

Carniform

By R. R. Fitzbratchet

Copyright © 2012 by R.R. Fitzbratchet

Smashwords Edition

Carniform.com

# Prologue

Human history is a repeating cycle of dark and light ages. Every great society, no matter how far its reach, must fall in time. Just as the Greeks and the Romans before us, we face our own decline.

While intelligence builds, ignorance breeds; no matter how far we come, this truth is always inescapable. Not only is a collapse inevitable but, the longer it is postponed, the greater its magnitude when it finally arrives.

The first signs are overextended economies that, in time, falter and crumble. As opportunists take advantage of confusion, crime spirals out of control. Individuals band together for protection. Organized government loses relevance until civilized society collapses under the chaos. A dark age begins.

Today we find ourselves facing an uncomfortable reality. The change is here and it cannot be stopped.

B. Branahin,  The End of an Information Age

# Book I

A social contract is not something written and signed – a law of man; it is indisputable – a law of nature. Leaders act on the behalf of the led, not because it is their duty, but because it preserves the health of the society. It is the foolish leader who thinks he can out-prosper his own people. No one is above 'us' – we live or die together.

-Lord Pendigoss at the signing of the Il Fiore accord

## Act I – Davius Place

### 1. A quiet lab

The lifeless metal body resembled a corpse, laid out on its back on a gurney in the corner of the room. A thin white jacket had been placed over its head, obscuring the vacant unlidded eyes from the rest of the room.

Three scientists, all dressed in white and hunched over console screens, were hard at work. The lead scientist, a sharp-eyed and olive-skinned man in his late thirties, was typing frantically. A setback in the project that morning had put them at least another day behind schedule and panic was creeping up the back of his neck. If he didn't sort this out soon, his career was over. Actually, it was worse than that – there was more at stake than just his career.

He hit enter and glared at the screen. Something wasn't right; the SMU was incomplete but the read logs checked out fine. He had already double-checked the numbers three times but still no problem revealed itself. They were too far behind to be having these kinds of setbacks. He stood up in exasperation.

It was the first time he had looked away from the monitor in a while and he was surprised to see someone else standing in the room; a slim silver-haired man with severe eyebrows. The lead scientist straightened up instinctively.

"Delphus! Please excuse me. We're near a breakthrough – I was..." he swallowed hard.

The newcomer nodded slightly, precluding any sort of stammering excuse. With a motion of his hand, he dismissed the other scientists and they scurried from the room without hesitation.

When the door closed and they were alone, Delphus spoke.

"Tell me about your progress."

"We're very close. Just working through a few problems..."

"I see you've brought in a carniform." His eyes glanced at the robotic body in the corner.

"Yes, it was finished early so we had it brought in. Perhaps it was optimistic of me; we're probably at least five days from starting physical tests. But... I thought having it here might be encouraging."

Delphus lingered on the robot and he seemed to be contemplating the jacket draped over its head. When he looked back, his gaze was heavy and unsettling and he said:

"You know, I've been considering bringing him here."

"Who?"

"Our lord. His status is much worse than what has been let on. Should he die now, the news would spread like a fire."

"But bring him here, sir, to the Bastion?"

"Shamyl, I don't want to bring him here. The grief it would bring us – the politicians and that wife of his – I do not consider it a savory option. The less that's known about what we do here, the better."

"When do you expect he will die?"

"It could be as early as tomorrow. His body gave up living on its own days ago. The stimulants can keep him together only so long."

Delphus paused and Shamyl began to respond, but the Bastion director cut him off with a glare and then continued.

"You understand the significance of this project don't you? Of course everything we do here is important, everything we do is building towards a greater plane of human existence, but this project, this project marks an arrival in human progress. For better or worse, mankind will never be the same once immortality is obtained."

Shamyl felt his skin tingle. Delphus had never used that word around him before. In fact, no one on the project had ever used that word. There was an unspoken avoidance of it, as if not saying it could allow them to pretend they were simply scientists working on a project like any other – that the ethical questions surrounding immortality could be left to the philosophers and physicians.

Delphus continued.

"But setting the history books aside, our humble project has shouldered a more specific burden. We must resurrect the pater familias before he dies and puts the whole Davius institution at risk."

"At risk?"

"Don't be dense. Lord Davius has no clear successor and the enemies of the family will tear us apart the moment we appear leaderless."

"What about Petrarch?"

"The boy isn't a leader, he's a liability. He is twenty-three, undisciplined and disinterested in matters of state. There are very few in the family who would ever support him as pater familias, even if he weren't so young. His fool uncle has a greater chance of seizing control and we all know what a disaster that would be. No, the return of Lord Davius is our only chance at a secure future."

Shamyl nodded, perhaps too casually. Delphus' face became a picture of menace.

"I will not allow this Bastion to fall victim to philistine despots! I've given you personnel, I've given you facilities! Now I'm giving you an ultimatum – you have one week to finish this project! Do whatever it takes; push your staff to exhaustion, take the facilities you need, recruit more specialists. You are a capable manager; prove me right in choosing you. But know that failure is not an option!"

Not waiting for a response, Delphus turned and left.

Every nerve in Shamyl's body felt as if it was ready to explode. If he failed this, his career was over; he'd spend the rest of his days running clinical trials in some basement laboratory. And he couldn't leave the Bastion; with the things he knew, the Daviuses would sooner kill him than let him go. Actually, with Delphus' temper, a quick death might be waiting on the other side of failure even if he didn't try to run.

### 2. An opportunity

The lights in C barracks were low. Most of the guardsmen were passed out on their bunks or on the floor. A flimsy table held a line of empty vodka and Apollex bottles. Petrarch was holding one more bottle of each in his hands, pouring out the vodka into three glasses. The liquid splashed on the table and one of his companions laughed; a large muscular soldier, his face flushed red, wearing an unbuttoned gray guardsman's jacket. Petrarch recomposed himself and dropped a splash of the Apollex in each glass. The bottle was finished now and he added it to the row of empties.

"You're forgetting something," the soldier bellowed, oblivious of the men sleeping on the bunks just behind him.

"Ice!" Petrarch said looking up and giggling. The third man at the table, a thin young soldier with bulbous fish eyes, stood and walked to a little black freezer. He returned with a box of cubed ice. Petrarch selected two cubes per glass and then slid the finished product to his companions.

"That's the last of the Apollex," the large soldier announced. "You should have brought more!"

"If you can keep that one down without passing out, I'll bring three bottles next time, just for you!"

The soldier laughed and swallowed the glass in one gulp.

"Ha! I'm holding you to it! Miles, you're my witness!"

Their bug-eyed companion nodded officiously.

"Hey, I don't owe you anything yet." Petrarch said. He could feel the room rotating around him. "Not until you prove you can handle it. I want ten minutes before we decide."

The large soldier's name was Heller and Petrarch was not new to his boasts. The big man had a tendency to forget how much Apollex he could handle and it would only be a matter of time now before he wound up passed out on the floor.

"You don't survive in the Guard without knowing how to drink!" Heller said. "You should see me when we're out in the eighteenth!"

"Eighteenth street? Is that where you boys go to drink?"

"Oh, and you know someplace better?"

"Well, personally, I find the Grivet quarter to be more interesting."

Heller laughed, veins bulging in his neck turning his face a deeper red.

"I'd like to see that! The Davius heir in the Grivet quarter, rolling dice with a girl on each arm!"

"If only you weren't forbidden to leave the Davius districts, I'd bring you along."

"And what, show me a thing or two?"

"Yes, if you asked nicely."

Heller laughed again and pounded the table, rattling the bottles out of alignment.

"Listen to the mouth on this one – you sure can talk!"

Petrarch glanced around the room at all the other men who had long since passed out.

"I'd like to think I've proven more than just that."

"Maybe." A wicked grin stole into Heller's lips and he leaned onto the table.

"But when we go out, drinking's not the only game. If you want to come with us, you have to be able to work the women. We can't have some inept Davius child disrupting our game."

"That's nothing you need to worry about."

Heller grinned, "Everyone thinks he's good."

"And I suppose no one can compare to Miles here, your professional lady-killer?"

Heller roared with laughter and looked at Miles.

"Sorry mate, but he's got a point."

Miles looked like he might be sick and said, "Call me old-fashioned but I just don't have a taste for whores."

Heller roared again and then shouted, "Come now, some women deserve better than that!" He pounded the table with laughter, knocking over a number of the bottles.

Miles stammered, "Ah, ah, I didn't' mean all women – just the ones you find in the Grivet quarter or the eighteenth!"

Petrarch was laughing too, but he calmed himself.

"It's all in good fun, Miles – all in good fun."

Heller wiped the tears from his eyes and gave Miles a pat on the back. "This here's a serious one – looking for a real woman, is that it?"

Miles smiled awkwardly and Heller punched him in the arm. He looked to Petrarch.

"It's like a disease going around these barracks right now: men getting married."

Petrarch nodded and then stopped; his head was feeling heavy.

"But not you?"

"Me?" Heller laughed, "Not yet – this beast is too wild to be tamed!"

He stood up quickly, as if to strike a pose and then seemed to swoon. One hand came up to his forehead and with the other he reached blindly for his chair. But before he found it, he was already sitting down. With a crash, private Heller fell to the floor.

Petrarch stood up and looked over the table.

"He's not getting up is he?"

Miles glanced down at his comatose comrade and then shook his head.

Petrarch sat back down. It was only him and Miles now. The other glanced at him with big, fishy eyes and Petrarch was reminded of how uncomfortable his company could be. The silly effeminate smile, the vacant stare that never seemed to focus on anything, the well-honed capacity to drink himself into oblivion.

"I should get going," Petrarch said and stood up to go. The room was lolling around him in a circle and he had to hold the table to steady his balance. He pointed at his friend on the floor.

"Tell him he lost."

He made his way through the darkness, careful to step over the sleeping guardsmen, and found the door.

Petrarch's body felt light and tingly and his head was slowly drifting in a pleasant haze. When he finally became aware of where he was, he had already passed through the security checkpoint and was shuffling down a hallway somewhere in the Davius inner sanctum, his shoulder leaning heavily into the wall for support.

It had been a good night: lots of laughing, some roughhousing, a little gambling. Some of the guardsmen were even starting to feel like friends. Heller was fun and Miles, well maybe not so much Miles; he wasn't exactly the kind of person you could have a real conversation with. Although, for that matter, Heller really wasn't either.

Out of nowhere, Petrarch was overcome by a wave of loneliness. The guardsmen weren't friends. They enjoyed the Apollex he brought but the truth was, there would always be a wall between them. After all, he was the Davius heir. He fit in just as well in the barracks as he did undercity with the Grivets. Hell, he probably fit in better with the Grivets, where his identity was a secret.

He paused and leaned his back into the wall. He could feel a pressure building in his head, stifling and constrictive. He needed a release. Was there time to slip out of the compound for a little visit down to the Grivet quarter? Maybe find some girls and unwind.

He reached for his biscuit to check the time and found something large stuffed in his pocket. It looked like wadded-up cloth. Unfolding it, it became a hat – a guardsman's beret. He'd probably taken it from one of the guardsmen as a joke. It was kind of funny, but if the soldier who lost it didn't get it back, the poor sap would be in serious trouble with his sergeant.

Maybe he'd return the hat and then just put in a request for an artikin girl. It wouldn't be as exciting as going to the Grivet quarter, but there probably wasn't any time for that anyway; it would have to be getting early by now. What time was it?

He dug out his biscuit: it read 2:30. That actually wasn't too late at all; he could stop by the barracks to drop off the hat and be down in the Grivet quarter by 3:15. A few hours of fun and he'd be back here by six or seven. He was still staring at the biscuit display and reread it: 2:30 PM. It was the afternoon?

For the Saints sake! In the state he was in, what if he ran into someone like his uncle, or mother? It was time to go to bed; the guardsman could get his hat tomorrow.

Petrarch was making good progress sliding along the hall until the wall ended suddenly and he fell through an open doorway.

Staggering inside, he heard voices.

"Well, with three days, they certainly have an opportunity to go far."

"I know, but we don't have any clues."

The voices belonged to a couple of intelligence officers, men his father employed to spy on the enemies of the Davius family. They were across a wide room and just visible around a corner, sitting with their backs to him facing a bank of console screens. The conversation sounded interesting and they didn't appear to have noticed his arrival so Petrarch slipped back to the doorway to listen, just for a minute.

"You keep saying that. What kind of clues do you want?"

"I don't know – anything we've gathered from other surveillance, anything out of the ordinary. I find it hard to believe that they've opened the gates and left the city and yet nothing else they've done is noteworthy."

Someone could open the city gates? Someone had gone outside the city? Petrarch nearly sat down right in the doorway. If this was true, it was hard to say what was worse, the fact that such a fundamental rule had been broken or the fact that someone other than the Daviuses had managed to do it first. For the Saints sake, he hoped it wasn't the Ectines.

The intelligence officers were still speaking.

"And what would qualify as noteworthy?"

"I don't know; the systems log everything that happens in this city so that when something odd does happen, it's brought to our attention; we shouldn't have to predict what it will be."

"Okay, but what difference does it make, even if we knew what they were up to?"

"What difference? If Lord Davius was here, we'd get answers – we'd probably have an entire division waiting for them when they came back in."

"And do what? Start another war?"

"I don't know, arrest them."

"Ha! Arrest the Ectines!"

The Ectines! The hairs on Petrarch's arms stood up on end.

"Well, Lord Davius would do something. Captain Zeit's not doing a thing!"

"That's up to him."

There was a pause and neither of the men said anything more. Petrarch staggered away from the door. This was not good news. If the Ectines were going outside the city, it meant they were not content to sit back and enjoy their victory against his father. If they were still pushing, it wouldn't be long before there'd be trouble again for the Davius family.

Why wouldn't father just wake up already and set things straight? He'd been in that damn coma for nearly two weeks.

The hall was starting to spin and Petrarch gripped the doorframe for balance. Thinking about the Ectines and his father was probably not a good idea at the moment; it would be better to think about something more pleasant, like that trip under-city to the Grivet quarter, where nobody knew your name and nobody cared about the Ectines and Daviuses.

Just as he was settling his mind into a stuffy Grivet gaming den, the sound of approaching footsteps jerked him back to the present. A moment later his cousin rounded the corner. Colin's light hair was neatly combed and he was wearing a suit, looking very business-like, as usual. He and Colin were the same age, but you wouldn't guess it once you got to know them.

"Petrarch! You missed court today."

"Colin!" Petrarch took a playful boxing jab at his cousin's shoulder.

Colin stepped back and looked him over.

"Are you drunk? It's not yet three in the afternoon, awfully early to... or... how long have you been drinking? I left you guys at midnight!"

Petrarch smiled, "Yeah, maybe we went on a little long. I might have had some Apollex."

"The saint's sake, Petrarch, this isn't the time for that; things aren't good for the family right now. You might want to look around a little."

Petrarch froze.

"You think I don't know what's going on?"

His cousin glanced away.

"No, I'm not saying that. It's just, well isn't it time to step up and get a little more involved?"

"Colin, I'm trying to keep a level head about this whole thing," Petrarch felt his voice rising, "but it's getting really difficult to deal with all of this... this!" He gestured abstractly to nothing in particular.

"Look, we don't have to talk about it right now."

Petrarch's head was twirling.

"Hey, no, if you want to talk about it so much, then let's talk about it! So the family's doomed – what am I supposed to do?"

"Come on, I'm sure you've seen enough to-"

"Seen enough to what? To lead?"

"It's your inheritance, right? All the Davius holdings belong to you."

"He never wanted me to have them."

"Who, your father? He said that?"

"Said it? He didn't have to say it – he lived it!"

"Don't you think maybe you're exaggerating?"

Petrarch thrust out his hand and began counting off fingers.

"Last month, when he went to address the senate about those problems with the water facility, did he bring me along? No. When he held the war council after the Ectines moved on the Grivets, was I invited? No. The last time he took me anywhere, I was thirteen! Every time my mother'd suggest he bring me along on official business he just shrugged or changed the subject!"

Colin looked uneasy.

"How much Apollex have you had?"

"You think this is the Apollex?"

"Look, all I'm saying is, this is what you've been groomed for, it's—"

"Aren't you listening? He didn't like me; he didn't even like being in the same room with me. He certainly didn't groom me for anything."

"Maybe he didn't know how to express himself, but what about all of our classes – don't they mean anything? Political Science, Public Policy, Economics."

"Classes – you don't learn anything in classes. You learn by doing, and he didn't teach me a damn thing! You know that."

Colin was staring at his shoes.

"Okay, well he's dead now and—"

"Dead! If only things could be so simple."

"Okay, he's in a coma, I'm just saying we should make an effort. All those years of lessons and tutors – at least we know how it's supposed to work."

"How what's supposed to work?"

"The system; court, politics."

Petrarch shrugged, "Well even if you were right, everyone knows I didn't study hard enough for that."

He turned and, with as much balance as he could muster, began to walk away.

Colin called after him.

"Well I did study and, truthfully, you didn't have to – you're the blood heir; if you just go through the motions, that's all you need."

Petrarch stopped.

"Is that all this is about, making sure I don't ruin your chances of a successful political career?"

"No, all I'm saying is that this is it, this is our opportunity!"

"Because I'm sure you could flatter your way into my uncle's good graces without me. He won't hold a childhood spent in my company against you if you roll over and show him your belly."

"It's not like that! I'm not going to give up on you just because you're— uh, uh. We can do this, but you'll have to make some changes."

Petrarch looked around and wondered if the intelligence officers could hear them. He lowered his voice.

"Look, I don't have time to play catch-up. If I'm ever to be pater familias, it will have to be on my terms."

"On your terms?"

"Yeah, forget about politics or court or any of that. For someone like me, it would need to be something different, something big – something that commands respect."

"What are you talking about?"

"Like going after the Ectines."

"What?"

Actually, it kind of made sense; everyone was talking about the Ectines but nobody was doing anything. Why not him?

"I'm going after the Ectines."

"Ah..." Colin's mouth was hanging open.

"Let's be realistic, what this family needs most right now is someone to stand up to them!"

"That may be true, but it's not something you can just do – you need the entire family behind you, plus more than a little strategy and planning."

"You think I'm an idiot?"

"No, I—"

"I won't go chasing after the Ectines without a plan. I know who I'm dealing with –I know what they're capable of."

"You're serious?"

"For the Saint's sake!" Petrarch snapped. "Why can't you at least believe in me?"

Colin opened his mouth as if to speak and then reconsidered. Finally, he said, "Okay. How about we sleep on it for now and straighten out the details tomorrow morning."

"Whatever. Drop this off at the barracks, would you?" He tossed his cousin the wadded-up guardsman's hat, then turned and walked away.

Petrarch shuffled down the hall and around a corner. So his father was gone and now the family was moving on without him. It was the way it had always been destined to play out, wasn't it?

Life wasn't fair. It was everybody for himself; why hadn't he realized it sooner? He'd been so busy waiting for his chance that the real world had passed him by.

If that was the future waiting for him, why shouldn't he go after the Ectines? He had nothing to lose and an opportunity had just presented itself; if the Ectines were outside the city gates, setting an ambush would be just a matter of getting together some mercenaries and checking the systems to see when and where the city gates were scheduled to re-open. Nobody was going to stop the family heir if he walked in and borrowed the surveillance-network computers for a few minutes.

It could work. No, it would work. The Ectines wouldn't even know what hit them.

### 3. The Morning after

The next 'morning' began later that evening when Petrarch woke up in his bed feeling a little groggy with a throbbing head. He stared up at the dark ceiling and traced the ornate molding that ran along the upper edge of the walls with his eyes. He followed the vertical stripes in the wallpaper down until he lost them behind dark furniture floating in pools of shadow.

There were pants lying on the floor and he threw back the satin covers, climbed out of bed and pulled them. He poured a glass of water from the cistern in the corner and, taking cool sips, sat down on a velvet chair and thought back to the night before – the drinking, the merry- and then he remembered:

Overhearing the two intelligence officers, the talk with Colin, the call to Wolf. The Saints have mercy – had he really called Wolf?

He checked the call log on his biscuit:

3:23 PM to 3:42 PM –Wolf.

So he had. The conversation came back in pieces. Wolf had been surprised by his call, and then even more surprised by his request: could he arrange a little militia – maybe some gendarmes willing to make some extra money?

The strange thing was, Wolf said 'yes'. They would be needed by 1:00 AM tonight. No problem, anything for an old friend. And that was that: Wolf was eager to help.

There was a new message waiting on the biscuit; it must have come in while he was sleeping.

It was from Wolf – everything was arranged. There would be thirty men waiting at Saint Nonnatus church in the undercity. His contact was Jacob Senchion, a member of the Senchion bloodline. Jacob had agreed to Petrarch's price, but the force wouldn't be entirely gendarmes – there'd be a few crawlers mixed in to round out the numbers.

Petrarch set the biscuit down. Crawlers? What was he getting himself into? Did he even want to do this? He got up and went to the door to Valos' room and pushed it open. His artikin was sleeping. What time was it? 11:15 PM. That didn't leave much time to get ready. Maybe this whole thing wasn't even feasible.

"Valos."

A head popped up to attention at the other end of the bed.

"We need to talk."

He turned the light up gradually and the face looking at him came into focus. It was like gazing into a mirror: as Petrarch's artikin, Valos was his genetic double. The only real difference between them was Petrarch had been raised as a member of the blood family while Valos was a servant, soldier and potential organ donor.

Valos climbed out of bed and pulled on some clothes. They walked back out to the sitting room and Petrarch faced his artikin.

"I called Wolf and he, well – I overheard some intelligence officers talking about how there are Ectines outside of the city. They opened a city gate and are coming back in tonight. Zeit's not doing anything about it. This could be my chance to step up and prove I can take over for father. We'll ambush them when they try to come back inside. It's what he'd do, right? Father would go right for them. I asked Wolf to get together a team of mercenaries to help out. They're going to meet us undercity tonight. You've done this kind of thing before. What do you think?"

Valos' expression was blank. After a moment he responded.

"There's probably a reason why Zeit's not attacking them himself."

"He's not attacking them because he's afraid of getting this family into another war with the Ectines while my father's injured. But if we do it, no one has to know it was us. That's what the mercenaries are for. We don't have to take credit unless things go well. Think about it – this could be it – this could be the break that gets me a little recognition in the family."

"I didn't know you were interested in politics."

"I'm not – this isn't politics. It's just, well despite the way father treated me, people still expect me to lead, right? And why shouldn't I? I mean, I'm blood; all I've ever needed is an opportunity."

"And here it is? Glory by the gun?"

"Yeah, well, combat is one thing I'm actually trained for. We all know I can't show up at the senate building and wow them with some speech. And you too; I mean, father didn't exactly give me a statesman for an artikin."

"What about your mother?"

"She won't even have to know about it, at least until we see how things go." Valos looked doubtful. "Ok, forget about my mother for a minute. Honestly, my options are pretty limited. It's this, or, or..."

"There's more to leading the family than war games – Davius is an institution with holdings and interests that make up nearly fifteen percent of the city. There's the budget, social services, taxes, the Guard, water management..."

"Yeah, it's really all or nothing for the son of Lord Davius, isn't it?"

He was being sarcastic and Valos looked at him blankly again. Of course there was more to it than a little combat; the sheer responsibility of it all was what was so daunting, and had been his entire life. But that was the thing about talking to your artikin – with the same genes, you weren't exactly talking to someone that would have fresh insight you hadn't already thought of. So this was a crazy idea – he already knew that. He was underprepared – of course he was, it was hard just to avoid all the constant reminders. But when it came down to it, leaders had to be courageous and sometimes courage meant doing things that were a little crazy. Right? Valos was a servant anyway; he was conditioned to follow, not lead.

There was no getting around it; if he was going to do this, the decision would have to be entirely his own.

"To hell with it," he declared. "Get your armor on. We don't have much time!"

Valos might not have approved, but he jumped at the command and hurried to get dressed.

### 4. Tentative alliance

A few hours later, Petrarch was wearing a bulky suit of armor and seated in the back of a dark limousine. Outside, the city was flitting by in orange splashes of street light.

This was crazy, really. The Senchions hated his family and, if for some unlikely reason they were actually willing to help him, the next part of the plan – attacking the Ectines – was even more insane. The Ectines had better weapons, better armor and more combat experience. What had ever made him think he could do this?

Well, there was the armor.

Father had given it to him two weeks ago –the last time they spoke. He arrived while Petrarch and his mother were eating dinner and announced that a suit of armor would be delivered. He said something about it being an expensive prototype and then left, barely even giving Petrarch a chance to say thank you. The next day he attacked Ectine and came back in a coma.

When the armor finally arrived, the first thing that caught Petrarch's attention was the claws: they were like what the blood artikins wore, a pair of long blades jutting from the right forearm, looking like two black swords. Now that he was wearing them, it was a constant effort not to catch one on something. Actually, given how sharp they were supposed to be, he would be lucky if he made it through the whole night without accidentally cutting off one of his own legs.

He pinched his eyes. Maybe he should go back. What did it matter if he didn't show?

What did it matter? After years of being passed over, years of being ignored, this was his chance.

Petrarch lowered his head and was treated to a dim view of his body, slouched and covered with tightly-bound metal cords. In the light, the cords had a green oily shimmer that looked like the shells of scarabs, but now, in the darkness, they were black. The suit was supposed to be superior to even Ectine Praetor armor. He'd find out soon enough if that were true.

Sitting directly across from him in the dark was Valos. Dressed in black midlar, the artikin vanished into the shadows. Only his helmet stood out; shaped like a grinning white skull, it seemed to float there, gazing out the window like some bored specter of death.

Valos wasn't worried, but then, Valos was a killer. This was all routine for him. While Petrarch had grown up stuck in a classroom, his artikin had been working for father, engaged in covert ops and special forces maneuvers. Somewhere in the shadows Valos had claws of his own, blades that had tasted blood many times before.

Petrarch was feeling anxious again; his heart was tight in his chest and his entire body was sweating inside the suit. He needed to keep his mind occupied.

He ran the test suite in his optics visor. Thermal vision, motion detection, targeting synch, guidance system: images and text appeared across the inside of his visor – they all checked out fine.

His eyes settled back on the white skull floating in the darkness.

"It doesn't make sense," he broke the silence.

"What doesn't make sense?" Valos asked.

"Why should talking to the Senchions be such an ordeal? In the last city left on earth, why is it so difficult for the families to even speak with each other?"

"The Ectines have made it clear they intend to own this city and all who live in it."

"Exactly, so why is it so damn difficult to get anyone to help us stop them?"

"I guess we all have different ideas of what's good for the future."

"For the Saint's sake, you would think the outside world be enough of an example."

Valos was silent and neither of them said anything. The limousine came to a stop a minute later and Valos turned in his seat to check the limo's sensors. There were no threats detected and he glanced to Petrarch for direction. Petrarch nodded. Valos opened the door and sprang out. After a moment, his voice came through softly in Petrarch's helmet – the area was secure.

Climbing from the vehicle felt like plunging into the depths of a dark ocean. The city here was deep and still. Towering scrapers leaned in heavily overhead, interconnected by covered catwalks and passageways layering up into deeper and darker shadows. The web-work was immersive – a silent sea of steel and carboncrete.

The limousine drove away on autopilot, orange lamp-glow flitting across its exterior until it turned a corner and was gone. They were alone now and Valos led the way into a dark alley, a narrow rift between two towering and massive buildings.

The alley led to an intersection where one of the roads dipped and descended underground. It was an altipass, a tunnel that connected the city streets to the tight maze of avenues beneath. Under the city, the surveillance networks were thin and laws were not always upheld. It was the perfect place for a secret meeting. Or the perfect place to vanish mysteriously, never to be heard from again.

Following the altipass down, they arrived at a drab intersection many stories underground. The buildings below-city were built almost entirely from dull gray carboncrete and each street looked the same as the last. As soon as they had turned the first corner, Petrarch felt lost. The guidance system displayed bright indicators on his visor, showing the way back, but he couldn't help imagine what a disaster it would be if the guidance system failed.

After a few minutes of walking, the tunnel opened up and emerged into a shadowy plaza – a wide cavern surrounded by four-story buildings that reached the carboncrete ceiling. At the opposite end, looming over the cobblestones, was a crumbling, parish church. Its once pointed gothic steeple terminated abruptly in the ceiling, making it appear cramped and captive underground. It was Saint Nonnatus, the church of the sealed lips.

Beneath the church, loitering in the plaza, was a loose crowd of shadowy men. There were over thirty of them and Petrarch's lungs clamped tight as they all turned to watch him and Valos approach.

About half were gendarmes, dressed in black uniforms and tight, bulbous night goggles. The rest were crawlers with dirty faces and long shabby cloaks. Crawlers were undercity thugs from the Grivet and Barclay families and not to be trusted very far. There were a lot more of them than he had been led to expect and Petrarch felt a sick sensation in his stomach.

Was Wolf being completely truthful when he arranged this meeting?

A tall man in black fatigues wearing reflective night goggles over his eyes approached. This had to be Jacob; he was an important member of the Senchion blood family but young, like Petrarch. As they came face to face, Petrarch was disturbed to find himself looking up. He was pretty sure members of the lower families were supposed to be shorter than Daviuses.

They stared at each other for a long moment and neither of them spoke. Was this some kind of test? Did Jacob think he'd gain ownership over the situation if he made Petrarch start the conversation? Well, two could play that game.

Petrarch took a moment to evaluate the assembled soldiers, slowly looking over each in turn. They were all armed with assault guns or snappers and they all looked tough, which was good, assuming they were here to fight Ectines and not Daviuses. He had almost made his way back around to Jacob when his eyes stopped on something odd: one of the gendarmes was a woman. She was dressed in black fatigues like the rest, but instead of a midlar beret, her head was concealed beneath a bulbous riot helmet. A soft chin peeking out from under the visor gave her away.

Jacob was still staring at him and Petrarch opened his mouth to speak but stopped. What was the proper thing to say in this kind of situation? He wanted to make it clear he was in charge.

"This force is satisfactory. Let's proceed with the negotiation inside."

It sounded stupid, like he was trying too hard, but Jacob nodded and Petrarch felt a little surge of confidence. Yet, a moment later, when neither of them had moved, the confidence was gone. Was he supposed to go first again? They watched each other from behind visor and goggles. Finally, Petrarch took a deep breath and strode past stiffly.

At the church's wooden doors, he knelt to mutter the prayer of forgiveness. With his head bent, he slipped in a quick communication to Valos.

"Wait outside and keep an eye on the rabble. Don't let anyone else follow us in."

Then he pressed through the doors without looking back.

Inside was dark. Candles set by the nuns flickered along the entire length of the nave but outside the narrow yellow glow, all was black. The thermal vision system in his helmet searched the gloom for hidden bodies but found nothing; the darkness was empty except for the ancient ghosts, lurking in the shadowed galleries.

A stone table stood just before the first row of pews and he walked to it and turned around. Jacob and the woman had followed him in. Jacob arrived first and, when the woman arrived a moment later, he looked surprised, as if he didn't expect he'd be followed. The woman removed her helmet and placed it on the table.

By the faint yellow light of the candles she looked no older than twenty-one, with black hair, deep eyes and pale skin. She had a proud expression and seemed to be avoiding eye contact.

"This is my sister, Judith," Jacob said quickly.

Judith Senchion: the name was familiar, but he couldn't seem to recall her face. He lingered on her profile, waiting for her to look at him.

But she didn't.

Jacob was waiting for him to say something, yet he felt like he couldn't, not until he had a proper view of Judith's face.

After a moment, the tension was unbearable. He couldn't just stand there waiting. He activated the visor release in his helmet and flipped back the reflective shield. Judith glanced in his direction and, for a moment, they were eye to eye.

He looked away with embarrassment, right into Jacob's scowl.

"I, ah," Petrarch stammered. Was Jacob angry with his little ploy to get his sister to look at him? Or maybe the scowl was worse than that, maybe there was something wrong with him; maybe his face looked too young and innocent. Jacob was only two years older than he was, but a soft life growing up in the Davius compound probably made the difference look more like five.

"She insisted on coming," Jacob said, "but maybe she'll see things tonight that will convince her to stay away from such business in the future."

"For the Saint's sake," Judith frowned. "I already said I wouldn't interrupt."

Petrarch relaxed a little and almost smiled. The problem wasn't him; Jacob was upset with his sister.

He asked changed the subject.

"These men you brought, they'll follow you?"

"Of course," Jacob said. "I hand-picked them myself. They may be mostly younger recruits but you must understand, the older gendarmes would never fight alongside a Davius."

"And the crawlers?"

Jacob smiled humorously. "They'll do anything you want, if the price is right."

"Is that what this is all about?" Judith interrupted. "You're using the Gendarmerie as mercenaries?"

"Judith, not now."

"Is this seriously how you think you'll gain independence from grandfather?"

"I already told you, this is about maintaining the balance of evil. Keeping the Ectines in check."

"How much are you paying him?" she asked Petrarch.

"Judith!" Jacob shouted.

She folded her arms.

"Why don't you outline the proposition now," Jacob suggested.

"The gates have been opened," Petrarch said.

"What gates?"

"The city gates."

Jacob looked as if he didn't understand, but Judith's eyes opened wide.

"The Ectines have left the city." Petrarch added.

"That's impossible."

"Well, evidently it's not. This isn't even the first time they've done it. They don't know it, but we've been able to track every move they make. We know how many of them went out and when they're scheduled to come back in."

"But outside is nothing but desolation and savagery," Jacob said. "Why would they go out?"

"I, uh – that's not really the point. What matters is the opportunity; the doors will only be open for a minute and the Ectines will have no choice but to walk right into our trap."

"And how many of them are there?"

"Seven."

"What are they armed with?"

"Five of them are wearing Praetor armor. The sixth is probably an artikin."

"Five Praetors and an artikin."

"Yes, but with the element of surprise, and nowhere to hide, we'll have them right where we want them."

"What if they're bringing someone or something back inside with them?" Judith asked. "Something you haven't anticipated?"

Petrarch hesitated and wondered why he hadn't thought of that, but before he had a chance to look like a fool Jacob snapped at his sister.

"Don't be stupid, Judith. Even if there is anyone out there, they wouldn't be friends with the Ectines. What we need to be worried about are the Praetors; attacking five Praetors at once is insane."

Petrarch felt the situation slipping away from him. This really wasn't supposed to be about convincing the Senchions, it was supposed to be about paying them to do a job.

"Look," he said, "I don't mean to give the impression that I think this will be easy – it's not. But what I do think is that the Ectines are walking right over the laws of our city. No one opens the city gates – it's the most basic rule we have! I'm not proposing we attack because it's easy, I'm proposing we attack because it's right! If someone doesn't stand up and take action now, then it's already over! The Ectines will continue to take greater liberties and greater injustices and we'll be powerless to stop them!"

Judith was smiling. Was he was being melodramatic?

"You're right," Jacob said. "The Ectines aren't going to give us opportunities; we have to take them. To hell with the risks."

Petrarch opened his mouth to argue and stopped short. "So you'll do it?"

"Yes, that's what I'm saying."

"Well, then there's no time to waste."

"May the saints guide us to glory," Jacob said with a grin.

### 5. The Fourth Gate

Loaded into the backs of four large cargo trucks, they arrived at a dead end tunnel on the edge of the city. In the light of their truck's headlamps the city gate was unmistakable; a massive metal slab covered in thick hydraulics, it reached from floor to ceiling and plugged the tunnel entirely. On the other side was the outside.

No people lived out here on the fringe of the city deep under the shadow of the city wall and the streets were dark and vacant. The nearest spot of orange streetlight now was half a block away, illuminating a pair of abandoned wrecks – skeletal remains of dead cars surrounded by trash. It was a filthy, decaying, litter-strewn district – a horrible place to die.

Someone opened the cargo doors and Petrarch climbed out after Jacob and Valos. If father knew what he was about to do, he'd be furious; the last thing he had wanted was a son causing trouble for the family reputation. If he had suggested doing this at home, no one would have taken him seriously. Everyone knew where his place was when it came to deciding the policies of the Davius family.

But these Senchions didn't. As far as they knew, he was a brilliant young man with a bright future, and this dirty little corner of the city was the potential stage of a great triumph.

The last of the men were climbing out of the trucks. The crowd was gathering around him in the dark. Petrarch glanced back up the tunnel at the gate.

In a lot of ways, this was just another tactics drill, like the kind he'd learned from his tutors. With a wave he motioned that Valos and Jacob should follow, and led them away from the crowd.

"We need to gather cover around the intersection here," he said as they fell in beside him. "We can place two of the trucks in the center of the avenue to give their cannons a clear line of fire on the gate. On either side we'll set up barricades made out of these abandoned wrecks," he pointed to the burned-out vehicles up the street. "The other two trucks we'll leave in support, in case anything unexpected happens and we need a quick response."

He glanced at Jacob to judge his reaction and was a little surprised to see Judith was also there, walking beside her brother.

He pointed at a pile of masonry crumbling away from an old building.

"These bricks can be gathered into a heap beside one of the wrecks. We can conceal a few more men behind it and scatter the rest of the bricks ahead of our position to trip up the Ectine advance."

He turned back to face the warehouse overlooking the intersection.

"We'll have to gain entrance to this building. Those windows will make excellent shooting positions. We can probably fit another ten men up there."

"Where will you be?" Judith asked.

Petrarch was tempted to suggest he oversee the attack from inside the building.

"I'll, I'll be right up front with Valos, behind the wrecks. These claws are some of the best weapons we have for breaking through vulcar."

He held up the blades protruding from his arm.

"So you're planning to engage them in hand to hand?" Jacob asked.

"Well, if we have at least four or five snappers hitting them as they advance, most of them won't even reach our position. Valos and I can finish off whoever does. All you and your men should need to worry about will be whatever return fire they can muster as we pummel them."

"Oh, is that all? You realize a single smoker bullet could tear three men in half – wearing midlar."

"If your men keep their heads cool, they should be fine. Of course I expect you'll be looking after them personally..."

Jacob's eyebrows narrowed and the Senchion pressed a pointed finger into his chest.

"Don't you worry about me."

Judith interrupted, "Have you thought about the possibility the Ectines might send support? They won't walk all the way back to Ectine tower; someone will have to come pick them up."

Jacob lowered his hand.

"I considered that," Petrarch said, "but I also considered that the last thing the Ectines want to do is draw attention to the fact that they're returning from outside the city. Any vehicle that leaves the Ectine quarter runs the risk of being tracked by either the Civilian Senate or one of the other families."

"The trucks wouldn't have to come from the Ectine quarter."

"The Ectine fleet is well known and monitored; it wouldn't matter where the trucks were leaving from, the risk would still remain – and I don't think they would use contractors – opening the city gates isn't exactly something they can let anyone else know about."

"So you believe they'll meet their pickup somewhere else?" Jacob asked.

"Right, it won't have to be very far. There are plenty of functional warehouses in the area. A truck waiting at one of them wouldn't raise any suspicion. But what's important is that the Ectines coming in through the gate will probably be on their own until they can place some distance between themselves and the gate."

Jacob nodded and Petrarch looked back toward the assembled gendarmes and crawlers at the intersection. There was a lot to be done and they needed to get started.

"Have your men start hauling the wrecks into position while Valos and I gain access to the warehouse."

It sounded an awful lot like an order and Petrarch held his breath. Jacob looked for a moment as if he might not obey but then turned and called the men in for their instructions.

Petrarch exhaled and quickly led Valos away in the direction of the warehouse.

### 6. Ambush

Petrarch watched the seconds click by in a small readout pulled up on his visor. He took long deep breaths and repeated the prayers of fortune and courage.

He was crouched behind the pile of bricks they'd moved into the tunnel, beside a group of Grivets. Opposite the firing lane left down the middle of the tunnel, Valos was hiding behind the skeleton of a gutted car with Jacob and a team of gendarmes.

Petrarch tried to relax. If all else failed, an ICP 'icy' grenade was loaded for launch on his right forearm. Hopefully, it wouldn't be necessary. There was no sense in setting off the city's alarm network.

A tortured rasping sound interrupted his thoughts. The massive old hydraulics on the gate were opening. He offered the Holy Ghost one final hurried prayer for safety.

The gate groaned and a crack appeared along the base, spanning the width of the passage. Blinding white light flooded through and Petrarch squinted, despite the photosensitive visor protecting his eyes. It was impossible to see what was beyond the gate; the brightness washed out everything as the door slid farther upward. A shadow appeared along the ground, then another – the Ectines were entering the tunnel! Petrarch signaled the attack.

Rifles erupted all around him and the mounted cannons of the transports thundered from the rear. The sounds merged into a single, overwhelming roar that drowned out everything else. It was like being in a foggy dream; his vision washed out by light, his hearing muted by gunfire, and everything was moving around him in slow-motion.

The brick pile began to dance and large chunks of mortar jumped and spun through the air. A splatter of blood specks struck his visor and the Grivet beside him lurched backwards. The Ectines were returning fire!

Snap guns were sparking now, bolts of electricity leaping out from behind the wrecks to strike at the advancing enemy. He strained to see where they were shooting but the white light coming in through the gate was blinding. Why wouldn't the door close?

He manually darkened his visor and, as everything else in the tunnel dropped away into an inky void, silhouettes became visible in the glowing square of the gate. There were seven of them and most trailed little clouds of soot – evidence they were using their smokers.

One of the Ectines faltered and fell, scorched by a searing blast from a snap gun. But the others were moving quickly. In a few moments they would break through the barricade and escape. His plan was about to fail.

To hell with it. With a mighty leap Petrarch flung himself high and long, his servo-assisted legs propelling him on an arc that brought him over the gunfire. He landed on hands and feet like a cat, just beside a Praetor. With the blinding light at his side, the thick glossy red armor of his adversary glowed like a vibrant pool of blood. In slow motion, the Ectine's smoker was ejecting shell casings amidst thick puffs of black smoke.

Petrarch sprang up and thrust a claw at the gap between the Ectine's vulcar helmet and breastplate. With nothing more than a feeble snap of resistance, it pushed through and sank into human flesh. Choking, the Ectine staggered backward, swung his gun barrel around and fired.

Petrarch leapt away but the bullet caught him under the arm and the impact spun his body around. He tumbled to the ground some few feet away and quickly clambered behind the cover of a wreck. Jacob was there screaming directions at his men.

Petrarch peered over the top of the wreck; Valos was standing not far away in the center of the tunnel, holding up the body of a praetor as a shield and using a grenade launcher to ward off another artikin, also dressed in black midlar and skull helmet. He fired a grenade into the ground and the resulting explosion sent them both staggering apart.

Valos could take care of himself. Petrarch glanced down at his torso. The vulcar fibers along his left side were torn, revealing a thin layer of black midlar, damp with blood. He prodded the hole with his fingers to see if the bullet had punched through his body. It hurt like hell but thankfully, solid flesh resisted beneath the fabric.

Crisis averted, he looked for the remaining Praetors. The three of them had gathered on the other side of the tunnel and were rushing past the barricade line. Who was going to stop them? Where was the cannon fire of the Transports?

He looked back at the trucks. They were in a state of utter ruin. Between them, only a single headlamp emitted any light and the windows, along with sections of hood and fender, were completely obliterated.

The Ectines were beyond the barricade now, moving towards the mouth of the tunnel and exchanging fire with the crawlers in the warehouse across the street. Petrarch took a few running steps and leaped straight up into the air. At the peak of his jump, he fired the icy from his arm.

One of the three Ectines had already cleared the corner and slipped out of view when the grenade struck but the other two were not so lucky. The blast was localized and hot, like a tiny star sparking briefly to life within the confines of the tunnel. Petrarch landed back on the ground just as a flash of searing heat passed over.

When he looked back up, a spherical gouge had been melted from the floor and wall of the underway. An Ectine, his armor reduced to a semi-solid slag, was sliding away from the perimeter of the crater, carried by the momentum of a last-second leap. A second Ectine scrambled out from under a truck and grabbed hold of his fallen comrade. The third, stepping back around the corner, laid down a hail of suppressive fire with his smoker.

As Petrarch ducked back behind cover, he noticed a shadowy form dart behind him and managed to turn just in time to see a skull-masked artikin as it dashed in amongst the enemy.

His heart soared – it was Valos rushing in to finish them off!

But it wasn't; the artikin didn't attack and a moment later all four of them escaped together.

Petrarch turned and looked back over the scene of the battle. The gate was closed now. His vision had returned to normal and the scope of his failure was all too clear. A few groaning Senchion gendarmes were sprawled amongst many more lifeless bodies. A handful of survivors crouched with Jacob behind the wrecked car were watching Petrarch in a state of shock. Valos was walking through the bodies and came to stand at his side.

An engine gunned and they saw one of the reserve trucks speed into view, heading after the Ectines. Petrarch held his breath. Maybe this wasn't quite over yet. But a moment later they heard the ripping gunfire of the smokers, already distant, and then a tremendous screeching crash.

He released his breath heavily; the four Ectines had escaped.

Jacob shouted.

"Some of them got away!"

"I know. The alarms will have been set off, get your men out of here immediately!"

The last Senchion transport truck roared into the intersection and came to a stop. Judith leaped from the cabin and ran to her brother. Even though it was the least of his worries, it was still a relief to see that she hadn't witnessed the disaster first-hand.

### 7. Stephen's anger

Sprawled out naked on a velvet couch, Adrian Ectine was sipping a cold intoxicant and enjoying the tingling sensation developing in his extremities. He was twenty-one, with detached pale blue eyes and narrow eyebrows, perpetually cocked at sharp angles. Across the room, two girls rustled in his bed under sheets decorated with the emblem of the Ectine ram.

"I thought I'd find you here!"

Adrian entertained the voice with a mere shift of his eyes. His brother Stephen was standing in the doorway, broad shoulders filling the frame. Stephen glared at his naked body and then shouted at the two girls.

"Stop that! Yes, you two, stop."

The girls ceased moving and two heads, one blonde, the other brunette, peered out from the ruffled bed-covers.

"Daphne, please, carry on," Adrian said calmly and made an affirming gesture with his hand.

"Don't call her that!" Stephen rumbled.

Adrian chuckled.

"She's just an artikin, I can call her what I like."

"She's our sister's artikin! She – she shouldn't even be in here! There are proper servants for your needs; artikins that aren't blood!"

Adrian cast his brother his most humble expression.

"Perhaps we can talk later. You're being loud and making them nervous."

Stephen Ectine was speechless. He sputtered for a moment. Finally something came out.

"What happened today was unforgivable! Captain Gunnt and Phillip – murdered!"

Adrian took another sip of his drink.

"By Senchions!" Stephen continued, getting louder, "Led by a Davius!"

"Now, now, we don't know if that was a Davius."

"He had a blood artikin – you know it was Petrarch!"

Adrian grimaced. "You're ruining my mood."

"To hell with your mood! That alliance of filth nearly killed our brother!"

"Ah yes, our tragic brother. And how is Nathan?"

"He'll recover."

"That really was some fight. It's a pity I was too tired to enjoy it. Perhaps next week they'll be up to giving it another go. I haven't killed a Davius in some time."

"You're worthless," Stephen spat. "They knew – they knew where we went." He gave Adrian one final ominous glare and then stormed from the room.

Adrian leaned back and savored a new sensation that had begun to creep through his body while they were talking. It was as if Stephen had broken him out of a daydream and now he felt tensed and powerful. He opened his eyes. The two artikins were crawling off the bed and one of them was gathering her clothes.

"No, no, girls, back to it," he grinned, standing, "I'm ready now; no need to wait for Alistair."

### 8. Bedside penance

The statue above the elevator's doors was in a position of blessing. Long robes flowed from outstretched arms and saintly eyes looked down with forgiveness.

Petrarch knelt beneath her, feeling very small and alone. He did not deserve to be forgiven. He had an opportunity and he had failed. This was why no one else believed in him.

The only question now was, would anyone find out what he had done? Before leaving, they had laid down a phosphorous slick to burn any DNA evidence, but with only minutes to spare, the job was not exactly thorough. If his involvement was discovered, would the Ectine-Davius war begin again?

The doubt and fear was eating him from the inside. On top of that, there was the Ectine he had killed with his own hands. It shouldn't have been much of a concern, but the guilt lingered in the back of his mind. He had killed someone. Even if it was just an Ectine.

The lift came to a gliding halt and the doors opened.

Petrarch rose to his feet and passed beneath the statue of the holy mother and into the main hall of the Davius infirmary. The curtains, carpets and tapestries here were blood-red and the walls were lined with dozens of white marble statues.

He took a deep breath and focused on his destination –the door at the end of the hall. A pair of Davius guardsmen were stationed there, armed with autorifles and dressed in dull gray midlar.

With lowered head, he slunk up the hall. The guardsmen saluted and he nodded as best he could. The door opened and he passed through.

The room on the other side was spacious and brilliantly lit with natural light. Two of the walls were completely transparent and, looking out, it was clear how high the elevator had brought him. Outside, the city sprawled away to the left and right, forming a ring of towering buildings around a central patch of green agriculture, two miles across. Above, champagne clouds floated in a turquoise sky, tinted yellow-green by the plexishield center of the dome. Here and there the heavens were patched with black squares of carboncrete that looked suspended in the air. Someone had named the dark shapes after the old constellations and, from this high in the tower, Orion looked close enough to touch.

But the sky didn't hold Petrarch's interest; his eyes moved to the line of darkness along the horizon, partially hidden beyond the furthest scrapers. Looking insignificant from here, the stretch of black was actually miles deep and encircled the entire city. It was where the carboncrete dome sloped down, cramped and stifling, and reached the ground somewhere dark and forgotten... somewhere like last night.

Petrarch pinched his eyes. The view wasn't the reason he had come here. There was something else to see, something more important. In the center of the room was a bed and beneath a single purple sheet bearing the great emblem of parallel swords, lay his father, Lord Davius.

Petrarch whispered a quick prayer of mercy.

The old man looked different now; once powerful jaws were sunken and once black beard was now equal parts white. His eyes were closed, as if sleeping, but tubes and wires creeping out from beneath the sheet told a different story. They snaked across the floor and ended in a bank of machines tracking vital signs on glowing monitors.

Standing behind the machines, in the corner, was Purvos, his father's artikin.

Purvos might have been nearly thirty years younger than Lord Davius, but he was still unmistakably his genetic double; he had the same humorless lips and piercing eyes – eyes that were watching Petrarch.

Petrarch hesitated and almost turned to leave. But Purvos was just an artikin; he only looked like lord Davius. As an artikin, he was conditioned not to overhear the conversations of the inner family. Purvos was here to protect his master and that was all.

Petrarch knelt at the bedside and brought his face down, just beside his father's.

"You were right," he said and glanced warily at Purvos. "I failed. I had them and I let them escape. Is that what you wanted? Is that why you left me the armor – so I would think I was invincible and follow you to the grave?"

He froze – his father wasn't dead, not yet at least; the words had just slipped out unexpectedly. He glanced at Purvos; the artikin was watching but betrayed no sign of having heard. Petrarch shifted his knee on the thick carpet. A weight pressed on his stomach. In his father's face he could still see courage. Whatever else was true, Lord Davius had a strength few could match. Maybe his father was right, maybe he didn't deserve to lead the family. His only hope now was that it wasn't too late to lay low and let everything blow over.

The doors opened and Petrarch startled.

His mother strode into the room, dressed in a soft, glimmering gown, vibrantly yellow, flashing pink where it folded at angles to the light. She was beautiful; with smooth skin and dark hair, she appeared no older than a woman half her age. Petrarch rose to his feet as she crossed the room and came to stand next to him at the bedside. Looking down at her husband, she began to stroke his hair.

"I still can't get over the color," she said after a moment.

"Gray hair is common for a man his age."

"We are Davius, there is nothing common about us."

Her face was confident and composed and he felt a strong desire to tell her everything.

"I was hoping I might talk to you," she said. "These last two weeks have been hard on all of us. Your uncle seems quite prepared to assume full control over the family."

Petrarch took a step back from his mother and the bed. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't seem to find his voice. She continued.

"Otto does seem to be the logical successor; after all, there are very few who believe you have matured enough to lead."

Petrarch felt his skin go prickly.

"All the wizardry of his dear research bastion cannot save your father. He will die, and when he does, it will either be yourself or your uncle who assumes his position. The family belongs to us, but it needs a leader."

"Why don't you do it?"

His mother paused.

"I, I couldn't," she let out a hollow little laugh.

"Why not?"

"Your father..." she looked at the bed and then the machines. She shook her head. "Now listen, the Ectines can't attack us unprovoked, the Senate wouldn't stand for it and the whole city would rise up against them. But your uncle's too stupid – if he takes control it won't be long before the Ectines trick him into doing something that gives them a reason; they'll get him to provoke them."

"Fine, then why not let Captain Zeit lead?"

"Petrarch," she said, taking a step in his direction, "I only want the best for you."

"Well, what makes you think I wouldn't do something stupid too? Something that would give the Ectines more than enough reason to attack."

"Are you okay? Is something the matter?"

She looked into him and he stared back hard.

"Why did he hate me?"

"Petrarch, he didn't! It's just – I wish the two of you would have talked more. You're not that different after all."

She took a step in his direction and reached out but he stepped away and in the next moment he was storming out into the hall. He couldn't talk to her; it was always the same thing. He needed to clear his thoughts.

### 9. Uncle Otto

Petrarch made his way to the lower levels of Davius Place, crossed through the great hall and entered the inner sanctum, where only the highest members of the family were allowed. A passing artikin, one of the lower-level serving types, smiled in recognition, but Petrarch just frowned. At a wet bar, he made a drink and then headed for the chapel.

The door swung open to reveal a dim, cavernous gallery with vaulted ceilings. There was no one inside, just flickering candlebulbs that gave the shadows nervous life. He finished his drink and left the glass on a small table by the holy water, then passed between the pews to the front of the chapel.

It all came back to last night. The attack was his only chance for success and he'd managed to fail so terribly that it would probably be the undoing of the entire Davius family.

At the second row from the front, he turned and shuffled between the pews to the center. A quick cross of hand over brow and a glance in the direction of the altar, draped in silks and ermine, and he knelt, closing his eyes.

There was no way he could have known about the light. The tube was subterranean, wasn't it? Who could have guessed it would open into a blazing sunrise? Within most of the city, hours had no more meaning than the numbers that represented them. Natural light only existed in the center of the uppercity and even there it wasn't much more than a pale luxury enjoyed by the rich.

But that didn't matter any more. What mattered was keeping anyone from finding out he was behind the attack. Would the Senchions tell anyone? Many of the gendarmes had died – would Jacob be bitter? The only person who could answer that question was probably Wolf.

Something in the row just behind him moved and Petrarch sprang to his feet. Standing only a few feet away was his Uncle Otto; a frowning pale man with a round head and sunken eyes. They glared at each other.

Petrarch hated his uncle; Otto was sniveling and arrogant and cared little for things like honor or legacy.

"I've stabilized the unions," Otto said, "not that it concerns you."

"I expect there will be stack of fool's agreements for me to reverse once my father dies." Petrarch stood up a little straighter.

Otto chuckled between his teeth.

"My boy, power is not something magical residing in your blood – it is political and achieved through cunning negotiation," he tapped his forehead with a finger.

"Too bad intelligence can't be acquired through negotiation."

"You're just like your father, aren't you; honestly believing that you can defeat your enemies with your own bare hands. But we see what that got him – it's a miracle we even recovered his body."

"I guess an insect can't be expected to understand the virtues of a spine."

It was a stupid insult but Otto reddened and glanced away.

Petrarch followed his uncle's eyes across the room and spotted his aunt peeking out and watching them from the shadows of the gallery. Petrarch's blood ran cold; his aunt's presence changed everything. If she was watching, it meant she expected something to happen and, as far as expectations went, Ileen's were typically the worst. If rumors were to be believed, she had killed her first husband for his wealth. It wouldn't be a complete surprise if now she was trying to convince Otto to kill him.

The glance lasted only a moment and, in the next, Otto was staring him down and Petrarch was pretending he hadn't noticed. With a quivering lip, his uncle hissed.

"Political awareness is not spinelessness."

"Well, I shall like to see how you politic around my blood right."

"A man is more than just his blood!"

His uncle shuffled something nervously in his fingers.

"What's in your hand, Uncle?" Otto hardened and Petrarch felt his blood rushing. "Have you come to assassinate me?"

Otto didn't say anything.

"Did the missus put you up to this?"

"You watch your arrogance, boy! You have a lot to learn about how this city works."

"I've seen enough to know it doesn't work with you in control. My father kept you out of family affairs for a reason."

Otto looked like he might snap. His eyes bulged and he leaned forward. Petrarch took a step away.

His uncle stopped and smiled nervously.

"I'm not here to hurt you, stupid boy."

"That's a relief. For a second I thought you might have a neural toxin in your hand."

Otto's eyes narrowed and stared at him with hatred.

"Get out of here," he finally hissed between his teeth, barely more than a whisper.

Petrarch hesitated.

"Just go."

Even though he hated to run, there didn't seem to be any reason to stay. Plus, if his uncle was armed, leaving was probably a good idea. Petrarch took a few steps back to a safe distance and then hurried out of the chapel.

He was fortunate, really, to have had this warning. The next time his aunt tried to kill him, she'd probably use a much better assassin.

### 10. Wolf, undercover

An hour later, Petrarch was in an unaffiliated district just east of the Senchion quarter, pulling on a pair of old smog goggles and climbing out of his limo. As soon as he closed the limo door, it drove away on auto-pilot.

He'd try to do this fast. With nothing more than a mini-snapper hidden under his jacket, he was terribly exposed out in the city. If the Ectines knew he was behind last night's attack, there was no telling how hard they'd be looking for him. And if they found him, well, unlike his father nobody would make an attempt to recover his body.

He entered a working-class lunch counter. The place was mostly empty, just a group of grime-covered men buying coffitos at the counter. Skirting past them, he headed for the back, where a lone patron was sitting in the corner, a man with messy brown hair and a worn coat. It was Wolf and, as he drew near, Petrarch could see his old friend stifle an animal grin.

He reached the table and Wolf half-stood to shake hands.

"So, how's my favorite Davius brat?"

Petrarch glanced back at the men in the doorway and then lifted his goggles and propped them on his head.

