Elizabeth was quite right, of course, when she said that we hadn't heard the
last of Justin and Judith's situation. Nothing had been solved, not really. But
the matter had passed out of our hands, or so I thought; I fully expected that
my wife and I would now become spectators of, rather than participants in, the
events that were to follow. Of course I was wrong. I had not been quite so
spectacularly wrong, in fact, since I convinced myself: "Wait until you've
been married a few months before you tell her. It'll be easier after you've
gotten to know each other." But I digress. Had I known just how deeply we
were going to become involved, and how soon, I think I would have packed up and
moved to the forest. Or maybe back to the Fitzgibbons farm. I think it would
have been easier to go mano-a-mano with Dragon than to face what was to
come.

The next day began peacefully enough. I slept a little later than I usually
did; emotional exhaustion, probably. When I woke I was surprised to see that
Elizabeth was already up. Washed, brushed and dressed, she was sitting on the
deep windowsill sorting papers. Outside, the day was dawning clear and bright,
but with a stiff and chilly-looking north wind; the farm-workers, clearly
visible through our window as they headed out in a long line toward the fields,
were well-bundled and blowing into their hands to stay warm.

"I couldn't bring myself to wake you," Elizabeth explained, as I
leaned over to kiss her. "You were sleeping so peacefully. And after last
summer..."

She didn't need to elaborate on that. During the NIMH expedition my
companions and I had been forced into a nocturnal lifestyle. It was inevitable,
really: after all, there was no way we could get any of our particular kind of
work done in the daytime. It was dangerous enough at night. After our return,
all five of us had a devil of a time adjusting back to sleeping at night and working
by day, the schedule that most of the community kept. Mark and David, in fact,
still tended to take the "graveyard" watches at the main entrance, a
habit which didn't do much for their social lives. Philip and Eileen had
problems too, but at least they had them together. Myself, I can't begin to
count the number of times I crept out of bed in the middle of the night that
past summer, utterly unable to sleep. I got more reading done than I had for a
long time previous, that was for sure. The major downside--other than the fact
that it often disturbed Elizabeth when I got out of bed--was that I'd tended to
conk out in the early afternoon, sometimes in the middle of Justin's staff
meetings. Ages had been ready with one of his herbs--but I resorted to that
only a very few times: I didn't want it to become a habit. Fortunately, as the
days grew shorter and the nights chillier, the problem seemed to be working
itself out.

"Maybe Ages is right," I said, as I hurriedly ran a brush through
my fur. "Maybe I do work a little too hard."

"Yes, you do," Elizabeth said flatly. She rose and packed the
papers into her briefcase. "And more than a little. But the fates seem to
be conspiring against your slowing down anytime soon."

I grinned ruefully and opened the wardrobe cabinet. The style of clothing I
had favored for a very long time was, in cut at least, exactly like that worn
by the Guard: a long-sleeved white shirt and a dark-colored tunic with a black
belt and hidden buttons. I had never been a Guardsman, and so I wasn't entitled
to wear their dark blue. The tunics that hung in my wardrobe now, most of them
almost brand-new, were of three colors: dark green, dark brown, and--for
extremely formal occasions only--black. Today I seemed to be in a brown mood.

"You know, Jonathan, I've been thinking," Elizabeth said as I
dressed. "The real problem isn't getting Judith to talk to Eileen. It's
getting her to talk to Justin. And vice-versa, of course."

I paused in the act of buttoning, and I shook my head firmly.
"No," I told her. "Whatever you're thinking, darling--no. This
is out of our hands now. Let Eileen handle it. If she needs help she'll enlist
her parents and her other siblings."

"I know," Elizabeth said softly. She gazed at me steadily over the
top of her glasses. "But Justin doesn't have any parents or any siblings.
All he has is...us."

My children were on pins and needles that morning, all except Cynthia; she
was merely annoyed. But her time was coming.

Martin expressed it best, as the six of us sat around the breakfast table.
"It's like," he said, shrugging his wide shoulders, "what do we
do while we've waiting? Are we really adults now, or not?"

Hacker had been confident that they were, but she'd only seen half their
exams. Alice still had the other half, and I hadn't spoken to her yet. "If
I were you," I told him carefully, "I'd go ahead to work today. I
think that'll be the safest course. I doubt there'll be any problem with your
tests--but if so, no harm done."

