Chapter 42
Prima Victoria
Max Skilton sat alone, in the sun, outside Amelia's Tea House on Morpeth Square. Although, thanks to his recent notoriety, he had received formal invitations to 'The Gothic Café', aeronautics's 'Altitude' and the archaeology and history department café 'The Forum', he preferred, right then, a little separation. An escape from all the questions and congratulations was in order.
Furthermore Wang's part in events had been kept secret, thus such invitations had not been extended to him. On the table in front of Max there was a half full coffee pot, two cups; his own used and a second still clean, and a copy of the day's Murderer's Bay Argus. On a chair next to him there sat a large hat box. He stretched a little and not minding the wait over-much, smiled to himself.
Across the way the 'for sale' signs had been taken off the former Parapara River Dredging Company's three-story building. The grime had also been cleaned from the windows on the ground floor and over the last few days a fresh business had quietly set up there. Just now, Max saw with satisfaction, a lady of some class, and her servants entering the new establishment. The faint jangling of the door's bell carried across the busy square to him. The sign above the public door simply read; 'Green Grocer'. When Amelia had brought Max's coffee out she had noted his interest in the shop and commented that the store was run by a kindly old Chinaman. When he had asked if she knew from where he sourced his stock? She had said that it was the best in the city, and she believed that much of it was in fact grown in communal gardens at the Aorere Pā and on other Māori land hereabouts.
Max poured the rest of the coffee into his cup. Wang wouldn't want it cold. He guessed that his friend must have been held up after class, picking Professor Buford-Bennet's brain on some complex point of business accounting, or Professor Wilkinson's on company law. Right now they needed all the knowledge they could get.
Max picked up the paper once more. He had still had a few minutes. Normally he would have been at sparring practice with Julian Roil, but this week all the gothic architects had exams.
The edition made interesting reading. The stories of personal consequence within were maybe more subtle than those of the last week, but intriguing and relevant all the same. Certainly this was the first time in as many days that a photographic of himself had not been on the front page. Today that had been giving to someone entirely different. But still very, very interesting.
Within the paper, it was apparent that Professor of Archaeology Wynyard had finally come to the party, he would have been a fool not to in the face of all the new evidence and intense public interest, and submitted a speculative piece about the likelihood, which he now thought very high, of fleets of Ming Dynasty vessels exploring the southern oceans some four hundred years ago. Max skim read this. The Professor had discussed the main points with him previously.
In the business section there was a brief note about the arrival of a new holding named 'Wanganui, Manchester and Westhaven', of which little was currently known. But that the newcomer to the colony had been involved in a number of land purchases, including Māori land, and the acquirement of a substantial building on Morpeth Square, where they, or so the writer claimed, had set up their offices. It seemed also that the directors of WMW would be remaining in either Sydney or London for the time being and managing their Dominion affairs from afar.
This last point will be a very helpful rumour.
Max knew he had equipped himself well by winning back the allegiance of Rebecca Salasor with a hurriedly whispered promise about the 'story of her career'. She had been intent on ignoring him, but the hook must have been too great. Max wondered if she had believed that he was about to confess to being one of the black masked 'Murderer's Bay Musketeers', a name given by the Argus to the three people who had perpetrated the raid on Wapping Point earlier that year. But the story he told her about their discovery in a cave on the west coast had eclipsed that thread a hundred times over. And his promise was born out.
She had looked beautiful standing in the bow of Dickie's new dirigible, chin and chest thrust heroically into the wind, brown hair swept back, as they crossed back over Mount Hardinger.
Max and Wang had stood at the front with her. Behind them Dickie had the wheel, and beyond him Julius Von Haast, Director of the National Museum, stood with Christopher Wynyard Professor of Archaeology at Victoria University, and Captain Gerald Skilton of the Royal New Zealand Army Corps.
Miss Salasor had further impressed Max in the cave, where she had refused aid during the march in, and indeed did not appear to need it, and had neither quailed at the sight of the Skull Wall or the Dragon's Head.
Beneath that ancient wooden prow, the entire party had fallen silent in the presence of the horde of gold and porcelain. It was still an impressive sight, even though Max, Wang and Dickie had reduced the gold component by over eighty percent, on four previous flights.
Rebecca had broken the story, that Max told her, in the Argus the next day.
