him just behind the lobe of his ear. "Besides, we killed two-"
"Three," said Comrade Wilfried, who was still monitoring the airwaves. "The other, uh, policeman just died." He swallowed.
Anneke clapped her hands in delight. "You see?"
"I killed somebody too," said the boy's voice from behind Hartmann. Just the sound of it filled Puppetman with energy. Easy, easy, Hartmann cautioned his other half, wondering, do I have this one? Is it possible to create a puppet without knowing it? Or is he constantly emoting at such a pitch that I can feel it without having the link?
The power didn't answer.
The leather boy shuffled forward. Hartmann saw he was hunchbacked. A joker?
"Comrade Dieter," the teenager said. "I offed himbrrr-like that!" He held his hands up in front of him and suddenly they were vibrating like a powersaw blade, a blur of lethality.
An ace! Hartmann's own breath hit him in the chest. The vibration stopped. The boy showed yellow teeth around at the others. They were very quiet.
Through the pounding in his ears Hartmann heard a scrape of tubular metal on wood as the man in the coat got up from his chair. "You killed someone, Mackie?" he asked mildly. His German was a touch too perfect to be natural. "Why?"
Mackie tucked his head down. "He was an informer, Comrade," he said sidelong. His eyes jittered between Wolf and the other. "Comrade Wolf ordered me to take him into custody. But he-he tried to kill me! That was it. He pulled a gun on me and I buzzed him off." He brandished a vibrating hand again.
The man came slowly forward where Hartmann could see him. He was medium height, dressed well but not too well, hair neat and blond. A man just on the handsome side of nondescriptness. Except for his hands, which were encased in what appeared to be thick rubber gloves. Hartmann watched them in sudden fascination.
"Why wasn't I told of this, Wolf?" The voice stayed level, but Puppetman could hear an unspoken shout of anger. There was sadness too-the power was pulling it in, no question now. And a hell of a lot of fear.
Wolf rolled heavy shoulders. "There was a lot going on this morning, Comrade Molniya. I learned that Dieter planned to betray us, I sent Mackie after him, things got out of hand. But everything's all right now, everything's going fine."
Facts dropped into place like tumblers in a lock. Molniya--lightning. Suddenly Hartmann knew what had happened to him in the -limousine. The gloved man was an ace, who'd used some kind of electric power to shock him under.
Hartmann's teeth almost splintered from the effort it took to bite back the terror. An unknown ace! He'll know me, find me out....
His other self was ice. He doesn't know anything. But how can you know? We don't know his powers. He's a puppet.
It was a fight to keep his face from matching his emotion. How the hell can that be?
I got him when he shocked me. Didn't even have to do anything; his own power fused our nervous systems for a moment. That's all it took.
Mackie squirmed like a puppy caught peeing on the rug. "Did I do right, Comrade Molniya?"
Molniya's lips whitened, but he nodded with visible effort. "Yes ... under the circumstances."
Mackie preened and strutted. "Well, there it is. I executed an enemy of the Revolution. You're not the only ones." Anneke clucked and brushed fingertips across Mackie's cheek. "Preoccupied with the search for individual glory, Comrade? You're going to have to learn to watch those bourgeois tendencies if you want to be part of the Red Army Fraction."
Mackie licked his lips and slunk away, flushing. Puppetman felt what was going on inside him, like the roil beneath the surface of the sun.
What about him? Hartmann asked.
Him too. And the blond jock as well. They both handled us after the Russian shocked you. That jolt made me hypersensitive.
Hartmann let his head drop forward to cover a frown. How could all this happen without my knowledge?
I'm your subconscious, remember? Always on the job.
Comrade Molniya sighed and returned to his seat. He felt hairs rise on the back of his hands and neck as his hyperactive neurons fired off. There was nothing he could do about low-level discharges such as this; they happened of their own accord under stress. It was why he wore glovesand why some of the more lurid tales they told around the Aquarium about his wedding night had damned near come to pass.