ough these on hands 'n'  knees." Two more of
Amdi disappeared into the hole.
     The  tunnel he had discovered might be large  enough for a human child,
but the  entrance  hole  was  a tight  fit even for  the puppies. Jefri  had
nothing to do but stare into the darkness. The parts of Amdi  that  remained
at the entrance talked about what he had found. "-- Goes on for a long, long
way. I've doubled back a couple of times. The top of me is about five meters
up,  way  over your head. This  is kooky. I'm getting all  strung out." Amdi
sounded even sillier than  his normal playfulness. Two more of him went into
the hole.  This was  developing into serious  adventure  -- that Jefri could
have no part of.
     "Don't go too far; it might be dangerous."
     One  of the pair  that remained looked up at  him. "Don't worry.  Don't
worry. The tunnel isn't an accident. It  feels like it was cut as grooves in
the stones when they  were laid. This is some  special  escape  route Mister
Steel  made.  I'm  all  right.  I'm  all  right. Ha  ha,  hoohooo." One more
disappeared into the hole. After a moment the last remaining one ran in, but
stayed near enough  to the entrance so Amdi could  still  talk to Jefri. The
pack was  having a high  old time, singing and screeching  to  itself. Jefri
knew exactly what  the other was up to; it was another of the games he could
never play.  In this posture, Amdi's thoughts would be the weirdest rippling
things.  <I>Darn</I>.  Now that he was playing within stone, it must be even neater
than before,  since he was  totally cut  off from all  thoughts  except from
member to adjacent member.
     The stupid singing went on a little longer, and then  Amdi  spoke in an
almost reasonable tone. "Hei, this tunnel actually splits off in places. The
front of  me has  come  to a fork. One side  is heading  down.... Wish I had
enough members to go both ways!"
     "Well, you don't!"
     "Hei  ho, I'll take the  upper tunnel today." A few seconds of silence.
"There's a little door here! Like a member-size room door. Not locked." Amdi
relayed the sounds of stone scritching against stone. "Ha! I can see  light!
Up just a  few  more meters,  it opens onto  a window.  Hear  the wind."  He
relayed  wind sound  and  the  keening of the sea  birds that soared up from
Hidden Island. It sounded wonderful.  "Oh oh, this is stretching things, but
I wanna look  out.... Jefri, I can see the sun! I'm outdoors, sitting way up
on the side  of the dome. I can  see all round to the south. Boy, it's smoky
down there."
     "What  about  the  hillside?"  Jefri  asked  the  nearest  member;  its
white-splotched pelt was barely visible  through the entrance hole. At least
Amdi was staying in touch.
     "A  little browner than  last  tenday. I  don't  see  any soldiers  out
there." Relayed sound of a cannon firing. "Yipes. We're shooting  though....
It hit just on this side of the crest. There's someone out there, just below
my line of sight." Woodcarver,  come at last. Jefri  shivered, angry that he
couldn't  see, frightened of what might  be seen.  He  often  had nightmares
about what Woodcarver must truly be, how she  had done it to Mom and Dad and
Johanna. Images never  fully formed  ... yet almost  memories. <I>Mister  Steel
will get Woodcarver.</I>
     "Oh, oh. Old  Tyrathect  is coming across  the castle  yard this  way."
Thumping sounds came from the hole  as Amdi blundered back down. No point in
letting  Tyrathect know  that there was  a  tunnel  hidden in the wall. He'd
probably just order them to stay away from it. One, two, three, four -- half
of  Amdi popped  out of the wall. The four wandered around a little dazedly.
Jefri couldn't tell if it  was because of their  stretched-out experience or
if  they  were temporarily  split  from  the other half  of  the  pack. "Act
natural. Act natural."
     Then  the other four  arrived, and  Amdi began  to settle down. He  led
Jefri  away  from the  wall at a fast  trot. "Let's  get the  commset. We'll
pretend we've been trying to raise Ravna with it." Amdi  knew well that  the
starship couldn't be back for another thirty  minutes or so. In fact, he had
been the one who verified the math for Mister Steel. Nevertheless, he chased
up  the  ship's  steps  and  dragged down  the radio.  The two were  already
plugging the antenna into a signal booster when the public doors on the west
side of the dome were unlatched. Silhouetted against the daylight were parts
of  a  guard pack, and  a single  member  of Tyrathect.  The  guard retired,
sliding the doors shut, and the Cloak  walked slowly across the moss towards
them.
     Amdi rushed over and  chattered about their attempts to  use the radio.
It was a  little forced, Jefri  thought. The puppies were still confused  by
their trip through the walls.
     The singleton looked at the powdering  of mortar dust on  Amdi's  pelt.
"You've been climbing in the walls, haven't you?"
     "What?" Amdi looked himself over, noticed the dust. Usually he was more
clever. "Yes," he  said shamefacedly. He brushed the powder away. "You won't
tell, will you?"

