It was Tuesday. The men had been at work for two hours. Victor was so absorbed in the spectacle of his boss bending over that he did not notice that the roar of aircraft taking off from the runways had stopped.

Komatsu stood and stretched in a stunning display, his beefy arms sweeping up high over his head, his clawed toes sinking into the earth as he rose onto their tips. Reaching for his can of soda -- a monster-sized tank provided for free by the Pepsi Cola company for its unparalleled advertising value -- he stopped to rest, one arm draped lazily on the uppermost floor of the building. He gazed idly at the gawkers crawling past in their cars and smiled, favoring them with a little nod. Then the soda can paused at his lips. His eyes squinted toward the horizon and he frowned. "Victor," he thundered, "Turn on the radio, please. Something's happening."

"Got it, Boss!" Snapped from his daydream, Victor wheeled his chair back and switched on his battered clock radio. There should have been music at that hour, but instead there were confused and panicked voices, a background of frightful screams, sputtered reports of aircraft and hijackers, and of something unimaginable. Victor sat in stunned silence for several moments, his mind struggling to conceive of what the quavering voices on the radio were telling him, and then he leaped to his feet and seized a ring of metal that hung on a brass chain from the ceiling. With a firm pull a piercing whistle brought work to an abrupt halt outside. Victor ran to the window and stammered out the news to the men, who immediately started to scramble down from their stations and rushed to the trailer to hear for themselves.

The office filled rapidly. Those who could not fit inside milled around between Komatsu's feet and strained to hear the radio through the trailer's window. A few muttered curses, and here and there a choked grunt as someone tried to swallow a sob, but mostly they stood in silence, glancing at one another with anxious eyes as if begging for some reassurance that this was all a bad dream. The sheer magnitude of the event defied comprehension. As the news reports grew more coherent it became clear that an act of savagery had been committed on a scale never before seen in this land. New York, not once but twice, and then Washington, innocent souls turned into weapons for the murder of thousands of others.

"Great Chane!" Komatsu's voice rocked the trailer from above. "One is falling!"

Startled exclamations erupted from the crew and then quickly died down as the radio announcer's strained voice confirmed the news. Other than the crackling radio there was no sound in the room. The men barely breathed as they listened to the worsening news. Agonizing minutes passed, filled with reports of casualties among rescue workers and of the tens of thousands who were thought to still be in the stricken towers.

Suddenly the ground lurched beneath them. The trailer rocked, sending papers sliding off of Victor's desk and cascading to the floor. Several of the men cried out in alarm. One of them, new to the company, blurted out, "Jesus, it's another plane!"

"Cool it," Victor said calmly. "It's just Komatsu."

There was another jarring crash and Komatsu's leg appeared outside the window on the opposite side of the trailer. "Where's he going?" someone shouted as every man tried to keep his footing on the shifting floor.

"Damned if I know." Victor pushed his way to the window and stared as the blue giant crossed the site with four great strides and stepped over the wall. Horns blared from the turnpike beyond as Komatsu bent down, his head dropping briefly out of sight. When he straightened up he carried a full-sized tour bus between his hands. Its door hung open; there was no sign of passengers or a driver.

The men piled out of the office as Komatsu stepped back over the wall and crouched, setting the bus down before them. "I just saw the second tower fall," he said grimly. "There are going to be people trapped. They are going to need skilled hands to get to them." He tapped the roof of the bus loudly with a clawed finger. "Time-and-a-half for any man who wants to go with me."

Even before he made the offer men were climbing onto the bus. Some ran back to their posts to grab cutting torches, pry bars, anything they could carry that might be of use that would fit in the bus's luggage bay. Victor stayed long enough to call the client and explain that there would be an unavoidable delay in completing the project. When he finally rushed out of the office he found that there was barely enough room for him to squeeze into the bus. He wedged himself in next to the new man, a youngster who was clutching one of the stanchions and staring wide-eyed through the windshield. Victor could sympathize with how unsettling one's first ride from Komatsu could be and laid a reassuring hand on the young man's shoulder. "Don't worry," he said. "The boss knows what he's doing. It'll be a safer ride than driving on the turnpike."

The kid shook his head slowly, his expression distant. "It's not that," he whispered, fighting tears. "My dad works in one of the towers."

