His state of mind would not allow him to examine Katera more closely. He only knew that he had to get her out of here, now, and away from whatever trap Wick had set for them.

He pressed the button to open the Talon door, and the mechanism whirred and grew silent again.

The door remained closed.

He struck it again. The button cracked, but the mechanism just tried once more and then gave up. Something was holding the door shut. He had wrenched it a little too hard on the way in. Maybe it was just jammed. He pressed on it experimentally, but it didn't move. He kicked it, and it was like kicking the side of the Talon; the metal groaned, but there was no give. The door was sealed.

Panic shot through him like lightning and was gone just as quickly. Nothing could hold him, not the way he felt right now; there was enough power in his body to break the Talon down around him. All he had to do was set Katera down and -

The crackle of the radio as it came to life jolted him, and he glared at it wildly as Wick's voice came through it.

"Ho, Terrence. She's fine, just a little bruised, but not for much longer unless you follow my instructions. On the starboard side of the cabin against the seam of the canopy there's a grey wire. It's a fuse line. It runs to a charge in the fuel tank. Break it as close to the rear of the cabin as you can."

Something broke within him.

Nathan tried to stop it, but this time it was far too powerful; the drug in his system, the threat of death and Wick's voice knocked him back down into the darkness, and cruel, eager hands grabbed him and held him there as Asmodeus ascended to full commanding consciousness for the last time.

Slate eyes shuttered as he dumped Kat into the pilot's seat. She let out a tiny moan, and her eyelids began to flutter. He ignored her completely and punched the radio communication button on the Talon control board with one hand and cleared the internal tint from the canopy with the other to look through the tinted shield of the fighter at the rest of the bay. What he saw made him laugh.

Jordan Windhaven was standing in the middle of the room, looking pissed off and lost.

It took him several seconds to get himself under control again, and he grinned viciously at the console of the Talon. "You sound a little worried, flicker. You sound almost...frightened." Another harsh chuckle escaped him. "What's wrong, sparky? The little matchboy wasn't supposed to make this party?" He looked at Jordan a little more closely, his voice dropping to mocking awe. "He looks pretty upset. He must be looking for you. He never was too bright." The mockery fled, replaced with a silky, poisonous near-whisper. "How does it feel, Wick? How does it feel to know that he's going to die and you're going to be the one who killed him? The dead know everything. He'll know it was you. His precious little spark...think he'll forgive you?"

The silence was instantaneous, and seemed to last forever. "...and Katera?" Her voice was rough and ragged now. He had her. It would almost be worth it, to die knowing he'd broken Wick and killed Katera for forcing Nathan into binding him. Almost. But Asmodeus wasn't going to die, not for anyone else. Christ, it felt good to make that bitch twist, though.

"She's already dead."

Am not. But you should be, Asmodeus. I thought I got rid of you.

Movement wasn't altogether too much of an option, not yet. She opened her eyes, managed to shift slightly in the chair, but the effort only rewarded her with a painful collision as she slumped to the floor. Okay. So maybe that wasn't going to work. Kat patted her leg, searching for her dagger, and her eyes widened in shocked disbelief as she stared up into Asmodeus' face, and serpentine met slate.

No. No no no, you bastard, I'm not going to die with you. I want Mode...

"Mode." She had to spit to speak, sticky half-dried blood in rivulets down her face as she licked her lips and growled. Those twins. When she got out of this-- when, not if, for Kat didn't truly believe she could die just yet-- she'd teach them their lesson. Mode would snap out of his little trance and they could kill them together. Wait... trance? Wariness overtook surprise then as she examined him closely, growing anger and fear starting to blossom as she recognized everything he'd ever fought against. He wouldn't have. She'd known he was hurt, but he wouldn't have taken that just to come get her...

Oh, but he did. You saved him from someone on the same high. But Crystal Bliss could save you this time...

Wick bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. Asmodeus wasn't going to cut the line. He was going to take Jor and everyone else out instead...Katera too. All the composure she'd been maintaining so easily had fled with Jor's arrival, and Kat's pleas left a mark. Kat...I'm...

Sorry? Not sorry. Not while she was protecting Jordan...and he was still standing there, completely unaware. She couldn't let this happen. Once again she started to reach for the intercom, and then changed her mind and keyed the sequence buttons for the launch arm.

The Engineering Bay wasn't constructed for the fighters to taxi. There simply wasn't enough space. The launch arm positioned the Talons properly and then ejected them past the open bay doors and into the small arena outside. The twins would know. The twins would leave if that launch arm picked the Talon up, and they would take Jordan with him. They wouldn't know about the explosive. She could come up with something.

This plan was not going well.

"Listen to her, Mode," she said fervently into the microphone. Two minutes and ten seconds left. Plenty of time, she told herself. Plenty of time. "Katera, if he doesn't cut that line you're both going to die. You're almost out of time."

The launch arm jerked slightly as the interior assembly shifted and then halted. Stifling another curse, Wick looked down at the display to read the error message.

BAY DOOR FAILURE - LAUNCH CANCELLED

Not...possible...

Fear was giving her more frantic strength than she normally could have mustered, and Kat grabbed Mode's leg, tugging sharply until he stared down at her once more. The cold blankness in his eyes spurned her onward, and she forced her muscles into action, standing slowly until she was beside him, her own gaze tracing quickly from his face, to the engineering bay, and back...

What the fuck was Wick's bitch doing out there?

Realization struck her. It wasn't so much trying to save herself and Mode. Wick was trying to save her boy. Anger flamed, and Kat hissed between her teeth, perverse stubbornness lighting. Would serve the pale slut right. Kat hadn't even been planning to hurt the girl from now on, not after their little scene in the library... but Wick was threatening Mode, and her blood sister had just lost whatever leanings towards a peaceful alliance Kat might have once fostered.

Still. They still needed to escape. Once they were alive and safe, they could plan revenge... but not now. Right now, Kat wanted out. No one else mattered until then.

