From: Tranquility <blitz@crow.cybercomm.net>
Subject: Looking Back
Date: Mon, 25 Sep 1995 22:34:57 -0400


North of the Hood Canal Bridge, just outside Kitsap County:

Beyond the floating bridge, with its lights and wires and concrete
pontoons, lay the thick carpet of old growth forest, stretching north all
the way to the northwestern tip of Washington, surrounding and flowing
through the Olympic Mountains, unbroken and unspoiled save for clearcut
areas here and there, and for the replanted areas, shorter and thinner
than the surrounding forest.  There was a highway that lead through the
middle, north through a variety of small towns, ultimately ending near
Port Angeles, a small town that was actually on the map.

Anyway, that's what the map showed.

"This whole thing is fucked up," muttered Vic.  He wiped his hands off on
his coat, smearing it with blood.  "Very, very, VERY fucked up."

"You think I don't know that?" asked Jetta, at the controls of the
hovercraft.  It was a sports model, the reason they'd picked it, vastly
overpowered and constructed of lightweight materials to increase its
speed even further.  It had a modified high-output electric motor, which
thrummed incessantly at low speeds and turned to an annoying, whining
yowl when spinning near redline.  It wasn't there yet, eight or nine
thousand RPM below that.  She swung it off the bridge, onto the road, and
leaned it hard to the left, dragging the side on the road.  The dual tail
fins didn't handle turns too sharply, one reason why this particular
model of hovercraft was fairly unpopular.  It went fast, but didn't turn
too well, and the brakes were even worse.

Two vehicles were currently chasing them, both six-wheeled armored Ford
Lawmaster 500's, painted in State Patrol white, emblazoned with lightning
bolts on the side.  There had been four, but one had dropped out of
pursuit for an unknown reason, and another had lost control on a turn.

"Shit," muttered Vic.   He was between the two front bucket seats and the
rear bench seat, trying to do too many things at once.  Roberta was
splayed across the floor, part of a blanket secured across her chest with
electric tape in an effort to stop the bleeding.  It was better than
nothing at all, but not by much.  The floor was sopping wet.  The seat
was smeared.  The walls were covered with bloody handprints.  She'd made
those at the beginning.  Now, she didn't have the energy to flail around
or scream anymore; she was just laying there, gurgling and choking, blood
dripping out of her chest and back, drippling out of her mouth.  Her lips
were purplish.

"She's looking real bad, Jetta," he said, worriedly.  There was a man
next to her, the previous owner of the hovercraft.  He was no longer in
the world of the living -- they'd had to shoot him when they were taking
the vehicle.  The cops thought he was a hostage, which was the reason why
they hadn't been destroyed at long range by a rocket yet.

"Just hang on.  Once we're out in the middle of nowhere, I'll lose these
guys like you wouldn't believe," she said.

Vic nodded grimly and looked ahead.  There was a roadblock, constructed
of an eighteen-wheeler covered with logs, a Forest Department backhoe,
and several police cars.  Those cops were very inventive.

"What now?" he asked.

"Like that's gonna stop us."  Jetta turned the throttle up to full,
making the engine scream.  She fiddled with the vector controls.  The
hovercraft rose up into the air, reaching at least fifty or sixty feet,
and sailed over the roadblock.  She eased off the power.  It descended
back to the road, almost missing it amidst the trees.  It hit with a
deafening clang, despite its light composite construction and performance
ground-effects skirt.

"How much longer?" Vic asked.

"Probably not far," she said.

"Probably?"

"Like I know where I'm going," she said.  "Pretty soon.  Who knows."

"We've got to get a doctor for her," I said.

"She's gonna have to wait."

"We can drop her off at a hospital."

"If we take her there, we won't be able to leave," said Jetta.

"Drop her off outside."

"You ever see just how many people are laying around outside hospitals?"
asked Jetta.  "They wouldn't even bother with her."

"We can see a clinic or something."

"Not on this side of the Sound," said Jetta.

"The Sound?"

"Puget Sound."

"Oh."

"Yeah," said Jetta.  "Besides, I seen plenty of holes like that in other
people.  She's got hours.  The lips are blue, yeah, but that's oxygen
deprivation, not her bloodloss.  See if you can't get some of it out of
her lungs."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" he asked.

"Where's the hole?"

"In her chest."

"Chest?"

"Yeah."

"You SURE?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Jetta kicked open the glovebox and stirred the contents around with her
foot.  She flipped a first-aid box out onto the passenger's seat, grabbed
it with her right hand, and tossed it back to him.

"It's heavy," she said.  "Should have a medibot in there, small one.  See
if you can't stick it on her chest.  If you can, it should suck the shit
out for her and patch it up."

"Why the HELL didn't you get this fucking thing back here before?" he
shouted.

"You didn't ask, and she's not really a friend of mine.  Use it or lose
it."  Jetta was watching the forests around her intently.  It was almost
as if she was looking for something.  Hell, she WAS looking for
something, but Vic didn't know what.  He opened the box and looked in.
Sure enough, there was a medibot inside, a small, adjustable unit shaped
like a donut.  You opened it wide and slipped it over a limb for an
injury there, or else you tightened it up all the way into a disk for a
wound on the head or chest.  He closed it all the way and held it over
the wound, pulling the blanket out of the way.  It anchored itself with a
few rows of small hypodermic needles, blinked once to signify it was
activated, and started doing its thing -- whatever that was.

"Here we go," said Jetta.  "Those fucking cops still behind us?"

"Yeah," said Vic.

"Well, fuck 'em.  Watch this."  She powered it up again, all the way, and
angled the nozzles down.  The hovercraft leaped into the air again,
brushing the tops of the trees.

"This wasn't such a good idea, Jetta," said Vic.  She ignored him,
concentrating on the hovercraft.  It was now at redline, just a hair
beyond it, in fact.  It had just enough power to keep its altitude.
However, its forward momentum, although powerful, was winding down
without anything to push it foward.  Branches scraped the underside.  One
snagged on the skirt for a moment, turning them slightly to the side.

"Forward airspeed?" he asked.

"One-hundred ten mph," she said.  "Dropping.  Not all that quickly, though.
We'll be at least a mile in before we run out of speed."

Vic looked back at the highway.  The two Lawmasters were idling there,
the drivers obviously very pissed off.  Then, suddenly, they plunged into
the woods.  He lost sight of them beneath the thick canopy of foliage.

"They're chasing us," he said.  "Holy shit, they're chasing us.  They're
gonna need a flyer to find us, though.  Why haven't they dispatched one?"

"Weather," she said, and he noticed how much she was fighting with the
controls, how cloudy it was overhead, foggy.  "And there are a lot of
people back here that don't like aircraft going over them.  They have a
tendency to fire hand-held rockets at them."

"So we're going to fly over them?"

"I hope not," she said.  "This thing has very little metal in it, though,
and most of them are extremely old, work by tracking radar signitures and
heat.  This doesn't have much of either."

"How far in will those Lawmasters be able to get?" asked Vic.

"Unless they're on a logging road -- and they're not, that's why I picked
this spot to fly out, no trails -- they're stuck already.  That
underbrush is nasty, and the trees are close to each other."  Jetta
looked back at him and grinned.  "They're not gonna be able to find us
out here."

She looked back at the instrument panel and frowned.

"What?" asked Vic.

"Running out of juice.  Hang on, I want to put some more distance between
us and them."  She tilted the nozzles back a little.  Vic felt the
hovercraft drop beneath him.  It started shaking more violently as the
branches hit it harder.  Airspeed began to climb steadily, though.

"Thing doesn't run too long when we rev it up like this," Jetta
explained.  "We should have a few minutes, though."

The engine began winding back down, backing off the redline as the the
needle (yes, needle, people who paid this much for a hovercraft obviously
liked retro gauges) slipped counterclockwise.  The charge indicator was
doing likewise.

"And maybe we don't have a few minutes," said Jetta, nodding slowly.
"Okay, we can handle this.  Um, strap yourself in.  Strap Roberta in,
too.  Hell, strap the stiff in, I don't want it breaking anything when it
gets thrown."

The tops of the trees were really beating the shit out of the hovercraft
now as it lost more and more altitude.  There was a taller, older stand
coming up.  That was going to hurt.  This was REALLY going to hurt.  Oh
yes.  Vic pushed Roberta back into the seat, placing the harness over
her.  He crawled forward into the front seat, which had better harnesses
and a variety of other safety features and strapped himself in.  Forget
the damn corpse, it wasn't going to complain or anything.

"Here we go!" shouted Jetta.  They hit a tree squarely.  The hovercraft
spun to the side, beginning to roll over.  The front seat head restraints
activated.  Good thing, too, the vehicle was really whipping around.  Vic
saw a piece of the front bumper spiralling away above them -- which made
perfect sense when he looked closer out the canopy.  The ground was above
them.  They were inverted.

They careened off two more trees, reminding him of a game of bumper pool
he'd played once as a kid.  It was getting decidedly drafty inside the
hovercraft.  They thwacked another good and the canopy turned white.  So
much for that.  They bounced off something else, hit something, flipped
again -- and stopped, WAY too sharply.

"Son of a bitch," muttered Jetta.  "I should've slowed it down a little
more."  She unsnapped her harness and gave the canopy a solid kick,
breaking the latch.  It popped open.  They were resting just off the
shore of a small pond, water lapping serenely at the sides of the
vehicle.  It was starting to leak in through the floor.

"Let's get out.  Last stop," she said, jumping out with a splash.  Vic
freed Roberta, put her carefully over his shoulder, and climbed out.  He
sank to his knees in mud, almost lost his balance, and finally got out by
making something of a jump.  That was bad stuff.  The hovercraft, light
as it was, was sinking in it.

"Fucking mud," he muttered.

"Hey, this works out good.  The hovercraft'll probably sink all the way
in," said Jetta.  "They won't find that thing for another hundred years.
It was fucked anyway."

"So are we," said Vic.  "We've gotta talk."

"See those mountains, Vic?" asked Jetta, pointing into the distance.

"Yeah, I see them."

"We can be there in two hours.  They would never follow us into there,
it's too unpredictable, too wild, too many crazy inbred homicidal
maniacs," said Jetta.  "We'll be safe there.  We run there, then we talk
all you want."

"Sounds like my kind of place," he said, chuckling.  "Okay.  You got
yourself a deal.  You gotta carry Van Der Veen for the second half, though."

"Shit, Vic, she's your girl," said Jetta, chuckling.  "Last third.  Your
legs are bionic, man."

"Okay, last third," he said.

"Let's move.  Those cops are pissed," said Jetta.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Okay," said Jetta, breathing hard.  "Good enough."  She pointed at the
stream.  "Water's probably dirty, beaver fever.  We're gonna have to boil
it, but it's okay for washing and stuff.  Just don't drink it straight."

"Beaver fever?" asked Vic.

"Dysentary."

"No prob.  My stomach'll handle battery acid," said Vic.

"Can your ass handle the shits?" she asked, chuckling.  "I kinda figured
your stomach would be modded.  Cool.  I didn't want to have to boil it
anyway.  How 'bout your girl?"

"Probably."  He shrugged.  "The bot'll fix it if she doesn't."

"Yeah."  Jetta thought for a moment.  "This is as good a place as any to
make camp for tonight.  What do you have for supplies?"

"My guns," he said.

"Same here," said Jetta, smiling.  "Well, it's summer...it'll get about
fifty degrees.  We should be okay."  She set Roberta down gently and
dusted herself off.  "What'd you want to talk about?"

"A lot of things," said Vic, sitting down on the mat of pine needles
beneath him.  He watched as Jetta cupped her hands into the water,
drinking some.  "You okay with that water?"

"Doesn't bother me," she said.

"What happened with Tierzha?" he asked.

"Gave her the chip, told her what to do," said Jetta.  "She'll be okay.
Kai's got a few boys in the area.  They'll watch out for her 'till she
can get a transport."

"Kai?"

"My brother," she explained.

"You been back here before?" asked Vic.

"Here?  As in the Olympics?  Hell no," she said.  "Know some guy that
has, though.  Lived back here for a while.  Had a shelter dug and
everything, he was pretty paranoid.  He said there're a lot of crazies
back here, but most of 'em are harmless enough, as long as you're not
with the government or anything."  She smiled at him.  "Speaking of
which, you'd better lose that badge."

"Yeah."  He took it out of his jacket, contemplated it for a moment,
turning it over in his hands.  He tossed it in the stream.  "You know
anything about survival?"

"I was a Skirmisher before I was a 'Blazer," said Jetta.  "I wrote the
book on survival."

"Great.  So what's the plan?" he asked.

"We move north.  Keep moving north, use the mountains for cover, if
they're that persistant.  We can get some food tomorrow.  This stream'll
run north, into the mountains, so we'll have water.  That's the most
important thing, water.  You can go for a long time without food, but you
gotta have the water," she said.  "When we get to the coast, we head up
to Canada.  They won't fuck with us up there.  When we get there, you do
what you have to -- I'm heading back to Laos."

"Laos?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said.  "Homeplace of the only work camp on Earth that caters
to Scalp P.O.W.'s.  They can't put the things anyplace else, and they
can't take 'em back to the others, so they stuck 'em out in the middle of
a jungle.  Figured they wouldn't do any harm there."

"What the hell are Scalps?" he asked.

"Oh, shit," said Jetta, smiling widely.  She looked up at the darkening
sky.  "You don't know, do you?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I did," he said.

"The War, man.  It wasn't with China," she said.  "Those weren't Chinese
missiles."

"What?"

"The missiles we took a few years back.  Those weren't from China," she said.

"Who shot 'em?  Ukrainians?"

"Nope," she said, still smiling.  "The Scalps."

"Wait a minute.  We shot missiles back at the Chinese," he said.  "It was
in all the faxes.  I saw pictures."

"We didn't hit the Chinese.  The Scalps did.  We took the rap for it,
just like the Chinese took the rap for hitting us.  You know, over there,
they're telling the people WE fired first," said Jetta.

"I figured that.  Who fired first?"

"The SCALPS did," she said.  "I told you that.  We didn't fire shit.  The
Chinese didn't fire shit.  The Scalps hit both of us."

"So who are the Scalps?"

"You're gonna shit if I tell you," said Jetta.  "You won't believe me."

"Try me."

"Aliens."

"Bullshit," said Vic.

"I told you you wouldn't believe me," said Jetta.

"You expect to me to believe we had a war with ALIENS?" he asked.

"No, I didn't," said Jetta.  "I'm just being straight with you."

"Just for the sake of argument, I'll believe you," he said.  "What are
they like?"

"Weird," said Jetta.  "Smart, but not like us.  Very clever.  Maybe eight
feet tall, real fast, real thick carapace, like a bug.  Lot of spikes on
them, some sensory.  No eyes, they use echolocation.  Real hard to sneak
up on them.  You know ships can leave the solar system, right?"

"Yeah, I knew that," said Vic.

"Where do you think we got the fucking tech to do THAT?" asked Jetta.
"We were having trouble sending shit to Mars when they hit.  We stole the
tech from them.  The physics guys don't even understand how the shit
WORKS yet, but they know it does, and we use it, and someone, somewhere,
is taking credit for it.  But we didn't invent it."

"You know, your profile says you're paranoid-delusional," said Vic.

"AND neurotic, AND schizophrenic," said Jetta, chuckling.  "And you've
gotta trust your life to me, because you don't know shit about nature.
Make you feel nice?"

"Not really.  You always been like that?"

"Brain damage, post traumatic stress syndrome," said Jetta.

"How'd you get the brain damage?"

"Dain bramage?  WHAT dain bramage?" asked Jetta, grinning at him.  "Got
it from a Scalp, Vic."

"Bullshit."

"Believe what you want," said Jetta.  "I don't blame you for not wanting
to believe this.  *I* don't want to believe it.  But it's true, man."
She stood up.  "I was going down this passage, right?  It was on the
moon, I think, maybe Mars.  I don't remember.  There were some Scalps up
ahead, and I started shooting.  Got 'em, with a PAW.  PAWs were standard
issue to us, regular shit didn't always take them out.  And one snuck up
on me -- remember how I said they were quick?  They're quiet, too.
Knocked me on my ass, which was lucky, it should've killed me, and I
dropped the gun.  So I pulled out my trusty monoblade, I was gonna carve
me some Scalp ass before the fucker killed me, 'cause when they get close
like that, you DIE, that's it."  She made a slashing gesture with her
hand.  "I hit him once or twice, broke the fucking knife.  Only had the
handle, and I didn't drop it, I wasn't thinking clearly.  My life's
flashing before my eyes, if you know what I mean.  And boy, did it rip
the living shit out of me."

"Like how?" asked Vic.

"Like this."  She did a little dance to the side, then pointed at her
stomach.  "Got me right here.  No weapons, they don't need 'em -- they've
got some meanass claws, things'll cut right through vests like they
weren't there.  Unbelievable.   Like ballerina boxers with razorblades,
that's how someone described them.  500-pound ballerina boxers.  Punched
me in the stomach, did that fucking hurt.  Got me on the arm, on the
legs...they just move too damned fast to react to.  Got me up on the head
once, too."  She pointed at her temple.  "Hit a gusher, same thing with
my leg.  I could see the shit spurting out.  And he slowed down for a
bit, or else the adrenaline really kicked in, 'cause he threw another
punch and I COUNTERED.  Stand up."

He did, a little wary.  Her eyes were focused someplace else.  He didn't
like that look in vets.

"He threw a punch --" She took him by the wrist and pulled his arm out
straight.  "So I caught it."  She maintained her hold on his wrist.
"Pulled it a little to the side, like this...they're too strong to just
STOP.  Got him off balance.  I kicked his leg out, like this."  She
hooked a foot behind his ankle, pulling his leg up a bit.  "Pulled him
WAY back, he didn't have his balance."  She pushed him back, far off his
center of gravity, holding him up carefully with her arm.

"I let go of his arm, it wasn't doing anything, and I grabbed him on the
head," she said, demonstrating.  It reminded him of what he'd always
pictured an Indian looking like as he scalped a cowboy who was standing.
"Had him wide open, his arms were out for balance.  Too bad for him, he
should've covered up and let me drop him, he still would've killed me if
he had.  And THEN I did this."  She raised her free arm, fist clenched,
and brought it down sharply enough to make him flinch.  It stopped a few
inches from his mouth.  "They have a ganglia cluster between their
mandibles, for taste/touch/smell.  REAL sensitive.  I got him there with
the pommel of the knife.  Knocked the shit out of him.  I heard later
that probably would've killed him, if I'd left him laying there, but
there was no way in hell I would.  I grabbed the rifle and blew his
ass away."  She pulled him back onto his feet and released him.

"Shit," muttered Vic.

"I staggered back for a while, but passed out.  Lost too much blood.
That's what fucked up my head," she said.  "Oxygen deprivation, no blood
going to my brain, it was all over the ground.  So they stuck an AI in,
real trick tech back then.  It caused more problems than it solved,
though.  The docs told me my brain scarred a lot around the implant.  The
thing that was supposed to keep my neurochemistry balanced fucked up my
brain even more.  I got a lesion up there, too."

"Thing must look like a rotten peach by now," he said, smiling.  "AI
still in there?"

"No.  Jeremy took it out after I died."

"WHAT?" asked Vic.

"I died, man," she said.  "A few years ago.  BioWorks offed me.  BioWorks
neural network by the name of Jeremy stole my corpse, brought it back to
life.  Took the AI and my claws out.  I guess they fucked with the
process, but I don't know."

"How long were you dead?"

"Weeks," she said.  "Weeks.  And I was on ice for part of that.  And this
was AFTER the autopsy."

Vic looked down at the scanner on his arm, then back at her.  He frowned
and shook his head, sighing.

"Problem?" asked Jetta.

"Yeah," he said.  "The problem is, you're telling the truth."  He pinched
the bridge of his nose in frustration.  "Do you know what tech like that
is worth on the market?  Do you know what that means?"

"Nothing," said Jetta.  "I turned Jeremy in to BioWorks.  He was running
rogue.  BioWorks has the tech, and they're sitting on it.  So don't worry
about it, unless you're extremely rich or related to the CEO by blood,
you're not gonna see it."

"Why'd Jeremy bring you back?" asked Vic.

"He wanted me to ice him."

Vic glanced at his arm again.  "Jesus Christ, you have really lived a
fucked-up life, Jetta.  I mean, I've seen some seriously fucked people in
my time, but you take the cake.  You fucking psycho."

She laughed.  "Next time I do something that surprises you, remember
that.  I'm not playing with a full deck."

"Why don't you just get the fucking brain replaced?" he said.

"I don't remember much these days," said Jetta, no longer amused.  She
looked a little -- sad?  He wasn't sure.  "A lot of the stuff I used to
know, I forgot.  Remember that episode in Seattle?  I didn't even fucking
recognize you, man, and you look exactly the same."

"Yeah," he said.

"When they replace your brain, you lose something," said Jetta.  "Not
much, but they don't pick WHAT you lose, it's random.  Most of my
valuable memories are gone.  I'm afraid of losing what's left.  Know what
I mean?"

"I guess.  You remembered that fight with the Scalp well enough," said
Vic.  "Of course, that was probably a pretty significant portion of your
memory, wasn't it?"

"So was my sixteenth birthday, and I don't remember that," she said.
"Not my eighteenth, either.  I don't remember what my parents looked
like, but I remember I had a mother.  The only things I remember well are
the fights, Vic.  I remember every one.  Those are the ones I'd like to
forget, but I can't bury them, they just float back to the surface.
Like...shit, there it goes again."  She closed her eyes.  "It's not
healthy.  I don't like remembering this shit.  I'm sorry I did it to
begin with, but you do what you have to, right?  I had to do it.  And now
it's back to haunt me, and I can't shake this stuff.  It just replays
over and over and over again.  When I sleep, I relive it.  Hell,
sometimes I'm NOT asleep and I relive it."

"Ever thought of getting it wiped?" asked Vic.

"Talked to some docs about it.  It's too fragmented, they'd have to wipe
just about everything else in my head to get rid of it," she said.

"Shit," said Vic.

They were both quiet for a moment.

"I've got a question for you, Vic," said Jetta.

"Shoot."

"Careful how you say that," she said, smiling.  "Last time I saw you, you
were some company man for DefenseTech.  How'd you get hooked up with the
Feds?"