     <I>Fat  chance he'll  help  us</I>, thought Jefri.  Mr. Tyrathect  had learned
Samnorsk even better than Mr. Steel, and besides  Steel was the only one who
had much time to talk with them. But even before the radio cloaks, he'd been
a short-tempered, bossy sort. Jefri had had baby-sitters like him. Tyrathect
was nice up to a point, and  then would get sarcastic or say something mean.
Lately that had improved, but Jefri still didn't like him much.
     But Mr.  Tyrathect didn't say anything right away. He sat down  slowly,
as if his rump hurt. "... No, I won't tell."
     Jefri exchanged  a surprised  glance  with one  of Amdi.  "What  is the
tunnel for?" he asked timidly.
     "All castles have hidden tunnels, especially in my ... in the domain of
Mr.  Steel. You want  ways  to  escape, ways  to spy on  your enemies."  The
singleton shook its  head.  "Never mind.  Is your radio  properly receiving,
Amdijefri?"
     Amdi  cocked  a head  at  the comm's display. "I think  so, but there's
nothing yet to receive. See,  Ravna's ship had to decelerate and um, I could
show you the arithmetic...?" But Mr. Tyrathect  was obviously not interested
in  playing with chalk boards. "... well, depending  on their  luck with the
ultradrive, we should have radio with them real soon."
     But the little window on  the comm  showed  no  incoming  signal.  They
watched it for  several minutes. Mr. Tyrathect lowered his muzzle and seemed
to  sleep. Every  few  seconds his  body  twitched  as  with  a dream. Jefri
wondered what the rest of him was doing.
     Then the comm window was glowing green.  There was a garble of sound as
it  tried  to sort signal  from  background  noise.  "... over  you  in five
minutes," came Ravna's voice. "Jefri? Are you listening?"
     "Yes! We're here."
     "Let me talk to Mr. Steel, please."
     Mr. Tyrathect stepped nearer to the comm. "He is not here now, Ravna."
     "Who is this?"
     Tyrathect's laugh was a giggle; he had never heard any other kind. "I?"
He made the Tinish chord that  sounded like "Tyrathect" to Jefri. "Or do you
mean a taken name, like  Steel? I don't know the exact word. You may call me
... Mr. Skinner." Tyrathect laughed again. "For now, I can speak for Steel."
     "Jefri, are you all right?"
     "Yes, yes. Listen to Mr. Skinner." What a strange name.
     The  sounds  from  the  comm  became muffled.  There was a male  voice,
arguing. Then Ravna was back, her voice kind of tight, like Mom when she was
mad. "Jefri ... what's the volume of a ball ten centimeters across?"
     Amdi  had  been fidgeting  impatiently  through the  conversation.  All
through the last  year he had been hearing stories of humans from Jefri, and
dreaming what  Ravna might really be like. Now he had  a chance to show off.
He  jumped for  the comm, and  grinned at Jefri.  "That's easy, Ravna."  His
voice  was  perfect  Jefri  --  and  completely  fluent. "It's 523.598 cubic
centimeters ... or do you want more digits?"
     Muffled conversation. "...No, that's fine.  Okay, Mr. Skinner.  We have
pictures from  our earlier pass and  a general radio fix. Where exactly  are
you?"
     "Under the castle dome at top of Starship Hill. It's right at the coast
by a -- "
     A  man's voice cut in.  Pham? He  had a funny  accent. "I got it on the
map. We still can't see you direct. Too much haze."
     "That's smoke," said the Cloak. "The enemy  is almost upon us  from the
south.  We need  your  help immediately --  " The singleton lowered its head
from the commset. Its eyes closed  and opened a couple  of times.  Thinking?
"Hmm, yes. Without your help, we and Jefri and  this ship  are lost.  Please
land within the castle courtyard. You know we've specially reinforced it for
your arrival. Once down we can use your weapons to -- "
     "No  way," the guy replied  immediately. "Just separate  the friendlies
from the bad guys and let us take care of things."
     Tyrathect's  voice  took  on  a  wheedling  tone,  like  a  little  kid
complaining.  <I>He really has been  studying  us.</I> "No, no,  didn't mean  to be
impolite.  Certainly, do it your own way. About  the  enemy force:  everyone
close  to the castle  on the south side of the hill are enemy. A single pass
with your ship's ... um, torch ... would send them running."
     "I can't fly that torch inside an  atmosphere. Did your Pop really land
with the main jet, Jefri? No agrav?"
     "Yes, sir. All we had was the jet."
     "He was a lucky genius."
     Ravna: "Maybe  we  could just  float  across, a few thousand meters up.
That might scare them away."
     Tyrathect began, "Yes, that might -- "
     The  public doors on the north  side of the dome slid  open. Mr.  Steel
stood  silhouetted against the  daylight  beyond. "Let me  talk to them," he
said.






