1 Kerensky's

I took another sip of cola and sat back to watch the girl die.

She was young and beautiful, or at least she had been. Now that pristine beauty was marred by an ugly open wound on her shoulder, and by a stream of blood that had spread down over her naked breasts. She stood, terrified and exhausted, barely upright in the sunken fighting pit, and slashed wildly at her attackers. They circled her, snarling, dashing in under her snapping claws and taking quick, tearing bites. There were three of them, all wounded, one mortally. It weaved warily around her, one of its heads hanging lifeless, the side slashed wide open. The other was raised weakly, its muzzle dripping blood as it howled one last time. The girl pounced, and tore out its heart with a single deep slash.

I looked away from the entertainment and surveyed the scene, searching through the gloom and the smoke for the face I had come here to find. This was Kerensky's, a bar moderately famous throughout New London; known mainly for its spectacular floorshows, but also as a place with connections. If you wanted something, something that you weren't supposed to have, this was the place to get it. The layout was simple, a shallow fighting pit surrounded by seating, with secluded alcoves around the edge, and on an upper balcony where I now sat. The clientele however, was an exotic mixture - predominantly coders, but with a sprinkling of citizens, mostly bored agency executives looking for a hint of danger or some easy sex.

It was run, as the name suggested, by Kerensky himself. He had been born a coder, as you could tell from the codes upon his cheeks. But he had got rich - for a coder, unbelievably rich. How he had done that was the stuff of many hazy legends, all epic, all different; but from what I knew of him and of what he had become, it was probably not something you wanted to hear about. But the riches had come, enough to effectively purchase himself and give him some, though not many, of the rights of a citizen. In a world gone mad, he was madder than most. He stood now at the bar, surveying his domain, vacant eyes staring out from sunken sockets.

A girl slid into the empty bench opposite me, sliding her drink onto the table. "Hi! My names Natasha," she chirped, "but all my friends call me Tasha. What's yours?"

I turned to face her. She was short and young, blond curly hair tumbling down onto her bare shoulders. Her dress was cheap and skimpy, white chiffon flowing across her lithe body. Pinned just above her left breast was a tiny, chrome broach, holding three fragments of garnet. Garnet - a stone for a Capricorn, to ensure friendship and love; three stones to represent wisdom, love and truth.

I guessed she was probably a personal domestic, since she was not beautiful or exotic enough for a pleasure model. On her night off most likely, dreaming of escape and hoping that some young exec would fall in love with her, buy her licence and carry her away with him. Some dream. Some hope. She was pretty though, her high cheekbones accentuated by the clumsily applied make-up that blurred the dark brown barcode on each cheek by as much as she dared. She'd better be careful, I thought to myself. For a citizen to attempt to conceal a coder's barcode was an offence punishable by five years hard labour. But a coder committing that offence would simply be put down. She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the plastic-surfaced table and tilted her head to the side, looking for a reply to her introduction.

"Larry," I grunted, wondering Why did you lie? Perhaps it was easier than the truth. I carried on looking over the inhabitants of the bar.

"Hi Larry!" she crooned, just a little too eagerly. "And what do you do?"

I didn't answer.

"No, don't tell me," she urged, her forehead puckered in concentration, "let me guess." Then she paused, deep in thought, so I looked back towards the fighting pit, just in time to see one of the dogs launch itself into a high leaping attack.

The girl dodged, still graceful despite her many wounds, and the dog smashed head-first into the transparent plasti-glass cylinder that surrounded the pit. She spun round to face its comrade, but was too late. As she lifted her pink lobster claws it was upon her, knocking her to the ground, one jaw grasping an arm, whilst the other ripped tattered chunks of flesh from her body. She screamed, a long lingering cry that echoed around the bar and excited the cheering spectators even more. An expectant cluster was already building up around the bored bookie, waiting to collect their bets, certain that she could not recover. With a last desperate cry she threw the dogs from her, and scrabbled desperately backwards, pressing herself against the plasti-glass. She turned her head and caught my gaze. Wide, pain-filled eyes stared out at me from what had once been a face. Tasha seemed to sense my discomfort, reaching out her hand and gently touching my elbow.

