Ricochet sat sprawled out on one of the couches in the warehouse and watched Calliope pace back and forth before her. Goner lay on her stomach across the length of the pool table, her feet in the air, her head in her hands. They knew where Jon Erik was -- they just had to figure out a way to get there. Los Angeles was a large city, and Los Sueños dos Muertos was a thin strip of Death Valley that stretched along the outskirts of the city, past the last subway terminal. The desert ran for several miles out there, and they didn't know how long it would take them to reach the scanner facility. They didn't want to trapeze across the hot sands for long -- who knew how well guarded the area was? Ricochet sighed at the futility of the situation -- here she knew where her brother was, she could finally bring some form of closure to that hole in her life that had opened the day he was kidnaped, and she had no way of rescuing him. Some big sister she turned out to be.

Calliope stopped pacing and looked down at Ricochet. "Goner's a teleport," she said. "She can pop us over there."

On the pool table, Goner shook her head. "I can't do that," she countered. "I have to know where I'm going. Ric calls it the astral plane, but I've always thought of it as a stellar highway. Every time I go somewhere, a signpost appears to mark the way, and I can always return. But if I've never been there before, I need someone to guide me. Like Ric's friend. She waited for me and now I can always return to the school. But the facility could be anywhere."

Calliope frowned. "He's been in your sleep. Can't you just follow him back?"

Ricochet sighed. "The dreamworld is a different place," she said. "See? I listen in class. The astral plane is a world that's just slightly out of reach from this one -- like on a different frequency, or something. But the dreamworld -- every person has their own. If Jon Erik has the mutant ability to enter the dreams of others, there's nothing to say he can enter the astral plane as well. They're two different forms of consciousness."

Calliope raised her eyebrows. "They should give you a diploma already," she said, moving aside Ricochet's feet so she could sit beside her on the couch. "So what good's a teleport if you can't take us anywhere?"

"Escape," Goner replied. "I can't get you there, but if I have to, I can get you back here." They were all silent for a moment, and then Goner asked, "Hey -- doesn't Tores have a car?"

"Oh yeah," Ricochet said bitterly. "I can see it now. Tores, wanna help save my brother? No hard feelings, eh?" She looked sideways at Goner. "Never in a million years would that one work. Tores would kill you just for suggesting it."

"We don't have to ask her," Goner replied. "We could have it back before she even knew it was gone."

Calliope laughed. "She never lets that car outta her sight. It's a guilty reminder of --" She looked over at Ricochet, who was looking at the floor. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I didn't mean . . ."

"It's okay," Ricochet said, waving away Calliope's apology. She couldn't tell her that Angelo was still alive, that he hadn't been killed in that shoot-out like everyone believed. But the fact that Calliope had acknowledged that talking of the same car involved in the incident may have hurt Ricochet made tears glisten in the corners of her eyes. Calliope was rarely one to apologize. Maybe Ricochet's leaving had affected her more than she let on. "Maybe we can just hitch a ride with one of those scanner tanks. They've got plenty of room on them."

Calliope hit her knee playfully. "We won't be any help to him if we're locked up, too."

"Well, I don't know," Ricochet said, standing up. She stretched and then started across the room. "I've gotta call someone -- be right back."

"Hold up," Calliope called out. "It's almost dark out -- you can't go alone. If the scanners don't get you, there's still Tores to think about. I'm sure she hasn't forgotten you're here."

Ricochet sighed. "I'm a big girl, Calliope. I can handle myself."

"Who'll watch your back?" she replied.

From between two towering crates, a small figure weaved into view -- it was Prayer, one of the girls who didn't like Calliope but stayed in the gang just for a place to sleep. Ricochet saw her and grabbed hold of her elbow. "I'll take Prayer with me."

"Take me where?" Prayer asked, her voice slurred. She surveyed the room with hooded eyes through strands of her straight black hair that hung in her face.

"To a phone somewhere," Ricochet replied. "I gotta make a call."

Prayer staggered back unsteadily. "Some date," she muttered.

Calliope stood up. "You can't take her," she said. "She's Tores' friend."