That answer satisfied Martin and Timothy quite well, if the glance they
exchanged was any indication. Both of them were still at the very beginnings of
their careers, of course, but already they were showing promise. Martin was as
handy with tools as Timothy was with a pencil. Martin was a little too small to
be part of Arthur's construction crew; but there was nothing stopping him from
becoming, say, a furniture- or cabinet-maker, two skills very much in demand.
Timothy--like his friend Robert--would end up a draftsman and an architect,
that seemed certain; but my younger son had a talent for artistic work too,
such as painting, drawing and fine woodcarving. Not to mention his music. They
would both go far.

...Which left only Teresa. My oldest child, sitting next to me on my left, did
not greet my statement with the same enthusiasm as her brothers; in fact my
words made her look quite unhappy. I was about to ask her why...but at that
moment I was interrupted.

"May I join you?" a familiar, somewhat gruff voice said quietly.
We all turned--and were surprised (well, I know I was) to see Mr. Ages
standing there, a tray in his hands and the tiny beginnings of a smile on his
face.

"Of course!" I said. There was always an extra chair available for
him at our specially-sized table; but he had never before made use of it,
despite frequent invitations. He preferred to take his meals up to his own
quarters near the infirmary. In case there was a medical emergency, so he
claimed; we all knew better, though.

"You seem a bit surprised to see me," Ages continued, as he sat
down between Teresa and me.

"As a matter of fact..." I began, and Ages' half-smile widened a
trifle.

"To be honest," he said, "I found the solitude weighing upon
me a little more heavily this morning than it usually does." His smile
fell suddenly. "That often happens on these autumn days," he
finished, almost inaudibly.

I was probably the only living person who knew the story behind that
statement, unless he had told Elizabeth or Justin, which I considered unlikely.
And me, he had sworn to secrecy. So far, that promise I'd been able to
keep.

"And," he went on, before anyone could ask, "I've found that
I do enjoy the company of your family."

He was looking directly at Cynthia as he said that, and when her eyes met
his I was certain that she was going to choke on her oatmeal. She swallowed
hurriedly, and then, a little to my surprise, she drew herself up to her full
height and looked boldly back at him. He was testing her, that much was
obvious. And because I still hadn't discussed the subject with
Elizabeth, I was undoubtedly the only one at the table--with the possible
exception of Timothy--who knew what was going on.

Ages looked pleased when he finally dropped my daughter's unwavering stare a
moment later; clearly she had passed the test. He turned to me. "Jonathan
my boy," he said, "I wonder if you can help me. I had a most curious
conversation with young Eileen just now. You know her somewhat better than I do;
perhaps you can explain it."

"Maybe," I said cautiously, very aware of Elizabeth's eyes burning
into the side of my head. "What did she say?"

"Well," Ages began. He took a sip of tea and continued, sounding
bemused. "She has an appointment with me this morning. Prenatal matters;
you know the sort of thing."

"Not personally," I said. "But I can imagine."

"Ahem, yes. At any rate, she stopped me in the corridor a few moments
ago and asked me if I would have time to see her sister Judith as well."

I didn't dare meet Elizabeth's gaze; even though my right ear was
practically smoking by then. "And what did you tell her?" I asked
evenly.

"As it happens, my calendar is fairly empty this morning, and so I said
yes, I'd be happy to. Then I asked Eileen what's wrong with Judith, why she
needs to see me."

"And what did Eileen say?"

"That's the strange part," Ages said. He removed his glasses,
polished them on his napkin, and put them back on. "Eileen said--and I
quote: 'that depends on how much force I have to use to get her to the
infirmary.'" He paused. "Do you have any idea what she meant by that,
Jonathan?"

I gazed at him. One of my best-developed talents, and certainly the one I'm least
proud of, is an ability to lie with a perfectly straight face. Recently I'd
sworn off--but in this case the alternative was worse. "Ages, old
friend," I said, "I really couldn't say." Which statement--when
you think about it--actually wasn't a lie after all.

Art by LordDirk

After breakfast I caught up with Justin. I found our elected leader walking
briskly up the corridor not far from the main entrance, and even from behind,
as I hurried to match his long-legged stride, I could see that he was feeling
better. The color and set of his tail told me that. He greeted me with a smile
that seemed genuine; and even from the front he did indeed look rather less
haggard. Though I could still detect just a hint of sadness and anxiety deep in
his eyes.

He noticed my scrutiny and he smiled as he continued to walk, a little
slower now. "It's amazing what a good night's rest can do," he said.
"I finally broke down and asked Ages for a sleeping aid."

"Herbal, no doubt," I commented, and Justin nodded.

"Yes," he said. "He told me that he'd given some to you too,
when you were having trouble during the summer. Oh, what was the name?
Something starting with a 'V'..."