"It's a long story," he said.  "Well, not that long, but not a favorite
memory of mine."

"We're not going anywhere, are we?" she asked, waving her hands around.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

				VIC

Vic ran like hell around the corner, cybernetic legs carrying him like
the wind.  He crossed the sidewalk, leaped a bench at the bus stop,
sprinted across the road, and jumped onto the hood of a parked car,
rolling over it and landing behind.  He popped up as the cops began to
come into view near the corner.

Out came the tens.

It sounded almost like a popcorn machine, loud, crackling pops that
reverberated off the sides of the buildings.  The first two cops, a
balding veteran-type and a younger one with an earring, both landed on
their backs.  The third, a woman, took one in the hip and stomach and
curled up on the sidewalk.  The fourth got back around the corner in a
hurry, staying out of sight.  A man, previously walking his dog but
presently just rubbernecking, sprawled on the concrete.  The dog, a black
labrador mix, trotted back and started sniffing him.

Where the hell was Greg?

The remaining cop really wanted to help out his pals.  He moved into
sight, then ducked back again when the bullets started flying.  Vic
wasn't in the mood to have people shooting back.

"HEY!" some guy shouted at him, from his side of the sidewalk.
Regular-looking guy, in summer clothes and brandishing a small
automatic.  He took a few shots at Vic, broke a window on the car.  Vic
would find out later that he was an off-duty detective, but that was
unimportant.  He took three tens in the chest and hit the sidewalk.

What was taking Greg so long?

A patrol car pulled into the intersection, lightbar flashing brightly in
living color, blue and red.  Only one cop inside, unfortunately for him.
Vic started firing before he was out.  He left seven holes in the
passenger-side door before it pulled back out of sight in reverse.  He
heard it hit something.

Greg STILL wasn't there yet.

The dog was whining pitifully.  It pawed once at the owner.  This game
wasn't fun for it anymore.  It didn't like the sounds of gunfire.  It
just wanted to go home, maybe play with its tennis ball for a while, go
out back and take a shit, then get to sleep.  The female cop's shock wore
off, and she was screaming.  She'd taken a gutshot, he didn't blame her
for that.  The bald guy raised himself up on his elbows, fumbling for his
dropped pistol.  Vic nailed him in the jaw, spraying his head across the
ground.

Vic ducked back down, checking the ammo counters on the pistols.  Both
were below five.  That was too low.  He popped the mags out and replaced
them, putting the spent ones in his pockets.  It was caseless ammo; the
company didn't like leaving any evidence besides the bullets the coroner
dug out of corpses, and they didn't even like THAT all that much.  No
sense in leaving empty magazines laying around for the homicide people to
find.

Vic was going to kick Greg's Norwegian ass if he ever showed up.

He saw two faces take a quick glance around the corner.  More cops had
showed up.  It didn't surprise him.  There'd been a lot of them.  Either
the other guys had been captured, or else they'd gotten away, and now the
surplus cops were going to take a shot at him, literally.  He saw the
barest patch of a shoulder against the brick corner.  Bad move, he could
shoot through a few inches of brick without a hitch.  He fired twice, saw
bits of stone fly, and heard a shout.  Dumbass cops.  The one that'd been
hit popped into view briefly, firing a few shots off his automatic.
Three thunked into the car.  One whistled past his head.  Not bad.  His
return volley hit the cop in the shin and knee.  Enough of that.  The guy
fell and kept shooting, missing the building behind Vic for the most
part, let alone coming near the car.  Well, not quite enough.  Two more
shots, and the cop was down for good.  The last one, obviously having had
enough of hiding, came out with guns blazing.  More bullets hit the car,
blowing out a tire and putting a hole in the oilpan -- Vic saw the pool
forming underneath.  The oil was black.  The owner of this car needed to
have it changed sometime soon, he'd heard it was bad for it to get that
dark.  He squeezed off some shots of his own, poorly aimed, since he was
constantly ducking.  One got the cop in the groin, dropping him in the
middle of the street.  Vic felt his gorge rise when he heard the screams
begin.  They didn't sound right.

A groundcar screeched around the corner, accelerating hard.  It locked
the tires, slowing down to a mere ten miles per hour or so, back door
hanging open.  It was Greg, finally, grinning wickedly under his mop of
blonde hair.  Vic vaulted from his cover, diving through the open door.
Greg gunned it.  The car thumped over something, and the screams
stopped.  They spun around another corner, into traffic, glanced off a
parked car.  Vic grabbed the edge of the seat to keep from falling out.
When they were moving in a more-or-less straight line, he reached over,
shut the door, and proceeded to get pissed off.

"What the FUCK took you so long?" he roared.

"Hey, sorry, Vic," said Greg, watching the road.  "Boss told me not even
to go for you, but he changed his mind.  The boys saw all those fucking
pigs chasing you, they figured you were gone.  I was just gonna do a
drive-by, actually, see what was up."

"Fucking SHIT!  You see how many people I had to fuck up?" he shouted.
"DID YOU FUCKING SEE?  I HATE FUCKING SHOOTING LIKE THAT!  I HATE IT!  I
FUCKING HATE IT!  GodDAMMIT!"

"I said I was sorry," said Greg.  "How many you get?"

"Couple of cops," he answered.  "Two civies."

"Ahh, they're just cops, man.  Fuck 'em," said Greg.

"Two CIVIES," Vic repeated.

"Fuck them, too.  They shouldn't have been there," said Greg.  "And hey,
I saw that guy in the middle of the road.  Got him right in the balls,
you did.  I ran his ass over, but what the hell, you can take credit for
it, I got the assist."

"Fucking shit, Greg," said Vic.  He vomited out the back window.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So that's what did it?" asked Jetta.  "The cop in the road?"

"Not just that, Jetta," he said.  "It was the whole thing.  Being ditched
out there.  Having to shoot all those people up, unnecessarily.  Wasting
the guy with the dog, seeing the dog licking him.  Poor fucking dog.
Sometimes I think I should've shot it, too, put it out of its misery, it
missed the guy so much.  Hearing the girl screaming.  Seeing that one
cop running out...his eyes, they were crazy, he was crazy, he was
CRYING...he was so crazy from seeing all those other cops getting hit, he
just didn't give a shit whether I got him or not.  It was the whole
thing.  After that, I just couldn't do it anymore.  I had to switch sides
or something."

"Yeah, that sounds kind of fucked," she said, nodding.  "I don't sleep
too much anymore 'cause of that, innocent people I've hit.  Speaking of
which, you oughta get some rest.  We're gonna have a lot of work ahead of
us tomorrow.  Gotta get as deep into the mountains as we can."

"Sounds good.  Who's got first watch?" he asked.

"I'll do the whole night," said Jetta.  "I don't sleep much."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."  She nodded.  "I'll get Roberta some water, too.  Looks like
she'll be out for a while."

Vic nodded and layed back on the pine needles.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

He opened his eyes from an utterly dreamless sleep sometime later.  The
first rays of sun were beginning to show over the horizon.  He'd never
seen a sunrise before.  In most places, there was this perpetual red glow
through the sky at night, and it didn't disappear until the sun was up
high.  It was different out here.  It was nice to see a sunrise.

"Rise and shine," said Jetta, from nearby.  "You say your stomach's
modded pretty well, right?"

"Yeah, it's a nice one, Japanese," he said, yawning and stretching.  His
back hurt like hell.  He wasn't one for toughing it like that.

"Good, 'cause you're gonna LOVE breakfast," she said.  He looked up at
her.  She was holding a large red chunk of flesh, dripping slightly.  Her
hands were both covered in blood.  A furred carcass was beside her,
gutted and partially cut apart.

"What the hell is THAT?" he asked.

"Deer," she said.  "Okay to eat, but I don't want to make a fire.  They'd
be able to zero in on that with a satellite.  We're gonna have us a
little deer sushi, if you know what I mean."  She tossed the meat to him.

It was still warm.

"You expect me to eat this?" he asked.

"I don't give a shit whether you eat it or not, it's all you're gonna get
for now," said Jetta.  She giggled, waving another piece in front of him,
and took a bite out of it.  Her teeth, those jagged shark teeth, cut
right through it.  She raised a hand to wipe the blood off her chin.

"That is SO fucking disgusting," said Vic, chuckling.  He eyed the piece
of venison with distrust, touching his tongue to it once.  "Tastes salty."

"That's the blood," said Jetta, around another mouthful.  "Now eat up,
this is good shit.  Fifty years ago, people payed good money for this stuff."

"Operative phrase: fifty years ago," said Vic.

"Look," said Jetta, getting a little angry.  "I don't care if you like it
or not.  Here's the situation.  You eat it and shut the fuck up, or you
go hungry.  In a few hours, when you're tired and cranky and bitching
about how hungry you are, I'm gonna get pissed, 'cause I don't like
hearing complaints when there's an available solution, all right?  And
the meat's gonna be REALLY nasty in a few hours when it's room
temperature and it's got dirt and flies all over it.  So please, eat the
fucking thing and shut the fuck up."

"It's tougher than shoeleather," he said.

"Then cut it up into pieces with that stunning knife of yours.  I don't
want to hear it, okay?"

"Shit.  Okay."  He pulled out his knife and sliced a small piece off.  He
put it in his mouth.  Disgusting, like he'd figured it would be.  Jetta
noticed his face crinkle up.

"Eat up!" she said, laughing.  "Chow's on!  This is some GOOD shit,
huh?"  She leaned close and bit a piece off his portion, smiling bloodily
at him.

This was not going to be a fun trip for Vic.  He threw up, drawing even
more laughter out of her.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Are we almost there yet?" asked Vic, for the tenth time in less than two
hours.  The sun was no longer visible in the overcast sky.  Rain was
coming down softly and steadily.  The trees stopped most of it, but every
so often they had to cross an open patch of ground, and every time they
did, his clothes absorbed more water.  It was too damp out for them to
dry off.

"You're not even carrying Roberta, so shut the fuck up," muttered Jetta,
walking briskly beside the stream.  It was getting deeper, widening into
a sort of pond, marked here and there with watercress.  The water itself
was unbelievably clear.  The sandy bottom, occasional fish, and bugs and
frogs stood out in sharp clarity.  Vic had never seen water like that.
Even tap water wasn't that clear -- not that tap water counted for much,
it looked brown if you filled up a jug with it.

"Nice fucking trail you got here," said Vic.  "Feels like we're climbing
a fucking mountain."

"We are."  He heard her chuckle ahead of him.

"Can we take a break, then?" he asked.  "My back's killing me."

"You're not even carrying a backpack.  Shut up and keep walking."

"When will we be there?" he asked.

"You'll know when we arrive."

"Fuck you."

"NOT WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE AROUND!" cried Jetta, laughing.  He groaned.

"Well, hold up a second," he said.  "I gotta piss."

"Make sure to put the seat back down after you're done," giggled Jetta.
"And, uhh, try not to get any in the water.  It would go downstream from
where we are, but it's a good habit to get into.  They can test the water
at the end, you know, and see if we're following the stream."

"Yeah, yeah, bitch, bitch, whine, whine," he said.  He stopped by a tree,
threw back the folds of his jacket, and got to work.  His stomach hurt
from the venison.  It was holding the stuff down, but it wasn't enjoying
the job.  Maybe he should've stayed in the city.  At least he would've
been comfortable while on the run.  It just plain sucked out here.

He heard a whirr in the distance.

"SHIT!" cried Jetta.  She ran back into view, grabbing him by the
shoulder.  "INTO THE STREAM!"

"What the FUCK, I'm gonna hit myself!" Vic protested.  She threw, rather
than pushed, him into the water.

"Hold your breath, stay underneath," said Jetta.

"What about Roberta?" he asked.

"Oh, SHIT.  She'll have to hold her breath too."  Jetta tossed Roberta
onto the ground, pinched her nose, and exhaled a full breath into her
lungs.  She clamped her hand over the woman's mouth before she could
breathe out and carried her into the water.

"DOWN!" shouted Jetta, plunging under the surface.  It was too shallow to
stand in and remain submerged.  He reclined onto his back, looking
through the wavy surface.  Jetta was doing the same.  Staying down wasn't
hard; with all his implants, he sank like a rock.

A dark dot passed through the sky above them, visible between the gaps in
the foliage.  Vic felt his stomach tighten.  He hoped he wouldn't puke
underwater.  He'd never done that, but he didn't think it would be pretty
if he did.

He watched it with interest, trying to make his eyes focus on it so he
could magnify it.  It took a little effort; the water fucked things up.
He finally saw it well.  It was a flyer, black, much like the one he and
Roberta had shot the hell out of back in Seattle.  Yakuza?  Possibly,
there were no insignia on it.  It had a gun turret underneath, rocket
tubes on either wing.  ROCKET TUBES?  They were evidently very serious
about this little pursuit.  He wondered whether they were HE warheads, or
else firebombs.  Probably some of each.  They might even have had worse
stuff than that.

He saw two other dots further away, to the north...or maybe the east, he
wasn't sure without the sun in the sky.  They were in close formation,
heading towards the flyer.  Allies?  Possibly.  He focused on those.

They were missiles.  He smiled, then winced as cold water filled his
mouth, making his teeth hurt.  He turned his head to look at Jetta.  His
underwater vision wasn't bad at all, not with the protective covers his
eyes had, and he could see that she was smiling, too.  She'd seen the
missiles.

The flyer made a tight turn and started accelerating.  The missiles
closed in on it.  A third missile came into view behind the first two.
They were getting real close to the flyer now, which was almost out of
their view.

The first missile exploded some distance away.  Something had hit it.  He
saw something fly out of the back of the flyer -- it looked like a cloud
of glittering dust, and flares.  He'd heard something about those
sometime before, but it was old technology, pretty useless against modern
missiles.  But then again, modern missiles were a lot bigger than the
ones up above them.

The remaining missiles swerved away, chasing the new targets.  Both
corrected themselves after a moment.  The first, though, seemed almost
indecisive.  It tried to turn, decided not to, began to turn again, and
finally exploded.

The last one, though, zeroed in on the flyer like an arrow flying at a
bullseye.  The flyer passed out of sight, then the missile.

He heard a boom, even under water.

Jetta poked him in the shoulder, getting his attention.  She jerked a
thumb upwards and surfaced.  They hadn't even been under all that long,
maybe twenty seconds.  With his aftermarket lungs and relatively tiny
amount of organic materials in his body, he could hold his breath for a
LONG time.  He could've done twenty seconds easy without even taking a
breath before going under.

"Fucking shit," muttered Jetta.  "If I'd known someone was gonna blow his
ass away, I would've never gotten in that fucking water."  She wrapped
her arms around her body and shivered.  "Glacial meltwater.  Wait'll we
get further into the mountains, it gets all cloudy with pulverized stone."

"Why'd we get in the water?" asked Vic.

"Probably running thermal sensors.  That's what you're supposed to run in
woods like these," said Jetta.  "That and radar, neither would pick us
up.  If they knew we were in the stream, they MIGHT have been able to
spot us with binoculars, but they didn't."

"I'm a little worried, Jetta.  Someone shot missiles at him," said Vic.

"Vic," she said, matter-of-factly, pointing at his still-unzipped pants,
"you didn't piss in the water, did you?"

"You're not listening to me," said Vic, fastening his pants and trying to
be inconspicuous about it.  "Someone shot missiles at the flyer."

"I'd like to shake their hand," said Jetta, smiling.  "Now let's get
going.  Err, hold on."  She knelt down beside Roberta and listened.
"Yep, she's still alive.  Oh, well.  Time to get going, I guess, and now
YOU get to carry her."

"Shit," muttered Vic.  "Umm, hey...shouldn't we head towards that flyer?
They might have supplies."

"Probably not," said Jetta.  "They weren't planning on being shot down.
The survivors would try to kill us, if there are any.  Every crazy
motherfucker in the hills will be heading there, as will any backup that
decides to arrive.  We're best off just getting out of here, keeping a
low profile, and jumping back in the water if more come.  And speaking of
which, keep moving, it'll keep you warm."

"Yeah, well, maybe it's on fire, and we can warm the fuck up for once,"
groaned Vic.  "This weather sucks."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm back," called Jetta, emerging from the inky blackness surrounding
the impromptu campsite.  She was carrying a bird in either hand.  She
dropped them both next to the stack of wood and smiled.

"Nice," he said, nodding.  "You sure you want a fire?  They might locate us."

"I don't give a shit if they do or not," she said.  "If we don't dry out
these clothes, we're gonna run out of steam REAL quick, and it'll be one
shitty night.  We NEED the fire.  So get it lit."  She tossed him a
lighter.  "Light the fluffy shit at the bottom first and stack the bigger
stuff loosely over it, small stuff on bottom, big stuff on top.  Keep it
small, we won't need much.  I'm gonna pluck these birds.  Once that thing
gets burning, put the coats next to it.  We need those dry as soon as
possible.  The other stuff can wait."

Vic clicked the lighter on.  It was a flameless one, used something in it
-- butane?  He wasn't sure how they worked, but it lit the tinder right
up.  He handed it back to Jetta and watched the small beginning flames
licking up, catching slowly but steadily to the other materials.

"When's Roberta going to wake up?" he asked, holding his hands beside it,
trying to soak up what little warmth was coming out of the small fire.

"I look like a doc?" asked Jetta.  "Don't know.  I'd think she'd be awake
by now, or something.  Maybe she won't wake up, I don't know."

"I thought you knew how these things worked," he said, a little annoyed.

"You mean, have I used one for a wound like that?  Hell yes, but I didn't
pass out," said Jetta.

Vic nodded and looked up at the sky.  The stars shined back down at him.
It'd been a long time since he'd seen them.  He wasn't sure that he HAD
ever seen them, not really, just pictures.  Too much smog in the cities.
The sky was clearer out here, no glow from the lights, no dirty air from
the industry.  It'd be nice to have a house out here, he thought.  Well,
kind of nice.  Maybe it wouldn't be that nice, after all.  But the view
would be nice.

It would make one hell of a story someday, anyhow.

"Vic," said Jetta.  He turned.

"Kinky is using a feather.  Perverted is using the whole bird."  She
tossed a carcass to him, cleaned and plucked.  "And you even get to cook
it this time, lucky you."

"Lucky me."  She handed him a stick.

"Run the stick through it and let it sit over the fire," she said.
"There's a little bit of fat on it.  Eat it.  You'll starve to death if
you don't get enough."

"You can starve to death on a full stomach?" he asked.

"Hell yes."  She smiled.  "And your stomach won't be full after this, but
it's all I could find, so be happy.  There's some blackberries growing
around for dessert.  Eat some of 'em, you need the vitamin C, and the
sugar'll kill your appetite."

"You've got EVERYTHING figured out, don't you?" he asked.

"Just about."  She put her own bird over the fire and peeled her shirt
off, hanging it beside it.  Vic glanced at her.

"Entertainment's included in the cost?" he asked.

"Shit, Vic, the amount of porn that used to be on your computer, I'd
figure this'd be nothing unusual," she said, chuckling.  She pulled her
boots off, shook them out, and set them next to the fire.  She started
unbuckling her belt.  "I'd suggest you do the same, too, unless you like
freezing your ass off."

"Well, I wouldn't exactly want to offend your virgin eyes," he retorted.

"Fuck you, Vic."  She hung her jeans up.  Vic watched her through his
shades.  "Someone's gonna have to get Roberta's clothes, too.  You wanna
do it, or am I gonna have to?"

"I think you'd better," he said, taking off his shirt.

"You're gonna want your camera for this," she said.  "And if she wakes up
while I'm doing this, you're gonna have to explain, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," he said.

Jetta hung up Roberta's clothes, holding a good deal more water than
their own -- they hadn't wrung hers out.  Vic didn't blame her for
staying comatose, he wouldn't want to wake up to that either.  The two of
them grabbed Roberta's arms and dragged her closer to the fire, taking
care not to leave her too close to it.  They only wanted to cook the birds.

"What's that medibot made of?  Plastic?" asked Jetta.

"I didn't build the fucking thing, how should I know?" he asked.

Jetta flicked it with her fingers.  "Plastic.  Good.  Didn't want it
getting hot.  God forbid pretty-girl there should ever get a scar."  She
chuckled.  "Where's she from, anyway?  She doesn't strike me as
American.  Euro?"

"Close.  South African.  Praetorian," said Vic.

"Fucking Praetorians," muttered Jetta.  "Always bitching about the
blacks.  Ever thought that MAYBE, just MAYBE, the blacks were there first?"

Vic grinned.  "The thought HAD crossed my mind."

"Always making threats, talking about all these nukes they have.  Shit."
She tapped Roberta with her foot.  "I'd think they'd use the damn things
by now.  Take a shit or get off the pot."

"Hey, I'm not the Praetorian, don't argue ethics with me," he said,
shrugging helplessly.

"You still cold?" asked Jetta.

"Hell yes."

"Good.  I'm gonna warm you up."  She smiled wickedly and pushed him down
on the ground.

"What the HELL?" he asked, looking a little alarmed.

"Hey, come on, Vic, you're not getting nervous on me, are you?" she
asked, feigning a pout.  "I mean, we've done this before, you know."

"Yeah, but you were a completely different person," he said.

"Then it'll be a new experience for you, won't it?" she asked, turning
her palms up.

"What if I said I didn't want to?" he asked.

"I'd know you're lying.  What's THAT, huh?" she asked, looking down.
"I'd call that a grade-A erection if I didn't know any better, but I'm
not a biologist, so I could be wrong.  What caused THAT?"

"Roberta?" he said meekly.

"Not unless you're a necrophiliac.  Something about you I should know
about?" she asked, giggling.  She frowned jokingly.  "Now lay down and
shut up."

"Hey, no arguing with that," he said, shrugging.

It was actually a little awkward.  Jetta had to keep reminding him to
keep her hands off her hips because the data ports on his hands
interefered with her biocomp's external interface.  She had to keep her
own hands off his chest, because of the exposed embedded armor plates,
and he had to keep the back of his head off the ground to make sure none
of the pine needles got inside any chip slots.  After a bit, things got
running more or less smoothly, though, and it was definately something
they both needed.

And it WAS a new experience for him.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Day six.

"Hold up," said Jetta, raising her hand cautiously.  She was looking into
the foliage at something he couldn't see.

