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Author: Alan Dean Foster
Title: Voyage To The City of the Dead
Series: A Novel of the Humanx Commonwealth
Series No:
Original copyright year: 1984
Genre: Science Fiction
Date of e-text: 01/14/2001
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Revised by:
Version: 1.0
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Chapter One


They didn't call in the Guard because the intruder was already half dead. Still, they were upset.

Muttering angrily among themselves over the outrageous breach of protocol, the members of the Zanur looked to their leader for direction, but Najoke de-me-Halmur held his peace. It was up to the intruder to explain himself, and fast. Hands still hovered close to sheathed knives, although it was be­coming apparent this was no assassination attempt-the in­truder was too enfeebled to present a threat to anyone but himself. So Najoke stayed his hand as well as his lips. Seeing this, the other members of the Zanur calmed themselves.

Two unkempt servants attended the intruder, and they had their hands full keeping him on his feet. He was com­pletely bald, as befitted his age, but more than age had been at work on that body recently. Pain was evident even in the movement of the eyes, and their owner was breathing as if he'd run a long ways, for all that two younger Mai supported him.

Several of the more impatient members of the Zanur started toward the stranger. De-me-Halmur stayed them with a wave of one slim, six-fingered hand. "Patience, my friends. Let us hear what this despoiler of etiquette has to say. Retri­bution can come later. We are no judges here."

The leader's words sparked the withered visitor's atten­tion. He shrugged off the helping hands of his servants, much as he continued to push away the clutching hand of death. Though unsteady and shaking, he stood straight and by him­self. "Good members of the Zanur, I beg forgiveness for this intrusion on the affairs of state. When one has little time left, one has no time at all for protocol. I have much to tell you."

De-Yarawut rose and pointed, hairless brows drawing to­gether. "I know you. You reside in my district."

The elderly speaker tried to bow to the side, as etiquette required, and the effort nearly sent him sprawling. His servants rushed to help but he gestured them back.

"I am flattered by your remembrance, Zanural de-Yara­wut. I am Bril de-Panltatol. A humble trader who works Upriver." The drama of the oldster's intrusion, his unfor­givable breach of tradition, was beginning to fade. And he was known. No surprises were here.

Legends sing of the wrongness of such thoughts.

"No excuse can be made for your interruption, de-Panlt­atol," de-me-Halmur said. "You know the penalties."

"Your most excessive indulgence, Moyt, but as I said and as you can see, little time is left to me."

De-me-Halmur had not become ruler of a great city-state without the occasional ostentatious display of compassion. "You must have bribed efficiently to obtain this entrance, oldster. You are to be admired for that. Say what you have come to say."

"Good members of the Zanur, I have for most of my life been a trader of fine woods and metals between our great city of Po Rabi and the Upriver. Hai, even as far as Kek­kalong." Kekkalong was a very long way Upriver, and many of the Zanurals had never journeyed beyond the boundaries of the city. They listened to the rover with a little more respect.

"I am a good citizen and work hard for my city. So I listen well to any tale or rumor that suggests the opportunity to increase my wealth."

"As do we all," Zanural de-Parinti commented. "Get on with it."

"Among the many tales of the Upriver are those which speak of a dead place, home to spirits and ghosts and demons beyond counting, who guard such wealth as could not be counted in a thousand lifetimes by all the accountants of all the city-states that ring the Groalamasan itself."

"A wonderful story, I'm sure," another Zanural called from his council seat. "I too have heard such stories."

"It is well known," de-Panltatol continued, "that the nearer one travels to the source of such tales, the more vivid and impressive they become-or else they fade away entirely.

"This particular tale is told over and over again in a hundred towns and villages of the North. I have listened to it for more than fifty years. I resolved finally to pursue it to the last storyteller. Instead it drew me onward, pulling me ever farther north. Sometimes the tale smelled of truth, more often of village embroidery, but never did I lose track of it entirely.

"I went beyond maps and merchant trails, always up the Barshajagad, following the current of the Skar and in places abandoning it completely. I walked- I, Bril de-Panltatol­ upon the surface of the frozen Guntali itself!"

Now the whispers of interest were submerged by ill­concealed laughter. The Guntali Plateau, from which arose all the great rivers of the world that drained into the single ocean that was the Groalamasan, was so high and cold and thin of air that no Mai could travel upon it. Yet the wrinkled old trader was laying claim to such a feat.

Like his fellow merchants and Zanural, de-me-Halmur refused to countenance the possibility, but neither did he laugh. He had not become Moyt of Po Rabi by dismissing the most elaborate absurdities without careful dissection. "Let this one continue proving himself the fool, but let him not be convicted until he has finished his story."

"Up past even far Hochac I went," de-Panltatol was breathing harder now, "and my journey was but beginning. I lost servants and companions until I was obliged to travel on my own, because none would go farther in my company. All believed me mad, you see. I nearly perished many times. The rumors and the river led me ever onward."

"Onward to what?" another of the Zanural snorted deri­sively.

The oldster glanced sideways and seemed to draw strength from his scoffers. "To the source of all the tales and songs. To the land of the dead. To the part of the world where demons and monsters make their home. To the top of the world, good Zanural."

This time the laughter could not be contained. It did not appear to discourage the old trader.

"I found the City of the Dead. I, Bril de-Panltatol! And I came away with a piece of it." He frowned then, and wheezed painfully. "I don't remember that time very well. My mind was numbed by all I had endured. How I stayed alive I don't know, but I drove myself to make another boat. I made many boats, I think. It's hard to remember. I dis­guised what I had brought away beneath a bale of Salp skins and brought it all the way Downriver, all the way back to my home, to Po Rabi."

De-me-Halmur's wide black eyes flickered. "A most in­teresting and entertaining story, de-Panltatol, but all such tales of demon cities are entertaining. I hope you are a better trader than you are a storyteller." Polite laughter rose from the other members of the Zanur.

"Is that what you broke into our conference to tell us?" snapped another Zanural angrily. "If you can do no better than that, I promise you your age will not save you."

"There is only one thing I can add to what I have told you," the exhausted trader admitted. "For it I have ruined my mind and my self, so there is little for you to threaten me with. My triumph will be short-lived and I will not buy the seat on the Zanur that I longed for." A few insulted murmurs arose among the Zanural, loudest from those whose fortunes were smallest.

"So I will leave my tale to you, together with that one other thing, and let you judge, Zanural of the city, if I might have been thought equal in wealth to sit among you." He turned and blew on a small bone whistle that hung from a cord around his neck.

A dozen laborers entered in two columns of six. Between them they held ropes attached to a low dolly. Laughter gave way to curiosity and confusion among the members of the Zanur. The dolly had six axles and fat rubbery wheels made from the treated sap of the arer tree.

From his place at the head of the long council table de-­me-Halmur saw the pile of fine gray Salp pelts piled high on the dolly. They were valuable but not exceptionally so. Cer­tainly they weren't heavy enough to require the use of a six­axle and twelve strong Mai to pull the load. He could see the way muscles strained against something massive but con­cealed. He stood slightly, unconscious of the movement, to have a better view.

The laborers halted and moved aside. With the aid of his servants Panltatol staggered to the dolly, Disdaining help, he reached out and shakily pulled the skins onto the floor. They'd been sewn together and came off as one.

There was something else on the dolly, as de-me-Halmur suspected, but the sight of it struck him speechless-a single metal bar reposed on the wooden platform. It was twisted and bent by some unknown force and was as thick as a large Mai's body. But that observation passed quickly. The Zan­ural were interested in its composition far more than its shape.

It had not been polished and it displayed long gashes and much pitting, evidence of exposure to powerful chemicals or energies. Its color was familiar.

"I did not actually enter the place of the dead." Panltatol's voice was weakening. "I was near, very near, when weather so terrible it cannot be imagined except in dreams finally forced me to retreat. This relic I found on the banks of the Skar, where the river had carried it. This alone I was able to bring back with me. Zanural of Po Rabi, this is my legacy."

Forgetting their dignity, abjuring protocol, they left their seats to examine the massive metal bar. Sensitive six­fingered hands caressed the smooth gray substance. The dull silvery sheen was a property of the metal itself.

It looked like sunit. It had the color of sunit. It felt like sunit. When three of the Zanural from northern Po Rabi tried to lift it and could not, they were positive it was sunit.

