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Nightfall on August

by Steven Gordon





Part I: Roughing it on August



Chapter 1: The March Across August



	It had been victory, but at a terrible cost. 

	For nearly 20 years the Insects had occupied Alliance planets, 
enslaving the human race. It was only after years of resistance, and 
the return of a rebuilt fleet led by War Admiral Norman North, that 
they were able to finally liberate their homeworlds.

	But their victory had come at a terrible cost. As a parting act 
of spite, the Insects had used some sort of weapon to disrupt all power 
systems on nearly all Alliance worlds. The Queen leading the invasion, 
Zsst herself, came to August, the capital of the Alliance, in a mighty 
Monumental ship, intent not only on disrupting the power on the planet 
but also destroying it utterly with a Monumental superweapon.

	Zsst used an energy dampener to disrupt the power on August, as 
she had on most major Alliance worlds. But then, just as she was about 
to destroy August with the superweapon, the Monumental ship turned 
around, and simply disappeared from known space. No one knew why.

	But the damage Zsst had done was significant enough. Most 
Alliance worlds were without power. That would be a disaster on any 
world. 

	On August, it was worse than a disaster.

	Imagine a city so large that it spanned an entire continent, and 
you imagine August. Everything from transportation to food to medicine 
to industry relied on power. Even at the height of the Insect 
occupation the generators kept running, supplying the resistance with 
the power they needed to run their underground electrofarms. There were 
some conventional farms on the periphery of the continent, but they 
only produced a small fraction of the food needed to support the 
population.

	And now, suddenly, the lights went out. Everything stopped 
working. The power generators cut out. The hot lamps which powered the 
underground farms cut out. The entire planet was cut off, surrounded by 
a sparkling field of particles that prevented any ship from safely 
landing, that even prevented communications from coming in and out. 
August was one, big, prehistoric prison, and everyone on the planet was 
trapped there.



	The power to all electrical devices had been cut off right after 
the energy suppression field hit. Unfortunately, one of those 
"electrical devices" was a small fighter, just in the process of taking 
off, when power was lost.

	The wreckage from the long range Trobadore B two seater fighter 
littered the street, burning everywhere. A bloody hand reached up 
unsteadily to push some of the debris away.

	A person attached to the hand struggled to free himself from the 
debris as well as the parachute attached to the chair ejection 
mechanism. The figure stood up, revealing the equally bloody but grim 
face of Clifford Croft, resistance leader and super spy, one of the 
Agency's Eight.

	Croft wiped the blood off his forehead as he looked around. He 
felt fuzzy and lightheaded. It must be the concussion, he thought 
dimly.

	Croft tried to look around, but despite the small fires burning 
around him a glittering haze was filling the air, preventing him from 
seeing more than a few feet in any direction. Had his vision been 
impaired?

	Croft felt unsteady, like he had trouble standing; he fell back 
to the ground, and tried to cut through the buzz in his head and 
concentrate.

	He had been in the backseat of the Trobadore B. The pilot had 
tried to eject, but when power was lost, the automatic eject system 
went out with it. His last memory was of the pilot pulling the manual 
eject lever....

	Aeronautical engineers knew, of course, that pilots would have to 
eject under a variety of circumstances, including when they had lost 
power, and had provided a manual release mechanism. But the extra 
seconds that the pilot had taken to move from the automatic to the 
manual ejection button had nearly been fatal.

	Perhaps fatal, for the pilot. Croft and the pilot of the 
Trobadore had ejected separately. He tried to look around, to see if he 
could see any signs of the pilot.  But that dim, glittering haze was 
blocking his vision. Croft felt the painful spot on his head. Had he 
suffered brain damage that injured his vision?

	Croft stiffened as he heard crackling sounds, as if someone was 
moving through the wreckage. Could it be the pilot? No, not from the 
sound of it, unless the pilot brought several friends with him.

	He was reaching for his blaster when he slumped over and blacked 
out.



	Croft slowly awoke to find himself lying on a table in an 
underground room. The room was illuminated by a small flame driven 
torch on the wall. The room was covered in that sparkling mist, making 
it difficult to see. Croft closed his eyes hard, and reopened them. He 
saw people moving in the mist. Croft groaned, and started to sit up. 
His head was throbbing, and he felt a sharp pain in his side.

	Someone came over to him out of the mist. "You're very lucky," 
said the figure.

	"I'm not so sure," said Croft, guessing that this must be a 
member of the resistance. He felt his body. It was painful on his right 
side and right leg, like he had twisted something, but at least nothing 
seemed broken. Maybe he was lucky. He tried looking around, but his 
vision was still blurry. "There's something wrong with my vision," he 
said.

	"If you mean the mist, there's nothing wrong," said the man. "At 
least, not with your vision. It's from that bug weapon they used on 
us."

	Bug weapon.

	It all came back to Croft. The Insects had used some kind of 
weapon to dampen power on the entire planet. That's what the sparkling 
particles were.

	"What about the pilot?" said Croft, standing up painfully. He 
checked his blaster; it was still in its holster. Good. Or was that now 
irrelevant?

	"There was no sign of him," said the man.

	Another shape moved in the blur.

	"He's conscious, sir," said the man.

	"Thank you, Corporal, you're dismissed," said the second man. He 
turned to Croft, stared at his face, and look startled. He said, "I 
think I recognize you, from the broadcast at the victory celebration. 
Could you really be..."

	Croft looked up expectantly.

	"Clifford Croft?" said the man.

	"In the flesh," said Croft, groaning as he felt a pain in his 
back. "Barely. What's the situation?"

	"Lieutenant Pomiter, sir, resistance group 7-2," said the 
officer, saluting. "All power has been cut."

	"Planetwide?" said Croft.

	"There's no way to tell," said Pomiter. "We don't have power for 
the comm system. The situation is already starting to get chaotic on 
the surface."

	"I can imagine," said Croft. He considered the possibilities. 
"The fleet must know what's happened to us... if the fleet survived."

	"Can we count on their help, sir?" Pomiter asked.

	"It depends how high in the atmosphere this disturbance goes," 
said Croft. "My guess is that we'll have to rely on ourselves, for the 
time being. "

	"Yes sir," said Pomiter. "We're cut off from other resistance 
groups, except those closest to us. Our most immediate problem is the 
food situation."

	"The food situation?"

	"The power cut out to the heat lamps for our underground farms.."

	Croft immediately understood the implications. Without light, the 
farms would die. "Can you move the farms to the surface?"

	"Even if we could, there's no light out there."

	"No light?" said Croft, stunned.

	"Sir, you crashed in broad daylight, two hours ago, but right now 
there's only a dim light outside. Most of it is being jammed by those 
particles," said Pomiter.

	"I think we're in trouble," said Croft.



	They took stock of their situation. There had been nearly 50 men 
under Lieutenant Pomiter's command; but after the victory celebration, 
many had dispersed or gone their own separate ways; only 32 remained. 
There was enough stored food to feed those 32 for perhaps fifteen days. 
And there was no way to grow any additional food.

	"Show me a map," said Croft automatically.

	"I can't, sir," said Pomiter, pointing to the holodisplay. "No 
power."

	"Then draw me one," Croft snarled.

	"Sir, I can't draw an exact map-"

	"A general map of our location on August will do," said Croft.

	It took several minutes for Pomiter to find a writing implement. 
He drew a rough map of August, and their location.

	From Pomiter's drawing, it appeared that they were a bit east of  
the center of the western continent, Concord.

	Croft stared at the picture and hmm'ed to himself for a moment. 
"How long would you estimate it would take us to get to Sarney?"

	"Sarney, on the east coast?" said Pomiter.

	"Is there any other Sarney Sarittenden?" said Croft.

	"On foot?" said Pomiter. He frowned, concentrating. "I don't 
know. Maybe 25 or 30 days.."

	"Then that's where we have to go."

	"Sir, we don't have enough food to get there," said Pomiter.

	"If we have enough food for fifteen days, we'll make it if we go 
on half rations, if we cover, oh, maybe 20 miles a day," Croft figured.

	"Half rations? How can we march 20 miles a day on half rations?" 

	"We don't have much choice," said Croft grimly.

	"What can we hope to accomplish even if we get to Sarney?" said 
Pomiter. "Is there any food stored there?"

	"No more than anywhere else," said Croft grimly. "But that's just 
a stone's throw from Aridor."

	"Aridor?"

	"Think, Pomiter. What's just about the only place on this planet 
where vegetation is growing naturally?"

	"The eastern continent," said Pomiter. "But we can't eat 
vegetation."

	"We most certainly can, if it's a choice between that and 
starvation," said Croft. "And I see no alternative by staying here. We 
can't eat technosteel buildings. It's either go for Aridor, or stay 
here and starve."

	"Sir, shouldn't we think about this?"

	"Every minute we spend thinking about this is one more minute we 
give hunger to build, one less minute that we spend getting to Aridor," 
said Croft. "And each minute that passes the chaos on the surface will 
only increase. How long do you think it will be before wild gangs kill 
anything that moves on the surface, hoping to get a scrap of food?"

	"We're disciplined soldiers, sir," said Pomiter. "We'll get you 
to Sarney."

	"That's great," said Croft. "But discipline won't be enough." In 
a swift motion he drew his blaster and fired at the opposite wall. 
Nothing. "How will we even be able to defend ourselves?"



	The troopers gathered up their remaining food and a few blankets 
and were ready to go an hour later, which was fifty minutes too long 
for Croft's tastes. To Croft's satisfaction, Pomiter set up the column 
in a staggered formation, designating advance scouts to go ahead of the 
main force. Perhaps this Pomiter was actually competent.

	It was broad daylight outside but the particles were so thick 
that they blotted out the light. They could barely see where they were 
going. And yet, these sparkly particles couldn't be touched, or felt. 
Only seen. What exactly had the bugs hit them with?

	They marched with only two short breaks until nightfall, when 
travel was impossible. As they rested in an abandoned lobby, Croft 
groaned as he lay down. The throbbing in his head had subsided, but the 
pain in his leg had increased. He gingerly felt his leg. It was sore, 
but it functioned. That was good. A broken leg could be a death 
sentence right now.

	It was pitch black outside. With the power out and the particles 
blotting out the light of the stars, nothing could be seen.

	The morning came dimly. When it was bright enough to see a few 
feet ahead, they started marching again. The particles were so thick 
that psychologically it made them feel like they had trouble breathing, 
even though they couldn't actually feel the particles. Well, some of 
them claimed they could feel the particles, that it made their hair 
stand on end. Croft didn't speculate, but just kept walking.

	From time to time they encountered other people, scavengers. A 
few stopped to beg for food, but they had none to spare. Croft's 
stomach rumbled most of the time after the two short meals they 
permitted themselves. Existing on half-rations were bad enough; but 
existing on half rations while marching miles every day was even worse.

	And Croft knew there was no way they were covering 20 miles a 
day. They would undoubtedly run out of food before they reached Aridor. 
Once the food was gone it would be a race against time to get over to 
the Eastern continent before they starved to death.

	Well, at least they were going in the right general direction, 
east. Croft hoped that once they got close to Sarney he would recognize 
landmarks that would enable him to plot a more direct route. They had 
many opportunities to climb up tall buildings to check for landmarks, 
but none of the troopers, Croft included, had the energy to climb after 
marching for miles every day.

	The pain in Croft's right leg gradually faded but was replaced by 
another kind of wearying pain in both legs.



	"I wonder how far we've come," said Pomiter, on the seventh 
night. He was sitting near Croft in the darkness, though neither could 
see the other.

	"It's hard to say," said Croft slowly. "My guess is that we're 
doing about 15 miles a day."

	"A third of our food is gone already, even at half rations," said 
Pomiter. "Do you think we're going to make it?"

	"I think we don't have much choice," said Croft grimly.

	"I feel exhausted," said Pomiter. "I wonder if there's something 
in this mist that's killing us."

	"I think that's just fatigue," said Croft. "This mist only seems 
to have knocked out the power."

	"How do you know?" Pomiter asked.

	"I don't," said Croft. "But we just have to continue on and hope 
for the best."

	The trouble didn't really start until the eighth day out.

	They were marching on the morning of the eighth day, and they 
were so weary that they nearly didn't see it coming. The mist also 
didn't help. It was thick, not enabling them to see more than a few 
feet ahead. Croft, though, thought that the mist was starting to thin a 
bit--or was it his imagination?

	He was still considering this when suddenly a gang of scavengers 
appeared, blocking the way forward; and then, turning around, Croft saw 
their exit blocked as well.

	"Just give us your food and none of you will get hurt," said 
their leader, holding a metal pipe.

	Croft said nothing as the leader took a step towards Croft. The 
scavenger took Croft's silence for fear. "Let's have it," said the 
bandit.

	"Whatever you say," said Croft, stepping forward swiftly despite 
the pain in his legs. 

	The ruffian swung at him but Croft was already spinning to the 
side, and chopped down hard on the ruffian's neck. He dropped to the 
ground like a sack of potatoes.

	In an instant, the other scavengers fled.

	"All right, everybody, pick up a stick," said Croft, picking up 
the pipe. He swung it experimentally. It was a bit short but would do.

	"A stick?" said one of the men.

	"A club, a stick, anything long and hard," said Croft. "We're 
going back to the stone age, gang."





	After that they had several more run-in's with gangs, and each 
time they had to fight harder and harder to get through them. It was as 
if the word had spread that Croft and his team had food, and everyone, 
desperate to survive, was coming after them. They faced an increasing 
number of bruising conflicts.

	It was with a wary eye, then, on the tenth day, that Croft eyed a 
single scavenger in the street ahead of them. The lone scavenger didn't 
seem frightened, as loners often did; he just stood there, and stared 
at Croft and his men.

	"Do you think it's a trap?" Pomiter asked.

	"Quite possibly," said Croft. "Let's switch to another street."

	They crisscrossed through several short avenues before setting 
out on a parallel street a few blocks down.

	But standing there, waiting for them, was the scavenger.

	At least, it looked like the same one.

	"All right," said Croft, motioning with his hands for the platoon 
to assume a classic box position. "Be ready for anything, men."

	They gripped their weapons more tightly, as if expecting a trap. 
But as they got closer, the man said, "Hi there," in a friendly tone.

