"Yuri!" Barnaby extended his hand with his trademark smile, which Yuri returned to the best of his ability as he crossed the threshold. "I'm glad you could make it. Thanks for coming."

"Thank you for the invitation. I appreciate the change of scenery."

"Have you been busy job searching?"

"For the past couple of days, I've been busy moving furniture, actually. In every room in the house, I think." Yuri touched his lower back with an authentic wince. "I don't generally compare myself to others, but I've been envying your Hundred Power."

"Ow." Barnaby grimaced in sympathy. "It sounds like you're the perfect candidate to give an impression of my new furnishings." He led Yuri to the opposite end of the main room. "I realized I may be having guests now, so I've started setting up to entertain." He sounded both self-conscious and pleased with himself.

A couch and a coffee table now faced the picture window. Yuri ran his hand over the top, then an arm, of the former. "Leather." He performed the same gesture on a side and the back. "And not just where you touch. Classy. I approve."

Barnaby's smile broadened. "Thank you."

"And that's a fine coffee table." The table was essentially two heavy glass shelves—not even framed, just supported by gold-toned legs. "Very modern. Good solid look to it."

"Thanks. Go on, please sit down."

Yuri sank onto the couch with a grateful sigh. "This. Is. Excellent. I suppose I'm tired enough to be a bit biased, but I'm impressed."

"Thanks," said Barnaby, taking a seat at the other end. "I'll probably add a few more things eventually. May I ask why you've been moving furniture for two days?"

"Mama thought the house needed it, and I finally had time to do something besides work and sleep." This in fact covered only the first day of rearranging. The second day had come about after his mother woke up in a panic because NOTHING WAS WHERE IT BELONGED and Papa wasn't to be found and would Yuri please please please set things right?

Never mind comparing himself to someone with a Hundred Power; Yuri had been comparing himself to someone with a sane mother. He wasn't stacking up too well on that front, either.

"You live with your mother?"

"We share a domicile. I'm not sure whether it's more accurate to say that she lives with me, since I'm the breadwinner—or was, until recently—or that I live with her, since the house is in her name. Perhaps it's simplest to say that I live with her."

"She must appreciate having you there to help out."

"She's really quite self-sufficient. Which is just as well—I worked very long hours. I'd do yard work on weekends and odd things she couldn't do, like changing lightbulbs, whenever I was there to work them in."

"She can't change lightbulbs?"

"Perhaps there's a device that would enable her to do so, but it's simpler to get me to do some things. She uses a wheelchair."

"Oh," said Barnaby, looking a bit at a loss. "I guess she really does need somebody to help if she wants to move furniture."

Yuri nodded. "But as I said, she's mostly very self-sufficient. She keeps house beautifully by herself. The kitchen's been modified so she can cook and wash dishes."

Barnaby had never previously contemplated how a wheelchair user might keep house and finally decided he wasn't being too nosy when he asked, "What does that entail?"

"Sinks at her level, cooking surface she can reach, cabinets with lazy Susan things inside them . . . A lot of it's side by side with conventional fixtures so those of us who use them standing don't get backaches."

"'Those of us'? So someone else uses them?"

"I was speaking broadly. The kitchen was remodeled with all the handicap-accessible elements a long time ago; I think Aunt Yuliya and I are the only people besides Mama who've used it since."

"Would you care for some tea?"

"That would be excellent."

Feeling rather self-conscious, Yuri took advantage of the solitude for a quick glance at his ever-present pocket mirror. He'd had to give his face a particularly exacting coat of concealer thanks to an adventure involving Mama's fist to his gut and his eye socket's subsequent encounter with her chair arm. The bruise was fading, but even a few days after the fact he still had a visible shiner. Sans makeup, it was in fact almost as conspicuous as his scar. He was reassured to see that at the moment he looked fine. He'd dressed casually, much as he did at home, with a loose-fitting silk shirt—albeit tucked in as well as buttoned in front and at the cuffs. The pockets of his lightweight slacks weren't as accommodating as those of the suit pants he'd always worn to work, but there was more than enough room for the mirror he returned to its nook, and for a social call, he scarcely needed the accoutrements his job had at times required.

