The gillie climbed next to Justice's lips. "I think it wants to go into your mouth," Crater said.

Justice didn't look pleased at that prospect, but he still opened his mouth and the gillie wriggled inside. Justice gagged, then relaxed. A few minutes later, the gillie reappeared out of Justice's mouth carrying, though it had no hands, a flechette that was dripping blood. Repaired tear in his lung, it said, then put the flechette down and worked its way through the neck seal, reappearing on the other side.

"That thing's a wonder," Justice said and drew a clear breath.

"Status report," Crater said, as if what the gillie had done was normal. The truth was he was in awe.

The gillie said, Lung function good, biolastic sheath holding.

Nickering softly, Pegasus walked up and allowed Justice to stroke his nose. "Thank you for coming back with help, old friend," Justice said.

"Maybe we ought to get you out of the dust, Mr. Justice,"

Crater suggested. "And pluck out these other flechettes."

"Just help me up."

Crater helped Justice to his feet, noticing as he did that one of the crowhoppers was moving. It was the one he'd shot.

When Justice noticed the crowhopper too, Crater said, "I had the rifle on midpower so it wouldn't kill."

The gillie said, Crowhopper suit leaking. Death in twenty minutes.

"Can we take it inside your trailer?" Crater asked, but Justice threw off Crater's arm, staggered over to the crowhopper, picked up the creature's rifle, and aimed it at its heart.

"Mr. Justice, don't!" Crater cried.

Justice glanced over his shoulder. "Stay out of this, Crater."

He turned back to the crowhopper. "Answer me quick and I might let you live. Why did you attack me?"

The crowhopper's eyes were filled with hate. "Questions we had to ask you," he grunted.

"You shot me, old son, and you tortured me, but you didn't ask me any questions. Better come up with a better answer."

"First we decided to have our fun."

"Torture is fun?" Crater asked.

The crowhopper turned his head toward Crater. His eyes almost had weight, like two slimy worms crawling on Crater's face. "You want to hear about that heel-3 camp we were in the other day? Killed 'em all, we did. Oh, that was fun, boy. You should join us. We'd show you how much fun it can be when nothing means nothing."

"What was the name of the town?" Crater asked, fearing the answer.

"Something Japanese. Nekko? Yes, that was it."

Nekko was a small Japanese heel-3 camp south of the lunar equator near a lava flow that was the shape of a cat, thus the name. "Did you say you killed everyone?" Crater asked, his voice turning to a near whisper.

"Not all at once. We played around first."

The shock on Crater's face seemed to surprise the crow-hopper. "What's with you, boy?"

"He's not a veteran," Justice said. "He don't know war, what it's like, what creatures like you are bred to do."

"Well, old man, I'm not the worst of the lot, I can tell you that."

"Where's your base?" Crater asked.

"We don't have a base. We travel on our spiderwalkers, take sustenance where we find it."

"But you have to come from somewhere," Crater said.

"I'm getting tired of answering your questions," the crowhopper replied. "Name, rank, and serial number, that's the ticket. My name is Henri Vallemarte, my rank is private, serial number is echo seventeen eighty-one-or used to be when I was in the Legion. You're not going to get another word out of me."

Justice shot him, the rifle reset to full power, and the crowhopper died, quivering in the dust.

Crater was aghast. "What did you do that for?"

"When he said he wasn't going to talk anymore, I believed him."

Using the rifle as a cane, Justice stumped toward the trailer. "Let's go inside. We can talk there."

Crater looked at the dead crowhoppers and sensed that everything was changing from what he'd always believed to be true, and it was not for the better. The horse came over and pushed him in the back with his nose, then crowded in, demanding attention. "What about Pegasus?" Crater asked.

"He comes inside too. I know he's itching to smell you.

Come on. I promise you'll like what's going to happen next."

TWENTY-ONE.

Crater couldn't imagine that he'd like anything much for a while. He was far behind the convoy, and if he didn't catch up, he was going to miss the Cycler and fail the Colonel. He'd also promised to look after Maria and, though he'd had the best of intentions, he supposed he could be accused of abandoning her. There was also a dead trucker buried miles behind, a woman who'd just wanted to race, a race Captain Teller had blamed on him. There was also a dead crowhopper out in the wayback not too far from the Dustway Inn, three dead Umlaps-the king, Hit Your Face, and Bad Haircut-and now there were two more dead crowhoppers plus a report of a destroyed heel-3 town down south.

All the death and destruction was a great drag on Crater's morale. He was also in the company of a man who didn't mind killing other men, not to mention a giant warhorse who could pretty much fly. Well, that last one wasn't so bad. Meeting Pegasus was marvelous, but everything else about the convoy was a scrag shambles.

