she would love me—and later that she would not.
How foolish I had been at the party, weeks ago, when
she had been pointed out to me and when, later, she
seemed to take interest in me, looking my way, smiling,
doing all the things a woman can do. I had bolted. I had
left the party even before anyone asked for parlor tricks,
and I had hidden in my house, pretending I had not been
interested in her. Foolish. I was so much older then—but
I am younger than that now.
A band of peace criers had gathered before a precinct
house, for some unfathomable reason. They had stoned
the windows. A phalanx of coppers was charging down
the steps as I went by.
At a red light two blocks on, a stream of young mili-
tants burst from an alleyway to the right, half a block
down a side street. They were chanting something, though
I could not make out what it was. Behind them, a howler
roared into view, its cupola roof narcodart gun cutting
down the young people as they cursed the government, the
enemy government, and anyone else who came to mind.
Before the light turned, I saw the howler roll over a
young girl, snapping her back like kindling. That was not
standard procedure, by any means. And before I could
chalk it up to an accident, the driver of the armored
vehicle rammed a boy no older than seventeen, crushed
him against the steel pole of an arc lamp, and moved on.
I went through the light to avoid the uproar.
I had to detour around the elevated highway ramp I
had intended to use, for there were several hundred peo-
ple on it, setting up roadblocks in a display of civil
disobedience. I noticed that for the first time there were
adults with the peace criers. In fact, it seemed that there
were more adults than young people.
I took the next ramp, went up, and struck for AC at
my top speed. In the time since I had heard the morning
news, what could have happened to open the adult ranks
like this? My heart beat too fast, and I felt a gnawing
urgency to do something, anything. But what?
The only thing I could do was esp Child, find new
weapons, make our side stronger so that, if there was a
war, we would win and at least a semblance of normality
would return in which Melinda and I could carve our own
niche and be alone.
I suppose such an attitude was not noble. But war itself
leaves no room for nobility. Only the clever survive. And
not always do they survive intact
By the time I reached the government building, I had
made my decisions. I loved Melinda. I feared Child. He
could throw me out—and perhaps he could swallow me
up. There was something behind his repeated warnings to
leave his thoughts alone. Something to do with the G
association I had chanced upon the day before—
something to do with God. I could not sacrifice myself in
that strong, mutated subconscious. Yet I could not permit
the war and its destruction to touch my life, to end the
first warm relationship I had ever had with a woman. Life
was only now worthy of living. I could not permit the
Chinese to snatch it away from me. So I would go in his
mind this last time, rip loose everything that I found and
send it up. Then I would get out, collect my cash, and
beat a hasty retreat. I would tell them first thing when I
got there: after this, the job is ended, go in peace.
As with most plans, nothing went that way.
They were waiting for me when I got there. Morsfagen
was the center of a flurry of dispatches. Messengers boys
came and departed, carrying sheafs of paper. He signed
and checked and rejected, and somehow managed to keep
track of what was going on with Child at the same time.
Harry fidgeted nervously with his hands, tearing at his
fingers as if they were detachable. There were bags under
his eyes; the old tic had reappeared in his left cheek; his