flowing cocktail dress, with a margarita in a frosted glass in one hand and a book of decadent French verse in the other. He was also wearing a long curly wig of purest gold, and wore subtle but artfully applied makeup. His work boots and sloppy trousers had been replaced by fishnet stockings and stiletto heels, and his fingernails had been painted a shocking pink. All in all, Flynn looked very pretty and completely at ease. Toby closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.
'Flynn, you promised me you wouldn't do this. We are not in civilized company now. They would not understand. And the representatives of the Church of Christ the Warrior definitely wouldn't understand. They'd execute you on the spot for deviancy and degeneracy, and shoot me as well just for knowing you. Now, get out of that gear and into something that won't get us both hanged. Mother Beatrice won't wait forever.'
'Rush, rush, rush,' said Flynn. He drained the last of his margarita, slipped a bookmark into his poetry collection, and put glass and book carefully to one side before rising gracefully to his feet. 'Very well, you wait outside while I change into something less comfortable. And bear in mind I wouldn't do this for anyone less than Mother Beatrice. That woman is a saint.'
Toby stepped outside and closed the door without actually shutting it, so he could continue the conversation or hiss if he saw anyone coming. He shook his head again. He could feel one of his headaches coming on. 'Of all the cameramen, on all the worlds, I had to end up with you. Why me?'
'Because you were desperate for a good cameraman, and no one else would work with you,' said Flynn from inside. 'After all, you only got your journalist's license because you were on the run from your Uncle Gregor. As it happens, I also felt the need to leave in a hurry. My last gentleman admirer was a high-ranking member of the Clans who also liked to dress up pretty in the privacy of his own quarters.
'Wonderful man. Very interested in yodeling. Only lover I ever knew who could give you head, and sing you a song at the same time. My, how those low notes vibrated. And what that man could do with a vowel… Anyway, we had words and broke up, and he became rather concerned that I might tell all for the right price. And he couldn't have that. If word of his private proclivities were to get out, no one in the Families would ever take him seriously again. It's all right to be a degenerate if you're an aristocrat, but not if it's something silly.
'So, seeing the way his mind was working, I decided it might be in my best interests to leave town for a while, and hole up somewhere suitably distant until he calmed down again. Which is the only reason I agreed to work with you, Toby Shreck. You have to realize, the word on you was not good: an aging PR flack with dreams of reporting and delusions of adequacy. Nothing personal, you understand. For what it's worth, you're doing all right here. I've worked with worse.'
Toby scowled, but said nothing. Flynn had most of it right. He'd spent most of his life working as a PR man and spin doctor for Gregor Shreck, despised by his peers and unappreciated by his Family. No one realized how much hard work went into good PR. But he'd always dreamed of being a real journalist, digging out the truth and exposing villainy and corruption in high places, instead of covering it up. But somehow he never had the courage to leave the safe haven of his job and Family. It took being kicked out to wake his ambitions again, and now that he was here on Technos III, he was going to do the best damn job he could. It was his chance to be someone in his own right, not just another of Gregor Shreck's shadows. A chance to finally acquire some self-respect. Mother Beatrice was renowned for not giving interviews, and the press corps took it seriously after she kneecapped a reporter with a meat tenderizer when he tried blackmailing a friend into talking about her. But she was probably the only person on Technos III who could and would tell him the whole story, the whole truth, and to hell where the shrapnel fell. And she had agreed to talk to him… Toby kicked the door frame viciously.
'Flynn! Are you ready yet?'
The door swung open and Flynn strolled out, looking like just another cameraman. The camera perched on his shoulder like a sleepy owl. Flynn did a quick twirl for Toby, to show off his baggy trousers and camouflage jacket. 'Well? Will I pass?'
'You've still got lipstick on,' said Toby with glacial calmness.
Flynn took out a handkerchief, wiped his mouth, and smiled at Toby. 'Better?'
'Fractionally. Now, let's go, before Mother Beatrice changes her mind. Or somebody changes it for her.'
They made their way quietly through the narrow corridors, stopping every time they thought they heard something. No one else was about. Most people were asleep, trusting to the electronic guards and surveillance to guarantee their rest wouldn't be disturbed. After all, the rebels had never got this close on the best day they ever had, and no one in the factory would dare run the risk of upsetting security. As a reporter in charge of making the factory complex look good, Toby had security passes for practically every area, and some discreet but heavy-duty bribes had ensured no one would tell about his little late-night jaunt. He hoped.