     The goal of all their voyaging  lay just  twenty  kilometers below <I>OOB</I>.
They  were so <I>close</I>, yet  those twenty thousand  meters might be as hard  to
bridge as the twenty thousand light-years they had come so far.
     They   floated   on  agrav   directly  over  "Starship   Hill".   <I>OOB</I>'s
multispectral wasn't working very well, but where smoke did not obscure, the
ship's optics could  count the needles  on the trees below.  Ravna could see
the  forces  of "Woodcarver"  ranged across  the slopes south of the castle.
There  were other troops, and apparently cannon,  hidden in the forests that
lined the fjord south of that. Given  a little more time they  would be able
to locate them too. Time was the one thing they did not have.
     Time and trust.
     "Forty-eight hours, Pham. Then the fleet will  be here, all around us."
Maybe,  <I>maybe</I>  godshatter could  work  a miracle;  they'd never know stewing
about it up here. Try: "You've got to trust somebody, Pham."
     Pham  glared back at her, and  for an  instant she  feared he  might go
completely  to pieces. "You'd land  in  the middle of that  castle? Medieval
villains are just as smart as any you've seen in the Beyond, Rav. They could
teach the Butterflies a thing or two. An arrow  in the head will kill you as
sure as an antimatter bomb."

     <I>More  fake memories?</I> But Pham was right on this:  She thought about the
just-concluded conversation. The second  pack -- Steel -- had been a bit too
insistent. He had been good to Jefri,  but he was clearly desperate. And she
believed him when he said that a high  fly-by wouldn't scare the Woodcarvers
off. They needed to  come down near  the  ground with  firepower.  Just now,
about all the  firepower they had  was Pham's beam gun. "Okay, then! Do what
you  and Steel talked about. Fly  the  lander past Woodcarver's lines, laser
blast them."
     "God  damn  it,  you know  I can't fly that.  The landing  boat is like
nothing either of us know, and without the automation I -- "
     Softly: "Without the automation,  you need Blueshell, Pham." There  was
horror  on Pham's  face. She  reached out to him.  He was silent for a  long
moment, not seeming to notice.
     "Yeah." His voice was low, strangled. Then: "Blueshell! Get up here."







     <I>OOB</I>'s lander had more than enough  room for the  Skroderider  and  Pham
Nuwen. The  craft had  been built  specifically for Rider  use.  With higher
automation working, it would have been easy for  Pham -- for even a child --
to fly. Now,  the  craft could  not provide stable flight, and the  "manual"
controls  were  something  that  gave  even  Blueshell  a  hard  time.  <I>Damn
automation. Damn optimization.</I>  For most of his adult life Pham had lived in
the  Slowness. All those decades, he had managed spacecraft and weapons that
could have reduced the  feudal empire below to slag. Yet now, with equipment
that should  have been enormously more powerful, he couldn't even fly a damn
landing boat.
     Across the crew compartment, Blueshell was at the pilot's position. His
fronds stretched across a web  of supports and controls. He  had turned  off
all display automation; only the  main window was alive, a natural view from
the  boat's bow  camera. <I>OOB</I> floated some hundred  meters ahead, drifting up
and out of view as their craft slid backwards and down.
     Blueshell's fidgety nervousness  -- furtiveness,  it seemed to  Pham --
had disappeared as he  got into piloting the craft. His  voder voice  became
terse and  preoccupied,  and  the edges  of his  fronds  writhed across  the
controls, an exercise that would have been impossible to Pham even if he had
a lifetime of experience with the gear.  "Thank you, Sir Pham.... I'll prove
you can  trust...." The nose lurched downwards  and they were staring almost
straight into the fjord-carven coastline  twenty kilometers below. They fell
free for half a minute while the rider's fronds  writhed on their  supports.
Hot  piloting?  No:  "Sorry,  sorry."  Acceleration, and  Pham sank into his
restraints under  a  grav load that  wobbled between  a  tenth  gee  and  an
intolerable  crush. The landscape rotated and  they had  a  brief glimpse of
<I>OOB</I>, now like a tiny moth above them.
     "Is it necessary  to kill, Sir Pham? Perhaps simply our appearance over
the battle...."
     Nuwen gritted his  teeth.  "Just get us  down." The Steel  creature had
been  adamant  that  they  fry  the  entire  hillside.  Despite  all  Pham's
suspicions, the pack might be right on that. They  were up against a crew of
murderers  that  had not  hesitated to ambush  a  starship; the  Woodcarvers
needed a real demonstration.
     Their boat fluttered down the  kilometers. Steel's fortifications  were
clearly visible even in the natural view: the rough polygon that guarded the
refugee  ship,  the  much  larger  structure that  rambled across an  island
several  kilometers westward. <I>I wonder if  this is  how  my Father's  castle
looked to the Qeng Ho landers?</I>  Those walls were high and unsloping. Clearly
the Tines had had no idea of gunpowder till Ravna had clued them to it.
     The  valley  south  of the  castle was a  blot  of dark smoke  smoothly
streaming  toward  the sea. Even without data enhancement, he could see  hot
spots, fringes of orange edging the black.
     "You're at two thousand meters," came Ravna's voice. "Jefri says he can
see you."
     "Patch me through to them."
     "I will  try,  Sir  Pham."  Blueshell fiddled,  his  lack of  attention
spinning the boat through a complete loop. Pham had seen falling leaves with
more control.
     A child's piping voice: "A-are you okay? Don't <I>crash!</I>"
     And then  the Steel pack's hybrid of  Ravna and the kid: "South to  go!
South to go! Use fire gun. Burn them quick."
     Blueshell  was entirely too  cooperative to this direction. He had them
down in  the smoke already. For  seconds  they were flying blind. A break in
the  smoke showed  the hillside less than two  hundred meters off, coming up
fast. Before Pham could curse at Blueshell, the Rider had turned them around
and floated  the boat into clearer air.  Then he pitched  over so they might
see directly down.
     After thirty weeks of talk and planning, Pham had his first  glimpse of
the Tines. Even  from here,  it was  obvious they  were  different  from any
sophonts Pham had encountered: Clusters of  four or five or six members hung
together so close they seemed a single spiderlike being. And each pack stood
separated from the others by ten or fifteen meters.
     A cannon flashed in the murk. The pack  crewing it moved like a single,
coordinated hand  to rock the  barrel back and  ram another charge  down the
muzzle.
     "But if these are the enemy, Sir Pham, where did they get the guns?"
     "They stole 'em." <I>But muzzle loaders?</I> He didn't have time to pursue the
thought.
     "You're  right over them, Pham! I  can see you in and out of the smoke.
You're drifting south at fifteen meters per second, losing altitude." It was
the kid, speaking with his usual incredible precision.
     "Kill them! Kill them!"
     Pham wriggled out of his restraints and crawled back to the hatch where
they had mounted his beam gun. It was about the only thing salvaged from the
workshop fire, but by God this <I>was</I> something he could operate.
     "Keep us steady, Blueshell. Bounce me around and I'll fry you as likely
as  anything!"  He  pushed open  the hatch,  and gagged on spicy smoke. Then
Blueshell's agravs wafted them into a clear  space and Pham lined the beamer
down the ranks of packfolk.






