Tomasi Exley shifted the binoculars, staring at the glittering façade of TruPharm Incorporated Headquarters.

He was in a small, run-down apartment roughly half a kilometer from the pharmaceutical company. The ice blue-skinned sprite looked away long enough to sip a protein drink through a plastic straw. He then turned his eyes back to the electronic binocs. Klaus Lans was paranoid enough to have installed one-way glass on his building.

Tomasi touched a control on his binocs, and a bioelectric scan went through. The results were imprinted on the computer screen beside him. Tomasi set the binocs down and turned to it. The scan showed that the number of armed people within TruPharm had decreased over the last week.

The sprite-for-hire considered this. In one way, this was a good sign for him. It meant he'd have much less resistance when he finally made his move on TruPharm, since there were fewer guards. Taken another way, it was bad news for his comrades-in-arms, since it meant the transfer of manpower was being dedicated to something else, such as an attack on the anti-User elements in the Great Codex.

It had been three weeks since his brother's death. Tomasi still kept a holopic of Rollo with him, tucked in a pocket. The people responsible for Rollo Exley's death worked at TruPharm, and Tomasi wasn't patient enough to wait for the Government to do something.

At any rate, Tomasi knew he had to get this new information to the appropriate people. Tomasi tapped his comm and dialed in a number. A vid-window opened. "Yeah, it's Arn," a gold-furred F'Val answered.

"Nails? It's Tomasi," the sprite said. "I just finished my last analysis. I'll bring the data around tomorrow."

"Is it bad news?" Nails asked.

"Very possibly. But I figured your connections might be able to make better use of it."

Niente Aught slid out from under her bike and grasped the tool. She passed it over to her big brother Zilch, then slid back under her own bike to continue her work. They were in the garage at the Resonate Tracks, in the area set aside specifically for the Track champions. For the last seven years, Zilch and Niente had consistently come in first and second place, respectively, in every single race held at the Tracks. It was a distinction that deserved rewards.

There was a tone as the door to the garage opened, but the racers paid it little mind. "Yeah, hi, come on in," Zilch called as he tinkered with a screw.

A series of metallic footsteps rang in the garage as the newcomer approached. Niente frowned at the unfamiliar noise and slid out to see who was there.

Quinn Rentack stood over her and grinned down at her.

Stood over her.

Niente blinked and immediately got up to make sure that her eyes weren't fooling her. They were not. Quinn was standing on two legs.

Two legs encased in some sort of metal.

Quinn laughed. "That's right, Niente! I'm walking again!"

There was a muted thump as Zilch whacked his head on the undercarriage of his bike, then a muttered curse. The dusky-skinned sprite pushed himself out to verify this for himself. "What the hell is that, hey?"

Quinn chuckled. "This is something Dr. Hadden suggested prior to the corrective surgery to my spine. Even though the brace I wore in the hoverchair had stimulators in it to keep my muscles from atrophying, I haven't walked in a little less than a year." He slapped the awkward-looking bionic brace. "This is to help me get back into practice."

Niente smiled. "That's good news, Quinn."

"Yeah. Especially since Martin O'Brien will be calling soon about the filming. If I'm gonna be on the set to help with the film, I wanna be able to walk around."

Zilch nodded. "Hey, stick around. Niente and I are almost done. Afterwards, we'll take you over to our place and you can show the others."

"Yeah," Niente said. "David's coming back today anyway, so you can show him."

"David! Over here!"

The dark-haired hacker spotted Nada Aught waving over the crowd and pushed his way through to meet her. She grabbed him in a hug before releasing him. "Naught let me borrow the car to pick you up," she said. "I'll drive you back to the Parlor."

"Thanks, Nada," David sighed. He pushed his sunglasses up to rub at his eyes. "I was seated between two large Perovanian ladies with excruciatingly severe body odor. I got no chance to rest on the trip back."

Nada grimaced. "Maybe we better swing by the Ray Building to let you change and shower."

David shook his head. "Nah, I'm fine." He yawned. "Just brew me a pot of nearcaf and I'll be fine."

