Right. Like you don' t already know.

There was a tall man at the door.

A couple of others, too, neither of them small, but it was this one who drew attention the way you vectored in on color in a drab landscape. Carl' s mesh-sharpened senses fixed on the heavy silver revolver in the raised and black-gloved hand, the bizarre, consciously antiquated statement it made, but it wasn' t that. Wasn' t the oily, slicked-back dark hair or the slight sheen on the tanned and creased white features, telltale marks of cell-fix facial and hair gel for an assassin who had no intention of leaving genetic trace material at the scene of his crime. Carl saw all this and set it aside for what really mattered.

It was the way the man stood, the way he looked into the room as if it were a stage set purely for his benefit. It was the way his dark clothes were wrapped on his body as if blown there by a storm, as if he didn' t much care whether he wore them or not. The way his tanned face had some vague familiarity to it, some sense that you must have met this person before somewhere, and that he had meant something to you back then.

Thirteen.

Had to be. Paranoia confirmed. Merrin' s back-office crew, come for payback. It wasn' t over.

Beside Carl, the pool player spoke urgently to Elvira, finally succeeded in getting her to her feet, and shepherded her past Carl with an arm around her shaking shoulders. The same dazed mix of shock and incomprehension on his face as before. Carl nodded him past, then turned slowly to watch him half carry Elvira to the door. The new arrivals stood aside to let the couple out, and one of them closed the door firmly afterward. All the time, the silver gun never shifted from its focus.

Carl gave its owner a sardonic smile and moved a few casual steps forward. The other man watched him come closer, but he didn' t move or make any objection. Carl breathed. He wasn' t going to get shot just yet, it appeared.

But it' s coming.

He took the bright flicker of fear, broke it, and folded it away. The mesh and a sustained will to do damage pulsed brighter.

Push it, see how far it goes.

It went almost to touching distance.

The tall man let him come on that far, even gave him a gentle, encouraging smile, like an indulgent adult watching a child in his charge do something daring. Close enough that Carl' s assessment of the situation began to flake apart, to leave him abruptly uncertain of how to play this. But then, a couple of meters off the muzzle of the revolver, the tal man' s smile shifted on his face, never quite left it, settled into something hard and careful.

That' ll do," he said softly. I' m not that careless."

Carl nodded. You don' t look it. Do I know you from somewhere?"

I don' t know. Do you?"

What' s your name?"

You can call me Onbekend."

Marsalis."

Yes, I know." The tal man nodded toward a nearby table. Sit down. We' ve got a little time."

So. Cool gust of confirmation down the back of his neck, down the muscles of his forearms.

You sit down. I' m fine right here."

The revolver' s hammer clicked back. Sit down or I' ll kil you."

Carl looked in the eyes and saw no space there, not even for the snappy one-liner- Looks like you' re going to do that anyway. This man would put him down right here and now. He shrugged and stepped across to the table, lowered himself into one of the abandoned chairs. It was still warm from its previous occupant. He leaned back and set his feet apart, as far off the table edge as he thought he could get away with. Onbekend glanced at one of his shadows, nodded at the door. The man slipped quietly outside.

The remaining backup stood immobile, fixed Carl with a cold stare, and folded his arms. Onbekend checked him with another glance and then moved across and seated himself opposite Carl at the table.

You' re the lottery guy, aren' t you?" he said.

Carl sighed. It wasn' t entirely faked. Yeah, that' s me."

The one who woke up halfway home?"

Yeah. You looking for an autograph?"

He got a thin smile. I' m curious. What was it like, being stuck out there al that time, waiting?"

It was a riot. You should try it sometime."

Onbekend didn' t react any more than a stone. The sense of familiarity grew- Carl was certain it was specific. He knew this face, or one very like it, from somewhere.

Did you feel abandoned? Like when you were fourteen all over again?"

Fourteen?

Carl grinned. The tiny piece of advantage felt adrenal in his veins. He cocked his head, elaborately casual.

So you were a Lawman, huh? Fortress America' s final set of southern-fried chickens coming home to roost."

Just there, just as tiny, but there nonetheless, there in the corners of Onbekend' s eyes. Loss of poise, siphoned sip of anger. For just that moment, Carl had him backed up.

You think you know me? You don' t fucking know me, my friend."

I' m not your fucking friend, either," Carl told him mildly. So there you go. We all make these mistakes.

What do you want from me, exactly?"

For a moment so brief it was gone before he even registered it, Carl thought he was dead. The barrel of the revolver didn' t shift, but it seemed to glimmer with intent in the lower field of his vision. Onbekend' s mouth smeared a little tighter, his eyes hated a little more.

You could start by telling me how it feels to hunt down other variant thirteens for the cudlips at the UN."

Remunerative." Carl stared blandly back into the other thirteen' s narrowed eyes. One of them was going to die in this bar. It feels remunerative. What are you doing for a living these days?"

Surviving."

Oh." He nodded, mock-understanding. Playing the outlaw, are we?"

I' m not working for the cudlips, if that' s what you mean."

