Passing through a Confederacy immigration control point in the Transponder line, even in full human form, is going to set off somebody’s private alarm somewhere. Sure, there’re metal detectors and stripsearches and ten kinds of security to keep weapons out of transit areas, but there are ways around those sorts of things, not limited to bribery and nepotism. Most authorities report catching high numbers of smugglers into and out of secured areas, but never as a percentage of the total number of people suspected of bringing contraband goods through a restricted-access point. The fact is, a person as high-profile as I am is going to get recognised by somebody almost anywhere he goes, whether it’s by sight, voice or ID code. Being partly responsible for the system that allows such easy recognition, it’s little wonder I had someone waiting to greet me with open arms and a double-barrel welcome mat. Not everybody appreciates becoming just another number in an international database.

I don’t even think I was tailed; my senses were jacked up high enough that the only good means of following me would’ve been using the ever-present security cameras that come as a natural function of life inside a technopolis. The best that a physical being could have hoped was to duplicate what the electronics already knew, and in so doing they’d almost certainly have set off my paranoia and whatever advantage they could’ve gained by knowing where I was would’ve been lost by my awareness that I was being traced.

My best reconstruction of the event goes something like this: I walked through the Transponder gate at the inbound immigration checkpoint. A complex series of interactions between the transceiver in the archway, the Universal Identity Transponder implanted at the base of my neck, and the nearest International Identification Registry system led to the conclusion that I was, in fact, listed in the IIR database. The computer back-ending the transceiver proudly displayed the results of its queries about my country of citizenship (Cascadia), legal adult status (yes), outstanding criminal warrants (none in any IIR member nation or Interpol database) and permission to travel within the Confederacy (seven-day transit pass, work permitted within Confederate borders). Nothing suggesting anything out of the ordinary came up, so the green light flashed and a small bell toned to pass me through the gate. At that same instant, a second signal, most likely from a trojan wired up by the gunman’s accomplice in the Monitor booth, caused the gunman’s beeper to buzz, alerting him that the target had just passed through immigration and would be clear of customs momentarily. Assuming he was stationed near the exit gate, this would’ve given him ample time to set up for the shot.

Travelling as a full human, with no visibly abnormal traits, I had carelessly assumed that I would go unrecognised by the vast majority. Purists strike me as being such luddites when it comes to certain aspects of technology that I forget how sophisticated they can really be when not dealing with areas of modern science that they think violate their religious beliefs. So, my guard was down. That gave the gunman all the opportunity he needed to fire off three connecting shots. One went straight through my abdomen, missing my spine but removing a large chunk of my liver. The second connected with my upper chest, probably rupturing both lungs and doing unpleasant things to my cardiac rhythm. The third took out my right shoulder and probably disconnected my arm from the rest of my body.

I didn’t even have time to scream before I went into shock. The part of my brain responsible for processing pain went into overdrive, then got deactivated two milliseconds later by an override circuit designed for just such an occasion; with the crosscurrent flooding out all the meaningful signals, I was literally incapable of feeling the aftereffects of the shots. Call me old-fashioned but drugs designed to prevent a patient from waking up scare the hell out of me, as does the idea of any chemical that stops me from being able to remember anything that happened under its influence. I’d rather rely on a few microamps cutting off access to the synapses and be wide awake when somebody tampers with my body than trust any surgeon, no matter how skilled, to do what I want without me being right there to point out corrections while zie works. It activates itself automatically when it detects an excessive rate of signal is coming through that area of the brain; this means I can still feel minor injuries, but anything more serious than a bad sunburn or a papercut and I’ll only notice a quick twinge and then numbness.

Falling back onto the tile in shock and confusion, I was dimly aware of difficulty breathing, more gunshots, screams and general confusion. One unfortunate side effect of the override circuit is that it tends to throw my other sensory perceptions out of whack. I saw sparkles in front of my eyes, the overhead lights started humming loudly in my ears and then hundreds of hands lifted me and started carrying me along the corridor. I felt a deep pressure in my left arm, one that I had long ago learned to identify as the prick of a needle while under the influence, and then everything faded to a uniform grey static and white noise in my ears.

When I came around, more recognizable by the fact that I knew when I blinked than anything else, I was flat on my back staring up at the ceiling. Fluorescent white strips overhead stared down at me. I saw tiny rainbows around the edges of the lights, telling me the pain inhibitor was still active.

A voice startled me out of complacent comptemplation. “Awake, I see.”

I tried to turn my head but found I had all the muscle-tone of a wet tea towel. My brain put together the commands to string together a sentence but rather than words coming out of my mouth, a synthesiser near the bed picked up on the signals approaching my vocal cords and intercepted them, translating them into speech, albeit much less emotional and flatter than my own: “Doc, is that you?”

Doctor Richard Sanford, the man who had overseen every one of my major Transitions and most of my minor ones, chuckled and leaned over into my field of vision. Light reflected off the top of his balding head and into my eyes. “Don’t bother trying to move anything below your lips; you’re on a motor-control inhibitor to stop you from pulling apart any of the innumerable stitches currently holding you together. That includes your vocal cords.”

A mechanical laugh echoed out of the speechbox. “Your mother would be proud; all those sewing lessons paid off.”

Sanford smiled, showing his almost-perfect even white teeth. “We had to grow you a liver, two lungs, several meters of small intestine, a stomach and several kilos of muscle, bone, nerve and skin to put you back the way you were when you left. You want to tell me how my handiwork got so badly damaged?”

After a moment of pondering and two false starts, I managed to get the synthesizer to say, “A man with a shotgun wanted more than a few words with me. Where am I?” The last was a question but, as usual, the confounded mechanical contraption delivered it all in a flat monologue. I might as well have been reading a grocery list.

The doctor clucked his tongue and then leaned back out of my field of vision. “Pity,” he said, ignoring my question. “I was so hoping that for once, you’d manage to not damage my artwork while showing it off to the world.”

I swore to myself that one day I was going to figure out how to tell from his voice when Sanford was being funny and when he was being serious. However, it wasn’t going to be today. “Couldn’t let that happen. Besides, human is boring.”

He laughed. “It’s familiar, though. I’ll stick to my form for now. I can embrace some areas of new technology and support others without practicing them all on myself. What were you doing in the Confederacy, anyway?”

I tried to sigh but it came out as a quiet hum on the speaker. “Private installation. Details classified.”

Sanford clucked his tongue again. “Well, I’ll leave you to recover, then. Try to stay comfortable; you’ll have plenty of time to mull over what to do from here.” I closed my eyes, reducing the world to blackness. I heard footsteps and then the quiet click of a doorlatch falling into place. Unable to do anything else, I lay back and listened to the sound of my own heartbeat and the silent hum of machines as they lulled me into oblivion.

After a week of being turned this way and that by a rotating schedule of nurses who showed all the personal interest of a blind date, Doc Sanford came in, looked me over, pronounced me fit to move under my own power and removed the motor inhibitor. It took an hour for everyone to pull out the lengths of tubing that had kept me tied into the machines that acted as life-support. The first thing I did under my own manpower was walk to the toilet; it was probably my most rewarding physical experience to date. Solid food followed closely behind, if you can call warm oatmeal solid. I was still dazed and lightheaded from the override circuit being active constantly, but ignoring that, I felt as good as I did before the “incident.”

The incident. After attending to all my relevant bodily functions, I found a terminal and started scanning for news reports from the Confederacy. It wasn’t hard. The network returned several reports published over a span of hours, from two minutes after the first shot to morning-after, all accompanied by high-quality full-color-and-stereo security camera feeds of three solid impacts slamming into my chest, picking me up and flinging me gracefully in a close-to-parabolic arc, coming to rest splayed out on the tile floor, the shotgun-wielder standing over me for all of two seconds, savoring the moment.

Ignoring the bulk of the story for the moment, I focused my attention first on the video footage. Several full-speed passes through the graphic display of violence made the hair on the back of my neck rise; I felt as if I were attending my own funeral. I halted the flow of images and pulled a close-up of my assailant’s face. Smoke curling away from the barrels gave him a halo effect. He was bald but probably hadn’t shaved his head in a few days. His eyes were sunken, as were the rest of his features to some degree; he looked like someone had punched a bowl of bread dough, stuck the man’s face on the indented surface and then let it rise. He was overweight but not fat, or at least not disproportionately so. His lips were curled back in an animal’s snarl, but his eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure. Studying him, I couldn’t help but think that he was getting some kind of twisted kick out of doing his deity’s dirty work. Zooming back out, I got a look at his clothes. His jacket and pants were an unbleached off-white and around his neck I caught the flash of polished metal, the golden stylized flame-and-world pendant showing membership in, or at least some affiliation with, the Purist movement.

I sighed and saved a few images extracted from the datastream for my personal files, then called up the associated texts. Thomas Elijah Westborough, born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi, was in custody eleven minutes and twenty-two seconds after shooting “Kolya Jensen, self-appointed architect of the Brave New World”. A few reports from more conservative news services went into wild speculation behind the reason for the co-inventor of the so-called Identity Chip to be in a place so opposed to his very existence, with claims ranging from conversion to several different One True Ways to secret meetings with subversives in government planning to make the Confederacy a puppet-signatory to the Reunified Northam talks. Those that chose not to guess why I was there did go so far as to wonder openly about it.

I had to laugh at the title bestowed upon me. It wasn’t my fault that religion couldn’t keep pace with technology; that particular race had been lost so many times on so many tracks over the years that it hardly seemed worth the effort to run it again. The right to die, the origin of life, the rising of the sun, and the shape of the earth—to pick a select few choice contests—had all come under attack as being against the whims or wishes of some Invisible Pink Unicorn or Magical Sky-Daddy over the years. All of them had eventually forced the devout and the devoted to come to grips with the fact that, a few glitches in quantum physics aside, the universe didn’t really care what they wanted to be true.

It also wasn’t my fault that Transponder technology had had become so ubiquitous. Transition technology had made almost every form of physical identification useless; given a month and enough money, you could become anyone or anything, within certain limits. Want to be an elephant for your kid’s jungle-themed birthday this fall? Two months and fifty-grand, give or take two weeks of physical therapy. Want to look like Chartreuse or Rocco Carboni? Twenty-thousand and two weeks. Sure, people have died in the tanks, but have died on surgical tables for as long as we’ve been lifting people out of the dirt to keep their incision sites clean, and I don’t hear a lot of clamoring for going back to the leeches-and-emetics theory of medicine. So, even if most people still operate under the very comforting delusion that they still look like their old Northam Identicards, the truth is that you couldn’t trust them to match, assuming they were still valid.

It wasn’t even my fault that Transponder technology existed. Officially, the Cascadia government owned all rights to the technology when it was developed, and they chose to release the technical specs into the field. I happened to be on the team that developed it, and yes I was the geek that put forward the technical design that became the framework for the UIT network, but I wasn’t any of the hundreds of people who recognized the need for identity confirmation that existed outside of physical constraints, allocated resources to solve the problem, hired my company as a research partner, and then pushed for results. I certainly wasn’t the millions of people who voted those politicians into office because of a facejacking operation that exposed three celebrities as criminals and put seven people in jail for conspiracy to commit murder. I was one person who happened to be at the right place at the right time to serve as a capstone on a much larger effort.