"Valerian," I supplied. "And yes, I did take it a time or
two. Put me out like a light, in fact. Ages claims it isn't habit-forming,
but..." I shook my head dubiously.

"Oh, I don't plan on making a habit of it," Justin assured me.
"But I hadn't slept well for several nights, and just to break that
cycle..." He trailed off, shook himself, and smiled again. "What have
you got for me?" he asked.

I opened my notebook and passed him the fruits of my labor those last three
days: the neatly-inscribed spreadsheet which contained my inventory figures. He
paused to unfold and gaze at it carefully. A moment later he nodded and slipped
the paper into his own notebook. "Thank you, Jonathan," he said.
"This is going to be very useful to me in the weeks to come. To all of us,
really." He peered down at me seriously. "I'm just sorry I gave you
so much grief over it."

I shook my head. "I still say at least half the fault was mine," I
told him. "And as for the rest...I understand. Believe me, I do. So," I
went on briskly, "what would you like me to do today?"

"What I'd like you to do," he said with a smile, "is to take
the rest of the day off with my compliments." He held up his hand before I
could protest. "No arguments," he said firmly. "You do a lot for
this community and for me," he went on. "And recently it seems I've
been inclined to take you for granted. I want to change that, starting
now."

There had indeed been times in my life when I'd felt taken for granted; but
these last four months had definitely not been one of those times.
Possibly because I'd been far too busy; but more likely because I finally felt
a real sense of belonging among the rats. My friends and my family together in
one place, coexisting in harmony; how could I help but be content?

"Well," I said slowly, "if you insist..."

"I do," Justin said. "As a matter of fact...I think I might
start easing off a little too. I'm starting to believe that what you and
Elizabeth have been telling me is right. These people elected me as their
leader--not their baby-sitter."

You don't have to hit him over the head too many tines, I
thought wryly. "Will you join my family and me for lunch?" I asked.

He grinned and slapped me on the back. "I'll be there," he said.
"Enjoy your day, Jonathan. You deserve it." And then he continued up
the corridor, leaving me, almost for the first time since I arrived in Thorn
Valley, completely at loose ends.

In the end I didn't have quite the quiet, restful day Justin envisioned for
me. But at least my morning was productive. In several ways.

I went first to Elizabeth's office up on the second level, full of hope; but
she was snowed under with requisition forms. "Later," she told me
distractedly. "I think I can get this mess cleared by noon. If so, then we
can spend the afternoon together. Deal?"

Like it or not, it was the best I was going to get. I briefly considered
staying to help her--just to speed things along, you understand--but the look
in her eye made it clear that my assistance was not needed. And so I
once again took to wandering the corridors.

I don't want to give the impression that I had worked seven days a week
since I came to the valley; that certainly wasn't the case. In fact I generally
took at least one, and sometimes two, days off a week. But always before those
days had been planned well in advance, activities with my wife and children
carefully scheduled. That was deliberate; it was one way in which I hoped to
repair my damaged relations with my family, especially Teresa and Martin. But
this was different: it was the first time I'd had a day off with absolutely
nothing planned; and it was both refreshing and, in a certain sense,
frightening. That's your problem, I told myself, as I headed down to the
first level. Too much planning. You've forgotten how to be spontaneous.

There was, I suppose, any number of things I might have done; though
anything to do with the outdoors was definitely not on the list. Once glance
through Elizabeth's office window had been enough to convince me of that. The
weather in Thorn Valley that day was unpleasant in the extreme. The wind had
risen well beyond a breeze, and it was kicking up little whirlwinds of dust and
debris from the farm. Hardly one of my beloved, glowing fall days. I'd stay
indoors, thank you.

In the end what I did, albeit briefly, was relax. Simply relax. I stopped by
the library first and borrowed a book which I'd been meaning to read for some
time; and I took it with me up to the lounge. There, in that huge, quiet and
nearly-deserted room, I found a small sofa tucked away in the corner, and,
curling myself up thereon, I sat back and read. I had not done so in the
daytime for quite a while; somewhere in the back of my mind it almost seemed
immoral.

The book I'd chosen was a transcription of a late 18th-Century
British novel (though we did have several up-and-coming local authors) and its
use of language was both old-fashioned and challenging, requiring all of my
attention. For the next hour or so I gave it that. So engrossed was I, in fact,
that I entirely failed to notice my older daughter's presence until she cleared
her throat softly. "Father, can I speak with you?"

