Power Lines by: Anne McCaffrey And Elizabeth Ann Scarborough

copyright 1994

Chapter 1

SpaceBase occasionally still rumbled underfoot, as if to remind everyone that Petaybee planet was by no means pacified. The riders from Kilcoole village had kept well to the wooded trails farthest from the steaming, freshly thawed river, now merely rimmed with ice like a frosting of salt along the top of a glass. Several times on their journey, the planet shook and shifted, as if telling them of the urgency of their mission, but by now the Petaybeans calmly accepted the planet's new mood.

Major Yanaba Maddock, Intergal Company Corps, Retired—well, mostly retired, anyway—looked around at the faces of her lover and her new friends and neighbors. Their own mood was both happy and expectant as they dismounted in front of the SpaceBase headquarters building. Clodagh Senungatuk, Kilcoole's healer and one-woman information center, dusted her divided skirts while her curly-coated horse gazed impassively as flurries of its freshly shed hairs floated on the unseasonably warm air.

Sinead Shongili, Yana's own beloved Sean's sister, assisted Aisling, Clodagh's sister, from the saddle while Buneka Rourke held the reins of her Uncle Seamus's and Aunt Moira's horses as they dismounted. The churned mud that formed the roads at SpaceBase was dotted with stones and boards and pieces of metal to be used as steps. Hopping from one of these to the next, the party of Petaybeans made their way into the building.

They all had such high hopes for this meeting, Yana thought, almost with irritation. Personally, she hated meetings. Always had. Most of them provided no more input than could be contained in a two-second burst on a comm link. Waste of time, ordinarily. She took a deep breath and neatly tucked in the shirt tails of the uniform blouse that Dr. Whittaker Fiske had suggested might be the politically tactful costume for the occasion. Partisan as she was, she was the most neutral person attending the meeting. While the company she kept announced her leanings, the uniform would remind the bosses of her long-standing affiliation with Intergal.

Sean Shongili, sensing her tension, reached up briefly to knead the back of her neck, and she gave him a nervous smile. As the chief geneticist for this area of the planet, Sean was a key member of the Petaybean delegation. He and the others seemed to think that it was predestined that the company men would see reason and accede to the requirements of their planet and its people. Sean, who despite his profession was no more experienced at being a prospective parent than she was, had already suggested that her premeeting trepidation was in part at least a hormonally stimulated response. He was wrong, but as he had been born and bred on the planet, she could hardly expect him to understand.

Petaybeans gathered only to entertain themselves and each other or to discuss a problem and arrive at a consensus for solution. Company meetings were far more often power plays where the issue was secondary to whose view prevailed. But then, Yana had never before been to any meeting where the issue was the survival of a sentient planet and its people.

Two deep breaths, and she followed Sean into the building and on into the conference room. As the Petaybeans and Yana entered, Dr. Whittaker Fiske stood, forcing the other dignitaries to do likewise. Here most of the cracks from the earthquakes had been sealed. The screens along the walls were still slightly askew on their brackets but functional. There wasn't enough seating for all the Petaybeans who had been invited, but the major players ringed the beautiful table, hand crafted from native Petaybean woods.

As nominal chairperson, Whittaker Fiske sat in the center with his son, Captain Torkel Fiske. Yana, Sean Shongili, Clodagh, and the Petaybean survivors of the last ill-fated exploratory mission sat to the left of the Fiskes; Francisco and Diego Metaxos and Steve Margolies were placed to the right, along with various other company dignitaries. The latter looked considerably more confused than the Petaybean group, who were, to a person, optimistically resolute.

A bare half hour later, when the comm link with Intergal Earth had been established, the optimism on many faces had been replaced with disgust and dismay at the unreasonableness of certain officials.

"And you actually have the unmitigated gall . . ." declared the occupant of the main screen, Farringer Ball, the secretary-general of Intergal's Board of Directors, "to tell me that the planet is making these demands on us! His round, fleshy face had taken on a reddish orange hue.

Yana thought some of that color had to be generated by the faulty connection or the disrupted innards of the comm screen. No human flesh could turn such a shade.

"Yes, Farrie, that's what I'm saying," Whittaker Fiske replied, smiling gently as a fond parent might to an erring child. "And I've proof enough that I haven't lost my marbles or melted my circuits or any damned thing else you can think up to account for such a—" Whittaker Fiske paused and grinned before he added, "delusion. Delusion it isn't!" He said that with no smile whatever and a very solemn expression. "We may not have encountered such a phenomenon before, Farrie, but we have now, and I don't need my nose rubbed in it any more than it has been. So let's get on with—"

"We'll get on with nothing, Fiske," Farringer Ball said explosively, and a thick finger rose from the bottom of the screen, followed by a hand that was shaking with anger. 'I'm sending a relief company down immediately, with a squad of medics to check out every single—"

"Just be sure none of the company or the medics happen to have Petaybee as their planet of origin," Torkel interrupted.

"Huh? What's that, Captain?" The secretary-general shifted his scowl slightly to Torkel.

"It'll be hard to do, Secretary Ball, since most of your best men and women come from this planet."

"I don't believe what I'm hearing." Farringer turned away from the camera to address others on his end of the communications channel. "We've got a planet issuing orders, respected scientists gone barmy, and now captains telling secretary-generals how to choose reinforcements! This situation is now Class Four!"

"You never were reasonable, Farrie," Whittaker Fiske remarked in an amiably placatory tone, "when you come up against something remotely unusual."

"Remotely? Unusual?."

"Like I said . . ." Whittaker glanced around the screens at the other people who were attending the conference from a distance. "You can't handle what isn't in the book. This isn't. I came here myself to sort out what looked like a minor glitch. And it's the majorest one I've ever encountered. However, keeping both mind and options open, I'd still like to get on with the substance of this conference. Take a trank, Farrie, and listen, will ya? I'll explain if you stop interrupting me."

"We do owe Whittaker the courtesy of hearing him out, Farringer," said one of the other board members, a woman of elegant bearing and composure. She had a beautiful countenance, sculpted on classic lines that owed nothing to surgical skills. Her black hair waved back to frame her heart-shaped face; even the harsh colors of the comm unit could not hide the porcelain fairness of her complexion, or the clear, bright blue of her eyes. Her makeup was discreet, and the only hint of her high rank was the exotically set firestones that she wore as earrings. Marmion de Revers Algemeine had made several fortunes on "hearing people out." I rather fancy the idea of a planet knowing what it wants, and doesn't want! Sentience on a vast scale." She leaned forward, elbows on the surface in front of her, and rested her chin on her fists. "Besides, Whittaker never gives boring reports."

She flicked her glance sideways, but as the speakers were in different offices, at widely separated locations, it was impossible to tell if she was looking at someone in her vicinity or one of the other attendees.

This won't be the least bit boring, Marmie," Whittaker said, grinning. "Torkel sent me an urgent call that there was a breakdown in the terraforming on this planet—we used Terraform B, the Whittaker Effect, which has never before broken down—so I figured that a simple adjustment would suffice, but I certainly wanted to be on hand . . ."

"Yes, yes, we know your grandfather developed that program," Ball said testily, flicking his fingers impatiently.

"The point, then, my impatient friend, is that no break down has occurred. Unless one counts evolutionary development of a quite extraordinary nature as breakdown." Whittaker said the last triumphantly, and Yana saw some of the Petaybean contingent nodding in agreement and looking relieved.

"Am I missing something here?" Ball demanded. "Have you found a way to extract the minerals we require after all? Or located the missing members of the teams?"

"No, but one surviving team member, who has made quite a spectacular recovery, is sitting here in this room. Dr. Metaxos?"

"Secretary-General Ball." Francisco Metaxos nodded to the screen. Metaxos's hair was now spectacularly white, but otherwise he looked much younger than he had when he was first found, closer to his true age of forty-some-odd years. When Yana had first seen him, she'd thought him a man of seventy or so. The only change that hadn't reversed was the hair. It had been, when he landed, as black as his son's, or so Diego had said.

Marmion Algemeine suddenly smiled. "Frank! We heard you were . ."

"I was," Metaxos said, returning her smile. "But as happens with many maladies, once the cause of mine was made clear, the appropriate treatment was administered and I'm fine now."

"Why is everybody talking in riddles?" Ball asked, almost plaintively.

"If you'll allow me, sir," Torkel cut in, I think I have the explanation. It seems that all of us, myself included, have been under some sort of massively induced hypnotic illusion. It is quite strong, quite real—seeming. Under this illusion, one becomes certain that this terraformed rock on which we stand is actually a sentient being. That is, of course, impossible, a bit of superstitious nonsense, but I assure you the quality of the illusion is exceptional. I feel that it is induced primarily through two of the inhabitants of this area, the woman called Clodagh and this man, Dr. Sean Shongili. Even our own Intergal agent, Major Maddock here, has fallen under their influence and—"

"None so blind as the man who will not see, son," Whittaker Fiske said sadly.

"Even my father has been taken in, sir."

"Excuse me," Yana said. "I thought we were here to present evidence, to talk over solutions. There is the evidence of Lavelle Maloney. The autopsy report is objective enough. There were physiological changes in Lavelle's body that the doctors couldn't explain. Dr. Shongili here can. Whether or not the company accepts the explanation is another matter but you should at least hear Dr. Shongili out."

Ball waved a dismissive hand. "We've seen the reports and the treatise he sent in with its highly imaginative explanation of Petaybean adaptation. Still smacks of obstructionism. Besides, Shongili is one of the ringleaders down there, if certain parties are to be believed.''

The Petaybeans cast resentful eyes on Torkel Fiske, who smiled, a wronged man vindicated.

The elegant Marmion spoke again in her slow, considered way. Tell me, Doctor Shongili, Ms. Senungatuk, are your perceptions that the planet is sentient shared by other Petaybeans, planet wide?"

Clodagh nodded, but Sean looked dubious. "We aren't in direct contact with the southern land mass," he said.

"Not directly," Clodagh said, shrugging. "But they know."

"You seem so sure."

"How could they not know a thing like that! Clodagh asked. Yana had the distinct impression that Clodagh was hedging, unwilling, for some good reason, to divulge more just then. Knowing Clodagh, that would not be out of character. The woman was like the planet: round, subtly active, and full of mysteries. In Yana's experience, they were mostly comfortable, benign mysteries, but mysterious nonetheless.

Marmion let that drop for the moment, but another member of the committee, whose balding, ponytailed head had been turned to the comm screen, turned to face them. His eyes were a beautiful celestial blue, but his mouth was a thin hard line, the upper lip beaking over the lower like a snapping turtle's.

"We must ask them, certainly," he said. "We must conduct a survey all over TBeta and inquire of its inhabitants what their beliefs are concerning the planet and what experiences they have had there. It is a study long over due." His speech contained a slight lisp and an odd intonation, an accent perhaps, mostly erased.

Yana thought Marmion and Whittaker Fiske might find support in the man's suggestion, but instead, Whittaker visibly scooted his chair farther from the table and the comm screen, and Marmion let the tip of her tongue show against her upper lip before answering carefully. "An excellent suggestion, Vice-Chair Luzon. I shall go personally."

"And I, as well, will go, Madame Marmion," Luzon said. "I am most interested in the belief patterns and customs of colonial peoples, especially those who have been without the benefit of extensive company contact over the years."

"I'm sure you'll find Petaybee a fountain of information, Matthew," Whittaker Fiske said with a somewhat strained attempt at his customary amiability.

Matthew Luzon. Yana had heard the name often before, she realized suddenly—and not in a positive light.

"Your investigations and attempts to correct the thinking of colonists are well known, if not widely appreciated," Whittaker said. "But I think an actual fact-finding expedition, led by Marmion here, is in order now. Her delegation could take advantage of the warm weather to use audiovisual recording equipment generally too sensitive for the climate on this planet. I think the more subjective material could wait until later."

Luzon allowed the corners of his mouth to curl in his version of a smile. "Oh, no. I think my presence will be of great assistance. Come, come, Dr. Fiske. I do not take up so much room. I will accompany Madame Marmion."

The floor trembled beneath their feet and the screen wobbled on its brackets for a few moments. Yana glanced at Clodagh and saw that the big woman was watching the image of Matthew Luzon with a certain studied wariness that Yana had never seen on her face before. It wasn't fear exactly; dread, perhaps. That was when it hit Yana who Luzon was. And she was instantly appalled to learn that he had risen to such prominence in the company.

Luzon was trained in cultural anthropology, a discipline that should have made him more broad-minded and accepting of others. Instead he had the reputation of using his eminence to condemn the 'less civilized" or "unenlightened" peoples, using their cultural differences as cause to withdraw or withhold company support or cooperation. Saved the company a lot of money, she supposed. His name had been bandied about when the inhabitants of the central continent of a world called Mandella had been herded into tenements so the jungles and bogs they had formerly inhabited could be tapped for fossil fuels. The tenements had not been well built, and the reeducation program had not included instruction in the use of the modern implements in the new homes, including the sanitation devices. Those Mandellans not killed in the great fire that raged through the tenements died of the communicable diseases that swept through later. Luzon's reports had been what allowed the company to sidestep its responsibility when dealing with the Universal Court. In fact, Yana thought she recalled hearing something once about Luzon being; under consideration as a judge for the court.

And now the man was proposing to come looking down his nose at Petaybee!

"Well, I'm not coming down there," Farringer Ball was saying. "Lot of damned nonsense. I have a company to run here. Can't go traipsing around to every backwater bush planet whose colonists get a little peculiar. Hell, if they weren't peculiar, they'd be in the corps or out in space."

Marmion raised an eyebrow and he desisted. "Anyway, I can't and won't interrupt my work to go. But Matthew's done some crack investigating before, and Marmie will bring back the goods. I'll be guided by their evidence."

"That's a relief," Whit snapped. "You sure as hell haven't shown any inclination to be guided by mine, or that of Metaxos and Margolies."

"Of course I have. I read the reports and I haven't evacuated the place and stripped it back to rock yet, have I?"

"Sir," Torkel Fiske said. "What about the additional troops? And I insist that Major Maddock face an official inquiry and possible court-martial for her actions."

"We're already talking about an official inquiry, Captain, or hadn't you been paying attention? If the inquiry determines that there's been subversion or sabotage, I doubt Maddock will have gone far, and she may he able to assist the investigators. Now then. There'll be an escort with Madame Marmion and Dr. Luzon, of course, and additional technical personnel. If we decide to evacuate, we'll call in more then. Meanwhile, you've got enough manpower on hand already, I should think. It's not like an army's going to be any help stopping earthquakes and volcanoes. This meeting is concluded."

Goat-dung knew that she was evil, willfu1, spiteful, malicious, and would someday, if she didn't mend her wicked ways, be prey for the creature from the bowels of the planet. She had been told so often enough, as the welts from the Instrument of Goodness impressed the lessons on her backside.

For her crimes, she usually got the hardest, dirtiest work to do of any girls her age; but when the warming came, melting the ice falls on the sides of the cliffs and turning the floor of the Vale into a great lake, the rest of the community joined her in scrabbling up the sides of the Vale to higher ground, carrying with them the teachings of the Shepherd Howling and all of his sacred implements, plus what food, clothing, and housing materials they could salvage. All of the greenhouse gardens were lost and many of the animals had drowned.

