 
EARLY BYRD

PHIL GEUSZ

published by Legion Printing, publishing on Smashwords

First Printing 2015

Published by Legion Printing, Birmingham, AL

Copyright Phil Geusz, 2014

Edited by Garrett Marco

Cover Art by James Hill

ISBN:  978-1-941618-02-8

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without explicit permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
1

The lower shotgun barrel of Tim's gun kicked a lot harder than the upper twenty-two did. Twenty-gauge shells were also a lot harder to come by, so we didn't fire it often. But when we did, it was always for good reason. Not that we didn't use our twenty-two's plenty often enough; there were always jackrabbits and prairie dogs and groundhogs and the like to deal with on a cattle spread as large as ours. But when we went after serious game, it was time for the twenty-gauge.

I stood and frowned as my twin brother took careful aim and held his mouth just-so. It was deer season and venison was never a thing to be despised when served roasted at the head the family table. The stuff we shot or caught in the local streams always ended up at the head of the table, even when it wasn't anything to write home about. We and our hired help had plenty to eat, being ranchers. But Dad was super-proud of every bit of meat we brought home on our own. Sometimes he even came hunting with us, and those were the best times of all. But it didn't happen all that often, what with him being a congressman and away to Washington so often.

The tender-steaked doe stood frozen in the dappled sunlight under a largish stand of trees. Her ears and tail stood straight. She knew something was wrong but hadn't as yet been able to figure out exactly what. Tim was certainly taking his time about aiming; my finger itched to pull the trigger for him.

Timmy and I were twins, and early on we'd decided to share all our really cool stuff equally. The rifle-shotgun combination gun he was taking so long to aim was by rights half mine, just as the lever-action twenty-two dangling from my own right hand was theoretically half his. Yet somehow he was always the one to carry the far deadlier twenty-gauge when we were out in the field, and therefore he got to take all the prime shots. I fidgeted, twisting the toe of my right sneaker in the grass.

"Hush!" he whispered, not breaking his concentration. "We're still too far away, really. I'm waiting for her to turn so I can give it to her through the lungs. Cleaner kill that way."

I nodded and sighed to myself. He was right, really. A twenty-gauge slug was just barely enough to humanely take a deer at close range, and it was wrong to simply blaze away at an animal when a swift, nearly painless kill wasn't almost certain. Tim had exactly one shot and he was the person behind the sights, not me. Only he could judge for certain.

Before either of us could react the doe lowered her ears, sort of squatted down, and then bounded directly toward us! It was the last thing either of us expected; we stood rooted to the ground with eyes wide as the deer first charged and then frantically swung aside at the last second before running us down. Something had spooked her like crazy, that was for certain. But it wasn't either of us!

"What in the world?" Tim asked, raising his weapon's muzzle safely skyward.

Then I heard it too, just before Tim. It was the buzzing of a billion bees emerging from the sky beyond the trees. "Artemu suborbital ship!" I declared, feeling a thrill of excitement. Almost certainly Dad was aboard or else the vessel wouldn't have any business so far out in the Montana boonies, and we'd not seen him for weeks!

"Yeah," Tim agreed, less enthusiastically. The Artemu weren't particularly popular around these parts, if one defined "these parts" as the entire planet. Humans had never been known for loving their conquerors, after all. Not even when they were at least fellow humans.

Tim opened his gun's breech and removed the valuable deer slug. They cost a lot of money these days, and Dad insisted on a one-slug/one-deer ratio. As he did so, a bright silver arrowhead flashed by, slowing visibly. He didn't even raise his head.

I sighed then began the long tramp back to where we'd left our ATV's. "Come on," I said. "It'll be good to see Dad, at least."

"Yeah," Tim agreed, though he still didn't look happy. "Let's go."

2

It was just as well that we started for home before being told to—within seconds of mounting up for the long ride back to the house our phones lit up with the expected text message from Mom. "Hurry home," it read. "Your father's back from the conference!" It was still a long ride, however, and as eager as I was to see Dad again I didn't object when Tim pulled off the trail for a couple minutes to admire a herd of antelope off in the distance. We sat side-by-side in silence, taking in the wonder of it all. Then I wordlessly twisted my throttle and we were off again, this time with me in the lead.

People sometimes claim identical twins are effectively telepathic because they tend to think so similarly. Neither Tim nor I would know. Though we looked enough alike from a distance that people were often unable to tell us apart, we were actually fraternal twins. Timmy's hair was a darker shade of dirty blond, his eyes blue where mine are brown, and my brother was just a tad taller where I was built heavy in the shoulders. Yet despite our differences we often spent hours together in perfect harmony and understanding without a single word being spoken. Maybe identical twins are closer still and there really is something to the telepathy thing. All I can say on the subject is that if it's possible for two brothers to be closer than Timmy and I were, well . . . it's impossible for me to imagine.

When we cleared the last rise, the Artemu ship was parked on the concrete pad by the corral where we usually kept our cattle trucks; one of the hands must've moved them closer to the main road to make room. And there was Dad, standing tall and slim and proud in his battered brown hat, with a blood-red-robed and golden-furred Artemu standing beside him. I frowned at that; blood-red was the color of the Gonther, or Night-Howler clan. Their ancestors had conquered first their own planet, then those of several other stars, and now—after a particularly brutal fight even by their standards—Earth herself. So most likely this particular Artemu was associated with the Imperial Administrative Government.

"Hello, boys!" Dad greeted us as we zoomed up on our identical machines. Or nearly identical—mine was still missing a rear fender from a jumping accident last summer. He extended his arms for a hug, embracing both Tim and I at once. Meanwhile the Artemu stood aloof; it was the practice of his kind neither to interfere with nor be offended by local social behavior so long as the Imperium received its ultimate due. "Get anything today?"

"We were about to shoot a nice doe," I explained. "But your ship spooked it."

He colored. "Sorry."

"As am I," the Artemu agreed, stepping forward. "It's always unfortunate when a successful stalk is ruined. You have my sincere apologies."

I forced a smile. Dad had long ago explained why we had to be nice to Artemesians even though they were our overlords. "It's all right. You had no idea."

He smiled, an oddly humanlike expression despite his slight muzzle and dark, doglike nose. Humans and Artemesians were similar in many more ways than they were different, which according to our scientists was probably due to there being one clear, best and easiest way for liquid-water-zone carbon-based life to evolve. While Artemesians didn't have DNA, for example, they had a close chemical analog. Their reproduction was sexual, using two sexes, because apparently this was the simplest, most reliable way to shuffle genes in an environment like ours. Their blood was warm—somewhat more so than human—because carbon-based chemistry worked most efficiently one way and one way only. And so on and so forth. We were even able to eat most of each other's foods. According to our new masters, almost all sentient life they'd encountered so far followed our same basic pattern, though there were a few odd variations here and there. The key to understanding the Artemu, Dad claimed, was to never forget that where our ancestors had been plains apes, theirs had been the local analog of either omnivorous wolves or, if you looked at it differently, pack-hunting bears. Either version worked just fine.

"We could take you on a nice hunt in the morning if you like," Dad suggested to the alien. "There are deer, as the boys mentioned. Plus antelope, bighorn sheep, a few black bears—"

"No," the alien replied, raising his right hand in dismissal. "It would be a great pleasure, of course, and I'm honored to be asked. But as we both know I'm here on clan business rather than as a diplomat or military official. It's not seemly to mix clan business and pleasure at such a high level."

"Of course," Dad replied, bowing. Then he turned to us. "Boys, this is Rapput, an Ocrevennar of the Clan of Gonther. Currently he's the highest-ranking Artemu on Earth by both bloodline and official position and was the architect of their victory over us." He turned to Rapput. "Sir, these are my sons Robert and Timothy."

We bowed deeply. "Ocrevennar" meant "Blood Cousin or Closer to the Emperor".

"An honor to m-meet you, sir," I managed to stammer out.

He smiled again. "They're even more alike than I expected. How delightful! Our kind never bears more than a single offspring at a time."

"Robert and Timmy are no more closely related genetically than any other pair of brothers," Dad explained, as he had before to many other curious Artemu. "You see, there's more than one kind of—"

"Of course!" Rapput interrupted, still smiling. "But to us, this is wonderful enough. Such strong and tall young hunters! Their academic scores are excellent as well, and of course their bloodline is beyond reproach—one of your world's finest." His smile faded. "No further investigation is necessary. We'll take them."

Dad's face went tight and dead-cold for an instant. Then his eyes went even harder. I hadn't seen him like that since the War. "Of course," he replied eventually, though I could tell his words were forced. "The American, uh . . . clan is deeply honored."

Rapput's smile widened. He stepped over and placed one of his hands on top of each of our heads. "Comenche egla?" he asked.

"Rart!" I replied, bowing at the neck and clasping my hands.

"Enning en hammena!" Tim added, adopting the Posture of Youth Earnestly Seeking Instruction as well.

"Wonderful!" the alien repeated. "You've even taught them our language, and without much of an accent at that! Such foresight!" He smiled again. "You humans were indeed worthy enemies in time of war. I can only dimly imagine what vast reaches our kinds might someday conquer by working together." He cupped our skulls again. "I swear to you upon my ancestor's graves that these two shall be given the opportunity to stand among the first and foremost and afforded every opportunity to make their names shine for all eternity in the Hall of Honor. Our success in this is key to everything that shall come after. Your blood shall be our blood, and our blood yours. Thus states the Treaty, thus shall be done." He bowed.

Dad, still pale, returned the bow. "The Treaty shall be honored," was his only reply.

Rapput smile faded at that, but it was soon back in place. He turned to face we boys. "We'll leave in the morning. This will be difficult for you in the short run, I'm fully aware. Our own offspring aren't so different from human children. You'll miss your parents, your clan, your whole way of living. In order to help you along, you'll be permitted the unconditional privilege of sending and receiving letters from home regularly. You may also bring along any reasonable amount of luggage and personal items. Please make sure that you include any and all weapons with which you're proficient. We recognize that your anatomy and biology differs from our own, and at least in the beginning and perhaps beyond you'll be allowed to use that with which you're familiar. Heaven only knows that your kind create effective weapons!"

Dad still wasn't smiling, so I was sort of afraid to speak up. But Tim wasn't. "I . . . Sir, I don't understand."

"It's the Treaty, Tim," Dad answered, though it sounded as if the words were being ripped from his throat. "We signed it, and now we _must_ obey it. All the more because I'm a congressman, I fear. There's no getting around it."

"What about the Treaty?" I finally asked. "What does it have to do with Tim and me?"

Dad closed his eyes for a moment, and then squatted down to address us on our own level. "A lot of things," he finally explained. "More than most people anywhere understand yet. But in your cases . . ." He took in a deep, ragged breath then released it. "For you two, it means that you, along with a few others from other important nations on Earth, have to go live on Artemis and be raised as Artemu."

"But why?" Timmy asked. His voice quavered, and I felt my eyes filling with tears. This wasn't a good thing to do in front of an alien—I made two fists and somehow forced the liquid back through sheer willpower.

"You're to become hostages," Rapput explained, still smiling. "Or at least that's the closest word in your language I'm aware of. It's not an accurate translation of the concept."

"Hostages?" I asked, ignoring the Artemesian and looking deep into Dad's eyes. "But . . ."

"He's right when he says the word's not a perfect match," Dad explained, though he had to turn away. "Because we put up such a fight they want us to become more like mercenaries—or perhaps even partners—than a conquered people. Eventually, that is."

"Absolutely!" Rapput added. "More than anything! There's no reason why our kinds shouldn't get along splendidly, once we develop a sense of mutual respect and understanding. And you two . . ." He reached out and laid his hands on our heads again; apparently the gesture was meaningful to him in a way I didn't understand. ". . . have been selected from the most noble youths of your entire clan to be adopted by my own!"

I blinked again. "Adopted?"

He nodded. "And raised to become Artemu nobles, equal in almost every way with our biological children. Thus in time we shall bind our worlds and our peoples and become in essence one, far stronger and more powerful together than the sum of our parts. The universe shivers in terror of this day, in fear of the glory that our kinds working together shall surely win."

He spread his arms wide in what looked like a benediction on Tim and I. "You two are the luckiest boys on Earth!"

3

Dad didn't agree about our being so lucky, of course. And Mom even less so. "Do _not_ tell me I have to feed that . . . that _fiend_ at our family table!" she hissed. "Not when he's going to . . . to . . ."

"Easy, babe," Dad said, reassuring her with a hug. "We have no choice in the matter. You understand that." He kissed her gently, even though we could all see he was hurting as badly as she was. "We're a strong family. We'll see this through, somehow. Now . . . Yes, I fear we do indeed have to serve the bastard a good meal. The best we can offer, in fact, with a smile. In honor not of him but our own children. It may be their last home-cooking for a long time to come."

Mom pulled away from the embrace at that, then softened and nodded. "For them," she agreed. "Not him." Then she hugged each of us again for maybe the third time in an hour and marched off to the kitchen, head high.

"Dad," I finally had time to ask. "What . . . I mean . . ."

He looked at the floor, then went to his favorite chair, the one under the stuffed head of a Boone and Crockett mountain goat he'd bagged before Tim and I were born. "I never wanted for us to sign that damned treaty," he muttered as if we weren't there. Then he closed his eyes and leaned way back. "But we had no choice. Only total fools would've fought on any further. They controlled space, you see. We could fight off their landing parties— _did_ fight them off every single time, in fact, though the cost was horrible. But once they threatened to start dropping rocks on us, well . . ."

"Rocks?" Timothy asked. Clearly he was as bewildered as I was. "Rocks can't hurt tanks. Or fighter planes."

Dad smiled and gestured for us to climb on his lap. It'd been a long time since we'd done that; by now we were far too big. But it seemed _right_ then and there, somehow.

"Big enough rocks can," he explained. "Especially when they fall all the way from the Moon or so. In fact, they can wreck entire planets. But by then the Artemu wanted to take us intact, you see. And they wanted it bad."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because of the way we kept fighting them off," Dad explained. "Again and again and again. They tried landing in Kansas City first, but they'd never seen anything like an Abrams tank before, or a stealth aircraft." He smiled. "They didn't invent Chobham armor or work out the equations that can make an airplane invisible to radar. We Americans tossed their asses right back off the planet."

Tim and I both nodded. Dad had won an important decoration called the Medal of Courage or something like that at Kansas City. Supposedly he was the main reason we won the battle without taking even worse losses than we did, and that was also part of why he was a congressman now. Americans appreciated their heroes more than ever these days.

"Then the Japanese did the same, and next the Koreans. So the Artemu tried to land on Madagascar to establish a base we'd have a hard time getting to, and then freaked out when we all worked together and beat them there as well." His eyes flashed; he'd been at Madagascar as well, and had gotten caught in a fallout pattern. We'd grown up knowing he still might die any time from it. "It was only then that the Artemu even considered negotiating. They hadn't negotiated a peace in living memory. Their way is to conquer and dominate, not to co-exist."

"But . . ." Tim asked, shifting position. The chair was much too crowded to be comfortable. "Why didn't they just ruin Earth with rocks then, like you said?"

"For anyone else, they would've," Dad explained. "But we impressed them, you see. In a way that no other enemy since their own unification wars has. They never once broke a human high-level code that we know of, while we decrypted their stuff almost at will toward the end. And when we nuked our own territory, with our own troops still in the blast zone, they began to respect us by the only standards they value. The truth is that given equal technology, especially in terms of space drives, we'd have stood a good chance of kicking their asses. So, given a choice between rendering us extinct and trying to make use of us, they've swallowed their pride in the name of pragmatism and are treating us the same way they treated the losers in an intraspecies clan war back when they still had such things. That's their historical model and precedent, you see. The idea is to absorb us and become stronger, not destroy a potential source of newfound strength. In theory, we're supposed to be both flattered and deeply honored to be deemed worthy."

"But we're _not_ honored," I observed.

"Hell, no!" Dad pounded the arm of his chair; he was a powerful man and it was if a thunderbolt had struck. "The Artemu are a bunch of amoral, socially-stratified empire-builders whose infantile values we humans—or at least most of we humans—abandoned long ago. They're forcing us to put our own economy on a permanent war footing and slicing our standard of living to the bone." He shook his head. "It's a huge step back for us all, in every possible way. Yet so long as they can drop rocks on us, what else can we do?"

I thought about a big rock falling all the way from the Moon. Why, it might wipe out an entire shopping mall! "Wow," I finally said.

"So," Dad explained, squeezing us extra-tight for a moment. "They're going to take you two away from us—there's nothing anyone, not even a congressman, can do about it. They consider our family to be the nearest thing American society has to a warrior-nobility class, and I guess that's my fault. I swear to you, if I'd known I'd never have run for this seat in the first place."

"It was Grandpa Davis, too," Timothy replied. "He was a governor once."

I nodded. "And Great-Uncle Herman that you named me after. He won the same medal you did in Vietnam."

Dad nodded then turned away. "I guess I should've seen it coming after all, when you put it like that. By Artemu standards, our family _is_ a sort of warrior/noble clan. They did their homework better than I realized." He frowned for a long moment, and then met each of our eyes in turn. "Our ancestors fought for much better reasons than the Artemu do, and certainly in defense of better causes. Their ultimate goal is to raise you, who they consider our best and brightest, as part of the highest level of their society so that you absorb their values and culture. Then they plan to someday return you here to positions of high leadership, so that with a foot in each world you might act as cultural intermediaries and smooth the transition for the rest of us."

"They want us to become traitors," I said softly.

"Not from the Artemesian point of view," he replied. "They'll see you as honorable leaders with an especially difficult task to perform, individuals of the highest courage and honor. Or at least their elite will. I doubt the ground-floor mutts will be so open-minded." He licked his lips and considered further. "From their point of view, you'd be the highest sort of patriots, not traitors. Doing what's clearly best for Artemu and humanity alike. As I said, this is precisely how they unified their own clans. Or so they say. It's not like we can fact-check them on the matter." He sighed. "It all boils down to where you're sitting and what you think is right and what's wrong, I suppose."

"Invading peaceful planets is wrong," Tim declared.

"Not if you believe in the glory of Empire," Dad disagreed. Then he laid his head back again. "I can't speak for the Artemu, but for most people deciding what's right and what's wrong is life's most difficult yet most important task. Some seek guidance in holy books, others in the words of men widely considered to be wise. I'm your father, and one of my most important obligations is to help you find your own truth." He sighed again, his breath catching as if he were on the edge of weeping. "I've done my best so far, but . . ." He hugged us one last time. "Sons, never forget three things. First is that both your mom and I love you more than life itself. Second is that what you're doing really _is_ both honorable and important. I can't know what the future will bring, but whatever it is you're sure to play a central role in it. It's not your fault that you were placed in such an impossible situation, and because you'll be trapped in the middle neither human nor Artemu will ever be in a fair position to judge you. But third . . ." Finally he broke out sobbing, so badly that his words were nearly lost in his sorrow. "Never, ever forget that you're human, dammit! Not of a noble bloodline, but a deeply _American_ one! Which is _better._ We don't do bloodlines here! Nobility lies at the root of many of mankind's deepest and darkest evils, as I hope and pray you'll never forget no matter how many peaceful planets you're required to invade and whatever fancy titles you're forced to accept."
4

As it happened, Tim and I received our first noble titles just after breakfast the next morning. Rapput, who judging by outward appearances had just discovered one of the major loves of his life in bacon and eggs, formally adopted us into the Clan of Gonther while Mom was still clearing away the crockery. Out of nowhere, three more Artemu appeared. Two carried a blood-red robe apiece, while the third recorded the proceedings with what might as well have been a human-made camera.

Rapput smiled and handed us the robes. "In donning these most-honorable garments," he explained, "you officially become my clan-brothers and nephews." He turned to Dad. "There will of course be a public and more impressive ceremony on the homeworld. But for convenience's sake it's best to formalize the adoption immediately. Now that they're legally Artemu, for example, they can travel freely on our ships and receive full protection under our laws."

As one, Tim and I looked at Dad. But he merely nodded, which was no surprise. Slowly and reluctantly, as if we were swimming in molasses, we slipped the robes on. The garments were made of something silky—soft and so translucent that obviously we were expected to wear our normal clothes underneath. Plus, whoever'd made them got the sleeves wrong; they were much too short, and there was something off about the way they were attached at the shoulder. Perhaps they'd been custom sewn by Artemu tailors?

"Magnificent!" Rapput declared, breaking first into a Posture I didn't know—there were so many!—and then into applause. Oddly, the two species had developed the habit independently. Perhaps applause too was an inevitable outcome of carbon-based life, it being so natural and obvious for a being to slap its appendages together in order to make a happy noise?

The two other Artemu each dropped to one knee before us for a moment, then stood up and applauded as well. Even Mom and Dad clapped after being prompted by a dirty look from Rapput, followed by a glance at the camera. Mom was crying again, of course, and that was pretty awful. But Dad had made us promise to try not shed tears in public at moments like this, and somehow both Tim and I maintained dry cheeks.

"Robert Herman Byrd," Rapput declared in his native tongue, "and Timothy Scott Byrd have ceased to exist. In their places stand Nobleyouths Robertherman Gonther and Timothyscott Gonther." He cupped a hand on each of our skulls. "You now share our privileges and you share our birthrights. You share our property, our glory, and our most sacred bloodline. Share also our dangers and obligations, and together we shall fear nothing." He turned to Dad as if expecting something.

For a long moment our father sat motionless, his features ice-cold. "May God bless Robert Herman and Timothy Scott wherever they go, and may their lives and accomplishments serve His highest purposes," he finally said.

Tim and I looked at each other. We weren't church-people. In fact, neither of us had ever heard Dad pray about anything before. Rapput didn't seem to take it well either, though he couldn't show offense because of the Atremu hands-off policy regarding local religions.