The two of them pushed through the crowds to the parking lot and clambered into Naught's hovercar. Nada goosed the car up into traffic and drove toward Sector D-Nine. "So, how was the trip?"

"Not well," David sighed. "I checked my old apartment. Just as I'd suspected, it was completely destroyed. It looked like somebody set a bomb off in my room. There was a hole at least five stories in diameter in the side of the building."

"Basic," Nada grimaced. "Archer must really have it in for you now."

"Especially since I know who she is," he confirmed. "Unfortunately, my computer systems there were destroyed in the explosion, my links along with them."

"That means we can't get back onto Great Codex Netwide," Nada muttered.

"Which means Naught can't hack TruPharm-Net," David added. "Which, depending on your point-of-view, is either good or bad. Good because he can't get into anymore trouble, or bad because he'll be bitching about it for days."

"Either way, at least we know for sure now," Nada said.

David nodded, then yawned again. "Ah, geeze, I'm tired. Let's just skip the thing. I need sleep. Drop me off at my apartment. I'll meet with you guys tomorrow."

The door to the apartment sounded. Quinn called, "Door: unlock! Come on in!" The door slid open to reveal Niente. She'd actually removed the goggles from around her neck and stuffed them in a pocket somewhere. "Hey, Niente. Sit down. Get you a Sodee Pop?"

"Nah," the female biker said. "I was just coming by to see how you were doing."

"Great," Quinn grinned. "I haven't felt this good in months. These braces are wonderful. The only thing they aren't helping with is my writing."

"Still got writer's block?"

"Yeah," Quinn grumped. "But I've had it before, and I'm sure I'll get inspiration." He chuckled. "Just give it a couple of weeks. By then, something'll have happened to me, and I can turn that into a chapter or five for False Miracles."

Niente laughed. It was something that might have seemed strange a few months ago, but in that time, Quinn had come to realize that Niente liked him...a lot. She'd been very upset when he'd been crippled by Dr. van der Waals and the Exleys. She'd been worried about him after the bombings back in January, and had come to his rescue when Julius Cato had been sent to kill him. Her gruff exterior was slowly cracking. Where once Niente might have simply scoffed at any display of humor, now she genuinely laughed at jokes.

It made Quinn happy for her, that she was growing as a person.

"So, what's the word from the Industry?" Niente asked, leaning against a table.

Quinn re-entered the room with a bottle of Sodee Pop for himself. He guzzled some of the drink, then wiped his mouth. "I'm supposed to hear from Martin today. Should be any minute now."

"Cool," Niente said. She looked at the door as it sounded again.

"Door: open," Quinn ordered. He smirked as Naught grinned at them. "Hey, Naught. Come in."

"Thanks, Quinn," the hacker replied. He nodded to his older sister, then turned to the writer. "What's up?"

"Quinn's gonna get a call from Martin O'Brien soon," Niente replied.

"Hey, cool." Naught looked to Quinn. "You got another Pop for me?"

Quinn nodded and went back into his kitchen. Naught took that moment to plop himself down into Quinn's couch. He slumped down in his seat, folding his hands on his stomach and grumbling under his breath.

Niente looked at him. "What's wrong, bro?"

"Ah, it's David. He just told me that his computer links in Great Codex were destroyed. No more TruPharm-Net to hack," he grumped. "I had big ideas, and now I'm basically screwed."

Quinn returned, tossing a bottle to Naught, who caught it deftly and started swigging it. The writer shook his head. "Life isn't all fun and Games, Naught. Get used to it."

"Bah," Naught muttered, waving a hand dismissively.

Quinn's comm rang. It was the public line. The three of them shared a look, then Quinn picked it up. He strode out of the room, speaking. "Hello? ...Speaking. ...Oh, hello, Martin!" The rest of his words were lost as he left.

Niente and Naught said nothing as they waited for him to come back. Quinn was gone for about five minutes before Quinn hung up and came back. Quinn looked a little dazed. "Hey, what's the matter, Quinn?" Naught asked. "You look like someone cut off circulation to your face."

