This is the fourth and final part of Skein. Any further adventures in my universe will most probably take the form of short stories. Many thanks are due Preymistress, for her patience and good humor over my many HTML revisions. More thanks yet are due Diane, for her editing of parts 2, 3, and 4. She put up with my interminable sentences, my pestering, and my occasional ignoring of her excellent advice. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Most of the characters in this story are the property of ABC TV and other entities, and I do not have any permission to borrow them. Not that I think ABC will notice; it certainly isn't taking very good care of them. However, no infringement is intended, and this story is not for profit. All other characters are my property, and if you want to mess with them, you have to ask me first. Feedback is most appreciated. My address is upleaf@yahoo.com.

Sloan wrestled with the lock for more than a minute before she realized that her front-door key no longer fit the lock. Or rather, that the lock no longer fit the key. She dropped her bags to the hallway floor and frowned, tired and confused. This is the new key, right? So why...

Then she thought back to the evening the three of them had fled her apartment, and the mysterious pursuers who had nearly caught them there...and followed that to its logical conclusion. They broke my door down again?!

She wanted, more than almost anything, to simply sit down and cry until she couldn’t move. Instead, she yanked her purse out of the small pile of luggage, turned on her heel, and went in search of the building supervisor. Forty-five minutes and a lecture later, she had a key that fit the lock and a summer’s worth of mail.

Her apartment was a mess. The people who’d broken in had apparently searched the place; there was paper everywhere. Her plants were withered and dead, and Sloan was briefly grateful that she had cleaned out her refrigerator that spring. Dust dulled the surfaces of the counters and shelves.

But it smelled homey and familiar, and while Sloan knew from experience that a locked door was no true safety, she dropped her bags--again--and locked the door anyway.

She walked slowly through the living room, being careful where she stepped, and tried the phone. As she expected, it was dead. “Have to do something about that,” she murmured absently, and kicked off her shoes. She was tired down to her bones, and wanted a shower. She passed into the bedroom; her drawers were half-open, contents spilling over where someone had rummaged. But it didn’t seem to matter...cleaning up could wait until tomorrow.

Suddenly she felt too tired for even a shower. Stripping off her shirt and jeans, she dropped them into the mess on the floor and sat down on the rumpled bed. For a long moment she just held still, listening to the silence. Then she lay down, pulling the crumpled comforter up, and hooked one pillow close. A deep breath tasted of dust, clean cotton--and the last person to use the pillow. The tears finally spilled over. Sloan wept in the dimming light, wondering bitterly how on earth she had come to be crying alone for her missing beloved...again.

* * * * *

Tom and Mark bent over the map, holding it between them and making the best of the meager light that was all the bus provided. Night was a solid wall outside the grimy windows. The vehicle rumbled slowly toward the Mexican border as the two men tried to work out the best way to reach Oaxaca.

“Straight in may be the best option,” Mark said finally, folding up the accordioned paper.

Tom sat back. “We have plenty of time.”

Mark stowed the map away and gave Tom a long look. “You really don’t have much of a chance, you know.”

Tom’s answering glance was tinged with exasperation. “I don’t have much of a choice. It was only a matter of time before we were found, and we were out of both ideas and places to hide.”

Mark shook his head thoughtfully. “Why didn’t you come to us?” he asked finally, and it was obvious that he meant Tom alone. “We could have protected you.”

“You’d trust a chameleon?” Tom asked pointedly, but Mark remained calm.

“Eventually.”

Tom stretched his legs a little in the confines of the seat. “I didn’t remember that you existed,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even hear about you until after I got away from the lab.”

Mark was silent again, letting a couple of miles pass before he spoke. “But why humans? Why ask them for help?”

“I didn’t ask them,” Tom said. He frowned a little.

“But you stayed with them.” It was a question.

“No one I could remember would have accepted me. The humans did.” Tom stared at the back of the seat ahead of him, distantly aware of the various sleeping Homo sapiens surrounding them.

“Dr. Parker did.”

Tom’s gaze slid sideways to the other man. “Yes. She did.” And the firmness in his voice seemed to discourage further comment. Mark closed his eyes and leaned back to sleep.

Tom relaxed as best he could in the cramped seat. Remembering.

One memory, captured as in crystal: Sloan standing thigh-deep in the clear blue water of Lake Tahoe, hair flaming in the westering sun, laughing and waving at him as he stood on the shore and watched her. A moment later she would coax him into taking off his shoes and joining her, and she would grab his hand and tug him further out. But it was the picture of her beckoning to him that he fixed in his mind, keeping it for when he would need it.

He listened to the engine as it widened the distance between them.

* * * * *

“So that’s it?” Ed asked, incredulous. “We can just go back like nothing happened?”

Walter was at his most unreadable. “Whitney University has decided, given the...dissolution...of the agency that had commandeered its genetics lab, to allow its researchers to return, and appears unwilling to say much about past events.” The older man unbent enough to smile grimly. “I think the administration is embarrassed, Ed. Do be gracious enough to accept the decision.”

Ed snorted and went back to sorting through the handful of papers he held. Walter looked over to Sloan, who was half-heartedly trying to put her apartment back together with Ed’s help. “I don’t think you realize how much they value us,” he said, speaking generally but looking at Sloan. “You’re both brilliant researchers, and the University wants to make use of that. And of my own talents.”

Sloan gave Walter an absent smile and folded another shirt. Ed sighed. “Okay, so we go back and pick up where we left off. Except we did that already, and it’s a dead end.”

“The serum was only a sideline project from the University’s point of view,” Walter pointed out. “There are any number of things we can work on.” His eyes met Ed’s and flicked toward the oblivious Sloan. Ed’s face slid from annoyance to grudging understanding.

“Well, it’ll sure be good to get back to doing something again,” Ed admitted. “When will Ray be back?”

“He said he’d only be a couple of weeks,” Sloan replied, reaching for a sweater. “But it’s his family. It’ll probably be a month at least.”

“That still leaves plenty of time...” Ed trailed off as Sloan’s shoulders stiffened, and he grimaced and looked away. It had been a week since Mark and Tom had left them to head for Oaxaca, and Sloan still hadn’t shaken off her funk. The two men were worried about her, but so far she wasn’t talking.

“Mark was right about the surveillance, though,” Walter said, breaking into Ed’s thoughts. “The new species seems too busy focusing on the convocation to worry about us. It should be safe enough at the lab.”

“And here?” Sloan asked dryly, gesturing at her living room. “I don’t want to have to do this again, Walter.”

The big man sighed and scooped a cushion off the floor, placing it on the couch beside him. “No guarantees,” he replied.

After a few exhausting days of getting the lab returned to proper order--at Dr. Attwood’s insistence--they returned to their long-interrupted research. Some of it had to do with the new species, some of it with University business. Ed returned to his surfing and Walter to grumbling about the grad students; Sloan biked to and from work and watched the trees change color with the mild autumn.

How can I explain it to them? she thought, cycling slowly in the afternoon light. I miss Tom so much...it’s like he took part of me with him when he left. I worry and worry about how he’s doing. And the worst part of it is--she swerved around a branch in the road--if he doesn’t win the competition, I may never see him again--and I won’t even know what happened.

It had taken all her courage to let Tom go. She knew as well as he did that his idea was the only solution they had, unpalatable as it might be, but he would not even be able to send her so much as a postcard, lest he betray their plans. So he vanished into silence, leaving Sloan and the others to go on with life as though they’d never met him.

Except that everything’s changed. Me most of all. Sloan stopped at an intersection, sniffing at the cool air. Ed still gives me funny looks from time to time, and I know he’s worried. But there’s nothing I can do about it until I...know...one way or the other.

The light changed, and she pushed down on the pedals, remembering back. A school full of children with invisible destruction eating away at their cells; Ed had found a way to stop the nanites, and Walter had had mild electrical shocks administered to the kids under the guise of a medical test, but still nearly a third of the children had died. The school had been shut down while the authorities searched in vain for a cause, and Sloan had added the small, ghostly forms to her nightmares. One young man who asked Tom for help, and in turn helped them find Ed and stop a holocaust. One angry, alien child who had chosen to follow his father’s way.

Sloan shivered and pedaled harder. If she and Tom were to have a child, would it turn cold and deadly as Kevin had? You don’t even know if you can have children with Tom, she reminded herself. He’s a hybrid now, and that could mean we’re genetically incompatible. But the thought didn’t stop her yearning.

* * * * *

Tom woke on a sigh. The pain inside him was not all his own. He’d dreamed of Sloan again; waking alone was one of the loneliest things he’d ever done, and only the knowledge that she was waiting for him offered any consolation.