Getting in front of a camera at the Portland Techxpo and bragging about having made possible the Mark of the Beast… okay, yes, that was my fault. It certainly didn’t endear me to a bunch of religious psychotics like Brother William Washburn’s Purist Movement, but it was so hard to take them seriously. Their press releases read like half a dozen holy books and a double fistful of dollar bills with kook rants written on them passed through a Markov chain generator, and their policy statements showed they collectively had a creative—to be generous—understanding of both religious scripture and the scientific method. They had some two-dozen “official” factions, all split from the main group based on some minor nitpick involving just how many angels could dance on what sized pin, but on peeling back all the social niceties and hairsplitting, they were a bunch of people who’d decided that the best way to deal with the pace of technology was to ban anything that made them feel icky inside. They couldn’t get most of their members elected in either Tejas or the Confederacy because they were too conservative, and if that didn’t put them squarely beyond the realm of reason, nothing would.

I shut down the newsfeed and stared blankly at the terminal for about a minute, putting my thoughts in some semblance of order. Then I shook my head and punched in the callcode for my office. Three buzzes later, the speaker popped, heralding the audio pickup on the other side. “Identicorp Portland.”

I recognised the voice. Breathing a sigh of relief, I punched a request for video. “Trace, it’s Kolya.”

I counted off three seconds subvocally before Trace Morgan, my nominal vice-president and one of my closest friends, sent back a denial for my video request and a request for authentication. “Identify on secure channel, please.”

“Oh, for the love of…” I bit my tongue, then chuckled at my response. The override circuit must be affecting me, I thought. The terminal was an Astra 320, not exactly cutting-edge but still equipped with a UIT transceiver as part of its stardard peripheral list. I put my hand over the receiver and waited for the thing to beep at me and tell me it had read my transponder. When it did, I spoke back into the terminal. “Authentification on its way. And send your own while you’re at it.”

“Already in progress. Stand by.” I fidgeted in my chair while my terminal and his talked to each other, then the IIR database, finally transmitting a little message backing my claims to Trace. A request for video pickup came through on my end, which I quickly accepted. A few seconds later, a window on the terminal opened up, Trace’s muzzle staring out of it at me. He’d Transitioned shortly after I did, partially to help prove that the UIT could replace any conventional form of identification, partially to indulge himself. He looked like a labrat, a six-foot-two white rat, right down to the tip of his pink tail. His figure was still mostly human-proportioned, but the fur and skull
were unmistakabily rodentine.

His black eyes blinked at the screen. “Kolya?” His voice registered surprise.

I grimaced. “Hi.”

“You look…” He paused, not directly look into the pickup.

“The word is ‘bad’, Trace.”

“I’ll go with that,” he agreed quickly, trying to fill the previous gap. “I heard the news. Sanford putting you back together alright?”

I made a face at the screen. “I itch.”

Trace chuckled, a high-pitched chitter that sounded like it should be coming from a cartoon chipmunk. “Just don’t gouge yourself this time.” I rolled my eyes at his comment. I’d had the override circuit installed at the same time as my first major Transition: leopard, with a heavy emphasis on the animal traits. When I woke up, of course I didn’t feel any pain because of the neural block, but I did itch from all the fur. I wasn’t used to my body and I’d forgotten about my claws, so I managed to carve four good-sized slices in my chest before the slick feel of blood on my pawpads made me hit the panic button. It took nearly twice as long to recover as it should have. Needless to say, most of the office found this hilarious.

I rolled my shoulders in a shrug. “Have I missed anything important?”

Trace gave a non-committal shrug. “We’ve had Confederacy officials on the phone off and on for the past nine days alternatively demanding to know if we want to press charges and meekly asking if you’re alive and wanting to know if-slash-when someone will be coming back. There’ve also been roughly half a dozen messages left, all in different synthesised voices, taking credit for your death and proclaiming you to be the first to fall. There’ve been over two-dozen additional calls we presume from the same sources, but they’ve been hang-ups, possibly automated. Tracking the calls led to public phone booths in Cascadia, Tejas and the Confederacy. All calls were purchased with anonymous cashcards. Cascadia police and Interpol have both been notified.” He paused a moment, looked around the edge of the pickup. “That seems to be everything.”

I nodded. “Sounds like the shop’s under control, then. I should be out of here in a week and on my way back to Atlanta in ten days.”

Trace stared into the video pickup, tapping his front teeth with a claw; it was a nervous gesture me made when he was thinking. Then he leaned back and shook his head once. “This place can run for a month without you in a pinch and the Confederates can wait. I’d suggest Transitioning. Something new and different.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Maybe I missed something somewhere. I thought we were out to prove to them that Transponders could defeat any conventional disguise tactic. Perhaps I’m mistaken somewhere?”

The rat clicked his tongue and let out a high-pitched squeaking sigh. “The Confederacy has assured me that no report of your survival has yet hit their news wire, and also that they found their security leak and have patched it. Going back in the same body you took last time is just going to tell the Purists to try harder next time. Thus, I think it’s a dangerous idea, but going in another form should be safer, especially if you take along a bodyguard.” The like-I-told-you-to-do-last-time was implicit.

I thought, scratched my ear—carefully—and finally shrugged in mock defeat. “Alright, you win. I Transition before I go back.”

“And you take a bodyguard.” His pink eyes glittered with determination.

I sighed. “Alright, and I take a bodyguard. Call Dom and have her meet me here in a week; I should be coherent by then.”

Trace smirked, a feat I still found amazing giving his facial structure. “I already paged her; she should be there in the next half hour.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re a real piece of work.”

Trace’s muzzle split a little further. “That’s what Sanford said when he finished with me. Now get back in bed; Dom will be there soon and you’ll need your strength to deal with her.”

I waved a hand dismissively, even though my vision was getting blurry. “Fine, fine. See you in a month, give or take.”

Trace waved a paw at the video pickup and then the window shut itself down, the speaker crackling once to signify the end of the conversation. I hauled myself off the terminal and just about fell over my own feet getting back into bed. I sighed, realising I’d pushed myself too far for my first day under my own power. From the comfort of the mattress, I requested some classical music and lay back, eyes open but unfocused. I lost track of the time staring at the rainbows flickering around the fluorescent lights in time to Holst and Dvorak. I cut back into reality, though, when the music cut out and a voice came through the terminal speakers. “Kolya?”

It was Sanford’s receptionist, Terry Moreno, one of the only people on the staff with more skill at rebuilding computers than organics. I tilted my head and called out towards the terminal, “Yes?”

I had trouble telling if the distortions in Terry’s voice were the result of the transmission medium or just the override circuit messing with my senses again. “You’ve got a visitor.. Dom Herschell?”

I sighed and struggled to sit up in bed, regretting it as soon as I was semi-vertical. “I’m awake. Send her in.”

“On her way.” The music snapped back to life, picking up where it had been interrupted.

I canned the playback and waited. Around a minute later, the door opened and Dominique Herschell strolled into the room. She wore a tan fitted jumpsuit, far too crisp for it to have seen any real use. She was clearly between jobs; she’d obviously recently shaved her head, and the black tribal tribal tattoos on her head stood out sharply against her brown skin. She kicked the door shut with the heel of one foot, detoured by the terminal to grab the chair and dragged it over next to the bed. Rather than say anything, though, she just spun it around backward and sat facing me, her arms folded over the back.

I held her gaze for all of about thirty seconds before sighing. “What?”

Dom smirked. “I was just thinking of all the times you told me you didn’t like my line of work. Now Trace calls me and says you want to hire me. I’m just enjoying the moment.”

I snorted. “I still don’t like your line of work. Gun-for-hire never struck me as a career with good retirement options.”

Her smirk slipped into a playfully mocking sneer. “I’m a courier, not a mercenary. My combat training is for self-defense and the protection of valuables, which occasionally means people like you. And with that kind of crack, maybe I won’t take your job.”

It was my turn to grin. “Yes you will. You’ll have time to rub my nose in it all the way to the Confederacy and back.”

Dom gave me a look somewhere between incredulous and patronizing, then pulled a piece of gum out of one of her many pockets. “Confederacy?” She popped the stick in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

I sighed. “Yes, Confederacy. Okay, jokes aside, Dom. You’re the best person I know for this sort of business and one of the only ones I can probably trust to tag along. I got shot the last time I went and I have a vested interest in seeing that that doesn’t happen again. I’m a thinker, not a fighter. I had skywired senses and I still took three shotgun slugs from someone I should’ve seen five miles away.” I paused and shrugged, ignoring the discomfort from my right shoulderblade. “I need your help.”

I ran out of steam there and left the silence hanging while Dom blew bubbles. After a minute or so of consideration, she snapped her gum and nodded. “Alright. Two ground rules.”

Time to negotiate. “Number one?”

She held up a finger. “If the bullets start flying, I get hazard pay.”

I sighed but didn’t bother arguing that one. “Done. Number two?”

She grinned and raised a second. “If I say ‘duck’, you duck. When I say it, not after asking me why.”

I rolled my eyes. “Contrary to Trace’s claims, I am not the most inquisitive person on the planet and I do not have a problem with authority figures.”

She only snapped another bubble in response. When I said nothing further, she shrugged and stood, walking towards the door. “I’ll get the travel details from Trace. When do we leave?”

That reminded me. “Five weeks.”

Dom gave me that look again from the doorway. “Any reason for the delay?”

I nodded. “Trace wants me to Transition before I go. Bring a pocket scanner with you to the tube station.”

She grinned; I could just make out the wad of gum between her teeth. “What’re you going to be?”

I shrugged again, this time wincing at my shoulder. “I don’t know. I’ll have something figured out by the time Sanford starts cutting. Trace suggested ‘new and different’ so it’ll probably be anthropomorphic.”

Dom paused, one hand on the doorjamb. “Try female.”

I snickered. “That’d certainly be new and different.”

“It’ll also be something the Purists won’t consider,” she said pointedly, tapping a finger on the frame.

My eyes narrowed. “You read the news?”

Dom’s grin broadened. “I didn’t have to.”

I raised an eyebrow in puzzlement. “I don’t get it.”

A look of consternation passed over Dominique’s face, then she sighed. “Trace said he’d have my head if I told you, but he had me follow you from a discreet distance on your last trip. I couldn’t get to you in time to keep you from getting shot, but I did get you evacked back to Angeles. Trace covered the slingshot fare and I paid Medifast to keep your lungs attached to your neck while Sanford prepped an emergency suite for your arrival.” She grinned, leaning against the doorway. “Doc complained about their stitchwork.”

I sat, shocked, for what may very well have been the first time in my life. I honestly didn’t know whether to be angry or pleased that my ex-girlfriend and my best friend for the past twenty years had simultaneously conspired behind my back and saved my hide. I slumped against the head of the bed and looked back into Dom’s eyes. “Thanks.”

She brightened somewhat, a ghost of her smirk echoing on her face. “See you in five weeks. Try not to be late.” Then she exited the door while I slid back down into bed and let the Beethoven swell as I tried to decide on my next face.

“So you’ve said,” I sighed. “Look, wasn’t there anyone else you could call to watch the server? Someone closer?”

He shook his head. “I’ve called Infinicom; they’ve got extra monitoring on the box, but they say they can’t physically stash somebody in front of it. John or I could; we’re both cleared for access to the hardware and the box belongs to him, but John’s not exactly capable these days. So, guess who? Right turn.”