	This only made Croft more suspicious. They were on a ruined 
planet, in the middle of nowhere, and all of a sudden a friendly person 
pops up.

	Croft stopped several feet away from the person, but in the mist 
had trouble making out the man's face.

	"What do you want?" said Croft, getting to the point. He held his 
metal pipe in his right hand, looking left and right for the ambush.

	"I recognize that voice," said the man. "What are the odds of 
that?"

	And then Croft recognized not so much the other man's voice, but 
something about what he said about odds.

	The man slowly stepped forward out of the gloom, his arms at his 
side, so Croft and the others could see him.

	"Well well well," said Clifford Croft. "Yosemite Catchbill. What 
are the odds of meeting you here?"

	"I was asking myself the same thing," said Catchbill.

	Yosemite Catchbill was one of the most renown con-men and crooked 
gamblers in the Alliance. Somehow he had always managed to avoid going 
to prison, perhaps because he on occasion provided valuable 
intelligence to the Agency. He and Croft had had occasional encounters 
in the past. But that didn't mean that Croft liked him.	

	"Actually, the odds are higher than you think," said Catchbill. 

	Croft raised an eyebrow.

	"Before you were on the main thoroughfare to the east coast. I 
figured that someone important like yourself who was stranded out west 
would be heading to the coast, maybe even making for Sarney." He looked 
at Croft's face for clues to how close his guesses were, but Croft was 
impassive.

	"If you wanted to go to Sarney, why not just go?" said Croft.

	"There's the ah, security situation," said Catchbill. "The 
streets aren't very safe right now."

	"And now the real reason?" Croft asked.

	"Well, I figured a powerful delegation like yours might have a 
few scraps of food for a hungry refugee-"

	"Forget it," said Croft. He signaled Pomiter; the column started 
moving again.

	"Wait!" said Catchbill. "At least let me go with you!"

	Croft turned to Catchbill. "We're no less than 3 weeks out of 
Sarney. There's no guarantee we'll find food when we get there." He 
left the knowledge of their final destination, Aridor, a secret for 
now. "We don't have enough food for ourselves, much less you. How will 
you survive that long?"

	"I have food too!" said Catchbill, whirling around to reveal a 
backpack.	

	"Enough for three weeks?"

	"Well... I can make it last," said Catchbill. 

	Croft looked hard at Catchbill. Finally, he nodded. "All right. 
But if I catch you stealing a crumb of food, I'll shoot you."

	"With what?" said Catchbill. 

	"All right, I'll club you," Croft sighed. It was going to be one 
of those days.

	Catchbill proved to be of some limited help, pointing out 
relatively safer routes away from the local gangs. But after a days 
march he too found himself in unfamiliar territory and was just another 
mouth.

	And what a mouth he was! He was constantly trying to gamble with 
some of Pomiter's men to try to win their rations. Croft rapidly put a 
stop to that, tapping suggestively with his metal pipe as he caught 
Catchbill's eye.

	They continued marching. The mist definitely seemed to be getting 
lighter; whereas before they could only see two or three feet ahead in 
the mist, now they could see five or six feet in the distance. It 
didn't make much of a difference, but it was some improvement.

	They had several more encounters with gangs, and in one 
particularly fierce battle they actually lost one of Pomiter's men, who 
was clubbed to death during a sudden ambush. Then, two days later, they 
lost another man, and another.

	By the 27th day they were down to 25 men, including Pomiter and 
Croft, and they were extremely weary. They needed rest, but they knew 
if they even took one day off that it might make the difference between 
life and death, as their food supplies were almost depleted.

	"We have only two days of food left," said Pomiter, rubbing a 
sore arm. He had zigged to the left when he should have zagged to the 
right and caught a blow to his right arm during a recent gang skirmish.

	"Then we'll have to extend it," Croft said grimly.

	"Extend it? How?"

	"Quarter rations."

	"Quarter rations? How do you expect us to survive on quarter 
rations?" said Pomiter. His raised voice attracted the attention of the 
other soldiers, who looked tired, dirty, and bloodied. So far there 
hadn't been any desertions, though maybe this wasn't surprising given 
the fact that there was nowhere else to go for food. But once the food 
was gone, could Croft keep them together?

	Keeping them together. How ironic. Croft was the classic loner. 
He didn't like sticking to groups, they only slowed him down. But they 
had come this far together. Somehow he felt almost responsible for this 
group.

	"We'll survive because we have to," said Croft grimly. "I think 
we're getting close to Sarney," he lied. "It shouldn't be long now."

	But in fact Croft was worried that he didn't recognize anything 
at all familiar that would indicate they were near Sarney, and it was 
only when they reached the ocean two days later that they understood 
why.

	Suddenly, without warning, they came up on it. The sea. They had 
had to ration water as well, as the power to the planet's plumbing 
system had conked out, but the ocean was a saltwater body. Still, the 
sight of the ocean meant that they must be close to Sarney Sarittenden, 
right?

	Wrong. Nothing looked familiar to Croft. It was only when they 
stopped a solitary scavenger and asked for directions that they 
realized why.

	They had come too far south. Sarney Sarittenden was 30 miles to 
the north.

	30 miles. A few minutes by shuttle, or ground transport. Fresh 
troops could march that distance in a day and a half.

	Croft's troops were so exhausted and starved that they could 
barely do 10 miles a day. Even on quarter rations they only had enough 
food for two more days. Croft did the math in his head.

	"Good news, troops," he said mirthlessly. "Sarney is only a two 
or three day march north."

	"But we're going to Aridor," said one of the troops. "Why don't 
we just cross the water here?"

	"With what?" said Croft. "We have no transport."

	"We could build a raft," said Pomiter.

	"If I recall correctly the ocean is some 90 miles  or so wide at 
this point," said Croft. "It's narrowest point is at Sarney 
Sarittenden. And if we can locate the entrance to the underground 
tubeway, we won't need a raft at all."



	The next day they continued marching but were so weary that they 
didn't notice a group of scavengers ahead until they were almost on top 
of them.

	But neither did the scavengers, who were busy fanning the flames 
of a small fire. Over the fire was a long spit, and tied to the spit 
was a body. They were planning to cook and eat a person!

	For a moment Croft just blinked, as if he couldn't believe what 
he was seeing. Were they really going to eat human flesh? The 
scavengers turned and stared dully at his group. Maybe they would want 
to eat him too.

	"Hey!" said a voice, and Croft realized it was coming from the 
guy on the spit. They weren't just eating a body, they were going to 
cook a live person!

	"Hey, over there, don't be shy!" said the voice, and Croft could 
see a face now peering at them.

	"Get out of here," one of the scavengers scowled, waving a stick. 
"This isn't your business."

	Croft turned to look at Pomiter, who was already looking at him. 
Each was thinking the same thing.  Croft's men were weary, and low on 
food. Did they even have the energy to fight the scavengers? Even if 
they managed to save the man on the spit, what would they feed him 
with?

	"No," Croft heard himself mumble, not realizing he had made a 
decision. Whatever their condition, whatever the situation, he couldn't 
let an innocent civilian die.

	The scavenger saw the expression in Croft's face, and suddenly he 
realized Croft's intent, almost before Croft himself had. He and his 
companions, nearly 20 in all, closed on Croft. They all had clubs or 
sticks or sharpened weapons.

	"This isn't your fight," said the man. Croft could see that he 
was covered with some sort of mud or dirt, though whether by choice or 
indifference was hard to tell.

	"Hey, don't let him tell you what to do!" said the voice from the 
spit. "What are you, some kind of pushover?"

	Mud face didn't bother looking over at his captive, but only had 
eyes for Croft.

	"You can just walk away," he said in a low voice, slowly circling 
Croft.

	"We outnumber you," said Croft, holding his metal pipe. Mudface 
was holding a long stick, a piece of a pole, maybe. It was longer than 
Croft's pipe, but certainly not as hard.

	The man licked his dirty lips. "You're right," he said. "Let's 
talk about it."

	He lowered his weapon and took a step forward, as if to open a 
dialogue. But as he stepped forward he was raising his weapon, and 
slicing down-

	Except that Croft was no longer standing there. He pivoted hard 
to the right, ignoring the pain in his legs, and parried Mudface's 
stick. There was a sharp crack of plastic against iron, and it broke in 
two.

	Croft looked at Mudface expressionlessly.

	Mudface hissed, and pulled back. His scavengers quickly followed.



	"Oh, you were just great! Really!" said the man tied to the spit. 
"Hey, are you guys going to untie me? Don't forget, now!"

	Croft nodded, and two of Pomiter's men untied the man on the 
spit. He plopped to the ground as soon has the ropes were untied. "Hey, 
easy on the merchandise," he said, rubbing his sore wrists. He looked 
up at Croft and smiled. "Hey, lucky for you I happened to be here," he 
grinned.

	That grin. Something about him looked familiar. Several of the 
men were frowning; they had made a partial recognition too.

	The man got to his feet. "Hey, what're you standing around all 
day for? Aren't we going to get going?"

	"We?" said Croft.

	"Sure," said the man. "Where are we going?"

	"We aren't going anywhere," said Croft.  "Not with you."

	"Not with me?" said the man, looking hurt in a mocked way. "Was 
it something I said?" he grinned again.

	"We don't have enough food for ourselves, much less you," said 
Croft.

	"I've already heard this speech," Catchbill sighed.

	Croft signaled Pomiter, and the column formed up and started 
marching again.

	"Hey, hey, you can't just leave me here to starve!" sad the man. 
"Someone might come and eat me again!"

	That did it. That voice, that tone, that inflection. He turned to 
the man. The face was a bit older, but, sure enough-"Shakey."

	The man burst into a wide smile.

	"You're a fan!"

	"Shakey Walbaum?" said Pomiter.  A murmur rose up among the men.

	"Are you really going to let the world's greatest entertainer 
starve to death?" said Shakey.

	"I'm sorry," said Croft.

	"I'm sorry," said Shakey, imitating Croft's gruff tone. "It's so 
pro-forma. If you're going to leave me to die, can't you even shed a 
few tears, maybe?"

	Croft turned to abruptly face Shakey. "We don't have food to 
share. We're going to run out ourselves before we reach our 
destination." He paused. "But if we make it, there should be food where 
we're going. If it's a choice between certain starvation and coming 
with us, you come with us, there's a chance you could survive."

	"There, now that's a hospitable offer!" said Shakey. "It's a 
deal! But  if I starve to death before we get wherever we're going, 
promise me one thing."

	"What?" said Croft.

	"Only eat me when I'm cooked to well done, I don't taste right 
any other way."

	Several of the troops chuckled, despite themselves.



	Shakey Walbaum had been one of the foremost comedians for 
hundreds of years. His name had been legend not only on August but 
throughout the Alliance. However, the Insects cared nothing for human 
entertainment and Shakey had eeked out a living, if it could be called 
that, scavenging in the no-man's land on the western part of the 
continent. When August was liberated from the Insects he had started 
working his way eastward towards Sarney, to secure transportation off-
planet. But that was before the disaster struck the planet.

	Shakey had actually met Croft before, and, four days later, 
realized this fact. "I know you, don't I?" he said. "Croft. Croft. That 
name sounds familiar. No, maybe I'm thinking of someone else. Wait, I'm 
sure it's you I'm thinking of."

	"It should," said Croft. "I saved your life."

	"You did? When was this?"

	"A number of decades ago."

	"A number of decades years ago? Ha! What have you done for me 
lately?" said Shakey.

	Shakey had inadvertently come into the possession of a data disc 
with information that the Slurians wanted; and Croft had been assigned 
to protect him and find the disc. Croft remembered the incident 
clearly, but the events of the past evidently hadn't made much of an 
impression on Shakey. He was too concerned with his stardom.

	"Do you like to gamble?" Catchbill asked Shakey.

	"He has no food, Catchbill," said Croft.

	"Oh. Never mind," said Catchbill.



	They lay on the ground, in the sunlight, trying to get the energy 
to move further. Croft recognized where they were now, not more than 20 
miles south of Sarney. One more good march would get them there.

	The problem was, they were out of food, and exhausted. They 
should have started marching two hours ago when sunlight appeared, but 
they were still lying there. They would be lucky to cover 7 or 8 miles 
today.

	And once they got to Sarney, they'd have to get down into the 
underground tube to get to Aridor. That would be another 50 mile hike, 
another week.

	How could they survive another nine or ten days without food?

	The answer: they probably couldn't.

	But Croft refused to give in. At least water wasn't as serious a 
problem; while they had to ration it, they had collected rainwater as 
they went along. Maybe they could make it, if they had enough water.

	"What would you say our odds of making it are?" said Catchbill, 
as if he were reading Croft's mind.

	"I have nothing left to bet with," said Croft mirthlessly. "We're 
all out of food." Catchbill had also run out of food two days ago, just 
as they found Shakey, who was also starved. 

	"Clifford Croft, the great Clifford Croft, what happened to you?" 
said Catchbill. "You're the great spy, the great hero who can survive 
in any environment. Then what happens? We get a little invasion for a 
decade or two, we go on a small hike for a few weeks, and you let 
yourself collapse like a sack of type 18 potatoes!"

	"All right," said Croft, slowly and painfully getting up. He 
could no longer ignore the pain in his legs but he could deal with it. 
"Pomiter-" he started to say, stopping when he heard a sound down the 
street.

	And then another, and another.

	Another gang was approaching.

	Pomiter's men quickly got on their feet, and painfully assumed a 
defensive formation.

	This gang outnumbered Croft's men by about 2 to 1. And they 
appeared to be in a much better condition than his troops were.

	The leader was a tall man with sparkling eyes who carried what 
looked like a long blade. He instinctively picked out Croft for a 
leader, and stopped a few feet away from him.

	"The name's Tony," he smiled. "Wild Tony."

	"That's nice," said Croft, struggling not to appear tired. The 
metal bar in his hand was growing heavier by the minute.

	"Got any food?" Wild Tony asked.

	"No," said Croft. "As I was just saying, you're two days too 
late."

	"Really?" said Tony. "You don't mind if we look for ourselves, do 
you?"

	The last thing Croft wanted was Tony's men walking in close 
proximity to his. They could launch a lightning attack and club them 
all.

