"I know. That's why I need a place to—"

  "No! They're looking for you here!"

  "Here? How could Flagge Security—?"

  "Not Flagge..."

  And then Wallz's voice trailed off. His feathers puffed out as his eyes focused somewhere behind Tristan. He jerked back and slammed the door.

  "Hello, traitor Tristan."

  Tristan whirled. He knew that voice. Krek stood in the alleyway, grinding a fist into his palm. He wasn't alone. Tristan recognized Callin and some of the other Proteans he'd seen in the lair.

  Joy and relief overcame his shock, and Tristan took a hesitant step forward.

  "Krek? You're alive? Thank Helix! How?"

  "Surprised? Thought you'd be the only mime outside Flagge left standing, didn't you."

  "No. No, that's not—"

  "Well, it didn't work. Sorry to disappoint you."

  "No, you don't understand. I'm so glad—"

  Callin leapt forward and, before Tristan could react, drove a fist at him. Tristan's face exploded in pain and he staggered back against the Ribos' door.

  He shook his head to clear it, and when he looked up, the Proteans had moved closer. He saw the naked hatred blazing in their eyes and knew he deserved it.

  He fought the urge to make a run for it. He had a feeling he wouldn't get far anyway. And right now, he lacked the will to run.

  "We lost a lot of brothers today, traitor," Krek said. "Every Kaze mime is dead. Except you."

  "I know, I know," he said, feeling utterly miserable. "But I don't know how. You're alive too—all of you. Why? I don't understand any of this."

  "Liar!" Callin shouted. He stepped forward again with a raised fist, but Krek grabbed him.

  Tristan spread his arms, welcoming him. "Go ahead. Do it. I deserve it."

  And he meant that. He leaned back against the wall and sank to a squat. He hung his head.

  Death was so inviting now. To join all those dead mimes. He'd known few of them and cared for none of them, but their deaths burdened him like the weight of the Earth. Mimes who had somehow survived, blamed him and hated him. If Kaze Glom didn't have a price on his head yet, it surely would by the end of the day. Cyrill, his spiritual father, wanted his head. Lani was somewhere in Flagge and may have been a part of this awful conspiracy. The Ribos had locked him out of their church.

  With no one left to trust, and no one left who trusted him, with everyone he knew either dead or out to get him, what was the point in fighting back?

  "Come on," Tristan said. "Let's get this over with."

  When nothing happened, he looked up and found the Proteans staring down at him.

  "A good show of remorse, traitor," Krek said. "If you were anyone else, I might even be convinced. But I'm not." He stepped closer. "And besides, it's not going to be that easy. Tear you up? Beat you to death? Much as that's exactly what we'd like to do just now, it's too good for you. When you go, we'll see to it you go just like your brothers. You'll know their fear, their agonies. But that's not going to happen just yet."

  Tristan blinked. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "It means we've made promises concerning you, and we intend to keep them."

  Krek signaled to a pair of mimes who yanked him to his feet and held him while Callin slapped a patch on Tristan's neck.

  "But after those obligations are discharged, you're ours. And then we'll deal with you."

  Tristan's skin tingled as lights began to flash before eyes. But too soon they dissolved to black.

  *

  Tristan awoke gasping and sputtering. He coughed, wiped foul-smelling water from his eyes, and looked around. He knew the place: the Proteus lair.

  "You awake now?" Krek again. "Good, because I'm only going to say this once. The only reason we didn't rip you to pieces back there is Okasan. The old woman wants to talk to you."

  "Okasan?" How could he face her? "I don't want to see her."

  Krek gave him a rough shove. "What you want doesn't matter. She says you might know something important. Something useful. I think she's wrong, but we let her have her way. She started this group, brought the first members together, found us this place to stay, so we owe her. We humor her. We promised we wouldn't mess you up until she spoke with you. But after that..."

  "Bloaty," Tristan said.