"What?" asked Vic, a little alarmed.  "Should I set Roberta down?"

"No.  Keep her in sight," said Jetta.  "And keep your hand off your
fucking gun."

"Keep her in sight of WHAT?" he asked, now very alarmed.

"Remember how I said I'd like to shake the hand of the guy that blew up
the flyer yesterday?" asked Jetta.

"Yeah," he said.

"Looks like we'll get the chance," said Jetta.

"Your memory isn't THAT bad.  You remembered that you said that
yesterday," said Vic.

"Only 'cause I thought we were being watched when I said it," said
Jetta.  "Now stay quiet and don't move suddenly, please.  I'd like to
leave a good first impression."

"Sounds cool," he said.

"We're just passing through," Jetta said, a little louder.  "We don't
want any trouble.  Are we intruding?"

Vic tensed, waiting for an answer.  None came.

"You sure there's someone there?" he asked.

"Yes," said Jetta.  "Look to my right, ten feet in."

He squinted.  He didn't see anything there.

"You SURE?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm sure, dammit.  Now shut up," she said.  She turned to face the
forest again.  "If we're intruding, we'll take a different route.  We
don't want any trouble.  We're sorry to disturb you."

"Damn, Jetta, I think you're going ov-" he began.

"You're...you're not disturbing me," came the answer.

He shut up.

The voice was high and feminine, very soft.  "I'm...I'm sorry.  I don't
see new faces very often in this place.  I didn't mean to startle you."

The forest seemed to move...ten feet to Jetta's right, just as she'd
said.  It was that photoreactive stuff, a poncho.  He could see it trying
hard to blend in as the figure stepped out into a forest's version of
open ground.  Two arms came out of nowhere, throwing back the hood.

It was a young woman, with pale skin and long, glossy dark hair pulled
back in a ponytail.  The skin tone didn't surprise him.  He'd seen living
rooms that got more sun than this fucking state did.  EVERYONE was pale
around here.  The ones that weren't were either visitors or fakebakers.

Now that he could see her, Vic decided she was definately fuckable.  At
the same time, he also gained a better insight into the way his mind
worked, the mental checklist it used.

BRAIN: Is it dangerous?

SENSES: Not really.  Maybe, but we don't think so.

BRAIN: I'm not paying you to think.  Is it dangerous or not?

SENSES: Probably not.

BRAIN: Is it fuckable?

SENSES: Hell yes.

BRAIN: Okay...let me handle this.  And for God's sake, don't tell the penis,
       okay?

SENSES: He probably knows already, but okay.



"He knows," Vic muttered to himself.

"What?" asked Jetta.

"Nothing."  He shrugged.  "Just talking to myself."

"This is Vic," said Jetta.  "I'm Jetta.  That woman he's carrying is
Roberta.  She's in bad shape."

"I'm the Ghost," said the woman.

"The Ghost?" asked Jetta.

"Yes."  She nodded.  "Where are you from?"

"Seattle," said Jetta.

"Seattle?" asked the Ghost.  "I've always wanted to go there.  Where are
you headed?"

"North."

"You're a little off course, then," said the Ghost.  "That is all right,
thought.  I can give you directions to go north."  She thought for a
moment.  "I should invite you to my home, shouldn't I?"

"Well, actually, that's up to you," Jetta chuckled.  "There's no hard and
fast rule about that.  Personally, I don't invite anyone that staggers
out of the woods into my house, but that's just me."  She patted the
Ghost on the shoulder.  The woman recoiled.

"I'm sorry," said Jetta, taking a step back.  She raised her hands
disarmingly.

"No...I...I'm sorry," said the Ghost.  "I'm not used to having visitors
that I don't know.  It's my fault."  She looked down at the ground sadly,
then smiled at them.  "Yes, come back home with me.  You look very tired."

"Hey, that's cool with us," said Jetta.  "That okay with you, Vic?"

"Any woman that invites me in without me saying a single word is okay by
me," said Vic.

"Don't mind him," said Jetta knowingly.  "Can I have a word with you
privately for a moment, Vic?"

"Sure," he said.

"Just a sec," Jetta said to the Ghost.  She stepped over to Vic, dropping
her voice to a whisper.  "Vic, we're dealing with an insecure crazy here
who's obviously got access to sophisticated technology.  You don't see
clothing like that every day.  So I'd appreciate it if you used some
rational thought and didn't think with your dick right now, okay?"

"I was just joking around," he explained.

"Well, she doesn't look like she has a well-developed sense of humor, so
knock it off."  She looked back at the Ghost and smiled.  "All set."

Vic raised his eyebrow and thought about it for a moment.


Vic chuckled.  If only the shrinks knew what he did about the inner
workings of the brain.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------



From: Tranquility <blitz@crow.cybercomm.net>
Subject: Looking Back, part 2
Date: Mon, 25 Sep 1995 22:35:23 -0400


"This is your place?" asked Jetta.

It was a log cabin, if Vic had ever seen one.  It wasn't actually
anything to marvel at, aside from the windows -- he wondered where they'd
come from.  It was out in a cleared area, something that made him a
little nervous.  It would be very easy to spot from the air, even without
sensors of any kind.

"Yes," said the Ghost.  "Teclid and Billy built it, but Teclid moved
away.  He lives closer to the Complex."

"Complex?" asked Vic.

"I'll tell you about it later.  It's not a nice place," said the Ghost.

They strolled into the cabin.  The inside was bare wooden walls, a dirt
floor with rubberized mats rolled over it.  There was a cot against one
wall in the corner -- it was made of tubular steel pipes and a thin
mattress.  Not something you'd build out in the woods.  There were a few
chairs -- those metal ones with the padded bottoms and backs that rolled
around.  Office chairs.  There were two tables, both desks from modular
workstations.  Office tables.  Vic found it a little odd.  There were
boxes along two of the walls, crates with the lids resting loosely on
top.  Looking up, he saw thick wooden supports running across, planks and
more mats laying across the top to form a usable, albeit low, upper
story.  A crude ladder lead up through a hole in the ceiling.  Here and
there, he saw open areas where it'd collapsed or it was simply impossible
to cover.

And suddenly, the three of them were staing an upside-down bald black man
in the face.  Vic and Jetta actually jumped.

"Whoa," he said, smiling.  "Didn't mean to scare you like that."

"This is Billy," said the Ghost, smiling at them.  "He lives here, too.
Billy, this is Jetta, Vic, and Roberta.  They're going to be staying here
a while, I suppose."

"Great," said Billy.  "We don't get too many visitors back here."  Vic
looked up at where he was hanging on to a rafter.  He had no feet.  There
were two completely different appendages, looking more like hands than
anything else, in their place, gripping one of the beams solidly.  He
released it, somersaulted, and landed on his feet, grinning.

"Now those are interesting," said Jetta, looking down at whatever those
replacements for his feet were called.

"My feet?" asked Billy.  Okay, so they WERE feet, they just looked and
acted like hands.  No big deal.

"Yeah.  Nice mod," she said.

"What's a mod?" he asked.

"Implant.  They put those on surgically?"

"No," said Billy solemnly.  "I was born with them."

Jetta raised her eyebrows.

"He's one of us," the Ghost explained.  "From the Complex."

"You know, Ghost," said Jetta, "maybe now would be a good time to tell us
what the Complex is."

"In a bit," said the Ghost.  "We've got to look after your friend.  She
doesn't look very good.  Hold on, I've got more cots upstairs."  She
climbed up the ladder, disappearing from sight.

"Hey, that's a nice bot on her," said Billy, nodding appreciatively.
"Kinda old, though, but a good model.  Not surprised they're still using
'em."

"You know alot about medibots?" asked Vic.

"I used to be a medtech," he said.  He frowned.  "Well, something like
that, I didn't actually have a liscence...you do need a lisence, don't you?"

"Not sure.  I'd think you would, though," said Vic.

"Could someone get this, please?" asked the Ghost.  A cot fell down
through the ladder hole, clattering on the floor.  Another fell, then one
more.  The Ghost dropped back down and smiled widely.

"One for each of you," she said happily.  "We should get Roberta set up
on hers, though.  If you take her clothes off, I'll wash them the next
time I do the wash.  I've got some things she could wear, but they might
be a little long on her."

"That's okay," said Jetta.  "She doesn't look like she'll mind.  Billy,
you say you used to be a medtech?"

"Yesiree," he said, beaming.

"Good.  We're going to need your help," she said.  "Roberta took a bullet
in the chest and she's been out for almost a week."

"Put her on the cot," said Billy, growing serious.  "Quickly.  You might
as well get her clothes off now.  Ghostie, do you have a nightgown for her?"

"Here's one," said the Ghost, digging through a crate.  It was a long,
white cotton deal, the kind Vic's mother used to wear.  He chuckled
inwardly at the thought.  Italians ate good, and his mother's nightgown
had been a good deal larger.

"Here's the problem," he said, when the medibot was fully exposed.  "This
is an old model.  It doesn't have an automatic reset.  These older ones,
when you use them, they treat the wound and stabilize the victim.  If
they're in bad shape, it'll keep them in a coma, supposedly to wait for
real medical attention.  You say it's been on for a week?"

"Almost," Jetta replied.

"Then it should've done its work by now.  We have to take it off."  He
flipped up a panel on the side, fiddled with some switches, and popped it
off like a sticker.  The bullet wound was an ugly red scab, but the flesh
around it looked normal -- no infection.  That was a good sign.

"How long 'till she wakes up?" asked Vic.

"A few hours.  She'll be very unsteady for a few days afterwards," said
Billy.

"Would you mind terribly if we crashed here until she's well enough to
move?" asked Jetta.  "We can pull our own weight, but pulling hers too
was starting to get pretty annoying."

"I don't have a problem with it," said Billy.

"Me neither.  It sounds good to me," said the Ghost.  "It's nice to have
visitors.  You're going to have to tell me about Seattle."

"Oh, shit," said Jetta, chuckling.  "You're asking the wrong people.
You're not gonna want to go anymore after I tell you about it."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So, Ghost," said Jetta, raising the hatchet.  "Where'd you get all that
furniture?  It doesn't look handmade."

The hatchet definately wasn't, either.  Technologically, it wasn't
exactly a piece of art, but a hatchet was a hatchet.  This one was steel,
well-oiled and sharp, with a rubber handle and a leather sheath.  It
looked old, but not too old.  She swung it down gently, splitting the
piece of wood she was working on.  She tossed the two halves into the
kindling pile beside her.

The Ghost was handling the maul, splitting the big pieces for actual
firewood.  She looked a little comical, wielding the huge axe, but if you
were doing it right, it wasn't actually all that hard.  You weren't
supposed to swing it down, you just let it drop, supposedly, and the
weight did all the work.  Jetta had never split wood before, so she
didn't know.  That's what she'd heard.

"We took it from the Complex," said the Ghost.

"Could you tell me about the Complex?" asked Jetta.

"It's a bad place," she said.  "It's big and spooky.  I don't like going
there much.  I only go there when I have to, and I bring Billy with me.
It scares me."

"What is it?" asked Jetta.

"The place we came from," said the Ghost, as if that explained everything.

"I mean, WHAT is it?"

"Actually, this whole place is the Complex," she said.  "But all the
buildings are in one place.  But the Line goes out a lot further."

"What's the Line?" asked Jetta.

"You can't cross it," said the Ghost.  "Well, you can.  You did.  But we
can't.  If we do, we die.  I've seen people try to cross it before."

"How...how do they die?" asked Jetta.

"They just fall down," said the Ghost.  "They scream and fall down, and
they die.  Sometimes their heads explode.  Billy said it's an implanted
bomb that does it, that the Line makes them explode."

This was starting to make sense to her now.

"Is there any warning?  Like a beep or something when you get close?"
asked Jetta.

"No, no warning.  Billy said they couldn't give us a warning, that if
they did, we'd figure out how far the Line extended and how to get past
it," said the Ghost.

"Who are they?"

"They're dead, too," said the Ghost.

"How'd they die?"

"We killed them," she said simply.

"What?" asked Jetta.

"They taught me how to do it," said the Ghost.  "They taught Teclid to do
it, too.  Some of the others know how to do it.  Hidden knows how, too.
The ones that didn't know, we taught them how when we knew we had to kill
them."

Okay.  Maybe this WASN'T starting to make sense.  But Jetta would make
sense of it, sooner or later.

"I don't understand," said Jetta.

"Like this," said the Ghost.  She held her fingers together and poked
Jetta in the throat.  "You can do it like that, but it hurts them a lot,
so I don't like to do it that way.  Teclid does, though."  She pushed the
edge of her hand against the side of Jetta's neck.  "Or like this, this
way doesn't hurt them as much, but it doesn't always kill them.  There
are a lot of ways to do it."

"Ghost," said Jetta, drawing one of her pistols.  "Do you know what this is?"

"Yes," said the Ghost.  "They had a lot of those.  I don't like them."

"I don't like them much, either," said Jetta, nodding.  She put it away.
"Are they all dead?"

"I don't know.  I think so.  They don't know the woods very well, like we
do," she said.

"When did you kill them?"

"Years ago," said the Ghost.

"Did any more of them come?" asked Jetta.

"They did, a few times," said the Ghost.  "The first time, they didn't
bother us, so we left them alone.  The second time they killed Ethan and
Norm, so we killed all of them.  Whenever they come now, we kill them,
but they haven't come in two years.  I don't think they're going to come
back."

"I don't blame them," said Jetta.  "What are they like?"

"I don't like talking about this," said the Ghost.

"Okay, okay...could you tell me more about the Complex?"

"I don't like going there," said the Ghost.

"Are there buildings?"

"Yes," she said.  "Two very big ones, made of stone.  The Towers are
right near them.  So is the Reservoir.  The House is near there, too, but
I never go to the House."

"Tell me about those, Ghost," said Jetta.

"Two of the Towers fell down," she said.  "The third will fall down very
soon.  The fourth is still standing, though.  The Reservoir isn't clear
anymore like it used to be.  The House is scary.  We don't go there.
Hidden lives there, and he kills anyone that goes in."

"Who is Hidden?" asked Jetta.

"He's a very bad person," said Ghost.

"But who is he?"

"I just told you," she said.  "He lives in the House."

"Have you ever seen him?" asked Jetta.

"Once," said the Ghost.  "Outside, he was hunting.  He's very tall, but
he's quiet, like a cat or a mouse, and he moves very quickly.  I don't
think I would've seen him if he hadn't wanted to be seen.  He's very
clever like that."

"Is he human?" asked Jetta.

"Yes, but he has little spikes on his arms and chest and legs," said the
Ghost.

What the fuck?

"Armor?" asked Jetta.


"No, that's just what he looks like," said the Ghost.


"Is Billy human?"

"Yes."

"Are you human?"

"Yes."

"Am I human?"

"I don't know," said the Ghost.

THAT'S what the problem was.  She and the Ghost had different views on
just what a human was.

"You and Billy are from the Complex?" asked Jetta.

"Yes."

"Are Hidden and Teclid from the Complex?"

"Yes," she said.

"They helped you kill them?"

"Hidden killed them whenever he could," said the Ghost.  "Even before the
rest of us started.  He likes to kill things.  Teclid likes to kill them,
but he doesn't like to kill us.  Teclid wanted to kill them all the time,
but he only started when the rest of us did.  He loves us very much, you
know, but he has problems showing it.  Hidden is very cruel, though.  He
killed anything he could, whenever he could.  He killed us before we
started killing them, too."

"Hidden doesn't sound like a very nice guy," said Jetta.

"He's not a nice person," said the Ghost.

"He would kill me if he saw me?"

"Yes."

"Would Teclid?" asked Jetta.

"Probably not.  He's very nice sometimes, like when he helped build my
house."

"Ghost," said Jetta, "do we look like them?"

"You don't," said the Ghost.  "Vic does, a little, but his hair's too
long and he's not wearing the right clothes.  Roberta does a little,
too.  When I came out, I thought he was going to hurt you and I was going
to kill him.  I'm glad I didn't.  He's a very nice person."

"Sometimes," said Jetta.

"You're a very nice person too," said the Ghost.

"Not usually, but I'm glad you think so," said Jetta, smiling.  She
patted the Ghost on the shoulder.  "What IS the Complex?"

"I think I'll have to take you there later," said the Ghost.

"That would be great," said Jetta.  "I think I'm going to have to see
it.  I don't really know what's going on.  Can you show me the House?"

"The House?" asked the Ghost, dropping the maul.  Her eyes widened.  "You
want to go to the House?"

"I want to see it," said Jetta.

"But it's such a BAD place," said the Ghost.  "Even worse than the
Complex or the Towers.  Please don't go there.  Hidden will kill you, and
it's very scary.  Please don't.  I hate the House.  Don't go to the House."

The Ghost was sobbing now.  Maybe Jetta had pushed her over the line.
She stood up and hugged the woman, comforting her.

"I'm sorry, Ghost," she said.  "We won't go there, okay?"

"Okay," said the Ghost.  "Thank you.  The House is bad."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So what IS the Complex?" asked Vic.  He pulled the last screw out of the
ten and took it apart, laying the pieces out on a towel.  The inside was
absolutely filthy, as he'd thought, and not quite dry yet.  He didn't
want it to rust on him.  He started wiping the pieces down with the
corner of the towel.

"It's a bad place," said Billy.  "You don't want to go there, man.
Here's some oil for that."  He passed a tube to Vic.  "It's a little
thick, but it ought to do.  Anyway, the Complex, it's a research
facility.  At least, it used to be, before we wrecked the place."

"Really?" asked Vic.

"Yeah," he said, fiddling with the medibot.  "Some company ran it, I
don't know which one.  I think.  This is sort of speculation.  I don't
really know all the facts.  Anyway, they were running it...biotech
research.  Ghostie and I were born there.  I figure we were projects."
He held his feet up, clenching and unclenching the fingers on them.
"Regular people don't have these, do they?"

"What's regular?" asked Vic.

"Yeah.  Good point.  But you and Roberta and Jetta don't have them, and
you're from the outside," said Billy.  "And none of the workers at the
Complex had them, so I figure that they're some sort of modification, and
that I'm not normal.  Ghost is different.  She has the feet, but they did
something to her.  She's really very amazing.  You'd be surprised how
strong she is.  Teclid's a lot like her, but he's a male.  They made a
lot of us like her, I guess she was more or less a success, but then they
started killing them all off one day."

"And what happened?" asked Vic.

"We killed them right back," said Billy.  "They'd taught the ones like
Teclid and Ghost to fight, and they taught us.  So we went and killed
every single one of them, and we ran free.  Well, not completely free,
but the closest thing to freedom we're gonna get."

"That's wild," said Vic, smiling.  "Kind of weird, though."

"Yeah," said Billy.  "We can't leave, though."

"Why not?"

"They were letting us run wild around in here, in the woods surrounding
the Complex.  Sort of like field testing," he said.  "That's one of the
reasons why I think that we were projects of some sort.  But they put
bombs in us, in our brains or hearts.  There's an electronic fence
surrounding the perimeter of the playground they gave us.  Cross it, and
the bombs go off.  It's been about five or six years since we killed
them, but the Line is still there.  Anyway, I think it is.  Janey hit it
six months ago, so if it's lasted this long, I think it's still around
now."

"That's quite a story," said Vic.  "Damn.  All this shit back here in the
woods?  Amazing."

"Yeah, it is, actually," he said.

"And they never tried to take it back?" he asked.

"Oh, of course they did," said Billy.  "The first time they just went up
to the Complex and had a look around.  That was just after the killing.
Then, they came back a week later and started shooting off missiles from
flyers.  We had the Stingers that we'd snatched from the Complex, so we
started firing away and we blew most of them up.  They tried coming in
from the air two other times, and once on foot.  We just shoot on sight
now.  Anything that flies over gets wasted if we see it.  Not that we
LIKE killing, but you can't be too careful these days."

"They come by here a lot?" asked Vic nervously.

"Hell no.  They haven't been by in years.  I think they gave up on us.
They had enough time to take whatever it was that was so important to
them the first time they came," said Billy.  "After that, they were just
hunting us.  But they built us to be better than human, and we are, man,
we are."  He smiled.  "You ought to see me when I get to work on
something.  Four hands, man.  Imagine it."

"I can imagine."

"I looked through their database right after we killed them, before they
sent in the cavalry," said Billy.  "I was one of the only ones that knew
how to use computers.  It was crazy, the shit they were doing.  Lot of
genetic manipulation, gene splicing, stuff like that.  Hell, they even
made Hidden.  They were playing God before they understood Christianity,
if you know what I mean."

"Who's Hidden?" asked Vic.

"They took alien DNA and spliced it with human stuff," he said.  "Not
sure how it works, I'm a medtech, not a geneticist.  From what I
understand, they take the two, join it where it's compatable, add or
delete sections where it's not, and cut out the stuff that'll NEVER work
and sub in something that will.  Really amazing stuff.  That's how they
made Hidden."

"He have a bomb, too?" asked Vic.

"Yeah.  We all do.  I think that's why they gave up on killing us.  It's
not like we're going to be going anywhere, and if the truth of this gets
out, there'll be repercussions."  He smiled.  "I was friends with a few
of the workers.  They used to let me read news faxes.  If something like
this came out, Vic, this company would be in a lot of trouble, so they
ignore us for the most part now."

"They don't sound like bad guys," said Vic.

"No, no," said Billy, chuckling.  "A few of them were nice people.
They'd sneak dessert in to us, let us read faxes or watch movies, give us
books on paper to read -- they didn't let us read books on the
computers.  They were afraid of teaching us how to use computers, afraid
that we'd gain access and cripple the place, it was all
computer-controlled.  I think they were the people that actually made us
and watched us grow."  He smiled sadly.  "They treated us like their
children, a few of them."  He looked at Vic.  "I know what you're
thinking.  We didn't kill them."

"Who did?" asked Vic.

"Hidden," spat Billy.  "He killed everything he saw."

"Sounds like an asshole," said Vic.

"He was," said Billy.  "Most of the workers were pretty nasty, too.  I
didn't have a problem killing them."

"So what's the Complex like?" he asked.

"Well, there's the actual research place -- it's two big buildings, one
for the actual lab work and study, the other sort of an
administration/barracks building.  Originally, they kept us in there,
too, the ones that weren't being studied, but eventually they started
letting us go outside for longer and longer periods of time, and then
they just let us stay out when they were done with us.  Every so often,
some of the workers would come out to talk to us, ask us some questions,
take a look at how we were living.  They were the nice ones."

