The subtle beep of his pocket computer interrupted this pleasant reverie. He paused, and pulled it out. Hmmm. It seemed that he had a guest - a certain well-known doctor from a certain well-known mental institute. Now what could she be doing here, all unannounced? Von Starnburg made a snap decision.

He whipped off a brusque comunique to the MPs, explaining what he would require of them. Then he turned and and began to walk briskly to the guest quarters.

As he walked, his thoughts turned toward the doctor; the more he thought about her, the more he thought about Charybdis.

And the more he thought about Charybdis, the more his feelings threatened to consume him.

He couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of regret at what he had just done. Her smell still lingered with him, and it was not pleasant. Vague feelings of grime, of having her sweat still on him, of having a bit of her still on him, sinking into his pores, getting inside him. Yet with a slight mental effort, he was able to take this experience, box it up, and file it away in the vaults of his memory. Johan was himself again, albeit with a more clear idea of his purpose in the world.

He headed back for his office. It was late, and he needed to work out some minor kinks in relation to tomorrow's parade.

That only solved the Wick problem, of course. But the Creche in the library seemed to have no idea what Wick's actual plan was, and Gabe could assume that his twin would not either. So Gabe and Sol were going to have to find a way to keep them from killing Mode. However, at the same time they were going to have to stop Mode and Kat too, or they would do to the Creche twins what the twins had planned to do to them. And what Gabe and Sol were trying to do here, what theywere trying to achieve, was an end to this in which no one had to die.

The disc from the Spyder, he realized, would be quite vital. In order to get Kat and Mode sent away, Gabe and Sol would need the help of Wick and the twins. They all needed to have the same story. A story in which they were the heroes and Kat and Mode the villians. The twins were both very controlled, from what Gabe had seen; he suspected that when faced with either disciplinary action or settling for getting Kat and Mode sent far away, they would choose the latter. But Wick . . . Gabe could not be sure about Wick. She was willing to kill not just Kat and Mode, but the Creche twins also. That suggested mental instability, or at very least, an extremely powerful drive to destroy Kat and Mode. Either way, he could not be sure that she would settle for Kat's and Mode's removal. Convincing her might be difficult. But if Gabe and Sol could convince the twins, then she'd be the only one with a story that did not match, and that was not a good position to be in. And in addition to that, Gabe and Sol would have a disc with Wick's murder attempt recorded on it. If she had any sense of self-preservation, she would go along with whatever story they created.

Gabe waited in the hall outside the Engineering bay, sitting against the wall with his desk in his lap. He wasn't nearly as good with computers as Sol; hacking was not so technical as one might have thought. A great deal was instinct and intuition, which were not easy for Gabe to embrace. Nevertheless, Sol had taught him well over the years, and had taught him using Battle School's system as the classroom. Gabe knew military security setups, and he found what he needed soon enough.

He found his way into the door security system. Most of the restricted access areas required a voiceprint and/or retinal scan to get into. However, the system had been designed so that in an emergency, security keycards could be passed out by senior staff those that needed them. It didn't take long for Gabe to figure out that he had one of those cards. They were specialized, however, to give the bearer access to only specific rooms or systems. Gabe had to check the serial number on his against the registry to find out what it was. It was a security alert card, and it opened security cabinets throughout the school. Gabe had been seeing them throughout the school, in the hallways, in public areas like the Mess and the Commons, and even in his Quad's corridor. Just flat metal panels set into the walls with the word SECURITY written across them.

Gabe wondered what they concealed.

A student exited the Engineering Bay, and Gabe stood and tucked his desk under his arm. He slipped past the boy and through the door behind him. "Hey!" said the student, sounding a bit bewildered. Gabe stopped, and turned around. His eyes met those of the other student. The boy opened his mouth, shut it, and walked off.

Gabe grabbed a small box sitting against a wall and set it in the path of the door, so that the sensors would hold it open for him, and then left the Engineering Bay again, in search of one of these security cabinets.

He passed several as he walked. But they were no good. If he could avoid it, he didn't want to open any panel that was within any holocam's feild of vision. It took a few moments of wandering before he remembered where he'd seen a cabinet without a holocam near. He set off immediately.

The corridors leading to the little room he and Sol had made their own were empty of holocams. It was one of the things that had made Gabe hopeful as they explored it. And about fifteen meters down the corridor from the door into their room, a metal panel was set into the wall. It had the word SECURITY written across it.

Gabe looked down at the card in his hand, and at the thin slot near one side of the panel, and back again. It was an emergency card. Surely using it would be logged. They question was, would it be logged quietly, or was he going to be setting off an alarm?

One way to find out.

Gabe slotted the card, and a tone sounded. The panel slid aside, and a light flickered on inside the cabinet.

There were four rifles on a rack against one side, and tranquilizer darts loaded into clips. On the other side, shelves held bundles of plastic packet into lightweight helmets. There were first aid kits stacked in the back.

Gabe immediately swept a pair of pressure skins off the shelf, and set them down on the floor. He then looked at the rifles. So very tempting. They would certainly make taking care of the Creche twins, Kat and Mode much easier. Silent, nonlethal, and effective. But the trouble was, he needed to somehow get them from here to the Engineering Bay without being spotted, by students or cameras.

Gabe pulled one rifle off the rack, and hefted it experimentally. His eyes studied the surface carefully, finding the breaks. If there was one thing he'd learned about acquiring weapons and equipment on a spacestation, it was that everything here was built on Earth, and had to be transported up here. And what that meant was that everything was collapsible.

He worked at the rifle, finding where each piece had to be turned or twisted in order to come free, where he needed to press or pull in order to disassemble. It came apart in his hands quickly enough. He knelt on the floor with the metal pieces before him.

He could not hide them in his clothing. One or two pieces, perhaps, but even collapsed, the weight was the same, and his jacket would be slipping off his shoulders. He glanced back upward at the cabinet, and then stood and took another pressure skin off the shelf and unfurled it. He tossed the helmet back up into the cabinet, and wrapped the rifle pieces in the microweave plastic fabric. The skin would not fold well, however, and so he instead placed the pieces inside, and then tied the arms and legs around it to make a bundle.

As agreed, there were no classes. They went to the library first, and spent hours wandering the shelves, hand in hand. Sol named a few titles she wanted to look up, and Gabe led her to them. Then Gabe took a few books off the shelves at random, and they found a quiet corner of the upper level with a couch and curled up together to read. Of course, no more than a half hour went by without one of them pausing in their reading to kiss the other and cuddle a bit, and that was during one of the longer stretches. But like before, during their two-month journey here from Earth, whenever they came across an interesting concept, or simply had an interesting thought, they voiced it, and sometimes pursued the line of thought for several minutes before going back to their respective books.

It was so very quiet, even for a library. It was wonderful. Only churches were this quiet. Gabe had been in a few -- most of the orphanages had had one. He'd enjoyed the silence, but the rituals and the decor he found distasteful, and in any case, there had been nothing to do in them. When he tried to bring a book with him the nuns had him flogged, and he'd left that particular orphanage that very night.

But this place -- this was his kind of church. The church of the mind. Here, there was no ritual but the transmission of knowledge from one mind to another, with the pages of these books as the medium. Here, there was no worship but the understanding and discussion of great ideas. Here, there was no god but Truth.

Lunch came, and they returned their books to their respective shelves. They together ate at a relatively uninhabited end of a relatively empty table, and didn't talk, but Gabe noticed Sol smiling happily at him several times when he looked up from eating. As always, Gabe finished first, and waited. Sol didn't rush. Years ago, when eating together was still relatively new, she'd often tried to eat faster, or would leave her meal unfinished, because he always ended up waiting for her. That had passed. Gabe was glad. He didn't mind waiting. He minded Sol rushing, or worse, not eating.

After lunch they went to the Game Arena and played several sims, because Diamonback had a battle coming up in another week and they hadn't been practicing much lately, what with their preoccupation with finding Mode. Gabe won them all. He wanted her to win at least some, of course, because it was her birthday, but he didn't slack in his attacks in the slightest. That would have been an insult.

After that, they decided to go to the gym. They'd not sparred since their arrival at Command School. Gabe's injury had made it an impossibility for several days, and then there had been the Engineering Bay incident and their search for Mode, and sparring had just gotten pushed aside. So they went to the gym, and Gabe was astonished to find that Sol's attack had changed much since the last time. She was no less aggressive than before -- her basic style remained the same. But her attacks were extremely fast and chained back to back today, and every time Gabe blocked one, there was already another well on its way. She never struck him, of course; aside from blocks, she'd not connected once since their discussion three years ago. But Gabe found that just trying to defend against her attack was tiring, and remarkably, she seemed hardly winded by it. They worked out for three hours, with breaks every half. They finally quit for the day when, after successfully blocking a high kick and then a backspin punch, Gabe was knocked off his feet when Sol dropped and swept his legs out from under him. She pinned him, and kissed him on the nose, and grinned, and Gabe admitted offered his unconditional surrender.

