The gringo lay sunbathing on the fine white sand of the estuary, just south of the rocky point that gave the fishing village its name, Puerto Peñasco. Stretched out on a hotel towel, his body bare but for the merest scrap of swim trunks, he wore no uniform or insignia; yet Enrique knew him for a soldado, a soldier. It radiated from his well-toned body like heat from the sand as he turned an indulgent eye on the boy.

"You buy, senorseñor? Good stuff, real cheap." Enrique offered his box of trinkets. Soldiers on leave spent lots of money, especially when they were with women. This soldier had three beautiful norteamericanas with him, their chichis falling out of their swimsuits.

"Oh, look," said one woman. "Isn''t he cute!"

Enrique was indeed cute, his round face saved from the adverse effects of poverty by Señora Dolores'' cooking. His dark hair tumbled into brown eyes that sparkled with the combined joy of the warm sun, the cool sea breeze, and the deep conviction that this gringo would be the first of many to shell out US dollars for the bits of carved wood and folded paper in the his box today. Some days he sold hats, and other days he sold shells, and sometimes in the evenings, he sold his mother in her mysterious mask, but today the six-year-old sold small ironwood carvings and paper flowers. Dropping to his knees in the sand, he set the cast-off packing carton where the soldado could see its contents.

Enrique studied his mark. That is what a man should be: strong and handsome like that, surrounded by women. Not like the men who hang around the cantina, with their fat bellies and sagging jowls, grabbing at every woman who walks by. Awe bubbled up inside the boy. This was a man who commanded respect. And of course, such a perfect man must have lots of dollars to buy trinkets for his señoritas. Enrique tilted the carton slightly, offering a fuller view of his wares.

The soldado''s eyes narrowed shrewdly, and for a moment Enrique was afraid he would be chased off. But the man sat up, stretched artfully to display the muscles in his chest and arms and said., "Let me see what you''ve got."

Grinning, Enrique showed off the shiny wooden pieces, holding up each in turn: a turtle, a porpoise, and a swordfish leaping through the waves. Carved from the tough, brown-black ironwood that grew throughout Mexico''s Sonoran desert, they had been sanded smooth and polished to a warm, high luster.

"Made by Seri Indians," he said, though why that always impressed gringos, he didn''t know.

One of the women picked up a carving of a raptor. She had short, dark hair bleached blond at the tips, and intelligence glittered in her blue eyes as she examined the piece. "Here, Captain--this is you."

"The eagle!" Enrique exclaimed, pouncing on this. "Yes, Capitán, you are an eagle, no? Very strong bird. I am eagle, too." The little boy patted his chest proudly. "Enrique Aguilar. In Spanish, eagle is aguilá. So I am eagle. Almost."

The captain chuckled. "Hunter Robinson," he said, offering his hand, "Captain, Peacekeeper Pilot Corp."

Enrique shook hands solemnly. El Capitán''s grip was strong, but not overpowering. It made Enrique feel he was treated as an equal.

"What are these?" Hunter asked, picking up one of the large paper flowers. It was as wide as his outstretched hand.

"Flores," Enrique piped quickly. "Flowers. Very cheap. Only one dollar."

Hunter''s eyebrows shot up. "One dollar! You''re not an aguilá, my friend. You''re a bandito."

"No, no," Enrique hastened, not wanting to offend his mark. "One dollar for two. Very cheap."

Still the captain grimaced.

"For El Capitán, special price, three for one dollar," Enrique amended. He got them ten for a dollar, so he could afford to be generous. "How many you want?"

"Oh, pay him, Hunter," one of the ladies chided. "It''s only a dollar." Her polished fingernails fascinated Enrique; they swirled with colors that constantly changed, like a kaleidoscope.

"But I don''t want the flowers," Hunter complained. "What else do you have?"

"Only what is in the box. But I can do card tricks for you. You want to see, yes?" In the surrounding village, pockets were as worn and full of holes as the black volcanic rock that lined the harbor. But here, in front of the fancy resort, pickings were lush. The turistas who came to this beach always had pockets weighed down by too much money, and Enrique knew a variety of ways to help them lighten their load.

Hunter eyed the lad. "What will that cost me?"

"For El Capitán, first one is free," the boy said magnanimously. "Here. Deck of cards, see?" He pulled a battered deck from his shirt pocket and fanned out the cards. His hands were small and the cards were old, so they did not fan smoothly, but that daunted him not one bit. "Pick a card, Señor Capitán."

A gleam came into Hunter''s eyes. He tugged four unrelated cards from the deck. "What if I pick more than one card?"

"Okay," Enrique agreed.