Perhaps that was why Dad's blessing had taken the form it had?

Rapput covered his emotions by draining the last of his orange juice before standing up from the table. "You are now Gonther," he reminded Tim and I, "and therefore expected to excel in all things. Pack up your personal belongings and weapons at once. You have two human hours, which is plenty long enough for any self-respecting member of the most noble of all clans." He nodded at the robe bearers. "You each will assist one of the hum—one of the children. See to it that everything is stowed in a shipshape manner." Then he turned back to Dad and smiled. "We are now family as well, you and I. The proper terminology is 'quasi-cousin by adoption.'"

Dad nodded, his eyes still icy.

"Which means the social rules regarding mixing business and pleasure are relaxed between us. Yesterday you spoke of hunting and I was forced to turn you down. Today, however, circumstances are different." He smiled again. "Come! I know how painful this must be for you, and believe it or not I empathize. Perhaps we can ease the tension by shooting a few rabbits together while we wait for my new nephews to pack?"
5

It didn't take us anything like two hours. We found enough alien-made cargo containers waiting for us in the hallway to hold everything we owned. Nor, apparently, were we expected to soil our own hands with domestic work. Our assistants hastened to pack everything we pointed at, growing noticeably agitated whenever we attempted to stash some particularly beloved item personally. One special container was devoted to nothing but guns, boxes and boxes of ammunition, and the trophy-pelts that hung from our walls. "Tim!" I cried out as I was overseeing the casing of our beloved lever-action Marlin. "Look at this!"

He came dashing over. In the bottom of the case were half a dozen more rifles and four handgun sleeves. There was a note attached to one of the rifles, and I snatched it up. "You're growing up fast, boys," it read in Dad's handwriting. "Soon you'll need bigger and better guns. These were all I could dig up on short notice. I'm so terribly sorry that I can't be there to teach you how to use them." Our eyes met in disbelief—guns were one of the costliest items anywhere these days, the supply being as short as it was, and it looked as if he'd nearly emptied his own cabinet for us.

Mom did sort of the same thing, in her own way. She'd stayed up all night making her special corn dodgers and chocolate chip cookies for us. Tim and I agreed they were the best food anywhere on the planet, though he had more of a taste for the cookies while I favored the sweet, crunchy cornbread. Before we even began packing, we found pounds and pounds of the things wrapped tightly in plastic and spread out among the containers in such a way that even if some were lost the rest would make it. "Think of me when you eat these," her note read, "as I shall constantly think of you. Always be proud of who and what you are. That's all I'll ever ask."

I wasn't sure whether these parting gifts and notes made things easier for us, as they were probably intended to do, or harder. But they were obviously important to Mom and Dad, so we wiped our eyes on our sleeves before the guards noticed we were crying again and got on with business.

When we were done, we'd practically emptied our rooms to the wallpaper. Only the furniture, sheets, and curtains remained. I felt terribly empty inside, and so must've Tim because before I knew it he and I were hugging each other. It was pretty weird, and not at all the sort of thing we normally did.

"This is awful," he whispered in my ear.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I don't want to go either. But we gotta. They say it's important." Then we released each other, tugged the ill-fitting and hated red robes into place, and practically marched back to the living room.

We were much earlier than expected, it seemed, because there was no one there to meet us except a short, thickset, and extremely muscular Asian man sitting bolt upright on our couch with a large suitcase at his feet. For an instant, he glanced our way and his eyes widened.

Tim and I were accustomed to unexplained strangers showing up at our house, what with Dad being a congressman and all. Because our situation was so unusual due to his job, our father had explained to us a long time ago, the normal rules about not talking to strangers and such didn't apply so strongly to us. "If you see someone waiting for me," he'd said, "please, go out of your way to be nice to them. While they may just want to talk about the usual political nonsense, you pretty much already know everyone in that crowd. If they're a stranger, then more likely than not they're a constituent with a problem. It's my most important job to take the best care I can of that kind of visitor, and you can help me best by showing you care about them too." So it wasn't surprising that both of us smiled and spoke up practically at the same second.

"Hi!" I said.

"We're Tim and Robert," my brother added. "Congressman Byrd's sons. Can we get you something to eat or drink?"

The man turned to face us again, his eyes as blank and cold as the barrels of a side-by-side shotgun. Then, very slightly, he smiled. "My name is Li, and it's a great pleasure to meet you both." He bowed his head, and so powerful was his sense of presence that our necks bent in reply. "However, while my pleasure is sincere, it's my guess that certain others intended we be introduced more formally. It might be wise, therefore, for us to pretend we've never met."

I pursed my lips. "How could it matter when and how we meet?"

"I'm not entirely certain that it will," he replied, still smiling. "Yet in a situation dominated by unknown variables it's best to cede as much control as possible to those of the highest status."

Tim and I looked at each other, confused. Then we turned back to Mr. Li. "So, we should go somewhere else and pretend we never saw you?"

"It'd be wisest, I judge," our guest replied, again half-bowing from his still-seated position. His English was perfect and carried a Midwestern accent. Yet, there also seemed to be something deeply foreign about him.

"Okay," I agreed reluctantly. "There's coffee in the kitchen. And tea as well, if you drink it. Dad loves green tea."

"I know," he replied. "I'm the one who first introduced him to it, and I still send him a box every year at Christmas." He smiled again. "I'll be fine waiting here, thank you. Run along, and don't waste your last moments at home on hospitality. This time is yours and no one else's. Use it as best you can."
6

After that we went out to the stables to say goodbye to the horses and Patch the cat, whose job consisted entirely of keeping the horse's quarters rodent-free. We didn't have any dogs because Mom was allergic, so Patch was our best animal-friend. Then we went to the bunkhouse to say goodbye to the help. Some of them had lived on the ranch longer than us and were almost like aunts and uncles. But they were all out working, so we wrote a note saying we'd miss them and left things at that. By then we were expected back in the kitchen to meet Rapput and, we guessed, fly away to wherever it was that our new life was going to be. I clenched my hands into fists at the thought then looked down and saw Tim had paralleled both my thoughts and action. "Come on," he said. "Let's get this over with.

Everyone was assembled in the kitchen, waiting for us. At first I was afraid we'd be in trouble for being late, but the clock ticked off the last second just as we stepped in.

Rapput nodded. "Excellent! You're both perfectly on time. A good omen."

"How was the hunting?" Tim asked, looking at Dad.

"Excellent!" Rapput replied for him, nodding at a pile of small field-dressed carcasses lying on the butcher-block awaiting further processing. "Your rabbits are a remarkable quarry indeed! While we of course have ecological analogs, none move half so swiftly or cunningly. Among our kind it's a shameful thing to take an herbivore as a totem, yet here it's commonplace. I begin to see why. Even your lowliest game species are possessed of hidden virtues." He smiled again. "When asking about the success of a hunt—or for that matter, any topic involving bloodshed—one should always first address the highest blood-ranking participant present. To do otherwise is grossly impolite."

I looked at Dad, whose face once more was hard and cold. "We won't do it again," I promised.

Rapput nodded, satisfied. "A child must learn all things, and I imagine it's even more difficult for an adoptee. Your errors are both inevitable and eminently forgivable. Continue to strive to improve and all will be well." He smiled again, but I felt all funny inside even though I wasn't sure quite why.

"Now," Rapput continued, "allow me to make an introduction." He pointed to Mr. Li. "Boys, meet your new coach. Mr. Li, allow me to present your sacred charges, Nobleyouths Robertherman Gonther and Timothyscott Gonther."

Mr. Li nodded soberly, and I realized he'd been right about pretending we hadn't met. To do otherwise would have—however slightly—diminished Rapput, and already it was growing obvious this wasn't a Good Thing.

Rapput turned to Dad. "Mr. Li was chosen from tens of thousands of other potential coaches and drafted to serve as a physical fitness instructor and educational consultant. We Artemu as yet have little idea of what to expect from human children in terms of physical limits and capabilities, you see. Mr. Li is a well-known authority on the matter. He once won a silver medal in your Olympic games as a wrestler."

Mr. Li bowed deeply. "I'm honored to be called upon to serve in such an important cause."

Rapput smiled again. "Far too few humans are so open-minded and cooperative, at least as of yet. Perhaps in time, if we all work together, we'll be able to change that. In the meantime, I hereby declare that as of this moment you're under the protection of the House of Gonther. Upon arrival on the homeworld you'll be assigned quarters, privileges, and rations equivalent to those awarded our highest-ranking and most beloved slaves. This is no mean allotment, I assure you." He bowed again then turned to Mom. "Human mothers, I'm informed, tend to coddle and infantilize their young to a remarkably advanced age. Perhaps it'll relieve your maternal passions somewhat to know that a fellow human will be present to advise us regarding your offspring's physical limitations?" He smiled awkwardly—Artemesians were always knocked a little off their stride when addressing females because their own weren't sentient.

Mom blinked. Then her face grew hard and angular in a way I hadn't seen since Tim had accidentally fired a twenty-gauge slug through my bedroom window while I was making faces at him from the other side of the glass. "Greatly relieved, sir," was all she said.

"Excellent!" Rapput replied, not picking up on her anger at all. Then he turned to Dad. "Mr. Li is well qualified for his role. We employed your finest people to assist us in the search."

Our father nodded. Then he looked at Li before meeting Tim's and my own eyes. He seemed to be trying to communicate more than his words alone contained. "He's the finest man available for this particular job, I'm quite certain. I've looked into his background. Perhaps he'll be able to advise you regarding the boys' academic development as well. After all, he holds three doctorates." Then he turned to Li. "Sir, I'm deeply grateful to you for the sacrifice you're making."

"Human children journeying into the unknown deserve no less," he answered with another half-bow. "You should be proud of your boys. They're brave indeed, and I humbly swear to do my best by them."

I blinked but said nothing. Dad and Mr. Li . . . They were pretending to be strangers when in fact they knew each other quite well. Or so Mr. Li had claimed, and I had no reason to doubt his word. Why on earth . . . I looked at Tim, but he just shrugged as well.

Then Rapput was on his feet again, and it was time to leave. "I'm going out to the shuttle. You may hug your parents goodbye in privacy. Immediately after that, we depart." Then even his fearsome, arrogant features softened. "Make them long hugs, if you like. My schedule is a tight one, yes. But not _that_ tight."
7

Rapput seemed to think Tim and I ought to be excited as could be about riding in an Artemu courier ship. But of course we weren't, even though for most kids it might've been really something. Dad traveled in them all of the time, being on the North American Interspecies Subcouncil. He'd explained to us that it wasn't really much different from riding in a jetliner, which we'd already done lots of times. Sure, shuttles were equipped with twin blaster cannon and bomb-racks and all that—Rapput even showed them off to us. Tim and I took turns ooh-ing and aah-ing at the things, but they didn't actually test-fire them or anything. If they had, well . . . Yeah, that might've been pretty cool after all. But as things were, it was just a small jetliner with funny seats and fittings and warning signs printed in alien script.

Artemu clans were divided by language more than anything else, though pretty much everyone spoke Gonther as a second, common tongue. So the aliens in their own minds divided human "clans" strictly by language as well and set up their administrative networks accordingly. It was up to us humans, as the losers, to adapt to their way of doing things. In some places this didn't cause too many problems—the US, Britain, and the commonwealth nations hadn't had too much trouble developing a mutually satisfactory system for dealing officially with the Artemu, for example. We English-speaking countries had gotten along well together for a long time. Yet, even among such historically good and well-meaning friends, in some ways the new setup was a real mess and all the bugs hadn't been worked out yet. Dad complained that he had to spend more time bickering over personal and national privileges than actually getting any work done. But our problems were _nothing_ to those faced by, say, the Arabic and Spanish-speaking countries. At any rate, the Artemu had set up a series of local administrative centers all over the planet, and we were headed for the one in Vancouver, Canada. "But . . . I packed my passport in with my clothes!" Tim complained.

Rapput laughed. "Don't worry, nephew. You'll never need travel documents again. Gonther-clan _issues_ such documents. We're not troubled to carry them."

That made Mr. Li blink, but otherwise no one said anything more. Nor did anyone ask any of us for so much as a scrap of paperwork as we landed on what'd once been the main parking lot of the finest hotel in the province, greeted by what looked like a platoon of the first Artemu I'd ever seen carrying military arms, lining one side of the landing zone and standing stiff and straight. They held that posture the whole time it took us to disembark and walk to the hotel's main entrance; Rapput and Mr. Li both ignored them, so Tim and I did so as well even though it felt impolite. Then we were all on the elevator together, headed for Rapput's private set of suites on the fifth floor.

"You two," he said to his Artemesian servants, "will tend to the luggage and set up my nephew's quarters for the night. You need not unpack everything, as we'll be leaving for home tomorrow afternoon. Let the boys pick and choose—they know best what they do and don't need. Should you question their judgment, contact me."

The two Artemu servants bowed, keeping their eyes low.

Then it was Mr. Li's turn to be attended to. "Congressman Byrd claims you have three . . . doctorate degrees? Are you a healer, then? My understanding was that you were a physical fitness academic."

He smiled. "No sir. I'm not a physician, though that's a common misunderstanding. In English-speaking places the title 'doctor' is also applied to those who achieve our highest level of educational attainment. In my case, I have doctorates in human physiology, American history, and Korean studies."

"Hrrm," Rapput replied, looking thoughtful. Just as the elevator doors opened, he came to a decision. "Then perhaps the congressman is correct. You might indeed prove useful as an academic tutor as well, though of course a subordinate one. In truth my planning is deficient. When I left the homeworld, there were as yet no plans to take hostages at all." He led us through the elevator door and stopped again in the hallway. "You'll find Artemesian teaching machines in the boys' rooms, Mr. Li, along with primary-school level datacubes. While my nephews are obviously long past these in academic terms, they contain important cultural elements. It is my hope to impart these as soon as possible." He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes in what was clearly a formal Posture, but not one I knew yet. "Therefore, you shall sit down with these teaching machines and master their operation as soon as you yourself are unpacked and settled in, so as to help our students along as much as possible during the long trip home. This should be a relatively simple matter—they're meant to be operated by mere kits, and your command of our language is commendable. "

I inhaled; Mr. Li didn't strike as the sort of man who'd take well to being ordered around. But he merely smiled and bowed. "Of course, sir. At once."

Rapput's eyes narrowed again, then rather reluctantly he nodded. "You're a good man, Li. Thank you. Perhaps we might make good use of your academic background in the long run after all." Last of all, he turned to us. "Boys, you've heard the plan. Now please be so good as to unpack for the night and cooperate with the domestic staff. Remember always that toying with servants is ignoble and base—a poor way to repay true loyalty. Do we understand each other?"

I gulped, and Tim replied, "Yes, sir!"

Rapput smiled. "Good! Then, if there's nothing more to be done here, I have what seems like several hundred reports to finalize and file before leaving the planet. If something important comes up, then by all means consult me. Otherwise, I fear I must work even harder than any of the rest of you." He reached out and laid his hands on our heads like he'd already done several times already. "The future lies heaviest on the most responsible. Good night, and I'll see you in the morning."
8

My servant was apparently a lot better at his job than Tim's was, because he had me all set up and unloaded a good half-hour before his partner. Or perhaps he'd simply packed more logically. When finished he strode to the door, bowed deeply, and in a hushed, shy-sounding voice said, "I am Giril, Robertherman Gonther, eternally at your service. Have you any further need of this servant today?"

At first my jaw dropped because I thought he'd said his name was Girl, which was funny enough in its own right but triply so for an Artemu. Then I remembered what Rapput had said about faithful and honest service, and forced back my smile. It was, after all, the most sensible thing my new uncle had said all day. "I'm grateful for your help on this special and difficult day, Giril, and while I don't yet know how to properly work with you, be assured that I'm very satisfied indeed."

His face lit up like a child's. "Lord Rapput explained to us that you can't yet be expected to know civilized ways," he replied, bowing a second time. "But he never told us your kind was so . . . pleasant. I am indeed a lucky servant." Then he turned and left.

Tim's helper was still busily opening and closing containers in the next room; the walls were thin, and the lids made a loud snapping sound whenever the seal was made or broken. My brother was probably looking for his toothbrush or something like that; he often mislaid small items. At no point had anyone told me I was required to remain in my room, so I decided to do some careful exploring.

I'd been in big, expensive hotels before with Mom and Dad. On Inauguration Day we'd stayed at one of the best places in Maryland, or so Mom claimed, while on another trip we'd slept in a super-fancy building in New Orleans that'd smelled bad. Though I wasn't exactly a grown-up, after those experiences the finest suites in Vancouver still weren't likely to impress me. And they didn't, though that wasn't the Canadian's fault. After all, the finest lodgings in my own native Montana were probably less impressive still. It was just that really fancy hotels sort of clustered over time around cities that were the focus of one sort of power or another, Dad had explained one day after a conversation that'd begun with Tim pointing at a bidet and asking what it was. Vancouver was relatively new to the center-of-power thing, I figured. Give them time, and with the help of the Artemu their lodgings would soon rival those of New York, London, and Paris.

"Well, hello!" a female voice greeted me as I jogged along the curved corridor back toward my room; my first attempt to find the main elevators had taken me directly to the fire-stairs, in exactly the opposite direction to that which I'd wished to go. There stood a woman in a hotel uniform. "Who do we have here, playing among our new masters?"

I smiled, mostly because her face was so friendly and her smile so pretty. She looked like Mom. "We're hostages," I explained. "My brother and I. He's in five-nineteen."

Her eyebrows rose past her bangs. "Hostages?"

"Sort of, but not exactly." I took a few moments to explain about how there wasn't an exact English word for it, and what the differences were. "It kind of sucks," I explained, a single tear squeezing its way down my cheek despite my best efforts. "I mean . . . we didn't want to, and Mom and Dad didn't want for us to. But . . ."

"My dear heavens!" Linda the assistant hotel manager—for by now I'd read her nametag—gushed, her face now pale under her makeup. "I . . . I . . ."

"It is indeed an unpleasant situation," a new voice interrupted as Mr. Li opened his door and stepped into the hall between us. "But it is as it must be." He sighed and looked at the floor. "Being on the losing side of a war has its consequences."

She frowned, then looked back and forth between my tutor and me. "It's absolutely horrible!"

Li nodded. "I can only agree. And yet . . ." His eyes narrowed. "Things could be much worse, for each and every one of us. While Robert here has done nothing wrong—he wasn't to my knowledge instructed to keep this matter secret—there has been no official announcement yet. For obvious reasons."

"Yes," she agreed, nodding vigorously. "Very obvious! Now on top of everything else they're taking our children as hostages!"

Li took a moment to swallow before replying. "They mean it as a gesture of respect. The English word 'hostage,' as the boy said, is an inaccurate and unfortunate representation of an alien concept. He's to be educated and raised as one of their elite."

"How many more child-hostages will they be taking?" she demanded next. " _All_ of them?"

"I . . ." Mr Li shook his head. "You don't understand, ma'am. It's not—"

"You're a damn collaborator, is all you are!" the woman hissed. Then she spat in Mr. Li's face.

"Please," he tried again. "You must—"

But it was too late. By then she was well past us, legs pumping and arms swinging, making for the main desk. "Collaborator!" she cried again. "I _hate_ you!"

"Mr. Li," I finally said, breaking the awkward silence. "I—"

"Hush!" he said, raising a warning finger. "You've not misbehaved, as I said. That's not at all the same, however, as saying you've done nothing unwise." His brows lowered, then he pursed his lips and nodded. "I must," he finally said, clearly coming to some sort of decision but uncomfortable with the answer. "I simply must." Then he looked at me and swung his room's door wide open. "Come inside," he ordered. "Sit on my bed and wait. I'll be with you in just a moment."

I did as instructed, not that I had much choice. Li's hand now grasped mine, and while his grip was gentle I could sense iron bands lying closely underneath the soft flesh. He led me to the bed, which I sat on as instructed. Then, hesitating one last time, he picked up the room's phone and dialed a number. "This is Li," he said in his near-perfect Gonther. "Lord Rapput said I might call upon him in the event of difficulties. I fear that moment has come." There was a long silence, then Li explained about Linda the hotel manager. "I don't believe the boy did anything willfully wrong. He'd received no instructions not to speak freely. But the consequences of a premature leak—"

"Yes, Li!" a voice chimed in so loudly that I could make out its words halfway across the room. It was Rapput. Or perhaps Uncle Rapput, I ought to be calling him now. "You overheard every word?"

"Yes, my lord," Li answered, nodding even though Rapput couldn't possibly see the gesture.

"You've acted rightly," Rapput decided after a moment's hesitation of his own. "She shall be arrested immediately and held until there's a greater understanding between our cultures on this delicate issue."

"Of course, my Lord," Li agreed.

"Yes," Rapput repeated. "You've done well indeed, Mr. Li. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure to be of service," he replied smoothly, sounding quite pleased with himself. As well he ought to be from his point of view, I supposed; I'd never heard Rapput thank anyone for anything until then! But that poor woman—she might be jailed for _years._

Was it Rapput's fault? Li's? Or just maybe mine?

"You might want to take a few minutes," Rapput continued, "to explain to my nephews that from this moment until we're at least one Jump from this star that they're to speak to no one outside the family without my personal permission."

"Of course, my lord!" Li replied. "I'll take care of that immediately, even before examining the teaching machines."

"Perfect," Rapput agreed. "And with that, good night."
9

It was anything _but_ a good night. Mr. Li carefully explained to both Tim and I that we were to speak to no one about anything. Then he asked questions to make absolutely certain we both understood fully. That all by itself was enough to creep us out. For the first time I realized that we were about to be completely and totally cut-off from practically the entire human race. Then we hit the teaching machines for a little while.