I looked up in surprise. Over the last few weeks I had grown used to
Teresa's approach being announced by the thumping of her crutches. But no
longer. Her current cast--probably the last she'd need--applied just the
previous afternoon and as yet gleaming white and un-autographed, was of the
"walking" type, which is to say that it had a hard rubber disk
embedded into the heel. She was a little unsteady yet, but glad to have her
hands free again.

"Of course you can," I said. I laid by book aside and scooted
over. "Sit down. What's up?"

She settled in next to me. This morning she wore a dark-blue skirt and a
lighter-blue, sleeveless sweater; the ribbon that tied back her hair matched
the skirt. As always since my return I was struck by how lovely she had become;
the very image of her mother. At the moment, though, and to my dismay, the look
in her big blue eyes was once again one of extreme unhappiness. She'd looked
that way at breakfast too, and I'd wondered why; only later had I recalled my
late-night conversation with Elizabeth. I owed my dear wife an apology, it seemed:
I had dismissed her concerns too quickly.

"I've just been to see Eileen at the school department," Teresa
said. "She had our test scores..."

My heart leaped. Fast work, Hacker, I thought. I owe you one.
But then I looked closer at Teresa, and my initial surge of excitement suddenly
gave way to something more like alarm. "You're not telling me--" I
began.

"No," she said quickly. "No, nothing like that. We passed.
All three of us passed. We're adults now, officially."

I threw an arm around her shoulders and hugged her.
"Congratulations," I said. I paused. Then I went on, carefully,
"I hate to say so, honey, but you don't seem particularly happy about
it."

She turned away; and to my surprise I saw that her eyes were filling with
tears. I hugged her a little closer. "Hey now," I said gently.
"What's wrong?"

"Daddy," she said in hopeless, trembling tones, "what am I
going to do?"

"I don't quite understand," I said. Actually I did; or at least I
thought I did. But if there was one thing I'd learned as a parent, it's to
avoid jumping to conclusions. "What are you going to do about what?"

"My life," she said. She sniffled, and I pulled a handkerchief
from my tunic pocket and passed it to her. "Everybody has something they
want to do. Martin, Timothy...even Cynthia."

"How did you find out about that?" I asked.

She shrugged and grimaced. "I asked," she said. "I wondered
why she was reading those strange books--about anatomy and herbs and chemistry.
So last night I asked her; and she told me."

"And what--uh--what did you say to her?"

"I told her that if there's anything I can do to help her, all she need
to do is ask," Teresa said. She looked at me sharply. "Why? What did
you expect me to say?"

"Uh--never mind, honey," I said quickly. "We're talking about
you, not your sister. I know you've tried a lot of jobs these last few weeks.
Hasn't anything--?"

"No," she said miserably. "Nothing has been right. I'm either
too small, or I don't know enough; or it's boring." She nodded down at her
cast. "And this hasn't helped either. What was I thinking when I
jumped off that boulder? I knew it was too far down..."

"I imagine," I said dryly, "you were thinking about all your
friends who had already done it. But that doesn't matter any more,
sweetheart." I paused. "You've been here almost five months. You've
seen all the kinds of jobs there are. But you're saying that none of
them appeal to you?"

"It's not that, exactly," Teresa said. "Because it isn't just
a job that I'm choosing. It's a career. Nobody knows how long we'll
live. Whatever I choose, I might have to stick with for a very long time, and
that's scary."

"Yes, I suppose it is," I said. "When you think about it that
way."

"I mean," she went on, "I could go to work for the kitchen,
say, or for the cloth mill like Eileen's little sister Kim. I could do the
work--but it would just be a job. It wouldn't be something that I really
believe in."

"I see your point."

"But," she said, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper,
"my friends tell me that if I don't choose soon, Justin will have to
assign me to the farm. Is that true, Father?"

I smiled, reassuringly I hoped. "Technically yes," I said.
"But I really don't think you have to worry about that. First of all, nobody
is going to the farm for a few months yet. It's pretty well closed down for the
season. Second, he wouldn't send anybody with a fractured ankle. And
third--most importantly--he wouldn't assign anyone named Brisby to anything
against her will. He wouldn't dare. I think we've got plenty of time to figure
this out, honey, without worrying that the choice will be taken out of our
hands."

"What...what should I do, then?"

"First, you need to calm down." I told her. "Nobody wants you
to make a snap decision, or go into something that you'll end up hating.
Second, now that you don't have to spend so much time studying, it would be a
good idea for you to do some thinking. About what your strengths are, and what
you might like to do. You are every bit as intelligent as anyone in this
community, Teresa. There might be some jobs that you're not large or strong
enough to do--that's inevitable for all of us. But there is no job that
you're not smart enough to do."