They showered, and then walked together back toward their cell. The day's assignments would be waiting there for them on their desks, as would Gabe's special task from the disciplinary office.

That was okay though. Gabe didn't mind.

Minerva had had to run to catch up to her, and even now was trotting rapidly in an attempt to stay by her side. It wasn't as if Riya were running, or walking unnaturally fast; she just found wasting energy to be distasteful, and wasting time even more so. She moved at the pace she considered to be efficient. If the girl expected to tag along, she'd have to learn to keep step. Still, it was nearly irritating the way she seemed to expect them to travel together, as if by virtue of them speaking earlier, Riya was somehow obligated to do the "friendly" thing now and be seen with this girl. This entire situation was unsatisfactory.

Riya did not like being watched.

The stark black of her uniform and the red scorpion emblems on her shoulders seemed to draw attention, and that was one thing Riya certainly did not appreciate. She was used to being given a second glance; not because people considered her attractive in any way, but merely because... well, sometimes she wasn't quite certain. Her snow-white hair drew looks, but it was her demeanor and her expression that always turned them away. Minerva, plodding along behind her, was catching the eyes of the few soldiers in the corridors, and Riya did not like having her comfortable invincibility compromised by her companion.

Riya did not like being ordered around.

It wasn't that she didn't feel like reporting to the engineering bay at her instructor's command. In fact, she could have cared less. Work and training and suffering were things to be expected, and as with all aspects of Riya's life, she did what needed to be done. She would answer to Hale's summons. She would do what he wanted her to do. Then someday, she would have power, and all these trivial matters would simply disappear. But a tiny flicker of dislike was being breathed into existence inside of her, lit at the thought that Hale would make her work with the two things she despised most of all-- Hunter Gabriel, and Rebecca Solenis.

Riya almost frowned.

The doors to the engineering bay came into sight, and without a backwards glance toward Minerva she simply strode inside, faced the instructor, and waited. She was good at waiting.

Wick.

Their eyes met, and Kat paused, the song dying on her lips. Wick. She hadn't had more than nominal contact with the girl after Mode had gone, and surprisingly, she felt no sort of grudge nor anger toward the other schemer. Kat couldn't lie to herself, and she couldn't be hypocritical in her emotions, either. In a similar situation, she would have done a similar thing, and thus couldn't hold what had happened against Wick in any way. Sometimes she certainly wanted to, but the feeling never lasted for long. It wasn't Wick that had ended up taking Mode from her. She wasn't the one to shoot those tranq darts. Kat would find that person, someday... but she couldn't blame Wick for it. Fair was fair.

Golden green eyes met ice blue, and for a moment they did nothing but stare at one another. Wick hadn't spoken to Katera Quistin since she'd given her dagger back to her the day they'd released the girl from the infirmary almost two years ago. She'd seen her around a few times, but she'd seen almost everyone in the station a few times since then, and it hadn't been in such close quarters.

"Wick," Katera said at last, and nodded slightly. She nodded back. "Kat," she replied softly, looking the girl over.

Kat had dealt with Mode's disappearance far better than Wick would have expected. She remembered her own reaction when she thought Jor was dead and marvelled a little more. She'd seen the injury on Kat's wrist when she'd gone to return the dagger; she wondered what had made the girl stop. It wasn't fear of death; no one who was bold enough to share a bed with Nathan Terrence in any of his guises could hold much concern over something like that.

She hadn't been foolish enough to ask then, and she wasn't going to ask now, but curiousity picked at her anyway as she studied the girl. She looked older, and maybe a little quieter, but the dangerous glint was still behind her eyes...just subdued.

As selfish and immoral and unloyal as Kat might be, she couldn't help but feel as if she should be doing something to participate in this little exchange. When Mode and she had been together, an alliance with Wick was more than out of the question. But with Mode gone... well, Kat didn't find it very honorable to just stand aside and let anything happen when she could very well play too. Honorable. It was almost laughable, but Kat didn't care to analyze just why she felt that she had to side with Wick. It just had to be done.

The man kept stepping closer, rage shadowing his face, but Wick held her ground. Kat, on the other hand, did not. She took a few steps forward, until she was beside Wick, the two shoulder-to-shoulder. A united front. The absurdity of the situation struck her, but she shrugged it off. She didn't know what Wick had done to this boy, or what he had done to her, but what he wanted to do was pretty clear.

Kat glanced toward Wick, and just as soon as their gazes crossed, they both returned their attention to Daniels. They didn't say anything, but Kat smirked, and her green eyes hardened just a little more.

Trevor was much too angry to have had any specific goal or direction in mind when he left class. He just wanted to get away, and quickly. In fact, he'd made a circuit of the Commons and come back in this direction when he realized he had to go to the Library to finish the research he'd started this morning.

Callenstrom was the last person he wanted to see, and there she was when he rounded the corner, turning to look at him with a hint of surprise somewhere near her eyebrows, but that vanished and a self-satisfied grin curved her pale lips. "Shouldn't you be studying, Daniels?" The edge of her collar moved aside enough for him to glimpse the hint of the bruised skin it hid, and something frightening happened inside him.

He wasn't sure afterwards what it was. Her insinuating, arrogant smile. Her insult. The pride with which she displayed the heavy marks he knew the hulk he'd seen in the Observatory yesterday had left her with, as if it were some special priviledge to be brutally used by someone who held no regard for her self. That was the worst of it; that delicate white skin marred, and she was pleased.

At that moment, Trevor began to move forward. He wasn't entirely sure what he intended to do; scare her, maybe, or push her out of the way. It wasn't until she moved that he noticed the other girl in the hallway with them.

Red-gold hair, green-gold eyes...if it weren't for the wiry muscles and the panthress walk, he might have given her a more openly appraising look. As it was, he stopped moving forward automatically when she stepped up to stand next to Callenstrom and smirk at him, half in defiance and half in open invitation. Go on, her eyes appeared to say, give it a go. I dare you. If it had been less playful Trevor would have felt less threatened. The expression on the girl's face looked ... eager, almost. Like she wanted him to fight back.

But the girl had a vicious shine in her glacier eyes, and Kat met it with her own malicious, irritated amusement. It didn't seem so distasteful after she remembered the shock in Daniels' expression. To be honest, it reminded her of something she might have done before Mode had left. A remnant of her former playfulness. A game from her past. This thought led her to eye Wick pointedly, lick the points of her canines, and smile quietly in mock reproach.

"Interesting, sister. The things you do to avoid a fight."

Her grin turned mean, then, just as booted footsteps sounded and Jor came around the far corner. He paused, eyes turning to serpentine as he took in their matching smirks, and narrowed his gaze at her. Kat dropped her smile, but the hint of humor behind her lips turned them slightly at the corners, and she nodded as she spoke quietly. "Hello, Jor."

Jor scowled at her. Wick did not speak. And Kat both wished he would go away, so she could talk to Wick, or stay, to stave off further comments or gestures from the girl who was undeniably now a sort of ally. Unwilling to spend more than a nominal effort to analyze this situation, Kat gave Wick her gaze, held up her hand where their blood had once mingled, and began to hum again to herself as she walked off.

Behind her, as she sauntered away, she could hear Jor ask Wick, "What the hell were you doing with her?"

Kat. She was no less dangerous, no less animal, but there was less luster, less life than she remembered seeing before Mode left. She was far better than she had been when Wick went to return her dagger to her; after seeing those cooling embers, Wick would not have been at all surprised to see whatever tiny flicker of spirit remained in the girl gutter out entirely. As it was, Kat was very much alive. The fire was still there.

And banked.

"There's a in my Demolitions AIT course that seems to be angry with me for showing him up in class today." She settled herself against him and put her chin over his shoulder, resting lightly on her toes so she could speak softly into his ear. "He looked awfully angry." She half-stifled a giggle and continued. "Katera happened by just as he did and frightened him away for me." She kissed his ear and then his neck, the corner of her mouth brushing his collar before she pulled away to meet his eyes again.

Slightly angry, he was about to pull away when a thought struck him. She was asking him to keep her safe. That was as close to an open invitation for a fight as he could get, and imagining a little protective bone-breaking on Wick's behalf brought a smile to his face. Might be fun. They hadn't had any sort of conflict-- either between eachother, or someone else-- for quite some time. Jor had to admit that despite his best efforts to restrain it and remain gentle with Wick, he was slowly weakening. He needed to do something.

So with a little playfulness and a little malice dancing in his emerald eyes, he bent his head down to kiss Wick roughly, lifting her off the ground enough so that her feet couldn't touch, and he began to carry her this way down the corridor. A few soldiers passed by and gave him disapproving frowns, but he could have cared less as he set her back down, grabbed her arm with tight fingers, and tugged her through the quad hallways and into his cell.

