The Mouse stared intently at Penelope.

“What do you mean: sort of?” she asked at last.

“I knew there was a good person on the planet, one who would be our friend,” said Penelope. “I wanted him to stay until we could meet him.” She paused, trying to order her thoughts. “I didn't know it was the Mock Turtle, or what he looked like, but I thought it wasn't a human. And somehow I thought he'd be in New Gomorrah, and once we got there I knew he'd be at the carnival.”

“But he was working right across the Midway from us for two days, and you didn't recognize him.”

“We didn't need him until the Yankee Clipper came.”

“But you had nothing to do with his landing on Calliope in the first place?”

“I don't think so,” said Penelope.

“Don't you know?”

The little girl shook her head. “I have all these strange pictures in my mind. I still don't understand most of them.”

“As the Soothsayer grows, so will her powers,” said the Mock Turtle. “She will grow in peace and tranquility on my world"—the alien turned to Penelope—"if she so desires.”

“And if she doesn't desire it?” asked the Mouse.

“Then she will be free to leave.”

“It would be nice not to be hunted any more,” replied Penelope.

“Let's see what his world is like before we start making any long-term plans,” said the Mouse skeptically.

“It is an oxygen world with very low levels of pollution, and a gravity minimally greater than your own,” said the Mock Turtle. “The seas are green, the grass a rich golden hue, the mountains tall and majestic and snow-capped. Most of our fauna is extinct, but we have set aside vast reserves for those remaining specimens so that we may someday repopulate the planet with their descendants.”

“What do you call your world?” asked the Mouse.

The Mock Turtle mouthed an unpronounceable alien word. “In your language,” it continued, “it would translate as Summergold.” It paused thoughtfully. “It is quite the most beautiful place in the galaxy.”

“If it's so beautiful, what were you doing flying a spaceship light years away from it?”

“Searching for the Soothsayer,” answer the Mock Turtle placidly.

“How did you even know there was a Soothsayer to search for?” demanded the Mouse.

“Word had reached us that a human child had the power of precognition, and that she and a companion were at large on the Inner Frontier. Further investigation revealed to us that her name was Penelope Bailey, and that she had last been seen in the company of a notorious gambler known as King Tout.” The alien paused. “We knew that governments and powerful individuals would be seeking her for their own purposes, and we determined to find her first.”

“It's a big galaxy,” said the Mouse. “How did you expect to find her with no more information than that to go on?”

“I didn't.”

“I don't think I understand.”

“I expected her to find me,” said the Mock Turtle.

“Why?” asked the Mouse, surprised.

“Because I, alone of all those who searched for her, meant her no harm.”

“And based on your goodwill and nothing else, you expected her to seek you out?” replied the Mouse. “That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

“She did in fact seek me out, did she not?” replied the alien gently.

The Mouse had no answer for that, and so fell silent.

“Are there any children I can play with on Summergold?” asked Penelope after a moment had passed.

“It shall be arranged, Soothsayer,” said the alien.

“Good,” said Penelope enthusiastically. “I finally got to play with some girls on Calliope, and—”

Suddenly she froze, and a look of fear crossed her face.

“What is it, Penelope?” asked the Mouse.

“It's him,” she said.

“Him?”

“The Iceman. He's after us already.”

“Who is the Iceman?” asked the Mock Turtle.

“A bad man,” said Penelope. “All the others want to capture me, but he wants to kill me.”

“He will not be successful, Soothsayer.”

“Then why does he frighten me so?” asked Penelope, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Because you are a child, and do not yet realize what it means to be the Soothsayer,” answered the Mock Turtle. “We shall protect you on Summergold while you grow tall and strong and confront your destiny, whatever it may be.”

“In the meantime, what kind of armaments does this ship carry?” asked the Mouse.

“None,” said the alien. “This is not a military ship.”

“How far are we from Summergold?”

The Mock Turtle pressed a button, then read the symbols that instantly appeared on the glowing screen of its computer. “Perhaps two Galactic Standard days.”

“And if we don't stop for food on a colony planet?”

“The Soothsayer is only a child,” noted the alien. “She must have sustenance.”

“Don't you have a Deepsleep Chamber?” asked the Mouse. “You can freeze us until we arrive.”

“This is but a small, private ship. I have no Deepsleep facilities.”

The Mouse turned to Penelope. “How close are they?”

“I don't know,” answered the girl.

“Forget the food,” said the Mouse. “It's not worth the risk. We're only a few hours out from Calliope. If their ship is even marginally faster, they'll catch us if we stop.”

“There is no need for guesswork,” said the Mock Turtle calmly. It turned to Penelope. “Is it safe to stop, Soothsayer?”

“No,” said Penelope.

“Can you survive without food for two days?” continued the alien.

“Yes.”

“Does your race drink water?” asked the Mouse.

“Yes. I will have my ship's galley modify it to human tastes.”

The Mock Turtle instructed its navigational computer to lay in a direct course for Summergold, then went to the cramped galley to supervise the filtration of the water's trace minerals.

“He'll never stop,” said Penelope plaintively. “Why can't he leave me alone, Mouse?”

“Are you sure he's coming after you to kill you?” asked the Mouse. “Maybe he thinks the Mock Turtle has stolen you, and he and the Forever Kid want to rescue us.”

“I don't know,” said Penelope. “He doesn't know.”

“You're not thinking clearly, Penelope. Either he wants to kill you or rescue you. He wouldn't be chasing us if he didn't know which.”

“He still doesn't know if he'll kill me,” said Penelope. “But he thinks I should die.” She turned and faced the Mouse. “Why?” she sobbed. “What did I ever do to him?”

“Nothing,” said the Mouse. She frowned, once again furious at herself for ever having cared for him. “You know, maybe it's time we considered doing something to him.”

“I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want to be left alone.”

“Sometimes you can't always have what you want,” said the Mouse. “Or at least, sometimes you can't have it right away.”

“It's not fair,” said Penelope, cuddling Maryanne to her.

“No, it's not,” said the Mouse grimly. “Still, maybe our luck's about to change. You've found another friend, and maybe we'll be safe once we get to Summergold.”

“I get so tired, Mouse,” said Penelope.

The Mouse put an arm around her. “I know.”

“Will you always be with me?”

“Always.”

Penelope leaned her head against the Mouse's small bosom, and a moment later had fallen into a fitful, disturbed sleep.

“The Soothsayer trusts you,” said the Mock Turtle, returning to the cockpit with two containers of water.

“Yes, she does.”

“Then perhaps you are not a fool after all.”

“Thanks,” said the Mouse sardonically.

“I hope you will urge her to remain on our planet,” said the Mock Turtle.

“I'll have to see what it's like, first.”

“She needs time to grow, free from all external pressures,” continued the alien.

The Mouse looked down at the sleeping child, and stroked her blonde hair.

“She's had a rough time of it, that's for sure.”

“Summergold will offer her peace and sanctuary.”