     Originally  Woodcarver  had demanded  Johanna  stay  at  the base camp.
Johanna's  response had  been  explosive.  Even now the  girl  was  a little
surprised at herself. Not since the first days on Tines  world had  she come
so  close to  attacking  a  pack.  No way was anyone going to keep her  from
finding out about Jefri. In  the end  they had  compromised:  Johanna  would
accept Pilgrim as her guard. She could follow  the army  into the field,  as
long as she obeyed his direction.
     Johanna looked up through the drifting smoke. <I>Damn</I>. Pilgrim was  always
such a carefree joker. By his own telling, he had gotten himself killed over
and  over again through the years. And now  he  wouldn't even  let her up to
Scrupilo's cannons.  The two of them paced across a terrace in the hillside.
The brush fire  had  swept through here hours before, and the spicy smell of
moss ash was thick around them. And  with  that smell came the bright memory
of horror, of a year ago, right here....
     Trusted  guard  packs paced their course twenty meters  on either side.
This area  was  supposedly  safe  from infiltration,  and there had been  no
artillery  fire  from  the  Flenserists for hours. But  Peregrine absolutely
refused to let her get any closer.

     <I>It's nothing  like last year.</I> Then  all had been sunny  blue skies  and
clean air -- and  her parents' murder. Now she and Pilgrim had returned, and
the blue sky was yellow-gray and the  sweeps of  mossy hillside were  black.
And now the  packs  around her were  fighting <I>with</I> her. And  now there was a
chance....
     "Lemme  closer, damn it! Woodcarver will have  the Oliphaunt  no matter
what happens to me."
     Peregrine shook himself, a Tinish negative. One  of his puppies reached
out from a jacket pouch to  catch at her sleeve. "A little longer,"  Pilgrim
said for the tenth time. "Wait for Woodcarver's messenger. Then we can -- "
     "I want to be up  there! I'm the only one  who knows the  ship!" <I>Jefri,
Jefri. If only Vendacious was right about you....</I>
     She was twisting about to slap at Scarbutt when it happened: A glare of
heat  on her back, and the smoke  flashed bright. Again. Again. And then the
impact of rapid thunder.
     Pilgrim shuddered  against her. "That's not  gunfire!" he shouted. "Two
of me are almost blinded. C'mon." He surrounded her, almost knocking her off
her feet as he pushed/dragged her down the hill.
     For  a second Johanna  went along, more dazed than cooperative. Somehow
they had lost their escort.
     From  up the hill the shouts of battle had stopped.  The  sharp thunder
had  silenced all. Where the smoke  thinned she  could see one of Scrupilo's
cannons, the barrel  extending from a puddle of melted steel.  The cannoneer
had been blown to bits. Not gunfire. Johanna spasmed out  of Pilgrim's grip.
<I>Not gunfire.</I>
     "Spacers! Pilgrim, that must be a drive torch."
     Peregrine grabbed her, continuing  down the hill.  "Not a  drive torch!
That I've heard. This is quieter -- and somebody's <I>aiming</I> it."
     There  had  been  a  long stutter  of  separate  blasts.  How  many  of
Woodcarver's people  had just  died?  "They must think  we're  attacking the
ship, Pilgrim. If we don't do something, they'll wipe out everyone."
     His jaws eased  their grip  on her sleeves and  pants. "What can we do?
Hanging around here will just get us killed."
     Johanna stared  into the sky. No  sign of fliers, but there was so much
smoke. The  sun was a dull bloody ball. If only the  rescuers knew they were
killing her  friends. If  only they could  see. She  dug her feet  into  the
ground. "Let go of me, Pilgrim! I'm going uphill, out of the smoke."
     He'd  stopped moving but his grip was fiercely tight. Four adult  faces
and two  puppy  ones looked  up at her,  and indecision was  in every  look.
"Please,  Pilgrim. It's  the  only way." Packs were  straggling  down,  some
bleeding, some in fragments.
     His frightened eyes stared at her an instant longer. Then he let go and
touched her hand with a nose. "I guess this hill will always be the death of
me. First  Scriber,  now you  -- you're all  crazy."  The old  Pilgrim smile
flickered across his members. "Okay. Let's  try it!" The two without puppies
went up the hillside, scouting for the safest route.