Sure enough, the academic stuff was all way below our level; math was math wherever one went in the universe, after all. Mr. Li set aside the arithmetic classes for the moment, promising he knew some tricks that'd have us thinking in base twelve in no time flat, a system which the Artemu had for some reason adopted despite having five fingers and four toes. It scared me to death, base twelve did! I doubted I'd _ever_ learn to do such weird math!

Li chose to begin with a language lesson, since all three of us were reasonably proficient already, and we spent a pleasant hour listening to young, high-pitched voices ask simple questions of their "Respected Instructor." This was all straightforward; even some of the alien elements like having an indicator light blink yellow for "wrong," red for "correct," and orange for "somewhere in-between" was simple enough to figure out. But the rest of it . . . Even our new tutor squinted at the screen, baffled, as our virtual classmates lined up and placed their hands on each other's heads at frequent intervals, and all of us fairly slavered over the tantalizing glimpses we kept catching of what appeared to be a basic, elementary school-type globe that sometimes appeared in the background. The Artemu were almost completely unforthcoming with information about their homeworld, or for that matter the rest of the universe that still lay locked away from us. Such information was to be doled out only on an as-needed or as-earned basis, and sadly we men of Earth hadn't accomplished much in either category yet.

Then it was bedtime. Mr. Li shut off the teaching machine and ushered us back to our rooms. "My door," he explained with a small smile, "will be unlocked. It will remain unlocked every night from now on, until either you two are no longer in my charge or have grown into men in your own right. Come to me any time for any reason. I'll do everything within my power to help and protect you, even unto the cost of my own life. Do you understand me?"

First Tim nodded, then I did too. "You . . ." I began, not sure how to phrase things. "In the living room back home . . ."

He held up his hand palm outward in a "stop" gesture. Then he cupped his ears and pointed at the walls.

Timothy nodded. "Privacy is _so_ hard to come by."

Li smiled, his face seeming to glow. "Another day, under other circumstances, perhaps we shall discuss human-type living room issues. In the meantime, we've all had a difficult, demanding day, and tomorrow looks no better." He yawned. "In years to come we shall spend much of our time together on exercise and physical development. Today, however, we can afford to make an exception."

I was absolutely exhausted. So was Tim, apparently—he yawned just as I did.

"Right," Li agreed with a nod. "As I said, my door shall remain unlocked. Goodnight, sleep tight, don't let the bedbugs bite!"

"That's just what Mom always says!" Tim replied before I could unstop my tongue. "Every night!"

"What a remarkable coincidence!" Li observed. Then he smiled wider than ever and was gone.

Back home at the ranch Tim and I slept in separate bedrooms but shared a sink, toilet, and shower. I felt lonely as I brushed my teeth in more than half of a sink for almost the only time ever and bathed without fear of being interrupted by a glassful of ice-water tossed over the top of the shower curtain. I'd felt the same way back then that I did now; it was _hard_ to get ready for bed without someone to talk to and joke with. How was I supposed to relax and try to make sense of the day?

Somehow I eventually found myself under the covers with the lights out, but even as tired as I was all I could manage was to toss and turn. Up until yesterday I'd led a fairly simple, straightforward life. I'd been a rancher's son and half a set of twins, and the life of a rancher's son was hardly a complex thing. I'd hunted, fished, played, and done school-time with my mother instead of attending the public places she didn't like very much. Looking back, it all seemed like a sunny, happy dream. Having a twin had only made it better. But now it was all gone away forever, except for Timothy. I'd never hunt on the ranch again, never hug Mom after getting a math problem three grades ahead of me right, never listen to Dad as he rode about the ranch pointing out landmarks and telling the stories of our forebearers. All of that was gone, gone, gone! And who knew when Timmy might be taken away as well by aliens who didn't seem to care in the least what was good for _us_ or what _we_ wanted?

Pretty soon I was crying worse than anytime I could ever remember. I was too old for that sort of thing, and the shame just made it worse. I tried and tried to force it back, but it was just too big and strong and overwhelming and flowed through me like an unstoppable river. I wailed like a baby, to be completely honest, alternately feeling sorry for myself and terrible about dragging Mr. Li into the mess as well.

Once I was nearly recovered, I remembered Linda the hotel manager who I'd gotten in such terrible trouble. She was going to be arrested simply because I'd talked to her! That was the most awful thing I'd ever done to anyone, I decided; what a miserable piece of human garbage I was! And so the tears began anew and went on and on, until finally sometime well after midnight I was all cried out . . .

. . . and still too keyed up to sleep! I rolled from side to back to other-side to stomach, but it did no good. Then I moaned at how awful tomorrow was going to be, having to figure out all sorts of new rules and alien-stuff without even having gotten any sleep. Without Mom and Dad's help, either.

That got me thinking about Mr. Li again. Who _was_ this guy, really? He was all I had besides Tim, and he seemed nice enough. But he'd been awfully quick to turn Linda in. After, I reminded myself, she'd spat in his face and called him a collaborator. Which he was, really. Just like Dad and everyone else trying to live up to the terms of the Treaty. But Dad was no turncoat, of that I was certain. He'd never have given up, except that we'd all have surely died. When the only choice was for everyone everywhere to die, well . . . admitting defeat and becoming part of the government enforcing a cruel treaty was no shame. Yes, Mr. Li had done some really strange stuff so far. Yet somehow I knew Linda was wrong—like Dad, my tutor was doing what had to be done for the good of everyone, even when it hurt him. Even before he'd used Mom's favorite formula to send us to bed, in my heart I'd been sure he was one of the good guys.

Now it was two in the morning; the clock by my bed said so, even though the time didn't seem real somehow. I couldn't ever remember being awake at two AM before. It was an unreal time, one I'd heard about but never actually experienced. Which made sense, I supposed, since I lived on a ranch out in the middle of nowhere. But then I'd never been held hostage before, never been abandoned (however unwillingly) by my parents in the name of the greater good of humanity and forced to smile at a smelly alien and call him "Beloved Uncle." I was in for a whole series of new experiences, apparently. And so far they sucked, sucked, sucked!

Then I was weeping again, broken inside and ashamed to be broken and wanting to be strong and tall but still too young to be anything more than a snot-nosed boy whose world was falling apart at least as completely as that of any other boy before him. It wasn't something I rationally thought through; before I knew it my door was open and I was running down a blurry hallway in bare feet. At a touch, the only door with a human face waiting behind it swung open. Then I was dashing through the dark toward the bed in the back, praying that Timmy hadn't seen me making such a babyish fool of myself.

But I needn't have feared. For there Tim already was, on his knees with his arms clamped around Mr. Li, sobbing his heart out. I knelt down as well and buried my face into the freakishly-muscular man's torso next to that of my brother.

"It's going to be all right," Li reassured us over and over again, and the words helped even though we all knew they were a lie. "We're going to see this thing through, despite everything. We'll come out on top.

"Or at the very least, someone somewhere is going to answer for this atrocity. I swear it!"
10

"So," Uncle Rapput declared just before lunch the next day, looking first Tim and then me directly in the eyes. "I understand you two had a rough time last night?"

Mr. Li answered for us, which I was glad of. The last person in the universe I wanted to admit a weeping fit to was Uncle Rapput, though I wasn't quite sure why. "It was separation anxiety, sir," he explained. "This is commonplace among our young under far less stressful circumstances than these. Indeed, further bouts are to be expected. Thank you for allowing them to sleep in."

The big alien nodded. "Our own youngsters are vulnerable to the same sorts of developmental issues, though mostly among the lower clans." He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "In a way, I suppose what we're doing here might even be seen by some who don't understand the grand plan for the greater good as capricious, or perhaps even cruel." He frowned. "You have my standing permission to excuse them from family meals and other such activities, Li, whenever you feel they're not up to it. At least for the first few months. We'll revisit the issue if this privilege is employed to excess."

Li bowed. "I'm grateful for your trust."

Rapput speared a pork chop with his eating-knife and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Tell me about yourself, Li," he said. 'I've read your file, yet there's still much I don't understand about you. For example, you weren't born an English-speaker. So how do your loyalties come to be to that tribe? You're not even physically akin to them."

He smiled and half-bowed in his seat. "I was born in North Korea," he explained. "Not at all a pleasant place, I assure you. When I was fourteen, my father—who held a privileged position as a high-ranking military officer—was able to defect to the South."

"Defect?" Rapput asked, clearly unfamiliar with the term. "They judged your family somehow defective and drove you out?"

"The word has different meanings in different contexts, sir. In this case, to 'defect' means to leave one human-type clan for another without the permission of the clan that's being left."

Rapput's mouth dropped open. "Is such a thing even possible?" he demanded. "I've read that humans switch clans as one changes robes, but . . ."

"Our history has shown that it's difficult to keep humans in a clan they have no desire to be part of," Li explained. He bowed again. "Of course, your own kind do things differently."

"Of course," Rapput agreed, though he was still visibly upset. "Our ways are stable and in keeping with the core principles of tradition and honor. Over time, your own species will come to understand. Besides, you were still but a boy and therefore in no way responsible for any breach of social order." He smiled. "Continue, please."

"I proved . . . an able student, especially in languages. My mother had a gift for them, and apparently the trait bred true. And I also loved to wrestle. Soon after winning the silver medal you're familiar with, I began my academic studies in earnest in Chicago, a large North American city. I found myself feeling very much at home there, so eventually I became a US citizen."

"You defected a second time?" Rapput demanded.

"Oh, no!" Li explained. "South Korea and the United States were, at that time, close military and economic partners. Both parties approved of and applauded my change of, er . . . clan." He pressed his lips together. "I fear I don't know any Artemu words I can use to explain."

"That's because they don't exist," Rapput mused. Then he looked at my brother and I. "Except for hostage-adoptees, of course."

Li pursed his lips, thinking. "Perhaps that's not so far from what I was. Except that it was strictly voluntary, of course. In fact, the United States was notorious for attracting clan-changers. As were several other countries, of course. We're in one of them now."

My uncle sipped at his drink again. While he consumed an awful lot of human food, this was something from his homeworld and it smelled like hot motor oil. "It's madness. Sheer madness! But as you say, Dr. Li, what you did was judged honorable by your kind. And we'd not arrived yet, so it's hardly fair to hold your defections prior to that time against you." He took another sip. "You've proven an able and willing servant to date—far easier to work with than most of the English-speaking humans it's been my duty to deal with. This may perhaps be due to your Korean-clan bloodline?"

Li's smile never wavered. "I suspect my North Korean background may indeed be a factor, yes."

Rapput smiled. "So we're not so far apart after all on social-order matters. Excellent! You make me wish that I could spend more time with the Korean tribe. But of course we Gonthers can relate best to the greatest warrior clan, who so clearly have dominated your world in recent times. The ones who seized an empire upon which the sun never set, and who given more time might've conquered an interstellar sphere every bit as glorious as our own. The English-speakers, in other words. Like Gonther, easily your world's finest race."

I turned toward Tim just as he did the same, and for an instant our eyes met. Neither of us needed to say a word—Dad went on all the time about how superb the soldiers of many nations were. Being special forces himself before he retired, he worked with foreigners a lot. Especially the South Koreans, for some reason. He seemed to admire them most of all.

"A great and honorable people indeed," Li agreed, though he must've been offended. "As I said, I found that I loved them enough to join them." Then he changed the subject. "You mentioned yesterday, sir, that we were to leave Earth today. Yet I have no idea of what the boys have to do to get ready, or even what time we're leaving."

"An oversight," Rapput replied. "My apologies. We depart at five in the afternoon, your time, aboard the same type of courier ship we arrived here on. No further preparations are necessary." He glanced at us again. "Though perhaps it might be well if these two hit the teaching machines again."

"And the swimming pool as well, with your permission?" Li asked. "Human children have an innate biological need to play in a physical manner. Deprived of the outlet, they grow overly-boisterous and ill-mannered."

"Another similarity between our kinds," Rapput noted. "Of course they should get their exercise as well. Though I expect them to pass a primary-first level academic examination by the end of next week." He met Li's eyes. "Including proper social interaction skills."

"They'll be fine," Li assured our master. He looked at us and winked. "After all, they've the very best bloodline our kind has to offer!"
11

Swimming in a pool instead of a beaver pond for once was sort of nice. The water was a lot warmer and clearer, plus there weren't sharp rocks to cut your feet on. I also learned that you're supposed to wait after eating before getting into the water, which neither Tim nor I ever knew before. Mr. Li laughed and splashed with us for a time, then we all did a few slow laps together. After that he dived off the high board for us, slipping headfirst into the water as slick as a bulked-up arrow. Then right before we finished, everyone got into a big splash-fight together. It was fun, even if there were Artemesians and human hotel workers staring at us the whole time, wondering who in the world such crazy people were and what we were doing there.

The teaching-machine session went better too, probably because after swimming we were all in a better mood for that sort of thing. "Do you remember how we couldn't figure out the hands-on-head thing?" Li asked with a smile. "Well, I've employed the highest, deepest, and most profound learning technique known to mankind, and as a direct result I now understand."

"You asked Rapput?" Tim guessed.

"Precisely," he answered with a short bow. "It's all about relative social status."

"The higher status Artemu put their hands on the heads of the lower?" I guessed.

"Exactly. It's symbolic of the social pecking order, to remind everyone continually of who stands where in line." He tilted his head to the left. "According to Rapput, it makes their kind feel warm and happy inside. Or perhaps 'secure' is a better word—the effect is supposedly extra-powerful for kits, and that's why they do it to you a lot more often than anyone else, even in public. If someone has their hand on your head, it means you can count on them for protection and leadership. If you have your hands on theirs, in turn you can count on loyalty and subservience. It's sort of like being hugged by your parents, but more complicated."

"I _thought_ they always lined up in the same order," I said. "Remember?"

"You did," Li agreed with one of his bows. "But they all looked so much alike that we couldn't tell for sure." Then he smiled again. "Do you happen to know which of you is the elder?"

"I am," Tim replied. "By seven minutes."

I frowned. It was true but hadn't ever mattered before.

"Then you're the senior," Li explained. "And from now on whenever the pups in the classroom line up, you two are to do the same. With the elder's hand on the younger's head."

"I don't need protection!" I complained.

"Of course not," our teacher agreed. "And yet . . . I suspect there's more going on here than we currently understand. Do you know what a pack alpha is? As in a wolf-pack, though other species behave similarly."

"There're wolves on the ranch," Tim answered. "So yeah, Dad taught us how to pick him out."

"Good!" Li replied. "This is just my personal theory so far, but I think the hands-on-the-head thing is like wolf-pack behavior, and the Artemu may be very, very wolf-like in some ways. So much so that I think it's a biological imperative for them. They need their heads held every now and again in order to be happy. Have you noticed how Rapput holds yours whenever he thinks you might be especially upset or frightened?"

Tim and I looked at each other. "Wow!" I said for us both.

"Wow, indeed. But like it or not, you two are adopted Artemu, and I'm an Artemu slave in all but my lack of fur. We therefore must learn not only to accept this as a well-meant gesture, but also in time to hold the heads of others in such a way that they gain reassurance and pleasure from the contact. It's terribly important that you understand this."

"Yeah," Tim finally agreed. "I can see it now, I think."

"Good," Li replied. "Then from now on, we're all three of us going to pretend we're Artemu, in this one way at least. Whenever the class holds each other's heads, we shall line up and do the same. I consider this an important lesson. So . . ." He smiled and held out his hands just like Rapput. "Come and be rewarded!"

We were rewarded half a dozen more times before the session ended, a short school day due to our impending flight off-world. It still felt pretty weird to both Tim and I, especially for me all the way down at the bottom end because I had to kneel to my brother instead of having someone of my own to comfort. Yet I could see that Li was right. In fact this was likely going to be among the _least_ important changes we'd be making in our behaviors. I just hoped we still remembered how to be human when all was said and done!

Giril and Tim's assistant were already in the process of clearing out my room when we got back from 'school'; he'd left an assortment of fresh, clean clothes out for me to choose from, but I explained that humans often wore the same outfit all day long. He looked uncertain for a moment, and then fell to his knees. "I'm sorry, Robertherman. I shall not err in this matter again."

I smiled. "It's okay, Giril. We both have a lot to learn about each other. This is just a start. Besides, sometimes we _do_ change clothes in the middle of the day, so it's going to take a long time to figure it all out. There's no way to rush it along." But he didn't get up, and after a long moment passed I finally worked up enough nerve to reach out and place my hand atop his head.

"Oooh!" he responded, still on his knees. Then he raised his eyes. "More pressure right in the center."

"Thank you," I replied. Sure enough there was a strange little bump right on the very top of his head, though it was so small that one had feel around for it. The raised spot gave a little when firmly pressed. I remembered Rapput's finger pushing extra-hard there on my own skull and imitated his action as best I could.

His eyes rolled and his face brightened. "Thank _you_ , esteemed master," he replied, standing with a bow. "And now, if you don't—"

"Please," I requested. "Tell me something about yourself, Giril. If you have a moment to spare, that is. It seems that we may be together for a long time."

He smiled. "I'm short on moments, as it happens. Yet that's not a problem because there's so little tell. I am Giril of the Quenth clan, bottom-most of all Artemu. We're domestic servants and the lowest sorts of laborers, for this is what our bloodline best excels at. Yet we're pleased with our lot, for our role is honorable and our place respected. Thus glory is shared." His smile widened. "I expect that someday, when Rapput's Great Plan is completed, we'll be serving at least some human-masters as well. In this I'm honored to be a pioneer."

My mouth opened, but I didn't know what to say. Giril had been _born_ to be a servant and was happy about that?

"Oh yes!" Giril continued. "Someday you Anglics shall rank among the greatest of clans. Even I can see this already. And we shall be here to serve you and play our own humble part in the Conquest. The Empire grows and grows." Then he bowed again and left.

My head was still spinning when Mr. Li arrived with Tim already in tow. I started to tell them what'd just happened, but there wasn't enough time before we met up with Rapput. "Later, Robert," Li urged, cutting me off. Then he nodded at Rapput, who seemed to be waiting for something. Both my brother and I knew what; we each walked to our appointed places and fell to our knees as the big Artemesian paws landed on our heads.

"Well done!" Rapput declared with a smile in his voice, and somehow his dominant approval seemed so complete that just maybe I _did_ feel a thrill of happiness at the touch. "You're both doing well, and I'm proud of you," He gave us an extra press before withdrawing his hands. "This speaks well for you, Li."

He bowed formally. "I was given an assignment."

Rapput merely smiled, and then gestured toward the elevator. Another Artemu—of the honorably-serving Quenth Clan, I now knew—pressed a button . . .

. . . and nothing happened. Frowning, he pressed it again.

"It's been like this all day, sir," an Artemesian I'd not been introduced to offered. He was carrying a large and very humanlike briefcase. "Sometimes the elevators function and sometimes they don't. The humans have a repair crew working in the lobby."

"The other one works, sir!" the servant declared as its door opened with a pleasant chime. He reached in to hold it for us just as any human flunky might've.

"Hmph!" Rapput declared, though he said no more about what he might or might not've though of human technology. He stepped ponderously inside, followed by Li and Tim and I. "Only inner family members are allowed together in crowded conveyances. Your teacher counts, but only because he's so closely associated with you. Once you're grown, he'll be expected to wait for the next cab with everyone else. You might wish to file that away."

"Yes, sir," I said for us both. Somehow it was getting easier to talk to Rapput now that we understood more about him. Perhaps he felt the same way. At any rate, the floor sank and our eyes rose to count off the floors. Five, four, three, two, one . . .

. . . but the cab kept right on moving!

"Li!" Rapput declared. "Have you any—"

He didn't get any further, however. Because just as the "B" for "Basement" indicator began to flicker, the floor dropped out from under us and we fell free like abird with clipped wings.
12

The elevator was already pretty low in the building, so we didn't have all that far left to drop. There was just the basement, then a parking level below it. Tim and I landed on top of each other, while Mr. Li rolled with the impact and instantly rose to his feet, ready for anything. It was a neat trick, and I wanted to ask him how he did it. But instead Rapput said something in his native tongue, using words I hadn't learned yet. He must've been cursing; three different bones were sticking out of his left arm, which he held cradled in his right, and he was bleeding all over his robe.

Li scowled, torn between standing ready and going to Rapput's aid. Before he could make up his mind the cab's doors opened three or four inches, emitting a terrible screech in the process. "Hello in there!" a human voice cried out in a strong American accent.

"Hello," Li replied, shifting subtly into a more aggressive stance.

"There's five armed men out here," the American continued. "We've got shotguns, rifles, and grenades. We want to take you alive and promise the boys won't be harmed."

"Dropping the elevator they're riding in a floor and a half isn't exactly the best way not to harm children," Li countered.

"Granted," the voice replied. "We promise not to harm them any _more,_ then, if it makes you feel better. Now, stand aside or we'll be forced against our will to get nasty."

Li scowled and eased himself behind the door, so as to take whoever entered from behind. But Rapput shook his head. "These are my brother's sons," he said, though pain slurred every word. "I've sworn both to him and their natural parents to protect them. As, I suspect, have you."

Li's eyes glistened like black agates for a microsecond, and then he nodded and stepped to the back wall. "Come on in," he replied.

Two crowbars snaked into sight, then the door was wrenched further open. Now we could see that there were indeed armed men on the other side, all wearing nylon stockings over their heads.

"Hands up!" a new voice ordered. This one sounded more Canadian. "No tricks, eh?"

"No tricks," Li promised. "Just don't hurt the boys." He nodded to Rapput. "Have you got a first-aid kit?"

