And this time as his mouth brushed hers, she pushed against him hungrily, unable to resist.

"You bastard," she murmured, tugging his shirt up over his head and throwing it aside, her need mixed with a burning anger. "Why did you go away? Why the fuck did you leave me here with him?"

LEHMANN LOOKED ABOUT him at the smoke-blackened ruins of the gutted school. Most of thechildren had died in their beds, but those who'd woken had found themselves locked in and the fatty remains of their corpses were heaped beside the blocked safety exits. He had seen sections of the camera records; had seen how the two copies had covered the school's entrance from overlooking balconies, picking off anyone who tried to help the screaming children, like machines functioning at prime efficiency. It had taken almost thirty of his men to subdue them, and eight had died in the process.

In all, over seven hundred had died here; elsewhere the news was just as bad. More than two thousand "berserker" outbreaks had been reported-more than twice the number in the Northern Enclave-and news of yet more was coming in by the moment.

It could no longer be denied. Things were falling apart. Local guard posts had been attacked throughout the levels and apart from a few key areas surrounding his major garrisons there had been an almost total breakdown in law and order. Even at the best of times his forces had enjoyed only minimal popular support but now, it seemed, the mob were getting their own back on those minor officials who, before today, had held the power of life or death over them.

He turned to Soucek. "Is there any news from Pasek?" he asked, looking past him at the mobile communications center parked just outside the entrance. Soucek crunched through the debris and lifted his mask.

"Nothing yet. But it's chaos out there. We're not even sure where Pasek is."

"So where are the two who are supposed to be looking after him?"

"Dead? Unless they got him."

Lehmann stared back at him, then shook his head. "I've a bad feeling about this. This is Pasek's chance.

If he doesn't take it-"

"Master!"

Lehmann turned, facing his captain.

"What is it?"

"It's a broadcast, Master. I think you should see it."

He went through, his white boots smeared with ash. Soucek followed. Inside the mobile center eight men were crowded around the screen. As Lehmann entered, they made room for him.

"Play it back," Lehmann said curtly, recognizing Pasek's features. "Let's hear what the bastard has to say."

At once the image jumped. The screen went white. Music played. Music that was familiar only because Lehmann had heard it so often at Pasek's rallies for the faithful.

"Brothers," Pasek said, his face forming from the whiteness, his flesh glowing almost golden, "the day is here. The day of final judgment. Yes, it is time to prepare ourselves for the weighing of souls, for the great sifting of the worthy from the unworthy. And I, Earthly Son of the Most High Celestial Master of the Five Directions, am here to tell you what must be done to be among the worthy. . . ."

Lehmann leaned forward, killing the image. He turned, meeting Soucek's eyes. "Kill him," he said simply.

"Find out where he is and kill him for me, Jiri. I want that bastard's head on my desk before nightfall, understand me? I want that fucker nailed!"CATHERINE SAT ON THE SOFA, draped in her emerald-green night silk, her flame-red hair tied back, her head tilted to one side as she fed the baby from her breast. Ben, stepping into the room, stopped, staring across at her.

In the softly pearled lamplight her skin seemed almost transparent, like a sheen of ice over the bone. It had always been so, of course, but what had been pallid was now pellucid.

It was fifteen years since he'd last seen her. Then she had been little more than a girl. Nineteen and an arts student at Oxford. Now she was a woman of thirty-four and a mother.

Twice, he thought, remembering what she had said about the little girl she'd lost. That, too, has made her brittle.

She looked across at him and smiled, the child sucking healthily at her breast.

"Do you remember that time you took me down below the City?"

He went across and sat, facing her. "I remember."

"Of course," she laughed, at peace with herself. "You can't forget, can you? You're incapable."

"Do you remember the bird?"

"In the Cafe Burgundy?" She nodded, suddenly more thoughtful. "I never dreamed . . ."

That you'd be caged1. He looked about him at the opulence of the apartment. She was like a bird, a flame-haired hunting bird. But she'd let herself be trapped. Now, why was that?

She looked back down at the child and smiled, like the Virgin Mother herself, yet there was a tightness in her features that had not been there back in her youth. Even so, he could still see what had moved him in her. There was still beauty in that face.

He closed his eyes and saw her as she'd been; saw her clear, as if she sat before him in that time, her skin unblemished, all lines of age removed. When he opened them again, she was watching him, her green eyes curious.

"I was remembering."

She looked away, a small movement in her face which for once he could not read.

"Why did you marry him?"

"Because he asked me," she said, not looking at him; then, as if she realized it sounded insufficient, "And because I wanted to."

"He's been good to you, then?"

Her quiet laughter told him all he needed to know. That and the hardness in her face.

"And the baby? Was that your idea?"

This time she turned her head, meeting his eyes. "I thought it might bring us closer."

"And did it?"

She looked back down at the child. She was sleeping now, sucking only fitfully in her sleep. "No. Andyet it's something."

He looked away, his eyes returning to the folder he had noticed, there beneath the table. Standing, he went across and picked it up.

"Can I?" he asked, turning to her.

"If you want."

He sat, the folder in his lap, studying each painting intensely before he moved on. At the sketch of himself and Meg he stopped and looked at her.

"This is good. The best you ever did. It has life."

She was staring at him; her intensity for once almost matching his. "I wanted to kill you. Did you know that? I wanted to take a knife and stab you through the heart for what you did. I-"

The baby stirred on the breast. She removed it gently from the nipple and covered herself.

He stared at her. "I'm sorry."

