“I hope you’re right, baby. I really do.”

***

The shower nozzles pumped water out at a velocity that pummeled Mellanie’s skin almost to the point of being painful. She didn’t even have to turn around; the water came at her from all sides, the nozzles sweeping up and down. Foam ran down her body as scented soap was mixed in by the management array. Cooler water flushed it away, its temperature invigorating her after the luxuriant heat. The water turned off, and warm dry air gushed out of vents all around the big marbled cubical, snatching the moisture away from her skin and blowing her hair about.

She wrapped a huge purple and cream towel around herself and went back out into the office suite’s bedroom. Michelangelo was still lying on the big bed. He watched her lazily as she began getting dressed.

“Damn, I’m glad you defected from Baron,” he said. “You’d be wasted on her, she’s a cold bitch.”

Mellanie flashed him a naughty grin. “Whereas we have a deep and meaningful relationship.”

“You’re good in bed. We both know that. A real turn-on.”

“You’re a good teacher.”

“Yeah?”

It was almost as if he were the bashful one, seeking reassurance. “I keep coming back, don’t I?” she said. “And we both know I’m doing well enough for the show that I don’t actually have to anymore. But I like it, I like it a lot.”

There was a growling sound from the bed. He rolled off the mattress and pushed his long highlighted hair back. Mellanie couldn’t help the way her eyes lingered on his body. It was like a youthful Apollo had returned to walk among the mortals once more.

“Hell…I don’t understand you,” he complained. “What is it you really want?”

She grinned as she struggled into her asymmetric top. “Your job.”

“You know ordinarily if some intern your age said that I’d just laugh it off as pitifully naïve. But with you it’s truly not funny.”

“Be careful whose face you tread on today, because it could be the one you’re fetching coffee for tomorrow.”

“Duly noted.”

“Admit it, I did good on the lifeboat story, didn’t I?”

“I’ve never seen a senior Halgarth so defensive. Congratulations.”

“Black, one sugar.”

“You’re not that good,” he said with a scowl. “Not yet.”

“I know. I want to get the Sheldon lifeboats. Now that would be a real break while we all wait for the starships to come back from Hell’s Gateway.”

He gave her a pensive look. “How’s the other big story coming on?”

“The New York finance scandal?” she said with a sigh. “Not so hot. The leads are all dead and cold. Besides, the authorities are showing an interest. Where’s the impact of breaking something the rest of the pack all know about? Exclusivity is our goal and god, as you so rightly told me when I started here. See, I haven’t forgotten.”

“Yeah.” He nodded slowly.

“What?” She knew that reluctance; he hated giving away any advantage.

“Please?”

“All right, quick tutorial, you’re not thinking this problem through properly. You’re trying to track down three fairly successful lawyers who’ve been involved in some dodgy finance deals, right?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t telling anyone on the show about the Starflyer. Not yet. That would land her a show of her own, probably a studio of her own.

“You’re trying to chase after them. Wrong. That’s what the police will be doing; but they’re fugitives, they’ll be ready for that and take care to cover their tracks. Any decent hunter will come at their prey from the direction they least expect. So what you should have done is ask where would they go.” He gave her an expectant look.

“A crime syndicate that can protect them?”

“Close. You need a place where you can change your identity completely. And I don’t just mean some decent data registry alterations, a memory erasure, and a new face. If they’ve ripped off as much as you say they have, the Financial Regulation Directorate will chase them right across the Commonwealth for the next ten centuries. They need to be free to fritter away their new wealth in perfect safety without spending the rest of their lives looking over their shoulder. For that you need a lot more than a bit of cellular reprofiling. Their DNA will be on record, the FRD will always be able to identify them. So the thing they need above all else is a baseline DNA modification.”

“What’s that?”

“Damn, I never know if you’re taking the piss or not. That is a treatment similar to rejuvenation, when the clinic alters your DNA in every cell. Permanently. The person who comes out of the tank is literally not the same person who went in. Once you’ve had that done, along with your new birth certification, a decent back history, and all your desourced money, you’re home free. You can live where you want, even next door to your old family, and they’ll never know.”

“Where would they go for that?”

“Unless you own your own biogenetic medical facility, there’s only one place: Illuminatus. There’s a lot of very specialized, ultra-discreet clinics there which offer such a service.”

“I need to go there.”

“I just knew you’d say that. Even if you did, you haven’t got a clue where the clinics are. They don’t exactly advertise on the unisphere.”

“I’ll find them.”

Michelangelo gave an extravagant sigh. “One week ago, three people checked in to the Saffron Clinic on Allwyn Street, two men, one woman. I don’t know their names, but the time frame fits.” He gave a diffident moue. “I have contacts. I am still numero uno here, please remember.”

“Thank you,” she said sincerely.

“Mellanie, take care, Illuminatus isn’t the safest place in the Commonwealth.”

***

Ozzie woke up as slim beams of bright sunlight slid across his face. He grunted in dismay at the awakening. Yesterday’s disappointment was still churning through his mind, making him listless. It was snug inside the sleeping bag, and he could feel cool air on his face. Getting up was an effort.

“Damnit.”

Lying there moping wasn’t an option. That was too much like defeat, which he wasn’t going to admit. Not yet.

He unzipped his sleeping bag, and stretched lazily before shivering. All he was wearing were shorts and his last decent T-shirt. His hand felt around on the floor for his cord pants that he shoved his legs into. When he pulled on his check shirt there was a tearing sound as stitches popped along the sleeve.

“Not again!” When he examined the sleeve the split didn’t seem too bad.

He slipped into his old dark gray woolen fleece to keep the chill out while he put his boots on. Toes stuck out through the holes in the end of his socks. Today really was going to have to be sewing day. He gave his toes a closer look. The bruising had gone down. In fact, it had disappeared altogether. He couldn’t remember putting any salve on after giving the serial number pillar that very satisfactory kicking.

Outside the little shelter, Orion had already rekindled the fire from yesterday’s embers. Two metal mugs were balanced on a slatelike shard of polyp above the flames, heating some water.

Orion looked up and gave Ozzie a welcome smile. “Five teacubes left. Two chocolate. Which do you want?”

“Oh, what the hell, let’s live—What?”

“Tea or chocolate?”

“I thought we finished the chocolate yesterday.”

Orion rummaged through the various packets he’d spread out around him and held up the cubes in a palm. They were all foil-wrapped: five silver, two gold with green stripes. “No. Bourneville Rich, with double cream. Your favorite.”

“Right. Sorry. Yeah, man, chocolate is good.” Ozzie sat on the polyp bump. He winced as he straightened his leg.

“How’s the knee?” Orion asked.

No fucking way! “Still stiff,” he said slowly. “Where’s Tochee?”

“Gone to get some water. It was scouting around last night, seeing if it could find any sign of the machinery that works this place.”