For days the waters rose up the icy walls of the Vale, creating slush and even mud underfoot and also a steaming mist that made it impossible to see. Goat-dung and the other children, packs strapped to their backs, climbed the walls of the canyon and carried dripping parcels to the adults, then splashed back down in the bright cold water to try to retrieve other articles.

Bad as she was, even Goat-dung was so used to obeying the will of the community, the will of the Shepherd Howling, that she failed to see the possibilities for escape in the situation.

She'd just climbed up again after falling three times back into the water. Shivering with cold, muddy, scraped and bruised, half-naked, she huddled by the fire and ate the bowl of thin soup she had at last been permitted to ladle out for herself. The soup was mostly cold, and the fire, a pitiful stinking thing of still-damp animal dung, was nothing but a slightly sultry draft that failed to chase the ache and chill. It didn't banish the goose bumps, never mind the frigidity in her bones.

For once, no one else was better off than she, however. The one hundred or so followers of the Shepherd huddled along the rim of the steaming Vale of Tears, their lives and homes inundated by the Great Flood the Shepherd claimed had been sent to try them.

The monster seeks to subjugate us to its will in this fashion," the Shepherd said over and over again. "We shall not succumb. When the waters subside, we'll return to our Vale and continue to defy that which would corrupt us."

The Shepherd, instead of staying within his offices and superior quarters, was now among the flock organizing, counseling, exhorting—and observing. Feeling the disapproving eyes of the rest of the flock on her was bad enough, but twice Goat-dung looked up from her misery to see the Shepherd himself watching her, and his regard made her colder than the waters in the Vale.

She rested from her last climb, as the short day drew to a close and the mists from the Vale crept up over the edge of the encampment. She heard soft footsteps approach and Conception, her belly as flat as it had been before the Shepherd married her and her name was still Swill, squatted beside her.

"Good news, little sister," she said.

Goat-dung said nothing. Until she knew what Conception wanted, silence was safest.

The other girl, a bare four years older than Goat-dung, held forth a piece of metal. "You've been chosen," she said simply, and rose to go.

Goat-dung stared at the piece in her hand. It was cut into the shape of a heart. The Shepherd had chosen her to be his wife.

"What? When?" she called after Conception.

Tonight," the older girl called back and was lost in the mist.

And that was when she did the worst thing she had ever done in all of her wicked days. She ran.

The mist covered her trail and the slush muffled the sound of her steps. She ran as hard and as long as her exhausted, undernourished body could. She had no idea where she was going. She had known no other people but her own, though sometimes the Shepherd made allusions to others, outsiders, those who had fallen into error. They were horrible people, the Shepherd said, who would sacrifice girls like her to the Great Monster.

Better that than be a dutiful wife to the Shepherd, like Swill-Conception and Nightsoil, now known as Assumpta. Wives of the Shepherd, though they were no older than children, were given adult names, usually related to the Teaching.

Assumpta, once a rosy-cheeked, titian-haired angel of a girl, full of childish agility and grace, was now old at thirteen. She had lost four children to a bleeding disease and had been beaten after losing each one. She no longer walked very well.

Conception, on the other hand, was still barren at fifteen, and she was beaten for that, as well. Their own mother, Ascencion, was another of the wives, and supervised the beatings herself.

Goat-dung's mother had also been the Shepherd's wife, although Goat-dung was not one of his own lambs. One reason she was so wicked, the others told her, was that her parents had been outsiders. She had been too small when her mother died to realize it, but it was said that her mother had been an extremely unrepentant outsider who had not wanted to be the Shepherd's wife and had been prevailed upon to accept the blessings of union with him only through the firm kindliness of the flock. No one among them had met Goat-dung's father, who had died in ignorance and error and slavery to the Great Monster.

Goat-dung ran and ran, splashing through slush, hot with her effort as long as light remained in the sky, then ran to keep from freezing as the night swallowed the planet. The moons came up and she stumbled on by their light. She ran on and on, down and down, as if into another Vale. Looking back, by the moonlight, she saw the peaks of the mountains behind and above her: the monster's back, its snout, its teeth.

She dragged herself farther. Down here the slush gave way to mud in places, and a stream ribboning down the mountain steamed just as the water in the valley floor did. As she drew near it, it gave forth warmth, and when she touched it, it was as hot as if it had been heated in a pan and only cooled slightly.

She eased her way into it. It was deeper than it looked and had quite a current. It buffeted her along, lapping her with warmth, until it ran into a kind of tunnel, carrying her with it.

She was too tired, too full of lassitude from the water, to avoid being swept into the side of the mountain, and remembered, just before she hit her head on a rock and all became blackness, that the Shepherd taught that this was the very sort of place never to be caught.

Chapter 2

"Well?" Bunny Rourke asked breathlessly as the elders and the company friends of the Petaybeans filed out of the building. She handed the reins of the curlies to each rider. "How'd it go?"

Clodagh shrugged. "Like usual. They pretended we weren't there, and if we were, that we'd nothin' sensible to say. They're sendin' down more investigators."

Yana sighed. She'd known it wouldn't be easy, but something else was disturbing her. As they rode back through the woods to Kilcoole, she asked, "I don't get it. Torkel was with us. He felt the planet, too. He knows about it. If he had really rejected it, he'd be like Frank Metaxos was."

"Denial," Diego said, drawing on his own counseling experience. "He knows, okay, he just can't stand to admit it. He's not a complete creep, after all. You and he used to be friends, didn't you, Yana?"

"Friendly, at least," Yana said. "Or I thought so. But he's been so unreasonable . . ."

"Maybe irrational's a better word," Sean said. "He might not have had the reaction Frank did, but it strikes me that Fiske isn't sledding on both runners anymore, if he ever was. Maybe his unwilling contact with the planet has done him more harm than shows on the surface."

"At least it's that lady coming to investigate," Moira Rourke said with some relief.

"Yes, but I don't like the look of that bald fella," Clodagh said.

"Nor do I," Yana agreed. "At the risk of sounding like the conspirator Torkel thinks me to be, I suggest that all of you avoid any direct contact with Luzon and save your explanations strictly for Madame Marmion. He is known to . . . twist . . . anything he's told."

As they neared the village, they were met by a pride of cats, all of them striped bright rusty orange and all of them meowing and purring and twining dangerously around the large snowshoe-sized hooves of the shaggy, curly-coated horses.

"What a welcoming committee!" Yana said as Marduk, or at least she assumed it was he, hopped up behind her and rubbed his head against her back briefly before hopping down again. "Did you call them, Clodagh?"

Clodagh shook her head. "No, but I was worried, before we left, about how committed the other villages were to the planet. So far the PTBs have only questioned us, but I figured they'd get around to asking some of the others sometime soon. These little ones scattered as soon as we left, and here they are back again." She tilted her head as she looked down at the cats.

"What's got 'em so antsy?" Bunny asked.

Clodagh reined her curly-coat to a halt. Immediately the cats converged on her, stropping the legs of the pony, who regarded this activity with mild surprise and didn't so much as twitch a muscle.

"You'll get muddy doing that," she told the cats, since the pony was coated up to and including his belly with good Petaybean wet earth. With a groan, she heaved one leg over the saddle and dismounted, ignoring the fact that her skirts immediately became as dirty as the pony's legs. "Now, what's all this?" she asked, hands on her hips, looking from one upturned cat face to the next.

Clodagh's special relationship with her cats was known—or at least suspected—by everyone in Kilcoole. So the other villagers, except for Sean, Bunny, and Yana, rode politely around the cats and pretended not to notice anything more than a woman being greeted by overly fond pets.

Frank Metaxos, in whose healing process the cats had had a rather unusual role, remained behind, too, along with his son Diego. The two were returning to Kilcoole without Frank's partner, Steve Margolies, who, still on the company's payroll, had stayed on at SpaceBase.

Both cats and Clodagh waited for the rest of the village to parade past before the mewing and chirruping began.

Ordinarily the cats would have sat down to impart what was evidently a long story, but the mud offended their dignity. So they prowled around her, twitching their tails high, as they communicated their messages. The humans waited patiently.

Sparks of uncharacteristic anger flickered in Clodagh's eyes as she looked up at Sean and Yana "We got all kinds of trouble now." She gave a disgusted snort. "Seems like some villages want Intergal to come down and mine, while the mining's good and they can get paid for working."

Sean frowned and Yana told her heart to stop racing. "How many dissidents? she asked.

"Four towns that the cats know of." Clodagh's usually merry face was solemn.

"Which ones?"

"Deadhorse, McGee's Pass, Wellington, and Savoy."

Sean let out a burst of sour laughter. That figures." Clodagh had named villages which in recent years spurned contact with the others. He sighed deeply. "Have the cats any good news?"

"Yes, out the bad news is they haven't had a chance to check everyone out. If four villages oppose us . . ."

"How many more might be disaffected and looking to please Intergal for the sake of wampum? Sean asked.

"So, the good news? Yana prompted with a sigh.

"Well, we do have at least twelve communities behind us solid. Tanana Bay, Shannonmouth, New Barrow, Twin Moon Village, Little Dublin, Oslo Inlet, Harrison's Fjord, Kabul, Bogota, Machu Picchu, Kathmandu, and Sierra Padre."

"Most of the closest ones," Sinead said, looking encouraged.

"And the ones," Clodagh went on with a pessimistic expression, "that have the most Petaybean boys and girls in company service."

"What bothers you about that?" Yana asked. "Wouldn't they be on their folks' side in this?"

"Might be, if they weren't required to lean on their folks to do what the company asks," Clodagh said gloomily.

"Oh!" Yana sighed Dirty tricks department Farringer Ball and Matthew Luzon would pull every one they needed out of storage to see that their interpretation became the official one. "Could you be wrong about which side of the blanket the Petaybean troops would fall on? The pilots, O'Shay and Greene in particular, gave us some support during the volcanic crisis."

Clodagh shrugged her broad shoulders. "You can always be wrong about anything. Sure, I think a lot of them would feel loyalty for us and for the planet. But they've been out there"—she nodded toward the heavens—"for a long time. They're used to the kind of stuff you're used to. Some of 'em have prob'ly forgot how to cook, too, like you, and how to hunt. How to take care of themselves. And if the company decided to punish them and us by dumping them here and pulling out support, well, that'd be pretty hard on them, pretty hard on us, and pretty hard on the planet. I figure if all the Petaybee troops still working for Intergal got sent back here, it'd triple our population. At the least! I don't know how many kids those troops have had. Course they'd be welcome and the planet would provide, but it might be as hard on it as some kinds of mining operations."

Frank cleared his throat. The ecosystem in these icy regions is quite fragile."

"You know it and I know it, but Intergal seems oblivious to the fact," Sean said.

"Are those villages one hundred percent in favor of selling out? Yana asked.

Clodagh smiled patiently. "Now, Yana. You've been around the universe a few times. When did you ever meet any group of people who were one hundred percent in favor of anything?"

"Exactly. So presumably there are some people there who aren't in favor of the mining. And probably, in the remaining villages, a few who are. I think we need to know who's fer us and who's agin us, as they say in the Wild West vids, and maybe try to convert some of the unaffiliated. I thought everybody had the relationship with the planet you do."

Clodagh shook her head. "Not everybody wants to. Those who have enough respect to follow the rules and live wisely survive better though, so even if they don't acknowledge the presence of the planet, they get by as long as they keep out of the special places. The others, the foolish ones, don't live so well or so long. Those people would much rather try to please the bosses than forces they don't want to understand Fortunately though, around here there's not much to do except pay attention, so the planet gets through to most folks."

"Well, sounds to me like we need to do a little campaigning," Yana said.

"We will make them songs so they understand," Clodagh said.

"Cool," Diego said. "Just like the old radical songs from Earth. Ah, if only I had a guitar."

"What's that?" Bunny asked.

"A musical instrument. All of the old protest singers had them. There's some wonderful mining songs in the memory banks back—back at my old place."

"I wish you had one then," Bunny said loyally.

"Me, too. Except I don't know how to play."

"I bet you could learn." Bunny told him. "You make better songs than some people who've made them all their lives."

"Bunka," Clodagh said sharply. "Each song is a good song if it says what the singer means it to say."

"Course it is, Clodagh. I know that. But Diego's sound better. He says what he means to say so everybody can understand it. That's all I meant."

Clodagh smiled, a slightly bawdy smile, with a wink to Sean and Yana. "That's all right then, alannah. He does make good songs."

In the short distance to Clodagh's house, they discussed the finer points of what needed to be said to the villages, both those which dissented and those which Clodagh felt sure could be counted upon to support the planet.

When they reached Clodagh's, what seemed to be the entire village was waiting outside in her yard. Yana found, looking at the yard, that she missed the snow. The village looked like a garbage dump, with its stores of winter provisions half-thawed in the snow, the trash that had been buried, the salvaged equipment lying around the yard, all of the items that had been lost throughout the long winter. Not to mention the leavings of the various dogs and cats and horses housed in the village. Also, without the snow, the roofs of the houses looked patchy, the siding worn despite its gay pastel colors. And everything and everyone was smeared and splattered with mud.

This dreary aspect didn't seem to lessen their regard for each other in the slightest, however, and the villagers crowded as cheerfully as ever into Clodagh's tiny house and began discussing what was to be done.

"We need to have another latchkay," Eamon Intiak said. "We should have one and invite the people who don't understand. Petaybee would speak to them and then they'd know."

"You'd think they'd know already by now," Sinead Shongili said.

"Now, Sinead," her partner Aisling said reasonably, "such things take some folks longer. Their worries about the everyday things in their lives get in the way of understanding what's here."

'We'll each go away and think about these things and make songs," Clodagh said. "Then we'll go talk to the other people. Sinead, you and Sean and the Maloneys must go the farthest because you're the best travelers. I would like to send Frank with you, Sinead, and young Diego with Liam. Yana, you go with Sean. We need you people who know about the company to make talk with the neighbors who are taken in by the promises, too."

With that, everyone began to leave. Yana was ready to leave, too. She was tired. She wanted to rest and eat and bathe in the hot springs and make love to Sean, not necessarily in that order. But Sean laid a restraining hand on her arm and lingered a moment.

"And how about the other pole, Clodagh?" Sean asked gently. "How do we reach those people?"

"Can you not do it, Sean?" Clodagh asked.

"Sure, I could, but it'd be a long journey no matter how fast I went. The PTBs would already have been there and found out what we need to know. Besides, I hate to leave Yanaba for so long at a time like this."

"What do you mean, Sean?" Yana asked. "I'm barely a month along. I wouldn't even know I was pregnant if you hadn't found out via your hot line to the planet. Other women have had babies before . . ."

"Not," Sean said significantly, "my babies. If only my sister and Rourke had been able to map that passage."

"Sinead?"

"No. Our sister Aoifa and her husband, Bunny's parents. They were trying to map some of the planet's inner passages. Bunny was barely eighteen months old—"

"And that Aoifa was pregnant again!" Clodagh said fondly. They hadn't been named long, but that girl was a real Shongili. Not even pregnancy hampered that one, and her as curious as one of the cats!"

"What happened?" Yana asked.

Sean shrugged. "We don't know."

