One of the figures in sweatsuits turned towards them. A beam stabbed out and Jennifer threw up a hand to shade her squinting eyes. Voices rang harsh, threatening.

Lafarge moved smoothly in front of her. His right hand twitched, and the man with the flashlight folded over and flew backward. He landed in the broken glass and lay utterly limp. His companions hesitated for a moment and then fled. Suddenly the street was filled with silence, quiet enough to hear a roaring murmur of voices not too far away. A helicopter went by overhead, probing downward with its searchlight, then skittered away sideways over the rooftops. Jennifer stumbled again when it was gone.

Without electricity, these canyon streets weredark. Dark as a closet with the door closed. She turned, fumbling for the wall. Where was she?

You'll need this, Lafarge said.

Jennifer fought not to jump and closed her fingers around the warm metal tube he handed her. A flashlight. She turned it on, and nearly dropped it again. The man Lafarge had . . .shot? Struck down, anyhow . . . he was staring at her. At the whole world, rather, eyes and mouth open wide and unmoving in the dark-brown face. The light glittered on gold at his throat, on his hands, a puddle of operatic brightness against the deep velvet of the night. She could smell a heavy fecal odor that any New Yorker recognized, but it took her an instant to connect it with what she was seeing. Sphincter relaxation . . .

Youkilled him, she said, her voice rising toward a squeak before she controlled it.

He was armed; there was no time for half-measures, Lafarge said impatiently. This way.

He was off again, head down and shoulders hunched. The posture reminded her hurtfully for a moment of Henry . . . who was God-knew-where in this madhouse of a city.I desperately want to disbelieve all of this. I want it to have not happened,ever.

She kept the flashlight on Lafarge's heels. That kept her from running into him when he stopped.

We're two blocks away, south, he said softly.

He turned, and Jennifer jerked back slightly. The covering over his face had become a perfect nonreflective black that drank the light like blotting paper with ink, the only sign of features a writhing movement where his mouth should be when she shone the light directly on it.

I have to go to maximum stealthing, he said. Somehow it was doubly horrible, that normal, rather pedantic voice coming out of the black mask.It has left, but there are fixed sensors in place. This is our window of opportunity, and we've got to make the most of it.

Why you say 'we,' white man? she said, and turned on her heel to leave him blinking, baffled, in her wake.

You'rethe top of the heap, she told herself. That's Ms. Bitch to you, Mister, she said aloud. Her shoulders braced back, and her sensible mid-heel office shoes beat out a tattoo on the sidewalk.

There was nobody in the block ahead. Nobody she could see, at least. The heavy arched wrought-iron door withIngolfTech Inc. on it stood over the main entrance to the ex-warehouse, just where it had been since the renovations started.

She'd been in a dozen times or more. Now it felt like the lion cage at the zoo. Her imagination insisted it evensmelled like the lion cage, a rank predator's odor.

Jennifer stepped up onto the semicircular staircase and pressed the button. The smooth enigmatic object she'd been given to hide was only the size of a thimble and no thicker, lighter than Styrofoam . . . but it seemed to weigh like an anchor as she waited for a reply.

Whatwas that . . . light thing? Finch asked.

She was scanning the approaches through the forest with slow, systematic care. Mary Chen was uneasily conscious of the fact that she wasn't trained for anything like this.Wasn't trained to hunt superhumans, using plasma guns? she scolded herself.Who is?

How should I know? she snapped. I'm a forensic pathologist, not a physicist! Then, with a slight feeling of guilt: Sorry. I think it involved some sort of EMP, from the way it wrecked everything electronic.

Like a nuclear explosion, Finch said thoughtfully.

I certainly hope not.

They might all be dead from secondary radiation without knowing it, if itwas like a nuclear explosion.

She shivered and reached for the thermos tucked into her backpack; it was cold, for a May night. Thank God for camping as a hobby; she was used to being out in the country at night, otherwise she'd be completely lost.