He sat up carefully, trying not to knock his head on the rock overhang, and looked around. His sleeping bag and gear were stowed under a small stone shelf that was just deep enough to put him in shadow as the sun cleared the horizon. Automatically he extended his senses, and above him and about a meter behind was the increasingly familiar muted aura that was Mark.

Tom wriggled out of his sleeping bag and crawled out onto the desert floor. Standing up, he stretched thoroughly; Mark came over to the edge of the rock on which he was keeping watch, and under which Tom had slept. “Coffee?”

“Sure.” Mark vanished. Tom reached back under the ledge, snagged his bedroll, and bundled it up. “Anything?”

“Not a sound,” Mark said, reappearing, and passed Tom a steaming cup. “But I think we’ll run into the outer perimeter today.”

Tom nodded and buried his nose in the fragrant wisps rising from the cup. The desert air was just short of frigid, but it would soon warm up to an appalling heat. By then, they would be well on their way.

The two men made short work of breakfast and resumed their trek across the desert. They had passed the U.S. border many miles ago, and would soon come within closing distance of Oaxaca. The convocation began in three days.

As the men left their campsite, Tom thought back on the past two months. He and Mark had taken leave of the others almost at once; it would take them time to disappear, and more time to be sure that they had not been tracked. And then they had to get to Mexico. In the end, they had walked most of the way, to remain under the Homo dominant radar. Mark’s status as an observer would hopefully get them into the Oaxaca complex itself, but before that they had to keep away from those who might know Tom--which was, unfortunately, everyone. Tom could not remember who among the new species would recognize him and reveal him as a fugitive.

Once there, Tom--a Chosen--would enter the competition for the leadership, and would thereby become inviolate. The Chosen would fight, usually physically, frequently to the death. Subterfuge, ambush--there were few rules, though collaboration was forbidden. Each Chosen must survive, or fail, on his or her own. Those not Chosen could support and aid them, but they could not fight, or interfere. The Chosen could also withdraw from the competition at any point, but they could not return. Tom wondered a bit at the framework of near-ritual that had risen up around an event predicted in vague terms a half-century before. But it was his opportunity, and he was determined not to waste it. Sloan’s life, Ed’s, Ray’s and Walter’s and all the countless other humans, might depend on him.

Despite the crunchy footing, their steps across the barren desert valley were all but silent. The two of them had found some quiet harmony over the past weeks, Mark’s wariness and dislike of chameleons slowly changing into an unstated camaraderie. Tom, grateful for the other man’s help, had accepted the change without comment. He knew Mark was helping him because, at the moment, Tom represented the best hope the peace faction had for change--slight though the hope might be.

What am I doing? Tom wondered for the thousandth time, as the sun strengthened and another mile fell behind them. The idea was insane, really. Pitting himself, one man, against an unknown number of hostile, powerful opponents? Assuming he could get as far as entering the contest. And Tom wasn’t even a true Homo dominant any more. His hybrid state--unique, as far as any of them knew--could have other changes besides the emotional ones. Changes that could betray him when he did not expect it.

But he couldn’t see any other choice. The serum was a dead-end idea, at least at the present; the federal government could not move quickly enough, even if they could somehow convince it of the threat. His plan was the only reasonable option. So he had firmed his resolve and marched off toward Oaxaca with Mark to guide and hide him, leaving behind his friends and the hopes he’d just begun to dare to have.

And Sloan... The memory of her tear-tracked face still tore at him, the way she’d tried to hide her fear from him when they’d said goodbye...

Mark slowed a bit, glancing up and around to judge their position. “We should cross the perimeter soon,” he said abruptly.

Tom nodded, settling his hat more firmly on his head. “All the ceremony seems a little much.”

Mark shrugged and readjusted his pack. “Sometimes I think we’re not as different from humans as we like to think.”

He picked up the pace again. Crossing the desert in full daylight, at speed, would have been impossible for humans, but the two men's ability to control their bodies, and their greater endurance, made it a hard but not unbearable trip.

“It’s kind of like the World Series,” Tom said thoughtfully. He had asked Ray for a further explanation of baseball and had nearly regretted it. “Eliminations.”

“Actually, I was thinking of something else,” Mark said unexpectedly. “I saw a movie with a similar pattern when Dr. Tate and I went to ground at the convention.”

Tom raised a brow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Have you ever seen a film called Highlander?”

The sun was getting low when Tom and Mark neared the beginning of the mountains and came to the first guard. They sensed him at about the same moment, but did no more than exchange glances and keep going. This would be the first test of Mark’s real credentials and Tom’s faked ones.

The stocky man with the submachine gun was waiting near a small shelter, watching them as they approached. Tom knew there were two others hidden out of sight in the rocks, but he did not acknowledge their presence. Either he and his companion would get through, or they would be discovered. If they were stopped, there was little chance that they would be able to take out all three guards without getting themselves killed, but they hadn’t much of a choice. Sneaking in would be a greater risk.

The guard watched them carefully as they approached. Tom fished out the papers Mark had given him, being careful to keep his movements slow, and Mark pulled out his own identification. The guard flipped through the papers, and gave Tom a long, slightly puzzled stare. Tom did not let himself react by so much as a deep breath. The changes the serum had made seemed to have altered him in a way that Homo dominants could detect, but so far not even Mark had guessed how he had changed.

Then the man handed back the papers. “Go ahead,” he said. His voice was laced with contempt, and Tom waited until they were well out of earshot to ask Mark why.

The austere man hitched his pack a bit higher on his shoulders. “We of the peace faction are considered one step away from traitors,” he said grimly. “The others tolerate us but they don’t like us.”

Tom nodded.

They made camp that night among the high hills, close enough to the valley to see the light that the gathering cast against the sky. Tom sat on a boulder after supper, watching the stars and thinking of Sloan, and what he would face during the next few days.

Mark unfolded his sleeping roll. “Are you going to bed?”

“I have something I need to tell you,” Tom said quietly.

The faint, icy light of the stars was all Tom needed to see Mark’s face go still. “What is it?” the other man asked warily.

Tom swallowed. This was a secret that was dangerous to tell, but it was something Mark had to know. “I’m not entirely a Homo dominant any more,” he said.

There was a long pause. “What?” Mark finally asked, sounding confused.

Tom sighed. “It was an experiment. Along the lines of the tick secretions. To see if they could turn us into them, rather than the other way around.”

Mark’s breath hissed between his teeth. “They dared,” he said fiercely. “I admire your restraint. I would have burned the place to the ground in my wake.”

“It wasn’t...practical,” Tom replied, grateful that Mark had assumed the experiment had taken place while Tom was a prisoner. “Are you still willing to support me?”

The silence was longer this time as Mark stared at Tom. “So that’s what they meant,” he said at last. “’You aren’t one of them anymore’.”

“Something like that,” Tom said dryly.

“And you fit the prophecy. ‘A link between the old and the new’.” He inclined his head, a formal gesture. “I will support you.”

Tom and Mark lay flat on their bellies, peering over a ledge and into the valley where the village had once stood. The buildings were buried under the valley floor, but in their places were thousands of tents and temporary shelters. People swarmed around in ordered patterns, carrying out tasks in their customary, purposeful efficiency. Tom shook his head fractionally. I’m surprised we got this far.

Mark’s credentials and air of authority had carried them into the convocation territory. The two were doing their best to remain as unnoticed as possible, given that Tom could not remember who could betray him. Tom had spent two days hidden in the rocks, resting, with Mark going in for supplies and information, but so far their luck had been startlingly good. Since Tom didn’t believe in luck, this just made him uneasy.

The competition had begun that morning, without ceremony, and already several pyres sent smoke clouding into the empty sky. Tom squirmed silently back from the ledge. “I’ve seen enough,” he whispered to Mark.

The two men made their way back to their equipment. “When do you want to go down?” Mark asked quietly.

“Not till tonight. There’s less chance of my being recognized in the dark before I can join in.” Tom’s jaw tightened at the thought of what he would have to do. While not every fight here would end in death, most would, and he was no longer inured to killing.

The other man nodded. “Try and get some sleep, then,” he said. “I’ll keep watch.”

Tom snorted inwardly at the thought of actually managing to sleep, but the advice was good, and he relaxed his body in the way he’d been taught, conserving energy for the fights.

When night fell with desert swiftness, the two made their way down the hills toward the camp. Small fires starred the darkness, these intended for cooking and warmth rather than the disposal of corpses. Here and there, scattered in the crowds, were men and women who wore backless shirts, or no tops at all. Each of them bore a tattoo on the right shoulderblade--the same tattoo that Tom had. Once they slipped past a small crowd that was watching two Chosen circle each other in a slow, deadly dance. Both of them--the slender man and the small, compact woman--were already displaying bruises.

