Harry thought Darlene one of the most attractive women he'd ever met. The fact that she had once been a he didn't bother Harry, who had only the vaguest concept of how that had all worked anyway. So Darlene was a miracle of modern science? Big deal. Harry's own mother, often mistaken for his sister in dim light, was the product of a prominent Dorasian plastic surgeon. In Harry's mind, the two were much the same. He was fond of Darlene and he worried about her.

Hung a.s.sa.s.sins had tried twice before to kill her. The Little One's telepathic abilities, Raoul's pharmaceuticals, and her own wit had saved her.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Darlene asked.

Harry would have liked to have answered her, but he couldn't put his feelings into words. It was all wrong, that's what it was. From the waves crashing on the beach, which was practically in their backyard; to the flowered hedge, the patio, the sliding gla.s.s doors; to Jamil serving hot egg rolls, Raoul mixing drinks from the wet bar in the living room, Xris flipping steaks on the barbecue outside.

Harry cast another anxious glance at Darlene and said in a low voice, fearful of being overhead, "What kind of a place is this for us to meet?"

Darlene smiled. "I think it's a very nice kind of place, Harry. The weather is beautiful. Our swim this afternoon was outstanding. And those steaks smell wonderful."

"It is amazing what they can do with soy products these days," Dr. Quong observed.

Harry was not to be lured off course. As Jamil had once remarked rather caustically, once a thought finally wandered into Harry's head, he clung to it as if it might be the last one ever.

"There's no protection," he restated. "We're out here in broad daylighta""

"It's evening now," Jamil corrected.

Harry ignored him. "The neighbors have seen you, Darlene. They've seen all of us."

"Sometimes the best hiding place is out in the open," Quong stated, helping himself to an egg roll, having first ascertained that it was baked, not fried. "Relax, Harry, my friend. I'm going to have a fruit juice. Would you like anything?"

Harry shook his head.

"I think I'll go with Doc," Darlene said. Pausing, she stared out the front window.

"Looking for snipers?" Jamil asked.

Darlene laughed a little self-consciously. "Yes, I guess I was, to tell the truth. You know how it isa"if someone says it's Monday and they keep saying it's Monday, even if you know for a fact that it's Tuesday, you check your calendar. Harry's making me jumpy, that's all. I'll go help Raoul with the drinks."

Jamil walked over to Harry, bent down, tray in hand. "Egg roll?"

"Are there snipers out there?" Harry asked.

"Unless the Hung are employing toddlers, no," Jamil answered.

"Tycho should be on the roof with his rifle," Harry said, and scooped up a handful of egg rolls.

"Tycho's dead, Harry." Jamil frowned down at the now empty tray. "Did you get enough?"

"Are there more?" Harry asked.

"No." Jamil sounded cold. "There aren't."

"That's okay, then. Thanks. And I know Tycho's dead. I was there when he died. It's just that we're stuck here out in the open with no protection. No security cams, no shields. Anything could hit us."

"We're in a house, Harry, not a Stiletto bomber. Very few of these homes in this neighborhood are equipped with blast shields. We have a smoke detector, a carbon monoxide detector, a radon monitor, and an excellent burglar alarm system. You should know. You checked it out yourself. We're perfectly safe."

"Tycho should be on the roof with a rifle," Harry maintained glumly. "Someone should be on the roof."

"I'm sure the neighbors would love it. We're supposed to be blending in with suburbia, not scaring the h.e.l.l out of them."

"He could wear a disguise," Harry suggested.

"As what? A vid receiver? Santa Claus? Eight tiny reindeer?"

"There are eight of us," Harry said, intrigued. "No," he amended after a moment's thought. "I guess there's only seven, now that Tycho's dead. Even so, I don't think the roof is big enough for all of us. Thanks, Jamil, but I don't believe that will work."

Jamil muttered something it was just as well Harry didn't hear and tossed the empty tray into the sink.

Harry roamed outdoors, onto the deck, where Xris was cooking and Dr. Quong was looking on with displeasure.

"It has been determined that charring food over an open flame has caused cancer in laboratory mice."

"That's why I didn't invite them over for dinner," Xris said.

Quong appeared puzzled.

"The mice, I mean," Xris explained. "It's a joke, Doc."

"Uh, Xris, don't you think it would be a good idea if you wore your weapons hand?" Harry asked, gazing down at the steaks sizzling on the grill.

Xris was a cyborg. His right side was mostly human, his left side mostly metal. It was hard to tell his age for that very reason. He was one of those men who looked old at twenty, young at sixty. He was bald, his head scarred, one of his eyes was his from birth and the other came from a factory. A twist dangled almost perpetually from his mouth.