“No one ever offers anything for free,” said the Mouse.

“I told you what our interest in her is.”

“I know you did,” replied the Mouse. “Now I'll have to decide whether I believe you or not.”

“She will know if I should ever lie to you,” said the Mock Turtle. “You might consider that while you are making your decision.”

“I'll take it under advisement.”

They spent the next hour in silence, for neither had anything further to say to the other. Then Penelope awoke, and the Mock Turtle gave her the container of water, and then the little girl and the Mouse played a number of very simple word games to fill the time and take her mind off the Iceman.

They slept again, and awoke again, and drank again, and then, when the ship had approached to within nine hours of Summergold, the Mock Turtle activated its subspace radio and reported its position and its cargo, concluding with its estimated time of arrival.

There was a momentary silence as the message was transmitted, and then a reply came back over the speaker system. The alien spoke again, waited for another reply, and deactivated the radio. Finally it turned to Penelope.

“I am sorry, Soothsayer,” it said, “but we cannot land on Summergold.”

“Why not?” asked the Mouse.

“We have been denied permission.”

“Why?”

“Because even now several ships are approaching my planet, each filled with bounty hunters or members of the Democracy's military. We are not powerful enough to deny them access to Summergold, nor can we risk disobeying the Democracy's official representatives, and hence we cannot protect the Soothsayer's safety.”

“What are we supposed to do, then?” demanded the Mouse.

“We must alter our course and go deeper into the Inner Frontier.”

“It won't help,” said the Mouse. “Every one of those ships left Calliope after we did. If some of them are already approaching Summergold, they're obviously faster than we are. There's no way we can outrun them.”

“My ship possesses a Summergold registry, and doubtless someone at the carnival was able to identify my race.” The alien paused. “It was much easier for them to anticipate that I would attempt to return to Summergold than it will be for them to predict my next action, for the simple reason that I do not know where we are going.”

“Didn't your people give you any instructions except to run away?” demanded the Mouse.

“Most certainly they did,” replied the Mock Turtle calmly. “They gave me the best possible instruction, indeed the only possible instruction.”

“I don't suppose you'd like to share it with us,” she said sarcastically.

“It is essential that I share it with you,” answered the Mock Turtle. “They told me to ask the Soothsayer where to go, and to follow her orders.”

It turned to Penelope and awaited her decision.

Penelope stared at the computer simulation of the Inner Frontier.

“This one,” she said, pointing to a white-gold star.

“That is Alpha Tremino, also known as McCallister after the human member of the Pioneer Corps who terraformed the second planet circling it,” said the Mock Turtle, translating the alien script that appeared on the screen when he entered the coordinates of the star. “That planet is now known as McCallister II. The system possesses six other planets; the inner planet is highly radioactive, and the other five are gas giants. None of them are capable of sustaining life.” It squinted at the readout. “McCallister II possesses one Tradertown, which is located in the southern temperate zone. It was mined for uranium until two centuries ago, and is now used primarily as a refueling station for ships bound deeper into the Inner Frontier.”

“How long will it take to reach it?” asked the Mouse.

The alien queried its navigational computer. “Approximately six Standard hours.”

“And how about our pursuers?” she continued. “How long will it take them?”

“We will gain three or four hours on most of them, as they are closer to Summergold than we are.”

“Then lay in a course for McCallister II.”

“I did that the moment the Soothsayer selected it,” replied the alien.

The Mouse turned to Penelope.

“Do you know anything about McCallister?”

“No.”

“Maybe I worded that wrong,” said the Mouse. She paused. “Can you see what will happen to us there?”

“No,” repeated Penelope.

“Then why did you choose it?”

Penelope shrugged. “I just have a feeling about it.”

“Well, your feelings have been good enough so far,” said the Mouse with a sigh.

The alien went to the galley and brought them two more containers of water.

“Thank you,” said Penelope, accepting the container.

“McCallister II is a human colony,” said the Mock Turtle. “You will be able to obtain food there, Soothsayer.”

“I hope it's good,” said Penelope. “I'm very hungry.”

“I am sorry, Soothsayer. I would give you my own if you could metabolize it.”

“I know you would.” The girl stared thoughtfully at the alien. “Perhaps you'd better pack some of your own food.”

“Why, Soothsayer?” asked the Mock Turtle.

“You might need it.”

“I shall do so, Soothsayer,” said the alien, heading off to the galley once more.

“What was that all about?” asked the Mouse.

“I just think the Mock Turtle will need some food before long,” said Penelope.

“He's got a whole galley full of food.”

Penelope didn't answer her, and when the Mouse looked to see if she had heard her, she saw a look of intense concentration on the little girl's face.

“She is reading the future,” said the Mock Turtle, returning from the galley.

“Sorting it out, anyway,” agreed the Mouse.

Penelope remained motionless for almost five minutes, and finally the Mouse reached out a hand and shook her shoulder.

“What is it?” asked the girl.

“You looked like you were in a trance,” said the Mouse. “I've never seen you like that, and I got worried.”

“I'm fine,” Penelope assured her.

“What were you doing?”

“Trying to look ahead.”

“You've never gone catatonic before.”

“What's catatonic?”

“Rigid and motionless, as if you didn't know where you were or who you were with.”

“I was looking farther than usual, so I had to concentrate real hard,” explained Penelope.

“Did you see anything?”

“Yes.”

“Well?” said the Mouse.

“I saw us land on McCallister II,” said Penelope. “And the man at the spaceport is going to be very nice to us. He's going to give me a sandwich, and some fruit, and a cup of tea.”

“Does anyone else land while we're there?”

“That depends on how long we stay,” answered Penelope. “Most of them know we've changed our course.”

“How many ships are following us now?”

“Lots.”

“Including Carlos and the Kid?”

“Yes,” said Penelope. “But they won't catch us before we reach McCallister.”

“How long will we stay on McCallister II?” asked the Mouse.

Penelope frowned. “I don't know.”

“An hour? A day? A week?”

“It depends on what I tell the Mock Turtle,” said Penelope. “And I have to decide if it's right or wrong to tell him.”

“To tell him what?”

“I have to decide,” repeated Penelope, falling silent. A moment later she was cuddling Maryanne, as if for comfort.

Five hours later the Mock Turtle began braking its ship to sublight speed, and twenty minutes after that it set the ship down at the small spaceport just beyond the Tradertown.

“I shall add fuel to the ship's reservoirs while you seek nourishment,” announced the Mock Turtle as the three of them climbed through the hatch.

“Don't,” said Penelope, who had taken Maryanne out of the ship with her.

The Mouse was startled, but the alien merely inclined its head.

“It shall be as you wish, Soothsayer,” it said. “I will wait for you here.”

“Please come with us,” said Penelope. “We shouldn't be separated now.”

The Mock Turtle fell into step behind them without another word.

They entered the spaceport's small restaurant, and the waiter was as pleasant as Penelope had predicted. While they were waiting for their food, the Mouse turned to the girl.

