"Is that all, My Lord?"

"Yes-No." Flenser shivered with uncharacteristic puzzlement. The trouble with these cloaks, sometimes they made it hard to remember things. By the Great Pack, no! It was that Tyrathect again. Steel had ordered the killing of Woodcarver's human-all things considered, a perfectly sensible move, but...

Flenser with Steel shook his head angrily, his teeth clicking together. "Something the matter?" said Lord Steel. He really seemed to love the pain that the radio cloaks caused Flenser.

"Nothing, my lord. Just a touch of the static."

In fact there was no static, yet Flenser felt himself disintegrating. What had given the other such sudden power?

Flenser with Amdijefri snapped his jaws open and shut, open and shut. The children jumped back from him, eyes wide. "It's okay," he said grimly, even as his two bodies thrashed against each other. There really were lots of good reasons why they should keep Johanna Olsndot alive: In the long run, it assured Jefri's good will. And it could be Flenser's secret human. Perhaps he could fake the Two Leg's death to Steel and-No. No. No! Flenser grabbed back control, jamming the rationalizations out of mind. The very tricks he had used against Tyrathect, she thought to turn against him. It won't work on me. I am the master of lies.

And then her attack twisted again, became a massive bludgeoning that destroyed all thought.

With Flenser, with Rangolith, with Amdijefri-all of him was making little gibbering noises now. Lord Steel danced around him, unsure whether to laugh or be concerned. Rangolith goggled at him in frank amazement.

The two children edged back to touch him, "Are you hurt? Are you hurt?" The human slipped those remarkable hands under the radio cloak and brushed softly at Flenser's bleeding fur. The world blurred in a surge of static. "No. Don't do that. It might hurt him more," came Amdi's voice. The puppies' tiny muzzles reached out, trying to help with the cloaks.

Flenser felt his being pushed downwards, towards oblivion. Tyrathect's final attack was a frontal assault, without rationalizations or sly infiltration, and...

... And she looked out upon herself in astonishment. After so many days, I am me. And in control. Enough butchering of innocents. If anyone is to die, it is Steel and Flenser. Her head followed Steel's prancing forms, picked out the most articulate member. She gathered her legs beneath her, and prepared to leap at its throat. Come just a little closer ... and die.

Tyrathect's last moment of consciousness probably didn't last longer than five seconds. Her attack on Flenser was a desperate, all-out thing that left her without reserves or internal defense. Even as she tensed to leap upon Steel, she felt her soul being pulled back and down, and Flenser rising up from the darkness. She felt the member's legs spasm and collapse, the ground smash into its face...

... And Flenser was back in control. The weakling's attack had been astonishing. She really had cared for the ones who were to be destroyed, cared so much she was willing to sacrifice herself if it would kill Flenser. And that had been her undoing. Suicide is never something to hang pack dominance on. Her very resolve had weakened her hold on the hindmind-and given The Master his chance. He was back in control, and with a great opportunity. Tyrathect's assault had left her defenseless. The innermost mental barriers around her three members were suddenly as thin as the skin of an overripe fruit. Flenser slashed through the membrane, pawed at the flesh of her mind, spattering it across his own. The three who had been her core would still live, but never again would they have a soul separate from his.

Flenser with Steel sprawled as though unconscious, his convulsions subsiding. Let Steel think him incapacitated. It would give him time to think of the most advantageous explanation.

Flenser with Rangolith came slowly to his feet, though the two members were still in a posture of confusion. Flenser pulled them together. No explanations were due here, but it would be best if Farscout didn't suspect soulstrife. "The cloaks are powerful tools, dear Rangolith; sometimes a bit too powerful."

"Yes, my lord."

Flenser let a smile spread across his features. For a moment he was silent, savoring what he would say next. No, there was no sign of the weak-willed one. This had been her last, best try at domination-her last and biggest mistake. Flenser's smile spread further, all the way to the two with Amdijefri. It suddenly occurred to him that Johanna Olsndot would be the first person he had ordered killed since his return to Hidden Island. Johanna Olsndot would therefore be the first blood on three of his muzzles.