If he wasn't smoking onea"which he usually didn't, out of deference to his friendsa"he was chewing it.

His left hand was detachable; he had specially made weapons and tools that fit onto his arm. But today he wore only the plastiskin, fleshfoam hand that looked and felt real; would even bleed fake blood. He held nothing more deadly than a long-handled fork in one hand and a can of beer in the other.

Xris took a swig of his beer. "It's kind of hard to flip steaks with an anti-tank rocket launcher, Harry. Don't worry. This is my ex-wife's house. It's a lot safer than my own, mainly because no one's looking for me here."

"Safer, Xris?" Harry repeated, dumbfounded. "In your house you've got more security than the king has in the whole f.u.c.king Royal Palace. How can this be safer?"

"Language!" Raoul admonished in shocked tones, pointing to the children playing in the waves and feeding the seagulls.

Harry stared down gloomily at his empty beer mug, wondered what had happened to the beer. He couldn't remember drinking it.

"Jamil says to tell you, Xris Cyborg," Raoul continued, holding a hand over his face, shading his complexion from the ravages of the moonlight, "that the hors d'oeuvres went faster than he expected." Raoul cast an accusing glance at Harry, "You can serve dinner anytime."

Xris stuck his fork in one of the steaks, lifted it, peered at it. The meat was blackened; blood ran from the p.r.o.ngs of the fork.

Raoul glanced at it, made a retching sound, covered his mouth with his hand.

"Cut the dramatics. Go tell everyone the steaks are done, will you?" Xris said, sniffing appreciatively.

"For those who want to add unsightly bulges to their hips and tummies, the burned animal flesh is ready," Raoul called, traipsing back to the patio, his high heels making small indentations in the lush green lawn. "I have, of course, made one of my special olive, goat cheese, bean sprout, artichoke, and anchovy salads for those of us who are concerned with our appearance. I hope you'll have some," Raoul said to Darlene. "I made it 'specially for you."

"I am not pudgy," Darlene insisted irritably.

"Flesh?" Dr. Quong repeated incredulously, coming to stand beside the barbecue. He regarded the steaks with deep suspicion. "What does he mean, 'animal flesh'? Jamil told me this was a soy product." He shook his finger at Xris. "You know your cholesterol count!"

"Yeah, Doc, I keep it written on the back of my hand," Xris said, winking at Harry. "I guess I was mistaken. These are real beef. Must have picked up the wrong package. Sorry about that, everyone."

"We forgive you," said Jamil, grinning. "Trust me on that."

"Grab a plate and line up," Xris ordered.

Harry juggled his plate nervously.

"Xris, I really thinka""

"Harry, stop it," Xris said. His tone was stern, his expression grim. "For the last time, there's nothing wrong. There's no one watching us or bugging us or tailing us. You're making Darlene nervous. h.e.l.l, you're making me nervous! Now sit down and eat your dinner."

"Yeah, Xris. Sure. Sorry." Harry carried his plate inside.

"Your problem is clogged pores," said Raoul, accosting Harry as he walked past. "Try my salad. There's nothing like goat cheese to open the pores."

Raoul heaped salad onto Harry's plate. Blood running from the rare meat mingled with the anchovy salad dressing. Harry sat down at the table, stared at the pink swan napkin in front of him, wondered what he was supposed to do with it.

The Little One, seated to his Harry's left, flicked the napkin open with a deft hand and flung it onto Harry's broad lap, then dumped most of his salad onto Harry's plate when Raoul, his attention captured by the wind chimes, wasn't looking.

"So, what's all this about?" Jamil asked between mouthfuls. "What's the job, Xris?"

"No business discussed during meals," Dr. Quong said sternly, tapping his finger on the table. "Bad for the digestion."

Xris glanced around at the others, winked, and started on his steak. The talk became generala"a discussion of Rusty Love and his latest vid, the current problems facing the Prime Minister, an argument over the changes made in the wing configuration of the new model Rapier s.p.a.cefighter.

Harry gave a deep sigh. He stared down at his plate. He had eaten not only the steak but the salad as well. He had a vague impression that the anchovies had been disgusting, but he didn't remember any of it. At least he'd won Raoul's heart.

"I'm so glad you liked my salad!" Raoul gushed. "I've got lots made up! I'll send some home with you."

"Sure," said Harry, not paying attention. "Thanks."

He knew now what was really, truly bothering him. He didn't know how he knew, he just knew.

Xris was wrong about them being safe. Someone was out there watching them, stalking them, waiting to nail them. For the first and only time in all the years they'd been together, Harry knew that Xris was wrong.

