Absolute Magnitude

Absolute magnitude: (def.)the true brightness of a star

Part One: On the Horizon

Sun/Soleil (Nikita)

You never knew about spring. Unreliable as hell. It could blow warm or cold like my mom Bobby after she'd finished her last bottle. Who knew which she was going to be? I sure didn't, but you know what? I didn't care. The only thing I cared about was being out. I'd made sure my mom had enough for the week and then I'd split before her Class A jerk of a boyfriend came home. I bummed rides, hit the soup kitchens, and walked and walked 'til I couldn't any more. I told myself for the hundredth time that it was better this way. I wished that saying it made it so. I wished that I didn't feel so damn bad about leaving her behind again. But it felt good to be free for a change.

It was so cool (no joke). I was finally back on the same old streets. And when I hit my old corner in J-Town, the same old faces were hanging 'round under that blinking sign. There were dreadlocked Didi in that big brown overcoat and Skinny Minnie who always talked squeaky like a cartoon. Before I knew it, they were hugging me like I'd never ever been gone; laughing and talking to me, their breaths curling out like white feathers in the cold night air. And then there was Rabbit too, all arms and legs sticking out of his sweater sleeves and jeans. He hung back as usual.

I turned to him. "What's wrong, Kanahele? Not happy to see me?"

When he slanted his head, the streetlight shone on the rings piercing his ear. His hazel eyes looked me over real carefully, more thoughtful than happy. Finally he grinned down. " 'loha," he said lowly. Then he dropped his beat-up skateboard that was more duct tape than wood, and held out his arms.

"You still got that old thing," I said, hugging his tall skinny body. That boy had put on some serious inches, and now I had to reach up to ruffle those near-black curls. "Hey, let me ride it?"

His lip curled. "Huh! What's wrong with you? Bonked your head? Not in this lifetime, blondie. Nuh uh. I know you. Aiâ! You'd sell it for food."

"Are you kidding? You bet I would. Like that," I said, snapping my fingers. Then as if to prove my point, my stomach decided to growl real loud right then. I tried to rub away the hollow feeling. That last bowl of soup had been more water than carrots, and that kitchen had been longer on the sermon than hospitality. I hadn't stayed for a second bowl.

"I got a dollar." Didi pulled the knit cap off her head, her braids tumbling down and flying everywhere. She held it out and shook it. "We can panhan' for the rest. It's Saturday night. We'll get the rest fast."

Rabbit shook his head. "There's too much heat around here. Stumpy says ..."

"That nut?" interrupted Didi. "I ain't listenin' to him. No way."

"Shut up," said Rabbit, laughing. "Come on. Let's get off the street. I know somewhere safe. Let's go."

I pointed to my mouth.

He rolled his eyes. "Uh oh. You're always thinking about that. Some day it's gonna get you into trouble. All right, all right. I'm flush today." He dug into the back pocket of his faded jeans and pulled out a couple of bills that were so crumpled and damp, they felt like used Kleenex.

I held it carefully. "Is this straight?"

"Sure, sure ..."

"Rabbit, I mean it. Is it?" I stared at it closely. Couldn't see much in this light. Didn't know what the hell I was looking for anyway. A two-headed eagle? George Washington, cross-eyed? Didn't see any of those. Guess it wasn't funny money, but with Rabbit, I was never sure. I gave him a look. He held his hand out and waved his palm back and forth.

While I was deciding, my stomach grumbled again, this time louder. All right, already. Money was money, no matter how he'd gotten it or how limp it was. I pocketed it carefully.

"So get the pizza," he continued. "Straight there, then straight back here. Five minutes. Tops. Got that?"

"Yes, Daddy," teased Didi. She and Minnie snickered.

"I mean it. Don't forget." Rabbit jabbed a bandaged finger at me. "Especially you." I stuck my tongue out at him and started walking away. When I'd gone about ten feet, he suddenly called out, "Hey, Nik'. Why can't blondes make ice cubes?"

I waited a moment before I wheeled around. "I can't hear yo-o-o-ou."

"They can't do it because they can't remember the recipe. You better remember, girl. Watch out."

I blew him a kiss over my shoulder; not caring, not really listening to him. If only I'd listened.

###

Moon/La Lune (Michael)

I am watching. I have been watching all along. I must watch and wait and do nothing more because I am being watched too. If they see me, then they will know and everything will be lost. So I must do it carefully and indirectly like a reflection hidden inside one of my telescopes. I am good with mirrors and light and shadow. There are things I can see but not touch. They are too precious. Too faraway. It must be that way. Distance is safety. I have learned my lesson. Poor Simone.

And poor Elena. It was not fair. None of this was, I thought, as I sat in my car for a second. I activated the sensors, then the alarms before I got out. I held a plastic bag with our take-out Vietnamese food in one hand, my briefcase in the other, as I walked up the cobblestone path to the house we share. Our home, I supposed. On either side of the path, the bushes were trimmed exactly. The two garden gnomes were new, and the stone rabbits were still devoid of moss as if they'd been washed every day. They probably were. Madeline says that Elena has too much time on her hands. She needs someone to love. A connection. A handcuff. A hostage. Remembering my childhood, I shudder. I am being pressured. It was not the first time, and it will not be the last.

I took a deep breath and pushed aside that thought somewhere deep inside me. Then I exhaled, shedding Michael Level Five like one takes off a hat. I put on another. A second later, my face settled into a pleasant smile. I was Michael Samuelle once again, returning from a business trip. This house was my home, the woman inside of it - my wife. I stepped loudly on to the front step and rattled my keys a little before I inserted it into the knob and opened the door. The heavy oak swung inward, creaking. Hinges needed oil. One of the ceilings lights had gone out. I added "new bulb" to my list of things to do along with "locate father-in-law."

