"You aren't using it enough," Stafford told him.

"There, sir, we differ," Colonel Sinapis said.

"Yes. We do," Stafford agreed grimly. Levity hadn't reached the somber officer. Maybe bluntness would. "See here, Colonel: do you want the United States of Atlantis to fall to pieces before your eyes?"

He was appalled when Sinapis obviously gave the question serious consideration. And he was even more appalled when the army commander shrugged his rather narrow shoulders. "Meaning no disrespect, your Excellency," Sinapis said, "but you will please believe me when I tell you I have seen far worse things."

Stafford almost asked him what could be worse than a republic-a republic often called the hope of both Europe and Terranova-dissolving into chaos. Only one thing made him hesitate. He feared Balthasar Sinapis would tell him. Instead, then, he tried a different road: "Let me put that another way, Colonel. Do you want to take the blame when the United States of Atlantis fall to pieces before your eyes?"

"And why should I?" Sinapis rumbled. "When these things happen, there is usually plenty of blame to go around."

He was a cool customer, all right. Well, Stafford had already discovered that, to his own discomfiture. "Why? I'll tell you why, Colonel. Because if this army does not put down the insurrection in a hurry, it's liable to be recalled. If it is, the southern states will go on fighting the war on their own, even if that means leaving the USA. That is what it will mean, too. Plenty of blame to go around, yes. But a lot of it will stick to you."

He waited. He'd told the truth as he saw it. How much that meant to Colonel Sinapis, or whether it meant anything at all to him… he'd just have to see. He'd got Sinapis' attention, anyhow. The officer stroked his mustache. He'd done something that made Europe too warm for him. Stafford still didn't know what it was, but it must have been something juicy. If Sinapis got another big blot on his escutcheon, who would hire him after he left Atlantis? The Chinese, maybe? Maybe. Stafford didn't think even the most raggedy principality in southern Terranova would take the chance.

After a long, long pause, Sinapis said, "You have an unpleasant way of making your points."

"I tried a pleasant way, Colonel. You took no notice of it," Stafford answered.

Sinapis muttered to himself. Stafford didn't think it was in English. That might have been-probably was-just as well. What Stafford didn't understand, he didn't have to respond to. Another pause followed. Then the colonel returned to a language the Consul could follow: "What do you want me to do?"

Now we're getting somewhere. Stafford didn't say it out loud. If he had, he would have lost his man. Sinapis' pride was even touchier than that of a grandee from the state of Gernika. All the Consul said was, "This is what I've got in mind…"

Rifle muskets cracked. Cannon thundered. Lorenzo's mouth twisted into a frown. "Damned white devils are getting pushy," he said.

"They are," Frederick Radcliff agreed. "How do we make them sorry for it?"

Now the copperskin smiled, and broadly. "You do know the questions to ask."

"I'm counting on you to know the answers I need," Frederick said. "If you don't, we've got trouble."

"I'll talk to people who know the ground, see what we can do," Lorenzo said. "Depends on what they tell me. And it depends on how pushy the soldiers are getting. If it's only some, chances are they'll give us more to worry about than they have been. But if they've decided they don't have to worry about us any more-"

"If that's what they've decided, it's up to us to show 'em how big a mistake they've made," Frederick said.

"There you go." Lorenzo smiled again. His lips were as thin as a white man's, which made this expression seem uncommonly cruel to Frederick. Lorenzo went on, "I reckon they're jumpy, all right. They think they've got to squash us today, this minute. The longer the war goes on, the more they figure they're losing."

He didn't say that the whites really were losing. That wasn't obvious. But if they thought they were losing, they might as well have been. Persuading them that they couldn't put down the insurrection was a big part, maybe the biggest part, of what Frederick wanted to do. It had worked for his grandfather against the English. How sweet if it worked for him now against the Atlanteans-against his grandfather's white relations.

Victor Radcliff hadn't had any white children who lived. Frederick was his only direct descendant. A piece of property, he thought. That's all I am to the whites. Had his grandmother been white, even if she weren't Victor Radcliff's wife… Frederick sighed. He'd already been over that ground too many times in his mind.

A runner came back from the insurrectionists' picket line. A white soldier would have saluted before reporting. This Negro didn't bother. "White folks is bangin' away like nobody's business," he said. "Cannons blowin' holes in our line, soldiers comin' right on through 'em once they's blown. Either we needs more muskets down where the fightin's at or we needs to git outa there."

Frederick and Lorenzo looked at each other. Slowly, Lorenzo said, "We keep pullin' back, we lure 'em on, get 'em to a place where we can really hurt 'em."

"Or maybe that's what they're after," Frederick responded, worry in his voice. "They're trying to get us to a place where they can really put the screws to us."

"Well, sure they are." Lorenzo sounded amused, which struck Frederick as taking optimism to an extreme. The copperskin went on, "We got to do it to them and not let them do it to us."

"So what are we supposed to do down there?" the messenger asked. "You want we should fall back?"

"Yes. Fall back." Frederick hoped that was the right answer. If it wasn't, he'd just hurt his own side.

He'd been thinking about the differences between men and women. His male fighters followed the orders he and Lorenzo gave without much backtalk. The women who'd taken up arms against the white soldiers almost mutinied. "We want to kill them fuckers!" a copperskinned woman cried. "After what they done to us, we want to shoot their balls off!"

"Or cut 'em off!" a black woman added. The other women with rifle muskets and pistols shrilled furious agreement.

"We're gonna do that. Honest to God, we are." Frederick realized he sounded as if he was pleading. Then he realized he was pleading. He went right on doing it, too: "We've got to find a better spot, that's all. We've got to find a spot where we can punch a hole in them, not the other way around like they're doin' here. We can whip 'em. We will. This here just isn't the right place."

"You better be right," the copperskinned woman warned. "Yeah, you better be, else we gonna shoot your balls off." Again, her comrades ululated to show they were with her.

"I ain't worried about that," Frederick said.

"How come?" some of the women demanded, while others asked, "Why not?"

"On account of if we don't win, the white soldiers'll string me up, and Lorenzo here with me," Frederick answered. "Whatever happens to me after that, I ain't gonna care about it one way or the other."

"That's just it," said the Negro woman who'd complained before. "They catch you, they kill you, and then it's over. They catch us, our bad time's just startin'." The other women nodded.

But, after they'd had their say, they fell back with the men. "Hey, that was fun, wasn't it?" Lorenzo said. "Now I remember how come I never wanted to be Tribune."

"Fun? Matter of fact, no," Frederick said. Lorenzo laughed, not that he'd been joking. He went on, "One more thing I got to do, is all."

He did it. So did Lorenzo: the copperskin extracted the Free Republic of Atlantis' fighters as neatly and almost as painlessly as a dentist could extract a tooth using newfangled ether or chloroform. But the soldiers kept pushing after them, showing determination Frederick hadn't seen from them before.