Sheila Hanson popped up half an hour into the night shift. "You ready, Tim?"

Tim Huynh sat back from his desk, and gestured up his little helpers. "We're ready, boss." He stepped into the corridor and followed Hanson's come-hither arrows up the stairs. She and the rest of her lab techs were already gathered round the surface entrance. Four or five were recent graduates. The rest — like Timothy Huynh himself — were work-study students. "You're sure this isn't going to lose us our jobs?" Belief-circle gaming was all very well outside of work, but Huynh would never have considered this adventure if his own supervisor hadn't suggested it.

Hanson laughed. "I told you. GenGen regards this battle as a form of public service. Besides, it will embarrass Huertas International." Her glance took in all of them, GenGen's entire night crew except for regulomics. Sheila's explanation was enough for Tim. Once upon a time, he had really looked forward to working at GenGen. How many people got to see — in person — the lab equipment that their college majors were built upon? But more often than not, his job came down to unwedging overenthusiastic cleaning robots, and hauling non-prepped cargo. Yes, sometimes there were real problems, problems where you got to consult with users and help customize their experiment setup. But then you spent days devising automation so that wouldn't happen again. Not one of the crew members, even the ones who weren't Scooch-a-moutis, looked unhappy about tonight's little diversion.

"Okay, everybody," said Sheila, "let's see you look properly formed." They slipped into their Scoochi characters. There were pofu-longs and dwelbs, and a great big shima-ping. The shima-ping was Sheila. She glanced at Huynh. "You can't be the Scooch-a-mout, Tim. That's reserved."

"But I'm commanding the critters." He waved at the helper bots that had followed him up the stairs.

"You're guiding them, Tim. You can be a Lesser Scooch-a-mout."

"Okay." He shifted form. These were all world-class designs, not seen before tonight. He doubted very much that any of them would remain reserved for long, but if Sheila wanted to play the beliefs strictly, he wasn't going to be the one to break the circle.

They trooped out the doors, into the evening twilight. There was still color in the tops of the eucalyptus. South, across the ravines, their goal was a vast double pyramid, glassy-faceted on top, dark and be-vined below. And that was the real, naked-eye view! The Geisel Library. As they moved along, Sheila and others were fitting their vision over the world. This hadn't been rehearsed. It was designed as a surprise for the Hacekeans, but even more as a surprise for the world that would soon be coming down to watch. One by one, the eucs made little popping noises and suddenly were transformed into moonflower trees, their leaves fluorescent in the twilight.

"We have been noticed," someone said.

"Of course. We're all over. There are s'nice and got-a-runs coming from the Lit Building."

"There's fweks and liba-loos flying from our basement at the library!"

And every appearance sent a tiny fraction of a penny winging back up the Scoochi tree of creation. For once, Tim didn't mind the rip-off. The Scooch-a-mout affiliance was as broad as any. Even hardware illegals at the edge of the world would benefit from the royalties.

Hanson — > Night Crew; Keep our gear out of sight, long as you can. The real view from local cams would show that some of the Scoochi images wrapped real critters. So for the moment, Sheila wanted all the privacy she could get on that. What the Hacekeans learned would have to come from public viewpoints and their own naked eyes. Huynh let Rick Smale and the others handle that. He concentrated on running the critters: all the lab bots with enough range and flexibility to walk to the library. These gadgets did routine cleaning and module swapouts. They weren't designed for running around in the wild out-of-doors.

But GenGen had cleared them to go, and Timothy Huynh was having a ball. First, he laid down a consensus for the robots' appearance. There were queeps and chirps, spitting and shooting in all directions. In reality, these were his four hundred mobile manipulators — known as "tweezer bots" in the business. They were barely fast enough to keep up with the humans. But he also had mapped megamunches and xoroshows and salsipueds — these onto his cleaner bots and sample carriers. Behind them lurked the two largest mechs in Huynh's lab, combination forklifts and heavy-equipment installers; for now, they were tricked out as gray-masted blue ionipods. He had supplied the physical specs two weeks ago, when the prospect of this adventure had first floated around the labs. The resulting visual designs were spectacular, and meshed with the reality of the underlying robots and the touchy-feely gear that Huynh had attached to the bots' hulls. If you patted the xoroshow on its haunches, you'd feel muscle sliding lithely under silky fur, just what your eyes were telling you. As long as they were confronted by only a few pairs of human hands, the haptics were fast enough to maintain the illusion. They were better than anything he'd ever touched on Pyramid Hill. Of course, the remote audience would benefit very little from that, but it would boost the morale of the Scoochis here in person, and undermine their opposite numbers among the Hacekeans.

And that enemy was already forming up. Five Knights Guardian stood on the library's east terrace, and a Librarian lurked by the Snake Path.

"That's all they have?"

"So far," said Sheila the shima-ping. "I'm just hoping we aren't too fragmented."

"Yeah." That was the virtue and the weakness of the Scoochi worldview. Scooch-a-mout was distributed in bits and pieces. It was customized to the wishes of children, not just in the Great Powers, but also in the failed states at the edge of the world. The Scoochis had so many different creations. The Hacekeans had the notion of knowledge conquering outward, a vision that claimed consistency over everything. And just now that fit their near-total control of the library.

The shima-ping bounced up and down on its three feet. Sheila was shouting at the enemy with what must have been an external speaker, since Huynh could feel the loudness all over. "Get out of our way!"

"We want our floor space!"

"We want our Library!"

"And most of all, we want our REAL books!" That last demand made for a good chant, even if it didn't quite fit with Scoochi's edge-of-the-world background.

Sheila's gang raced forward with the battle cries. But now dozens of Hacekeans joined the five Knights Guardian. Surely most were virtual, but the blending was perfection. No surprise; both sides knew this was coming. This was a collision of belief circles. The point was to convince the wider world by belief and images that Scooch-a-mout's was the greater vision.

Both sides thought they knew what was coming. In fact, Tim's had something special planned:

The Hacekeans roared their threats at the Scoochi army, at the chirps and queeps, and the larger, vaguely seen things that lumbered along behind them. They thought it was all clever imagery and human players. Then the first of the gray-masted blue ionipods crunched onto asphalt, and the Hacek people realized that the sound it made was real . At the same time one of the salsipueds — a sample carrier — raced out and bit a Knight on the ankle. It was just a small electric shock really, but the Hacekeans recoiled, wailing, "Cheaters! Cheaters!"

And it was cheating, really, but Huynh saw from the network stats that support for his side had doubled. Besides, we're doing it for a good cause . Timothy Huynh never used the physical library that much, but what had happened there rankled.