"Justin," Elizabeth said hesitantly, "what's going to happen
to us?"

He gazed over at her curiously. "You were at the meeting, weren't
you?"

"Yes," she said simply. "I was."

For a few seconds he peered into her eyes; then he nodded. "I
understand," he said. He smiled faintly. "So--do you want the
worst-case scenario, or the best-case?"

She shook her head. "Neither," she said. "I just want the
truth."

Elizabeth Brisby had never before in her life worked so hard, as she had
that afternoon, and evening, and far into the night; in fact she scarcely
believed it possible that one poor mouse could work so hard. Her
children had joined her, pitching in with all their strength; even Timothy,
after the effects of the tranquilizer had worn off.

Whether the five of them had truly made a difference she couldn't say;
possibly they had, if only in a symbolic way. She had no idea how many bundles
and boxes she and her children had collectively carried; hundreds, perhaps.
Bundles and boxes of food, bundles of clothing and blankets, boxes of medicines
and bandages. Other people, far stronger than they, had been carting barrels of
lamp oil and alcohol fuel, and boxes of tools. It was Justin's belief that
Thorn Valley was about to come under siege. For exactly how long they couldn't
know; but however long, he was apparently determined to withstand it.

The final destination of the bundles and boxes was what Arthur called the
"service tunnels." Lying far below the community's main levels, these
tubes could by no stretch of the imagination be termed living space. They were
narrow, cramped, unfinished, ill-lit, and all but airless. Lined with the pipes
that made up the community's water and waste-water systems, the service tunnels
were also damp, and didn't smell particularly nice. But they were deep enough
underground, Justin hoped, to be out of range of whatever tools Dr. Schultz
could bring to bear. And down there too was the head of Arthur's escape tunnel:
the rats' very last resort.

Elizabeth and her children had worked for hours, until they were moving
automatically, zombie-like, in a fog of exhaustion. It was Arthur himself who,
finally and firmly, not taking "no" for an answer, ordered the five
of them to get some sleep. And Elizabeth had been forced to agree: no matter
how much they might want to, mice simply could not work as hard or as long as
rats. They had found that out the hard way.

By the time they returned to their guest room her children were all but
asleep on their feet, exhaustion overcoming their fear; the only difficulty
she'd had in getting them to bed was having to remove their clothes herself:
they were too tired to help. For a time she lay down on her own bed, trying to
will herself to sleep; but it was a losing battle. Her body felt as if it had
been through a war, but her mind was still running far too fast; she could not
relax. It was a little past midnight when she finally gave up, rose from her
bed, tied her new cape around her neck, and crept out of the room.

In the hallways the work was still going on; it would, in fact, for many
hours to come. Bundles, barrels and boxes were still being transported
downstairs; and outside, Arthur's people, working by torch-light, were still
feverishly attaching thick wooden shutters to every single window and door, and
then plastering them over with mud and stone, in an attempt to disguise them.
The main entrance--which would be by far the hardest--they were saving for
last. Elizabeth had no thought of rejoining the work--her body simply would not
allow it--and for a brief time she wandered the hallways aimlessly, trying to
stay out of the way. Then she noticed the light coming from under Justin's
office door.

She found the leader of the rats rifling through his file cabinets, packing
into boxes the papers that the community simply could not afford to lose, most
importantly Nicodemus' Journal. All afternoon and evening he had been running
through the community at full speed, pitching in where needed as well as
shouting orders; and he looked terrible. He seemed to welcome her arrival; not
the least for an excuse to stretch out, just for a few minutes, in his big easy
chair.

Now he sighed. "All right," he said. "I owe you that."
For a moment he stared into space. Then he said, slowly, "Dr. Schultz is
coming back. This afternoon I said that it could be as early as tomorrow
morning, and the more I think about it, the likelier it seems: he isn't a man
to waste time, especially now that he's lost the element of surprise. I don't
know for certain what kind of force he'll bring with him, or what equipment.
But make no mistake: his purpose is to utterly destroy this community, and all
of us. I suppose he might take a few prisoners too, if he can; but that will be
secondary."

"Why?" she asked. "That's what I don't understand. Why does
he want to destroy you?"

"We're a threat," Justin said heavily. "We're a threat to the
human domination of this planet. At least in his mind." He shook his head.
"He created us--and now he's afraid of his own creation. I don't pretend
to understand him, but I do know what motivates him. To a certain extent I
suppose he's also concerned for his reputation. He failed to find us under the
rosebush, and that had to have hurt him professionally. But that's secondary
too."

"What more can we do?"

"Pray," Justin said simply. "Hope that our barricades hold,
and hope we can get everyone out through the escape tunnel in time, if things
get rocky, without him seeing them." He shook his head again. "Beyond
that I don't know. As I said earlier, we have nowhere else to go; we staked
everything on this community, this valley. Because we thought it was
safe," he finished bitterly.

"But if he doesn't find any of you..."

"I'm beginning to wonder if even that will stop him," Justin said
grimly. "I hope it will, but... well, he didn't find anything in the
rosebush either--and now here he is. Every time we escape from him, I suspect,
it just makes him more and more afraid--and determined. He knows we're here,
just as he knew we were under the rosebush. If he doesn't find us here he'll
keep trying until he does. Unless--"

"Unless what?"

"Unless something or somebody stops him," Justin said.
"That's what I'm gambling on. I think he's doing all this on his own
nickel--and when that's spent, if he has nothing to show for it, he'll be
finished. I hope. It's not a permanent solution, but at least it might buy us
some time. Years, if we're lucky."

There was a pause; then Elizabeth said, "Justin, I know you have a lot
to worry about--everyone in this community. But I have to worry about my
children."

He nodded. "I understand that, certainly."

"And I have to ask you--what's going to happen to them? To us?"

Justin fixed her with his gaze. Once again he looked terribly old, his eyes
bloodshot and puffy, the corners of his mouth turned resolutely downward.
"Elizabeth," he said, "please believe me when I say that you and
your children have been very much in my thoughts. Nobody here deserves what's
happening to them--but the five of your least of all. I want you to know how
terribly sorry I am that I got you into this damned situation."

She shook her head. "It isn't your fault," she told him firmly.
"You had no way of knowing--any more than we did."

"I thank you for that," he said, with a faint smile. He took a
deep breath. "Whatever happens," he said, "you and your family
will be all right. What I want all of you to do at the first sign of trouble is
to head straight for the escape tunnel. Arthur, or any of his people, can show
you the way. Dr. Schultz won't be looking for you; he's fixated on rats. If
necessary you and your family can live here, in this valley, until your friend
the crow comes for you. You've got the skill for it, and there aren't many
dangerous animals here any more--we've managed to chase most of them away. I
think you could hold out indefinitely. But...if any of us survives, any at all,
we will make it our job to see that you get home, one way or another. Such will
be my orders."

For a long moment she was silent. Then she said, her voice barely audible,
"Justin...I'm frightened."

He rose from his chair and sat down next to her, taking her into his arms.
Her small, trim body was trembling uncontrollably. She clung to him, burying
her face in his chest, giving herself over to the fear that she had buried
within her all day. A few minutes later, without looking up, she said,
"I'm sorry."

"That's okay," he said. "I'm frightened too."

She lifted her face to look at him, amazed. "You are?"

"Of course I am," he said. "We're in deep trouble--only an
idiot wouldn't be scared." He paused. "But it isn't hopeless. We've
gotten out of worse."

"When?"

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said. "But we must have
sometime."

She actually laughed, a little; then she laid her head against his chest
again. For a time they were both silent, his arms supporting her gently.
Finally she looked up at him again. "Justin," she said. "maybe
this isn't the time for me to say this--but I might not get another
chance." She took a deep breath, and wrapped her arms a little closer
around him. "Justin, I love you."

For the space of a few seconds Justin's heart soared--but then it came back
to earth with a thud. "No, you don't," he told her, as gently as he could.
"You can't. Not the way I think you mean."

She looked up at him sharply. "What?" she demanded, half angry and
half incredulous. "Why not?"

He smiled. "I am flattered," he said. "And I am very
fond of you too--never believe I'm not. If things were different...But there is
something you don't know, and because of that you don't--you can't--love
me."

"Such as?"

He hesitated. Then, suddenly, he made his decision. Loyalty, after all, is a
two-way street; he owed her a debt equally as large as that he owed Jonathan.
He lifted her, gently disengaging her arms from around him, and set her on her
feet. He leaned forward and kissed her gently--just that once. "Elizabeth,
if we get out of this situation alive, I'll explain it to you," he said. "That's
a promise. But it's going to take time, and for the moment I'm afraid I'm going
to have to ask you to trust me."

She looked up at him curiously. "You know I do," she said.
"Always."

He smiled. "Believe me, I appreciate that," he said. He laid a
hand on her shoulder. "Right now, Mrs. Brisby," he went on sternly,
"I think it would be a very good idea if you got some sleep."

"I'll try," she said with a sigh. "But what about you, Mr.
Leader Justin?"

He shook his head. "Not in the cards, I'm afraid. Not tonight, at least."

Jonathan had mustered his troops.

Slowly his gaze shifted down the line as he paced back and forth before
them, his eyes passing over each of his companions in turn as they sat waiting
expectantly. Mark and David, so alike, until you got to know them. Philip,
brave to the point of recklessness. Eileen, "Hacker"; if not the
smartest person he knew, then certainly one of the top three or four. They sat
waiting for him, silent; Mark and David cross-legged with their hands in their
laps, and Philip and Eileen so close that their hips were pressed together, and
their hands clasped. That at least he was glad to see.

The time was then a little before midnight; some six hours had passed since
the news of Dr. Schultz's discovery came to them. The five of them had eaten, a
little anyway, knowing that they had to keep their strength up; and then they
had sat for hours in their dark hideout, talking and arguing. A dozen plans
were proposed, discussed and rejected; tempers began to flare; and finally, exercising
the authority he'd so seldom had to use, Jonathan had called a halt.
Recriminations were useless now, he knew; so too were plans. In his
mind--energized, now, after nine solid months of depression--there was only one
alternative; only one thing they could possibly do. The idea had been slow in
forming; but now it hung there in his mind, crystal-clear.