Mark chose a spot on the edge of things, not too far away to observe, but not so close that they would be easily watchable. Mark went for firewood, while Tom set up the tent and then sat crosslegged in the sand, observing the slow change of the passerby.

And then one person turned in the fire-lit darkness, and Tom’s breath caught in his throat. She’s dead!

The woman wore a halter top, and as she moved, Tom could see the spray of dots that made up the tattoo. But the face, the lithe body, the walk were all Lisa’s. Unstable, fierce Lisa, whom he had seen Lewis kill.

“In just months, there’s going to be a lot of familiar faces.” The Lynch clone’s taunt rang in Tom’s head. That must be it. She’s a clone, or a twin. But he was shaken. How many other ghosts would take solid form here?

He could not put it off any longer, if he wanted to stay within the boundary of the rules. Slowly, Tom reached down and pulled off his shirt.

His first challenger arrived just past midnight. Sooner or later Tom would have to go out and make his own challenges, but he preferred to put that off as long as he could. Some others would have the same strategy, letting the first eliminations take place without expending their own energy, though their reasons were no doubt different from his. They were calculating, making the choice they thought would help them to victory; he was, ironically, reluctant to kill. And...he had realized sometime in a cold desert night...he was afraid to die. He had so much to live for--the shining promise in Sloan’s eyes, the hope of peace--and he was no longer inured to giving up his life.

The man was probably in his late forties, and much taller than Tom, though not much heavier. The struggle was brief and sharp, and Tom left the man with a broken kneecap that would put him out of the running. Tom himself got only a few bruises, and he watched in silence as two others helped the older man away. He had one advantage over many of the Chosen--he had a chameleon’s training. Many of them would be no match at all, and if they were sensible, he would not often have to kill.

Mark materialized at Tom’s side and offered him a cup of water. “That was impressive,” he commented.

Tom swallowed the water in a few gulps. “It’s only the beginning.”

* * * * *

Sloan stared into space. Somewhere beyond her unfocused gaze was a calendar, tacked on the wall of her office, looking innocuous. But last week she had flipped it over to October; now, far to the south, the Chosen were in the midst of their competition.

Finally she blinked and lifted her chin from her hand. Pushing aside the papers she was supposed to be working on, Sloan lifted the blotter on her desk and slid out the photo of Tom and her at the birthday party. It was the only picture she had of him. Sloan did not know why she kept it hidden, but she obeyed the obscure impulse.

Someone tapped on the doorframe behind her. Sloan swung her chair around to see Ed leaning in, one arm braced on the top of the frame. His eyes flicked from her face to the photo and back again, but the impatient disapproval she half-expected was not there. His eyes showed only loving concern. “You’re coming home with me for dinner,” he said without preamble.

Sloan felt a smile forming on her lips. “I am, am I?”

“Yup.” Ed’s answering grin crinkled his eyes. “Tom would never forgive me if I let you waste away to nothing while he was gone.”

Sloan rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Just what I need. A babysitter.”

Ed rapped on the frame. “So c’mon, let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Now?” Sloan sat up. “It’s only three-thirty.”

Ed arched a brow. “Are you getting any work done?”

Sloan had to laugh. She stuffed the photo into her bag and stood up.

Ed took her to the beach first, and they walked until long after the sun set, talking of inconsequential things--lab experiments, interdepartmental politics, the intractability of apartment building supervisors. When they got back to Ed’s apartment he ordered an enormous meal of Chinese food, and Sloan found her appetite for what seemed like the first time in weeks.

Ed sat back with his mug of tea while Sloan was still poking at the pork with her chopsticks. “Walter keeps talking about what to do if...” he trailed off uncomfortably.

“If Tom doesn’t come back,” Sloan finished for him. “Somebody has to think ahead. I just...” She swallowed a sudden lump in her throat, and set the carton down.

“Sorry,” Ed muttered. Sloan gave him a smile that only felt slightly painful.

“It’s okay. It makes sense.” She shook her head. “Some scientist I am. No objectivity.”

Her friend reached over and covered her hand with his. “This isn’t something you can be objective about, Sloan.”

She gripped his fingers for a moment. “It’s funny, you know, how your mind can keep generating ideas. I keep seeing this future, all bright and perfect, even though there’s no point in dreaming anything until we know...”

“Yeah?” Ed set his mug on the table. “What’s it include? A Nobel?”

“Oh, that too,” she said, answering his grin. “I don’t know. A real house. Peace. Kids. That kind of thing.”

Ed leaned back in his chair, looking sardonic. "Oh, come on, Sloan. Kids? You know that's not possible. Tom’s a hybrid now, and hybrids are sterile."

Sloan breathed out, frustrated; then a slow smile crossed her face as a memory surfaced. She propped her elbows on the table, folded her hands, and rested her chin on her interlaced fingers. "Ed, do you remember when Lewis took Tom, and we were stuck in the lab working on James?"

Ed gave her a slightly puzzled look. "Sure. There was a thunderstorm that night."

Sloan's smile widened as she regarded him. "Do you remember the argument we had about Tom?"

"Several arguments, if I remember right," Ed admitted. "Which one?"

"The one where I told you that Tom and I were getting close..." She paused for his nod, then continued. "...And you told me he wasn't human, and he never would be."

Ed's slightly impatient expression slid towards confusion; then his eyes widened.

"He was human, for a little while," Sloan finished triumphantly. "And you did it to him yourself."

Ed shook his head. "Got me."

Sloan's smile vanished as she regarded him intently. "Don't tell me it's not possible, Ed," she said quietly. "We've already done the impossible.”

They both jumped at a sudden bang. Sloan turned in her chair as Ed’s front door flew open, slamming against the wall, and people poured through the opening. Ed jerked halfway forward, but before he could stand up, they were surrounded by three men and two women, all dressed in dark, nondescript clothing. Sloan felt the cold touch of a gun muzzle as someone pressed it against her neck, and fear and adrenaline chilled her from the inside out.

“Who are you?” Ed demanded, eyes blazing. His fists were clenched, and Sloan hoped that good sense would overcome testosterone. They were well-caught.

“Doctor Parker is coming with us,” one burly man said, ignoring the question. Sloan looked up at the hard, set faces around them, and her fear swelled as she realized that these people were Homo dominants.

“Not without me, she’s not,” said Ed.

“Ed!” Sloan protested, and he looked over at her, face set.

“Not without me,” he repeated. Sloan swallowed against a surge of affection and annoyance at his stubbornness.

The invaders exchanged unreadable glances, but it appeared that Ed’s determination was effective. The scientists were pulled roughly to their feet. Sloan had the irreverent thought, as they were hurried out of Ed’s apartment, that at least it wasn’t her door that had been broken open this time, but her mordant humor was quickly lost in apprehension.

Ed and Sloan found themselves in the back of a windowless van. Their captors put handcuffs on them, but left their hands in front of them, and while the two who bundled the captives in were brusque, they were not cruel. And the scientists were left alone in the back when the doors were shut.

Sloan braced herself as the vehicle lurched into motion, and looked across at Ed. “What do you think this is all about?”

Ed shrugged. “No idea. At least nobody shot me full of sedative this time.”

“If they were going to kill us, they would have done it already,” Sloan theorized hopefully. “They must have a reason to keep us alive.”

“To keep you alive,” Ed replied grimly. “I’m just along for the ride.”

Sloan bit her lip. “I seem to have some value to them,” she said, struggling for courage. “If they want me to cooperate they’ll have to treat you well.”

Ed gave her a cockeyed look. “Wishing I’d stayed behind?”

Sloan smiled tremulously. “They might have killed you. And for my sake, Ed, I’m glad you’re here.”

* * * * *

Tom grunted as a fist slammed into his side. Twisting, he grabbed his opponent’s arm and heaved, and the woman flew over his head and landed on her back in the sand. In an instant she bounced to her feet and sprang at him. The fierce sun glittered on the sweat and sand that coated them both, and Tom narrowed his eyes against the glare as he braced himself for her rush. Blood ran down his neck from a gouge in his scalp, and one of the woman’s eyes was swollen half-shut. His blood would clot within moments, and her swelling would go down in an hour’s time--if either of them lived that long. Tom had heard the tearing of muscle and ligament when he’d thrown the woman, yet the injury had scarcely hindered her. This one would not give up.

He had to make a choice, and he decided even as he swept the woman’s legs out from under her. She fell; he caught her, dropped to one knee, and broke her back across his bent leg. The ugly crunch of her spine was barely audible over the rumbling mutter of the enormous camp.