"There's one more item for Craddleheads, Farscout. An execution..." As he spoke the details, the warmth of a decision well-made spread through his members.

THIRTY-FIVE.

The only good thing about all the waiting had been the chance it gave the wounded. Now that Vendacious had found a way past the Flenserist defenses, everyone was anxious to break camp, but...

Johanna spent the last afternoon at the field hospital. The hospital was laid off in rough rectangles, each about six meters across. Some of the plots had ragged tents-those belonging to wounded who were still smart enough to care for themselves. Others were surrounded by stranded fencing; inside each of those was a single member, the survivor of what had once been an entire pack. The singletons could easily have jumped the fences, but most seemed to recognize their purpose, and stayed within.

Johanna pulled the food cart through the area, stopping at first one patient and then another. The cart was a bit too large for her, and sometimes it got caught in the roots that grew across the the forest floor. Yet this was a job that she could do better than any pack, and it was nice to find a way she could help.

In the forest around the hospital there was the sound of kherhogs being coaxed up to wagon ties, the shouts of crews securing the cannons and getting the camp gear stowed. From the maps Vendacious had shown at the meeting, it was clear the next two days would be an exhausting time-but at the end of it they would have the high ground behind unsuspecting Flenserists.

She stopped at the first little tent. The threesome inside had heard her coming and was outside now, running little circles around her cart. "Johanna! Johanna!" it said in her own voice. This was all that was left of one of Woodcarver's minor strategists; once upon a time, it had known some Samnorsk. The pack had originally been six; three had been killed by the wolves. What was left was the "talker" part-about as bright as a five year old, though with an odd vocabulary. "Thank you for food. Thank you." Its muzzles pushed at her. She patted the heads before reaching into the cart and pulling out bowls of lukewarm stew. Two of them dug in right away, but the third sat back for a moment and chatted. "I hear, we fight soon."

Not you anymore, but"Yes. We are going up by the dry fall, just east of here."

"Uh, oh." It said. "Uh, oh. That's bad. Poor seeing, no control, ambush scary." Apparently the fragment had some memories of its own tactical work. But there was no way Johanna could explain Vendacious's reasoning to it. "Don't worry, we will make it okay."

"You sure? You promise?"

Johanna smiled gently at what was left of a rather nice fellow. "Yes. I promise."

"Ah-ah-ah... Okay." Now all three had their muzzles stuck into stew bowls. This was one of the lucky ones, really. It showed plenty of interest in what went on around it. Just as important, it had childlike enthusiasms. Pilgrim said that fragments like this could grow back easily if they were just treated right long enough to bear a puppy or two.

She pushed the cart a few meters further, to the fenced square that was the symbolic corral for a singleton. There was a faint odor of shit in the air. Some of the singletons and duos were not housebroken; in any case, the camp latrines were a hundred meters away.

"Here, Blacky. Blacky?" Johanna banged an empty bowl against the side of the cart. A single head eased up from behind some root bushes; sometimes this one wouldn't even do that much. Johanna got on her knees so her eyes weren't much higher than the black-faced one. "Blacky?"

The creature pulled himself out of the bushes and slowly approached. This was all that was left of one of Scrupilo's cannoneers. She vaguely remembered the pack, a handsome sixsome all large and fast. But now, even "Blacky" wasn't whole: a falling gun had crushed his rear legs. He dragged his legless rear on a little wagon with thirty centimeter wheels... sort of like a Skroderider with forelegs. She pushed a bowl of stew toward him, and made the noises that Pilgrim coached her in. Blacky had refused food the last three days, but today he rolled and walked close enough that she could pet his head. After a moment he lowered his muzzle to the stew.