He led Flynn to the nearest exit in the outer sector, and they stopped to climb into the heavy furs left hanging by the door. Even a short journey through Technos III's winter could be deadly without the right protection. Toby and Flynn bundled up in layers of fur and wool till they could barely move, and then stumbled over to the exit. Toby looked out the window beside the door and winced. The air was thick with swirling snow, blown this way and that by the gusting wind. He didn't look at the thermometer. He didn't want to know. He pulled his fur hat down low over his brow, wrapped his scarf securely over his mouth and nose, cursed quietly for a moment, and then jerked the heavy door open. It swung slowly inward, revealing a two-foot drift of snow that had piled up against the closed door. Toby and Flynn kicked their way through it and lurched out into the winter. The door slammed shut behind them, and they were alone in the night.
The cold hit them like a hammer, and for a moment all Toby and Flynn could do was lean against each other for support. The bitter air seared their lungs, and the wind shocked tears from their exposed eyes. The snow on the ground was a good foot deep. Tireless machines struggled over and over to dig out a clear perimeter around the factory complex, but the snow fell faster than the machines could dig. The wind was almost strong enough to throw Toby off his feet, and he had to lean into it to keep his balance. The freezing air made his teeth ache, even through several layers of thick woolen scarf. He scowled and hunched his shoulders as the wind changed direction yet again. Part of him wanted to turn and go back inside rather than face such nightmare conditions, but Toby wouldn't listen to it. He was a reporter now, on the trail of a hot story, and that was enough to keep him warm inside.
He glanced about him into the thickening snow. Outside the complex's exterior lights, there was only darkness and the storm. There were supposed to be stars out and two small moons, but they were hidden behind the fury of the snows. However, out in the darkness a single patch of light showed defiantly around a long low structure without windows. Toby slapped Flynn on the arm and pointed out the structure, and they lurched off through the thick snowdrifts toward the light. Flynn's camera hovered low behind his shoulder, sheltered from the wind.
The low structure turned out to be a really long tent of metallic cloth, marked with the familiar red crescent of the Sisters of Mercy. As on so many battlefields across the Empire, the tent was a hospital for all who needed it. The Sisters took no sides. The factory complex had just enough space for a single hospital ward, officers only. The foot soldiers, security men, and mercenaries had to rely on the Sisters' mercy. The officers believed this gave their men an extra incentive not to get wounded. It was a big tent, looking bigger all the time as Toby slogged through the snow toward it. He hadn't traveled far, but already his thighs were aching from forcing a way through the thick drifts and fighting the constantly changing winds. Sweat ran down his brow and into his eyes, freezing in his exposed eyebrows. Toby had given up cursing some time back. He needed his breath.
He finally lurched to a halt before the far end of the tent, and found himself facing a very secure-looking steel door with a signposted bell. He hit the bell with his fist because he couldn't feel his fingers anymore, and a viewscreen lit up in the door, showing a Sister's veiled head and shoulders. She didn't look at all pleased to see him. Toby reached inside his furs, pulled out his press pass, and held it up before the screen. The Sister sniffed, and the viewscreen went blank. Toby and Flynn looked at each other uncertainly. They were both shivering uncontrollably, no longer warmed by their exertions. And then the door swung suddenly inward, spilling light and heat out into the night. Toby and Flynn hurried forward into the comforting glow, and the door slammed shut behind them.
Toby pulled the scarf away from his mouth and took off his fur hat, his eyes watering as they adjusted to the new light and warmth. He and Flynn took turns beating the snow off each other, and then Toby turned and smiled ingratiatingly at the Sister who'd let them in. It was always wise to be polite to a Sister of Mercy. They had long memories, and you never knew when you might end up needing their services. This particular Sister looked to be in her late twenties, but already had deep lines around her mouth and eyes. Dealing with death and suffering on a daily basis with no end in sight will do that to you. She wore the usual unadorned white robes and wimple of a Sister in the field, but her robes were spattered with new and old bloodstains. She was also big enough to stop an