"Let the bastard bleed!" the American declared, half-hidden features twisted in disgust. "My son died at Kansas City." Then his eyes moved to Li. "I'm not inclined to offer goddamn collaborators much in the way of favors, either."

"Understood," our teacher replied, voice calm. "Just don't hurt the boys."

The American nodded and turned his attention to us. "Step on out, kids." He gestured with the shortest-barreled shotgun I'd ever seen. Meanwhile, shots began to ring out, seemingly from every direction and all at once. "This way, into the van."

I looked at Mr. Li, who nodded and forced a smile. Then Tim nodded at me too, and we took off running. "Get in!" a woman ordered; her voice seemed familiar, so I looked up and saw despite the disguise that it was Linda, the hotel manager who'd supposedly been arrested because of what I'd told her.

"I . . . Uh . . ." I must've been gaping like a fish of water; she reached down and, none too gently, dragged me through the van's sliding door. "Sit in the far back. You're going to be fine now. We're taking you to a safe place where they'll never find you."

"We're taking the others as well," the Canadian declared. "Plan B is in effect."

"Right," the American agreed. "You, traitor. Help the fleabag up onto his feet."

I frowned. Dad had taught us that it was as wrong to call an Artemesian a fleabag as it was to call an Asian man like Mr. Li a slant. In fact, there wasn't anything much worse.

"I require no assistance, Li," Rapput declared. Then he rose, his shattered arm cradled in the other. Along the way a single groan left his lips. "Though I'm sure you'd have been willing."

"Fleabag first," the American continued, raising his voice as the background firing increased. "Then you, traitor."

Our companions obeyed their orders. Rapput eased himself down onto the bare steel floor that would normally have anchored a middle row of seats—apparently they'd been removed for this trip. They searched his robes thoroughly, and our teacher as well. Then Mr. Li tried to lower himself down alongside the alien . . .

. . . and the Canadian kicked him in the knee just when he was at his most vulnerable. "Don't you even _think_ about trying anything," he hissed from between clenched teeth. "I recognized that stance—I'm a black belt myself."

Li merely nodded and smiled despite what must've been terrible pain. "Of course."

"Of course!" the Canadian snorted, clearly seeking cause to be offended and finding none. Then he climbed into the passenger seat as the American and Linda squeezed in on each side of Tim and me. It was a tight fit. "Execute phase two!" the northerner cried out into the ever-increasing gunfire. "Now! Now! Now!"

The driver started the motor and threw the van into gear. We went surging across the parking garage until . . . we were surrounded by white vans! A dozen or more. Never stopping for a moment we all jostled and juggled for places in a single-file line as we headed for the exit together.

"Looking good," Linda offered.

"Not home yet," the American muttered.

Then the motor roared and we emerged into daylight, the firefight now so intense that it sounded like strings of firecrackers going off in every direction. Another disguised man carrying some sort of military rifle reeled into our lane. His face was all bloody, so maybe he didn't know what he was doing. Anyway, another van knocked him flat onto the pavement directly in front of us. Our brakes squealed, but the Canadian man shouted. "No! There's no time! Run him over!" And we did exactly that. Ka-thump, ka-thump! It was awful; I swear I heard his bones crunch.

Then we were out on the main roads, circling blocks and changing lanes and going in and of garages until no one could possibly know which white van was which.

"All _right_!" the American finally declared, once we were out all by our lonesome riding down a country road without any signs of pursuit. "I think we've actually pulled this off!" And the Plan B version at that!"

"Honor compels me to inform you," Rapput began, "that you are in gross violation of the Treaty of—"

"Shut up," Linda interrupted. "I'm _so_ damned sick of your kind giving orders to decent human-type folks!" Then, aiming carefully, she kicked his wounded arm.

"Aaaah!" he cried out, hunching over and cradling his arm in agony. "Aaaaaaah!" Then he passed out altogether.

"He's still bleeding," Li observed, staring submissively at the floor. "Worse than ever, in fact. He's worth a lot more to you alive than dead, I'd guess. Or don't you know who he is?"

"We know," the Canadian replied from the front seat. "Oh, how _well_ we know!" He hesitated a moment, then turned around in his seat. "Do you know how to take care of him, traitor?"

"I can make a good guess."

"Then do so, if you wish." He passed a first-aid kit over the seat to Linda, who in turn handed it to Li. "You're right. We can always make him dead later. That's never any problem at all."
13

We changed vehicles twice on that long trip. Once we switched to a bright red minivan parked inside an abandoned gas station covered in so much dust that no one must have been inside in years, and the second time a couple hundred yards up a rural driveway that snaked around through the underbrush on a long journey to nowhere. The kidnappers let Tim and I go to the bathroom at both places and even had warm pizza and ice-cold soda waiting for us at the gas station. But they didn't offer Mr. Li anything, nor so much as checked the odd-looking splint he'd made for Rapput. When we came back from the bathroom, however, Rapput's arm bones weren't sticking out anymore and Mr. Li's face was all pale and sweaty. I was glad—it didn't seem right to leave the bones sticking out like that.

Our final vehicle was a Land Rover, which not long after dawn jounced us along what might optimistically have been called a logging road for perhaps an hour until we came to a wide river with a squat, tough-looking boat on it. We had to walk across a plank to get aboard and that was scary; the water was absolutely racing past underneath our sneakers, and it was probably awfully cold since it was still spring and we were so far north. But everyone made it okay except the driver, who was left behind. Again, no one helped Mr. Li with Rapput—they didn't even offer. Our uncle moaned once and blinked; it was still pretty dark, and we learned Artemu eyes reflect light just like a cat's. But he didn't hold out long, not with the pain being so bad and him having lost so much blood.

Normally Tim and I would've enjoyed the boat ride. We'd never been aboard anything that floated except an aircraft carrier before, and that was so big I didn't think it really counted. The American, who we'd learned was named Sam, noticed right away how impressed we were and explained that it was a jet boat and didn't have a propeller. I didn't really understand what that was all about, except that it quit being so scary when we hit rocks after he told us the hull was designed for exactly that.

The boat was equipped with several thermoses full of hot coffee, and Linda seemed genuinely sorry that no one had considered how unlikely it was that either Tim or I would care for the stuff. "It's okay," she said from behind the smile that reminded me so much of Mom's. Or at least it had until she'd kicked Uncle Rapput in the shattered arm. "We'll cook you up some oatmeal and flapjacks with real maple syrup once we get to the cabin. And that's just for breakfast. Fat boys, you'll soon be! Tell me, do you guys like poutine?"

"Mr. Li is probably getting pretty hungry by now," I pointed out. "Thirsty, too. And someone should at least offer water to U—To Rapput."

"They'll be just fine as they are," Sam, the American, assured us. "The longer they go without, the easier they'll be to handle." His eyes narrowed. "I know you probably think these two care about you, But they don't. It was a lie, I'm afraid. A _huge_ lie, just like this whole Treaty business is a lie. We won every battle, so how could we have lost the war?" He looked at Li as if expecting to be contradicted, but he said nothing. Neither did Tim or I—there didn't seem to be any point.

Sam frowned then turned to the Canadian man who seemed to be in charge of it all. Currently he was busy driving the boat. "Hey, Yukon! You mind if I start debriefing the boys now? The sooner we get started, the sooner it's done and over with."

He shrugged. "Suits me, I guess. Be sure to take notes."

"Right," Linda agreed, pulling out a smartphone.

Then Sam began asking us questions, one after another. They started out simple, but right from the beginning I didn't see why we ought to make things any easier for them. Who were we? Robert Herman and Timothy Scott Smith, I heard emerge from my lips before Tim had a chance to contradict me. Where were we from? Boise. How had we become hostages? Because our Dad was a stinking collaborator!

"A lawyer from Chicago," Tim added, his eyes glittering with pleasure as he embroidered our story even further. After all, Dad always said the only people Americans despised more than congressmen were big-city lawyers. "He works for the mayor. We never saw him once after the divorce. He doesn't care about us at all, I don't think. Just his secretary that he married. That's why he let them have us as hostages." Tim loved tall tales for their own sake, and I was rather fond of them myself. I'd told a slightly different story to Linda earlier, yes. But this new one was so good she seemed to have forgotten it entirely.

"That entire city is a nest of collaborators!" Linda hissed, striking the boat's rail in rage. "A blight on humanity!" Meanwhile Tim beamed at me, and I pressed my knee against his, the gesture invisible through the blanket we'd been given to share. It was our secret way of saying "good job!" to each other. So long as we told them what they wanted to hear, they'd unquestioningly accept it as the gospel truth. Adults usually did, after all, especially the stupid ones. And as for these _particular_ adults . . . If they'd known how to "think things all the way through," as Mom had worked so long and hard to teach us to do, they'd not have been who and what they were to begin with.

"We know who the fleabag is," Sam continued. "We've already convicted the bastard as a war criminal in absentia, and I expect that once we have proper arrangements in place we'll be carrying out the judge's sentence."

"Sentence?" I asked.

"Death by hanging. It's slow for their kind—their necks don't break." He sighed. "Though I guess we'll have to nurse him a little first. No point hanging an unconscious man." Then he pointed at Mr. Li. "Now, who is _he_? And what's his part in all this?"

I gulped, but this time Tim was quicker. "He knows Dad through Chicago University. He's some kind of sick-ologist or something. Supposedly he's along just to make sure we get on the ship, but his real job was to learn everything he could about the Gonther Clan along the way." My brother twisted his face up like he was thinking extra-hard. "You might even call him a spy, kind of. On our side."

"Hrrrmph!" Sam declared, scowling. He didn't want to believe it, yet we'd already spoken so much self-evident truth that he had difficulty branding us liars. Then he turned to Li. "You'd put human kids on an alien ship, Mr. sick-ologist? Leave them alone to be taken off to god-knows-where and have who-knows-what done to them?"

"Someone had to do the job regardless," he countered. "So why not an expert observer?" Then he shrugged. "I picked up what I could. Who knows when it may be of use? We have to learn what we can when we can. No opportunity can be lost if we're to emerge victorious."

Sam frowned again. "All right. I almost shot you out of hand. But now I can see where at least you deserve a fair trial. Which you'll get, though it'll be awhile."

"Thank you," Li replied, perfectly sincere as far as we boys could tell. "Am I allowed to ask under whose jurisdiction I'm to be tried?"

Sam blinked. "Don't you know by now?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. Should I?"

"I'm a Regional Vice President of the Rocky Mountain Free State." He nodded at Yukon. "He's our Senior Vice-President."

Tim and I looked at each other, but the name didn't ring a bell for either of us.

"Ah!" Li replied, looking suitably impressed even though I was fairly certain he'd never heard of them either. Then he looked down again. "You're right. I should've guessed."

"Damn straight!" Sam declared. "We're the biggest, most powerful legitimate government on the continent!"

"'Legitimate' meaning non-collaborationist, of course" Linda explained. "Someday soon we'll be running it all! And then you'll see the fleabags running in terror, by god!"

"By god!" Yukon echoed from his seat at the helm. Apparently he could hear a lot better than he'd let on. "But for now . . . Linda, cover the prisoners, and Sam, go tend to the bow line. Our last stop is just around the next bend."
14

The cabin didn't look like much— _wasn't_ much, actually, until you realized only a small part was above ground. From the outside, it was just another trapper's shack with a half-collapsed roof and a set of beat-up solar panels tracking the sun. But the visible part was only a sort of vestibule, which also served as a combination guard post and kitchen. Two armed men sat there, and they didn't smile at us. Down below there was a long series of tunnels—we never saw the ends, so I don't have any idea how far back into the hill they went. Maybe it was an abandoned gold mine.

The upper shafts were dry and relatively clean, insofar as anything with a dirt floor can be clean. While there was always a dank chill in the air, at least our hosts had provided Tim and me with our own room, complete with bunk beds and heavy quilts.

"I get the upper!" Tim declared the second we were ushered in; he beat me to it largely because the lower bed was made up with a comforter identical to the one I'd left behind in Montana, with cartoon race cars all over it. I guess the sight sort of threw me; so much had happened in so little time!

"I'm afraid we don't have TV way out here," Sam said from the door as we explored our new domain. "Nor much in the way of video games or even inside plumbing, though I've requested some handheld thingies for you to play with. Right now all we've got are a few magazines, and most of them, ah . . . aren't suitable for the young. So it's going to be pretty boring for a while. Beats being taken hostage though, right?"

"Oh, yeah!" Tim agreed, and I matched his big smile with my own. "Thank you _so_ much for rescuing us, sir."

He smiled back and stood taller. "Linda's going to whip us up some breakfast, as promised. But the truth of the matter is that we've got quite a bit to do before we're settled in right and proper, and neither of you two has had much chance to rest. So . . . how about a nice nap first? That's one good thing about being underground—you can make it be nighttime whenever you like."

We smiled back. "All right," I was the one who answered this time. "But wake us up for the flapjacks!"

"Sure thing!" Sam promised. Then he was gone, leaving the room illuminated by a single LED. It wasn't very bright.

"I'm _so_ tired!" Tim said, louder than he really needed to. Just like he did when he wanted to mislead Mom and Dad about something they didn't need to know about. He nodded at the magazines—there was a pen lying right next to them. How convenient!

"Me too!" I agreed, also too loudly and thus seconding the motion that we should definitely try and get away with something.

"Let's hit the hay, then."

We stripped down to our underwear and settled in under the comforters. It was nice and warm and soft there, and for a moment I almost fell asleep for real. Then, as expected, a ballpoint with a slip of slick magazine paper stuck under its clip fell from the bed above mine and onto my pillow. It was just barely light enough to read the thing. "Got to move fast," it read. "Li, Rapput getting weaker."

I nodded and turned the paper over. "Five of them," I countered. "Two guards, Sam, Yukon, Linda." Then I folded it all back together and, making use of the darkness along the wall-side of the bed, passed the package upward into my brother's waiting hand.

"Five is too many," he agreed. "Have to separate them. I don't see any other way. Do you?"

"No other way," I agreed. Then a sick sensation washed over me. "We're going to have to kill them, I think. Just like deer, or coyotes. Dead forever. Don't want to."

"Yeah," my brother agreed, this time on a new, larger sheet. The other was too scribbled-up by now. "Dad always told us we might have to kill people someday if we joined the army or the police or something. And that it was okay so long as we were for-sure certain there was no other way. Because some things are even worse than killing,"

"This is kinda like the army," I wrote back. "And police both, I guess. We're being held hostage."

"Hostages twice over!" Tim pointed out. "But they said we hafta go with Rapput or else the war might start again. We'll all die if that happens. Everyone everywhere, even though these Free State guys can't see it. So that's what we should do, even if we have to kill people. It's the least-bad way."

"These guys are _stupid!_ " I agreed in my reply, underlining the word over and over again. "We aren't going to be able to talk sense to them. Not even Mom or Dad could."

"It'll help us get out, them being stupid," Tim replied. "A lot." Then he began a new line. "We need to rest, eat too. Even Li, Rapput need rest. After food is the best time. We may not eat again for a while."

"There's no indoor plumbing," I wrote back. "That's maybe how we could divide them?"

"I'll get sick," he agreed. "Then we'll make our move outside and fake it from there. Kill if we have to, but not if we don't?"

I stuck my head out where he could see and nodded, then put aside my last reservations. Right was right, Mom used to tell us. And we were clearly in the right. Just because parts of it were likely to be pretty awful didn't make it not-right. Which in turn meant we should approach this just like any other hunt, in order to give us the best odds possible. "It's my turn to pull the trigger."

"Not!" he replied. "The doe ran away before I could shoot."

I smiled as I read his words; Tim _loved_ being the one to take the important shots, and I loved to prod him about it. Well, this time we'd see what developed. "Night, Timmy!" I said aloud.

"Night, Robert," he replied.

All the planning that could be done, was done. Perhaps Rapput was right about my brother and I being among our kind's foremost natural warriors, even though we were still just kids. After all, kids our age and even younger had fought for their tribes and nations as long back as anyone could remember. Though Dad would've just called us healthy, independent-minded Montana ranch boys, and that was probably a lot closer to the truth.

***

Sam kept his word, kind of. He did indeed faithfully wake us up when it was flapjack time. The meal wasn't ready until one in the afternoon, however, which meant we slept away a lot more of the day than we'd have liked.

Still, we made the best of things. No matter what her other shortcomings as a human being might be—I'd never, _ever_ forgive her for the way she'd kicked Rapput's shattered arm while he was helpless—Linda was indeed a competent backwoods cook. Though I hate to say it, her flapjacks were even better than Mom's. Or maybe it was the syrup made from real maple trees, a fact that Yukon emphasized over and over again. Apparently it was part of his national pride. Even the poutine wasn't too bad, though neither my brother nor I had ever eaten anything but ketchup on fried potatoes before. While the gravy and curds were fine, the conversation was what was really interesting.

"...can't keep them here forever, Sam," Yukon pointed out as he sopped up his surplus gravy with one of Linda's excellent biscuits. "They're _boys_. They need to go to school and such."

"School!" the American snorted, making the word sound like a curse. Mom did that too. "I can't speak for up here in the Great White North, but back home they're just brainwashing factories meant to convince us the values we grew up with are wrong. No one ever learns anything useful there anymore." He scowled. "We should induct them directly into the army. That way they can learn to scout and such right from the get-go." He sighed and looked down. "This is going to be a long, long war. We're going to be in greater need of scouts than scholars."

Yukon took a bite of eggs and chewed it thoughtfully. "We'll consider it. Times are hardly normal." Then he turned to us. "How far have you two gotten, schoolwise?"

"We just finished the sixth grade," I lied. The truth was that we were old enough to just be finishing seventh, but both of us were way ahead of that. In some subjects I was all the way up to high school. This was why we'd had so much time to hunt and stuff lately; Mom and Dad had agreed it was better we take the time to enjoy being young while we could rather than keep learning stuff maybe faster than we were mature enough to absorb.

"Though just barely," Tim added. He elbowed me and grinned. "Dorkus here has trouble reading."

I elbowed him back—the lie was much too far from the truth to carry any sting. I'd been reading adult-type thrillers and mysteries for over two years. "Says you!"

"Now, now," Linda interjected. Then she looked at me and smiled so wistfully that I wondered if maybe she wished she could adopt us or something. "Some of us grow up a little slower than others. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

That left me blushing bright red with absolutely nothing whatsoever to say, except that under the table I stepped on Tim's foot, hard, for saying I was having reading troubles. Then I changed the subject. "We're sure grateful that you rescued us." I let my features harden—it wasn't an act. "A lot of people got killed, I think."

Yukon nodded, his own face growing somber. "Yes, Robert. A lot of men and women _did_ die freeing you. If it makes you feel any better, and I hope it does, we've been planning to snatch Rapput for months now." He looked at Linda. "When we heard that you two would be with him, we decided that adding a humanitarian element to the raid wouldn't hurt a thing. The plan hardly needed to be changed at all. So I don't think anyone _extra_ died, if you get what I mean."

"I see," I replied. And I _did_ feel a lot better, I admit. Then I looked down. "We have so many people to thank."

Yukon smiled, then reached out and tousled my hair. "I'll see that everyone knows you said that. In the meantime, it was our pleasure."

I squirmed under the touch—it reminded me of Rapput's hand on my head. Why was it that no one ever asked _us_ If we wanted our heads touched or not?

"Mom told us," Tim said carefully, "that we _had_ to be hostages and do what we were told and everything because otherwise the Artemu would throw rocks at Earth until we humans were all dead."

"Rocks from all the way beyond the moon," I added.

There was a long silence. Then, Sam spoke up. "A lot of people have fallen for that. Even some of us at first. But . . ." He cocked his head to one side, as if in deep consideration. "If you think about it long enough, it soon becomes obvious that it's just not so."

"Why?" I asked, cocking my own head.

"There's a hundred holes in the theory, on close examination," Linda explained. "For example . . . if they were to try that, we could blow up the rocks with nuclear missiles. I mean, we'd have _months_ to target them."

"Plus," Sam continued, "there's no firm evidence a rock would do all that much damage even if it wasn't intercepted. We've never been able to study an actual meteor on that scale, so everything else is mere speculation."

"And even if it's true that it'd wipe us out," Yukon finished for his partners, "well . . . What about honor? What about our obligation to the future of the universe as a whole to do what we can to make wars of conquest unprofitable ventures? Better to die proud and free than submit to the likes of _him_ ," he declared, jerking his thumb in Rapput's general direction.

"Everyone else they've ever defeated were either wiped out or became slave-races," Tim continued. "Or so they say, and who can know otherwise? We're the first they've ever negotiated with. And so far—at least according to the news shows—they're living up to the Treaty's terms in every last detail." He looked at Yukon. "Isn't that better than dead?"

The old Canadian's eyes narrowed, and for a moment I thought my brother had pushed things too far. "So we're not slaves, eh? Then tell me this: why exactly were we sending them innocent little boys to hold hostage against our good behavior?"

Tim blinked, and I couldn't come up with an answer either. Where exactly did living up to the terms of a harsh peace treaty end and outright slavery begin? Dad didn't think we humans were slaves, and what he thought mattered a lot. But then, neither Tim nor I had thought to ask him if he'd changed his mind after learning he was going to be forced to give up his children. Might he think differently now? Quite possibly, I had to admit.

"See?" Yukon said in triumph as he rose to his feet and smiled. "Just because a jar's label says something on it doesn't mean that's actually what's inside." His smile faded. "Let that be today's lesson, in the absence of textbooks and classrooms and such." He patted Tim's head this time. "You're smart boys, and I'm sure you'll pick it all up in time."

Tim smiled, but the expression faded almost as quickly as it'd appeared. "I don't feel so good," he said, rubbing his belly. His eyes met mine, and I nodded ever so slightly. "I might even be a little sick."

