"Kiata?"

She glared at him.

"Sorry. Gemma. I'll remember." He got up from the credenza and stretched. Their rooms at the commorancy were comfortable, but he hated staying inside. Sleg - blast it! Sledge - was paranoid. Darm had never been to El Grande before Sledge brought him. A month's rent for a clothes closet here was more than he'd ever had in ten years. The chances of him running into anyone he knew were non-existent -

"What did you want? I have to get to the morning meeting."

"Oh, yeah. Did you ask Sledge about the passage in that book -"

"I'm sorry, Darm. I haven't had time, but I will, I promise. Bye."

She was already out the door. He barely got a wave in as her yellow pajamas vanished behind it. The clothes made everyone look alike - except for the colors. Sledge and Gemma either wore the silvery-gray or the pale yellow. The rank and file wore blue, with the odd squad leader sticking out in red.

He didn't care about the organization. The Followers of the True Way ... It was a farce. Well, it served a decent purpose, but he really didn't like the way they went about it. He hoped he'd never get roped into it. There were enough problems to keep him occupied.

Sledge and Gemma were busy helping the relatives of people who'd been murdered and taken over by ghouls. He had to figure out if it mattered where the horrible things wound up after they'd been banished ... and it wasn't going worth a plugged chit.

He looked into the kitchen as he walked by. The maid had left his breakfast. Later. Why hadn't Ki - Gemma asked? Sledge was hardly ever home and when he was - she slept in Sledge's room now. Had to keep up appearances. The acolytes thought she was his wife. And if there'd been two minutes to talk to him since they'd arrived, he'd be surprised.

Grabbing the copy of his book off the dresser, he went back to the kitchen and settled down with it. Museli, a slice of psuedo-toast spread with power jam - yeck. He nibbled on the desert - melon sections - while he read, ignoring the rest. The last piece of fruit was gone and his stomach growled.

To blazes with it! He needed a real breakfast - eggs, fried sunny-side up, crisp, crunchy bacon, actual toast slathered with genuine butter, golden, salty potatoes with onions - he'd be drooling if he didn't stop it!

There was a cap in his closet - and sunglasses. He went back to his room and pulled them out, along with a pair of proper pants and a tee shirt. He hung up the PJ's and got dressed. His hair barely fit under the hat, but he kept stuffing until none of it showed. He pulled on his hikers and donned the shades as he opened the door. No one would ever know he'd gone out for a while.

***

Spring had sprung. Darm wandered down the wide boulevard, inhaling the scents of flowering trees, bushes, stems - did every green thing have blooms? His belly protested the tight waistband, but it made him smile. Breakfast had never, ever tasted so good. With the sun shining on his back, he sauntered along the streets, just taking it all in.

El Grande was a disgusting concept, but his eyes wouldn't let him think about it. Money could buy a lot, and nothing had been spared in creating this monument to excess. He was a fringer - and that's where he'd always lived, on the fringes. Tents, a camper for the winter if he could scrape up enough. Then he'd had a big find and bought the flop room - he shuddered. Eight by sixteen by chronic claustrophobia.

He stopped at a bench and sat down, gazing at the ... palace - it was the only word that fit - across the street. Pink and silver marble, stainless steel trim, cobalt blue solar viewpanes - sixty stories, and half a block, of conspicuous consumption. It probably cost more than it would to feed three quarters of the world for years ... But that's what El Grande was all about. If you had it, you flaunted it. If you had it, you must've earned it - yeah, sure. The propaganda mill worked its charms.

The allure vaporized and he jumped up. He could be a real sucker, couldn't he? Head down, he hoofed it toward the commorancy. Back to work. Back to reality.

The closer he got to home, the stronger the feeling of disgust and loathing got. Darm slowed down ... The city was a terrible thing, but he was overreacting. He took control of his breathing, aiming for calm - there were eyes on him, he could feel them. He didn't dare look around.

At the next intersection, he turned and walked away from home. Who was following him? He stopped in front of a shop, hoping the reflection in the viewpane would show him. There wasn't a soul.

He kept his eyes on the gaudy artwork displayed behind the solar glass. The sense of something rotten, decayed - his breakfast was doing a slow roll... Oh, double nuts. His head was spinning - down! Stay heavy! He couldn't be floating away here.

Something was breathing right down his neck, but he couldn't see a thing! Darm moved away from the window, forcing himself to take leisurely steps. Maybe he needed to have his head examined. An invisible stalker - he had to be touched.

Wrong blasted word!

There was a hand on his shoulder - but there wasn't anything there!

"What do you want?" he growled.

'You.'

The gravelly voice burst into his head and it spun. He was lifting off the ground - he shouldn't. To blazes with it!

Darm cut loose, making his body as light as air and, wrenching away from the unseen fingers holding him, he streaked straight up into the sky. In his mind, he screeched, Sleg!

He twisted and turned, dived - no matter which way he went, the presence stayed right on him.

Long nails dug into his arm and yanked him - flashes of blue and white whizzed across his vision as he spun like a top. His feet kicked out from the momentum, slowing his wild rotation. Before he could pull them back, they connected with something solid and there was a loud yowl in his head.

He could hurt it! Reaching out, his fingers felt hair, and he clenched them, getting a tight hold. He jerked his knee up, hard. The screech that came next nearly sent him plummeting, but the hand he couldn't see wasn't clawing at him anymore.

A droning sound filled his ears as he raced away. A plane - a jet. More than one - they were coming so fast - then Sleg was right in his face, grabbing him, squashing him into his chest. He couldn't hear the wings flapping, the screaming engines drowned it out. Sleg's voice barely registered.

"Think about being more weightless than weightless - now!"

Darm's head seemed bent on swirling right out of control as the two of them ripped through the low cloud cover - so fast that he couldn't - "Sleg," he gasped. "Can't ... breathe ..."

Then everything in front of his eyes dimmed to blackness.