“I can see why they wanted me to check on you. You've lost focus. Your host is playing with your head. He's making you paranoid, making you mistrust the Suits. Well, I wouldn't trust them as far as I could throw them myself, but one must admit that they do expedite the process of...”

I interrupted him. “No,” I said. “That makes no sense. My host wouldn't care if he killed a couple of people. He's a cold-blooded killer himself, as near as I can tell.” I had been near enough to killing a few people that night to know that to be true. I brought myself to my full height and took a deliberate step toward Muckbuckle.

Muckbuckle stepped back, his argument checked. “Well then,” he considered, a bead of sweat appearing on his brow, “consider the consequences if you do willingly fail your mission. They will leave you here, in that body. They've done it before to rogue agents. You'll be lost in this...” he motioned toward my body with distaste, “this...rogue, forever. He'll become more and more of you until there is none of the original you left!”

I just stared at him. I was learning far too much to ruin his tirade.

Exasperated, Muckbuckle dropped into the chair beside mine, then took a deep breath, and gazed over at me with a look of hardly convincing compassion. “Let's think this through, shall we? You chose to lead this life—or series of lives is a better way to put it, I suppose—and you accepted this mission. Why would you do that if you weren't ready to knock these two off? You and I both know that there are a hundred million worlds out there, and virtually as many lives to lead. Why be stuck in this one forever?”

He had a point. I knew I wasn't a killer, but I also knew that I was on this path for some reason. “Well,” I asked, “how does the extraction happen if I do choose to go ahead with the mission?” Muckbuckle looked relieved. “You'll get yanked during your first deep sleep after mission success is verified,” he explained. “That verification sometimes takes a week or two, cause the Suits aren't always clear on who or what they're dealing with— they get orders from on high and do their best to execute them remotely.”

I nodded. I wasn't convinced, but playing along seemed like the best way to find out what was really going on. “So where is the Mayor's residence?” I asked, and Muckbuckle's relief turned quickly into a disconcerting smile. “That's the spirit! His Worship lives down this very block not two hundred paces, then to the left. You can't miss it.”

Muckbuckle wanted to come with me, but I declined his offer. Even so, I knew he'd be around. You can't spook a spook, they say.

The guard at the gate to the mayor's residence couldn't be blamed for pushing away a drunk who came stumbling toward him at an hour past midnight. So I tried to make it as painless as possible for him as I spun him around and choked him unconscious. I relieved him of his saber and propped him in his guard booth with a rolled-up jacket behind his head for comfort—no need to make this worse for him than it was already.

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