"Well, I'm hoping you'll be able to tell me."

They sat down facing each other.

"I'm assuming you've heard all about the attack by now – probably everyone has," Petrarch said. "But I'm praying you haven't heard too much."

Wolf nodded and looked like he was biting his tongue.

"What?"

"So the Ectines are leaving the city!" He blurted out.

"For the Saints' sake! Did Jacob tell you that? Did he tell everyone?"

"Calm down." Wolf chuckled. "He didn't tell anyone else."

"Oh, well..."

"So how'd they do it?"

"Do what?"

"Get outside. Do you think it's related to the Hub?"

Petrarch hesitated. Of course it was related, but the loss at the Hub was extremely embarrassing to the Davius family and not something you talked about.

Wolf didn't wait for an answer.

"Some of Lord Senchion's advisors have suggested that the Ectines might be able to see outside now, given the sectors they took in the Hub. They said that the right systems might be combined to bring the external cameras back on line, and—"

"Fine! Yes, they gained some advantages, including the ability to see outside!"

Wolf looked a little amused that he had struck a nerve. "Well, they only took two sectors – it can't be that bad."

"This is the Hub we're talking about – the systems that control the city – every sector, every access point in the damn building, counts! The Saints can be certain, they might have hit my father, but we can't just stand by and let them act like they run this city!"

Wolf leaned in close.

"So you think the assassin was working for the Ectines?"

"The assassin? What are you talking about?"

"You said the Ectines hit your father, but we all know it was an assassin that did it, so that means you think the assassin was working for the Ectines."

"For the Saint's sake! Of course it was the Ectines! Ectine must have known he couldn't face my father man-to-man so he had an assassin waiting in the shadows."

"Then why'd your father do it? I mean, why'd he walk into an ambush?"

Petrarch felt his mouth drop open. Questioning the official word of the family was one thing, but implying that Lord Davius had blundered stupidly into a trap was, well – you just didn't do that!

But before he could respond, Wolf continued.

"The popular theory with the Senchions is that it was personal; your father wanted nothing more than to take down Ectine with his own hands and he let that cloud his judgment. But I think maybe it wasn't an ambush at all, maybe the assassin was working for someone else. Maybe your father really did have Ectine backed up against a wall and then this assassin shows up at the wrong moment and completely turns things around."

"Look, I don't have time to speculate over what happened between Ectine and my father. I asked you to meet me here because I need you to tell me what the reaction was to my attack: How do the Senchions feel? What's the media response? Who knows it was me? Do they think it was revenge?"

"Okay, okay," Wolf laughed, "I get it, but you don't need to worry; the Senchions are keeping it quiet, so are the others. The Crier-Gazette was all over the scene but they haven't published anything more than rampant speculation."

"What about the Ectines?"

"They're not saying a word. But can you blame them? If word ever got out that they were opening the gates the entire city would rise up in arms. My guess is that they're going to let this whole thing blow over and the truth won't get very far at all. Sure the public knows about the bomb or whatever that went off and the bodies of the Praetors – I mean, jesu, you guys killed Captain Gunnt!"

"But no one suspects Davius involvement?"

"Well, the Senate might; there are senators that are always suspicious of Davius, but that's nothing new..."

"What about the Senchion family? They lost a lot of men. Are they resentful?"

"Are you kidding? Jacob's loving this, I think he's expecting you to plan another attack."

"Really?"

"Yeah, this whole thing looks good for the Senchions, especially taking down Gunnt. Think about it, that's some big news right there and the Senchions come across as the ones that did it. There's already talk about a resurgence of the lower families and the collapse of the Ectine-Davius dominance."

Wolf leaned back, raising his eyebrows.

"Nonsense. Although... if my family gets pulled into another conflict with the Ectines it would put us in a vulnerable situation. That's why I want Davius involvement to remain a secret and why you're so important. I need to know if the Senchions plan to turn on me with some sort of scheme to restart the Davius-Ectine conflict."

"Hey, don't forget, I used to be a Davius." Wolf said. He reached under the neck of his shirt and pulled up his patron charm, hanging from a thin chain.

"Yes, and that's another concern."

"A concern?"

"Won't the Senchions suspect a former Davius? Won't they keep you at a distance?"

Wolf laughed.

"Perhaps lord Senchion might but Jacob I think prefers having a 'former Davius' for a pet."

"A pet?"

Wolf smiled. "Don't worry, once a Davius, always a Davius; just don't expect me to betray the Senchions completely. Oh, I gotta tell you one more thing," Wolf leaned forward, "the Senchions have something, some kind of new weapon. Jacob's kind of keeping it secret but, well, they have something they're calling the Fear. Isaac's convinced it's going to be their equalizer."

"Who's Isaac?"

"The Saint's sake, Petrarch, you really do live in a cave. He's Jacob's cousin – his father and Jacob's father were Lord Senchion's sons, the ones that were executed for—"

"Plotting against the Senate, I know. Is Isaac the one who has a reputation for hating my family?"

"Well, a lot of people blame the Daviuses, but yeah, I guess Isaac has a reputation for hating your family more than most. He did lose his father."

Petrarch felt his insides tighten.

"Forget about it," he said. "I have one more question; what can you tell me about Judith Senchion?"

Wolf's expression lightened.

"Yeah, I heard she was there. She's a tough one. Jacob thinks she's gonna get herself killed, but I figure it's probably better she knows the family business; if the Ectines come looking for Senchion blood, they're not going to discriminate."

"Does anyone take her seriously?"

"Sure, even the Grivets respect her."

"She's dealing with the Grivets?"

"Yeah, I think Jacob realized she communicates better than he does, so he's been letting her do most of the talking with the other families."

"That's not what I saw; last night he wouldn't let her get a word in edge-wise."

"Well, that's different; when it comes to the Gendarmerie and military matters, Jacob's very particular. It's all the business and politics that he doesn't care so much about."

"I don't blame him."

"So, come on, I'm dying to know: what's the next move?"

Petrarch hesitated. On the way over he'd convinced himself he'd be lucky if he made it through this fiasco alive. Now, things didn't seem so bleak. Maybe Wolf was right, maybe he was overreacting.

"Well, if the Senchions are willing to proceed I guess we continue the low-profile offensive. I'll, uh, have to see what I can do about planning another attack."

"That's it?" Wolf looked disappointed.

"Hey, give me a little time!" Petrarch laughed. "Twenty minutes ago I was expecting the whole city to come banging on my door."

"Okay, okay, just let me know. So, is there anything else?" Wolf rose to leave.

"One more thing," Petrarch said.

"What's that?"

"All that business between your father and mine – if I take over this family, I'm reversing the banishment."

Wolf smiled, and gave Petrarch a firm pat on the shoulder. "Thanks, but you know, whatever happens, I'll still have your back."

Petrarch smiled back. It felt good to have someone he could rely on, even if it was someone who, when they were children, had a history of getting him into trouble.

### 11. Ectines at Play

Three men stayed close together as they made their way down the center of a dark, covered street. All around them there were dirty Grivets, loitering on the sidewalks and squabbling in doorways. The air was dense, hot and stale, and everywhere there was filth, an oily layer of soot and grime that seemed to cover every surface. The three men wore large drooping hoods to conceal their faces and sweat clung to their skin.

They turned from the center of the street and pushed their way toward a doorway, more crowded than the rest. Inside, was a single large room filled with throngs of rowdy men, jostling and shouting. At the center of the chaos stood a circular bar, crowded with drunks. To one side was an animal pit sunk into the floor and to the other was a cluster of gaming tables, separated from the unruly crowd by a low rail. The three men pushed their way in the direction of the tables.

At the rail, a tall, wide and well-dressed guard halted them with an upraised finger. One of the three men stepped forward and threw back his hood. It was Adrian Ectine, looking sullen, his eyebrows arched at irritated angles.

The guard's eyes widened,

"Ah, master Damocles, welcome; my apologies."

He lowered his finger and opened a gate in the rail.

They entered the exclusive gaming area and the two other men pulled off their hoods as well. One was wearing a tight black mask that covered his features above the lips and the other had a weary face with pale cheeks and tired eyes.

The masked man leaned in close to Adrian's ear and said softly.

"I wish to play hellem."

Adrian waved his hand dismissively and the masked man slunk away. The other came forward to take his place, looking tired and uncertain.

"Feeling the luck tonight, Nathan?" Adrian asked, nor bothering to look at his companion.

Nathan shrugged.

"I'll take it easy tonight. Win or lose, it won't be much for me."

"Come now, you can't still be upset about your burns. You're perfectly recovered; enjoy yourself." His voice was flat and emotionless but turned dark as he added, "Don't be a burden."

A well-dressed maître d' arrived and led the brothers to a table with two open seats.

"A bakkrat table for the gentlemen," he said with a bow and they took the empty seats.

"Why does he always play hellem?" Nathan asked, after they were seated, nodding in the direction of their masked companion, now sitting at another table.

Adrian appeared to ignore the question; his eyes were narrowed and he was watching the dealer collect and shuffle the cards.

"It never leads to anything but trouble," Nathan added.

"My artikin's tastes are not as refined as ours," Adrian whispered, still watching the dealer. "As vulgar as it may be, he craves the antagonism of playing against other players."

"Well it's too much trouble, if you ask me." Nathan placed his bet on the table.

They were dealt a hand and a girl arrived with drinks. Adrian grinned and took his cocktail.

"The perfect Manhattan ball; that's why I always come back. Why can't the fools back at the Tower make them like this?"

Nathan looked at his concealed card with displeasure and asked, "What have you got?"

Adrian flipped up the edge of his card so they could both see. Nathan frowned and pushed his own cards away.

The serving girl was passing by behind them and Adrian casually leaned back in his seat. With a quick hand, he ensnared her by the thigh. His fingers flared out beneath her skirt and he pulled her close.

"Be a dear and bring us some girls, would you?" he said, and then dismissed her with a light slap to the back of the leg.

"Card," he declared, turning back to the table. Another card was dealt face up on his hand.

"Oh," Nathan said with dismay.

Adrian waved away the cards and took a heavy draught of his cocktail. Setting the glass down, he smiled as the stimulants worked their way into his blood stream.

"You know, I don't think I want to do that again," Nathan said.

"Do what?"

"What we did yesterday, you know, go places we shouldn't."

"Because of what happened?" Adrian dropped his voice to a low hiss, "Those Davius dogs aren't intimidating, they're desperate. This time next month, we'll have buried them all and I'll be toasting their graves."

He raised his glass to an invisible toast and then took sip. The dealer started dealing another hand.

"They nearly killed me," Nathan whispered fiercely.

"If you're so worried about the Daviuses, why'd you come out?"

"I couldn't stay in the Tower; it was nothing but ranting from Stephen. It became unbearable."

"The saint's mercy, don't talk about it then! I'm trying to have a good time here!" Adrian scowled.

Nathan sighed and took a sip of his own drink.

Hours later, the other players at the table were gone, replaced by three fawning young Grivet women dressed in tight black secondskins.

Adrian had two of them to himself, one seated on either side, and they were clinging to him, petting his body and breathing their encouragement in his ears. But the youngest Ectine was not overcome by their attentions; he had enough stimulants in his blood to raise the dead and his focus was shared equally between the girls and the cards on the table, where he was playing three hands of bakkrat with frantic urgency. His eyes darted wildly from dealer, to cards, to Nathan, the girls, anywhere and everywhere just so long as they didn't linger in one place for more than a moment. His hands jittered and fumbled, dancing quickly from cards to breasts to cards again.

Two seats over, Nathan was in a fit of his own; he was intoxicated and anxious and thousands behind. Sweat covered his face and wet his collar. The third girl was at his side, half-heartedly rubbing his leg, but he was leaning forward and paid her no attention; his eyes hung despairingly on every turn of the cards.

"Hey, its only a game, right?" the girl said.

"I've got to win," he muttered, "I'm tired of losing; not tonight, not this time."

Suddenly, Adrian leaped to his feet. A drink was over-turned and the dealer paused mid-deal. Adrian hoisted one of the girls over his shoulder and her face swung around to within an inch of Nathan's. For a moment, Nathan was looking into a pair of blissfully floundering bloodshot eyes and then, with the second girl still clinging to his arm, Adrian marched away from the table, across the gaming floor, and disappeared through a doorway at the back of the room.

Nathan looked back at the dealer, who was motionless, holding the deck of cards in one hand.

"Deal!" Nathan demanded.

The dealer resumed dealing while a serving girl arrived with a towel to mop up the spill. Nathan glanced irritably about the room. The irritating mass of humanity was everywhere; it folded and merged into itself, laughing and fighting, jostling and squirming.

The third Grivet girl stood up without saying a word and followed languidly in the direction Adrian had gone. Nathan watched her for a moment, followed every movement of her shapely legs, but decided he didn't mind and reached for his concealed card. A surge of activity at the other end of the room caught his attention and he looked up. The dog fights seemed to have reached an intermission and an unruly crowd was pressing its way out the front door. He observed them for a moment until something else caught his ear over the general roar of the crowd. It was raised voices, not exactly yelling, but something significantly more dangerous.

He turned in his seat and located his brother's artikin. Alistair was still seated at the hellem table and a man at the table was standing, looking down at the masked artikin.

"You're a cheat, that's what!"

The man was getting louder and he was holding a knife. The maître d' hovered just out of arms reach, imploring the man to sit back down. A second man rose to his feet and gently pushed the host back to a safer distance.

Nathan stood up. The angered gambler with the knife made a sudden lurch towards Alistair. The seated artikin caught the man's wrist and, in one fluid motion, brought his mouth down over it and bit into the veins. The man yelped and tried to jerk back but Alistair held him fast. A moment later, the artikin yanked him inward and then thrust him back. As the man tumbled away, the handle of his own knife was clearly visible protruding from his chest. He collapsed, sprawled out on the floor.

Alistair leaned out of his seat and plucked a white handkerchief from behind the maître d's lapel. He dabbed his mouth and the white fabric came away bright red. Holding the handkerchief lightly, he looked down at the card table as if he might resume play and then, almost as an afterthought, glanced over and made eye contact with Nathan. Beneath the mask Nathan could see Alistair's eyes survey for Adrian and, not finding him, move to the door at the back.

Quite suddenly, the man who had pushed away the maître d' drew a pistol and fired it into Alistair. Although shooter and target were only a few feet apart, Nathan couldn't tell if the artikin had been hit. A second shot sounded and then Alistair jumped at the man, striking him hard across the jaw with a fist. The man dropped instantly. Alistair picked up the pistol and, as the host pleaded incoherently at his side, he fired two shots into the man's head.

Nathan watched the artikin set the gun's safety and stuff it into the waistband of his pants. He then strode between the tables to the back doorway and disappeared from view.

Realizing he was still standing, Nathan sat back down and attempted to act casually.

A swarm of people milled around the bodies and the host raced through the back door after Alistair. Moments later, Alistair reemerged, dragging Adrian behind him. The Ectine brother was wearing a wild expression and was straightening his shirt with jittery hands. The artikin pointed at Nathan and then at the front door. Under his raised arm two bullet holes had stained his shirt red. Nathan hung his head and pulled up his hood.

After his brother and the artikin passed, he silently followed them out the door. The games were over. With no chance for a come-back, tonight would have to stand as another failure.

### 12. The party

It was getting late when Petrarch finally snuck back into Davius Place. The guards at the secondary goods bay bid him a warm reception; they were always willing to keep quiet about his coming and going as long as he kept them well-supplied with Apollex, real-butter cookies and other indulgences.

He made his way to the inner sanctum and was on his way to his suite when, in the great hall, he was passed by someone he didn't recognize: an elderly gentleman, well-dressed and looking a little intoxicated. The man nodded jovially and continued by without any further explanation for his presence.

A glance around the hall revealed a middle-aged couple at the other end, quietly conversing beside the doors to the grand ballroom; he didn't recognize them either.

Before he could wonder for long why these strangers might be in the inner sanctum, the doors to the ballroom opened and unleashed a wave of loud chatter. Through the opening, he could see a full-sized social fete; a lively crowd of revelers dressed in suits and gowns, drinking, eating and mingling with enthusiasm.

There was a party tonight? He searched his memory and vaguely recalled hearing something about an award ceremony or something. It must have been tonight. This would be the reception.

A man emerged from the party and closed the doors behind him, silencing the roar. It was senator Mcrade. The senator noticed Petrarch and raised a hand in recognition, then brought a biscuit to his ear and began a conversation.

Petrarch considered turning around and finding another way back to his suite, but it seemed too inconvenient. If he was quick, no one would notice him but this old senator, who was on his biscuit. Petrarch took a deep breath and crossed as quickly as possible without actually looking like he was in a hurry. As he came near the senator, Mcrade ended his call and seemed to light up with pleasure.

"Petrarch! My dear young man, how have you been keeping busy these days?"

Damn.

From what Petrarch could remember, Mcrade was engaged in a power struggle with another Davius senator, Winston Bag. Bag had a relationship with his uncle Otto, which meant Mcrade was probably worried Bag was about to get the upper hand if Otto took over the family.

"Senator," Petrarch nodded a polite greeting.

"You know," Mcrade said, placing a jovial hand on Petrarch's shoulder and eyeing him expectantly, "the Davius court is scheduled to meet again tomorrow. Captain Zeit presided on Monday."

"Zeit's only doing his duty to continue the proceedings while my father is absent."

"Well, it would be an honor to have your attendance this week. Your uncle was present on Monday." Mcrade raised his eyebrows epically.

"So I heard."

"He made his views known on more than one matter."

"I can imagine."

"You know, he says your father consulted with him often. He claims he speaks for your father."

Petrarch bit his lip. Mcrade probably wasn't making it up – he didn't have to – it was exactly the kind of lie his uncle would tell. His father and Otto never agreed on anything. Before the accident, Otto wouldn't have dared interfere with senate business.

Mcrade smiled.

The senator was trying to bait him, but it didn't change the fact that Otto was blatantly stealing his inheritance.

"I'll be there."

"The saints be blessed!" Mcrade gushed, "I think the family would do well to adhere to the strictest bloodline; no sense complicating the matter in these trying times, don't you agree?"

"I'd think of it more as saving the family from my idiot uncle."

The senator laughed heartily, "Petrarch, I think we share many beliefs. I'd be honored if we could continue this conversation some time in the near future."

He produced a small white card from an inner breast pocket and handed it to Petrarch. It read:

Senator Christopher Hugo Mcrade

Burgess Whip, Reclamation Chair

-15th District-

The Davius seal was on the back.

"Call me," Mcrade said, "we have much to discuss;" he mimed the motion of tapping the card against a biscuit to transfer the call-address.

Petrarch suppressed a grimace and took the card, nodding non-committedly. He and Mcrade might share an objective, but that was about as far as he felt like taking the relationship.

"Wonderful," Mcrade beamed. Petrarch turned to leave.

The senator seemed to suddenly remember some pressing bit of news.

"Oh, and I believe your mother is looking for you."

Petrarch froze. Mcrade beckoned towards the door. Dealing with his mother was one of the last things he felt like doing at the moment, but if he ignored her, it would only make her upset when she finally found him.

"Shall we?" the senator prompted.

"If we must."

Mcrade laughed and declared, "Understandable hesitation, but think of the opportunity to be seen!"

Petrarch allowed himself to be gently ushered through the doors and into the ballroom. The party was in full swing and most of the guests appeared to be intoxicated. It was the kind of event that might actually have been fun, if he didn't already feel so overwhelmed. Mcrade noticed someone he wanted to talk to and, with one final knowing wink and pat on the back, excused himself from Petrarch's side.

The crowd seemed to be in pleasant spirits –not at all what one would expect from a leaderless family threatened by an aggressive rival. These people had almost as much to lose as he did, so why were they so unconcerned? Perhaps they were like his mother, presenting polished outward appearances for the sake of politics. Or perhaps they were simply drowning their apprehension in Apollex and alcohol.

He craned his neck and made a weak effort to locate his mother. He could at least say he had looked for her. She was nowhere to be seen and he turned to leave.

"Petrarch!" The voice was right behind him. "The Saints' sake, Petrarch! Where've you been? I was thinking you'd never show." It was Colin; Petrarch swiveled and came face to face with his cousin.

"I've been looking for you all day!"

Damn! He'd forgotten completely about Colin!

Colin drew close and spoke in a voice just loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

"You told me you were going after the Ectines, but you didn't say you were going to do it last night! I thought we were going to talk about it first."

He felt a tinge of guilt, "I'm sorry, I couldn't tell anyone except Valos and Wolf."

"Wolf? You mean Richard was involved?"

Mentioning Wolf was stupid; Colin already felt bad enough about being left out.

"Well, no not really involved. He might have helped me arrange a few things... he's married to the daughter of a Senchion advisor after all."

Colin's expression went flat, "Even if you didn't want me to be there, you could have at least told me what you were going to do..."

"Look, Colin, besides Valos, you and Richard are the only people I can really trust. For the saint's sake, we grew up together; I was going to bring you in, I just –I guess I wanted to make sure I could actually do it first."

Colin nodded, "Well, honestly, I had my doubts; maybe I wouldn't have been the best confidant. How is Richard? It's been a long time, for me at least."

"Colin," Petrarch squared himself in front of his cousin and waited for him to make eye contact. "He was involved because he was in the unique position to connect me to the Senchions, not because I trust him any more than you."

"Yeah, okay." Colin glanced around the ballroom and then back to Petrarch. "Things are moving fast now. Gunnt is dead, the news is all over the city and the Ectines aren't taking it well. They killed four Grivets at a roadside checkpoint a few hours ago and the Senate is in an uproar."

So the Ectines were already getting their revenge. He was stupid to think it would end without some sort of reaction. But were they just blowing off steam or was Davius next? Petrarch felt sick.

Colin glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the closest revelers.

"Let's get out here," he suggested.

They traveled to Petrarch's suite and didn't speak until they were inside, with the door closed securely behind them.

"You know, this isn't a game," Colin said, crossing the entry area into Petrarch's sitting room, where he dropped himself into a deep, plush chair.

"Who said it was?"

Petrarch sat down on a stool to unfasten his boots.

"This isn't like sneaking off to the Grivet quarter whenever you want. You've got to deal with Otto, the Senate, the Ectines. This is serious."

Petrarch kicked off a boot and looked up, "The saints have mercy! Why does everyone think that I'm some sort of fool playboy?"

"Because, with your father gone, everything is about to be turned upside down. You have to be ready."

Petrarch popped off the second boot and followed his cousin into the sitting room.

"And what if he recovers?"

"Petrarch, come on, if they could save him, they would have done it already."

"Yeah, I know, and there's a good chance you're right, but there is something else. When they brought him back and hooked him up to that bed, the Bastion Director saw me looking at my father and he told me it was a 'temporary state'."

"He was talking about heaven."

"Colin, this is the Bastion director we're talking about. Those scientists don't even have a chapel in there. He wasn't talking about heaven. I think they might have some kind of plan – some last trick to save my father."

"Well, if they had some kind of plan, I don't think they do any more."

"What do you mean?"

"They've sealed themselves up."

"What?"

"The scientists in the Bastion; they've sealed off all the entrances. No one goes in and no one comes out. They've even cut off all communication."

"They can't do that! That whole facility belongs to our family!"

"Well, they did. It's all anyone's been talking about today, I'm surprised you haven't heard."

"If my father was here, they wouldn't dream of such a stunt!"

"If your father was here, they probably wouldn't consider it necessary."

"God-damn it! Why didn't you say something sooner? No Bastion means more than just no help for my father, it means no new weapons, no more military research, no more – 'swounds!"

"What?"

"I just realized my suit is in there!"

"What suit?"

"The prototype armor my father gave me – I sent it to the Bastion for repairs!"

Petrarch fell back on a couch and stared up at the muraled inlays in the ceiling.

After a moment, Colin spoke.

"You know, Bastion or not, the future of the city won't wait for your father. A lot depends on what happens next. If you're serious about taking a leadership position, you're going to need all the help you can get and I don't think you have the money to keep hiring Senchions.

"Some people, like your father's secretaries, would rather see your uncle lead. They don't..." He trailed off. "They're afraid."

"Is that how you feel too?"

Colin paused for a moment, searching for his words.

"There are many people our age doing important things; researchers, officers, businessmen. I think it's time for our generation to lead. You and me. No one said it would be easy – the saints know we might never feel ready – but I think we just have to go for it."

Petrarch sat up and looked his cousin in the eye.

"If we were to do this, you understand what that would mean – there's no going back. If we lose, the Ectines kill us."

"Yes, of course." Colin was sitting up straight now too.

"You'll be loyal to me – if I go down, you do too."

"I know how it works," Colin said. "I've been a Davius all my life. I feel like I've been waiting for you all this time."

Petrarch relaxed. "You're probably right. Okay, well I'm ready now. But I'll warn you, I have no idea what exactly it is that we need to do."

"I can help," Colin stood up. "The first thing is identifying our potential allies. The family is fairly split and there are a lot of people to talk to. It's going to take time and planning."

"Yeah, that's the part that bothers me – all the politics."

"It's really not that bad; in the end, we're all Daviuses; we're all on the same side."

"Yeah, but those people – it feels like I'm not even speaking their language."

"Don't worry about it. I know how to communicate with the politicians. We just need to plan out our moves ahead of time – we need to have a plan.

"Okay, but whatever we do, I'm not going to be some kind of political tool. We're going to do this my way."

"Alright, fine. We won't do anything you don't want to do."

There was a long pause. Petrarch didn't know what to say.

"Okay, so how do we start?"

Colin smiled.

"That's a good question, and one that's going to take a lot of thought and planning. But it's late and you look like you could use some rest. How about we meet again tomorrow afternoon? That will give me some time to feel out our potential allies. Then when we meet, we'll have something to start with."

"Okay," Petrarch nodded.

Colin smiled and stood to go. He looked like he wanted to shake hands, but instead he just returned the nod and let himself out of the apartment.

With his cousin gone, Petrarch stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes.

### 13. Ectine caution

It was late when Nathan returned to Ectine tower with Adrian and Alistair. As they climbed out of the car, Adrian was still high on stimulants and chattering incessantly, but when they reached the inner sanctum, he suddenly went silent. Nathan turned around and discovered he was alone. His brother and the artikin were gone. Tired, alone and abandoned, he continued on without them.

The halls were dark and Nathan wasn't paying much attention where he was going. His mind was on Bakkrat when Stephen appeared suddenly, stepping out of the shadows.

"Hello Nathan."

"Stephen! For the saint's sake! How long have you been standing there in the dark?"

"I don't know, I've been thinking while I waited; there is much to discuss."

"I've had a rough night. Couldn't it wait until tomorrow?"

"Destiny can not wait."

Nathan laughed nervously, but his brother was serious.

"This is our opportunity," Stephen said. "The Daviuses have issued a challenge and we must answer! Father's doing nothing because he's waiting for us; he's ready to see us lead! The Daviuses are weak and he wants us to finish them off."

"But haven't we already won? The Davius family is running out of options. Our economic power is growing and the senate is almost fifty percent under our control. After the next election, we'll almost certainly hold the majority."

"Are you suggesting we forget what happened last night? They killed Gunnt! We must respond. We must crush them!"

"But isn't that a risk? If Davius, Senchion and Grivet are working together, they might actually be stronger than us. And if the senate sees us as overly-aggressive, they might side with the Daviuses and rally the whole city against us."

Stephen was becoming visibly frustrated and waved his hands with agitation.

"Don't be a coward. There's no trust between any of the families. If we strike the lower families first, we'll send them scattering. They won't stick their heads back up above ground until after we've had our way with the Daviuses."

"I don't know; it seems like an unnecessary risk. Almost anyone would agree we've already won this war; it's just a matter of time now."

There was an old, ornamental wooden desk in the hall beside them; Stephen turned and, in one swift motion, flipped it over. The desk crashed to the ground.

"I'm not asking your permission!" Stephen yelled. "I'm organizing an attack force and I need you to look after our defenses! Father is waiting for us to lead! If you're not up to it, just tell me and I'll promote one of the Praetors to do it for you!"

Nathan hesitated. It was just like Stephen to do this – to turn things around to be his way, or no way. For now, the easiest thing to do was play along.

"Ok, fine, I'm in."

He wasn't promising he wouldn't change his mind later.

## Act II – The Ectines

### 1. Pajamas

Petrarch awoke that morning feeling good. So good, that he actually felt a little of the old Petrarch coming back to the surface, the Petrarch Davius who wasn't so worried about the future. He really should have asked Colin for help sooner.

Colin was exactly what he needed; his cousin knew every little detail about family politics he had never bothered to learn. With Colin on-board, the challenges ahead didn't seem quite so insurmountable anymore. He didn't have to pick up exactly where his father left off; he could make his own decisions and build his own future.

He took breakfast alone in the dining room and then proceeded to the media center to digest. But the programs weren't very interesting – mostly television shows from before the collapse – and he couldn't seem to focus. After a few minutes, still dressed in his pajamas, he left the media room and wandered out into the inner sanctum halls. There wasn't much to see until he rounded a corner and discovered two young women waiting in the main foyer. One was Mira, his uncle Otto's only daughter and the other was a general serving artikin, one of Mira's maids; they were both a few years younger than him.

Mira was wearing a lavish blue dress and it appeared they were waiting to go somewhere.

Here was a potential source of entertainment. Mira was so sheltered, it was always fun to plant inappropriate thoughts in her innocent head. He put on a broad smile and approached the girls.

"Hello, Mira," he said and nodded to the artikin.

"A little late for pajamas, isn't it?" Mira said.

"Oh, I don't know, some of the best things start in pajamas."

"Start?" Mira screwed up her eyebrows critically.

"Well, pajamas are so loose, they usually end up falling off at just the right moment." He gave the artikin a quick wink.

The artikin blushed and Mira looked confused, possibly uncertain of whether she should be amused or offended.

"How vulgar!" she exclaimed.

"You know, I'm always open to giving demonstrations. If you like, I'll let you know next time such a situation arises."

"Petrarch!" Mira cuffed his shoulder, "we're cousins!"

"It wasn't an invitation to participate, I just thought you two might want to learn a thing or two."

"I'm sure you wouldn't know what to do with a lady or her handmaid."

"A handmaid? Now I'm determined; I have a very special spot in my heart for handmaids."

Mira stepped between him and the artikin, still looking as if she were having trouble deciding if this was real or play, "Petrarch, you stay away from my Whitney!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, should I be paying more attention to you?"

He leaned in close to his cousin but she stood her ground and kept her nose turned up at him defiantly. Their faces came within an inch of touching and he stared directly into her eyes. Mira was holding her breath. Neither of them blinked. He pursed his lips as if to kiss her and she jumped. Her eyes closed momentarily.

"I win."

"Petrarch!"

The artikin was laughing.

"I'm sorry," Petrarch smiled and opened his arms to embrace his cousin.

"Away, boy!" A sharp voice interrupted, appearing just behind them. The girls jumped. Petrarch casually turned to greet his aunt Ileen.

"Oh, hullo Aunt Otto, what a pleasure."

His aunt was boney and thin and she waved him away with long fingers.

"Away, away!"

"What? Would you have me leave before we've had a chance to sit down to tea? It's been ever so long!"

"Away!" She snapped. "Mira, it's time, and I won't have you spoiling yourself with him!"

"Aunt Otto, I'm hurt; how could I be just a 'him' to you? Your beloved nephew. Your future lord."

Ileen's eyes smoldered with fury.

"You are worthless", she hissed quietly and leaned in closer, speaking low and fast: "You are all that lies between this family and its future. Go on and push your luck. Make it feel good when I am finally rid of you." With that, she swirled around, ensnared the two young women with her claws and ushered them away.

"Goodbye!" he shouted. "I'll call you later regarding that business we discussed. Don't forget to bring your pajamas!"

They passed through the grand entrance and vanished from view.

That woman! And to think she had been nothing more than disagreeable before his father died.

An artikin passed through the opposite end of the foyer and glanced twice in his direction. He realized he was still in his pajamas. What time was it?

Whatever time it was, you could bet Colin was already hard at work, feeling out potential allies in the court and strategizing their next move. And what was he doing? Standing around in his pajamas and acting like a child. How could he become the pater familias if he wasn't at least capable of doing something to deserve the title?

But what could he do? He had no traction in court and no political allies other than schemers like Mcrade.

Or was that true? What about the Senchions? Weren't they a political ally? And who else in the Davius court could claim to have any kind of relationship with the Senchion family?

So maybe that was his angle, the germ of politics that he could develop into more. If Colin was testing his own political clout within the Davius house, why shouldn't he be doing the same thing with the Senchions?

Petrarch turned and raced back to his quarters, pajamas rippling as he ran. There was still time to get something done before his meeting with Colin that afternoon.

### 2. Judith, undercover

Almost an hour later, Petrarch caught up with Valos at the corner of a busy intersection in the Senchion quarter. He had sent his artikin ahead to scout out the location, far from the city center, where the dome was low, less than fifteen stories above.

It was dark and cramped, yet the neighborhood was bustling; professionals in suits hurried in all directions and vehicles choked the streets with traffic. Hopefully, the two of them looked anonymous enough loitering in their smog-goggles and overcoats.

"She's in there," Valos said nodding across the street at a dusty blue building that reached like a column from ground to ceiling.

"What's she doing there?"

"She's with a manufacturer, her second today."

Judith hadn't been his original idea, but once he considered his options she seemed the obvious choice. Jacob was suspicious and hostile; he'd probably never join a political alliance with a Davius. But if he trusted his sister as a negotiator, maybe she could be convinced first.

Petrarch looked at the building and tried to imagine what she might be doing inside.

"You think that with the Ectines on the warpath, she's trying to convince her own people not to abandon the family?" He said, just loud enough that Valos could hear.

"Quite the opposite actually, the attack on the Ectines has done the reputation of the Senchion family well; the people want to believe in their leaders."

He looked sideways at his artikin, but Valos kept watching the building across the street.

"So, what are you going to do when she comes out?" Valos asked.

It was a good question; aside from family members, most of his experience with women was with artikins or the girls in the Grivet quarter. What if Judith didn't want to talk to him?

"I've been thinking, maybe we can do more with the Senchions than use them as mercenaries; maybe we can form a real alliance."

"And you think she can offer that?"

"We'll I can at least gauge her reaction to the idea. Every idea's got to start somewhere, right?"

"It's an interesting place to start."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, she's very attractive."

"And?"

"Maybe you're thinking you'll try your luck with something other than an artikin?"

Petrarch scowled.

"That wouldn't be very smart, would it? Mixing business and pleasure."

"Who says it has anything to do with smarts?"

Petrarch punched his artikin in the arm. "Don't forget whose genes you have."

"There she is," Valos announced.

Back across the street, Judith had emerged from the building. She skimmed down the front steps to the sidewalk, a loose black jacket hunched up at her shoulders.

She was even more beautiful than he remembered and Petrarch felt his stomach churn. He took a deep breath and then dodged through the traffic and crossed the street.

Judith appeared absorbed in thought and was moving with the flow of foot traffic. He reached the opposite sidewalk a few feet behind her and began to follow. His next move would have to be carefully executed. There was a chance she was being observed by the Ectines or the Senate and startling her would draw unwanted attention. He needed to get her to notice him as casually as possible. Of course he couldn't be too cautious; there might only be a few moments before she climbed into a car or met up with someone she knew.

He cleared his throat quickly and then spoke aloud, as if he were talking on his biscuit.

"Yeah, I'm walking up Fulgrove right now. I just had a meeting about the manufacturing plant. Yeah, it was the second one today. I know, I got an early start this morning, but hey, that's what you have to do when you're trying to run a founding family."

His voice was just loud enough for her to hear him and his words had the desired effect – her pace faltered and her head rotated around quickly, maybe a bit too quickly. She stared directly at him.

"Remember me?" he asked with his most disarming smile.

"No," she said, and her voice was cold and dismissive. In a moment she'd be gone.

Without a second thought, he lifted his goggles and exposed his face. Her eyes widened.

"What are you doing here?"

He quickly reaffixed the grimy goggles.

"Let's keep walking," he suggested, passing by on the busy sidewalk. She followed.

"I came to talk to you," he said.

"What about my brother?"

"I'd prefer if it was just you for the moment. I feel as if Jacob's already made up his mind about certain things and I'd like to get your response first, before I speak to him. Do you know of somewhere we could talk?"

"How about here?" She pointed at a café.

They turned in and left the bustle of the street behind. Inside, the lighting was low and warm. The walls were covered in artistically decorated dull-screens and the air smelled of coffito. Small tables and chairs packed most of the floor and there were customers everywhere.

"Quaint," Petrarch observed, "but a little crowded."

"Let's try the back room."

He followed as she led the way, weaving through tightly spaced tables. At the back, they entered a small, nearly empty room. A lone woman sat at a table near the door, reading a tablet. There was little decoration; the floor was made of old tiles and the furniture looked like second-hand synthetics. Petrarch counted two exits: the door they had entered and a second that looked like it was probably locked. It didn't look like the kind of place that would have hidden cameras.

She walked to a table in the far corner and then turned to face him.

"This will do," he said and they sat down across from each other. He propped his goggles on top of his head. With the filmy lenses removed, the sight of her eyes seemed suddenly intense. His mind froze.

There was probably a clever way to begin but all he seemed able to do now was remember the odd way she had smiled at him the other night when he was explaining the ambush. Did she think he was a fool? Had his failure to catch all the Ectines confirmed it?

A moment of silence passed. He had to say something.

"Who would have guessed a Senchion and a Davius would ever sit down in a café together?"

"Certainly no one in my family."

"I think I might be required to say something offensive before we're done."

Her eyebrows arched. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, it's kind of a Davius family tradition. Hard to break."

"Oh." The corner of her mouth betrayed the hint of amusement. "Well then in that case, I'll be sure to bring up something awful that happened before either of us was born."

"Great! I, uh..."

He couldn't think of what to say next and there was an uncomfortable pause.

"So, there was something you wanted to discuss?" she asked.

"Yes, I'm sorry – I. Well, the truth is, what we did last night – it's still kind of hard to believe we did it at all. Historically, there hasn't been much trust between our families so... the fact that we were able to work together is remarkable and it got me thinking."

She was watching him carefully.

"Senchion is respected amongst the other families," he continued. "Given a fair deal, I believe the Grivets, Barclays and Wellams would follow your lead. And if we were to unite," he gestured between them, "and align our families strategically, there would be only one obstacle to a peaceful Il Fiore – the Ectines."

It actually didn't sound half bad: a peaceful Il Fiore. He wasn't looking to destroy the Ectines, he was looking for help to bring peace to the city.

He waited for her to respond and after a moment she folded her hands.

"You're suggesting we join the Davius faction?"

"No, no, it's not like that. It's just that well, maybe after all this time there's finally a potential to reunite the families. Maybe we can end all the suspicion, all the fighting."

"You know, when the city was first sealed, it was as an alliance of the seven families against the violence of the world. Peace and reason inside, while the outside tore itself apart. That was the plan, but it didn't quite work out well for all the families, did it?"

"Right, you're right, the original accord hasn't exactly worked and I'll admit that my family benefited when things went wrong, but-"

"Things went wrong? The Pendigoss family was murdered! The city government completely fell apart!"

"But it was Ectine who did that!"

She frowned.

"We might not ever know who killed Pendigoss, but there is no doubt that the wealth plundered from his fall has funded twenty years of fighting. Fighting that killed my own father."

For the Saint's sake, hadn't they just been joking about not bringing up old history?

"I know. I know that what my father did was wrong and I'm sorry for the harm it's caused the other families. He never should have participated in the plundering of Pendigoss holdings, but that was my father and that was the past. Can't we correct his errors?"

She stared at him, arms crossed, leaning back in her chair. Finally, she spoke.

"I'm not saying it's impossible, but the point I was trying to make is that you can't just decide to end the fighting and expect that it will happen."

"You're right," he said. "All I can propose is that we set aside our differences and show the others that we share the same objectives. That we both want to restore order and communication."

"This is a war between the Daviuses and the Ectines. Why would we want to commit ourselves to one side over the other?"

"You're already involved; everyone's involved. The Davius-Ectine rivalry affects everyone. But this isn't about Davius winning a war – I don't want to rule anything. If we can make a stand and end the fighting, we'll arrange equal terms for all the families."

"Oh, and how will you arrange that?"

Her voice was sarcastic but there was something in her eyes that made him think she might still be convinced, if only he made the right peace offering.

But what could he offer? It would have to be big, it would have to be significant.

The central system. It was the only answer. As father liked to say, 'power was information and information was the central system'. If he was going to concede anything to make the lower families feel represented, it would have to be the central system.

She was waiting.

"I'm willing to share access to the central system."

Her eyes flashed. "I didn't think you were serious."

"No! I am! The central system is the reason Davius and Ectine are always one step ahead of the other families! The system allows us to follow the movement of everything in Il Fiore: people, supplies, weapons, water, food, energy usage...."

"I know, but how can you possibly offer it?"

Petrarch stopped. There was no way he could actually promise anything at this point, but he'd figure something out.

"If I can't, I don't deserve to call myself the Davius heir."

The smile from the other night appeared, but only for a moment and her face was serious again.

"So what do you want from me?" she asked.

"The first step is Senchion-Davius; we need an alliance we can rebuild the city around."

"Okay, I'll discuss it with Jacob."

"Of course, but uh, when you go to him, consider one thing, and please don't take this the wrong way; I know your brother has the best intentions now, but there is a lot of history between our families and I wonder if it might be hard for him to set it aside. Not that I'm claiming to be above it myself, I— it's just, well, you know how young men can be. I—"

The smile was back and she cut him off.

"You can trust my brother as well as you trust me, but I can see why you might detect a degree of pride from him."

Petrarch felt an urgent pulsing up the nerve fibers of his arm. It was his biscuit, a danger alert from Valos, and he realized with a surge of panic that a humming noise had just invaded the room. He jumped back from the table.

He had packed a 'snappy' snapper-pistol that morning and now drew the gun and pointed it at the doorway. The woman across the room looked up, an expression of irritation turning to fear on her face. He pulled his goggles down over his eyes and stole a glance back at Judith. She was standing behind the table, poised cautiously. The humming sound was getting louder. He knew what it was.

The artificially intelligent KL4 'killbot' was a steely, dog-sized aerial drone, bristling with surveillance systems and deadly weaponry. There was no knowing for certain who this particular killbot belonged to, every faction owned at least a handful of the flying robots, but as it glided into the room, it was a good bet that this one was Ectine and almost certainly looking for him.

The killbot was hovering six feet above the ground and made of polished bare metal, the dim shadows of the room reflecting dark centers on its curved surfaces. It pivoted on articulated turbines to face them.

Something small and dark flew over Petrarch's head from behind and, as it reached the center of the room, erupted in a black cloud of glittery smoke, billowing over tables and expanding almost instantly to the ceiling. It was 'flash-smoke' and the statically charged flakes of metal suspended in the cloud could disrupt most sensors. Judith must have thrown it, the Saints bless her.

With a whir of its engines, the killbot made an aggressive lurch into the smoke. Petrarch threw himself to the side and a moment later a concentrated beam of crackling energy ripped out through the cloud and devoured the chair he had just been sitting in. The beam divided and expanded into a thousand scorching, narrow knives, splintering the plastic chairs and scratching the pseudo-stone table faces. Petrarch was caught in the fringe of its spread. The scintillator beam flayed tiny shreds of exposed skin from his neck and began tearing his outer jacket into tatters. The pain was agonizing, yet the weapon was at its weakest setting – should the killbot locate him and re-focus the beam, his skull would be cleaned of flesh in a matter of moments.

He shielded his face with one arm and with the other began firing the snapper through the smoke cloud – it was a desperate attempt, but maybe he could damage its sensors with a lucky hit.

A moment later, the killbot emerged above the cloud, scraping along the ceiling. He fired again and struck it squarely beside its cyclopean visual receptor. It shuddered and returned fire with a blind sweep of the scintillator beam, missing him by mere feet. He glanced back for Judith, but she was wasn't there. Where in the name of the Saints had she gone? Maybe under a table or could the back door be unlocked? There was no time to find out, and really, she would be safer the farther away he put himself.

He dashed headlong into the cloud, tumbling over chairs and upturning tables in the swirling darkness until he staggered clear of the smoke on the other end. The doorway was right in front of him and Valos was entering the room, a small grenade launcher cocked at his shoulder. Petrarch ducked and Valos fired. The grenade struck the KL4 as it emerged from the flash-smoke. A thunderous explosion thrust the robot from view and a ball of orange flame churned arms of inky smoke into harsh spirals.

Petrarch dashed into the café. Everywhere, confused patrons were crouching behind tables or just gawking in terror. The scintillator had scratched the lenses of his goggles and, through the blur, he almost didn't notice the second killbot as it came in the front door.

Still running hard, he dropped to his knees and slid across the tiled floor, reaching the safety of the barista's counter just as the second killbot's scintillator came to life, tearing a swath of destruction through the dining area. A moment later, Valos entered the room and with a well-aimed grenade struck the killbot, blasting it to pieces. The flash of explosive force blew through the cafe and, for a moment, the rumbling report drowned out the screams of the patrons. Valos hurried across the room, grabbed Petrarch by the shoulder, and hauled him forcefully to his feet.

Petrarch stumbled and scrambled to keep upright as Valos led him quickly out the smoking, shattered front doorway. The horrible bloody corpse of a civilian man lay in the street amongst a carpet of broken glass. Up the road, a Davius limousine was racing through traffic, deflecting intervening vehicles from its path. In the other direction, down the opposite end of the street, a second Limousine had appeared, moving just as quickly.

"Who's that?" he yelled, pointing at the second limo.

"Ectines," Valos announced.

The Davius Limousine arrived first, lurching onto the sidewalk and coming to a sharply skidding stop. The side door popped open and Petrarch leaped in. The other limousine screeched to a halt in front of them, blocking their escape. Valos launched a grenade into its windshield, sending up an earth-shattering ball of flame. A side door swung open and a blood-artikin emerged, dressed in black midlar and a white skull helmet. Valos fired a second grenade at the open door but the Ectine leaped away and vanished behind a civilian car a moment before the grenade struck and explosively slammed it shut.

Valos followed Petrarch into the limousine and behind him, through the open door, Petrarch saw the other artikin reappear and leap towards them.

Valos pulled the door closed but it slammed against something and bounced sharply back open. The Ectine artikin was crouched just outside, arm outstretched, his combat claws reaching into the door-frame. He was nearly eye-to-eye with Valos and, as soon as the door was open again, he was springing in, thrusting forward with his claws. Valos leaned back and kicked into the attacker's chest; the artikin jerked to a halt, his blades swinging just short of Valos' face. Valos aimed his grenade launcher.

Petrarch plugged his ears and there was a deafening blast within the limousine cabin. The Ectine artikin flew backward and skipped sharply over the street surface. Valos slammed the door. The limousine forced itself into the center of the avenue and accelerated away.

Valos sat down and Petrarch collapsed into a seat opposite. He pulled off his goggles and turned on a dome light with a quick strike of his fist. It was a wonder they hadn't been blasted to pieces by the grenade.

His ears were ringing and he shouted.

"What was that?"

He pointed at the grenade launcher.

"Concussion grenade!" Valos yelled back.

Petrarch could feel the skin swelling on his forehead where the scintillator beam had lacerated him.

"How's my face?"

"I don't know, I can't see much of it through all the blood!"

"'Swounds, that was too close!" Petrarch pulled his patron charm from his shirt and kissed it. "Should we go back and search for Judith? What if they found her?"

"They're not looking for her, they're looking for you! We need to get off the street immediately. The Wildmore district is our best bet; it shouldn't take more than few minutes. We'll probably make it before they can mobilize an interception."

The limo was swerving hard as it wove around traffic, making it an effort to sit up straight. Petrarch fished a clotting film out of a cabinet and patted it down over his face. "Saint's grace! They haven't a scrap of restraint left; that was downtown Senchio in peak hours! How did they find me so fast?"

"I would assume it was your little stunt in the street."

"Little stunt?"

He remembered removing his goggles, only momentarily, to show his face to Judith.

"Damn, I must have been scanned! The bastards have a tight grip on the biometric network!"

Valos was silent. Petrarch removed the film from his face. His pulse was beginning to slow down to a more normal rate. "Okay, so it was a stupid risk, but I was going to lose her. I needed to do something fast."

"It would have been a shame if she didn't recognize you."

"Yeah—" Petrarch stopped short, "hey, don't get sarcastic with me."

Valos just looked at him evenly from behind his smog goggles.

### 2. An Ectine plot

It was no surprise that Ramel had made captain of the Ectine Praetors. He was respected and rational, discerning and obedient; everything that embodied the Praetor ethos. He was good-looking with straight features and neat blonde hair. Even his name was perfect: Ramel –it sounded like a reference to the Ram, the horned sheep symbolic of Ectine power worn on the shoulder of every uniform. It didn't matter that he was young, that there were others serving in the Praetors with more experience; it was destiny.

And the family was calling on him with urgency. It was only his first day as captain, yet here he was in the inner sanctum in the company of the sons of lord Ectine. And with Ectine's recent and unexpected withdrawal from the public eye, his sons were now potentially the most powerful individuals in the city.

He was standing at the back of a small lounge, and beside him, seated at a large, antique wooden table was Nathan Ectine. The eldest Ectine brother had a tablet monitor propped up on the table and the two of them were looking at it. Behind them and closer to the door, sitting in a set of luxurious cushioned chairs, were Adrian Ectine and his artikin Alistair. Adrian seemed vacant, possibly drugged, and his artikin was absorbed in the blue glow of a tablet, clutched in his lap. Neither of them had spoken since Ramel's arrival, or even paid him any attention.

Nathan was speaking to Ramel and pointing at the tablet monitor.

"Look, the Hub may have multiple entrances, but they are now all well defended. There will not be another opportunity to catch them off-guard for a long time."

Ramel glanced down to see. The tablet was displaying a schematic of the Hub, a complex of connected buildings in Il Fiore's Old Town, located on the edge of the Farm.

The complex was a mess of lines; the buildings had been built right on top of each other, layered over countless generations, making it difficult to determine where one ended and the next began. Nestled somewhere in the center was a single building, a large control room that housed the city's master operating systems; the computers that managed all the most fundamental functions of Il Fiore: power, water, agriculture, surveillance, industry – everything that mattered.

Nathan was right – the Hub was well-defended, but that didn't necessarily mean it was unbreakable. Back when it was created, the city founders had intended for the Hub to be shared by all. But not long after the gates were sealed, Pendigoss was murdered and it was hastily divided. The control room itself was split right down the center.

The division was unnatural and, at the time, no one expected it would last. Lines had been drawn through buildings, floors were cut off from each other, new walls were erected and existing walls were reinforced. It was confused and cumbersome and shouldn't have lasted for long.

But it did. For over twenty years the Ectine and Davius families each held half of the Hub and guarded it obsessively against the other. The city controls were simply too important to give up and both sides recognized that whichever family united the complex would dominate Il Fiore.

"The control room was meant to be unified." Ramel said. "It's always been the natural conclusion."

"And we hold a distinct political advantage. With time, I'm sure the Daviuses will have no choice but to give it all up. There's no need to keep fighting them for it."

"True, the Daviuses are slipping, but why wait? The sooner we take the Hub, the sooner we can assume our position as rulers of the city."

"Why wait? Why reintroduce the threat of killbots, the loss of privacy, the curfews, and all the other headaches we have to deal with when we're at war?"

Ramel shrugged and didn't say anything more. He was in no hurry to get into an argument with a blood Ectine on his first day as a captain.

The door opened and Stephen entered. Standing in the doorway, he made a quick survey of the room, then declared:

"I have been in planning for far too long, tonight we will finally act."

The artikin, Alistair, glanced up momentarily and then resumed watching his tablet. Adrian didn't even stir. Stephen didn't seem to mind the lack of reaction and strode to the table to stand beside Ramel. He held out his hand towards the tablet sitting in front of his brother.

"Nathan, do you mind?"

Nathan was hesitant and Stephen's eyes narrowed.

"I'm wondering if maybe we are being too hasty in this," Nathan said, looking down at the table.

Stephen's expression became severe. "Don't go soft on me Nathan. Father has clearly decided it is time we step up and prove ourselves as leaders. Now is our chance to show that we are Ectines!"

Nathan started mumbling something and Stephen shouted, "Just hand me the tablet!"

Nathan slid the tablet about to face his brother.

Stephen manipulated the screen and opened some notes, then carried it to the back of the table, where he turned and faced the whole room. He began loudly.

"As you know, we recently managed to wrest two sectors of the Hub from Davius control. We've had an eye on these locations for a long time and they contain access points to important city-wide systems; systems that give us the opportunity to rid ourselves of our enemies, once and for all."

"Are you referring to the city gates?" Ramel asked.

Stephen eyed the captain as if he had just become aware of his presence and then looked away dismissively. Ramel's heart sank. Had he said something stupid?

Stephen continued.

"Aside from the obvious consolidation of our hold on the city-surveillance network and control of the city gates, we've made a few other acquisitions."

He paused, eyed his audience and then resumed.

"And few acquisitions that are relevant to my plan. First, the power network: we gained control over an important distribution nexus just under the Hub that allows us to divert the flow of quite a bit of electricity. The power network is rather robust so this nexus isn't very useful by itself – any disruption we could cause would only be momentary, while the network rerouted the power grid. But for the more intriguing development regarding the power network I'll have to move along to the next item: an old EMP generator.

"This EMP – ElectroMagnetic Pulse – generator was a safeguard back in the days when external dangers threatened our city. It could generate a pulse of electricity outside the entire city that would destroy anything computer-based in close proximity, from an incoming missile to a common communications biscuit. It used a lot of energy."

Ramel wanted to say something insightful to redeem himself, yet every time an opportunity presented itself, Stephen seemed to look away.

"As you know," Stephen continued, "everything in this city depends on power. The city architects knew the importance of energy and developed a wide grid of thermal wells. There are at least 60 wells, more than any family can hope to monopolize. We've managed to do a decent job of controlling what we can.

"With the power nexus set to momentarily divert power away from the Daviuses, we could drop them below critical levels if the city were to suffer a shortage. Of course to create a power shortage would require an enormous power draw, something approaching twenty or thirty percent of the total upper-city power usage. Even if we simultaneously turned on every power-drawing device under our direct control we couldn't hope for more than a four or five percent increase. But this old, forgotten EMP generator," he smiled broadly, "we estimate can draw thirty-five percent of the power supply. With the power nexus properly set, the moment we turn on the EMP, the Davius power grid should drop like a dead body. They won't know what hit them. By the time they cut off their non-vital grids to reroute power into their defensive systems, it should all be over – both the Hub and Davius Place crushed beneath our boots."

Stephen looked from Nathan to Ramel with a proud smile on his face.

Ramel nodded. It was an interesting plan; perhaps the EMP really could be used in this way.

"Murder in the dark, how romantic," Adrian said from across the room.

Ramel turned to look, but Adrian did not appear to have moved. He was still slumped in his deep chair and facing the other direction. Stephen and Nathan didn't even seem to notice and Stephen continued.

"I have nearly everything prepared – the divisions organized, the attack routes laid, the contingencies mapped – we can act immediately. All I need is your help in carrying it out."

Ramel snapped to attention, "Immediately? But sir, with all due—"

"Immediately!" Stephen cut him off.

While he was a lieutenant, Ramel had always assumed the rank of captain would be the ultimate authority. But now, it seemed, captain might not hold quite the clout he had hoped.

### 3. Wildmore

Petrarch was alone in the Wildmore station chapel, meditating with eyes closed and music buds roaring in his ears. His face had been cleared of scintillator wounds and his ears recovered from the shock of the grenade detonation, but his mind was still reeling.

He had acted irresponsibly again. Not only might Judith think he was either a fool or a coward, but Colin would almost certainly be upset that he had missed their afternoon meeting. How could anyone believe in him if he didn't follow through and stick to his own word?

He took a deep breath and let the music overtake him. Swirling surges of orchestral crescendos blasted through his head. Roaring cellos, screaming violins and a crashing, tumbling piano waged a battle of sound against the depressing fact that he might be incapable of doing anything right.

Something moved in the room – possibly just a shift of the air, but possibly not. He tensed. Muscles twitched, ready for action. Hopefully, it would be an enemy, something real, something he could tear to pieces.

He opened his eyes.

Colin and his blood artikin, Dimeos, had knelt down close by. Both had bowed their heads in reverence to the Holy Spirit. Petrarch's muscles relaxed; he removed the earbuds.

"You didn't have to come out here. I was – I was going to come back as soon as things cooled down a little."

Colin raised his head,

"You've started without me. I thought we were in this together from here on."

"Look, Colin, it wasn't my intention to start something. I was trying to keep a low profile, but they spotted me anyway. It was stupid and I've learned my lesson. I have to be more careful – more circumspect in how I conduct business – I know this now."

"This isn't a game you know; the Ectines are very real and very dangerous; this is a war."

"I know; I'm perfectly aware of the severity of the situation."

"Are you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, Valos had an interesting report to give."

"What did he say?"

"Just try not to take any unnecessary risks from now on, okay? Give our local girls a chance."

Petrarch reddened.

"Negotiating with the lower families is hardly an unnecessary risk."

"Okay, okay, negotiating. Like you said, it's all business."

There was an awkward silence.

"Colin, look, I'm sorry. It was stupid of me; all I wanted was to prove I could bring something to the table – to get something going with the Senchions. I promise I'll let you know before I do anything else. You're more organized than I am, okay? I've been a fool not to consult you from the start. Here, let's begin right now: I think we should plan another attack. The best way to keep the Ectines off the offensive is to continue applying pressure; we need them reacting to us, not the other way around."

Colin smiled patronizingly and Petrarch's heart plunged – if he lost his cousin's support, he had nothing. Colin looked ready to say something else but, before he had a chance, the lights flickered and then went out.

The room was dark. Dim illuminating panels running the upper edge of the walls cast the only light. In the gloom, Colin and Dimeos looked to each other and then Petrarch. No one spoke and after a moment, Colin made a suggestion.

"Maybe we should head back to Davius Place."

Petrarch nodded. The three of them rose and walked up the aisle towards the exit. Just as they were reaching it, the door slid open and a guardsman entered. He seemed agitated.

"Yes?"

