Megan Oneagle blinked away tears. She wanted to turn away, not to look, but she forced herself to watch the carnage one more time.

The large holo-tank depicted a night scene, a rain-driven beach that shone dimly in shades of gray under faintly visible brooding cliffs. There were no moons, no stars, in fact hardly any light at all. The enhancement cameras had been at their very limits taking these pictures.

On the beach she could barely make out five black shapes that crawled ash.o.r.e, dashed across the sand, and began climbing the low, crumbling bluffs.

"You can tell they followed procedures precisely," Major Prathachulthorn of the Terragens Marines explained. "First the submarine released the advance divers, who went ahead to scout and set up surveillance. Then, when it seemed the coast was clear, the sabots were released."

Megan watched as little boats bobbed to the surface -- black globes rising amid small clouds of bubbles-which then headed quickly for sh.o.r.e. They landed, covers popped off, and more dark figures emerged.

"They carried the finest equipment available. Their training was the best. These were Terragens Marines."

So? Megan shook her head. Does that mean they did not have mothers?

She understood what Prathachulthorn was saying, however. If calamity could befall these professionals, who could blame Garth's colonial militia for the disasters of the last few months?

The black shapes moved toward the cliffs, stoop-shouldered under heavy burdens.

For weeks, now, the remnants still under Megan's command had sat with her, deep in their underwater refuge, pondering the collapse of all their well-laid plans for an organized resistance. The agents and saboteurs had been ready, the arms caches and cells organized. Then came the cursed Gubru coercion gas, and all their careful schemes collapsed under those roiling clouds of deadly smoke.

What few humans remained on the mainland were certainly dead by now, or as good as dead. What was frustrating was that n.o.body, not even the enemy in their broadcasts, seemed to know who or how many had made it to the islands in time for antidote treatment and internment.

Megan avoided thinking about her son. With any luck he was now on Cilmar Island, brooding with his friends in some pub, or complaining to a crowd of sympathetic girls how his mother had kept him out of the war. She could only hope and pray that was the case, and that Uthacalthing's daughter was safe as well.

More of a cause for perplexity was the fate of the Tymbrimi Amba.s.sador himself. Uthacalthing had promised to follow the Planetary Council into hiding, but he had never appeared. There were reports that his ship had tried for deeps.p.a.ce instead, and was destroyed.

So many lives. Lost to what purpose?

Megan watched the display as the sabots began edging back into the water. The main force of men was already climbing the bluffs.

Without humans, of course, any hope of resistance was out of the question. A few of the cleverest chims might strike a blow, here or there, but what could really be expected of them without their patrons?

One purpose of this landing had been to start something going again, to adapt and adjust to new circ.u.mstances.

For the third time-even though she knew it was coming-Megan was caught by surprise as lightning suddenly burst upon the beach. In an instant everything was bathed in brilliant colors.

First to explode were the little boats, the sabots.

Next came the men.

"The sub pulled its camera in and dived just in time," Major Prathachulthorn said.

The display went blank. The woman marine lieutenant who had operated the projector turned on the lights. The other members of the Council blinked, adjusting to the light. Several dabbed their eyes.

Major Prathachulthorn's South Asian features were darkly serious as he spoke again. "It's the same thing as during the s.p.a.ce battle, and when they somehow knew to gas every secret base we'd set up on land. Somehow they always find out where we are."

"Do you have any idea how they're doing it?" one of the council members asked.

Vaguely, Megan recognized that it was the female Marine officer, Lieutenant Lydia McCue, who answered. The young woman shook her head. "We have all of our technicians working on the problem, of course. But until we have some idea how they're doing it, we don't want to waste any more men trying to sneak ash.o.r.e."

Megan Oneagle closed her eyes. "I think we are in no condition, now, to discuss matters any further. I declare this meeting adjourned."

When she retired to her tiny room, Megan thought she would cry. Instead, though, she merely sat on the edge of her bed, in complete darkness, allowing her eyes to look in the direction she knew her hands lay.

After a while, she felt she could almost see them, fingerslike blobs resting tiredly on her knees. She imagined they,were stained-a deep, sanguinary red.

29 Robert

Deep underground there was no way to sense the natural pa.s.sage of time. Still, when Robert jerked awake in his chair, he knew exactly when it was.

Late. Too d.a.m.n late. Athaclena was due back hours ago.

If he weren't still little more than an invalid he would have overcome the objections of Micah and Dr. Soo and gone topside himself, looking for the long overdue raiding party. As it was, the two chim scientists had nearly had to use force to stop him.

Traces of Robert's fever still returned now and then. He wiped his forehead and suppressed some momentary shivers. No, he thought. I am in control!

