re's plenty of room in the _Sun Maid_ for you and the rest of your
people will be safe enough in the swamps."

"What about my children?" demanded Joan Allen.

"Children, Miss Allen? I don't know.... Oh, yes, you mean the poly ...
the children. Why, I assume they will go with their parents."

Joan placed a small fist firmly on each of her slim hips. "Major, all
the children in the mission school are orphans. They have no parents.
None of them have ever lived in the swamps."

"Ah yes. But I hardly see what we can do about it, Miss Allen."

"Well, Major, I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do about it.
Unless those kids are loaded on the _Sun Maid_ in place of some of
this junk," she waved a hand at the piles of luggage which belonged to
Mrs. Wilson, "I'm going to stay with my charges and leave you with the
problem of explaining to the Mission Board and to the Bishop of New
Chicago just why you left me behind."

At the mention of the extremely influential Johnathian Bishop the
Major looked more worried than ever. After a short conference with
Norton, he turned to Joan.

"Very well, Miss Allen. The children will go in the airship. I'm sure
that Mrs. Wilson will be only too glad to leave some of her clothes to
make room for them."

"Thank you, Major." Joan said, making no attempt to gloat over her
victory.

"Now, Captain, I understand that most of the military stores have been
destroyed and that the men are ready for embarkation," Chapelle went
on hurriedly, addressing himself to the captain of the _Sun Maid_. "We
will have about three hundred and twenty, no ... about three hundred
and thirty passengers for you."

The captain shook his head doubtfully, "It's a big load. I hope we can
make it without any trouble."

"Well, then," Chapelle went on, "We'll go aboard during the day after
we complete the destruction of the stores and facilities. The native
troops under Lieutenant O'Shaughnessy will cover our embarkation and
then convoy the civilians as far as the Suzi swamps. Afterwards they
will march overland to Fort Craven on the Little Texas border."

Terrence had never had any urge to be a hero. He had always pictured
himself retiring at a ripe old age as a Colonel or Brigadier and
raising canal oranges on Mars, but suddenly the memory of the Narakan
Rifles rushing down the street with bugles blaring and flag waving
right into the Rumi line of fire rose before him. The thought of
O'Shaughnessy, even with hi