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transgenics.
    Then, from the darkness, other armed transgenics emerged on nearby rooftops and on either flank of the policemen. The eerie, half-lit forms of these feared freaks could only give the police pause ... and there were more and more of the figures....
    The only escape route for the cops was to their rear. And by the time all the transgenics made their appearance known, over one hundred of them had the officers in then-crosshairs.
    Max could see on Clemente's face the realization that his forces were hopelessly outgunned.
    "You can try to arrest us all," she suggested affably, her arms widening to include the whole group, "but you guys might want to call it a night... and go have a beer."
    Clemente needed only a second to make up his mind. "Back it up! Outside the fence, people. Let's go, move it back!"
    The officers looked from the transgenics to their leader, then started looking at one another.
    "Now!" Clemente yelled.
    Cops began holstering their weapons, jumping into cars, and soon police cruisers were moving in every direction as they tried to find the fastest way out of Terminal City. As the long line of cars broke and headed for the gate, Clemente watched them for a moment, then gingerly holstered his pistol and turned toward Max. Walking slowly, he crossed the short distance to her.
    Barely a foot from her, he said, "You kept today from turning into a bloodbath ... and I respect that..."

    She gave him a slight nod. "You held up your end too."
    The detective's face remained a solemn mask. "... but you haven't won anything. This is going to get ugly ... and it's way over my head now. These people's lives depend on the decisions you make next."
    Their eyes locked.
    He went on: "And I pray you make the right ones ..."
    She stared at him, waiting.
    "... Max."
    She was unprepared for the swell of pride she got when he said her name. Why couldn't more of the "ordinaries" be like this one? Yes, they were adversaries—those lines had been drawn long ago. But in the tone of that one syllable, "Max," she could tell they were not enemies.
    Turning on his heel, Clemente got into his car, dropped it into reverse, and backed out of the building toward the gate of Terminal City.
    The lights of the car weren't even out of sight before Mole—ever the hotheaded activist—went to work. "Escape and evade. We divide into teams, pick a compass point, and go to ground."
    Max surprised even herself when the words jumped out of her mouth: "No!... We stay here."
    Mole spun to face her, his harsh-sounding voice even harsher than usual. "In a couple of hours that perimeter'11 be totally locked down... tanks, National Guard, and every cop within a hundred miles."
    Stepping forward, Dix—a transgenic with a face like a pile of lumpy mashed potatoes and a half-assed goggle-cummonocle strapped to his one good eye—said, "We'll be digging our own grave."
    "Mole's right," said Luke, a transgenic with a cue ball for a head, red bags under his black eyes, and huge flaps over his tiny ears. "We move now, they won't be able to catch us all."
    "Where are you going to go?" Max asked, then turning her attention to the misfit throng, she added, "Look—I can't stop anyone from leaving. But I'm through running and hiding and being afraid." Making her point with a forceful pirouette, she said, "I'm not gonna live like that anymore. Aren't you tired of living in darkness?"
    She saw a few nods and heard a few scattered mumbles of agreement.
    "Don't you want to feel the sun on your face? Don't you want to have a place of your own? A place where you can walk down the street without being afraid?"
    The noises of agreement grew louder.
    "They made us and they trained us to be soldiers ... to defend this country. It's time they face us and take responsibility for us instead of trying to sweep us away like garbage. We were made in America. And we aren't going anywhere."
    Original Cindy, nodding, said, "Speak your word."
    Max looked at her for a split