Gabe glanced in Sol's direction, and saw her standing and reeling in her tether cable. She climbed up from the flat magnet pad onto the top of the lower arm section of the assembly, and started jogging toward him, as she looked down and to her right. She appeared to be trying to adjust her line of sight so that the fighter's door was in view also.

She was halfway across the lower arm section when the entire length shook. Gabe slid forward, and his left hand shot out and grabbed the nearest tooth on the gear beside him. It was greasy, but the pressure skins had weak magnets built into the palm-sides of the gloves. It wasn't much, but it balanced out the fluid friction of the grease on the gear, and he was able to steady himself. His right hand had a tight grip on his rifle and the tether both. He was secured by the tether, of course, but instinct was hard to fight.

With sudden realization, Gabe's head snapped right, looking down the arm assembly at Sol. The sudden jerk had taken her right off her feet, and Gabe saw her throw out her hands in front of her reflexively, to catch her. She landed hard, but did not slide, and Gabe was almost ready to let out a relieved breath he'd been holding when the arm moved.

The loading arm assembly had three major sections -- the upper arm, which attached at the shoulder to the ceiling, and at the elbow to the lower arm section. The elbow was a universal joint; it could swivel and hinge in any direction. At the wrist, a socket joint connected to a flat circular mag-pad, which picked up the fighters themselves, and held them while the arm maneuvered them to the "slingshot" mag-lev track.

Right now, the lower arm section was swinging, down and to the left, fron Gabe's vantage point, toward the fighter that contained Kat and Mode. That meant that the flat surface atop the arm that Sol had been running across was now at a roughly thirty degree angle with the upper arm, and Sol was sliding downward, fast.

Gabe lifted himself up on his hands and knees and launched forward. He wasn't thinking. There wasn't time to think. He'd rather fall with her than sit by and do nothing.

But his tether was firmly locked onto the surface of the arm, and Gabe got only a meter before it went taut and jerked him off his feet. He was up on his hands andd knees again immediately, looking down over the elbow joint at the sloping surface of the lower arm, and Sol sliding backwards away from him.

"SOL!!" Gabe shouted, but the sound was muffled by his helmet. His voice blared in his own ears, but only his own. For a brief moment, Gabe's eyes met Sol's, and the tortured expression on his face deepened as he shouted her name again.

And then Sol droped onto the top of the mag-pad and disappeared over the edge.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

Gabe reached back and pressed the button on the tether's hook, which released the magnet and started the tether reeling in again. Gabe was on his feet, and he bolted forward. He reached the elbow joint again and threw his feet out in front of him, landing on his back and sliding down the lower arm. He held the tether hook in his hand, and when he reached the wrist joint he slapped the magnetic face against the metal beneath him and grabbed hold of the tether cord so that it wouldn't play out far enough to let him go over the edge.

The sudden inertial jerk felt like it might have actually dislocated his shoulder, but Gabe was beyond noticing. He landed hard on the top of the mag-pad hard, and scrambled to the edge over under which Sol had disappeared.

There were gloved fingers on the edge.

Gabe dove foreward, and landed with his head and arms hanging out over the empty space. Sol was haning by a single hand, and the pained expression in her face told Gabe that she could not hold on any longer. She looked up at him, and her lips moved, faintly, but Gabe could not hear her.

His arm swung down and gripped hers, but it was just as she lost her grip, and for a long, painful moment her entire weight was in Gabe's rather hastily-selected grip. And then he lost his grip, and Sol fell.

Gabe wasn't even thinking when he launched himself over the side after her.

Her arm was outstetched, and as they fell through the air, Gabe gripped Sol's forearm, and she his, and even if they were still falling, they were falling together.

Gabe's tether went taught, and that socket-popping pain ran through his arm again. Gabe didn't let go this time, though. He couldn't. His hand was clamped onto Sol's arm like his very life depended upon his grip.

And it did.

Their downward force transferred itself, and they swung backwards, toward the flar underside of the mag-pad. Just a little further than that was a catwalk . . . but they were already swinging away. Sol was looking at it to, and when she looked up at him, eyes afraid and grateful and incredibly lucid, Gabe nodded. They swung away, and then back toward the catwalk, and Gabe released his grip.

Sol, grab onto that catwalk. Please.

Gabriel hung in midair by his tether over the thirty foot drop to the metal floor of the Engineering Bay. His tether was attached to the joint at the top of the mag-pad. One of his arms was curved about the tether, gloved fingers wrapped as tightly around the thin strip as the pressure suit would allow. His other arm dangled almost unnaturally limply, and his face inside the helmet was pale and constricted. He was still swinging slightly. Gabe had saved her from her own stupidity, and Gabe was trapped. Even at the full extension of his tether, he would never be able to reach the catwalk.

She was on her feet then, testing the rails, testing the catwalk anchorage and glancing to the floor below. There was nothing to break a fall, nothing to catch on to. If either of them fell now, it would be all the way down. Pressure suits were designed to handle low impact in vacuum. They would do precious little to cushion against a fall in full gee.

The railing was solid, and so was the vertical anchorage. She gave a silent prayer that most of the engineers for the IFC were like Cassius Martin and put a boot against the rail, using the vertical bar to pull herself up.

IFC pressure suits were not designed for climbing.

The catwalk wasn't designed to be easy to climb, but the horizontal stabilizing beams were only two meters above the edge of the railing, and far more in reach than the top surface of the magpad. She balanced on the railing bar and reached up to take hold of the stabilizing beam, trying to forget that there were no mats below her, no nets. Not even a cup of water, she thought crazily. I deserve a cup of water.

At full height, her fingers just brushed it, and she used the vertical anchorage to haul herself up with one hand another two inches and grasp it with the other. She transferred her other hand, and the toes of her boots brushed the railing with enough contact to let her push off and swing.

IFC pressure suits were not made for gymnastic adventures.

She fastened her fingers around the bar and got enough inertia from her swing to fold her body inward and push herself up, the bar against her abdomen, and then hooked her knee over it, twisting her body to the side and gripping with her thigh muscles to hold herself in place, locking her ankles together behind her and over the bar and reaching for the vertical bar to assist in moving slowly from her sitting position to a somewhat tenuous crouch.