She smiled. "Thank you, Father."

"And don't forget, honey, that sometimes it's possible to create
a job, as your mother did. Some people say that what she's doing now is a
sinecure--but that isn't true by any means. It was a real, unmet need which she
had the wit to recognize."

Teresa gazed thoughtfully out at the windy morning. "That's true,"
she said. "I wonder..." Then she looked at me and smiled again,
returning my slightly crumpled handkerchief. "Thank you, Father," she
said. "That does help."

"You're welcome, Teresa," I said. "And there's one other
thing I want you to remember too. No matter what you end up choosing, or what
ends up choosing you, your mother and I will be proud of you. Just as long as
you give it your best."

She kissed me on the cheek, and then she rose, swaying for a second before
she found her balance on that little rubber pad. "Thank you," she
said again. "Excuse me, please. I've got some thinking to do."

I watched her go, her head bobbing up and down because of the unevenness of
her stride. She did seem a little happier now, at least...but for some reason I
wasn't satisfied. All I'd been able to offer her were words. And the old saying
about actions speaking louder is true.

With some regret, I marked my place about halfway through the fourth chapter
of Mary Shelley's "The Last Man", and then I stood, tucking the book
under my arm. It would have to be my bedtime reading now, I feared: the
remainder of my morning was about to become occupied.

"I'm here to do something I promised myself I wouldn't," I told
Alice.

She leaned back and crossed her arms, smiling ruefully. "Offhand,"
she replied, "I'd say we've all done that a time or two. What's on your
mind?"

I'd caught up with Alice late that morning at her office within the school;
a small space that looked out over the central play-yard, where twenty or so
young rats of varying sizes were currently running amuck, sheltered by the
rocks from the worst of the cold north wind. The office was almost filled by
her large desk and several overflowing file cabinets. On the walls hung an
assortment of pictures, mostly of the kindergarten finger-paint variety. The
one that stood on the corner of her desk, though, was quite different: an image
of Arthur and Alice along with their numerous progeny, it was not unlike the
family portrait that hung on the wall of Elizabeth's office upstairs. This one
had also been done by a youngest son, Robert in this case; unlike Timothy,
though, he favored pen and ink and a pointillist style.

I leaned back in her guest chair, wondering briefly how many young
miscreants had sat and squirmed there. "When my family and I decided that
we wanted to stay here," I began, "it was understood that my children
would eventually have to find useful work, just as all our youngsters do. I
swore to myself that I wouldn't get involved; that I wouldn't try to push them
into one career or another. Support them, yes, whatever they chose; but not
push."

Alice smiled and nodded. "I think I'm beginning to understand,"
she said.

"Probably you are," I agreed. "Justin has tried very hard to
promote the belief that all kinds of work have equal dignity and worth. And of
course I have to agree with him."

"So do I, certainly," Alice said. "As a citizen and an
educator. But as a parent..." she shook her head. "It's a little harder."

"Exactly," I said. "If any of my kids went to work for the
cleaning department, say, or washing dishes for the kitchen...I'd accept it; but
of course I'd be disappointed. Because I think they're capable of much
more."

"You don't need to explain that, I assure you," Alice said.

"On the whole I've been pleased. Martin as a skilled craftsman, Timothy
as an architect...I know it hasn't happened quite yet, but I don't see anything
stopping them. Those are good, solid, challenging careers, and I'm very happy with
their choices."

Alice nodded again. "Arthur considers himself lucky to have the both of
them," she said. "He believes that there's no limit to their
potential."

I grinned. "Of course," I said. "They've got my genes,
after all." Then I sobered. "And Cynthia has set herself a goal which
makes me prouder than I can possibly express. Though she'd rather I didn't
mention it just yet..."

"Oh, I know all about that," Alice said briskly.

You and everybody else, it seems, I thought. I wondered idly who the
stool pigeon had been; Eileen, Ages himself, or perhaps Cynthia's friend
Rachel. Well, it scarcely mattered now. "And?"

"And we're all behind her one hundred percent, of course," Alice
said. "Marie, Eileen and myself." She cocked an eye at me.
"There seems to be one kid we've left out so far," she observed.

I smiled tiredly. "You're right," I said. "And she's the one
I'm here to discuss. The other three have found their own way--but it appears
that Teresa hasn't been able to. Nothing she's tried so far has been right for
her--and it's tearing her apart."