“I heard you, Jules,” I said, signalling and then weaving back across to the left lane. “So, they’ll let you sit in front of the hardware but then what? You could stop them from pulling the server off of the shelf, but you can’t stop them from pulling the shelves down. They could cut the power. Hell, Jules, if you really want to explore these paranoid ideas, why not imagine that they’ve changed all the clocks? It wouldn’t even take that; they could have just lied about the time. Even if they didn’t, all it would take is one nervous operator hitting a switch too soon and—”

Jules’ right fist slammed into the window, making it rattle. “Damnit, Adam, I know you’re the voice of reason and logic and John and I are a pair of emotional freaks, but right now you’re not helping! I’m worrying about John’s survival and you’re telling me all the ways in which he might already be dead. Not cool.”

“As far as medical science is concerned, he died on the operating table three weeks ago.” The words were out of me before I really thought about them. “If whatever passes for Johnathan is still running in there, then….” My voice trailed off when I glanced over and got a look at Jules’ expression. “I’m… sure he’ll be fine.”

Jules didn’t respond to that; he just looked back down at his palmtop. “Parking garage on the right. We’ve got two minutes.” His seatbelt was off as soon as he heard the parking brake engage, and before I had the car locked, he was jogging towards the front of the Infinicom building. I had to sprint to catch up with him as he grabbed the door handle. Just as I approached, he jerked the door open, took two steps forward, and then froze. “Shit.”

Inside, four people in dark suits and visitors’ badges stood in the lobby, conversing and checking their watches. As the door swung wide, all four turned to look, staring directly at Jules and at me. They glanced back at each other, then turned to face us. The first, an older woman, took a step towards the door, her hand outstretched. “Miss Penrose? I’m Sarah Bellwether, Tadashiissei Security. Would you—”

That was all the prompting Jules needed. He started forward, his head down and his shoulders squared, trying to barrel past four security guards. “Ninety seconds, Adam.”

“Excuse me,” I said to Ms. Bellwether, stepping forward to run interference while Jules continued walking. “I’m Adam Watson, a friend of Jules’. He’s a little busy; can Iૼ” One of the guards moved to cut Jules off as he went around me, and I jumped to interpose. “Can I help you? Excuse me, but—”

Tadashiissei Security immediately started flanking, voices jumbling as everyone started trying to have the last word. “—don’t know who you are but—can’t let you—with us, please—out of the way!” Someone’s hand landed on my shoulder. Like Johnathan tried to show me, I grabbed it and stepped back, tugging the guard off-balance, then shoved forward. Instantly two more hands were on my elbows, wrenching them behind me, and one of them called out, “Grab her!”

“Jules!” I shouted, trying to wrest an arm free. “Run!”

Jules’ rapid footfalls were his only response, followed by another set as the last guard broke after him. I heard the beep of the door, and then the snap of the latch. A hinge creaked, and then Jules burst out swearing as the door slammed closed. “—get your… damnit… let go! Adam!”

Ms. Bellwether tried again, firm but patient. “Miss Penrose, would you—”

“No, you fuckers!” Jules’ outburst was instant and unrestrained; something had finally snapped inside of him. “And it’s Mister; now let go—” I heard a slam, and then a muffled curse. “—no right to hold me, I’m trying to—” A deep artificial chime resonated in the air, followed by a second a few moments later. “Ow, watch the*—Damnit! Adam!” He jerked his right arm free, then tried to elbow the guard holding him in the ribs. The security agent grabbed for him again, and the two ended up tumbling to the ground.

“Oh, c’mon!” I shouted, my words echoing off of the walls. “You can’t do this! You’ve got no right to hold us! Where’s Infinicom security?”

“They issued us the badges when we arrived,” Ms. Bellwether said, her voice tightening. “They were quite eager to help us, given our long-standing business relationship. We had probable cause to suspect both interference with contract and fraudulent conveyance. Don’t prove those assumptions correct; you’re smarter than that, Mr. Penrose.”

“Now you get it right,” Jules grumbled, barely more than a grunt. “I get it. You win, okay? I give up. Just… let me go check on the server, please. I’ve got some people I really care about in there.”

Ms. Bellwether’s expression didn’t change, but at least her tone softened. “Of that there’s no doubt, but my orders are clear. I’m to escort you to a conference room on the eighteenth floor if you’re interested, or out of the building if you’re not. Those were the options given to me, and I’m afraid that’s all I can offer to you. It’s your choice.”

“Conference room?” I asked, straightening. I tugged once, and the guards holding my arms let go. “But why?”

Jules followed suit, pulling himself free. “Does it matter? The rollback’s started.”

“Jules, I’m about fed up with your attitude,” I sighed, throwing my hands up in the air. “You don’t know the server’s status right now.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled up his palmtop. “Memory’s at a hundred percent, swap’s at ninety-eight, and disk operations are pushing the limits of the hardware. There’s nothing more I can turn off or disable that doesn’t put the box at risk. Somebody getting bored and trying to load a sparkler in there could bring down the whole damn box, and I hope nobody tries to see who else is online. I need to hot-swap some RAM into it so that doesn’t happen, and some more disk would be really nice, too. That enough status for you, Adam?”

My eyes went wide. “Okay, so… that might have been good to know before.”

Jules smirked. “Why? They’re all just simulations, aren’t they? They’re not real.”

“Excuse me,” Ms. Bellwether interrupted. “We should either take this conversation up to the eighteenth floor or out to your vehicle. Our security staff is monitoring the health of the server as well, Mr. Penrose. Now please, either follow me or have a nice day.” With that, she turned and started walking towards the bank of elevators. The other guards withdrew as well, one standing by the elevators and the other two taking up position near the badge-coded door.

I walked over to Jules and offered him a hand. “We might as well follow her.”

“Why?” Jules glared up at me but took my hand in his good one, then hauled himself to his feet. “What’s the point? They won. We lost.”

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Jules, will you stop being so bloody digital? Look, is the server down?”

He pulled out his palmtop. “Ninety-nine percent. If it hasn’t gone yet, it will soon.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Jules!” I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him forcefully towards the elevators. “It’s still running; that means you can do something. You don’t know what they want; if they wanted us gone, they’d have escorted us out by now!” I shoved him towards the open doors. “You’re just running on blind faith again! I swear, you and bloody Johnathan, both of you.” As I pushed Jules into the elevator, I turned to Ms. Bellwether and forced a smile. “He’s not normally this stupid, I assure you. He’s just angry.”

Ms. Bellwether didn’t response; she just pushed the button for the eighteenth floor. The elevator filled with awkward silence; Jules either glared at the floor or the back of the security guard’s head, who stood gazing impassively forward, ignoring both of us. I watched the light display as the numbers counted upwards, then glanced to the guard. As the door opened, she motioned to the hall. “This way. Hurry; you’re late.” Then she was walking quickly down the corridor, leaving me to half-urge, half-drag Jules behind me.

The conference room looked like any of the ones on campus, with a large table in the center and wheeled chairs around it. A wide display hung on the wall at one end of the table, with a camera mounted above it. A laptop sat on the desk, to one side of the monitor. As I guided Jules into a chair, Ms. Bellwether punched something into the computer, then quietly excused herself from the room and pulled the door closed behind her. The screen flickered once, then came to life, dominated by an animated Tadashiissei logo. The color-panels winked in and out in sequence for a few seconds, and then they faded, replaced by a remote signal from some other office. The window in that room was dark, and sitting too close to the camera was an elderly Asian man. He’d long since gone gray, his hair cut short in a Western part. A faint mustache sat on his upper lip, and he wore a soul patch beneath it. His glasses were thick, and a faint reflection of the camera glinted off of them. He wore a severe grey suit, with a dark green tie. As the camera focused on his face, he smiled warmly and raised one hand in a wave.

“Good evening,” the elderly man said. His smile was unnervingly broad. “I believe you wanted access to one of my servers.”

Jules shook his head wearily. “I don’t have time for this shit. Who are you and what do you want?”

It took a moment for Jules’ words to get to him, but once they did, his face darkened considerably. He sat upright, adjusted his tie. “My name is Kajō Kūsō. I own Tadashiissei, and by extension Irokai. You and your friends have been quite the nuisance.”

“Nuisance?” My voice rose, incredulous. “I can’t believe this! You let a major security breach put thousands of people at risk, you’re threatening our friend with deletion if he doesn’t pay your extortion fees, you’re threatening to wipe everything that’s happened just to stop the revolt your own policies started, and you’re calling us the nuisances?”

Mr. Kajō was visibly unimpressed. “I have no need to justify my reasons to you, but you may rest assured that I hold the future value of my company above all else. That means doing what I think is best for Irokai. We found a number of collaborators within Tadashiissei who are being dealt with at the highest levels, and after extensive review from our database and maintenance teams, the rollback was seen as the best way to protect overall system integrity. Your friend is presently obstructing our ability to protect our creation.”

“He’s too busy trying to protect his memories!” Jules burst out, jumping to his feet, his chair skittering backwards across the floor. “Everything he’s done since he uploaded himself… you’re talking about wiping it all out!”

“We must be sure there are no residual effects,” Mr. Kajō riposted. “Any one of them could be harboring viruses or malicious code.”

“So you’re saying you want to force them all to lose three weeks or more off their lives, just because they might have some kind of virus? You can’t just scan them or something?” I shrugged helplessly. “Is this really the only way to do this?”

Mr. Kajō made a faint shrug. “It’s the fastest, and the one that will get the system back up and running the fastest with the least number of long-term side effects.”

I smirked. “It won’t stop the protests; it’ll only make those worse.”

The smile that Mr. Kajō wore in response sent a chill down my spine. “With no-one inside who remembers, who will protest? Irokai will be on new software immune to the old attacks. Security has already been increased. For the residents, it will be as if none of this had happened.”

I folded my arms. “Mitsuko will remember, when Johnathan’s account gets suspended for non-payment of debts he won’t remember owing.”

Mr. Kajō’s smile faded slightly. “We are prepared to remove those debts from the record.”

Jules grinned. “Giri will remember, when he goes to work and finds he’s been fired.”

“His position will be reinstated,” Mr. Kajō replied. His eyes were narrowed again, and the smile was gone from his face.

I shook my head in response. “We’ll remember, because we’re not in the system having our minds wiped alongside the residents.” Mr. Kajō’s mouth opened, then closed again. “Not looking like the cleverest answer now, is it? Do what you want with your ones and zeros, but you can’t touch us.”

Jules’ eyes darkened as he pulled his palmtop out of his pocket, looking down at it. “Adam, the box is screaming. We don’t have time for this.”

I nodded at Jules’ comment, but I kept my focus on Mr. Kajō. He tried again to speak, then caught himself. He let out a tight chuckle, then smiled once more. “You realize that, by locking themselves off from the main system during the upgrade, they will be unable to return to Irokai. Their authentication codes will fail. Their accounts will be rejected as fraudulent. Until they accept the database rollback, they will be unable to leave that tiny, tiny box. How close is it to dying? The drives are over capacity, the memory is running out. Soon it will come down very gracelessly, and if the backup system is offline….”