"Couldn't you find out? From the planet, I mean?"

"You've been with it. The information you got isn't usually that specific. And Aoifa and Mala had this theory that some of the special places that lead from one river and lake to the next here on the land lead under the sea in the same way. I searched but I never found them. Never even got a glimmer."

Clodagh made a sound like "Yuh." Then she said, "They must have gone very far. Much farther than anyone has ever gone."

"On foot or by sled or horse maybe," Yana said. "But there are other ways to travel and other ways to get to the south, if the planet doesn't mind the intrusion too much. If I can reach Captain Greene or that O'Shay fellow, maybe they can give us a lift."

"Ah, you spoiled modern woman," Sean said with a kiss to her cheek. "I love you."

"I know it's not the Petaybean way, Shongili, but until you come up with a mutant bird to match your cats and horses, we have to make do with what poor mechanical means I can muster."

"I'm workin' on it, Yana. I am. But until then, you're quite right. We'll have to use company equipment to fight its masters. Now then, what say we go meditate at the hot spring and come up with something to say to these people once you finesse the pilots into transporting us?"

"I thought you'd never ask," she said.

It was small; it was warm and wet and its pelt was of a most extraordinarily tattered nature, fine flapping threads and matted bits interspersed in an unkempt coat. It smelled like food, but not the superior sort.

It leaked savory blood into the water sloshing around it. The water was the problem. In order to reach the little morsel, one would have to get wet. Of course, one could reach down from the ledge with one's claws, and if one stretched—stretched—stretched—ah! One caught a piece of the pelt and could heft it to where one could support the weight of the rest in one's jaws and—ah-it moved. Still alive then. Good. Fresh meat was best. All it would take was biting down a bit on the neck, under the mane, and the kill would be clean, the meat fresh. There would be no necessity for leaving the relative shelter of the ledge.

One leaned forward, resting on one's chest, and extended one's neck to meet the bit rising on claw tip and—it slipped! It was trying to get away! The other paw lashed forward, claws extended, to help the first, and one instinctively leaned forward, one's jaws coming into play to assist one's claws and—and—the thing slipped again before one could sink a tooth into it. The pelt was flimsy stuff and tore out of the claws just as the other paw grabbed the morsel in a second place. The morsel let out a terrified squeal, rather like a rabbit. One was about to smack it to silence and lean forward for the fatal chomp.

Then the cave shook, the ledge broke under one's over-balanced weight, and one tumbled tail over nose into the pool, relinquishing the morsel, which yelped again. Inconvenient and embarrassing to be so indisposed in front of the food. One climbed out of the pool and shook the water from one's coat and began to wash before one's meal.

The morsel began to flail frantically toward the den's entrance. One padded nonchalantly after. The cave, the ground, the world, shook again. One knew when one was being addressed. One sat on one's haunches and perceived.

The morsel was also arrested in mid flight. "Did you—d-do that?" it asked. "Are—are you the G-Great Monster?"

One yawned.

The world shook again and one realized that one had understood the speech of the morsel. One also understood that it was a youngling, and female.

One waded forward while the youngling waded backward, outlined in the dusk outside the mouth of the cave. One's paws dripped water, albeit warm water. One lapped a bit. The youngling stood still.

"You're not so terrible," it said. "You're nothing but a big cat."

One had one's dignity to maintain. One lashed one's beautifully and delicately marked tail and growled.

And from beneath one's sodden paws, the world growled back at one and bucked, sending a wave of water to swamp one, knocking one onto one's back, causing one to drink more deeply of the spring than one cared to, paws over head, and be propelled backward, away from the youngling.

When one got to one's feet, one saw that the youngling—it no longer seemed safe to think of it, no, her as a morsel—had not used the opportunity to run away. Indeed, it, too, was just arising from the water, sputtering and snorting. Ah, good. It had not seen one's discomfiture. Dignity was preserved.

"I'm not afraid of you," the youngling declared as one advanced—claws sheathed, teeth safely contained within one's lips, growl little more than a polite, inquiring rumble in one's throat. A mere purr, actually, one corrected, as the waters bubbled and sloshed ominously. I used to know a cat. A little one. I was a baby then. Shepherd Howling made my mother kill my cat. He—he tried to, anyway.

He—she wouldn't and—and .. ." Something odd was happening to the youngling now. It began leaking again, saltiness into the fresh sulfurous water covering it. "My mother was not like Ascencion. She was brave. The Shepherd punished her for disobedience and both she and my cat went away. So—so I'm not afraid of you. You live where the Great Monster is supposed to dwell and lie in wait for the foolish superstitious minds of the flock to be warped and maddened into everlasting wickedness while our bodies are tormented by the great fires from within. But you're not the Great Monster—you couldn't be. Are you—are you the Guardian of the Underworld?"

One was so disgusted by her ignorance and silly misapprehension of one's self and one's relationship to one's Home that one was startled into answering, I am Coaxtl. That is enough.

"I am Goat-dung, Coaxtl," the youngling said with the cunning of her race. She knew, one saw, the power of names. She had one's name, one had hers. She could not be food.

But one's Home had already decreed that she could not be food, which was what Home meant with the rumbling of the ground and the raising of the waters. One knew what was done and what was not done.

Very well, Goat-dung, one said. Goat-dung is not food, but undoubtedly she eats. Therefore we must leave the Home and hunt

Chapter 3

With the river flowing freely, close to flooding, the people of Kilcoole had more water at their disposal than they were used to. Normally, even in the height of summer, the channel remained frozen at the deeper levels. Now the planet had cut additional channels from new, warmer tributaries, and there was sufficient water to drink, to wash, to bathe in if you didn't mind a little sediment.

Since so much water was close to hand and the hot springs were a distance from town, Yana and Sean had the place to themselves.

As they rode through the brush, which was beginning to leaf out, Yana smiled at the wildflowers that peeked up from the less sodden places where they'd been buried under the snow all winter.

The hot springs were where she and Sean had first come together, where she had first had an inkling of his other nature, and where they had first made love. Beneath the waterfall was the secret subterranean chamber where the villagers gathered during the latchkay night chants to communicate directly with the planet. The mere sight of the slipping silvery waters, steaming only slightly in the warmer air, and the sweet rippling peal of the falls and streams were miraculous enough for Yana.

In this warmer weather, undressing did not have to be so hastily done. She and Sean took their time—time to undress each other, time for a kiss and a caress—before entering the waters, he with a muscular dive, she with a slow sliding from the bank, feeling the waters rise up the length of her until she stooped and allowed the liquid to cover her head. The water shut out the sounds of the birds and insects, the small animals scrabbling in the bushes, the stamping and champing of the curly-coats, and filled her ears with its own music.

Then a wet, warm silky form twisted about her and broached the surface of the water, silver eyes gleaming at her with a challenge and a sensuousness that were so perfectly "Sean" that even his selkie form did not dismay her.

"Oh you!" she said, laughing and splashing water at him. "Do you automatically change the minute you hit water?"

A pleased murmur came from the throat of Sean-Selkie as he continued to weave against her body, his furry touch arousing unusual sensations in her.

"Oh, is that all you can say?" Then Yana gave a ki-yi of amusement. "You can't talk as a selkie? She chortled and, using both hands, sent a wave to flood him.

He dove, not to get away from the water, but to caress her where she least expected it. Startled, she tried to maneuver away from him, but his sinuous form made evasion impossible. He was the swimmer, she the paddler.

But she caught him firmly by a fold of silly wet skin and pulled him to the surface.

Look, mate, I don't mind what form you take. I don't even mind what you do in that form . . ." Sean-Selkie made a pleased purring sound, the silver eyes dancing, as she went on: "But listen up! It's the man I want, not the seal. And we do have things to talk about. So, if you can't talk in this form . . . especially if you can't . . . well, you know what I mean .. . change back."

The selkie nudged her, in a rather sweetly apologetic way, toward the falls, and swam sinuously alongside as she began to swim, feeling very ungraceful beside him, in the direction he indicated. He obviously restrained himself to keep pace with her. He was so graceful, so powerful, and the touch of his fine fur against her was unfairly sensual. She increased the speed of her own stroke. She couldn't wait to get to the privacy of the place behind the falls: she couldn't wait to get him back into a useful form.

He dove under the falls and she followed, escaping the battering of the water. They surfaced together but Sean-Selkie seemed to ooze up the bank and stood there, proud in his altered form, so that she could admire him. All of him. Then he shook himself and the transformation she had seen once before, near the cave where they had taken refuge from the volcano, began.

"I get it, Sean," she murmured, a trifle apologetic. "You wanted me to see you in all your glory. And you are glorious," she added, smiling as the man emerged. She went to him, stroking skin instead of fur, and twining herself around him as his selkie self had done to her in the water.

"Give me a moment to adjust, will you? he said, laughing, holding her tightly against his wet skin.

Yana gave a sniff. "As far as I'm concerned, you are adjusted." She glanced down significantly.

"Ah, but a selkie makes love differently than a man," he said, murmuring into her ear and nibbling her throat.

"How differently? I'm game."

It was decidedly different, wildly sensual, and extremely satisfying, and took rather more time than she had assumed, knowing something of "animal" behavior. She hadn't known nearly enough to prepare her for all of the loving possibilities of Sean's dual nature, both animal and man, but he understood himself thoroughly and was most adept at using all of his resources to guide her into uncharted channels of pleasure. It took her a long time to slow her pulse and heart rate and come, slightly unwillingly, back to the other reason they had gone off.

"We have to do our part in this scheme, you know," she said, looking up at Sean's face. They were still interlocked; it was comforting and comfortable and she didn't really want to break the mood, but the dutiful part of her character prodded her into "active duty" now that the R & R was over.

''Which scheme?" he asked, smiling lasciviously down at her. "All right, all right," he said, easily warding off the fist she shot up at him. His hands were very strong. "First we have to find out where Johnny Greene and Rick O'Shay are. Would Fiske Junior have it in for them for their part in seeing you all got into the special place?"

She sighed. "That's what we have to find out. If Adak'll let me use the comm unit, I can probably roust them out of wherever they are—BOQ on SpaceBase, probably."

"Both Johnny and Rick believe in Petaybee," Sean said, musing aloud, his fingers playing an idle tattoo on her shoulder, "or they wouldn't have helped us then. So, perhaps they'll help us again. How hard would it be for them to abscond with a copter or two?"

Yana shrugged. "Both struck me as pretty clever. Copter pilots tend to be a tad devious. If they could stash enough fuel in a cache somewhere, they could help us and still appear to be on duty at the base. No matter how you slice it, it's going to lake a few days for Marmion and that bald buzzard to organize themselves and their escort, so we have a few days. Unless Torkel clamps down on all SpaceBase activity."

"How can he do that when the place is in such a mess? They've still got folks to rescue from mud slides and stuff."

"Good point, Sean, so the sooner we get in touch with Johnny and Rick, the better. We can provide for our expeditions before Torkel knows we're setting them up."

"Fiske Junior doesn't strike me as a forgetful man. Would he have thought of that, and slapped a hold on all unauthorized copter runs?"

Yana thought. "If he has, Whittaker still carries more clout than Junior. I know Whittaker will help as much as he can." Then she laughed, her chest heaving against his. "Junior! Don't ever call Torkel that in his hearing, Sean."

Sean's eyes sparkled with malice. "No? When we need every advantage we've got?"

The expression on his face, her current position, and the word "advantage" warned Yana that she'd better curtail this session right now or they'd lose a lot more time. She hoped they hadn't dallied too long already. But it had been . . . remarkable. Resolutely she pushed him away and got to her feet.

"Adak is our first stop, Sean," she said in a don't—contradict—me tone.

"Yes, ma'am, no, ma'am. As you say, ma'am."

She gave him one long look in her sternest mode before she realized that this respite might have to last both of them a long time.

She went into his arms. "Oh, Sean Shongili Selkie, I do love you so much!"

"I, you, alannah," he said softly and kissed her. But it was a kiss of exceeding gentleness and no passion what so ever. He, too, accepted the inevitable.

"We can do a lot together," she offered as a token apology.

"We already have," he said, laughing. But his hand her back guided her firmly out of their private retreat.

Coaxtl must be a very bad animal, Goat-dung realized, or he would have devoured such a wicked person as herself instead of sharing his catch of small game with her as if she were a cub. Maybe Coaxtl wasn't male. Goat-dung sneaked a look. It was hard to tell. The cat was extremely furry, with extra tufts on the ears and a thick, bushy tail. Its coat was dense and very soft-looking; the coloring white with large spots of different sizes, according to the muscle they were on: long rectangular ones on the neck, big circular ones on the shoulders, smaller, more regular ones on the abdomen, all shaded from gray to black, blurred and clouded by the length and thickness of the fur. The paws were also extremely large, though the face was sweet, with large golden eyes and a black nose and black-lipped mouth that seemed to be perpetually smiling. The cat looked female enough to Goat-dung, and there was nothing obvious showing under the belly to convince her otherwise, so she decided that she knew the reason why the cat hadn't eaten her. It was because Coaxtl was a mother cat, and probably she had lost her kittens and was willing to accept Goat-dung as a substitute. That must be why. The cat certainly showed no compunction about killing anything else.

With a mighty leap and a swipe of a muscular foreleg, a deft hook of the paw and a single economical crunch, the cat had bagged each victim—three snow geese and a brace of rabbits. When the final kill was made, Coaxtl sat with the rabbits at her feet and looked expectantly at Goat-dung, who took it she was being invited to partake.

"I—I can't eat raw meat," she said. Even hungry as she was, she really didn't think she could. Life was hard in the flock, but they plucked their birds and skinned their animals before cooking. She looked around at the awful open-ness of the mountain meadows and thought of the Shepherd Howling and the beating she would get if she was found—and, worse, having to be the Shepherd's wife and all that meant. "Besides, I don't want to be in the open. Can't we go back to the cave?"

Coaxtl gave her a long golden-eyed stare. Goat-dung wished the cat would speak to her again—not that the beast spoke actual words out loud. But Goat-dung heard words in her mind, and while the big cat's conversation was terse, it was conversation, and it was not angry or accusatory, which was the sort Goat-dung was used to. It wasn't that the cat liked her precisely, but Coaxtl did not so far appear to dislike her. Of course, people in the flock never said that they disliked her. On the contrary, they all claimed to love her and said they were pointing out the error of her ways so that she would not become a victim to the evils of the world, but they did indicate, by deed and word, that they thought the task of trying to save her was quite hopeless.

She followed the cat back along the swollen stream bed to the cavern. The snow had not all melted by any means, and now, suddenly, the air was colder, and the light drizzle that had been falling throughout the day turned to sleet, then snow. Only partially dressed in wet rags, Goat-dung began shivering so hard that she had difficulty walking.

The cave was warmer, perhaps warmed by the water pooling in its center. But it was not warm enough to combat the temperature dropping as night approached. She needed a fire to keep her from freezing as well as to cook her food.

Coaxtl took the rabbits in her mouth and hopped lightly onto the ledge, looking down at Goat-dung, who stood knee deep in the pool on the floor. The birds were clutched in her hand.

Coaxtl had already torn the head off one of the rabbits. Goat-dung looked back up defiantly.

