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grace.
He tried to draw a bead on her. Welcome back, sweetheart, he murmured. He
was not at all surprised to see her. This was another passage in her
death-dance with Mouse and himself.
She did not know another dancer was about to cut in. He grinned. A fragment
of an old personality returned. He became the hard half of Gundaker Niven
again.
Ha! She was hurt too. Her left side sported a wet, hasty bandage. Mouse had
gotten close once, but had missed his kill. Surprising. That was not like him.
It said something about how good the woman was.
BenRabi got a good bead. He had no trouble shooting. The woman yowled, jumped
like a broken-backed cat, collapsed on the colored concrete. Her muscles
jerked spastically, then she slowly stiffened into the almost-death typical of
a solid stunner shot to the head.
Moyshe looked down at his weapon. Good shooting, cowboy. Mouse! He shouted
to make himself heard over the fountains. She s out.
Moyshe? Storm called back. Is that you?
Yeah. Mouse sounded weak. You hurt bad?
I ll live.
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Storm came into the open, stumbling toward the statue. He thrust his wounded
arm into his jumper for support, carried his stunner like a revolver. He
paused beside Marya, stared down. Checkmate. Finally. His gaze flicked to
the statue, back down.
BenRabi shouted, What the hell happened? I been running myself dead trying
to find you.
She sucked me in. Showed herself, took a shot, then ran. I lost my head. I
ran right into it. He glanced up again, his expression odd. But she made a
bigger mistake, eh? Let her gut override her brain. Mouse smiled wickedly.
His lips stretched in a ferocious duplicate of the woman s vampire grin. You
know the funny part, Moyshe? She was working with McGraws. That s scary when
you think about it.
Mouse fell silent. He stared at the woman for a long time, as if loath to end
the feud.
Though benRabi did not like it, time had proven the next move necessary. She
had been given two chances. Twice she had come back for more. If Mouse did not
end it here, they would have the hellsbitch on their trail again, all fangs
and claws once more.
She and Mouse were two of a kind, Moyshe reflected. Only death would stop
either of them.
You ve got to be realistic, Thomas . . . Moyshe, benRabi mumbled to
himself. What s got to be has got to be.
He waited. Mouse remained reluctant. Time stretched.
Personnel carriers rumbled in the street outside the park. Moyshe looked
back, expecting to see Kindervoort.
Wrong. Marines. But just as good.
Back to Mouse. Was he stalling because he did not have a lethal weapon? He
could use hers. Or his hands.
Then he understood. Mouse was thinking about his Holy Grail, the hatred that
had driven him so long. He would not yet know about Homeworld, but killing
Marya would be symbolic of the process he had initiated. Symbolic of attaining
his lifelong goal. Jupp would be the weapon . . . Marya might be the last of
the ancient enemy he would encounter.
The end of a road is always a disappointment, Moyshe reflected.
Poor Mouse. Down deep, where he lived, he knew that when Marya went there
would be nothing left to hate. His Grail, for all its distant sparkle, was
just another empty cup.
Where do we go from here, Tommy? he asked softly.
In the shadows between Jellyroll s legs, benRabi/McClennon could do nothing
but shake his head. He did not know.
Moyshe/Thomas s mind was becoming pandemoniac. The outside pressure was off.
There was nothing to hold the dissociation in check. He was this man for a
moment, then that. Alyce crawled through his brain like a maggot through
rotting flesh. Something within him kept shriekingI want , and not letting him
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know what. Sudden storms of emotion racked him, always without detectable
cause. Anger. Hate. Love. Sorrow. Joy. Despair. A moment of each, whap! like
the impact of a fist, then gone, as if some storehouse had been broken open
and all the containers inside dumped at random.
He wrapped his arms around his head and moaned softly.
He croaked, I don t know, Mouse, it seemed an hour after his partner asked
his question. BenRabi wanted to say, Stars End, and back to the high
rivers, but the other characters inside kept telling him he would never see a
harvestship again, would never track another herd, would never again go into
Contact, would never build that secret service for the Seiners.
That Alyce creature must have been a hypnotic key, he thought. She was
supposed to unlock all the spooks hidden behind the barriers Chub had been
unable to penetrate. But the key had not opened the lock all the way. No more
than Mouse had back when, when he had tried before their scheduled return to
Confederation.
Something had shorted out. Something was trying to take him back not just to
Thomas McClennon before this mission, but all the way back, to a day when he
had not as yet undergone any personality programming.
He did not want to make that journey. He wanted what he had found in the high
rivers between the stars. He fought. Deep inside, he howled and clawed like a
wild thing tangled in a hunter s net.
There were angry shouts in the street whence he had come. The Marines were
disarming his men. Ordinary precaution, he supposed. His team had been
operating outside its reasonable jurisdiction.
Mouse made his decision. It favored discretion. He stooped to recover Marya s
weapon . . .
Don t! The voice was soft enough not to be heard far, yet commanding.
BenRabi/McClennon shrank into the shadows of Jellyroll s legs. His Amy
Many-Names had appeared. She bore a nasty little pistol. Her features were as
cold as Mouse s became when he went into assassin s mind.
Mouse looked at her, saw the absence of emotion, slowly straightened. He did
not drop his stunner.
Where s Moyshe? she snapped. The grubs will be after him. I ve got to find
him first. He s suddenly the key to everything. You two never really crossed
over, did you? The words tumbled out of her mouth almost faster than her lips
could shape them.
Mouse did not answer. He just stared into Amy s eyes, holding them. He
clutched his weapon and waited for her coldness to thaw.
Or was he waiting for McClennon? Thomas was not sure. Mouse might be turning
his own peril into some kind of test.
McClennon was sure Amy s determination would not persist. She was not trained
for it.
Where s Moyshe? she demanded again. Her voice rose, squeaked.
Here, Love. He eased from the shadows. Don t move. Please?
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Her gaze darted his way, noted his stunner.
Mouse raised his weapon.
No, Mouse. Not my wife, you don t.
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