against the Nicks." 
"Hmmm." I nibbled at the edge of my sandwich. "In 
your shoes, I would have taken him as a madman, or 
someone being paid frighten me." 
"Oh, he did frighten me, but I knew, just listening to 
him, that he was no threat to me." Hall took a pull on his 
beer. "Somehow he managed to add my fax number to 
an owners' network, and I saw enough stuff coming 
through that I knew the season was being scripted in a 
way that certain teams would make the playoffs and, 
while there would be a winner, their victory would be, at 
best, pyrrhic. The sum and total of the season would be 
grimly disappointing." 
"You opted out." 
"Right. I threw myself into the Sunburst Foundation. 
Anonymous donations filled up my war chest and now 
even the southside gangs will hold off on making war 
long enough for me to try to find a more peaceful solution 
to their problems." He smiled. "Every so often Coyote 
tips me when something really strange is going down, so 
I can forestall it. Gang violence is down over 30% from 
five years ago." 
"Now Heinrich and his boys want to make it a growth 
industry again." 
"You got the picture." 
I thought about the sniper rifle in my case. "If he 
becomes an obstacle, let me know." 
Hal shook his head. "You and Bat think the same way. 
The solution to this situation is figuring out what Heinrich 
wants and then figuring out some way to get it to him 
without making the other gangs lose face or their temper." 
"That is not an easy line to walk, my friend." I picked 
a brown chip from among the others. "Some folks will 
listen to reason and," I snapped the chip in half, "some 
folks need killing." 
Hal leaned back in his chair. "That's pretty cold 
coming from a man who woke up in a body bag." 
"Truer than either one of us wants to know." I reached 
out and plucked the pen he had clipped to the collar of 
his sweatshirt. Smoothing out my napkin, I drew for him 
the symbol I'd seen in my dream. "Do you know what this 
is?" 
His hand descended on the paper like a giant brown 
tarantula and spun it around. "I can't recall seeing it 
before. What is it?" 
I shrugged. "I don't know, I saw it in a dream. You want 
another beer?" He nodded and I called out, "Juanita, dos 
cervezas, por favor." 

NBA plugging it and get more money to fund it. 
"This caller, who was calling on my unlisted home 
phone, identified himself as Coyote. I'd never heard of 
him before, but he told me that if I decided to play that 
season, I would have my left hand broken in the 10th 
game of the year. I would come back in time for the drive 
to the playoffs, but I would die in a seventh and deciding 
game against the Nicks." 
"Hmmm." I nibbled at the edge of my sandwich. "In 
your shoes, I would have taken him as a madman, or 
someone being paid frighten me." 
"Oh, he did frighten me, but I knew, just listening to 
him, that he was no threat to me." Hall took a pull on his 
beer. "Somehow he managed to add my fax number to 
an owners' network, and I saw enough stuff coming 
through that I knew the season was being scripted in a 
way that certain teams would make the playoffs and, 
while there would be a winner, their victory would be, at 
best, pyrrhic. The sum and total of the season would be 
grimly disappointing." 
"You opted out." 
"Right. I threw myself into the Sunburst Foundation. 
Anonymous donations filled up my war chest and now 
even the southside gangs will hold off on making war 
long enough for me to try to find a more peaceful solution 
to their problems." He smiled. "Every so often Coyote 
tips me when something really strange is going down, so 
I can forestall it. Gang violence is down over 30% from 
five years ago." 
"Now Heinrich and his boys want to make it a growth 
industry again." 
"You got the picture." 
I thought about the sniper rifle in my case. "If he 
becomes an obstacle, let me know." 
Hal shook his head. "You and Bat think the same way. 
The solution to this situation is figuring out what Heinrich 
wants and then figuring out some way to get it to him 
without making the other gangs lose face or their temper." 
"That is not an easy line to walk, my friend." I picked 
a brown chip from among the others. "Some folks will 
listen to reason and," I snapped the chip in half, "some 
folks need killing." 
Hal leaned back in his chair. "That's pretty cold 
coming from a man who woke up in a body bag." 
"Truer than either one of us wants to know." I reached 
out and plucked the pen he had clipped to the collar of 
his sweatshirt. Smoothing out my napkin, I drew for him 
the symbol I'd seen in my dream. "Do you know what this 
is?" 
His hand descended on the paper like a giant brown 
tarantula and spun it around. "I can't recall seeing it 
before. What is it?" 
I shrugged. "I don't know, I saw it in a dream. You want 
another beer?" He nodded and I called out, "Juanita, dos 
cervezas, por favor." 


"Why not?" 
"Because all I ever see in them are the shots I missed." 
Juanita appeared from the kitchen with a beer in each 
hand. She set the bottles on the table, then saw the 
napkin. "El Espectro!" She quickly crossed herself. 
I grabbed the napkin and held it up to her. "You know 
this?" 
She held her hands out to shield it from her eyes. "Por 
favor, Seor, por favor." She turned and fled. 
Hal and I exchanged confused glances. "What did she 
mean by 'the ghost?'" 
Garrett shrugged eloquently. "In Eclipse there have to 
be about a billion 'ghosts.' I've heard stories that 'real' 
vampires live in Drac City, or that some weird brujo is 
waging war against demons and devils on a daily basis. 
I've also heard mutant wolves and other monsters roam 
the countryside, and after the tinkering with the Palo 
Verde Nuclear Plant, who knows. As far as I'm concerned, 
it's all fiction." 
I raised an eyebrow. "Which is what others might say 
about Coyote." 
"There's a difference with Coyote." 
"And that is?" 
"He's real. I've seen him, talked to him. I know when 
he has gone to war, and I know the people he's helped 
through me or through others. Marit is one, for example, 
and Estefan another." 
I crumpled the napkin. "You're right. We'll leave 
ghosts to fight dreams." I patted my vest. "And I'm 
content to let Coyote handle reality." 



After we finished lunch, Hal headed back down to the 
Mercado on Level Seven to make arrangements with 
Alejandro concerning the Lorica reception that evening. 
I offered to go with him, but he said no. "You're dead right 
now. Jytte says she can keep you in the grave until 
tonight, at the very least. Tonight your unanticipated 
resurrection might shake some folks, and that will help 
us unravel the whole thing." 
"Works for me." I shook his hand. "One last thing, has 
there been any word on Nero Loring?" 
"None." 
I didn't let his hand go. "Was Coyote involved in 
getting him free of his daughter and corporation?" 
Hal tightened his grip a little. "If he was, he did not 
involve me in it." 
We broke our grip by mutual assent, and Hal retreated 
into the transversor. I saw by the red readout of a digital 
clock that it was already 1 p.m. I had no idea when Marit 
would return or when the reception was, so I wandered 
down to her media room, found a remote control and 
started a survey of the television landscape. 
Television, despite having 178 channels available, 
proved more desolate than South Mountain's Desert 


Preserve. Aside from premium channels that started 
racking up special charges when I flitted across them 
as denoted by the total accumulating in a small LCD 
panel down in the cornerthe vast majority of stations 
were only transmitting in black and white. With a wall-
mounted HDLCD unit from Sony like the one Marit had, 
that was the rough equivalent of using a professional 
Cuisinart to process dried out dog food. I expected 
television to be banal, but having one whole channel 
devoted to rebroadcasts of 40-year-old Soviet grain 
harvest films was a bit excessive. Still, I did imagine they 
looked very good on the Soviet sets that most folks 
owned. 
The city's public-access channel did provide a bit of 
insight into the nature of Phoenix. Programs on it alternated 
between promotional videos that featured an 
incredibly optimistic artist's rendition of what Phoenix 
would look like in five years, and utterly bizarre fare in 
five- and 10-minute bites that reflected the sharp split 
between City Center and Eclipse. Chiropractors and 
naturopaths diagnosed problems and offered back adjustments 
for those patients who would press their backs 
against the screen. Psychics warned of hideous calamities 
and conspiracies that no one but they knew about. 
Members of every bughouse club from Arizonans for the 
Preservation of the Black Scorpion to the Phoenix Skeptics 
did their bit to proselytize their causes, filling the 
airwaves with an unending stream of contradictory and 
confusing "facts." 
"The city could call this channel the good, the bad and 
the ugly," I muttered as Heinrich's face appeared on 
screen. 
His program was called "People of Purity." In it he read 
report after report of crimes committed by people of 
color while videotape copied from news reports played 
in the background. At the end, while a video of him and 
his "honor guard" kicking the life out of a black youth 
played, he said, "People of Phoenix, come to us. Take 
back your city. The phoenix is destined to rise to 
greatness from the ashes. Mud people are the ashes of 
humanity. Join us, and reclaim your heritage!" 
Unconsciously I sighted down my index finger and 
brought my thumb forward like the hammer falling on 
my Krait. "Some day, Heinrich." 
Behind me I heard clapping. I spun around in the 
capsule chair and saw Marit standing in the doorway. "I 
didn't hear you come in." 
"This room is soundproofed. I like your taste in targets. 
Getting to know your foe?" 
I shrugged. "Hal doesn't think a 180-grain bullet 
whizzing along at 3000 or so feet per second would 
improve Heinrich's disposition, so no hunting permit." I 
turned my left wrist over and looked at my watch. "It's six 
now. What time does the party start? 
"Depends. "She gathered her hair back into a ponytail 
and fastened it with an elastic band. "I'm going to start 
getting ready as things officially kick off at 7:30. We 


won't arrive until an hour after that, but why rush? I'm 
taking a shower. Want to scrub my back?" 
The television started showing a Phoenix Skeptics 
tape proving bodies found in the desert definitely were 
not trolls. "Garbage in, garbage out." I hit a button on the 
remote control, and the screen went black. "After watching 
all that stuff, I definitely need a bath. Lead on, 
m'lady." 
Two hours later I stared at my image in a trio of full 
length mirrors. I wore black shoes and socks, black 
slacks with creases sharp enough to shave with and a 
heavily starched white shirt with onyx studs and cufflinks. 
At the collar I wore a large, silvery, rectangular-cut 
hematite stud and no tie. The collar itself, which had no 
lapels, pressed uncomfortably against my Adam's apple. 
"I feel like a wolf in priest's clothing." 
Marit glanced up from her vanity table and looked at 
my reflection in her mirror. "Pleased to meet you, Father 
Caine. Would you care to minister to my spiritual needs 
later?" 
I gave her a smile. "You say that only because I look 
neither pious or holy." 
"Oh, I'd say you look like a holy terror to me." 
"You're not the one I need to impress tonight." 
"Coming back from the grave, you'll look like an 
unholy terror to them." 
"Amen." I slipped on the Bianchi holster and settled 
the blued Krait beneath my left armpit. 
Mascara brush in hand, she paused. "Do you think 
that is necessary?" 
"I hope not, but you know the saying: 'Praise God, but 
pass the ammunition.'" I pulled my jacket off the hanger 
in the closet. "Will they let me keep it?" 
"Normally, no, but I trained with the guy heading up 
the security detail on this reception. I told him I was 
bringing a bodyguard along. He'll let you pass." 
"Good." 
I pulled the jacket on and smiled broadly. Roger had 
put together a jacket that did triple duty. It was appropriate 
for the gathering, stylish enough to get noticed, but 
not weird enough to be laughed atand it concealed the 
gun perfectly. As I had seen in his drawing, he started 
from a basic waist-cut jacket, then had flipped over and 
extended the left lapel of it so it attached on a diagonal 
that ran from my right shoulder to just past the midline 
at my waist. In effect I had a black asymmetrical double-
breasted jacket with enough room in the left flank to 
mask the presence of my gun. Furthermore, because 
Roger had left a gap in the velcro that closed the jacket, 
I could reach inside with my right hand and draw the Krait 
without being forced to open the suitcoat at all. 
I tugged at the waist and looked at myself in the mirror. 
The slight dip in the jacket's fabric at my throat left the 
hematite visible. The jacket hung perfectly and felt 
comfortable on me. Even the trace of beard on my jaw 
fit with the image the clothes had created, that being 
someone who could quite possibly be as dangerous as 


I was afraid I might be. 
Marit walked up behind me and kissed my right ear. 
"If I tell people you're a priest, you'll have women wanting 
to confess and convert all evening." 
I winked at her reflection. "Tell them I take my vow of 
celibacy seriously." 
"Ha! Fuel thrown on the fire, that would be." Her 
darkened eyes narrowed. "That tale might even attract 
the attention of the Witch herself." 
"Nerys Loring?" 
Marit's nostrils flared. "She Who Would Eat Her Own 
Young." She shook her head. "I don't even want to think 
about her right now." Taking two steps back, she held her 
hands out. "Well, tell me how beautiful I look." 
Turning around, I did nothing to hide my look of 
pleasure. Marit wore a strapless crimson leather minidress 
which clung to her somewhat tighter than oxygen clings 
to hydrogen in water molecules. Her lipstick matched her 
dress, as did the pair of two-inch stiletto heels on her feet. 
She bent over to smooth her white stockings, then 
innocently glanced up to see if the sight of long legs had 
affected me in the desired manner. 
I cleared my throat. "Do that at the party, and I'll be 
forced to shoot." 
She giggled and straightened up. She added a ruby 
pendant and matching earrings to her outfit, then pulled 
on a black jacket that had been cut high enough to reveal 
the lower edges of her breasts. "We're a pair. I'm dressed 
to stun, and you're dressed to kill." 
To get to the party we took the transversor to the 
elevator, then descended to Level Nine. From there we 
walked to the Civic Center Tower and boarded an 
express elevator to the 45th floor. Because of the tower's 
height, the elevator shafts could not run all the way up to 
the top and, under normal circumstances, our car would 
have moved sideways into another shaft to take us the 
rest of the way up to the party. 
The circumstances surrounding the Lorica Industries 
Reception, however, were nothing even close to normal. 
We stopped at 45, and the doors opened slowly. Bright 
video lights blasted into the box and bleached all but the 
brightest color from us. I raised my hand to shield my 
eyes, but Marit reacted to the light like a plant seeking the 
sun. 
Flash strobes went off like explosions in an air raid and 
left tracer-like afterimages on my eyes. People in the 
crowd called Marit's name, and she turned toward their 
voices, smiling like a fox eluding hunters. Lorica security 
guards cleared a path for her through the press of 
reporters, and I followed in her wake. A reporter asked 
who I was, but Marit waved the question off with casual 
disregard. 
A security man guided us to a short corridor that led 
to an express elevator to the top of the tower. Marit 
preceded me through a metal detector, then turned and 
spoke to the security force lieutenant seated at the desk 
beside her. "Hi, Charlie. This is Gnter, my bodyguard. 


I told Captain Williams about him." 
The white-haired older man stood and motioned for 
me to step around the barricade.I1 did so and opened my 
jacket. He reached in and pulled the Krait from the 
holster. Hitting the thumb release, he slid the clip free, 
then worked the slide and popped the live shell out into 
his hand. 
"I like the Krait, Mr. Gnter." He returned to his desk 
and opened a drawer. He pulled out a fluorescent orange 
stop-tab and inserted it into the chamber. He closed the 
gun on it, leaving an orange tab protruding from the open 
breech about a quarter of an inch. He shoved the clip 
home, then returned the pistol to me. "Standard procedure. 
We don't want personal security shooting first. If 
you see anything strange, you report it to one of us, got 
it?" 
"Got it." I made my voice sound like that of someone 
I could imagine being named Gnter. "Could I have my 
bullet as well?" 
The old man nodded. "Sure." 
He tossed it to me, and I put it in my pocket. Closing 
my jacket, I smiled at him, then followed Marit to the 
express elevator. A white-gloved attendant pushed the 
button, and we watched as the numbers in the LED 
window above the doors counted down from 90. 
I jerked my head back in the direction of the other 
elevators. "Quite a zoo there." 
Marit smiled and gave my right forearm a squeeze. 
"Local press. They want gossip and stars to brighten their 
newscasts. Local celebrity stuff always goes down well 
with the folks in Eclipse. It lets them dream about getting 
to City Center at some time in their lives, I guess. I know 
that's what I used to fantasize about when I lived there." 
The elevator arrived, and we stepped into it. The 
attendant, a black woman, smiled politely and turned the 
key that sent the box skyward. We did not speak as we 
ascended and, as we sailed past Floor 80, Marit did a last 
minute check of her makeup in the elevator's mirrored 
walls. "Ready if you are." 
The doors opened, and I braced myself for another 
light show, but none materialized. We stepped into a 
small lobby that looked perfectly normal, even if the 
lights were a bit dimmer than normal in commerce. Off 
to our right, double doors stood open into a reception 
room that actually occupied both the 90th and 91st 
floors of the Civic Center tower. The room's floor lay a 
half level below the lobby and an upper balcony overhung 
the entrance. The lights, both crystal chandeliers 
and wall mounted, art deco lamps, were tuned down to 
low intensity so the room's light would not cause too 
much in the way of reflections on the exterior glass walls. 
As I moved from the lobby to the reception area I saw 
the room was, in fact, a doughnut that revolved around 
in a slow, almost imperceptible counterclockwise motion. 
The core of the 91st floor was greater in diameter 
than the lobby below it, providing the overhang. I smiled 
as I noticed a slight drift in the crowd in a direction 


opposite the motion of the room. Without thinking, 
people were desperately trying to maintain their position 
relative to the landmarks outside. 
The windows showed a truly wonderful panorama of 
Phoenix. The entrance pointed east toward the Lorica 
Citadel. The rising full moon backlit the corporate towers 
and made the maglev train tracks look like buttresses on 
the exterior of an old cathedral. Blinking red and blue 
lights on top of the towers matched the winking of the 
stars in the night sky and, in the background, I saw the 
distant lights of a plane coming in for landing at the 
regional airport southeast of the city. 
What surprised me the most was how well the black 
panels roofing over Eclipse reflected the stars and 
moonlight. As far as the stars were concerned, the 
photovoltaic cells could have been a placid ocean and, 
without my feet planted firmly on the floor, I would have 
had a hard time telling exactly which way was up. The 
moonlighttwin slivers outlining the Lorica silhouette 
collected in sharp lines at the seams, but looked no 
different than it might have on a dark sea. 
Marit stepped into the reception room, and immediately 
a number of people called her name. She descended 
into the throng, kissing cheeks or hugging 
people. Some of the men held her closer and longer than 
she might have liked, and for those she really detested, 
she put up a mock protest that immediately darkened 
the expression on the face of the man's date. 
Before I could trail after her, a man in a midnight blue 
suit cut me off. "I'm Captain Williams, Brad Williams." 
"Gnter." 
"Gnter, good." He looked over at Marit and smiled. 
"Look, these are the ground rules: Don't speak unless 
spoken to. If you spot trouble, you report it to me. If Marit 
looks like she's trapped in a boring conversation or a 
situation that is getting ugly, walk over and tell her she 
has a call. If something weird does go down, leave the 
shooting to us. If you find you have to extricate Marit from 
a situation, try not to kill any of the guests." 
"Not a problem." 
"Good. No drinking for you, but help yourself to food." 
"Thanks." I drifted into the room, leaving him to pick 
off the next bodyguard and brief him. I spotted Marit 
working her way around to the right, still in greeting 
mode. Descending another step, I gave the arc I could 
see a quick look to spot any potential problems and saw 
none. Knowing I would not feel secure until I had done a 
full circuit of the room, I descended the rest of the way to 
the floor and headed off on the trail Marit had blazed. 
The reception itself, while being sponsored and hosted 
by Lorica Industries, was for the Make-A-Wish Foundation. 
At a number of places around the room, and on the 
interior, nonrotating wall, paintings and sculptures had 
been set up with a small tote board beside each. A Lorica 
employee stood next to each work and spoke about it 
and the artist who had created it. I also noticed them 
accepting small pieces of paper from people and, after 


reading them, punching numbers in on a small keypad. 
On the toteboard, beside the pieces, an LCD display 
flashed up the current bid in what appeared to be a low-
key silent auction. 
The guests appeared to represent the upper crust of 
Phoenix society. I easily identified a white-haired, aristocratic-
looking man as Darius MacNeal, the man who had 
created the Build-more Corporation, because of the ads 
I'd seen on television earlier in the day. I could not, 
however, place a name on the two young women 
clinging to his arms, though judging by age, I imagined 
they had to be his granddaughters. He laughed uproariously 
at the joke Phoenix's boy-mayor told him, then 
showed how affectionate his family was by nuzzling one 
woman's long neck. 
Waiters and waitresses wandered throughout the 
gathering bearing trays of drinks and hors d'oeuvres. I 
passed on placing a drink order, but did indulge in food 
when a woman carrying a tray of sushi came within 
striking range. The tekka-maki tasted good enough that 
I wondered if Osome was doing the catering. 
Marit came back for me and linked her arm in mine. 
"Incoming. You'll want to see this performance, I'm 
certain." 
Without saying another word, she dragged me halfway 
around the room until I got to where a broad sta irway 
descended from the 91st floor suite to the reception 
room. We took up a position just upstream of the bottom 
of the stairs and slowly drifted down toward them. Off to 
our right I spotted Alejandro, but before I could point him 
out to Marit, Nerys Loring made her appearance at the 
top of the stairs. 
My instant assessment of her was that she was a 
strikingly handsome woman. She looked to be in her 
mid-forties and had a mature confidence in herself that 
made her actively seductive. She wore her black hair cut 
to hang just above her shoulders and to frame her strong 
face. Her dark eyes and brows combined with her 
incarnadine lipstick to make her face seem almost 
vampire pale. The bodice of her black, strapless gown 
sparkled with a decidedly modest number of sequins and 
hugged her hourglass figure in a most flattering manner. 
The velvet skirts flared out to hide her feet, yet she did not 
appear the least bit inconvenienced as she descended 
the stairs. A string of pearls encircled her throat and a 
diamond ring glittered from her right hand as she maintained 
her balance through feather-light finger-contact 
with the bannister. 
She smiled with the pleasure you might expect to see 
on the face of a potentate being welcomed by groveling 
peasants. She knew she deserved the homage, but she 
also welcomed it. Part of me resented her basking in our 
attention, but I knew that was like the sun resenting the 
beauty of a flower it nourished. Here was a woman who 
was attractive, smart and powerfula nasty and very 
erotic combinationand she clearly knew that she could 
use one or all of those assets to get her anything she 


wanted. 
As she reached the same level as the rest of us, people 
whispered greetings almost reverently. Nerys paid them 
scant or no attention and headed straight out into the 
room. I felt Marit pull herself up to her full height and turn 
her smile on full force as Lorica's CEO homed in on her. 
She braced herself for what might, in light of her history 
with Lorica, be a very nasty encounter. 
Nerys dismissed Marit with a casual glance, then 
offered her hand to me. "We've not been formally 
introduced. I am Nerys Loring." She enfolded my hand 
in a firm grip and gave me a smile that threatened to 
swallow me up. "Had I known you were in Phoenix, Mr. 
Caine, I would have invited you to our party myself." 

wanted. 
As she reached the same level as the rest of us, people 
whispered greetings almost reverently. Nerys paid them 
scant or no attention and headed straight out into the 
room. I felt Marit pull herself up to her full height and turn 
her smile on full force as Lorica's CEO homed in on her. 
She braced herself for what might, in light of her history 
with Lorica, be a very nasty encounter. 
Nerys dismissed Marit with a casual glance, then 
offered her hand to me. "We've not been formally 
introduced. I am Nerys Loring." She enfolded my hand 
in a firm grip and gave me a smile that threatened to 
swallow me up. "Had I known you were in Phoenix, Mr. 
Caine, I would have invited you to our party myself." 
Even given twice the warning I had, the late 
Shakespearean actor Mel Gibson could not have covered 
his surprise at her greeting. I saw my surprise 
reflected in her eyes, and her grip tightened ever so 
slightly. I forced a smile and let blood flush my cheeks. 
I met her black stare, then looked down. 
"Forgive me, Ms. Loring. I would have let you know, 
but I knew you were quite occupied with business." I 
reforged eye contact. "I also felt it would have been 
presumptuous of me to wheedle an invitation out of you. 
Ms. Fisk asked me to accompany her, so I felt this was 
the easiest solution to the situation." 
"Ah, Marit," Nerys said without looking in her direction. 
"You are looking quite...fit, Nerys," Marit returned. 
She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. "Darling, 
I think I'm going to bid on a picture for my place. I'll 
be back." 
She retreated, and Nerys let a satisfied grin twist up the 
corners of her mouth. "You are an interesting man, Mr. 
Caine. I understand two of my employees left Lorica 
because of you, yesterday." ' 
What game are you playing? "Independent contractors, 
they must have been. They were clumsy and stupid, 
so I assumed they could not have been yours. I don't like 
being spied upon." 
She slipped her arm through mine, leeching away the 
warmth lingering from Marit. "I prefer jobs to be supervised. 
I think of it as quality assurance." 
With forewarning, I was able to conceal my pleasure 
at her admission that I had been hired to perform a job. 
Given the equipment I found, and the amount of money 
I had been given, I felt certain I'd been hired to kill 
someone. If what Natch Feral had said was true, that 
Nerys had been looking for her father after a snatch had 
been put on him two months ago, I thought chances were 
good that he might have been my target. 
I kept a plastic smile on my face as we began to stroll 
through the party, but let an edge drop into my voice. "If 
you hire a specialist to do a job, what standards can you 


use to judge his performance?" 
"Please, tell me, Mr. Caine." 
"End product."I looked up and out the window. "I think 
you'll find your problem has just dropped off the edge of 
the earth." 
She smiled appreciatively, but kept a note of caution 
in her voice. "The world is round, Mr. Caine." 
"Only to those who don't know how to find the 
corners." I patted her hand and gently disengaged it from 
my arm. "I should not monopolize your time, for you 
have many other guests." 
"You are an interesting man, Mr. Caine. I had not 
expected to actually meet you. If not for the men who 
recently left my employ, I would not even know what you 
looked like." Her eyes narrowed as she looked me up and 
down. "The cost of a professional specialist is very high." 
"But the cost of an amateur is yet higher. Don't worry, 
your money was well spent." 
"As I expected, based on Fiddleback's excellent recommendation." 
She opened her hands and encompassed 
the entire party. "Please, enjoy yourselfdespite 
your unfortunate choice of companionand if you 
choose to bid on anything, I would find myself in debt to 
your generosity." 
I brought her right hand to my lips and kissed it gently. 
"It has been my pleasure to be of service to you." 
She answered with an elevated eyebrow, then she 
withdrew and quickly greeted those individuals she had 
snubbed when she saw me. Their resentment melted like 
wax beneath a blowtorch, or their spirit died beneath one 
of her withering stares. Within 10 seconds she had 
vanished from sight and part of me wondered if she had 
been there at all. 
"La Bruja took to you like a vampire to a hemophiliac." 
Alejandro sipped a slender glass of champagne. "Did 
she say anything useful?" 
My eyes half shut as I concentrated. "Whatever I was 
here to do, it was because she was paying the freight. 
She'd put the two guys from Ernesto's on me, but she 
made no apologies for their having tried to kill me. I 
wonder if they weren't working for another faction within 
Lorica as well?" 
"I don't know." He fingered the buttons on his double-
breasted, navy blue pinstriped suit jacket. "I do know 
there is still some factional fighting within Lorica. There 
have been a couple of purges." 
"Is there any chance you can find folks who knew her 
father before the ouster? Long-time aides who got 
booted after he was gone?" 
The art dealer nodded. "That's easily doable, I should 
think. Some of them even live in City Center." 
"Any in Eclipse?" 
"I can find out." 
"Excuse me, Mr. Higuera?" A middle-aged woman 
touched Alejandro on the right sleeve. 
He turned and smiled broadly at her. "Mrs. Rosson, 
what can I do for you?" 


She smiled and mouthed the word "Hello" to me, then 
spoke to Alejandro. "I don't recall ever seeing other surrealist 
work by Elizabeth Turner in your gallery before, but the piece 
being auctioned here is being offered by you. Is she another 
one of your exclusive discoveries?" 
Alejandro nodded conspiratorially to her. "I found her 
two months ago. She's been doing these pieces for years 
and just sticking them away. I've convinced her to part 
with some of them." 
Mrs. Rosson smiled sheepishly. "I must confess the 
piece she has here is already too much for me, but I would 
be interested in other examples of her work. Shall I call 
on your shop tomorrow?" 
Alejandro nodded solemnly. "I have two other pieces 
I've not yet framed. I will look forward to your visit." As 
she walked away, he looked back at me. "Sorry, that 
pays the rent. Anything else from Loring?" 
"She used the word 'Fiddleback' as if it were a code-
name for someone. Sound any buzzers?" 
"No, I'm afraid not." 
"Maybe it will with some of those ex-employees, if you 
can find any." 
"We can hope." 
Marit came walking over and restaked her claim to my 
left arm. She wore a big grin on her face, and I sensed her 
mood had shifted greatly since she departed. "This is 
wonderful!" 
"Yes?" 
"There is the most ghastly piece over thereno 
offense, Alejandrocalled 'With a Not in my Stomach,' 
by Elizabeth Turner. It's, well, it's..." 
Alejandro pointed toward the place where the painting 
had been set up. "You have to see this thing to believe it." 
Marit nodded in agreement, so the three of us cut 
through the crowd to look at this picture. It was a painting 
of a human form, but it was done in necrotic flesh tones 
with hints of the green-gray of dead skin. The figure's 
flesh appeared to be more rubber than skin and had been 
tightly wrapped up into a ball at the center of the piece. 
The contorted body's face was hidden in shadows, but it 
had a mouth, complete with clenched teeth, situated at 
the figure's right heel. 
I shivered. It was truly a horrible vision, yet I could 
sympathize with it because I saw myself in it. The hidden 
face was my lost identity, and all that it would take to 
unlock the mouth to spout the truth would be a some 
trigger memory. The flesh being sloughed off was how I 
felt about trying to shed whatever I had been. Nerys 
Loring clearly felt she had hired me as an assassin to kill 
her father, and I might have actually come to do that, but 
I had no desire to be a murderer. 
"It is definitely an expressive piece," I offered. 
Alejandro smiled. "It spoke to me when I saw it. 
Hideous image, but excellent technique and command 
of anatomy." 
"But could you live with it in your house?" I asked him. 
He shook his head, and Marit giggled. "That's what is 


so delicious." She herded us back away from the piece 
before she said anything more. "I think it is morbid and 
creepy, but I've placed a bid on it. Nerys immediately 
topped my bid, so now I have a little war going on with 
her. She'll win, but it will cost her." 
I raised an eyebrow. "How do you know she isn't just 
bidding you up to stick you with the painting?" 
Our male companion shook his head. "Nerys never 
loses, except, perhaps, when her father overrode her and 
let Marit out of her 'noncompetition' clause in her 
contract. That is the soul of their animosity. She will 
never give in." 
"Which means she'll have that thing to look at for the 
rest of her life," Marit hissed. 
Up on the 91 st floor balcony, I saw Nerys staring down 
at the painting. She nodded slightly and a new bid went 
up on the tote board. With that I saw a satisfaction on her 
face, but I knew it came from more than her having 
topped Marit's latest bid. 
She, too, identified with the painting and, I felt certain, 
would enjoy staring at it for hours on end. 

so delicious." She herded us back away from the piece 
before she said anything more. "I think it is morbid and 
creepy, but I've placed a bid on it. Nerys immediately 
topped my bid, so now I have a little war going on with 
her. She'll win, but it will cost her." 
I raised an eyebrow. "How do you know she isn't just 
bidding you up to stick you with the painting?" 
Our male companion shook his head. "Nerys never 
loses, except, perhaps, when her father overrode her and 
let Marit out of her 'noncompetition' clause in her 
contract. That is the soul of their animosity. She will 
never give in." 
"Which means she'll have that thing to look at for the 
rest of her life," Marit hissed. 
Up on the 91 st floor balcony, I saw Nerys staring down 
at the painting. She nodded slightly and a new bid went 
up on the tote board. With that I saw a satisfaction on her 
face, but I knew it came from more than her having 
topped Marit's latest bid. 
She, too, identified with the painting and, I felt certain, 
would enjoy staring at it for hours on end. 
The next morning, when the elevator doors opened, I 
thought certain I had descended into hell. The heat hit me 
with the force of a punch. I stepped out into it, hoping, 
expecting that I would pass back into another cool zone, 
but I did not. The blazing heat remained constant and, as 
I breathed in through my nose, I felt the air cauterize my 
nasal passages. 
Natch Feral crossed the street. "Welcome back to 
reality, Caine-man." 
"Good evening...." I started to say to her, but I realized 
it was noon. "I mean..." 
"Save it. It's always night down here in Eclipse." She 
turned and walked away, silently willing me to follow her. 
"I think we have a line on a dude you'll want to jaw with. 
Gotta get Bat first, though." 
I nodded at her back and quickly caught up with her. 
At the party Nerys Loring made short work of Marit's 
bidding war, and Marit, bloodied but unbeaten, made a 
great show of retreating. Because Nerys had spoken with 
me for a short but visible amount of time, Marit nibbled 
on my ear as we left, suggesting Nerys might have won 
a battle, but the war had yet to be concluded. 
We returned to her home, and she apologized most 
eloquently for having used me so shamelessly to get 
back at Nerys. 
I awoke without remembering any dreams and left 
Marit to her well deserved rest. In her media room I 
punched up the Municipal Library's online index service 
and sought any information I could find on "Fiddleback." 
The best thing I got was a very authoritative article on the 
brown recluse spider, which is also known by the name 
Fiddleback. While they are present in Phoenix, the black 


widow is much more prevalent, and fiddlebacks are 
treated pretty much like myths. 
Like Coyote. 
By 10 a.m., Alejandro called and said he had worked 
with Jytte to come up with a list of people who fit the 
parameters of Lorica old guard being retired when Nero 
Loring was Leared by his daughter. He said the majority 
of them were in retirement villas around the state, with 
their bills and "care" paid for by Lorica. He left no doubt 
in my mind that they were being held by Nerys until any 
information they had concerning the company had lost 
its market value. 
He did point out that Jytte had uncovered the name of 
a man who had been with Lorica for as long as the 
company had been around. Phil Costapain was a black 
man who had worked as a janitor for his full tenure at 
Lorica. The reason she added him to the list was because 
he was Nero Loring's first employee and Nero himself 
had attended the man's retirement dinner. She noted the 
two of them always took their vacations at the same time 
and Alejandro said she thought they might have been 
very good at keeping their friendship quiet. 
"Natch, do you really think you know where Costapain 
lives?" 
She nodded. "I do, but he's real scared of something. 
Word's been spread that he's dead." 
"Dead?" 
She shrugged. "There's dead and there's D-E-A-D, 
Caine-man. Costapain doesn't want folks finding him, so 
outsiders hear he's dead. I just happen to know better." 
She glanced at the street, then nimbly darted between 
the cars. On the other side, she looked back at me and 
shook her head. 
I waited for a bit more survivable break in traffic, then 
joined her on the sidewalk in front of a concrete bunkerish 
building. "I'm dying in this windbreaker and jeans. How 
can you be wearing so much?" 
Another shrug elevated and dropped the padded 
shoulders of her oversized leather jacket. Beneath it she 
wore a loose striped shirt and beneath that a dark green 
leotard. Her jeans had been expertly slashed in parallel 
lines from hip to ankle, revealing black Spandex-clad 
legs. Her white high-tops looked new and the laces 
certainly had never been tied. 
"Man, I've lived down here all my life. This is only the 
end of June. It don't get hot for another month. Damned 
slush duck." She jerked her head toward the bunker 
door. "C'mon, in here." 
I eyed the building with suspicion. "Where is 'here?'" 
"Here is 'The Trench.'" Natch jammed her hands in 
her pockets and headed for the door. "Bat works here." 
That little amount of information made me very 
dubious about the place, and stepping through the door 
confirmed everything I had imagined, and more. Because 
The Trench lacked sufficient light, the first thing I 
noticed about it was the reek of sweat and smoke and 
blood and beer. Human bodies huddled in shadows, 


slumped in chairs as if they'd been lashed to them by the 
shoulders and had their spines removed. The Du Drop 
Inn was to this place what the Lorica reception had been 
to my encounter with the Reapers. 
Realizing my eyes would only adjust to the gloom in 
geological time, I followed Natch into The Trench by feel. 
I caught, in the backlight of a cash register, a glimpse of 
a bar running the length of the left wall. Avoiding 
waitresses who looked gorgeous except in the eyes, we 
plunged deeper into The Trench until we approached 
what looked like, to me, to be a line of people facing the 
absolute blackness of the back wall. 
Then the lights in The Trench went on. 
The bar had taken its name from its most interesting 
aspect. In the back a pit had been dug that bottomed out 
about 20 feet below the level of the floor. The sides had 
been carved into narrow terraces, each being fitted with 
a railing that had little holders for plastic cups of beer. At 
either end, up at floor level, catwalks extended over pit 
level corridors to let the servers get from the bar to the 
patrons watching the pit. 
The rectangular pit had been fitted with boards and 
plexiglass walls that looked to me to have been salvaged 
from some hockey rink. Where the glass had been 
shattered, chicken wire or strips of chain-link fencing 
replaced it up to the level of the bar's floor. Above that, 
secured to the bar's ceiling, more chain-link fencing 
formed a dome that made the pit a world of its own. 
Natch led me along the catwalk on the right side, and 
a bouncer at the top of the stairs let the two of us past. We 
descended to the level of the floor and stood in the 
corridor. Through the blood-streaked plexiglass at the 
end of the pit, I saw Bat turn and face the last two of his 
opponents. 
Bat had looked big when I'd met him two days ago, but in 
the center of the pit he looked herculean. Blood dripped from 
his bare chest and washed over his bare legs, but I knew it was 
not his. His muscles tensed as one man came in and his whole 
body twisted as he smashed a pile-driver right hook into the 
man ribs. I winced when I heard something pop, then cringed 
as Bat's left fist arced in and nearly twisted the man's head off 
with a solid punch. 
The last man had, at one time, been trained as a 
martial artist. He flew through the air aiming a kick at 
Bat's head. Bat, ducked his head out of the way, but held 
his left forearm up to split the flying man's legs. The 
collision of bone with groin involuntarily doubled over a 
number of the spectators and brought an agonized 
screech from the fighter. But before he could fall to the 
ground, Bat's right hand closed on bunched muscles at 
the man's spine, then he took a run at the wall and 
slammed the man against the plexiglass. 
Then he pulled him back and did it again and again 
and again. When the man hung like a limp rag in his 
hands, he tossed him aside and began to look around the 
pit for another victim. The other four men hastened their 
belly crawls to the door at the far arena end, and Bat 


encouraged them with brutal kicks. With a wicked smile 
on his face, he broke the outstretched arm of one man 
reaching for the doorway, then laughed loudly as the 
man begged for mercy. 
I looked at Natch, and she shrugged. "Amateur night. 
It's never pretty." 
Bat walked back to where the martial artist lay. He 
picked him up by the waistband of his pants, then 
dragged him face first through the dirt before tossing him 
out the arena door like a sack of garbage. Then, alone in 
the arena, he raised his hands in triumph. Half the crowd 
roared in his favor, but other people taunted him and 
threw plastic cups of beer at him. They splashed against 
the wire to mix with the blood and the dirt in the arena, 
but left Bat untouched. 
As Bat turned to soak in the adulation of the crowd, I 
saw his eyes. He watched the people surrounding him 
like a wolf studying a flock of sheep. They were prey to 
him, and he'd clearly not had his fill in breaking the five 
who had faced him. Furthermore, and by far the most 
chilling of my observations, I knew he was not in the pit 
for the money or the praise or the need to prove himself 
at the top of the food chain. 
He fought because he loved inflicting pain on others. 
The lights dimmed again, and Bat left the arena. In the 
half-light I saw the steel mask of cruelty on his face soften 
when he saw Natch. It flashed back on his face as he 
looked over at me, and in that flash of his dark eyes I 
knew I had an open invitation to fight him any time I 
wanted. 
I shook my head. "If I want a sanity trial, I'll have it in 
a court of law." 
Natch looked confused for a moment, then stepped 
back beyond the catwalk and opened a door into a locker 
room. Bat cut immediately to a shower cubicle in which 
a half-dozen nozzles hit him with harsh spray from 
various angles. The mud melted off, and the blood ran 
down the drain. Bat shut off the water, shook his head to 
flick water from his hair, then stepped out of the shower 
and went for a locker. 
Natch tossed him a towel that had probably once been 
fleecy and white. Bat doffed his boxing trunks and dried 
himself off, though he seemed more interested in any 
blood the towel absorbed than he did getting dry. That 
made sense in that, in the heat, evaporation would draw 
the water off quickly enough and summon sweat to 
replace it. 
The towel came away clean, but Bat looked to have a 
nasty bruise developing on his left shoulder. He sat on the 
bench beside his locker and opened the door. Whereas 
I expected to see the sort of pin-up pictures decorating 
other open lockers, inside Bat's door I saw a drawing of 
a winged angel bearing a spear, driving a demon off a 
cloud. Bat touched the picture reverently with his right 
hand, then crossed himself. 
He looked over at me. "Ask." 
I frowned. "Ask?" 


"What do you want to know about me?" He pulled on 
some underwear. "Get it over with." 
"Okay. Why 'Bat?'" 
He shrugged, but Natch answered for him. "His real 
name is Chwalibog Kabat. It's Polishhis parents came 
over just before Eastern Europe opened up." 
"Bat is easier, and folks don't get it wrong." I nodded, 
understanding why folks would not even want to try to 
pronounce his name and risk offending him. His background 
also made understanding the angel picture easier. 
"St. Michael?" 
Bat nodded. 
The patron saint of warriors. Being Polish meant he 
was probably raised Catholic, and that created a rather 
strange paradox. Here was a Christian who followed the 
teachings of the Prince of Peace, yet he worked as a pit 
fighter because he loved hurting people. Thinking back 
on what I'd seen in the pit, I had no doubt that whoever 
his confessor was, that priest got hazard duty pay, and 
Bat got penance that didn't quit. 
"One last question: How are you and Coyote connected?" 
Bat stood and tucked a T-shirt into his jeans. "I used 
to fight on the professional circuit. A promoter kidnapped 
a friend to get me to throw a fight. Coyote freed 
the hostage, and the promoter died when my opponent 
flew from the ring and crushed him in his seat." 
Natch, perched on the end of the bench, drew her legs 
up and hugged them to her chest. "After that fight, a 
Lorica janitor thanked Bat for winning. He'd bet a lot of 
money on himmoney he needed for his wife's medical 
treatments. She ended up dying anyway, but in a gang 
drive-by shooting, not from her disease." 
I folded my arms across my chest. "That janitor was 
Phil Costapain, which is why you're coming with us. 
Costapain trusts you?" 
Bat gave me a single nod as he closed his locker. He 
didn't lock it, but just looking at him told me why he didn't 
have to. He held out his right arm, Natch grabbed hold, 
and he lifted her to her feet in one smooth motion. They 
both smiled at each other, then headed off into The 
Trench. 
I followed, but until we got to the street, I don't think 
they noticed. 

