The meeting was formally over. The men in suits were leaving, cars were being called for, and the secretary was cleaning up the coffee and tea cups and the plates used for the exquisite and expensive hors d'oeuvres. Business was good, and everyone left looking satisfied. The only exception was Kito, who, although satisfied enough, stayed behind to talk privately to the man who'd sat at the head of the long boardroom table.

Mao Yenrai was a punctiliously polite man. He stood at the door, giving a courteous thank-you and farewell to each man as he left. Then he turned his equally courteous attention to Kito. Nevertheless, Kito assured him that this private business would not take up much of his time. Mao smiled. "Come to my office, then."

Kito's own office was luxurious, but nothing compared to Mao's. The view alone made Kito envious, but only in an abstract way. With wry self-knowledge, he knew he'd never rise to Mao's position in the Red Dragons, not on Mars or any other planet. There were several reasons for this, but in particular, as far as Mars went, Mao was the Van's favorite and far too healthy to oblige Kito or anyone else by dying in an untimely way. As for the rest of the system, Kito had been born on Mars and had no desire to leave. To be a capo on Mars was better than a director anywhere else, in his opinion.

He sank into one of the deep leather chairs ­ real leather, not synth ­ and accepted a brandy, but he was far too wise to think these meant he could linger. He came directly to the point. "I've found a successor, Mao."

Mao's smile was a fondly indulgent one. "Surely it is far too soon for you to be thinking of retiring."

"This is a bit premature. That's why I didn't bring it up as part of the regular agenda. But I wanted you to be aware of it. And of this boy."

"Boy?"

"As I said, it's a bit premature. He's ­ I don't know. A kid. Seventeen or eighteen."

"That is very young."

"The usual rules don't apply to this kid." He leaned forward, arms on his knees, the brandy forgotten at his side. "He's a natural leader, for one thing. The older men respect him, and the younger ones follow him around like a pack of dogs around a wolf. He's a brilliant strategist. I've never set anything for him to do that he didn't accomplish, usually better than I expected. He's got incredible courage. He's got blood like ice. He's proven that he can kill ruthlessly, without flinching. And he's honorable and completely devoted to the Red Dragons."

Mao steepled his fingers and regarded him over them. "You're describing a true paragon. But no one is perfect."

"Neither is this kid," Kito smiled. "He's far too independent. He can take orders, but if he thinks he has a better idea, he'll do it his way. He's the type who believes forgiveness is more easily obtained than permission. And he's ambitious as hell. He wants to step into my shoes eventually. But he's willing to wait and learn and do it the right way."

"Not the worst faults in one you wish to eventually take your place."

"No, although he can make things difficult for me at times. Still, his judgment is excellent. He can pick his fights. Seriously, he's the only man I've met who I think can pick up the reins when I step down. I want your permission to bring him along, starting right away."

Mao pondered it a moment. "So young.... Still, you'll be there many years, to guide him. Who is he? Do I know him at all?"

"You may have heard of him. He calls himself Vicious."

"An ominous name."

"It suits him."

Mao smiled. "I would like to meet this Vicious."

Pleased, Kito said, "That can be arranged at your convenience, naturally."

"Invite him to my party next week. I assume he has a woman he would like to bring?"

This was better than Kito had anticipated, but the woman issue was something else. "Yes, he does. But you may not wish to invite her, and if you do, she probably won't come. She's one of the founding members of the Hyenas."

Mao's brows lifted. "And you allow that? Don't you fear her spying on him?"

"Quite the contrary, I had him spying on her. But she quit the Hyenas after he moved in with her and has had nothing to do with them since. However, she's had nothing to do with us, either, so I doubt he'll bring her."

"Tell him he should. That would make the party more interesting," Mao suggested. "And if he is the leader you claim, then he should be able to rule his woman."

Despite the rain, Vicious waited until Annie's store was empty of customers before he went inside. When she saw him, she smiled and waved, and gestured him to turn the sign to "closed". While he did so, she picked up the phone, keyed a number, and said only, "He's here."

When she broke the connection, he leaned his elbows on the counter and said, "Who's interested?"