Harry could only hope Xris wasn't dead wrong.

CHAPTER 5.

If the lion was advised by the fox, he would be cunning.

William Blake, "Proverbs of h.e.l.l"

"We'll have our coffee and dessert inside," said Xris.

"And then we'll talk business."

Jamil and Darlene served coffee and cheesecake as the rest of the group gathered around a vidscreen. Xris slid in a memory cube. A s.p.a.ce map appeared on the screen, complete with locator numbers and names of prominent stars. An arrow pointed at one tiny planet orbiting one of the stars. Xris zoomed in on this planet.

A city appeared, a dot of white floating on green, surrounded by blue.

Xris began his briefing. "For those of you who don't recognize it, and I don't expect any of you do, this is the planet Del Sol, located in the Osiris system. The planet is small, but it has a large population, mostly gathered in one major city. This is the capital."

They flew closer, viewed, from s.p.a.ce, a large grid configuration. "Three-fifths of Del Sol's population lives in this city, known as Ria.n.u.s. The other two cities are on a different continent and are mostly agrarian in nature. Basically they exist to feed Ria.n.u.s. They're ruled by governors appointed by the dictator of Ria.n.u.s, a man called Kirkov. Harry, what the devil are you doing?"

Harry jumped, dropped the phone, which he had been dismantling. "Uh, nothing, Xris. I forgot to check the phone for bugsa""

Xris looked grim. Quong put the phone back together. Harry slumped unhappily on the sofa.

"Now, here's the plan," Xris said, when order had been restored. "Del Sol is ruled by this guy Kirkov. He's a dictator, a psychotic who thinks he's a G.o.d. Because he thinks he's a G.o.d, he has decided that he outranks King Dion. Kirkov's formed a small hegemony in the Foravis Arc, which is here, next to the Hormel Cl.u.s.ter. They call themselves the League of Nine Sisters. The league, led by this nutcase, has pulled out from under Imperial control. They refuse to let the Royal Navy in their sector, which, as you can see"a"Xris brought up the map of the galaxy againa" "is a sector that has a certain strategic value."

"The Royal Navy should go in and kick some a.s.s," Jamil stated. "Send a few big cruisers in there like the King James and this Kirkov would come out yelping with his tail between his legs."

"The Royal Navy would like nothing better," Xris said. "There is a problem, however. Darlene, would you care to explain?"

Darlene Mohini bad been a high-ranking officer in the Navy, a part of RFComSec, involved in handling all the secret codes, making them and cracking them. Her departure had been abrupt and unexpected, causing the Navy considerable alarm and inconvenience. All that was behind her now. The Navy, if not thrilled that she was now a civilian, was at least no longer threatening to have her shot on sight.

"This sector doesn't just have a certain strategic value," Darlene told them. "It has major strategic value."

"What's that?" Jamil argued. "It's far from the Void, which means it's far from the Corasians. Of course, if the information's cla.s.sifieda""

"It is. How can I put this?" Darlene's brow furrowed in thought.

Raoul shook his head sadly and whispered recommendations for cream of cuc.u.mber.

"Let's imagine that there's a sector in the galaxy where some very delicate scientific experiments are being conducteda""

"The Bulgarvian wormhole!" Quong said, snapping his fingers. "I recall reading about that. Nothing was ever discovered, however, and it was all discounted as so much theoretical nonsense. I had no idea anyone was still pursuing that. So the reports of its nonexistence must have beena""

"Delicate scientific experiments," Xris said loudly, overriding Quong. "Of a most important nature. Believe me, the Royal Navy does not want to draw the galaxy's attention to this particular area of s.p.a.ce."

"If they have to send in the big guns, they will," Darlene agreed. "But they'd rather try other means first."

"The 'other means' are where we come in, I take it," Quong said.

"The people of Del Sol are not keen on being ruled by a psychotic G.o.d. But Kirkov has a very effective, highly efficient force of secret police. It is said that you can't take a c.r.a.p on Del Sol without the secret police barging into the stall to hand you the toilet paper."

"I could make the G.o.d go away," Raoul offered, and licked his lips suggestively. "Like the wretched Madame President on ... where was it?" He held one of his silent conversations with the Little One. "Yes, Modena. Thank you, my friend."

"I know you could," said Xris. "That was my first idea. Unfortunately, the politics aren't as simple as they were on Modena. Kirkov has his people in every level of government. Not only that, but they also run the banks, which means that he controls the economy. And he has a successor chosen, ready to step in when he attains G.o.dhood. These people of his have things very good right now and they won't be easy to dislodge."