Max's brother, Captain Gerald Skilton and Captain Wilks of the Royal Navy had failed to find any trace of a Chinese pirate ship off the coast of Paturau. But they had put the HMS Harrier ashore and the flax workers at Karaka had confirmed witnessing everything unfold as Max had told it. They also added that they had seen someone falling a great height from the dirigible. The body had landed in the forest, below the cliffs, on the far side of the river. Captain Skilton had later dispatched a unit of men from Milnthorpe to search for it.
The Murderer's Bay Argus also included the weekly report on the process of the Haast Pass rail link. As always this was stated as progressing well and ahead of schedule. With this week’s report there was also a note stating that the railway workmen had, on occasion, seen large birds of prey flying low over the southern forests. These would undoubtedly be examples of the Haast Eagle.
Max laid the paper aside again and took a moment to recall some of his favourite passages from Rebecca's earlier articles.
When asked if there was any finders reward Master Skilton smiles self-consciously and says that a small contribution had been made to his study costs. To a question about what might be next for the young archaeologist, he replies good naturedly that he still has the bulk of his studies to complete, but that he may consider a move in residence, next year, into the city. A little something for himself? Maybe a new top hat.
"Good afternoon Mr Skilton." A familiar accented voice interrupted Max's day dreaming.
"Good afternoon captain," he replied, rising quickly. "Would you care to join me? A seat?"
"Thank you, yes. But I vill not detain you for long." Captain von Tempsky took the offered chair and Max returned to his own. "Further congratulations are in order."
"Oh? How so?" asked Max, examining his fencing tutor. "Would you care for a coffee?"
The Captain waved the offer away with his hand.
"I have here ze names of ze team for next year’s tournament in Port Louis-Philippe," he said flourishing a piece of white paper.
"Oh!" Max's heart missed a beat. He hadn't known that the thing was even close to being decided.
"And yes, your name is upon it. Vell done." Von Tempsky pushed the page across the table for Max to read. Which he didn't delay in doing. Julian Roil, no surprise there. Tancred Raxworthy, one of Ginger's, frustrating but understandable. Maximilian Skilton, thank you. Jack Gilstrom, another consistent 'white' fencer. Harriet Leith...
"Thank you Sir. It is an honour," said Max, refolding the paper and sliding it back as he gathered his thoughts. "Sir? I see that Miss Leith's name on the list..."
"Yes. Interesting zat. It seems zat our French friends permit zer ladies to take up ze foil. It would be unsportsman... err unsports-person-like for us not to submit at least one contender." The captain paused for a moment, then added; "I trust zat you vill not find her presences a... distraction."
Max studied the captain. Maybe it was just a Prussian frankness, or simply a skill at the blind stab, maybe only coincidence, but any which way, Max always found the captain's assertions disturbingly close to the mark. No doubt he could remember Max's heated duel with Harriet in class, it had been certainly clear to everyone present that something else had been going on between the pair.
"Ah... no Sir. Not at all," he lied.
"Very good," said the captain, standing again. "I will see you in class. We have much work yet to do."
"Yes, of course. Thank you," responded Max, joining his tutor beside the table. "Sir I see that Gilbert Lavisham's name is not on the list. I thought that he was maybe the best in class."
"No. Unfortunately for Master Lavisham, he vill graduate at ze end of this year and vill zus not be eligible for ze university team next." Max's heart skipped a beat at the good news.
"I see," he said, forcing a small smile from his lips.
"Zis makes you happy?" asked the captain, fixing Max with his grey eyes.
"Ah, no, not at all," lied Max again.
"Still you prefer him out of ze picture?"
"Ah, I don't believe I have anything to fear from Gilbert."
Von Tempsky studied him for a long moment.
"Maybe you should," he said quietly, then standing he added; "Good day to you Mr Skilton."
"Good day, captain."
Max was about to retake his own seat when he saw the paper sitting on the table. He called after Von Tempsky.
"Sir! Have you seen the cover of today's Argus?"
"No I have not," replied von Tempsky, returning the few steps.
"I thought it might be of interest to you," said Max holding up the page.
"An old tattooed Māori," observed the captain of the headline photographic, with no particular interest. "What of it?"
"He isn't a Māori. He is a white man. In fact, he is an American!"
Von Tempsky's eyes narrowed as he studied the image of a man's face, heavily inked with tribal tattoos. Max, having read the article twice summarised the details, watching the captain for reaction all the while.