"What do you want to know about me?" He pulled on 
some underwear. "Get it over with." 
"Okay. Why 'Bat?'" 
He shrugged, but Natch answered for him. "His real 
name is Chwalibog Kabat. It's Polishhis parents came 
over just before Eastern Europe opened up." 
"Bat is easier, and folks don't get it wrong." I nodded, 
understanding why folks would not even want to try to 
pronounce his name and risk offending him. His background 
also made understanding the angel picture easier. 
"St. Michael?" 
Bat nodded. 
The patron saint of warriors. Being Polish meant he 
was probably raised Catholic, and that created a rather 
strange paradox. Here was a Christian who followed the 
teachings of the Prince of Peace, yet he worked as a pit 
fighter because he loved hurting people. Thinking back 
on what I'd seen in the pit, I had no doubt that whoever 
his confessor was, that priest got hazard duty pay, and 
Bat got penance that didn't quit. 
"One last question: How are you and Coyote connected?" 
Bat stood and tucked a T-shirt into his jeans. "I used 
to fight on the professional circuit. A promoter kidnapped 
a friend to get me to throw a fight. Coyote freed 
the hostage, and the promoter died when my opponent 
flew from the ring and crushed him in his seat." 
Natch, perched on the end of the bench, drew her legs 
up and hugged them to her chest. "After that fight, a 
Lorica janitor thanked Bat for winning. He'd bet a lot of 
money on himmoney he needed for his wife's medical 
treatments. She ended up dying anyway, but in a gang 
drive-by shooting, not from her disease." 
I folded my arms across my chest. "That janitor was 
Phil Costapain, which is why you're coming with us. 
Costapain trusts you?" 
Bat gave me a single nod as he closed his locker. He 
didn't lock it, but just looking at him told me why he didn't 
have to. He held out his right arm, Natch grabbed hold, 
and he lifted her to her feet in one smooth motion. They 
both smiled at each other, then headed off into The 
Trench. 
I followed, but until we got to the street, I don't think 
they noticed. 
Phil Costapain had managed to choose a hiding place 
that would have kept him safe from the best trackers in 
the world. Aside from being thought dead, he had the 
advantage of living in an area where two mobile home 
parks had mated and metastasized to all the neighboring 
areas, including what had once been the Greenwood 
Memorial Cemetery Park. Interstate 10 thundered through 
the middle of the community and, just beyond it, twisted 
through the interchange known as the Stack, but had no 


real effect on Boxton. 
Getting there proved less difficult than I imagined 
when I learned neither Natch or Bat had a car. We hopped 
a gypsy bus that angled us across the west side of 
Phoenix as it dropped folks off and stopped for other 
riders flagging it down. Big and painted with colors that 
glowed in the gloom of Eclipse, it lumbered through the 
grimy streets like a beetle with elephantitis. 
The three of us took up a position behind the driver. As 
Bat boarded, he paid his fare, then stood and stared down 
at some drugged-out wastrel sprawled across a bench. 
The guy looked up and saw that his current trip had just 
veered into the land of bad vibes. Bat waited for him to 
clear out, then he let Natch and an old black woman sit 
down. 
The guys toward the back looked nasty enough for me 
to think we might have gotten on a Department of 
Corrections bus by mistake. Bat grabbed the overhead 
rail and glared at our fellow riders, which inspired most 
of them to get off or hang loose in the very rear of our 
transport. I ended up standing right behind the driver, 
trying to give the old woman sitting in Bat's shadow a 
reassuring smile. 
The bus' dim headlights hid more than they revealed, 
but they gave me a strong impression of the nightmare 
that made up chunks of Eclipse. Buildings that had once 
been useful now lay in total disrepair. Whole blocks 
looked like they had been abandoned and had trash 
barricades surrounding them. Oddly enough, the barricades 
looked as if they had been put up to keep things 
in that section instead of out. Even more strange was the 
lack of children playing on or around those barricades. 
Because the streetlights in this area of town had been 
pulled down, shot out or rewired to provide power for 
squatters living near them, small bonfires had been lit to 
illuminate the area. The lunacy of starting fires on hot 
desert days was further compounded by the clouds of 
oily smoke that hung low, trapped beneath the Eclipse 
panels. Some of the squatter's nests built on the underside 
of the panels looked like soot-smudged tumors 
hanging in place. They could not have been habitable in 
any serious sense of the word, yet blank faces looked 
down at us from above regardless. 
A passenger jostled me when he came aboard, and I 
felt my billfold disappear from my back pocket. Before 
he squeezed past Bat, I drew the Krait and poked him in 
the back of the head with it. "As long as you have my 
wallet, you might as well take this, too. You want it in 
pieces?" 
The man swallowed hard, then turned and offered me 
a picket-fence smile. "Sorry, I'm trying to reform. Really." 
He held my wallet up, and I took it from him. 
He tried to make his way by Bat, but Bat stopped him 
and grabbed his right hand. He held it up and spread the 
fingers out by pressing it against his left hand. "You gotta 
pay the toll." 
"Toll?" 


"Toll?" Bat's face lost all emotion and his eyes darkened. 
"Which is your favorite finger?" 
"W-what?" 
"Wrong answer." Bat's muscles bunched in his shoulder 
and arm as he jerked the man into the air by his wrist. 
He smashed the man's hand into the bus's roof, and the 
fingers broke like dry spaghetti. "There, now you're 
reformed." 
The man screamed, but the mere threat of a cuff 
silenced him. He clutched his broken hand to his chest 
and stumbled back, being jostled from seat to seat by the 
bus's motion and the angry riders he leaned against. 
Finally, in the back, he met a gang who forced him to 
"high-five" them with his broken hand before they put 
him into a seat. 
"Thanks, I think." 
Bat nodded. "Quick. Good." 
I sensed some respect in his voice for how smoothly 
and swiftly I'd reacted, and that pleased me. Still, I found 
it disquieting that I felt good about respect from a man 
who had so casually broken the hand of a man who had 
done nothing to him. Yet, even as I examined that 
circumstance, I recalled his religious bent and realized he 
had only inflicted on the man a punishment for his sin of 
theft. Within his world, he was being amazingly consistent, 
and I imagined he would even confess to what he 
had done here, adding to his burden so he could be 
absolved of it. 
The bus stopped a block from the edge of our destination. 
Natch preceded me off the bus and crossed the 
street to where a group of four youths loitered on the 
corner watching little kids play kick-ball. The youths all 
wore jackets that had a black disk sewn on the back, and 
the words "The Plattermen" embroidered beneath it. 
When they saw her they started preening and moving 
like lazy snakes. They eyed me suspiciously, trying to 
figure if I was undercover for Scorpion Security or a mark 
to be taken. Bat stepped from the bus, and they sharpened 
up considerably. 
Natch went through an elaborate ritual of knocking 
fists, slapping hands and pointing with one of the youths, 
then invited me over. "Caine-man, this is Zinger. He was 
maxin' in Florence, then he beat the bricks and crawled 
back under the Nixrock." 
Zinger, a long, lean and languorous black youth kept 
his hands in the pockets of his bluejacket. "Caine. Is that 
like in candy cane?" 
I shrugged. "I'm not bent, and it'll take more than you 
to lick me, so I'd say not. It's Caine." 
"Like the killer," Bat added quietly. 
Zinger looked me up and down, then dismissed me 
with a sneer. "What chu want, Natch?" 
"Paying our respects to the dead." 
The youth thought for a second, then nodded slowly. 
He turned to a confederate wearing a red bandana over 
his head. "Buc will take you." 
"Gratz." 


Zinger grabbed Natch's shoulder. "If anything happens..." 
Like a striking snake, Bat snagged Zinger's wrist and 
squeezed until the hand opened like a flower. Natch 
turned and stroked Bat's free arm. "It's okay, Bat, no 
harm done." 
"Not yet." Bat smiled in a most horrifying way, 
displaying strong, sharp white teeth. "You were in a 
crack, Zinger." He released his hand. "She got you out." 
The street boss pulled his hand back but refused to 
show it had hurt at all. "Girl, you gotta get that man some 
lithium or sumthin'. He needs to chill. Buc, go." 
Buc, smaller and stockier than Zinger, walked all 
loose and open like he'd been put together with rubber 
bands instead of muscles. He didn't say anything and 
sauntered along as if he wasn't connected to us in any 
way. Other folks on the street called out to him, and he 
winked or hissed or hooted at them, but never said 
anything I could decipher as words. 
Boxton lived up to its name. Mobile homes and more 
conventional buildings were stacked up in crenelated 
clusters that brushed the underside of Frozen Shade at its 
highest points. Rubbish-choked alleys ran between the 
trailers, turning Boxton into a rat's warren of twisting 
trails and dead ends. In the places where the pathways 
were wide enough for, say, a Scorpion Security vehicle 
to pass between buildings, the paths themselves doubled 
back constantly. It took no genius to see the vehicle 
would be slowed to a crawl and left very vulnerable to 
antivehicle rockets or automatic weapons fire. 
Buc led us into one trailer at the bottom of a pyramid. 
We entered without knocking and Buc never even 
acknowledged the family huddled toward the rear of the 
building. I only saw them in the light of a boxy television, 
and the slack-jawed look of stupification on their faces 
led me to believe they never saw any of us. Grandfather, 
sitting in an easy chair and sucking on a beer, scratched 
his belly through the thin material of a stained T-shirt. 
Mom and her eldest daughter both dandled children on 
their knees, while two other young kids sat on the floor 
and close enough to the set that I could only see their 
eyes. 
Looking at the reality of the trailer, it did not surprise 
me that the only spark of 1ife I saw in their eyes came from 
the TV's reflection. Both stove burners had pots encrusted 
with what might have been rice and beans, but 
they'd been there for days and the beans looked like a rat 
had fed itself at some point. Pizza crusts and grease-
stained boxes littered the little table that folded down 
from the wall. The faucet bled rusty water into the sink, 
and it coagulated into an orange stain on a plastic plate. 
The place stunk of too many people and too much 
beer. The sour scent of stale beer managed to cut 
through the thick, musty odor of human habitation, but 
near the sink it lost to the sharp smell of whatever was 
growing beneath the unclean dishes. Mildew fur ringed 
the base of the leaking faucet and had spread to the 


plastic splashboard. 
We passed through the patio doorway into a trash 
midden at the center of the pyramid. Buc scrambled up 
an aluminum ladder and entered through a hole in the 
bottom of another trailer. Natch followed him and Bat 
brought up the rear. If not for the additional clue of thick 
smoke and the exchange of a grandmother for a grandfather, 
I would have sworn we'd returned to the trailer 
down below. 
Our trek took us through four more trailers; the only 
cause for hope was that the deeper we went, the degree 
of decay lessened. I realized, of course, that residents 
who lived closer to the core of Boxton had gotten there 
by virtue of either longevity or strength, hence their 
accommodations had changed hands less often. 
The core residents evidenced more life, but only in the 
fact that they greeted Buc or seemed to recognize Bat. 
They were neither cordial or hostile to methey just 
treated me like I did not exist. Their homes looked a bit 
less worn down than the fringe ones we'd visited, but 
even they were leaky, stinky man-nests. Had hamsters 
somehow evolved to human size, they would have been 
comfortable in these placesand in most they would 
have found a layer of newspaper already laid down. 
Buc led us through a tunnel that ran beneath the 
freeway, then down a narrow pathway that took us 
through a hole in the fence around the Greenwood 
Cemetery. There, deep in the heart of Boxton, the trailers 
had only been stacked two high and looked in very good 
condition. Here, behind the walls of their own transient 
citadel, the leaders of Boxton had it very good. They drew 
running water from what used to be the cemetery's 
sprinkler system, and it looked like they pulled power by 
tapping the overhead cells directly. 
The gang member did not lead us to one of the trailer 
mansions, but directed us to where a mausoleum had 
been built into the side of a manufactured hillock. The 
name above the door read "Freeman." "Inside, cats, 
you'll find what you want." 
In through the dark doorway and down two steps we 
found a small room with a canvas cot arranged in a 
corner. A small candle burned on the bottom of an 
overturned coffee can. Seated beside it, with a pillow 
under his rump, an old man leaned against the cold, 
concrete wall. In his gnarled hands he held a paperback 
book with the cover torn off. Outside we could hear the 
roar of cars and trucks speeding along the highway. 
He tucked his half-glasses back up on his white-haired 
head and blinked at us. "Who are you?" He put a 
postcard in the book to mark his place, then set it down. 
Natch knelt on the other side of him, putting her back 
against the cot. Bat tucked himself back into the corner 
beside the door, and I remained in the shadows near the 
foot of the cot. Natch gave him her sweetest smile, which 
bought us some time, and answered him. "We are here 
to ask you about Nero Loring." 
Costapain shook his head slowly. "I don't know nuffin' 


'bout no Mister Lorin'." 
I dropped down to my haunches to put my head on the 
same level as his, and he drew his legs up reflexively. "I 
know you have no reason to believe us, but we know you 
knew Loring. You were his first employee, and he 
attended your retirement dinner." I jerked a thumb at Bat. 
"You know Mr. Kabat, and you know he would not have 
come if we were going to harm you. Please, this is 
important." 
His voice lost the mushmouth slurrings of an 
uneducated man. "Son, I don't know shit about you. 
Bat's just a pit Fighter, and I've seen him work. He doesn't 
care squat about what happens to me. Natch I've seen 
around, but she's not from Boxton. You, you look like a 
Lorica corporator to me. Now unless you want to convince 
me of something, I've got reading to do." 
I nodded and rested my forearms on my knees. 
"Straight outI haven't got a clue why, but two bottom-
feeders being paid by Nerys Loring tried to off me. I think 
finding her father and keeping him alive will annoy her, 
and I'd like to do that. I'd like to do that a lot." 
"You won't find him. Noone will." He smiled wryly, and 
his face got a far away look as if he was remembering one 
of the vacation trips he took with Loring. "I don't even 
know where Nero is." As he spoke, I saw an unholy red 
glint play in his left eye. 
"Buc," I shouted, "come here, now!" 
"Wha chu wa...aarrgh!" 
Buc eclipsed the red targeting laser I'd seen reflected 
in Costapain's eye. As if blasted into the room by the rifle 
report and not the bullet that preceded it, the youth flew 
down the stairs and flopped to the floor. His jacket had 
a small hole midway down the back on his left side, but 
already a black puddle leaked from beneath him. 
Costapain reached out and bodily lifted Natch up. He 
deposited her on the cot, then got out of line with the 
doorway himself. As he moved to where I had been 
crouched, I scrambled up the steps to the outside, then 
rolled to my right. As I got to my feet again, I leaped back 
and to the right, then filled my hand with the Krait. 
Up on the highway overpass I saw a bleached blond, 
bare-chested young man lift his rifle and start trotting 
toward the Volkswagen Kartoffeln van. I ran up the little 
hill as people streamed out of their houses. I gave the 
knob below the Krait's rear sight two twists, then dropped 
to one knee and snapped the safety down. From the top 
of the hill I aligned the sights with the sniper as he shoved 
the rifle through the van's sliding door. 
I stroked the trigger twice. I saw the sniper pitch 
forward, but at that range I couldn't have been certain if 
it was because the bullets whizzed over his shoulders or 
passed between them. I triggered off two more shots, 
smashing the passenger side mirror and punching a hole 
in the door, but the van smoked its tires and slam-
merged into a stream of horn-honking traffic. 
At the base of the hill Bat eyed the distance from me 
to the car. He nodded once, then chuckled lightly. Natch 


and Costapain came up beside him, and the old man had 
blood on his hands, shirt and tan pants. "Those sons of 
bitches tried to kill me." 
I looked down at him. "Did they?" I pointed with the 
gun at the clear killzone from the highway to the front of 
the mausoleum. "I think it was the Aryan Warriors going 
for a target of opportunity. They saw Buc outside and 
decided to pop him. I was lucky I saw the laser light. If Buc 
had moved faster, he could have gotten to cover." 
Costapain wiped his hands on his pants. "Could be 
what you said." 
"Could be. Now, tell me, why would anyone want you 
dead?" I slid the Krait back home in the shoulder holster. 
"You said you didn't know where Nero Loring was." 
The old man's shoulders slumped, and he suddenly 
looked his age. "Natch, go get me my book. I have a 
postcard that shows the place we used to go fishing. It 
isn't signed or anything, but I know it's from Nero. He's 
alive and well." 
"Do you think he's there?" 
Costapain shook his head. "That place was an open 
secret. If his daughter wanted him dead, she'd have him. 
No, he's not there." He took the book from Natch and 
flipped open to the postcard. "It is postmarked 'Sedona.' 
Lots of retirement stuff up there. Pretty country. Best I can 
do is tell you he might be there." 
"Thank you." I walked back down the hill. "I think you 
should come with us and talk to Hal Garrett about finding 
another place to stay. The Plattermen are not protecting 
you." 
"What?" He pointed to the overpass. "If I go back out 
of Boxton, I'll be killed." 
"If you stay here you'll die. Ask yourself this: If they 
meant to keep you alive, why are you in a place where 
a straight shot from the interstate can kill you? They've 
got you on ice, but accessible." I looked over at Buc's 
body. "Likely they were waiting until Nerys Loring got 
agitated enough to offer a good price for you." 
"Is that so?" He folded his arms across his bloodstained 
chest. "And do you think this shot was a drive-
by, or aimed at me?" 
"As I said before, likely a drive-by." 
"Yeah, as likely as your calling out to Buc was to get 
him safe." 
Bat, I could see in his eyes, knew. Natch didn't want 
to know, and the old man knew the truth didn't matter 
one way or another. "Mr. Costapain, you're more valuable 
to me alive than dead. You know things and can 
remember things that might be useful. If for no other 
reason, I'd like to keep you as a resource." 
The old man looked at me, then scratched the back of 
his head. "That's probably as close to honesty as I've 
heard in some time. I'm getting damned tired of sitting on 
my ass with people hunting me. I'm not up to fighting 
back myself, but if you need a hound to point you to the 
fox, I'll join the hunt." 





Natch sandwiched Costapain between them in the back 
seat while I dropped into the passenger bucket beside 
Rock. The second I shut my door, he started us forward, 
then shivered. "You get into trouble in some of the worst 
places." 
"I'm glad the cavalry comes when called." 
"Yeah, sure." He glanced in the rearview mirror. 
"Natch, you wanna pitch that butt out the window? Sorry, 
Pops, no smoking in here." 
Bat took the cigarette from Costapain and held it for 
him. Rock's face twisted down into a snarl, but he knew 
better than to bait Bat. He turned to me. "No Marit with 
you? I heard your evening last night turned out to be a 
bust because you had to leave early. You must miss her." 
I shook my head. "No, we slept in late today." 
Rock hit his horn and swerved around a very surprised 
Audi driver. Bat smiled and even Costapain looked 
amused. I pulled my Krait and twisted the sight elevator 
nob back down to zero it at 50 feet. Rock snarled at 
another driver, then punched a keypad and lowered the 
air conditioning to 72F. He also started a DAT of "The 
Rolling StonesLive at Leisure World" playing. 
None of us said anything in the rest of the journey. 
Talking over the music was difficult, but hearing the 
familiar strains of "Can't get no wheelchair traction" 
helped take the edge off all of us. If I was going to talk, I 
wanted to grill Rock about the Warriors of the Aryan 
World Alliance, but I did not want to do it in front of 
Costapain. If he thought we had any ties to the people 
who killed Bucand I felt certain a WAWA shooter had 
done the jobhe'd not tell us anything. 
Rock got us to the Coyote cell headquarters I'd visited 
previously and dropped us off. We went inside as he 
roared off, and I deposited my pistol on the table in the 
anteroom before heading into the briefing room. Hal 
Garrett was already there, and I could see Jytte's outline 
in the light of a computer terminal in the next room. 
"Mr. Costapain, I'm Hal Garrett. I'm glad you're safe." 
"So am I, Mr. Garrett. It's great to meet you. I'm a big 
fan of yours." Costapain pulled out a chair and sat, as did 
the rest of us. 
"Thank you." Hal looked at me. "I heard what happened. 
What do you make of it?" 
I chewed my lower lip for a second. "I think we're 
looking at three distinct problems. The first is figuring out 
where Nero Loring is. His daughter obviously wants him 
dead for a reason. We can find that reason out in a 
number of different ways, to be sure, but I think hearing 
it from Loring will be the easiest. Not only can he tell us 
what her problem is, but I suspect he has a solution 
already worked out and we could use that, too." 
Garrett nodded. "Ever since Natch called, Jytte has 
being trying to locate any sort of computer information 
on Sedona that might tie to Loring. Unless she's found 
something in the last five minutes, there's nothing." 
Costapain opened his hands. "Honestly, that is the 
best I can do. I don't know where he could be if not there. 


If he's moved on since he sent me that card, I can't help 
you." 
"Oh, I think you can help us a great deal, Mr. Costapain." 
I patted him on the right shoulder. "You worked for Loring 
for 40 years. You have to know the ins and outs of the 
Lorica Citadel like no one else. If you'd be willing to lend 
us your expertise, we can start developing plans. If there 
is a problem in Lorica, knowing the layout could make 
solving it much easier for all of us." 
"I can see that." 
"That's the first problem, Tycho. What's the next 
one?" Hal asked. 
"The second is 'Fiddleback.' Nerys used the term as 
if it were a person or corporate identity. The way she said 
it tied it to my background and had very heavy conspiratorial 
overtones. It might be another facet of the problem 
Nerys has with her father. I think finding out what 
Fiddleback is could be crucial to solving the problem 
with Lorica." 
I leaned back in my chair. "The third problem, I think, 
is tied in with what you're trying to do in keeping the 
Blood Crips away from WAWA. A Warrior shooter did 
one of the Plattermen in Boxton. I may or may not have 
gotten him, so things could be even." 
Hal's face darkened. "What's your estimate of the 
chances the Aryans are being paid by Lorica to incite 
trouble?" 
"Low. I don't see the benefit in it for Lorica. Boxton is 
in the shadow of Genentech-Carbide. The Blood Crips 
are near Lorica. A race war isn't going to do either one of 
them any good." I held my open hands up. "I do think the 
Aryans are being financed by someone, but it would 
have to be someone who wants to cause trouble for all the 
companies in the southern half of the valley." 
"Agreed, which cuts down on suspects, but not many." 
Hal made a note on a piece of paper, folded it, and stuck 
it away in his shirt pocket. "You have any solutions to 
these problems?" 
"Sure. Let's hit them in reverse order. You need to 
continue to keep the Blood Crips and the other gangs in 
check. See if you can get them to work with Scorpion to 
keep an eye on the Aryans. I know they won't want to, but 
a war is going to get a lot of folks killed. You don't want 
that, and they don't want that." I sighed heavily. "If worse 
comes to worse, direct intervention might be necessary. 
I don't think the Blood Crips are any closer to being saints 
than the Aryans, but the Aryans have not shown they can 
be reasonable. Capping them might well put things on 
hold." 
I saw in his face that Hal no more liked the idea of 
assassinating Heinrich now than he did before. "We will 
cross that bridge only if we have no other choice. I think 
I can keep the lid on. The Aryans do not have the 
manpower they need to be as overwhelmingly powerful 
as they would have to be to win a war, so we have some 
time. 
"What do we do about Fiddleback?" 


I smiled. "I have an idea that I want to discuss with 
Alejandro. Trust me, it will shake something loose, I 
think." 
"Okay. I'll let Alejandro know you're coming to talk 
with him. What about finding Nero Loring." 
"Barring Jytte's success, I think going up to Sedona 
would be a good idea." 
For the first time I saw fear in Hal's eyes and shock in 
Bat's. Both of them reacted as though they had been hit 
with an electric stunner. Bat slowly folded his arms 
across his chest while Hal clasped his hand together with 
fingers interlaced, and rested his elbows on the table. 
"You may want to reconsider that idea, Tycho." 
"I'm not backstopping your bullet, Hal. Why?" 
He drew in a deep breath and Match fidgeted uncomfortably 
in her chair. "Sedona is different." 
"Different?" 
Garrett nodded solemnly. "Twenty, 30 years ago 
Sedona was a hotbed of 'mystical' activity. Folks used to 
go up there and meditate in the power nexuses referred 
to as 'vortices.' More and more people moved to that 
area and formed up into little cults following this guru or 
that. At first they were very peaceful, but as the government 
and ranchers tried to restrict their access to private 
or wilderness preserve land, the cults took on a positively 
survivalist attitude." 
Natch grinned weakly. "Think Aryans who check the 
color of your aura instead of your skin, Caine-man." 
"Exactly." Hal stared at the table about two feet in front 
of his hands. "The local press talks about weird things 
going on in Sedona, and the local talk radio stations have 
whole programs devoted to 'psychic phenomena' going 
on up there. When some shooting broke out seven years 
ago, both KFYI and KTAR lost news teams covering the 
story." 
I blinked away my astonishment. "Are you telling me 
folks go up there and don't come back? Is there a 
Lectorium upthere where folks get eaten or something?" 
"Or something." 
I looked up as Marit framed herself in the doorway. 
"What do you mean?" 
"There are, as Hal said, cult groups up there. If you're 
not careful they can brainwash you pretty easily. The 
techniques have been around since before the Korean 
War. As long as you stick close to another rational person 
and don't interact too directly, you can go in and come 
out again." 
I winked at Bat. "I'm not afraid to try. Bat will go with 
me, won't you?" 
Bat shook his head. "Bust my head, fine, but not my 
mind." 
Marit walked from the door and stood behind me, 
resting her hands on my shoulders. "I'll go. I've been 
before and survived it." 
Hal's head came up. "Are you crazy?" 
"No, that's why I'll go. I've got a Range Rover II in a 
garage in City Center. It will get us there and back. I can 


even arrange for a local guideI know a guy from a 
photo shoot done up there for the Arizona Highways 
swimsuit issue." She gave my shoulders a squeeze. "We 
can leave in the morning and be back tomorrow night." 
Jytte came in from the other room with the cellular 
phone in her hand. "Coyote wants to speak to you, 
Tycho." 
Given the tail of his message last time, I took the phone 
with a bit of trepidation. "Caine here." 
"Ah, Mr. Caine, it is good to hear your voice. I have 
nothing but admiration for your ability with a gun. I trust 
you were not injured." 
"No sir, only one of the Plattermen caught a bullet. We 
got Mr. Costapain out of there, and he has agreed to help 
us." 
"Excellent, though it is too bad about the Platterman. 
You realize finding Nero Loring is a key to recovering 
your identity, don't you?" 
"Yes, sir." I had a feeling Hal would not try to stop Marit 
and me from going to Sedona, but I wanted to ice the trip. 
"Toward that end, Marit and I will be going to Sedona to 
follow up on our only lead about Loring." 
"Sedona?" The mechanically altered voice hesitated 
for a moment or two. "That will be dangerous, but I 
believe you have the skills to handle yourself. Be careful, 
and do not mistake foolhardiness for courage. If you feel 
threatened, get out of there." 
"Understood, sir." 
"Excellent. Good hunting. Now, if you will, please let 
me speak with Hal." 
I passed the phone to Hal. He listened closely, then 
offered two or three "Yes, sirs," before shutting the phone 
off. "He cleared your trip and told me to offer you any help 
you need." 
"Great." I stood and took Marit's hand. "We'll see 
Alejandro right now, then head out in the morning. We 
will call in before we leave, at noon, four and every four 
hours after that until we get back. If you don't hear from 
us for 12 hours straight, send out the cavalry, or write us 
off." 
Hal nodded. "You want more firepower than what your 
normally carry?" 
I thought for a second, then shook my head. "If I have 
to start shooting to find Nero Loring, the problem will be 
one too big to handle no matter how huge the gun. With 
any luck at all, I won't have to fire a shot." 
We took Marit's car back to City Center and beat the 
post-work crowds to the Mercado. We found Alejandro's 
gallery in an adobe-like building in the center of the 
Mexican pseudo-village. The exterior had been decorated 
with Spanish and Amerindian designs, but the 
colors used were bright pastels unknown to the ancients. 
As it was, that made it right at home with the rest of the 
Dizzyland village simulationand alien to the nation and 
culture from which it purported to be drawn. 
The interior of the gallery, on the other hand, could 
have been taken from any fine arts center anywhere. 


While the semi-circular foyer got plenty of natural sunlight, 
Alejandro had it set up with comfortable chairs and 
a small refreshment center. A couple of framed, print-
quality posters hung on the walls to advertise past or 
coming shows, but the real art was kept in the upper and 
central viewing galleries. 
Opposite the foyer, the gallery became long and 
narrow. The stairs doubled back on themselves, starting 
near the central gallery and coming out toward the foyer 
before twisting and climbing up to the upper gallery. On 
the ground floor, at the switchback, a pretty receptionist 
sat behind a massive mahogany deskrather rare these 
days. I could see from one unfortunate chip in the corner 
that the desk was genuine woodnot a press or extruded 
plastic product. 
The receptionist smiled at Marit. "Ms. Fisk, how good 
to see you again." 
"Good afternoon, Paz. Is Alejandro in?" 
The dark-haired woman nodded. "He's with a client, 
but they should be finishing up very soon. If you wish to 
wait..." 
"We'll look around the gallery." 
"I will tell him you're waiting." 
We walked into the central viewing gallery and slowly 
began to stroll along, admiring the work hung there. The 
walls had been painted a neutral beige, which, along with 
the charcoal gray carpet, offered no competition for the 
art being displayed. Track lighting provided just the right 
amount of illumination to bring the colors out without 
bleaching them or casting inappropriate shadows on the 
statuary. 
"Alejandro is known for obtaining new and professional 
work for a very discriminating clientele. Most 
people think he has the ability to spot excellent investments 
before they become astronomically priced." She 
pointed to a surreal fantasy piece featuring a sylvan 
woman in a pink cloak standing on the trail to a mystical 
city. Behind her sat a cloaked warrior with a sword and 
a small, non-human creature playing at some sort of 
game with painted sticks. "This is another picture by the 
woman who painted the piece I tried to buy last night." 
"Turner something?" 
"Elizabeth Turner. Alejandro tracked her down from 
some commercial work she'd done. He's sold a number 
of her paintings." 
I looked a bit closer at the picture. The artist had a good 
technique and was able to convincingly portray the 
fantastic as real. "Does he ever arrange commissions?" 
"I do, indeed." Alejandro greeted Marit with kisses on 
both cheeks, then shook my hand. "Did you want 
something painted? A portrait, perhaps?" 
"Not exactly. Is there some place we can talk?" 
"My office." He headed back out toward the foyer. 
"Marit, are you coming?" 
She shook her head. "No, actually, I'll leave you here, 
Tycho, and go start things rolling for tomorrow. It will 
save us some time." 


I gave her a quick kiss. "I'll meet you at your place in 
an hour?" 
Marit shook her head. "No, meet me at Danny's Place 
about 8. Have dinner first." She smiled impishly but said 
no more and left the gallery. I, in turn, followed Alejandro 
up the stairs and back through the upper viewing gallery 
to a doorway in the back. He unlocked it and waved me 
into his office. 
His workplace was as clean and open as the gallery. 
He had an antique standing desk that he kept clear 
except for a black phone, blotter and pen and pencil set. 
Because he worked standing, he had a conversation 
nook in the corner to the right of the doorway, with three 
comfortable, black-leather chairs surrounding a small 
circular coffee table. It was to these he directed me, but 
the pictures hung on the walls diverted my attention. 
Behind his desk I saw a piece that had to be by Picasso, 
yet I did not recognize it. A Monet hung on the left wall, 
along with a Czanne and Pollock. Back beside the door, 
I saw a Wyeth Helga portrait and opposite it a Van Gogh 
that looked to be another of the Sunflower pieces. I 
looked closely at the Van Gogh and knew I could not 
place it within any catalog of his work, yet I found it as 
beautiful and entrancing as any of his other work I had 
seen. 
Alejandro closed the door. "You like Van Gogh?" 
I nodded. "I do indeed, but this can't be genuine. If it 
were, you would have far more extensive security measures 
in place here. Because this isn't a copy of a known 
piece, it's not a forgery, but if you were to sell it as a 
recently 'discovered' piece, you could get a fortune for 
it." I glanced at him. "Did you do this?" 
He shook his head. "My lot in life is to recognize talent, 
not possess it myself. That was done by an associate of 
mine who died several years ago. These other pieces 
were painted by others." 
I smiled wryly. "I imagine it would be very tempting to 
offer a wealthy client a piece that he dare not have 
authenticated, especially after, say, a robbery of an art 
museum that has gotten a certain amount of publicity." 
"It would, indeed." Alejandro folded his arms. "In fact, 
having done that was how I first became associated with 
Coyote." 
"How so?" 
"Coyote had decided, for reasons known only to him, 
to relieve someone of a private art collection. One of the 
pieces he got was Dali with a questionable pedigree." 
Alejandro sat down and tugged at the knee of his slacks 
as he crossed his legs. "I heard of the theft, then got a 
phone call. 'I am Coyote,' he said, 'your people do very 
good work, and your clients would doubtless be interested 
to know just how good it is.'" 
I sat across from him, on the edge of one of the chairs. 
"Did he blackmail you?" 
The art broker half-closed his eyes. "Not blackmail 
per se, but an offer of protection. He said I could get 
pictures into places, and that I had information that could 


be valuable to him. He suggested if we worked together 
we would both find it profitable." 
"I'm unclear. What did he mean when he said you 
could get pictures into places?" 
Alejandro smiled like a cat who'd gotten the cream. 
"You would be surprised by the number of people who 
remove their valuable paintings from a room being swept 
by security experts. They seem to assume that those 
who are in charge of security are capable of going rogue 
and stealing that which they hold most precious. A 
passive bug is very difficult to detect, and one that is not 
present in the room when you do the sweep is positively 
impossible to find." 
"I see." I could easily imagine being surprised and not 
a little scared at getting a call from Coyote exposing my 
error, then offering an alliance. It was interesting to note 
that with Hal, Coyote had offered a warning, and with 
Alejandro he had used gentle coercion. I imagined with 
Rock he must have employed a powerful motivator. 
"So, what is it you want done, Tycho?" 
"What I want is a painting of Phoenix in which a giant 
Fiddleback spider has spun its web from the tops of the 
citadels and City Center. I want it grasping for or nesting 
at Lorica Industries." 
"Interesting. What style do you want?" 
I thought for a second. "As close to photo-realistic as 
possible, I think. It will be a surreal fantasy piece by any 
definition, but I don't want it that widely open to interpretation. 
The original should be on display, but listed as not 
for sale. Noting lithographs will be made might not be a 
bad idea." 
Alejandro nodded his head. "Bait. You want me to 
keep track of whoever asks about it, right?" 
"Dead on target." I stood. "I'll pay $5000 for the piece 
to be done. Who can you get?" 
"You'll want it fast, I assume." I nodded, and he smiled. 
"Estefan Ramierez works in that style and fast. He could 
use the money." 
I remembered seeing paint on his clothes. "Good, that 
will be pay back for what he did for me. How long?" 
"Possibly as soon as two days from now. He works 
quickly." 
"Great." 
Alejandro stood and offered me his hand. "Very good 
doing business with you, sir." 
"And you, sir." 
"Any thought to a title?" 
I nodded. "Have the spider about to chomp down on 
Lorica and we'll call it 'Devouring Its Mate.' If that doesn't 
shake something lose, nothing will." 

be valuable to him. He suggested if we worked together 
we would both find it profitable." 
"I'm unclear. What did he mean when he said you 
could get pictures into places?" 
Alejandro smiled like a cat who'd gotten the cream. 
"You would be surprised by the number of people who 
remove their valuable paintings from a room being swept 
by security experts. They seem to assume that those 
who are in charge of security are capable of going rogue 
and stealing that which they hold most precious. A 
passive bug is very difficult to detect, and one that is not 
present in the room when you do the sweep is positively 
impossible to find." 
"I see." I could easily imagine being surprised and not 
a little scared at getting a call from Coyote exposing my 
error, then offering an alliance. It was interesting to note 
that with Hal, Coyote had offered a warning, and with 
Alejandro he had used gentle coercion. I imagined with 
Rock he must have employed a powerful motivator. 
"So, what is it you want done, Tycho?" 
"What I want is a painting of Phoenix in which a giant 
Fiddleback spider has spun its web from the tops of the 
citadels and City Center. I want it grasping for or nesting 
at Lorica Industries." 
"Interesting. What style do you want?" 
I thought for a second. "As close to photo-realistic as 
possible, I think. It will be a surreal fantasy piece by any 
definition, but I don't want it that widely open to interpretation. 
The original should be on display, but listed as not 
for sale. Noting lithographs will be made might not be a 
bad idea." 
Alejandro nodded his head. "Bait. You want me to 
keep track of whoever asks about it, right?" 
"Dead on target." I stood. "I'll pay $5000 for the piece 
to be done. Who can you get?" 
"You'll want it fast, I assume." I nodded, and he smiled. 
"Estefan Ramierez works in that style and fast. He could 
use the money." 
I remembered seeing paint on his clothes. "Good, that 
will be pay back for what he did for me. How long?" 
"Possibly as soon as two days from now. He works 
quickly." 
"Great." 
Alejandro stood and offered me his hand. "Very good 
doing business with you, sir." 
"And you, sir." 
"Any thought to a title?" 
I nodded. "Have the spider about to chomp down on 
Lorica and we'll call it 'Devouring Its Mate.' If that doesn't 
shake something lose, nothing will." 
Leaving the Higuera Gallery, I decided to get something 
to eat without leaving the Mercado. Rather loud and 
boisterous crowds filled the two Mexican eateries, so I 


settled on a Chinese restaurant called Sesame Inn. Why 
it had located a branch in the Mercado I was uncertain, 
but I found it a familiar and serene sanctuary in the land 
of plastic Aztec jaguars and gringo-ized Mexico. 
I ordered a Tsingtao, still amazed at how China 
managed to export foodstuffs while failing to feed its 
masses, and settled back into the booth I had been given. 
The interior decor had a lot of intricate woodwork and 
scenes delicately drawn on rice paper graced the walls. 
Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I had been 
here, or in a similar place before, but my amnesia 
frustrated my attempts to mix my present with my past. 
Getting the Fiddleback solution underway made me 
feel pretty good. Given that Alejandro's clientele included 
some of the richer folks in Phoenix, word of the 
painting would get around quickly. If we tracked and 
could sweat anyone who showed an interest in the 
picture, we might be able to figure out who or what 
Fiddleback was. I felt certain the picture would draw 
someone out, and, as Alejandro suggested with his 
experience, Coyote would be more than capable of 
convincing them to cooperate. 
In enumerating the problems we faced for Hal, I had 
left one out. That was the problem of the traitor within 
Coyote's cell of aides. I would not have minded confiding 
in Hal, but the presence of the others in the room at the 
time made me hold my tongue. Anyone there could be 
"it" and, while I had a front-runner, I knew better than to 
make any assumptions. 
Hal Garrett, however, I considered worthy of trust. 
Coyote had told me that the traitor would do his best to 
kill me. While any of the people I met would be physically 
capable of pulling a trigger and ending my life, I did not 
think Hal would do that. Twice he had counseled against 
violence and his whole drive with the Blood Crips and 
other gangs was to stop them from retaliating for actions 
the Aryans might take. Because he balked at having me 
end the WAWA problem by application of a lead injection 
to Heinrich, I put him down as someone dedicated 
to breaking the cycle of violence. 
My prime candidate for traitor, of course, was Rock 
Pell. I found him a callous and shallow individual who was 
too chummy with the Warriors of the Aryan World 
Alliance. He clearly felt a loyalty to himself first and 
foremost. His selling out to a higher bidder, whoever that 
might be, was not hard to imagine. Still, since Coyote did 
not direct me to him, I knew there had to be other 
candidatesperhaps even more than one. 
Bat, obviously, was capable of violence, and I had to 
be certain not to let his apparent respect for my skills lull 
me into believing he could not betray me. Marit, too, was 
a candidate, though she had certainly had ample opportunity 
to kill me when I was defenseless. Alejandro had 
direct daily contact with just the sort of people who had 
brought me into Phoenix in the first place, which meant 
he could be hired to deal with whatever sort of embarrassment 
I might present. Natch struck me as being a low 


probability, but a child of the streets learns that unpleasant 
things may have to be done to survive. Slitting my 
throat could be just one such thing. Moreover, if she and 
Bat were in league, they would be a very difficult pair to 
deal with. 
Jytte, in many ways, presented the greatest and the 
least threat. Because she functioned as the communications 
center for the cell, she certainly had more information 
than anyone else. I did not imagine she passed 
everything on and that she, if anyone, had the keys to 
figuring out who the traitor was. Extracting that information 
would be difficult and, if she was the traitor, I would 
get directed at another, totally innocent member of the 
group. 
Coyote, on the other hand, had given her an implicit 
vote of confidence when he routed my communications 
through her. She was strange enough, with her Barbiedoll 
looks and computer skills, to be able to monitor our 
conversations. Had Coyote suspected her, he would 
have contacted me outside her sphere of influence, or 
had me work with another cell to uncover the traitor in 
this cell. 
Still, this did not give me the freedom to tell her what 
was up. While her skills in navigating through computers 
could probably have uncovered everything I needed to 
know, I couldn't count on Jytte to keep secrets from 
whoever the traitor might be. If, for example, Marit were 
the mole and Jytte felt a debt to her because of their 
friendship, the traitor could be tipped to my inquiries and 
either act to end them, or skip the city altogether. 
I was alone in this. Coyote knew it and, I think, wanted 
it that way. I got the feeling he wanted me to find the 
traitor, but he also wanted something else. Until I could 
puzzle out what that was, however, I could only continue 
my investigations and hope that the luck that had kept 
me alive so far would continue to hold. 
The waiter came and I ordered both hot and sour spicy 
soup and tangerine beef. I took a pull on the beer and 
savored its sharp bite. It struck me that the only way I 
would uncover the traitor was to begin to parcel out 
information on a limited basis. When my enemies started 
acting on this specialized information, I would know who 
had gone over to the other side. 
The food arrived quickly, and I forced myself to eat 
slowly. The soup was spicy enough to make my nose 
run, with not too much vinegar. It was so good, of course, 
that I sniffled my way right through it and on into the 
tangerine beef. That was another hot dish that masked 
its heat with a sweet, yet tart, sauce. I liked it so much that 
I knew, had I ever tasted it before, I would have recalled 
it and broken my amnesia block. I ate my way around the 
slivers of dried red pepper and ended up far more stuffed 
than I had intended. 
Cheer up, I told myself, if Sedona is as bad as Hal 
thinks, this might be the last good meal you manage to 
have. 

probability, but a child of the streets learns that unpleasant 
things may have to be done to survive. Slitting my 
throat could be just one such thing. Moreover, if she and 
Bat were in league, they would be a very difficult pair to 
deal with. 
Jytte, in many ways, presented the greatest and the 
least threat. Because she functioned as the communications 
center for the cell, she certainly had more information 
than anyone else. I did not imagine she passed 
everything on and that she, if anyone, had the keys to 
figuring out who the traitor was. Extracting that information 
would be difficult and, if she was the traitor, I would 
get directed at another, totally innocent member of the 
group. 
Coyote, on the other hand, had given her an implicit 
vote of confidence when he routed my communications 
through her. She was strange enough, with her Barbiedoll 
looks and computer skills, to be able to monitor our 
conversations. Had Coyote suspected her, he would 
have contacted me outside her sphere of influence, or 
had me work with another cell to uncover the traitor in 
this cell. 
Still, this did not give me the freedom to tell her what 
was up. While her skills in navigating through computers 
could probably have uncovered everything I needed to 
know, I couldn't count on Jytte to keep secrets from 
whoever the traitor might be. If, for example, Marit were 
the mole and Jytte felt a debt to her because of their 
friendship, the traitor could be tipped to my inquiries and 
either act to end them, or skip the city altogether. 
I was alone in this. Coyote knew it and, I think, wanted 
it that way. I got the feeling he wanted me to find the 
traitor, but he also wanted something else. Until I could 
puzzle out what that was, however, I could only continue 
my investigations and hope that the luck that had kept 
me alive so far would continue to hold. 
The waiter came and I ordered both hot and sour spicy 
soup and tangerine beef. I took a pull on the beer and 
savored its sharp bite. It struck me that the only way I 
would uncover the traitor was to begin to parcel out 
information on a limited basis. When my enemies started 
acting on this specialized information, I would know who 
had gone over to the other side. 
The food arrived quickly, and I forced myself to eat 
slowly. The soup was spicy enough to make my nose 
run, with not too much vinegar. It was so good, of course, 
that I sniffled my way right through it and on into the 
tangerine beef. That was another hot dish that masked 
its heat with a sweet, yet tart, sauce. I liked it so much that 
I knew, had I ever tasted it before, I would have recalled 
it and broken my amnesia block. I ate my way around the 
slivers of dried red pepper and ended up far more stuffed 
than I had intended. 
Cheer up, I told myself, if Sedona is as bad as Hal 
thinks, this might be the last good meal you manage to 
have. 