To my surprise, the entryway was empty. Whenever I returned to this place, Elena was usually here to greet me; her eyes shiny and happy, her mouth eager. But this time she was not. I stepped deeper into the foyer and looked around. There was no one. On the vestibule table next to me lay a bowl of potpourri, a plastic ball with a bell inside it, and our mail, still sealed. How strange. Usually Elena has already opened the envelopes and filed away the contents by the end of each day, but tonight, they sat there untouched. I was beginning to worry. I set our dinner down next to the mail. It settled wetly, the gravy leaking out of the containers and sloshing inside its plastic bag. I smelled the salty sour noodles Elena had ordered for us. It reminded me of dinners with Simone, and I felt a little sick.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Something was wrong. Had Vachek's men already come? Had Section? Everything seemed exactly in place: nothing spilled or turned over. Even the slipcovers were still over the birdcages. The parakeets were silent too, probably sleeping. I stepped over the threshold and into the kitchen. The counters were bare, not even a bottle of red wine, decanted and ready for our dinner. I slipped soundlessly over the linoleum, past the nougahyde bar stools and the little floor-box where the puppy used to sleep before Elena had to give it back. Then just as I was about to enter the dining room, I heard a high hissing coming from the garage. Leaking gas? A warning? The painful exhale after a punch to the kidneys? Whatever it was, it didn't sound good.

I pivoted towards it. My hand slipped inside my overcoat towards my gun as I reached for the doorknob. My muscles bunched, ready. Slowly I opened it a crack. I peered through the slit. Elena was sitting on the pavement floor, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. At her feet lay one of those beige plastic animal carryall's. It was rocking from side to side. White fur pressed through one of the side slits, then disappeared. The hissing increased. Whatever was inside it wasn't happy about being there.

"Elena," I said softly, walking up to her. I pressed a hand to her shoulder.

She startled. Her hands fell away, and she lifted her head. Her eyes were puffy. Tears left trails down her face and in places, strands of black hair stuck wetly to her round cheeks. She sobbed my name as she rose and threw herself at me. I murmured useless comforting things while I patted her back. Over her shoulder, I could finally see what was inside the carryall. A kitten stared back at me, its blue eyes flaring. The corners of its mouth drew back, baring tiny sharp teeth. Hissing even more loudly, it lunged so hard at the bars that the box almost tipped over and stood on its end. I caught it with the side of my boot just in time and righted it carefully. As I did, one paw shot out and swiped the side of my toe. I looked down. Now there were four new gouges on the black leather. Merde.

Elena blew her nose on my sweater and said my name.

I leaned over, kissing the top of her head. "What is wrong?"

"It's Fluffy," she said wetly. Between half-sobs and hiccups, she managed to tell the story. Apparently she'd found the kitten sneaking into the garage and eating the leftover chow that Elena hadn't managed to throw out yet. "I know you wanted me to get rid of it. But I just co-o-o-oudn't. Not yet," she wailed. It was another minute before she could continue. She'd managed to lure the kitten with cream and bits of salmon, and over time, they'd become cautious friends. But when she'd taken Fluffy to the vet, the news had not been good. "She has some disease. Something terrible. She's going to ... to ... Oh, Michael, I can't say it."

"Can it be cured?"

Sniffling, Elena shook her head.

I steeled myself for the next question. "Put asleep?" Elena's sob was my answer. "Tonight?"

Elena buried her face into my sweater and nodded. "She's to be kept quiet. Quiet and comfortable until then. She doesn't like it."

Like it? Watching the carryall shake back and forth, I thought that perhaps that was an understatement.

"I can't," Elena was crying. "I just can't do it."

I sighed silently. "Go back into the house. I will take care of it."

Elena's shoulders sagged with relief. She gave me a grateful look before she went back into the house. "Thank you," she mouthed at me.

I made myself smile at her. I waved goodbye as Elena closed the door behind her. Then after she was gone, I opened the garage door. The cool night air punched in as I hefted the bag of food over my shoulder and picked up the carryall with my other hand. Carefully I held the cat at least an arm's length away so she wouldn't scratch up my coat too. Not that she didn't try. Her claws extended, reaching frantically through the bars. As I walked down to the car, she banged from side to side so hard that I was certain she must be hurting herself. Stop it, I thought. You are only making it worse. As if answering, she spat at me and took another swing. I pressed my free elbow down and against the keychain activator in my coat pocket. The backseat door clicked open. I jiggled the handle. Then I put my burdens into the backseat.

If the kitten was mad before, she was furious now. The hissing had turned into endless caterwauling, and now she was adding something more fragrant as well. Great. Now I would have to call Housekeeping and explain to Walter why his sensing device had been deactivated by acid. Now, when there was no one to see, I gritted my teeth and rolled the window down just a crack. Fresh air blew in, the smell blew out. Thankfully I exhaled. I guess that I was the only thankful one in the car because the cat's shrieking grew louder.

"Quiet," I said sternly to the kitten. She only hissed back.

I scanned the perimeter once, then twice before I turned on the ignition and pulled out of the driveway. By now the traffic had lightened, the roads smoothed. It took another twenty minutes before I'd left the suburbs. Gradually the houses were spaced farther and fewer between, and the hills rolled from one to the other, unbroken by any fences. The trees were still bare, their branches reaching into the darkening sky. I pulled over by an old farmhouse where I thought there might be mice. I dragged out the bag of food in case there wasn't any, and tipped it over so that it spilled sideways. Then I took the carryall out of the car and set it down on the cool, crunchy ground. I quickly opened the little door, drawing my hand back before I could get scratched. I stepped aside. The box turned completely still.

