Rikk and Ilsa had had to close up La Belle Aurora, paying off the staff, and moving themselves from hiding place to hiding place. A good part of their money was hidden overseas, and they had some necessary cash on hand to buy their way out of the city.

But they weren't out yet. And she had to make the final rendezvous alone.

The street seemed quiet. Not that that meant anything. But they couldn't wait any longer. "I have to go."

Rikk was wrapped in voluminous robes that just about hid his nonhuman features, and he kept glancing at the pulse rifle at his side, as if afraid it might disappear at any moment. "Where do you want to go after this? Maybe New Hollywood? I heard Dame Drew Barrymore's looking for a Vorhavok leading man for her next picture." At her expression, he added, "I know, I've heard about her reputation."

Ilsa smiled, drew into his arms. "I don't care where we go, so long as we're together." As she squeezed, she added, "And if she touches you, I'll bite her head off."

"Fair enough." He bent down and let his tongue art out onto her neck. "I love you, Ilsa. I always will."

"And I, you."

It was agony to part from his embrace. It was worse thinking about staying in the city any longer.

The street was a narrow collective of blank white buildings, the windows boarded shut, the air tinged with smoke from distant fires, as the Resistance tried in vain to keep the Coalition from seizing vital industries on the outskirts of the city.

She wasn't the only pedestrian she'd seen outside, but like the others she knew to duck into corners and shadows whenever a Coalition patrol drove by, or skyships whittered overhead like giant hummingbirds. She wished now that she'd taken up Rikk's offer of the gun, but she'd felt he might need it more if a patrol happened upon him. This was going to be tough-

"Miss Bergman?"

She spun; the voice called out to her from across the street. But she saw no one.

"Miss Bergman, please look down at your chest."

Despite herself, she did, saw the bobbing red dots that indicated weapons sights, aimed at her.

A door opened opposite her; a figure calmly stepped down into the street, a thin greying man clad in a matching pinstripe business suit and carrying a device in his hand. As he drew closer, she saw the miniature wire headset he wore, a directional loudspeaker that had let him speak to her from a distance. "Miss Bergman, please don't run off, as the results would be. unpleasant."

She swallowed, recognising him, and spoke in Arabic, gambling on his thinking he'd made a mistake.

She lost the gamble as he held up the object in his hand, a human adaptation of Vorhavok scanner technology. "Your DNA tag matches what we have on record, Miss Bergman." He pocketed the device. "Wonderful machine, even if it remains prohibitively expensive to mass produce." Face to face now, he added, "You remain as attractive as when I last saw you, what, four years ago?"

She swallowed, dropping any pretence at escape. "I don't give a damn what you think about me, Ferrari. Or what you have to say."

"You should, if you wish your reptilian associate to remain alive."

His mention of Rikk raised the hairs on her neck. "Who?"

"Please, Miss Bergman, your father's been kept abreast of your activities with the alien criminal."

"Criminal? He's done nothing, you bastard!"

Ferrari's mild manner and calm demeanour may have been the antithesis of his vehicular namesake, but she knew that, as one of her father's many personal assistants, he wielded considerable power on his employer's behalf. He peered at her through old-fashioned round-rimmed glasses. "He's a member of a race that seeks to overthrow, to destroy us. He has supported the Alliance. And he has refused to turn himself in to the new administration. All crimes."

She shook, fighting back her fear as she saw black-garbed, masked men with automatic weapons emerge from the same building Ferrari had, approaching and watching her and the surrounding buildings. "If this is a military operation, why is my father involved in this? Why are you here?"

"Your father's company has the contract to detain and question the aliens, with Coalition assistance of course. And I'm here. to rescue you."

Ilsa's hands had balled into fists, and it was all she could do to keep from striking him. "I don't need rescuing. I love Rikk, and he loves me. You can go home and tell my father that."

Ferrari's lips thinned, making his normally bloodless features appear even more saturnine. "No need. Mr Bergman is already painfully aware of your embarrassing relations with the. animal."

Ilsa gave up trying to hold back, and took a swing at him, only to be easily restrained by one of the huge, masked men. She cursed, struggled, calmed down, while Ferrari calmly waited. She remembered the beginning, how pleased her father was at meeting the Vorhavok, learning from them, treating them like honoured guests, even getting her daughter to learn how to communicate with them - until he found they were less interested in helping him expand his already considerable fortune, than in settling on Earth in peace and helping the less-developed nations. "My father can fuck off and die! And you can join him, you grovelling little asshole!"