Working out was a relief she didn't often have time to indulge in. Her classwork and Jordan didn't leave her much free time. What she had she usually spent researching new compounds; her final would be to identify and construct an explosive using only the materials they chose to provide her, and she wanted hers to be especially interesting.

But stellar classroom achievement did not come without a price, and Wick was unusually sweaty and out of breath when she finished her exercise. The shower had cleaned her off, but she was feeling somewhat out of sorts. Getting weak, flicker, she admonished herself ruefully. It wasn't exactly necessary; she had Jor to take care of any threat of physical attack, and he was more than adequate. Mental battle she could handle on her own.

Why bother with training at all? She had little time, and Jor could protect her.

If it weren't for Jor, I would have enough time.

She wouldn't have traded her match for anything, but Wick fiercely missed her independence, and when she promised away the last of it Jor for his trust, she'd begun a slow burn that was eating away her self-confidence. She didn't like feeling dependent, and with Jor she had no choice. She didn't like that, either.

The last month and half had been a welcome distraction. Humiliating Trevor Daniels in the classroom was her new favorite pastime, and she took to it with a will. If her instructor had ever doubted her performance before, he had every reason to applaud her now; her crusade against Daniels had her studying harder than she had in quite some time, just to show him up. The rest of the class enjoyed their daily battles and debates, and Wick liked the attention. It gave her back a little of that manipulative control she'd been so accustomed to having. Even more satisfying was the increasingly obvious fact that he was trying to match her and failing. She saw him in the Library performing research every now and then, and all it took was a stare and a smirk to drive him out.

Wick liked winning.

Teasing him outside the classroom was far more subtle, and she never planned it. If Jor was handy she simply made it a point to hang on him. It was pleasant duty, it improved Jor's mood and it never failed to make Daniels leave wherever they were, no matter what he had been doing before. Wick wasn't sure why. She didn't think he had any interest in her. He just didn't like her because she took pleasure in making him out to be a moron. Why should seeing her with Jor upset him?

She didn't know, and she didn't really care. It did, and that was enough for her. She was curious, of course, but not curious enough to worry, and when she turned a corner and the wall came up behind her to meet her in an extremely rude and unyielding fashion as someone took her left arm and slammed her into it, she was surprised when the daze over her eyes cleared and she saw Daniels glaring at her.

"Ho, Trevor," she said a little breathlessly as she tried to get her oxygen back. Her right arm hurt where his hand gripped her, but her left felt nothing. She wondered if he knew. She'd probably have bruises. Since she'd known Jordan, Wick had learned how to better handle physical pain, but she always knew Jor wasn't going to hurt her too badly. Her rusty sense of fear woke itself and it was reflex more than conscious thought that made her wrench her left arm hard enough to free it so she could slip her hand under his chin.

He stiffened in pain, and for a moment she thought she had him as the fingers on her other arm loosened, but he brought his free hand up and locked it around her wrist and yanked it away from his throat. She tried to kick him, but he moved in too close for it to be effective, and her heart sank as he pressed her to the wall.

She struggled and almost got free a second time, but he tightened his grip and pulled her hard against him to slam her into the wall again. It didn't hurt her badly, but it stole her breath and made her head spin, and she went limp in his hold and looked up into his face, making her eyes as wide and scared as she could. She read reluctant satisfaction in his hazel eyes and let her lower lip tremble slightly.

That's what he wants. He wants me to be scared. I can do that.

Daniels appeared to steel himself against her display of emotion. "Cut that shit out," he gritted. "I want you to quit fucking with me, Callenstrom. I mean it. I've had enough. You want the class, you can have the class, but leave me the fuck alone."

Wick stared. She wasn't sure what kind of reaction she'd been hoping for, but this exceeded all her expectations. He was really upset. Not just mild irritation or frustration, real fury, that made his eyes glow and his face light. Wick knew she should continue with her frightened maiden facade, but that fury...there was something enticingly final about the danger she saw there. It was fresh, and it was strong, and it was hot. Wick missed that heat. She hadn't seen Jor mad in so long, not really mad, and Jor was safe. This boy was not, and she wondered what he would look like if she pushed him over the edge.

Really fucking stupid, Wick...

Her fearful mask fell away and she glared at him coldly, enough to make him look at her in angry disbelief. "The class is mine, Daniels," she said with a tiny smirk. "And if you don't like my company, why the visit?" She managed to slip a tiny note of insinuation into her icy tone, and she saw the anger in his eyes rage over its banks and destroy whatever had been holding it back. It took her a moment to remember to breathe, and when she did, her fear woke up again, displacing some of her fascination as he grappled with his disbelief and fury and prepared to hurt her.

Pure chance... nay, luck, that she had been stalking the corridors today, else she might have missed this opportunity. Since their little compassionate and understanding interlude nearly two months before, Kat had succeeded in avoiding Wick. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to see the girl-- she needed to, badly-- but that it took all that time to regain her composure. Control of herself was something that Kat did not like to relinquish, and knowing that her blood sister could destroy the ties that held her angst in check was frightening. More than frightening; it was deadly. No control, and Kat might have either died from sorrow or gone hunting until someone else did it for her.

But here she was, with Wick in trouble. It didn't cross her mind that she shouldn't interfere. It wasn't a thought that she should let Wick fight her own battles. Without her own enemies to dispel the rage that still simmered, subdued, below the surface of her hurt, Kat had taken to stealing the enemies of others... and she wanted this one.

Her voice was calm, flat, and dead as she spoke, and it made both Wick and Daniels turn their heads to stare at her. "Let her go."

One second... two seconds... three seconds...

Daniels scowled, and glared back at Wick again. Kat remained impassive; face masked, cold serpentine eyes blank, body unmoving. She was waiting to see if he'd take her advice. For his sake, she hoped he would. For her sake, she hoped he wouldn't. She wanted blood.

The boy obviously wasn't very bright, because he didn't take his hands from Wick but he did tighten his grip on her arms more, and even from a distance Kat could see the bruises beginning to form. Enough. It was all enough.

The chains around her anger fell to the floor, and if Kat had ever been anything but a killer, you could not remember it now, to see the look of feral joy on her face. Her lips parted, the sharp points of her canines resting gently on her lower lip as she smiled. It was not a happy smile, except to her. It was a smile that looked friendly, which made it all the more threatening because if she was pleased, it could only mean bloodlust. Fire that had been taken from her when Mode had left flamed in her eyes once more, and Daniels took one startled glance in her direction before Kat launched herself at him.

Afterwards, if you had asked her, she would not have been able to tell you what happened. She could not remember. Bereft of hate and love for so long, Kat simply let go of her awareness and let herself be. When it came back, Daniels was gone, and her nails were edged in crimson. Her lip felt funny, and she licked it experimentally, pleased but mildly surprised at the taste of hot, sweet iron. Something was wrong with her body; it refused to untense, and when she was startled by a sound behind her, she turned in readiness to attack, only to find Wick standing there, watching her with those pale glacier eyes.

"Let her go." Katera's voice was cold and flat, but she could hear the restrained delight behind it. She recognized it, but it wasn't the similarity to herself this time that made her eyes widen. She liked mental confrontation; injury to a person's body was nothing compared to the damage that could be inflicted on a mind. No, at that moment, Katera didn't remind her of herself.

Who's little matchgirl are you, Kat? Mode's? Is that how it was?

Daniels didn't move, and Kat's expression took on the serene look of post-decision that meant his chance for leaving this little skirmish unmarked was gone. Any fear she'd had of Daniels disappeared. He wouldn't be there much longer. Of the two, Kat was infinitely more dangerous, and considering their history, she had good reason to be afraid of her, but she wasn't. Just like Jor, Kat was most alive when she was fighting. Her eyes lit and her face brightened, and she practically glowed with pent anger. Kat had had years to let her anger build, and Wick had time to wonder quietly if Daniels really deserved what he was going to get.

Kat didn't bother with such thoughts. She launched herself at him, the taloned fingers of her right hand cutting him across the cheek and making him hiss and stumble back as she kicked him in the stomach. He doubled but didn't go down, lashing out almost blindly with a fist and catching Kat across the mouth entirely by chance, but she threw herself backwards and it was more glancing than direct. She flipped back to her feet, but Daniels was already well down the corridor, and by the time Katera refocused he was gone.

Not exactly like Jordan. She had Jor's lust for battle, but Jor didn't have that sort of finesse. He was powerful, and he was fast, but he wasn't that fast. She could only think of one person who was. Kat was somewhere between them, a streamlined feminine version of the medium between Jor and Nathan Terrence.