"I'd heard some rumors to that effect," Alice confirmed sadly.
"But is it possible that you're overreacting just a bit, Jonathan? She is
your oldest, after all, your first-born; you're bound to feel differently
toward her than the other three..."

"No," I said, shaking my head firmly. "In part you're
correct--I do have special feelings about her, certainly. But I'm not
overreacting. If you'd seen the state she was in when she found me in the
lounge a while ago, you'd know I'm not."

"And you want to help her," Alice said. "That's
understandable--but is it really the right thing to do? She is an adult
now, Jonathan. Apparently you've already heard that all three of them passed
their tests. Which means that she should be starting to solve their own
problems."

For a moment I gazed past her, out at the frenetic games of kick-ball and
jump-rope, the small rats soaring high on swings and dangling upside down from
monkey-bars. Then I said, "Alice, I don't know if I can make you
understand this. Yes, she is an adult; yes, she should be solving her own
problems. But all the same I have to help her. Because of all the times
when I wasn't there to help."

She glanced away and nodded. "I understand, Jonathan," she said
softly. Then she fixed me with a stern gaze. "You do know, however, that
you're going to have to get over your guilt eventually."

"I know," I replied simply. "And I have been--a little at a
time."

"All right," she said. "Then the only other thing I can ask
is, why come to me?"

I coughed into my hand. "Well," I said, and trailed off. "How
can I explain this? During the time I was away, Teresa took it upon herself to
be a kind of assistant mother, so to speak. She got very used to keeping the
other three in line--especially Cynthia. Occasionally she could be a little too
zealous, so I've heard...but all the same she was a great help to Elizabeth. If
there's anything in the world she's suited for, I think it would be working
with kids in some fashion."

"She tried working in our day-care center, as I recall," Alice
said.

I nodded. "Yes," I said. "Just before she broke her ankle,
which put an end to it. But it wasn't working out anyway, though not because
she didn't like it. She's too small to cope with a roomful of rat toddlers.
They're bigger than she is; they could injure her without meaning to."

"So what do you have in mind?"

"Well," I said, "I wondered if you might have some way of
putting her to work with somewhat older kids, ones she wouldn't have to control
physically."

Alice stroked her chin thoughtfully. "Of course she's not qualified to
be a teacher--not without quite a bit of additional training. But her test
scores were very high; she had the best all-around performance by far. I'll
have to ask my staff their opinion, but I think--think, mind you--that I
could see my way clear to creating a position for her as a kind of teacher's
aide. Preparing materials, grading exams, that sort of thing--to begin with at
any rate. And the way our community is expanding, I have no doubt that I'll
soon be needing some additional teachers." She gazed down at me.
"Does that help?"

I smiled broadly. "Immeasurably," I said. "Thanks,
Alice."

"Of course this is contingent on whether she agrees--" Alice
warned.

"I think she will."

"--And on any objections my teachers might raise--"

"Of course."

"--And," she finished sternly, "just so we understand
each other, Jonathan: if she can't cut it, she's out. I really don't expect
that will happen, but just because her parents are two of my best friends and
the saviors of the community..."

I nodded. "Understood," I said. "And believe me, Alice, I'm
not asking that you give her any special treatment. Just a chance. If, as you
say, she wants it."

Alice leaned back and chuckled. "It just occurred to me," she
said. "You might know that my husband didn't have a very high opinion of
either Teresa or Martin when he first met them..."

I grinned ruefully. "So I've heard," I said. Considering that he
first met them as he was fishing them, covered head to toe with mud, out of a
sluice underneath one of his infamous seeps, I could scarcely blame him. I'd
heard that story--at length--directly from Arthur himself.

"And now Arthur has given Martin a job, and I'm all set to offer Teresa
one," Alice went on. She shook her head. "Things change, I
suppose."

"The one universal constant," I agreed. I looked up at the wall
clock then, and saw that both hands were nearly straight up. "And I'm
about to be late for a lunch date," I finished. I stood. "Thanks
again, Alice. I owe you one."

"Yes," she said pointedly. "You do."

There's a particularly diabolical old curse I heard once, supposedly Chinese
in origin: "May you live in interesting times." Some people
apparently crave excitement, and go out of their way to seek it. Others have
excitement thrust upon them, willing or no. But in the final analysis I think
most intelligent people would prefer peace and quiet, at least most of the
time. It's a good deal less dangerous, for one thing. Personally I'd had my
fill of excitement, and then some. Unfortunately, my life was once again about
to take a sharp turn into "interesting," and there was nothing I
could do to prevent it.