He told the gillie to keep watch, though he doubted it had the strength to do much, and left it outside on the truck, then helped Justice inside. Pegasus followed up the ramp. When he saw the interior of the trailer, Crater almost forgot the misery of his situation. It was amazing. Once through the big airlock, there were three sections, a set of complete but compact biolastic dustlocks made of the finest lunasteel, Justice's sumptuous quarters, and Pegasus's stall. Justice was suddenly feeling faint, so after opening the hatch for Pegasus and seeing him inside his domicile, Crater helped Justice remove the flechettes and take off his coveralls.

After sitting down in the biolastic removal dustlock, Justice waved Crater away from the shower handle. "Not for me, Crater. I'll keep my biolastic sheath on. It's good for another four months and I can scarcely feel it. Just remove my helmet by pushing that button at my neck. Ah, there you go. See how the helmet comes right off? The microbes at the neck are programmed to dissolve when a small current at a precise phase passes through them. They come back together when the helmet goes on. Pegasus's helmet works the same way. Go unburden him, if you will. He won't mind getting loose from his gear."

"This truck is amazing," Crater said.

"My own design, bucko."

Crater climbed out of his ECP suit, put on some coveralls he found in a cupboard, and went inside Pegasus's quarters.

Taking off the horse's helmet was as easy as removing Justice's, and Pegasus gave him a thank-you nicker.

After Crater removed Pegasus's armor, the horse pushed a large dome-shaped button on the wall with his nose and was rewarded with a bucket of green pellets. He quickly had his huge head deep in the pail.

Going back to see how Justice was doing, Crater found him sitting in an easy chair in his quarters, having limped there from the dustlock. He looked ill, his face as gray as the dust outside. "Blood poisoning from the flechette, maybe," Justice said, coughing. "Your gillie can't fix that by crawling into my lungs." He pointed to a white cabinet. "Some antibiotics in the medicine chest with injectors. You ever injected anybody?"

Crater admitted he hadn't, but promised to give it a try. The injector had a place to press, and when he did, a reader on the wall played a vidpix of how to use it. Crater watched intently, then, as instructed, wiped down Justice's shoulder with an alcohol swab, also thoughtfully provided by the medicine chest, and pressed the injector on Justice's shoulder. It emptied itself and Crater tossed the spent injector into a waste bucket.

"Most likely got pneumonia, too, from the blood in my lungs," Justice said. "But I guess I can make it for a few days."

"I was heading for Aristillus," Crater said. "You can travel along."

"West to east? I was going east to west."

"I guess things have changed for you, Mr. Justice," Crater said.

Justice thought that over. "I suppose they have. With crowhoppers on the moon, they've changed for all of us, I suspect. Looks like we might have to dig up the tomahawk, do battle with those old creatures. But all right. If you don't mind our company, Pegasus and I will tag along."

"Tell me about the crowhoppers," Crater said.

Justice leaned back in the chair. "I first saw them in my rearview mirror whilst they were trying to sneak up on me on their spiderwalkers. Fought 'em when I was with the Irregulars so I knew what they were. I didn't have anything to fight them with so I had no choice but to stop. They didn't want to come inside-maybe they were afraid I'd ambush them-so they ordered me and the Peg out.

"They knocked me around a bit, then got interested in Pegasus. One of them said he'd race the other, him on Pegasus, his buddy on his spiderwalker. They were just having a good time. But Pegasus fooled them when he ran off into the dust.

They shot at him and may have nicked him. Not sure."

"They shot him twice," Crater said, "but his suit held."

Justice lit up in a grin. "He wears a suit of the latest design by my company. Of course it held. It's designed to hold."

Getting back on track, Crater asked, "What did the crowhoppers want?"

"They never said, except I heard them talking to each other and gained they were looking for someone on a truck convoy. I guess I was a diversion. Maybe they thought I'd seen the convoy. I don't know. The only thing I know for sure is if you hadn't come along, I'd likely be dead and so would poor Pegasus, who clearly has taken a shine to you. Children he'll let ride on his back with no complaint, but most men, he's pretty particular. Now, tell me what you're doing out here and let's see if we have common cause."

Crater told Justice most of it, in a shorthand way, and Justice smiled at the end of the tale. "I know Captain Teller.

A tough fellow, not too bright or imaginative, but honest, and honest goes a long way out here in the wayback. You'll learn a few things from him if you pay attention. One thing for certain, he'll like to hear what a brave scout he has, charging those two crowhoppers like you did."

"All I did was hang on to Pegasus," Crater said.

"You did more than that. You shot one of 'em. That was some great shooting. But why did you have the rifle on half-power?"

"I didn't want to kill anybody."