Hunter stuck the cards into the sand facing him, then set Enrique''s box in front of them, completely blocking them from the boy''s view. He motioned the three women to look over his shoulder at the cards. "All right, my friend," he said to the boy. "I have four cards. What are they?"

Enrique covered his eyes with his forearm, blew out a breath, then inhaled slowly. As he did, the images on the cards swam toward him. "Ten of spades."

One of the women gasped. It created a ripple in the images.

"Two of.... "The boy hesitated, confused by the ripple. "Is red, yes?"

"Yes," the captain confirmed quietly.

The ripple faded, stilled by the steady pull Enrique exerted. "Hearts. Two of hearts." He peeked to see Hunter''s reaction, but the man''s face revealed nothing. Kaleidoscope Nails and the Gasping Girl, however, exchanged a look of amazement, while the woman with short hair grew more intent.

"And the next one?" Hunter prompted.

Enrique covered his eyes again and concentrated. He had never done this many cards at once before. The image of the card bounced like a driftwood boat on the surf. Was it a face card? He thought so, but.... "Jaaaack--no, no, is no jack. Is...."

"Go to the next one," Hunter suggested.

"Sí." The boy''s mind shifted, groping. "Seven of.... diamonds, yes?"

"Yes. And the one you missed?"

Enrique tried to steady the turbulence. "Is.... queen of clubs." He uncovered his eyes and smiled brightly at his audience. "Right? Yes?"

"How did he do that?" Gasping Girl demanded.

"I''ll be damned," said Kaleidoscope Nails.

Short-Hair said, "Kid''s almost as good as you, Captain."

Hunter smiled with quiet satisfaction and picked up the wallet he had folded into a corner of his beach towel. Handing a dollar to Enrique, he said, "Here. That was worth a dollar." Then he pulled out a ten-dollar bill. "Now, if you can tell me the number I''m thinking of, I''ll give you this. It''s two digits--comprende ''digits''? And it''s.... "He leaned over and showed the women something on the bill. ".... between one and fifty."

Enrique''s eyes widened in perplexity, the thought of that ten-dollar bill pounding as rigorously as his heart. It disturbed the image of the numbers on the bill.

"Relax," Hunter soothed. "Close your eyes and picture a circle. Big round circle."

Enrique obeyed. The instant he closed his eyes, the agitation abated as though a great wind had died.

"There''s a number in the circle. What is it?"

The soothing lines of the circle cleared a space in the boy''s mind; the number popped into it. "Thirty-eight."

"How did he know?" asked Gasping Girl in amazement.

"We told him," Hunter replied, handing the bill over to Enrique. "Mental transfer. The boy''s a natural psionic talent."

"Very talented," Enrique agreed as he stashed the bill in his shirt, although he had no idea what psionic meant. "I can sing, too."

Hunter handed the box of trinkets over to the ladies with instructions for them each to pick one, then settled back on his elbows and studied the child before him. "Have you ever been in an airplane, Enrique?" he asked. The boy shook his head. "Do you know who the Peacekeepers are?"

"Sí, Capitán, you are soldiers," Enrique replied promptly. "From the stars."

Hunter chuckled. "Well, I''m from Canada, actually. But I serve in the military branch of the Peacekeepers, and yes, we fly through the stars to get to and from the war zone. But mainly, I''m a pilot. I fly jet aircraft."

Music sang in the little boy''s head as the captain uttered this charm, this incantation: pilot. Hunter asked, "Do you think you''d like to fly someday?"

Enrique gaped at the captain in amazement. Him? Fly an airplane? Until that moment, Enrique''s ambitions in life had not extended beyond making enough money at something to buy his own scoot cycle. Maybe he would work on a fishing boat when he grew up, or build houses, or get a job at the fancy resort where people said you could make good money. But fly? Be a pilot in the Peacekeepers? It had never occurred to him to dream such a thing.

The idea seized him so profoundly, from that moment on, he could dream of nothing else. It burned like the sun overhead, like the white sands of the beach. "How do I be a pilot?"

"Go to school," Hunter told him. "Study hard. Learn math and science."

"Okay," he agreed. "Is that all?"

"It''s harder than it sounds. But keep at it--never give up. And keep playing with the cards."

Enrique shuffled through the greasy deck in his hands, wondering what one had to do with the other. "You play cards on the airplane?"

Now the señoritas laughed, and Enrique grinned with them. He had no idea what had amused them, but he was perfectly willing to take credit for it.

"The cards are just a way to practice," Short-Hair told him. Enrique thought she must be a soldier, too. "One of many ways. It''s your psi rating that makes you a good prospect for the Peacekeeper Pilot Corps, not the cards."

"What is ''sigh rating''?"

"Psi is short for psionic." Hunter stretched out again, propped up on one elbow. "There are several aspects of it, but in the case of pilots, they''re looking for people who can pick up images of things they don''t actually see. Like knowing what the cards are when you can''t see them."

