anything, but from the civilization itself. Running ... because when an
area was settled and started to become respectable, they began to see
what they did not have. The temporary quarters would come down, to be
replaced by permanent buildings that were meant to be lived in, not just
as places for sleeping. Closets, and shelters for landcars; quadsense
receivers and food integrators. They didn't want to see that ... because
they hated it, or because they wanted it? It didn't matter, Rynason
decided. They ran, and now they were here on the Edge with all their
anger and frustration, and Manning was ready to give them a way to let
it out.

At the side of the mob he saw a familiar grey shock of hair--Rene
Malhomme. Was he with them, then? Rynason craned his neck for a better
view, and for a moment the crowd parted enough to let him see Malhomme's
face. He was looking directly toward Rynason, holding a dully gleaming
knife flat against his thick chest ... and his lips were drawn back into
the crooked, sardonic smile which Rynason had seen many times. No,
Malhomme at least was not part of this mob.

"We already know which direction they went," Manning was saying.
"Lessingham will be in charge of the main body, and you'll follow him.
If he gives you an order, _take it_. This is a serious business; we
won't have room for bickering.

"Some of us will be scouting with the flyers. Well be in radio contact
with you. When we find out where they are we'll reconnoiter and make our
plans from there."

Manning paused, looking appraisingly at the faces before him. "Most of
you are armed already, I see. We have some extra stunners here; if you