	"No way," said Croft.

	"That's a shame," Wild Tony said. He looked away for a moment, 
the classic feint for someone who was about to attack. Croft didn't 
wait, but swung with his bar. But Tony was too quick, swinging with his 
sword. The force of the blow was so hard that the bar clanged out of 
Croft's hands to the ground. Wild Tony's grin grew wider as he eyed the 
disarmed and helpless Croft.

	He whistled and his men attacked. Croft couldn't focus on what 
was going on around him as he directed his undivided attention to Wild 
Tony's sword. If he wasn't careful, he was going to get cut in half. 

	Wild Tony swung and Croft ducked to the side; he swung again, and 
Croft ducked again. But Croft was tiring, and Wild Tony knew that.

	So when Wild Tony swung a third time, he wasn't surprised to see 
Croft slip and fall to the ground.

	Only it was no accident; Croft kicked out with his feet, and Wild 
Tony went down in a heap. In an instant Croft was on top of him, 
punching Wild Tony in the face to stun him, grabbing the sword, and 
holding it to his throat.

	"STOP!" Croft yelled at the top of his voice.

	There was a delay, and then Wild Tony's men stopped in their 
tracks as they saw what had happened.

	"If any one of you lifts a weapon, Wild Tony won't be so wild," 
said Croft. "Now get back, get back!"

	Wild Tony's men mumbled, but did nothing.	

	"You tell them," Croft whispered fiercely.

	"I ain't telling them nothing," said Wild Tony. 

	Croft pressed the blade against Wild Tony's neck so hard that he 
broke the skin and a thin line of blood started to seep down his neck. 

	"All right, all right!" said Wild Tony. "Get back, get back, you 
heard him!"

	Wild Tony's troops reluctantly disengaged.

	"Now tell them to march," said Croft. Another prod with the sword 
persuaded Wild Tony to relay the order.

	Wild Tony's men marched to the corner and around it. Presumably, 
that's where they would wait to stage their counterattack. Well, at 
least it would give Croft and his troops something of a head start.

	Croft glared at Wild Tony, as if considering his fate, and then 
released him.

	"You're dead men," Wild Tony spat. 

	"What odds would you place on that?" said Catchbill.

	"Come on," said Croft. They started marching in the opposite 
direction. Wild Tony took off in the direction of his men at a run.

	It wasn't long before Wild Tony's men were pursuing them again. 
Croft wondered if he had been wise to let Tony go. But the sword was 
heavy and he was tired of holding it up. He could barely walk, much 
less escort a captive.

	As they played cat and mouse with Tony's men, Croft came up with 
a sudden conclusion. "We'll have to go underground."

	"Underground?" said Pomiter. "But it's totally dark down there. 
We'll get lost."

	"Hopefully so will Wild Tony's men," said Croft. They entered a 
building and took the stairs down. 

	It was dark. Really dark. Even in the days of the Insect 
Invasion, there had been emergency lighting on many of the wall panels, 
dim as it had been. Now there was nothing. It was pitch black. 

	Croft was first, and he felt his way forward by touch. Grabbing 
his hand from behind was Pomiter, and grabbing his hand was one of his 
men, and so on. It was the only way to avoid getting separated.

	Croft walked down only two levels before feeling his way to an 
empty room. The darkness was eerie--anything could jump out at them 
without warning. Every time his foot kicked a piece of debris, creating 
a clatter, his adrenaline jumped.

	They reached a room by touch which seemed empty. The entire 
platoon, including Shakey and Catchbill, filed in.

	They sat in silence for several minutes.

	"What is this, are we here to see a holofilm?" came Shakey's 
voice.

	"Quiet," Croft hissed.

	It was impossible to tell how long they sat that way. But after a 
time they heard sounds, many sounds, the sounds of movement.

	The sounds were getting louder, and coming in their direction.

	Everyone tensed up. 

	And then, they caught the tiniest reflection of light, coming 
from the hallway. The reflection grew brighter, and Croft could tell 
that it was the light from a flame.

	Croft could tell the troops were restless. "Be absolutely quiet!" 
he hissed.

	The sounds of movement grew louder, and louder, and the light 
from the flame grew brighter, as it partially illuminated the hallway 
outside. 

	"We'll get them... they're down here somewhere...." They heard. 
Everyone tensed for battle.

	The sounds of movement grew still louder, as if they were in the 
room... and then the sounds started to recede. Father and father, until 
they were just a distant sound.

	They had been close, but hadn't even passed by the room that 
Croft and his men had been hiding in.

	Croft snapped his fingers twice, and they started on their trip 
back to the surface.

	It was late afternoon when they emerged, but Croft kept them 
marching until after nightfall. Now besides starvation they had another 
obstacle to overcome--Wild Tony's scavengers.

	The mist was still fainter the following morning, it was 
definitely starting to clear, at least a bit. Oh, the mist was still 
clearly visible, but now one could see several dozen feet in the 
distance. And the light from the sun was still dull, but clearer than 
it had been for weeks.

	They kept up the march, only stopping for a break when they heard 
sounds of movement around them. Croft's legs were in agony, but he 
forced himself forward. If he couldn't keep up, he would die. He had 
long since gotten past the stage of being hungry, but was merely weak 
and feeble. The men were hardly in a better shape. Catchbill looked 
listless, and Shakey, already thin, looked almost skeletal.

	Still they kept pushing themselves, and before the end of the 
next day they found themselves on the outskirts of Sarney. 

	"There it is," Croft whispered hoarsely.

	"Sir, we need to stop," Pomiter rasped. "Several of the men can't 
take another step."

	Croft nodded dumbly. They settled down for the night.

	Pomiter sat next to Croft, some distance from the men, and said, 
"How much farther?"

	"Another mile or two to the underwater transit tube," said Croft. 
"Then another 54 miles underground to Sarney."

	"That's another week," said Pomiter. "Some of the men won't make 
it another day or two without food." He left another thought unspoken, 
that none of them could march for another week without food.

	"I know," said Croft, too tired to say more.

	"Did you ever think it would end like this?" said Pomiter.

	"No, no I didn't," said Croft. "I thought I might die in battle 
against the Insects, on the ground, in the air, in space. But not to 
die of starvation, not like this."

	"The bugs got their revenge," said Pomiter. "I can only hope the 
War Admiral's fleet survived to get ours."

	The War Admiral. Norman North. Throughout all this Croft hadn't 
given any thought to the fleet in space. Had they been immobilized by 
the energy dampeners too? Was the fleet all dead of starvation, or, 
more likely, due to lack of oxygen? There was no way to know.

	All of Croft's friends might already be dead. It wasn't an 
especially cheery thought.



	The next day they stumbled towards central Sarney, close to the 
palace. They were almost on top of a nearby underground entrance that 
would take them to the transit tube station when disaster struck.

	Croft was guiding his weary team into a building to go 
underground when a large number of people emerged from the building. 
Scavengers.

	More scavengers appeared behind them. To their left. To their 
right. There must have been more than 80 of them in all.

	They had walked right into a trap. If Croft had had his wits 
about him, he would've spotted the trap; as it was, he could barely put 
one foot in front of the other. 

	None other than Wild Tony himself emerged from the building, 
grinning widely. He held a familiar sword in his hand.

	"Did you drop something?" Tony grinned.

	Croft had dropped Tony's sword early on when it was obvious that 
he could no longer walk with such a heavy thing. His metal pipe had 
also been discarded in his effort to stay as light as possible.

	"Do you like my men?" said Tony. "You didn't realize that you 
only met up with a small part of my gang, did you?" He walked casually 
towards Croft, grinning widely as he hefted his sword. Tony's men 
started to call out jeeringly.

	For once, Croft's starved brain couldn't come up with a response. 
He just stood there, watching Tony dumbly.

	"What's wrong? You look tired," said Tony, walking to within a 
few feet of Croft. He swung his blade experimentally in the air. Croft 
didn't move. "Haven't eaten in a while?"

	The catcalls grew wilder.

	"Well, you're not much for conversation, are you?" said Wild 
Tony. He raised his blade. "I'll make this quick-" and then, he noticed 
the uncanny smile on Croft's face.

	"What?" he wondered, delaying the blow because of curiosity. 

	Croft spoke for the first time, his voice no more than a hoarse 
whisper. "You're surrounded," he rasped. "Give yourself up."

	Wild Tony laughed, and his men laughed too, a big, hearty laugh. 
And then Wild Tony raised his blade again, there was a scream, and-

	Several platoons of soldiers slammed into Wild Tony's men from 
the rear. The men, wielding unfamiliar poles and sticks, nonetheless 
did very well, driving into the mass of surprised and now fearful 
scavengers.

	Wild Tony stared at the attackers for a moment, as if he was 
totally in a daze. When he turned back Croft was gone, heading for the 
nearest wave of attackers. Tony yelled, "Retreat!" at the top of his 
lungs, and the scavengers pulled back. 

	"This isn't over!" screamed Wild Tony, as he ran back into the 
building he had emerged from.

	When the last of the scavengers had beat a hasty retreat, Croft 
could barely believe his eyes when several platoons formed up around 
him and Pomiter's men.

	"Are you all right?" one of them said, as Croft allowed himself 
the luxury of falling to the ground and collapsing into 
unconsciousness.



	Consciousness returned slowly to Croft.

	"The Sarney Sarittenden garrison," he said slowly, his eyes 
closed.

	"Yes," said a voice.

	Croft opened his eyes, and found himself in a room lit by 
torches. 

	"I'm quite surprised to find you and your people still alive," 
said an officer standing by the cot that Croft was lying on. He 
extended a hand. Croft used it to painfully get himself up.

	Croft looked at the officer with tired eyes.

	"But not so surprised when I learned who was leading them. It's 
an honor to meet you, sir," said the officer, and he actually saluted.

	"You are...?"

	"Oh.  Captain Trigger, in charge of the transition-"

	"Transition?"

	"You're very lucky; if you had come two weeks later, we'd be 
gone."

	"Gone?" 

	"We're being redeployed to the south as soon as our rooftop crops 
come in."

	"Rooftop crops?" Croft felt his mouth water.

	"About 10 days ago conditions improved enough for us to plant 
some 30 day potatoes. We think the mist has cleared enough to permit 
plants to grow again. We're just waiting to harvest them before we move 
south."

	"Food!" said Croft.

	Trigger held out a small plate with a piece of bread. "We're all 
on half-rations until the crops come in, but we can spare-"

	Croft didn't wait, taking the bread into his mouth, and chomping 
quickly. "Water," he rasped.

	Trigger held up a waiting cup.

	In a moment Croft felt at least part of his old self returning.

	"My men?"

	"All alive, though all are suffering from exhaustion and 
borderline starvation," said Trigger. "That's what I have to talk to 
you about."

	Croft looked up at him.

	"We have barely enough on half rations to survive two weeks until 
our crops come in. We don't have enough to feed more than two dozen 
additional men at that rate."

	The implications immediately sunk in. "What can you do for us?" 
said Croft slowly.

	"We can give you all the water you can handle. And if we tighten 
our belts further, we can give you each two days worth of half-
rations," said Trigger. "Lieutenant Pomiter says you're going to 
Aridor.  It's possible, with two days of half-rations, that you might 
make it-"

	"If it's the best you can do I'm thankful," said Croft sincerely. 
"We don't expect you to starve yourselves to feed us."

	"I'm glad you understand," said Trigger, looking immensely 
guilty. "At the very least we'll escort you to the tube station."

	"Is it still intact?"

	"It is at this end," said Trigger. "But with the power out it 
will be very cold down there. We'll provide you with warn clothing and 
torches to help you on your way."

	

	They were escorted to the underground tube station. It was 
looted, like most of August, but the dark tunnel ahead hadn't been 
filled with water, which was a good sign.

	"Eh, together again," said Shakey, looking ridiculous wearing a 
dirty blanket around him. "Guess they can't break up a winning team." 

	He called after the departing soldiers who had escorted him. 
"Hey, thanks for the single piece of bread! Is there any crusts that 
come with that?"

	"Quiet," said Croft. "They're starving too."

	"They look in better shape than we are," said Shakey. He looked 
at the blanket wrapping him. "Or maybe they're just snappier dressers."

	"Ok, we're starting on the last leg of the journey," said Croft. 
"I don't know what conditions are like in Aridor, but once we get 
there, some of the vegetation should be edible."

	"How long can we survive on weeds, sir?" one of the troopers 
asked.

"Captain Trigger also generously provided us with some precious seeds 
for farming. We'll plant thirty day potatoes in the ground the day 
after we get there," said Croft. He heard some grumbling. "Our survival 
won't be pretty, but we will survive. Lieutenant!"

	"Form up!" said Pomiter hoarsely. "Column.... Forward!"

	25 soldiers marched into the tunnel, including Croft, Shakey, and 
Yosemite Catchbill.

	Croft estimated that even at their feeble pace that they would 
get out of the tube within five or six days. He had intended to feed 
the troops their first half ration the first day and save the second 
one for the third or fourth day. But his resolve broke down and they 
consumed all that was left on the second day.

	If indeed it was a day. With no sunlight, they had no idea how 
much time had passed; they could only guess how long they had marched 
and how far.

	"Surely we've been down here for a week already," moaned 
Catchbill.

	"Maybe three days, no longer," said Croft, as he marched quietly 
in the underground tube, holding one of the few remaining torches. To 
conserve the torches they traveled with only one lit at a time; now 
only two were left.

	"This is not my idea of an ocean voyage!" said Shakey, rattling 
his teeth.

	For it was cold. They were traveling in a tube on the ocean 
floor, one that heated track cars usually traversed in ten minutes. The 
route wasn't meant to be walked. 

	And then, on the fourth day (or was it the fifth?) the last torch 
went out, and it went dark. It was pitch black in the tunnel.

	"Well, at least we know we're going the right way," said Shakey. 
"Say, how do we know that we didn't get turned around at some point, 
and that we're not heading back now instead of forward?"

	Pomiter wondered the same thing but was no longer joking about 
it. That "night" during a rest he said to Croft, "We've rested twice 
since we lost the last torch. We should've been out by now. Is there 
any chance we accidentally got turned around and are heading back the 
way we came?"

	He couldn't see the expression on Croft's face, but Croft said, 
"No."

