"Why? What's wrong?"

"It's dead, that's what! Somehow that bastard has killed part of the planet."

"How could he do that?" Diego asked.

"I don't know."

"I don't much like the place," Krisuk said, "and everybody else is uncomfortable there, too. I hear the songs about the joys of singing with Petaybee, and I remember when I used to love to come here, and I don't understand it. I sort of put it down to Satok's charming personality."

Bunny shook her head. "It's more than that. I'm surprised you didn't feel it, too. Diego, did you?"

"Maybe," he said, frowning thoughtfully. "When I was a kid one time, a ship hauled a derelict back to our station. They put it in the cargo bay. I wanted to see what it was like and I snuck in. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Was that what you felt?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Having escaped the suffocating sensation in the cave, she was too drained to describe it properly. The wind and icy rain were oddly comforting.

"I'm going back in there," Diego said suddenly. "Krisuk, maybe you should stay with Bunny."

"No." the boy said. "I'll go, too. It's forbidden for any of us to go in without Satok's say-so. Some who have disobeyed have never been heard from again. But if there's any kind of proof in there that Satok's not who he says he is, then my word will carry more weight than an outsider's. I don't think my folks would give up a second kid to that creep as easy as they let Luka go."

"Will you be okay, Bunny?"

Dinah chose that moment to press her wet nose against Bunny's ear and lick it.

"Yeah," Bunny said slowly. "Maybe I could even go back in now that it wouldn't take me so much by surprise."

"I don't think that's such a good idea," Diego said, eyeing Bunny's pale face and eyes staring wide with shock and grief. "Besides, somebody should stand guard. I wish we had a light, though—

"Oh, there's lamps in there," Krisuk said. "Come, I'll show you."

Bunny heard their voices grow fainter as they penetrated farther into the cave. Her fingers folded Dinah's fur and stroked her soft, pointed ears. Dinah whined and laid her head in Bunny's lap. Bunny felt like whining herself.

The little lamp threw the boys' shadows into grotesque skeleton dances around the smooth walls of the cave room. It was a large room, but it stopped abruptly about forty feet from the entrance. "Has it always been this small?" Diego asked.

"No. There was this accident, oh, a couple of days before Satok came. It was the first latchkay we'd had here since old McConachie died. People were goin' back into the place like we'd always gone, when all of a sudden there was what sounded like an explosion, and showers of rock and dust came spewin' out after us. We all ran, but the first few people, McConachie's family, his apprentice, they were all killed. I remember my Da and the other men diggin' for bodies. I was just a little kid then. I couldn't understand where my friend Inny McConachie had gone. That was old Mac's grandson, a good mate of mine."

"That's rough," Diego said, feeling along the walls "I lost a friend not too long ago, too."

"The woman in the song.?"

"Yeah. Wait a minute. What's this?"

"What?"

Diego's fingers dipped into a notch and a panel slid open; reaching out, his hands touched only empty space.

"How long did it take them to clean up the cave-in?"

"They didn't. Nobody wanted to. When Satok came, he pretended to be real sympathetic and went in to look for bodies. He brought out a couple of pieces of clothing and insisted we all go back into the cave to give a proper memorial service. I don't know why people went along with it. Guess everybody was kind of in shock. It's got to be about the worst thing that ever happened here."

"Not quite," Diego muttered under his breath. "Bring the light over here."

Krisuk did. The fumes from the mare's-milk lamp stank, but the acrid odor was almost welcome in the sterility of the cave. As Krisuk raised the little lamp, it illuminated an area of clean stone floor and clean stone walls.

"There may've been a cave-in here," Diego said with a snort, "but someone worked real hard to tidy it all away."

"It can't be!" Krisuk said. "The cave's been blocked off for years. Nobody comes in here except with Satok. Everybody's sort of afraid of the place."

"That's too bad," Diego mumbled, the thought coming to him like a stray line of poetry. "It should be the other way around."

"What?"

"Seems like the place had more reason to be afraid of the people—"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I dunno. It just popped into my head."

"Look, my people may be mistakenly following a sleaze bag but I still don't like them being insulted by an outsider . . ."

"Okay, okay. I didn't mean anything by it. Come on, let's see the rest."

"There's more?" Krisuk held the light up head high, advanced a step inside the new opening, and emitted a low whistle. "There sure is."

Even in the weak light of the lamp they could see that a good-sized tunnel had been cleared through the cave-in.

The floor still was mainly stone overlain with dust, but the walls and ceiling had an odd white sheen. Krisuk ran his fingers over it and sniffed. "No smell."

Diego leaned in closer and dragged his fingernails down the wall, leaving not so much as a scratch in their wake. "No, there wouldn't be. It's bonded with Petraseal."

"What's that?"

"It's what they use in mines these days to prevent cave-ins. They bond the rock surfaces to each other with this stuff. It's very strong. Nothing gets through. I wonder where Satok got it in this quantity."

"You think he did this?"

"Who else?"

The other boy gave a quavering groan. "Oh, no. I can't believe he did this.'

"What?" Diego asked, peering in the direction Krisuk was looking with a transfixed stare. Then he saw the outlines of skulls, large and small, and all sizes and lengths of bones, jumbled in with the rock, like so many fossils.

"Bastard! He could have brought them out for a decent burial!" Krisuk said.

"Looks like they're still half-crushed by the rocks,"

Diego said fairly. "Maybe he couldn't get them out without bringing down another cave-in. So he just sealed them up."

"Without even a proper song?"

"You did say there was a memorial service for them in the cave."

"Yes, but. . ."

"Look, I'm not trying to defend the guy, but the bonding wasn't put on until they were already skeletons. My guess is that it took him a while to dig this out and seal it up. Would have had to. Come on, let's see how far this goes.

"I was only a tad, mind you," Krisuk said, swallowing convulsively, "but it seems to me like the cave was really long. The floor sloped down because it was a hard walk up when we came back out: Mum used to have to carry me. I also remember that the cave used to have little teeth farther on." Krisuk pointed to the darkness ahead, beyond the reach of the light.

'You mean stalactites and stalagmites?" Diego asked. "Pointy things dripping down from the ceiling or sticking up from the floor like anthills?"

"Yeah. I never saw an anthill like them, but you got the idea."

They walked back farther, their footsteps at first scuffing on the grit across the floor, then sounding with a ringing echo as the floor, too, became coated with the Petraseal and metal grates had been placed along the corridor. For a time the floor sloped down, as Krisuk had remembered, but then another corridor, of fresh, jagged rock, still sharp through the sealant, branched off and twisted upward.

"That wasn't there before!" Krisuk said and turned into the new passage.

Diego followed him up for a few feet, enough to see that the Petraseal covered the floor and from the ceiling dangled the roots of trees and bushes, preserved for all time in death-glossy bones.

Diego shuddered, in spite of himself. "This probably leads to Satok's place, if he lives above the cave, like you said "

"He did all this stuff ?" Krisuk asked. "How could he?"

Diego shrugged. "It's not that hard with the right tools. I just wonder where he got them. Come on. I'll bet if we look further we'll find out why he's doing all this."

They didn't find out why, but they did find out what it was he was doing when they took the descending path into the lower cavern Krisuk remembered.

Lower, farther from the entrance, everything was not covered with the stone bonder. But where the stalactites and stalagmites had been were only round craters, and sometimes small tunnels, like the holes of giant snakes, burrowed deep into the rock walls.

When she was finally able to retire from the elaborate welcoming dinner Torkel Fiske had arranged, Marmion asked Faber to arrange transport for her the next morning to see Kilcoole from ground level.

"Ask Sally and Millard to see what they can hear round and about, too, would you, dear Faber?" she added, allowing herself the luxury of a yawn she didn't have to stifle.

"Shall I pull rank if I run into obstruction? Faber asked. He was a bird colonel, currently detached to her service on a long loan basis.

"Hmmm, I'd rather you saved that for later, if at all possible. Torkel did mention somewhere in the gabble at dinner that we could make use of any facilities we needed in our investigations. So we will."

She was up and out at what would have been considered by many of her peers an obscenely early hour. She wasn't as surprised to see Whittaker Fiske as he was to see her emerging from her apartment.

"Why, Whit, what on earth are you doing up at this hour?"

He chortled. "The question applies more to you than me, Marmie." He bowed gracefully over her hand with a real skin-touching kiss. "Early birding?"

She smiled, and the arrival of Faber driving the antiquated rattletrap 4x4 vehicle spared her the necessity of replying to the obvious.

"Can we give you a lift?" she asked.

"Depends on where you're bound."

"Kilcoole. Didn't see very much from the air yesterday, and it seems the best place to start."

Whit cocked his head at her, laugh lines crinkling at the comers of his amused eyes.

"It's safe today," he said, handing her up the first high step to the passenger seat.

"Oh, your leg!" Marmion said, starting to get down.

"Don't mind me." Opening the rear door, he agilely swung himself into the back.

"What'd you mean by 'it's safe today,' Whit, dear?" Marmion asked as she snapped on her seat belt and Faber pulled the vehicle away.

The ride was going to be bumpy over the mangled plascrete, but later she would have exchanged that for the slip and slide of the mud-track to Kilcoole.

"Ah, well, Matt had his boys up before breakfast, scurrying about the place, accessing all kinds of records and reports so he'd 'have the overall picture and the demographic levels' and stuff like that." Whittaker snorted. "No chance of your running into him today out at Kilcoole."

Marmion smiled. She had hoped to do her research first without stumbling over those physically fit types. As the vehicle hit a particularly large bump, she clung to the handle above her head. She could feel Whittaker taking a firm grip on the back of her seat.

"Should still be able to use snocles this time of year," Faber said. "Thaw caught everyone off guard."

"So much so," Whit said with a chuckle, that no one came close to winning the Pool."

"The Pool?" Marmion asked, clinging tightly to her handle.

"The betting pool the locals have on when the river breaks up. The thaw was so early this year it took everyone by surprise. See?" he said, pointing to the river at their left, where soldiers were working at the water's edge. "Still retrieving sunk snocles from their watery grave."

From what Marmion could see as they drove by, the soldiers were having trouble: the tires of the tow truck were slipping on the muddy bank, unable to find enough traction to pull the vehicle on the end of its cable out of the fast-running river.

"Faber," Whit said, leaning forward to point over the driver's shoulder to the woods, "see that opening? I'd take that route were I you. Make much better time. I usually walk."

Both Marmion and Faber were happy they'd taken his advice, for the narrow track gave a much smoother ride than the churned mud by the river.

"Oh, it is pretty here," Marmion said, breathing in the rich damp-earth smells. "Trees are budding out!" she added in exclamation. "Almost overnight it seems."

"I don't think Petaybee's keeping to schedule this year," Whittaker said, sounding enormously pleased with himself. "I'd advise you to do the same, Marmie. You'll get where you're going faster."

"Then where do you advise I go first, Whit?"

"Where I am," he said, sitting back. "Just keep on this track, Faber, and when you reach the town, hang a right."

Kilcoole, despite its mountains of once-snow-covered paraphernalia, had an air of desertion. Marmion remarked on it, nobly refraining from commenting on its appearance.

"Oh, a lot of folks have taken advantage of the thaw to visit relatives and exchange garden plants."

"How wise. They're ahead of schedule, too!"

"They did get the hint. And don't be misled by all the stuff you see outside, Marmie. No one throws anything away that might be useful." He pointed to several lads who were carefully moving machinery parts in the side yard of one house, obviously looking for a particular one.

Marmie caught their running commentary as the vehicle rolled by: "I know it was here 'fore the first snow. And I know it was at this end." "Well, my father was looking for stuff, and he might have just pulled the pile to pieces looking. You know how he is." "Then try underneath.''

Faber braked suddenly as a trio of orange-striped cats jumped out in the middle of the road just ahead of them.

"My word, do they often commit suicide that way?"

"My fault," Whit said sheepishly. "Should'a told you to stop at that house on the left. That's where I'm working and where you should start."

"But if you're working there, Whit, I don't want to intrude . . ."

"I'm working outside, Marmie," Whittaker said, opening the door of the vehicle. The cats emerged from under the ancient 4x4, prrrowing to him; two of them propped front paws up on his knees to be petted. The third spoke to him, then turned to wait at the passenger door. "You're invited inside," he added. "That's good, believe me."

"I'm always agreeable to invitations," Marmion replied, signaling for Faber to descend, as well. "What a marvelous shade of orange," she said directly to the cat. When it turned, tail tip idly swaying high above its body, she followed. "Mirandabelle Turvey-West would give her eye teeth for a hair dye that shade, just wouldn't she!" she murmured under her breath.

The cat shot up the muddy steps. Marmion, eschewing Faber's out held hand, managed to place her booted feet carefully in the drier spots.

The door opened as they reached the porch and one of the largest, most impressive-looking women Marmion had ever seen, with a complexion to die for and a smile that was the most beautiful thing so far about Kilcoole, stood in the opening.

"Slainte, Whittaker, Miz Algemeine, Colonel Nike, grand morning for a ride, is it not? I'm Clodagh Senungatuk. I'm that pleased to meet you. Come in. I've fresh coffee and some decent baking just out of the oven."

Warmed by the welcome, Marmion held out her hand, to have it briefly but kindly shaken and given back slightly floured. Then Faber was met with the same cordial treatment.

"The new shingles got here first light, Whit" Clodagh said, "but you've time for a bite and a sup first.''

"Hey, that's good," Whit said with more enthusiasm than Marmion remembered him showing. "I can probably finish the roof today. Maybe I'll just get started, Clodagh, and grab a bite later."

With a nod to the other two. he tramped to the edge of the porch and hopped off. A brief explosive exhalation reached the others.

"Leg's not good enough yet to be jarred by leaping as if he was young again," Clodagh said, tsking-tsking as she shooed her bemused guests inside.

Marmion's first shock at the interior dissolved with the scent of spicy warm bread and her instant realization that this small home—and home it definitely was—was actually highly organized and astonishingly neat if you looked past what might be cursorily dismissed as "clutter." There were, however, more cats inside who, one after the other, strolled over to make personal evaluations of the newcomers.