I had that sense of accomplishment again as I made my way quickly to the
dining hall: the same feeling I'd had the previous night after I got through
spilling the beans to Eileen. It's a feeling that I really should be on guard
against, I suppose; because no good ever comes of it.

The four of them were just sitting down as I entered, but fortunately the
line at the counter was still fairly short, and I was able to join them only a
minute or two later. Elizabeth welcomed me with a nod and a discreet
"thumb's-up" gesture, letting me know that she'd managed to clear her
afternoon. Which was good; because now I had two very important things
to discuss with her, one of them being a high-handed and unilateral action
which I could only hope she'd approve.

Three of our children were there too. Teresa looked thoughtful and
determined, and fortunately a good deal less miserable than she had only an
hour or so before. I could only hope that she would approve of my work on her
behalf as well; but I'd wait until we could be alone to discuss it with her. The
worst she could do was refuse; and at that point she'd have to be on her own:
I'd done the best I could.

And then there were Martin and Timothy, who had officially and irrevocably
become working men. They looked it too. Both of them had changed clothes since
breakfast, and their new outfits reflected their new status. Martin wore a
sturdy tunic made of heavy blue denim, over a long-sleeved plaid flannel shirt.
Timothy wore a lighter, long-sleeved white pullover with an open neck, and a
dark-grey vest with lots of pockets, out of which protruded an array of
pencils. Almost exactly the same costume favored by his friend Robert; that, I
was certain, was anything but a coincidence. Elizabeth looked at them with a
certain wistfulness, and I couldn't blame her; it seemed as if they had grown
to full adulthood in just a single morning. And in a sense they had. Cynthia
was not present; she was having lunch at the school. In a way, I suppose, that
was a shame; she missed quite a performance. Plus a preview of her future
career.

As I slipped into my seat I was looking around, and Elizabeth glanced at me
questioningly. "I invited Justin to join us," I explained.
"Ah--there he is now!"

Our leader was in fact just emerging from the line, with a tray so
heavily-laden that I was surprised he could handle it by himself. Our family
table was far too low for him--and our chairs ridiculously small--so he
deposited his tray on a nearby table, a small round one intended for just one
or two rats, and then he pushed it, and a chair, over next to ours.

"You were saying something about 'belt tightening?'" I asked as he
settled in.

"I'm still short on calories from the last three days," he
explained with a slightly embarrassed grin.

Actually it was a good sign. Justin had a metabolism something like that of
a jet aircraft. He also had that miraculous, not to say annoying, ability to
shovel away tremendous amounts of food without gaining so much as a tenth of an
ounce. When he wasn't hungry, that's when I started to worry.

"How--how do you feel today, Justin?" Elizabeth asked.

"Better," he told her. "Much better, thank you. I was telling
Jonathan earlier that I got a good night's sleep last night, and since then
I've been doing a lot of serious thinking, and made some important decisions."
He looked over at my children and smiled, abruptly changing the subject.
"I happened to run into Eileen a little while ago," he went on.
"It appears that congratulations are in order."

The three of them turned bright crimson and smiled; in Teresa's case, I
noticed, it was just a tiny bit forced. "Thank you," Timothy said.

"You're welcome," Justin told him. "You know how happy I've
been to have you here. All of you," he added quickly, glancing at
Elizabeth and me before turning his attention back to the kids. "I know
you'll all do well. Arthur's already speaking highly of the two of you--"
he nodded at Martin and Timothy. "And as for you, young lady," he
went on with mock severity, glancing at Teresa, "I know you won't make me
send you to work on the farm."

Teresa jumped, nearly a full inch out of her seat. "I...hope not,"
she said faintly.

Justin grinned. "Don't worry," he assured her. "I'm only
joking, of course. You can take as long as you need. We owe you that."

"Thank you."

While Justin spoke I was peering closely at him, wondering about the exact
nature of those "decisions" he'd mentioned a moment before. Was he
speaking entirely of his intention to slow down, to let the community run
itself a little more? Or did he have something else in mind? Unfortunately I
could think of no graceful way to ask. For the moment, I'd have to be content
with the fact that his mood seemed to have done a full one-eighty. Actually
that was good for all of us, rat and mouse alike: to a very great extent any community
takes its mood from its leaders.

For a few minutes there was silence, as Justin dug enthusiastically into his
enormous plate of pasta primavera and sourdough bread. Then finally he cleared
his throat and said, "Jonathan, I hate to bring up business on your day
off, but what do you think about Arthur's plans for developing the fourth
level?"