	"Are you sure?" he whispered.

	Croft said slowly, "I didn't survive an Insect invasion for 20 
years to die due to getting lost in an underwater tunnel."

	"But we should've been out by now. And the men can't continue 
much longer."

	It was true. The men were exhausted and starving again, as bad as 
they had been when they arrived at Sarney.

	"We'll make it," Croft rasped.

	But the next "day" when he roused the men, no one got up. "What 
is this?" he said.

	"We're too tired, sir," said one. "We can't go on."

	"So you're just going to lie here, and die?" said Croft. 

	There was no answer in the darkness.

	"Is there anyone who's still got the energy to live?" said Croft.

	There was silence for a moment.

	"Fine," said Croft. "I'll continue on myself. You all stay here, 
and give up."

	He started down the tunnel, then stopped, waiting as he heard 
sounds of movement. Some, at least, were still with him.	

	But hours later he could barely walk and the sounds behind him 
had grown distant. First it sounded like a bunch of soldiers were 
following, then a handful, then one or two, and then the last one had 
dropped off some time ago. They had simply lost the energy to go on.

	But not Croft. He was on his knees now, but he kept going, 
crawling and crawling. His anger was flowing; there was no way he was 
going to die in an underground tunnel simply because he didn't have 
anything to eat.

	His mind stopped registering as he continued to crawl. He didn't 
notice that the tunnel was gently sloping uphill, had been for 
sometime. And then, an undeterminable time later, he felt himself bump 
into something in front of him. He painfully raised an arm. 

	A ladder

	Croft somehow painfully crawled up ladder. When he got to the 
top, he made a supreme effort and pushed himself out of a service hole 
and lay under sunlight for the first time in a week.

	He lay in the sun, unable to move. He turned his head to look at 
the lodge. Levi! If Levi was there, he could bring him food.

	As Croft turned his head his eyes unfocused, and it took a real 
effort to focus them again. His vision wasn't great anymore and the 
mist was still obscuring things. He squinted hard but couldn't see the 
lodge. And then, in a moment of clarity, he saw it, or what remained of 
it.

	Burned to the ground.

	He was all alone here. There was no one who could help him. 

	Croft tried to drag himself to a field of foliage in the 
distance, to anything, anything he could possibly consume, but his 
strength finally gave out, and he collapsed, on a barren dirt road.





Chapter 2: In the Land of Levi



	"Arf! Arf Arf Arf!"

	It was a tinny sound, the kind of sound made by small dogs who 
are consumed with self-importance. Croft thought toy dogs were 
ridiculous, and the sound he heard reminded him of a pompous little 
animal.

	And then something wet touched his nose, and his cheeks, and his 
mouth. It felt like a tongue!

	Could a wild animal be attacking him?

	Croft tried to will himself to open his eyes, but he didn't even 
have the strength for that.

	Then he felt a hand on his wrist, feeling for a pulse. Then he 
felt something at his mouth, a container. Croft opened his mouth and 
swallowed. It was water. He choked as some of it went down the wrong 
way, but the choking action helped him open his eyes.

	He found the very concerned face of Levi Esherkol staring at him. 
Croft tried to speak, but no words came out.

	Levi nodded even though Croft didn't say anything. He put 
something in Croft's mouth that felt like a cracker. Croft chewed, 
swallowed, and then Levi gave him another cracker.

	And then Levi lay Croft's head back on the ground, and Croft fell 
asleep again.

	When Croft woke again he still was on the dirt road outside of 
the underground tube. But around him were bodies he quickly recognized. 
His men.

	"Arf arf!" came a voice.

	Croft turned his head to find a small fox-like dog with large 
whiskers not two inches from his nose.

	"Arf-arf!" said the animal again.

	"Awake, eh?" came a voice.

	Croft sat up, to see the very familiar face of Levi Esherkol. 
Levi was the resident genius on August. He could study a field of 
science and quickly become an expert in it, whether it was robotics, 
computers, genetics, physics, engineering, or anything else. But, 
ironically, all Levi really liked to do was cook. Levi had been 
instrumental in overthrowing the Insects, operating as an undercover 
agent on the Queen's flagship. He had worked his way in to become the 
Queen's personal cook, while playing a dangerous double game of passing 
on information to the resistance. But after the war Levi had 
disappeared. As Croft had correctly guessed, Levi had returned to his 
roots at the lodge, where he used to cook in what he boosted was 
Aridor's best restaurant. It was also its only one.

	"I... you....," said Croft, looking over at the burned remains of 
the lodge.

	"Here, have drink," said Levi, passing him a canteen. As Croft 
drank, Levi said, "Hunger big problem, but exhaustion bigger."

	"My... men."

	"21 others alive. Found three dead in tunnel, mostly exhaustion. 
Led rest here," said Levi.

	Croft numbly pointed to the burned spot where the lodge stood.

	"I blew up," said Levi proudly. 

	Croft looked surprised.

	"Think I learned nothing from Agency?" said Levi. "Knew bugs want 
to take revenge, didn't want them to destroy. So I blow up lodge, 
making them think other bugs did it first."

	"You blew up the lodge so they wouldn't blow up the lodge?" said 
Croft, finding his voice again.

	"Yes. Preserved basement lab," said Levi. "Very clever, no?"

	Croft nodded. He struggled to get to his feet, with Levi's help.

	"Arf arf!" said the little animal.

	"Yes, I know," said Levi.

	"Oh no," said Croft, staring at the small smiling dog. "Not you."

	"Yes, you remember him, eh?" said Levi. "Type 212(b) Pomeranian."

	"Type 212?" said Croft, still feeling light headed.

	Levi's dog was a mutated version of a Pomeranian, type 212(b). 
Levi had genetically engineered him to be smarter than all dogs, even 
smarter than many people.

	"Yes, the genius dog," said Croft saracastically.

	"Genuis dog, yes," said Levi. He whistled, getting the animal's 
attention. "Quick, what is number at eighth decimal place for pi?"

	The dog paused for a split second, then spoke. "Arf, arf, arf 
arf!"

	"Four, very good!" said Levi. "Quick, go home now, tell Mindy 
prepare dinner."

	The dog scampered off.

	Quick. That's right, the dog was named Quick  "I still can't 
believe you named your dog after Steven Quick."

	"Steven Quick smartest person; my Quick smartest dog," said Levi 
smugly.

	"Ah ha," said Croft.

	He saw Lieutenant Pomiter groan and start to get to his feet. So 
did some of the others. Shakey and Catchbill ambled over.

	"You seem surprised to see us," said Shakey. "What's the matter, 
don't you think comedians are as tough as soldiers?"

	"It was a good gamble," said Catchbill. "And it seems to have 
been paid off."

	"Follow, follow," said Levi, waving a hand. 

	They ambled over to the lodge. Levi's wife Mindy was there in a 
clearing just outside the lodge, cooking food over a fire. Croft saw 
vegetables and a small amount of meat. Real meat! Where had that come 
from?

	"Sit down, sit down," Mindy said, indicating rocks around the 
campfire. "Levi, did they wash their hands?"

	"Exhausted, can barely move," said Levi.

	"All right," said Mindy, casting a dark glance at them all. "But 
in the future I  expect you properly groomed for dinner."

	She gave them servings on real plates (how? where had they come 
from?). Croft noticed the portions were small, but it was the biggest 
meal he had had in a month. He ate slowly due to his weakened 
condition, as did the others.

	The others ate silently, grateful to be alive, enjoying not only 
the food but the roaring of the campfire. They had been pushed to the 
point of almost terminal exhaustion; starved, almost frozen in the 
underwater tube, and chased by hostile gangs. And now... they were 
safe. It almost felt unreal, and Croft half expected something to jump 
out of the forest to attack them.

	The forest. The entire continent was untouched, unspoiled. It was 
the compromise that had been reached when Concord, the western 
continent, had been covered with buildings. Aridor, the eastern 
continent, was not to be touched, except for a hotel on the western 
tip, and of course the lodge. What had happened to the hotel? Croft 
asked Levi.

	Levi gave a dismissive wave his hands. "Bugs level, years ago." 
He motioned Croft away from the fire. "Must talk situation."

	Croft nodded, and they took a slow walk at a pace that Croft 
could keep up with.

	"What are we up against, Levi?"

	"Bugs use energy dampening weapon," said Levi.

	"The mist."

	Levi nodded. 

	"But it's clearing up," said Croft.

	Levi shook his head. "Visual part, yes. But harmful part, that 
dampen energy, not effected."

	"How can you tell?"

	"Can test. Can generate tiny amount of energy-"

	"You can???"

	"Yes. With great effort. Generate power, but quickly disappear. 
Happens in microseconds. No change. And not enough time to power 
devices."

	"So how long will this power drain last?" Croft asked.

	Levi shrugged. "May never end."

	"That means we'll be stranded here, permanently," said Croft.

	"Are worse places to be," said Levi.

	Croft knew what he meant. An image of the starving masses on 
Concord flashed through his mind.

	"Can we be rescued?" Croft asked.

	Levi shook his head. "Not see how. Any ship comes here, loses 
power, crash land maybe. Certainly no takeoff."

	"Hmmm....."

	"More immediate issue, food and shelter."

	"Food and shelter?"

	"Planted small crop for me and Mindy. Not enough for you. Can 
plant more, but will take 30 days to come in."

	"How much food do you have, Levi?"

	Levi whistled. 

	"Arf arf!" said a voice suddenly at his side.

	"Quick! Mathematical problem. Consider food stores, half rations, 
25 people," said Levi. "Question: how long can last?"

	Quick paused, and then said, "Arf arf aaaarf!"

	"20 days, eh?" said Levi.

	"What?" said Croft. "You actually understand what the dog is 
saying?"

	"Stretch out arf in context of math problem is ten multiplier," 
said Levi.

	"What is this, some kind of four legged calculator?"

	"Best calculator on planet," Levi chuckled. "Also only one, now 
that power gone."

	"20 days of rations," said Croft. "That's trouble, if we have to 
last 30 days."

	"Not so bad," said Levi. "Can supplement, hunt for meat, eat wild 
roots, bark, leaves."

	"Yum," said Croft unenthusiastically.



	Night was falling as they returned to the campfire. The pinkish 
sunset was casting beautiful colors on Mount Montalk, and adding a 
sparkle to the nearby Lake Kinneret. Shadows were cast on the rock 
walls of the nearby quarry. The troopers were still tired but appeared 
to be in a better mood, though a few started shivering as the 
temperature dropped rapidly.

	"It's getting cold," Pomiter said.

	"That brings me to the subject of sleeping arrangements," said 
Croft. "I've been having a talk with Levi here, and he tells me we're 
going to have to sleep outside, on the ground."

	"The ground?" said Catchbill. "Where do they sleep?" he asked, 
indicating Levi and Mindy.

	"In Levi's lab under the remains of the lodge," said Croft.

	"Why can't we sleep there too?"

	"Come look," Levi waved, as he waddled towards the lodge.

	He walked around the twisted and black smokey remains until he 
reached the back side, part of which was still standing. He opened a 
door, showing a stairwell leading down. Croft and several of the others 
followed.

	They found themselves in a very compact lab. Almost every inch of 
floor space was taken up by tables in equipment. Only in one small 
corner was a small single bed which Levi and Mindy somehow squeezed 
into.

	"I guess it's the outside for us," Croft sighed.

	"Sleep in quarry," said Levi. "Use wall to protect from some 
winds."

	Croft and the others took his advice, laying down against one of 
the walls of the quarry. It was a poor layer of protection, because it 
only protected them from winds coming out of the east, but it was 
better than nothing. The ground was filled with uncomfortable gravel 
that dug into his back, but as Croft hit the ground he could barely 
keep his eyes open....

	Croft woke to glorious sunlight streaming into his eyes. He heard 
the cawing of birds all around him. He opened his eyes. The area was 
still misty, but that couldn't disguise the fact that it was a 
beautiful morning.

	He shivered. It had been a cool night, and the pebbles he had 
laid on had created indentations in his back.

	Croft and his men rested the entire day; the planting would be 
delayed, but they were all seriously exhausted. They ate small portions 
presented by Mindy (twice in one day!), and went to sleep again. This 
time Croft wasn't so tired that he didn't feel the pebbles underneath 
him and the cool wind whipping against his face.

	The following day they could delay no longer and Croft set the 
groaning crew to work under Levi's guidance. Fifteen of them went to 
work on the farm, under Levi's guidance, while a few of them went to 
hunt for roots and berries, and the remainder stayed with Mindy to try 
to build some shelter for them.

	Croft went off on the roots and berries trip. Unfortunately, they 
didn't know which roots and berries were safe; and since Levi had to 
show the others how to farm, and Mindy had to show the other group  how 
to build shelter, it was left to Quick to guide them.

	"Take them, Quick, to show them edible berries, leaves, plants," 
said Levi. And the little dog said "Arf!" as if he understood every 
word.

	"A dog is going to show us what to gather?" said one of the 
troops skeptically.

	"Genius dog, very trustworthy and reliable," said Levi. He turned 
to the smiling Quick and said, "Can go now! And don't waste time 
hunting for rabbits, be home by dinner!"

	"Arf!" said the dog.



	"This is unreal," said Shakey, as he and Croft and two other 
soldiers followed the little dog. "We're being lead around by a mutant 
wind-up poodle."

	"Arf!" said Quick, glaring back at them as if to say that he 
wasn't a poodle.

	"He's a Pomeranian, I think you may have hurt his feelings," said 
Croft, only half tongue-in-cheek.

	"Is this dog supposed to understand everything we say?" said 
Shakey. "If we have a discussion of the best kind of hyperbooster, can 
he contribute to the discussion?"

	"It's my understanding that he can't speak, but he and Levi have 
found a way to communicate in dog talk," said Croft. "And yes, I think 
he understands what we say."

	"Ruff!" said Quick.  At first Croft thought the Pomeranian was 
responding to him, but the Type 212(b) was standing by a tree, looking 
at it.

	Croft appraised it. "Either he had to go to the bathroom, or 
we've found some food," he said, eyeing the peeling bark. He pulled 
some off. It looked black and nasty.

	"Is this what you're referring to?" said Croft, holding it up.