"Me-e-e-ew?" came from the back of the box. Little paws softly padded forward. One eye pressed against a side vent and looked around. It fell silent again. Another few seconds passed. Then all of a sudden, a ball of white fur streaked out of the container and across the ground like a meteor. She was moving so fast that she seemed more blur than animal. And in the next instant, the kitten disappeared into the grass. The blades closed behind her, waving.

Eventually the grass stilled. Long after that, when the night had turned quiet again, I stood there: waiting, worrying, watching, as the moon rose over the ragged tree tops. I turned to face it. Silently I said "Au revoir" like I did every night. When I did, I remembered. Then I thought of the kitten.

I stood, unmoving, rooted like one of those trees. I was still here. It seemed like I would always be here. The breeze picked up, blowing against my slacks. It caught the open door of the cage, making it flap, then thud against the side of the carryall. The sound echoed hollowly inside. If only it were always this easy. But it was not.

It could not be because we were both being watched. We were both in danger. Always.

###

Part II. Nightfall; In the Land of Perpetual Shadows (Section, the Beginning)

Sun/L'Soleil (Nikita)

No!
I be good.
Don't go ... Mommy! shouted a small high voice from somewhere faraway, maybe through the longest tunnel in the world. Whoever she was, she must be at the other end. I could barely hear her. She kept shouting, more demands than begging. I could hear her even though my head felt foggy.

Help her, I thought. Christ! Why won't someone help her? Someone's got to ... Hold on, ëÿëÿ. Baby, I'm coming. I moved - or tried to - but something cold and smooth tightened around my wrists and ankles. Metal bit down and snapped me back against a hard icy slab. My head smacked. Pain stabbed through me like a stiletto, sharp and final. Stiletto? What the hell did I know about that?

"Ze subject ..." warned a thick German voice.

"Forty mig's. Now."

Something pricked my arm, then heat shot through me. Inside me, everything steamed up and fogged over even more until everything - even the cuffs - disappeared. The slab, the cold were gone. My body was gone too. Where - I didn't know. I didn't care because some string must have bust, and my mind had detached like a runaway balloon. Now I was gone. I was floating somewhere high and above and free. No one could reach me. I wouldn't let them. I couldn't feel them. I could barely even hear them anymore: not that poor little girl; not those jerks doing things to me, things I couldn't feel. All their voices faded away; deep, deep under the clouds that filled my head, pushing aside my thoughts. Now I was lighter than air, flying away into the shadows deepening around me. The night closed over me like the darkest of homecomings. I'm back.

###

When I woke up again, my mouth felt all sour and fuzzy like I'd been sucking on moldy lemons for a month. And I felt cold. Colder than a winter night on the streets. So goddamn cold through and through that inside I felt like a big chunk of ice instead of anything halfway human. Even though a blanket wouldn't help much, I wanted one right now. I'd even go for a pair of those awful stiff jail overalls but I didn't seem to be wearing those anymore. Instead, I was wearing something soft and loose. And wherever my skin wasn't covered with cloth, it felt covered with hundreds of goosebumps. But the cold wasn't making my skin prickle. No, it wasn't the cold at all. It was awareness: sharp and sudden.

I was being watched. I lay very still. Prepared and ready. I didn't know how, but some part of me knew what to do. Wouldn't they be surprised? Let them watch. I dared them.

###

Moon/La Lune (Michael)

How deep does hell go? I knew. I knew it exactly. It is one dead mile where there was no direct light, no fresh air. One mile was the depth of Containment, the lowest of all levels in Section One. Nikita was here. I saw her through the polarized window. I stood there for some time, calmly observing her. I knew that the cameras are watching me, watching her. I was very careful, more careful than I'd been my entire life. I won't betray anything. Not a thing.

On the overhead monitors, the blips pulsed slow and regular, consistent with the deepest stages of REM. The machines stated that she's asleep, but I knew better. She was awake. Awake and biding her time. Good for her. I felt a strange excitement I hadn't felt for a long time, but then I hadn't felt anything for longer than I could remember. I didn't let myself show it. I kept it concealed somewhere deep. I kept my hand nice and loose around the PDA that Madeline has just given me. It contained the files about Nikita, my new material. All the files, Madeline had said. But I knew it did not. The file was incomplete. It had worked. A small safeguard. A small victory. It almost made me smile. Almost.

###

Sun/L'Soleil (Nikita)

Maybe I was still new around here, but I wasn't a complete idiot. It only took a week before I realized that people never said what they meant and some people hardly ever said anything at all. Mister Stony Mouth had been training me for three months and I think he said all of five words. No, that was an exaggeration. Make that four words. He confused me just like this whole frigging place did.

Section was like that looking-glass land in one of Bobby's stories. Parts of it seemed comfortable but overall, it still felt like a prison. I didn't get it. Take this classroom, for instance. It was draped in velvet, all reds and rose pinks, and the rug was plush. Even the air smelled faintly spicy, kinda nice and not stale like the rest of Section. There were always little chocolates and buttery nibbles and sweet soothing drinks, because our teacher Cleo said you had to feed the senses before you could celebrate them.

Celebrate them? Huh. That was some fancy talk to dress up something nasty. I didn't like it in here. Not one bit. These cushy chairs were like sitting in a fat lady's lap. I slunk lower in mine, not caring which way my knees poked or if my goddamn ankles were crossed or not. Who gave a flying flip? This sucked. Of all the classes, I hated this one the most. This was a mistake. A huge mistake, and I'd told Michael so (not that he listened). For goddsakes, I didn't belong here any more than Cleo belonged in Section. Petite and voluptuous, all silk and scent, she looked totally out of place next to those iron-butt drillmasters who looked like they murdered for a hobby. Maybe she had killer looks, but she wasn't a killer. She was the kind of woman who never had a run in her stocking, never spilled anything on her cream-colored cashmere. She was absolutely elegantly female and I wanted to hate her. Really, I did, but I couldn't because she was so damn friendly. She could make anybody feel nice and cozy. Even Madeline. Even Operations. I'd seen them together; her sloe eyes all warm, making them warm. Operations had even cracked a smile. Him. I couldn't believe it!