"And mine," Ricochet replied. "She'll watch out for me."

"Look at her!" Calliope continued. "Stoned off her ass."

Ricochet looked closely at Prayer's eyes. Although she swayed slightly, her pupils weren't dilated at all, and her gaze focused on Ricochet immediately. Prayer's entire body was surrounded by an impenetrable force field that kept her from feeling almost anything, and drugs were the only way for her to get past that. But even drugs wore off too soon -- Prayer's force field also contained an advanced healing ability, and no matter how stoned or high she got, the effects were gone almost immediately. "I'm fine," she whispered to Ricochet, shaking free from her grip. "Let's go."

Ricochet nodded. "I'll be back soon," she called over her shoulder as they left the warehouse.

The girl at the pay phone didn't show up on the small LED display of his hand-held scanner. Inside the nondescript car parked across the street, Kyles turned the scanner off, then on again, but the same thing happened. The unit didn't pick up the girl. Turning to the Guardsman next to him, Kales knocked the scanner with his open palm. "This thing's not working for me, man," he muttered. "Can't get a bead on that one."

His partner, a heavyset man in his mid-40's named Johnson, grunted at him. He wanted to be back home in Nevada, with his wife and children, drinking beer with the guys while the football game was on, not sitting here in downtown L.A. in the middle of a war zone, looking for mutants to haul off to some obscure government concentration camp. True, he didn't much care for mutants, but he cared even less to be in the midst of a battle with one of them. "Damn government issue," he muttered, turning his own scanner towards the girl. She stood with her back towards them, talking at the pay phone across the street. He waited for the lights on his scanner to stop blinking, an indicator that they had zeroed in on the frequency of the living object in front of him. Then the scanner would spew out info on the girl, if she had any records of any kind on file with any government agency, and tell them whether or not she was a mutant. Nifty little device, really.

At least, that's what was supposed to happen. Instead, the lights kept blinking in the rapidly growing dusk, until finally the scanner's small screen turned itself off, a sign that the scanner didn't detect any life force. "What the hell?" Johnson asked, knocking the scanner sharply against the dashboard. "Mine's doing the same thing."

"Maybe she's a mutie after all," Kyles said, looking at the girl. She wore a leather jacket and her green hair marked her as a street punk. Another girl stood nearby, lounging against a street post like she was trying to pick up a john. "Maybe we should take her in, just to be safe. They don't look like honor roll students to me."

"C'mon," Ricochet whispered into the receiver. In her ear, a phone rang again and again, the air filled with static. Just as she was about to hang up, though, someone answered.

"Xavier's," someone said. The loud crack of popping gum echoed in her ear.

Ricochet sighed with relief. "Hey, Jubilee," she said, recognizing the voice. "It's me -- Skylar."

"Skylar?" Jubilee asked loudly, as if she had never heard of her before. "For real?"

"For real," she replied. "Listen, is Monet around?" She didn't want to ask for Angelo -- Prayer might overhear her and then the questions would never end.

"Skylar?" Jubilee asked again. "You calling long distance or something?"

Ricochet rolled her eyes. Why, of all the people at that school, why did Jubilee have to be the one closest to the phone? "Or something," she said, exasperated. "I want to speak to Monet."

Jubilee cracked her gum. Ricochet could almost imagine her twisting it around her fingers as they talked. "She ain't here," she said. "I mean, she is -- she's standing right next to me -- but she's out in one of her space cadet trances. You wanna hold?"

"What?" Ricochet asked. "You're serious? How long do you think she'll be like that?"

"Dunno. Coupla hours. You want her to call you back?"

Ricochet sighed. "This is a pay phone, Jubilee. I'm not exactly staying at the Hilton." She looked around her uneasily -- around them, the streetlights were just beginning to blaze to life. Prayer leaned against one of the posts, just a few feet away, but she kept turning around to look down a nearby alley. Ricochet wondered if she was looking for a fix. "Listen, tell her I'll try back later."

"'Kay. When?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't know when I can get to a phone again." She turned around again, and Prayer was gone.