"He has just turned up in Marlborough, saying that he has lived on the Northern Isle with Māori for the last ten or so years. Said he was taken captive when in the service of the British Army."
"Yes... very interesting," said the captain, a little briskly. "Vell I must be off."
"Name's Kimble Bent," added Max.
The colour drained from von Tempsky's face at the hearing of this name.
"And vay did you vink vat vis would be of particular interest to me?" he asked after a moment.
"Because sir," ventured Max. "I believe that, like this Bent character, you may also have been to the Northern Isle."
Von Tempsky narrowed his eyes and quietly said;
"Young man, I have lived many lives. But have always found it best to occupy myself only vith the present one. May I suggest that you do likewise. Good afternoon Mr Skilton."
"Good afternoon Sir," replied Max, as the captain turned on his heel and walked away. Max worried that he had pushed it too far. Yet von Tempsky seemed to appreciate frankness, at least when he was the one handing it out. Max suspicions only felt confirmed by the captain’s reaction.
Still no sign of Wang.
He'd need to hurry up or they would miss the visiting hour at the hospital. Max had come from the store 'Bennett & Hatchett's Men's Apparel' to meet Wang at Amelia's. The same store where the three friends had hidden from The Five on the day of the Haast Engine trials. Then Max had ordered three hats, today he had collected them. They had planned to meet and take Wiremu's to him at the hospital.
Maybe today they would find their friend well enough to sit up and able to perch his new hat on his head for a moment. Thanks to Grandma Riria.
Max had found her at the Aorere Pā, sitting around a small fire with a gathering of village girls. She had obviously been trying to teach them something but had abandoned the class at Max's interruption. She had listened to his tale and risen quickly at the end, issuing commands to various girls in Māori. One she gathered to her, another she sent away with a long-spoken list. Max recognised a number of items on it as trees or shrubs.
Then Grandma Riria had lead Max, and a girl lugging a large flax bag, at a near run over the plateau from the Pā to the Collingwood Hospital. The doctors there had not stood in her way. It was plain that they had already reached the end of their skill with Wiremu. With tears in her old eyes at what she found, Grandpa Riria had sent them all running for implements and bowls of steaming water. The girl had unpacked the bag, revealing dry leaves, mosses and jars of brown powder. Later the other girl had arrived with a sheaf of fresh green leaves.
That had all been two weeks ago.
Where was Wang!?
Max gathered up the newspaper and his box of hats.
Do I have to come find you?
Back inside the University he wasn't sure exactly where to start, so set off across a court yard toward The Canteen. But he had only taken a few steps when someone called out;
"Skilton! That friend of yours, the Chinese, he's in a fight!"
There's your answer.
Max didn't recognise the student, but followed him toward the Engineering Quad, heart racing.
Not again Wang. But then again you can take care of yourself, you've proven that before.
There was a surprising number of people gathered in the quad. Max ran to the edge of the crowd and thrust his box and newspaper at the first person he encountered.
"Can you hold this?"
"Here he is!" shouted someone nearby.
"Skilton's here!" called another and he was unceremoniously pushed through the parting crowd and into the centre of the gathering. Suddenly alone in the middle it took him a moment to locate Wang, standing at the far side of the open space, arms held tight behind his back. Wang hung his head when he caught sight of Max.
"What is going on?!" demanded Max, looking at the faces of those holding his friend. A couple of them had blood noses, it was clear that Wang had put up a fight before they took him. No one answered.
Then Max realised that they were all... to a man... classical architects. Ginger was there looking smug... Linton Conroy, Tancred Raxworthy... in fact the entire front row of the maybe one hundred strong crowd was made up of Classics.
"What's going on?" repeated Max, feeling himself very much the centre of attention. Another quick inventory of the crowd did not reveal many that he counted as friends.
No Steam Engineers.
Not that they held him with any warmth these days.
Dickie was in his workshop. Wiremu, in hospital. Julian... all the Goth's had exams.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
Suddenly that didn't seem like such a coincidence. But here was all the Classics and over there, to one side, was The Five.
"Let him go Samson," Max called to Ginger. But Rumbold simply shook his head with mock sadness. Then there was movement in the crowd near The Five and someone started speaking...
"What is going on, Master Skilton..." and Gilbert Lavisham strolled out into the open, his gloved hands held behind his back, and a fine black top hat, to match his knee length coat, atop his head. "...is that you have been challenged to a duel."