"Did we pass? Marmion asked as Clodagh gestured her to the rocking chair and motioned Faber to a sturdy bench.

Clodagh delayed answering until she had served her guests coffee and freshly baked hot cinnamon rolls, and placed a pitcher of milk and a huge bowl of sweetener before them. Refilling her own cup, she sat across from Marmion, her elbows on the table, placidly smiling.

"I've always had a lot of cats around," she began.

"All of them orange?" Marmion asked. "Or are they a singularly unique Petaybean breed?"

'You could definitely say that."

"I just did. My, these rolls are delicious," Marmion said, lightly changing topics. "And thank goodness you know how to make proper coffee. Doesn't she, Faber?"

"Yes, indeed, you do, Miz Senungatuk," Faber said, smiling in that unexpectedly charming fashion that had disarmed many folk more worldly than Clodagh. Clodagh grinned and winked at him for his accurate pronunciation of her last name. That was another trait Marmion admired in Faber Nike. "Are you able to get regular supplies?"

Clodagh grunted. "Whit got this batch. Said it was a bleeding shame what SpaceBase did to unprotected coffee beans." She nodded to a corner of her crowded workspace. "I grind them myself when I need them, and keep them frozen till I do."

"Wouldn't that be a bit difficult to do right now?" Marmion asked delicately.

"Nah. Even the thaw doesn't affect the permafrost cache much."

"Ah, yes!" Marmion said. "I have read, of course, of the permafrost layer that is so like frozen rock, but I had not appreciated until now its practical applications."

"Well, usually we only use it in summer," Clodagh said.

"So then good coffee is as much a treat for you as it is for us," Marmion said and took another grateful sip. The milk in the pitcher had been fresh, too, cream rising to the top. Judging by various-sized lumps, the sweetener had also been home-ground.

"That it is," Clodagh said.

Marmion felt something press against her lower leg and dropped one hand to touch a furry skull, which she obediently scratched.

"Your cats survive the extremes of Petaybee's temperatures?"

"Bred for it. A course, they're smart to begin with, and they use their instincts, too."

"As do most of you living here on Petaybee, I'd say," Marmion remarked, getting closer to the purpose of her visit.

Clodagh folded her arms in front of her and said emphatically, "We've learned to live here. I wouldn't much want to live anywhere else."

As shrewd a woman as she'd ever encountered, Marmion decided approvingly.

"I shouldn't like to see you anywhere else but here in your home, dispensing superb hospitality to those lucky enough to find their way here, Miz Senungatuk," Marmion went on. "It's so rare these days to find people content with what they are and where they are."

Clodagh regarded her for one long moment, taking in Marmion's practical but elegant outfit, as well as her expressive face.

"Not knowing who you are or where you belong can cause a person a lot of problems. This planet's not an easy place to live, but it's what we're all used to and we manage fine."

Hovering in the air were the unspoken words: when we're left alone to get on with our lives as we want to live them.

"Would you have enough coffee left in the pot for me to have another half cup, Miz Senungatuk?" Marmion asked, fingers laced about her cup so she wouldn't appear to expect the extra indulgence.

Clodagh's face lost the tension it had been displaying and suddenly softened into a smile. "Please call me Clodagh. I'm more used to it."

"Marmion is what my friends call me. Even Marmie's allowed." And the very wealthy, very clever Dame Algemeine held her cup out as unassumingly as any supplicant.

"You, too, Faber Nike? Clodagh asked when she had filled Marmion more than halfway.

"Don't mind if I do . . . Clodagh."

Clodagh poured him some more coffee, then passed the rolls around again.

"I had hoped to meet more of the people of Kilcoole, Clodagh," Marmion said, her tone brisker now. "I'm here as I believe Whit will have told you, to investigate the unusual events which the planet seems to be taking the blame for."

"Planet's not taking any blame, Marmion," Clodagh said with a grin and a dismissive wave of her hand. "Planet's doing what's needful, too. Showing folks what it will and will not allow done to it. Same's you wouldn't want a lot of holes dug in your front yard or pieces of your garden blown up. Whittaker got that message loud and clear, but that son of his didn't. Nor some others—but the ones who did understood real well."

"You know the planet did this on its own cognizance?" Faber asked, his voice gentle, the way he spoke when he didn't want to scare misinformation out of people.

"If you mean did the planet do it without us helping it, yes. Not that anybody could help a planet if it's got its own mind made up and is perfectly capable of making that known."

"The problem we face," Faber went on, "is establishing that the planet is the source of the unusual occurrences."

Clodagh gave him a momentary blank stare. "And what else could be doing such amazing things? Do you know how long it takes to melt a pail of ice over a fire? Do you think we"—her unusually graceful hand circled an area over the table that signified Kilcoole—"could have caused the melt so early? Or pushed up a volcano? Or shaken the land as I would crumbs from this table?" Her tone was not argumentative; it sounded slightly surprised at such thick-wittedness from an apparently intelligent man. She shook her head. "No, the planet decided all by itself that there had been too many diggings of holes and plantings of explosives and such, and it wants those stopped."

"The planet is, in your opinion, sentient?" Marmion asked.

"The planet is itself, alive, and," Clodagh said, turning to Faber with mischief in her eyes, "totally cognizant of what it's doing."

Marmion rested her head against her propped arm and, with her free hand, turned the coffee cup around and around by its handle, absorbing this message. Frankly, she was now far more worried for Clodagh's sake than the planet's. The woman truly believed it—Marmion was half-way to believing it herself—and Matthew Luzon would make mincemeat of her.

"Is there any chance that the planet's intelligence can be proved? Without scientific doubt?"

"Early spring, volcanoes, and earthquakes aren't proof enough?" Clodagh asked.

I am not the only person investigating the unusual occurrences on Petaybee, Clodagh," Marmion began slowly. "Is there someplace, someone you could visit, somewhere inaccessible? For a week or so?"

"What for?" Clodagh stared at Marmion as if she'd lost her mind, then rose indignantly half out of her seat. "Why should I leave? When Kilcoole needs me the most it's ever?" She plumped down again, her jaw set, spreading her fingers possessively and protectively on the table's surface. "No, ma'am. I stay! I stay here! No one's moving me from my home!"

"No, I don't guess that would be easy, Clodagh, but impossible it is not, I fear." Marmion leaned across the table to the healer. "If somehow, I could . .. experience . . . the planet myself . . ."

"Like Whit and the others did in the cave?" Clodagh asked, relaxing a bit more but crossing her arms firmly across her formidable bosom.

"Yes, something subjective so that I can come down as heavily on your side as possible."

"Ah!" Clodagh said. "So you can stand for us against whats-is-name, the one Yana calls the buzzard."

"His name's Matthew Luzon, Clodagh," Whittaker Fiske said with a not-quite-reproving grin as he appeared in the doorway. He paused to wipe the clods of mud off his boots, mopping his sweaty forehead as well, before he entered. "Do I smell cinnamon buns? I do." Snaking a cup from the many hanging underneath the wall cabinet, he sat down at the table, angling the chair so he didn't have his back to Faber. He poured coffee and took two big bites out of the cinnamon roll from the plate Clodagh passed him. "We're lucky you decided to come, Marmie. You've got more common sense in one strand of your hair than Luzon has in that egg head of his, But—" and Whit emphasized that with a pound of his fist on the table.

Marmion noted the crumbs jumping on the surface. How would a planet do such a thing on a larger scale? Shift tectonic plates? but those shifts were minute and occurred under specific conditions . . . She turned her attention back to Whit.

"But . . . the one we have to contend with is Matthew Luzon, and you know what he's like. He's never been one to let the truth, even if his nose is rubbed in it, stand in the way of his preconceived notions. If you hadn't come, Marmie, I'd've—no, by God, I wouldn't have left Petaybee." The fist came down again.

"If, however, Whit, we—Faber and I, plus Sally and Millard can be convinced, we are a united force on your side."

Whit inhaled deeply, obviously mulling over the arguments for and against. "They'd say you'd flipped, Marmie."

"Ha! I've too many PIHP—that stands for persons in high places, Clodagh—for even Matthew to succeed . . . But it is He who has to be convinced."

"Convincing that man will take considerable effort, time, and probably a miracle, although we've had the next best thing to one, and that doesn't seem to have impressed him either." Whit paused, his shoulders slumping in momentary defeat. He saw Clodagh's eyes on him and straightened up, his attitude once more decisive. "We'll just have to outwit him."

"Or," Faber put in, turning to Clodagh, 'let the planet do it?"

She pulled at her lower lip. "A man doesn't hear what he doesn't want to hear. Your son's like that, too, Whit, sorry as I am to say it to your face."

"I'm sorry, as well, Clodagh, but for your sake, not mine."

"Matthew's not begun his investigations," Marmion said, breaking off pieces of another cinnamon bun and chewing to aid her thoughts, "so we've a little time in hand. He loves to have plenty of hard copy to support his claims even before he makes them. He's got all those physically fit young men running about SpaceBase. I wonder . . ." She turned to Faber. "I wonder if they'd be the place to start. And as soon as possible. We'll leave Braddock Makem till last. I thought at first I might win him over, but since then I've noticed that he apparently rather relishes Matthew's brand of management, instead of resenting it as one would expect. Indeed, of all of the minions, he appears to be the most in accord with Matthew and the least open-minded. Doing the others first will slow Matthew down to a crawl." She began to smile at everyone around the table as she popped the last of her roll into her mouth and happily chewed it down. "Well, let's get started. Clodagh?"

Chapter 8

Dinah heard the noise before Bunny, footsteps coming down from the hill above. The dog strained forward, listening, doing the whine—yip, whine—yip that preceded her full-throated "woo-wooing" cry.

Bunny, still feeling queasy from her experience in the cave, held on to a handful of brush to pull herself to her feet. She heard Dinah scrabbling up the path, icy rock slipping under her paws.

"What is it, girl?" Bunny began, turning toward the sound of the dog. But about then, Dinah yipped and fell silent.

"Dinah?" Bunny whispered into the dense shadows, reaching for the comforting warmth of the dog's coarse thick fur "Dinah?"

Her out stretched hand was suddenly clasped in a vise and Satok stepped out of the shadows.

"Slainte, pretty Shongili snocle driver. How sweet of you to come and meet me. Where's your boyfriend?"

"What have you done to Dinah?" she hollered at him. "Let go of my hand."

Instead, he captured the other one. "The dog? I knocked her fraggin' skull shut. She should know better than to bark at the shanachie. The other dogs learned. Go ahead, scream. I'm waiting for your boyfriend to come to the rescue, and then I can send him to keep his dog company." Bunny did scream, and kicked, and hollered, but the whole time he dragged her up the path to his house, no lamps lit in the darkness of the village below, no faces peered out windows or doors to see what the commotion was about. Not at the Connellys', nor anywhere else.

As he dragged her away, her hand brushed against Dinah's still warm fur, sticky with what could only be the faithful dog's blood.

But the boys must have heard her. They must have.

Once, she thought she saw the shine of coppery eyes from one of the surrounding rocks, but otherwise, there was no witness to her abduction at all.

When they were well above the village and beyond the cave mouth and no help appeared, she decided to save her strength for later, and allowed herself to be led with only token resistance to the man's house.

Several outbuildings dotted the rocky mountain meadow where the sturdy stone house stood. It was the finest Bunny had ever seen, without a bit of scavenged material in its makeup. Thick stone walls, a roof of some sturdy material Bunny recognized from her trips to SpaceBase as similar to the stuff on the barracks buildings, and real windows of thick plasglas, heavily draped.

A high corral fence contained many curlies, among them Diego's Cisco and Bunny's Darby. A team of dogs, snarling and snapping and for all their red fur as unlike the gentle and intelligent foxhounds of Kilcoole as they were unlike caribou, were tied in the open, a short distance from the house. She could smell the filth of their leavings even through the icy wind.

Satok misinterpreted her lack of struggle and perusal of his holdings.

"Ah, so you're impressed, eh? Well, girl, all this comfort and luxury can be at your disposal if you're nice and do as you're told. Come in now, while the night is still young."

She tried to struggle again, but he was very much stronger and she was in the wrong position. She knew that once he got her indoors, her chances of escape and her danger from him were much greater, but she also thought that perhaps the secret of his hold over these people who wouldn't come help a girl when she was screaming bloody murder was inside this fine house.

She was surprised at herself, at how analytical and calculating she was being. Her anger at what he had done to Dinah, to the planet, and to these people had turned to cold calmness, as cold as the profound loneliness she had felt in the cave. It was even lonelier here, with a man who had to be crazy to even attempt to do this to the planet. Bunny knew that she needed to keep her wits about her, if she was going to learn what she needed to and keep him from killing Diego and Krisuk as ruthlessly as he had murdered Dinah.

He hauled her indoors. She didn't give up all show of reluctance, feeling that that would alert him, and indeed, she had trouble suppressing the panic she felt at being alone with him in his house.

The first thing she thought was it was no wonder he wanted a woman there. The place was a mess. The second thought she had was that it was an interesting mess. She hadn't known there was this much technical gear on Petaybee outside of SpaceBase and, maybe, Sean's lab.

Two computers and a vast array of hand tools scales, and rock samples were interspersed with bones, a couple of small skulls, feathers, and desiccated bits of animals. She noted that there was a wide choice of objects that would make good weapons.

The tools were spread across several makeshift tables, but there was no proper eating table, and no chairs, though there were cooking facilities—greasy and covered with dirty utensils—and a large mattress spread on the floor.

Once inside, Satok released her and she edged as far away from that mattress as possible, though she'd had enough run-ins with her pubescent cousins to know that a mattress was not strictly required for her to be in deep dog shit.

Before he could say anything, she decided how to act in the same deliberate way she decided what to do when she was stranded on her snocle, or she and her dogs were attacked by a moose. She wouldn't provoke him until necessary. In fact, if he thought she was stupid just because she was a girl, she was prepared to let him go on thinking that for a while.

"Wow!" she said, with a nervous giggle she hoped didn't sound too forced. "What a place!"

"What's the matter, little Dama Shongili? Not good enough for you?" he sneered, setting his staff by the door and shedding a couple of layers of clothing.