The mag-pad was now at eye level, a tantalizing two feet away. There were no more bars within her reach. There was no place else for her to go. Sol didn't bother hesitating. She jumped.

She missed the groove she'd been aiming for and nearly fell to her death, clumsy gloved fingers scrabbling for purchase, but caught herself before she slid too far to make the climb. Once she was in a stable position, she activated the magnetic pads on the palms of her hands and half-climbed, half-pulled her way to the upper surface of the mag-pad.

Gabe's tether was attached to the joint here, the strip dangerously tight as it disappeared over the edge of the pad.

She slid to the edge of the platform and looked over, into Gabe's upturned faceplate, but the light was creating a glare, and she could not see his face. Her fingers could just touch his, but no more. She couldn't reach him. With growing panic, she examined the tether's condition. They were tested at 600 pounds, and this one looked like it wasn't having any problems. Maybe she could pull him up.

Setting her boots hard against the surface of the mag-pad as near the edge as she dared, she crouched and took hold of the tether. Gabe swayed sickeningly below her, and she cringed and pulled as hard as she could.

He came up almost a foot, but not enough to grab onto the mag-pad, and he bounced a little as she put him back down. Sol could have screamed in frustration. He was close, so close...

Her eyes widened, and she looked at her own tether compartment. These were made for use in null-g situations, but they had been tested to sustain weight at varying lengths of the tether. The retraction system had to be tough. She hoped it was tough enough.

She yanked a length of her tether out of the compartment at her waist, tied it as tightly as she could around the end of Gabe's tether closest to the mag-pad joint and then engaged the magnet on her own, locking it into place. She stood next to the joint, sealed her boots to the mag-pad and attached her right hand to the joint. The left she moved to activate her suit radio. "Retract your tether," she said roughly. There was a pause. He didn't know what she'd done; as far as he knew, his tether was the only thing holding him. Even if he had known, there was no guarantee it would work. If he disengaged his tether and this didn't work -

The heavy metal magnet at the end of Gabe's line hit the surface of the pad with a metallic thunk and there was a violent jerk as the knot in her tether caught the magnet and held it in place. Gabe would not fall - yet. The tethers were taut, and she could feel the faint vibration of the retraction motor as the tether tried to reel itself in. The vibration lasted almost eight seconds before it coughed and died.

Gabe's hand was on the edge of the mag-pad.

His breathing was ragged, his heart was racing, and his so-recently good shoulder was now screaming in pain, and Gabe worried he might actually have dislocated it. But for right now, right this moment, he didn't move at all. He just held onto Sol.

He pulled back only enough for his faceplate to clear hers, and then pressed them together. "Thank you," he said.

Inside her mask, he could see her eyes well up with tears, and she leaned her head in closer so her forehead rested against the transparent plastic as tears started rolling down her cheeks. Gabe lifed his hand automatically, to gently brush them away, but his hand bumped clumsily into her helmet, and at the impact Sol seemed to snap back to awareness and quickly blinked away her tears. Her own hands came up reflexively to brush uselessly at her faceplate, but she forced them back down and turned away, taking the few steps to the edge of the pad, where her rifle was balanced rather precariously after its long slide down the lower arm section. Gabe watched her for a moment, and then turned to find where he'd dropped his. It was lying near the center of the pad, where the wrist joint attached the pad to the lower arm. He must have dropped it when he dove to grab hold of Sol. He lifted it, and turned toward Sol, who was holding her own rifle and looking very shaken.

Gabe crossed to her, and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Let's get down to the catwalks," he said, touching his helmet to hers. "If Wick's going to see us then she already has, and in any case there isn't much she can do at this point. And at least the catwalks don't move." He soke the last sentence with a soft smirk, and Sol smiled, if half-heartedly.

Sol went first, because she knew what she was doing, and Gabe would do much better if he could see it done first. After securing her magnet to the curving side of the mag-pad, she leapt out onto the horizontal stabilizing beam, grabbing hold of the vertical anchor to steady herself. Gabe noticed that she had aimed her jump so that the vertical bar would be on her left side, in spite of the fact that she was right-handed. And Gabe knew why. It was his right shoulder that he'd injured. She knew that what he saw, he could imitate. So she was showing him just how to get down without using his right arm.

Gabe allowed himself a little smile while he watched her slid down the vertical bar to the railing below, and then hop down onto the catwalk floor. She looked up at him, waiting silently, with a tension in her stance that suggested readiness to move very fast should something go wrong.

Gabe detatched her magnet from the side of the mag-pad, and affixed his own while her cord reeled itself in. Gabe took a deep breath, and then leapt out onto the beam. He landed clumsily, and one foot slipped, but he caught himself on the vertical anchor and steadied quickly. He could see Sol let out a long breath below. Gabe slid down the anchor without incident, and then they were standing together on the catwalk.

Safe.

No, Gabe thought. Not safe yet.

He wanted to get out of here. He'd been willing to save Kat and Mode, but not at the risk of his own life, and certainly not at the risk of Sol's. This mission had gone seriously sour, and the only practical course of action was to abort now.

However, the only way out was through the doors on the main deck. In order to leave, Gabe and Sol were going to have to climb down and sneak past the twins and Jordan Windhaven, and that was assuming Kat and Mode stayed in the fighter. And Gabe didn't want to have to face those Creche twins on level ground. The only logical thing to do was to finish the job.

Gabe touched his helmet to Sol's. "Let's finish this. I'll set up so that I have the fighter door and the area around the twins' cover in my line of sight. Make sure you get both Windhave and the fighter door in yours. If we shoot before they're all out in the open, those still behind cover will stay there. Our highest priority has to be Mode, since he's going to take the most ammo. Once he's in the open, we can't risk waiting long, so once we both have a shot we're going to have to bring him down no matter who else is up. Our next priority will be Kat, because once we bring down her boy she isn't likely to listen to reason. Hopefully we won't need to tranq the others."

