fscked paced the pavement at the base of the clock, feeling more conspicuous by the second. She reflexively glanced upwards every couple of minutes. Ven leaned impassively against a railing at the base sometimes watching her, sometimes not. They were both getting anxious, as they had been days earlier when Photogirl ran late, but he was much better at hiding it. Any worry he had seeped through the soles of his shoes and evaporated. fscked on the other hand was a bundle of compressed energy. She knew full well that the Betties were capable of defending themselves, yet still anticipated a scenario where she was on the defensive.

If the night hadn't turned to shit already, she might have burned off some energy by dancing at one of the clubs. She had wanted to oversee the turnover of the gathered intelligence personally, and would have relished the opportunity to shake it up at Metropol first. But according to Ven they were both specifically told not to go. She couldn't understand why, but acquiesced. Her perception wasn't as broad as Ven's but she knew what her role was and what fights to pick.

That being the case, her instincts told her that something wasn't quite right. The coincidence of a looming rush of Perdendosi soldiers and guardsmen when they were planning this transfer of confidentials, not to mention the proximity to where they were now, spoke of a possible breach of information. She could feel it like one might feel a charge of static electricity building against their skin. The open streets and byways of the triangle felt inversely claustrophobic. The two would have to leave very soon.

Ven was reading fscked's mind; he knew her better than she liked to admit.

"They'll be here," he said. "Be patient."

The redhead just glared back quickly and continued to pace. "We can't give them much more time," she stated.

"I know," he said, amused despite the potential danger at the thought of how completely ready for battle she was. While he had dressed as he normally did - black ball cap turned backwards and matching color trenchcoat, sneakers and slacks - every stitch of clothing fscked wore was chosen for the possibility of combat.

On the surface she looked like every other Friday-night party girl, which was how she wanted it. But in reality, nothing was farther from the truth. The heels of her shoes were low and solid but provided as much give as the best athletic wear; the toes were steel-lined. Her stretch pants were made of a Thermaclim™ weave, which allowed for moisture wicking and maximum flexibility. Beneath the folds of her leather jacket was lightweight armor plating of the same alloy as the Lords' chamber (also constructed by Member 3038), and a lining that was bulletproof. This made it heavy enough to weight down a full-grown man. And sewn underneath the knuckles of her gloves were metal half-ball-bearings. She wore the ensemble effortlessly, never hinting at its hidden protections and enhancements. Anyone who dared oppose her did so at their own peril and would get that point very quickly.

"Two minutes, and then we pack it in," she said matter-of-factly. "They know where to reach us when we're gone." fscked had previously instructed the Children of contingencies, but hoped it wouldn't have to come to that. She was just opening her mouth to continue when Ven pointed to a familiar car now approaching. It furrowed the rainwater as it pulled down the lane and neatly into the parking space in front of them.

There were four passengers rather than the two expected: the Betties in the front seats and Agent and ElBandito in the back. Ven and fscked had relaxed ever so slightly but grew suspicious at the sight. Something had to be up, and their quiet suspicions were confirmed when the car windows were rolled down and Agent said, "Sorry they're late - that's our fault."

"What happened?" asked fscked. She could now see that the ladies were somewhat mussed-up, indicative of a scramble somewhere. The static electricity of suspicion brought more of her hairs to attention.

The Betties rarely spoke; they rarely had to. They communicated in other ways, usually through those around them. It was part of their gift. Right now they just looked back as Agent continued to explain their rendezvous. "Somewhere along the line, I must have been ratted out. There was a guard and some soldiers that came looking for us at Metropol, but the gals took care of them."

"Do you still have the stuff?" asked fscked, speaking for Ven. He didn't mind anymore than the Betties did.

"Oh yeah," said ElBandito, and he pulled the briefcase up from the floor of the car and patted it. Agent likewise produced the CD with his info from a jacket pocket. "It's still safe."

"But I think you'll be most impressed with what they brought for you," said Agent, looking at the driver and front-seat passenger. "They've got some serious junk in their trunk."

There was a poomp as the back lid was popped and fscked stepped back so everyone could get out. She was momentarily vexed, as was Ven, but his brain began buzzing at the realization that whatever it was they were about to see was the reason the Lords had directed he and his friend not intrude on the first drop-off.

The Betties stepped around and opened the trunk. Ven and fscked stood behind them, and Agent and ElBandito stood just off to the side. Beneath a tarp lay Brittlesmith, unconscious, bound and gagged. He had also been stripped of his clothes, in the event there were tracking devices in the fabric. And he was severely bruised, although his physiology had already begun to heal some of the deeper wounds and lacerations. He would be out for hours though. The Betties glanced around to make sure the intermediary was satisfied with what he'd seen and quickly closed the lid.

