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into his eyelashes, distorting the image of her. As be cleared his eye with a finger, he said, “Or else you’ll put in a report, eh? I did not order you down here. You followed me.”
    â€œWe are not supposed to split up.”
    â€œLet’s forget it and concentrate on real problems.” He took a step toward her. “You’re bossy but you are no fool, Sygiek. We can be attacked at any time, once these foul creatures get used to us and realize we are not a menace. By attacked, I mean attacked, overcome and eaten, you understand. The question is, what do we do? I wanted to see—”
    â€œHey, you two!” The Moscow bureaucrat, Georg Morits, was scrambling down the embankment toward them, his figure outlined against the tan sky. They faced him as he slithered to a halt and wagged a finger at them. “Aren’t you forgetting some elementary rules? ‘Action is corporate …’ We are setting up an action committee, and we require that you both return to the LDB at once.”
    Dulcifer made a move toward him, and Morits backed against one of the tunnels.
    â€œDon’t chant slogans at me, fellow. I don’t sit on my arse in a Moscow office all day. Survival is not to be had through mouthing dogma. I’ll come when I’m ready. Tell Kordan that.”
    Morits pressed himself against the tunnel wall, saying weakly, “Don’t attack me for what was a unanimous decision. There are unknown dangers here and the—uh-uh-uh-uh-uh-…”
    As his voice failed, his face went ashen. His body seemed to shrivel. He staggered but could not fall. A cry almost like a solid thing was torn from his throat.
    Rushing to take hold of him, Sygiek and Dulcifer saw sharp claws and leathery paws grasping the bureaucrat’s thighs, biting deep into his flesh until blood seeped across his clothes. Those terrible hands had struck at him through the wall of the tunnel from behind. Had Morits been sitting there, the claws would have struck his throat and he would already be dead.
    Calling loudly for assistance, the two Utopians seized Morits’s arms and tried to drag him forward. He uttered another desolate scream. As they pulled him slowly away, part of the tunnel wall behind him collapsed. Amid falling sand milled several of the mole-creatures. Their trap had been sprung and they were still clasping their prey. Their muzzles were bloodied. Morits was already being devoured.
    For a moment they crouched at the hole, as if contemplating an attack. Other faces appeared in the gap, sniffing.
    Dulcifer let go his hold on Morits and kicked out, catching a bristling flank with his boot.
    â€œStand back!” Sygiek ordered. She pulled a small gun out of her tunic. Dulcifer barely had time to duck before she straightened her arm and fired two shots in a professional manner into the hole.
    The gun was hetrasonic. Even as two buzzing notes sounded, two of the mole-creatures fell forward, clutching their bellies as they went. Writhing, they dropped to the ground, but hardly were they there before their fellows had taken them, dragging them into the tunnel. Bellowing, Dulcifer rushed forward and grabbed one of the wounded creatures, wrenching it away from its fellows, kicking out to fend off another attack. The rabble had had enough. Holding the other wounded creature, they retreated into the hole and disappeared from view.
    Dulcifer and Sygiek turned and stared at each other. Both were pale. Dulcifer dashed sweat from his brow.
    â€œYou are not permitted to carry a gun,” he panted. “System legality and so on.”
    She said, “I have a license.”
    He wiped at the sweat again and looked stupidly down at the ground. He required no more explanation. Millia Sygiek was a member of the dreaded USRP, and Reason Police were authorized to carry weapons and fire when necessary.
    â€œSo you hunt with that pack,” he said heavily. “I’m sorry to hear it. I