Threading my way through the winding, cobblestone 
streets, I found an interactive City Center directory. 
Working my way through a series of touch sensitive 
screens, I located the listing for Danny's Place. I had to 
go up one level and then halfway across the center to get 
there. I had plenty of time before I had to meet Marit, so 
I decided to walk instead of descending to take one of the 
trains. 
Walking through City Center, virtually all of which was 
new to me, I got a chance to really see the world in which 
people like Nerys Loring and Marit lived. White marbled 
walkways shined and bronze trim on the buildings bore 
no trace of fingerprints. All smudges had been painstakingly 
scrubbed from windows and clean, cool water 
bubbled up in a number of fountains. The plants all 
proved to be lush and green, making City Center more 
a rain forest than an oasis in the midst of a desert. 
As I strolled along I saw one maintenance crew 
struggling to lever a barrel cactus, pot and all, onto a 
trailer hitched to an electric utility cart. Each of the three 
men looked sharp in his starched and pressed uniform. 
Sweat appeared in circles beneath their armpits and in a 
dark stripe along their spines, but that hardly seemed 
unnatural given how hard they were working. Lifting in 
unison they managed to heft the plant onto the trailer, 
then one of them picked up a broom to sweep away the 
dirt that had spilled from the pot. 
All around them people passed as if the men did not 
exist. Each of the men, in turn, had a broad smile pasted 
on his face. Even with sweat pouring down from their 
scalp and into their eyes, they maintained their idiot-
grins of pleasure. I wondered for a moment if they were 
doped up, but the sharp quick look in their dark eyes told 
me this was not the case. 
Hispanics all, they wore the smiles like masks. Here 
they were, blessed beyond all possibility, working in City 
Center. Probably born in the dark slums of Eclipse, 
somehow they had broken into the light. They were 
determined not to sink back into Eclipse. While they 
might still live there, and they would never progress 
beyond their station, their children or grandchildren 
might profit from this toehold in City Center. 
Looking around I saw other invisible people working 
throughout City Center. Uniformed women washed windows. 
Young men with brooms and scoopers patrolled 
the mall, snatching up any litter thoughtlessly deposited 
by the denizens of this place. They bowed and sidestepped, 
smiling in the face of unkind comments and 
jumping to show their superiors courtesies that were 
never returned. 
Social Darwinists, I knew, would point out that the best 
and most able to survive of current society were due 
everything that generation upon generation were able to 
give them. They would also note that these industrious 
members of the under-class were, as one would expect, 
rising up to fill a niche that the superior society left open. 
In this way they would slowly but surely evolve into the 


upper class themselves. 
In theory, I could see, this was true. Alejandro Higuera 
had his own gallery, yet I suspected his parents or 
grandparents had come to Phoenix from below the 
border. Estefan Ramierez would employ his talent for art 
to make a bid at joining the well-to-do, but the gulf 
between him and Nerys Loring was more than money 
alone could bridge. Racial, social and economic barriers 
would all hamper him and frustrate him. Were Estefan to 
make it in this society, it would be as a curiosity, not a 
man accepted on equal terms. A pet. 
The word "pet" echoed around inside my skull as I 
rode the escalator up toward Danny's Place. "Pet" was 
what that thing in the dream called me. I wondered if I 
had a keeper, a patron, that kept me much as I would 
expect some rich art maven might keep Estefan. Could 
that person be Fiddleback? That would explain the 
arachnoid form in the dream. 

upper class themselves. 
In theory, I could see, this was true. Alejandro Higuera 
had his own gallery, yet I suspected his parents or 
grandparents had come to Phoenix from below the 
border. Estefan Ramierez would employ his talent for art 
to make a bid at joining the well-to-do, but the gulf 
between him and Nerys Loring was more than money 
alone could bridge. Racial, social and economic barriers 
would all hamper him and frustrate him. Were Estefan to 
make it in this society, it would be as a curiosity, not a 
man accepted on equal terms. A pet. 
The word "pet" echoed around inside my skull as I 
rode the escalator up toward Danny's Place. "Pet" was 
what that thing in the dream called me. I wondered if I 
had a keeper, a patron, that kept me much as I would 
expect some rich art maven might keep Estefan. Could 
that person be Fiddleback? That would explain the 
arachnoid form in the dream. 


bar. With a sinking feeling of dread in my stomach, I 
walked into the place and let my eyes adjust to the harsh 
glow of blacklight posters on the walls. Back in the corner 
a wide-screen projection TV showed an episode of some 
old sitcom about four young men in a band and The 
Beatles' "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" blared out over the 
speakers in the ceiling. 
I saw Marit wave at me, and I threaded my way through 
the bar. In doing so I noticed two things that struck me as 
very odd. All of the waitresses were tall and slender, 
wearing long wigs with straight brown hair. Each wore a 
baggy-sleeved shirt, a polyester vest and bell-bottom 
slacks to match, though getting that much peach fabric 
had to have been a special order. Each wore a button that 
said, "Hello, have a Partridge Day." 
Odder than that were the bartenders. I think they were 
all male, but I could only be sure of the two that had full 
beards. All of them were similarly attired in hot pants, 
knee-length boots with two-inch heels, a flowery blouse 
and a long, blond wig. While all of them wore their shirts 
open enough to see the hair on their chests, they all also 
wore a bra that was sufficiently stuffed to make them a 
very strange sight indeed. After an evening's worth of 
drinks I imagined it might be possible to mistake one of 
them for a woman and try to pick her up, but it would 
make for quite a surprise later when the truth was 
discovered. 
" '60s-retro with transvestite bartenders." I gave Marit 
a kiss. "You do know some interesting places." 
Marit, wearing a jeans jumper that probably had been 
new when people still thought Spiro Agnew was a cattle 
disease, kissed me back with enough passion to impress 
the other two people at our table. "The bartenders aren't 
really cross-dressers, but the owner, Danny, likes them 
dressing that way. They say they get good tips." 
"Not my choice of careers." I offered my hand to the 
man seated across from me. "Tycho Caine." 
"Watson Dodd, Build-more Operations." Slender to 
the point of looking malnourished, Dodd wore a denim 
vest that emphasized his lack of shoulders and accentuated 
his pencil neck. His John Lennon glasses, while 
appropriate for the setting, kept slipping down his hawk-
beak nose. His Adam's apple bobbed like a harpoon 
barrel attached to a sounding whale and the flour-sack 
shirt he wore hung off him as if he were shedding his skin. 
He shook hands as if he thought I had the plague and 
was still contagious. 
Dodd put his arm around the woman with him. "This 
is my little baby factory, Dottie." 
Dottie shook hands more firmly than had her husband. 
The Mama Cass Levi's tent on her did not hide the 
fact that she was pregnant. Her face looked puffy and 
judging by both her expression and size, I guessed she 
was about a month shy of expanding the upper class. 
"Pleased to meet you," she said, and meant it. 
Dottie smiled at me. "Marit says you're going to 
Sedona tomorrow. Watson and I met there." 


"I hear Sedona is quite beautiful." 
"Spiritually enriching, really," offered Watson. He 
adjusted his glasses and did his best to look wise. "We 
studied under Chief Probitananda White Feather while he 
channeled Kesh-Hur, the 23rd Wizard-Emperor of 
Lemuria. In the Church of Searing Illumination we walked 
on fire and, had I not opted for this job, we would have 
learned to walk on water." 
I managed to restrain my laughter. "Walk on water? 
Quite a trick, that." 
Watson remained serious. "No trick, Ty, but real. With 
the fire walk we learned we could overcome any obstacle. 
We could use the power of our minds to insulate 
ourselves so that we would not burn when walking across 
a bed of glowing red coals. This is in our bare feet, mind 
you, and on coals that spouted little bits of flame now and 
again." 
"But I thought I saw on the television, Wat, a show 
where the Phoenix Skeptics said that was all nonsense..." 
His nostrils flared, stopping his glasses from a suicidal 
leap to the table. "Idiots. They ridicule what they don't 
understand. There are things that cannot be quantified 
by science. The mind is the key to unlocking all possibilities. 
With another year of studies, we would have been 
able to walk across an ocean." 
"Quite a useful skill here in the desert," Marit offered 
archly. 
"I wanted to learn how to fly, but Watson is afraid of 
heights." Dottie smiled at her husband. When he glowered 
at her, she stroked her swollen belly with her left 
hand, letting the bar's light glint from her wedding ring. 
Immediately the anger left his face, and he was himself 
again. 
A waitress appeared and took drink orders. Marit 
opted for Ripple with a twist and Dottie requested a Virgin 
Daiquiri. Watson, no doubt looking to win back some 
macho points, ordered bourbon straight up, adding, 
"double, rocks," as the waitress looked at me. 
"I'll have a Virgin Daiquiri as well." I gave Dottie a wink, 
then gave Marit's knee a squeeze under the table. 
Something about Watson made it constitutionally 
impossible for him to carry off a look of smug superiority. 
A new song started and Marit grabbed my hand. 
"Come on, Mr. Caine, dance with me." When I raised an 
eyebrow she leaned over and whispered in my ear, 
"There are those who think dancing is the same as 
having sex standing up. Care to test that theory?" 
I nodded, and we joined a vast throng crowding the 
dance floor. Bodies mingled and jostled us until we 
reached a fairly stable area near the center. The song 
itself had a basic beat which made it easy to dance to, 
though if I ever hear the lyric, "I think I love you," again, 
it will be far too soon. Surprisingly I slipped into the 
repetitive and rhythmic motions of the retro-dance without 
much trouble. 
Marit, though clad in a '60s dress and moving to '60s 


music, was not old-fashioned at all. She abandoned 
herself to the music and flowed through a series of very 
sensuous and fluid steps. With her hair hiding then 
revealing her face like veils, she kept her azure eyes on 
mine and a devilish grin on her lips. There, in the middle 
of the floor, she danced for me and were my mind on 
anything even remotely approximating science, I would 
have deemed her theory relating dancing and sex proven 
beyond a shadow of a doubt. 
The thing about proving theories is, of course, that the 
experiment must be repeatable. As that first song faded 
into "I Woke Op In Love This Morning," she danced close 
and kissed me, then ran her hands down my chest and 
drew away. Behind her, barely registering on my consciousness, 
I saw Watson and Dottie cutting through the 
crowd to join us. I looked back toward our table and saw 
the waitress distributing our drinks. I also saw someone 
standing beside her, someone I thought I knew. 
It took me a few seconds to place that pasty white face, 
and then I realized why I didn't recognize him immediately. 
Except for the blue, star-shaped scar on his cheek, 
he looked just like a twin of the Reaper I'd shot in the face 
my first night in Eclipse. As I watched him unseen, his 
gloved hands came up, and he made a motion over the 
table, but I couldn't actually see what he had done. I did 
notice, however, his left hand seemed smaller than his 
right. 
Without thinking, I started wading through the crowd 
to get at him. He looked up and saw me, then turned and 
began calmly walking away. He glanced back over his 
shoulder at me and, when he saw I was about to clear the 
edge of the dance floor, he bolted and ran out the door. 
I knew, instantly, I would never catch him. I made it as 
quickly as I could to our table, then dropped to one knee. 
On the ground I found half of a gelatin capsule that had 
a residue of white powder in it. I put that in my pocket. 
Straightening up, I saw a thin dusting of powder on the 
table in an arc that connected my drink to Dottie's. 
As Marit came up, I purposely bumped the table with 
my stomach and tipped it over as I leaned on it to steady 
myself. The drinks crashed to the floor, and I managed 
a blush that made me feel hot enough to combust. 
Marit leaned over and rubbed my back with one hand. 
"Are you okay?" 
I nodded slowly and righted the table. Laurie, our 
waitress, gave me a concerned look. I held up a hand. 
"Sorry, just dizzy. I get that way, some times, when I 
dance. Low blood sugar." I pulled a $50 note from my 
pocket. "Here, get us another round, and keep the 
change for the inconvenience." 
Marit tucked a wisp of hair behind her left ear as the girl 
went off to get a cleaning rag. "Something wrong?" 

music, was not old-fashioned at all. She abandoned 
herself to the music and flowed through a series of very 
sensuous and fluid steps. With her hair hiding then 
revealing her face like veils, she kept her azure eyes on 
mine and a devilish grin on her lips. There, in the middle 
of the floor, she danced for me and were my mind on 
anything even remotely approximating science, I would 
have deemed her theory relating dancing and sex proven 
beyond a shadow of a doubt. 
The thing about proving theories is, of course, that the 
experiment must be repeatable. As that first song faded 
into "I Woke Op In Love This Morning," she danced close 
and kissed me, then ran her hands down my chest and 
drew away. Behind her, barely registering on my consciousness, 
I saw Watson and Dottie cutting through the 
crowd to join us. I looked back toward our table and saw 
the waitress distributing our drinks. I also saw someone 
standing beside her, someone I thought I knew. 
It took me a few seconds to place that pasty white face, 
and then I realized why I didn't recognize him immediately. 
Except for the blue, star-shaped scar on his cheek, 
he looked just like a twin of the Reaper I'd shot in the face 
my first night in Eclipse. As I watched him unseen, his 
gloved hands came up, and he made a motion over the 
table, but I couldn't actually see what he had done. I did 
notice, however, his left hand seemed smaller than his 
right. 
Without thinking, I started wading through the crowd 
to get at him. He looked up and saw me, then turned and 
began calmly walking away. He glanced back over his 
shoulder at me and, when he saw I was about to clear the 
edge of the dance floor, he bolted and ran out the door. 
I knew, instantly, I would never catch him. I made it as 
quickly as I could to our table, then dropped to one knee. 
On the ground I found half of a gelatin capsule that had 
a residue of white powder in it. I put that in my pocket. 
Straightening up, I saw a thin dusting of powder on the 
table in an arc that connected my drink to Dottie's. 
As Marit came up, I purposely bumped the table with 
my stomach and tipped it over as I leaned on it to steady 
myself. The drinks crashed to the floor, and I managed 
a blush that made me feel hot enough to combust. 
Marit leaned over and rubbed my back with one hand. 
"Are you okay?" 
I nodded slowly and righted the table. Laurie, our 
waitress, gave me a concerned look. I held up a hand. 
"Sorry, just dizzy. I get that way, some times, when I 
dance. Low blood sugar." I pulled a $50 note from my 
pocket. "Here, get us another round, and keep the 
change for the inconvenience." 
Marit tucked a wisp of hair behind her left ear as the girl 
went off to get a cleaning rag. "Something wrong?" 

"Just thought I saw an old friend." 
"You remembered someone?" 
"Yeah, I did." I shrugged, "What I remembered is that 



he's dead, and has every reason to want me that way, 
too." 

he's dead, and has every reason to want me that way, 
too." 
When I fully explained what had happened, Marit 
became more shaken up than I was. She managed to 
cover her discomfort as Watson and Dottie returned to 
our table, but she quickly made an excuse for us and got 
us out of there. Without speaking we went to the elevators 
and headed home. 
When the doors closed, she hugged me, and I could 
feel her trembling. "Easy, Marit, it is not that bad. Nothing 
happenedno one was hurt." 
Hiding her face in a curtain of black hair, she sniffed 
and wiped a tear from her right eye. "I know, Tycho, but 
all of a sudden it hit me that I might lose you. I'd not 
expected that sharp a reaction." She looked up and 
stroked my cheek with her tear-damp finger. "You're in 
my blood, Tycho Caine." 
I kissed her hand. "And you are in mine." The elevator 
slowed, and the doors to the tranversor opened. "Early 
to bed and early to rise, and we'll be in Sedona before the 
assassins even open their eyes." 
Despite Hal's reservations about Sedona and the 
attempt on our lives, I slept well. I had half-expected 
another monster dream but, to my surprise, I did not 
dream at all. I awakened quickly and felt excited about 
the trip. After a shower and a quick breakfast, I joined 
Marit in the tranversor, and we headed down to pick up 
her Range Rover. 
Marit was dressed in knee-high boots, khaki jodhpurs 
and a khaki safari shirt with four shotgun shells in the little 
loops at her left shoulder. She carried a gun-case that 
contained a pump-action Mossberg with a pistol-grip 
and a shortened barrel. On her hip rode a Colt Python 
.357 Magnum and enough spare shells to win a small 
war. Dark glasses and a black baseball cap completed 
her outfit. 
I had to rely on my boots, jeans and one of the dress 
shirts Roger had provided me. As always, I wore my vest 
beneath the shirt, my shoulder holster over it and the 
windbreaker over that, concealing the pistol. I carried 
two full spare clips and stuck a box of bullets in Marit's 
gun case. While I didn't think we would have much cause 
to shoot anything, being safe beats being sorry by a long 
shot. 
The bright red Range Rover, which still dripped water 
from the washing it had been given, had been gassed up 
and stocked with a cooler. Anna had filled the cooler with 
soft-drinks, some sandwiches and a bag of grapes. I set 
Marit's gun case on the back seat, then climbed into the 
navigator's seat. Marit slid in behind the wheel, and we 
set off to Sedona. 
Even leaving as early as we were, I expected some sort 
of a commuter rush of traffic. I mentioned this to Marit, 


but she just shook her head. "You must remember, 
dearest, that people working in City Center generally live 
here, or commute in from Eclipse through the elevators. 
Those who work in the corporate citadels likewise live 
there, or commute via the maglevs. In fact, the only time 
there is any sort of traffic rush around here is when, 
generally in August, Phoenecians invade San Diego to 
escape the worst of the monsoon season." 
"Monsoons? In a desert?" 
"Monsoons. They generally start a week from now, 
with the beginning of July. Lightning storms like you've 
never seen." She smiled to herself. "It's funny, but the 
only time they crack Frozen Shade is to clean up after the 
storms, and there are enough clouds left that the folks 
still can't see the stars." 
As she spoke, Marit guided us through a labyrinth of 
narrow streets running between legions and legions of 
parked vehicles. Most of them were covered in shrouds, 
and those that weren't looked as if they had been 
dustedif not waxed and polishedalready that morning. 
Aside from the utter jumble of manufacturers represented, 
it would have been easy to imagine we were in the 
hold of a cargo ship bringing in imports. 
Finally Marit started us gliding down an on-ramp that 
brought us onto I-10 heading west. We joined the interstate 
just beyond the tunnel through which it passed 
beneath City Center and almost immediately hit the 
intersection with I-17. As we made the transition to the 
northbound road, I craned my neck to see if I could spot 
the Boxton cemetery where Buc had died, but I could not. 
We rolled along beneath the Frozen Shade and traffic 
was light enough that Marit used her high beams most of 
the time. "We want to be able to see freesprints in time 
to avoid them. Poor bastards." 
"What do you mean?" 
"The system will take care of folks. If you can't do 
anything, you can sell your vote proxy to the corps or 
pols and they'll take care of you. That's good enough for 
most folks: three meals a day, enough beer to stupefy 
you, and all the television you can watch to finish the job. 
That's a hell of a lot for folks who can't hold a job." 
I frowned. "I don't think the lot of a ballotman is very 
good." 
"True, but it sets a base level one cannot sink beneath. 
It does not prohibit you from doing anything to improve 
your lot, though many folks who opt for that way of living 
have really surrendered. They just sort of die inside and 
wait for their bodies to catch up." 
"So what is this about freesprints? 
"They are freeway runners. They get frustrated and 
decide to kill themselves, yet they realize they have a 
responsibility to their families. Because of that, they run 
onto the highway and force you to run over them. When 
a car is traveling 100 mph, the way we are now, they do 
considerable damage to the vehicle and could easily kill 
us." 
I suddenly saw what she was working toward. "They 


think their family will get an insurance settlement from 
your insurance company." 
"The tale of a big payoff is an urban legend. The 
insurance companies, using the proxy votes from 
ballotmen, have gotten a law passed that states anyone 
engaging in freesprinting is, in fact, guilty of assault with 
intent to kill. The law not only absolves the insurance 
company from any responsibility for paying off in 
freesprint cases, but it makes the victim or his estate 
responsible for reparations for the damage he does to the 
car." She shook her head. "I've seen families ruined by 
that sort of thing, and I don't want to be any part of it." 
Interstate 17 took us north out of Phoenix. We left 
Eclipse just beyond Del Webb's Near-Dead Citythe 
remnant of what was once a thriving retirement community. 
Outside, where the temperature was already hitting 
110F, I saw desert that, for the most part, consisted of 
cracked tan earth and scrubby, leafless brush that 
sprouted cat-claw thorns. A bit further north the road 
started the long climb up the Mogollon rim toward 
Flagstaff. It took us through pleasantly named places like 
Big Bug Creek and Bloody Basin and terrain that looked 
like broken red pottery. 
As I looked at the land I knew it was totally alien to me. 
Rocks, rocks and more rocks abounded, somehow 
balancing on the side of steep hills that had long since 
had all their topsoil eroded away. Cactii somehow took 
root in the hard-baked earth, and I had no doubt that 
scorpions and rattlesnakes lurked in every niche and 
shadow I saw. 
As the vehicle made the long climb up out of the 
valley, the landscape began to change a bit. It went from 
desert to arid prairie, yet looked no more hospitable. The 
few trees I saw were stunted and dried out. The tan 
grasses looked the appropriate color for them to be ripe 
for harvesting, yet they lay in the fields in patchy clumps 
that rose no further than knee-height. 
I looked for the cattle I would have expected to see 
grazing, but I saw no living creatures in those fields. 
I didn't even see any road kill. 
I looked over at Marit, but she seemed oblivious to 
what I saw as abnormalities. That concerned me for a 
second, then I recalled that my grasp on reality was not 
all it could have been. I took my cue from her and tried 
to relax. 
"Marit, how did you get involved with Coyote? You 
explained a bit of it the other night, but not the whole tale." 
She glanced over at me and looked as if she had not 
heard the question, but before I could repeat it, her face 
closed up a bit. "I had hoped this would not come up, but 
you have a right to know. Rock brought me into the 
group." 
She searched my face for judgment, but found none. 
"I had known Rock for a long time and, well, ran into him 
during a time when I was very vulnerable. We started 
seeing each other, socially, then a problem came up that 
he thought I could help Coyote solve. He set up a meeting 


and that was that." 
I smiled grimly. "That answers a number of questions 
for me. How long ago did you and Rock stop being 
lovers?" 
She looked straight ahead at the road. "A year and a 
half ago. Rock has been jealous ever since, but our 
worlds seldom intersect, so there is nothing he can do 
about it." Marit smiled weakly. "I hope you're not mad. 
Talking about one's past lovers is not a good idea, but 
Rock acts like an ass fairly often, so I feel better getting 
this off my chest. You aren't mad, are you?" 
"I don't own you. I did not know you a week ago. How 
can I be angry about a situation where I did not exist?" I 
patted her right thigh reassuringly. "If he bothers you, on 
the other hand, and you are disinclined to deal with it 
yourself, my services are at your disposal." 
"Ah, gallantry is not dead." She hit the blinker switch 
and turned off onto Arizona Route 179 to Sedona. 
"Sedona and the red rock country is very special. It's 
been two years since I've been there, but it was gorgeous 
back then. I hope it hasn't changed much." 
Not having been there before, I could not gauge the 
amount of change, but I agreed that it was very beautiful. 
The red rock format ions rise up from the canyon floor like 
mountains that have been transplanted from Mars. 
Aspens and other verdant vegetation thrived along the 
Oak Creek and contrasted beautifully with the rich 
bloodstone color of the land itself. Even if all the supposed 
power vortices did not exist, Sedona would attract 
a lot of visitors just because of its beauty. 
Unfortunately the power nexus points did attract a 
large segment of the population. We rolled on into the 
town of Sedona and parked in front of the Guest Center. 
It looked like a perfectly normal geodesic dome except 
for the UFO mooring mast rising like a spike from it. The 
sign beside the door had a greeting written in French, 
English, German, Japanese, Korean, Chinese and Spanish. 
It also had three sets of bizarre symbols, most of them 
based on geometry, that I chose to assume were "Welcome" 
in extraterrestrial languages. 
Marit debated it for a second, but decided to leave the 
shotgun in the Rover. We entered the building and were 
immediately assaulted by thick, cloying mesquite incense 
clouds. The Muzak being played in the background 
remained frustratingly elusive, fading in and out 
without any rhyme or reason as nearly as I could tell. The 
posters on the wall mixed retro-'60s stuff with chamber 
of commerce shots of the surrounding landscape and 
had UFOs caught in the act of hovering or air-brushed in 
after the fact. 
The man behind the counter smiled at us and looked 
normal until I noticed the tinfoil lining his "See Sedona, 
I Did" baseball cap. "Greetings. Didn't I know you during 
our lives in the Court of Elizabeth the Virgin Queen?" 
I returned his smile. "I don't know, friend. We were 
wondering, for my father, if you could give us some 
information about retirement communities in the area. 


He's in his 70s and will be retiring. We want to move him 
up here and get him out of Phoenix." 
"The City in the Lake." The man scratched at his hat, 
and I saw his name tag read "Ramses." 
"Is that a retirement community?" 
"No, that's what we call Phoenix up here." Ramses 
bent down and clacked away on his computer keyboard. 
He glanced up at the old television he was using as a 
monitor, hit it once on the side, then squinted at the 
screen. "Does your father have any group affiliations?" 
I shook my head. "Group affiliations?" 
"Masons? Illuminati? Chief Probitananda White 
Feather's Church of Searing Illumination?" 
"No, I'm afraid not." 
Ramses hissed as he took a breath and typed on the 
keyboard again. He hit the return key, then looked up at 
me. "The search will take a moment, but I would not hold 
out much hope." 
"Why not?" 
The man smiled a sympathetically as he could. "Most 
of our group homes up here are run by the various 
foundations, churches, associations, networks and stellar 
unions who come to Sedona for the power here. 
Without an affiliation, I don't think we'll find anything." 
The computer beeped at him and he stared, surprised, at 
the screen. "By the Goddess!" 
His reaction caught both of our attentions. "Yes?" 
"This is strangeMarie must have entered this one 
last week." Ramses gave me a broad grin. "You are in 
luck Mr....don't tell me, I am a psychic..." 
"Caine," I said. 
"Lane, of course. Well, Mr. Lane, it appears the 
Fiddleback Farm may be just what you want." 
"Excuse me, the name is Caine. Now what did you call 
that place?" 
"Fiddleback Farm. It is a retirement home for executives 
that opened up about two months ago, but has just 
gotten into contact with us. Says here, 'We welcome 
pets.' You drive out of town on Von Falkenberg Road 
about four miles, and you should see it." He circled a 
location on a placemat road map and handed it to me. 
I nodded. "Thank you, Ramses, you have helped me 
a great deal." 
"You are most welcome, sir. Any time you and Mrs. 
McLain want to come back and see us, well, we'll be 
happy to have you here." 
Marit and I beat a hasty retreat to the Rover. As she 
opened her door then popped the automatic locks, she 
shook her head. "You get the feeling this is too easy?" 
"Not if those clouds keep rolling in fast." 
"That's Arizona for you. If you don't like the weather, 
wait a minute, and it will change." 
On the horizon, but coming in fast, stampeding thunderheads 
slid across the sky. Yellow lightning flashed 
from one cloud to another. Below the clouds hung a dirty 
brown curtain that moved across the landscape, swallowing 
features of it whole. 


"What is that?" 
"Dust storm. This one will be nasty." 
I pulled out my Serengeti Vermillions and put them on. 
I knew the tinted lenses filtered light in a way that 
normally helped me see more detail in fog or dust storms, 
but not so this one. As far as my sight was concerned, it 
might as well have been a wall. 
"Do we go, or do we wait this out in town?" Marit turned 
the key in the ignition, and the engine kicked over. 
"You're behind the wheel. It's your call." 
She glanced at the local map, then smiled wolfishly. 
"We go for it." 
I snapped my seatbelt in place, and we took off down 
the main road winding its away through Sedona. On the 
other side of the town we saw the turn off to Von 
Falkenberg Road. Following the map we had been given, 
we turned off 197 and onto the dirt road that wound its 
way up through a small canyon. As we drove, a small 
dust cloud swelled up in our wake, obscuring our view of 
the town and the storm that tracked us. 
We came around a particularly sharp hairpin curve 
and darkness descended on us as if we were back in 
Eclipse. The wind bellowed like a wounded ox and sand 
hissed as it ripped across the Rover. Gravel and stones 
clunked and thumped against the car as the dust storm 
hammered us full on forward. Marit hit the headlights 
instantly, punching twin light cones through the brown 
haze, but a sharp crack killed the passenger-side light. 
A huge tumbleweed launched itself through the light 
and dashed itself to bits on the windshield. Marit yelped, 
then tugged at the wheel. "I've lost it! The road. It's gone!" 
For one, sickening, agonizing second, the Rover's 
travel became smooth, as if we were once again on 
Interstate 17 racing back toward Phoenix. Then gravity 
pulled the Rover back down to earth, and gave us the ride 
of our lives. 

"What is that?" 
"Dust storm. This one will be nasty." 
I pulled out my Serengeti Vermillions and put them on. 
I knew the tinted lenses filtered light in a way that 
normally helped me see more detail in fog or dust storms, 
but not so this one. As far as my sight was concerned, it 
might as well have been a wall. 
"Do we go, or do we wait this out in town?" Marit turned 
the key in the ignition, and the engine kicked over. 
"You're behind the wheel. It's your call." 
She glanced at the local map, then smiled wolfishly. 
"We go for it." 
I snapped my seatbelt in place, and we took off down 
the main road winding its away through Sedona. On the 
other side of the town we saw the turn off to Von 
Falkenberg Road. Following the map we had been given, 
we turned off 197 and onto the dirt road that wound its 
way up through a small canyon. As we drove, a small 
dust cloud swelled up in our wake, obscuring our view of 
the town and the storm that tracked us. 
We came around a particularly sharp hairpin curve 
and darkness descended on us as if we were back in 
Eclipse. The wind bellowed like a wounded ox and sand 
hissed as it ripped across the Rover. Gravel and stones 
clunked and thumped against the car as the dust storm 
hammered us full on forward. Marit hit the headlights 
instantly, punching twin light cones through the brown 
haze, but a sharp crack killed the passenger-side light. 
A huge tumbleweed launched itself through the light 
and dashed itself to bits on the windshield. Marit yelped, 
then tugged at the wheel. "I've lost it! The road. It's gone!" 
For one, sickening, agonizing second, the Rover's 
travel became smooth, as if we were once again on 
Interstate 17 racing back toward Phoenix. Then gravity 
pulled the Rover back down to earth, and gave us the ride 
of our lives. 
Awakening in a dented and broken Range Rover with 
a raging dust storm clawing at your eyes is not a pleasant 
experience. Realizing that obnoxious scent you smell is 
leaking gasoline makes it even less so. Half hanging from 
my seat belts, with the deflated airbag draped over my 
knees, I shook my head to clear it, but I only succeeded 
in making it hurt more. 
I raised my left hand to my forehead, and it came away 
bloody. I twisted the rearview mirror around and saw a 
nasty abrasion on my forehead over my left eye and that 
I was bleeding from it and my nose. The blood had 
actually flowed across my forehead toward the right 
because, with the car on its side, that direction lay toward 
the center of the earth. 
"Lucky to be alive." I hit the release button on my 
seatbelt, then crashed to the ground. Both my knees 
ached from where they had slammed into the dashboard 


during the crash, and my head started pounding. I shifted 
around and wormed my way out the narrowed slit that 
was where the windscreen had been before it blew out. 
I knew from the condition of the vehicle that we'd rolled 
down an arroyo, but until I got outside the Rover and got 
a chance to look at it, I had an optimistic view of the 
accident. 
Panels and pieces of the vehicle littered the landscape 
for as far as the dust storm let me see. The hood, some 
of which still remained in place, had been torn in half like 
a piece of tissue paper. The aft end of the Rover bent 
down where the frame had snapped. The passenger 
compartment had not completely collapsed, but only by 
the grace of God as the roof showed some deep dents 
and a couple of jagged puncture wounds. 
Standing there, with the storm winds battering my 
back, I dimly recalled someone else having been in the 
vehicle with me. "Marit! MARIT! I shouted in competition 
with the wind. No driver door! I started scrambling up the 
hillside we had tumbled down, calling her name and 
trying to find her amid the dust-milked tears in my eyes. 
As the howling dust storm died, I found her. She had 
been thrown clear of the wreck and, by some miracle, 
appeared largely uninjured. She lay on her left side, her 
face shrouded by her black hair. Kneeling beside her, I 
rolled her onto her back and brushed the hair from her 
face. Pressing my fingers to her throat I found a strong 
pulse and saw she was breathing normally. 
Her left forearm, however, had been seriously broken. 
Her hand lay flat against the ground while the top of her 
arm had twisted more toward the sky. The jagged end of 
a bone poked through her skin and blood formed a 
bracelet around her arm. It had to be painful, and would 
be even more so were I to attempt to set it. Shelter. She 
needs shelter, then I need to get help. 

during the crash, and my head started pounding. I shifted 
around and wormed my way out the narrowed slit that 
was where the windscreen had been before it blew out. 
I knew from the condition of the vehicle that we'd rolled 
down an arroyo, but until I got outside the Rover and got 
a chance to look at it, I had an optimistic view of the 
accident. 
Panels and pieces of the vehicle littered the landscape 
for as far as the dust storm let me see. The hood, some 
of which still remained in place, had been torn in half like 
a piece of tissue paper. The aft end of the Rover bent 
down where the frame had snapped. The passenger 
compartment had not completely collapsed, but only by 
the grace of God as the roof showed some deep dents 
and a couple of jagged puncture wounds. 
Standing there, with the storm winds battering my 
back, I dimly recalled someone else having been in the 
vehicle with me. "Marit! MARIT! I shouted in competition 
with the wind. No driver door! I started scrambling up the 
hillside we had tumbled down, calling her name and 
trying to find her amid the dust-milked tears in my eyes. 
As the howling dust storm died, I found her. She had 
been thrown clear of the wreck and, by some miracle, 
appeared largely uninjured. She lay on her left side, her 
face shrouded by her black hair. Kneeling beside her, I 
rolled her onto her back and brushed the hair from her 
face. Pressing my fingers to her throat I found a strong 
pulse and saw she was breathing normally. 
Her left forearm, however, had been seriously broken. 
Her hand lay flat against the ground while the top of her 
arm had twisted more toward the sky. The jagged end of 
a bone poked through her skin and blood formed a 
bracelet around her arm. It had to be painful, and would 
be even more so were I to attempt to set it. Shelter. She 
needs shelter, then I need to get help. 


started. 
The landscape remained dark and invisible until a 
dazzling lightning bolt drenched it in silver fire. In that 
second, with the sensation of blood being poured over 
me, I saw in the red rocks visual confirmation of what I 
felt. Wind-whipped rain scourged me as I used my body 
to shield Marit from the storm's violence. 
All around the ravine in which we crouched, lightning 
assaulted the ground with no mercy. Bolt after bolt fell in 
lockstep, their thunder becoming one nearly constant 
roar in my ears. The light froze sheets of rain in midflight, 
stopping them for a second, then freeing them to pummel 
me. 
Almost as quickly and savagely as the front hit us, it 
pushed on, leaving a light drizzle in its wake. For a 
moment or two I remained braced for a renewal of the 
onslaught; I knew the storm was tricking me. I knew the 
second I tried to stand, it would chop me back down to 
my knees. We had dared defy it, we had tried to outrun 
it, and it had taken us down, like a falcon trained for the 
hunt. 
As the thunder trailed off, and the ringing in my ears 
began to die, I stood and looked around me. I realized at 
the fastest rate possible for my befuddled thinking, that 
I could see things. The tallest rocks standing sentinel 
around the canyon glowed with a purplish fire. I reached 
out toward the nearest one and felt no heat from it. 
I pulled my hand back and discovered on each finger 
a cone of the purple fire. It traveled down my hand and 
to the elastic wristband of my windbreaker. It circled my 
arm with a nimbus of fire, yet the only thing I felt was a 
gentle, playful tickling sort of tingle. It was almost as if the 
storm, after having abused me, now wanted to make 
amends. 
A golden glow from behind me cast my shadow long 
over Marit. I turned and raised my hand to ward off the 
brightness. A shimmering gold ball with a coppery 
corona floated six feet from me at the height of my head. 
It slowly began to circle me, as if watching me and trying 
to decide exactly what this dripping creature could 
possibly be. 
Somewhere from the back of my brain came labels for 
all I was seeing. The purple fire on the rocks and my body 
was St. Elmo's fire. The sphere was ball lightning, and I 
knew the atmospheric conditions were perfect for both of 
them to exist. Intellectually, I understood these things to 
be naturalistic phenomena, but standing in that arroyo, 
the lone survivor of the thunderstorm's blitzkrieg, I felt 
fear in my heart. Whatever these things were, whatever 
explanations dispassionate scientists might have given 
them, I knew they were not natural at all. 
The gold ball completed its circuit, then shot straight 
up into the air to a height of 20 or so feet. As I watched 
it began a strange metamorphosis. The gold shifted to 
green as the sphere began to lengthen into an egg-
shape. It continued to grow beyond that, into a bluish rod 
that crackled as it hovered. In the midst of the shift from 


egg to rod, it shed a number of tiny green spheres that 
reminded me, in both size and color, of peas. 
These little balls, in numbers too great for me to count, 
spilled down toward the ground. Before I could move to 
stop them, they blanketed Marit, sealing her in a glowing 
green cocoon. As I reached my right hand out to scrape 
them away, the blue rod swooped in on me, hissing and 
sparking as it came. I leaped back and smelled the stink 
of melting plastic as it lanced through the edge of my 
windbreaker. 
It shot on past me and impaled the Rover's leaking gas 
tank. The blue light died amid a roiling ball of red-gold fire 
that sent the flaming wreckage cartwheeling across the 
canyon floor. It made a run halfway up the far side, then 
lazily tumbled back down to wallow in a pool of fire. 
The Shockwave hit me hard and knocked me down 
over Marit. My knees hammered into the ground, renewing 
the pain caused by their impact with the dashboard 
in the Rover. I managed to get my hand under me, so I 
didn't fall full on her, and I felt pressure as a rock 
punctured the palm of my left hand. As I pulled my hand 
back I saw the cut in it, but the stigmata gave me no pain. 
Focusing beyond my hand, I saw the green light had 
vanished. In the flickering light from the burning Rover, 
Marit's eyes opened, and she turned her head toward me. 
"Take it easy, Marit. We had an accident. You've been 
hurt. I'll get you help." 
She frowned and rolled up onto her right elbow. She 
reached out and grabbed my left wrist with her left hand. 
"Looks to me, love, like you're the one who is hurt." 
I stared down at her left arm. The compound fracture 
had been healed. The blood had been washed away. I 
looked more closely at her arm and couldn't even see a 
scar from where the wound had been. "Your arm. It was 
broken." 
Her left hand rose past my eyes and gently probed my 
forehead wound. "Are you sure? How do you feel?" 
Did I imagine that? "I'm not crazy, Marit. I know what 
I saw. Your arm was broken, then the gold ball became...." 
My voice trailed off as I realized how truly mad 
my story would sound. "We have to get out of here." 
"I agree." She scrambled to her feet and helped me up. 
A wave of dizziness passed over me, and I started to fall, 
but she held me up. 
"Thanks." 
"No problem. That knock on your head looks nasty." 
She guided me around to a rock and eased me down. 
"You sit here. I can go back into Sedona to get help." 
"No, I'll make it. I will!" I felt weak and confused. My 
clothes suddenly felt heavy and cold and I started to 
shiver. In the background I heard the rumble of thunder, 
but it slowly fadedas did my confidence in the reality 
of anything I had seen. 
My head jerked up as a bright lightning flash silhouetted 
two creatures on the edge of the canyon. Their 
outlines looked all spiky and cruel, like people sculpted 
from barbed wire. I had a sudden urge to draw my gun 


and empty the magazine into them, but I couldn't be 
certain they even existed, much less were as evil as 
something inside me was telling me they were. 
The question of their reality solved itself quickly 
enough as they started their horses down a narrow trail. 
In the firelight I saw they were clad in big, black slickers 
and wearing cowboy hats. As they came closer I heard 
the clop of hooves on the ground, the jingle of spurs and 
the creak of leather. They reached the canyon floor and 
skirted the fire, backlighting themselves against it as 
they approached. 
"Howdy, folks," the lead rider greeted us. "'fraid we 
don't have triple-A out in these parts." 
Marit, despite being rain-soaked and bedraggled, 
turned on the charm. "Storm took us by surprise." 
"That happens." The man spit to his left, causing me 
to recognize the bulge in his cheek as a chaw. "We were 
checking some head when the storm rolled in. We were 
heading back home when we saw the fire. We decided to 
check it out." 
The second rider came forward, and I realized she was 
a woman when she tipped her head back and presented 
me a soft profile. "We can take you back to the house, get 
you fixed up, then drive you into town in the truck." She 
laughed gently, but it sounded unspontaneous enough 
to put me on my guard. " 'Lessin you're of a mind to stay 
here while we ride back and call this in to the police." 
The man looked at her. "If the storm didn't take the 
phone lines down again." 
"True, this was a nasty one." She smiled at Marit. "I 
reckon I have some dry clothes that would fit you, if you 
won't mind cinching them up a might tight." 
The man cleared his foot from his stirrup and offered 
his left hand to Marit. She put her foot in the stirrup and 
swung up behind him. He looked at me and shrugged. 
"Gotta even the load for the horses." To her, over his 
shoulder, he said, "Now you hang on tight to me, darlin', 
so you don't go and fall off." 
The woman brought her horse forward and reached 
down to me. Because Marit had so willingly gotten on to 
the man's horse, I resisted my immediate urge to pull her 
from her horse and pump five or six rounds into her. I put 
my left foot into the free stirrup and was amazed at the 
strength with which she helped me up. 
She reached back and grabbed my left buttock. 
"Snuggle up close here. I don't want you to slip out of the 
saddle when we go up the hill. Just put your arms around 
my waist and hang on." She pulled me forward, then 
settled my arms around her more to her satisfaction and 
comfort than mine. "Don't be afraid," she whispered, "I 
won't break." 
We left the burning Rover behind quickly enough, and 
I actually did have to tighten my grip to remain in the 
saddle as we went up over the lip of the canyon. Up top 
I could see a dim, distant horizon line where the clouds 
were thin enough to let sunlight lay down a gold layer 
between the mountains and the sky. Over the vast, flat 


plain across which we rode, I could see lightning strike 
from time to time. In the backlight I made out the squat, 
angular shape that marked the house toward which we 
rode. 
As we got closer the house appeared to be old and 
well-weathered. "Looks like the power is out." 
The woman nodded at the man's comment. "Looks 
like we'll have to use candles, again." 
The man half-turned toward Marit. "Know anything 
about horses?" 
"I have ridden quite a bit, actually." 
"Good." He dismounted in front of the house, then 
turned and caught Marit around the waist. He lifted her 
clear of the saddle and set her down gently. His hands 
lingered on her waist a bit longer than I thought necessary, 
but neither Marit or the woman seemed to notice it. 
"You can help me put the horses up while your friend and 
my wife rustle up something to eat." 
"Don't mind working for a meal," Marit smiled. 
"Good." 
The woman eased me down from the saddle, then 
dismounted quickly, turned around and accidently 
bumped belly to belly with me. She steadied herself by 
grabbing my waist, then smiled. "Sorry, didn't think 
you'd still be standing there." As her husband took the 
reins to her horse, she grabbed my right hand and pulled 
me toward the porch steps. 
Marit, lost in a whispered and giggled conversation 
with the man, didn't notice. 
A wood-burned sign tacked to a porch pillar read "The 
Donners." 
The woman opened the door without benefit of keys. 
"Out here we don't have much cause to go locking doors. 
We might get a coyote in the yard from time to time, or 
some New Agers looking for a vortex, but they're never 
any trouble." 
Inside and out of the rain, she doffed the slicker and 
hat. She struck a match and set it to a candle on a table 
just inside the door. Once the scent of burning sulfur 
cleared my nostrils, I caught the musty smell of an old 
house with older furnishings. The air seemed a bit 
stagnant, as if the house had not been lived in for a while. 
This made me suspicious, but I put it down to the 
paranoia I'd been suffering since the Rover's explosion. 
It could have been that they had been away from the 
main house for a while, living in another building on their 
property while they tended their herd. Even more plausibly, 
the contrast of the clean smell of a rain-washed 
desert and this house accounted for my misgivings. 
The woman moved away from me like some fey 
creature. She touched the candle to a half-dozen others, 
literally blazing a trail toward the kitchen. In the candlelight 
I saw what my hands had confirmed during the ride. 
Though an average-sized woman, she had a very narrow 
waist and full hips. The damp jeans she wore looked 
more like a second skin than a garment, and this woman 
compared quite favorably to Marit in all ways. 


The candlelight burnished gold highlights into her 
long, blond hair. As she turned and caught me staring at 
her back, she smiled as if she welcomed the attention, 
then laughed throatily. "Let's see if we can find something 
in here to quench your hunger." 
As if in a trance I followed her into the kitchen. She 
drew a long bread knife from a block near the stove, then 
pointed with it toward a huge, rectangular spectral hulk 
in the corner of the room. Light from several small flames 
played along the blade's sharp edge. "In the icebox you'll 
find some meat. We can take slices off the rump roast for 
sandwiches." 
I looked away from her, albeit very reluctantly, and 
crossed to the refrigerator. I felt so confused that I didn't 
attach any significance to her having called it an icebox. 
Nor did the true meaning of a light going on when I 
opened the door hit me. I knew lights came on when 
refrigerator doors were opened. My brain was unable to 
connect the supposed lack of power to the house with 
this being a problem. It did not sound an alarm in my 
brain. 
Seeing an old man's head on the top shelf did. Lidless 
eyes stared at me, instantly transplanting the terror of his 
last moments to me. Below his head, on the different 
levels, various body parts had been stacked quite carefully. 
A charred hunk of meat sat in congealed juices on 
a plate, right next to two-thirds of a liver wrapped in 
plastic-wrap. 
Adrenaline jolted through me like lightning. I whirled, 
my right hand going for the Krait. As I moved out of the 
light, it washed full over the mad woman rushing at my 
back with her knife upraised. She slashed down through 
where I had stood, then snarled at me like some feral 
monster in human form. 
I snapped the Krait's safety lever down and stroked the 
trigger. The first bullet caught her in her flat belly and 
tossed her back against the kitchen counter. She rebounded 
from it, the knife flying from her fingers, and I 
shot her again. That bullet slammed into her left shoulder 
and spun her to the ground. 
I leaped over her, but as I did so, she clawed at and 
caught my ankle. I stumbled and went down, landing 
hard on my left arm. As I rolled onto my back, she rose 
up like a malevolent shadow in the refrigerator's light. 
Without conscious thought, I stabbed the gun at her and 
tightened my finger down on the trigger. 
The first shot sent her flying back into the fridge. The 
old man's head bounced up and over her body. My 
second shot hit solidly and sprayed crimson over the 
refrigerator's interior. The light shifted to a lurid red as my 
last shot blew a chunk from her head and destroyed a 
bottle of wine on the top shelf. 
Blood mixed with wine ran down and flooded out onto 
the floor. I kicked the old man's head away from my feet 
and stood. I glanced back at the woman again and was 
prepared, at the least little twitch, to shoot her yet again. 
Then I heard a scream from outside. Seeing an image of 


Marit's head replacing that of the old man, I sprinted 
down the hallway to the door, outside and along the 
porch. I vaulted the railing and started running toward the 
small stable. 
The man, pulling Marit along behind him by the wrist, 
ran out the door and around the corner. I hit top speed 
crossing the open ground, then flattened with my back 
against the stable. I took a quick peek around the corner 
and saw the man standing there, weaponless, with 
Marit's right wrist held tightly in his left hand. I pulled my 
head back, took a deep breath, then cut around the 
corner and dropped my gun on him. 
They were gone! 
I darted forward, to where they had stood, right there, 
out in the open, and could see no trace of them. Then, 
one step beyond that, I caught sight of them again, but 
they appear far further distant than they could have 
gotten in just a second. "Let her go!" 
The man stopped and his slicker melted back into a 
cape. The red-checked shirt and jeans I imagined him 
wearing became a scarlet tunic and blue pantaloons. His 
cowboy boots shifted into the floppy-top boots I associated 
with ancient corsairs. His hat even shifted into a 
black velvet beret and sprouted a long, green feather. His 
ears, I noticed for the first time, were pointed. 
Marit clawed at his wrist, and he released her. Then, 
striking faster than a cobra, he backhanded her and 
knocked her flying. She hit the ground and lay still. His 
eyes glowed with blacklight intensity as he brought his 
right hand forward. "Now you are in my realm, man-
child! Here you will die." 
St. Elmo's fire sprouted from his fingertips and condensed 
into a large ball of fire. It arced toward me, but I 
triggered two shots, and it imploded when my bullets 
pierced its shell. I shifted my aim point and pulled the 
trigger twice more. Both those shots hit him in the chest 
and toppled him backward. 
Wary because of his wife, I ran up and pumped the rest 
of the clip into him. I saved the last bullet for his head, then 
slapped another clip into the Krait and watched him for 
a while to make sure he was dead. Slowly, still keeping 
my eye on him, I backed toward where Marit had fallen 
and found her amid some yellowish ground fog. 
She had a bruise on the side of her face and blood 
dribbled from a split lip, but otherwise she looked fine. 
Though she remained unconscious, I smiled and stroked 
the uninjured side of her face. "Don't worry, kid, I'll get 
you home." 
As I listened to the regular whisper of her breathing, I 
realized I didn't hear any more thunder. I stood and 
turned back toward the house, but no gravel crunched 
under my feet. The ground fog was possible in Arizona, 
especially after a thunderstorm, but why yellow ? Completing 
my turn I saw no house, no stable, nothing. As far 
as I could see, the landscape was gray on purple with 
yellow-mist trim. 
I looked up expecting to see stars, but I saw nothing. 