Victor winced. "Shit," he gritted. Slowly he released the other man's shoulder and did not know what to say, other than, "I'm sorry."

A blue hand pressed against the windshield and darkened the cabin.. The bus rocked and pitched and then the ground fell rapidly away. Komatsu's mammoth chest filled the windows on the left side. On the right lay a distant black cloud where the Manhattan skyline should have been. The bus shuddered with the first of Komatsu's mammoth footfalls. He crossed the turnpike in three steps and a moment later was wading into the waters of the Newark Channel. His legs churned up huge white waves that crashed against the hulls of container ships moored at the docks as their stunned crew members gathered on deck to stare in awe. Bayonne's Thirty-Third Street suffered as his feet stamped deep prints into its pavement, not that the added damage would be noticed. The old Military Ocean Terminal shook beneath his tread as he crossed to the Hudson. Here he raised the bus high over his head and waded into the dark water. Mud churned up by his clawed toes formed a trail in the water behind him as he made his way around the tip of Manhattan Island and waded ashore at the Battery.

Through the whole trip the men inside never took their eyes from the looming cloud.

Two police cars with flashing lights and blaring sirens raced up to greet him as Komatsu set foot upon the shore. Victor groaned loudly and closed his eyes, expecting the worst. "Here it comes," he mumbled. Then he raised his voice. "Everybody get down, just in case those goons start shooting."

Komatsu paused and lowered his gaze as one officer, clutching a bullhorn, leaped out of his car. "I am Komatsu, owner of Dz'isu Construction Company," he began.

"We know!" came the reply on the bullhorn. "We saw yez coming. Is that your crew in there?"

"Yes, it is."

"Great! Follow us." The officer jumped back inside and both vehicles charged onto South Street.

Victor just stared. "I'll be goddamned," he whispered.

Next to him the new kid, hollow-eyed and tearful, still managed a ghost of a smile. "What do you expect?" he whispered back. "It's New York."

Komatsu was forced to stop when the dust grew too thick for him to see the police cars below. He crouched down and set the bus carefully down on the pavement. "Stay put," he ordered, and waited. The men inside the bus waited too, silent and brooding. The cloud billowed ahead of them, speckled everywhere with millions of white dots. It rose, swept forward and then all at once engulfed the bus, plunging it instantly into darkness. The specks swirling past the windows revealed themselves to be an endless storm of paper, everything from cancelled checks to invoices to office memos...

...and burned shreds of clothing. Victor saw the new kid stiffen next to him and his heart sank. "Don't look," he said. The words sounded lame and meaningless to him.

Dust puffed in through the vents and Komatsu retreated back toward the river. He moved slowly and dragged his feet, fearful of trampling on someone unseen in the choking cloud below. The men heard the crash of waves against their boss's ankles, and then they were briefly blinded as they emerged suddenly into the sunlight. They had not even been aware that Komatsu had rolled the bus backward out of the thickest part of the cloud. His voice rumbled through the vehicle's frame. "I can't get any closer," he said, sounding frustrated. "I just can't see, and I'm not going to risk killing someone to get there."

Victor hastily popped open the roof hatch. "Yo, Boss! Down here. I've got an idea..."

A few blocks to the north a group of police officers milled around a barricade thrown up along the broad avenue leading to "Ground Zero." Beyond them, somewhere in the nightmarish depths of the cloud, the din of anguished voices began to grow louder, more excited. Shouts of "Let'em through, let'em through!" spluttered on the police radios. A horn began blowing in a quick, staccato rhythm in the distance, soft at first but growing steadily louder as it approached. Then a row of figures emerged from the dust. They marched in a line the width of the street, their faces hidden by bandanas, giving them the appearance of some Wild West gang. Behind them trundled a tour bus, its headlights peering feebly through the choking dust, its horn yapping insistently. "Hold it right there," one of the policeman shouted. "This area's off..." His voice broke off as an immense dinosaur-foot swept forward through the cloud and crunched down to the pavement behind the bus. "Oh, fuck."

The bus halted and sounded its horn in a single long blast. "It's all right," Victor called from the driver's window. "We're a construction crew. We've got men here ready to help."

"Hey, let'em in! They're the guys we told you about." A familiar cop dashed forward, still carrying his bullhorn. "We thought we lost yez! We went back but you wasn't there."