"Is not magic?" Señora Dolores, who owned the cantina where his mother worked, called his card tricks magic and implied they were a waste of time.

"We used to think so," Hunter said. "And some people still do. But whether you believe the images are coded in alpha waves, or that brain cells develop sympathetic vibrations, or something else we have yet to discover, the fact is that people with high psi ratings respond better to neural implants."

"Noor--newer--"

"Neural implants," Hunter repeated. "It''s a--device. A thing that connects to your brain. Inside your head. Flying machines are very complicated, you see; they have a lot of sophisticated instruments--instrumentos--to give the pilot all the information he needs. But sometimes the pilot forgets to look at his instrumentos, or he looks at them wrong, or he goes by instinct--instead of information. Then bad things can happen."

Short-Hair made a whistling noise and used her hand to pantomime an airplane crashing nose-first into the sand. Enrique shuddered.

"But if a pilot has a neural implant," Hunter continued, "he can connect directly to the plane''s computer, and he can feel the readingsngs. You become the plane." A quiet passion filled the captain, and though Enrique did not understand all the words, he understood the emotion behind them. "You see what the plane sees, you feel your pitch and yaw, your trajectory, you know if you''re damageded. Your reaction time is much quicker, and you make fewer mistakes."

"So is like a Pepper game?" Enrique asked, for he had seen that toy company''s virtual reality games with their sleek headgear and complex control packs.

"Not exactly." Hunter gave him a lopsided smile. "It sounds a little scary, but instead of headgear, they actually take a small network of fibers and slip it inside your skull. Connect it to your brain."

Enrique drew back in revulsion as he pieced together what El Capitán was saying. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "No!"

"Really," Hunter insisted. "The fibers attach to the places in your brain that register sensation--smell, taste, sight. Then information from the aircraft''s navigational computer can send impulses to this implant--we call it a spider. It gives the pilot the sensation of being the aircraft. Here." He parted his thick, dark hair and showed the boy a tiny white scar, no more than an inch in length, on the left side of his scalp. "See?"

Enrique had a terrifying image of a spider crawling around inside El Capitán''s head. "Does it hurt?"

"No!" Hunter laughed. "You don''t feel it at all. And most of the time, it''s turned off--you only use it when you fly." He showed Enrique a small slit in the skin of his left forearm, a tiny pocket concealing a switch. "But when it''s on.... "His voice trailed off and his face acquired a satisfied glow.

"It doesn''t work for everyone," Short-Hair cautioned. "But the captain here is one of the best spider brains in the business." Enrique rubbed his own scalp, which tingled at the thought of letting someone put a machine, no matter how tiny, inside his head. "What is like?"

"Like nothing you can imagine." Overhead, a gull wheeled and dropped like a stone toward the water. Snatching a small fish from the shallows, it soared upward again, beating the air with powerful, graceful wings. Hunter gestured toward it, a movement resembling a shrug of helplessness. "Like him," he said. "You feel like him."

The bird veered off into the sun, becoming a dark splotch against its glare. Enrique followed the gull with his eyes, trying to imagine what it must be like to ride so high in the air, looking down on things; to know the push of the wind on your chest, to feel it stream past your face. Lifting his arms like wings, he raced down the shore toward the incoming tide, feeling the gentle surge of a sea breeze that sought to lift him skyward, and he leaped up into the air. For a thrilling moment his spirit lifted, buoyant as a bird, and he knew a rush of sensation unlike any he had ever felt before. Then he splashed down into the shallow tide, sending up a spray as exuberant as it was tangy with salt.

I am an eagle, Enrique dreamed. I am an eagle flying through the air....

Chapter Two

"Mamacita!"

Edna Aguilar looked up as Enrique raced onto the porch of the aging cantina. Its walls were a dingy yellow stucco marred by chips and cracks, and rusty water stains wept from windows, roof, and canales. Edna herself sported a bedraggled carnival mask, its pasty white paint as chipped and cracked as the building behind her, its sequins and feathers every bit as sad. Still, it was better than the face beneath.

She had been thinking of the rip in Diego''s only pair of pants, which were four or five inches too short. Her job cleaning the cantina provided food and shelter for herself and the two boys, but no cash for new clothes. Even the occasional tips she earned bussing tables were quickly pocketed by Señora Dolores as payment for old debts.

"Mamacita, Mamacita, look!" Enrique cried, holding out a ten-dollar bill. "Look what a man gave me today, just because I knew two numbers!"