“All right,” she said. “Are you ready to tell me what's going on?”

“Yes,” said Penelope unhappily. She paused. “We have to do a bad thing.”

“What thing?”

“We have to steal a spaceship.”

“I thought that was what you had in mind,” said the Mouse.

“I don't want to,” said Penelope. “It's wrong to steal. But if we don't change ships, they'll catch us very soon.”

The waiter returned with their order, and the Mouse remained silent until he had once more moved out of earshot.

“Will changing ships fool all of them?” she asked.

“Most of them,” replied Penelope. “They'll all find out what we did, but by then we'll be so far away that they won't be able to follow us.”

“They have subspace radios,” said the Mouse. “Why won't they stay in contact with each other?”

“Because each of them wants the reward for me,” answered Penelope. “None of them will help any of the others to catch me.”

“Which ship must we appropriate, Soothsayer?” asked the Mock Turtle.

“That one,” said Penelope, pointing to a sleek blue ship that was standing, poised for takeoff, on the field beyond the hangars.

“The blue one?” asked the Mouse.

“Yes.”

“It's right out in the open,” she said dubiously. “Maybe we'd be better off taking a different one.”

“You must not dispute the Soothsayer,” said the Mock Turtle calmly. “She has foreseen that we need this particular ship. That is all we have to know.”

“I'm not disputing her,” answered the Mouse defensively. “I'd just like to know why she chose that one.”

“Most of the others have people aboard them,” said Penelope, “Or else they aren't fast enough, or they need fuel.”

Penelope finished her sandwich and started picking pieces of fruit out of her fruit cup.

“This is very good,” she said. “But I don't like my tea very much. Can I have some milk instead?”

“Yes, Soothsayer,” said the Mock Turtle, getting to its feet and walking off to find the waiter.

“I wish he'd call me Penelope,” the little girl confided to the Mouse. “I feel funny when he calls me Soothsayer.”

“Well, that's what you are, you know,” said the Mouse. “A soothsayer is someone who can see the future.”

“It doesn't work that way,” said Penelope. “You see lots of futures, and then you try to make the one you want happen.” She looked at the Mouse's plate. “You only ate half your sandwich. Aren't you hungry?”

“I'll take the other half along with me,” answered the Mouse. “What I mostly am is anxious to get moving again. We've still got thirty ships closing in on us.”

“They won't catch us, Mouse,” said Penelope as the Mock Turtle returned carrying a glass of milk. “Not on McCallister, anyway.”

“Just the same, I'll feel a lot more secure once we're back in space,” said the Mouse.

“We're not ready to leave yet,” said Penelope. She smiled at the Mock Turtle. “Thank you for the milk.”

“When will we be ready to leave?” asked the Mouse.

“In a few minutes.” She drained the glass of milk. “That was very good. I like milk.”

“You're not being very communicative,” said the Mouse, trying to keep the irritation from her voice.

“I don't know what that means.”

“I mean you're not telling me what you're thinking.”

“I'm sorry, Mouse,” apologized Penelope. “I was just thinking that I'd like to get Maryanne a lace dress. The ones that we had sent up to our suite on Calliope were nice, but she needs something really pretty.”

The Mouse sighed deeply. “All right. Have it your way.”

“You look mad, Mouse,” said Penelope with a worried expression on her face. “Did I do something wrong?”

“The Soothsayer cannot, by definition, do anything wrong,” said the Mock Turtle, its voice as placid as ever.

“I'm not mad, just frustrated,” said the Mouse.

“What did I say?” asked Penelope.

“It's what you didn't say,” explained the Mouse. “I know you have a reason for not going to the ship right now, just as you had a reason for landing on McCallister II and for wanting to steal that particular ship. But I can't see the future, and since the only thing I know for sure is that all those bounty hunters are getting closer to us with each passing minute, I'd like to know why we're sitting here and exactly what we're waiting for.”

“Oh, is that all?” said Penelope, relieved that she had not done something more serious to offend the Mouse. “Do you see the fat man in the leather tunic who's sitting at the far end of the restaurant?”

The Mouse glanced quickly across the restaurant.

“Yes.”

“It's his ship that we're stealing,” said Penelope. “In about five or six minutes, he's going to get up from his table and walk into the bathroom. He'll be there a long time, and we can just walk out across the field and get into the ship and leave.”

“Won't he report us to spaceport security?”

Penelope shook her head. “He's got something on the ship he doesn't want anyone to know about. He'll buy another ship and try to find us himself, but he won't report us.”

“What's he smuggling?” asked the Mouse. “Drugs? Money?”

“I don't know.”

“And security won't stop us?”

“He's already given them money not to pay any attention to the ship. They'll think we're working for him.” She looked at the Mouse with a worried expression on her face. “Do you like me again now?”

“Of course I like you,” the Mouse assured her. “I just get a little upset when I can't see what you can see.”

“I wish I couldn't see it,” said Penelope earnestly. “Then maybe everyone would leave me alone.”

“You have been blessed with a great gift, Soothsayer,” said the Mock Turtle. “In time you will learn to appreciate it.”

Penelope seemed about to argue with the alien, then shrugged and went back to picking pieces of fruit out of the cup. A few minutes later the heavyset man got to his feet and walked to the restroom. As soon as he was out of sight the Mouse, Penelope, and the Mock Turtle rose from their seats and casually walked out to the ship.

“It's not locked,” said Penelope as they approached the hatch.

The hatch door slid back as they came within range of the ship's sensor, and one by one they climbed into the interior of the ship. It was considerably larger than the Mock Turtle's vessel, and was designed for human occupants. There was a cockpit, of course, and a well-equipped galley, two sleeping cabins, and a locked storage compartment.

“The controls are unfamiliar to me,” said the Mock Turtle after examining the instrumentation. “And while I can speak Terran, I have great difficulty reading it.”

“No problem,” said the Mouse, moving past him into the cockpit and seating herself on the pilot's chair. “Its computer has a Gorshen/Blomberg module. We just tell it what we want, and it takes care of the rest.” She turned to her companions. “Strap yourselves in.”

They took off less than a minute later, and ten minutes after that the computer announced that it was ready to break out of orbit and attain light speeds.

“Time for a decision,” said the Mouse. “I've got to give the navigational computer a destination.”

“Soothsayer?” said the Mock Turtle, turning to Penelope and awaiting her decision.

“I don't know the name of the world,” said Penelope.

The Mouse ordered the computer to create a holographic map of the Inner Frontier.

“All right,” she announced. “This is Summergold, this is McCallister, and that's Last Chance ‘way over there.”

The little girl studied the simulation for a long moment. Finally she extended an index finger and pointed to a distant star that had no near neighbors.

“This one,” she said.

The Mouse instructed the navigational computer to lay in a course for the indicated star, then asked for a readout.

“Where are we bound?” asked the Mock Turtle.

“The star is called Bowman 26,” replied the Mouse.

“A curious name.”