Justice closed his eyes for long enough that Crater thought he'd perhaps fainted, but then he opened them and said, "Crater, these crowhoppers are on the dustway to kill. That's what the people who made them designed them to do. They got no heart or souls neither. You get mixed up with one, you got to kill it. In war, it's okay to kill a man as long as that man's going to kill you if you don't. But anyway, crowhoppers don't qualify as men. Do you understand?"

"I think so, sir. I'll try to keep that in mind."

Justice nodded as if he believed he'd convinced the boy, but he knew better. He'd seen lots of boys like Crater on Earth, unable to kill a man even though there was a war going on all around them. Those boys never lived long. He worried about Crater, then sensed there might be more to the boy than he showed. At bottom, the boy probably had a lot of sand. He was all by himself in the wayback of the moon, after all.

"Say," Justice said, "how'd you like to try one of our new suits?"

Crater thought that was a splendid idea, and an hour later-after some measuring-he was wearing a Deep Space special biolastic suit. When he touched his arm, it felt as if he had nothing on at all. "This is amazing," Crater said.

Jumpcar in sight.

Crater had nearly forgotten about the gillie left outside on watch. He snatched up the helmet Justice provided, pulled on his coveralls and boots, and went through the airlock. He saw it immediately. A jumpcar was hovering on its jet about a mile away, its triangular fins a hundred feet above the ground.

Then, it began to rise until the flame from its engine had turned into a sparkling star, then disappeared altogether.

"I saw it on the monitor," Justice said when Crater came back inside. "Crowhoppers, I suppose, looking for their fellows. They saw them, probably, and went off to make their reports to whoever brought them to the moon. We'd best get on to Aristillus before they come back."

"I'll hitch my fastbug to the motorbarn," Crater said, then got busy. Within an hour he had accomplished the task, made sure Justice was comfortable, that Pegasus was fed and watered and his stall cleaned-Crater's work in the grease traps was good training for that-and began to drive the motorbarn.

He drove for the next ten hours straight, the gillie on the dashboard, prepared to sound the alarm if it sensed the crowhoppers or any other kind of problem. The gillie looked off-color to Crater so he asked it for a status.

Gillie sick, it said.

Crater felt bad. He should have asked it earlier. "What's wrong?"

The gillie's voice was weak. Biolastic cells tried to absorb gillie.

Gillie fight. Big drain.

"What can I do to help you?"

The gillie didn't answer, which was an answer itself. "I'm sorry," Crater said and still the gillie did not respond.

When he needed sleep, Crater pulled the motorbarn off the dustway and sought out a hill and its shade. This became his plan, to drive as long as he could, then seek out the shade, either of a hill or a crater. The motorbarn had a low-powered radar that could pick up anything moving nearby. Crater set the alarm on the radar during the rest period so he could sleep, but sleep was difficult. He worried for the gillie, which was still very quiet and maybe about to die, and he worried about Justice, who was running a fever, and he worried about Pegasus, who was dependent on Crater to recognize the colic or all the other problems horses might have. Of course, he also worried about catching the convoy and getting to the Cycler on time, and whether Maria was okay. He even managed to worry a little for himself, but not much. There wasn't time.

After a day of driving, Justice rallied enough to stand watch when Crater slept. Over breakfast, he told Crater more about himself and Pegasus, how in fact his son had been the soldier of the Alabama Irregulars who'd owned the warhorse.

"He died in the battle of Nashville," Justice said, his voice trembling with pride and pain. "Pegasus is all I have left of him." It reminded Crater that the gillie was all that he had left of his parents and, if it kept getting sicker and stopped working, he would not even have that.

Justice spun a few stories of battles in the North American war in which his son and Pegasus had fought and other stories of his own experiences in the various Earthian wars that had absorbed his life.

"I don't understand your pride in being a soldier," Crater said after Justice had told of an impossible charge his son and his horse had made with his cavalry unit-one where so many had been killed, the battle lost, but glory found.

"Wars are not noble, nor are battles, for they are bloody, nasty, and awful," Justice replied, "but have you heard of King Arthur, his Round Table, and his knights?"

Crater had heard of them, of course, being thoroughly educated in American and English literature by a former professor from Oxford University turned scragline picker. Yet he'd never read any book about the old English king and his famous knights. "It's just a legend, isn't it?" Crater asked. "Not real history."

"Sometimes," Justice said, "the legend is more real than the history. It's not what happened but what we choose to believe happened that matters the most."

Justice revealed himself to be a scholar of the Arthurian legends and had texts on his reader that went as far back as Geoffrey of Monmouth's Latin work, including the Le Morte d'Arthur by Thomas Malory, and on to the King Arthur vs. the Aliens movies of the 2040s, just before the great wars erupted.