De-Changrit, who on the Zanur was second in power only to de-me-Halmur himself, removed a small ingot from the money belt that circled his waist. It was a serl, the largest denomination coined by any of the great city-states that lined the shores of the Groalamasan Ocean, newly minted in pow­erful Chienba. He placed it in one of the gouges cut in the flank of the bar and tried to calculate the worth of the twisted mass in his head. He was a superb businessmai and his estimate was very near the mark.

"Several million," he announced aloud. "At least." Hav­ing already made their own calculations, several of his associates nodded by way of confirmation.

De-Panltatol abruptly sat down on the edge of the dolly, leaning back against the bar for support. He ran one hand gently across the cold metal, lovingly, as if it were a woman reclining in his hammock. There was not a Mai among the Zanur who did not feel the same love for that bar. It rep­resented a great and compact fortune.

When the murmurs and excited conversations began to die down it was Changrit who asked the question uppermost in all minds. "Is there more?"

His tone was respectful now, no longer sarcastic or ac­cusing. Thus vindicated, Panltatol seemed to draw strength from some unknown source. They were no longer laughing at him.

"Honored sirs, I do not know. I found only this one piece, washed up on a rocky and wild shore. But the rumors that drove me to the top of the world always spoke of more in the City of the Dead."

Many signs were made by the Zanural, for they were as intensely superstitious as the common folk. Daily their lives were punctuated by the performance of rituals designed to ward off unfriendly deities and spirits, which all Mai knew ruled the affairs of each individual from birth to death. At the rear of the chamber a wide-eyed servant hastily dumped more incense in the ritual burner, in case the spirits in at­tendance that day were possessed of particularly large noses. The air of the chamber was immediately suffused with sweet fragrance.

"No actual City of the Dead exists," one of the Zanural ventured hesitantly. "It is not a real place."

De-me-Halmur used his hands eloquently. "No such solid piece of sunit as this exists, yet it sits there before us."

"More," Panltatol mumbled. "More in the City of the Dead."

"How much more?" asked Changrit with becoming avariciousness.

"They say ... the rumors say ... that the city itself is built of sunit." Dead silence greeted his declaration, appropriately. "I am sorry I did not go farther." A thin smile appeared on his withered face. His right arm lay like brown cloth against the cold metal. "I am so tired, honored ones. I must rest a while."

"Wait!" Changrit rushed forward. With his own arms he supported the oldster, a sign of the esteem in which Panltatol was suddenly held. "How do we find the City of the Dead? How could one retrace your travels?"

"Why, don't you know?" Panltatol whispered. "There is no City of the Dead. The journey cannot be made. But I made it. I, Bril de-Panltatol, went where it is impossible to go. But you can't follow, none of you." He said it with vehemence as he unexpectedly sat up without aid. "You can't follow because only an insane one could make such a journey. I am mad, you see, and you are not." A sudden thought made him blink with confusion.

"Very tired." He leaned back against Changrit again and closed his eyes. They would not open again.

Changrit gently lowered the thin body. "A true Mai. He sacrificed everything in hopes of improving his fortune. I honor him."

"We all honor him," de-me-Halmur said, "as we will honor his memory."

"What of the sunit?" Lust was apparent in the voice of the Zanural who voiced the common thought. All eyes were on the bar.

"You know the law," de-me-Halmur said sternly, if a trifle reluctantly. "I covet it as much as any of you, but it goes to his family and employees." He made a protective sign in case certain spirits were listening. "The law is clear."

Zanural de-Peyetmy was almost in tears. "Couldn't we bend the law just a little?"

"I am sworn to uphold it, and I will do so. Those who would bend the law ultimately find themselves strangled by it." Murmurs of assent sounded from around the table.

"Of course," de-me-Halmur went on, "there is the matter of a death tax." A few smiles appeared. "Also the fact that de-Panltatol undertook this journey without proper author­ization, and we still must deal with the matter of his rude intrusion into the Zanur Chamber." He studied the bar. "I would say that perhaps half should go into the city treasury."

"That still leaves a nice fortune." Changrit had retaken his seat on de-me-Halmur's left. "No family could be disappointed to receive such an inheritance. Now that the law has been dealt with, how are we to deal with this remarkable story?"

"A great journey," one of the other Zanural announced portentously. "One to be enshrined in memory and song. I myself will commission a song cycle to commemorate it."

"A thoughtful gesture," de-me-Halmur agreed, thankful for the Zanural's support. His proposal meant that de-me­Halmur would not have to pay for the requisite memorial. Other Zanural cursed themselves for not thinking to make the clever political move.

"Now who shall volunteer to help equip a new expedition to journey to the top of the world in search of this rumored City of the Dead?"

Suddenly every member of the council sought to shrink in his seat. One, bolder than the rest, said sharply, "I would not venture more than a thousand legats Upriver for all the sunit on Tslamaina."

"Nor would I," de-me-Halmur agreed. "De-Panltatol was quite right. None of us is mad. The very idea of setting foot on the Guntali Plateau is a concept only a disturbed mind could conceive. To attempt to retrace his wild path would be impossible." He gestured toward the bar and the body lying next to it. "We must be satisfied with this."

"Not necessarily." All eyes turned in surprise to Changrit. De-me-Halmur waited warily for any suggestion his rival might make. Each had much respect for the other, so much so that they never employed assassins. Such methods they left to cruder Mai while they dueled with words and gestures.

"It is true that any journey far up the Skar is daunting, let alone one to the top of the world. One might undertake such an expedition only to perish within sight of one's goal. It is more likely any travelers would end up staring at the inside of a Na's belly instead of the City of the Dead." Zanurals executed signs indicating anxiety.

"Or else they would find themselves deceived by the Tsia. We do not have the means for accomplishing such a journey, but there are those who do."

"I don't see them here," another Zanpral called. Laughter punctuated his observation.

Changrit gave him a withering look until the laughter had subsided. "A good merchant knows his responsibility to the Zanur, to his city-state. He knows also his own limitations. I am quite aware of mine as you must be of yours.

"But there is something new come recently to Tslamaina. I speak of the visitors from the sky."

Uncertain mutterings were silenced by de-me-Halmur. "I've heard much of them. What is it you propose, Chan­grit?"

"I can propose nothing unless recent information I have received from my agents can be confirmed. Call for the ambassador to Losithi."

There followed a long delay, made palatable by a regal midday meal, while Ror de-Kelwhoang, ambassador to Los­ithi, was summoned from his offices in the Ministry. He arrived in due course, breathless and puzzled.

"For what reason have I been summoned in such haste, honored Zanural?"

There was much respect among the members for the skills of the elderly Kelwhoang, just as there was in the Zanur of Losithi. Po Rabi's main rival in trade and commerce, it lay several hundred legats to the southwest and controlled the western end of the Skatandah Delta, the great marshland formed by the emptying of the Skar River into the Groala­masan.

Midway between the two city-states but slightly nearer Losithi lay the station established by the strange visitors from the sky. Their science was much advanced and gain was to be made there for those who knew how to ferret it out. The visitors were carefully courted by diplomats from Losithi as well as Po Rabi.

"Tell the Zanur," Changrit instructed the ambassador, "what you told me several weeks ago concerning the visitors from the sky. The .new visitors."

"New visitors?" De-me-Halmur frowned, as did several other Zanural. "You mean that more of the large bug­ creatures have arrived on Tslamaina?"

Kelwhoang looked toward his sponsor Changrit uncer­tainly, but received a gesture of openness by way of reply.

"All are friends here today, Kelwhoang. Speak freely."

The ambassador nodded. "There came upon us a day rainy and cold, which forced me to-"

De-me-Halmur interrupted him. "Our time is valuable, Kelwhoang. Spare us the poetry."

"Forgive me, Moyt. I was taken aback by this sight." He indicated the monstrous bar of sunit.

"Understandable. Your attention to potential profit marks you well in our sight. Still, make your tale concise."

Kelwhoang gestured in agreement. "Members of the Zanur. As you know, I make it my business during the long journey between our city and Losithi to take note of all of interest that transpires within the Delta. The visitors from the sky keep to their building-that-walks-the-water, but I have cultivated my acquaintance with them.