Max couldn't believe his ears. If it wasn't for the grim look in the eyes of those around him he would have laughed and made light of the claim. Duelling was strictly forbidden within the university grounds. Just then Rebecca Salasor pushed her way into the front rank. Her brown eyes wide with fear.
"By whom!?" demanded Max, looking back at Lavisham.
"Oh not me! Dear boy," chuckled Gilbert. "Fear not. No, no..."
"By me!"
And Kingi Kuratahi broke ranks, leaving his overcoat with Mahuika and the others, and coming on in white shirt sleeves. That was a surprise. Max had always guessed that Kingi would hold no fondness for him, due to his friendship with Wiremu, but the pair had never even spoken.
"You, really!? On what grounds?" Max called back. Presumably Kingi would have been rather sore when he discovered that the Aorere Pā and six other parcels of Māori land which had been sold off at auction to the highest bidder, had effectively been restored back to the people who lived on them. But that couldn't easily be traced back to Max.
"On the grounds that you have defiled my people’s ancient lands and carried off our ancestral treasure!" Kingi was stabbing at Max across the distance with his finger. "I call you thief and desecrater!"
So that is it. You wanted the Chinese gold for yourself.
Still the venom and the degree of strange logic in Kingi's response stocked Max and he took a moment to collect his thoughts before answering.
"You can call me what you want Kingi Kuratahi. But those treasures have always belonged to the people of Te Tau Ihu o Te Waka a Maui, of Mohua and to their protectors the Dominion of New Zealand." Nice answer. A little ironic as most of it is hidden under the floor of Dickie's workshop. "But that is beside the point. We a not permitted to fight within the University."
Certainly, if they tried it outside on the street the constabularies afternoon beat would pick them up in no time.
"Hide behind your sword, not your words or pretty rules. Your slight will be answered."
There was a general mummer of agreement from the classics and Gilbert began walking toward Max, carrying a long black box, which would contain his weapon.
"We could be expelled for this Gilbert," said Max, as the other drew near. But Lavisham didn't answer, and a queer smile curled his lip.
An outcome that you wouldn't mind, no doubt.
Of course, Gilbert would be well aware of all the angles and possible outcomes involved in what was unfolding, he was, after all, acting as Kingi's second.
"I won't fight!" called Max, keenly aware that he wasn't very far into his decree and that he had only just been selected for the university fencing team. He wasn't going to put either of these things in jeopardy.
"Coward!" roared Kingi, and a number of others in the crowd voiced their agreement. Max had never sparred against Kingi, but in class he had always appeared slow and heavy of hand. Max stood his ground and refused to take the sword box from Gilbert. Lavisham shrugged, stepped back and placed the box on the ground in front of Max. Max folded his arms.
"You're a weakling Skilton!" taunted Ginger, pulling Wang's arm further up his back. Max winced as Wang cried out in pain.
"You're a bully Ginger and I'll skin you for it," barked Max, suddenly advancing on the group of classics.
"Max!" screamed Rebecca. Max looked at her, but she was pointing beyond him, at Kingi, who had just opened his own box and taken out a sword.
"If you use that," threatened Max. "It won't be a duel, but an attack!"
"Either way, it's a matter of honour," replied Kingi. A moment later he dropped his shoulder and charged across the quad at Max! The Classical Architects in the crowd gave a great shout.
All around curious students were joining the crowd. Max swallowed. He was tempted to simply stand his ground and call the big Māori's bluff.
Surely he wouldn't attack an unarmed student, duel or not.
But Kingi had his sword up and was coming on fast. Almost too late Max noticed something that made his heart miss a beat, something critical. Kingi wasn't welding a dull practice weapon. But a sharp, silver edged sword! Naked steel! Wang saw it at the same moment and shouted a warning, but Max was already moving.
He dashed forward, crouched by his box, flicked the silver latches up and threw the lid open. Then folding back the black cloths inside he found... a square edged training sword! Horror, sudden and dreadful gripped his stomach. Then, accompanying a deeper realisation, anger flared across his chest and up his neck, making the hairs on his head hot and itchy. Still crouching he stared at Lavisham.
Their eyes meet, and the strange smile was still on his Gilbert's face. Max knew at once that this was no mistake.
