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

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

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

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

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

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

"Boy?"

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

"That is very young."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"An ominous name."

"It suits him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll buy something."

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

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

"Very funny, Annie."

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

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

"I won't."

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

"Beyond nervous."

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

"You aren't helping my nerves."

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

"What expression?"

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

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

"Sure."

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

"Everyone knows that."

"Except me," he said ruefully.

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

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

Crys' reaction was pretty much what he expected.

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

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

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

"Probably."

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

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

"Ask me. Ha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What kind of personal support?"

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

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

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

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

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

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uh huh."

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

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

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

Impatiently, he pushed her away. "Yes."

"Whatever for?"

"The party."

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

"Crys."

"What?"

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know any other way."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His expression became wary. "What about them?"

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

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

"If you want, yes."

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

"Then you're going to tell me?"

"Yes. I'll tell you."

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, I haven't."

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

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

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

~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~ : ~

It was worse than he'd expected.

He was fine when he handed Crys out of the car. He was fine when they were escorted by the butler through the house. Mere grandeur and the trappings of wealth had never awed him. But when the butler left them at the open glass doors to the patio and he looked out at all the people in the garden, he felt as if he'd swallowed a belly full of ice. Everywhere he looked, people were standing, drinks in hand, talking, laughing, in pairs or in groups. Women glittered with diamonds, men were smooth with self-assurance. All the polite phrases Crys had practiced with him fled, leaving his mind blank. He felt sick and had the idiotic impulse to turn and run. Instead, he squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, but that was all he could do. Until Crys stepped forward, he was paralyzed.

Her arm through his moved him with her, down shallow steps that his feet couldn't feel. She was looking all around with frowning interest. A waiter was passing with a tray of champagne flutes, and Crys squeezed his arm and nodded toward the tray. Somehow Vicious made his hands move, snagging two of them as the waiter passed, which was something he'd seen on TV once. He handed one to Crys. Had he been alone, he probably would have died of thirst before he'd done that.

Crys took a delicate sip, leaned toward him, and whispered into his ear, "Look at all the big shots here. If I'd brought a bomb, I could have set the Red Dragons back twenty years."

Champagne bubbles went up his nose as he stifled a laugh. He felt the ice thaw and his shoulders relax. He murmured back, "If you'd brought a bomb, we'd be laying together now with someone shoveling dirt in our faces."

"Damn. Poison, then. What was I thinking, not slipping any into my purse?"

"I don't know. Here I give you this priceless opportunity, and you blow it."

She chortled and leaned her head on his arm. "I might have poisoned you by mistake, and that would have been a bad thing. Oh, look – a scumbag we know," she murmured.

It was Kito, coming toward them from the other side of the garden, moving smoothly through the crowd with a pleased smile, a beautiful redhead on his arm. Vicious muttered, "You promised to behave, Crys."

She muttered back, "I won't call him a scumbag to his face. Watch and learn, darling. We're going to show you the epitome of party-manner hypocrisy, your boss and me. I bet he's good at it. He's slick." As Kito and the lady drew near, she turned on a brilliant smile. "Kito!" she said, sounding actually pleased to see him. "Were you invited, too? What a treat."

Kito's smile turned into a grin. "Did Vicious forget to tell you, you owe your invitation to me?"

"Oh, that's right, I forgot," she said, taking his hand when he extended it. "I'm glad to see you. I was beginning to think we didn't know a soul here."

"Annie and Henry are here, out in the rose garden. Karen, this is Vicious, who you've heard me mention, and his lady friend Crys. Vicious, Crys, my wife Karen."

The redhead smiled at Vicious and shook his hand, but he stiffened when she turned a frosty half-smile on Crys and made no other gesture. Crys, who'd held out her hand to the woman, let it fall quite naturally onto his arm, pinching him, and said brightly, "Nice to meet you, Karen. How are the kids? Did you have any trouble finding a babysitter?"

"We have a live-in nanny."

"Oh. Of course. I don't have kids, so these things just slip my mind. Sorry. Lovely dress!"

Vicious winced internally. Karen looked proper, neat, and affluent, but beside her, Crys was stunningly glamorous and a great deal sexier. And it was obvious Karen knew it. But somehow she managed a smile and said, "Thank you. Yours is, too. Although I've never seen hair dyed with a streak to match a dress before."