The tingle this line of thought sparked made her next breath hiss a little, and Kat turned to look at her, burning with angry life, and smiled. Wick was relieved and angry and confused, and felt cornered by her own reaction. Kat just stood there, looking at her with smoldering golden jade eyes and smiling the triumphant fire smile Wick had missed so badly in herself, and took a step closer to her. They had not been far apart to begin with, and this brought her within a few inches, close enough to smell the blood on Katera's mouth, to hear the light and rapid breath that the fire within the girl refused to slow.

Not Jordan, but close, and while Wick's intellect was far too tangled on itself to handle direction, her instinct closed the final distance and kissed Katera Quistin.

She just...

Wick had just kissed her.

That thought spurned a million other thoughts and emotions, all of them conflicting, and while Kat stood numbly in the center of her psyche, the rest of her tried to do another thousand things at once.

She snarled instinctively and started running after Wick before she even realized that her legs were moving, at which point some higher portion of her brain pointed out that perhaps attacking the other girl wasn't the smartest reaction. But why not? A kiss was just prelude to an attack, in Kat's admittedly limited experience, and the first emotion that had come to the front was anger. She should be angry. She was supposed to hate Wick, because Mode hated Wick, and kissing the enemy was betrayal at its most fundamental level. But while her mind filtered this information rather slowly through its haze of confusion, her body stopped of its own accord, and Kat was left standing in the corridor without any notion of what she was doing.

It was habit to lick her canines, but when she did so this time she tasted blood, and that was a revelation all of its own. Her blood. She was bleeding? She looked down at her hands with some uncertainty, surprised to find that they too were crimson. Her fingertips came up to her mouth in an automatic gesture, and Kat sucked the taint from them like a little child sucking its thumb, all the while looking as if she'd just come to find herself on this asteroid, and had absolutely no idea where anything or anyone was.

My sister, she...

When anger faded, as it did too quickly for comfort, another emotion took its place. Fear. She had no way of knowing that Wick had kissed Dominic just hours before she attempted to kill the Creche boy, but if life had taught Katera Quistin anything, it was that unexpected maneuvers such as these were always more complicated than they appeared. Wick wouldn't have done such a random and completely irrational thing if there hadn't been some reason behind it. She wouldn't have... right? Was Wick going to try to kill her now? Kat certainly wouldn't have been surprised to hear that, but because she had absolutely no artifice or conditioning in place to cope with such an event, it didn't occur to her that perhaps Wick didn't mean harm after all.

But she couldn't bring herself to be angry again, even if Wick had come straight out and threatened her, Kat probably wouldn't have known what to do. Overwhelmed, she dropped her now-clean hand to her side, replaced it with the bloodied fingertips of her other hand, and began to walk slowly through the hallways back to her cell.

Anyone else, and I'd kill them. Why not her?

Being completely and utterly disregarded was something she had refined to an art, and she used it now to follow Rabin and his friends through the hallways. Even a blind man could have seen the aura of anger that floated around Rabin like a thunderstorm, but it pleased her. She'd been watching him the entire semester, gauging his rage, waiting until he was near enough to breaking. It was time, and she was happy, because even if she couldn't do it herself, it was nearly as enjoyable to have someone else attack Rebecca Solenis.

It wasn't actually Solenis that Riya disliked; that honor was reserved for Hunter Gabriel. She didn't care about the girl-- not really, although she found her attachment to Gabriel distasteful-- but it was he that she wanted to hurt. Riya mentally shook her head at him in disapproval. He was still as close to an equal as she had ever found, understanding her better than anyone else, and to that end it suited her purposes to dispose of him eventually. Until that time, it would be rather amusing to chip away at his foundation, and what better way than hurting his precious, precious little woman?

She paused at a bend in the hallway, watching silently as Rabin and the boys entered the laundry room. Minutes later, a short Japanese girl slipped out, smiling broadly and whistling to herself. Interesting. She waited, patiently, until it became evident that they would be staying in the room. Riya straightened her uniform, brushed the snowy hair from her eyes, and tried to hide the smug look on her face that anyone else might have interpreted as disinterest.

It wasn't enough. Eternity wouldn't have been enough, but she'd take it for all it was worth.

The kiss ended an unknown amount of time later and Sol reluctantly pulled herself away from Gabe and made a half-hearted attempt at straightening his clothing. Their time alone together had been spent sleeping, and having it alone instead of in their barracks had cut down even further on their level of rest. It had been worth it, to be away from Riya, to have that safe solitude, but for the first time in months Sol was awake and happy and completely free to do as she pleased, and her body wanted very much to decide for her what to do first.

Instead, she smiled up at him and kissed him once more as fleetingly as her longing would allow before taking his hand and tugging him down the hallway. They could go back to the Room, and they could play a real game of chess, and Sol would lose because she couldn't possibly focus, and that made her so happy she almost slowed her steps, but the blanket in the Room would be so much more comfortable -

"Hunter Gabriel, report to the Headmaster's office immediately. Repeat, Hunter Gabriel, report to the Headmaster's office immediately."

She did pause then, looking at the intercom speaker with surprised irritation. NOW? They wanted him now? She wanted him now. They could wait. They...probably wanted to talk about the transfer.

Sol mentally punted the rational section of her brain for bringing that up and turned to look at Gabe with a resigned and very creditable pout. "What timing." She kissed him again, as thoroughly as she could without messing up his uniform again, and put her arms around his neck in a tight hug before breaking it and looking him over for any unforgivable signs of attack, but he was intact. That confirmed, she hugged him again and kissed his throat. "The transfer. I'll be in the Room. Dally and I'll smack you. I mean it."

He gave her a Gabesmile and kissed her, and her knees and her resolve were both a little weak when he turned away and trotted at an efficiently speedy pace out of sight, towards the administrative wing.

The classwork, the exercises, the lack of sleep and of food...Gabe and Sol had become, for a short period of time, little more than animals. Their love for each other, their distrust of Riya and Rabin, their hope for the future, their anger at Bryant, their plans to escape the SO AIT...all of those were present, but they were put away, made distant and unimportant by the day to day struggle to survive.

Now it was over, and Riya and Rabin didn't matter anymore because they were going to transfer out. Bryant had called Gabe in to finalize it. Sol wanted very much to meet him when he came back with the good news, but she'd rather they get to stay there once he did return. Food was such a dull reason to have to leave their sanctuary.

Unfortunately, juggling two plates was precarious at best, and Sol had to walk (it seemed) very, very slowly to get them back to the Room intact. She set them carefully on their little table and looked about in consternation. He wasn't back yet. There were probably formalities to attend to when you transferred to an AIT from the SO group. Maybe they were interviewing him again.

She sat down on one of the stools and cast about the room for something she might have missed. Her desk was blissfully dark; no special duties or orders handed down from Hale to his despised students today. It occurred to her that Gabe's desk was still in the barracks, and that it was conceivable that he might need it before their little break was up; after all, Hale wasn't notoriously a man of his word when it came to how much time they were actually allotted off.

At least it would give her something to do, and if Gabe was there when she came back, dinner could wait.

The barracks was practically deserted. Everyone was off doing whatever it was they hadn't been doing for the past six months, breathing or eating or sleeping or laughing. Sol wondered what it would be like for those of the others that made it all the way through the AIT. Would they have to live like this for the rest of their lives, with no respite?

Not us.

She hefted Gabe's desk and walked back towards the room, making a pass through the Administrative wing first, but the secretary's office was empty of waiting people and the door was closed. If Gabe was in there, he was still in conference, and if he wasn't, she doubted the secretary would allow her to ask the Commander when he'd left. She approached the small secretarial desk to question the older woman instead, but the baleful look she was sent made her smoothly direct her steps back towards the Commons without a word.

There were few students about; most were still in classes. Scorpion wasn't going to have much time to itself, and what it did have was still fairly isolated. Sol wondered what the other children in her launch had amounted to, aside from Riya. For the first time in a long time, she wondered how Kat was faring.

"Shhh, shhh muthafucker, stop movin', she's gonna hear us."

"Nosheain't," Pedersen mumbled a little too loudly to be considered a whisper, but stopped shifting around and just waited until Davis nudged him again and grinned. "Baby's right there, that white-haired ho was right, she is kinda pretty..."

Sanchez pushed himself standing and laughed. "More for me, then, let's go."

They waited until she passed into a deserted corridor, and then followed as stealthily as they could, if one could call four tipsy boys full of anger and lust anything even remotely close to stealthy. It didn't matter to them, however. Now, here she was, alone, and they were ready for a little fun with her, and a little fun after.

"Heya schweetheart." Pedersen slurred as Davis and Sanchez circled around Solenis, all of them eyeing her with lewd smiles on their faces. She held her ground, but Dietz whistled and moved close enough to brush against her. "We just wanna talk, baby..."

He was rewarded with an elbow to the nose, and as he went down with a face full of blood, the rest of them took one look at their fallen companion and attacked.