"Thus did I learn that five weeks ago allies from the sky arrived among them. I was astonished to learn that these newcomers look not like those who built the sky-station, but much like us." That bit of news prompted gasps of astonishment from the Zanurals.

"You mean," Guptinak asked, "that they are not as hor­rible to look upon as the large bug-things?"

"No," said Kelwhoang, gratified by the reaction his rev­elation had produced. "They are much like Mai, only taller, taller even than a Tsla but not so large as a Na. They have more body hair and their features are sharper and more pronounced, rougher and not as beautiful. They suffer from our climate much as does a Tsla, unlike their bug-thing friends who are quite comfortable in the Delta. One male and one female, similar enough to us that at a distance one could almost think them Mai.

"I did not meet them myself, only saw them conversing with the Moyt of the station, the one called," and he struggled with the difficult alien name, "Porlezmozmith. Later I was able to talk with her and she remarked on the similarity between us and the new visitors. Truly the resemblance is striking between us. These newcomers' faces have smaller eyes, larger ears that are great curved winged things visible even at a distance. Oh yes, they have but five digits on their hands and feet instead of the normal six, even as the bug­things have but four, though they have that extra pair of arms and legs. It may be that these new visitors are more akin to us than the Tsla or the Na, with whom we share our world."

"All fascinating," de-me-Halmur said, "but how does this profit us?"

"Tell them what the bug-thing told you his new guests have planned," Changrit prompted.

"Ah. I was told they brought with them a wondrous mag­ical boat which walks upon the water more freely than the station the visitors first built. It does not depend on wind or muscle for power but carries its own energy inside it. I was told that it can travel at great speed Upriver, against the current of the Skar."

More mutters of astonishment rose from the assembled members. "We've heard much of the wonders brought by the visitors from the sky," de-me-Halmur said. "I sense your thought, Changrit, but surely they would not sell us this amazing craft?"

"Never," the ambassador admitted. "I have been told many times by the Moyt Porlezmozmith that they can have only the briefest of contacts with us and that they are for­bidden by their own laws to sell us any of the advanced tools and instruments they have brought with them."

"No profit in that," one of the Zanural grumbled. "Truly these visitors are alien."

"These newcomers who are like us," the ambassador con­tinued, "are scholars, not merchants. They intend to make a study of the Barshajagad, the canyon which cradles our river Skar."

"Now that makes sense," de-me-Halmur commented. "There is always profit in good scholarship." He made a sign to invoke the spirit of knowledge and insight, but finally had to ask, "What is in your mind, Changrit?"

"These visitors from the sky still know little of our world. Beyond the Delta they are ignorant, for all their knowledge. They know nothing of the ways of the Skar, or of the Hotiek or the Aurang or any of the lesser tributaries. They know

nothing of the peoples who inhabit the canyon. They will need guides."

"Ah!" De-me-Halmur's expression was fed by enlight­enment. "Friendly locals to show them the way."

"Yes, to show them the way."

"And good friends that we are, it behooves us as the rulers of Po Rabi to find volunteers to assist them?"

"Every chance we can find," Changrit agreed firmly.

"How do we know that these strange creatures have any interest in traveling up the Skar farther than the town of Ibe?" a Zanural wondered aloud.

"We do not," Changrit admitted. "How does one divine the intentions of aliens? Yet if they are as similar in appearance to us as Ambassador de-Kelwhoang says, who is to say that their motivations are different?" He looked away from the table. "You've no idea how far they intend to go Upriver, Kelwhoang?"

"No. The bug-Moyt was not too clear. He did say a long journey. Certainly farther than Ibe."

"Then our course is clear, Zanural." De-me-Halmur leaned forward the better to emphasize his words and gestures. "We must do our utmost to ensure that these visitors make use of our good intentions and accept the aid that the people of Po Rabi will freely extend to them."

"Assuming they accept," said another member. "What if they do not travel to the region of our hopes? What if they reach Kekkalong and decide they have journeyed far enough?"

"Then perhaps," Changrit murmured quietly, "they might at that time be persuaded to loan us the use of their wondrous craft. I'm certain that the loquacious Ror de-Kelwhoang will employ all his admirable verbal talents to ensure that the immediate requirements of the Zanur are met."

"I shall do my best, of course." The ambassador per­formed an elaborate gesture designed to invoke the spirits of all the great diplomats of the past. He glanced sideways at the huge, gleaming mass of solid sunit.

"However, if I am to do my best, honored ones, it would help if you could explain to me the reasons behind my mission. Would I be remiss in assuming it has something to do with the astonishing wealth that lies next to a dead Mai in the center of this chamber?"

"You would not," de-me-Halmur said. "Seat yourself."

Gesturing his thanks at the honor, de-Kelwhoang joined the table as Changrit related the events of the morning.

The subsequent discussion and laying out of plans lasted well into the evening. The heat of day was followed by the heat of night and still the Zanur sat in extended session. Bureaucrats and guards gossiped and wondered, but still the rulers of Po Rabi remained sequestered in their chamber.

It was only when they finally adjourned in the early hours of the morning that someone thoughtfully directed attendants to remove the stiffened corpse of that soon to be memo­rialized merchant-explorer Bril de-Panltatol. Great care had already been taken to ensure that a proper share of his legacy was safely transported to the city treasury.

Greater care and craft might make possible the seemingly impossible task of securing for the Zanur of Po Rabi the rest of his legacy.

Chapter Two


Etienne Redowl was sick of measuring current flow. He was sick of taking samples from the river bottom. Recording the ebb and flow of sandbars and mudbanks no longer in­terested him, nor did watching the analyzer spit out graphs listing gravel composition mineral by mineral.

But there was nothing else for him to do at Steamer Sta­tion.

It seemed as if they'd been waiting for permission from the native authorities to begin their Upriver expedition since the beginning of time. Anyone who thought the bureaucracy of Commonwealth Science and Exploration difficult to penetrate should have to cope once in his life with the byzantine machinations of the Mai of Tslamaina. The station's location between the rival city-states of Po Rabi and Losithi only made it tougher to obtain the necessary clearances.

There was no pushing the matter, however. Where a Class Four-B world was involved, Commonwealth policy was strict. Porlezmozmith, the officer in charge of Steamer Station, was sympathetic to the Redowls' plight, but not to the point of challenging regulations. So the husband-wife team sat and sweated and waited.

Etienne paused on the ladder long enough to adjust the thermo-sense on his fishnet shirt and shorts. Minuscule cool­ing units woven into the material struggled to cool his skin. He checked his wrist telltale. A fairly mild afternoon, with the temperatures hovering around a hundred and twenty degrees and the humidity a mere ninety percent. He longed for the coolness of their quarters on the station platform above.

The thranx found the temperature a mite hot, but the humidity suited them just fine. That was why they'd been chosen to staff the only Commonwealth outpost. For them it was almost like home. For humans it was pure misery.

Survey should have named it misery, Etienne thought. Instead it had been named for its geology. That geology and the unique civilization it had produced were the reasons why Etienne and his wife Lyra had braved endless application forms and sweltering weather in order to be the first humanx scientists allowed to work beyond the boundaries of the outpost. Or such would be the case if the native authorities ever gave them the okay to travel Upriver. Until that hap­pened they were stuck at the station. Months of waiting for permission to arrive, endless days spent battling the terrible heat and humidity had sapped his initial enthusiasm. Lyra was bearing up better beneath the day-to-day disappoint­ment, but even she was starting to wilt.

He forced himself to see Tslamaina as it looked from high orbit. The refreshing, cooler image reminded him again why they'd come to the world its discoverers had named Horseye. Lyra had no room for flippancy in science and preferred Tslamaina, the native name, but the image cer­tainly fitted.

Eons ago the planet had collided with a meteor of truly impressive dimensions. In addition to creating the vast cir­cular basin that was now filled by the Groalamasan Ocean, the concussion had badly cracked the planet's surface. That surface, high above the single world-ocean, comprised the Guntali Plateau.

Water running off the Guntali for hundreds of millions of years patiently enlarged those surface cracks, eventually resulting in the most spectacular river canyons ever encoun­tered. The combination of geological and climatological factors necessary to produce such awesome scenery had not been duplicated on any other of the explored worlds.