My paranoia roared back with a vengeance, and I 
instantly regretting being so generous with the bullets I'd 
used on the man, if, in fact, that was what he was. 
Kneeling beside Marit again, I waved the mist away 
from her face. "I'll get you home again, Marit. I promise." 

My paranoia roared back with a vengeance, and I 
instantly regretting being so generous with the bullets I'd 
used on the man, if, in fact, that was what he was. 
Kneeling beside Marit again, I waved the mist away 
from her face. "I'll get you home again, Marit. I promise." 


"You might try tapping your heels together and repeating 
'There's no place like home,' but I doubt its 
efficancy in this case." 
I looked up and saw a man or, more accurately, the 
cameo of a man. It seemed, to me, to have all the 
dimensions of a normal body, but it was black on black. 
Still, I did not get the feeling he was black in a racial sense. 
In fact, doubtlessly projecting from myself, he could have 
been me except for the outline of a full goatee and his 
ring. 
While his entire body was made of shadow, the fourth 
finger on his right hand had a bright gold band on it. As 
his hand moved, I saw the same curious design on it that 
I had seen in my dream and drawn for Hal. It was the 
symbol that Juanita said belonged to El Espectro. 
"The first time I saw you I was dreaming. Am I 
dreaming now?" 
The shadow laughed politely. "No, you are not dreaming, 
and if you were, this would certainly be a nightmare." 
"According to Mark's cleaning woman, you are El 
Espectro." 
The man laughed again, but more heartily this time. 
"I supposed that is, indeed, possible. I have lost track of 
how many different names I have worn." He opened his 
arms to indicate the area surrounding us. "I also think we 
had best leave this place." 
I looked around the smoothly featureless plain. "Where 
are we?" 
El Espectro moved over to the dead body and prodded 
it with his toe. "I believe this is the protodimensional 
haven he has used for centuries to gain access to our 
world. This is not good because it bleeds into his home 
dimension, and that could cause us some trouble." 
"Dimension? Who is this Donner guy, anyway, and 
what do you mean by dimension?" My mouth began to 
get dry, and I detected a sulphurous tinge to the yellow 
fog. "What is that smell?" 
He turned back to me. "I will answer your questions, 
perhaps not to your satisfaction, then we must move if 
you want to leave this place. You will have to do 
everything I tell you to do, without questions. Do you 
understand?" 
"Yes." 
"Good. This was a Draolingconsider it a sociopathic 
human for all intents and purposes. This one has been 
around a long time. He took the place of Lewis Keseberg 
at Truckee Lake in 1846, inspiring the acts of cannibal



ism surrounding the Donner Party legend. When the 
crimes were discovered, he returned here and left the real 
Lewis Keseberg to face the music. This one, or another 
of his vile race, was responsible for the Jack the Ripper 
murder spree and, 40 years ago, may have signed the 
name 'Zodiac' to a series of murders in California. This 
one had a sense of humor, hence his use of the Donner 
name." 
He pointed off in a direction I sensed was south. "Tell 
me what you see." 
"Gray landscape, patches of purple." As I spoke I 
found myself focusing more clearly on things. "The 
purple is textured. It might be rock formations or vegetation. 
I also see the yellow mist in hollows like this one." 
"Good. What do you smell?" 
"Rotten eggs, sulphur." 
"Excellent." He walked over to me and probed my 
forehead with his right hand. The shadow touch felt not 
unlike the St. Elmo's fire in that it didn't hurt and actually 
tickled a bit. "The blow to your head is clearing up. You 
will continue to have increasing sensory acuity in this 
place. Someday you may even learn to come here 
again." 
"I don't think I would like that." 
"I understand your reticence, but you might find this 
place useful to you at some point." El Espectro held out 
his left hand, with the palm skyward, and lifted. Marit's 
unconscious body floated up in the air and hovered at 
waist height. "Being here makes this much easier for me. 
If you are ready, we can begin traveling. We should have 
you home in under two hours." 
"On foot? Fat chance." I glanced at my watch and saw 
something very odd. The analog portion of it seemed to 
be functioning perfectly. The second hand swept on as 
if the whole watch were brand new. The little LCD 
window, by way of contrast, flickered and flashed with 
lines and dots. The patterns, when they looked anything 
but random, seemed to be playing out an infinite sequence 
of numbers determined by a formula that was 
well beyond me. 
I decided, at that point, that if I gave too much thought 
to what I was seeing, my head would begin to hurt a lot 
more than it did now, and the situation would not get any 
better. "Home, did you say?" 
"Yes, back to Eclipse, I think. You will find nothing in 
Sedona that will aid your mission." El Espectro began 
walking south, and Marit drifted smoothly behind him. In 
a few steps he got far distant, it seemed, but when I ran 
to catch up with him, I reached his side in only a few 
strides. 
"How do you know what we were doing in Sedona?" 
"I know because I know." He gave me a sidelong 
glance that, despite being totally blank to me, had to 
have contained some amusement in it. "In this case I 
know you came to Sedona searching for Nero Loring. 
You came to Sedona because a friend of his received a 
postcard from Loring that was postmarked Sedona." 


"Okay, that's right. How do you know?" Could the 
traitor be selling me out to him? 

"Okay, that's right. How do you know?" Could the 
traitor be selling me out to him? 

"Who in God's name are you?" 
"Names will mean nothing to you, and I sincerely 
doubt that, 'in God's name,' I am not much of anyone at 
all. I am someone who, years ago, while the world was 
still rational, learned secrets I should not have learned. I 
walked places men were not meant to go, and I saw 
things that were meant to torture the soul. I discovered, 
in myself, powers and abilities the normal world would 
not recognize. They told me things upon which I was 
compelled to act, but ultimately proved unable to stop. 
"In many ways I am like your Coyote. I chose to battle 
things I see as evil, to help people beset by troubles. The 
difference between us is that Coyote acts in the material 
world because he lacks even the nascent empathic skills 
that allow one to discern anything in this place. I act here 
or in the realm of dreams to delay and defeat abominations." 



I shook my head. "I'm not even going to pretend I 
understand any of this." 
"At this point, a wise choice." He held up a hand and 
crouched. Marit floated back down to the ground, and I 
crouched next to him. "I had not expected this." 
I looked off in the distance but could only make out a 
dull gold ring lying on the ground in the distance. "What 
had you not expected?" 
He reached out and laid his left hand over my eyes. For 
a half-second I saw darkness, then I saw the distant ring 
through eyes much sharper than mine. Around it I saw 
a dozen or so individuals wearing clothing reminiscent of 
that on the Draoling I had killed. "Keseberg's friends?" 
"I doubt it, but I don't think they will be granting you a 
reward for killing him." He took his hand away from my 
face, and my own vision returned. "How many bullets do 
you have." 
"Twenty-eight, but they're split into two clips." 
I saw his brow furrow in profile. "And that is a 10mm 
Colt Krait?" 
"Yes." 
"A bit small. Figure three bullets per Draoling, provided 
you don't miss." 
"I don't miss." I conjured up my memory of shooting 
the sniper in Boxton. 
"Fascinating." He stood and brushed unseen dirt from 
his knees. "We will be there in a very short time. That ring 
is a dimensional gate that will take you back to Phoenix. 
It is important, therefore, that we gain control of it. If we 
have the time, you can account for nine of them. You will 
only need to get six, I think. Speed will be of the essence, 
however, because the amount of power we release in 
killing them will attract all sorts of attention." 
"I understand." 
"Good. I will leave Ms. Fisk here, then bring her along 
when it is safe." 
I took the Krait off safety and eased the hammer back. 
"Ready when you are." 
"Let us proceed." 
In the back of my mind I knew my head injury had to 
have affected me more than I could tell. As we rushed 
forward, the distance between us and this dimensional 
gate melted away. The Draolings standing around it did 
not notice us until we were at optimal range. El Espectro 
pointed at them, clenched his hand into a fist, then flung 
his hand open as he twisted it palm up. 
One of the Draolings in the center of the group 
spontaneously combusted. He screamed in a language 
I've only heard whispered in nightmares. His companions 
turned toward him, then recoiled and started to run 
away. The flaming Draoling flailed about, catching on to 
one of them, but the others escaped and those who ran 
in our direction made a nasty discovery. 
I knew El Espectro assumed it would take three bullets 
to kill a Draoling, and my experience with the Donners 
suggested he was very right in his assumption. By the 
same token I knew it would only take one to attract some 


attention. In rapid succession I pumped one round into 
each of three humanoids, then let the nearest have two 
more before I blew the head off a fourth with a lucky shot. 
I started cutting to the left, drawing the Draolings off as 
El Espectro went right. 
The four of them closest to me closed like sharks 
smelling blood. One had already been hit, and he went 
down when a shot hit him in the shoulder and all but tore 
off his right arm. Two bullets in the stomach jackknifed 
one Draoling forward, and the Draoling running behind 
him vaulted over his dying body. I met his long, clawing 
dive with a left foot in the face. That snapped his neck but 
the impact still knocked me down, and his dead body fell 
on top of me. 
The last one kept coming in. I twisted to the right, 
turning toward him. My first shot missed, but the second 
broke his right thigh and dropped him face first to the 
ground. He tore at the ground to crawl forward, but the 
next two bullets disrupted his higher brain functions and 
put an end to his desire to kill me. 
I tossed the dead Draoling from me and stood. Across 
the circle, near an obsidian obelisk trimmed in gold, I saw 
El Espectro. Around him burned a number of Drao-fires. 
I waved, and he returned the gesture, then slumped 
against the obelisk. Holstering my pistol I ran to him and 
helped support him. 
"Do not concern yourself with me. I will survive." He 
pointed back in the direction we had come and Marit 
floated toward us, but not as high as she had before. "Get 
her before I drop her." 
I ran over to Marit and accepted her in my arms. Only 
when my left hand smeared blood on her sleeve did I 
realized El Espectro had been bleeding. "You're hurt." 
"A scratch. Nothing." He urgently pointed to the circle. 
"Get in the middle. I will send you to Eclipse. I do not 
know exactly where this will come out, but wherever it is, 
get out of there quickly." 
"Why?" 
"Because I was careless. There are things out here that 
sensed the power we have used. They also sense our 
vulnerability. I must send you through, then destroy this 
portal or they will find youand you would not like that." 
I leaped over the gold and obsidian ring and ran to the 
middle. The black stone inlays looked like decoration, 
but ran along the gold ring and looked almost identical 
to the pathways on printed circuits. Every so often they 
ended at cloudy quartz lozenges that had a pulsating 
gray-pink light in the middle of them. 
The gold began to glow with a bright light that cycled 
around and became more intense. "What about you?" I 
shouted over the keening shriek rising from the circle. 

attention. In rapid succession I pumped one round into 
each of three humanoids, then let the nearest have two 
more before I blew the head off a fourth with a lucky shot. 
I started cutting to the left, drawing the Draolings off as 
El Espectro went right. 
The four of them closest to me closed like sharks 
smelling blood. One had already been hit, and he went 
down when a shot hit him in the shoulder and all but tore 
off his right arm. Two bullets in the stomach jackknifed 
one Draoling forward, and the Draoling running behind 
him vaulted over his dying body. I met his long, clawing 
dive with a left foot in the face. That snapped his neck but 
the impact still knocked me down, and his dead body fell 
on top of me. 
The last one kept coming in. I twisted to the right, 
turning toward him. My first shot missed, but the second 
broke his right thigh and dropped him face first to the 
ground. He tore at the ground to crawl forward, but the 
next two bullets disrupted his higher brain functions and 
put an end to his desire to kill me. 
I tossed the dead Draoling from me and stood. Across 
the circle, near an obsidian obelisk trimmed in gold, I saw 
El Espectro. Around him burned a number of Drao-fires. 
I waved, and he returned the gesture, then slumped 
against the obelisk. Holstering my pistol I ran to him and 
helped support him. 
"Do not concern yourself with me. I will survive." He 
pointed back in the direction we had come and Marit 
floated toward us, but not as high as she had before. "Get 
her before I drop her." 
I ran over to Marit and accepted her in my arms. Only 
when my left hand smeared blood on her sleeve did I 
realized El Espectro had been bleeding. "You're hurt." 
"A scratch. Nothing." He urgently pointed to the circle. 
"Get in the middle. I will send you to Eclipse. I do not 
know exactly where this will come out, but wherever it is, 
get out of there quickly." 
"Why?" 
"Because I was careless. There are things out here that 
sensed the power we have used. They also sense our 
vulnerability. I must send you through, then destroy this 
portal or they will find youand you would not like that." 
I leaped over the gold and obsidian ring and ran to the 
middle. The black stone inlays looked like decoration, 
but ran along the gold ring and looked almost identical 
to the pathways on printed circuits. Every so often they 
ended at cloudy quartz lozenges that had a pulsating 
gray-pink light in the middle of them. 
The gold began to glow with a bright light that cycled 
around and became more intense. "What about you?" I 
shouted over the keening shriek rising from the circle. 

The light and sound reached an inaudible and invisible 
climax at the same time, and suddenly I found myself in 
the dark basement of a tenement building. Across from 
me I saw a set of stairs leading up and the weak light of 


a sodium lamp bleeding down it. I stepped over what 
looked like a yellow circle painted on the floor, then 
carried Marit up the stairs. We raced through the building 
as fast as possible. I shifted her to an over-the-shoulder 
carry as I shot down a hallway and out through the 
opening to the outside. 
True to his word, El Espectro had delivered us to 
Eclipse again. Across an open killing ground I saw a 
barricade. As I ran toward it I recognized the area. Off to 
my right, I saw the clutter of trailers comprising Boxton. 
Without a second thought I scrambled up the barricade, 
then slid down off a car on the far side. 
Behind me something flashed white-gold. For all of a 
second Eclipse saw the sun at its heart and knew what 
it was to be out from under Frozen Shade. I set Marit down 
and turned around as a rumbling sound started. The 
middle of the tenement began to crumble. Dust filled all 
the windows, then gusted out as the building caved in on 
itself. In a handful of heartbeats the building went from six 
stories to memories. 
I looked at the fallen building, then stooped and lifted 
Marit up again. He said he and Fiddleback had played 
together many times. I hope he made it. Then I remembered 
his promise. "I know he won," I laughed aloud. 
"Fiddleback didn't stand a ghost of a chance against 
him." 
And yet, even laughing, I looked at my left hand and 
still saw wet blood. 

a sodium lamp bleeding down it. I stepped over what 
looked like a yellow circle painted on the floor, then 
carried Marit up the stairs. We raced through the building 
as fast as possible. I shifted her to an over-the-shoulder 
carry as I shot down a hallway and out through the 
opening to the outside. 
True to his word, El Espectro had delivered us to 
Eclipse again. Across an open killing ground I saw a 
barricade. As I ran toward it I recognized the area. Off to 
my right, I saw the clutter of trailers comprising Boxton. 
Without a second thought I scrambled up the barricade, 
then slid down off a car on the far side. 
Behind me something flashed white-gold. For all of a 
second Eclipse saw the sun at its heart and knew what 
it was to be out from under Frozen Shade. I set Marit down 
and turned around as a rumbling sound started. The 
middle of the tenement began to crumble. Dust filled all 
the windows, then gusted out as the building caved in on 
itself. In a handful of heartbeats the building went from six 
stories to memories. 
I looked at the fallen building, then stooped and lifted 
Marit up again. He said he and Fiddleback had played 
together many times. I hope he made it. Then I remembered 
his promise. "I know he won," I laughed aloud. 
"Fiddleback didn't stand a ghost of a chance against 
him." 
And yet, even laughing, I looked at my left hand and 
still saw wet blood. 
Once I got Marit back to her apartment, Juanita called 
a doctor and we put Marit to bed. The doctor checked her 
over and said she looked fine to him, if a little dehydrated. 
He questioned me closely to determine if I had hit her, but 
he accepted my story that we had been slumming in 
Eclipse and had been involved in an unsuccessful mugging. 
He left a prescription for some heavy-duty ibuprofen 
tablets, and Anna ventured out to fill it. The doctor 
insisted Marit rest in bed and get plenty of fluids. He also 
took a look at me, cleaned up my head wound and taped 
a bandage into place. "You may want to take one or two 
of her pills if you start having headaches. If you have any 
serious neurological symptoms, call me and get to the 
Phoenix General Tower." 
"Thanks, Doc." I showed him to the tranversor, but he 
had to wait as the box was in use. When the door opened, 
a messenger stepped out, and the doctor vanished 
behind the closing doors. "Can I help you?" 
"I have a message here for Mr. Caine. Would that be 
you, sir?" The fresh-faced kid held a clipboard out. "Sign 
at number 33." 
I scrawled my name, and he handed me a small ivory 
envelope with no return address. My name had been 
carefully calligraphed across the front. I flipped it over 


and opened it. I found another smaller envelope inside 
the first, again with my name carefully written across it. 
From that second envelope I pulled a square piece of 
very expensive printed cardstock. It read, "Ms. Nerys 
Loring requests the pleasure of Mr. Tycho Caine's presence 
for a private dinner this evening at 8 p.m. Dress will 
be formal, with cocktails at 7 p.m. RSVP by return 
messenger." 
I tapped the card against the fingers of my left hand. 
Despite the drive to Sedona and the bizarre adventures 
so early in the day, El Espectro had returned us 
to Eclipse before 2 in the afternoonor so the digital 
part of my watch reported. The analog portion, before 
I reset it, said 10 p.m. Glancing at my watch, I saw that 
I had three and a half hours before Nerys expected me, 
and I knew I could not refuse the invitation. This 
should be fascinating. 
I looked up. "You're waiting for the reply?" 
The messenger nodded. 
"I accept." 
"Very good, sir. I was told to tell you that a VIP pass for 
the maglev to the Lorica tower will be waiting for you at 
the Madison Street station. You can use the upper 
lounge. You will be met when you arrive." 
I punched the button to summon the tranversor again, 
then handed him a 10 dolmark bill. I left Juanita watching 
him until he departed, then retreated to Marit's private 
office. In her Rolodex I found a number for the Sunburst 
Foundation and dialed it. I was not surprised to hear Hal 
answer the phone. 
"Hal, it's Caine. We're back." I filled him in on the 
outing, but left the bizarre parts out. As I told it to him, we 
got a lead, got caught in a strange storm and arranged 
for alternate transport back to Phoenix. I let him know 
Marit had been hurt but not seriously, then I dropped the 
bombshell of Nerys' invitation. 
"My, my, you do travel in, ah, fast circles. Eight 
o'clock dinner? You should be through and free by 
midnight, unless you're planning to spend more time 
with Nerys." 
"Thanks, but I don't think so." I remembered the 
picture she had purchased during the auction. "I don't 
think her idea of fun and mine overlap." 
"Good. I have a meeting scheduled for here, at my 
home, at 1 a.m. I'd like you to be here, if possible." He 
hesitated, and I heard some ambivalence enter his voice. 
"I'm meeting with the leadershipof the Blood Crips, Jade 
Dragons and Diablos here at my house. They are getting 
harder to calm down. I'd like you to be here to show them 
I have the tools necessary, if it comes to that, to restrain 
the Aryans." 
"You're the velvet glove, and I'm the steel fist?" 
"Something like that. I don't need you shooting anyone, 
but you have the stone killer act down as well as 
anyone. A new face will make them think I am making 
moves that will keep things on the level for them." 
"I understand. I'll be there." 


"Thanks. I'll see you later." 
"Later." 
I quickly made one more call. None of the clothes I had 
were formal, so I dialed up Roger's number at The 
Gentleman's Wardrobe. "I'm afraid I have to impose on 
your services, Roger." 
"Not to worry, Mr. Caine," he said soothingly, "We 
have already begun work on your tuxedo. It will be styled 
similarly to the other suit we made for you. Ms. Loring will 
be impressed." 
"Do you read minds, Roger?" 
"Would that I did, Mr. Caine. It would save me oodles 
of money that I now pay catering services to furnish me 
with guest lists for parties." He tried to sound world-
weary, but I heard plenty of self-pleasure in his voice. 
"Your name came by this morning, and we started work 
immediately." 
I frowned. "Why would a catering company need a 
guest list?" 
"My dear Mr. Caine, you would not expect the social 
doyens of our glittering metropolis to give substandard 
soires, would you? The caterers in this city have a 
massive database with information about everything 
from dietary restrictions to social feuds. They toss the 
guest list into this vast program, and it sets menus, 
provides seating charts, settles questions of protocol and 
even sets distances between guests depending upon 
how torrid their affairs are or how amicable their divorces 
were. You are guaranteed that you will never taste the 
same entree in a calender year and, if you own a winery 
or distillery, your table will be supplied with the best you 
have to offer. It is quite impressive." 
"So I see." I thought for a second, then asked, "So, if 
you have a guest list, perhaps you can tell me who else 
will be there." 
"Well, Mr. Caine, only because you are such a good 
customer. The party will be quite intimate this evening. 
You are the only guest and, from what I see of the menu, 
Ms. Loring may even be intending to have you for 
dessert." 
"I consider myself duly warned. Thank you, Roger." 
"Thank you, Mr. Caine. We will have your tuxedo for 
you by six o'clock." 
Roger was as good as his word. When the tuxedo 
arrived, Juanita awakened me from a dreamless nap. 
I showered, taped a new bandage over my forehead, 
then dressed. The tux fit perfectly. I opted not to bring 
my Krait, but I did still wear my bulletproof vest 
beneath my shirt. While I hardly expected anything 
weird to happen, the encounter with the man at 
Danny's Place made me cautious enough to want 
body armor. 
Juanita was kind enough to give me instructions on 
how to get to the Madison Street maglev station. I 
noted amusingly that she referred to it as the "mangle 
train," but I gathered the term came more from the 
hopes and wishes of the folks in Eclipse than any 


actual historical incident. Armed with her directions, 
I took the elevator down to Level 20, then took a 
people mover from Goddard Tower #1 to the Southern 
Pacific Tower and down to Level 10. There I found the 
maglev station, and after identifying myself, was 
given a pass and admitted to the VIP lounge. 
A poster on the wall gave me an overview of the 
whole system. "Local" trains ran from City Center to 
the various corporate citadels. "Circuit" trains ran 
counterclockwise around the corporate citadel circuit. 
The bullet train, which ran on the ground, left 
from the Madison Street/Southern Pacific terminal 
annex in Eclipse to go to the regional airport southeast 
of the city. It ran through a tunnel for the entire length 
of the trip through Eclipse, so no one would be 
subjected to having to see how the majority of people 
in the city lived. Moreover, each of the windows had 
been fitted with a flat, LCD screen that could be tuned 
to the local TV stations or, if a passenger so desired, 
a "scenery" channel that, no matter time of the year, 
presented simulated real-time views of the desert 
outside. 
To complete my journey, I had to take the local train 
from the Madison Street station to the Honeywell & Koch 
local station. From there I would only have to walk across 
the VIP lounge to the circuit side and catch the next train 
out, which would deliver me directly to Lorica Industries. 
Taking a local train to Lorica would have forced me to 
travel across City Center to the Randolf Road station. 
Given the relative speeds of the maglevs with the local 
trains in City Center, the less direct route would save me 
a minimum of 15 minutes. 
The maglev train that rolled slowly into the station had 
a triangular shape to it. The lower, wider section serviced 
the workers from City Center heading out to catch the 
circuit train and the people who were coming into City 
Center for the evening. The smaller, upper deck on the 
train car was reserved for VIPs who, from the look of the 
other people waiting in the lounge, were corporate 
officers or visitors from foreign nations. 
I waited for a handful of people to disembark, then 
I got onto the train. The upper deck's luxurious appointments 
rivaled the beauty and comfort of Marit's 
apartment. Instead of the tightly packed, lightly padded 
fiberglass benches down below, we had plush, 
velvet upholstered couches and a ring of televisions 
up along the sloped roof. A uniformed stewardess 
greeted us and helped us fasten seat belts. She 
pointed out how to tune the little earpiece she handed 
me, then she tended to the others and signaled the 
engineer we were read to depart. 
We rocketed out of the station at 6:30 p.m. The 
dying sun cast long shadows from City Center over the 
eastern half of the city. As we rode high above Frozen 
Shade, I could easily see how and why the world views 
of those who lived in Eclipse and the corporate executives 
never meshed. From this vantage point the 


people of the corporate power set saw a city of 
unparalleled beauty. Frozen Shade, except where the 
sunlight glinted up from panel joints, appeared a flat 
black, pacific ocean. The corporate citadels rose from 
the black waves like mighty island nations. The protrusions 
of natural rocks like Camelback Mountain 
and Squaw Peak to the north or South Mountain to the 
south turned the whole valley into a Zen garden 
maintained by giants. 
From here there was no clue to the grimy, grim 
conditions in Eclipse. Like angels in heaven, or gods 
living high in mountain strongholds, the privileged of the 
world did not have to dirty their feet with the affairs of 
mortals. Frozen Shade gave them the power they needed 
to make their world function, and it also shielded them 
from having to even acknowledge the people living 
outside their domains. 
The local train took me into the heart of the Honeywell 
& Koch citadel. I made the transfer easily to the circuit 
train and arrived at Lorica with 10 minutes to spare 
before I was supposed to arrive. I wondered very briefly 
how I would recognize my escort or I would be recognized, 
but I dismissed my concern as I knew Merys was 
a clever woman. 
Only when I stepped from the maglev train did I realize 
exactly how clever she was. I saw three men waiting for 
me. Two were improbably large and wore suits big 
enough to have been tailored for cement sewer piping. 
The third man was not dressed as well as I was, but 
certainly better than when I had seen him last. His eyes 
shaded behind dark glasses, he extended his hand to me. 
"Welcome to Lorica, Mr. Caine. I am Radu Leich. Ms. 
Loring sent me to get you." 
Close up the man did, in fact, have a star-shaped 
scar on his right cheek and a limited amount of left-
right facial asymmetry. It looked as if the cheekbone 
on the right side of his face had been pared down. Still, 
the scar did not seem nearly as pronounced as it had 
only yesterday in Danny's Place. His left hand, which 
was not gloved, did not look that much different than 
his right, though the bluish veins did not show through 
the pale flesh quite as well. 
Coincidence I told myself. Yes, Leich looked remarkably 
like the Reaper I had shot in the face, and the star 
scar could have been a reminder of that injury. That was 
assuming, of course, that having forced a bullet through 
his head and out the back of his skull had not killed him. 
That, I knew, was patently impossible. 
Then again, returning from Sedona by strolling through 
a land of gray and purple was impossible as well. 
"Please, Mr. Leich, take me to your leader." 
He nodded and preceded me from the VIP lounge. 
From the narrow walkway we used to get from the lounge 
to a central elevator cylinder, I was able to get a good look 
at the entire Lorica Citadel. The cylinder formed the hub 
of the complex with walkways going off in six directions 
like spokes. Unlike City Center, which had been done in 


white marble and bright colors, the Lorica Citadel boasted 
mostly dark colors and mirrored trim. The whole of the 
complex, from there in the middle, looked like a tunnel 
created to connect heaven and hell. 
The two apes dropped in behind me and said nothing. 
I sensed from them a high degree of boredom tinged with 
anticipation of possible excitement. That anticipation 
grew as we stopped at an elevator, and Mr. Leich inserted 
a card into the slot. A car descended through the clear 
elevator tube and stopped before us. The door opened to 
an empty car, but Leich shook his head. "You two will 
wait here." 
I entered the capsule behind Leich, and he inserted 
another card into the panel there. The elevator did not 
speak to him, but silently whisked us up into the rarified 
reaches of the Citadel. I watched floor after floor race 
past through the smoky glass walls, then we passed 
through a section that surrounded us with blank cement 
walls. We stopped after 20 feet of cinderblock, and the 
door opened. 
Initially the similarity in color and design between the 
foyer and the dimensional gate nearly overwhelmed me. 
The elevator opened onto a small room with black 
marble on the walls and floor. Gold joints joined the 
blocks. The ceiling, done in a burnished gold, reflected 
light down from panels hidden at the tops of the walls. Off 
to my left, two black satyr statutes held up a block of 
black marble as a table and above it, on the wall, hung 
a gold mirror so guests could make last minute adjustments 
to their dress. 
Across from the elevator stood two doors plated with 
beaten gold. As I approached them, they slowly opened 
and a white, foglike mist rolled out and over me. I caught 
the faint scent of pine as I walked through it, then felt the 
light breeze as the doors swung shut behind me. Standing 
still, I waited for the mist to settle down, which it did 
quickly, leaving me with the impressions that I had somehow 
ascended into heaven. 
In complete and stark contrast with the foyer and the 
whole of the Lorica Citadel, Nerys' domain had been 
done every possible shade of color save black. The overall 
impression of the place was that she had chosen white 
as her color, and doubtlessly that would linger in the 
minds of casual visitors, but it painted a woefully inaccurate 
picture of her lair. 
As the last of the mist dissipated, I found myself on a 
white marble walkway between two gurgling streams. 
The streams looked as if they had been lined with 
mother-of-pearl and, though the water doubtlessly made 
my task impossible, I could see no joints between 
sections of inlay throughout the 12-foot lengths I saw. As 
nearly as I could tell, Nerys had located some unknown 
species of gigantic tube-oyster and had fashioned the 
streambeds from the halves of its shell. 
Above them, strung between two Doric columns of 
white marble, white silk sheeting formed softly billowing 
walls. Where they parted I saw other columns and 


sheets that formed, as nearly as I could determine, a 
ghostly labyrinth that could change in an instant. Still, 
there were times when I could see a fair distance 
through the area, and it seemed to me that Nerys' 
home might well fill the entire top of the Lorica Citadel, 
giving me roughly 1.5 square miles in which to search 
for my hostess. 
The impression that Nerys had found talented oyster 
artisans continued as I walked forward toward a pulsing 
fountain. As the water rose and fell from the central spiral, 
I decided it reminded me most of a spiral horn of some 
sort. I would have guessed it had come from some 
mutant narwhal, but I knew the last of that species had 
died four years before. Moreover, the spire had the same 
opalescent, mother-of-pearl look as the streambeds. 
That coloration extended to the basin surrounding the 
fountain and the trough that caught the excess water and 
channeled it into the streams. 
I crossed a small, crystalline bridge over the stream to 
my right and walked down the white corridor before me. 
My steps sounded hollow, but the silk walls absorbed any 
echo they might have made. At the end of the corridor I 
turned right again and smiled at the beautiful young 
woman standing there. I kept my smile polite even 
though, aside from the strip of dark blue silk tying her 
black hair back and the matching loincloth, she wore 
nothing at all. 
"Please, Mr. Caine, follow me." 
"As you wish." Following her was not difficult, but the 
addition of other women similarly clad did provide a 
certain number of distractions. The apes' anticipation 
and disappointment were now clear to me. More importantly, 
Mr. Leich never even made a move to look in 
through the doors, as if the potential glimpse of such 
beauty meant nothing to him. Oddly, though, I had not 
gained the impression he was a homosexual. Instead, I 
thought, he might have just seen me and them as a 
source of revenue for the Reapers or, worse yet, had the 
same use for us as the Draolings. 
My guide led me to an island inside the stark white 
world. It necessitated my crossing another stream on a 
crystal bridge, and I noticed how the pulsing, soothing 
sound of the water enhanced the beauty of the surroundings. 
Off to my left I saw a gold and glass cart with a dozen 
decanters of various liquors, a clear ice bucket and a 
number of cut crystal glasses. Standing beside it a blond 
woman in an emerald green loincloth waited to take my 
order. 
Not desiring to drink when Hal wanted me to attend his 
meeting later, I smiled and ordered a club soda with a 
twist of lime. She set about making the drink while I 
looked around the island. Aside from her, me and the 
cart, the circular room described by the white curtain 
walls was featureless. I had the annoying feeling that I 
was being watched, but I could not determine a focus for 
that sensation. 
The woman crossed to me and handed me my 


drink. I thanked her but she said nothing to me. I 
noticed her green eyes matched the color of her 
garment and she, too, had her hair bound back with a 
green strip of silk. She seemed happy and quite at 
ease with being half-naked while I was fully and 
formally clothed. While she was certainly attractive 
enough to interest me, her casual attitude toward her 
nakedness stole carnality from our encounter while 
still making it exotic and erotic. 
"A pretty child, is she not?" 
I turned around at the sound of Nerys' voice, a bit 
disturbed that she managed to have made it over the 
bridge I had crossed without my seeing or hearing her. 
My irritation quickly faded as I looked at her, and a 
smile spread across my face. She wore a black gown 
with a mandarin collar and sweetheart neckline that 
showed her throat and bosom to great advantage. The 
bodice hugged her tightly, then flowed gently from her 
hips to end at ankle height. The long sleeves even had 
a bit of a triangular tab that covered the back of her 
hands. She wore a cinnabar necklace in which parallel 
strips of the stone formed a crescent at her throat and 
which was matched by two cinnabar earrings that 
were carved like cameos. The earrings showed a 
spider design on each, though the arachnids depicted 
looked to be black widows, not fiddlebacks. 
"Her beauty evaporates in your presence." Unaware 
if her servants constantly worked in this state of undress, 
I saw the wisdom of her having them do that. Surrounded 
by such beauty, yet clad in a garment that revealed little 
and promised much, Nerys Loring became much more 
mysterious and seductive. Her mature beauty and strength 
of character made her the equal of her quiet servants 
while her charm and intelligence pushed her well beyond 
them in desirability. 
Nerys walked over to me and brushed her hand along 
the front of my coat. "Roger does superior work. This suit 
flatters you." 
Her perfume smelled of orchids and conjured up a 
momentary, fleeting memory of heat and darkness. I 
tried to capture it, but it faded in a flash. "Thank you. You, 
of course, look absolutely lethal in that gown." 
"You have an amusing way with words, Mr. Caine." 
Nerys nodded to the woman, and she brought her what 
I assumed to be straight vodka with a twist of lemon. 
Nerys accepted the drink with her right hand, then 
gently caught the woman's chin in her left hand. With 
its long, curved incarnadine nail lightly brushing tanned 
flesh, Nerys' thumb stroked the bartender's cheek, 
then she released her. The girl retreated as she had 
after serving me, but I detected a certain joy in her step 
at having passed muster with her mistress. 
"You doubtlessly noticed, Tycho, that I have a number 
of beautiful women here to serve me. Do you know 
why?" 
I shook my head and sipped my drink. 
"You will agree they are all spectacular. I find their soft, 


gentle lines pleasing to the eye. They move with a fluid 
grace that fits with all this." She pointed at the silk 
curtains and the moat surrounding us, then caressed my 
shoulder with her left hand. "They are not, like men, 
angular and hard and bellicose. They are the yin of my 
world, while the outside is the yang. They serve me in my 
sanctuary from all that would distress me." 
I smiled appreciatively. "You are fortunate that you 
can isolate your world so easily." 
"My goal is insulation, not isolation. I find running a 
multinational corporation very draining. When I have 
been vampirized by business demands, I am able to 
retreat here and recover amid this paradise." Keeping 
her hand on my shoulder, she slipped behind me and 
whispered in my ear. "If I thought you wanted her, I would 
give her to you. And, at my request, she would give 
herself to you. She would doubtlessly enjoy it, as would 
you, I am certain. You could live here forever with her or 
others, but I sense in you aspirations for something more 
than being kept as a...pet." 
I drank a bit more to cover my discomfort at her use 
of the word 'pet,' "What would lead you to believe that?" 
She completed her circle around me, having spiraled 
in closer so we stood as close as I had with the 
female Draoling that morning. "I had understood it 
was your custom, once you had completed a task, to 
return home to await your next assignment. I also 
know that in preparing for your visit here, you would 
have studied Lorica and its situation quite thoroughly. 
I know you would have seen the possibilities here. You 
know, very soon, I will be able to offer you limitless 
power." 
I looked into the depths of her black eyes. "And for this 
power, what would you have me do?" 
"I'd not ask you to be my consort. Your talents, while 
they might be considerable in that area, are too valuable 
to squander on sexual excess. There are others who can 
sate my hungers, but you have skills I need. Poor Radu 
is the best I have in that area and, as you know, he is 
barely competent." She reached up and caressed the 
side of my face, "Now, you should tell me what it is you're 
doing by remaining in Phoenix." 
I needed time to think because a number of things 
were beginning to cascade together. "As you suspected, 
I decided to remain to study the situation. I wanted to get 
the lay of the land, as it were." 
"Oh, you didyou're living with her," Nerys laughed 
aloud. "Were dear Marit half as pretty as she is vain, I 
might have even offered her a place, here in my sanctuary. 
And yet, here is how much I wish you to work for me. 
If you so desire, I will accept her here and even tell Mr. 
Leich to refrain from killing hernot that he accomplished 
anything with his pathetic attempt yesterday." 
"I would appreciate that." 
Nerys' eyes narrowed as she turned away from me. 
"You went with her to Sedona today. Why?" 
I decided to see if I could make her jump. "I heard a 


rumor about your father." 
She did stiffen for all of a second, then she dipped a 
finger in her drink and let the liquor drip from her nail onto 
her tongue before she curled it back into her mouth. "I 
thought that situation had been handled." 
"As had I, which is why I decided to follow up this lead." 
"How did it turn out?" 
"A dead end, or so it seems." I shrugged lightly. "I will 
continue to pursue it." 
Nerys swung back around and her face had hardened. 
"And you will report to me when you hear anything?" 
"I will." 
She nodded once, curtly. "You will have to forgive me, 
Mr. Caine. I have suddenly developed a headache." She 
looked over at the bartender. "Lilith, dear child, you will 
entertain Mr. Caine in my stead. You will see that he is, 
in every way he desires, satisfied." 
The woman nodded solemnly. 
"Remember this, Mr. Caine," Nerys hissed in a whisper, 
"Whatever pleasure she gives you, I can extend 
beyond infinity. This I will do when you tell me this rumor 
business is ended. But also realize that my ire with failure 
similarly knows no limits and cannot be escaped." 



Nerys' sudden and very sharp twist of mood put a 
severe damper on what could have otherwise been a 
very pleasant evening. Lilith excused herself while another 
of her compatriots led me to the dining alcove. As 
with the rest of this place, silken curtains described the 
boundary of the room, but it had been left open on one 
side to supply us with a full and glorious view of City 
Center in the darkness. 
I sat in a chair at the end of the rectangular table, with 
the window to my right. At the other end of the short table, 
beyond two candelabra and an orchid centerpiece, the 
dinner setting originally meant for Nerys remained in 
place. Lilith, when she returned, sat at my left hand and 
was provided another table setting. Despite her lack of 
physical presence, I very much sensed Nerys was still 
with us. 
Lilith, when she returned, had put on an emerald green 
gown that was, in terms of design, identical to the one 
Nerys had been wearing. Lilith also turned out to be 
intelligent and quite entertaining. She had a quick sense 
of humor and was polite enough to laugh at my jokes. 
This made the meal survivable because, if not for the 
laughter, I would have thought myself at some bizarre 
sort of wake. 
Each dish, from salad and soup through entrees to 
dessert were served first at Nerys' empty place and to 
me. After a minute or two, Nerys' place would be cleared, 
then a plate with smaller portions would appear for Lilith. 
I had no doubt that the food she ate had been taken from 
Nerys' plate, though the exact symbolism behind that 


reality escaped me. Lilith, for her part, seemed not to 
notice and, in any case, finished all she had been given. 
I regretted Nerys' departure because she, more than 
anyone else I had met, knew enough to help me rediscover 
my true identity. As solving that mystery was the 
only thing that would have satisfied me in all I desired, 
Lilith could never do what her mistress had demanded of 
her. She did, however, make for a charming dinner 
companion and, in the face of Nerys mercurial mood 
shift, let me relax more than I would have otherwise. 
Had Nerys still been there, a phone call would never 
have interrupted dinner. A woman in blue brought me a 
small radio-phone. "Excuse me, Mr. Caine, but it is for 
you, and it is urgent." 
"Thank you." I took the phone and pressed it to my 
ear. "Caine." 
"Mr. Caine, you must leave there immediately. A car 
is waiting for you in Eclipse. Go, now!" The caller hung 
up with a click, but I had no trouble in recognizing the 
faintly mechanical voice. Why does Coyote want me out 
of here? 

reality escaped me. Lilith, for her part, seemed not to 
notice and, in any case, finished all she had been given. 
I regretted Nerys' departure because she, more than 
anyone else I had met, knew enough to help me rediscover 
my true identity. As solving that mystery was the 
only thing that would have satisfied me in all I desired, 
Lilith could never do what her mistress had demanded of 
her. She did, however, make for a charming dinner 
companion and, in the face of Nerys mercurial mood 
shift, let me relax more than I would have otherwise. 
Had Nerys still been there, a phone call would never 
have interrupted dinner. A woman in blue brought me a 
small radio-phone. "Excuse me, Mr. Caine, but it is for 
you, and it is urgent." 
"Thank you." I took the phone and pressed it to my 
ear. "Caine." 
"Mr. Caine, you must leave there immediately. A car 
is waiting for you in Eclipse. Go, now!" The caller hung 
up with a click, but I had no trouble in recognizing the 
faintly mechanical voice. Why does Coyote want me out 
of here? 


