The two downsider men, lacking the free-flying confidence of the quaddies, crossed the chamber via a rope net hung across a farther arc, and made their way toward Mama Nilla's group.

"I've got one here who needs some biotic glue," Mama Nilla, hugging the cut quaddie, said to Dr. Minchenko as soon as he drew near enough to hear. "What's going on? Is it safe to take them back to the crèche modules yet?"

"It's safe," replied Leo, "but you're going to have to come with me, Ms. Villanova."

"I don't leave my kids till my relief arrives," said Mama Nilla tartly, "and nine-tenths of the department seems to have evaporated, including my department head."

Leo frowned. "Have you had your briefing from Dr. Yei yet?"

"No . . ."

"They were saving the best for last," said Dr. Minchenko grimly, "for obvious reasons." He turned to the crèche mother. "GalacTech has just terminated the Cay Project, Liz. Without even consulting me!" Bluntly, he outlined the termination scenario for her. "I was writing up protests, but Graf here beat me to it. Rather more effectively, I suspect. The inmates are taking over the asylum. He thinks he can convert the Habitat into a colony ship. I think . . . I choose to believe he can."

"You mean you're responsible for this mess?" Mama Nilla glared at Leo, and looked around, clearly stunned. "I thought Claire was babbling . . ." The other two downsider crèche mothers had come over during the explanation and hung in the air looking equally nonplussed. "GalacTech's not giving you the Habitat . . . are they?" Mama Nilla asked Leo faintly.

"No, Ms. Villanova," said Leo patiently. "We are stealing it. Now, I wouldn't ask you to get involved in anything illegal, so if you'll just follow me to the life pod—"

Mama Nilla stared around the gym. A few groups of youngsters were already being herded out by some older quaddies. "But these kids can't handle all these kids!"

"They're going to have to," said Leo.

"No, no—I don't think you have the foggiest idea how labor-intensive this department is!"

"He doesn't," confirmed Dr. Minchenko, rubbing his lips thoughtfully with a forefinger.

"There's no choice," said Leo through his teeth. "Now kids, let go of Ms. Villanova," he addressed the quaddies clutching her. "She has to leave."

"No!" said the one wrapped around her left knee. "She's gotta read our stories after lunch, she promised." The one with the cut began crying again. Another one tugged her left sleeve and whispered loudly, "Mama Nilla! I gotta go to the toilet!"

Leo ran his hands through his hair, unclenched them with a visible effort. "I need to be suited up and Outside right now, lady, I don't have time to argue. All of you"—his glare took in the other two crèche mothers—"move it!"