"We'll be coming up on the War-Pac soon, so we can stop and rest," Tuck assured me.

My reaction to this statement was both glad and cautious. "What's a War-Pac?" I asked.

Tuck grinned. "Supposedly it's a regular pac," he said. "But really it's the worst one of them all. They want us Cols to win so badly they manufacture weapons and supplies for us, and give us any strategic information they might happen to have, being so close to the border and all."

I was relieved that we'd be able to rest and enter civilization. We'd done several more days of straight, hard, monotonous marching. I think even Spike had gotten depressed. But one thing Tuck had said bothered me.

"What do you mean, 'the worst one of them all'?" I asked him. "If they help us, isn't that good?"

"Good for us, yeah, definitely," Tuck agreed. "I meant worst in terms of morality. You know, honor."

I was too confused now to even try reading. "But actually helping us instead of only worrying about themselves sounds honorable to me."

Tuck shook his head coldly. "If they really wanted to help they'd either make themselves an official battlestation with large-scale production and quartering or put on uniforms and go to battle. No, they'll kindly help others to fight for their cause, but they won't dare do any of the fighting themselves."

"But they're a pac!" I protested. "They want the fighting to end � that's why they won't do it. Their cause isn't to win; it's peace!"

Tuck looked at me curiously, though without slowing his pace. A half-smile slowly formed on his face. "I can't believe your precious Captain Gill never taught you about pacs," he said, his voice amused.

"Captain Gill never encouraged pac-style thinking. What War Captain at a military school would?" My voice was defensive, as I was upset with my teammate's derision of my old Captain.

"That's not what I meant," Tuck said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "He never told you why pacs are formed? Or what pac life is like?"

"Of course he did. Pacs are formed when people somehow decide we can all share planet Skye. Cols and Barons join up and live a life of peace and harmony together in settlements far from the evils of established civilization. And they stay there in peace, all together, until they die."

Tuck laughed. "Yeah � he's a pretty sly old Captain," he said, noting my disgusted tone of voice. "I guess in school with such a strong military background, that's about the worst picture imaginable."

"Close to it anyway," I murmured.

"So he used that old legend to dispel any temptation his students felt to join them."

"Old legend?" What was he talking about? Captain Gill had never lied to me.

"Don't lose any of the loyalty you feel toward your old Captain." Tuck's voice abruptly became serious again. "What he told you was for your own good. He didn't lie to you. Just kind of stretched the truth a little. A lot."

"So what is the truth?" I asked, maybe a little too sarcastically.

Tuck laughed and his eyes glazed over. "I don't care if you believe me. You'll see for yourself when we get to the War-Pac."

I sighed. "Okay. Tell me about pacs." Anything to get rid of that all-too-familiar cold, detached expression.

"Do you really want to know?" Tuck asked cruelly. "Are you sure you can handle taking another step out of the story-world your Captain created for you?"

"Either tell me the truth or stop talking!"

"Okay. You want to know what pacs really are? They're groups of people joined by their mutual refusal to fight. But it's not for moral reasons. It's not for peace. It's because they're cowards. They desert their cause and run away. They get as far from society's authorities as they can, and hide there forever. The word 'peace' is probably never mentioned."

"All pacs can't be like that. Not just because this one is," I argued softly.

"You're right," Tuck said thoughtfully. "The first pacs probably started out with good intentions. It's how they got their name, after all. Some of them probably still exist. There might even be a few left with Cols and Barons living together. But not many."

"But then what about people who really do believe we can share the planet?" I asked. "Where do they go?"

"You ever know anyone like that?"

"A couple people."

Tuck shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine there. Maybe they join pacs and live happily until they realize what they are, and by then consider it too late to change so they just remain there like everyone else."

"Why would we be tempted to join pacs if that's what it's like there?"

"Think about it, Bryt. Okay, you've never fought, but after years of nothing but warfare, a life without Barons and without fighting�gets to sound pretty nice."

I understood. For some inexplicable reason, I felt keenly disappointed.

"Smoke." Tuck's voice was somber as he pointed out the thin wisp far in the distance. I wouldn't even have noticed it, but I guess Tuck's eyes had become attune to looking for such things. "The War-Pac is not far."

* * *

Naturally, my feelings were mixed when I followed Tuck into civilization for the first time in a week. At least I wasn't afraid. Wary, cautious, but not scared.

I noticed that the wilderness now had a path to it. I hadn't noticed where it had started, but I was no longer blindly following my teammate and his pet ball. The path was completely foreign and unfamiliar, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to get where it led, but at least I could see where I was supposed to go. It was more of a comfort than I would have thought possible.

There were a few people outside around the pac, following their own dirt paths. Though all looked pleasant enough, and were dressed very nicely, I somehow felt negative vibrations from the place. Maybe it was just because of what Tuck had told me. I shuddered.