"Well, I'm sorry, cat, but this water leaves me no place to stand and no place to eat the birds even if I wanted to eat them uncooked with all the feathers on. I know I'm spoiled and selfish, but I'm also cold, and I think if I don't have a fire I really will die."

This time the cat did speak. Youngling—I will not call you Goat-dung if you are in my charge. That is no fit name for a cub. Names are important and having yours, I am charged not to eat you, but really, who would want to eat someone named Goat-dung anyway? You must choose another name. I digress . . . Youngling, you seem to have trouble making up your mind what will kill you. Out on the plains you feared the openness. In here you say you are cold and cannot take the water. Probably beyond in the cave it is warmer. You could explore, like any other cub, and leave me in peace to finish the meal I have so graciously provided.

"Beyond lies the Great Monster," Goat-dung said, and then realized that she didn't care. "Very well, I will go alone, but it is dark back there and I may become lost and die, as well."

You are inconveniently frail, the cat growled, abandoning the bird to hop down from the ledge with a splash. Follow me. I will not endure this string of constant complaints.

Goat-dung knew she was disgusting and whining and weak, but at least Coaxtl had not yet cuffed her, even with sheathed claws, much less bitten or clawed her. That was an improvement over the Shepherd and his flock.

The cat padded rapidly ahead, and for a time Goat-dung could follow by the splashing of the big paws in the pool; but then her own, now bare, feet touched dryness, and the cat's pads were nothing but a whisper that soon disappeared. "Coaxtl! Where are you?" she called. "I can't see you."

Can you not? Silly cub. I'm right in front of your eyes.

"Yes, but I can't see in the dark."

Can you not? the cat asked, her voice in Goat-dung's head genuinely surprised. No fur; a stupid name, no claws, puny teeth that can't bite through feathers, and half-blind as well. You would have been better off if I'd eaten you, child.

"I—I suppose so," Goat-dung said. "I know I'm a terrific bother but if you are going to help me, and you don't know how stupid and weak I really am, then I thought you wouldn't know how . . ." She floundered, at a loss for words, realizing she didn't deserve help, that she should have gratefully accepted any tiny thing the cat offered her, and that all of her talk only proved that what the flock said about her was absolutely right. But really, she had no idea at all what to do with the birds, and the Shepherd had always been very specific about the dangers of eating uncooked meats.

There's no help for it then, the cat said. Take hold of my tail, but don't pull, or I may kill you without thinking about it.

Coat-dung groped with outstretched hands and felt a brush of air go by her twice before her palm encountered a sturdy furred appendage, less like the flexible tail of a smaller beast and more like a child's arm in a fur coat. She gently took hold of the end of it, and the cat proceeded at I a slower pace.

How long they walked, she had no idea. They descended, twisted in the corridors, and climbed, only to descend again on the uneven flooring. Several times she bumped into large columns, some coming up from the floor, some hanging low enough to bang her head, and she cried out for the cat to stop. In order to keep from pulling the tail, she had to let go of it.

Those are the teeth of the cave, the cat explained. They rise up from the bottom or clamp down from the top. Fortunately, the cave bites very, very slowly and we moving creatures are quite fast by comparison, so we never get eaten.

"Never?"

Not in my lifetime anyway, or that of my mother or my mother's mother or in her memory.

"Then you know that the cave is a Great Monster, too?"

The cave and all caves are Home, the cat said simply. And Home has what one needs. If we keep looking, we will find what you need here, too.

And much later, Coaxtl sat down and said, Ah. When the cat sat down, Goat-dung was forced to drop the tail, but that didn't matter then, because the cave was filled with a light of its own, and a warmth as well, that seemed to emanate from fissures in the wall.

Goat-dung recoiled and the cat turned and glared at her with eyes bright and hot as fires, shining like the jewels the Shepherd adorned himself with on his birthday. Coaxtl looked extremely fierce then, but all she said was, If you're not going to cook those birds after all this, then give them to me and I will eat them.

"No, I will eat them, once I cook them," Goat-dung said, clasping the geese to her and turning slightly so the cat couldn't swipe them away with one big paw.

Despite her fears, despite her sure knowledge that she was in the belly of the Great Monster, Goat-dung felt less afraid than she had before. Here it was warm and light with a soft glow. A small circle of rock in the center of the floor kindled briefly into a true flame. Maybe it would open beneath her feet and devour her. Perhaps it was a trap, but it reminded her of the cookfires and that she was truly very hungry indeed, and tired, as well. She walked to it, sat down, and began plucking the geese, while Coaxtl fell asleep beside the fire, her breath rumbling contentedly.

Goat-dung gutted and roasted the bird on the rocks beside the fire. Looking down into it, she could see no coals, no bottom to the hole in fact, and that frightened her; but the rock was very warm by the fire, and the bird cooked slowly, so she ate the outer bits a little at a time. Then she crawled over to the cat and fell asleep, dreaming the sweetest dreams she could remember having: of her mother and of her father's voice and another cave.

She dreamed on and on, almost fearing to wake, until the soft furry support beside her was withdrawn and she slipped back against the cave floor with a thump. When she sat up, she realized that Coaxtl, too, was sitting up, listening to the voices that seemed to emanate from the walls of the cave.

Chapter 4

Mud is a great leveler and, although the military had put down plastic boardwalks so people could get around the muddy streets of Kilcoole, mud did provide a disguise of sorts. One mud-spattered person looked like any other, local or imported. As plastered with this camouflage as everyone else, Yana and Sean had no trouble reaching Adak's snocle shed. His precious vehicles were now in the loft, and one battered antique 4x4 was parked outside.

"It's not an official one," Yana said, peering at the sides for any SpaceBase markings.

"It's Adak's, all right. I hate to think when they last made those, or what Adak traded to get a hold of one, but somehow he keeps it running," Sean said, and, his hand on her back again, he propelled her quickly toward the mechanic's crawl—through set in the main door. He paused only briefly, listening. The only voice within earshot was Adak's, so they pushed through and into the smell, now redolent with oil and fuel and mud.

Adak turned from his comm station to see who his visitors were and his face lit up.

"Yes sir, I got the message. Only official communications. Right ye be! Over." He lifted the ear piece and rubbed exaggeratedly. "My, that man does go on. Slainte, Sean, Yana. Good to see you; what can I do to help? He glanced down at the comm unit and sniffed expressively.

Thanks, Adak," Sean said, grinning as he recognized the man's tacit willingness to disobey the orders he had just been given.

"We need to get in touch with Johnny Greene and Rick O' Shay."

"They're airborne," Adak said. Special missions."

Sean and Yana exchanged glances.

"What frequency are they on?" Yana asked.

Adak grinned more broadly. "Happen I just got word of 'em." He settled the ear piece again and held his finger over the keyboard. "Who'll I get ya first? Johnny or Rick?

''I'd say Rick," Sean replied.

Yana and Sean took turns explaining to Rick what was going down, what they wanted him to do, and how they thought he could accomplish it. Rick had already heard enough rumors to know almost as much as they did—and he was willing to help.

"Hell, all I'm doing right now is figuring out what roads are passable. A lot of equipment might need to be moved," he said, his voice taking on a gloomy tone. "Johnny's up and doing the same thing to the west. We've both had to swear allegiance and die-for-it oaths to Intergal, but shit, we crossed everything we could while taking it.' The customary lilt was back in Rick's voice. "Lemme get Johnny in on this where there aren't any ears to hear us."

"They've been monitoring you, then?" Yana asked, not too surprised.

"Not on this frequency, and I did a little twiddling with the bug they put in the cabin so you don't have to worry. Soon's Adak came on, I disconnected a wire. Shouldn't leave it loose much longer. But I'll leave word with Adak when Johnny and I've done what's needful. Might even get in one trip tonight if I can finagle it."

"You're top of the finaglers at SpaceBase," Adak said approvingly. "Code it?"

"Better. When I come on, ask me the mud level on the road to Tanana Bay. If I say it's ankle deep, that means Yana and Sean can meet me where Uncle Seamus collects water. If I say it's knee high, I'm having trouble. I'll get back to you soon's I can. Over and out."

"Hell," Adak said, rubbing his ear thoughtfully, "it's more than ankle deep and knee high everywhere. And I don't mean just the mud."

"Keep yourself out of trouble if you can, Adak. We need you at the comm unit," Sean said.

Adak laughed. "Those new guys don't know doodly about this here comm unit. It don't take kindly to rough hands and always goes all static and wheeing." He grinned. "Only old Adak knows its ways."

"We'll stop in at Clodagh's now, if you should need us," Sean said, guiding Yana toward the back exit.

The less-frequented paths actually showed some sturdy grass growth as they made their way behind houses and detoured back into the forest to avoid the new Intergal housing. One of the cats met them halfway to Clodagh's, and the tone of its greeting suggested that it was pleased to see them.

"No trouble?" Yana asked, not quite sure she was interpreting the creature accurately.

Sean grinned, but he kept looking at the ground as they went from mud to snow to the new grass. "No, no trouble. Except . . ." He frowned. "We might just have the longest growing season ever and we've got to plan, also, to take advantage of that! It could prove crucial."

Yana felt a shiver up her spine and agreed with him whole heartedly at the word "crucial," knowing that Sean and the others were concerned about what would happen if Intergal cut the planet off from outside supply lines entirely. Though Petaybee was largely self-sufficient, the growing season usually was too short to provide enough fruits and vegetables and other plant-derived products. A longer growing season would mean less reliance on outside sources—and yes, that certainly could be crucial.

Evening was closing in as they approached Clodagh's house. They could hear banging and pounding and the sound of boards being shifted, and Yana grinned: someone was doing some of the much—needed repairs of a structure that had been held together by ice in the winter but needed nails and mortar now that the weather was warmer. All over the village people were engaged in similar pursuits. Yana peered around the corner of the house where all the banging was, to tell Clodagh they were there, but as Sean opened the door, she saw that Clodagh was inside. From the look of the interior, the big woman had also been thinking along the same lines as Sean.

The kitchen was even more filled than usual with good smells, but these did not emanate from the pot that normally sat simmering on her stove. Instead, the earthy odors came from tiers of warming trays raised above the stove and stacked with stones. On the trays were tiny clay pots holding shoots of greenery, and it was from these the smells came. The kitchen table was also covered with little pots and soil and bundles of dried flowers and piles of seeds.

"Slainte, Sean, Yana," she said, looking up from where she sat spread-legged on the floor, her skirts hiked up above her moon-shaped pale while knees and colorful hand-knit stockings. Between her knees and her feet and all around her were more pots, more seed packets, and trays of potting compost. Inspecting with critical sniffs all the interesting items laid out to be worked on were various members of the orange-marmalade cat battalion. Two had curled up to sleep in one potting tray not quite large enough for their bulk: they spilled over like immense orange alien plant-forms. "Did you two think of any songs?"

"Quite a few," Sean said, fondly leering at Yana.

'Nothing we could repeat in polite company though," Yana said. "How about you?"

I got a couple. Mostly though, I thought I ought to make these plants ready to send out to the other villages, and see if while we're sendin' folk around, they could collect starts from other places."

"I was just commenting that we'll have a longer than usual growing season,'' Sean said.

"Prob'ly," Clodagh said. "Unless Petaybee has other ideas."

Bunny poked her head in the door. "Slainte, Uncle Sean. Slainte, Yana and Clodagh. For cat's sakes, Clodagh, don't most people garden outside?"

"Only some of this is for my garden, Bunka. The rest will be presents. But right now, help me clean this up or there won't be room for anybody to stand when the rest of the village gets here."

"Okay. C'mon, Diego," the girl said. Diego stepped shyly inside. In one hand was a piece of wood, in the other a knife. He closed and pocketed the knife and set the billet down by the door.

"It's very considerate of you to bring your own firewood, lad, but I'm not usin' so much these days as to need it."

"That's going to be his guitar," Bunny said.

"Oh, really?" Clodagh asked, widening her eyes in mild query.

"Only part of it," Diego said. At sixteen, he was a shy dark boy with beautiful eyes and an unruly lock of black hair that kept falling over them. When he had first come to Petaybee, he'd suffered from the skin blemishes common to young adolescents, but the planet's dry air had cleared them up. His voice had already changed to a most satisfactory baritone, and he was rapidly becoming gorgeous. "This wood—Uncle Seamus said it was well-seasoned cedar—probably will be good for the neck. I haven't found anything for the body, but . . ."

"The planet will come up with something, don't you worry," Clodagh told him, beaming up at him with that wide sunny smile that, along with the cascade of wavy black hair now tied back with a thong, was her other greatest beauty. "Come now, give me a hand."

From the doorway came another familiar voice. "I can take some of those outside for you now, Clodagh, if you're ready."

Yana turned to see the eminent Dr. Whittaker Fiske, major company stockholder and board member, sticking a hammer back in the heavy webbed belt he wore strapped over dark gray fatigue pants. Clodagh's bone-knit medicine and the modern ministrations available to company elite had, in the last six weeks, largely healed his broken arm and injured leg: now he merely wore a light bandage for support and walked with the slightest of limps. He wore a navy blue rib-knit sweater and a matching light stocking cap rather rakishly perched over one ear and stood with his hands on his hips, grinning widely and looking immensely pleased with himself.

"Dr. Fiske!" Yana exclaimed. "How'd you get here?"

"Walked," he said. "Great therapy, walking. I used to walk the hills around Trondheim all the time when I was stationed back on Earth. Takes years off you."

Sean cast a sidelong glance at Fiske, though his own smile didn't leave his face. He knew the doctor well enough to know he was on the side of Petaybee, but Whit Fiske was, nevertheless, an outsider in the employ of the opposition. If Clodagh had no problem with him, Yana hardly thought anyone else would object, but there was tension in the air that hadn't been present before.

"Dr. Fiske," Yana said, taking his arm, "I had no idea you were so handy."

"We world builders are versatile men," he said.

"There was a little matter I wanted to discuss with you privately," she said.

"After the meeting then," he told her, rather to her surprise. He patted her hand and disengaged her arm. "Clodagh asked me particularly to stay. If I am going to represent the company interest in utilizing Petaybee's assets to the fullest while maintaining the integrity of the planet and the autonomy of the inhabitants, then I need to be working with the locals on every aspect of the operation."

"Well, if Clodagh feels that it's a good idea and you don't think it's a conflict of interests . . ." Yana said. "In that case, can you help secure enough fuel to get a plane to the southern pole?"

"I think I could do that, yes,—he said, with a wink over his shoulder as he went to give Clodagh a hand to get to her feet.

Bunny and Diego cleared all the seedlings to the sides of the room just before people began steadily to arrive and crowd into Clodagh's tiny house, twenty squeezing into a space that would comfortably accommodate about a dozen. Clodagh explained to the villagers what the cats had imparted to her. Nobody questioned her, being accustomed to Clodagh and knowing that her information tended to be reliable, however she got it.

"So," she said. "I think maybe it would be good if we started off in big groups together. Then folks can break off as we reach the villages they want to get to. When we've done what we've set out to do, we can join up again on the way back. That way if anybody gets lost or gets into some kind of trouble, there'll be somebody to notice."

The crowd voiced assent.

Sinead said, "Aisling and I will take Shannonmouth, since there's trading we want to do there anyway."