“You’re a damned monster!” Jules shouted at the screen, slamming both hands down on the table with a grimace. “You’re a lunatic and you’re playing god with people’s lives! Tadashiissei’s done for at this point! If they don’t go down this time, they’ll go next time, or the time after! You can’t keep Irokai forever! One day it’ll—”

“One day Irokai will go offline, and not return,” Mr. Kajō interrupted, his voice sharp. “It is the way of all corporate services, is it not? Your friends should have thought of that before they turned themselves over to us. Now, if you have nothing further to say, I should check on the rollback.” His hand started reaching for the camera.

“Wait!” I burst out, waving at the camera. Mr. Kajō paused, looking at me, silent. I was stunned by my own outburst, but then I swallowed heavily. This is it. Make or break time. “Look, you could let that server go down. You could’ve let the hacks do their work. You could’ve let it all be wiped out, but you didn’t. You and Tadashiissei didn’t. You tried to save it, and now you’re trying to save it again, but you’re not asking the people you’re trying to save. They deserve a say in their own lives.”

“You forget,” Mr. Kajō faintly sneered. “I own Irokai.”

“Yes,” I admitted, “but you don’t own them. The residents. I’m not a lawyer; I can’t argue for the digitals. I know, though, that Imogen Franklin’s been ruled alive and well in there, and isn’t she one of your big celebrities? You’d hate to see something happen to her, wouldn’t you? Especially after all those efforts to promote her as a successful test case.” Mr. Kajō’s eyes remained dark and impenetrable, and I continued. “Please, this… this is real to her, to all of them, even if it isn’t to you. They’ve all got to be scared out of their minds in there. If that box goes down… if what you did to Johnathan three months ago wasn’t murder, then letting that server fail surely will be.”

For several seconds, Mr. Kajō was silent, then leaned briefly off-camera, exchanging words in Japanese with someone I couldn’t see. When he came back into focus, his eyes were still narrowed, but he seemed… eerily calm. “I have received word that the rollback has completed, and I have some things to consider. I will speak with my legal team. In the meantime, I recommend that you go to the server room and install whatever upgrades will stabilize that development server. I will meet you within Irokai in an hour.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m not going in there until I have some—”

Jules was already heading for the door. “Then you can be the one to guard the box; my hand’s still shot for now. For now, though, I need you to hold parts for me. We’re running out of borrowed time.”

I frowned, then checked through my contacts list; I had several entries for Julia already, mostly e-mail or some messaging service or other that she’d used once or twice, then forgotten. I hit reply, then thumbed, Julia? What account is this?

Long story, came the quick response. please answer. A few seconds later, the palmtop began to buzz once more, showing an incoming call.

I snapped the cover closed and held it to my ear, looking at it curiously. “Julia?”

“Close enough,” an unfamiliar voice—quite distinctly male, deep and rumbling—replied. “Listen, Adam—”

“Who is this?” I demanded.

“Adam, this is…” The voice suddenly dropped to a whisper. In the background I could hear some kind of muffled commotion. “This is Julia,” the speaker continued incongruously. “I’m in Irokai. I need your help.”

“Irokai?” I pulled the palmtop away from my ear, looking at it dubiously, then brought it back. “That’s very funny. Who are you and what do you want?”

Whoever was on the other end of the phone growled menacingly. “Damnit, Adam! I need your help!” The caller’s voice started rushing. “I’m running a hacked account on a grey-market rig, I’ve got an IV jammed in my arm, I can’t wake myself up, and I need to be at the Infinicom building in half an hour! I don’t have time for guessing games! What do you want? You’re allergic to uncooked tomatoes, you hate mayo, and you’ve got a birthmark on your left shoulder. If you want a detailed list of your eleventh-grade teachers, I can do that, too, but I don’t have the time.”

I looked at my handset again, then said, more quietly. “It’s on my right shoulder, and who did I have for physics?”

“You didn’t take physics in eleventh grade,” Julia snarled. “You had Reidel for Chemistry II. Are you happy now? twenty-nine minutes.”

“That’s cutting it close,” I said as I rose, motioning to the waiter for my bill. “What is it you need me to do? Come and… unplug you?”

“Yes, thank you.” Julia’s voice sounded infinitely relieved. “Call me when you get to the front door of the building. I’ll walk you through it from there. Use this contact.” Then the phone went dead.

I hastily exchanged my phone for my wallet, then shifted impatiently from one foot to the other as the waiter took his time in returning my credit card for me. My eyes snapped repeatedly to the clock on the wall, but the numbers steadfastly reminded me that, by her time tables, I had twenty-seven minutes to save her from herself on the way to whatever errand was so vital. The drive to her apartment building wasn’t any slower than normal, but my breath caught in my throat every time I tapped on the brake. Julia’s building had visitor parking, but of course today of all days, the lot would be full; another three minutes vanished as I searched for a place to deposit the car, then jogged back to the front door.

I pulled my phone back out of my pocket and hit redial, then tapped my foot, waiting for the answer. “You’re late,” Julia replied as soon as she answered. “The code is 22361.” I punched in the numbers, then tugged open the door when it beeped at me. The elevator took its time getting to the lobby, disgorging a small gaggle of housewives on their way to lunch. The ride to Julia’s apartment was an uncomfortable silence, punctuated only by the occasional noise in the background of the call.

“Julia, what’s going on in there?” I asked as I watched the light at the top of the car tick slowly upwards.

“I’ll explain when I’m out,” she replied. “My front door code’s 161803; mind the table in the dining room.”

When I entered her door code, the deadbolt clicked open. “Lights, on,” I said, and the room lit with LED lamps. Discarded clothing lay strewn across the floor, and an unsorted pile of mail sat on the corner of the table on my left, directly past a kitchenette. To the right sat a glass sliding door out to a thin balcony. Directly in front of me lay the bathroom, but next to it on the right was a closed door. “Is that the bedroom?” I asked as I walked to it.

Julia grunted. “Yeah. Come on in, but don’t yell at me.”

“Julia, why would—” I stopped dead as the door opened. Behind a giant mahogany desk that seemed impossibly large for the cramped space, Julia’s body sprawled, nude and corpse-like, in a leather executive chair that had been locked in a recline. Her head was at least supported by a thin pillow, but her right arm and legs hung over the arm rests and the end of the seat. Her left arm, she’d secured with cloth tape at the wrist and elbow, and a strip of gauze covered the back of her hand, where she’d inserted a needle. A length of clear plastic tubing pinched with a garden clamp ran from Julia’s hand to a hot water bottle hung from a coathanger on a portable clothes rack. A plastic mesh covered her head, sending a rainbow of wires slithering under her desk. Her eyes twitched rapidly, and she was breathing, but a thin sheen of sweat covered her skin, giving her a ghastly pallor.

“What the hell were you thinking?” The words burst out of me as I stormed over to her body.

“I wasn’t,” she replied, “and I told you not to yell. It was a fuck-up. John’s already screamed at me, and double jeopardy’s against the law.” She’d gone into pedant-mode, artificially calm and reasonable. “Are you going to help me or what?”

“Yes, but not because of you; this is a travesty of medicine.” I switched my phone to speaker and set it on the desk, then started loosening the tape on the back of her hand. “Where did you get all this?”

I could just hear Julia ticking off the words on her fingers as she spoke. “Sixteen-gauge needles online, along with instructions for the solution. Tubing for a fishing-tank aerator at a pet supply store, enema bottle at the pharmacist’s. Hangers and the rack at the boxmart. Stop messing with the meat and look at the screen. I need you to shut down the induction rig.”

“One moment; first, I—hell! You’ve blown the vein! Where’s the rest of this gauze roll?” I pressed on the back of her hand as the puncture site began to ooze, grimacing at the way the swollen flesh dented under my touch. “Did you sterilize any of this before you embarked on this little escapade?”

“Boiled everything but the gauze and tape,” she replied, her voice even more distorted over the palmtop’s speakers. “I’m no tyro, but it’s been years since I had any reason to practice. Now look at the screen. Just jiggle the mouse; it’ll light up.”

“Spare me,” I grumbled as I worked the tape from around her elbow. “Don’t tell me you used to do more than smoke.”

“Back off, Adam,” she snarled in reply. “Now, will you please—”

I’d had enough. Not bothering to look at her computer, I snapped the chinstrap loose with my other hand and yanked off the nylon skullcap. Instantly, Julia’s eyes snapped open and her body spasmed, sending her and the chair crashing to the floor. Her right arm flew up to her head as she started to swear, her left trying to follow but jerking tight against the tape I hadn’t yet removed. That set off a fresh round of curses, interrupted sharply by a gagging noise, and then Julia’s stomach inverting itself.

I put one foot on the casters and hauled Julia back upright, just in time for her to send another batch of vomit down her front. Then her eyes blearily met mine. “Don’t… ever… do that… again,” she managed to cough out around a mouthful of sick.

“I paid your body as much respect as you did,” I sneered. “Besides, aren’t you in a hurry?”

That stunned Julia into silence for a few seconds. “Okay, I deserved that,” she mumbled. “And yes, I am. Oh, man, what a stink. Here, almost done.” We finished extracting her from the chair, and then she was scrabbling for clothes, mopping the mess from her face and chest with a discarded towel. “Damnit, I can’t make a fist; help me dress?”

I put my hands on my hips, struggling to keep my voice level. “That’s because of the swelling. Julia, would you kindly tell me what the hell is happening?”

She stopped, took a deep breath, and sighed. “Irokai got hacked; you heard about that. John helped out from the inside, but his account got botched in the process. They gave him until tonight to pay his identity bill, and he organized a protest instead. When things got out of control, they announced a global rollback, no exceptions. John’s moving everyone onto his dev system so they’re not stored on Irokai’s database when the shutdown hits, but that box isn’t sized for that many people and I’m worried about hardware failures with that kind of load, plus he’s exposed since he’s now on an isolated server. I know where it is, but I have to get to it before Tadashiissei does so they don’t pull his plug. Again. And for the last fucking time, Adam, it’s Jules, not….” She looked down and raised an arm, gesturing downwards at herself. “Not this. Now hurry up and help me dress, damnit; we don’t have time for this!”

I crossed my arms, standing stock still. “When you actually come out to me, it’ll be Jules. Until then, it’s Julia. I dislike diminutives, and I hate taking things on faith, two things that you and Johnathan seem to enjoy far more than I find comfortable.”

Julia’s eyes went wide, thrown visibly off-balance by my remarks. She stared in open-mouthed shock. “But I… you knew?”

I scowled and grabbed one of the shirts that looked vaguely presentable off of the floor. “No, I didn’t know, because you never told me. I guessed, certainly; I’d have had to be an idiot not to see the signs, and you wouldn’t have suffered an idiot this long. Like Johnathan, though, you just assumed I would run with the guess and hope it all worked out. You hinted, prevaricated, and threatened, but not once did you actually tell me why it was so important to you that I use Jules instead of your legal name. Arms up.” As she complied, I pulled it on over her head. “Damnit, how can you both be so smart and still be so bloody stupid?”

Julia turned towards her dresser and pulled out a pair of y-fronts; her voice was very quiet when she next spoke. “After all your crap about not having proof for things, I didn’t think you’d listen.”

I sighed. “Yes, well… mea culpa.” I nodded as I took the underwear and held them out for him. “Sometimes there isn’t any proof to be had, and you have to go with your best evidence. In Johnathan’s case, that would have been research on others who’d been uploaded before him, which still hasn’t been done, mind you. In yours, you could have just said something, instead of all this bloody hint-dropping.”