Jubilee was talking to someone beside her. Craning her neck, Ricochet tried to look everywhere at once. "Prayer?" she called out, but no one answered her. The chilly evening air cut through her jacket and she shivered -- she had to get back to the warehouse. "Jubes," she said into the receiver, "I've got to go."

"Wanna talk to Angelo?" Jubilee asked. She yelled into the phone. "Angelo! Telephone!" Lowering her voice again, she said, "He's coming."

Ricochet's heart skipped a beat as she heard a car door slam. Across the street, two men dressed in fatigues were standing by a Ford Explorer, waiting to cross through the sparse traffic. They carried service pistols in their hands. "I've got to go," she said again, and hung up the phone before Jubilee could say another word.

Shoving her hands deep into her jacket pockets, Ricochet started back towards the warehouse, walking at a fast clip. She hazarded a glance behind her, and saw that the two men were closer now, definitely following her. Swallowing the fear in her throat, she tried not to look afraid, and hurried her pace. As she passed the alley Prayer had been eyeing, one of the men called out to her. "Stop!"

Instead, she broke into a run. As she ducked into the alley, shots rang out, and she felt the sharp sting of brick chips strike her face as the bullets grazed against the buildings around her. At the back of the alley, under the yellow light of an old Miller Light sign, she saw Prayer and some junkie, propped against the wall. Prayer had her sleeve rolled up, and the junkie held a needle above her wrist. "Prayer!" Ricochet called out.

Prayer looked up at her, and the needle skidded against the force field around her skin. Behind Ricochet, the two men entered the alley, guns leveled. "Ricochet!" Prayer called out, knocking the junkie back as she ran for her friend. Pressing her hands together, Prayer concentrated on extending her force field until she felt it envelope Ricochet as well, and she could feel the ting of the bullets as they bounced away from them, reflected off of the force field. Beside her, Ricochet gasped for breath. "That's one hit you owe me," Prayer whispered as one of the careening bullets struck the fallen junkie in the throat. "He was my best supplier."

"If we don't get outta here alive," Ricochet replied, "I don't think you'll ever need another hit."

The two men came closer. Prayer clasped her hands together tightly, afraid to let go, afraid to let the force field slip for just a second. "Think we can get past them?" she asked as they blocked the only exit out of the alley.

"Wait for my signal," Ricochet whispered.

The men stopped a few feet from them. "You have the right to remain silent," one of them called out. Through the force field, the sound was muffled, as if Ricochet's ears were full of cotton. So this is how Prayer sees the world, she thought.

"That's original," Prayer whispered.

The other man cleared his throat. Pointing his weapon at them, he held the gun in both hands and said, "Give yourselves up and no one gets hurt."

From behind them, the dying junkie moaned. "Somehow, I don't believe that," Ricochet replied. To Prayer, she whispered, "Walk forward with me. Slowly. One step at a time."

Together they moved closer to the men. As they neared them, the guns lowered slightly, as if the men wanted to believe this could all end easily enough. But when they were a few feet away, Ricochet yelled, "Now!" and together she and Prayer rolled to the ground, tumbling against the legs of their pursuers and knocking them to the pavement. As the men struggled to stand, Ricochet and Prayer scrambled to their feet and sprinted out of the alley. A few stray bullets chased them into the street, but they knew the underground of this city better than the scanners did -- within minutes they were back at the warehouse, running through back alleys and cutting through clubs to avoid being followed.

Back at the warehouse, Ricochet collapsed against the secret entrance, gasping for breath. Beside her, Prayer bent over her knees, laughing breathlessly. "Shit," she said. "We were dead."

Ricochet smiled. "I bet that adrenaline rush is the best high you've had all day."

Prayer grinned. "Just don't tell Calliope. She'll kill us both for that little stunt."

"Agreed." Ricochet pulled back the nailed board and motioned for Prayer to enter the warehouse. "After you. And thanks."

"What are friends for?" Prayer asked. As she crawled in after her, Ricochet thought, What indeed. She hoped Angelo wasn't mad she hung up on him.

As Ricochet headed for the stairs to Calliope's room, Goner stepped in front of her. "You're back," she said.