"Hey, its okay. It's not like she's a person. She mindless - you know?" She paused waiting for a reply that never came. "They bred her without a mind. She's just like an animal." I turned to look at the girl, still cowering by the edge of the pit, her bloody claws barely raised. I suppose Tasha was right. The girl had no intelligence. After all, how smart did you have to be to fight? Or to die come to that. But the pain and the blood and the terror were real, even if the girl was not.

The two remaining dogs leapt once more, the four heads weaving in a grim dance of death. This time they met no resistance. The girl slumped down under them and was ripped to pieces. I turned away, lifted my glass, and took another sip of cola.

"A life-support exec," blurted Tasha.

"Sorry?" I replied distracted, still scanning the crowd below.

"Is that what you are? A life-support exec?"

"No". Suddenly, music blared loud from the speakers mounted around the circular wall of the bar, blanking out the chatter of the fight spectators. Evidently someone had switched on the jukebox.

"You're not a propeller-head are you?"

"A what?" I clearly wasn't up to date on current slang.

"You know, a computer person!"

"No."

"I didn't think you were - you don't look the type. They're always weedy."

I gave a non-committed shrug.

She giggled. "Well you're not a Knight, not in a place like this."

"No."

"Media?"

"Yeah," I lied again.

"I knew that was it." She settled back into the bench, satisfied. "As soon as I saw you." They clearly hadn't bred Tasha for intelligence, though compared to most of the coders I had seen she was quite bright. Some degree of retardation was usually built in. After all, no one wants to have a slave that's cleverer than themselves.

Link I thought, activating Sapphire, the computer implanted into my abdominal cavity. Words flowed across my vision, superimposed on everything I saw.

Sapphire: 22:21:05> Activated.

Display picture kerensky-jenny-meeting.

Sapphire: 22:21:14> Displaying...

The picture flowed over my vision, blanking out everything else. It showed a man and a women, together in this very bar. The image was blurred, and the contrast poor, but the faces were distinct enough. I studied it once more, memorising the man's face.

"Hey Larry, are you okay?" It was Tasha, probably wondering why my eyes had gone unfocussed. Clear view I thought, and her concerned expression replaced the image.

"Yeah," I replied and gently patted her hand. She sat back, smiling.

"Would Sir like a drink?" intoned a high-pitched voice from below. I leant along the table and peered down. It was a midget, not much more than two feet tall, the bar-codes huge on his miniature cheeks. Tasha was clearly delighted. She reached down and carefully lifted him onto her lap.

"Hi, how are you?" she gurgled, stroking his head.

He bit his lip, took a deep breath and asked again. "Would Sir like a drink?" He put more emphasis on the Sir this time. I stifled a laugh. The presence of the midget said a lot about Kerensky's. Midgets had been briefly fashionable about ten years ago, and so a large number had been laid down in the vats. But by the time they had been raised, and were ready to be sold, the fashion had come and gone. The result was a market glut, with batches of midgets being auctioned off at below cost prices for use as cheap, but inferior labour. I'd even heard rumours that some speculators were hoarding them in anticipation of the fashion returning. Obviously Kerensky wasn't a follower of fashion. Either that or he was just plain damn cheap.

The midget was still waiting, pointedly ignoring Tasha as she fussed over him. "I'll have a cola," I said, pointing at my empty glass.

"And the er... lady?" he replied, not looking at Tasha.

I looked at her drink. It was pink and frothy, and came in a tall, narrow glass. The sort of thing a coder girl would think was chic and sophisticated. I gestured at it. "Another of those."

Tasha beamed a dazzling white smile and gently lowered the midget to the floor. He grabbed my glass and scuttled off in the direction of the bar. It was at this point that I began to get a distinct feeling that I was being watched. Nothing that I could define, perhaps merely a too-still area in my peripheral vision. Sapphire.

Sapphire: 22:22:57> Activated.

I think that there's someone on the floor below watching me. I'm going to look round. Record everything I see from when I begin turning until I stop.

Sapphire: 22:23:02> Understood. Ready to begin scan.

Clear view.

I smiled at Tasha, leaned back into my seat and casually turned to scan the bar, never pausing to look at a particular area or catch someone's eye. I carried on until I was looking over my shoulder and then turned to look back at Tasha. I smiled again and looked into her eyes, trying to make it look good. Sapphire.

Sapphire: 22:23:22> Activated. Want to view the film?