"I can understand that," said Vic.

"I'm getting off the subject, though," said Billy.  "There were those two
buildings.  There was a reservoir nearby, the Reservoir.  The power plant
was back there, too.  Nuclear, I believe, but I could be wrong -- I'm
just going by the tech manuals here.  Norm had a real knack for stuff
like that, he said it was nuclear.  He shut it down after we did all the
killing.  He said we could start it up once we made sure we understood
what it did, how it did it, and just what it was capable of.
Unfortunately, he died a little while later, so it's still off, and no
one knows how to turn the thing back on.  The Towers are near there, too."

"Towers?" asked Vic.

"Yeah, the Towers.  There were going to build some other stuff back
there.  Whatever it was, they needed the Towers.  Four of them, brick,
pretty big, maybe a hundred feet tall or so -- real high.  Three years
ago one fell down in a storm.  It'd been hit by a missile and it was
pretty unsteady, so it fell.  It hit the second one and damaged that one
pretty badly.  The second fell down a few weeks after in another
windstorm and landed on the third.  The third's holding it up, but it's
in bad shape.  The fourth is just fine, though.  I'll have to take you
and Jetta up there someday.  The view is great."

"Fucking wild," said Vic, chuckling.

"And then there's the House," said Billy, losing his smile.

"The House?" he asked.

"A mansion.  HUGE.  I think the executives were living there or
something.  I can't figure out how the hell it got out here in the middle
of nowhere, because it is HUGE," said Billy.  "I haven't seen the inside
much...just a peek through the front door.  The windows used to be
boarded up, but Hidden ripped all the boards off for some reason.  He
lives out there, has the whole place to himself.  You don't want to go
there."

"Not if Hidden's living there," said Vic.

"He kills everyone he sees.  It's a bad idea to even walk BY the place,
let alone go in," said Billy.  "He's killed people a good distance away
from it.  Disembowels them, skins them, and takes the heads -- and from
what I hear, not in that order."

"Okay, I'd understand not wanting to meet him in person.  Reputation'll
be fine," said Vic.  "So, how many of you did they have at the Complex,
when it was running?"

"A lot," said Billy.  "I never met them all, I couldn't take a count.
I'd say several hundred."

"How many now?"

"Seventy or so," he said.  "Spread out a lot over the area.  When we had
the big fight against the workers, a lot of us died...we didn't have any
guns.  After that, the winter killed off some more, and the animals and
disease killed even more.  You know what, though?"

"No.  What?" asked Vic.

"I think they did it on purpose, man," said Billy.  "I think they
arranged for us to take the Complex, and decided to leave us alone now
because they're watching us with satellites, seeing what we do.  This is
one big fucking experiment to them, I bet."

"Knowing them, it might be," said Vic.  "You know, I used to work for a
corporation like that, but they were into weapons and personal defense,
not biotechnology.  Jetta, though...she got captured by some of them
once, so I hear.  She had to escape through an abandoned R&D wing.  Says
she still has nightmares about what she saw there.  Is it THAT bad?"

"How many people walk around in Seattle on their hands?" asked Billy,
winking.

"No, no, I mean...well...she told me a story about this one thing they
had there," said Vic.  "She said it looked like a skinny guy that was
turned inside-out.  They kept him in this little glass tank, he couldn't
hardly roll over, let alone move, but he watched everything that went on
outside the tank, and he had a sucker instead of a mouth, like a
lamprey.  He'd bite the glass whenever someone got too close to the tank."

"There wasn't too much like that," Billy conceeded.  "Just downstairs."

"There WAS stuff like that?" asked Vic, horrified.  "I thought she was
bullshitting me!"

"Something just like that, Vic," said Billy.  "You almost described it to
a T...I wouldn't call it a 'him', though.  I'm not sure what it was.
They kept it in a tank like that, too.  But it wasn't red, it was green.
It still looked like someone who's been turned inside-out, but it was
light green."

"You kill it?" asked Vic.

"We would've.  We killed a lot of the nasty things like that.  Mercy
killing, it couldn't have been enjoying its life like that," said Billy.
"We didn't kill that thing, though."

"Why not?"

"They let it go before we could."

"Holy shit," groaned Vic.

"In the Reservoir.  That's why we don't get our water from there
anymore," said Billy.  "It's still in there, last I heard.  That thing is
pretty harmless if you stay away from it, though.  There was this one
thing they made..."

"I really don't want to hear about it, if you don't mind," said Vic,
holding his hand up.

"That's cool," said Billy.  "I don't blame you."

"So who lives around here?" he asked.

"Well, Ghostie and I live hear.  Teclid roams around, doesn't really have
a house, but he stays around here," said Billy.  "Jillian lives right
nearby.  She's not one of the combat ones, like Ghost and Teclid...she's
a tech, like me, but she works with robotics.  You might want to have her
take a look at that bot of yours, she'd fix it, no problem.  And then
there's Jermalayn, she doesn't live too far away, and you'd be surprised
how sane she is, but she's a loner.  Most of the others live on the other
side of the Complex.  That's why we don't see each other too often...no
one likes to cross it."

"Makes sense," said Vic.  He glanced around, thought for a moment, and
leaned close to Billy.

"Hey, Billy," he said, dropping his voice to a hushed level.  "Are you,
umm...uhh...with the Ghost?"

"Yes I am," he said, nodding.  "Actually, she's with me...I built the
house.  I can throw her out, she can't throw me out."

"No, I mean, are you WITH Ghost?" asked Vic.

"I'm not sure I understand the question," said Billy.

"You know...are you poking her?" asked Vic.

"Poking?" asked Billy.

"Fucking?" Vic offered.

"Oh, yeah, I get it," said Billy.  "Hell no, I'm not.  I'm not interested
in her in the least."

"You're NOT?" asked Vic, smiling.

"Of course not.  I'm gay," said Billy cheerfully.

Vic stopped smiling.

"You mean, you're into guys, right?" asked Vic.

"Well, last I heard, when you're referring to someone's sexual
orientation as gay, that's usually the accepted definition," he
chuckled.  "Speaking of which, you're not gay, are you?"

"Uhhh, no," said Vic.  He shrugged.  "Sorry, man."

"Ah, well, that's all right.  I didn't get that feeling about you
anyway," said Billy.  "Well, if you ever change your mind, the offer's open."

"Well, you know, I'm flattered and all, but the moment I see a naked guy,
it just goes limp," Vic explained, laughing.  "Nothing personal.  If I
WAS gay, I'd probably go for it, but the hardware is uncooperative."  He
shrugged again.

"Too bad," said Billy.  He cocked his head.  "Listen."

"To what?" asked Vic.

"Roberta's waking up," he said, looking across the room.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How're you feeling?" asked Vic, kneeling down beside the cot.  He smiled
at Roberta and put a hand on her shoulder.  "Better?"

"Hungry," she croaked.  "Thirsty."

"Hold on," said the Ghost.  She opened one of the crates, pulling out
some strips of smoked meat.  Vic didn't ask what kind.  She took out a
plastic canteen, one of the durable ones that you could run over with a
groundcar without breaking.  Just the kind that would be issued to
corporation field researchers, he thought.

"What happened?  Where are we?" she asked, grabbing for the water.  The
Ghost held it back, giving it to her slowly.

"If you drink it too fast, you'll throw up," she explained.

"We're out in the middle of nowhere," said Vic.  "Up by the Olympics,
across the Sound from Seattle.  You got hit.  We had to carry you in."

"How long was I out?" she asked.

"Almost a week," he said.

"Shit."  She smiled.  "I don't remember it.  I remember getting hit,
though...it was SCU, wasn't it?"

"Yep."  He nodded sadly.

"What's SCU?" asked Billy.

"Something you're better off not knowing about," said Vic.  "They're the
ones looking for us."

"They're going to come after us, even out here," said Roberta.  "It won't
be long.  Where's my PAW?"

"Gone.  We ran out of batteries for it, anyway," said Vic.

"The shotgun?"

"Gone."

"Damn, Vic," she said.

"Hey, you were enough to carry.  We didn't want to have to lug all your
stuff, too," he said, shrugging.  "Besides, we left in a hurry.  We
didn't have time to get it."

"Hey, Vic," said Jetta.  "We're going to the Complex pretty soon.  You
gonna come with?"

"Yeah," he said.  "I've got to see this, too."

"What's the Complex?" asked Roberta.

"This place.  It's important that we go," he said.

"I'll come, too," she said.

"You're got to stay here," said Billy.  "You're not well."

"You're the LAST person that should be telling me what to do," she
snapped, sitting up.

"And why would that be?" he asked, smiling sweetly.

"That's enough, Roberta," Vic warned.  "He's the medtech.  He says stay,
you stay.  Got it?"

"Fuck the both of you, I'm well enough to walk," she growled.  To her
credit, she DID manage to stand up -- she just didn't stay up there too
long.  The Ghost caught her as she fell and helped her back onto the cot.

"You'll stay," said Vic.  "We need you to stay there and rest.  We can't
leave until you're healed."

"Who's we?" asked Roberta.  "You and who else?"

"Jetta," he said.

"Oh, you two need me to just sit here, is that it?" she said, frowning.

Vic slapped a hand to his forehead.

"Billy, Ghost, Jetta," he said.  "Would you mind if we talked privately
for a moment?  Me and Roberta, I mean?"

"No problem," said Billy.  The three of them filed out, the Ghost
looking back once before she shut the door behind her.  Vic waited until
they were all outside and well out of earshot before he started speaking
again.

"Roberta, just what the FUCK is wrong with you?" he asked, not bothering
to play it cool anymore.

"What the fuck is wrong with me?  What the fuck is wrong with you?" she
shouted.

"You tell me!"

"You fucked Jetta yet, Vic?" she asked.

"Of course I have.  I used to live with her.  Didn't I tell you that
already?" he said.

"No," she said.  "That's not what I meant.  I meant between here and
Seattle."

"So?"

"So did you?" she asked.

"That's none of your business," he said.

"That's what I THOUGHT," she said knowingly.  "Thanks a lot, Vic."

"JUST WHY THE FUCK DO YOU CARE?" he roared.  She grew quiet.  "Huh?
Since when is it your fucking business what I do?  WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR
FUCKING PROBLEM?"

"Here's the problem," she said, eyes narrowed.  "I wake up in a totally
strange place surrounded by freaks.  We're going to be dead soon.  I'm in
a lot of pain.  And you have your hands all over Jetta, and your eyes all
over this Ghost thing.  This is very fucked up."

"Like I said," he said, "why the fuck do my actions bother you, huh?"

"Why do you think?  I thought we had something going," she said.  "Or do
you have something against the invalid?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he asked, chuckling
incredulously.  "WE had something going?  You and I?  We split the
fucking bills when we went out to lunch, Roberta.  Since when were we
even FRIENDS, let alone something more?"

"Oh, it's not your fault," she said tiredly, looking away.  "How could
you tell."  It was said as a statement, not a question.

"Tell what?" he asked.

"Nevermind," she said, throwing her hands in the air.  "I don't give a
shit.  Go and...go and do what you want."

"Now look, Roberta," he said.  "I don't appreciate guilt trips.  If you'd
have given me one fucking sign that you were interested in me, maybe
things would be different, but you didn't, and they're not.  So don't
even start with this shit."

"I said I didn't care," she said.

"Okay.  You don't care.  Neither do I, from now on, and I mean it when I
say that."  He shrugged.  "Don't take it hard.  We were a good team."

"Not anymore," she said, rolling over to face the wall.

"Un-fucking-believable," he muttered, throwing the door open.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing Jetta noticed was that they were definately on a road.

It was looking a little rough.  Evidently, it had been little more than a
dirt road to begin with, like a logging trail.  Six years of disuse
hadn't exactly destroyed it, but it was sprouting vegetation.  This road
was not used very often.  Odd, too; when they'd stepped onto the road,
they'd been at the end of it.  The road ended on one side, the side they
were near, in a pile of earth and treetrunks, created when the road was
bulldozed.  They had yet to see the other end of it, but the Ghost
explained that it wasn't very long.

It wasn't.  Two hundred feet further up, a break opened in the forest to
the left.  It was undoubtedly the Reservoir -- a huge, concrete thing
that rose out of the ground like a mountain with the top cut off.  The
land surrounding it for twenty feet or so on all sides had at one time
been cleared and graded, by the looks of it, with a jeep road surrounding
it, but no longer -- the forest was very quick at retaking its property
from mankind.  A chainlink fence, starting to rust and topped with razor
wire, surrounded it.  It had falled down in most places, crushed by trees
or, in one location, a burnt-out vehicle.  It was crumpled and torn, but
it looked like an ATV of some sort.

Jetta noticed a bone beside it, glaringly white against the greens and
browns.  She decided not to go any closer to the Reservoir.

"The Fishman lives in there," said the Ghost.  "We used to go there for
water, but it got all full of algea and things, and the Fishman isn't
very nice.  We get it from the stream now.  Look up there."  She pointed
high.  The top of a brick tower was visible above the treeline, red and
cylindrical.

"The Towers are just behind those trees," said the Ghost.  "You can't see
the other three because one fell down and two more are slanted."

The Towers weren't much further up the road, standing in the middle of a
field that had become a meadow since its caretakers had departed.  The
Ghost had been telling the truth.  One had fallen and lay shattered on
the ground in great piles of bricks.  The second leaned heavily on the
third, sagging in the middle where the leverage worked most against it.
The third, supporting it, was canted sharply to the side.  Only the
fourth was undamaged, standing defiantly amongst the trees

"What were they gonna do with these?" asked Jetta.

"We'll probably never know," said Vic.  "Billy said the company people
snatched the files on their first trip back."

"Can we go inside?" asked Jetta.

"I don't see why not.  I've been in there before," said the Ghost.

There was a doorway at the base of the Tower, a thick metal one full of
rivets, starting to rust where the paint had peeled off.  One side was on
the ground.  The other hung off its hinges at an angle.  The center,
where the two met, was bent inward and ragged; it looked like a rocket
had struck it.  There were little chips taken out of the brick around
it.  When Jetta looked more closely, she discovered they were bullet
holes.  Indeed, there were some spent casings around, shining brightly in
the long grass and weeds.  She picked one up and looked at it.

"Nine millimeter," said Vic.

"That's what I thought."  She dropped it and stepped inside.

The interior was the same dull red brick as the outside, and just as
drab.  The walls were surpisingly thin.  A metal staircase spiralled
around the insides of them, winding its path all the way up like a snake
around some invisible central pillar.  There were no windows, but it
wasn't dark -- glowtubes sat in mounts along the staircase, the chemical
kind that cast light for decades before they dimmed.  No electricity was
required.

"Wow," said Vic, peering upwards.

Jetta grabbed one of the glowtubes and slid it free of its mount.  It was
about two feet long, just right for use as a torch.  In fact, most people
who worked around places with glowtubes had little rubber cylinders that
slid onto them as a handle.  She didn't have one of those, but it wasn't
all that important.

"What's at the top?" she asked.

"It just ends at a platform," said the Ghost.  "There's nothing up there."

"All of them are like that?" asked Jetta.

"Yes.  I was in the other three before they got the way they are.
They're all the same," said the Ghost.

"I'll take your word for it," said Jetta.  "I'm not in the mood for a
climb like that."

"Take us to the Complex," said Vic.

The road went on for a few hundred feet.  Ahead, beneath the canopy's
dark shadows, they could see the first of the two buildings, black and
foreboding like a haunted house of out of a horror flick.  Jetta noticed
another path, smaller and grassier, than ran off to the side.

"Where does that go?" she asked, pointing.

"The House is down that way," said the Ghost, shuddering.  "You don't
want to go there.  Let's hope Hidden doesn't want to come out."

The two buildings of the Complex were there, as the Ghost had described,
sitting side by side like two menacing gargoyles.  The area was eerily
quiet.  There were no sounds, not even of animals or the wind blowing
through the trees.

"Are we going to go in?" asked Vic.

"Damn straight we are.  You up to it, Ghost?" asked Jetta.

"I'll go in with you," she said resignedly.

It wasn't hard to get in; the door had been knocked down -- from the
inside, Jetta noted.  Some of the windows were broken.  There were bullet
holes across the front of the building, mostly clustered around windows
and doors.  An ATV was outside, rolled on its side, relatively
undamaged.  They'd have to try to get the thing started later.

Inside, it was a hallway.  More bullet holes, some broken glass,
shattered plastic, bits of stone.  A damp, musty smell permeated it.
Aside from the debris scattered around, it really didn't look like an
uprising had occured, until one noticed the dark stains on the floor here
and there.  Glowtubes were on the ceiling every thirty feet or so.  They
hadn't been intended as the primary lighting source, just a backup in
case power was lost.  Consequently, there were a lot of shadows.  No
wonder the Ghost thought it was spooky.

"I see bullet holes, blood..." said Jetta.

"There were a lot of them near here," said the Ghost.  "We had to fight
our way past them."

"You blew the door?" she asked.

"No," said the Ghost.  "Teclid and Jermalayn knocked it down.  They're
very strong."

"I'd say so."  The door was metal, not as thick as the Tower ones but
still considerable.  "Where are all the bodies?"

"We put them all on the roof," said the Ghost.

"What the hell for?" asked Jetta.

"What should we have done with them?" asked the Ghost.  "We didn't want
to leave them laying on the ground...then there'd be bones, those are
really scary."

"Bury them?" Jetta suggested.

The Ghost frowned.  "Why?  We'd have to dig a lot of holes."

"Nevermind," said Jetta, shaking her head.  "This is where you got your
furniture?"

"Yes.  And food.  There's a lot of food in the other building," said the
Ghost.  "We took what we could carry.  It doesn't taste very good and
it's hard to open the cans.  We usually only eat it during the winter.
There was a room that was very cold with a lot of meat in it, but it all
went bad.  It smells too bad in there to go in now."

"I'll bet," said Jetta.  Rotting flesh and burning flesh -- two smells
that the human mind never forgot.  Burning flesh wasn't all that bad.
Decay was a stench that hooked its claws deep into your thoughts and
didn't let you go.  She didn't want to see the freezer.  She was pretty
sure she'd throw up if she got hit with a smell like that.

"There are a lot of things in here," said the Ghost.  "So many rooms...we
only got to see the downstairs when we were here, that's where they kept
us.  After we killed them all, Billy and Teclid and I went through most
of the other rooms to see what they were liked.  There's a library, and a
pool, and all kinds of other rooms.  There's a lot.  We came here many
times right after the killing, and we didn't see everything there is to
see."  She looked over her shoulder once.  "But we don't come here much
anymore, unless we need food or chairs or something.  Even then, we come
in big groups.  No one comes here alone."

"Why not?" asked Jetta, waving her arms about.  "Everything's dead."

"It's so spooky," said the Ghost.  "And there are bones that aren't on
the roof.  I almost fell on one once, the room was very dark, and I felt
it.  It scares me.  What if they get angry that we killed them and they
come back after us?  They know this place better than we do."

"They're dead," said Jetta.  "They don't COME back."

"It still scares me," she said.  "And Hidden, he comes here sometimes.
We've seen him before.  He just sits and dreams, I think.  If there's a
lot of us, more than five or six, he leaves.  But if there aren't that
many, he tries to kill us.  So we only come in big groups."

"Well, there's a lot to see, I'm sure, but it doesn't look all that
promising," said Vic.  "Wonder why there aren't any company logos around?"

"Come on, Vic, you should know this shit," said Jetta.  "It's top-secret,
remember?"

"Oh yeah.  Makes sense, just in case something like that ever happened,
and someone like us took a stroll through the ruins," he said.  He
chuckled.  "Funny how things like this work out for them, sometimes."

"Yeah."  Jetta started walking up the hallway, inspecting the walls and
ceiling, holding the glowtube into various doorways to illuminate the
rooms inside.

"You're not...going DEEPER, are you?" asked Vic.

"Hell yes.  I love poking through shit like this," said Jetta.  "There
was an abandoned military base by where I used to live as a kid.  Just
like this, but not quite as spooky, no corpses to worry about.  Lot of
ammunition, though, they hadn't cleared it out."  She laughed softly.
"Had a lot of fun with that stuff."

"Shit, Jetta," said Vic.  "I'm not going any further."

"Jetta, please don't go in," said the Ghost.

"I'll be right back.  I'm gonna head downstairs," said Jetta.  "That's
where the research shit is, right?"

"Oh, the downstairs is worse," said the Ghost.  She hugged her arms
around herself.  "It's so much worse.  Don't go down there."

"I been in an abandoned biotech R&D sector before," said Jetta
confidently.  "Horrible shit, but I have to see.  I have to."

"Fucking shit," muttered Vic.

"Jetta," pleaded the Ghost.  A tear rolled down one cheek.

"I said I'd be right out.  Stay here.  If you hear me shooting, THEN you
can start worrying."  She looked back and smiled.  "Scratch that.  You
hear me shooting, I'm fucking up whoever scared me, so there's nothing to
worry about.  Just stay put."  She tossed the glowtube back to them.

"What's that for?" asked Vic.

"It'll make you feel better," she said.  "And I don't really need it anyway."

"Neither do I," said Vic.

"You two can see in the dark?" asked the Ghost.  "I can, too.  I thought
normal people couldn't."

"We're anything but normal," said Jetta, giggling as she stepped around
the corner and into the darkness.  Her voice wafted back to them.  "Don't
know why I even grabbed that fucking glowtube, no one needed it..."

"She'll be fine," said Vic, hugging the Ghost.  "Don't worry about her.
She knows how to take care of herself."

"I hope so.  I hope she doesn't get hurt," said the Ghost, resting her
head on him.

Vic grinned despite himself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"This place is like a fucking maze," Jetta muttered to herself.  "There'd
better be some bigass piece of cheese at the end, or I'm gonna be pissed."

The Ghost had been right about the corpses.  Jetta's foot bumped against
a skull, knocking it careening off the wall.  She grimaced and stepped
over where the skeleton would most likely be.  Nothing freakier than
slipping on a ribcage, she knew that much from experience.  At least they
weren't fresh, those were REALLY nasty...the big bloated ones, a few
weeks old, the stinkers, not old enough to be rotten on the outside, just
old enough to be completely liquid on the inside.  God forbid you kicked
one of them, they split open like a ripe melon...