Finally Jonathan spoke. "Philip...Mark...David...Hacker," he said,
"you four have been the best companions that anyone could ever have. I
know when Nicodemus put me in charge of this mission, you all had some
doubts...frankly so did I. I hope I've managed to lay most of them to rest. And I
hope you will believe me when I say that no one, least of all Nicodemus or
myself, had any idea it would take as long as it has. I have never held you to
any oaths of fealty; any one of you could have abandoned the mission and gone
home--and I wouldn't have blamed you. But you have all stuck with it; and for
that most of all I am profoundly grateful. I know Nicodemus, God rest his soul,
would have been too."

Eileen cleared her throat. "Excuse me for saying so, Colonel," she
observed dryly, "but this is starting to sound like a farewell
speech."

Jonathan smiled thinly. He was glad to see that she had regained, at least
partially, her quirky sense of humor. These last few days, since she and
Jonathan had argued, she had been curiously silent, almost withdrawn, avoiding
their company; and it was Philip whom she avoided most of all, much to his
obvious pain and perplexity. Philip and Eileen had been alone together for
hours that afternoon, though, searching for food while Jonathan, Mark and David
waited for Dr. Schultz; and during that time--if their present closeness was
any indication--it seemed that a truce had been patched up. Jonathan certainly
hoped so. "In a way it is," he said. "These past few hours,
since we learned the extent of the trouble Thorn Valley is in...I've been
thinking about our mission: what we've accomplished here, the amount of data
we've been able to reconstruct. Hacker, how long has it been since we came up
with anything really new and substantive?"

She frowned. "About a month, I'd say."

"Exactly," Jonathan said. "In my opinion we aren't going to
find anything more. I know that we were ordered to be thorough--though we had
no idea how hard that would be to accomplish. But I submit that we have
accomplished it." He nodded over at the carefully-preserved bundles of
paper, stacked in the corner of their "room." "It's already
going to take months for Ages to review all that. In my opinion, as leader of
this expedition, it's time to declare victory and pull out." He looked
around. "Do I hear any discussion?"

The four of them exchanged a glance. Jonathan saw their eyes slowly begin to
light; and he could almost hear their pulses quickening. Home...they were
thinking. To go home...That it was a home they'd never actually seen made
no difference at all.

But there was a downside, and it was David, as usual, who expressed it.
"If," he said bitterly, "we've got a home to go back to."

Jonathan nodded sadly. "I know," he said. "And I wish we
could have done more. All we can do is trust Justin--trust that somehow he'll
pull them through. If anyone can..."

All four nodded doubtfully. Three of them had worked for Justin, he had been
their Captain; they knew his capabilities, no one better. But still--given what
he was up against--it seemed a terribly small chance, that even he could
preserve the community.

"I just wish--" Philip began softly.

"Pardon?" Jonathan said.

Philip gazed at him, his expression grim. "I just wish we could be
there," he said. "Be there when Dr. Schultz arrives. I don't know
what Justin will try to do--run, hole up, or fight. But whatever it is, I wish
we could be there to help."

"I think we can arrange that," Jonathan told him blandly. He had
their attention instantly, complete and undivided; and with a grin he went on.
"I've been thinking about that too. You see, we're not going back by bus,
or by foot." He paused. "We're going by helicopter."

There was a moment of stunned silence, as that sunk in; then Eileen said,
"You mean...stow away?"

"I do," Jonathan confirmed evenly. "You have to admit, it's
the fastest way. We'll get there just as soon as Dr. Schultz does."

The four of them thought about that; then, as one, they grinned. "I've
always wanted to travel by air," Philip observed.

"Me too," Jonathan said. He paused. "There's always
hope," he went on quietly. "By stowing away...perhaps there'll be
something we can do. I don't know what," he added quickly.
"I'm certainly not suggesting that we crash the helicopter, or anything as
suicidal as that. I don't even know if it would be possible. But...something.
Other than that...we'll have to count on Justin. And even if it turns out that
all we can do is pick up the pieces--then at least we'll be there to do
it."

"There's one thing I want you to know, Jonathan," Philip said.
"Thorn Valley isn't really your home; we know that. But whatever happens,
we will see that you get home. One way or another, we will."

Jonathan looked away. There were many things he could have said...far too
many. We have succeeded, he reminded himself. We've got the
information; we've got what we...I...came for. "Thank you," he said
simply. He took a deep breath. "There's just one more thing I want to do
before we break camp," he went on. "We've talked about it--but we've
always avoided doing it, because we knew it might be noticed. That doesn't
apply any more." He looked around. "Those vials Dr. Schultz keeps in
the safe in his office. We know what they are--and I want them. All of
them."

"May I join you?" Judith said.

Elizabeth looked up in surprise, straight into the puffy, red-rimmed eyes of
the community botanist. "Of course," she said. And then, to her
children, "Scoot over please, dears."

Judith hooked a chair from a nearby table with her foot and dragged it over;
and then she more or less collapsed into it, between Elizabeth and Teresa. She
looked down in disgust at the contents of her tray. "No tea," she
said, shaking her head sadly. "Lord, how I need a caffeine fix!"

Breakfast in the Thorn Valley community that morning was quiet, gloomy--and
limited. The dining hall's windows and skylights had been covered over,
barricaded; the only illumination came from a very few hanging oil lamps. Even
at dinnertime the place had never been so dark. Most of the available food had
already been taken downstairs, into the service tunnels; and so the menu that
morning was reduced to day-old bread, preserves, grains...and water. Justin had
ordered the kitchen fires extinguished, and the big chimneys temporarily sealed
up, lest they become targets for gas. And so the exhausted populace was even
denied the reviving powers of tea.

Very few people were present at the moment, though more were drifting in
slowly. They moved like robots, their eyes half-closed, their ears and whiskers
drooping, and their tails dragging on the floor. They didn't speak; they didn't
even look at each other. All of them had been up through the night; and none of
them had any prospect of sleep in their near future.

Judith shook her head. "It looks like the Night of the Living Dead in
here," she said. She chuckled bitterly. "Though I don't suppose I
look much better."

"I'm beginning to feel guilty that my children and I were able to
sleep," Elizabeth said.

Judith smiled and patted her arm. "Don't," she said. "Believe
me, no one begrudges you. Envies you, yes, but not begrudge. You are
still our guests."

"What have you been working on?" Elizabeth asked.

"The seed warehouse," she said. "I've been packing up what I
had in storage and getting it down into the tunnels. If we get through this, we
might need to replant our farm." She grimaced. "Which is something we
really, really didn't need right now."

"What about your greenhouse?"

A flash of anger passed across her face; then she sighed. "There was
nothing I could do about that," she said. "If I take my plants down
into the tunnels they'll die from lack of sunlight. If I leave them where they
are, and this goes on very long, they'll die from lack of water." She
shrugged. "I didn't have much choice; I left them where they are, and let
Arthur barricade the door from the greenhouse to the corridors. All I can do is
hope." She peered down at Elizabeth. "What does Justin have planned
for you and your kids?"

"If--when--Dr. Schultz comes back, he wants us to go immediately to the
escape tunnel, and then into the woods. He thinks we'll be safe there, because
Dr. Schultz won't be looking for mice."

Judith nodded. "Our fearless leader and I don't see eye to eye very
often," she said. "But this time I think he may be right."

"With all the doors and windows stopped up," Timothy asked,
"how are we going to know if Dr. Schultz is coming?"

"From what I hear," Judith told him, "Justin has got Thomas
stationed up in the rocks above the community, with a telescope. They've placed
him right next to one of the ventilation shafts. Arthur found out some time
ago, by accident, that those shafts can act like speaking tubes: someone at the
top can hear someone at the bottom, and vice-versa. At the bottom, down in the
service tunnels, they've got several guards stationed to relay messages. Thomas
will be able to hear the helicopter long before it gets here; we should have
ample warning." She shook her head. "Thomas," she went on.
"I don't know whether he's very brave, or very stupid."

Something about the way she said that--half despairing, half amused--made
Elizabeth's ears prick up. "Let me guess," she said. "Your
brother?"

Judith nodded. "My little brother," she confirmed. "Totally
unsuited to be Captain of the Guard, I'm afraid. He's a born lieutenant. By
rights that job should have gone to Philip--one of the rats who vanished with
my sister."

With those words, Timothy looked up sharply; but no one noticed. Judith went
on, "Thomas knows that too, I'm afraid. He has been trying to prove
himself for three months. I just hope he doesn't do it posthumously."

Elizabeth didn't know that word; but she guessed the meaning, from the
context. I hope none of us do, she thought.

Judith glanced at the door--and her eyes widened. "I guess this
situation really is serious," she said. "Look who's
here."

She pointed. The rat who was entering, a look of gloom on his narrow face,
was no one Elizabeth knew. He was tall and thin, brown-furred; he wore a blue
denim tunic like Judith's, more worn but less stained, over a grey long-sleeved
shirt. He also wore a curious flat-topped, narrow-brimmed cap, dark blue, pushed
back on his head. "Who's that?" Elizabeth asked.

"Judson," Judith told her. "He's the boatkeeper--he takes
care of our little fishing fleet. He almost never leaves his boathouse; since
we've been up here I think he's been seen in the community maybe three times,
for supplies. If he's here..." she shook her head in despair. "Then I
guess Justin has decided to write off the boats as well. Not that he had a lot
of choice, I guess."

"Judith," Cynthia said suddenly, "are all humans...bad?"

Judith reached across and rumpled her hair. "I'm afraid I don't know,
kiddo," she told the girl. "I've never met any." She paused.
"But I don't think so. There must be some at least who wouldn't approve of
what Dr. Schultz is doing."

"I wish," Timothy said softly, "we had a few of them
here."

Jonathan and Eileen were eavesdropping--one last time.

As the two of them lay there behind the vent, waiting for Dr. Schultz to
arrive, they were both all but exhausted; and in point of fact they were
dozing, Eileen lying prone with her head cradled in her arms, and Jonathan
lying on his back with his head pillowed against her side. Possibly--in fact
probably--their friends were also taking the opportunity to nap; who knew when
they would get another chance to sleep?

They had a spent a remarkably busy night, all five of them. First and most
importantly, it had been necessary for them to erase all sign of their presence
at NIMH. All of the rope ladders they had strung were taken down and destroyed;
the furnishings in their hideout went into the dumpster, in pieces, and good
riddance. In fact they left that forgotten storeroom cleaner than they'd found
it, nine months ago. Only their doctored ventilators did they leave alone; to
fix those would have required time and tools they did not possess. By the time
anyone noticed those grilles--if indeed anyone ever did--the five of them would
be long gone.