"You'll see," she said with what she probably thought was a mysterious smile. "Look at you, you're all wet. Are you too big a boy now to be carrying an umbrella?"

If she was teasing him, nothing could be wrong. He relaxed, sat on the stool before the counter, and stretched out his legs. "I won't melt in a little rain. Do you have that name for me?"

"I do." She handed him a piece of paper, folded four times. He opened it and read the name Tom Draper, a number, and an address. Annie said, "I told him you're a smart boy, and Kito's man, so he said he'd teach you what you want to know. But Vicious, why do you want to learn that trade?"

He pocketed the paper. "What I really wanted was to learn how to fly a zipcraft, but I couldn't talk Kito into buying me one. So I chose this instead." She laughed, and he said more seriously, "I want to learn everything I can. I don't want to be dependent on anyone."

She nodded understanding, but was still troubled. "But even Kito didn't get into this field. It's so dangerous, Vicious."

"All the more reason for me to learn it properly, from one of the best. Thanks for talking to him for me, Annie."

"It wasn't a hard thing to do, so don't go getting soft on me. I'll probably end up regretting it anyway. And speaking of you getting yourself hurt, how's your shoulder?"

"It stopped bothering me the day after it happened. I only wore the sling because Crys made me. It's fine."

"Well, try behaving yourself and not scaring the woman like that, from now on."

He sensed rather than heard the car pull up in front of the store, and reached inside his coat. Annie slapped his arm. "It's Kito, so get both your hands in view."

Vicious rose and turned to greet Kito calmly ­ with both hands in plain sight ­ while mentally going over the past few days in his mind, trying to figure out why Kito wanted to meet him, and unofficially like this, at Annie's, rather than just calling him into his office. He believed he was prepared for anything, but nothing could have prepared him for Kito saying, after the briefest of greetings, "You've been invited to a party. A week from Saturday, at Mao Yenrai's house."

Kito looked pleased, and Annie was smiling broadly. Vicious kept his expression inscrutable while his mind whirled. A party? Mao Yenrai? Since they obviously expected him to say something, he managed, "If it wasn't you, Kito, I'd think this was a joke. Why would Mao Yenrai want to invite someone like me to his home?"

Annie said, "I think you can thank Kito for that."

"True enough. I mentioned you to him, and he's curious to meet you. The party was the most convenient for him."

Panic vied now with gratification. Kito had personally brought his name to the attention of Mao Yenrai! And he'd been with the organization barely a year. He couldn't miss the significance. Before his pride swelled too large to conceal, he thanked Kito for the honor.

Kito said, "There's a bad side to this, however. He wants you to bring Crys with you."

"She won't come. To Mao Yenrai's home?" He shook his head. "She won't come."

"Find a way to make her. It's important. First impressions count, kid. You know that."

He nodded. He understood completely. He was about to undergo a lot of tests, and this was the first of them. "I'll find a way."

"What about clothes? Do you have anything to wear? It's a casual affair, a garden party, but I want you in a decent suit. With a tie."

"I'll buy something."

"See my tailor. He'll fix you up."

Annie chuckled. "Yeah, if he can make you look good, he can make Vicious look like a prince."

"Very funny, Annie."

Vicious was staring at Kito's suit, which he mentally priced at about half a million woolongs. "Do I have a big bonus coming?"

Kito grinned. "Just mention my name. I'll let him know you're coming. It won't cost you a single woolong." At Vicious' blank stare, he grinned. "Welcome to the big time, kid. Free suits are part of it. Just don't let me down."

"I won't."

When Kito was gone, Annie brought out the whiskey and poured a toast for him. "Nervous?" she asked after they'd tossed the drinks down.

"Beyond nervous."

"Don't worry about it, you'll be fine. Kito must have sung your praises like a nightingale for this. You should be proud. Henry and me will be there, but we're probably going to be the only people you know. The rest of them will be capos, lawyers, businessmen. And their wives."

"You aren't helping my nerves."

She chuckled. "You don't look nervous. You just keep that expression on, and you'll have 'em all convinced you belong there."

"What expression?"

"That kind of icy, bored look you get sometimes. Like now. The rest of 'em, all but Kito, Henry and me, they'll think you're cool as an ice cube about the whole thing." She poured another drink for them. "How are you going to get Crys to come?"

