Changer of Worlds

The Scrag

Ke

Given the areas of Chicago that Ke

The fact that there were two of them did not faze him in the least. Especially once he saw, as he spun around launching his first disabling kick, that both of the men were much shorter than he was.

It took a few seconds for his assumptions to be dispelled. How many, exactly, he never knew. Everything was much too confusing. And painful.

His target was the older and more slightly built of the two men. Ke

But the kick never landed. Somehow, Ke

—his vision blurred—an elbow strike to the temple, he thought, but he was too dazed to be certain—

—agonizing pain lanced through his other leg—

—his knees buckled—

And then a monster had him, immobilizing him from behind with a maneuver Ke

On their way through, the monster smashed his face against the door jamb. The creature’s sheer power was astonishing. Ke

By now, he was only half-conscious. Anyone not of the Select would probably have been completely witless. But Ke

His legs were again kicked out from under him. A skilled and experienced hand-to-hand fighter, Ke

He landed on a body that felt as unyielding as stone. An instant later, two legs curled over his thighs and clamped his own legs in a scissor lock. The legs were much shorter than his own, but thick and muscular. Ke

Some time passed. How much, Ke

The man spoke. His voice was soft and low. “I used to be a biologist, Ke

The words were pure gibberish. Something of Ke

“It’s sometimes called ‘population thinking,’ Ke

Gibberish. Another chuckle.

“You’re only a ‘superman,’ Ke

The almond-shaped eyes moved slightly, looking past Ke

Finally, Ke

The Oriental face frowned. “Then why—”

Even as dazed as he was, the brief exchange made clear to Ke

The clasp tightened, and Ke

“I don’t think so. As sloppy as you people are, they’ll just assume you’re goofing off somewhere. How would I know you were involved?”

Despite the crushing pain, some part of Ke

“And you’ve already told me the only thing I really needed to know from you,” continued the hoarse voice from behind. “I’m not cold-blooded enough to kill a man I’m not sure is guilty.”

It took a moment for the meaning to register on Ke

“This is called a full nelson, Scrag. It’s an illegal maneuver in tournament wrestling. Here’s why.”

In the brief time that followed, Ke

But the thought was fleeting. The pressure on his neck, crushing his broken chin into his chestbone, drove everything but pain and terror away. And then his vertebra ruptured and Ke

Victor

Victor spent the evening in the company of Usher’s wife, being given a guided tour of the upper levels of the Loop. He had intended, burning with desire to undo Durkheim—somehow—to return to work immediately. But Kevin had driven that notion down with his usual sarcasm.

“And just what do you intend to do, youngster?” he demanded. “Stay out of trouble, dammit! I’ll get the ball rolling at my end. You don’t do anything—nothing, you understand—until you either hear from me or Durkheim approaches you, whichever comes first.”

Victor frowned. Kevin chuckled. “He will, he will—I’ll bet on it. Didn’t I tell you this scheme of his is going to start unraveling? And that, when it does, he’s going to have to slap together a jury-rigged back-up team to clean up the mess?”

Usher didn’t wait for a response. Clearly enough, he had once again left Victor behind in a cloud of mental dust. “So who do you think he’s going to approach? Not one of his experienced field agents, I’ll tell you that. No, he’ll go to the same wet-behind-the-ears, naive, trusting, dumb-as-a-brick, do-as-he-says young zealot that he used to pass messages to the Mesans in the first place. You.”

“Me?” Victor scratched his cheek. “Why? He never told me what those messages were, or who I was passing them to. I figured it out on my own. As far as he knows, I don’t know anything about the situation.”