"Sir, there's been an attack – there is an attack."

Petrarch's pulse spiked with adrenaline.

"At Davius Place. The inner sanctum has been breached! The Hub too may also be under attack."

He felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach.

"Can we stop them?" Colin asked.

The soldier stammered, "I... I can't say, I received the message from the C.O., he's just upstairs."

Less than a minute later, they rushed into the Commanding Officer's office. The room was dim, lit only by a multitude of flat monitors glowing faintly blue, and crowded with at least ten men, all eerily hushed and hyper-attentive to the screens. A few more, hiding away in the corners, spoke on their biscuits in low hurried voices.

An older man, visibly wearied but still sharp and clearly in charge, noticed their arrival.

"Petrarch!" he declared to no one in particular. A moment later he added a "Sir," as if an afterthought.

"What's going on?" Petrarch asked.

"The Ectines hit Davius Place and the Hub. We've been instructed by Captain Zeit to hold here."

"Are they still fighting? How did they breach the defenses so easily?"

"We're not sure yet, but there has been a massive power-outage. We think they used it to drop our defensive system."

"Have we lost them then – Davius Place and the Hub?"

"Not yet, but it doesn't look good; without the defensive systems, our men are out-gunned. They took us completely by surprise."

"Sir," a man said, coming to the C.O.'s side. They all turned to face him. He hesitated.

"Go ahead," the C.O. said.

He glanced warily at Petrarch and then continued.

"The Hub is all but lost; two sectors down already, the defense points over-run. They struck hard with at least thirty or forty Reds."

"Thirty of Forty?" Petrarch interjected. "That's nearly the whole force, isn't it? The attack on Davius Place must be almost entirely deputies. What's the status at Davius Place?"

The C.O. and the soldier looked to each other expectantly.

"Status of the Inner Sanctum?" Petrarch shouted for anyone to answer.

"Holding," someone said, breaking the silence.

"Colin, Dimeos, get your midlar. I'll get Valos. Meet me in the garage – we're heading over!"

### 4. Damage assessed

They were soon speeding through the undercity tunnels, Valos behind the wheel, Petrarch, Colin and Dimeos watching from the back. At one hundred and twenty five miles per hour, the smooth tunnels snaked hard to the right and left and the slower traffic flew by as if it wasn't even moving.

Not five minutes after leaving the Wildmore district, the limousine burst up from the undercity into the downtown edge of the Davius quarter, and just a few moments later they were at Davius Place, speeding through the lockdown point. The guard posts were vacant and the carboncrete roadblocks were still submerged beneath the road. Ahead was the plaza, the grand entrance and, beyond that, the inner sanctum.

Parked directly in front of the entrance were a pair of large, solid, tank-like Octavian Manowars. An assortment of other Ectine vehicles filled the rest of the plaza and overflowed onto the lawns.

It was a horrifying site – Ectine vehicles on Davius property – even if they survived this, things would never be the same.

"Our armory is in there," Colin observed.

"Pull over, across the plaza, out of sight," Petrarch said to Valos.

The limousine rolled into a shadowy roundabout driveway beneath the corner of a neighboring scraper. The building doorman was nowhere to be seen, in fact there was no one to be seen anywhere.

Petrarch's biscuit pulsed. It was his mother. Her location was blocked. He accepted the call and spoke before she could say anything.

"Mother, why didn't you answer my calls?"

Her voice came back sounding strained,

"We've been attacked – are you okay?"

"I was in the Wildmore; I've missed the entire thing. Where are you?"

"I'm okay now, we're safe – I'm with Lucietta, a few servants and our guard – Purvos made sure we escaped."

"And father?" Petrarch asked, swallowing back a lump in his throat.

"He's with me – Purvos insisted. He's... well it's not good for a man in his condition to be moving around. Where are you? Stay away from Davius Place; it's completely hopeless – we've lost it. Captain Zeit can only hold out for so long. We're lucky so many of us managed to escape at all."

Colin was listening and he couldn't contain himself any longer, "My mother," he interrupted, "is she safe?"

"Oh, Colin, you're there too," Lady Davius said in a relieved voice. "Your mother is with Otto and most everyone else. They've taken refuge with the senate. There was a charity function in the Eighteenth and most everyone was there when the attack took place."

"That's good," Petrarch said, "then they won't have any hostages to hold over us when we strike back."

"Petrarch, no, stay hidden. We'll be protected; the Senate won't stand for this. The city will unite and the Ectines will have no choice but to negotiate for peace. You'll be safe."

"Safe?" he nearly laughed. If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he would die before he handed the Davius family over to the Ectines. It was the thing everyone expected, and it was the thing he swore he'd never let happen.

"Even if they didn't kill us outright, would it be any better to be made their pets, to live in defeat for the rest of our lives?"

"Petrarch...it won't be like that. We have powerful allies – our family commands a lot of respect in this city."

"There is no respect for the vanquished."

He terminated the call.

For a moment he imagined himself bursting from the limo and rushing the Ectine vehicles parked across the street. He pushed the thought from his mind.

According to the commanding officer in the Wildmore, captain Zeit had ordered the remote divisions of the guard to remain at their posts. This meant there were still a few hundred Davius guardsmen spread out across the city. Perhaps the captain expected to gather intelligence and organize a counter attack from within Davius Place, but there was no chance of that now – the Hub had fallen too quickly. The Ectine Praetors would be free to respond wherever an attack might occur. In a direct confrontation, even two-hundred guardsmen were probably no match against thirty or forty Praetors.

The reality was, both the Hub and Davius Place were lost and the Ectines would be ready for a counter attack. In fact, attacking them in either place was probably exactly what they wanted him to do.

So he would have to give up both locations without a fight. It sounded bad, but maybe there was an advantage to it. For one thing, it meant the few hundred Davius soldiers spread out around the city would be preserved. If he could rally them, they might make a respectable army, and if he struck where he wasn't expected, they might even be able to do some real damage. Of course, whatever he did, he'd have to do it soon; in a few days the Ectines would consolidate their holdings in the Hub and fully unify the systems. With the systems unified, he'd be unable to hide and unable to do anything unexpected.

"The Ectines will be looking for you," Colin interrupted his thoughts. "Any important members of the inner family will be their primary targets now that they have the Hub and Davius Place. We should get out of here."

Colin was right, but he also gave Petrarch an idea.

"Agreed. I think now would be a good time to pay our friends in the Senchion clan a visit."

### 5. The Senchion compound

Petrarch, Colin, Valos and Dimeos were led into the Senchion inner sanctum by a team of gendarmes. Jacob had been more than pleased to welcome them in, and why wouldn't he? He probably loved having the Daviuses crawling to him for help.

They walked up the great hall, wide and long with rich carpets on the floor and sofas lining both sides. It was well-decorated, but there was also a sense of wear, apparent in frayed edges and faded colors. The last twenty years had not been kind to the Senchions.

Three men were seated and waiting at the end of the hall. They were Lord Senchion's advisors and they looked unimpressed by Petrarch's arrival, perturbed even, but it didn't matter. He wasn't there to speak with them.

Things had changed since the first time he and Jacob had met. This time the Senchion would have to weigh the very real possibility of siding with a losing cause. Petrarch would be asking him to put his entire family on the line. There would need to be strong motivations to convince him, stronger than just money. Really, this all came down to a bet – Petrarch was betting that Jacob was angry.

As heir to one of the founding families, Jacob would have been raised to believe himself noble. He would have developed a sense of entitlement and that entitlement would have been challenged as his family was slowly reduced to second-class status. Over time, a headstrong young man would develop a thirst for revenge, an angry desire to strike back at the cause of his misfortune. It had happened to Petrarch and it only made sense that it had also happened to Jacob. The only question was; would the desire be strong enough that he would risk everything to have it? For Petrarch, the decision was beyond his control, but Jacob still had the option to back out and give up.

They reached the end of the hall and he and Colin were directed to a couch beside a low table opposite Lord Senchion's advisors. They sat and Valos and Dimeos stood just behind them, dressed in full artikin combat midlar, from white skulls to black claws, horrific as usual.

Petrarch tried to pick out Wolf's father-in-law from the advisors across the table, but there wasn't much time to decide which one he might be before a door swept open and Jacob, Judith and a young man entered.

Petrarch's pulse quickened.

"Welcome to our hall!" Jacob declared, extending his hand as he approached. Petrarch rose and shook it.

"I have brought my cousin Colin, and our artikins," he said.

Jacob bowed slightly in Colin's direction and then said, "I have brought my sister and our own cousin, Isaac."

Isaac looked no older than twenty-one. Petrarch nodded to him but the boy didn't return the gesture. This was the one Wolf had warned him about. Petrarch faced Jacob.

"Thank you for receiving us."

"I am pleased to have you."

A big smile was spread across Jacob's lips.

The advisors made room and the new arrivals sat down on the Senchion side of the table.

"Please, let's not waste any time on formalities," Jacob announced. "I'm all ears; tell us what you intend to do."

The Senchion advisors seemed upset that they were not to be introduced but Petrarch didn't wait for them to object.

"As you're aware, the Ectines have made a hostile act of war against my family. Many of our people have died."

He glanced around the table. Judith was serious and attentive, like her brother, but Isaac was frowning, his eyes cast down on the table.

Petrarch continued, "They've taken the Hub. This not only hurts Davius, this hurts the entire city. With uncontested control of the Hub, the Ectines can do anything they like. It won't be long before all of the other families face the same fate as Davius. The truth is, we must act right now if there is to be any hope of stopping them at all."

"What do you propose we do?" Jacob asked. "Like you said, the Ectines have taken the Hub – they can't be stopped."

"Yes, they've taken the Hub, but if we act fast, they can be stopped. If we can organize a force of at least three hundred Senchions and crawlers from the other families and bring them strategically in-line with the remaining Davius forces, I believe we can overpower the Hub and force the Ectines out. In one single sweep, we can throw them on their heels, lock them down, black them out, divide and conquer!"

Jacob looked surprised, but only for a moment and then he smiled and leaned forward over the table, planting his hands on the wood.

"I like it – very aggressive – but won't they be ready for a counter attack? They have over thirty Praetors, hundreds of Deputies and the Hub's defensive systems."

Petrarch glanced at Colin. This was exactly what they had been discussing on the way over.

"Our intelligence indicates that they are currently defending the Hub with the bulk of their Praetors. They could remain entrenched as they are and we would be unable to break them, but there are other considerations to take into account, political considerations. The Davius family is more than just a military, it is an economic and political force of significant size. The city will be waiting to see how the family responds; it will be watching to see if strong Davius leaders emerge to contest their actions. With my father gone there are two possible candidates, Captain Zeit and myself – everyone knows my uncle is an idiot but I am still an unknown. The longer I remain at liberty and Captain Zeit holds out at Davius Place, the less definitive the Ectine victory appears and the more confidence the Senate will have to organize an opposition.

"If the Davius family finds the traction to put up a political fight, the Ectines may find their lighting-blitz turn into a trench war fought against the entire city. They need to find me and I'm willing to bet my life that they will do anything to catch me, even leave the Hub."

"You'll use yourself as bait!" Jacob exclaimed.

"Exactly, all we need to do is create a diversion – the illusion of my presence at the right location – and I have no doubt they'll dispatch the troops to catch me."

"But why would we want to fight them at all?" Judith asked. "You said yourself the Davius family is more than just a military – why continue to make this a military contest?"

"Because we can't actually win the political struggle. Zeit is trapped and I'm no politician. The only reason politics is a viable weapon is the Ectines don't yet know that it isn't."

"So then what makes you think you'll be able to defeat them in combat? How can you know that your ruse will be enough?"

"If we strike soon, they will still have roughly a third of their soldiers committed to the siege of Davius Place. First, we'll draw every spare man they have out in the city away into the deepest corners of Il Fiore with a series of false leads. Then, when they're far removed and spread as thin as possible, we'll spring the best lure yet – bait they can't resist – held right under their noses at the Hub: Petrarch Davius himself. They'll have no choice but to bite."

Jacob and Judith glanced at each other and seemed to consider the proposition. This was it. If the Senchions didn't buy into the plan, he didn't have a hope of surviving, much less restoring the honor of the Davius family name.

Jacob sat back in his chair and smiled slyly.

Petrarch felt a new surge of panic. Was Jacob going to make him beg?

"I think we have something that can help," Jacob said after an agonizing pause.

His cousin Isaac stood up abruptly.

"Jacob!"

"Don't worry Isaac, a secret weapon's only good if you use it."

Isaac looked like he was ready to flip the table over.

Jacob continued, "The Barclays came to us for help with something... they call it the Fear. We call it—" he looked to Isaac but his cousin was still speechless and seething. Jacob shrugged his shoulders, "I guess we also call it the Fear."

It was a relief that Jacob seemed willing to help, but why would he want to talk about some silly Barclay 'invention'?

"What does it do?" Petrarch asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"It's a neurological transmitter, it can transmit messages to your brain – electromagnetically-induced neocortical beta waves actually. It overwhelms your natural emotions, your rational thoughts. From the tests we've done, it instills irrational fear; it drives you crazy."

"Who's afraid?" a hoarse, sepulchral voice asked, breaking in on the conversation.

They all turned to see who it was. The artikins stepped apart and, standing beyond them was Jacob's grandfather, Lord Senchion, an old man with a shock of wild white hair, dressed in deep red robes.

"The Barclays?" the old man spat. "Perverts and cowards!" His body trembled, ivory eyes rolled back in rheumy sockets. "Senchion does not fear – there is nothing to fear when you have honor, when you have pride!"

Was the old man demented? Petrarch rotated to say something but Jacob held up a warning hand. Lord Senchion continued.

"What have they got? Davius, Ectine! I've met those men; they're nothing special." Spittle flecked from his thin lips. "Greedy maybe, dishonorable, willing to soil their hands with the grime of treachery, but when it ends – and oh yes, it will all end – who will die with honor? Who?" He cast his eyes about sightlessly and shuffled forward on stiff legs.

"Can you see me, my Lord?" Petrarch asked.

"Can I see you?" the old man jeered back. "Arrogant whip, sitting in my hall, trailing thug assassins – no, I can't see you; I can't see the compromise this house has become."

"The man of action speaks few words," Petrarch declared," do you know who said that?"

Lord Senchion screamed a curse everyone at the table jumped.

"You will suffer the fate of your father, Petrarch Davius!" he rasped between grinding teeth. "I have a gun on that chair over there and if you're not quick, your fate may be now!"

Isaac Senchion was smiling now with obvious pleasure.

"I think we've covered everything we need to," Petrarch said and stood up as calmly as he could manage.

Jacob's face brightened. He suddenly didn't look put off by his grandfather at all.

"I've never been more ready for this," he said in a low voice, directed at Petrarch. "Let's make them hurt."

Colin also rose and they turned to leave. On the way out, Petrarch announced over his shoulder, loud enough that the whole room could hear, "Call on your alliances, your debtors, and your mercenaries. Prove your merits as a leader and together we may prove our merits as men."

It sounded good and Jacob was nodding intently. The Senchions were committed. Now all they had to do was defeat the Ectines.

### 6. Victory incomplete

Not here, Adrian was repeating to himself. He was standing over a young man tied to a table, absentmindedly cleaning blood from the blade of a scalpel. Thin red lines traced intricate patterns across the man's exposed skin.

Petrarch Davius was not here. The little weasel had escaped. How could they have missed him? This confirmed the belated report that Petrarch had been sighted just hours before the attack and chased to the Davius Wildmore district. How could such an important detail have been overlooked? Captain Ramel was upset; Stephen's orders had been very clear: storm the Davius compound and capture the family. The brother, the son, the wife; they had all escaped. But that was Ramel's problem, it didn't bother Adrian. It was the lost satisfaction that had him agitated; he wanted Petrarch for himself. Let Ramel fret over botched intelligence and an incomplete strike, if someone else stole the pleasure of killing Petrarch Davius, that would be the real tragedy.

### 7. Washroom

Once the Senchion shock truck was safely undercity, the Daviuses split up, each in a separate car. They would meet again in five hours.

As Petrarch drove off alone, he glanced at the clock. 7:00. Somewhere, outside and beyond the armored fringe of the dome, the sun was setting.

It was hard to put in perspective everything that had happened since that morning. In a lot of ways, things were simpler now. The crisis would make people more willing to follow without asking questions. With his uncle hiding and captain Zeit cut off by the Ectines, there was a sudden shortage of leaders. The Davius guard would be willing to listen to anyone with a plan. They would even listen to him.

But they would have to move fast. Over the next few hours, he Colin, Valos and Dimeos would contact all of the Davius soldiers remaining in the city and give them orders to vanish. A half dozen here, a dozen there, they would abandon their posts and slip undercity. Once out of sight, they would secretly reassemble deep in the Senchion industrial quarter.

Every remaining Davius holding would be left defenseless, but what did it matter – if the Ectines unified the central systems there would be no hope of holding them off, Davius holdings or not. Whoever controlled the Hub, controlled the city.

Of course, the Hub was a well-defended building. Over the years, both families had built defensive measures within the building complex; sentry guns, fortified checkpoints, armored bulkheads and traps. After today's attack, all of the Davius defenses would be disabled. It could take the Ectines days to reactivate them but, once they did, the Hub would be impossible to take. Any attack strong enough to break through the defenses would risk destroying the delicate computer systems as well. It was a chance no sane person could take; if the central computers were destroyed, the city's food, power, water and air-circulation would fail – the entire city would be lost.

Petrarch swallowed down a dry lump in his throat. If he wasn't fast, he'd be dead, and if he wasn't careful, everyone would be dead.

Since leaving the Wildmore, the guidance software had been doing most of the driving. He looked out now at the passing neighborhood. It was an unfamiliar section of the city, along the fringes of the Senchion district, not far from the Ectine quarter. The streets were dark and empty. The citywide black-out might have been temporary but now the citizens were conserving energy. They were bracing for the worst.

The vehicle downshifted and slowed. He took over driving and directed it to the shadowy lower level of a multilayered parking lot. This was a commercial district and, on an ordinary evening with the lights on, would probably be crowded with shoppers. Currently it was empty and abandoned.

He parked, pulled up the collar of his coat and hunched his shoulders. He glanced in the mirror to see how well his face was concealed. The eyes that looked back caught him completely off-guard; they looked desperate, terrified.

His stomach tightened with a sickening velocity and he fell back in the seat unable to look any longer. There were smog goggles beside him and he pulled them over his eyes and tugged up his collar as high as it would go.

The wait could have been long, but thankfully he had hardly settled himself when Wolf appeared across the street. To the casual observer he looked like a lone crawler prowling the empty streets, but Petrarch recognized his friend's gait and climbed from the car. He followed at a distance, watching for signs of danger, and stuck to the shadows wherever possible.

Here, at the outer edges of the city, closer to the dome's massive reinforced walls, the air was warm and stagnant. It was easy to follow the sound of footfalls, even when Wolf vanished in the dark, and at every corner Petrarch was careful to check if he wasn't being followed himself. They made their way through an ally, up a street and finally, into a building. Inside, Wolf was waiting for him just behind the doorway.

"Follow me," he said and they descended a stairwell.

At the basement level, there was a narrow washroom with a few old machines spaced haphazardly along the long wall. Wolf tapped one with his biscuit and its lights came on.

"Time to do some laundry," he mused and with the press of a button he brought the machine to life, filling the room with rumbling white noise. He walked to the far corner where there was a single stool. Petrarch followed and as Wolf sat down, he hopped up onto a dormant machine.

"So the Civilian Senate called an emergency session," Wolf said. "Your uncle was there. The Ectine senators demanded Otto surrender himself to the Praetors but Senator Quade refused to support them. According to Quade, the Ectine attack on Davius has been an attack on the entire city. There was a lot of arguing back and forth and the Ectines even threatened to march the Praetors in and take him themselves. But they didn't and I figure that's a wise move for them; they're not ready to take on the Senate with the Davius family as still unfinished business. They need to find you and your mother first."

Wolf wiped his face with a nervous hand.

"I met with Jacob today. He said he would help me fight them," Petrarch said. "Do you think he will?"

"Of course. Jacob's been hoping for something like this to happen."

"He has?"

"Jacob wants glory. He wants to vindicate his father's death and bring honor back to the Senchion name. What better chance could he ask for? What greater enemy than the Ectines?"

"But do you think he can do it? I mean, there must be many in his family who wont approve of an alliance with the Daviuses. Does he have enough influence to make these kinds of decisions?"

"Since the successful ambush at the gate, Jacob has been pretty much the undisputed leader of the Senchion family, at least as far as the Gendarmerie is concerned. The gendarmes want a fight just as much as he does."

"What about his grandfather?"

"Old Senchion may still be pater familias but after so many years of decline, the family is ready for change."

"And what if things go well?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Senchions that hate my family aren't going to give up, are they? If we're successful, won't they play to Jacob's pride and convince him to turn against me."

"That might be a possibility."

"Take this kid Isaac for example. He doesn't seem to like me."

"Yeah, I'm already watching him; I'll let you know immediately if anything changes."

"What about Judith, what's her opinion of the Daviuses?"

"I don't know," Wolf said. "She's supportive of Jacob's ambitions, so I guess she's supportive of the alliance. In general, she's more concerned with the big picture, more likely to think things through. If you tell me what you're planning, I might be able to guess her response."

Petrarch took a deep breath.

"I'm pulling together everyone I can – I'm gathering a force capable of counterstriking the Hub."

"The Hub?"

"If we don't gain some serious strategic position, we're done for."

"Yeah, but I mean – you think you can take it?"

"I think we'll have a chance if we strike while the Ectines are over-confident and spread out searching for the bait we leave them. Although, I can't stress how important it is that we be tightly coordinated; I can't have Jacob getting ideas of his own and splitting the attack."

"Right, right."

"I need you to stay as close as possible to him."

"I get it. You don't have to worry about me."

"If you think he might be avoiding you, let me know."

"Petrarch, it won't be a problem."

Petrarch stood and slipped off the washing machine. He placed a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"We can do this, but I need your help."

"I can handle it. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Thanks, this means a lot, and not just to me – the whole city is depending on our success."

Wolf nodded.

They left the room and the rhythmic thumping of the old washer grew fainter as they passed down the hall and then up the stairs. Wolf kept ahead by a few steps and when they stepped outside, he turned up the street and vanished into the darkness.

Petrarch carefully crossed to his vehicle, opened the door and slipped in. He was still settling into his seat, reviewing his next steps, when a figure appeared at the opposite window. Its arrival was unexpected, his nerves were already on edge and he jerked with surprise, quickly drawing a snap pistol and aiming it at the door. If the intruder tried to get in he would fill the space between them with burning electricity. A face dropped down into view.

It was Judith. A half-smile creased her features and a drape of black hair framed the expression. Her hands were at her shoulders holding the edges of a hood.

What was she doing here?

Petrarch tapped a switch and the passenger-side door disengaged. She pulled it open and slipped into the seat beside him. He tapped the switch again and the door latched.

"Mind if I ride with you as far as the Senchion quarter?" she asked.

"N-no, of course not."

Was she upset with him for abandoning her when the killbot attacked? Did she think he was dragging her family into a war with the Ectines?

After a moment, she hadn't said anything more and he asked, "How did you find me?"

"I followed you when you left."

"Did Jacob send you?"

"No, Jacob's busy. You met someone out here?"

"Yes, a, ah – friend. Someone who tells me things."

He glanced at her but she was staring out the window. He started the car and pulled onto the street. He wanted to ask her if she hadn't brought a car of her own, but decided against it and instead they started off in silence.

"It's funny," she said after a few moments, "how much has changed since I first met you, just a few days ago. Who would have guessed then that this could be it?"

"Could be what?"

"The end."

"The end?"

"This city is all that's left, isn't it? If we destroy ourselves, there's nothing left."

"Saint's Mercy!" He tried to laugh. "Nothing left?"

"Well, I guess something must remain out there – outside, but it's probably not worth counting."

"I should hope there's something else out there. I mean, I uh – I guess I never really think about it."

He glanced at her but she was still looking out the windshield.

"Things are different now," she said, "now that we're talking about the Hub. There's a chance the city might not survive."

"You don't think we should fight the Ectines?"

"I don't know. It just means so much more now. There's so much more at risk."

"Well, we'll try our best."

"But what if that's not enough? The future of an entire city, whether it prospers or dies, lies in our hands. We're not qualified for that. No one is qualified for that kind of responsibility."

"Well, it's better to have the responsibility than to not, right? If you can't trust yourself, who can you trust?"

She took a deep breath. "But that's it exactly; if the decision is ours, isn't it our responsibility to be certain we're making the right choice? Every Senchion who depends on the family might suffer because of my mistake."

Petrarch paused. He'd never really considered the Davius people specifically. Was he putting them in unnecessary danger? Would they be better off if he simply surrendered to the Ectines?

"You know, I guess I've just assumed that whatever I did was for the good of the family, but you might be right; I might be overlooking something important."

She stared at him for a long moment and then lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I probably sound condescending."

"What? No."

"The truth is, I don't know. I don't know if fighting the Ectines is the wrong decision or not. I want it to be, but so far that's all it is: a want."

She let out a long breath and ran a hand through her hair. "I shouldn't have followed you. I don't know why I did it. Maybe I didn't trust you."

"Do you now?"

"Maybe," she sighed.

"Maybe?"

She smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah, maybe."

It was an unexpected turn to the conversation and, watching the darkened city slip by outside, a warm feeling entered his body. Maybe today wasn't all bad after all.

"Things are a lot more complicated now," she said after a minute. "If the Ectines win, anyone who sided against them won't be in a good position."

"I can see why you'd be hesitant to join us. But, think about what happens next, after they catch me and the rest of my family. Without the Daviuses to keep them occupied, they'll be flush with success and completely free to turn their attention against the rest of the city."

"So you think we have no choice but to fight them?"

"Maybe it's better to think of this as an opportunity to make a positive change. For the first time, some of the families are negotiating again; this could be the crisis to bring us together.

She rubbed her temple. "It's hard to believe they've been fighting so long over such an awful responsibility. They've been killing each other for what – to control the fate of three million people, possibly the last remnant of humanity on the planet?"

He opened his mouth to say something and then stopped.

Outside, they were entering a Senchion district. It would probably only be another minute or two before she asked to get out.

"I'm sorry if I'm not a very good sympathizer," he said. "They didn't teach me much of that in Davius Place."

"No need to apologize. I shouldn't have followed you like I did."

"It's okay; we're even now, stalking each other. I feel bad about last time, with the killbots. I didn't want to leave like that, but they were after me, so I thought you'd be safer on your own."

"I was fine. But I am glad we had a chance to talk again." Her eye caught on something outside. "We're here."

He stopped the car in front of a long building. She climbed out quickly and glanced back at him.

"Thank you," she said, then shut the door and hurried to the building.

He watched until she was inside and then drove away.

Did he really believe that they had a chance of defeating the Ectines or ending the war? He shook his head. The truth was, it didn't matter what he believed. He had to fight; if he surrendered, the Ectines would execute him. There was no way he could convince them otherwise and there was nowhere he could hide.

It felt terrible to think he might be misleading Judith, but there were no other options. It was kill or be killed, even if it destroyed his entire family – even if it destroyed the entire city.

### 8. Delphus

Marcel Delphus was known only as Delphus within the walls of the Bastion and it was many years since he had heard his first name spoken. He was at home amongst the monitors and machines, meeting with his research leads and overseeing design specifications.

At the moment, he was alone, seated in the corner of a small laboratory, listening to his biscuit and staring blankly into the dark console of a prototype gene synthesizer. The machine was turned off, yet he found it more interesting than the conversation he was having on the biscuit. Senator Booker was speaking. As far as senators went, Booker was a decent man, but today he was being tiresome.

"Booker, we don't have him here," Delphus said. "We both know I would never risk the Bastion in that way. The Davius family has never particularly wanted to be here, and we've never wanted them. They may own the facility but we are a bastion; we do our research in peace."

He paused and the voice buzzed in his ear.

"No, I've sealed the doors. I haven't closed them to particular individuals, I've sealed them. No one has entered since the attack, and no one will enter until this situation is resolved."

The voice buzzed again.

"Then I suggest you tell them what I've told you –the senate needn't worry about the Bastion, they need to worry about the city."

The voice buzzed excitedly for a long time.

"Fine, if they feel Petrarch Davius is a priority then, by all means, find him. You know as well as I that he's not here. Perhaps the senate is due to exercise some of its claimed authority; the general perception seems to be that it excels in impotence."

The voice adopted an apologetic tone and then excused itself.

"Of course," he said and ended the call.

The Senate wouldn't matter much once Shamyl and his technicians fixed the lingering bugs in the Phoenix Project. Once they were finished, the politicians would be abolished, as would anyone else with the audacity to meddle with the progress of science. He had been tempted to say as much to Booker but, in the interests of discretion, had weathered the conversation. There was no sense in giving anything away prematurely. Lord Davius would sort the city out soon enough.

However things might turn out for the rest of Il Fiore, Delphus had been assured that the Bastion would be allowed to continue its research unaffected. And really, that was all that mattered.

## Act III – The Hub

### 1. Bastion diversion

In a lonely underway tunnel an old neon sign advertising alcohol flickered in a dingy window. Beside it was a door that led to a small working-class bar and inside the bar were five patrons, all late-middle-aged males. For the Ectine deputy waiting across the roadway, they were the accumulated intelligence of the past four hours – nothing worth reporting.

The deputy sat on an overturned crate tucked into the recess of a crusty cement wall. A rifle rested on his lap and a voice in his helmet asked him for periodic status updates. Sometimes it would notify him of developments nearby but mostly it was silent.

Stephen Ectine and his search party had already passed through this area, 'extracting intelligence' from the local populace. The deputies that remained had been instructed to wait and observe. Across the street, beyond the bar and a wide plaza, was the Davius research bastion, its thick subterranean walls rising from floor to ceiling, powerful and unbroken. If Petrarch Davius was to come out of hiding, the bastion was a likely destination; it was the one place in the city the Ectines were unable to go.

He was stationed in this particular spot because of the courtyard: it was not the Bastion's main entrance, not even for the subterranean levels, but every entrance, including this one, had to be watched.

So far, no one dared enter the small courtyard set in the side of the bastion wall. In fact, during his shift the deputy had yet to observe anyone even go near it. The locals knew what was good for them.

Watching the courtyard was boring work and sitting for long periods relaxed the mind. The deputy was so lulled into inactivity that, when a dark truck appeared in the plaza and stopped in front of the courtyard, he stared at it blankly for a moment before even his heart rate surged.

He leaped to his feet and gripped his rifle tightly in both hands. The visor on his helmet adjusted to magnify and he had a good view of the vehicle as its side door opened. He patched his view into the headquarters surveillance system at a priority one.

A man covered in black midlar leaped out of the truck and darted into the courtyard, vanishing from view.

"Move to engage!" – it was an urgent shout in his ear. The deputy dashed into the roadway and up to the edge of the plaza.

"Open fire!" came the voice again. He stopped abruptly and, a moment later, the dark figure was running back into view.

The deputy fired. The target was moving quickly but the enhancement system in his gun helped find the mark. The fleeing man shuddered as bullets pummeled his upper body. A killbot swooped down from above and added its scintillator to the attack.

For a moment, things looked to be proceeding well, but then the muzzle of a sizable cannon emerged from the rear of the truck. The deputy's stomach clenched tight. The cannon erupted with a blaze of fire and the deputy's lightly plated midlar was blasted apart. Chunks of human flesh scattered over the plaza pavement.

"They're getting away!" Captain Ramel shouted. He was standing in a darkened Ectine Obs Room, leaning over an officer's shoulder and glaring at his console screen. From the perspective of the killbot, they were watching the man in black clamber into the truck. The robot dropped onto him, grasping his shoulders with talon-like claws. The man waved his arms, trying to dislodge the machine. His compatriots reached from inside the vehicle and pulled him in with the killbot still attached. The next moment, there was a flash of light and the screen went black; a new video feed from much further away took its place and they watched the killbot launch back out of the truck and skitter over the plaza pavement.

"Who's moving to intercept?" Ramel shouted. "How many more units do we have on location?"

"Two, sir – two deputies," the officer responded

The truck accelerated quickly.

"We can't lose them! How far away is Stephen?"

"He's in the southwest quarter; undercity."

"Damn!"

That was too far away, they would never make it back in time.

"We've got men in The Hub with Nathan," Ramel said to no one in particular, "if the truck makes a break for Senchio, they could cut it off." He addressed the seated officer, "Contact Nathan, make sure his men move immediately to intercept."

The man turned away and began speaking rapidly into a biscuit.

Ramel turned to a second officer, "Alert Stephen, have him mobilize his team. Patch him in with the movements of the hostiles."

"Yes, sir."

Ramel stepped back, clenching his fists, his eyes fixed on the monitor. It flashed to a new view of the truck speeding through the underway, "We've got them," he muttered. "They're desperate, they made a mistake and now we've got them!"

### 2. Nathan in charge

Nathan Ectine was strolling through the corridors of the Hub complex, accompanied by an armored Praetor. All around them were marks of conflict: spent shells on the floor and dirty walls scarred with bullet holes and snap gun burns. They were checking for gaps in the security coverage, verifying that the men were stationed where they were supposed to be.

Stephen had run off with most of their military to search for Petrarch Davius, leaving him with only thirteen Praetors and a few hundred deputies. At first it was nice to be left behind, but now he was pretty sure anything would be preferable to the mind-numbing monotony of checking security schedules and overseeing engineers.

If only he could be as careless as Adrian; the moment Stephen was gone, Adrian and Alistair had vanished. The last he saw them, they were dressed in full armor and mounting a pair of Octavian motorcycles. They were probably descending into the undercity on a search of their own but if it turned out they were on a binge in the Grivet quarter, that wouldn't be surprising either. Whichever it was, it would probably be days before he saw them again.

A voice interrupted his thoughts; it was one of the officers back in the control room.

"Sir, there has been a sighting of a vehicle attempting to enter the Davius research bastion, possibly Davius."

"Oh," he said, "very good."

Perhaps they would have this all sorted out soon, after all.

There was a pause and he was already thinking about whether he'd like to return to Ectine Tower or just find a bed to lie down on here at the Hub when the voice returned.

"Captain Ramel requests a team of Praetors be immediately dispatched from our location to intercept the fleeing suspects."

Nathan looked at the Praetor beside him.

"Can you handle that?"

"Yes, sir, I can have five men on the street immediately."

"Good. Do it!"

The man saluted quickly and then hurried away.

Nathan was alone. He looked up the hallway in one direction and then back down the other. Without the Praetor, there wasn't much reason to continue the sentry review. He was so tired, all he wanted to do was sleep, but that probably wasn't a wise thing to do, not yet at least. Maybe he'd return to the control room and grab a console; he could practice bakkrat while he waited for news of Petrarch Davius' capture.

"Sir," a junior officer was addressing his superior, as Nathan entered the command center, "The system has flagged notification of an artikin entering the East tower."

Nathan joined the superior officer at the junior's side and the three of them watched on a monitor as a skull-masked artikin stalked across the polished floor of an entry foyer.

"The system admitted him?" The senior officer asked.

The junior officer touched a second monitor and read the readout. "Yes, he passed confirmation."

"So then why is he flagged for notification?"

"I don't know sir."

The view changed to a second camera. The black figure of the artikin was distant but approaching now. A tiny graphical display in the corner showed his location as a moving red dot on a three dimensional representation of the Hub complex.

"That has to be Alistair," Nathan said. "He and Adrian left in a hurry yesterday; Adrian must have sent him back for something."

"Would there be a reason for his being marked?" the senior officer asked.

"I wouldn't be surprised if Stephen marked them both –there's been some brotherly animosity lately."

"What should we do, sir?"

"Just keep your eye on him and let me know if he does anything strange. When it comes to my brothers, I try not to get involved."

"Yes, sir."

It felt good to contribute, and now it was time for a little reward. Nathan found an unused console and opened a bakkrat program. Hopefully, his brother's artikin would be quick; he really didn't want to be interrupted again until after this whole thing was resolved.

### 3. Purvos' entrance

Purvos was completely cool; as the artikin of the pater familias, fear was unacceptable. His discovery would lead to torture and death but his heartbeat did not betray the slightest fluctuation. He proceeded directly into the Ectine-held Hub.

The rough weaves of his midlar swished faintly as he walked. His black fingers were poised in half-fists and long black claws, two to each arm, glossy, and razor sharp, hung below his knees. His expressionless dull black lenses glowered from beneath a bone-white faceplate and, between sharp hollow cheeks was an evil smile of bared teeth.

He reached the lifts and entered one. This was a former Davius sector and it was a lift he had ridden many times before. The only difference was this time the cameras would be watching him carefully.

The doors opened and he emerged into a dimly lit hall – the power grid on this floor was damaged and the Ectines had yet to restore the lights.

Much of the east tower was still in disarray after the previous day's fighting. It would probably be a few days more before the Ectines found the hidden security breaches, the 'back doors' coded into the Davius sectors of the Hub.

He was now in what had once been the heart of the Hub's Davius sectors. The halls were nearly empty. He passed a single researcher and the man shrank from his presence.

At the end of a hall, he turned into a lobby and boarded another lift. The floor of the lift was stained with drops of blood, probably where a wounded Davius guardsman had crouched not long ago, falling back from the fighting on the lower levels.

He was almost there now; even if they tried to stop him, there was now a chance he would succeed in his mission. At the seventh floor, the lift opened revealing a small room with security doors in the opposite wall. The doors were marked with the Davius double-swords – one on each door. Purvos crossed the room and the doors opened at the recognition of his genetic fingerprint. They revealed a lobby leading to the former Davius intelligence center.

As the doors closed behind him, two Ectine deputies in navy blue uniforms raced into view at the other end of the lobby. One of them wasn't wearing a helmet and his expression betrayed worried confusion. The two men positioned themselves side by side and the helmeted one held up his palm.

Purvos strode up to just beyond the man's reach. Behind them, the intelligence center was visible. Teams of scientists and technicians were hard at work decoding the Davius safeguards – the first step toward reuniting the city systems. There was a faint voice buzzing from a speaker somewhere in the room.

"This is a—" the deputy with the helmet began to say, but Purvos interrupted, both pairs of combat claws thrust forward, piercing visor, flesh and bone. Striding between their slumping bodies, he jerked his arms upward to dislodge the blades.

The scientists, some of whom had paused to see who had arrived, began milling about in a panic. Purvos drew two pistols and fired them indiscriminately into the crowd. The guns were adjusted to a low penetration setting, hard enough to break human flesh but soft enough to not do more than scratch the monitors and console plates.

He made his way to a large console station at the other end of the room and holstered the guns. The room was peaceful now and any surviving scientists had either escaped out the door or were playing dead. There wasn't much time – soon more Ectines would come, more than he could handle.

Standing at the console, he manipulated the touchscreen monitor. It accepted his passcode as well as his genetic signature and after a minute of rapid typing, complied with his request to activate the Davius killswitch.

In the next moment, every piece of Davius equipment across the entire Hub complex simultaneously locked down. Security cameras, processors, comm. consoles, sentry guns, door locks and computer support, all went off-line. The Hub was exposed to attack.

### 4. Killswitch

The signal that the killswitch had been thrown came to Petrarch, cramped in an undercity crawl-space beneath the West tower. He thanked the saints and then detonated an ICP grenade planted just up the tunnel. The searing, plasma pulse evaporated a section of the lowest basement-level floor.

It was a miracle Purvos had been able to walk right into the Hub. Colin was fairly certain the security systems would admit him, yet it had still been a huge risk having the entire operation dependent on his success.

Now the real challenge began. They had less than fifteen minutes to secure the Hub. Less than fifteen minutes to take the control room, destroy the Ectine communications deck and establish a perimeter before Ectine reinforcements began to arrive.

To accomplish this, they were split into three groups: Colin and Valos were leading the largest group, a team of two hundred guardsmen and crawlers, in a direct assault on the control room; Jacob and Isaac were leading the second group, a team of one hundred gendarmes, in an assault on the communications deck; and he was personally leading the third group, mostly crawlers and a few guardsmen, in a diversion positioned to draw the Ectines away from the control room.

A lot depended on Colin and Jacob but he had to believe his allies would rise to the occasion. If they didn't, they'd all be dead by evening.

Outside the northeast corner of the Hub a fleet of vehicles came together from the general traffic to form a single mass like a cloud forming from thin air.

Vehicles of all makes – trucks, cars and vans, civilian and commercial – gridlocked in the street. Doors opened and the square was filled with gendarmes dressed in black and heavily armed. A pair of Ectine deputies stationed outside the front doors scrambled back inside as the sentry guns went off. But the Senchions were numerous, and almost as soon as the guns began to fire, they were silenced, blasted apart by rockets from the crowd.

They charged through into the North lobby, cutting down any deputies inside with overwhelming numbers.

In the midst of the attack, wearing combat goggles and black midlar fatigues, were Jacob and Isaac, accompanied by a single gendarme. Their companion had a metal box strapped to his back with an insulated tube protruding from one side. It ended in a metal rod, which the man held in his hand.

Isaac kept close to the gendarme, using his own body to shield him from the worst of the conflict. Jacob stayed a few steps ahead, observing his biscuit and glancing up frequently to connect the information on the small screen with the reality at hand.

"Through that doorway, we've got two more!" he barked at some nearby gendarmes and pointed to a door. The gendarmes, expressionless behind their goggles and midlar masks, stormed through the doorway.

Jacob didn't wait for the conclusion. There was no time; they were heading north, approaching the old Ectine checkpoint where the defensive guns would still be working. The sooner they got there, the less time the Ectines would have to organize a solid defense.

"Come on!" Jacob shouted, waving at Isaac to keep up. He broke into a quick jog.

At the end of the hall a Senchion strike team was huddled around a blown-out doorway. One of their number was injured and laid out to the side while the others exchanged sporadic fire with a heavily armed enemy beyond the threshold.

"Sentry guns sir," one of the men shouted, after spotting Jacob. "A mess of Ectines too, they seem to be filtering down from the upper levels."

Jacob checked his biscuit; beyond the doorway the enemy was held up in a well-defended position on the opposite end of an open room. The hall ahead ran along beside the length of the room. He counted how many men he had at his disposal; at least twenty, and more were still arriving.

He addressed them.

"Get every RPG and Viper up to this opening, but hold fire for my command! You," he motioned toward the nearest soldiers, "and Isaac, follow me. We need to get closer."

They moved quickly along the hall, two gendarmes leading, two following, Jacob, Isaac and the gendarme with the metal box in the middle.

Just before the passage turned away at a right angle, they stopped. Jacob sent the four gendarmes around the corner where they would have a clear line of fire if anyone tried to approach from that direction, then checked his biscuit. They were directly even with the Ectine fortified position; it was just on the other side of the wall.

"Here," he pointed at the wall. "The Ectines are fortified right through here."

"Fire," Isaac declared, stepping back and ushering forward the gendarme. The man raised the metal rod and, holding it inches from the wall, depressed a button. Nothing appeared to happen.

"Is it working?" Jacob asked.

"It should be," Isaac said.

Behind them, they heard the four gendarmes begin to shoot.

Jacob looked back just in time to witness a spectacular eruption of blood and dust. His men and the wall behind them were violently disintegrating.

"We've got a Praetor!" He shouted and turned to face Isaac. His cousin was petrified. The man with the tube was still pointing it at the wall but his goggled eyes were on Jacob.

"Keep it up!"

He needed to buy as much time as possible. Stepping towards the dusty blood-soaked corner, he blindly threw a pair of fragmentation grenades, one after another, down the adjoining hall. Even as he did it, he knew it was an empty gesture; the grenades' proximity-triggered detonations could wreak havoc on deputies, but an Ectine in vulcar armor would hardly notice.

He tried to imagine the other side of the wall where the Fear was working its magic in the adjacent room. The two dozen Ectines, hidden behind vulcar-sheathed plates, sentry guns and defensive lasers, would be reaching a threshold of rational human behavior.

There is only so much discomfort, only so much anguish and torment, the human mind can endure before it responds with physical desperation. The first deputy to react might turn suddenly on the man beside him and release a full magazine of bullets into his gut. To the others, the gunfire would be like a trigger. Awash in tormenting neocortical beta waves, desperate, depraved, guiltless and agonizing, they would explode on each other: hacking, screaming, grappling and shooting, physically releasing their mental agony.

He watched his biscuit for signs of distress. There was nothing – the Deputies were holding perfectly still – and then, as if on cue, they all began to move at once.

"I think I might see some activity over there!" Jacob shouted, looking up from his biscuit. "It's working!"

"It should be!" Isaac shouted back, unable to pull his eyes away from the shattered and blood-stained corner.

They heard a sharp double-explosion as Jacob's grenades detonated.

"How long does it take?" Jacob pressed his cousin.

"Sixty seconds or so to start, double to kill!"

Jacob glanced back at the corner. How far had he managed to throw the grenades? Probably not very far.

"Fall back!" He shouted

The gendarme released the button and they fled back down the hallway as fast as they could run.

"Storm the room!" Jacob screamed into his biscuit. At the far end of the hall the men responded and piled through the doorway. He prayed to the saints that the Fear had worked.

"God's blood!"

Isaac's voice yelled right behind him. They were just reaching the open doorway at the end of the hall and, without even thinking, Jacob flung himself through. A moment later Isaac landed on top of him and they heard the rattling sound of smoker-fire fill the hall behind them.

Isaac scrambled to his feet and thrust himself against the wall beside the doorframe. Jacob glanced around in half a panic, looking for the Ectine sentry guns. But the gendarmes had already silenced them with rockets and viper cannons. The other potential threat in the room was the deputies, and he could hear them screaming pitifully from behind the barricades.

But there was still the Praetor. He looked back to the door just as the glossy red form of the Ectine appeared, caught up in a clinging cloud of sooty black smoke. The Praetor stepped through and Isaac, who was hiding just beside the door, thrust his rifle barrel up into the Ectine's throat. The gun barrel ,lodged just beneath the chin of his helmet and before the Praetor could react Isaac fired, splitting his midlar neck-sheath with a stream of bullets. The Ectine lurched back into the hall, collided with the opposite wall and collapsed.

Jacob watched the body for a moment but it didn't move. He glanced at Isaac; his cousin looked petrified. He stood and grabbed him by the shoulder. The contact seemed to snap him out of a trance. Isaac blinked a few times and then made eye contact. Jacob nodded reassuringly, but it wasn't necessary; Isaac's shock was already giving way to a flush of pride.

Jacob leaned back around the corner and looked for the gendarme with the Fear. He was sprawled out on the ground and the box on his back was mostly gone, blasted to pieces by the Ectine's smoker. Jacob's stomach tightened.

The Fear was a critical loss but there was nothing he could do about it now. They needed to move on to the Ectine communications deck.

He called the men together. With an icy grenade, they re-opened the sealed bulkhead blocking the way into the Ectine corridors and passed through.

### 5. Battle for the Hub

While Jacob was leading the strike against the Ectine communications deck, and Petrarch was coming up on the control room from beneath, Colin was leading the third, and most powerful prong of the attack, advancing on the control room directly, by way of the East tower. It was the easiest, most direct route: through an area that had previously been part of the Davius Hub. It was here that the Ectines' defenses were weakest, and really, it was here that they had the greatest chance of success.

Because of this, Colin was leading their strongest force; under his command were their blood artikins, Valos and Dimeos, as well as ninety Davius guardsmen.

They arrived much like the Senchions did, piling out of attack trucks and charging the Hub on foot but, at the East tower, there was no resistance. In fact, they did not encounter a single Ectine until they had crossed the entire ground floor and arrived at the former Davius control center security checkpoint. The sentry guns there were off-line but two Ectine Praetors and a couple dozen deputies were waiting for them.

The checkpoint area was a wide, almost circular room, with a giant Davius double-sword decorating the floor and kiosk-like stations lining the perimeter. This was the room that had been hit the hardest in the Ectine attack and the former Davius protected positions were heavily damaged. At the narrowest end was the entrance to the control room, and this was where the Ectines were waiting, pressed between two kiosks, but otherwise, lacking cover. As the Davius force entered the room, both sides immediately opened fire.

The blood artikins sprinted along the rounded edge of the room, behind the kiosks. Already bodies were dropping on both sides when they arrived at the Ectine position.

Colin held his breath as Dimeos arrived first, leaping from behind the final kiosk, aimed for the nearest Praetor.

The Ectine reacted, twisting his gun to intercept the sudden attack and opening fire with a stream of smoker bullets.

As if in slow motion, the artikin's body twisted with the impact and a spray of blood splattered over the surrounding deputies. Yet, despite the blow, he directed one of his claws into the visor slot on the Ectine's helmet and, falling forward, drove it in with all his weight. For a moment, the visor-lens seemed like it might hold but then the claw popped through and sunk in at least eight inches. The Praetor tumbled backward and Dimeos fell with him.

Colin's heart leaped, but a moment later Dimeos was up again and pouncing at the second Praetor, taking him from behind.

Valos hit the Ectines from the other side, carving into the deputies with ferocity.

"Charge!" Colin screamed, flooding the comm. line.

It was all happening so fast, and at short-range, the gunfire was brutal, splitting armor plates and ripping open midlar; all around him men were falling.

Dimeos was stabbing at the back of the second Praetor's neck. The Ectine twisted and deflected the attack with a shoulder plate. The artikin plunged his other claws into the Ectine's stomach. The tip of one blade caught on a ridge in the armor and, with a monumental effort, he forced the electrically enhanced spike into the three layers of vulcar plating. The Ectine thrust his elbow into the artikin's face. Powered by servos, the force was jarring, but Dimeos continued the pressure and a moment later the claw blade broke through, slid in heavily and struck the opposite plate at the Ectine's back. Dimeos swooned. His knees gave way and, and the two fell simultaneously.

The last Ectine deputy went down a few moments later and Colin rushed to find Dimeos' amongst the bodies. But, before he could reach his fallen artikin, a black hand grabbed him by the helmet and a white skull thrust itself into his face.

"We must press the attack!" Valos shouted and he drove Colin around in the direction of the control center.

Of course he was right, the mission was the top priority; if they failed, they all died. He pushed Dimeos from his mind as best he could and called Petrarch over the biscuit in his helmet.

"We're at the control center – moving in."

"Copy," came the response, "We have resistance here, but will attempt to press through to support you."

Despite the noise filters, the faint static of gunfire could be heard behind Petrarch's voice.

Colin raised his hand and signaled the men to adjust their weapons to low-penetration settings; they were entering the control room now and it was important that they didn't damage the instruments. Hopefully, there wouldn't be any Praetors inside.

The security doors to the control room were already ruined from the Ectine attack. It was a good thing too; only an ICP grenade could open such a barricade and Petrarch and Jacob had used their last two.

Valos led the way through the broken doors. Inside, only a small open lobby separated them from the rows of tall, narrowly-set banks of consoles and monitors. The lobby was only about twenty feet and beyond it a perimeter of armed scientists were waiting behind a low wall of waist-high consoles.

The Daviuses charged forward and a grenade erupted amongst them. Men were blasted in every direction but the charge continued. At the head of the attack was Valos, striking down Ectines with a crackling snap gun. He moved unpredictably and with super-human quickness and in a moment had reached the low wall the Ectines were using for cover. Tossing a smoke grenade ahead of him, he slipped over the top and vanished into the burst of darkness.

For the rest of them, advancing wasn't so easy. The Ectines were well-protected by the consoles, and with their assault guns set so low, it was hard to do any damage. To make matters worse, the return fire was brutal and, all around Colin, Davius men were falling. Yet, despite the tactical inequality, they were trained soldiers, while the Ectines were mostly civilians. One after another, the enemy did go down.

They pressed across the lobby and, just as they were about to reach the consoles and overrun the Ectines, Valos messaged Colin over the communicator.

"Retreat back to the foyer! There are five Reds headed in your direction."

Colin hesitated. They nearly had the room. It seemed a shame to give up now, and if Praetor reinforcements arrived, it would be much harder to make in a second attempt.

But Valos was serious. If he said fall back, there would be a good reason.

Colin gave the order to retreat. The Davius guardsmen fell back from the control room, into the outer foyer, and took cover between the kiosks. Two of them armed themselves with the smokers dropped by the Praetors Dimeos had killed. The guns were too strong to use in the control room but, out in the lobby, they would be an ideal answer to the heavy armor brought by Praetors. Colin ordered the men into two groups, one around each smoker, and placed the groups to either side of the entrance.

It was hard not to look for Dimeos. The possibility that his artikin was dead was nerve-wracking, but right now was not the time to find out.

A moment later, five Praetors burst through the doorway.

"Fire!" Colin shouted as loud as he could.

***

Aside from the central control room, the Ectine Communications Deck was the most important room in the Hub. If they were to prevent the Ectines from coordinating an immediate counter-attack, Jacob and his gendarmes would have to destroy the sensitive computer systems located there.

The Deck was nine floors up the tower and with only four elevators, they had to group into successive waves of twenty-four man strike teams to make the assent. Isaac was leading the first team up.

The lift-ride was painfully quiet. There were five gendarmes with Isaac and they were unmoving, each holding an assault rifle trained on the doors. The only sound was the gentle hum of the lift, pulling them upward. Isaac was armed with a grenade launcher and he held it tight in both hands.

There was a crackle on the open comm. line; the first elevator had reached the ninth floor. They heard frantic shouts and a chatter of gunfire. Isaac steadied his thoughts; aim and shoot, that was all he had to do. The lift slowed to a stop and a faint chime sounded on the other side of the doors. A moment later, they opened and he found himself looking directly into the holy ghost.

Perhaps it was the bright fluorescent lights flooding into the lift, or perhaps it was the rush of blood to his head as he sprang up from a kneeling stance, but whatever it was, it was brilliant, overwhelming, and divine and he felt overcome by a sense of weightless invincibility. Dashing into the lobby, he barely noticed the swirling din of bullets, gunfire, and shouts; instead, all was calm.

A single cloud of flash-smoke hung in the air between the lifts. The members of the first lift team were already strewn about the floor, mostly dead. Across the lobby, Ectines hiding behind a barricade of piled office furniture were shooting at them. He launched a grenade into the center of the barricade and the explosion thundered off the walls and scattered office furniture with a rolling fireball. The men from his elevator were close at his back, picking off Ectines as they staggered away from the burning rubble.

"Both sides!" someone shouted from behind. Isaac turned around. A gendarme from the first elevator, slumped and bloody, was propped up against the wall exchanging fire with an enemy hidden behind a second furniture barricade on the other end of the lobby. They had walked into a cross-fire!

Immediately bullets were striking the gendarmes behind Isaac. He didn't panic; the holy ghost was too strong. One of the gendarmes detonated a flash grenade at their feet and they were swallowed by instant smoky darkness. Isaac could no longer see, but his hand knew where the enemy was. He fired a grenade and then strolled after it. When he emerged from the smoke, the other lifts had arrived. Twelve more gendarmes were rushing the lobby, rifles blazing, and the enemy was taking heavy fire. He marched to the second barricade as the last Ectines were driven away. There was an assault rifle half buried under an office chair and he picked it up.

He heard gunshots and looked up. A civilian dressed in a white lab coat was shooting at him with an assault rifle. A penetrator round struck Isaac in the chest and knocked him back hard on his heel. He returned fire and tore apart the unarmored man with a spray of bullets.

The Ectine fell to the ground and Isaac checked himself; there was a hole in his midlar, close to the shoulder. It didn't seem to be bleeding; yet, despite the good news, his adrenaline was fading. The sounds of gunfire now seemed sharper and more threatening.

"I'm advancing on the Deck," he declared over his biscuit.

"Good," Jacob's voice came back. "You're doing well. You're close; do you have flash grenades for the entryway?"

Isaac saw the entrance; his cousin was probably worried about sentry guns on the other side, but first thing first, he needed to get the doors open.

He planted his feet and fired the grenade launcher. A grenade struck the doors with a loud explosion and blasted them open. A wave of heat rushed over him and the ceiling bloomed with a tongue of orange flame.

He moved to the wall beside the sizzling doorway and leaned out just enough to get an angle to toss a couple flash-smoke grenades through the opening.

"Smoke is deployed, should I wait for backup?"

Jacob was silent for a long moment.

"It's coming, but there's no time to wait, the deck is free of military personnel. Storm the room!"

Isaac took a deep breath. It was strange that Jacob had paused for so long but it wouldn't do any good to imagine how the situation might have turned against them. If the lifts had been locked down and he was cut off from the rest of the gendarmes, there was nothing left to do but press on anyway, before Ectine reinforcements arrived. Without another thought, he charged through the doorway.

***

At the Praetors stormed into the room and Colin yelled the command to fire, the air fluttered with an exchange of bullets.

All around him, Davius guardsmen were thrown back, bloodied and torn to pieces. But the two smokers, hidden anonymously amongst their ranks, had a damaging effect and the five Ectines found their vulcar armor degrading under the onslaught. An arcing flash of snapper fire ignited one of them, flooding through the gaps in his damaged plates. A second was decapitated by a lucky smoker round and the remaining three backpedaled a quick retreat into the control room, bowling over a group of armed scientists that was following to support their charge.

Valos was waiting for them. As the Praetors brought their battered bodies back into the control room, he opened fire with two snappers, one in each arm. From point-blank range the pulses of electric charge overwhelmed the gaps in the Praetors' weakened armor.

Two of the remaining three fell to the ground, but the last pivoted and aimed his gun. Valos leaped away and the Ectine fired into thin air, decimating a console and sending up a spray of sparks and shattered glass. Destroying a Hub console was an unforgivable act and the Ectine hesitated, just for a moment.

With blinding speed Valos dropped the snappers and crossed the space between them. The Ectine tried to fire but he was too slow. A black foot kicked down the gun barrel and Valos was on him, stabbing a combat claw into the elbow joint of his arm. The Ectine's hand fell slack and his smoker tumbled free. Valos swung the claws up, at the Ectine's neck but the Praetor clamped down his chin, and caught the blade. Valos slapped back the Praetor's face with his free hand, the blades slipped through and the last Praetor tumbled to the ground.

***

Nathan Ectine was boarding a Peregrine on the Hub roof; he wasn't going to wait around and find out if the Daviuses took the control room.

"We have trouble," came a communication from the Deck.