He picked up the drink and stared into the amber liquid as if an answer was there. "I have no idea," he admitted at last, and Annie laughed and wished him luck. "Thanks," he said. Then, "Annie? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Can you tell me who Kito's tailor is?"

"Everyone knows that."

"Except me," he said ruefully.

"Well, you haven't had much cause to need one, much less one like that. Come on. We'll get Henry, and he can take you over there."

Crys' reaction was pretty much what he expected.

"No. No way. You're out of your fucking mind!"

He just hunched his shoulders, hands in his pockets. Silence worked well on her.

"There is no way I'm going with you to..." She threw her hands in the air. "Mao Yenrai's! Why don't you just ask me to go to hell with you and shake hands with the devil!" Her eyes narrowed. "Does he know who I am?"

"Probably."

The expression on her face would have scared any other man. "That son of a bitch. You know why I'm invited, don't you? Invited ­ hell, I bet they told you to bring me. Like some kind of fucking trophy. Well, you can climb your ladder of ambition on someone else's tits, dammit. I'm not going."

"I didn't think you would. But I wanted to ask you."

"Ask me. Ha."

"Ask you. You're right, it would look good for me if you came. But I'm not going to make you come."

"Damned right you aren't. And you aren't going to con me into it by looking at me like that, either. You can forget it. I'd rather walk barefoot on lava than be caught dead in any syndicate man's house. And Mao Yenrai, of all of them...! I'd never be able to look at myself in the mirror again."

"It's just a party, Crys. You're over-reacting."

"Well, over-react this!" she said, made a rude gesture, and went out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Since he knew it wasn't really him that she was mad at, he wasn't concerned. He knew her temper. She flared up easily, but cooled down just as quickly. When she cooled down, she would think it over. In the meantime, he had some studying to do. He was at the computer, reading, chin in his hand, when she came out of the bedroom half an hour later. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, and she shut it and leaned on it, staring at him with an expression compounded of guilt and a lingering fury. "You don't really expect me to go, do you?"

He shook his head. "I want you to go, but I don't expect you to. No, wait," as her brows came crashing together and her mouth opened. "I don't want you to go for any reason that you're thinking. I don't need you for my career."

"I should think having me around would be more of a detriment than a help, as far as that goes."

"Kito thinks I have a lot of courage, hanging around with you, and that looks good for me," he said, and saw her resolutely resist a smile. "I needed you to go with me for support. Personal support, I mean."

"What kind of personal support?"

He turned back to the computer. "Never mind. It's not important."

She said stiffly, "OK. Are you going to eat tonight, or are you just going to sit there with your nose stuck to the terminal?"

"If you're cooking, I'm eating. But I'm going to keep at this until it's ready. Or ­ do you need help?"

He knew she was curious what he was studying, but he also knew she'd never admit it while still mad. She informed him that she needed no help, and resolutely refused to even glance at the computer as she went by.

Their silence on the subject lasted four full days. During that time, he never brought it up again, and naturally she didn't. Her temper tantrum was forgotten, and their life went on as usual. He bided his time without worry. His best weapon in this battle was the truth, and when she was ready to hear it, he believed he had a good chance of winning. Because he really did need her. Every time he thought about dressing up in a fancy suit and walking into a crowd of the most important men on Mars, in a social situation, he got sick to his stomach. Having Crys on his arm would keep him from slinking in like a scared cat, and that was vital. Showing fear to those men would be like showing raw meat to hungry tigers.

Crys fumed over the nerve of Mao Yenrai and Kito for most of those four days. When she told her friends about it, they echoed her sentiments, but they were less kind to Vicious than she was. They had never understood him, because they refused to.

Crys wasn't so much in love with Vicious as to be blind to his less attractive qualities. She was aware that he would consider it a coup for him to bring her to the party, as much as Kito would. But unlike her friends, she acquitted him of anything except having an eye to his own ambition. She didn't think that he had come up with the idea himself, nor that he was planning to force her into it somehow, even if she wouldn't put it past him to try to talk her into it. Her friends' suspicious rantings forced her to defend him, and defending him had the opposite effect than what they desired. Vicious had accepted her "no" without argument and without question, and he understood why she refused to go, and those things meant a great deal to her. Defending him made her remember that. She even began to feel a little guilty, making so much fuss over a simple party.