Crys laughed. "You got it backward. Vicious bought me the dress to go with my hair."

The woman's glance flicked to Vicious. "How... interesting."

Kito, who had been looking elsewhere, turned back to them and said, "Crys, I hope you don't mind if I steal Vicious for a moment. I'd like to introduce him around a bit."

The words were a casual request, but it was still a command. Crys assured Kito she would be fine, although she glanced up at Vicious first to be certain that he would, and he gave her a single nod. He wouldn't, but he would have to manage anyway. He knew the kind of introductions Kito would be making would be seriously hampered by Crys' presence. He had already begun to relax, enjoying Crys' tactics, but now he settled even more. This was business. This, he understood.

Without a thought of being denied, Kito was saying, "Karen, take care of Crys, show her around, would you?"

"Yes, of course, dear," she agreed, although by her tone, she'd rather have been boiled in oil.

Crys said, "Just show me the food. I'm starving. It's ridiculous how much I eat. Good thing I never gain weight from it, isn't it?"

Kito gestured Vicious away, and as the two of them made their way farther out into the gardens, he gave a low whistle and said, "That is one hell of a woman."

"Your wife didn't seem to like her," Vicious said, still faintly annoyed.

"Of course not. Mistresses don't normally come to these parties. You'll understand better when you're married." He chuckled. "I was worried about Crys, when I should have been worried about Karen. I'll be hearing about this for months."

Kito had a specific destination in mind, but they stopped occasionally for quick introductions along the way. Vicious found, to his relief, that he had little to do in the area of what Crys called "party-manner hypocrisy", because the men he met immediately separated themselves from compliant wives, shook hands as if testing his grip, and discussed business, briefly and succinctly. They were men he could respect and relate to, and he quickly realized that Kito had a method to the introductions. He met no legitimate businessmen, no fronts, and no politicians, but rather active Red Dragon members who, in rank, stood closer to Kito's level than his own – men whom, if he continued rising, he would be dealing with often. Their curiosity about him gave him a feeling of elation that, kept in bounds, helped him to speak to them with confidence.

That confidence evaporated when they approached a gazebo and he realized where Kito was ultimately taking him. There, holding court in a small crowd of well-known faces – businessmen, politicians, diplomats, and even actors – was Mao Yenrai. Kito waited respectfully at the edge of the group until Mao saw him, and after a few minutes, Mao graciously excused himself and came their way. Vicious' knees weakened and he stiffened them, straightening, although there was nothing remotely threatening in any way about Mao Yenrai. He was a short, smiling, round-faced man who looked far more like the diplomats he'd been entertaining than the hard-eyed men Vicious had been meeting so far. But Kito was nervous, Vicious could tell by his voice when he said quietly, "Don't offer to shake hands, not with Mao. Speak when you're spoken to, otherwise shut up."

Vicious nodded. That wouldn't be any trouble. He'd be lucky if he could speak at all.

But Mao greeted Kito like an old friend and seemed genuinely pleased to meet Vicious. "I hope you don't mind that I chose the chaos of a party to meet you, but I didn't wish to wait for a better opportunity."

Crys had told him, Two easy rules, love – lie nicely to anyone you meet socially, but be completely honest with your scumbag superiors. So he said directly, "Mind? I'm staggered and deeply honored."

"And a little overwhelmed, perhaps?"

"Not a little, a lot." He confessed the truth candidly, but calmly, with a slight smile, unconsciously mimicking Kito's poise.

Mao was pleased. "Come walk with me a moment, and tell me what you think of this new piece of sculpture. It was a gift from one of the men I was just speaking to."

To Vicious' alarm, they left Kito behind, but he rallied his mind to look at the statuary along the graveled walk they turned onto.  Mao continued talking, but only in the most general way about the party. He had a soft, pleasant voice. Even that was nothing like what Vicious had imagined. He might have been walking with Father Thomas. They stopped in front of a granite sculpture that sprawled along the side of the path, and Mao asked, "What do you think?"

Be completely honest with your scumbag superiors. "Honestly?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have asked, otherwise."

"Then, no disrespect intended, but it's ugly. It reminds me of some alleys I've been in."

"Does it?" He studied the thing another moment, and Vicious wished he could read what was in his mind. "Yes," he mused, "I had the same reaction. It looks very much like a bad alley."

"Sir... that wouldn't be deliberate, would it?"