And then, last but definitely not least, they packed. As far as personal
items were concerned they had next to nothing; they had brought very little in
the first place, just clothing; and all of them had long been down to their
very last set. When they finished their packs were nonetheless heavy: stuffed
full with bundles of precious paper. All the information they had gathered so
painstakingly, during those months: computer printouts, photocopies,
transcripts made in Eileen's tiny, impeccable handwriting. They had divided it
all, as equally as they could; if any one pack chanced to be lost--so they
hoped--the contents of the others would be enough for Ages to complete his
research. In the middle of each pack, wrapped carefully in their blankets (the
only reason why they had not discarded those blankets, as it happened) were the
vials, those fourteen precious glass ampoules, stolen late that night from Dr.
Schultz's safe. They had divided those as well; and Jonathan, at least, was
prepared to give his life to defend the two that ended up in his pack.

About an hour earlier, with dawn barely beginning to break over the horizon,
they had carried the packs out into the parking lot, concealing them in the
midst of a thick privet hedge in one of the planters, some ten yards or so from
the roped-off parking spaces where the helicopter would soon land. Philip, Mark
and David were there now, keeping watch over the packs; Eileen and Jonathan had
remained inside, waiting to find out if this trip was a go or not. Jonathan
rather suspected it would be--one way or another.

When the door banged open the two of them came instantly awake. Without a
sound they crawled forward, peering out through the vent. Across the room
Jonathan could see the guest chair. I hope we put everything back into the
camera bag as he left it, he thought. Not that Schultz was all that likely
to notice...

It was indeed Dr. Schultz who entered. Once again he was dressed for the
field, in khaki trousers, a short-sleeved plaid shirt, and sturdy hiking boots.
The scientist looked a little tired, his eyes red-rimmed; Jonathan doubted
whether he had slept much, if at all. Join the club, he thought sourly.
But obviously, his exhaustion had not affected him emotionally. Quite the
opposite, in fact. The night before, Schultz had slammed out of the office in a
terrible mood; but overnight, it seemed, that had changed dramatically. This
morning he seemed quite nervous; or perhaps excited would be a better
word. He couldn't sit down or stay still; he paced the office, back and forth,
until Jonathan became dizzy watching him. He opened the flap of the camera bag
and peered inside, making Jonathan hold his breath; but everything was
apparently in order. No more muttering to himself, not this morning; if
anything, he was chuckling.

Lying there beside Jonathan, Eileen shook her head in disgust. "I'm
glad he's so happy," she growled. "Bastard."

She might have gone on; but Jonathan shushed her with a wave of his hand,
because Dr. Schultz had picked up the telephone, and was dialing.

"Hello, it's me," he said a moment later. "So--what's the
verdict?"

There was a brief pause, during which Jonathan watched with interest as the
scientist's mood shifted a full one hundred and eighty degrees. It was possible
to see his blood pressure rise; a bright-red flush crept from his collar
to his hairline in the space of a few seconds. His hand clenched into a claw
around the telephone handset. Finally he ground out, "What do you mean, 'no'?
Do you mean to tell me that after what I found up there, and with everything it
implies, they are not going to give me permission to land just because its a wilderness
area??!!"

He listened for a moment, his eyes blazing behind his glasses; they he said,
"No. I don't care whose fault it is or isn't. What matters is that you and
your precious government have just handed this country over to a bunch of rats!
And all because of some useless trees and flowers." Another pause.
"Melodramatic? Well, you just wait ten years, and then tell me I'm
being melodramatic." A pause. "No. I'm through with you. I don't care
how hard you worked. 'Almost' doesn't count, my friend. Not in this game."

With that he slammed the receiver down, and then he plopped himself into his
chair, scowling, his arms crossed over his chest. In the vent, Eileen turned to
Jonathan with a look of rising hope; but Jonathan shook his head.
"Wait," he whispered. "Wait and watch."

For several minutes Dr. Schultz sat unmoving, staring into space; then he
shook his head violently. "No," he muttered. "Not this time.
There's too much at stake."

He wheeled his chair around to face his computer; a computer which Jonathan
and his friends (most especially Eileen) were quite familiar with, as it had
provided them with a good deal of information over the last nine months.
Fortunately for them, Dr. Schultz was less than careful with his password. For
several minutes the scientist pounded on the keyboard; then he leaned back as
the printer spit out a single sheet of paper. He scanned the sheet for a
moment, whatever it was; nodded in approval, and then signed it near the
bottom.

"What's he got there?" Eileen asked.

"I don't know," Jonathan began. He paused then, his ears pricking
up; far in the distance he had detected a faint rhythmic thumping, an
all-too-familiar sound. Dr. Schultz had heard it too; he stood, grabbing for
his camera bag, binoculars and jacket. "But I think we're about to find
out," Jonathan went on. He slapped Eileen on the shoulder. "Come on,
Hacker," he said. "That's our cue."

The two of them turned then and ran, as fast as they could, heedless for
once of the sharp staccato noise their footsteps made in the thin metal ducts.
Their path was not the familiar one back to their hideout, but rather one which
Jonathan at least had not traveled in many months: the one that led outside.
Even before embarking upon the expedition--and for obvious reasons--they had
deemed the roof route to be too dangerous; and so, before they first entered
the building, they had scouted carefully for an alternative. After some
consideration they had finally jimmied open an outside ventilator, almost at
ground-level and well-hidden behind a bush. Fortunately, as with their other
altered grilles, no one had yet noticed or repaired it.

Outside the day had dawned sunny and quite warm--it would be brutally hot
and humid before long--and as Jonathan and Eileen approached the ventilator,
they were forced to pause for a moment, their eyes quite dazzled by a bright
beam of sunlight. "Good God," Jonathan said, as they waited for their
eyes to adjust. "I just realized--I haven't been outdoors for the better
part of a year."

"Neither have I," Eileen said. "But now's not the time for an
attack of agoraphobia. Let's go."

It was a drop of about two feet from the grille to the ground, which was
covered by thick layers of shredded bark and dead leaves. Eileen went first,
lowering herself to arms' length, and then dropping the final foot and a halt,
alighting easily on her feet. She reached up her arms an caught Jonathan as he
jumped. "It's not easy being short," Jonathan commented, as she set
him down.

"Tell me about it," Eileen said. "Now what?"

Before them lay some ten years of open asphalt, with no cover whatsoever. It
as still early morning; there were few cars in the lot; and only one human
being in sight: Dr. Schultz, standing at the edge of the roped-off section,
shielding his eyes with his hand as he peered into the sky. Even as Jonathan
and Eileen had made their way outdoors the helicopter's thumping had grown
steadily louder, and now the machine itself came sailing into view, heading in
from the north and settling in slowly for a landing. Jonathan waited until Dr.
Schultz's attention seemed most riveted on the descending copter...and then he
grasped Eileen's arm. "Now!" he said.

Flat out, at top speed, the two of them dashed across the already-warm
asphalt. Jonathan could not remember the last time he had gone on all fours;
but this time he did, less for the sake of greater speed, and more to make
himself that much less visible. Beside him Eileen did the same; he could not
recall ever having seen her do so. Less than a minute later, unseen, they
vaulted over a low concrete curb and into a planter, burying themselves in the
depths of a thick privet hedge.

Mark, David and Philip were already there, concealed in the midst of the
hedge, guarding the precious packs. If they had indeed been asleep, there was no
sign of it. As Philip embraced Eileen he said, "What's the story?" He
had to shout to be heard over the helicopter's roar.

"The answer was no," Jonathan told him flatly. "But he's
going anyway. Assuming he can bully the pilot into it."

Together the five of them peered out through the dusty leaves. The
helicopter had touched down by then. Ordinarily Dr. Schultz would have boarded
while the engine was still running, ducking low under the blades; but this time
he did not; instead he made a slashing motion across his throat with the side
of his hand. The pilot shut the engine down. As the blades gradually came to a
halt the pilot unfastened his seatbelt and descended.

Jonathan and his friends were too far away to clearly hear the conversation;
but from random words, and from the two men's actions and gestures, Jonathan
reconstructed it. Dr. Schultz asks the pilot for help with the equipment.
The pilot asks if that means they're landing. Schultz says yes; and the pilot
is surprised; he asks if they've really got permission. Dr. Schultz shows him
the paper he just typed up...

Exactly what was on that paper, Jonathan did not know; had Dr. Schultz gone
so far as to engage in forgery? Was he truly that obsessed? Or was there
something else on that sheet?

Whatever it is, Jonathan thought, the pilot isn't buying it. And
so the argument begins.

For perhaps five minutes Dr. Schultz waved his arms and shouted; while the
pilot remained impassive, immobile as a stone, his arms crossed. Over and over
again he shook his head. Then, finally--and to Jonathan's total amazement--Dr.
Schultz reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. Several pieces
of green paper emerged, and were pressed into the pilot's hand; he accepted
them, reluctantly it seemed, and then the two of them turned and walked toward
the building.

Oh ho, Jonathan thought. So the great scientist resorts to
bribery. He really is that obsessed! He turned to his companions.
"This is it," he told them. "Get the packs--we've got to make
this really fast."

The five of them shouldered their packs, and took off running toward the
helicopter as fast as their burdens would allow. No dropping to all fours this
time; their forelimbs could not have taken the weight. A few seconds later they
pulled up next to the pilot's-side landing skid.

The pilot had left the door open, a fact which spared Jonathan and his
friends an infinity of trouble. The lower edge of the door-frame was far above
their heads, even the rats; but a little distance below that was a step, a flattened
metal tube coated on its upper surface with a non-skid material. While Mark and
David kept watch, Philip dug into his pack. Near the top was an item he had
brought with him from the farm; he had lost count of how many times he had used
it. It was a length of stout nylon cord, with a lead fishing sinker tied firmly
to one end. He shook out the coil loosely on the ground; and then, standing
directly below the step, he flipped the weighted end up and over. He was
first-time lucky; the weight sailed over the tube and fell to the ground,
looping the rope over the step. Philip tied a slip knot and pulled it tight;
then he spat on both hands and swarmed up the rope. Once up on the skid he
untied the rope and tossed the weight into the helicopter's cabin; then he
braced himself and sprang. The nails of his fingers and toes caught at the
black short-pile carpeting; scrabbling, he hauled himself into the cabin. He
fastened the line to a strut below the pilot's seat; then he leaned out.
"Everybody up!" he called.

