2Face rocked slowly back and forth on her heels. She watched Billy. How could she have believed he was powerful enough to protect them? He should have watched Yago more carefully. He should have crushed Amelia while he had the chance. Surely she could make the others see that.

  "Jobs, come quick!" Mo'Steel called. "It's Billy!"

  Jobs shook himself out of a half daze and scrambled to his feet. He felt for his water, his pistol. Both still there. Good. He ran the fifty feet to where Noyze, Olga, and Mo'Steel had gathered around Billy.

  2Face was hanging back. Maybe she was afraid to approach the others after the way she had attacked Billy.

  Or maybe she's waiting for the chance to stab us in the back. Jobs thought grimly. He tried not to look at her as he joined the others.

  Billy was sitting up with a strangely rigid posture. His eyes darted around wildly, flitted fantastically fast from Olga to Noyze to Mo'Steel — and then settled on Jobs. His expression was full of silent pleading.

  Olga was down on her hands and knees near Billy's shoulder. "Have some water, Billy. It will make you feel better."

  Billy's head jerked. His hand flashed through the air. His gaze never left Jobs's face.

  Olga let the water bottle drop. She turned to give Jobs a questioning look.

  Jobs knelt down next to Billy, remembering Billy had been unconscious ever since the ship had taken off. He was probably wondering where they were and what was happening. "We're on Earth," Jobs told Billy in a quiet, soothing voice. "Mother is gone. We think Yago and Amelia took control of her somehow. Are — are you still connected to the computer? Can you bring the ship back?"

  Billy's mouth began to move. Sound came out, but it didn't sound like speech. To Jobs, it sounded like the high-pitched squeaking of a rodent. Reading Billy's lips didn't work, either They were moving way too fast. "Slow it down, Billy," Jobs said.

  Billy stopped talking. He paused, then tried to talk again. His words still came out garbled. His gaze never wavered from Jobs's face.

  Noyze came and crouched down next to Jobs. She put a slim hand on Billy's shoulder. "I think he's out of time-sync somehow." The expression in Billy's eyes seemed to confirm this.

  Jobs nodded. "This happened before," he explained to Noyze. "When we first woke up on Mother Billy was slowed down from the trip on the Mayflower."

  "Well, now I think he's sped up from being connected to Mother," Olga said from over their shoulders. "Think about it. He must be used to processing a deluge of information."

  "Makes sense," Jobs admitted.

  "How did you — help him before?" Noyze asked.

  "We didn't," Jobs said. "He just seemed to come out of it all on his own."

  "Well, it's different this time," Noyze said. "We understand what's wrong with him. We should be able to think of a way to help."

  Jobs nodded, feeling numb with — not fear, with hopelessness. He didn't have to communicate directly with Billy to know his connection with Mother had been broken. Otherwise, he would still be receiving a huge amount of information from her and would be okay. Scritch. Scritch. Scritch.

  There was that sound again. Jobs wondered if he should mention the noise, ask if anyone else had heard it. He decided not to bring it up. Not now, anyway. Not until they figured out what they were doing.

  Billy, Jobs berated himself. Concentrate on Billy.

  "All we need is a pencil and a piece of paper." Violet had joined them.

  Jobs noted bitterly that D-Caf was slinking along beside her As usual. "Billy can probably still write," Violet said rationally. "A pencil" Mo'Steel asked incredulously.

  Jobs had a sudden, miserable reminder of how Violet had been when he'd first met her. A Jane dressed in white lace. Her hair pinned up. She'd rejected technology; refused to use a link; discussed the stylistic differences between Bonnard and Monet. She probably even wrote with a pencil.

  They'd come a long way since then. Traveled many hard miles on a twisted, sad trail. Jobs wished they could somehow go back to those people they'd been — scrubbed, whole, uncompromising.

  "Come on, Mo'Steel," Violet said. "It doesn't have to be an actual pencil. A stick would do. A piece of pipe. Billy can write in the ash."