“There has been research,” Jules snapped. “Imogen Franklin’s been studied intensely since her conversion, and nobody’s reported anything broken yet. As far as anyone cares, she’s alive and well, just living inside a computer. As for the rest, well….” He gestured towards the ground with his injured hand. “Maybe it’s not so easy to just say, ‘I’m a guy’; It’s not something that comes up in casual conversation, you know?” Jules admitted. Then he grinned weakly. “Besides, I was going to upload instead of transition; the surgical options still suck, and I don’t get the fur or the tail if I stay out here.”

I grinned and snagged a pair of his jeans. “That’s close enough. No time to bind, I’m afraid; you’ve got seventeen minutes to get to Infinicom and I’m parked three blocks away.”

Jules shook his head. “I don’t bind; hurts too damned much and I can’t breathe when I do it. Gets in the way of my smokes.”

“Filthy habit,” I muttered as I pulled two pairs of socks from his dresser, tossing one to him and knelt to help him step into the other. “I don’t even want to think about what else you’ve put in your body.”

Jules rolled his eyes and tossed the socks over my shoulder, back into the drawer. “I don’t bother. Anyway, when you hate your body, it doesn’t really matter what you do to it. Now c’mon. We’ve got to move.”

Alex smiled. “Nope. I failed, and you can confirm that with Watcher.”

The man stood, trying to shrug off Alex’s paw, but the bear kept a vice-grip on his shoulder. “I said you were on his side.”

Alex’s grin threatened to split his head. “Nope,” he repeated. “I’m on both your sides.”

At that, Watcher barked a short, painful laugh. “Ridiculous. That man is a Shepherd, intent on killing every last one of us.”

“Maybe,” Alex admitted. “I got his side of the story earlier. Watcher, tell me about Mirror’s Smile.”

The Child of Wolf froze, tail and muzzle dropping. “I fail to see what—”

Alex held out a paw. “Indulge me, Watcher. Tell me again what happened to her.”

The wolf sagged, nodding. “Very well, Mr. Demont, if you insist.” He turned and walked over to the riverbank, looking down. He hesitated as he approached Mirror’s body, kneeling next to the fallen Child of Wolf but visibly afraid to touch her. “She had Pledged herself to a small tributary of the Mississippi river. Someone poisoned the water, and—”

“Someone,” Alex interrupted. “You mean AllChem.”

Watcher nodded. “Yes, but I would not learn that until later. I tried for months to help her, when I could. Every remedy I knew, every possible cure I could divine, every prayer I could remember and some I invented just for her.” He reached down to Mirror’s body, fingers hesitantly brushing against her dull fur, tracing one visible rib on her skeletal frame. “Nothing worked. Little by little, the life went out of her, until in the end she begged me to end her pain.” His voice broke. “So I did.”

“You killed her,” Walker sneered, grunting as Alex dug his claws into his shoulder. “Put all the fancy words you like on it; you murdered her.”

Watcher’s head spun back towards Alex and Walker. “No! I… I did everything I could think to do! I was so young, then. I had only just realized my nature. She…” He turned back to his fallen mate. “She was the one to show me the truth of what I was.”

Alex nodded. “Sounds right.” He looked at Walker. “How does that sound to you?”

Walker glared over his shoulder. “How does what sound?”

Alex rolled his eyes, dragging the man over to where Walker knelt next to the fallen body. “For being so smart, you two sure are dumb.” He grabbed Watcher’s arm in his other paw, hauling the Child of Wolf to his feet. “Get a good look at each other. Look down, at her. Who do you see? What’s her name?”

“Mirror’s—” “Lisa—” Both man and wolf spoke, then stopped, staring at each other.

The bear let that sink in for a few seconds before continuing. “Walker, you said you buried everything for your job, until you met Lisa. Watcher, you said you had only just come into your nature when you met Mirror’s Smile. Both of you say the woman you love took sick for an unknown cause. Walker, the wolf tried to heal your girlfriend. Watcher, you did everything you could for Mirror.” As the two stared at each other in growing horror, Alex drove his point further home with every statement. “Walker, the wolf killed Lisa. Watcher, you put down your mate. You found out that AllChem had a chemical spill upstream, the company Walker worked for.”

He let go of their shoulders, walking away from both, while they stood in shock, eyes turning from each other to Alex and back. “You—either, both, whatever—threw away your dreams for your job, then met a woman who could help you have both again. She died when you used your newfound knowledge to try to save her, turning your back on the other half of your past. When you found out it was your company, the people for whom you had given up those visions in the first place, that cost you the love of your life, you cracked.” He threw his paws up in the air, turning to face the other two. “Come on, guys, don’t make me say this out loud.”

Walker and Watcher turned to each other; the man’s face twisted in disgust, the wolf’s in shame. “Right,” Alex said into the uncomfortable silence. “You two have a lot to discuss. I’m not asking you to kiss and make up, but do you two think you can resolve your differences without resorting to name-calling?”

“Don’t count on it,” Walker muttered, his eyes boring into the top of Watcher’s head.

Alex shrugged. “If you can’t, you’re going to die. Your only path to victory is suicide, Walker. It’s your choice. Find some way to live with Watcher, or quit living. Do you see a third option?” He waited several seconds for Walker’s indignant sputters to settle back into that angry stare. “Neither could I.”

Alex turned in his seat, putting one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the Child of Wolf’s shoulder. “Hey, Watcher… it’s going to be okay.”

“No, it’s not,” Watcher sobbed, slumping in his chair. “What have I done? What have I done what have I done oh Dancer and Tundra and Nighteyes and… I’m sorry… I’m so, so sorry….” His head bent, his ears pinned against his skull. “Lisa… Lisa, I’m sorry, I… I failed….” His voice descended from there into wordless sobbing.

“Watcher, listen,” Alex said gently, trying to calm the wolf. “I can’t possibly say I understand what you’re going through right now, because I don’t. What I can say is that you’re not alone, and we’re here to help. All of us. Briar and Dancer and I, at least. We’ll get through this. You need healing.”

Watcher swallowed heavily, struggling for control. “No, Mr. Demont, I… I don’t think there’s any healing for me, not after what I’ve done. I don’t think there’s penance big enough.” He closed his eyes, tensing. “I’d like… please, Alex, I… I don’t think I can live with the shame of killing my own kind.”

At that, Alex grinned. He drew in a deep breath, and as he let it out, his face stretched, mouth and nose fusing into a short blunt muzzle tipped by a black leathery nosepad. Fur blossomed along his cheeks, spreading over his scalp and down his neck to disappear beneath his disintegrating shirt. Claws burst from the ends of his fingers, digging into the steering wheel and poking into the wolf’s shoulder. He grunted, squirming against the seat and then tugging at his jeans to free the stubby tail trapped beneath at the end of his spine. Then, after a few moments of struggling, the remains of a pair of shoes flew into the truck bed.

The Child of Bear caught Watcher’s open-jawed stare and chuckled. “If you can’t deal with it, what makes you think I’d handle it any better?”

“But….” For once, the wolf seemed at an absolute loss for words. He swallowed heavily, blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel an illusion. “How?”

The bear shrugged. “Before, I only thought I believed. Now I actually do.”

Watcher leaned back in his seat, gaping. “I really have no idea what to say to that, or to anything else. I’m at a loss as to what to do.”

The Child of Bear gestured to the steering wheel. “We go back to Shadowdance’s Protectorate. We help him rebuild. We help you and Tom rebuild. The rest will take care of itself.”

The wolf shook his head. “It’s not that easy. I’ve… killed people. I’m afraid I may try to do so again.”

“Killing you won’t bring them back,” the bear said, turning to face out the front window. “Alive, at least you can do penance. I don’t think you’re a risk, but if you do try something, there will be others around to catch you before you do anything drastic. It’ll be a long time before you’re well, and it won’t be easy, but you’ll have others around you to help. Besides, Briar and Shadowdance already know.”

Watcher looked up at that, ears drooping. “They do?”

The bear nodded. “Yeah, we caught Tom, I followed up on a hunch, they saw him change. Now, we should get going. We’ve got a lot of healing ahead, for all of us.”

The wolf shook his head slowly. “This… this is too much. I’m in your debt, Mr. Demont.”

“Please,” the Child of Bear said as he started the truck. “Call me Mountain.”

Walker knelt nearby, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. His body shook as he sobbed softly, his arms extended. In front of him, a woman lay on a familiar leather sheet. Her sallow skin clung to her frame, her joints swollen. Dirt smudges and grass stains covered her chest and legs, while flecks of blood clung to her lips and chin. One arm lay extended out beside her, while the other Walker held in his own, his fingers entwined with hers. Her hair lay in a spill around her head, listless and dull. Her mucous eyes were vacant, staring at nothing.

Slowly, Alex approached, kneeling reverently on the other side of Lisa’s body. “I’m sorry, Walker,” he said quietly, keeping his hands on his knees.

The man lifted his head, his eyes red with tears and rage. “Sorry?” His voice was a harsh whisper. “I had to watch the woman I loved wither and die over the span of a year and you’re sorry? I had to put up with the sniveling, whining shaman who promised her health and delivered only pain and you’re sorry.” Walker spat the words through clenched teeth, fighting back more tears. “I had thrown everything into my job, until I met her. I turned my back on my dreams, devoted myself to my work. I gave up everything I ever wanted. Then I met Lisa.” He turned his eyes back to the woman in front of him, his bottom lip trembling. “She… she made it okay. She made all that sacrifice seem worthwhile. I spent every minute I could with her. When she got sick, that bastard wolf promised to take care of her. He promised to help her. And everything he did, everything he tried, only made it worse. I begged her to get help. I begged him to find a real doctor. She was so taken with him, and he was so sure of himself, and all I could do was watch as she died in front of me.”

Walker looked up once more, glaring across at Alex. “I can’t bring her back, but I can take from the wolf the thing he valued, the way I valued her. I can rob him of his dreams, destroy his precious vision, and then watch his heart shrivel up and blow away the way mine did.”

Alex put his hand back on his leg. “You’re killing people, Walker. You’re killing people who had nothing to do with Watcher, or Lisa.”

“No.” Walker’s insistence was final, his eyes cold. “I’m not killing anyone; I’m just culling the herd. If you all want to live like animals, then you can die like animals for all I care.”

Alex was silent for a moment as he stroked his beard in comptemplation. “What about Watcher?”

Walker grinned smugly. “Watcher’s gone. I caged him and sent him away.”

Alex rose carefully, keeping his hands at his side. “If he’s gone, he can’t see your revenge, can he? If you want him to suffer, doesn’t he need to be here to see it?”

“No!” The outburst was even stronger than the last. “If he’s here, you might let him go.”

“If he’s not here, how’s he going to see what you’re doing?” Alex spoke patiently, calmly. “How’s he going to know that you won?”

Walker’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t trust you. You’re on his side.”

Alex shrugged. “Why should I be? I’m not one of them. I failed his little test. You can ask Watcher yourself about that one.”

“You did?” At Alex’s nod, Walker stood and brushed the grime from his knees. “I wish I’d known that earlier. Sorry about your apartment.” He gestured behind Alex, then stepped over Lisa’s body to the cage under one of the trees. Inside it, a tan-furred wolf lay on his side, curled up like a pup, shaking. “So, the infallible Watcher fails again. How does that make you feel?” The wolf tried to look away, but Walker’s fist slammed into the cage, rattling the bars and making its occupant’s tail bristle. “Don’t turn your back on me, you hypocritical fraud. You thought you knew everything, but really, you’re just a dumb animal. Admit it!” Walker’s face distorted in a mask or rage. “Admit it!”