Edna took her son in her arms and tucked the money deftly away before Señora Dolores saw it. "A man, eh?" she said bitterly. "Men are liars. Never believe what they say." When she had told Carlos she was pregnant a second time, he had promised to marry her, in a church, for she was so beautiful and gave him such fine, strong sons, how could he live without her? The next day he was gone, leaving Edna to face her father''s wrath alone.

Absently, she fingered the ragged scars beneath the mask. She had been 17 when her father etched his fury there, casting her out and forbidding anyone on the ejido farm to take her in. At the state clinic in Puerto Peñasco, a kind young doctor had done his best, but he was no cosmetic surgeon. Her disfigurement was such that only Señora Dolores had been willing to give her work, and only if Edna kept her face covered.

"He is a captain," Enrique said, as though that made a difference. "He flies airplanes, and he says one day, I can fly airplanes, too!"

"Oh, yes, and a cat can drive a scoot cycle!" she snapped. "Go find your brother, see if he earned anything today." She counted on her sons to hustle money any way they could. Enrique did well working the beaches, for he was cherubic and charming, but Diego was cold and contemptuous of his mark--in fact, of almost everyone. So he loitered around the docks and the fish market instead, running errands, collecting shells for Enrique to sell, and, Edna knew, finding unattended items he could appropriate and pawn. He should have gone to school several years ago, but he didn''t want to go, and how would she dress him for school, anyway?

Enrique frowned at his mother''s curt dismissal. "But the captain says I''m special. He says I should go to school and study so I can be a pilot someday."

At his words, a sudden fear seized Edna; she crossed herself and muttered a charm against evil. In her mind, she saw an older Enrique in a handsome uniform, drawing back from her in disgust, the way all men did. She saw him climbing into a cockpit and flying away, never to return. There was no husband in Edna''s future--who would marry this face? She had only her two sons for comfort, two sons for her whole life--

"Life doesn''t work that way, Enrique," she told him. "Little beggar boys don''t grow up to be jet pilots." Setting him down roughly, Edna gave him a small slap on the backside. "Now, go find Diego. He''s probably at the pier again, hanging around the fishing boats. Tell him it''s time for supper, and Señora Dolores is not likely to save him anything if he''s late."

Crestfallen, with tears stinging in his eyes, Enrique trudged off the sagging porch. She didn''t believe him. Mamacita didn''t think he could do it. Diego probably wouldn''t believe him, either. Well, he''d show them. He''d show them both, and El Capitán, too. He would go to school, and study hard, and he would become a pilot. He would buy Mamacita her own house, and Diego a boat, and they would say how sorry they were that they hadn''t believed him. Then he and El Capitán would fly like eagles together into the sky.

He would start tomorrow. The primeria, the primary school, was not far. Though he had never attended before, tomorrow morning when the bell called the children inside, he would simply just go in with them.

It would be as simple as that.

Unfortunately, Enrique''s first day at school was far from simple. When he followed the other children inside, there was no seat for him. The teacher didn''t know who he was, and though he told her, she still seemed puzzled. Soon he was escorted to the administrator''s office where he was asked many questions, for which he had few answers beyond his name and the fact that he wanted to go to school. "Is that a problem?" he asked them.

"No, no, you can go to school," said Señor Rosario, who was not the administrator but some other kind of official. A tall, lean man, he had a thin mustache and long-fingered hands. "We just need some information, Enrique."

When Sr. Rosario wanted to accompany him home from school, however, Enrique knew it was a problem--perhaps not for the school, but for him. "You are not police?" he asked anxiously as he led the way through the village streets. Though Sr. Rosario wore plain clothes, it was easy to imagine him in a uniform with a tall hat.

"No, I am not police. I just need to speak to your mother, so we can complete our records on you."

Still, Enrique was reluctant to show up at the cantina with a school official. His mother didn''t like officials of any kind. When the shabby building came into view, he stopped. "Wait here. I will bring Mamacita to you."

"But I''d like to see where you live, Enrique."

"No, please, señor. Señora Dolores, she won''t like it." Dolores disliked officials even more than his mother did. Diego said it had to do with the ladies who worked in the cantina and rented rooms upstairs, but Enrique didn''t know what.

"And who is Señora Dolores?" Rosario asked.

"She owns the cantina."

"Ah." Recognition lit Rosario''s eyes as he spied the cantina just ahead. "Now I think I understand. But I won''t make any trouble for Señora Dolores, Enrique, or for your mother, I promise. I only want you properly enrolled in school."

Enrique shifted from one bare foot to the other. "Will you wait on the porch?"

"Yes, Enrique, I will wait."

Reassured, Enrique trotted into the cantina and dragged his mother outside without telling her why. When Rosario introduced himself, Edna''s eyes grew wide in the holes of her mask, and her voice trembled. "From the school?"

"Please don''t be alarmed. You are in no trouble. We only need some information so Enrique can be properly enrolled."