There were, at least, some physical conveniences to being unemployed.

Yuri had expected cups or mugs with hot liquid and, if he was lucky, some kind of sweetening being made available. He had not expected Barnaby to return with a two-tiered plate of finger foods, and then to reappear with a tray containing the makings of a proper afternoon tea for two. Yuri watched in surprise that slowly turned to delight as Barnaby brought a kettle and poured water into the teapot to set the tea steeping.

"I hope I'm getting most of this right," Barnaby confessed as he took his seat again. "I've never seen afternoon tea served."

"Neither have I," Yuri replied, to Barnaby's evident surprise. "I'm flattered you'd go to so much trouble for me."

"It seemed the thing to do. These are almond chicken salad sandwiches, and those are cucumber mint, and—"

It might not have been a feast fit for a king, but—besides exceeding Yuri's admittedly modest expectations—it brought together the desirable elements of hospitality: good food, attractive setting and accoutrements, attentive host. Yuri found that the ambience more than compensated for the lack of honey or syrup, and even for plain granulated sugar by the spoonful standing in for "One lump or two?" (He had four, and Barnaby evidently thought no less of him for it.) Yuri found himself making an exception to his dislike of idle chat; here and now, it was simply, plainly pleasant to talk about nothing while polishing off a pot of tea and a double plate of sandwiches and sweet-topped scones. The napkins were cloth, the view was relaxing, and the couch cushions were so soft they threatened to devour him.

The empty sandwich plate had been cleared away, and a second pot of tea was resting in a cozy when conversation turned serious.

"So," Barnaby finally said, legs drawn up, not looking at Yuri. "Albert Maverick."

Yuri was stretched at full length, legs barely avoiding the coffee table, and he nodded. "I'm not sure what I can tell you, really. A lot of it is ... Maverick played them close to the vest. I can't prove much. And I never had much direct contact with him, particularly once I was graduated from law school."

"I suppose anything would be more than what I know. How did you know him?"

"My father worked for Apollon Media. Albert Maverick was producer for Hero TV back then. I'd met him, but I hadn't really thought about him much. He came to Papa's funeral—well, so did a lot of people." Yuri was sorting through details, wondering just how much he cared, or dared, to reveal. Linking his scars, even chronologically, to his father's death was Not A Good Idea; Barnaby didn't need to know that he'd attended the funeral in bandages, and that his mother hadn't attended at all, as she'd been hospitalized and heavily sedated. On the other hand, omitting one detail would just make things too complicated. "He didn't wait very long to get his hooks into me. Aunt Yuliya came to live with us for a while after Papa died; I was only fourteen, and Mama was badly injured. And—to be honest—not in her right mind. She never has been, since. She always thinks he's off at work—or she's talking with him, when there's no one there."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you." Yuri was looking at his hands, if only because they were there; the world around him would go largely unobserved anyway, displaced by memories. "Mr. Maverick came to visit, ostensibly to see how we were doing. Not just ostensibly. He got some lovely, lovely extortion fodder when he realized just how crazy poor Mama was. He basically ..." Yuri had to pause to catch his breath, even so many years later. "He pointed out that as man of the house it was my responsibility to carry out my father's ideals by starting toward a career with the Justice Bureau. And if I failed, I'd have proven that I was unworthy, and he personally would see that my mother was put into ... more competent hands."

Yuri didn't look, but he could hear Barnaby drawing in a long, slow breath. Finally: "Yuri, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that happened to you."

"So." Yuri would have liked to acknowledge the commiseration but simply didn't have the words. "It was do as Maverick said or see my mother institutionalized—which of course also would have meant I'd end up in foster care or an orphanage, because I don't think Aunt Yuliya would have wanted to take me in. She was willing to help out for a while, but raising a teenager—I can't blame her for wanting to get on with her life instead. Anyway, I'd often thought about a career with the Justice Bureau, maybe as a prosecutor. It pissed me off that following my own wishes also played into Maverick's hands, but not playing into his hands would have dire consequences, and I wanted Mama to be able to stay home. I did what was expected of me. I made good grades, somehow. Looking back on it all, I don't know how. I had eating disorders, sleep disorders. I got into some fights—even got suspended from school." Yuri didn't mention that the fights were precipitated when someone teased him for wearing makeup, and that he'd only once been careless enough to lose his temper on school grounds.