"I can't believe McGee's Pass is going against us," Bunny said. "Remember how grateful the Connellys were to you, Clodagh, when you sent them that medicine for their dogs? After the dogs got well, they drove all the way up here to bring you that parka Iva Connelly made for you."

"That was a few years ago, Bunka, back before they got the new shanachie," Clodagh reminded her.

"That shouldn't change gratitude any! I promise I'll be very respectful of the new shanachie, just like I was with old McConachie. I'd like Diego to meet the Connellys and, anyway, they'd be the best ones in McGee's Pass to tell us what's going on."

Clodagh paused. Sending youngsters to one of the trouble spots worried her until Sean said, "Yana and I will go with them and then on to Harrison's Fjord. I'd like Buneka to join us there, so she can see the place where Aoifa and Mala began their expedition."

"Good.''

The other assignments were made. Liam Maloney agreed to go to Deadhorse, then chanted a new song about the death of his mother while she was away from the planet being questioned by Intergal.

"Dog-woman, snow-woman, run-with-the-wind-woman

Mother-woman with the steaming springs

Streaming in her veins

Woman to whom the birds sang

Woman whose voice was soft with snow

Woman so warm, so warm

No ice could freeze her

No avalanche stop her breath

"Her feet were stilled when they left the ground.

Her breath was stopped in closed rooms

Where the wind never blows

She turned cold in hot rooms

Her steaming blood all bubbled away

Her voice stilled where no birds sang

Only the croaking of carrion-crows.

Aijijai."

During the recital Liam had looked straight ahead, his eyes closed, his mouth twisting around the words with a mixture of tenderness and bitterness. When he finished his song and his eyes opened, they were full of pain and defiance, and when his mouth closed, his jaw set tightly.

Diego glanced down and away, and Yana saw that Bunny was holding his hand in a fierce, comforting grip. One of Lavelle's last guide jobs, the one she was being questioned about when she died, had been to rescue Diego and his father from a blizzard. Diego had become very close to Lavelle during the trip and resented her unnecessary death almost as much as her family did.

'That is a good song, Liam," Eamon Intiak said. "I have one I'm making to sing to everyone about how the company men snatched us up from the Earth and put us on Petaybee because they wanted our lands on Earth and now they want to take Petaybee."

"Wait a minute, son," Whit Fiske said, standing apart from Clodagh for a moment. His chin was raised a little defensively as he spoke, although his tone was as genial as ever. "I think most of you know me and know that I have a lot of feeling for what you folks are up against. But the company is a fact of life here, and let's not make it worse than it is already."

''You just say that because your granddad put us here Liam accused.

"No, son, I don't."

"I'm not your son. Your people killed my mother."

"His name is Liam Maloney, Whit," Clodagh said.

"Thanks, Clodagh. No offense intended, Mr. Maloney. You're partly right. My grandfather was partially responsible for choosing Petaybee to Terraform, and for the process that made the planet fit to live on, but he didn't actually put anybody here. The resettling was done by another branch of the company. And yes, they had certain ulterior motives: at the time, those lands on Earth were very much prime real estate. But there were other reasons, too. So, before you folks decide the company is responsible for all your troubles, I think a little reminder of historical fact is needed. Does anybody have any idea what I'm talking about?"

Yana groaned inwardly. Fiske, with what she was sure were good intentions, had put his foot squarely in his mouth. For a diplomatic man, he had lousy timing. People here didn't read and write, and their songs tended to be about personal events or about the conditions they survived on the planet: at least, she'd never heard any historical ballads. Should she speak up and give Fiske some support?

Would it do any good? She wasn't a native Petaybean, either.

"You're talking about the War for Unification, Whit?" Sean asked.

"Among others," Whittaker answered, trying not to show how relieved he was. "Half the ancestors of those here in Kilcoole would have died if we hadn't evacuated to Petaybee the faction they were part of—the ones who were getting their asses kicked."

"And those doing the kicking?" Bunny asked, cocking her head in a semi-critical fashion.

"Went to other habitable planets. We weren't about to settle ancestral enemies together,"—Whittaker said with a snort. "The company figured that, with warring factions split up, enough new land to go around, and no traditional enemies to fight, their energies would be put to good use and there'd be enough of them left to hand down the good traits they had submerged to fight. Then the company could restore the fought-over and very battered real estate on Earth. Everyone would end up with more than they would have had otherwise. Most importantly, they'd end up alive."

"Ah, sure and I'm moved to tears, Doctor darlin', to hear how kind you've been to us poor savages," Adak surprised Yana by saying with his brogue-deepened sarcasm.

"I'm not trying to white wash the company or its decisions," Whittaker said. "But there were some altruistic and ethnic preserving reasons operating at the time. Company people aren't all bad, any more than everyone on this planet is all good. The sociologists who designed the population balance tried not only to mix people used to cold weather with those who weren't, but also to mix groups who might get along with each other and share characteristics that would make for a more successful adjustment to the environment."

"Yes, and we turned out very well, Whit, thank you," Clodagh said, and tugged on his webbed belt for him to return to her side, exhibiting her approval of what he had explained. It was a good point to make. What we want to do is to stand together and tell the company what we want what Petaybee wants. Just makin' somebody else to blame isn't gonna help the planet. We got to get people to understand, and you can't do that while you're shoutin'. Now then, Eamon, why don't you go speak to the folks up at New Barrow?"

When everyone had a destination, Clodagh handed out the seedlings, good will gifts for the hoped-for long growing season. Some people were using the trips as an excuse to visit relatives they hadn't seen in a while, and by the time everyone left, the venture had lost its bitter edge and was infused with something of a holiday spirit.

Chapter 5

Merde alors! thought Marmion de Revers Algemeine as she looked out the shuttle window at a piebald landscape covered half with mud, half with dirty ice and snow. What have I gotten myself into this time? Oh, well, I promised Whit! No one in their right mind would want Mad Matt to make a unilateral decision on anything, up to and including when people should be allowed to use the sanitary facilities.

Vice-Chairman Matthew Luzon had already started his program," Marmion suspected, when he insisted that the shuttle pilot divert to the site of "this so-called" volcano the planet was supposed to have—extruded? No, the word was erupted. They were also to swing past the area where Whittaker Fiske and everyone were supposed to have had their senses taken over by this so-distant "sentient" planet.

Marmion rather liked the notion of a planet with a mind of its own. So few people could boast that sort of decisiveness. Especially Mad Matt. She chided herself for using that term: who knew when she might tactlessly blurt it out by mistake? Her tongue sometimes didn't wait for mental censorship anymore. Did that show she was getting some sense? Or losing what she had?

No, she wasn't losing an iota of her good sense, she told herself firmly, remembering the fiscal coup she had just contrived with three supposedly moribund technical companies. They'd each had something the others needed, and none of their CEOs had had the sense to compromise an inch in a takeover, hostile or friendly. So, last year, she'd instructed one of her holding companies to buy out all three. Banging the right heads together and leaving the sensible ones in charge had resulted in such a whopping great net profit after taxes that she'd soon have to form yet another holding company to hide that financial triumph. No matter how Mad Matt—no, no, no, Matthew—boasted of his own recent successes, she'd done better than he had by several billions. But she wasn't one to brag.

"You can't really deny that that's one of the shapes volcanoes assume," she said, having heard what Matthew was muttering to one of his numerous assistants.

"And, my dear, how ever did you know there are various types of volcanoes? Matthew asked in that smarmy voice of his. His assistants smiled fatuously at him and superciliously at her.

'Because I have a master's degree in geology," she said, smiling sweetly at all of them.

'But it's not doing anything now," Matthew remarked, and pointed out the square window that gave a good view of the "dimple" of the cone as the shuttle circled. Not so much as a wisp of smoke or a belch of ash was visible, but for kilometers around the land was shades of gray from cooling lava or wet, mud-streaked ash.

"If you've seen enough, Dr. Luzon," the pilot said over the intercom, "I'll proceed to the cave-site coordinates."

Matthew flicked a hand at one of his assistants, who immediately issued the actual order.

"Are we going to land and investigate the cave, Matthew?" Marmion asked ingenuously.

"I just wanted to orient myself for the purpose of further on-the-spot investigations."

"Wise."

He made a big show of peering down at the site when they reached it minutes later. Marmion needed only to confirm that the rocky up thrust of the cliff was visibly a limestone formation and most certainly riddled with caves. Since Whittaker Fiske was unlikely to fall for illusions, much less delusions, she'd take the rest of his report as valid until she had substantial reason to doubt it. Whit was not one to jeopardize either his position with Intergal or his reputation with wild and unprovable statements.

"This is the right place?" Matthew asked, his expression bland, but Marmion knew not to trust that.

"We're right over the coordinates I was given, Dr. Luzon," the pilot said. "The stream is visible and the ledge, and my scanner's picking up the copter footprints on the nearest possible landing surface. Several footprints, and different size copters."

"Can't deny the evidence, can we?" Matthew said. "All right. Proceed for an aerial pass over that town that young Fiske mentioned Kil . . something."

"Kilcoole, Matthew," Marmion said helpfully, as if aiding someone with a faulty memory. There was not a thing wrong with Luzon's memory, it had proved far too accurate too often. Perhaps not honest, or properly evaluating the memories, but the details were always indisputably proffered. Details were Matthew's chief weapons—the details that others might forget or misremember. Then he'd pounce with that deadly and devious accuracy of his.

Kilcoole, as seen through the shuttle windows, was a hodgepodge of widely spaced roofs, some merely darker patches under well-branched trees, with narrow brown tracks, bordered by muddied boardwalks. Not many people were about, though she saw some industrious souls making repairs, and a few others digging up garden-size squares behind their houses. She approved of such occupations. She enjoyed taking care of the extraterrestrial flowers and plants she nurtured in a cleverly connected succession of domes, set at the required temperatures, gravities, and air mixtures that the exotics required. She had fond memories of once being able to get hands and nails dirty, mucking in the small garden of the first house she and Ulgar Algemeine had bought. How young they had been!

She mentally shook those fond memories away and listened to what Matthew was saying.

"Crude in the extreme. How long has this—this place," he asked, managing to pour a great deal of contempt into the one word, "been established—if you can possibly call that huddle of huts 'established'?" His assistants did not answer and Marmion had no intention of interrupting him. "And this . . . place harbors the dissidents? Kilcoole, indeed. Kill cool is what we shall do to such pretensions."

"Are you sure of that?" Marmion asked in a languid tone. ''I feel we are perhaps a tad over civilized at times. Matt, dear. We've lost the common touch—"

"Thank God," Matthew said explosively.

"—that would permit us to evaluate the struggle against climate and conditions. I do find it appealing that amid all the snow and mud, they're already starting gardens!"

Matthew snorted. "Gardens? More than square-meter plots are required to adequately feed even this indolent population. They can't expect Intergal to continue to support them with expensive importation's of subsistence rations."

Marmion raised one hand in a gesture of indolent appeal. "I don't believe rations are imported to Petaybee, Matthew. Do check, one of you," she said, flicking her fingers at his assistants, "because I have the oddest recollection that they are actually self-sufficient."

"Not with the quantities of fuel and—"

'Fuel is for vehicles, not humans, Matthew. Haven't you got those figures for me yet?" Her attitude remained indifferent, but the slight edge to her tone made the skinny one of Matthew's sycophants tap with greater rapidity at his notepad.

"No, sir, ma'am, no rations are imported for the indigenous population." Then he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbling up and down.

Marmion had to look away. The poor dear Matthew would probably taunt him about that when he was in one of his moods. And the other young men—Matthew only had young men as assistants, which rather gave away something, at least to Marmion, that Matthew would probably rather not have known—were all reasonably attractive and looked fit and able for anything physically taxing. Trust Matthew to make the most of comparisons.

"Thank you, dear," Marmion said to the skinny lad. "And do tell me your name again . . . my memory, you know."

In point of fact, Matthew had not bothered to introduce any of the assistants, although she had pointedly introduced Sally Point-Jefferson, her personal secretary; Millard Ephiasos, her research assistant; and Faber Nike, whose position on her staff she had not designated. Too many people presumed that Faber's large muscular frame and quiet deference marked a deficient intelligence and lack of personality. Too many people were wrong. Especially those who thought Faber was a bed mate. Marmion made a habit of hiring versatile, multi-talented people. It saved money and engendered loyalty and discretion.

"My name is Braddock Makem, madam," was the reply, couched in the lowest possible audible tone.

"Thank you, Mr. Makem." She smiled. It never hurt, and for all she knew it might gain her a discreet ally on Matthew's staff.

"Stop trying to charm my staff," Matthew said testily, giving Makem a piercing glare. Makem's apple did an unhappy series of perpendicular maneuvers.

"I've given up on that score long ago, Matthew," she lied shamelessly. "You really do know how to incur loyalty among your staff. I could use a little of that genius." Then, because she was near to laughter at the expression on all those startled earnest faces, she abruptly focused her eyes on the passing landscape. "Ah, the river that suddenly de-iced itself. My, it is turbulent," she said. "And overrunning its banks, too. Flood control apparently is another local lack. But, oh, glance over toward the clear fields, Matthew. Someone's out there doing something to the ground. Plowing? Is that what you call it? And what on earth would you call the beasts they have harnessed to that queer device?" She had everyone on her side of the shuttle to see this archaic activity. "Well, isn't that nice, Matthew. They heard you."

Matthew favored her with a sour glare. She could almost see the phrase "they'll hear me loud and clear" coming out in a bubble from his tightly shut lips. Certainly that was the expression evident in his glare.

A little noise, like a suppressed cough, issued from the seats behind her. Faber, more than likely, she thought. He'd never said as much, of course, but she knew he despised Matthew Luzon. Almost as much as she did, and Sally and Millard for that matter. She'd chosen this team very well indeed.

Then the shuttle was within sight of SpaceBase and its ridiculously colored auxiliary buildings. Who had the tastelessness to use such awful colors? Marmion wondered. Probably every color of paint rejected throughout Intergal had ended up here, on the walls of this eye sore.

She did not, however, as Matthew did at length, comment on the condition of the landing field, with its craters and cracks and the blocks of plascrete that had been elevated by the seismic activity. As they seemed localized on the field, Marmion was quite charmed by the notion of a sentient planet that could so specialize its internal effects to cause the most discomfort to the inhabitants it did not wish to remain on its surface. A most considerate friend and formidable enemy, such an entity would be, if it was possible.

And who was to say it was not? Marmion shrugged. She had a fondness for mysteries in this over analyzed universe in which she lived. Enigmas attracted her curiosity, and solving them gave her a chance to stretch her mind and resources. How wonderful if this truly proved to be the enormous and complex puzzle the report promised! Whether it was quite what the locals claimed or not, however, there had to be more here than the prosaic scene below, or the official explanations of the uncanny events detailed in the reports, no matter how disparaging the "logical" explanation. Or accurately detailed. She was quite delighted she had come, and should this planet prove to be a sentient entity, she would be even more delighted to make its acquaintance. She hoped, rather whimsically, that the planet would respond as well to her and not judge her too harshly by the company she kept.