  Suddenly, everyone was scrambling around, poking in the ash, looking for something Billy could write with.

  Jobs didn't help. He didn't want to turn away from Billy. They stared at each other. Stared. Stared. And then Roger Dodger came up and put a piece of rebar in Jobs's hand. Jobs gave it to Billy and he started to write. "What does it say?" Jobs asked.

  Noyze moved around, craning her neck so that she was in a position to read. "It says —" "What?" Jobs asked.

  Noyze licked her lips nervously. "It says: Keep 2Face away from me."

  Jobs lifted his head and met 2Face's gaze. "Back off," he said to her without a second thought.

  2Face's expression hardened. She didn't move.

  "I said — back off!" Jobs yelled.

  After a tense pause, 2Face turned angrily and walked away. Once she was gone. Jobs crouched down next to Billy and whispered, "What about Mother? Can you bring her back?" Billy flung the rebar away. He tucked his head under his arm and stayed that way.

  CHAPTER 5

  "I DON'T FEAR HER."

  "Echo, what is j'our opinion on this matter?" Woody asked casually from his seat on the dais.

  Echo shot a nervous glance at Lyric and slowly rose to her feet. The meeting hall was packed with all forty members of the colony — from Rainier, the doctor and the oldest elder (he was sixty-seven) to little India who was sitting on her mother's lap (she was three). All of their faces turned up toward Echo and she felt her throat squeeze closed. This was her first time speaking in a public meeting and she felt very adult. Very adult and very nervous. To calm herself, she focused on the painting of her mother. It was part of a wall depicting every member of the colony right back to the first Generation. Echo's mother seemed to smile at her encouragingly.

  "It is my opinion that we should welcome the newcomers to the colony," Echo said formally.

  "May I ask how j'ou came to this conclusion?" Woody asked.

  "Yes," Echo said. "I believe the newcomers could serve as an important DNA reservoir for the colony."

  Woody studied her for a moment and then said, "Thank j'ou, Echo. We appreciate j'our contribution."

  Echo sat, relieved to be out of the spotlight. Lyric leaned close. "Nicely done."

  But, up front, Westie was already waving her hand dismissively. "Unnecessary! We don't need the newcomers' DNA! We have enough for a dozen generations." "A dozen generations will pass in time," Rainier said.

  "If we're lucky!" Westie said hotly. "If we're lucky! We can't afford to think three hundred years ahead. This colony needs to worry about improving the next harvest. Unless we do that, we will starve. Even considering bringing eleven more mouths into the colony is foolishness." "Blah, blah, blah," Lyric whispered in Echo's ear. "Borlaug says Westie can think of nothing but her own hunger."

  "She's my master," Echo said in a warning tone.

  "Yes, but she isn't Borlaug's master," Lyric said irritably.

  "No, but still..." Echo said.

  "Still nothing'' Lyric snapped. "J'ou don't have to fear her."

  "I don't fear her," Echo whispered angrily. "But I know she'll make my life miserable if she thinks I insulted her."

  "Would j'ou two shut up?" Mattock asked, leaning over from Echo's other side. "I'm trying to listen."

  "Yeah, shut up," Lyric said, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest. "Borlaug is speaking. I want to hear this." Borlaug was the colony's head technician and Lyric's master. Lyric worshiped him and Echo guessed he was brilliant — if j'ou could ignore his bulbous head and beakish nose.

  "They built that ship, so I say we let them in," Borlaug was saying. "They could help us with the Beasts — open up some of the other environments — then there'd be more food."

  "Where would the water for more crops come from?" Westie challenged him.

  "Maybe they could get the artificial rain system running," Borlaug said.

  "That system hasn't worked since my grandfather was young," Westie said. "The Beasts— j'ou're dreaming."

  "Speculating," Borlaug said with a dignified nod.

  "They're armed," an elder named Ali Kosh said suddenly. "That's what worries me. That and the fact we know nothing of their genetic makeup. They could be violent. They could destroy the habitat we have rather than helping us win space from the beasts."