Quinn set his comm back in its cradle, then looked up. "Well, that was Martin. He OK'ed my being on the set with the studio. I'll be joining him in three days at the filming."

"Great!" Naught hooted. "Where's the filming?"

"That's the bad news," Quinn said. He clomped his brace-encased legs together and seemed to sit back on air. Hover-generators kicked in and Quinn appeared to be in a hoverchair again. He sighed. "The filming is in the Great Codex."

Niente blinked. "Oh."

"Why's that bad? That's cool, man!" Naught grimaced as the other two fell silent and looked at him. "What?"

"Bro, the True Force is in Great Codex, and when last seen, they were trying to kill Quinn," Niente reminded him.

"And also, that Class-17 virus is there," Quinn pointed out. "The virus works with Dr. Archer, who also wants to kill me."

Naught shook his head. "How'd you get so many enemies, Quinn?"

"I befriended you guys," Quinn said humorlessly.

Niente spoke up. "Well, I see a solution, Quinn. I'll go with you." She smiled. "People will think twice before messin' with you if I'm around."

Quinn considered. "Yeah. That'll be cool. Sure. Martin said he'd pay for me and my friends to come."

Naught perked up. "I'll go too! I can shoot a gun!"

"You only want to come along because it means you can get into TruPharm-Net again," Quinn said.

"Well, sure," Naught grinned. "But Niente'll be there to keep me out of trouble."

Quinn and Niente shared a look, then the writer sighed. "All right, fine. But you clear it with Zilch and your family first."

"No trouble," Naught smirked. "Zilch's a softie." He jumped up from the couch and polished off his Sodee Pop. "See ya later." Then he dashed out the door.

Niente harrumphed. "A 'softie'? I'll have to tell Zilch that."

The hacker known as Sagittaria -- the 'Hate Crasher' who had once crashed a million servers in a single day -- swore profusely as her latest attempt failed. She wore a sleek, dark, silvery jumpsuit without sleeves. A faux icon adorned the utility belt she had clipped onto her outfit. The icon depicted a stylized arrow with a line bisecting it in the middle -- the Zodiac symbol for Sagittarius. The arrow was gold, the background black. Sagittaria wore a VR monocle headset and had wild, curly hair.

Sagittaria was currently trying to hack into the Governmental Department of Corrections. She wasn't having much luck at it. She growled, then paused as she heard her comm ring. Glancing at the tracer, she cleared her throat and tapped the control for 'audio only.' "Dr. Archer."

"Doctor, your progress?" came the crisp voice of Lazarus.

"Slow," Dr. Archer replied. "The hackers that Jono Ginn hired are somewhat incompetent. I'm thinking of firing them and hiring some new ones."

"Do whatever you think is necessary, Doctor, but find a way to get Cato out of prison. He is important for our plans," Lazarus said.

"Of course, sir," Dr. Archer said. "The Government has simply beefed up their computer security in recent weeks, probably as a result of Cato's capture." She sighed. "That makes it much more difficult for them to hack around their systems to get into Cato’s implants."

"Tell them to keep at it. I want Cato free so we can remove DaVinci and his friends. They know of us, and that makes them dangerous," Lazarus reminded her.

"Yes, sir, I am well aware of the danger they present," Dr. Archer said with a muted snarl.

"Very well. I have business to attend to. Keep me informed of your progress, Doctor. Lazarus out."

With a beep, the comm switched off, and Sagittaria made a mental note to remove the roadblock that Lazarus presented to her own plans.

"There’s a guy over there with a sign," the hacker replied, indicating a man in a red cap, holding a sign that read RENTACK.

The trio ventured through the crowds, Niente easily hefting their three bags of luggage, and approached the man. Quinn nodded to him. "I’m Quinn Rentack."

The man in the cap smiled. "Mr. Rentack? Hi, I’m Martin O’Brien. Pleased to meet you." He shook Quinn’s hand.

Quinn blinked. "Martin?" He was now flustered. "Well, I expected you to send someone, I just didn’t expect yourself!"