There was, of course, much fan fare as the shuttle landed on one of the few level portions of the field. A proper welcoming committee was there, and if no red carpet had been spread, the plascrete had obviously been scrubbed clean of the mud and goo that was smeared over most of the rest of the landing area. The ground vehicles gleamed with a high wax finish in the clear sunlight.

Her lungs took in the spring—crisp air in great gulps. She was almost dizzy with the intoxication of undeniably fresh air.

"Oh, my word, air! Give me air like this wherever I go," she said dramatically, one hand on her heaving chest.

Matthew shot her a disgusted glance. "Marmion, the air may appear to be fresh, but you cannot be sure it isn't filled with bacteria and microbes that will have a deleterious effect on your health. Which we must preserve!" he added with that dreadful smile he affected when he was pretending to be solicitous while really hoping the person he was talking to would fall over dead.

By quickly linking her arm in Faber's, she neatly avoided contact as Matthew held out a hand to help her down the scrupulously clean stairs. Faber escorted her deftly to the ground, but Sally and Millard had to wait until Matthew and his minions had disembarked. Maybe Sally would be able to make some sort of impression on one of the handsome, physically fit young assistants. She usually managed. She'd have to be very clever with Matthew's boys, but that's what Sally was: clever, astute, discreet, and exceedingly intelligent.

Once more into the fray, dear friends, Marmion thought as she observed Captain Torkel Fiske in full flash uniform, standing just slightly ahead of his father—rather naughty of Torkel, she thought. Whittaker was dressed far more casually, but she'd never seen him look so fit and happy. Happy, she thought, wondering that that adjective should spring to mind. Who had time to be "happy" in the Intergalactic society of which she, Whittaker, and Matthew were part? In any event, she smiled at Whittaker, as he neatly elbowed his son out of the way to be first to greet her.

"Is your arm all healed? And the leg wound?'' she asked solicitously as they embraced. He wore a support bandage on his arm and she'd noticed just the faintest hint of a limp as he moved.

"Of course, Marmie. You can't keep an old dog like me down. I not only had Intergal's best medicos working on me, but the best immediate and convalescent medical care available here. I'll say that for this planet—good for your health," Whittaker said. Releasing her—a trifle reluctantly, she felt—he turned to shake hands, showing just the right deference and enthusiasm, with Matthew. "You are welcome, Matthew. Your input will be invaluable."

Liar, Marmion thought, but she smiled vacuously as the two men went through the courtesies.

Matthew introduced his gaggle of ganders to Whittaker, adding the provenance of each and their area of expertise. That is, he introduced all but poor Adam's Apple.

"And this is Braddock Makem," she said, smiling brightly first at Matthew, then at Whit, and finally at poor startled Makem. "You remember Sally, I'm sure, Whit. And Millard and Faber, who are my staunch henchmen."

Whit shook hands with her assistants and then waved everyone to the waiting vehicles. The travel bags had already been unloaded and were on their way to whatever accommodations this depressing place might have for people of her and Matthew's prestige.

"We've laid on a fine meal for you, Marmie," Whit said, making sure he sat beside her in the large personnel transport. Its seats, hard as they were, had been re-covered with rather fine furs.

"How kind of you," Marmion replied, and then, feeling the soft texture of the covers, she said, "And are these locally produced?" She did not have to pretend her enthusiasm, for she had seldom felt such beautifully cured natural pelts.

"Yes," Torkel Fiske answered from the double seat behind her. "It's the one thing they do very well here."

"Really?" she asked, managing to keep the irony out of her rejoinder. "How interesting! You must show me more," she said languidly. "I really could use some new stoles. Maybe a muff or two for when I have to stand in freezing airlocks and transfer stations."

"Better let young Fiske buy for you, Marmion," Matthew said. "The moment they heard your off world accent, they'd quadruple the price."

"No, we do that!" Whittaker said at his drollest.

Marmion snuggled against him, wrapping her fingers about his arm and squeezing them slightly. "It's so good to see you, Whit! Whatever's been going on down here, it's really brightened you up. I do believe you were getting office—bound."

Whittaker chuckled and jerked his head at the very upright, disapproving back of Matthew Luzon sitting in front of them.

Marmion squeezed his arm again. "A field trip is what we've all needed to get the juices flowing and the lungs filling with good clean air." Luzon's shoulders twitched, and Marmion felt Whittaker's ribs moving in silent laughter. "We'll all put our minds to this little problem and sort it out in next to no time. Won't we, Matthew?"

His terse answer was lost in a screech of badly worn brake pads, as the carrier halted in front of a building, freshly painted in an aggressively bright yellow.

"Sorry about the color, Marmion," Whittaker said when he saw her wince. "All that's left in Stores, but at least it's clean and bright."

This time Matthew's snort of disgust was plainly audible. As he walked to the door, his body language spoke of displeasure, resentment, and aggravation.

"Oh, dear, we're in for it," Marmion murmured so that only Whittaker heard her. "I believe we are," he responded as quietly.

"Fore warned is fore armed," she added, and then rose to walk as gracefully as ever down the aisle and up the steps and into the incredibly yellow building.

Chapter 6

The long multi-segmented caravan divided, then subdivided, and subdivided again. The first to leave were Sinead and Aisling, who went visiting Shannonmouth, closest to Kilcoole of the three villages on the route. Although Sinead could ride all day, Aisling did not travel as well, especially on horseback. Most of the time she preferred to walk and lead her curly-horse, chatting to the mare as frequently as she addressed Sinead, Sean, Yana, Bunny, or Diego. The mare seemed oblivious to the burdens she carried: bundles of blankets, sewing things, and decorating materials, as well as a back pack and a bale of finely tanned furs from Sinead's winter hunt.

Bunny thought it was aces traveling with this particular group. She was so used to Diego now, she'd be lost without his company, and she had liked Yana Maddock since Day One and looked forward to having her as an auntie when she and Sean got hitched. And both Sinead and Sean knew all sorts of special places where they could sleep under cover. With the people traveled Alice B, Sinead and Aisling's lead dog; Nanook, one of the track-cats who lived out at Sean's lab; and Dinah, the Maloneys' lead dog, who had taken such a shine to Diego that she preferred his company to Liam's. She also liked Bunny: when Bunny stroked her, she could even receive Dinah's somewhat frenetic communications.

After leaving Sinead and Aisling in Shannonmouth, the group continued on, following the river that snaked uphill past McGee's Pass. There the river was joined by the Iffy, so called because it was iffy if it ran or not, depending on the season, and how frozen it was or how dry the weather had been. The Iffy was in full spate now, pouring its glacial white waters into the clear Shannon; the two mingled murkily all the way to Harrison's Fjord.

As Bunny and Diego parted from Sean and Yana, Sean said, "Listen, you two. By all means, visit the Connellys and, if you can do so, find out what's going on. But, if feeling is very strong in favor of the mines, leave and come find us, and we'll all do it together. I want you to meet us at Harrison's Fjord in three days' time. It's only a day to the Fjord, so that gives you two days to suss things out.

Okay? I'd like to have more time, but with the PTBs arriving soon, Yana and I have got to catch a ride down under as soon as we've finished our business and Johnny or Rick are free."

"Can we go down under, too?" Bunny asked.

"I doubt if the aircraft will be big enough to hold four passengers," Yana said. "Using one of the smaller copters is wisest. Now, get going so you'll reach the Connellys in time to be invited for supper. Sean and I have a ways to go yet."

Later, when the adults disappeared around the base of the next hill and Bunny and Diego steered their curlies toward the pass, Bunny said, "Did you hear? They didn't say no! We might get to go down under, Diego!"

"What's it like?" he asked.

"I don't know. Never been. Different from here though I think. I've never heard of anyone coming up from the southern pole. You have to cross a whole big ocean, and that just isn't smart to do in our little boats. I guess they don't have any bigger ones down there or we'd see more of them up here. My parents were trying to prove a theory about an undersea passage from the caves near Harrison's Fjord when they disappeared. Hey! What if they got through and the passage—you know, something went wrong with it, so they couldn't come home, but when we get down there we'll find them!"

"I wouldn't get my hopes up," Diego said. "It's been how many years now?"

"I dunno. Over ten. I was real little when they left."

"I'd think in all that time they'd have found somebody to bring word back, knowing how worried everybody would be. Of course, if it was my mom," he added, his tone turning wry, "she'd get so involved with her work she'd never notice she forgot to bring me with her, but you people aren't like that."

"Well, thanks a lot. But I prefer to hope, if it's all the same to you. Or isn't anybody else supposed to? You got your father back. I guess that's all that matters."

"I didn't mean for you to take it that way, Bunny. I wouldn't have got my dad back if it wasn't for you and Clodagh and everybody, and sure I hope there's people who will help your folks down under. I'd just hate to see you get all excited and be disappointed."

"I'll be excited if I want to," she said tartly. "And I've been disappointed before."

Diego didn't say anything, and Bunny regretted being so sharp with him. He was probably just showing how much he cared about her, as Aisling would say. But he was only two years older than she was, and he shouldn't treat her like a kid.

So after that, they rode in silence until they rounded the bend at the foot of the pass and were greeted by a roaring wind funneling through the cleft and almost blowing them back down to the Shannon.

Flattening themselves against the necks of the curlies, they trudged up the trail, which was some what less muddy than the flatlands. The air was also noticeably chillier. Dinah dropped behind the horses and padded along in the shelter of their sturdy bodies.

McGee's Pass wasn't very big. Not even as big as Kilcoole, Bunny thought with surprise as they rode between the first pair of houses. There were only about eight houses, situated fairly close together, lining the wide spot in the trail that passed for a road. The road was heavily churned up and tracked into ruts, ridges, and pockmarks lightly covered with a recent sprinkling of snow, making the footing extremely slippery and uneven.

The houses were unimproved original company issue, shored up with pieces of timber, stones, mud bricks, plascrete, hides, and whatever else was handy. As in Kilcoole, the ground was littered with the refuse of many long winters and warm seasons not quite warm enough to melt the snows.

"Everybody must be inside having lunch," Bunny said of the deserted streets.

But that didn't explain the quiet. She saw no dogs, no curlies, nothing except one lone marmalade cat trying to catch what warmth it could on a plascrete roof.

Dinah wandered from house to house, object to object, sniffing and whining, barking once or twice, and sniffing and whining some more. At one place, she paused to urinate near a doorstep.

The cat looked down at her as if considering jumping on her back for a ride. Dinah jumped up, pawing the house, and barked sharply. The cat rose and stretched itself, and jumped lightly down from the roof onto a barrel and then to the ground.

After a mutual sniff, the cat sauntered up the street, its tail describing arches in the air above its back, while Dinah struggled not to run over the creature in her haste to go wherever the cat was going.

Bunny and Diego followed the dog. The cat walked out of town, which wasn't all that far to go, and up toward the pass, and then abruptly disappeared into a bush beside the trail.

Bunny and Diego dismounted. A voice came from behind the bush, then suddenly, many voices, and then the bush moved aside and a person appeared in what turned out to be the entrance to a cave.

The person, a man who looked a bit like Bunny's uncle Adak, seemed startled to see them. "Who are you? What are you doing here? What do you want? he demanded, blocking the entrance to the cave.

"Slainte," Bunny said as normally as possible. After all, if these people were supporting the company instead of the planet, she wasn't surprised that they might be a little defensive. "I was looking for the Connelly family. I thought they lived around here."

"Who is it askin' after the Connellys?" a woman's voice asked from behind the man. "Krilerneg O'Malley, will you move your ass so the rest of us can get out."

"Is that you, Iva?" Bunny asked. As O'Malley did as he was bid, she saw that it was indeed Iva Connelly, or someone who looked very much like her, coming out into the daylight.

Unlike the unmannerly O'Malley, the woman cleared the doorway and came over to the horses, allowing a stream of men, women, and children to emerge behind her.

"What is it, Ma?" a boy asked. He was a tall boy, not dark like most of the people Bunny knew, but fair-haired and blue-eyed.

The woman looked puzzled herself, and for a moment Bunny was afraid she'd got the wrong person.

"Slainte, dama," she said again. "I don't know if you remember me or not, but I'm Buneka Rourke, the snocle driver from Kilcoole. This is my friend Diego Metaxos."

"That's not a Kilcoole name," the boy said in a suspicious mutter.

"Never mind that, Krisuk," the woman said. "You've had a long journey, Bunka. You must be tired and hungry."

The people parted in front of another man now, this one dressed in skins and furs, all ornamented with beads the way Aisling did the latchkay blouses. More striking than his clothing, however, was his physical appearance. He was a very large man and very handsome, his hair worn in a black mane, with a trim black beard covering his chin and a heavy black mustache guarding his mouth.

"The others not only let him pass but actually shrank from him. He carried a staff with the skull of some small animal—a squirrel perhaps, although it looked more like . . . No, it couldn't be a cat's skull! Nobody would do anything so gruesome as to display the skull of a cat.

She did notice, however, that the marmalade cat, who had been there a moment before, had completely disappeared.

"Iva, my child, of course this lovely creature and her friend are tired and hungry. You must bring them to my house to eat and rest." He turned to Bunny and gave her a smile that invited her to admire him, and extended his hand less to shake hers than to sign a blessing at her. "I am Satok, the shanachie. Welcome to my village."

"Slainte, Satok," Bunny said. "And thanks for the invitation. I just came bringing greetings to the Connellys from our healer, Clodagh Senungatuk, but she has spoken of you and I know she will be glad to hear that I met you."

Iva Connelly spoke to the shanachie, and Bunny thought her manner unusually timorous for someone speaking to the town's rememberer and chief singer and storyteller. "Bunka is an important woman in Kilcoole, shanachie. She is one of two people permitted to drive the company's snocles. On her mother's side she is descended from the Shongili scientists. Her uncle is Sean himself, and she was all but raised by Clodagh, the healer."

The speech would normally have embarrassed Bunny, except that she had the oddest feeling that Iva was presenting her credentials, to show that Bunny was a person worthy of respect and under the protection of important and powerful people. Satok, apparently, took the speech as an advertisement for her—her charms? He was looking at her in the way of men who were courting, except more boldly and without deference.

"Fine recommendations indeed," he said, grasping her hand. "I am so honored that you have come to my village."

"We—uh—we brought a song to the Connellys from their friends in Kilcoole," Diego said rather sharply. "Come on, Bunny. Maybe we can visit the shanachie later, if there's time. We're on kind of a tight schedule. We're being expected soon, elsewhere."

Bunny, uneasy at the burning look she was getting from the shanachie, did not mind Diego intervening in her affairs this time. Iva Connelly shot them a relieved glance and one that was apologetic to the shanachie before she hustled them, the boy, and a passel of other relatives back to a house no bigger than Clodagh's.

Iva, her husband Miuk, and their own children and grandchildren, including the blond-haired boy, all lived under this roof. It smelled musky, of closeness and constant occupation. Except for six beds and a table, the furnishings were few and the food stores did not appear to be many.

"We brought our own supplies," Bunny told Iva. "And some seedlings from Clodagh. She and Sean both think this will be an unusually long growing season."

Iva did not respond to her remark at once. "Niambh," she said to one of the granddaughters. "Put the kettle on for our guests."

She sat herself down on one bed and motioned to Diego and Bunny to sit on another. The rest of the Connellys surrounded them closely. The youngest ones had to be deflected from the saddlebags, which intrigued them.