"We took a short cut." Victor shook the man's hand and received a solid clap on the shoulder. "Boss wants to get started as soon as things clear. Which direction is the command center?"

The cop's eyes grew pained and he lowered his gaze. "They're gone."

"Gone? What the hell?"

"They was under the tower." The policeman's voice broke. "Hundreds of guys. We ain't getting nothing on their radios."

"Oh, Christ. We gotta get in there now."

"Forget that!" the cop said firmly. "Where they are, it's like a sand castle. You step on it here and a ton of crap goes rolling over there. We can't even get our guys in, let alone the big guy there." His voice broke again and he swallowed hard, then drew a deep breath through his dust mask. "We still got work to do, though. Come on with me. I'll take you to the staging area."

It seemed to be forever before the dust settled and revealed the extent of the catastrophe. Komatsu stood motionless at the edge of the debris field, his eyes playing grimly over the wreckage. Victor waited with the rest of the crew beside Komatsu's tail and stared in helpless awe at a mountain of twisted steel and concrete that rose almost as high as the blue giant was tall. "Christ," he choked. "We're never going to find anyone in there."

"We will," Komatsu growled. "Get on the radio and tell them that I recommend that we concentrate on the basement area. Look for pockets around the supports and especially around the elevator towers. If anyone is alive we'll find them there."

"Right, Boss."

Komatsu raised a foot and stepped gingerly away from the men. His toes barely stirred the dust as they settled. Slowly he crouched down and lowered his muzzle close to the rubble, studying its jumbled surface with a jeweler's eye. "Is this where they set up the command center?" he said quietly.

Victor relayed the question into his radio, then waved an affirmative. Komatsu's gaze fell. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, his ears folding back against his head. Victor knew from that posture that Komatsu was praying, and from the grim look in his eye when he rose again that there would be no use looking for survivors in that spot. Without another word Komatsu picked his way around the smoldering ruins and settled carefully onto his knees. "Basement area, south tower," he mumbled. The men could almost see mathematical calculations whirling past his eyes. "Let's get started."

The work was agonizingly slow. Human hands gathered up bits of concrete and drywall, pieces of office furniture and smashed computers. Dz'isu strength hoisted sections of wall the size of semi trailers while anxious eyes sifted through the rubble beneath for signs of life. There were none, only the heartbreaking remnants of humanity: photographs of smiling faces, stuffed toys, bright paintings made by little fingers to warm a loving parent's workspace. One by one the men were overcome by the sight of some trinket or image and broke down, their tears leaving trails in the dust that covered their faces, but their search never faltered.

Huge spotlights were brought in as the sun went down, bathing Ground Zero in light so bright that Victor did not realize how late it had become until he happened to glance at his watch. Only then did he realize that he was exhausted, and that he had been working solely on adrenaline for hours. With stiff gait he made his way down the side of the mountain and plodded to the army tent that had been erected as a makeshift comfort station. The soldier assigned to the station greeted him with a friendly pat on the arm. "You guys are doing a hell of a job."

"Yeah," Victor said. "Thanks." A hell of a job sweeping up, he thought. We haven't found one survivor yet.

He settled on a cot, and the next thing he knew it was morning. A different soldier gave him a cup of lukewarm coffee that Victor guzzled eagerly before hurrying back to the site. Komatsu was still kneeling in the same location, his enormous frame dwarfed by the mountain of wreckage before him. "Has he been there all night?" Victor asked one man.

"Yup."

"And have we found --*"

"Nope."

Victor's shoulder's sagged. "Oh." Without another word he rejoined the painful effort, scooping piece of rubble into rattling buckets and handing them off, like moving a desert one grain of sand at a time.

The sun crawled across the sky and vanished, replaced once again by the spotlights. Victor slept fitfully that night, waking stiff and sore, to be greeted one again by the sight of Komatsu working tirelessly, and to the same morose news. "Nope." Again he took up his position, his hands working robotically, his mind growing numb to the pitiful remnants of lives and happiness he unearthed with every handful.

A hundred buckets of wreckage, a thousand, ten thousand were handed down, but the mountain did not seem to grow any smaller, and no happy cries heralded the discovery of a living person. The sun set for a third time. Victor shuffled to the comfort station and was greeted again by the young soldier. "Hey, Sir," he said, tugging at Victor's sleeve. "I got to ask you about that monster of yours."

