THIRTY-ONE.

Shynkrette paced about her "command post." Talk about luck. This mission had been designed as a hundred-day lurk-and-pounce. Instead, they'd bagged their targets less than ten days after insertion. The whole op had been an incredible combination of happenstance and screwup. So what else was new? Promotions came from pulling success out of real-world situations, and Shynkrette had survived worse than this. Barker and Fremm getting squashed had been bad luck and inattention. Maybe the worst mistake had been leaving the witnesses-at least it was the worst mistake that could be laid on her own back. On the other hand they had six children, at least four of them the targets. The getaway from the museum had been smooth, but the airport pickup fell through. The Accord's local security was just a little too quick-maybe again because of those surviving witnesses.

This office space ringed the Plaza Spar, twenty-five stories up. It gave an excellent view of city activity, except directly below. In one sense, they were completely trapped here-who had ever hidden by sticking themselves up in the sky? In another sense-Shynkrette paused behind her team sergeant. "What does Trivelle say, Denni?"

The sergeant lifted the phone from his head. "Groundfloor lobby is about average busy. He has some business visitors. An old coot and some last-generation cobbers. They want to rent office space."

"Okay. They can look at the third-floor suites. If they want to look at anything else, they can come back tomorrow." Tomorrow, Deep willing, Shynkrette and her team would be long gone. They would have been gone last night, if not for the storm. Kindred Special Operations could do things with helicopters that the Accord military had never imagined... If good luck and competence held another day or two, her team would be back home with their prize. The Kindred book of doctrine had always been big on assassinations and decapitating strikes. With this op, the Honored Pedure was writing a new and experimental chapter. Deep, what Pedure would do with those six children. Shynkrette's mind shied away from the thought. She had been in Pedure's inner circle ever since the Great War, and her fortunes had risen accordingly. But she much preferred doing the Honored's fieldwork to being with her in the Kindred torture chambers. Things could get so easily...turned around...in the chambers. And death could be so slow there.

Shynkrette moved from quarter to quarter, scanning the streets with a reflecting magnifier... Damn, a police convoy, emergency lights blinking. She recognized the special gear on those trucks. This was the police "heavy weapons" team. Their great success lay in scaring criminals into surrender. The lights-and the sirens she would surely start hearing in a minute-were all part of the intimidation. In this case, the police had made a very large mistake. Shynkrette was already running back around the ring of offices, pulling her little shotgun off her back as she ran.

"Team Sergeant! We're going upstairs."

Denni raised his head in surprise. "Trivelle says he hears sirens, but they don't seem to be coming this way."

A coincidence? Maybe the police had someone else they wanted to wave their guns at? Shynkrette balanced in a rare moment of indecision. Denni held up a hand, continued, "But he says he thinks three of the oldsters have left the sales tour, maybe gone to the washroom."

So much for indecision; Shynkrette waved the sergeant to his feet. "Tell Trivelle to melt away," if he can. "We're into Alt Five." There was always an Alternative Plan; that was a grim joke in Special Operations. They had had some warning. Very likely they could get out of the building, melt into the sea of civilians. Corporal Trivelle had less of a chance, but he knew so little it wouldn't matter. The mission would not end up an embarrassment. If they took care of one last piece of business, it might even be counted a partial success.

As they raced up the central stairs, Denni was pulling down his own shotgun and combat knife. Success in Alt 5 meant taking a few minutes for a little detour, long enough to kill the children. Long enough so it would look really messy. Pedure apparently thought that would screw someone's head on the Accord side. It sounded nuts to Shynkrette, but she didn't know all the facts. It didn't matter. At the end of the war, she had helped massacre a sleeping deepness. Nothing could be uglier than that, but the stolen hoards had financed the Kindred's resurgence.

Hell, she was probably doing these children a favor; now they would miss their date with Honored Pedure.