"That was kind of Clodagh, but I doubt we'll plant much this year," Miuk said. "We'll be busy helping Intergal at the new mine sites."

Bunny tried not to act surprised. The cats' information, after all, was accurate. That marmalade rascal who had led them to the meeting cave was no doubt a useful informant.

Diego surprised her. He usually hung back in discussions, but now he leaned forward and gave Iva a penetrating look.

"And how," he asked, "does your shanachie feel about the possibility of newly opened mine sites?"

"Why, he thinks it's about time, of course. He says the planet is very offended that we refuse to accept all of its gifts. That's why the planet won't communicate with any of us anymore, but speaks only to Satok."

"What?" Bunny cried.

"Just as she says, girl, are you deaf?" Miuk said. "The planet now communicates its needs and we communicate ours to it only through Satok."

"Why? Isn't the planet 'mad' at him, too?" Diego asked, just managing not to sneer.

"You don't understand,—" Iva said. "You've had Clodagh to guide you, to keep you whole. But McConachie was old and not right in the head for a long time before he died. And no one else came forward for years. We—we lost touch. We misinterpreted things. We did wrong things. Offensive things. Until Satok came to interpret, everything got harder and harder for us. Animals didn't come to the dying places. The river didn't thaw for three summers. We couldn't grow gardens. Not until Satok came did we know what the problem was. We had angered the planet by not cooperating with the company when it wished our help to make its explorations."

"Which explorations?" Bunny asked. She wasn't aware that help had been recruited further afield than Kilcoole.

"There was one last year. Some fellas came looking for guides. They landed in a shuttle. I don't think they even went to SpaceBase. They said there was some kinda special minerals we were supposed to have here that they were lookin' for."

"There were others, too," Miuk said. "Ask Clodagh. Sometimes if what the company wanted was near Shannonmouth, people from Kilcoole would just send them on, or bring them this far and no farther. My brother Upik guided one group, but we never saw him again."

"I went out with my father and Lavelle Maloney with a group," Diego said in a quiet, intense voice. "We got into a white out. But we took refuge inside the planet. My father . . . well, he was bad for a while and almost died from the shock but Clodagh and Bunny and the others helped him and now he's better. That sort of thing seems to happen to a lot of company teams."

Iva shook her head. "They did not ask permission then.

As Satok says, we used to do it all wrong. He says that Miuk's brother and our other folks killed the company teams and the planet punished them—and us—because of it.

"Why does he tell you such lies?" Bunny asked. She had restrained herself long enough. Now she was really mad.

"He doesn't lie. As long as we've done what he says, made the payments he wants, things have been better."

"Payments?" Diego asked incredulously, sticking his jaw out.

"Just little things. Food, furs, some sewing for him, the best pups from the litters, and the best lead dog to train them."

"Oh, that sort of payments," Diego said in a tone of voice that Bunny had never heard him use. But she knew what he was leading up to. "And all your troubles have disappeared with his help?"

Universally solemn nods answered the query.

"And the planet doesn't mind you digging hard down into itself—Diego made a savage downward thrust with his hand, then gave a mean twist to his imaginary tool as it threw its imaginary contents onto the floor—and making big sores on its surface?"

There was a stunned rumble at his harsh words.

"You, young Diego, are a stranger, not of this planet. How can you pretend to know its wishes? How can you pretend to know our needs? You have no understanding of the planet, of us, or of how it is at Shannonmouth," Miuk said sternly, shifting his legs into an aggressive stance.

"Quite possibly I don't," Diego said, staring back at him so unafraid that Bunny was as proud of him as she was scared. "But I have a song to sing . . ."

Bunny breathed a secret sigh of relief. Diego was sure catching on fast. Out of inbred courtesy, everyone in the tiny house relaxed just that little bit that showed they would be receptive to a song, but not to more words that went against their shanachie. Of all the tense faces, Bunny noticed only one, that of the light-haired boy, Krisuk, that did not wear the same defensive, half-frightened look. She had mistaken Krisuk's expression for sullenness at first, but as Diego talked, the other boy's face relaxed and she saw that he was angry—and not at them. Diego, as if he'd been doing it all his life instead of just the past few months, lifted his head, half closed his eyes, and sang the song he had composed for the Kilcoole latchkay.

"I am new come, in storm, here.

A storm of heart and mind and soul.

I sought and found storm with Lavelle.

She saved me when the sled crashed down.

With the heat of her body she saved me.

With the wit of her mind she saved my father, too.

Saved me to see the cavern that all say I didn't see.

"But I saw the caverns and the water and the carving

Of wind and water.

I saw the gleaming snow, like jeweled cloth.

I saw the branches waving, the water talking.

The ice answering, the snow laughing. I saw

The animals of water and earth and they were

Talking, too.

They were kind to me and answered all my

Questions

But I do not know what questions I asked.

I do not know what answers I heard.

I know the cavern, the branches, the talking water.

The speaking ice and the laughing snow. I know

That you know it, too. So hear my song

And believe me. For I have seen what you have seen.

And I am changed. Hear my song. Believe me."

"Diego is no stranger to Petaybee. The planet has spoken to him," Bunny said quietly in the respectful silence that followed a true song. For she could see by their reception that the Connellys could recognize the song for what it was. "The planet speaks to few," Iva said, nodding her head.

"But here," Miuk said in a harsh voice, "the planet speaks to Satok and none other, and it is he we must obey in the name of the planet."

"Well spoken, Miuk." There were gasps of astonishment as Satok stuck his head through a carefully opened window. "Well sung, young traveler."

Iva quickly rose and opened the door. She was red with the embarrassment at the shanachie having to listen through a window to hear something going on in her house.

Immediately it occurred to Bunny that that might be how he knew so much of what went on in his village. Inside, he made straight for the bed on which Bunny and Diego sat. But Diego, acting quickly, shifted so that Satok would have to sit next to him instead of Bunny, as had been his very obvious intention.

"Then young traveler, do you think the planet says one thing for one town and something else for another?" Satok asked, his eyes glistening, his mouth set at a derisive slant.

"Your town is near mines, Kilcoole is not."

"But Lavelle was searching for mines, was she not, when your group became lost in white out?"

"We were, but well east of Kilcoole and well north of here," Diego answered calmly. Bunny thought he was much cleverer than the shanachie, who was obviously trying to catch him out.

"What else did the planet say to you that you made such a song?"

Diego looked up at the intimidating face of Satok. "The planet gave me words to sing, which I have sung. Now my mouth is dry, and we have come a long way to see Iva Connelly and thank her for gifts, bringing gifts in return."

"Bah!" Satok said with a scornful glance at the seedlings. "There will be no time for growing things when the company sends orders."

"There is time now," Bunny said, encouraged by Diego's attitude. "The days grow long enough and the soil here will soon be as ready as it is in Kilcoole. It takes nothing from the company to supply fresh food. The company only gives cans and dried stuff. Our people need fresh food."

Satok jumped to his feet. "I will tell what is good for my people, not you strangers." He whirled on Iva. "You will not accept these gifts." Iva's expression was terrified and shocked, but he ignored her. "When the planet feels that you are worthy of them, the planet will provide." Then, at his full and imposing height, he glared down at Diego and Bunny. "You were not invited." His thick fore finger pointed ominously at Diego. "You come here and try to tell my people what is proper." He pointed at Bunny, and a most curiously avid expression fleeted across his face. "The planet speaks through me, and I am the best judge of who and what is good for these people I will decide which gifts are acceptable for this portion of the planet. Your shanachie means well, but she is ignorant of our true needs. I will instruct you tomorrow, when you have rested."

With that he stalked out of the little house, pausing briefly to eye the curlies, leaving everyone nervous, staring at nothing, or actively trembling. Bunny shook with fury, and Diego had clamped his teeth down on his lip to keep from speaking. He gave Bunny one long look, and his shoulders sagged just like everyone else's did.

Iva could barely manage to be civil after that. She had been embarrassed in front of them by the shanachie's behavior, and embarrassed in front of the shanachie by theirs. She was furious with her husband, as well. She did not, however, refuse the provisions Bunny and Diego had brought in their saddlebags to augment the evening meal.

Bunny had little appetite. She was angry and, actually, somewhat shocked. She had never been so rudely treated in her life—not even by her nasty cousins. She had certainly never thought she'd see Clodagh's careful gifts spurned.

Diego was as silent and ate as little as she, and his eyes had a wary quality to them.

They bedded down that night on the floor, between the two bunks farthest from the fire. They were cold, since they had not brought their warmest winter gear with them. Back in Kilcoole, where it was so unseasonably warm, they had been unable to imagine it being quite so cold here.

Diego shivered, hugging himself and managing to look resentful as he did it.

The blond boy, Krisuk, was in one of the beds beside them, and he threw a quilt down to Diego. "Here you go," he whispered.

"Don't you need it?"

"I can put on my parka. I just wanted to tell you, it was great hearing you tell off that blowhard."

"You mean you don't think he's the heart and soul of the planet like everybody else here seems to?" Bunny whispered.

Krisuk made a rude sound, but quietly.

Just then, from outside the cabin, came a series of furious barks.

"Dinah!" Diego said, sitting straight up.

Iva and Miuk looked up, then pointedly rolled back over to sleep; the children other than Krisuk pulled their quilts up over their head. Soon the barking was replaced by scratching at the door and whining.

"She can't come in," Krisuk said. "His Highness has decreed that animals aren't allowed in the house with people."

But Diego was already at the door, unlatching it and bending over the agitated dog. Bunny rose, too, with Krisuk stealing softly behind her. Since the dog could not come in, Bunny and Krisuk joined Diego outside, where he was rubbing her fur and talking to her.

"She's trying to tell me something. I know she is," Diego said. "But she's so excited it's all scrambled."

"Darby and Cisco!" Bunny said, remembering the curlies.

"What?"

"Where are they?"

''I oh, shit!" he said.

Krisuk made a face. "At least he left the dog."

"Who?"

"You know—him," Krisuk said, pointing his chin up past where the houses ended. "He thinks anything worth having belongs to him. Besides, I saw the way he was looking at yer woman here." He nodded to Bunny. "I think he means to keep you here, as well as have the horses."

"He'll keep nothing," Bunny spat. "Including the hold he has over this village. I don't know how he's managed to do it, but I know that, if he's the only one who communicates with the planet here, there's something seriously wrong."

Diego said cautiously, "We did promise if we had cause to think this might get dangerous, we'd go meet Sean and the major first.''

"Well, we can't very well go without the horses now, can we?" Not and make it there in good time. We'd be sitting ducks for that—that—witch doctor!" She used the term she had heard some of the company men apply to Clodagh sometimes.

"Your horses are gone." Krisuk said in a hard, practical voice. "No one can have back what Satok has claimed."

Bunny put on the voice she had heard Aunt Moira use with recalcitrant children and puppies. "Don't be daft. Satok is just a man—a greedy one at that."

"Everyone says he's the voice of Petaybee."

"Everyone's gone bloody deaf then," Bunny said. "No one creature is the voice of Petaybee. In Kilcoole, anybody who wants to speaks with Petaybee. This planet is perfectly capable of making itself understood to anyone who cares to listen."

"Then why does it only speak to us through him? I hate him, but the only time anyone hears from the planet, or anything good comes to McGee's Pass, is when we go to the summonings in the cave up there."

"The one where we met you and your mother first?" Bunny asked.

"The same."

"Well, let's go back there then. I'm on good terms with the planet. I'm quite sure it won't refuse to speak to me. And besides, he might have hidden the curlies there."

"No, the horses will be up there," Krisuk said, gesturing with short jabs of his fingers, "at his house, on top of the cave, on the meadow above the ridge."

Dinah whined softly, and Diego stroked her. "You know, Bunny, I think the horses would follow Dinah, if they're not tied too tightly."

"He'd take your dog as well, or kill her."

"We'll see," Bunny said. Her chin jutted forward and her fists clenched as she marched up the road to the cave mouth. The wind was loud tonight, howling along the tree-tops and roofs, rattling doors and windows, picking up anything loose and banging it around. It occurred to Bunny that the planet was already speaking, if people would only listen, and the message was loud and clear. It was not pleased. Not pleased at all.

"Bunka, wait!" Krisuk whispered urgently. He grabbed her arm as he caught up with her.

Diego was at her other side. "We can't wait any longer. This guy already stole our horses. Who knows what he'll do next?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you. She"—Krisuk nodded to Bunny—"especially shouldn't go."

"Why not?"

"You didn't meet my older sister, Luka," he said. His tone was so angry and anguished that it stopped both Bunny and Diego in their tracks. They were just beyond the last house now, about two hundred paces from the cave mouth. "She got sent over to Deadhorse by Satok. But before that, he took her."

"What do you mean he took her?" Bunny asked. "You mean raped her?"

"No. Not at first, anyway. At first, he was such an important man, she was thrilled that he had chosen her. Why shouldn't he have? Even though I say it as her brother, she was the prettiest girl in the village, and a smart, hard worker, too. When she was younger, it was thought she might be a healer like Clodagh. She was always singing, always talked to everything in the friendliest fashion. She got kinda funny when she became a woman though. I think maybe people made too much of how pretty she was and what a good catch she would make. And the local fellows—well, there weren't many in her age group, and none of them were quite right. When Satok came, he flattered her with his attention, not just because she was pretty, but he played on her shaman powers too, how close she had always been to Petaybee. If I didn't hate him so much, I guess I would have to say he's not bad—looking. He seems bigger—than the other fellows here. She was very excited. Thought she had met her match. My parents thought she would marry him, but he just moved her up there with him, not that there was that much to move."

Slowly now, and more cautiously, they were walking against the wind, their heads bent together, their hair flying in each others' faces to hear what Krisuk was so urgently trying to tell them. As they reached the cave mouth and Krisuk thrust aside the bush that guarded it, the wind quieted as if it had suddenly been extinguished. Bending low, the three of them stepped inside.

Chapter 7

"Coaxtl, wake up. I think they've found me," Goat-dung said into the wispy fur of the cat's left ear.

Coaxtl stretched and yawned. Who has found us, youngling?

"The Shepherd Howling and the flock. They're coming to take me back."

Coaxtl rolled over and sat up on her haunches, front feet propping her erect as she listened to the low voices speaking in words that were not quite intelligible. After listening for a moment, the cat lay back down again.

Fear not, child, it is nothing but the voice of home.

The Shepherd Howling had spoken of the Great Monster, who seemed to be the same being the cat called Home, and how the monster had a voice, though the Shepherd always described it as a growl or a roar or a gnashing of teeth or spewing of spittle or something equally nasty. He said the Great Monster had its counter part in all of the tales of Earth, of the under world guarded by the bones of dead men and of terrible devouring fires and tortures. When he had her or any of the other members of the flock punished, he reminded them that if they didn't mend their ways, the Great Monster would do much worse to them when they died still in sin and error, uncorrected by his teachings.

Horrible serpents and worms and flame-belching beasts were supposed to guard the Great Monster, or be aspects of it. The underworld held all of these bad things, according to the Shepherd. Goat-dung wondered if she would see them. So far, she had only met Coaxtl.