Ricochet walked around her. "Yep. Long time, no see, eh?"

Goner put her hand on Ricochet's elbow. "I don't think you should go up there," she cautioned. Ricochet looked back at her, and Goner rolled her eyes at a girl sitting over on one of the couches, trying to tell Ricochet something. Looking at the girl, Ricochet thought she looked familiar. She thought she had seen her the other day, with Tores.

"She's here?" Ricochet asked in a low voice. Goner nodded slightly. Ricochet smiled a wicked grin and shook off Goner's hand. Without looking back, she trotted up the stairs two at a time, the clang of her boots on the metal loud in the warehouse. When she reached the top of the stairs, she opened the door to Calliope's room without knocking.

Inside, Calliope sat in her chair, one leg thrown over the arm nonchalantly. Tores stood before her, her hands clenched in anger. "You said the truce was to keep us all alive," Tores was saying. "The scanners are still here -- nothing has changed."

Ricochet slammed the door shut. Tores whirled around and glared at her. Before either of them could say a word, Calliope sighed. "Ric, we're busy here."

Pouting, Ricochet managed to sound hurt. "Since when am I not invited?"

Tores started towards her. "This doesn't concern you."

Calliope's voice lashed out, her mutant power trilling through the room. "Tores, stop." Tores closed her eyes in frustration but her body obeyed. "Ric, can you wait outside? Please?"

Ricochet tried not to smile at the plea in Calliope's voice. She knew that Ricochet's powers negated her own -- Ricochet often thought that Calliope liked her so much simply because she was the one person she couldn't control. At the "please," Tores clenched her teeth. "Will this take long?" Ricochet asked, petulant. She was enjoying this.

"Not much longer," Calliope said. "Tores here wants the truce to continue, but I say it's over. Just give me a few more minutes to convince her of that, okay?"

Ricochet slammed back out of the room and leaned against the railing of the staircase, her arms crossed against her chest, her lips set in a pout. She wanted to laugh at the way Tores allowed her emotions to manipulate her -- there was something in Ricochet that just liked to see that girl uneasy. Instead, she tried to look upset, put out -- Calliope wasn't the only one who could control others. Ricochet had learned long ago that a frown and sad eyes were all she needed to get Calliope to listen to anything she said. And she would need all the tools she could use if she was going to convince Calliope to go along with the cockeyed plan she just thought up.

About fifteen minutes passed. Ricochet's lips were getting sore from pouting, and she was just about to relax when the door beside her opened. Calliope stepped out first, holding the door out to keep Ricochet and Tores apart, and she blocked Ricochet's path as Tores angrily ran down the steps. As she stormed through the warehouse, her friend jumped up from the couch to follow her. Before disappearing into the shadows, Tores turned around and pointed up at the catwalk where Ricochet and Calliope stood. "You won't be so lucky next time, Ricochet," she called out. "You can't hide behind her forever."

"Don't say a word," Calliope cautioned, and for once Ricochet listened. When Tores was gone, Calliope held the door out for Ricochet. "You're lucky you weren't killed," she said as they entered her room.

"I got away easily enough," Ricochet countered.

"What do you mean?"

Ricochet turned around and saw the puzzled look on Calliope's face. She had thought Calliope was talking about her brush with the scanners! Ricochet tried to look busy. "What do you mean?" she asked.

Calliope sighed. "I meant Tores. One day she's gonna bring a gun in here and shoot you before I can stop her."

Shaking her head, Ricochet said, "Guns aren't her style. She likes her knives."

"Wait til she learns to throw them," Calliope countered. Before Ricochet could say another word, she asked, "What did you mean, getting away easily enough? Did you and Prayer run into any trouble?"

Ricochet sat on the edge of the bed and avoided Calliope's gaze. When she didn't reply, Calliope sighed, exasperated. "I'm here, aren't I?" Ricochet asked defensively. "Nothing happened." When Calliope sat beside her on the bed, Ricochet tried to change the subject. "What did you tell Tores?"

"I told her my problems were over. The scanners can be avoided. End of truce." Absently Calliope smoothed down the hem of Ricochet's skirt. "She's pissed because her cousin Juana was one of the ones killed at the Den the other day. She wants me to declare war on the government now."

