adn't been done before, perhaps, because no other man
had ever had Hunter's motivation. None had been a fugitive on the run.

Hunter made his way out of the casino and crossed the park in the
direction of the government building. Sheltered by the trees from the
blaze of light, he was able to see the stars, bright in the velvet
sky. The endless universe! Somewhere he could find a haven for himself
and Ann, a pinprick of light in the high-arching firmament which the
cartels had overlooked.

Dawn had said that running away was madness. But what alternative did
he have? To stay, and attempt to make the cartel rat-race over,
sweetly and rationally so that no one would be hurt? Hunter laughed
bitterly. Von Rausch had the Exorciser, and he could keep it. It would
be part of the bargain the captain thought he could make to save Ann.
With that weapon, Von Rausch would sooner or later tear his own world
to shreds. No man in his right mind would want to stay around to pick
up the pieces--if any. He drew his blaster and took careful aim at the
power distribution center.

The machine exploded. Burning wires sang in the air. In the casinos
the lights winked out, and the entertainment machines went dark.
Hunter heard the shrill screaming of the trapped crowd. He knew that
it would bring the police running, but he also knew they would have
arrived shortly in any case. The important thing was that the
electronic watchdogs on the wall were now lifeless.

Hunter blasted open the gate, and took the path that led east.

The Von Rausch castle--and the word was scarcely a metaphor--was
something lifted bodily out of a Tri-D historical romance, complete
with porticos, battlements, stone-walled towers and an imitation moat
where mechanical swans floated on the dark water.

He crossed the moat on a rustic footbridge of plastic cleverly
fabricated to seem like crudely hewn wood. Through a high, narrow
window he saw a pale flicker of light. The pane was thick with grime.

Hunter could distinguish nothing in the room except a thin, elderly
woman who seemed to be moving around a table where six candles burned
in a silver candelabrum.

He kicked open the window. The woman looked at him, neither frightened
nor alarmed. She was wearing an odd black dress, long-sleeved,
high-necked, with a hemline that touched the floor. Her face was pale
and wrinkled, unrelieved by any sort of cosmetic.

She held out her fragile hands. "You did come, Karl! I