"I asked that too." dave's brows furrowed. "Lizeth and fluid are bringing extra pods. They'll hover in the sky till they see the battle's over . . . but they'll just be caught with the rest of us if the copsik runners use the carm. We've got to take the carm."

"What are we trying to do, exactly? I mean you and me."

"Gather Quinn Tribe. We want to look good to Carther States, but Quinn Tribe comes first. I wish I knew where they all are."

Mist was drifting over them, seeping into the foliage. A wind was rising. Storm blurred the sky. He kept his eyes on the faint, shadowy line of London Tree . . . which was nearer and growing.

The out tuft was nearest: the citizens' tuft. Citizens would be first to see the oncoming terror: a green mass klomters across flying at the trunk, green warriors coming out of the sky. Not much chance of surprise here. The jungle too was too big to be hidden.

Realistically, they hadn't a ghost of a chance of rescuing anybody. They would do as much damage as possible and die. Why not attack the out tuft first? Kill some citizens and they'd remember better.

Too late now. The Sherman was klomters away, tending a pillar of fiery steam, aiming it to send the jungle a fingernail's width from the tree. Fat chance of getting to her with a change in plan!

The line within the fog had solidified into a tremendous integral sign tufted at the ends. Every Carther now held a sword. dave drew his.

"Warriors!" Anthon bellowed. He waited for silence, then cried,

"Our attack must be remembered! It's not enough to break some heads.

We must damage London Tree. London Tree must remember, for a

generation to come, that offending Carther States is dangerously stupid. Unless they remember, they will come when we cannot move.

"Let them remember the lesson!"

"Launch!"

Sixty swords slashed at the lines that tied them to the jungle. Sixty hands pulled the plugs from the stem-ends of sixty jet pods. Pods jetted away in a wind that smelled of rotted plants. At first they clustered, even bumping into each other. Then they began to separate. Not all jet pods thrust alike.

Clave clung with arms and legs, tight against the screaming pod. He was wobbling a little, more than the others. Unskilled. Blood was drain. ing from his head. The tide was ferocious.

The sky was dark and formless, and lightning flashed nearby. They were approaching the center of the tree, as planned. There at the midpoint was the carrier, its nose against the trunk. Its tail was on fire.

Lawn tapped the blue button in a row of five.