Mao looked up at him, his smile deepening. "I suspect it is. I may have to kill the sculptor, despite the fact that he's considered a genius."

"If this is a sample of his work, he won't be much of a loss."

"No. Sad to reflect on the state of public taste, isn't it?" He gazed up the lane and the rest of the statuary that framed it. "So, is there anything here which meets with your approval?"

One sculpture had already caught his eye, and he turned toward it now. Carved from some white material that was delicately veined, it was a life-sized figure of a winged woman standing on one foot, leaning forward, her eyes and face turned skyward, as if she were about to take flight. In her left hand was a wreath of leaves, and in her right, extended upward as if to guide her launch, was a long spear. There was something triumphant and strong about her. "That's the best here. Or rather," he amended, realizing how arrogant that sounded, "the one I like the best."

"Ah, yes. Nike, goddess of victory. A good choice." Mao said no more about the statues or even why he'd asked Vicious' opinion, but turned to walk again along the path, which wove back toward the house. As they walked, he asked Vicious questions, pertinent ones this time, about what he was doing and, once or twice, how he'd accomplished it. To his surprise, under the gently voiced questioning, Vicious found his mind working hard to keep up, and he began to realize why Mao Yenrai had risen to this position. Instead of making him nervous, this realization made him more comfortable. He was working for a capable man. He answered everything with complete truth, although there was a time or two, especially when asked about Kito, that he was glad the truth was what Mao might want to hear.

As they neared the noise of the party, he was suddenly struck with the fact that, as crowded as the place was, no one at all had come near them while they talked. Every detail here, it seemed, was in Mao's control, and Vicious was impressed. More than anything he'd seen so far, that level of control was what he would wish to emulate if he ever rose this far.

He saw Crys standing with Annie and Henry Jacobs, laughing, looking as if she were actually enjoying herself. He didn't think Mao knew her, but Mao corrected that misapprehension by saying, "There is your lady. I'll leave you now. I'm sure you'd rather be with a lovely young woman than with me."

"Not really, sir," he said, "but I know I've already taken up too much of your time."

"It has been a pleasure meeting you, Vicious."

The words to answer that had been given him by Crys. "The pleasure was all mine, sir. And the honor."

Mao smiled and left him, and Vicious made his way through the crowd to Crys' side. Annie saw him first and waved at him, grinning. "How did it go with Mao?" she asked as Crys, smiling, tucked her arm in his.

"All right, I guess. We saw some statues, talked a bit."

Henry chuckled. "I told you, Annie."

She punched his arm. "And you were right. So what? That and a K-note will get you a cup of coffee."

"Told her what?" Vicious wanted to know.

"That even if Mao had skinned you alive, you'd act as if it had all been nothing special."

"Not that Mao would," Annie said comfortably. "He's far too sweet."

Sweet? That was about the last word Vicious would ever apply to Mao Yenrai. But then, the Jacobs' were old friends of Mao's. Crys was looking up at him anxiously, and he smiled to reassure her. "You look as if you've been enjoying yourself more than I thought you would."

Annie answered him. "We've been getting along great. You don't have to worry about this one, she can handle herself."

Henry said, "And Annie isn't like Karen and the other wives here, after all, to turn up her nose at someone just because they don't quite fit."

Vicious couldn't imagine a more obvious understatement. The other wives he could see were sleek, well-groomed, and with trim figures that he imagined were more the result of medical science than any particular work on their part, and each was wearing a gown and jewels that had probably cost more than he would make in a year. Annie, in contrast, was plump, wearing a simple gown and a pair of plain sapphire earrings. Her expression, too, was open and refreshingly natural, nothing like the guarded, careful faces of most of the other women. Other than Crys, he thought her the best woman there, and told her so, which flustered her and pleased Henry.

Even with Annie, however, he could see that Crys was unhappy and feeling the strain. He asked her, "Do you want to go now? I think I've had about all the partying I can stand in one day."

Annie chuckled at Crys' grateful expression. "Yes, take her home before we pollute her beyond redemption."

"Annie, if it were only you and Henry," Crys said, "I wouldn't feel quite beyond redemption. Thanks for rescuing me." To Vicious' surprise, she hugged both Annie and Henry. Then she turned back to him, wove her arm into his, and said, "Take me home and I promise you a very nice reward."

He led her off to the sound of Annie's wicked laughter.

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