Barnaby nodded. "It must have all been pretty rough."

"It was. Maverick kept tabs on me. He made it look like ... avuncular concern, I suppose. I'll give him credit: he really did want me to succeed, and he could be accommodating when it suited his purpose. One time he phoned me when I was studying for midterms, and that was such a distraction that I actually told him so and asked if I could just e-mail him regular reports on my academic progress, instead of getting rattled by a phone call when I was trying to study. He was very obliging. He still came to visit now and then—nosy bastard—but he was willing to work around my school schedule."

Barnaby was simply shaking his head. "I had no idea."

Yuri waved off his concern. "It's not as if you could have done anything even if you'd known. You would have been a child then. Anyway, I got admitted to college, finished that degree, got admitted to Stern Bild Law School ... that was damn close. I made the deadline and got rejected anyway, because they get more applicants than they can accept and do things by lottery. I thought I'd have a breakdown, because I absolutely could not go to law school anywhere else, not with Mama to take care of, and for once I swallowed my pride and phoned that bastard and all but begged him to help. Which he did. He didn't even use the event to get more leverage, he just said he'd take care of it, and a week or so later I got a letter of acceptance. I think I hid somewhere and cried for a couple of hours."

"Yuri, I'm sorry. I ..." Barnaby sighed. "So that's what you meant when you said he made it possible for you to go to law school. I'd wondered if he'd paid for some of it."

"Oh, hell no. I never got a cent from him. Papa had set aside money for me to go to college, and I'd had jobs when I was in high school and college—anyway, I managed. I'd have taken in renters and lived on ramen before I'd ask Albert Maverick for money on top of everything else."

"I don't blame you," Barnaby said softly. "You've got a lot to be angry about."

"I've got a fucking lost adolescence to be angry about," Yuri said dryly. "Anyway. I worked part-time jobs and summer jobs for the Justice Bureau all through high school and college and law school. I finished my law degree and got a full-time job clerking in Criminal. Then somebody over in Tort died, and I got shifted to that position, doing comparable duties there, and ... after that was when things started getting interesting."

"Oh?"

"There was an assistant prosecutor named Inez Sanchez. I knew her slightly. I didn't learn the details until quite a while after the fact, but apparently Albert Maverick offered her a job with Apollon Media. He was CEO by that time—not someone who's normally going out and soliciting lawyers off the street to join the corporate world. Mrs. Sanchez made the mistake of turning him down. A couple of weeks later she had a breakdown—basically just went crazy and had to be dragged out by Security. There wasn't any sort of competitive process for filling her slot—I was just put there. I can't tell you how pissed her superior was about that."

"I guess it wasn't an auspicious beginning."

"It wasn't. Oddly enough, we hit if off pretty well anyway. I think for a long time he suspected I was somebody's buttboy or something like that, but I learned fast and did good work, and that went a long way with him. And about a year later, Maverick called him and made the same offer he'd extended to Inez Sanchez."

Barnaby gave Yuri a quick sideward glance. "What happened?"

"Best valued his sanity and took him up on it. That was his name—Best. He went by A. T. when he didn't just use his last name. By that time I wasn't too surprised when I got shifted into Best's slot as prosecutor. It was something similar after another year; one of the judges quit her job and relocated, and I got a judgeship out of it."

"And you think Albert Maverick was behind all this?"

"Barnaby, I can't imagine anything else. It was certainly someone. The things that I'm describing just don't happen, normally. If a regular line or staff position comes open, there's a job posting and applications and interviews and so forth. And for judgeships—they're appointive, and they don't get filled instantly, because there's a review process for positions with that sort of responsibility. But with the positions I got, after my first one—nothing. It was just, 'Petrov, this is your job now.' I don't know why anyone other than Maverick would have been behind it."

Barnaby nodded. "So that's how you got to be where you were when I came along?"

"Not quite. That was an inferior-level judgeship, not the one Judge Ross held." Yuri rubbed his fingertips together thoughtfully. "I never heard a bad word about Judge Ross. Never. Until he was brought up on child molestation charges."