Well, I had to hand it to Cleo. That had to take some doing. Me, I always want to poke that guy right in the eye. Wanted to, but didn't. Even I knew better than that. I think he knew. Michael sure did, and would scold me in that awful quiet voice of his at every opportunity. I think Cleo knew too because once she pulled me aside before class. According to Cleo, there were other methods for getting your way. Her kind of methods. The kind I was supposed to be learning. I didn't need a weapon because I had weapons. Natural ones. And when she was done explaining and I was done blushing, I managed to say, "Oh. So that's what tits are for. I always thought they just got in the way."

Something like amusement lit in her eyes. "Yes. Exactly. If you do it right, they do get in the way. Distraction. A real stopper."

"Not mine! Mine aren't like yours. I mean, well, you know. Mine wouldn't stop anything. Not even a dead slug."

This time, Cleo did laugh out loud. It rolled out of her throat, all smoky and warm, and hearing it made me feel a little better. Eventually she stopped laughing, her plump lips curving upwards. "You're wrong, you know. You just don't realize it. During the last few months ... well, my dear, let's just say you haven't noticed. Look." Then she reached up and put one manicured finger under my chin, turning me gently until I was forced to look at the mirror over a dressing table. My confused face stared back at me. Under my chopped bangs, my eyes looked wide and uncertain in a too-pale face. As I bit my lip, Cleo pulled off my crocheted beret, lightly putting it aside.

Oh, god. Look at that. I wanted to schlump down under the table. The top of my hair clumped up in some places, and was matted down in others. I looked like I'd been attacked by an eggbeater. Well, so what? I didn't care. I stuck out my chin, folding my arms across my chest. No one bothered me when I looked like this. I liked it this way, didn't I?

My eyes met Cleo's in the mirror. Clucking to herself, she picked up a brush and began gently smoothing down my rumpled hair. When she was done, she took a sheer rose scarf from around her neck and draped it around mine. It settled against my skin, still warm from her body and scented with her musk perfume. She lifted one end and held it in front of my eyes so that I could still see myself through the filmy material. "A woman has many layers, many secrets. You can use them all. Use them well, and you never have to reveal what lies underneath. That is the power of a woman ... That can be yours," she finished on a huskier note. Then she let the veil rub against my skin before letting go. It drifted slowly back down to my shoulder, another puff of her perfume rising, tickling my nose. "Come learn."

Well, what else could I do? Like everything in this joint, I didn't have a choice about this, but at least Cleo had sugarcoated it for me. She wasn't been so bad, but her instructions were. As if I would ever stick my finger down ... well, there. You know, in someone's ... I couldn't believe it. I still couldn't. And I didn't think I could do it. Uh uh. No way. Not for a million dollars. Not even for my life.

As the weeks passed, Cleo told me more. Much more. Part of it was fascinating, and part of it was just, well, incredible. I mean, I wasn't a baby. Sure, we'd joked about it on the streets. I'd seen a few things, tried even less. I'd always thought that I'd known everything, but it wasn't long before I'd realized that I had known nothing at all. I couldn't imagine anyone doing ... oh, yuck. And now Cleo was talking about more gross things to me and two other female recruits. Beyond gross.

It was all I could do not to gag out loud. I'd learned that wasn't so polite, so while Cleo continued talking about peaks and suction, I turned my mind to something else more interesting. I ran through this morning's sim' again. I didn't think Michael was right. In fact, I was sure he was wrong, and I was gonna prove it to him. I could have saved that family if only I'd ... Hmmm. I thought about it harder.

Or maybe ... What? It took a moment before I realized that Cleo had been calling my name. Shit. Caught again. I blinked, suddenly aware that everyone was looking at me. That girl Leila giggled behind her hand. On my right, a rat-faced girl pulled a sneer that made her face seem even more pointy and mean.

"Let's see, Nikita," said our teacher gently.

I put my arms on the side of my chair and dug my stupid spike heels into the floor. They wobbled as I pushed myself up out of my slump. I smoothed out my short, crumpled leather skirt. Then I hitched those silly spaghetti straps up over my shoulders again. One, two. I leaned forward. I puckered big. Then I sucked in my cheeks so hard that the raspberry sound could probably be heard all the way to Munitions. I sucked for a long, long time. And when I was finally done, I settled back into my chair. I folded my arms across my chest. You know, those stoppers of mine. "Like that?"

"Only if a rock is stuck in your straw, dear. Try again."

Darn that Cleo. She made me keep practicing long after Madeline had arrived and sat there, legs crossed, observing us. She made me do it over and over until I thought my lips would fall right off my face. And my cheeks ... God, my cheeks felt liked a stretched-out pair of pantyhose. I was sure they were sagging right off my face bones and flapping in the breeze. I didn't think I could chew any more. And drinking? Forget that. It hurt too damn much. I think I was going to skip dinner. Maybe breakfast too.

After we'd been dismissed for the day, we left the classroom to Cleo and Madeline. I could just imagine how they'd be shaking their heads over my lack of progress. Good. Maybe they'd finally come to their senses and let me out of this gig. After all, not everyone had to take this class. Why should I? It wasn't fair. Just thinking about the unfairness of it all made me clomp even louder and faster down the corridor, the other recruits right behind me.

That Leila was running up, sidling next to me. "I don't blame you," she whispered breathlessly.

"Huh?" was all I could manage. I was massaging my jaw. Maybe I could borrow some of Walter's hangover aspirin. I sure as hell wasn't going to Med Lab for this.