Of all the river canyons by far the greatest was the Bar­shajagad, which in the Mai language meant "Tongue-of-the­World." More than two thousand kilometers wide at the point where it finally emptied into the ocean, it reached northward from its delta some thirteen thousand kilometers to vanish in the cloud-shrouded north polar wastes. From the edge of the Guntali, a few hundred kilometers Upriver, to the surface of the slowly moving river Skar, the Barsha­jagad dropped approximately eight thousand meters in ele­vation. Where mountains rose from the plateau, the disparity was even greater.

So wide was the Barshajagad at its mouth, however, that a traveler on the surface of the river could not see where the gradually ascending slopes finally reached the plateau to east and west.

The, result was an astonishing variety of life forms orga­nized into ecological regions not by latitude but by elevation, as nature made use of the different temperature and moisture zones that climbed the canyon walls.

Three different intelligent mammalian races had appeared on Tslamaina, each confined to its own portion of the river canyons. The intensively competitive and primitively capi­talistic Mai ruled the ocean and the river valleys. Above them in the more temperate zone between three thousand and fifty-five hundred meters were the Tsla. Clinging to the frozen rims of the canyons and freely roaming the Guntali were the carnivorous Na. Or so the locals claimed. None of them had ever seen a Na, and since Mai society was infused with a healthy respect for and belief in thousands of spirits, demons, and ghosts, Lyra Redowl, circumspect xenologist that she was, was reluctant to give instant recognition to the existence of this legendary third intelligent race.

Temperature and pressure and not national or tribal boundaries kept the races of Tslamaina separated. That made for a sociocultural situation every bit as unique as the local geology, as Lyra was fond of pointing out to her husband.

Their hope, the dream that had brought them across many light-years, was to take a hydrofoil all the way up the Skar to its source, making a thorough study of the geology and the people of the planet as they advanced. But Tslamaina was a Class Four-B world. That meant they could only pro­ceed with the natives' permission, and that permission still was not forthcoming, despite repeated anxious requests.

So Etienne had been confined to examination of the delta soils and the geology around the station which was, in a word, flat. Lyra was better off, able to visit with those fish­erfolk who sometimes stopped at the station to chat and to attempt to steal anything not bolted down. Station personnel never ventured reprisals for the attempts. For one thing the attempts were always unsuccessful. For another, it was part of the local culture.

Six months had passed since the shuttle had deposited the Redowls at Steamer Station and Etienne was close to calling off the expedition. Only the knowledge that they would be the first to make an Upriver journey kept him from book­ing passage out on the next supply run.

It would help if Lyra would learn to keep her frustration to herself, but no, not her. She'd declaim long and loud to anyone within earshot. The thranx were too polite to tell her to shut up, and Etienne had tried many times and failed. After the first month he simply gave up and tuned her out. It wasn't hard. He had been doing it for twenty years. Eight or nine years ago the conflict might have ended in divorce, but now they had too much invested in each other. Con­venience and familiarity balanced out a lot of bickering, though sometimes he wondered.

Something was itching sharply on the back of his neck. Holding onto the ladder with his right hand he reached up and back with his left, coming away with something soft and flexible. He eyed it with intense distaste.

It was as long as his hand and thick as his thumb, com­pletely transparent except for the dark maroon color spread­ing slowly backward from the head. As he held it firmly it wiggled and twisted in search of the blood so recently dis­covered and quickly vanished.

The dangui was an elegant local bloodsucker related to the annelid worms but possessed of a cartilaginous backbone which when flexed allowed it to jump at its intended host. It turned red as it filled up with blood. It looked like a glass leech and seemed to find human plasma perfectly palatable, much to Etienne's enduring disgust.

Forcing down the gorge rising in his throat he flung it as _far away as he could, heard the faint plop when it hit the murky green water. He felt the back of his neck and his hand came away bloody. First stop inside the station would be for antibiotic spray.

The metal stilts on which Steamer Station rested carried a mild electric charge to discourage infestation by such local pests though they rarely troubled the thranx because of their tough exoskeletons. Etienne dealt in smooth, hard surfaces and clean stone and didn't care much for biology, particu­larly when it chose to get personal.

High thin clouds blocked out some of the ultraviolet, but Etienne was still grateful for his naturally dark coloring, a legacy of ancient Amerindians. A lighter-skinned human would quickly fry under Tslamaina's relentless sun. Though he'd been outside less than ten minutes, the sweat was pour­ing off him. The cooling meshwork shirt and shorts were all that kept him halfway comfortable.

Even the climate might be bearable if only they'd receive permission from the native authorities. The frustration of waiting was worse than any heat, he mused as he made his careful way up the ladder.

Behind him tall fat pseudopalms thrust enormous green fronds over the lazy water. Table tree roots exploded side­ways from their trunks before dipping down into the mud. Nappers, tiny crustaceans with multihued shells, filled the air with their doglike barking.

Little relief beyond the shade it offered was available inside the station since the internal temperature was set to accommodate thranx and not humans. A hundred was cer­tainly cooler than one-twenty, but the humidity was un­changed. Only when he entered the rooms reserved for less tolerant visitors did the humidity begin to drop. By the time he reached their quarters, station machinery had lowered the temperature forty-five degrees and sucked out more than half the humidity.

Lyra Redowl barely glanced up at him. She sprawled in a chair studying her clipboard viewer.

"Anything interesting?"

"Glass leech bit me."

"Bad?"

"I doubt it." He moved to a cabinet and removed a tiny spray can, dosed the back of his neck. "The Skar flows into the Groalamasan, the Groalamasan goes round and round and it comes out here." He gestured toward the lavatory.

She put her viewer aside, spoke coolly. "I don't blame you for being upset, Etienne. I'm as pissed off as you are. But there's nothing we can do except wait. Make an effort not to take it out on me, okay?"

"I'm not taking anything out on you," he said exasper­atedly. "Why do you take everything I say so personally? Can I help it if this damn delay's got me running around like a monkey chewing his tail?"

"You have to work on your self-control. You'll end up with an ulcer."

"I keep control of myself!" He struggled to match his tone to his assertion. "I haven't got time to argue with you, Lyra. "

"I agree." Her eyes moved back to the viewer.

He sighed, counted quietly to eight, then plopped down in one of the thin chairs. "What are you buried in now?"

"Varofski on multiple societal interactions."

"Haven't you read that already?"

"Twice. This is my third time around. What do you sug­gest I do? Squat here and watch thranx shadowplays on the tridee?"

"It would be a change, but I don't want to argue about it."

"You never do. That's why I'm always amazed how reg­ularly you end up doing so." Suddenly she looked up at him and smiled. It was a little forced, but welcome nonetheless.

"Listen to us, fighting like a couple of idiot children. Etienne, I'm just as frustrated as you are. What the hell is keeping those Moyts from giving us travel clearance?"

"Who knows." Rising from the chair, Etienne crossed to the kitchen area and thumbed the switch on the left side of the refrigeration unit. It dispensed fruit juice, heavily salted and sugared. The cooking facilities were nearby but rarely utilized. The Redowls preferred to take most of their meals cold; Tslamaina didn't encourage consumption of piping hot food.

Glass in hand he walked over to stand behind his wife's chair, rested a hand on her shoulder as he sipped at the icy liquid.

"Truce, Lyra?"

She reached up to pat his hand. "Truce. Can't we do something, Etienne?"

"Not a damn thing. You know the law. We're wholly dependent on the whims of the locals." She nodded, returned to her reading.

He never tired of looking at her. After twenty years he still found her physically alluring. Lately she looked even better than usual, having lost weight since their arrival. Tsla­maina would sweat you down to skeleton size if you weren't careful.

"I don't understand the delay," she said. "I've talked to the local fisherfolk and traders and they just give me the local variations of a bemused shrug. From everything I've been able to learn both these city-states are hotbeds of new ideas and rapid development. You'd think one or the other would be eager to grant us permission to travel Upriver."

"I'm sure they would," Etienne agreed, "if we could promise them something solid in return. Unfortunately, the regulations protecting Class Four-B worlds prohibit any commerce with natives. No introduction of advanced tech­nology allowed from external sources, and that's what they want to buy from us. The usual nasty cycle. The Moyts would like to grant us clearance for Upriver travel but they want payment in return. We can't pay them what they want because regulations forbid it. So here we sit, and sweat."