The wolf turned back, his ears flat against his skull. He hung his head, then nodded slowly, hunkering down on himself, his tail tucking itself between his legs.

Walker smirked, putting his hands on his hips. “So, the old wise wolf finally admits his folly. You’ve lost, Watcher.” He bent down, gloating into the cage. “There’s nothing you can do, this time. Your little friends might have gotten Parson, but they haven’t gotten me, and they won’t—”

A heavy, brown-furred paw slammed into the back of his head, knocking him into the trap; his forehead clanged off of the bars as he dropped to the ground. “He was never going to shut up,” Alex grumbled as he stepped forward. He peered through the bars at the wolf within. “I don’t suppose, with him out of the way, you can just whisk yourself out of there, can you?” Without waiting for an answer, he squatted, grabbing the bottom edge of the heavy iron cage and lifting. Once the gap was wide enough for the wolf, he grunted. “You better squeeze out while you can.”

Watcher needed no further encouragement and slunk under the cage, rising back onto his hind legs once free. “I am afraid I underestimated you, Mr. Demont,” he said softly once he was free. “Now, if you do me the courtesy of helping get Mr. Kinney here underneath—”

Alex dropped the cage, letting it slam into the ground. “No.”

Watcher’s ears flattened against his head. “But, Mr. Demont, you are quite aware that that man is one of the Shepherds. If he awakens—”

Alex turned around. “I’m quite aware of what he is, Watcher. And who he is.” He tapped the side of his head. “Every time you showed up around me, I could feel something… wrong. Like a spider crawling around inside my brain. I figured it was more of your spiritual association, but it wasn’t.” He looked down at his paws, then back up at the Child of Wolf. “It was mine.”

The wolf took a step backwards, away from the bear staring intently at him. “Mr. Demont, I… am afraid I am unsure what you mean.”

“Oh, I think you know exactly what I mean,” Alex replied, kneeling down and putting a paw on Walker’s shoulder, gently shaking him awake. “This ends, though. Now.”

Parson was late. That alone wouldn’t have worried Walker; they’d all been on difficult assignments in the past, and he knew the hunter could handle himself in the wilderness. He knew Parson wouldn’t have his phone on him if he was actually in the field, either, which made the lack of contact all the more reasonable. Thinking about it, Walker could easily come up with half a dozen other reasons why Parson might not have called yet, from his battery dying to his car getting towed with the phone inside. None of those stopped him from hitting redial for the sixth time and then hanging up in frustration as he crossed the street.

It was, Kinney admitted to himself, the nature of the assignment that bothered him. Werewolves and the like were solitary creatures, which was both a blessing and a curse. It made them harder to find, but when they could be found, it made them easy targets. The ones that claimed some kind of territory were even simpler; he and his associates didn’t even have to go after those. One industrial accident and their beliefs would kill them, their damned devotion to the land driving them insane from an easily-managed chemical spill. That trick worked like no other; he’d seen what it had done to Watcher’s mate.

This time, though, the one he’d found in that park had managed to survive the first strike long enough to get that damned wolf, Watcher, involved. He, in turn, had gotten others involved to help clean up the mess. That was a bad sign. Solitary hunters they could eliminate at their leisure; an organized group would take more visible means to resolve, and that kind of publicity neither of them wanted. He’d tried to finish the job himself, using some of the wolf’s own tricks to mask his scent, but the rabbit had let out a scream the like of which he had never heard as soon as he’d touched her, sending him running to try to outrun the rest of their little ragtag “pack.”

Parson had a reputation for efficiency and stealth, which is why Walker had called him in to finish the job he’d started. However, each minute of silence past when the hunter had said he would call made Kinney that much more irritable, that much more certain that something had gone horribly wrong. He had no proof, but the longer he waited for the confirmation call, or even an admission of failure, the more sure he was that the time had come to take more drastic measures.

As he rounded the corner into the parking garage, something thick and heavy impacted the side of his head, sending him staggering and stars shooting across his vision. His hands went to cover his face as he fell, sprawling on the pavement, his phone smashing on the concrete. As he struggled to sit upright, he blinked frantically to clear his head, squinting to focus his eyes despite the pain. Standing just beside where he had fallen was a mountain of a man, his face hidden in a tangle of grey-brown beard and lanky hair, roughly tied back with a leather strap. His button-down shirt was ragged at the hem and half the buttons were missing, and his jeans were almost shiny with caked-on grime.

The figure squatted over his heels and held up a small object. “Tom’s not available to take your call.”

The voice was unfamiliar, but at the words Kinney froze. “Who?”

Walker’s assailant shook his head. “Try again.” His voice carried anger and amusement in equal measure. “Maybe you just know him as Parson.”

That got Walker’s attention, but his head was still swimming from pain. “Stalking. Assault. Kidnapping.”

“Arson. Conspiracy. Attempted murder.” The figure rose and approached, looming over him. “I think we’re even. Get up.” A massive hand grabbed Walker’s arm under the shoulder, hauling him to his feet.

Walker tried to jerk his arm away, but the man’s grip might as well have been a bear trap. “Let go. I swear, I’ll call the police.”

The man grinned. “You do that. I’ll be glad to tell them I caught the guy who planted the bomb in my apartment three weeks ago. Your move.”

The two men stared at each other in stony silence. “How did you find me?” Walker finally asked, his voice a low growl.

At that, the man tapped his nose with his free hand. “Not literally, of course, but I knew AllChem was involved, I had a rough sense for what you looked like, and I had a pretty good sense how I’d feel when you got close. Given that, it wasn’t hard to track you.”

Walker nodded, keeping his face carefully neutral. “So what do you want?”

The other man responded by tugging him forward, marching him further into the garage. “I want to hear about your girlfriend.”

That brought a snarl to Walker’s face. “You bastard. How dare you talk to me about Lisa. You and the rest of your—”

The man’s other meaty paw slammed into the back of his head, kicking off a fresh flood of stars. “I didn’t ask you about your religion. I told you I wanted to hear about your girlfriend.” He kept walking, leading Walker towards the back of the garage and a weatherbeaten truck. “You said Lisa was her name?”

Walker scowled. “Lisa Ginney. She died… five years ago.” Despite his anger, he couldn’t keep the nostalgia out of his voice, the desperate yearning that he still felt, even after all this time. “She was my life.”

The man nodded, opening the passenger door to the truck and helping Walker, almost cautiously, into the seat. Walker squirmed against seatbelt as his kidnapper buckled it around his arms, pinning them to his sides, then wrapped the nylon around him before shutting the door and running around to the driver’s side, hopping in before Walker could work an arm free. The locks dropped and the engine started, but the truck remained parked. “Tell me about her,” the man said, wrapping one hand around the claw hanging from his neck.

“I’m not about to sully her memory by sharing her with the likes of you,” Walker spit in a sudden burst of defiance. “We’ll win in the end, you know. You’re outnumbered and outclassed. Your days are numbered. You may have gotten Parson, but you can’t get all of us.”

“Maybe,” the man agreed, nodding, “but I’m not interested in all of them. I’m interested in you, and in Lisa. Tell me, Walker. Do you dream about her?”

The use of his name and the question startled him into a slip. “All the time,” he admitted. “Ever since that bastard wolf stole her from me.”

The man nodded again. “Tell me about those dreams, Walker. Where are you? Where’s she?”

Walker leaned back against the passenger’s seat, trying to shift an arm free, but the nylon wrap held fast. “She’s dead, or dying,” he said, his voice wavering as the memory came back to him. “She’s stretched out on a leather blanket on a riverbank. Pus oozes from her eyes. Her joints are swollen, but the rest of her’s just… just skin and bones. Her hair’s flat and matted.” His voice sank to a whisper. “She looks like a mummy. She can’t stand, can barely crawl. She can’t even keep down water.” Tears seeped from his eyes, but he refused to acknowledge them, forcing himself to keep talking despite them. “She’s thirsty… so thirsty.”

The man nodded, then put a hand on Walker’s shoulder, looking into his eyes. “Tell me about the area, Walker. Winter or summer?”

Walker’s eyes were distant, looking not at his kidnapper but five years into the past as he spoke, his body slumping against the seat. “Late spring. There’s a warm, wet breeze, but it’s carrying a sick stench, something cloyingly sweet and moldy, and it feels like it’s clinging to everything. The plants on the shore have died, and the grasses are brown and withered.” His eyes half-lidded, his voice starting to slur. He glanced at his assailant, whose eyes were similarly drifting. “All around, the trees to either side of the river look like they’re drooping, their new-grown leaves falling from the branches….”

Alex didn’t lift his head. “I didn’t.” His voice was implacable, inscrutable. “I hoped I’d been wrong.”

Briar nodded, then closed her eyes. “So what does it mean?”

Alex looked up at that. “It means exactly what you think it does. I should’ve realized it a lot sooner.” He lowered his gaze to the water. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

The Child of Rabbit wrapped her arms around her knees. “You’re thinking too much about the future. You know what needs to happen. You just have to go do it.”

“I know,” Alex sighed. “It may not work out that cleanly, but you’re right.” He looked back towards the tent. “Shadowdance is pretty much recovered. His Protectorate… that will take years, but the worst is over. From here, there’s just rebuilding.” His eyes turned back to Briar’s. “You going to be okay with everything?”

Briar nodded in response. “I’m more worried about Dancer. This has been hard on him.”

Alex chuckled. “This has been hard on all of us. The knot on the back of my neck still hurts.” He shoved himself to his feet with a groan, then helped the Child of Rabbit stand as well. “No point in putting it off any longer.”

Briar took Alex’s hand in her paw, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I should go forage.” Then with that, she was gone, dashing off into the trees, barely a rustle marking her departure.

Alex stood, staring at the spot at which the Child of Rabbit vanished, then turned back towards the leather tent the the plume of white, healing smoke rising from its top. Inside, a mountain lion lay curled on his side, mewling quietly. His fingers were clenched, claws sliding in and out of their sheathes as he dreamed. From time to time, a shudder would pass through his tan fur, or his thick tail would lash against the ground. On the far side of the sweat lodge, Shadowdance crouched over his hind paws, his arms folded and his elbows on his knees. His tail brushed the ground in slow sweeps as he watched the Child of Cat struggle through his nightmare. As Alex walked in, he lifted his gaze, then rose and motioned the man back outside, following and letting the flap drop to hold the vapors within.

The Child of Wolf looked back to the tent, then to Alex with a scowl, tail pinning to his back. “I still don’t like this.”

Alex nodded and clapped the wolf on the shoulder. “I know, Shadowdance. I know. Unfortunately, I can’t think of a better way to help him figure out what he’s been missing. Your Protectorate needs you, you’ll have him to help you heal it, and you’ll have Briar to help you watch him.” He glanced towards the lodge, then back to the Child of Wolf with a smile. “Besides, at worst, I’ll have his car and his phone, and his guns are long gone. What’s he going to do, rant at you?”