The Mouse squinted at the readout. “It was the 26th star system mapped by Pioneer Milton Bowman almost 3,200 years ago. The third of its five planets was colonized in 288 G.E., and was initially named Van der Gelt III, after the man who financed the colonization.”

“Initially?” asked the Mock Turtle. “Then its name has been changed?”

She nodded. “The entire colony was slaughtered by a madman named Conrad Bland in 341 G.E., which was when it received the name it's now known by: Killhaven.”

“Does anyone reside there now?”

“Let's see,” said the Mouse, looking at the readout again. “Yes. It was deserted for almost three millennia, but now it's got a couple of hundred farmers, and a small religious group trying to create their own Utopia, based on an agricultural community from the days when we were still Earthbound. I gather than the planet itself is very scenic, and most of the dwellings were designed to look like Victorian farmhouses from old Earth. There's nothing in the readout about a Tradertown, but I suppose there must be one; Killhaven's so far off the beaten track that I imagine the cartographers are a few years behind the times.”

The Mock Turtle had no more questions, and the Mouse ordered the holographic map to dissolve. Then she left the cockpit and made her way back to the storage compartment.

“Now let's see exactly what kind of contraband we're carrying,” she said.

The alien showed no interest in helping her, but Penelope, with a child's curiosity, joined her at the door to the compartment.

The Mouse ordered the computer to unlock the door. It replied that it could not do so without the proper code.

“Damn!” she muttered. “I guess we'll have to do it the hard way.”

She looked around for a tool kit, found one, and spent the next two hours tinkering with the lock mechanism, all the while wishing that Merlin, to whom no lock was a mystery, had not joined the opposition.

Finally, when she was all but ready to admit defeat, she heard a faint beeping sound, and the door slid back into a bulkhead. She crouched over and entered the low-ceilinged compartment.

“Well, how about this!” she exclaimed a moment later. “Four bags of alphanella seeds.”

“What are alphanella seeds?” asked Penelope.

“A hallucinogenic drug. They're outlawed everywhere in the Democracy, and on most of the Frontier worlds as well.”

“A what kind of drug?”

“Hallucinogenic,” repeated the Mouse. “When you chew on the seed you go into a trace and see all kinds of strange things. As often as not the experience kills you ... but if you survive the first time, you're an addict the rest of your life. You forget to eat, you don't sleep, all you do it chase after the seeds.”

“Why would anyone want to chew the seeds, then?”

The Mouse shrugged. “The ultimate thrill,” she said without much conviction. “Don't ask me. I never did understand seed chewers.” She patted the bags fondly, then walked back out of the storage compartment. “Alphanella seeds! Who'd have thought it?”

“What difference does it make?” said the Mock Turtle. “None of us will partake of them.”

“In case it's escaped your attention,” she pointed out, “we're not exactly swimming in money. I've got about 2,500 credits left from Calliope, and I suspect you have even less.”

“That is true,” admitted the alien.

“Well, then? These bags must be worth a few hundred thousand credits apiece. What do you say?”

“I say leave them aboard the ship,” replied the Mock Turtle. “They will destroy anyone who uses them.”

“The way I look at it, anyone stupid enough to become a seed chewer deserves whatever happens to him,” said the Mouse with a shrug.

“Let us ask the Soothsayer.”

“That's not fair,” said the Mouse heatedly. “If she says no, we'll be stuck on a strange world with no money and half a dozen bounty hunters chasing us, and if she says yes you'll have made her an active participant in drug dealing. No child should have to make such a decision.”

“She is the Soothsayer,” replied the Mock Turtle. “She will choose correctly.”

He turned expectantly toward the little girl.

“We should leave the alphanella seeds where we found them,” said Penelope without hesitation.

“But we've barely got enough money to get by for a few days on Killhaven,” said the Mouse.

“We won't need it.”

“What about when we leave?” insisted the Mouse. “We'll have to have money then.”

“We're not leaving Killhaven,” said Penelope.

“But we're still being followed.”

“I know.”

“Then why—?” began the Mouse.

“Because it's time to stop running away,” said Penelope.

It wasn't a Tradertown, not as the Mouse understood Tradertowns. It was just a little cluster of buildings: a restaurant, a general store, a farm implement shop, a seed warehouse, a church, and a two-story frame rooming house.

There wasn't even a street, just a dirt track that passed in front of the buildings, and it was so filled with ruts that the few vehicles they saw drove about ten feet to the right of it.

“This is a hell of a place to make a stand against a couple of dozen bounty hunters,” muttered the Mouse as they walked the mile from their spaceship to the town.

“You must have faith in the Soothsayer's judgment,” said the Mock Turtle placidly.

“Let the first five ships crash and I'll have a lot more faith,” remarked the Mouse caustically.

As they passed a pasture of mutated beef cattle, each weighing close to 2,500 pounds, grazing contently on the native grasses, Penelope walked up to the wire fence to stare at them.

“They're lovely,” said the little girl.

“They're just cows,” said the Mouse. “A little bigger than most, but no smarter, I'll wager.”

“Can I pet one, Mouse?” asked Penelope.

“I don't know why not,” replied the Mouse. “You'll know better than me if it's safe or not.”

“Thank you.”

Penelope leaned up against the fence and called to the cattle. Most of them ignored her, but a calf, almost as large as a full-grown Earth cow, stared at her with large, curious eyes and finally came over to the fence.

“He's very nice,” said Penelope, rubbing the calf's broad forehead between its eyes. “I think he likes me.”

“I'm sure he does,” said the Mouse.

Penelope petted the calf for another minute, then rejoined the Mouse and the Mock Turtle. As they began walking toward the buildings again, the calf followed them on its side of the fence until it could go no further, then began bleating plaintively, and finally returned to its gargantuan mother.

“I wonder if all the animals are that big,” said Penelope.

“I doubt it,” answered the Mouse. “Probably just the meat animals.”

Penelope frowned. “I hope nobody wants to eat him when he grows up.”

“Perhaps they won't,” said the Mouse reassuringly. “I'm sure they keep some for breeding.”

“Wouldn't it be nice it we could come back here someday and see him all grown up, and pet one of his children?” said the little girl.

“I'll settle for just getting off the planet in one piece,” said the Mouse.

They walked past fields of corn and sugar berries, and finally came to what passed for the town.

“What shall we do now, Soothsayer?” asked the Mock Turtle, oblivious to the curious stares it elicited from within the various shops.

“Now we wait,” answered Penelope.

“Right here?” asked the Mouse, surprised.

“No,” said Penelope. “They won't be here for awhile.”

“Good,” said the Mouse. “Then let's rent some rooms. I could do with a shower.”

“Me, too,” said Penelope. She examined her doll thoughtfully. “And Maryanne's all covered with dust.”

The Mouse headed for the rooming house, and entered it a moment later. It seemed much like the farmhouses of ancient Earth: it was made of wood, and the floor was covered with an inexpensive rug rather than carpeted. The furniture was sturdy and functional, but far from elegant, and despite the displays of fresh flowers there was a scent and feeling of mustiness about the place.