He didn't answer. If the Deck and the control room both fell to the Daviuses, the Hub was lost. Stephen would be very displeased. In fact, maybe Ectine Tower wasn't the best place to take the Peregrine; maybe he should go somewhere else and give Stephen time to cool off.

Nathan closed the door and fired up the engines to full power. He wondered if father would become involved now.

***

Isaac emerged at full tilt into a maze-like room of consoles and monitors. Three scientists were facing him, pointing wavering pistols. Before they could react to his sudden appearance, he leaned back on his heel and opened fire with both assault rifle and grenade launcher, lighting up the Ectine communications center with a tearing rumble of explosions. To finish the job, he pressed the detonator on an EMP grenade and flung it into the room. A moment later, as he dashed back out to the hallway, the room behind him was filled with a shower of sparks.

Citywide, all Ectine communications went unencrypted or lost and any direct links to the Hub were cut off completely. The darkness that had been growing was now complete – no family had been spared.

### 6. Congratulations

Petrarch and Jacob were seated across from each other at a small table in an office in the Hub's East tower.

It was almost 3:00 AM and the Ectines had only just withdrawn after more than half a day of relentless counterattacks.

There was nothing that could describe how Petrarch felt; his body was exhausted nearly to the point of collapse but every ounce of strength he had lost felt as if it were replaced with elation. He had done it; he had achieved something great. The expression on Jacob's face told the same story. The Senchion was talking fast and gesturing with excited hands.

"Then we dove through the doorway and – keep in mind, I had no idea if the sentry guns were still active – we just dove through without a second thought then jumped to our feet. Isaac threw himself against the wall next to the door and a moment later, there he was: this massive red Praetor! A thick black cloud is surrounding him and he steps through as if he hasn't a care in the world. Well Isaac's waiting and he shoves an assault gun right up in his neck and blows his head off! No more Praetor!

Petrarch laughed heartily, not because it was funny, but because it felt so good to be victors.

"I wish I could have been there. I was stuck, pinned down by a swarm of Ectines!"

"Once we've had a chance to rest, let's go after them! They're on the run. Let's not stop until we've completely destroyed them!"

Petrarch laughed.

"All in good time. But remember we tricked them to get the upper hand, they still overpower us. Outside the Hub, in a direct confrontation, we'd be destroyed."

Jacob looked disappointed.

"But we will get them," Petrarch added. "Once the Hub systems are fully unified, we can start feeding tactical information out to our allies. You can lead the war from the field always staying one step ahead of the Ectines."

"You mean, appear from nowhere, strike and then vanish?"

"Exactly, without access to the Hub, the Ectines are basically in the dark. We'll keep hitting them until they're worn down to nothing."

"I like it!"

The door to the office opened and Isaac came in. He saw Petrarch and froze.

"Isaac!" Jacob shouted and jumped to his feet. "We were just discussing how we'll finish off the Ectines once and for all!"

"Let me guess," Isaac said, "we'll do all the work and risk our necks while the Daviuses hide out in here."

Jacob frowned.

"We'll no, I mean, someone has to stay here and defend the Hub – if we lose it, we're all done for."

"Of course, but then what happens after the Ectines are defeated? The Daviuses will have no more use for us and we'll be weak from fighting."

"Isaac," Petrarch said. "We're equal partners in this. I owe the Senchions too much to do anything to hurt you."

"Petrarch has proven he is a capable leader," Jacob said.

"No Jacob, you are equals!"

Jacob smiled, "We are strongest if only one leads." He paused for a moment and then continued, "I don't want to lead this – I can be more effective if I focus on Senchion affairs."

Isaac stalked out of the room.

"Don't mind him," Jacob laughed. "He'll come around once he sees how easy it is to kill the Ectines."

Jacob's expression was full of glee. But the arrival of Isaac had somehow changed everything. Now all Petrarch saw when he looked at Jacob was an animal, ravenous for the kill.

What would happen after the Ectines were defeated? Jacob would be battle-hardened and accustomed to victory. How difficult would it be for him to set aside the urge to fight? How long would it be before Isaac convinced him that the Daviuses were no different from the Ectines?

Isaac was right; a lack of trust could ruin the alliance, and it could come from either end.

### 7. Lady Davius' request

Lady Davius was alone with her artikin in the cabin of a limousine. Sitting across from her, like a mirror of calmness, Lucietta was a reminder of grace and fearlessness.

"Fear is self-defeating," she said and Lucietta touched her reassuringly.

So much had changed in the last twenty-four hours, creating so much uncertainty. And now there was the message from Delphus, the director in the research Bastion. He was confident enough in the Phoenix Project that he was prepared to capture further safeguards for the rest of the inner family; whatever that meant.

Her deceased husband had been adamant the process would cheat death. Of course, now that he was gone, it was hard to imagine anything would change that. But maybe it could still work for Petrarch.

She took a deep breath. It was all slipping away, completely out of her control. Her only hope was that maybe she could still save her son.

Her son. Rather than turn himself over to the safety of the senate or even to hide in some obscure corner of the city, Petrarch had led an insane attack directly against the Ectines in the Hub. It was a miracle he wasn't dead already.

Lady Davius stifled a sob. Lucietta leaned forward and dabbed her eyes with a kerchief.

It appeared that any chance of talking some sense into Petrarch was gone. Was this her last hope then –convincing him to go to Delphus, before it was too late?

The limo raced through a checkpoint. They were entering the Hub perimeter and many weapons would now be trained on them. Lucietta looked out the window. The car slowed and entered a tunnel leading under the West Tower. They came to a halt in a garage. Davius guardsmen were waiting and courteously escorted them out of the vehicle and through a door. They were searched and scanned and then taken to the control center, where they were asked to wait in a small lounge. Lady Davius was used to waiting, even if she didn't like it.

Soon Petrarch arrived.

"Mother, it's so good to see you safe," he said and they hugged.

She wanted to be firm and business-like but, touching him, it was all she could do to hold back tears.

"Please be careful," she said in his ear."

Petrarch hugged her tight then held her out at arm's length.

"The worst is over now. I'm safe here; I can direct our forces from inside the Hub. We have the upper hand and once we wear down the Ectines this will all be over."

"Did anybody die?"

Her question was flat and not nearly as accusatory as it could have been, but Petrarch looked like it was the last thing he wanted to hear and he released her from his grip.

"Of course people died."

He didn't elaborate.

"I mean, people we know – were any blood members of the family killed?"

He gave her a pained look and then said abruptly, "Purvos died. He was our only chance at breaking down the defenses. It was an honorable death, for the good of the family."

Lady Davius averted her eyes. It was the artikin of a dead man, so, really, you weren't supposed to care. But she never should have agreed to let him have Purvos. Sure, it sounded like a good idea at the time – someone to watch after her son – but this had always been the inevitable outcome, hadn't it? A suicide mission to wipe away his father's memory.

"Dimeos nearly died as well," Petrarch added, "but he's recovering now. Overall, we did very well. I only wish we could have had the opportunity to save Captain Zeit and Davius Place. I hear some of his men survived, so we can only hope they make their way here."

"Petrarch, this is reckless. No one knows how this fighting will turn out. Come to the Senate with me. We'll be safe. Your Uncle is already there, and he's been perfectly protected."

"My uncle is their secondary target – he is safe because the Ectines are currently too busy with me to take on the senate. Don't let them delude you, mother; the senate can't stop the Ectines. The Hub is the safest place I can be right now."

"No," she said and squeezed his hand, "we can unite with them. These Davius soldiers you have here, they can work together with the senate – the senate wants to work with us."

"I'm sorry," he said, "I won't do it. The Hub is my advantage and I'm much too invested now to give up. You have to trust me. I'm not the boy everyone still thinks I am. Just watch; the Davius name will be vindicated."

"Petrarch, these Senchions aren't what you think. They can't be relied upon – none of the other families can."

"And the senate can?"

"Davius isn't ruined yet; our family might be shaken, but the Davius political institution is a more difficult creature to kill. Half of the senate is on our side; don't you see what you'd be giving up if you turn your back on them?"

"Maybe the old system is already dead."

She sighed, turned away and walked to the couch where Lucietta was sitting. He was too young. None of this was really his fault; he was just acting out what he thought was expected of him. It was her own fault for not preparing him better.

"Then, I suppose there is little point in arguing your uncle's request, is there?" she said.

"My Uncle has a request?"

"Yes," she smiled ironically. "He is requesting that you surrender the Davius military to his charge."

Petrarch folded his arms.

"Yes, there would be little point in arguing that."

"Petrarch, why don't you let Otto take the risks for now – the Ectines are looking to kill someone, why not let that be your uncle?"

"Because, there is more at stake than my life or his. The entire family – the Davius legacy – is at risk."

"You sound just like him."

"Who?"

"Your father. He described the project at the Bastion that way; as a safeguard to the family legacy." Petrarch looked confused. "It's a shame you two didn't speak more – you'd know what I'm talking about."

"Fine," his voice was cold, "are we done here?"

"It was a project at the Bastion, something top secret; he had Delphus working on it for months, maybe even years."

"What are you talking about?"

"It's supposed to cheat death; he called it the Phoenix Project. Delphus just contacted me and told me it's ready."

"The Phoenix Project?" Petrarch stared at her flatly.

A tear was threatening to force its way out and she fought it back.

"I suppose I can't expect you to understand what I'm going through, what fear gnaws at my mind, what apprehension clouds my thoughts day and night. All I am asking is that you take this precaution for my sake; that you go to Delphus and you capture for me."

"Capture? Capture what?"

"I don't know," she said, feeling exhausted. "That's just what your father called it when he spoke about the project. He said that once he captured, he would have nothing left to fear."

"That's seems odd, doesn't it?"

"I don't know, I don't know."

Lucietta came to her side.

Petrarch couldn't be convinced, but even worse, what reason was there, really, to believe that the process worked in the first place? They'd both be dead soon: her husband and her son.

Lucietta began stroking her hair.

Petrarch watched them for a moment, then shook his head and left the room.

### 8. Anticipation

The second day of occupying the Hub was both good and bad. It was good that the Ectines were nowhere to be seen and the Senchions were able to leave the compound without incident.

The bad news didn't arrive until about mid-day. Reports started to come in; Jacob was attempting to organize the Grivets and Barclays but the two families were fighting each other. Undercity gangs from both sides were competing to fill the power vacuum left in the former Ectine and Davius districts.

And inside the Hub, things weren't exactly going well either.

Petrarch's life seemed to have had turned into a single continuous rush from one place to another; first to help oversee engineers poring over the informational systems, then on to check with officers defining the defensive perimeter, followed by technicians repairing the damaged sentry guns, and then back to the engineers to start it all over again.

It was non-stop all day. Everywhere they were understaffed and there were questions and almost always the answers were beyond his expertise; things like how to prioritize the biometric filters on the sentry network, or where to find replacement power cells for the defensive guns? It was tedious, tiring, and even a little demoralizing.

And, to make things worse, he was having trouble staying focused. While he should have dedicated his thoughts completely to each problem in turn, he kept thinking about Jacob and Isaac. Jacob was bull-headed, rash and likely to grow bored if their offensive stalled for long, and Isaac hated the Davius family so much he wouldn't rest until he had convinced his cousin to turn against them.

But what could he do? Now that they were out there and he was in here, he could feel his influence slipping. Would it take weeks, or just days for Jacob to grow tired of fighting Ectines and chasing after unresponsive Grivets and Barclays?

The only solution he could think of was Judith. She would understand the importance of staying focused, of believing in the alliance through the tedious weeks that followed. Once the Ectines regrouped and started attacking, she wouldn't blame the Daviuses. Would she?

By the day's end he couldn't think of anything else. He felt defeated by the endless questions he couldn't answer and tormented by the doubts lingering over the Senchions. He needed to see Judith. More than just talk to her, he needed to see her face to face, to convince her that this was serious and that the entire future of the city relied on her ability to manage her brother. But to do that he would have to leave the Hub.

The Ectines would be watching for anyone coming or going. Of course, just that morning, all of the Senchion forces had departed without much trouble. Could he do the same? All the evidence implied that the Ectines were spent, exhausted and regrouping. Perhaps now was a good opportunity to sneak outside. It might even be the best opportunity he could ask for. Once the Ectines regrouped, it would probably be quite difficult to do much of anything.

As the evening grew late, it became clear that he had to go. There were other people better qualified than him to oversee the defense of the Hub, but preserving the alliance – no one else could do that. Leaving the Hub wasn't exactly a good idea, but staying felt like suicide.

### 9. Rat Trap

The Barclay priest wore black robes beneath a circular white mantle draped over his shoulders. His features were grim but the corners of his eyes hinted at a secret suppressed glee. There were two women with him, young nuns in the service of their lord, and the three of them were standing in the center of a lavishly decorated room.

"Brant Corelline was an opulent man," the priest said. "This was how an Ectine prefect lived. This is his excess."

The priest held his hands stiffly at his sides but his head moved slowly to take in the room: mahogany desks, bronze statues, gold plaques and oil paintings, lush carpets on the floors. The Ectines had abandoned the undercity in a rush, leaving perfectly good facilities like this one vacant.

"Are we alone?" one of the nuns whispered, leaning toward him, her fingers toying with a tight girdle through the fabric of her robe.

"Yes," he said, "I have positioned the guards at the far entrances. The building is virtually abandoned. The Grivet rabble gave up at the first sight of blood. This entire district is ours. The Barclays have been long prepared for this moment. The Ectine decadence could not sustain."

He slipped a short rider's crop from his robes and held it before him in a stiff hand. The nuns reacted with a tightening of their postures and one of them inhaled audibly.

"I can feel the iniquity of this room; the temptation it exudes," he said. "We must pass it through our systems if we are to master sin."

They watched him eagerly.

He turned to face them and began to chant.

"Let the power of evil pass through my body, such that I may know it and fear it not. Let the baseness of my body taint not my soul."

He repeated and the women mouthed the words.

A looming black figure strode into the room. The nuns whirled to face it and the priest held up his crop defensively.

The figure's bleached skull face smiled at them maniacally and long black claws hung loose at its sides.

"How quaint," it spoke to them. "If only there was time to learn your ritual, I think I might find it enjoyable."

"Hellfire and brimstone take you, aberration!" the priest shouted.

Adrian was watching from the shadows; he felt his blood thrill to the man's powerful but desperate voice. Alistair moved along the perimeter of the room, keeping his distance from the Barclays, gradually passing around and behind them. The silly creatures were too conditioned to offices and orders to catch the ploy; they backed away from Alistair predictably. Except for the man – he stood his ground – but that was just as good.

When he had gone far enough to block the quarry's escape through the opposite door, Alistair gave the signal. Adrian strode into the room, as casually as a full suit of black vulcar armor permitted.

"Adrian Ectine, my good father" he introduced himself to the priest, effecting a slight bow.

"You have no place here!" the man thundered.

The priest really had a remarkable voice, one that had no doubt carried him up through the ranks of the Barclay family institution; Adrian paused a moment to appreciate it before he replied.

"Actually, I believe I have every right to be here. You see, I am an Ectine, and this building belongs to my family." He pointed to a large picture of the Ectine ram on a tapestry hanging from the wall.

"Should you harm us, you will never escape here alive!"

"Oh, I think we'll manage," Adrian chuckled good-naturedly. "Now, on to business; I believe your family has given its allegiance to my sworn enemy."

"That's preposterous! The Barclays owe allegiance to none!"

"I wish you could see me smile," Adrian said, stepping nearer to the priest. "There's really no need for negotiating semantics; we both know you're sufficiently guilty. I'm going to deliver your punishment and then leave. You see, we're needed up above, but I just couldn't bear the thought of abandoning the undercity without catching at least one rat that's come to feast on my family's banquet."

The women trembled.

"Don't worry, ladies, given your familial proclivities, you might even enjoy what I have in store for you."

Alistair had moved up silently behind the priest and, in that moment, seized him. The Barclay struggled helplessly. Adrian stepped forward and frisked his robes. He found a miniature snapper and took the gun, fixing it to a magnetic clasp on his armor. He then removed a syringe from a small case attached at his leg. With the priest eyeing him spitefully, Adrian pierced his skin with the needle.

The priest bellowed and thrashed against Alistair's binding arms. Adrian injected the opiate and then stepped back.

"Feel free to make as much noise as you like. Alistair there likes it when you're loud. Me, I don't really notice, to tell the truth."

He walked to a desk and set down the syringe, then removed his helmet and placed it beside the needle. He smiled at the two nuns and released the gauntlet pieces from his arms. He set the gauntlets down on the table and activated the release on his breastplate; the upper half of his armor loosened and fell open.

"The anticipation is killing me," he said to the women. "Which one of you wants to go first?"

The priest gurgled angrily but the drugs were already retarding his speech.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry Father, I've already decided I'm going to do you last."

The women looked genuinely terrified and there was little hope in expecting them to say anything. Adrian continued removing his vulcar, picking off and setting down pieces until he undid the final release and stepped out of his leg armor. Now he was dressed only in a black secondskin. He strode to a small end table and swept it clear. The contents crashed loudly to the floor.

Behind him, he had left a clear route open between the nuns and one of the doorways. He turned back to face them; they were eyeing the possible path of escape. He let out a hearty laugh.

"Go ahead."

The women were motionless.

He looked to his artikin and nodded at the nuns. Alistair released the limp priest and moved swiftly to the women. Adrian began peeling off his secondskin as his artikin grabbed the women by their arms and led them forcibly to the table. He thrust one to the ground and with a quick motion and powerful hands he stripped the second of her robes. Other than a tight black girdle and knee-high stockings, she was naked and he bent her body over the cleared table. Adrian stepped free from his secondskin and moved to stand behind her but Alistair thrust out his hand, caught him by the chest, and blocked his progress.

"What?" Adrian demanded with irritation.

The white skull mask stared back at him.

"What is it? Did you want a turn?"

"I think I'm well over-do."

The woman watched them over her shoulder, her exposed body goose-pimpling all over.

Adrian couldn't help but grin.

"You god-damned melodramatic – how about this; we'll go full exchange after I'm through here?"

"For how long?"

"Twenty-four hours?"

Behind the mask, Alistair considered for a moment and then nodded. He withdrew his outstretched hand and the nun caught her breath.

## Act IV – Pater Familias

### 1. Quade's gambit

Senator Terrell Quade was waiting alone on the broad podium of the Senate chamber. The expansive room was where the Senate debated its daily business. Today it was empty.

Quade had placed three chairs on the podium and was sitting in one of them, anxiously watching a comm. monitor mounted in a near-by lectern.

"The Daviuses have arrived," a voice on the other end of the comm. line announced.

Quade stood up,

"Daviuses? How many of them are there?"

"Two sir, Otto Davius and the lady Ileen, plus their personal guard."

Quade sprang from the podium and raced to the senate recorder's desk. There were a few extra chairs there and he hoisted one up over his head and dashed back to the podium, tossing the chair ahead of him before climbing after it.

He just finished arranging the new chair with the others when the Daviuses entered. Otto and his wife, followed by a pair of Davius guardsmen, came down the central aisle between the ranks of empty wooden desks. Otto was a cowardly man with a petulant mouth and his wife was a tight-lipped anorexic. They made his skin crawl but, as they stepped onto the podium, Quade gestured to their seats and thanked them for coming to see him. He hated them: he hated their family and the war that they had drug his city through for the last twenty years, but there was no time to dwell on that now.

They seated themselves and the guardsmen took up positions behind the chairs. The Daviuses were twenty minutes late. Quade took a deep breath and cut right to the reason why they were there.

"Your nephew will not be able to hold the Hub for long. The Ectines will overpower him and re-take it."

"Of course," Ileen said.

Quade continued.

"The fighting will almost certainly cause irreparable damage to the central computers. Computers we depend upon for our food, water, air and power. This conflict is now bigger than any family dispute. We need to end it before it destroys us all."

"Petrarch has brought only shame to the Davius name." Otto replied, "You must understand that I regret this turn of events more than anyone."

"I do, but I do not mean to say that we are already ruined. The situation is not yet entirely hopeless. I still see an opportunity."

Otto grimaced and his wife sneered, "It's a disaster, there are no opportunities."

Actually, for Quade, Petrarch's attack was the best thing that could have happened. With Petrarch inside, the situation was at a standstill and that gave the Senate an excellent opportunity to become involved.

"The Hub can be retaken," Quade said, "but it must be done quickly. In a drawn-out fight, collateral damage is certain. Petrarch could even sabotage the systems deliberately if he sees himself losing. But if the attack is overwhelming, if we hit him with so many men he simply can't fight back, the battle could end before it even begins. But for this to be accomplished we would need a huge force, much greater than any one family. Even the Ectines could not hope to do it alone."

"Get to the point." Ileen snapped.

"We must combine our forces. The Civilian Strike Force, your loyal Davius Guard and the Ectines must all attack together."

Otto's eyes bulged from their sockets.

"Unite the Davius Guard with Ectines? Are you insane?"

"Far from it. Bear with me for a moment. No one benefits from a damaged Central System. The Ectines must understand this just as much as you and I. We also all agree that Petrarch and his mercenary army cannot be allowed to go on occupying it, so we have a situation that must be resolved."

Otto nodded and Ileen twiddled her long fingers.

"That's why I have invited Stephen Ectine to meet us here."

Otto stood up quickly from his chair.

"Please, Otto, there's no cause for alarm. He wouldn't dare attack anyone here in the Senate building. Even Stephen understands that the Ectines are vulnerable at the moment. For now, we have the upper hand. Please sit down."

Otto eyed the room suspiciously, as if he expected the Ectines were already present and hiding somewhere. Quade forced a reassuring smile and Otto cautiously retook his seat.

"So what do you plan to tell him when he arrives?" Ileen asked.

"I will offer him our alliance in exchange for joint supervision of the Hub."

"Joint supervision?" Otto repeated.

"Yes, because we shall play equal roles in its recovery, we shall take equal roles in its management: Davius, Ectine and Civilian Senate. It was never the intention of the founders to make this city a prison controlled by a select few."

"I hardly need a reminder; I was one of this city's founders."

"Now Otto, let's not take liberties with our history."

"Liberties?"

"Each family had one representative, in the case of Davius, that was your brother."

Otto grimaced,

"Fine, then you must also believe that I have no control over my family's military, so what could I possibly offer your alliance?"

Quade had to stifle the impulse to agree.

"I apologize, I'm sure you command a respectable force, but what I should have said is that you're even more important than that. Your political presence is more influential than even the soldiers you control. Your support would symbolize a willingness of the Davius family to align itself with the Civilian Senate. The entire city would understand that the old grudges were being set aside for the greater good."

Otto was watching him suspiciously.

"Of course, the Ectines would never have to know exactly how many men are actually loyal to you and how many are with Petrarch. In the confusion of the attack, it will be impossible to say who threw down their guns out of loyalty to you and who were simply overpowered."

Otto's expression didn't change but he did sit forward.

"That may be true, but why would I want to help you?"

"Well, I should think you would be eager to settle the question of Davius succession once and for all. Petrarch may have some of your military and temporary control of the Hub, but currently that is all he has. If we are victorious, he will become your prisoner to deal with as you deem appropriate. You would become pater familias unopposed. The civilian senate has no interest in becoming involved in intra-family quarrels."

Otto smiled.

The monitor mounted in the lectern flashed to change displays and they all looked. It showed an image of thirty Ectine Praetors in blood-red armor marching up the marble stairs of the senate building.

Ileen leaped to her feet.

"They're here," Quade observed.

The Ectines marched through the grand entrance, passed up the hall between ranks of Civilian Strike Force soldiers, and arrived at the entrance to the senate chamber.

They all looked up from the screen. The doors at the opposite end of the room opened and the Praetors came in. They spread out along the back wall. Stephen entered last. Dressed in the black uniform of an Ectine officer, he appeared proud and imposing.

He proceeded alone down the aisle to the podium and, as he approached, his eyes picked apart Otto and Ileen. Quade rose to greet him.

"Lord Stephen, I'm glad you chose to join us."

"I never thought I would consult with a Davius," Stephen announced loudly to no one in particular.

"There are many ways in which this is a monumental occasion," Quade said. "This has the potential to be the first step toward a greater prosperity for our fair city. Peace, gentlemen, has been a long time in coming."

"Let me make this clear," Stephen interrupted, "he is in no manner my equal in this transaction and neither are you. We have something we all want, but this is not the foundation of an equal alliance. The real negotiations begin when his cur nephew is brought under control."

"Perhaps I am not wanted and I should leave," Otto declared from his seat.

Quade begged his patience.

"Otto please, each of us is needed if we are to succeed."

He said to them both, "The families have deep roots in this city and the Senate does not propose to sever them. When this is all over you will each retain your familial jurisdictions exactly as before. Only the Hub, which none of us now controls, will be jointly officiated by a triumvirate of Ectines, Davius and Senate."

Stephen's face remained proud and disinterested. Quade addressed him directly.

"Stephen, I do not doubt you are able to retake the Hub complex without our help, but I only wonder at what cost your victory would come? I think we can agree on what a disaster collateral damage to the central systems would be. Yet, unless Petrarch is completely and immediately overwhelmed, he will have the opportunity to damage the computers before he is defeated. We cannot allow one renegade to destroy something on which we all rely."

Stephen reddened and his lips tightened furiously. After a moment, he spoke.

"There may be some truth to that, but why would we need the help of this Davius, when he clearly holds no control over the military of his family?"

"Otto has some men still loyal to himself but, more importantly, his very presence will create confusion – a situation of torn loyalties amongst our enemy. He has managed to communicate with a faction of the men inside the Hub and they have sworn not to fight against their own."

Quade felt the blood thrumming in his head and adrenaline charged through his veins. If Stephen discovered he was lying, there was a good chance he would kill him. Stephen glowered. Uncertainty was probably the only thing that prevented him from doing it now. He would have to wonder: Might Otto actually be necessary to the success of this alliance? He had already failed once by letting the Daviuses take the Hub. With his reputation as a leader at risk, another failure was probably not an option.

"I'll want collateral," Stephen said at last. "As far as I'm concerned, a Davius is a Davius and, should he step out of line, I'll punish him like a Davius."

"That's not unreasonable," Quade conceded, and they both looked to Otto.

"What? What could I possibly have that you would want?" Otto's expression was severe; out of fear or disgust, it was hard to tell.

"Are you so destitute that you have nothing left of value to your name?" Stephen sneered.

Quade felt panic creeping up his spine. They were too close to fail! Why did Otto have to be so damn pathetic? Wasn't there something he could offer as collateral?

"Take me."

They all looked to the sound of Ileen's hollow voice.

It was a fascinating development. Everyone in the senate knew Otto would be lost without his wife, that she was his only source of political cunning. Stephen would know it too.

"Otto's better half," Stephen mused. He flashed a condescending smile. "Yes I'd be honored to have you as my collateral."

"Good," Quade said, "that's a start." He beckoned to Stephen to take the empty chair.

"Please, take a seat, there are many details left to discuss."

### 2. Return to the Senchion compound

Escaping the notice of the Ectines was as easy as the system predicted. The surveillance reports indicated that almost every Ectine in the city was back at Ectine Tower, and Petrarch was able to leave the Hub almost completely unobserved.

He left in the back of a truck and jumped out a few minutes later as it passed through a dark tunnel, half a mile from the Hub. He made his way quickly down a stairwell and into a subway tube, where the trains were still running. Dressed like a civilian, and armed only with a concealed mini snapper, he slouched his shoulders and fit in with the crowd.

He had called Judith last night, not really knowing what to expect, but when he suggested he had something they needed to discuss in person, she didn't hesitate to invite him over. Sure, Colin would say it was a bad idea, but Colin wouldn't have to know; he'd be in and out before anyone noticed.

He got off the subway in the Senchion quarter and walked the rest of the way to the Senchion family compound. He didn't know what he'd say when he got there, but he'd figure something out.

At the compound, he circled around and found the service entrance she had told him about. It was hidden between a pair of large truck-loading ramps and, at this time of the day, the area was abandoned.

The Senchions were still using DNA scanners and the door opened for his synthesizer, loaded with a genetic fingerprint she had sent him. He stepped through into a narrow, long room; on either side the room stretched out, empty and dark. Across from him, the opposite wall was stacked with plastic crates, full of supplies waiting to be delivered deeper into the compound, and standing right in front of him were two gendarmes with leveled assault rifles.

He remained still while one of the gendarmes stepped forward and administered a real DNA test. The man read the results and nodded his approval. They checked him for weapons and found his snappy. After investigating the gun, they handed it back and led him to a lift.

He and Judith had both agreed that it would be best if his presence was kept a secret – there were still individuals in the Senchion family that would be eager to notify the Ectines of his location. She had sent these two to escort him to a private location.

The gendarmes led him to a lift that took them down to the lowest basement level. The doors opened to reveal a long mustard-yellow passage. The gendarmes led him down the passage and left him at a door before turning back and returning to the lift.

Petrarch stared at the door. What would happen if anyone other than Judith discovered him here? Had she told anyone else he was coming? Did Jacob know? For the Saint's sake, what was he even doing here? He heard the lift doors close and glanced up the hall; the gendarmes were gone. He was alone.

It was too late to think about leaving. The safest thing – the only thing – he could do now was take a deep breath and open the door.

He turned the knob carefully and pushed it open. Inside was a small room with a table and a couch, warmly lit with low golden light. The sound of large machines droning gently seeped through the walls. Judith was seated on the couch, legs crossed dressed in black gendarme fatigues.

She smiled and motioned that he lock the door behind him. He did and then crossed the room, removing his smog goggles, and sat down beside her.

She smelled nice and her hair was down around her shoulders. His pulse had quickened.

"I have to admit," he said, "I feel kind of like a thief sneaking in here like this."

"Well, you're not stealing anything I hope."

"Maybe just a little of your time."

"So to what do I owe the honor? Last night you said it was important and now you have me quite curious."

"I, well – I don't, uh."

For a moment he considered making something up – giving her some other reason for visiting. But he couldn't think of anything, and what good would that do anyway?

"You have to know that this alliance is critical to my family. Without the Senchions, we're basically trapped in the Hub."

"Okay."

"So I – I'm concerned about Isaac."

"Oh?"

"And Jacob."

"Oh."

"It's just, with Isaac I can tell he wants nothing more than to see my family destroyed. To him, this alliance is about the worst thing that could have happened."

"And Jacob?"

"Jacob's been great, but I sense that things could change with him. I mean, what if Isaac convinces him I'm using your family to serve my own benefit?"

"That's what you're worried about?"

"Well, yeah, I can see in Jacob a desire to prove himself. It's, well honestly, it's the same thing I've seen in myself and I know it can be irrational."

A big grin crept across her face.

"I'm sorry," he said, "you probably think I'm being an ass."

"Actually, I was thinking how well you know my brother. But I don't see how his juvenile need to prove himself means he'll turn against you. Jacob is very loyal, almost to a fault; the Saints know he can go over the top 'protecting' me. But he trusts you and your biggest worry is probably that he does something rash in order to impress you. And Isaac – my brother and I have known Isaac since he was a little brat. Nothing he says is going to influence Jacob."

"Oh."

"Was that it?"

"Well..."

"And I was hoping you'd have some juicy bit of politics you needed to sort out."

He felt like idiot.

"Sorry."

"That's alright, next time you'll do better. Although I have to admit, I rather enjoy this."

"What?"

"Reassuring my allies."

He smiled.

They were sitting quite close together. There really wasn't anything preventing him from touching her, but that wasn't appropriate, was it? A mix-up with Judith Senchion was the last thing he needed right now, particularly when everything was going so well.

"The next time Jacob comes over to the Hub to talk business, you'll have to come with him," he said.

"I would like that."

"We've really done wonderful things with the place. Do you like exposed electronics? I've just gone wild with the stuff."

Her eyes crinkled and he leaned in a little closer; maybe he'd just see how she reacted to a change in proximity.

Judith's biscuit made a soft buzzing noise.

He leaned back.

"Yes?" she said and they heard Jacob's voice.

"We have a situation. The Ectines are on the move – it appears they might have formed an alliance with the Senate. Meet me in the Hall..." there was a pause, "where are you now?"

"I'll be right there."

She deactivated the communicator.

"You have to go."

"Okay," he said, picking up his goggles and standing. His own biscuit began buzzing against his skin. It would probably be one of the officers back at the Hub, calling to tell him about the Ectines.

She rose too and they seemed closer now, facing each other in the narrow space between the couch and the table. This was his last opportunity to make something happen.

He hesitated.

"So you'll come visit me in the Hub?"

"Sure," she nodded and glanced at the door. The moment had passed. He stepped back and quickly led the way out.

Outside, the hall was still empty.

"Go the way you came and they'll see you out."

He nodded and they parted – she hurried off in the other direction and he made his way back to the lift. The return up to the ground floor seemed to take an eternity; he had enough time to mentally replay the moment when they parted, worry about getting caught sneaking around, and then replay the moment again.

The lift doors opened and the two gendarmes were waiting for him in the shadowy loading room. He stepped out and the doors closed, leaving them in darkness.

For a few moments, all he could see were shadows. As the gendarmes led him away, his eyes adjusted and the loading platforms and stacks of crates gradually became visible.

They hadn't gone far when a small light turned on near the other end of the long room. His guides stopped and conferred quietly. They decided to proceed and the three of them continued, a little slower and more carefully than before.

They tried not to make any noise, and stopped frequently to listen. The access door where he had entered the compound was so close, yet so far away. It looked like a little less than thirty feet. Maybe he could make a dash for it. He could be outside before whoever else was in the room even realized what was happening.

Without warning, Jacob Senchion strode around from behind a stack of crates and stopped in front of them. The gendarmes stood up straight and one of them half-saluted. Petrarch's heart jumped into his throat.

"I knew it!" Jacob shouted in a loud burst, his voice choking off at the end as if his lungs had suddenly tightened.

Through the shadows Petrarch was just able to make out his face and the anger it expressed was alarming.

"Jacob," he said in the most diplomatic voice he could muster.

"It all makes sense, doesn't it? Going behind my back; taking advantage of my sister; that's all you wanted!" his voice croaked – twisted by emotion. The two gendarmes stepped back, as if uncertain of what was expected of them.

"Jacob, it's not what you think. I'm not hiding anything from you."

Jacob's face lurched in to within a hand's breadth of Petrarch's. For a moment their eyes were even and Petrarch could see the fury boiling out of control. A moment later Jacob jerked back and cocked his right arm.

Petrarch threw up his hands and caught the fist as it swung in. Jacob shifted to throw his left and Petrarch countered, striking Jacob square in the face with a quick jab. The Senchion staggered back and then fell down. The gendarmes pointed their rifles at Petrarch.

"No, let me," Jacob said and climbed to his feet, holding up a palm in their direction. He pulled a pistol from a holster at his leg and aimed it at Petrarch.

His back was to a stack of crates. There was nowhere to run.

"All this time I believed you and you made a fool of me..." Jacob was hoarse and he trailed off. Blood trickled from his nose.

"Jacob, don't! The Ectines are on the move, there's no time for this craziness. We need to be working together. Ask your sister – nothing happened!"

Jacob didn't respond. His lip was quivering and his finger was slowly squeezing on the trigger. His eyes were distant, as if he was waiting for it to happen unexpectedly.

Petrarch didn't really think through what happened next; he drew his snappy and fired it from the hip. A glaring bolt of electric energy crackled and ripped open the darkness. For a moment, six feet of coruscating white lightning terminated in Jacob Senchion.

It was gone in an instant but the residual image was burned in Petrarch's eyes. Wherever he looked, all he could see was the bent line stretched and throbbing over the blackness. The gun had been at its strongest setting – Jacob was almost certainly dead.

Somehow, he managed to make it to the door leading outside. The gendarmes were either blinded themselves or too dumbstruck to act. He shoved the door open, stumbled out and ran, still barely able to see, putting the Senchion compound as far behind him as possible.

When he reached the stairs to subway tube four blocks later, he remembered his smog goggles and put them on. Everyone would be hunting him now: the Ectines, the senate, his uncle and the Senchions. Even Judith would probably want him dead.

He could hardly breathe, and it wasn't just from running. Jacob was gone. Everything he was working towards was lost.

A killbot appeared above him without warning. His mind snapped to attention he and threw himself backwards as the scintillator flashed to life. Civilians emerging from the subway entrance turned and fled back down.

He scampered after them and the killbot pursued, spraying him with the beam. From twenty feet, it was like a rasping scathe across his back, shredding his skin and clothes.

At the base of the stairs the beam lost him for a moment as he dashed out into the subway platform. He stopped suddenly, turned, and dashed back beneath it as it came flying into view. The scintillator beam followed, bathing the concrete in a scraping, scratching shower of displaced matter. The sudden maneuver turned the killbot completely upside down and in a moment of disorientation, as it righted itself, it dropped down to head-height.

With his pistol gripped in both hands, still hot from its last discharge, Petrarch squeezed out a bolt of electricity from point blank range. The arc struck the robot with a loud 'pop' and the killbot's visual lens flew from its mounting. The robot immediately veered and struck the ground.

Without a second's hesitation, Petrarch dashed for an exit to the underway.

His mind was racing. They knew where he was. The expected routes of escape would be no good. He had to think and then rethink his next course, or they would catch him.

He was in Senchio, about two miles from the Wildmore district. But the Wildmore wasn't friendly anymore; he had given it up, along with every other Davius holding, in his bid for the Hub. His pickup wasn't for another hour and that was three stops down the subway line. Neutral ground was the best he could hope for. He needed to go somewhere unexpected. But first thing first, he needed to get out of the open.

A taxi passed by. Could he hail it? No, taxis weren't an option – they were too easily monitored. Beside him was a line of shops, still open for business. Could he hide inside? No, they'd find him. He could almost feel death drawing nearer. Just ahead, a man emerged from one of the shops and approached his car. Holding up his biscuit, the car chimed softly and unlocked. Petrarch was jogging and he slowed to a walk. The man opened the car door. Reaching out, Petrarch slapped the man's biscuit out of his hand and into the vehicle.

"Hey!"

He grabbed the man by the lapels and shoved him through the driver's-side door, then between the seats and into the back.

"God-damn it!" the man shouted and kicked him in the chest.

Petrarch settled back into the driver's seat, closed the door and drew his snappy.

"Stay calm and you won't get hurt."

Keeping the gun pointed in the direction of the back seat, he started the car, pulled around onto the street and accelerated away.

He drove to the edge of the Wildmore and stopped, about a quarter mile out. The neighborhood here was dark and out-of-the-way. If anyone saw the direction he left in, they would think he was making a run for the former Davius district.

The man watched him from the back seat as he opened the door and got out.

"I suggest you forget this happened, you'll be much safer, and not only from me."

The man nodded. Petrarch jogged to a crossroad and turned the corner. He activated his biscuit and called the Hub on a secure line; it was time to arrange a new pickup.

### 3. Nonnatus

Less than five minutes later Petrarch reached the subterranean cobblestone plaza where he had first met Jacob just six days before. The ancient church, Nonnatus, loomed from the shadows, covered in gargoyles watching from their stony perches. It wasn't an inviting building, but he couldn't think of any better alternatives.

Above the thick wooden doors, the statue of St. Nonnatus gazed down sightlessly, a bolted lock sealing his lips. Hunching low and whispering the prayer of forgiveness, Petrarch pushed open the door, just enough to let himself in.

It was pitch dark inside; the sisters must not have been in that morning. He hesitated and stared into the blackness. Something felt wrong here. It was nothing definite, just a foreboding sensation, as if a lost soul was out of place.

Was someone else here? Could he still be in danger? Standing beside the doors, he felt exposed. He let them swing closed and slipped into the shadows.

It was dark along the perimeter of the church, but not completely; muddied pools of light – dirty ochre and blue – filtered through the grimy stained-glass above to land on the stone floor. Only in the center of the nave was the darkness perfect and there his eyes lingered as he edged through the gallery, touching from one crusty pillar to the next, moving as silently as possible.

The slightest shuffle – something brushing over the dusty flagstones – and he froze, listening, searching. The sound seemed to come from the blackness, but it did not repeat. Had he imagined it? The longer he strained his ears, the easier it was to imagine there was someone else, that two breaths were being held, listening, waiting for each other in the dark.

He crept from the cover of the gallery and moved in toward the pews. If it shuffled again he'd be close enough to hear with certainty.

Between the long wooden benches and then into the central aisle, he advanced through perfect blackness with fingers outstretched.

Something moved again.

He tensed and held his breath. Back, shoulders and palms tingled with anticipation. The tiniest shiver of sound broke the silence and this time it was right in front of him. He pounced into the void.

They collided in the dark. He thrust whoever it was down and ahead of him and they slid together over the flagstones. His adversary shrieked, a sudden, feminine yelp, and immediately the fear fell away. It was just a girl, a helpless girl.

'Shhh', he whispered and she swallowed audibly, just beside his ear.

Their excited breaths calmed and fell into synch. He climbed to his feet and brought her with him. She was unresisting and easily led to a dim, pale scratch of light spread beneath a narrow strip of stained glass. In the light her round, terrified face became recognizable; it was his cousin, Mira.

"It's me," he whispered.

Mira betrayed nothing at the declaration; she seemed to be in shock, her eyes absently aimed at the floor.

Why was she here? Had Otto stowed her away in St. Nonnatus for safe-keeping? And why was she alone? Was he spread too thin to spare a single guard for his only daughter? What would auntie think if she knew he had found her? What would auntie do if she knew her precious daughter was at his mercy?

He touched Mira's chin with a finger and lifted her face. She didn't resist. Her eyes seemed unable to focus.

If things turned bad, maybe he could use Mira as leverage to get back into the Hub – maybe Otto would send him Senate support if he knew he had her. And, if he didn't, well – he held the girl a little tighter – there were ways of persuading him.

The thought was pure and unexpected and Petrarch was stunned by it.

Ways of persuading him – what was he becoming? Could he really harm his own, defenseless cousin?

His stomach churned. In the Book of Saints it was written: no sin will go unnoticed, even when alone. First Jacob and now this; what was happening to him?

The greatest disservice to humankind is to forego humanity.

It was like a voice in the back of his head, reading from the holy book.

A heavy, constricting weight pushed down on the pit of his stomach. Was the realization too late? Was he doomed to a sinful existence? The blood of Captain Gunnt and now Jacob Senchion were on his hands and who knew how many more had already died in his campaign against the Ectines. Sin had brought him here – so subtly he hadn't noticed. And now... His head swooned. His mind tumbled into a confusion of rapid thoughts, as if racing back over his entire life. Certain memories stood out with sudden clarity; walking in on his father yelling at mother when he was twelve; looking down on the city from the top of Davius Place, alone, on his sixteenth birthday; overhearing two Grivets talk about his family the first time he ventured out of the complex alone. The memories seemed bound by the same feeling that held him now: guilt, the kind which could not be set right.

Or could it? His mind snapped back to the present. He was still holding Mira tight in his arms. Her eyes were frightened. He released her.

"No need to worry," he said. "I won't hurt you. I would never hurt you."

It was hard to tell if Mira understood him, but the words felt good to say, even if she didn't. He stroked her hair and helped her to a pew. The last time he had seen her, in the hall of the Davius compound, she was smiling and full of life. Now, she was passive and distant, like a delicate flower, once blooming, now withered.

Was his own breaking point also approaching? What if the worst happened? What if the senate collapsed, the family militaries dissolved into mercenary gangs, and the city fell into chaos? Would he lose hope? Would he give up? Perhaps he wasn't really different from Mira at all; perhaps everyone, the whole city, was decaying together; just like the outside world, a civilization neglected and dying.

Petrarch looked up at the stained glass. According to the Book of Saints, defeat and sin were the same thing; a pure heart could carry a man through any trial, no matter the opposition. It was the first promise: He who strives to do right, shall remain pure of heart. He who remains pure of heart shall know no evil.

If he had a breaking point, he had not yet reached it. He could still strive to do right and, really, that was all that mattered.

### 4. A dark visitor

Since his heroics at the Hub, it seemed as if there was always a small team of gendarmes following Isaac wherever he went. At first it felt odd but it wasn't long before he got used to it and even started to like it.

They were with him and Judith now, in the great hall, loitering on a pair of couches while they waited for Jacob.

A noise brought their attention to a doorway in the center of the hall. A moment later two gendarmes staggered through carrying a body between them. A gasp arose from the small crowd and those who were sitting leapt to their feet.

The gendarmes set the body down and stepped back. There was no doubt that it was Jacob.

"What happened?" One of the gendarmes with Isaac demanded.

Judith ran to the body and the two who had brought him backed away.

"The Davius," was all one of them said.

But it was all they had to say. The rest was clear – Isaac had been dreading it since the day he met Petrarch Davius. As Judith knelt over her dead brother and sobbed, the gendarmes shifted uncomfortably and he could feel many eyes watching him, waiting for his response.

He was dumbfounded. He had always expected that if this moment arrived he'd be filled with rage, but instead he felt empty. Not even shock. Emptiness.

"It was destined," A voice spoke from behind them. He turned to see old Lord Senchion, draped under the hood of a long black cloak, looking more skeletal than ever.

"He was undisciplined, he was boastful and he was ignorant," the old man rasped slowly. "He sold himself and this is the fate he deserved."

"Stop!" Isaac yelled.

Lord Senchion laughed; a dry cackle, like dead leaves over concrete.

"What do you fear, boy? You'll follow him – you'll all follow; you're the downfall of this great family."

Isaac wanted to respond but his emotions had twisted his thoughts into a knot. All he could think of was how he had failed his cousin, how he was now alone.

A few moments of silence passed and he realized the old man was watching something. Actually it was someone; a figure dressed completely in black had entered the hall at the opposite end.

It appeared to be a man, from face to fingertips devoid of features, a single shade of deepest black. He was stationary, holding a long-barreled gun in both hands.

"The assassin," someone whispered.

"Senchion," the figure in black said, his voice low but clear. "Your sin is pride."

His body remained so perfectly still that it was difficult to tell if he had actually spoken. Isaac glanced at the gendarmes, but everyone was frozen, as if under a spell.

But not the old man.

"You!" Senchion barked. "You should have stayed dead! You have no right to be angry. You took those serpents to bed! You're as much to blame as anyone!"

The old man was craning out his head from the depths of his hood, straining the veins in his neck and sending flecks of spit flying from his lips. The assassin did not move.

"Go on, shoot me then! That's what you came here for isn't it? Can't bear the thought of this city living on without you, can you?"

His eyes flashed like spheres of worn bone, rolled in their sockets and came to rest on Isaac. He winked with one last sparkle of madness and then his head exploded.

There was no thunderous report of a gunshot, only a fleshy pop that seemed to echo off the walls.

The assassin turned on his heel and walked away, a wisp of smoke trailing behind him.

There was a moment of stunned silence and then all at once the room erupted into chaos. Voices yelled and cursed, guns were raised and the air was filled with the roar of bullets. But they were too late; as abruptly as he had appeared, the assassin had already vanished.

Isaac felt as if someone had reached inside him and grabbed his lungs with both hands. But as the sensation of shock passed, it was replaced by rage. Rage against every death he had ever suffered; his father, Jacob, now the old man. It was true, the city was devouring his family.

Isaac gave himself up to the rage. He screamed and dashed headlong into the tumult, moving aimlessly and shouting as loud as he could. The chaos parted for him and then fell in line and followed his lead. He was gathering the collective anger into a physical momentum.

Judith had risen to her feet and now she too yelled.

"I will have order!"

Her expression was stern, despite tear-trails still wet on her cheeks.

Isaac stopped and the crowd followed his example. A hush settled over the hall. Judith appeared ready to say something, but Isaac spoke first and his voice shook with fury.

"I will not remain here and wait for our enemies to consume us! Since the day we entered this cursed city, our family has been in decline! Our people turned a blind eye and hoped that we might profit from the wealth of others, but it has only brought us abuse!"

The gendarmes were watching him, hanging on his words. He raised a fist and finished at a bellow, "We must face who we are and what we have become and give back to this city only what it deserves!"

He stormed from the hall and the gendarmes followed, leaving Judith with the two lifeless bodies.

### 5. Ectine interview

"I'm so glad you could join us – at least one of my brothers will be present when I assume command over this city."

Stephen Ectine was eating, speaking through a mouthful of oily roast duck. He held the cooked flesh in his hands so tightly it squeezed out between his fingers.

Adrian stared at him blankly and then turned to Alistair, standing behind him; the artikin smiled devilishly and nodded.

"I had business to attend to in the undercity." Adrian said, turning back around, "I pray you forgive my tardiness."

His tone wasn't as sarcastic as usual, which was nice – Stephen was in no mood for games.

"You're lucky you're not Nathan; I might have killed him for what he's done, what he's given away. What possesses a man to flee his holdings?"

"I don't know."

"An empire is built on what it owns – it is like a creature, if it is to survive and grow, it must feed on new acquisitions, not give them up!" His voice rose violently and food accidentally spit from his lips. Alistair chuckled lightly to himself.

"I'm glad your artikin finds this amusing!"

Alistair's chuckle rose into full laughter.

"Sometimes I think he ought to be recast – what do you think of that, Alistair?"

Alistair stopped laughing.

"I'm bored." Adrian declared, "I thought you needed us for something."

"I do, we are about to attack."

"When?"

"Oh, very soon. Something has come up and we're looking into it first, although I told them that once I'm finished here, we're moving in, no matter what. I can't bear the thought of those Daviuses in my Hub any longer. The senate forces are ready and holding for our signal."

"You've arranged something with the Senate?"

"Do you pay attention to anything going on around you?"

Adrian stared at him blankly.

"They came to me; they basically placed themselves in my hands. We'll use them to overwhelm the Hub, then we'll kill Otto Davius, Senator Quade, and anyone else stupid enough to hang around."

"Ah."

"This is all just a little distraction in our progress towards greater things. Don't forget, we are on the verge of reestablishing ties to the outside world. Il Fiore is just the beginning; much more than just this little city awaits. Stomping out the Daviuses and retaking the Hub are child's play."

"You seem worried."

"Wor— what?" Stephen looked into his brother hard and set down the duck bone he was gnawing on. Adrian couldn't possibly know that the delay was caused by a Petrarch Davius sighting in the Senchion district.

"You eat when you're worried."

"And you abuse yourself vigorously to images of the most depraved couplings, what does that make you?"

Adrian's eyes were cold but a gradual grin stole across his lips. The smile soon grew so wide his mouth opened and he began laughing, raucously.

Stephen lifted a forkful of boiled potato to his mouth but paused, he couldn't prevent smiling himself. A moment later, he released a snort and soon the brothers were fueling each other's mirth with loud and rolling laughter.

### 6. A friendly pickup

A lone automobile sped into the crumbly cobblestone plaza of St. Nonnatus. It was heavily armored and set on widely spaced wheels, two tracks of dust followed as it came to a skidding halt in front of the church. Petrarch watched it approach through a gap in a stained-glass window. When it stopped, he shoved open one of the heavy wooden doors and darted out from the church. It felt wrong to leave Mira behind, yet she was much safer here than she would be if he brought her with him; even if Otto didn't come back, the sisters would find her. At the least, Mira would have a life in the convent.

The passenger door swung open and he jumped in. Wolf was in the driver's seat and gave Petrarch a worried glance.

"Let's get the hell out of here."

"A Hub supply runner, huh? I don't imagine you got here unnoticed."

"No, I don't imagine." Wolf accelerated the vehicle into a loop and they exited the plaza.

"For the Saint's grace, I was probably better off back in that church!"

"You want me to turn around and put you back?"

"Just drive. If we hurry we can probably get back before they raise a blockade."

"Actually, I was thinking we might want to lay low somewhere else for a while."

"What?"

"Well, right after I left to come get you, an army assembled outside the Hub. Between the Deputies and the Civilian Strike Force, there are a good eight hundred men."

"Eight hundred!"

"Yeah, so we might want to consider waiting to get back in."

"For the Saint's sake! Don't you realize they're not going to let me just slip away! I told you a killbot spotted me thirty minutes ago; they're not stupid – they'll have figured out you left to get me. Every eye in the city is probably already watching us!"

"Well, they don't have the Hub anymore, so they might have trouble tracking us. We could lose them."

"Damn it, Wolf!"

"What?"

"Fine, let's find a place to ditch the car!"

"Hey, if it comes down to it, I can drive through two armies to get you back in there."

"No, lets just get out of sight as fast as possible."

Petrarch climbed into the back seat to watch out the narrow rear window for any sign of pursuers.

"We might have trouble getting away long enough to ditch the car." Wolf announced. "It looks like they're holding back the attack on the Hub and diverting men to try and catch us."

"How do you know?"

Wolf pointed to a monitor set in the dashboard between the front seats.

"I'm getting a detailed intelligence readout from the Hub."

The monitor displayed a layered map of the city. Civilian Strike Force and Ectine personnel were displayed in orange and red. The bright colors were moving slowly, fanning out away from a primary mass around the Hub. A single, flashing blue dot was speeding along through upper Senchio; it had to be him and Wolf in the supply runner and a couple jagged white lines connected them to the Hub. The lines appeared to trace routes along the overway roads. As he watched, one jerked abruptly and changed its path.

"What are those white lines?"

"Routes back to the Hub. They're predictive; they'll turn blue, the safer they get. If an opening develops, we'll seize it."

"They're all white."

"Yeah," Wolf snorted humorlessly.

Petrarch's communicator importuned him. He accepted the message and Valos' voice came through, "You're creating an excellent diversion. Keep it up and I should be able to open an entry for you." The call ended.

"You hear that; Valos says he can create an opening. Maybe we should get closer."

Wolf didn't respond – he was staring at the monitor; it now showed only a single white line pointing directly backwards.

"The line's pointing the other way now; what's that mean?"

"Hang on!" Wolf shouted and he swung hard on the wheel. The driver's assistant system locked the rear wheels and slipped into a graceful fishtail swerve. He gunned the engine, and they lurched off in the opposite direction. Petrarch shifted around and watched out the narrow rear window.

A massive red Ectine Manowar rounded a corner behind them, the momentum of the turn carrying it off the street and over the sidewalk. A bulky metal fuse conduit block was in its way and the Manowar ripped it from its foundation. Streams of sparks sprayed out in every direction as the box was driven along for a moment before it twisted sideways and bounced free from the vehicle's prow.

The cannon mounted on its roof fired and the incoming shell jarred the supply runner with a thunderous crash.

"Jesu! Let's get out of here!"

There was a long straight road ahead of them and Wolf gunned the engine. The cannon fired again and the supply runner rocked violently. He swerved them onto an altipass and they raced up towards the uppercity.

"What are you doing? We're more exposed up there!"

"I'm trying to shake that Manowar!

They burst from the tunnel into the uppercity. Out the back window, Petrarch watched until the Manowar appeared. It was followed a moment later by a pair of motorcycles.

They were speeding through the overcity now. The sun was past its zenith but its rays caught the upper parts of the scrapers, reflecting down to illuminate the avenues in vibrant green light.

With a loud gunning of engines the two motorcycles raced ahead of the Manowar and came even with the supply runner.

Wolf squeezed a pressure switch on the wheel and guns mounted on the sides of the roof came on-line and opened fire. One of the motorcycle drivers was hit and swerved erratically. He lurched onto the sidewalk and narrowly avoided a collision with a catwalk support column.

The second motorcyclist hoisted up a bulky, wide-flared barrel.

"Damn! EMP!"

A moment later, the Ectine hit them with an invisible blast – a focused electromagnetic pulse, aimed directly into the engine block. The engine sputtered.

"Aren't we insulated!" Petrarch shouted.

Wolf pumped the engine lever. The auxiliary battery funneled power to the engine computer and all of the monitors in the cabin went black. A moment later the circuits re-bound and the engine roared to life once again. The lights flickered back on.

"Yeah, but not one-hundred percent, especially not from this range."

The motorcycle pulled ahead of them and Wolf juked the wheel to line up behind it. He touched a trigger and a cannon mounted in the front hood erupted. The asphalt ahead of the motorcycle blasted apart into a shower of black chips. The cyclist ducked, then swerved and decelerated heavily. He was beside them and then behind.

"Spray him with the napalm!" Petrarch urged.

"We've only got one load, better save it for a bigger threat."

Their mounted gun was still peppering the first motorcycle, swerving along the sidewalk, and a bullet finally broke through the biker's visor. His head jerked back and the motorcycle swung heavily away.

"We got one!"

A moment later the Manowar pounded them with cannon fire. The entire vehicle shuddered with a deafening roar.

"Saint's mercy! Lose him!"

The white line on the console read-out suggested an immediate left turn and Wolf swung the wheel to comply. The pounding ceased as they swerved onto a crossroad. Ahead, a pair of Ectine trucks were bearing in fast on a collision course. Wolf swung quickly to the right and the car drifted into an altipass, leading back undercity. They lurched, lumbered down a steep incline, and then bottomed out hard onto the level plane of the underway. Behind them, a lone motorcycle headlight flashed into the gloom, followed quickly by the two trucks and then the Manowar.

Multiple white lines began to pop up on the monitor.

"It looks like we've got some options now," Wolf observed.

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Can you link into the Hub feed on your biscuit?" Wolf wheeled into a sharp right turn, the momentum pulled at them and the tires squealed.

"Let me try."

Petrarch signaled the runner's computer from his biscuit and connected. He quickly toggled to the route-finding process that Wolf was streaming from the Hub and the diagram of the city appeared on his screen.

"Yeah, I have access."

"See that path to the right, the one that cuts back through the Ectine Agricenter. Can you run some deeper queries on it – you know, maybe get an idea of what we'll be dealing with before we get there?"

"That's the route we're going to take?"

"I think so, I want to stay as close as possible to the Hub."

Petrarch found he could select and query the route. He followed branch after branch of data, delving deeper into the processes used by the Hub computers to generate the predicted threat levels.

"I can get actual live video feeds from inside the Ectine Agricenter," he announced with surprise, "as well as a graphical overlay of troop and weapons placements. We have a few options going through there, but it's predicting one of them will close up before we arrive."

"Just give me your best educated advice when the moment comes!"

"The route lines are snapping around a lot, something up ahead is moving through our path."

"What is it?"

"It's another Manowar! It's moving into the underway beneath the Agricenter, blocking the route back to the Hub."

"What are our options?"

"We can avoid it altogether and turn south."