"I thought Goner said it was that other gang out there?" Ricochet looked at Calliope, who shrugged and laid back on the bed. She toyed with the belt strap along the bottom of Ricochet's leather jacket. "Is she playing straight with you or what?"

Calliope sighed. "She claims she didn't know where Juana was until the police came by her t¡o's shop. Says that Juana fell for the leader of the goth-gang and left, but Tores didn't think she had joined up with them yet."

"She never told you this before." Ricochet plucked a few tiny stones out of the holes in her fishnet stockings, stuck there when she had rolled away from the scanners. "Did you ask if we could use her car?"

"What?" Calliope asked, incredulous. "I tell the girl I ain't siding with her and you think she'd lend me her car?"

Ricochet shrugged. "You never know," she muttered. And then, before she could stop herself, she said, "I was thinking maybe we could get a couple of scanners to take us out to that facility of theirs. Like maybe just ride with them up to the gate or something, and then --"

"And then what?" Calliope challenged. "Ask them to forget they ever saw us?"

Looking over her shoulder, Ricochet smiled. "You could that." Calliope raised an eyebrow, and Ricochet let her think it over. "Get one of them alone -- they travel in pairs, and not all of them are gung-ho about this Operation Clean Sweep. Some of them are just servicemen, enlisted in the Guard to avoid the draft."

"What draft?" Calliope asked, but her voice was distant, and she stared at the ceiling as she thought out the possibilities of what Ricochet was saying.

Ricochet shrugged. "You never know. The National Guard isn't like the Marines. Don't they just train on weekends or something?"

"You're thinking of the Reserves." Beside her, Calliope sat up again, still lost in thought.

"Well, they're not invincible. Get past those guns and they're just normal men," Ricochet said.

Quietly, Calliope said, "It'll be hard finding a scanner alone. You say you saw two of them together?" Ricochet nodded. "No others around?"

She nodded again. "One's older, with a beer belly. The other's more surfer dude than G.I. Joe. Have you ever used your power on more than one person at a time? Do you think you could convince them to take us all the way out to the facility?"

Calliope smiled. "Leave that to me. You just find me those scanners."

Johnson leaned back in the driver's seat of the Ford Explorer and let his eyes slip closed. Beside him, Kyles fiddled with his scanner. "Still upset about that girl, eh?" Johnson asked.

"Why wouldn't she show up on this thing?" Kyles asked for the hundredth time that evening. Since the girls had gotten away earlier, he had become obsessed with finding them. But a quick drive through their sector turned up nothing. Now, with only an hour until midnight, and an hour until their shift was up, the girls were the last thing on Johnson's mind.

"Take another look around," he offered, settling more comfortably into his seat. "A quick walk around the sector before we call it a night. I'll wait here."

Kyles ignored him and continued to play around with the hand-held device. A few minutes later, he pocketed it and stretched. "Think I'll do that," he said. "One last look around. Wanna come?"

Johnson shook his head. "This city is dead with the curfew. Just holler if you need me."

Kyles slammed the car door loudly as he left. Johnson was right -- the city was dead. Los Angeles looked more like a quiet suburb than a bustling metropolis. Used to be on a night like this, you couldn't walk down the streets at this time of the night -- too many hookers, too many pushers, too many street kids clogging up the sidewalks and spilling out into the road. But now -- he could faintly hear the buzzing of the streetlights, flickering in the darkness. A few cars were out, a few people walked hurriedly against the buildings, their heads down and their eyes turned studiously ahead. Around him the air was brisk with autumn, and a chilly breeze swept through the empty city streets. Kyles turned his collar up and bunched his hands into his pockets, and began walking his beat. Should've stayed in the car, he thought grimly. That girl is long gone by now. Best not to worry about it.

But as he rounded a corner, he saw her. At least, he thought it was her -- she lounged against the brick facade of a department store, her hands in her pockets, one foot up against the wall. Her hair shone brightly in the glow of a nearby streetlight, a dark green fading at the roots. He slowed down -- didn't want to scare her again -- and when she looked up at him, he knew it was her. "Hey," he called out, trying not to sound authoritative. If he could only get close enough . . .