Yeah. View in a window at one fifth speed.

The effect was, as always, bizarre, almost nauseating. The left half of my vision had been replaced by what I had previously seen. I was looking at two Tasha's, the now and the then, the then slowly moving sideways out of sight. This time I was able to study what I had been looking at, and this time I saw him. The recording showed him looking straight at me, but quickly looking away as I gazed in his direction. Too quickly.

Stop. Wind back. Stop. Zoom in on the blond haired man, wearing blue, sitting at the table under the skull.

Sapphire: 22:23:51> Understood. Zooming in...

Stop.

I was looking at the image of a man who I did not know, but who evidently knew me. I studied the picture again. He had a blond crew-cut, perfect cheekbones and flawless skin. Lean muscles rippled under his expensive, flowing robes. Like me, and unlike most of the clientele, he bore no bar-codes on his cheeks.

Sapphire. Cross-reference the image with the internal database.

Sapphire: 22:24:19> Searching...

Clear view, but page me when you've finished the search.

I left Sapphire to search through her gigabytes of off-line storage and turned my attention back to the bar, trying to search for my target yet avoid the gaze of my pursuer. Then I heard Tasha's voice and realised she was still talking to me.

"...so anyway, I said to Jaqii ----" she stopped and looked at me. "I'm not boring you am I?" she asked concerned, her dreamy smile being replaced by a nervous frown.

"No," I replied, concentrating on the bar area below.

"Great," she beamed, "I'm terrible for doing that. Everyone's always telling me off for doing it. You will tell me if I am, won't you?"

"Yeah."

"Anyway, what was I talking about." She wrinkled her nose in thought. "Oh yeah that was it. So, I said to Jaqii..."

I let her burble on, trying to work out what to do about this new development. I had counted on having a good head start, but it appeared that Henderson had noticed my departure sooner than I had anticipated. If he had already unleashed the hounds then this was going to be even harder. And meanwhile I had still not found the man I came here to find. Should I try to leave now, or stay?

"...and do you know what Jaqii said to me?"

"No."

"Well she said to me..."

I thought of all that had happened, of a young girl brutally murdered, and the decision was clear. I would stay. After all, I had already sacrificed too much to give up now. I had to find the man I had come for. I glanced down and around the bar, searching the faces, avoiding my watcher, trying not to think about the fact that he was probably not alone. Below me, the two surviving dogs had finished eating the bodies of the girl and their fallen comrade, and were being led from the pit by their trainers. After they'd left, a couple of midgets scurried in, and began scattering fresh sawdust over the blood-stained concrete. Sawdust - in the 22nd century? Kerensky was obviously a traditionalist. I casually scanned back and forth for a few more seconds but my quarry was still absent.

I turned back to catch the punch-line at the end of Tasha's monologue, just as the bar went quiet and the atmosphere died. Like everyone else, I twisted slightly to look at the entrance. It was police, more than a dozen of them, arrogantly brushing their way through the crowd. Two of them waltzed up the steps to the balcony and began working their way along the tables towards us. They couldn't be looking for me, could they? I took a deep breath and tried to clear my thoughts. Henderson wouldn't have called the cops - that would have caused even more trouble for him. No, if he was after me, then he was doing it himself. The cops were after someone else, assuming that they were after anyone in particular.

I felt a hand touch mine. It was a pale, shaken Tasha, looking for reassurance. I gave her hand a light squeeze, then grabbed my glass and tried to look casual. A shadow fell across the table and I looked up.

"Evening citizen," said the cop in an officious voice, "sorry to interrupt your night-out but could I just check your ID."

"What are you looking for," I asked casually, digging my wallet out from the inside pocket of my robes.

"Nothing special Sir, just a routine sweep." He glanced at Tasha. "Looking for breakers mostly".

I relaxed, since being arrested as a breaker, a coder who had run away from his or her owners, was one thing I was not worried about. I extracted my expensively purchased fake ID card and handed it over to him.

He detached the infra-red wand from the portable com-pad he held and ran it over the card's bar-code. The pad beeped and its tiny screen filled with data. He paused momentarily to read it, his eyes flicking from side to side. Then he smiled and handed the card back to me. "That's all fine Sir, everything in order." He turned to Tasha who was visibly worried.