Victor smacked his hand away. "That monster," he said indignantly, "is a Dz'isu. And he's not mine. If anything, I'm his. You got any problem with that?"

The soldier put up his hands and stepped back. "Whoa! Don't get me wrong, Sir, I didn't mean any disrespect. It was a bad choice of words. I'm sorry. I just wanted to know: Doesn't he sleep?"

"Of course he..."

Victor's voice trailed off with the sudden realization. It had been three days, but he had not seen Komatsu pause in his search, even for a minute. Victor cursed under his breath, then turned and ran out of the tent, past the weary lines of men shuffling the remains of the towers into waiting dumptrucks, and right up to the giant's knee. "Komatsu! Hey, Big Blue!"

Komatsu's head turned and he blinked at Victor. His eyes were red and it was a moment before he could focus on the man. Victor almost cringed at how haggard that face looked. "Come on, Boss," he called. "It's time you took a break."

Komatsu shook his head. "I can't," he said.

"Yes, you can. Komatsu, you haven't slept or eaten in three days. You haven't even had a break. It's not healthy."

"Victor!" Suddenly the voice was angry and terrifying. The giant's eyes flashed for a half-second and then quickly softened, and he lowered his head apologetically. "Victor," he said in a more gentle but still strained tone, "The police are getting calls on cel phones from people buried under there, still alive. I have no idea how deep they are, but I can't stop now, not knowing they might be just under my fingers."

Victor stood his ground. "You can't keep it up, Komatsu. You're no good to them if you keel over dead."

"I won't die." Komatsu returned his attention to the rubble.

"Bullshit, you won't. Boss, you have got to take a break now."

"I can't. I just told you, I can't."

"You will, damn it! I won't stand here and watch you die of exhaustion. Now back off or I'll have them hook a chain to your tail and drag you out of here."

"You're fired, Victor."

The words struck like a slap across the face. Victor's mouth fell open. "I'm...what?"

"You're fired." Komatsu didn't look at him. "Pack your gear and get out. Now."

Victor stood dumbstruck. He started to tremble. "Komatsu..."

"You heard me. Get out."

A long and torturous minute passed. Victor was paralyzed, anger and sorrow and desperation whirling together within him and robbing him of the ability to speak. He did not hear the footsteps behind him, but he felt a hand settle on his shoulder. It was the soldier from the comfort station. "I have a message," he said softly. He stepped past Victor and snapped to attention. "Excuse me, Mr. Dz'isu, Sir!" he barked crisply.

"What is it now?" Komatsu's voice was irritated.

"Apologies, Sir! I have a message from the Fire Commissioner who is in charge of this scene, Sir. He has ordered me to relay to you his command that you are to stand down and report to a comfort station immediately."

Komatsu's head jerked down toward the young man, his eyes blazing with fury. He looked to be a half second away from smashing the soldier like a mosquito, but the soldier did not waver. "Those are my orders, Sir!" he shouted. "If you so desire I can deliver the order to you in writing, Sir. Otherwise, I must ask you to comply with the Commissioner's order at once."

Komatsu drew his lips back, revealing yard-long fangs that gleamed almost blinding white in the glow of the searchlights. His fist clenched dangerously, and then slowly it relaxed again. His snarl faded, and as the two men watched his great eyes welled with tears. A low groan rumbled from his chest. He slumped back on his tail, covered his eyes with one hand, and began to sob. The sound thudded off of the walls of the surrounding buildings, as though they themselves had finally given voice to the overwhelming grief of the city.

Victor crept up beside the soldier and stared as the giant's shoulders shook and water trickled in rivulets down the sides of his muzzle. "The Commissioner didn't really order that, did he?"

"No, Sir," the soldier whispered.

"I'll see to it you get a medal for this."

"No need. We all have to do our part." He swallowed and fidgeted. "I think I wet my pants, though."