"I don't blame you for getting all dreamy and stuff. I would too. I mean, listening to all this and having Michael as your trainer ..."

"What? That jerk?" Okay, maybe I was exaggerating a little. If I thought about it real hard, I probably could come up with one time - maybe two - when he hadn't been so bad. And maybe Michael wasn't so hard on the eyes, but his heart - if he had one - was hard. Hard as a stone statue. Had the sense of humor of one too. He never smiled. Not once. And the way he stared like one. It creeped me out. Sometimes, during one of our sessions, I could feel him staring at me as if he were trying to tell me something. What - I didn't know. Why didn't he just say something? Or write it down, for Chrissakes? It would be a helluva lot easier, believe me. I just hated how he looked at me all day long like I was supposed to know something and I was getting it wrong all the time. Those damn green eyes. The guy didn't blink. Maybe he was like a fish. No lids. Or maybe he was dead. Sometimes I thought he was. Sometimes I wanted to give him one - bap - right on the nose just to make him blink. Or maybe I should try one of Cleo's techniques instead. I bet that would surprise him. Boy, would it. I grinned at the thought.

###

Moon/La Lune (Michael)

One hour, ten minutes, thirty-point-four minutes; time elapsed. I was counting down the seconds until Nikita and I closed this run. Even though it was just a training exercise at a seaside amusement park, it felt like so much more. It felt like too much. I was feeling uncomfortable, my collar suddenly too tight as if my shirt had just shrunk two sizes down. I did not show it. I never did, but I felt it all the same. I stood by the wooden fence, my back to the beach, as I watched her. She was taking too long, wandering between the game booths.

Find the mark, Nikita. It was getting later, and the wind whipped off the ocean and down the beach, cutting through my leather jacket and black jeans. Overhead, the sun was shining brightly but it was icepick cold. It wasn't cold enough. Not for me. Nothing could be too cold right now. It was hard to watch her but I had to. I had to and be calm the whole time, otherwise the monitors would pick up my accelerated pulse.

Since I couldn't jump into the ocean to cool myself off, I tried to distract myself. I reviewed the other missions on pad. Let's see. There were Burma, Turkistan, the Seychelles ... and Butcher was on the loose again. A master of disguises, he had not been found yet. We thought he might be in this sector, but the intell' was sketchy. And meanwhile, in the middle of all this, there was Nikita. Always Nikita. I knew what I wanted to do with her, but I could not. Not yet.

It took every ounce of strength. I could not believe it. Dear Lord, what had she done to herself this time? Instead of that stringy lank mess of hair, it looked shiny and soft and ... wavy? It flew about in the breeze, framing her face. Her eyes looked rounder, her cheeks pinker than usual. Make-up, I realized at last. She'd used make-up, but it was so subtle I hadn't noticed until now.

I watched her pitch coins into a glass, then shoot basketballs through the hoops. I waited, willing her to find the tag I'd hidden there, but she must not have. Instead of returning to me (as profiled), she took a break to buy some caramel corn and candy. She polished off the box, tossed it into the trash, and stuck a lollipop into her mouth. Then she wandered next door to a shooting arcade, where a girl had just dragged her fat father, stuffed into an overcoat. He puffed, catching his breath. The girl was tugging on his sleeve. She jumped up and down. "I wan' a bear. I wan' a green bear."

He pulled out a hanky from his coat pocket and mopped his brow. "Not now, Gwendolyn."

"Come on, Daddy. You can shoot anythin'. I know you can. Get me a bear."

While the girl was wheedling her father, Nikita was busy charming the barker. The boy looked seventeen and susceptible, blushing as he took too long to show her how to use their rifles.

"Like this?" she said breathily while she lifted the weapon. She slid one hand up, then down the barrel.

The boy caught her hand and moved back to the trigger. She let it bobble. He righted it just in time. Gulping, he squeaked, "Uh, hold it firmer."

"I will. Don't worry. I've got a very firm grip. I won't let it go. Not even if you begged me." Nikita winked at him, and the boy's blush only deepened.

Then turning away from him, she faced the targets and lifted her rifle. As her arms raised, her blue cardigan sweater stretched over her chest, conforming to every curve. "Can't see." She stepped closer to the counter and slowly leaned over. And as she did, the hem of her plaid skirt inched up her thighs. That damnable plaid. I would never think of plaid the same way again. I tore my eyes away as she aimed her rifle at the row of ducks. I heard her fire. Ping. Ping.

Now the little girl was pointing at Nikita. "Daddy, Daddy, lookit. A girl. A girl's doin' it. Can I? If you won', can I do it? Please, please, puh-leeeeeeeez. Can I?"

"We'll see," he rumbled.

"But, Dad-deeeeeeeee."

Nikita continued firing. Ten minutes later, she'd missed enough targets to make it look normal, but hit enough to win a prize. Triumphantly she pointed to a hideously green bear that was hanging with its brethren on a line. The boy lifted it down with a hook and gave it to Nikita. She grinned, turned, and handed her prize to the little girl.

Gwendolyn hugged it to her chest, and buried her face into its ugly fuzzy head.

"Say thank you to the lady," reminded the harassed father.

The girl mumbled something. Nikita laughed and patted the man's shoulder. She cocked her head to one side. "Sure thing. Have a nice day."

After she left them, she came to me in a way that was too fast to be textbook. We'd have to review that. I made a mental note. There were a couple of other deficiencies too: like missing the whole point of the exercise. There would be no way to hide this mistake. But it was hard to stay stern when Nikita looked like this. Her eyes were wide and shiny with excitement.