Alliance tried to assassinate him." 
I glanced at the dash clock11:30an hour and a 
half before Hal's planned meeting with the southside 
gangs. "Details?" 
Alejandro punched the gas and popped ahead of a 
smoky truck. "Three kids, not yet part of WAWA, came 
to Hal's house and said they wanted to help him. He let 
them in, and they opened up on him. His kids are okay 
but his wife didn't make it. He was hit. Looks like she tried 
to shield him. Two ran away. One panicked, ran into a 
closet, and it shut behind him. Bat's watching him now." 
Alejandro swung the Dragonfly wide to pass a Cadillac 
and sped out onto McDowell Road at the 46th street exit 
from the Lorica Citadel. We fish-tailed wide, bumped the 
curb, then straightened out and shot down the road. In 
the distance I could see a set of flashing lights reflecting 
from Frozen Shade. 
"Who knew about the meet?" 
"Everyone. It was not a secret." 
"Heinrich sends in some kids so he can deny having 
had anything to do with this." 
"Looks like it." The art broker shot through a red light 
at 44th, squealing brakes and angry horns in our wake. 
"Glove compartment." 
I opened it and found a .38 snubnose in a clip-on 
holster. "Thanks. Is it that dicy?" 
"The Blood Crips, Jade Dragons and Diablos have 
surrounded Hal's place. The already nailed one of the 
kids who escaped, and they're waiting for the one we 
have in the house." 
The red light at the intersection of 36th and McDowell 
threatened to stop us, but Alejandro needed to make the 
turn, so he cut across the corner of the lot and bumped 
over the curb on 36th. He cranked the wheel to the right, 
getting us back into our lane, then cut through a driveway 
opening to park the car on the sidewalk next to a school 
yard. We ran across 36th and forced our way through the 
crowd lining the street near Hal's condo. 
"No cops?" 
Alejandro shook his head. "Scorpion stays away from 
this area." 
I ran past the ambulance and into the living room. 
There I stopped. Blood covered the carpet and soaked 
the couch. Bullet holes lined the walls, starting low and 
tracking on up into the ceiling. A bloody handprint on the 
wall to my right and a trail of blood led to a back bedroom. 
I followed it, passing by Bat as he stood guard beside a 
closed closet door. 
"Alejandro, who's got the kids?" 
"Natch has them. She's taking them to stay with their 
grandparents over on the west side. Diablos granted 
passage and the Blood Crips are running as outriders." 
"Good." 
Two EMTs worked feverishly in the back bedroom 
with their equipment boxes and monitors spread all over 
the place. They had Hal on a stretcher with an oxygen 
mask over his face. His shirt had been torn open, and 


they had two compression bandages on him. Both were 
already soaked with blood. One had been a high hit on 
the left and the other was stomach. He already had an IV 
drip punched into his right arm and that wrist had been 
fastened to the stretcher by a restraining strap. 
When Hal saw me he started to stir. One of the 
emergency medical technicians turned toward me, saying, 
"You wanna tell him he can't wait no more? He's 
gonna die if..." The man paled. 
"Hi, Jack!" I greeted him enthusiastically. "Long time 
no see. Played pool lately?" 
Ignoring anything he said, I knelt beside Hal's head. 
"Hang on, Hal." 
Hal grabbed my sleeve with his left hand. "My kids?" 
"Safe." 
"Candy?" 
"She's gonna be fine, Hal," I lied. "You gotta let these 
guys get you to the hospital. Your job is to recover. We'll 
take care of things here." 
A painful grimace contorted his features. "Take care 
of my kids, Caine. No war." 
I nodded. "No war." 
"Caine, no killing. Not while you have another choice." 
"No killing, Hal. Let them get you out of here." 
His grip tightened on my arm. "Promise me, no 
killing." 
"No killing, Hal. I promise, as long as you promise not 
to die." 
"Deal." 
"Deal." I freed his hand from my arm and stood. "Get 
him out of here." I grabbed Jack's shoulder as his partner 
wheeled Hal outside earshot. "If he dies on the way to the 
hospital, or I find his wife didn't make it to the morgue, 
you'll take a long time to die. You understand me?" 
"Y-yess." 
"Good. Leave me that green trauma box. You can get 
it later." 
"S-sure. Just let me out of here." 
I followed him out into the front room, but stopped 
beside Bat. "The kid in the closet?" 
The big man nodded. "No bullets. No blades." 
"Take him out, blindfold him and bind him." I pointed 
to the wide pool of blood on the floor. "I want him kneeling 
there." 
I stepped outside as the ambulance slowly started to 
make its way through the crowd. I saw a large number of 
people, black, brown yellow and white, staring at the 
house and talking to each other. They managed to 
segregate three other groups of individuals who, I imagined, 
were the three gangs Hal had planned to meet. 
Off to my right I saw a knot of Hispanic men, all 
wearing sleeveless black T-shirts with an inverted star 
screened on the shirts in bright red ink. It had been 
stylized to look like blood dripping down from the design. 
As had WAWA people, the Diablos had also chosen to 
undergo some cosmetic alteration which, as nearly as I 
could see, constituted the addition of little horns on their 


foreheads and a peaking of their ears. They wore black 
fingernail polish and the older male gang members had 
grown very devilish Van Dykes. 
The Jade Dragons had also engaged in body augmentation. 
Most notable, of course, was the scaly flesh 
covering their faces, throats, chests, backs and hands. 
Unlike the Diablos, who apparently ranked each other by 
the length of their horns, the oriental gang differentiated 
themselves by scale color. The younger members had 
pale blue scales while the older Dragons had graduated 
to a deep green hue edged with gold. The eldest members 
also had modified their ears to lengthen and flatten 
them, making them look like bat wings covered in lizard 
flesh. The Dragon I thought to be the leader also had a 
sagittal sail that rose and fell like a fish's fin as he 
breathed in and out. 
The Blood Crips, by comparison, looked positively 
normal in their red and blue leather jackets. Once archenemy 
gangs, they had consolidated their forces around 
the turn of the millennium because of the pressure from 
other gangs. Their augmentation looked, to me, to be 
fairly utilitarian. Their brows and cheekbones had been 
enlarged to sink their eyes back to less vulnerable 
depths. Likewise the backs of their hands looked improbably 
smooth, as if each had inserted a weighty 
prosthesis to increase hitting power and help control the 
recoil on automatic weapons. They had also adopted the 
tradition of their Afro-American ancestors in employing 
ritual scarring on their faces. 
I pointed at the two Diablos members with the longest 
horns. "You two, in here." I picked out the leader of the 
Dragons and the person who looked most like his 
lieutenant. "Inside, now." Lastly I turned to the Blood 
Crips and knew their leadership had to be embodied in 
one of the surliest individuals I'd ever seen. "You and your 
second, let's go." 
The leader just let his body slump half sideways as he 
made a big show of crossing his arms. "Fancy man don't 
order me." 
The other gang leaders stopped, waiting to see how I'd 
handle this revolt. "Seeing as how you have nothing 
better to do with your time, and Mr. Garrett asked me to 
act in his stead, I request the pleasure of your company 
inside, now.." 
"Or else what?" 
My voice dropped to a low growl. "I didn't give you an 
'or else' because I don't make idle threats. I'll tell you this: 
It's obvious that the possible alliance Hal was engineering 
has some people scared. If you're together, no one 
can hurt you. If you want the Blood Crips to be outside 
the fold, fine. You walk away now." I turned and walked 
back into the house, with the two Diablos and the two 
Dragons following me. The Blood Crips came a bit later, 
moving at their own pace. 
Keeping a decent space between each other, the gang 
members stood there and silently regarded the Aryan 
kneeling in the blood. It had already begun to soak into 


his faded jeans and white socks. Bat had bound him hand 
and foot, then used a torn strip of material from the boy's 
thick white T-shirt to blindfold him. The kid shivered and 
swayed a bit. 
"This, gentlemen, is one of the three assassins who 
tried to kill Hal Garrett. Though Heinrich will deny it, he 
sent these three boys out to do a job with no training. You 
can see by the bullet tracks in the walls that the guns 
recoiled unchecked and tracked right out of the killing 
zone." 
I dropped down on my haunches in front of the kid. 
"What's your name?" 
"Screw yourself, nigger-lover!" 
The Blood Crip leader took a half-step forward and 
aimed a kick that would have crushed the kid's skull 
except that Bat grabbed the ganger by the collar and 
jerked him back. "What chu do that for, man? I'll do the 
murdering piece of shit." 
I shook my head. "No. No killing. Hal made me 
promise no killing." 
The Blood Crip leader jerked his thumbs back at 
himself. "Hey, Rafe didn't promise Hal jack!" 
"And I didn't promise Hal I wouldn't kill you, so we're 
even, aren't we?" I grabbed the white kid's jaw. "What's 
your name?" Fear radiated off the kid like heat from a 
bonfire. He wanted to defy me, but his last outburst had 
seriously depleted his nervous courage. Blind, kneeling 
in a sticky liquid that was chilling his knees and toes, he 
knew his situation couldn't get any worse. 
He held his head up. "Ich heie Willem." 
"Good. Now listen, Willem, I know it's probably futile 
to get you to say anything against Heinrich. There is very 
little I could do to scare you into that, especially since I've 
already said I'm not going to kill you. Therefore I've 
decided to do something else that might, oddly enough, 
save your life. You won't like it, but it's for the best, really." 
I looked over at Alejandro. "Get me the green box from 
the bedroom, please." 
Emphasis on the word green made Willem uneasy. I 
took advantage of that. "I'm sure, Willem, that Heinrich, 
your fearless leader, has told you all sorts of things about 
the 'mud people.' He's told you how they're savages, and 
Rafe here would love to dance a little tattoo on your head 
to reinforce that message." I quickly read the name 
embroidered on the breast of Rafe's lieutenant's jacket. 
"Jalal, on the other hand, is rather quiet and civilized. 
You've been twisted by stereotypes, and I mean to let you 
correct those lousy impressions." 
Alejandro set the box down beside me, and I flipped it 
open. I quickly located and tore open the biggest syringe 
I could find. I gently slid it under Willem's nose as I might 
have done with a fine cigar. "This, my friend, this syringe, 
will be the instrument of your enlightenment. You know, 
of course, how whites are the superior race because our 
blood is pure. Well, Willem, I'm afraid your name is about 
to become Mud." 
Rafe looked hard at me. "What chu doing man? You 


want answers from him, not to edjukate his sorry ass. 
Leave him to me, I show him who's the deffest race. Then 
we go and kill us some lilywhite priss-boys." 
"Shut up, asshole, or I'll tell Bat to twist your head off 
and use it as a bowling ball." Willem started laughing, but 
I cut that short with one hard slap. "Moron, your arms and 
legs will be the pins, and there won't be picking up any 
spares for you. What I'm going to do here is I'm going to 
fill this syringe with blood, and I'm going to pump it into 
you, Willem. Your blood will become tainted. Then we're 
going to take you out in the desert and leave you in the 
sun so you darken up nice and good." 
"Oh, man...," wailed Rafe. "I'll get you whitey blood by 
the buckets." 
"That's it!" I pulled a needle from the trauma box, 
broke it out of the paper and fixed it to the end of the 
syringe. "Rafe, since you seem to have a single functioning 
brain cell, I think I draw from you first. Bat, bare his 
arm." 
Rafe tried to move out of the way, but Bat jerked his 
jacket down to pinion the black man's arms at his 
elbows. A nice, fat vein pulsed across the top of Rafe's 
bicep. "Stay away from me, man. I ain't givin' no blood 
to that trash." 
I shook my head and laughed. "That trash? By what 
warped sense of equality do you see yourself as superior 
to him? You're the bonehead who's all hot to go out and 
start a war, and over what? Over the shooting of man who 
wanted anything but a war! Lying on a stretcher with a 
hole in his chest and one in his gut, he made me promise, 
dammit, promise I'd not let a war get started. Hal Garrett 
apparently saw a lot more in you than I do, because he 
figured you had enough brains to see that dying doesn't 
help anyone. Hal, on the other hand, was offering you a 
way out of the hellhole." 
I turned and looked at the other gangers. "You can all 
walk out of here and pick up guns if you want to, and go 
off to shoot the hell out of the Aryans. I'll make sure that 
any of you who survive that stupidity get slabs in the 
morgue together. Hell, maybe I'll just see to it you get 
pieced out by the Reapers, with the money going to the 
Sunburst Foundation, because that's the only way a war 
is going to benefit anyone." 
I grinned at Rafe. "Maybe after I take some blood from 
you, I'll pump some of his back into your veins. Make you 
blood brothers because you're both of a like mind." 
"Don't you go touchin' me with that thing." Rafe's eyes 
grew wide, and he struggled helplessly against Bat. 
I popped the plastic cap off the needle. Rafe saw it, and 
his eyes rolled up in his head as he fainted dead away. Bat 
looked positively surprised as the ganger went limp. I 
motioned to Bat to lay Rafe down, then I pantomimed 
drawing blood. "Oh, yeah, Rafe, that's great. Dark, 
steaming, this stuff will do the trick." 
As I moved back in front of Willem, I saw Jalal edging 
toward the door. "Where do you think you're going?" 
The Blood Crip smiled at me. "I brained out as how if 


you pump that much black bride into Willem there, he's 
going to change fast. I was going to send some of the 
posse to get him some fried chicken and watermelon." 
He exaggerated his words, turning a racial slur into a 
statement dripping with sarcastic sincerity. 
"That's very considerate of you." 
Jalal grinned broadly. "Anything for a brother." 
Reaching back into the trauma box, I pulled out a 
small vial of epinephrine. I drew enough of the synthetic 
adrenaline into the syringe to give Willem a real jolt, then 
swabbed his arm down with alcohol soaked cotton. 
"Won't hurt a bit, son." I looked over at the Dragons. 
"After this takes, I'll want a donation from you so we can 
give him almond eyes and make him better at math. 
Then from you Diablos I want enough blood so he can 
speak Spanish and eat jalapens without a problem." 
"Anything to save him from Aryanism." 
I plunged the needle into his deltoid muscle. "There 
you go. Boy, look at that. It's starting already." 
Willem, helped along by the epinephrine, started to 
shake. Jalal nodded his head, "Color of weak tea, but it's 
building." 
"Si, soon he looks the color of beans." 
"Mahogany, really," commented the Dragon leader. 
I ran my hand through his hair and mussed it up nicely. 
"And look at the hair darken. Rafe, you've got great 
blood." 
"Billy," Jalal taunted, "you got a woman? My sister 
needs a squeeze." 
The lead Diablo shook his head. "No, my sister will 
want him." 
Willem broke a sweat that started to soak the blindfold. 
"No, you can't be doing this to me. You can't." 
"We have, Willem, and it'll stick once we get you out 
into the sun. Once we do that, you're going to be one of 
the mud people forever! Have you ever read the book, 
Black Like Me? No? You should have tried it while you 
had the chance. It's old, now, but I'm sure Jalal and the 
others will give you the pointers you'll need to survive. 
Anyone got a watch? What time is it?" 
"Midnight." 
I let air hiss through my teeth as I breathed in. "Damn, 
he changed quick, but we've got six hours 'til sunlight. He 
may revert unless we can fix the change. Anyone know 
of a tanning salon near here?" 
"Yeah, there's one at 30th and Thomas, about a mile 
and a half from here." Alejandro slapped Willem on the 
back. "I can have Bill over there in no time." 
"No, you can't." 
"Got to, Willem, otherwise you'll change back to your 
old, stupid self." I laid a heavy hand on his shoulder and 
squeezed it sympathetically. "My hands are tied, son." 
"No, please! No." He began to cry and shake uncontrollably. 
I knew a chunk of it came from the drug, but he 
was scared down to his soul and then some. "No, 
please." 
"Willem," I began in a slow voice, "you're asking me 



for a favor here, but you helped shoot a friend of mine. 
You have to show me you're sorry and you're willing to 
make amends for what you've done. You nearly killed a 
man who invited you into his home because you came 
asking him to help you. If I hadn't promised him, you'd 
be dead right now." 
"What do you want from me?" His cry echoed with 
desperation. He slumped to the side against Alejandro. 
"You have to answer me a question." 
"If I know it, yes, anything." 
"Hang on, Willem, you're almost home." 
I stood and drew the gangers with me into a knot near 
the door. "You know Garrett wants you at peace, right?" 
I got shakes and nods in response. "Good. The answer 
he's going to give me would probably prompt all of you 
to do something less than prudent. Garrett trusted me to 
deal with you, now you have to trust me to handle this. 
You have to leave and take your people with you. Okay? 
Leave this to me." 
The Dragon leader's ears spread then retracted once. 
"Done." He looked at the other two gangs' members. 
"Continue the truce at least until Garrett's back on his 
feet?" 
Jalal and the Diablos agreed to that. Jalal nodded at 
me. "I'll keep Rafe in line." 
"Thanks." 
Jalal hauled Rafe out of the house, and the crowd 
outside began to disperse. I dropped back down in front 
of Willem. "Willem, the question is this: Heinrich is 
getting a lot of backing to buy weapons to start a war here 
in the southside of Phoenix. Someone is financing him. 
They are good. They have supplied H&K weapons, 
which makes the culprit look like Honeywell & Koch, but 
their citadel is in a prime war zone. So, tell me, who's 
playing Fatherland to Heinrich's Fuhrer?" 
The boy hung his head. "Build-more." 
"Do you have a name there?" 
"No, but he's in security and he has lots of dolmarks." 
"Good boy. Alejandro here will take you to a place 
where you can sleep until morning. You should be okay 
by then. We'll keep the blindfold on because the transformation 
makes eyes rather sensitive." 
Alejandro helped the kid up, and I slit the ropes on his 
ankles with a knife from the trauma box. Standing, I 
looked over at Bat. "Did you hear all that?" 
He nodded. 
"Good, relay it to Jytte and see if she can get us some 
likely candidates for our mystery man. Have her run a 
check that shows areas of conflict between Build-more, 
Lorica, H&K, Sumitomo-Dial and Genentech Carbide. I 
want to know what the target is. Oh, and have her 
compile a dossier for me on Nerys Loring." 
Bat nodded slowly. "You did good work here. I would 
have started breaking bones." 
"I was tempted, but I promised." 
"I don't make promises I don't want to keep." 
"Well, I only make promises I think I can keep." I 



looked out the window at the gangs melting away in the 
darkness. "I only hope circumstances don't force me to 
break this one." 

looked out the window at the gangs melting away in the 
darkness. "I only hope circumstances don't force me to 
break this one." 
I returned to Marit's home by 1 a.m. I looked in on her 
and found she was sleeping peacefully, so I undressed in 
the guest room and crashed on the bed there instead of 
disturbing her. While I knew I would find it both comforting 
and soothing to have her lying next to me, I was not 
certain I wanted to be soothed or comforted at that 
moment. 
There was no question in my mind that Coyote's 
traitor had leaked word of the meeting to Heinrich and his 
Aryans. Knowing that the Aryans were working for Build-
more meant I had a possible employer for the traitor, but 
that was a grand leap in logic that I wanted to avoid. The 
last thing I needed to be doing was looking for evidence 
that confirmed my theory, instead of finding the theory 
that fit the facts. 
So, what were my facts? From Nerys' reactions to me, 
I was outside talent brought in, apparently, to take her 
father out of the picture. Her mood shifted abruptly and 
radically when I hinted her father still was alive. Clearly 
he still knew something that could cause her problems, 
but what it was I could not tell. 
I also had the fact of Nerys' animosity toward Marit to 
deal with. That appeared to explain Leich's attack on us 
at Danny's place. His tie to Nerys had been firmly 
established by his being my escort to her home. I still 
wondered if he was in some way related to the Reaper I 
had shot. I knew it was impossible for anyone to have 
survived the damage I did to him in my escape, but after 
visiting an alternate reality and seeing how hard Draolings 
were to kill, my resolve on that point was beginning to 
erode. 
The fact of a traitor in our midst was one of the 
toughest to deal with. Because everyone in the cell knew 
about the meet Hal had arranged, anyone could have 
played Judas. Handing out restricted information was 
the only way to determine who the spy was, and, despite 
the odd stuff that had happened in Sedona, Rock Pell 
looked like a good candidate on that count. We had not 
been ambushed by any predetermined setup, and he 
had not known we were going. 
Still, that was negative evidence and provided a 
direction for further inquiry, not proof of guilt. 
Somewhere in the middle of trying to organize different 
tasks for different people I drifted off to sleep. My 
subconscious mind kept gnawing on that difficulty, 
which manifested itself as a strange dream. It was set at 
a posh cocktail party, and in it everyone I had met 
appeared to be animated, but, as I moved around, they 
turned out to be paper-thin cutouts. On one side I saw 
them as they appeared to be on the surface, but from the 


other I saw them at their worst. Rock, for example, 
counted 30 silver coins over and over again while 
wearing a Nazi uniform. 
Weirdest of all, Coyote appeared as a white silhouette 
that always kept his back to a wall. I could not get 
anything from him except an occasional nod of approval. 
While I found that chilling, the one time I stepped 
in front of a mirror I saw a blank image staring back at me. 
In my mind, then, Coyote and I were one and I found that 
idea unsettling for reasons I could not figure out. 
A black shadow entered my dream. I looked for and 
found the familiar gold ring. "El Espectro. Are you really 
here, or are you part of my dream?" 
The shadow turned a circle, showing itself to be more 
substantial than the other denizens of my dream. "Here, 
in the, ah, flesh." 
"You've spoken with Loring?" 
The shadow man nodded. "I have communicated with 
him, and I found it disturbingly easy. I am afraid he has 
ventured into realms where he is not equipped to go." 
"Meaning?" 
El Espectro motioned with his right hand as if he were 
wiping the fog from a mirror. As he did so the background 
of my dream went away. I saw through the opening he 
had wiped and found myself staring out at a reddish plain 
with a dark bowl of sky and twinkling stars. He stepped 
through the streak he had created, and I followed him. As 
I looked back I saw my dreamworld contract down to a 
pinprick of light, then soar up to become the third star in 
the belt of Orion the Hunter. 
"What you and I have just done is shift from one frame 
of reality to another. One mark of this ability, for example, 
is being able to dream in color instead of black 
and white. That is your conscious mind being able to 
accept and deal with a vast array of input. Some people 
are blind to that input, others cannot process itwithout 
help, that is." 
"I'm not certain I understand what you're telling me." 
I shrugged my shoulders. "For as long as I can remember, 
which is not long at all, I have been able to dream in 
color." 
"You and I are among the gifted few of humanity. We 
are what charlatans and psychics have called sensitive. 
We have a natural ability to pull in and deal with more 
sensory input than others. It is a form of empathy, really, 
and is roughly akin to being able to see in the ultraviolet 
or infrared ranges of electromagnetic radiation. We 
know insects can do the former and some snakes the 
latter. For us, until we are educated and equipped with 
skills, our empathy may be little more than feeling 
uneasy in a bad situation, or getting uncomfortable 
feelings from another." 
I smiled. "Whereas you, who have studied and refined 
your skill, can read minds and perform other miracles." 
El Espectro inclined his head in a concession to my 
point. "True, though my miracles are really little more 
than parlor tricks. Telekinesis, pyrokinesis, telepathy, 


psychometry, clairvoyanceall of these are branches of 
this thing that makes us different. We are still human, but 
we are adept where others are blind." 
"And Nero Loring is one of the blind." 
"Exactly. And unfortunately. He is, as a creative 
person, one of the most brilliant I have ever had the 
pleasure of meeting. His mind works so quickly and in 
such a complex manner that I can do no more than pick 
off stray surface thoughts. I could more easily read War 
and Peace in Inuit than I could fathom his mind. Yet, for 
all that, had he been with us in the proto-dimension 
yesterday, he would have found himself in a world of 
gray-flannel Jell-O. He would have seen nothing but us, 
and would have been helpless if we chose to abandon 
him." 
A comet of ill-omens streaked across the heavens. "I 
sense danger in your use of the word 'unfortunately.'" 
"Quite a bit of it, in fact. About four years ago, as I piece 
it together now, he started to see clues of some very 
disturbing things. At the very least he began to suspect 
the existence of dimensions other than the one in which 
Earth exists. He began to toy with a device that would 
allow him to detect signs of that universe. He thought,of 
it as a radio-telescope for looking through dimensions. It 
was something that was akin to the dimensional gateway 
I used to send you and Ms. Fisk back to Eclipse. 
"This he did on his own time. Apparently, about four 
months ago, he discovered something that deeply 
shocked him. His daughter ousted him from the company 
two months later and tried to have him put away. 
Company loyalists managed to hide him." 
"And I was brought in to kill him." 
El Espectro's head came up. "Conjecture, or you 
know this for a fact?" 
"Solid conjecture. The signs are there." I folded my 
arms. "I have since suffered from amnesia, so I am not 
certain about anything. Nerys acts as if that was my 
mission, and she was quite disturbed when I told her I had 
gone to Sedona on the track of a rumor about her father." 
"This could complicate things." The shadow man 
thought for a moment, the shook his head. "You will have 
to proceed very carefully." 
"I intend to. Now, bring me up to speed on Nero." 
"Ah, yes. When Loring was ousted, he lost access to 
his machine. He spent much of his time on the run 
studying certain mystical texts which describe other 
dimensions, other creatures and the like. I do not think he 
ascribed to any one in particular, but was looking for 
something that matched what he had discovered by 
using his dimension scope. He found it in a work of 
fictiona collection of short stories by Edgar Allan Poe. 
"Nero chose to believe the pernicious slander about 
Poe promulgated by Rufus W. Griswold." 
"Namely that Poe was an opium addict?" inquired 
Tycho. 
"Correct, or, rather, incorrect. Poe may have been, as 
are you and I, a very creative empath who was able to 


peer into other dimensions. Nero, starting from that 
point, has secluded himself in a place where he can 
obtain and use psychotropic drugs to free his mind to 
roam where he was able to go using his dimensionscope." 
"And it won't work?" 
"This is the rough equivalent of a man who has studied 
an atlas jumping on a raft and waiting for Brownian 
motion to carry him from New York to Europe. He may 
get there, but he has no control over his travel. He is 
destroying his mind with these thingsand for nothing." 
Anxiety filled El Espectro's words. "Whatever he thinks 
is so urgent he is unable to handle in any event." 
"What do you need from me?" 
"The wound I suffered was a bit more debilitating than 
I had imagined. I cannot fetch him and dry him out. I need 
you to do that for me. Once you get him, I want you to 
leave him with friends of mine in Eclipse." 
"A cutout?" 
"More for your protection than mine, Mr. Caine." El 
Espectro reached out and pressed his left hand to my 
forehead. I felt a tingle run over my scalp and instantly I 
knew the route I was to drive both to find Loring and to 
bring him to El Espectro's people. "There, that should 
help you. I wish you Godspeed and suggest, unless you 
know who your traitor is, you travel alone." 
El Espectro's image faded with his voice. Through 
where he had been, the sun began to rise over the edge 
of the planet, and I shielded my eyes against the light. As 
I turned away from it, I felt sheets twist around my legs, 
and I opened my eyes. Letting my arm fall, I saw the sun 
dawning from the reflective face of the Sumitomo-Dial 
citadel. 
I smelled coffee and looked over at the doorway. Marit 
stood there in a loosely belted silk robe, the color of blue 
in a housefly's body. As she leaned against the doorjamb, 
the gap in the robe ran from her throat, down 
between her breasts, across her flat belly and down to 
trace the line of her hip and right leg. She clutched the 
steaming mug right below her face and seemed more 
intent on inhaling it than actually drinking it. 
I smiled. "If coffee tasted half as good as it smells, it 
would be a winner." 
She took in a deep sniff, then smiled. "I needed it to 
wake up. I had a nightmare." 
"Oh?" 
"Yes, I dreamed I woke up and you weren't in bed 
beside me." 
"Sorry, I didn't want to disturb your sleep last night." 
"I know, but with the news about Hal, I was worried." 
I sat up in bed and held my arms out to her. She set her 
cup on the nightstand, then crawled into bed beside me 
and I held her. "I didn't know you knew about Hal." 
"Jytte called last night with the news. She said Candy 
didn't make it." 
I felt a shiver run through her. "No, she didn't. We do, 
however, have a lead that Jytte and Bat should be 
following up." 


"Really? Can I help?" 
I shook my head. "Not with that, but you can help by 
spending one more day in bed." 
She snuggled in more tightly to my chest. "With you 
here too?" 
"Don't I wish." I tipped her chin up with my left hand 
and kissed her on the lips. "I have to head out and do 
something on the reservation. If you can call down and 
have your Ariel ready for me to use, I would be very 
appreciative." 
"I can call for you. How soon do you want it?" 
"An hour?" 
"An hour?" With the pout on her face and the tortured 
tone in her voice, she made it sound like a nanosecond. 
She rolled over onto my chest, pinning me to the bed. 
"Make it two hours, Mr. Caine, and give me a down 
payment on the appreciation, and you have a deal." 
"My pleasure, Ms. Fisk." 
"I'm counting on that, Mr. Caine." 



Having left bed well after I was awake, I showered 
quickly and dressed in very casual clothes. Marit offered 
to wash my back for me, but I reminded her she had to 
call about the car. She went to do that, but she noted that 
she expected the other 90% of my appreciation to be paid 
when I returned. I offered to sign a note, but she agreed 
to take me at my word. 
Feeling a bit paranoid, I not only packed my Colt Krait, 
but I also brought the one I had taken from the Reapers 
and my sniper riflethough I did leave it in the case. 
Given that I was headed out into the trackless wastes of 
the Salt River Indian Reservation, I assumed having a 
long-distance weapon would be a good idea. 
Marit concurred in this thinking. "If you are right in 
thinking that the Witch hired you to kill her father, taking 
along as much artillery as you can carry to retrieve him 
is not a bad idea at all. I can still ride backup." 
I shook my head. "No. I want you to take one more day 
to recover. I want you ready in case anything we learn 
from Loring demands action." 
She reluctantly agreed to stay home and had Juanita 
pack me a lunch. I accepted the brown bag from the 
Hispanic woman, then Marit gave me a kiss as if she were 
a housewife sending her husband off to the office. "Be 
careful." 
"As always." I winked at her. "Oh, look, don't tell 
anyone else about this, okay? Hal doesn't need the 
burden, and it might not pan out." 
"Right." 
I took the elevator down to Level Five and picked the 
Ariel up near the McDowell car transport area. The 
attendant directed me toward the "hellavator," which is 
resident slang for the car elevator that takes vehicles 
straight down to ground level if that is quicker than 


picking up one of the freeways out of City Center. 
Because I wanted to head directly out McDowell toward 
the reservation, I decided that was the best way to work 
things. 
I guess, in the back of my mind, I had expected to pick 
up a tail, but I never expected it to be so blatantly obvious. 
I spotted it first at 16th and McDowell and confirmed it by 
the time I shot under the Squaw Peak Parkway. Streetlights 
strobed across the hood of the car as I hit the accelerator 
and started to run. My tail, knowing they had been made, 
picked up speed as well. 
I eased the Krait from my shoulder holster and laid it 
on the seat beside me. Hitting the switch to roll down my 
driver's-side window, I kept an eye on my rearview mirror 
and the pickup truck with two Aryans in the cockpit and 
one in the back. The man in the back raised a rifle, and 
I saw a muzzle flash a second before the back window 
shattered and blew back out in a jagged ice storm. 
So intent was I on making my car a tough target to hit 
that I almost didn't notice the new danger. All traps 
require bait and a sting. I had mistaken the pickup for the 
sting, but it fulfilled all the requirements of bait: It caught 
my attention. It didn't allow me to notice the hammer 
until almost too late. 
The Harley came out of a side street, crossed traffic 
and pulled up along side me with a blond-haired, bare-
chested Aryan riding it. He wore mirrored sunglasses, 
but beneath the left lens I saw the hint of a star scar. On 
his chest, as he twisted to smile at me, I saw two other 
roundish scars that looked so old they couldn't have 
been from the shooting a week ago. In his gloved left 
hand he held the pistol grip of a double-barreled, sawed-
off shotgun. 
I tapped the brakes and he shot ahead of me. As he 
shifted the gun from his left hand to right to shoot out my 
front tire, I jerked the wheel to the left and bumped his 
bike. As he fought to control it, the shotgun clattering to 
the ground, I pulled parallel, filled my hand with the Krait 
and pumped two rounds into him. One hit his hip, the 
other hit his chest, and his bike swerved into the left-turn 
lane. 
In one respect he was lucky. The Ford-Revlon Elan 
was not moving very fast when he hit it square on the 
nose. Leich vaulted from the bike, slammed into the 
windscreen, then flew over the top of the car. He landed 
on his feet, but continued in a somersault that ended with 
him skidding on his back through the glass, dirt and bits 
of chrome detailing left behind in the turn lane by other 
cars. 
His bike, which had completed a cartwheel over the 
Elan, wobbled along and flopped over on top of him. 
The pickup stopped near the wreckage, and I continued 
on. My ears rang from the sound of the gun going off 
in such a confined space, and the cordite left a bitter, dry 
taste in my mouth. Maybe Marit was right. Perhaps I 
should have just stayed in bed with her. 

picking up one of the freeways out of City Center. 
Because I wanted to head directly out McDowell toward 
the reservation, I decided that was the best way to work 
things. 
I guess, in the back of my mind, I had expected to pick 
up a tail, but I never expected it to be so blatantly obvious. 
I spotted it first at 16th and McDowell and confirmed it by 
the time I shot under the Squaw Peak Parkway. Streetlights 
strobed across the hood of the car as I hit the accelerator 
and started to run. My tail, knowing they had been made, 
picked up speed as well. 
I eased the Krait from my shoulder holster and laid it 
on the seat beside me. Hitting the switch to roll down my 
driver's-side window, I kept an eye on my rearview mirror 
and the pickup truck with two Aryans in the cockpit and 
one in the back. The man in the back raised a rifle, and 
I saw a muzzle flash a second before the back window 
shattered and blew back out in a jagged ice storm. 
So intent was I on making my car a tough target to hit 
that I almost didn't notice the new danger. All traps 
require bait and a sting. I had mistaken the pickup for the 
sting, but it fulfilled all the requirements of bait: It caught 
my attention. It didn't allow me to notice the hammer 
until almost too late. 
The Harley came out of a side street, crossed traffic 
and pulled up along side me with a blond-haired, bare-
chested Aryan riding it. He wore mirrored sunglasses, 
but beneath the left lens I saw the hint of a star scar. On 
his chest, as he twisted to smile at me, I saw two other 
roundish scars that looked so old they couldn't have 
been from the shooting a week ago. In his gloved left 
hand he held the pistol grip of a double-barreled, sawed-
off shotgun. 
I tapped the brakes and he shot ahead of me. As he 
shifted the gun from his left hand to right to shoot out my 
front tire, I jerked the wheel to the left and bumped his 
bike. As he fought to control it, the shotgun clattering to 
the ground, I pulled parallel, filled my hand with the Krait 
and pumped two rounds into him. One hit his hip, the 
other hit his chest, and his bike swerved into the left-turn 
lane. 
In one respect he was lucky. The Ford-Revlon Elan 
was not moving very fast when he hit it square on the 
nose. Leich vaulted from the bike, slammed into the 
windscreen, then flew over the top of the car. He landed 
on his feet, but continued in a somersault that ended with 
him skidding on his back through the glass, dirt and bits 
of chrome detailing left behind in the turn lane by other 
cars. 
His bike, which had completed a cartwheel over the 
Elan, wobbled along and flopped over on top of him. 
The pickup stopped near the wreckage, and I continued 
on. My ears rang from the sound of the gun going off 
in such a confined space, and the cordite left a bitter, dry 
taste in my mouth. Maybe Marit was right. Perhaps I 
should have just stayed in bed with her. 


Street. This was a mistake. Off on my left I saw the lower 
reaches of the Lorica Citadel, which prompted me to try 
to match up Mr. Leich with both the rider I'd just killed and 
the Reaper I shot in the first night of my new life. I 
desperately wanted the job to be difficult, but the three 
images slid together more easily than bullets slide into a 
clip. He didn't look like a Draoling... 
I realized the light had lasted longer than it should have 
just about the same time I saw the pickup truck in the 
rearview mirror. I cranked the steering wheel to the right 
and gunned the engined, vaulting me up onto the 
sidewalk. Sparks shot as the passenger side of the car 
scraped along the Lorica Citadel wall. Pedestrians leaped 
out into the street, and I bull's-eyed a metal cart full of 
groceries. Cans of soup and veggies bumped up and 
over the Ariel, then I cut back into the street and hit the 
gas. 
Behind me, having swung wide to get through the 
intersection, came the pickup. The driver hunched over 
the wheel and his passenger stuck a pistol out the 
passenger window. I swerved right in front of the truck, 
which threw off the passenger's aim, then I cut back as 
the driver tried to ram me from behind. 
The truck tried to pull parallel as we shot through the 
intersection at 40th and on to 44th, but I hogged the 
whole road and kept them back. Then, just on the other 
side of 44th, the sniper stood up in the back of the truck 
and shouldered his rifle again. With deliberate care he 
wrapped his left forearm in the sling to sharpen his aim. 
I jerked the wheel to the left and a string of shells ripped 
through the passenger half of the car. 
I looked in the rearview and shifted into overdrive. The 
first sniper had not been wearing gloves, I suddenly 
realized. The wind blew parallel triangles of blood back 
across the sniper's face from the corners of his mouth. 
Torn flesh flapped in the wind and one patch on his 
shoulder showed his deltoid muscle. Worse yet, at hip 
and flank, I saw bullet wounds. 

Street. This was a mistake. Off on my left I saw the lower 
reaches of the Lorica Citadel, which prompted me to try 
to match up Mr. Leich with both the rider I'd just killed and 
the Reaper I shot in the first night of my new life. I 
desperately wanted the job to be difficult, but the three 
images slid together more easily than bullets slide into a 
clip. He didn't look like a Draoling... 
I realized the light had lasted longer than it should have 
just about the same time I saw the pickup truck in the 
rearview mirror. I cranked the steering wheel to the right 
and gunned the engined, vaulting me up onto the 
sidewalk. Sparks shot as the passenger side of the car 
scraped along the Lorica Citadel wall. Pedestrians leaped 
out into the street, and I bull's-eyed a metal cart full of 
groceries. Cans of soup and veggies bumped up and 
over the Ariel, then I cut back into the street and hit the 
gas. 
Behind me, having swung wide to get through the 
intersection, came the pickup. The driver hunched over 
the wheel and his passenger stuck a pistol out the 
passenger window. I swerved right in front of the truck, 
which threw off the passenger's aim, then I cut back as 
the driver tried to ram me from behind. 
The truck tried to pull parallel as we shot through the 
intersection at 40th and on to 44th, but I hogged the 
whole road and kept them back. Then, just on the other 
side of 44th, the sniper stood up in the back of the truck 
and shouldered his rifle again. With deliberate care he 
wrapped his left forearm in the sling to sharpen his aim. 
I jerked the wheel to the left and a string of shells ripped 
through the passenger half of the car. 
I looked in the rearview and shifted into overdrive. The 
first sniper had not been wearing gloves, I suddenly 
realized. The wind blew parallel triangles of blood back 
across the sniper's face from the corners of his mouth. 
Torn flesh flapped in the wind and one patch on his 
shoulder showed his deltoid muscle. Worse yet, at hip 
and flank, I saw bullet wounds. 

Two more bullets punched through the passenger 
seat headrest, then I saw Leich furiously working the 
rifle's bolt. As we streaked across 52nd Street and started 
up between the Papago Buttes, I pulled my foot off the 
accelerator and pulled into the right lane. The pickup 
driver shot ahead, then made to drop in right in front of 
me so Leich could blaze away to his heart's content. 
As the driver tried to pull the truck in front of me, I 
punched the accelerator again, catching the pickup 
exactly behind the right rear passenger wheel. With all of 
the truck's weight up front, I started it into a skid. I hit it 
again, then pulled back as it shot off at a 45-degree angle 
to our previous direction of travel. 
Flying along at roughly 60 miles per hour, the pickup 
hit the curb and jumped up all of three feet before it hit the 
low restraining wall on the other side of the bike path. 
That started it rolling which, in turn, catapulted Mr. Leich 
and the body of the original sniper from the bed of the 


truck. The sniper flopped around like a dead thing, but 
Leich made an attempt to control his flight. He landed on 
his right leg, with his momentum continuing his backward 
somersault, and tried to steady himself with the 
Armalite assault rifle. He went down, of course, leaving 
patches of flesh on the tarmac, but managed to roll to his 
feet 10 yards from the crash site. 
I tagged his left leg with the Ariel. He spun around and 
slammed into the side of my car, then flew off and into the 
median. I heard him scream as he landed in the arms of 
a big saguaro and hung there like a grim, southwestern 
Easter spectacle. On the other side of the road the pickup 
rolled down an embankment and came to a rest with all 
four spinning wheels in the air. 
As I sped away from that tableau, two questions came 
to mind: What the hell is Leich? I'd shot him six times, all 
total. I'd forced his bike into a car at 60+ miles per hour 
and watched him give himself an asphalt massage. After 
that he quenched his thirst with the blood of an ally and 
was still steady enough to shoot very well from the back 
of a moving truck. Finally, after he's knocked out of 
pickup truck, he rolls and stands. I hit him with the Ariel, 
and he still manages to be alive enough to scream when 
he gets impaled on a cactus. 
I knew things were strange, and I didn't mind that while 
sharing a hallucination with El Espectro, but unkillable 
creatures on the streets of Eclipse were not something I'd 
bargained for. "The logical explanation is that Leich 
really is, ah, one of a set of identical quadruplets that all 
share the infirmities of the others through this empathy 
thing El Espectro talks about." 
It sounded no better spoken aloud than it did echoing 
around in my head. The alternate explanation was that 
Leich, like the Draolings, was a native of another dimension. 
How he got here, how he got hooked up with Lorica 
and Nerys, and how he knew to go after me this morning 
were all open to conjecture. Of all of them, the last 
bothered me the most, but I tabled consideration of it until 
I successfully completed Nero Loring's recovery. 
The other question, of course, was how I would explain 
to Marit what had happened to her car. "I'll just have to 
be very appreciative, I guess." 
Frozen Shade covers the eastern half of what used to 
be known as the Valley of the Sun right up to the Salt River 
Indian reservation. I'd seen the break on the map I'd 
reviewed, but I hardly expected it to be so abrupt. Frozen 
Shade panels actually covered the eastern edge of 
Scottsdale to catch the morning sun, with only 20 feet of 
clearance along the major roads. 
Fortunately McDowell Road was a major road, so I 
shot out into the reservation, passing beneath the 101L, 
without a hitch. Out there, in the gloriously warm sunlight, 
I took the car up to 70 mph and let the through-
current of air sweep glass and seat stuffing out through 
the back window. I reveled in the heat and, somehow, the 
bright light nibbled away at the dread Leich had inspired 
in me. 


I picked up Route 87 heading northeast and took it 
through some of the driest, most inhospitable land I'd 
ever seen. In the distance I could see small, ramshackle 
houses the ruddy color of the dirt. It took me a moment 
to realize they were actually made of adobe bricks, and 
that astounded me. In this day and age, in the shadow of 
one of the largest cities in North America, there were 
people living in homes made of mud. 
Somewhere beyond where the Beeline Highway cut 
across the Arizona Canal, I turned north onto a dirt track. 
I followed it as faithfully as possible, leaving a huge cloud 
of dust in my wake. Twice I flushed jackrabbits and three 
times drove past the rusting skeletons of cars. Always, 
though, I kept the Ariel's nose pointed at Sawik Mountain. 
A rounded red hunk of rock, Sawik Mountain sat on 
the surrounding flat plain as if it had been formed from 
clay and squashed into a lump there by the potter. I 
followed the track as it cut east and stopped on the far 
side of the formation. Re-holstering the blue Krait, I 
pulled the gun case and sandwich bag from the car. The 
case showed a dent where it had deflected one bullet and 
one of the two sandwiches had a rather big hole in it. 
Trekking around through the small gullies was not 
particularly difficult. As I had seen when El Espectro 
mindfed me the location, I found the footpath leading in 
toward a small split between the mountain itself and a 
large hunk of rock as soon as I entered the mountain's 
shadow. At the base of it I saw two men, both Indians, one 
young and one ancient. 
"Howdy, gentlemen." I did my best to approach easily 
and openly because the younger man had a lever-action 
Winchester .30-06 rifle hanging from the end of his right 
arm. "Nice day for a hike." 
The old man started laughing in a wheezy voice. The 
younger man brought the rifle up and laid it in the crook 
of his left elbow. "Mister, if you came all this way for a 
hike, you're bound for disappointment. This is reservation 
land, and it's not open to the public. You might as 
well turn around and head back out of here." 
A phrase El Espectro had implanted in my brain 
floated up to my conscious mind. "I'm just seeking 
visions, friends. The Witch's father needs my help." 
The young man made ready to wave me off, but the 
old man said something to him. The rifle slipped down so 
the forward handgrip rested in his left hand, and he 
motioned down with it. "Get rid of the bag and case. Take 
off your windbreaker." 
I did as commanded, leaving me with a sleeveless T-shirt 
and shoulder holster covering my chest. "Now 
what?" 
The old man tossed a waterskin out into the crescent 
of sunlight to my right. "Get the bag my grandfather has 
thrown there," the young man commanded. "Pour water 
out onto your arms and wash them off. Wash them 
good." 
Given the way my morning had gone so far, this 


request even sounded reasonable. I picked up the skin 
and poured some water into my hand. I sniffed it and 
smelled nothing. I washed my arms off, then capped the 
skin and tossed it back into the shade. "If you ask me to 
put on surgical greens and perform an operation, I'll just 
leave now." 
The younger man winced at my joke, but his grandfather 
wheezed out another laugh. We waited for five 
minutes, with the old man constantly checking the sun 
and then me. Finally he spoke to the younger man, and 
the rifle swung up and away from me. "Come on in". 
You're clean." 
I frowned as I recovered my gear. "I'm clean?" 
The old man spoke in a voice that was at once quiet 
and impish, yet commanding. "In the old days, evil 
creatures could not stand the touch of sunlight. Now they 
have sunblock." He rested a palsied hand on his 
grandson's strong shoulder. "You will wait here, Will. You 
must stand guard while we go to the Cave of Dreams." 
"Yes, Grandfather." 
The old man, whose long gray hair was restrained by 
a leather thong encircling his head, led me up the narrow 
path. "You have been sent by Ghost Who Lives. Did he 
tell you what you would find?" 
"No." 
The old man looked back at me over his shoulder with 
sharp gray eyes. "Here we are far from the world you 
know in Phoenix. Nero Loring is as far from us as you are 
from Phoenix. Loring entrusted himself to me, and I 
agreed to help him on his quest, but I can help him no 
more. This will be up to you." 
"I'm Tycho Caine, by the way." 
The ancient one just laughed lightly. "My given name 
is, in your tongue, He Whose Antics Are the Light in the 
Eye of the Raven. It is not a compliment. You may call 
me George." 
"George?" 
He shrugged. "In my youth I learned to write English 
by copying the words on money. In signing up for service 
during the Korean War, my name choices were either 
George or Novus and the first seemed easier for my 
sergeant to learn." 
While we talked, we worked our way up a steep, twisty 
trail that hugged the mountain. The years had weathered 
the volcanic rock, but they had not made it smooth. One 
misstep and I'd end up looking like the road pizza Leich 
should have been. 
George stopped me at a wide ledge. To the left a series 
of hand- and footholds had been carved into the rock 
generations ago. Up at the top I could see, over the lip of 
another ledge, the top of what I took to be a hole in the 
mountain. He pointed toward the opening. 
"This is a sacred mountain, and the Cave of Dreams 
is a magical place. Nero Loring has been in there for three 
weeks. Will and I have brought him food and water each 
day. We also stand guard to prevent those who would 
come to hurt him from disturbing him. When you go up 


there, do not say anything to him until he speaks to you. 
You do not want to break him from communion with the 
gods until they are done with him." 
The old man sat down in the mountain's shadow. "I do 
not know what you will find up there. I have not been in 
the cave since I first took him up there. Whatever you 
find, do not disturb it, for it will be a symbol of power for 
him. It may be all that is keeping him alive. Listen to him, 
and when he speaks to you as you, then it is that you may 
take him from this place." 
"In the meantime," he pointed at my luggage, "I will 
watch your things." 
I sat the case down and tossed him the sandwich bag. 
"Help yourself, but watch out for lead poisoning." 
He nodded solemnly. "It is a crime to waste food." 
I started to climb up, straining to hear any sounds from 
above. The climb proved easy and every time I looked 
back down at George, he saluted me with smaller and 
smaller pieces of sandwich. At the top of the climb I saw 
a jug of water and an empty plastic plate resting on a 
ledge that seemed just smaller than a twin bed. 
The hole in the mountain had obviously been carved 
by human hands. Three feet in diameter, it led into a 
tunnel of similar dimensions that slanted up at a 70degree 
angle for 10 feet. I kept my head down as I crawled 
through it, devoutly wishing to avoid having my scalp 
scraped off by the rocks, then stood slowly as I entered 
the Cave of Dreams. 
The only light in the whole place came through a hole 
in the domed roof, and it came down in a brilliant shaft 
that washed over Nero Loring's seated body. Lacking an 
accurate frame of reference, it took me a moment or two 
to realize that Loring was physically a rather small man. 
Seated there in a lotus position, and with the sunlight 
making his bald head, bare shoulders, arms and legs 
bright patches of white, and with his eyes rolled up into 
his head, he looked like a creature wrapped in a light-
cocoon in preparation for a spiritual chrysalis. 
Keeping one hand on the cavern wall, I carefully 
picked my way around the outer edge of the spherical 
room to a small alcove. I did not have much room in 
which to work because Loring had filled the cavern floor 
with an intricate sandpainting. It looked familiar because 
of the medium. I had seen many sandpaintings on sale 
in PhoenixEclipse and City Center both. What struck 
me as odd was that while the technique used was 
traditional, the images were not. 
Loring seated himself at the hub of the circular painting. 
Seven lines came out from the middle, splitting the 
drawing into seven even parts. Each slice contained a 
bizarre creature of some symbolic import, I had no doubt, 
but I could not puzzle them out. One, for example, had 
a cracked egg from which was emerging an insectoid 
monster. Another appeared to be a big-mouthed, rapacious 
creature shoveling earth into its mouth with arms 
that ended in steam-shovel buckets. They made no overt 
sense to me, but I felt I had the key to their meaning inside 


me somewhere. I just needed one more piece of the 
puzzle. 
That piece was the outer circle itself. It had been done 
almost entirely in black sand except where golden sand 
had been layered in. The gold bits were all angular, 
beginning and ending in dots. I knew I had seen that 
design before, but it took me a second or two to 
remember where. 

me somewhere. I just needed one more piece of the 
puzzle. 
That piece was the outer circle itself. It had been done 
almost entirely in black sand except where golden sand 
had been layered in. The gold bits were all angular, 
beginning and ending in dots. I knew I had seen that 
design before, but it took me a second or two to 
remember where. 

