"Damn," Liadof muttered under her breath. "Those keywords were supposed to be stronger than that.

I wonder how the hell he did it."

She shrugged. "Well, no great loss. He simply gets to slink off instead of being beaten to death by the others. I trust Dr. Sprenkle will find that adequate reward for his act of treason."

"Yes," Faraday murmured, keeping his eyes on the displays. "I'm sure he will."

He could feel her eyes studying him. Then, peripherally, he saw her shift her attention back to the drama taking place far below. "But the game goes on," she continued. "Mr. Milligan, move the spy probe closer to Omega. I want a better look at what the Protectors are doing to the cage."

With one last surge of ecstasy, it was over. Drusni's grip on him loosened, and the wind whipped between them again as they fell slowly apart.

And as the windstorm of emotion began to fade from Manta's mind, a black cloud of shame and guilt rolled in to take its place.

Because Drusni's idea had worked. It had worked perhaps too well. By mating with her—by merging his body and soul and mind with her for those powerful few minutes—he had truly become one flesh with her.

And in the process, somewhere deep at the core of his being, that merging had become permanent.

Part of whatever it was that made him human had been replaced by something that was purely Qanskan.

And with that change had come the knowledge of the terrible evil he had just committed.

He had mated with a female who was not his rightful bond-mate. Worse, a female who was the bondmate of his best friend.

He looked over at Drusni. She was drifting on the wind as if dazed or in some deep and dark despair, her fins hunched as if she too felt the evil of what she had done.

He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, to tell her that it would be all right. But he couldn't. He couldn't face her. Not now. Not after what he'd done. There was no way he could ask for forgiveness. No way she could ever forgive him.

He turned away, his heart throbbing with pain and self-loathing. He should never have come back.

To have seen her again, to have regained her as a friend... and now, to have it end like this. No, he should never have come back.

He would leave now. And he would never see her again.

He turned around again for one last furtive look at her. And as he did so, a sound from above penetrated his cloud of guilt and shame. The sound of Protectors slamming themselves into the humans' cage...

And suddenly, the black cloud swirling around Manta's heart began to light up with the lightning flashes of anger. This was their fault. Not Drusni's; not even his. Theirs. And if he couldn't ask forgiveness from Drusni, the humans could certainly expect none from the Qanska.

The humans shouldn't have come back. Not like this. And Manta meant to bite that lesson straight through their skin.

Flexing his fins, he started upward toward the dark object floating above him. The Protectors were still ramming themselves against the side, he saw, with no indication that they were making much headway. No surprise there. Thanks to Manta and their studies of him, the humans knew a great deal about Qanskan physiology and capabilities. They would have carefully designed their cowardly weapon to withstand Qanskan attacks.

But Manta was a tool-using creature. And the ultimate tool for this job was quite close at hand.

He could hear Drusni calling to him as he swam upward, the quiet agony in her voice adding to the pain whistling through his heart. Perhaps she thought her sacrifice had been for nothing, that he was still under the control of the evil beings above them.

If so, she would learn the truth soon enough. The same time the humans did.

The bottom of the cage loomed directly above him, the rows of jagged spikes pointed down like the teeth of a giant mouth awaiting its prey. Easing back on his speed, he rose toward them; and just as he reached the tips, he rolled over onto his back and let himself float the rest of the way upward.

Manta's skin had grown thick and tough over the long ninedays of his adulthood, and the spikes barely scratched the outer layer. That would hardly do. Flipping over, he dived down again for a few powerful strokes, then turned back and swam upward again toward the cage, this time making sure he was moving faster. Again, he rolled onto his back as he approached, presenting his belly to the spikes.

And gasped as he hit and the sharp points dug into his skin. He wiggled once; and with a multiple flowering of bright yellow, the blood began to pop out of his new wounds.

Wincing, he eased himself down off the spikes. The tiny droplets of yellow blew away from his belly as the wind caught them, forming little perforated trails across the sky. Flipping his head around into the wind, keeping well clear of the spikes this time, he headed away beneath the cage.

"What does he think he's doing?" Liadof said contemptuously, shaking her head. "Did he really think the spikes would be fragile enough for him to break?"

"Maybe he's just confused," Faraday suggested, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. Was Raimey thinking along the same line he was? If so, there might still be a chance to turn this grand scheme of Liadof's into the fiasco it deserved to be.

Provided, of course, that Liadof herself didn't catch on until it was too late. Surreptitiously, he tapped his myrtlewood ring for luck. "After all, with most animals the belly is the weakest part," he added, hoping she wouldn't get suspicious at this sudden surge of helpfulness.

"I think it's that way with Qanska, too," Milligan spoke up, his voice just slightly off. So he'd figured it out, too. "I'm not sure, though. Too bad we can't consult Ms. McCollum."

"You could get her back in here," Faraday suggested, getting into the spirit of things. "Maybe she'll have some ideas."

Liadof snorted. "You never give up, do you, Colonel?"

Faraday gazed at the display. "No, Arbiter," he said softly. "I don't."

Manta cleared the last row of spikes and turned upward along the side of the cage, rolling over to put his back to the wind. Far above him, the Protectors were continuing their ramming attack, and he saw two or three of them look warily in his direction as he cleared the underside of the cage.

Standing ready to fend him off, no doubt, if he tried to interfere with them again.

No danger there. Manta intended to stay as far away from them as he reasonably could.

With the wind at his back, the thin multiple trails of blood drifting from his wounds began to spatter into the mesh of the cage as he swam upward alongside it. Picking a likely-looking spot along the lower part of the side, he brought his fins to a stop, letting the wind press his belly firmly against the cold metal. He wiggled a couple of times, resting against the side of the cage, taking the opportunity to peer more closely inside.

The humans had done pretty well for themselves, he saw. There were ten children in the cage, ranging from one-size Babies to a couple of four-size Youths. Three female Breeders were inside, too, swimming back and forth among the terrified children, trying to calm and comfort them. Manta wondered if they'd all voluntarily gone in with their young, like the one Breeder he'd seen, or if the humans' aim was simply bad enough that they'd caught a couple by mistake.

But that didn't matter. What was important was that there were three adults in there who could hopefully listen to directions with steady fins and get the children moving when it was time.

And then, from somewhere downwind, Manta heard a distant warning call. Not the terrified pleading that had drawn him here, which was still being shouted by the Breeders and children who had escaped the humans' clutches. This one was an old and very familiar call.