Sure enough, Tim looked amazingly sick. His face paled, sweat covered his forehead, and his breathing became labored. Long ago he'd told me that all he had to do in order make that happen was pretend he was being forced to eat maggoty meat. In any event, it was certainly effective.

"They're under a lot of stress," Linda explained to her superiors. "What with all they're going through, we're lucky it's not a lot worse. Some kids might even go catatonic."

Yukon and Sam nodded but clearly felt put out. Meanwhile, Tim continued his act, causing our keepers to scramble for cold cloths, aspirin . . .

. . . and, worst of all for our hopes, a basin for him to get sick in if he had to. We'd never thought of that! He looked helplessly up at me, for the moment outfoxed.

"He gets like this sometimes when he needs fresh air," I said. "Once he's outside, he's always a lot better. It works almost every time."

"Yeah!" Tim agreed. "Can I please go outside for a few minutes?"

"I don't see why not," Yukon replied. "That's where the latrine is, anyway. We were just about to show you."

"Good!" I agreed happily, not about to let us be separated at this late date. "I need to go."

"Then let's take a trip upstairs," Yukon agreed, rising from his chair and reaching for his hat. "Maybe it'll do me some good too."
15

Tim continued to drool and retch as we made our way back up the tunnels to the entrance. That had to be distracting for him, so I looked things over twice as closely to make up for his inattention. Where the tunnel branches came together, I carefully attempted to go the wrong way.

"No, Robert," Yukon urged. "That's a dead end, and there're dangerous places too. It's not like this part we've fixed up."

"And this way?" I asked, keeping my tone as innocent as possible while pointing down another passage.

"Don't you worry about _that_ one," Yukon answered, his eyes hardening. And just like that, I knew where all the really important stuff was located. Including, more likely than not, Rapput and Li.

The anteroom—the above-ground part of the complex which was all that showed from the outside—still housed two armed guards, and I gulped. They weren't the same two we'd seen earlier, so therefore I was forced to raise our enemy count to at least seven. Seven was a _lot_ more than five, in practical terms at least. But what could we do? Rapput and Li had to be sinking every hour.

"Call of nature, gentlemen," Yukon explained to the guards. Then he pointed to Tim. "Plus this one isn't feeling well. We could be out a little longer than normal."

"Right, boss," the larger of the two agreed with a slight nod. His face was mostly covered by both a shaggy red beard. "Standard password?"

"Yes," Yukon agreed with a final nod. Then he leaned on the door. It swung open . . .

. . . and the prettiest, most inviting beam of sunlight I'd ever seen came pouring in through. A bird was singing, and the nearby river burbled and gurgled mere yards away. The cabin would've been a really nice place to relax and hunt or fish from under other circumstances.

Yukon nudged me forward. "Follow the path."

I nodded and went first, even though where I really wanted to be was behind him. "Wow!" I said, looking around. "Where are all the animals?"

"Oh," Yukon replied with a smile. "They're around. It's not like you see on the cartoons, though, where they just walk up to you and act cute. In real life they hide as much as they can from humans and aren't usually nice at all." He hefted the super-short pump-action shotgun he kept eternally slung on his left shoulder. "Bears can especially be a problem up here. That's why you should never visit the latrine without a guard carrying one of these."

"I can shoot!" I countered. "I have a BB gun!"

"Heh!" he replied. "Well, that's a start!"

The outhouse was a two-holer, and Tim was still gagging and choking as Yukon opened the door for him. So I stepped closer and examined Yukon's weapon more carefully. "Is that a rifle?" I asked at last. "Or a machine-gun?"

"Not exactly," he began. "In fact..."

I was still listening to the technical details with wide-eyed attention when Tim screamed like a little girl. "Eeeee! Help meI Please, someone!"

Yukon sprang forward, or he would've if I hadn't grabbed his ankle and tripped him flat. Then, before I could regain my feet to help, Tim had slammed him in the back of the head with a rock. Hard.

He didn't move after that. I figured he was dead. Tim and I were both pretty strong for our age, and my brother had held nothing back.

"Jeez," I muttered. "I didn't want to . . . I mean . . ."

"You'd rather I'd just hit him hard enough to piss him off?" my brother asked. "Then where would Li and Rapput be?" He scowled then tossed the bloody stone into the woods. "Give me the shotgun."

I felt my face go hard. "It's my turn to take the next shot."

Tim shook his head. "As I said, the deer ran off. So that one doesn't count. And as for this time—" He waved his hand at Yukon. "—we both pretty much hit him at once. So, it's _my_ turn. For real."

I frowned—he could easily have bagged the doe if he hadn't dragged things out so long. But now wasn't the time to argue about it, so instead I unslung the gun the rest of the way from Yukon's inert shoulder and handed it to Tim. "Dad says you can like shooting and killing things too much," I reminded him, "and it's a really bad thing when that happens. Pretty awful, even."

He shrugged. "What do you think the Artemu intend to teach us to do? Sew fancy lace dresses and dance around Maypoles?" He worked the weapon's action and a fat, bright-red shell dropped to the ground.

I picked it up. "Wow! It's double-ought buckshot. A magnum load." Then I handed it to Tim, who effortlessly returned it to the magazine.

"It's liable to break my shoulder," Tim complained as he raised the too-large and too-heavy weapon and sighted down the barrel.

"Or make you feel like it did," I replied. Then I frowned. "You won't be able to make a quick second shot, for sure. Maybe not at all. So we can't count on it."

"No," he agreed, clearly hating to admit to any limitation regarding his shooting abilities. Then he sighed and slung the weapon from his own shoulder, just as Yukon had. It looked ridiculously oversized there, but it was what we had. "No second shot. So we'll have to make do with one quick one." He smiled. "They'll be checking on us soon. How do we make this work?"
16

At first we didn't have any ideas at all. If we hadn't been twin brothers we'd probably have given up and simply run downstream until the forces of the Rocky Mountain Free State caught up with us and did whatever it was they did with such ungrateful rescuees. But because we _were_ twins, we had an entire lifetime of shared mischief and adventures to call on.

"You're right," Tim agreed. "That won't work either." My brother had just proposed I run back and forth outside the cabin screaming for help. When a guard came to my aid, we'd then have _two_ guns. But even with a weapon apiece we'd never get back inside, which was where we needed to be. I frowned and dug the toe of my sneaker into the ground, trying to figure out a way they'd let us back in while carrying Yukon's shotgun.

"Remember when we snuck all that extra candy from the theater into our rooms last year?" I finally asked, after three or four other bad ideas had been considered and rejected.

"How could I forget?" Tim asked, rolling his eyes. "I was sick for a week!"

"Yeah," I agreed. He'd pigged out something awful. "We didn't have any way to hide it—we were wearing t-shirts and shorts, just like now."

His eyes narrowed. "Yeah. So we used someone else's stuff." He reached out palm-first with his right hand. I slapped it with my own, and we both grinned.

"Hello!" I said as I knocked on the freedom fighters' front door a few moments later. "Can you let us in, please? We're all done now!"

A peephole slid open, and Red Beard's eyes swept back and forth. "Where's the boss?"

"He's . . . a bit indisposed," I replied. "Old man troubles, he called it. Said he'd be along in a few minutes."

Tim bounced up and down on his toes. "I want to come inside!"

"What's the password?" Red Beard demanded.

I let my mouth fall open. "I . . . He didn't tell us!"

"I still don't feel good!" Tim complained. "I need to lie down some more."

"Me too," I replied. "Can we come in and lay down? Please?"

Red Beard rolled his eyes and muttered something about how no one ever took security seriously. We heard the door unlatch. Before he could change his mind we were racing through.

"Wait a minute!" the other guard said from his seat on the couch—he'd never even bothered to get up. "What are you doing with Yukon's jacket?"

I smiled and stepped out of Tim's line of fire; under the jacket, I knew, the shotgun was cocked and ready. But if my brother had to pull the trigger, we were totally lost. "It's nice and warm out," I explained. This part was actually true. "So he asked us to bring it in for him and leave it in the kitchen." My smile widened as virtual fingers crossed themselves behind my back; during the movie-candy caper, we'd used Mom's oversized purse. In that case, she'd even done the carrying for us.

"Oh," he replied, disinterested. So I bounced happily and we boys ran giggling down the tunnel to our room. From this point on we had maybe five minutes, tops. Linda and Sam smiled at us from the kitchen, and neither noticed when we dodged down the "wrong" tunnel instead of the one that led to our bedrooms.

Yukon hadn't exaggerated a bit when he described the rest of the complex as not being nearly as nice our room. The place smelled a lot like the outhouse we'd just visited, the floor was slimy mud, and the cold was even wetter and danker.

"Halt!" an adult male voice declared, and Tim and I came skidding to a halt. Then a flashlight shone directly in our eyes. "What in the world?"

"We got lost," Tim declared, stepping forward and shifting his grip on the jacket-draped shotgun.

"Uh-huh!" I agreed, moving to one side like we did when trying to persuade wild game to move in the direction we wanted it to go. Besides, this way he couldn't blind both of us at once. "What's down here?"

"None of your business!" the man shouted. "Go back the way you came, this minute!"

"Robert?" a voice asked; it was Li's, though his voice was little more than a croak. "Timothy? You listen to the man and be good!"

"Mr. Li?" Tim asked, taking two more steps forward. Forward, forward, always forward or else to the sides, spreading wider apart. That was how to drive game!

"Damn it!" the man roared, his flashlight darting back and forth. He'd probably never been trained in how to handle unruly children misbehaving in secure areas.

"Mr Li?" I asked again, a quaver in my voice. Now I was _forcing_ the man back by wiggleworming my way around his waist and even between his legs. If he didn't continually give up space, I'd work past him entirely. "Are you all right?"

"Damnit!" the guard shouted again. But this time he did what he probably should've the instant he saw us. There was a whistle hanging from a chain around his neck; he reached for it . . .

. . . and I wrapped myself around his thigh and let myself fall, putting all my weight on the back of his knee. He folded even more quickly than Yukon had. Instead of using a rock, Tim slammed the buttstock of his shotgun into his face one, two, three times as quickly as he could. Then he lifted it for a fourth blow . . .

. . . but it was obvious even in the dark that the guard wouldn't be getting back up any time soon.

If ever.

By now I was feeling pretty bad about what we'd done to Yukon, and somehow this time was even worse. I think Tim might've felt the same way, because he just stood and stared down at the maybe-corpse for a long moment.

Li's voice broke the spell. "The keys! They're in the second drawer of the desk."

This time I snapped out of it before Tim, so that it was me who dashed a few feet further down the tunnel, located the key-ring in question, then after three false tries found the right one. He was being held in the same cage with Rapput; apparently our captors only had the one cell. But to make up for it both wore leg irons and handcuffs, even though Rapput's were clearly twisting his shattered arm in a bad way. Rather to my surprise, the big alien's eyes were open and shining in the dark.

"Are you all right, sir?" I asked.

He looked first at me, then Tim. His jaw worked for a moment before words came out. "My nephews make me proud," he finally managed to say in his native tongue

"He's not always lucid," Li warned us. "Once he attacked me. I fear I was forced to injure him further."

At first I thought Li was joking; Rapput outweighed him by nearly a hundred pounds of claws, sinew, and muscle. Then I remembered the silver medal and how apparently he also knew something about the martial arts. So maybe, despite his three doctorate degrees, the man might be a lot more dangerous than he looked. I fumbled with his shackles and this time got lucky with the correct key the first time.

Li stood and dusted himself off. "I'm proud of you as well. Both of you."

Our most recent victim was armed with a nasty-looking pistol-thingie with a huge clip. Li snatched it up and checked the load as quickly and effortlessly as if he practiced with it every Tuesday and Thursday at the University of Chicago's faculty firing range. Then he looked at Tim's shotgun and grinned, making no effort to take it away from him. That made Tim smile even wider.

"It was Yukon's," I explained. "We got him alone with us outside, and, well . . ."

Li nodded, his face grim. "Right. It was necessary. Your parents would most definitely approve. So will everyone else that matters." Then he looked up the tunnel toward the main complex. "How many others?"

"Five that we know of." I counted them off on my fingers. "Sam. Linda. Two at the front door—one of them has a big red beard. And one more that was guarding the door when we got here, but we don't know where he is right now."

Li nodded and hefted the pistol in his hand. It looked like a toy to me, but our teacher seemed plenty happy with it. He followed my glance and smiled. "We'll get you a weapon of your own as soon as possible, Robert. Not only have you earned it, but I could use the help."

I smiled back, feeling a lot better. Dad claimed armed men were citizens, while unarmed ones were subjects.

"Now," he said, "our main problem is how to get out of here, Rapput and all." He frowned.

"I think . . ." I said slowly. "I mean . . ."

"Yeah," Tim agreed, picking up on my meaning.

"Please," Li asked. "What are you saying to each other?"

"That there's only one practical way to do it," I answered. "Even if we don't want to. And that's—"

"—to kill them all without warning," Tim finished for me, his eyes cold. "Just like we already did the others. There's no other way. And every second we spend here talking about it is going to work against us."
17

Despite everything, Li made us wait back in the tunnel with Rapput while he "did what needed doing," in his own words. "If I don't make it, they'll be back here in seconds to see what went wrong. Should that happen, play innocent and then use the shotgun. Heck, I don't need to explain it—you're already doing just fine."

"Aw!" Tim complained.

I frowned. "We can help—it was us who rescued _you,_ after all."

Li shook his head. "This is different. And just as soon as I can figure it all out myself, I'll explain exactly why and how." Then he patted down the guard for more ammunition.

"Listen to him," Rapput said, which surprised us because his eyes were closed and we'd sorta thought he was out of it again. "You've won your share and more of honor already today, boys. It's no shame for untrained youths to stand aside for a skilled professional." He looked at Li. "I've known who you were from the beginning, Colonel. It rather vexed me that your kind would stoop to such blatant dishonesty in honorable family matters. But now I'm glad you're here. This is properly a fight between you humans, and I have every confidence the proper side shall prevail."

Li nodded, and then of all things bowed slightly before dancing up the hallway like an acrobat, making hardly a sound despite the nasty footing.

"He and I have had an opportunity to talk," Rapput explained. "And as is often the case between beings of high honor, we managed to say much to each other with few words. Fear not—I have no doubts whatsoever regarding his ability." He grinned, albeit weakly. "Your fellow humans must think we're stupid. Li was once your father's commanding officer in an elite international unit, yet somehow they thought they could conceal this from us merely by hastily altering a few data files." He shook his head. "Ah well. The mutual deception was growing tiresome in any event. For both of us, I believe."

By now I was unlocking Rapput's handcuffs, and he moaned as his broken arm was freed to rotate back into a more natural position. Just then Li's little gun fired a short burst— _brrrp!_ Then there came a second. Boom! a shotgun went . . .

. . . then there was only silence.

"Hurry, Robertherman," Rapput urged me as I worked at freeing his feet—somehow I'd lost track of which keys I'd already ruled out. "We'll need to move as quickly as possible."

I didn't like that the final round in the fight had been fired by a shotgun—Yukon and Sam were the only ones who carried them. But sure enough, it was Li who popped his head through the curtains. "Rapput? Can you walk, sir?"

"Hah!" he declared, staggering to his feet. "I've been injured far more severely than this and then hiked forty-three . . ." His eyes rolled up. Then he collapsed back to the cage-floor, luckily landing on his good arm.

Dad would've cursed, but Li was all business. "Boys," he ordered, "I need for you to remain as strong as you have been. As you said, one of the guards is missing and we have no idea where he might be or when he'll show up. He's a complete wild card, and we can't afford wild cards just now. So we're going to leave this place in five minutes or less. In that time I want you to round up all the water containers, food, matches, blankets, and other survival stuff you can and put it on the kitchen table." He looked away. "I should warn you that there are two bodies lying on the floor in there. One of them is the woman."

We nodded as one. I felt even worse for Linda, somehow, than all the rest combined.

"Good boys!" he added with a smile. "While you're working at that, I'm going to be making a stretcher for Rapput."

"How are we . . ." Tim asked.

"He's so heavy," I clarified. "So how can we move him?"

"I'll take care of that," Li replied. "Now, you gather everything up as fast as you can. Except . . ." He'd been holding one hand behind his back—now he revealed Sam's double-barreled shotgun. It was even shorter than Yukon's, and the left barrel was still warm. "This is for you, Robert," he said as he broke the weapon open. The empty shell went flying, the unfired one merely lifting slightly. Then he placed it in my waiting hands. "You've earned it. Make sure to pick up all the ammo you can!"

Our scrounging work was almost as easily said as done. Wordlessly Tim and I separated, with me heading for our bedroom and him for the kitchen. I snatched the blankets and comforters from our beds, then grabbed the pillowcases as well. They'd be perfect carrying-bags for the other loot. There not being much else of use in there, I hauled everything into the kitchen in one armload and dropped it on the table.

It wasn't until then that I really saw what a slaughterhouse the room had been transformed into. The two front-room guards lay piled atop each other at the far kitchen entrance. It looked for all the world like they'd leapt to their feet together and run side-by-side into the narrow doorway, leaving neither of them room to swing their military-style rifles before a single burst had taken both out. Sam sat in the corner with a silly look on his face, one not improved by the single bullet-hole centered near-perfectly in his forehead. He was hit in several other places too, but the forehead wound was the one that really made an impression. And Linda . . . Poor Linda . . .

For the first time that day, tears strung my eyes. She lay sprawled on the kitchen floor I'd seen her so happily mopping just a few moments before, wearing a frilly apron stained red from the dozen gaping buckshot wounds in her torso. She'd been a hotel manager; had she spent her workdays dreaming of a cabin in the country? And on the counter . . . On the counter . . .

"What?" Timothy demanded, looking cross. "Don't go soft on us now, Robert. Okay?"

I shook my head and pointed, tears flowing harder. On the counter was a baking sheet with a half-dozen chocolate-chip cookies lying unbaked on it, the oversized chips formed into smiling faces. I didn't need to guess who they were meant for.

"Jeez," Tim said, staggering like he'd been punched in the gut.

"She risked everything to save us," I whispered. "From her point of view, I mean. That was all. She wanted to save everyone everywhere from the aliens that want to make us fight their wars for them. And so did . . . So did . . ." I looked at Sam, who'd smiled so happily at us that very morning. "I just don't know . . ."

Then Li's voice rose from behind us, his tone soft and regretful. "She was unarmed, so far as I could see. I shot Sam first, then the guards together when they made their move. I meant to take her alive. But . . ." He shook his head. "It must've been a muscle spasm as Sam died, or something." Then he stood straight. "Boys, I know . . ."

"It _hurts_ ," I complained. "Did we . . . I mean, what else could we have done?"

"Nothing," Li answered. "That's one of the problems with life that it's better to learn about when you're older. Even bad people almost always have at least some good in them. Worse still, sometimes we're forced to do terrible things to good people who are only doing what they in turn believe is right and decent. If there's anything in this universe more awful than that, I can't imagine what it is." He hung his head. "I won't lie to you. It won't quit hurting. Ever. No matter what you do or how long you live. And yet . . . you don't realize it, do you?"

"Realize what?" Tim asked. Now he was all teary too.

"Rapput is the one who negotiated the Treaty," Li explained. "A lot of the Artemu hate it almost as much as we do—they wanted to wipe us out and move on to the next conquest. Most of them wanted that, even. But they can't override Rapput and his vision of our two species working together." He sighed. "If we don't get your new uncle out of here alive somehow, well . . ." He shrugged. "It's not like the rocks aren't still out there just waiting to be dropped on us. You two may have saved the entire human race from extinction."
18

Three hours later I was a lot more worried about our extinction than that of the rest of the human race, and I suspect Li felt the same way. Not that he showed it; he simply plowed stoically along, head high and alert as he dragged Rapput on a travois behind him. I didn't like the travois because it left a trail a blind man could follow, and I'm pretty sure Li agreed with me. But we didn't have a choice, Rapput being as big and heavy as he was.

Not that we were going to be _that_ easy to follow; Li had led us almost half a mile downstream and into a rocky area where the stretcher-gadget left no traces before doubling back, this time carrying Rapput on his heavily-muscled back while Tim and I carried the travois. Then he kept right on going with Rapput on his back across solid ground for all of another mile upstream before taking a short break.

"Why upstream?" I finally asked while Li returned the alien to his improvised stretcher. "Dad says that if you want to find civilization, you should always go _down_ stream."

"He's right," our teacher agreed. "But this is a special case. The bad guys know about walking downstream too, you see. Besides, the jetboat's gone. Since we were fighting the current on the trip up here, then most likely it's busy somewhere down that way. The last thing we want is to run into it by accident." He was huffing and puffing, so I opened up the pillowcase I was carrying and pulled out one of our bottles of water. We had eight, two factory-sealed and the rest refilled from the sink. This one was a refill.

Li smiled, opened the bottle, and drew a long draught. He'd taken the time to wolf down a few mouthfuls of Linda's poutine, while Tim and I'd been able to bring Rapput around long enough to swallow a few spoonfuls as well. Our coach was looking better by the minute, despite the incredible load he bore.

"So," Tim asked as he looked into the mountains that seemed to rise all around us, "if we're not headed for civilization, then what's the plan?"

Li took another drink before answering. "We're headed for the closest mountain I think we can climb." He pointed at one in the distance. It wasn't as close as some of the others, but a lot more rounded off. "That one, probably. Long ago, even before I knew your father, I was on another mission in mountains much like these." He frowned. "Perhaps those mountains weren't quite as high, but the natives were even more dangerous. At any rate, I was given a signal to use to identify myself in case I needed emergency evacuation. It was to be sent from a mountaintop and only a mountaintop, so that my friends wouldn't have so much territory to monitor."

