"Cortez conquered Indians with Indians," she said. "He could do it because he came from a more… advanced military an' political tradition. Weapons didn't-won't- wouldn't have-mattered much. They outthought the locals as much as they outfought them."

"I see what you mean," Ian said thoughtfully. "That was Machiavelli's home century, near enough. Montezuma spent his time worrying about whether Cortez was the Feathered Serpent come back again, while good old Hernan was analyzing how the Mexica hegemony worked and taking it apart. We could probably learn the languages, find out who's enemy to who, and-"

"Exactly," Alston said. "We've got more of a technical edge than the Spaniards did, too. The only thing Cortez had that I envy was experienced troops to start with. Ours are green, 'specially at this hand-to-hand style of fightin'. That's the only thing that worries me, and that not much."

Doreen looked alarmed, and sounded it. "Surely you're not thinking of conquering this country!"

Alston showed her teeth. "What, live here in this rotting sauna, and get stuck rulin' these lunatics? I'd rather juggle live squid in a laundromat. Thought you knew me better than to think that's what I want, Doreen."

The fire had died down; many of the others were out, and the huts filled with sleep. Not to mention snores, Ian thought. He'd noticed that the young needed sleep less and got it more easily.

"What do you want, if you don't mind me asking?" he said, curious. As soon as the words were out he half wished them back. On the other hand, curiosity was one itch he'd never been able to resist scratching, and he doubted he ever would.

"Want?" She shrugged. "What does anyone want? A job doing something important, and doing it well, and enjoying doing it. To have good friends, and deserve them. Love too, of course." Her smile grew gentle. "Can't complain on any of those counts, now."

Doreen's hand sought Ian's. "Things must have been, um, difficult for you, before the Event."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that," Alston said judiciously. "Unless you'd call havin' any chance of a decent personal life destroyed by lying politicians who pander to the bigotry of a bunch of dimwit redneck peckerwood jackasses 'difficult.' Difficult." She snorted. "Thus do we protect our sacred family values."

"Sorry."

"Oh, no problem." She rose, and grinned again. "Got nothin' to complain about now that I'm making the rules… although they give you privileges I don't get, you lucky civilians, you."

After their goodbyes the two looked at each other. "She's right, you know," Ian said, straight-faced. "It would be unfriendly and ungrateful not to."

Still holding hands, they went into the hut. And besides, Ian thought, tomorrow we may die. Quite literally.

"What would you have done if they were all dead?" Swindapa asked.

The alien night pressed down around her; despite the heat she shivered slightly. They were sitting at the edge of the earthen platform, looking down at the village. Out on the water two more lights went like stars and glittered in the river, where boats guarded against surprise. Trees cut off the horizon on every hand, black against the frosted multitude of stars. Those glimmered in the water, bright and many. Even the smells of water and earth were different, strange in a way that the Island was not, scents like spoiled bread and yeast and brewing beer. She looked up. Moon Woman's home floated huge and yellow near the horizon, casting a soul-path across the ripples.

All this world is Your daughter, Swindapa thought. So You are always with me. Her hand reached out and touched the captain's. Fingers clenched, infinitely soothing; so much could be allowed, here where none could see. How good it would be to lay arms around each other in comfort! This place was like the things the Sun People believed about Night Ones; like a dream of Barrow Woman, clutching at the souls of the dead.

"I would have turned around and gone back, if they'd all been killed," the captain said, her voice equally soft.

"Not taken revenge?" Swindapa asked.

Almost invisible, the dark head shook. "Not worth the risk of lives," she said. "As long as Martha's alive, yes, we keep goin'."

"Many more may die than one, though, if there's a fight."

A soft chuckle. "That's not the same thing. We don't… abandon our own, not while I'm in charge."

Swindapa nodded. "That's a good law," she said, and sighed.

The fingers tightened on hers. "I know you want to see your home again," the other woman said. "This… we may not be able to, this fall. The storm season is coming."

"I know," Swindapa said, keeping the shiver of longing out of her voice. Her mother, brothers, sisters, uncles. And the Iraiina. They must be put back. "I know. I know you had to do this, too."

The fingers squeezed hers gratefully. She touched them to her cheek. The journey will come when it comes, she thought. There was a rightness to going and returning in the same season. But oh, the time seemed long!

Morning broke hot and fierce, the dawn coming up like thunder out of the jungle to the. east and clouds that piled on the edge of the world, turning their black heights to crimson and burning gold. Alston finished stretching and watched. Mist lay on the river, drawn by the increasing heat. Tendrils of it drifted between the great trees, as twisted as the vines and lianas that laced them together. I really do prefer the temperate zone, she thought.

"We'd better get under way as soon as Toffler reports," she said to Lieutenant Hendriksson; she and Lieutenant Ortiz followed their commander's gaze and nodded. "I don't like the look of those clouds."

The village swarmed with cadets and sailors making ready. The ultralight was drawn up, Toffler overseeing as fuel was pumped into the tanks from cans brought along.

"Full gear today," she went on. "And be ready for-"

Voices broke in, shouting-a group of the perimeter guards were hustling someone along. Not a local; he was dressed in the tattered remains of shorts and T-shirt. He stumbled and jerked as one of the cadets behind him prodded at him with a spearpoint. Alston frowned; then her face relaxed for a moment into carnivore anticipation as she saw the man had only one hand. Hers twitched to take the long hilt of the katana.

Finish the job, she thought. Then, scolding herself: Of course not. We'll take him home, give him a fair trial, and hang him right next to his sister, if we can. Still…

David Lisketter stumbled to a halt before her. He was plastered in mud, his thin face blotched with insect bites that also covered much of his body. The green-yellow eyes were staring behind smeared spectacles. At last they blinked and focused somewhat.

"Captain… Alston," he said.

"David Lisketter," she said. "You are under arrest for robbery, assault with intent to kill, complicity in first-degree murder, and kidnapping. Oh, yes, and high treason, too."

He straightened. "All right," he mumbled. "But Pamela, they've got Pamela, and Ms. Cofflin too. I saw."

"Saw what?"

"Canoes, big double canoes, two of them."

Alston made a motion with her hand. "Get the Arnsteins."

The cadets pushed him into the shade, and someone brought food and water. He wolfed the dry cassava bread and drank in gulping heaves. Ian and Doreen came up and hovered. Lisketter's account of the attack on the Bentley was disjointed; he'd seen only glimpses as he swam downstream and hauled himself out among the trees.

"They wouldn't listen," he said, again and again. "I tried the Mayan words from the dictionary, and I thought they recognized a few-'east,' 'sea,' a few-but they kept talking so fast. And then they grabbed me, grabbed all of us, and they kept pointing to my eyes and shining lights in them and they wouldn't let go. I had to shoot, I had to!"