time.

In the lieutenant's tent, the big man Steven had tried to kill said to the man behind the desk, "Like a jaguar, sir. Right out of the tree he came. I had him spotted, of course, but he did a peach of a job of trailing me. If I hadn't been ready for him, I'd be a dogtag."

The lieutenant looked at Steven and the girl, standing before him, and the four soldiers who stood behind them, one to each strong dirty young arm.

"The others got the girl, eh?" he said.

"Yessir. When we first heard 'em, I started making enough noise to cover the rest of the boys." The sergeant grinned. "I swear, he came at me as neat as any commando ever did."

"God," said the lieutenant, and closed his eyes for a moment. "What a thing. Let this war be the last one, Sipich. So this is what happened to New York in six years. Maniacs. Murderers. Worst of all, wolf-children. And the rest of the country...."

"Well, we're back now, sir. We can start putting it all back together—"

"God," said the lieutenant again. "Do you think the pieces will fit?" He looked at Steven. "What is your name, son?"

Steven snarled.

"Take them away," said the lieutenant wearily. "Feed them. Delouse them. Send them to the Georgia camp."

"They'll be okay, sir. In a year or so they'll be smiling all over the place, taking an interest in things. Kids are kids, sir."

"Are they? These kids, Sipich? ... I don't know. I just don't know."

The sergeant gave an order, and the four soldiers urged Steven and the girl out of the tent. There was a bleat of pain as one of the children placed a kick.

The sergeant started to follow his men out. At the tent flaps he paused. "Sir ... maybe you'd like to know: we found these two because they were playing and laughing. We were scouting the park, and heard them laughing."

"They were?" said the lieutenant, looking up from the forms he was filling out. "Playing?"

"It's still there, sir. Deep down. It has to be."

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