"No, it's great," she said, ignoring the fact that he wasn't calling her by her own name. She wasn't sure she wanted her name in his filthy mouth, much less any of the rest of her. "I've never been anywhere except SpaceBase where they had two computers. Are they both yours?"

"Yeah," he said.

"Gosh, where'd you get them?"

"They were part of my retirement benefits," he said and started for her, but she danced away and picked up another piece of equipment. It was fairly heavy and made of steel.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Come off it. You're not interested in that stuff. I got something to show you over here," he said, and grabbed his crotch.

She pretended not to notice while she was examining the heavy object more closely. I am too interested in this stuff. I take mining expeditions out all the time and they always have the most interesting stuff. Usually they disappear before I get to see it work, though."

"Don't worry, baby, I'm not about to disappear. I know this planet's ways, and I'm way too smart to fall into its traps."

He started walking toward her and she put one of the many work benches, little more than two saw horses and a flat piece of junk, between her and the self-proclaimed shanachie.

"How do you do that, really?" she asked. casually, though the very thought of what he could have possibly done to the cave made her furious. But not afraid. She couldn't afford to be afraid. "You're not from around here, are you?"

"I was born on this planet, if that's what you mean," he said. "I know about the caves. I also know that's the easiest access to the goodies Intergal and other companies are ready to pay big dinero for."

"Looks like you know all about how to get those goodies too, huh?" Bunny asked with her impression of girlish enthusiasm, an imitation of her boy-crazy cousin Nuala. The technique featured opening her eyes very wide and looking a little like a rabbit that'd been suddenly blinded by the lights of an oncoming snocle. "How'd you learn to do something like that if you're from Petaybee?"

"In the company corps, how else?" he said. I did the standard hitch until I got in trouble. Lucky for me I managed to find more lucrative employment before my court-martial."

"Here, you mean?"

"No, this came later, when I was ready to settle down with a good woman."

Bunny made something that she hoped could be construed as a cooing noise. She thought it was very strange that he hadn't found this at odds with her struggle on the way up here, but she did know that where girls were concerned, some fellows didn't consider that logic or even thinking entered into their behavior. He probably thought she had been protesting out of form, but now that she was here she was as overwhelmed by all this stuff and his manly charms as she pretended to be.

She gave him Nuala's one-shouldered shrug and asked hesitantly, "Well, yeah, but where then?"

"Intergal's not the only one who can do business, baby. I joined up with an independent firm engaged in the import-export business. Ever heard of Onidi Louchard?"

Bunny shrugged again. As long as she could keep him talking, maybe he'd say something useful. The conversation also gave her a chance to tuck something as pointed as an ice pick into the back of the band of her pants.

"Maybe," she said in a semi-interested tone of voice to keep him talking. "I think maybe some of the soldiers mentioned that name—not a businessman though . . ."

He laughed, showing a lot of his yellowed teeth—kept strong and even by company dentistry, no doubt.

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, baby. Onidi knows supply and demand like no woman in the world."

He seemed to be drifting off into a reverie of his own. Bunny noticed that, oddly enough, there was a rug spread across a small area of the unswept desolation of the house's floor.

"Ah!" Bunny said. "Yeah, I remember now. She's sort of a pirate, isn't she . . . a black marketeer? Didn't they say she'd supplied the gas and the arms to the rebels at Bremport?"

He seemed pleased at the recognition. "That's her, okay."

"Wow, you worked with her? That must have been so exciting. I've never been off—this planet—myself," she said, managing to sound regretful.

"Oh, that can be arranged, baby. I'll teach you a few things. Then I know lotsa people who'd be glad to show a cute little thing like you around."

"What's it like—out there?" she asked wistfully.

She thought she could hear sounds beneath the floor, fortunately muffled and indistinct, for Satok didn't seem to hear them.

He picked up a bottle; not Petaybean blurry like Clodagh made, but off-planet stuff that Bunny could smell clear across the room. He locked the front door from the inside, something she had never seen anyone do before except herself when she'd had to barricade herself against her cousins. He settled down on the mattress alone with the bottle.

"You wouldn't appreciate most of it," he said with a lewd grin, then shrugged and gave her a hideous wink. "Or who knows, by the time I'm finished with you, maybe you will."

Bunny suppressed a shudder and continued to inspect his tools and computer screen while he told her about whore-houses on planets in several different galaxies, not excluding the impressive tricks he'd seen performed by humanoid alien exotic entertainers with a wide variety of sex organs and practices.

The subject made her a little queasy, especially the lip-licking relish with which he related it and the way he kept eyeing her as if she were already undressed. She realized he was in no hurry at all. In fact, he seemed to be relating these stories with the expectation that she might want to try some of the things he was talking about. They did give her a good excuse to make loud, shocked exclamations, which covered up the noises coming from beneath the rug. Still trying to appear fascinated, she worked her way backward while he swigged from his bottle until she shoved a corner of the rug back with her foot. A rectangular trapdoor was concealed beneath it.

Maybe the lout would drink himself to sleep.

No such luck though. Having exhausted the topic, he kept patting the mattress, then hoisted himself up, his expression growing ugly again.

"So," Bunny said quickly. "What made you decide to give up something as glamorous as shipping with Onidi Louchard to come back to Petaybee?"

He was less steady on his feet now than he had been and his next words were slurred. "When my shipmates found out I was from Petaybee, they told me what idiots we all were to be sitting on the biggest cache of raw ores in the known universe and pretending it wasn't there. I told 'em the company kept us all barefoot and pregnant, so to speak, which is what I heard all the time I was growing up here. Then I realized I'd bought into the whole Petaybee trip ever since I was a kid: how the planet doesn't want us to take this and the planet doesn't want us to take that." His voice slipped into a mocking whine. "So I thought, screw the planet. The company's going to do it sooner or later, so how about me? I knew how the planet and the people get around the company, and how the company could get around the planet and the people if it had the balls to come down and take what it wants, so I 'borrowed' a little company technology, showed up in one village or another on foot, parking my shuttle out on the tundra, looking wise and finding out who might be in need of a shaman. McGee's Pass had come in for a few of the planet's less benign tricks and they had no shaman. I did a little recon, set up my base, and arranged for a disaster in the local communing place."

Bunny strove to keep her voice steady and sound shocked instead of simply furious as she asked, "W—why? Why did you do that?"

"Because, the first time I saw the way raw ore looks before it comes out of the ground, I realized I'd seen it back when I was a kid and the planet was scaring the shit out of me for not being real interested in all the little mind tricks it plays on people around here. Don't you get it? There's a good reason your so-called elders feed you all this bunk about the communing places that makes you scared to go in there without them."

Bunny thought he must have had a much different elder than Clodagh to think that anyone was barred from talking to Petaybee any time they felt like it, but most times people just got by on what was offered on the surface until it was time for everybody to go visiting.

"The communing places are also the entry way to the planet's goodies. Frag it, girl, you don't even have to dig very deep or blast your own tunnel in the surface. Ore's right there staring at you every time you go talk to the rocks."

"Really?" she asked. But she was running out of things she wanted to know and trying to think of what to ask next to keep him talking. "Well, I've got another question. Why take me? Aren't there local girls . . ."

"That's just the problem. They're local. You're from a powerful family in Kilcoole, and they think you're special because you drive a snocle Your family and friends in Kilcoole shoot their mouths off a lot about how mines are so evil for the planet. Maybe if they know mining the planet is in your best interests, they'll be a little quieter. Really," he said. "It's been real nice chatting with you, baby, but now that we know each other better, I want to get to know you real well. So are you going to come over here to me, or are you going to tempt me to get a little rough? Both ways are fine with me."

Bunny backed away from him, and he rose and lunged across the table she'd been using as a shield.

She dodged and ran, but was as trapped as she'd ever been. She knew she couldn't elude his grasp forever, and even though she had the weapon, he was bigger and stronger than she and not much out of shape either. She knew she had no chance against him in a fight, but she could keep out of his way as long as possible. She jumped back to where the trapdoor was and risked slowing long enough to pull at the ring. She pulled the door partially open, hoping against hope that she could slide down into it before he caught her.

The door was heavier than she thought, and he was quicker. He grabbed her hair and jerked her across the open door, as she screamed and beat at him with one hand while reaching for the ice pick with her other.

The planet had not been Petrasealed to death in the lower cavern, but it had been gouged and blasted. There was a pool there, too, foul from chemicals and dense with residue from the damage that had been done.

Diego touched the scars and felt as if he were seeing the wreck his father had been all over again: he was so full of sadness and pain.

Krisuk, who had grown up with this particular place, but grown gradually accustomed to its death through Satok's machinations over the years, touched the blasted areas once and reeled back as if he'd been punched.

Both boys stood at the juncture to the corridor, shaking.

"How could you let him do that?" Diego accused.

"We didn't know he was doing anything in here!" Krisuk said. "We thought it was all buried, like he said. You forget there's a wall between this and the outer cave, and a lot of tunnel between. There's got to be. We feel the mountain shake sometimes, but it's not like you hear anything."

The truth of the last statement was sharply illustrated for the boys as they stepped from the Petrasealed inner cave into the meeting room and through the bush, out into the cold wind whipping down the pass. The rock Bunny had been sitting on was empty.

"Bunny?" Diego asked. "Dinah?"

A whimper rode down the wind from the path above them.

Diego scrambled up the path, almost tripping over Dinah's prostrate form. He began feeling the dog all over, which was difficult because there was a lot of blood. She was terribly still when he first began, but her respiration's picked up a bit as he handled her.

Then he called for Bunny and called again, but he didn't see her. Meanwhile, Krisuk ran back down the hill to his own house and flung the door open.

Diego picked Dinah up in his arms and stumbled down the hill after him. Krisuk had a lamp lit. The family was not in bed but hunched together around the table, staring guiltily toward the door.

Diego entered the house and carried Dinah's body to the table. He knew from the expressions of the Connellys that they knew exactly what had happened to the horses, the dog, and Bunny.

"What kind of people are you anyway?"

"Don't ask them anything," Krisuk said disgustedly. "She's at Satok's. You can bet on it. He took her."

"Then I'm going to get her," Diego said.

"You can't!" Iva said. "He can kill you—kill us all—he might turn the planet against us again, make it swallow us up. He's too powerful for any of us to fight."

"He sure is if you just sit there," Diego said. "And the planet has no reason at all to like him. If you looked a few yards beyond the ends of your noses, you'd know that."

"You're not going alone," Krisuk said.

"No?"

"No. Come on, Da, Mother. You kids," Krisuk added addressing his younger brothers and sisters. "You go wake the neighbors. Bring them to the meeting cave." His siblings looked up at him as if they'd been stunned, unmoving till his five-year-old sister, Marie, jumped to her feet.

"I'll go!"

"Me, too," one of the younger brothers said.

Diego had stripped one of the quilts from the beds to cover Dinah, while one of the older sisters began cleaning the dog's wound.

Seeing that the dog was in good hands, Diego grabbed a knife from its hook above the stove and ran out the door again and up the path.

"Wait!" Krisuk said. "Diego, not that way. You'll be too good a target."

"I'm not going to just let him have her because you're all scared of him," Diego shouted back, never shortening his stride though the wind battered him. He didn't hear what Krisuk said in response.

Diego was about to pass the cave entrance when Krisuk caught up with him and pulled him back.

"Look, you can't just go confront him," he hollered above the wind. "But remember the upper passage? I'll bet it leads up to his house."

Diego paused for a moment. He had read a lot of hard-copy books, and many of his favorites had secret passages and tunnels in them, something he had previously related only to the ventilation systems in ships and space stations. "Maybe so," he said. "But if it doesn't, we lose a lot of time. We don't know how much we've lost already."

Krisuk said, "According to Da, they heard Bunny hollering about an hour ago. Look, I can get them to follow me into the cave. I want to show them what Satok's done. But they're too scared to go to his house. It's a strong house and he's armed."

Diego shook his arm loose. "If you want to go that way, then you go that way. I'm going straight to the house. I'm not going to risk Bunny's life again because your folks don't want me to stand up to Satok."

"Okay then, I'll try the cave and if it doesn't work out, I'll come up and help you, so take it easy, okay? Unless you see he's actually—well, unless she really needs you right then, don't jump in until I get there "

Diego was already striding forward. "I'll handle it," he said, and began to climb up the hill leading to Satok's.

The house was visible from the top of the path, a stone building about a half a mile away set back in a meadow. The windows were lit, and as Diego approached, a banshee chorus of howls heralded his arrival.

Satok pinned Bunny to the mattress and snatched at the band of her trousers. She tried to kick him, but he'd pinned one of her knees down with one of his own. Her right arm, stuck between her back and the mattress, groped for her weapon, which was digging into her hip.

All of a sudden the dogs began to howl. Satok swore and rose, grabbing a weapon as he turned toward the door. Almost as an afterthought, he turned on Bunny. As he struck her open handed across the face, her teeth bit into her cheeks with an explosion of pain.

"Don't move," he said, waggling his finger with mock playfulness.

Of course, she did move the moment he threw the bolt on the door. It was hopeless to dart past him into the night, and the trap door was too far away, but at least she was able to pull out her ice pick.

"Shut up, you lazy pack of mutts, or you don't eat for another week!" he bellowed out the door. The howling quieted to a whine. He took a long look around, then turned back to Bunny.

Fresh out of more subtle tricks, she jumped up and ran back to the trap door. She was smart enough not to show her weapon.

"Don't you touch me again, mister," she said, lisping a little through her cut lip.

The dogs began howling again, but this time Satok refused to be diverted. He reached Bunny in two seconds flat, and Bunny, backing up, found she was against a wall with nowhere to run, not a good position for any animal to be in. Further more, Satok was standing on the trap door as he closed in on her, his hands going for her throat.

The front door slammed open, flooding the room with strong icy wind.

Bunny punched upward with her ice pick and felt the pointed tip sink into meat. Satok's grip on her loosened, but he had twisted away from her to face the front door and her weapon didn't make the lethal strike she intended. She was trying to loosen her neck from his arm and her weapon from his wound when another body crashed into them, almost strangling her as the impact drove Satok's arm against her wind pipe.

As Satok whirled to meet the new attacker, Bunny dove out of the way, searching for another weapon.

