Spike trudged up the stairs and to his door, but there he hesitated, glancing down at his shirt. Totally ruined, and there was blood on his pants, too. His mother was going to be pissed. She wouldn't screech and carry on like Biggy's mom was going to do, but she was still going to find some way to punish him. And he couldn't hide from her long enough for the bruising to die away. That would take days. Maybe she isn't home. That would only be delaying the inevitable, but hell, he'd take any break he could get. Hoping, he opened the door.

Naturally his luck was out. His mother was home, stretched out on the sofa, reading a book. She took one look at him and her eyebrows arched upward. "I sure hope the other guy looks worse."

His luck wasn't going to be entirely rotten. She was in a good mood. "Yup, he does. Lots worse."

She set the book aside and swung her feet to the floor. "You know, any clothes you don't grow out of in a week, you rip up or otherwise ruin. Look at you. Come on, lets get you cleaned up."

"I can do it myself, Mom!"

"Call it punishment for fighting. You won't use iodine. I will. Who was it?"

"Biggy."

"Len Biggars? He's half again your size!"

He gave her a crooked smile. "You don't want me fighting with somebody smaller than me, do you?"

"Point," she conceded, holding his chin while she dabbed iodine onto his face. In that way she was better than his friends' mothers, too. They would have demanded he not fight. She didn't even ask what he fought about, simply fussed about the ruined shirt as she pulled it off his shoulders.

That reminded him of another sore point. He said sullenly, "If I was still working at the spaceport, I could buy a new one."

"Don't start with that again. I already said I was sorry. I tried to get a place near the spaceport here, but I couldn't. Quit pouting."

"I'm not pouting. My lip is swollen."

"I know a pout when I see one. Get out of those pants and I'll bring you some clean clothes. And see if you can't keep them in one piece for the rest of the day."

She wasn't finished with him yet, however. When he emerged from the bathroom, clothed and combed, she eyed him speculatively and said, "This is your second fight this month. You know what? I think you just don't have enough to do."

"I've got plenty to do!"

"Relax. I wasn't thinking about more chores. I think it's time you learned something useful."

More school? Oh, great, that was just what he needed. "Like what?"

"Self-defense. Come over here." She pulled him over to face her. "You're as tall as I am! You're growing so fast, I guess we don't have to worry about the clothes not lasting long. Anyway, we can do this standing, which is better. Now, put your hands up in front of you, like you're getting ready to clap. A little higher. Good." She held her hand toward him like an arrow, fingers together pointing at his chest, thumb up. "Now, I'm going to poke you in the chest, and it's going to hurt. I want you to try to stop me by catching my hand between yours. OK?"

"Why?"

"I want to test your eye-hand coordination. Ready?"

He knew his eye-hand coordination was good. He would never have done so well in battle programs in the sims, otherwise. "Yeah, I'm ready."

He saw her move, but far too late. His hands clapped on nothing and her fingers jolted into his breastbone. She was right, it hurt. It hurt even worse the second time, and he cursed.

"Spike, don't look at my hands. Look at my eyes. And don't focus all your attention in one place. Use your peripheral vision. See without watching. This has got to be something you do, not something you make yourself do. Does that make sense?"

He nodded, and this time he watched her eyes. He wasn't sure what he saw, when it happened. Just something, a change, miniscule. But he saw it, and he also saw and reacted instantly to the blur of movement at the edge of his vision. His hands closed on hers with a sharp smack.

She grinned. "Not bad." Then she reached to ruffle his hair. Without his even thinking of it, his hand went up to deflect hers, backhanding her away.

Her smile faded, and he thought for a moment she was annoyed. But when she spoke, she sounded pleased. "You're better than I imagined." She shook her head, but at herself, not him. "I should have started this a long time ago."

"Started what?"

"Training you."

"You used to, back when Dad was alive."

They so rarely mentioned his father that she was silent for a moment, as if Ben's ghost had drifted through the room. "What we did back then was just fooling around. I want to teach you something more real."

"Teach me what?"

"To defend yourself. To move like water, so no one can touch you, and be one with the shadows so no one can see you. To fight. Even to kill, if you have to. Do you want to learn all that?"

She was serious. "Sure," he said, pretending nonchalance.

"This will take a lot of work, Spike. I'm too rusty to do more than teach you the basics. After that we'll have to find you a real master. But I'm not going to bother doing all that if you aren't willing to work hard at it."

"I can't go beating up my own mother."

She laughed. "The day you can lay a hand on me that I don't allow you to is a long way from today, sweetie. Do you want to do this? Are you willing to give it a try?"