Sanchez caught Sol across the chin with a vicious clip, knocking her back against Davis, who had the presence of mind to hold her arms and keep his face away from head. But when he leaned back, it gave her purchase enough to kick out with both feet, and Pedersen keeled over from a blow to the crotch and groaned loudly. "Fuckin' bitch!"

"Gabriel don't deserve this kinda ho," Davis crooned, using his free hand to grab the back of Sol's thigh. She made a hissed exclamation of anger and disbelief, which only got her another pinch and a laugh. Sanchez smiled crookedly and was reaching out for the zipper on her collar when Sol bit his hand, and he drew back, cursing and raving as he cocked his arm and slammed her in the face, hard enough to knock both Sol and Davis back a few steps. "Goddamn cunt, I'll fuckin' teach you--"

Someone stumbled into him, and he was surprised to see Dietz standing, his nose a mass of crimson and his smile bloody. "Fuck, let me do it to the bitch." He backhanded her, and it was Sol's turn to bleed as her lip split, and Pedersen laughed grimly from his position on the floor. "Don't hurt her pretty face, man, cause I wanna see it smilin' when we're done with her."

"You got it, buddy." Dietz grabbed a handful of Sol's hair and tugged her forcibly away from Davis' grasp, bringing a knee up into her stomach and then throwing her against the wall as she doubled over. She fell to the ground, her face bruised and swollen as Davis leaned over and ripped the uniform jacket from her torso. Pedersen started whistling in appreciation, and Sanchez had just taken hold of the edge of her undershirt when a sound from behind startled them, and all four heads turned in unison to see the source.

Hunter Gabriel stood in the corridor.

"Fuuuuuuck..." Pedersen muttered as Sanchez straightened and grinned at Gabe. "Aw man, we're sorry, but your bitch just wanted to play with us."

Davis nudged Sol in the ribs with his boot, more of a kick than a tap, and smirked. "Yeah, but she ain't so good at takin' what we got to give, are you, baby?" Riya hadn't mentioned their attacking Gabe, but here he was, and they all wanted a little piece of the reward once they finished their task.

He'd come back to the cell to find it empty. Waiting, when he wanted to tell Sol what had happened, wore thin quickly, and he set off to find her. He'd checked the cell, the gym, even the showers again, but with no luck. When he returned, however, a pair of trays sat on the metal crate that was their table. Dinner. But Sol was gone again.

He sat down. He looked at the food, considering eating, but deciding that he needed to tell Sol that they would not be transferring before he could begin to think seriously about food. Minutes passed. No Sol.

Gabe had an odd sensation though, tugging at the back of his mind. Sol was close. That sense he had, that proximity awareness -- he'd never yet known it to be wrong. But where was she?

He got up, and exited the room. It was when he turned a corner in the corridor that he stopped and stared at the scene before him. The color drained from his face, and that old ice inside him, that frozen spot in the pit of his stomach, spread outward like cancer, freezing him over from the inside out. Freezing him over so that the screaming inside him, the awful shredding pain, could not be heard except in his own mind.

Sol lay slumped against a wall. Gabe couldn't tell if she was conscious; she did not look responsive. Around her stood four older boys, in various states of damage. One of them spoke. Then another. Gabe didn't hear.

Gabe started toward Sol, with a long, smooth stride that didn't even seem to note that there was anything that could come between him and his objective. But Davis stepped forward, grinning, shifting his center of gravity in preparation for battle. He edged forward to meet Gabe, and swung.

Gabe pivoted on his forward foot, swinging his body sideways so that Davis' fist passed straight in front of his face. His right hand, further from Davis, came up to catch the first with the arm fully extended, and his left elbow came up hard and fast, connecting with the elbow of Davis' straightened arm. The arm bent, at an angle never intentioned by its designer, and Davis screamed.

It was not a strong, manly scream. It was a real scream, a scream of pain, a scream of fear. And in that moment that Davis took to scream, Gabe's left arm extended along the inside of Davis' borken appendage, fingers bracing around the back of Davis' neck. His right hand released Davis', became a fist, and was driven forward into Davis' face with all the fury of hell behind it. With Gabe's left hand bracing, there was nowhere for Davis' head to go; it absorbed the full force. The nose crumpled, as did the bones behind it, and Davis' face was a ruin in the few seconds before he dropped to the floor and lay face down, bleeding on the metal beneath.

Gabe stood over the body, looked at the other three, and started forward again.

This time, they attacked together, all three of them. Dietz and Pedersen came straight at Gabe, while Sanchez attempted to circle around. Pedersen attempted to sweep Gabe off his feet; he was shown his own mistake when Gabe jumped the sweep, but came down on Pedersen's leg just below the knee. Bones snapped, more screaming, silenced when Gabe's own leg arced up and caught him in the face. Pedersen's head hit the wall as he recoiled back, and he slumped.

Gabe ducked a punch from Dietz, and brought one of his own up into the soft spot on either side of the lower back, the kidneys. Gabe then rose back up behind the boy, wrapped his arm around Dietz's neck, and flung him to the ground. He kicked him twice, in the face and in the ribs.

Sanchez wasn't circling anymore. He wasn't trying to get behind Gabe. It was quite clear now that there was no behind Gabe. Only different angles to get hurt from. Gabe met his eyes, and Snachez flinched. He saw. He saw what burned behind Gabe's eyes, that cold fury that would stop at nothing, nothing, to reach its objective. Sanchez backed up a step. Two. Sanchez turned and ran.

"I’ve been wondering for a long time now…why do Gabe and Sol sleep…"

Minerva didn’t have time to finish the sentence. They rounded the corner to the site of three men sprawled on the ground, bleeding. She could immediately see a broken nose on one of them. She couldn’t even tell if they were still alive, but she could smell a hint of alcohol in the air.

Drunken idiots picked a fight…but with who? The infirmary...someone needs to tell the infirmary.

She was speechless. She shot an amazed glance at Riya, only to see a hint of amusement in her eyes. She took a step towards the bodies but stopped short when she saw a familiar face round the corner of the hallway:

He checked the laundry room first. The bottles were still there; drucken fucking retards hadn't even disposed of the evidence. But they were already gone; Rabin hoped that they were just passed out somewhere drunk, but he knew it wasn't so.

He jogged toward the barracks, looking for Riya; at least if he found her he might be able to get from her where they might be. He didn't get there. On his way through the commons, abandoned at this time of day, Rabin smacked right into Sanchez, running out of an adjoining corridor.

Cliche as it might be, Rabin thought the boy looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Rabin grabbed the boy's arm before he could get away, and swung him around to face him. "What the hell happened?!" Rabin demanded. Sanchez just stared, like a dear caught in the headlights. Rabin backhanded him, hard, across the face. "What the fuck is going on?!?"

Nothing. Rabin let him go, and jogged in the direction from which he'd come.

He had to search, but he found it. A little stretch of corridor with three bodies, lying dead or unconscious -- Rabin couldn't immediately tell -- on the floor. Over them stood Minerva and Riya.

Temper, temper. Riya smiled internally, which meant that nothing showed on the surface.

She ignored Rabin for the moment and daintily side-stepped the puddles of blood that soaked the floor, making her way over to where Pedersen lay. Nudging her boot beneath his body, she lifted and rolled him over as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, the long snowy hair that swirled around her face obscuring the smirk that managed to find its way above ground and move her lips. Not dead. Oh well. She hoped that when he recovered he wouldn't feel like tattling. Riya wasn't in the mood to deal with the fallout if any of Pedersen's companions decided to tell that it had been her idea. Situations like that were so... tedious. But then, there was still Rabin. He was very alive, and very angry, but when Riya turned back to look at him and Thoth, there was no trace of any sort of emotion on her face. Her expression was typical. Blank.

"Don't be so impolite, Shimon Rabin," she said in that quiet ice monotone. His face darkened, but she was far from intimidated. If he'd listened to her, none of this would have happened; or, at the very least, not to this extent. Gabriel wouldn't have been capable of wreaking this much damage had Rabin been present. Not her fault. But Riya could have cared less-- she hadn't been injured, so it wasn't relevant to her calculations-- and any talk of blame now was just useless semantics.

Without a word she repeated her surveys, this time on Davis and Dietz. Davis looked the worse, the zygomatic processes and other facial skeletal bones smashed, and Riya frowned to herself. Wouldn't do to have him die; although it might make her life a little easier, the attack could undoubtedly be traced to Gabriel. She didn't want him to be iced, or sent away. That put him out of her reach-- and where was the fun in that? No good to hunt if your prey was hundreds of thousands of miles away.

Riya eyed Rabin coldly, and flicked her hand in dismissal toward the three bodies. "They're all still alive. This one--" she kicked Davis' leg lightly, "is almost gone."