	"Ruff!"

	"What did he say?" Shakey asked.

	"Well, since I left my Pomeranian-to-English dictionary back on 
Concord, I can only guess he's telling us to gather the bark," said 
Croft. He smelled it. The odor was hideous too.

	Thankfully, Quick also had them gather some plants, berries and 
some sweet smelling leaves. The dog seemed to really know his stuff.

	Finally, when they had gathered as much as they could carry, 
Croft said, "Ok, boy, I think we've gotten enough."

	"Ruff!" said Quick, turning around and heading for home.

	"What an obedient genius dog," Croft remarked.

	"He's so brilliant, he should be walking people on a leash," 
Shakey commented.



	They got back just in time to see Mindy scolding Lieutenant 
Pomiter. "No, no," she said. "You must sew leaves THIS way," she said, 
demonstrating with a  needle and thread.

	"What difference does it make?" Pomiter snapped.

	"Difference?" said Mindy. She held up Pomiter's work, crude 
stitches that held a group of thick, cottony leaves together. Croft had 
never seen leaves so thick before. Then she held up her own example, 
which were obvious much neater stitchwork.

	"But it's functional, neatness doesn't matter," said Pomiter.

	"You not good with hands, you work with Levi on farm." Mindy 
harrumphed and turned back to her sewing.

	Levi had made better progress with the soldiers helping him farm. 
He had an easy going manner which the troopers liked. 

	"No, no, must hoe like this," he would say, but with a twinkle in 
his eye.



	Slowly things improved. They cleared away the gravel over the 
part of the quarry where they slept. The ground was hard but at least 
it didn't dig into them like the rocks and pebbles did. Over the ground 
they put the stuffed leaves. They weren't nearly as soft as a real 
mattress, but they did make the sleeping experience a bit easier. Now 
all they had to do was to cope with the elements.

	They noticed that it started getting colder. Pomiter said as 
much.

	"What did you expect?" said Croft. "With the power out, the 
weather modification net is offline. And it is the winter cycle."

	The winter cycle. For centuries August had avoided the extremes 
of hot and cold with the weather modification towers. Even under the 
Insects the weather modification system had functioned automatically; 
at the end, the resistance had even used the weather against the bugs, 
making it artificially cold and freezing millions of them. 

	But when power was lost, so was the weather control system. 
Winter would once again have its bite. 

	Mindy had monopolized the most skilled troopers to try to weave 
together "leaf blankets" out of the cottony leaves, but the going was 
slow and the leaves didn't provide much warmth. The night winds were 
getting stronger and cooler, and even sleeping against one wall of the 
quarry left them exposed from three other sides. So they started 
constructing a wall, made of stone piled together.

	But work on the wall was slow, as many of the soldiers were 
needed to farm or perform other chores.  Only one of the three walls 
needed to encircle the sleeping area was built before another disaster 
struck--rain.

	No one was able to sleep that night under the downpour, except 
for Levi and Mindy who slept in the crowded basement lab. More than 
once Croft was asked whether others could fit into the basement, but he 
told the troopers that it was filled with scientific equipment.	

	"What use is that with the power out?" said one soldier, Corporal 
Watson. "Why don't we clear their stuff out and sleep there?"

	"For one thing, I'm in charge here," said Croft, wiping the water 
from his face in the downpour and trying to prevent his teeth from 
clattering together. The ominous boom of thunder above them was not 
encouraging. "For another, if we ever do get power restored we're going 
to need that equipment."

	He looked at the shivering soldiers, and he started shivering 
himself. He tried to wrap the leaf blanket tighter around him, but 
heard a sound as it ripped.

	It continued raining into the next day, and everyone was 
waterlogged and caught colds. 

	So work stopped on creating leaf blankets and the rock wall, and 
Levi let everyone else go from farming except for two soldiers who 
showed the most promise. Very few people were needed to farm anyway, as 
the potatoes had already been planted; the only big job would be 
harvesting them, in about two weeks. 

	So during those two weeks all available manpower was put to 
building a roof, and quickly. With only two walls up--the natural wall 
of the side of the quarry, and the single rock wall perpendicular to 
it--and no natural roofing materials handy, it was not a job 
accomplished overnight.

	At Levi's urging they gathered branches and lashed them together 
with vines. They were hardly waterproof, allowing water to drip through 
almost every nook and cranny, but at least they protected those 
underneath from the direct effects of the downpour. In practice, it 
meant that they would get wet more slowly, or less so during light 
rains.

	The next night it was still raining, but the "roof" was only 
large enough to cover four people. Croft held a lottery to choose the 
first four, who ended up spending the night only getting somewhat wet. 
The following day they enlarged the roof to cover a space large enough 
to cover eight soldiers lying side by side, but couldn't do any more 
without building the other walls for support.

	The rain let up the following night but the cold winds didn't, 
and Croft and Pomiter arranged a rotation schedule for those lucky 
enough to sleep under partial shelter.

	"Oh boy, a roof," said Shakey. He pulled his leaf coverings over 
him. "I'm sleeping in the best accommodations in Aridor."

	"Would you rather be starving back on Concord?" Croft asked, 
trying to prevent himself from shivering in the night cold. The leaf 
blanket didn't really help much, the wind seemed to cut right through 
it. Maybe it if were layered?

	"Actually, the dog sleeps better than we do, down in the lab," 
said Shakey. "How come the dog doesn't do a rotation here?"

	"I don't think any of us could fit into the space the dog sleeps 
in," said Croft.

	"I don't know, I could curl up and give it a try," said Shakey. 
"Do you think if I licked Levi on the face he'd let me sleep with him?"

	

	The next morning they lined up for breakfast. Although food was 
still tightly rationed, at least they were eating something three times 
a day again. Unfortunately, the "something" they ate often left much to 
be desired. Levi's reserves weren't enough for all of them, so they had 
to supplement it with what they found in the forest.

	"Yum yum, lukewarm bark soup with weeds," said Shakey, as  he 
took a bowl.

	"Is good for you," said Mindy, glaring at him at she stirred a 
large pot over a campfire. "Not weeds, but Kibiscus plant. Good 
vitamins, also from bark."

	Shakey bit into a piece of pulpy bark floating in his soup. It 
tasted like mud. "And to think I was wasting my time all these years 
getting my vitamin C from oranges."

	"At least we're not starving," said Pomiter.

	"What about some meat?" said Catchbill.

	"Levi hasn't had time to go hunting," said Croft. Levi and some 
of the other soldiers had been working to clear more land to plant more 
crops. A few days after planting the 30 day potatoes they had planted 
some rice, which would be good for a change.



	Their living conditions continued to slowly improve. A month 
later, the last part of the sleeping area was enclosed, with walls made 
of rocks on three sides, and a roof made of leaves and branches on top. 
As the weather got colder it didn't keep them warm, but it did give 
them protection from the winds, and some protection from the rain.  
Levi showed them how to build a fireplace in one corner of the room 
they had built, and a week later they had a crackling fire going every 
night. A few people lying by the fire acually were warm all through the 
night. 

	The food improved too. After the potatoes and then the rice came 
in, they all started eating "normal" food on a regular basis, and the 
threat of starvation, already distant, receded. 

	Levi took some of the regular soldiers hunting for meat.

	"How do you hunt without weapons?" one of the soldiers asked.

	"Have weapon," said Levi proudly, raising what was obviously a 
homemade bow and arrow.

	"You expect us to hit something with that?" said a soldier.

	Levi knotched an arrow, pulled back the string, aimed carefully, 
and... thunk! An arrow imbedded itself in a tree two dozen feet away.

	"I teach, you learn," he said simply. 

	Within a few days soldiers were going out on their own. There was 
still only one bow and arrow, and they sometimes returned without a 
catch, but more often than not they got used to having small pieces of 
meat in their diet again.

	But there was still tension in their little community. Mindy was 
a skilled cook (though not in Levi's league) and a great organizer, but 
also a neatness freak. She would inspect every dish after they finished 
washing it off and if she saw one speck of dirt she would freak out. 
Even if the dishes were cleaned but not stacked properly the soldier in 
charge of the cleaning detail that morning would get an earful. She 
proved to be much less popular with the soldiers than Levi. A common 
topic of conversation in the evenings was how to make her disappear 
while making it look like an accident. Within a month the soldiers had 
come up with nearly fifty different suggestions, spurred on by Mindy's 
compulsiveness.

	Her compulsiveness extended to all areas. Were the leaf cloths 
not stacked properly? Someone would get a lecture.  Had the campfire 
area not been properly swept? Someone would hear about that too.

	Croft could see that this was hurting morale and he spoke to Levi 
about it. But Levi merely shrugged, as if it didn't concern him. Levi 
was always very inwardly directed, concerned with his own research and 
activities; anything else didn't interest him. He had achieved peace 
with Mindy with a compromise; she ruled everywhere but the lab, where 
he was free to do whatever he wished. Unfortunately the soldiers had no 
such exclusionary zone.

	Another source of tension occurred at night. They started to hear 
sounds in the forest, of something or somethings stomping around. One 
time they heard a roar that woke everyone up and made them wonder if 
they should expect a hostile visitor.

	Croft asked Levi about it, and was told it might be bears.

	"Usually they don't come around here," said Levi. "But of course, 
I don't sleep outdoors, so hard to say."

	But the biggest problem occurred when they woke up one morning to 
find the small supply shed that Levi maintained had been broken into. 
He used it to store seeds and farming equipment. In the early days the 
soldiers had petitioned to have the shed emptied so at least a few of 
them could sleep there, protected from the elements, but Croft had 
sided with Levi, believing that if the seed bags were left outside that 
they could be eaten by animals.

	Now the shed was also used to store their modest reserves of 
food. But one morning they found that something or someone had entered 
the shed and consumed a portion of the food.

	"Maybe it was an animal," said Pomiter, surveying the scene.

	"An animal that opens doors?" said Croft. "And look at that bag--
it hasn't been ripped open, it was untied."

	"Do you think that one of our men was responsible?" said Pomiter.

	"Unless you think that Levi is two-timing us, that's the logical 
conclusion," Croft said.

	"I don't know," said Pomiter. "What if someone else came in and 
stole the food?"

	"Someone else?" said Catchbill. "What are the odds of that?"

	"There isn't supposed to be anyone else on Aridor," said Croft 
slowly.

	"We don't know that," said Pomiter. "We got here from Concord. 
Maybe someone else did."

	"Possible," said Croft. "We'll cover all our bases by posting a 
guard here around the clock." He paused. "We'll also post a guard at 
the quarry at night."

	"Is that really necessary?" said Pomiter.

	"I think it may be," said Croft. 



	He spoke about it later alone with Levi. They walked in the 
fields, between small rows of budding plants.

	"You think it was someone from outside?" said Levi.

	"No," said Croft. "I think the likeliest explanation is that one 
of the soldiers got hungry and decided to take an unauthorized snack. 
If it had been someone from the outside, they wouldn't merely have 
snacked but taken everything."

	"Then why the guard at the campsite as well?"

	"Because sooner or later I think we will have visitors," said 
Croft. "And we've seen the kind of anarchy on Concord. Sooner or later 
they're going to find out about us. I don't want to wake up one morning 
with my throat slit."

	"Good point," said Levi. "If think we be overrun, there is 
alternative."

	"What?"

	"Central grasslands. Four hundred miles east, in heart of 
continent," said Levi. "Any stragglers come from Concord, we right 
here, they see us. Go through forest, central grasslands, no one there. 
Never be found."

	"400 miles. That would be quite a journey."

	"Need to build up food reserves. Take a few months," said Levi. 
"Also have to leave my instruments behind."

	"They're not much use to us now," said Croft. He considered. 
"Start stockpiling food. Produce as much excess capacity as you can. 
We'll make sure that there's no more looting."

	"You think we need to do?"

	"I think we may need to leave in a hurry, and that we'll need the 
ability to if necessary," said Croft.

	Croft had Pomiter post two guards, one at the maintenance shed 
and one in the quarry every night. Each pulled a four hour shift before 
being replaced with another guard. Sometimes Croft would get up in the 
middle of the night to check on things.

	Three nights later he woke to hear a rustling in the forest 
outside. He instantly woke up. He stared out into the darkness. There 
was a small fire outside for the sentry on guard. Croft got up and 
cautiously stepped out of the doorway of the room they had built. He 
saw someone slumped over the fire. As if he had been attacked, or hit 
from behind.

	There was a rustling in the bushes. Could it be an animal?

	Animals didn't knock out sentries from behind.

	And Croft didn't even have a weapon.

	The sensible thing to do, he reflected later, would have been to 
go back to the hut and wake everyone else. But if he did that, whoever 
or whatever was in the forest might slip away.

	Croft knelt down to the ground and picked up a sharp rock. It 
would have to do. 

	He crept towards the forest, trying to circle around some 
distance from the noise he heard. In retrospect, he realized that his 
actions were especially idiotic. What if the attacker had a spear? He 
could run Croft through before he had the chance to run or call for 
help.

	Croft crept closer to the forest's edge, near the quarry. He saw 
but didn't hear a rustle in the bushes ahead, closer to the campfire. 
Was the attacker returning to finish the sentry off?

	But Croft couldn't see the attacker yet, not clearly, for whoever 
or whatever it was still in the forest. Croft slowly made his way 
towards the spot where he saw the bushes rustling.

	It was moving again, and Croft could see major movement as he got 
closer. It was either a person, or a large animal. Either was bad news.

	And then the intruder stepped out cautiously in the clearing, and 
Croft got a clear look for the first time. It was a person! The 
scavenger, clad in rags and crouched over, was slowly making his way to 
the fallen sentry.

	Croft started to emerge from the forest as silently as possible. 
But as he moved he stepped on a twig, making a small snapping sound.

	The intruder froze, looking this way and that. All was silent for 
a moment. And then the intruder started scampering towards the fallen 
sentry by the campfire again.

	Croft took a deep breath, emerged from the forest, and using 
techniques he had learned well in his work at the Agency, walked 
quietly but quickly, gaining on his target. He had to reach the 
intruder before he could do further harm to the sentry.