"He''s too young for school!" she protested.

"He told us he is six. And he wants to attend, señora. Surely you understand how important it is for a child to attend school while his desire is high."

Edna glared at Enrique, and he knew she was angry. But before she could do anything about it, Diego strolled out of the cantina. "What''s going on?"

Rosario lifted his eyebrows. "And who is this?"

Edna''s jaw worked, but no sound came out. "This is my brother Diego," Enrique offered helpfully.

"And how old are you, Diego?"

"Eight," Diego answered. "Why?"

Rosario winced. "Señora," he said apologetically, "he needs to be in school, too. In this, you have no choice."

Diego took a step back. "School! No, I don''t want to go to school! You can''t make me!"

"Be quiet!" Mamacita snapped. "You will do as the man says." Then she answered all Rosario''s questions, though she clearly was not happy.

After he had gone, Diego turned on Enrique. "This is your fault!" Before Mamacita could pull him off, he had blackened Enrique''s eye and bruised his jaw and ribs. Señora Dolores gave him ice to put on his eye, but it didn''t help much.

The next day was worse. Edna threatened Diego with dire consequences if he did not go to school, sure they would put her in jail if he did not attend. But as the boys left, she began to cry. "My babies, my sunshine! How will I get through the day without you?" Tears welled in Enrique''s swollen eye until she added, "And who will earn money for your clothes and shoes while you are busy in school?"

When the brothers arrived at school, they were placed as beginners in the same classroom, and Diego took it very badly. "I am the oldest!" he shouted. "I am the man of the family! I can''t be in the same class as the baby!" The teacher''s attempts to soothe him did not help--he attacked Enrique again and blackened his other eye. While Enrique was sent to the nurse, Diego was sent to the administrator''s office where he was transferred to a different classroom. It mollified him only a little, and Enrique learned to stay out of his brother''s way as much as possible.

Without Diego, however, he found school very interesting. Though he was several months behind the other students, the kindly teacher soon helped him catch up. His classmates teased him at first for not knowing everything they knew; but he simply laughed with them, clapping a hand on his head and crossing his eyes as if he had intended to amuse them. He quickly earned a reputation as the class clown.

Edna was still unhappy, but he saw less and less of her. The minute school was out, he dashed off to work the beaches. While trinkets were still his livelihood, El Capitán''s advice prompted him to expand his line of card tricks. The more he practiced, the better he got, and it added substantially to his income.

So the following winter when, slogging through the burning sand in front of the resort, he spotted the source of his new ambitions strolling toward the beach, his heart sflipped over in his chest with excitement. "Señor Capitán! Señor Capitán!" He ran toward Hunter, trinkets rattling in his carton. "Señor Capitán, it''s me, Enrique. You remember, no?"

Hunter stopped, and a grin split his handsome face. "I remember, yes. Hey, sportSport. How are you doing?"

"Very good. I do what you say: I go to school. I study hard so I can be a pilot, just like you."

"Good for you!" Hunter took the towel he had tucked under his arm and shook out. "I''ll bet your mother''s proud of you."

Enrique''s joy eroded like a sand castle in the tide. "Well, not so much."

"What do you mean, she''s not proud?" Hunter spread his towel on the white sand. "You''re getting good marks, aren''t you?"

"Oh, sí--yes, Señor Capitán. But.... she misses me, I think." Some part of him believed that was true, even though she complained mostly about the cost of shoes and decent clothes.

"Ah." Hunter flopped down on his towel. "You like school, though, don''t you?"

"Oh, yes, Capitán." His joy returned. "We read many books, and learn mathematics, and sometimes we dance the folklorica--that''s traditional Mexican dance. I am best in the class."

Hunter laughed. "Always handy for picking up girls. Sounds like you''re a born pilot." He patted the towel beside him. "Sit down here a minute. I''ll buy something from your box if you''ll tell me what you''ve been learning in school."

Even though it meant lost revenue, Enrique threw himself down beside Hunter. No one at the cantina took his ambitions seriously--poor little Indio boys didn''t become pilots, they said. Mechanics, maybe, but not pilots. Hunter, however, was interested in everything, from the books Enrique had read to the tourists he had scammed with his card-reading. El Capitán''s face reflected a mixture of pride and amusement as he listened, and when it was time for Enrique to go, he took a ten-dollar bill from his wallet. "I''m going to be here for ten days. Every day I''m here, I''ll give you one of these if you''ll spend your time reading instead of selling things on the beach."

Enrique''s eyes widened.

"And I''ll teach you some stuff, too. About airplanes, and psionics. One hour every day, and the rest of the time you study on your own. Is that a deal?"