"I've got permission to be here Sir, honest," she cried, "my mistress lets me go out every Friday evening if I've been good. Sometimes she lets me have all day." She looked down. "You can phone her, if you like."

"That won't be necessary," he grunted, motioning for her to lean forward. She did so, allowing him to grasp her chin and bring her left cheek forward. He examined the make-up disapprovingly.

"Watch the make-up. Other people might be less lenient than me." He picked up the pen and ran its red beam across her cheek. The pad beeped and more information flashed onto the screen. He released her chin and examined the lines of data. "You are Natasha-A7G3S4-89?"

I did a quick bit of mental arithmetic. 89 - that made her 19 years old. Tasha managed a nervous nod.

"And you are owned by Ms Rachel Harkes of 478 Harmond Waye, The Havens?"

Again she nodded, the nod this time accompanied by a hesitant smile.

"That's fine," he smiled and turned as if to go. Then he halted and whirled back to face us, his eyes flicking between Tasha and me. Finally his gaze settled on Tasha and his craggy expression softened.

"You make sure you're home early Miss, okay?" Tasha nodded eagerly, the smile back on her face. I looked at him surprised. Concern? From a copper? For a coder? He avoided my questioning look and marched away to the next table, once more the stern efficient policeman. A chime sounded in my mind. Sapphire.

Sapphire: 22:23:51> Search completed. No matches found. Shall I log into the Net and search there.

No.

The idea of searching on the Net was tempting. But if she logged onto the Net, Sapphire could be traced, and that would not be good.

No, leave it, they could trace you. Clear view.

So my pursuer was not known to Sapphire either. I settled back in my seat and watched as a small hand appeared over the edge of the table and plonked a glass of cola onto the plastic surface. The tiny fingers vanished and then reappeared, holding Tasha's pink frothy concoction. This time the hand remained, palm open. I dropped a couple of credits onto it and the midget waddled away.

Tasha grabbed her drink and took a big slurp, looking at me all the time. "Larry, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"If you're not into computers, then why've you got sockets?" She took another sip of her drink and looked at me quizzically. I leant back and nervously swept my hair back over the interface sockets embedded just behind my right ear. I would have to more careful in future.

"Well I do a bit of work on computers. It's just not my main thing." Yet another lie. The truth was that I didn't know one end of a computer from the other. The sockets were purely for Sapphire to use when she needed a faster capacity link than her built in cell-phone could supply. Tasha nodded, apparently satisfied.

I slumped back against the wall and sat sideways along the seat, allowing me to check the interior of the bar once more. Below us a group of coders had grabbed one of the midgets and were boisterously engaged in a game of catch-the-midget. One of them was preparing to throw now, backing away with the midget held high in one hand. He stopped and began to search for someone to throw to, totally ignoring the furious cries of the midget, who was raining blows on the hand that grasped him firmly by the belt. Finally the coder spotted his target and launched the midget forward in a high fast arc. The intended recipient jumped, slipped, reached up and missed, his outstretched arms grasping at empty air. The unfortunate midget slammed into the wall and fell to the floor, leaving a ugly smear of blood on the rough concrete. Immediately the other midget scuttled out from beneath the table where he had been hiding and dragged his partner to safety. The coder who'd missed got up from the floor and smiled.

"Shit!" he shouted and grabbed his beer.

Tasha seemed to have completely missed the incident with the midget, which was probably a good thing, since she seemed to have quite a soft spot for them. I left her to her dreams and continued observing the crowded room.

My target slipped in so unobtrusively that I nearly missed him. I roused myself and looked back, realising that it was definitely him, the man I had come to see. But when I looked at the entrance lobby again, he had gone, slipping into the crowd as subtly as he'd entered. I searched once more and this time picked him out, moving through the crush of coders in the general direction of the bar.

"Another drink?" I asked Tasha, awakening her from her thoughts.

She tried and failed to stifle a delighted gasp, then pointed excitedly at her drink. "Yeah. Same again please."

I flicked my empty glass into my hand and edged out from behind the table. Humming quietly to myself, I tried to appear casual as I strolled along the balcony and skipped down the stairs, knowing that every move I made was being watched by at least one person. Still humming, I pushed through the crush at the bar and found a space next to my target, leaning on the polished wood and trying to look as if I was merely waiting patiently to be served.

