That trip out-Territory had been the last time Laneff had prayed to get something she wanted, the last time she had dared to want something so urgently that she cast aside all thought of consequences. The price of getting what she wanted had been just too high.

Wakening, she nestled against the massive Gen nager, letting it fill her core with brightness so she could feel as if she were herself Gen, could sense her own selyn building outward in pulse after pulse of clean, sharp energy in eternal abundance.

Clinging to that illusion, she could admit to herself that her First Kill was still her standard of excellence, her standard of satisfaction by which she measured all other experiences. Small wonder Jarmi fell short, as did every channel who'd ever served her. Even the kill of the terrorist had not been the same. She had not gone at him with that same freedom from considering his feelings and the consequences.

Shanlun was right. What I achieved in disjunction has held. She knew that in two weeks, she would again go through turnover into need and become a threat to any Gen who couldn't handle her. She had nothing but her naked will to keep her from the kill, and for a renSime that just wasn't enough. The craving for killbliss would drive her at any Gen who experienced pain or fear, or who dared to offer her selyn, as that Gen officer had. In need, she would not dream of channels anymore, she'd dream of Gens—in deathscream. And if that's not junct, then what is? I must be careful.

Shanlun's arm circled her, heavy with sleep, possessive. Fully awake now, she heard a distant roaring, and zlinning she discerned a nageric turmoil to match the roar.

She sat up, shaking the Gen. "Shan! Something's wrong!"

He mumbled, then wakened smoothly. "What? What is it?"

She scrambled to dress. "Can't zlin much through these walls, but our corridor is full of people in battle dress!"

He struggled into his clothes. "Could be the Diet attack. What time is it?"

"Four twenty-three," she said, heading for her own office to grab up the copies of her notes she'd prepared for just this emergency.

The two of them were halfway to the lab entrance when the door banged open and shut behind Azevedo and the four gypsies. At the same moment, the speakers came on with a squawk and electronic howl. Then a coded horn call played twice through before it was cut off in midnote.

In the silence, Azevedo said, "That means the Diet has broken into the warren. Yuan has ordered all his people up onto the surface. He's prepared to blow this place up."

"Then what are you doing here?" asked Laneff. "This is a dead end." But that was irrelevant. "Never mind, we can get out through the hangar. There may just be time enough!"

She led them back into the corridor where the mob scene had abated. There were sounds of fighting in the distance, and the occasional blunted thud of an explosion. "If they get into the selyn batteries, we'll be in the dark!" said Laneff.

Behind her, the Gens linked up with the Simes, prepared to keep moving even in sudden darkness. She stopped beside Azevedo at the intersection with the main corridor. People were running, dressing as they moved. The fighters on watch were no doubt engaging the Diet raiders. These were the noncombatants and the Simes too close to need to be thrown into a melee against Gens.

Laneff pulled Shanlun up beside Azevedo, giving them directions to the hangar exit. "Stay with him, Shan. I've got to go make sure Jarmi woke up. She sleeps like a stone." And there was now a tang of smoke in the recirculated air.

She took off, weaving among the Gen figures, augmenting slightly. She'd gotten new shoes since her disastrous slip on the tile floors. And these floors were composition, not as slippery or noisy. But still she moved with utmost caution. Before long, she became aware of Shanlun behind her—and Azevedo with his gypsies strung out in a line behind them all. She shrugged. There was no time to argue.

Jarmi was dressing when Laneff arrived, and the Gen took time to ask the irrelevant questions Laneff had avoided. Exasperated, Laneff grabbed Jarmi's wrist and towed her out the door. "Didn't you hear the evacuation horn? Move!"

With the Gens to consider, Laneff couldn't augment. She had to move at their speed. The air was choked with smoke now. The fans were off, producing an ominous silence.

Laneff guided them to the branch that let them out near the hangar and its wide exit. But here the ceiling had fallen in, dust thickening the air. Coughing, they retreated.

"I don't know all the emergency exits," confessed Laneff. They hadn't trusted her completely yet.

Jarmi had her bearings now, and still gasping from the long run, said, "I know a way. Here!" She opened a side door into a storeroom and led them into darkness. The lights refused to come on, and Laneff took Jarmi's arm, saying, "Which way should be out?"

"Straight across, there's a door into another storeroom that opens off Corridor Q-12, Sipples-Bay."

"I don't zlin any other door," said Laneff, scanning.

Azevedo moved to their right. "I do. This way."

With the Simes leading, they wound their way through the crates and bales of supplies. The door was locked but gave under the impact of three Simes. The other storeroom was also pitch-dark, and so was the corridor when they found it. Gunfire and explosions told of the battle in progress.

They had no weapons. Without instructions, the four Simes moved to the front, the four Gens bunched at the rear. They came to a bend, the last leg of the corridor to the hangar. Bright flashes strobed through the dark, loud cracks echoed when guns went off. Zlinning, Azevedo reported, "Five Gens with their backs to us. A barricade of large potato sacks. And beyond the Gens, two of Yuan's Simes holding the five off with rifles."

"They're probably shooting drug darts," supplied Jarmi. "But they might have live bullets."

There was a roar as a helicopter revved engines inside the hangar. The feel of the air changed as the big doors opened.

The two gypsy Simes, blond hair and pale skin making them all but invisible in the smoky darkness, touched Azevedo. They seemed ready to pounce on the Gens. Azevedo gathered Laneff into a huddle.

"The Simes won't shoot at us. We can approach the Gens silently and knock them out. But we must not harm them."

His firm order was directed more to the gypsy Sime who seemed near turnover, but it was clear that, as was traditional with gypsies, Azevedo would not permit them to injure any Sime or Gen seriously.

Renewed billows of smoke belched from the air circulators and a distant whump marked another explosion. Jarmi smothered a cough. Laneff returned to explain their plan and ended, "Hug the wall and dash through as soon as the fighting stops."

Then, with all the craft of the wild, the three gypsy Simes led the way around the bend, advancing stealthily on the Gens who were shooting randomly into the smoke. Laneff’s throat felt raw from the smoke, but she went hypoconscious anyhow, ignoring the coughing prickle, intent on not feeling Gen shock and pain.

The defending Simes zlinned them coining and held fire. The Gens hardly noticed that before the four Simes fell on them. Laneff’s target went down as she got a hold on his throat, cutting off circulation to his brain. He went out quietly. The two defending Simes joined the fight, taking out one of the Gens. Before Laneff could turn around, all the Gens were unconscious.

Azevedo dropped his target Gen and whirled across the barricade of potatoes to where one of the defending Simes had dragged a Gen. The poor Sime's need had driven him to hunting mode, and he was now intent on a kill. But Azevedo swept the Sime's grip away from Gen arms before it was properly seated. Just as any Tecton channel might, Azevedo lured the Sime into accepting channel's transfer.