When she reached me, she took my arm. "Hey." She leaned closer, sliding one leg in between mine. Our hips bumped. "Turn it on." She traced one finger up the zipper of my jacket, then over my front pocket where my PDA was lodged. Her lips brushed my ear as if she were kissing me. "The tag. Found it. It works as a tracker, right? Well, turn it on, pal. I put it on that dad. That's Butcher. I got close. Recognized him from the sketches."

I did as she suggested. A few seconds later, the i.d. was positive. And while we waited for a team to pick Butcher up, Nikita sat by me on a bench overlooking the waterfront. She was working on her second lollipop. She sighed. She unbuttoned her cardigan and leaned back until her head rested against the wooden fence. She closed her eyes, rolling the sucker to one corner of her cheek. "I like it here. Reminds me of ..." She broke off, shrugging. "I dunno. I don't know what. I just know it's nice. I've always liked the beach, I guess. What about you?"

I waited a moment; hoping she would finally say it, wondering what I should say in return. I knew what I wanted to say but it was impossible. Not yet. Patience. I took in a breath, then a second one. And after awhile, when I didn't respond, Nikita opened one eye and looked me over.

She shook her head and laughed a little sadly. "You're such a case. I don't know why I even try ... Oh, what the hell." She took the lollipop out of her mouth and held it out to me. "Hey," she said, "Wanna lick?"

I stared at her lips. Coated with candy, they glistened like moist strawberries under the sun. She smelled sweet. Too sweet. A taste. Just one. I was dying ... But instead, I steeled myself. I immediately concealed what I wanted. It was a reflex by now, but for a reflex, it was getting harder to do. I took in another breath. Then I shook my head. I read the disappointment in her eyes. She pulled away a little, and I told myself it was better this way. It was better to lie. After all, I could lie to perfection. I could fool anyone. Section. Nikita. And most of all, myself.

###

Part III. No Latitude End of Season One

Sun/L'Soleil (Nikita)

Abeyance. Suicide Mission. Every op dreaded those bitter words. They were the threats, aimed like machine guns right at us, keeping us in line. No matter what I'd said, I always feared them. I'd been stupid. I hadn't known until now that they weren't bitter at all. In fact, they tasted pretty damn sweet. Because for me, suicide had meant freedom. I was out. Finally. It was three months after the Shay's disaster, two months before I could use my right arm again. Another month had passed before the headaches were gone and I could sleep. I was dreaming again. During all my time in Section, I never had any dreams. Now they were back: full of those funny stories Bobby used to tell me when she was half-drunk; full of those unblinking green eyes that I'd rather forget.

But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, wherever I went they followed me in my sleep: on the trains, when the heat rose from the desert sand, sailing from fishing boat to tanker to shore. It was the darnedest thing. When I was training, I couldn't wait to get away from Michael. And now that I had, he was all I could think about. I was as bad as Leila. As bad as all the others. It really pissed me off.

I slammed the lid back on to the sugar jar I'd been refilling. Crystals spilled over my fingers and on to the diner counter. Darn it. I'd just finished wiping that off. If I didn't hurry up, the ants would start swarming over it and that wouldn't be so good for Bub's business. He cooked like crap, but he was a nice enough guy, still built like the stevedore he'd once been. When I'd walked into his dockside, he'd hired me without any references and let me sleep in the back. Alone. Not everyone, I'd found, had been so nice. I liked Bub and I wanted to do right by him. So I'd fixed that excuse for a lock on the front door and I made sure the place was kept clean. No six-legged guests. No two-legged goons either.

Oh, man. Here came the ants already. The scout was wandering ahead, feelers out and quivering. They didn't need any computers or sim's or satellite surveillance. They just knew. Boom. And then they were here, faster than Red Cell. I had to act fast too. Quickly I reached up and grabbed the damp towel hanging over my shoulder. Then I cleaned up my mess while Bub wiped down the grill behind me.

The scraping stopped. "Nik', it's slow. I'm closing early."

"You can't fool me. You got a date. It's Myra, right? I had a feeling about her. I told you. She wasn't coming in here every day just for your number two special."

Bub chuckled. The jolly sounds popped out of him like bubbles of coffee from a percolator. His last one ended on a pleased hiss. "Aw, go on. Get outta here."

"Sure, yeah," I said, spying Myra's considerable silhouette through the other side of the frosted glass doors. I hung the towel on the rack. I grabbed my denim jacket. "I'm going, I'm going. Can't stand all those goo-goo eyes."

I gave a nod to Myra as I passed her by. She was a small cube of a woman, as short as she was wide, with dress collars that were always pointy with starch. Maybe those collars were stiff, but her heart couldn't come any softer. Tonight she wore fresh lipstick and a determined look. Bub was in trouble now. Real trouble. I gave them two months before a wedding. Too bad I wouldn't be around to see it.

Before I pushed open the door, I glanced through the clear pane at the top of the door in both directions down the block. I looked again. All clear. I shouldered the door and walked out. The moment I hit the street, the fog wrapped around me. Damn, it was chilly. Shivering, I stuffed myself into my jacket. I rolled up the sleeves so the cuffs cleared and my hands would be free. Then I started walking. I passed where the piers turned into pricey waterfront offices, and where the trees were fenced off so dogs couldn't piss on them. I hardly recognized this place. Wasn't sure if I liked it much any more. San Francisco had sure changed since the last time I'd been here. The neighborhood was trendier than I'd remembered. Maybe Bub should be charging three bucks for coffee instead of just one. Sure. All's we had to do was dress up the name with something Italian-sounding (cafe bubberino?) and serve it in those leaky paper cups that always burned your palm. Why cheaper was more expensive was beyond me, but I was just a bus-girl. What the hell did I know?