"How about it, Wick? Anything?" There was a pause, and then Wick's voice again, even less in control than before.
"Nathan-"

"It's Asmodeus, sweetheart. But I'll make you a deal. I'll break your little fuse, since you were so nice to tell me about it..." and he reached over and casually ripped it out from the wall of the Talon, the wire snapping like spiderweb under his strength. "And in return, I'll take that whole Jordan problem off your hands. He's a big strong boy, Wick. I'm sure he can take care of himself. And if you ask me really nicely, I'll save you a bit to remember him by."

"NO! Please, Nathan, don't hu-"

He cut the connection and turned on Kat and yanked her to him with one hand as he braced and kicked the door with his left foot. It creaked, but did not give way. He kicked it again, and again. Nothing could withstand him, nothing could remain intact that he wished to destroy while this elixir was in his blood. Nathan had wasted so much of his time; if he'd had this at Charybdis, nothing would have touched him. Nothing would have gotten close enough. He could have killed them all.

One final kick, and the door tore itself from the weld and its remaining hinge with a metal shriek and landed three meters from the Talon. There was immediate activity in the room, and Jor stared as he took Kat and threw her bodily towards the startled man. She hit him and knocked him down, but he was already out of the Talon and poised over him. A single blow across the face was all it took to knock him out, blood flowing freely from his nose and mouth as his jaw fractured underneath the impact.

Everything seemed...slowed down. Kat was just beginning sit up. So slow, everything but him was so slow...

He jerked Kat to her feet and bolted for the door, dragging her with him. Running steps made him stop, and he shoved Katera away towards the wall and ducked in time to avoid Donovan's initial attack.

Oh, Wick, you should have known better. Now I get to break all your toys at the same time, and where does that leave you, flicker? Who's going to save you after you sent them all to die?

They attacked, as only two identical souls could.

Together they kicked out in a mirrored assault, Donovan aiming for Asmodeus' front, Dominic for his back. Their bodies spun in a blur, but with the same otherworldly movement, their enemy smirked and leapt up between them, arms shooting out as he flipped and struck them both in one fluid motion. They kicked out again before he even landed, whiplash strikes catching him soundly, and none had time to even blink before Asmodeus hissed and spun away, only to fly at them again.

Attacks were too quick to be evaded, and yet they were, unimaginable ducks and dodges as Asmodeus backflipped in a twist that looked as if his hands never once touched the ground. Dominic lashed out high, Donovan low, both caught unexposed as Mode rolled and flew to the offensive, his fists forcing the air from them in twin gasps. Again it seemed pain remained unnoticed as their synchronized blows forced Mode to his knees, blood on fair skin and blood on dark faces as he whirled, knocking them both to the ground.

Barely a heartbeat passed before they vaulted up onto their feet and were battling once more. The twins pressed their combined strength, moving too swiftly and striking too rapidly for even Asmodeus to avoid all of their hits. But he too was effective in his hellish grace, and Dominic buckled under a kick that caught him square in the chest, staggering and falling before his fury stabbed through and his eyes widened in horror. It took only a second as Donovan glanced in his direction, but that second seemed an eternity as Asmodeus crept behind him and twisted with a furious motion.

No...

Donovan sank lifelessly to the floor.

Donovan... my brother, my twin, my blood...

A voice screamed "Angel!" and someone flew by him.

You cannot die. We are Creche.

Dante threw herself to the floor beside Donovan, hands cupping his face as she leaned down to kiss him and cried out again, looking up to stare at Dominic with joyous pain in her quicksilver eyes.

You're alive. I know you're alive. I know.

Dominic's lips moved in a macabre semblance of a smile.

We shall live and he shall die, my kin...

He was moving again before his tears even touched the ground.

This was what he was meant for.

It was like being back in the BattleRoom...but it wasn't the innocent joy of flight and control any longer. It was bloodlust and fury, the pure joy of satisfying his need for violence, secure in the fact that nothing else could be done. There were no other options; he'd made sure of that. He'd made certain, in the brief flashes of control he'd had, certain that this final dance would come, and these Creche twins were far better than he'd given them credit for.

Their form was exquisitely tailored to suit two fighters. All three of them were bloody and sweating when he landed the kick against Dominic's chest, knocking him back with near bone-crunching force and causing Donovan to look away for a single moment. Asmodeus needed even less. His hands caught the man behind the head and underneath the chin and he twisted viciously.

*crack*

Donovan made no sound. There was only a gentle exhale of air as he tumbled to the ground inert, his eyes closed. Asmodeus didn't even bother to look at the fallen twin, just turned to smirk at Dominic, when the last voice in the world he wanted to hear rang in his head and made him fall back a step despite himself.

"Angel!" Dante rushed into the room, streaking past Dominic in a flurry of red curls, her eyes solid silver as she turned Donovan over, the anguish on her face and in her eyes freezing him where he stood as the nearly extinguished silver-eyed paladin rose to meet his lover's siren. She'd beaten him, rejected him, spurned him completely, and he would have come through hell itself if she'd called him, just to look into those violet eyes and see love one final time.

Instead, he came through Asmodeus.

You think you can take me, cherub?

Anjel...

Steel eyes drank Dante in, the waterfall of red curls, the pain in her features, the shimmer of her eyes, quicksilver in rage and fear for him, for him...

...is it?

...for...Donovan?

Angel looked away. He saw Dominic coming for him, but time was far too slow for it to matter to him now. Dante was lost to him. She loved Donovan, and the demon just dropped his broken form at her feet. There was nothing left, as he had known before. It was time to finish the task he'd asked of Sol. It was time to end this. He began to kneel.

Savage conflict tore him from within, and he staggered instead, blood dripping across his upper lip and down his face as the demon fought to live, to breathe, to tear through the fallen Angel and resume the fight, but for each flare of molten resistance Asmodeus could conjure, Angel had pure, cleansing ice. The demon's maelstrom of fury grew smaller and weaker as Angel surrounded him, sliced into him with the chill indifference and quiet longing for death that Dante's final betrayal had left him with.