Diego was riding the big man's back, punching at him with a dagger, but Satok reached back and wrested the dagger from the boy's hand as if he were taking a rattle from a baby. Bunny groaned. Diego was good with books and computers—he wasn't a fighter.

She picked up a wrench and danced around the two of them, trying to get in a lick here and there but she was afraid of hitting Diego.

Satok looked annoyed, but hardly worried. Still standing on the trap door, he reached back and grabbed Diego's head in both hands and started pulling him over his shoulder.

Bunny dropped to her knees, threw herself forward, and whacked the big man hard with the wrench, first on the knees, then the shins. He whirled around, still holding Diego's head in a vise, and she slammed the wrench against the backs of his knees. He fell to the ground with a crash that swept Diego's legs against the computer table and toppled the machine to the floor.

But when he and Diego fell forward, they cleared the trap door, and the pounding under the door that had been obscured by the sounds of the fight became clear. Bunny crawled to the door and pulled up the ring. Through the widening crack, Krisuk's arms and head appeared, and with a shove he pushed the door back across Satok's calves.

Satok was slamming Diego's head against the floor.

Gaining confidence at the sight of Krisuk climbing out of the hole, followed closely by his father, Bunny dove toward Satok's head and brought her wrench down over it. Again, the man twisted at a crucial point, and Bunny's wrench only tore loose the back of his ear just as a third person emerged from the secret passage.

Satok grabbed the injured ear, staggered to his feet, and ran, Krisuk and the others after him.

Bunny knelt beside Diego. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He blinked at her twice, rubbed the back of his head, and said ruefully, "I came to your rescue."

She kissed him, bloody nose and all. "You sure did. Are you hurt bad?"

His hand came away bloody "Not bad. I think. My dad always said my skull was the hardest part of me."

Iva was kneeling beside them now. "Come on and I'll bandage that for you." she said. "We've seen what Satok did to the planet. Some talk he had! The others will catch him and he'll tell his lies no more."

"No," Diego said. "We've got to get to Sean and Yana and tell them what Satok's done."

"How did you know he was a pirate?" Bunny said.

"If we go back through the cave, you'll—" Diego stopped and stared at her. "What do you mean, pirate? As in pirate pirate?"

"He's one of Onidi Louchard's shipmates," Bunny said. "I think he's still working with them to loot Petaybee."

"Frag! We gotta warn the others!"

"Shh," Iva Connelly said. "You're not going anyplace till I bandage your wounds. You, too, young lady."

Diego and Bunny insisted on leading the curlies back down to the village. Meanwhile Krisuk and some of the others returned, empty-handed.

"Satok got away. Kev Nyukchuk and his sons are trying to trace Satok by the tracks and blood in the dark," Krisuk told them.

"Where's your father?" Iva asked.

"He stayed to feed the dogs. You remember Satok taking Tarka's pups?"

"Yes."

"They're half-starved and mean now, but Da recognized them and he's going to try to tame them again. The curlies were in bad shape, too, and we found more cat skulls . . ."

The next morning at first light, Bunny and Diego, carrying a carefully bandaged and bundled Dinah, were back out on the trail away from the river, the Petaybean wind at their backs, pushing them toward the Fjord.

Matthew Luzon was as amused as he was capable of being that Marmion Algemeine thought she was controlling him by contradicting his theories, cultivating the enemies of the company, and trying to seduce his staff away from him. Of course, she was incapable of understanding a man like him. She was nothing but an over aged debutante whose inherited greed made her good at acquiring more wealth. She couldn't begin to understand someone like him, someone motivated not by money or personal aggrandizement, but by a strong, totally altruistic commitment to truth and the scientific process.

Others laughed when he called himself a scientist, but Matthew was devoted to science in a way that few were. A literal-minded man, he was nevertheless fascinated by the lies people were fond of telling themselves about the universe in which they lived, despite all of the evidence pointing to the fact that the average human being was powered by electro-chemical impulses in the same way that computers were powered by electronic ones, and the universe itself was a large, marvelous accident.

Most of the scientists and troops within the company believed as Matthew did, but few had his zeal not only for believing the truth, but for exposing the lies and self-deceptions that weakened the sentient mind, every inhabited sector of the universe, and the company, as well.

There was a sort of brain fever that people contracted once they left civilization. Matthew had seen it again and again, not just among the inhabitants of colonial outposts like this, but also on space stations and ships too long away from port. People encountered a few mysteries that had not yet been properly investigated, and they suddenly decided that even the things they understood had some sort of strange causation. They started believing in myths, anthropomorphized machinery, and nonsentient life-forms; they talked to plants and animals. Ridiculous, but there it was. Matthew considered himself to be something of a deprogrammer/reformer/reformationist.

Usually, he had found, there was a ringleader, or maybe more accurately, an opinion maker, generally someone suffering from the borderline schizophrenia that passed for "creativity." These people had to be stabilized and adjusted, or eliminated. Elimination was not the preferred option, simply because one such person would invariably be replaced by another leader, whereas if one used the power they had already built up among their fellows for one's own purposes, results were much quicker.

As an anthropologist, he had made a particular study of the sort of beliefs people were apt to indulge in, and from what he'd heard of Petaybee, their mass illusion was not an especially unusual one.

They thought their planet was sentient. Quite likely all these seemingly remarkable incidents of meteorological and geological shifting were merely coincidental, possibly a delayed reaction to the TerraB process—and he faulted Whittaker Fiske for not remarking on that probability. Certainly these natural occurrences should not be attributed to some gigantic powers or some sort of immense alien life-form, dabbling in so-called adaptive changes.

He was no fool. He had studied the autopsies and all of the Kilcoole group's other "evidence." He was more inclined to think that the claims were more in the nature of a local belief than a planet wide one. The "adaptive changes," which bordered on extremes, were no doubt mutations from some latent toxins contained by this world which had previously gone undetected. They would, of course, need to be eliminated—or the inhabitants removed, which would suit Intergal's purposes quite well.

But the commission wouldn't do so on his unsupported opinion. His wisest course was to find other opinion leaders who held beliefs different from those of the people in Kilcoole, to demonstrate to the commission that local superstition on the Fact of one group should not be allowed to be taken as a planet wide condition.

To that end, he ordered a helicopter for his own use while Marmion was out and busy charming the locals. He was told that a pilot named Greene could be made available to him.

"Destination, sir?"

"I wish to travel to the settlements on the southern hemisphere," Matthew said. "I will need transport and accommodations for myself and three assistants."

"I'm sorry, sir," the woman said with an apologetic wince. The only craft now available has room for the pilot and two other people. That's all."

"Then make another craft available. Do you think my work is so trivial it can be performed unaided?"

"You said that, sir, not me."

"What is your name?" Matthew sputtered.

"Rhys-Hall, sir. Captain Neva M. Rhys-Hall, communications officer. No offense intended, sir. If it's the pilot's name you're wanting, sir, it's John Greene. He's scheduled for Harrison's Fjord anyway at 1220 hours, can refuel there and take you southward. If you can be ready and at the field by then, you'll save time and be there before dark."

"And accommodations?"

"You're on your own there, sir. Up till recently, the company never considered this planet worth two depots and command centers. I'd take a sleeping bag and a survival tent, if I were you."

"Thank you for the advice, Captain. I will not forget it." Or you, you impertinent bitch, he told himself.

One assistant, then? The decision was not difficult to make. Braddock Makem, a man who thought much as Matthew himself did, was the most trusted and resourceful of his assistants. He found Braddock in his spartan quarters, studying the various reports, and told him what was required of him, in perfect confidence that the gear and Braddock would be ready at the appointed time.

Chapter 9

When Marmion arrived at the building—which was painted a really awful murky dark green—where Matthew Luzon had set up his office, she found only his five minions, all industriously tapping out commands while their screens showed curves and graphs and columns of figures. She didn't approve of statistics of any kind: they only proved what the statistician wished them to. Credit reports and prospectuses were, of course, in an entirely different category.

They had the good manners to stand when she entered the room, so she smiled at them while she made a show of peering about.

"I don't see Dr. Luzon, and I did so wish to have a word with him," she said, beaming at the nearest of the lot. "You are . . ." She struggled to remember Sally's tips on how to distinguish them one from another. "Ivan, aren't you?"

"Yes'm."

"And where is Dr. Luzon?" Marmion noted the absence of one—Braddock Makem—and began to realize she might have underestimated Matthew's devious zealotry. How embarrassing. "Has he gone off into the wilds on adventure and left you here, slogging away at the tedious details?"

One after another of the physically fit young men cleared their throats.

"Ah, I see that he has, and it's very much too bad of him, as I'd arranged for Captain O'Shay to take all of us to that so—mysterious cave for an on-site investigation. Matthew's so keen to do on-sites," she put in, managing a little move of disappointment, "and this is one of the most important ones, so Whittaker Fiske assured me." She paused to consider her disappointment. Then, brightly, she smiled around at them. "But that doesn't mean that you can't come with me, since it's so hard to get a big enough copter to take us all. In fact, just us will take up all the room. So, come on, now. Save those important programs, laddie bucks, grab your anoraks and let's be off . . ." When another of them—ah, yes, the very blond one was Hans—started to object, she said, "Now, now, I won't hear any excuses from you, Hans. This is as important as all those figures, because it's subjective, not objective, and it will certainly show the commission how diligent you are in examining every facet of this investigation."

Sally and Millard had deftly slipped in behind her and were handing out outer wear to the men, who were so accustomed to obeying authority that they automatically complied. They were out the door and in the personnel transport and on their bumping way across to the big copter before they knew what had happened.

Rick O'Shay hurried them aboard, directing the seating in order to balance the load. "Real glad you fellows could make the time for this side trip, because you don't see much from a shuttle. Blink your eyes and you're past the interesting points. Miz Algemeine, you're up front . . . Hey, where's Dr. Luzon? Rick looked around, surprise and disappointment on his face. I thought he was the one wanted so much to come."

Marmion could have kissed the young man—he was very attractive, anyway—because Ivan and Hans were obviously having second thoughts about the advisability of this sojourn.

"Hell's bells." Rick shook his head, a lugubrious expression on his face. Then he brightened up and took a deep breath. "Well, you guys can give him a full report on what he's missing. That's it, now buckle up."

The big copter swung up and headed north by east, barely troubled by the turbulence.

Sally was wedged between Hans and Marcel, with Millard at the window and facing Ivan, George, Jack, and Seamus Rourke, whom Marmion had introduced as their expedition guide. Seamus had been Clodagh's suggestion. "He's as good, bar Sean or myself, as you'd want or need," Clodagh had assured her.

"You've often been to this cave site, Mr. Rourke?" Sally asked conversationally when she saw the first hint of "should we really be here?" anxiety on Jack's well-tanned, handsome face. With Marmion out of earshot in the front, Sally felt responsible for keeping things running smoothly in back.

"Not this particular one, Miz Sally," Seamus said affably, twiddling his thumbs: sitting down, doing nothing while traveling a long distance was new to him. "Been in most on the east coast, whenever the folk there invite us to a latchkay. We exchange hospitality like, us in Kilcoole and them on the coast, once a year. Good things, latchkays," he went on when he saw her look of inquiry. "Gets folks from nearby and as far away as the weather permits figurin' out how to solve any problems that've come up since the last one. And we get some fine singing done. Too bad you weren't all here for the last one we had. Fine songs from Major Maddock and young Diego. Kind of songs that ease the heart and mellow the soul. Maybe we could fix it that we have another one, sort of to welcome you all to Petaybee," he added. "What with the early thaw, we couldn't've planned another short of June, but I don't see why we can't show you lads a bit of Petaybean hospitality while you're here. You do like dancing, don't you?" He asked that with such skepticism that one of Luzon's men had to reply.

"I think we all do, sir," Hans told him.

"We wouldn't expect you to sing a' course, unless," Seamus hastily added, not wishing to insult anyone, "you had a song you wanted to share with us."

Luzon's men looked totally out of their depth. Sally and Millard managed to keep their expressions merely receptive. but they dared not look at each other.

"Ah well, you can always listen," Seamus said, "and eat some real good chow, and a' course, Clodagh makes the best blurry on Petaybee."

"Blurry?" Hans jumped on the word.

Everyone turned toward Seamus.

"Blurry's a tradition here," Seamus said, warming to his subject. "Drink it cold, warm, hot, and it soothes the cockles of the heart. Doesn't take a man's senses from him like al-ki-hall-ics do—" He frowned, " and no one's ever had a hangover like the SpaceBasers get from that rot gut they drink. You could say . . ." He considered his next words carefully. ". . . that it's a tonic for what ails you. Give it to the kids when they're feeling puny, and next day they're up and out again. 'Bout the only thing it can't cure is frostbite, but I wouldn't be surprised if Clodagh'll figure out how to do that soon, too."

Sally and Millard exchanged significant glances. Marmion Algemeine would have to hear every detail of this.

"Is this blurry of yours good for indigestion?" Sally asked, seizing on the common complaint as the safest.

"Sure it is, and as good for labor pains as it is for flatulence, heartburn, and yer all-purpose bellyache," Seamus assured her, turning his face toward her so that she alone saw the broad wink

'Do you use many . . . Local remedies here, Mr. Rourke?" Ivan asked, his eyes sharp on the old man's face.

"We've not much else to use, laddie," Seamus said, hitching his hands up under the slight sag of his belly on his thighs. "And I'm not criticizing SpaceBase folk if they keep their own medicine for their own people. We got ours and it works for us. Petaybee takes care of us real well, you know."

"That's exactly what we're here to decide," Hans said, setting his jaw at an obstinate angle.

Inwardly Sally groaned. Maybe kidnapping these young men out from under Matthew's rigid authority had not been such a good idea after all. Certainly having Seamus Rourke as a guide was turning disastrous, since he had already implied the existence of one questionable substance in the "blurry." The wink had indicated that perhaps he was simply having a joke on them, but people like Matthew Luzon had no sense of humor, and Sally knew that Luzon would be delighted to learn of blurry's "miraculous" properties and suggest the possibility of "drug-induced hallucinations." First thing she would do when they returned to SpaceBase would be to get herself some blurry and run it through exhaustive tests, just to be safe. Sometimes even innocuous elements, when combined, produced potent, if not lethal, results.