"If I don't like it, I can quit?"

"You're always looking for that edge, aren't you? Yes, you can. At any time. But I have a strong feeling you're going to like it."

He pretended to think it over. "OK, I'm in. For now, anyway. I'll work hard until I decide I want to quit," he promised.

"Deal."

Crys was asleep, napping on the sofa.

A way to waken her, a wicked way, came into Vicious' head. In the months since he'd moved in with her, she'd taught him that they could have fun teasing each other, but he still hadn't gotten used to it, and the idea seemed both silly and alien to him. Yet he still wanted to do it. He knew it would make her laugh. Despite being almost twelve years older than he, she acted like a child at times, but whether he did the same, as he was contemplating now, was a day-to-day decision.

He'd done a lot of adjusting since she'd come into his life, but so had she. Long before he'd moved in, she'd told him why she hated the syndicates, about the friends she had lost to guns or drugs. "You people control everything, and the world you make for the rest of us is based on nothing but greed and vice. You take away people's hope, and that's a bigger crime than stealing their money."

She'd said it with such venom that he retorted, "If that's how you feel, why do you stay with me?"

She replied simply. "Because I love you. I know, that's fucking stupid. But that's the way it is."

He wasn't sure even now how he felt about her, but he cared about her. Too much to spy on her as Kito wanted him to do. He hadn't lived with her long before he understood the nature of her occasional nights away from home. She was part of a group that did its best to sabotage every possible syndicate operation by nonviolent means, such as stealing syndicate money and giving it to people to use to pay protection dues, or acting as police informants. "Small stuff," Kito had said, and shrugged it off, but just as Vicious was thinking his spying was over, Kito added, "But it will still be useful to know when she's meeting with these people, so keep me informed."

Instead, for the first time, Vicious went against orders. He asked Crys to quit what she was doing, or he'd have to move out again. She was predictably indignant, then furious, that he had the nerve to give her an ultimatum. He told her, "It's not an ultimatum. It's just what I have to do."

She understood then. Nervous, hands in his pockets, leaning against her door, he watched the understanding come to her, and then all the emotions which followed it. But in the end, she'd done what he asked. She quit the group.

She'd chosen him. No one had ever done that for him before. Because she had, he'd lied to Kito indirectly by letting Kito assume she'd given it up because she had a syndicate man in the house. Since then, he'd been free to find his way through this odd relationship without a shadow between them.

He decided to be childish today. But he would give her a chance, just one, to avoid what he was planning. He twisted a strand of her hair between his fingers and gave it a gentle tug. Her hair was red at the moment ­ she impulsively changed her hair color every few weeks. Red was his favorite so far.

She didn't stir. He smiled and headed for the kitchen, returning with an ice cube between his fingers. One of her eyes opened. "You'd better not, you sonuvabitch."

He smiled. He already had the ice cube handy, so even if she was awake, it was a shame to waste it. He lunged, and she shrieked and tried to get away. The next moment they were in an impromptu wrestling match which he easily won, and the ice went down her blouse. She shrieked again and reached to snatch it out, but he grabbed her wrists and wouldn't let her. She tried to knee him in the groin, cursed him thoroughly, then whined she was getting freezer burn. He relented, and as he expected, she pulled the remains of the ice cube out of her blouse and shoved it down the back of his neck. A little ice didn't bother him. He kissed her, thoroughly.

"Well," she said when they came up for air. "I'm definitely awake now."

"Good. I want you to drive me somewhere."

"You are such a bastard. You wake me up from a perfectly good nap, kiss me senseless, and then tell me you want to go for a drive? You're a sadistic bastard."

"I know." He rose and pulled her to her feet.

"I can't go anywhere. My blouse is all wet."

"It looks good on you, too."

"Flattery isn't going to work, so don't try it."

"You'll dry out in the car."

She made an exasperated sound, but she was also trying hard not to smile. "Where are we going?"

"To look for Spike."

"Again?"

"Three times the charm."

"You don't believe in that shit." She sighed. "All right, we'll go look for your little buddy. Although why you are so determined to find a thirteen-year-old kid is beyond me."

His amusement evaporated. "Humor me."

She was looking for her purse, but his tone made her turn to him. "I don't understand it, but I'm going, aren't I?"

He found a smile somehow, and nodded.

He had never had so much trouble finding Spike before, and he was getting uneasy. He knew everywhere Spike hung out, knew his school schedule and what days he was likely to cut, knew his schedule at the spaceport and every route he took to get there, and knew all his friends and where they lived. The most he'd ever had to try was four places. He'd never gone and not found him at all, and now that had happened twice.