He stood up and picked his way carefully toward the sounds of muttered argument, where he found a pair of chims working over the pearly light of a salvaged level-seventeen computer. Robert sat on a packing crate behind them and listened for a while. When he made a suggestion they tried it, and it worked. Soon he had almost managed to push aside his worries as he immersed himself in work, helping the chims sketch out military tactics programming for a machine that had never been designed for anything more hostile than chess.

Somebody came by with a pitcher of juice. He drank. Someone handed him a sandwich. He ate.

An indeterminate time later a shout echoed through the underground chamber. Feet thumped hurriedly over low wooden bridges. Robert's eyes had grown accustomed to the bright screen, so it was out of a dark gloom that he saw chims hurrying past, seizing a.s.sorted, odd-lot weapons as they rushedup the pa.s.sage leading to the surface.

He stood and grabbed at the nearest running brown form. "What's happening?"

He might as well have tried to halt a bull. The chim tore free without even glancing his way and vanished up the ragged tunnel. The next one he waved down actually looked at him and halted restlessly. "It's th' expedition," the nervous chen explained. "They've come back. ... At least I hear some of 'em have."

Robert let the fellow go. He began casting around the chamber for a weapon of his own. If the raiding party had been followed back here . . .

There wasn't anything handy, of course. He realized bitterly that a rifle would hardly do him any good with his right arm immobilized. The chims probably wouldn't let him fight anyway. They'd more likely carry him bodily out of harm's way, deeper into the caves.

For a while there was silence. A few elderly chims waited with him for the sound of gunfire.

Instead, there came voices, gradually growing louder. The shouts sounded more excited than fearful.

Something seemed to stroke him, just above the ears. He hadn't had much practice since the accident, but now Robert's simple empathy sense felt a familiar trace blow into the chamber. He began to hope.

A babbling crowd of figures turned the bend-ragged, filthy neo-chimpanzees carrying slung weapons, some sporting bandages. The instant he saw Athaclena, a knot seemed to let go inside of Robert.

Just as quickly, though, another worry took its place. The Tymbrimi girl had been using the gheer transformation, clearly. He felt the rough edges of her exhaustion, and her face was gaunt.

Moreover, Robert could tell that she was still hard at work. Her corona stood puffed out, sparkling without light. The chims hardly seemed to notice as stay-at-homes eagerly pumped the jubilant raiders for news. But Robert realized that Athaclena was concentrating hard to craft that mood. It was too tenuous, too tentative to sustain itself without her.

"Robert!" Her eyes widened. "Should you be out of bed? Your fever only broke yesterday."

"I'm fine. But-"

"Good. I am happy to see you ambulatory, at last."

Robert watched as two heavily bandaged forms were rushed past on stretchers toward their makeshift hospital. He sensed Athaclena's effort to divert attention away from the bleeding, perhaps dying, soldiers until they were out of sight. Only the presence of the chims made Robert keep his voice low and even. "I want to talk with you, Athaclena."

She met his eyes, and for a brief instant Robert thought he kenned a faint form, turning and whirling above the floating tendrils of her corona. It was a harried glyph.

The returning warriors were busy with food and drink, bragging to their eager peers. Only Benjamin, a hand-sewn lieutenant's patch on his arm, stood soberly beside Athaclena. She nodded. "Very well, Robert. Let us go someplace private."

"Let me guess," he said, levelly. "You got your a.s.ses kicked."

Chim Benjamin winced, but he did not disagree. He tapped a spot on an outstretched map.

"We hit them here, in Yenching Gap," he said. "It was our fourth raid, so we thought we knew what to expect."

"Your fourth." Robert turned to Athaclena. "How long has this been going on?"

She had been picking daintily at a pocket pastry filled with something pungently aromatic. She wrinkled her nose. "We have been practicing for about a week, Robert. But this was the first time we tried to do any real harm."

"And?"

Benjamin seemed immune to Athaclena's mood-tailoring. Perhaps it was intentional, for she would need at least one aide whose judgment was unaffected. Or maybe he was just too bright. He rolled his eyes. "We're the ones who got hurt." He went on to explain. "We split into five groups. Mizz Athaclena insisted. It's what saved us."

"What was your target?"

"A small patrol. Two light hover-tanks and a couple of open landcars."

Robert pondered the site on the map, where one of the few roads entered the first rank of mountains. From what others had told him, the enemy were seldom seen above the Sind. They seemed content to control s.p.a.ce, the Archipelago, and the narrow strip of settlement along the coast around Port Helenia "Good. I am happy to see you ambulatory, at last."

Robert watched as two heavily bandaged forms were rushed past on stretchers toward their makeshift hospital. He sensed Athaclena's effort to divert attention away from the bleeding, perhaps dying, soldiers until they were out of sight. Only the presence of the chims made Robert keep his voice low and even. "I want to talk with you, Athaclena."