A glance at Millard told her he was thinking the same thing.

Fortunately, before any other dangerous subjects could be raised, the helicopter went into hover mode and began its descent. The cliff loomed over them higher and higher, rock crags like upturned claws avoided by inches as Rick Amaluk O'Shay neatly put the skids in the footprint of his previous landing.

There was the bustle of disembarkation, with Rick and Millard distributing hand torches, a blanket—"to sit on during the show"—and a packet of rations, so that Sally didn't have a chance to report to Marmion. When Seamus enthusiastically urged them to follow him into the cave, there was no option to refuse or hang back, especially with Rick acting as rear guard.

One of Luzon's lads was talking into a handheld recorder, but when Sally got close enough to hear him, he was merely mumbling about the composition of the rock surfaces and reminding himself to look up examples of luminescent rock types.

Suddenly they were in a cavern that stretched incredibly far in all directions, with Seamus chivvying them to find themselves a comfortable spot, in case they had to wait a bit.

"What? No blurry?"' one of the lads murmured.

"You don't need no blurry in a cave, boy," Seamus said severely. With a sniff of disgust, he found himself a comfortable knob to settle on.

"What's this 'blurry'?" Marmion asked Sally.

"It's a native drink," Sally began. Then she noticed the mist rising from the water, and started taking note of their surroundings. "Why, Marmion, this is just like—"

Marmion's hand on her arm stopped her surprised exclamation. "Exactly what Whittaker Fiske and that doubting Thomas of a son of his reported .. . We'll talk later."

Marmion always sat upright and managed to do so even on the hard surface of the cave, crossing her legs and resting her hands lightly on her knees. Sally felt that the ancient meditational position was quite suitable and copied it as the mist began to thicken and swirl around them.

She remembered sniffing deeply, wondering if there was some sort of hallucinogenic in the very air they were breathing, but if there was, it was nothing she had ever encountered anywhere. And she had been just about everywhere Intergal went.

Everyone heard the thwump-thwump of the copter echoing back and forth across the fjord. Yana rushed out of the kitchen where she'd been helping cut veg for the evening meal. Shielding her eyes against the westering sun, she saw the flash of sunlight off the rotors.

Fingaard and some of the other men were rushing down the switch back road to the wide terrace of the wharf area. Sean had gone out with the fishermen that morning. Turning her back on the incoming copter, Yana looked down the long high-walled fjord for a glimpse of returning fishing boats. She'd been appalled when she'd seen how insubstantial the curraghs were: no more than hides bound to a larchwood framework with a wide slat, bored through the center so a slim mast could be stepped into the hole and a small sail attached. The current carried them out with the tide and in with the tide; otherwise it was a long, hard paddle up the Fjord unless the wind was just right to use the sail.

She breathed a sigh of relief to see black blobs on the horizon raise small white triangles of sails as they made their way up the fjord. Then she turned again to head in the direction of the approaching copter. She had her foot on the first step when Nanook casually barred her way.

"C'mon now, I need a word with Johnny, Nanook!"

From the big black-and-white cat issued a noise that was half snarl, half voice command. Bunny had said Nanook could speak to those he chose to have listen to him. This comment didn't need words. Nanook's warning was too clear.

"Something's wrong with the copter, Nanook?" Yana asked.

Nanook sneezed and sat down, barring her way up the steps.

She peered more intently and saw two men in the front of the copter. And only one of them was someone she wanted to see.

"Ooops!" She turned and hurried back into the house. Nanook followed. That did surprise her. "I won't go out if you don't want me to," she told him.

He sneezed again and settled himself by the hearth.

"Ardis, is there any way you can hint to Johnny Greene that I'm here, and Sean's out with the curraghs? They're on their way in."

"Sure, if that's what's needed," Ardis said, grinning as she hauled off her apron. "Johnny might just have a letter for me from my sister up New Barrow way. She's expecting—again."

The last cat in McGee's Pass was named Shush, because in her youth she had been a noisy kitten. Those days were long past. Shush was not the last cat left in the pass because she lacked discretion. She was silent as smoke, quick as a spark, and very, very discreet. She had learned discretion shortly after Satok came to live among the people. The skull on his staff had once graced her father's shoulders.

It was she who had sent word to the Kilcoole cats that the people of McGee's Pass would vote to mine, as Satok had been urging them to do. Frankly, she didn't know if they would or not, but saying so could have brought someone to challenge Satok. Stupid cats of Kilcoole to send only two half-grown kittens! And now Satok had taken one of them. Perhaps soon her skull would be an ornament for him, as well.

Shush's family had been murdered. More critically from her viewpoint, all the toms had been murdered. She had gone through heat after heat alone, risking death in the woods to keep her cries from reaching the ears of Satok. Krisuk Connelly commiserated with her occasionally, but everyone else had been told the cats were spies; which, of course, they were, since it was only natural to lurk and spy and satisfy one's curiosity.

Until she had heard from the Kilcoole cats, in fact, she had imagined herself the last cat on Petaybee.

Well, the last proper cat anyway. There were lynxes, of course, and bobcats, and she had once or twice heard the hunting cry of a track-cat, but her mother had told her that those sorts of creatures, if you caught them on a bad day or when they had nothing in particular to socialize about, would eat you as soon as look at you.

So Shush stayed solitary for years, living off her wits, spying on the village and making herself invisible whenever Satok was around. It had taken a great deal for her to lead the Kilcoole cats' people to the cave, but she had in mind that somehow, being from elsewhere, these ones might not succumb to Satok.

When the girl was taken there was no one to cry to. The dog lay stricken, as Shush's own family had been stricken, by Satok's cruel staff. Krisuk and the Kilcoole boy were in the dead place. Not even to save a litter of her own would Shush brave that place.

Instead she bounded off in the opposite direction, down the road and out of town, back tracking the hoofprints of the big horses, already nearly lost in the snow. When she was tired, she rested, licked the snow from her feet, and thought. The Kilcoole cats had contacted her, but she didn't know how they had done it. She had been trying to flush out a rabbit at the time, pawing at the half-thawed ground, when a voice spoke to her in her own tongue, within her mind. She asked the voice who it was, thinking it was perhaps the ghost of one of her relatives, asking if it was safe to spend another life there, but the voice replied that although it was, like herself, a cat, it was from the village of Kilcoole.

The voice belonged to a tom. She was sure of that. The question was not highly detailed. It wanted to know if the people of McGee's Pass would mine for the company or not. She said they would if they were told to, which had been her experience of them. They weren't bad people, but Satok had taken away their partnership with the planet and creatures like herself and turned it to his own purposes and against them.

The tom had said nothing about people coming, but Shush sensed that there would be visitors. They had come! And now Satok was dividing them and destroying them as he had so much in the village.

So Shush left, having nothing more to wait for. She leaped from one horse track to another. She sniffed when the track disappeared; she felt the howling wind roughing her fur the wrong way.

Late that night she found where the horse and dog tracks met with other tracks, including those that made her lift her lips in recognition. A track-cat, quite likely a Kilcoole cat, since the people had come from Kilcoole. A large one. And more horse tracks, like those of the people. She clawed at the cat tracks, rubbed her head against them, marked them with her scent. From the other scents mingled with the big cat's, he had been among others of her kind and probably was unlikely to eat her.

Thinking that these new folk might be camped just ahead, she followed the tracks. But she was small and the trail was long, and Satok had won again. She yowled for the Kilcoole cats to answer her, but none did.

Finally, at daybreak, she slept for a few hours, then began moving again, though the tracks were older and much harder to follow. What other choice did she have?

Matthew Luzon felt aggrieved and aggravated by the pilot's attitude. He had felt from the first that this Captain Greene did not take him and his mission with sufficient gravity. He did not exude a positive attitude. He also appeared to be an uncommonly bad driver, hitting every pocket of turbulence no matter which altitude he attained, flying far too close to mountain tops at times and into cloud banks at others.

And that was after they were finally on their way. The man had dawdled an unconscionably long time loading various items into the cargo net behind the seats. In fact, the copter would have been quite large enough for all of Matthew's assistants, had it not been for this cargo.

"Here, can't you leave that behind?" he'd demanded at one point when his patience was strained, but the pilot just smiled and said, "No can do, sir. The villagers at the Fjord need this stuff. Be with you in a jiff."

Then had come the dreadful flight and Braddock regurgitating all over the floor, so they'd had to smell it during the entire first leg of the trip.

When they landed at Harrison's Fjord, a pretty little place, he disembarked from the aircraft to allow Braddock to clean up his mess and found himself a boulder to occupy up wind, where he could continue his annotations. The pilot opened all the windows and doors to flush out the rest of the stench.

"Gotta unload, Dr. Luzon," the man said, although Matthew had assumed an attitude that few would have bothered to interrupt. "And refuel. Might as well take on some grub now." Then he lowered his voice so that his words would not carry to Braddock, lying on a mossy stretch of ground, legs drawn up to his aching belly. "They do good fish fries." Matthew waved his hand dismissively at the mention of such greasy fare. "And," the pilot went on, indicating Braddock, "get him an air sickness pill. He ought to have mentioned the problem before we took off."

Matthew nodded, wondering why the pilot had not had the courtesy to inquire before they took off from SpaceBase. Then the village folk arrived to help unload, and the pilot turned to greet the one woman in the group. She was a slightly different rustic type from those Matthew had seen in Kilcoole. She chatted affably with the pilot as he and some of the men unloaded the helicopter. Matthew wrote down the iniquities of the flight he had just endured to be sure they were entered onto the pilot's record. He noticed that someone had given Braddock a blanket to keep off the chill of wind stirred by the idly rotating propeller blades.

Scanning the village, Matthew assumed that the chief industry was fishing. No doubt this would present a fruitful sub-culture to study, since coastal peoples occupying somewhat more temperate areas undoubtedly had customs, mores, and folkways that differed from those in the interior. He made a note, since Braddock was in no position to take dictation, to return for a proper investigation later.

When he made one more sweeping scan of the village before reboarding the newly lightened copter, he was surprised to notice, sunning itself in the doorway, a very large cat. About the size of a panther, he supposed, except that it did not have the conformation of one of those sleek, predatory, and now almost extinct beasts. Though large, it was more like an immense domestic feline, with rather common black and white markings. Possibly one of the track-cats he had heard so much about: one of the miraculous beasts said to have aided in the rescue of the Fiskes and to have been instrumental in the healing of Frank Metaxos.

He stood up, closing his notepad and wondering if it was wise to approach the beast. It did not seem to be under anyone's control. If it happened to be a stray, perhaps he could acquire it for the laboratory and extensive examination. He was about to order the pilot to have the beast caged until he could return for it when the pilot beckoned urgently to him and unceremoniously boosted him back aboard. Braddock was already belted in, thankfully looking more sleepy than nauseated. Before Matthew could mention the cat or protest their precipitous departure, the rotors were whirling and the aircraft was up over the deep waters of the fjord, well above the masts of some primitive sailing craft.

Oddly, the flight to the southern continent was markedly absent of the turbulence they had encountered over land. Matthew attempted to shout over the noise in the cabin, a query about the village they had just left. He finally resorted to touching Greene's shoulder to get his attention. The man merely smiled affably. tapping his earphones, and shrugged. Matthew subsided in his seat and tightened his seat belt—then had to loosen it slightly or risk cutting off the circulation in his torso. He did not like being isolated by the exigencies of travel and wondered why there was only one headset. So he made a tremendous effort to contain himself during what was likely to be a very dull and long journey. Fortunately the cold air and the smells of machine oil covered the faint residue of Braddock's indiscretion.

Every time Matthew flew in one of these vehicles, he resolved to take flying lessons, for the procedures seemed ridiculously simple, but he never seemed to find the time for the formal course. Once, a long—gone member of his bevy of assistants, a perhaps too easily influenced young man, had showed an aptitude for flying. Unfortunately, as soon as he had learned to fly, his personality changed, and he no longer demonstrated the qualities of unswerving loyalty and unquestioning obedience Matthew insisted upon in an assistant.

He suspected that the man flying the copter was not of the caliber required in an aide either. Matthew's opinion was confirmed when he retrieved a report from his case and noticed, stowed under his seat, the headphones that should immediately have been offered to him by Greene. At once, he plugged these into the socket on the armrest and placed them over his ears. A burst of static poured through them that made him wrench them off.

Tapping the pilot authoritatively on the shoulder, he pointed at the headset. Grinning, the pilot shook his head, moved his mouth piece aside, and leaned over to say, "Don't work!"

Matthew's reactions included amazement, anger, frustration, and total disgust with the inefficiency and indifference shown by the inhabitants of this world. People were scattered all over the universe, some of them living in highly sophisticated, totally engineered environments, all scrupulously maintained by Intergal. He ended up on an incredibly primitive world with a headset, similar to hundreds he had used before, that failed to work due to what was surely an easily remedied technical difficulty.

Of course, this sort of aircraft was only slightly improved over its ancient counterpart. The old ones had had neither speed nor range and had been limited in the altitudes they could achieve. This particular one, with its incidental malfunctions, was by no means state-of-the-art: it hadn't the power to lift out of the planet's atmosphere, and was excruciatingly noisy.

However, it required very little space to land, could hover, and could set down safely, if necessary, at night unaided by light from the ground. That ability, he reflected, as he studied the map printout on his wrist unit, was a necessary requirement.

He wanted to ask the pilot if flights to the southern continent were frequent. Surely they must be. This planet north and south, had long been used for troop recruitment, an occupation the so-called sentient world did not seem to obstruct. Ah, and he qualified that as he remembered his notes. It was the young who answered recruitment drafts: those who had not yet been mutated by whatever toxins in their soil produced the glandular deformity and the deposit of "brown fat" that supposedly allowed older members of the population to survive the extreme temperatures.

