Katya had grown up in this house, with no female role model or too many of them depending on who you asked, but she had never been in any doubt as to what sex she was. For years Justin thought of her as another sister, like Jessica. Then one day that had changed very quickly-

A flame-jet flared to silhouette two welders in coveralls in the workshop behind her. "Katya. How's the anniversary piece coming along?"

She flipped up her faceplate, and gave him a radiant, brown-eyed, broad-mouthed smile. It had been months since Katya and Justin had played games. "Fantastic. Dad's welding Madagascar into place just now."

"Let me get into safety gear. I'm down for a couple hours-thought I'd say hi."

Katya nodded enthusiastically and slipped past him. Justin pulled on heavy woven cotton overalls, and belted them in the front. By the time he finished, Katya was back to hand him a pod of beer. They watched each other while they drank. "I thought that you were taking the Grendel Scouts out for an overnight."

"Were, yes. Didn't you hear the alarm?"

"Alarm?" She brushed a crimson strand of hair out of her face, and sipped deeply. "Nope. What's up?"

"Big eel. Came right up the Miskatonic and the Amazon, right through the Hold. We captured it. It looks pretty harmless, but it's the first grendel-sized carnivore we've seen on the island, and it's bound to get some attention... "

"Over at Aquatics?"

"Yeah." He tossed the empty pod into the trash. Two points.

"Keep me posted."

She held the door open for him. He was very aware that her fingers brushed his thigh as he passed her.

Four shadowy figures crouched around an eight-foot curved metal bas-relief of the African continent. The huge silhouette would soon be attached to the Earth globe under construction just north of Camelot's main gates. A series of overhead winches kept Madagascar in place while one man waved semaphore to the others.

Plasma torches spit as the piece fitted into place. Metal ran in glowing rivulets, and the air sang with the smell of scorched iron. Justin finished pulling his gloves on, and hurried to help.

"Hola, Carlos!"

"Hola, Justin. Que tal? Como estas?" Carlos glanced away from the model for just a moment. Almost instantly, there was a high, annoying whir. "Un momentito-"

The winch was malfunctioning, and the three-foot chunk of Madagascar-which weighed over a hundred kilos-sagged.

Carlos and Justin put their silver heat-blocking gloves against the lower edge, where the metal still smoked, and lifted. The heat pulsed hungrily at their fingers, but didn't burn.

"At the top! At the top!"

Assistants screwed two large C-clamps into place, and Madagascar was realigned.

Torches sizzled. Carlos turned his face away from the intense light.

He stripped off his gloves. The major work finished, his assistants buzzed about, welding here and there, cooling with jets of water, then beginning to buff.

He held a broad, muscular hand to Justin. "Wasn't expecting you until day after tomorrow. Australia is next."

"I'll be back."

Carlos stepped away from the globe, leaving it to the younger artists. The African continent brushed his ceiling. On the wall opposite were blueprints for Australia.

"Have you got the basic mold finished?"

"No," he sighed. "That's what I want you for. Two days' work, maybe. Then he can cast it. Then..." He shrugged. "Almost finished. It's been a year. In another month, maybe, it's done."

Justin slapped his mentor's shoulder. Carlos was Latino, with predominantly African genetics. Even with his hair streaked gray, he was still disgustingly handsome. Carlos Martinez was Cadmann Weyland's best friend. About fifty-five Earth years, thirty-five Avalon, and in decent condition, but Justin knew that when Carlos cast an eye at the Seconds, especially the younger women, he felt his years.

There was a certain sadness in Carlos's face. Perhaps being so close to the completion of a dream? Sometimes that did it...

"Cual es su problema, Tio?"

Carlos chuckled. "For years I wanted to build this. You know, the north road is going to be a crossroads one day. Gateway to a metropolis. We have Surf's Up, and the mountain colony... Explosive growth soon now, as more of the Second have their children. And in fifteen years, whew."

"Terrific, huh? And how many of those bambinos will be yours?"

His smile was calculatedly mysterious. "Six that I'm sure of. Not everyone wants to gene scan, so who knows?"

"Cassandra," Justin said.

"But she will not tell."

Justin chuckled. "A little of that New Guinea flavor here."

Carlos waved a hand at the young men and women laboring in his shop. "These are my children, though. Not just Katya, but like you. Learning sculpture. Learning history. The ones who care."

"The others will come around."

"Hope so. Now what can Uncle Carlos do for you?" Justin explained about the eel. "Zack will want to kill it as fast as possible. Destroy the eggs."

"Knee-jerk reflex. I'll deal with him. Your father will want it studied." Carlos thought for a moment. "Might want those eggs destroyed, though. No telling what they'll hatch into."

"Eels."

"Samlon become grendels. We don't have any examples of harmful larval stage and harmless adult, but-"

"I see the point, but I don't agree. And that's the point. We think there's going to be a row over this at the council meeting, and I wanted to take a little straw vote, find out where we'd stand."

"What's the problem?"

"The problem is that it's our eel. It's our island, really-we're going to inherit it. And we can't just kill everything that comes up the river or flies in from the mainland. Eventually, we have to know how we fit in with this planet, or we'll be stuck here on this island forever."

"You could stay here for ten generations, easy," Carlos observed.

"Plenty of land."

"We don't want to."

"Some of you don't want to."

"Some means damned near all," Justin said. "Starting with me."

Carlos studied him. "I don't blame you," he said at last. "Listen-I think that your father will side with you-he believes that strength is safety. And knowledge is strength."

"Are you suggesting that Zack would like to hide his head in the sand?"

"Can you entirely blame him?"

An arc of sparks jetted out, turning the floor into a summer night's sky. The stars died.

"We almost lost, amigo," Carlos said quietly, watching Madagascar. "We make a lot of noise about how heroic it all was. But listen between the lines." His eyes were deadly calm. "We almost lost."

"I know that it was ‘tough-"

"No," Carlos said. "I didn't say that it was ‘tough.' I didn't say ‘it was a struggle.' I said that we almost lost. All of us. Wiped out. If it hadn't been for a fluke of grendel behavior-that you can drive them crazy with the smell of their own speed-they would have slaughtered every living thing on this island."

Carlos sat at the edge of one of the benches, and picked up a thermos, uncapping it to take a sip. He scanned the pieces of Earth strewn about his studio. There in one corner was India, mother to Man's civilizations. Suspended from the ceiling was Africa, possibly mother to Man himself. Already in place north of the colony was Europe, which had birthed the scientific method, and the Americas, creators of the technologies that had finally taken man to the stars.

In that moment Carlos seemed old, deeply fatigued; but a light flickered behind his eyes that was almost ecstatic.

"To our home, "Carlos said, and took a long sip. The hair at his temples was almost white, and the skin on his forearms was loose over the wiry muscle. "I'll never see Earth again, muchacho. Earth is an abstraction to you. A place the old folks talk about. Pictures we show you, tapes we play. Dead voices of dead people. But it was our home."