Halvorson rogered back to Arget, then searched in his pockets for wire-cutters, grateful that he'd remembered to snag some from the pile of equipment back at HQ.  He passed them to Baz, and unclipped his radio from his collar, looking at it for a moment before looking down at Baz.<br/><br/>"Fella, I can't do that," he said quietly.  "Far as I know my signal could come out on her end all scrambled - our radios are encrypted."  He thought a moment.  "Don't you still have your pulse-code transmitter?  I don't know pulse-code, but maybe it would be better to try that."<br/><br/>O'Toole shifted uncomfortably in the darkness.  "I'm gettin' mighty sick of tunnels," she muttered.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The medic left Emiko and Jenten.  First Sergeant Millhouse looked at the huddled group of S.E.M. members on the second floor.  "Nobody hurt down here?" he asked, swallowing back the tightness in his throat.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>The hoarse breathing near Karogen resolved itself into a choked whisper, this time more audible.  "Still... alive... prick?" it asked.  The shuddering noise after it could have been a chuckle.<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Janus stood back from Heretic, turning to face him and bitterly digesting his words.  He nodded at him, and went to go, but before he did he asked, "Where are you going?"<br/><br/><br/>Merelli let a hand stray to Iln's stuffed belly, but his eyes and mind were on the battle.  He glanced up at her, the twinkle in his eyes showing his love.  "This 'little something' can always grow, my dear," he said, then walked steadily away, feeling the scale on his back and shouting out orders.<br/><br/>The medics helped Raice to his feet after he was also returned to the world.  They were just as astonished at how well he had been healed, and one of them cast a look at Iln, mulling over a thought before finally working up the courage to ask.  "Can you heal... anything?"<br/><br/>-----<br/><br/>Dreamer's thrust sent the doors swinging madly around into the walls.  The glass shattered and the hinges partially came undone, causing the doors to lean at an angle, held open by their own weight.<br/><br/>Six men were in the room, each dressed in a motley assortment of slaves' clothing and stolen finery.  Five of them - large, broad-shouldered laborers - had been leaning against the walls or sitting in nearby chairs.  They all jumped, hands drawing or aiming weapons as Dreamer entered - three blades and two guns.<br/><br/>Dreamer's search was over.  There was a middle-aged bovine woman bound to the bed in a spread-eagle position with strong chains.  She was totally naked.  Her face, breasts, and sex were splotched with blood - some of it her own.  Bloody welts littered her skin, causing her short fur to form ripples.  The exposed skin on her nose and breasts was heavily bruised.  Both sets of lips were cracked and broken.  Her nose was still oozing.  Her eyes were glazed and unmoving, just barely blinking at the noise of Dreamer's appearance.  They didn't even roll over to look at him.  The lumps on her head were the most likely explanation why.<br/><br/>The sixth man - a tall, lanky, weasel-like person with a weathered face and a large, knobby nose - was penetrating Maeve from the end of the bed, his pants hanging around his ankles.  His hair was as light as sand and stood up in soft tufts on his otherwise smooth head.  His spindly arms gripped her thighs as he thrusted forcefully.  Something metallic was on his penis, and it caused more and more blood to flow from Maeve's sex as he rammed her.<br/><br/>Dreamer's entry had caused this man to jump, raising a powerful submachine gun to his hip in reflex.  But when he saw Dreamer and processed who he was, he paused, his member halfway inside Maeve as he stared.<br/><br/>"You!" he shouted, his eyes like white embers.  He staggered back from the bed, tripping on a fold in the rug and falling on his buttocks.  His eyes never left Dreamer as he scooted backwards along the floor, away from him, his weapon aimed.  He stopped and stared, unable to say anything, but obviously straining for words.