"Unfortunate demises, taken out back and shot, drove through middle America and were never seen again, being trapped in Kansas, is this what you're saying?"
    "Something like that."
    "No. I do know that one of them... I just saw him..." Papers rustled. "Gordon, Mark Gordon. One of their bureaucrats, he has an office in Boston now."
    "What does he do?"
    "I'm not precisely sure. I saw him at a charity function," he explained. "Recognized his face and chatted with him for a couple of minutes. I know he's in the city, if that helps at all."
    "Absolutely. We need whatever we can get on these people."
    "Who are all these additional people? Actors?"
    "It was a project they were working on, fairly large-scale."
    "Something to do with synthetic memory, presumably."
    "Yes." I wonder how much he might actually know that he wasn't telling me, and how much I could safely reveal that I knew. Sometimes I wish the WCL had been interested in telepathy instead of TK. Probably a different project.
    "I've seen one or two of these people," he mentioned.
    "Really? Where?"
    "I like to go and see theater on both coasts, it expands the horizons somewhat. You were asking if I recognized any of them, there's a couple of familiar names."
    "Do you know what Mr. Gordon is doing these days?"
    He sighed. "Unfortunately I don't know everyone in the business world, but I do recognize Gordon's name, and I do know he's operating out of Boston, so if you're looking for anyone nearby it's a start."
    "Excellent. Thank you very much."
    "I hope that everything there works out properly."
    "We're trying to make it do so."
    "Pleasure talking to you."
    I headed over to the computer as Scott suddenly made a startled sound and sprinted off down the tunnel, leaving us all staring after him. On the screen he had left behind I could the record for Dr. Mary Elizabeth Lanigan.
    Okay, so we all get an A+ for team loyalty and a D in clear thinking—distracted by Promethean's issues we had forgotten Javelin. I had no hope that he would find her alive, and I was right in that.
    I checked the records for Mark Gordon while Promethean concocted a tactical map of the island and then streaked around the cavern, ran himself through a series of combat drills. Got an address and phone number. Found that he runs a small management consulting company out of some very expensive office space downtown.
    Hm.

[Perspective switch: Scott]

    There was a note attached the scuba gear left by the tunnel: "Best of luck, hugs and kisses, Mags." Scott returned, smelling more than a little foul, bearing word that Lanigan was quite decisively dead and Javelin almost certainly knew anything she could have told him, as well as now having access to cash. He had a computer disk with a copy of her journal on it, slightly bent thanks to its journey through the pipes. We gave it to the computer to chew on and attempt to reconstruct whatever had been on it; it looked as if that was going to take a few hours.
    Everything from here on out is a mixture of what I saw, what Lucky told me, and what I've been piecing together from the news reports over the past two hours. I can't seem to stop watching them, as if seeing the same footage repeated enough times will work some magic. Maybe it has; my sense of sick horror seems to have faded to a clinical consideration of what we should do next.
    Lucky, Scott and I headed out at sunset. Promethean stayed behind, waiting to appear at the appointed time to face his would-be killers; I didn't envy him. Through the tunnels, then the waters of the bay, murky at the best of times. The island itself is maybe half the size of our old base and mostly bare, thanks to the Fimbulwinter explosion. A few dead or dying trees, the rubble of the building they had used as their storage space, a dock near the flatter end. No sign that anyone had been there in weeks. Scott buried himself near the dock, entirely concealed; the night was moderately cloudy, enough that it was a matter of some concern to him, but there wasn't much he could really do about it. Lucky climbed out and rid herself of the cumbersome scuba gear, dumped it back into the bay, then hid in the rubble. I remained underwater, holding onto one of the dock supports; not only would having two of us out there double the chance of being found, but I don't have Lucky's skill at stealth or her calm in the face of physical danger, and I might start glowing at some point without really thinking about it.
    It wasn't the most fun I've ever had by a long shot. I'm about as far from claustrophobic as a human being can get, but floating there in the dark, blind but for my faint sense of the small animal life in the water around me, hearing only the magnified sounds of my own breathing and the slap-gurgle of waves, for what felt like hours while we waited for people to show up and try to kill us, gave me plenty of time to think about everything that could go wrong.
    I heard the boat coming well before it arrived, and moved around to the underside of the dock, checked my faintly luminescent watch dial. 10: 15; they were early. I heard voices, nothing distinct, then heavy footsteps on the wood above me.
    Lucky heard and smelled them getting off the boat. Two older people, five others. She recognized one scent as Kymrik; the rest were new to her.
    "Get 'em up here,"one ordered. "By the tree. He did say he was going to be here?"
    "Yes, Marcus," the shapeshifter answered. "Now, I fully expect he's going to have some brilliant plan, that makes him think he's going to be able to get away with your parents. I don't doubt that his teammates are somewhere nearby. We're taking care of the situation to make sure that we'll still come out on top. You two, over there with the parents. Anything starts happening, machine gun 'em."
    "That was never part of the deal—"
    "Marcus, shut up," Kymrik suggested. "Machine gun around them first, make sure they know you're serious. If it starts to look like you're in any trouble... hit 'em. We'll just disappear"
    "What about us?" one of the other men demanded.
    "Don't worry, we'll take care of you. We got you this far, didn't we? John."
    "Don't call me John," the other hissed.
    "Jack. Check around through the rubble. See if there's anyone in there."
    "What would you like me to do?" another inquired.
    "Quick scan of the island. If you see anything that doesn't look right, let me know. I'll be here, but I won't exactly be obvious."
    A heavy-set man, very neat and professional looking in a good suit, walked around the island without any appearance of enthusiam. He certainly didn't look like a soldier, fussing as he was over his damp shoes. He walked past Scott without any sign he had noticed the robot's presence.
    "Jack" explored the building's rubble with more care. He moved in the shadows with a certain assurance, pushing fallen beams to check their solidity. Lucky's confidence in her position ebbed as she heard a soft crackling sound and watched him walk through some fallen brickwork as if it wasn't there. He walked by, giving her an excellent view of somewhat rogueish good looks without even a dim flicker of intelligence behind them. Moving slowly, she picked up a pebble to toss as a distraction in case he showed any more interest in her position, but he continued his walk through the rubble without appearing to notice her, though he passed within a few feet.

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