"And if I don't play ball?" Spector was scared, but he wanted to know the exact consequences.

The old man tore a sheet of paper from the notebook and handed it to him with a pen. "Write your address on that piece of paper and put it in your pocket." Spector was confused, but did what he was told. The old man closed his eyes tightly and placed the tips of his fingers together.

Spector shivered. He felt as if cold water were being poured over his naked brain. "I feel…" He stopped, overcome by the sensation.

"Yes, I know. Not like anything else, is it? Now, tell me your address."

Spector opened his mouth to answer and realized he could not remember. The information was simply gone. "Selective amnesia. When a person is physically present with me, I can take out whatever I want." He raised a bushy eyebrow. "Or I can remove everything."

Spector was shaken, but knew that the old man's power might also be used to remove the memory of his death. The loss of his power would be a small price to pay to sleep nights again. "I see what you mean. I'll do whatever you say."

"You see, Nurse Gresham, he's no trouble at all. It would be stupid to kill someone who can be so useful. Inject him again and return him to his apartment before he wakes up."

"Hold on a minute. Who are you? If you don't mind telling me."

"My real name would mean even less to you than it does to me. You can call me the Astronomer."

Spector figured that anyone who called himself the Astronomer was certifiable, but this wasn't the time or place to bring it up. "Fine. Well, Astronomer, what do you want me to do for you? The only thing I'm good at is killing people." The Astronomer nodded. "Precisely."

Spector was nervous about killing a cop, especially since it was Captain McPherson. Nobody had been stupid or courageous enough to mess with the head of the Jokertown Special Forces Unit. The Astronomer had given him no choice. McPherson's death had to appear accidental since one of the Astronomer's people was in place to succeed him. If Spector failed or tried to get away, the Astronomer would brainwipe everything but his death.

He laced the shin guards on tightly and rolled his jeans down over them. He was also wearing additional protection under his shirt, on his forearms.

The Astronomer must have been planning to kill McPherson for some time. Spector was seated on a sofa in the apartment directly beneath his target. The woman who lived here was one of the Astronomer's underlings. From what he had been told, McPherson's maid was also in on the operation. "If you want to replace someone, first replace the people around them," the Astronomer had said.

Spector looked at the wall clock. It was between one and two in the morning. He checked to make sure the hypodermic was in his pocket, then turned out the lights and opened the balcony door.

He picked up the rope and hefted the padded grappling hook at the end. The distance to the balcony above was about twelve feet. He leaned out and tossed the hook. It landed perfectly, one large barb catching the edge above. A handful of snow fell on his face. He tugged at the rope. It snapped taut and the hook held fast.

Spector climbed up quickly and heaved himself over the edge of McPhersons balcony. The accumulated snow muffled the sound of his feet on the concrete. He waited for a moment. He heard nothing from inside.

The maid had done as she'd been told. The balcony door was unlocked. Spector slid it open; a blast of cold air rushed into the apartment. He entered quietly and closed the door behind him.

The dog was waiting for him. He could see the red glow reflecting off the animal's retinas. The dog growled a threat and charged. Spector could not clearly see the animal and threw up one arm to protect his vulnerable head and throat. With his free hand he reached for the hypodermic which Nurse Gresham had given him.

The Doberman slammed into him, grabbing his extended arm in its jaws. He could feel it trying to bite through his armguard to sever his tendons.

He jabbed the hypodermic into the animal's stomach. It continued to growl and grind away at his arm. A light came on in the next room. Now that he was able to see, Spector pushed the dog away. The Doberman fell heavily and tried immediately to stand.

"Get him, Oscar. Tear him to pieces." The voice came from the lighted room.

Oscar tried to respond. He bared his teeth and took a step, then his eyes closed and he collapsed.

So far, so good, thought Spector. He faked a limp toward the lighted room. "I give up. Your dog hurt me bad. I need a doctor. Help me, please." He tried to sound hurt.

"Oscar?" McPherson's voice was unsure. "You all right, boy?"

The dog breathed heavily and did not move. The light went out in the next room.

Spector fought down panic. He had not planned on McPherson turning the lights back of. His power was useless in the dark. He stood motionless for several long moments. There was no sound from the other room.

He took a step forward. He knew the layout of the apartment. The light switch was by the door on the right-hand side. To reach it, he would have to be fully exposed in the doorway. He knew McPherson had a gun and would be ready to use it. He began to sweat. The pain knotted up inside him, readying itself for the attack. He took another step. One more and he would be in the doorway.

Spector heard the sound of a telephone being lifted of the hook. He stepped forward and reached for the light switch. His finger came underneath it and turned on the lights.

McPherson was crouched behind a large brass bed. He had the phone in one hand and an automatic in the other. The gun was pointed at Spector's heart. Their eyes met and locked. Spector remembered Mike's dead finger and shuddered as his death experience flowed into McPherson.

The policeman trembled and gasped, then slowly keeled over behind the bed. Spector clenched his hands into fists and sighed. He moved to the dead man's side and pulled the gun from his hand. He opened the drawer of the bedside table with one gloved hand and set the weapon carefully inside. Spector felt a surge of relief. He had vividly imagined the bullet ripping through his chest cavity, causing him to bleed to death before he could regenerate.

He picked up a pillow and threw it to the floor, like a wide receiver spiking a football after a touchdown. Now, maybe the Astronomer and Nurse Gresham would leave him alone. He put the pillow back in place.

The phone began to beep.

Spector put the receiver back on the hook and set the phone onto the bedside table. He sat on the rumpled bedspread and examined his victim. The look on McPherson's face was the same as the one he imagined had been on his own face when he died.

"Is it dead, or is it Memorex?" he asked the corpse. "More impressive than breaking glass, eh, cop?"

He laughed.

Spector took a swallow of Jack Daniel's Black Label and savored the warmth as it spread through his insides. He was lying on his lumpy mattress, staring at the small black-and white television. A late-night news program was doing a rehash of the alien invasion. The monsters were still big enough news that McPherson's death did not even make the front page of the Times.

The videotape of the attack at Grovers Mill was being shown for the thousandth time. A National Guard unit was using a flamethrower on one of the things. It made a high pitched scream as it caught fire and burned. Spector shook his head. Being able to kill people by looking at them should be enough to give a person some security, but that was not the case. The space monsters gave him the same creepy feeling in his guts as the Astronomer. Spector hoped that he would never see or hear from the old man again, now that he had lived up to his part of the bargain.

The tape ended. "And now," the announcer said, "for some final thoughts on this tragedy, we're pleased to have as a guest-Dr. Tachyon."