Tom pushed the limp body off and sat back on his heels, breathing hard. Around him, observers exchanged comments, and many drifted away to watch other bouts. Two waited for him to stand up so they could remove the corpse.

Tom scrubbed at the trickle on his neck and straightened. He didn’t feel sick, exactly, but... Such a waste. He was committed to the competition, but he found he hated the destruction. He might not like the new species’ plans, but he didn’t want to see the people destroyed.

Mark, who had been watching with the rest, handed him a damp towel. “Did you talk to your people?” Tom asked, wiping away sand and blood.

“Yes.” Mark’s face gave away nothing, but Tom could sense that he was disturbed. “They don’t approve of what I’m doing. I was supposed to be just an observer.”

Tom lowered the towel and tilted his head. “Do you want to quit?”

Mark returned Tom’s gaze. “No. I’ll see it through. There are enough of them here that they don’t need me.”

Tom nodded slowly. Then he dropped the towel and spun as a shout reached his ears. Mark had just enough time to back out of the way as the new challenger ran at Tom.

* * * * *

Ray knew something was wrong. He could feel it, a growing tension in his shoulders, as the plane began its descent. He shrugged mentally. He’d had a good long break, longer than he’d let himself hope, and his family was fine. Now it was time to get back to saving the world.

A grim smile crossed his face at the tenor of his thoughts, but in a sense it was true. Walter had asked him to stay down on the island for longer than he’d planned, to make it seem as though he were out of the game. But the convocation had begun, and Dr. Attwood apparently thought it was time to gather his forces.

However, Ray had not expected to see Walter himself waiting in the airport, since he hadn't told the scientist when he would be getting in. “Shouldn’t you have one of those cardboard signs?” Ray asked, strolling up.

Walter snorted genially. “You’re lucky I didn’t bring balloons. However, your timing is impeccable.”

“So, what’s the matter?” Ray fell into step beside the other man.

Walter grimaced, eyes glittering behind his glasses. “We have a problem.”

He filled Ray in on the drive to Ed’s apartment. When they got there, nothing was out of place except the broken door, but Ed was clearly gone--and Sloan with him, to judge from her purse sitting forlornly on a chair.

Ray straightened from his examination of the door frame. “Must have been the new species,” he commented laconically.

Walter gazed at the cartons on the table. “How long have they been gone, do you think?”

Ray pulled the receipt from the paper bag the food had come in. “Looks like no more than twelve hours. They ordered dinner at eight-forty, it says here, and had enough time to eat it, but they didn’t clean up. So that puts the abduction at about ten p.m. or so.” He tossed the paper down on the table. “But where were they taken?”

“Impossible to tell for sure.” Walter took off his glasses and polished them with his handkerchief. “But I’d bet on Oaxaca.”

Ray shot him an incredulous look. “Mexico? But why?”

Walter put his glasses back on, eyes gleaming. “My guess would be that Tom is doing well...and that somebody wants a hold on him.”

Ray blew out his breath. “Well. We’d better get down there, then.”

* * * * *

“I know who you are.”

Tom turned to face the speaker, and nearly flinched in shock. The man had a collared shirt on, so he was not a Chosen, but his face was as familiar as Tom’s own. Lewis’ features stared back at him from a clean-shaven face crowned with ruthlessly clipped white hair.

“Lewis spoke of you often. Tom, his greatest student,” the man went on conversationally. “Until you betrayed him.”

Tom managed to recover his calm. “I didn’t betray anybody,” he returned evenly.

“Not even when you murdered Lewis?” the older man said, his eyes glittering. “Did you think we didn’t know?”

“I didn’t murder Lewis,” Tom said with perfect truth.

The man’s face tightened in contempt. “You had better die in a challenge,” he said harshly. “Because if you fall out of the running, I will kill you myself.”

Tom watched the man stalk away, and wondered wearily if he was Lewis’ clone, or his brother. And whether he would have to face the image of his former mentor in a fight.

* * * * *

The plane had been in the air for hours, but there were no windows where Ed and Sloan were seated, and they still had no idea where they were going. Their captors had loaded them onto the cargo plane, still cuffed, and four of them had boarded as well. But the three men and one woman silently withdrew to the front of the plane and left Sloan and Ed to sit alone. The two scientists were able to hold a more-or-less private conversation, masked by the muffled roar of the engines.

Sloan shook her wrists to make the chain jingle. “I think I know where we’re headed.”

Ed met her eyes soberly. “So do I.”

“Well, I did want a vacation.” But her attempt at humor fell flat. They were silent for a bit.

“One thing’s for sure,” Ed said finally. “None of your other boyfriends were ever this much trouble.”

Sloan snickered, then burst out laughing, and Ed started to chuckle. “Not even that twit in high school,” she agreed.

“Hey, why didn’t you marry what’s-his-name, the guy you were going out with in grad school?” Ed asked. “I mean, you were engaged.”

Sloan smiled wistfully at the memory of the last time she’d had this conversation. “He didn’t make me feel like my life had purpose,” she repeated.

“Well, Tom sure comes with whole loads of purpose,” Ed commented dryly.

“Yeah, he does.” Sloan looked down at the metal encircling her wrists. “I wish we knew when we were getting there.”

* * * * *

Mark added a log to the fire and looked back over his shoulder into the tent. Tom lay on his bedroll, eyes closed, mustering every bit of energy toward healing. One of his opponents had cracked a couple of his ribs, and every cut, bruise, and tear was making itself felt. But he was aware of Mark’s gaze. “What is it?” he asked after a moment.

Mark picked up an orange and began peeling it. “I don’t like some of the things I’ve been hearing.”

Tom opened one eye and glanced over at the other man. “Yes?”

Mark looked troubled. “Some are saying that you shouldn’t have been allowed to compete.”

“Is anyone talking about stopping me?”

“Not that I’ve heard.” Mark threw the orange at Tom, who caught it neatly, and began peeling another. “Eat. You need the calories.”

Tom sat up carefully. “What else have you heard?” he asked around a mouthful of fruit.

Mark grimaced. “I’m not sure. But I think a few people are planning something. I don’t know what,” he said in answer to Tom’s exasperated look. “But there’s something going on, and you’re attracting a lot of attention.”

“So is everybody else who’s winning.” Tom turned his orange in his fingers. “But you keep listening, okay?”

Mark bit into his own orange. “All right.”

At midmorning the next day the word went around the camp. There were only twenty Chosen left, and all further bouts were to be decided by lottery. Tom and Mark were escorted, with the other nineteen and their helpers, to a raised dais of stone in the middle of the camp. Tom heard murmurs as he joined the row of Chosen on top of the dais, but there were murmurs for the others as well; most of them had factions behind them at this point. He was surprised, however, to see people slipping through the crowd to gather around Mark. Their faces were turned towards Tom, and some of them nodded. From Mark’s descriptions, he realized that these were the observers from the peace faction, at least some of them. They were choosing to support him.

Better late than never, I guess. Tom nodded gravely back, then turned his attention to those officiating.

Fifteen bouts, chosen by lottery, would leave five contenders, the crowd was told. Of the last five, four would pair off, with the odd one also being selected by lottery. The process would be repeated for the last three, and finally the last two would fight. The winner would, as was prophesied, lead the new species. By sundown, the process should be finished.

Half of Tom’s attention was turned to the officials as they began the lottery for the first ten bouts. The other half was turned inward, amazed that he had gotten this far, trying to prepare for the final effort. Sloan was ever in the back of his mind, but for a moment he brought her image forward, dwelling on her smile, her caring, the sharp, delightful mind of her. For you, he promised silently. For you, and all your kind, and the future. Then his name was called, and he breathed deep and focused on the fight.

* * * * *

The plane’s bumpy landing brought Sloan and Ed out of their uncomfortable sleep. Sloan straightened from where she had been leaning against Ed and rubbed at her bleary eyes. “Guess we’re here,” she said, trying to keep her courage up.

Ed yawned and stretched as best he could with the cuffs on. “Guess so,” he agreed. “I wonder where here is.”

The plane’s door opened, letting in strong afternoon sunlight and a blast of hot, dry air. The two scientists exchanged glances. They knew that desert smell.

Their captors hustled them out of the plane and into an uncovered jeep. As they were driven away into the hills surrounding the tiny runway, Sloan looked back to see sand-colored camouflage already being pulled over the plane. Within moments, it would be invisible from the air.

The trip was not long; both of them drew in their breaths when the jeep crested a hill and they saw the enormous camp spread out below them. “The convocation,” Ed muttered.