I gave it a few seconds and then leant towards him, turning as if I was trying to see down the bar. "I've got a gun pointed straight at you. If you don't do exactly as I say I'll kill you." The whisper was soft, barely loud enough to cover the centimetres between us. He took it calmly, casually glancing sideways and replying in an equally quiet whisper.

"I don't see no gun." Then he turned away from me and waved the note he held in his hand, trying to attract one of the barmen.

"Look again," I suggested, briefly flexing the muscles in my right forearm, which lay along the bar pointing at him. For an instant, a previously invisible slit in the flesh just above my wrist opened, revealing the barrel of the submachine-gun mounted along the bone. He looked, then gulped nervously. At that point the barman arrived, looking between us, unsure who was first. My target nodded briefly towards me.

"What's it to be then son?" asked the barman, jovially. He was, old, fat, ugly and badly dressed, but he was a citizen, which I suppose ranked him higher than most of the people here.

"I'll have a cola, and an... erm..." It was at this point that I realised that I had no idea what Tasha had been drinking. "Er.. pink, frothy, tall glass." I stuttered, miming with my hands to indicate the height of the glass.

"I think I know what you're referring to Sir," said the barman, laying the irony on thickly.

"Can you have it taken up to the third table on the balcony?" I asked, placing a five credit note onto the table and nodding in Tasha's direction. He looked up at her, the bar-codes on her cheek clearly visible as she tapped nervously on the table. His lips pursed and he looked back to me, obviously concluding that I was some sort of pervert.

"I'll have them taken straight up Sir." He shuffled away along the bar.

I whispered again. "Go to the toilet and wait for me there. Do not attempt to talk to anyone. Do you understand?" I hissed the last bit.

He nodded. "Yeah, I got it. Go directly to the bog, do not pass go." Then he turned and brushed past me into the crowd. I watched him out of the corner of my eye, checking that he did not stop to talk to anyone. After he had gone through the toilet door I gave it a few seconds and then followed. Behind me I sensed my watcher stirring.

As I entered, the door clunked shut behind me, extinguishing the noise and music of the bar. Considering the general state of the establishment, and of the people who frequented it, the toilets were surprisingly acceptable. A long neon tube flooded the room with harsh white light, enabling me to get my first good look at him. He was short, but well-muscled, with light brown curly hair swept back from a receding hairline. Peering closer I could see that he appeared older than in the picture, the additional light illuminating a network of wrinkles across his face and hands. Early forties, I surmised. He leant back against a wash basin and stared at me, a smirk spreading across his face.

"So citizen, tell me. What is it you need from me?" He spread his hands out, the palms upward. I ignored him and checked that the room was empty, making sure that each of the cubicles was vacant. When I was satisfied that we were alone, I approached him.

"What's your name?" I enquired in a slow, growling monotone. He looked down, obviously weighing up the situation.

"Most people know me as Spider Jack." It was probably a lie, but at that point I didn't particularly care.

"Ok Jack," I said, trying to stay calm and unemotional, "now I just need to ask you a few questions?"

"Fine, shoot. I mean ask!"

The door scraped open just as I was pushing him gently back into the wall. I spun and raised my arm, the gun ready to fire. A scrawny looking coder stood uncertainly in the doorway.

"We're busy!" I shouted. He smiled, in an incorrect understanding, and was gone. I turned back to Spider Jack, but he had already taken advantage of the interruption and had twisted free. His right hand dived inside his cheap robe and pulled out a small pistol, which he swung toward me. But I was faster, grabbing hold of his wrist and pushing the gun up. In desperation he bought his other hand over, and grabbed mine, attempting to use his weight to bring the gun to bear. I smiled and used my far superior strength to push upwards, lifting him until his feet were barely touching the floor, his eyes opening wide at this display of power. Then I raised my other hand and gripped him firmly by the collar.

"Drop the gun!"

His grip loosened and the weapon fell to the floor with a crash, allowing me to kick it over to the side of the room. He obviously needed a bit of softening up if I was going to get any information out of him. I dragged him over to the nearest cubicle and thumbed the open button, the door sliding open to reveal an astonishingly spotless toilet. Perfect. I pulled him in behind me and sat him on the seat. The door whooshed shut behind us. He looked up at me, a confused but defiant expression on his face.

