What was the point? There was no way out ... Eyes on the wall screen, he slouched further down on the couch.

The unidentified object was tracked for twenty-five miles Jets were scrambled from WC's main security complex, but the target was lost by the time they reached the reporting area. The investigation is ongoing.

Sleg said, "Off," and the screen went black. "Get ready."

"But -"

"It's dark. We have to go now."

He got up and reached for Sleg's wing, but he pulled it away before Darm could touch it. The daemon's tone was level, but there was no mistaking the ice in it.

"If you'd just stayed in. I have a hard enough time keeping what I do hidden and you've set off alarms with every paranoid money-bag on the planet. Do you want to start a fourth world war? Don't answer that. I won't blame you for all of it - I haven't educated you well enough. But that's why you're expected to do what I tell you. The Master will fix it -"

"Please, Sleg. I don't want to go to the Seventh City -"

"You can't stay with me and Kiata. We can't chance you being traced back to the commorancy. Lunam has it rough enough at Huai's -"

"Why's he still there?"

"The policers put monitors in his warren - mine too."

"But humans can't see you - oh, they can see what you move around."

The lasers in Sleg's eyes shut off. "Load up. We're leaving. You go out first and make sure there's no one to see you."

Darm slid the straps of his pack over his shoulders. Shouldn't be anyone out there. Raccoon and coyotes didn't count. He pulled the black cloak over himself, bag and all, walked out of the rented cabin - and flew straight up like shot.

***

He was sure Sleg would track him down - if that other thing, the shadow, didn't first. Darm got up from under the tree and stretched. It was mad to fly off like that. He wasn't prepared for how fast he could go - could've splattered himself into oblivion.

The laughter welled up. He didn't even try to fight it. Pretending - imagining he was a goose. Fly like a goose, Darm. Radar bots don't pay attention to birds. It took him over 'til he was sated, 'til his ribs hurt.

Still snickering a little, he pulled the pack down from where it hung on the branch and sat down with it, wiping tears from his eyes. He'd filled it with food the day before at the sleepy little village near the edge of the forest. Spanish ... tough go, but he figured he'd pulled off the nomad fringer act well enough. How hard could it be? Just a little out of practice ...

His fringer days were over. But he knew. The place looked - well, it just didn't seem to him that the owner wanted much to do with policers. He didn't think he'd be reported, at least.

He made a quick, sloppy sandwich out of the last of the meat. The pail still had a day's water in it. He should jump in the pond - a shiver ran through him. Maybe tomorrow. And try fishing - never had before. More laughs, he was sure.

His eyes were heavy - lousy sleep. Dreams of that ... thing chasing him. The last of the sandwich went down and Darm laid on the ground.

He really shouldn't have done it but it came on him like a fever. No. It was the stone Kiata gave him burning him every time he thought of going with Sleg. It felt like ice when he decided to make a run for it. Then it warmed to body temperature and stayed that way.

And the feeling that he needed the real book - and the ub ... If he thought any different, it heated right back up. It was all at cross-purposes. How was he supposed to get his things if he didn't play nice with the daemons?

Trying to go it on his own and expecting to get anywhere - his attention slid. He could see the ub. He could look right into ... he fell head-first into it. The letters of his name were right in front of his face - they shattered, bits of them flying everywhere.

A tiny green dot materialized in the silvery cloud they left behind. He stared at it and a line of glowing green sprouted from it. It crept toward him. It was curving now, spiralling, and he floated along it, following the bends. Tighter and tighter it coiled ... fast, faster. He was caught in it as it spun into an emerald vortex ...his breakfast was rising, there was no up, no down, a massive blender, mixing him into a -

Something hard hit him, stopped him dead. Groaning, he tried to move but nothing would except his eyelids. They opened slightly. The ground. He managed to lift his head. Desert ... not sand. Yellow, baked earth. The sky was yellow, everything was yellow.

A whirlwind rose out of the dirt. Something was taking shape - Darm struggled, trying to get to his feet, but he couldn't. He crawled, knees scraping, hands burning -

"Stop!"

The voice froze him. He couldn't understand what it was about it that scared him - he made himself look. It had wings, but it wasn't a daemon. It had a dog's head, wolfy, big, sharp teeth ... a tail, oh blast! Like a scorpion - he - grasshoppers, thousands, millions of them jumping, flying, the noise! Like the noise he heard in the library - no. It didn't sound like that, it was worse, horrible ...