Ferrari continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted. ".And with that awareness in mind, he has authorised me to offer you Rikk Bo'Ghart's life, for your co-operation."

She paused, swallowed. "What?"

"As your. friend. did not report for detention, he automatically became marked for termination on sight. However, you can help us capture him. Once we do, you're free to go."

That made her stop and think. She had no doubt that her father's little bootlicker here would be ready, willing and able to kill Rikk. But save him? "You're full of shit."

"Not at all, Miss Bergman. Internment is better than extermination; there's not much to exploit from the dead. And after the recent. bad publicity. during the Coalition's campaign in Somalia, we need to be seen to be less. stringent." At her continued suspicious expression, he added, "Consider your options."

She did: she had none. They wouldn't let her leave to make the rendezvous, wouldn't let her return to Rikk alone. If she said nothing, they'd continue sweeping the area with that scanner to narrow down their search. It was only a matter of time before they found him, and maybe shoot it out with him.

With a pain in her gut like she'd been kicked there, she surrendered. "Okay, I'll help."

Ferrari nodded back, and then motioned to the masked soldier who had restrained her. "Lieutenant Strasser will elaborate what he wants from you."

Ilsa listened. She didn't like any of it, and felt like she was tumbling down a long, dark tunnel.

Rikk cradled the pulse gun in his arms, listened to the sounds outside, raised and aimed the weapon as he heard someone at the door handle, then dropped the barrel as he saw and scented the familiar figure. "Ilsa!"

She stayed at the doorway, glancing out into the street once before nodding, "Come on, kaddishel, we have to go, now."

She was frightened, distracted, he could tell. Understandable, really, and he swore things would be different when they were safe and secure. He rose to his feet, following her to the doorway. She was near shaking. "Maideleh."

"Kiss me, Rikk. Kiss me as if it were the last time."

He glanced outside once, saw and heard no one, and bent down. He couldn't kiss like a man, of course, but his muzzle and tongue did a close approximation.

Then she pulled back, her hand in his, and led him out.

He kept his voice low as they moved quickly down the street. "I missed you."

"Shhh." She kept looking ahead, wouldn't meet his gaze, but held out her hand. "Give me the gun."

He handed it over without a second thought. "Did you meet with Ugarte-"

There was a sting in his back, like a bite. Then another, and another. He grunted, caught the scents around him, and when he tried to run, he felt his legs grow heavy, sluggish and unresponsive. " Ilsa, get away!"

He watched her back away from him, strangely not running, just staring at him now, the gun limp in her hand. "I'm- I'm sorry, Rikk."

He didn't understand, and more stings made him flinch, made him heavier by the second; he looked down to see the red-tailed darts in his arms and side, pinning his robe to his flesh. Figures emerged from the shadows around him, firing more at him. He growled, tried in vain to free himself from his robes, and staggered to his knees in a futile attempt at escape. It felt like he was being buried alive, but his gaze remained fixed now on Ilsa, still watching him, as a human in a suit approached her, as if he knew her. What the hell. "Ilsa!"

His voice never carried. He never felt the butts of the soldiers' weapons strike him, again and again, never felt the drugs in his system stripping his consciousness from him. There was simply a lingering disbelief at what was happening, what he'd just witnessed.

Then there was nothing.

Ilsa hung back, still holding the weapon, ready to use it on Ferrari if he turned out to be lying. But she watched the soldiers bind Rikk's limbs and tail and drag him by his robes to an approaching vehicle. "He'll be allowed to live?"

"Yes. Detained and questioned. Perhaps someday he and the others will be given limited freedoms. Lt. Strasser, please come here."

She felt sick beyond belief, guilt wracking at her like a cancer. She wondered if he would ever understand, or forgive her. She wondered if she would ever understand, or forgive herself. She wondered if she would ever even see him again.

But then she thought of Victor Lazlo, and the Resistance. If she could get to them, join them, they might be able to liberate the detainment camps.

When Strasser approached, pulling off his mask to reveal a pale pink round face with seemingly no hair or wrinkles, more like an over inflated balloon than anything else, Ferrari nodded to Ilsa. "Take Miss Bergman into custody."