"Stay there!" I ordered, hitting the inside door control button and backing out. I glared at him for a couple of seconds till the door slid shut between us and the toilet went into its automatic cleaning sequence. From the cleanliness of the toilet, I had guessed that Kerensky had gone for high-sanitation but low-safety models. I wasn't wrong.

A quiet scream escaped through the soundproofed door as needle sharp jets of scalding hot bleach scrubbed clean every surface. After twenty seconds the ready light lit up, and I opened the door, walking in and lifting him up from the toilet. Now, soaking wet, his skin red and puffy, and stinking of chemicals, he looked a bit more pliable.

"Are you going to be cooperative now?"

He nodded.

I reached inside my robes with my free hand and pulled out a copy of the picture that Sapphire had displayed. "Does this look familiar?"

He nodded again. "I suppose you want to know who the girl is?" The words hissed slowly and painfully past burnt lips.

"I know who the girl is." I took a deep breath, and tried to compose myself. "I want to know why she was here."

"I don't know. I never saw her before. She was with someone I was meeting!"

"Who?"

He paused. "I can't tell you."

Anger flared within me, and I lifted him back, his head banging hard against the ceramic wall. "Listen you coder-fucker, or I'll blow your sodding brains out." I pointed my arm at him and let the end of the gun barrel show. "That girl you were pictured with. Two days ago she was found floating in an algae pond with her neck broken. Now I'm asking you once more - who was she with?"

He shut his eyes and whispered, "she was with a bloke called the Rook. I don't know his real name. I only talked to her for a few moments."

This sounded like crap. "The Rook?"

"It's the truth, honest to God. That's what he calls himself."

"Is he a citizen?"

"Oh yeah. He's no coder."

"When was this?"

"Four days ago. You don't know?"

"No." Whoever it was who'd supplied me with the image, had neglected to supply its date. I thought for a moment. "How do you know him? Why?"

"He buys things from me. That's what I do - supply things to people." He licked his blistered lips. "Can I have something to drink?"

"Not yet. What did he buy from you?"

"Weapons mostly, small specialised stuff. Police issue." He paused, briefly. "This time he needed explosives, you know, plastic, detonators. That sort of stuff."

"Did you sell him anything?"

"I only make agreements here. He then contacts me to arrange a time to exchange the stuff."

"And did you make an agreement?"

"Yes."

"And have you delivered?"

"No. He hasn't contacted me yet."

"When was he supposed to?"

"Within two days." He looked up at me. "I don't know what's going on. But something is."

"Where can I find him?"

"He's based in Bristol. I don't know where. You could try the Park."

"Why?"

"There's a load of permanent chess boards set up there. People just go there if they want a game. I only ever met him once at a place other than here, and that was it."

"What does he look like? How can I recognise him?"

"Short black hair, thin moustache, looks about twenty-five. Usually wears the latest fashions."

I lifted my arm, until the barrel was only inches from his forehead. "And there's nothing more you could tell me about him?"

He looked up at me. "I swear, there's nothing more." He hesitated for a moment. "One thing?"

"What?"

"Who was she? What was she to you?"

"My sister," I replied and shot him through the head.

When I walked through the door and back into the bar, I made for the entrance, hoping I might slip past them. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw them coming towards me - the man I had spotted earlier, and two others flanking him, all three wearing similar expensive clothing. They glided effortlessly through the mass of drinkers, each with a hand inside his robes, each hand presumably holding a pistol. Then they saw that I had spotted them, and the hands all withdrew, almost in sequence. I threw myself sideways, rolled over the bar, and ended up on my hands and knees in a pool of spilt drink.

They fired almost instantly, the noise deafening in such an enclosed space, showering me with glass as the bottles above my head shattered in a hail of bullets. They were obviously carrying more than pistols. After several seconds the noise from the sub-machine guns ceased, and was replaced by the sound of screaming from the terrified customers. I held still for a moment, my mind racing. Not only had Henderson been a lot more efficient that I had anticipated, he was obviously a lot more pissed-off as well. Pissed-off enough to start throwing shoot-to-kill orders around. Sapphire.

Sapphire: 22:28:03> Activated.

Activate targeting system.