She stood, rocking the baby gently in her arms, making sure she was asleep, then carried her through into her room. A moment later she was back.

"Would you like a drink?"

!_.

"We've done that," she said, almost sharply, as if angry with him. He closed the folder. "What is it?"

"You. Just coming back like this. For fifteen years nothing, and then . . . What am I supposed to do?"

"Come with me? Back to the Domain?" She stared at him, then shook her head. "It doesn't work like that, Ben. You can't just click your fingers and everyone comes running. That's how a child thinks."

"I'm serious. Come back with me."

"And the baby?"

"Bring her with you."

Again she shook her head. He stood, setting the folder aside, then took her arms. "Look," he began, but he said no more. At that moment the wall screen behind him came alive. They both turned, surprised.

"Jesus . . ." he said softly.

"Who is it?" she asked, not recognizing the urbane, middle-aged Hung Moo who stared down at them.

"It's DeVore!" Ben said, as the man began to speak. "It's Howard fucking DeVore!"

KARR STOOD AT THE BACK of the huge room, watching while a hundred different experts and technicians sat at their screens, scrolling the taped speech back and forth, analyzing it in the minutest detail. Everywhere he looked he could see DeVore's face-or parts of it: his mouth, expanded to fill the screen, a single eye, the image of the pupil covered by a computer-generated grid.

"Well?" he asked after a moment, turning to Director Lung. "Have we any kind of consensus yet?"The old Han turned to him and smiled apologetically. "It takes time, General Karr. Such precise analysis is a science. We are not Wu here."

"I understand," Karr said, keeping his impatience in check, "but time happens to be the one thing we don't have much of right now. That part in his speech about the sun and the stars . . . have we any trace on where that comes from?"

Lung turned and snapped his fingers. Behind him, one of his assistants sorted quickly through a file, then handed him a piece of paper. The old Han studied it a moment, then, smiling, answered Karr in a leisurely drawl.

"It appears that that part of DeVore's speech relates to proscribed writings. One of the banned poets."

"And?" The man's manner was infuriating to say the least. The very slowness of his speech lit a fuse in Karr's head.

The old man studied the paper again, then handed it to Karr.

Karr looked at it, then shrugged. "Coleridge . . . Ah, yes, that was it. ... The sun's rim dips, the stars rush out; at one stride comes the dark."

He shivered, hearing again how DeVore had said that. At one stride comes the dark. . . .

DeVore's ubiquitous appearance on every media channel had come as a real body-blow, just as they were beginning to get on top of events. It had been just the thing to set it all off again. Now there were riots throughout the levels. People were panicking-as if it were already over.

Which is, of course, DeVore's intention.

It was pure Sun Tzu. The great man had always argued that it was best never to fight a battle unless it was absolutely necessary. And what better way to prevent the necessity of conflict than to demoralize your enemy before a single blow had been struck? That was what DeVore was doing here. He was psyching them all out, trying to destroy their nerve. But he couldn't be allowed to win-not without a fight.

Karr turned to the Head of Department. "As soon as you have anything more, Master Lung, let me know."

Then, knowing time was against him, he hurried from the room, heading back for his office.

He had barely stepped through the door when his equerry rushed in and, bowing hurriedly, thrust a piece of paper into his hand. Karr glanced at it, then pointed to the screen on the far side of his office.

"Get him! Now.'"

A moment later the screen lit up and the face of a young cadet officer appeared.

"What's this?" Karr said without preliminaries, waving the piece of paper at the screen. "What do you mean all of our near-space surveillance satellites are down? That's impossible!"

The young soldier swallowed. "No, sir. They're dead. Contact was lost eight minutes back. Right now we're blind."

"Are they destroyed?""We ... we don't know, sir. Without physically checking-" .

"Then do it! Send someone up to look!"

He cut contact and sat back, a cold certainty forming in him. This was it. This was the end. First the copies, then the face on their screens, and now this.

The sun's rim dips, the stars rush out; at one stride comes the dark.

He looked to his equerry. The young man stood there, staring at his General, his face openly afraid.

Seeing it, Karr knew he had to do something, and fast.

"Okay, lad. Now listen. I want you to summon every officer of the rank of Colonel and above and I want them all here in my office within the next fifteen minutes, understand me? It's time we dealt with all this nonsense. Time we held a proper Council of War."

He saw how the boy straightened up; how his face lit with a sudden sense of purpose. Yet once he'd left the room, Karr felt his own spirits slump.

Marie ... I ought to speak to Marie before it begins, . . .

But there was no time. No time for anything now but war.

SERGEY STUMBLED from the transit, then stood there in the empty corridor, swaying slightly, getting his bearings as the doors closed behind him and the lift began to descend.

Home, he thought, recognizing the familiar wall-hangings, the tiny statue of the horseman that rested on the plinth beside the wall opposite. I made it. I fucking made it. ...

He shook himself and frowned. It was chaos out there in the levels. And if they got through the coming days he'd have that Steward's balls for turfing him out at such an ungodly hour. He had never been so insulted. Never!

He swallowed, feeling distinctly nauseous, then, turning to his right, began to stagger toward the apartment. He had got only halfway along the broad, dimly lit corridor when the urge became insistent and, lurching to his right, he held on to the porcelain edge of the decorative plant trough and, doubled up, began to heave.

"There!" he said, laughing, then straightened, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "Better out than in!"

For some reason that amused him and he began to giggle. But then he remembered. Remembered just why he'd got so drunk.

The thought sobered him. He spat bile, then turned and stumbled on, fumbling in his jacket pockets for his code key.