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those of the dogs Yana had seen pictured. Their coats were very thick and their legs fairly long and muscular, but their paws were covered in little booties. Every time one of them could get close enough to lick at Demintieff, it did.
    “How far
is
my place, anyway?” Yana asked. She had not formed an impression of any vast distances within this town; on the contrary, the snocle rides had been brief.
    “Just down the road,” Bunny said, gesturing. “But you’re not used to the cold and . . .”
    “And I’m an invalid?” Yana asked, hitching her muffler up higher on her nose. “The dying woman, eh? Not dead yet, Rourke. Not by a long shot. You take Charlie back—and Charlie?”
    “Dama?”
    “Don’t forget to look up Master Sergeant Threadgill and tell him what I told you.”
    Charlie nodded once, briefly, his chin set. Bunny tumbled into the sled and settled herself for transport while Charlie, one last time, whistled to his dogs, who obediently trotted off toward the company station.
    Yana sighed, sending a plume of her breath up against the crisp blue sky, and began trudging in her heavy gear in the direction of her new quarters. Damn Giancarlo anyway. If he wanted her to spy for him, did he have to start off by doing something that, if the truth were known, would alienate the whole village from her? Of course, there was always the possibility that he, like Yana, had had no idea that Demintieff was
one
local boy who happened to be stationed close to home because he wished to be. But Giancarlo should have known before he went off half-cocked. If this assignment had any significance at all, he definitely should have had Demintieff checked before he decided to replace him. That kind of rashness could blow this mission.
    Mission? This was supposed to be her new life! Not that it looked as if it was apt to amount to much. She ought to thank Giancarlo for giving her something to occupy her mind, to keep from going nuts here on this ice ball.
    Feathers of smoke curled up from the houses; if there were any shops or supply stores, they were indistinguishable from the dwellings as far as she could see. Each step in her bulky primitive clothing was like walking in heavy gravity. She couldn’t bend her head easily to see the path before her, or her muffler would fall down and her hood ride back on her head. But by turning her head slightly, she saw that many of the houses contained kennels full of dogs and had mysterious-looking lumps out front just like the ones she had seen in Clodagh’s yard. Two of the larger places had not only houses but outbuildings, and in one of the yards two horses were zigzagging back and forth in the snow. Yana thought there was something strange about the horses, but she couldn’t quite decide what. Never mind. She’d return to her quarters and read the briefing. She needed to find out what was regular about this place before she could determine what was
ir
regular.
    She made it to her door with only one slight mishap, when she slipped once more on the ice and had to recover from a coughing fit before rising. She hadn’t hurt herself seriously otherwise. How could she, with so many layers of clothing? A passerby—impossible to tell if it was a man or a woman in those wrappings, but the person was short—stopped and waited for her coughing fit to abate, then gave her a hand up. She felt like a bloody baby, and wanted to slap the person’s hand away, but as soon as she was on her feet the person said in a muffled voice, “You got to walk a little duckfooted when it’s slick like this.”
    She watched the person waddle away; then, feeling sillier than ever, she fell into a waddling gait until she reached her own door, the last one on the row.
    Something bright flashed ahead of her as she opened the door, and she stiffened, until she heard a thud from the direction of the table and beheld one of the orange cats sitting upon it, nonchalantly cleaning the snow from furry paw pads.
    To