Martin laughed. "I like to surprise people like that," he replied. Martin was of middling height, about an inch shorter than Quinn in his bionic braces, with golden brown hair and a charming smile. At the moment, the director wore a burgundy jacket with a black shirt underneath. The cap had the emblem of the holofilm studio he was currently working for. Martin turned to the Aughts. "Who’re your friends?"

Quinn did the introductions. "Martin, this is Naught Aught and his big sister Niente. Guys, this is Martin O’Brien."

Naught gulped and shook Martin’s proffered hand. "Mr. O’Brien, this is an honor, wow, I wasn’t expecting to meet you like this, I must look like a lamer, geeze, I feel like a shmuck."

Martin chuckled. "I’m sure there was supposed to be a period in there somewhere." He turned to Niente. "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Aught. I’ve heard about you and your brother’s racing exploits. Let me extend my congratulations."

"No problem," Niente replied, shaking his hand.

"Well, if that’s all, let’s get going to the hotel, shall we?" Martin asked.

He led them to a hoverlimo and climbed in. The limo pulled out into mainstream traffic and headed toward the MetaSpire Hotel. Martin explained the schedule for the next few days. "When we get to the hotel, I’ll take you up to your rooms and let you unpack. Then we have a little reception with the cast and crew. I’ll introduce you to everyone. Naught, Niente, feel free to come along. Of course you’ll understand if I tell you that I can’t let you actually attend some of our filming, since our security isn’t as great as I’d like. The studio is something of a cheapskate like that."

"I understand," Quinn replied. "I’ve had bad experiences with poor security," he said, indicating his legs.

"Tomorrow, we’ll go over the script, do a read-through, and take a look at the storyboards," Martin continued. "Then we’ll go and scope out some of the sites we’ve picked for the outdoor scenes. The studio’s got a soundstage here we can use for some of the indoor scenes."

"Great," Quinn said. "I’ll, of course, want to talk to some of the cast to give them some insights I have for the characters."

"Right, no problem," Martin said. He grinned. "I can’t guarantee that they’ll take your advice, of course."

"Of course," Quinn said with a grin.

The limo pulled to a stop as it reached the MetaSpire Hotel and the four disembarked. Martin led them up to the seventeenth floor, where their room was. "I didn’t know how many people you were bringing, Quinn," the director said, "so I booked you for a room large enough to hold four. Four single beds, and two full baths. There’s also a kitchenette in there, and a port with access to Great Codex Netwide."

Naught brightened. Things were looking better already. They went into the room and the Resonate visitors had to stop for a moment. It was big. It was at least three times the size of Quinn’s apartment in the Resonate System, and the ceiling was twice as high. The suite had a balcony that overlooked one of the many parks in the Great Codex and gave them a great view of the skyline.

Martin smiled. "I’ve arranged for room service to be provided free of charge. I’m on good terms with the hotel." He rubbed his hands together. "Well, I’ll let you all unpack. I’ll be waiting for you down in the Reception Room."

Quinn sighed. He’d have to have Nada talk to Naught about his fashion sense.

They went down in the elevator to the mezzanine, where the Reception Room was. The Reception Room was little more than a glorified ballroom that had been converted into a smaller room for the purposes of holding receptions but not dances. There was a band playing in one corner, a row of tables with food, and a large group of people milling around. Martin spotted them almost immediately.

"Quinn! I’d like you to meet Michael Dugan," Martin said, introducing the writer to a tall chap with a long face and a square jaw. The man had dark, straight hair that came down almost to his shoulders. "He’ll be playing Detterick Noble."

"Mr. Rentack, pleased to meet you," Dugan said with a smile. He had a soft but powerful voice.

Quinn started. "Geeze. Mr. Dugan, that was uncanny. That is exactly how Det Noble talks!"

Dugan grinned. "I know," he said. His voice was now pretty flat, calm. "I’ve been working on the voice ever since I was cast."

"Niente, Naught, feel free to sample the food," Martin said. "I’m just going to steal Quinn for a few minutes and introduce him to the rest of the cast."

