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Not if she stopped it.

“Thank you, Chris,” Gaia said as she began moving down the street.

“Wait, where are you going?” he laughed.

“I'm going to fix it,” she called back to him. “I'm going to fix it all right now.”

He hadn't counted on the glimpse of her tangled hair out of the corner of his eye.

A Decision

GAIA RAN DOWN THE EMPTY SIDEWALK
on East Twenty-first Street. It was early evening, and the dusk light was fading. The small brownstone apartment buildings all had smooth stone faces, and their windows reflected the pale sky. It was a beautiful neighborhood, there was no two ways about it—and extremely expensive. When Robert Rodke had said that he'd “dragged” Dr. Ulrich away from Princeton University, he must have used a checkbook to do the dragging.

Gaia had made up her mind.

It was as simple as that: she'd come to a decision. All by herself, thinking it through, she'd reasoned what she had to do. Sure, Ed's message—the crazy warning from Heather Gannis, of all people—had made a difference. So had Chris Rodke's strong words. But in the end, this was
her
decision.

She had had enough.
No more,
she thought firmly. No more danger for herself and her friends and family. No more threat of being different from everyone else. It had been way too long.

I'm sorry, Heather. I'm sorry they scared you, whoever they were. But it's ending now.

Gaia was looking at the addresses, trying to find Dr. Ulrich's house. There were loud party sounds coming from one of the brownstones across the street—a fairly rambunctious cocktail party, it
sounded like. Getting closer, Gaia realized that the sounds were coming from the Ulrich residence.

Here goes,
Gaia thought, crossing the street toward the house. There was no traffic. The quiet street was entirely still, except for the party sounds.

Gaia wondered if she would always remember this day the rest of her life. She realized that she probably would. Looking back over all of it she was amazed: all the love and hate and fighting and running and struggling, the life of a girl who had done nothing to deserve any of it, who had just been born without the fear gene.

Am I doing the right thing, Mom?
Gaia thought, climbing the brownstone steps. She had no way of knowing what her mother would have said had she been there. But she thought that she knew. Gaia's mother would have wanted her to be happy. That was all.

Gaia's mother would have understood.

The street was so peaceful and still, it was like an oil painting. Gaia could see lots of men and women inside the brownstone's living room, inside the curtained windows.

And what would her father say? Gaia realized she didn't know.
Guess what, Dad? I'm finally free.
Would he hug her and say that he loved her and that she'd done the right thing? Gaia was sure of it. She knew that she was guessing, but still, she was sure.

Finally free.

Gaia rang the doorbell.

It took a moment, and then the big, glossy door swung open. The party sounds got much louder. A handsome middle-aged woman in a green dress stood there, holding a glass of white wine. Behind her, Gaia could see dozens of men and women, the men in suits, the women in dresses. All were talking and laughing; piano music was coming from somewhere.

The woman looked at Gaia dubiously. “Yes?” she said.

“I'm here to see Dr. Ulrich,” Gaia said steadily. “I need to talk to him.”

“I'm sorry,” the woman said. She wore diamond earrings, Gaia saw. She had a thick German accent. “The doctor is busy right now. We are hosting friends, as you see.”

“Please tell him it's Gaia Moore,” Gaia said, “and it's important. He'll understand.”

The woman frowned at Gaia and then held up a finger and gently eased the door closed. Gaia stood and waited. In the distance a car horn honked. She could hear the voices of the partygoers, discussing whatever middle-aged adults discussed at parties.

The door opened again. Dr. Ulrich stood there. He wore an expensive-looking double-breasted suit and a red silk tie. His hair was neatly combed. The suit made him look even shorter somehow.

“Ms. Moore,” Dr. Ulrich said. “What a pleasant surprise. We are entertaining, as you can see; it is not the most convenient—”

“It's
my
blood,” Gaia said.

Dr. Ulrich stared back at her.

“The blood I gave you,” she went on. “The strange chromosome. It's me.”

She expected him to look surprised, but oddly, he didn't. “Yes,” he said evenly.