  "They're bloated," Westie said. "Too much water. Too much food. I doubt they could ever adjust to our life of restraint."

  Lyric leaned toward Echo. "Who is she to talk? I doubt she could adjust to a life of—" "Shh," Echo told her. "Nile," Woody said. "We've heard nothing from j'ou."

  Nile was Lyric's mother. Many colony members went to her for advice. She was known for her quiet wisdom.

  "I fear for our alliance with the Marauders," Nile said softly. "We have no way of knowing how they will react to these newcomers in our midst."

  "That's it," Lyric whispered to Mattock and Echo, sounding proud of her mother's great influence. "The newcomers will die on the surface."

  And so it was. The elders discussed the issue for another 10/60 and then voted unanimously to leave the newcomers on the surface to die.

  As they got up to leave the meeting. Echo's mind drifted to the light-haired newcomer who was always pacing. She was sad they would never meet.

  "It's still early," Mattock said as they strolled away from the meeting. "Want to go to the observation point?"

  "Sure," Lyric agreed.

  Echo placed a hand on her forehead. "I — I think I'll go to bed."

  "Do you feel okay?" Lyric asked immediately.

  "Just tired."

  "Want me to come back with j'ou?"

  "Why? So j'ou can watch me sleep?"

  Echo turned toward the dormitory, not feeling at all tired. She opened the door to the empty dormitory and climbed into bed. Maybe they'll be lucky, she thought as she laid her head on the pillow. Maybe the columns of burning gas will catch them while they're sleeping.

  CHAPTER 6

  "COULD BE GHOSTS, COULO BE FOOD."

  There was no dusk, no nightfall. Weak sunlight continued to push through the haze of ash and provide a uniform gray light. Jobs wished for morning, a time to say "let's start over." Not happening.

  It was so easy to drift. To sit with his back against the wall, thinking sad thoughts and waiting for the end. Some part of Jobs wanted to let go, give up the fight. But Edward.

  Edward was just six. He didn't deserve this. A weird sense of duty gave Jobs the energy to pull himself to his feet and call everyone together near where Billy and Noyze were huddled down. Billy was unchanged; his movements were still jerky. He was still refusing to write. They came reluctantly, bandaged, limping, faces drawn with fear and doubt. 2Face held back, standing a few feet away from the others. Anamull didn't come at all. He was hunkered down a hundred yards away, next to the dead Meanies.

  "Mo'Steel has an idea," Jobs told the assembled group. "We're going to try to modify the dead Meanies' suits and take them out to search for water. I've got to be honest with you: It's a long shot."

  "It's worth a try," Mo'Steel said stoutly.

  "What about Anamull?" Noyze asked, her dark eyes traveling to where the oversized teen stood guard over the Meanies. Anamull was glaring back at them like a rabid dog. "You think he's just going to let you have the suits?"

  Jobs shrugged, even though he felt quite nervous about facing Anamull. "We're going to talk to him. Find out what he has to say."

  "I'm going to continue to look for food in the rubble," Olga spoke up. "It's probably pointless but if anyone wants to help me —"

  "I will," 2Face said.

  Olga hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Thanks."

  Jobs gave Violet an uneasy smile. "Violet, I thought you might want to stay here in case Mother returns."

  "Yes, I would," Violet said.

  "I'll stay with her," D-Caf said automatically.

  "Fine," Jobs snapped, unable to hide his irritation with D-Caf and Violet's new friendship.

  "I'd like to stay here, too," Noyze said. "In case something changes with Billy."

  "Of course." Jobs looked at Billy's hunched form with great sympathy. Billy had saved their lives many times. Jobs hoped he wasn't blaming himself for his failure now. Maybe he just missed Mother, missed that weird connection. . .

  The group started to break up. Jobs beckoned Roger Dodger and Edward over to him. "I have a special job for you guys," he said quietly. "It may be very dangerous or it may be totally pointless...."

  "What is it?" Edward asked eagerly.