He was about to speak when she stepped up to him, closer, closer, until she was inches away. He wouldn't hurt her, and if he tried, what of it? He'd die, in due time, like them all. The smell of alcohol was still faint around him, and that scent, combined with the blood that soaked the corridor, made the corners of her lips turn downward in distaste and displeasure. "They were foolish. Perhaps you should take them to the infirmary before you have no companions." She tilted her chin, and while her expression did not alter, the laughter and malice was in her eyes. Her voice was a whisper made all the more menacing because of the complete lack of anger that hinted on some darker rage. "And don't try to threaten me, Shimon Rabin."

"What the almighty flying fuck is going on here, you poison-tongued freak?"

Minerva thought she knew enough about Riya to not expect any more surprises. But instead, she proceeded to walk over to the three on the ground, rolling one of the bodies over. She looked as if she knew what she was doing. She did it so calmly, so composed. She didn’t seem surprised at all that there were three bodies laying on the ground, covered in blood, and that a man who hated her very much was standing in front of them. The way she moved…like this was all planned out.

"Don't be so impolite, Shimon Rabin," Riya answered as she moved around to the other two bodies. The one guy had half his face caved in. Whoever did this was very good at it. "They're all still alive. This one is almost gone."

Why the hell hasn’t anyone called the medics!?

Riya had balls. Very large ones. Why else would she have walked right up to Rabin’s face like that? He was a big guy. No one messed with him, for fear of a broken skull. Yet Riya didn’t care. She whispered something to him, something inaudible. That head butt from Rabin will be here any second…

Riya turned around and motioned towards Minerva. "We are leaving. I find blood... distasteful." She found that hard to believe. Minerva almost turned to follow her, but she refused to leave three men laying bloody on the ground. She was not a killer.

"Not to worry, children; the medics are on their way."

Rabin whirled to face Captain Hale, walking calmly toward them all. He reached Rabin's side, and looked down at the bodies, dispassionately.

"My my," he said. He looked at their faces. "And whose mess is this?"

Rabin glared. He'd taken a lot of shit from Hale these past six months, and today was not a day to be needling him. "You know fucking well who did it. We all know you monitor us day and night."

Which was not acutally true; they didn't know. There was a theory -- or perhaps rumor was more accurate -- among the Scorpions that Hale had eyes and ears everywhere. Some days, Rabin believed it wholeheartedly, and others, he was convinced it was a fiction that Hale cultivated to keep the students on their toes. Earlier today, he'd been of the latter frame of mind; for brave -- or stupid -- as Rabin was, he wasn't going to go get hammered if he knew Hale was watching. However, seeing Hale here, now, was making him reconsider. Hale never went anywhere without a purpose, ever. And there was nothing in this area except a few corridors with old, unused rooms that the majority of the student population shied away from, because there were stories that went around about them being haunted by the ghosts of the Buggers that had held this asteroid first. Rabin was like most students -- he didn't believe the stories, but he didn't go here either.

But Hale, standing there surveying the bodies, was no coincidence. He'd known to come, because he'd seen it all.

It occurred to Rabin that Solenis was not here. He wondered if she had done thise. There was something about these attacks, though, that just didn't say "Solenis" to Rabin. The girl had knocked him on his ass that day in the boys' showers, but she hadn't attacked him unnecessarily. She'd put him on the floor, then immobilized him with a kick in the balls, and then taken Gabriel with her and left. These attacks . . . they were angrier. They were inflicted by somebody that meant business, somebody with the kind of physical power that only came from burning white-hot hatred. Whoever had done this was fueled.

Rabin knew, without being fully sure how he knew, that it had been Gabriel. And he could think of only one thing that might crack that boy's indifferent shell.

Rabin sincerely hoped that Solenis was okay.

His thoughts had wandered; he didn't remember what he'd only just said when Hale responded. Or rather, did not respond, not to Rabin's statement. He said, "Alright, everyone, clear off, the medics will be along shortly. You wouldn't want to get in their way."

Rabin returned to glaring at Hale. "What are you going to do about this?" he said, voice almost a growl.

"About what?"

"These guys were looking to hurt somebody."

"How ironic that they were the ones that ended up getting hurt. Have you any proof of your claim, Mr. Rabin? Because it looks to me like these boys are the vicitms of a rather brutal assault."

Rabin did not answer.

"I shall be sure to have this matter investigated, because I know they are your friends, and I'm sure that you would like the ones that did this caught and punished. Justice shall be served, Mr. Rabin. Now, run along."

Hale didn't smile. At all. Rabin studied the man's face, looking for a smirk, a shark's grin that he knew must be hiding somewhere under there. But he could see nothing.

Didn't matter. Rabin knew Hale was grinning inside.

Of course, no one ever said life was fair. They had been murdered, just like Minerva’s brother. They were much more alike then Minerva had given previous credit for.

With no warning, Riya stood up to leave, picking up her tray with her.

Great. I pissed her off. I lost my chance to make friends with her.

Minerva looked at her to watch her leave. Surprisingly, Riya turned back around to address her.

"I’m done. Want to come?"

Minerva was a bit stunned for a moment. She definitely hadn’t expected that.

"Well, ah…yah! Yes. Coming."

Minerva picked up her half-eaten food tray and dumped it in the garbage. Jogging for a few steps to catch up to Riya. They walked down the hall in silence. Minerva thought hard about what she should ask next. Riya was obviously trying to be friendly here, and Minerva didn’t want to lose this opportunity.

Katera Quistin.

Ten years now since she'd seen the girl face to face, but there was no mistaking her. Riya cursed to herself, silently. She hadn't wanted this. Everything she did in life was planned-- that was how she schemed, how she survived-- and losing her concentration just because Minerva had been asking about her parents was going to cost her. This wasn't how she had wanted to see Kat. Gabriel and Solenis; now, that meeting had been carefully plotted. It was perfect. Sudden surprises like this... were not ideal. Riya was not pleased.

She stopped dead in her tracks, and stood there, staring. Kat did the same. It was obvious from the hint of surprise that flickered across the girl's face nearly too quickly to notice that Kat was caught just as off-guard as she was. Slightly better. At least Riya knew that Kat had not been ready. It made her feel a little more secure; enough that she narrowed her eyes, and despite herself, the corners of her lips twitched ever-so-slightly in a smile.

Kat smiled in return. It was not friendly, but Riya didn't expect it to be. It was the same smile they used to share, a decade ago, when they had first met. There was danger behind it, the threat of death, and something frighteningly akin to comraderie. Riya remembered. Kat remembered.

Their eyes met; serpentine gold to endless midnight... psychopath to sociopath... killer to killer.

Kat spoke first. "Riya," she purred quietly. Riya nodded. "Quistin." She waited, watched as the other girl's eyes flicked briefly to Minerva, then back to her. The question remained unspoken, but she understood. Danger? No, she replied just as silently, but be wary. The girl looked at Minerva again, and smiled a little this time in greeting, before returning her attention to Riya.

"Mai?" So this was to be an exchange of information. Very well. Riya understood the rules, and it was familiar. They had done this before. She shrugged, because she didn't have an answer. Mai was no longer an enemy. Laughter slid across her eyes, and she returned the favor. "Jax?" Kat's reply was simple. "Dead."

Interesting; so the girl had finally killed him. Riya had gathered such from the files Kanchou had hacked for her from the Charybdis Institute, but it was confirmation. She knew, also, of Kat's battles with Gabriel and Solenis. Stab wounds, after all, were rather unusual in the school, but Kat had always been a knife kind of girl. Riya began to question, at the exact moment Kat did, and their query was in unison.

"Gabe an--"

They paused, and Kat smirked, if a tad bitterly, and Riya nodded. Kat laughed a little, quietly, a mirthless sound. It amused Riya, because she remembered when Kat used to laugh like that back in the launch. Always when there was trouble afoot. Some things never changed.

But some things did, and if Riya was anything, she was observant. The touch of solemnity in Kat's demeanor gave her an idea of how the other girl had evolved. She knew of Mode, and what had happened. The laughter wasn't the same, and neither was the smirk, but they were good imitations. Riya wondered, briefly, if her smiles were such transparent copies of the old. No doubt they were. She only smiled when it suited the situation, never when she was pleased. Her and Kat were still alike, after all.

"I'll be seeing you around, Riya." Kat's voice interrupted her train of thought, and Riya nodded again, merely out of habit. She wouldn't be seeing Kat, not if she had any part in that decision. She wouldn't speak to Kat, because between them, there was nothing. If Kat became useful in the future, then perhaps. If not, then Riya was not one engender risk merely for the sake of conversation. Kat was still dangerous. So was she. The other girl would understand.

Riya didn't answer, but her eyes did, and with a final smile Kat left.

Minerva was still there. Riya looked to her, and blinked, and began to walk again.

That was not how that should have gone. This distraction is dangerous.

Then she smiled. Riya actually smiled. Minerva almost expected for a moment that it would be like the movies where two people meet, they look like sworn enemies, then just as they are about to attack each other, they smile and hug and say something like, "It’s been too long, old friend!"