Did he really want to die? Did she really mean so little to him that he was willing to give up life, regardless of her love? Fear twisted with sorrow, and she barely managed a tearless sob before the web of weakness broke and rage bled through. Possessive love and hate began to taunt her, and as much as she tried to ignore its truth, it refused to be silenced.

He may want to die, it whispered, but you're not going to let him. You can hurt him, beat him, hate him for giving up like this, but you will not stand by and let him leave you so easily. No one deserts Katera Quistin. No one, not even Mode. Get up. Get up right now and slice that twin, before he kills Mode. Get up.

If I can't kill you, no one will. You're mine.

Her dagger lay on the floor nearby, and she knew what she had to do. It took painful effort to stand, her bloody little hand wrapped around the hilt of her weapon with deadly readiness, and as Kat launched herself toward Dominic she knew that, for the first time, she would kill for another. She would kill for Mode.

She vaulted onto Dominic's back, one hand digging razor claws into his shoulder, the other holding the edge of her dagger to his throat. He growled and moved, testing her, but the answering flick of the blade proved her resolve. Mode glanced up to meet her gaze, thunderstorm granite against golden emerald, and Kat let her eyes speak for her.

I love you.

Why had all this come about? Why had Wick tricked them, why had the twins attacked him, why hadn't they all just left them alone?! Kat was tired of all the violence and murder and hate. She just wanted Mode, alone, safe. Where no one could harm them again, and they could love in peace.

"I'm sorry, Dominic." There was nothing to consider; Mode was in danger. She slid her dagger against Dominic's throat, blood wetting her hands as he choked, and Kat sighed as he slowly collapsed into a heap at her feet.

I killed to prove my love to you. Now prove yourself and come with me, Mode. We can walk away.

The sound of a rifle shot broke through her thoughts, and she stared as Mode glared down at the dart that had appeared in his chest and hissed.

No...

He plucked it from his skin and struggled to his feet, looking around wildly until he seemed to spot something above them. Then another dart hit him, and another... four, five, six and more as he staggered and swayed and slumped to the floor. Time froze, and Kat stopped breathing as her vision blurred, heart giving a painful wrench that finally forced a strangled gasp. For an instant, she stood at the gates of hell and could not fight back; stared down into Mode's eyes and could not move; and she knew then what it must feel to die.

You can't... you can't leave me here alone! You can't, please, you can't!

She did not know that she began to scream.

It was a tortured shriek; a sound of heartbreak and sorrow and loss, of rage and disbelief and pain. It was wild, animal... inhuman. She cried out in utter anguish, knowing that it was too late, and her sacrifices had all been in vain. But she wouldn't let him leave her, not while she had breath in her body and blood in her veins. She would make him fight, and he would live. He had to. Kat could not live without him.

You can't die, because I need you!

"MODE!"

He sighted along the barrel, trying to follow the target as he darted about, fighting viciously with the Creche tiwns. Gabe couldn't get a clear line of sight. Mode was just too fast. Even leading his target, he did not know how fast these darts would move, and could not be sure he would hit. And Mode's movements were . . . inhumanly fast. It was like the worthless partical physics Gabe was "studying" in his current science course. In the time it would take Gabe to register where Mode was, line up his sights, and squeeze the trigger, Mode would already be somewhere else.

Mode was Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle made flesh.

Gabe watched helpless as the target took hold of one of the twins' head and twisted. There was nothing he could do. From his vantage point, the prone Creche was in between Gabe and Mode, and from what he could guess without actually letting his eyes leave the target to trace the line of sight, the same was true for Sol.

Then something happened. Dante, their former commander, came running in, and dropped to the fallen Creche's side. And Mode held still. Gabe sighted along the barrel, and adjusted slightly when Mode fell to his knees. Gabe didn't question what was happening. He had his shot. He was prepared to take it.

And then the other Creche stepped into Gabe's line of sight, blocking off Mode completely. Gabe swore under his breath. He'd waited too long.

He didn't even notice that Kat had gotten back to her feet until she was behind the still-standing Creche. The figures were so small that Gabe almost didn't see what had happened. She had put and arm over his shoulder, and then drew it sharply to the side, and the Creche collapsed. The blade in Kat's hand gleamed where it wasn't covered with blood.

But she wasn't standing in Gabe's way. Gabe had a clear line of sight.

Gabe took the shot.

He aimed slightly above Mode's head, and fired twice before he heard the complementary chirping of Sol's rifle firing also. Gabe Gabe fired two, three, four shots, taking aim and squeezing the trigger over and over again. Still Mode did not fall. Gabe fired his last dart, and reached for one of the clips he'd stuffed into his pocket earlier. His hand met only the thick material of the pressure skin. He swore again, and was up on his knees reaching for the pressure seal in back before he saw that down on the floor, Mode had fallen. Kat's howl could be heard even from Gabe's position.

He quickly replayed the past minute, and counted Sol's shots. Three. Sol had fired off three shots. Gabe slapped his hand to the button at his waist. "I'm out, Sol. You'll have to hit Quistin."

Assuming, of course, that he would stand still long enough for them to do it.

Watching the incredibly display of form and strength on the floor below her as the twins fought the new Jax, Sol realized how lucky she'd been in her previous fight with Katera's companion.

The twins were like one person in two bodies. One defended while the other attacked. One was forced to retreat and the other intercepted and drove forward. They were all moving far too quickly for her to hope to hit one of them by design. If she did succeed in making a successful shot, it would be entirely by chance, and chances were two of three that she'd hit one of the twins...and despite their evident skill, they were having trouble enough of their own.

Mode was light, reflecting from each of the twins as they took their turns trying to hit him and dodging his blows, moving back and forth between them like a crazed ballet dancer, avoiding the unavoidable by the narrowest of margins, falling backwards and wrenching himself upright with dizzying precision. Gravity didn't seem to apply; he had no up, equally comfortable at any orientation, and as a result, there was no down...he could not fall.