At seven spots around the room, in small pots placed 
at points beyond where the spokes ended at the outer 
circle, incense burned. Thick ropes of it filled the air and 
drifted like clouds of cosmic dust through the universe. 
I caught some of the spicy scent but couldn't place it. It 
burned my nose and eyes enough to start the one 
running and the others watering. As tears filled my eyes 
and blurred the scene, things shifted. 
Suddenly I found myself out where I had been with El 
Espectro. I floated above the red planet. Surrounding me 
I saw all sorts of humanized creatures in traditional 
Amerindian garb. They regarded me closely, then shifted 
in shape to become stained-glass saints, and then again 
into the myriad gods of the world's pantheons. None of 
them said anything to me, yet I sensed from them an 
insistence that I act. And about the same time as I began 
to wonder if they truly existed, they began to vanish, and 
I wondered if what I had seen was nothing more than an 
externalization of things lurking within my own mind. 
Below me, seated in the dust of the red world, I saw 
Nero Loring. Pointing my toes, I forced myself to drift 
down to him. As I did, behind him, on a sheer mountain 
face, I saw images begin to take form as if a movie were 
being projected on the mountainside. On the mountain 
I saw Nero Loring's head and shoulders as they were 
now, but the crosshairs of a rifle scope slid down over 
them. I saw the purple dot the Allard Technologies 
Espion CIV laser sight used to mark its victims. It clung 
to Loring's forehead like the biblical mark of Cain, then 
I felt my right index finger spasm. 
In agonizingly precise slow motion I saw a hollow-
nosed, 180-grain bullet that had been drilled and patched 
core through the sighting dot. Upon impact, the droplet 
of mercury inside the bullet shot forward, bursting free of 
the front of the bullet. Its microfine beads ripped through 
the tissue like shotgun pellets. The rest of the bullet 
fragmented, expanding to create an exit hole five times 
the size of the entry wound as it went out just above his 
neck. 
As the head snapped forward, it dropped from the 
camera frame, and the movie ended. I knew without 
question that what I had just seen was a memory 
conjured up from before I woke up in the body bag. 
Whatever it was that was in the incense had freed that 
vision when I saw Loring. I had shot and killed him, I knew 
it. I felt it right down to my soul. I had killed Nero Loring, 


yet here he sat before me. 
The man's eyes rolled down and skewered me with a 
feverish stare. In a voice I heard as being as mechanical 
as Coyote's phone voice, he spoke to me. "He told me 
you would come. Once the destroyer, once my salvation." 
He lifted his hands to me as if transferring an 
invisible burden. "You must find her and bring her to me. 
He cannot have her." 
I concentrated, frowning, to pierce the mystery of his 
words. "Who is he and who is she?" 
"He is Fiddleback." Loring's eyes blazed with madness. 
"She is Nerys. Into your hands I commend the spirit 
of my daughter. If you cannot save her, we all will die!" 

yet here he sat before me. 
The man's eyes rolled down and skewered me with a 
feverish stare. In a voice I heard as being as mechanical 
as Coyote's phone voice, he spoke to me. "He told me 
you would come. Once the destroyer, once my salvation." 
He lifted his hands to me as if transferring an 
invisible burden. "You must find her and bring her to me. 
He cannot have her." 
I concentrated, frowning, to pierce the mystery of his 
words. "Who is he and who is she?" 
"He is Fiddleback." Loring's eyes blazed with madness. 
"She is Nerys. Into your hands I commend the spirit 
of my daughter. If you cannot save her, we all will die!" 
The real world came crashing back as Loring collapsed 
in the middle of his sandpainting. I shivered all the 
way down my spine, then called out to George. He 
arrived a minute later and gingerly stepped over the lines 
Loring had drawn. Following his lead, I made my way to 
the center of the picture and lifted Loring's emaciated 
body. A man his size should have weighed at least 130 
pounds, but he was easily below 100. 
George and I wormed the comatose man through the 
tunnel and with Will's help managed to get him into the 
car. I belted him into the shot-up passenger seat and put 
my rifle case in the seat behind him. Straightening up, I 
slammed the door shut. Turning to George I started to 
thank him, but he stalked his away around the car with 
his arms held wide like a bird facing off against a snake. 
Will and I backed away, watching him carefully. He 
made a circuit from the radiator all the way back to the 
rear bumper, then dropped to the ground. As we came 
around that end of the car, we saw him wiggling his way 
back from under the vehicle. In his left hand he held a 
sticky cocoon covered with grayish silk. Without hesitation 
he set the cocoon down on a flat rock and smashed 
it with another stone. 
"When you came out here, you were followed." 
I glanced between the black liquid dripping down the 
stone and the nearly destroyed car. "Yes." 
George nodded proudly. "That was why. It was evil. I 
suggest you do not return the way you came because 
they will have forces arrayed to stop you." 
I decided not to point out that his thesis was, in fact, 
unprovable unless I did return by the route that had 
brought me to the mountain. As that had never been my 
intention in the first place, I had no trouble agreeing to his 
plan. "Thank you, for everything." 
Will frowned. "I deeply love and respect my grandfather, 
but you, a white man, you cannot believe all this 
mumbo-jumbo that he has been teaching me. The old 
ways and the old monsters have no power in the real 
world." 
In Will's words I sensed he had reached a decision 


point in his life. One half of him, the modern half, 
dreamed of living in City Center just like everyone else. 
That world had no room for superstitions and bogeymen. 
That was a world of superficiality where being seen in the 
right place far outweighed actually doing anything real. 
In many ways, though difficult to attain and maintain, it 
was an easy way of life because it required only a willful 
dedication to work mixed with an equal dedication to 
hedonism and social climbing. 
The other part of him, the part that had listened to 
stories of the old ways from the day of his birth, had seen 
just enough to question things. He'd doubtlessly been 
involved with his grandfather in ancient rituals. If Will had 
what El Espectro described as latent empathic abilities, 
his grandfather could be using ancient rituals to teach 
him to harness those abilities. Will knew enough to make 
him wonder if his grandfather might not be right and, if 
he was, Will knew his whole world view became one leaf 
on a tree instead of the whole tree itself. 
"I don't know how to answer that, Will. I've seen things 
that make me question what is real and what isn't." I 
nodded at George as I opened the driver's door. "If I had 
the opportunity to learn what he could teach, I would. If 
he is wrong, at the very least you are rescuing from 
extinction traditions that predate recorded history. If he 
is right, you will be infinitely more able to deal with the 
world than you would be if you remained willfully ignorant." 
I climbed into the car and started it. As I drove away 
I saw the two Indians walking back toward the Cave of 
Dreams. George offered Will half of one of my sandwiches, 
and the younger man draped his arm over his 
grandfather's shoulder. 
On another two-tire track I drove from the mountain 
into Fountain Hills and picked up Shea Boulevard. I took 
that back into Scottsdale, passing into the darkness of 
Frozen Shade at 120th Street. I picked up the 101L and 
headed south to Thomas. There I exited, having skirted 
the heart of Drac City, and dropped Loring with El 
Espectro's friends at a little house set back from the road 
between Hayden and Pima. At no time during the journey 
did he wake up, and when I left him his eyes were still 
fairly dilated from whatever drugs he had used. 
I drove a bit away from there, checking for unwanted 
tails, then stopped at a convenience store with a pay 
phone. I shoved a copper Columbus into the slot and 
called Marit. Juanita answered and got her for me 
quickly. 
"Hi, Tycho. What's up?" 
"Did anyone else know I was going out to the reservation?" 
"No, didn't tell anyone, just as you asked." Her voice 
lost its cheery tone. "What happened?" 
"Aryans picked me up soon after I left City Center. I 
managed to elude them, but your car got chewed up." I 
frowned. "Maybe they just had a lookout for your car. No 
one else knew?" 


"No...wait. When we went to Sedona yesterday, Rock 
took the Ariel off to have it serviced. He does that for all 
of us. Before I called down to get the car ready for you, 
I called him to find out if it was in the garage or still being 
fixed. I didn't tell him where you were going, but I did say 
you were using the car." As she spoke she realized what 
she was saying. "Rock may be tight with the Aryans, but 
he'd never set them on you." 

"No...wait. When we went to Sedona yesterday, Rock 
took the Ariel off to have it serviced. He does that for all 
of us. Before I called down to get the car ready for you, 
I called him to find out if it was in the garage or still being 
fixed. I didn't tell him where you were going, but I did say 
you were using the car." As she spoke she realized what 
she was saying. "Rock may be tight with the Aryans, but 
he'd never set them on you." 


an Arizona state poetry contest. 
Things changed at 14. She had been given a puppy for 
her birthday and named it "Buttons." As nearly as 
anyone could make out, she opened the gate around the 
pool and the puppy shot through less than a week after 
her birthday. Buttons jumped onto the floating pool liner 
which began to wrap around it as the dog sank. Nerys 
dove in to save the dog, became entangled in the pool 
liner herself and was under for at least six minutes. Her 
father found her and pulled her out, but she was clinically 
dead. 
The Rural-Metro Rescue Team managed to get her 
heartbeat back and start her breathing again. She was 
air-evacced to Phoenix Children's Hospital and ended up 
in a coma for three months. She had no brainwaves to 
speak of and she required a respirator to keep her lungs 
working. Her parents reluctantly agreed to turn the 
respirator off. 
They did, but she kept breathing. The EEG monitor 
showed renewing brain activity. She awakened within a 
day and left the hospital after a week. She continued 
intensive physical therapy for another six months to get 
her body back into shapethe doctors agreed that the 
brain damage she had suffered made learning how to use 
her body again normal. After that, she was given a clean 
bill of health and even worked hard to make up the half 
year she'd missed at Gerard High School. 
After graduation from high school, she went to Arizona 
State University, taking a double major of business 
and engineering. She joined Lorica at the bottom and 
started working her way up until, at the time the maglev 
project started, she was assisting her father in design 
work. After the initial design phase was completed, she 
shifted her attention to the business side of Lorica and 
started its expansion into a host of projects that diversified 
the company and actually helped it survive the 
recession in '05. 
Her time spent strengthening the business also consolidated 
her power within the company so, two months 
ago, she was able to oust her father easily. Once he was 
out she purged his loyalists and the data flow used to 
compile the report all but dried up. End of story. 
I double-checked something in the school transcripts 
section. Before the accident Nerys had been very literate 
and had above average language skills. After the accident 
these skills did not diminish much, but her mathematical 
skills shot past them by all the measures listed 
in the charts. SAT scores showed a hundred point gap 
between the two, with her math score being as close to 
perfect as most folks ever get. 
Jytte came into the room as I finished reading the 
Nerys report. "Satisfactory?" 
I nodded. "Excellent work, especially on such short 
notice. You saw the score shifts after the accident?" 
The woman nodded woodenly. "I did some checking 
of contemporary medical literature regarding personality 
and intelligence shifts after brain trauma caused by 


oxygen deprivation. What happened in her case is 
atypical and manages to push well beyond the mean 
improvements in those few cases where the accident 
appears to have proved beneficial as opposed to neutral 
or detrimental, which it is in the vast majority of cases. I 
would also note that her case is the only case in which 
such a beneficial result was noted in a case where brain 
trauma was not secondary to cold water-induced hypothermia." 
"Wow, I'm impressed." 
Jytte handed me another piece of paper. "This is a 
ballistics report from Scorpion about the gun that killed 
Buc in the graveyard. They think it was a Steyr SSG-PIV 
Marksman .308. Bolt action, five- or 10-round cartridge 
clips, it comes fitted with mounts for NATO-type scopes. 
It is a very good gun, but inferior to the PVI model." 
"I know. Thanks." She started to turn away but I 
stopped her. "Back to Nerys for a second. Have we got 
any writing samples from before the accident to compare 
with what she's written since then?" 
She shook her head. "I made the attempt to obtain 
samples, but I have found nothing. I am in the process of 
trying to get current addresses for all her schoolmates, 
but Gerard closed in 1988, so obtaining that data is 
difficult. Once I have it, I will communicate with them to 
find out if they have anything." 
"Good luck." 
Jytte regarded me curiously for a second, then turned 
away. Coldly efficient, it would have been easy to think 
of her as no more than a mobile extension of the 
computers with which she worked. I knew that was not 
true. She was a person who had been grossly traumatized 
physically, emotionally and mentally by a monster. 
Her amnesia about the whole incident was a blessing for 
her, but cutting herself off from her past meant she 
defined herself through her computer work and her 
altered body. 
Reflecting on her situation, I wondered if I truly wanted 
to find out who I had been. Apparently I had gladly 
murdered people for money. Having met Hal, and having 
seen his concern for a stranger like me, let me know that 
people were much more than just walking targets. I 
fervently believed some of them, like Heinrich and Leich, 
deserved killing, but not for money and not because they 
managed to offend some bureaucrat's sense of decorum. 
I realized I could not be content with not knowing who 
I had been. Certainly the skills I had learned in my 
previous life had served me well here. They made it 
possible for me to recover my identity. To find out who 
and what I truly was I just had to continue the tricky job 
of navigating between megacorporations in this world 
and whatever other things might be arrayed against me 
outside it. 
The best way to do that, I figured, was to start in on the 
reports Bat had been reading. I took half the pile from him 
and started going through them. Most were short pieces 


that detailed areas of competition between the corporations 
in the southside of Phoenix and Build-more. It 
appeared, from what I read, Build-more was trying to 
expand and diversify, much as Lorica had done under 
Nerys in the last four years. The expansion had Build-
more in competition with all the companies in the 
southside, so we ended up cataloging points of conflict 
to see who won the race. 
Alejandro arrived late in the afternoon and avoided 
death by not laughing when he saw us up to our ears in 
paper. "Tycho, I wanted to show you the color sketch of 
the painting Estefan delivered to me today." 
He handed me a small piece of bristolboard roughly 
6x8 inches. Estefan had produced in miniature a three-
quarters view of Phoenix, as if the viewer were in a 
helicopter heading in toward City Center. In the picture 
a giant brown recluse sat perched amid a huge web that 
covered the maglev line and connected all the towers. 
The spider itself had a dark tunnel near the Lorica Citadel 
and Estefan had even included the web-bound body of 
an insect dangling from one of the towers. 
"I love it." 
Alejandro nodded proudly. "He says it will be three feet 
by four feet, and he expects to have it finished in a couple 
of days. I'll call when it comes in, and you can come down 
and see it." He chuckled lightly and tapped the color 
sketch. "I've shown this to a couple of people already and 
one made a photocopy of it to fax around. It should be all 
over by this point." 
"Great! When you call, I'll get the money and come 
right down there." 
"Good." Alejandro took back the sketch and headed 
for the door. "Oh, by the way, if Marit wants to get rid of 
her car, I'll buy it. I've got a client into retro-Guevaristarealist 
pieces." 
Alejandro's offer mollified Marit a bit when I told her 
about the car. She seemed less upset about its destruction 
than she was about my almost having gotten killed. 
This I appreciated very much, and was very appreciative 
in return. We spent the next two nights out seeing shows 
and dining at Avanti City Center and Vincent's in the 
Macayo Tower. 
The days I spent in the conference room going through 
lots of reports. Marit helped out when she could and 
between the three of us, we actually caught up with the 
flood of material Jytte managed to coax from the 
computer network tying the city together. At the end of 
it all, we came to two conclusions. 
The first thing we agreed upon was that the Build-
more sponsorship of the Aryans was not directed at any 
one of the other corporationsit was aimed at all of 
them. The Build-more strategy appeared to be designed 
to cause trouble to see what the other corporations would 
sacrifice to beef up security. If any of their subsidiaries 
became neglected, Build-more would stage an executive 
raid, or would offer to buy that corporation and fit it 
into their empire. 


Jytte pointed out that this strategy was a modification 
of 20th-century Yakuza tactics employed against 
megacorporations in Japan. There it only had to go so far 
as disrupting stockholder meetings. Because the Japanese 
could not stand open conflict, they would pay the 
Yakuza off to keep them out. In the United States, 
causing a disruption of business was necessary to shake 
anything loose, and the tactic had been applied by other 
companies in Chicago, New York and Miami with apparent 
effectiveness. 
It did not take her long to cross-correlate employment 
records of Build-more's staff with places where this tactic 
had been used to come up with a candidate for employing 
it here. Barney Kourvik had worked with all the 
companies who had employed the tactic and had, most 
recently, been employed as a consultant by Build-more 
to school them in how to defeat that sort of thing. Build-
more officials apparently feared that Lorica would start 
using strong-arm tactics to increase their power in 
Phoenix. 
His star pupil and liaison with the company was 
Sinclair MacNeal, one of four sons of Build-more's 
tyrannical founder Darius MacNeal. Sinclair had managed 
to be disowned once already and had spent time in 
Japan working for a corporation whose interests clearly 
conflicted with those of his father's company. He rejoined 
the company three years ago as a security 
specialist and had finally risen to the number two spot in 
that department. It seemed very apparent that Sinclair 
was our man. 
"We'll have to have a talk with Mr. MacNeal, I think," 
I commented as the phone rang. 
Jytte answered, listened for a moment, said, "I will 
inform him," and hung up again. She turned to me and 
said, "Alejandro says Estefan Ramierez has delivered the 
painting. He has a few people coming over for a private 
viewing tonight, but thought you might like to see it this 
afternoon before anyone else gets a chance to look at it." 
"I would. Marit? Bat? Jytte?" 
Marit shook her head. "I'm going shopping with Dottie 
in a half hour, so I'll pass. I'll see what she can tell me 
about Sinclair MacNeal since her husband works at 
Build-more." 
Bat nodded. 
Jytte looked from Marit to Bat and then to me. "I 
cannot leave here." She headed back into her dark 
sanctuary, then stopped halfway through the door and 
turned back. "Thank you for asking." 
The three of us piled into the new Ariel Marit had rented 
and drove to City Center. The valet who accepted 
custody of the car looked a bit askance at Bat, but held 
his tongue and drove away without squealing the tires. 
Marit and I waved to Dottie up on the Level Nine, then I 
kissed Marit and left her at the elevator while Bat and I 
trekked across the mezzanine. On the other side we 
found the escalator that went up one level and deposited 
us near the Mercado. 


I noticed Bat looked around a great deal and seemed 
to study everything with intensity. "Have you not been 
here before?" 
He shook his head. "Not in public." 
"But you have been in City Center before?" 
"Once, the Bookbinder Building. Rich fan of pit fights 
offered me $10,000 dolmarks to fight a Thai fighter he'd 
flown in. Had a ring in his penthouse suite." 


"What happened?" I smiled. "I know you won." 
"Fight left the ring. I tossed the Thai through a window. 
Broke some other stuff, too." 
"What?" 
"Ming vase. Revere silver service. Rodin bronze." Bat 
furrowed his brow. "Oh, and an all-pro linebacker for the 
Cardinals." 
Bat cracked a bit of a smile, and I laughed openly. "So 
they never asked you back?" 
"You got the picture." He pointed to a cantina that was 
part of the Mercado. "Fought in that place down in 
Acapulco." 
As we followed the nearly deserted, winding street 
around the restaurant, Alejandro's Gallery came into 
view. "There it is." I gave Bat a wry grin. "You'd best try 
not to break anything." 
Suddenly fire blossomed in the windows and doorway 
of the gallery. Flames and black shot through the bars on 
the windows, spitting shards of glass and chunks of 
wooden window framing into the air. The ground shook 
with the thunderous detonation and one of the two doors 
danced madly across the cobblestone street. It smashed 
against the restaurant's wall as the force of the blast 
knocked the both of us down and shattered windows 
throughout the Mercado. 
Because Bat and I had been in the street and a bit back 
from the explosion, the only damage done to us came 
when we fell down. Behind us people ran from the bar in 
a blind panic. Clothing hung tattered on those who had 
been closest to the windows, with blood quickly soaking 
it. 
Bat got up first and pulled me to my feet. We both ran 
toward the gallery, but the fire raging inside burned so hot 
we could not approach closer than five feet from the 
door. Roaring flames licked up and out of the windows 
and doors, blackening pastel colors and making the 
window bars glow red hot. I tried to look inside, but I could 
see nothing in the smoke and flames. 
Bat pulled me back as firefighters arrived and started 
spraying chemical foam in through the door. I sat down 
on a bench, and he stood beside me. "God in heaven, 
Bat, I never thought..." 
"They'll rule it accidental, electrical, and blame it on 
paint stored in the back." I saw muscles twitch at his jaw. 
"It was the Witch." 
"How do you know?" 
"It was you who said she had no taste in art. This gets 
the spider painting and gets Alejandro for bringing the 



other one to auction. It was her." 
I pursed my lips and nodded slowly. "Okay, you know 
it, and I know it. We can't prove it." 
"Don't need proof, I know it. Proof is for your friend 
and Nero Loring." 
"Okay, what now?" 
"I want you to meet a friend of mine." Bat grinned. 
"You'll like him. He sells guns." 



Bat took me to what looked like a small pawnshop 
nestled in the shadow of City Center. The thick coat of 
dust over the whole place made me feel I was walking 
into a museum more than any sort of viable commercial 
establishment. Old and tarnished musical instruments 
lined the left wall and a plethora of rifles the right, like 
soldiers preparing to battle over the battered televisions, 
radios and toaster ovens huddled in the middle. The 
glass cases ringing the walls had some pistols and a 
number of interesting jewelry items, but nothing like 
what we would require to bust Lorica open and take the 
Witch. 
Bat walked through the dimly lit shop like it did not 
exist. The teenager sitting in the cashier's cage glanced 
at him and buzzed him through the gateway into the 
back, then returned to reading an old science-fiction 
paperback. He paid me no attention at all. 
A left turn, then a right put us in front of a thick steel 
door. A periscope built above the door surveyed us, then 
a buzz sounded. The door unlocked with a click and Bat 
ushered me into a narrow spiral stairwell that led down. 
He had to duck his head to avoid scraping it against the 
low ceiling, and his broad shoulders brushed against the 
hole's edge as he went down. 
"Bat, I thought the ground in Phoenix was too hard to 
make underground construction common." 
"It is. These are old tunnels. This was once in Phoenix's 
Chinatown district. Opium dens." 
Bat remained half-hunched as we came out into a 
place that appeared, to me, to be a bunker more than any 
sort of shop. The walls had been covered with pegboard 
so they could hold up the inventory of weapons but, other 
than that, they were as unfinished as the ceiling. Old 
boards covered the floor and plywood sheets had been 
laid down where the original flooring had rotted away. 
The flooring had completely collapsed beneath a Chrysler 
Combat Exoskeleton in the corner. I had no idea how 
they'd gotten it into this hole. The former opium den had 
electricity and phones, but all the wiring remained 
exposed on thick wooden beams. 
A dwarf came waddling out from behind a counter. 
"Dzien dobry, Chwalibog." 
"Dzien dobry, Bronislaw." Bat's huge hand swallowed 
the smaller man's normally sized one, then Bat looked 
over at me. "Tycho Caine, this is Bronislaw Joniak." 


I offered the dwarf my hand, and he shook it. I found 
his grip strong and his hand rough with calluses. "Pleased 
to meet you, Mr. Joniak. Bat thinks you can meet our 
needs for some weaponry." 
The little man smoothed back brown hair and folded 
his arms. "I deal in quality weapons, Mr. Caine. If you're 
looking to take down a Circle K or a 7-Eleven I have what 
you need upstairs." 
I shook my head. "I am a bit more ambitious than that. 
I need to outfit an expeditionary force of eight individuals. 
We will be looking at a substantial purchasefully 
automatic weapons, personal side arms, ammunition, 
communications devices and sundry explosives. I can 
pay cash or gold, your choice." 
A smile slowly crept across the man's face and had 
taken up residence there before I mentioned money. "I 
like seeing someone who knows what he wants." He 
walked back around the counter and clambered up onto 
a high stool. Pulling a steno pad into his lap, he flipped 
to a new page and picked up a pencil. "Shall we start at 
the beginning?" 
I nodded. "I will need eight portable radio units with 
earpiece microphones, complete with batteries." 
Bronislaw scribbled. "Possible, though I may have to 
buy Japanese." 
"Whatever. I will need two kilos of Semitek or C-4 with 
12 radio detonators, 24 unburned PROMs and the equipment 
needed to burn them with a voice command for 
detonation. I'll return any chips I don't use, as well as the 
burner." 
The little man looked up at me with dark eyes. "Next?" 
"Assault rifles, eight." I looked at the section of 
pegboard to which he pointed. On it he had mounted two 
dozens different models. "Bat, does Natch shoot?" 
The big man nodded. "We all do." 
"Good, let's make it easy, then. Give me eight Colt AR15 
A2 carbines. I want six full 20-shot clips loaded with 
duplex shells. I'll want another 2000 rounds of loose 
ammo for the guns, duplex as well. Possible?" 
The dwarf shrugged. "Duplex rounds are a bit difficult, 
but I can do it. You'll want them full-auto, correct?" 
"I'd prefer a selector that allows for single, trey-burst 
and full auto." 
"Done. Next?" 
"Personal side arms." I pointed to Bat. "You probably 
know our compatriots' tastes." 
Bat turned to study a pegboard section of the wall 
when the phone started to ring. Bronislaw and Bat both 
ignored it, which struck me as odd. What struck me as 
odder still was that I had an overwhelming desire to 
answer it. Without thinking, I snatched up the heavy 
receiver and held it to my ear. "Caine here." 
"It's me, El Espectro. I need to see you immediately." 
I recognized his voice, then a mental picture of where he 
was blasted into my brain, just as I had seen Loring's 
location in my dream. "Hurry." 
"Give me a half hour." 


"This is important." 
"So is this." 
"Very well. Hurry." 
"Later." I returned the receiver to the blocky black 
base. I looked up and saw both men staring at me 
strangely. "Well, neither of you made a move toward it." 
Bronislaw slowly shook his head. "It didn't ring." 
"Sure it did." I looked over at Bat. "It was for me." 
Bat narrowed his eyes. "Never should have gone to 
Sedona." 
I frowned at the phone. "Maybe I got it before it rang." 
Bat grunted. Bronislaw consulted his list. "That's two 
Colt .45s, four Beretta 9s and a Desert Eagle .44 
Magnum for you, Bat." The dwarf turned to me. "What 
would you like?" 
I started to tell him that I thought my Kraits would be 
enough, but the image of Leich having survived as much 
as he had stopped me. "I want a gun that shoots a heavy 
cartridge that will bore a big hole. What I really want is an 
automatic pistol that can handle a rifle cartridge. The .44 
Mag is probably the best I can do, right?" 
Bronislaw slid off the stool wearing a grin that meant 
the phone incident had all but been forgotten. He wandered 
deeper into the armory, dug around behind the 
Chrysler Exoskeleton, then returned bearing a rosewood 
box like it was a gift of the Magi. He set it up on the 
counter, resumed his seat, then opened it reverently. 
"This, my friend, is the answer to your desire. It is a 
Wildey Wolf with a 10-inch barrel. It shoots a .475 Wildey 
Magnum shell which is a wildcat round mating a 250grain 
bullet to a rebated-rim .284 Winchester cartridge. 
You get seven in a magazine. The pistol, because it's gas 
operated and weighs just over four pounds, has less 
recoil than Bat's Desert Eagle. Muzzle velocity is 1750 
feet per second with foot-pounds of energy coming in at 
1725. If it can die, this will kill it."

"This is important." 
"So is this." 
"Very well. Hurry." 
"Later." I returned the receiver to the blocky black 
base. I looked up and saw both men staring at me 
strangely. "Well, neither of you made a move toward it." 
Bronislaw slowly shook his head. "It didn't ring." 
"Sure it did." I looked over at Bat. "It was for me." 
Bat narrowed his eyes. "Never should have gone to 
Sedona." 
I frowned at the phone. "Maybe I got it before it rang." 
Bat grunted. Bronislaw consulted his list. "That's two 
Colt .45s, four Beretta 9s and a Desert Eagle .44 
Magnum for you, Bat." The dwarf turned to me. "What 
would you like?" 
I started to tell him that I thought my Kraits would be 
enough, but the image of Leich having survived as much 
as he had stopped me. "I want a gun that shoots a heavy 
cartridge that will bore a big hole. What I really want is an 
automatic pistol that can handle a rifle cartridge. The .44 
Mag is probably the best I can do, right?" 
Bronislaw slid off the stool wearing a grin that meant 
the phone incident had all but been forgotten. He wandered 
deeper into the armory, dug around behind the 
Chrysler Exoskeleton, then returned bearing a rosewood 
box like it was a gift of the Magi. He set it up on the 
counter, resumed his seat, then opened it reverently. 
"This, my friend, is the answer to your desire. It is a 
Wildey Wolf with a 10-inch barrel. It shoots a .475 Wildey 
Magnum shell which is a wildcat round mating a 250grain 
bullet to a rebated-rim .284 Winchester cartridge. 
You get seven in a magazine. The pistol, because it's gas 
operated and weighs just over four pounds, has less 
recoil than Bat's Desert Eagle. Muzzle velocity is 1750 
feet per second with foot-pounds of energy coming in at 
1725. If it can die, this will kill it."


We have some planning to do." 
The building on the northeast corner of 12th Street and 
Roosevelt looked very out of place for a number of 
reasons. It sat nestled in a little box canyon carved out of 
City Center. Unlike the area near it, this building had 
somehow avoided decoration by graffiti artists. Likewise 
the urban decay in evidence all around it had somehow 
passed it by. Dirt and grime and litter stained the 
neighborhood and even the walls of City Center, but left 
this place inviolate. 
The two-story building had been constructed of brick, 
with a plantation-style front including a double-deck 
porch with thick pillars. The pitched roof looked unusual 
amid a bed of squat, mushroom colored houses with flat 
roofs, and the building very much gave the impression of 
having been transplanted here from another place and 
another time. 
I opened the gate in the wrought-iron fence and 
traversed the circular walkway to the front steps. I 
mounted them and crossed the porch, but before I could 
knock on the glass-paneled door, it opened for me. I 
stepped into a small foyer, and the door closed behind 
me, leaving me alone with two animals that looked like 
Doberman pinschers but possessed the bulk and height 
of Irish wolfhounds. Their sheer size combined with their 
low growls and an ugly red glow in their eyes to make me 
wish I'd not left the Wildey Wolf behind. 
"Kara, Amhas," I heard El Espectro's voice call from 
elsewhere, "Bring Mr. Caine to me." 
One of the dogs approached and took my left hand 
gently in its mouth while the other circled around behind 
me and leaned against the back of my legs. Given a 
choice between moving forward or becoming kibble and 
bits, I went with the animals. The lead dog, Kara, let go 
of my hand and mounted the stairs on the right side of a 
narrow hallway leading back into the house. I followed up 
the steep stairs and found the dog waiting in the doorway 
of a darkened room. 
An antique four-poster bed dominated the slant-
ceilinged room. A man I took for El Espectro lay on the 
bed in a dressing gown with his left arm in a sling. He had 
been propped up on a whole stack of pillows, and the 
light on the nightstand beside his bed sank half his face 
into impenetrable shadow. A thick book with yellowed 
pages lay open on his lap and reading glasses sat 
perched on the end of his nose. 
I noticed two peculiar things about him that surprised 
me very much. The first was that he wore pearl-gray 
gloves. That was odd, but I'd heard of people who had an 
obsession with cleanlinesswhich, combined with the 
dogs, went a long way toward explaining the immaculate 
conditions outside his house. That was a personal quirk 
and nothing I couldn't live with. 
The second and far more startling thing, to me, was his 
age. When I had seen El Espectro in my dreams and in 
the Draoling dimension, he had only been a black 
silhouette, but it was a silhouette of a much younger 


man. The El Espectro lying on the bed had white hair on 
his head and in his goatee and moustache. His green 
eyes still had plenty of fire in them, but his body had 
thickened, and dark bags underscored his eyes. 
He gestured toward a chair at a small writing desk in 
the corner, and it slid across the hardwood floor toward 
the foot of the bed. "Please, be seated." 
I accepted his offer, and the two dogs flanked me. 
They laid down, but I had no doubt that at a single 
command they would rise up and tear me to pieces. "I'm 
here." 
"So you are." He smiled at me in a most curious 
manner, then removed his glasses and set them on the 
night table. "Permit me to introduce myself." 
From the nightstand a small white rectangle floated 
toward me. I accepted the card and read the name aloud. 
"Damon Crowley." 
The man smiled weakly. "Actually, the last name 
rhymes with 'unholy,' but that is a tired and old joke 
begun by my grandfather. Forgive my rudeness in not 
having mentioned my name earlier to you, but we 
seldom had the time for polite chatter." 
I shrugged and slipped the card into my jacket pocket. 
"How are you doing?" 
"The Draoling's blade was clean, which was a miracle 
in and of itself. More annoying than the cut is the rib 
another of them cracked. I'm getting too old for this." 
I leaned back in the wooden chair, and it creaked. 
"What, exactly, is 'this'?" 
"I do what your Coyote does, but, as I said before, I do 
it in realms he cannot access. In this particular case, I 
have managed to unravel what Nero Loring has been 
seeking. To solve his problem, however, I will need your 
aid, and the aid of others as well." 
"What's going on?" 
He eased himself up a little taller in bed and winced 
with some pain. "We need to backtrack a bit. When 
Nerys Loring was born her father was deathly concerned 
that she might suffer from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. 
Like any concerned parent, he took precautions. 
In his case, being an engineer and inventor, he hitched 
up an EEG machine to his daughter and recorded her 
brainwave patterns. He did this again at age four when it 
was believed she might have a rare form of epilepsy. She 
did, and it made her EEG rather distinctive, but she 
controlled the condition with medicine. Nero's actions 
might seem a bit obsessive perhaps, but he was merely 
doing what he could with the means he had at hand." 
My mind raced ahead of Crowley. "So he had a 
baseline EEG reading for when his daughter came out of 
the coma. He mentions it to the doctors and even notes 
the discrepancies. The doctors tell him not to worry 
about it, that it's a miracle and he should be happy, 
right?" 
"Exactly. And he was, especially when Nerys began 
to follow in his footsteps. He found her help on Frozen 
Shade and the maglev system most useful, but her quick 


distancing of herself from him during the implementation 
phase of the maglev project allowed old anxieties to 
resurface." Crowley's head came up. "Do you know 
what a changeling is?" 
I shook my head. 
"In the old faery tales there are stories of elves and 
other fey folk stealing human newborns and substituting 
their own offspring for them. It is akin to the cowbird or 
European mockingbird laying its eggs in another bird's 
nest. The old stories concentrate on what happened to 
the purloined child and often chronicle attempts to return 
those children to their human parents. The old storytellers 
did not dwell upon what benefit the faery folk would 
get from placing one of their own as a human. 
"Nero came to believe that his daughter went under 
the water of the family pool, but she was not the one who 
resurfaced. He decided that in an alternate dimension 
where time flows far more swiftly than it does here, 
creatures monitoring our world could have the time to 
create and substitute a changeling for his daughter within 
the time it took for her to go down." 
I chewed on my lower lip. "Had I not seen the Draoling 
dimension I would think of this as paranoid ravings, you 
know." 
"Quite so. Nero thought the same thing, so he began 
to work on his dimensionscope. He linked it in with the 
equipment on which he had recorded his daughter's 
EEG. He used her brainwave patterns to search the 
dimensions for a match. Just before he was ousted from 
Lorica, he found it." 
"What?" 
Crowley slowly nodded. "He found a match for his 
daughter's brainwave pattern. Chances of a match like 
that are millions to one." 
"Where is she?" 
El Espectro smiled slightly and closed his book. "In 
1924 Valdimir Obrutcev published a book titled Plutonia 
that detailed the journey of a Russian expedition to what 
they believed was the center of the earth. They found a 
land they named Plutonia. At its center they found a giant 
volcano surrounded by black rocks and sand. They 
called it the Black Desert and in it, in a vast forest, they 
reported finding giant ants building vast, skyscraperlike 
nests. From what I have been told, Nerys is there." 
"You aren't saying this expedition actually took place 
over a century ago, are you?" 
Crowley shrugged. "Whether it did or did not is 
immaterial, really. Obrutcev's description jibes with 
what Nero has described to me. I believe, as I do with Poe 
or King or Donaldson, that there are individuals empathic 
enough to pick up impressions of other dimensions 
that they fully describe or embellish as best they 
can. Obrutcev's only failing was in not ascribing more 
than rudimentary intelligence to the creatures he called 
'ants.'" 
"What is important is that we get into Plutonia, get 
Nerys and get her back out again." 


I frowned. "Why?" 
"Because, if you don't save my daughter, this world 
will be opened to the greatest invasion it has ever seen." 
I turned in my chair and saw Nero Loring leaning 
heavily on the door jamb, only barely able to keep 
himself upright. I quickly vacated my chair and offered 
it to him. He staggered over to it and sat down. He looked 
feverish and defeated, yet the energy in his eyes told me 
sheer willpower was driving him. He covered his hands 
with his face, then wiped them off on the striped pajamas 
he was wearing. 
"I realized, belatedly, that I had unconsciously incorporated 
pieces of the maglev system design into my 
dimensionscope. That is what allowed it to see outside 
this dimension and into other places. When I began my 
reevaluation of the maglev project, I realized that those 
bits of design had been things Nerys had insisted upon 
including. She always had good reasons for her changes, 
with many of them being that such things would facilitate 
expansion in the future. I took this as a sign she would 
continue our work and that Lorica would live on forever. 
I did what she told me to do, gladly, because I saw her as 
my gateway to immortality." 
The little man trembled as he spoke. If not for the even 
tone of his voice I would have thought him a madman. 
Everything he said was insane, but I weighed the words 
carefully and, allowing for the existence of other dimensions, 
everything he said remained consistent. 
"I decided my daughter had been taken, and I wanted 
her back. I put in a software patch that uses her brainwaves 
to key the energizing of the dimensional gateway. I knew 
they would have to bring her here to operate the device, 
and I had thought, while still controlling Lorica, I could 
wrest her away from them. Now I know I can't, not 
without help." 
I shook my head. "I'm missing something here. They 
need your daughter's brainwave pattern to allow them to 
stabilize a dimensional gate's energy pattern?" 
"Yes. Maintaining a viable gate is simple, but opening 
it very difficult. The power has to cycle properly or the 
thing can be thrown off. This gate needs an incredible 
amount of power and only by drawing off the energy of 
Phoenix and combining it with the power of a lightning 
storm can they hope to do what they need to do." 
"Okay." Something still wasn't adding up in my head. 
"Where's this gate, why can't we destroy it now and who 
is 'they'?" 
Loring turned and clutched at my arm. "The gate is not 
a 'where.' It's too big to blow." 
"Nothing is too big to blow, Mr. Loring." 
"Haven't you heard anything I've said?" Loring tore at 
his hair. "The dimensional gate is surrounding us. It is 
part and parcel of the maglev line!" 
My jaw dropped open, and I looked at Crowley. 
"They?" 
Crowley nodded. "Fiddleback." 





Krait beside it and noted with a smile that our purchases 
had been stacked on shelves in the antechamber. 
I walked into the conference room and slid the money 
across the table to Bat. I expected a reaction out of him, 
but I got none. Natch stood behind him massaging his 
shoulders while Marit and Costapain half-heartedly went 
over details on one of the maps. She looked up at me with 
red-rimmed eyes. "Thank God you're alive. Where have 
you been?" 
I frowned and pointed at the money. "I went to 
Greyhound Park and did some betting. I needed time to 
relax and think. What's happened?" 
"I was afraid they got you." Marit brushed a tear away 
from her cheek. "Rock's been hit." 
"What? When, where, how?" 
As if summoned by my questions, Jytte appeared in 
the doorway leading to her haven. "I have just recovered 
the phone company's records for Rock's mobile phone 
and the pay phone bank where he died. At 7 p.m. Rock 
got a call on his car phone. It lasted 30 seconds. From 
there he proceeded to the Circle K on the corner of 16th 
and Thomas. A phone call from another pay phone 
one located in Wong Plaza across the streetcame to 
that bank of phones. This new phone stands next to the 
one used to call Rock's car phone. It lasted for two 
minutes. Apparently, Rock immediately placed a call 
from there to a number I have listed as a front number for 
the Warriors of the Aryan World Alliance. That call lasted 
five minutes and was terminated when a single bullet 
punched through the handset and exploded in Rock's 
head." 
"Dammit! We needed him." I frowned and sat down. 
"Wait a minute, what was Rock doing calling Heinrich?" 
"It doesn't matter. He's dead." Marit looked at the 
empty chairs in the room. "Hal's in the hospital, his wife's 
dead, Alejandro is dead and now Rock. They've tried to 
kill you and me. Recovering your memory is suddenly a 
lot more dangerous than solving little problems for 
Coyote." 
"It's a lot more dangerous than that, but it's something 
I have to do. I have no choice and I need your help." I 
placed my hands flat against the tabletop. "More specifically, 
Marit, I need you to call Dottie. I need to find out 
where Sinclair MacNeal is right now. Bat, you and I will 
have to visit him to get him to pull back the reins on the 
Warriors. Jytte, I need you, Marit and Natch to find all of 
us some body armorincluding helmets, if you an get 
them." I pointed at the money in front of Bat. "There 
should be enough left over from that to cover it. We need 
seven setsone for each of us, a second roughly Marit's 
size and a second my size." 
Jytte's face froze as she shook her head. "I cannot 
leave." 
"I'm afraid you're going to have to. Without Rock, I 
need another gun, and I know from Bat that you can 
shoot. Moreover, what we have going down is going to 
need someone with the touch to handle a computer. 