The monster was making noise now, an ear-shattering, broken, croaking sound that he couldn't bear -

"You're the trouble-maker? You?" The creature was overcome. It couldn't seem to stop the whooping, wheezing racket coming from its mouth - laughter. It was laughing!

Darm saw the green spot appear above its head. He zeroed in on it as he made it to his feet, pouring his mind into it, shutting everything else out. If he could spiral in - then ... His entire being snapped sideways, endways, backward - upside down.

He was dragged, twisting along the loosening, widening arms of the swirl. His stomach whipped into another nauseous, bilious attack. Closing his eyes did nothing ...

The green lines unraveled, a tornado in reverse. He was a speck of dust in it, all he could do was ride it - hoping. Hoping to blazes there was an end to it and - there were thin, dark green blades in front of his eyes - tall, slender 'v's'. Grass. He tried to move his head but everything rotated at the slightest twitch.

It was quite a while before he could open his eyes again, before things would stay still, before he was sure he wouldn't project his breakfast twenty feet. Things finally settled down and he dozed. The sharp whine of a dog snapped him back to awareness.

That's when he noticed the ruby-hued feet in front of his face.

***

"Honk, honk."

Darm's teeth ground together. He wasn't taking the bait. Sleg could laugh all he wanted. It was enough that he believed him. Sleg, all the daemons, had been convinced that they couldn't fly with him, that the WC's radar would pick him up. So what if pretending to be a bird was ridiculous? It worked.

And now he wanted to go to the First City, to get his book and the ub and Sleg wouldn't tell him how to get there - or take him either.

"I have to stay in the Val D'or for a little while yet -"

"But they're all rich. What about everyone else? Why don't you help them?" It was sickening. If El Grande was disgusting, the Val D'or was the slime on the bottom of the cesspool. That Sleg was in on this -

"Did you leave your mind so open that it fell out?" The daemon's eyes burned.

Darm's stomach dropped and his head got light. Double nuts! He grabbed the edge of the coffee table to hold himself down. "All right, I've misunderstood. How about just telling me? Faster -"

"Lazy!"

"Overwhelmed."

Sleg sighed and sat down beside the credenza. "Sorry. The ghouls have little interest in people who have no power, no influence. Oh - to use them for slaves, yes. But they don't prey on them unless they're desperate. They've always taken the richest, the ones at the top, every chance they've had. But the hunters are cleaning up. We haven't had a new case of possession in quite some time - and they keep tracking down the ones already consumed."

He sighed again. "The ones left ... They're getting harder and harder to flush out. The hunters are asking what to do about it ... Well, at least there are a lot fewer people needing the help of the Followers. Be patient - my replacement has arrived and he's nearly ready. Then you and I and Kiata will join Lunam. The dream you had has to be taken care of -"

"But what does it mean?"

"I wish I knew. And why you need the real book and the ub -"

The little red stone in Darm's chain was heating up. He pulled it out of his shirt before it could burn him. "I don't know why - but this does." Thin beams of scarlet light radiated from the gem.

What passed for his eyebrows shot up high on Sleg's forehead. "Kiata say anything about that?"

He shook his head. "All I know is that if I'm making a mistake, this thing heats up like a little torch. If I had my book -" The flashes stopped. Darm held it out and Sleg touched it with the tip of his finger.

"Hmm. Cold. Something new. Never a dull -" Frenzied banging on the door made them both jump. Sleg rapidly changed into Sledge. "Come in," he called, his voice godlike.

A squad leader in red PJ's stepped in, holding a port. "You must see this, Excelsior - it's terrible!"

Sledge took the machine from the man's shaking hands. "Aliens are invading?" His thin lips pressed into a line as he watched the screen. "This had better be a hoax. Harley, please take the port back with you. Tell everyone to be calm. Spread the word. You'll have answers soon."

He hurried out and Sledge turned the wall screen on. The news channel panned from place to place - there were big, silver saucers hovering in the skies all over the planet.

Darm only had to take one look. "They aren't real."

The daemon peered at him as if he'd grown a second head. "And just how do you know that?"

"Find out what time this started. Then I might be able to tell you."