The woman in the passenger seat turned and glared at him. “No talking,” she said firmly.

At the edge of the huge encampment they were made to climb out of the jeep. Their cuffs were removed, but the folly of trying to escape was obvious. Ed whistled softly, looking around. They were surrounded by thousands of the new species, maybe more. And each one would be able to tell instantly that Ed and Sloan were not Homo dominants, if they didn’t know already. Running would be absolutely futile.

“What’s he doing here?” one man asked their captors, pointing at Ed.

The woman shrugged. “He insisted on coming along.”

The man snorted. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Sloan and Ed exchanged glances. That doesn’t sound good, Sloan thought.

The group that had brought them surrounded the two scientists. Slowly, they began escorting them through the crowd, toward the raised dais in the center. It was a strange journey; the two felt the hair on the back of their necks rise at the eeriness of it all--the crowds of people who looked human but weren’t, the low buzz of their oddly sweet-sounding language, the glances filled with the same confident power that Lewis and Lisa and even Lynch had displayed. They were very out of place, and they knew it.

* * * * *

Sweat was stinging his eyes. So small a discomfort among all the others--it almost made Tom want to laugh. His training could only keep pain at bay for so long, and he was desperately tired. He was limping on a wrenched knee, and his left shoulder had been dislocated in his last bout. He’d won anyway, and Mark had been allowed to help him put it back in place, but it was still quite painful. And somehow, some way, he was one of only two left. He’d had to kill both his last two opponents.

He and the other, a burly man with a fanatic’s eyes, watched each other across the dais. This was not going to be easy, Tom realized with a chilly dismay. And this final bout would definitely be to the death.

Sloan and Ed were halted in front of the dais, far enough back that they could see the two men on top. Both were shirtless and shoeless, streaked with blood and sand. Sloan, squinting against the sun, felt her heart drop toward her stomach as she recognized the shorter one as Tom, and put a ruthless clamp on her emotions. The last thing Tom needed at this moment was a distraction.

Then, with the astonishing speed of the new species, the two men rushed toward one another. Sloan swallowed hard as they grappled, traded blows, and separated for a moment, all with the blurring speed that made them look impossible to human eyes. She made an involuntary sound as the bigger man drove his fist into Tom’s side; even over the low crowd noise she could hear the dull thud. Tom gasped and reeled back, and for an instant Sloan thought he would fall. His face was paper-white. But then he recovered his balance and leapt at the other man.

Suddenly Sloan’s arms were twisted behind her back. She staggered, but the man gripping her held her upright, and she looked back up at the dais. Tom was driving his opponent back with a series of kicks and punches that moved almost too quickly for her eyes to follow. The bigger man managed to roll away, but Tom pounced on him from behind and locked his arm around the other man’s neck, setting his hand to the side of his opponent’s head. Then Sloan felt something cold press against her temple.

Tom’s opponent, helpless in his grip, suddenly relaxed, and Tom paused, taken aback. “Look down, traitor,” the man murmured.

Alarmed, Tom peered over the sloping side of the dais. And saw them all at once: tall Ed guarded by one Homo dominant, and another, slightly closer, holding Sloan. Holding a gun to her head.

“Give up,” his opponent whispered harshly. “Give in, or see her brains blown out in front of your eyes.”

Tom’s heart seemed to stop. He glanced quickly down at his opponent to see a slow smile spreading over the man’s face. Tom realized that calling the officials’ attention to the situation would only kill Sloan the faster.

He looked down at Sloan, whose hair caught the warm rays of the low sun and seemed to flame. She was looking steadily back at him, her eyes without fear. She spoke; he could not hear her over the murmur of the crowd, but it was easy for him to read her lips. You know what to do, Tom.

He swallowed hard. No. I can’t.

But she trusted him, he could see that. Trusted him, as she always had, to do the right thing. His own words rang in his ears. “If I take the leadership, I’ll be able to dictate the policies. We would have peace, Sloan. Co-existence...”

The man who held her jerked her a little closer, pushing the gun harder against her head. Her gaze never wavered, and she spoke again. I believe in you.

And he chose.

The whole thing was weird, but then Ed was getting more and more used to weird these days. He felt his captor’s grip loosen as the Homo dominant became absorbed in the deadly combat, but didn't anything. What could he do, surrounded by tens of thousands of the new species? Except watch.

And then he saw Sloan’s captor step forward and put a gun to her head, saw the fight pause and Tom turn to look down. Ed couldn’t see Sloan’s face from where he stood, but he could see Tom’s. The smaller man had never been expressive, but Ed flinched now at the terrible despair that settled over Tom’s face. Ed heard her words, and his breath caught in agony. But it was nothing, he knew, to what Tom must be feeling as he made his choice--went against all his newfound emotion and the yearning of the heart he’d only just learned he had--and broke his opponent’s neck with one brief push.

And Ed moved. Leaping away from his startled guard, he caught at the arm of Sloan’s captor as the man’s finger tightened on the trigger. Ed managed to deflect the gun from Sloan’s head, but his blow was only glancing. Instead of Sloan’s temple, the bullet struck her torso. Her captor let her drop and Ed followed her down, sick and frightened, only barely aware that the people who had kidnapped them were being surrounded and disarmed by others.

Tom was never able to remember how he got down to Sloan. One moment he was standing still, the next he was at her side. Some small part of his consciousness was still aware of his injuries, the deep ache of bruises, the grinding agony of his newly broken ribs--but it faded out of significance as his eyes filled with Sloan lying limply on the ground.

The sting of a hard landing on his knees never penetrated. Ed was holding a torn cloth against her side, swearing softly. There was so much blood, so bright, so thick--it smeared his own hands-- he could smell it--

Her hands were in his, and his heart dropped another notch at their chill. Sloan smiled feebly up at him, bright hair dulled with dust, eyes already a little vague.

“Sloan,” he said harshly, his throat swelling. “Sloan.”

Her eyes focused a bit and her fingers tightened weakly on his. “You won,” she whispered, and there was pride in her face as well as love.

He gripped her harder, trying to hold her attention. She was fading, he could all but see her life draining away. He swallowed, and forced words past the knifing fear.

“Sloan...Sloan, you have to fight. Sloan, please.”

Her gaze grew vague again. “Tired,” she managed, and he had to struggle for breath. Awareness drew in; there was nothing but the two of them and the bond between them. Tom pulled as hard as he could, willing all of his self to keeping her bound to her body, and to him.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, the words drawn from him almost involuntarily. “Please, Sloan. Don’t leave me alone.”

He lifted her hands to his face, pressed them to his cheeks, as she had done with his long ago in a busy cafe months before. Something caught in his chest, a pressure that neared unbearable as her eyes slid shut.

Then rhythmic thunder filled the air.

Ray peered down through the helicopter’s window at the terrible sight below. “We may be too late,” he said, fear making his voice heavy.

“You’re wrong,” Walter replied from the pilot’s seat, irony not quite hiding his own fear. “We’re the heroes. We’re just in time.”

Ed exclaimed in surprise as Ray leaned out of the descending helicopter and waved at them. “She might have a chance after all,” he shouted at Tom over the roar of the blades, hope surging. “If we can get her to a hospital--“

Tom, battered and bleeding, did not look up, even when the helicopter settled to the ground in a hastily vacated space. Ray jumped out and ran toward them, and Ed gestured wildly at him. “I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life,” he yelled. “Can you pick her up? I’ve got to keep pressure on this.”

He could hear Ray swearing as the older man crouched down beside the unconscious woman. “Tom,” Ed said, reaching with his free hand to grab Tom’s arm. “Tom, you have to let go of her so Ray can get her into the chopper. Tom!”

The smaller man finally relaxed his grip on Sloan’s hands, and Ray nudged him out of the way to scoop her up. “Come on, Tom,” Ed bellowed as they hastened toward the aircraft.

But Tom shook his head. “I have to stay,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t leave yet.” He followed them to the helicopter, his eyes never leaving Sloan. But as they strapped her in, Tom transferred his gaze to Ed, and took Ed’s free arm in a bruising grip. “You keep her safe for me,” he said, and Ed sucked in his breath at the burning in Tom’s eyes, the tears streaking his face.

“I will, man,” Ed answered, feeling like he was binding his own life into the promise. He wondered briefly if one of them should stay, but as the helicopter lifted away, he saw Mark coming up behind Tom and knew that the other man was not alone.

Tom watched the helicopter rise into the air. Something vital seemed to tear inside him as it disappeared over the hills, and he wondered in agony if he would know it if Sloan died. Then Mark was there, and others of the peace faction, and he realized that he had responsibilities. He had won the competition, and now he led Homo dominant. His people, whether he was a hybrid or not. It might have cost Sloan her life, and he the most precious thing he had ever found, but he had accomplished what he’d set out to do. He took a deep breath, caught it halfway at the pain in his side, and stepped into his new position.