Sapphire: 22:28:05> Targeting system activated. Clearing text.

The text disappeared from my vision, and was replaced by a green targeting sight. I gave my gun arm a few swings to test it, causing the sight to jump to-and-fro, always superimposed on the point the barrel was aiming at. Satisfied that it was working correctly, I crawled carefully along behind the bar toward its entry hatch, trying not to make any noise. A shard of glass snapped loudly as it dug into my hand, but fortunately the sound was drowned by the background noise. I reached the gap beneath the entry hatch and peered round, trying to pick them out of the chaotic flow of people attempting to reach the exit. Confusion momentarily overcame me, until I spotted one of them moving across the fighting pit, pushing in a different direction to everyone else. I lifted my right-arm, steadying it with my left hand, and took aim on his head. Trying to breath lightly, I waited a few seconds until the targeting-sight turned red, then clenched my fist, firing a three-round burst. The small-calibre bullets punched through his forehead and ripped out the other side, thudding into the wall in a hail of concrete dust. He stood still for a moment with a look of surprise on his face, then fell forward to the ground, an ugly red stain spreading out over the fresh sawdust.

A figure detached itself from the crowd and knelt by the fallen man. I swung the sight onto him, and fired another burst without aiming, just as he straightened up. The bullets hit him slightly below the shoulder-blade and bounced off, shredding his robes and rocking him backwards. I fired another snap burst and hit him in his right arm, the submachine-gun dropping from his hands. He flailed wildly with his feet and pushed himself behind a table. Two down - one to go.

A long burst thudded into the woodwork only centimetres from me, showering me with a hail of splinters. I shoved myself backwards, and ran in a crouch to the other end of the counter. Another, even longer burst of fire followed me, obliterating the last of the bottles. I ducked into an alcove beneath the bar and took a deep breath, then became aware of a pair of eyes staring out at me from the darkness. It was the midget, trembling with fear. I shrugged, crawled back and rolled over the counter. More bullets flashed behind me, tearing deep chunks out of the polished wood. I found my feet, shifted forward and dived behind a table, ignoring the coder couple who were cowering beneath it. A stream of bullets emerged from the darkness, cutting the male coder in half.

A scream erupted in my ear; it was the girl, cradling what was left of her lover. I ignored her and fired a snap-shot through the gloom at where the muzzle flash had been. His gun blazed in reply. I ducked, waiting for the burst to end, then looked up at the ceiling. Kerensky's was always dimly lit, but now two of the five neon tubes had been shattered by ricocheting bullets. I swept my arm around in a sweeping arc and fired a long burst into the roof, shattering the remaining lights.

The bar was immediately plunged into near total darkness, lit only by the dim moonlight coming in through the narrow windows on the upper balcony. Effectively everyone was blind, except for those who could see in the dark. I dashed up the stairs and along to my table, motioning to Tasha, who had frozen in fear, to get down. She did so, and I fired my last two rounds at the window, the old toughened glass splintering under the impact. I grabbed one of her sandals and smashed the glass out with the heal.

"Nice erm... talking to you," I whispered as I handed the sandal back. She nodded numbly. I paused for a moment, wishing there was something I could say, but there was nothing. So I turned away from her despairing face, jumped quickly onto the table and squirmed through the window, ignoring the small splinters of glass that dug into my back as I slithered through onto the soil that lay a few centimetres below the window ledge. I took a quick look around the dome, saw that the way was clear and set off for the hangers where I had arrived earlier that day.

Taking a last look out of the cockpit, I eased the throttle forward, the four turbo-fans mounted on the corners of the air-car humming into life. A high-pitched whine echoed around the hanger, as I increased the power, feeling the low vibration spreading through the craft. My eyes flickered over the various electronic readouts. All green. I pushed the throttles to full power and the air-car leapt up through the open hanger roof and soared into the night sky. I kept the power on and continued climbing to my cruising altitude of 3000 metres. Below me were the domes of New London, shining silvery-clear in the moonlight, with the River Thames meandering between them, and on into the surrounding savannah. To the east I could just make out the ruins of old London more than twenty kilometres away, devastated by a hydrogen bomb detonated by the Legion of Peace in the first years of The Chaos.

I banked around, placing the familiar scene behind me, eased off the power, and headed west.

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