"Too true. How's your neck?"

He felt at the shallow bite. "Filthy little monsters. I don't mind dealing with something big and toothy, but I hate par­asites."

"Let me give you another shot of antibio." She put down her viewer and reached for the spray. A cool dampness caressed his neck a second time.

"There," she said with satisfaction. "This is no place to pick up an infection, no matter how interesting. We've been lucky so far. Not that we've spent all that much time outside." She hesitated. "Etienne, I'm ready to start chewing the furniture again. We've got to get out of here-Tell you what. Why don't we check out the boat?"

He made a face. "We're going to wear it out before we get started, checking the systems so often."

"No, I mean really check it out." There was suppressed excitement in her voice. "Let's take it out for a run on the open sea. It's always cooler on the Groalamasan."

"Porlezmozmith will be miffed. She'll call us down for undue exposure of advanced technology to a presteam so­ciety."

"Crap. The local fisherfolk have seen us testing it lots of times."

Etienne grinned down at her. "Woman, you have a dev­ilish sense of humor."

"It helps, when you spend your life trying to make sense of other people's cultures. Come on. It'll be fun. And a change."

Etienne was feeling better by the time they left their quarters. They threw together a cold lunch of native edibles. The consistency of the flat, crackerlike bread was unusual but the taste was delightful.

From their quarters it was a short walk down to Level Three, the lowest of the station, where the hydrofoil hung silent in its bay, a sleek delta-shape built of ultralight metals. A compact electric jet protruded from beneath the stern, looking like the mouthparts of a dragonfly nymph. The hy­drofoil was an exquisite bit of engineering and despite its fragile appearance, could take a considerable pounding. In­side, the craft was spacious and efficient.

Ignoring the occasional stare of passing thranx mainte­nance workers, Etienne operated the bay controls. With a soft whirr the double doors parted, revealing the turgid mix of fresh and salt water that lay twenty meters below.

Bow and stern couplers lowered the hydrofoil toward the water. Lyra was already on board, stowing their lunch and running the autoprogram through diagnostic functions. Dis­daining the ladders, Etienne wrapped arms and legs around one of the coupler cables and slid down to the boat. A touch on one switch sent the couplers upward, leaving the boat floating free on the water of the delta.

A plexalloy dome enclosed the cockpit where Lyra waited in the pilot's chair. The engine came to loud life as the pho­tovoltaic coating of the boat worked to ensure that the fuel cells which supplied power were fully charged. The air con­ditioning greeted him with a blast of deliciously cold air.

Lyra nudged the accelerator and turned the wheel. They slid from the shade of the station and headed south. Soon they were clear of the last platform trees and high marsh grasses and out on the open ocean.

Chapter Three


The steady trade breeze caught them, and the humidity on deck dropped quickly to a tolerable eighty percent while the temperature plunged to one-oh-five. Etienne took ad­vantage of the much cooler weather to move out on deck. Occasionally he turned to smile and wave to Lyra, who remained inside the transparent dome handling the instru­ments.

Intakes mounted on the front of each foil sucked in water and fed it to the electric jet astern. The jet forced the water through twin high-pressure nozzles, sending the boat skim­ming over the surface at high speed. The hydrofoil had been designed to function as a river runner but could handle open ocean reasonably well as long as the waves didn't crest dangerously high.

Behind them the Skatandah Delta was a long line of green marking the horizon. Lyra sent them flying southwestward, toward the great city-state of Losithi. They were careful to stand well out to sea, clear of the heavy commerce that crowded the waters beyond the harbor.

A thousand kilometers and more to north and south, the eight-thousand-meter-high cliffs of the Guntali Plateau probed the sky. From the Losithi-Po Rabi area, distance and planetary curvature made them invisible, though there were places where the cliffs dropped sheer to the sea, a sight unequaled on any other inhabited world. Only where rivers like the Skar had cut their way to the ocean were cultivation and urbanization possible.

Lyra's voice sounded through the intercom membrane built into the cockpit dome. "I've got something on the scan­ner, a few degrees to starboard. Want to run over and check it out?"

"Sure, I want to check it out. What Porlezmozmith doesn't know won't hurt her." He clung to the railing and watched the foils slit the surface of the sea.

Lyra smiled back at him as she angled the boat slightly to starboard. The moving dot on the scanner was soon within sight-a triple-decked trimaran, a big merchant cruiser and a fine example of Mai shipbuilding. Her three hulls rode low in the water, bursting with trade goods gathered from her journey around the circular sea. If she wasn't based in Lo­sithi she would have just arrived from distant Ko Phisi and before that, Suphum. From here she would move on to Po Rabi on the other side of the Skatandah, thence around to Chienba and points east.

She was making good speed with the wind at her back. The trade winds moved eternally clockwise around the circumference of the Groalamasan. Only in the vicinity of the warm southern pole could a native captain test confused winds and sometimes shorten the homeward journey around the great ocean.

Gesturing and chattering, sailors were already lining the upper decks and scrambling into the rigging for a look at the strange alien vessel. More exciting to a Mai seaman than the hydrofoil's silhouette was the fact that it moved at impossible speed and against the wind, not to mention without sails. As Lyra raced the hydrofoil around the massive merchant­man for a thorough look, Mai sailors and passengers rushed from deck to deck to keep them in view.

After recording the merchantman for their journal, the Redowls passed among a fleet of shallow-hull fishing boats reaping the rich harvest of life that thrived where salt water mixed with fresh.

As they slowed to thread more easily between the first islets and clusters of pseudopalms, one large craft suddenly moved toward them. Its occupants brandished eager expres­sions together with long gaffs, axes,, and pikes. The Mai would gladly have slit the throats of the two humans in order to gain possession of the invaluable hydrofoil. Etienne ex­perienced unscientific thoughts as Lyra nudged the accel­erator and left the would-be pirates in their wake.

"Nasty little bastards," he muttered as he stared astern.

"That's not being very understanding of a primitive cul­ture, Etienne," Lyra said disapprovingly.

"All right, so they're primitive nasty little bastards."

"Avaricious, not vicious," she insisted. "You must try to view them in light of their society's laws. A typically primitive plutocratic culture where personal wealth signifies an individual's social standing. You can't let your own view point affect your observations."

"Like hell I can't. Porlezmozmith feels the same way about the Mai."

"She's an administrator, a bureaucrat, a byte-pusher who knows nothing of xenology and cares less."

"All I said was that some of their ingrained habits could stand some modification."

"Environment dictates their actions, not personal choice."

"What environment?" He made a sweeping gesture to­ward the nearing line of high trees. "This is a warm, lush land. How do you go from that to a highly combative so­ciety?"

"They sublimate most of a natural aggressive drive in competition for commerce and trade. Isn't that better than organized war between the city-states?"

"It's healthier, sure, but from the standpoint of what's civilized there's something to be said for slugging it out with your neighbor toe to toe instead of trying to steal him blind."

"Their attempts at thievery are governed by a strict code of rules, Etienne, which is more than you can say for war."

"Leave me to the structure of the planetary crust, not Mai society. It's cleaner."

"You mean simpler, don't you? There are so few variables in geology. It makes it easy for you, but I don't envy you. There's no personality, no joy in studying the daily activities of a rock."

"Oh no? Let me tell you ..."

It went on in that vein for another few minutes before Lyra finally ended it, as she always did. So many of their discussions lately seemed to end that way.

"Well if you're going to act like that then I'm just not going to talk about it anymore." And she turned her gaze resolutely away from him, directing her attention to the scan­ner.

He fumed silently all the way back to the station.

A services officer was waiting for them in the boat bay. Etienne shinnied up a cable, prepared to send down the couplers. The officer moved to stand next to him.

"Excuse me." Her symbospeech was rough and unpol­ished, a good sign that Horseye might be her first off-world post. She clung with tru and foothands to a nearby pillar and her four legs were spread wide. Her whole body shied away from the open bay.

That was understandable. Thranx were good floaters but poor swimmers and their breathing spicules were located on the B-thorax below the neck. A standing thranx could drown in shallow water while still being able to see and hear clearly. That was the only reason why Tslarnaina was not a popular duty station among the thranx. The climate was perfect but much of the terrain threatening.