Yet the Creche twins were too talented for him to avoid entirely, and his pale skin was streaked with sweat and blood that showed up clear and crimson. Her cellmates were equally battered. It was the difference in their faces that set them apart; Donovan and Dominic wore identically blank expressions, cold analytical thought governing movements so familiar they were second nature as they attacked. Asmodeus had fury instead of focus, but his eyes were too wide, his skin even paler beneath the blood than she remembered.

She thought she almost had a shot once, but the split second it took her to verify it erased her chance, and the whirlwind below continued uninterrupted. The twins were tightening their attack radius, trying to pin him in with some small degree of success, when Mode kicked out suddenly and knocked one of the twins back almost ten feet. The other flicked his head to look at him automatically, and small painful exhalation escaped her as Mode unhesitatingly reached out and broke his neck.

Sol wanted to close her eyes, but they weren't responding. She watched when Dante rushed in and fell beside what must have been Donovan's body and saw Dominic lunge at Mode...and then Mode, bleeding and on his knees as Kat pounced on Dominic's back. She had a clear shot. She could have taken Kat out then, but Gabe had said Mode first. Mode, who was kneeling on the floor when Dominic jerked and fell forward as Kat stepped away from him, blood on her dagger blade.

Dominic did not move again.

Her heart went into fervent denial of the events she had just witnessed, and she heard the high-pitched clipped noise of Gabe firing the tranquilizer. Gabe's first dart hit him, and Mode looked at it incredulously, removed it and stood, his eyes scanning their area. Another dart hit him as those cloudy grey eyes found hers. Surprised anger and something very like rueful acceptance in his gaze registered in her mind's eye as she began to fire her own weapon.

He didn't get a chance to pull out the second, and Sol stopped firing when he began to waver. Seven darts dotted his uniform jacket, center mass. Seven? One might have been ineffective. Two was unsafe, three a good bet. Four might have been dangerous, even for Mode.

Eight consecutive tranquilizer darts was lethal, not dangerous.

She'd given him what he'd wanted after all.

Kat screamed as he fell, falling at his side and ripping the darts from his body, as if it would make a difference. Her dagger lay forgotten on the floor, and as she raised Mode's fingertips with her own bloody little hands, Sol started shaking. Mode reached up to touch Kat's cheek before his eyes fell shut, the rest of his body going limp as the tranquilizer took effect. His heart wound stop, his breathing would halt; it would be like going to sleep.

No, no, I didn't want it to be this way, we were supposed to save you...

Gabe's voice sounded in her head, confined and magnified by the helmet. "I'm out, Sol. You'll have to hit Quistin."

It was pity, not vengeance, that made Sol hope that the two darts she shot into Katera's shoulder would be enough, but she knew it wouldn't be. Katera would only go to the infirmary. Alone.

Below, the doors opened, and Wick dashed toward Jordan Windhaven's prone form with only a momentary glance at the Creche with the slit throat. Gabe shook his head in silence. They were pawns to her, those twins. She used them for her own purposes, and didn't even care what had happened to them in the process. It made him very sorrowful, because once, Gabe had been like that. He'd used Mai as bait to draw Kat into his trap, and he'd never once worried what might happen to the girl. He'd been lucky -- nothing had happened. Mai Li Zhiyuan walked away that day unharmed. It was Gabe that had been bloodied and broken at the end of the day.

And that did not bother Gabe, because he had deserved it. Better him than Mai.

Now this Moira Callenstrom, this Wick, was playing the puppeteer, playing the general sending her troops off to die so that she might profit. And Gabe had nothing but contempt for her.

Sol hadn't moved from where she lay on the metal grating. Gabe knelt beside her, and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. The gesture was somewhat clumsy because of the gloves, but Sol lifted her head slowly, and Gabe could see fresh tearstreaks down her face.

So much compassion. How many would cry for their own enemies, Sol? How many would shed tears at their own victory, because they know what it costs their opponent? I want to be like you, Sol. I want to be that kind of person. I want to have a heart like yours.

But for now, I am content to simply be a part of yours. That is glory and virtue enough, for me. For you could not love me if you did not see at least a little of that good inside you within me as well.

Gabe helped her to her feet, and walked in silence to the nearest of the ladders, and descended. Gabe strode toward the group, his rifle pointed downward, but not necessarily at ease. They didn't know how many darts he had, after all.

It hurt like hell, but Gabe used his bad arm to reach up and release the pressure seal on his helmet. He pulled it over his head, and tucked it under his arm. Perhaps the pain in his shoulder showed on his face, or perhaps it didn't -- now was not the time to worry about such things.

"Iddantel," Gabe called out, as he moved closer, "you need to get medics, quickly. Not one of these men is dead yet, but all three may be soon if we do not act quickly."

He didn't know if he would be obeyed. He could only hope that the situation was urgent enough for Dante to ignore the fact that this was one of her own soldiers giving her an order. Once she was gone, and help was on the way, he could think of some way of putting together a story that would put these fallen demons back in their cages. Wick would get away with it, and the Creches allso. That was fine with Gabe. They weren't threats to him.

Gabe wasn't concerned with justice. Just an end to the bloodshed.

The whisper of breath between his lips was her salvation, and Dante held onto Donovan as tightly as she could without injuring him further, willing him to live, willing him to awaken and say her name. Ice crystallized around her, around him, a solid frozen shell as she raised her head to stare at Nathan with glacier mercury eyes.

You kill everything I love. You killed yourself, killed me, and now tried to kill him... if he dies then everything is gone, and if I ever loved you it will all be forgotten. I will make you be forgotten.

Mode fell to his knees in silent supplication, but she was blind to the Angel within. Kat drew a bloody line across Dominic's throat, but she was blind to the blood and the demon who screamed as Mode collapsed to the floor, pinpricked and dying. Wick rushed in, frantic and tearing across the bay towards Jor, but Dante was blind to her pain. The world could have blown away in dust, the stars disappeared and the heavens lost, and she still would have been blind to it all. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered.

