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Their counselor had not acted alone. In addition to those who had helped him with the actual jailbreak, others were waiting attentively at the old warehouse that swallowed the skimmer.

Once safely inside and out of sight, the speaker, the Elder, and the other four high-ranking members of the Order who had fled the detention facility moved fast.

“You have something for us, I believe, Companion Delahare?”

The somewhat frumpy middle-aged woman the speaker queried had the look and demeanor of a contented homemaker whose days were filled with raising teenage progeny, swapping otherworld recipes with neighborhood friends, and ensuring the cleanliness and welcoming appearance of her household. In fact, she did all of this and more. Notable among the “more” was a penchant and a talent for working with explosives. The package she passed to the speaker was barely big enough to hold a pair of shoes.

“I worked through the night and all through this morning, ever since the request came down through channels, and managed to put this together.” Her voice indicated unmistakable pride in her accomplishment. She might as well have been discussing the preparing of a favorite recipe. In a manner of speaking, she was. “I hope it will fulfill the needs of the Order.”

The speaker took the package gingerly. “Will it destroy a shuttlecraft?”

The woman was apologetic. “There was no time for moderation. It will destroy a good part of the entire shuttleport.”

Neither the speaker nor the Elder standing nearby voiced any objection to the potential overkill. Why worry about collateral damage that might run into the hundreds or even the thousands when everyone and everything, blessed be the coming cleansing, was going to die anyway? Studying the package, the speaker knew that whoever delivered the device to its intended target would perish along with it. It would be an honor. Nothing mattered so long as it put paid to the one potential threat to the coming Purity. Like his cohorts, he had no fear of death.

“I will come, too,” the Elder informed him solemnly, “as long as I can keep up.”

“My overweight will cancel the effects of your age, honored sir.” The speaker smiled. The Order's objective was noble, and he had always been ready to perish on behalf of the noble cause.

No one objected when the counselor who had arranged their escape chose to remain behind. It was necessary that he survive so that his skills could be utilized in the future. Though with the one called Flinx eradicated, the Order would be able to relax, melt back into the smug, self-satisfied culture of New Riviera, and placidly await the coming destruction. The speaker was mildly disappointed that he would not have the opportunity to participate in that forthcoming repose. But what did it matter, when martyrdom awaited?

As for the many innocents who would perish at the shuttleport when the package performed its own humble, localized cleansing, they would simply die a little sooner than otherwise. In the eyes of the Order, time was nothing more than a variant that served at its whim.

No police vehicle shadowed the counselor's skimmer as it rose from the warehouse exit and headed for the city's main shuttleport. No official craft fell in behind as it wended its way cautiously between as many shielding structures as possible. The skimmer arrived at the shuttleport undetected.

The most dangerous time was behind them now, a thankful Elder pointed out to the attending acolytes. If their colleague's work was as scrupulous as she had claimed, their lingering irritant would be removed very soon indeed.

One of their number politely queried a port worker, who proceeded to check the register she carried with her. Yes, a shuttlecraft of the type described was parked on the tarmac and had been for a number of days. Monitors in its vicinity had recorded little or no activity since its arrival. It was registered as private transport. Might there be an image or physical description of the owner/operator? the Order member inquired courteously. It was a matter of