Martin shook his head. "I never wanted to be Pan."

"You didn't turn it down. You know what a general does? Contrary to the gossips' wisdom on this ship, he doesn't slick with all the troops. He watches them from outside, and he learns how to use them. How to keep them safe. And how to sacrifice some of them to save the rest, or sacrifice all to get the Job done. Any child who reads history knows that. You read history, Martin. Do you agree?"

Instinctively, Martin did not agree, but he had never voiced his instinct.

"Do you agree?" William asked again.

"One for all, and all for one," Martin said, knowing that was not quite the same thing. William seemed to think it was.

"Good. You need someone to stand beside you."

"William, this is so much drift, I can't be isolated and be any good…"

"Not isolated. Just outside a little bit. With a partner who can trim your sails now and then. I approve of Theresa, but you can't—I suppose I'm getting around to what I really want to say, finally—you can't be what you were with me, and have something even stronger with Theresa."

"I don't want to lose you, or hurt you."

"You don't want to lose anythingor hurt anybody," William said. He floated forward with an ankle kick against corner pads and took Martin's shoulders. "But you're still a general, and you've got to do both.

"Listen to wise old William. Here's your fault, Martin. You think that if you slick with someone, you must fall in love with them, and they mustfall in love with you. You think that if you lead someone, you must be gentle, and never hurt them, or make them angry."

"Bolsh," Martin said sharply, jerking his head back.

"And if they don't love you, you feel rejected and hurt. You want to love everybody, but you don't, and that's hypocrisy. You want too much, I think. You want your lovers' souls."

"Not so wise, William," Martin said. He pushed him back with an ungentle hand. "You've completely misunderstood me."

"Theresa's perfect for you," William said. "She's a little smarter than you and a little looser, and she sees something in you that I see as well. But I'll stand aside. I don't want to be second with you; it's a losing game."

Martin saw the tears in William's eyes and reacted with his own. "I'm sorry," he said, floating closer. He stroked William's cheek. "You're a brother to me."

"Brothers we'll be, but don't give me charity slicks, "William said. "Respect me enough to believe I can get along without you."

"You still don't make sense, but if that's what you want…"

"That's the way it already is," William said. "We're going to be soldiers and generals, and we have a Job to do, and I think it's going to be tougher on all of us than we imagine or fear. So no nonsense, no drift. We're not reallyour own masters, Martin, whatever we like to believe, whatever the moms do or don't do, except in whom we love and whom we call brother and sister."

Martin opened the door, rotated in the frame, and said, "Please don't avoid any more meetings."

"I won't."

Erin Eire was a puzzle to Martin; intelligent, reasonable in conversation, clear-eyed, agreeable for the most part, but with a strong and sometimes arrogant streak of independence. Martin found her in the swimming hall, filter mask strapped over her mouth against the spray. He had to call her twice to get her attention.

"Sorry," she said. She paddled out of an oblong of water and across the green ladder field that kept water and spray from the anteroom. The water rebounded through the spherical space; one swam in air sometimes, in water most of the time, the rest of the time in spray and fine mist like clouds.

Martin didn't particularly enjoy swimming. He had almost drowned in the river beside his family home in Oregon when he was four; that memory tainted any enjoyment of the swimming hall.

"I should have been at the meeting, right?" Her smell was brisk, clean and tangy. Though she was naked, her manner removed any ambiguity about sexual arousal. She was straight-forward, natural, not in the least coy with him. The thought simply did not cross her mind. Martin compared her quickly to Theresa; with Theresa his instincts were clear. Though Erin was well-formed, he simply did not feel much sexual attraction to her.

"Right," Martin said. He hated being stern. "Why weren't you?"

"I trust your judgment, Martin."

"That's no excuse, Erin."

She shrugged that off, smiled again. "Theresa's very nice. I hope she takes the sting out of working with people like me."

Martin was exhausted from the strain of the day. His face reddened. "Erin, why are you so bloody obtuse?"

Eyes level, she said, "Maybe because I'm afraid." She wrapped herself in a towel, took an end of the towel and dried her short hair. Most of the Wendys kept their hair short but Erin's was little more than bushy fuzz. Her startling green eyes emerged from behind the folds of towel, anything but nervous or afraid. Whatever she felt, her appearance betrayed nothing. "I'm not questioning your authority. I don'tside with Ariel. Not many of us do."

"I count my small blessings," Martin said.

"Did she agree with the others? About the decision? I'm curious."

"She's withholding judgment. Did you listen to the meeting on your wand?"

"Of course. I'm not a shirker. I just didn't feel like being there. I hate formalities."

"It's important all the same," Martin said. "We do the Job together. I need your input like I need everybody else's."

"I appreciate that, even if I don't believe it." She folded the towel and let it float while she put on her shorts and shirt and tied the tails below her sternum. Over these she slipped the obligatory overalls. Then she looked away. "I won't make things any tougher on you."

Martin started to add something but decided enough was enough. With a nod, he left the anteroom, glad to get away.

The Wendys' party had gone on longer than expected, and Martin, fresh love exaggerated to a peak during the past few hours, worked alone in his quarters, digging through the training and resource materials available in the ship's libraries.

Unable to wait any longer, he went in search of Theresa, and found her where she had said she would be. His relief was balanced by his chagrin at being so driven, by impatience and longing and an unspecified worry that something, anything, could go wrong.

The Wendys were making garments from materials supplied by the moms. Thirty had gathered in Paola Birdsong's quarters; the door was open, and he entered. Theresa kneeled at the periphery of four women. Kimberly Quartz projected patterns from a wand onto a wide, bunched sheet of cloth on the floor. Theresa held one corner of the cloth, smoothing it as Paola drew on it with a blue marker. A few of the women noticed him, smiled politely. Paola glanced up, and then Theresa saw him. For a moment, he was afraid she would be angry, but she gave her corner of the billowing fabric to Kimberly Quartz and came to hug him.

"Time passes," she said. "Sorry I was late."

"No problem. I've been hitting brick walls."

"Can you wait just a few more minutes?"

He took a seat near the door and looked over Paola's quarters, which he had never been in before. She had covered her walls with paintings of jungles, wide green leaves, flowers, insects. A parrot flapped around the room, delighted by the view.