Except Donovan.

"Iddantel, you need to get medics, quickly. Not one of these men is dead yet, but all three may be soon if we do not act quickly." It took a long moment for Gabe's words to register, but when they did, the effect was instantaneous. Dante placed a hand on Donovan's chest, holding that heartbeat in her palm, and was up and running toward the emergency all-call switch near the bay doors. She didn't need the instrument to break the glass. One second, and she slammed her first through, blood running in little slices that made no difference as she hit the switch and an alarm began to sound.

Now would come the soldiers, the officers, the doctors and witnesses. They would see the aftermath of what Dante hoped was their final war, the final bloodshed that had started two long years ago, when she first walked into her army barracks and spotted Nathan Terrence. She couldn't change the past, and didn't know if she would have turned away the moment those smoke eyes touched hers... but it wasn't too late to secure the future, and it would be Donovan, not Angel, in those times to come. And he would live to see the stars with her.

She ran back to Donovan, if only to see him breathing once more, before moving to Dominic. He was face down in a pool of blood, and she might have cried out or hesitated had there been no feeling left beneath the ice. Dante rolled him onto his back, appalled by his wound and expecting no life, when he moaned quietly and opened his eyes, just briefly, to meet hers.

The question was unspoken, yet she answered. "He's alive. So are you."

Dominic gasped as blood bubbled, and was unconscious once more. She didn't care to look toward Mode, nor Kat, the two slumped over one another. Jor... Wick was with Jor, and she could have cared less. Dante stood slowly, fire curls framing her pale face, and with quicksilver apathy in her eyes she met Gabe and Sol's gazes, and spoke with the quiet intensity of voice that needed no volume to carry.

He was going to have to trust in these others. Gabe hated it, but it had to be done. "Remember," he said, addressing Dante, because she seemed to be the only one in any condition to listen, "the truth will get them all sent away. The right lies will put the blame where it is truly deserved."

The bodies of the twins lay sprawled on the floor, Dominic in a pool of his own blood, Donovan pale and silent as Dante huddled over him. Somehow, she'd known what she'd find. When plans went awry, it was never by just a little, was it? Somehow, Nathan had killed them both. How?

Katera rested on Nathan's prone form, her cheek against his chest, both of them unconscious. The tranquilizer darts still lodged in the back of her shoulder. Kitten must have gotten free. Wick wondered what she would have done if Jor was in danger in a similar situation. Had done. She had sacrificed the Creche twins. She should have sacrificed herself instead, once she saw Jordan enter. Maybe she could have done something to save them. They'd been prepared to fight Nathan, not Katera. How the hell had she gotten her dagger back?

Tranquilizers?

Then she saw Jordan, and her mind shut down as she knelt by his side.

Breathing. He was breathing, and there wasn't enough left in Wick to cry. He was out cold, but there didn't appear to be any serious injuries to his body. His jaw was swollen, possibly broken. Nathan had been in a hurry. Jor would be alright.

Until the next time.

No. No next time. This ends here.

Her peripheral vision registered two figures in pressure suits climbing down from the catwalks. They carried rifles. They did not approach her, and Wick did not attempt to identify them. She didn't even wonder who they were. They passed out of her sight.

The warning lights began to flicker again. Someone had pressed the all-call button. MPs soon. Maybe she should have tried to move him...but he needed to go to the infirmary. She would tell them whatever they needed to hear to know Jor hadn't been a part of it. She would tell them everything. She would tell him everything, if they gave her enough time.

Jor should have been dead twice tonight, and twice it would have been her fault.

She put her hand out over his forehead, but didn't have the courage to touch him, to brush his hair back. She didn't deserve this. He wouldn't want it. If she was still there when he woke up, he would know everything there was to know, and then he could decide for himself. She was far too selfish to leave him without giving him the choice.

Wick didn't want to die.

There were voices behind her, but she didn't record more than the cadence. The doors opened and closed. Someone leaving.

She remained by his side until the MPs arrived. They were loud and rough and abrasive, but none of them touched her. The medics were next, making a cursory inspection of the fallen students before moving them. One of them approached her, and she pulled her eyes from Jor only when he asked her if she was alright as he began to examine Jor. She met his gaze long enough for him to flinch and then focused on her match once again.

It was empty today. The Pilot AIT instructor, Jason Miles, always had the previous year's graduates, still waiting on IFC for the next Earthbound transport, come back to provide the new students with a little presentation. Right now, each of the twenty fighters that usually populated the bay was out pulling high-gee dogfighting maneuvers undert he skillful control of those graduated pilots, to the absolute terror of the new students strapped into the auxiliary seats. Miles had once confided to Hale that the first day of each new year was always his favorite.

Miles and his students, new and graduated both, weren't scheduled to return for another half hour. Hale had the bay to himself.

His own students began to arrive. First Jackson, followed by Kinoshita and Thoth, then Wells and Lawrence. Solenis and Gabriel entered with twenty-one seconds left in their three minutes. Rabin entered thirteen seconds late.

Hale stood motionless in the center of the bay floor, hands folded behind his back, face stoic. His body was held absolutely still but for his eyes, which moved slowly over the faces of these eight new students. Ten years prior, when they'd been lifted up off the Earth and sealed inside Battle School, they were nothing more than clay. Those ten years had shaped them, molded them, transformed them into what the IF wanted them to be.

And Hale was the kiln.

Not all these ceramic soldiers would survive the kiln. Any slight imperfection, any little weakness just beneath the surface, and they would crack, split, even explode. And all that would be left would be very durable shards, for the IF to grind into powder and rehydrate into an inferior form of the clay they'd started with. Clay like that had its place, but never anywhere important. Clay that cracked once was never the same again.

But the clay that survived the kiln came out in just the right shape, and came out solid. Nothing could shape them after that, nothing short of grinding them down like the broken clay. And grinding down a graduate of Hale's program was a very difficult thing to do.