I nodded. "And you hope they'll remember that signal?"

"They'll be studying my file," he answered. "They'll be looking." He climbed to his feet, back-muscles crackling from his recent workout. "Come on. The quicker we move, the sooner we'll get there."

It'd been afternoon when we hit Yukon on the head, and even later in the day before we'd gotten everything all packed up and ready to move. Then Li's backtrack ate up still more time, so it wasn't long before it started getting dark. The bugs came out, and they bit—hard! Plus it was getting cold, and all Tim and I had were t-shirts and shorts. We wrapped ourselves in the comforters without stopping, and that helped some. But eventually our feet started to hurt too, and we dropped behind.

"I have a blister, I think," I finally admitted to Li. "I need to stop and do something about it, or it'll just get worse."

Our teacher turned around and scowled. Then he seemed to really _see_ us for the first time in hours as we stood shivering under our cocklebur-covered comforters, our lips blue and blood running in streaks down our bare legs from where the flies had bitten us. Then he merely sighed and thought for a moment. "Can you make it another half-mile? I think we're about that far from the river."

"It'll be even colder there," Tim pointed out.

"So it will. Yet I expect it'll also be far safer." He repositioned Rapput's travois, and then without another word took off downhill toward the water.

I looked at Tim, who shrugged. So I shrugged back and we followed.

The brush grew thicker and thicker until it was so bad that all of us were forced to advance on hands and knees, guarding Rapput's face to make sure none of the lowest limbs scratched it.

"So," Li said as we proceeded. "One of my functions is to instruct you two in how to survive little difficulties like this one. I fear that so far I've been remiss. You already know why we're headed upstream instead of down. Now, can you tell me why I'm making camp in such an awful, inaccessible place?"

I thought about it as I crawled along, tearing up my knees on the sharper rocks and getting my hands and legs all chilly-wet. At least the question took my mind off of my misery, as was probably intended.

"You think they're following us, then?" Tim asked.

Li smiled. "They almost have to be, wouldn't you say? We left at least one unaccounted for. Plus, they're part of a larger organization. All we can really hope for is that they fell for our false trail and went the wrong way at first. In which case we won't see them until tomorrow around mid-morning at the earliest. But . . . what if they have access to a really good tracker? What then?"

"Pulling Rapput slows you down a lot," I said. "Not that you have any choice. So . . . they could be almost right behind us!"

"I believe that's very likely the case," Li replied.

"They know we're armed and desperate," I continued. Then I felt my ears redden. "They may even figure out who killed Yukon, and possibly the other guard too."

"They'll also know what guns are missing," Tim observed. "Two shotguns, your assault pistol, and Rapput's .45." He frowned. "Why are you carrying a gun for _him_ , anyway? He can't use it, and it's heavy."

Li smiled. "Because an honorable warrior is always armed in times of danger." He nodded at my shotgun. "Robert, you did every bit as much as your brother to get us all out and were certainly just as brave. Yet, how did you feel before I gave you that gun?"

"Second-class," I answered, not hesitating at all. My eyes met Tim's. "Like a little kid."

Li nodded. "In some ways, Rapput is right about you two. You're indeed children of a warrior culture, though a far more muted and toned-down one than his own. Most human cultures are at least in some ways warrior-based, but you're closer to your violent tribal past than most. The frontier times weren't that long ago, and your culture reflects it." He smiled. "Now, how would Rapput feel if he were to come around again and find out that we thought so little of his fighting ability—and you might as well say 'thought so little of his manhood,' to his way of thinking—that we didn't even bother to pick up a weapon and bring it along for him?"

Tim and I pondered that for a long time as we crawled through the brush. The river was so close now that we could hear it trickle and rush. We came upon an opening, a sort of green-roofed cave amidst the vegetation, and Li smiled again before lying Rapput's travois down. Clearly, this was where we were to spend the night.

"When this is all over, he won't be insulted," Tim said, nodding. "Or at least he won't have been insulted by _us_."

"He'd have been really hurt," I added. "It would've made him look bad to his own kind, too. I can see how, now that you've explained it."

"Honor is the most important thing there is to an Artemu." Li shrugged. "That's part of why you two are armed as well. Not only would Rapput expect it, but you might as well start to learn how to think that way yourselves. And it won't hurt your future at all if the other Artemesians are aware that you honorably bore arms in this crisis as well."

My face fell; I didn't like being reminded that I was still a hostage. "So why are we camping so near to the cold water, Mr. Li?" I crossed my arms and shivered to reinforce my point.

"You tell me," he answered. "Think it through for yourself—it's how we learn. But I'll give you a hint. We won't have a fire tonight either. Instead we'll all huddle with Rapput, who luckily for us has a body temperature higher than ours."

I frowned again, but it was Tim who came up with the right answer. "Night-vision gear," he said. "Starlight scopes. Infra-red detectors."

Li smiled. "Excellent, Tim!" He drew his assault pistol then returned it to its holster. "This is advanced military gear. While clearly they don't have an unlimited supply of the stuff, we have to assume they have imaging equipment. So—"

"—so we're camped in weeds so thick that they can't see any further than we can despite all the gadgets in the world," I finished. "Leaving both sides equally blind."

"Not equally," Li answered, reaching for Tim's pillowcase. It held most of the food, and I was pretty sure he wanted to dig back into the poutine. After all, he'd burned an awful lot of energy. "They'll have to make noise to get close. So in a pinch, we shoot at the sound. Which our weapons are excellently suited for, I'll add."

I nodded back. It made sense. Then I sighed and untied my right sneaker. The sooner I dealt with my blister, the sooner it'd stop hurting.
19

Rapput, it turned out, made an excellent substitute for an electric blanket. He regained his senses for a few minutes while we were nestling up close to him and arranging the comforters and such, long enough to grasp what was going on and what he needed to do to help. So it was that Tim slept curled up in the small of the alien's back, while I spent the night hugged to Rapput's chest. It was a lot like sharing a bed with a huge dog, except that Rapput was warmer and softer than any dog could ever be. He even smelled nice once you got used to him—sort of like cinnamon. And unlike any dog, he kept his hand cupped over the top of my head all night long, which I suppose would've made me feel even more safe and special if I were a real Artemu. Even Li snugged up close, which was of course right and proper under the circumstances, though sometimes he disappeared. Presumably, this was to scout.

Despite Rapput's pleasant presence, no one slept much. The ground was terribly cold, for one thing, and not nearly as soft as it might've been. Tim and I'd been through a lot the day before, so much that even we'd have admitted it was bothering us. And even worse, Li had gotten me thinking about a lot of things all at once, so many that every time I thought I had one idea all chased down and worked out it blurred and merged with six others and I had to begin all over again.

Tim and I had killed two men, and we hadn't played fair doing it. Every time I looked back and thought things through logically, I was convinced we'd done the right thing. Even if Rapput hadn't been involved and the aliens wouldn't have killed everyone by throwing rocks, we'd been kidnapped by force and kidnappers didn't deserve a lot of sympathy.

Yet . . .

I frowned as Rapput's hand gently pressed down on me in what I knew was meant as a reassuring and even loving gesture. Rapput had kidnapped us too, just as thoroughly as the Rocky Mountain Free State. Yet somehow, despite his social gaffes and lack of understanding of what made us humans tick, I couldn't bring myself to hate him. By his own lights he'd treated us all, especially Dad, with a degree of respect that in a conqueror bordered on the remarkable. He'd also sworn to protect us, and I hadn't the slightest doubt that he'd have fought like ten-thousand wildcats had the elevator's fall not so seriously injured him.

But then, Sam and Yukon had sworn to protect us too, and . . . and . . .

I rolled my eyes in the darkness and sighed. Right and wrong sure was awfully hard to work out sometimes! Dad had said teaching us ethics was his most important job and that he was sorry he wouldn't be around to finish it. That was where we _truly_ belonged, back on the ranch with Mom and Dad! But even if a by a miracle we somehow were allowed to go back, someone else would have to go with Rapput in our places. And knowing that would be pretty terrible, too. So things couldn't be like they were before. Not _ever!_ No matter _what_!

I slept in fits and starts all that night, my dreams slithering like fat-bellied snakes through the spells of wakefulness so that sometimes I wasn't sure which was which. Linda had turned into Mother lying dead in her kitchen, and Sam was Dad and Yukon was Rapput and I couldn't keep track of who meant what to me anymore. All I wanted to do was cry, cry, cry. Tim's night wasn't much better, from the snatches of weeping I caught on the other side of the alien.

I can't speak for anyone else, but I actually felt worse when dawn finally broke than I had before lying down. My muscles were stiff and achy, my nose was all stuffed up, and my t-shirt soaked with cold, muddy ooze. "Please, sir," I asked Rapput, whose good hand was still firmly clamped on my head. "Will you let me up?"

"Eergh!" he complained at first, making a sound like a grizzly clearing its throat. Then his hand moved. "Of course, beloved nephew." He smiled. "Was your night as awful as mine?"

"Worse, probably," I answered, sitting up and looking across to where Tim had been. He was already up and gone. "Thank you for keeping us warm."

"Heh!" he answered. "That was the only good part, actually." His smile faded. "You're aware our females aren't . . . Cannot . . ."

I nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Then you should also know that as soon as the nursing time ends, we take our male young from their mothers. This is unpleasant for all involved, I fear, but necessary. If a child is left too long, valuable months of learning speech and similar advanced social skills are lost. Your kind is more flexible than our own in this regard—if we fail to master language within a certain developmental period, it becomes much more difficult and sometimes even impossible later." His face fell. "Some of our most ancient horror stories center on male children whom the females successfully hide away, so that they grow up as little more than especially cunning animals. Like their mothers." He shivered.

"That's pretty terrible," I said.

"Yes," he agreed, reaching out and straightening my hair with a single claw. "Among we Artemu, the ordinary household is made up of a group of brothers, or sometimes cousins if they're few enough. We share the burden of raising our sons equally with each other. So . . . as your uncle, I in many ways will be as close to you as your father, whom you've yet to meet. It's normal for us to sleep with our young as we did last night, though you and your brother are a little old for it except under special circumstances. For me, it was very much a . . . bonding experience."

I started to frown, but then caught myself. "I don't even know yet how to properly address you, sir."

"I've been waiting for you to ask. I'm simply Rapput to you, where all others outside the family should use my honorifics. I'd equally accept Uncle Rapput, or even just Uncle."

I nodded and stretched my kinked muscles. "Then . . . Uncle, may I speak the truth to you, even though I don't think it'll make you happy?"

He blinked. "Robertherman, even before what you and your brother achieved yesterday I would've encouraged you to always be honest with me, for honesty is the root of all honor. Now, however, at a remarkably young age you've earned the right to be regarded as a warrior-youth. An adult in many ways." He paused. "You don't wish to be adopted, do you? Nor your brother."

I gulped. "No one ever asked us. But we still have to go."

He nodded and leaned back in his travois, wincing for an instant as the broken bones shifted. "In our society, opinions are only rarely asked for. When orders are issued, they are followed. Or at least this is true at the lower levels, as with children." His eyes narrowed. "You two are the best choices available. The researchers selected you and your brother as having far more potential for success than any of the others anywhere. Subsequent events have proven them correct. And your mission is far more important than either of your lives, or even my own."

"What exactly do you _want_ from us?" I demanded, my fists forming balls and my eyes leaking tears again. "What's so damned important, anyway, that you have to ruin everything for us?"

"I grieve for your very real loss," Rapput replied. "But your kind and my own _must_ learn to work effectively together, and in order to achieve this a bridge _must_ be built." He closed his eyes and sighed. "The universe is a far darker and more dangerous place than your kind yet knows. Or can for now be allowed to know. You wouldn't believe us if we told you."

"Most humans won't ever trust us again," I replied. "Not after you've held us off-planet for a while. They'll all be like Yukon and Sam."

He opened his eyes again. "You may be correct. But has it occurred to you that the attitudes of many of we Artemesians may be in equal need of readjustment? And that you're already taking serious steps toward this most noble of goals?" He reached out for the nearest pillowcase. It was just beyond his grasp, so I helped him. "Thank you, Robertherman. Li and your brother went out to refill the water bottles and to scout. In the meantime, I suppose I can be of at least some use by getting breakfast ready." His smile widened in a way that I was beginning to associate with sarcasm. "Cold poutine! I don't know about you, but I can hardly wait!"

The poutine was indeed pretty awful stuff, but the cold flapjacks with maple syrup dribbled over them were better. Fortunately for the rest of us, maple syrup was on the short list of human foods the Artemu couldn't stomach. So we only had to share the limited supply three ways. Li ate like a wolf, and I couldn't blame him after the way he'd worked so hard yesterday dragging Rapput.

"Colonel Li," the alien began as we finished off the last of everything—from this point forward we'd simply starve unless we stumbled across some berry-bushes or something else equally unlikely happened. "I . . . am deeply moved by the efforts you made upon my behalf yesterday."

The Korean smiled and nodded acknowledgement, but said nothing.

"I've not exactly been myself lately, " Rapput continued. "And perhaps haven't been thinking as clearly as I might hope. But now I've no further excuses." His eyes rose to meet those of our instructor. "I'll admit it's been many months since I've read any reports on the subject, but humans of your physical stature aren't supposed to be capable of such strength and endurance as you've been displaying."

Li straightened his back and smiled his usual gentle smile. "I'm a world-class athlete, sir. Over-age, perhaps. But still in excellent training."

Rapput nodded. "Far out on the edge of the statistical curve, then—I can see that." Then he frowned. "It's still not, I don't believe, reasonable to expect you to repeat the effort all day today."

Li looked down. "I can, and I shall. Eventually we'll climb a small mountain. It's essential to my escape plan." He explained about his past mission, and how he was certain that the authorities would still be looking for his symbol.

Rapput nodded "You fear the impact of my death on we Artemu and from there on all humanity, and in all honesty well you should." He sighed and flipped his robe aside, exposing his ornate belt-buckle—its design featured two crossed, overly-curved swords. "This is a recorder, Li. It's on all the time. If anything should happen, take it with you. The truth shall at least clear you and the boys of any suspicion of complicity, though I doubt it'll help with the larger issues."

Li bowed silently from the neck, face impassive.

Then Rapput leaned back, expression contorting in agony for a moment as he did so. "I'm badly hurt," he admitted. "Worse than even I at first understood. Yet I've been spared what you would call infection so far, and the food has been good for me." He turned to Li again. "Colonel, I intend to walk up that mountain on my own two legs. You can't possibly carry me." Li tried to object, but employing his good hand in a very human gesture, the alien waved him to silence. "If I can't make it on my own, I'll take other steps to ensure that I'm no longer a burden to you. The recorder will prove it wasn't your fault, and I say now for the record that all three of you have behaved not just properly but nobly and in accord with the highest traditions of Gonther household honor." He bowed slightly. "This is how it shall be."

Li shook his head. "I can carry you," he repeated. "And I shall."

Rapput smiled. "You know no discipline, by Artemu standards. Unlike most of my kind, however, I've come to cherish independent thought in my subordinates." Then he held out his hand, palm-down.

Li understood instantly what was expected and edged over so Rapput could lay his hand atop his head.

"You're brave and tough, Colonel, even if you weren't entirely honorable in attempting to join my household after having shared less than the full truth about your background." He withdrew his palm and let Li go free. "I'll rest until we get to the bottom of the slope and let this last meal give me what energy it can. But after that I'll either rise from this stretcher and walk to the top or die trying. And that, Colonel, is that. You couldn't stop me if you tried."
20

"That wasn't any good!" Tim hissed in my ear as we picked up what gear was worth keeping and stashed it in the pillowcases. "If he dies, I still think we'll all die."

"Rapput is right," I countered. "Li's awfully strong. But there are limits to everyone."

"I don't know," my brother answered, setting down his pillowcase and picking up his comforter. We'd spread it out in the weak sunlight while we ate, but it was still so damp that in places you could wring water from it. "They're going to catch up with us today. I don't see how they'd not."

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," I reassured him, quoting one of Mom's favorite sayings. "You can only solve one problem at a time. So far we've managed. "

Li insisted we ford the river right away, first thing. "I scouted several miles downriver and saw and heard nothing," he explained. "So for the moment, we can be fairly certain the boat won't appear. We won't have that certainty later. Besides, it's shallow enough here even for the boys."

It was shallow, all right. Tim and I had to go in up to our bellies, was all, and our upper parts would've stayed dry if my brother hadn't stepped on an uneven rock and knocked us both over right in the middle of the deepest pool. We both crawled out blue-lipped and shivering on the far side, and for a moment I thought Li was going to risk lighting a fire to warm us up. Then he frowned and had us strip buck-naked and huddle under one of the comforters while our clothes dried in the still-weak morning sun. We put them back on bit by bit as they were ready, but the incident still ate up at least two hours and left us with squishy, nasty sneakers sure to cause more blisters.

Tim and I looked at each other, but said nothing. After all, there probably wasn't a clothes dryer for hundreds of miles around.

We had to stop again for almost an hour when the boat finally showed up. "Quiet!" Li hissed as the motor's droning echoed up and down the valley. Fortunately we were already deep in a patch of thick brush, trying to force a way through. "Find a comfortable spot, fast! Then lay down and don't move or make a sound until I say so!"

It was easy for Tim and I to comply—this was basic hunting craft. But Li had to first locate a good place for the travois then find another he could keep watch from. He barely made it before the boat emerged from around a sharp bend, perhaps a couple of hundred yards away. There were six men and a woman aboard, all armed with either heavy hunting or military-style rifles, and all of them wore what looked like bits and pieces of uniforms. Each faced a different direction except for the driver, who was free to twist and turn as he liked. A shiver went up and down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

I'd never been the deer before.

I scowled and shifted position, my hands seeking the shotgun for reassurance. Tim and I would give them a fight, by god! To say nothing of Rapput and Mr. Li!

Then it happened, as it inevitably had to. One of the men shouted and pointed at where Rapput's stretcher had been dragged into the stream. There hadn't been any way to hide the tracks, though we'd all hoped it'd take them longer to find them. The boat slowed and began to ease toward the far bank.

I looked up at Li, who by chance happened to take that same moment to check on me. He smiled and held his hand palm-out, meaning I was to wait. So I did, for what seemed like forever as the boat found a snag to tie up on and all but the driver climbed ashore and fanned out into the brush-patch we'd camped in. Eventually one of them found where we'd slept and called out in triumph. One of the others smiled and dog-trotted in his direction . . .

. . . until a tree snapped upright, the man screamed, and there was silence again.

I looked at Li, but his grim face told me nothing.

Then another of the searchers shook off the shock of the moment and took off running toward the man who'd vanished. As he did so, another tree jerked violently, but this time the booby-trap missed its mark. "Snare!" the man cried out. "Or whatever the hell you call it!"

"Shit!" the woman shouted. "Don't move, anyone, until—"

But I never heard the rest of it. Because Li stood, settled the poles of Rapput's travois on his bleeding shoulders, and then motioned urgently for my brother and me to move out.

"Wow!" Tim said later as we made more miles up a caribou trail that led toward the base of the mountain Li had chosen for us to climb. He allowed us to chatter, so long as we did so in whispers. The wind was steady from behind us now, and Rapput had assured us that he'd scent our pursuers long before they'd overhear boy-whispers. "He was out setting traps all night long!"

I nodded back. "I can see now why Dad's so impressed with him."

Tim frowned, then reluctantly nodded. Admitting there was anyone better than our father at almost anything was heresy of a sort, yet Dad had chosen Li to go with us for a reason, no? "Robert, my feet hurt something awful."

I reached out and wrapped my arm around his shoulder for a moment. The fact was that mine were a mess too—we were both bleeding with every step. Not only was our footwear totally inadequate, but the dampness had rendered them even less effective. Only Li's soles seemed up to the endless march; someday I'd have to ask him how he managed that.

By now we'd skirted the two higher, more vertical summits that were in our way, and I felt all climbed-out just from that. Yet there in front of us stood a peak that, while hardly a standout among the local group, was easily half again as high as anything we'd ever attempted back home on the ranch. I looked Tim in the eye again, and for the first time ever saw my own fears reflected back. He didn't think we were going to make it either.

"The Gonther clan," Rapput eventually said into the silence, "was originally born and bred among the highest mountains of our homeworld. They were only marginally habitable. We were poor beyond measure—there was little game and even less arable land, which was subject to an irregular climate that varied enormously from year to year. To this day our build is leaner and more sinewy than that of other Artemu. This is the result of ten thousand generations of starvation. The only crop we could raise was the beta'l bean, which permanently stains one's teeth a ridiculous shade of violet when eaten regularly, and causes an enormous amount of flatulence. Today we consume it only at ceremonial events." He sighed. "We were also surrounded by tribes as fierce and aggressive as our own. It's a miracle we survived, much less triumphed over the rest of the planet."

"What happened?" Li asked. "That Gonther ended up on top, I mean."

"Metals," he replied with a smile. "And coal. We were good at keeping the secrets of manufacturing high-quality weapons. Steam too, eventually. Our part of the mountains were full of ores and coal near the surface. Once we had the monopoly—"

"And how did you learn about metallurgy and steam?" Li continued.

There was a long silence. "The wind veers," Rapput finally said, "and grows less certain. Perhaps we should resume our hunter's silence."

"Of course," Li replied, though I could tell he was dying to hear more. We humans still knew practically nothing of the outside universe, much less Artemu history. And for the moment, it seemed, we weren't to find out anything more.

