“Get that helicopter in the air!” KimKim yelled.

The three of them bolted for the helicopter. The cockpit was not locked, but the craft itself was tied down to the deck, lashed with padded chains.

“Cast us off!” Silver yelled, and climbed up into the pilot’s seat. Minako hauled herself into the surprisingly spacious and oddly configured backseat, and sat there drenched, teeth chattering. Onetwo-three . . .

When she got the thirteen, her mother was standing outside in the rain. The illusion was perfect. Her mother’s hair was blowing. Her police uniform was turning a darker shade of blue as the rain stained it. The only thing missing was any kind of real reaction to Minako or to her environment. It was as if her mother was a very limited computer program, like the illusion knew how to be affected by the environment, but not how to respond to it.

Fourteen.

And her mother was gone.

“You down there, back away from the helicopter.” It was a voice magnified by a megaphone; even then it was half snatched away by the wind.

Minako leaned forward to look up and out. There. Two ship’s officers in yellow slickers.

KimKim continued throwing off the straps. Silver was flipping switches in the cockpit. Minako pulled the harness belts tight around her but they weren’t made for anyone her shape. She realized, suddenly, that the seat was built for Charles and Benjamin.

The officers were motioning. Men were rushing from aft, from behind Minako’s line of sight.

KimKim aimed fast and fired. A man went down, clutching his leg. That reversed the charge of crewmen.

Minako heard an electrical sound, a sort of whine. A gust made the helicopter tremble.

KimKim was fighting the last tie-down strap, but it was jammed.

The rotor above began to move. Slow… slow… gaining a little speed . . .

How many revolutions per minute? Minako wondered. Was there a set number? Was it a good number?

Suddenly a riot of people, all rushing toward the helicopter. These were not cautious crew, these were residents of Benjaminia and Charlestown.

“No!” Minako cried.

KimKim threw back the last strap. He stood, facing the wave of bodies. He fired the pistol into the air.

No one stopped.

“Oh no, no, no,” Minako pleaded.

KimKim lowered the pistol, took aim, and fired.

A red flower appeared in the exact center of a man’s chest. The man fell backward.

This, finally, sent the mob into retreat. They didn’t run far, but they had stopped charging. They might still escape, if only they could get the helicopter into the air.

The rotor was moving, but so slow, so slow!

“People! Our people! We are under attack!” Benjamin shouted. He saw the one KimKim had shot. Dead. One of his people. He had once spoken to the man. Or maybe it was some other man like him—it didn’t matter, all of the people of Benjaminia were his.

Benjamin said, “Captain, open the spheres. Let all of the people out on deck, every one of them. We’ll soon deal with these scum. Every one of them! We’ll swarm them with sheer numbers.”

The spheres began to split open like sliced oranges. From their spot on the bridge the Twins could see down into the nearest sphere, down into the structure of catwalks and braces. They saw faces suddenly turned skyward, suddenly seeing the sky for the first time in weeks or months or years.

“Rise up!” Benjamin cried, his voice ecstatic. “All of you, out onto the deck and destroy the traitors. Don’t fear, attack!”

Out into the wind and rain and light they came, stumbling over unfamiliar territory, climbing over each other like ants. The people of Benjaminia, the people of Charlestown, hundreds of them, scraping their shins on sharp metal, banging into bulkheads, mad with excitement.

“Get them!” Benjamin cried. “Kill the men and save the girl!”

A woman tripped and fell into the gears of the sphere; she fell and screamed and was drawn slowly down and out of sight, like meat going into a sausage grinder.

But the sustainably happy did not hesitate. They had their orders. They had their targets in sight.

The dolls of the Doll Ship had come to vicious life.

And then one of the officers on the bridge yelled, “Captain! Captain! We have targets incoming!”

Every eye on the bridge swiveled to follow the direction in which he was pointing. Two Sea King helicopters, moving as fast as race cars and so low and close to the heaving waves that no radar could see them, flew, relentless, toward the Doll Ship.

Binoculars were snatched and sighted. “Royal Navy!”

“Shoot them down! You said you had missiles!” Charles whinnied in terror.

“They’re too close, they’d hit us and blow the ship,” Captain Gepfner said. “And those are Royal Marines.”

“We’re only half a mile from Chinese waters,” the first officer reported.

But it was irrelevant information for the moment, because the nearest Sea King banked sharply, roared overhead like the wrath of God, seeming barely to miss the bridge, so close that Charles could see the faces of the men inside the Sea King’s open door.

With startling speed the helicopter came to hover over the melee in a well-practiced maneuver. The second Sea King floated a hundred feet away. A swivel-mounted machine gun pointed its muzzle directly at the bridge.

Charles felt his heart stop. There was no way the deadly calm Marine behind that gun would miss.

“Stop them!” Benjamin demanded.

“If we’re taken it’s prison for the lot of us,” Gepfner said, ignoring Benjamin and speaking to his officers. “If they take us in Chinese waters it may be a firing squad.” He glanced around sharply and saw the consensus form. “Life or death now, gentlemen. Break out the RPGs and issue them to the mob.”