Barnaby nodded. "I remember that. It was a big scandal."

"Yes. That was ... sad. There were three boys who came forward, remember?"

"I think so. I didn't really follow the case."

Yuri rubbed his temples. "I did. Now I wish I hadn't, but I did. The dates. They remembered when ... when things started. I don't mean the boys remembered the actual dates, but investigators were able to reconstruct—it was the Monday after a big picnic, it was the day before someone's birthday party. Things like that. The first one said Judge Ross had approached him ... the same day I started my first real job for the Justice Bureau in '72."

Barnaby looked at Yuri steadily now. Yuri directed an unfocused gaze at the cityscape out the window. "The second boy's experiences started a couple of years later. On the day I got Inez Sanchez's ... Barnaby?"

Barnaby had risen. "Sorry, Yuri. I ... would you like a beer? I think I need one."

Yuri shook his head. "No, thanks, but help yourself."

Barnaby soon returned with a beer; it wasn't a label that Yuri recognized, but then, he had no interest. "Sorry," Barnaby repeated. "I, uh, I think I'll be okay if you go on."

Yuri nodded. "Not much more, I'm afraid. Boy number three. His experiences dated to a couple of years later, the date I was appointed to that first judgeship. I thought I'd collapse when I made all the connections." Yuri's breathing was growing labored, and he tipped his head back to look at the ceiling. "People don't start molesting little boys to celebrate career advances for someone they barely know by sight. All I could think was What the hell? Once I knew about Maverick's power, things started falling into place, but—"

Barnaby took several swallows of beer. "That must have been horrible. It's ... horrible. So ... I mean, I wonder, did he really ...?"

"That's the problem, isn't it? How much in the way of memories did Maverick implant where? Did he make up all of it from whole cloth—torment three innocents and get an innocent man sent up? Or was the molestation genuine and Maverick just massaged the dates? Ross admitted to all of it—you do remember that part, don't you?"

Barnaby shook his head, then took another pull at the beer. "I didn't really keep up with the case."

"Ross confessed. And ... maybe he actually ... and maybe he didn't. Maybe Maverick implanted everything ... Whatever he did, the purpose was putting me into Ross's old job, and he used those dates to send a message. And even if that doesn't make me any kind of accessory—I certainly knew nothing about it, but I can't exactly exonerate myself, either. Terrible things happened to people, and I benefited."

"Yuri, I'm sorry. This is horrible."

"Isn't it. I'm sorry, too. Maverick ... was important to you. I hated him with so much vitriol I don't know how my body ever held it, but I'd never want anyone innocent to suffer. I wouldn't ... I wish you didn't want to know these things. You've lost someone who meant a great deal to you, and I'm just making it all the more painful."

"It's painful to learn that Mr. Maverick could have done things like this, but I don't know how you can think it's worse than learning how he used me, when I believed he was looking after me out of a sense of duty and affection."

Yuri sighed. "Yes. I'm sure he treated you worse than anyone else. He groomed you to serve his purposes, and when he'd achieved them, he was ready to—sorry. You don't need this."

"What about you, Yuri? If Rotwang hadn't developed those robots, I never would have learned Mr. Maverick's real purpose for me. Did he ever hint at his plans for you?"

Yuri shook his head. "But think about it. He put me on a calculated promotional path into a position related to your activities. I was in that senior judgeship just long enough to more or less know what I was doing when Maverick got you approved as a Hero. As Hero administrator and as liaison to the council, I contributed to decisions on actions the Heroes would take. In the judgeship proper, I determined culpability and fines for the Heroes specifically." He gave Barnaby a keen look. "Did you ever think about why you were paired with Wild Tiger, when none of the other Heroes were shifted into partnerships under the reorganization? Or why it was Wild Tiger specifically?"

"I've thought a lot about why Kotetsu was my partner. I never wanted a partner—it's my nature to work alone, and it infuriated me. It seemed like a slap in the face. I was the first hero who had to have a sidekick tied to him, as if I couldn't do my job myself."