The rest was easy. Mark went up first; and together, he and Philip hauled up
the five packs, one at a time, tied to the end of the rope. Then David, Eileen
and Jonathan followed. Philip grinned at them as he coiled his line and stowed
it. "You know," he said reflectively, "you just can't have too
much nylon rope."

"I'll take your word for that," Jonathan said. He looked around.
"So," he went on, "where do we hide?"

The helicopter's cabin was just spacious enough for four humans; small ones.
There were two seats in front and two in back; the leg-room between them was
narrow. Dr. Schultz's jacket, camera bag and binoculars were already there, on
the back seat, where he had tossed them before he and the pilot headed indoors.
Presumably they would pile the other equipment there too, or on the floor.
Philip pointed. "Under the back seats," he said. "If we push
ourselves right up to the rear wall, I don't think we'll be seen."

"Make it quick, guys," Eileen hissed. "They're coming."

Jonathan peered out through the open door. The scientist and the pilot were
indeed on their way back, their arms laden. Swiftly Jonathan and his companions
pushed their packs into the space beneath the rear seats, all the way back to
the bulkhead; and they followed the packs in. It was a cramped, dusty and
stale-smelling place, full of crumpled gum wrappers and scraps of paper.
Jonathan could stand upright; the other four could not. They were not a second
too soon; they had barely concealed themselves when two shovels and two pickaxes
thumped down on the floor, exactly where they had been standing.

Jonathan watched closely, peering out from beneath the seat, as the two men
finished their work; it required three trips in all. Besides the picks and
shovels they loaded first a wire cage and a box of clear plastic bags. A cage
for prisoners, and plastic bags for corpses; apparently Schultz believed there
would be far more of the latter. Then a larger carton, containing small metal
cylinders with an ominous skull-and-crossbones marking; and finally--and most
carefully, strapping them in with the seatbelts--several objects which Jonathan
did not recognize at all, until he noticed that one of them was a spool of
wire. Good God, he thought, his blood running cold, he really is
bringing explosives! The last two items, almost an afterthought it seemed,
were a cooler chest and a large insulated water jug; evidently Dr. Schultz
planned on making a day of it. Those items loaded, the two men climbed into the
front seats, slammed the doors, and buckled in. If they knew about their
unauthorized passengers, they gave no sign.

This is it, Jonathan thought. For the second--and hopefully last--time
in his life, he was leaving NIMH; this time, at very least, it had been
somewhat easier to depart, and his stay there quite a bit shorter. Never in his
life had he left a place with less regret; in fact there was only one thing
about the place he might possibly miss: the leftover coffee in the employee's
lounge .

The pilot hesitated before starting the engine. "Listen," he told
Dr. Schultz. "You know I shouldn't be doing this, and if I lose my license
I'm out of business. You swear to me, that you'll take the responsibility? All
of it?"

"Yes," Schultz said impatiently. "Yes, I swear. Just as I
wrote it out. All the responsibility is mine."

"I hope you remember that," the pilot said. And then he started
the engine.

Under the back seat, the five stowaways clung to their packs and each other,
as the machine lifted into the sky. The noise and vibration were appalling;
Jonathan feared they would all be deaf or shaken to pieces before they arrived.
He shouted close to Philip's ear: "How long?"

"I'd guess about an hour and a half to two hours!" Philip replied.
"We might as well get comfortable!"

They did their best, leaning back against their packs. Two hours,
Jonathan thought in amazement. It was certainly better than the four days it
would have taken them otherwise; though much of that time, admittedly, would
have been spent waiting for the right connections. In two hours they would be
in Thorn Valley; a place none of them had ever seen, but which they had all
worked a good part of their lives to make possible. As Jonathan had said, they
would arrive just as soon as Dr. Schultz did; but would they--could they--be in
time to do any good?

"Whatever happens," Elizabeth told her children, "we need to
stay together. If we do that, we'll all be fine."

They had returned to their guest room after breakfast, possibly for the last
time, to pack--and to wait. There seemed to be little else they could
do. As the time passed, as early morning drifted into mid-morning, marked only
by the ticking of the wall clock, Elizabeth felt her anxiety slowly but surely
growing. She kept a tight lid on her emotions, or tried to; she believed that
she had little choice. For her children's sake, she could not give in to panic.
If she remained calm, so might they.

...But in fact (she was forced to admit) the four of them seemed a good deal
less likely to panic than she herself did; what they were feeling this morning,
it seemed, was mostly frustration.

They all sat close together, the children cross-legged on the floor,
gathered around Elizabeth's chair. The room was dim; they had lit only a single
oil lamp. The windows had been covered over at some time in the middle of the
previous night, even as they slept; they had all been so exhausted, they had
not even heard the work going on. The lamp's tiny flickering flame barely
illuminated the room, leaving the corners in deep shadow. Somehow the gloom
seemed almost appropriate.

The five backpacks lying in a pile near the door were much larger than the
small bundles they had arrived with, almost a week ago; mainly because of the
things the rats had pressed on them to make their exile more comfortable.
Matches, blankets and clothing, mainly, and also a variety of simple tools.
Justin believed that the five of them could survive out in the valley with no
particular difficulty, and Elizabeth fully agreed with him. Already in the back
of her mind her plans were forming: what kind of shelter they would construct,
how they would go about securing food and water. It was, as Justin had
realized, her own area of expertise; she had even been known to teach Jonathan
a thing or two. No, survival was not one of their problems.

It was Timothy, as usual, who first gave voice to what was troubling all
four of them; what was, if she was to be honest, troubling Elizabeth too.
"Mom," he said, "why do we have to leave?"

There were murmurs of agreement from the other three, and Martin said,
"Yeah, Mom. After all the work we did for them last night, why are they
kicking us out now?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "That's not it," she assured them.
"They're not kicking us out at all--Justin just thinks we'll be safer out
in the woods, that's all."

"Then why aren't they all going?" Teresa asked pointedly.

"Because...," Elizabeth began, and paused. She floundered for a
moment, then went on, "Because there are too many of them. Justin doesn't
think the woods can support three hundred rats. And he thinks they'd be seen,
coming out of the escape tunnel. But Dr. Schultz won't be looking for mice, so
we'll be safe."

Even as she spoke, the words sounded hollow in her own ears. Her
children--most especially Timothy--knew as well as she did: she really didn't
believe what she was saying. Oh, they would be safe enough, that much
was true; but whatever Justin's reasoning was, it had very little to do with
the rats being seen, or not being able to find enough food. In fact--she was
beginning to believe--Justin had given up. In her mind he still hoped
that the rats would survive the siege--but he no longer believed it. It
was entirely possible that he did not realize this himself, not consciously;
but Elizabeth had seen it in his eyes late last night. He was beginning to
believe that Dr. Schultz would succeed; that he could not be prevented from
hunting the rats down and destroying them, no matter where they went or what
they did. Gathering everyone together in the service tunnels might be nothing
more or less than a last act of defiance: Dr. Schultz would find it very
difficult to obtain corpses to study; and--very much more importantly--he would
find it almost impossible to take live prisoners. Better to die there together
than to be hunted down in the woods, captured one by one, and returned to
captivity. Better especially, than that the community's younger adults and
children be taken into a captivity that they had never known. Justin would
probably have hotly denied any such motivations--but they were present.
Elizabeth knew that only too well. Sending her and her family away was his way
of exempting them from inevitable doom.

...But how can I possibly tell my children that? The answer was
simple: she could not.

"Mom," Timothy said, shaking her out of her gloomy thoughts,
"we want to stay. Don't we, guys?"

The three of them nodded, their chins stuck out and their whiskers bristling
defiantly. "Yeah," Martin said. "We want to stay and
fight."

"...Or stay and help," Cynthia amended.

"That's right," Teresa added. "There must be something
we can do..."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "But I'm
afraid that's not going to happen. I understand what you're all feeling;
believe me, I do. And I almost wish we could stay too. But..." She gazed at
Martin. "I'm afraid there isn't going to be a fight. There can't be."
Her gaze shifted to Cynthia and Teresa. "And they've got all the help they
need." She glanced at Timothy, the lamplight reflecting brightly from his
new glasses. "I know you all have friends here, and I am sorry to pull you
away from them so soon. But Justin is the leader of the community, and as long
as we're here, we have to follow his orders. Not only that, but he has so many
people and things to worry about. He feels responsible for us, because he
invited us here, and I think--I know--that he will feel better if he
doesn't have to worry about us."

The four of them exchanged a glance; and then, with some reluctance, they
all nodded. "Okay, Mom," Timothy said, and the other three once again
muttered their agreement.

"Good," she said. She reached out her arms to enclose them all.
"And we might all still be worrying needlessly. It's very possible that
Justin is right. If the rats can hide themselves away for long enough, Dr.
Schultz might be forced to give up and leave."

Do I believe that? she asked herself. Unfortunately the answer to
that was easy too: No. But I don't believe that this is the end, either. For
any of us, rat or mouse.

At that moment they were interrupted by a loud and insistent knock on the
door. Without a pause for invitation the door was wrenched open, and a rat
peered in. Female, she was dressed in a blue tunic and a white shirt, the
uniform of the Guard. It took Elizabeth a moment to recognize her: Carla, the
lifeguard. She looked very different without her T-shirt, visor and the smear
of zinc oxide across her nose. Under her fur, her face was white. "Mrs.
Brisby?" she said, her voice terse with barely-controlled fear. "I'm
sorry to barge in, but would you all come with us, please? It's time."

For a second Elizabeth was frozen; then she stood. "They're
coming?"

Carla nodded. "Yes," she said quietly. "We've just had word
from Thomas. The helicopter isn't in sight yet, but he can hear it."

Somehow Elizabeth managed, yet again, to swallow her fear. "Come
on," she told her children. "Get your packs. And remember what I
said: stay together!"

They shouldered their packs, and then they followed Carla out into the
hallway. Already the corridor was filled with rats, adults and children, all
moving ahead steadily and silently, grim-faced, heading for the ramps that
would take them downstairs. In any other place, Elizabeth might have expected a
stampede: but not here. Not among the Rats of NIMH. She had been a little
concerned what would happen to her children and herself, if they got caught in
that crowd: they were so small, they might be crushed or trampled completely by
accident. But now she saw that she needn't have worried. Whether it was Justin
or Thomas who had ordered it she didn't know; but Carla was accompanied by
three other rats, guards all. The four of them immediately fell into a
defensive phalanx around Elizabeth and her children. Thus protected, they fell
into step with the evacuation.