Through most of the morning, Brent had lain flat on the metal floor. He looked as discouraged as Viki and Gokna felt. Jirlib at least had his hands full trying to comfort the two babies. The little ones were totally and loudly unhappy now, and wouldn't have anything to do with the sisters. The last time anyone had been fed was the previous afternoon.

There wasn't even much left to conspire about. By morning twilight, it had been obvious that their rescue flag was gone. A second attempt tore loose in less than thirty minutes. After that, Gokna and Viki spent three hours wrapping the play twine in intricate patterns through the pipe stubs above the room's only entrance. Brent had been a real help with that-he was so good with knots and patterns. If anyone unfriendly came through that door, they would get a mawful of unpleasantness. But if their visitors were armed, how could it be enough? At that question, Brent had retreated from their arguments, gone to splay himself out on the cold floor.

Above them, a narrow square of sunlight crept foot by foot across the high walls of their prison. It must be almost noon. "I hear sirens," Brent said abruptly, after an hour of silent sitting. "Lie down close and listen."

Gokna and Viki did. Jirlib shushed the babies, for what that was worth.

"Yeah, I hear them."

"Those are police sirens, Viki. Feel the thump, thump?"

Gokna jumped up, was already racing for the doorway.

Viki stayed on the floor a moment longer. "Be quiet, Gokna!"

And even the babies were quiet. There were other sounds: the heavy thrum of fans somewhere lower in the building, the street noise that they had heard before...but now the staccato sound of many feet, running up steps.

"That's close," said Brent.

"Th-they're coming for us."

"Yes." Brent paused, in his usual dull way. "And I hear others coming, quieter or farther away."

It didn't matter. Viki ran to the doorway, hoisted herself up after Gokna. What they planned was pretty pitiful, but the worst and the best of it was that they didn't have any other choice. Earlier, Jirlib had argued that he was bigger, that he should swing down from above. Yeah, but he was only one target, and someone had to keep the babies out of the line of fire. So now Gokna and Viki stood against the wall, five feet above the doorway on either side, bracing themselves against Brent's clever ropework.

Brent rose, ran to the right side of the doorway. Jirlib stood well off to the side. He held the children tight in his arms, and didn't try to quiet them anymore. But now, suddenly, they were quiet. Maybe they understood. Maybe it was something instinctive.

Through the wall, Viki could feel the running steps now. Two people. One said something low to the other. She couldn't hear the words but she recognized the leader of the kidnappers. A key rattled in the lock. On the floor to her left, Jirlib gently set the babies down behind him. They stayed quiet, totally still-and Jirlib turned back to the door, ready to pounce. Viki and Gokna crouched lower against the wall. They had twisted all the leverage they dared out of the twine. A final look passed between the two. They had gotten the others into this mess. They had risked the life of an innocent bystander to try to get out. Now it was time for payback.

The door slid open, metal slipping across metal. Brent tensed for a leap. "Please don't hurt me," he said, his voice the same sullen monotone as always. Brent couldn't act to save his soul, yet in a weird way that tone sounded like someone scared into abject mindlessness.

"No one's going to hurt you. We want to move you someplace better, and get you some food. Come on out." The boss kidnapper sounded as reasonable as always. "Come on out," a bit more sharply. Did she think she could bag them all without even mussing her jacket? There was quiet for a second or two...Viki heard a faint sigh of irritation. There was a rush of motion.

Gokna and Viki dived as hard as they could. They were only five feet up. Without the twine, they would have crushed their skulls on the floor. Instead, the elastic snapped them back, heads down, through the open doorway.

Gunfire flashed sideways, seeking Brent's voice.

Viki had a glimpse of head and arms, and some kind of gun. She smashed into the leader at the rear of her back, knocking her flat, sending her gun skittering across the floor. But the other cobber was a couple of feet behind. Gokna hit him in the hard of his shoulders, scrabbled to hold on. But the other bounced her off. A single burst of fire from his gun smashed Gokna's middle. Shards and blood spattered the wall behind her.