An hour every day with El Capitán, and money besides! Enrique did the total in his head: ten dollars a day for ten days--His mouth gaped open. "Deal!" he exclaimed, shaking El Capitán''s hand. Mamacita couldn''t argue with that.

Hunter returned to Puerto Peñasco for ten days each spring, and Enrique clung to his visits like a lifeline. El Capitán always wanted to know what he was learning in school, wanted to be sure he understood all the science and math he was taught. He also bought the boy much-needed notepads and other school supplies--not to mention telling stories of fighter-pilot exploits in the Alphan war that fired Enrique''s imagination.

But when he had gone away again, despair sometimes stole upon Enrique. Life was harsh with so little money, and there were few to encourage his dream. His teachers were helpful, seeing how bright he was, and how determined. They lavished extra time on him, found him books on aircraft and astronomy--one even brought him a jacket when the winter mornings grew chilly. But they could not banish Mamacita''s complaint that he skip school to work more, like Diego.

Then, as he entered his sixth and final year of primary school, Enrique drew Señor Gobels as his teacher.

Chapter Three

Sr. Gobels was a portly man with a graying mustache and a habit of clearing his throat. On the first day of class, he stopped beside Enrique''s desk and glared down at the expensive wrist computer the boy wore. "Where did you get that?"

Enrique held it up proudly. "My friend the captain bought it for me. It does square roots and algorithms and many complicated things."

Gobels snatched the instrument from the boy''s outstretched arm. "Bought it? No one buys children things like this."

Enrique grabbed for his wristcomp. "But he did!"

Gobels held it away. "I don''t suppose you have a receipt, do you?"

"I told you, the captain bought it. He has the receipt."

"How convenient. Do you know what I think? I think you stole this."

"No!" Enrique was aghast at the notion. "The captain gave it to me!"

"Then have your captain bring the receipt, and I''ll give it back."

"He''s not here! He''s gone back to Alpha."

"Alpha!" Gobels barked a laugh. "The planet? Indeed. Little liar." He stalked back to his desk, pocketing the wristcomp.

Enrique was beside himself. The wristcomp was essential to doing his math homework, for although he was perfectly capable of working out all the problems by hand, it would take him hours. He needed that time to work the beach or his mother wouldn''t let him go to secondary school next year. "I can call the clerk in the store where the captain bought it," he said. "She''ll tell you. It''s paid for. I didn''t steal it."

"I''m sure she''ll say whatever you tell her to."

"But--"

"One more word, and you''ll be staying after class!"

Enrique clamped his jaws shut. He could not afford to stay after class--he needed to work. But the way his wristcomp had disappeared into the teacher''s pocket, he was afraid if he waited long, it would be gone for good. So at lunchtime he went to the school administrator. She knew him, knew he was a good student, and she had met El Capitán once. Maybe more than once, from the gleam in her eye when he mentioned Hunter''s name. She marched right down to the teachers'' lounge and made Gobels return the wristcomp.

Enrique had earned himself an enemy, though. For the rest of the year, Gobels made his life miserable. Not only did he grade Enrique''s papers harshly, but he used any excuse to revoke the boy''s library privileges. This was especially hard, for Enrique had become a voracious reader. The town had no public library, and he had no personal netlink account--he had always used the free accounts at school. How was he to write his reports, to prepare his science projects, without the books and resources in the library?

Fortunately, the librarian disapproved of Gobels'' retribution, and she made a suggestion to the frantic boy. "Go see Señor Zapata, the science teacher at the secondary school. Perhaps he has books in his personal collection that will be of use."

Personal collection! The notion unfolded like a fragrant blossom, rich and stimulating. Of course! Teachers had personal collections of books, books they thought especially worthwhile. Books that didn''t disappear from one''s reader after two or three weeks. As soon as school was out, he ran to the secondary school and found Sr. Zapata in his classroom.

Zapata was a broad-shouldered man with an open face. "May I help you?"

"Oh, I certainly hope so, señor." Enrique put on his most sincere expression, the one he used to convince hotel security he was not a danger to their patrons on the beach. "The librarian at the primeria suggested I speak to you. I have been reading the advanced science books--" they weren''t all that advanced, for the library didn''t own much beyond the primary level--"and she said if I wanted a real challenge, I should talk to you." Challenge was one of those words teachers liked. "Can you recommend something for me? A book on aerodynamics, or astrophysics?"

"Astrophysics!" Zapata''s eyebrows shot up. "I''m afraid I can''t make any recommendations there. Biology was my field at university. But aerodynamics--"

"Or anything that talks about wormholes," Enrique added quickly. "Quantum physics. Like that. I''m writing a paper."

"Ah. Been bitten by the space bug, have you?" Zapata winked knowingly.

Enrique grinned. "Yes, sir."