     Johanna and the rest of him followed. They were moving across a sloping
terrace. The summer drought had drained the chill swamp water she remembered
from  the landing, and  the blackened moss  was firm  under  her.  The going
should  have been easy,  but  Peregrine wound through the deepest  hummocks,
hunkering down every few seconds to look in all directions. They reached the
end of the terrace and began climbing. There were places so steep she had to
grab the epaulet stirrups on two of Peregrine and let him hoist her up. They
passed  the  nearest  cannon,  what was left  of it. Johanna had  never seen
weapons fired  except in stories, but the splash of metal and the carbonized
flesh could only mean some kind of beam weapon. Running across the hill were
similar craters, destruction punched into the already burned land.
     Johanna leaned against a smooth rounding of rock. "Just pull  over this
one and we're on the next terrace," Pilgrim's voice came in her ear. "Hurry,
I hear shouting." He leaned two of himself down, tilting his epaulets toward
her  hands. She grabbed  them, and jumped. For a moment  she  and  the  pack
teetered  over  a four- meter  fall, and  then she  was  lying  on brownish,
unburned  moss.  Pilgrim clustered  around her,  hiding her.  She peeked out
between his  legs. The  outermost  walls of Steel's castle were visible from
here. Tinish archers stood boldly on  the ramparts, taking advantage  of the
chaos among Woodcarver's  troops. In  fact,  the Queen's force had not  lost
many packs in the air  attack,  but even the unwounded were milling  around.
The Queen's soldiers were no cowards -- Johanna knew that by now -- but they
had just been confronted by force beyond all defense.
     Overhead the smoke  faded into  blue.  The battlefield ahead of her lay
under  clear sky. In the years before the  High Lab, Johanna and  her mother
had often gone on nature trips over Bigby Marsh at Straum.  With the sensors
on  their camper packs they'd had  no trouble watching the skyggwings there:
even if this flier's automation was not specifically  looking for a human on
the ground, it should notice her. "Do you see anything?"
     The four adult heads angled back and forth  in coordinated  pairs. "No.
The flier must be very far away or behind the smoke."

     <I>Nuts</I>. Johanna came off her knees, trotted toward the castle walls. They
must be watching there!
     "Woodcarver's not going to like this."
     Two of the Queen's soldiers were already running toward them, attracted
by  their purposeful movement or the sight  of  Johanna. Pilgrim  waved them
back.
     Alone  on an  open  field less  than two hundred meters from the castle
wall. Even with normal  vision, how  could they be overlooked? In fact, they
were noticed: There  was a soft hissing, and a meter-long arrow thunked into
the turf  on their left. Scarbutt  grabbed  her  shoulder, pulling  her to a
crouch.  The  puppies shifted  his  shields  into  position: Pilgrim  made a
barricade of himself on the castle side and started back  out of range. Back
into the smoke.
     "No! Run parallel! I want to be seen."
     "Okay, okay." Soft sounds of  death  whispered  down. Johanna  kept one
hand on his shoulder as they ran across the field. She felt Scarbutt falter.
The arrow had caught him  in the thick of his  shoulder,  centimeters from a
tympanum. "I'm okay! Stay down, stay down."
     The front  line of  Woodcarver's  force was rallying toward them now, a
dozen packs racing across the terrace. Pilgrim bounced up and down, shouting
with a voice that punched like physical force. Something about staying back,
and danger from the sky.  It didn't stop their advance. "They  want you away
from the arrows."
     And suddenly they  noticed that  the fire from  the castle had stopped.
Pilgrim scanned the sky, "It's back! Coming from the east, maybe a kilometer
out."
     She  looked  in  the direction he was pointing.  It was a lumpy  thing,
probably  space-based  though  it  had no  ultradrive spines. It bobbled and
staggered.  There was no sign  of jets.  Some kind of agrav? Nonhumans?  The
thoughts skittered through her mind, alongside the joy.
     Pale  light flickered from a mast on its belly and dirt geysered around
the  troops  who were racing  to protect her. Again  the stuttering thunder,
only now the light was marching right across her friends toward her.