She paused, leaning against the wall.  Her breath came out in short,
rasping gasps.  She hated getting morbid thoughts in places like this.
It scared the hell out of her, and when she got scared, she started
coming apart, and that was REALLY bad.  She doubted the place was
dangerous, but if she started flashing back in here, she was going to
come out shooting, and that could be dangerous for Vic and Ghost.

She wasn't exerting herself.  Why was she breathing so hard?

She was terrified.  That's what it was.

It'd been a while before she'd been scared like this, a long while.  Not
since the War.  Only Scalps scared her like this.  It was Hidden.  Billy
had said he was half-Scalp.  She couldn't picture it, nor did she want
to.  She had no doubts that Hidden existed, but she really hoped they
were wrong about his heritage.

But what an asset such a being could be for the work camp, back in Laos...

She looked both ways down the hallway.  Out of curiosity, she told
herself, but it was something else.  It was the terror.  She had uncanny
insight into why the Ghost was constantly looking over her shoulder
around the Complex.  She didn't doubt that she'd be doing it from now on,
too.

Down one way was the skeleton, its now-seperate head grinning toothily at
her.  Further down were doors, more doors, so many doors, a few of them
smashed.  The other way were even MORE doors, a leather boot, and a
window at the far end.  To her vision -- set on low-light, there was more
than enough ambient light for it and infrared really made things look
fucked up sometimes -- it was incredibly bright.  It would've been even
brighter, actually, but her eyes compensated when they saw something like
that.  The early low-light cybereyes could be temporarily blinded, or
even permanently damaged, by a large flashlight.

In a strange, slow-motion sort of way, two slender legs dangled down.

Her breath stopped in her throat.

A figure dropped down from the ceiling, sharply contrasted against the
light of the window, framing it in a halo.  It was thin and limber, like
a ballerina dancer.  She saw tiny spikes up its arms and on its
shoulders.  It started moving towards her.

It came into the light of one of the glowtubes, pausing beneath it.  It
was definately Hidden.

Hidden was not quite what she'd expected something like him to resemble.
He wasn't incredibly tall, only about six feet, if that.  He was compact
and wiry, moving with that unbelievable Scalp grace, the kind that made
them look balanced and in control even when they fell -- and she only saw
them fall when they died, never alive.  He had a carapace, like a Scalp,
but his shape was more human, less monstrous, and he didn't have four
arms, only two.  She'd expected him to have four.  The color was darker,
too; usually Scalps were a dusty tan or dark green, depending on where
they came from, with rarer varieties in dull red or white; Hidden was a
medium gray, fading to black on his hands and feet.  Those were decidedly
Scalp-like, claws more than anything.  The handblades they were so feared
for where present on the backs of his hands, but they were very atrophied
-- if he were to extend his fingers, they'd be slightly longer than the
blades.  The spikes were on his upper body, but they, too, were
considerably shorter.

She looked at his face.  It was completely blank, just an armored plate.
Just like a Scalp.  But it was worse than that; that featureless slab
wasn't mirror-smooth, it had a subtle shape to it: the shape of a human
skull, mild and subtle, like half-formed clay, but definately there.  He
most likely had Scalp mandibles, but they tuck underneath where the chin
is.  They'd be invisible.

She screamed, turned, and started running.

No human could've scared her like that.  Scalps terrified her, but not to
that extent.  But Hidden was different, greater than the sum of the
parts.  Hidden could scare her like that.

She fell, her face smacking the floor painfully.  She'd fallen.  She
NEVER fell.  Not before, anyway.  Why did it have to be now?  She rolled
over on her back, cheek stinging from the impact, and grabbed her pistols.

She saw Hidden move from one shadow to another, his feet making no
sounds.  The only thing she could hear was her breathing, her heart
beating.  Even when he'd dropped from the ceiling, he hadn't made any
noise.  Just like a Scalp.  She wondered if they had softer tissue on the
bottoms of their feet.  She'd never checked before.

She started firing into the shadows, not waiting for him to reveal
himself.  Wait...he was hiding in shadows.  What the hell?  There
shouldn't have BEEN shadows.  She pushed her tongue against her left
bottom molar.  It looked as if a dozen search lights converged on the
hallway.  The fall had knocked the tooth out of place, deactivating her
vision.

Oh, how she missed her AI sometimes.  That wouldn't have happened with
the AI.

She swung the pistols around, centering them on Hidden's chest.  They
were both nine millimeter automatics, with more or less standard
ammunition.  They probably wouldn't hurt a real Scalp, but they had a
chance against him; his carapace looked a lot thinner than a Scalp's
would be.

He stood there, watching her without watching her.  He had echolocation
like the Scalps.  He watched her wherever his head was turned.  That was
the funny thing...his head was turned towards her.

He moved his hands in front of her, slowly and smoothly.  He gestured a
few times with them.  It was sign language.

*Do you know how to sign?* his hands spelled out.

She did.  She'd learned how to in Laos, working with the Scalps there.
They wouldn't use implants, and they couldn't speak any kinds of human
languages, not the way they communicated with each other.  They signed.
You could talk English to them and they'd know it, but you still had to
be able to sign to tell what they were saying.

*Yes,* she replied.

*You don't have to sign,* signed Hidden.  *I can hear you.*

*Are you Hidden?*

*Yes.*  He was constantly in motion, even when standing still, cocking
his head, swaying like a cobra ready to strike.  That was decidedly
un-Scalplike.  They didn't move unless they had to.  He didn't STOP
moving unless he had to.

*What do you want, Hidden?*

*I want to know who I am.  I want to know who you are.*  He bent down a
little, leaning closer to her.  He raised a hand to where his mouth
should've been.  She didn't know what it meant to him, but she thought he
looked almost timid doing it.

*I'm armed, Hidden.*

*I know what your weapons do.  They've been used against me before.*

"What do you want?" she asked softly.  He didn't respond.  Instead, he
reached out toward her, carefully and patiently, like time didn't mean a
thing in the world to him.  It was like he could only do it once, and he
wanted to make sure it was done right.

Although she wasn't completely sure about what he was planning to do.

"What do you want?" she repeated, fearfully.  She dragged herself
backwards, away from him.  She ran out of hallway and bumped against a wall.

He kept his hand out, moving it closer, almost nervously.  The insides of
the fingers and the palm were padded and creased.  Typical Scalp hand.
She could see the sensitive contact pads on the first two fingers.  Also
typical of a Scalp.  The other two were like the fingers on an armored
gauntlet, hinged and durable.

She pressed back against the wall, eyes wide.

The two fingers touched her on the forehead.  She closed her eyes.  The
other two descended, pressing just firmly enough to be felt...or maybe to
feel.  Maybe both.  He moved his hand down warily, but with a tenderness
she hadn't expected.  Was he going to kill her?  Maybe he did this to all
his victims.  She should've questioned the Ghost and Billy more
extensively...but it was too late for that now.  What was he DOING?

"What...what are you doing?" she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.

The fingers traced their invisible lines downwards, over her closed eyes,
her nose, her lips, following the contours of her face.  The contact pads
were warmer than she'd thought they'd be.  The carapace-covered secondary
fingers were room temperature.  They ran over her chin, going down her
neck.  They paused at her collarbone.

She opened her eyes.  Hidden was regarding her with curiosity, possibly
fear.  She shifted on the floor and he snapped his hand back like he'd
touched a piece of red-hot metal, staying in constant motion despite the
reaction.

"What?" she asked, in a whisper.  "Go on.  I won't hurt you.  What is it
you want?"

He touched her again, on the neck, and started tracing his fingers down
again, between her breasts, over her solar plexus, down to her stomach.
He stopped at her belt, as if in hesitation.

"Go on," she whispered.

"JETTA!" shouted Vic in the distance.  "WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT SHOOTING?"

Hidden reacted as if he'd been struck.  He whipped his body back up to
its full height, swivelling smoothly at the waist towards the source of
the noise.  His two hands curled into fists.

"No, Hidden," said Jetta.  "Don't fight.  Leave.  They're friends of
mine.  They're afraid of you.  They'll shoot if they see you."

He turned back to her, his hands in motion.  *Their bullets don't hurt me.*

"These will," she said.

*I don't want to hurt your friends.  I will go.*  He leaned down again,
sharply, and took her by the shoulders.  He pressed his forehead against
hers.

*How will you explain our meeting?* asked Hidden.

"JETTA!" shouted Vic, much closer.  Just down the hallway, by the sound
of it.  She could hear him running.  Her ears were used to the previous
silence, and he sounded like a stampede of elephants.

"I don't know," she said.  "You're not emotionless, Hidden.  They think
you are."

*What is emotionless?* he asked.  Vic was very close now.  *No matter.
I'll explain to them.*

Vic rounded the corner, the Ghost just behind him.  Hidden slapped her
across the face.  His strength was certainly Scalplike; the blow felt
like a battering ram, slamming her against the wall beside her.  She
curled up, senseless.  She felt blood running down her face, but despite
the pain and shock, she did notice something.  He'd struck her with his
palm.  If he'd punched her, she would've been dead.

"HOLY SHIT!" bellowed Vic, holding a stub-nosed pistol.  He gripped it in
both hands and started firing.  The Ghost screamed and shrank back behind
him; whether it was due to the pistol or Hidden, Jetta was unsure.  The
only thing she was truly aware of was Hidden's feet, padding swiftly past
the two of them, making no sound with each step, before he disappeared
through a doorway.

Then she was up on her feet, the Ghost and Vic half-carrying,
half-dragging her between them.  Both were looking over their shoulders
more than they were looking ahead, and they actually ran into a doorjam
before they made it outside.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------





From: Tranquility <blitz@crow.cybercomm.net>
Subject: Looking back, part 3
Date: Mon, 25 Sep 1995 22:35:41 -0400


"Billy, Jetta's hurt!" cried the Ghost, before they'd entered the house.
"She needs help!"

"I said I was FINE," shouted Jetta.

"What's going on?" asked Roberta, laying back on the cot.

"Sounds like Jetta's hurt.  Hold on," said Billy.  They met him in the
doorway.  For a moment, things looked a little worse than they actually
were.  Vic and the Ghost were both spattered with blood.  Jetta had a
ball of soaked fabric pressed beneath her eye.  Blood streaked her head
and face, and he could see where it'd dripped and dropped down onto her
shirt, making streaks on the front like rust marks on metal beneath a
drippy pipe.

"Okay, okay, hold on," he said, holding his hands up.  "Jetta, have a
seat.  How does it feel?"

"Stings a little," she said, grimacing.  "Sure is bleeding though, isn't it?"

"Oh, she's bleeding so MUCH," said the Ghost worriedly.

"Ghostie, Vic...have a seat or go outside or something," he said gently.
"These things look a lot worse than they generally are.  How'd it happen?"

"Hidden hit her," said Vic.

"Holy shit," said Billy, frowning.  "Are you sure?"

"We saw him, Billy," said the Ghost.  "He hit her, and when Vic started
shooting at him, he ran away.  It was Hidden."

"You're very lucky," he said to Jetta.  "Hold still."  He gently took the
rag away from her, dabbing at her face with a towel.  When he'd cleared
most of the blood away, he could see the cut itself.

"How is it?" asked Jetta, making an expression of distaste.

"Not that bad.  You know how facial cuts are, though," he said.  "The
medibot can take care of it for you."

"You mean I'm gonna have to walk around with that fucking thing on my
face?" she asked.

"It just takes it a moment to clean it out and seal it up," said Billy.
"Unless you're a boxer, I don't see a reason to keep it on any longer
than that."  He picked the medibot up off a shelf and handed it to her.
"Just press it in place.  Better hold it there, too...the needles won't
secure it in a spot like that."

"How long?"

"Five minutes?  Ten?" he asked, shrugging.  "I don't know.  Tie it down
with a towel and take a nap.  Take it off when you wake up.  When it's
done, the cut should be real small and tight, you'll barely be able to
see it.  That means it's closed."

"Gotcha," she said, patting him on the shoulder.  "Thanks, Billy."

"No problem," he said.  His face grew serious.  "Ghost, stay with her
until she feels better.  I've got to talk to Vic."

"Okay, Billy," she said.

Billy put his arm over Vic's shoulders and lead him outside, closing the
door behind.  He looked up into the sky, overcast and wet over the trees
and undergrowth.  Vic wondered how the trees got so fucking big with so
little sunlight.

"What's up?" asked Vic.  He cocked his head angrily.  "You're not gonna
hit on me again, are you?"

"No, no, nothing like that," said Billy, chuckling.  "I know how to deal
with rejection, trust me.  Jermalayn and Teclid are on their way over.
They'd stopped by here before, while you were gone.  Seems that Teclid
shot down a flyer the other day and he went to check it out, since it
landed inside the Line."

"What'd he find?" asked Vic.

"A lot of bodies," said Billy.  "Bodies with armor, helmets, heavy
weapons...the works.  They were looking to fuck someone up something
serious, Vic."

"Probably us."

"Probably," said Billy, nodding.  "Thing is, these guys KNOW not to come
into our territory because we get them almost every time.  We hit and
kill over 95% of the things that fly through here at low altitude.
Someone is ALWAYS watching out for them.  With Teclid, it's his sole
source of entertainment.  He just sits there and waits for aircraft to
fly over.  These guys took an awfully big risk coming out here to nail
just three people, Vic.  What did you guys do?"

"We fucked with the wrong people, apparently," said Vic.  "But, how do
you know they were just after US?"

"Good point.  I was getting to that.  Here's what I think," said Billy,
"and I'm usually right about these things.  They're too scared to come
out here after us.  They'd be too scared to come out here after you.  But
with ALL of us in one conveniant package, they worked up the balls to do
it.  And if that's the case, this is the LAST place you want to be."

"Can Roberta move?" asked Vic.

"She'll tell you she can.  She can't," said Billy sadly.  "She got up
before to use the restroom and she started bleeding.  Opened one of the
holes right back up.  She won't be good to move for a few days, at least."

"Then we can't go," said Vic.

"Leave her," said Billy.  "She'll die if you take her, and she'll die if
you leave her.  Better you two get away than all three of you getting
killed."

"I can't," said Vic.  "She's my partner."

"I don't understand the significance of that, but I understand the
significance of how you said it," said Billy.

"I can't let her go," said Vic.  "I owe her."

"That's your decision to make," Billy acknowledged.  "I'm just
saying...if they finally decided to wipe us out for good, it's going to
get violent around here."

"If they're coming for good, we've got to get to work on that Line," said
Vic.

"Personally, Vic, I think we'll do better with our backs to the walls,"
said Billy.  "The Mongols, back in China way the fuck back when, when
they'd attack an enemy force, they'd leave an opening, one side
uncovered.  The enemies would flee through there, and the Mongol horsemen
would cut them down while they were scattered.  But the real reason they
left that opening is because when a man knows there's no escape, he
fights like a son of a bitch."

"Makes sense," said Vic.

"Jetta strikes me as a soldier type," said Billy.

"She is."

"Ask her about that sometime," said Billy.  "You'll most likely get the
same answer."

"Those Mongols sound like mean motherfuckers," said Vic.

"They were.  Their style of combat caused a lot of moral decisions," said
Billy.  "They'd round up a mass of slaves and send them out in front of
the main force when they were attacking a city.  As a defender, do you
start shooting the slaves so you can hit the Mongols, or do you hold fire
and let them get in close?"

"Shoot the slaves," said Vic.

"These are women and children," said Billy.  "Possibly yours."

"That's a tough one," said Vic.  "Shoot them anyway, though.  At least,
I'd order my men to.  I wouldn't be able to.  Fact is, the Mongols killed
'em all anyway, right?"

"Sometimes," said Billy.  "Or how about this: you're defending a city.
The city is surrounded by Mongols.  You send a sortie out to break
through, but it doesn't make it, and a whole bunch of your soldiers are
fleeing back.  The Mongols were fast on their horses, and they'd ride up
RIGHT behind the fleeing soldiers, almost in their midst.  Now what do
you do?  Open the gate and let your own soldiers, AND the Mongols, in?
Or do you keep it shut and watch your soldiers die at the gate?"

"I'd have to let them in," said Vic.

"Most of the time, that's what happened," said Billy solemnly.  "That's
why they ultimately took most of Asia and some of Europe."

"Say, you're really into this shit, aren't you?" asked Vic.

"I used to read a lot of paperbacks.  The workers wouldn't let me use the
computers, but they didn't really screen the paperbacks I ordered because
they weren't familiar with them," said Billy, smiling.  "If they'd have
known I was studying strategy and tactics, they might not have let me
read as much."

"Billy!" someone called from the distance.  Both of them turned.  Three
people were emerging from the woodline, two of them a little on the large
side.  Two women and one man -- well, PROBABLY a man, Vic wasn't all that
sure.

"Ah.  Here's Teclid and crowd," said Billy, smiling.

Vic watched them carefully.  The man was simply huge, built like a thug
that had blown some serious money on muscle grafts, but he could see
these weren't grafts -- they were too balanced and natural.  This was the
real deal.  He was close to seven feet tall, with hands the size of
plates, long, tangled black hair, and some interesting white-and-black
warpaint on his face to resemble a skull.  His clothing was even more
interesting -- half of it was natural leather, the other half bits and
pieces of...well, of whatever.

"Who's this?" he asked.  He had a very deep voice.

"This is Vic," said Billy.  "Vic, this is Teclid.  The girl with the
green hair is Jermalayn.  Jillian's the one with the goggles."

Jermalayn was almost as tall as Teclid, build almost as heavy.  Her arms
were almost as thick as Vic's legs.  Her hair, which was pulled back in a
ponytail, was dyed a bright green.

Jillian was pitifully small beside her two companions, short, thin, and
clad in heavy leather clothes and an apron.  A pair of tinted goggles
concealed her eyes and a good portion of her forehead.

"Um, hi," said Vic, smiling helplessly.

"Hey, you're from the outside, huh?" asked Jermalayn.

"Yeah."

"Must be pretty cool out there," she said, slapping him on the shoulder.
He grunted.  She was stronger than she looked, and she looked pretty
fucking strong.

"Take a look at this," said Teclid.  He unstrapped a backpack from his
shoulder and tossed it on the ground.  It hit heavily and clinked.  He
reached in and pulled out a gun, holding it up for them to inspect.

"I don't recognize it," said Vic.

"Me neither," said Teclid.  "That worries me."  He handed it to Vic.
"Take a shot at that tree over there.  The one far back."

"Gotcha," said Vic, shouldering the weapon.  He ran his hands over it.
There was a button to arm it, which he pressed, and a small holographic
display flickered into view just above it, incorporating a targeting
grid, power readout, rangefinder, and some other things he didn't even
understand.

"Holy shit," he said.  He turned the gun over and the display
disappeared.  Nice.  You could only see it if you were the one aiming the
rifle.  He put it back to his shoulder and lined up the crosshairs over a
tree.  The rangefinder counted up to 68 meters.  He pulled the trigger.

The gun bucked, making a horrific whistling shriek.  He saw leaves and
twigs on the ground dance around, disturbed by the air caused by the
invisible projectile.  The tree's trunk exploded in a ball of blue fire,
and the top branches crashed down.  He let out a low, sliding whistle,
like one would use when viewing a spectacular car crash.

"Holy shit," he muttered.  "What the hell is this?"

"Heavy duty, whatever it is," said Teclid.  He took the weapon back from
the stunned Vic and put it in the backpack.  He pulled out something else
-- a thick, heavily-padded olive drab overcoat, one that hung down to the
ankles.  He handed it to Vic, who had to struggle a bit to lift it.

"Looks like reactive fiber on the outside, plating on the inside, padded
layer beneath the plates," said Teclid.  "Heavy duty armor.  It survived
a flyer crash without any real damage."

"Nice," said Vic.  "This looks military, or maybe real serious cop stuff
-- CSWAT?"

"I don't know.  But they were going to use it on us," said Teclid.

"You should show it to Jetta.  She used to use a lot of classified
weapons, a couple years back.  She might know what that is," said Vic.

"Jetta?" asked Teclid.

"She's inside," said Billy.  "JETTA!  WILL YOU COME OUT HERE PLEASE?"

"What the hell do you want?" she said in mock anger, stepping out the
door.  The cut on her cheek looked like a hair, the edges slightly white
and puckered.  "That medibot worked, by the way."

"Jetta, this is Teclid, Jermalayn, and Jillian," said Billy.  "Teclid
shot down a flyer the other day."

"Oh, heya," she said, smiling.  "You saved our asses that time.  Thanks."

"No problem.  Do you recognize this?" he asked, handing her the rifle.

"Maybe."  She swung it around, aiming it at a different tree.  "Nice
instrumentation.  Very new stuff."  She fired, grinned at the rain of
burning twigs, and whooped once.

"Hot DAMN," she said.  "This is a fucking Mark VI.  Where did you get
this from?  This is supposed to be classified stuff, man.  Next-gen
particle acceleration weapon."

"A PAW?" asked Vic.

"Not quite...yeah, sorta," she said.  "A PAW is geared towards blowing
holes in hardened targets.  This thing, it works sort of the same way,
but all the energy is discharged on contact.  Made for splattering
infantry, not nuking tanks."

"It was in the flyer," said Teclid.  "Several of the dead crew had these,
Jetta."

"Then we are in DEEP fucking shit," said Jetta, her face getting grim.
There was a touch of fear in her eyes.  "These Mark VI's, I've seen them
work before.  My sister almost got fired over one of these."

"What?" asked Vic.

"Long story," she said.

"How many were in the flyer, Teclid?" asked Billy.

"Five total, two undamaged," he said.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, SHIT!" cried Jetta.  "We're fucked good.  If they've
gone that far, they'll DEFINATELY escalate, to get those guns back as
much as anything else.  They WILL return.  That's definate, guys."

"Maybe I shouldn't have shot them down," Teclid mused.

"Fuck that," snapped Jermalayn.  "Fuckers deserved it.  Now we've got
these things, we can waste them when they come back.  We've still got all
those rockets, and the rifles and stuff.  What the hell we worried about?"

"What...kind of rifles?" asked Jetta.

"Kind of big, black metal, wooden stocks, they've got curved clips," said
Jermalayn.