Ilsa raised her weapon- too late, with Strasser knocking it from her before restraining her once more, with a huge grip. "What the fuck- you bastard! What the fuck are you doing?"

Ferrari stepped back, avoiding Ilsa's attempts at kicking out at him. "Rescuing you, of course. You've obviously been brainwashed by the aliens to be their slave. We've arranged for an extensive deprogramming session. Then you can return to the family who love and miss you." He faced her now, unable or unwilling to remove the smug look from his bloodless face. "And while that is occurring, Lt. Strasser has express orders from your father to give your. friend. special attention during his internment."

"No! NO!"

She struggled. But she may as well have been drugged and beaten as Rikk had been.

Now:

"Follow me."

Wordlessly Ilsa set aside the glass she'd been cleaning and complied. He led her behind the bar, away from the crowds and tables, and though a barely-visible door in a wall, a door that opened to a narrow, steep flight of stairs and a corridor, then through another door at the far end. They entered a large windowless room, the walls a dark burgundy, furnished in thick exercise mats and wooden posts, pillories and even wire metal cages. One wall was lined with dozens of restraints and punishment devices, and even manacles hung from the ceiling at varying heights. There was an unshakeable scent of sweat and musk in here.

Anxiety rose within her. "What is this place? Why are we here, Rikk?"

"This is our Fun Room, for our customers with special tastes. And we're here to have a little talk." He pushed her into the centre of the room, near some low manacles, then walked around her, looking at the items in the room. "I. I don't use it myself. It reminds me of the camp." He glanced at her with one honey-black eye. "I don't suppose they mention the camps back in America, do they? How my kind is treated in them? Can't imagine it being very palatable news."

He tilted his head, as if he just thought of something fascinating. "Remember those old American Second World War films we'd watch, where they'd refer to the enemy as Krauts or Nips? I'd always wondered why they did that. Then it occurred to me: calling them names makes them seem less human, and thus easier to hate, to hurt. And it's always worked that way, hasn't it? Krauts, Nips, Hebes, Coons, Abduls, Micks, the list goes depressingly on and on.

Now, you'd think you wouldn't need names to dehumanise my people, given we're not human to begin with. But still, your people came up with Lizards. Not very imaginative, to be sure, but it became very effective as we heard it, time and again, month after month. It took on a power of its own, affecting those who say it, and those who hear it. And now, I think I could happily kill the next person who calls me Lizard."

"Rikk, I don't-"

"But I didn't tell you how we were treated, did I? Shall I tell you? Firstly we're stripped of our clothes. Clothes are for humans, you see, not animals." He nodded to her. "Take yours off. I want you to know how it feels."

Ilsa shuddered. "Rikk, please don't do this-"

"Take yours off, or walk out and don't come back. And don't find out what happened to your 'husband'."

Ilsa's head spun, and her stomach churned, but her hands moved behind her, unclasping the strap that held the strips of leather and silk criss-crossed over her breasts free, letting the material unravel to her feet, one arm remaining over her breasts as the other moved to her leather collar, removing that as well. She needed both hands now for her shoes, for the wrist bands and jewellery, and finally the strips hanging down from her hips. She covered herself again, felt small and vulnerable and humiliated.

And aroused. Oh God, thoughts of earlier, sweeter times than this returned, mocking her body's continued response.

Abruptly he drew closer and kicked her costume to one side, standing before her, eyes narrowing, locking onto her gaze like a cobra. "They put collars round our necks, led us around on leashes, kept us in tiny cages, made us beg for food, lap water from bowls and wallow in our own filth. Lieutenant Strasser - now Major Strasser - was most expert at keeping me in my place. But I hardly have the time to put you through even a tenth of what he put me through, so we'll forego those pleasantries, and move on to the questioning."

He moved in, making her flinch, and making him chuckle mirthlessly. "Don't worry, maideleh, your dubious human virtue is safe. I wouldn't sully your body again with my filthy inhuman touch. Raise your hands over your head."

Slowly she obeyed, gasping as he reached up and locked her wrists into waiting manacles; they were low enough that she wasn't suspended from them, but not low enough to offer any relief. Already her arms began to tingle from it as he stepped away, deliberately looking over the nude body she could no longer cover.