And then Brent was upon him.

The one under Viki bucked upward, smashing her into the top of the doorway. Things got very dark and distant after that. Somewhere she heard more gunfire, other voices.

THIRTY-TWO.

Viki wasn't badly hurt, a small amount of internal bleeding that the doctors could easily control. Jirlib had taken a lot of dents and some twisted arms. Poor Brent was worse off.

When that strange Major Thract was done asking his questions, Viki and Jirlib visited Brent in the house infirmary. Daddy was already there, perched beside the bed. They had been free almost three hours; Daddy still looked stunned.

Brent lay in deep padding, a siphon of water within reach of his eating hands. He tilted his head as they came in, and waved a weak smile. "I'm okay." Just two split legs and a couple of buckshot holes.

Jirlib patted his shoulders.

"Where's Mother?" asked Viki.

Dad's head swayed uncertainly, "She's in the building. She promised she'll see you this evening. It's just that so much has happened. You know this wasn't just some crazy people who did this, right?"

Viki nodded. There were more security types in the house than ever before and even some uniformed troops outside. Major Thract's people had been full of questions about the kidnappers, their mannerisms, how they acted toward each other, their choice of words. They even tried to hypnotize Viki, to squeeze out every last driblet of recollection. She could have saved them the trouble. Viki and Gokna had tried for years to hypnotize each other without any success.

Not a single kidnapper had survived the capture; Thract implied that at least one had killed herself to avoid capture.

"The General needs to figure out who is behind this, and how it changes the way the Accord looks at its enemies."

"It was the Kindred," Viki said flatly. She truly had no evidence beyond the military bearing of the kidnappers. But Viki read the newspapers as much as anyone, and Daddy talked enough about the risks of conquering the Dark.

Underhill shrugged at her assertion. "Probably. The main thing for the family is that things have changed."

"Yes." Viki's voice cracked. "Daddy! Of course things have changed; how can they ever be the same?"

Jirlib lowered his head till it rested limply on Brent's perch.

Underhill seemed to shrink in on himself. "Children, I am so sorry. I never meant for you to be hurt. I didn't mean for..."

"Daddy, it was Gokna 'n' me who snuck out of the house-Be quiet, Jirlib. I know you are the oldest, but we could always tweak you around." It was true. Sometimes the sisters used their brother's ego, sometimes his intellectual interests-as with the Distort exhibit. Sometimes they simply traded on his fondness for his little sisters. And Brent had his own set of weaknesses. "It was Gokna and me who made this possible. Without Brent doing his ambush at the museum, we'd all be dead now."

Underhill gestured no. "Oh, Little Victory, without you and Gokna the rescuers would have been a minute too late. You would all be dead. Gokna-"

"But now Gokna is dead!" Suddenly her armor of unfeeling was broken, and she was swept away. Viki shrieked without words and raced from the room. She fled down the hall to the central stairs, weaving round the uniforms and the everyday inhabitants of the house. A few arms reached out for her, but someone called out from behind, and she was let past.

Up and up Viki ran, past the labs and the classrooms, past the atrium where they always played, where they first met Hrunkner Unnerby.

At the summit was the little gabled attic that she and Gokna had demanded and pleaded and schemed for. Some like the deepest and some like the highest. Daddy always reached for the highest and his two daughters had loved to look down from their lofty perch. It wasn't the highest place in Princeton, but it had been enough.

Viki ran inside, slammed the door. For an instant, she was a little dizzy from the nonstop climb. And then...She froze, staring all around her. There was the attercop house, grown huge over the last five years. As the winters got colder, it had lost its original charm; you couldn't pretend the little critters were people when they started sprouting wings. Dozens of them flittered in and out of the feeders. The ultra and blue of their wings was almost like a wallboard design on the sides of the house. She and Gokna had argued endlessly over who was the mistress of that house.