Gilbert Lavisham, who did not turn from killing boys in duals, had planned it all. He had orchestrated Max's death.
Harriet, and even Von Tempsky, only moments ago, had warned about this.
Max glared back at his enemy. Gilbert's blue eyes flicked toward the on-rushing Kingi. At once Max reached into the box and his hand closed on the grip of the practice sword. He ripped it upward, half surprised that Lavisham hadn't glued it to the box, and blocked Kingi's downward chop. The first clang of combat rang through the quad, Max rolled away, stood, and the crowd roared with excitement.
On his feet now Max levelled the dull sword and pointed at Kingi's eyes. The pair began slowly circling each other. Max knew that the age pocked length of steel in his hand was next to useless.
Had any of the spectators noticed the imbalance?
It seemed not. But to him it was clear enough. The only part of clean metal on his entire weapon was the silver gack that Kingi's weapon had just made in it. It was only a matter of time before it would be cut in two. In fact, it could very well happen in the next encounter. Which was coming now!
Kingi jump-stepped in, bringing his sword down in another crushing blow. Max took it on his weapon and pushed it aside. The sword held. But it wouldn't take much of that kind of punishment. Max knew he had to tie up Kingi's weapon with small, fast, complex actions that would prevent him from having the space to make big, hard hacks.
He sprung in, tapping aside Kingi's sword, using his wrist, making the other fence small, foil style, not allowing him the room or the time to make a swing. Kingi deflected the thrusts, just.
Then springing back, he swung again. His sword came round fast, intent on gutting Max. Who arched his back and sucked his stomach in, allowing the sharp point to zip past itches from his soft mid-section, leaving him un-harmed, and having as much effect as if Kingi was still standing on the distant Northern Isle.
But the swing left the Māori over extended and Max thrust in to rap him on the rips with the blunt tip of his sword. At once there was a cry from the onlookers, that quickly died away when they realised that the blow had been landed without effect.
Max was in the 'fencer's tunnel' focused only on the movements of his opponent, the gentle waving at the razor end of his sword, the turn of his feet, the tension in the shoulders before he attacked, the widening of the eyes as it began. Still, he sensed the mummer that had begun among the onlookers at his failure to draw Kingi's blood.
Maybe some of them are starting to understand.
Kingi rubbed the pain out of his side with his free hand and the circling began again. He had just experienced the worst Max would be able to dish out.
Two minutes later Max's sword was notched in a dozen places, but still holding.
Kingi came in chopping down from on-high again, Max stepped back, let the sword pass down his mid-line before following it with his own, right down, pushing it to the ground even and pinning it there underneath his sword. The crouching pair locked eyes for a moment before Kingi balled his left fist and smashed Max in the jaw.
Max staggered back and managed to stand again. The crowd gasped at the rough action. Max rubber his chin with his left hand.
"So that's how it's going to be," he said, watching Kingi. To the side Rebecca and Wang appeared pale. Kingi was puffing a little, his nostrils flaring. Max drove in, refusing to let Kingi have any advantage from the cruel blow. Again they fought in the close style that Max chose as safest for his battered sword. But Kingi's blows quickly became stronger and bigger. Gritting his bleeding teeth Max fenced on.
Then it happened. The top third of his sword came off, sliced in two, and clattered across the paving stones. An evil smile spread across Kingi's face.
Until that point Max hadn't had a great deal of trouble defending himself from his advisory’s attacks. Things would be very different now. Some of the student watchers, who had come late, and held no particular allegiance to either fighter started to shout;
"Call it off Lavisham. Fair fight is over!"
But Gilbert ignored them, and the Classics shouted them down. Max knew he was in trouble now. Kingi came in with renewed confidence.
Again Max meet him and parried his blows. Now those who had become uncomfortable with the unevenness of the dual began to cheer Max's every success. And he gave them a show, not that such things, indeed anything beyond his own survival mattered at that moment. On and on they battled, Max turning aside each and every one of the deadly swings with his own useless steel stick.
He had no real plan for how to bring the combat to a close. Again his clouded mind had little space for anything other than the next parry. Thankfully Kingi appeared to be tiring. Still he came in again. Then in the midst of a flurry of blows, Kingi tried the 'hand feint', his white palm flashing suddenly down by his belt! Max blinked once, his mind registered the ploy, but refused to be distracted. Kingi's sword point snaked toward Max's throat, but he turned it aside.