"That will take us in the wrong direction."

"Right, otherwise we can try to get around it. Maybe through a loading depot or up to the overways."

"Which one do you like?" Wolf said sharply.

"Huh?"

"Pick one, we're reaching the altipass!"

"Take it up! It's too easy to get cornered in the loading depots."

"That line just vanished, are you sure?"

"What?" Petrarch didn't want to believe it. He checked the map; it was true, the uppercity route had been removed from the predictive plotter.

"I'll see what changed."

"You've got about thirty seconds."

Petrarch probed the program for an explanation. He homed in on the overway and forced a queried traversal. The computer highlighted a single vehicle.

"It's only a Manowar."

"Only a Manowar?"

"But we can get around it," He was speaking fast, "they're spread thin. I think they're corralling us. They know how far out the system can predict. They're drawing us into a net. We've got to break out."

"Decide now!"

"Do it!"

Wolf turned hard and they thundered up the altipass. The lines on the display flickered and went out. A new white line appeared ahead of them. Wolf laughed,

"It looks like it's seeing things your way – now that it doesn't have any other options."

They emerged onto a straight and narrow avenue lined with silos, warehouses, and factory complexes pumping exhaust into massive pipes. About five blocks ahead of them was the Octavian, parked in the center of the road.

Petrarch hurriedly secured his safety belt.

"Here we go."

Wolf gunned the engine and they leaped forward.

The Octavian opened fire and the driver's assistant reacted, swerving the supply runner hard and bouncing them up over the curb. Wolf fought with the wheel and swung them back into the road.

The shells pounded into them mercilessly. With each direct hit, the frontal armor shed a spray of paint-chip-thin flakes and a veritable flurry of gray chips quickly clouded the view out the front window. Wolf flipped a switch and fired two forward-mounted flash smoke grenades. The clouds erupted a few blocks ahead, just in front of the Manowar, throwing up a thick wall of sparkling black smoke. The Ectine cannon continued to fire but as Wolf eased them to one side of the street the direct hits became less frequent.

"What are you going to do?" Petrarch asked.

The clouds were approaching fast and Wolf wasn't slowing. He didn't seem to notice Petrarch's question. A moment later they barreled through the smoke clouds at full speed.

The Manowar was right in front of them, positioned sideways with only narrow gaps of a few feet on either side. Wolf slammed his foot on the brake and they swerved into a skid. The supply runner spun completely around until its rear was facing the Manowar. Petrarch twisted around to watch out the back window and Wolf fired the full load of compressed napalm, covering the Manowar in chemical flames.

Wolf accelerated, churning back through the cloud of smoke.

"Let's see them keep up with napalm in their eyes!"

Back down the road, the pursuit party was closing in fast and Wolf was headed right for them. He eased the supply runner to the right then slammed on the breaks and turned back hard to the left. They spun a tight circle and were facing the cloud again, a few hundred feet out. He hit the gas and they tore back through, towards the flaming Manowar. They emerged from the smoke aimed at a narrow gap between the vehicle and an adjacent building.

As they closed on their target, the onboard computer sensed the impeding collision. Just before impact, a spot-hydraulic fired and one side of the supply runner leaped off the ground. The leading airborne wheel landed heavily against the Octavian. Their roof gouged into the concrete wall of the adjacent building but, with a horrendous scraping sound, the supply runner powered onward, ripping out a strip of concrete.

First the front tire and then the rear passed over the Manowar and crashed back down to the street. A few seconds later and they were at the end of the road with the flaming Manowar behind them. Wolf whooped with glee and turned down an intersecting street, then turned again and headed north toward Old Town.

### 7. Interruption

"He broke through. He's headed right for us." Ramel looked expectantly at Stephen. The two of them were standing in the back of a crowded command wagon.

Stephen turned on the broadcast communicator.

"Alpha company move to intercept. Beta company move to contain."

Stephen watched the monitors carefully. Nearly all of his men were now committed to catching Petrarch.

"You know, we still have no actual confirmation that this is him." Ramel suggested. "It could be another one of their diversions."

Stephen slammed his fist on a console and Ramel jumped.

"This has to be him and we have to catch him!"

"But isn't he coming right to us? Couldn't we just hold our troops here and wait for him?"

"If we wait for him to come to us, he'll pull some trick – slip in around the back or something. If we're going to catch him, we have to keep him guessing. We have to attack with everything we have!"

Ramel didn't have a response and the next few minutes passed in silence.

When the intercepting force was less than a minute from reaching the supply runner, an alert opened on the console screen. It showed a live video of the Hub; the garage doors had opened and a small strike force of vehicles was speeding into the square.

Stephen and Ramel both straightened up.

"They're coming out of the Hub!" Stephen shouted.

"The two largest vehicles appear to be headed directly for our position!" Ramel added.

The display showed a Davius Manowar and a tactical truck separating from the pack, on course to intercept their command wagon.

"It's a trick!" Stephen roared. He bellowed into the communicator, "Alpha and Beta companies abandon pursuit! Return to command position."

"They won't make it back in time!" Ramel shouted.

The command wagon jarred.

"We're being fired upon!"

"God's Wounds! Then get us the hell out of here!" Stephen yelled. He hit a button to reach the driver, "Get us out of here!"

The vehicle lurched to life and Ramel was thrown ungracefully to the ground.

"This is some machination of Otto Davius!" Stephen growled as they sped away. "Which unit is he with? I want him killed!"

"He's here with the Civilian Strike Force Division," Ramel said from the floor.

"Saints be damned!" Stephen's blood went cold. With the majority of Gamma company already chasing Petrarch around the city and both Alpha and Beta companies now committed to the chase as well, they were alone facing a Davius counterattack with only an Otto Davius-led senate strike force for support.

Ramel was right! The Petrarch Davius sighting was a trick! Senator Quade had lured him into an intricate trap!

"Scramble and Retreat!" He shouted over the Ectine command channel, broadcast to all divisions, "Abandon offensive!"

***

The Old Town square was thrown into chaos. As the remaining Ectines fled, the Civilian Strike Force found themselves facing the Davius counterattack alone.

In the cab of a combat truck, Otto watched his tactical console with disbelief.

"They're retreating!"

He glanced around for someone to confirm how inconceivable that was but his driver seemed unsympathetic.

"Drive! Retreat!" he shouted.

The driver accelerated but they were too late; a rocket struck their rear and a moment later a Davius truck rammed and drove them headlong into a large fountain.

When he came to his senses, Otto was bruised and blood trickled from an open gash on his forehead. The door beside him had been ripped open and a Davius guardsman was hauling him from the wreck.

***

Petrarch and Wolf watched on their monitor as the wave of Ectine vehicles suddenly veered and exposed an open route to the East. Petrarch nodded and Wolf accelerated the supply runner to top speed. Outside, the city raced by in a blur of gray and black and soon they were in Old Town, rushing through a canyon of tall buildings – smooth reflective surfaces blending together in a single pane of passing glass.

And then they burst into the central square.

"Slow down," Petrarch ordered, "let's see if we can help."

The plaza was littered with a few smoking wrecks. Davius guardsmen spread out on foot, were searching through the debris. In the center, Valos stood on the remains of a ruined fountain, supervising a pair of men as they made their way from a wrecked truck. One of the men was a Davius guardsman and the other was Otto Davius, propped up limply with his feet dragging and his pale head lolling heavily to one side

Wolf stopped the supply runner just ahead of the group and Petrarch clambered out and shouted, "My dear Uncle! Are we to have you as our guest?"

Otto raised his head feebly and grimaced.

"They could return at any moment," Valos yelled. "Get yourself inside the Hub!"

Petrarch glanced around the war-torn plaza and realized he was high on adrenaline. After everything that had happened already, he should be demonstrating more humility and caution.

Wolf shouted:

"We've got company!"

Petrarch looked back. Wolf had opened his door and was shouting over the top of the supply runner. Behind him a black motorcycle driven by a skull-masked artikin was roaring in their direction.

The motorcycle was moving much too fast and it arrived in an instant, crashing into Wolf and smashing his body against the supply runner. The artikin leaped up and was launched by his momentum through the air.

His aim was for Petrarch and black limbs stretched out combat claws to catch him, but Petrarch dropped to the ground just as the sweeping blades passed over. The artikin, probably Alistair, hit the ground in a tumble and bounced into the side of the parked Davius Manowar, then leaped up, white skull grinning, and reached to draw a smoker hanging from a gun strap.

But Valos was on him in a moment, slashing and plunging a pair of combat claws into his chest. With a quick shift of his shoulder, he snapped through ribs, heart and lungs. Alistair shuddered and weakly tried to lift his arm. Valos stepped back and dislodged the blades. Alistair collapsed face-first to the ground.

It all happened so fast that Petrarch hadn't even managed to draw his gun when it was over. Valos shouted.

"You need to move inside now!"

Petrarch looked back to the supply runner and a plunging sensation swept through his stomach.

"Wolf?" he prompted over his biscuit.

There was no response. The black motorcycle was fused into the supply runner's crumpled side and a dusty haze hung over the wreck. A stillness seemed to settle over the plaza and even Valos paused for a moment.

But the quietude didn't last; without warning Otto Davius came suddenly to life and threw the guardsman holding him to the ground.

Valos immediately jumped to intervene but, as he arrived, a searing-white flame leaped from Otto's hands and sliced off the artikin's outstretched arm. The two collided and Valos toppled away stunned.

Otto was already dashing in Petrarch's direction, a look of mad desperation bulging from his eyes. The micro-torch had been on only for a moment and there was almost certainly enough fuel left to strike again.

It was happening too fast. Otto was only a few feet away, eyes wide and frantic. The torch blade flashed to life again. Was this it?

But in that moment another presence chose to act. A rumbling crack, like a chain of thunder, echoed across the square and Otto fell hard, bouncing off the cobblestones, his body split nearly in two.

A cloud of smoke was rising from a balcony overlooking the square and beneath the pall was group of figures armored in thick black Praetor vulcar. Amongst them was the unmistakable skull of yet another artikin.

From below, a team of Daviuses returned fire and the black Ectines retreated from sight.

Valos rose on unsteady legs. "Was that Lord Ectine's private guard?"

"Valos!"

Petrarch hurried to help steady his artikin and Valos raised the remaining six inches of his arm to where they could both see.

"God's blood," Petrarch murmured.

"I've got it," Valos said and stooped to pick up his severed limb. "Let's get inside."

### 9. Consequences

A dull gray killbot slipped from the Hub compound and sped through the plaza, low to the ground. As it approached the wrecked supply runner, it slowed. A black motorcycle was compressed into the side of the vehicle and it was at this fusion point that the drone picked its way into the wreck.

"There he is" Petrarch announced, still breathless from a run, leaning over a technician's shoulder and pointing at a corner of the monitor.

The technician redirected the killbot toward the body.

"He is dead," Valos observed.

Petrarch turned to see his artikin had followed.

"Aren't you supposed to be somewhere, seeking medical attention?"

Valos' face was impassive.

"You of all people should realize the importance of timeliness! The entire city is banging on our door!"

His artikin blinked and then nodded, "You're right. I apologize." He walked swiftly from the room.

Petrarch turned his attention back to the monitor and saw Wolf's very dead body. He felt sick. First Jacob, now Wolf. His head hurt and it was getting worse.

What had happened today was stupid; it was inexcusable. After taking the Hub, had he thought he could do anything? Well, this was his lesson. He was lucky to still be alive.

There would never be time to relax or to act frivolously again; he would always need to be thinking, always strategizing. If he wanted to survive – if he didn't want anyone else he cared about to die – he would have to slow things down and focus on objectives.

He looked back at the image of Wolf on the monitor and felt a constricting sensation in the back of his throat. Objectives – like he knew what those were anymore.

There were voices behind him, across the room. Colin and Valos were speaking in the doorway. They spoke a few more words and then Valos departed. Colin entered the room and crossed to Petrarch.

"He's surprisingly unaffected for someone who just lost a limb."

"They'll put it back on," Petrarch said coldly and then added, "Wolf is dead."

"Wolf? I guess I should have known he would be involved somehow. So he was the driver?"

"Yeah, he was with the Senchions when we took the Hub and he stayed with us after they left." Petrarch felt his voice choking up and he stopped talking.

"Don't blame yourself," Colin said, "I'm sure he knew what he was getting into just as well as you and I."

"It shouldn't have ended this way."

"You know, you two single-handedly broke up the entire attack prepared against us."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Colin hesitated and then changed the subject.

"So what happened? I can't figure why the Ectine artikin made a suicide attack when they had a unit with smokers in a position overlooking the plaza."

Maybe Colin was right to talk about other things; maybe what he needed was to set his emotions aside and refocus. Not taking this war seriously was what got him into this mess in the first place.

"They had at least four guns up there," he said. "They could have killed us all but they only hit Otto. I don't think they were shooting for anyone else."

"We monitored their escape. They did not appear to be headed for the Ectine rally point. Do you think there could be a division in the family? Might they have split into factions?"

"I doubt it – that looked like Lord Ectine's private Praetor guard, probably the most trusted group of soldiers in the entire Ectine institution."

"Which is interesting in itself. Ectine and his bodyguard have been awfully quiet the past few weeks, haven't they?"

"Yeah, I've noticed. I was worried that Ectine would take advantage of my father's public absence to step up the personal appearances and the propaganda, but instead he seems to have vanished completely since they fought."

"And so has his bodyguard; I don't think any of them have surfaced for the past three weeks. So why would they chose this moment?"

"I don't know."

"I'd check our records to verify but we lost them when the Ectines took the Davius compound. Although, that kind of information might be part of the intelligence files we were able to recover in the Hub. Everything is loaded into the central system – we can access it from the control room."

Petrarch didn't want to go chasing through records in a database. He felt like finding a hiding place and shutting out the world, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. The best thing he could probably do now was stay busy – that and tell Colin about Jacob, when the moment was right.

"Okay fine, let's go get to the bottom of this."

They strode out into the hall and, after a brief ride in a lift, arrived in the control room.

"I've set myself up over here," Colin said and he walked to a chair in front of a bank of monitors. A pair of men were sitting, one on each side, completely engrossed in their work.

Colin sat down and touched the screen.

"Give me a moment; they've just set this thing up and I'm still getting used to it."

His cousin made some selections on the screen and the computer displayed a list of results.

"Nothing," he said.

"Nothing? What do you mean?"

"I can try again, but it's pretty certain. Any references to Lord Ectine or his bodyguard all stop at the same event."

"My father's defeat."

Colin nodded.

"After that they just disappeared."

"I noticed there was an artikin with the Praetors, was that Lord Ectine's artikin, Blackfriar?"

"Probably, he's the leader of the bodyguard."

"Okay, so they've all been in hiding, but what does that tell us? We still don't understand why Valos and I were spared."

"Maybe they didn't recognize you."

Petrarch glanced sideways at his cousin.

"Yeah, I must have slipped their attention."

"I don't know. It still doesn't seem to make any sense."

Neither of them said anything for a few moments.

"Are we as inept as we look?"

Colin looked surprised.

"What do you mean? Because we don't know why they spared your life?"

"No, I mean, all of this; people are dying – people we know – and where has it got us? Nowhere."

"Well, we have made some progress. We got to see the full size of the military we're facing and we broke up an alliance of our enemies; I doubt the Ectines will be seeking help from the senate again, or from anyone else for that matter."

"That's not what I mean. No matter what our tactics are – whether we hide out in the Hub or take the fight to them – people will die. The point is: is it worth the losses?"

"Is what worth the losses?"

"Fighting the Ectines."

"This is war, there are going to be sacrifices."

"I know, but did we really think it all through? I mean, what did we get ourselves into here?"

"Nothing we weren't born into. The only thing that's changed now is we've taken responsibility for what happens next."

"But have we really? How do I take responsibility for Wolf and... everyone else?"

He was reminded of his conversation with Judith the night before they took the Hub; at that time he had been so confident. Now he understood Judith's concern.

"Petrarch, it's unavoidable; there will be tough decisions."

"So that's it? This is simply the price of leadership?" The sick feeling in Petrarch's stomach was growing.

"Wolf died for our cause," Colin said. "We could debate all day over whether it was avoidable or not, whether his sacrifice prevented others from dying, but in the end, all we can do is honor his memory."

"I'm going to go lie down."

Walking towards the door, he felt like he was going to vomit. Was he just being stupid? Had he really thought he could defeat the Ectines without making sacrifices? Maybe he deserved this.

It had all gone wrong when he left the Hub. Why didn't he just talk to Judith over the biscuit? He knew Jacob was emotional and quick-tempered, that going over there was potentially dangerous. Was he such a little boy that he couldn't go two days without seeing her in person? And now that he had killed her brother, she would probably never speak to him again.

### 10. Escalation

"So what happened?" Stephen Ectine asked in a calm voice. He was standing in a garage with Ramel and Adrian. They had just disembarked from the com truck, engines were idling around them and a pall of smog was on their lips. The voices of soldiers echoed through the din.

Captain Ramel was nervous and he observed Stephen carefully before answering.

"It appears it was nothing more than a Davius sortie intended to create a disruption. Petrarch Davius probably wasn't even in that supply runner." Stephen's expression was blank and he continued. "It was quite clever sir; they played off the uncertainty of our temporary union with the Civilian Senate."

"Yes, that is what happened," Stephen looked directly into Ramel. "They out-foxed us. I must give the Daviuses credit for being worthy opponents. We never should have brought the senate into this and certainly not Otto Davius." He shook his head. "Yet nothing is lost and we have learned our lesson."

He turned to Adrian. His brother's face was vacant, as if he were in shock.

"Oh, I'm sorry brother, we have suffered a loss – a very grave loss. Your artikin was a valuable asset and he carried Ectine blood."

For a moment, Adrian gave no indication that he could even hear them, but then a thin smile slowly curled his lips.

"Rest assured, you will have your revenge," Stephen continued. "In the meantime, please relax; have some Apollex perhaps, for patience. I will need you rested when we strike again."

"Don't worry brother," Adrian spoke, the queer smile still on his lips. "I plan to take full advantage of the luxuries befitting my position." He raised an eyebrow, twirled on his heel and strode from the garage.

"He's taking this quite well," Stephen said.

"Are you sure he's being truthful, sir?"

"Oh yes, my brother has no need for lies; he's too arrogant to make such an effort on our behalf." Stephen laughed. Ramel straightened his shirt uncomfortably.

"Now let's get down to the business of outfoxing Petrarch Davius. If Father is going to sit idly and wait for me to take the lead, then see me lead. The first thing we are going to do is press our advantages. I want you to gather as many of my father's top advisors as you can. Financial, infrastructure, everyone: this operation is no longer a purely military matter. Get them all together in the Mahogany room by this time tomorrow – and make sure they're ready for a long one – I'm not letting anyone out until we have the stratagem that ends this war. Let's see an upstart boy go up against the age and experience of the full Ectine cabinet."

## Act V – Compromise

### 1. Forgiveness

Petrarch was in his private quarters – a small room set up for him near the top of the West Tower. He had an encrypted line open to his biscuit and his chest felt heavy with dread. This was insane. He couldn't believe he was calling her.

"Petrarch?" Judith's voice answered.

Petrarch felt his heart drop into his stomach.

"The Ectines allied with the Civilian Senate," he blurted out.

What was he saying? Of course she knew that. He had just killed her brother and he was calling to tell her about the Ectines?

"I know, the whole city seems to be turning upside down."

He froze: it wasn't the response he expected.

"It's pretty bad here," she said. "Isaac left with nearly half of the gendarmerie. We don't even have enough men to properly defend the compound. I just had a district officer tell me he was cutting communications until after he saw how things shake down. Can you believe that?"

"You'll be fine," he said. Could she possibly not know that he had killed her brother?

"They're only afraid," she responded, "and people like Isaac are not helping matters at all."

"Can you expect support from the other families?"

"The Grivets seem to be interested in exchanging information. I think they realize the Ectines and Daviuses are still far from dead."

She had to know about Jacob. They were both avoiding talking about him. Maybe he could ask her questions that were more leading, that would suggest what he had done, just short of being direct. Yet the more he tried to think of something to say, the harder it was to do.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. "I only went over there to speak with you."

There was a pause.

"I know. They told me what happened. You were only defending yourself. It's my fault. I liked the idea of your coming to see me and I let that cloud my judgment. I knew how he would respond if he found out and I never should have tried to deceive him."

"No," he started to say, but she broke him off.

"Don't... just..."

"I'm so relieved to be speaking with you," he said.

"Me too."

It was as if a twisting force had suddenly released him.

"Really?"

"Look, this actually wasn't the first time Jacob started a fight because of me. It's not even the first time someone died."

"Oh. I, uh." Petrarch didn't know what to say. "Well I'm sorry. I still made a huge mistake."

"We both made mistakes but I can't afford to be angry right now. Our family needs your support as much as you need ours."

"If there was anything I could do to take it back, I would."

"I know. So what now?"

She was giving him a second chance. It was time to be practical.

"The best thing we can do is hold our ground and find out just where we stand. The city might have united against us, but after today, the Senate and the Ectines probably won't be so eager to take sides with each other. Alone, they're not strong enough to destroy us and we're not strong enough to destroy them. We'll need the support of the other families to turn the balance in our favor and, if we watch ourselves and wait the Ectines out, they might just drive the allies we need right to our side."

He felt like an ass; after Jacob, he owed her so much, but what could he say? Being practical, it made the most sense to let the Ectines have the next move.

"We'll keep an eye on you with the central systems," he added. "If you're in any trouble, we'll send support."

"Okay."

"I really mean it when I say I regret what happened. I—"

"I know; we both do, but please... not right now."

She said goodbye and ended the call. He was left holding a silent biscuit and staring at the wall.

It was a relief to be forgiven, yet had he missed an opportunity to do something important? He tried to focus, but his brain seemed unwilling to cooperate. He was exhausted; he could barely stand upright. She forgave him – that was really all that mattered now. There'd be time tomorrow to decide what else could be done.

Petrarch collapsed onto a small bed in the corner of his room and fell asleep.

### 2. Aunt Ileen

Ileen Huxby-Davius was a widow and, although she couldn't possibly be certain of this, as Adrian approached the observation room he sensed that she was. He could see her through the one-way mirror; her long, claw-like fingers were clenched into balls and her sallow face pinched disagreeably.

Adrian stepped into the room and shut the door quietly behind him. He activated the lock and then turned to face his guest. She was sitting behind a long table and had not taken her eyes off of him.

"Ah, Ileen Davius – I'm so glad to finally make your acquaintance."

Ileen glowered at him.

"I never expected I would have the benefit of speaking to you in the luxury of my own home – truly you are an honored guest. So thoughtful of your husband to loan us your company. So unfortunate that he should fail to uphold his agreement to deliver us the Hub."

Adrian had moved very slowly into the room and was now standing at the table across from Ileen. He leaned forward, bringing his face close to hers, but she did not shy away. Instead, she glowered even more balefully. Adrian scowled back. Then, in a sudden movement, he swept his hand around behind her head and jerked her toward him. Her legs kicked back against her chair and her arms tumbled onto the table. He pulled their noses together.

"How does it feel to be used as collateral? Did you ever guess your life would be payment for your husband's failure?"

They stared into each other, eyes millimeters apart. There was nothing in her expression to indicate that she had even heard him. With a fit of frustration, he thrust her head away. She tumbled onto the floor. He strode around the length of the table to where he could see her lying on the ground.

"I wonder, did you fear for your life when the decision was made or did you honestly have faith in his abilities? Are you a perfect, faithful wife or are you so hungry for power you'd risk everything to have it?"

Her expression became even more hateful and Adrian laughed.

"I think I like you. Perhaps you can even be of service to me. Actually, you seem quite perfect. You're not exactly prone to interrupt."

He pulled out a chair beside her head and sat down. She raised herself up on her arms until she had the appearance of lounging awkwardly on the floor.

"You see, I have this burning secret," he began. "It's so brilliant, I can hardly contain myself." There was glee bursting inside him, eager to finally be let out.

"Earlier today a friend and I were playing a little game. He put on my clothes and I put on his. It was really pretty simple; master becomes servant and servant becomes master; it's a game we played many times before. Only this time something different happened."

He chuckled to himself, "I could have stopped him. I saw that he was angry, I saw what he was doing; he forgot what kind of armor he was wearing, he completely forgot who he was."

Ileen did not betray any indication of understanding.

"I'm Alistair!" he exclaimed, "They all think I'm Adrian but I'm the devil's artikin!" He grabbed her face between his hands and laughed loudly. "I'm free! Now I can really begin to have some fun!"

He sobered suddenly and, standing, pulled her to her feet. With one hand he reached for a knife sheathed behind his back.

"Thanks for listening," he said and tightened his grip as she began to struggle, "I really had to get that off my chest."

### 3. A long term siege

"A long term siege?"

Petrarch was facing an officer seated across from him at a conference table.

"Yes sir, we've checked that every possible variable was included. The system is certain; a siege is almost a guarantee. We simply have no other exploitable weakness."

Petrarch glanced at the other faces around the table, Colin, Valos, and a few officers from the guard. No one else seemed affected by the information.

"So they'll just set up their forces in a perimeter a safe distance from the Hub and then go about their business as if we don't exist?"

It was only two days since the aborted Ectine attack and his daring return in the supply-runner. His promise to Judith was still fresh in his mind and this sounded like a plan to abandon the Senchions completely. If the Ectines attacked the Senchion compound, was he supposed to just sit back and hide in the Hub?

The officer replied.

"That's correct. Of course, should they try for a direct assault, we are prepared."

Colin asked, "How long would we last, in the event of a siege?"

"Food is our only concern," the officer answered; "we can expect an attack on our supply line from the Agricenter soon and we won't be able to prevent it. There is the small calorie farm in the Hub, but it can't sustain more than thirty or forty individuals. With our current stores and personnel, we can expect to last no longer than fourteen months."

"Fourteen months," Petrarch blurted out. "I, I – they can't actually prevent us from getting in and out, can they?"

"Oh, most certainly, sir." The officer said.

"We only have one Manowar and a handful of trucks," Colin added. "We're not equipped for aggressive movements."

"So we're supposed to hide out in here while the Ectines have their way with the rest of the city for fourteen months?"

They might not last that long," Colin said. "The Ectines aren't what they used to be. They've been having trouble just getting back undercity. They were recently repelled by a team of crawlers when they tried to retake one of their former districts. They appear to be lost without the central system."

"Okay, but that's not my point. Eventually we're going to have to do something."

"Well, we have fourteen months to wait for a weakness to develop. When it does, we'll strike. It may take one year or it may take only one week, we'll just have to wait and see."

Petrarch could hardly believe what he was hearing.

"And what if they start dismantling the city? We can't just sit by and let them do it. What about the Senchions? They helped us; we can't abandon them."

A transmitted voice interrupted the conversation.

"The Pater Familias has an urgent call."

Pater Familias – they had started calling him that after he took the Hub. Now, less than a week later, it was the most common way he was addressed.

"Who is it?" Petrarch asked.

"Lady Davius, sir."

"Mother?" It was like the return of a past life.

"Yes sir, she claims she urgently needs to speak with you."

Petrarch glanced around the table. The men looking back at him were too respectful to show any reaction.

"Very well," he said, rising. "We'll have to discuss this later, but be sure that the issue is not settled."

He left the room and headed down the hall, looking for an empty room to receive the call.

It really wasn't a surprise that his mother was contacting him – his recent near-death experience would have been publicized all over the city – but her call still made him uncomfortable. He didn't want to sit through another lecture or be asked to undergo some ridiculous procedure at the Bastion.

The Bastion – it was strange, but up until now, he had completely forgotten about the research facility. It was a powerful weapon, and still unclaimed by either himself or the Ectines. It could possibly be the turning point that ended this war.

Could his mother actually get him inside? If she could, then maybe he could bring the scientists back into the Davius fold and get his hands on some new weapons... At the very least, he could ask them to return the prototype vulcar armor his father had given him.

He found an empty room and stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and activated the pending line on his biscuit.

"Petrarch!" his mother's voice exclaimed immediately.

"Mother."

She seemed to reconsider her tone and spoke calmly, "I know how caught up you've become in this war. I know you even think you might win it, but things don't change so readily. In the best case, this will go on for a long time and the danger will only gradually abate."

"And you want me to go see Delphus at the Bastion."

"Yes," she said, sounding a bit surprised. "I nearly died when I'd heard they had you trapped on the streets."

"Would he let me in?"

His mother paused, as if this was not the response she was expecting.

"If I show up at the Bastion, are they going to let me in?"

"Of course," she said, "I have everything arranged."

"They have something of mine there, I'll want it back. It's a suit father gave me just before he..." Petrarch trailed off.

"Yes, I know it. He was wearing the other one when they caught him – that's how he was delivered back to us; in that suit."

"There was another suit?"

"That awful green-black armor, yes. When he came back like that, I prayed you wouldn't also think you were invincible."

So there had been a second suit? Did it mean anything? Well, it did bring up a question he probably should have asked much earlier; why had his father given him a suit of the prototype armor in the first place?

"So now you know;" she was saying, "nothing can cheat death entirely, not even those silly suits. They are only safeguards and that's all I'm asking for, another safeguard."

He had promised himself only a few days ago that he wouldn't leave the Hub again, not after what happened last time. But this was important, a potential turning point in the war. It was an opportunity he'd be a fool to pass up, particularly if this war was to end any time soon.

"Okay," he said, "I'll do it. I'll go talk to Delphus. Reestablishing communications with the Bastion has got to happen sooner or later."

"Thank you," she said, and her voice sounded relieved. "You'll understand when you have children."

There was an uncomfortable silence and he realized they were both probably wondering if he would live to have children of his own.

### 4. Executive decision

"You're kidding."

Colin sat forward, leaning over tablet monitors propped up on the table before him. Petrarch had returned to the conference room and was standing just inside the closed doorway, facing his cousin across the table. They were alone now; the other officers had left while he was gone.

"I know it sounds foolish, after everything that's happened, but last time was a freak accident. The Ectines are in the dark out there, they won't notice me if I don't expose myself."

Colin looked as if he were patiently waiting for his turn to speak.

"Colin, this is something that needs to be done. You know we can't let the Ectines have the run of the city for the next fourteen months! The Bastion is vital to our efforts and this may be our only opportunity to get back inside."

"Petrarch, with all due respect, they found you last time, rather quickly."

"That was my mistake; I was careless."

Colin gave him an incredulous look.

"Come on, I'm learning – I won't make the same mistakes twice."

His cousin seemed to be searching for a tactful approach but then stately flatly, "I don't know if I can let you go."

"Oh?"

"You're too meaningful to our cause."

"I understand. But the risks are minimal; I won't get caught."

Colin smiled patronizingly.

"Of course," Petrarch continued, "I have considered the ramifications if I should be caught and I've come to the humbling conclusion that you are more than capable of carrying on without me."

"That's not exactly it." Colin shook his head. "I don't think you fully understand what you've become."

"And what's that?"

"You're more than just Petrarch Davius, the man. You are an icon; you carry your father's blood – you personify the identity of our entire cause."

"That's nonsense. I barely do anything anymore; you and your officers are making decisions now that I'm not even qualified to think about."

"Those are the logistical details: supply management, defensive coverage, division organization, intelligence filtering; all we do is pare it down to something manageable so the decisions are simple enough that one person can make them."

"Right, and by that point anyone can make them; you, Valos, any of these officers," he swept his hand to indicate all of the now-empty seats around the table.

"You're right, we probably could replace you in that respect, but that's just Petrarch Davius the man. Petrarch Davius the persona is what everyone believes in: the warrior who stormed the Hub, the son of the great founder. The Civilian Senate knows it, I know it, the Ectines know it; you're more important than the two swords," he said, touching the icon on the breast of his shirt, "if you die, we have nothing to rally behind; the men lose heart and Davius is defeated."

"So you think I'm some sort of mascot?"

"No, no, more like the soul of our cause."

"I'm a soul?"

"Look, I'm just trying to say that you are something more important than simply a source of strategy or decision-making."

Petrarch must have made a disagreeable face because Colin smiled.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. There are plenty of brilliant minds in this city but there are very few that amount to anything."

"Okay, okay," Petrarch couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed. "You're saying a leader leads with his personality. And, in that case, I see no course but to stay true to my original decision; I'm going to the Bastion."

Colin stared him hard in the eyes and Petrarch returned the gaze. After a minute of silent staring, Colin opened his mouth, then sighed and slumped back in his chair.

"I don't know why I thought I could talk you out of it. Just be fast, for the Saint's sake, and try not to get caught daydreaming this time."

"Daydreaming? Are you implying that's how I was discovered last time?"

"The reunified Hub is a wonderful thing," Colin grinned. "We used the central system to obtain access to the video feed from the Ectine killbot that apprehended you in Senchio. We watched the whole thing."

Petrarch felt his face flush and Colin laughed.

"You'll have to take a look at it when you get a chance; the moment it swoops in on you, your expression is priceless."

Petrarch imitated mock horror.

"That's it!" Colin laughed.

"You really saw me?"

"I see everything now; I know every move you make. No one's privacy is safe, especially not yours."

"They say I'm the one who's in charge, but sometimes I have to wonder."

Colin smiled knowingly, "We each have our strengths. Now, about your plan, it's not too late to reconsider; there are plenty of important things we need you for here."

"No, I'd better get going. I wouldn't want to get caught out in the cold when the Ectines raise the siege."

### 5. Captured

Petrarch arrived outside the Bastion, hidden in the back of a supply truck. There were still Ectine sentries stationed outside, but since their defeat at the Hub, the Ectine presence no longer kept civilians off the roads. Mild traffic filled the avenue beside the Bastion and the truck was able to approach unnoticed. When they swerved suddenly and a door opened in the Bastion wall to receive them, there was no time for the sentries to react. Seconds later the door slammed closed with the supply truck safely inside. It was the first vehicle to enter the Bastion in over three weeks.

A team of Bastion guardsmen was waiting for Petrarch as he climbed out of the truck. They wore standard Davius uniforms and looked a lot like regular Davius guardsmen but, as soon as he saw them, his skin crawled. These guardsmen were an extension of the artikin cloning project. They had been developed to be 'perfect' soldiers, and while that might be true, it didn't change the fact that they were uncomfortable to be around, with their precise gestures, expressionless faces and eyes that had a disturbing way of looking right through you.

Fortunately, he didn't have to spend much time in their company. The Bastion guardsmen led him to an unmarked office not far from the garage, and then turned back. He let himself in.

Inside, a half-dozen tablets littered a counter in the center of a small room. Three of the walls were covered with full-length monitors displaying an overwhelming mess of charts, tables and schematics and, across the room, a severe woman with short blonde hair was standing beside a small timid-looking man. They appeared to be waiting for him.

"You have observed how flawlessly he was delivered," the woman stated and the man nodded. "Send Andersen a memo directing his attention to the delivery report." The man nodded again. The two of them made eye contact and smiled smugly. The woman turned to Petrarch.

"Welcome," she said. "You may address me as Masters, I will be overseeing your activities while you are here."

"That's very well, but I don't plan on staying long. I need to see Delphus concerning a few matters and then I'll be off."

"Delphus will be here shortly, but first I was hoping we could ask you a few questions."

"Okay."

He wasn't eager to play any games, but whatever she wanted probably wasn't worth causing any trouble over. Of course, if Delphus didn't show up in a few minutes, he might have to say something.

"Please, stand over here, near this wall." She pointed and the man ushered Petrarch in the desired direction. Once he was standing with his back to the wall, the man hurried through a door at the back of the room and Masters asked her first question.

"Do you harbor any ill will towards the people or instruments of this facility?"

He smiled, "Of course not."

"Yes, and do you value this facility as a necessary cornerstone in the advancement of society?"

"Sure."

"Could you please answer with a 'yes' or 'no'?"

"Yes."

"Ah, and would you sacrifice your own life in order to preserve the future of this facility?"

"No, I don't think I would."

The woman frowned and folded her hands. She held her expression for a moment and then called, "Justice!" The man reappeared.

She cast him an intense, searching gaze. He shrugged. She rolled her eyes and swept past him, through the doorway.

The man remained and noticed Petrarch watching him. He became visibly uncomfortable and avoided eye contact.

After about a minute of this, the front door opened and Delphus entered; he was a silver-haired man with an imperious expression that left no doubt to his status in the Bastion.

"He's quite harmless," the director declared to no one in particular and indicated with a finger that Petrarch should follow as he turned back out of the room.

They strode into the hall at a healthy pace.

"Do you feel privileged, coming in here?" he asked, a few feet ahead and not looking back.

"I suppose so sir, my father's reverence has worn off on me at least a little."

The director glanced back in his direction.

"This facility is the redeeming grace of the city. We are doing things here the world has hardly dreamed of. Do you believe there will be new saints?"

Petrarch was silent for a moment and they turned a corner. Delphus slowed and let him catch up.

"New saints, modern saints, or is their time in the past?"

"I, uh, I don't know. It's been so long and the church, well..."

"Yes the church – who's to canonize a new saint now? And of course there's nothing quite like a saint steeped in eons of history; they seem to grow stronger with time. They're nearly gods now, aren't they?"

Petrarch laughed politely, "The Holy Ghost is strongest in the saints, yes, but the Spirit can not be divided; there can be no other gods."

They reached a lift and came to a halt.

"But isn't a saint a man who is more divinely influenced? A man with powers greater than others?"

"Yes, or a woman."

"Of course. Would you think Masters back there might be a saint?"

Petrarch focused on the director's eyes. Delphus smiled humorlessly.

"A woman who can read the thoughts of another, is that not a saint?"

"I might believe so," Petrarch responded, "if she were to sacrifice her power for the greater good."

Delphus' smile crept up into his eyes. "Ah, a saint must be virtuous, I had forgotten.

The lift opened and they stepped inside. They turned to face forward.

"Six," Delphus commanded softly. The doors closed and he said to Petrarch, "We sacrifice much here. We are dedicated to our work; to advancing our race. Is that not the highest goal, to advance humanity?"

"Yes," Petrarch agreed, "To redeem ourselves through self improvement."

"And if we improve ourselves to the point that we are absolute masters of life and matter, have we not found the highest form of redemption?"

Petrarch did not answer. The entire conversation felt contrived and, if Delphus was angling towards some conclusion, why couldn't he just get to it already?

A smug expression entered Delphus' eyes, like he had won some kind of debate.

"The greatest redemption," Petrarch said, "is to own the world and give it up. It is not only foolish to envy the power of the Holy Spirit, it is a sin."

"Oh, well you certainly can speak like a leader of men."

His voice didn't exactly sound sarcastic and Petrarch had to wonder if he was giving him a compliment. A moment later the lift opened and they stepped out together.

"Petrarch, your father believed what he said, and that made him a convincing leader, but he also believed in practicality; he believed in science. I'm not sure how he managed to both rationalize a faith in the Holy Spirit and also accept the science that required the brain to be nothing more than a complex signal processor."

They were walking side by side and Delphus turned to look at him.

"Your father not only supported projects pursing the deconstruction of the human brain, he advocated them. Of course he was never personally involved and never asked for details – only results. I told him the human brain could be synthetically manufactured, complete with a soul, and he corrected me, explained that the soul is a manifestation of the Holy Spirit and is thus beyond the comprehension of man. Then he approved the project and set a deadline for results."

They came to a door and Delphus stopped.

"Do you follow my implications?"

"You feel as if you are becoming God."

"Oh, ho, ho, no; it's simply creation, we are developing the tools of creation. That's the distinction I think your father made. Not gods – creators. He split it into two sides; understanding and faith. One side for the Bastion, the other side for rest of Il Fiore. He was what preserved the balance, living in both realms. He was a great pater familias."

They entered an office.

"You don't have to say these things to please me."

"No, no, I speak with sincerity. Certainly, your father had his faults, but I just want you to understand his strengths."

"Okay." Petrarch was tired. Delphus seemed to sense this and his tone relaxed.

"In the end it doesn't matter if you understand, but I imagine it would eliminate unnecessary strife if you did." He sat down behind a desk, facing Petrarch. "Your mother asked me to see you. And as I am instructed by your father to obey the requests of your mother, just so long as they do not interfere with the course of our research here, I have submitted to allow your entry."

"I appreciate your patience."

"Do you know what service your mother has requested of me on your behalf?"

"She's mentioned something she calls capturing."

"Yes, she would call it that. It is a new procedure we have developed; your father's pet project. It should take no more than four to six hours."

"I do have a further request. I sent a suit of armor here for repairs, just before the lockdown occurred. I would like to take it with me when I leave."

"If we have it, I am sure we can arrange that."

Petrarch felt a weight of tension dissipate: that was easier than expected.

"Also, I would like to reinitiate communication between the Bastion and the family headquarters."

"Oh?"

"Yes, we can open some secured lines between the Hub and here."

"That sounds reasonable enough. Although I should inform you that, even when it was with your father, I have never been much in the habit of taking conference with anyone outside the Bastion."

"A simple resumption of the reports he used to receive will be all I require."

Petrarch hoped he didn't sound too presumptuous. Delphus smiled.

"Don't worry, the Bastion is still faithful to, and invested in, the Davius family. Have faith in me, young man; I plan to see this conflict through to its conclusion."

"Okay," It was all Petrarch could say; after such a roundabout approach, it appeared the negotiation had ended with surprising ease. There was a comfortable silence and after a minute Delphus placed his hands on the sides of his chair, as if to rise.

"Are you ready to capture, my boy?"

"Let's do it."

Delphus looked him over for a moment as if expecting he would ask what 'capturing' was. It hadn't really been anything he was concerned about but now he wondered: should he care?

The moment to say something passed and Delphus rose from his seat and led the way back out of the office.

They took the lift up another floor and soon arrived at a small lab full of scientists hard at work. The walls were lined with monitor consoles and a cluster of machines on wheels surrounded a high-backed chair in the center of the room. The chair had attached to its head what looked like a metal helmet, open at the bottom to allow insertion of the sitter's head.

"Is this going to mess up my hair?" Petrarch joked.

"Please, take a seat," Delphus said. "I'm sure everyone is ready to begin." There was a slight tone of threat in his voice and the scientists became noticeably more hurried.

"We will need to administer a number of injections," he added. "You will feel rather disoriented and in all likelihood you will fall asleep."

Petrarch walked up to the chair. It was padded in the seat and had arms that looked comfortable enough. He sat down, leaning forward to avoid the helmet apparatus. The director seemed satisfied and turned and left.

One of the scientists came to Petrarch and, placing a hand on his shoulder, guided him under the headpiece. He sat up straight and the top of his head rose into the cap. It was padded on the inside. The scientist made an adjustment on the rear of the chair and Petrarch felt the seat pushing him upward. His head slipped into darkness. If he looked down along the length of his nose he could still see light illuminating his lap. A moment later there was a tightening all across the surface of his head and then fingers on his arm. They were gentle but accompanied by a slight burn in his vein. He could hear the scientists moving around him, speaking to each other in soft voices. Gradually, he began to feel relaxed. A second burning in his vein barely registered. His thoughts grew colorful and random. He was feeling a jumble of sensations, lost track of time and drifted into asleep.

### 6. Dinner in Senchio

When Petrarch awoke he felt exhausted. He was still in the chair but his head was exposed and the lingering memory of dreams overwhelmed his thoughts. His eyes cracked open, the room was dim. He couldn't quite recall what his dreams had been about but he was certain they had been long and vivid. His mind was aching, it reminded him of the drain he felt after a rigorous mathematics exam.

"He opened his eyes to see if he was alone and discovered two of the scientists were still in the room, watching the monitors. They noticed he was awake and one of them came to him.

"What did you do?" He said. "I feel like I've been straining my mind for hours."

The scientist just asked him if he was hungry.

They took him to a small dining room, comfortable and intimate – not at all the cafeteria he had expected. He was guided to a booth and just as he was seated, an expressionless artikin arrived with a plate of food.

Petrarch ate in silence. He felt relaxed and his worries seemed less pronounced now, less relevant. The mental strain was already fading and he was left with a kind of tired bliss. What had they done to him? Was he different now? Had they changed his brain somehow? He didn't think so. Maybe he was a little less apprehensive, a little less worried about the future, but that could just be an effect of being tired.

It didn't feel like they had implanted anything, or taken anything away. Although if they had removed memories, how would he know what was missing? Could they have done something to make him less aggressive? He asked himself if he still wanted to break the Ectine family. The answer was still 'yes', although it wasn't accompanied by the usual surge of righteousness.

Had they pacified him? Maybe, or maybe he was just tired. He ate slowly; the food was good and there was no hurry. After a few minutes his biscuit importuned him. He set it on the table and read the message:

Your Aunt has been executed. She was in Ectine custody as collateral in the alliance to attack the Hub.

He had always expected that news of his aunt's death would bring a sense of joy, but he felt nothing. His only thought was to wonder at the Ectine brutality. With Otto already dead, there was no need to kill his wife – she no longer held any strategic value. Perhaps her murder was simply an act of rage and the Ectines were animals.

But if that were true, was he any different? Or was he also nothing more than an animal, lashing out violently and without thought?

He wondered what Judith thought. Did she see him as a killer, just as bad as the Ectines?

He set down his fork, no longer hungry, and closed his eyes. He prayed to the Saints for forgiveness. He repented his sins: his rashness, his selfishness, his covetousness of power and asked for guidance.

The only thought that came was the one he had started with: he couldn't allow himself to become as savage as the Ectines. If he did, the city would not survive.

But if he didn't fight his hardest, what alternatives were there? Was a truce with the Ectines possible? With the Hub under his control, he had their attention. Maybe if he made the first concessions, the Ectines would follow.

It was a nice thought, but unlikely. He looked down at the food: his appetite was gone.

Leaving the dining area, an artikin led him to a fitting room where his prototype armor was waiting. It was bigger than he remembered. It looked heavy and uncomfortable and likely to ruin the sense of relaxation that had settled over his body. But the fact was, if he wanted to take it, he would have to wear it home.

A technician explained that a surveillance assistant had been added to the armor's integrated computer. While he was asleep, they had contacted the Hub and now the heads-up-assistant – the system that overlaid sensory information on his visor – was networked to the Hub computers.

"You can see your exposure to surveillance coverage," the technician explained. "The Hub has access to every camera, every motion detector and every biometric reader integrated into the city network. It can even suggest routes to help you avoid being detected."

He changed out of his clothes and into a black secondskin jumpsuit. The fabric was thin and rubbery and stuck tight against his skin, but it breathed well and didn't feel stifling. Next, the technician helped him lift the heavy cords up over his shoulders, then slide in his arms and fasten the power dynamo onto his back.

He left the Bastion via a hidden tunnel. It was dark, long and heavily secured, but it made getting out much safer than leaving through a door. At the end, somewhere deep in the undercity, he peeked out and activated the surveillance assistant. A map of the surrounding area popped up on the inside of his visor. There were silhouette outlines of the buildings, a dot representing himself and a lone colored cone that indicated the presence of a single camera. It was watching him from behind a dirty sheet of plexipane and was wired directly into the Bastion's internal monitoring network.

It was safe to cross into the camera's view, but Petrarch hesitated. If he could see the camera, that meant it was networked to the Hub. Colin might be watching, sitting in the control room, waiting for the system to locate Petrarch Davius.

He sidestepped the camera's view and slunk away through the shadows; maybe he'd just avoid all of the cameras for now. He'd rather not be watched at all if he could help it.

Painstakingly, he made his way through the undercity. He took the time to locate and avoid every camera along his route and was even able to tap directly into the video feeds, just in case he had to cross a camera's path and wanted to watch for any sign of himself as he slunk by.

His route led down dingy tracks he never knew existed, narrow passages tucked far between the major underways. Walking the city, a few things stood out; first, Il Fiore was actually much bigger than it seemed. Second, in the center of the undercity, beneath the farm, there were people living in almost pitch-black gloom, scratching out an existence around the occasional dirty bulb or chipped diode screen, subsisting where no one was ever meant to live.

It was like a dreamland – a dark indistinct nothingness inhabited by faceless people, where both time and space could not be felt. When he finally emerged back into the light, he marveled at the gradual change. First houses, then businesses distinguished themselves from the shadows. The people became more purposeful, the light more plentiful, and then he was back in the dim but active undercity he knew. In fact, he did know it – he was deep in the Senchion district and the Senchion compound was just up ahead.

The Senchion compound! How in the name of the Saints could he have walked so far? He'd overshot the Hub by half the city! He rounded a corner and the compound came into view.

It wasn't too late to turn around and head back – no one was looking for him, so he wasn't in any real danger. But he didn't leave. There had been a force quietly drawing him here and now it seemed to be pushing harder than ever.

If he had come this far, maybe he should check to see if there was a way to get closer without being detected.

What was he thinking? It didn't matter how far he had come, he had to go back. It was the right thing to do; he had made himself a promise.

He checked the surveillance assistant for a route to the Hub; it looked like the best way to go was directly back the way he had come from. After backtracking for about a quarter mile, he could turn east, toward the Hub.

Scrolling back to his current location, something caught his eye. It was an opening in the Senchion security camera coverage. A camera must have been broken and there was a gap that could allow someone to get to the compound undetected. It wasn't very far away and he circled around to get a better look.

The source of the problem turned out to be two cameras: one broken, the other misaligned. The Senchions had to be aware of the problem, so why hadn't they fixed it? Were they in such a desperate state that they couldn't replace a security camera located just outside the compound?

Moving slowly, he crept to within thirty yards of the compound. Only an empty street was between him and the nearest door. Would the DNA scanners still be set to admit him?

He debated his next move; part of him argued that the smart thing to do was turn around and go back to the Hub – he could call and warn the Senchions from there – but another part of him knew he had to call now. After a minute crouching in the shadows, he activated the communicator in his helmet.

"Hello?" Judith said and his whole body seemed to both tense and relax at the same time.

"Hi. I'm, uh, outside."

"Outside?"

"Yeah, the southwest wall. I noticed you have a broken camera, I thought maybe—"

"Hold on," she said. Petrarch could hear her moving and he waited quietly.

"Yeah," she said, "that's the one. We noticed it was out yesterday but about a million things have gone wrong and we haven't had a chance to fix it. If anyone knew what it's really like here, our district would probably already be overrun by mobs of crawlers. Here – I'm calling back the guards at the door – you should be able to get inside. Give me two minutes and then head in."

She ended the call.

She thought he had come to see her. He couldn't turn around and head back to the Hub now. There was nothing left to do but set a timer for two minutes and then go in.

When the timer expired, he sprinted out of the shadows and raced to the door. True to her word, it opened at his touch and he slipped inside.

He was in a service lobby now. The lights were low and the room was vacant. There were a few desks with monitors on them, a weigh station and, on the floor, some scattered empty ration packs.

"Hey."

He turned to face the sound of the voice.

Judith had appeared across the room and was walking towards him.

"Reenacting our first meeting?" she asked, looking over his armor.

He popped the visor open.

"Everything else is in the wash."

A brief smile creased her cheeks and she ran a hand through her hair.

"Come on, I'm glad to see you, but we can't have you out where anyone might find you."

Thankfully, she didn't seem inclined to ask why he had come.

They walked into a hallway and then up some stairs.

"The science minister's bureau," she declared after they had ascended a few floors and opened a door to a hall. "He's gone to work with the Barclays and all of our technicians are either with him or serving the gendarmerie, so it's pretty deserted up here."

She walked to a room and he followed her inside. It was an empty lab, just a few console banks and a small pile of extra machine casings.

"You can take off that suit here. I'll get you a gendarme's uniform."

She walked out the door and glanced back briefly before closing it behind her. Petrarch found the hidden release under his arm and, pressing it, relaxed the coils around his chest. They exposed the release for the power dynamo on his back and he reached over his shoulders and pulled it. Locks retracted and the electromagnets freed the dynamo into his grip. He swung it around, a glossy black vulcar hump, and set it on the ground, then wriggled his arms free of the loosened coils and finally lowered himself to the ground, where he was able to slide out the rest of his body.

Stepping back, the armor was laid out on the white tiled floor, hollow, loose and deformed. He was only wearing the full-body secondskin and he pulled the tight hood off of his head and straightened his hair as best as he could.

A moment later, the door opened and she returned carrying a folded uniform and a pair of black boots.

"Here, this should suit you; we already know you look good in black."

He took the uniform and she turned, but rather than leave, she drifted to the perimeter of the room with her back to him.

"So what brings you to my beautiful neighborhood?" she asked.

"It's a long story. I was at the Bastion. They did some stuff with my head. I guess I couldn't find my way home after that."

He peeled the secondskin down off his body and around his legs. Within moments, he was completely naked. He glanced back at her and discovered she was watching him in the reflection of a stainless steel machine casing. He looked away.

"Really?" she asked. "You were inside the Bastion?"

"Yeah, some crazy idea of my mother's. She convinced the director to let me in. I figured it was a good chance to get this armor back."

He pulled up the black gendarme's trousers.

"What's it like there?"

"What, the Bastion? It's kind of nice, I suppose, very organized, very clean. You get the impression everything occurs precisely on time. Although the people aren't exactly good for a conversation."

He picked up the shirt and pulled it on over his arms. Then the jacket; it was an officer's formal uniform, accented with brass buttons and a golden filigree at the shoulder.

"Are they very advanced?" she asked. "Are they very different from you and me?"

He paused, the jacket hanging open.

"Different?"

He remembered hearing that there were rumors amongst the other families, rumors that the Bastion scientists practiced genetic manipulation on themselves.

"No, they're just like us. Maybe a little more intellectual, a little more studious, but they're just people like you and me."

"But they're so young when they take new recruits and people say that they do things to the children."

"Oh, it's nothing more than what they do with new recruits in the guard, or the gendarmerie."

He fastened closed the shirt and sat down on the floor to put on the boots. She turned around.

"Could you live there?"

"In the Bastion? No, I don't think I could – it would be too boring."

"You don't think it's ideal? No discord, no strife, no fighting."

"No personality, no adventure, no romance," he said, looking up and smiling. "Besides, we would never be able to fit everyone inside."

"Good point."

She extended her hand and he took it, raising himself up as she leaned back.

"Am I keeping you from anything?" he asked.

"Of course, but it's nothing that can't go on without me for a little while. Come on, I was just about to eat, are you hungry?"

"Yeah," he lied.

"Here," she stooped to pick up the gendarme's hat he had left on the ground. She pulled it down hard over his head so that the brim was even with his eyes.

"Ow, careful, I'm still a little tender from my brain scouring."

"Brain scouring?" She held him at arms length and straightened his collar.

"Yeah, my date at the Bastion wasn't all fun and games. They gave me a brain enema, I think."

She wrinkled her nose.

"Okay, well we'll try to keep you safe from tight hats, bright lights and heavy thoughts."

"That'd be great."

"Your suit will be safe here. Don't touch the hat and don't look anyone in the eye, there's no sense in advertising your arrival."

He dropped his hands from where his fingers were exploring the brim of the hat. What did she mean by that: no sense in advertising your arrival? Was his confrontation with Jacob common knowledge amongst the Senchions? Probably. Did that mean he was a universally hated enemy again? Was there even any chance of an alliance now, or had he ruined all hope?

She led the way back out the door.

They walked the halls in silence. Judith fiddled with a biscuit and ignored the few people they passed. Petrarch kept his eyes down and wondered just how crazy he must be to have come here after what he'd done.

Unannounced, she came to a stop. They were standing before a door and there was no one else in the hall. It was nicely carpeted and seemed a little more exclusive than anywhere else they'd been through so far.

"I think you'll be safest in here," she said. She opened the door and they passed inside before she turned and closed it behind them. "No cameras, no servants."

They were in a comfortable sitting room decorated in soft antique leather furniture, cream-colored carpets and low glass tables. There were doors in each of the other walls.

"Are these your quarters?"

"Yes, and the food should be here already. One moment." She slipped away to a door and called back to him before passing through, "Please sit down. Rest that poor head of yours."

He sat down and leaned into a sofa. Here, the world outside no longer mattered; all of his problems – the Ectines, his father, Wolf, the Senate – ceased to exist. Only one remained, one single problem stood above them all: Jacob.

Throughout their walk, he could think of nothing else and the burden of guilt was killing him. What was he even doing here? Her family might need his protection, but how could he ever be anything more to her than a political necessity? How could he ever even look her in the eyes?

Judith swept back into the room carrying a tray of dishes and set them on a glass table before the couch. Her hair was completely undone now and, as she bent over the table, it slid over her ears and swept in front of her face. She removed the dishes from the tray and then brushed back the hair.

"I hope it suits your aristocratic tastes. I'm not sure what it is you eat at the Davius compound."

"Oh, you know, emu eggs and sea lion steaks, but this will do." He forced a smile. "It looks wonderful."

"I hope you like beer."

There was a large unmarked bottle on the tray.

"Of course."

She poured two glasses and handed him one.

"To the future of Il Fiore," he said and they tapped them together before drinking in unison.

"It's very good!"

"It ought to be, my grandfather horded it like it was gold."

"However did you get it away from him?"

She lowered her eyes. "He was killed."

He froze. Lord Senchion was dead? Why hadn't she mentioned this earlier? First Jacob and now her grandfather; she seemed bizarrely relaxed, all things considered.

"When? Where?"

"Right here in the grand hall. Right in front of everyone."

"Who did it?"

"I don't know. He must have been an Ectine agent. He was dressed all in black. He came and went and no one could stop him."

Her voice sounded strained. Maybe she wasn't all that relaxed after all.

"That sounds like the same assassin that attacked my father. I'm beginning to think he might not have anything to do with the Ectines at all."

"No? Then who is he?"

"I don't know, but he appears to be able to go anywhere and do anything he wants, no matter the security. If he was working for the Ectines he would have come for me by now." She looked concerned and he added, "There's probably nothing more to fear; if he wanted anything else with your family, he would have it already."

It didn't sound very reassuring and they sat in silence for a moment.

"It must be hard for you," he said.

"I didn't really like him, if that's what you mean."

"I meant, two deaths in two days must be difficult."

Her eyes lowered. "Please, I don't want to talk about him."

Petrarch swallowed back a surge of anxiety.

"Oh," she said, "it's not that – it's, it's – I should have known I was the only thing that could have ruined the alliance."

"It wasn't your fault; I could have handled it differently."