	The intruder closed, until he was only a few feet from the 
sentry. And then he was over the fallen sentry, bending down-

	-and Croft was on the intruder, tackling him. He wrestled the 
intruder, pinning his arms to the ground. The intruder struggled for a 
moment, but then stopped. Croft could see in the dim firelight that he 
was painfully thin, and clothed in rags. 

	"Eh? What's going on?" said the sentry, suddenly getting up.

	Croft could see that the sentry was Shakey.

	"Shakey? Are you all right?" said Croft.

	"All right? Of course," said Shakey.

	"I thought he... you....," said Croft. Suddenly it became crystal 
clear. The intruder hadn't attacked Shakey. Shakey had fallen asleep on 
duty. 

	"Who's that you got there?" Shakey asked.

	"Let me go, please," said the intruder Croft had pinned down.

	"Let me get some answers, first," said Croft. "Who are you, and 
what are you doing here?"

	"My name is Charlie, Charlie Taze," said the intruder. "I came 
looking for food."

	"Did you break into our food supplies three days ago?"

	"No, I haven't eaten in that time, I just got here," said Taze.

	"How did you get  here?"

	"The tube, underground. I walked."

	Croft stared at the youngster. He seemed terrified. Making a 
decision, he released the young man. He scampered to his feet and 
scuttled a few feet away, looking uncertain.

	"Sorry about that," said Croft. "But that's what you get for 
sneaking up on us."

	"I didn't know who you were," said Taze. "I still don't know who 
you are?"

	"We're a comedic acting duo," said Croft. "My name is Clifford 
Croft. This is my sidekick, Shakey Walbaum."

	"Me being your sidekick? That's not funny," said Shakey.

	"Neither is falling asleep on duty," said Croft. "We'll deal with 
your punishment later."

	They decided to feed Charlie, and he agreed to work with Levi on 
the farm, and so he informally joined the team. Over the next few weeks 
several more stragglers appeared. All had had the same idea that Croft 
had, that food would be more plentiful on Aridor.

	Stragglers came in streams of ones and twos every week or so 
turned into ones or twos every day and then four and fives. It happened 
gradually, but at some point what had been an outpost for exhausted 
soldiers turned into a small frontier town.

	 



Chapter 3:  The Cook In Charge



What a difference six months makes. 

	When they first arrived they had built scarcely more than a small 
hut in the quarry. The fields had been expanded to grow food to support 
a mere two dozen or so people. Their tools were limited, and the only 
clothes they were able to make were the cottony leaf blankets. 

	But once Levi had gotten the ball rolling on the farming, he had 
decided to focus on creating inventions. The first thing he did once 
the immediate food crisis was over was to plant some cotton and to 
invent a loom. Very soon thereafter Mindy was supervising the creation 
of rough but adequate warmer clothes, just in time for the winter. Levi 
also created several more bow and arrows so that more than one person 
could go hunting at the same time, and he trained more people how to 
shoot. Then he went prospecting and found a naturally forming rubbery 
substance down by the river that had excellent insulating properties. 
He used that to patch over cracks in the roof to make them virtually 
leakproof. 

	Levi also built a blacksmithing forge that, with great effort, 
could be used to make metal tools. He used that to build a grill that 
could be used to cook food more evenly over the fire. Levi seemed to be 
everywhere at once, building, tinkering, walking around and muttering 
at all hours of the night as his mind worked over time thinking of new 
inventions. But that was what he did best.

	Unfortunately, with Levi focused on creating inventions, he 
didn't have time to supervise the farming. And since none of the 
arrivals knew very much, if anything, about farming, there was only one 
other candidate to supervise the farm work, but Levi's choice of a 
successor stirred a lot of resistance among the farm hands.

	"A dog?" said Corporal (now farm-hand) Watson. "You expect us to 
take orders from a dog?"

	"Not just any dog," said Levi, during a fireside chat.

	"Arf!" said Quick.

	"What does a dog know about farming, besides fertilizing the 
crops?" Watson asked.

	"Quick has watched me, knows what I know," said Levi. "Has also 
read agronomy text."

	"The dog reads?" said Watson. "You have a dog that reads?"

	Pomiter cleared his throat, "Ah, even if you want to put this dog 
in charge-"

	"Not in charge, coordinator," said Levi.

	"Ah, yes, coordinator, how will the dog-"

	"Quick."

	"Quick, how will Quick let us know what to do?" said Pomiter. "We 
don't understand animal noises."

	"Quick!" said Levi.

	The small type 212(b) Pomeranian's ears perked up.

	"Here, boy," said Levi.

	The Pomeranian trotted over to Levi. Levi reached down, whispered 
something in Quick's left ear. 

	The Pomeranian turned his head towards Pomiter, then looked at 
Levi. Levi nodded. "Go, boy!"

	Quick scampered over to Pomiter. Pomiter looked down at the 
Pomeranian. The Pomeranian looked up at Pomiter.

	"Arf!"

	Pomiter looked puzzled.

	The Pomeranian moved his head from Pomiter's face, to gaze at the 
bowl in Pomiter's hand, that had formerly contained his dinner. "Roah!" 
he said.

	"You want the bowl?" said Pomiter.

	"Arf!" said Quick. He scampered over to another part of the 
campsite, twenty feet away. "Arf!" he said, looking at Pomiter, and 
then himself.

	Carrying the bowl, Pomiter slowly walked over to Quick. Quick 
scampered away, another twenty feet. "Arf!"

	The destination only became apparent when Quick arrived at the 
group of stacked bowls on the other side of the campfire. "Arf!" he 
said, as Pomiter stacked his bowl.

	"You see," Levi beamed. "You didn't know what I told him to have 
you do, but he managed to get you to obey."

	"He'd be dynamite at charades," Shakey muttered.

	And so Quick, the type 212(b) Pomeranian, took over as foreman, 
or foredog, of the farming team. He would instruct the work team what 
to dig, how to dig, where to dig, and what to plant. He would tell them 
when they had to water and how much. At first the farm hands thought it 
was extremely odds taking instruction from a toy-sized dog, but after a 
while they stopped thinking about it, and it just became natural.

	"Arf!" said Quick, coming up behind Shakey, who was standing 
still in the fields. Shakey jumped. "Hey, I'm just taking a break, what 
do you want?"

	"Arf!"

	"Just a minute, ok?"

	Quick grabbed onto Shakey's trouser with his teeth, and started 
to pull. "All right, all right, Mr. Pomeranian boss sir, I'm working, 
I'm working."

	"Roah!"

	Watching from a distance, Croft smiled. He turned to Levi, who 
was taking a rare break. "Did he really read an agronomy textbook?"

	"Did I mention that Quick can write, too?" said Levi. He turned 
away before Croft could look to see if Levi was smiling.



	They constantly had to expand the area under cultivation as more 
and more people arrived. They also had to build more huts in the quarry 
to accommodate them. Croft could quickly see that the additional 
newcomers would consume any additional food supplies they built up, 
making it impossible for them to migrate to the central grasslands.

	"What do you think?" said Croft. He was at top-level  meeting 
with Levi and General Arkik in Levi's cramped lab below the lodge.

	General Arkik had been one of the leaders of the resistance in 
the fight against the Insects on August. A retired military commander 
who hobbled on a cane, he had arrived three months after Croft had with 
a platoon of his own. They would have had trouble absorbing a group of 
that size if the general's men hadn't brought supplies of their own. 

	The General brought interesting but depressing news from Concord. 
With the loss of power, the western continent had descended into 
anarchy, even worse than when Croft had been there. Much of the 
organized military units who had resisted the Insects had fallen apart, 
and gangs ruled much of Concord. While they could grow food on 
rooftops, their yields weren't as productive as they had been when they 
used underground gardens and hotlamps, and roving gangs were constantly 
on the prowl to steal food. The General and his men had made their way 
here through the underground tube, figuring, correctly, that there 
would be more opportunity and fewer predators on the eastern continent.

	"Eventually they'll figure out you're here and come after you," 
said Arkik bluntly. "It's not a question of if, but a question of 
when."

	"Which raises the question of migration again," said Croft. 
"Levi?"

	Levi paused. "Problem is need to feed new immigrants. Barely 
keeping pace."

	"What if we started turning them away?"

	Levi paused. "If we turned them away, and concentrated on 
expanding acreage, maybe.... maybe in three months we could have enough 
for the journey."

	"How defensible are these central grasslands?" said Arkik.

	"Not very," said Levi. "All flat. But chances of being found are 
small. Is a very big continent."

	"But our current location isn't very defensible either," said 
Croft. "Not unless we build a rock wall around our settlement, which 
would take a tremendous amount of time and energy."

	"What about Mount Montalk?" said Arkik.

	"What about it?"

	"It's a mountain, is it not? Mountains are often defensible."

	"Yes," said Levi. "Very steep. Only one good path up. 
Defensible."

	"Yes, but we'd have to abandon our fields and sleeping quarters 
here to go there," said Croft. "Not an option of first resort."

	"So what think?" said Levi.

	Croft paused. "So far we haven't had any trouble. But from what 
the good general tells us, we should expect trouble.  I think Levi's 
three month goal of creating a sufficient food reserve so we could 
march to the central grasslands is optimistic, to say the least. And 
that would require us to let newcomers starve."

	"I don't like the idea of letting people starve than you do," 
said Arkik. "But if it's necessary for our survival...."

	"If Levi had let us starved when we arrived, we'd be dead," said 
Croft. "I wouldn't wish that on anyone else. Most of the people 
arriving here are on their last legs. I don't think in good conscience 
we can let them die."

	"We're not responsible for the whole planet," said Arkik.

	He glared at Croft. Croft matched his stare. For a moment no one 
spoke.

	"We are not going to let people die," said Croft. "There's been 
enough of that over the past 20 years."

	"Then what do you suggest?"

	"Let's build up our defenses," said Croft. "Make weapons, 
establish a garrison at the exit to the tube. If things get desperate, 
maybe we can figure out a way to destroy the tube."

	"Why not do that now?"

	"We may need to go back to Concord," said Croft, purposefully not 
being specific. "Has there been any news from off-planet?" he asked, 
changing the subject.

	"How could there be? We don't have a working comm," said Arkik. 
"The last I heard was that this energy draining thing had struck other 
planets. We have no idea how many, if any Alliance planets were struck 
by this thing."

	"And what about the fleet?" Croft asked.

	Arkik shook his head. "The last we heard was that the Glory was 
heading out to intercept the Monumental ship."

	"And then we got hit," said Croft, suddenly realizing what 
happened. If the Insects had made a successful attack run, that must 
have meant that they got past the Glory. And War Admiral Norman North.

	Then they really were on their own.

	Arkik interrupted his train of thought. "Has there been any 
analysis of this mist?"

	"Without power for our instruments, how could there be?" said 
Croft.

	"I just wonder if it's really draining energy."

	"What do you mean?"

	"I mean maybe it's kind of a sophisticated EMP pulse, that 
disrupts our electronics."

	"Even if that were true, what difference would it make?" Croft 
asked.

	"Well, if power were working but our machinery were broken, we 
could attempt to build new machinery and start things moving again," 
said Arkik.

	Levi was slowly shaking his head. "No, General."

	"No what?'

	"Is not so. Machines work, or rather have potential to work," 
said Levi. "Able to perform micro experiments, can see my generator 
begins to generate energy, only to have it absorbed."

	"It doesn't seem to absorb all kinds of energy," said Arkik. 
"Certainly not the chemical energy that powers our bodies."

	"But it does absorb most everything else, including, to a lesser 
extent, light from the sun," said Croft. "It's a very odd sort of 
Monumental weapon. It doesn't destroy, but merely incapacitates."

	"So?"

	"So I wonder what the Monumental used it for. They certainly had 
the power to destroy planets; if they had that power, why would they 
have a weapon like this?"

	"Well, if there were any Monumental around, we could ask them," 
said Arkik. 

	That sparked an idea in Croft, but he said nothing.



	The settlement continued to expand, to one hundred, then two 
hundred, then to over three hundred people. Every new person who came 
into camp was offered the same deal--half rations for a week, and 
sleeping outdoors, which was all they could spare, in return for hard 
work. If they worked hard and helped boost farming output, they'd be 
made permanent members of the group, with full rations and a chance to 
get on the waiting list for permanent shelter. The growth in population 
had far outstripped their ability to create new housing, especially as 
most of their efforts were devoted to increasing the amount of arable 
land. Land had to be cleared even before it could be tilled, and that 
was backbreaking work. 

	Meanwhile other problems were cropping up, as time passed and the 
weather became warmer. They entered the dry season, and strain on the 
water supply increased. All of their water came from a stream from the 
nearby Lake Kinneret, but the lack of rain and the sudden growth of 
their population, combined with an increased need for water for 
farming, was draining the lake.

	"We need to dig a new channel from the Kinneret to the new fields 
in sector four," said Levi, walking through the fields with Croft and 
General Arkik. "Quick, get it started."

	"Arf!" said the Pomeranian, running off.

	"I wish I had him in my army, he'd make a great master sergeant," 
said Arkik half-sarcastically.

	"You engineered such a smart dog, but why did you make him so 
small, Levi?" Croft asked. "Why didn't you make a genius Collie, for 
example?"

	"Didn't know would be used for farm work," said Levi. "Wanted 
something small and portable."

	"Like a lappad computer," said Croft. "Steven Quick must be out 
there, somewhere. I wonder what will happen when he finds out you've 
named a dog after him."

	"He be quite flattered, of course," said Levi.

	"Oh, Of course," said Croft.

	They walked to a staging area between the settlement and the 
entrance to the underground tube from Concord. Soldiers were sharpening 
the ends of sticks to make spears, and fingering crude bows in an 
unfamiliar way.

	Croft, looking at the weapons, sighed. 

	"Well, at least they can't surprise us," said Arkik.

	"Can't they?" said Croft. "That presumes they walk over here like 
we did."

	"What's the alternative?"

	"They could make a boat," said Croft.

	"A boat? Without power? How would it move?" said Arkik.

	"Oars. Wind. Sail," said Croft, patiently.

	"Oh," said Arkik. "But it's over 50 miles to the coast. Do you 
really think such primitive vessels could get so far?"

	"They've been known to travel farther," said Croft. "But we don't 
have resources to station lookouts up and down the coast. A watch on 
the tube station will have to suffice, for now."