Then the other girl smiled too, but not a nice smile, a manipulative smile. This wasn’t going to be the movie that Minerva had expected.

"Riya."

"Quistin."

Quistin. Minerva would look that name up later and inquire about her with some people. The Quistin girl looked at Minerva twice before settling her eyes on Riya again. Very quick glances, so that most people wouldn’t notice. But Minerva had been hanging around Riya, she knew better then to let a quick glance slip her radar.

"Mai?"

Riya shrugged. "Jax?"

"Dead."

Minerva was trying to file all this information into the proper brain receptacles. Quistin. Mai. Jax. Jax is dead. Who is Jax and why is he dead?

"Gabe an—" They said in unison.

Gabe and Sol? Why are they so damn important!? I hate not knowing things as big as this. Everyone knows what’s so special about them except for me.

The Quistin girl smiled a little and let out a low, quiet laugh. She was a lot like Riya in the way she handled herself. The way she talked and moved.

"I'll be seeing you around, Riya," Quistin said at last. Riya nodded slightly but made no reply. After Quistin had left, Riya looked at Minerva and blinked and began to walk away.

"Sumimasen. Excuse me. Let's go."

Minerva walked beside her, deep in thought. She compiled what she had already gathered from the conversation: Jax is dead…Jax is… That was all Minerva really gathered from the meeting. That and a few names. Unless these names proved to be interesting in some way, Riya was still a great mystery. But she was a mystery that Minerva planned to solve.

She decided that perhaps she should ATTEMPT to talk to Riya again. It wouldn't hurt, would it? One question: if she answered, it meant that Minerva was playing this game correctly. If not...well...nothing would really change. She had made a huge breakthrough today. She just HAD to continue this! This was her future she was talking about.

Every day she'd spent in that place were carefully filed away in her vault of memories, and she could draw them out, sheaf by sheaf, and remember. She recalled crawling through the vents to Anderson's office, could feel Solenis' blood on her hands, saw the answering light of premeditated murder in Gabriel's eyes. She could hear the fear in Mai's voice, smiled at the promise of pain in Katera's smirks, and remembered a time when she and the girl had been allies. Not friends, although at the time, Riya had come as close to considering it as she ever had with anyone else. Walking alongside Minerva, Riya moved automatically, but voices were playing in the silence.

"Ho, Riya."

"Kat."

"Whatcha doin'?"

"Nothing."

"I'm bored."

"Where's Jaxen?"

"J-Bear's with Franky. Avoiding me, I guess."

"Perhaps."

"I heard that some girl broke her arm in the battleroom. She's in the infirmary."

"So...?"

"So I thought maybe we could go bother her. You're not doing anything else."

"I'm not?"

"Not anymore. C'mon. We can be mean. It'll be fun."

Riya was close to smiling when Minerva's voice broke through her thoughts, and she flicked her eyes to the girl beside her. "So... uh... who was that Quistin girl? You guys used to be friends?"

Not in the slighest, Riya wanted to answer. But something better. She was always a murderer, just like me.

Minerva wasn’t satisfied with that response. She looked at Riya and waited for a more detailed response. Of course, she knew it wouldn’t come.

OK…next question. I could go back to Gabe and Sol? She doesn’t seem to enjoy that line of questioning though.

"We were in the same launch."

Minerva almost jumped when Riya spoke. She really hadn’t been expecting anything else to come out of her mouth, and since the only noise coming from the hall was the sound of their walking, it really did startle Minerva. She was just happy that Riya let out a little bit more of her history. If they were in the same launch, and hadn’t seen each other since then, that meant that they both knew Gabe and Sol from then. They were probably in the same barracks. So they had known each other for 10+ years. A lot longer then Minerva had anticipated.

Just about that time, they reached the barracks. Minerva palmed it open and they stepped inside. She had half expected to see Gabe and Sol when the door opened, but of course, they were no where to be seen. Riya went and laid on her bed. Minerva sat on the one opposite of hers, so that she could watch Riya and ask her more questions.

He sat on the floor, studying his equipment. The rifle and pistol lay before him, looking almost like real guns. Beside them was the map he'd been provided, with the target's tour path highlighted. Atop the map sat a little palm computer, which had nothing on its screen but an arrow, which was rotating very slowly counterclockwise. Like a compass.

Except with this compass, the target was "north".

He'd dressed into the lightweight flash suit, much like the ones from Battle School, but thinner, more flexible, and without a helmet. There was a hood that went over his head, covering his hair, forehead, nose and mouth. Only his eyes and the bridge of his nose were exposed.

Such bullshit. Long-range rifles and masks. Hiding in shadows and killing from a distance. Rabin wanted none of it.

He pulled off the hood, and got to his feet. The flash pistol he carried in his hand, the rest he left on the floor. He was tired of games. He was tired of learning to be a killer.

No more.

He left the Laundry Room at a stride. The decision was made; Rabin's mind was at peace. His stride lengthened as he moved, quickened, and then he was jogging, and then running. Running, with the air moving over his face like wind, with the freedom of it coursing through his veins. He'd played the game long enough. He was tired of it. Now it was time to be free.

He'd estimated, from the map and the little compass, where the target would be. He was not far off in his estimation. He rounded the corner, saw them all there, alert and arranged around the target. They were wearing the same slash suits, these ones the dark blue and grey of the Marine AIT. They wore tech goggles, every one of them; even in the dim light, even in his black flash suit, Rabin was glowing in the dark for them. Those using thermal imaging might even have seen him before he rounded the corner at all.

In the center of them all stood Hale. He was wearing a hood like Rabin's, which disappeared beneath his uniform; Rabin could only assume that he was wearing a flash suit beneath. He had time for only one shot.

And Rabin was an excellent shot.

He did not have time to see, but he knew he'd scored a kill; he'd had the back of Hale's head perfectly in his sights. His suit froze up with the lights of six laser beams, but Rabin did not care. He tumbled forward, unable to catch himself, and slid across the floor stiffly. Hale's voice came from somewhere outside Rabin's field of vision, which was currently dominated by metal floor.

"You lose, Mr. Rabin."

Rabin grinned his shark's grin. "No, hale. You lose. I got you. The grunts got me, but that don't make you less dead. I got you."

He was grinning when they thawed him. He was grinning when he walked away, through the corridors and hallways, back toward Scorpion Quad.

She put on her flash suit promptly and sat down on the floor to study the map, the compass, and her weapons. The compass told her which direction they were moving in. She tucked it in her pocket for later use. The map showed where they would be traveling in the school. Minerva had been thinking of her plan since Rabin had left, and she thought she had it planned out. Luckily for her, the entourage would be heading through an "X" in the corridors. She would just have to wish that they stayed on their course. She put the map in her pocket and glanced around the library. Over by one of the tables she found what she needed: A chair. With wheels, about two feet tall. She grabbed it, picked up her guns, and headed out into the hallway.

She next went to the Storage Bay for the next item in her plan. She set her weapons and chair aside and pulled the top on a large container. Inside were smaller buckets with a black liquid inside. Minerva grabbed three of them and left Storage Bay with chair and guns in tow. She headed silently in the dark corridors for the "X" section of the school, wary of every zig and zag in the road. She pulled out the compass and checked the map; Hale and his troops were still heading the right way. Come here, you little asshole.

Minerva stood in the middle of the X, plotting Hale’s trajectory along with the time she had left before they would arrive. She ran to the right, northern leg of the X and opened the three small buckets. The distinct appearance of oil could be seen as she poured them onto the metal floors. They covered quite a large area or the floor, which was exactly what Minerva wanted. She checked her compass one more time, then headed for the left, northern leg of the X and got out of site.

A few minutes later, the distinct sounds of seven boot steps could be heard. She estimated the distance from the oil by the loudness of the echo. A few seconds later, she took the rolling chair and heaved it across the opening, going straight across into the right, southern leg of the X. At the same time, she peaked her hand around the corner with the small pistol, firing randomly, then pulled back when the chair made it across the opening. Immediately, just as she had expected, the guards opened fire on the moving chair, thinking it was Minerva. When the chair had disappeared on the other side, all six guards, excluding Hale, ran towards the middle of the X, hoping to corner "Minerva" and shoot her down. As they ran forward, they stepped on the black oil, slipped, and fell on their asses. It took all of Minerva’s strength to keep from laughing out loud. As soon as the scrambling began, Minerva moved her head and her right arm barely around the corner, pointed it at Hale’s head with the flash rifle, and pulled the trigger. A fraction of a second later, he was dead. The guards never had time to shoot her. She had shot Hale and left to quickly for them. They were having enough difficulties just getting up from the slick oil. They looked like a bunch of new born baby giraffes testing out their legs for the first time.