Sure you are." Carl yawned- sudden, tension-driven demand for oxygen, out of nowhere, but it played so fucking well he could have crowed. We' re al working for the cudlips, one way or another."

Onbekend set his jaw. Tipped his head a little, like a wolf or a dog listening for something faint. You talk very easily about other men' s compromises. Like I said, you don' t fucking know me at al ."

I know you bought food today. I know you traveled here in some kind of manufactured vehicle, on city streets built and paid for in some shape or form by the local citizenry. I know you' re holding a gun you didn' t build from raw metal in your spare time."

This?" Onbekend raised the gun slightly, took the muzzle fractionally out of line. He seemed amused.

Carl forced himself not to tense, not to watch the wavering weapon. I took this gun from a man I kil ed."

Oh, well there' s a sustainable model of exchange. Did you kill the guy who served you breakfast this morning as well, so you wouldn' t have to pay for that, either? Going to murder the guy who sold or rented you your transport option, and the guy who runs the place you sleep tonight? Got plans for the people who employ them, too, the ones who run the means of production, the managers and the owners, and the people who sell for them and the people who buy from them?" Carl leaned forward, grinning hard against the cool proximity of death. It felt like biting down. Don' t you fucking get it? They' re al around us, the cudlips. You can' t escape them. You can' t cut loose of them. Every time you consume, you' re working for them. Every time you travel. On Mars, every time you fucking breathe you' re part of it."

Well." Onbekend put together another small smile of his own. You' ve learned your lesson well. But I guess if you whip a dog often enough, it always will."

Oh please. You know what? You want to pretend there' s some other way? You want to escape into some mythical pre-virilicide golden age- go live in Jesusland, where they still believe in that shit. I was there last week, they love guys like us. They' d burn us both at the stake as soon as look at us. Don' t you understand? There is no place for what we are anymore." Sutherland' s words seemed to rise in him, Sutherland' s quiet, amused, bass-timbre voice like thunder, like strength. They kil ed us twenty thousand years ago with their crops and their craven connivance at hierarchy. They won, Onbekend, and you want to know why? They won because it worked. Group cooperation and bowing down to some thug with a beard worked better than standing alone as a thirteen was ever going to. They ran us ragged, Onbekend, with their mobs and leaders and their fucking strength in numbers. They hunted us down, they exterminated us, and they got the future as a prize. And now here we are, standing in the roof garden of the cudlip success story, and you' re telling me no, no, you didn' t take the elevator or the stairs, you just fucking flew up here all on your own, all with your own two fucking wings. You are full of shit."

Onbekend leaned forward, mirroring, eyes flaring. It was instinctive, anger-driven. The revolver shifted fractionally in his hand to allow the shift in posture. Angled minutely to one side. Carl saw, and held down the surge of the mesh. Not yet, not yet. He met the other man' s eyes, saw his own death there, and didn'

t much care. There was a rage rising in him he barely understood. The words kept him alive, warmed him as long as he could spit them out.

They built us, Onbekend, they fucking built us. They brought us back from the fucking dead for the one thing we' re good at. Violence. Slaughter. You, me." He gestured, slashing, open-handed disgust. Al of us, every fucking one. We' re dinosaurs. Monsters summoned up from the deep dark violent past to safeguard the bright lights and shopping privileges of Western civilization. And we did it for them, just like they wanted. You want to talk about cudlips, how they bow and fold to authority, how they let the group dictate? Tell me how we were different. Project fucking Lawman? What does that sound like to you?"

Yeah, because they fucking trained us." For the first time, Onbekend' s voice rose almost to a shout, was almost pain. He flattened it again, instantly, got it down to a cold, even-tempered anger. They locked us up from fucking childhood, Marsalis. Beat us down with the conditioning. You know that, Osprey must have been the same. How were we supposed to- "

We did, as we, were told!" Carl spaced his words, leaned on them like crowbars going into brickwork.

Just like them, just like the cudlips. We failed, just like we failed twenty thousand years ago."

That was then," Onbekend snapped. And this is now. And some of us aren' t on that path anymore."

Oh don' t make me fucking laugh. I already told you, everything about you is part of the cudlip world. If you can' t come to some kind of accommodation with that, you might as wel fucking shoot yourself- "

A ghost grin came up across Onbekend' s face. It was your suicide I was sent to arrange, Marsalis. Not mine."

Sent?" Carl jeered it, leered across the scant space between them. Sent? Oh, I rest my fucking case."

Thirteens have had an unfortunate propensity for death by their own hand." The other man' s voice came out raised, words rushed, trampling at Carl' s scorn, trying to drive home a winning point he hadn' t embedded quite as well as he' d hoped. Violent suicide, in the tracts and reservations. And a thirteen carrying as much guilt as you- "

Guilt? Give me a fucking break. Now you' re talking just like them. Variant thirteen doesn' t do guilt, that'

s a cudlip thing."

Yes, all the ones you' ve hunted down, murdered, or taken back to a living death in the tracts." But Onbekend was calmer now, voice dropping back to even. It stands to reason you couldn' t live with it forever."

Try me."

