Loitier stood in the doorway of a cheap bar he really had no business in, but desired to kill time in, waiting for the opportunity to leave without being noticed, when his little urchin came into sight. He recognized her immediately. It had been three months since the incident at the market, but there was no doubting that little golden cherub face. Without looking at him, she passed by, picking her way carefully among the trash and sewage in the street for food. Loitier leaned out in curiosity to watch her. She turned the corner, swaying gracefully with her little hips.

"Stupid kid," he mumbled under his breath in annoyance. She was out at night again, even deeper into this filthy district than the first time he'd seen her. There were no tourists or cops here, only the lowest of the low: crooks, whores, pirates, prostitutes, street rats and thugs-once kin to Loitier in his youth. He debated just leaving, going home and pretending that it was nothing-because in truth he didn't know anything about the girl. Instead, he beat his hand on the brick, spun on his heels and made his way hastily outside. He hopped across broken bottles and trash in his sandaled feet, sprang out for a couple of blocks before stopping just four feet from her in an alley drive, and stood there, glaring.

The girl stopped short, staring at him with the same defiant glare. She blinked in absence, her brown eyes bright, and then started to walk around him.

"The hell's your problem?" her little voice squeaked, like a kitten barely matured.

"I should be asking you the same thing," he barked. "A kid like you can get killed in an area like this. What are you doing here?"

"It's none of your business, freak," she retorted, but her glance dropped to the ground. Loitier felt himself lighten up a bit. He could feel her fear . . .

'Tough kid.' Then again, to live in an area such as this, she would have to be to survive. Calming down and sighing, he tried to reach her with his words. "Come on, little sister," he said softly. "We'll go someplace safer. I know you're hungry, right? Let's go get you some warm food and a place to sleep." Loitier placed a hand on her small shoulder. Up close now, he could see the layers of ruddy brown marks all over her pink, Hello Kitty shirt and light blue Capri-pants. 'She looks like she hasn't bathed in weeks,' he thought pitifully. 'She must keep them for sentimental reasons . . . where's her family?'

"Look, not everyone in Gavinporte is as nice as me. This isn't the kind of place for a pretty baby like you. Let me take you somewhere safer, all right?" He gently grasped her wrist, and she didn't pull away or scream.

Loitier felt a touch of pride in himself. This was a good thing he was doing. He had been lucky to have someone steer him away from the wretched life he lived when he was just about her age, now he was returning the favor. 'If he hadn't come into my life, I might not had lived as long as I had,' he thought briefly-shaking the chilling thoughts from his head before any of the memories could occur to him.

On the other hand, he remembered the ridicule and taunts he had to live through in his first early years of living in the Church, the constant cat calls of 'Whore's Bastard' . . . Who's to say the Church would even allow him to bring her in. Hell, she might not even want to stay herself. Still, it was worth a try at least.

Annoyance began to spark a sense of altruism in him. Virtue was really going to cramp his style, he thought to himself as he tightened his grip.

"Forget it. I'm taking you home," he told her sharply, irritated by his momentary sense of duty. He half-turned to lead her out the alley.

Only the single sharp breath in his ear served as a warning. Before he could react, the girl twisted half-way out of his grasp.

Loitier was faster than the cop, however. In truth, subconsciously, he had been expecting her to retaliate. He whirled around and locked both hands on the girl's bony arms. She bared her teeth angrily, clutching up her other hand in a tiny, pathetic fist, and hit him square and hard in his jaw-

But it was she who gasped in shock. For someone so lively looking, his jaw was dry, hard and cold.

She looked him in his eyes now for the first time, gaping at him, realizing there was something wrong-but not able to comprehend what it was. Loitier gulped in nervousness. The fear, the wonder, the questions-all was seen in her eyes. He remembered then one of the reasons why he hated going out in public.

He had grown sick of seeing that look; that same damn look like the ones from his old teachers, his so-called friends, his mother's . . .

And then, which was far worse, the girl's expression changed to that of one who completely understood. Just like that, she knew what she standing next to. He swore under his breath. He was a real, full-blood Gaelock Droid, a special series of Androids created from the corpses of the Undead mixed with a special brand of nanobites distributed by the government during the early trials of Leviathan. On the outside they looked all human, but their bone structure was fifty times stronger than any metal component and liquid nanos flowed through their veins instead of blood. They had been originally created as Undead super-soldiers to protect against the Undead and the threat of terrorists in 2020, but many of them were able to escape in their early phases of new life to adopt new identities and try to live close to human lives. And every Undead knew full well that feasting on a Gaelock Droid's blood was a step in suicide.

Loitier took a quick look to either side. No one was watching them-yet. He spun her around, pressing her back to his chest as he lifted her from the ground, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet. Of course she tried to fight, kicking those damn long legs all over the place and flaying her arms this way and that. He twisted her right arm behind her shoulder blade, near the point of breaking. She still fought a little, and even managed to open her jaws wide enough to bite down in the space between his index finger and thumb. Loitier pulled free, but lost a good chunk of his flesh to her teeth. He tightened his hold on her and lifted her as high up as he could, and continued in dragging her along through the alley.

His sandaled feet fumbled over a slippery patch of water (or what he hoped was water). Loitier realized, a little too late, that by carrying her in front he couldn't see where they were going. After a few more steps, his foot caught on the hem of his coat and he stumbled. Tripping, he lost his hold on her and she broke free from his grasp. She didn't even bother to scream. Instead, the skilled little urchin did a perfect back flip. Loitier landed on his front in a large puddle of water, wet, enraged and disgusted as the scent made it clear that it was not water, indeed. He'd lost control of the situation, and an even bigger problem-of the girl . . .

He heard her feet pounding away as she ran out of the alley. 'Damn brat, go home!' That idiot should be home, like a kid ought to be. Hell, he thought, maybe he's scared her enough that she wouldn't come anywhere near this place ever again. Loitier wiped the muck off his face and got to his feet. All this would be worth if it she just learned to keep the hell out!

The image of his own grandmother rose in front of him as her footsteps became faint: of her gathering up the young children before the fire place, telling stories of what she had seen as a small girl. Small girls, just like this one. He smiled in reverie. Maybe this little one would spin a good yarn for her own grandchildren one day . . .

Of course, who would really know what to do about it . . . More importantly, who would believe her . .

Loitier bolted for the other end of the alley.