Ven stated the obvious to fscked. "We've definitely got to get this back to the Chamber right away." He had strangely enough relaxed into the gravity of the situation and his mood was inscrutable. This was one of the reasons the members considered him so otherworldly. They couldn't help but wonder, Does he know what he's doing? even as they knew without question he did. They just anticipated a more physical reaction.

fscked supplied that. "First let's drive around and find a better spot to get him out of your car," she said. "Are you two parked nearby?" she asked the men.

"My car's parked in a lot over by 44th," said Agent. "We drove in together."

She spoke to the Betties who listened quietly and intently. "We'll find a spot to hand-off the guard and the stuff the guys brought first. Then you take them back to get their car. Split-up but stay with them. Go get their wives and take them all into hiding 'til you hear from us. We don't know what the Perdendosi know about them, and that's dangerous. We'll see what information we can get from him," she said, gesturing toward the rear of the car. "In the meantime, wait 'til you hear from us. They're in your charge."

The Betties acknowledged their new duties with a gracefully synched nod.

Then fscked turned to the men and said, "Listen to them, whatever they say." Agent and ElBandito smiled and pounded fists. Captivity never looked so sweet.

fscked's mind continued to race along with Ven's as they plotted out their immediate strategy, pinging from Point A to Point B and beyond and back again. She looked up at the clock once more; it was ten past ten, and the clock was ticking.

The clock was always ticking.

But the actual high-guard was another matter altogether.

They were far, far smaller in number than the soldiers, composed of actual Perdendosi rather than genetic pastiches. And that was the point: they thought independently, were stronger and faster and more capable than a half-dozen soldiers combined, with the benefit of stealth at their command. Their rank was three-fifths female, and their stratagems had a certain feminine mystique to them. They were complex and unpredictable, delicate looking but decidedly strong.

Overguard Farewayth took threats of all kind seriously. She had secret files on dissidents operating globally, although most were pieced together from hearsay and rumors. There was one Terran reputed to have repeatedly smuggled himself offworld, the only one to ever do so. There was a female operating locally who had survived a number of skirmishes with high-guards and soldiers (approximately two dozen at the last count). But the only details that remained consistent about her were she was thin and had red hair. There was also that recent business earlier in the week with the blonde female human who had purportedly infiltrated the Battery during the testing. Farewayth constantly had officers following up on these reports.

Brittlesmith however couldn't be bothered with such trivial nonsense. The Overguards respected one another, but were of wholly separate minds. It was amazing, when she stopped to think about it, that one person used to hold both positions. She often wondered how Sinclair had kept it all straight. Of course, their operations weren't quite so encompassing years ago, and Sinclair proved himself fluid at moving from one capacity to the next. He'd even recommended both she and Brittlesmith for their respective positions, having worked with them both years ago.

Their differences aside, they respected Sinclair equally. He was held in high esteem across the board and they didn't want to let him down. Even now as she awaited word from the guards she'd dispatched to the Red Light District, she was bracing herself for the report she'd inevitably have to give him. She tried to stay optimistic, but knew from experience the situation looked bad.

Farewayth sat at her command station in the Securities building at the Battery, eyes closed in patient meditation. She had been here several hours since the official end of her shift, when Brittlesmith informed her that he was leading a field team to search for an insurgent. They had lost all contact with Brittlesmith and his troops nearly an hour ago. All hailing frequencies since went unanswered, and the tracking signals from their uniforms were completely stationary. This last bit of information usually meant that the non-communicative parties were dead, but this wasn't absolute. The foot-soldiers would have engaged in conflict to the death if suddenly overwhelmed, but Brittlesmith would have had the presence of mind to escape. Either that or perhaps he was now injured.

Farewayth expected a report brimming with details of violence and wanton destruction. The only thing she could think of that would have taken the other overguard and his team out of commission was a sudden massive uprising. The humans were capable of it, but it had been years since they had. And their own intelligence network would have likely detected that in the planning stages. Her eyelids tightened as she continued to wait, growing more irritated and perplexed.

"Incoming communiqué from High-Guard Squadron Delta-Major," announced the military system computer.

"On the main screen," said Farewayth. With that, a monitor twenty feet across and eight feet high in front of her on the main floor was filled with the image of the commanding high-guardswoman. The guard was in the front vehicle of a military cruiser making its way from the South Side back to the Strip District. There were other troops behind her, patrolling a mostly deserted city street. Things looked surprisingly calm. "Report."

