"Did you run from…?" I let the question trail off. Some sprays sell the children as soon as they're old enough to work—that's what mine did. If you run from a work–site, the buyers can stop the payments. Sometimes a kid's spray will look for him to bring him back, but usually they don't—the crews hate any spray that sells, and a lot of them are dangerous.

"My spray," she said, saying it all.

I dragged on my cigarette. It made a little red dot in the darkness. I watched, looking for other red dots. Red dots in pairs—the eyes of rats.

It was like I was talking to her and thinking inside my mind at the same time. They used to have a different name for sprays once. Families, they were called. The Book Boys wrote that in blue. Families were supposed to really want kids for themselves — to keep, not to sell. They were supposed to love children. And protect them. But after a while, they all stopped doing that. Or most of them, anyway. That was the Terror. I don't really understand it all. The Book Boys wrote it in blue.

TOO LATE TO WARN

THE FABRIC WAS TORN

FAMILY WAS DEAD—SPRAY WAS BORN

Spray means genetic connection. When people have sex, sometimes a baby comes. The mother and father are not the baby's only spray—sometimes it goes back a long, long way. The Rulers can always tell your spray. From your blood, that's how they tell.

I look down at Fyyah. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing was quiet. It felt good to look at her. If I was there by myself, I would have gone to sleep. Rats can't get into the sleep–tube, not with the visor down. But she had the visor up. I had to keep watch, so nothing would hurt her.

It felt funny, doing that.

I talked to her. Real soft, so it wouldn't wake her up. I told her about the stuff I had to do when I ran off from the work–site. The first two times, they caught me. They know how to hurt you without crippling you. So after they hurt me, I had to go back to work. The last time, I made it. I had to do a lot of things after that. It got easier after a while. And once I found a crew that would have me, once I became a Merchant Boy, I knew they would never get me back into a work–site.

"You didn't have any choice," she said.

"When did you wake up?" I asked her.

"I never went to sleep. I was just…lying here. Feeling safe. I loved that feeling. I didn't go to sleep because I didn't want it to end."

I felt something strange when she said that. Not scary–strange, just…new, I guess.

"We can take turns," Fyyah told me. "Sleeping. You watch me for a while, then wake me up and I'll watch for you, Okay?"

"I'm not sleepy," I told her.

"Me neither. Why are you out here, Hexon? Are you scouting for trade?"

"I'm…looking for someone," I said. "Someone who wants to buy Bad Babies. I caught it off the whisper–stream and I…just wanted to see if it was true."

"It is true," Fyyah said, opening the sleep–tube's zipper so she could sit up. "That's where I'm going."

"How do you know?" I asked her. "Why would anyone want to—?"

"It's the same crew that takes the babies," she said. "It has to be. You know about them too, don't you?"

"I thought it was seers," I said. "Stealing the babies to sell."

"No, you can't do that," Fyyah told me. "It's against the Rules. You can only sell babies from your own spray. The Rulers can tell. The crew that's taking the babies, it's taking them to keep."

"The Book Boys didn't —"

"Maybe not yet," she interrupted, "but they will. You'll see."

"Do you know where—?"

"No," she said, "but I know it must be outside the Charted Zone. That's the only place the Rulers don't have sensors."

"It's…rough out there."

"Have you been there before? Deep?"

"Yes. A few times, but…"

"Hexon," she said, "I have to go. I think my little sister is there."

"A sister–for–real? From your own spray?"

"Yes! After I ran, I could still keep watch. My baby sister, Fiona, she's still with them. I knew…as soon as she got old enough, my father would…"

"How old is she?" I asked. I didn't want to hear about what her father would do.

"She is almost Year 4. Next month, in fact."

"Too young to sell to a work–site," I said.

"Yes! That's right. And it was on the Info–Board too. You know where they list kids gone missing? They don't do that if the kid is sold, you know that."

"But if they didn't st her, they might know where she is. Couldn't we—?"

"They're dead," Fyyah said. "Both dead. There's other people dead too. First the children get taken, then, after a while, the people are killed. Some crew is doing it…they must be doing it. Fiona is with them. I know it. And I'm going to find her."

Dancing Girls are all tough. They have to be—when they say "dance," they mean fight. All Dancing Girls carry razors. Some of them work in the Sex Tunnels, but most of them don't work. They steal, mostly. But going outside the Charted Zone takes more than being tough. I know. A few of the Merchant Boys have gone out but not come back. Me, I've come back every time. So far.

"I'll help you find her," I said.

She held my hand after I told her that. It was strange. A Merchant Boy isn't allowed to do anything unless he gets something back. And Dancing Girls, they sometimes trade sex for what they want. But in that dark tunnel, we both knew: I didn't want anything in trade. And she didn't trade sex.

We were out a long time before we found them. They found us, really. The rats were bad, but the dogs were worse. When they charged, I thought it was over. I had my blaster out, a real good one, but I only had four bullets for it. I tried to push Fyyah behind me, but she wouldn't go. She didn't take out her razor either—she kind of squatted dove and held out her hand. The dogs sniffed her. Then they ran around like they were confused. They wouldn't let us go forward, but they didn't hurt us.

We didn't know what to do. Then a kid came. He was about Year 6, I guess—it was hard to tell with all the shadows.

"I want Fiona," Fyyah yelled to him. "I want my sister."

The kid went away. We waited. We knew we were close.

A man came back. A tall, thin man with eyes set real deep in his head. He said something to the dogs and they moved like a gate opening. We walked for a while. The man didn't say anything.

He took us to a cave. A whole bunch of caves, it turned out. There was plenty of light. It was warm and dry. And there must have been a couple of dozen kids there. The oldest was the boy who had come to us first. Some of them were only tiny babies.

The man didn't say anything. Fyyah went to all the children, one by one. "Fiona!" she yelled, scooping up a chubby little girl, hugging the kid to her chest.

Fyyah backed toward me, holding the kid with one arm. She pulled her razor free, crouching. I took out my blaster. "We're going," Fyyah said to the tall, thin man. "Don't try to stop us.

"No!" the kid screamed. "No go!"

"It's okay, baby," Fyyah said. "We're going to take you out of here."

"No! No! No!" the little girl screamed, waving her arms. Nobody moved. Nobody tried to stop us. I turned around, but the way out was blocked by a river of dogs. This time, the gate didn't open.