"The bugger's a junior director of the company these days," he said wretchedly. He already guessed who must be handling the ownership rights, and he also knew that trying to deck into their system would be more or less equivalent to personally signing his own death warrant.

Magellan had made it to New Hlobane well before Serrin and the others went sifting through the ruins at Babanango, but it took time for him to catch up with their trail. Finally, enough money spread around found them. He also learned that the Englishman's cyberdeck was still stashed at the Imperial. He'd surely come back for it, which meant Magellan had no need to traipse into the veldt after them. But once he learned where they were headed, he was sure they'd find the plant. What he didn't know was that Luther had ordered its destruction before they ever got there.

The elf almost panicked. They'd find the evidence; the plants, the drugs, the zombies. The research files. It was unthinkable. Hoping against hope that none of it had yet 'lappened, he called the number from his own hotel room. "That number has been disconnected," the robotic voice informed him. Magellan looked askance at the telecom screen and sat back, staring at it dumbly for a moment. He knew the number wasn't in any directory. Jenna had her own ways of finding it, but disconnected? He tried the operator and told her, in the smoothest voice he could muster, that it was an emergency and he had to get through to the number.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the number has been disconnected," the voice came back with a firm insistence. Magellan slammed his fist on the table and cursed loudly. Then he called up the trid news pages, but found nothing about the Babanango facility there.

Had Luther already wrapped things up there? he wondered. Surely that wasn't possible. Unless, unless amp; unless he's got everything he needs.

Magellan felt shock ripple through him. Jenna hadn't believed Luther to be that close. Neither had he.

Was there anything left, he fretted, any kind of evidence? Sutherland will trace Luther. He's good enough. He'll find out who owned the place. Luther's got to be stopped.

He'd been thinking of calling Jenna until he discovered that Luther had already abandoned the research facility.

Now he had other calls to make, a trap to spring.

Niall had slept almost twenty-four hours straight, sweating feverishly, moaning as he lay tossing and turning. He woke with dark circles under his eyes, unrested by his tormented sleep. His mage's senses showed him his ally spirit, unmanifested to mundane eyes, at the entrance to the cave.

"Where am I? How long have I been here?" he groaned.

"A day and a night," Mathanas told him. "You are safe enough here. We have not been followed. No more than usual, at least. We are well concealed. You need not fear."

"What do the watchers say?" Niall asked him. They were his own summonings, but the spirit's powers concealed them even as it was able to see what they saw, learn what they knew.

"They are still in Africa. I sensed a strong shamanic presence with them. The watchers did not follow," the spirit said. "It was too dangerous. They would have been discovered. The group was at Liitair's research plant, but they have left now. The place has been destroyed. Not even the aura remains."

"Lutair would not have done that because of them," the elf mused. "He doesn't know about them. I'm sure of it." Mathanas said nothing.

"He must be very close now," Niall went on. "He must have destroyed the place because he no longer has need of it. All the research has been done. It may be that we have no more than a few days left. Less, perhaps. We must be gone."

The words were much more than they seemed. Niall was referring to abandoning his homeland, everything he loved about the magic and wonder of Tir na n6g, the loss of everything he still had. Mathanas felt the mortal's hurt keenly.

"Not yet. We must be sure that none can follow," he said.

"But we don't have time," Niall protested. He knew Mathanas would want him to spend vital hours on ritual magic, masking himself through a web of deceit and confusion to mislead anyone in pursuit.

"It must be done. You did not venture the storm to take power against Lutair alone," the spirit said soothingly. "That is within the cauldron. What lies around it needs strengthening also."

"Mathanas, will you promise me something?" Niall asked, his voice placatory, allowing the spirit to see his acquiescence. Mathanas waited to hear him out.

"If, when we find him, if he is to take me to the living death he plans, will you kill me first?"

"I am unable," Mathanas replied slowly.

The elf shrugged. He had not really expected any other reply.

"Well, I suppose we'd better get on with it," he said miserably. "Daingit, I need something to eat." The ridiculousness of it struck him, almost making him laugh. "Here we are, with a focus most Awakened on the planet would kill for, and I can't create a bowl of bread and milk to sustain me. That is truly absurd."

The spirit smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

They made it into Babanango in the late afternoon. Shakala said little to any of them, save to Tom. The shamans were still wary of each other, and when they stood together they were like bucks agreeing not to lock antlers, Tom deferring to the elf's ownership of the terrain and Shakala accepting the troll's presence. But a tension still crackled between them, and Serrin wasn't sorry when Shakala left them, assigning a few of his warriors to escort them to the outskirts of town.

By the time they found a cab to take them to the airport, he was feeling fairly drained. Michael had tagged the New Hlobane flight and was busily paying whatever it would take to get them on it. The decker was past fatigue, experiencing a second wind that had him eager to get back to his Fuchi so he could go decking for what they needed. Serrin grabbed a bottle of fruit juice and ran through the gate just in time to board the plane, Kristen close on his heels.

"That was a damn lucky stunt," Michael commented. "If we hadn't made this flight, it would have meant staying overnight. That, or ride all night by bus. We need to get moving on this one, term."

Serrin merely grunted agreement. He was too busy preparing himself for another ordeal aboard another of the flying rustbuckets that constituted local air transport.

"Look, if this place is so rich, how come they can't afford decent aircraft?" he complained above the noise of the engines.

"We're tourists, old boy. You win some, you lose some," Michael replied rather off-puttingly. "Besides, almost no one gets eaten on safari anymore, so maybe this is how you even up the odds, huh? You can't cheat the odds, matey."

"You're frizzed," the elf shouted at him.

"Of course. It runs in the family. Barking mad for generations," Michael yelled back. "I mean, why the hell else would I be here?"

Serrin sat back and didn't say anything more. He dozed off and didn't wake until yet another descent jerked him from sleep with the thump of rubber hitting tarmac. He couldn't keep track of how many times he'd felt that in the last few hectic days and nights. He looked around sleepily at Tom.

The troll sat impassively, a faraway expression on his face. Serrin realized that it had been hard for the shaman to resist attacking Shakala sooner than he had. Bear was vicious when wounded. Serrin had seen it only once, a Cajun woman from his Lafayette days. A soul gentle as any he'd ever met until she went wild after getting slashed in a bar fight. Even a pair of ork samurai had run for their lives.

The weary little group straggled into yet another airport, collecting their baggage and heading for the row of cabs almost robotically. By the time the taxi driver delivered them to the center of town, Serrin felt almost hyper-alert. He was tired, but not sleepy, and he needed some distraction.