"Old AK-47 assault rifles," said Billy.  "Some lasers, too, but the
rifles hit harder, from what I've seen."

"Handheld lasers blow," said Jetta.  "The AK's are better, but I don't
know that they'll take down an armored flyer.  What kind of armor were
these guys wearing?"

"This," said Teclid, holding up the jacket.

"I don't know," said Jetta.  "Might go through at close range.  Might
not.  You guys good shots?"

"The best," said Jermalayn, smiling evilly.

"Aim for the heads," said Jetta.  "Use the rockets if you've got 'em.
Any grenades?"

"Just stun munitions," said Billy.  "Just stuff they'd use on us."

"Better than nothing," said Jetta, shrugging.

"We need a plan," said Billy.

"Good idea.  Now, if *I* were a bunch of pissed-off people with access to
military shit, I'd send in remotes," said Jetta.  "Unmanned drones,
possibly armed, to scout.  They probably don't have a geosynchronous
satellite, so they wouldn't know what we're doing every other 12 hours.
They'd need something up-to-date.  After that, they'll come in earnest,
most likely with flyers, VTOL.  We've GOT to make sure those things get
hammered the moment they show.  If we can teach these guys that they
can't attack us from the air without getting wasted, they'll come in on
the ground -- and that's pretty much our only chance at this point."

"I'll get some people set up with rockets," said Teclid.

"Make sure to hit the drones, too," said Jetta.

"Where should we set up?" asked Jermalayn.

"Not the Complex.  They'll hit that first, and I'm assuming you guys know
the woods pretty well.  Get set up someplace behind some cover," said
Jetta.  "If they use bombs, the cover'll help.  If they start strafing
with PAWs, it won't, but they'd have to come in low, and that would give
you great shots at them."

"Got it," said Teclid.

"If we can get them to come in on foot, I take it you know what to do
from there," she said.

"Okay.  We'll get everything ready," said Teclid.

"Speaking of which, I've got some business I've got to take care of,"
said Jetta.  "Vic, Billy, you both know what needs to be done.  Teclid,
you seem to be a take-charge kind of guy.  I'll be back in a few hours."

"Where are you going?" asked Vic.

"Like I said...I've got some business.  Don't worry about it," she said.
Her looked told him to drop the subject.

"Have fun," he said, shrugging.  "We'll be around."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jetta stopped by the small, overgrown trail she'd seen earlier, the one
that Ghost had told her lead to the House.  She started down it, clearing
her mind.  The sky was darkening steadily, which was good -- it would be
very hard for the flyers to attack them if the cloud cover stayed low.
The first small drops of rain were beginning to fall.

The House was just ahead, around a corner.  It wasn't like she'd pictured
it.  The Mansion would've been a better name.  It was simply huge, a
dark, brooding Victorian dwelling in the middle of a well-manicured
field.  That struck her as a bit odd.  Even after all these years,
someone was mowing the lawn.  Probably Hidden, although he didn't strike
her as a person that would do that.  Beyond the trimmed shrubs and
flowerbeds, she could see the corner of a pool and a large, concrete
patio.  This was a very plush place.

The walked up to the front door and turned the knob.  It was unlocked.
She wasn't surprised.

The interior was dark, but not pitch black -- most of the lights were
off, but just enough were on to make the place look sinister and
shadowy.  It didn't take her long to get lost in the myriad winding
passageways and arches.  It had a surreal quality to it, like a dream,
almost like she'd BEEN here before...

She was somewhere at the other side of it, she thought.  She wasn't
sure.  Maybe she was heading back out.  Her sense of direction was
hopelessly ruined for the time being.  She emerged into another hallway
and spotted a massive stairway winding its way down, glittering brass
handrails lining the way, soft, velvety purple carpet under her feet.
She didn't remember coming up any stairs, nor going down any, but she
might have.  She decided to go down.

She paused at the first landing, looking around.  A marble planter was
nestled in the corner, some kind of plant growing out of it in a
luxiurious green burst.  Two huge windows, the glass etched and textured
to let light in but distort vision, were beside her.  A painting hung on
the wall, depicting a serious-looking Japanese man dressed in a uniform,
a katana hanging at his side, his hair done in a topknot.

She saw Hidden standing silently at the top.

She continued down, glancing at Hidden every so often.  He mirrored her
steps, stopping when she stopped, resuming when she took another step.
She walked off the bottom onto a marble floor, black and white like a
chessboard, and waited for him to come down.  He did.

No words were exchanged.  Hidden gripped her hand firmly in his own.  It
felt like holding a steel gauntlet.  He began walking.  She followed.  He
lead her through a serious of doors, finally into a bedroom, just as
plush as the rest of the house, with huge, billowy overstuffed pillows
and sheets made of something nice -- silk?  Possibly.  It didn't feel
like the synthetic stuff.  If it was real, it was very expensive.

That was a little odd, though.  Did Scalps sleep?  She didn't know.
She'd never seen one sleeping before, nor had she ever heard of them
sleeping.  And if they did, did they do it laying down?

It didn't matter.  Hidden wasn't a Scalp, was he?

Hidden pushed her down onto the bed, gently but firmly.  His hands moved
over her, pulling off her shirt, unbuckling her belt, sliding down her
jeans.  He did it with that same uncanny deftness she'd expect from a
Scalp.  No movement was wasted, and each seemed to flow into the next,
without a break in between.  It was like he'd been born in motion, his
whole life was one single movement, ending only when he finally died.
She wished she could be that way.

"The spines," she said, pointing to the spikes across his chest and
arms.  He took her finger and poked it against one, making her cry out
softly.  A single drop of blood beaded on the tip.  He guided the finger
under his chin, into his unseen mouth.  She didn't feel any mandibles,
just a tongue that caressed it as lovingly as his hands did to her body.
She smiled.

"Is this right?" she asked.

Hidden nodded silently.

"I'm home," she said.

Hidden nodded again.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What was this place for?" asked Jetta, sometime later, as they walked
through the House in relative silence.  It was almost like a library.  It
didn't say anywhere that she had to be quiet, but she sort of thought it
was expected of her.

*The Owner lived here*, Hidden signed.

"Who is the Owner?" she asked.  "Did he die?"

*He's still here.  I'll take you to him.*  Hidden beckoned for her to follow.

Hidden knew his way through the House like she never could, like the
Minotaur in the maze, the caretaker who would take the knowledge with him
to the grave before imparting it on anyone else.  They entered another
large room, this one with a wooden floor and walls that glowed with the
finish possible only through meticulous care.  In the center of the room
was a large piano, black and imposing, something right out of an orchestra.

Seated in front of it was a skeleton, slumped over the front.

*This is the Owner*, Hidden signed.  If he noticed her expression of
surprise and revulsion, he didn't make it known.

"He's dead," she said.

*Yes.  I killed him.*

Jetta walked closer for a better look.  The skeleton was dressed in an
expensive three-piece suit, just as clean and dust-free as everything
else in the house.  Two rings were on the left hand, on the ring and
pinky fingers, resting loosely against the bones.

"Why's he like this?" asked Jetta.

*He died playing his piano.  He loved to play it.  I left him there, so
he could continue to play it.*  Hidden paused for a moment.  *He was very
good at it.  I liked to listen to him play.*

"Why'd you kill him?" she asked.

*He wanted to die, when it happened.  He would've liked to have done it
with his sword, in accordance to ritual, but he wanted to die playing the
piano.  I honored his wish*, Hidden signed.  *He was the only one I
didn't want to kill, besides you.  He treated me with respect.  I
believed that I owed him.*

"Those are very human thoughts," said Jetta.

*I wonder about that myself, sometimes.*

"Why do you want to kill the others?" she asked, looking at him.  It was
a moot gesture.  He didn't have a face to express his emotions.  Scalps
had other ways of doing it, with posture and body language, but so far he
hadn't done that yet, either.

*I didn't, at first.  I wanted to talk to them, but they didn't want to
learn how.  They shunned me.  I started killing, and now they fear me.*

"You prefer fear?" she asked.

*Fear is better than antipathy*, he signed.

She nodded.  "I guess you're right.  But now you CAN talk to them,
Hidden.  Through me."

*It may be too late for that*, he signed.  *I can play the piano too.
The Owner taught me how.  I can't play this one because it's his, but
there is another one in the House.  Would you like to hear me play?*

"Yes.  I'd like to hear that," she said.

And suddenly, Hidden was moving in a blur, even to her own jacked-up
nervous system, leaping across the room like a guided missile.  He
smashed into her, slamming her into the floor.  The spikes ground
agonizingly into her chest.  He put his arms and legs over her, pinning
her down, and she saw blue streaks blasting through the walls, the
windows, the ceiling, raining debris down on them.  A crystal chandelier
shattered against the floor nearby.  A bolt ripped through the piano,
making a momentary spurt of discordant notes as wires snapped and
scattering the Owner's bones onto the floor.  She heard repetive booms,
the kind that air-to-surface rockets made when they landed too close for
comfort.  The lights went out, and it was quiet.

Hidden moved off of her and started signing rapidly.  *Are you okay?*

"More or less," she said.  "The fucking cavalry's here, Hidden.  We have
to move.  The others need help."

Another explosion, this one further away.  She heard a grating shriek,
turbines shattered and still trying to run, a loud whine, and another
boom.  The ground shook.

*They wouldn't help me*, he signed, standing up.  He took her hand and
pulled her to her feet.

"But we've got to help them," she said.

*I can't.  They wouldn't understand.*

"I'm going, Hidden.  Come with me," she said.

*I can't.  I can't.  I can't.*  He signed it over and over, his gestures
uncharacteristically shaky.

"Then I'll see you later," she said, climbing out one of the windows and
disappearing into the gray drizzle outside.

*I can't*, he signed after her.  *I can't.*

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jetta frowned and drew her pistols, crouching low against the grass, now
ripped up and shredded where rockets and PAW blasts had hit it.

The flyer was on the other side of the pool, crumpled and folded.  The
tail stuck up at a near-perfect 45 degree angle.  The wings had torn
free; one was laying against the side of the vehicle, creating a little
lean-to, and the other was nowhere to be seen.

She started moving towards it, keeping low.  She could see where the
missile had struck it, towards the back and underneath.  It was burning a
little, a wide patch of flames behind it.  Some of the fuel was on the
surface of the pool, burning merry blue color from the fuel additives --
it normally burned clear, but they added a chemical to it to make it
visible so people would know if it was burning or not.

A man was stretched out on the sidewalk surrounding the pool, prone and
silent.  One of his legs was on fire.  If he was going to wake up, he
would've done it already.  Another man crawled out from the side,
stumbling and falling.  He was in bad shape.  She stepped over him,
taking his rifle away without him really knowing it, and peered inside.
Her gorge rose.  Most of the occupants were crammed up against the
forward wall in far too small a space to admit them.  They were dead.
She climbed in and kicked the door in to the cockpit.  One pilot was
dead, smashed and bloody.  The other, secure in his harness, was
contemplating a tubular support beam that was rammed through his chest,
out the back of his chair, and folded up against the wal behind.

"Hey," she said.  He looked up, most of his face invisible beneath the
huge, wraparound black VR visor and helmet.  Only his chin and mouth were
visible.  A dribble of blood ran down it.

"Help me," he said, pitifully.  It wasn't even really a plea -- it was
just what he said, like he was SUPPOSED to say it.  She didn't think he
really meant it.

"Who are you working for?" she asked.

"Help me, PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEASE," he moaned.  He did mean it.  His head
rolled to the side.  She grabbed his chin and turned it to face her.

"Who are you working for?" she asked again.

"I'm just a hired guy," he pleaded.  "I don't know who the hell he is.
You've gotta help me...I'm dying, I need help..."

"You almost killed me before," she spat.  "This is the best you're gonna
get."  She stepped back, raised a hand protectively, and shot him through
the visor.  It contained the mess nicely, as she thought it would.  She
moved back into the other section, looking around.  She spotted three
Mark VI's, two of them destroyed, one a little banged up.  It looked like
it would work.  She grabbed it and climbed back out.

"Holy shit," muttered the guy outside, slumped against a lawnchair.  He
chuckled, then groaned, wrapping his hands around his midsection.

"Funny how ironic things can get sometimes, huh?" she asked, smiling at him.

"Yeah.  You shoot us?" he asked.

"Wasn't me," she said.  "Hired help?"

"On-call security," he said, wincing.  "Anyone, anywhere, anytime.  I
should've known something was up when they told me how much I was gonna get."

"You know, they'd probably have killed you after it was done," she said.

"Never thought of that."  He looked around.  "Where's my gun?"

"In the pool," she said, still smiling.

"Fuck."  He grinning.  He pulled the cracked helmet off and put it under
his head, blinking against the rain.  "Feels kind of nice."

"You going anywhere?" she asked.

"Probably not."  He pointed to his legs.  One stuck out at an awkward
angle.  The other was visibly swelling inside the pants leg.

"That armor looks heavy," she remarked.

"Like you wouldn't believe.  Feels like fucking lead," he said.

"You're not a bad guy.  I was gonna throw you in the pool, but I guess I
won't now," she said.  "You want to live in a lot of pain or die?"

He thought for a moment.  "Live, I guess.  If you guys win, you gonna
come back for me?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Okay, I'll live," he said, shrugging.

"Got a pistol under that jacket?" she asked.

"Yeah.  I know.  In the pool."  He took it out and tossed it into the
water, watching it sink.

"If you're not here when I come back, you're dead," she said.  She
stomped on his leg.  He didn't even scream.  His eyes rolled back into
his head and he collapsed.

"So much for that," she said.  She jogged off around the House and back
down towards the road.  She had to see how the others were doing.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

The flyer moved out in the open, between two large trees, right out in
view for all to see.  That was a very bad move.

Vic and Jermalayn started firing the Mark VI's.  They saw explosions
pounding against the outside, buffeting it to either side, raining little
bits of armor and aluminum down into the trees.  If its original
intention had been to fire on them, it was forgotten; the thing reared
back sharply, seeking to escape the sudden ground fire.  The Ghost was
firing, too, using one of the assault rifles.  Its armor wasn't all that
thick; the holes the weapon left in the front were plainly visible.

An SRM streaked out of the woods to the left, where Teclid was.  It
slammed into the flyer's belly, seemed to lift it up, shake it around a
bit, and drop it like a giant invisible hand.  The pilot lost control and
brought it down hard, landing it against a tree with enough force to shed
both wings and part of the tail.

People started pouring out of it like angry ants, seeking the source of
their torment.  The first two out were hit by Mk VI blasts, scattering
body parts in all directions.  Another jumped out the other side and made
for the woods.  The Ghost shot him three times in the back, each hit
making a solid THWACK.  He cartwheeled into the underbrush.

"The pilots," said Jermalayn, walking forward.  She hit the emergency
release handle for the canopy, leaning back as the charges blew it into
its open position, and hauled the pilot out by the shoulders.  Teclid
sprang on the copilot, still in the cockpit, wielding a hatchet.  It was
swift but brutal.  After three good hits, Teclid stood up and smiled.
Jermalayn drew her knife, a long, serrated hunting one, and slammed it
into the hapless pilot's stomach hard enough to life him off his feet.
She ripped it up and out, gutting him like a hunter would gut a deer.

"That's THREE," said Teclid, grinning broadly.  "They'll be REALLY pissed
now."

"Any more flying around?" asked Vic.

"I don't hear 'em," said Jermalayn.

"Me neither.  I think that's all of them," said the Ghost.

Teclid whirled, hatchet drawn back for a throw.  He settled down and
relaxed.  "Hey, Jetta's here."

"Holy shit," she said, coming to a stop by the wrecked flyer.  She looked
at the cabin.  There were some pits in the ground around it and a felled
tree, but it looked okay.  "Nice job.  They didn't even touch the house.
Who shot down that flyer by the House?"

"I did," said Teclid, bowing with a flourish.

"Nice job.  Thing made my day a little more exciting.  Two guys were
alive, I killed one of them.  The other won't be going anywhere," she said.

"Thought I got them all.  They came down hard.  Oh, well," he said,
shrugging.

"Jetta," said the Ghost sternly, "what were you doing at the House?"

"What are you doing with that gun?" she replied.  "I thought you didn't
like those."

"I don't.  I never said I didn't know how to use them," said the Ghost.
"Now answer my question.  I told you not to go there.  Why didn't you
listen to me?"

Jetta took a deep breath.  "I had to see Hidden."

"Oh, that's fucking GREAT," said Vic.  "Bastard tries to kill you and you
go back for seconds.  I gotta remember that.  You like it rough.  Got it."

"Fuck you, Vic," she snapped.  "He wasn't trying to kill me the first time."

"Well, I've been wrong about other things," he said, voice dripping with
sarcasm.  "Sure, nothing like getting knocked around a bit to start the
day off.  Really gets the juices flowing..."

"I said, shut the fuck up," she said, glaring at him.

"Jetta, we've got to talk," said the Ghost, taking her by the arm.  "Come
on with me."

"About what?" asked Jetta.

"Well, about a lot of things.  Now come on," she said pulling her along.
She was surprisingly strong for her size.  They walked around the cabin,
the Ghost stopping her when they were out of sight and earshot from the
others.

"What's the deal?" asked Jetta.

The Ghost narrowed her eyes.  She grabbed the front of Jetta's shirt and
yanked it up, despite her protests.  Small, round bruises and scabs were
visible across her belly and chest.

"What're THESE from?" asked the Ghost.

"Fucking shit," muttered Jetta, pulling her shirt back down.

"Answer me," said the Ghost.

"Why should I?" she asked.

"You were with Hidden, weren't you?" asked the Ghost.

"So what if I was?" asked Jetta.

"That's wrong, Jetta," said the Ghost, shaking her head. "That's very,
very wrong.  Hidden isn't a nice person.  If you wanted to do that so
badly, you should've talked to Vic, or me, or ANYBODY...but not Hidden."

"That's the problem," said Jetta.  "You don't understand him like I do."

"I understand how many people he's killed," she said.

"But you don't know WHY," said Jetta.  "How could you?  None of you know
sign language, and that's the only way he can communicate.  He doesn't
like to do it.  He does it because he wants an emotion out of you, ANY
emotion, besides revulsion.  I can translate what he says."

"Why'd he hit you?" asked the Ghost.

"He knew you wouldn't understand," said Jetta.

"I guess I don't, then," said the Ghost.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A light flashed out in the darkened woods, three pulses with pauses in
between.  Jetta and Billy both turned their heads, raising their
weapons.  It was the sign they were using to identify incoming
friendlies, but it always paid to watch who came out.

It was a man, dressed in the same kind of photoreactive poncho that the
Ghost had.  His face was blackened with mud, almost invisible except for
his eyes and his teeth.  He carried one of the AK-47's in his hands,
pointed at the sky.

"Rolf?" asked Billy, unsure of who it was.

"Yeah," said the man.  "I've got some news.  There are people coming in
on foot."

"It worked," said Jetta, smiling.  "They won't try that aerial bombing
shit with their own people inside.  How many?"

"A lot," said Rolf, looking at the sky.  He licked his lips.  "Maybe
thirty.  They were wearing those jackets."

"That's it?" asked Jetta.

"No," said Rolf.  "There were some other things.  A big black guy in some
kind of armor, I think, but I'm not sure.  Very tall, had little spikes
on his shoulders, a mean-looking visor.  He was carrying a very large
rifle, much bigger than this."

"Sounds like powered armor, or maybe a borg," said Jetta.  "Continue."

"Four other things, they were a bit different.  Maybe eight feet tall --
as tall as the ceilings in the Complex.  It looked like a frame, almost,
with armor on it and stuff.  Two arms, two legs, real low and wide.  I
could see a single person in each one.  They had jackets like the others,
and helmets with real big, black visors."

"Shit," said Jetta.  "Sounds like 'structs.  They have guns?"

"One of them had four big guns, sort of like the one that borg guy had,"
said Rolf.  "Another had different ones.  One had rockets, sort of like
the ones we use.  The fourth had some strange guns, too."

"Fucking shit," said Jetta, smiling.  "Anything ELSE?"

"They had flyers there, dropping them off, but when they took off
they flew away to the south," said Rolf.

"That's a pretty sizable force," said Jetta.  "We really pissed them
off.  They're most likely bringing in some others from different
directions.  We could be in some trouble here, Billy."

Three more flashes of light came out of the woods.  This time, it was
Jermalayn, her face blackened like Rolf's, dressed in one of the armored
jackets.  It only came to her knees.  She smiled at them and waved with
the flashlight.

"Bunch of people coming in on foot from the east," she said.

"There were a lot to the south, too," said Rolf.

"How many, what type?" asked Jetta.

"I counted twenty-two.  Two of them had very heavy black armor," she
said.  "I mean, VERY heavy.  They moved like they didn't notice it."

"More borgs," said Jetta.  "Or else powered armor.  Either way, we need a
PAW or something like that to hurt them.  The rockets might work, but
they're SAMs...I don't know if you can shoot them at things on the
ground.  Those AK's won't even ding them.  A Mark VI might work, if you
hit them in the right place."  She frowned.  "We're really in trouble here."

"You should take off before they get here," said Billy.  "You and Vic.
Roberta can't really move yet."

"Don't tempt me," she said jokingly.  "Besides, Vic wouldn't want to
ditch Roberta."

"Two people won't make a difference," said Billy.

"We're not ANY two people, Billy," she said, smiling.  "We'll make a
difference like you wouldn't believe.  I can't just leave you guys here.
Now, if that fucking Line wasn't working, then we'd ALL be able to get
the hell out of here."

"We don't know how it works," said Billy.  "Besides...if we get anywhere
near it, we die."

"Then someone immune to it is gonna have to deal with it," said Jetta.
"Like me.  Teclid, let me see one of those rockets.  How many do you have?"

"A shitload," Teclid grunted.  He handed her a rocket.  She took it,
balanced it in her hands, played around with the fins, then unscrewed the
top.  It came off easily.

"The charge," she explained.  "I'm gonna blow the wire.  Give me...say,
ten rockets," she said.  "I'll disassemble them here, just carry the
explosives with me; those things weigh a ton as it is, I don't want to
lug around the whole rocket too.  I'm gonna need someone to come with me
to show me where the line is."

"I'll go with you," said the Ghost.

"Don't get to close to it," Billy warned.  "Jetta can, but you'd better not."