Shadowdance barked a short laugh at that. “Fine. Yes, I want the help. Just….” He looked past Alex, towards the highway. The fires had been extinguished, but soot still hung in the air. “I’m not used to thinking about the future, and I don’t like it very much, but I think that we’re all going to have to learn how.”

Alex nodded in response, giving the wolf’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’m afraid we’ve all lost that luxury, but that doesn’t mean we should give up on what we are, any of us.” He chuckled. “For now, finish recovering and help Tom. If I’m not back in a few days, then you can worry about what comes next. I know you can’t leave, but this place won’t be safe any more.”

Silence hung in the air between wolf and man for a few moments, until Shadowdance focused back on the man’s face. His ears lifted and his tail waved behind him. “I’ll have a deer waiting for you when you get here.”

Alex rolled his eyes. “As long as you don’t tear your arm out of the socket to catch it. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” With that, he held out his hand to the Child of Wolf. “Shake.”

Shadowdance mock-growled, then ducked his head and licked Alex’s fingers, making him jerk his hand back and wipe it on his filthy jeans. Then the wolf gave a final wave and ducked back into the sweat lodge, letting it close behind him.

All that remained between Alex and the World of Man, then, was the long walk to Parson’s truck. The hike back to the road felt longer than the one taking him to the sweat lodge just outside Shadowdance’s Protectorate. I don’t want to leave, he realized with a quiet chuckle. Still, this will all be over, one way or another. Then, I can return, or find my own place… or it won’t matter. That last, he considered, then shrugged and set it aside as unimportant. What will happen will happen, he reminded himself. Do what you need to do, and let the rest take care of itself.

The bear-mind woke from its slumber and smiled, then drifted to sleep again.

Parson had parked his truck where his own vehicle had been; as the once-hunter had said, his own was gone. The key he’d taken from Tom’s jacket slid into the lock easily enough, and the engine started smoothly on the first try. The fact that he was about to drive a borrowed vehicle without permission after being gone for several days in the wake of an explosion in his apartment briefly reared itself in his head, but he brushed it aside, pulling out onto the interstate. He was doing what he needed to do. Everything else would take care of itself.

The bear carefully rose, pressing the necklace into his breastbone. Snow fell from his shoulders and back as he moved, then cascaded down in a flurry as he shook off the last of his trance. “Come on, Tom,” he called out to the man on the other side of the fire.

Tom’s head snapped up to the bear’s, startled. “Go… where?”

Alex held out a heavy brown-furred paw to him, helping him rise. “To find something you’ve lost.” Once Tom was on his feet, the bear turned and began walking away from the fire, deeper into the forest.

Tom drew back. “It’s dangerous out there.”

The bear paused, then looked back. “No,” he said calmly, fingering the bear-claw hanging from his neck with one paw, the other held out to Parson. “I’ll protect you. We need to hurry, though.”

Tom hesitated, then followed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. “I don’t like this,” he grumbled as he walked. “I wish I had my guns.”

Alex didn’t look back, though he did raise his nose to the faint wind. The only scents that came to him, though, were his own and Tom’s, and the fire, only visible behind them as shifting strands of light against the ground. “Why’s that, Tom? Is there something out here? And by the way, which way are we going?”

The hunter glared at Alex, stopping in his tracks. “I. Don’t. Know,” he said slowly and deliberately. “I just don’t like it here. I feel naked.”

The bear couldn’t help but grin and deliberately look down at his nude—though furred—form at that. When he opened his muzzle, though, the words were serious. “Tom, I think you know what’s out there, and I think you’re afraid of it. I know you’re scared, but whatever it is, I’m here to help. Okay?”

Tom’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m not scared.” His chin jutted out defiantly. “I’m… you won’t believe me.”

Alex held out his paws, pads up. “I’m here, aren’t I? Just show me, Tom. Show me what’s out here.”

Tom withdrew, standing for several seconds, looking back in the direction of the fire. He nodded, then spoke around clenched teeth. “Fine. This way.” The hunter turned, then strode into the forest, further from the flames. He was rigid as he walked, his pace almost a run, his arms held stiffly at his sides. Alex jogged lightly beside him. scanning the trees with all his senses, but everything told him that the two were alone. “Walker was the only one who believed me,” Tom continued. “He has a plan.”

“Walker?” Alex asked, trying not to sound winded. “Who’s Walker?”

Tom didn’t answer; he instead motioned towards a small cluster of trees towards which he walked. The campsite had vanished behind them, leaving them with only the faint rays of dusk and the first slivers of moonlight to light their way. “You wanted to see. It’s behind there.” His voice was hard, tense, with hints of fear creeping in around the edges. “I did warn you.”

Alex nodded, then deliberately slowed back to a walk. “Easy, Tom. Let’s go slow. I’m right here, okay? Whatever it is, I’m here. Wait here. Let me go first.” He held out a paw, waving Parson back, then carefully approached. A patch of ground had been scraped clear, and in the middle of it was the remains of a fire pit, a small pile of ash and charred wood. Beside it lay the remains of a Child of Deer. From the position of the body and the blood stains on the ground, it looked like he’d been shot once in the shoulder, fallen and tried to crawl away, then bled to death from a second bullet in the neck. One of his antlers had cracked in the fall, and his muzzle hung slightly open. One eye gazed balefully upwards staring in empty shock.

The bear put a paw over his muzzle, holding back the churning, but a familiar clack behind him made him freeze. “I told you,” Tom said. “It’s dangerous out here.”

Alex didn’t move. “Shooting me won’t bring him back, Tom. What happened?”

“He said I was one of you,” Parson spat. “And he wanted to show me. He wanted to help.” He sneered the word. “Up against the tree. I. Don’t. Need. Help.”

Alex moved, slowly, taking up a familiar position against one of the trees, his paws gripping the rough bark. “This isn’t going to prove anything, Tom. Are you?”

“Am I what?” Parson’s voice remained flat.

“One of us,” Alex responded just as calmly.

“Of course not!” The denial came fast and loud. “I’m a hunter! I’m not prey. You, however, are going to make a fine troph—” An angry yowl interrupted Parson’s voice, which rose into a scream, ending in a sharp crunch. Alex whipped around to see a mountain lion crouching over Parson’s prone form. His foreclaws were sunk completely through Parson’s coat. In the faint light of twilight, the big cat’s tan coat looked like pale shadows poured over a skeletal feline frame. His eyes were golden and flashed with anger.

“Murderer,” the cougar hissed, digging his claws in further. “I knew you’d come back. Sumac wasn’t enough for you, was it?” Tom tried to find the air to scream again, but the sudden jab into his shoulders reduced him to a breathless whimper. “At least while you were too scared to go looking, I was safe.” His forearms rippled as he gouged out more of Parson’s flesh, but his eyes turned from the man under him to the bear. “No thanks to you, he’ll be after me next.”

Alex lumbered over and dropped to the ground, for the moment ignoring Tom’s writhing. “Maybe. What’s your name? I’m… well, call me Alex.”

The mountain lion stopped twisting his claws into Tom’s shoulders, instead sprawling across his back and leaning heavily on the open wounds. He regarded the bear for some seconds, then turned and licked at one forepaw, grooming it nonchalantly. Several seconds past, while the cat made a show of ignoring both the question and its asker. Alex held up a paw. “Fine, don’t tell me. Listen… I think you two need to talk.”

The cat looked back at Alex, then down at Tom with a grin. “Oh, I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, is there, Tom?”

“Animal,” Tom gasped in reply. “I don’t… I don’t want—”

“Hey, can you ease off of him? You two need to resolve this.” Alex put a paw on the cougar’s flank. “He’s not going anywhere.”

The cat’s golden eyes narrowed, but he shifted off of Tom’s back, curling up and resuming his impromptu grooming. Alex helped get Tom up to a sitting position, though he groaned as he rose, whimpering at the claws in his back. Once they were both seated, Alex nodded. “Now, why don’t you two tell me what happened to the deer over there.”

Both cat and hunter started at once, then fell silent. The cougar went back to his paw, and Tom turned his head back towards the fallen body. “I don’t know,” he said. “Dave and I… it was the end of college. We’d gone out camping. I used to love that kind of thing. Getting back to nature, all that. It was weather a lot like this, really. We’d been hiking up through Wyoming; Dave said he’d wanted to get well off the trails, so we were well out into the woods. We set up camp and I’d gone out to pull down some small game for dinner, but when I get back—”

The cougar lifted his head at that and hissed. “You whip out your gun and shoot Sumac in the chest.”

Tom turned his head to the can and glared. “Maybe if he’d said what he’d done with Dave—”

Alex rose at that, stepping forward to physically interpose as cat and human leaned towards each other. One paw fell heavily on each shoulder, pushing them back apart. “Okay, kids, that’s enough. I guess that was Sumac back over there I saw. Now, Tom, I get that you’re angry. I get why you’re angry. I don’t get why you’re taking out that anger on us.”

The cat rumbled back in his chest, glaring at Tom. “He didn’t need a reason. He’s just a killer!”

“It was self-defense!” Tom shouted in reply. “I didn’t know what that… that thing had done with Dave! How was I to know I wasn’t next?”

Alex growled. “Okay, knock it off.” He shoved both of them back into their seats, Tom landing with a gasp of pain. “You two don’t get it, do you? You’re really this deep in denial. Tom, have you ever seen this particular talking cat before?” He rounded on the cat. “And…have you ever actually seen Tom before, or do you just know him from his sterling reputation?” At that, both human and cat turned to look at each other, eyes widening at once before they turned back to Alex. “Yeah, thought so. Like I said, you two need to work this out. In the meantime, think I can trust you not to kill each other?”

Tom and the cat looked once more at each other, then back to Alex, before nodding. Alex grinned. “Listen. Nobody said this was going to be easy, but you’re not going to be alone on this. You’ve got others around to help.” They nodded again, and Alex rose, clutching again at his necklace. “I’ll see you outside.”

The man’s face contorted in a sneer, but the corners of his eyes bent down in terror, tearing at the corners. He pressed himself back against the tree, trying to pull away from the wolf’s gamy breath. “You’re going to break my legs.” He was obviously struggling to sound nonchalant, but his lower lip trembled, making his voice warble.

“I doubt it, Mister… Parson,” Alex groaned loudly from his sprawl at the river’s edge, the last of his clothes pinned under rock, soaking away the stains in the current. “Dancer likes to play with his food.” As long as he kept the back of his head in the water, the throbbing in his head kept itself to a dull ache, but the sense of spiders crawling across his brain refused to go away. In one hand, he jingled the man’s keys; in the other, he held aloft their assailant’s wallet. He brought the folded calfskin back down in front of his face and squinted at it anew. “You know, Tom, you’re pretty young for an assassin.”

“Assassins kill people,” Parson spat back at him, immediately shying away afterwards as Dancer’s growl intensified. “I’m a game hunter. See my licence?”

Alex held up a laminated rectangle. “Right here. Says big and small game, includes cougars.” He flicked his wrist, sending the license adrift on the river, following the arc that Parson’s pistols had taken earlier. “If you’re lucky, somebody’ll find that. If not, they’ll find what’s left of you first. Who told you we were here?”

At that, Parson was silent, his lips pressed into a tight, flat line. He leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes.