He brooded over it for the first ten minutes of the drive, then realized he was fighting his own instincts. "Crys. Lets go to the spaceport first."

"OK." She made a left turn that endangered two other cars and a pedestrian, glanced over grinning to see if he'd braced himself ­ he hadn't ­ and read his expression. She sobered. "What's up?"

"A hunch. Will you do me a favor?"

"That'll be two in one day. You'll owe me. What is it?"

"When we get to the spaceport, go in and see if you can find out if Spike's still working there. Can you think of a way to do that discreetly?"

"Hey, I work for the city. I'll just flash my ID and tell them I'm from the school board."

He didn't stay in the car to wait for her, but got out and leaned against it, arms folded on his chest and legs crossed at the ankles, forcibly keeping himself from pacing. She wasn't gone long, and when she returned, her expression confirmed his apprehension. He straightened. "Spike quit the spaceport?"

"Yes, in a way. He didn't formally quit. He just didn't show up one day. No reason, not even a call. They're really pissed at him."

"It wasn't his fault," he muttered, and thought hard for a moment. This being a school day, the chance of finding one of Spike's friends was slim, and even if he did, the kid might not know anything or, more likely, might lie. Crys waited in silence, watching his face. He asked her, "Can you pull that same kind of act at his apartment house?"

She nodded. "Sure, I can tell them I'm delivering a summons card to his mother. No one looks at those closely. It's like the card's contaminated and it'll rub off on them. Come on, get in. You're getting me worried now."

He let her drop him off in the alley by the little grocery store where he'd last seen Spike. She picked him up again more than a quarter hour later, her expression sober and wary. As he slid into the seat beside her, she said, "You know what I'm going to say, don't you?"

"Say it anyway."

"According to the building manager, a couple of months ago, Mrs. Spiegel and her son just disappeared. They left in the middle of the night. The rent was paid up and the manager had the deposit, so he didn't give a shit about it, just rented the apartment to somebody else. Probably the next day. And there's forwarding address, either."

She'd bolted. Somehow she'd found out that he and Spike were still meeting, and she'd taken him and gone to ground somewhere.

The greedy, selfish bitch.

He was suddenly shaken by a rage blacker than any he'd ever experienced. He couldn't think. His surroundings ­ the street, the car, Crys ­ all faded away as if they were at the other end of a dark tunnel, while waves of anger poured over him. Spike was his brother. She had no right to separate them. She'd never given him a damned thing but his life, and he'd never expected anything from her. She didn't want him, and he didn't give a fuck. But not only did she give him nothing, she also refused to share the one thing he did want, the affection of his brother. And she had no reason for it! He hadn't tried to take Spike away from her, only to be his friend. His brother. But she wouldn't even allow that much. From the first she'd been his enemy. He hadn't harmed Spike in any way ­ he would never do that ­ but she acted as if he were a snake coiled to bite the boy.

She had two sons, but she loathed one and treated the other as if he were her treasure. That was it, right there. Spike was hers, and she was a jealous, possessive bitch. Nothing he could ever do or say to her was going to change her. She would keep them apart forever, if she could. Red lights flashed across his closed eyelids. He'd never truly hated anyone until that moment, but hatred bloomed blackly now.

The rage slowly passed, leaving behind an icy determination. He'd find them. If it took the rest of his life, he would find them. And when he did, he would do just what she feared. He would find a way to take Spike from her. And he'd fix it so she never saw her precious second son again.

Crys pulled into a gas station and got out to refuel the car, which brought him out of his fugue. He realized his hands were clenched into fists, so hard that they ached when he opened them. His jaw hurt from being clenched, too, and he was nauseated. He was dismayed that his rationality could be swamped so deeply that he had no idea how long Crys had been driving around, probably in circles, waiting for him to say something to her. His mind felt tattered now, and he tried to collect the pieces and return to his usual cool-headed, logical self. But just as he was succeeding, a monopod swooped up to the zipcraft island in front of him, reminding him of Spike and the Swordfish, and the rage blasted in him again. This time he was ready for it. He forced it back and closed it off. Anger would only cloud his mind, and he had plans to make.

Crys got back behind the wheel, and he forced himself to look at her, see her, and say, "Sorry."

"S'all right."

He looked around. "Where are we? How long have you been driving?"

"About two hours. We're almost in Allentown. I thought you might like to check the spaceport there, see if they've hired any new kids lately."