A floorboard creaked as she walked up to the registration desk, which in this case was simply a wooden table with a thin, weatherworn, elderly man sitting behind it.

“How much are your rooms?” asked the Mouse.

“Eighty credits a night. One hundred if you want the one with its own bathroom.”

“We'd like three rooms, please,” she said, as Penelope and the Mock Turtle entered the house. “Including the one with its own bath.”

“Only got two,” said the man. “Your green friend will have to make other arrangements.”

“We'll take two, then,” said the Mouse with a shrug. “The little girl and I can double up.”

“Only got one in that case.”

“If you don't accept aliens, why don't you post a sign to that effect?” demanded the Mouse.

“That's the first alien I've seen in almost thirty years,” answered the man. “Only been renting out rooms for the last seventeen.”

“Since there's no sign to the contrary, we'll take two rooms,” said the Mouse firmly.

“I only got one to rent,” said the man.

“Look,” said the Mouse. “We've come a long way, and we're tired and hungry. We want two rooms.”

“I know what you want,” said he man. “You keep it up, and you might find yourself sleeping out in a cornfield.”

“You keep it up, and you might start wondering what your ugly little world looked like when your head was still attached to your shoulders.”

The Mouse felt a hand tug at the sleeve of her tunic.

“Offer him more money,” said Penelope.

“Why should I?” said the Mouse. “He hasn't posted any restrictions.”

“Mouse, just do it,” said Penelope wearily.

The Mouse shrugged and turned back to the old man. “Five hundred credits a night for two rooms.”

“A thousand,” replied the man.

The Mouse was about to protest, but Penelope squeezed her hand, and nodded her approval.

“All right. A thousand.”

“In advance.”

The Mouse dug into the pouch where she kept her valuables, pulled out a thousand credits, and slapped them down on the table.

“Up the stairs,” said the old man, indicating a wooden staircase. “First two rooms on the left.”

“Where are our keys?” demanded the Mouse.

“Where's your luggage?”

“That's none of your business.”

The old man seemed to consider her answer, then opened a drawer and pulled out two keys.

“Thanks,” said the Mouse sardonically.

“If you don't like our service, you can always go to our competitors,” said the old man.

“You could use a little competition,” snapped the Mouse.

“We got some,” he replied with a broad grin. “Another boarding house, halfway around the planet. Just a good stretch of the legs.”

The Mouse picked up the keys and led the way upstairs. When she reached the landing, she handed one of the keys to the Mock Turtle.

“Why didn't you say anything?” she demanded, still furious.

“What was there to say?” responded the alien placidly.

“I've seen you shoot the Yankee Clipper down in cold blood, so don't tell me that you've been taught to turn the other cheek. Why didn't you stand up for your rights?”

“The Soothsayer did not instruct me to argue.”

“And if the Soothsayer tells you to jump off the edge of a cliff, will you do so?”

“Most certainly,” replied the Mock Turtle.

The Mouse muttered an obscenity and entered her room, followed by Penelope. The Mock Turtle watched her for a moment, then entered its own room.

The Mouse's room contained two narrow beds, a dresser with a large mirror, a rocking chair, a pair of small throw rugs—one between the beds, the other just outside the door to the bathroom—and each wall was covered with two-dimensional photographs of the old man at the desk, an equally aged woman, and number of middle-aged men and women, and children of various ages from infancy to young adulthood, which the Mouse assumed were their children and grandchildren.

“There's no holo set,” noted Penelope.

“I'm surprised there's a window,” said the Mouse. She sighed deeply. “Well, let's see what the facilities are like.”

She walked to the bathroom door and waited impatiently.

“Open,” she commanded.

The door remained shut.

“Try the handle,” said Penelope.

The Mouse reached for the door's hand and twisted it.

“I'll be damned!” she said. “Do you know how long it's been since I've seen one of these?”

She entered the bathroom, grimaced when she discovered that there was no Dryshower, walked to the tub, said “Hot", waited for a moment, then shook her head in disbelief and turned the faucet.

“How do people live like this?” she muttered.

She bathed, dried herself, and got back into her clothes, then rejoined Penelope in the bedroom.

“I don't think I'd better wash Maryanne in real water,” said Penelope, sitting cross-legged on her bed and looking thoughtfully at the doll. “I was hoping the bathroom would have a Dryshower.”

The Mouse sat down on her own bed.

“We have more important things to worry about,” she said.

“I know,” answered Penelope seriously.

“When will they start arriving?”

“Soon.”

“Today?”

“I think so.”

“How many of them?”

“Today? Just one ship.”

“Can you tell who's aboard it yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Carlos and the Kid, perhaps?”

Penelope frowned. “I hope not.”

“If you're still afraid of him, why are we sitting here waiting for him?” asked the Mouse, puzzled.

“I told you: we're all through running away.”

“Why here? Why weren't we all through running away on Calliope or McCallister?”

Penelope shrugged. “It just feels right here.”

“Well,” said the Mouse with a sigh, “I suppose it makes sense after all. Most of the ships that were chasing us got left behind at McCallister.” She paused. “I wonder what would happen if we went back to the ship right now and took off again? How many more of them would we lose?”

“They'd catch us before we reached the next world and kill us,” said Penelope.

“No they wouldn't—you're much too valuable to kill.”

“They wouldn't mean to,” said the little girl. “They'd try to disable the ship—but it's not very sturdy. The first time it was hit, all three of us would die.”

“So that's why we're through running?”

Penelope nodded her head.

“Shit!” said the Mouse. “I was hoping it was because you saw some way to make them finally stop chasing us. I didn't realize it was because we'd die if we kept running away.”

Penelope sighed deeply.

“Whatever happens here, at least it will finally be over,” she said. “I'm so tired.”

“I know,” said the Mouse sympathetically.

There was a momentary silence, as Penelope continued brushing dust from the doll. Finally she turned to the Mouse.

“Can we eat now?”

“Sure,” said the Mouse. “I don't know if the restaurant has any food the Mock Turtle can eat, though.”

“It will hurt his feelings if we don't ask him to come,” said Penelope.

“If he has any feelings,” said the Mouse, remembering the little scene at the desk.

“Everyone has feelings, Mouse,” said Penelope.

The Mouse sighed and tousled the girl's blonde hair. “I know,” she said. “I guess I'm just tired, too.”

They left their room and knocked on the Mock Turtle's door. The alien emerged a moment later.

“Have they arrived?” it asked.

“We're hungry,” said Penelope. “We're going across the street to eat at the restaurant. Would you like to come with us?”

“If you so wish it, Soothsayer,” said the Mock Turtle.

“I think we should stay together,” said Penelope.

They walked down the stairs and past the desk, which was now deserted. The Mouse opened the door, almost stepped on a small, catlike marsupial that had been sunning itself, and headed off toward the restaurant, followed closely by Penelope and the alien.