  "Well..." Jobs hesitated and then plunged ahead. "I keep hearing — something!' The two younger boys were listening to him earnestly and Jobs suddenly felt like a total fool. "It's probably nothing — could be the wind chasing something around but —"

  "Tell us," Roger Dodger said impatiently.

  "Okay, this sounds stupid, but I keep thinking I see — or sense — some sort of rats or mice scurrying around just out of view. I haven't actually seen them. But something is moving out there."

  "Could be ghosts," Edward said matter-of-factly.

  Jobs didn't answer. In this planet-sized graveyard with the wind howling, he couldn't really blame Edward for believing in ghosts. Some part of him felt he should object, that he should reassure his little brother, but he just couldn't do it.

  "Could be ghosts, could be food" Roger Dodger said with a wriggle of his eyebrows. "We'll find a secluded spot, and wait for whatever it is. Come on, Edward. This is a perfect job for the Chameleon."

  The two boys started off, talking excitedly about' their assignment. Jobs sighed and went to find Mo'Steel.

  Anamull watched Jobs and Mo'Steel moving toward him across the ash plain, bouncing slightly with each step. Earlier, when they were just here exploring, before that jerk Yago deserted them, Jobs'd said Earth's gravity was lower now. Something to do with the Rock. Whatever.

  But he'd done it, and now there were only two things of value in this place: food and water.

  And, gross as it was, the dead Meanies were food. Before long, they'd all be down on their hands and knees begging him for it. Anamull couldn't wait. Couldn't wait to see them beg. Especially 2Face.

  Jobs and Mo'Steel had reached him now. "Hi, Anamull."

  Jobs sounded nervous and Anamull couldn't help but grin. This was it. The begging was about to begin. For starters, he wanted to make Mo'Steel and Jobs build him a fire. Anamull ran his fingers over the boomerang hanging from his belt as a sort of subtle threat, and then asked, "What?"

  "We've come to get the Meanies' suits," Mo'Steel answered coolly. "We're going to take them out to look for water."

  Anamull's grin faded. This wasn't what he was expecting. For one thing, Mo'Steel hadn't mentioned eating the Meanies. For another, they hadn't asked his permission.

  Jobs knelt and began feeling along one of the Meanie's metallic suits for the seam that would open it. He found it and split the suit open, revealing the Meanie's rubbery brown flesh. Mo'Steel bent to help Jobs. They pulled the suit free and dumped the soft, wrinkled Meanie into the ash.

  Anamull frowned, surprised the Meanie was so puny. Suddenly, his prize didn't seem so impressive. He liked the Meanies better with their suits on. But Jobs and Mo'Steel had already turned to the second one and were pulling his suit free, too.

  "Don't forget who got the suits for you," Anamull said angrily.

  Jobs raised his head and frowned sternly-at Anamull. "We haven't forgotten."

  "Maybe you should pay some respect," Anamull said threateningly. "Ask my permission before you take the suits."

  Mo'Steel and Jobs exchanged doubtful looks and didn't reply. They stood up, each holding one suit. Anamull considered his options.

  He didn't want to go off looking for water He wanted to hang out and wait for 2Face to crawl over and beg his forgiveness. Might as well let these boy scouts do the heavy lifting. He relaxed and gave Jobs and Mo'Steel a slow smile. "Good luck," he said slowly. "And don't forget — it's better to give than to receive."

  "That went well," Mo'Steel said with amusement. "Yeah," Jobs said dryly. The two of them were dragging the Meanies' suits across the ash plain toward the brick ruins where they planned to work. Jobs was thinking about the tools they had available — spades, shovels, a couple of boomerangs. Tools for digging, weapons. No screwdrivers, pliers, hammers, scissors. Nothing really — except for their own hands. Good thing for the opposable thumb. Jobs thought wryly. It's the only thing we've got.

  "Let's rest a minute," Jobs said. In spite of their sleek appearance, the suits were surprisingly heavy and Jobs felt frail and frightened of hurting or stressing his body in this hostile environment.

 

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