Martin led Quinn over to a smaller group of people in the crowd. Dugan followed. The first person they approached was a lean man with spiky blond hair. "Quinn, this is-"

"I know," Quinn interrupted. "Nate Carter. You’ll be playing Bobbo."

"That’s right," Carter smirked. Nate Carter had a habit of playing the jocular sidekick. That was why he was perfect for the part of Bobbo.

The next actor was a man with a sharp, angular face and impeccably neat hair. He had piercing gray eyes. "Quinn, meet Todd Bunsen."

Bunsen smiled. "I’ll be playing Gene Deuce."  He shook Quinn's hand.  "I loved the book.  Any advice you have will be welcome."

Quinn nodded.  "I'll save any tips until after the read-through."  He clapped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly.  "I can't wait to get started.  I just know this holofilm is going to be bigger than anything else."

"Is there something wrong, sir?" Kitz asked.

"Yes, Hal, there is," Lazarus grated.  He waved at the pad.  "Martin O'Brien is filming a holo here in Great Codex."  He got up, pacing behind his desk.  "This presents a problem."

"How so, sir?"

Lazarus sighed, staring out the one-way plastiglass of his office at Great Codex.  "The holoimages we have generated over our hidden bases here in the system are Mark IIs.  Mark II holos are not proof against holography."

Kitz understood.  "Meaning that if O'Brien happens to film near one of our bases, the holoimages won't show up on film.  Our bases will be totally visible."

"Exactly," Lazarus said.  "To make matters worse, the film is entitled Game Over, and it's by that traitorous Quinn Rentack."

"Ah," Kitz said.  "The news-sheet demagogue.  The man who writes the column Brutally Honest."

"The same man who knows about TruPharm's connection to the True Force," Lazarus added.  "The man who knows that I, Klaus Lans, am also Lazarus, the leader of the True Force.  The man who knows I was behind the so-called 'Singer Massacres' of weeks ago."  He snarled and punched a fist into the window, causing it to vibrate.  "He continues to write negatively about my company in his damned column, even suggesting boycotts of our products because of our 'racist' policies."

"Truly, a traitor to the species," Kitz said, looking the article over.  Then he stopped.  "Sir, I just noticed something."

"What?"

Kitz held out the news-sheet.  "Apparently, Mr. Rentack is in-system for the filming."

Lazarus snatched it, then smiled slowly.  "Ah...excellent."  He looked up.  "Get three of our men to get hired for the crew.  They are not to immediately kill Rentack, but wait for a clean opportunity.  It is not to turn him into some sort of martyr.  If they can ruin his reputation somehow, all the better."

Kitz nodded.  "I shall do so immediately, sir."

"There's been a lot of traffic coming off general Net-access," Surf reported.  She indicated a line of code.  "Look where I traced it to."

"Great Codex Netwide," DaVinci said.  "It's Sagittaria -- Dr. Archer.  My bet is she's either trying to crash our computers, or she's trying to hack into Cato's implants at the security compound in the Central Sector."

"Either way," Surf said, "I've been blocking her attempts.  I managed to disguise it as the Resonate's hacker defenses, but that's not going to keep."  She looked at him.  "Sagittaria's good, D.  Better than anyone I've ever seen.  I think she's almost as good as you are."

"That's no surprise," DaVinci said.  "It's takes some doing to crash a million servers in a single day."

Surf nodded.  "I agree.  But what are we going to do about her?"

"She's not going to give up until we're all dead," DaVinci said.  "We pose a threat to her because we know her secret.  Thus, there's one thing we could do, but without access to her files, we can't prove it."

Surf sat grimly for a few minutes as DaVinci patched himself into the Resonate sec-systems.  Then she looked up.  "Wait.  When we hacked TruPharm-Net a few weeks ago, Naught copied Lans and Archer's files."

DaVinci swore.  "Great.  And he's in Great Codex.  We'll have to call him.  Tell him to forward the files to us."

"Yeah, but we don't know where they're staying in Great Codex," Surf said.  "And it would take days to search the Great Codex d-bases to find out where.  Knowing Quinn and Niente, they're gonna call to let us know how things are going.  We'll get them to tell Naught for us."

