"Don't ruin me," he said.

"Touch touch," she said, "then you can go." He touched each thigh with two fingers of his left hand, lifted her easily to his lips, tongued her lightly. Then he let her go and Theresa slid to the floor.

"Delicious," he said. "After the party?"

"Sleep here."

"Pans sleep in quarters where they can be found."

"Set their wands. They'll know."

Martin had always been shy of announcing the obvious. "Maybe," he said.

Theresa turned back to the revolving lights. For a moment he thought she might have completely forgotten him, so swift and decisive was her motion; as if he were easily dismissed. But she smiled and said, "Go now. Come back when we both have time."

Martin hesitated by the door, then passed through, walked down the hall, found a main shaft and laddered outward to the level where he would meet with Hans.

Hans was seldom in his quarters. He slept where exhaustion took him; he slept rarely, some said, exercising or researching for several days before finally collapsing in a corridor in a makeshift bed he carried in the backpack that was always with him.

Martin found him in the swim room. The water lay slowly rippling on the floor now. Hans lay back in the water up to his neck, pushing it toward one wall with broad sweeps of both arms. The water bounced from the wall and washed over his head, bounced from the rear wall and bobbed him up gently as he swam toward the edge of the pool.

Martin watched the water's behavior for a moment as if it were completely unfamiliar. Hans stepped out and toweled off. He finished by tousling his short blond hair. It stood up in insolent spikes.

"The past Pans think we should confront the moms and ask for full disclosure," Martin told him.

"Do what Ariel wants?" Hans asked.

"I suppose."

"Poor Martin," Hans said, chuckling. "What a grind."

"Don't worry about Ariel," Martin said, irritated.

Hans pasted the towel on the wall to dry, flinging it up so that it spun flat and its wetness made it stick, and when it started to slip down, deftly pinned it with a ladder field. Even in full g, Hans was incredibly skillful in subtle physical acts; he had the best control of any of the children. On Earth, he might have become an acrobat.

"Any suggestions how I go about it?" Martin asked.

"Spring it on the moms at a tenday conference," Hans said. "Unless they're listening and already know. In which case, they ignore us, or they do something."

"The moms don't eavesdrop."

Hans made a face but did not accuse Martin of naivete.

"God damn it, they don't," Martin said. "They have no reason to."

Hans put on his overalls, his face slightly pink at Martin's tone. "If you say so, brother," he said tightly. "I just think they'd want to keep track of everything we do. Zookeepers and all that. They're responsible for us—or at least responsible for seeing that we get our Job done, according to the Law, and if I were them, dealing with a bunch of Wendys and Lost Boys, I'd sure as hell want to keep tabs on us."

Martin stood back as Hans walked by. Hans lifted his arms, shook his head. "But you believe them, that's okay."

Martin was speechless. "Has everybody on this ship gone flat cynical?" he asked.

Hans turned on him swiftly, pointing a finger. "Everybody feels bad and confused. What if we slick this whole Job? Who's to blame? You're Pan."

Martin said, without hesitation, "I am."

Hans stared, then grinned. "We are the leaders, brother. You and me. Maybe they'll cook us and eat us. The children, I mean, not the moms. But hell, I think it's a good idea we ask for… full disclosure, is it? I call it full partnership. My father was a businessman. Sold cars. I remember him talking about confidence and trust. He said he had to believe what he was doing was good for the customer, that they were actually partners, or he couldn't convince them. Even if he didn't tell the truth, he had to thinkhe was while he was selling… I was ten. The Benefactors didn't think he deserved to…"He lifted his eyes and didn't finish. "Let's go for it."

Martin put a finger to his cheek and rubbed gently at the light bristle there. He hadn't shaved in two days; still not much of a beard.

"Together," Hans said. "More impact that way."

"Not together," Martin said.

"Why not?" Hans appeared puzzled.

"Because I'm Pan," Martin said, looking away from him.

Hans rubbed his nose. "Better you than me, brother."

Martin sat alone in his cubicle within the darkened quarters, wand in hand, concentrating. What weretheir limits? How much had they been told, and how much had they simply neglected to ask? It was time to find out, before he went to the moms and made a fool of himself.

"Strategy discussions," Martin told the wand. A list of possible topics floated in the air before his face and he picked two: Armor and Deception in Deep Space Warfare, and Galactic Ecology and Galactic Defense Strategy. He had studied both topics before; nearly all the children had. Theodore had recorded some useful glosses. But no one, to his knowledge, had actively pursued the question of where these literary and visual productions had originated.

Martin asked, "Authors and sources, please."

The wand projected: Authors and sources not relevant.

"I'd like to know anyway. As Pan. As leader for the children."

Authors and sources: Translations and reinterpretations of materials devised by civilizations signatory to the Law.

"More details, please. Which civilizations? When?"

Not relevant.

"I'm demanding the answer, not asking for it," Martin said, still calm, but understanding even more Ariel's frustration. He had never tried this before; in his ignorance he had been content not to upset his preconceptions.

The basic texts and corresponding sensory additions were created three thousand four hundred years ago. A single civilization was responsible for the primary sources; other civilizations added to them, and adapted them. Names of the actual authors of the primal texts are not known.

"What was the first civilization like?"

Martin had asked for details about a good many civilizations, and had always been curious about the general nature of the answers, but not so curious as to seem disrespectful. Now it had been made his duty.

The originating civilization was severely damaged in a conflict involving offshoot spacefaring relations.

"Offshoots? You mean, its own colonies? Detail, please." Martin tensed his jaw muscles as he waited for a reply.

Yes, its own colonies. Further details are not known to this source.

He had never pushed so far, and therefore, never received such an answer.

"Open another source, then," Martin said, taking a wild chance. "Another library or whatever."

Please refer to the moms.

"I'm asking now," Martin said. "These facts are important to us. We need psychological insight."

Details of civilizations participating in the Law are not relevant to your Job.

"I say they are," Martin pursued, his voice rising. "I am Pan."

Please refer to the moms.

There it was, then. The wall Ariel and others had doubtless hit. Martin could see why the moms were secretive about some things; the civilizations signatory to the Law could easily imagine another round of death and destruction if their whereabouts and the details of their defenses were known.