Three hours later, I was more certain than ever that we were done for. By then we'd scaled perhaps the lowest and easiest third of what I'd privately named Mount Pain, and that should've been a good beginning. Even Rapput, true to his word, was climbing on his own and doing surprisingly well. But that was the essence of the problem—it _wasn't_ just the beginning. It was well after dark now, and we were climbing solely by the light of a full moon. The air was cold, cold, cold, and my sneakers were all squishy again. This time, I knew, the wetting fluid in question was blood. My feet were fiery balls of pain; the only parts that weren't in agony were my toes, which were numb from the cold. Our pursuers were closing on us; Rapput had long since sniffed them out. Worst of all I'd collapsed a few hundred yards back and blacked out; my cheeks still burned with the shame of it. As a direct result Li had found us an indentation in the mountainside that sheltered us from the worst of the wind, where we all sat clustered around Rapput trying to warm ourselves at his expense. He had my brother clutched tight to his chest. Timmy'd passed out about ten minutes after I had and still hadn't come back around yet.

"The boys are finished," Rapput observed in a whisper. "They've been brave and come far. At least as far as an immature Artemu could've, and without complaint. But they can go no further. They've given all."

Li nodded. "We're not as resistant to cold as your kind."

"Anatomy is anatomy—there are plusses and minuses both ways. And you, Li? How do you fare?"

"I . . . Begin to be affected. But of all of us, I remain by far in the best shape." There was a long pause. "You should allow me to carry you."

Rapput shook his huge head. "If I must die, I'll do so standing on my own two legs." Then he looked out at the mountainside. "This niche is fairly defensible, no?"

Li's brow furrowed. "Yes. With proper preparation."

"The boys can go no further," Rapput repeated. "Not without a good long break, at least. And as you've admitted that the cold has begun to affect you, I'll in turn acknowledge that I can walk only so much further myself." He looked up and down the slope again, considering. "This, I think, is a good place to die. Or at least the best we're liable to find under the circumstances."

Li scowled again. "Forgive me, respected sir. But I was trained by experts to find ways to keep on living and complete my mission, not places to die nobly."

"Hah!" Rapput laughed, reaching to slap Li on the shoulder. "Brave, brave words, and so very human in sentiment!" Then his features sobered. "What do you have in mind?"

Li pondered the lay of the land, and then pointed. "They'll attack from that stand of scrub over there, right? Once they locate us, I mean. And, if I were doing it, they'd be supported by long-range suppressive fire from those rocks. The crossfire would pin us down and render us totally helpless. Then I'd charge with grenades if I had them. Just plain rifles if I didn't."

Rapput nodded. "Primitive, but effective. Probably best for ill-trained troops."

Li smiled. "We have several points of advantage. One is that first they must find us in the darkness. Conditions are far from ideal—they may never accomplish even that much. The second is that we can predict where and how they'll deploy and make preparations accordingly. A third is that you're far more physiologically suited to night-fighting than we humans are. That always catches us by surprise the first time, esteemed sir."

Rapput nodded. "As your suicidal determination and tenacity in defense always caught us off-guard." He frowned and drew the .45. "This doesn't fit my hand well. I'll never be proficient, but it will suffice."

"It's highly effective at short range," Li assured him. "You have seven rounds." He paused. "I can set up a couple booby traps, and perhaps we'll come up with some other twists as well . . . if we have long enough."

"It's a workable plan," Rapput agreed. "The boys will benefit from some rest before the battle is joined—I estimate we have at least an hour. With their help and our expertise, this position can be held most of the night."

"But they're . . . I don't think . . ."

"They're warrior-youths of the Clan of Gonther now," Rapput explained, as if to a child. "Honorable bearers of arms. While allowance must be made for their physical weakness, they've earned by their past actions a place in the line of battle." He tilted his head. "Do you forget who freed whom from captivity and thereby made this entire adventure possible?"

Li frowned. "No, of course not. But—"

"But nothing," Rapput declared. "In this issue I choose to 'pull rank', as you humans put it. The boys and I shall defend this position with our lives. We three should be enough. Set us a few traps about fifty yards out, then come back and report where they are so we don't stumble on them by accident. Meanwhile, my nephews and I will reshuffle a few rocks and make this niche more secure. When all is in readiness, you can climb the mountain and make your signal. Return with overwhelming force as soon as it becomes available. As your superior, I command it!"
21

_"As your superior I command it!"_ I felt my own mouth shaping Rapput's words over and over again after Li nodded and obediently slithered into the night. _"As your superior, I command it!"_ And just that easily, Li—competent, powerful, and most of all grown-up—had done as he was told without the slightest argument. Was this what it meant to be an Artemesian, I asked myself in the chill darkness as my feet throbbed and the biting wind swirled. Rapput hugged Tim tight in the hope of warming him enough to regain consciousness. Was this what it meant to be part of a clan where status and rank not only counted for everything but were also unquestionably obeyed?

Was this what it was going to be like to be a Gonther? And if so, would it really be so bad?

Then Tim finally moaned and coughed, and Rapput released a breath he probably hadn't realized he'd been holding. Tim had been out a long, long time. "Hush, brave nephew," the alien whispered, cupping the top of my brother's skull reassuringly. "There shall be no more climbing now. Only fighting, at which I'm certain you shall excel."

Tim blinked and looked to me.

"We've holed up," I explained. "This is a sort of cave-thingie. Li's gone to climb to the top alone, and we're going to fight it out here."

He closed his eyes, and for just an instant he looked like a terrified little boy. Then he reached for his shotgun. "Right."

Rapput smiled and invited me into the huddle with his good arm. "Come and warm up as well, Robert. We have time to talk for few more minutes."

I accepted his invitation and snugged myself in tight next to Tim, but for a long moment our uncle didn't speak. "Battle," he said finally, "is for an Artemesian the ultimate experience in life. Even the very _meaning_ of life. It's the culmination of all of our experiences, and the highest art form we can ever know." His face grew stern. "As Gonthers, you shall be expected to win victory after victory after victory. While setbacks are acceptable and at times even unavoidable, the purpose of our clan is ultimately to win and win and win, showering ourselves in glory along the way." He met each of our eyes. "Do you understand this?"

I nodded.

"Yes, Uncle," Tim replied.

I blinked—it was the first time I'd ever heard him use the term.

"Good. Then let us begin your formal warrior training," Rapput said. "Of all the weapons you've seen employed since we were kidnapped, which do you think the most deadly?"

"Li's gun, Uncle," I replied without hesitation. "It's fully automatic."

"Yeah," Tim agreed. "Either that or this one." He held up his sawed-off shotgun, which made me frown. As usual, he'd gotten the best weapon. His was a pump-action, while mine was a mere double-barrel.

"Hrrrm," Rapput replied, tilting his head first to the left and then the right in a display of deep thought. "Both are good choices. And yet . . . What about Li's snares? The ones that delayed our enemy enough to give us a head start after the boat arrived?"

"They were pretty good too," I admitted after thinking about it. "But . . . do they count as weapons?"

Rapput smiled, and I knew that I'd given exactly the answer he desired. "I don't know. What _is_ a weapon?"

Tim and I looked at each other, but neither of us had a good answer ready.

"Something you can use to hurt someone?" I offered, going for the simplest definition I could think of.

"Hrrrm." He looked mock-thoughtful again. "How about ' _Anything_ you can use to hurt someone?'"

My mouth opened to object; calling someone a name could hurt someone, but was an insult a weapon? Then I thought things all the way through. Taunts could cause enemies to make stupid mistakes, or so Dad claimed. "Wow!" I said at last.

Rapput gave an approving smile. "Projectiles, blades, beams, poisons, vehicles . . . even rude gestures. And the list grows from there, as the implications of 'hurt' are explored more and more thoroughly. A financial contract can definitely be a weapon—your kind has perfected the art, in fact. There's no limit—even a mere concept, carefully chosen, can serve as a fine weapon indeed."

My head began to hurt. A concept as a weapon?

"To an Artemu," he continued, "life is almost nothing but a long series of battles of varying degrees of intensity and lethality, and every single thing that exists anywhere is either a weapon or a potential weapon. All the world is a battle, and therefore all the world is also a weapon." He looked each of us in the eye in turn. "This is the most crucial lesson you must ever learn. Do you understand it?"

Tim nodded.

"I . . . I _think_ so," I replied.

Rapput nodded. "I think so, too. In fact, I suspect you've understood in your hearts ever since you killed your first wild game. Nature is an excellent teacher. Now . . . try again. What is the most dangerous weapon you've seen employed since the kidnapping?"

"Propaganda?" I suggested. "That's what motivated the Free State people."

Rapput shook his head. "A good attempt, however."

"Secrecy," Tim offered. "Or else maybe planning. The Free State people had to have a good plan and keep it secret to take us captive in the first place."

"Also good answers," Rapput replied. "But not the _best_."

I sighed and shivered. Despite Rapput's warmth I was far from comfortable, and things showed every sign of getting a lot worse before they got better. Tim apparently felt the same way, because except for his chattering teeth he sat silent as well.

"Well!" Rapput replied at last. "You disappoint me! And after you gave such spectacular examples of using this weapon yourselves!"

I blinked, then shrugged. Tim shrugged too. "Sorry to let you down, Uncle," I said.

"It's quite all right. You're cold and hungry and in pain, while this is a lesson most commonly taught in a warm, comfortable classroom. Not that for a moment I think you'll ever wish you'd learned it any other way." Our adopted uncle squeezed first Tim's and then my skull in succession. "Right there! That's your best weapon of all!"

"Our minds?" I asked.

"Your creative, trained, focused, determined, and relentless minds," he corrected me. "Determined and creative, you both proved yesterday to my complete satisfaction. So, let us begin on 'trained.'" He leaned forward and gently turned us to face outward, into the cruel wind. Then he pointed. "Notice how the scrub reaches out to approach our position just over there..."
22

It was all so easy, once Rapput explained what "putting down a field of fire" and "military crest" and stuff like that meant. In ten minutes or less, Tim and I had a handle on how to read terrain and cover in the tactical sense. It was as easy as hunting deer, or maybe even easier. "So," I heard myself asking as I pointed. "The bad guys are going to try and set up right over there?"

"And there as well?" Tim chimed in, pointing at a pile of rocks further off.

"That'll be their base of fire," Rapput said. "Where they'll place their heavy weapons." Then he nodded at me. "And you've picked out their point of assault. The place where the final charge, covered by the base of fire, will almost certainly come from."

I scowled into the darkness. It all made so much sense, but . . . "Uncle? I mean . . . if this is all so obvious, then wouldn't they know that we know and try to set up someplace else? Or at least scout things out?"

"Experienced troops would," Rapput replied. "Or an experienced commander would see to it that they did, more correctly. But both history and my personal experience demonstrate again and again that battle is an art learned only slowly. Rookie small-unit leaders tend to be so frightened and overwhelmed with details that they revert to the simplest principles. In other words, they become predictable." He smiled. "Whereas I have much experience indeed."

And so it was that Timothy and I found ourselves lying silent in the dark, wrapped tightly in our comforters and waiting, waiting, waiting for the right moment. It was hard not to fall asleep after such a poor rest the night before, and to be truthful I suspect I did nod off a few times. But the first snapped twig followed by a mumbled curse brought me around quickly enough.

"Shut up, Millson!" another voice replied, a bit louder and more exasperated. "How many times do I have to warn you?"

"It's goddamned _cold!"_ a third voice snapped back. "We've got good coats, and we're practically frozen. The people we're chasing have to be either dead or dying by now. I say let's just light a fire and hole up until dawn. Then we can recover the bodies after sunrise."

"Noted," the voice I'd tentatively labeled as "Officer" replied. Then he sighed, took two steps . . .

. . . and something made a great whooshing sound as it flew upward in the night. One of Li's traps! Someone began screaming.

"Millson?" the officer demanded, all attempts at stealth abandoned. "Was that you?"

"No sir," the first voice I'd heard replied. "It's Crawford. And her leg . . . Uh . . ."

"Medic!" the officer shouted in frustration. "Over here!"

The moon was high in the sky, so if I strained my neck far enough I could just make out a swirl of individuals maybe twenty yards downslope. Soon a hunched figure came bustling up and disappeared into the mass. "Her ankle's broken," the medic reported. "She won't be able to walk a step anytime soon."

"Shit," the officer declared. "First we had to leave a guard at the boat. Then we lost Grammond to the other trap. And now . . ." He sighed. "Millson, you'll remain here with Barb. The enemy can hear you barging about from a mile off anyway. We'll pick you both up and improvise a stretcher on the way back."

"Yes, sir!" Millson replied, clearly pleased to be spared from further stumbling about in frigid darkness. "I'll take good care of her, sir!"

Much stirring about and rattling of gear followed as the officer rearranged everyone and everything. "Remember," he warned his newly-assigned scouts. "They're well-armed. They could turn on us at any moment and do considerable damage. If that happens, just take cover and keep them pinned down. Your job is to make contact, not destroy. That's what the rest of us are here for."

I frowned and checked to make sure my brightly-colored comforter was still properly covered with pine needles and mud and such. While the travois was simple to track even when Rapput wasn't riding in it, my goal was to be much harder to find than that. I laid my equally-camouflaged head down on my muddy arms and, as instructed, waited as calmly as I could for the enemy column to pass me by.

And pass me by they did, though every minute felt like forever and there were far more of the enemy than any of us had anticipated. We'd only ever seen the handful in the boat, but at least fifteen marched past my hide. I had no way to count them accurately—Rapput had explained that my nearly-white face sort of glowed in the moonlight and that it was vital for me to keep it lowered to the ground as much as possible. Everything—literally everything—pivoted on Timothy and me remaining undetected. Then, while an extra-large pair of combat boots was passing just in front of my nose, the Free State people stopped.

"Sir!" a scout reported. "The tracks lead into a cave. They don't seem to come out."

Then it happened, right before my unbelieving eyes. Everything, down to the tiniest detail, went exactly as Rapput had predicted. And as Li would've predicted as well, I was fairly certain from his conversation with Rapput on the subject.

"Chilman! Dobbs! Van Decker!" the officer ordered. "Set up the heavy stuff in those rocks right over there—see how they'll offer a good field of fire? The rest of you, settle in here until the others are ready. Then we'll send forward a scout."

Was it really that easy to out-think an enemy, or had Rapput merely gotten lucky? Great generals don't win only from time to time; they emerge triumphant again and again. So probably he really was just that good.

By then my heart was thumping away at a hundred miles an hour in my chest, and I panted in excitement. "Not yet," I whispered to myself. While my prey was offering an excellent shot indeed, it'd get better still in time. "Not yet . . ."

I watched extra-close as the heavy-weapons people took up position directly in front of where I'd seen Tim dig in, fingers trembling on my weapon's twin triggers. If they detected him, my orders were to take my best shot and then take advantage of the confusion to move to his aid. But they didn't. Instead they lined up even more prettily than they had for me, dead across his sights at practically zero range. Now, all that was left was the final, toughest wait.

The Free State people had no way to be certain that anyone was in the cave until they actually sent someone to look. Rapput had assured us that no weapons would be fired until they were sure. "The shots will give away their position for miles around," he'd explained. "The reports and flashes both. Plus ammunition is heavy, especially the kind you humans use. They won't be carrying a terrible lot of it for fear it'd slow them down. So they'll make sure first. That's why at least one of us has to wait here."

That was why Rapput was still inside the cave, or at least that was what he wanted us to think. But as far as I could tell it was also the best place available for a cripple to fight from, and I was beginning to get the idea that it wouldn't have been honorable for him to allow his newly-adopted nephews to fight his battles for him unsupported.

"Murphy!" the officer whispered once the heavy weapons people had signaled their readiness. "It's your time now, sergeant. Scout it out!"

Murphy smiled in the darkness—his teeth showed up extra-white because his skin was so dark. So far he was the only black man I'd seen in the Free State army. Certainly he was a fine soldier; he handed his rifle to a friend, dropped to all fours, and completely disappeared. He didn't turn invisible or anything like that. What I mean is that at first when he dropped it took him out of my line of sight. After that, I never picked him up again. He must've moved like a shadow! But the wind was behind him, and Rapput wasn't the sort to fail to cash in on little mistakes like that. Li had said human troops were always unpleasantly surprised at the Artemu's natural night-fighting ability, and I can only suppose poor Murphy was equally shocked. One instant I couldn't see anything but the entrance to the cave, then the next there was a blur and scream. Two screams, really. One human, and the other something . . .

. . . alien.

"Murphy?" the officer demanded after a long, long silence. "Sing out, Murphy! We can't see you!"

Then something round and dark came sailing through the air toward me. I flinched away, but needn't have. The projectile rolled gently to a halt at the officer's feet.

It was Murphy's head.

At first I was as shocked as anyone—my jaw dangled as if by a thread, and I felt my eyes bugging wide. Then my mind began operating again, and I lowered my head back to the ground so my relatively clean face wouldn't reveal me. _All life is a battle,_ I heard Rapput's voice say, _and everything is a potential weapon with which to gain advantage._

"I . . ." the officer tried to say, his voice laden with revulsion and terror and worst of all indecision, "I don't . . ."

" _Fire!_ " a new voice declared, this one tinged with rage as counterproductive as the officer's terror had been. "Fire, fire, fire! Kill them all!"

Then the peaceful mountain night was well and truly shattered. An ear-splitting volley of mixed full-auto military and heavy magnum-class hunting rifles erupted into the night, belching flame and superheated metal. Even one high-powered hunting rifle was normally enough to turn my ears inside-out; now a whole slew of them were blasting away as quickly as their bolts and levers and whatever could be worked. With the military rifles going all-out as well, I wanted to make my hands into claws and dig into the ground like an animal to hide from the painful racket and hug myself into a ball until the pain was gone and sanity returned to the world.

But I didn't. Instead I lifted my short shotgun, lined it up on the officer's back, and pulled the trigger.

I hardly heard the thing among all the noise, but the kick! Oh heavens almighty, the kick! Fire erupted from my shoulder as the dozen or more pellets of the double-ought, high-brass load splashed into not just the officer's back but also that of the woman standing beside him. Lying on my belly put me in a poor position to absorb recoil in the first place, and I knew from watching Dad shoot that even a full-grown and properly-braced man would've had difficulty dealing with the aftermath of the hellfire I'd just unleashed. But I was only half done; suppressing a moan I swung the barrel to the right, where four Free Staters stood clustered in a tight group. I didn't even feel it when I gave them the second barrel, or at least I didn't right at first. Three of them fell in an instant, while the fourth clutched desperately at his chest for a moment before falling as well.

Then I was up and gone before the rest could recover, running downslope as best I could with my right side from almost the hip up burning like fire and what felt suspiciously like the broken ends of bones rubbing together inside my shoulder.
23

The men chasing after me bellowed obscenities I'd never heard before in hot-blooded fury, while here and there bullets popped and sang as they whipped through the foliage. My shoes squished with fresh blood, and I bit off scream after scream for fear of offering my enemies a better target—not that I was able to suppress them entirely. My every step was matched with a deep stab of shoulder-agony, causing a whimper that threatened to explode into a full-throated cry at any second, and which I swallowed down only with the most terrible of efforts. The joint felt like it was filled with broken glass.

Perhaps a hundred yards down the mountain I finally had the presence of mind to stop and reload my weapon. Not that I wanted to use it again—if I'd never seen another firearm until I died of old age, that would've been fine with me. While both my brother and I had plenty of shells, I had only one shoulder left.

For the first time since I'd taken off running, I took a moment to stand still and think instead of blindly fleeing. Upslope, the Free Staters were still blazing away, which in turn meant Rapput remained trapped in the cave. But it was all a waste of lead; the niche was deep enough that nothing could hurt him unless someone came in close. This in turn required a carefully coordinated effort between the firebase and assault party. With the commanding officer dead—I was quite certain he was a goner—and everyone else in a state of panic after being fired upon so unexpectedly from behind, well . . . Most likely the Staters were scattered all over the mountain by now, imagining saber-toothed Artemu behind every shrub and firing blindly into the darkness. As if by confirmation, I heard something large running down the slope not far off the path I myself had just taken. I pushed my back up tight against a tree . . .

. . . and whoever it was went dashing headlong by, unleashing bursts from the hip with something fully automatic.

Most of the fire still seemed to be coming from uphill, however, and presumably some sort of order would eventually be re-established. Until then, Rapput was fairly safe. Only Timmy and I were in danger.

I looked around again, this time far more thoughtfully and carefully than I had before. If my brother and I were able, Rapput had explained, we should try to meet up at an old, gnarled cedar tree we'd passed on the way up during the last vestiges of daylight. It was a memorable tree in the mostly pine forest, and therefore a good landmark. But . . .

Where was I?

I almost broke out weeping, I was so miserable. My feet were in ruins, my shoulder was worse, and I'd had to abandon my comforter, the sole warm garment I possessed. It was also getting nothing but colder, and I didn't have my uncle to snuggle up to anymore. But . . . But . . . But . . .

Instead of crying I sighed, tucked my useless hand into my waistband, and at random began staggering cross-slope to my right. As Dad often said when there was work to be done, the tree wasn't going to find itself.

I'm not sure how long it took to find the cedar—I don't remember much of the trip and what I do recall is a sort of a nonsense-nightmare in which the trees became dead Artemu Freestaters and Timothy was a ferocious hunting dog and I was a wounded buck left lost and alone to die the slow death after being wounded by a careless hunter too lazy to follow a blood trail. Somewhere along the line I recall firing the shotgun some more, this time with the stock braced against a tree trunk, and reloading it over and over. That part was probably real because Tim says I was bleeding from a bullet crease in my neck when we finally found each other, and a medium-caliber slug had also passed cleanly through my right upper arm without doing any serious damage. Plus I was nearly out of ammo. But that was later—all I really recall is stumbling down the hill on benumbed, bleeding feet, crippled arm flapping about like an agony-generating shoelace.