At Victor's request the field tarps from Yankee Stadium were commandeered and hastily stapled together by Komatsu's crew. Suspended between the facades of the office buildings on a neighboring street, they formed an unattractive but serviceable shelter for the weary giant. Komatsu crawled beneath it with a defeated air and stretched out on the pavement, his head pillowed on one thick arm. He stared morosely into the darkness until he caught sight of Victor standing awkwardly nearby, silhouetted against the glow over the spotlights. Another low groan rolled from his chest, accompanied by a fresh trickle of tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"It's OK, Boss." Victor shuffled closer. "It's still "Boss", isn't it?"

"Of course. You know I need you." He covered his eyes again with his hand and clenched his teeth against another sob. "They're calling for help. I can't just leave them to die."

"I know." Victor made his way up to Komatsu's muzzle and ran his fingers soothingly over the soft blue lips. "The Commissioner is right, though. You need to see to your own health first. We're going to need your strength. You can't let it give out so early in the game."

Komatsu nodded slightly and took his hand away from his eyes. He let it settle down behind Victor and stroked the man's back with a tender claw. "This is killing me anyway," he whispered. "You know that humans are more than just animals to me. I am very attached to your species."

Victor nodded and forced a smile. He hated lying to Komatsu, but there would have been no other way to drag him away from the site. Komatsu very likely would have died before giving up the search. He silently thanked God, as well as all of the gods that Komatsu had mentioned over the years, that Dz'isu culture respected authority so deeply. "I know, Boss. You really need to sleep. The Commissioner's order is for...um, eight hours off. We'll have food for you in the morning, and then you can get back to work. We can make do until then."

Komatsu smiled slightly and closed his eyes. "Don't ever let me fire you again," he sighed.

"You got it, Boss."

Komatsu attacked the rubble with renewed vigor in the morning after a breakfast of several dozen cases of army rations. Victor talked him into a grueling but survivable schedule of sixteen hours of work alternating with eight hours of sleep. He also insisted on sneaking in one fifteen minute break, so crucial to Dz'isu health, each day, with the help of the Newark crew. Komatsu grudgingly complied, even as the days wore on and the cel phone calls ceased. Newspapers nationwide began to resemble mindless tabloid babblings, with "Giant Alien Assists Recovery Efforts" blazing across the headlines in most major cities. Komatsu heard about the publicity he was receiving but refused to be distracted by requests for interviews. Unable to shoo away the eager cameramen, however, he submitted to being photographed only on the condition that he be given an American flag to wear upon one of his horns. The city of New York gratefully obliged.

No one on site would have believed that ten days had passed. To every man and woman present it was all at once a matter of hours and a lifetime since the attack. One hour plodded to the next while days rushed by in a haze of exhaustion. Through that haze, as Victor helped to guide Komatsu's fingers around a huge slab of concrete on the tenth day, he became aware of someone in a suit and hard hat marching purposefully toward him. "You'll need to keep back," he called over his shoulder, but then he turned and immediately recognized the man. "Hey! Aren't you...?"

"Giuliani." The man was shorter than he'd appeared on TV, but the fire in his eyes was just as intimidating. Perhaps even moreso. "I need to talk to your boss."

"Um...sure," Victor said. "Hey, Komatsu! Someone here to see you."

Komatsu lowered his gaze and then quickly dipped his head in recognition. "It's an honor, Sir," he rumbled. "What can I do for you?"

"You can give me a hand up."

Victor was taken aback by the request. He stared at Giuliani's face as Komatsu's enormous hand descended, coming to rest flat before them. Amazingly, the man's eyes did not even flicker. "I'd better go up with you," Victor said. "It can be pretty terrifying if you've never been up close to him before."

Giuliani paused for only a second. "Kid," he smirked, "I'm the mayor of New York City." With that he marched past Victor and vaulted bravely up into the giant's palm. Victor scrambled up behind him, astonished by how steadily the man stood as they were lifted high up to Komatsu's face.

"Komatsu," Giuliani said in a powerful and unwavering voice, "Can I call you Komatsu?"

"Please do, Your Honor."

The mayor brushed a hand through the air dismissingly. "My honor? The honor's all mine. Listen, Komatsu, I want to tell you that I owe you big time. The city of New York owes you big time. I'm never going to be able to thank you enough, and if I could think of any kind of reward to give you that would be appropriate, it'd be yours. You've done more for us than anyone could have asked for and it ain't even your planet. You're a true hero, and I'm going to be in your debt for a long, long time.