Anyway, it was late and all the office workers had gone home awhile ago. Now the street (which was called some damn bou-ley-vard) was almost empty, and I had it pretty much all to myself except for a few hookers taking a break and the street-rats zipping up and down the banked walls on their skateboards. I walked and listened to the hum of their rolling wheels. It sounded like the rush of the waves: that same woosh, then hiss as the ballbearings rolled around and around.

One zinged by me. In his wake, the backdraft plucked at my jacket. "Hey, blondie-e-e-e-e! Wanna play?" he called out as he bent his knees deep, dug in, and made his board pivot around. The momentum shot him back in my direction. Folding over, arms out for balance, he hit a bump, then jumped with his board. One hand held the side tight, clamping it to his feet, so that boy and board flew together through the air towards me. A second later, the tip of it tapped neatly against the ground right in front of me. The back landed too. Then he stepped off. Hands on hips, he grinned down at me. That sh*t was even taller now. I couldn't believe it.

"Rabbit?" I stood there, horrified and delighted. I was fixed to the spot like some raw recruit. No. Too late to run. Nowhere to hide. I couldn't pretend I wasn't me. Damn it. I couldn't shoot him. Now what?

His eyes flickered over me as if I was a book and he was reading my thoughts. He grinned wider, palms up. "No sweat."

What?

"I gotta say it. I can't help myself. You look pretty darn good for a dead chick. You know they say anyone dead or missing shows up in San Francisco. How 'bout that? It's true, and you must be some kinda ghost. So where's your chains? Aren't you gonna rattle them and groan? O-o-oh-h-h. Come on, come on. Feel free to jump in and join me. Give it all you got, blondie. Hey, what's wrong with you? Not even one little measly moan. What kind of ghost are you, anyway? If you're not careful, they'll kick you out of the corps."

That was just like Rabbit. It was all a big joke to him. Nothing was serious. Nothing at all. Well, ha ha. Very funny. The only thing funny about this was that strange kind of funny. Here was the thing: he didn't seemed surprised. He should be, but he wasn't. I searched his face for any sign, but I didn't see any. Why was he so calm about my reappearance? It didn't make any sense unless ... unless he'd known all along. "How could you know?"

"I get around." He shrugged, scratching his chin. "I hear things. All kinds of interesting things. Things that you wouldn't believe."

His matter-of-fact claim only made me more frantic. Section had been hell. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, much less my best friend. I couldn't let Rabbit get caught too. Trapped. Locked up. Suffering. I backed up. "No! You can't mean that. You shouldn't. Whatever you hear, you just go right ahead and forget it. Forget me. Forget you ever saw me. It's too dangerous." I started to turn away, but he grabbed my arm. He was stronger than I'd remembered. "Let me go! I mean it, Kanahele. Now." I feinted, punched. He twisted away just in time. Grunting, he rode my quick kick, pivoting sideways at his hips, and landed neatly instead of falling. We broke apart, panting, staring at each other. I'd never seen him do that before. That was no street move. "Where the hell did you learn that?"

Rabbit wrinkled his nose. "Would you believe a little old lady from Pasadena?"

"No."

"How about summer camp?"

I jammed a hand on my hip and scowled at him.

"I didn't think you would. But it's true, you betcha. I swear it on my sainted skateboard. Aw, Nik'. You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself. I always have. Real good. A lot better than you, I might add. See, I remember things. All kinds of things float around that old kaboggin of mine. That's me. You could say that my mind's just a big wad of gum."

"Yeah, you could say that. Gum, all right. Dirty and disgusting."

"... And everything sticks to it. Must have been made that way."

"But ..."

"You should learn to be like that. At least, a little. Save you some grief. A whole lot of grief. And say you can't and you have to go blonde on me, then listen to me at least. You might not get a second chance." He clasped both hands in front of him and got down on one knee, striking a melodramatic pose. He batted his eyelashes at me. "Puh-leez, pretty pretty please? Won't ya listen?"

"Listen? I can't do anything but. Oh for godssake, you're always yakking. I don't think you even stop to breathe."

"Yup. Never stop. It's a talent. A real gift. What can I say?" Cheerfully he pointed to the top of his head. "I got a hole right there. It's little but it works, all right-y. Air goes in. Air comes out. Good as gills, you betcha."

"Hole. Huh! I bet you do. Probably got a whole bunch of holes. Probably from falling off that stupid skateboard all the time. Probably rattles your brains. That would explain a lot. Get up, willya? Oh, come on. You're embarrassing me. You're always embarrassing me." I tugged on his ripped jersey. For a second, he didn't move at all. He just stayed there, chuckling to himself like the big idiot he was. Finally he got up and dusted the dirt off his jeans.

"Aw, I'm glad to see you too. Real glad. You don't know how ... Jesus Crispy-cakes, I was worried about you." As he spoke, the habitual grin melted right off his face. Then he turned strange and solemn all of a sudden. Rabbit stepped back and looked me over, shaking his head slowly. Then, like he always did, he held his arms out wide.

Gladly I went into them. Those bony arms of his had some muscle now, rangy but strong. His hug even squeezed the breathe out of me, surprising me. I leaned into him, feeling a tear well up and slide down my nose. Rabbit rested his cheek on top of my head. We stood like that for a minute or two.

" 'loha," he sighed into my hair.

"H-i-i-i," I sniffed, annoyed with myself. I tried to swallow my crying but it only turned into an awful choking sound like a carburetor konking out.

"Hey, hey. What's this? Ewww. Yuck! Don't get all girly on me. Aw, come on. Stop it. Stop it right now, I say. I can't stand that pitiful look. Your mouth gets all squishy like a dead fish. Who'd want to kiss that? All right, all right. Stop begging me. I mean it. I'll let you ride my board."

Leaning back, I swiped my sleeve over my eyes. I looked up at him. "You will?"