"I''m sure I can recommend some appropriate titles for you." Zapata turned to his netlink monitor. "Do you have a netlink account?"

Enrique let his smile crumble. "No, sir."

"No?" Zapata looked him over more carefully, taking in the shabby pants, the mended shirt. "I see. And what was your name?"

"Enrique Aguilar."

Zapata typed the name into the netlink. "And Señora Martínez sent you to me?"

"I am one of her best customers." It was true, whenever his privileges had not been revoked.

"I see. Well.... "Zapata hesitated as he studied what Enrique assumed were his school records. "Let me look through my books at home."

"Oh, thank you, sir! You are most generous. I am most grateful for your help. Shall I come back tomorrow?"

"Not tomorrow. Thursday. Four o''clock. Be prompt."

Enrique was prompt, and Zapata loaded his personal copy of Learning Physics onto Enrique''s reader. Ten days later, Enrique returned to transfer the copy back to Zapata. "I cannot thank you enough. The section on wind shear was exactly what I needed for my report. And the history of the interferometer--that was quite interesting. I didn''t realize they used one in the Terrestrial Planet Finder project back in the 21st century." He wanted to make it clear he had read and understood the book. "That explains how they knew Alpha could be terraformed before they ever sent a probe there."

"I''m glad you found the book interesting."

"Very interesting. I like science very much. And I was wondering--since you were so gracious to loan me this book--do you have any others I might borrow? Anything on science. Earth science, plant science, biology--" He let the last topic hang like bait.

Zapata nodded. "Since you have behaved responsibly with the first book, I will happily lend you another. Why don''t you come to my house this weekend, and you can look through my collection?"

Zapata''s trust was the opening of a new world. When Enrique had gone through the teacher''s entire library, Zapata sent him to another teacher, and then to a local doctor, and a pharmacist, and by the end of the term he had access to a wide variety of books, not to mention people with netlink connections. Gobels'' attempt to stymie him only forced him to open other doors.

But now a new problem cropped up: Diego. Diego was fourteen and driven by forces that mystified twelve-year-old Enrique. Both boys had grown up peeking through keyholes when the ladies of the cantina entertained upstairs, and they had laughed at the ridiculous antics of the male visitors--until now. Now, Diego became obsessed with the idea of making just such a fool of himself as those men. At first Enrique felt only pity for his aberrant sibling. That ended when Diego asked him for money.

"Why should I give you any money?" Enrique scoffed. "You never give me any."

"What do you need money for? Your captain friend buys you everything."

"I need money for lunches. For clothes, just like you. Earn your own money."

"Listen, you little pendejo, there''s a girl--I know she''ll do it with me, but I have to take her out first, show her a good time."

"Do it!" Enrique hooted. "Oh, Diego wants to ''do it'' with a girl! Why don''t you ask Chucha? Maybe she''ll do it for free." Chucha, who worked in the cantina, was near forty and looked worse. "Here, I''ll run inside and ask her. Chu--"

Before he got the name out, Diego hit him in the gut. Though Enrique fought back, Diego was taller and stronger, and he hit harder. In a matter of minutes, Enrique rolled in the dirt while Diego walked away with his wad of dollars and pesos.

Mamacita was furious--but at Enrique more than Diego. "Why did you let him take your money? What will I use now for the laundry, for soap, for shampoo--You''d better earn some more, and quick!"

Bruised and aching, Enrique headed to the beach with his box of souvenirs for sale. It was hard to laugh and joke with the customers when every step hurt. But by nightfall, he had twenty-three American dollars in his pocket, and he only owed nine for the contents of the box. On his way back to the mercado, however, he stopped short as a chill rippled through him. Diego knew he would return to pay the shopkeeper. If Diego was waiting for him....

Closing his eyes, Enrique cleared a space in his mind and called up an image of the mercado. Only a few shops were still open; he felt the sales people lingering inside, a few customers--and yes, there was Diego in the front of Luis Hernandez''s shop, half concealed behind a rack of t-shirts.

Now what? He had to square up with Luis or risk losing the man''s trust. Changing course, he cut through an alley and entered the shop from the back. Diego, with his eyes on the street, never saw him as he quickly paid Luis and slipped away.

Darting through the streets for home, Enrique felt a wave of relief wash over him. Perhaps one day his psionic skill would make him a better pilot, as El Capitán had promised. For now, it had a very practical application: he could use it to stay one step ahead of Diego.

Hunter was late in arriving that winter. In fact, it was almost Spring before Enrique bullied a desk clerk into telling him his Peacekeeper friend was expected that week. On the day of El Capitán''s arrival, however, contacting him took on a new urgency. Enrique''s enrollment forms came from the local secondary school and, to his horror, he learned the beginning physics and advanced mathematics courses he''d requested had been filled. In their place, he''d been enrolled in Computer Drafting and Machine Shop.

