"But ain't romance wonderful?"

Tom just managed to get his arms around Michael be-fore he fainted.

Michael got a slap patch to make sure Tom's healing did its work fully, and then their new allies told them it was time to get out of town fast. The gang that had

brought Serrin here had chummers, and they'd come looking. But they found no further clues in the building where Serrin had been held and not an elven body in sight.

"Bastard got away," Serrin muttered.

"Like we're going to. Word is probably already out at the club," Michael said faintly. "Not to mention on the streets. A cab, James, and take me home. To the airport anyway. We'll send a messenger for our things from the airport. I don't think it would be too smart going back to the hotel ourselves."

"No," Serrin said, "That would be too suspicious. Tom and I will go. The gangers won't be able to trace us there."

"It was more that Magellan guy I was thinking of," Michael said.

"I'll take my chances," Serrin said grimly.

"Well, we'll all go together then. I don't think splitting up is a good idea either. Haven't you figured that out after tonight?"

"Will you be able to make it?" Serrin asked him.

"Sure. I've just lost a little blood, that's all. My arm's fine, really. Crikey," Michael sighed, "those 'family' guys cleaned me out of every last cent, but they were worth it. It's been a while since I've been in a real fight. It's as much fun as you can have without a datajack."

"Yeah, but where are we going to find a cab around here?" Serrin said. The derelict house where the team of Indian samurai had left them wasn't exactly a premium pickup point for any money-seeking taxi driver.

"Good question," Tom said. He ducked his head away from the glassless window frame as headlights headed up the road outside. Inching his head back up again, he peered over the rotting wooden window sill.

"We just got lucky," he said and walked outside. A minute later the rest of them had also staggered out to the car.

"What the fragging hell made you come along here?" Tom asked the ork.

"Well, I saw the Maharana boys heading out this way. Guessed maybe they were coming to give you some help.

Reckoned you'd get out in one piece if they took care of business. I wanted my five hundred," the ork grunted.

"It's sitting in hotel security at the Imperial," Michael said. "Look, get us there and to the airport and you can double it."

A thousand nuyen for a cab ride, Serrin thought won-deringly. But what the hell; it would get the cab moving.

"We can clean up at the hotel," he said. "We can't just try and catch a plane out of here looking like this." His own clothes were torn and dirty, while Michael's jacket was splendidly technicolored with blood. "You won't even get into the hotel lobby looking like a portable massacre."

"Just go in, clean up, and bring me my stuff. I'll change in the cab," Michael groaned. He leaned painfully forward to look at Kristen, who was seated on the other side of Serrin from him. She seemed to be sleeping, tucked into the elf and not moving.

"I guess we're taking Kristen," he said quietly. "Her IDs aren't going to be much use getting her into New York, but somehow I don't think you'll want to go without her."

"No." That was final. "But why risk New York?"

"Point one: I want my Fairlights. Point two: I think I'd kill for a delivery from the all-night deli by now. Point three: you've got a friend there who just might know the mysterious elf Magellan was talking about. Your occult-freak lady snoop, remember?"

"Two out of three isn't bad," Serrin said affably as he fumbled around for a cigarette. The streetlights flashing by bathed his gaunt face in sodium streaks. The cab was back into civilization by now.

"Not to mention the fact that we're now dealing, apparently, with two sets of people who have an interest in kidnapping or killing you. Or maybe three, actually, if you consider that a small race war is probably about to break out down here. And Magellan's still loose out there. You said he sounded Stateside; he may have tracked us from there. No going back to Cape Town, term. It's a direct bolt all the way home to the Rotten Apple, old boy."

"But what about Kristen's passport? Will it get past immigration?" Serrin already knew the answer.

"About as much chance as a snowball in hell," Michael said grimly. They fell silent. The solution had already occurred to the Englishman, but he wasn't sure how he was going to sell it to Serrin.

"There's one thing we could do," Michael said slowly. "She's got her own ID, amazingly enough. The real thing. You need it when the police hassle you on the streets, she told me. No passport, obviously. And that's the problem. It would take days to get one and we just don't have that time. But amp; "

Then he finally told the elf what he had in mind.

"Look, you can't be the one to do it," the Englishman argued when Serrin protested. "I mean, it would be too difficult under the circumstances. A bit, um, premature. No, I didn't mean that. You know what I mean. I think. But / could do it. I'm naturalized. Dual nationality."

Serrin stared at him, wide-eyed.

"This is going to cost Geraint a bloody fortune," the Englishman lamented. "I mean, I never thought it would happen like this."

Serrin still stared furiously at him.

"Don't look at me like that," Michael snarled. "Think of the favor I'm doing you, you ungrateful swine."

Serrin still didn't say so, but he knew Michael was right. There was no other way. Attempted bribery wouldn't get them any further than a hefty jail term back in New York. And it would, indeed, take far too long to wait for official paperwork in Cape Town. Only a day or two more, Magellan had said.

"But how are we going to manage it?"

"Bet you Indra will know someone," Michael said. "She seems to know everyone. Let's just hope she does."

When they got to the hotel, Serrin took off his filthy jacket and handed it to the Englishman before he and Tom went in.

While he waited, Michael shook the sleeping girl. "Wake up, Kristen. This is important."

"What? Where are we now?" she said sleepily. He

went on shaking her, ignoring the protest from his bad arm.

"Listen carefully to me. I have a proposition for you."

"Let's pray the Dutch Reformed Evangelical Church is good enough," Michael said as they staggered out onto the runway in Manhattan's late dawn.

The last eight hours had been a blur. It had been so long since they'd had a good night's sleep that they hardly knew what day it was. Later, the frantic phone calls, the paperwork, the endless wait at the airport, the bizarre scene hurried through almost under the noses of immigration, getting their photos lacquered onto the cards, the restlessness of the suborbital flight.

"God, that plastic had better get us through here." Michael took a deep breath and put his arm around Kristen, the pair of them heading for immigration just ahead of Serrin and Tom. The bored official took one look at Michael's ID and ushered him away into a side room.

Michael had thought the only way to be sure about getting Kristen back into New York was to use his real, genuine, documents. His ID would be scrutinized too closely for him to risk a fake, no matter how good it was. Now he had to sweat for twenty minutes before the official even arrived to speak with him.

"So you married a distant cousin, huh?" the man said, not looking at the Englishman, holding the identity card as if it might communicate leprosy if kept too long. "George, put this drek through the analyzers. And his passport. Hit them with everything we've got.

"You don't sound much like an American to me," the inspector said flatly, folding his arms across his chest and glaring at Michael.