He couldn't think of anything to say. She was giving up her entire day, had tolerated two hours of his silence and never intruded, and was ready to keep driving even further, on what would probably be a wild goose chase, all without a single complaint. Thanks weren't adequate, but he had no idea how to tell her anything more than that. He settled for leaning over, kissing her, and saying, "That's a brilliant idea."

He'd made the right move. As much for the compliment as the kiss, her face lit with pleasure. "Lets get rolling, then."

He settled back, picked up her hand and kissed that, too, and felt his mood lift when she actually blushed. He didn't think she ever did that. "Do you have any idea how many spaceports are on Mars?" he said.

"None at all. A bunch, I guess. But we'll just check them one at a time." She frowned. "Hell. Would she have gone off-planet?"

For a second he went cold again. Then he remembered something Spike had said. They'd been discussing the flying, and Spike commented, I get that from my dad. My mom's never been off Mars in her whole life. "No. They haven't gone off-planet."

"That makes it easier."

"But she'll have changed their name."

"Shit. Spike's first name, too?"

He gave that some thought. "No. I doubt it."

"Good. Spike isn't a common name."

"It's a nickname, not his real name."

"Damn. Do you know his real name?"

"No."

"Shit. That makes it a little tougher!" she said with wry cheer.

"Crys."

"Yeah?"

He had to say something. "Thanks."

"You owe me big," she grinned. "I'll get it back from you somehow."

To Vicious, deep in the night was the best time for thinking, and that night he had a lot of thinking to do. Darkness cooled the anger that still came up once in a while. The only sound was that of Crys' breathing beside him, and the silence encouraged peaceful rationality. He put his hands behind his head and lay staring up into the blackness, letting his mind drift and the ideas come to him unpursued. Rafe had taught him that. Lots of times you know more than you think you do. Like any good servant, the brain works better if you don't try to tell it how to do its business. When you need it, you use it like any other tool, but when you've gotta do some deep thinking, boy, it's best to get out of the way and let your brain do its job without you pushin' it.

Crys had offered to call all the spaceports, one at a time, since she was home more than he, but he couldn't take a passive role in this hunt. He had to use what he knew. He and his mother weren't that different. He should be able to think like her. What would he do if he wanted to disappear? A new name. Probably a new identity. She doesn't have a lot of money. She must have called in a marker, or dealt with a friend. Someone she knew from before. No car, so it was probably someone close. If he could find that person, he could make him talk.

As if she felt him relax, Crys stirred against his ribs. "You still awake?" she asked groggily.

"No."

She chuckled. Then she murmured, "Truancy lists."

For a second he was as confused as if she'd spoken a foreign language. Then he realized what she meant. Wherever he was now, Spike was not likely to be a perfect student. He thumbed on the light next to the bed. "Can you get them?"

Rubbing her eyes and yawning, she said, "Yes, I think so. I have a friend in the school board offices. If the spaceports come up empty, we can try that. Run a search for truancy in kids who registered some time after the two of them disappeared. It'll be a long list, but it'll be something we can try."

He felt better. They had three plans now. He might even be able to come up with more tomorrow. He turned toward her and ran a hand down the smooth, warm curve of her waist and hip. She'd come to bed in a sexy little nightgown, which was now in two or three pieces on the floor. He'd rid himself of much of his remaining anger by pouring it into Crys' body earlier. Now he felt he'd been unfair, and said so. She only smiled and said, "Sometimes a woman likes it rough."

"Is that so?"

"Once in a while! Stop that! I've never known anyone like you for catching an idea and running with it. I don't want to go to work Monday with bruises."

"I'll put them where they can't be seen," he smiled, pinching her.

She bit him, but not hard. "You do, and I'll give you the world's biggest hickey right on your neck. See how you explain that to your big-balls buddies in the Dragons." She pushed his hair back from his face and said gently, "We'll find him, Vicious."

"What's that, woman's intuition?"

"No. I just know you. You won't quit until you do. Neither will I."

He let his fingertips drift again where he knew she was most responsive. "I haven't thanked you properly for all your help."

This was met with a crack of laughter. "Leave it to a man to consider sex a reward. No good, buster. I want diamonds."

"When I'm a capo, you'll get them."

Changing moods yet again, she gave him a strange look, a mix of sadness and affection. "Oh, baby. When you're a capo, I doubt we'll ever see each other."

"You'll still get the diamonds," he promised.

"I wouldn't know what to do with them. Besides, the way you're going, you probably won't live that long."

"Then you'd better get what you can out of me now."

"I love the way you always make this look as if I started it," she said, and laughed as he pushed her onto her back.

Continue with part thirteen.

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