Then he walked over to the wall of instruments, opening a small box mounted on it like a first aid kit, as he continued. "However, as medieval as the living conditions were for us, I must compliment my captors on the sophistication of their interrogation tools." He withdrew from the opened box a small metal tube with fitted rings at either end, and proceeded to raise the tip of his tail before him and attach the device to it. "No crops or cudgels to leave scars or bruises on us, oh no."

He returned to face her again, showing it. "Remember this, Ilsa? The neural exciter?" he waved it lazily before her, nearing her with it, making her lean backwards, as if it might bite her. "The Coalition had these at the camp. But they weren't used as sex toys." It passed close to her breasts again, to the dark, wiry strands of her bush, until she realised it wasn't activated. Yet. "With just a few creative adjustments so that it produces infrasound at wavelengths to cause pain, fear, they become devices as brutal as any bullwhip."

Sweat beaded down her face, and her eyes were wide. "Rikk, please don't do this to me, I beg of you."

"You don't know how to beg yet." He reached for it, activating it. "They can make you feel agony, unbelievable agony, for hours on end, until you think your brain is going to explode inside your skull. But when it's over, there's no proof, no wounds or scars. Nothing but a throat hoarse from screaming, some neural damage, and nightmares for months afterwards. It's all so efficient." He looked up at her. "Now: tell me about your assignment for the Coalition."

She swallowed. "I'm not working for those bastards, Rikk-"

He brought it close to her stomach - and a sharp feeling ran through her body. But it wasn't pain. It was pleasure, a sensual wave, a heat that made her pussy pulse.

He grunted, passing it over her thighs, her sex. "They kept the original setting, in fact increased it. They gave us pleasure as well as pain, the carrot as well as the stick. They used that too on us, brought us to the edge, and made us grovel and eat dirt and swear allegiance to anyone, anything. And you know something, Ilsa?" He leaned in closer, as if imparting a dreadful secret, even as he passed the exciter over her rear and back, sending her closer to him, until she felt his hot, dry breath on her bare skin. "That was worse than the pain. Because you want it to continue. But because of our physiology, we had no release without a female in Season nearby. And they always kept the sexes separated in the camps." He passed the exciter over her neck. "Tell me about your orders. Find Lazlo, deliver him to the Coalition, yes?"

"N-No-" She gasped as he sent another wave of bliss through her, a wave like a door opened on a blast furnace, making her tremble and rattle the manacles overhead.

"Liar! Your family's in bed with the President, making a fortune on this War, but they can't crush the Resistance! So they need Lazlo out of the picture, remove their best leader! And given your obvious skills at betrayal, they believed you could get him captured as well! And perhaps implicate me, too! Daddy's little tool of revenge!"

"I'm- I'm not working for them!"

"Liar!"

Ilsa twisted, as if she could unscrew herself from her bonds. Her pussy felt velvety, tight, as wet as she had ever known, pulsing with moist, eager passion. It cried out to her, shamelessly uncaring of the humiliation she also felt. She wanted to close her eyes, her ears, her mind to it all, but tortured herself with the knowledge that even if she could shut down her senses, she wouldn't. Rikk had been right, Goddamn him, she wanted it to continue.

"Your friend Strasser arrived tonight, but I kept you two from meeting, from exchanging any secret messages. Is he your Coalition contact, or will it be one of your Daddy's employees?"

"I- I have no Coalition contacts! I don't work for them! I hate them-" Ilsa cried out as Rikk set her nerve endings on fire once more. Her legs trembled; only her fear of being suspended by her arms alone kept her steady enough. Her breath left her body in staccato jumps, and thoughts were momentarily cast aside, like everything else, in a tidal pool of sensation. Her sex felt so engorged, begging for release. "I- I fucking hate them! They'd used me! Said they'd kill you if I didn't help them capture you!"

He hissed savagely. "I'm not talking about then, I'm talking about now! That story about being Lazlo's husband-"

She stared at him, fighting back her pain- and her other reactions. "It's true! I was being taken away to be brainwashed, but I'd escaped, with his help! The Resistance had ambushed our car at the airport, Victor had saved me! I stayed with him, tried to find you, find the camp! But we couldn't save you! I'm so sorry we couldn't-"