She met his eyes, and for a brief instant Robert thought he kenned a faint form, turning and whirling above the floating tendrils of her corona. It was a harried glyph.

The returning warriors were busy with food and drink, bragging to their eager peers. Only Benjamin, a hand-sewn lieutenant's patch on his arm, stood soberly beside Athaclena. She nodded. "Very well, Robert. Let us go someplace private."

"Let me guess," he said, levelly. "You got your a.s.ses kicked."

Chim Benjamin winced, but he did not disagree. He tapped a spot on an outstretched map.

"We hit them here, in Yenching Gap," he said. "It was our fourth raid, so we thought we knew what to expect."

"Your fourth." Robert turned to Athaclena. "How long has this been going on?"

She had been picking daintily at a pocket pastry filled with something pungently aromatic. She wrinkled her nose. "We have been practicing for about a week, Robert. But this was the first time we tried to do any real harm."

"And?"

Benjamin seemed immune to Athaclena's mood-tailoring. Perhaps it was intentional, for she would need at least one aide whose judgment was unaffected. Or maybe he was just too bright. He rolled his eyes. "We're the ones who got hurt." He went on to explain. "We split into five groups. Mizz Athaclena insisted. It's what saved us."

"What was your target?"

"A small patrol. Two light hover-tanks and a couple of open landcars."

Robert pondered the site on the map, where one of the few roads entered the first rank of mountains. From what others had told him, the enemy were seldom seen above the Sind. They seemed content to control s.p.a.ce, the Archipelago, and the narrow strip of settlement along the coast around Port Helenia Tymbrimi shrug. "I did not think we should approach too closely, on our first encounter."

Robert nodded. Indeed, if closer, "better" ambush sites had been chosen, few if any of the chims would have made it back alive.

The plan was good.

No, not good. Inspired. It hadn't been intended to hurt the enemy but to build confidence. The troops had been dispersed so everyone would get to fire at the patrol with minimum risk. The raiders could return home swaggering, but most important, they would make it home.

Even so, they had been hurt. Robert could sense how exhausted Athaclena was, partly from the effort of maintaining everyone's mood of "victory."

He felt a touch on his knee and took Athaclena's hand in his own. Her long, delicate fingers closed tightly, and he felt her triple-beat pulse.

Their eyes met.

"We turned a possible disaster into a minor success today," Benjamin said. "But so long as the enemy always knows where we are, I don't see how we can ever do more than play tag with them. And even that game'll certainly cost more than we can afford to pay."

30 Fiben

Fiben rubbed the back of his neck and stared irritably across the table. So this was the person he had been sent to contact, Dr. Taka's brilliant student, their would-be leader of an urban underground.

"What kind of idiocy was that?" he accused. "You let me walk into that club blind, ignorant. There were a dozen times I nearly got caught last night. Or even killed!"

"It was two nights ago," Gailet Jones corrected him. She sat in a straight-backed chair and smoothed the blue demisilk of her sarong. "Anyway, I was there, at the Ape's Grape, waiting outside to make contact. I saw that you were a stranger, arriving alone, wearing a plaid work shirt, so I approached you with the pa.s.sword."

"Pink?" Fiben blinked at her. "You come up to me and whisper pink at me, and that's supposed to be a b.l.o.o.d.y, reverted pa.s.sword?"

Normally he would never use such rough language with a young lady. Right now Gailet Jones looked more like the sort of person he had expected in the first place, a chimmie of obvious education and breeding. But he had seen her under other circ.u.mstances, and he wasn't ever likely to forget.

"You call that a pa.s.sword? They told me to look for a fisherman]"

Shouting made him wince. Fiben's head still felt as though it were leaking brains in five or six places. His muscles had stopped cramping capriciously some time ago, but he still ached all over and his temper was short.

"A fisherman? In that part of town?" Gailet Jones frowned, her face clouding momentarily. "Listen, everything was chaos when I rang up the Center to leave word with Dr. Taka. I figured her group was used to keeping secrets and would make an ideal core out in the countryside. I only had a few moments to think up a way to make a later contact before the Gubru took over the telephone lines. I figured they were already tapping and recording everything, so it had to be something colloquial, you know, that their language computers would have trouble interpreting."

She stopped suddenly, bringing her hand to her mouth. "Oh no!"

"What?" Fiben edged forward.

She blinked for a moment, then motioned in the air. "I told that fool operator at the Center how their emissary should dress, and where to meet me, then I said I'd pa.s.s myself off as a hooker-"

"As a what? I don't get it." Fiben shook his head.