The aching in her legs grew, her lungs burning in her chest like twin embers. She listened for the steady thump-thump of the spider-truck pursuing her, but heard nothing yet. Just when she began to think she might actually make it to freedom, she heard a yipping sound from somewhere to her right, and the noise of something running up behind her.

She risked a quick glance over her shoulder, and nearly stumbled in fright. Two mogs were closing in on her from either side: half-human, half-canine hybrids, bipedal like a human being but dumb, vicious and short-lived.

Not to mention wildly, incredibly illegal. Megan had once seen a mog rip a mans throat out within seconds.

They were closing in on her fast, and she knew she could never outrun them. But the thought of those long snouts equipped with their rows of gleaming teeth spurred her to even greater effort.

Damn Sifra. Damn him to hell. And damn Bash for losing his mind.

She suddenly stumbled, falling to the ground with a yell, and stuck out both her arms in a desperate bid to protect herself. The sleek grey bodies of her pursuers darted all around her, jaws snapping at the bare flesh of her throat but never quite coming close enough. She saw, at close quarters, humanoid hands tapering into long, black claws. She screamed in panic again, convinced she was about to die in a particularly horrible and unpleasant fashion.

Just then, a sharp, high-pitched sound cut through the air. Suddenly, the creatures pulled away, crouching on the soil nearby and continuing to watch her with hungry intent. The worst thing about them, she decided, were the eyes because they were the most human-looking part of all.

Do you know how easy it would be for me, said the Freeholder, as he stood over her once more, to just let them rip you apart?

Call them off, Megan managed to croak. Please.

He whistled twice, pointing at each mog in turn. The creatures stood up in response, their long, pointed ears twitching as they rose from their skulls. They both turned and ran back towards the luxurious estate.

Maybe this time, said the Freeholder, unslinging his rifle and aiming it at her, youll be prepared to go where I tell you.

He led her back, past the parked spider-truck, and through the nearby gate, before guiding her inside an arched doorway. Megan found herself in a cool, dark interior with whitewashed walls and low-standing couches. Soft rugs and cushions lay scattered all around and, even though the building seemed otherwise deserted, a hidden projector filled the space with low-resolution holograms of intertwining naked forms. The air smelled of sweat, mingled with the burned-honey aroma of sans de sezi. They continued on down some steps into a starkly lit basement.

After you, he said, opening a heavy steel door and motioning her inside.

At first, Megan thought the room was empty.