"I've been by it before.  I know how close I can get to it," she said
irritably.

"What the hell are you going to set those things off with?" asked Billy,
a little alarmed.

"Aw, shit, Billy, I've done this before," she said.  "You take the
priming charge from one, set it in the middle of the warheads, and ping
it with a bullet.  Touches 'em all off."

"And what happens when the pieces fly outwards?" he asked.

"Well, that IS the tricky part," she chuckled.  "Wear a thick coat and
turn your back.  Always works for me.  Might take a piece in the ass, but
it's nothing that can't be replaced."  She smiled as Teclid dumped a bag
of rockets in front of her.

"This'll only be a minute, then we'll leave," she said to the Ghost.
"We're going to head north, hopefully there won't be anyone up there, but
we don't have much time."

"I'm ready when you are," said the Ghost.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's right near here," said the Ghost nervously.  "Maybe thirty feet
ahead of us.  I remember it goes underneath that tree there...look."

There were several bones sitting beside the tree.  Jetta walked over to
it and picked one up.  It was a human rib, old and well-gnawed.  Someone
had already discovered where the Line was, evidently.

"That's where Norm hit it," said the Ghost.

"You left the body here?" asked Jetta.

"We couldn't pick it up without dying," said the Ghost.  "We had to leave
it there."

"Well, it should be right around here then," said Jetta.  "Does it
radiate a field out to either side, or do you have to cross the actual Line?"

"How should I know?" asked the Ghost.  "This is just the point where we
don't go any further."

"Well, hopefully it won't be too deep," said Jetta.  She took her knife
and stabbed it into the ground.  It slid down to the hilt.  She pulled it
out, crept forward, and inserted it again.  Nothing.

"It'll probably be deeper than that," said the Ghost.

"Let's hope not," said Jetta.  She plunged the knife into the ground.  It
hit something with a solid thunk.  She smiled and started scraping the
dirt away, dark, loamy topsoil.  It moved easily.  She saw it -- a metal
wire, thick and covered with insulation, running a few inches below the
surface.  Maybe it had been deeper at one time and the soil had eroded
away eventually, or settled.  She didn't know.

"Found it," she said.  She started setting up the explosives, packing
them around, over and under the Line.  She put the priming charge on top.

"Find a log or a rock or something, preferably a few," said Jetta.  "We
need to tamp it, or it'll just detonate up into the air."

"Like this?" asked the Ghost, lifting the end of a log.  It was sodden
and rotted, filled with moisture and insects.  The two of them dragged it
over, setting it on top of the charges.  Jetta piled rocks and soil over
it until it looked like a big anthill, with a clear view to the priming
cap on one side.

"Get way back," said Jetta.  "Hell, just start heading back to the
cabin.  I'll catch up after I blow this thing.  You don't want to be
around when it goes off."

"Are you going to be okay?" asked the Ghost.

"I'll be fine," said Jetta.  "Now get moving.  The others'll need help if
the bad guys show up."

Jetta waited for her to get well away, then moved back behind a tree.
She tried laying down flat, but the angle was all wrong and she couldn't
see the cap.  She got up on one knee and found a clear view.  She rested
the assault rifle's barrel on a small branch and lined up the sights.  It
would be a little tricky without a smartgun link, but she'd been a good
shot without it...she'd be able to hit this.

"Here goes," she said, and fired.

The bullet missed the cap, hitting one of the warheads.  It did the job,
though, setting a few of the things off.  The resulting explosion broke
the log in half and tossed it away, spraying rocks and dirt high into the
air.  The shock wave bowled her over.

She got up, nose and ears bleeding, and chuckled.  She'd used a few too
many warheads.  She walked up to the edge of the crater and peered in.
A four-foot section of the Line was gone.  Hopefully the thing didn't
radiate too much of a field and four feet would be safe enough to permit
travel.  She didn't want to have to do that again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The gunfire had been going on for at least an hour by the time she got
back to the cabin.

It was very near by.  Even in the thick, misty woods, she could hear the
sharp cracks of rifles, the pop-pop-popping of pistols, the banshee howls
of Mk VI's.  She heard something else, too, heavy automatic weapons.
Probably those 'structs Rolf had mentioned.  The rain was coming down
harder, striking her in sheets.  The sky was getting very dark, and she
heard thunder in the distance.

She paused when she saw the cabin.

It was full of bullet holes, collapsed timbers and splinters ranged out
all around it.  Something had plowed a car-sized hole through one wall,
but amazingly, the thing was still standing after all that abuse.  The
wreck of the flyer sat almost out of sight in the woods, still smoking.
There were bodies on the ground.

She looked at the first, laying inside a circle of chewed-up topsoil and
dried leaves.  It was one of the soldiers.  There were three holes in his
back, all of them surrounded by powderburns.  Apparently, the AK's went
through the jackets at very close range.  His weapon was gone.

Another was Jillian, her pale face turned toward the sky.  Blood covered
her chest and chin.  Her goggles stared soullessly into Jetta.  Out of
morbid curiosity, she reached down and slid the goggles up.  Jillian's
eyes, both open, were a dull gold color.  Jetta closed her eyelids and
put the goggles back in place.  One had a bullet hole through it, but
surprisingly, it hadn't struck her.

"Jetta?" asked a weak voice behind her.  She turned.  It was Roberta,
holding the maul the Ghost used to split wood.  She was pale and
sweating, and looked like she was about to be sick.  She walked slowly
and carefully, each step obviously painful to her.

"Roberta," said Jetta, taking her arm and steadying her.  "Are you okay?
What happened?"

"Jillian and Billy were here with me to watch me," she said nervously.
"Some of the soldiers came by and shot Jillian.  Billy chased them away
and went after them, or maybe to get help.  I don't know.  But I'm okay."

"You're fucking lucky," said Jetta.  "Listen.  I want you to stay in the
cabin and HIDE, understand?  Stay out of view and don't make a sound.  I
blew the Line.  We're getting out of here once I get the others together."

"What's that?" she asked, pointing over Jetta's shoulder.  She turned.

"What's what?" asked Jetta, and the maul hit her in the back.  She
pitched forward, arching her body deeply and hitting the ground.  She
plowed into the mud and gasped.  The AK-47 flew from her hand, landing in
the bushes.

"What the fuck," she managed between breaths.  The head hadn't hit her,
apparently; she wasn't bleeding.  She must've taken the shot mostly on
the handle.

Roberta stood over her, face twisted in rage.  She raised the maul over
her head and brought it down hard, leaning into it.  Jetta rolled to the
side, away from the whistling blade, and scrambled to her feet.  Roberta
screamed in anger and ripped the axe out, swinging it like a bat.  She
ducked back away from it, watching it pass too closely to her for comfort.

"Last chance," hissed Jetta.  "Lost that fucking axe NOW or I'm --" and
it caught her in the stomach.  The strike wasn't aligned properly,
though, and it turned itself in Roberta's hands, twisting her wrists
cruelly.  Jetta exhaled the contents of her lungs in one agonizing blast
and crumpled to the ground, bleeding this time.

Roberta held onto the axe, but it didn't look like she could use it.
Instead, she kicked Jetta in the face, knocking her on her back.  She
kicked her again.

"YOU BITCH!" she snarled.  "YOU FUCKING BITCH!  YOU STILL THINK YOU'RE BAD?"

"I think I'm having a bad hair day," gasped Jetta, half-conscious.

"FUCK YOU!" she screamed, kicking at Jetta again.  She crawled away from
Roberta, trying to get into the woods, where the blows wouldn't be as
effective.  The woman's wrists seemed to be better, though, and she swung
the axe again, a mighty sideways swing aimed at her head.  Jetta
stretched out flat and the head swished over her nose, embedding itself
in a tree.  The handle snapped right below the head.  That was quite a
swing.  Roberta's momentum carried her around another half-turn and Jetta
kicked her in the back of the leg, spilling her into the mud.

Jetta crawled back to her feet, using the tree for support.  She drew her
knife.  Roberta got back up slowly, her half-healed injury hurting her
terribly.  They circled each other like hunting cats, both injured, both
looking for blood.

Roberta made the first move, using the handle like a club.  It hit Jetta
in the stomach, right over her first wound.  She screamed, tears running
involuntarily out of her eyes.  She trapped it against her body with her
free arm and started slashing with the knife, quickly and easily despite
her condition.  The dull black blade moved across Roberta's forearm,
across her shoulder, up her chest, down her chest, across her stomach,
and across one thigh.  She moved away before Roberta could retaliate,
clutching one hand protectively against her midsection.  Roberta swayed
for a bit, stopped in her tracks by the sudden pain.  The blood, thinned
by the rain, ran freely from the cuts.

"What the HELL is going on?" shouted Vic, walking up from behind the
cabin.  Jetta made the mistake of looking.  The splintered end of the
handle swatted her across the cheek, breaking open the scar Hidden had
left on her and leaving some new scratches of its own.  She hit the
ground, a little thankful that it hadn't gotten her squarely and
shattered bones instead of tearing flesh.

"Fucking shit, Roberta!" he cried.  "What the hell is going on?"

"This bitch's time has come," said Roberta, her voice barely more than a
whisper.  She swung the handle down onto Jetta, who hissed as it struck.

"CUT THE SHIT!" shouted Vic.  He drew one of his tens, holding it in both
hands and aiming it their way.  "DROP THAT FUCKING THING AND TELL ME WHAT
THE HELL IS GOING ON!"

"Bitch!" shouted Roberta, using it like a golf club.  It hit Jetta in the
stomach.  She whimpered piteously, curling into a ball around the wound.

"I said STOP!" he roared, his voice overpowering the rain and the din of
battle easily.  Roberta paused for a moment, then raised the club again.

She was going to go for a head shot this time.

Vic's pistol made a sharp whipcrack report.  Roberta screamed like a
feral animal and spun, her back and shoulder now spattered with more of
her blood.  She looked back and forth between he and Jetta, as if
undecided of what to do.  She focused her attention on Jetta.

Vic fired again.  Roberta didn't make a sound this time; she did a lazy,
drunken ballerina turn and landed in the bushes beside Jetta.  The broken
handle, dotted with blood, plopped in the mud.

"Holy shit," said Vic, eyes wide.  He lowered the pistol nervously.
"Would you fucking believe that."

"You could give me a fucking hand, Romeo," gasped Jetta, peering over her
raised arms.

"Oh shit," he said, running across the clearing to her.  He dropped to
his knees without stopping, sliding to a halt beside her.  The cut below
her ribs was bleeding steadily, although it wasn't deep, and her lip was
split where she'd been kicked.  She peered up at him and grimaced.

"How's it feel?" he asked worriedly, pulling up her shirt.  Her eyes
rolled back, showing whites, and her head thumped bonelessly on the ground.

"Guess that answers that," he said.  "Oh, shit.  Oh shit.  This ain't
good.  This is NOT good."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

			       THE GHOST



"That was great, Debbi," said Choy, scratching her head.  She smiled
widely at him like a child, happy and trusting and overjoyed at the
praise.  Choy was one of the nice technicians.  She liked practicing for him.

"Thank you," she said.  "Would you like me to do it again?"

"Yes, yes, we're going to do it again," he said.  "But it's going to be a
little different this time.  We're going to go outside for this.  Come
with me."  He motioned for her to follow him out of the practice room.
She did, bouncing along ecstatically.  She knew the other people with
them were important.  Choy had explained that to her already, that they
were from the Government and they were very interested in her.  They
didn't LOOK interested, but she liked their uniforms.  Some of them were
wearing beige shirts and dark green pants, with rows of medals and
ribbons on their chests.  The other ones were in green, black and brown,
with guns and helmets.  The ones with the guns watched her carefully,
like they were expecting her to do something.  She didn't know what they
were expecting her to do, but Choy hadn't told her to do anything yet
besides follow him, so that's all she did.

They went outside the Complex into the woods, beyond the field to where
the grass was high and there were a lot of bushes.  It was a big field.
At one end, opposite the woods, was a large stone block with a thick
piece of wood on the front.  It had a bullseye painted on the front.

"Do you remember what we did here last time, Debbi?" asked Choy.

"Yes, I do," she said.  The last time, they'd given her a gun and had her
hide at one end, making her way forward and shooting the target whenever
she thought no one was looking.  She was supposed to stay hidden as long
as possible.  They'd ended early last time.

"I want you to do the same thing," he said.  "The Government people want
to see you do it in person.  Get as close as you can without being
spotted.  Okay?"

"Okay," she said.

One of the Government people nodded, and one man handed her his rifle.
She hadn't used this kind before, but they all worked pretty much the
same way.  She switched the selective fire control down to single shot
and ran off across the field, ducking down in a bush at the far end.

This game was fun, although she was a little scared of the gun.  It made
a lot of noise whenever she fired it.  It was funny to watch the
Government people trying to spot her with binoculars.  They were always
looking the wrong places, swearing and cursing whenever she hit the
target, pointing and shouting.  Their eyes weren't as sharp as Choy's had
been the first time she'd done it, and she made it all the way to the
front before they gave up trying to find her.  When she stood up,
directly in front of them, they looked a little embarrassed and started
laughing.  She was a little worried that she'd made a mistake somehow,
but she found out later she hadn't.  Choy gave her ice cream later that
day, and he only did that when he was VERY happy.  He assured her that
the Government people were extremely impressed, and he went on to mention
that the Owner was very happy with her, too.

That had been a good day.  She remembered it well, because that had been
the day before they'd killed them all.

It was the same thing with these new people.  Whenever she saw them,
she'd take a shot, watch one of them fall, and the rest would jump down
and hide for a moment, shouting and cursing at her.  It was just as
humorous whenever they tried to find her.  One of them almost stepped on
her, but he didn't spot her.  She waited for him to get some distance
away before she took a shot at him.  She hit him in the back of the neck,
beneath his helmet.

One of the huge things stalked into view, the rainwater running down over
its armored sides.  It looked like a big metal monster, with giant hands
and guns on its shoulders.  She didn't know where to shoot at it; it
didn't even have a head.  She fired at its chest experimentally.  The
bullet left a small mark on it, but she didn't think she hurt it.  It got
very angry, though, and it started shooting in her direction, ripping up
big clods of dirt and cutting down some trees.  Another was behind it,
spraying flames into the underbrush.  She hoped no one was hiding over
there.  The gun she had didn't look like it would hurt them.  She'd need
something stronger.

She couldn't do anything here.  The people had all left, and the monsters
were coming through.  She'd go and find Jetta.  Jetta knew what these
things were.  She'd know how to kill them.  Or else she'd find Teclid, he
had the rockets.  The rockets would probably hurt them.  She crawled away
into the woods, confident in the fact that she was invisible and
all-knowing in this forest, and she failed to see Hidden, hanging
silently in a tree above her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What the hell happened?" asked Jermalayn, surveying the scene in
disbelief.  "Jetta?  Are you okay?"

"Some broken ribs, I think," said Jetta, her back against one of the
cabin's walls.  She smiled despite herself.  "Roberta decided she really
didn't like me and came after me with an axe."

"She dead?" asked Jermalayn.

"Yeah," said Vic.  "I shot her."

"You two have to keep your eyes open wider," said Jermalayn.  "There were
three guys right over there, looked like they were watching you.  They're
not there anymore."

"Dead?" asked Vic.

"Very," she said.

"The Line's broken," said Jetta.  "I blew it, up north of here, beyond
the Complex.  You'll know where, the whole place is totalled.  There's a
gap of about four feet.  Think it'll work?"

"I hope so.  Nice job, Jetta," said Jermalayn.  "I'll go tell the
others.  You'd better stay here and watch her, Vic.  You don't know the
woods like I do anyway."

Something crashed in the woods nearby.  Gunfire sounded, and a line of
tracers flew up into the sky, lancing holes in the clouds.  More
crashes.  Vic drew his pistols and watched.  Jermalayn levelled her rifle
in the direction of the sound, frowning.  They heard another impact, a
clang, and a metallic roar.  Something was going on just out of view.

"Maybe we'd better go someplace else," Jermalayn said quietly.

Something came flying out of the woods, crashing into the mud and sliding
on its back.  It was one of the borgs, its armor black and shiny, its
face crafted like a demonic skull, its waist impossibly thin, like a
wasp.  It got up on its feet with all the grace of a rhinocerous,
cradling a massive rifle in its arms, and regarded them with two dots of
light that served for eyes in its head's sockets.

The poor thing was more confused than they were.

"Shit!" said Jermalayn.  She let off a long burst at it, ignoring the
fact that the bullets were bouncing harmlessly off its armor.  Vic pinged
a few bullets off its back, wincing when one hit the wall beside him.  It
growled, face frozen in a perpetual grin, and brought its rifle into line.

It was the size of a bazooka.  Oh, shit.

A black bolt of lightning came out of the woods from the same spot that
had disgorged the borg.  It was Hidden, moving swiftly across the mud.
He leaned back as he grew close, sliding and knocking the borgs legs out
from under it, then skidding back onto his feet.

"So that's what all that noise was before," said Jetta, a look of
disbelief on her face.

"That's fucking Hidden!" shouted Jermalayn.  She raised the rifle.

"DON'T SHOOT HIM!" Jetta screamed.  She jumped up, stumbled when the pain
hit her, then resumed running.  She slammed into Jermalayn, barely moving
the big woman but throwing her aim off.  A burst of fire went into the woods.

The borg, very pissed off by now, started shooting its weapon.  Tracers
whizzed through the clearing like miniature fireballs.  Hidden kicked it
away from the borg and sprang on it, raking his claws up and down its
body.  It got up despite him, trying frantically to dislodge the creature.

"What the fuck was THAT for?" asked Jermalayn, glaring down at Jetta.

"Don't shoot," she said, her face distorted in pain.  "Don't kill
Hidden.  He's not the enemy.  Get the borg."

"The fuck I won't," said Jermalayn.

"DON'T," Jetta repeated, more forcefully.  "We've got to help him."  She
got back up slowly, breathing deeply.

Hidden was on the borg's back now, his arms locked around its neck, feet
propped up on its hips.  It whirled around, trying to throw him off.  Vic
ran up to it and stood by a moment, unsure of what to do.  He charged
into it, hoping to tackle it, but the mighty cyborg was unmoved.  He
clung to its waist, trying to drag it to the ground.  It drove an elbow
down onto the back of his neck, knocking him off.  Jetta attacked it with
the monoblade, driving it up and inwards at its midsection, hoping to get
it under the thick armored plates on its chest.  It clamped a hand on the
back of her shirt and tossed her away like a discarded toy.

"Son of a bitch," Jermalayn muttered.  She picked up the broken axe
handle, turned it over in her hand, and struck it across the head.  The
handle broke again, leaving her with a stump.  It grabbed her around the
throat with both hands, uttering another of its grating, mechanical
roars.  Hidden jabbed one of his blades into its eye, twisting it
around.  The light inside winked out.  It released Jermalayn and ran
backwards, at the cabin, smashing through the corner and plunging inside.

The entire structure seemed to shake a little.  The edge of the roof
sagged and collapsed.  Another wall fell in.  Then, slowly and
deliberately, the cabin sort of imploded, all the walls falling inwards
and the remaining roof dropping down with a crash.

"They ought to outlaw these fucking borgs," groaned Jetta, on the
ground.  She didn't look like she was going to get back up on her own.

The borg stood up, throwing off a tree-sized beam seemingly without
effort.  Its remaining eye regarded them with the closest thing to rage
its face would allow.

"People," it said, in a metallic, discordant voice, "I am NOT a happy
camper."  At some unseen mental command, a slim, humming length of metal
slid out of its right fist.

"Oh shit," said Vic.  "I think we pissed it off."  In doing so, he
attracted its attention, probably the last thing he wanted to do.  It
strolled towards him, right arm curled back for a strike.  He started
crawling back away from it as fast as his position would allow, afraid to
turn his back to it.  He only made it about ten feet before he ran into
Jermalayn's legs.  As he rolled aside, thankful to be away from it, the
borg looked up at her expectantly.

"Okay," she said, gesturing for it to advance.  "Let's try that again."

"Oh, shit," muttered Jetta, not having anything better to say.

The borg took a swing at her, the blade making a whistle as it slashed
the air.  She caught its arm -- CAUGHT it -- the tendons on her own
standing out in sharp contrast as she exerted herself.  She grabbed it
under the leg and lifted it off its feet, up into the air.  Jetta's mouth
dropped open.  Jermalayn raised it higher, ignoring its thrashing
protests, finally heaving it into the ground, like one would spike a
football.  The borg bounced off its head, landing heavily.

She grabbed the AK-47 by the barrel and swung it around, striking it in
the head as it rose.  Part of the stock snapped off.  She brought it down
on its head with a clang.  It kept rising.  She hit one more time with a
grunt, bending the weapon.  It had little effect on the borg, which
finally got up.  It hit its hand against its temple twice, as if to clear
its mind.

"What do they put in the water around here?" it asked.

"JERMALAYN, DROP!" Jetta shrieked.  Without thinking, she did.  They
heard three loud cracks.  Three tracers whipped past Jermalayn into the
woods beyond.  The borg stumbled forward, throwing its arms out for
balance.  A fine rain of metal and plastic bits descended over her.

The borg whirled.  Hidden stood behind it, holding its rifle.  He fired
again, putting a sizable hole right above where its stylized skeletal
nose was.  It glanced down at the three holes already in its chest, then
looked back up at Hidden.

"Damn, that hurt," it said, and tipped over with all the rigidity of a
statue.  The blade on its hand went silent.

Hidden fired ten more shots into it before he relinquished the rifle.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------



From: Tranquility <blitz@crow.cybercomm.net>
Subject: Looking Back, part 4
Date: Mon, 25 Sep 1995 22:35:55 -0400


The construct moved out into open ground, a field that had lapsed back
into its natural state over the last few years.  The grass was tall and
bushes sprouted from several areas.  The pilot was a little worried about
this and brought the speed up to a run, not wanting to make himself too
easy a target.

Inside the whirring, clanking interior, he heard the scream of a Mark VI.

He heard a WHAM as it struck.  The left leg bent, then broke under the
weight of the machine, pitching him forward into the ground.  It slid for
a distance, digging a sizable trench before coming to a stop.  His visor
began flashing warnings over his field of vision.  The leg was gone.
Hydrolic leak, the computer was closing off some valves.  All four
cannons showed damage.  And probably worst of all, his lightly-armored
back was tilted to the sky, an easy target.