Elizabeth could hear it now, above the soft shuffling of many bare feet, and
the few--very few--whispered words: the same sound she had heard yesterday
afternoon, the rapid thudding of the helicopter's blades cutting air. Quiet
now; it might even be possible to dismiss it as her imagination; but it was
growing steadily louder. As she walked, locked in among the hundreds of rats,
she found herself looking around. Her children were doing the same, or almost:
they were trying to fix in their minds the memories of this place, this
community that had given them so much; and had so much more to give. But
Elizabeth was looking around for one face, one particular person she wished
above all to see, just one last time. But he did not appear, and by the time
they reached the downward-spiraling ramp she had accepted, with heavy heart,
the fact that he would not. No doubt he was busy elsewhere.

What did he mean, she wondered, when he told me that I can't love
him? Probably--most likely--he meant that he was already spoken for; that
he had his eye on some female rat or another. And of course she could not blame
him for that: it was only proper, much more so than a cross-species
relationship. Among other things she--whoever she was--could give him
children of his own, which Elizabeth could not. And in any case it scarcely
mattered now. But she was not sorry--she would never be sorry--that he knew;
that she had finally found the courage to tell him what she had felt these last
three months.

The ramp had carried them swiftly downward, into the service tunnels, and
the crowd was beginning to break up, to find places to cluster together and
wait. Elizabeth looked around, gathering her children close to herself. It was
time for them to find the escape tunnel--and then to face whatever lay beyond.

They had arrived.

Jonathan and his companions managed to doze their way through most of the
flight, curled together into a single ball of fur and worn clothing under the
helicopter's rear seats, lulled partly by their own exhaustion, and partly by
the engine's soporific drone. Jonathan didn't begrudge that nap, and didn't try
to fight it when he felt sleep catching up with him, soon after they left NIMH.
In a certain sense they were more vulnerable while asleep; it very slightly
increased their danger of being discovered. But he knew--no one better--just
how tired they all were. He still had no idea what they were going to do when
they reached Thorn Valley; but it seemed a safe bet that they would need all
the strength they could muster. And the flight was stupifyingly
monotonous.

Some slight change, either in the aircraft's attitude, or in the pitch of
the engine, brought them all instantly awake; and they realized immediately
that the helicopter was hovering now, rather than moving forward. We're
here, Jonathan thought, half in hope and half in dread. We're finally
here: Thorn Valley.

He and his friends crawled forward...and then shied back, briefly, as Dr.
Schultz groped for his binoculars. They peered out through the jumble of tools
and boxes. Unfortunately there was very little for them to see. The door
windows were far above their heads, showing nothing but blue sky from that
angle, and the windshield was similarly occluded; though Jonathan thought that
he caught a quick glimpse of a sharp-pointed mountain peak, just for a few
seconds as the helicopter slowly rotated.

Dr. Schultz was peering down through his binoculars; after a moment he
chuckled hollowly. "They've barricaded their windows and doors!" he
said, above the engine noise. "I really think they are making a
stand. Not that it will do them much good."

"Doc," the pilot said, "are you telling me that all this was
built by rats?"

"Of course it was," Dr. Schultz said testily. "What--did you
think there was a race of six-inch-tall humans up here?"

The pilot shook his head. "After what I've seen the last couple days, I
don't know what to think."

"Then maybe you'd better just concentrate on the flying," Dr.
Schultz said coldly. "And leave the thinking to me." He pointed.
"Take us down."

The pilot hesitated. "Your responsibility?"

"Yes, yes," Dr. Schultz insisted. "My responsibility. Down!
We haven't got all day!"

"Okay, Doc. As long as it's your neck, not mine."

Slowly the machine settled. Its nose was pointing due north now, and through
the windshield Jonathan caught a glimpse of forest at the valley's end, miles
distant. In the right-side window, the eastern ridge appeared. "Land us as
close as your can to the middle of that ridge," Dr. Schultz instructed.
"I'm sure I saw some kind of large entrance there yesterday."

Less than thirty seconds later they were on the ground, and the pilot shut
off the engine; the sudden silence made Jonathan's ears ring. He and his
friends pulled back again as Dr. Schultz reached for his camera bag. "Come
on," Schultz said briskly, as he popped open his door. "I want to get
some more shots before we get to work."

The pilot and the scientist exited the helicopter then; and once again,
fortunately, they left the doors open. Jonathan and his friends crept out from
their hiding place, worming their way through a tangle of tool handles and
boxes. Cautiously they gathered around the pilot's-side door and peered out.

Even now there was not a lot they could see, not through that narrow
opening. They were clearly in a large mountain valley; that much was obvious.
Away to the north its end was lost in distance. Directly below them was lush
grass, which seemed to have been recently cut--Jonathan didn't need to wonder
by whom. Off to the right, some twenty yards away, the valley's eastern wall
rose sharply in a series of stair-step ridges, made of rough, bare grey stone.
Jonathan had never seen this valley before...but never for a second did he doubt
that they were in the right place. That ridge fit too well, the descriptions he
had heard, and the drawings and blueprints he had seen. And not only that, the
signs of habitation were immediately obvious. Evenly spaced along those
stairstep ridges were openings. Windows mainly, but a few doors as well; they
extended as far as he could see in both directions. They had been barricaded,
just as Dr. Schultz had said; covered with earth and stone, probably on top of
wooden shutters. Whoever had done the job had taken pains to try to camouflage
those openings; but unfortunately, they had not been particularly successful.
Every one of them stood out, perfectly visible, almost pitifully obvious. No
wonder Dr. Schultz had been chuckling.

The pilot and the scientist had walked some distance farther north,
following the lowest ridge; Dr. Schultz had his camera out, fitted this time
with a shorter zoom lens, and he was taking pictures in every direction, as
fast as he could click. Jonathan couldn't suppress a brief smile as he saw
that. The humans stopped some ten yards away from the helicopter and knelt
down. Directly in front of them, at ground level on the lowest tier of ridges,
was the community's main entrance. That was obvious, even to five pair of eyes
which had never seen it before. A wide stone archway, large enough for a whole group
of rats to enter at once; there were several well-trodden paths worn into the
grass, converging on it. The archway had been completely filled with
close-packed earth and rock, rammed in so tightly that the scientist could not
even insert a finger.

"What's the plan, boss?" Eileen whispered to Jonathan.

He glanced up at her in despair. "There isn't one," he said.
"If our friends are anywhere in this valley, they're holed up behind those
barricades. And I can't see a way to get to them. Not now, at any rate."

"Well," she said reasonably, "we can't hang around in here
all day."

"You're right," Jonathan said. He scrambled over obstacles to the
other side of the helicopter, the door that faced west. On that side, some
twelve yards away, was the shore of a large lake. The grass ended abruptly at
the edge of a broad sandy beach, which sloped gently down to the water; he
could see where a line of large stones had been placed a little distance
offshore, creating a calm swimming hole. All deserted now, of course.

Philip gripped his elbow and pointed. At the north end of the beach, where
it met the grass, there was a little rise, topped with a line of low, dense
bushes. It was--though Jonathan had no way of knowing it--the very place his
wife had sat and talked with Justin almost a week ago, while watching the
children swim. "Looks like the only cover available," Philip said.

"Right," Jonathan agreed. "Let's do it!"

Before they started, they hazarded another quick glance out through the
other door. The pilot and Dr. Schultz were still walking generally north, still
minutely examining the barricaded openings, still clicking pictures. At any
moment, however, they might return for their tools; better make this quick.

They dragged their packs over to the west-side door, wrestling them through
the tangle of tools and boxes, and Philip once again fished out his rope. He
could not tie a standard knot, because there would be no one left in the
helicopter to untie it; instead he passed a loop through a strut under the
passenger seat and dropped both ends out through the door, over the step. There
was just enough line to reach the ground. While Eileen kept watch, standing on
the rear seat on the pilot's side, the other four went to work. Mark descended
to the ground, and David to the step; and then Philip, with Jonathan assisting
as much as he could, carefully lowered the five precious backpacks. David eased
them over the step, one by one; and at the bottom, Mark untied them and set
them aside.

They had just finished lowering the last pack--Jonathan's, as it
happened--when Eileen suddenly jumped. "They're coming!" she cried.

David jumped from the step and caught both strands of the rope, sliding
hand-over-hand to the ground. Mark and Jonathan followed at double-speed. They
were already on the ground when Eileen crossed the floor of the helicopter,
scrambled hastily out onto the edge of the door-frame, grabbed for the rope...and
missed. She teetered for a moment on the edge, her arms flailing; and then she
fell.

"Eileen!" Philip screamed. He and the others dashed forward, even
Jonathan; their arms outstretched. Eileen tumbled head over heels, crying out
in terror; her right arm struck the step with a resounding whack, and then she
fell straight down, directly--fortunately--into the four pair of waiting arms.

Her eyes were closed, her body trembling violently, as they lowered her
carefully to the grass. "Eileen, darling," Philip said anxiously,
close to her ear, "are you all right?"

She opened one eye and peered up at him. "'Darling'?" she quoted
with a grin. "I didn't know that word was in your vocabulary,
hotshot."

"Of course it is," he said, as he embraced and kissed her in
relief. "Are you all right?" he repeated.

"Yes," she said. She started to lever herself up onto her arms...and
gave a sudden yelp of pain, collapsing into her right side. "No," she
corrected between clenched teeth, as she sat up more carefully. "My
wrist--I think it's fractured."

Indeed, that limb was already visibly swelling. "That won't be the only
thing that's fractured," Jonathan said tightly, glancing back over his
shoulder. Through the helicopter's landing struts he could see two pair of
human legs, approaching fast. "Hacker, can you walk?"

With Philip's help she struggled to her feet. "I think so," she
said shakily. "I'm not hurt anywhere else." She winced again.
"Just don't ask me to carry anything."

"We won't," Jonathan promised. "Philip, get her under cover.
Mark, David, let's get these packs."