Ha! Ya Lug! Harriet showed me that!
He realised then that she had both warned him about this very moment and prepared him for it! This thought distracted him more than the feint ever could. Kingi seemed enraged. Possibly due to the fact that both the blunt sword plant and now the hand feint had failed him in dispatching Max. He reverted to brute force.
Max staggered under the hail of viscous blows. Then there was a wet splash and somewhere a woman screamed. Maybe Rebecca, Max's couldn't tell, he was so far in the tunnel. Kingi stepped back.
Max rolled his eyes, a sea gull had soiled on him, right down his front! He looked down at the wet mess. But it was ruby red. Then his left cheek started to string something awful.
"No!" screamed Wang, still in the arms of his captors.
Max's sword dropped from his hands. He looked across at Kingi, who was panting and watching him closely. Slowly he raised a shaking white hand to his face. The left side felt different, there was an unfamiliar trench down it that his fingers fell into. They came away stained red, and for a moment he thought of Wiremu.
Then blood, in big dips, blinded his left eye and splattered down onto the dry flag stones. Max felt like his head had been cleaved in two.
Maybe it had.
He had little way of knowing.
I need a bandage! I need a bandage!
He fumbled in his waste-coat pocket and his weak, bloody, fingers closed on something. He pulled and out came the corner of a large black kerchief, one from the box of a hundred that Wiremu had given him for his birthday. The same that they had worn to hide their faces when raiding the Pou whenua from the old Pā on Wapping Point.
He stopped for a second weighing the implications of what he was about to do. Then he tugged on the corner and shook out the black square, quickly winding it around his head, pulling it tight so that everything beneath his eyes were hidden. The fabric darkened still as it wicked up his blood.
"I knew it!" he heard Rebecca gasp nearby, but not with triumph now, more the sound of defeat. At the same moment The Five suddenly blew air out of their months in a loud angry hiss, their eyes going wide in protest or recognition. Something about that gave Max strength.
The black kerchief! The Murderer's Bay Musketeers! The Gibbstown Three!
With his good eye squinted against the pain Max looked at Kingi. Then with the sound of his own heart pulsing inside his head, he bent and retrieved the fallen sword.
He clenched his teeth in pain. He was running now. Running straight for Kingi, the tip of his broken sword scrapping on the stones, grating and sparking. His ears were buzzing, the tunnel had closed in so narrow. He knew he was moments from passing out. But it didn't matter.
He could hear adults shouting now, professors, maybe Von Tempsky;
"Vot is the meaning of zis!!? Vot is the meaning of zis?!!" But that didn't matter either. He could only see Kingi's sneering face at the end of the tunnel. Kingi's and Gilbert's. Gilbert who, through the Northerner, had just tried to kill him... maybe succeeded. He'd been warned, by... by someone. All he could feel was the speedy seeping away of his energy.
Then, at the last, he whipped the broken practice sword upwards and Kingi only just managed to use his own weapon to stop himself from being impaled on the jagged end. Now Max matched and even overwhelmed Kingi's desperate style, coming at him like a fury, raining blows, hacking, slashing, pushing, driving the big man's guard back and back, closer to his face. Kingi gave ground, first a step, then two, three, and then Max kicked, not beyond his advisories opening punch, his foot connected and Kingi fell back onto his rump!
Max was over him at once, the end of his sword hovering before the downed man's face. The crowd was silent. Even the teachers had stopped shouting. All eyes were on the black masked man, with the broken sword, the blood drenched shirt and the dark pony tail.
"Stay down!" croaked Max. "Stay down!"
But to his horror, it was his right knee that gave way, so that he was suddenly kneeling like a man about to be knighted. His very last strength left, and his sword slid off its target. His vision swam and the buzzing in his ears increased. He saw the smile return to Kingi's face and a moment later the almost defeated Northerner was starting to pick himself up again. There was nothing left in Max, nothing he could do. His sword wobbled and dropped.
Then, at the very last, he heard a distinctive metallic click, saw a quick movement of red hair beyond, and Kingi found Harriet Leith's pepperbox revolver pressed into the back of his sweaty head.
Right before Max finally fell unconscious he heard her growl;
"Max said; stay down!"
THE END
The Dominion Saga continues in:
THE DOMINION: GUNHEAD
THE DOMINION: RAILMASTER
and finally
THE DOMINION: DARK WAR