Crack.

Blue-white light flashed through the trees, throwing her shape in a momentary cone of shadow over the thermos. She snatched up the weapon instead and fumbled her hand into the grip. The tiny device in her ear spoke, a man's voice, eager and excited.

I think I hit- The voice cut off. Through her normal hearing she caught the beginning of a shriek, then silence. Then another scream, a long hideous ululation of fear and agony.

Gwen stopped the head rolling with a foot and held the body pointed away from her. The blood filled the night with its heady, exciting scent; she licked her lips unconsciously as she stripped the covering off the human's backpack with her hands and layer knife.

What a crazy hybrid,she thought in admiration as she bared the mechanism within.

Lighter and more efficient than the one which had just saved her life.That was already growing warm to the touch after a single bolt; the energy absorption factor was only a little over ninety-eight percent. This was much better, the guide coils and controller unit made by a modern faber rather than hand-assembled from purely local parts. Hers was slaved to her transducer, significantly reducing its capacities. What a pity she couldn't take one of these and abandon her own-this was still an elephantine pile of junk by fifth-century Draka or Samothracian standards, but vastly preferable to what she had. Not that she could, of course, any more than she could put one of the communications units in her own ear. She grinned in the dark to think of what would happenthen. There were more attractive methods of suicide.

Instead she turned to the other human, the one she'd winged-or perhaps she'd broken a few of his ribs; she'd been in a hurry. Without his little goggles the night would be impenetrable murk to him, of course.

His eyes were round, starting at every sound as he sat propped against a tree, his legs stretched out before him. He moaned when she whispered in his ear.

Call for help, man. Call for them to help you.

Instead he tried to reach for a bayonet on his webbing belt. Impatient, Gwen caught the wrist and squeezed with brutal strength.

The scream went on and on as she worked her fingers into the shattered bone.

Christ, that's Clarens! He's with Hadelman.

Carmaggio caught at Saunders's arm. By the numbers, El-tee, he said softly. We knew she could make a shield if Lafarge could.

Saunders nodded tightly. The cry trilled up into a squeal and then a gaspingdon't . . . don't . . . mixed with sobs.

Henry touched the disk attached to the side of his goggles. A heads-up display projected in front of his eyes, showing vectors and locations.

This way, he said, and arrows appeared before the sight of every member of the little force. Enemy's here. Another vector, like a compass needle pointing to the AI's best guess at location. Lets go.

Spread out in a slight C-shape, they moved forward through the woods.Back in the jungle, Carmaggio thought with sour irony.Back in the bad bush. Big oaks and hickories, grass and shrubbery beneath, paved pathways-not too much like the Parrot's Beak, really. Except for the feeling in his gut and balls and the back of his neck; and that was different too. He was a lot older, his heart pumping harder in his rib cage.

The humans were moving in a staggered line, half carrying their plasma guns slung and M-16's or H K's at the ready, half facing the darkness with the energy weapons. They moved at a slow deliberate walk; from what the equipment showed, Ingolfsson wasn't moving away from them. Henry paid attention to his feet. The light amplification was perfect, pretty much like a black-and-white image of a cloudy afternoon, but something was playing hell with his depth perception.

Where the hell is she? he whispered to himself. By the display, they ought to be right on top of her.

Looking for this?

A voice out of the dark, from somewhere above. He pivoted instantly on one heel, his finger squeezing at the trigger as the aimpoint cross from the indicator hung in front of his eyes.

Crack.

A treetop exploded in flame, a fireball in the night. His eyes widened. The beam shouldn't diffuse like that. Shedid have some sort of a shield. He caught a glimpse of a shape spreadeagled as it leaped, and then the vector arrow was quivering between trees. The one he'd hit was going up like a torch, every leaf and branch flash-ignited as the energy of the plasma spread around the circumference of the protective field.