She was concerned about him anyway, for another reason. That he hadn't gone dashing off to Alva City to find his young friend was due, she'd believed, to the fact that he'd been injured. But even when he was fully recovered, he still hadn't gone. When she asked him about it, he said he was sure Spike was safe and well, and that's what chiefly concerned him, but she didn't believe that for a moment. His interest in Spike had been an obsession as strong as his work for the syndicates, and he'd been so angry when they'd discovered the boy had been taken away that he'd actually frightened her. Emotions that strong, from him, wouldn't just fall away so easily. Everything about the situation with the Spiegels was odd, and he was shutting her out, just as he did with the syndicate stuff, but for a different reason, a reason she couldn't even guess at. That's what troubled her.

On the fourth day, when she came home from work, she found him trying on a new suit in front of the mirror. She leaned in the doorway and admired it. The black jacket and pants were expertly cut in a quasi-military style, right down to tasteful gold buttons and a narrow piping of red on the cuffs of the jacket, and the pale brown shirt looked like silk. The tie, which he was still struggling with, was black with a faint striping in the same color as the shirt. Few men could have worn such a look, but on him, it was perfect. She gave a low, appreciative whistle.

The smile he gave her over his shoulder was nervous. "It's for the party. Does it look all right?"

"More than all right. You look fine. Here, let me help you with that thing." She fixed the tie and smoothed it down. She was right, the tie and shirt were silk, or an excellent synth. "What did you do, rob a bank?"

"Not this week," he said solemnly, but his eyes twinkled when she chuckled. "I guess you could say it was a gift from Kito. I think he's afraid I'll show up in my gym clothes or something. Does it really look good?"

"If I were going to that stupid party with you," she said, running her hands over his shoulders, "I'd be spending the whole time wondering when I could get you out of it." She relented, since he seemed honestly worried, and said, "Yes, it looks great. Sophisticated, but not pretentious. And it really suits you. You have the shoulders and legs for it. Not many men do."

"That's what Umbridge said, but I thought he was just being a salesman."

"Trust me, you'll knock 'em dead. No pun intended."

"Uh huh."

She left him to change back into regular clothes, amused at him. Although he'd cut out his own tongue before admitting it, he was vain about his looks, and he liked quality. He looked so natural and right in the suit, he made her feel a little gauche, and she was grateful she wasn't going to be with him at the party. Her own style might be fine for her, but she wouldn't impress the people he was trying to impress.

Thieves, murderers, and thugs, she thought savagely. He is so magnificent, and it's all for a bunch of jerks who are only concerned with how they can use him to squeeze more money from innocent people. But she didn't want him to see how angry that made her, so she ducked quickly into the kitchen and began to chop up vegetables for salad instead, imagining each cucumber to be Kito's lean urbanity ­ slice, slice ­ and each tomato to be Mao Yenrai's head ­ chop, chop ­ all to her great satisfaction. Feeling better, when she heard him moving around in the livingroom, she went out to him, ready to smile.

He was back in front of the computer terminal, reading again. She'd been dying of curiosity about what he'd been studying so intensely lately, so she took the opportunity now to find out. From behind him, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head. "What do you want for dinner?" she began, then saw what was on the screen. "Etiquette? You're studying etiquette?"

Impatiently, he pushed her away. "Yes."

"Whatever for?"

"The party."

She straightened, staring down at his bent head. "What's the big deal? You go in, shake hands, act like everyone is simply fascinating, have a few drinks, eat a little food, and leave. No big deal."

"Crys."

"What?"

He sighed and looked up at her, irritated. "I've never been to a party before. I have no idea what it's like or what to do. You make it sound easy, but it's not."

"You've never been to a party?" she repeated blankly.

"No."

Now that she thought of it, when would he have? She knew his background. The orphanage had given birthday parties to the kids, but by his own wish, not to him. He'd always been the outsider. And now, living with her, he'd never gone to a party because he wasn't welcome at the parties her friends threw.