Eileen and Philip set off toward the bushes at a shuffling run, his arm
around her shoulders; she supported her right arm with her left, holding both
close against her chest. At every step she gave a little grunt of pain. In a
few seconds they vanished over the ridge into the brush. David pulled down the
rope and coiled it hastily around his waist. Jonathan shouldered his own pack,
as did Mark and David; and together the three of them caught hold of the straps
of the other two packs. They couldn't lift them, not along with their own; and
so they dragged them across the grass as fast as they could. At the top of the
ridge they gave the packs a push; and then they followed them over. Once again
they were just in time: even as they hid themselves, Dr. Schultz and the pilot
returned to the copter and reached into the back seat.

The five of them lay prone on the back side of the ridge, peering between
the branches. Eileen was breathing hard now, clutching her wrist; her face was
dead white. Philip's arms were around her, a look of deep concern on her face.
"Hacker--?" Jonathan said.

"I'm all right," she said tersely; but that was clearly something
less than the truth. "It just hurts a little."

"Splint," Jonathan said. "That's what we need--a splint.
Mark, would you please find some sticks? Stay out of sight."

"Right away," Mark said, and he headed down the back side of the
ridge, crawling on his belly.

"David," Jonathan went on, "I think we're going to have to
sacrifice some of Philip's precious rope."

"Right," David said. He unwrapped it from around his waist and
handed the coil to Philip. The larger rat patted his pockets, looking for the
knife that he had lost months ago. Failing to find it, he looked frustrated for
a moment; then he shrugged and went to work on the nylon line with his rodent's
teeth.

"Battlefield medicine," Eileen muttered. "Gotta love
it."

Mark returned a few seconds later, bearing two smooth sticks of about the
correct size; and by that time, Philip had gnawed off two lengths of rope.
Jonathan did the tying. Whether the splint eased the pain any, Jonathan
doubted, though Eileen insisted that it did. But at very least, perhaps it
would help prevent any further damage, until they could get the wrist properly
taken care of--if indeed that would ever happen. As soon as they had finished
their task, they all returned to the top of the ridge and once again peered out
cautiously.

The pilot and Dr. Schultz had finished unloading their tools from the back
of the helicopter. The day was hot, and they had paused for a brief rest, there
in the aircraft's shade. Jonathan, with a certain degree of envy, watched them
pass the water jug back and forth. He and his friends would have to do without
for the duration; they had no canteens, and if they tried to reach the
lake-side they might be spotted. Jonathan watched, sick despair growing inside
him, as Dr. Schultz stood and strolled down the ridge-line. As they watched,
the scientist paused before the barricaded main entrance, and suddenly he
kicked it as hard as he could with his heavily-booted foot. He sent up a shower
of dust and chips, but caused no other visible damage; the barricade still
stood. Then he turned on his heel and marched purposefully toward the pile of
tools.

Eileen was breathing a little easier now, though her face was still pale.
She turned. "Jonathan," she said softly, "I just want you to
know, before it's too late. I'm truly sorry for that argument we had the other
day."

Jonathan turned toward her. "I'm sorry too, Hacker," he told her.
"But not because we argued. I'm sorry because...I'm beginning to believe you
may have been right."

The main entrance is barricaded, Justin thought. But is it
barricaded enough?

That thought had plagued him for several hours, since he first inspected the
makeshift plug which Arthur and his team had thrown up. It was the main
entrance that worried Justin the most, even more than those dozens of windows
and lesser doors scattered along the length of the community. They were
small, far too small for a human to get through, and opened into rooms that
were separated from the hallways by other, inner doors. But the main entrance
opened directly into the main corridor, into the very center of the community;
and it was wide enough, almost, for a human to crawl partway into. It would be
a perfect place to toss in canisters of gas; they could be broadcast far down
the hallway in both directions. Dr. Schultz would doubtless be bringing
pickaxes, if not indeed more destructive devices; short of filling the main
entrance and its connecting corridor with solid concrete, could any
barricade be truly adequate?

Justin had supervised the evacuation; it had gone remarkably smoothly, all
things considered, with no sign of panic, even among the young children. He
watched until the last of his people vanished into the down-ramps leading to
the service tunnels; and then--even as the helicopter's shuddering vibration
increased steadily around him--he turned and ran, back through the eerily-deserted
corridors toward the main entrance. It hurt him, not to be there with his
people; but it couldn't be helped; he would have to rely on Alice, and others,
to keep them calm. It hurt him more, that he had not had the chance to say
goodbye to one person in particular. That too couldn't be helped; but
hopefully--if, God willing, his theories were anywhere near correct--this would
not be the final goodbye. Not yet, anyway. But at any rate--beyond all
regrets--he knew where his duty lay: with the part of the community that would
be, must be, attacked first.

He reached the vicinity of the main entrance just as the vibrations reached
their peak; for a few seconds the entire community seemed to be shaking, and it
was all he could do just to stay on his feet. Good grief, he thought, as
he clung to the wall. They must be landing right on top of us! Even as
he arrived at the barricade the noise and shaking stopped; the sudden silence
was both startling and ominous. They're here, he thought. God help us
all, they're here.

Four people were present in the corridor already, clustered around the
barricade. Three of them Justin recognized as employees of Arthur's shop:
Allen, Charles, and Hannah. All three were volunteers; they had been ordered to
man the barricade, and to keep it standing as long as they could, short of
suicide. The fourth person was also a volunteer, but he was not a member of
Arthur's regular crew: in fact it was Sullivan. For a brief few seconds Justin
was surprised to see him; but on reflection, he decided he should not be. The
prisoner was entirely without guard, and without handcuffs; what was the point
in either, now? The look that Sullivan shot him, as Justin stepped up beside
him, was one of defiance; but Justin refused to be baited. Whatever I might
think of him personally, Justin thought, this isn't the time. He's
volunteered for a dangerous job; leave it at that for now. "How's it
holding up?" he asked.

Sullivan nodded down at the floor, where lay a few small stones and a
scattering of earth and sand. "It's holding, for now," he said.
"The vibrations jarred that much loose, but no more."

Justin nodded. "Arthur's work is always good," he said.
"Let's hope this is his magnum opus."

The barricade was not, perhaps, Arthur's greatest achievement; but
considering the conditions under which it had been built, it was certainly on
the top-ten list. The main entrance opened into a connecting corridor some
three feet long, which intersected the community's main hallway at right
angles. To entirely fill that short corridor with stone would have been
impossible in so short a time--but Arthur had come close. The structure he had
built consisted of a massive wooden framework, floor to ceiling, divided into
half a dozen vertical chambers, each of them some six inches in thickness, and
separated from each other by heavy planking. Each of those chambers Arthur had
filled with rock and earth, and had packed each end with more. On the inner
side, three feet into the community, he had braced the entire structure with
three large slabs of stone. It had taken a dozen rats to lever each of those
slabs into place, leaning forward against the barricade. It was Arthur's belief
that the wooden partitions would make the barricade more resilient; that the
shovels and pickaxes might simply bounce off--for a while at least. That
theory, Justin had no doubt, would very soon be put to the test. And if for any
reason it failed, Justin and the other four rats stood ready, with hammers,
nails and a large supply of wooden planks and beams, to do what they could to
shore it up.

"Where's Arthur?" Justin asked. "I expected to find him
here."

"He was here," Sullivan confirmed. "But he left a few minutes
ago. He said something about checking the escape tunnel."

Justin nodded thoughtfully. Good, he decided. Arthur had expressed
some reservations about the supports in that tunnel; it was only to be expected
that the chief engineer would go and check them, one last time. That structure
was their lifeline, their very last resort, especially for the very most
innocent among them: the children. Justin still hoped they wouldn't have to use
it; but he was finding it harder and harder to convince himself. Stacked up
against even just two humans with hand tools, the entire community seemed terribly
fragile, terribly vulnerable. Funny--it had never seemed that way before.

There were several moments of silence then, as the helicopter's noise faded
into memory. The five of them stood still, straining their ears, trying to
catch some sound, any sound, which would give them an indication of what was
happening outside. What's he doing? Justin wondered. Unloading tools, of
course; that was a given. But beyond that--? Looking for the best place to dig,
perhaps? Or--even more likely--taking pictures? He certainly wouldn't neglect
that; he would document every step of the destruction.

As the silence lengthened Justin found his mind wandering. He thought first
about Thomas, far above their heads in the jumble of rocks that made up the
community's roof. He had been desperate for that assignment; had all but begged
Justin for it, in fact. Still trying to prove himself, Justin thought
sadly. He knows what people think: he knows they think he's too fussy, too
pedantic, too obsessed with tiny details, to be Captain of the Guard. He
probably even knows that I think the same. I wish I didn't--but it's true. He
would make a great first lieutenant--but not captain.

Keep your head down, Justin had ordered him, and no heroics.
It would be just like him, to storm the helicopter single-handed, with nothing
more than four inches of sword...and to end up dead, or worse, in doing so. Stay
put, Justin ordered him silently. Stay put and observe.

But as much as he tried to think of other things, Justin's wandering mind
kept returning, over and over, to thoughts of one person: Elizabeth Brisby. By
now she and her children should be headed up the escape tunnel, out into the
forest beyond the farm. You can survive there, he had told her; and he
still believed it to be true. She had the knack, after a lifetime of practical
experience; and her children had their intelligence as well. He pictured them
establishing a temporary home in the woods, foraging for food...At this time of
the year it probably would not be a bad life, and in a little more than three
weeks their friend Jeremy would arrive and take them back where they belonged.

And that, he thought, really will be the end of the Rats of NIMH.
Unless...but there was no use dwelling on that.

Goodbye, Elizabeth, he thought. Please remember us; and please
remember how much we honored you. And most of all, please remember that I did
love you--in my own way.

Justin glanced over at Sullivan. The older rat, the convict, stood looking
up at the ceiling, as if he could penetrate solid rock with his stare. He
looked tired--as did they all--as well as drawn and anxious. Even three months
later he had not fully recovered from the wound Jenner had dealt him; he tired
easily, and even though he had been sentenced to hard labor, neither Justin nor
Thomas had ever had the heart to enforce that to the letter of the law.
Clearly, though, he had worked much too hard on the barricade; Justin saw a
grimace of pain on that blunt face, and wondered if he had managed to re-injure
himself. Justin gazed at him...and abruptly he came to a decision.
"Sullivan?"

Sullivan shook himself. "Yes, sir?" he said.

"I just want you to know," Justin told him. "Whatever happens
today--you are not going back to prison."

Sullivan's jaw dropped. "Pardon me?"