“I was born without it,” Gaia went on. “That gene. And it's ruined my whole life.”

“Yes. . . yes,” Ulrich said. Again he seemed lost in thought, as he had at his laboratory before.

“You knew it was me?” Gaia was surprised.

“Of course!” Ulrich frowned severely. “Do you think me a fool? Blond hair, blue eyes, right-handed. . . I was looking directly at your
chromosomes,
young lady. You cannot hide under such circumstances. It was clearly your blood.”

“Oh.” Gaia hadn't thought of that. “Listen, I won't keep you. But there's a reason I'm here. I want—I want you to fix it. I want you to do what you said before: I want you to make me normal. To make me whole.”

Ulrich stood there, just outside his glossy front door, staring at her. The party sounds continued inside. The sky was dimmer now; evening was advancing.

“You understand,” Ulrich said, “that such a procedure cannot be reversed.”

“Yes.”

“This is not a trivial matter, Ms. Moore. And further,
think of the benefits of your unusual condition,” Ulrich went on. “There is no shame in being different. The spectrum of human variation is a splendid benefit to us all. Every person, regardless of their strengths and weaknesses, is part of the tapestry of the human species. And it is a remarkable thing. . . to have no fear. It makes you a most special person. Think of what you can achieve if you—”

“No,” Gaia said. “No. You don't know what it's like. You don't have any way of knowing. I've been living with this all my life. I'm done with it.”

And hearing herself say it, Gaia realized that she'd never been as sure of anything in her life.
I'm done with it—for good.

Ulrich sighed heavily. He took off his glasses and started cleaning them. When he turned his brown eyes on Gaia, they seemed startlingly piercing and direct.

“I must ask that you do something,” Ulrich said. “For my own conscience. I'm afraid this is not negotiable; it is a condition that you must agree to.”

“All right,” Gaia said dubiously. She had no idea what Ulrich was going to ask for. Money? The chance to publish his results? The opportunity to have colleagues in the scientific community observe his work as he showed off the famous “fearless” girl?

But what Ulrich said next took Gaia completely by surprise.

“Ms. Moore, I must ask that you find somebody whom you trust,” Ulrich said. “Someone close to you. A parent or a friend or a loved one of some kind. And when you find that person, go to him or her and ask what they think. Ask for their counsel, their advice. Ask this person to please think about what you are about to do and tell you if it is advisable.”

“But I can't do that,” Gaia argued. “I can't reveal what—”

“Then I will not proceed.” Ulrich put his glasses back on. “That is that. I will not perform such a drastic, irreversible procedure on the basis of a teenager's whim, no matter how passionately you want it. I must insist that you get advice.”

“But—”

“Find someone you trust, Gaia,” Ulrich urged. He had stepped closer; Gaia could barely see the details of his silk tie in the fading light. The tie was decorated with tiny DNA strands, she saw. Very clever. “Find this person and get his or her advice. Once you have done this and you are
sure,
then come find me at the hospital, where we are completing our genetic lab facility.”

“Okay.”

“And I will give you fear,” Ulrich concluded. “Fair enough?”

“Fair enough,” Gaia said softly. “Thank you.”

“I must rejoin my guests,” Ulrich said, his hand on
the doorknob. “I would invite you in, but you are not of the drinking age, are you?”

“That's right,” Gaia said. It was nearly dark now—the city's evening wind was picking up. “I'm sorry to bother you at home, Dr. Ulrich. Thanks for everything.”

“Just do what I have asked,” Ulrich said. He pulled open his door—the bright light and party sounds flooded out. “And perhaps we shall see each other again soon.”

Gaia had nothing to say. She stood there on the brownstone steps as the door closed, and then she turned away, gazing at the street, and began to move down the wide steps and away toward the boardinghouse—toward home.

I've had a kind of a revelation.

Maybe that's too strong a word. Call it just a “realization.” Anyway, I've figured something out.