Johanna grinned in surprised pleasure. This hospital was a strange place. A year ago she would have been horrified by it; even now she didn't have the proper Tinish outlook on the wounded. As she continued to pet Blacky's lowered head, Johanna looked across the forest floor at the crude tents, the patients and parts of patients. It really was a hospital. The surgeons did try to save lives, even if the medical science was a horrifying process of cutting and splinting without anesthetics. In that regard, it was quite comparable to the medieval human medicine that Johanna had seen on Dataset. But with the Tines there was something more. This place was almost a spare parts warehouse. The medics were interested in the welfare of packs. To them, singletons were pieces that might have a use in making larger fragments workable, at least temporarily. Injured singletons were at the bottom of all medical priorities. "There's not much left to save in such cases," one medic had said to her via Pilgrim, "And even if there was, would you want a crippled, loose-bonded member in your self?" The fellow had been too tired to notice the absurdity of his question. His muzzles had been dripping blood; he'd been working for hours to save wounded members of whole packs.

Besides, most wounded singletons just stopped eating and died in less than a tenday. Even after a year with Tines, Johanna couldn't quite accept it. Every singleton reminded her of dear Scriber; she wanted them to have a better chance than his last remnant had. She had taken over the food cart and spent as much time with the wounded singletons as she did with any of the other patients. It had worked out well. She could get close to each patient without mindsound interference. Her help gave the brood kenners more time to study the larger fragments and the uninjured singletons, and try to build working packs from the wreckage.

And now maybe this one wouldn't starve. She'd tell Pilgrim. He'd done miracles with some of the other match ups, and seemed to be the only pack who shared some of her feelings for damaged singletons. "If they don't starve it often means a strength of mind. Even crippled, they could be an advantage to a pack," he'd said to her. "I've been crippled off and on in my travels; you can't always pick and choose when you're down to three and you're a thousand miles into an unknown land."

Johanna set a bowl of water beside the stew. After a moment, the crippled member turned on his axle and took some shallow sips. "Hang on, Blacky, we'll find someone for you to be."

Chitiratte was where he was supposed to be, walking his post exactly as expected. Nevertheless, he felt a thrill of nervousness. He always kept at least one head gazing at the mantis creature, the Two-Legs. Nothing suspicious about that posture either. He was supposed to be doing security duty here, and that meant keeping a lookout in all directions. He shifted his crossbow nervously about from jaws to field pack and back to jaws. Just a few more minutes...

Chitiratte circled the hospital compound once more. It was soft duty. Even though this stretch of wood had been spared, the drywind fires had chased the bigger wildlife downstream. This close to the river, the ground was covered with softbush, and there was scarcely a thorn to be found. Pacing around the hospital was like a walk on Woodcarver's Green down south. A few hundred yards east was harder work-getting the wagons and supplies in shape for the climb.

The fragments knew that something was up. Here and there, heads stuck up from pallets and burrows. They watched the wagons being loaded, heard the familiar voices of friends. The dumbest ones felt a call to duty; he had chased three able-bodied singles back into the compound. No way such feebs could be of any help. When the army marched up Margrum Climb, the hospital would stay behind. Chitiratte wished he could too. He'd been working for the Boss long enough to guess whence his orders ultimately came; Chitiratte suspected that not many would be coming back from Margrum Climb.

He turned three pairs of eyes toward the mantis creature. This latest job was the riskiest thing he'd been a part of. If it worked out he might just demand that the Boss leave him with the hospital. Just be careful, old fellow. Vendacious didn't get where he is by leaving loose ends. Chitiratte had seen what happened to that easterner who nosed a little too close into the Boss's business.

Damn but the human was slow! She'd been grunting at that one singleton for five minutes. You'd think she was having sex with these frags for all the time she spent with them. Well, she'd pay for the familiarity very soon. He started to cock his bow, then thought better of it. Accident, accident. It must all look like an accident.

Aha. The Two-legs was collecting food and water bowls and stowing them on the meal cart. Chitiratte made unobtrusive haste around the hospital perimeter, positioning himself in view of the Kratzi duo-the fragment that would actually do the killing.