The cat's unconcern should have lulled her back into exhausted relaxation from her adventures of the past two days. But she found that the voices—and the possibility of returning to the flock—had frightened her so much that she couldn't sleep.

"Did you ever hear," she asked the cat idly, "what it used to be like on Earth back in the olden days, before we were moved for our heinous crimes and sins to this cold place and put at the mercy of the Great Monster?

Goat-dung awaited the cat's answer with sleepy anticipation, for in spite of all of the things that she had hated about living in the Vale of Tears, and as much as she had feared the Shepherd Howling, she liked the stories that he and everyone else told constantly. They told stories of why it was good to cook one way and not another. Stories of why a house should be built in one way and not another. Stories of how horrible it had been in their homes before they came to the Vale of Tears. Stories of how they had first met the Shepherd. Although some of the stories were frightening and the pictures they made in her head filled her with revulsion, she missed the stories. She missed having them told to her. The stories were a respite from beatings and made work go faster. A lot of them were ones like those she had just been remembering, about how the Great Monster devoured people and twisted their lives, but some were nice, about the olden days on Earth. These were told mostly to make everybody feel sad for how much they had lost through their sins, but Goat-dung liked hearing them anyway.

Oh yes, the cat said. My grandam told my dam and said the tale was passed to her by an old, old male who was passing through on his way to die. But I don't think such stories are fit for cubs myself.

"What do you mean?"

The olden days were bad ones. First all of the things that make life good went away. Then for a time everything was sterile and made of not—real materials. Trees had leaves on them that were not alive and bark on them that was not alive, and they did not grow from the ground, for it was not alive either. Underfoot was hard and unyielding stuff, and between one and the sky were barriers. At first, some real air was allowed to pass through them but later, only light, and sometimes that light was not real, either. This was bad enough while it was clean and free of any tiny living things, but in time, the Earth became filthy, as well as dead. Finally, one of our kind had the sense to make certain that she and a male of her acquaintance were included in the manifest when creatures were chosen from our lands.

"What an odd story," Goat-dung said, and added severely, as the women did to her when she told them something they thought to be a lie, "That is not how the Shepherd Howling talks of old Earth."

The Shepherd Howling, the cat said, washing her long sharp claws one by one, eats his young.

Goat-dung considered this for a moment. True. Go on. Did the old male give your ancestress any details at all?"

Yes. I will tell it to you as it was told to her. Coaxtl gave a slight cough that was half a growl and began.

Long ago, in the time when our ancestors wore tawny coats, we lived in the mountains, not mountains like these all jagged and icy cold, but smooth mountains with hot and fragrant jungles most of the way up their ridges. In that time, the skies were filled with layers of leaves and fronds in which to hide.

"What's a jungle?" Goat-dung asked.

A place of great heat and many trees, sometimes much rain and bright flowers.

"Like summer in the lowlands?"

No, for this is much hotter and lasts year-round. You would not be able to stand such heat and neither would I. Many kinds of animals and plants existed then that no longer exist, at least not here. Not yet.

"What do you mean, not yet?"

Our Home, the cat said, has plans.

* * * * *

"What's the matter, Sean?" Yana asked about the fifth time she caught Sean looking back over his shoulder. Nanook had done so twice, as well.

"I dunno," he replied, shrugging his shoulders and giving her a sheepish grin. They should be safe enough with the Connellys. And we'd better get moving if we want to sleep warm tonight." His grin broadened. "Air's cooler up here than it is down below. I'd forgot that not everywhere would be enjoying the unseasonable warmth that Kilcoole is."

Once out of the forest and on slopes covered with lichen like plants and mosses, they had to dismount and lead the ponies over several stretches where the narrow pathway daunted Yana, even habituated to rough going as she had been prior to her injury at Bremport. The curly-coats seemed oblivious to any danger, though it gave her some comfort to note that their ears wig-wagged constantly, their tails sometimes acted like propellers—for balance, the way Nanook used his-and they snorted frequently, as if exchanging information.

They got over the rocky top and down into forest again by the time it was full dark. The forest was denser than the one around Kilcoole. and the trees larger, with thicker trunks. The branches dripped constantly from the melting snow, so that it might as well have been raining. Yana was very tired, so Sean made her tend the little fire he started while he saw to the horses and then skinned the rabbits Nanook caught. The cat ate his raw, but with such relish that Yana could barely wait till theirs was cooked. At last, with Sean on one side of her and Nanook on the other, she slept warmly and dreamlessly. She awakened the next morning to the smell of coffee under her nose and the sight of a cup with its handle turned toward her. Sean slipped back into the bag, grinning at her, and they both suppressed chuckles at Nanook's soft snores.

The morning was well advanced when, abruptly, they reached the plateau that tilted toward the other half to the Fjord. It was as if a giant ax had neatly bisected the cliff to allow the waters through a narrowing cut to the main body of the continent. The split sloped abruptly down, where a river ended its path to the sea and tumbled in a graceful, medium-sized waterfall into the end of Harrison's Fjord.

"Who was Harrison?" Yana asked as they made their way down the incline toward smoke that rose from unseen chimneys, Nanook bounding on ahead.

"Harrison? He was one of grandfather's old buddies. Retired here from the Dear knows where," Sean said. "He had a droll sense of humor and loved early space adventure stories."

"Oh?"

"The name of the place," Sean explained, looking over his shoulder as if Yana should instantly comprehend his reference. When she obviously didn't, he shrugged and continued his briefing. "Folks are mainly Eskirish-fishermen and boat builders."

"Boat builders?" Yana was amazed: they'd left the forested slopes behind when they'd crossed over the pass from McGee's and the other side of the fjord was just as bare as this one. Builders of anything would have to go miles for timber.

''More than wood makes good boats,'' he said.

"By the way, Sean love," Yana began, taking her opportunity while she had it, "how many people know you're a selkie?"

"As few as possible." But he grinned at her. Many people have seen a selkie. It can't always have been me, because I know I wasn't anywhere near there at that particular point in time, and so far as I know nobody else has my—er—versatility. Some Petaybeans have great imaginations."

"I'd noticed."

"I thought you might. We can ride now, and I'd rather we made the last leg of our journey before we lose the good light."

They mounted and proceeded at the marvelously easy pacing gait the curly-coats did so effortlessly at various speeds. Yana's little mare kept her nose right against Sean's gelding's tail. The pace was rather breath taking, but she wasn't as nervous about this as she had been on the narrow uphill climb.

Curly-coats could also stop—like right now! Only the bunching of the forehand muscles under her legs gave her warning enough to tighten her hold on the thick mane. One moment they'd been flying along, the next, dead stop! Yana measured the length of her torso on the mare's neck before she struggled upright. Then she dismounted when she saw that Sean had . . . and was leading his pony right over the edge? No, she realized as she caught her breath. Nanook's head was just visible to the right, and Sean was turning in that direction, too, and the trio proceeded down.

Sighing at a reluctance to repeat down what she had only recently gone up, Yana was agreeably surprised to find a broad, rutted grassy road leading down in an easy gradient, switching back and forth down the side of the cliff to the village that was Harrison's Fjord. This trail had to have been man-made. Nanook, tail tip idly twitching, padded on ahead of them, acting advance guard as usual.

"Harrison," Sean said. ''He hated climbing, had problems with balance. I don't know who he bribed of the original TerraB group, but he got the road done and the village settled, the harbor carved the way he wanted it."

"Where did your sister and her husband enter caves—" Yana broke off, seeing that the rock formation along the road side did not lend itself to caves.

As Sean pointed toward the waterfall, Yana was surprised to see Nanook look in the direction he was pointing and sneeze. "Near that, slightly to the left on the far side, is where the fjord cave opens."

Suddenly dogs began to bark and, while Yana made a private bet with herself, several orange cats wandered up to greet them, lifting themselves to their hind legs to exchange sniffs, nose to nose. She won. The cats immediately moved on to greet the travelers, who had undoubtedly been vouched for by Nanook.

"Wherever we go? she asked Sean, who was bending to run a hand down an orange back. Yana could hear the purr from where she was, seven paces behind.

"Not everywhere," Sean said, lightly stressing the first word, "but they get about." He stroked another one and then fondled the ears of a shaggy black dog, with light brown and white face markings, who presented itself for similar attentions.

Going from purr to full voice, the first cat stropped itself about Yana's ankles, and she had the oddest feeling that she was welcomed for herself and not just as Sean's companion. She bent to scratch the cat under the chin and heard the vibrations of a renewed purr. More barking dogs came trotting up to greet them, weaving an adroit and skillful way among the cats.

"Who comes?" called a rasping bass voice.

"Sean Shongili and Yanaba Maddock!" Sean shouted back.

"Sean, is it? And his lady, no less? Thrice welcome!

Hurry on down! A glass of the warm awaits you!"

There was no way to "hurry" down, with cats and dogs insisting on sniffing, receiving caresses, and generally impeding their progress. Nanook had leapt down and disappeared, a movement that caused Yana to scrutinize the odd arrangement of the houses: each of the twelve or fourteen had been carefully inserted on an earthen terrace, with the cliff for a back wall, and the terrace jutting out far enough to provide a small garden or yard complete with benches. The houses were perched on each side of the road as it ribboned down to the final broad terrace, which was wharf, as well—and high above the fjord water. Boats were neatly propped up on racks; nets hung from racks of high poles, drying in the last of the sun. At the farthest end of this wide terrace there was a large wooden hall where, Yana supposed, boats could be built. But the water looked an awfully long way down to make Harrison's Fjord a practical fishing port.

"Low tide," Sean said to her when he heard her exclamation of surprise. "When the tide turns, the water comes up here like a herd of running moose. Everything had better be stored high, dry, and safe. Ah, Fingaard, good to see you!" And suddenly Sean, who was no small man, was engulfed in the embrace of one of the largest men Yana had seen on this planet.

"And I, you, Shongili!" the man replied, grinning over Sean's shoulder at Yana. "This is your woman?" And he swung away, to advance on Yana. She held her ground but had to keep looking up and up as the giant approached, until she was in danger of falling backward.

Suddenly he bent his knees so his face was on her level and placed pitchfork-sized hands on her shoulders with remarkable gentleness. He peered into her eyes, with as kindly and searching a gaze as Clodagh's, and smiled. "Ah, yes, of course."

With one movement, he had taken the reins of the curly-coat from her, and placed his huge hand on her back like a prop against which she could safely lean during the rest of the switch back way to the village.

By then, others had emerged from their houses. Every house seemed to have its own set of stairs to reach the roadway, and another, she discovered, to get down to the next level.

"We heard you'd be coming," Fingaard said jovially. "You can tell us how to help Petaybee!"

"Fingaaaaaard, where are your manners, you great oaf?" A woman, nearly the size of him, clambered up to the road-way, smiling at Yana before she continued to berate her husband. "Drink, first: eat, second, and you've all the night to talk and get the needful done. Don't mind him, missus. He means well." This was directed at Yana. A hand, not quite as large as Fingaard's, was shoved at Yana, who gripped it, steeling herself for a viselike crush; but the fingers only pressed gently and withdrew. "I'm Ardis Sounik, and wife to Fingaard. Welcome, Yanaba Maddock."

It was no surprise to Yana to see the cats clustering around Ardis's feet, somehow avoiding being trampled on or swept away by the leather skirts the woman wore. They were beautiful1y tooled with remarkable patterns, all inter-linked in a way that looked so familiar to Yana that she tried to remember what the design was called.

She didn't have much time for coherent thought after that, because the rest of the village and there seemed to be far more people than twelve, fourteen, or even forty houses could accommodate comfortably—gathered about them. The ponies were led away, while the dogs and cats disposed themselves in places particular to them under benches, and on ledges. Sean and Yana were seated on the longest bench and given a cup of the "warm" to drink.

Her first surreptitious sniff told her this was nonalcoholic, and not at all similar to Clodagh's "blurry". Her first sip filled her mouth with flavor so skillfully blended that she couldn't name any one taste, but the overall effect made for one of the most satisfying drinks she had ever drunk. She sipped as Sean did, sipped and savored, and tried to remember the names of the folk introduced to her. They were so glad to have visitors, so glad it was the Shongili himself who had come to tell them how to help in this emergency, for even here the planet had told them that their help was needed and they would be shown what could be done.

Yana cast a sly glance at Sean to see how he was taking that news, but he nodded as wisely as if he had been well briefed. Probably he had. So she kept on sipping.

Then there was eating. Trestle tables appeared like magic, and torches were set around so that even as daylight faded, the hastily prepared banquet remained well lit. Yana had never seen so many ways to prepare fish: poached, grilled, spread with spicy sauces, deep fried with a coating that was seasoned to perfection, pickled in a sharp liquid, a chowder with potatoes and vegetables—"the last of dried from the year gone out but well kept." And then sweets—made of fish jelly and flavored by Herb's—and a funny thick paste that dissolved in the mouth. And more "Warm" drink.

Singing began, and before she had a chance to dread it, Yana was asked to sing her song of the debacle of Bremport, for one of the boys from Harrison's Fjord had been there, too. Whether it was all the "warm" or not, Yana just lifted her head and sang her song, and this time she had no trouble meeting the eyes of the parents of the lad lost when she had nearly died, too. This time she knew she eased their hearts, and that eased hers, too. Maybe there would come a day when the awful nightmare of Bremport would be no more than the words of a heart-sung song.

Eventually, torches lit their way to their accommodation. Yana was so weary, it took her two attempts to get one boot off. Sean's chuckle and her immediate supine posture told her that he would take care of her, so she helped as much as she could as he undressed her, and shoved her under warmed fur robes. The last thing she felt was his arms pulling her against him.

She had dreams that night, of wandering amid teeth, down tongues that were white, through bones that were like rib cages, yet she wasn't afraid in that dream, merely curious as to what she would see next. And throughout the sequence, which repeated, she kept hearing murmurous voices, like singers distant and unintelligible. Yet she knew that the song was joyful and the tune uplifting, with the odd descant of what sounded very much like a purr.

As they entered the cavern, Bunny said to Krisuk, "So this is the place where Satok speaks to the planet."

"No. This is the place where he tells us what the planet says."

"But he doesn't give anyone else a chance to talk to Petaybee?"

"Oh no," Krisuk said bitterly. "He wouldn't do that."

"What I don't understand is why, if your people have been in communication with Petaybee all their lives, this guy can suddenly come and shut them up," Diego said. "I mean, so maybe he gets his bluff in on the people 'cause they don't get around much and he's a smooth talker—okay, I can accept that. But how does he shut the planet up?"

Bunny scarcely heard his last words. As she picked her way forward in echoing darkness, she suddenly felt as if she couldn't draw a breath, as if something inside her, a presence that she always had with her, was walled away from her, withering. The sudden terrible loneliness of being without that presence was crushing. She backed away, stumbling toward the sound of Diego's voice.

He was still talking when she reeled against him, clutching at his jacket. "Bunny? Bunny! What's wrong?"

"Dead," she said. "It's—dead. Out—gotta get—out!"

Alarmed, the boys helped her out of the cave. She sat down on the path, gulping to get air in her lungs. After a dozen deep inhalations of the cold wind she looked up at Krisuk.

"How can your people stand to go in there?" she demanded.