My great curse—and I'll carry it with me the rest of my life—is that I remember everything I've done. For years I was somebody else: a loathsome, despicable man named Loki, who ruthlessly masterminded a criminal organization. In that role, which was forged out of my immature bitterness and fury when I was young, I shamelessly manipulated and exploited all the people around me. Some of those people were pawns-henchmen, spies, assassins, scientists-and some of them were my loved ones. My family, my closest kin. My brother. My brother's wife. My niece.

It wasn't hard. I turned my intelligence to the task, and I figured out a foolproof system. I called it “the first principle,”
because that's how it was taught to me. In my supreme arrogance I congratulated myself for my brilliance. I turned everyone so that they worked for me, even though they thought they were working for themselves.

It was wrong. It was evil.

But I'm still doing it.

Look at me now. I'm trying to save Gaia because she's in danger. Am I capable of saving her? I think so. Am I willing, determined to protect her? More than anything. She's my brother's daughter. I owe her my life. Yes, I owe her everything. She's my one chance to make up for all the harm I've done.

So I
must
save her. I
can
save her.

Whoever those two vermin are—Rowan and Morrow—and whoever they're working for, they won't get near her.

But what have I done so far?

Nothing. Nothing that's effective. All I've done is convince her that I'm unhinged. I've wandered around Manhattan like a
middle-aged fool, showing up at her boardinghouse and trying to convince her to believe me.

It's just “the first principle” again. Get her on my side. Persuade her that I'm right. It's Loki all over again.

I'm being stupid.

I'm acting like some kind of self-obsessed would-be mentor, thinking that I have to
convince
her of something, when what I should be doing is using my real resources. I spent
years
building my network of operatives. Skilled men and women in complex, secret “sleeper” networks, who will do what I need them to do.

Since I got rid of Loki—and abandoned everything that name meant—I've avoided using them whenever possible. I thought that reactivating my networks would be the same as becoming Loki again.

But that's stupid, like I said. Loki wasn't Loki because of a few henchmen. He was who he was because of his arrogance—his belief that he could change people's minds. But I
never really changed Gaia's mind about anything. No, I can't change Gaia's mind.

But I can protect her.

That's what I'll do. What am I afraid of? My team is still there. These people are willing to wait for years between marching orders. Our communications systems are foolproof. All I have to do is pick up the phone and say some code words, and I'm back in business.

It doesn't mean I'm Loki. It just means I'm using the resources at my disposal. And it's for such a good cause—the urgent need to protect my wonderful, beautiful, irreplaceable niece.

Sure.

Did I call it a curse—the fact that I remember everything I've done? That's wrong. Yes, I still wake up screaming in the night, burdened by nightmares of the crimes I've committed. I remember all of that clearly.

But that's not all I remember. I remember my operatives' passwords
and activation codes.

And I'm going to use them. I'm going to put my pieces on the board. I'm going to use my men to protect Gaia. They'll follow her, spy on her, and report where she goes. And if she gets into trouble, I'll be ready to save her. It doesn't matter whether she trusts me or not. That's just arrogance. What's important is results.

Like I said, I've had a realization.

I'll pick up the phone, and in just a few hours Gaia will have a dozen secret angels protecting her.

I should have done this long ago.

A Chorus of Sopranos

SOMETIMES THE PARK WAS THE ONLY
place Ed could go to clear his mind and think. It calmed him somehow, particularly when everything was in full swing, which today it was. A crowd had gathered by the shut-down fountain to watch Magic Bob do his act. The chess tables were packed. The hippies had gathered in a circle up on the grass to listen to one of their tie-dyed brothers play a medley of Phish and Grateful Dead tunes. The benches were lined with NYU intellectuals, flipping through the dog-eared used books they'd just bought at the Strand. And most importantly, there were the skaters.

Ed had pretty much sworn off skating after his accident, but that didn't make it any less beautiful to watch. Sometimes, when one of the kids pulled off a perfect maneuver, Ed could actually feel it. It was the ultimate sense memory: his feet pressed against the board, the sound of the wind flying by his ears as he prepped for the landing. . . .