Kratzinissinari had been a foot trooper before losing the Nissinari parts of himself. He had no connection with the Boss or Security. But he'd been known as a crazy-headed get of bitches, a pack that was always on the edge of combat rage. Getting killed back to two members normally has a gentling influence. In this case-well, the Boss claimed that Kratzi was specially prepared, a trap ready to be sprung. All Chitiratte need do was give the signal, and the duo would tear the mantis apart. A great tragedy. Of course, Chitiratte would be there, the alert hospital warden. He would quickly put arrows through Kratzi's brains ... but alas, not in time to save the Two-Legs.

The human dragged the meal cart awkwardly around root bushes toward Kratzi, her next patient. The duo came out of its burrow, speaking half-witted greetings that even Chitiratte could not understand. There were undertones though, a killing anger that edged its friendly mien. Of course, the mantis thing didn't notice. She stopped the cart, began filling food and water bowls, all the time grunting away at the twosome. In a moment, she would bend down to put the food on the ground... For half an instant, Chitiratte considered shooting the mantis himself if Kratzi were not immediately successful. He could claim it was a tragic miss. He really didn't like the Two-Legs. The mantis creature was a menacing thing; it was so tall and moved so weirdly. By now he knew it was fragile compared to packs, but it was scary to think of a single animal so smart as this. He shelved the temptation even faster than he had thought it. No telling what price he might pay for that, even if they believed his shot was an accident. No altruism today, thank you very much; Kratzi's jaws and claws would have to do.

One of Kratzi's heads was looking in Chitiratte's general direction. Now the mantis picked up the bowls and turned from the meal cart- "Hei, Johanna! How is it going?"

Johanna looked up from the stew to see Peregrine Wickwrackscar walking along the edge of the hospital. He was moving to get as close as possible without invading the mind sounds of the patients. The guard who had stopped there a moment before retreated before his advance and stopped a few meters further on. "Pretty good," she called back. "You know the one on wheels? He actually ate some stew tonight."

"Good. I've been thinking about him and the threesome on the other side of the hospital."

"The wounded medic?"

"Yes. What's left of Trellelak is all female, you know. I've been listening to mind sounds and-" Pilgrim's explanation was delivered in fluent Samnorsk, but it didn't make much sense to Johanna. Brood kenning had so many concepts without referents in human language that even Pilgrim couldn't make it clear. The only obvious part was that since Blacky was a male, there was a chance that he and the medic threesome might have pups early enough to bind the group. The rest was talk of "mood resonance" and "meshing weak points with strong". Pilgrim claimed to be an amateur at brood kenning, but it was interesting the way the docs-and even Woodcarver sometimes-deferred to him. In his travels he had been through a lot. His matchups seemed to "take" more often than anybody's. She waved him to silence. "Okay. We'll try it soon as I've fed everybody."

Pilgrim cocked a head or two at the nearby hospital plots. "Something strange is going on. Can't quite 'put my finger on it', but ... all the fragments are watching you. Even more than usual. Do you feel it?"

Johanna shrugged. "No." She knelt to set the water and stew bowls before the twosome patient. The pair had been vibrating with eagerness, though they had been quite polite in not interrupting. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the hospital guard make a strange dipping motion with its two middle heads, and- The blows were like two great fists smashing into her chest and face. Johanna fell to the ground, and they were on her. She raised bloody arms against the slashing jaws and claws.

When Chitiratte gave the signal, both of Kratzi leaped into action-crashing into each other, almost incidentally knocking the mantis on her back. Their claws and teeth were tearing at empty air and each other as much as the Two-legs. For an instant, Chitiratte was struck motionless with surprise. She might not be dead. Then he remembered himself and jumped over the fence, at the same time cocking and loading his bow. Maybe he could miss the first shot. Kratzi was shredding the mantis, but slow- Suddenly, there was no possibility of shooting the twosome. A wave of snarling black and white surged over Kratzi and the mantis. Every able-bodied fragment in the hospital seemed to be running to the attack. It was instant killing rage, far wilder than anything that could come from whole packs. Chitiratte fell back in astonishment before the sight and the mindsound of it.