DaVinci nodded.  "Right.  In the meantime, let's concentrate on thwarting Sagittaria's hacks, and worry about exposing her later."

The guards, two sprites of red and yellow skin (respectively), grumbled to themselves.  "How'd we get assigned to guard duty?" Red asked.

"Dunno," Yellow said.  "It might have something to do with the fact that our patrol car was destroyed by Cross-Head in there."  He jerked his thumb at the prisoner.  He scowled at the prisoner.  "I tell you, this guy doesn't look so dangerous.  I don't see why Chief Hostan had him locked up in max-sec."

Red smacked him.  "You crazy?  This guy totaled five patrol cars and three APCs before we managed to put him down.  And look at him.  Barely a scratch on him from all that."  He shifted uncomfortably.  "But you're right.  This job sucks."

"Wanna go get some donuts?" Yellow asked.

"Sure," Red said.  "I don't thik Cross-Head's going anywhere."

The two cops swaggered out of the wing.  'Cross-Head' -- who was once known as Julius Cato -- blinked exactly once.  He tilted his head and broadcast a message for what was actually -- by a severe coincidence -- the five millionth time.

/Cato to Commander: request orders./

As it had on the previous attempts, this message received nothing but static in response.  Cato looked around the cell again.  It was very austere, possessing a meager toilet and sink in one corner, and an uncomfortable cot.  Of course, Cato had been manipulated beyond such unimportant things as comfort.  But Cato's cybernetic brain made note of the bionic jammers positioned just outside his cell, designed to prevent his implants from functioning.

Cato's subroutines continued to operate, caught in infinite loops that Cato's psuedo-intelligence eventually broke.  Desparate for commands, Cato's brain searched through his wetware in search of some algorithm that applied for this situation.  Results came up negative until it struck a portion of Cato's brain that had been deliberately walled off.

Intrigued -- or as intrigued as a cybernetic mind could be, the psuedo-intelligence prodded it.  It was very well-enforced.  The psuedo-intelligence pondered on this for several milliseconds.  Then, it reached a conclusion -- this must be last-resort commands, designed for this circumstance.

All it needed to do was whittle away at the block.

All this transpired in less than a minute, but the psuedo-intelligence's attempts to break down the enforcement took far longer, since this was a task that it could only work at for so long before it needed to stop in order to prevent Cato's brain from overheating.

When Red and Yellow returned with a thermos for each of themselves and a box with two dozen donuts, they found Cato still sitting in the same position.  They assumed -- as they always did -- that Cato was stupid, catatonic, and that there was nothing "processing upstairs."

They were, of course, far from the truth.

His electronics store was not doing as well as he'd liked.  Of course, when one lived in a system the size of Great Codex, there were literally dozens, if not hundreds, of electronics stores with prices that were probably better than his.  But this was all Arn had, so he had to make do.

Arn was a gold-furred F'Val with a well-toned body.  Arn spent most of his free time training, working out.  As a result, he was what would have been called "ripped" in late 20th Century slang.  The claws on his right hand were sharpened more than the claws on his left -- simply because he liked them better that way.

As Arn returned to the counter, he heard the door sound as it opened.  Arn looked up to see a large, much more well-built sprite with ice-blue skin walk in.  Arn quickly tapped a button on the underside of the counter.  The exterior windows turned opaque from the outside and the sign switched to CLOSED.

Arn looked at the sprite a moment.  He had silver hair and a dark goatee.  A ridiculous-looking Texan hat sat on his head.  He wore stereotypical Texan clothing that barely concealed his huge form.  Arn crossed his arms.  "You can drop the disguise, Tomasi.  It's safe now.  I sweep this place every two hours."

The sprite tapped a hidden icon on the back of his belt.  The Texan garb was replaced by tough work pants and a tight black tank-top.  The beard disappeared and the silver hair intensified to a glowing red.  He clutched a satchel in one hand.  Tomasi Exley placed the satchel on the countertop, emptying it.