"I doubt it. I grew up with Jacob. He might have been all I had after our father died, but he was so impulsive I learned to depend on myself." She set down her drink and looked at the food. "I really didn't want this to be about him, or my grandfather."

"Okay," Petrarch touched her lightly on the arm.

"Thanks," she half-smiled and began serving a noodle dish to two plates.

It looked as if the entire meal might pass awkwardly but, as they began to eat and drink, a conversation gradually arose. They talked about their childhoods growing up, comparing memories of very different parts of the city. Hours passed and the world outside became completely unimportant.

"It's late," Judith said finally and rose to clear the dishes back onto the tray. Petrarch stood and helped her. The plates were cold.

"You didn't eat much," she observed.

"Oh, the food was great. I think my trip to the Bastion," he touched his head, "drained me of my appetite."

"Are you tired?"

"No, no; relaxed maybe. It's been years since I've felt like this – this calm."

She smiled.

"I'll bet you'd fall right asleep if you had your Valos – I mean your plushy bear – here with you."

"Come now," Petrarch raised an eyebrow, "I do not sleep with my artikin. You know, we don't do everything together."

"I should hope not. I imagine artikins like their own privacy sometimes."

She lifted the tray and he followed her across the room.

"I wonder," she asked, "Is Valos like you in every way? If you couldn't make a dinner appointment, could he stand in for you and be just as charming?"

"He'd probably be more so; he's quite the gentleman. When I was younger, I'd have him impersonate me. My father was never pleased to discover he had been disciplining my artikin instead of me. Valos would take the punishment without protest, which is usually what gave him away."

They entered a kitchen and crossed to the other side. Judith slid the tray of dishes into a gap in the wall and turned to face him. She was very close and Petrarch was suddenly anxious. His palms felt moist.

"I guess it's late," he said.

"Yeah."

"Will I be able to get out?"

"Do you know the real reason I invited you over that night, even though I knew better?"

He felt himself freezing up.

"What?"

"When we first met in that old church, there was something about you, something I had never seen in a man – at least none of the men in my family."

"My Davius eyebrows?"

"No."

She leaned in a little closer, "I could tell you didn't think our future was hopeless."

"Oh." He couldn't think of anything to say.

"The moment I sensed it, all of Grandfather's men, even Jacob, suddenly seemed so dull. All they ever wanted was revenge. Once I knew you existed, it was hard to get you out of my mind."

She was staring at him intently now, her lips slightly parted, her chin turned up to face him. He wondered if it were true, did he want more than just revenge, even back then, when they first met?

His hand found her arm at the elbow and she leaned into him. Her body felt soft as it pressed against his. He had never been with a woman that wasn't an artikin. She was in his arms and closing her eyes, raising her face towards his. Adrenaline surged through his blood; his temples were pounding. Their lips came together.

The wild, pulsing thoughts ceased completely and, all at once, everything seemed to make sense for the first time in a long time.

### 7. Dawn of a new morning

Many hours later he awoke. The room was dark, just as it had been when he had finally drifted off to sleep. Dawn didn't exist here; there were no sunlamps to simulate daybreak in the Senchion compound.

She was beside him, her naked body close and nestled against his own. In the dim, artificial light, her face looked perfect and peaceful.

He felt a tremendous relief, as if a monumental weight had been released from his body. Forgiveness, but more than that. Finally, someone to need him, someone to understand him.

Gradually, Judith awakened. She smiled, propped herself up and reached over his body to turn on the light. As soon as it came on he caught her around the middle and rolled her back down to the bed, kissing her.

She kissed him back but then asked, "can't I get up?"

"No."

He was propped up on his arms above her.

"What about the family? It's late. I've been away a long time; Arik's probably beginning to think he's in charge." She took the patron charm hanging from his neck and rolled it between her fingers.

"You can sort him out later," he said.

"I'm worried about Isaac."

"I thought Isaac left."

"He did, but we can still follow his progress whenever he attacks someone."

"Isaac can wait too."

He leaned down and kissed her again.

She slipped her hands around his sides and pulled him down against her body but when he released his kiss and looked into her eyes her brow was puckered.

"What's the matter?"

"There's so much I need to do today."

"Fine," he sighed and sat back on his haunches, "There's a lot I need to do too. I'll need to coordinate with Colin and assess this compound for security gaps. It may be best to just move your whole operation into the Hub."

She sat up to face him squarely, "Move my whole operation?"

"Yeah, whatever's left of the Senchion family institution," he said. Had he made an incorrect assumption? "If the Senchion compound is a security risk we won't be able to patch you in to the central system and coordinate our efforts. But if that's the case, it isn't safe for you to be here anyway."

"We can't just move the entire Senchion house into the Hub."

"Are you sure? Honestly, how much is still within the Senchion sphere of influence? When we spoke yesterday, you told me the outlying districts have cut ties; all that remains part of the family is basically what's left inside this building, isn't it?" She sighed and he took her hands in his, "We'll be stronger united. Maybe we can even negotiate a cease-fire with the Ectines. If the Senate sees that we're joined, they'll be eager to help support a compromise between all the families. Unless you don't think you can convince your family to unite with the Daviuses?"

"Okay," she said, "we'll see about moving to the Hub, but you need to make sure you can receive us."

"Of course. I'll make the arrangements immediately; things are changing fast – my advisors think the Ectines may try to raise a siege soon."

"Then hurry." She steadied his face with her hand and kissed him, then pushed him gently out of the bed.

He found the pieces of the borrowed officer's uniform scattered about the floor and dressed himself, lingering occasionally to look at her. She was trying hard to ignore him; reading messages on her biscuit, but more than once he caught her eyes watching him dress.

When he was finished, she saw him to the door. They kissed once more and he held her as long as he could but eventually their lips parted. With a monumental effort, he turned and reached for the door.

Just outside, her personal gendarmes were waiting; the same two that escorted him that other evening. Their presence seemed to break a spell. He gave one final smile and then allowed himself to be led away.

Back at the room where he had left the suit, he put on the helmet and checked the surveillance assistant. It seemed hard to believe, but it reported the route back to the Hub was completely safe.

He took the helmet off and gendarmes loaded the suit onto a dolly. He followed them to a garage where they loaded it into the back of a truck. When they were done, Petrarch climbed into the driver's seat and drove out into the city.

The world around him seemed silent and distant. The traffic was subdued; the cars were sparse and it seemed as if everyone was less hurried than usual to get where they were going.

Arriving at the Hub, he was admitted entry without contest and parked the truck in the main garage. A single guardsman met him as he disembarked. He almost asked if something had happened: Where was everyone? Why wasn't anyone interested in his return? But he thought better of appearing uninformed and instead just instructed the guardsman to unload his armor from the truck.

Yesterday the Hub was bustling with activity, now the halls were empty. He marched in the direction of the control room and it didn't even matter that he was still dressed like a gendarme – there was no one to notice.

The main doors to the Davius control center lobby swung open as he approached. A long table had been placed in the center of the room covered by a blue cloth, marked with a gold emblem of Davius swords. Many people were seated around the table. They were all facing a man standing at the far end but, as Petrarch entered, they turned to look at him. Despite all the faces, Petrarch found it impossible to look anywhere but at the man.

The stranger was wearing a suit of sinewy black vulcar armor, just like the prototype he had brought back with him from the Bastion, but this man wore no helmet and his face was unmistakable. It was his father; the harsh features were recognizable even from across the room.

Petrarch took a few steps forward and then stopped. The heads around the table all turned back to face his father.

"You have disappointed me, my son," the man said in his father's voice and began to walk slowly around the table. Heads followed his progress and he strolled with his hands held behind his back.

"I was just reprimanding my lieutenants for lack of faith in their pater familias; that they should lose faith so quickly, that they should not believe I would return and lead them to victory in this war."

The man was drawing closer and Petrarch began to doubt if it actually was his father. It seemed like his father, yet not completely; something in his face was not right.

"And my own son has betrayed me. He has cast my empire into chaos. He has dashed my carefully laid plans to pieces. All because of a lack of faith and respect."

He was passing the last of those seated at the table and Petrarch noticed Colin was in one of the chairs. As his father passed behind, his cousin's eyes flashed expressively, wide and terrified.

"But I have returned and I bring assurances that never again will I be gone from my people and my city."

Petrarch was overwhelmed with confusion: Why was Colin terrified? Was the advancing figure really his father?

"I demand for my assurance of prosperity only that my people have complete, absolute and unwavering faith."

The father figure stopped just before him. His face was close and Petrarch could see that something about his skin was not natural. Was it too clean? Was the color wrong? Then he noticed the whites of his eyes; they were as pure and white as milk, there was no red or yellow, no vessels or blemishes. They were not his father's eyes and they were looking down at his Senchion's uniform.

"I will not tolerate a lack of respect, from anyone!" the father-imposter shouted in his face.

There was a sudden motion and a brief blur of something dark. He felt a quick, light pressure against his chest. The imposter's arm was extended out between them and a pair of protruding black combat claws was jutting into his chest. Two blades: the symbol of Davius. He felt a stabbing pain and realized he couldn't breathe. A moment later he was falling, and then he blacked out. In the darkness, there was a feeling of immense loneliness, as if the universe had expanded into infinity. Then he died.

# Book II

Men are weak. It is our secret shame that, of our many, there are few who will rise above their inner compulsions, few who will become, of their whole being, more than the animals they were born.

Yet how can so few guide the many, to preserve society? Should our collective actions not be guided by human wisdom, we falter and descend into the darkness, a noble failure.

This is why the many need submit, this is why divinity is in recognizing one's own weakness: one must know the animal, if one is to rise above it.

Thus, The Book of Saints is a ledger with which every man may learn the art of humanity. Only after first becoming a human, should a man be allowed to think for himself.

-Bishop Vorhang, consecrating the Book of Saints

## Act I – The Shaman

### 1. Awake

Petrarch awoke with a start and was sitting upright instantly. Something was wrong.

He was in a dimly lit room, but could see clearly enough to know that it was not the room he had 'captured' in. He was still in the Bastion – the sterility, the walls lined with consoles and the large pieces of equipment on wheeled carts were unmistakable – but apparently he had been moved to a new room. The last thing he could remember was beginning the capturing process, the metal bowl over his head and the drowsy, confused sensation of the drugs taking effect. After that, his memory was a blur and then... nothing. But something must have happened. Why was he alone in this dark room?

The only light was provided by the gently glowing console screens set into the walls. By their dim glow he could see that he was sitting on a raised surface, four feet above the ground. It appeared to be some kind of metal table.

He was wearing the woven-fiber vulcar armor he had come for. Had they dressed him in it while he was passed out? The black-green cords were like he remembered; slick, shimmery and harder than diamond. Everything seemed to be in place except for the claws, which it appeared had been removed.

But where was he? Something wasn't right – no one had told him he'd be moved to another room and dressed in his armor. And why was he alone? How long had he been asleep? If he'd been here long, there wasn't much time; he needed to get back to the Hub before the Ectines raised a siege.

He lifted his leg to climb down from the slab, and froze. A sense of dread sank over him as his eyes were drawn to his knee; something in its dim outline was wrong, even if he couldn't say what exactly it was.

He climbed down carefully from the hard slab and something tugged at the back of his head. He turned quickly and the tug tightened, then released. Two long wires dropped away and fell against the bed-table, rattling hard plastic connectors against the metal.

The wires must have been connected to the back of his head and he felt around with a hand. He couldn't find any tender spots in his skin but the armor came up higher on his neck than he remembered and there seemed to be some kind of holes right where it ended.

A deep dread was growing in the center of his stomach. He walked to a monitor and lifted his knee into its glow. The oily black armor looked how he remembered, but a sickening realization came to him – the leg was entirely too thin. In fact, it was about as thick as his naked leg should have been without the mass of vulcar cords and servo motors covering it.

What had they done to him?

He lifted his arms. They were the same – too thin. He searched for the suit release; it was hidden somewhere under his armpit. He couldn't seem to find it and leaned in close to the monitor and raised his arm. Where the release ought to be, between two vulcar cords, there was simply nothing; the cords pressed together without obstruction.

Where's my body?

The thought was pure and urgent.

It's gone, said a voice.

The voice did not seem to come from anywhere in particular. There was no one else in the room and he considered the possibility of hidden speakers, but he was almost certain he had not asked his question out loud.

You're in my head, aren't you? he thought, hoping that it wasn't true.

There was no response and he tried to feel relief, but the sensation wouldn't stick; there was no way he had imagined that voice.

What's going on? He thought.

You've been given a new body, the voice responded, even though this time, he was sure he had not said anything aloud.

And who are you?

I'm your guide; a little something extra slipped into your thoughts.

Petrarch tensed. His eyes were still searching, as if a chance remained to locate the source of the voice.

Maybe, I shouldn't be here, the voice continued, but these things never go exactly how the directors plan them. It paused and then added, honestly, you're better off with me than without me.

It sounded as if the voice was trying to justify its presence.

Let me get this straight, Petrarch thought, the voice in my head feels guilty about being there?

He couldn't decide if he should be frightened or not.

Maybe I do, the voice answered, but the fact remains, we are one mind now. I suspect the distinction of thoughts will fade over time until we are indistinguishable.

Who are you?

The voice paused as if second-guessing what it would say next:

You can think of me as your 'shaman'.

My shaman?

Yes, I am your guide to understanding your new paradigm.

My new paradigm? What in the name of the Saints is going on here?

By 'paradigm', I only mean the way you interact with your world. Your life has changed; I'm here to help you make the transition.

What kind of sick experiment is this? I just came in to pick up a suit of armor and do my mother a favor and you've... and the Saints have mercy but I don't know what you've done to me!

The first thing you must realize is that your memory is incomplete. You blame us – you blame the Bastion scientists because they are the last thing you remember. That is only natural. But many things have happened since then; how many, neither of us knows, but what we do know is that they concluded with your death.

My death?

Yes.

So I'm dead?

Not exactly. Your original body died and now you've been given a new one.

Not that I believe you, but then why don't I remember dying?

Your memories are stored in the synapses of your brain. Any new memories you formed after your brain was mapped are lost. Just like a man writing his memoirs in a journal every night before bed, whatever he did on the day he died would not be recorded.

That's what this was? You recorded my brain?

Yes, now you see. We captured an imprint of your complete synaptic map. When you died, it was loaded into a blank carniform.

You copied everything?

Yes, everything that you remember, everything that comprises your thoughts. Even the way you think – the way you store and retrieve memories – was included. Rest assured, everything is where you expect it.

I died, and now I've reverted back to a previous copy of my memories?

Correct.

But what about my soul? Am I a robot now?

No, not at all; a mind at its root is just data – a web of synapses intricately interconnected.

So that's it, my soul is gone.

Nothing is missing; a 'soul' is implied – emergent from the data – and no data was lost; we are able to capture everything.

Petrarch's head was spinning. What killed me?

That is something we shall endeavor to discover. I'll admit I'm rather curious to know myself.

Curious? Did we know each other... before? You still haven't told me who you are.

Very well. To be fair, yes, I do know who you are, Petrarch. I am, or I should say, I was a scientist here at the Bastion. I was chief researcher on the brain research project that made all this possible. Like you, I'm a copy now.

Initial experiments showed that the revival process was too disorienting, so we decided a guidance memory was desirable. I was a little behind schedule so I used a recording of my own mind to serve as the guide. Perhaps I was indulging myself – who can pass up the opportunity to make a little piece of himself immortal – but what can I say now; what's done is done.

It was all too bizarre. Petrarch massaged his face with a hand. His skin felt rubbery.

I have skin? I have a face?

Sure, you're Petrarch Davius after all; you get your own face casting. The resemblance is actually quite remarkable.

He looked for a mirror but there were no reflective surfaces in the room.

We can proceed at your pace so just go ahead and take as much time as you like.

He couldn't tell if the shaman was being sarcastic. Of course, if the shaman was part of his mind, didn't he already know if he was being sarcastic or not?

Yes, you do.

Petrarch paused, unsure if he was ready to deal with all of this. But what alternative did he have?

Fine, if you'd like to get moving, where do you suggest I go?

My advice is that you leave here as quietly as possible. You don't know what caused your death and the circumstances of your resurrection are very much not in line with protocol; something has gone wrong and you'll probably be safest if you go into hiding until you find out what happened. Once you're safe, we can begin to piece together the mystery of your death.

There was a silence. He didn't have time for this. He needed to contact Colin and get back to the Hub.

The shaman continued.

Going directly to the Hub might not be wise. We don't know what's changed since you captured; for all we know, the Ectines have killed your friends and taken over the Bastion. All we can say for certain right now is that your awakening, alone like this, is not proper protocol.

With mounting irritation, Petrarch asked; if you know so much, why don't you take over and get us out of here?

Because, that is not my purpose; this is your mind, not mine. Perhaps you misunderstand the scope of my presence. I'm an incomplete mind; I extend only to what you need me to know. Beyond that I'm a complete blank.

And what constitutes 'what I need you to know'?

I don't know, but I do know that I'm unable to move your arms and legs, so as far as that goes, it's all up to you.

Maybe this was just an elaborate inner discourse he had concocted on his own to cope with the strange sensations he was feeling. Or maybe the shaman was telling the truth. Either way, it probably couldn't hurt to consider the shaman's advice; if someone had recently killed him, there was a chance he was still in danger.

Ok, fine, let's go.

First, a word of warning; your new body is not as powerful as you might assume. Sure, it's made of vulcar and just as tough as your previous suit of armor, but it is not fitted with the same powerful musculature and sensor array. You only have the strength and senses of an ordinary man, so we will need to proceed with caution. First, check the time on that monitor over there.

Petrarch glanced at the monitor the shaman wanted him to see and found the clock.

The shaman observed: At this hour, the hall outside should be relatively clear, but we won't take any chances.

He allowed himself to be guided through the laboratory scheduling system, checking lab hours and vacancies. Once they decided on a suitable escape route, he slipped out the door and darted down a hall to a wing of testing-stage rooms. With the shaman's help, he overrode the security on the first door and entered a large, airy staging room; machines and apparatus were lined up in its center.

He searched for something that could be used as a weapon. There was a framework of metal rods holding up a large hermetic plexipane box. He moved to it and began to unscrew one of them.

There isn't any time to waste.

I need a weapon, in case they find me.

You think a club will help you? Your carniform is powered by a simple musculature. Your new body can be overpowered by a single man.

Petrarch looked down at his mechanical arm.

I can be modified, can't I? I can be made stronger.

And wiser too, but if you hope to accomplish either you must first leave this place as fast as possible.

Petrarch let go of the rod.

There is a loading entrance at the rear of this room.

I see it.

He quickly crossed to the large double doors.

It was locked with a key code but the numbers came naturally. He had to admit there were benefits to sharing his mind with the shaman, even if it felt like a horrible invasion of privacy.

The doors opened. Before him was a long room, its walls lined with steel-framed storage shelves stacked with crates. At the opposite end was another door.

A noise rattled behind him in the staging room. There was no need to turn and look; he immediately began to run.

They're coming for you.

I know!

Petrarch reached the opposite door and entered the security clearance on the code panel beside it. The door slid open. Voices behind him shouted. He glanced back. Two Bastion security officers were hurrying across the storage room, both armed with assault guns.

Petrarch dashed through the doorway and into a paved carboncrete tunnel, spacious enough to permit full-sized transport trucks.

You won't be able to outrun them. Hide just beside the doorway.

Petrarch wasn't sure if it was his thought or the shaman's but he obeyed and pressed himself against the wall.

You need to get a biscuit from them.

How am I supposed to do that with my bare hands? You should have let me stop for that damned metal rod!

The shaman didn't respond and in the next moment one of the security officers dashed into view; Petrarch thrust out an arm and caught him across the neck. The officer fell backward and Petrarch pounced, holding him down with one hand while scrambling for his gun with the other. The man fought back and, without even thinking, Petrarch gave him a savage head-butt. There was no pain, but the collision produced a loud crunch and the officer howled in pain. Petrarch grabbed the gun with both hands and wrenched it free.

The second officer opened fire. Bullets pelted across Petrarch's back and rattled him to his vulcar skeleton. He fumbled the gun into a firing position and shot back, knocking the guardsman off his feet.

As the man hit the ground, something popped free and Petrarch could hear it perfectly. His ears followed the skittering sound as it bounced across the floor until his eyes found it. It was the man's biscuit and he scrambled after it.

The first officer groaned and climbed back up to his feet. Petrarch scooped the biscuit up, turned and aimed his gun at the man's face. The guardsman immediately dropped back to the ground and covered his head.

These Bastion guardsmen didn't seem all that tough. Petrarch skipped around the two sprawled out bodies and dashed into the tunnel.

After a few blocks of running, he arrived at a large fortified gate. Using the biscuit, and with the shaman guiding him, he linked to the Bastion's security system and accessed the security-gate override.

As the piston locks disengaged and the door began to open, the sound of roaring engines echoed up the tunnel from behind. A moment later, the gate was wide enough that he was able to slip through. On the other side was freedom of the undercity and he began running as fast as he could.

### 2. Descent

The streets were nearly empty in the neighborhood around the Bastion and Petrarch sprinted into the nearest alley. Behind him he could hear the sound of roaring engines emerge into the streets. Even though the undercity was a mess of narrow, twisting roads and dark hidden alleyways, he felt like a mouse trapped on a wide bare floor. How far did their visual network extend? How far would they be able to track his escape?

He sprinted to the opposite end of the alley and turned onto another avenue. One benefit of his artificial body was that it did not appear to fatigue. No matter how hard he ran, his body didn't show any signs of growing tired. All he had to do was find someplace the vehicles wouldn't be able to follow.

Deeper undercity seemed the logical destination; not only were there no roads down below, but there were even fewer cameras and biometric scanners as well.

The only question was, where was there access to the depths?

He wracked his brains for everything he knew about the neighborhood surrounding the Bastion and remembered a refrigeration facility from his childhood. It was a long time ago, back when his father still took him along on official business, but he was pretty sure the building had a dedicated power main inside, a massive tap that connected directly to one of the geothermal wells beneath the city. If he could access it, it would make an ideal escape route.

He cut down a side street and emerged onto a parallel avenue. Up ahead was the refrigeration facility right where he expected it, less than two blocks away. There was nothing left but to run.

Halfway up the street, the rumble of engines behind him surged in volume and he glanced back over his shoulder. A truck had come speeding around a corner and was bearing fast in his direction. He wasn't going to make it before they overtook him.

Sticking close to the building-fronts, he sprinted a few more strides and then took a second glance back. The truck was only a few moments away now. He took two more strides and then abruptly ducked into a doorframe.

The truck braked hard and rushed past in a squealing rage. He waited a moment and then stepped out with his gun leveled. The vehicle had come to a halt and two men were climbing out of the side doors. He fired a couple shots in their direction and they hurriedly scrambled back in. He then tucked the gun under his arm and sprinted past the truck. Behind him, he could hear the doors open again. With a rattle of gunfire, bullets began to pepper his back.

At first it was terrifying – the bullets slamming into his body – but he fought the instinct to seek cover and kept running. The truth was, bullets weren't any more effective at stopping him than shouting. The bastion guards didn't know what they were dealing with; by stopping to use their guns, they were letting him get away.

When the truck roared to life once more, Petrarch had already reached the Davius refrigeration facility. The automatic doors were deactivated but he threw his body hard against them and they gave way. Inside, the facility had the appearance of having been looted and abandoned.

Outside, the truck was screeching to a stop in front of the doors. The service entrance to the geothermal power main would be down on the lowest floor of the building so, without another thought, he boarded a lift and rode it down.

The entrance to the power main service lift was easy to find. Unfortunately, it was deactivated and the doors wouldn't open, but he found the stairs a minute later, hidden around a corner.

The stairwell was dark, lit only by faint orange emergency lights, and spiraled around a massive black metal tube, probably the thermal pipeline itself. Each stair was made of thin, woven metal ribbons and between the gaps in the weave the sheer distance could be seen, measured by little orange lights extending endlessly into the fathoms below. He closed the door and raced as quietly as he could down the rattling stairs.

The bottom was a long way off and the descent quickly settled into a blur of curving stairwell, clanging footfalls and methodically spaced orange lights.

### 3. The Depths

Eventually, the stairs came to an end. Many minutes had passed and it was hard to say how many hundreds of meters he had gone down. At the bottom, the power pipeline bent at a right angle and leveled out horizontally, leading off into the dark with a narrow tunnel just beside it.

He stopped to listen for any sound of pursuit but there was nothing, only the quiet hum of electricity and a distant throbbing that seemed to come from the earth itself. A few feet into the tunnel was a light fixture and the orange glow reflected brightly off a metal panel set into the side of the pipeline. He stepped closer and looked into the panel. Through the grime and corrosion he could see a dim reflection of his face. It reminded him of what the shaman had said; that his head was covered with a synthetic recreation of his former features. His palms were made of a rough, flexible synthetic material and he pressed one against the panel and rubbed out the gritty layers of dirt.

He peered into the cleaned surface. A face looked back at him, but it wasn't his; the eyes were wrong. They were too white and smooth and they didn't glisten with moisture. The skin wasn't perfect either; the color was right but it appeared a little more rubbery and less permeable than the real thing. His hair was cut very short, less than a centimeter long, shorter than he had ever worn it in his life. He ran a hand over the top of his head and could feel the bristly hairs bend. The sensation came from both palm and scalp. It certainly felt real, even if it didn't look all that convincing.

He leaned back from the panel and tried to get a view of the rest of his body. It looked as if he was almost entirely bare metal; only his face, hands and the soles of his feet were covered with anything even remotely resembling skin.

My life will never be normal again, will it?

The shaman didn't answer. Maybe it was better that he didn't; the answer was probably too much to think about right now. The priority now was figuring out how he had died and maybe getting back in contact with Colin.

According to the clock on the Bastion guardsman's biscuit, he had lost about one day. Was that right? What had happened in that time?

The face in the panel looked worried; its eyebrows were furrowed. He turned away and jogged down the tunnel, away from the stairwell. Soon the tunnel opened up into what appeared to be a small subterranean settlement.

Here the dull throbbing sound was much louder. The only lights were orange and dim and a single road led through the center of the settlement. The opposite end didn't appear to be very far, but the darkness prevented him from seeing it in any detail.

I don't have night vision?

Your vision is superior to your previous, biological eyes.

But the suit had infrared vision.

Your body is not the suit. They may have the same vulcar framework but, in many ways, the prototype suit was more advanced than your body is now.

You said that can be fixed; I could add night vision to this body.

Yes, but for any real modifications you will need to return to the upper-city.

Okay, I get it; I'm getting ahead of myself.

He took another look at the settlement. The buildings lining the two sides of the avenue were crude and cheaply constructed. The air was hot and still. Through the darkness, the power pipeline could be followed to where it terminated in a massive metal structure on the other end of town. Other pipelines were also emerging there; it was probably the top of the geothermal well.

The whole place seemed abandoned. There were small dark windows in a building overlooking the avenue and he wondered if they could be inhabited. He watched carefully for a moment, searching for any sign of life but there was nothing – just darkness. As he looked away something moved. At least he thought it was something. Hardly more than a shadow in the dark, a shifting of black on black, it could have been nothing. He approached the building, keeping his eyes on the window. As he drew nearer, what appeared to be the outline of a human figure seemed to manifest from the surrounding shadow, then, in a flash of movement, it was gone.

There are people down here?

Yes, but they are not like any you know in the city above. The geothermal well is everything to them; their only purpose is to keep it running.

Who owns this facility?

I believe this one belongs to Davius.

The people here are Daviuses?

Well, yes, but their situation is quite different from what you're accustomed to. It's quite possible most here have never even heard of you.

Petrarch looked at the windows with disbelief, hoping to catch a clearer glimpse of the residents.

What kind of people would live in a place like this?

A few may have come to hide from their upper city lives, but most were simply worn down and conditioned not to care long before they ever arrived here.

I don't see how they can stand it. This one cramped, suffocating street is their entire existence?

They're taken care of here. A daily routine free from fear and instability can be a welcome existence to some.

The dirty settlement looked as if it were carved out of dust and rock, lit no brighter than the night-light in his bathroom and silent except for the deep and constant pulsing of the power sink.

They can't possibly be happy. It must be unbearable to live your whole life and never hope to accomplish something wonderful.

Happiness is subjective. For many, it is nothing more than the absence of pain.

He was beginning to feel uncomfortable and cautiously resumed his progress up the center of the street.

Don't they know how to get out?

The shaman seemed to laugh.

If they wanted to leave, they could, but there is nowhere they want to go. This is where they belong.

It felt like he was being watched from every pool of darkness; from the shadows looming in the crooks of the buildings to the small windows spotting the filthy walls, he imagined countless pairs of watchful eyes.

Are all of the depths beneath the undercity like this?

No, this hole still has a purpose. There are some that have ceased to function and in those places you will find humanity barely clinging to existence on the fringes of some forgotten chasm.

It was easy to imagine this settlement slipping, forgotten, into oblivion; the decay was already evident everywhere you looked. The lighting was limited to tiny bulbs set in the walls and many had burned out, leaving gaps of near-pitch gloom along the irregular faces of the crumbling buildings. Would anyone ever replace them? How long would it be before all the lights burned out?

Approaching the mid-point of the street, he quickened his pace, holding the assault rifle warily in both hands.

At the opposite end of the settlement, he searched for another passage leading up, back to the undercity.

Near the power station, a thick bulkhead doorway was standing open. Through it he found a lobby with a working lift and, on the ground, a discarded piece of clothing. He picked it up. It was a jacket, part of a Davius union manager's uniform.

Clothing would be useful when he went back up; his naked vulcar body didn't exactly blend in with the general populace. He ripped off the double-sword patch and then slipped the jacket on. The sleeves were a little long and the fabric was oily and soiled, but it was a welcome piece of concealment. He found a smog mask in a pocket. He fastened it over his mouth and nose and flipped up the jacket's collar; hopefully it did a decent job of covering his face, enough to prevent anyone from noticing he wasn't human. His legs were still exposed metal but there wasn't much he could do about it for the time being. He would have to pray that the Bastion had kept quiet about his resurrection and the whole city was under the impression he was dead.

Of course, if the Ectines had retaken the Hub, the cameras might be looking for him and there was a good chance they would recognize his new face just as readily as the old.

He tried to imagine what it might look like if he destroyed his synthetic face. He pictured a blank expression of glistening metal. The eyes were white epoxy, the nose nothing more than a slot, and in place of a mouth there was nothing, just empty space.

The image was appalling and a surge of fear rushed over him. He couldn't give up his face; it was his only remaining physical connection to his former life. Even if it wasn't real, without it, his entire identity would be little more than a concept, something he would need to convince others of just to be taken seriously. Without a face, he would cease being Petrarch Davius – hell, he would cease being human!

He drove the image from his mind and boarded the lift. His face would stay. He only prayed that nobody would be waiting for him when he arrived at the top.

The ascent was slow and when the doors finally opened he peeked out cautiously. The lift-top was indoors and the building he was entering appeared to be in a state of power conservation. The lights were dim and the halls were empty. It didn't look like he'd be needing the assault rifle and carrying it around outside would be conspicuous, so he set it down on the floor of the lift and stepped out.

So what now?

The question lingered unanswered in his thoughts and, after a moment, he realized he was waiting for the shaman to answer. It was a horrible realization and his stomach plunged. Was he so willing to give up his own identity, to become a passive presence in his own body? If he wanted to remain Petrarch Davius, he would have to answer the question for himself.

I can't let myself be killed again so I'll need to become stronger. I'll need an optics system to watch out for danger; clothing to hide my identity; muscular enhancements to protect my liberty; and a weapon stronger than that rifle, for when I'm ready to face my enemies.

Concealing his synthetic body would be the first order of business; clothes were vital and probably the easiest thing on the list to find.

But where to start? The Grivet quarter came to mind; it was dirty, it was low, and it was dark – the perfect place to blend in and be ignored. Not to mention, he kind of already knew his way around; maybe years of frequenting Grivet gambling dens would be good for something after all.

### 4. Grivet

Outside, the undercity was deserted. He was still in the north end of the city, not far from the Bastion, and the Grivet quarter was only about a half mile to the west. Sticking to the shadows, he hunched up his jacket and followed a road leading in that direction.

After just a few blocks, the underways began to acquire signs of life. At first it was a few lonely souls slinking along in the shadows, but gradually the people, sounds and lights accumulated and the oppressive feeling of being alone began to lift, if just a little.

For the first time since he woke up in the Bastion, Petrarch felt as if he could relax, at least long enough to think about something other than escape and survival. His thoughts turned over to other things and he found himself wondering what his new life would be like. What would this new body mean? Who was he now? What would the future hold? No matter how he thought about it, the same conclusion seemed unavoidable.

This is crazy.

What is?

Everything. I'm dead; shouldn't I be resting in peace someplace?

Do you want to be?

Well, no, clearly I'd rather be conscious than... gone, but the point is; what is this? I'm not really alive, am I?

That depends on how you define 'alive'.

Oh? And how should I define it?

Is something alive because it has an organic body that breathes and bleeds, or is it alive because it has a will and a motivation?

You tell me.

If you were walking past a drunken crawler who was unconscious in a pile of trash and someone else saw the both of you, which of you would he suppose was most likely to be dead?

Petrarch smiled despite himself.

He'd pick the crawler.

Why would he do that?

Because the crawler looks like he's dead; he isn't moving. He's sprawled out in a pile of trash.

So with the crawler there is no evidence of a will or motivation and the assumption is that he's either dead or sleeping, but with you there is no reason to doubt you're alive because you show all outward signs of life. Isn't that what you're saying?

I guess.

So as far as anyone else is concerned, you're still alive. Why should you be the only one to think differently?

Ok, fine, life isn't a body. Life is a will. I'm still alive.

He walked in silence and it was hard not to feel just a little bit better, which, when he thought about it, was quite an accomplishment in itself: he was a robot with feelings.

The engineers had really outdone themselves. It was a marvel how authentic it all felt, how closely his new body matched the old. The only thing that seemed to be missing was discomfort. He no longer felt tired or cold or sweaty. His skin would never dry out or bruise. His muscles would never ache and his temples would never feel a migraine again. In some strange way, it was like he'd been reborn into an advanced state of being.

The thought was kind of appealing: he was reborn – a new man starting over. Gone were all the responsibilities and worries of his old life.

Your name is still Petrarch Davius, the shaman said.

Well, does it have to be? Couldn't I have a new name now? A new identity?

Could you give it all up? Could you allow yourself to be something less than what you were before?

Petrarch considered what he would be giving up. He would lose his status as the Davius heir, but really, what was that worth anymore? Being Petrarch Davius made him the most hunted man in the city. He would also lose contact with his mother, with Colin, with Judith...

Thinking of Judith created a tightening sensation in his chest. Was it pathetic that he felt so strongly about a woman he had hardly talked to more than a handful of times?

The shaman interrupted his thoughts.

Do you remember who you were?

Of course I remember.

Then you know who you are. The decisions you made and the actions you took in your lifetime define who you are now. They are more a part of you than your former body ever was.

The shaman was right and he couldn't help but think of all the time in his life he'd wasted, spent selfish, idle, and indulgent. Was that what most defined his character?

There's no escaping my mistakes, is there?

Escape isn't the objective. Mistakes should not be forgotten. Recognizing your sins and failures is how you learn not to repeat them – to become a better man.

So now that you're part of me, does that mean I've I gained your sins as well?

An unexpected sensation of amusement flowed through his mind, as if the shaman was laughing.

Yes, perhaps you are right. Although I am only a fraction of a mind folded into your own, my very presence is in some ways a product of my pride; a selfish desire to create my own immortality.

Just what I need: more burdens on my conscience.

The laughter flowed through him again and he couldn't help but smile along with it.

My apologies, the shaman said. Perhaps you may take comfort to know that a little pride never hurt anyone.

Pride is one of the seven deadly sins! Petrarch chided.

That may be, but the seven sins were chosen to protect society from the individual; they are not sins against the man himself.

You don't have to make excuses.

I'm not; at the root of each of the seven sins is simple, natural, human emotion. Everyone feels anger, desire and pride; they are important aspects of our personalities, essential to our survival. It is only in self-serving excess that emotions become harmful and individuals risk corrupting society.

I was only joking when I accused you of pride.

I know, but it is an important lesson for leaders to learn; if pride is correctly contained, it is the foundation of confidence. It is only a sin if one loses control and it becomes apparent to others. Restraint is everything; only those who learn balance can harness base emotions for the greater good.

Okay, okay.

The point is, the sins shouldn't be completely repressed and they shouldn't be feared. There is only one emotion that is a true sin against the self.

And what's that?

Self-doubt.

Self-doubt?

The fear of failure that keeps a man from striving for self-betterment. It is the only sin that has no root of good. Yet it is not covered in the Book of Saints because it poses no threat to society.

While they were talking, he had entered the Grivet quarter. Clearly the shaman felt like he was sharing something important and it was rude not to respond, but it was becoming difficult to focus with so many new distractions and things to worry about.

Here the undercity avenues were wider and, although the carboncrete ceiling was still no more than five stories above, there was a consistent flow of automobile traffic and people walking in the streets. For the first time since he had awoken in this new body, he was truly amongst people again, and he had to wonder if they would notice him – at the least, would they notice his bare metal legs.

Up ahead was a prominent building at the crossroads of two avenues; it was decorated in fading metal accents and sculpted window frames and stood out from the rest of the dull, inglorious neighborhood like a withered flower amongst weeds.

What's that place up ahead?

The Grivet compound.

He took a second look and, suddenly, recognized exactly where he was. A familiar neon sign across the street confirmed it; for much of the past year he had been a semi-regular visitor to this district. It was ridiculous that he hadn't recognized it immediately.

He turned a corner and was on the main drag. Both sides of the road were lined with houses of electronic pleasure, drug dens and brothels. Filthy Grivets in drugged stupors loitered in doorways or gathered in small groups. This was the Grivet quarter he knew, a place where you could blend in and forget your worries for a while. It was not a place where a young man developed admirable attributes.

But he wasn't here for pleasure now; he needed a place to hide out and lay low, a place to plan his next move in peace. Looking up the street, a sign advertising the Kingfisher caught his attention. It was a nice little game house, not too rowdy, an ideal place to lay low.

But getting anywhere was going to be difficult. As he started up the road, he was pressed into closer and closer proximity with the Grivets. It became a struggle just to stay out of the way. People were brushing by so near he could feel their clothes. A woman bumped into his arm. His nerves strained; would she stop and, with a second glance, notice his bare, metallic legs? No, she kept walking. A man staggered into him. He was about to apologize but the man just pivoted and staggered away in a different direction. A few more bumps and jostles later, it became clear that caution really wasn't even necessary. This was the Grivet quarter after all.

In front of the Kingfisher, he stopped and his eye wandered to the next door down. The Athena was another gambling den but it had a certain distinction that had always caught his attention. Inside, the front room was pretty standard; a small gambling floor with over-priced games and watered-down drinks, but in the back there were women – expensive women – the kind that were guaranteed to be clean.

The Athena women would be different from the artikins at home: dangerous, unpredictable. Of course, he had never gone in – Grivet women could be fun for play but ultimately they were beneath a Davius lord – yet it had always been impossible not to linger for a moment at the doorway and imagine the thrill of going inside.

Would there ever be that reason to linger again? Standing here now, he did not feel the giddy sensation in the recesses of his gut. His body was metal. The chemicals that once influenced his brain were synthetic now; had the impractical impulses been removed? He tried to feel the excitement but it seemed the little den next door was now nothing more than a source of nostalgia. Was it possible he would never feel lust again, or love?

He thought of Judith. When he was with the artikins he rarely felt much more than guilt, but with Judith he felt something entirely different. Would he ever feel that way again?

He lowered his eyes and entered the Kingfisher. Inside, the crowd was sparse; it was clearly not a peak hour. The patrons were of a depressing sort: men, limp in their chairs, playing at cards or dice or the consoles. A small group was gathered around the bar, having what appeared to be a heated discussion. Petrarch loosened his smog mask and sat down before a console.

He had come to the Grivet quarter to find a disguise, but now, sitting at a console and glancing around the room, it was clear he hadn't really thought through how he would get it. He looked down at the screen. It was waiting to begin a game. If he was going to look natural, he'd have to at least pretend to be engaged. The game was a familiar immersion program; a massive, endless game of skill and luck that sank hooks of false accomplishment into its users and slowly bled them of time and money. He tapped the screen as if he were playing and let his gaze drift into the empty space just above.

He needed pants and shoes, but how was he going to get them? Steal them from a store? No, that was too risky; the last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself. Maybe there was somewhere he could go where people disrobed; a locker room or... a brothel. Maybe tonight was the night he finally visited the Athena.

The discussion at the bar had been getting louder and now a few of the men detached from the group and rushed to the doorway. He heard someone say the word Davius and was instantly alert. Had they recognized him? After a moment of watching, it was clear that they probably hadn't – they seemed to be ignoring him entirely.

More men rushed to the doorway. Were there Daviuses coming? Might Colin have formed a search party to find him? No, that was unlikely; Colin probably thought he was dead or, for all he knew, Colin might even be dead himself.

The men around the door were drawing weapons and jostling for position.

Above the rabble of voices, he clearly heard a man shout, Lord Davius!

Petrarch stood. Was it his father outside? Had he recovered after all?

Be careful, the shaman's voice warned.

He made his way to the crowd around the door and pushed to the front. A moment later he found himself standing outside. It hadn't been his intention to go so far and he halted, wondering if he shouldn't retreat back into the doorway. The street was empty now, and all along the sides of the avenue, small crowds were huddled in the doorways of the neighboring establishments. The sound of roaring engines filled the road and everyone was watching the Grivet compound at the corner.

Suddenly there were three trucks screeching to a halt in the intersection. Two opened fire with a salvo of rockets, striking the entrance to the Grivet compound. The entire underway seemed to quake with the shockwaves and a shower of debris pelted the asphalt all the way up the road. Hatches opened on the trucks and a division of Davius guardsmen disembarked. When they were all out, he counted sixteen of them.

A dark figure climbed out last. The guardsmen surrounded him and then the group advanced on the stricken building.

Before they reached the doorway, gunfire crackled loudly from multiple locations up and down the street. The Daviuses hunched down and began firing back. A pall of smoke quickly developed around the group. The guardsmen were using smokers! Could they possibly be the same guns he took when he captured the Hub?

Movement on the street nearby caught his eye. A man dressed in midlar and rags was driven out from a concealed position. He held a rifle in both hands and swung it swiftly from side to side as he sprinted across the street. A smoker shell caught him mid-stride and tossed his body through the air. A moment later, he came to the ground in a limp tumble.

The gunfire trailed off and the Daviuses resumed their advance, passing through the ruined entrance to the Grivet compound.

Petrarch left the doorway of the gambling house and hurried up the street to the edge of the intersection. The three trucks were still idling in front of the compound. He needed to get their attention, to let them know who he was, but if he just walked out into the intersection there was a good chance they might think he was an enemy and open fire.

He felt exposed standing out in the street, all of the Grivets behind him, still watching from the doorways, the trucks just ahead. He'd have to wait for the guardsmen to come back out of the compound and then call out and let them know he was a Davius. He fell back and crouched behind a large metal casing box protruding from the side of a building.

Eventually, the Davius guardsmen reemerged from the ruined doorway. They were followed by the dark figure, who was pulling two people behind him, a middle-age man and woman, stumbling as he tugged them along by their arms. From this closer perspective it was evident that the dark figure was covered in black metallic fibers, just like his own. Was it his father? He wasn't wearing a helmet but his face was difficult to make out through the lingering haze of gun smoke.

The guardsmen spread out in the center of the intersection and formed a circle; their leader strode into the middle. With a peremptory motion, he flung the two prisoners to the asphalt. It was a simple flick of his arms but their bodies were tossed like dolls.

The figure stepped forward and stood over the fallen Grivets. He had a short beard, that much was clear, but until he looked in Petrarch's direction, it was going to be hard to identify who he was. He said something and then waved his hand dismissively over the man and woman before walking away in the direction of the trucks.

One of the guardsmen aimed his gun and fired. The two Grivets bounced and blood leapt up in a sticky spray. Petrarch looked away. The sound of bullet shells skittered on the asphalt and the soldiers turned to follow their departing leader.

Now was the time to act, before they were gone. He started to stand but then stopped. It didn't seem right exposing himself to these people after what they just did. Sure, he didn't know the whole story, but, well, something wasn't right and he still didn't know who the man in vulcar was – if it really was his father or not.

The man climbed up into one of the trucks and turned his head to look back up the street. For a moment, his face was perfectly visible and there could be no doubt – it was Lord Davius, his father. The next moment he stepped into the truck and was gone.

What, in the name of the Saints, just happened here?

Those were members of the Grivet bloodline.

Why'd he execute them?

What little Grivet government there was will be lost now without the bloodline. Perhaps he intended to destroy the family.

With a roar of engines, the Davius trucks sped from the intersection. Petrarch glanced back up the street; the crowd was already spilling out from the doorways on both sides. For just a moment his eyes caught on the dead crawler, slumped in the gutter, and then he was lost from sight, absorbed by the crowd.

But Petrarch knew what he had to do next. The crowd filled the street, pressing in the direction of the Grivet compound. He strode against the flow, carefully weaving his way through until he arrived at the corpse. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to either him or the body and he stepped over it and looked down. The smoker bullet had struck the Grivet in his head. Nothing more than a bloody stump remained above the shoulders, but the body, dressed in midlar and a heat-sinking blue-boy coat, was unscathed, although a bit bloody.

It was revolting, but it was something he had to do. Watching to see if anyone would notice or try to stop him, he dragged the corpse into the shadow of an alley. The crowd didn't seem to notice, their attention caught by the growing commotion at in the intersection.

He removed the dead man's boots and trousers and then quickly put them on. The coat was rather blood-stained and he turned it inside-out; it looked a little odd, but was still preferable to the union jacket he found in the depths.

He draped the jacket over the corpse and stepped back out into the crowd, giving one last glance to the intersection at the end of the street before turning away in the opposite direction.

As he put some distance behind him, he began to reevaluate what he had just witnessed.

Could that really be my father? As severe as he was, he'd never execute anyone. Would he?

We performed a data capture of his brain not long before he was struck down by the assassin.

So then it is him – he's been brought back just like me?

That was your father's carniform, so it seems most likely that it would be loaded with your father.

Carniform? You mean his body?

Yes, a synthetic body to house a synthetic brain. But it's more than just robotics, a complete sense of being isn't as simple as just connecting a brain to a body. The mind is not contained entirely within the neural network of the brain. There is a chemical interplay between brain and body that is quite complicated; the carniform replicates that as well.

Okay, but how can I be sure that was my father and not someone else in a body that looks like him?

It was the expressed intent of the project that if your father died he would become the first subject. You could say the whole project was built for him. If a carniform exists that looks like your father, you can be almost certain that it is your father. In the Bastion, mistakes are not made, especially on such high-profile projects.

But if that is my father, why would he would be attacking the Grivets?

For that, I don't have an answer. Recording a mind is one thing, reading it is entirely another.

Well, something isn't right – and if I'm up against some kind of super-powered monster, I need to make myself stronger.

You just said the robotics in this body are simple enough. I wouldn't necessarily need to go back to the Bastion to have a more powerful musculature installed, would I? I mean, even the Wellams have the technology. If I found some Wellam mining musculatures, you would know how to install them, wouldn't you? You could guide me.

I imagine we could manage, but going to the Wellams might be risky. As long as you stay hidden, you should be safe.

Then that's what we need to do. If I can make this body stronger, I'd at least have a fighting chance.

You don't think you're getting ahead of yourself? Your father may have a good reason for what he just did.

But what about people like Judith and Colin and everyone who was loyal to me? If that thing is hostile, if it isn't my father, then every moment that goes by could put them in danger. I don't know if that's a risk I can take.

So now you've decided to take up the causes of your past life?

I have to look out for the people who were depending on me! I thought you were the one that said I couldn't escape my past; that it made me who I am.

I'm only trying to point out your change of heart.

If they're in trouble, it's probably my fault.

Well, if you wish to protect the city or anyone in it, you must first preserve yourself and it may not be prudent to venture out of the Grivet quarter so soon. They might still be looking for you.

I can't stay here! You said yourself I need to find out what happened to me. Well, look around, there's nothing for me to learn in the Grivet quarter. If some robot is masquerading as my father and murdering family leaders, I need to get moving!

All I'm saying is that you'll be no good to anyone if you're caught.

With everything I'm dealing with right now, if I don't start making some kind of real progress, I'll lose my mind and – and isn't it your job to keep me sane?

Yes, I was placed in your mind to ease the transition into your new body.

Well you're not doing a very good job.

My apologies; the Wellam district it is.

For the Saint's sake, it's about time.

Petrarch pulled his coat tight around his body and turned up a road heading southwest, in the direction of the Wellam quarter.

## Act II – Il Fiore

### 1. Alistair

Alistair was submerged up to his neck in warm water. Gentle jets were churning the surface into a tumble of bubbles, the air was cool on his face and his eyes were closed. The bathhouse stretched out around him, empty and dark. He was alone and it felt wonderful.

A noise intruded on his solitude; the light swish of a door opening somewhere on the other end of the bath. He cracked open his eyes. Stephen was entering. As he crossed the tiled floor, the hard soles of his boots snapped like a merciless whip.

He came to a stop at the opposite end of the pool. Lights under the water filtered up through the choppy surface and played patterns on the underside of his face. He was visibly upset and it gave Alistair a tickle of pleasure.

"You've commissioned a new artikin," Stephen said.

Alistair didn't move.

"You did it without seeking permission."

He paused for a response but Alistair remained silent.

"Well? Why didn't you obtain father's permission?"

Alistair let the question linger for a few moments before responding lazily.

"I didn't realize it was required."

"Required? There is a proper way of doing these things, Adrian. It's not every day that an artikin is commissioned for an Ectine heir."

"I had a need."

"I understand; you've suffered a great loss with Alistair's death, but it should be the judgment of the pater familias to order the birth of a new artikin."

"Is father upset?"

"Well, no, but that's not to say he won't be once he is, ah, made knowledgeable of this development."

"I'm sure he'll approve."

"That is beside the point." Stephen took a deep breath. "Listen to me: these are trying times and, given your loss, this action will be forgiven, but don't believe that you'll be warned a second time... for anything."

He unfolded his arms, turned and left.

Alistair closed his eyes and followed the footfalls as Stephen made his back to the exit.

It felt good to speak one's own mind even if there was still a need for caution.

The sound of the door closing marked the end of Stephen's departure. The room settled back into tranquility and only the low bubbling of the water could be heard. Alistair peeked his eyes open. The bath house was empty.

"Fool!" He shouted. The word echoed on the tiled walls. Alistair slid forward, keeping his face clear of the water, drifting across the pool.

"Your brother is dead!"

The darkness echoed back his words.

"You could do me a favor and do the same! What do I need of you? I am my own man!"

He stood with a mighty splash, hands clenched into fists above his head. Water rained down around him.

"I could break you!"

His naked chest prickled with cold; the slick film of water covering his body was instantly icy. He took a step back from the pool's edge.

"I'm an Ectine heir!"

He had been telling himself this since Adrian's death and it felt more true with each day. Soon, he would be more the heir than his brother ever was; he would make his will felt in increasingly greater ways. He would direct the course of the family and sire the line of future lords.

Alistair struck the water with a fist. A tiny cascade leapt from the blow and slashed across the tiles beside the pool. He struck with his other fist and then, in a spasm of punches, churned up a boiling tumult of water.

Tiring, he laughed and let his muscles go limp; his body fell backwards and plunged under the water. Life was good and only getting better.

### 2. Wellam

Brightly lit billboards marked Petrarch's arrival in the Wellam district. They advertised pharmaceuticals, electronics, foodstuffs, fashionable attire and other luxuries. At street level, beneath the glow of the flashy signs, the quarter was less impressive; the buildings were worn and sagging, the streets were in disrepair, the vehicles were tired and battered.

The Wellams were still a powerful family, controlling respectable spans of the upper and lower-city, but their appetites were immense and exceeded their means; the entire district was in debt.

When Petrarch was young, Lord Wellam had been an important man. He often overheard his father discussing Wellam with respect near to the level of Ectine. But those days were now in the past; Wellam was still blusterous and given to displays of grandeur, but his relevance had faded and the other families now paid him little regard.

The sorry condition of the district was proof enough of the family's decline. The flashy billboards were quite a contrast but, in a way it made perfect sense; the signs belonged to the Ectines. Everyone knew that Wellam bankrupted his family borrowing Ectine money to buy Ectine goods; he just never realized how obvious it was.

Your father felt the same way. He said that Wellam was giving Ectine the city. It was one reason for his military campaign; he knew the Ectines had out-played him economically – he knew they were growing stronger and that he couldn't keep up.

I wouldn't say they outplayed him; they just took another approach. Consider the Bastion; technology might have been the wiser pursuit. The outcome's not been decided yet.

The Bastion develops military technology; some would say that he who resorts to violence first, has already failed.

You think my father was the first to resort to violence! What about Ectine? What about the accord?

What about it?

The seven founders signed an agreement of cooperation and equality when they chose to seal themselves inside the city. Lord Ectine broke that accord when he killed Pendigoss.

So it was Ectine who killed Pendigoss?

Of course! The Ectines were the first to jump on his holdings, the first to swoop in and take advantage of his death.

Oh, I heard that it was an Ectine-Davius plot; that both families benefited from the betrayal and that the killer was never identified.

Once he saw what Ectine had done, my father did what he had to do to prevent the Ectines from seizing control of the entire city. He made the Davius family strong in order to compete.

Have you ever wondered why the Ectines have artikins?

What do you mean?

If the artikins were a creation of the Davius research Bastion, why do the Ectines have them? They're even dressed in the same ridiculous outfits.

Things weren't always like the way they are now; the Ectines bought that technology before we were at war.

Right, there was a time when the families were more civil with each other. Did you know that Ectine, Davius and Pendigoss knew each other long before the city was sealed, long before you were born?

What's your point?

My point is that they had a history and it is very probable the story of Pendigoss' death is deeper than you assume. The truth is; no one knows what transpired between those three leaders, no one except for Ectine and your father. Of course, you may be right; Ectine may have struck first and alone, driven by his greed. But it's only wise to entertain other possibilities.

Petrarch wondered what part of the shaman's purpose of 'guiding him to understand to his new paradigm' included questioning the basic tenants of the Davius family institution.

We're here, the shaman observed.

He had arrived at a side entrance to the looming Wellam compound. It was a dirty, disorganized view of the family headquarters; soot blanketed the walls and the courtyard around the entrance was littered with the skeletons of dismantled vehicles. It appeared to be an abandoned shop-yard.

He approached an open garage door and noticed signs of a fight: dried blood stains soaked into the concrete, spent shell casings on the ground and above the garage door was the charred remains of a ruined security cannon.

Inside, there were additional signs of the conflict; more blood stains and bullet casings. A lone supply runner was raised on a hydraulic lift, its engine completely dismantled. There was evidence of looting; equipment cabinets were thrown open and tools and spare parts were scattered over the floor. If the Wellams had been attacked, how deep had the attackers penetrated? Was there even anyone still in the compound?

He passed through the automotive shop and farther into the building. There were no signs that anyone remained. Beyond the automotive equipment was a machine shop and, searching through it, he found what he had come for: a robotics lab, equipped with unused robotic musculatures. They hung individually from racks, resembling long, thin, bundles of metal wires.

He removed his clothing and picked up a robotic muscle, letting it dangle it from his fingers.

Ok, so how am I going to get these under my vulcar?

The fibers of your body can be individually loosened to allow access beneath the surface, but first you'll need to find suitable anchors and the proper tools...

Attaching the musculatures to his body proved to be a time-consuming process; first new anchors needed to be found and attached and then came the complicated task of installing and then wiring the musculatures into his existing motor control system. If he hadn't been in a robotics lab and assisted by the mind of a top Bastion research scientist, the task would have been impossible. As it was, it took him many hours, possibly most of a day and night. When he was finally finished, synthetic muscles augmented his arms, legs, torso, shoulders, and hands.

He squeezed a metal door on one of the cabinets and pulled. The vulcar on his arm flexed just perceptibly, rising by a millimeter or so as the musculature below the surface contracted. The cabinet door ripped free from its metal hinges with a loud pop!

It was a satisfying sensation. For the first time since he had awoken in the dark, he felt as if there might be something positive to his new life. The feelings of confusion, weakness and impotence still lingered but now they were tempered with the rush of power. It was true that he was nearly bullet-proof, but there was nothing victorious in the ability to withstand extended punishment. With heightened strength, his indestructibility seemed suddenly to have purpose; for the first time, he felt dangerous again, for the first time his enemies had cause to fear, even if they didn't know it yet.

Petrarch put his crawler's clothes back on, pulled up the hood and fastened on his smog mask.

Feeling emboldened, he turned to investigate deeper into the compound; to see if there was any evidence regarding the fate of the Wellam blood family.

Taking a lift up, he soon found signs of his quarry; the rich trappings of soft carpets, ornate objects of art, decorative lighting and heady perfumes. In fact, the decadence and wealth was so captivating he blundered into a security checkpoint without even noticing. Facing the sentry guns directly, he froze and held perfectly still, but the systems didn't seem to notice. After a minute, he took a few tentative steps and then walked through, entering the Wellam inner sanctum without the slightest trouble.

Inside he could hear music and, rounding a corner, he discovered a boy wearing nothing but swimming shorts, passed out on the carpet.

The boy's body was speckled with beads of water and he was breathing softly, lying in a patch of wet carpet. He appeared to be unharmed, although probably quite intoxicated.

Just beyond was an open doorway, and the source of the music. Petrarch stood and moved forward to peek cautiously through.

Inside was a vast room decorated in gold and marble, bright tapestries and carpets. There were warm swimming pools and plump couches and beds. Large monitors played scenes of comedy or romance, and music filled the air. Conveniently spaced around the room were tables covered in delectable edibles and plentiful alcohol and Apollex.

There were twenty or thirty people in all. They were at their leisure, floating in pools, lounging on couches, sleeping, eating and chatting in small groups. It was remarkable that anyone could carry on in such a way when, outside, Il Fiore was nearing complete collapse.