Alex hauled himself to his feet, then slumped to one knee as a fresh blast of pain throbbed through the back of his head. With one hand on his knee, he forced himself to stand, then staggered over to their captive. He dropped next to Shadowdance, watching Parson carefully. “Listen, Tom… I can call you that, right?” A grin briefly flashed across his face, but slipped away just as fast, leaving behind a distasteful solemnity. “You came here to kill us. At least one, if not all of us. Right now, your guns are gone, you’ve got a Child of Wolf sitting on your legs, and it’s a long way back to your car. You have two options: you can start being cooperative….” He paused for emphasis. “Or I can let nature take its course.”

Only the distant buzz of a yellowjacket nest and the ripple of the river answered Alex’s threat after several seconds. He glanced at Dancer, then back to the Shepherd, pursing his lips and shrugging. “Suit yourself.” He pushed himself back to his feet and walked back to the river, ignoring Shadowdance’s eyes, stepping lightly carefully to keep Parson from seeing him stagger. He closed his eyes as he struggled into his jeans, trying to trying to block out the rattling in his head. Great Mother…. The words came, but then failed, and Alex let out a sigh. Now what? I can’t kill him. I can’t let him go. If there’s a way out of this mess, I pray You show me what it is. A familiar scent caught his nostrils and he smiled, not turning his head. “Briar.”

The Child of Rabbit stopped as she approached. “How… did you…?”

Alex turned, grinning and cupping the bear-claw necklace against his chest. “Scent. Speaking of which….” He motioned her over, then began sorting through the bundles of leaves in her arms, taking a few and twisting them between his palms, then sniffing. “These should work… they smell about right.” He took half a dozen and held them in the water, then crushed them together into a poultice, which he pressed gingerly to the back of his head. He drew in a deep breath through his nostrils, the scent of anise swirling in his nose. “That’s going to hurt for days,” he grumbled, his voice low. “By the way, thank you.”

Briar’s head cocked to the side. “For what?”

Alex turned and nodded towards the captive Shepherd. “If you hadn’t hit him, he’d have shot me.” He grinned. “I thought rabbits ran from predators.”

Briar’s ears flicked in response. “We run until we can’t, and then we fight back.” She glanced at Parson and shrugged. “There was no running from him.”

Alex sighed. “Tell me about it. Now that we caught him, though… now what?” He looked down at the ground, grimacing and shifting the poultice against the knot at the base of his skull. “I’m running out of ideas, fast.”

Briar rested a paw on Alex’s shoulder. “I wish Watcher were back,” she confided. “He’d know what to do.”

At that, Alex snapped his head up, though the stars swimming in front of his eyes made him groan. “Watcher.” He gestured to the Child of Rabbit, motioning her towards the sweat lodge. “Stoke the fire.” Her ears flattened against her head, but she nodded and dashed into the leather tent. He followed stiffly, then sank to his knees beside the hide on which Watcher had spread out his collection, sniffing and occasionally biting small bits of stem or twig, then grabbing a bunch into a pile. Great Mother, I am as Your cub, he thought as he searched. All I can ask is, let me be wrong about this. “Dancer!” He shouted, ignoring the pain. “Get Parson into the tent.”

The grey-furred wolf let out a confused whine. “Alex?”

Alex shook his head, pressing the poultice tightly to his neck and then scooping up the assembled pile. “Do it, Dancer. I hope… no, I fear I know what’s going on.” He stepped into the lodge, pausing briefly as the fresh wash of heat from the flames in the pit hit him. He stepped to the side, then squatted over his heels as Shadowdance escorted Parson into the tent, letting the flap drop behind him. Briar’s paw landed on one of Tom’s shoulders, the Child of Wolf’s on the other, pushing him to the ground.

Alex stared across the flames at his captive, trying to catch the man’s eyes. “Do you remember your dreams, Tom?”

At that, Parson’s veneer cracked. For a few seconds, almost too fast for Alex’s eyes to catch, Parson’s brows knit, and his cheeks rose in a squint, the corners of his eyes tightening in fear. “I don’t dream,” he spat as the moment passed.

Alex didn’t respond; he just looked to the Children of Nature, who were exchanging glances of their own. Shadowdance gave a brief wag of his tail, and Briar’s ears flicked forward. At that, he let his gaze settle back down on Tom, tossing the bundle of dried plants in his hands onto the fire. Almost immediately, a thick billow of smoke rose from the flames. “Tell me about your dreams, Tom,” Alex said, keeping his voice level. “Tell me where you dream.”

“I told you,” Parson sneered again. “I. Don’t. Dream.”

Alex shook his head. “Everyone dreams, Tom. Tell me yours. Are you in a forest? Is it a mountainside? Are you underground? Try to remember.”

Tom’s face contorted as if in physical pain. “I told you—” he repeated, when suddenly his face went slack, his eyes widening. “Forest.” The word seemed more dropped than spoken. “Sparse, with lots of ground cover.”

A smile slowly spread across Alex’s face. “Tell me about the weather, Tom. Is it warm? Cold? Day or night? Is it sunny or raining?”

“Snow.” Tom’s reply was too fast to be invented. “It’s… dusk, or just before. After sunset, but still with enough light to see.”

Alex nodded, then took a deep breath. “Close your eyes, Tom. Feel the heat of the fire, and remember. Listen to it crackling in front of you, and feel the wind on your back.” His voice settled into a steady rhythm, a gentle rise-and-fall that, combined with the smoke, quickly had Parson breathing deeply, his eyes closed, body slumping forward, held carefully upright by the two Children of Nature steadying him. “The sun has disappeared beyond the horizon, but the last rays of light are still more than enough to see.” His own eyes closed as he tried to call to mind the scene he was describing. “A light layer of white snow covers the ground, and more flakes steadily fall from the sky….”

Slowly, Alex pried his fingers off of the fir tree, jaw clenched as he stepped out from behind his cover. The man standing on its other side was surprisingly young, his cheeks still round with baby fat and dotted with stubble. His hair was dark, buzzed close on the sides and barely longer on top, and the bags under his eyes were yellowed and faintly puffy as if from too little sleep. His camouflage jacket was a size too large and hung off of his shoulders to reveal a white tank-top pulled over a light paunch. The jeans he wore were faded, the knees permanently wrinkled from wear. He looked like he wanted to grow up to be a biker.

A glowing red dot wavered next to the man’s right boot, and Alex followed it up to the gun in his hand. “You don’t need that,” Alex said, trying to keep his voice level and his heart out of his throat.

“You never can tell,” the other man said, grinning. “These woods aren’t exactly friendly. Now turn around and put your hands on the tree.” He flicked the wrist holding the revolver, nodding in emphasis.

Alex did as he was told, eyes closing as he turned towards the fir; the bark was rough against his skin. “What do you want?”

“That’s a good question,” the man riposted. “Why don’t you answer it?”

Alex’s fingers shook against the trunk of the tree, and he clutched at it to try to still them. He tried to speak, but no words would pass his suddenly-dry lips, stuck to swollen and sticky tongue. I want to go home! he screamed inside his head, but nothing came out of his mouth.

A low chuckle interrupted his attempts. “Was that your car I saw on the way in? Four miles north of here?” Alex could hear the grin in his voice. “Looked pretty bad, what with the two flat tires and the broken windscreen. I called a tow truck for you. I guess I’m just a Good Samaritan.”

Alex’s eyes narrowed; his car had been in good shape when he arrived. “Bastard,” he spat in return; it was the first word he managed to force himself to say, and he instantly regretted it, the bottom falling out of his stomach even as the bear-mind loomed within.

The dot of light that Alex had seen at the man’s feet suddenly lit up next to one of his hands on the tree, shaking slightly against the trunk. “Where… are… the… rest?” Each word came out as a distinct sentence unto its own, deliberate and even.

A warm wetness spread across Alex’s jeans, followed by a flush in his cheeks. A chill ran down his spine and his knees began to buckle. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. His stomach knotted in fear. I can’t do this. I can’t— His fingers clenched against the fir tree, nails digging into the bark, and he inhaled sharply, ignoring the sour stink of his own fear. Great Mother— Words deserted him, but he didn’t care. They wouldn’t help him. They couldn’t help him. The bear-mind filled his thoughts, smothering his fear. He forced himself to breathe out, then in again. Out, and in. Ignoring the rapidly cooling stain over his crotch, the quivering laser pointer next to his left hand, and everything else; he leaned against the tree, and prayed.

A cold, metallic clack rang out as the hammer snapped back into place. “I won’t ask again. Where are the others?”

Alex didn’t answer; his focus remained inward, on his breathing, on the bear-mind within his own. His eyes stayed closed, the air moving in and out of his nostrils, carrying the sharp tang of his urine, the fading smell of his sweat. He was shaking, still, but the fear that had gripped him before had largely faded. His lips moved in slow meditations, attentions completely turned inward. In his mind, the image of a tan-furred hare, scampering madly towards him, zigzagging erratically as she charged. Her ears were flat against her head, her eyes showing white all the way around, but she was running towards him, not away.

Alex snapped open his eyes to the sounds of rustling grasses and paws frantically pounding the ground caught his ear. “Do you hear that?”

The dot of light wavered, then lowered. “Yeah, I do,” the man agreed. “Don’t move.” Alex heard the shuffling of fabric and then a second heavy metal clunk. “Damn rabbits….”

The bottom fell out of Alex’s stomach, a fresh wave of panic flooding him. “Briar!” The word was out of him before he had time to think, a bellow that sent him lurching off of the tree, slapping at the man’s arm with his hand and then barreling into him bodily. He pulled the trigger late, the bullet flying wide into the trees but still sending Alex sprawling to the ground, his hands clapped over his ears. Then something slammed into the back of his skull and stars flashed in his vision, adding to the sensory overload.

The spiders in Alex’s brain, almost forgotten, flooded back with a vengeance. A second sharp kick to his back sent a spasm of nausea down his spine. He wanted to curl into a ball, to wrap his arms around his head, to escape the pain and fear, but the bear-mind roared and drove him to roll onto his back, to grapple the man’s legs. Heedless of the other gun, Alex forced himself to his knees, then half-fell against his assailant, trying to grab him.

A familiar scent hammered his senses, and then a blurred shadow passed overhead. Alex opened his eyes, squinting to focus them as the hare that had moments before been charging the two men suddenly unfolded, body twisting, stretching. In midair, it turned, seemingly in slow-motion, and then Briar slammed both hind-paws into the other man’s chest with a sickening crunch, sending him slamming into the tree, then sprawling to the ground in a twisted tangle of limbs. The Child of Rabbit twisted as she fell, landed next to Alex, and rolled into a crouch in a single easy motion, then skittered sideways and darted back, turning to run back into the trees.

“Briar!” Alex cried out again, his voice hoarse. His head throbbed with every syllable, but he forced himself to his feet to stagger drunkenly towards the Child of Rabbit. “Stop! Stop! It’s…” He lurched backwards, waving an arm at the other man, now sprawled on the ground. “Go get… Dancer. Please. Need his help.” Alex dropped to his knees, grabbing the discarded guns and tossing them aside before dropping on top of the other man and pressing a hand into his throat to stop him from struggling. “Move and you’re dead,” he growled, looking blearily down at their disarmed attacker.

Briar hesitated at the words, looking down at Alex’s hand, but at the other man’s weak gurgle, she looked back to the shaman-in-training and nodded before dashing into the woods. Once she was gone, Alex looked down at their attacker, tightening his grip on the other man’s neck. “Now,” he said darkly. “I’ll take you to them.”