  "You're just lucky she's not here right now. Gives you a reprieve of sorts. But not for long. She's on her way." He grinned—not a nice sight. "And while we're waiting, we thought we'd let you pass the time with an old friend. A reunion, you might say."

  Krek signaled to Callin who came over from where he was monitoring a newsfeed. The two of them half dragged, half walked Tristan down a dank corridor lined with doors that once might have led to storage rooms

  "Yes, traitor Tristan," Krek said. "We promised Okasan no rough stuff until she talked to you. But we can't be responsible for the actions of someone who's not a member of Proteus, can we?"

  They stopped before the last door on the dead-end corridor. It stood open. Krek knocked on the doorframe.

  "Company!" he said.

  Then he and Callin shoved Tristan inside and closed the door behind him. He heard them laughing as they walked away.

  Tristan quickly took in his surroundings—two beds, a weak glowplate in the center of the ceiling, an old aluminum folding table with two mismatched chairs...

  ...and someone lying face to the wall on the bed to his right.

  Tristan watched the figure stir, roll over, and sit up on the edge of the thin mattress. He noticed that the right shoulder was heavily bandaged. And when he saw the lizard-like skin and fanged face, he stepped back.

  Eel.

  "So," the mime gladiator said in his rasping voice. "It's you."

  Tristan's instincts screamed to run, but once again he overrode them with the reality of his situation: nowhere to run, and no place to go if he got free. It was going to end soon for him. Might as well end here.

  Tristan stood his ground. "Yes. Me. Hello, Eel."

  Eel rose and stalked toward him, eyes blazing. Tristan didn't step back.

  Make it quick. Do it now. This way I won't have to face Okasan.

  Eel pushed his face close to Tristan's, their noses almost touching, and stared. Tristan didn't flinch from the reptilian gaze. He steeled himself for a gut-ripping blow from the talons on Eel's good arm.

  But it didn't come.

  What are you waiting for?

  Eel backed up a step and turned away.

  "They tell me your name is Tristan."

  Tristan knew he shouldn't feel relieved he was still in one piece, but he did.

  "They?"

  "These runaway mimes here."

  "Yes...Tristan."

  "They took me to a doctor, you know," he said without looking around. His voice was flat, as if he were reading the words.

  "I noticed the bandages."

  "She told me I was lucky. Very lucky. That I never would have reached her alive if someone hadn't packed my wounds."

  "Probably right."

  "But none of these mimes did it. They say it must have been you."

  "Well, you were bleeding pretty badly."

  And now Eel turned to face him. "So it was you. Why?"

  "Like the doctor said—you were dying."

  "But why would you do that?" He stepped closer again. "I was all set to kill you—and enjoy it. That shot saved your life. Why would you care that I was dying?"

  "I had no quarrel with you."

  "But I did with you! When Security woke me and told me that a mime agent from Kaze had stolen my masque, I was furious. But when I discovered my wardrobe gone, I nearly went mad. You knew what you did to me! I dug out some spare templates and went to the main tube nexus, and I waited. You might get by Security, but you weren’t going to get by me. I was there to kill you."

  "And rightfully so. I sandbagged you in your own home and stole your wardrobe. If places were reversed, I'd have been out for your blood. You were shot because you were on that platform, and you were on that platform because of me. So I felt some responsibility. I don't know much about you, but I knew you deserved better than to be backshot by a Sib."

  "That wasn't a Sib. It was a Flagge Security marksman. I'm told he was posted there to make sure no one prevented you from getting back to your glom."

  Tristan closed his eyes against a surge of nausea. The guilt for the catastrophe he'd caused had receded in the adrenaline buzz since his capture by Proteus, but now it all rushed back in a wave.

  He sat on the other bed and stared at the floor.

  "How—how do you know that?"

  "These Proteus mimes told me. They captured the shooter and got it out of him."

  What a plasmid I am, Tristan thought. What a worthless mutagen! Thought I was so muting smart, eluding Flagge Security at every turn, outsmarting them, outrunning them, and the whole time they were playing me like a ten-credit remote bot.