Yuri nodded. "Exactly. And because it was so vital that you do your job properly and make a good impression, you were paired with a Hero who had a notable history of racking up damage fines, disregarding directions, and generally being a loose cannon. He would have been the perfect scapegoat if you did something stupid. I was in a position to attribute your carelessness to him, if I'd been pressed to do so."

Barnaby slowly turned his head toward Yuri, eyes widening. "Would you have done that?"

"To keep my mother out of an institution? I'm sorry to say I would have, although I'll admit, it doesn't reflect very well on me as ... a public servant."

Barnaby sighed and put his hand to his forehead.

"And of course it needn't have stopped there. I could have found a way of exonerating you of pretty much anything. Ditto for any of Maverick's thugs if they'd come to trial for, say, assault with a deadly weapon. Like a poker."

"Stop being so cold-blooded about it."

"If I'm cold-blooded, Maverick was a glacier—cold and hard and slow-moving, but utterly resistless. Perhaps he had other plans for me. We'll probably never know. I'm sure he wasn't foolish enough to keep a flowchart with my name on it somewhere."

Barnaby sighed. "Time for another beer. Sure you won't have one?"

"Positive, thanks."

"Or something else? That tea's probably cold by now." Barnaby reached for the cozy-covered pot, but Yuri waved him off.

"I'm fine. Go get your beer."

While Barnaby did so, Yuri poured himself another cup of tea and sampled it. He liked it warmer, but it was palatable, particularly after a generous addition of sugar. His thoughts alternated between mentally replaying parts of their conversation and wondering why he was being so forthcoming. He didn't speak of these things. He never spoke of these things. He never had. Well, of course he hadn't heretofore, but with Maverick gone, part of his world had turned upside-down, and now its contents were spilling out, as if he were sicking up something monstrous. And Barnaby wanted to hear this?

Yes, after what he'd been through, Barnaby probably did. People always like to know that someone else has problems.

Yuri had sipped a good bit of the cupful when he realized that Barnaby had been gone for considerably longer than should have been required to get a beer, even if he'd made a detour to the lobby seeking more congenial company for consuming it. Yuri went to the doorway where he'd seen his host vanish and found the kitchen, predictably spotless and spare, with Barnaby leaning against a counter and gazing at an unopened bottle. Yuri guessed he'd been that way most of the time he'd been gone. Condensation was trickling down the sides of the bottle; a few drops glistened on the countertop.

"Barnaby?" Yuri stayed at the doorway and kept his voice low. "Would you rather I left?"

After some seconds Barnaby said, "No. Though if this is how I'm going to host you, I suppose you'd rather go."

"You've been a gracious host. Come on—if you're going to stare at nothing, you might as well sit down while doing it. Do you want to open that after all?"

To Yuri's surprise, Barnaby activated his Hundred Power and, with incongruous delicacy, wrenched the cap off barehanded. Yuri couldn't help wincing at the sight, though Barnaby seemed unaffected. When he'd made no move away from the counter—or to drink the beer—after nearly half a minute, Yuri sighed and strode forward. He didn't particularly like touching people, but he liked watching a glowing blue screen of death even less and put an arm around Barnaby's shoulders. "Let's go sit down."

Physical contact got Barnaby back to the couch, but it was a long time and perhaps a quarter of a bottle of beer before he spoke again.

"Do you think there are other people he used the same way?"

Yuri glanced toward him uncomfortably, then looked away; he drew in a breath, but let it out without speaking.

Barnaby grimaced. "Go on. I can take it."

"You've already had to take so much," Yuri murmured. "Maverick was a shrewd man and a powerful one. He wouldn't have put all his eggs into one basket, so to speak; after all, you might have died or become disabled in the course of your work, or through pure bad luck—a car accident, food poisoning, whatever. That said, however: He could plant memories whenever he wished. He didn't have to be aware of individuals with motives for becoming Heroes; he could simply manufacture the motives as needed. So my guess is that he was aware of others who could take your place, but he wasn't actively controlling anyone toward that end. And if that's the case, those people's memories probably haven't been altered in any way.