You're elected." I stood and gently squeezed her shoulders. 
"I know you don't want to go, but you must. I have 
no other choice but to draft you. You can call Coyote, if 
you wish, but I don't think he will gainsay me." 
Jytte remained standing stock-still for 10 seconds and 
the tension in the room grew with each one of them. Here 
I was, the newcomer, the one they were helping, and I 
dared give orders to the group's coordinator. I'd even 
gone so far to tell her to call her boss and that he would 
support me in this decision. If she chose to oppose me, 
I'd have to operate alone in the future. If she went along 
with me, on the other hand, I'd be given free reign to 
structure what we were to do in the manner I felt would 
best allow us to accomplish it. 
Jytte nodded. "I will need an hour to set everything to 
handle itself in my absence. Is this satisfactory?" 
"More than. Thanks." I clapped my hands together. 
"Once Bat and I return from dealing with Mr. MacNeal, I'll 
burn the chips for the detonators, so I'll need to take a 
voice sample from everyone on the trigger words. If we 
have the body armor by midnight, we can get everyone 
outfitted, and I will brief you on what is happening." 
Phil Costapain looked over at me. "What do you want 
me to do, son?" 
"Just what you have been doing, sir. That map you've 
made of the Lorica tower is very valuable to us." I tapped 
it in the center of the elevators running up to Nerys' 
penthouse. "This is the key to our getting in and stopping 
the Witch." 
Marit came in from Jytte's sanctum with a phone in 
her hand and put it down on the conference table. "Dottie 
says Sinclair is hosting a very formal stag dinner party for 
some Japanese businessmen at his home. I called 
Rogereveryone on the guest list is Phoenix Forty 
material. You might rethink trying to see him tonight." 
I shot Bat a grin. "Wanna bet your old City Center 
friend is there?" 
He smiled and cracked his knuckles. 
"Don't worry, Marit, we'll be very careful." I sat back 
on the edge of the table. "If Bat stabs anyone I'll make 
sure he uses the correct fork." 
The phone on the table rang. Jytte picked up the 
handset, listened, nodded and handed it to me. "Caine, 
it's Coyote, for you." 
"I understand, Mr. Caine, the traitor problem no longer 
exists." 
I nodded. "I believe that is correct, sir." 
"Good. This gives you one less thing to worry about. 
I have been briefed on what you and Crowley discussed. 
It seems like the thing to do." Coyote's voice sounded 
distant, as if he were speaking from another dimension 
himself. "You can trust him." 
"I do, as much as anyone. This is likely to get bloody." 
"Take precautions, but do what you must. It is in your 
hands." 
I hesitated for a moment. "Do you mean you won't be 
with us?" 


"As difficult as it may seem to you, I am involved in 
something that precludes my participation in your operation. 
I am confident with it being in your hands, 
however. And don't worry. You and I have actually met 
before, and we will meet again after all this is over." 
The phone went dead before I could demand he 
explain his remark. It suddenly occurred to me that if we 
had met before, Coyote could have told me much more 
about myself than I had already pieced together. Was he 
lying, or has he been manipulating me all along? He 
needed me to separate the wheat from the chaff in his 
cell, and my skills were going to be useful here. Did he 
plan to tell me who I was after I took out Rock, but then 
decided to delay rewarding me because this thing with 
Nero Loring cropped up? 

"As difficult as it may seem to you, I am involved in 
something that precludes my participation in your operation. 
I am confident with it being in your hands, 
however. And don't worry. You and I have actually met 
before, and we will meet again after all this is over." 
The phone went dead before I could demand he 
explain his remark. It suddenly occurred to me that if we 
had met before, Coyote could have told me much more 
about myself than I had already pieced together. Was he 
lying, or has he been manipulating me all along? He 
needed me to separate the wheat from the chaff in his 
cell, and my skills were going to be useful here. Did he 
plan to tell me who I was after I took out Rock, but then 
decided to delay rewarding me because this thing with 
Nero Loring cropped up? 


"Good point." 
We boarded the more crowded common-carrier section 
of the maglev train. We found enough room to get 
seats, but Bat seemed to enjoy roaming up and down the 
car we were in. He didn't say anything, but he glared at 
corporators who wore clothes similar to ours. Those poor 
individuals may once have thought themselves chic in 
dressing like folks from Eclipse, or brave for actually 
having ventured down below Frozen Shade, but their 
encounter with Bat doubtlessly gave them reason to 
question either idea. 
The Build-more citadel could have been dubbed "the 
Lobby Archipelago" because of the vast amounts of area 
given over to the intersection of corridors. Each lobby 
had at least one scale model of some building the 
company had produced somewhere in the world. I 
gathered, from a quick sampling, that the whole citadel 
had been laid out over a virtual map of the world and, as 
projects were completed, a scale model went up in the 
lobby that most closely corresponded to the construction 
site on the map. 
A model of the Sears Megalith in Rio dominated the 
lobby we wanted. The elevator went up to the floor just 
beneath the one on which MacNeal lived. Bat boosted 
me up through the ceiling hatchway, then pulled himself 
up onto the top of the cage. We climbed up the interior 
girder lattice, and Bat pried the elevator doors open. 
We found ourselves in another lobby, of course, but 
this level of the tower only had four apartments on it. We 
found MacNeal's, and Bat threw his shoulder against the 
double doors. They snapped open, and we sauntered in 
like guests who were mildly miffed at having been shut 
out. A butler tried his best to stop us in the hallway, but 
Bat just picked him up and carried him back into the 
room he had just left. 
Marit had not been wrong when she said everyone on 
the guest list was Phoenix Forty material. That informal 
group of business heavyweights had run the city since 
the 1960s, passing their positions in it from father to son 
or CEO to CEO. It had long since expanded beyond the 
original 40 members, but alliteration kept the name 
alive. Of the dozen men in the walnut-paneled room, I 
recognized seven from ads I'd seen on Marit's television. 
Four of the remaining men were Japanese and only the 
last person, an Anglo, was young enough to be the 
evening's host. 
Marit had mentioned the meeting was stag. The 
charming dozen young ladies seated beside some of the 
city's most powerful men probably had something to do 
with that decision. Their presence at the long mahogany 
table made me smile, and not just because they were 
very pretty to look at. Because they were there, no one 
would want to arouse official or media scrutiny of this 
gathering unless absolutely necessary. 
It was my job to make them think it wasn't. "Excuse 
the intrusion, ladies and gentlemen, but I need to speak 
with Mr. MacNeal." I motioned toward the door to 


Sinclair. "If you please, sir, I think privacy would be 
preferred." 
Sinclair started to get up, moving slowly and deliberately 
to show me he wasn't afraid, but his father clapped 
an iron fist over his wrist and pulled him back down in his 
chair. The white-haired MacNeal patriarch looked at me 
with fire in his blue eyes. "I remember you from the party 
the other night. If you have business with my corporation, 
you come see me during business hours. I can fit you in, 
say, in a month?" 
His little joke brought polite laughter from the other 
diners. Sinclair, on the other hand, was doing a slow burn. 
He played with a silver fork in his free hand, his blue eyes 
burning with the same fire as in his father's, but not 
directed at me. His left hand knotted into a fist and twisted 
slightly, but he could not pull it away from the old man 
without making a scene. Knowing the Japanese set 
great store by a son's respect for his father, I could see 
Sinclair restrain himself, and I admired the dark-haired 
man for that. 
I glanced at my associate. "Bat, clear the room." 
I had half expected him to throw the struggling butler 
at the table, scattering candelabra and shattering china 
soup bowls and plates. I didn't really want to see anyone 
get hurt, but I had no time to fool around, and there did 
have to be some sort of payback for Hal's injuries. Bat, 
I knew, liked to hurt people and was quite good at it, but 
never did I dream he had style as well. 
He dropped the waiter. "There's a bar down in Eclipse 
called the Lost Dutchman. In the corner it's got a spitoon 
that's been there since the days when the sun used to 
shine through the window and heat it up every day. 
Everything went into itchaw, dribble, beereverything, 
and no one ever cleaned it out." 
He slowly started to walk around the table and stopped 
at a big silver tureen of New England clam chowder. 
"Yeah, it was about this size. Anyway, last week, a guy 
came in. He said he was a prospector and he'd lived in 
the desert for the past 20 years and wanted a drink. He 
also said he didn't have a red Columbus on him. The 
bartender told him to get out, but the prospector said he'd 
do anything for a drink." 
Bat smiled in a way that I finally figured out his true 
nature: He didn't just like hurting folks, he liked being 
cruel. "The bartender pointed at the spitoon. He said, 'I'll 
give you all the beer you can drink if you take one swig 
from that spitoon.'" 
Bat was good at cruel. 
The women already started shifting uneasily in their 
seats. The men began to wince. The Japanese huddled 
together as one of their number translated the monologue. 
My palms began to sweat, and my mouth got dry. 
Bat slowly lifted the tureen in his hands and stared 
down into the creamy soup as if it were a long-fermented 
vat of saliva and used chewing tobacco. "The prospector 
picked the spitoon up. He looked at it, then looked at the 
bartender. Then he did it!" 


Bat lifted the big silver bowl to his lips and drank. He 
tipped it back, swallowing again and again, very loudly. 
Soup spilled out from around his mouth and splashed off 
his shoulders. Chunks of potatoes and cream-covered 
pieces of corn flew like shrapnel, flecking the diners, yet 
they watched him as if hypnotized. Finally he tipped the 
tureen all the way up and captured the last drop on the 
tip of his tongue. His dark eyes filled with joy, Bat curled 
his tongue back into his mouth. 
His chin white from the liquid, his shirt dripping soup, 
he let the tureen crash to the floor. The bartender looked 
at the prospector unbelievingly. "You only had to take 
one swallow, old man!" He let the words bubble up 
through more soup as it spilled from his mouth. 
"'I know, I tried," Bat said in the prospector's voice, 
"but it was all...one piece.'" 
My stomach convulsed at the punchline, but unlike 
the other folks in the room, I was working on an empty 
stomach. MacNeal's American guests retched first, followed 
quickly by the Japanese when the translation was 
finished. Darius MacNeal pushed his chair back and 
hunched over, which allowed Sinclair to recover his arm 
and stand. He dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a 
napkin, then said nothing as his guests bolted from the 
room. 
Sinclair looked slender and quite dignified in his 
tuxedo. A good five inches shorter than me, he had an 
athletic build and enough control over himself to have 
sublimated any visceral reaction to the joke Bat had told. 
In fact, as everyone but his father filed out, he arched an 
eyebrow and looked at Bat. "I trust you found the soup 
to your liking?" 
Bat belched loudly. 
"I'll pass your compliments to the chef." He glanced 
at his father's pale face, then looked at me. "You have my 
undivided attention." 
"You're paying the Warriors of the Aryan World 
Alliance to start a gang war that will put pressure on your 
competitors in this city. I want you to stop." 
"No." 
I frowned at him. "You won't stop?" 
Sinclair picked up a glass of white wine and sipped it. 
"No, you're wrong in your assumption that I'm paying 
Heinrich and his boys to start a war. I know the technique, 
and I know how to stop it. I put them on retainer so they 
won't let themselves be used against us. That's all, 
nothing more." 
I listened carefully to him and while I half expected him 
to lie to me, I knew he was telling the truth. Even so, I 
couldn't believe it because Willem had been positive, 
and Sinclair was the only man who fit the profile. "You 
admit giving them money?" 
"'Admit'? You make it sound like a crime." He set his 
glass down. "I initiated the contact, I arranged for a 
monthly stipend to be paid, and I've even paid them 
bonuses when they've driven off thieves trying to rip us 
off. However, I'm not financing a war. Not only does that 


cause more trouble than it's worth, it's expensive. I'm 
giving them enough to keep them drunk and happy, 
nothing more. Only a fool would arm them and point 
them at a target." 
"If you're not doing it, who is?" 
Darius MacNeal sat back in his chair and laughed 
quietly. "I am." 
"What?!" Sinclair turned on his father. "We discussed 
this. You said you wouldn't do it!" 
The older man slammed a fist onto the table, splashing 
chowder all over and making wineglasses jump. 
"Build-more is my corporation! I make the decisions, 
and I don't have to answer to you. Why pay for an asset 
if you aren't going to use it? So what if those little fascist 
bastards go and shoot Lorica up? Who cares?" 
"I care, Mr. MacNeal." I leaned forward on one of the 
abandoned chairs. "I care because one of my friends got 
caught in the crossfire. His wife was killed, and he's in the 
hospital." 
Sinclair shook his head. "Hal Garrett..." 
"Right," I nodded. 
"Who?" 
Sinclair stared at his father disbelieving. "Hal Garrett, 
the basketball player. You met him last year when you 
threw a benefit banquet for his Sunburst Foundation. You 
gave a speech in his honor, then gave him $10,000 in 
corporate funds." 
The old man shook his head. "Huh. Really? I can't 
remember." 
"Let me tell you something you can remember, Mr. 
MacNeal." I met his defiant stare with one that was pure 
holocaust. "If Heinrich and his people do anything, 
absolutely anything, I will personally make sure you 
have a closed casket funeral before the week is out." 
"You can't threaten me." 
"I don't threaten, Mr. MacNeal, I merely supply people 
with life choices." 
Sinclair shook his head. "Don't worry, this Aryan thing 
will stop now." 
"In a pig's eye it will." Darius MacNeal stood up and 
tugged at the hem of his jacket. "I own Build-more, I 
make policies." 
"If you continue paying Heinrich, I'll quit." 
MacNeal looked at Sinclair the way an exterminator 
looks at a cockroach. "You can't quit, you're fired." 
Sinclair's face brightened. "Good, then I don't feel bad 
about kicking your ass out of my home." 
"And as your landlord I won't mind evicting you. You 
have a week." 
"One more thing, Mr. MacNeal," I growled, "you were 
paying to have Lorica given some trouble. How much 
would you pay for the Witch's head on a platter?" 
MacNeal's eyes narrowed. "Name your price." 
"$1,000,000, payable to the Sunburst Foundation." 
"$1,000,000! That's seven years of bedevilment by 
the Aryans." 
I smiled. "You get what you pay for." 



He nodded. "How will I know when you've done it?" 
"Oh, don't worry," I laughed, "it'll be in all the papers." 

He nodded. "How will I know when you've done it?" 
"Oh, don't worry," I laughed, "it'll be in all the papers." 
As we left Sinclair MacNeal's suite, Bat saw one of the 
diners and got the man to retch by making a simple 
"gulp" sound. We laughed about that as we took the 
elevator down and used the maglev train to take us back 
to City Center. I accompanied Bat down into Eclipse, but 
he went off to earn some pocket change in a pit fight, and 
I headed back to Coyote's stronghold. 
I spent the next two hours getting voice samples and 
burning vox response chips for the explosive detonators. 
I double-checked all the equipment that Bronislaw had 
sent over, made modifications to some of it, and arranged 
it in discrete piles and color-coded it for everyone. 
All they had to do was come in, suit up and we'd be 
good to go. 
I returned to Marit's home a little after midnight. When 
the door to the transversor opened I thought, for a 
moment, that something was wrong. Every light in the 
place was out and had been replaced by a multitude of 
candles glowing in the darkness. My recollection of the 
house outside Sedona flashed before my eyes, but 
evaporated as I saw Marit walking toward me from the 
back. 
The diaphonous gown clung to her like a white fog and 
stretched to taut invisibility against her flat stomach. She 
moved forward and, in the flickering half-light, looked 
more a ghost than a real person. I caught a hint of flowers 
as she stopped and candlelight reflected gold in her blue 
eyes. She folded her bare arms across her midriff, and 
her right hand bunched the fabric on her left hip. 
"Tycho, if we attack Lorica, we'll die." 
Her words came quietly in a tone befitting such a dire 
and final prediction. I saw gooseflesh pucker the flesh of 
her arms, and her nipples became erect. Her eyes never 
left mine, but the shifting of the candle flames made it 
look as if a thousand little demons danced within her 
skull. Her face remained blank, as if it had been composed 
for viewing by a mortician. 
"If you are that certain of death, Marit, take a pass. 
Don't go." 
She shook her head in a motion so slight that had her 
hair not moved, I might have thought it a trick of the light. 
"No, I will go. I must. I owe it to the others." She blinked 
her eyes and some life returned to her face. "It's just that 
I wanted to let you know what I am feeling. I want you to 
understand why it is so very important for you to be with 
me tonight. There is only one way to defeat death, really 
drive it away." 
She turned back in the direction from which she had 
come, but held her left hand back out to me. "Come with 
me, my love. Let us laugh at death together." 
The next morning Marit and I walked into Coyote's 


stronghold hand in hand. Jytte was there before us. Bat 
and Natch arrived soon after we did, and I set about 
briefing them as I put the equipment for Crowley and 
Loring into a pair of large, canvas dufflebags. 
"Your equipment is color-coded with a small piece of 
tape on it. Bat, you've got red; Marit, blue; Natch, green; 
and Jytte, gold. I'm black. Get your body armor on first, 
then suit up in the rest of this stuff. If you need any help, 
sing out." 
Natch frowned. "I know this is Eclipse, but won't we 
look a bit conspicuous going into Lorica with all this on? 
I mean, shouldn't we get it in to Lorica first, then put it on 
once we get inside?" 
I nodded. "Good thinking, but things have changed a 
bit. After I left Bat I spoke with Nero Loring and El 
Espectro." 
Bat shivered. "Crowley? I shouldn't have let you within 
50 miles of Sedona." 
"Right. Loring told me that the woman running Lorica 
is not, in fact, his daughter. He says the real Nerys was 
kidnapped and this new Nerys was substituted for her. He 
came to that realization recently, yet was ousted from 
Lorica before he could act upon that knowledge. He 
would have done something, in fact, but his daughter's 
captivity made that impossible. We're going to rescue 
her and then put and end to the Witch." 
Everyone accepted my explanation with a little more 
ease than I would have expected, but life in Eclipse was 
weirder than I found myself comfortable with anyway. 
Clearly the folks near Boxton had known the tenement 
through which Marit and I had returned to Eclipse was the 
seat of some weird stuff. They'd set up barricades against 
whatever came out of it. Likewise the Indians had come 
up with a very effective way to deal with creatures like 
Leich. Instead of worrying about the grander implications 
of these inhuman things and other places, they just 
handled them. 
I suited up. I put on my radio headset and settled the 
earpiece over my right ear. The main body of the box I 
clipped to my belt. I turned it on, heard static, and shut 
it off again. The earpiece, which also served as a 
microphone by picking up sound through the eustachian 
tube in that ear, fit snugly over my ear but did not wholly 
prevent me from hearing sounds other than the radio. 
That in place and working, I pulled on my combat 
harness, buckled the web-belt around my waist and 
tightened up on the shoulder straps. Across my stomach 
I had three ammo pouches, each with two clips for the 
AR-15-A2. At the small of my back I kept another pouch 
that contained six blocks of Semitek with radio/vox 
detonators attached. A holster on my right hip contained 
the Wildey Wolf and on the left hip, to balance it, I had 
three clips of ammo for the gun. Under my left arm I wore 
my Bianchi shoulder holster with one of the Colt Kraits 
and on the right three clips for it helped balance me out. 
Including the carbine and spare ammo pouch on my 
left hip, I had better than 30 pounds of equipment on me. 


Because the harness helped distribute it properly, it felt 
like much less and would not hamper me if I had to run 
fast or get out of the way of something. Live weight is 
much better and easier to handle than dead weight, yet 
too much live weight could catch up with me and make 
me all dead weight. 
Bat and I helped the others get into their stuff. Everyone 
had the same amount of equipment and our provisions 
differed only in that Bat and I carried the plastic 
explosives while Natch, Marit and Jytte had been given 
some basic first aid trauma kits. Jytte, despite the 
unnatural lightness to her body, seemed to stand the 
weight of the material better than Natch or Marit. Marit 
checked her own weapons to make sure they were 
functional, then quickly acquainted Jytte with the deadly 
tools we'd given her. 
All of us piled into the Vanagon Marit and I had rented 
that morning. I drove us over to Crowley's and around to 
the side. The gate there opened automatically and we 
pulled into a small parking area off the street. A wooden 
fence shielded the house's backyard from the street, but 
the gate there opened as we approached it. 
Crowley and Loring greeted us in the backyard. Loring 
looked dressed for a weekend of fishing, but his tan 
fatigue pants had enough pockets to let him redistribute 
some of the supplies on his combat harness. Marit 
helped him get into his gear, and they started a pleasant 
conversation about Lorica before Nerys had assumed 
control of it. Loring seemed thankful for her attentions 
and pleased to have a new ally. 
Crowley looked at the equipment I'd brought him and 
smiled. "Carbines are a good choice because, if what I 
have read is at all accurate, fighting will be in close. You 
might as well pass out my ammo and that gun because 
I prefer these." He dropped to one knee and zipped open 
a blue nylon bag. From it he pulled two small, boxy guns 
with short barrels that had a bore only slightly smaller 
than my Wildey Wolf. He handed me one, and I smiled. 
"Ingram Mac 10, .45 caliber, fires from the open bolt. 
Nasty little gun." I turned the gun over in my hands. "Old, 
but still deadly. They look like they've seen a few wars." 
"Relics of a misspent youth, my friend." Crowley 
pulled on his radio, then donned the combat harness I 
had brought. He stripped out the CAR-15-A2 clips and 
replaced them with clips for his Mac 10s. He put one of 
the small guns in the pouch at his back unloaded, then 
let the other dangle by its shoulder strap from his right 
shoulder. Both he and Loring already wore body armor, 
so his CAR and their vests remained in the duffle bag. 
"If you'll follow me," Crowley announced, "We can get 
started." 
His house's rear yard was remarkable in that it had 
fully leaved trees and bushes. White stones covered the 
earth everywhere except for the patio on which we stood 
and had been raked into a zen ocean pattern. As he 
spoke he waved us toward a koi pond toward the rear of 
the property, then he squatted down near a big, me



chanical statue that looked like the offspring of a steamroller 
and a Harley Davidson motorcycle. He flipped a 
switch and the fluttering thump of a pump came from 
inside the machine. 
Crowley stood and wiped his hands off on his thighs. 
"One of the owners of this house put in a bomb shelter 
shortly after World War II. Before the turn of the century, 
when I bought this place, it had served as an avant garde 
art gallery, which is when the koi pond went in, covering 
the shelter's opening. I reclaimed the shelter, though I 
have put it to a different use. Before it was meant to keep 
things out. Now, in many ways, it keeps things in." 
As he spoke the water level in the koi pond dropped, 
revealing a small island created by a submarine bulkhead 
hatch. Bat twirled the wheel on top and the hatch 
hissed open, spraying water out of the water-tight seal. 
Bat descended the ladder built into the wall first, then the 
rest of us followed, with Crowley coming down last. The 
hatch clanged shut above, and I heard the clicks of 
another couple switches being flipped. 
One, I have no doubt, reversed the pump to cover the 
hatch. The other apparently turned on the lights, because 
fluorescents flickered to life and filled the moderately 
sized room with light. Aside from some battered 
swords, shields and similar archaic weapons of war 
mounted on the white walls, the room appeared empty 
to me. Then, as I shifted to the left, I saw a black box in 
the far corner. It remained visible for a moment, then 
vanished until I changed my position. 
"What the hell is that?" 
Crowley made a beeline for the corner in which it 
appeared to exist. As he walked to the space where I had 
seen it, he reached out and jerked back slightly as if he 
had gotten a static shock. His touch seemed to "ground" 
the device for a moment, and I got a chance to get a good 
look at it. 
To me it looked to be of very fine hardwood construction. 
Half again as tall and wide as a phone booth, it had 
a depth of approximately four feet. It stood flush against 
the far wall of the room, and I could not see a seam at that 
end. It almost seemed like the box had grown out of the 
wall, and I would have remarked about that aloud, but I 
was very much afraid Crowley would confirm my speculation. 
Over on the far side he seemed to be playing with 
controls, but as I moved over to see what he was doing 
the center of the box started to sizzle with the gray static 
of a television getting no signal. Blue and red sparks 
played through the gray and white, but I heard nothing 
coming from the display. As nearly as I could tell the box 
had just become a giant TV screen with no sound. 
The old man stepped away from the control surface. 
"Let me explain this quickly. We are going to be traveling 
to another place, another dimension which actually lies 
fairly close to our own. It is called Plutoniathought I 
doubt the natives think of it as such. It is a place where 
all the natural laws seem to apply, save some area



specific time flow fluctuations." 
Jytte cocked her head to the side. "Explain please." 
Crowley sighed. "I don't know if I can. Dimensions 
often have their own special properties. Ah, the Underworld 
of Greek mythology, for example, has an area 
called Tartarus. It is, in reality, a small collection of 
pocket dimensions in which the physical laws have been 
grossly warped. Sisyphus is always rolling a stone uphill 
because any direction of travel, in that specific dimension, 
is uphill. The giant Tityus has vultures eating him 
alive during the day, but during the night he regenerates
as do the birds, so his torment can go on forever. 
The regeneration is not a property of him, but of the place 
he has been trapped in. 
"In Plutonia, as nearly as I can determine, there are 
'holding cells' where time does not pass in a normal way. 
I think these are really food storage areas, and they 
inherently retard aging, spoilage and decay for obviously 
beneficial reasons." 
He jerked a thumb at the control panel which, to my 
eyes, looked like an opal screen with lights pulsing all 
over it. "I have set this thing to take us as close as is safe 
to the place where Nerys Loring is being held. It is another 
dimensional gateway, so we may encounter hostilities 
almost immediately." 
I shook my head. "Wait a minute. Why can't you put 
us down in another area?" 
Crowley sighed heavily. "Dimensions have boundaries. 
A gateway is a simple place to go through. If I were 
going alone, I would not be using this device. I would go 
through by myself and pick out the most beneficial route. 
I cannot bring all of you with me, so this is it. While the 
creatures in Plutonia are sentient, they do not really have 
anything to counter the weapons we're bringing in." He 
fed a clip in through the Ingram's handgrip. "Besides, 
hive mind entities are only dangerous if you really make 
them angry." 
"Great." I stepped up to the box. "Just walk through?" 
"Just walk through." 
"Okay, folks, radios on. Sound check, black." I heard 
everyone else identify themselves by color, then I smiled. 
"See you on the other side." 
At first touch the static wall felt cold. Numbness 
nibbled up through me as I moved forward. I felt goose 
bumps rise on my skin, and my scrotum tightened. I 
crouched a bit as I moved ahead, then I felt a flash of heat 
as I came out on the other side. My head swam for a 
second, then I jumped up and rotated forward to land 
outside the dimensional gate. 
The gateway on the Plutonia side was shaped like a 
hexagon. It had taken on the identical look to that of the 
box in Crowley's shelter in terms of the color playing 
through it. The major difference was that while the static 
on Crowley's machine appeared to be heading into to a 
central nexus point, here it sprayed out to the edges. 
The other difficulty with the gate on the Plutonia side 
is that it was set in the floor of a large chamber. Bracing 


myself on the edge of the gateway, I held my hand out to 
Bat when his head poked through the surface of the static 
pool. It took him a moment to orient himself, then he 
leaped up like I had, and I pulled him home. 
The two of us crouched side by side, and I heard him 
whisper some Polish oath through the radio. We both 
pulled back the charging slides on our assault rifles, then 
covered the only exit we could see in the weak, mossborn 
luminescence in the cavernous room. 
Bat looked around the room, then shook his head. 
"What?" 
He shrugged. "I used to have an ant farm when I was 
a kid." 
"And?" 
"I used to dream about being shrunk down and visiting 
the nest." He frowned. "I was a dumb kid." 
"Why?" 
"I called 'em dreams." The big man circled the room 
with his rifle. "They were nightmares." 

myself on the edge of the gateway, I held my hand out to 
Bat when his head poked through the surface of the static 
pool. It took him a moment to orient himself, then he 
leaped up like I had, and I pulled him home. 
The two of us crouched side by side, and I heard him 
whisper some Polish oath through the radio. We both 
pulled back the charging slides on our assault rifles, then 
covered the only exit we could see in the weak, mossborn 
luminescence in the cavernous room. 
Bat looked around the room, then shook his head. 
"What?" 
He shrugged. "I used to have an ant farm when I was 
a kid." 
"And?" 
"I used to dream about being shrunk down and visiting 
the nest." He frowned. "I was a dumb kid." 
"Why?" 
"I called 'em dreams." The big man circled the room 
with his rifle. "They were nightmares." 
The others came through, and only Nero Loring 
seemed to be unable to see anything. Jytte held his hand 
and got him to crouch down as we waited for Crowley to 
come through. When he did, he took on the black-shroud 
form I had come to recognize before I met him in Eclipse. 
Bat took one look at him and scowled. "That's it. When 
I get back, I torch Sedona." 
Crowley laughed heartily. "I'll give you the matches." 
He pressed his left hand over Nero Loring's eyes, and the 
man started looking around the room. Nero's face 
slackened a bit, then he blinked away tears as he 
imagined his daughter having spent so many years in 
this place. 
Loring charged his carbine. "What are we waiting for? 
Let's go." 
Crowley held up a hand. "A moment." His other hand 
came up, and his fingers splayed out. I saw them tremble 
as he moved them around. The gold ring glinted on his 
right hand as Crowley worked through a series of eerie 
and complicated gestures. Finally he lowered his hands 
and pointed toward the doorway. "We're two levels 
below where she is. Up a slant corridor, first hard right, 
then second left. She's in the third room on the left." 
Marit frowned at him. "How do you know?" 
"Nero gave me a locket his daughter used to wear. I 
matched the emanations from it to those I feel above. We 
have to hurry. Something is wrong." 
Bat and I took up the lead and moved out into the 
corridor. Starting at the doorway's round frame, glistening 
lines of mucus ran along the walls and ceiling of the 
circular tunnel. In the darkness I could not make out any 
difference between them, but as I got close I noticed a 
heavy mixture of scents, almost as bad as being caught 
in a bar during perfume wars between the women 


nearby. For a half second I wondered if they were some 
sort of biomechanical circuitry, then dismissed them as 
bizarre decoration. 
Jytte touched one of the lines. "Scent marking. These 
are the same as painted lines along the walls of a hospital. 
I would guess this thick central one leads to something 
important, like food or the queen." 
I crouched a bit further up the corridor and took a 
plastic-bomblet from my pack. "Bat, set a red one 
opposite me here on the wall." I pressed mine against the 
rough stone and flipped the small switch, arming it. A 
small, red LED came on to let me know it was ready to 
go. 
The hard right turn Crowley had mentioned took us 
from one upward-slanting corridor to another, then 
leveled off into a large gallery. Going forward slowly I 
could see little more than patches of green luminescence 
floating in an ocean of darkness. In the distance I could 
hear some chittering and clicking that sounded like 
drumsticks being hammered against each other by a 
very agitated musician. 
"Caine, stop!" the radio hissed in my ear 
At Crowley's warning I came to a full stop. I felt the 
breeze from something moving past from right to left. 
Clicks and pops sounded closer, then stopped. I heard a 
creaking sound, like old leather being stretched. Two 
sharp clicks, like rocks being struck together to make a 
spark, exploded above my head. I started, then refroze. 
Crowley's voice sounded in my earpiece. "Easy, 
Caine, easy. The one near you is only a worker. You 
won't smell like food to him, so don't worry. Stay calm. 
Don't shoot." 
Like a ventriloquist, I subvocalized, which the earmike 
picked up with ease. "You can see these things? You can 
see in the dark?" 
"It is a skill you can develop if you survive this. Stay 
still." 
I drew a quiet breath in through clenched teeth. A 
thick, bitterly sweet odor like that of dead flowers washed 
over me and grew as the clicking became closer. I heard 
the sound again and again from up above me and to the 
right, but as I tried to see what it was, all I could make out 
was a shadow eclipsing distant patches of green moss. 
A bead of sweat started at my right temple and slowly 
started to crawl down the side of my face. My right bicep 
started to quiver as the weight of the carbine began to 
vampirize its strength. The bulletproof vest I had on 
became clammy, and I found myself starting to overheat. 
More sweat appeared on my brow and one droplet 
coursed down between my eyebrows, along the edge of 
my nose, to sting my right eye. 
The way my heart pounded, I felt certain the thing 
must have heard it. Because of Bat's remark, I imagined 
it as some huge ant, just waiting to catch me in its 
mandibles. Two huge scythe-blades mounted on its jaws 
would snap me in half. Not the way I expected to go at all. 
I knew if I could just shift the carbine's muzzle around I 


could pop the thing. 
Then, suddenly, in a series of clicks and crunches, the 
thing went away. I let my breath out slowly. "Crowley, 
what the hell was that?" 
"A Plutonian, I would imagine." His voice stopped for 
a moment and, in that pause, lost all the whimsy it had 
contained. "I don't like this. Forward 12 steps, turn left." 
I followed his instructions to the letter and found 
myself close enough to another corridor that the mosslight 
let me see my team as they came in. "Crowley, what 
don't you like?" 
The green light did not reflect from his black form. 
"That worker was in a classic search pattern with its 
antennae, but it backed off before it touched you." 
"Our luck." 
"Or something called it away." He pointed further 
down the tunnel. 
Marit took over the point position and led us to the third 
opening on the left. She produced a knife from a boot-
sheath and started digging away at the wax-covered 
web-fiber panel blocking the hole. "It's six inches thick. 
It's like carving clay. There's some light, real light, on the 
other side." 
Bat pulled a knife of his own and stabbed the eight-
inch blade in at shoulder-height. Wrapping both hands 
around the hilt, he started tugging backwards and walking 
from one side of the hole to the other. The wax-web 
peeled down like whale blubber being flayed from a 
humpback. Natch pulled the thick membrane back and 
Nero Loring ducked into the room first. 
He wailed so loudly that I tore my earpiece out of my 
ear. I stooped below the cut Bat had made and found 
myself in a tiny chamber. Candles stood in a number of 
alcoves around the room, filling it with a normal golden 
light. If not for the room's irregular shape, the furnishings, 
which included two bookcases full of novels, would have 
caused me to believe it was a rather spartan dorm room 
at some paramilitary private school. It hardly seemed a 
horrible prison and, dozing on the bed with a novel on her 
stomach, Nerys Loring hardly seemed in distress. 
But then, from where I was standing, I could not see 
what had driven her father to his knees. He reached out 
for her and pulled her to him. Because she did not react 
when her father screamed, I knew something was wrong. 
I thought maybe she had been drugged, but when Nero 
reached out and hugged her 14-year-old body to him 
tightly, I saw and understood his anguish. 
Like a bad toupee, her black scalp flopped back to 
hang at her neck like a hood on a jacket. The whole back 
of her skull had been ripped away and her brain had been 
stolen. 
"No, no! She's not dead. Her body is still warm," her 
father moaned. 
I turned toward Crowley and pointed at the bed. "This 
isn't possible. She had her brain removed and there's no 
blood? Can't be done." 
"Of course it can." He snatched the knife from Bat's 


hand and grabbed my right wrist. In a slashing motion he 
drew the blade across the back of my hand, and I felt the 
sting of the blade. Looking down I saw the cut. It wasn't 
deep and wasn't particularly long, but it wasn't bleeding 
either. 
"How?" 
"I told you, this room, this area is special. Look at the 
candles." He pointed at one, then went close and tried to 
blow it out. The flame wouldn't even flicker. "They burn 
without being consumed. It is an aspect of this place." 
Crowley bent down and hauled Nero Loring to his feet. 
When Loring resisted, Crowley slapped him once, hard, 
then clawed his hands away from the girl's body. "Let her 
go!" 
"No, she is my daughter!" 
"She was your daughter. You said you encoded a 
pattern in the software driving the maglev circuit's 
functions, right?" 
"Nerys!" 
Crowley slapped him again and lifted him by his shirtfront 
until Loring's feet left the floor. "Listen to me, Nero 
Loring. They have your daughter's brain. They will use it 
to trigger the circuit. Can you stop them?" 
"I don't know." The man shook his head while tears 
streamed down his face. "I think so, but I don't know." 
Holding him there with one hand, Crowley turned and 
pointed at Jytte. "You, you're Coyote's computer empath. 
Can you stop the machine?" 
"If I am able to obtain access, possibly." 
"You'll have access. Caine, come here." 
Before I could take a single step forward, a thunderous 
click and the sound of tearing fabric echoed from the 
doorway. I spun, bringing my carbine up instantly. 
Discarding the rest of the room's seal with a shake of its 
head was the biggest antlike creature I'd ever seen. 
Chocolate brown in color, I made it just slightly smaller 
than a bull of the nearly extinct elephant species of 
Africa. 
Instinctively my finger tightened on the carbine's 
trigger. Flame shot a full foot from the muzzle while the 
stream of duplex bullets slashed a dozen holes across the 
thing's face. They snapped off one of the huge mandibles, 
and it clattered to the ground like a black ivory 
tusk. The creature reeled back and slammed into the 
opposite side of the corridor, then scrabbled back up to 
its six legs before Bat's broadside burst blew a hole the 
size of a pumpkin through its thorax. 
I had expected some sort of death scream, but the 
creature had remained silent. Instead a brutally pungent 
scent flooded the room. The first wave of it made my 
head spin. Marit dropped to her knees and retched. I 
started to collapse but caught myself on a table. Crowley 
let Loring fall to the floor, then staggered over to me as 
the air began to clear. 
"Listen to me. You've got to get Nero and Jytte into 
Lorica. You have to stop Nerys and Fiddleback." He 
raised his right hand to my forehead and touched me. As 


he did so I saw a vision of the opalescent control panel 
for the dimensional gateway flash into my head. "Control 
sequence is Roy G. Biveach time you touch a light it 
will shift to the next color in the mix. The pattern I 
projected to you will get you to the base of the Lorica 
Tower. I know it works. I've been there before." 
"When you helped Coyote get Nero out of there, 
right?" 
Crowley's head came up, and he looked at me. I could 
almost see his eyes through the shadow. "You are very 
perceptive, Caine, but we do not have time for this. Go. 
Go back the way you came. Use the dimension device 
to get to the tower. I hope you're in time." 
"You must come with us." 
He shook his head. "Can't. Fiddleback's out-thought 
us here." 
Bat shouldered his rifle and fired two bursts down the 
corridor. "They're massing, Caine." 
"Go, take Loring. There is a chance he can still get 
through to her." He glanced over at the body. "I've got to 
see if there is another way out of this." 
"You'll be okay?" 
I heard Crowley laugh lightly. "I'm an old man, but 
Fiddleback and I haven't filled up our dance cards yet." 
"Okay, let's go." I reached back and pulled one of the 
plastique explosive packets from my pouch and armed 
it. I hunkered down next to the opening on the side 
opposite Bat. "How far?" 
"Thirty feet. It's a low ceiling, be careful." 
"I have a better idea." I reseated my earpiece, then 
pressed the plastique into a little ball with the detonator 
in the middle. "I don't know if I used to bowl or not, but..." 
I stepped out through the doorway and rolled the ball 
down the middle of the corridor. The circular tunnel's 
concave floor kept the bomblet sailing right down the 
center. The little, blue LED blinked on and off as the ball 
rolled deeper and deeper down the corridor. When it got 
as far as I thought safe, I pressed my earpiece to my ear 
and said "Bluegill." 
The bomblet detonated right beneath one of the 
Plutonians, vaporizing its thorax. The creature's abdomen 
cartwheeled back over a line of the creatures, 
spraying them with its vital fluids. The head crashed to 
the ground, with the antennae still twitching in a search 
pattern and the mandibles clicking together. 
Bat stepped into the corridor and triggered off two 
more bursts. "Clear, move it." 
I let Natch and Loring head out and sent Marit and 
Jytte after them. I waved Bat forward and heard more 
shooting. I turned around to wish Crowley luck, but I 
found myself alone in the room. "Good luck to you 
anyway, old man. I hope like hell Fiddleback doesn't get 
either one of us." 

he did so I saw a vision of the opalescent control panel 
for the dimensional gateway flash into my head. "Control 
sequence is Roy G. Biveach time you touch a light it 
will shift to the next color in the mix. The pattern I 
projected to you will get you to the base of the Lorica 
Tower. I know it works. I've been there before." 
"When you helped Coyote get Nero out of there, 
right?" 
Crowley's head came up, and he looked at me. I could 
almost see his eyes through the shadow. "You are very 
perceptive, Caine, but we do not have time for this. Go. 
Go back the way you came. Use the dimension device 
to get to the tower. I hope you're in time." 
"You must come with us." 
He shook his head. "Can't. Fiddleback's out-thought 
us here." 
Bat shouldered his rifle and fired two bursts down the 
corridor. "They're massing, Caine." 
"Go, take Loring. There is a chance he can still get 
through to her." He glanced over at the body. "I've got to 
see if there is another way out of this." 
"You'll be okay?" 
I heard Crowley laugh lightly. "I'm an old man, but 
Fiddleback and I haven't filled up our dance cards yet." 
"Okay, let's go." I reached back and pulled one of the 
plastique explosive packets from my pouch and armed 
it. I hunkered down next to the opening on the side 
opposite Bat. "How far?" 
"Thirty feet. It's a low ceiling, be careful." 
"I have a better idea." I reseated my earpiece, then 
pressed the plastique into a little ball with the detonator 
in the middle. "I don't know if I used to bowl or not, but..." 
I stepped out through the doorway and rolled the ball 
down the middle of the corridor. The circular tunnel's 
concave floor kept the bomblet sailing right down the 
center. The little, blue LED blinked on and off as the ball 
rolled deeper and deeper down the corridor. When it got 
as far as I thought safe, I pressed my earpiece to my ear 
and said "Bluegill." 
The bomblet detonated right beneath one of the 
Plutonians, vaporizing its thorax. The creature's abdomen 
cartwheeled back over a line of the creatures, 
spraying them with its vital fluids. The head crashed to 
the ground, with the antennae still twitching in a search 
pattern and the mandibles clicking together. 
Bat stepped into the corridor and triggered off two 
more bursts. "Clear, move it." 
I let Natch and Loring head out and sent Marit and 
Jytte after them. I waved Bat forward and heard more 
shooting. I turned around to wish Crowley luck, but I 
found myself alone in the room. "Good luck to you 
anyway, old man. I hope like hell Fiddleback doesn't get 
either one of us." 

The brilliant backlight of the muzzle flash from Bat's 
carbine made him a marble statue at the juncture of the 
short corridor and the large gallery. He stood in the center 
of the passage and sprayed the gallery with gunfire while 
the others ducked behind him and secured the slant tube 
down. "Move it, Caine." 
I reached back and pulled out another bomblet. "Go, 
Bat. I'm following close. Guard your eyes when I give the 
word." I sprinted forward, guided by the light from his gun 
as he fired in bursts and retreated. As I reached the mouth 
of the corridor, I hunkered down beside one of the dying 
creatures and saw two of our people at the slant corridor's 
mouth open up. 
Giving myself a second to size up the situation in the 
light of their gunfire, I noticed that the Plutonian protecting 
me was not really a giant insect. A thick, leathery 
flesh covered over bony armor plates making it much 
more like an armadillo than anything else. It felt warm to 
the touch and a thick tuft of hairs ran along its spine. If a 
rhinoceros had been formed in the image of an ant, it 
would be a Plutonian. 
The Plutonians had arrayed themselves in a staggered 
line and were advancing steadily toward my companions. 
A blast in their midst could disorganize them. 
Crowley had called them a hive mind, so I looked for one 
with longer antennae in a vain attempt to locate the 
mobile equivalent of a comcenter. 
"No such luck." I rolled the Semitek into a ball and 
armed the chip. The LED glowed with a yellow light. 
Steadying myself with my left hand pressed against the 
Plutonian carcass, I arced the bomb at the highest point 
of light I could see in the main gallery. "Cover!" I waited 
a second, then added the mnemonic trigger for the blast. 
"Yellowtail." 
The bomblet exploded fairly close to the ceiling with 
considerable force. A number of the large, lumbering 
Plutonians crashed to the gallery floor, their six legs 
splayed out as if they were roadkill. Others blundered 
into their compatriots and began fighting them, locking 
these elephantine ant-things in mortal combat. A few 
whose antennae had been broken in the blast just spun 
and spun where they stood. 
The explosion ignited the cocoonish web covering the 
upper part of the ceiling. Starting at the point of the blast, 
the flaming fabric peeled down from the roof and blanketed 
the Plutonians with fire. The sticky material clung 
to them like a second flesh and roasted them alive. The 
choking deathscent combined with smoke and burning 
flesh to fill the gallery with a venomous fog. 
The roaring inferno made vision much easier than 
before. Pushing off the corpse, I ran to the slant-tube and 
shot past Jytte and Marit. They triggered off two more 
bursts, then ran after me as we sprinted down. We caught 
Natch and Loring at the turn, then saw Bat waving us 
through the doorway into the gateway room. 
When we were all in, I nodded to Bat and he said, "Red 
snapper." The floor jolted as the first explosives we'd set 


detonated and blocked the passage we'd run down. I 
pointed to the dimensional gate and told everyone to sit 
on the edge. "I'll get this set. Reload now because we'll 
probably be going in hot." 
I ran over to the control console set near the hexagonal 
gate. The controls had no buttons or knobs, but seemed 
to be divided into a 10-by-10 grid that, at the moment, 
had a few reds, blues and greens amid a sea of white. All 
of the colors were pastels, yet they flashed with light 
much as colors shift within an opal. 
I touched the very first panel in the grid. It went from 
white to red and, at the same time, I caught a light, airy 
scent. This made sense, as the Plutonians seemed to 
work more from olfactory stimulus than visual clues. I hit 
the panel again and the light became orange along with 
another sweet scent being offered as a clue. 
I quickly discovered that after violet came white 
againwith no scentso I set about changing the colors 
to match those of the image Crowley had implanted in 
my mind. As I hit the finished pattern, the gateway began 
to display the static pattern, with it flowing inward instead 
of out. 
"Go!" I pulled a Semitek packet from my pouch, 
armed it, and pressed it to the console. Standing on the 
edge of the gateway I said, "Count five, green sword." I 
stepped off into the static and felt the numbness swallow 
me alive. 
Coming out on the other side, I fell face first into a 
viscous, sticky fluid. It felt cold and gelatinous on my 
hands and face, but as I pushed myself upright, it popped 
free of my cheek without leaving a residue. Getting my 
feet under me I stood slowly and found the mucuslike 
substance clung to the walls and, while somewhat 
elastic, snapped back in place when stretched beyond a 
foot or so. 
"Where are we?" I saw, obviously, that my companions 
and I had come through into a huge cylinder. The 
flooring beneath the slime vibrated slightly, and I heard 
muted rasping sounds that seemed to rush toward us, 
then recede away again. I matched my mental image of 
the control panel with the one Crowley had given me, and 
they were identical. "Either we're in Lorica, or Crowley 
made a big mistake." 
I turned around and started betting on the latter 
possibility because Bat stood on the ceiling of the tunnel 
and shrugged. Halfway between the two of us, Nero 
Loring knelt on one knee and pressed a hand down 
through the slime to the concrete below it. The rest of us, 
like spokes on a wheel, stood on the interior of the 
cylinder with no proper regard to the orientation of 
gravity. 
"I think, Caine, we're in the central cylinder around 
which the main elevators in the Lorica Citadel are built." 
Loring pulled his hand free of the muck and stood. "I had 
envisioned a private elevator in here just for me. With this 
space 20 feet in diameter I could have driven in and been 
brought all the way up to the penthouse." 