A bleak smile. Happily, I don' t have to. And as for the suicide, you' ve made it easy for me."

Really?" Carl looked elaborately around him. This doesn' t look much like a suicide scene to me."

But under the drawl, he already saw the angle and something very like panic started to ice through him.

He' d played al his cards, and Onbekend just hadn' t loosened enough. The other thirteen was watching him minutely again, back to the cold control he' d walked in with. Awareness of the place they were in congealed around him- ancient grimy fittings, the long arm of the bartop, scars and spill stains gleaming in the low light and the piled-up glassware and bottles behind. The worn pool tables in their puddles of light from the overheads. Dougie Kwang faceup on the floor, head rolled to one side, eyes staring open across the room at him. Waiting for company, for someone to join him down there in the dust and sticky stains.

Suicide would be hard to fake here," Onbekend agreed. Would have been harder to fake wherever we did it. But you' ve been kind enough to let your drives get the better of you and so here we are, a mindless bar brawl in a low-grade neighborhood with low-grade criminals to match, and it seems Carl Marsalis just miscalled the odds. Pretty fucking stupid way to die, but hey." A shrug. Onbekend' s voice tinged suddenly with contempt. They' l believe it of you. You' ve given them no reason not to."

The oblique accusation stung. In the back of his head, Sutherland concurred. If we are ruled by our limbic wiring, then every bigoted, hate-driven fear they have of us becomes a truth.

Ertekin might not buy it.

Yeah, but she might. You don' t always get a clean wrap, Marsalis. Remember that? Life is messy, and so is crime.

Kwang seemed to wink at him from the floor.

Could be this' l be just messy enough for her, soak.

As if he didn' t have enough with his own thoughts beating him up, Onbekend was stil going strong.

They' ll believe you were too stupid to beat your own programming," he said matter-of-factly, as if he' d been there for Sutherland' s musings, too. Because you are. They' l believe you went looking for trouble, because you did exactly that, and they' l believe you found a little too much of it down here to handle alone. So they' l do a little light investigating, they' l talk to some people, and in the end they' ll decide you got shot at close range with a nondescript gun that' ll never be found, in the hand of some nameless street thug who' l also never be found, and they' l walk away, Marsalis, they' l walk away because it' ll fit right in with this idiocy you' ve spontaneously generated for us. I couldn' t have arranged it better myself."

Carl gestured. That' s hardly a nondescript gun."

This?" Onbekend lifted the revolver again, weighed it in his hand. This is- "

Now.

It wasn' t much- the fractionally lowered reflexive response in the other man, neurochemical sparks lulled and damped down by Carl' s previous open-handed gestures and the descending calm after all the shouting. Then the fractional shift of the revolver' s muzzle, the few degrees off and the brief lack of tension on the trigger. Then Onbekend' s standard-issue thirteen sense of superiority, the curious need he seemed to have to lecture. It wasn' t much.

Not much at all.

Carl exploded out of the chair, hands to the table edge, flipping it up and over. Onbekend got one shot off, wide, and then he was staggering back, trying to get out of the chair and on his feet. The shadow by the door yelled and moved. Carl was across the empty space where the table had been, into Onbekend, palm heel and hooking elbow, turning, try for the gun, lock in close, too close to shoot at. He had the other thirteen' s arm in both hands now, twisted the revolver up and around, looking for the man by the door.

Tried for the trigger. Onbekend got his finger out, blocked the attempt, but it didn' t matter. The other man yelled again, dodged away from the slug he thought was coming. The door flew inward on its hinges, the other half of Onbekend' s human backup burst into the room. Carl yanked at the revolver, couldn' t get it free. The new arrival didn' t make the same mistake as his companion. He stepped in, grinning.

Just hold him there, Onbee."

Desperate, Carl hacked sideways with one foot, tried to get the fight on the ground and jar the revolver out of Onbekend' s stubborn grip. The other thirteen locked ankles with him, stood firm, and Carl tumbled instead, pul ed off balance by his own weight and a tanindo move that hadn' t worked. Onbekend timed it just right, stepped wide and shrugged him off like a heavy backpack. He went down, clutching for the revolver, didn' t get it. Onbekend kicked him in the groin. He convulsed around the blow, tried frantical y to roll, to get up- Onbekend leveled the revolver.

The world seemed to stop, to lean in and watch.

In the small unreal stillness, he knew the impact before it came, and the knowledge was terrifying because it felt like freedom. He felt himself open to it, like spreading wings, like snarling. His eyes locked with Onbekend' s. He grinned and spat out a final defiance.

You sad, deluded little fuck."

And then the gunblasts, the final violence through the quiet, again- again- again, like the repeated slamming of a door in a storm.

CHAPTER 42.

T he Beretta Marstech had a burst function that allowed three shots for every trigger pull. Sevgi Ertekin came through the door with it enabled, gun raised and cupped in both hands, and she squeezed the trigger twice for each figure in her sights. No time for niceties: she' d seen through the window what was about to go down. The expansion slugs made a flat, undramatic crackling sound as they launched, but they tore down her targets like cardboard.