* * * * *

It still hurt.

Every time Sloan drifted to the surface of consciousness, the pain was there, though it was not as bad as it had been. Still, she was reluctant to wake. She was afraid that Tom would still be gone.

This time, when she opened her eyes, her bed was tilted so she could see that the hospital room was dim with night. No one sat in the chair by her bed: not Walter, brusque and kind; not Ray, with his worried eyes and low voice; not even the omnipresent Ed, whose frantic voice she recalled hazily, though she couldn’t quite remember what he’d been saying, only that he’d used words he didn’t generally use in polite company.

Tom. Her indrawn breath sparked fresh pain, but it also made her aware of the warmth wrapped around her hand.

Sloan turned her head carefully, and let the air out again as the knot of fear dissolved. Tom was there. He had pulled a chair up to the other side of the bed and lowered the guard rail, and was sound asleep, one hand enveloping hers while his other arm pillowed his head on the bed.

One side of her mouth tilted up. She lifted her free hand, careful of the IV line, and ran it over his hair, wondering again at the softness and avoiding the neat bandage above his ear.

She heard him inhale, and let her hand follow as he lifted his head, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers. His eyes searched hers, filled with the same apprehension that had held her a moment before.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she whispered, and smiled.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment, his hand coming up to press her palm to his face, and then opened them again. His mouth shaped her name silently, and the sudden streak glinting across his cheekbone made her own tears spill over. In the next instant he was sitting on the bed’s edge, holding her close--so very carefully--his face buried in her hair. She managed to get her arm around his waist, ignoring the upsurge of pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Tom muttered, and his arms tightened. “Sloan--I let them hurt you--“

“No!” Sloan bit her lip against the pain in her side, and the pain in his voice. “Tom, no. You did the right thing.”

He shuddered. “Sloan, you almost died.”

She pulled back just a little, so she could see his face. Anguish marked lines there, and she wanted to smooth them away, but she couldn’t seem to find the strength to lift her arm again. “But I didn’t.” A memory came clear in the back of her mind, a desperate voice calling her name, a pull that had never stopped. “You wouldn’t let me.”

Tom shook his head. “Sloan--“ He choked off the word and leaned forward, pressing a brief, hard kiss on her mouth before pulling her close again. For a long time they sat in silence, and Sloan laid her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat slow from the rapid pulse of stress to a calmer, soothing rhythm. Comforted, she relaxed back into sleep.

* * * * *

Ed could hear the ruckus the second the elevator doors opened. Someone was getting a royal scolding in rapid Spanish--and a loud one, which was unusual for such an exclusive hospital. As he loped toward Sloan’s private room, Ed wondered who had got the supervising nurse so riled.

I should have known. Tom was standing just outside Sloan’s room, arms folded. As Ed neared, Tom interjected something in fluent Spanish and a low voice, which only seemed to make the tiny woman facing him angrier.

“Hey, it’s okay, he’s with me,” Ed said, taking a guess at the reason for the scolding. Tom shot him a glance of veiled entreaty as the nurse switched to English and started explaining visiting rules. “He can go in.”

It took a few minutes, but Ed eventually got the woman calmed down enough to leave them alone, though it took all his authority as a physician to do it. Finally the nurse stalked away, still grumbling, and Ed blew out his breath, turned to Tom, and held out a hand.

“It’s good to see you, man. Are you all right? You looked pretty messed up back there.”

Tom returned Ed’s grip firmly. “It’s good to see you, too.” Ed was surprised to see the pleasure in Tom’s face. “Thanks for the rescue.” The shorter man gestured in the direction of the retreating nurse.

“Hey, any time.” Ed eased Sloan’s door open and looked inside. She was asleep, and he was pleased to see more color in her cheeks. “I guess you want to see her first.”

Tom shook his head, lips twitching. “Actually I was here most of the night, until they kicked me out.”

Ed had to laugh. “No wonder the nurse was so ticked off. Want to go get breakfast with me?”

Tom blinked. “Sure.”

Ed made a quick check of Sloan’s vital signs, careful not to wake her, then rejoined Tom. He watched Tom move as they walked back down to the cafeteria, noting the stiffness in the other man’s movements, the limp in his walk, but said nothing until they found seats.

“You’re not all right,” he said straight out, setting down his tray.

Tom slid carefully into the seat opposite Ed’s. “I’m not seriously hurt.”

Ed raised a skeptical brow. “Oh yeah? And just where aren’t you seriously hurt?”

Tom sighed and took a sip of orange juice. “Three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, a wrenched knee, and various cuts and lacerations.”

Ed spluttered into his coffee. “I’d hate to see what you consider serious! You should be in bed right next to Sloan!”

“You know better than that.” Tom gave him a warning look and began eating eggs.

Ed sighed. “I know, I know. And I’m sure that healing talent of yours will take care of things. But you should still get a professional to look at you.”

“I did. But I could use a second opinion. Will you?” Tom grinned a little when Ed dropped his knife in surprise. “I trust you.”

“Well--sure.” Ed picked up the utensil, flattered. “After breakfast, then.”

He munched his way through a piece of toast, watching Tom in silence for a bit. “So--you won,” he said finally.

Tom nodded at his plate. “Yes,” he said softly, and something in the angle of his bent head made Ed decide not to ask for details.

“And they accepted you?”

Tom shrugged a little and picked up his coffee. “I won. A lot of them are not happy about being led by a traitor, but the...habit...of obedience is very strong. And the peace faction supports me.”

“You think it will work?” Ed took a bite of bacon.

“I’ll make it work,” Tom said, and though his voice was low, there was an undercurrent of fierceness in it that made Ed believe him. Tom stared at him through the faint steam rising from his cup. “There will be peace, Ed.”

“I believe you!” Ed said, and did. Tom’s intensity subsided a little, and they finished breakfast in a silence laced with the quiet companionship Ed was beginning to associate with the other man.

As soon as they finished breakfast, Ed beckoned to Tom. “C’mon. Let’s go to my office.”

Tom arched a brow, but followed obediently. “You have an office?”

“Visiting doctor’s privilege.” Ed led Tom back upstairs to the set of small rooms that had been allotted to him. “I have to share with Walter, but he’s not here this morning anyway. He and Ray are off talking to government officials or something.”

“Hmmm.” Tom sat down on the examining table and began removing his shirt--without being prompted, Ed noticed. Tom’s movements were stiff with pain, but Ed hesitated to help him; despite the dark-haired man’s affection with Sloan, he was still so reserved.

Tom dropped his shirt on the table, and Ed carefully unwound the bandage wrapped around his patient’s chest. He made sure to hide his personal reaction to the livid bruises and lacerations marring Tom’s skin, but was ruefully cognizant that Tom was aware of it anyway.

“Impressive,” he said in his best professional voice. “This definitely calls for an X-ray.” He palpated the swollen areas as gently as he could, though Tom did not so much as wince. “I can handle it myself,” he added casually, answering the unspoken objection.

“I would appreciate that,” Tom replied quietly.

“While I set that up...” Ed straightened from his examination. “Are you on any meds?”

“No.”

Ed rummaged in one cabinet for a moment, then slapped a small bottle into Tom’s hand. “Take two of these. You look worse than when you got back the last time.”

One side of Tom’s mouth lifted in a genuine smile at Ed’s glare, and he obediently opened the sample bottle. Before Ed could get him a cup of water from the office’s tiny sink, he had swallowed the capsules dry. “Last time they weren’t trying to kill me,” he pointed out equably.

Ed found that, again, Tom’s cuts and lacerations showed no signs of infection, and were healing much faster than those of a human would. The old scar tissue from his incarceration that spring was vanishing, and Ed wondered if Tom’s skin would eventually show no mark at all.

The X-rays did not take long, and Tom was back in his shirt and watching over Ed’s shoulder when the doctor examined the films.

“Three broken ribs,” and Ed traced the cracks with his finger. “Two cracked ones. I’ll get you a wrap.” He ignored Tom’s sigh. “And here--“ he gestured at the film of Tom’s shoulder-- “some swelling, but it’s doing pretty well. Whoever put that back in for you knew what they were doing.”

He pulled down the films and switched off the viewer light. “I still think that gash on your head needs more attention.”

Tom touched the bandage absently. “It’s all right.”

Ed snorted, but held his peace, and fetched the strapping. After he had braced Tom’s ribcage, he glanced at his watch. “Want to go see if Sloan’s awake?”