I swallowed hurriedly. Very aware that I had the full attention of both my
sons--the mere mention of their employer's name had been enough to prick up
their ears--I said, "Well, obviously he's the engineer, not me. But I have
to admit that I'm a little concerned. We're going to need the space--but there
seems to be an inconveniently large amount of seepage up there. He claims he
can get that under control, and if so, fine. Otherwise I don't know who would
want to work or live in a place that's a patchwork of drainage sluices."

Justin nodded, "I'm afraid you're right," he said. "As it
stands right now it's not even suitable for storage. Arthur is sure, though,
that he can--"

What Arthur was sure he could do, I never learned, because at that instant
Justin was interrupted; and that was only one of several things that happened
in the space of just a few seconds. Several "interesting" things.

I heard the footsteps behind me; or at least I think I did. Suddenly a large
hand fell on my right shoulder and spun me around in my chair, so forcefully
that my fork went flying onto the floor. Before I knew what was going on, I
found myself looking up in astonishment into the usually-attractive face of
Judith. A face that was contorted now into a hideous mask of fury.
"What--" I gasped; it was as far as I got.

"How dare you?" she demanded. "How dare you
poke your nose into my personal business?" Her voice was harsh and barely under
control, an equal mixture of rage and helpless tears.

"Judith, I--" I began again, but she cut me off sharply.

"Shut up!" she cried. "Just shut up, Jonathan. You had no
right." She glanced at Elizabeth, who was sitting beside me frozen and
wide-eyed with horror. "I should have known that she'd tell you,"
Judith went on. "But you had no right--" Her voice choked off then.
She was literally shaking with anger, her right hand still gripping my shoulder
like a claw; and as I watched totally without comprehension, I saw her raise
her left hand, the fist tightly clenched. The thought came wildly into my head
that she was actually going to slug me. I'll never know whether she actually
would have or not, but I know what would have happened if she had: she had
strong arms, and she was twice my size; obviously, she could have knocked me
into next week.

My family and Justin sat stock-still, absolutely rooted to the spot with
astonishment; and by now the noisy hall had gone dead silent. As Judith in her
rage raised her fist Justin leaped to his feet, upsetting his chair with a
crash; but he was on the other side of the table, and someone else got there
first: Eileen.

Hacker and her husband had entered the hall at just that instant, so it
seemed; and Eileen, despite her condition, dashed across the intervening space
to grab her sister's arm. Judith was spun around, her hand tearing free from my
shoulder; she ended up nose to nose with Eileen, her arms locked in Hacker's
vice-like grip.

"Are you out of your mind?" Eileen demanded. She shook Judith
violently. "Are you? Hitting someone half your size...hitting anybody--!"

Art by LordDirk

"How did you find out?" Judith demanded of her mirror image.
"The only person I told was her--" clearly meaning Elizabeth,
who had now graduated to clutching my hand in terror--"and she told
him." She twisted around to glare at me again. "Why,
Jonathan? What made you think you had the right--?"

Justin was standing beside me now, his eyes narrowing as they darted back
and forth between Judith and me. Philip stood behind his wife, looking
concerned, and with good reason: Eileen was in no condition for this. The hall
was still pin-drop quiet; some of the rats were frozen in the very act of
eating, forks halfway to mouths; and others stood immobile in line with
half-filled trays before them. All of them staring at our little tableau. And
me--? For once in my life I could find absolutely no words to say.

Eileen glanced at me. Then she said, "Yes, Jonathan did tell me. He did
it for your own good, and I for one am glad he did."

Justin looked sharply down at me, and I couldn't meet his gaze. Why me?
I thought. Lord, maybe I should have fed myself to the cat when I had
the chance...

"And what gives him the right to decide what's 'for my own
good'?" Judith demanded. "What gives you?"

I caught a glimpse of movement then; it was Margaret, hurrying out from her
office in the depths of the kitchen. Probably she'd heard the shouting. Exactly
what went through her mind when she beheld her two oldest daughters, I don't
know; but she stopped short several feet away. "Girls!" she gasped.

Angrily Eileen released Judith's arms and thrust her away. "This has
gone on long enough," Hacker said. "You're my sister and I love you.
But if you think I'm just going to stand back and watch while you--"

Suddenly Eileen paused. Her eyes widened, and her hands dropped to her
bulging abdomen. She swayed, and Philip caught her with an arm around her
shoulders. "Eileen? Darling?" he said anxiously.

She looked up into his eyes, and then she uttered just two short, quiet
syllables: "Uh-oh."