"Overguard, we went directly to the site of the soldiers' signals," said the commander. "They were all dead." With that, several smaller windows opened on the screen showing the information recorded by different guards at the alleyway. There were a dozen hulking bodies lying broken and mangled on the ground, but the scene was much more orderly than what was expected. "Overguard Brittlesmith was not at the scene. We continued tracking his primary signal." The officer's training was thorough; her delivery and mannerisms telegraphed nothing.

"Did you locate it?" asked Farewayth.

The commander held up her right hand, which had been off-screen, to reveal the upper half of Brittlesmith's uniform which had been broadcasting the tracking signal. Farewayth grimaced inwardly. She knew Sinclair would have a harsh reaction to this news. Dead or alive, they still had to track down Brittlesmith before his captors could gain any knowledge that might further delay Phase Three of their overriding goal on Earth.

"How far away was that when you found it?" asked the Overguard.

"A few blocks. Not far at all, but no sign of whoever took him."

Farewayth saw the big picture and knew what to do next. If they acted quickly enough, perhaps the Perdendosi could outwit the captors at their own game.

"Alert Squadrons Epsilon Major and Minor and Iota Major and Minor to report for duty. Raise the security alert to Orange-Three," she ordered her subordinates. "And activate and trace Overguard Brittlesmith's secondary homing signal."

VEN HAD FIDDLED with the infocomm during fscked's entire hasty drive to the Chamber Hall. It took him almost twenty minutes just to figure out how to turn the thing on. He foresaw the Lords not being able to make much of the device, and as usual he was right.

The infocomm sat rotating on a dias that resembled nothing so much as a small phonograph turntable. It glowed blue from the inside, pulsing with unreadable information. It had been jacked-in via an array of wireless feeds which took a circuitous route through the compound to the Lords' Chamber. They had analyzed it in under half an hour, and were able to decipher its power couplings and channel a fresh energy supply to keep it running. But they were unable to crack the code of the Perdendosi language, which had been further encrypted at the boot-up level. This much was understood though:

Each infocomm contained phenomenal reserves of data and potentially had access to all of the files in the main computer system of the Battery. If the owner had the right codes, they could learn about any area of the Perdendosi operation. Most were restricted, via their rank and status, to whatever was authorized for them. ElBandito had the foresight to include the quad-manager's wallet, on the off chance any of his personal information might prove useful, but so far nothing had worked. Whatever secrets there were pertaining to the ultimate function of the Battery and the demonstration Photogirl had witnessed remained locked inside of it for now.

Neither the Lords nor Ven were deterred by this. It was essentially a language problem, and they just needed someone who could crack the code. Ven could think of at least two Children who'd probably be able to help. The only problem was neither was immediately available, but this was only a temporary issue as well. Since he and fscked were going to be tied up helping the processing of information for the time being, and the Betties were busy guarding Agent and ElBandito, they decided to alert fscked's Secondaries and have them perform the task.

This worked out neatly, as the duo had remained on-call since they were initially contacted about possibly handling the first drop-off at Metropol. They were on their way over to the Chamber within minutes of getting the call. It was now quarter after 11pm. Even taking backroads to avoid detection during curfew hours, they would still arrive within half an hour. The way Member 2954 drove though, it would probably be even sooner than that.

Agent's information provided much-needed insight into the hierarchy of the occupants' culture. Combined with what was already known, the Lords were able to determine that the Perdendosi were a longer-lived race than anyone had imagined. There were records of their interactions with other star-cultures (some of them quite hostile) that dated back at least two-hundred thousand years. Overguards Farewayth and Brittlesmith themselves were remembered for their participation as officers in the Xxertrainien Occupation nearly 900 Earth years ago. At the time they were under the command of Overguard Sinclair, who had since moved on to other positions.

The occupation of Earth was notable for several reasons. Typically the Perdendosi were able to overwhelm their adversaries on their own homeworlds in extremely short periods of time, sometimes within days. The methods varied, but they weren't known for being quite as aggressive as they'd been on Earth. Also, the resources they harvested elsewhere were much more clearly defined; it was well known throughout the galaxy that the Xxertrainien Occupation had been initiated by a breakdown in talks over large scale exports of native power crystals , for example. Some saw the matters as diplomatic failures, but the motives were clear regardless. Afterwards, the Xxertrainites were able to rebuild their economy within less than a century.

At three years and eight months, the Earth Occupation was already the longest of record for the Perdendosi, and it was still a mystery exactly what they found of interest in the planet. Their detest of the species was openly known well before the invasion. It was speculated that the collective psychic energies of the Terrans provoked a negative mental reaction in the aliens across the celestial void. The humans simply irritated the Perdendosi. They were LOUD, telepathically speaking. Most cultures responded favorably to Terran vibes; the Perdendosi did not.

fscked stood focusing her attention through a glass window that looked into a small studio room. There was musical equipment inside which had been shunted against the walls to make room for a small bed. Strapped to it with the most durable cords and fibers fscked could find, was Brittlesmith. The Lords had realigned the ventilation to the sealed-off room and were continually pumping anesthetics in to keep the overguard sedated. Meanwhile, any number of devices roamed independently around the unconscious figure, scanning, examining and trying to dissect the alien physiology.