Let us start the heat, children. Let us see who will survive the fire.

"Mr. Rabin," said Hale. The student's eyes focused on Hale, and a rather sluggish salute was presented. No verbal response. "Step forward, soldier," Hale ordered.

Rabin did. His eyes were defiant. He was daring Hale to reprimand him. There was anger behind those eyes, a fury that wasn't new, but wasn't terribly muted either. Anger over the reassignment so close to graduation, no doubt. Hale's files were detailed.

"You were late, Mr. Rabin."

The man did not reply.

Hale looked to the other students. "I would like to pose a hypothetical situation for you all. What if I had been waiting here with a silenced pistol and had shot you all one at a time as you came through the door?"

There was silence. The students shifted slightly, and one or two glanced to see if anyone else appeared to have some answer.

"Mr. Lawrence?"

Lawrence, tried to look calm. Seemed to be trying to come up with an answer, but could not, and instead of attempting to make excuses, the boy simply bit the bullet and answered the true answer. "Sir, I was not anticipating any attack, sir."

Hale regarded the boy. "Well at least you aren't a liar, Mr. Lawrence. You should be proud. You are a very honest corpse."

The boy hadn't been expecting to get off without some ridicule, so he didn't look particularly phased.

"Mr. Rabin here, on the other hand, was late. And I've no doubt that this is because Mr. Rabin was carefully casing the situation before committing to action. He only entered once he'd made absolutely certain that I wasn't armed. Isn't that right, Mr. Rabin."

There was a pause. "Sir, yes sir."

Hale almost smiled. Almost. "A breathing liar and an honest corpse together in the same room. How fascinating. Mr. Rabin, since you are obviously the careful and methodical sort, perhaps you can explain to the group how these less careful students might have checked the room beforehand."

Rabin could clearly see that he was being played with, and thus did not reply.

Hale half-turned, toward a pile of gear that looked very much like a disassembled flash suit, except slightly less bulky. There were more along the wall. "No? Then perhaps we'll give some of the other students a chance to learn on their own, with your expert assistance, of course. Put on that suit there."

Rabin glared silently before turning and stepping to the pile, dressing quickly.

"That suit is our EVA combat environment. You'll all be using it extensively this first semester. Don't forget the pressure seals, Mr. Rabin, I assure you that depressurization is a terribly painful way to die. Mr. Gabriel, you are a careful, methodical sort, are you not?"

Gabriel, the copper-haired boy standing near the end of the row, did not appear at all distressed by the fact that he had been called upon. "Yes," he replied, simply. Hale noted the hardening in the eyes of several other students -- Rabin especially -- at the arrogance of his answer.

"Excellent. Take this flash pistol, and an EVA suit, and leave the room. Wait ten minutes, and then come back in. Rabin will be waiting somewhere to shoot you. I want you to shoot him first."

Gabriel promptly began dressing into one of the suits near the wall. He was much faster at it, and not simply because of the efficiency of his movements. He dressed into the suit as though he'd only left Battle School yesterday. He finished before Rabin, and left with the flash pistol, after glancing only briefly at Solenis.

Rabin finished. Hale handed him a pistol of his own. "Select your position, Mr. Rabin. The rest of you, dress into those suits, because in five minutes I am going to depressurize this bay."

While the other students dressed into their EVA suits, Rabin climed up the ladder near the back of the room to the catwalks, and selected a spot near the room's center, beneath the massive loading arm assembly. He pointed his pistol, and waited. As he'd promised, Hale punched the bay door control without checking to see who was suited up after exactly five minutes. All were, however, suited and waiting.

Ten minutes came and went. No Gabriel. The boy finally entered after almost fifteen, flash pistol attached to his belt. He walked in calmly and stopped in his place beside Solenis, standing at attention.

There was confusion among several of the other students, but Hale simply watched Gabriel. Then, after a moment, he took the control unit off his belt, and turned to where Rabin lay on the catwalk, still aiming at the door, the absence of his suit's lights telling the other students that Rabin was already frozen. They looked at Gabe, and at his gun, perplexed.

"Good, Mr. Gabriel. Who can tell me how it was done?"

The students glanced at one another again. Hale didn't bother calling on anyone that wouldn't know. Rabin would know, but Rabin was only now dethawing. Kinoshita would have known, surely, but Hale was still studying her for the time being. That left Solenis, for the expression, or lack there of, on the girl's face clearly stated that she knew. "Enlighten us, Ms. Solenis."

"The Command Room," Solenis replied, simply.

The other students turned to look up at the window high above, overlooking the bay.

"Hey," Wells said, with a furrowed brow. "That was cheating. That glass is bulletproof. If it had been a real gun it wouldn't have gone through."

"And was it a real gun, Mr. Wells?" Hale asked.

The boy didn't respond.

"No. It was not. Mr. Gabriel followed all the rules given him."

Rabin reached the bay floor, and was clearly not in a good mood.

"You may take your place, Mr. Rabin. Mr. Gabriel has taught you all your first lesson. There are no rules but those you make for yourself. You may thank him later. Now, follow me, we are going to take a stroll ouside."

Hale pressed the door control again, and the massive metal shield closed over the craggy landscape outside. The students assembled again, and once the bay was repressurized, they were allowed to dress out of the suits.

When they formed up again, Hale said, "You have fifteen minutes to shower and report to your first class. Dismissed."

Sol was waiting for him. She'd already dropped her suit in the bin, but hadn't yet gone to the showers. Gabe approached, and gave her a quiet smile. They were good at this. They didn't like it, and they didn't want it, but they were damn good at it. They didn't say anything; there wasn't anything to be said. Sol slipped her hand into Gabe's, and they headed for the door, dropping Gabe's suit in the bin on the way. They would head for the showers, and then for the room, and with this day and a half off they would make up for lost time. Gabe wanted to play chess. Gabe wanted to read books. Gabe wanted to make love. Gabe wanted to do all the things that had gotten shoved aside because this AIT had stolen away all their free time.