Minerva sprinted to the library, her safe zone, and quietly waited for Hale to return. She put the flash rifle aside, since it had no ammo left, but held her pistol in her hand, aimed at the door. She grabbed another chair and sat down behind a desk that would give her enough cover should Hale feel that the exercise was not over yet. A few minutes later, he entered. Minerva slid behind the desk, gun pointed at him.

"Return to your barracks."

He'd been waiting in his cell, knees drawn up against his chest and back against the wall. His eyes were half-closed; still wide enough to sense movement, but close enough to closed to allow him to doze lightly.

He was extremely tired, but he could not allow himself to sleep. They could call him any moment, and with his current level of fatigue, Gabe wasn't certain he would hear. He knew that he ought to be planning right now, to be preparing his mind and his body for the test. But he could think of nothing but how very, very tired he was.

Sol and he had been sleeping in shifts for a year now, and they were feeling the strain. Most nights, they were allowed only eight hours -- four each. And Hale knew, too. Four months prior, they -- Gabe, Sol, Riya, Minerva, Rabin, and Lawrence -- had been fitted with subdermal vital monitors. Hale had commented that the medical staff required it, after what had happened to one of his students a few years ago. Usual Hale bullshit; Gabe knew better. It was one more way for Hale to spy on them. He knew how little sleep they were getting, and he didn't care.

They'd only been allowed four hours last night, total. Gabe's shift had ended a mere fourteen minutes before lights-on. Fourteen minutes of sleep, after having been awake for twenty hours before that.

And twenty hours before that . . .

And twenty hours before that . . .

And now he was waiting, alone, desperately tired but unable to sleep. Waiting to be called. Waiting.

Hale knew what torture was. It wasn't pain. Real torture was making someone want something bad enough to kill for it, and then putting it right in front of them, but making the consequences for taking it unbearable. No matter which alternative the victim chose -- to take the release, and the consequences with it, or to hold back, to resist, when that which was so dearly needed was so very close -- their torture was self-inflicted. And that made it so much worse.

So . . .

. . . tired . . .

Hale's voice, from the corridor. He never shouted. His voice might rise or fall in volume, but he never shouted. "Hunter Gabriel."

Gabe's eyes had fallen completely shut, though he'd never given them any such permission. He opened them. He remembered how to move his arms, slid himself off the bunk. He stood up. He walked out of the cell.

Hale stood in front of the door that led out into the central Quad Hallway.

"You look like Hell, Mr. Gabriel."

Gabe couldn't have responded if he'd wanted to.

"Your safezone is the Detention Center Anteroom. Report there immediately." He turned and left.

Gabe stood there a long moment. He became aware, after a while, of someone's eyes on him. He turned his head, toward Cell C. The door was open, and Rabin's massive form filled the frame.

"He's right," Rabin said, after a moment. "You don't look so good, boy."

Gabe just stared, and said nothing.

Rabin folded his arms across his broad chest as he regarded Gabe. "Look," he said, shifting his weight to lean against the doorframe in a weak attempt to look casual. "I uh, I wanted to . . . well, to wish you good luck. I'll be leaving soon, prolly. I know I've done some low shit to you and your lady. When I heard about that shit they did to her last year, man, I wanted to tell you that I didn't have nothing to do with that, and I woulda fucked up those pillow-biters if you hadn'ta done it yourself. I shoulda said something then, but I figured there was bad blood then, and fuck, maybe there still is. But good luck anyways. You and your lady, you two are fucking good at this. We all seen the way Hale cheats, but you two keep going. You show that bitch. Take it all the way." He looked uncomfortable. "Anyways," he said, shifting his weight back onto both feet. "See ya around, maybe." He backed into his cell, and the door closd.

Gabe was beyond thinking too much about it right now. It would be later, much later, that Gabe would replay Rabin's words in his head, wondering what had changed in the man, what had transformed him. For now, Gabe was not suited to analysis.

He left Scorpion, walking more slowly than usual, with slightly shuffling steps. So tired. So very tired.

He tried to focus on the mission. One target, six bodyguards. Limited ammunition and range, but no stated time limit. He kept repeating those parameters in his head, waiting for them to assemble into some coherent picture, some kind of plan. They didn't.

He reached the mess. His equipment was in the corner. He sat down, leaned back against the wall. Looked over his resources. The guns Hale had displayed earlier were there, one rifle and one pistol. A map lay spread out on the floor, with the target's path marked out. A palm computer sat with an arrow on its face.

I can't do this, was all he could think. I'm so tired. I need sleep. I have to sleep. I can't do this.

"Thought so," Hale said.

Gabe looked up.

"I knew you didn't have what it takes."

"You cheated," Gabe said. "You rigged the game every step of the way."

"Yes. And?"

"You never intended to let me succeed."

"No. You never intended to let me stop you."

"I'm so tired . . ."

"No you aren't."

"I am."

"No, you're not. Not anymore. You're asleep."

Gabe's eyes snapped open, and his head jerked up, hitting the wall behind him. Gabe didn't notice. His mind was already racing. How long had he slept? Was the test over already?

He dressed into the modified flashsuit, slung the rifle over his shoulder, grabbed up the pistol in one hand and the electronic compass in the other. He left the room at a sprint.

Gabe looked at his watch as he ran. 0817 hours. What time had it been when he'd left? He couldn't remember, hadn't thought to check. He reached the showers, rushed to a sink. The cold water on his face woke him up, and he looked into the mirror. Into his own face. It was by chance that his eyes passed over the reflection of the palm computer's display.

There was a counter on the face, with the elapsed time since the start of the test. It read 01:49.

"Shit," Gabe said.

There had been no stated time limit. The test was, strictly speaking, still going. But Gabe could remember the path marked out on the map. At the end was a room in the guest quarters section. They would be waiting there, and they'd have had a whole hell of a lot of time to get ready. Gabe would be a easy kill, coming through that door.

No way to beat them, not like that. Gabe was a good shot, and he could think quickly when necessary, but even if he somehow managed to hit the target in a single shot, he'd never escape.

It wasn't the first time he'd been in a situation where the deck was stacked against him, but before he'd always had options, and his situation had never been his own fault. The very first day, Hale had set him up to fail. Gabe had cheated, and won. By shooting through the glass.

If only he could think of a way to shoot through the glass this time, he'd ahve a chance.

He stared into the mirror. The mirror stared back.

Through the glass . . .

Gabe dropped his pistol and palm comp atop the basin, and shrugged off the rifle. He gripped the mirror on both sides, pulled, as hard as he could. The metal groaned, and gave at the hinges, the mirror coming free in his hands. He grabbed up the pistol, tucked the mirror under his arm, and ran.

The guest quarters section wasn't restricted like usual; Gabe was able to enter without incident. There were two guards stationed outside the door to the target's room. The long wait had made them dull; they'd only just started to lift their guns when Gabe flashed them with a headshot each. Frozen in place, they just stood like statues.

There was one major difference, however, between these flash suits and those from Battle School. Battle School's clamped the soldier's mouth shut when frozen. These, with their thin hoods designed only to register hits, did not.

"Incoming!" shouted one.

Gabe ignored him. He knelt down in front of the door, between the two frozen guards, who were shouting warnings to those inside. If they noticed the mirror, they did not realize its significance. Gabe set the mirror up on its edge in front of him, holding it up with his left hand. Only his bare fingers were visible over the top, so long as he kept his head down. The door remained closed, awaiting the command from its occupants.

"I'm right here," Gabe said. "Let's see what you've got."

The door opened. The guns made no sound, but there beams flaring and reflecting off the mirror made for a dazzling show of light inside the room. The frequency of the flashes quickly dropped, and Gabe didn't have to wonder why. At least two, and Gabe estimated probably three of the five occupants had been flashed by their own beams, or their comrades'.

"Hold fire!" shouted a voice. Hale's voice.

Hale's voice shouting.

Gabe rose to his feet and swept his gun from right to left in a single smooth movement, firing off three successive shots as he did. Two took the final bodyguard in the chest, and the last tagged Hale in the forehead.

Gabe lowered his gun. He was the only one. Everyone else in the room stood frozen with a flash pistol aimed at him.

He tossed the pistol down at Hale's feet. He pulled off the hood also. Then he straightened up, and saluted.

Walking down the hall, away from the room, Gabe shed his flashsuit, and quickened his pace. He returned to his safezone, but did not wait. The rules stated that he had to return safely. That he did. He left immediately, for Scorpion.

Sol was waiting in their cell for him, lying in her clothes, atop the sheets. She'd showered, but appeared to have done nothing else but doze lightly and wait for his return. Her eyes opened with the door, and she smiled at him, sleepily.

Gabe stripped out of his undershirt and trousers. He needed a shower, and to brush his teeth, and to shave. But not nearly as much as he needed Sol. She sat up and slipped between the sheets, and Gabe joined her, and she cradled him gently and kissed him. Gabe fell asleep almost immediately.