Martin frowned. "They're doing what they should be doing—getting us prepared."

Stephanie spoke again, but her words collided with Cham's. Cham Shark, coffee colored, long jawed, hair cut close to his head, had been a tough Pan, not very popular. During his time the children had been tense and unhappy and now he seldom said anything. He looked at Stephanie, but she waved him to continue, surprised he was speaking at all.

"They're making us prepare ourselves," he said. "They've given us the tools but we have to use them ourselves, and that means we make up our own large-scale strategies… Our games have always been weak on general strategy."

"So you said when you were Pan," Joe Flatworm pointed out.

Cham blinked, nodded, and folded his arms.

"If Cham is right, they won't let us in on any more strategies for the same reason they don't tell us everything about their machines…" Stephanie paused. "They may sayit's because the Law requires we do the dirty work… But why not take multiple advantage? I've been speaking with Ariel. I don't want to second-guess you, Martin, but she's sharp and you haven't brought her into the fold enough. I see why she's frustrated."

"She's a pain," Martin said with uncharacteristic bluntness.

"You're spending too much time slicking between William and Theresa," Stephanie said, with typical candor. "Pull your wire in and open your eyes. She told me what you'd said about the moms' knowledge being too sensitive for them to explain everything. She thinks you're probably right, but she doesn't feel as complacent about it as you do."

"I'm not complacent," Martin said. "I just don't know what we can do about it. Fighting among ourselves, or fighting the moms, won't help."

"They want us to finish the Job as much as we do. They must," Joe said.

"Then they should trust us more," Cham said. "Our ignorance has been a constant frustration." He blinked again, looked around at the others, who regarded him with more surprise. "I'm no brick. I care about all this, too."

"Martin," Stephanie said, "if we're on our own, we should be equal partners. We should have a council of the children and take a vote. If we don't get what we want, what we think we need, we stand down on drills."

Martin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I… we can't just stand down after voting to go in. They must have reasons for doing what they're doing."

"Maybe," Cham said, "but the moms are robots. Maybe they just can't care, or can't understand us well enough to give us what we need." His reticence shattered, Cham had become voluble.

"Ariel is a rebel," Martin said, hating the thought that the children might support her over him. "She's sharp, but she's not wise. We can't just defy them. Who else do we have out here but the moms?"

"We have to get this resolved," Stephanie said.

"Agreed," Harpal said. "Martin, I concur with you about Ariel. She's all mouth and not much common sense. I even agree that the moms might know what they're doing. But we're alive and they're not. We have the most to lose." He leaned over and took Martin's shoulder in one hand. "My sympathies. It's a tough watch."

"You want me to confront the moms, threaten to stand down?"

"We need full disclosure," Stephanie said. "Especially now."

Martin made a small shiver. "After what they've done for us, threatening something so drastic… seems like sacrilege."

"We have to be equal partners, not just trigger-pullers," Cham said.

"I hope you don't think we're ganging up on you," Harpal said. "You asked for our advice. Consult with Hans."

Martin lowered his head, his misery evident. Stephanie touched his chin with a finger, then stroked his cheek. "I'll go in with you," she offered.

"No, thanks," he said stiffly. "Something has to be done. We need to know what's required of us…"

" Martin," Stephanie said, irritated.

"Damn it, I'll do it! I'm just thinking out loud… We've always assumed… or rather, our parents always assumed the Benefactors were infallible, so much more powerful, our saviors, and not human. Like gods."

"Gods aren't made of metal," Harpal said.

"How do youknow?" Joe said, again playing Devil's advocate. That had been hisflaw when he had been Pan—an inability to settle on one course of action, to see all sides yet still concentrate on one plan. Martin saw that Joe sympathized with him, and double-saw himself through Joe's eyes, and felt a puff of annoyance.

He was being pushed by forces he could not resist to take actions he had not thought through and might not agree with… The fate of a Pan. The fate of all leaders. The group never tolerates completely individual planning and initiative, not even in dictators, if his readings in human history were any guide.

Human history. What sort of history had the Benefactors lived through?

Know your enemy. Know your Benefactors.

"I'll go to the War Mother," Martin said.

"Talk with Hans first," Stephanie suggested again. "Never take full responsibility."

All but Cham nodded agreement.

"Somebody who's never been a Pan can't understand what it's like," Harpal said.

"Somebody's going to scream at you that you questioned the moms," Cham said.

"They'll find some reason to scream, no matter what," Joe said.

Theresa stood with arms outstretched under revolving spheres of sunbright light. She kept her room small and tidy, a scholar's room she had once called it, and Martin liked the style, although it differed completely from his large, messy sprawl. He stood in the open hatch before announcing himself, pleased just to be near her.

"Hello," she said. She came forward and he hugged her, nuzzling her neck. His response was not immediate; he felt a sour burn in the deep of his stomach.

"It wasn't so bad," she said. He lowered himself to his knees and she combed his hair with her fingers while he kissed her navel and belly. "The first drill, I mean."

"It was awful," Martin said. He pressed his cheek against the warmth of her stomach, chin nuzzling curled hair. "I'm going to speak with Hans now, and then I'm going to the moms." He stood, head bowed, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"No time?" she asked, teasing him with her fingers, rubbing the overalled cleft between his buttocks. She pressed his coccyx. "I'm sorry," she said, still touching him. "Not making it any easier."

"No," he said, sighing. "Are you going to a Wendy party this evening?"

"There is one," she said. "I'd like to. I'll stay for you."

"I won't be done until then, I think," Martin said. "But we've been together so much, I don't want to wear you out."

"Do I act worn out?" she asked, lip-tugging the tip of his nose.

Martin bowed awkwardly and curled his face into her breasts and felt for the nipples. Lip-tugged and suckled. Her breasts were small and firm looking, yet still soft to his touch. He thought about other Lost Boys touching her, felt vaguely neutral for an instant, realized he did not like that thought, bit her gently to emphasize his presence. "I don't want to bore you," he said.

"Do I act bored?"

She held on to his shoulders, wrapped her legs around his hips and moved her pubis against him. His erection was quick despite the distractions and he pushed her back to the pad.