  "What is it with these mimes here?" Eel was saying.

  Tristan dragged himself from his pool of self loathing. "What?"

  "This Proteus group. What are they about?"

  "They're runaways, many from the arenas—like you."

  "I'm not a runaway," Eel snapped, and then his tone changed. "But maybe I should be."

  "Because they shot you?"

  He nodded his big reptilian head. "Snipered by my own glom. They had to know it was me—they knew everything else—but that didn't stop them. I was dispensable."

  "I wouldn't take it personally," Tristan said. "I'll bet they'd have sniped one of their own officers to spring me."

  "Still, it makes one think. And then there's these mimes. They didn't know me. Not personally. The only time we might have met was in the arena, and if so, they came away hurting—and yet they carried me to a doctor. They saved my life. That puts me in debt to them."

  "I'm sure they don't feel that way."

  "Doesn't matter how they feel. A debt is a debt. I owe you one as well. For packing my wounds." He turned away again. "Too many debts. I don't like that."

  "Well, you don't have to worry about me. It was my fault you got shot, so we're even. But even if we weren't, I doubt I'll be around long enough to collect."

  "Yes," Eel rasped. "They hate you with such a passion. They blame you for the deaths of all the Kaze mimes. But they didn't even know any of those mimes. I don't understand Proteus."

  "They think all mimes are related. You know, having the Goleman chromosome and all."

  "So they've told me. They want me to join up."

  "Well, since all mimes are one big family to them, I'd say you're already a member."

  “A family..." Eel said softly.

  "Strange concept for a mime, no? I think this whole Proteus thing was Okasan's doing."

  "Okasan." Eel stared at him. "She's real then? Not just a myth?"

  "I've met an old woman who calls herself Okasan. She seems genuine. And despite the fact that she's a realperson—or says she is—she seems to have genuine concern for mimes."

  "Even for you?"

  Tristan swallowed. "She did. But I doubt she does anymore." Not after I lied to her and sneaked my deadly little packet home. "The Proteans think I'm a genocidal maniac and Okasan probably agrees. They're going to put me out of my misery after she speaks to me."

  "Maybe they were hoping I'd do the job for them. Probably why they threw you in here with me. But I can't harm you now. I can put in a word for you."

  Tristan was touched by the offer, but knew it was useless. "Save your breath. And why would they listen to you?"

  "I'm thinking of joining them."

  Now that was a surprise. "With all your freedom? Your own apartment? Why would you give that up to live"...Tristan spread his arms..."here?"

  "Because I'll probably wind up in someplace like this anyway. That apartment isn't mine. It's on loan from the arena moguls. Same with the roam freedom. Championship perks. Mine to enjoy...as long as I stay champion. But what happens when I begin losing?" He jerked a scaly thumb over his shoulder. "Back to the warren."

  "Still better than this dank hole."

  "Maybe. Maybe not." He began pacing the small floor space. "I've had time to think here, about this idea of family...of being part of something bigger than yourself...of being connected to a larger organism. I think I like that."

  Tristan nodded. "I know what you mean." The idea had been growing on him as well. But he could forget about all that now.

  Eel said, "And after what Flagge did to the Kaze mimes...it shows how disposable we are."

  "Property. A resource, and a renewable one, at that."

  "And property can be disposed of once it loses its usefulness. But family...family is forever." He stopped pacing. "Mute Flagge. I'm joining Proteus."

  Tristan wondered how long a mime used to a luxury apartment would last down here, then decided it didn't matter what he thought.

  Tristan reached into his pockets. "Then you'll need this."

  He was startled to find them empty, then realized he shouldn't be surprised. Why would the Proteans leave him with templates to use?

  "I brought back your wardrobe. Your new brothers have it. Ask them for it."

  Eel stared at him a moment. "You did that? You brought it back?"

  Not exactly, Tristan thought.

  In his rush to get out of Kaze, he'd grabbed anything that looked remotely useful. Eel's wardrobe had been handy.