Tom gave him a small grin. “Do you have to ask?”

They made their way back to Sloan’s private room. The shift had changed, and the nurses recognized Ed and let them pass without question.

“Ed.”

The doctor paused with his hand on Sloan’s door, a bit taken aback at Tom’s intense tone. “What?”

“You saved her.” He saw Tom’s throat move as the shorter man swallowed. “Thank you.”

It never crossed Ed’s mind to say that he hadn’t struggled and sworn and prayed over Sloan’s still form just for Tom’s sake. Glib, offhand words balanced on his tongue, and he discarded them. Only one response seemed appropriate.

Tom blinked, completely taken aback when the lanky scientist stepped away from the door and enveloped him in a careful hug. Tentative, he returned the embrace, warmed all over again by this evidence of Ed’s caring.

“I’m glad you’re okay too,” Ed mumbled, his voice rough, and let Tom go.

As he watched Ed step back, he could tell that the doctor was embarrassed, though Tom couldn’t fathom why. It didn’t matter.

“You’d better take care of her,” Ed warned, putting on a rather ineffective glare.

“Or I’ll have to deal with her big brother?” Tom asked, with a sudden insight into human behavior, and was amused at Ed’s grin. “You know I will, Ed.”

“Good. You know...” Ed glanced at the door to Sloan’s room, and lowered his voice.

Tom listened intently to Ed’s murmured explanation, then cocked a brow at the scientist. “She’ll expect this?”

“On some level, yeah. Women always do. I know it’s probably not in your species’ repertoire, but...”

“But ceremony is.” Tom nodded. “It seems appropriate.”

Ed nodded in return and pushed the door open.

Sloan was awake, half-sitting up in the tilted bed, and Ed was pleased beyond measure to see her improvement. “Morning, beautiful,” he said, and held the door open for Tom.

Ed didn’t miss the way her eyes lit at the sight of Tom, but the smile that followed was directed at him, and he treasured it, still painfully aware of how terrifyingly close he had come to losing his best friend.

“Hey, my two favorite guys,” she said, her voice weak but her smile brilliant.

Tom said nothing, only walked over and took her hand, but the tenderness on his face was obvious, at least for him. Ed grinned and pulled his stethoscope from a pocket. “Let’s see how you’re doing today.”

Her vital signs, again, were as good as could be expected. Ed looked at Sloan’s IV and chart, noting with approval that all the appropriate checks had been made that morning. “I’ll be back in an hour or so for your checkup,” he told Sloan, walking backward toward the door. “And Tom, I’m going to send somebody by with a security badge for you. Can’t have heads of state getting kicked out of hospital rooms, after all.”

He flashed the wide-eyed Tom another grin, and shut the door behind himself. Let ‘em have a little time together.

“How are you?” Tom asked quietly, taking the chair nearest the bed.

Sloan gave him a tired smile. “Can’t you tell?”

His fingers tightened on hers. “Sloan, I’m serious.”

“I’m better. No energy, though.” She gestured vaguely at the IV. “I think it’s the drugs.” She shifted a little to look at him more directly. “What happened out there, Tom?”

He hesitated out of habit, though there was no longer any reason not to tell her. “What do you want to know?”

She smiled again, a little blurry with the medication, but with that eternal curiosity beneath. He was relieved to see it. “Everything. Tell me everything.”

So he started at the beginning, after he and Mark had left. And by the time he got to their first sight of the huge camp, she was asleep.

He smiled a little. His own body clamored for sleep--he’d had little chance for rest since the convocation. The past couple of days had been spent solidifying his position and preparing overtures for the governments of Mexico and the United States, as well as for the United Nations. It had been very difficult to stay away from Sloan, even though he’d sent a messenger to find out whether she had pulled through. And he’d been awake all the night before, watching her sleep. But he would not rest yet. Instead he thought about the morning’s events.

Tom had expected Ed to be furious, even hating, over what had happened to Sloan. But instead the scientist was cheerful and welcoming, and Tom knew he had not mistaken that flash of relief from Ed when they’d met that morning.

Ed had been worried about him.

Tom knew that fact would take some careful thinking to absorb. Sloan’s affection--Tom never took it for granted, ever, but in a sense he had come to expect it. He’d never expected anyone else to care. Certainly Ed had been concerned about Tom when he’d returned from captivity that spring, but Tom had attributed it to Ed’s guilt over the DNA serum. He’d never thought Ed could care so much about him.

About an hour later an orderly arrived with a security pass and a message that someone was waiting for Tom at the front desk.

It was Karl, looking as fierce as the last time Tom had seen him in Alaska, and distinctly uncomfortable. Tom nodded to him. “Mark found you.”

Karl gave him a long look, laced with bewilderment and a hint of hostility. “Why me?”

“Because you’re a man of honor.” Tom gestured at the lobby. “We can talk over there.”

They settled in one plushy corner, far from the other people waiting in the area. Karl frowned, looking at Tom expectantly.

“Mark and the peace faction are acting as my administrators for the moment,” Tom explained. “But I need a liaison, both between me and our people when I’m not available, and between me and the war faction. You,” he pointed at the taller man, “are a loyal and trusted member of the war faction. You’re exactly what I need.” He regarded the other man with a level gaze. “Will you accept the position?”

Karl was silent so long that Tom began to wonder if the other man would ever answer. But finally he nodded. “I don’t like your loyalties. But I believe that you are doing what you think best.” He shrugged. “I accept.”

It was a unique experience, Ray thought with amusement, to walk into a hospital room and find out that it was the informal seat of a government. Two days had passed since Tom had shown up, and Sloan was getting stronger. She was still in bed, but was holding an intense conversation with a woman Ray had never seen before but who he guessed was a Homo dominant. Tom talked quietly in a corner with Mark, Walter, and a tall, fierce-looking man. Near the door, Ed fiddled with his stethoscope as he listened to an ancient woman who leaned on a carved cane.

“Well.” Ray surveyed the room, pleased. “Looks like I’m out of a job again.”

Tom looked up. “Not necessarily.” He motioned Ray back towards the hall. “Can we talk for a minute?”

Ray felt his brows go up. “Sure.”

He followed Tom through the door, noting the new purpose in the younger man’s movements, and approving of it. “What’s up?”

“Remember what you said about the new species’ differences seeming more psychological than genetic to you?”

Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah.”

“You were right.” Tom cocked his head to one side, and Ray could swear he saw a glint of humor there. “I need an advisor. Want the job?”

Ed had finally shooed all the people out of Sloan’s room, telling them to take their meetings elsewhere, and Sloan had fought back laughter at the sight of her best friend herding diplomats like they were stray chickens. But a few minutes later Tom slipped back in, and Sloan was pleased. There was something she wanted to talk to him about, and a crowd was no place to do it.

“What is it?” Tom asked, settling next to her on the bed.

“I’ve been talking to one of your new advisors,” she replied. “Tom, she says they can restore your memories.”

Tom sighed. He’d been struggling with that very issue. “I know.”

“Then why won’t you let them?” Sloan was wide-eyed with surprise.

“There’s a danger, Sloan.” He took her hand, searching for words. “They say it might change me.”

Her fingers were cool and soft in his. “Change you how?”

He swallowed. “I was chosen to be a chameleon when I was eleven.” He could feel the anger and pain she experienced whenever she thought of his childhood, but he ignored it. “Before that, I was raised like any other child of our species. Taught to be obedient, loyal...taught that the survival of our species was more important than my life, than anyone’s life. The chameleon training reinforced that.”

He kept his grip on her hand, and as he’d expected, she worked it out for herself. “So...they think that giving you back those memories might change your mind about humans.”

“About everything.” He lifted his other hand to smooth her cheek. “About you. I can’t risk it, Sloan. It’s too dangerous.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Tom,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right.” He brushed away the moisture on her face. “What I have is more important than those memories.”

* * * * *

It was a week before Ed and Walter declared Sloan well enough to go home. Once again a gurney was loaded onto a luxurious small plane, but this time the patient was Sloan and the pilots were Homo dominant. Sloan put up with the fuss, feeling a bit silly, but she didn’t have much energy yet and preferred not to waste it on arguments she was likely to lose anyway. Tom followed her onto the plane and watched as her gurney was secured, then bent to kiss her. “I’ll be along as soon as I can.”

Sloan caught at his hand, reluctant to let him go even though this was what they had all wanted. “Tell the feds that if they give you any more trouble about setting up your headquarters in California, I’ll go to Washington and give them a piece of my mind.”