She tried to imagine what it would be like for him. Social interaction wasn't his strong suit at any time, except when he was giving orders to someone. He was a leader, and a good one, but not comfortable in even the lightest social encounter, so a large party, where he had to mix with an entire crowd socially, might scare even him. And naturally he would go to references to try to think his way through it. But this was something he couldn't learn in any way except by experience.

Sitting on the edge of the desk to face him, she told him so. "Just think of it as being in the bar. You do all right there," she said. But even as she said it, she knew that wasn't quite true. He didn't have friends. The men in the bar who approached him, did so because they admired him, or envied him, or wanted him to notice them, and the women... well, she'd had to deal quietly with a few of those.

"It's nothing like going to a bar," he snarled, and gestured to the terminal. "Look at this. Since when do I have to take a hostess gift to a bartender?"

"Hostess gift? You don't need that for an al fresco party."

He put his head in his hands. "It doesn't say that anywhere. See what I mean? And I haven't even begun on small talk yet. Compared to this, Gate physics is easy."

She could feel herself weakening. As much as she hated the very idea of getting within ten miles of Mao Yenrai, she hated even more letting Vicious down when he needed her. And this was the first time he really did need her. She'd never seen him so rattled by anything.

He lifted his head, intent on the terminal again, and pushed her hip with one hand. "Get out of here, I want to get through this tonight."

"Hon, you're trying way too hard."

"I don't know any other way."

"I know, but really, you'll do a lot better if you just relax. You've got good manners. The nuns gave you that much, at least. Just use them."

"That's like saying, you have a gun, just point and pull the trigger and you'll get a bulls-eye."

He looked at her when he said it, and she saw that, under the grim determination and icy calm normal to him, there was something she'd never before seen in his eyes ­ panic.

No. I'm not doing it. Not even for him. She jumped up. "Just go on studying, then, you jerk. And if you want my advice, when you get there, drink four shots of whiskey, straight up. They'll do you a lot more good than all this reading."

Back in the kitchen, she tenderized a piece of steak with even more ferocity than she'd shown the vegetables. No way. I am not going to weaken. I'm not going to a house built with blood money. He just needs a little practice. We have a few days. I'll... But there, she ran out of ideas quickly. Their normal social venues wouldn't work. In a bar or a restaurant, the situation was always one-on-one, and usually with either waiters or syndicate inferiors who wanted him to be pleased by them. This would be monstrously different. He would be the inferior, this would be the most important social event of his entire life, and he'd be going in unarmed and alone.

No. No, no, no. She couldn't let pity and love force her into such a violation of her most dearly-held principles.

Vicious came into the kitchen, his jacket flung over one shoulder, and bent to kiss her temple. "I'm sorry. I know I'm being irritable, and I shouldn't be taking it out on you. I'm going for a walk. Just to work off some of this frustration. I'll be back in about half an hour. Will that be all right?"

"No! I'm putting dinner on now!"

Startled at her vehemence, he took a step backward. "Then I won't go."

"Neither will I. To that damned party, I mean."

He tilted his head, surprised. "I thought we settled that. I know you won't. I don't expect you to. That wouldn't be right or fair. Besides," he smiled and touched her lips with one finger, "if anyone saw you with that expression, we'd never make it out alive. Just forget it, and I promise I'll be better company next week, when it's all over."

He headed for the bedroom to hang up his jacket, but her voice stopped him at the kitchen door. "You really want me to go, don't you?"

He looked back over his shoulder. "Of course I do. I'd have a lot more courage, knowing you were there to keep me from saying or doing anything stupid. But that's beside the point. What I want, just because I'm a little nervous, is minor compared to what you believe in. I think I push that far enough just by being who and what I am. So don't worry about it."

He left her stewing. But as she pushed the steaks into the cooking unit, she got an idea. A way to toss the whole issue up to fate, or up to him. A way either to sooth her guilt, or to settle the other issue which had been weighing on her mind. She went into the livingroom, finding him stretched out on the couch, one arm flung over his eyes. When she sat there, next to his hip, facing him, he sat up and said, "Uh oh. I know that look. What did I do this time?"

"About this party. I'll go with you on one condition."