	Already newcomers were being interdicted right as they emerged 
from the tube station and brought to the settlement. No one else had 
successfully sneaked up on them since Taze had arrived.

	But not all the emigres from Concord were working out equally 
well. As they walked back towards the fields Croft saw one worker, 
leaning on a hoe and staring into the sky without a scare in the world.	

	"Is that lazy Ted?" said Croft, peering into the distance. "Or 
lazy Sil?"

	Sil and Ted were two newcomers who hadn't shown a great 
enthusiasm for manual farm labor. 

	"One way to find out," Levi grunted. He gave a high pitched 
whistle.

	"That wasn't very loud," said Croft. "Who can hear that?"

	A moment later a small figure came bounding towards them. It was 
Quick.

	Levi didn't say anything, merely pointing to the lacker in the 
field. Quick, still in mid-stride, changed course and homed in like a 
guided missile, coming up behind the farm hand. He gave a hearty, 
"Roah!" and the figured jumped.

	"Hey!" they could distantly hear him say.

	"So it is Ted," Croft commented, as they walked on. They didn't 
bother to watch Quick remonstrate with Lazy Ted; Quick knew his job.

	As they walked back to the camp they found Yosemite Catchbill 
sitting next to the fire.

	"Aren't you supposed to be working on clearing the new field?" 
Croft asked.

	"Arna volunteered to take my shift," Catchbill grinned.

	"All right, what did you use to gamble with?" said Croft. 

	"Gamble?"

	"If I have to ask again, you won't like how I ask," said Croft.

	"Just a small bet whose soup bowl would be filled a bit higher 
last night."

	"Really," said Croft. "And what did you bribe the soup handler 
with?"

	"Croft," said Catchbill, looking hurt. "I'm shocked you would 
think I would do such a thing."

	"I've got news for you, Yosi," said Croft. "It's time to get back 
to work."

	"But... but... you can't outlaw gambling!"

	"No," said Croft. "But I can outlaw cheating. You can gamble all 
you like, Catchbill. But everyone, including you, works your shift. If 
I catch someone else doing your work for you, you'll pull a double 
night shift back to back. Sergeant Benesh!"

	Benesh, a former elite jump trooper with an iron barrel chest, 
stepped forward and saluted. "Sir!"

	"Escort this fine gentleman to field clearing duty at grid 4B. I 
think there's a homemade machete with his name on it."

	Catchbill looked up at the big beefy soldier and gulped as Benesh 
stood between Catchbill and the sunlight. Benesh stared at him for a 
moment, as if waiting, then grabbed his arm. "You will move or I will 
drag you!"

	"I can see everything's well in hand," said Croft, as they walked 
away. 



	There was a need to keep morale up. In the beginning the vast 
majority of the settlers were soldiers, but the constant trickle of 
newcomers were almost entirely civilians, changing the composition of 
the group. Most of the civilians were hard workers but weren't as 
disciplined as the military or even the former resistance fighters.

	The sky and the sun was still shrouded in the mist, making the 
day seem dim even in what should've been bright morning or early 
afternoon. All that darkness was bound to have a depressing effect, and 
the repetitive drudgery of physical labor didn't help.

	What people needed was hope. Hope of getting power back, hope of 
rescue from the outside. But there was no way of getting word from off-
planet, assuming there was anyone left to send word who wasn't in an 
identical condition. And without technology, they had no way of trying 
to analyze the mist and counteract it.

	Levi had spent a considerable amount of time trying to create a 
generator using alternative power sources that wouldn't be affected by 
the mist. But it didn't work. He made a simple solar collector, but the 
energy was drained as quickly as it was collected. All energy was being 
drained.

	Why did the Monumental create such a weapon? What use did they 
have for it? Was it a punishment for their enemies? Or did it have some 
other purpose? They would probably never know.

	Levi still seemed convinced that the effect of the mist was not 
dissipating. According to him, the power drain could last for 
centuries, or longer.

	And so without real hope the survivors needed the next best 
thing, a distraction, entertainment to keep their minds off of their 
situation. But there were no holoprograms on Aridor, no technological 
pyrotechnics that could be used to entertain them. At night after they 
finished working, the settlers didn't even have much in the way of 
light, except for the large communal campfires.

	So what they started to do was gather around the campfires and 
whisper to each other. That's how it started. And then one of them, an 
amateur actor, perhaps, got up in front of them and started to recite a 
few lines from his favorite holodrama. And then another did, and 
another. The only problem is that holodramas hadn't aired in 20 years, 
and many of them forgot the lines.

	So they recited what they did remember, holocommercials. Every 
night the masses were treated to people singing the merits of soaps, 
fabrics, household appliances, and defunct eatery establishments.

	"Eat at Hosteins, the yummy-yum-yum of the yummy-yum-yum-" a 
barritone voice sung, as others clapped.

	"What morons," said Croft, watching from a distance.

	"Cannot blame," said Levi. "Trauma of invasion. Lost all that is 
familiar to them."

	"Berry's, wash good, wash right-"

	"When the human race was conquered by the Insects, we fell a few 
notches in the evolutionary scale," said Croft. "When we lost the use 
of all our technology, we fell a few more. But when the human race is 
reduced to listening to puerile product sponsorships for entertainment,  
I'm not sure how much lower there is to go."

	"What wrong?" said Levi. "We alive. Could be worse."

	"I'll tell you what's wrong," Croft whispered. "I'm an 
infiltrator. I'm a spy. That's what I do. I'm not a settler, not a 
farmer, and certainly not a farm administrator. I've been helping run 
things, and, I might say, I've been trying to keep things efficient, 
but Levi, I'm starting to get bored to tears."

	Croft paused. "You know, Levi, I got up this morning and realized 
something. I'm in charge here. I never planned it, never asked for it. 
It just happened."

	"You are take charge operative."

	"Of operative teams, yes. But look at us Levi, we're a town, not 
an Agency team. Why is everybody following me?"

	"You are the Croft," said Levi simply.

	"As good an answer as any, I suppose."

	"You do efficiently, that's why others follow," said Levi. "But 
if need help, maybe can get some military to help out," said Levi. 

	"I've started training a few of the midranking officers with that 
in mind," said Croft. "But Levi, even assuming I turn this burden over 
to someone else, what do I do then? Start pushing a plow?"

	To that Levi gave no answer.



	When the population reached 700 they had to stop emigration 
entirely. They couldn't build housing or clear fields fast enough to 
support the newcomers, and as the weather got warmer and they went into 
the dry season, the Kinneret started to drain to dangerously low 
levels. Between the dry heat, the drinking and water needs of the 
settlers, and the increased water demand of the crops, they couldn't 
afford to expand the population any more than they had.

	But newcomers kept showing up. So what they decided to do was to 
give each newcomer a two day supply of food, a crash course on what in 
the forest was edible and what wasn't, a handful of seeds and 
information on places along the coast that might be arable.

	It wasn't easy for these newcomers, but gradually smaller, 
independent settlements started to spring up along the coast. Some of 
them weren't really settlements; most couldn't manage to do more than 
gather berries in the forest and sleep in trees. Some of the newcomers 
attempted to steal food from the settlement, forcing Croft to string 
more guards around the area, especially at night. He wanted to build a 
fence or a wall to encompass the entire area, but they simply didn't 
have the manpower or the readily accessible materials to do so. Levi 
had already commandeered all the labor available that wasn't farming to 
build a new irrigation ditch from the Kinneret.

	A few weeks before they cut off immigration an important person 
showed up. Actually, several important people.

	Croft heard a commotion and walked over to the receiving area, to 
see a large smiling man carrying carrying a scrawny and pale much 
smaller man in his arms.

	"I suppose this is something that I could have predicted," said 
Croft.

	"Yes, yes, Croft always with the witty line," the one being 
carried hissed.

	"Are you going to follow me everywhere, Mongo?" said Croft. "And 
Smiley, why are you carrying him?"

	Mongo, the one being carried, was an Agency gamma operative, a 
sensitive with the ability to see images of the future, or possible 
futures. His skill was very useful, but he was a little unbalanced and 
could (and did) rub people the wrong way).

	Smiley was a different kettle of fish altogether. Always smiling, 
always friendly, Croft couldn't put his finger on the exact reason that 
Smiley was odd, at least until the time that Smiley got shot with 
blaster fire and didn't get a scratch. They still hadn't figured out 
who or what he was.

	"Can let me down now, thanks," said Mongo.

	"Sure," Smiley grinned, slowly dropping Mongo to the ground. 
"Hello Croft!" he said, his grin getting wider, if at all posssible.

	"Hey Smiley," said Croft. "Now can you tell me why you were 
carrying him?"

	"He asked me to," Smiley smiled.

	"Mongo, are you injured?" said Croft.

	"Yes, injured, weak legs," said Mongo.

	Croft did the necessary translation. "You got tired of walking, 
and got Smiley to carry you. How far has he been carrying you?"

	"How many miles is tube thing underwater?" Mongo countered. 

	"You had him carry you for 50 miles?" said Croft.

	"Mongo's feet delicate," said Mongo. "Just like his hands. Don't 
even think of making Mongo do naaaasty physical labor, no."

	"Sir, do you want me to chuck these two out?" said Sergeant 
Benesh. He grabbed Mongo by the arm. Mongo squealed. Croft gestured for 
him to let Mongo go. 

	Mongo rubbed his apparently sore arm. "You will nearly choke on a 
carrot tonight at dinner," said Mongo, glaring at him.

	Benesh looked confused.

	"Everyone has to work here," said Croft.

	"I'll be happy to work," said Smiley.

	"That goes without saying," said Croft. "But what can you do, 
Mongo?"

	"Has Croft forgotten, yes, forgotten what we can do?" Mongo said.

	"We don't have a great demand for fortune telling on a farm," 
said Croft.

	Mongo concentrated for a moment, but couldn't think of anything 
either. He squealed and tried to look pathetic. 

	"Should I send this one out, sir?" said Benesh.

	"No, pleeeeease!" said Mongo, grabbing Croft by the leg. He 
started sobbing. "Don't send poor Mongo away, please! Mongo will 
staaaarve....."

	Croft considered. "Well, you're not really built for heavy farm 
work....."

	He paused. Mongo looked expectantly. Croft tried to think. 

	"...but I suppose you could help with routine chores, like 
cooking and cleaning dishes."

	"Cooking! Yes, Mongo make very good cook. Can create great 
recipes-"

	"You forget that I've seen what you eat," said Croft. "You'll 
work under Levi or Mindy or whoever's in charge of cooking, on a 
temporary basis. If I get any complaints about you...."

	"No, no one will complain!" shrieked Mongo. He petted Croft's 
foot vigorously. "Good Croft! Nice Croft! Very grateful for letting 
Mongo stay."

	Benesh escorted Mongo to the cooking area.

	"His gratitude should last for at least a few minutes," said 
Croft to himself. He heard a shriek in the distance. "Maybe I 
overestimated."



	But the most important immigrant arrived two weeks before they 
closed the settlement to new visitors. If the visitor had arrived two 
weeks later, the history of the settlement would have been very, very 
different.

	The most important immigrant was Senator Wellington Goodmon, one 
of the 88 senators in the old League of Unified Worlds which had been 
crushed by the Insects. Before the invasion Goodmon, a Senator for the 
past 200 years, had been one of the most powerful establishment figures 
on August.

	But after the invasion he was just another laborer in an Insect 
work camp. He kept a low profile and just tried to survive. His 
strategy worked.

	When a new kind of anarchy descended on August after the power 
was knocked out, Goodmon heard rumors of the settlement on Aridor and 
made his way there along with a handful of his former political aides. 
When he arrived, Croft welcomed him and gave him the dignity and honor 
someone of his rank deserved.

	"You'll be put to work in the fields immediately," said Croft.

	"The fields?" said Goodmon. "Why?"

	"That's where we grow the food," said Croft patiently. "You'll 
get two meals a day like the rest of us and pull night shifts on watch 
when your turn comes. Your sleeping accommodations will be in the open 
section of the rock quarry."

	"The rock quarry? Don't you have any permanent housing?" Goodmon 
asked.

	"We do, but only enough for about half of us. When you've earned 
your keep you'll be put on a rotation list to spend some nights 
inside," said Croft.

	"Rotation list? I should think I should go to the head of the 
list," said Goodmon.

	"Go easy on the thinking, it's in short supply here," said Croft 
reflexively. "If you have no further questions, Quick will escort you 
to the fields and provide you with your instructions."

	"Quick?" said Goodmon, looking around but not seeing anyone.

	"Arf!"

	Looking down, Goodmon saw the small dog for the first time.

	"Yes, that's Quick," said Croft. "Meet your new boss."

	"Arf!"

	"My good man, you can't be serious about putting us under the 
charge of a canine!"

	"I'm very serious," said Croft.

	"A man of my position can't be expected to do manual labor," said 
Goodmon.

	"What did you do under the Insect regime, knitting?" Croft asked.

	"That was different, I was a captive," said Goodmon.

	"And you're not a captive here," said Croft. "You're free to 
leave any time you like. But there's only about three hours of dim 
sunlight left. If I don't see you at work in the fields in the next 
five minutes, I don't expect to see you here at dinner."

	Goodmon opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

	"Give me a full report," said Croft, bending down to pet Quick on 
the head.

	"Arf!" said the supervisor, wagging his tail twice.

	Goodmon and his aides followed Quick onto the fields.

	Croft looked vaguely satisfied as he folded his arms. "Finally, a 
politician willing to get his hands dirty."



	But, of course, it didn't end there. During their evening 
fireside free time, Goodmon did what politicians do best: talk.  He 
started with small things. Weren't they tired of the same food? Always 
sleeping on the hard ground? Why was their labor so backbreaking? Who 
addressed their concerns?

	The others, who initially started listening to Goodmon out of 
indifference, started paying more and more attention to him during his 
fireside chats. After all, there wasn't much else to do after nightfall 
except listen to renditions of old holocommercials.

	Croft could see where this was leading, but he didn't have a 
ready solution at hand. He couldn't exactly silence Goodmon; as long as 
Goodmon covered his workshifts--which Quick reported that he grudgingly 
was--any attempt to move against him would be perceived as heavy-
handed. Goodmon wasn't guilty of stealing, or failing to perform his 
chores, but what he was guilty of was slowly but surely tearing the 
settlement apart.