She looked up at him, her eyes wide beneath that shock of hair. As he walked closer, she backed away and turned down an alley. Shit, he thought, pulling his service pistol and quickening his pace. Can't lose her now.

In the darkness of the alley, Ricochet waited. If the scanner didn't follow her, she'd have to go back out there. She waited for long minutes, the only sounds the empty echo of bootheels on the sidewalk. How hard is it to get someone to chase you these days? she wondered.

Suddenly, she had an idea. Launching herself at the wall beside her, she hit the bricks with her shoulder. Pain and energy spiraled down her arm, and she felt the energy gathering in her hands. She balled them into fists to keep the energy in check. She hit the wall again, and she could see the energy behind her eyes, bright spots of light. When she hit the wall a third time, the scanner stepped into the alley, his gun ready.

She crouched in the darkness, the energy in her hands giving off a faint glow as it raced under her skin. By the way he slid forward cautiously, she knew he didn't see her. The energy ran through her hands faster and faster -- a few minutes more, and she wouldn't be able to hold it any longer. If he would just come a little closer --

When he left the safety of the light and stepped fully into the darkness of the alley, Ricochet attacked. Focusing all of the energy into one hand, she leaped up and hit him under the chin with her fist. When she struck, she released her reign on the energy and used it to add strength to her blow. She heard something pop in the quiet night, she heard the gun clatter to the ground, and then the scanner crumpled like a broken doll.

Rolling him onto his back, she peeled up his eyelids -- nothing but the whites of his eyes looked back. Out cold, she thought. What a hit! If only the kids back at Xaviers' could've seen that one. Quickly, she checked his pulse. A thin line of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and down his neck, and she left two bloody fingerprints against his skin, but his heart still beat strong. Stepping away from him, she pocketed his gun and left the alley quickly without looking back.

Back at the Ford Explorer, Johnson had the engine idling, a soft rumble in the night. A few minutes more and he'd go look for Kyles, but right now the heater blasted on high and the radio played over the whoosh of the air. Johnson reclined his seat just a little, relaxing back. A thin film began to coat the edges of the windows -- the night out there was getting cold -- and he flicked the automatic locks on the doors. Just close my eyes for a second, he thought as his eyes slipped closed. Shift's almost up anyway.

Someone tapped lightly on the passenger-side window. Johnson almost didn't hear it over the sound of the heater and the radio. Without opening his eyes, he reached across the car and unlocked the door. As it opened, a draft of chilly air curled around his legs. "Took you long enough," he said lazily. "I was about to go after you myself."

Suddenly, cold steel pressed against the soft flesh of his neck, and as the car door slammed shut, Johnson's eyes flew open and he gasped at the disheveled girl sitting next to him, Kyles' service pistol in her hand. Her face was framed by long soft curls, but her eyes were hard glints of ice in the darkness. "Sorry to keep you waiting," she purred, and cocked the gun. "Now unlock the doors."

"Wha --" Johnson stuttered, but a wicked grin tugged at the corners of the girl's lips, and when she spoke again, he felt her voice enter his mind and latch onto his arms, forcing him to unlock the doors.

"Don't make me repeat myself," the girl said as Johnson watched his hand hit the automatic door lock. The sound of unlatching locks was loud, and then the two backseat doors flew open. Two other girls climbed into the car -- one of them was that punk Kyles had gone looking for. She smiled at Johnson and waved jauntily. None of this is happening, he thought. The other girl in the backseat glared at him balefully.

"Just don't hurt me," he blubbered. "I got girls your age back home. Don't hurt me."

From the backseat, the girl with the green hair smiled. "We ain't gonna hurt you," she said. "We just need you to help us out a bit, is all."

And then the girl next to him started talking again. He tried to block out her voice, but there was something in it that made his body obey her commands. "You will take us to the Los Sueños dos Muertos containment facility," she was saying, her words twisting inside his mind until he had no other choice -- what she said was what he wanted to do.