Tom didn’t smile, but his warm grip tightened. “I’ll do that,” he replied, and stepped away. Sloan craned her neck to watch him go, ignoring the twinges of pain. Already the engines were beginning to hum awake.

Ed was the last on board, waving goodbye to the elder he’d been talking to all week. Tom had introduced them, saying that they had much in common, and Ed had found the old woman a treasure trove of information on the new species’ immunities and practice of medicine. Walter bolted the door behind them and went up to the cockpit to speak to the pilots, and Ed headed back toward Sloan. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, a bit impatient. “Why couldn’t I have a wheelchair? It’s not like I haven’t been using one for two days.”

Ed grinned down at her. “It’s more comfortable this way, trust me. It’s a long trip, and I don’t want you trying to sleep sitting up.”

Sloan sighed. “Okay, okay.”

The plane began to taxi, and Ed moved forward to strap himself in. Sloan stared at the ceiling and thought about the past week, which had whirled around her in a dizzying fashion that she could not attribute entirely to painkillers.

After months of fear and stress, the threats were abruptly gone. Tom, Mark, Karl, and Helen--the third of Tom’s Homo dominant advisors--believed that there might be trouble from a small number of disaffected Homo dominants; hence these particular pilots. But the danger was considered low. Walter’s erstwhile agency had been disbanded, what was left of it, and Walter and Ray were no longer fugitives. Nor was Tom.

A tentative balance had been achieved. Most of the world had no idea as yet that the new species even existed, let alone that it had planned the extinction of Homo sapiens. Both the U.S. government and the U.N. professed relief that war had been averted, at least for the moment. The four of them--five, if one included Mark--had succeeded beyond their wildest hopes. Ray had gone back to the Virgin Islands to bring his family home; Tom would hopefully follow Walter, Ed, and Sloan back to California. The new leader of Homo dominant had made no secret of the fact that where Sloan was, would be the headquarters of the new species.

But the balance was both fragile and volatile. Despite the various governmental statements, many people in power were terrified of the prospects that the new species presented, both politically and biologically. Homo dominant would have to find its own place in a world already overburdened with bigotry and fear of the other. Keeping the peace seemed an impossible task.

But then, we’ve already achieved the impossible. Several times. Sloan grinned to herself, firmly repressing worry. Now was not the time to fear. Now was the time to hope.

Anne would be pleased. The thought crossed Sloan’s mind, and she settled back into the pillows. Skeptical, but pleased.

* * * * *

“So has he called today?” Ed asked, giving Sloan a hand out of her chair.

“Twice.” Sloan released his hand, straightening cautiously. Three weeks after being shot, her side was healing nicely, but some movements still required care. “So did Mark.” She gestured him out of her office, dodging the “Welcome Back” balloons. “Something about a surprise.”

“Yeah, he called me too. Said to meet him in the lab garage.” He stopped and glanced back at Sloan, his expression comical. “Wait a minute. Mark? A surprise? Have we got the right guy?”

Sloan giggled, and waved to Walter as they passed his office. He waved back absently, deep in conversation with a couple of techs.

“You doing okay?” Ed asked, holding the lab door open for her. Sloan stuck her hands in her lab coat pockets and glared at him.

“I’m fine, Ed. Trust me. If I have any problems I’ll tell you.” She looked up, shaking her head at the concern behind the grin on his face, and stopped walking. When Ed stopped too, she leaned forward and hugged him.

“Don’t worry so much,” she murmured. “You do good work.”

Ed’s arms closed carefully around her, and she heard him sigh. “We came so close to losing you, Sloan. It scared me. A lot.”

“I’m still here.” She held on tight. She had been scared, too, and underneath she still was, a little. She hadn’t seen Tom for three weeks, though she talked to him every day on the phone. It was hard to settle back into routine. All their lives had been turned upside down and shaken, and now they were putting the pieces back together and finding some unexpected new shapes. Some of those shapes had sharp edges.

After a moment they parted and went on toward the garage. Ed went through the door first, peering warily around for reporters. Campus security could keep them out of the lab, but they did tend to turn up in other places. But the garage seemed deserted.

“All clear.” He frowned as Sloan joined him. “Where’s Mark?”

Before she could answer, a rattling roar filled the garage. Ed’s head snapped up, and his jaw dropped as his Volkswagen van appeared around the corner, a familiar dark figure at the wheel. Mark pulled the van to a stop in front of the scientists, and silence fell abruptly as he shut off the ignition.

“You found her!” Ed’s grin was so wide, Sloan thought with amusement, that it was a wonder the top of his head didn’t fall off. He ran his hands lovingly over the van’s battered front as Mark climbed out of the driver’s seat.

“It wasn’t hard.” The Homo dominant handed Ed the keys, and Sloan, surprised, saw a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “We’re happy to return it to you.”

Ed gripped Mark’s hand in a quick, hard shake. “Thanks, man!” The other man seemed a little taken aback, but not displeased. Then Ed was in the driver’s seat, all but hugging the wide steering wheel. “C’mon, Sloan. Let’s go!”

Sloan opened her mouth to point out that they were expected back in the lab, then closed it again. She hadn’t seen Ed so happy in months.

He reached over to unlock the passenger door for her, and she climbed in cautiously. “Do you need a ride, Mark?” Ed shouted over the renewed roar of the engine.

The Homo dominant shook his head, his expression neutral again, but Sloan still had the feeling that he was pleased. Sloan waved to him as Ed pulled away, then fastened her seatbelt and fished her cell phone out of her pocket. “I’d better tell Walter we won’t be back for a while.”

It was dark by the time Sloan climbed the stairs to her apartment. She was tired, but in a good way; they had made some real progress on a major project, once she’d convinced Ed to return to the lab. Still, she felt empty.

I miss you, Tom, she thought, pulling her keys from her purse. She’d spoken to him just that afternoon, but he’d given her no hint of when he might be able to join her, and she hesitated to ask. He had changed so much during that whirlwind week, going from someone abandoned and hunted by his own people to becoming their leader, from someone with no purpose in life other than protecting her to someone responsible for hundreds of thousands of lives.

And she was so proud of him. He had proved himself completely capable of handling the burdens, worthy of the trust placed in him, however reluctantly it was done. He wielded more power than any other sentient being on the planet, and the pressure would be crushing, but he went ahead without hesitation.

In a sense, he’d done it all for her. But his victory--their victory--might pull them apart in the end. Sloan couldn’t see how he found time to breathe, let alone call her every day. How would it be when he came back? If he comes back, whispered a cold doubt. She understood Tom very well now. The one thing that could supercede his devotion to her was his devotion to his new duty. And I wouldn’t have it any other way, she thought sturdily. He wouldn’t be Tom if he didn’t feel that way.

Sloan bit her lip, staring at the keys in her hand and blinking back tears determinedly. Enough moping. She unlocked her door and pushed it open, turning to flip on the light and punch in the security code before shutting the door.

He was there when she turned back, sitting in an armchair and watching her, this time with that tiny smile rather than a hard look of accusation. She let her bag drop from strengthless fingers, scarcely believing her own eyes. Then he stood up, and an instant later they were in each others’ arms, both of them trembling.

It was a long time before Sloan raised her head from his shoulder. “I thought you’d never get here,” she whispered. Tom’s sweater was damp from the tears she thought she’d banished, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Tom raised one hand to brush unruly hair from her eyes, his expression tender and his other arm still wrapped firmly around her. “I’m here now.” The warmth in his voice scattered her doubts, and she was smiling when their mouths met.

* * * * *

He was where he belonged.

Tom stretched a bit, feeling the slide of cotton against his skin, then relaxed as Sloan, still asleep, curled closer. He pulled the comforter up, not wanting to lose the warmth. It would be dawn soon, but it was a Saturday, and he had made sure that they both would get a day off. The next months would be very busy.

His sharp vision picked out a gleam of light from the ring on Sloan’s finger, and he blessed Ed silently for the idea. Her expression--and her emotions--when he’d suggested they get married had been indescribably precious to him. Then he had innocently explained that he had to be next of kin to be able to visit her if she was ever in the hospital again, and she had nearly smacked him when she realized he was teasing.

His own species did form pair bonds, he’d discovered, though they were rare. But not even their lack would not have stopped him from formalizing this one. He was unique, and he would make his own decisions.

Sloan stirred and uncurled, blinking up at him. “Why are you awake?” she said, her voice husky with sleep.

He smiled into the darkness as she pulled him down next to her. “Just thinking.”

She chuckled, and he amended his thought. We will make our own decisions.

It was dark, but he wasn’t alone. Not anymore.

* * * * *

“It’s about two people who save each other,” said Thomas.

Tam Lin, Pamela Dean