     Amdijefri  was on the  battlements. Steel  hid his glares from the two.
There simply was no help for it; Ravna had demanded Jefri be by the radio to
guide the strike. The human was not completely stupid. It shouldn't make any
difference.  An army looks like an army whether  it is foe  or friend.  Very
soon the army beyond these walls would cease to exist.
     "How  did  the first  run go?"  Ravna's  voice  came  clearly from  the
commset. But it wasn't  Jefri  who answered: all  eight  of Amdiranifani was
poking  around the battlements,  some  of  him  sitting on the crenellations
practicing stereo vision,  others eyeing Steel and the radio. Telling him to
stay  back had no effect. Now Amdi answered the question with Jefri's voice.
"Okay. I counted fifteen pulses. Only ten hit anything. I bet  I could shoot
better than that."
     "Damn  it, that's the best I  can  do  with this [unknown words]."  The
voice was not Ravna's.  Steel heard the irritation in it. <I>Everybody can find
something to hate in these pups.</I> The thought warmed him.
     "Please,"   said  Steel.  "Fire  again.  Again."  He  looked  over  the
stonework. The air attack had taken  out  a band of enemy by the edge of the
near terrace. It was spectacular destruction, like enormous cannon blows, or
the  separate landing of twenty starships. And all from a little  craft that
fluttered like a falling leaf. The enemy front line was dissolving in panic.
Up and down the ramparts, his own troops danced about their stations. Things
had been bleak since their cannon were knocked out; they needed something to
cheer  about.  "The  archers,  Shreck!  Shoot  upon  the  survivors."  Then,
continuing in Samnorsk: "The front ranks  are still coming. They are -- they
are -- " <I>Damn,  what's the word for "confident"?</I> "They will kill us  without
more help."
     The human child looked at Steel in puzzlement. If he called that a lie,
then.... A moment later Ravna said.  "I don't know. They're  well  back from
your walls, at least all that I can see. I  don't want to butcher...." Rapid
fire conversation with the human in the flier, perhaps not even in Samnorsk.
The gunner did not  sound pleased. "Pham will  pull back  a few kilometers,"
she said. "We can come back instantly if your enemy advances."

     <I>"Ssssst!</I>"  Shreck's  Hightalk  hiss  was  like  a physical  jab.  Steel
wheeled, glaring. <I>How dare  --</I>  But his  lieutenant was  wide-eyed, pointing
toward the center of the battlefield. Of course Steel had had a pair of eyes
on that direction, but he hadn't been paying attention: <I>The other Two-Legs!</I>
     The  mantis figure  dropped  behind  an  accompanying  pack, mercifully
before  Amdijefri  noticed.  Thank  the  Pack  of  Packs  that  puppies  are
near-sighted. Steel swept forward, surrounding some of Amdi, shouting at the
others  to  get  off the parapet. Both of Tyrathect ran in close, physically
grabbing  for the  disobedient wretches.  "Get  below!"  Steel  screamed  in
Tinish.  For a second all was confusion, as  his own  mind sounds mixed with
the puppies'. Amdi tumbled away from him, thoroughly distracted by the noise
and the rough handling.  And  then in  Samnorsk Steel said, "There  are more
cannons out there. Get below before you're hurt!"
     Jefri started for the  parapet.  "But I don't see  -- " And fortunately
there <I>was</I> nothing special to see. Now. The other Two-Legs was still crouched
behind one of Woodcarver's packs.  Shreck took the human  child  in paw  and
jaw.  He  and  one of Tyrathect  hustled the protesting  children  down  the
stairs. As they  departed, Tyrathect was  already  embellishing  on  Steel's
story, reporting on  the troops  it could see  from below the  crest  of the
hill.
     "Blow up the lesser powder dump," Steel hissed at the departing Shreck.
That dump  was  near empty, but its destruction  might persuade  the spacers
where words could not.
     After they were gone, Steel stood for an instant, silent and shivering.
He  had never seen  disaster so narrowly  avoided.  Along the  ramparts, his
archers were showering  arrows  upon the enemy pack and the  Two-Legs. <I>Damn.</I>
They were almost out of range.
     In the castle yard, Shreck detonated the lesser dump. The explosion was
a satisfying one, much louder than an artillery hit. One of the inner towers
was blown apart. Flying rock showered the yard, the smallest pieces reaching
all the way to where Steel stood on the ramparts.
     Ravna's  voice was  shouting in swift Samnorsk,  too  fast for Steel to
understand. Now  all the  planning,  all the hopes, all balanced  on a knife
edge. He must bet everything: Steel  leaned a shoulder close to the comm and
said, "Sorry. Things go fast here. Many more Woodcarver come up under smoke.
Can you kill  all on hillside?"  Could the mantises see  through smoke? That
was part of the gamble.
     The gunner's voice came back, "I can try. Watch this."
     A third voice, thready  and narrow even by human standards: "It will be
fifty seconds more, Sir Steel. We're having trouble turning."