"Now, having said that, I'm embarrassed to ask you this. We've got be honest with ourselves. The chances now of finding anyone alive down there are pretty much zero, so as of this time we're switching over from rescue, to just picking up the pieces." His voice grew more somber. "And that, I hope you can understand, is something that we've got to do on our own. It's not that we don't appreciate your efforts. In fact, you've been a godsend, literally, but what we've got to do now... we have to do ourselves. You understand what I'm saying, right?"

Komatsu was silent for a long time, his expression unreadable. Finally he took a deep breath and said, "I understand, Your Honor. If there is anything more I can do to help, please tell me. I'm at your disposal."

Giuliani smiled and nodded his head. "You got it. Thanks again for everything. And -- oh, hey, I aim to see that these towers get rebuilt. I want to give you a call about that later on, okay?"

"Yes, Your Honor." Komatsu nodded respectfully as he lowered his hand to the ground, allowing the mayor to leap off. He and Victor watched as Giuliani strode away, his head held high and his gait strong and determined, through the ruins of his stricken city. "He should have been a Dz'isu," Komatsu whispered before turning and gazing mournfully at the massive debris field, still no smaller than when the dust first settled. "He's right, though. This is something your people need." He gently tipped Victor out of his palm. "Tell the men we're going home. I'll still give full pay to anyone who wants to stay onsite here."

"You got it, Boss."

Komatsu smiled after him. "How about you, Victor? Are you staying?"

Victor paused to gaze at the devastation around him and then shook his head. "I don't think so. I think you're going to need someone to look after you once you get home." He smirked. "Besides, you're also going to need someone to do some fast talking to the owners of that bus you commandeered."

They arrived at Komatsu's home just before nightfall. Komatsu used nearly all of his remaining strength to return to his normal size, still twice Victor's height, but small enough now that Victor could knead his boss's weary muscles and have it mean something. He started that task immediately after Komatsu trudged inside and collapsed onto his bed. "You do that so well," the Dz'isu moaned as Victor's hands worked over his broad back.

"Isn't that why you hired me?"

"Mostly." Komatsu chuckled quietly, and then he heaved a sigh and shook his head. "So many dead."

"Yeah. At least we tried, Boss."

"I know. I just wish we had been able to save one. Just one."

"Me too."

Komatsu rested his chin on his arms as Victor massaged his shoulders. "I did not listen to much news while we were working. Has there been any more word on who was responsible for this?"

"Terrorists," Victor grunted. "A bunch of assholes on the other side of the world who think that God wanted them to do this." We know exactly who they are, but Afghanistan is hiding them and won't turn them over."

"Who?"

"It's a country. Their government is a gang of religious whackos who think that the fellow who planned all this is a hero. The president's making noise about invading and kicking their asses until they turn him over."

Komatsu contemplated that for a moment. "It doesn't sound like that will work. If they are zealots as you say, they'll fight to the death for their beliefs" He fell silent for a moment. "I just cannot understand how they could do something so horrible to innocent humans Dz'isu do not have any gods who order us to kill."

"Neither do we. The trouble is that these guys are not even human. They gave that up a long time ago. Now they're...I don't know what they are, but they're sure not my species any longer."

A thoughtful hum rolled through Komatsu's chest. "If your army invades," he said slowly, "it will only serve to justify the killing of more innocents in these terrorists' minds. I agree, though, that any regime that would support such an act can no longer be called human. And it should be made to pay for what was done, along with those who set the wheels in motion."

Victor turned around and leaned his hands into one of Komatsu's huge thighs. "You got that right. That's exactly why we've got to go in there and bust some heads even with the risk that they'll retaliate against us. If we don't, they'll think we're weak, and they'll hit us again. So it's damned if we do and damned if we don't. We might as well take a few of them with us."

Komatsu pondered in silence as Victor moved to his other leg, and then whispered, "Do you think that Mr. Giuliani was serious when he said that he owed me a debt?"

"Serious? After the work you put in? You could probably ask him for anything right now and he'd move heaven and earth to get it for you."

Another pause, and another thoughtful hum. "Then in the morning, Victor, kindly telephone Mr. Giuliani for me. I want to know if he might be able to arrange a meeting between myself and your president."

"What for?"

Komatsu smiled thinly. "Let's just say that I am thinking of other ways that I may be of service."