Do they have any idea what's going on in the rest of the city?

They must; the rest of the compound is deserted.

Their supplies here will run out soon. This is insanity. For the saint's sake, the city is falling apart out there!

Change will come soon enough.

Petrarch turned away in disgust. He strode back up the hall, stepping over the boy, head down and eyes set on the ground.

He reached the lift and stared into the doors as it took him back down to the ground floor. It wasn't really the Wellams so much that upset him; it was what he had said. The city really was falling apart, wasn't it?

That was always the greatest fear.

What?

That Il Fiore would 'fall apart'. Its very purpose of the city was to protect humanity through trying times. When the gates were sealed it was, 'to the preservation of civilization and the maintenance of order'.

I've heard that, who said it?

Your father, in a speech he gave with the other family heads.

Oh. Then we've all failed – Wellams, Davius, Ectine – all of us. Soon there will be nothing left to fight over.

That is entirely up to the people of Il Fiore. A city, like a man, can be judged by nothing more than the policies it lives by. A city that strives for order will be ordered and a city that strives for disorder will be disordered.

Even if you're right, even if we're tearing down the city by 'choice', it can't be stopped. There are too many parties at play to find order, too many different agendas.

The will of the city and the will of the man could be one and the same. A single individual could save Il Fiore.

Well maybe I'm not that man. I was born into this mess – how does that make me the best person to fix it?

Any man can be a just leader, all he needs is an open understanding of his environment and a will to do right. As long as your will still thrives, you have the ability to shape Il Fiore.

Petrarch raised his head. Everything he knew was dying and maybe there was nothing he could do to stop it, but maybe the shaman was right; maybe he could. The only way he could ever know for certain was to try.

### 3. Ramel in the field

Ramel was tired. No, he was beyond tired; his muscles ached, his nerves were strained and his mind felt dull and abused. Suited in full vulcar, creeping down a dingy passage in some god-forsaken corner of the undercity, he couldn't help reminding himself how much he resembled his deceased predecessor, Captain Gunnt, in his final hours.

There were four of them; himself and three Praetors, and they all had their smokers poised and ready. Their armor was a shadowy-gray, making them nearly invisible in the darkened streets. That, at least, was one difference between himself and Gunnt: he'd had their vulcar armor repainted. He wasn't about to hand over his life to the enemies of the Ectine family by walking around in a bright red bull's-eye.

They had been in the field for almost twenty-four hours already and were on their way to pick up reinforcements before proceeding to Davius Place, where an undercity warlord had taken up residence after the Daviuses left. Stephen was predicting that it was only a matter of time before Lord Davius turned up to evict the squatter and it was his job to be there when that happened, to catch the Daviuses in a cross-fire.

Ramel's stomach tightened at the thought of Lord Davius. Ever since his sudden reappearance a few days ago, life in Il Fiore had been turned completely upside-down. Almost immediately, the Davius pater familias began a campaign of terror, attacking suddenly, laying waste and then vanishing just as quickly. He was always accompanied by a team of heavily-armed Bastion guardsmen, and their numbers seemed to be growing with each report.

The first Praetor came to a halt. They were at the end of the passage and it opened into a wider underway road. Ramel checked his heads-up display and then spoke to the team.

"The rendezvous is just across the street. Emil, take a covering position with me, Squire and Choning advance on my mark."

They crossed the open space without incident, first one pair and then the other. The rendezvous was an abandoned residence; the front door had been removed and much of the entry room was cleared of furniture. A quick search revealed no residents, hostile or otherwise. Ramel positioned his men at the door and windows and then settled himself down on a cushioned seat to catch a few minutes of tentative sleep.

The sound of a voice in his ear jolted him awake. It was telling him that the deputies had arrived. His heads-up readout confirmed it; they were approaching from up the street. He moved to a window and watched them with his thermal vision, slinking along the opposite side of the street, guns ready. There was no sign of direct danger, yet he began to feel uneasy – a little tingle of dread creeping up his spine. The men stopped just across the street. What were they waiting for? There was no reason to stop and now that they had, there was something to worry about.

The voice of one of the deputies came over the radio.

"Something is wrong, sir."

"Get your men over here!" Ramel demanded. There was fear in the deputy's voice and he wondered if he sounded the same way. Without even really thinking about it, he raised his smoker and hunched down low. The men across the street were shuffling uncomfortably.

"I'm not going over there," one of them declared over the open line. At the same time, two more began backing away from the group.

"Stay in line!" someone shouted.

"What's going on?" someone else blurted out.

"I can't do this!"

One of the deputies raised his assault rifle and fired at the upper floors of the rendezvous building.

What was wrong with them? There wasn't anyone on those floors. Was there?

Without warning, a deputy took off running, two more broke into a frantic fist-fight, and many of the others joined the first, firing their guns in random directions.

Ramel didn't know what to do. Something was very, very wrong. The only thing he could say for certain was that if any of them made a move towards the rendezvous building he would have to shoot them. He aimed his smoker and felt the Praetors beside him do the same. A deep paranoia was mounting somewhere in the back of his head; something was wrong with the deputies, something he didn't understand, and it was freaking him out. Maybe it wasn't safe to let them live. Maybe he should shoot now, before things became even worse.

But that wasn't right. Protocol dictated he determine the cause of the situation before acting, particularly if his unit wasn't in danger. The deputies had not opened fire on him, not yet at least. He strained his mind for an answer but the urge to shoot first and deduce causes later was overwhelming. He almost pulled the trigger, then stopped in a panic. What was wrong with him? Was he just as bad as the deputies across the street?

There was an increase of gunfire outside and two of the deputies went down. Gun barrels flashed in the shadows behind them. A hidden enemy was attacking from the rear! The deputies began to scramble to get away and there was a moment of complete chaos as they stumbled over each other.

Ramel was horrified but he couldn't find his voice to give the order to return fire. He glanced helplessly at the Praetor beside him. Fortunately, that seemed to be all the order that was needed; as if reading his mind, all three opened fire at once.

The Praetors picked out the sources of gunfire with surgical precision. With only a few deputies left standing, the attackers faltered. A moment later the enemy gunfire stopped completely.

But the fear did not abate. If anything, it seemed to magnify intensely. As if struck by a physical object, Ramel staggered back from the window. Choning dropped to his knees and Emil began jerking abruptly, as if tormented by an invisible foe. Ramel couldn't find his voice, couldn't order them to remain calm. His breaths were coming quick and shallow.

Emil yelped and drew a grenade from his magneclasp. He wasn't crazy enough to detonate it inside, was he?

The pain in Ramel's stomach was unbearable and he hunched forward. Struggling against the twisting, pulsing waves of anxiety, he forced himself to look back up. Emil was slapping the grenade against his leg. If he wasn't stopped he'd detonate it. Ramel raised his smoker. His hand was shaking, he couldn't quite get the crosshairs to line up, and then, in an agonizing spasm of pain, he fell forward and landed on hands and knees.

When he managed to sit back up, he could see through the doorway; the ambushers were approaching. They were a small group of crawlers wearing blue-boy rags and crossing the street in a loose rabble. Ramel was overcome by another spasm of panic.

When he recovered he found himself lying on his back with his smoker beside him. With frantic urgency, he held up the gun and turned the barrel on his own face. It was the only escape. The torment wouldn't end any other way.

And then the thought seemed ridiculous. He lowered the barrel. His muscles were relaxing their death-grip and he managed a few short, halting breaths. The fear seemed to be fading. He pushed himself upright and looked back through the doorway. The men outside were ducking for cover and firing their guns up the street.

He pulled himself to his feet and staggered into the doorway. The attackers were backpedaling across the road and, as he watched, something fast emerged from the shadows and struck them with such force that two of their number were flung through the air.

A cloud of flash-smoke erupted, engulfing the whole group, and Ramel was unable to see any more. The fear seemed completely gone now and he took a deep breath. He leveled his smoker and waited for the cloud to clear. There were gunshots coming from somewhere on the other side and then a rumbling explosion, probably a grenade. A few moments later a dark figure came loping around the edge of the smoke.

It was an artikin with blood-dripping claws and before Ramel could decide whether to shoot or not, Adrian's voice came over his communicator.

"Damn the saints! They dropped a grenade right in my face!"

He stumbled through the litter of bodies in the street and up to the rendezvous building.

"Adrian?"

"Does anyone have any ammo for this damn thing? I just ran out."

He shook a smoker at Ramel. He was bleeding across the chest and his midlar was badly tattered.

"Sir, you're wearing an artikin's uniform," Ramel blurted.

The white mask snapped to attention and stared him down.

"My poor artikin won't be needing his clothes anymore, will he?"

Ramel was silent.

"Will he?!"

"No, no sir."

"Right, and it's quite a trouble to get around in this city dressed in full vulcar, so it's only natural that I borrow his uniform. Now give me a clip of bullets."

Adrian ejected the empty magazine clip from his smoker and held out a hand. Ramel hesitated; he was still recovering from the shock of what had just passed – this was all moving too quickly. Adrian waited a moment and then reached over and helped himself to a clip off of Ramel's magnet clasps. He shoved it into the smoker's magazine slot.

"That's better. You're lucky I arrived; they were about to walk right in on you. Did you fall asleep in there?" He began to laugh.

"No, no sir, that's not it. There was something wrong. It, it was disabling our faculties."

"Faculties?" Adrian laughed some more.

"You didn't feel it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. I felt... I felt the rush of the hunt. I felt the blood of my prey."

As he spoke, Adrian was prodding his mask with his free hand, absent-mindedly searching for damage. His fingers wandered down to his chest and slipped into the bloody tracks there. He pressed deeper and blood surged out, renewing the stream down his torso. He shuddered.

"I feel it," he said in a low voice.

"Sir?"

"Senchions," he waved weakly in the direction of the smoke cloud and then started to walk away.

"Senchions." Ramel repeated the word. He was reminded of reports he had seen earlier in the week; reports of his men suffering unnatural fear while engaging the Senchions.

At the time, the reports hadn't made much sense, but now he understood them all too well. The Senchions had something, something powerful.

### 4. Barclay

The Barclay sentry turned to look over his shoulder and Petrarch was instantly alert. His mind had been wandering for the past few hours but now he was focused. A second sentry came out onto the balcony to stand beside the first. They made an odd sight; heads covered in dirty ragged hoods, eyes enclosed in bugged-out optical goggles, looking like a pair of giant, shaggy insects.

It was the goggles that Petrarch wanted. The Barclays placed a premium on vigilance and their optics were high-tech. If he could get a pair of Barclay goggles, he would have night vision, target tracking, telephoto zoom and all the other features he used to rely on. Il Fiore was a dark and dangerous place and he'd be much more comfortable if he could see his enemies before they saw him.

The two sentries spoke for a moment, then the first turned and walked into the building; his shift was probably over and he was being relieved. The second sentry took a step toward the edge of the balcony and then hesitated. He said something over his shoulder, then turned around and disappeared back inside. For a moment, the balcony was empty.

Petrarch stood up immediately; this was the moment he was waiting for. His hiding place was on the roof of the next building over and the only thing that separated him from the balcony was an open expanse, about twenty feet across. He was forty feet above the street but, without a second thought, he dove out into the span, aiming for a hanging cable. It wasn't uncommon to see these loose strands dangling from the web-work of pipes and wires that covered the undercity ceiling, but Petrarch had never imagined he'd find himself attempting to swing from one.

He caught the cable and swung out towards the balcony. At the outermost extent, he let go and flew the remaining distance.

The edge of the balcony was just within reach and he caught it with his fingertips and swung like a pendulum until his momentum faded. Just above, the sentries were speaking; they didn't appear to have heard him.

He should have been terrified, but he wasn't. He was dangling forty feet above the street and yet he felt only a mild concern that he might fall – the only potential loss was his chance at sneaking into the compound undiscovered. It was amazing, really, to consider how quickly he had become ambivalent to physical danger. Falling forty feet was nothing more than an irritant now. Immortality was such a convenience, it was a wonder he had ever managed to live without it.

The voices above him stopped; a single set of footsteps walked back out onto the balcony.

Hand over hand, as quietly as possible, he maneuvered himself slowly around the ledge to the opposite end. A rail blocked the sentry from seeing his fingertips but he still had to be careful not to make a sound.

After a few moments of careful creeping, Petrarch reached the far side of the balcony. He craned his head over his shoulder and sighted the next balcony below, ten feet down and another nine or ten feet over. Pulling his knees up, he placed his feet firmly beside his fingers.

He offered a quick prayer to the saints that the sentry up above was preoccupied with the surrounding neighborhoods and kicked off, twisting around in mid-air, and dropping the ten feet to the next balcony.

His hands caught the railing and he let his body stretch out under him. Then, like a coiling spring, his arms contracted and he swung back up over the railing. The sentry above didn't seem to hear him and no face peeked over edge of the railing to see what was going on below.

The balcony door had a crude lock that pried open with very little noise. Inside was a small, empty room. Petrarch crossed to the opposite door and opened it wide enough to peer through. On the other side was a cold, dark hall; there were a few doors and one, at the opposite end, was open. Through it, came the echoing sound of footfalls descending a stairwell.

They probably belonged to the other sentry, making his way down to the ground floor. If he was quick, there might be a chance to catch up before he got away.

Petrarch entered the stairwell; it was dingy and dark and the footfalls were at least a few floors below, probably almost to the ground. Using the handrails to keep himself aloft as much as possible, he took the stairs six at a time and caught up just as his quarry was passing through the doorway on the ground-floor landing. Petrarch moved to the opening and watched as the sentry crossed into a courtyard. Not far away there were at least a dozen nuns at prayer around a shrine.

The sentry passed behind them and as he did, he cleared his throat loudly. They didn't seem to notice and he reached the opposite end of the courtyard.

It looked like he was going to pass out of sight but he stopped and turned around, then began making his way back. Petrarch withdrew into the shadows. The sentry passed the nuns again and Petrarch retreated up the stairs, halfway to the second floor.

The Barclay reentered the landing. He stopped just inside, turned and peered back into the courtyard. It looked like he watching the nuns and this seemed like a potentially good opportunity to strike, yet something didn't feel right. Petrarch waited and, a few minutes later, the sentry stepped back and one of the nuns walked into the stairwell.

The man seized her with both hands. She gasped and struggled free, scolding him in a hushed voice. He thrust his hand for her crotch and she swatted him away; her eyes narrowed. They stared at each other for a moment and Petrarch wondered if one of them might strike the other, but then she grabbed him by the edge of his hood and tugged him in the direction of a doorway at the opposite side of the landing. The sentry allowed himself to be led away and they passed from sight.

Petrarch slipped down the stairs and followed after them. The doorway they had passed through led into a dark passage with tight corners. Set in the walls were heavy doors on thick metal hinges and between them were alcoves containing dusty artifacts.

He listened for the sound of footsteps, but there was nothing to hear. Had he given them too much of a head-start? Had they already slipped through a door?

He darted up the passage and, rounding one of the many tight corners, practically stumbled over the pair in a moment of passion; the sentry had the nun pinned in an alcove, propped up on a shelf with her legs wrapped around his body. His gun and goggles were on the floor behind him. The woman was facing Petrarch over the man's shoulder.

Her eyes widened and she screamed. The sentry turned in alarm.

"Who are you?"

Petrarch crouched to retrieve the goggles.

"Hey!" the sentry shouted.

He stood, kicked away the assault rifle, and fled. The shouting continued behind him but faded as he sprinted back to the stairwell.

He retraced his route up to the balcony, burst out the door and leaped over the edge. For a moment, he was suspended in the air, as if he had landed on an invisible cushion; then the ground came up and hit him, wracking his body with a tremendous impact. He rolled over, as if expecting to be dazed, but he wasn't really – just surprised at how unaffected he felt. The sentry above began to pepper him with bullets.

Petrarch clambered to his feet and scampered away.

He ran down a maze of underway avenues until he was certain he wasn't being followed. Approaching a deep shadow cast by a wall abutment, he slowed and hid himself in the darkness. The Barclay's goggles still hung from his right hand. They looked undamaged by the fall and he smiled inwardly. It might not have gone as smoothly as he would have liked, but he had acquired what he came for. He fitted them over his eyes.

The reappearance of a heads up display readout was like a reunion with a long lost friend.

Thermal vision, motion alerts, targeting synch.

He stopped at the targeting synch; it was a reminder that he still didn't have a gun.

I should have taken that assault rifle too.

He could picture himself armed with the gun and something about the image didn't sit right. He reconsidered.

If I'm to be taken seriously, I'll need a smoker.

Of course there was only one place he could be certain to find smokers and that was with the Ectines.

Still looking to avenge your death?

The shaman's voice caused him to hesitate; was that his reason for going to the Ectines next? Maybe, but maybe not – there was no denying that a smoker was important for self-defense.

Who says I'm looking for revenge? I don't even know how I died yet. There's still a chance it wasn't the Ectines at all.

In that case, you might reconsider. The Ectines are a dangerous foe and not to be trifled with.

The Ectines are at the center of all this so I'll need to find out what they're doing sooner or later. And really, what danger can they pose to me now? They can't kill me if I'm already dead.

They could destroy your cranial processor.

My what?

The computer in your head that's replicating your brain. If your cranial processor is destroyed you cease to live and think.

So then I'd really be dead?

Not exactly; when your processor is destroyed, the system at the Bastion will detect it and reinitialize your write process to a new carniform.

Meaning I'd wake up in the Bastion all over again?

Yes, assuming your neural map is still on file.

Meaning, at best, I'd forget everything that has happened since I woke up?

Exactly, unless you were to recapture.

Oh no, I'm not going through that again.

Capturing a new neural map would not be such an invasive process the second time. Now that your synaptic map has been digitized, capturing is just a simple data upload. It wouldn't even take long. Of course you would need to return to the Bastion to do it.

And that isn't an option right now. I don't know what the situation is at Davius Place but, honestly, I feel like I'm starting to make some progress on my own. I can't say what exactly it is, but I've achieved something out here and going back now might feel like giving that up.

If I'm ever going to piece together this city, I can't shy away from risk and I'm going to have to infiltrate the Ectine quarter at some point or another.

It felt like the right decision and the shaman didn't have anything to say in rebuttal. He stepped back out into the street. It was time to get answers; it was time to visit the enemy.

### 5. Ectine

Everywhere, it seemed, there was gold; it covered the altarpiece, dusted the tiled floors, poked through between the rich tapestries hanging the walls, and snaked across the vast ceiling in intricate baroque tendrils. Petrarch had never suspected the Ectines could be so wealthy. For all their pomp and arrogance, the publicized wealth of the family was, in reality, understated. The display of riches was so staggering that even his accomplishment – infiltrating the Ectine inner sanctum – paled in comparison.

Although, to be fair, getting inside really was something to be proud of. That morning, the central church of the Ectine inner sanctum had been far from his objective. He had set out with something more modest in mind, like scouting around the financial center or finding a news console in an Ectine cafe.

At first, the hours had passed slowly as he crept his way toward the Ectine quarter through the neighboring communities, warily expecting each step might bring detection. But, as he passed through the outlying districts with no signs of being noticed, he grew bolder. By the time he arrived in the most central Ectine neighborhood, he felt convinced they were trying to ignore him. With as much curiosity as fear, he turned towards Ectine Tower. Walking brazenly up 8th avenue, he kept his eyes open for a means of entry, some way to get inside. The opportunity soon presented itself in the form of a supply truck, headed in the direction of the tower; he hitched onto the rear bumper and was inside within ten minutes.

He should have been detected. He should have been spotted immediately and chased away in a hail of gunfire, but he wasn't; it was like they couldn't see him, like he was invisible. That wasn't to say that people didn't still step aside to avoid colliding with him on the street or cast him a wary eye if he leaned in too close. The thing was, no one seemed to recognize him and the only explanation he could come up with was that he was no longer registered as relevant.

Cameras and by-passers did not identify his covered, artificial face; print and retinal scans ignored his imitation fingers and eyes; biometric readers detected neither heartbeat nor lungs; and, flagged as dead, the databases were possibly unable to even recognize Petrarch Davius as a relevant entry. It was possible, if he remained perfectly still, that he appeared to the computers to be nothing more than a piece of debris.

The Ectine quarter was a reminder that he was dead – a ghost walking in a dream.

But now he was inside the Ectine inner sanctum, on an inner balcony in the central church. Questions of death and identity could wait. After years of struggling against an enemy that seemed always out of reach, here he was, finally getting somewhere, and all the old feelings were back. He wanted to do something, something to hurt the Ectines.

Below, seated on a pew in the center of the church, was Stephen Ectine. He was in prayer and had been since Petrarch found him there, over twenty minutes earlier. Could he catch him? Could he kill Stephen Ectine? There was a smoker lying on the pew beside him – he could kill him and take it.

The sound of footsteps at the end of the basilica broke his thoughts. Captain Ramel was walking up the central aisle, his body noticeably sagging. Stephen turned and glanced in his direction.

"What news?" he asked.

Ramel didn't seem to hear.

"What news?" Stephen repeated with more authority.

"It's Lord Davius," Ramel said; "he's unstoppable. He's overrun our forces in the Garret District and stationed men there. He must be recruiting from the Bastion; he has more soldiers every day."

"What of Davius Place?"

Ramel arrived at Stephen's side.

"He took it. He had the warlord there impaled and put on display in the square."

"I ordered you to support that warlord!"

"We were unable to maneuver a division into place; the Senchions attacked and wiped out our deputy escort."

"The Senchions? What threat are the Senchions?"

"We were powerless to stop them, sir. They're using an unidentified weapon. We couldn't risk sending in more troops."

Stephen leaped to his feet and lashed his hand out at Ramel's head. The captain dodged backward and Stephen missed. An awkward silence settled and Ramel held still, legs set wide, poised to dodge again.

"Get out!" Stephen bellowed. "Get out! Get out!"

The captain turned and hurried back out of the church. Once he was gone, Stephen let his head hang down limply. He remained motionless for a minute, then turned and shuffled toward the other end of the basilica. He approached a door behind the altar and passed through, closing it behind him.

Petrarch quickly descended the stairs and darted past the altar. The door Stephen had gone through was made from real wood and his Barclay optics system was able to see right through it. With a little fine-tuning of the wide-band radar, Stephen became visible as an outline on the other side. The Ectine had crossed a small room and appeared to be hesitating, standing next to another door. After what seemed like a long wait, he finally raised an arm, opened the door and passed through.

Petrarch waited a moment and then entered. Inside was a small, richly decorated sitting room; there were a few plush couches and, in the center, a rather large bronze statue of a ram on a white marble table. The room had only one other door, the one Stephen had gone through, and it was cracked a few inches open.

Petrarch moved close and peered through the wood. He could see the outlines of two figures on the other side; Stephen and someone seated. He leaned in close to the opening and listened.

"Stephen, you interrupt my prayer."

"I'm sorry, Father."

A jolt of surprise surged through Petrarch. Was this Lord Ectine?

"I would not come if it was not urgent," Stephen said in a humbled voice.

"Then tell me what ails you."

"It's Lord Davius; he has returned and... and I am unable to defeat him."

"Returned!" The voice of Lord Ectine was strained and degraded into a fit of coughs.

Stephen replied:

"Yes, he is dismantling our holdings even while the Senchions and the undercity warlords assault us from all sides. Believe me, I've tried to stop him. I've tried so hard."

"How long ago did he return?" Ectine recovered his voice.

"Over three days ago."

"I should have been notified immediately. What of your brothers? What have they done?"

Stephen was silent for a moment before speaking.

"Adrian has been irregular. He comes and goes, I can't count on him. Nathan has... been equally unreliable."

"What does that mean? Where is Nathan now?"

Again there was a pause.

"Father, I tried but I do not have the resources to locate him."

"He's gone?"

"He fled at the first conflict; when... He hasn't returned." Stephen's voice faltered.

"My son."

The seated figure stood and the two embraced. A moment later they separated.

"What of Petrarch Davius?"

Petrarch felt a rush of surprise at the sound of his own name. Was this his chance to learn the cause of his death?

"Father?"

"The Davius heir – what has he done since the return of his father?"

"He has vanished. We have heard nothing of him. Some say his father killed him. But, why do you ask?"

Lord Ectine released another loud, ragged cough.

Petrarch felt numb. Not only were the Ectines guiltless of his death, but they thought his own father was responsible? Was this a setup? Did they know he was listening at the door? Petrarch took a step back and glanced around for signs of a trap.

On the other side, Lord Ectine recovered his voice and spoke, lower and graver than before.

"When Davius was killed, my job was complete. If he has returned, my job is incomplete once again. I must destroy him."

"No, Father, you're not well," Stephen said, "I only came for your advice. This is my war now; let me do the fighting."

"The balance has been upset. The future of this city can not play out while he still lives. It is my fault; I did not kill him completely. It was my responsibility to dismantle him entirely and I did not. I must correct this oversight."

Lord Ectine turned away and Stephen moved to support him. Ectine waved him off.

"This is but a body – I will not be crippled by it."

"Please Father, you can't go out; the assassin is still at large. He continues to kill; it's not safe for you in your condition."

Petrarch felt another wave of shock; the assassin wished to attack Lord Ectine? Sure he had guessed that the assassin might not have been working for the Ectines, but why would he attack them? His mind raced back to what he knew about the day his father had confronted Ectine. If the assassin wasn't part of a carefully laid Ectine trap, then what had happened? Was it possible he had attacked both Lords that day?

Ectine responded to Stephen.

"There are measures that can be taken to revitalize me. For a time, I can be as strong as I once was; long enough to correct my mistake. Then, my son, you have my assurance, I will retire and you may resume your struggle. It saddens me most that my sons have deserted you."

Ectine halted, his voice sounded as if it were caught on a lump and then he continued.

"So it is up to me. Very well, that is what contingencies are for."

"Father please, let me fight Davius. I only need but to learn how you defeated him before."

"Stephen, you misunderstand my sorrow. I do not regret that I must fight again. A fight is pure; to the strongest go the spoils – to the weakest, death. Life is built of strife, and it is this struggle that inspires us. The fear of death drives ambition, and ambition is what makes us great!"

Lord Ectine had been moving slowly around the room as he spoke but now he stopped and turned back to face Stephen.

"My own father taught me this; it is only fair that I teach you."

"Fair?" Stephen blubbered.

Ectine came back and took his son by the shoulders.

"Get a hold of yourself Stephen; we have not failed yet. There is nothing to fear while we still live; I promise, this city will belong to an Ectine before I rest!"

With that, the conversation was over. Lord Ectine released Stephen and made his way towards the door.

Petrarch backed away, his mind in a daze. If the Ectines were planning a counter-attack against the Daviuses, he was duty-sworn to reconnect and warn them, yet some part of him was resisting the idea. Ectine was his enemy, but could his own father have been the cause of his death?

It looked as if Lord Ectine was only a moment from coming through the door. Petrarch turned and fled back to the church sanctuary. He hurried up the nave between the pews. As he passed the spot where Stephen had been praying, he snatched up the smoker lying unattended. He could feel the weight of a full magazine of bullets.

Lord Ectine would be entering the chapel any moment; if he waited, he could kill him and probably Stephen as well. It was the opportunity he had been wanting as long as he could remember – the redemption he'd been searching for his entire life – but now that he had it, it didn't seem right.

The simple question of black versus white – good versus evil – was now a gray haze of uncertain loyalties. Was he even a Davius anymore? Something had changed in the time since he captured and, before he made any lasting decisions, he needed to know just how far the changes went.

Holding the smoker in both hands, Petrarch slipped from the church and carefully made his way back out of Ectine Tower.

### 6. History

Once he was free from the Tower and had returned to the relative safety of the undercity, Petrarch addressed the Shaman.

I need to know everything you know.

You already do.

That's not what I mean. I need you to show me the information; I know it's somewhere in my head already, but I don't know what I'm looking for.

What would you like to know?

My father, Ectine and Pendigoss – you said they already knew each other when they were young. Were they friends? What was their relationship? I need to know everything.

I can't claim to know the truth about these things. I only know what was popularly believed.

Fine, tell me what you do know. I'm beginning to think that even rumors are more accurate than what I was told growing up.

Very well, let's start at the beginning: Ectine, Davius and Pendigoss were the young heirs of powerful Il Fiore families. Their paths surely crossed often; they attended the same events, the same ceremonies and functions. I can't say if those early encounters saw them as friends or rivals, but as they grew, they would have had ample opportunity to observe each other. When they came of age, it's likely they drifted apart; each had his own legacy to attend to and those were troubled times in the world.

But bad times meant good fortune for some. With economies crumbling and governments unable to help, people were desperate. Many of them turned to the families for safety. The strongest families grew stronger, as more people flocked to them. They grew into institutions, holding up the economy and common law together, raising taxes and maintaining order with private armies.

When the financial institutions finally collapsed, the threat of anarchy in the lower class seemed suddenly real and unpreventable. First one city fell and then the next. In each case it was the same: food and water shortages created chaos and centuries of advancement were stripped away in a desperate scramble to survive. Davius and Pendigoss feared Il Fiore would befall the same fate and devised a desperate plan. They would contain the city in a walled dome, a self-contained pocket of civilization protected from the rest of the world behind thick walls and powerful guns. But the plan was expensive; even with the all the wealthiest families behind it, the goal was unobtainable. They needed Ectine.

In the years since they were younger, Ectine had traveled far and amassed great wealth. They made him lucrative offers to return, but it was a tough sell; they were asking him to give up everything he had in exchange for a cramped district under a dark dome. In the end, he had no choice but to agree and he abandoned an international empire for a life in Il Fiore.

With Ectine's support, the walls were quickly built and, not a moment too soon; just as they finished, the chaos arrived. The lords of Il Fiore closed the gates and sealed out the rest of the world. At first, it appeared they had succeeded completely, but soon there were signs that all was not well. Men like Ectine can not be tamed, they can not be taught to set aside the urge to build and acquire.

Almost immediately, Ectine began rebuilding his empire within the city. Il Fiore is small and crowded and his actions created tension with the other families. When his greed was confronted, Ectine defended himself; he claimed that Il Fiore was the only free city left on the planet. He claimed it was their duty to live as they had before – that if they did not they were no better than the savages outside. The other families couldn't argue; it was there on the first page of the city charter: their agreement to uphold the old values above all else.

By this time, at least, it was clear that Davius did not like Ectine. Whatever his opinion may have been in their youth, it was said that as Ectine grew stronger Davius brooded with consuming jealousy. Yet, he took no action. In fact, he seemed to almost deliberately ignore Ectine's ambitions. Outwardly he was completely unaffected, but some think he was so overcome with jealousy that only his shame kept it contained. But, however upset Davius might have been with Ectine, Pendigoss was worse; it is said he raged inside his compound, infuriated by Ectine's greed and Davius' indifference.

Finally Pendigoss called a meeting between the three. No one knows exactly what transpired there, whether Pendigoss and his temper incited the event that brought about his own death or whether Davius and Ectine had planned the assassination ahead of time; either way, the result was murder.

What followed next is difficult to piece together. As shock swept over the city, the entire Pendigoss institution simply collapsed. It's unclear exactly why this happened but before any orderly response could be arranged, Davius and Ectine had split the holdings of the fallen family between them, claiming that they did it 'for the stability of the city'. It is rumored that during this time the Pendigoss blood-relations were hunted and killed, to prevent the possibility of civil war but, if this was the case, it appears all records were later erased. At the least, it's known fact that both Lady Pendigoss and her son vanished mysteriously.

While outright civil war may have been avoided, the military tension in Il Fiore did not subside. Ectine and Davius, now the strongest families, fell into an arms race of mistrust and suspicion.

What we have today is the culmination of that cold war.

The shaman was finished. No one detail had been particularly surprising or revealing, but together, they painted a complete picture; a picture Petrarch had never really been allowed to see. His father was no saint, his family was not superior, the city was not some divine sanctuary predestined to carry on the glorious legacy of the human race.

Everyone else had always known this and, now that he saw it, it made perfect sense. He felt a fool that he had never realized it before. His entire life up until this moment was a lie.

## Act III – Reunion

### 1. Senchion

The story of Pendigoss was a reminder of what the shaman had said about sin. That sin was uncontrolled emotion. The new city founders had let emotion cloud their judgments. Jealousy, greed, anger and pride had got the better of them and, with the future of civilization in their hands, they failed their higher purpose.

Was he just as bad? By following the path his father had set for him, had he made the same mistakes? If so, could he be redeemed? Or was it already too late?

Petrarch had been walking and realized he was now near the Senchion border, less than a mile from the neighborhood where Wolf had secretly met with him.

Wolf had lived outside the constructed Davius reality; why hadn't he tried to set Petrarch straight? Why hadn't he spoken out? Actually, he probably had; after his father was banished, he probably had a lot to say about the Davius institution. But, with time, he would have grown to accept it; he would have learned to deal with the Daviuses just like everyone else. By the time Petrarch re-established contact, he was probably long-since over it.

It was hard to think about Wolf without feeling tremendous guilt. In a way, the banishment and his death seemed to go hand in hand; they were both forms of punishment for associating with the Davius fiction, both—

The crack of a snap gun erupted from nowhere. An arching bolt of electricity struck Petrarch in the shoulder and threw him back off his feet. His optical goggles were momentarily overwhelmed and he saw nothing but brightness. Gunfire rattled loudly and bullets spattered across his body. He felt a surge of panic but a moment later it was gone; assault rifles couldn't hurt him.

He climbed to his feet and fired back a few warning shots from his smoker. Most of the gunfire stopped immediately. Only a single gun continued to pelt him with bullets.

The attackers were a group of men huddled beneath an overhang in the shadow of a nearby building. Most were peeking out cautiously from cover, but the one still firing stood defiantly tall. The bullets were ripping tatters in Petrarch's coat and tracing a path up his body, towards his face. One caught him in the cheek and a piece of his synthetic flesh was torn free. He threw up his shoulder protectively.

Why was this guy still shooting? His smoker was clearly a superior weapon and it should be evident enough that he couldn't be killed.

As if on cue, the shooting stopped. Petrarch peered out from under his arm. The man was removing an empty magazine from his rifle.

He felt a wave of frustration; this crawler was seriously going to reload and continue shooting? Why didn't they just lurk off into a dark corner and leave him alone? He fired another warning shot and blasted away a section of carboncrete that sent bits of debris showering down. The crawlers peeking out from behind cover dropped out of sight, but the leader remained standing. He calmly loaded a new magazine and hoisted his assault rifle into firing position.

This was too much. Without a second thought Petrarch ducked his head behind his forearm and made a dash in their direction. The crawler stood his ground and opened fire again. The bullets rattled off Petrarch's chest and arm, growing stronger as he narrowed the distance.

He must have made it within twenty feet before the gunfire stopped. He dropped his arm and spotted the gunman fleeing into an alley.

He gave chase. Their footfalls pattered rapidly on the hard cement and, somewhere near the middle of the alley, he caught up. Pitching out his free hand, he grabbed a hold of the man's coat just below the collar, jerked him off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground.

The crawler landed on his back and rolled about, trying to find Petrarch with the barrel of his rifle. Petrarch kicked it out of his hands and aimed the smoker at his head.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

The man began to laugh. It was an unexpected reaction. Petrarch looked quickly up and down the alley to see if there was something he had missed.

"Petrarch Davius!" the man bellowed between laughs. "After I'd all but given up hope!"

The voice was familiar.

"Isaac?"

Isaac's laughter renewed, "I should have known it was you; who else would be ass enough to wander the undercity alone with a smoker in his han-aah ah, aagh!" Isaac's laughter turned to shrieks of anguish.

"Don't use it on me!" he managed to scream between yelps.

Petrarch looked back up the alley. Two men had appeared at the end. They held a bulky device between them and one of them was pointing an attached metal tube in his direction.

Isaac shrieked again and the men lowered the metal tube.

"What's the matter," Isaac wheezed at him, "you can't feel any fear if you don't have a soul?"

The Fear! That was what they were holding; he had never seen the Senchion secret weapon, but this must be it. Did it not work on his new body?

"Isaac, I didn't come here to fight you. What happened with Jacob was an accident; I meant your family no harm."

"Shoot me and spare me the lies!"

"Isaac, no!"

Petrarch recognized Judith's voice and looked for her. She wasn't with Isaac's men at the end of the alley. She was running in from the other direction, accompanied by a separate team of Senchion soldiers.

As she drew near, the gendarmes with her held back.

"Isaac," she said, "He's not with them, not anymore." She came to a stop before them and added, "He's not part of what Davius is doing." She looked at Petrarch, "I can't believe you're even alive."

Before he could respond, her eyes settled on his face and she seemed to freeze.

"Where have you been?" she asked and her voice was much cooler that before, as if possibly uncertain of whom she was talking to.

"Something's happened to me."

His voice had an effect on her and she tentatively touched his vulcar arm.

"When I didn't hear from you, I assumed the worst. Then your father reappeared and I thought he might have... punished you."

The pressure of her hand was affectionate; had their relationship evolved during the gap in his memory?

Isaac Senchion squirmed, grating loose pebbles of concrete against the pavement. Petrarch realized his smoker was still pointed at the Senchion's head and he lowered the barrel. Isaac scrambled to his feet.

"Wait," Judith implored him, "Don't go!"

Isaac looked about to dash away, but he stopped.

"And why should I stay?"

"We need you," Petrarch answered for her.

"You need me?" His voice was filled with venom. "Shall I die for my Davius master?"

"I'm no longer Davius."

Petrarch was surprised by the words as they came out. "I need you to help me end this. This war is our fathers'; it doesn't need to be ours too."

"And why should I want to forget what happened to our fathers?"

"I'm not asking you to forget. The only way we can atone for what's happened is to end the cycle. We've both lost more than enough friends already."

"I trust him," Judith said, "I'm committed." She put her hand on Petrarch's shoulder. His heart leaped – something most definitely had happened between them!

"And what can we do?" Isaac asked, a sneer still in his voice.

"The old rule is already deteriorating. Society will need a new order and we need to be ready to build it. If we're not, we'll be nothing more than casualties of the old violence, swept away and forgotten."

"You're talking in metaphors, what can we do? What is your plan?"

Petrarch didn't know. He had spent the last few days making himself physically stronger and learning the truth about the founding families, but to what end?

The shaman responded inside his head.

Lord Davius is tightening the noose on Ectine. He intends to face him man-to-man and when he does the future of Il Fiore will be decided. You must be there.

Why?

Control of the city will change hands and if you are there, it can be yours.

I don't want it anymore.

Then it can be yours to do with as you wish, yours to trust in the hands of your choosing. If not you, it will be one of them.

Isaac was waiting for an answer.

"Soon my father and Ectine will meet face to face to decide the future of the city," Petrarch said, "and when they do we shall be there to take it from them. They lost their rights to rule. It's as simple as that."

Isaac appeared to consider for a moment and his eyes glanced over Petrarch's metal body, visible through the holes ripped in his jacket.

"When?"

"Soon. Davius has broken down nearly all of Ectine's defenses. It may be only a matter of hours. Ectine is preparing himself."

He wondered if Isaac believed him, or if he even believed himself; would Davius seek to meet Ectine face-to-face? Would there be an opportunity to intervene? And if there was, what would he do? If necessary, could he fight them – the two greatest men in Il Fiore?

You will know what to do when the time arrives.

If that was true, it all came down to faith; all he could do was believe in the future he wanted and his ability to effect it. He lifted off his optical goggles and looked Isaac in the eyes.

"I promise you, the old arguments are over. I've given up my own pride and I want nothing more than to confront the old ways and end them. But things are in a bad state; if we're to stand a chance, we need to leverage everything we have left. You have a choice to make, Isaac, and what you decide is more important than anything that follows. Whatever your decision, it will set a course for the future of Il Fiore."

Isaac was looking directly into his synthetic eyes and nodded slightly.

"I'll contact you when the time for you to decide arrives." Petrarch turned and started walking away. A moment later, Judith caught up to him.

"Petrarch, where are you going?"

"Oh, I— I was so, so caught up just now, I – uh, I'm sorry."

Perhaps now it's time to visit the Senchions, the shaman intruded on his thoughts.

You stay out of this. She's not just one of them, she's not something to analyze or someone to poach from.

The voice of the shaman went silent and he glanced down at Judith walking beside him. Her eyes were gazing back at him, wide and hopeful. He looked away.

The possibility of personal failure was something he was finally coming to terms with; accepting it was part of becoming a stronger man, but what he saw in her superseded all that. She was a reminder that there were other reasons to fear failure, that his was not the only fate at stake.

"It's okay," she replied, "Isaac can have a distracting effect. He's been so intense since Jacob died, but I think you might have actually made it through to him. At least on some level he must know that you're both fighting for the same cause."

"I shouldn't have walked away from you like that. I didn't mean to be rude. The past few days have been very trying for me."

"Where have you been?"

He was avoiding her eyes but the image of her face was already burned into his mind. More painful than the possibility of failing her was the reality that he already had: there was a rift between them now that could never be crossed. He could never hold her against his skin; never feel her breath on his cheek or the touch of her hand against his own.

"It's complicated," he replied. "All I can say for certain is that I found myself at the Bastion."

"You've been gone two and a half days. You were supposed to contact me as soon as you made it back to the Hub. I tried to contact you but you didn't respond. Then I had the feeling that someone might have taken your biscuit and I stopped trying. When your father emerged, I assumed you were being held... maybe punished. He's unstoppable now; he's all but destroyed what was left of my family and I don't think he's even made a real effort yet. I, I had almost given up hope of finding you. Just now I was searching for Isaac to ask him to take me underground with him. I thought it was our best chance for survival."

Her voice cracked.

He didn't know how deep his obligations went to her, but that didn't stop the horrible empty feeling welling up inside.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Truthfully, I'm not sure what happened to me. I – I only know what I've become."

She stepped in front of him and looked up into his eyes, drawing her face near. In the dim light, he could see her eyes were damp and strained.

She touched his cheek tentatively with her fingertips and whispered.

"They killed you."

He felt a wave of shame, but her expression didn't change with the revelation; if it brought fear or confusion, she didn't let it show. She continued to search him with the same quiet contemplation.

"Are you a robot?"

He managed a weak smile.

"I'm still me only now I have a different body, a... mechanical body."

She stroked his face.

"How is that possible?"

"The Bastion scientists made a copy of my mind: a map of my neural pathways. When I died they installed it – me – into this body."

"So that's what you had done that day."

"What day?"

"When you came to me after going to the Bastion – you said your head was tired – it was because they were making a copy of your brain."

"You saw me after I had the procedure?"

"Of course. You don't remember?"

"No, I can't remember anything that happened after the procedure."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't..." Her eyes seemed to lose focus and she stared into space.

He wanted to know why he had gone to visit her, but asking directly felt almost like intruding in the affairs of a stranger. It appeared something personal had happened between them and his inability to remember was erasing it.

"I can't remember anything," he repeated. "I don't even know how much living time I lost."

"You visited me right after the procedure and then the next day you vanished."

He tried to repeat her expression of imploring; he wanted her to know how awful he felt; that he was sorry he couldn't remember.

She pinched up her face.

"Then you don't know who killed you?"

"No. I'm hoping maybe, if I can figure that out, everything else will make more sense."

She slipped her arm around his and resumed their slow walk down the alley.

"Ectine and Davius are destroying the city," she said softly.

"I know – I need to stop them, and soon. But honestly, I don't know what to do – I can't act until I know who's right. This isn't just about my missing day-and-a-half. What happens between me, Ectine and my father decides the fate of the city – the fate of everything we've tried to preserve.

"Right now, Il Fiore is being pulled in two different directions; there's the Ectine Il Fiore on one side and the Davius Il Fiore on the other, and everyone else in the middle, but we're reaching a point where only one Il Fiore can continue. I think maybe it's up to me to figure out which one it should be."

"Do you think that's why you're still here; why you've been given a second chance?"

"Well that implies my return has a purpose. There's a very good chance I'll be unable to stop them and that this was all just an accident."

"Everyone needs a purpose."

He didn't say anything and they walked for a minute in silence. Finally she stopped.

"So what will you do?"

"Until I understand the full truth – what happened between Ectine and Davius and why I died – I don't think I'll be able to decide. I've been avoiding it, but the truth is, I have to go to Davius Place. I have to go home."

"But what if your father is the reason you're – that you..."

"If he is, he can't hurt me now."

"That's not true."

She took both of his arms in her hands and met his eyes.

"Be careful," she said and, despite the fact his emotions were nothing more than electric signals in a metal body, he felt warm inside.

"Stay with Isaac for now," he said. "You should be safe with him. I won't abandon you," he added and touched her cheek with his hand. How soft it felt, even to his artificial fingers.

He stepped back and her hands fell away from him. Her expression changed and seemed to harden.

"I promise," he whispered and then walked away.

### 2. Davius

Returning to the Davius quarter was strange. As soon as he reentered the familiar underways, old emotions returned. His youth, forgotten until now in the excitement of being resurrected, came swelling back over him. Everywhere where he looked there were reminders of memories and he felt guilty for thinking this place was no longer part of him. The connection was too deep to ever be severed.

I didn't realize it would be this difficult.

The past cannot be denied, but if you accept it and look forward, it will have no power over you.

Ahead, was the lower level of Davius Place and all around were banners of the two swords, hanging from buildings and catwalks, looking like decorations for a parade that never arrived. His entire life, the swords had been there, hanging over him, a reminder of patronage, duty and family legacy.

It had always been about legacy, hadn't it – he had been raised not by a father, but by an expectation. It taught him how to behave, it told him his priorities and suggested where he'd find value in life. Compete, conspire and never capitulate. The only time spent as father and son came in the form of discipline or official appearances.

It was no wonder he rebelled.

In a way, death was a release; he no longer had to live up to the expectations. For once, he could make decisions for himself.

The compound was just ahead, through a neighborhood of trucking depots and processing facilities. If the automated systems failed to recognize him, like they had with the Ectines, there would be only one human guard to deal with to get inside. He could probably wait for an opportunity to sneak in completely unnoticed, but it was worth trying the easy way first.

The door he was looking for was just ahead; a side entrance used by union drivers doing business during the day. He passed around a metal fence and under an armored camera and found the sealed carboncrete door. Beside it was a biometric console and he activated the password override. A moment later he heard the voice of the guard on the other side,

"State your purpose."

"I'm on a priority one mission for the pater familias. I was unable to reach my designated entry point and was forced to divert here. You must open the door immediately; my override access was acceptable."

The man on the other side was silent. He was probably observing Petrarch on a monitor, apprehensive because the man outside was not scheduled to be entering through this door yet unclear of the proper protocol under the new order of Lord Davius.

"Open this door immediately or suffer the consequences."

In the old days – before Lord Davius was killed by the assassin – it would have been a futile effort. The guard would have called the intelligence center and waited for authorization. But a lot had changed recently – the old procedures were gone and new ones had yet to replace them.

The door opened.

The man was standing behind a console desk and brandishing a pistol. He was a guardsman from the old division – an ordinary man – not one of the Bastion guards that his father was using now.

"Your best chance for survival now is to hide," Petrarch said. "Go to your family."

The guard didn't respond. Petrarch withdrew the smoker from under his coat, just enough that the guardsman could see it. The man seemed to freeze up. Petrarch approached, seized him by the shoulder and then shoved him out the door where he landed on his knees and fell against the fence. Petrarch slammed the door closed. Without a scheduled clearance, the man would not be able to get back inside.

It felt bad to be so callous, but in all likelihood he was doing the man a favor – things would only get worse here before they got better.

He turned his attention to the console on the desk. His clearance passwords still allowed him access to the system. He logged into the security registry and checked to see if he could locate his father, but there was no entry for Lord Davius. Next he checked for Colin; his cousin was logged in at the Hub control room. He opened a communicator client and sent Colin a direct message:

Colin, this is P. They brought me back –just like my father – send me your biscuit key.

He set his biscuit to link with the console. A moment later it flashed to indicate it had received a voice line key. He accepted, and heard Colin's voice:

"Who is this?"

"It's me. Can you erase record of my message to you, as well as the video record of the room I'm in now?"

"Petrarch! This doesn't make sense. Why would Lord Davius recast you after he—"

"After he what?"

"Petrarch, is that really you?"

"Yes, don't be dense, Colin. Erase the video record and while you're at it, any record of the door breach I just caused to get in here."

"'Swounds! Does anybody know you're back?"

"No, nobody. Now are you going to do what I'm asking?"

"Sure, sure, or course, just give me a moment. There you are! I see you on visual. The saints be damned Petrarch, it's good to hear your voice again. Your father he—" Colin's voice lowered, "he didn't come through the process the same man."

"What did he do?"

"Uh."

"How did I die, Colin?"

"He, ah – he killed you."

"My father?" Petrarch already knew it was true, but he had to hear it twice to be sure.

"Yes; in front of everyone. It was awful. He was angry, Petrarch, very angry. He still is, at least as far as I can tell. It's like he has a grudge with the entire city. He's hardly spoken to anyone. I've spent the past few days here with the facilities engineers, watching it all go down from inside the Hub. We can see everything from here. The unified Hub is amazing, you can't believe what we can see, what we know. The city architects were thorough, very thorough. I don't even think—"

"Colin!" Petrarch interrupted him. "What's my father doing? What's his goal?"

"Well, you know, he hasn't told any of us anything, but the system knows. The system has been building a prediction. He's breaking down Lord Ectine's support structure before he attacks him directly."

"And how long before he does?"

"Soon, maybe eight, ten hours. The Ectines have fallen back behind their automated security systems in Ectine Tower. Your father's been building up an army of Bastion guardsmen and the system predicts he'll have enough men to do it in less than a day."

So that was it. In less than a day this would all be over.

"Why's he doing it? Why the 'anger'?"

"You know, most people believe he went mad during the resurrection process, but I don't think that's it. I saw him when he first came back and he actually seemed alright. He came directly to the Hub and he just wanted to know how the family stood – how secure we were, what kind of losses we had incurred. He was a little disoriented maybe, but otherwise normal. Then I saw him ask an intelligence officer something. The officer answered and he seemed to stiffen. A moment later, he turned around and marched out the door. I asked the officer what he said and he told me Lord Davius had asked after Lady Davius. Of course, your mother—"

The voice line went dead.

My mother what?

There was no response.

What happened? He messaged over the console.

Over-the-air signal is being blocked, Colin typed back.

Someone must be on to us.

I've given you linked access to the Hub computer network. Get out of there and the link should re-establish. Go!

Petrarch stepped back from the console.

What was Colin going to say about his mother?

He almost returned to the console to ask, but thought better of it. Whoever had blocked the voice line would be coming to investigate in person. He knew enough to proceed; there was no good reason to stay.

He activated the door release and stepped outside. The guard was gone.

Petrarch ran. After a few minutes, he reached the edge of the district and slowed his pace.

Of course, your mother... What was Colin going to say about his mother?

The last he heard, she was hiding somewhere. He didn't know where, but his father probably knew. His father had probably planned it all out in advance – what to do and where to go if Davius Place was attacked. So why was his father mad? Was she missing? Could the Ectines have found her hiding spot?

He wanted to ask the Hub computers where she was, but he didn't know how to find someone that wasn't logged into the computer network. He messaged Colin:

Where's my mother?

The message failed delivery.

For the saint's sake! Had someone silenced Colin? Had coming back put his cousin in unnecessary danger? Petrarch tried to calm himself; maybe not, maybe Colin silenced himself. After all, he couldn't be expected to continue erasing message records all day, particularly if he was under observation.

If that was the case, maybe his cousin had left him some kind of final clue before he cut off communication. Petrarch checked to see what Colin had uploaded to his biscuit.

The Hub network link was available just like Colin said it would be. His cousin had set the network entry point to a page featuring a map of the city. Something was flagged on the map, or maybe someone – could it be his mother?

Petrarch zoomed in. As he watched, the flag-point moved. It certainly appeared to be a person and, according to the map, it wasn't that far away.

Soon, he was undercity and walking through a dark neighborhood of abandoned tenements. The buildings were in better condition than in the depths around the geothermal sink, but barely, and the road here was littered in trash. He stuck to the middle of the street, where the debris was sparsest.

As he moved, he was constantly stopping to check the biscuit to see where he was. It was an annoyance and he felt spoiled from the days of having everything sent directly to his goggles. Using the biscuit seemed old-fashioned.

But it could be wired directly to his goggles, couldn't it? In fact, now that his body was basically a computer too, why not establish a direct connection between the biscuit and his brain? Would he even need to see the data at that point, or would he just know it? Was there any reason not to hardwire a brain directly to a computer?

He was reminded of the shaman.

Why'd you do it? He asked.

Do what?

Plant yourself in my mind? You said you put yourself there to help ease the transition, but that doesn't really make any sense, does it? Waking up with you in my head was confusing, even a little terrifying. I mean, let's be honest, the Bastion management doesn't know you did it, do they?

A leader needs to know the truth.

About what? The families?

About sin. A great leader must know how to create aspiration – to tell the story – to maintain the sense of collective purpose.

Then your presence had nothing to do with the families?

It's all related. Our very society is at risk and there is a very real chance that everything – all the progress man has achieved throughout the ages – could be lost. A leader is needed now more than ever.

So what does sin have to do it?

Without the story of sin we are lost. Humans are listeners awaiting programming and it's the story – the struggle against sin and corruption – that gives us purpose and brings us together. Without purpose, without the story, we are undone: listeners with nothing to hear, facing an infinite echo.

You think purpose is just a story?

Life has only the meaning we give it.

Then why bother?

Are you prepared to accept a meaningless existence?

Petrarch hesitated.

But why me? Why do you think I can save this city? Why do you think anyone can?

I can hope too, can't I?

There was a movement up ahead; a hunched figure covered in rags making its way through the tangle of undercity litter. It looked small and sorely out of place, walking slowly up the street, alone in the darkness.

Petrarch glanced down at his biscuit. The approaching figure was the same he had been tracking, yet this didn't look anything like his mother – this person was swaddled in rags, hunched over and shuffling like an old woman.

As he watched, the figure approached an open doorway in one of the tenements and then vanished from view. If it wasn't his mother, who was Colin tracking?

He walked to the doorstep and peeked inside. The interior was dirty and ramshackle – the first-floor foyer of a low-income residence unit. The door to the emergency stairwell had been removed from its hinges and through the opening he could hear the figure shuffling up the stairs.

### 3. Pendigoss

Petrarch crept up the stairs after the mysterious figure. On the second floor the stairs opened into a long hall of empty doors, gaping, abandoned and dark. Only the first apartment door was closed.

He stepped up and grasped the handle. Surprisingly, it was unlocked and he slowly pushed it open far enough to see through. Inside was what appeared to be someone's home; a small, dark apartment with furniture that was old but well-kept. Everything was in tidy order, from an uncluttered table and chairs to a bookshelf packed tight with old books.

The figure was nowhere to be seen, but a small amount of light was shining through an open doorway across the room. He slipped inside and moved along the near wall until he could see into the next room. The hunched figure was there, standing beside a small table and a pale lamp.

"Lucious."

Petrarch froze. It was an old woman's voice, strained and shrill. Was she speaking to him? Neither of them moved.

"Lucious!" she exclaimed. "Is it done? Has he suffered as I have suffered?"

She wasn't facing his direction; it was impossible to tell if she was talking to him.

"What!" she shrieked and spun around. She was clutching a biscuit to her ear. "They must suffer as I have suffered – they must all suffer!"

Her voice was shrill and strained and he half-expected she might weep at any moment.

"Is it my fault? Have I prevented you by watching? It's your destiny; have I been an obstruction? Tell me and I won't use it any more."

She paused as if listening, then snapped, "The sinful treachery! The family name! The wrath of a mother!"

She degraded into sobbing.

Who in the name of the saints was this woman? And what did she mean by the family name? She certainly wasn't anyone he had ever seen before.

"Oh Lucious!" she wailed. "I've been a mother, always a mother."

Her hands slipped down her body until they hung at her sides. She dropped the biscuit on the small table, stooped to pick up a bag lying on the floor and then shuffled away through a doorway at the opposite end of the room. A light came on and cut a bright yellow rectangle in the far wall. The room she had entered was a small kitchen.

Who's this Lucious?

Lucious Pendigoss was the son of lord and lady Pendigoss.

This is Lady Pendigoss!?

Petrarch strained for a better look. She was unloading the bag onto a counter in the kitchen, leaning forward so the overhead light cast a shadow on her face.

I thought Lady Pendigoss and her son both died.

Everyone did, but that doesn't necessarily make it true.

What was she just talking about? It sounded like she was telling Lucious to torture or kill someone.

The thought hit him suddenly. If Lady Pendigoss wanted anyone to be tortured and killed it would probably be those who had been responsible for the death of her husband, namely Ectine and his father. And both of them had been attacked by the assassin! Could the assassin be Lucious Pendigoss?

The old woman had a potato in her hand and was shuffling towards a sink. She reached out a twisted hand to turn the faucet. Her face leaned into the light and he was surprised to see that it wasn't nearly as wrinkled as he had expected. She might not actually be any older than his own mother.

She wrenched the knob. Pipes groaned and rattled and a moment later a burst of water spattered from the faucet head. She washed the potato under the irregular stream.

For the Saint's sake, was he really suggesting that Lady Pendigoss had survived the attack on her family and secretly raised her son as an assassin so she could have revenge almost twenty years later?

Actually, it kind of made sense. Although there was still one big question: How were they doing it? How was the assassin able to go anywhere without being noticed?

He replayed the conversation he had just overheard in his head. When Lady Pendigoss was talking to Lucious, she said something about watching him and using it. Might the Pendigosses have some ability to spy on the other families – something like the Hub's surveillance network?

During the days of preparation, before the city was sealed, it was Pendigoss who built the central control system.

And?

Pendigoss would have had the opportunity to give himself backdoor access to the central systems.

So they've had access this whole time? But if they were manipulating the central system, wouldn't it be obvious? Wouldn't someone notice? I mean nothing has been more scrutinized than the city controls; Ectine and Davius have been fighting over them for years.

If Pendigoss gave himself a secret access point, he could have included safeguards to cover any evidence of its existence.

What would it look like? How would they access it?

It probably wouldn't be very different from the access point that Colin just gave you. We're only talking about a simple portal into the central system.

He glanced at the biscuit lying on the table in the next room, right where Lady Pendigoss had dropped it.