Even the pilgrim seemed caught up in it; the pack raced past Chitiratte and circled the melee. The pilgrim never quite plunged in, but nipped here and there, screaming words that were lost in the general uproar.

A splash of coordinated mindsound boomed out from the mob, so loud it numbed Chitiratte twenty yards away. The mob seemed to shrink in on itself, the frenzy gone from most of its members. What had been near a single beast with two dozen bodies was suddenly a confused and bloody crowd of random members.

The pilgrim still ran around the edge, somehow keeping his mind and purpose. His huge, scarred member dived in and out of the remaining crowd, clawing at anything that still fought.

The patients dragged themselves away from the killing ground. Some that had gone in as threesomes or duos came out single. Others seemed more numerous than before. The ground that was left was soaked with blood. At least five members had died. Near the middle, a pair of prosthetic wheels lay incongruously.

The pilgrim paid it all no attention. The four of him stood around and over the bloody mound at the center.

Chitiratte smiled to himself. Mantis splatter. Such a tragedy.

Johanna never quite lost consciousness, but the pain and the suffocating weight of dozens of bodies left no room for thought. Now the pressure eased. Somewhere beyond the local din she could hear shouts of normal Tinish talk. She looked up and saw Pilgrim standing all around her. Scarbutt was straddling her, its muzzle centimeters away. It reached down and licked her face. Johanna smiled and tried to speak.

Vendacious had arranged to be in conference with Scrupilo and Woodcarver. Just now the "Commander of Cannoneers" was deep into tactics, using Dataset to illustrate his scheme for Margrum Climb.

Squalls of rage sounded from down by the river.

Scrupilo looked up peevishly from the Pink Oliphaunt. "What the muddy hell-"

The sounds continued, more than a casual brawl. Woodcarver and Vendacious exchanged worried glances even as they arched necks to see among the trees. "A fight in the hospital?" said the Queen.

Vendacious dropped his note board and lunged out of the meeting area, shouting for the local guards to stay with the Queen. As he raced across the camp, he could see that his roving guards were already converging on the hospital. Everything seemed as smooth as a program on Dataset ... except, why so much noise?

The last few hundred yards, Scrupilo caught up with him and pulled ahead. The cannoneer raced into the hospital and stumbled over himself in abrupt horror. Vendacious burst into the clearing all prepared to display his own shock combined with alert resolve.

Peregrine Wickwrackscar was standing by a meal cart, Chitiratte not far behind him. The pilgrim was standing over the Two-Legs in a litter of carnage. By the Pack of Packs, what happened? There was too much blood by far. "Everybody back except the doctors," Vendacious bellowed at the soldiers who crowded at the edge of the compound. He picked his way along a path that avoided the loudest-minded patients. There were a lot of fresh wounds, and here and there speckles of blood dark on the pale tree trunks. Something had gone wrong.

Meanwhile Scrupilo had run around the edge of the hospital and was standing just a few dozen yards from the Pilgrim. Most of him was staring at the ground under Wickwrackscar. "It's Johanna! Johanna!" For a moment it looked like the fool would jump over the fence.

"I think she's okay, Scrupilo." Wickwrackscar said. "She was just feeding one of the duos and it went nuts-attacked her."

One of the doctors looked over the carnage. There were three corpses on the ground, and blood enough for more. "I wonder what she did to provoke them."

"Nothing, I tell you! But when she went down, half the hospital went after Whatsits here." He waggled a nose at unidentifiable remains.

Vendacious looked at Chitiratte, at the same time saw Woodcarver arrive. "What about it, Soldier?" he asked. Don't screw up, Chitiratte.

"I-it's just like the pilgrim says, my lord. I've never seen anything like it." He sounded properly astounded by the whole affair.

Vendacious stepped a little closer to the Pilgrim. "If you'll let me take a closer look, Pilgrim?"

Wickwrackscar hesitated. He had been snuffling around the girl, looking for wounds that might need immediate attention. Then the girl nodded weakly to him, and he backed off.