So Etienne didn't ask why the officer was clinging to the pillar for dear life, understood why nothing more was said until the hydrofoil had been drawn up into the bay and the double doors closed beneath it.

"What is it?" he finally inquired as Lyra moved to join them. She adjusted her halter top, did not look at him. Her expression was frosty.

"An ambassador from Po Rabi is due to arrive shortly," the officer announced. "Word has come ahead via courier boat. You have been granted permission to travel Upriver through the Delta along those branches of the Skar controlled by the Moyt of Po Rabi."

Etienne let out a whoop and did a back flip, much to the interest of the thranx working in the bay area. Such a gymnastic feat was beyond them. Lyra stood and smiled at the officer. The argument that had accompanied them back to the station was completely forgotten.

"It's about time," she murmured. "Did the courier say anything about the long delay we've suffered, why or for what reason?"

"Nothing additional was mentioned," the officer said, adding a brief gesture of negativity coupled with third-degree empathy.

"I'll bet I know what finally happened," Etienne declared. "Steamer Station's actually situated a little closer to Losithi than it is to Po Rabi. They must have decided that it was time to forget about hard bargaining and grant clearance before we struck some sort of deal with the Losithians."

"I am sorry to dump dirt on your theory," the thranx said apologetically, "but it would appear they still insist on some kind of token payment."

"But we've been through that a hundred times," Lyra pointed out. "They want advanced technology and we're not allowed to give it to them. Don't tell me they've decided to accept our nontech trade goods?"

"No. Commander Porlezmozmith has devised a method of satisfying them without contravening any of the regula­tions governing commerce with Class Four-B natives.

"Many areas of high ground do not benefit from seasonal floods of the Skar and so do not receive deposits of fresh silt or yield the crops they otherwise might. The commander has reviewed this with representatives of Po Rabi and they understand the implications quite well.

"Salvenkovdew, who is in charge of the station's chem­istry section, has agreed to rig equipment to produce high­quality natural fertilizers for such highland fields. Under cur­rent regulations this type of fertilizer does not qualify as a high-tech commodity, so it can be traded to the natives, and the Po Rabians have agreed to accept it as payment."

"Good old Porlez!" Etienne exclaimed. "She's been work­ing on our problem all along and never breathed a word of it."

"Probably didn't want to get our hopes up," Lyra said. "I hope the form of payment isn't to be taken as a comment on the value of our expedition."

"Who cares? We're on our way at last! Thanks," he told the officer. Twin antennae dipped and bobbed by way of gracious reply. "When's this ambassador supposed to get here?"

"The courier could not be certain. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps several days from tomorrow. I am much gladdened for you both."

"Thanks again. We've been ready to leave for months, though I suppose we can find a few last-minute things to take care of."

"If you will excuse me." The thranx officer released her iron grip on the support pillar and slowly backed clear of the closed bay doors. She looked much happier after she had moved well away from the potential gap.

Deep in conversation, Etienne and Lyra returned to their quarters. Working smoothly they began packing a motile with personal belongings and other last-minute items. They were going to be away from civilization for a long time and there would be no returning for a forgotten chip or bit of clothing.

At least they could consume native foods. That left a lot of room on board for other equipment, extra medical sup­plies, and tridee cubes.

Stowed in one of the bottom compartments was their cold­weather gear, untouched since its arrival on Tslamaina. They would need the suits when they entered the north polar lat­itudes. After the relentless heat of the lower Barshajagad, both looked forward to some cheerful freezing.

Two days passed before the ambassador's ship appeared. His retinue was as modest in size and appearance as the vessel which bore them. Ror de-Kelwhoang looked disap­pointed when he was informed he could not bring any of his escort onto the station, but accepted the determination with diplomatic grace.

In its own modest way the ambassador's official craft was impressive enough. Hired rowers held their double-bladed oars at attention as the ambassador debarked, though they were unable to keep their eyes from wandering toward the strange alien castle that stood high above the water on mas­sive metal legs.

The meeting took place on a deck that encircled the station's lower levels. Etienne and Lyra waited in their briefs and tops. Tslamaina was no place for formal wear.

The ambassador wore little more than the curious hu­mans. His cache du sex was opaque, as was the custom, and his upper garment of silver and copper-colored threads concealed little despite covering him from neck to ankles. It made for a very flashy nonexistent costume. As Lyra had explained, the composition of the material as well as the intricate weave told a knowledgeable onlooker much about the wearer's status, as well as the time of year and what holiday it might be. A good Mai tailor could make much out of little.

Lyra found such details of native life fascinating. Etienne bore her enthusiasm stoically. He was interested in minerals, not millinery.

The Mai ambassador spread his arms wide and turned a slow circle. The movement was fluid but slow, reflective of his advanced age. Porlezmozmith, who had met him before, performed the formal introduction. Her Mai was competent but could not match that of the Redowls; that was due to the thranx larynx, not a lack of linguistic talent.

"Ror de-Kelwhoang, our visitors who would travel your lands, Etienne and Lyra Redowl."

"It is our pleasure to greet you," Lyra added. "We look forward with endless delight to exploring your magnificent country. We are endlessly grateful for the permission to do so granted by your Zanur on behalf of your most powerful and respected city-state."

The ambassador acknowledged the elegant tribute, which Lyra had rehearsed unto boredom, with a slight gesture signifying acceptance. His soft, perceptive eyes seemed fixed on Lyra. That was understandable. She stood eye to eye with the ambassador, which made her tall for a Mai female but not a grotesque scarecrow of a giant like her husband. It was the first time the ambassador had set eyes on the new aliens and he was evidently entranced by the similarities. Etienne had to stifle his amusement at the ambassador's unabashed preoccupation. By Mai standards Lyra's pro­portions were nothing short of awesome.

"It is with delight that I bring greetings and good wishes from Najoke de-me-Halmur, Moyt of Po Rabi. It has been decided after much careful discussion and agreement on a contract of exchange for certain materials to permit you free passage throughout all the vast territories controlled by our city-state."

"I'm glad everything's worked out," Etienne replied. His Mai was more colloquial than Lyra's, but the ambassador didn't seem to mind the informality of the alien's speech.

"What route will you be taking?"

Etienne smiled disingenuously. He and Lyra had debated the possibility of treachery by the locals and had decided it would be better to appear a little impolite and conceal the exact details of their itinerary.

"We're not certain. Here and there-we travel where our thirst for knowledge draws us."

Experienced diplomat that he was, de-Kelwhoang did not react to the probable evasion. "I envy you your freedom. Alas, my work rarely allows me to vary from a designated course. I have been told of the marvelous devices you pos­sess which enable you to find your way at night and in bad weather as clearly as in cloudless daytime. Nevertheless, we would be remiss in our duty and it would be an offense to our honor if you were come to distress attempting to work your way into the main channel of the great Skar." Etienne was immediately on guard.

"It is also necessary that you carry more than signed documents, which can be forged, to prove that you travel under the protection of all Po Rabi. That way the ignorant bandits and suspicious villagers you may encounter, many of whom have not mastered the art of reading, will allow you to pass freely through their lands."

The ambassador turned and called over the railing toward his boat. A moment later two Mai appeared at the top of the stairs. Their fishnet attire was plain and their attitude def­erential.

Etienne's first thought was that they constituted some formal part of the ambassador's entourage, but such was not the case.

"These will be your guides as well as your guarantors of safe passage," de-Kelwhoang announced. He bade each in turn step forward anti make gestures of obeisance before the humans.

The male's name was Homat, the female's Irquit. No honorific "de" prefix, Etienne noted. Both wore simple face makeup and had their long hair bound back in single braids in contrast to the ambassador's elegant but thin coiffure. After bending and turning, both extended their hands out­ward toward the Redowls, palms upward.

After a moment's hesitation Lyra reached out and pressed her own palms to each proffered pair, palm down. The much longer Mai fingers extended well up against her wrist. Each of the six fingers ended in a soft fleshy pad. There were no nails, no residual claws.

Then she stepped back and drew her husband and Por­lezmozmith aside, spoke in symbospeech. "What's your opinion, Commander? I don't really want these two along, but I don't want to offend this ambassador either, especially since we're not yet on our way."