They had argued about almost everything. There by the wall was the artillery-shell dollhouse that Gokna had brought up from the den. It really had been Gokna's, yet still they argued about it.

The signs of Gokna were everywhere here. And Gokna would never be here again. They could never talk again, not even to argue. Viki almost turned and bolted back out of the room. It was as though a monstrous hole had been torn in her side, her arms and legs ripped from her body. There was nowhere left for her life to stand. Viki sank down in a pile, shivering.

Fathers and mothers were very different sorts of people. From what the children had been able to figure, some of this was true even for normal families. Dad was around all the time. He was the one who had infinite patience, the one they could usually wheedle extra favors from. But Sherkaner Underhill had his own special nature, surely not the usual: He regarded every rule of nature and culture as an obstacle to be thought about, experimented with. There was humor and cleverness in everything he did.

Mothers-their mother, anyway-was not around every minute, and could not be depended upon to buckle to every childish demand. General Victory Smith was with her children often enough, one day out of ten up in Princeton, and much more so when they went on trips down to Lands Command. She was there when real rules had to be laid down, ones that even Sherkaner Underhill might hesitate to bend. And she was there when you had really, really screwed up.

Viki didn't know how long she had been lying in a huddle when she heard steps ticking up the stairs to her room. Surely not more than half an hour; beyond the windows, it was still the middle of a cool, beautiful afternoon.

There was soft tapping at her door. "Junior? Can we talk?" Mother.

Something strange stirred in Viki: welcome. Daddy could forgive, he always forgave...but Mother would understand how terrible she really had been.

Viki opened the door, stepped back with her head bowed. "I thought you were busy until tonight." Then she noticed that Victory Smith was in uniform, the black-black jacket and sleeves, the ultra and red shoulder tabs. She had never seen the General in that uniform up here in Princeton, and even down in Lands Command it had been reserved for special times, for briefings given to certain superiors.

The General stepped quietly into the room. "I-decided this was more important." She motioned Little Victory to sit beside her. Viki sat, feeling calmness for the first time since this all began. Two of the General's forearms draped lightly across her shoulders. "There have been some serious...mistakes made. You know that both your father and I agree about that?"

Viki nodded. "Yes, yes!"

"We can never bring Gokna back. But we can remember her, and love her, and correct the mistakes that allowed this terrible thing to happen."

"Yes!"

"Your father-I-thought we should keep you out of the larger problems, at least until you were grown. Up to a point, we were right perhaps. But now I see, we put you at terrible risk."

"No!...Mother, don't you understand? It was me, a-and Gokna, who broke the rules. We fooled Captain Downing. We just didn't believe the things that Dad and you warned us about."

The General's arms tapped Viki's shoulders lightly. Mother was either surprised, or suddenly angry. Viki couldn't tell which, and for a long moment her mother was silent. Then, "You're right. Sherkaner and I made mistakes...but so did you and Gokna. Neither of you meant any harm...but now you know that's not enough. In some games, when you make mistakes, people get killed. But think about it, Victory. Once you saw things turned bad, you behaved very well-better than many cobbers with professional training would have done. You saved the lives of the Suabisme children-"

"We risked little Birbop to-"

Smith shrugged angrily. "Yes. You'll find a hard lesson there, daughter. I've spent most of my life trying to live with that one." She was silent again, and something about her seemed very far away. It suddenly occurred to Viki that indeed, even Mother must make mistakes; it wasn't just courtesy that she said so. All their lives, the children had admired the General. She didn't talk about what she did, but they knew enough to guess she was more than the heroine of any dozen adventure novels. Now Viki had a glimpse of what that must really mean. She moved closer to her mother's side.

"Viki, when the crunch finally came, you and Gokna did what was right. All four of you did. There was a terrible price, but if we-you-don't learn from that, then we've really screwed up." Then Gokna died for nothing.

"I'll change; I'll do anything. Tell me."