  Tristan shrugged. "I certainly won't be needing it."

  Eel started for the door. "For what it's worth, I'll do what I can for you."

  Tristan said nothing as Eel hurried out. He remained hunched forward on the bed, staring at the floor. And then he heard the door swing open. He looked up, expecting to see Krek or Callin. But it was a woman.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Tristan shot to his feet.

  "Is it you?" he said. "Really you?"

  She nodded. "I should be the one asking that, don't you think? They tell me Tristan's in this room, but I'm standing here looking at someone I've never seen before." She shook her head. "This is so damned confusing."

  "I'm the same man you told—let me get this right—that being human, being a person, is more than just having a certain set of genes. And you told me not to let anyone tell me otherwise.”

  She bit her upper lip and looked as if she were going to cry. "Yes," she said softly. "It's you."

  He took a step toward her and stopped.

  It's me. But is it you?

  If only he could be sure. This could be a trick, a nasty joke by the Proteans. They might have got hold of a writable template and snagged Lani's genome. For all he knew, this could be one of the Proteans—not Krek or Callin, but one of the smaller members—waiting for him to make a fool of himself.

  Humiliation before execution.

  "How long have you been here?" he said.

  "I just arrived. Okasan brought me."

  "Okasan...then she's here."

  That meant his time had just about run out.

  "Yes. She wants to speak to you. But I asked her if I could see you first. The others didn't want to let me but Okasan told them I was to have some time with you."

  She was Lani...she had to be Lani...he wanted so much for her to be the real Lani...

  Maybe too much.

  He held back.

  "Time for what?"

  She dug into her belt pouch and removed something. She extended her hand toward Tristan.

  "Here. I brought this for you."

  Tristan stared at the round flat case. "My wardrobe. How did you—?"

  "I sneaked back into the warehouse and found it. I thought you'd want it."

  Tristan stepped closer and took it from her.

  Yes...this was his. He recognized the pattern of scratches on its cover. He rubbed his fingers over the surface as he stared at her.

  And she was Lani. Her voice, the inflection, the way she moved...all just as he remembered. And how could the Proteans have retrieved his wardrobe on their own?

  He reached out and touched her shoulder, ran his fingers down the length of her arm. He wanted to take her in his arms, feel her against him, kiss her like they'd kissed back in her apartment.

  When had that been? Two days ago? Seemed like ages.

  "You did that for me?"

  "Well...not entirely for you. I did it for me, too."

  "I don't..."

  She reddened. "Trev...the Trev template is in there. I didn't want it to get lost."

  "Oh."

  "You understand, don't you?"

  Tristan wasn't sure if he did, but it didn't matter. Simply having her near, touching her arm, filled him with such wonderful feelings.

  But she was thinking about Trev...always Trev...

  "No. I'm just glad you're here."

  "I...I was wondering if you'd..." Her face turned an even deeper red and she looked away. "This is so hard."

  And suddenly Tristan understood.

  "You were wondering if I'd flux into Trev again."

  She nodded, still not looking at him. "Yes."

  When he said nothing, she faced him.

  "Are you mad? Have I hurt you?"

  Some silly phrase like, Why can't you want to be with me for the real me instead of who I can be? flashed through is mind.

  But how absurd was that? He'd been four different people during the three times they'd been together. And one of those people had been her.

  So who was the real me? Even Tristan wasn't sure.

  He said, "To tell you the truth, I don't know how I feel."

  He dropped his hand away from her arm but she grabbed it and squeezed his fingers.

  "You've got to understand. Trev went out one night and that was the last I ever saw of him. He was supposed to be home by morning but he never came back. We never had a chance to say good-bye. Can you understand that?"

  Tristan could grasp some of it, but he sensed he was missing so much more. He'd never experienced what Lani and Trev had had together, so how could she expect him to understand?

  "If that's all you want," he said, "then you don't need me. Any mime will do."

  "No," she said firmly, and squeezed his fingers so hard they hurt. "Any mime will not do. It has to be you."