She saw him struggle to hide his elation. One of his better qualities was that he never gloated. "Name it."

"The Spiegels. Barbara and Spike. I want to know about them."

His expression became wary. "What about them?"

"You know damned well what I mean. You haven't told me the truth about them. Who are they to you? Why were you so determined to find them? And why haven't you gone to see them now that we know where they are? Why is Spike so important to you? I want the whole story. No holding back."

His stare went blank, and he was silent a long time. She kept quiet, letting him think it over and weigh the pros and cons as he always did. Finally he said, "If I tell you, do you swear never to tell anyone else?"

"If you want, yes."

He picked up a thick strand of her hair and let it slide through his fingers. She'd dyed it recently to the same color as his, then tipped the ends with purple and added a purple streak about half an inch wide. "I think you should buy a new dress," he said. "Purple, just like this. Something I'll spend the whole evening wanting to get you out of."

"Then you're going to tell me?"

"Yes. I'll tell you."

The next evening, Vicious met with Tom Draper, the man Annie had directed him to. He was still feeling lucky. Telling Crys about Spike hadn't been as hard as he'd thought telling anyone would be, and he'd been doubly rewarded by her reaction at his mother's behavior, which she'd called unnatural, along with a few more profane terms. The trade had been worth it, because in just the few hours he'd had with her since then, she'd taught him more about social behavior than he'd learned from four days of reading. He had a feeling that, at the party, she'd be frigidly polite at best, but she wouldn't let him down. She' be right there at his side to keep him from going wrong, and he couldn't ask for anything better.

The place Draper had arranged to meet him was a warehouse not far from the spaceport, and inevitably, passing the port, he thought of Spike. One good thing about telling Crys about him, she was inclined to like him, just because Spike was his brother. He hoped that would be important soon. He wanted to introduce the two of them. Getting Spike's opinion of her would be fun.

Draper was nothing like he expected. A short man in his 40s, with a chunky, almost square build, he had broad hands with thick stubby fingers, not the artistic hands Vicious' imagination had taken for granted. As with most syndicate men, the manners he was learning from Crys were wasted on Draper. "You Vicious?" he asked when Vicious stepped inside the dimly lit, vast emptiness of the warehouse. Vicious confirmed this, and Draper said, "This way," and walked off. Vicious followed him to the rear of the warehouse, where a large workroom had been partitioned off. This was lit with merciless brilliance, and climate-controlled to about 65 degrees. The workbenches were covered with the paraphernalia of Draper's craft, mysterious to Vicious, but only for now. He planned to learn all about it.

Draper said, "Doing this work takes the proverbial nerves of steel, kid. You've got a reputation for being cool under pressure, but it takes a special talent to learn this art. Take this, for example." He lifted a vial from a rack and held it up. "It's called relthion. Half of this vial would take out this entire warehouse, and most of the ones on either side, too. Vaporize them." Without warning, he tossed it at Vicious.

Vicious snagged it from the air left-handed, studied it a moment, then tossed it back.

Draper grinned. "So your reputation's not a lie. You just might do, kid." He replaced the vial. The blunt fingers were as nimble and gentle as a woman's. "Stable as hell at anything under 110 degrees. Needs an incendiary trigger."

"I know that." He hadn't spent all of the previous days studying etiquette. None, in fact, except when Crys was around. "Usually it's triggered by a mini-flare."

"Sloppy and dangerous way to do it. I can show you better. But you've been doing your homework, I see. Or have you done this before?"

"No, I haven't."

"Then we'll start with the basics, develop a steady hand and eye. Once you have those down, the rest is simply a matter of knowledge, not skill. But don't go being a smart-ass and trying to jump ahead, or you'll end up blowing your fingers off. If you're lucky."

"I won't." Rafe's voice was in his head, from a day shortly after he'd begun martial arts with Master Sam. You go to an expert to learn something, boy, then you listen to him like he's God Almighty talking to you. Don't go being in a hurry and sticking your ignorance in, even when you think you know somethin'. Just listen and do what you're told. Anything else, you'd just be wasting your time and his.

So Vicious stripped off his coat and jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and prepared to listen to Tom Draper teach him about the fine art of explosives.

Continue with part fifteen.

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