"As long as they have decent food," Caroline said, turning onto the highway. "You're going to join me, aren't you?"

She heard Sylvia's snort even over the growling engine. "You weren't expecting me to let you go in alone, were you?"

"No, I meant were you going to eat with me," Caroline corrected. "You know: share a meal together?"

"Does this come under that same heading of firsthand knowledge?"

"It comes under the heading of hospitality," Caroline said. "I just want to try to understand you people."

"Why?"

"Because I like Melantha," Caroline told her. "I'd like to be able to appreciate the rest of her people, too."

"And it's hard to appreciate freaks of nature who can climb inside trees?"

"It's hard to appreciate people who kidnap us," Caroline said tiredly, quietly conceding defeat. If Roger did his best to avoid confrontations, Sylvia clearly went out of her way to create them.

For a few minutes the only sounds in the truck were those of the engine and road. "Did Nikolos tell you how many Warriors we have?" Sylvia asked at last.

Caroline searched her memory. "I think he said you had about sixty."

"Did he also tell you we're facing nearly seven hundred Grays?"

Caroline swallowed. "No."

"And unlike us, all of them can pick up hammerguns and fight if they want to," Sylvia said. "Even if we assume a Green Warrior can handle four or five untrained Grays, the odds are still badly against us. I'm not here to be liked, Caroline, by you or anyone else. My job is to do whatever is necessary to give my people their best chance to survive."

"We don't want you destroyed," Caroline said earnestly. "All we want is to find a way to keep Melantha alive."

"So do we all," Sylvia murmured. "Right now, the threat of her Gift is all that keeps the Grays from attacking."

Caroline grimaced. That wasn't what she'd meant at all, and Sylvia knew it.

The grimace turned into a frown. Or did she know it? Was Sylvia so fixated with her job that she was incapable of seeing Melantha or anyone else except in military terms?

She looked sideways at the older woman's profile in the dim glow of the dashboard lights. One of the original refugees, she'd said, which probably put her somewhere in her eighties or nineties. How many of those years been spent out here in the woods, with only a handful of Laborers and fellow Warriors to keep her company? Had she ever married and had a family? Did she have any genuine friends, or only colleagues?

How much of her life had she sacrificed in the name of her Gift?

She turned back to the winding road, an odd sensation prickling across the back of her neck. Ever since this whole thing had started she had felt angry at the Greens, or distrustful of them, or simply flat-out frightened of them. Now, for the first time, she was starting to feel sorry for them.

"There," Sylvia said, pointing at a small lighted sign ahead. "That's the place."

"Right," Caroline said, slowing and turning into the lot. She eyed the two other cars already there as she maneuvered the pickup into a parking space, wondering if having witnesses around would make Sylvia rethink the whole idea.

But Sylvia said nothing as Caroline turned off the engine. They climbed out of the truck, and walked across the lot and into the diner.

Inside, the place was exactly what Caroline had expected: a reasonably modern restaurant disguised as a nostalgic relic of the fifties. A sign said to seat themselves, and Caroline led the way past the other two occupied tables to one of the booths in the back. Sylvia took the far side, the seat that gave her a view of the rest of the diner, as Caroline slipped into the one facing her. The aromas made her empty stomach growl impatiently.

"I presume you read English," Caroline said, pulling a pair of menus from the clip at the end of the table and handing Sylvia one.

"Perfectly," Sylvia said, a little frostily, as she took the menu and opened it. "I've just never been in a restaurant before."

"Really?" Caroline asked. "Not even one of the Green restaurants?"

Sylvia shook her head. "I've only been to the city a few times." She gestured to the menu. "What do you recommend?"

"What did you have at Aleksander's?" Caroline asked, glancing down the menu. "Roger said you were sitting down to eat when he got there."

"I've had lamb, fish, rice, various vegetables, and bread," Sylvia told her. "I suppose I should use this opportunity to extend myself."

"In that case, you should probably go with either a steak, cheeseburger, or fried chicken," Caroline suggested. "Steaks tend to be iffy in places like this—sometimes very good, sometimes really bad.

But either of the other two should be fine."

"What are you having?"

"The cheeseburger and a side salad," Caroline said, closing her menu. "And a chocolate malt."

"Very well," Sylvia said, giving a curt and very military looking nod. "The chicken, then. Where do we go to get the food?"

"The server will bring it," Caroline said. "We just tell her what we want, and she'll go back to the kitchen and tell the cook."

"I see," Sylvia said. "Like eating at someone's homestead, except that there are choices?"

"Something like that," Caroline said. "We pay at the end, too. I'll handle that part."

"Yes," Sylvia murmured. "Will you handle the food requests, as well?"

"Certainly, if you'd like." Caroline half-turned, hoping to catch the waitress's eye.

And froze. At the far end of the diner, strolling in through the doorway, were a pair of state police officers.

Carefully, trying to keep her movements casual, she turned back around. Sylvia was watching her, her jaw tight, a warning glint in her eyes. Caroline gave her a microscopic nod of reassurance in return.

There was the sound of bustling feet behind her. "Evening, ladies," a plump woman in a white apron said cheerfully as she set glasses of water in front of them. "Getting a bit brisk out there, isn't it? Do you need another minute?"

"No, we're ready," Caroline said, opening her menu again and reading off their order as the woman scribbled onto a pad. "—and one chocolate malt," she finished. "Unless you'd like one, too, Mom?" she added, lifting her eyebrows questioningly at Sylvia.

The older woman didn't even twitch. "Yes, I think I would," she said.

Caroline nodded. "Make that two."

"You got it," the waitress said, making one final notation and finishing off with a flourish. "I'll put this in and get started on your malts." With a smile, she bustled off.

" 'Mom'?" Sylvia asked dryly.

"I thought it might make things simpler," Caroline told her, replacing the menus in their clip. "A

woman and her mother out for an evening together are automatically above suspicion."

"I'll take your word for it," Sylvia said. "You know your people better than—"

She broke off, her gaze slicing through the air over Caroline's shoulder. Caroline started to turn around—

"Evening, ladies," an authoritative male voice said. "You two own that red Ford pickup out there?"

Steeling herself, Caroline put on her real estate agent's poker face and finished the turn she'd started.

One of the two state troopers was standing over her, one hand casually on his hip. "Yes," she confirmed. "Is there a problem?"

"I noticed kind of a smell around it on our way in," the cop said. "Are your emissions tests up to date?"

Caroline flashed a look at Sylvia—"Of course they are," the older woman said calmly. "The papers are in the glove box."

"Would you mind showing them to me?" the cop asked.

"Not at all." Sylvia looked at Caroline. "Would you get them for him, please?"

It took Caroline a second to find her voice. "Sure," she managed. Untangling her feet from the table supports, she slid out of the booth. With the cop at her side, she started down the diner toward the door, her mind suddenly spinning at top speed.