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If not exactly reassuring, the first words to echo through the cabin at least did not send her into a panic.

“What of the old thranx?” the portly man inquired of the image of a slender female shape that materialized above the console.

The attractive woman sounded peeved. “We had him surrounded in Claris Park, but he ran into a drainage conduit. We have both ends blocked. Eventually he'll have to emerge, and we'll be here. Of course, we're not waiting on that eventuality. We are presently assembling the appropriate materials to allow us to go in after him. One way or the other, the matter will be settled before tomorrow morning.”

“Compliments and blessings.” The speaker adjusted the controls. This time the image that appeared in the cabin was that of a young man who looked to be barely out of his teens—except for his eyes, which looked older than the rest of him.

“Salutations, passerby.” Like his tone, the youth's expression was gloomy.

The speaker noted both immediately. “The esteemed researcher gave you trouble?”

The younger man's reply was remarkable for its impassiveness. He might as well have been reciting a grocery list. “You might say that. Six of the Order tried and true—dead. As to the target I can report nothing conclusive. He may be dead within the shop. Or possibly wounded and on the way to hospital. I don't know because we as yet have been unable to get one of our own inside to inspect the wreckage. The shop owner and his staff are reportedly traumatized and under constant police and medical watch. The police have also, not unexpectedly, sealed off the location and are proving uninformative. There is a lockdown on the scene that applies to the general media as well. As soon as we have more precise information it will be communicated.”

Following a further brief exchange the speaker signed off. It was only when he turned to the eldest of the boat's passengers that Clarity realized for the first time that the man with whom she had been conversing was not the leader of the group.

The short, white-bearded senior to whom the speaker now deferred looked physically feeble. Despite the best efforts of modern medicine, he suffered from curvature of the upper spine. He had a long, lined, unyielding face that reminded her of a petulant camel. One hand rested on the rounded hilt of a cane fashioned from a dark copper alloy. Familiar as she was with the fanatical organization that had abducted her, she would not have been surprised to learn that the walking stick contained within its cylindrical body several self-propelled and highly volatile projectiles.

“Orel?” Along with the speaker, the attention of every acolyte on the boat was focused on the cane bearer.

The old man grunted softly. “The thranx is contained. The man is dead, injured, or on the run. There is nothing to be gained by delay. Events are put in motion. We should proceed.”

A general sigh rose from the assembled members of the Order; an exhalation of contented decay. Resting both hands on the top of the cane, one on top of the other, the Elder blinked across at Clarity.

“Since you know who we are, you know that we must deal with the anomaly who calls himself Flinx. We are bound to do this. We have no choice. Personally, I wish it could be otherwise. While the Order anticipates and welcomes the Purity that is coming, sometimes there is groundwork we dislike having to lay. The interference aura that has been blocking your communit will be deactivated. You will contact him and supply him with a location we will provide where he can find you.”

“So you can kill him,” she responded tightly.

The old man nodded resignedly. “Yes. So we can kill him.”

“And then you'll kill me.”

His response was a shrug. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Your fate remains a matter of some controversy. Once the anomaly has been eliminated, the matter of your continued existence essentially becomes moot.”

“Don't play with me,” she growled defiantly. “You killed poor Tam just