He pointed back over his shoulder. "In a conventional 
sense, that's down and we're facing up. I don't know how 
gravity is being manipulated here, but it seems to be 
concentrated by the slime, perhaps as a mechanism to 
make food fall toward it. As long as we're careful and this 
stuff goes all the way up, we've got roughly a third of a 
kilometer between us and the imposter." 
A distant and loud boom caused all of us to drop down 
on our bellies. "An attack?" 
Natch shook her head. "Thunder. It always sounds like 
that in Eclipse." 
"Thunder? I thought the storms don't start until evening, 
when the city cools enough to let the clouds drift in." 
"They don't." Marit looked at her watch. "Hold on, this 
is weird." 
As she spoke, I glanced at my own watch. The analog 
dial read 9:15 a.m., which felt right for the amount of time 
I've been awake so far. The digital said 8:30 p.m., which 
was about the time the storms would be starting. "Time 
moves very slowly in Plutonia, it seems." 
Loring pointed up. "It doesn't matter what time it is, 
there is a storm brewing. We must stop the Witch." 
Working our way up along the cylinder felt very 
strange, especially with Bat persisting in what looked 
like, from my vantage point, his hanging by his feet from 
the ceiling. We advanced slowly and cautiously, but saw 
no opposition. Nowhere did the slime break or fail to 
secure us. 
At the far end of the cylinder a smaller passage opened 
up. It was about half the diameter of the main tube and 
that the slime grew only on the sides and floor of the 
tunnel. It spiraled out and down from the main tube, but 
because of the twist in it, I could only guess at its length. 
It seemed, as nearly as I could determine, to be a 
transition point through which the tube's gravity could be 
aligned with that of the external world. 
Loring said he knew nothing about it, but confirmed 
my suspicions on its purpose. "This is new construction 
as far as I know, but it should come out in the penthouse." 
"I'll go first and signal when it's clear." I put a new clip 
into the carbine, then started down the tributary tunnel. 
I started on a side wall but found myself channeled onto 
a narrow pathway. By the time the slime ran out, the 
passage had been squared off and opened into the white 
silk world of Nerys Loring. 
I paused in the doorway and looked both ways, but 
with the shifting walls billowing and snapping, seeing 
anything was impossible. "Looks clear, I think," I whispered 
into my radio. "Come up slowly in case I'm wrong." 
One step through the doorway, and I found out how 
very wrong I was. Two feet hit me in the right shoulder as 
someone jumped me from above the doorway. I rolled 
beneath the impact, but before I could come up and turn 
around, a solid kick in the ribs sent me flying even further. 
My carbine went skittering across the floor and sunk in 
one of the streamlets off to my left while I came up short 
against a low wall and smashed into it with my shoulders. 


Mr. Leich, dressed head to toe in black, stood in the 
middle of floor and laughed mildly. He rubbed his hands 
on his thighs, then balled them into fists. Behind him, like 
squashed bugs on the pristine white of the walls, I saw 
twin slime handprints above the door, which explained 
how he had hung there until I arrived. 
"Hope I didn't leave you hanging too long, Mr. Leich." 
His dark RayBan sunglasses hid his eyes, but I imagined 
no mirth in them, nor did I hear any in his voice. 
"You've been a very bad boy, Mr. Caine. I owe you, and 
she said I could have you." He licked his lips lasciviously, 
then smiled and showed me his fangs. 
I gathered my feet beneath me and stood. "If you want 
me, come get me."I dropped a hand to the Wildey Wolf's 
butt. 
He shook his head. "You still don't understand, do you, 
human? You've shot me four times. You've caused my 
flesh to be scraped off in a skid. When you hit me with 
your car you fractured my leg in eight places. The 
paramedic said I'd never walk again, then I drank his 
blood and danced away from the accident site. You can 
no more fight me than cattle can fight against the 
slaughterhouse." 
Leich pointed at my pistol. "Go ahead. Take your best 
shot. You've learned nothing." 
I pulled the Wildey and snapped it off safety. "On the 
contrary, Mr. Leich, I have learned a great deal." 
The first shot I triggered hit him in the right shoulder 
with enough of a punch that his sunglasses bounced off 
his face. Leich twisted his torso back toward me to show 
he could take everything I could dish out. Then his head 
turned to the right as he suddenly realized that the thing 
lying on the floor back beyond him was, in fact, his right 
arm. 
"Don't go to pieces over this, Mr. Leich," I chided him, 
"or should I call you 'Lefty'?" 
Pure suprahuman loathing blazed in his eyes as he 
turned back to me. He started to snarl something, but my 
second shot pinned the words in his throat and blew his 
larynx back out through his spine. Blood splashed over 
the silk sheets snapping like sails in a gale. His body 
flopped back into the watery grave that took my carbine 
while his head did a triple somersault in the air, then hit 
the ground. It bounced once and rolled back off his nose. 
Lying on his ear, Leich gnawed at the air for the next five 
seconds, then he lay still in a pool of blood. 
Bat and Jytte appeared at the doorway with their 
carbines at the ready. "Trouble?" 
"No, Bat, it's under control." I holstered the pistol. 
Behind him Natch and Loring caught up and Marit 
played rear guard. "He's the only one she had waiting. 
Either she's very stupid or..." 
"...or there is nothing you can do to stop me!" 
I heard her voice echo throughout the penthouse and 
a thunder strike punctuated her statement. I spun around 
to face deeper into her domain, dreading the effort 
necessary to hunt her down in her silken labyrinth. She 


is a spider in her web. 

is a spider in her web. 


could have been optical fibers sheathed in shiny plastic, 
but they flared out at either end in pseudopod receptors 
that clung to the box like leeches. The cables pulsed as 
power ran through them and light shifted within panels to 
which the cables had fused. The panels themselves 
looked, in the beginning, like complex LCD compilations 
but I quickly saw, in fact, they were scaly flesh that 
changed colors with a chameleon's ability to camouflage 
itself. 
A lucite post rose from the center of the device while 
I stared at it, then fanned itself out like a peacock's tail. 
Narrow at the base and almost a foot wide at the peak, 
I saw strange shapes imbedded in the lucite. Then, a 
second before I realized what medium the artist had used 
to create the organic designs, I saw they were really thin 
brain slices trapped between two layers of the clear 
synthetic. 
The Witch looked at the machine with rapture on her 
face. "Say hello, dear." 
A black membrane on the front of the machine 
quivered like a drumhead to produce a little girl's voice. 
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I don't want to do it but I can't stop." 
"Nerys!" Loring shouted. He pointed at the Witch. 
"What have you done to her?" 
The Witch's eyes narrowed. "Only that which you 
forced me to do, foolish man. You sought to thwart me 
and my master. You used her brainwaves, I have used 
her brain. What has been done is your doing." She turned 
and glanced at the maglev line and the St. Elmo's fire 
begining to play along its length. "It cannot be stopped." 
"We can blow the line." I pointed back the way we 
came. "Let's go, Bat." 
The Witch laughed at me. "You're going nowhere." 
"You're going to stop me?" 
"No." She shook her head. "Now, my pet, you may 
reveal yourself. You have done very well." 
Marit stepped back away from the rest of the group, 
but kept her carbine level. "You all know, at this range, 
I won't miss and your vests won't help. I don't want to 
have to kill you. Just put your guns down." 
Our collection of long guns and pistols clattered to the 
floor. 
The Witch folded her arms across her chest. "You see, 
Mr. Caine, Fiddleback is not alone in keeping pets. I 
would kill you for what you have done, but it is not my 
place to discipline another's toy. I will leave that for when 
Fiddleback arrives." A close lightning strike turned her 
face into a mask of silver. "That, by the look of things, 
should not be long at all." 

could have been optical fibers sheathed in shiny plastic, 
but they flared out at either end in pseudopod receptors 
that clung to the box like leeches. The cables pulsed as 
power ran through them and light shifted within panels to 
which the cables had fused. The panels themselves 
looked, in the beginning, like complex LCD compilations 
but I quickly saw, in fact, they were scaly flesh that 
changed colors with a chameleon's ability to camouflage 
itself. 
A lucite post rose from the center of the device while 
I stared at it, then fanned itself out like a peacock's tail. 
Narrow at the base and almost a foot wide at the peak, 
I saw strange shapes imbedded in the lucite. Then, a 
second before I realized what medium the artist had used 
to create the organic designs, I saw they were really thin 
brain slices trapped between two layers of the clear 
synthetic. 
The Witch looked at the machine with rapture on her 
face. "Say hello, dear." 
A black membrane on the front of the machine 
quivered like a drumhead to produce a little girl's voice. 
"I'm sorry, Daddy. I don't want to do it but I can't stop." 
"Nerys!" Loring shouted. He pointed at the Witch. 
"What have you done to her?" 
The Witch's eyes narrowed. "Only that which you 
forced me to do, foolish man. You sought to thwart me 
and my master. You used her brainwaves, I have used 
her brain. What has been done is your doing." She turned 
and glanced at the maglev line and the St. Elmo's fire 
begining to play along its length. "It cannot be stopped." 
"We can blow the line." I pointed back the way we 
came. "Let's go, Bat." 
The Witch laughed at me. "You're going nowhere." 
"You're going to stop me?" 
"No." She shook her head. "Now, my pet, you may 
reveal yourself. You have done very well." 
Marit stepped back away from the rest of the group, 
but kept her carbine level. "You all know, at this range, 
I won't miss and your vests won't help. I don't want to 
have to kill you. Just put your guns down." 
Our collection of long guns and pistols clattered to the 
floor. 
The Witch folded her arms across her chest. "You see, 
Mr. Caine, Fiddleback is not alone in keeping pets. I 
would kill you for what you have done, but it is not my 
place to discipline another's toy. I will leave that for when 
Fiddleback arrives." A close lightning strike turned her 
face into a mask of silver. "That, by the look of things, 
should not be long at all." 
I looked at Marit and shook my head. "Marit, how 
could you?" 
"I didn't mean to hurt you, Tycho. I didn't." 
I heard her words, but the plea for understanding in her 



voice died in the black hole at the center of her eyes. 
"Stop now, Marit. Shoot her. Redeem yourself." 
"I can't, Tycho, I can't." Marit winced. "I have come too 
far to be cheated now." 
The Witch chuckled lightly. "Your mistake, Mr. Caine. 
You can offer her nothing more than a warm body in the 
night. I, on the other hand, can offer her immortality. I can 
offer her eternal beauty and wealth. I can give her all the 
things she hungered for as a child in Eclipse. In return, I 
asked for her to deliver Coyote to me. She has failed in 
that task, but you are a prize that is, at the moment, far 
more valuable to me." 
She opened her arms wide like a mother welcoming 
children. "All of you have been resourceful. I appreciate 
and respect that more than you know. Come to me. 
Embrace me. Become my servants and, through the 
grace of Fiddleback, I will see to it that your every dream 
is fulfilled beyond imagining. 
Bat folded his arms. "You mean I get to kill you more 
than once?" 
The Witch shook her head. "How droll, Mr. Kabat." As 
Marit circled around to stand beside her patron, the Witch 
pointed at Bat. "When I give the word, my precious, cap 
him, so he dies in pain, and slowly." 
"As you wish, mistress." 
"What of the rest of you? Nero, you have been a thorn, 
but I will let you live. You, Feral, you can have anything 
you want. And you, Jytte Ravel, I can make you at home 
in that body. I can make you whole again. It is your 
choice." 
Outside the sky exploded with jagged slivers of pure 
energy and static crackled through my radio. The storm 
rolled in over Squaw Peak, thunder rumbling like a growl 
in a wolf's throat. Multiple lighting strikes walked their 
way down the side of the mountain. They struck the 
numerous lightning rods protecting Frozen Shade from 
storms and for a brief moment, a sizzling energy rope 
tethered the clouds to the ground. As each line parted, 
darkness again flashed over the landscape, but the 
glowing purple ring of the maglev circuit brightened. 
Natch chewed her lower lip, then shook her head. "I 
wouldn't join you even if you were as smart and powerful 
as you think you are. No sale, Bitch-witch." 
The Witch's eyes sparked. "Ravel?" 
"You and your kind steal humanity. The only way you 
could make me whole is to steal from another." She 
shook her head once. "Void transaction." 
"Idiots! Can you not see what she sees?" 
"Nope, we can't." Bat shook his head. "But then, we 
have our eyes open." 
"Marit," I whispered sadly over the radio. 
She looked at me. "Tycho?" 
"I'm sorry." 
"Sorry? For what?" 
I tried to remember the person she had been the night 
before. 
I failed. "For this. Salome." 


A second after I said the word, the Semitek embedded 
in the main body of her radio exploded. The lead shot 
nestled at the point of the shaped charge burst free of the 
small plastic radio case, shattering the clip she had used 
to fasten it to her harness up by her right shoulder. Plastic 
fragments and metal shot shredded the harness and 
blew through the body armor. Recoil started her spinning 
back and to the left as the shot tore through her chest, 
punctured her lung and opened her pulmonary artery. 
Spinning uncontrollably, she brought the muzzle of the 
carbine up and whipped it across the Witch's face. 
The Witch reeled off the back of the dais and fell from 
sight. I dove for the floor and came up with the Wildey 
Wolf. Bat dropped to one knee and recovered his carbine. 
Natch grabbed Nero Loring and started pulling him 
away from the dais while Jytte headed straight for the 
computer. Suddenly something moved over near her, 
and Jytte came flying back to bowl Natch and Loring 
over. 
The Witch came back up in her true form. She still 
wore Nerys' face over her own, though the pale flesh had 
been stretched to the point where green showed through 
from beneath it like an infection. Likewise the flesh of her 
hands had become corpse-white cellophane gloves that 
ended in tattered strips at her wrists. Sharp black claws 
pierced the skin at the end of the fingers and glistened 
with venom. 
As she slithered forward she slid free of the rest of the 
flesh she had worn in her time as a changeling. A black 
tongue, forked like that of a serpent, flickered through 
Nerys' ruby lips. From her throat, all the way down 
between very mammalian breasts and along the full 20 
feet of her snakelike body, yellow ivory scales covered 
her. Green scales armored the rest of her and gathered 
into barbs on the backs of her elbows and the points of 
her shoulders. She blinked away the membranes covering 
her eyes, showing the elliptical pupils of her amber 
eyes. 
"I need this deception no more! The coming of my lord 
is nigh!" 
Bat and I opened up at the same time. He burned 
through his clip before I finished mine. His duplex bullets 
ripped a line across her torso starting at where her left hip 
might once have been and ending at her right shoulder. 
My five shots centered on her head and throat. One 
nailed her dead center in the forehead, shredding her 
human mask and helping knock her back off the dais. 
She ducked from sight for a second, then rose up 
again. I could see broken scales where Bat had hit her, 
but as I watched they repaired themselves. "You cannot 
kill me! Your weapons are too puny! I am invincible!" 
Somewhere behind me Nero Loring started laughing. 
Bat, Natch and Jytte all concentrated their fire on her. 
Bullets ricocheted from her head and chest, shattering 
the windows behind her. Immediately the storm's howling 
winds whipped through the room, lashing her face 
with the hair she had worn as a human. Huge chunks of 


rain-slicked glass whirled out into the night as I jumped 
up onto the dais and pried Marit's carbine from her dead 
fingers. Water washed over the back of the Witch and ran 
off her scales like the bullets we shot at her. 
Loring's laughter cut through the thunder and his 
ridicule seemed to hurt her more than our bullets. She 
coiled up at the base of the shattered window and hissed 
at him. She set herself to strike at him, then twisted her 
head around and glanced at me with the corner of her 
eye. Her hands twitched, and she came for me. 
As she lunged in my direction, the broken shards of 
wet glass beneath her coils provided her less than 
optimal traction. Half her serpentine body shot back out 
through the window as her torso launched toward me. 
Even in mid-strike she realized what had happened, so 
her raking claws shifted from me to the dais and sunk in 
through the formica top and the particle board beneath 
it. 
She looked up me and her snake-tongue flayed the 
last of the human flesh from her face. Clinging there, with 
her arms outstretched, she hissed menacingly. "This is 
not over!" A green coil appeared at the edge of the 
building, but a burst from Jytte's carbine knocked it back 
out into the night. 
"It is over." 
I jumped back off the dais and without my added 
weight, it slowly slid back toward the broken windows. I 
leveled Marit's carbine at it and burned the clip. The 
duplex bullets blasted it into so much kindling and 
Formica dust. The wind sucked the debris out, taking 
both the Witch and Mark in the bargain. 
I ran to the window and steadied myself against one of 
the window frames. Falling further and further through 
sheets of rain, I saw a black whiplike shape undulating 
through the air. Then, amid a bright flash of light, it hit 
Frozen Shade. A lightning strike tore into the damaged 
panel, more sparks shot up and an S-shaped fire begin 
to burn at the base of the Lorica Citadel. 
I turned away from the window and shouted over the 
howling wind. "Nero, Jytte, what about that computer?" 
The light around the maglev line continued to build and 
seven spiral rainbows rose from the local maglev lines to 
link each citadel with City Center. "Whatever she started, 
it's continuing." 
Jytte looked at the machine and shook her head, "I am 
unable to assess what I can do. Given time, I could piece 
together the neural links that make this thing work." She 
pointed at the two thick cables that touched the base of 
the brain-fan. "All input and output is going through here, 
being filtered through Nerys' brain. Deciphering the 
mind of a 14-year-old girl is not possible." 
I turned to Nero. "How did you code the brainwave 
data?" 
"Her patterns in doing one thing would trigger an effect 
and in doing another would stop it." The storm wind 
pulled at Loring's vest and whipped the long strands of 
his hair through the air. "She hated math, so that's what 


I used as a trigger. It was the pattern from a series of math 
problems!" 
"And the stopper?" 
"Singing a song. Her favorite Christmas hymn, 'Silent 
Night'!" 
A particularly strong and close bolt of lightning silhouetted 
Bat at the window. "Get her singing, Loring, or we'll 
all be doing a Requiem! Jesus, Caine, look at this!" 
The rainbows broke loose of their citadel moorings 
and began rotating above City Center like a helicopter 
blade. As they spun faster and faster they blurred 
together into a flat disc that slowly began to arc down into 
a bowl that covered the city. The light show continued to 
whirl at a frenetic pace and lighting strikes increased, 
skewering the luminescent dome for a second or two, 
then being sucked up into its maelstrom. 
Then the bowl's edge touched the maglev line. It 
continued to spin for a moment, then instantly stopped. 
Pressure built within the dome, and my ears popped. 
Below us, in the citadel, windows imploded. I heard my 
heart begin to pound inside me and I found breathing 
difficult. I tried to step back away from the window but the 
very air felt thick as wet cement. 
Suddenly the center of the bowl blew upward, and the 
whole funnel-shape began to spin again. I fell backward 
and lost sight of the sky for a second. When I came back 
up it had all changed, and I felt liked I'd dined on razor 
blades and ground glass for the last three days. 
The whole brilliant funnel had vanished, leaving in its 
wake a green and red neon latticework that might as well 
have been the funnel's bones. Around it and through it I 
could see the storm clouds, and though the center 
seemed to go up through the clouds, I saw nothing but a 
void in the heart of the funnel. Lightning strikes from 
outside it only hit the lattice, making it glow golden-
yellow at that point for a second, then it returned to the 
red or green color it had been. 
I shouted over at Jytte and Loring. "You better do 
something. This is really weird." 
Jytte's fists knotted in frustration. "The Witch knew 
what she was doing. Most of these brain slices are from 
the left side of the brain. All math and logic, very little 
language." 
Loring knelt next to the machine. "Come on, Nerys, 
you have to do it. 'Silent night, holy night...'" 
The machine's membrane answered him with, "I 
can't, Daddy. I can't." 
"Think of something!" I stood and watched the first 
blue tendril hook itself over the edge of the funnel. "Bat, 
get the hell out of here, take Natch with you. I don't know 
how far you'll get but...." 
Bat shook his head as a second tendril appeared over 
the event horizon. "I don't run." He slapped a new clip into 
the carbine and worked the charging lever. 
The tendrils solidified as the creature hauled itself up 
through the hole dug in the sky. The creature's outline 
hardened into a carapace studded with hooks and 


bumps and claws. Whereas before it had been smoky 
gray and insubstantial, it was now a light brown that was 
his true color. Like the Plutonians he had doubtlessly 
fashioned in his own image, a leathery flesh covered his 
body. His head and face were pure arachnid, with 
compound eyes and sharp mandibles which could have 
taken the top off one of the Goddard Towers were he 
inclined to crane his neck toward it. 
The creature hung on the lattice with one hand while 
reaching out with the other. The arm telescoped out to 
extend from its shoulders, near the center of the city, to 
the base of the Lorica Citadel. With one of its triform 
fingers it nudged the burning body that had been the 
Witch, then brought the finger to its mouth and it tasted 
of the ashes. 
A buzzing, popping voice sounded in my head. "Thiz 
one never underztood. Inferior, with pretenzionz." 
"Jytte! Do something!" 
"There is nothing to do, Caine. The parts of the brain 
we have can't sing!" 
The creature's head rotated around to focus on me. 
"My pet, you oppoze me?" 
"I am not your pet!" 
"Defianze iz powerful. How to break your rezolve and 
leave your mind intact?" 
"Please baby, just sing it for me," Loring begged the 
black box. 
"I can't, Daddy." 
The creature reached out for me, but as it did, lightning 
struck the lattice in two places. The talons grasping at me 
flashed into their blue outline form and sparked from the 
metal window frames. They passed through them and 
left the stink of ozone in their wake as I jumped back, and 
Bat ducked beneath them. 
"He's still vulnerable! Sing the song!" I shouted. 
"I can't," the machine wailed. 
Not knowing if the machine had visual sensors or not, 
I pointed at the creature. "You have to. If you don't, 
Fiddleback will kill your father." 
"No, not my daddy!" 
I was staring at the machine, but the voice that 
answered me came from my left. As I glanced over in that 
direction a little girl in a Plutonian silktunic ran across the 
room and hugged Nero Loring. "Daddy, I won't let him 
hurt you. I won't." 
"Nerys!" Loring held her out at arm's length, then 
hugged her to him. "'Silent Night,' you have to sing 
'Silent Night.'" 
"Silent night, Holy night," the girl began obediently. 
I looked out at the funnel. It looked as bright as ever. 
As I watched a helicopter lifted off from one of the landing 
pads on City Center and climbed toward Fiddleback. 
"That's Scorpion," Bat assured me. 
"Jytte, this isn't working." 
Fiddleback reached down and contemptuously swatted 
the chopper from the sky. It exploded when his talons 
moved through it. Flaming debris fluttered down through 


the air and another Frozen Shade panel died with a flash. 
Bat looked over at the computer. "Jytte, this really 
isn't working!" 
Natch pointed at the black box. "Nerys isn't hitched 
into the machine." 
Jytte reached out and took hold of the two cables 
attached to the bottom of the brain-fan. She tugged once, 
and they didn't come lose. Her perfect lips peeled back 
away from even white teeth, transforming her babydoll 
face into a mask of fury. She pulled again and one came 
free, then a third yank ripped the other one loose. 
A little line of yellow lightning arced between the two 
receptor pads. "This will sting, Nerys, but it won't hurt 
you. Sing, child sing!" 
Two little puffs of smoke went up as Jytte pressed the 
electrodes to the girl's temples. Nerys stiffened, her head 
jerking backward, then she craned her head down and 
stared straight out at Fiddleback. "Silent night, Holy 
night," she sang in a trembling voice. 
Every note she sang started the funnel's lines quivering 
as if they were guitar strings or piano wires. The light 
dimmed behind the ripples running along lines and 
burned white-gold at the peaks. Sparks ignited at the 
juncture points and teased lightning strikes from the 
thunderheads. 
"All is calm, all is bright." 
Fiddleback's outline flickered and wavered. Blue light 
pulsed along his outline. The lines on the funnel to which 
he clung began to melt like ice beneath a blowtorch. 
"Round yon virgin, mother and child. Holy infant so 
tender and mild." 
Fiddleback's image began to stretch and fade. The 
funnel lost its rigid shape, and the rainbow lights began 
to make their return. They started swirling through the 
sky and twisted Fiddleback around and around until it he 
looked more like a piece of rotelli than he did a Plutonian. 
His arms, which had become little more than blue lines, 
twisted about him like razorwire coils. 
"Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace." 
Fiddleback's grip on the vortex failed, and the rainbow 
whirlpool sucked him up and out of the world like a 
cockroach being flushed down a toilet. 

the air and another Frozen Shade panel died with a flash. 
Bat looked over at the computer. "Jytte, this really 
isn't working!" 
Natch pointed at the black box. "Nerys isn't hitched 
into the machine." 
Jytte reached out and took hold of the two cables 
attached to the bottom of the brain-fan. She tugged once, 
and they didn't come lose. Her perfect lips peeled back 
away from even white teeth, transforming her babydoll 
face into a mask of fury. She pulled again and one came 
free, then a third yank ripped the other one loose. 
A little line of yellow lightning arced between the two 
receptor pads. "This will sting, Nerys, but it won't hurt 
you. Sing, child sing!" 
Two little puffs of smoke went up as Jytte pressed the 
electrodes to the girl's temples. Nerys stiffened, her head 
jerking backward, then she craned her head down and 
stared straight out at Fiddleback. "Silent night, Holy 
night," she sang in a trembling voice. 
Every note she sang started the funnel's lines quivering 
as if they were guitar strings or piano wires. The light 
dimmed behind the ripples running along lines and 
burned white-gold at the peaks. Sparks ignited at the 
juncture points and teased lightning strikes from the 
thunderheads. 
"All is calm, all is bright." 
Fiddleback's outline flickered and wavered. Blue light 
pulsed along his outline. The lines on the funnel to which 
he clung began to melt like ice beneath a blowtorch. 
"Round yon virgin, mother and child. Holy infant so 
tender and mild." 
Fiddleback's image began to stretch and fade. The 
funnel lost its rigid shape, and the rainbow lights began 
to make their return. They started swirling through the 
sky and twisted Fiddleback around and around until it he 
looked more like a piece of rotelli than he did a Plutonian. 
His arms, which had become little more than blue lines, 
twisted about him like razorwire coils. 
"Sleep in heavenly peace, sleep in heavenly peace." 
Fiddleback's grip on the vortex failed, and the rainbow 
whirlpool sucked him up and out of the world like a 
cockroach being flushed down a toilet. 
Awakening at the heart of a lightning storm, with 
thunder shaking the very earth with its violence, is not a 
pleasant experience. Glass crunched beneath my feet as 
I stared out through the penthouse's broken wall. I let my 
left hand rest on one of the metal supports, and I dared 
the storm to strike it and consume me, gambling that it 
would not. 
The thunderstorm we had witnessed so far was but an 
overture to the elemental fury that lashed the city. Mother 
Nature reshaped and released all the energies that had 
been stored up in the funnel. Repeated and nearly 


constant lighting strikes lit the building in stark, skeletal 
colors. It almost seemed to me that the Earth, having 
been left so open to assault from another dimension, 
wished to scour the wound clean and ensure that no 
vestige of the infection remained. 
Captain Brad Williams had been on duty that night 
and arrived with a contingent of security people shortly 
after the funnel dissipated. Williams recognized Nero 
Loring and accepted Nero's story of an electrical short 
that caused all the damage. I could see in his eyes and 
sense in his being that he didn't truly believe what he was 
told, but he desperately wanted a rational explanation to 
let him deal with what he had seen. He took Nero and 
Nerys off and Coyote's three aides with them, leaving me 
alone with the storm and my thoughts. 
So much had happened in such a short time that I 
really did not know how to assess all of it. Ten days ago 
I was a null. I did not know who or what I was. Over the 
next week and a half I discovered, apparently, that I was 
an assassin who had been hired to kill Nero Loring. In a 
180-degree turnabout, I worked with him to destroy the 
creature that had supplanted his daughter and ordered 
me to kill him. Along the way I had killed a pair of traitors 
in Coyote's organization and helped defeat an 
extradimensional creature bent on the domination of 
humanity. 
Pet had turned against master and, just this once, the 
pet got away with it. I labored under no illusion that 
Fiddleback had been destroyed. A creature capable of 
crafting the sort of intricate and long-term plot that would 
culminate in creating a city-sized dimensional gateway 
would not venture everything on attempting to break 
through. I had been instrumental in his failure, and I knew 
his retribution would be both direct and cruel. 
Lost in thought, I wandered through the Witch's 
shattered domain. As things in the Lorica Tower began 
to return to normal, power flooded back into the penthouse 
and I found a wall-projection television playing in 
the back. On it I caught a news special concerning the 
happenings in the Lorica Citadel and above the city. The 
newscaster reported things straightthough Fiddleback 
did not image well on videothen showed a clip with the 
head of the Phoenix Skeptics commenting on what had 
taken place. Their executive director dismissed it all as 
a combination of St. Elmo's fire, an unusually bright and 
southern display of the aurora borealis and mass hysteria. 
He was very convincingwrong, but convincing. I 
could imagine a whole host of peoplepeople like Brad 
Williamsdenying the evidence of their own eyes in 
favor of his description. In an odd way I knew I had 
functioned like that throughout my life. I had seen all the 
signs of what was going on with Leich, but I denied the 
evidence of my own eyes because the explanationthat 
he was regenerating after crippling and fatal wounds 
stood incredibly far outside the possibilities I'd been 
taught to accept. 


I had seen Leich. I had seen the Witch in her true form. 
I'd been to dimensions outside the one in which our world 
existed. I had experienced things that forced a redefinition 
of the term "normal." And yet, were I to tell the 
Skeptics what I had seen and done, I would have no 
corroborative evidence of my claims, and they would 
dismiss me as being deluded or delusional. 
Suddenly I understood part of what had to drive 
Crowley and Coyote. They were men who realized that 
things existed outside the normal realm of human experience. 
Crowley had said Coyote would be blind to the 
dimensions, so he limited his work to Earth, while 
Crowley himself worked elsewhere. Instead of trying to 
explain the nature of the universe to a populace unable 
to accept or understand it, they took on the responsibility 
of responding to and resolving problems that most 
people refused to acknowledge as existing. 
"I think you understand things very well, Tycho." 
I turned around as a young man about my height, with 
dark hair, moustache and goatee casually strolled through 
the devastated penthouse. He smiled as I held my hand 
out to him. "Tycho Caine. You must be Coyote." 
The man laughed, and I caught familiar notes in his 
voice, but I could not place where I'd heard it before. "This 
is the second time you have made that assumption." He 
pulled off a gray glove and offered me his right hand. A 
gold ring flashed on it. 
"Crowley? But you're so young. You can't be..." 
"Perhaps not in the logic of this world, but it is 
possible." His grip was firm and he pumped my arm with 
strength. "It was a decidedly distasteful experience." 
I narrowed my eyes. "You took Nerys's body to the 
dimension of Tartarus where Tityus regenerates everything 
the vultures have eaten in a day." 
He nodded. "Because of the way the storage areas 
worked, Nerys was not really dead. I took her there 
directly, which was not an easy journey. Because enough 
of her brainstem had been left behind, she regenerated 
her brain. It took six months, but I am pleased to see the 
effort was worth it." 
I stared at him. "Time, I take it, moves a lot faster there 
than here?" 
"In reality it does, but when there it hardly seems so. 
She regenerated her brain, and I regenerated the damage 
of my infirmityold age. If it were not for what it did for 
Nerys, I would think it a hideous place. Nothing to do but 
shoot vultures and listen to a barely literate Titan bellow 
curses against Apollo all day and night." 
"You brought Nerys here? I didn't see you." 
"You were a bit occupied. I left quickly because I 
needed to cover my tracks. I also made contact with 
Coyote." The man's green eyes narrowed. "If you are 
willing, I will take you to him." 
"Please." 
Crowley grabbed a hold of my combat harness. 
"Blank your mind. Concentrate on perceiving nothing 
and yet everything. Control your breathing. You want to 


open a portal between you and the dimensions outside 
this one." 
"I understand." I took in a deep breath and let it play 
out slowly. I forced my mind to forget the aches and pains 
I felt, and I took myself deep inside. I imagined the wall 
of reality to be like a theater curtain, and I gently probed 
it for the slit that would let me pass through it. 
"Good." 
I felt a tug on my belt as Crowley and I moved forward. 
Tantalizing flashes of color strobed past, each a window 
into a different dimension. Some, perhaps those closest 
to and most like what Earth had once been, felt warm and 
buoyed my spirits. Others we brushed by kindled bloodlust 
or visions of depravity I never would have imagined 
unaided. As we moved on things became darker and yet 
more warped, but the only way I can describe them is to 
note I felt colder and colder as we progressed. 
Finally we came to a bare, arid landscape that looked 
at once to me to be the red planet where I had seen Nero 
Loring. As my eyes adjusted to it, however, I realized that 
it was red only in a circle that centered itself on Crowley's 
shadowform. Outside that sharp line the world was 
rendered in white, black and a varied array of gray 
shades. Though a sun burned in the black sky, I still felt 
cold. 
Outside the circle I saw a man. He seemed small, but 
I knew that was more than a function of his appearing as 
if projected on a screen, instead of actually standing 
there. He looked fortyish, with a full head of hair and 
strongly chiseled features. His dark eyes had a depth to 
them that I could see in spite of the flat image. A nervous 
tic tugged at the corner of his right eye, but I would have 
expected a man who had done what all he had to show 
some effect of the stress. 
He smiled openly, erasing some of the worry from his 
face. "You've had a busy evening, Mr. Caine. You have 
my sympathies concerning Ms. Fisk, and my awe that 
you had prepared yourself in case Pell was not the only 
traitor. I had not considered that possibility. So the code 
word for Marit was Salome. I assume the others had 
similar biblical mnemonics." 
"Yes." Even though it had had gone dead, I checked 
to make sure I had switched my radio off. "Bat was 
Sampson, Natch was Delilah and Jytte was Lilith. Loring 
was Adam." 
A meteorite died in the sky behind him. "And Crowley? 
Was he rigged to explode, or did you trust him?" 
I glanced over at the shadow man and shrugged. 
"Lucifer." 
Coyote paused for a moment, then nodded. "You are 
very much the man I thought you were. You deserve 
answers, and you shall have them, finally." 
"I would like that very much. Who am I?" 
The small man folded his arms across his chest. "I 
must apologize to you for having manipulated you as 
grossly as I did. As Crowley has told you, I am unable to 
go freely through the dimensions to deal with problems. 


I knew I would need someone like you who could do that, 
but to get you to work for me I needed to have something 
you wanted. In your case, it was your identity. I apologize 
because I have known who you are since before you 
awakened, and I have known this because I stole your 
memory in the first place." 
My jaw dropped open. "You what? All of this has been 
a sham?" 
"Yes, but a necessary one, I think." Coyote's face 
hardened. "I'll give you the thumbnail sketch, then Jytte 
can provide you with a file that will confirm all I am telling 
you. You are, as you have surmised, an assassin. You are 
one of the best in the world, probably in the top seven, 
definitely the top ten. This I know because, well, I know 
it. You have an impressive record, especially against 
targets that must be hunted down. You are one of 
Fiddleback's favorites, and this is the reason you were 
brought to Phoenix to kill Nero Loring. You have never 
missed a target, to my knowledge, and your record still 
holds. You are an impressive and terrifying man. 
"In researching you, however, I did discover two flaws 
in you. You have very expensive taste in rental cars, 
which allowed us to get a line on the identity you used 
here. You chose the name Tycho Caine, which I find 
interestingly symbolic: Tychoderived from the Greek 
tychon, 'hitting the mark.' And Caine, of course, was his 
brother's slayer. Everything else you know about Tycho 
Caine is a fabrication that I have created because, as you 
have been known to do, after your hit you engaged in a 
bout of gambling. I suspect this is because, after you 
murder someone, you want to give the universe a chance 
to get even with you. My agents found you, drugged you 
and after we built up the Tycho Caine we wanted you to 
search out, they released you." 
"Wait, wait, wait." I turned to Crowley. "How much of 
this did you know?" 
He gave me an enigmatic shrug. "Enough. Coyote 
confided in me he would be turning one of Fiddleback's 
tools against him, and he asked for my help. I gave it to 
him and to you." 
I looked back at Coyote. "But this doesn't make any 
sense! If you knew who and what I was, why didn't you 
kill me and be done with it? Given what you do, given 
what Crowley does, I can't imagine either one of you 
wanting me alive." 
Coyote looked down. "I had my reasons." 
"Then they were flawed reasons. Flawed, just like your 
statement that I've never missed a target. I've met Nero 
Loring. I missed." 
Coyote started a slow circuit around the circle of color. 
"I wanted you to deal with my traitor problem and with 
Nerys Loring. The first was a task I could have handled, 
but I thought it better left in your hands. In that group the 
only person I knew I could trust was Jytte. Beyond her, 
anyone was suspect, and I was not certain I could deal 
with the problem in the only way feasible. You could do 
that. 


"The problem Nerys Loring presented was one that 
required someone with unique skills and abilities to 
handle. Your success in stopping her proves to me you 
are the individual of whom I can make the following 
request: 
"I want you to replace me." 
"Replace you? I don't understand." 
Coyote stopped moving. "I have a rare disease of the 
brain, Gerstmann-Straussler-Scheinker syndrome. It 
causes nerve degeneration, dementia and death. I was 
diagnosed with it only a month before you arrived in 
Phoenix, and this caused me to shift my plans. My 
doctors did not give me very long, so I had to make 
arrangements. They included you." 
I glanced at the shadow man. "Why don't you take him 
to Tityus' dimension? He could be cured." 
"No." Crowley ruefully shook his head. "GSS is genetic. 
Once it starts it is natural. Regeneration would 
have exacerbated the disease, not made it better. He 
might have regressed physically, but his brain would 
have deteriorated even faster." 
The shock of Coyote's request and the story of his 
condition stunned me. "This is, ah, a lot to handle." I held 
my hand out toward him. "Come with us, we can discuss 
it further. I need some time." 
The little man shook his head. "I'm afraid I have no 
time to give you." 
"What do you mean? You're still sharp. We can work 
this out." 
"It's too late for that." Coyote squatted down on his 
haunches. "I knew that you would only leave yourself 
open to my people after the completion of your hit on 
Nero Loring. That is when you would fall into my grasp, 
but I could not sabotage the effort against Nerys by 
allowing you to kill himand I knew I could not fool you 
into believing you had succeeded were I to employ some 
sleight of hand to whisk him away and out of danger. For 
that reason I took Nero Loring's place, and I filled your 
sights the day you saw Nero Loring die." 
I stared unflinchingly into the dead man's black eyes 
and recalled the vision on the bluff when I met Nero 
Loring for the first time. I had succeeded in killing him. 
I had shot Nero Loring through the head, but I had no way 
of knowing it was someone else in disguise. The idea that 
a human being would allow himself to be knowingly shot 
to death did not exist in my world. 
"You're dead?" 
A thin smile graced Coyote's lips. "I could never fool 
you in life, so I had to do that in death. Jytte managed to 
create a Coyote synthesizer program that, with the 
proper input, was able to provide you with vague but 
apparently meaningful messages. I was able to guess 
ahead of time how much of this work would go, so we 
scripted up conversations, and I prerecorded them. The 
computer cut and spliced as necessary. As long as you 
believed I was alive and working to solve the mystery of 
your identity, you worked with me. You have seen how 


I work, and my files can offer you more cases to study 
than you could ever desire." 
He shook his head and looked, for the first time, 
hopeless. "I apologize that this elaborate charade was 
necessary, but only by forcing you to see the world 
through the eyes of a normal person could I communicate 
to you how desperately I need someone with your 
skills to replace me. If you take up my mantle, you will 
have the resources to build where you previously tore 
down. You may create where before you have destroyed. 
You may not be able to leave the world a better place than 
it was when you found it, but you can slow its descent into 
the depths of hell." 
I spoke around the lump in my throat. "I can pay 
forward." 
"Precisely." Coyote pressed his hands together. "I 
took your life, and you took mine. Jytte has an injection 
for you that, if you so desire, will unblock your drug-
induced amnesia. You may return to your old ways and, 
with this explanation, Fiddleback may even accept you 
back again. If not, I am certain there are other Dark Lords 
who would be happy to take you into their stables." 
I shook my head. "I don't know, I just don't know." 
"Jytte can tell you more, much more, but it's your 
choice, Tycho Caine." Coyote shrugged and the world 
began to darken around him. "My time as Coyote is up." 
"Wait, answer me one question: Why Coyote?" 
The fading phantom laughed. "The Dark Lords 
things like Fiddleback and worseconsider us varmints 
and seek to exterminate most forms of life on Earth. 
When varmint extinction programs were tried before, in 
the 19th and 20th centuries, the coyote not only refused 
to die, it flourished. Coyotes moved into cities and 
bedeviled those who sought to destroy them. What other 
totem animal could I chose?" 
The world outside the red circle collapsed into blackness. 
I turned to Crowley and saw lights begin to play 
through the dark. As the color slowly drained from our 
circle, the light built behind him, and I found myself back 
in Phoenix, on Camelback Mountain, looking southwest 
over Frozen Shade and the rest of the city. Looking 
behind me I saw we had returned to earth near one of the 
vast mansions built on the side of the mountain. 
The occultist silently pointed toward the stairway 
carved into the rock. He followed me as I climbed up to 
the front door and opened it. Crowley closed it behind 
me, then led me in and down to the basement level 
through a steel door hidden behind an oaken wall panel 
in the study. 
The hidden rectangular room had been simply furnished. 
I entered at the narrow end and saw, all the way 
across from me, a large screen projection television. Off 
to the right stood a bank of Hitachi computers and 
opposite it a row of 10 file cabinets lined the wall. In the 
center stood a long conference table with an even dozen 
chairs distributed about it. Nearest me, filling the walls, 
were workbenches with equipment that ran the gamut 


from chemical analysis units and scanning electron 
microscopes to electronics construction stations and 
gunsmithing tools. 
A single tear rolled down Jytte's perfect face as she 
stood beside the table. She set a silver tray with a full 
syringe on the table next to a cellular phone. A single 
droplet of liquid glistened at its tip. I looked up at her and 
wondered what was going on behind that plastic mask of 
a face. 
"Coyote said you had information for me, to help me 
make my decision." 
Jytte nodded. "According to an agreement Coyote 
made with Nero Loring, you will be acknowledged as his 
nephew, Michael Loring. You will become the CEO of 
Lorica Industries, with all the rights and privileges that 
entails. Nero has handpicked a board to run the company 
for you, so the burdens of day-to-day activities are 
limited to those you personally choose to assume." 
"Or," I noted, "the ones allowed by the rigors of 
becoming Coyote." 
"As you wish. Lorica has facilities throughout the 
world. Your legitimate resources will be vast, and those 
assets that Coyote has prepared for his work will allow 
you to work in secret with unparalleled ease." 
I felt a shiver run down my spine. "Who was he, Jytte? 
Who was Coyote? What was his real name?" 
She blinked her eyes once. "That information is 
unknown to me. He was Coyote. I do not know if he was 
the first, was the only or will be the last Coyote. What you 
have seen is who he was." 
Coyote. He was a man who set a trained killer on his 
own people to find out who among them was betraying 
him. He was a man who coerced others into working for 
him. He stole my identity and led me on a wild chase that 
not only put my life in danger, but caused me to kill a 
number of peopleincluding aides he had trusted in the 
past. He also caused the deaths of innocent people, like 
Hal's wife. 
I looked at the syringe. Were Coyote and I that 
different, really, at the core of it? I killed for rewards that 
brought me satisfaction, and he did the same. That he let 
himself believe he was making the world a better place 
meant nothing. 
Or did it? 
He caught a bullet in the head to take a chance that his 
crusade would not die. 
I reached my hand out and picked up the phone. I 
punched up a number quickly and waited for someone 
to pick it up on the other end. I smiled as a sleepy voice 
answered. 
"Hello, Mr. Sinclair MacNeal?" I smiled as he cursed at 
the time. "I understand you are at loose ends at the 
moment. I think we could work well together. Listen, it 
doesn't really matter who I am, but just for the sake of 
simplicity, you may call me Coyote." 


