Worse yet, when the computer resolved the child in such exquisite detail, he would recognize the child. This one would have the Red Corsair's hair, or her eyes or nose, and it would always have some part of him there as well. He tried to draw away from those children, but when he did the shocks drove him to his knees. If he refused to move his hands in caring and careful ways, more shocks would follow, fast and painful.

He hated the part of him that could look at those children through the haze of pain and still find them beautiful.

He forced himself to settle into a routine that would make the Red Corsair work as hard as he did at the game. He learned shortcuts that allowed him to accomplish his tasks quickly. He moved through the base like a guided missile, always seeking out a new and faster way to get somewhere. He explored for unlikely connections between buildings, and used them like tunnels and skyways when he found them.

At night, when the evening's tasks were behind him, he would spend time outside the home. He watched the night sky and smiled when the program shot meteors through the world's atmosphere. He did not recognize any of the constellations, so he started grouping them into his own little mythology. He named one after his son Jon and a pair of twin stars after his grandsons. Dorete didn't rate a constellation, but the Red Corsair did.

He called it "The Witch," and made it the first one the sun would eat up in the morning.

Of late the Red Corsair had taken to blocking off his skyways and tunnels. This added time to his cross-base runs, but he didn't mind, despite the shocks. As he moved through the base, searching out new shortcuts, he found certain places where he was not allowed access. On the off-chance that his ability to enter them was time-dependent, he tried again and again at different points during the simulated day.

Nelson steeled himself for the shock as he turned left down a corridor in the basement of the base's main building. The time was close to twenty-three hundred hours, which made this the latest foray he had ever attempted on this particular area.

No shock accompanied his first step into the area. He smiled. He took another step and another down it. The red doors at the far end loomed closer. He reached out to push them open and at his touch they flew back.

The jolt that hit him in the throat staggered him. The treadmill whipped his feet away and his chin smacked into the padded crossbar. He flopped to the ground and the treadmill's belt whipped him back, dumping him on the floor in a shaking heap.

He heard her sure tread on the decking, followed by a click and the death of the treadmill's hum. Still unable to move, he felt her kneel next to him and pull the goggles off. The artificial hallway was whisked away, and his eyes took a second or two to focus on her face. He blinked once, but in the time it took him to do that, the look of concern he thought he had seen on her face had vanished.

"There are places you are not supposed to go, Nelson. I trust that was a lesson to you." She propped his head up on her arm and unfastened the shock collar. "It might have seemed brutal, but were we actually there, you would have been shot dead." Her voice grew distant. "I did that for your own good."

He tried to reply, but his voice would still not work.

She pressed a finger to his lips. "Do not even try to speak." She reached down and pulled the datagloves off his hands. "It will take you a few minutes to recover."

She sat back on her haunches and Nelson noticed for the first time that she was wearing the same robe she had donned the first time he had met her. "You have made this quite a game, Nelson. You have done very well. You have mastered the distractions and overcome the obstacles we have thrown at you. I am pleased with your progress."

Nelson nodded to her and found his head and neck actually worked. He flexed his fingers and toes, and though they still tingled a bit, they responded to his commands. His arms and legs felt leaden, but they showed signs of returning use.

She took his right hand in hers and he could feel warmth flowing from her flesh to his. "In fact, so pleased am I with your performance, I thought I would reward you." Her glance darted toward the doorway into her cabin. "You perform so well to avoid pain, I thought I would see what you will do for pleasure."

He rolled over onto his right side. "Why torture yourself?" he croaked out.

"Torture myself? Hardly." She smiled hungrily at him. "I am rewarded for training you so quickly and so well and . . ."

"And?"

She stood and pulled him to his feet. She steadied him and helped him walk toward her cabin. "And tomorrow we jump into Deia. On the eve of what I expect to be a confrontation with the Wolves, I do not choose to sleep alone."

19

Tharkad

Federated Commonwealth

19 June 3055

The day Melissa Steiner-Davion was to die dawned like all others for Karl Kole. He chose a breakfast pack from his freezer and tossed it into the microwave. The assassin looked at the box he had chosen and smiled because it was pancakes with sausage, one of Karl's favorites.

After breakfast he turned his computer on and scanned the headers on the newsfax, then took a shower. He conserved on water, despite knowing he would never have to pay the bill. As usual he hung his wet towel on the bathroom door. Dressing in jeans and T-shirt, he bundled up in a parka and pulled a watch cap onto his head to protect himself against the cold.

Leaving his computer on, Karl carefully locked his apartment, then left the building at the usual time and caught his normal bus. Seated there, his breath steaming the air, he nodded to the other regulars. Most ignored him, but one old lady smiled. Karl returned her smile and sat back.

The ride to Freya, as per usual, passed quickly and uneventfully.

Mr. Crippen's heightened state of agitation was no surprise, but Karl had not expected his boss to be waiting for him at the door. "Where have you been, Karl? Have you forgotten what day this is?"

"No, sir, I haven't." Karl smiled innocently. "I left the house so quickly I didn't even bring a lunch. Sir."

Crippen patted sweat from his bald head despite the chill in the air. "Well, do this correctly and I will buy you lunch. You have the most important job in preparing for this banquet, you know. You need to repot four my-cosia pseudofloraand make sure they are in place at the reception center by noon."

"Yes, sir. I'll do a good job, sir."

Crippen angrily waved him away. "Then get to it, man."

Karl Kole nodded and made his way into the warehouse. He headed further back than he might normally, but the rest of the staff had become used to his idle explorations of the warehouse. Besides, everyone was busy trying to turn out a hundred centerpieces for the Frederick Steiner Memorial Library banquet. If anyone had actually had the time to notice him, they would have ignored him.

When he got way to the back, where old goods and broken pots were shoved, the assassin knelt down. He took a careful look around the area and decided no one had disturbed it. Moving aside an old advertising sign, he pulled out a box with four rubber-sealed ceramic flower pots. Carrying them as if they were no more important than any others in the building, the assassin became Karl again and went directly to his workbench.

Melissa Steiner-Davion's security people were very good. From the moment he'd decided to take the job of killing her, he'd begun to study films of her. Her bodyguards insulated her so well from people that only a madman could ever get close enough to kill her. Those opportunities only occurred when Melissa plunged into crowds to greet her subjects, but such forays were rare and random. Shooting her from pointblank range would be a way to kill her, but it was also a way to get caught, so he had rejected it instantly.