“Mouse?” said Penelope, when they had covered half the distance.

“What is it?”

“Whatever they charge us for the food, pay it.”

“But the Turtle can't even eat human food,” said the Mouse. She turned to the alien. “Can you?”

“No,” answered the Mock Turtle.

“So why should I let them overcharge us?” continued the Mouse. “If they object to his presence, he can wait outside.”

“Pay it,” said Penelope. “It's not polite to make him wait outside.”

“At this rate we'll be out of money by tomorrow night,” said the Mouse. “I'm sure the Turtle will understand.”

“We won't need the money by tomorrow night,” said Penelope.

“Why not?”

“Because whatever's going to happen will be over by then.”

“Let's be optimistic and assume we're all going to live through it,” said the Mouse. “If we do, we'll need money.”

“If we do, then you'll take if off the bodies of the people who don't live,” answered Penelope, dismissing the subject.

She climbed the steps of the restaurant's broad veranda, then paused to look at a wooden porch swing. “That's very nice,” she said. “Can I sit on it when we're through eating?”

“I don't know why not,” said the Mouse, still preoccupied with what the girl had just said about the impending events.

They entered the restaurant, which consisted of eight tables, all empty, each covered with an inexpensive, faded tablecloth. A pudgy, middle-aged woman walked out from another room and approached them.

“Can I help you?” she said coldly, regarding the Mock Turtle with open contempt.

“We'd like to have lunch,” said Penelope.

“Too late for lunch,” said the woman.

“Dinner, then,” said the Mouse.

“Too early for dinner.”

The Mouse walked to a table and seated herself. “We'll wait,” she announced, signaling Penelope and the Mock Turtle to join her.

The woman disappeared into the room from which she had emerged, then came out again a moment later.

“All we've got is stew,” she said.

“What kind of salad do you have?” asked the Mouse.

“I said all we've got is stew.”

“What's it made of?”

“Beef and vegetables,” said the woman.

“Can you make more if you have to?”

“I suppose so. Do you plan to eat twelve pounds of it?”

“No. But I want you to take some of those vegetables you would use to make more stew, and make me a salad,” said the Mouse.

“You ever have a salad made of potatoes before?” asked the woman with a harsh laugh.

“No, and I don't plan to have one now. However long it takes to make a simple salad, I'll wait.” She paused. “We'll all wait.”

“I'd like some stew, please,” added Penelope.

The woman jerked a thumb in the Mock Turtle's direction. “What does it eat?”

“Nothing, thank you,” said the alien.

The woman turned on her heel and left the room.

“I've never seen a place like this,” said the Mouse. “You'd think they'd never met an alien before.”

“Probably most of them haven't,” said the Mock Turtle. “Killhaven is an insular, isolated world.”

“Then they ought to be curious.”

“It is my experience that your race manifests its curiosity in unusual ways,” said the alien with no show of emotion. “This experience is not unfamiliar to me.”

“Then why are you risking your life to save one of us?” asked the Mouse, suddenly feeling defensive.

“Because she is the Soothsayer,” said the Mock Turtle, as if explaining the obvious to a small child.

The pudgy woman suddenly reappeared, placed a garden salad before the Mouse and a plate of stew in front of Penelope without uttering a word, then turned to leave.

“We'd like some water, too,” said the Mouse.

She glared at the Mouse, then left and returned with two glasses of water a moment later.

“Thank you,” said Penelope, as she left again.

The Mouse began eating her salad, made a face, and searched through it for a sign of dressing. She couldn't find any, and finally she shrugged and continued eating. “You know,” she remarked, “I get the distinct feeling that they're not very happy to see any of us.”

“They lead very rigid, insular lives,” said the Mock Turtle. “We have disrupted them.”

“But we can't be the only visitors they've ever seen,” said the Mouse. “After all, they do have a hotel and a restaurant.”

“They are probably patronized by farmers who come to town to shop for seeds and supplies, and by off-planet agents who come here to buy the crops.”

“Perhaps,” said the Mouse.

“We make an unlikely party,” continued the Mock Turtle. “Furthermore, you and I are both heavily armed, nor did we announce our arrival in advance.”

“Well, I hope they're no more hospitable to the others when they show up,” said the Mouse. Suddenly she grinned. “Maybe they'll all starve to death trying to get service here.”

As if on cue, the pudgy woman returned to the dining room.

“That'll be five hundred credits, cash,” she announced.

“Five hundred credits for one bowl of salad and one plate of stew?” demanded the Mouse.

“If you don't like the price, you shouldn't have eaten the food,” said the woman.

“Mouse...” said Penelope softly.

The Mouse looked at the little girl, then pulled some bills out of her money pouch.

“How much of a tip do you think we should leave?” she asked caustically.

“I don't want any tip from you,” said the woman. “Just pay up and leave.”

The Mouse handed over the money.

“We'll leave when we're ready to,” she said.

The woman glared at her. “When the shooting starts, just see to it that you're not in my restaurant.”

“What shooting?” asked the Mouse.

“Don't play dumb with me,” said the woman. “We heard on the subspace radio that there's a bunch of bounty hunters bound for Killhaven. Since no one here has broken any laws, it stands to reason that you're the ones they're after.” She paused. “I want you out of my restaurant. If we had any police here, I'd turn you in myself.”

“I told you,” said the Mouse coldly. “We'll leave when we're ready.”

Penelope reached across the table and laid a hand on the Mouse's wrist. “It's all right, Mouse. I'm through eating.”

“All right,” said the Mouse, getting to her feet. “Let's go try out that swing.”

“I don't want to any more,” said Penelope.

“Don't let her frighten you,” said the Mouse, still angry.

“I'm not afraid of her, Mouse.”

“You're sure you don't want to sit on the swing?”

“I'm sure,” answered the girl.

The Mouse shrugged. “All right,” she said. “Let's go back to our room.”

They left the dining room, walked out the door, and started climbing down the steps of the veranda.

“Well, maybe it wasn't xenophobia after all,” said the Mouse.

“Maybe it wasn't only xenophobia,” the Mock Turtle corrected her.

They began walking back to the rooming house. When they were in the middle of the dirt street separating the two buildings, Penelope suddenly froze in her tracks.

“What is it?” asked the Mouse solicitously.

“He's here already.”

“He?”

Penelope stared fixedly at a point just beyond the Mouse's left shoulder.

“Him!” she whispered.

The Mouse turned and saw two men standing at the door of the hotel. One was the Forever Kid.

“Hello, Mouse,” said the other. “You led us one hell of a chase.”

“Hello, Carlos,” said the Mouse.

“Come no closer,” said the Mock Turtle.

“And who are you?” demanded the Iceman.

“I am a friend of the Soothsayer,” replied the alien. “That is enough for you to know.”

“So she's the Soothsayer now?”

“And I am in her service.”

“If she was anyone else in the galaxy, I would say that she needed all the friends she could get,” said the Iceman. “I suppose you know that half a dozen ships are due to land before nightfall.”