"You are the xenologist, Lyra. But it would be bad di­plomacy to refuse this offer of aid. They come to you as official representatives of their city. They do not look threat­ening to me and may indeed prove useful on your journey. Your mastery of Mai customs is far from complete."

"If it was we wouldn't be disappearing Upriver for a few months. Etienne, what's your opinion?"

"If it was up to me I'd rather not have them along, but as Porlez says, this is in the nature of an official presentation and I don't see how we can decline. I'm sure they're being sent along to learn everything they can about us for their Zanur, but I don't see much harm in that. They'll have to stay out on the stem deck anyway, away from any sensitive controls. The air conditioning in the main cabins would kill them in a few hours, or at least make them damn uncom­fortable."

"All right then, they can come along. As you point out, Porlez, they may be of real help. If they cause trouble we can hold the Po Rabian Zanur directly responsible. Instru­ments aside, it'll be nice to have along a couple of locals who are familiar with the territory. Maybe they know how to cook. It would be nice when we enter colder climes to be able to enjoy a real hot meal instead of what the exciter oven throws up at us."

"I guess it's settled then," Etienne said, and couldn't resist adding, "Nice of you to ask for my opinion. Porlez, can you add anything?"

An inflexible thranx face cannot look thoughtful, but the station commander somehow managed to convey that feeling nonetheless.

"Just remember that when you pass above communicator range you're entirely on your own. We have no aircar here and it would be hard for me to muster a rescue party to come out after you under the best of circumstances. We do not care for travel by boat, as you are aware."

"We're aware of the dangers, as we were before we ac­cepted this opportunity," Lyra reminded her. "We're looking forward to our independence and we're quite used to being on our own in difficult country."

"I know, I know," Portezmozmith said. "I did not mean to sound as if I were chiding you. Once you pass out of communicator range I am no longer responsible for your safety, but I feel concern nonetheless."

Etienne was touched. Such compassion was a widespread thranx attribute and one of those characteristics that had deeply endeared them to humankind, but it still had the power to surprise.

"All the more reason then," he replied, "to have native help with us that we can count on. We'll have ample time to establish the reliability of our guests before we've gone beyond communicator range." He nodded toward the two slightly nervous guides.

"It would seem you are aware of what awaits you," said the commander. "I can think of nothing else to add." They all turned their attention back to the waiting ambassador.

For his part, Ror de-Kelwhoang had listened with interest to the harsh alien babble, which contrasted sharply with the rapid-fire sibilant singsong phrases of his own tongue.

"We thank the Zanur," Lyra said carefully, "for its kind thoughts and accept this offer of assistance with open hearts." Expressions of relief appeared simultaneously on the faces of de-Kelwhoang and the two guides. It would have gone hard on all if the offer had been refused.

Lyra couldn't resist adding to her knowledge of Mai cus­toms. "Etienne and I are mated in the sight of the Ocean and the Oceans of all worlds. What of you?"

"We are not mated," Irquit replied, instantly establishing herself as senior of the pair. "Neither to each other nor others. The Zanur feels," and she made a deferential gesture toward the ambassador, "that in light of the many dangers that may lie in wait for us Upriver, it would be best if those with no family ties were honored by the opportunity to assist you."

"How encouraging," Etienne said dryly.

"I'm curious," Lyra persisted, "did you two volunteer for this, or were you `honored' by choice of the Zanur?"

"Both apply." De-Kelwhoang stepped in gracefully. "Not all are qualified to serve as guides on such a momentous journey. Both these two have traveled far past the Skatan­dah. They have knowledge of its currents and its winds as well as many of the peoples you will encounter. I assure you that we have gone to great lengths to provide the most com­petent helpers Po Rabi has to offer."

Not wanting to risk impugning the Zanur's motives, much less its methods, Lyra switched to more mundane matters. "Irquit, we have some storage space available on our boat. What will you need to bring with you?"

"Very little. Some simple kitchen utensils and a single change of clothing. We will eat your food or purchase our own along the way. The Zanur has provided us with money. We can also cook for you, if you wish." Etienne looked pleased. "Both Homat and I are accomplished foragers."

Foraging was a word with many meanings in the Mai language, Lyra knew, referring to the ability to bargain sharply, scavenge efficiently, or steal without getting caught.

"We also," Homat said, speaking for the first time, "brought no weapons with us, having been told that should we meet hostile peoples you would manage our defense. We did not wish to bring killing instruments with us."

"Very thoughtful of you." Clearly Irquit is in charge of the little company, Lyra thought. But there was a natural shyness about Homat she found appealing. "That's all set­tled, then. If you would like to come help us with our loading-"

"No thank you," Irquit said hastily. "If you do not object we would much prefer to remain outside." She was staring with wide Mai eyes at the imposing alien structure. "If we are not to depart until tomorrow we can sleep outside, here, on mats."

"Are you afraid?" Etienne asked thoughtlessly.

Lyra shot him an angry glance, snapped in terranglo, "Don't you have any empathy for alien psychology? Can't you see they're trying to cover their fear gracefully?"

"I only thought that since these two are going to spend the next several months exploring strange country on a strange craft, they ought to start getting used to strangeness as soon as possible."

"They are not afraid," the ambassador said. He was pick­ing his words with unusual care, Lyra thought. "There is something else."

"What something else?" Lyra asked, still upset over her husband's lack of sensitivity.

Ror de-Kelwhoang looked uncomfortable. "I would rather not say."

"Don't worry. We're scientists, here to study and learn about your ways and your world. We're just as interested in what you dislike as in what you like."

De-Kelwhoang did not look in Porlezmozmith's direction. "It is a question of appearances, you see. We place much value on appearance. There is truth in appearances. It is only that we have certain evil spirits cast in the form of.. ."

"There is no need for apology." Porlezmozmith knew where the ambassador's desperate circumlocutions were heading. "We are used to shape prejudice." She spoke to the two guides. "Remain by yourselves outside, if it is your wish."

Strange, Etienne thought. How could the Mai fear the thranx simply because of their shape? Lyra would have told him to read his history.

"We do not mean to give offense," de-Kelwhoang said quickly.

"None taken," the commander assured him. "This is something we are used to dealing with. I and my assistants will withdraw. It was a delight to meet you, Ambassador. You and your fellows are welcome anytime at Steamer Sta­tion. As are those," she couldn't help adding undiplomati­cally but with ill-concealed enjoyment, "of great Losithi."

The ambassador stiffened at the mention of Po Rabi's rival but, good tactician that he was, retained his composure.

"Thank you."

Porlezmozmith and the rest of the thranx contingent de­parted, leaving the Redowls alone on the deck with the Mai.

"We wish you much delight and good fortune in your studies," de-Kelwhoang said earnestly. He did not look at the two guides. "We of Po Rabi hold scholarship in high regard, unlike the rulers of certain other city-states. We hope you may see your way clear to sharing your knowledge with us after you return."

"That is our intention," Lyra told him. "This is your world and we are guests upon it, and we are thankful for your assistance." She performed a gesture indicating great ap­preciation.

Reassured, de-Kelwhoang turned and walked slowly down the stairway ramp. Waiting hands helped him back into the boat. On command the oarsmen dipped their paddles and pushed away from the support pillar where they had tied up. The Redowls watched for a while as the boat turned east­ward. Then their attention shifted to their unexpected guests. Homat and Irquit waited patiently, their small bundles of cooking utensils and personal effects looking humble indeed.

"You're sure you want to sleep out here?"

"Please, de-Lyra," said Irquit, "we would feel more com­fortable and would be out of everyone's way." She ventured the Mai smile, a thin parting of the lips that barely revealed the small fine teeth beyond. The corners of the mouth did not turn up.

"As you prefer."

"When are we to leave? We have heard so much of your wondrous boat and are most anxious to begin this great adventure with you."

Homat smiled too but said nothing. Not the loquacious type, Etienne decided. Not that it mattered. The two Mai weren't coming along to provide casual conversation.

"Tomorrow morning," he informed them. "We're almost ready and it'll take just a few minutes to put our boat in the water."

Irquit looked puzzled. "It is not in the water now?"

"No. It waits suspended by," he tried to shape his thicker lips and less bulbous cheeks to form the correct expression, "you'll see tomorrow. Showing is better than talking."

"Yes, better than talking," Irquit agreed. She looked ner­vously toward the dark building beyond, abode of grotesque bug-things. "We will be left alone out here?"