"On the other hand, we know you aren't the only person whose memories he altered—think of that whole ghastly mess that went down when he framed a murder on Kotetsu and used the Heroes and Hero TV as his tools. Come to think of it, I wonder why he didn't invite me to that particular ... wine tasting. It wasn't like him to forget details. I suppose he considered me on a sufficiently tight leash that it didn't matter what I suspected. Bastard." Yuri leaned back against the cushions. "But it's not the sort of thing we really have any means of ascertaining. I'd think one wouldn't know if his memories had been altered. It's not something that even occurs to most people. Of course, now that Maverick's crimes have come to light—I mean, the most egregious ones—maybe people that he influenced are beginning to suspect. Still ... how would anyone know what to question, where to begin?"

"I know I'm not the most credible source," Barnaby said quietly, "but I do remember some things. Really remember some things. Mr. Maverick implanted a memory of Jake Martinez as my parents' killer, including the memory of an Ourobouros tattoo on his hand—a tattoo that it turned out he didn't have. After I saw a video that showed Jake's hand without the tattoo, I knew something was wrong with my memories. I kept remembering different people killing my parents—Aunt Samantha, Kotetsu ... even myself. I suspected everybody, and it was driving me crazy. I'm sure that occurred because on a subconscious level I realized that the memories I had didn't belong there, and I was trying to find the real memory. Someone who knows what he did might be having a similar experience—if he implanted a memory very different from the truth."

Yuri had been watching Barnaby keenly during this recital. "So the memories that Maverick implanted weren't the last word. A person could, in theory, recover the real memories himself?"

"In theory. I remembered Kotetsu even though Maverick thought he had completely blocked that—but it was because Kotetsu prompted me, not something I did on my own." Barnaby leaned back, closing his eyes. "I never thought that stupid nickname would actually be good for something, but it saved Kotetsu's life."

Yuri blinked, eyes widening. "Barnaby?"

"I was going to kill him. We were only supposed to capture him, but I was going to kill him, because he wouldn't stop pretending to be ... who he actually was. That was when he called me Bunny. After he tried a lot of other things that should have made me remember he was my real partner, he called me Bunny, and suddenly ... he wasn't the criminal who'd killed Aunt Samantha."

Yuri sat silent for several breaths. "I'd ... had no idea. I knew the two of you fought on Brox Bridge, but I hadn't appreciated..."

"And maybe Maverick wanted him dead." Barnaby's voice was flat. "Kotetsu knew Jake Martinez hadn't killed my parents, and somehow Maverick wasn't able to make him forget that. I guess it would have been convenient if I avenged another personal loss."

"Yes, I'm sure I would have found a way of acquitting you of anything serious—in the unlikely event the case even entered the judicial system." Yuri sighed, eyes closed. "This is all utterly dreadful. It's almost making me glad I lost that job. It was tainted."

"But without a job ... are you doing okay, financially?"

Yuri nodded. "I have some savings and some investments. Mama has an independent income that pays for a good bit of her needs. We're all right. I know I should be looking for a job, but ... I just can't. I think I'm happier than I've been in my life, doing nothing and able to get away with it for the first time since I was a child. I've never had a vacation, Barnaby, not as an adult. Sometimes I've taken a few days off, but the pressure was always there, the possibility of Maverick's voice on the phone, wanting a favor ... no, giving an order I'd have no choice but to obey. Things aren't perfect now—" (Here, let me show you my black eye) "—but I'm my own man in a way I simply haven't been before, and I can't bring myself to hand that over to someone else, not just yet."

Barnaby smiled. "I'm happy for you. Sounds like you need some downtime, too."

"Yes. And I've taken so much of your time now. I doubt there's anything else helpful I could tell you about Albert Maverick—has it been helpful?"

Barnaby nodded. "Yes. It has. It's funny; I guess I've lived alone for so long I naturally want to be alone, but when I realized I'd been used practically all my life ... I wanted there to be someone else. Anybody can sympathize, but I wanted someone who knew. It means a lot, Yuri."

Yuri couldn't stop himself from returning that wistful smile. "I'm glad, then. I don't particularly enjoy discussing my personal circumstances, but ... it's rather like your personal records with the Justice Bureau, 'the real ones,' as you put it. You deserve to know."

"Could I ask you about something else?"

"Go ahead."

"Your power."