name was?" The Festival of Man was held once every four years, far to the north.It was a festival for kings and armies, a matter of war games and athleticevents, and there was a poetry contest for historians of the field and tellersof heroic tales that every storyteller alive dreamed of winning. But even toattend you had to be sponsored by a king, a greatful army, a powerful lord. Whowas this woman? She'd told him, but he was so melancholy and so depressed-no,let's face it, fool: you're getting old!-he couldn't recall what she'd said.

"Can I trust you, old man? Or am I safe because, though I told you once, you'vealready forgot?" Her mouth twisted in a defensive little grin that definitelyreminded him of someone else. But who?

Hakiem said carefully, "You can trust me if your heart is in the right place.Candy." That was what she'd said, he thought-or close enough to make her correcthim.

She looked at her booted feet as they scuffed up autumn dirt and when she raisedher head she looked right at him: "I'm Kama, of the Rankan 3rd Commando. Ifyour heart's in the right place, you'll put me in touch with the rebels.Otherwise," she shrugged, "you folks are going to have a lot of dead amateursand a stillborn Revolution."

"What? What are you talking about? Rebels? I know no rebels-"

"Wonderful. I like your spirit, old man. You're the ears of this town, and somesay the mouth. Tell whomever you don't know that I'll be at Marc's Junky WeaponsShop an hour before curfew and thereafter, tonight, to make sure we don't haveanother little problem like we had on the Street of Red Lanterns two nights ago.If we're going to kick some Beysib pantaloons, we'll need every man we've got."

Hakiem had the distinct feeling that this Kama of the Rankan 3rd Commando hadforgotten that she, herself, was a woman. "I can't promise anything," he saidpolitically. "After all, I've only your word and-"