The nearest city to Harrison's Fjord on the southern continent was Bogota, at the mouth of the Lacrimas River. The sizable peninsula on which the city was situated extruded like a big, clumsy thumb into the sea. He had, of course, scrutinized the maps of this region, now entering its winter season. Most of the population centers—one could hardly call them cities—were situated on the coastal plains near the major rivers: Bogota on the Lacrimas, Kabul on the eastern fork of the New Ganges, and Lhasa on the Sierra Sangre. Another village called Sierra Padre was located farther up the Sierra Sangre at the foot of the Sierra Padre Mountains. A settlement known as Kathmandu was isolated within yet another mountain range, optimistically dubbed the Shambalas.

Kathmandu seemed a likely place to look for culture uncontaminated by the crackpot pseudo-mystical theones of the natives of the north. Bogota, being the largest and most accessible population center, was the most likely to have been influenced.

For hours after they left the warm harbor of Harrison's Fjord, flanked by the ice-packed coast of the rest of the northern continent, they skimmed the cold gray of the ocean, which didn't particularly depress Matthew, as cold gray was one of his favorite colors. Huge chunks of ice floated in these waters, as large as islands or small continents themselves. Initial reports had suggested that the southern edge of the northern continent had many glaciers which constantly calved into the unobstructed oceans that girdled the planet.

The sun struck sapphires from the clefts in the ice, and the gray of the clear salt waters was sequined with darting fish. Schools of dolphins followed the copter's shadow across the breast of the sea. Matthew was oblivious to them, as he was to the blowing and sounding of the Petaybean tube whales: so called because their ancestors had been bits of cells frozen and later incubated in test tubes. Brought to maturity in controlled environments, the large, strong mammals had then been released into the planet's newly formed ocean. The whales, like the dolphins, seemed attracted by the novelty of the copter.

At last, toward evening, they were within sight of the southern coast, a sight so spectacular that even Matthew was forced to admire its grandeur.

Though the harbor, like its counterpart at Harrison's Fjord, contained water warmed by the geothermal springs and rivers the planet seemed to have in abundance, the rest of the coastline was glacial. Huge cliffs of ice glittered white and crystal: deepest indigo in the recesses. and a rich bright cobalt where the setting sun struck the crevasses. Glaciers calved, huge chunks splintering off, plummeting into the sea with a roaring crack, surfacing through a rush of displaced waters, displaying new surfaces. On other floating chunks, seals and otters and big tusked walruses basked and swam in the frigid sea.

As the copter drew nearer the southern continent, the sun began setting, burning across the water to recast the scene in shades of mauve and tangerine.

Nearer yet, they saw herds of caribou race across the coastal plains, huge white bears lumbering across the ice or swimming in the lakes that studded the plains like chips of coral.

From those spectacular vistas, the sight of Bogota was a massive let down.

It contained a double row of barracks-type buildings, no more than a kilometer in length, a landing pad with a pile of fuel cans perilously near, and a number of small hide boats not dissimilar to the ones Matthew had seen at Harrison's Fjord. As they over flew the town, they were close enough to observe those inhabitants who were lounging about. The native costume seemed to consist of cast-off uniform pieces from the company corps. The copter's arrival caused no particular excitement: few heads even turned up to observe its passage.

With great delicacy, the pilot set the copter down right beside the fuel cans, shut off the engines, and without a word, climbed out and began to refuel. Oddly enough, no one came to check, though Matthew could see people less than a hundred meters away watching the process. While Greene fueled up, Matthew disembarked, demanding a few answers now that the man could not pretend he didn't hear him.

"Shouldn't someone be logging you in or something, Greene?"

"Why? They knew the copter, and they know it's the one I fly. If I had something to deliver here, I'd have flashed my lights and someone would have come to make a pickup."

Matthew digested that explanation—yet another example of the nonchalance and indifference that were so rife on this planet and that would be rectified.

"Is this all there is to this town?" He gestured about the landing area and toward the two rows of dwellings.

"Bogota? Yes, sir. Nobody much lives in Bogota."

"Why not?"

"It's unstable, sir. You saw the glaciers. They make sure that the earth always moves for you, that's one thing. You get rocked to sleep every night, though some rockings 're harder than others. Then there's the bears. They mostly live on fish, but they'll take anything that's handy, including human beings if they're hankerin' for a change of menu."

Braddock, looking nauseated again now that the effect of the pill had worn off, had exited the copter. With an effort, he tried to assume some of his usual assistance duties, his expression carefully neutral. "Do you suggest that we use this place as a base headquarters?"

The pilot scratched his head, pushing his cap forward over his forehead. "Well, this place is as good as any on this continent. It ranks as a depot, not that it has all the amenities SpaceBase offered. Mostly it's a drop point to collect recruits and to return soldiers from these parts who are demobbing. I haven't done a lot of flying around here except to Bogota, to tell you the truth, and Sierra Padre. The warm rivers make the ground swampy in the summer and create powerful turbulence the rest of the year, and you don't go far before you get into the mountains. Sierra Padre is a little bigger, a little more comfortable, and the place a lot of southern folks call home. Of course, you understand, lots of people aren't settled real permanent but move from hunting camps to fish camps and back again, according to the season."

"Thank you, Captain Greene," Matthew said. ''In that case, we have no time to lose in reaching Sierra Padre before we run out of daylight. Let us climb back aboard and continue on."

Braddock did not quite stifle a groan, and Matthew gave him a reproving glare. Really, he had thought his chief assistant was made of sterner stuff.

"Well, sir, I got to tell you," Johnny Greene said. "This is going to get me in trouble back at headquarters. I've got another mission to fly soon's I get back."

"May I remind you that I am your mission right now Captain, and my business has the highest possible priority."

"Yes, sir, so let's get going right now and I'll tuck you in at Sierra Padre before I take off again."

"I was expecting you to stay and act as our transport during this vital research mission, sir."

"My orders were just to fly you here, sir, and return north for my next mission. Tell you what, though. It shouldn't take very long. Why don't you gents settle in at Sierra Padre, get the lay of the land in the snocle, talk to a few folks, and I'll be back in a few days to collect you?"

"I'd prefer you to be more specific than that, Captain."

"Yeah, me too, sir. But everything's pretty unsettled right now. You've got a portable comm unit with you, haven't you?"

"Braddock does. Naturally."

"Then if you don't see me by the time you're ready to go on to one of the other villages, you just ring up to the station and they'll give me a holler or dispatch someone else."

"In case of emergency, I will go to that extreme inconvenience, Captain Greene. However, it is your responsibility and your sole responsibility to see that I have transport to my next destination within three days. If I am at all discommoded by your absence, you will find yourself busted back to flying paper aircraft. Do I make myself clear?"

"Oh, yes, sir, I know how foolish it would be to get crossways of an important man like yourself, sir," Greene said with not quite enough humility to suit Matthew.

Braddock suddenly came to life. "Wait a moment. Greene? What is your first name?"

"Why. it's Johnny, dear heart. What's yours?" Greene replied, batting his eyelashes in a way that was mocking and impertinent in the extreme.

"Sir, Braddock said, turning to Matthew. "Wasn't there a Captain John Greene piloting the copter carrying Dr. Fiske when he crashed in the volcanic blast area?"

Matthew was relieved. His judgment in bringing Braddock was vindicated. The boy might whine and puke, but his mind was unaffected by his physical discomforts. Matthew himself should have referenced the name but had been too preoccupied in gathering new data.

Before he could formulate the questions he wanted to ask, the captain went on.

"Yes, sir, that's me, and to tell you the truth, Dr. Fiske sort of loaned me to you as a courtesy. Normally I'm attached to his exclusive service."

Matthew smiled. "Ah well, then, Captain Greene. Please thank my old friend Whittaker for his kindness and tell him that I wish to deprive him of you for a while longer to assist me with my inquiries. If you'll please drop us at Sierra Padre, we can at least make use of our time there to further our investigations. But make sure that you do return!"

Greene snapped him a salute.

Shush awoke, killing and devouring a vole before she set out on the trail once more, following the spoor of the curlies and the track-cat of Kilcoole.

She was far from her territory, among wild things that would kill her and eat her as casually as she had killed and eaten the vole, and yet, the farther from the pass she traveled, the better she felt. The very mud and snow beneath her paws seemed to put spring in them, to make her step lighter and her gait swifter.

Shortly after she began walking again, she found the used campsite of the people: cold ashes, churned snow and mud, grasses scattered on the ground from the horse's meals, and a few small bones from the track-cat's. A tentative, fearful sniff relieved her mind that these were rabbit bones, not cat. She sniffed the track-cat's sign and trotted onward.

She thought of Satok, of her massacred race, and of the girl as she walked, but she had to be careful not to drift too long into reverie. Once she noticed barely in time that a wolf was watching her from the bushes. Fortunately, wolves could not climb trees and she could. She slept in a tree that night, and in the morning walked on.

That night, as she stalked a squirrel, she pounced and somersaulted in the air just in time to catch the whiff of the fox a spare few feet away. Her distraction caused the squirrel to bolt for its hole in the tree roots and she bolted after it, squeezing in the tip of her tail just as the fox's nose appeared at the hole.

As she lay there panting, heedless of the squirrel, which had burrowed deeper, she wanted to wail. This was too hard. It was too far. There were too many things that wanted to eat her and she was all alone, and further more, she felt as if she just might be going into heat again.

I am all alone, she cried, and something said, But I designed you to be alone.

Not all the time, she said and it said, No.

I am afraid, she cried. A man would kill me, beasts would eat me, and the Kilcoole cats are far away and their people are Satok's prey.

Did someone speak of the Kilcoole cats? a voice—a different voice—asked. A big voice, a cat voice, a tom voice, but a big voice. Who are you, little sister?

I am Shush, the last of my race at McGee's Pass, she said. Who are you?

Nanook. What do you know of the people protected by the Kilcoole cats?

I know they strayed into danger. Satok will kill them, as he killed us. He took the girl. He will surely kill the boy or make him submit, as he made all of those under my protection submit.

Ah. And the dog? There was a dog? For a dog, she was good.

She is dead. Are you—far? she asked.

Two days' lope from where we left the boy and girl.

I have traveled two days.

Your legs are short.

I am afraid. I am alone.

I am coming, Nanook's voice said. And as an after-thought it added, And no, I do not eat my small cousins.

Bunny and Diego saw the cat tracks in the snow but were too preoccupied to pay them much attention. Both of them had slept badly, but once out of the village, Diego brooded and Bunny couldn't stop talking.

Diego was just attuned enough to her to notice that her hands trembled on the reins. Her face, like his, was scraped and bruised, her mouth swollen so that she kept biting her lip. He didn't know if she had the pounding headache he had. She talked a lot, but she hadn't said anything about a headache, or her aches and pains. Mostly, she was angry, raving about how those people could have let Satok get away with what he had! How had he been able to do that to them, and how could he do that to the planet?

Diego didn't answer. He listened with part of his mind to what she said, and with the other part, he was composing a song. Again, he longed for an instrument, wishing to make a song with angry music which even the biggest drum could not emphasize strongly enough.

When they camped for the night, he began writing his song down, while sunny looked on curiously, still talking.

Her voice was like rain falling now, or the drone of a ship's engine. He nodded and grunted, but the song was at the front of his consciousness.

Buried alive, screaming,

The stone smothered

The roots strangled

The soil smothered

White death like

Your snow-skin

From one like

But unlike

A son.

Diego stopped writing. The planet should have a song for that murdered part of it, but this was not complete, not right. It needed a better song than this. He sang it to Bunny and she thought it was good, but then, the critical side of his nature reminded him, she was also proud of her jingle about her snocle license. This song must be the very best that could be sung, for it was of terrible injuries that must be healed.

The next morning, riding toward Harrison's Fjord, they were silent.

You are not a cub and you cannot live forever with me in the Home, Coaxtl told Goat-dung.

"I understand why you would not want me," Goat-dung said, "for I am nothing and no one. But if I cannot live with you, then go ahead and eat me now, for I'd rather be eaten by a friend than by strange beasts, and I will not return to Shepherd Howling."

Did I say that you should, foolish youngling? But there are others in the village at the mouth of this river.

"They'll make me go back," she said, full of fear, but Coaxtl said she would wait, and if they tried, she would kill them and take her to a farther village.

So there was nothing for it. She submitted to the will of the cat as she had submitted to the will of others eventually on every occasion but one. Coaxtl walked with her for a way; but on the open plains, where only cold waters fed the river, she lay along Coaxtl's back, hands locked in her mane, knees pressing against the cat's ribs, so that they could cross to cover more quickly.

The sky was still pale pink from the setting sun when they heard the beating heart of one of the company's hummingbird airships. Coaxtl wanted to run away, but the plain was vast and the airship faster even than the big cat's great strides.

Goat-dung watched with awe as the airship approached. She had seen other aircraft in the sky, and the Shepherd had told them those were the Guardian Angels of the Righteous, sent by the company to over see them. She had seen a hummingbird ship only once before, however, when it delivered supplies to the Vale one hopeless winter when a team of the men had walked into Bogota seeking relief. The Shepherd Howling had agreed to this only reluctantly, for she heard him arguing with his advisers: but they knew they would starve without assistance. When the airship came, it was wonderful. Food, more food than they had had in months, and even warm clothing and toys for the children.

So Goat-dung was not afraid when the airship hung above them, close enough that she could see two men arguing through the glass bubble that formed the hummingbird's single eye.

She climbed off Coaxtl's back, feeling the soft warmth of the cat's fur through the rents in her clothing. Her feet were bound up in uncured rabbit skins now, fur side in; the skins stank, but they kept her feet warm. Stunned with fascination, she watched the airship set down.

"Isn't it wonderful, Coaxtl?" she asked the cat. When there was no reply, she turned to see the cat bounding back across the tundra.

A thought whispered back to her across the distance. Your own are here. Good hunting and warm sleeping places, youngling.

"Good hunting and warm sleeping places, Coaxtl," she whispered back, under her breath, but already she was watching the handsome pilot emerge from the aircraft and the tall, thin man with the high forehead and long white tail of hair walking toward her. Another man lingered in a second doorway in the back of the airship.

"Remarkable!" the white-haired man said, staring at her. "Look at her clothing! Why, she should be freezing. And here alone except for a wild animal which would probably have eaten her when hunger overcame it. Amazing! I would have liked a closer look at that cat, though. It seems totally unlike any of the others I've noticed."