Vendacious approached, all solemn and solicitous. Inside he raged. He'd never heard of anything like this. But even if the whole damn hospital had come to her aid, she should still be dead; the Kratzi duo could have ripped her throat out in half a second. His plan had seemed fool-proof (and even now the failure would cause no lasting damage), but he was just beginning to understand what had gone wrong: For days, the human had been in contact with these patients, even Kratzi. No Tinish doctor could approach and touch them like the Two-Legs. Even some whole packs felt the effect; for fragments it must be overwhelming. In their inner soul, most of the patients considered the alien part of themselves.

He looked at the Two-Legs from three sides, mindful that fifty packs of eyes were watching his every move. Very little of the blood was from the Two-Legs. The cuts on her neck and arms were long and shallow, aimless slashings. At the last minute, Kratzi's conditioning had failed before the notion of the human as pack member. Even now, a quick flick of a forepaw would rip the girl's throat open. He briefly considered putting her under Security medical protection. The ploy had worked well with Scriber, but it would be very risky here. Pilgrim had been nose to nose with Johanna; he would be suspicious of any claims about "unexpected complications". No. Even good plans sometimes fail. Count it as experience for the future. He smiled at the girl and spoke in Samnorsk, "You're quite safe now,"for the moment and quite unfortunately. The human's head turned to the side, looking off in the direction of Chitiratte.

Scrupilo had been pacing back and forth along the fence, so close to Chitiratte and Pilgrim that the two had been forced back. "I won't have it!" The cannoneer said loudly. "Our most important person attacked like this. It smells of enemy action!"

Wickwrackscar goggled at him. "But how?"

"I don't know!" Scrupilo said, his voice a desperate shout. "But she needs protection as much as nursing. Vendacious must find some place to keep her."

The pilgrim pack was clearly impressed by the argument-and unnerved by it. He inclined a head at Vendacious and spoke with uncharacteristic respect, "What do you think?"

Of course, Vendacious had been watching the Two-legs. It was interesting how little humans could disguise their point of attention. Johanna had been staring at Chitiratte, now she was looking up at Vendacious, her shifty little close-set eyes narrowing. Vendacious had made a project this last year of studying human expressions, both on Johanna and in stories in Dataset. She suspected something. And she also must have understood part of Scrupilo's speech. Her back arched and one arm fell raised weakly. Fortunately for Vendacious, her shout came out a whisper that even he could scarcely hear: "No ... not like Scriber."

Vendacious was a pack who believed in careful planning. He also knew that the best-made schemes must be altered by circumstances. He looked down at Johanna and smiled with the gentlest public sympathy. It would be risky to kill her like Scriber's frag, but now he saw that the alternatives were far more dangerous. Thank goodness Woodcarver was stuck with her limper on the other side of the camp. He nodded back at Pilgrim and drew himself together. "I fear Scrupilo is right. Just how it might have been done, I don't know, but we can't take a chance. We'll take Johanna to my den. Tell the Queen." He pulled cloaks from his backs and began gently to wrap the human for the last trip she would ever make. Only her eyes protested.

Johanna drifted in and out of consciousness, horrified at her inability to scream her fears. Her strongest cries were less than whispers. Her arms and legs responded with little more than twitches, even that lost in Vendacious's swaddling. Concussion, maybe, something like that, the explanation came from some absurdly rational corner of her mind. Everything seemed so far away, so dark...

Johanna woke in her cabin at Woodcarver's. What a terrible dream! That she had been so cut up, unable to move, and then thinking Vendacious was a traitor. She tried to shrug herself to a sitting postion, but nothing moved. Darn sheets are all wrapped around me. She lay quiet for a second, still massively disoriented by the dream. "Woodcarver?" she tried to say, but only a little moan came out. Somemember moved gently around the firepit. The room was only dimly lit, and something was wrong with it. Johanna wasn't lying in her usual place. There was a moment of puzzled lassitude as she tried to make sense of the orientation of the dark walls. Funny. The ceiling was awfully low. Everything smelled like raw meat. The side of her face hurt, and she tasted blood on her lips. She wasn't at Woodcarver's and that terrible dream was- Three Tinish heads drifted in sihlouette nearby. One came closer, and in the dim light she recognized the pattern of white and black on its face. Vendacious.