"I know," Tuck said sympathetically, observing my discomfiture. "I don't like these places, either. It's disgusting here. But once we get to Harley's hut it'll be all right."

"Who's Harley?" I asked, trying to sound conversational.

"And old friend," Tuck said, and his eyes glazed over, but not unpleasantly this time. "Used to be a soldier. He always wanted to be a missioneer, but since he was never taken he did the next best thing when he got to old to fight: stationed himself near the border and began manufacturing supplies for us. Old Harley started up the whole thing himself. Soon young Cols were joining him so they wouldn't have to fight, and the War-Pac was begun. Possibly the worst moral code of any place on Skye." Tuck grinned tightly.

"Poor old Harley," I said. "He did such an honorable thing, and this is what got out of it."

"He has nothing to do with the government of the pac now. He's just a senile old man to them. Very few realize he's the best of the whole lot."

I smiled in eager anticipation of meeting someone worthy of such praise from my cynical companion; smiled and tried not to dwell on the curious stares of the well-dressed passersby at the dirty-clothed, weapon-bearing soldiers and the muddy puffan rolling timidly along. Even Spike seemed to sense the negative feelings broadcast by the pac.

As we traveled down the narrow dirt road through the settlement we passed many small huts, all round, all spread far apart, and most painted bright colors but none painted particularly well. A few larger ones existed near what seemed to be the center of the pac. The few people about, all clad in green, were mainly around these central buildings, or else arranging things outside of the individual huts. I saw a pretty girl, about my age, sprinkling water onto flowers. Why was she doing that? To make them grow? So the outside of her purple hut would look prettier? I was incredulous � what a useless pastime!

I also saw a few animals outside as we moved past the pac's center. Spike rolled up to one canine and gave it a big, friendly smile. The beast growled, gave a loud, sharp bark, and flashed its stained teeth. The little puffan chirped fearfully and rolled as quickly as possible back to us. She was going so fast she didn't stop, but plowed into my legs and nearly bowled me over.

"Easy, easy," I consoled her, stooping down. I said in a voice loud enough only for Spike to hear, "Just stick with us and stay away from those unfriendly animals. We'll get out of here as soon as we can."

I stood up and resumed following Tuck along the narrow dirt path. I dreaded the idea of getting lost here. At least Tuck seemed to know his way around the pac well. He must have come here often.

"This is the one," Tuck said, turning down a shorter, narrower dirt path that led to the door of a peeling white hut. I was pleased to note that the area around the hut was undecorated and overgrown. In fact, if Tuck hadn't told me this was old Harley's hut, I wouldn't have thought that anyone lived in the desolate building.

Tuck rapped his knuckles against the short wooden door and stepped back. When no one answered the door he looked at me, shrugged, and knocked again, more loudly this time. When there was still no response, he looked troubled. "I guess he's not in," he said dully.

"Are you sure it's the right hut?" I asked, sure my own disappointment was no less than my companion's.

Tuck nodded grimly as he turned away from the deserted hut. I knew he didn't know what to do next.

"Excuse me, but are you looking for Mr. Baglow?" We both turned sharply at the clear, young voice, ringing out in the silent pac.

"Yeah, we are," Tuck said gratefully to the young woman, the one I'd seen watering flowers earlier. Her curiosity had apparently prompted her to follow the odd strangers. Although if this was a "War-Pac," how strange could the sight of missioneers really be?

"Do you know where we can find him?" Tuck was now asking.

She smiled condescendingly. "I had a feeling you might be looking for him. He's usually the one that soldiers want to see. You're the first in a long while."

"Do you know where he is?" Tuck repeated anxiously.

"I'm afraid age is finally getting the best of the old man," she said sadly. "He's become a permanent resident of our infirmary. I'll take you there, if you don't know the way."

"Thanks," Tuck said, and started quickly back down the path toward her. Spike and I dutifully followed. "Is he okay?" I could hear the worry in my teammate's voice.

The girl laughed. "He's not sick or hurt, if that's what you mean. He's just old. Did you know Mr. Baglow's the very founder of this pac?"

"Truly an accomplishment of which to be proud," Tuck couldn't resist muttering, his voice dripping.

The girl didn't notice his sarcastic tone and nodded. "It certainly is," she said with a smile and a big breath of fresh air. "My name's Rita, by the way,"

"Tuck and Bryt," he replied indifferently.

"Here we are," Rita said, flipping her brunette curls out of her face. I could hear Spike whimpering a little, as one of those sharp-toothed canines was near.

"Thanks for your help. We appreciate it," Tuck said as she turned.

"Anytime," she said with a pleased smile, and left.

As she walked away, Tuck pantomimed shooting an arrow in her direction, and I grinned a little in spite of myself. Tuck smiled back, then took a deep breath, cleared his face of expression, and knocked three times on the large, wooden door of the infirmary.