Enrique whisked over to the secondary school to protest: he was bound for a preparatoria, not a trade school! He needed all the advanced math he could get, and if he didn''t get beginning physics this year, he wouldn''t get all the way to astral physics before he graduated! The counselor was sympathetic, but Enrique knew what she saw: a poor boy in worn and stained clothing who sold trinkets on the beach to pay for a new pair of shoes. Even if he earned a scholarship to a preparatoria and thence to universidad, how would he buy books? Or a train ticket to Hermasillo to attend classes? Regretfully, she told him she could only put him on a waiting list in case someone dropped out.

Enrique knew how these things worked. A gift of cash in the right hands could get him into the necessary classes. But Diego had surprised him and taken all his money once again; and there was a good chance that when he earned more, Diego would get that, too. Enrique''s psionic talent might tell him when Diego was lying in wait, but it could not make him run faster. No, he desperately needed his friend El Capitán to talk to the school officials, to slip them a small reward for their inconvenience in getting Enrique into those classes. It wouldn''t take much. The captain had always been gracious before.

So Enrique was waiting at the landing pad when the shuttle arrived from Mexico City. He felt Hunter''s presence aboard the aircraft even before it touched down. There was something odd about it, though. It felt.... heavy.

Hunter''s steps, too, were heavy as he climbed out of the shuttle, a single bag slung over his shoulder. Something about his uniform was different, but Enrique didn''t take time to puzzle it out. He was too caught up in his own problems. "Capitán! Capitán!" he shouted, waving furiously. "Here!"

A smile lit Hunter''s features when he saw the boy, albeit a tired smile. "That''s ''Major'' now," he said, pointing to the new emblem on his shoulder. "Hey, sportSport. How''d you know I was coming in today?"

Ignoring the question, Enrique darted eagerly to his friend''s side, ricocheting off a resort attendant on the way. He automatically took Hunter''s bag and slung it over his own shoulder. "I''ll carry that for you," he said, struggling to keep it from tripping him as it banged against his ankles. "I am so glad to see you again, Capitán--perdón, there is no translation for Major. Ah--is Comandante okay?" He scarcely glanced at Hunter for approval before charging on. "You''re very late this year, Comandante. Is the fighting all over? I hope not--I hope there is some left for me."

Instead of laughing and tousling the boy''s hair as he had in past years, Hunter frowned. "There will always be a war to fight," he said softly.

The nuances of his tone were lost on Enrique, who steamed on down the tracks like an ancient locomotive headed for a washed-out bridge. "Anyway, I am very glad to see you, for I have a little problem I believe you can fix for me. It''s nothing, really, just a misunderstanding with the school officials. Perhaps tomorrow, after you have settled in your room and had a nice swim in the ocean, you wouldn''t mind coming to the secondary school with me and take care of this small matter. It won''t take much. Say a few nice things about me and how smart I am, how hard I work. Maybe have a twenty-dollar bill in your palm when you shake hands. Well, maybe a fifty--"

Hunter stopped short at the front door of the hotel and stared down at his half-sized companion. "Enrique, what are you talking about?"

"I go to secondary school next year. And I registered for physics and mathematicas advanzadaso--higher math?--just as you always told me." He was nearly tripping over his words in his hurry to explain. "But they say there''s no asiento--place? placement?--but a placement is a small thing and can be fixed with a few dollars--"

"You mean you didn''t place into the classes?" Hunter snapped, his eyes flashing. "Oh, and now you''d like me to buy you a spot, is that it?"

Enrique couldn''t imagine why Hunter was angry. Use of the English word "place" as a verb was one he had not encountered, and he did not quite understand it. That didn''t stop him from pressing his case. "That is how things work in Mexico, Comandante. Pesos are the grease that make reluctant wheels turn--"

"And is that what I''ve been doing for you for the past six years?" Hunter demanded, furious. "Greasing your way so you could slide forward without putting your back into it? If you failed your placement test, muchacho, don''t expect me to bail you out. Go back and learn what you were supposed to learn the first time around."

"Placement test?" Enrique''s confusion grew. "No, no, the tests come later, to graduate--"

But Hunter was no longer listening. "Conniving little bastard," he growled, snatching back his bag. "Go find another sucker to bankroll you. I thought you wanted to make something of yourself." He turned on his heel and stalked into the hotel.

For a moment Enrique stood stunned. Then he tried to follow Hunter, but the doorman stopped him. The previous summer, Enrique had been banned from the resort for bilking guests with his card tricks, and the doorman knew him on sight. There was nothing the boy could do but walk away with an ache the size of a soccer ball in his chest