"Good," he said, "You are awake."

"Where am I?" the words came out slurred and weak. The terror was back.

"The abandoned cotter's hut at the east end of the camp. I've taken it over. As a security den, you know." His Samnorsk was quiet and fluent, spoken in one of the generic voices of Dataset. One of his jaws carried a dagger, the blade a glint in the dimness.

Johanna twisted in the tied cloaks and whispered screams. Something was wrong with her; it was like shouting on empty breath.

One of Vendacious paced the hut's upper level. Daylight splashed across its muzzle as it peered out first one and then another of the narrow slits cut in the timbers. "Ah, it's good that you don't pretend. I could see that you somehow guessed about my second career. My hobby. But screaming-even loud-won't help either. We have only a brief time to chat. I'm sure the Queen will come visiting soon ... and I will kill you just before she arrives. So sad. Your hidden wounds were tragically severe..."

Johanna wasn't sure of all he said. Her vision blurred every time she moved her head. Even now she couldn't remember the details of what had happened back in the hospital compound. Somehow Vendacious was a traitor, but how ... memories wriggled past the pain. "You did murder Scriber, didn't you? Why?" Her voice came louder than before, and she choked on blood dribbling back down her throat.

Soft, human, laughter came from all around her. "He learned the truth about me. Ironic that such an incompetent would be the only one to see through me... Or do you mean a larger why?" The three nearby muzzles moved closer still, and the blade in one's jaw patted the side of Johanna's cheek. "Poor Two-Legs, I'm not sure you could ever understand. Some of it, the will to power maybe. I've read what Dataset has to say about human motivation, the 'freudian' stuff. We Tines are much more complicated. I am almost entirely male, did you know that? A dangerous thing to be, all one sex. Madness lurks. Yet it was my decision. I was tired of being an indifferently good inventor, of living in Woodcarver's shadow. So many of us are her get, and she dominates most all of us. She was quite happy about my going into Security, you know. She doesn't quite have the combination of members for it. She thought that all male but one would make me controllably devious."

His sentry member made another round of the window slits. Again there was a human chuckle. "I've been planning a long time. It's not just Woodcarver I'm up against. The power-side of her soul is scattered all over the arctic coast; Flenser had almost a century headstart on me; Steel is new, but he has the empire Flenser built. I made myself indispensable to all of them: I'm Woodcarver's chief of security ... and Steel's most valued spy. Played aright, I will end up with Dataset and all the others will be dead."

His blade tapped her face again. "Do you think you can help me?" Eyes peered close into her terror. "I doubt it very much. If my proper plan had succeeded, you would be neatly dead now." A sigh breathed around the room. "But that failed, and I'm stuck with carving you up myself. And yet it may all turn out for the best. Dataset is a torrent of information about most things, but it scarcely acknowledges the existence of torture. In some ways, your race seems so fragile, so easily killable. You die before your minds can be dismembered. Yet I know you can feel pain and terror; the trick is to apply force without quite killing."

The three nearby members snuggled into more comfortable positions, like a human settling down for serious talk. "And there are some questions you may be able to answer, things I couldn't really ask before. Steel is very confident, you know, and it's not just because he has me with Woodcarver. That pack has some other advantage. Could he have his own Dataset?"

Vendacious paused. Johanna didn't answer, her silence a combination of terror and stubbornness. This was the monster that killed Scriber.

The muzzle with the knife slid between the blankets and Johanna's skin, and pain shot up Johanna's arm. She screamed. "Ah, Dataset said a human could be hurt there. No need to answer that one, Johanna. Do you know what I think is Steel's secret? I think one of your family survived-most likely your little brother, considering what you've told us about the massacre."