The satchel contained several surveillance devices, as well as a disc.  Arn picked the disc up and placed it in a disc-reader, which was patched into a port connected to GCN.  Tomasi looked at him.  "How long should it take, Nails?"

"Nails" was Arn's nickname.  Very few knew it.  He looked over at the towering sprite.  "No way to tell.  It depends on whether or not my buddies are awake at their posts."

Tomasi nodded.  "All right."  He went over to the windows and looked outside.  He crossed his arms as he squinted up and down the street.  Then he turned to Nails.  "Say, what's up with all the roadblocks?  I had to get out of the taxi on the way here."

Nails shrugged.  "It's some holofilm being shot here.  They're shutting down a few parts of the system for it."  He looked through the viewer at the data scrolling past on the reader.

"Really?" Tomasi said, turning back to the window.  "What holofilm?"

"It's based off some novel," Nails said.  "Called Game Over, by some guy named Rentack."

Tomasi snapped around.  "Quinn Rentack?"

Nails looked up.  "Yeah.  Why?  You know him?"

"He's that User I told you about," Tomasi said.  "The cripple."

"Oh, him," Nails said.  He frowned for a moment, then picked up a news-sheet pad.  He tossed it to the sprite.  "Here.  There's more about it in the news."

Tomasi looked it over, then laughed.  "Well, lookee there!"

The F'Val looked up again.  "What?"

"Says here that Rentack's in-system for the filming," Tomasi said.

Nails smirked.  "You want I should call the ballyhoo boys to roll him?"

"No," Tomasi said.  He set the pad down.  "We're not gonna kill him.  Not for a while, anyway.  This guy's higher up on the Crossies' hit-list, anyway.  If what my ex-boss told me about the Crossie Chief is true, he's not going to let an opportunity like this go to waste."

Nails folded his arms.  "So what're you saying?  Let the Crossies roll him?"

"No," Tomasi said.  "We're gonna keep the Crossies from killing him."  He walked around the counter and draped an arm around the F'Val's broad shoulders.  "Here's what I've got in mind, Nails."

" 'I dunno, Det,' " Bobbo Bosworth replied.  " 'You could be walking into a trap.' "

" 'Let me worry about that,' " Noble said.  He moved toward the darkened doorway.

"Cut!" Martin O'Brien shouted.  "Nice work, Mike, Nate.  Quinn, what d'you say?"

"Nice," Quinn agreed.  "It feels like it might be missing something, but whatever it is, it isn't something the actors do.  It's stuff like background noise and stuff."  He nodded to Martin.  "I think it looks good."

"All right," Martin said, scrolling through his copy of the script.  "Let's move on to scene 32 -- with Noble, Bobbo, and Victor outdoors."

The actors and crew started to pack up to move over to the small street-front cafe when Martin came over to Quinn.  "Well, so far, so good.  I have to say that there hasn't been as many problems with security as I'd feared.  The studio's budget just didn't allow for it."

"I can understand your apprehension," Quinn said.  "And I agree that things are going good."  He looked around.  "Too bad Naught and Niente can't be here."

Martin shrugged.  "I'd rather not push our security to watch over two spectators."

Quinn wanted to point out that the Aughts wouldn't be much of a security burden or threat, but decided against it.  "Well, let's move on, shall we?"

One of the film's security guards approached.  "Mr. O'Brien," he said, "two gentlemen just came up and requested to talk to you."

"Who are they?"

"They wouldn't say," the guard said.  "But they did say Mr. Rentack might know one of them."

Martin looked at the writer.  "D'you know anyone in Great Codex?"

"If I did," Quinn said, "I'd've visited them already.  Did they give names?" he asked the guard.

"Yeah, one of them said his name was Salunsen.  Derik Salunsen."

Quinn blinked.  He turned to Martin.  "Let's humor them.  The cast and crew need a break anyway."

Martin and Quinn were lead to one of the roadblocks the crew had set up.  Two people were standing outside, accosted by guards.  One of them was a broad-shouldered F'Val with gold fur.  The other was an ice-blue sprite with Texan clothing, silver hair, and a beard.  He spotted Quinn.  "Quinn!" he called in a Texan drawl.  "Ah haven't seen yuh in months!"