Something arched out of the night at him as streams of tracer and plasma bolts raked the next tree into splinters. Dangerous splinters, from the way somebody was yelling. The object landed with a soggy thump and rolled to his feet.

Saunders recognized it before he did. Clarens's head. The ex-officer raised his voice instinctively, despite the AI that would relay his words to every ear.

Hold your fire until you've got a target! Keep moving.

They did.Goddamn, Carmaggio thought desperately, trying to follow the dots that marked out the schematic of the action. It was toomuch, too much information, slowing down his reactions-yet without it he'd be helpless. He worked his mouth and spat.

The dot that was Ingolfsson'sprobable location was skittering away ahead of them northward, moving at an estimated speed that raised his brows even now. A cross-country motorbike would be lucky to make that miles-per-hour in close terrain like this. And it was moving off to one side . . . .

Flank left, he said. Move!

The ragged C of dots that marked his comrades started to move. Slowly, too slowly; it was like some computer game where you wrenched at the joystick and got reamed because the figures wouldn't respond in time- ***

There- Mary Chen jerked at Finch's cry, even more at the stream of green-colored tracer from her submachine-gun. She leveled her plasma weapon, trying to bring the red firing dot on the vector her goggles were supplying. Something was coming out of the night, something moving like a coursing cheetah. Her beam smashed an explosion of steam and shattered rock out of the ground, and then the weapon was slapped out of her hands with a force that sent her spinning around like a top, throwing out her hands to try and keep from falling.

The blow turned her around faster than her own muscles could ever have done. In time to see a black-outlined shape runningup the trunk of the tree that had been behind her. It had a human outline; she could see that much, and see that it held a weapon shape in its left hand. In its right was something long and slender with an edge of silvered moonlight. Then the run ended in a momentum-driven crouch and the figure leaped out and away from the tree, whirling in midair somersaults with knees drawn up to chest. In a long arch that took it back over their heads.

Help! I've fallen into a Ninja movie and I can't get out!The thought bubbled through her mind as she scrambled to get the plasma gun back.

Finch was snarling and slapping another magazine into her firearm, trying to track the target and jerk back the slide in the same motion.

Chen felt her whirl turn into a stagger that left her groping dizzily for the plasma gun. Something flashed.

There was a huge cold impact across her stomach, and her legs dropped out from under her. Her hands felt numb as they groped for the wound, tried to hug the savaged, razor-cut edges of flesh back together and contain the slick wetness that bulged out. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

Finch was off the ground, gripped from behind with an elbow-grip on her neck and an arm about her waist. Her own arms and legs kicked uselessly, the H K firing off bursts into the night.

A voice hissed, every syllable as distinct as if it were cut from etched glass.

Where is the Samothracian?

Fuckyou! Finch shouted, her fox-sharp features contorted with rage. The hillbilly accent was back, sharp and nasal.

No time.

The arms wrenched and cast her aside. There was a single squeal, as fierce and shrill as an animal turning in the owl's claws, then the body hit the ground with limp finality.

The figure in black took a long stride toward Chen. The dying woman tried to turn away, but all that moved was her head, rolling loosely to face her other shoulder. She remembered the heel marks on the necks.

Impact. Nothing.

Move your ass, Carmaggio shouted. Face left!

The vector arrow was pointing back the way they'd come. All the friendly dots turned left and south, scurrying to try and make their formation face the enemy and give mutual support. All except for one dot that kept right on going away, as fast as he or she could move their feet-and Henry couldn't blame whoever it was one little bit. Saunders was cursing under his breath, voice a little shaky; Jesus did the same on his other side.

Sixty seconds since contact. JesusfuckingChrist.

A voice rang out from behind a statue-fountain set in a pool.

Where's your Samothracian?it mocked. If a battle trumpet could live, it would sound like that. Even at this instant, the beauty of it struck him.Where's your strong protector now, humans?

The sound firmed the attack vector to a brilliant dot. Bullets and a dozen plasma bolts lashed out.