"Exactly right," Justin said with a faint grin. "That's what
I'm doing: I'm pardoning you. I'm exercising an executive power that I just
made up." He swept his hand in a circle, indicating the other three rats.
"They're all my witnesses. Congratulations. As of this moment you're a
free rat."

Sullivan looked down. "I...I don't know what so say," he stammered.
He grasped Justin's hand and shook it firmly. "Thank you. Thank you very
much."

"Don't thank me," Justin told him. "Thank Elizabeth
Brisby." He looked up and scowled. "What on earth is he waiting
for?" he muttered. "Get it over with!"

They heard a sound of running footsteps then, loud in the silent and
deserted hallways, and they all turned. Heading up the corridor at full speed
was a young rat. He drew up before Justin and stopped, panting uncontrollably;
it took Justin a moment to recognize him as another of Arthur's employees.
"Stephen!" he said. "Good grief, you're a mess!"

He was. The young rat wore a brown vest and a white shirt; both were
spattered liberally--as was his fur--with thick grey mud, partially-dried by
the wind as he ran. Still panting hard, he looked up at Justin and saluted.
"I've got...a message...from Arthur," he managed to get out. "It's
about...the escape tunnel."

Justin frowned. "What about it?" he demanded, suddenly and
inexplicably alarmed.

The young rat told him; and Justin felt himself go ice-cold in horror. He
turned quickly to Sullivan. "Stay here," he said. "You're in
charge of the barricade. Keep it standing as long as you can, but at the first
sign of gas, get below. Understood?"

"Understood," Sullivan said. "What's--"

He never completed his question. At that instant there was a sudden, solid thump
behind them, and they all whirled around. The entire barricade jumped, as with
a heavy impact. The structure as a whole remained solid; but it was jolted
backward into the corridor at least a full inch. The middle one of the three
huge stone slabs, intended to brace the barricade, cracked, tipped backwards,
overbalanced...and fell.

"Look out!" Sullivan screamed. He started forward; but it was too
late. With a deafening roar, that slab of stone and a portion of the barricade
it had supported collapsed...directly on top of Justin.

We really don't have time for this, Elizabeth thought anxiously. She
sighed. But how can I tell them no?

All of the children in the Thorn Valley community had been gathered
together, for safe keeping as it were, in one of the deepest of the service tunnels;
a place that was--not entirely by coincidence--also very near the head of
Arthur's escape tunnel. It was toward that escape tunnel that she and her
children ought to have been heading; but, having seen the other youngsters
gathered there, they had all--most especially Timothy--begged her for a chance
to say goodbye to their friends. It was a request she could well understand;
and one she didn't have the heart to refuse.

Of the four of them, Teresa and Martin had made the fewest friends--though
they did have some, and would have had more if they had been attending
school--and Cynthia the most; but Timothy, by far, the closest. Elizabeth
watched with a curious mixture of emotions--sadness, amusement and anxiety--as
young Robert embraced Timothy, lifting the smaller boy completely off his feet.
It seemed a terrible shame to separate them, especially at this juncture; but
it was unavoidable; and it would have to happen now, or else it really
would be impossible.

She was just about to call them, when a large hand closed gently on her
shoulder. "Mrs. Brisby?" a voice said quietly.

She turned, to see Arthur gazing down at her. His appearance was astounding,
to say the least. The chief engineer was barely recognizable; he was covered
head to toe with thick grey mud, even as Teresa and Martin had been when he
brought them to her days before. The expression on his face--underneath the
coating of earth--was grim, and somehow...apologetic. "I'm afraid we have a
problem," he said.

By this time Robert has noticed his father's presence in the tunnel, and he
came running, bringing Timothy with him. The other three Brisby children pulled
themselves away from their friends and joined them. "What's wrong?"
Elizabeth asked, just as they all drew close.

Arthur draped his arm around his son's shoulders in absent-minded fondness;
and he glanced at each of the younger Brisbys in turn before he replied.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have known it would happen; I
knew the supports weren't adequate. I've had so much to do, and it seemed
low-priority..." He shook his head. "But that's not an excuse."

"Arthur," Elizabeth said, firmly and impatiently, "What
happened?"

He shook himself. "The escape tunnel is blocked," he said. He
shook his head again, mournfully. "A big mass of rock and mud, about
halfway along. I knew there was some seepage. I knew it needed more
support..."

A cold chill started in Elizabeth's toes and made its way rapidly upward.
"How did it happen?" she asked. "Was anyone hurt?"

"No," he assured her. "No one was hurt." He paused.
"There were just two of us down there. I'm not absolutely certain how it
happened," he went on. "I think--I think--it was a combination
of the seepage, and the vibration of that infernal machine." He gestured
upward.

Elizabeth nodded. They had all felt it; in the last few seconds before the
helicopter landed the entire community had seemed to be shaking, right down to
the service tunnels. It must have almost literally come down right on top of
them. "Can you...can you dig it out?"

He shrugged. "Certainly," he said. "In a week or ten days. In
time to do us any good, no. I'm afraid we're all stuck...and I'm afraid you and
your family are stuck with us."

Elizabeth spread out her arms, gathering her children to her side. Her heart
was hard and cold inside her; but somewhere, deep down, she felt a spark
of....something. Hope, perhaps; or was it more like defiance? In any case, even
in the midst of her fear, she could not believe that this was the end; somehow
they would get through this terrible day. Of that--for some reason, beyond all
logic or reason--she was certain.

"Where's Justin?" she asked Arthur. "Shouldn't he be--"

At that moment, however, she was interrupted, by a rough, somewhat ragged
voice. "Mrs. Brisby! Where is Mrs. Brisby?"

She peered around Arthur's substantial bulk. There at the entrance to the
tunnel stood Sullivan, the prisoner, his eyes wide and searching frantically.
He was out of breath--evidently he had been running hard, and he was in no
shape for it--and under his fur his face was ashen.

Quickly she stepped forward. "I'm here," she said. "What is
it?"

Sullivan drew her aside, away from Arthur and her children. He was panting
hard; so hard, in fact, that he had difficulty getting the words out. The
expression on his face, however, filled her with horror; and suddenly, with no
good reason, she was frightened. "Justin," he managed to say,
quietly. "It's Justin."

"What's happened?"

"The barricade at the main entrance," he said. "It collapsed.
Some of it collapsed. He was underneath it, and..."

The blood suddenly drained from her head, all of it; she felt herself sway,
and there was a roaring in her ears, and black spots before her eyes. "Is
he--?" she began.

"No," Sullivan told her. "Not yet. But he's badly hurt. Very
badly. And...he's calling for you."

She turned, opening her mouth to call for Arthur...but Sullivan stopped her.
"No," he said quietly. "He doesn't want Arthur. Just you."

She gazed up at him defiantly for an instant; then she nodded. Her children
were a little distance away, still talking to Arthur and Robert. She reached
over and grasped her older daughter's arm urgently. "Stay here," she
ordered them all sharply. "Teresa, you're in charge!" And then--for the
first and last time in Thorn Valley--she dropped to all fours, and took off
like a rocket toward the upper levels. Sullivan followed her, somewhat slower.

For a few seconds Timothy stood there, gazing at their rapidly-receding
forms in confusion. He had not heard their conversation; but something Sullivan
had said had obviously upset his mother very badly indeed. And Sullivan was
still a convict; was he entirely to be trusted? Timothy hesitated...then, without
so much as a glance back, he took off running too, following them. Behind him
his older sister called out. "Timothy! Stop!" and grabbed at his arm;
but by then he was long gone; and he was not followed.

Elizabeth came to a sudden halt in the hallway just outside the main
entrance. She rose to her hind feet, but her knees wouldn't support her;
Sullivan, coming up behind her, had to hold her up with a hand under her elbow.
Neither of them noticed Timothy's arrival a few seconds later. "No,"
Elizabeth whispered brokenly. "No, this can't be happening. Not
again."

The scene that greeted her eyes was the most horrible she had ever seen,
worse even than the sight of her home lying in the mud, surrounded by a
shambles of broken equipment. The entire barricade had not collapsed; the main
entrance was still closed, still inaccessible from the outside. But a
significant portion of it had fallen, and Justin, it seemed, had been
directly beneath it.

The leader of the rats lay face down, somewhat twisted, his left arm
outstretched and his right pinned beneath him. His body was visible only from
the shoulders up; the rest was hidden beneath a great mass of stone. One of the
large obelisk-like slabs that Arthur and his crew had levered into place, to
anchor the rest of the barricade, had failed and tipped over; and in falling it
had shattered into three irregular pieces. All three of those still lay atop
Justin, as well as a large number of smaller rocks and a quantity of earth. The
larger rocks were jumbled together, so that all of their weight was not resting
on him; but a terrible amount was. Two rats--a males and a female, part of
Arthur's team--were working frantically around him, pulling out the smaller
stones and heaving them aside as fast as they could; but their work seemed all
but pointless. Broken planks showed that they had tried, without success, to
lever the larger stones aside with inadequate tools. Justin's eyes were closed,
and if he was indeed still breathing, it could not be seen.

"You've got to get him out of there!" Elizabeth screamed hysterically
at the two workers. "Please! You've got to get him out!"

She might have flung herself at the stones; but they restrained her,
Sullivan on one side and Timothy on the other. Sullivan said, "Charles and
Stephen went to get equipment--jacks and pry-bars. But..." he trailed off.

She looked up at him. Tears were pouring from her eyes now, and her body was
shaking uncontrollably, her breath coming in ragged gasps between her sobs.
"But what?"

Sullivan shook his head. "But...it's hopeless," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry to have to say it--but it's true. Nobody could survive that.
We'll dig him out--of course we will. But...he's dying. It's just a matter of
time."

"No!" she screamed. She twisted out of their grasp. "No,
that's not true!"

"He's right." The voice was faint and whispery, almost inaudible;
but at the sound of it Elizabeth whirled around.

"Justin!"

His eyes were open now, just a little; his gaze passed over them all in
turn. "Thank you, Sullivan," he whispered. Then, to Elizabeth:
"I heard the news. The escape tunnel has collapsed. I...shouldn't have put
you into danger by calling you here. But I had to see you...just one more time. I
had to tell you...how terribly sorry I am."

She dropped to her knees beside him, clasping his free hand between hers.
"No," she said brokenly. "There's nothing for you to be sorry
for. We'll get you out, Justin. It will be all right. You'll be fine..."