She now had a potato pinned on the counter and was chopping it haphazardly with a knife. With her attention held, he crept into the middle room and moved to the table.

Slowly, he reached out and lifted the biscuit. He was close enough that he could hear her muttering to herself. Careful not to make any noise, Petrarch slipped back out to the entry room.

Once back in the safety of the corner beside the front doorway, he turned it on. The screen lit up and displayed a user interface with a single word written across the top: Unity. Below, the interface was divided into three sections. One was titled 'knowing', another, 'going', the final, 'interference'.

He selected 'going', and navigated through a few more options, ending on a map. It was centered on his current location and an icon in the next room appeared to represent Lady Pendigoss. He found the zoom control and zoomed out. As the city filled in from the sides, hundreds of tiny icons appeared.

The Saint's sake! This thing is tracking everyone in the city, isn't it? Pendigoss wrote this without telling anyone?

He zoomed back in and, just as he was centering in on the apartment, something caught his attention. There was someone outside in the street. He watched for a moment; whoever it was, they were already close and headed in his direction.

Could it be Lucious Pendigoss coming home? If it was, the icon was already close enough that leaving through the front door was not an option. He would have to find a different way out.

He checked the map. There was another apartment adjoining this one, via a door in the kitchen. That apartment opened to a different hall on the other side of the building. He could get out that way – if he didn't mind walking past Lady Pendigoss.

The approaching stranger had reached the outside stairs.

Petrarch touched a room in the adjoining apartment. At the bottom of the screen two buttons appeared. They were labeled 'details' and 'go'. He pressed 'go'. Nothing seemed to happen.

Then, a moment later, an appliance in the kitchen began buzzing loudly – as if its timer had expired. Petrarch stepped back into the center of the room for a better view of the kitchen. The lights were dimming. Lady Pendigoss shuffled by the kitchen doorway griping loudly. She reached what appeared to be an oven in the corner and began pummeling it with her hand.

The Saints have mercy – was this a diversion?

He sprang to his feet and darted into the kitchen with no real idea of what to expect. The woman had her back to him and was opening the oven to peer inside. The alarm was still buzzing. He was beside the door to the other apartment and reached out to tug on the handle.

Locked!

He placed his foot on the doorframe and pulled. The lock splintered through synthetic wood and he flung the door wide open. Lady Pendigoss jumped, but he was through and into the other apartment before she could turn around. Her voice shrieked loudly, spewing out a chain of obscenities. He raced for the front of the adjoining apartment and found a doorway leading out to the hall.

Down the hall, the stairs, and into to the street, he ran until he had put a block or so behind him. Reaching the corner of a building, he slowed and looked back. No one was following.

He imagined the old woman's shocked expression as he ripped her door from its hinges and laughed.

The biscuit still displayed the map and he scrolled back to the apartment to see if Lucious was following him. Both of the Pendigosses were still there.

That was close. I mean, it was fantastic, but it was close. I wonder why Colin was tracking Lady Pendigoss?

Maybe he found out about the assassin.

Well, if they didn't know they were being tracked, they do now. If my father finds out they're alive, they must know they'll be next on his list.

He realized he and the Pendigosses had something in common. They were fugitives, believed dead, slinking through the shadows. Was their fate shared as well? Was it just a matter of time before Lord Davius found out he was back and hunted him down as well?

My father must be stopped, but how do you stop an immortal – even the Ectines can't compete with that.

The shaman didn't need to respond, the answer seemed obvious: the Bastion. His father couldn't be stopped as long as more carniforms existed because if he were killed, he'd simply resurrect into a new body. But if the supply was cut off, he'd be mortal again, like everyone else.

Petrarch checked Lady Pendigoss' biscuit and selected 'going', then directed the map to the Bastion. A detailed floor-plan of the scientific institution appeared. He zoomed in and, after a bit of searching, realized he didn't know where in the Bastion he wanted to go. He backed out and selected 'knowing'. After some probing through the menus, he was able to run a search on Delphus and the map re-appeared with an icon marking the Bastion director's location. He set a destination point.

The system drew a route connecting Delphus to Petrarch's current location. He opened the full list of details. There were many, but a walk to the Bastion would take at least a few hours – plenty of time to memorize the sequence of events that would get him inside.

### 4. Negotiation with Delphus

Delphus was sitting at his desk, looking perfectly content behind his monitor, when Petrarch entered. The office was warm and quiet and a few large potted plants lent a certain humid freshness to the air.

The director cast an eye over the top of the monitor to see who was intruding. The sight of the strange crawler-cloaked man brought his attention to a point.

"Yes?"

Petrarch closed the door behind him. The two faced each other silently until he lifted his goggles.

"Petrarch!" Delphus smiled. "We were so worried for you. You left too early – your health could have been at risk."

"Spare me the prevarications; I know my father killed me and my resurrection was unexpected."

"How did you get in here?" Delphus' voice sounded sincere, even concerned.

"I've come here to talk about my father."

"Petrarch... Your father is a powerful man with many responsibilities and perhaps the Phoenix process wasn't completely flawless when we re-animated him. He responded poorly and for that I can't apologize to you deeply enough."

"I didn't come here for revenge."

Delphus fell silent and watched Petrarch carefully.

"I'm here to convince you to erase my father's neural capture."

"I can't do that."

"Remove him, delete him, overwrite him with someone else; he can't be allowed to resurrect again."

"You know, Petrarch, you are immortal now too. None of this need concern you anymore."

"Of course it concerns me. This is my city, my family and my father."

"The beauty of immortality is none of that matters. Do you realize how far removed you are now from petty, human concerns? You'll never wither and die! And it will only get better, the more we work on the project, the more breakthroughs we'll make. This is just the beginning – imagine multiple bodies, instant transportation of mind from one place to another, merging with others to create a super conscience! The possibilities are limitless!"

"You're not changing the subject."

"Fine. What do you hope to accomplish by erasing his neural map file? Are you trying to kill him?"

"He's changed; he's dangerous now. If I don't stop him, he'll destroy the city."

"I assure you, he's the same man he was before; the process is one hundred percent accurate – the same as what you've experienced. Perhaps he's a little affected by the trauma surrounding his death, but he'll recover in time. Murder is not the answer."

"I didn't say anything about murder; I only asked you to erase a data file. And I shouldn't need to remind you, someone else already killed him."

"The data file belongs to your father, I won't destroy his property."

"As long as that backup exists, he has no fear of death and it's that lack of fear that's changed him. He no longer cares about repercussions; he's lost his compassion or empathy. He's sick. We don't even know what motivates him anymore."

"He still cares about progress."

"Progress? You call what he's doing progress?"

"Science. The Bastion must carry on – he understands that. He's still a rational man, but there's something he needs to do before his actions can reflect it."

"What, what could he possibly need to do that justifies tearing apart the entire city?"

"Do you know where your mother is?"

"My mother?"

The question hung in the air and Delphus folded his hands on his desk.

Careful, he's a manipulative man, the shaman warned.

"Go ahead, check your little biscuit," Delphus said, "I'm sure you have the means to locate her now."

Petrarch brought out his biscuit. He'd forgotten about searching for his mother after encountering Lady Pendigoss. With the Pendigoss backdoor he ran a search for his mother. The system indicated that she was in Ectine tower. He looked up with a start.

Delphus smiled smugly.

"The Ectines captured her?"

"Would you call it 'capture' if it were voluntary?"

She went to the Ectines, why?

"It's my belief, Petrarch, that you need to speak with your father."

"Maybe she's hiding from him. Maybe she realized what he became."

"Or maybe her departure caused him to become what he is now. Maybe he's jealous and he won't be the same until he gets her back."

"Tell me why she left."

"Honestly, that's between Lord Davius and his Lady. I'm not privy to that knowledge, nor would I desire to be. Petrarch, here at the Bastion we do one thing: scientific research. Politicizing and moralizing, these are the responsibilities of men like you and your father."

The Bastion director was sitting back calmly in his chair. Petrarch wanted to reach over the desk and slap him.

"Fine, then I'll go speak to him, but you have to understand the impossibility of having a fruitful conversation with a jealous and angry man who knows he is immortal."

"Then tell him you've convinced me to overwrite his synaptic map."

"He'd never believe it."

"If that's the case, you wouldn't be able to convince him even if I cooperated with your demands. After all, your father won't be able to feel a physical difference if I overwrite his neural mapping."

"He would believe it because I would believe it and he would see that in me."

"Ah, I think I understand." A strange smile stole into Delphus' expression. "You'll have to accept my apology; psychology was never a specialty of mine. I'll do this for you, I'll erase the file, but understand that when he returns to me to upload his next update, I won't deny him. He'll be re-recorded within a day."

"Fine, that's all I the time I need. Thank you."

He's lying to you.

I'll have to trust that he isn't. There's not much more I can hope for. I can't force him and I can't do it myself; I certainly don't know the backdoor well enough to try to hack the Bastion systems. Besides, actually killing my father isn't really the ideal solution anyway.

Petrarch turned to leave and then halted,

"You won't contact him the moment I walk out this door, will you?"

"No, as I said, it's my policy not to get involved. Lord Davius knows this and he appreciates it."

"Of course. Forgive my intrusion."

"I'll have an escort show you out."

The door opened and Petrarch stepped through. A pair of guards were approaching and he allowed them to lead him away. Delphus had no reason to try and detain him now. This would be resolved somewhere outside of the Bastion, and that's exactly the way Delphus would want it.

### 5. The Second Caller

The door closed and Delphus was alone again.

These Daviuses could be so high maintenance. He rubbed his temples and leaned back in his chair. He was just beginning to feel recomposed and ready to resume his work when the door opened. A masked figure dressed entirely in tight black midlar was standing before him. The door closed.

Delphus immediately reached for the security pager on his desk but in a blur of darkness the figure drew a pistol and fired a silenced round into the desk. The synthetic wood splintered spectacularly and Delphus jerked back in his seat. He stared hard at the figure, attempting to conceal his panic. This was the first time he had ever seen the assassin.

"Why are you here?" he demanded.

The assassin raised the gun to point at his head.

"Wait, wait, you overheard my conversation with Petrarch, is that it?"

The gun lowered a few inches.

"I didn't lie to him. I fully intend to fulfill his request. I'll overwrite the neural map."

The assassin seemed to regard him for a moment and then raised the gun to point at his face.

"You don't believe me?" He was shouting, his heart beating quickly and sweat emerging on his forehead. "Who are you to question what I will or will not do?

The gun fired with a soft rush of air over metal. The Bastion director jerked and tumbled from his chair and a spatter of blood pelted the desk. The assassin came around, stepped over the body and sat down in the director's chair. He set the desktop console to receive a remote interface, placed a biscuit on the table and went to work.

### 6. Nathan

Alistair regarded the dingy door with uncertainty. It led into a crumbling Grivet hovel and he hoped it wouldn't prove another fruitless dead-end. He was still dressed in artikin's midlar and dry blood covered much of his body. The night had started out fun enough, but he was ready to be done now.

The door swung open easily and he entered. At the end of a dim and filthy hall he found what he was looking for, an Apollex den. Heaps of rags and dingy pillows covered the floors and amongst them lay sprawled a company of drugged Grivets. In the corner, a man seated in the room's only chair looked up from a monitor and glanced in his direction.

Alistair slowly advanced into the room. He had a biometric scanner – a small camera networked to the Ectine visual identification database – and he pointed it at each drugged Grivet in turn. One of the customers, slumped against the back wall, appeared to be watching him more closely than the others and Alistair aimed the scanner directly at his dirty face.

The device indicated a positive match. He switched on a bright spotlight mounted next to the camera lens and the man immediately pinched closed his eyes and held up both hands to protect his face. Those around him feebly mumbled and turned away from the beam.

Stepping over lethargic bodies, Alistair crossed the room. He turned down the brightness on the light and the man lowered his hands.

"Alistair, is that you?" the man asked feebly.

The voice confirmed it; he had finally found Nathan.

"Yes."

"You've come for me. Well, okay, I'm ready to go back. I know I shouldn't have gone in the first place; I'm very sorry. Have we recovered the Hub?"

Alistair magneclasped the scanner to his waist and reached over his shoulder to release the smoker held there.

"What are you doing? Where – where's Adrian?"

"Adrian's dead." Alistair swung the smoker around and pointed it at Nathan. The man sitting on the chair across the room bolted from his seat and fled through a back door.

"Put the gun away, Alistair. You can't kill me... did, did you kill Adrian?"

"Yes. I stole his identity. You're all that stands between me and succession to the pater familias now."

Nathan swallowed hard.

"But what about your training? It's your – your duty to protect the Ectine bloodline."

"I guess I'm not a very good student."

Nathan was slowly sliding his body upward against the wall, attempting to stand. Alistair stepped forward and swung the smoker. The barrel struck Nathan in the head and dropped him back to the ground.

Nathan wailed and writhed on the floor. Many of the Apollex users around them crawled away from the sound of his outburst.

Alistair waited for Nathan to calm. He finally stopped sobbing and looked up and cried out hoarsely.

"What do you want?"

Alistair didn't answer. Nathan crawled up into a hunched squat.

"What are you waiting for?" he asked miserably.

"I'm trying to decide how I will kill you."

Nathan sprang up, propelling himself away from the wall, his head aimed at Alistair's midsection. The smoker fired once and Nathan's body was blasted apart. As the chunks splattered to the ground Alistair cursed aloud.

He kicked the remains of the body. The thought of torturing Nathan was the only thing that had made the long and tedious search bearable and now he had to face going home without any reward.

He looked around the den in disgust, then aimed into the sprawled bodies on the floor and held down the trigger. The room erupted with the rattle of his gun and the splatter of gore. But it wasn't very satisfying; it just felt like he was wasting time.

He let off shooting and stormed back out into the street. There was nothing left to do now but return to the Ectine complex and deal with Stephen and his 'father'.

### 7. Reckoning

The call came from everywhere at once: Davius was attacking the Ectines. Anywhere you turned, biscuits and consoles buzzed with the news. Streets that had been vacant for days filled with people. Something was about to happen and everyone knew it.

Petrarch watched on his biscuit, where the backdoor showed him everything. He watched while his father's men surrounded the Ectines – as hundreds of soldiers formed a cordon around their family tower. He watched as a splinter split from the larger force and fought its way inside. He queried who was leading the attack: Colin, Valos, Dimeos and the resurrected carniform of his father. At the center of Ectine tower, behind every Deputy and Praetor they had left, Stephen and Lord Ectine were waiting. There could be no doubt – this was the final confrontation.

It was time. Petrarch called Isaac and gave him his location. The Senchion said he would be there in a few minutes.

Petrarch had been crouched in an alley behind a low wall and now he stood and strode into the avenue. Not far ahead were the ancient brick structures alongside monstrous carboncrete roots of modern scrapers: the edge of Ectine Old Town.

Isaac's convoy caught up to Petrarch a short distance from Ectine tower. Two trucks and an armored limousine pulled over and Isaac disembarked from the limo.

"We're ready," he declared.

"Good, let me show you where we'll be attacking." Petrarch held out his biscuit.

"This ends it, right?" Isaac's expression was cold and unfaltering.

"Ends what?"

"Everything – Ectine, Davius, Senchion."

"Yes, that all ends today."

Isaac nodded. His expression remained hard but he leaned in and Petrarch showed him where they would break through the perimeter and gain access to the tower.

They reached Ectine Tower's outer wall at top speed. A unit of Davius guardsmen positioned next to a gate opened fire and a nearby assault truck moved to intercept.

Petrarch had set the back-door interface to run an entrance route on the tower and, as the gate came into view, he activated it.

The hydraulic locks beneath the gate released. A moment later, their lead truck was crashing into the heavy metal doors and they plowed their way through. On the other side, the truck moved aside, leaving a route open to the tower entrance. The limousine accelerated. Petrarch braced for impact. With a shattering peal of metal and glass, the limo battered through the front doors and into the building itself.

The gendarmes around him threw open the limo doors and disembarked. They were in an empty lobby, but he could hear the sound of gunfire not far off. The gendarmes took aim and waited. Petrarch had his smoker and held it up, ready. Could he do it? Could he shoot a Davius? He glanced at Isaac standing beside him.

The Senchion shouted, "What are you waiting for? Go! We'll keep them from following you!"

It was the reason why he had come, but he hesitated. The things he dreaded most were within this tower; the Ectines, backed up against a wall and as dangerous as ever; his father, vindictive and insane; his mother, once familiar and comforting, now distant and mysterious; Colin and Valos, his closest friends possibly pressed to fight against him; the future of his city and his own life – the course of his entire existence from this point on.

Beside him, Isaac fired a loud rip of gunfire. It shook Petrarch out of his thoughts. There was no point in thinking about it anymore; he took off running toward the center of the tower.

The Ectine inner sanctum was recognizable from his last visit. Petrarch stopped just outside the door to the central chapel. According to the biscuit, there were men inside, about to exit. He stepped behind a large statue and waited. The chapel door opened and six men emerged; five of them were wearing black Praetor armor and they were led by a blood artikin. It was Ectine's personal guard, and Blackfriar. They hurried away in the opposite direction, towards the battle being fought on the other side of the tower, where the last of the Ectines were making a final stand against his father.

Petrarch waited a moment, giving them time to draw farther away, and then emerged from his hiding place. Lord Ectine and Stephen were alone now in the inner sanctum. Did he have a plan? What was he hoping to accomplish by going in there? Talk to Lord Ectine and ask him to end all this? And what if Ectine agreed; what would he do when his father arrived? Could he fight alongside his mortal enemy against his own family?

The chapel door opened to his touch and he stepped into dazzling brilliance. Ancient, massive rose-colored pillars reaching upward framed the bright glare of one hundred sun-lamps, set beyond blazing. Everywhere the light reflected off of gold and marble, sparkling and radiant. It was brighter even than his father's hospital room – almost as bright as the blinding sunrise had been through the city gate.

At the far end of the hall, beyond the rows of pews, Stephen and Lord Ectine were standing before the altar. Stephen's vulcar was glossy black, Lord Ectine's pale ivory. Both were equipped with smokers and in his other hand Ectine held what appeared to be a broad, round vulcar shield. Petrarch walked cautiously up the gallery in their direction.

"Wonderful," Lord Ectine declared, his booming voice amplified. "There is no one to interfere – we shall have a fair fight. May the best man win!"

He struck Stephen encouragingly on the shoulder and stepped back. Without hesitating, Stephen aimed his smoker and fired.

It all happened in a moment; there was no chance to shout an objection and barely enough time to duck. The gallery around the doorway behind him shattered in a spray of marble fragments. Statues disintegrated and the beautifully inlaid walls fell away to reveal carboncrete beneath.

He landed behind a tomb – a massive stone box decorated in gold and marble – and climbed to his knees. His heads-up readout showed Stephen circling around the front of the pews at the other end of the gallery. Petrarch pivoted to where he had a clean view and held his smoker ready. This wasn't the reception he wanted, but then what did he expect – a warm welcome with arms wide open? Maybe not, but was it really too much to ask to get one word in first?

Stephen's bulky black form popped into sight and Petrarch instinctively fired. Smoker shells rang off Stephen's chest plate and he staggered, flailing his arms to stay upright. Petrarch aimed a few rounds at his head and then scrambled away, putting as much distance as he could between himself and Stephen. He sprinted across the open toward the opposite gallery. Lord Ectine was watching him, still standing by the altar. It was strange he wasn't helping Stephen, almost as if he didn't care who won the fight.

A moment later Petrarch slipped into the safety of the other gallery and put his back behind a sturdy marble column. The readout showed Stephen was stationary, still across the nave. A rattle of gunfire confirmed his location. Petrarch waited for the smoker-fire to end and then popped around the column and shot Stephen again. The Ectine's armor was visibly damaged from the first barrage and he added to it, cracking and scarring the vulcar from face to mid-stomach.

A few weeks ago, nothing could have been more satisfying than blasting apart Stephen Ectine, but now it felt completely wrong. Weren't the Ectines still a despicable enemy? Hadn't he come to put an end to both families' bids for dominance?

He had, but fighting the Ectines now seemed premature – out of order. By fighting them before his father arrived, he was still part of the feud, not the solution.

"Stephen!" he shouted, "I came to negotiate!"

The Ectine son retreated behind a column. Petrarch looked to Lord Ectine. The man's armored face stared back with no expression. A moment later, the sound of Stephen's smoker exploded from across the hall and Petrarch was thrown from his feet.

He landed hard on his back. His chest had been hit; there was no pain, but he felt the extent of the damage clearly. Stephen was dashing across the marble floor now with fast and heavy footfalls. Petrarch rolled to his hands and knees. Stephen rounded the end of the gallery and fired again. The bullets pounded across his back, pummeling his body down hard and splintering the glossy black vulcar fibers covering the dynamo on his shoulders.

If your power is damaged, you'll be immobilized.

Petrarch scampered over the marble floor and the bullets continued, pelting the ground and his back equally, throwing up a dusty cloud of marble shards and pounding him to his knees. But between each hit he was on his toes and after five or six impacts, he reached the safety of another column. Out of sight, he spun around and sat down.

Can I survive without power?

For a while. There's a battery in your head that will keep you alive for hours, but your body would be immobilized.

It sounds like I'd better be careful then.

He propped up his smoker and, a moment later, Stephen appeared around the column. It was a reckless move and Petrarch hit him squarely in the face with an explosion of bullets, breaking the exoskeletal supports around his neck and decimating his mouth-plate. Stephen's head jerked convulsively and he flipped backward, legs flying up before he crashed to the ground. The impact popped his helmet free and it skittered across the floor.

Petrarch got to his feet. Stephen was knocked out, his body motionless. Lord Ectine remained in the same pose he had maintained throughout the fight. Petrarch faced him and no one moved or spoke.

Lord Ectine broke the silence.

"Finish him. You've won; make your victory complete before Davius arrives."

Petrarch didn't respond. How could he? Lord Ectine was asking him to kill his own son. Something wasn't right.

"Why would you want your own son dead?"

"Hurry!" Ectine took a step forward, his voice more urgent.

Petrarch watched carefully, ready to defend himself. Ectine raised his gun and so did Petrarch, but the strike didn't come from Ectine's gun. It came from behind, across the back of his shoulders, and thrust him forward.

Petrarch tumbled across the marble and landed on his knees. Looking back, the sinewy black form of Lord Davius now stood where he had been, covered from head to foot in cords of black vulcar, smoker in one hand and combat claws on the other.

"I'm back!" he declared.

Ectine lowered his gun diplomatically, "Let them go; this is between you and I."

Davius fired his smoker at the unconscious Stephen, obliterating his unprotected head with a single round.

Ectine's response was immediate; bullets struck Davius precisely, first against his smoker and then his neck. Petrarch's father reeled and threw up a shoulder to protect himself. His body shuddered and sparkled with the thunderous impacts of metal on metal.

Now that Davius was here, it seemed so obvious who the real enemy was. Ectine could be reasoned with but his father had to be stopped. Fortunately, Ectine's choice of target had given him an idea; it might not be necessary to kill Davius at all; in fact, it might actually be preferable that they didn't. If they could remove his father's head from his body intact, he wouldn't be resurrected at the Bastion. As long as his neural processor wasn't turned off or destroyed, he would survive, unable to move, unable to do any more harm. They could hook him up to a power source and hide his head away in a box somewhere, at least until they figured out a more permanent solution.

Ectine was relentless; the hall was filled with the whine and crash of bullets picking off vulcar chips and ricocheting into marble. Davius attempted to shoot back, discovered his smoker was damaged, then dropped and dove between two rows of pews. For a moment, the bullets followed him and the wooden seats erupted into a haze of particles, then Ectine ceased firing and crouched behind his shield to load a new magazine.

From where he was, Petrarch could see his father, scampering over the floor on fingers and toes. He reached the opposite end of the pews and sprang across the open gap, vanishing into the far gallery. A few moments later there was a great cracking sound. It was hard to imagine what its source could be, but the mystery ended as a huge slab of carboncrete came soaring out of the shadows. Ectine repositioned his shield and blocked the carboncrete mass but the force of the impact pushed him down hard and he fell into a seated position.

Davius was already moving fast, sprinting directly for his enemy. Ectine climbed to his knees, peered out from behind the shield and caught Davius across the stomach with a couple bullets, but it wasn't enough to stop him and Lord Davius crashed into him at full speed.

Davius' body slammed against the shield and with his claws, he reached around to stab rapidly into Ectine's armor, punching holes all across the right side of his torso.

Ectine lurched backward, dropped his shield out of the way and fired. Smoker rounds found Davius' helmet and shoulders and, from such close range, chipped away large fragments of vulcar. Davius tumbled into a sidelong roll, righted himself and leapt back at Ectine, this time landing against the top of the shield. His weight forced the base to the ground and he thrust in over the top with his claws, piercing Ectine's helmet along the jaw-line. The claws were turned blade-edge up and, with a mighty twist of his upper body, Davius wrenched the helmet open like metal can. Pulling upward, he flicked it free from Ectine's head.

The force of the motion threw Davius off balance and he lurched back off the shield to steady himself. Ectine's bared face was covered in blood and a deep rent ran from chin to brow. Sputtering for breath, he thrust his smoker into Davius' ribs and fired a shot, blasting apart a single vulcar fiber.

Davius doubled over and made a quick thrust of his claws, slipping them around Ectine's outstretched gun-arm, one blade over and the other under. Before Ectine could fire again, Davius threw his body behind a savage twist. The upper blade cut through the inner elbow of Ectine's armor. Ectine's hand went limp and the smoker fell to the floor. Davius threw his shoulder against his stricken enemy and shoved him onto his back.

Lord Davius stepped forward and placed his claws into Ectine's stomach. It was all over. Yet, in that final moment, as Davius leaned over him, Ectine did something peculiar. Rather than struggle, or even stare down his mortal enemy, he craned his head around and looked directly at Petrarch. Even from across the room, he seemed to know exactly where to look. The defeated Lord's face was a mask of bright red blood but the two white orbs of his eyes stood out, wide and intent. They seemed hopeful, almost as if he expected Petrarch to save him.

"Look at me!" Davius demanded of Ectine as he slowly pressed the blades through his armor, "behold your better!"

Any chance of postponing his fate any further was gone; Petrarch strode from his hiding place.

"Petrarch!" his father said, looking up, "Our moment of triumph!"

"Ours?"

"Father and son!"

"My father is dead."

"Don't be preposterous, he's right here, stronger than ever!" Davius glanced back down at Ectine, "Always thought it was you who was more clever, didn't you? But despite everything you accomplished, it was always me who won when it really mattered!"

Petrarch arrived beside them and Davius looked at him, "We're one and the same now Petrarch; no one else can understand us but each other. We're eternal!" As he spoke, he pulled his claws from Ectine's stomach. Blood welled up from the holes. He raised his arm, as if to strike Ectine one final time.

"Don't kill him."

Davius paused, his black helmeted face glared at Petrarch. For an excruciating moment, time seemed to stand still. Finally, he spoke.

"Petrarch, I'm giving you a second chance, don't make me angry again."

"I don't think you've given me much: a city in ruins, a legacy of murder and jealousy."

"I gave you life!" Davius bellowed and stepped off of Ectine. "Twice!"

Petrarch backed away and his father followed. Behind them, Ectine sprang to his feet, heaved his shield in a great arc and smashed it into the back of Davius' head.

Davius fell to his knees and Petrarch aimed his smoker, but, for the tiniest moment, he hesitated. By the time he pulled the trigger, Davius had ducked to the side. Lightning-fast, his father's claws slashed out and struck him across the chest.

Petrarch stumbled and Davius rotated into a heel-kick. Petrarch fell hard and scrambled to his feet as quickly as possible but Davius was already springing in Ectine's direction, claws raised.

He stabbed into Ectine's chest, the claws sticking in vulcar. As he pressed deeper, Petrarch fired. Davius' head snapped violently, a great chip of armor split from his helmet and the visor popped free. His father dropped into a roll and came up running. Before Petrarch could hit him again, he ducked into a gallery.

Ectine was unsteady on his feet, a stream of blood leaking from his stomach. He lowered himself onto bent knees then toppled to the ground.

Petrarch felt a pang of helplessness – a fear of being left alone with his father. Where were Blackfriar and Ectine's personal guard? Didn't they know that their lord was dying? Didn't they know that the monster who called himself Davius needed to be stopped?

Davius emerged running at full speed, his synthetic eyes now exposed and glowering with rage. He was on Petrarch in a moment and making a swipe with his outstretched claw. Petrarch narrowly dodged and shot back from the hip as Davius lunged by. The trail of bullets pummeled his father along the waist. Broken fibers of vulcar flopped loosely from his back and some bits broke away entirely. Davius fell but, as he did, he kicked out his leg behind him and knocked the smoker from Petrarch's hand. There was a snapping sound and Petrarch felt one of his fingers go limp.

The gun didn't fall far and Petrarch was already diving over it. With his undamaged hand he grabbed it up by the handle.

But Davius was right behind and leaped onto his back, claws first.

The blades slipped and gouged their way through his armor fibers and pierced the musculature beneath. Petrarch reeled and bucked, but Lord Davius held firm and pressed the claws deeper.

The more of his musculature that was damaged, the weaker he would become. His only option remaining was to shoot Davius with the smoker, but, pinned on the ground, he would probably only have one shot; if he missed, Davius would disarm him before he could take another. With a quick prayer to the saints, he swung the smoker up over his shoulder and fired it directly into his father's face.

The bullet struck just above the eye, obliterating his left optical receptor and shattering the vulcar around it. Davius lurched back and his claws pulled free. Petrarch rolled over. His father's last remaining eye, surrounded by exposed electronics-housing, was glowering. Petrarch aimed again for his face but, with a sweep of his claw, Davius cleft off the end of the smoker.

Petrarch pulled the trigger but the gun was useless.

"We could have worked together," Davius said. "I was willing to forgive our differences. But you have refused. Perhaps you don't understand that I don't need you. I have myself now. The legacy of Davius can live on forever!"

There was another smoker in the room, the one that Stephen had dropped, but Petrarch would never be able to reach it. His father was too strong.

And then he noticed something; in the corner of his visual display, an unidentified figure was lurking just behind them. It wasn't Ectine, who was sprawled out on the floor. It was someone else, someone standing, someone dressed in black. Petrarch rolled to his side and looked directly at the figure. Davius looked too.

It was the assassin and he was holding a long rifle aimed at Lord Davius. Petrarch glanced back at his father just in time to witness his head burst into a spray of hard-layered microboard fragments, plastic casing, and vulcar chips. The body tumbled to the ground.

The assassin approached them and Petrarch froze. Was he next?

But the assassin walked right past him and didn't stop until he reached Lord Ectine. Ectine was face-down, at the end of a five-foot streak of blood where he had been pulling himself across the floor.

It looked as if he was dead but as the assassin arrived he rolled painstakingly over onto his back.

"Is it my turn already?" He sounded tired, almost unconcerned.

The assassin pointed his gun.

"I know who you are," Ectine said. "It's a suiting end that the devil himself should decide. Can I make my penance before you finish it?"

His question was met by silence – the assassin appeared to be waiting. Petrarch approached cautiously, unsure of what to do, still unsure if the assassin wouldn't turn on him next.

Ectine rolled his head to face Petrarch. His eyes seemed to invite him to ask something, anything.

"Why would you want me to kill your own son?" Petrarch could have asked so many things, but for some reason that was what came out.

"Stephen?"

"Yes, why would you want him to die?"

"He's not my son. Stephen was my artikin."

Petrarch didn't know how to respond. It was a surprise, but did it actually explain anything?

"Your mother is safe," Ectine continued. "She's here. She will explain everything. I'm sorry, Petrarch. I regret I couldn't have been more to you."

Bloodied and beaten, he raised his eyes to look up at the assassin. The response was instant – the gun fired and he was dead. Petrarch's head was reeling; what was Ectine talking about? And why did everything always seem to come back to his mother?

"For the wrath of god there is no forgiveness, for the wrath of man, my sin, I shall suffer."

Petrarch looked up; the voice was the assassin's. Lucious had removed his black, featureless mask, revealing a face filled with anguish and rage. It was immediately repulsive – so distorted that it looked barely human.

Lucious didn't make eye contact. His focus was somewhere distant and he turned the rifle around, at arm's length, to point at his own face.

The gun fired and Petrarch was alone.

## Act IV – Valos

### 1. A mother's secret

Petrarch took in the scene in silence, looking at each of the four bodies in turn. He felt drained, as if he had been emptied of all feeling except for relief; relief that it was finally over.

Or was it? Lucious had completely destroyed Lord Davius' cranial processor. If Delphus hadn't erased the mapping files, Davius would be re-born at the Bastion.

The sound of something crashing against the main doors grabbed his attention. A moment later, the doors opened and the roar of gunfire filled the hall. Blackfriar, Lord Ectine's blood artikin, came staggering through and fell to the floor. He was followed by another artikin, his white skull mask fractured down the center, and a group of Davius guardsmen in gray helmets and midlar, limping, battered and bleeding.

The lead guardsman paused for a moment and held up his hand, then declared, "Room clear! No survivors!"

A moment later, he noticed Petrarch standing at the fringe of the nave.

"Petrarch? 'Swounds, you don't show up on the readout." He pulled off his helmet – it was Colin.

"Is your father here?" he asked, looking around with apprehension. "He doesn't show up on the readouts either."

"He's dead – for now at least."

Colin searched the floor until his eyes lit up.

"There they are! Ectine and Davius. That's really them!"

He hurried to Petrarch's side, looking away from the bodies only when they were face to face. They shook hands.

"It's good to have you back, now what do you mean by, for now at least?"

"I went to the Bastion to have Delphus write over my father's neural map."

"Oh..."

"And I'm not sure if I convinced him to do it or not."

"Well how can we be sure?" Colin's voice was strained; he looked like he'd been through hell.

"Let me check something."

Petrarch produced his biscuit and opened the backdoor. He ran a search on the Bastion shift report logs. He searched for military orders to mobilize the Bastion guard and found a recent order to lock down security. He looked for any mention of his father, but the most recent report came from the previous day. There was no indication of his father reappearing in the Bastion.

Was it possible that his father's neural map had actually been overwritten, or at least prevented from writing to a new carniform? Next he tried a search on Delphus, to see if the Bastion director had issued any orders in the past few minutes. The biscuit returned a report of Delphus' death, with further details noting that his computer had been compromised. Had someone else erased the file? Or maybe Delphus' death had simply caused enough disturbance to shut down the Phoenix project.

"No sign of my father," he declared to Colin, adding, "and Delphus is dead."

"Well, I don't know what to say about Delphus, but otherwise, I guess no news is good news."

The artikin with the cracked mask came up beside them and clasped Petrarch's shoulder with a weary hand.

"Valos?"

The recognition hit him suddenly and with it came the realization that this was the longest he had ever gone without his artikin. Valos removed his helmet and, looking into that face, his face, he was overcome with despair. He addressed his former artikin.

"A lot has changed, but I hope you haven't. The city is going to need leaders."

It was a strange thing to suggest: an artikin as a leader, but why not? Valos had been trained to serve and, honestly, wouldn't that make him a better leader than most?

Valos' hand was still on Petrarch's shoulder and his other hand came up and took the opposite shoulder. He held Petrarch for a moment and then released him, finally speaking.

"I'm glad you've returned to us."

Before he could respond, Colin interrupted.

"Isaac!"

They turned to face the doorway. Isaac had entered with three gendarmes.

"They've broken," the Senchion said. "The last of the Ectines are surrendering; the Tower is ours."

Colin was holding his gun as if unsure whether Isaac was a threat or not.

"Colin," Petrarch said, "Isaac has been helping me to put an end to the Ectine-Davius problem."

Colin nodded, "I'm glad you managed to stop us. The Davius guard is yours to command. Shall I give the order to move in and occupy?"

"Wait. We need to locate my mother first, she's somewhere in the Tower. I don't want her hurt."

Petrarch looked to Isaac; the Senchion's eyes were moving over the bodies on the church floor.

"Isaac, thank you," he said. "You can stay here if you like, but I want you to know, I'm going to call a summit with the senate. The first order of business will be to dissolve the family militaries. Il Fiore will have one police force and everyone will have representation. The undercity still needs to be brought back under control, but we'll do it as a united government."

Isaac walked to Petrarch. His eyes were steeled and humorless but when they stood face to face, he extended his hand and Petrarch shook it.

"If there's to be a future in this city," he said, "it's with the past behind us."

Petrarch smiled. Isaac released his hand.

"Go find your mother; you don't have to worry about me, anymore."

Petrarch brought up the backdoor interface and ran a search for his mother. It found her and plotted a route; she was only a few floors below them.

"Wait for my signal," Petrarch directed Colin. He cast a final look at Valos and then raced out the door.

The route took him down a lift to a subterranean level of the Tower. Thoughts and questions filled his head: Ectine's cryptic message, his mother's disappearance and the fact that he had, in a way, just been party to the execution of his own father.

He traveled through empty halls to an open doorway and on the other side found his mother, seated on a couch. She was dressed in a practical skirt and wore a deputy's jacket over her shoulders. When she saw him she startled with fear.

"It's me mother, Petrarch."

"Petrarch?" she whispered hoarsely.

He entered the room cautiously, "I'm alone."

"So am I. My guard left after they received the message that their lord was dead – the cowards." Her voice was strained."

"We're safe now, the fighting's over."

"He left?" She asked.

"Yes, father's been killed, again."

"Permanently?"

"It appears so."

"Oh?" she seemed to relax and slumped back in her seat. "I knew the same transformation must have happened to you. Until he returned, I hadn't realized what the capturing really was." She paused and looked at him.

He almost couldn't bear the forlorn expression, but there was something he had to know and it kept him from turning away.

"Mother, Lord Ectine said something to me before he died."

She was suddenly worried again.

"You were there when it happened? You weren't the one that killed him, were you?"

"No, it wasn't me, but he said something; he apologized and he said you had something to tell me."

She stared at him with an expression halfway between disbelief and confusion then sighed.

"Sit down," her voice was defeated and she made room for him on the couch beside her.

"When I was young," she began, her voice slow and tired, "I fell in love with Logan Ectine." She paused but Petrarch didn't respond – it was as if his entire mind had frozen up in anticipation and would not respond until it heard the news Ectine meant him to know. After a moment, his mother continued, "even as a young man, he was very rich and very powerful. He had many admirable qualities; he was well-respected, driven and passionate. I really did love him. But then I met your father – he was mysterious and romantic, sensitive and ambitious – and I fell in love all over again. It is possible to love two men at the same time; I did. It was torture and bliss all at once. Eventually, Logan found out. Even though I had remained faithful to him, loving your father from afar, he spited me and left me for another. Between the two, your father had always been more patient and, in the end, his perseverance paid off."

She stopped and Petrarch nodded. It explained why she might have come to Ectine Tower when his father died. Despite the shame it would have brought her, she probably felt she had nowhere else to turn; the city was in chaos, the Ectines were rising, it was only a matter of time before they caught her and in the end she would be better off if she went voluntarily. Yet, why did Ectine care if he knew this? It hadn't seemed like he was gloating.

"That can't be all Ectine wanted you to tell me."

She looked uncomfortable and he urged her on with his eyes, hoping his synthetic brows were up to the task.

"After we were married, your father couldn't... We tried to have a child but it wouldn't happen. He didn't know it was him. We argued a lot. I didn't plan it, but it was at that time I crossed paths again with – with Logan." Her eyes were locked on the ground and she seemed to struggle with her own thoughts before continuing. "It was a few years since we had last seen each other but all of the old passion was still there. I felt that it would be for the best. I loved my husband, but that night Logan gave me you. Your father never discovered the truth, or if he suspected, he knew better than to ask. He was overjoyed to have a son and never pressed me for another child."

"Ectine is my father!" Petrarch blurted out. The thought was too impossible to entertain.

"Yes, I tried to shield you from the feud building between the two of them, but I fear you learned to hate the Ectines with your father's passion. I could have told you but I was afraid. I think your father suspected the truth, and this little victory was all that kept him from—" Her voice threatened to break and she stopped and reconsidered her words. "I often considered telling you the truth, but I feared what would happen once you knew. Not only what you might do, but what he might do." Her voice broke. "I'm so sorry."

Petrarch was numb. This meant he had not been killed by his real father. It also explained why Ectine was proud, despite the collapse of his own family.

"Petrarch, say something."

"I... I understand."

He understood the conflicting pressures his mother had shouldered since his birth. He understood the unnatural distance between himself and his father. He understood the source of the rivalry that had divided the city for so long.

He also understood there was an irony; for years Ectine and Davius had been fighting each other, and for what? The right to pass on the same empire to the same son? Now that they were dead, the reality was, the winner hardly mattered; the two egos converged on the same outcome: him.

His mother looked older now. She was worn and defeated; every man she had ever loved was dead, including her son, who was the living dead. She had suffered dishonor and persecution, been run around the city like a refugee and for what – to protect the Davius name: his legacy.

He wanted to hug her, but his metal arms would be a hollow facsimile of the warm embrace she needed. No amount of synthetics would ever be able to replace the touch of flesh and blood; he was trapped in a reanimated coffin.

Perhaps some day he would adapt to his new life of immortality; he would evolve and no longer yearn for the physical connections he couldn't have. When that happened, he might be able to find new purpose. He might even be able to live in Il Fiore. But not now, not while the old feelings were still fresh, not while he still yearned to be with Judith – not while he still felt the desire to some day be a father himself.

"Oh, Petrarch!" The expression in his mother's eyes was heartbreaking. He took her in his arms and hugged her to his cold vulcar chest. Her tears beaded on the oily surface.

### 2. A toast

Petrarch was leading his mother out of Ectine Tower when Colin caught up to him. Duty could not be avoided and he sent her ahead, accompanying his cousin back into the Ectine inner sanctum.

They crossed a hall, past decadent couches, gaming tables and walls hung with massive dull-screens of Baroque masterworks.

"We've sent communication to the Bastion – they're to suspend the Phoenix project until further notice," his cousin said, looking positively giddy with excitement.

"Good, then my father really has been stopped."

"Yes, it appears there was a problem with his file anyway. The Saints be blessed."

They were passing deeper into the inner sanctum as they spoke.

"It's breathtaking," Colin observed, passing his eyes over wealth that surpassed anything either of them had ever seen. Petrarch nodded.

"A bar!" His cousin declared and crossed to a shelf of bottles, calling over his shoulder.

"A celebratory toast?"

"I don't think I can."

Colin looked back; giddiness replaced with concern. Petrarch felt guilty.

"But you go ahead, you deserve it. I insist."

"No, it's probably best we don't drink just now anyway."

"Please do; I don't want my condition to be a burden on anyone but myself."

"Alright," Colin conceded and, with much less enthusiasm than before, turned his attention back to the bottles. "It should be something old, very, very old: pre-collapse."

He held up a bottle and inspected it.

"This will do. It's nearly seventy years old!"

He found a glass, emblazoned with Ectine rams, set it on the bar, and poured rich brown alcohol into it. He raised the glass.

"To Petrarch!"

He swallowed down the liquor and grimaced. Petrarch shook his head; he didn't want to feel this way, but he did.

"Why would you toast me?" He asked.

"You did it! You defeated them."

"I didn't do anything; the assassin killed them both."

"You stood up to them; it doesn't matter who pulled the trigger. It's probably better you didn't bloody your hands anyway."

"Two despots are dead, that's all. We succeeded through murder; we accomplished nothing."

"The city is ready for a new era – our era!"

Petrarch was reminded of the way Isaac had looked at the dead bodies when he first entered the Ectine chapel. Colin just didn't get it; he was a killer, a Davius.

"We can't rule the city. It's what my father wanted; it's what Ectine wanted. Concessions must be made to the Senate, and power shared equally amongst the other families. Can't you see that's the whole problem: we have no more right to rule than Ectine or Davius did."

"I understand, I understand," Colin laughed nervously. "No one will be left out of the new Il Fiore – it's a top priority. We'll honor our obligations to those who helped, and even those who didn't. This won't be a dictatorship."

It felt like they were missing the real issue.

"Leaders must deserve to lead."

"Petrarch," Colin said compassionately, "we deserve this more than anyone – we've toiled and suffered and risked our lives, always with the best intentions!

"Colin, I believe you can make the transition. You've always been clever and observant, and I know you mean well, but me – I've been raised to fight. The city can't move forward with people like me around."

"Nonsense. All you need is to let the fight settle out of you. The past week has been the most trying any of us has ever experienced. We're all on edge. Calm down, relax and everything will feel right within a few weeks. I promise."

"It's going to take longer than a few weeks for me to get used to this," he held up his metal hands.

"But it's still you in there," Colin pointed at Petrarch's head.

"That doesn't matter; I can't live the same life anymore."

"Petrarch, you're being too hard on yourself." Colin came around the bar and stood so they were face to face. "We'll have the Bastion fix you up and then we'll talk about this again; I'm sure once you've had a chance to relax, you'll see things differently."

His cousin was looking into him with the utmost sincerity. It would be so easy to say yes; to try to pretend nothing had changed.

Colin's eyes darted to something over Petrarch's shoulder. He turned to see who it was. Dimeos had entered and was waiting to speak with his master.

When he looked back, Colin said, "Go to the Bastion, okay? They'll admit you – they answer to me now. Don't worry about anything else for the time being. I'll take care of it."

"Alright."

Colin left with his artikin and Petrarch was alone. It wasn't a bad idea; he would go to the Bastion and have his body repaired. At the least, it would help him clear the slate for a new beginning.

### 3. In the Davius pleasure garden

Sun fell warm on Valos' face. He closed his eyes and absorbed it. Around him the Davius garden grotto was silent, save for an insect buzzing somewhere in the air above. It was almost a day after their victory at Ectine Tower and he was waiting here to meet Judith Senchion. Petrarch had asked him to make her an offer.

In his lifetime, Valos had survived fights to the death. With the skull helmet on he was both a terror and a target, yet he had always born it fearlessly. So why then did the prospect of meeting Judith cause him such anxiety? What danger existed in a woman?

Well, there was the danger he might make her uncomfortable. This meeting was important – more so than any battle he had ever been in – and there were difficult things to say. The tone he set now could determine the course of future relationships. This wasn't some fight in a dark corner of the undercity; this was real responsibility.

"Valos?"

The voice behind him was even and sweet. He was sitting on a bench and stood, turning to face her.

"It's so beautiful; I've seen pictures of the farm, but I had no idea the gardens were like this!"

"The family kept them closely guarded. I believe you're the first non-Davius allowed to enter."

Her eyes searched the greenness and then settled directly on him. Her expression contained a poorly concealed sadness.

"Is your family being treated well?" he asked.

"Oh, very well; your officers have been very accommodating. Even Isaac has to admit that we have no complaints."

"How many of the Senchion family facilities were lost?"

"Almost all of them, but Colin assures us there are enough soldiers to restore order across the entire city. Plus, people desire authority. The Civilian Senate is helping and there's a real feeling of unity now, as if everyone is striving for the same goal."

It was obvious why Petrarch had been so smitten by her; in the glow of natural sunlight, her melancholy beauty was absorbing. Valos blinked and looked away.

"Petrarch called me from inside the Bastion," he said. "The science officials there are still resistant to sharing their research, but just getting inside is significant progress."

"I guess so," she smiled.

"But that's not the reason he called. He wanted to talk about you."

"Oh?"

It was strange being nervous and Valos forced himself to go on.

"He instructed me to look after your safety. To aid you in your political endeavors and show you the respect I would show him."

Judith's expression became worried.

"It sounds like he's going away."

"Yes."

"But where could he go?"

Valos had wondered this himself and there seemed to be only one answer:

"Outside?"

She was thoughtful for a moment, then said, "What will you do if he goes away? I would have thought you'd go with him."

"Maybe I will."

"But it doesn't sound like you will, if he's asking you to stay here and see to my safety."

Valos looked away.

"You've watched after him your entire life; if he leaves won't it be hard for you?"

It was uncomfortable having his feelings dissected. As an artikin, it wasn't something he had ever been subjected to. He wanted to change the topic but only one thing came to mind and it was completely inappropriate.

She pressed him.

"What will you do with yourself? Will you be reassigned to someone else in the family? What happens to an artikin without a master?"

He just couldn't take it, not right now.

"Does he know that you're pregnant?"

She froze. Her face went blank and her eyes stared into him. It was just a hunch he had suspected since the night when Petrarch left to get his armor, but this was all the confirmation he needed.

She looked on the verge of collapsing. Had he gone too far? Of course he had. What was he thinking? Had he ruined everything? Would she walk away as soon as she regained her composure?

"I don't think so," she said finally, "how could he even suspect, when he's completely forgotten everything that's happened?"

"I can tell him. I can insist that he stays."

"No, don't. It was my decision. I don't know why I did it. I shouldn't have; there was so much danger and nothing was certain."

"But isn't that why you did it?" She looked confused and he explained: "The birth of a child will create a permanent bond between the Davius and Senchion families. You created an alliance that can not easily be broken."

"Maybe, but it doesn't change what's happened to him. Even if he comes back to us, it will never be the same."

She was right. Valos felt weak. He didn't deserve this. If an artikin was loyal, his reward was a life of certainty, of black and white and right and wrong. That was the promise. Hadn't he been loyal? How could he be expected to change now? It was too much to ask; he wasn't trained for this.

Judith was watching him and he felt pathetic. It was very un-artikin and he straightened up.

"Although I may be but a pale substitute, I offer you my protection and loyalty."

She smiled hesitantly and took his hand in hers.

"Thank you, Valos, I know what this means, coming from you, and I accept your offer. But if I'm distant, don't think—" Her eyebrows screwed up with anguish. "It's just, your face will take me some time to—"

He squeezed her hand. "This is something we share in common. I feel it every time I see myself in a mirror."

His biscuit importuned him. She nodded and he took it out. Colin's voice came through, shaken and upset.

"Valos!"

"Yes?"

"You're in danger! That abomination Alistair – or Adrian – whichever; he attacked us! Appeared out of nowhere and nearly killed me. Dimeos came between us. We drove him off but he's got my biscuit now; there's no telling where he'll turn up next!"

"How long ago did this happen?"

"Maybe five minutes. We tried to track him down, but we haven't located him yet. I need to go."

Colin ended the call.

Valos looked to Judith, "They're not far from us, on the other side of that wall. We need to be careful."

"He might find you," a voice said, coming from nearby, on the grotto wall behind the branches of a tree. Adrian, or maybe Alistair, slipped down from his perch. He was wearing midlar pants and a tattered shirt and held a long knife in his hand.

"He might find out Petrarch Davius fathered a child."

His teeth were bared in a wide, gleeful grin.

Judith shrank behind Valos. The Ectine approached them and his expression transformed from gleeful to enraged. He shouted.

"I was securing an empire!"

"You're an artikin," Valos said, following a hunch, "you forget your place."

"You make me sick, Valos – always the lapdog. We have every right to rule this city; pure blood runs in our veins. I'll show you!" He lurched forward quickly and Valos sprang into a defensive posture, but Alistair stopped short and drew the edge of the blade twice across his own chest. Thin lines of red blood welled on his skin and dampened the remaining tatters of shirt.

"Pure," he said, "You could wash your hands in it."

He pressed an open palm into the wound and then turned it to face them. It was spotted with red.

Valos needed a weapon, something that could match the long knife blade. The grotto revealed nothing of use; benches, smooth low walls, well-kept trees and shrubs.

"It's a shame you're already pregnant," Alistair said to Judith, who was hiding behind Valos. "We might have to abort." He held the blade up suggestively.

Valos seized the brief opening and leaped into Alistair. The Ectine artikin brought the knife down swiftly and caught him across the shoulder. Its edge was sharp but the swing lacked the force of a full arc. The pain was easy to ignore and Valos wrapped his arms around Alistair's waist and heaved him up off his feet. The Ectine pulled at his hair and struck at his back with the length of the knife, but a moment later Valos swung him down hard. Alistair instinctively curled in his head and threw back his arms to disperse the impact. The knife clattered over the cobble-stoned ground.

Still clinging and now on top, Valos thrust a hand into Alistair's face. Fingers forced their way into eye sockets. The Ectine convulsed and Valos held tight. His knuckles whitened. Alistair gnashed his teeth and flailed his hands. He found Valos' neck but it was too late; before he could begin to choke, his eyes were gouged. Valos leaped away and, blinded, Alistair sprang up after him. Judith retreated to a safe distance.

Valos circled carefully and quietly around his enemy, toward the blade. Alistair screamed incoherently and struck the air with savage swings of his arms. Valos arrived at the knife and lifted it. He stepped quietly behind Alistair and thrust it hard between his ribs. Lungs and heart were pierced simultaneously; with a final clutching gasp, Alistair died.

"The saints' sake!" How many more are there like him?" Judith called out when Valos released the body and it crumpled to the ground.

He came to her side, leaving Alistair and the blade behind.

"He was the worst, but still a healthy reminder that the city's never as safe as we'd like it to be."

"Thank you."

It was strange to be thanked and he didn't know what to say. Petrarch had never expressed gratitude and Valos had never expected it, but he had to admit, receiving it felt good.

She pointed at his shoulder.

"You're bleeding."

He had hardly noticed, but now that it was brought to his attention, he felt a throbbing pain.

She reached out for the wound, then hesitated and smiled self-consciously. "Perhaps we should go back inside."

"Of course."

The wound didn't matter; it was nothing compared to what he felt had passed between them. She turned toward the nearest doorway and he followed her in.

His old life was over; the path of a loyal servant had reached its end. When Petrarch ordered him to stay in Il Fiore, it wasn't simply because a gulf had been created between them. It was a request that he become everything Petrarch no longer could: leader, listener, figurehead and father. He had been handed a future full of choice and risk; a future that would be daunting, even terrifying, but also, infinitely more interesting.

## Act V – The Seventh Gate

### 1. Evolution

He was still fragile, that much hadn't changed; he would have to be careful. His body could be damaged and there would be nothing worse than eternity spent as a crippled wreck, buried and forgotten but still conscious. Not that severance from his power dynamo or complete destruction of his cranial processor were any better: waking up in the Bastion and starting over again with no memories. The only thing that made his new life bearable was the knowledge he had accumulated. He knew so much now that, for the first time, he truly felt like he understood the world; losing that would be the real tragedy.

Re-capturing was not an option either. The program at the Bastion had been put on hold following the deaths of Delphus and Lord Davius. It might be weeks before it went back on line; too long to wait.

If immortality hadn't made him immune to danger, what had it done? It had made him alone.

It wasn't that he was incapable of being close to another human, even a mortal human, it was that he couldn't be close to anyone he knew from before because the reminders of his old life were too strong. He had to start over. The irony was that only now did he really know who he was. By understanding the legacy that made him, he was finally qualified to direct the course of his own life. But the realization had come too late; the legacy had consumed him and that life had passed. Now he was poised at a new beginning. Even the distinct voice of the shaman seemed finally to have faded, as if signaling his readiness to move on.

He was sitting in pitch-blackness and just a few feet in front of him a small circle of dirty metal was illuminated by a tiny LED beam coming from his arm. The Bastion scientists had installed the light the day before, along with a few other things he had requested. He traced the beam over the metal surface up to the top of the gate, where it met the carboncrete wall. Just above the seam of metal and carboncrete, there was a plaque, and he aimed the light into its center, illuminating a large '7' pressed into the brass. The seventh gate.

There was an inscription beneath the seven:

That there is something greater, is a universal truth.

It was a strange thing to write on a plaque. Had a saint said it? Was it printed over every gate, or just this one? And what did it mean? Something greater; was that the holy spirit? Or maybe it was knowledge – the greater understanding – or something else entirely. But what did it really matter? He lowered the light.

It gives one something to strive for.

The thought reminded him of the shaman – an unexpected answer to a rhetorical question – but it was his own thought, and he felt a little more confident because of it. There would always be something to strive for and, perhaps with this new body, it could even be something greater than before.

Il Fiore didn't need him anymore. There were others who could shoulder the responsibilities of leadership much better than he could; Colin, Valos, Judith and Isaac were the city's future. They could look after each other. They would miss him just as he missed them, but time would heal those wounds. A new life awaited.

Outside. Where the Ectines had been venturing when this all started. What had they found out there? Had civilization survived? With the city guns protecting Il Fiore, how could they possibly know? Now it was time to find out. Whatever was out there, it was his new life, whether it be desert or paradise; bleak, ruined nothing or civilized perfection.

The sound of groaning metal filled the tunnel and interrupted his thoughts. It was beginning.

A tiny crack of pure white light appeared at the base of the gate and slowly grew, immersing him in the blinding glow. When it had stretched into a yawning rectangle of luminosity, the gate shuddered and clanged to a halt. He felt no more apprehension; time had already moved beyond that. He stepped through and was engulfed by brilliance.

END

# Epilogue

I am often asked if we can break the cycle; is it possible to avoid a global Dark Age? The short answer is: no. Only with the evolution of our species as a whole can we be free from the cyclical growth of the ignorant. Yet, what about technology? Doesn't gene manipulation represent the potential to accelerate evolution, to arrive at that higher intelligence much sooner than scheduled? Perhaps it does, but I fear that for this golden age we are too late. The tipping point has been reached and we are beyond stopping it. We can only hope that our technology survives and that this dark age is our last.

B. Branahin,  The End of an Information Age

## The Assassin's Hymn

To live as one, who's already dead

Seeking to empty both heart and head

Inertia is worn – your favored cloth

Grivet, condemned, your name is sloth

Feeding and gorging with bestial urge

You know no other way but to splurge

Filled up beyond closing your button

Wellam, be known, you are the glutton

Insatiable taste for pleasures of flesh

Sexually urged – bodies enmeshed

Reason, usurped by constant desire

Barclay, for lust, must always perspire

Unable to see the slightest self-fault

Consistent hubris played without halt

Senchion, your fears ceaselessly hide

Behind a curtain of self-righteous pride

In no way content, to be one's own man

You look to others any time that you can

Without a rest to unwind the mind

Davius, by envy, forever defined

To hold and own all wealth and power,

Your fellow man, you'll break and devour

Having no love but to take without need

Ectine, you're driven by unbounded greed

Quick to offend and stuck in the past

Rage both sustains and bubbles up fast

Peace of mind out and obsession in

Pendigoss, vengeance – wrath is your sin

### Please review! Thank you