“Yes—but you are the only one she fears,” said the Mock Turtle. “Keep your distance.”

“He's not going to touch the little girl,” said the Forever Kid. He turned to the Mouse. “I'm still on your payroll; I figure that includes protecting the girl.” He paused. “Unless you want the rest of your money back, that is.”

“Keep the money,” said the Mouse as an enormous surge of relief swept over her. “You're still working for me.”

“Well, Iceman?” said the Kid. “We haven't settled what we were going to do when we caught up with them. It seems to me that it's about time we found out where you stand.”

“We have time, yet,” said the Iceman. “Anything we decide right now is going to be disputed by a dozen or more bounty hunters. If we start shooting each other, there will be that many less of us to stand against them.”

“Why should we believe you, Carlos?” demanded the Mouse.

The Iceman stared into the little girl's eyes. “Tell them,” he said.

“He's not going to do anything to me at least until we're safe from the others,” said Penelope.

“What about later?” asked the Mouse.

“I don't know.”

The Mouse turned to face the Iceman once again. “Carlos?”

“She doesn't know because I don't know,” he replied.

“I'm still wondering if I can trust you,” said the Mouse.

“It is impossible for the Soothsayer to err,” said the Mock Turtle tranquilly. It began walking toward the rooming house. “Come. Let us go inside and make our plans. We are very visible targets here on the street.”

The Iceman nodded his agreement, and the five of them entered the rooming house. The old man was back at the desk.

“No rooms left,” he said sullenly. “We're all sold out.”

“We don't want a room,” replied the Iceman.

“We don't allow visitors.”

The Iceman stared at the old man for a long moment.

“Leave,” he said at last.

“This is my rooming house!”

“Don't make me say it again,” said the Iceman. He didn't raise his voice; if anything, he spoke even more softly. But there was something in his tone that convinced the old man to get up and walk out the door without saying another word. At the same time the Mouse became aware of Penelope pressing very hard against her hip and leg, as if she were trying to keep the Mouse between herself and the Iceman.

“We've got a little time,” said the Iceman. “About an hour or so. Where can we talk?”

“There's a lounge over there,” said the Mouse, pointing to an adjacent room that was dominated by a large, brick fireplace.

They entered it, with the Forever Kid leaning against the doorjamb, where he had a view of the empty street. Penelope waited until the Iceman had seated himself on a chair, then sat as far away from him as possible. The Mouse joined her a moment later, and the Mock Turtle, finding no furniture that would accommodate the huge, horny hump on its back, stood in a corner, from which it could observe all of them.

“Well?” said the Mouse. “What do we do now?”

“Now we wait,” said the Iceman.

“Then we kill ‘em all,” added the Forever Kid happily.

“Don't ask him what to do,” said the Iceman wryly. “He can't wait to take them all on single-handed.”

“Why aren't we trying to get away before they arrive?” asked the Mouse. “I know why we can't use our ship, but why can't we all leave in yours?”

“Because the Democracy's got a couple of battle cruisers on the way here,” answered the Iceman. “They won't arrive for a couple of days, but we can't outgun them, and while our ships are a little faster, they can carry a lot more fuel—they'd catch us the first time we put into a port with a fuel depot.” He paused. “The only way to get away cleanly is to do to them what you tried to do to us: change ships and hope they don't figure it out as quickly as we did.”

“And the only ships worth taking belong to the bounty hunters,” added the Forever Kid.

“So there's no alternative,” said the Mouse. “We stay and fight.”

“There's an alternative,” said the Iceman.

“What is it?” asked the Mouse.

“Leave the girl here and get out now. They're not interested in any of the rest of us.”

“No!” shouted Penelope.

“Never!” said the Mock Turtle.

“That was a foolish suggestion, Carlos,” said the Mouse, trying to control her anger.

“Probably,” he replied. “But you did ask for alternatives.” He stared at Penelope again. “You'd never let us get away with it, would you?”

“Why do you hate me so?” asked Penelope, edging closer to the Mouse and holding her hand as if for comfort.

“I don't hate you at all,” replied the Iceman.

“But you want me dead.”

“Probably.”

“Then you do hate me.”

“No more than I hate a cancer that has to be removed, or a scavenger that has to be shot. You can't help what you are, but you're too dangerous to be allowed to live.”

“If you lay a finger on her, it'll be over my dead body!” said the Mouse.

“And mine,” chimed in the Mock Turtle.

“Your money doesn't run out for four more days, Mouse,” said the Forever Kid easily. “I'm sure we'll have this all sorted out by then.”

“And what happens when the money runs out?” asked the Iceman.

The Kid smiled at him. “Then I might go up against you just for the hell of it.”

“Maybe you'd better worry about who you have to face today,” said the Iceman emotionlessly. “They're due to arrive within the hour.”

“I'm looking forward to it,” the Forever Kid assured him.

“I'll just bet you are,” replied the Iceman.

“Soothsayer,” interjected the Mock Turtle, “how may we help in your defense?”

“You don't listen very well, do you?” said the Iceman. “She doesn't need any help.”

“You don't listen too well yourself,” shot back the Mouse. “They're not coming to kill her, but to capture her.”

“How long will she stay captured?” replied the Iceman. He turned to the girl again. “How many people have captured you so far, and where are they all now?”

Penelope's grip on the Mouse's hand tightened. “Make him leave me alone, Mouse.”

“You heard her,” said the Mouse.

The Iceman shrugged. “That being the case, I think I'll go across the street and get a drink while there's time.”

“That's a restaurant, not a bar,” said the Mouse.

“They'll find some liquor,” said the Iceman confidently. He got to his feet, walked across the room, and a moment later he had left the rooming house and crossed the empty street.

The Mouse turned to Penelope. “Will you be all right if I leave you for a few minutes?”

“Where are you going?”

“To have a talk with Carlos,” she answered. “I've got to know whether we can count on him—or even turn our backs on him—once the shooting starts.”

“He's a very bad man,” said Penelope.

“I'm starting to agree with you.”

“Then don't go,” pleaded Penelope, clutching at the Mouse's arm with both of her hands.

The Mouse hugged her reassuringly, then gently disengaged herself and got to her feet. “I'll just be a few minutes,” she said, “and you'll be safe here with the Kid and the Mock Turtle.”

“He'll just say terrible things about me,” said Penelope. “Promise me you won't listen to them.”

“Of course I won't.” The Mouse smiled. “We're still a team, remember?”

She hugged the girl again, then left the rooming house and walked across the street to the restaurant.

“You again?” said the pudgy woman, as the Mouse walked up the stairs of the veranda and into the building.

“Let her in,” said the Iceman, who was sitting alone in the dining room.

As with the old man, the woman detected something in his voice that made her decide not to argue with him.

“A beer for her, and another Cygnian cognac for me,” said the Iceman.

The woman left the room, and the Mouse sat down opposite the Iceman.