"Jeez!" Tim greeted me, face pasty white in the blackness. I heard a distinct click as he engaged the safety on his weapon. "You look awful, Robert!"

I didn't have the energy to answer. So instead I first wobbled about a bit, then collapsed at his feet. When I woke up again, we were lying close against a rock face and I was feeling the most desirable sensation in the universe on my face. Could it be real? Yes, I decided when I opened my eyes, it could. What I was feeling was the warmth of a tiny but rapidly growing campfire, and it was wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!

"Jeez!" Timothy repeated when he saw me blink. "I was scared it was too late!"

I sniffed at the smoke, and then coughed uncontrollably. Tim scowled at this but made no motion to stop me. "They'll find us," I rasped at last. "Smoke. Light."

"Smoke, yes," Tim agreed. "Light, no—we're right at the edge of a cliff, and the light only shows on the drop-off side. By the way, be extra careful if you decide to go for a walk!"

I gurgled my appreciation of his sense of humor—at the moment I didn't think I'd ever take another step again.

Tim shuffled closer and looked me over. "You must've been in a real fight!"

I looked away. "Don't remember any of it. Honest."

My brother nodded. "Well . . . while you were out of it I scouted your backtrail in case someone was following. It looks like a whole squad was doing exactly that, until you bushwhacked them but good." He shook his head in admiration. "Maybe you _should_ be the one to carry the best gun."

I coughed again. "This fire . . ." I complained, too drained to say more.

"You'll die without it. Maybe me too." He was quiet for a moment, the crackling and spitting of the fire filling the silence. "You really, really scared me, Robert. I couldn't even tell for sure if you were breathing. So the fire stays. Get as warm as you can while you can—I'm going to keep watch. If someone comes, I've found another good place for us to hide."

I nodded back. "Thanks, Tim."

"Don't mention it," he replied. Then he was gone.

My twin was right; the fire probably _did_ save my life. The longer I absorbed its warmth, the better I felt. Not that things ever got to the point of being anything resembling wonderful, mind you. The shivering messed with my shoulder, and soon the bullet wound in my arm throbbed as well. But my _feet_! The more they thawed, the worse they hurt. It felt like I was walking a bed of hot coals over and over again but couldn't stop no matter what.

I was stiffening up too, which neither Tim nor I had anticipated. It didn't matter much until after I-don't-know-how-many hours my brother eased up silently beside me. "There's three coming this way," he hissed. "They smell the smoke—I'm sure of it."

"Right," I agreed. Then I tried to sit up . . . and couldn't.

"Come _on_!" Tim urged. "We have to move fast!"

I tried again, but neither my legs nor my good arm did much in the way of responding. Sure, they twitched in the direction I wanted them to go. But the pain, oh the pain! It washed over me like the waves on an Atlantic beach I'd once visited with Mom while Dad was working in Washington and Tim was recovering from having his tonsils out. I'd had Mom all to myself for almost the first time ever; the sunshine had been golden, the water warm and wet and supportive . . .

"Robert!" Tim said. "Come _on_!" Then he reached down and tried to shake my shoulder.

The injured one.

"Aaaaaah!" I screamed, leaping to my feet and instinctively bending over into a pathetic crouch designed to protect my most-hurt parts. I'd probably given away our location to anyone within a thousand yards. But at least I was up and moving again.

"Come on, Robert," Tim urged in a gentler voice, reaching out as if I was many years his junior and in need of his assistance crossing the street.

"I'm fine!" I snapped, slapping the offered hand away. It was bad enough that he was a few minutes older than me so that he got to cup my head in his hand before class every day instead of me cupping his; there wasn't any need for him to keep rubbing in the 'older brother' thing. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"You're going to love it," Tim replied, though his usual grin was absent. He pointed into the distance. "The cliff runs that way. Be super-careful. We're going to hide right on the edge."

I nodded and followed, now feeling ashamed of all that Tim had accomplished without me. He'd dragged me into a safe place, built a fire, nursemaided me, and located yet another good place to hide. Meanwhile, I'd done little more than lie moaning in the dark. Well, I acknowledged to myself, apparently I _had_ been involved in a second firefight somewhere along the line, and even done pretty well in it. But did that count in my favor if I couldn't even remember it?

Soon Tim led me to the cliff's edge, as promised. It wasn't as dangerous as I'd been warned to expect, because by now the eastern sky was light enough to clearly reveal the drop-off. The morning fog was thick, so the only thing visible was a wall of gently-glowing white that indicated where the mountain and trees weren't. But it was far better than not being able to see at all.

"See that tree?" Tim asked, indicating another big cedar that leaned at a slight angle over the abyss. "Dad always used to say that game never looks up, and I figured that might be true for Free Staters too. But you can't climb, so I had to do better."

I nodded—the cedar had wonderful low-lying limbs that begged for the touch of a boy's hands and feet. Then it ascended skyward like a natural ladder. But my brother was right—it wasn't to be.

"Anyway, I guess this is even better than the tree," he said, stepping right up to the edge of the abyss and pointing down. I limped up alongside him . . .

. . . and spotted a narrow ledge maybe ten feet down, plenty big enough for both of us.

"They'll have to come all the way to the edge and look over it to see us," Tim explained. "And we have five shells left."

I nodded; the route down looked rough but doable. "You first."

"Right," Tim agreed and, using hands almost as much as his feet, was on the shelf in a matter of seconds. It took me far longer with a non-working arm. Halfway down, my foot slipped. I landed directly on my shoulder and, predictably, screamed again before rolling toward the edge. But at the last second, with my center of gravity well beyond the lip, Tim grabbed me and pulled me back.

"Jeez!" he muttered as we lay side-by-side in the ever-growing light, hearts racing in terror. _Thumpthumpthumpthumpthump!_

"Thanks!" I replied. We'd kept each other out of trouble before, and perhaps even saved each other's lives while out wandering the ranch. But this was different somehow. Something had changed.

Perhaps it was us.

"We're brothers," Tim said. "And twins, which is extra-special. When one of us is in trouble, the other takes action. Your fights are my fights, and mine yours. Always and forever."

"Always and forever," I agreed. Then I smiled. "I think we did okay, overall. Dad and Rapput and Li would all three be happy with us. Mom too, once she got over the heebie-jeebies."

"Yeah," Timmy agreed. "Even if . . ." He didn't have to explain what the "if" was. We were, after all, still starved, half-frozen kids perched on what was probably an unsafe shelf suspended above heaven-only-knew-how-high a drop. Besides, if Rapput didn't make it then the Artemesians were liable to drop rocks on Earth until we were all dead anyway.

There was another long silence, broken only by the continued _thumpthumpthump_ of my heart. I cocked my head at that—something was wrong there. The beat was louder, when it should've eased off now that I wasn't working so hard. And there also wasn't a pain in my shoulder with every beat like there should've been. The cold was still rooted deep in my brain, or else I'd have figured it out sooner. But . . .

"Helicopter!" I finally said aloud. "Out in the fog somewhere, but getting louder. Li must've made it!"

"Yeah!" Tim agreed, brightening up considerably. "Plus—"

"I hear it too!" I cried, eyes tearing with relief. It was a distant buzzing, like a swarm of thousands of cattle-sized bees might make. "A scout-ship! The Artemu and human governments are still cooperating!"

"Hooray!" Tim cried, and he bounced up and down in joy. I was about to warn him not to do that when we had no idea of how strong or flimsy our ledge was, when I caught sight of something moving beyond Tim's head. It was a Free Stater squinting down at us and just beginning to raise his rifle! I grabbed the sawed-off shotgun and braced it against my left shoulder for lack of anywhere else. Then I pulled the left barrel's trigger and one last time the world was rent in two. The improperly-grasped gun went flying over the edge. Tim, his head much too close to the weapon's fireball, dropped unconscious across my belly. The Free Stater, his face transformed into a bloody mask, fell in apparent slow motion out and beyond us to land who-knew-where, and my good shoulder erupted into pain-wracked spasms not so different than those of my right.

And that was that, I decided with terrible clarity. I couldn't move a muscle anymore, not with an unconscious brother lying atop me and both arms rendered useless. We'd live, we'd die—it was all up to chance now. I'd given both my best and my last effort, and so had my brother. The world might be a battlefield, but we were no longer warriors. Even if the universe held an infinite supply of weapons, neither of us were in any shape to wield them. "Might as well go to sleep," I whispered to myself. There was no reason not to that I could see. Sleep, sleep, sleep, and the pain would go away. All I had to do was close my eyes . . .

It must've worked, because the next thing I knew a helicopter armed with the biggest guns I'd ever seen was hovering just above the lip of the cliff, while an Artemu scout ship floated with its hatch open just a few feet away from our shelf.

"Timothy?" I heard my father cry, his voice filled with anguish. Clearly it wasn't the first time he'd called, and he thought we must be dead. "Robert?" But I couldn't make a muscle stir. I lay paralyzed, eyes barely cracked open.

"Kids?" Li tried next, from deeper in the machine. He and an Artemu were working feverishly on some sort of gangplank. "Please, kids! Hang on, and we'll be there in just a moment!"

Then a shaggy creature with three fresh and still-bleeding head-wounds and wearing an inflatable field-dressing-type shoulder cast appeared in the doorway. "Nephews!" Rapput called out in his perfect, beautiful Artemu. "Battle-brothers and fellows-in-arms! I call all Heroes home!"

I don't know why, but at that I first grinned and then managed to roll my head a bit to the left.

"Robert lives!" Rapput cried, shaking his good fist. Which was stained crimson with human blood.

"So does Timothy, Uncle!" I shouted in the same tongue, though I fear with a worse-than-usual accent. My lips were half-frozen, after all! "We shall both someday fight again!" Then I turned to Dad. "He'll be fine! I had to shoot too close to his head, was all. I'm sorry, but I couldn't help it!"

Then Dad was grinning as well. Soon the gangplank was rigged. Li, as always slippery as an eel, wormed his way past the Artemu soldier poised to come to our rescue and, despite his obvious fatigue and total lack of safety gear, came dancing out to our ledge. "There's no back door," my tutor chided as he first checked my brother's pulse and then examined him for gross physical damage. "You should never, _ever_ choose a hideout that lacks an alternate means of escape."

_Tim picked it out, not me!_ I almost said. Then I thought of my brother, his feet hurting as badly as mine, dragging me to his fire while not sure if I was dead or alive. "Yes, sir," I replied instead.

"Ha!" he laughed with the widest grin I'd ever seen on anyone anywhere. "You are _so_ like your father!" He reached out and carefully rolled Tim over. "Even more than this one."

I blushed—what else could I do? Then a human-type stretcher was passed across for Tim, followed by a second for me. I tried to be strong and silent for Dad and Rapput as Li laid me in place and strapped me in, but I fear I moaned and whimpered. Each sound seemed to pierce Dad's heart, judging by his expression, and the more he actually saw of me, well . . .

"Be brave!" Rapput directed, but I knew he understood as well, having suffered not-so-different injuries himself within the last few days.

Then I was inside the scout ship, followed closely by Li, and the engines screamed like I'd never heard before. "San Francisco!" Rapput ordered. "Warn our hospital to be on alert for wounded heroes!"

"Seattle!" Dad countered. "They're humans, after all. They don't need your Artemu doctors in San Francisco. And Seattle is closer."

"You are of course correct," Rapput said after pondering it for a moment. "Yet I fear for their security, Congressman, in any facility but our own."

"A good point as well," Dad agreed. "But they could still go into shock and die at any moment. We've got to figure something out and do it quick."

And so it was that for the first time ever an Artemu scout ship landed in the trauma center parking lot of a downtown Seattle hospital, upsetting the morning rush hour something fierce. But instead of disembarking us, the ship took aboard practically an entire emergency room-worth of doctors, nurses, and equipment, and then raced down the west coast at its best—hypersonic!—speed to the Artemu enclave and planetary medical center located not far from the south end of the Golden Gate Bridge. And I couldn't even get a window seat!

The Artemesian hospital was almost exactly like a human one, or at least our room was so transformed almost immediately. It was sort of cool, really—we started out in bare cubicles with the Artemu equipment shoved roughly into the corridors. Within a day there were cartoon animals painted on the walls, and we each had our own TV sets. Not long after that, clowns began to drop by to visit. Pet dogs too and all sorts of interesting characters. Plus Mom sat worrying in the chair between us so that except when we left our room it might as well have been a human hospital, and an especially good one at that.

I was right about my shotgun's muzzle blast having knocked Timmy out, and I felt terrible when I learned he was now deaf in one ear. But they were able to install an implant that gave him almost all his hearing back, so it wasn't so bad after all. It was really awkward at first not having any working arms. The left shoulder was only badly bruised, it turned out, so at least I got that one back almost right away. We never got to see our feet until they were all the way healed up again. This was because they kept so many layers of bandages on them, and it was probably just as well. When the wraps finally came off, I couldn't tell anything had ever happened to them at all.

What our "children's" hospital room had that no human one ever would, however, were Giril and Queth, my and Timmy's lifeservants respectively. They sat with us even more faithfully than Mom, though at the foots of our beds instead of between the pillows like she did. We tried to tell them it was okay for them to go away, but they wouldn't hear of it. "We're assigned to you," they explained over and over. "You're our leaders. So this is where we _must_ be. It's a matter of duty and loyalty."

So we made the best of it and taught them to play video games. Giril caught on right away, though Queth didn't lag far behind. Both seemed perfectly happy to perform even the foulest and most personal of tasks for us, to the point of elbowing aside human nurses in their determination. All they ever sought in return was a firm skullcap-squeeze upon the night's dismissal. Mom hated their presence with every cell in her body, though she forced herself to be polite and even came to like them a little on a personal level because all they seemed to want was to make us happy. It wasn't their actions or duties she resented, I came to realize.

Rather, it was because they were proof that Rapput still intended to take us off-planet with him. Which was an idea she liked even less than ever.
24

Rapput was of course at least as badly injured as we were, so no one was offended when almost a week passed before he contacted us. Besides, he'd sent his Lifeservant, Harsen twice a day to make inquiries and had gone so far as to buy and sign a pair of get-well cards for us in an attempt to honor the human custom. That said cards were intended for children about half our age was humorous, but it meant nothing in greater balance of things. The point was that the all-highest among our conquerors had "lowered" himself to take notice of how our kind did things. He was sincere about bridge-building, in other words, and was showing his own people as much as humanity that he was willing to bend and compromise in order to get along.

Dad spent almost an hour during one of his visits holding the cards and staring off into space, trying to grasp the implications. Then he'd smiled and taped them to the walls above our heads like the parents of uncounted sick children before him, despite the prominent presence of the Family Seal of the Clan of Gonther. This supposedly demanded special handling like burning instead of being tossed in the trash. "One good turn deserves another," he explained as he hung them in place. "And I suspect this is exactly where Rapput wanted these to end up."

Even Dad didn't have much time to spend with us. Apparently the Rocky Mountain Free State was in full rebellion and though poorly organized and badly supplied was proving to be more than a mere nuisance. A lot more people supported them than really should've; according to Dad, a large minority of the world's population believed the human race had been sold-out by the rich and powerful and didn't at all understand the consequences of rocks dropped from space.

"They think it's all a big conspiracy meant to make them poorer," he explained to us once as he paced back and forth across our room, the day's _New York Times_ headline lying exposed in the visitor's chair: "Byrd Boys Not Only Ones," it read. "Gonther Clan To Take at Least a Dozen Child-Hostages; Washington Fails to Comment." Dad let his eyes drift to the paper again and sighed. "The big problem is that the Treaty really _is_ making them poorer, and fairly quickly at that. I'm no longer certain that even the United States can maintain a working democracy. We _must_ cooperate with the Artemu, no matter how the people feel about it. At least until we're in a much better bargaining position than we are now. Why can't everyone see that?"

"And my fellows want to kill you all and loot Earth of all that is precious," a familiar voice replied as our door swung open. Rapput stood in the doorway, tall and straight. "Yet somehow they fail to understand that a planetful of courageous, willing allies is worth far more than any conceivable plunder." Rapput sighed and stepped through the opening. "Congressman, my nephews . . . Greetings to you all. I'm sorry I've been unable to come by before now."

"We understand," Tim answered for us all. "You were hurt too."

"Yes," Rapput agreed. "And buried in work besides." He looked at Dad. "Speaking of work . . . From what I've seen, you and your people are doing an excellent job of quelling the rebellion. I'm aware you've resisted the imposition of a number of, shall we say, radical solutions and interventions during my convalescence. In my opinion, you were quite correct to do so. Had they been imposed the war would've gone on forever. In this, the work of your English-language clan was better founded than that of my own. Be aware that changes have been made."

Dad expression blanked, and then he stood taller despite himself. "Thank you."

"The compliment wasn't given lightly," he replied. "Eventually I seek true partnership. This means acknowledging even that which is unpleasant." Then he smiled at Timothy and me. "How are my favorite nephews doing?"

"Fine!" we replied as one. Then he made us each in turn tell him about our injuries and, as best we could, how well we were recovering. Midway through a doctor showed up and tried to interrupt, but Rapput silenced him with a motion.

"I review the official reports daily," he declared. "Now I wish to hear what they have to say from their our own mouths."

When we were done, he smiled and skull-capped each of us in turn. Then he stood and spread his arms in what was clearly a formal if unknown Pose. "My nephews," he said, "I hardly know where to begin. Rarely in all the history of our kind, or I suspect of human kind, have warriors so young performed so well in so crucial a conflict. It's no secret that our acquaintance is short—you're adopted, and this is the nature of things. Yet let it be recorded for the ages that I, an Ocrevennar of the Clan of Gonther, stand in awe of what you've done, much of which I eye-witnessed, and am both proud and humbled to have you as family." He paused and smiled, then made a gesture. Two Artemu bearing golden spears stepped in. "So, I hereby officially declare you warrior-youths of the Clan of Gonther. This means you're considered to have proven your mettle and courage beyond any doubt, and while still under-age are entitled to the same level of honor and personal respect as any other soldier. This is a rare achievement indeed—not twice in a decade is this honor bestowed upon any Artemu anywhere. Yet I've never seen it better earned." He lowered his arms and gestured again. The two Artemesians carrying the weapons placed them next to us with great reverence. "These are ceremonial," Rapput explained. "They're warrior-symbols, usually earned by ordeal at a much later age. They're to be hung over your beds, to remind you that immediate action may be required at any moment."

Then he turned to Mom, who was hugging Dad and trying to look strong. "Ma'am," he said respectfully. "Since meeting you, I've been studying up on human females and their various roles in your myriad cultures." He lowered his head. "Please forgive me if I yet fail to understand. It's difficult for me to imagine how the weaker and gentler can be fully equal, though I'm trying hard to do so. And yet . . ." He shook his head. "I now better understand your pain at what comes next. Or at least I imagine that I do. Either way, please know I sorrow for you. But this is what _must_ be, for the best of both of our peoples. Now more than ever, after what they've already accomplished. They'll become the face of humanity among the Artemu, the standards by which your entire race will be judged by my own. Someday they'll come home to you again. I swear it—that's been the plan since the beginning. But I won't lie to you. They will have grown into full-fledged Heroes by then."

Mom nodded, and for just a moment I thought she was going to break into tears. Then the moment passed and her eyes turned hard. "Thank you for at least trying to understand, and for caring enough about my feelings to try to explain. My respect for you grows every time we meet, and, as you say, that's good for both of our peoples."

Then she hugged us both. "Boys," she said when she was finished. "I'd like to keep you by my side more than anything in the universe. It's what you deserve, if nothing else. Yet the more I see of the situation, well . . . Rapput is correct. Bridges _must_ be built. And if this is how his kind builds bridges, then perhaps we must be flexible on our end as well." She looked at our uncle. "Sir, I don't think that you make the mistake of underestimating the martial ability of humans. But I strongly suspect that despite recent efforts, you don't realize how much we females have historically contributed to our species' effectiveness in war. Thus, I feel compelled to offer you a small demonstration." She sat down in her chair between our beds and reached for our hands.

"My sons," Mom said once we were all three linked. "Humans have lived through good times and bad, through famine and violence and pestilence beyond measure. When circumstances change, our greatest strength lies our ability to adapt, to abandon what came before and do what it takes to survive even when these changes involve our most cherished morals and values. I wouldn't have said this before the kidnapping and all the hell it nearly unleashed, but now I understand better what our species must become if we're to have a future. After considering mankind's long and varied history I have no fear that we'll fail to adapt, for this is a place we've been before and remember well. The lifestyle and ethics of the Artemu are nothing new to us, and we know how to thrive while living under their sway." Her face hardened, and her eyes glinted like cold steel. "You've done well in killing your enemies and your father's enemies so far here on Earth. I bless everything you've done so far. Now go, my beloved sons. Go out to the stars with your adopted uncle and show every creature you meet what you're made of. Leave them in no doubt that you're tougher and stronger and meaner than they ever dreamed of becoming, for this is now the way of survival. Don't forget mercy and honor, but in the end . . ." She squeezed our hands so tight it hurt. "Come back to me someday, both of you. Come back and be welcomed and showered with my love. But come back either with your shield or lying on it. For in this new and violent universe, all humanity depends on it."
OTHER TITLES FROM LEGION PRINTING

By Phil Geusz:

Corpus Lupus

Descent

Lagrange

Left-Handed Sword

Space Man's Burden

Transmutation NOW!

Wine of Battle

The David Birkenhead Series:

Ship's Boy

Midshipman

Lieutenant

Commander

Captain

Commodore

Admiral

Edited By Fred Patten

Already Among Us, an Anthropomorphic Anthology

By B. A. Maddux

Lab Rat

By Rebecca Mickley

Exile's Return