     <I>Good. Concentrate on your flying and your  killing.  Don't look at your
victims too carefully.</I> The archers had driven the human back, part way under
the cover of smoke. Other packs were rushing out to protect her. By the time
the Visitors  circled back, there would be  lots of  targets, the human lost
among them.
     Two of him caught  sight of  the spacer floating down through the haze.
The  Visitors would have no clear view  of what they were shooting  at. Pale
light flickered from beneath the craft.  A  scythe swept across the hillside
toward Woodcarver's troops.






     Pham was bounced around his  perch as Blueshell turned the boat back to
the target. They weren't moving fast; the airstream couldn't have been  more
than thirty  meters per second.  But every second  was full of the damnedest
jerks and  tumbles. At one point Pham's  grip on the gun mount  was all that
kept him indoors.  <I>Forty  some hours from  now the deadliest  thing  in  the
universe is going to arrive, and I'm taking potshots at dogs.</I>
     How  to take out the hillside? Steel's whiny voice still echoed  in his
ears. And Ravna wasn't sure  what  <I>OOB</I> was seeing beneath all the smoke.  <I>We
might do better without  automation than with this bastard mix.</I> At least his
beamer had a manual control. Pham embraced the barrel with  one arm while he
reached with  the  other.  At wide  dispersion the  beam was useless against
armor, but could  burst eyes and  set skin and hair  afire --  and  the beam
width would be dozens of meters across at ground level.
     "Fifteen seconds, Sir Pham," Blueshell's voice came in his ear.
     They  were  low  this  time. Gaps  in  the  smoke flickered  past  like
stop-action art.  Most of  the ground was burned-over black,  but there were
precipices of naked rock and even sooty patches of snow  trapped in crannies
and  shadowed  pits.... Here and  there was  a  pile  of  doggy  bodies,  an
occasional gun tube.
     "There's a crowd of them ahead, Sir Pham. Running near the castle."
     Pham  leaned down  and  looked forward. The  mob was about four hundred
meters  ahead. They were running  parallel  to the castle  walls, through  a
field that was a spinehide of arrowshafts. He pressed the firing stud, swept
the beam out from below the boat. There was plenty of water under that dried
cover; it exploded in steam as the beam passed over it.... But further  out,
the wide  dispersion wasn't  doing much.  It would be  another  few  seconds
before he'd have a good shot at the hapless packs.
     Time   for  the   little  suspicions.  So  how  come   the  enemy   had
muzzle-loading  cannon? <I>Those</I> they must have  made themselves --  in a world
with  no evidence  of firearms. Steel  was the classic medieval manipulator;
Pham  had spotted the type  from a thousand light-years out. They were doing
the critter's dirty work, that was obvious. <I>Shut up. Deal with Steel later.</I>
     Slanting  in  on  the packs, Pham fired  again, sweeping through living
flesh this time. He fired  ahead of them and on the castle side; maybe  they
wouldn't all die. He stuck his head further into the  slipstream, trying for
a  better view. Ahead of  the packs was a  hundred  meters of  open field, a
single pack  of four and -- <I>a human  figure, black-haired and  slim, jumping
and waving.</I>
     Pham smashed the barrel  up against  the hull,  safing  it at the  same
time. The  back  flash was  a surge  of  heat  that  crisped  his  eyebrows.
"Blueshell! Get us down! Get us down!"



