“The funding won’t be contingent,” said Rackham. “We’re funding it using the same investment software. It’s really good, Bean. This is going to be one of the best-funded projects ever, in a few years.”

Bean laughed. “Mazer, you just don’t understand how far people will go to get their hands on money that they think is being wasted on pure research. You’ll see. But no, I take that back. You won’t see. It’ll happen after you’re dead. I’ll see. And I’ll raise a glass to you, among my little children, and I’ll say, Here’s to you, Mazer Rackham, you foolish old optimist. You thought humans were better than they are, which is why you went to all the trouble of saving the human race a couple of times.”

Mazer put an arm around Bean’s waist and clinched tight for a moment. “Kiss the babies good-bye.”

“I will not,” said Bean. “Do you think I want them to have nightmares of a giant bending over them and trying to eat them?”

“Eat them!”

“Babies fear being eaten,” said Bean. “There’s a sound evolutionary reason for it, considering that in our ancestral homeland in Africa hyenas would always have been happy to carry off a human baby and eat it. I guess you’ve never read the child-rearing literature.”

“Sounds more like Grimm’s Fairy Tales.”

Bean walked from bed to bed, touching each child in return. Perhaps spending a bit longer with Ramón, since he had spent so much time with him, compared to mere minutes with the others.

Then he left the room and followed Rackham out to the enclosed van that was waiting for him.

Suriyawong heard the report and the order: The press conference has been held; Thai participation in the FPE has been announced; now begin active operations against the enemy.

Suri timed the departure of all six contingents so that they would arrive simultaneously, more or less. He also ordered the Chinese battle choppers into position, ready to join in the battle as soon as surprise was achieved.

One of them would take him to where Virlomi would be.

If there are any gods looking out for her, thought Suriyawong, then let her live. Even if a hundred thousand soldiers die for her pride, please let her live. The good she did, the greatness in her, should count for something. The mistakes of generals can kill many thousands, but they’re still mistakes. She set out for victory, not destruction. She should be punished only for her intent, not the result.

Not that her intent was all that good.

But you—you gods of war! Shiva, you destroyer!—what was Virlomi, ever, except your servant? Will you let your servant be destroyed, solely because she was so good at her job?

St. Petersburg had fallen more quickly than anyone expected. The resistance hadn’t even been enough to count as “token.” Even the police had fled, and the Finns and Estonians ended up working to maintain public order rather than fight a determined enemy.