Their recuperative powers were obvious. By the time fscked had hauled Brittlesmith from the trunk of her car, most of his topical wounds had healed. Even unconscious and naked, she didn't trust him. She would wait until there was a development of note, watching the ever shifting hues of light inside the studio.

Ven sat at his workstation, alternately checking the viewscreens and the members who decorated them and panning across the floor to the Chamber itself. He had not set foot inside yet since they'd arrived, but was waiting to be beckoned. There were four circular monitors ringing the outside of the outer wall. Normally they were off but right now they were alive with the visages of Praga Khan, Nikkie, Oliver and Deb.

Their disembodied faces floated in the middle of the screens, eyes closed and minds awash in a florescent green sea of newfound knowledge. Every fifteen seconds or so the Lords would switch, each minute giving the faces a full rotation 'round the Chamber. There was no indication how much longer they'd be studying the alien, but all present were prepared to wait. An odd calm had settled throughout the installation, which played a virtual lullaby of sounds. There was always music of some kind being funneled through the Chamber Hall. The Lords had become music, and the structure was theirs to command.

At eleven twenty-nine p.m. the Lords' eyes snapped open and the tempo of the music changed. The lights in the studio shifted to red.

((There's a problem!)) alerted Praga Khan. His image also now appeared on the screens in front of Ven. The faces on the monitors below now flashed a staccato rhythm of immediate concern. fscked spun around and faced the collective.

"What is it?" asked Ven.

((There's a tracking device in the Perdendosi)), responded all of the Lords together.

"In him?" asked fscked.

The hue in the studio shifted again to a deeper blood red, and a single green shaft of light crossed the room. As it passed over objects, their interior contents became visible. It finally alighted on the small finger of Brittlesmith's right hand. Immediately the screens in front of Ven filled with an enlarged view of the phalanges and at the tip one could see a tiny Xxertrainien crystal-powered chip rooted in the bone.

((You've got to get that out of the Chamber, now)), said Praga. ((The alloys in the walls shield our energies from detection, but it won't hide the signal. They'll be able to track him here in no time.))

"Have they deployed troops? Can you tell?" asked fscked.

The Lords extended their senses beyond the borders of the Chamber, through the circuits of the complex into the city, across miles of power lines and communications cables, bounding across rooftop satellites and antennas. It was the fastest way to get an overview of the world outside of their doors. They didn't like what they saw.

((Yes)), they said.

"How many?" she asked.

((Six squadrons. At least ninety Perdendosi guards)), they answered.

"Fuck!" she said. "If we kill him, will that stop the signal?"

((No. And we need to keep him alive. We haven't finished studying him, and we might not get this chance again)), said the Lords. The words were spoken from one member to the next, passed along with urgency.

fscked pounded the release for the studio door once, taking a deep breath as she did. It slid open and she entered. At the bedside she reached down into her boot to produce a butterfly knife which whistled open in less than a second. She placed the point of the blade between the ring and small fingers of Brittlesmith's right hand and brought it down, severing the end digit. The blood was thick, more a gel than a liquid, and in the maroon light of the room it appeared black.

She hurriedly exited the studio, coughing a couple of times. She checked for her car keys and Ven met her on the way to the main Hall door. He paused to grab the infocomm, but the Lords stopped him.

((Leave it)), they said. ((We'll let the others in to pick it up. They're still on their way.)) The outer Chamber doors hissed open, releasing plumes of steam. The Lords were beckoning Ven inside. He put on his sunglasses and strode in, only to walk out just a few seconds later, eyes glowing and four small orb-like objects in his hands.

Without another word Ven and fscked raced for the exit and were gone, leaving the Lords alone with their sedated guest. The quartet had to remain behind for the time being; there was more data to be collected before they could act. The cipher of the Perdendosi required more study and any direct confrontation before the time was right would jeopardize everything. The Lords were an unknown factor for now and aimed to keep it that way. There was no sense curing the symptoms of the occupation when the world needed a cure.

They would act directly soon enough, and when they did the power would be theirs. For the time being, they would work indirectly via their Children and...other means. It would still prove most impressive.

Outside, there was a prophetic rumble of thunder; inside the Chamber, there was a similar rumbling. The symphony of a storm was about to be conducted.