“I had a feeling you'd come over here,” he said. “I suppose it's just as well. We've got to talk.”

“Yes, we do,” agreed the Mouse.

The woman returned with the drinks.

“Thanks,” said the Iceman, placing a couple of bills on the table. “Now leave us alone.”

“How will I know if you want more?” she demanded.

“We won't.”

The pudgy woman turned and left the room without another word.

The Mouse leaned forward and stared at the Iceman.

“Why did you come here, Carlos?”

“Because I was thirsty.”

“You know what I mean,” she said irritably. “You're not here for the reward, and you're certainly not here to save me—so why are you here?”

“You still don't believe it, do you?” said the Iceman. “You're sitting on a time bomb, and you still haven't realized it.”

“You make her sound like Evil Incarnate,” said the Mouse. “There's not a malicious bone in her body. She's just a little girl, and I love her.”

“I never said she was malicious.”

“Well, then?”

The Iceman sipped his drink, put it back down on the table, and met the Mouse's gaze.

“Wherever she goes, people die.”

“Only people who mean her harm.”

“She's just a child, Mouse,” said the Iceman. “As she grows older and stronger, her definition of harm is going to change. Right now it's people who want to take her away from you, but one day soon it'll be anyone who opposes anything she wants.”

“Nonsense.”

“You think only bounty hunters can trip on ladders and break their necks?” continued the Iceman. “You think a planetary governor can't choke on his food, or that the Secretary of the Democracy can't slip in the rain?”

“She would never do that!”

“Why not?”

“She's a decent, sensitive child. You don't know her like I do.”

“Nobody knows her like you do,” agreed the Iceman. “But she'll even kill you if you stand in her way.”

“Stand in her way?” repeated the Mouse. “In her way to what?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. But the first duty of power is to protect itself, and the first instinct of the strong is to eat the weak.”

“You're a fool, Carlos!”

“Perhaps.”

“She's never harmed anyone who didn't try to harm her first.”

“She's never had the opportunity to.”

“She has the opportunity right now,” said the Mouse. “If she's what you think she is, why haven't you choked to death on your drink, or keeled over with a heart attack?”

“Obviously she needs me—probably to face the bounty hunters,” said the Iceman, still with no display of emotion. “That's why we have to talk.” He stared at her intently. “If one of the bounty hunters manages to get his hands on her, then she's the Democracy's problem, and good luck to them.” He paused. “But if you're the only one who survives this mess, you'd better start giving some thought to how you're going to kill her.”

“You're describing a monster, not a little girl!”

“A potential monster, anyway,” agreed the Iceman. “The longer you wait, the harder she'll be to take on.”

“Did it ever occur to you that she could be a force for good?” demanded the Mouse.

“What's good for her won't be what's good for us.”

“She's a human being!”

“She's more than a human being,” replied the Iceman. “And the more she grows, the less like a human being she's going to become.”

“Then why didn't you try to kill her the minute you saw her out on the street?”

He stared at his drink for a moment, then looked across the table at her.

“There's a possibility that I'm wrong.”

“That's the first rational thing you've said.”

“Everything I've said is rational,” he replied. “I could be mistaken about how much harm she could do. It wouldn't be the first time I was wrong.” He paused. “But I doubt it.”

“Then I repeat: why are you here at all? Why don't you just stand back and let the bounty hunters take her away?”

“I plan to stand back.”

“I don't understand.”

“If she can arrange for the Forever Kid to kill them all, then she's as dangerous as I thought. If she can't, then I'll take a hand.”

“That won't prove a thing,” said the Mouse. “I've seen him kill eight miners all by himself.”

“Those were miners,” said the Iceman. “These are bounty hunters. There's Three-Fisted Ollie and Jimmy the Spike and Cemetery Smith and half a dozen others just as formidable. The Forever Kid's good, but he's not that good.”

“Then you're telling me that you plan to sit back and watch him die defending Penelope?”

“First, nothing would make him happier than dying, and second, I don't expect him to die.”

“What do you expect?”

“I expect him to kill them all, and then I expect I'll try to kill her, whether he tries to stop me or not.” The Iceman paused. “And if I fail, I expect you to remember this conversation, and put your emotions aside, and do what has to be done.”

“Not a chance,” said the Mouse in level tones.

“Then I feel very sorry for you.” He paused. “You always seem to love the wrong people. Once it cost you a year in an alien prison. This time it may cost you your life.”

“You never cared for me!” said the Mouse. “Penelope loves me!”

“She loves you because she needs a mother and that's what you've been to her,” said the Iceman. “What happens when she stops needing a mother?”

“Sooner or later all little girls grow up and stop needing their mothers,” said the Mouse. “That doesn't mean they stop loving them.”

“But you're not her mother,” he pointed out. “By the time she's mature she'll have no more in common with you than you have with an insect.”

“You don't know her, or you wouldn't say that.”

“I freely admit I don't know her,” said the Iceman. “My point is that you don't either. She looks and acts like a normal little girl, but she isn't one.” He paused. “I asked you a question back on Last Chance. Let me ask it again: how many men and women and aliens has this normal little girl killed?”

“I told you,” said the Mouse. “Anytime she's hurt or killed somebody it's been in self-defense.”

“You still haven't answered me. How many?”

“I don't know?”

“More than the Forever Kid?”

“I doubt it. But that's not the point. She's not a paid killer. She's just trying to stay alive.”

“I know. But let me ask another question now: has she ever expressed any remorse or regret over having taken so many lives?”

“No,” said the Mouse. Then she added defensively: “Would you feel remorse over killing someone who was trying to kill you?”

“No, I wouldn't,” replied the Iceman.

“Then why is she any different from you?”

“Because when I was eight years old, I couldn't kill ten or twenty or however many bounty hunters she's killed,” said the Iceman. “She's still a little girl, and her needs are simple: she wants to stay alive and she wants to stay free. But what will her needs be when she grows up?”

“I don't know, and neither do you.”

“Nobody knows,” he admitted. “Probably not even Penelope. But I do know this: if her power keeps growing, and there's no reason to assume it won't, she can have anything she wants when she grows up. A planet? A star system? A trillion credits? Hers for the asking—or for the wanting and the manipulating.”

“That's no different than a politician or a businessman.”

“There's a difference,” said the Iceman. “They can be stopped. She can't. Hell, she's already killed more men than most of the bounty hunters who are after her. Can't you see what lies up the road?”

“You're guessing!” she half-shouted. “You want me to kill her because you think she might grow up to be some kind of monster! Well, she isn't, and she never will be! You don't know her like I do!”

“No,” he said. “But I know something else. I know that we've had monsters before—Caligula, Hitler, Conrad Bland—and that they all had mothers who loved them.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Think of how many lives could have been saved if just one of those mothers had seen her child for the potential monster it really was.” He paused and stared at her. “You might consider that while there's still time.”

Then he rose and walked out of the dining room, leaving her with her beer and her thoughts.