Quinn tensed a bit.  He opened his mouth to speak the sprite's name, but he beat him to the punch.  "Derik.  Derik Salunsen," the Texan sprite said.  "Come on, yuh hafta remember me!  Yuh oughta remember muh bruhther, anyway!"  He looked at Quinn intensely.

Quinn slowly said, "Yes.  I do remember your brother.  Tragic, what happened to him."

"Yeah," Salunsen said.  "It was.  But that's not wuht Ah'm heah t' talk about.  Ah'm heah b'cause Ah heard ya'll're havin' security problems."

Martin spoke up.  "Yes, that's true.  And you might be?"

"Derik Salunsen," Salunsen said.  "Ah run a small private security operation.  This is muh associate," he said, gesturing to the F'Val.  "He goes by Nails."

Nails waved off-handedly, not really looking at either the director or Quinn.  Salunsen said, "Uh, he's not much of a people person."  He looked at Quinn.  "Ah was comin' to ask ya'll if yuh want muh services."

Martin was skeptical.  Quinn spoke up.  "Uh, Martin, I'm going to talk to Mr. Salunsen privately, okay?  So..."  The director nodded, and motioned for the guards to leave them alone.

As soon as the guards were out of earshot, Quinn hissed, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Just what it looks like I'm doing," Salunsen -- or rather Tomasi -- said, dropping the accent.  "I'm here to offer security."

"From what?" Quinn whispered.

"The Crossies," Nails said.

Seeing Quinn's blank look, Tomasi clarified, "The True Force."

"Why do you care a rat's ass about me?" Quinn asked.  "Aside from the last time we met, you've tried to kill me at every turn.  Hell," he said, his voice raising, "it's because of you I have to wear these braces!"  He gestured at the bionic braces on his legs.

Tomasi motioned for him to quiet down.  "Look, I admit, I don't like you.  You're a stinkin' User.  But you're also on Lazarus' shit-list.  He's not likely to let an opportunity like this go by.  That's why I'm here.  To catch the Goddamn Crossies in the act, so I can find a way into Crossie Headquarters."

"So I'm bait," Quinn said bluntly.  "Remind me again why I should trust you."

"`Cause I saved your life from Cato," Tomasi said.

"You've tried to kill me a lot more times than that," Quinn said, "so it'd take more than one incident to convince me."

Nails suddenly moved.  He grabbed the belt-line of Quinn's braces with one hand and put his sharpened claws to his chin with the other.  He made a hissing growl deep in his throat.  Quinn's face hardened.  "This is a hell of a way to convince me."

"Look, User," Nails said, "he doesn't like you."  He shook Quinn.  "I don't like you either."  He shoved him back into Tomasi, then poked him in the chest with one of his sharp claws.  "You just watch yourself.  We're wanted men."  He tapped his chest.  "I have the death sentence in twelve systems!"

Quinn dusted himself off.  "I could've guessed that.  After all, you hang around with him," he said, jerking a thumb at Tomasi.  He turned back to the Exley brother.  "All right, look, I'll try to convince Martin to hire you two.  But don't do anything that'll convince me you're here to roll me.  `Cause if you do, I can call in Niente, and she'll lay in a beat down on both your asses."

Tomasi sneered, then turned to Nails.  The two shared a brief conversation in whispered tones.  Quinn thought he heard some Hatemil in there, but then the two non-humans turned back to him.  "All right," Tomasi said.  "Let's do this."

If DaVinci had been there, he might have noticed something familiar about one of the passengers.  The passenger wore a long coat to hide the giveaway clothing, and the hair was tied back.  Wraparound sunglasses concealed the passenger's eyes.  Hands were thrust into pockets.

Once the passenger got outside the transport station, the hands emerged.  Unnaturally long fingers with claws on the ends flexed.  One of the claws raised up to the sunglasses, then tilted them down, exposing sharp eyes that changed colors every second.

And slowly, the Class Seventeen virus known as Elogin smiled her sharp-toothed smile.