She was out the door and into the elevator by the time the telecom began to beep. She never heard it.

"No answer," Serrin lamented. "We probably just hosed the deal. Great." His anger wasn't mitigated by Ma-thilde's sudden change of heart.

"We'll just have to go with what we've got," she told him. "Our samurai know how to take care of themselves."

"Yeah," Serrin moaned. He was just about to make an uncomplimentary comment when he realized a lot of eyes were on him, just daring him to say the wrong thing. He declined.

"What now?" asked Tom. He was still pale, still a little shaky, trying to figure out what had just steamrollered him.

"We meet some friends underground. Below Meld In," Mathilde replied. "Some of 'em have a stakeout there. Waiting to see if any of the Kreutzritters come back snooping. And it's just around the corner. We can call up anyone extra we need. Gunther, check it out."

They waited and a few minutes later the ork was back, saying everything was quiet on the outside, safe.

"That's it, people. Let's go."

The orks got to their feet in some semblance of military precision. They filed out through the back door, with Serrin and Tom shepherded into the middle.

Great, Serrin thought glumly, looking around him. These orks have barely any cyberware between them. That guy, Gunther, he's got a smartgun link by the look of it and maybe dermal plating. The rest of the bunch look like pure cannon fodder to me. Oh, frag it, if only we could have closed Michael's deal. Assuming he ever made it amp; and Kristen. Where is she?

They'd just made it out the back of the bar when the van came very slowly around the corner. It was just another piece of traffic. They didn't pay any attention to it at first.

Mathilde whistled and four figures came melting out of the dusk as the van got closer. They had almost reached the group when the van stopped directly in front of the bar. Gunther readied his pistol. A half-dozen more orks followed his example.

"If this is some kind of trap " Gunther snarled.

"No!" Serrin screamed as Kristen climbed out the passenger side of the van. "Friends! Freunde, dammit! Don't shoot or I'll kill you!"

She heard his voice and ran full pelt toward him, almost knocking him over when she threw herself into his arms, burying herself in him, hardly believing what she'd done.

"I got it," she yelled, almost jumping up and down with delight. "I did it. It's all in the van, but I spent five grand too much!"

Though she looked frightened about Serrin's reaction to that, his face broke into a smile wider than Tom's chest.

"You're wonderful," he cried, and hugged her tightly. "Hey, Mathilde, Gunther, take a look inside the van. Then tell me this isn't for real."

The orks were already moving toward the van, urging the driver to take it around to the back, away from any prying eyes.

"Michael," she said breathlessly. "He's all right. He's stable. They're going to operate in the morning. But amp; " Her voice trailed away.

"But what?" Serrin had to ask her.

"Spinal damage. They wouldn't talk to me about it.", "Oh, no." The elf looked away, pain in his eyes, mouth creased, fists balled. "God, no." He turned to Tom as he held on to her, his eyes suddenly filled with determination.

"Tom, we've got to see this through."

The troll nodded and gripped the Roomsweeper, which had been returned to him. "Of course," he said. Orkish

chatter came from the back yard. Someone was getting very excited indeed. Tom smiled at Serrin just before the cheer went up.

"I think our chummer must have made a good deal," the troll said. "Let's go see what fireworks we get to play with."

Gunther was examining the missile launcher and the assault cannons while the rest of the orks were contemplating the booty in the crates as the van pulled away.

"The deal is you keep everything afterward. But that buys us total commitment," Serrin warned him.

"I'd go up against the gates of hell with this much heat," Gunther growled. He'd just seen the grenade box and the plastic explosives.

"You may have to," Serrin told him.

Mathanas, old friend, this may be our last night together in this world. It may be a long, long time before we meet again. There isn't anything in my soul you do not know. If tomorrow brings the end of me, then we will know each other again. We are old souls, you and I.

Niall roused himself from his reverie. He was long out of Munich, through Ingolstadt and Regensburg, and now had come to the owl-blessed forests outside Schwandorf. The conifers stood like sentinels, the forest not carpeted with the riot of vegetation he so loved in his homeland. With midnight near, Niall had completed the shrouding of himself, all the illusions and barriers and concealments, and he knew Mathanas had been weaving his own powers into patterns, changing the aura around them. The elf wasn't tired, even though he'd been awake for many hours. Energies beyond anything he'd ever dreamed were at his command. It felt like they could keep him awake and alert forever. He also knew the dangers of that seduction.

"We must scry the place now," he said to his ally spirit. "We must find the defenses. The weak link, if there is one. And without being noticed." It was the last part that would be the great strain; he could not risk Lutair sensing his approach. He had to discover everything about the magical defenses of the place without triggering any of

Lutair's magical alarms. For that might also drive him to release the monstrosity he'd created in an instant. The strike would have to be sure and swift, but that also required hours of painstaking probing, with most of the power diverted toward concealment. It would be like playing blindfold chess against a true grandmaster. The frustration of it would call for every ounce of calm, detachment, and self-control Niall could muster.

Shivering a little in the mild night air, the elf began to draw out the first glowing of power from the cauldron he carried.

The truck the orks had at their disposal pulled up at a discreet distance around the corner from the Metropolitan. Serrin went up to their suite, where it took him only a moment to pick up all the credsticks and cash they had left. He also made a transfer in the hotel lobby from his own account. Twenty thousand, he reckoned. We're five thousand over budget and we need some extra for contingencies. Whatever those might turn out to be.

They left their possessions behind. Taking them would have been like saying goodbye to Michael, which none of them would do.

Then the group made their way out of the city with sixteen orks stuffed in the back of the truck. They hit the autobahn for Ingolstadt and watched the glowing sodium illuminate their passage through the night.

One of the samurai raised a half-bottle of bad vodka to his lips, but Mathilde knocked it away before he could take a swig.

"Later. We're being paid more money than you've ever dreamed of and you keep sober, Grunnden."

The ork didn't so much as challenge her. He just watched the colorless liquid ebb away across the floor of the van, shrugged his shoulders, and turned to cleaning the Enfield shotgun with which he'd armed himself.

Though the autobahn surface was reasonably good, the truck swayed from side to side and frequently bumped them up and down during the ride. Serrin was beginning to tire, but he knew that, unlike the others, he couldn't risk a stim patch for the battle to come. It was just too

great a risk for a mage, the overstimulation possibly causing permanent deterioration of his skills.

"You want to play medic when we get there?" he asked Kristen. "We need someone to stay back and look after the medikit and stuff." She nodded silently. She wasn't comfortable crammed into this truck with this great army of males. Apart from Mathilde, the ork samurai had only one female among their number.