     .Delete this paragraph to shift page flush





     -=*=-



        CHAPTER 39

     "A bad understanding. She was lied to."
     Ravna tried to read something behind the voice. Steel's Samnorsk was as
creaky  as ever, the tones  childish and whiny. He sounded no different than
before. But his story was stretched very thin by what had  just happened. He
was either a galaxy master of impudence -- or his story was actually true.
     "The  human must have been  hurt,  then  lied  to by  Woodcarver.  This
explains a  lot, Ravna.  Without her,  Woodcarver  could not attack. Without
her, all may be safe."
     Pham's  voice  came  to  Ravna  on  a  private  channel.  "The girl <I>was</I>
unconscious during part of the ambush, Rav. But she practically scratched my
eyes out when I suggested she might be wrong about Steel and Woodcarver. And
the pack with her is a lot more convincing than Steel."
     Ravna looked questioningly across the  deck at Greenstalk.  Pham didn't
know she was here. <I>Tough.</I> Greenstalk  was an island  of  sanity  amidst  the
madness -- and she knew the <I>OOB</I> infinitely better than Ravna.
     Steel spoke into her hesitation: "See now, nothing has changed,  except
for the better. One more human lives. How  can you doubt us? Speak to Jefri;
he  understands. We  have done the best  for the children in ..." a gobbling
noise, and (another?) voice said, "coldsleep."
     "Certainly,  we must speak  to him again, Steel. He's our best proof of
your good intentions."
     "Okay. In a few minutes, Ravna. But see, he is also  my good protection
against treachery from you. I know how powerful you Visitors are. I ... fear
you. We need to -- " gobbling consultation "-- accommodate each other in our
fears."
     "Um. We'll work something out. Just let us speak to Jefri now."
     "Yes."
     Ravna switched channels. "What do you think, Pham?"
     "There's no question in my mind. This  Johanna  is not a naive kid like
Jefri. We've always  known Steel was a tough critter. We just had some other
facts wrong. The  landing site is in the middle  of his territory.  He's the
killer." Pham's voice became quieter, almost a whisper. "Hell of it is, this
may not  change  anything. Steel  does have  the  ship.  I've got to  get in
there."
     "It will be another ambush."
     "... I know. But does  it  matter? If  we  can  get  me  time with  the
Countermeasure,  it could  be -- it  will  be --  worth  it." What  matter a
suicide mission within a suicide mission?
     "I'm not sure, Pham. If we give him everything, he'll kill us before we
ever get near the ship."
     "He'll try. Look, just keep him talking. Maybe we can get a directional
on his radio, blow the bastard away." He did not sound optimistic.






     Tyrathect  didn't  take them back to the  ship, or to their rooms. They
descended stairs within the outer walls, part of Amdi first, then Jefri with
the rest of Amdi, then the singleton from Tyrathect.
     Amdi was still complaining. "I don't understand, I don't understand. We
can help."
     Jefri: "I didn't see any enemy cannons."
     The  singleton  was full  of explanations, though  it sounded even more
preoccupied than usual. "I saw them from one of my other members, out in the
valley. We're pulling in all our soldiers. We  must make a stand, or none of
us will be alive  to be rescued. For now, this is the best place  for you to
be."
     "How do you know?" said Jefri. "Can you talk to Steel right now?"
     "Yes, one of me is still up there with him."
     "Well, tell him we have to help. We can talk better Samnorsk  even than
you."
     "I'll tell him right now," was the Cloak's quick reply.
     There were no more window  slots  cut in the walls. The only light came
from wick torches set  every ten meters  along the tunnel. The  air was cool
and  musty; wetness glistened on unquilted stone. The tiny doors were not of
polished wood. Instead there were bars,  and darkness beyond.  <I>Where  are we
going?</I> Jefri was suddenly reminded of the dungeons in stories, the treachery
that befell the Greater Two and  the Countess of  the Lake. Amdi didn't seem
to feel  it. For all his mischievous nature, Puppies was basically trusting;
he  had  always  depended  on Mr. Steel. But Jefri's parents had never acted
quite  like  this, even during the escape from  High Lab. Mr. Steel suddenly
seemed  so different, as if he  couldn't be  bothered pretending  to be nice
anymore. And Jefri had never really trusted  the  sullen Tyrathect; now that
one was acting downright sneaky.

     <I>There had been no new threat on the hillside.</I>
     Fear  and stubbornness  and  suspicion  all  came  together: Jefri spun
around,  confronting the  Cloak.  "We're not going any  farther.  This isn't
where  we're supposed to  go. We want to  talk to Ravna  and  Mr.  Steel." A
sudden, liberating realization: "And you're not big enough to stop us!"
     The singleton backed up abruptly, then  sat down.  It lowered its head,
blinked. "So you don't trust me? You are right not  to. There is no one here
but yourselves that you can trust." Its gaze drifted from Jefri to the ranks
of Amdi, and then down the hall. "Steel doesn't know I've brought you here."
     The confession was so quick, so easily made. Jefri swallowed hard. "You
brought  us down here to  k-kill  us."  All of  Amdi was  staring at him and
Tyrathect, every eye wide with shock.
     The singleton bobbed its head in  part of  a  smile.  "You think  I  am
traitor? After  all this time,  some healthy suspicion. I  am proud of you."
Mr.   Tyrathect  continued  smoothly,  "You  are   surrounded  by  traitors,
Amdijefri. But I am not one of them. I am here to help you."
     "I  know  that."  Amdi  reached  forward  to  touch  a  muzzle  to  the
singleton's. "You're no traitor. You're the only person besides Jefri that I
can touch. We've a