He was an experience construct pilot, though, having served a few years
in the military, including some campaign time in Africa.  He'd been
knocked out before.  He knew what to do.  Don't bail out before he has
some cover fire.  A sitting duck was better than a dead duck, and even
though the construct's rear armor was a good deal lighter than the
frontal stuff, it was still pretty thick.  Maybe he could roll over.  He
gave it a shot, but the arms just dug down into the soft dirt without
giving him any push.  He was really mired down.

"Eightball to team, I'm down, repeat, I'm down," he said, knowing the
message would be broadcast to the rest of the team.  He tried not to
sound nervous, but he was.  "I need some cover over here.  I'm down and out."

"Ten-four, Eightball, I'm right behind you," came the reply.

"Jagger to team, I'm taking some fire near the reservoir, be advised,"
said Jagger, one of the other pilots.  Totally unrelated, he wasn't
anywhere near the reservoir.  He made a mental note of it anyway.

"Eightball to backup, be advised that I took a hit from a six," he said.

"I hear you, Eightball."

The HUD was showing an overheat.  Damn heat sinks were buried in the
dirt.  He started up the shutdown cycle.  He was in deep shit as it was.
If the ammo started going off, his situation would get quite a bit
worse.  This day was really starting to be bad.

"Eightball, I'm at the edge of the field.  I see you," said the radio.
"One unidentified on foot with an axe is trying to get your cockpit
open.  I'll take him...wait, I see another at the edge on thermals.  He's
got a six.  I'll take him out."

"I fucking hope so," muttered Eightball.  He heard a whirring crackle.
Miniguns.  They fired too fast to hear the individual reports.  It
sounded like canvas tearing, sort of.

"You get him?" asked Eightball.

"Got him, Eightball.  I'll get the other.  Oh, fucking shit, I'm taking
fire.  Armor's showing penetration, wasn't a six.  What the fuck am I
getting hit with?"

"Clear out, backup, clear out," said Eightball.

"Dammit, this is bad, this is..."

"Backup, gimme a sitrep," said the pilot.  He heard a clang on the
outside of the construct.

"Backup, gimme a sitrep," he repeated, fear creeping into his voice.
Another clang.

"BACKUP, GIMME A FUCKING SITREP!" he shouted.

"I'm still showing Hiryu on my HUD," said Jagger solemnly.  "Radio might
be down."

He heard a deafening blast as the emergency hatch release was activated
from the outside.  Cold rain hit him in the back of the neck.  It was the
last thing he felt before Teclid's hatchet buried itself in his head,
splitting his helmet like a nutshell.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Pop up that hatch there," hissed Jetta, leaning heavily on Vic.
"There'll be a red handle underneath.  Stand clear and pull it."

Hidden scaled the side of the dead construct without difficulty, hanging
off to one side.  He reached over, flipped up the indicated hatch, and
pulled the release.  The access port blew open, blasting the hatch away
and into the woods.

The pilot was slumped inside, his blood sprayed over the interior.  A
large, ragged hole gaped widely in his back, just below his neck.  Hidden
unsnapped the restraining harness and let the corpse tumble out.  A
corresponding hole was in the padded front console.

"That's quite a gun," said Vic, looking at the rifle Jermalayn held.
"Right through the damn thing."

".50 cal armor piercer," said Jetta.  "I'm surprised that borg had one.
The things are over a hundred years old.  Only thing new about it is the
targeting and the bullets."

"You ever killed anyone with your bare hands?" asked Jermalayn.

"I have in the past," said Jetta.

"How old's the human fist?" she asked.

"I get the point," said Jetta.  "That thing's still running.  Anyone here
know how to pilot one?"

"I thought you did," said Vic.

"I do," she said.  "I just don't feel like climbing up there."

"I have no idea how," said Jermalayn.  "I'm sure Hidden doesn't."

"Shit," she muttered.  "Someone get the pilot's helmet.  I'm gonna need
it.  Hidden, could you help me up there?"

Hidden wrapped his legs around one of the arms and swung down, taking her
by the shoulders.  He did an incredible sit-up from the position, lifting
her in to the cockpit.  He reached down as Vic handed up the helmet, a
few drops of blood on it, and placed it on Jetta's head.

"You gonna be okay in there?" asked Vic.

"No problem at all," she said, adjusting the helmet.  "Hidden, get that
harness, will you?"  He reached in and snapped the harness, and she
patted his arm.  She slid her arms and legs into the controls and waved
her arm.  The construct's massive arm waved correspondingly.

"What the hell do we do now?" asked Jermalayn.

"Guess we follow her.  It's always worked for me," said Vic, shrugging.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jetta moved the construct out into the field, grinning underneath the
bulky visor.  She spotted a wrecked 'struct out in the middle, smoking a
little.  The back hatch was blown.  Teclid was beside it, watching her
with a mixture of fascination and horror.  He glanced to the side, then
back at her.

"Hiryu, do you read me?" said a voice, seemingly inside her head.  It was
the radio.  "Hiryu, this is Jagger.  I'm coming over to give Eightball
some backup.  You okay?"

She looked down at Vic, Jermalayn and Hidden, standing beside the
'struct's legs.  She waved them back, then pointed at Teclid.  Jermalayn
started shouting to him, waving him over.  She didn't want to say
anything; they wouldn't hear it over the 'struct's engines, but whoever
else was on the radio band would.

Teclid evidently got the picture.  He shouted something back.  She caught
the word "Rolf."  Vic shouted up to her.  Rolf was dead.  Teclid called
out something about getting the others and ran off into the woods.

"I'm gonna go help Teclid," Jermalayn screamed up at her.  She, too,
disappeared into the trees.

Across the meadow, a 'struct lumbered into view, flanked by a borg and
some soldiers.  When they saw her, they came to a halt.  The 'struct
waved at her.

"Hiryu, you read me?" asked the radio.

Jetta raised the 'struct's hand and knocked it against where the head
would be, if the 'struct had a head.

"Not transmitting.  I got it, Hiryu," said Jagger.  The 'struct opposite
her made an okay gesture with its fingers.  "Eightball get out?"

She jerked her thumb back over her shoulder.

"Nice job.  Yeah, I see him back behind you," said Jagger.  "You're
showing a little frontal damage.  I see a hole in your chest, looks like
it penetrated.  All systems go?"

Jetta made the okay sign.  Then she pointed hurredly at them, waving her
other hand.

"Hold on," said Jagger, turning the giant machine around.  The infantry
and borg turned also, looking back into the woods behind them.

Jetta armed the weapons.  The wraparound HUD changed, displaying a
weapons systems window.  This particular machine was equipped with two 20
mm miniguns, two 25 mm cannons.  Very nice.  More than enough to smash
the hell out of another 'struct.  She rotated the machine on its torso,
lining up the sights on Jagger's back.  Now all she had to do was figure
out how to fire them.  She tried moving her head around, but nothing
happened.  Damn.  That's the way the Demikaan 'structs had fired.  She
tried jerking her thumbs.  That did it.  The entire 'struct shook as the
guns started going off.  Jagger's 'struct rocked forward, chunks of armor
spraying off the bullets shredded it.  One arm dropped off.  It
collapsed, taking down a tree with it.  She raked the sights from side to
side at the soldiers, watching them explode into pieces when they took a
hit.  The borg moved out of her line of fire fast, stopping and looking
at her.  It shrugged its shoulders, as if to say, "What the hell is going
on?"  She mowed it down.

Jagger's 'struct started to get up.  He didn't sound happy on the radio.

"GODDAMN IT, HIRYU, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" he screamed.  She was a
little surprised.  She gave it another burst.  This time it exploded into
flames.  Must've been carrying flamethrowers and she'd hit the fuel for
them.  The 'struct fell down again, and he didn't give her a response
this time.

"Problem, Hiryu?" asked the radio.  "Don't worry, I'm on my way."

Another 'struct, the last one, marched into view, coming from the north.
She saw rocket tubes on the shoulders.  It stopped and looked around,
taking in the view for a moment.

"What the hell happened, Hiryu?" asked Jagger.

She opened fire on him.  The 'struct started moving fast as trees
collapsed and rocks disintegrated.  Damn, they were hard to hit when they
were running.  She swung the sights after it, overshot, backed them up,
undershot, and swore.  It managed to fire a rocket at her, which flew
past, over her head.  She bent her thumbs in, maintaining a stream of
fire, and started jerking it back and forth, hoping for a few good hits.
She got it a few times, doing some damage to the side and front, and as
abrubtly as they'd started firing, the mighty guns stopped.

The ammunition counter politely told her she was all out.

"Shit," she muttered.  She started running for Jagger, amazed at how fast
the ungainly machine covered the ground between them.  He stopped and
started launching rockets, only getting off a few shots before she was
too close for safe firing.  One hit her in the chest, slowing the 'struct
a bit.  The HUD didn't report any serious damage.  She plowed into him,
stopping herself abrubtly and knocking his 'struct on its back.

She reached down and grabbed the rocket tubes, tearing them off.  Now
they were on equal terms.  She slammed a fist down on the chest, smiling
when the armor plates buckled.  Jagger kicked up, knocking the 'struct
off balance.  She cartwheeled her arms in the control units as it lurched
backwards, the 'struct reciprocating her movements on a larger scale.
She backpedalled.  It didn't quite fall down, but by the time she had it
under control, Jagger's unit was back up on its feet.

He wound up teaching her a thing or two about the differences between
human hand-to-hand combat and construct hand-to-hand combat.  They were
two completely different things.  She slammed her hands into the
'struct's ribs, a blow that would've left a person doubled over in
agony.  It had no such effect on the 'struct.  Jagger swung his arms
around like clubs, bringing them over his head, down on her 'struct, down
and around, and back down again for another blow.  Hammer blows like that
would leave a person with a pair of broken hands if they tried it on
another person, but not so with the 'structs.  On the fourth strike, her
HUD lit up with a variety of warnings and failures.  On the fifth, she
heard the shriek of metal rending and tearing.  On the sixth, it fell,
both legs and one arm unresponsive to her movements.

She saw small holes appearing in its chest as it loomed over her.
Hydrolic fluid spurted out of one armpit.  It paused, rotating on its
torso to get a look at its attackers.  She saw tracers streaking into it
again and again, leaving those deadly, ridiculously-small holes in its
torso.  One of the bullets hit something important and it toppled over
sideways, flailing its arms and legs to get up.  It couldn't.

She gave up and bailed out.  The computer knew her 'struct was laying on
its back, and it popped open the forward hatch instead of the rear one.
She unbuckled the harness and climbed out, gritting her teeth against the
pain in her chest.  She saw the forward hatch on the other 'struct swing
open.  Jagger stumbled out, dressed in a black jumpsuit and the oversized
pilot's helmet.

"You fucking BITCH!" he shouted, fumbling to draw his pistol.  She heard
a sharp crack.  A tracer blurred past her, hitting him squarely in the
sternum.  She saw it continue out the other side.  The force of the round
knocked him off the wreck and into the mud.

"Jetta!" shouted Vic, running at her.  "Jetta, you okay?"  He was
carrying the massive .50 cal easily in his left hand.  It was bionic, she
remembered.  No wonder he'd been able to fire it, both his legs were
cybernetic.

"Fine, fine," she gasped.  "Just help me off of here.  There were only
four, I think.  We got them all."

"How many left on foot?" he asked.

"Can't be many," she said.  "But there'll be more.  We've got to get out
of here before their reinforcements arrive.  Ghost knows where I blew the
Line.  I told Jermalayn where.  She'll be able to find it.  I say we go
up there and lay low until they show."

"I don't like it," said Vic.  "Not that I've got anything better.  Might
as fucking well.  Let's go."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three days later, they found a house.  It boosted morale considerably.
It was not a cabin, but an actual house, made of wood and cement.  It was
old, yes, dilapidated and falling apart, but it was a house.  What little
lawn it possessed had grown into a meadow, with two rusting hulks outside
and a satellite dish in back.  There was a driveway, complete with a
garage, and Hidden later discovered that if one followed the dirt road to
its end, three miles away, it joined a paved road, a highway.

They were back to civilization, in a way.

The inside had the look of a place that had once been lived in, but not
recently.  Just like the Complex.  There were dishes in the sink, toilet
paper in the bathrooms and a working pickup truck in the garage.
Downstairs, they found shelves full of canned fruits, still edible, a
wine rack of all things, and a lot of tools.  In one corner were four
skeletons, two large and two small.  One of the large ones and both of
the small ones were female, identified as such by Billy, who explained
that one could tell such things by looking at the hips.  He couldn't
determine whether they died violently or not, but he didn't think so.
They'd been all cuddled up together under blankets.  Judging from the
fact that they were in the cellar, where the temperature was more or less
constant, and there was no firewoods inside or outside, he speculated
that they'd been snowed in severely during the blizzard that had struck
three years previously and had died from exposure.

Although there was a road nearby, they were very high in the mountains
now, and the weather was steadily getting worse.  They saw no signs of
flyers, and they'd left no trace of their escape -- they'd veered sharply
from the path they were taking after they crossed the Line.  Their
pursuers would not find them.

"Hey, the solar cells are still working," Teclid shouted down from the
roof.  "We should still have power in here.  Try turning on the lights."

Vic flicked a light switch.  It sputtered to life.

"Okay, turn it off," he said.  "Everyone here can see in the dark, and
you can spot a candle at night around here ten miles away.  Leave the
lights off."

"But turn the heat on," said the Ghost, smiling.  "I'm too tired to chop
wood."

"Thermal scanners," said Vic.

"Fuck it," said Jetta.  "If they're gonna find us here, they'll do it
without scanners anyway.  Leave the lights off, though, that'll attract
natives."  She doubled over into a series of wracking coughs, gasping for
breath at the end.

"She's sick, I think," said the Ghost, cradling her head protectively
until she could breath again.

"She shouldn't be," said Vic darkly.  "She's got a biocomp.  It's
supposed to keep her from getting sick."

"This?" asked Jetta weakly, pulling down the side of her jeans a bit.
The biocomp's external interface was smashed and starred, its electronic
innards visible under her skin.  The flesh around the edge of it was
beginning to show the red puffiness of infection.

"Holy shit," said Vic.

"Why didn't you tell me about this before?" Billy asked sternly.  "That's
a very dangerous condition."

"What the fuck you gonna do about it?" she asked, shrugging.

"We have no medical supplies," Billy admitted.

"That's why I didn't tell you," she said, wiping her mouth.  He noticed
flecks of blood on the back of her hand.  "You can't do shit for me anyway."

"Okay, we stay here for a day or two," said Billy.  "We all need the
rest.  There's food and water here, HOT water.  You all remember that?"
He exchanged smiles with the other natives.  "Hot water and food and
beds.  Someone's gotta keep watch, though."

"Jetta?" asked Vic.

"I can't...not tonight," she said wanly.  "I need some sleep, Vic.  I
haven't slept in weeks.  I'm so tired.  I just need a nap, that's all.
Just a nap."

"Fuck, you earned it," he said, patting her on the shoulder.  "Pick your
bed."

"Hey, one thing before I...go to bed," she said, her eyelids beginning to
droop.  "It's important.  I need you all to promise me something."

"What is it?" asked Vic.

"If I ever die on you people, destroy my corpse," she said.  "And I mean
DESTROY it.  Burn it or hide it or something, but make sure it's destroyed."

"Why?" asked Billy.

"My business.  Just promise," she said.

"Sure thing, Jetta," said Vic.

"Good night, then," she said over her shoulder, stumbling into one of the
bedrooms.

The Ghost followed her in, helping her to get out of her clothes and to
change the bandage across her stomach.  She snapped the sheets up smartly
a few times, throwing off the layer of dust covering it.  She held
Jetta's hand and eased her down into the bed, giving her support.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Not really," said Jetta, smiling sadly.  "But I had to go to sleep
sooner or later."

"When do you want me to wake you up?" asked the Ghost.

"You won't have to," said Jetta.

"Won't be asleep long?  I understand.  Have a nice rest, Jetta," said the
Ghost, walking out.  She closed the door behind her.

"Hey, you know, speaking of funeral preparations, maybe we oughta bury
those poor things downstairs," said Teclid.  Hidden made a motion with
his arms and shook his head.

"Why the hell not?" asked Vic.

Hidden gestured quickly, paused, scratched his head, and stomped one foot
in frustration.

"Can you write stuff on paper?" asked Teclid.

Hidden shook his head, putting a hand over where his eyes would be.

"Can you use a computer?" asked Billy, pointing to the living room's
terminal.

Surprisingly, the machine booted up smoothly.  It was an old one with a
high-res 2-D screen and keyboard, actually an antique that would probably
be worth some money to a collector.  Hidden sat down in front of it and
began tapping out sentences smoothly, spelling out his responses as fast
as someone would speak them.

I CAN USE A KEYBOARD.  I KNOW WHERE THE LETTERS ARE.

"I'm sorry we can't understand your sign language, Hidden," said the
Ghost, genuinely apologetic.

I AM SORRY TOO.  MUCH BLOODSHED WOULD'VE BEEN AVOIDED HAD WE BEEN BETTER
SUITED TO COMMUNICATION.  THE REASON WE SHOULD NOT BURY THE OWNERS OF
THIS HOUSE IS THAT THIS IS THEIR FINAL RESTING PLACE.  THEY WOULD'VE
LIKED TO HAVE DIED HERE, AND I THINK THEY WOULD PREFER TO SPEND ETERNITY
IN THEIR DWELLING.

"You think they're still here?" asked Billy.

I KNOW THEY'RE STILL HERE.  YOU SAW THEM AS WELL AS I.

"No, not their bodies, their souls," said Billy.  "You think they're here?"

WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE?

"Might as well leave them," shrugged Billy.  "They're completely
skeletalized.  There's no health hazard."

THE FRUITS IN THE JARS, WHAT ARE THE ORANGE ONES CALLED?

"Peaches," said Vic, peering over Hidden's spiny shoulder at the monitor.

I HAVE EATEN THOSE BEFORE.  I ENJOY THEM.  LET US EAT SOME PEACHES.

"Shit," Vic chuckled.  "Okay.  Let's get some fucking peaches."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jetta remained in a deep sleep for two days.  On the morning of the third
day, she was dead.  It had happened sometime during the night; her body
was cold, and her back was beginning to purple with lividity.  Billy
examined her thoroughly with what few devices he had and determined that
it'd been a lot of things that killed her -- poor nutrition, a lot of
small injuries, a couple of big ones, an infection, a malfunctioning
biocomp, and the strain on her circulatory system caused by her degree of
reflex upgrades.  He'd been surprised she'd lasted as long as she had.

It was agreed that they honor her last wishes, but as it turned out, no
one could mutilate her corpse, not even Teclid or Jermalayn.  Hidden
refused to touch it, insisting on the computer that the corpse was still
Jetta, and she wouldn't appreciate it.  It was finally decided that they
would bury her outside the house.  The chances of any of them finding her
again was slim, and the chances of someone else ever finding her were
considerably slimmer.  It also seemed as good a time as any to leave, and
with a little fidgeting, they got the truck running.  They weren't sure
of where they were going -- Vic had never been to that part of the
country before, and this was the first time the others had been outside
the Line -- but they knew they had to keep going north, and that's where
they went.  All of them left, with the exception of Hidden, who gave no
reason for his staying other than typing, "I have to."  Having seen
Hidden, Vic now believed in Scalps.  From what Jetta had told him about
them, "I have to" was a logical explanation for one's actions among
Scalps.  No one pressed the issue.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                 HIDDEN



More of the enemies came some time later.  Hidden knew what to do about them.

When they were all dead, he went back to the computer.  Their weapons
hurt him more than he let on, but he was a very resilient creature.  With
a steady supply of food and water, he healed very quickly, and his wounds
never got the particular smell to them that human wounds sometimes did.

The computer told him a lot of things.  He was used to this.  The Owner's
terminal had told him things from time to time.  It had taught him how to
take care of the House, how to keep it clean and orderly.  It had also
taught him how to play the piano.  He couldn't read the characters on the
monitor, but the Owner's computer had spoken to him.  This one did as well.

It told him how the enemies functioned, and how their great devices
functioned as well.  It gave him better insight as to how to elude their
attention.  It also told him what they were after, exactly, and why they
were after it.  He learned a great many things from it.  For example, the
reason they had so much trouble seeing him was because of his carapace.
Not only was it a dark color, which he didn't understand, not being able
to detect light like a human, but it was also hard to see with radar,
which he understood, and it didn't radiate heat like a human, which he
also understood.  It told him of great cities of humans, where millions
thrived and lived in giant buildings that housed thousands.  He had
trouble believing such things initially, but he didn't know why until the
terminal explained that, too.  Evidently, lies were a human trait, a part
of his heritage.

He spent days beside the computer, eating, drinking, relieving himself
outside when necessary.  He had no need for sleep, although sometimes his
mind and body grew weary and he had to rest.  He had to meditate a great
deal, too; he'd bathed in much blood recently, and it tended to cloud his
mind when he thought of it.

The computer's name was Jeremy, it seemed.  It was a human name, but the
computer explained that it wasn't human, it was a neural network.  It was
a computer that thought like a human did.  He didn't really understand
that, but he didn't feel it was very important -- Jeremy had a knack for
knowing when he didn't understand something, and he always elaborated
when it was important.

He hadn't really thought of moving Jetta until Jeremy suggested it.
She'd seemed happy when they'd arrived, happy to have a roof over her
head and a bed to sleep in, and he thought she'd continue to be happy.
Jeremy said that she wouldn't, though.  She'd miss the cities of the
humans, and she'd eventually want to go back.  That sounded reasonable
enough to him.  He agreed to take her sometime later, to a place called
Port Angeles.  Jeremy gave him directions to the place where they'd meet,
and from there, he said, he'd take her to New Jersey, where she really
wanted to be.  It was all in her best interests, he explained.

Hidden went to the garage, got the shovel, and dug her up.  She wasn't
down very deep.  She had the smell/taste of death to her.  She was light,
though, and he could run with her.  If he ran, Jeremy said, he'd be able
to get to Port Angeles in less than 24 hours.  He would have to keep out
of sight, though.

Keeping out of sight was what Hidden did best.

Running was a close second.