"I was needed here." The angel rose too. "Thank you for your help. I couldn't have-"
"Fuck-all, if you say you couldn't have done this without me, I'm going to find out what it takes to dismember one of your type." Few things frightened Welch, but this just might be one of them. I don't need to know any more about what you're doing. If you're not trying to treble my torment, you're still doing a damned good job of it."
"Damned, yes. But not without free will." said Altos as the angel glided toward the tent-flap.
"A lot of good that s going to do me with the Agency when I try to explain this."
"Don't," said the angel, and the parting word of advice hung in the breeze long after Altos was gone. Hung there, in fact, until Tanya arrived, her eyes fall of shadows and Che's plight on her lips.
"Look, Tanya," Welch said, "don't talk to me about your old boyfriend. You do whatever you want, where he's concerned. Send him through the System again; if you want. Anything. Just don't bother me with it. I've got to see Alexander.
"Send Che through the System? But then Authority will know what. . .
"That's right," said Welch savagely. "What happened here. I'm just glad I didn't give the damned orders. And I've got to make sure we can say that about Nichols, too. Suss it out. Prove to yourself that Maccabee and the angel cooked this up, that we were just pawns. I'd rather have the whole Admin building know I got caught with my pants down than take the blame for this one."
"I know," said Tanya, rubbing her eyes with the back of one hand. "I know.
Nichols was right, though-no casualties. We're all okay. Achilles says the chopper can make it back to New Hell; . ." Her eyes were pleading.
"And your boyfriend?"
"Come on, Welch, you know that's not fair. He can't hurt anyone, the shape he's in.
Reassignments didn't keep him off the playing field the last time; we don't have to. Let's just go home."
"Fine. Get everybody packed into the chopper - just the team, no passengers. I'll meet you." He ducked out of the tent.
"Where are you going?" Tanya called after him.
"Got to see a man about a horse."
Alexander of Macedon lay in Maccabee's tent, listening to the triumph in Judah's voice more than to his words.
Alexander had made a bargain. He had a task to accomplish, men to lead. Judah assured him that this was so. And it had been relatively bloodless, because of Welch's people. Bloodless was always better, when men are brought together by ideals.
He'd made bloody mistakes, in life, at moments like these. He appreciated the restraint that Welch's forces had displayed. So when Welch came to thank him, Alexander allowed the New Dead leader a private audience, even though Maccabee scowled and said, "I'll be right outside if you need me, Alexander."
"I won't," said the Macedonian. And, to Welch: "Sit. We have much to talk of. Old wars on the beach at Ilion. New wars of liberation. There's no need to thank me."
Welch did not sit. The man in tiger camouflage put his hands on his hips and said. "Tell me you're not going to get sucked into this mess. You're too good a strategist to be the next sacred cow here. Look what it did to Guevara."
"Guevara did that to Guevara. And perhaps the woman called Tanya helped. Women can do that to some men. But I am Alexander. These men need me. I have given my word to lead them,"
"Lead them where? Why? How? For how long? Welch was nearly shouting, an odd thing in a man whose voice tended to drop when he was intent. "You're too smart for this trick, no matter which side's at the bottom of it Don't do this, Alexander. I don't want you for an enemy."
"Nor I you," said the Macedonian, and rose because his guest would not sit, so that Welch would not be guilty of standing in the presence of a reclining Great King. And held out his hand in the New Dead gesture of friendship. "But as I said, I have given my word. These men want a leader. They have chosen me."
Welch did not take Alexander's hand. "Again, where're you going to lead them? To what end?"
"Freedom is what they want. A fairer, more just land in which to ... live."
Alexander's hand, extended in friendship, did not waver. He thought of the one called Just Al, who had called upon him to champion the Dissidents' cause. And Maccabee, who loved causes.
"You fool," Welch said, shaking his head. "I shouldn't waste my breath. . . .
Look, what're you going to do, ride into New Hell and camp on the Devils doorstep? Join the government? Even that won't do it. These bastards have got exactly the Hell they deserve. And I've got a chopper waiting." Finally, Welch met Alexander's hand with his, and shook it, his grip manly in its strength.
"Go with luck," said the Macedonian as he broke the clasp. "Remember, you have friends here. You may count on that."
"Yeah, and you can count on us, too . . . when you have trouble with Mithridates and Tigellinus and that lot." A sour grimace crossed Welch's face.
"Look, Alex, you're a good fighter, a brave man, a-"
"Living God."
"Right. You don't know what you're getting into. Politics, around here, is a deeper sewer than you know. And it leads right to the Pentagram. You haven't got a snowball's chance in hell of making this thing work."
"This is not what Just Al thinks," Alexander said as Welch, without another word or a proper farewell, turned to leave.
Alexander watched the swaying tent-flap that had fallen back in Welch's wake, and wondered if what the New Dead agent said was true, until Maccabee called him out to attend the celebration in his honor and meet his new and loyal followers.
There were so many of them, and the celebration was so noisy in its gaiety, that Alexander didn't even hear the chopper as it flew away.