The pilot didn't respond to what the elder said but came forward to kneel before her. Before her and so unworthy for such an honor! He even looked her in the eye and spoke in a kind voice that almost made her weep.

"You look a long way from home, alannah. Are you lost? Was that big ol' kitty what you folks down here use for a track-cat?"

Goat-dung sank to her knees before him and bowed her head. "Please forgive the companion of this ignorant and despicable child, O Captain of Angels. Coaxtl befriended me out of pity, but now that my own kind are here, she has fled from fear of the righteous. For are not all animals to be meat and fur for the company men?"

"Where did you hear such drivel?" the captain replied in a disgusted tone of voice. Goat-dung did not expect that.

"Did I get it wrong?" she asked fearfully. "Forgive me if I misquoted the Shepherd Howling. I am the stupidest of girls, as has often been said of me."

"If you ask me, you're the luckiest of kids," the pilot said. "And we're lucky to have found you before you froze to death. Now come aboard, darlin', and stop cringin'. Sure, no one will hurt you now." And he looked back at the tall white-haired man with an expression Goat-dung could not see in the descending shadows.

"Of course they won't, my child," the white-haired man said. And while the pilot had quite correctly refrained from touching such filth as she, the white-haired man took her hands in his and raised her in his arms, carrying her to the plane. "You will come with us to Sierra Padre."

"You won't make me go back to the Vale of Tears?"

"Not if that's how they teach you to talk about yourself. Especially if you have run away from all those bruises and cuts I see on you, no, we won't take you back," the pilot said.

"What and where is this Vale of Tears?" the white-haired man asked.

"You won't make me go back there, sir? I don't deserve to. I fled from being the bride to the Shepherd Howling."

"Bride? You're no more than a baby!" The pilot sputtered with outrage.

But the white-haired man said, "We go now to Sierra Padre, where I will begin my work, and you, my dear, will have a hot bath, clean clothing, a decent meal, and a good night's sleep."

"She certainly will," the pilot said. "An old shipmate of mine, Lonciana Ondelacy, lives in Sierra Padre with her kids and grandchildren. Loncie will be glad to take this little one in."

The white-haired man smiled at her, helping her climb into the big plane beside the other man, who did not smile.

This reassured her more than anything the pilot had said because, of course, it was only right since she did not deserve to be smiled upon. Then, with a great deal of noise and wind, the Captain of the Angels and the white-haired patriarch sent the hummingbird ship aloft, where, for that night, all was miraculously as wonderful as they had said it would be.

Chapter 10

Marmion, led by Seamus Rourke, flanked by Sally and Millard and followed more slowly by Matthew's five assistants, emerged into early-morning sunlight. Rick O'Shay was the last to leave the cave.

"My word! It is the next day?" Marmion exclaimed. She turned to Seamus, who grinned, a smile that had little to do with the day or anything else immediately obvious to Marmion.

"Sure is, missus."

"But we weren't in there long . . ." Sally began, glancing down at the digital on her wrist. Her eyes widened. "Good heavens."

"The next day?" Ivan grabbed her wrist to peer at her digital before checking his own. The other four men apprehensively conferred over this unexpected loss of time. "But we'll be behind in our work . . ." Ivan wheeled accusingly on Seamus. "You had no right to take us away from our work for a whole day."

"This cave is a mere hour's flight from SpaceBase," Hans said, his expression decidedly aggressive and his anger focused on Seamus Rourke, because he didn't dare accuse Marmion.

"How could we have lost so much time . . . sitting in mist?" That aggravated him even more.

"Why, I found it—" Marmion stopped, cocked her head, and then regarded Sally and Millard. "You know, I'm not sure I found anything."

Seamus let out a mighty guffaw. Mischief, as well as satisfaction, twinkled in his eyes.

"You got 'found' anyway, missus. Now, let's not lose more time." He made a whooshing gesture at Rick to start back to the copter.

'How could I get 'found,' Mr. Rourke, when I haven't been lost?" Marmion asked, a quaver in her voice as she allowed Rick and Millard to take her arms as they made their way across the uneven terrain.

"Oh, I 'spect it'll come to you, missus." Seamus chuckled again.

"Mr. Rourke, nothing at all of the nature described by Dr. Metaxos, his son, or even Major Maddock and Dr. Fiske occurred to us," Sally said in an even voice that held just a hint of carefully controlled surprise and disappointment.

Seamus eyed her, his lips curving slightly: she was a very attractive young woman, and he could still appreciate looking.

"Sure hope you wouldn't now the planet's calmed down with no one gouging and blasting holes in it. But you were spoken to," he assured her.

"That's utter nonsense," Hans said. Rick made a noise that sounded like a patronizing rebuke, and Hans whipped around. "I experienced nothing once the mist rose to obscure everything. And then it cleared. You'd have us believe that this—this show took nearly thirty hours?"

"Seems to have done," Seamus replied affably, helping Marmion up onto the copter's high passenger level. "Think on it awhile. It'll come to you."

"Outrageous," George said, his face contorted into a sneer. "Waste of valuable time."

"I'm not sure how we'll explain our defection to Dr. Luzon," Marcel said dismally, the first sentence Marmion had heard him speak.

"Ah, but you don't have to, my dears," she said, buckling her seat belt. "I shall assume all responsibility for this expedition, and I'm sure such industrious young men as yourselves will be able to complete your assigned tasks well before Dr. Luzon returns."

"Do you mean to imply, ma'am," Hans said, eyeing her suspiciously, "that we should conceal our dereliction of duty from Dr. Luzon?"

"Heavens no, Hans dear," Marmion said soothingly, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "I wouldn't conceal a thing from Matthew Luzon," she added drolly. "It just isn't done! But I shall assure him that I dragooned you, as necessary escorts, on a personal, and possibly dangerous, inspection of the so-called remarkable cave where everyone else seems to have had most incredible experiences." She made a move of disappointment and turned to Seamus. "Really," she said, and she stretched out the next two words to express her disillusion, "nothing happened."

"We lost thirty hours," Hans said in an implacable and unforgiving tone. "It'll be dark by the time we get back to SpaceBase."

"Well, there'll be a little time before you have to have dinner," Marmion said.

"We'll work tonight," Hans said, making eye contact with his associates. "We'll catch up that way."

"Oddly enough," Millard remarked, "I feel totally refreshed, with an unusual sense of well-being. Anyone else?"

Sally made a small "oh" of surprise. "I do, too. And I don't think I was asleep . . ."

Marmion did not remark on the fact that she, too, felt unusually alert and energetic: as if she could dance all night long and still put in a full day's work tomorrow.

It occurred to her that maybe the planet had a totally unexpected and exploitable facet—for rest cure facilities. However, she intended to go very slowly on that one, since this party seemed to be the only one to have enjoyed that aspect. Had they just been lucky? Had the planet, as Seamus had suggested, settled down after its aberrant behavior? Even so, she felt almost . . . almost effervescent. And she hadn't experienced that buoyancy in a long, long time.

As soon as Yana saw the little curraghs nearing the wharf, she raced as fast as she dared down the steps to tell Sean the news. Ardis Sounik had confirmed that much of what Johnny Greene had off-loaded was the fuel they would need and Sean's special supplies for his journey. And that Johnny had gone on to Bogota with Luzon, who was up to no good at all. Johnny had hinted broadly that Luzon was bad news. Nanook, who had vanished from the village for some time, suddenly reappeared, fur full of mud and burrs, to bound alongside her. He seemed about to explode with news, too. He licked her hand at one point while she watched the curraghs approach, rubbed his handsome face against her shoulder, and looked deeply into her eyes. She sensed he was trying to talk to her, but she just didn't know how to listen. But, as they descended, all the other cats of the settlement started hurrying in the opposite direction.

"What on earth?" Yana began.

Bunny, something said quite clearly in her head.

"Did you speak, Nanook?" He gave her a resigned look and a sort of growly purr. "I don't mean to be difficult to communicate with, Nanook. Nod your head if Bunny's safe and coming?" Nanook solemnly inclined his head.

"That is such a relief.'' Yana stroked his fine pelt in appreciation. "Maybe one day, we'll hold a meaningful conversation," she added, emboldened by her relief.

Soon.

"Oh!"

Just then Sean appeared over the edge of the high harbor wall and she ran into his arms, burbling to tell him that Johnny had managed to leave off fuel here in the Fjord. Even with Sean smelling to high heaven of fish oils and brine, it was good to have his arms about her and see his smile of delight at her enthusiastic welcome. Then Nanook, who had sat in dignified patience, obviously spoke to Sean, who smiled broadly and fondled the track-cat's ears.

"Bunny and Diego are on their way here, and Shush, the one cat who survived at McGee's Pass, is just a ways behind them. Nanook rendezvoused with her to reassure her and protect her most of the way, but he left to return to us so we wouldn't worry about the kids anymore. He says the village must be good to Shush. She needs to be safe again."

"She's not the only one. When does he expect them all to arrive, Sean? I've been getting quite worried."

Sean shrugged. "Probably by nightfall." His arm tightened about her. "No point in wasting energy backtracking. Nanook says they're okay."

"Run that past me again, Sean, about one cat, surviving at McGee's Pass? Only one? What happened to the others? I thought the cats were cared for in all the villages, the way Clodagh looks after the ones in Kilcoole—"

And they look after her. Yes, that's very serious news to me. too. A village with only one surviving cat is a village in very serious trouble."

"Sean, what did we let those children in for?"

"We'll know soon enough," he said, putting an arm around her shoulders in comfort and reassurance. "The fact that Nanook has stayed here means they're okay, no matter what else. See what I brought you for your dinner, love?" And he held up the pair of rainbow-scaled fish as long as his forearm and considerably thicker.

"Oh, good, Ardis has some potatoes left, and we thawed carrots and onions. Bunny and Diego'll be hungry when they get here."

"Yes, and we, too, for their news."

When Bunny and Diego, who was carefully supporting the wounded Dinah in his arms, arrived at dusk, the evening meal was ready but remained uneaten while more important matters were attended to.

Bunny nodded once at the six place settings at the table. "How did you know we were coming?" she asked. "Oh, I know. Nanook, of course. He started to run past us, stopped long enough for a sniff, and ran away. We didn't see him return though."

"He saw you, though," Sean replied. "He was going to the aid of an orange cat from McGee's Pass. I don't suppose you saw her on the way?"

But Bunny didn't answer; shook her head, preoccupied. Her attention had been captured by watching the movements of Ardis's gentle hand sewing up Dinah's wounds, setting the five broken ribs and the hind leg bone. She splinted the tail, too, but feared that all nerve connections might have been severed. Dinah had managed to convey to Diego that after the man had clubbed her with his staff, he'd caught her by the tail and slammed her against the nearest tree.

Diego had been a thundercloud ready to burst until Ardis had reassured him that, except for the possible damage to her tail, the lead dog would completely recover from her mistreatment. While this was going on, Bunny gave a quick resume of the situation of the cowed and subjugated folks at McGee's Pass, Satok's activities, and the unthinkable sealing of the cave.

"What Bunny doesn't say," Diego began, as Fingaard gently transferred Dinah to a thick blanket near the hearth, "was what that Satok damned near did to her."

"It's what he's done to the planet that's more awful," Bunny contradicted him with a fierce look, and tears started in her eyes. "I could escape, but oh, Uncle Sean, he's made it impossible for anyone to talk to the planet at McGee's Pass."

"He was going to rape you!" Diego said, almost shouting.

"He's already raped our planet!" Bunny yelled back, fists on her waist, body inclined angrily toward Diego.

"Bunny! Diego!" Sean said, snapping out their names in a quiet but very firm voice. "Now that Dinah's safe, you can take turns while we all eat, giving us a complete telling of what happened at McGee's Pass."

"Quite right," Ardis said, pushing first one and then the other young person to a seat at the table while Fingaard brought over the baked fish. Yana quickly added the vegetable bowls to the table, and order was restored as appetites were attended to.

"Diego's making a song about it, too," Bunny said.

Diego glared at her, a mix of irritation, pleasure, and artistic indignation. "It's nowhere near ready."

"It'll be some song when it is, I can tell you that," Bunny said, beaming at him.

"We'll listen very closely whenever the song is ready. Diego," Ardis said reassuringly.

"Now, step by step, please," Sean said, bringing them back to the report.

None of the adults interrupted the two youngsters, as they gave a very credible narration of all that had happened, each giving due credit to the other and to Krisuk's efforts. Both Sean and Fingaard had them repeat several points, such as the question of the Petraseal and how far it extended into the cave, and all the details of Satok's background that Bunny had so cleverly wheedled out of him.

"You sly and clever puss," Sean had said, ruffling her hair with affectionate approval. When he saw Diego scowl darkly, he ruffled the boy's, too, laughing when Diego pulled away. "She is my niece, lad. You're lucky I'm willing to share her company with you!"

"Huh?" was Diego's stunned response.

"Now," Fingaard said, taking charge, his roughened scale-scarred finger making circles on the wooden table, "we have an enemy who needs watching. We have a cave that has been damaged. Can this Petraseal be dissolved?"

"Yes, but the chemical compound of such a solvent is not available at SpaceBase," Sean said.

"It'd take barrels of solvent," Diego said, widening his eyes as he estimated the area to be resurrected. "An awful lot."

''Yes," Sean said. "Any solvent strong enough to dissolve Petraseal might very well be more harmful to Petaybee than the Petraseal is."

"If this has been done at McGee's Pass where the people are just like us, only vulnerable from not having a shanachie for so long," Ardis said, frowning in concern, "can it have been done elsewhere, too? Is it so easy for this Satok to mislead people so they can fail to hear the planet?

"That thought had also occurred to me," Sean said and sighed heavily. "We came here with a specific purpose . . ."

Fingaard's great hand came down on Sean's shoulder "There is much we can do now that we know what has happened, my friend, and you can pursue your personal quest which, I have come to feel, is as important as this new problem."

"Then you believed that Aoifa and Mala were right that there'd been an undersea passage to the south from the ford caves? If they were right, we could establish communications, maybe even a trade route, with the southern continent without company technology for air travel or ice-breaking ships."

