“Think this’ll do any good?” the tech with the sprayer had asked.

“Probably not,” his comrade had sighed. “I suppose I’d better go ahead and put a cleaning crew on call. Wish he’d put down a tarp or something.”

The guards sat him now in a low, wide chair. It was just a chair, no spikes or razors or impalements. His hands were fastened behind him, which meant he could not settle back. He spread his knees and sat uncomfortably upright, panting.

The senior guard asked Ryoval, “Do you wish us to secure him, sir?”

Ryoval raised an eyebrow. “Can he stand up without help?”

“Not readily, from that position.”

Ryoval’s lips crooked up in amused contempt, as he gazed down at his prisoner. “Ah, we’re getting there. Slowly. Leave us. I’ll call you. Don’t interrupt. It may become noisy.”

“Your soundproofing is very effective, sir.” The flat-faced guards saluted and withdrew. There was something wrong with those guards. When not following orders, they tended to just sit, or stand, wordless and blank. Constructed that way, no doubt.

Gorge and Grunt and Howl and the Other stared around with interest, wondering whose turn it was going to be next.

You just had your turn, said Howl to Gorge. It’ll be me.

Don’t bet on it, said Grunt. Could be me.

If it weren’t for Gorge, said the Other, grimly, I’d take my turn right now. Now I have to wait.

You’ve never taken a turn, said Gorge curiously. But the Other was silent again.

“Let’s watch a show,” said Ryoval, and pouched a remote. The tropic display changed to a life-sized vid recording of one of Grunt’s sessions with the … creatures, from the bordello. Grunt watched himself with great interest and delight, from all these new angles. Gorge’s work was gradually threatening to put many interesting events out of sight, below his equator.

“I am thinking of sending a copy of this to the Dendarii mercenary fleet,” Ryoval murmured, watching him. “Imagine all your senior staff officers, viewing this. I think it would fetch a few to me, no?”

No. Ryoval was lying. His presence here was still secret, or he wouldn’t be present here. And Ryoval could be in no rush to give that secret away. The Other muttered dryly, Send a copy to Simon Illyan, why don’t you, and see what that fetches you. But Illyan belonged to Lord Mark, and Mark wasn’t here, and anyway, the Other never, ever, ever spoke aloud.

“Imagine that pretty bodyguard of yours, joining you here …” Ryoval went on, in detail. Grunt was perfectly willing to imagine some parts of it, though other parts offended even him. Howl?

Not me! said Howl. That’s not my job.

We’ll just have to make a new recruit, they all said. He could make a thousand of them, at need. He was an army, flowing like water, parting around obstacles, impossible to destroy with any one cut.

The vid display changed to one of Howl’s finest moments, the one which had given him his name. Shortly after he’d been chemically skinned, the techs had painted sticky stuff on him that made him itch unbearably. The techs hadn’t had to touch him. He’d almost killed himself. They’d given him a transfusion afterwards, to replace the blood lost in the raking wounds.

He stared impassively at the convulsing creature in the vid. The show that Ryoval wanted to see was himself. Looking at him right now must have all the drama and excitement of watching a test-pattern. Boring. Ryoval looked like he wanted to aim the remote at him, and switch programs.

The Other waited with growing impatience. He was beginning to get his breath back, but there was still the damned low chair to contend with. It had to be tonight. By the next opportunity, if any ever came, Gorge might have immobilized them all. Yes. He waited.

Ryoval’s lips puffed with disappointment, watching his serene profile. He shut the vid off and rose, and walked around the chair, studying him through narrowed eyes. “You’re not even with me, are you? You’ve gone up around some bend. I must think what will bring you back to me. Or should I say, you all.” Ryoval was much too perceptive.

I don’t trust you, said Gorge to the Other, doubtfully. What will happen to me, after?

And me, added Grunt. Only Howl said nothing. Howl was very tired.

I promise Mark will still feed you, Gorge, the Other whispered, from deep inside. At least now and then. And Grunt. Mark could take you to Beta Colony. There are people there who could help you clean up enough to come out in the daylight, I think. You wouldn’t need Ryoval’s hypospray. Poor Howl is all exhausted anyway, he’s worked the hardest, covering for the rest of you lot. Anyway, Grunt, what if Ryoval decides on castration next? Maybe you and Howl can get together, and Mark could rent you a squad of beautiful women— wouldn’t women be a lovely change?—with whips and chains. This is Jackson’s Whole, I bet you could find some in the vid directory. You don’t need Ryoval. We save Mark, and he’ll save us. I promise.

Who are you, to pledge Mark’s word? said Gorge grumpily.

I am the closest to him.

You’ve certainly hidden out the best, said Howl, with a hint of resentment.

It was necessary. But we will all perish, one by one, as Ryoval hunts us down. He’s terribly sharp. We are the originals. The new recruits would only be distorted shadows of us anyway.

This was true, they all could see.

“I’m bringing you a friend to play with,” Ryoval commented, walking around him. Having Ryoval behind him had some odd effects on his internal topography. Gorge flattened, Howl emerged, then sank again as Ryoval came back in view. Grunt watched alertly for his cues, rocking just slightly. “Your clone-twin. The one my stupid squad failed to take along.”

Deep down inside, Lord Mark came wide awake, screaming. The Other smothered him up. He lies. He lies.

“Their fumble proved to be a costly error, for which they will pay. Your double vanished, then somehow turned up with Vasa Luigi. A typically smooth bit of sleight of hand on Vasa’s part. I’m still not convinced dear Lotus doesn’t have a private line of some kind into the Durona Group.”

Ryoval circled him again. It was very disorienting. “Vasa is quite convinced his twin is the Admiral, and you are the clone. He has infected me with his doubts, though if as he claims the man is indeed cryo-amnesic, it could prove most disappointing even if he’s right. But it doesn’t matter now. I have you both. Just as I predicted. Can you guess what is the first thing I shall have you two do to each other?”

Grunt could. Spot-on, though not with the whispered refinements Ryoval added.

Lord Mark raged, wept with terror and dismay. Not a vibration rippled Grunt’s slack-mouthed surface, nor marred the flat glisten of his eyes with any inner purpose. Wait, begged the Other.

The Baron walked to a counter or bar, made of some zebra-grained, polished wood, and unwrapped an array of glittering tools, which no one could quite see, though Howl stretched his neck. Meditatively, Ryoval looked his kit over.

You have to stay out of my way. And not sabotage me, said the Other. I know Ryoval gives you what you hunger for—but it’s a trick.

Ryoval doesn’t feed you, said Gorge.

Ryoval is my food, whispered the Other.

You’ll only get one chance, said Howl nervously. And then they’ll come after me.

I only need one chance.

Ryoval turned back. A surgical hand-tractor gleamed in his grip. Grunt, frightened, gave way to the Other.