Bronze exploded into flying molten gobbets. Several thousand gallons of water also exploded, and the steam burst flung chunks of stone coaming right back in their faces. Something wet spattered Carmaggio over half his body, and a heavy limp weight struck him hard enough to send him staggering. He clutched at it automatically, arid found himself holding Jesus Rodriguez-his body, since the top had been clipped off his skull by a knife-edged shard of rock. Bits of the granite still glistened among the pink brain and fragments, and his friend's body shuddered and flapped and bucked in his arms.

He thrust it away with an involuntary shout. Images flitted before his eyes and clawed at his attention.

Regroup, he called out. The iron calm of his own voice shocked him, at some level far below the clarity that gripped and moved him. Ten-yard intervals, circle formed on me.

The AI would show everyone where to go, if they kept their heads and did it. Theywere doing it. The enemy vector arrow was a blur, moving around his defensive position. Every now and then someone would shoot at it, but Ingolfsson seemed to know they were shielded against her plasma weapon- She knows how to use these things and we don't,Carmaggio knew with deadly certainty.And she's doing a better job of figuring out how to use them against us.

A rock whined by his head and wentcrack against a treetrunk as it shattered into fragments-not even a superhuman could make an irregular object perfectly accurate. He didn't intend to stand up and see a trial of strength between this Fritz helmet and Ingolfsson's arm, though.

Hit the dirt. And nail the bitch!

Bolts lanced out through the woods. Trees toppled. Carmaggio felt a sudden something in his mind, a sensation like a mentalclick. He started to roll still prone, bumped into someone, rolled right over them despite their squawk of protest. As he did so another plasma bolt lanced out of the darkness, right into the mid-section of the tree he'd been under. The three-foot thickness of hardwood vanished in a meter-wide sphere of magenta fire, and the great crown of the copper beech toppled downwards. It crashed into the middle of their position, branches probing like spears.

Return fire lashed back at the firmed-up vector the bolt provided for the AI. Thudding feet warned him that it didn't stay accurate for long. He was surprised the footfalls were so loud, but you couldn't move a hundred and ninety-five pounds up to greyhound speeds that quickly on soft little tippytoes, he supposed.

Carmaggio went up on one knee, the trigger of the plasma gun sweetly responsive under his finger.

Repeated hits or a point-blank hit will overload the shielding,Lafarge's remembered voice said.When that happens, the shield's energy storage coil will fail catastrophically.

And fry the bitch to hell and gone, he snarled under his breath. The sights were steady- -and a stream of tracer snapping right by his ear with flat stretchingwhackwhackwhack sounds showed somebody had the same idea.

The bolt went wide, snapping out across Central Park-at that angle, it could blast a hole in concrete in one of the apartments over on the Upper West Side. Carmaggio rolled desperately, trying to get a new bead on the running, jinking figure. It was as if they were all standing still, or wading through honey, and she was the only normal person there.

Shit. Shit,shit.

The vector bead slid right across their circular position. People on theother side were shooting after her.

Fuck, the captain's dead!

Henry's head whipped around. Three or four of the National Guardsmen were standing shoulder-deep in the fallen beech tree, looking down. He forced himself to his feet and lumbered over. Saunders was lying on his back, and a stub of wood three inches around was through his chest.

Oh, man, I'm outta here, one of the guardsmen said, backing away, his head shaking in an unconscious rejection of the scene before him. Oh, man, I'm gone.

Shut up!

The AI blared it into everyone's ear in a shout that stopped them in their tracks.

You want to be out therealone with that thing? he went on. And if you make it home, you want to wait there until it comes for you? Christ, if you're that anxious to die, eat your gun and do it easy and quick!

Silence fell. Get your attention back on the job.Rollcall, he whispered. Shock made him grunt. Chen, Finch, Jesus, ten more dead. Two run. And all in less than eight minutes.

The men and women faced outward. But the vector arrow had turned to a bead, and the AI drew him a schematic.