Fingaard nodded solemnly several times. "In my father's time creatures emerged from the caves that were born on land, and not undersea, and not here in the north. Mala sent his track-cat back, but she had been badly injured. Only the great loyalty these creatures have for those they love could have kept the beast going until it reached us. We searched, as you know, as far as we could, but the cavern roof had collapsed and our way was blocked." This time his nod was full of sorrowful regret. "But we also saw nothing of Aoifa or her track-cat, Ugraine, so perhaps they were able to go further."

Sean laid his hand on Fingaard's arm, looking up at the large, concerned face. Now that I've seen the site, I think there's a chance that might have happened. I was going to come here and look before, but the accident took us all by surprise and I was delayed, what with arrangements to be made for Bunka and all—and then, when we held a night chant in their honor in our village, I got a definite sense that both of them were gone. Feeling that, I couldn't bring myself to come. Now that I have seen the tunnel, however, I get a little different sense of things. Someone could have got out, got to the other side. I owe it to myself and to the family to explore that possibility."

They were all startled by an unearthly screeching that penetrated the thick wall of the stone house. It rose and fell, deepened and split into savage howls. Growling deep in his throat, Nanook lifted his head from his paws, and his expression was one of offended dignity and disgust. Sean started to laugh, a tuneful descant to the cacophony outside.

"Why does that awful caterwauling make you laugh, Sean Shongili?" Yana demanded. The noise was earsplitting.

Ardis gave a disgusted expression. "The village toms are courting, not that I ever remember them making that much noise before."

Wiping tears from his eyes, Sean managed to control himself enough to explain.

"It's Shush." He turned to Bunny and Diego. "The McGee's Pass cat."

"Shush made it here?" Delighted, Bunny started to rise, only to have Sean push her firmly back into her chair.

"Don't interfere with her right now, honey. She wouldn't appreciate it." And he started to rock with laughter once more.

"Sean Shongili, that's not enough of an explanation!" Yana complained.

Unable to speak, Sean waggled his hand at Nanook who, with great condescension, spoke to Bunny. Once she got the message straight, she started to giggle, too.

"Not the pair of you!'' Yana said. She felt she could use a laugh right now with the rest of them.

"Shush was the last cat in McGee's Pass," Bunny said, —and there were no toms for her. I think she's making up for a lot of lost opportunities!"

"Do they have to do it here, and now?" Ardis protested.

''Now, lass,'' Fingaard said, grinning as he pulled his wife close to him, "you've sounded somewhat like that yourself a time or two when I've returned from a long voyage."

Half-irate, Ardis tried to push her huge spouse away from her, batting vainly at his hands while everyone joined in the laughter. "Never like that. you big oaf!"

One more excruciating cry jarred their eardrums, and then there was blessed silence.

"Well, then," Sean said, "let's turn in and get a good night's sleep. We've an expedition to start .. ." He turned queryingly to Ardis.

"Oh, Johnny brought all the gear you need, and rations for twice the distance," Ardis said, flicking her hand to the outside storage shed. Then she rose, gathering plates up as she did so. Yana and Bunny were instantly on their feet, followed almost immediately by Diego.

The cottage was very shortly occupied by sleepers, so no one noticed the small orange-striped cat who crept in wearily but utterly fulfilled and curled up near the hearth.

Johnny Greene was not at all happy to leave Geedee—how could anyone lumber a child with a disgusting name like Goat-dung—anywhere in the vicinity of Matthew Luzon, though he had perfect faith that she would be safe with Lonciana Ondelacy and her family.

He was especially worried because the child seemed far too content to be in Luzon's presence, looking up eagerly when he spoke and tripping all over herself to answer his every question. Who the frag had ever said that kids could tell scoundrels from saints?

And Luzon, the old hypocrite, was a real smoothie when reassuring the poor frightened and self-deprecating kid, while conveying at the same time how fortunate she was that he wanted to talk to her. Frag, she practically apologized for breathing the same air they did.

Johnny hadn't wanted to take Matthew along when he went to look up his old shipmate Loncie, now a grandmother and one of the community leaders of Sierra Padre. But Matthew had pompously declared that he was determined to do his duty as ranking company official in seeing that the girl had "a suitable placement," and Geedee had looked up at him with wide eyes and clung to his hand.

In the twenty years or so since Loncie had retired and returned to Petaybee, she had acquired quite a bit of weight, an air of authority far exceeding that she had wielded as a chief petty officer, and an incredibly large family. Now almost as round as she was tall, she wore her thick black hair, still only lightly threaded with silver, in an array of braids, secured to her head with an intricately carved and immensely valuable—Johnny saw Matthew looking at the artifact covetously—ivory comb that had not come from any creature supposedly native to this planet.

"Ah, pobrecita!" Lonciana cried when she saw the girl. She barely acknowledged Johnny's cautious introduction of Matthew Luzon and his assistant. Instead, she lifted and clasped to an ample bosom the startled, wide-eyed, scrawny waif. "Que lastima! What has life been doing to you?" Her black eyes snapped with anger directed at Matthew.

"Easy, now, Loncie," Johnny said. "We found her on the flats. She says she's from some hell hole called the Vale of Tears."

Loncie sucked her breath in between her teeth and her eyes narrowed angrily.

"We have heard of such a place," she said. "Tsering Gonzales's boy, who was never right in the head, he said he was going there. He had heard of the place from someone who came trading poorly made cloth for supplies—the man had a boy with him. The boy ran away and long after Jetsun left, Tsering heard tales the boy had told the family that took him in. It is a terrible place. They beat and frighten the children with the most outrageous superstitious nonsense and call it religion! Or so I've heard tell."

Matthew Luzon looked as if someone had just given him a gift and opened his mouth to speak, but Loncie had returned to her new charge. "Never mind, pobrecita, you are safe here with Lonciana Ondelacy."

Johnny didn't want Loncie to take a wily bastard like Luzon too lightly, and flashed her a rather urgent glance, which she caught and immediately understood. Turning to Luzon, she radiated her own considerable charm.

"Do be seated, most gracious Senior Luzon and rescuer of this little scrap of humanity. Pablo, have you not brought the wine? Carmelita, you and Isabella see to the needs of this little one."

She put the child on her feet and gently pushed her toward two daughters who would undoubtedly rival their mother for size and beauty. They smiled winningly at the child, who was nearly catatonic with such unwarranted treatment.

"And how is the nina called, Juanito?" she asked Johnny.

It took him a long moment to answer, but with Loncie looking at him so hard, he had no escape.

"She says her name is Goat-dung!"

"Ay, de mio!" And Lonciana's hands went heavenward. "Tsering did say that they name their young in such a way, to shame and humiliate them, but it is beyond my lips to form such a name in front of the innocent ears of my own children "

"But, mamacita, we know that goats make dung," Carmelita said, giggling.

"Goats do not make los ninos wear such names. Pobrecita we will call you, little one. Take her, bathe her, and see what of your sisters' clothing will clad her decently. I will come and see to her injuries while—Pablo, where is the wine? Ah, here, and biscuits. Oh, you are so clever, mi esposo!" And she beamed on the wiry little man who was entering the room, carrying yet another beautiful artifact to astound Luzon.

This was a silver tray, some of its fine etching cleaned to the copper below the plating, covered with a fine white lace cloth, with a glass decanter and some very plebeian shot glasses of the type to be seen in any Intergal bar.

Senior Pablo, whose last name Johnny didn't catch—it probably wasn't Ondelacy, since that was the name he had known Loncie by when she was a senior chief—was a perfect foil for his wife. He was as quiet as Loncie was verbose, and he showed to Matthew Luzon the deference and respect due to any sneaky and poisonous creature. Pablo gravely insisted that Don Matthew must take the heavy armchair, so incongruous among the rest of the utilitarian furnishings, and gave him first pick of the refreshments.

In his turn, Matthew seemed intrigued by Pablo, who sported a distinguished silvered goatee and sideburns. He was reminded of an extremely valuable painting that he had seen once in a museum on old Terra.

Though Matthew sipped suspiciously at the beverage served him, Johnny enjoyed the resinous flavor that was minor fire in his mouth and left a not—unpleasant after taste.

The biscuits were lighter than Johnny had expected, and sort of cheesy in flavor, which made sense, since there were goats in a pen in the back of the house.

He saw Luzon's gaze roving around the room, taking in a number of uncommon objects, like the flute and the beribboned guitar hung over a fine white fur: both well above the reach of small hands. Another object, that Johnny at first assumed to be a goat skin drinking bag with various lengths of pipe stuck from it, was actually a musical instrument, too, as Pablo explained when he caught Johnny's curious gaze: the Basque bagpipes.

However, none of them said much, since the noise of Goat-dung's attendants made any conversation difficult, even if Senior Pablo had been so inclined. Braddock looked better after his first sip of the liquor and was casting a judicious eye on the furs that covered the walls and floor. Lonciana kept exclaiming over this and that, arguing over items of clothing and demanding others until Matthew began to wonder just how long it took to clean one scrawny child and dab ointment on a few scratches. He was totally unprepared for Lonciana's dramatic re-entrance with the clean and not only neatly but flatteringly clothed child.

Johnny Greene sat bolt upright in his chair as if he were seeing a ghost.

"This nina," declared Lonciana, fists planted on her broad hips, "has been constantly beaten with rods. Her ribs have been cracked on several occasions and I distinctly feel the thickening of several bones in both arms and legs where she has had fractures. She has obviously been starved all her life—if she has had the misfortune to live in that Vale of Tears"—Loncie spat to one side—"that is not unlikely."

Washed and attractively clothed, the child looked even more wan and under nourished.

"Now we eat," Lonciana stated. At a clap of her hands, more children appeared from the unseen regions of this incredible house, each bearing elements of the meal and the utensils with which to eat it. Seating La Pobrecita beside her, Lonciana herself fed the child, who did not seem to know what to do with either spoon or fork.

Loncie's maternal presence was too overwhelming not to be threatening to Luzon, who began coaxing the girl into describing her home and her companions.

"Don Matthew, perhaps it is not wise to remind the nina of such matters," Pablo ventured deferentially, but Luzon swept aside his objections.

"Nonsense, my dear man. Do you know nothing of psychotherapy? Why, the very best thing for the child is to discuss her traumas and her feelings about them, to speak out fully of everything which disturbed her. Only then can she be purged of her fears. Confrontation is the very best medicine in cases like this."

Lonciana and the daughters who had tended the child were stunned as she fairly blossomed under his interrogation. Black eyes snapped with concern as Luzon deftly elicited information from the girl. On his side of the table, among the Ondelacy boys, Johnny lost his appetite watching Luzon, who, despite all of his protests of horror and sympathy, obviously was being fed exactly the kind of dirt he had hoped to dredge up. The man's ill-concealed relish of the child's story turned Loncie's savory meal into bile in his mouth.

Well, he'd done what he could and found the child safe harbor. Luzon could question all he wanted, but he wouldn't be able to force the child away from Loncie and her family any more easily than he would be able to force her away from Johnny. Johnny was tempted to pick the kid up and take her back north with him anyway, but he figured he would do better to high tail himself back north and make his report to Dr. Fiske, collect Sean and Yana, and fully cover his own ass. But he did want them to see this kid. There was something about her—something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Anyway, if he was to do any real good, he would need reinforcements.

He stood, bowed elaborately to his former chief petty officer, her spouse and brood, gave the child a bit of a salute—which Luzon returned, the ass, with a sharp dismissive one—and returned to his copter. He didn't enjoy flying it half as much on the way back as he expected. Quite aside from the lingering stench of Braddock's puke, it felt contaminated.

Although this southern continent should have been deep into the autumnal season and its ground surfaces well frozen up for smooth snocling, the Big Freeze had not yet occurred, a matter which caused considerable concern among the Sierra Padreans. This bunch were of very mixed ethnic origins; some, like Loncie, were of Central and South American origin, mainly from the Andes, and over time they had mixed with the few volatile high-mountain Basques, the combination tempered by a great many of the imperturbable Sherpas. Pablo, despite his resemblance to one of the characters in a painting by Goya, was half Sherpa, half Basque. While Loncie, as a retired corps member, kept her birth name of Ondelacy, the family name was actually Chompas.

All of this information Matthew Luzon and Braddock skillfully extracted from the family after the meal was over and Johnny Greene had departed, a very good thing since his presence definitely interfered with the rapport Matthew wished to establish with this family and, in particular, the girl they now called 'Cita.

One thing that particularly excited Matthew was that the girl in no way resembled any of the Chompas/Ondelacy family. Nor could he see her gray eyes and light hair as placing her among the African or Afghani residents of this sector. No, she belonged to a different ethnic group than he had seen down here thus far, and he was eager to learn if others at the Vale of Tears were as different—both in appearance and outlook—as she seemed to suggest.

He took polite leave of them that night, and spent all the next day, with only Braddock to help him, trying to find alternative air transport. Finally he settled for a snocle. He was warned that, since the thaws of autumn had lasted unusually late this year and winter was not yet fully upon the continent, they might require many detours.

"Planet should be colder in the high country though," granted the man who rented them quite a battered machine. Luzon suspected that the man had no right to have access to one at all and, to add insult to injury, he charged them a Large enough deposit to buy a small space station. Matthew smiled sourly but paid, knowing he could easily confiscate the machine if he so desired. But just now he desired to keep a low profile.

In his preparations. he had already gathered that Sierra Padre would be as fruitless as Bogota in his quest for those who didn't speak of "the planet" or "Petaybee" as if it were a friend or neighbor or possibly a close relative. Such superstitious idiocy! He had high hopes for the girl's Shepherd Howling, however, whose nonsense was no less superstitious but in a more useful vein for Matthew's purposes.

Once provisions and other appropriate gear had been acquired and stowed in the machine, Matthew awaited the moment to acquire the final piece in this phase of his investigation.

The girl played right into his hands. While the other children in the huge woman's huge family played at building a snow fort from the new snow of the night before, Goat-dung—he, at least, would give her the proper name bestowed upon her by her culture—sat alone beside a spindly birch next to the pen containing goats. Maybe there was more to her name than just a convenient identity.