	"We have to do something about him," said Arkik acidly.

	"But could we make it look like an accident," Croft idly 
wondered.

	"I'm sure we could," said Arkik.

	"I was just joking," said Croft.

	"He's a troublemaker," said another officer, Major Rambus.

	"Our lives are hanging by a thread here. We can't let that fool 
destroy the precious foothold we've created," said Arkik.

	"What would you suggest?" Croft said.

	"We get rid of him, expel him." said Arkik. The other officers 
present, Major Rambus, Lieutenant Pomiter, and a newcomer named Captain 
Kiley, nodded.

	"That might have been possible a month ago, but he's acquired too 
much of a following," said Croft. "And he's been smart enough not to 
break any of the rules."

	"You know he's going to move against you," said Arkik. "Are you 
going to sit there and just let it happen?"

	"Do I ever?" said Croft.

	

	"Want to bet things will come to a head tonight?" Catchbill 
whispered to Lazy Ted and Sil, who along with others were filing 
towards the large public fire to enjoy the evening's entertainment.

	Ted shook his head. "If you're willing to bet, it either means 
you're manipulating events or you have inside information on what's 
going to happen."

	"You're so suspicious," said Catchbill.

	Goodmon went in front of the crowd, as was now his custom, and 
started talking about grievances. But tonight he took a different tact. 
"We all have reason to be grateful to Clifford Croft. It was his 
effort, along with the brave military, that helped to overthrow the 
Insects. But what we're dealing with now is civilian administration. We 
can't expect a surveillance operative to have experience-"

	"It seems you don't expect much of me," said Croft, suddenly 
appearing in front of the campfire.

	Goodmon looked startled. This was the first time that Croft had 
made a front and center appearance at one of his evening speeches. He 
was put off-balance, but only for a moment. 

	"Ah, Croft, good. We were just wondering-"

	"-who has more experience running a colony, no doubt" said Croft. 
"I now have over six months experience. Everyone who has more 
experience, raise your hand. Don't be shy, raise'm high."

	There was silence for a moment.

	"Ah, specific experience is not the issue," said Goodmon, 
recovering somewhat. "We were just looking for some more responsiveness 
on some issues."

	"We?" said Croft. He smiled broadly for the audience. "You're all 
alone up here. Have you been picking up your speaking habits from 
Mongo?"

	There was a scattered laughter in the audience, as well as a 
familiar screech.

	"This is serious," said Goodmon. "This is not a dictatorship. 
What gives you the right to determine how this community is to be run? 
Who elected you?"

	"Ah, I thought the issues were blankets and housing," said Croft.

	"Those are symptomatic of the main problem, unrepresentative 
government."

	"So, you want to hold an election," said Croft.

	"Yes, to establish legitimacy," said Goodmon. "It's a basic 
tenant of sound government."

	"Basic tenant, hm," said Croft. "Can't argue with that. All 
right, we'll hold an election."

	"What?" said Goodmon. He hadn't expected Croft to concede this 
quickly.

	"Right now," said Croft. 

	"But... what about the rules, procedure-"

	Croft ticked them off on his fingers. "Anyone can nominate a 
candidate. Each candidate can give a speech. After each candidate has 
spoken, we vote by secret ballot. The winner is by an absolute 
majority; if no one gets it, a runoff will be held the following 
night."

	Goodmon looked surprised. "But, I need time, to prepare-"

	"You?" said Croft. "Do you plan to run?"

	"Well, I ah, might want to offer my services to the community-"

	"Then by all means, offer them now," said Croft. He raised his 
voice. "That's going to be tonight's entertainment, folks, a genuine 
democratic election. Doesn't that beat old holocommercial jingles?"

	There was laughter in the audience.

	"Very well," said Croft. "Who will be the first to be nominated?"

	"I nominate Cliff-" came a voice.

	"Out of order!" said Croft. "Please raise your hand to be 
recognized."

	A sea of hands went up. Croft looked through them in the dim 
light until he saw the face he wanted, that of Marzipan, one of 
Goodmon's hacks. He recognized Marzipan.

	"I nominate Wellington Goodmon!" said Marzipan.

	Croft nodded. "Goodmon is nominated. Mr. Goodmon, would you like 
to address the audience to tell them why you should be elected... just 
a moment, what is it we're holding an election for?"

	"Mayor."  "Coordinator."  "Dictator at large." Came the shouts.

	Croft laughed. "Mayor will do, for now I think. Well, Goodmon?"

	Goodmon was flabbergasted at the speed at which events were 
moving. "Aren't you even going to accept other nominations first?"

	"I will, after you give your speech," said Croft. "Each person 
will get their say right after they're nominated."

	"But that's not the way it's done," said Goodmon.

	"Perhaps when you're running things," said Croft. "Would you like 
to address the crowd, or forfeit your right to speak before the vote?"

	"But I've had no time to prepare!"

	"That hasn't stopped you before," Croft noted. Someone in the 
audience laughed again.

	"Very well," Goodmon said, licking his lips and trying not to 
look like a trapped animal. He gave The Speech. He spoke at length 
about his experience in public service, how he wanted to improve their 
situation, and how he would be a humble public servant, and so on and 
so forth. Croft tuned it all out, standing silently, not cutting 
Goodmon off. Some wondered why. And then Goodmon got to the interesting 
part.

	"I had not intended to offer myself up for this post, but I do so 
for a most important reason," said Goodmon. "Above all else, we need a 
civilian in this role. Military and spies have their purpose in war, 
but we are not at war. We are trying to establish a civilian 
administration that's responsive to the people, and that's why we need 
a skilled civilian hand. Most of us, after all, are civilians, and we 
are not being accustomed to being ruled by the military-"

	"Thank you," said Croft, suddenly speaking up. "Thank you. You've 
used up your time-"

	"But I-"

	"As well as the time of the following two speakers as well," said 
Croft, to laughter from the audience.

	"You're not taking this very seriously," said Goodmon, staring 
meaningfully at the audience.	

	"To be more precise, I'm not taking you very seriously," said 
Croft, again to laughter. "Now, are there any more nominations for 
Mayor?"

	"I nominate Clifford Croft!" this came from Charlie Taze. Several 
other voices in the audience spontaneously said the same thing.

	"Thank you," said Croft. "I appreciate it. But I must decline to 
be nominated."

	Several hundred set of jaws dropped simultaneously.

	"If nominated, I will refuse to run, if elected, I will refuse to 
serve," said Croft, giving a small smile. "I think Mr. Goodmon is 
right, we do need civilian leadership at the top. Although I am not in 
the military, strictly speaking, my line of work isn't exactly 
civilian. Therefore, it is with great sadness that I decline the 
nomination."

	Senator Goodmon got over the stunned feeling to suddenly realize 
that the nomination was being handed to him. But why?

	Now was not the time to wonder why. Goodmon stepped forward, 
opening his mouth to speak.

	"Not yet, Senator," said Croft. "I'm still entertaining 
nominations. Are there any other nominations?" he asked. There was 
silence. Where there had once been a forest of hands competing for 
attention, there was now none.

	"I say again, are there any other nominations?" said Croft, with 
an edge in his voice.

	And then, slowly, in the back, a bony arm rose.

	"Yes?" said Croft.

	"We nominate... we nominate the Cook, yessss," said Mongo, 
speaking in a forced tone. 

	"Who?" said Croft, giving a warning glance. "I can't  hear you."

	"Esherkol!" Mongo shrieked, as if he had been poked by a hot 
poker.

	"That's a surprising turn of events," Shakey commented, sitting 
in the sidelines.

	"I'm glad I didn't take bets on this one," was all Catchbill 
said. "I wonder what the odds were of that happening?"

	Others in the audience thought it was a crackpot request, but 
Croft treated it seriously. 

	"Levi Esherkol has been nominated! Levi, will Levi please come to 
the front!" said Croft.

	Everyone looked around. Levi, an intensely private person, never 
showed up for the evening campfire sessions. But slowly, a figure made 
its way forward in the darkness. It was Levi!

	He looked reluctant, and spoke even more so.

	"A cook," said Goodmon, softly under his breath. "They've got the 
cook to run against me?" He couldn't believe it. He was very surprised 
when Levi immediately launched into what, for him, was a speech.

	"I run for Mayor," said Levi. "I live here, Aridor, longer than 
anyone. Know this area, know how to farm, build things. Not a fancy  
politician," he added, purposefully not looking at Goodmon. "But agree 
that must have civilian control. Am civilian," he said, glossing over 
his history with the Agency. He spoke rigidly, mechanically, as if 
reading someone else's words.

	Suddenly, everything became very clear to Goodmon. As it had 
become clear to Croft, earlier that day.



	He had been in a private meeting with General Arkik, several of 
his officers, Mongo, and Levi. "Goodmon is going to make his move 
tonight," Croft had said.

	"How do you know?" Arkik had said.

	"Tell them, Mongo."

	"Tell them, Mongo," Mongo had said, imitating Croft's voice. "Am 
not a trained parrot-"

	"Mongo!"

	"Badmon will call for elections tonight, standing on right side 
of campfire," Mongo had said. "May actually start out standing at left 
side of campfire, but will end up-"

	"What will be his primary argument?" Croft had asked, 
interrupting him.

	"Say many boring things, but push for civilian control, says must 
have civilians, yes, must not let military run things. Mongo agrees," 
Mongo had added earnestly.

	"Is this reliable?" Arkik had asked skeptically.

	"We have to treat it like it is," Croft had said. "And be ready 
for a counterpunch."

	"What do you suggest?"

	"Give them what they want--a civilian leader."

	"A civilian?"

	Croft looked meaningfully at Levi.

	"No!" Levi had said. "No, no, and no. I not politician."

	"You don't have to be," Croft had said. "We'll continue to run 
things. You'll be mayor in name only."

	"No! Definitely no!"

	"Yes," Croft had said.

	"No!"

	"Levi!" Croft had said, raising a finger. "You are going to do 
this. And Mongo is going to help."

	"No," Levi had again.

	"And Mongo not help," Mongo had added.



	"Thank you for election," said Levi, after the votes were 
counted. It wasn't even close. With the Senator's prime justification 
for the election taken away, his entire candidacy had unraveled. 

	He faced the audience for the first time, as Mayor to them all. 
Mayor Esherkol.

	Croft subtly gestured for him to say something.

	"I, ah, we, ah, will have victory soup for lunch tomorrow," said 
Levi. "I talk with Mindy about adding special ingredients to lunchtime 
soup."

	There was silence for a moment, as if people were waiting for 
more.

	And then a few hands clapped, then more, and more, and it became 
a thunderous applause. Evidently, they liked the idea of having a 
little variety in their diet.



	Croft, General Arkik, and his senior officers continued to run 
things in private, of course. Levi continue to give them technical 
advice about farming, civil engineering, and logistics, while Croft and 
the military would make decisions behind the scene. The only difference 
was that Levi would be the one to publicly announce them. He still 
looked uncomfortable engaging in public speaking, but was starting to 
get used to it. At least now Goodmon was temporarily neutralized and 
they could get back to the business of running the settlement.  

	Whenever Levi was called on to make a decision, however, he would 
look uncertain, and have to confer with the others. For example, one 
time Tanya Kerrick, one of the few civilian supervisors, was having 
trouble getting Lazy Ted and Lazy Sil work.

	"What should I do, Levi?" Tanya asked.

	"They not work?"

	"They pretend to work. They work very very slowly, spending more 
time talking to each other than they do working."

	"Hm," said Levi, apparently deep in thought, but with very little 
idea what to do.

	"Would you like one of us to have a friendly talk with them, 
Levi?" said Croft, who along with a military officer  was Levi's nearly 
constant companion.

	Levi nodded dumbly.

	"We'll send Sergeant Benesh to get in touch with their feelings," 
said Croft. "I'm certain he can find new ways to motivate them."

	Kerrick, eyes flickering from Croft to Levi, had accepted that, 
but she, like the others noticed that Levi wasn't really in charge.

	The situations only became more glaring during their evening 
campfire meetings. Circumstances required that Levi make regular 
reports from time to time in the evenings, partially to be responsive 
to the settlers, but mostly because the audience had little else to do 
at night. So three nights a week Levi made a brief report (written by 
Croft or one of the other military officers) and made himself available 
for questions.

	"When are we going to grow more food so we can eat three times a 
day?"

	"Why isn't there ever enough water?"

	"When are we going to be rescued?"

	"When is there going to be enough space for all of us to sleep 
inside?"

	Levi could field some of these questions on his own--when asked 
about the water supply, for example, he would launch into a discussion 
of the low level of the water table at Lake Kinneret and the need to 
develop new supplies. But his answers were technical and dry, not 
providing the kind of inspiration or excitement the audience seemed to 
be looking for. And on questions of policy, such as "What are work 
shifts going to look like next week?" Levi could only shrug his 
shoulders because Croft and the others hadn't worked it out yet.

	Still, the fields were being plowed, shelter was being built, 
food was being hunted for, and bit by bit their colony was growing 
stronger. Croft felt confident enough to take off with Levi on a short 
hunting trip. Only they weren't hunting food. One thing they were short 
of was medicines and medical supplies. Every so often someone would get 
injured farming, or lifting something heavy, and they wouldn't have the 
means to treat the injured. There were several doctors among them but 
without supplies there was a limit to what they could do.

	Levi, of course, had studied medicine, much as he had dabbled in 
other fields of science, and reported that he had vague memories of a 
plant that might have healing properties that grew somewhere a mile to 
the east of the settlement. Levi just wanted to go off and find his 
plants, but Croft insisted on coming with him. There were other 
scavengers in the forest now, and it wasn't safe to walk alone. And 
Levi was certainly not expendable. Sergeant Benesh accompanied them. 

	"We go this way," said Levi, pointing to a path.

	"Whatever you say, Mayor," said Croft.

	Levi stopped, and pointed at Croft. "Not to call me that. Your 
idea, not mine."

	"We needed a civilian face on the administration," said Croft. 
"Would you rather that Goodmon be in charge?"

	"Am tired of meetings, being in public. Want peace and quiet, so 
I can work."

	"We're giving you a