Somehow he managed to shake his head. "No," he said. "There's
no sense lying to ourselves, Elizabeth. Sullivan is right; I'm done for. It
doesn't hurt," he added quickly. "I can't feel a thing below my
shoulders. Spinal column is snapped." He coughed then, and a thin trickle
of blood emerged from his mouth.

"No tears," he told her. His voice was growing fainter, the pauses
for breath longer. "You've got to be brave--for your childrens' sake. And
for everyone's sake. They all...look up to you. Respect you. And they'll listen
to you." His eyes flicked up to Sullivan. "Tell Arthur...he's in charge
now." He smiled faintly. "He'll love that. And the rest of you--get
out of here. If Schultz wants my corpse he can have it. Get out. Get to the
lower levels before the gas comes."

"Not without you," Sullivan told him firmly. "No way."

Justin glanced away. Then he pulled his hand free from Elizabeth's. Somehow
he managed to wrench the Stone loose, yanking the chain over his head. He
dropped it into her hands. "Take this," he said. "It was never
mine to begin with. Take it...to remember me by."

Art by LordDirk

"No," Elizabeth whispered, over and over. "No. Please, dear
God, no. Not you too. I can't lose you too."

Justin's voice was almost gone; there was nothing left but a thin whisper.
"Elizabeth," he said, "there's something I have to tell
you."

She shook her head. "Save your strength," she pleaded.

"No," he said insistently. "No, I have to tell you--before
it's too late. It's...about your husband. Jonathan is...Jonathan is..."

The last word he uttered had two syllables, it seemed; but it had no breath
behind it, and Elizabeth could not decipher the small movement of his lips. His
eyes closed, and his head suddenly lolled, his jaw going slack. A long sighing
breath escaped his throat. With a wailing cry Elizabeth scrambled to her feet
and backed away.

Timothy was pulling on her arm. "Mom!" he said urgently. "Did
you hear that? Dad! He said Dad's--"

She was not listening. Instead she was gazing down through tear-filled eyes
at the object that lay cupped in her hands, a spark of blood-red light already
glowing in its depths. "The Stone," she whispered. Then, louder,
"My God--of course! The Stone!"

Quickly she looped the chain around her neck, clutching the amulet tight in
her hands. She looked over at her son. "Stand back, Timothy," she
said. She looked around. "All of you--stand back. I'm not quite sure
what's going to happen."

The other rats had all been there, that last night on the farm, including
Sullivan. They understood, and they took several rapid steps back, their eyes
wide, their useless work abandoned. Timothy hesitated, his gaze darting from
his mother's face to the Stone and back again; Sullivan took him by the arm and
pulled him back, holding him firmly in place. Elizabeth did not notice.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to slow her wildly
pounding heart, and to dry the tears that still flowed down her cheeks, tears
of a grief that threatened to choke her. Courage of the heart, she
reminded herself. You did it before, without even understanding what was
happening. You can do it again.

Somehow, with a supreme effort of will, she managed to calm and center
herself. There is nothing to be afraid of, she coached herself. There
is power here; and I can control it. I can always control it.

And then she felt it. Buried deep within the Stone, and yet--at the same
time--someplace else. It knew her; it heard her call; and it rushed toward her
like the first wave from a broken dam. Mentally she braced herself; and as the
flood broke around her the channeled it, drawing its power into herself. She
felt the Stone begin to grow hot in her hands, and she commanded it firmly: No.
Not this time. She was barely conscious of her feeling of surprise, that
her command actually worked: the Stone grew warm, but this time the excess
energy would not burn her hands. Already she had learned something new.

To those watching it seemed that Elizabeth had suddenly grown, until she
towered over them, rat and mouse alike; and her body was surrounded by a halo
of golden light. A wave of warmth passed over all of them like a wind; and the
air was filled with a deep, thrumming vibration--unless that was all in their
minds. None of them was conscious of any feeling of fear; on the contrary,
their fears were suddenly calmed, and they were filled with something like
reverence. Timothy, standing there with Sullivan's firm grasp on his arm, felt
his jaw drop open in amazement, and behind his glasses his eyes were huge and
shining. He had not seen this before; he had been to sick last time to know
what was happening. By now the Stone was blazing red, so bright that it could not
be looked at directly; Elizabeth let go of it, and it slowly drifted down to
her breast. Then, her eyes half-closed, she turned toward Justin.

To Elizabeth it was as if her consciousness had expanded to fill the entire
valley. She was aware of minds, more than three hundred of them; she felt their
yearnings and their fears, their hopes and their regrets. One by one she tuned
them all out, even her own children; she had to, or their emotions, their
needs, would have overwhelmed her. Gradually she contracted her awareness until
only one thing in the universe remained: the pile of stones and rubble that
pinned Justin to the floor. She reached out and touched the largest boulder,
and a wave of red fire seemed to pass from her hands into the rock, enveloping it.
She gestured, a motion like flipping aside a pebble, and the stone rolled away
as if it suddenly weighed nothing. A few more gestures, sweeping ones this
time, and all of the others did as well, until Justin lay prone in a wide
circle of totally-bare floor, surrounded by a halo of stone and earth. And then
she knelt down and touched him.

For a second her grief threatened to overtake her, and her control over the
Stone wavered; but somehow she once again firmed herself. He was not dead, not
yet; her heightened senses detected still the faint beating of his heart, the
labored whispering of air through his damaged lungs. It was as if his
life-force was a rope, pulled too taut, and slowly parting in the middle,
filament by filament.

It was certain that Justin had no more than minutes to live; that she could
feel. What she could not have known was that all of the medical technology in
the human world could not have saved him. As her hands drifted slowly up his
body she felt his injuries as if they were her own. First the shattered legs
and pelvis, the severed spinal column; then the splintered ribs that had
pierced his lungs; then the ruptured organs that bled internally. She knew next
to nothing of anatomy; she did not know the correct terms for what she found;
to her he simply felt...broken. The rope had frayed down to a thread, and it was
rapidly parting.

Once again she took a deep breath, calling upon the power; this would take
far more energy than it had to simply shift a cinder block. And then, once
again, she touched him. She ran her hands down his body from his neck to his
feet, a single, smooth pass without pauses. Beneath her touch she felt the
shattered bone re-join and knit; she felt the internal bleeding stop, the
organs once again becoming whole; she felt his heartbeat strengthen, and the
air flow strongly in and out of suddenly-clear lungs. In her mind, in her
inner, red-tinged vision, it was as if she had caught hold of that rope, even
as it parted, and knotted the frayed ends back together. Justin would live.

...But Elizabeth's job was far from complete, and she must retain control over
the power for a little while longer, if her efforts on his behalf were not to
be wasted. Leaving Justin, she stood, her eyes closed and her hands held above
her head, letting the power flow outward, through the mass of rock above her,
out into the open air. Searching, probing...

Almost instantly she felt the two minds she sought. Humans, they were unlike
anything she had ever encountered. Large minds, yes; intelligent, almost
frighteningly so. The one--the pilot, it seemed--a little confused, a little
bemused, and even a little frightened by what he was seeing. The other--Dr.
Schultz--hard and implacable with the will to destroy, keeping a tight lid
clamped down on his own raging hatred and fear. She felt them, and saw, with a
kind of dim inner sight, what they were doing: they were sorting through
equipment which they had unloaded from the back seat of their machine. Shovels,
picks--those she recognized. A cage. Other packages, including a roll of wire,
which she did not; but she heard the word "explosives" echoing
through the scientist's mind. And finally, small cylinders marked with a skull
and crossbones. She did not need to probe his mind to know what those were. They
had both lifted pickaxes; In a minute they would begin digging, and when they
opened the tunnels they would fill them with poison gas. At all costs she had
to stop them--but how? She had power; the Stone gave her access to a strength
greater than she had ever believed possible, limited only by her own ability to
control it. But how to apply it?

She felt growing within herself then a terrible anger, augmented perhaps by
the Stone's power. This man, this Dr. Schultz...he had imprisoned the rats--her
friends--and her poor husband. He had hurt them, changed them, against their
will. And now he wished to destroy them. And not only them, the ones he had
held prisoner, but their children as well. And her children with them.
People who were utterly blameless; people who had done him no conceivable harm.
What gave him the right? Who had appointed him judge and executioner? Why
should she not use the Stone's power to destroy him, before he destroyed
hundreds of innocent lives? It would be so easy, she knew, to simply reach into
his chest and stop his heart...

No, my child. The voice seemed to come from all around her, and she
knew it instantly: Nicodemus. And there he was, floating before her, that
grey-furred face, with its long white whiskers and strangely-glowing eyes; a
face that gazed upon her in stern disapproval. She did not question how he
could be there; in that situation it simply did not occur to her to do so. No,
my child, he repeated. You must not harm them.

Why? She countered silently, angrily. After what he has done? Why
shouldn't I kill him and put an end to it? The pilot has seen too much too; he
will go back to NIMH and report what he's found, and then they will come in
force.

The pilot is entirely innocent, Nicodemus told her implacably. You
know this. He was hired to fly his machine; he has been drawn into matters he
does not understand. Dr. Schultz is merely...misguided. He is consumed by fear.
Eventually he will come to understand; but if you harm him now, before that can
take place, a much greater harm will follow. Not immediately, it is true; but
it will come, and if unchecked it will surely destroy you all. You must
trust me, and let him live.

But I have to do something! she pleaded in desperation. Or else
he'll kill everyone, here and now. He'll kill my children! How else can
I stop him?

...And Nicodemus told her.

For five minutes, perhaps, Timothy, Sullivan and the other rats watched in
awe as Elizabeth stood, stock-still, her arms raised, waves of power seeming to
emerge from her outstretched hands and vanish through the ceiling. For long
moments no one moved; they hardly dared breathe. And then, abruptly, the power
was gone, like water down the drain. Elizabeth seemed to shrink, to dwindle
before their eyes; and then she swayed. Timothy darted forward, but Sullivan
got there first; he caught her as she fell, and lowered her gently to the
floor. Timothy sat down beside her, lifting her head into his lap. Arthur,
Charles and Stephen, arriving with the equipment that would not now be needed,
stopped and stared, amazed.

"What," Sullivan demanded of the universe in general, "just
happened?"

Hannah knelt down beside Justin, laying her hand on his chest. "Good
God," she uttered. "He's alive!"

"Maybe so," Sullivan said grimly. He looked up. "But for how
long?"