"Yeah." Rabbit gave a mock sigh as he stepped away. He jammed his foot against the back of his board and made it pop up. Then he reached down, picked it up and held it out to me. I gave him an uncertain look. I stood there, not taking it yet. He didn't mean it. He couldn't. He jabbed the board at me. "Come on, come on. Hurry up before I come to my senses and change my mind. Go for it. Today's a special day. Free ride for blondes."

I didn't need to be told twice. I took the board and carefully placed it on the ground. It was plastered with a couple new stickers, and a layer of varnish made it look glossy. I hesitated. Rabbit flicked his palm up as if urging me on. I huffed out a breath. Then I stepped on, wobbling a little before I got my balance. I dug my other foot into the ground and pushed off a couple of times to build up speed. The wheels began whirring. I was moving now. The board vibrated underneath me, getting louder as I started to roll down the slant. I could feel the wind picking up my hair, flapping against my ears. The collar of my jacket lifted. The boulevard blurred before me as I sped west towards the water, away from the moon, the city buildings disappearing behind me. Below me, the bay stretched out like black velvet. I lifted my arms. I was flying fast, then even faster. I was free. Free at last.

##

Moon/La Lune (Michael)

The trees looked like stark forks jammed upright into the rubble. They stabbed the darkening sky, which was so thick with bitter smoke that it felt solid enough to bite. The smell of it reminded me of raking up piles and fall bonfires at home, only this was not home and leaves were not burning. Buildings were. The bombs had fallen days ago, but the fires were still going. Under the cover of their smoke, I was supposed to egress. Only problem was - I was the only one left here. I'd been the only one for ninety-six hours, two minutes, ten-point-five seconds. I was on my own again, waiting and watching. Another day and I'd moved on.

Why should I stay? There was no water, no food. People were plenty, but pets were suspiciously scarce. Even rats were going for two rubles each. Protein, I supposed. I'd eaten worse before, but I didn't need to now. I still had rations. I had dipped into my second set. I laid its envelope on my lap. Inside the clear wrapper, it lay round and flat and muddy brown, reminding me of her.

What's that? Nikita had once said, her mouth curling disdainfully. A goddamn cow turd? It had been all I could do not to smile, and ever since then ... well, it took some doing to eat those rations again. It took some doing to do anything at all since she'd been gone. I stared at the blank screen of my PDA. Still no message from her. Nothing since the day she'd been canceled. Nothing from Kanahele either. Probably he was making me wait on purpose. It was the kind of thing he would do just to annoy me, which he always did. I hated how he always managed to do that. Another lifetime ago, Simone had thought it was funny, but I hadn't. I never did. I never understood it, and not understanding made me hate it even more.

I hated that Nikita knew him. She had remembered him. Only him. That irritated me until I reminded myself that I was never irritated. Nothing ever got under my skin. Everyone said so. I took a deep breath. Then I slowly, slowly exhaled. I was being irrational. Of course she remembered him. He had more opportunities on the outside. I had not. It was a good arrangement, I reminded myself, and the end game was all that mattered. Nikita, I thought. Remember Nikita.

I couldn't do anything but remember her. It had hurt more than I'd wanted to admit: seeing her again, letting her go. It was for the best. I knew it but it still hurt all the same. I was older now, and this time it hurt with a man's hurt. It was worse than before. Swearing silently, I tapped the screen, checking the connection. Still uplinked. Report's overdue, Kanahele. I hated relying on him, but what choice did I have?

I tapped my PDA again. Harder. Maybe another minute. Waiting, I opened the bag on my lap and broke off a piece of ration. I put it into my mouth and chewed while I sat in the smoldering shadow of a mosque. I looked around. The land had been shattered into bits, ugly and pockmarked. But above all that destruction, the sky was simply magnificent, still untouched by mankind. Behind me, the moon was finally rising. To the west, all the smoke had turned the sunset into scarlet, the sun phosphorescent orange. Slowly it sank in the sky, making the hills bloody, then black. Shadows spilled everywhere. And as I watched the sun fade into a faint rim of light, I became aware of something. I was being watched. Four o'clock. My chewing slowed, my hand drifting to my gun. Quickly I cleared it and turned.

I peered into the rubble. There somewhere inside the darkness gleamed two slanted eyes. They stared unblinking at me for awhile. Curious, I waited: me watching it, it watching me. Several minutes passed before a scrawny, dusty four-footed body emerged, followed by a tail that straightened suddenly at the sight of my food. The kitten did not have the good sense to be scared of me or my gun. Or maybe hunger was overriding her sense of safety. She padded straight up to me and meowed. I broke off a piece and tossed it at her feet. She didn't even bother sniffing it first. She chomped it right down. Licking her mouth, then her paw, she straightened up. She looked hopeful and afraid to be hopeful. Her nose trembled. I recognized that look. Something tugged inside me. I sighed.

"Still hungry?" I took out the ration and broke off another piece. I threw it to her. I watched her eat it and when I was sure that she wouldn't make herself sick, I threw the rest of the ration into the shadows.

She looked at where the food had landed, then back at me. She mewed quizzically. I waved her away. "Go." Before someone catches you and eats you.

Her chin lifted, then she turned and leapt into the rubble. After she was gone, I folded my arms around the hollow feeling in my belly. I didn't need the food. I could live on next to nothing for a long, long time. I'd done it before. I was used to it. I was used to a lot of things. It did not mean that I liked it.

I glanced down at my PDA. Still nothing. Try again tomorrow. I closed the cover and slipped it into my pocket. I secured the flap. Then I leaned back against the wall and looked at the moon. Tonight she was full and faintly yellow; constant and changing; returning always. Looking at her broad familiar face, I felt strangely lighter all of a sudden. She reminded me of other nights, other moments; of another kitten faraway.

"Au revoir," I whispered. Until we meet again.

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