"The outside changes aren't so big. I'll get you some tutors in military topics, maybe some physical training. But you and the younger children still have so much book learning to do. Your time will be pretty much as before. The big change will be inside your head and in the way we treat you. Beyond the learning, there are enormous, deadly risks that you must understand. Hopefully, they'll never be the minute-to-minute deadliness of this morning-but in the long run the dangers are much greater. I'm sorry, this is a time more risky than any before."

"And with more good possibilites, too." Daddy always said that. What would the General say to that now?

"Yes. That is true. And that is why he and I have done what we have. But it will take more than hope and optimism to achieve what Sherkaner intends, and the years until then will be more and more dangerous. What happened today is just the beginning. It's possible that the deadliest times will come when I'm very old. And your father is a half generation older than I...

"I said you four did well today. More than that, you were a team. Have you ever thought that our whole family is like a team? We have a special advantage over almost anyone else: We're not all of a single generation, or even two. We're spread from Little Hrunk all the way up to your father. We're loyal to one another. And I think we're very talented."

Viki smiled back at her mother. "None of us is near as smart as Daddy."

Victory laughed. "Yes, well. Sherkaner is...unique."

Viki continued, analytical: "Actually, except for maybe Jirlib, none of us is even in a class with Daddy's students. On the other hand, me and G-Gokna, we took after you, Mom. We-I can plan with people and with things. I think Rhapsa and Little Hrunk are somewhere in between, once they settle down. And Brent, he's not stupid, but his mind works in funny ways. He doesn't get along with other people, but he's the most naturally suspicious of any of us. He's always watching out for us."

The General smiled. "He'll do. There's five of you left now, Viki. Seven when you count myself and Sherkaner. The team. You're right in your estimates. What you can't know is how you compare to the rest of the world. Let me tell you my coldly professional assessment: You children can be the best. We wanted to postpone starting things a few more years for you, but that has changed. If the times I fear come, I want you five to know what is going on. If necessary, I want you five to be able to act even if everyone else is in a mess."

Victory Junior was more than old enough to understand about service oaths and chains of command. "Everyone? I-" She pointed at the rank tabs on her mother's shoulders.

"Yes, I live by my loyalty to the Crown. I'm saying that there may come times when-in the short term-serving the Crown means doing things outside the visible chain of command." She smiled at her daughter. "Some of the adventure novels are right, Viki. The head of Accord Intelligence does have her own special authority...Oops, I have postponed my other meetings long enough. We will talk again, very soon, all of us."

After the General was gone, Viki wandered around her little bedroom at the top of the hill. She was still in a daze, but no longer felt unrelieved horror. There was also wonder and hope. She and Gokna had always played at espionage. But Mother didn't talk of what she did, and she was so far above the military of everyday that it seemed a foolish dream to try to follow her. Business intelligence, maybe with companies like Hrunkner Unnerby had founded, that seemed more realistic. Now- Viki played with Gokna's little dollhouse for a moment. She and Gokna would never get to argue about these plans. Mother's team had suffered its first loss. But now it knew it was a team: Jirlib and Brent, Rhapsa, Little Hrunk, Viki, Victory and Sherkaner. They would learn to do their best. And in the end, that will be enough.

THIRTY-THREE.

For Ezr Vinh, the years passed quickly, and not just because of his quarter-time Watch cycle. The time since the ambush and the murders was almost a third of his life. These were the years his inner self had promised would be played out with unswerving patience, never giving up the struggle to destroy Tomas Nau and win back what still survived. It was a time he had thought would stretch into endless torment.

Yes. He had played with unswerving patience. And there had been pain...and shame. Yet his fear was most times a distant thing. And though he still didn't know the details, just knowing that he was working for Pham Nuwen gave Ezr the sure feeling that in the end they would triumph. But the biggest surprise was something that popped up again and again for uneasy introspection: In some ways, these years were more satisfying than any time since early childhood. Why was that?