"Yes." Lyra assured her. "Though our friends are used to a life beneath the ground and have a more flexible work­sleep cycle than we do, they still prefer to sleep during the hours of darkness. No one will disturb you out here and you won't be in the way."

Irquit smiled again. "I am much delighted that we are going with you."

"And we are much delighted to have you along," Lyra replied. "We'll see you again in the morning."

"Come morning." The two females exchanged the palm­to-palm caress a second time, though Lyra was convinced she'd never be able to compensate properly for the lack of a sixth digit.

Chapter Four


The sun was barely aloft as the hydrofoil was lowered into the calm water beneath the station. The readout that indicated air temperature clung desperately to the hundred­ degree mark, and there was no chance it would drop any lower. The Mai stood at the base of the loading ramp which had been dropped to the boat's stem deck, looking chilled and uncomfortable.

Afire with excitement that had been lost during months of waiting, the Redowls ignored them. When the last supplies had been taken aboard and stowed, they thought to offer moral assistance to their suddenly reluctant passengers.

Homat and Irquit boarded warily, eyes darting anxiously about in search of sails and oars. When Etienne tested the engine, both dashed for the rail and clung tightly to the unyielding metal.

Lyra wiped morning sweat from beneath her sun visor and tried to comfort them. "It's all right, it's only our engine. The device that moves the boat. It's loud, but harmless. The spirits within are fully contained."

"There are no sails," Irquit observed cautiously.

"Or oarsmen," Homat added.

"No, there aren't. We move by taking water in at the front of our craft and pushing it out the back much faster than we take it in."

"What pushes the water?" Irquit asked, slowly releasing her grasp on the railing; it was undignified. Homat continued to hang on tightly.

"Our engine. It would take a long time to explain. Maybe once we're on our way I'll try." She left Irquit with a reassuring smile and descended the ladder to the upper cabin.

"De-Lyra, I am fearful!" Irquit gave Homat a disapprov­ing look, but Lyra paused and eyed him pityingly.

"All right then, come on inside. But you won't like it."

Homat followed her, Irquit tagging along because she didn't want to miss anything. Once below, the truth of Lyra's words became immediately apparent. At a cabin temperature of eighty degrees, both Mai found themselves shivering.

Etienne greeted them in the transparent bubble of the cockpit, left explanations to Lyra. Though she used simple terms and kept her science as basic as possible, it soon became clear that such concepts as electricity and light-emit­ting diodes were beyond the comprehension of their guests.

Before long Homat confessed, "I think I would rather be fearful than frozen," and he led the retreat back toward the stern.

Once outside he hopped around for a few minutes until his system warmed, then busied himself arranging personal effects on the deck. The Mai would sleep where they cooked, away from the terrible arctic climate their hosts appeared to favor.

Reassurances and explanations notwithstanding, it took Lyra another hour of quiet coaxing to convince them that the boat wasn't going to devour them if they let loose of the rail when Etienne raced the engine and sent the hydrofoil leaping forward. She showed them how the boat lifted clear of the surface on its twin metal blades, explained how that enabled them to move Upriver at seventy kilometers an hour.

As time passed and the smoothness and exhilaration of the ride overcame initial fears, both Mai not only relaxed but began to enjoy the journey, though from time to time Homat made signs designed to keep them from striking a submerged log or drifting helplessly toward the clouds.

Villages crowded the shores of tiny tree-covered islets. Astonished children barely had time to shout before the hydrofoil had raced past their disbelieving elders. The boat's scanner picked out fishing craft ahead, enabling Etienne to steer safely around them long before they came into view.

Larger islands appeared as they moved farther Upriver. There the water had receded from the floods sufficient to permit planting of grains and other foodstuffs. Some villagers were engaged in crude but effective aquaculture, from the raising of crustaceans to the gathering of waterfowl. All looked askance at the spirit boat that roared past their homes and scattered birds and amphibians in its wake.

There seemed no end to the villages. According to the initial satellite surveys, the Skatandah Delta was the most densely populated section of Tslamaina, which was why it had been chosen as the site of the first Commonwealth out­post.

As they traveled toward the equator the temperature in­tensified, if that was possible, and no occasional sea breeze battled the humidity. Despite months of acclimatization, the Redowls spent the majority of their time sequestered in the air-conditioned interior of their craft. Merely to step out on deck risked a shock to the system. Homat and Irquit were right at home on the stern deck, however, and readily ex­changed muted comments about the fragility of the human system.

Homat made a game of trying to outguess the scanner, sitting on the bow and staring at the water in search of submerged rocks or other obstacles. He always lost, but the acuity of his eyesight impressed both Etienne and Lyra.

By analyzing the current and the debris the water carried, the hydrofoil's computer could make a decision on which branch to take, but it was still nice to have Irquit confirm the choice. Without the computer or their guides they could have spent years wandering through the Skatandah in a futile attempt to locate the main course of the Skar.

As the days slid past in superheated study, the Redowls found themselves more and more grateful for the presence of their two passengers. Having completely overcome their fear of the boat, the Mai had revealed themselves as efficient, helpful, and good company. Lyra derived an added benefit from being able to study their reactions to new discoveries, additional information on Mai society which she regularly entered into her scientific log.

They also turned out to be excellent cooks as well as sharp bargainers at the villages where they stopped to pur­chase supplies, and except for periodic raids on the salt tablet and vitamin stores, the humans' stock of packaged food remained nearly untouched.

Irquit and Homat didn't try to hide their delight. Not only were they enjoying themselves, but Lyra knew they must be anticipating the honors that would come their way after they returned home. Their careers were made. She was pleased for both of them.

It was clear that those Mai fortunate enough to make their homes in the delta were more content than their urbanized relations. Government control so far from Po Rabi was lax, food was abundant, and there was little to inspire conflict. The social setup would change, Lyra suspected, once they left the lush Skatandah region behind and emerged into the main channel of the Skar. Farming above the delta would require more effort and extensive irrigation. Competition would be tough, as it was within the city-state boundaries.

The heat, the friendliness of the villagers, the lazy days passed in discussion and study produced in the Redowls a feeling of inner security. It was left to Homat to remind them that they were traveling on an alien world and not Earth's relatively benign waters.

Etienne had gone over the side and was leaning back against one of the curving support struts that ran from hy­drofoil to hull, trailing one leg in the cool water and letting the spray from the foil wash over him. They were traveling fast enough to alleviate concern about glass leeches and he was completely relaxed beneath the refreshing spray.

He gave Homat a curious glance as the Mai started to descend alongside him, carrying a metal prod. Now that he'd overcome his initial fear of the strange vessel, the shy native clambered nimbly over it while displaying an agility Etienne could only envy.

It was the prod that caught his eye. "What's that for?"

Homat gestured with the metal. Etienne wiped spray from his face and looked behind him.

Attached to the foil just beneath the glassy surface of the water and slowly creeping toward Etienne's feet was a thin dark shape, three meters long and as. thick as his arm.

"Sandrush," Homat said curtly as he worked his way around the strut until he was holding on behind Etienne.

"Poisonous? Parasite?"

"No. Inhaler."

"What does it inhale? Blood?"

"Inhale you." Etienne watched with interest as the Mai used the prod to pry open the creature's wide round mouth. The teeth were small and curved inward. The jaw dislocated itself and Homat spread the gape wide- still. As they watched the sandrush began to fill helplessly with river water until it had swollen to four times its normal size. The dull green membrane was evidently capable of expanding to hold prey larger than itself, and the meaning of Homat's words became ghoulishly clear.

Eventually the pressure of the water proved too much for the powerful suckers that lined the sandrush's ventral side. It relinquished its grip and fell away astern. Etienne was suitably impressed.

"If it gets a hold of you, very bad," Homat explained unnecessarily. "It won't let go unless it dies and sandrush is very hard to kill. Swallow you whole." He turned to climb back up toward the lower deck.

Etienne wondered at the flexibility that would allow an animal to expand so far beyond its normal size even as he thoughtfully removed his legs from the water. He wondered what other charming native fauna lurked just beneath the surface of the river, following the boat hungrily.

Since there was little here for him to study he did most of the piloting, leaving Lyra free to record her impressions of village life and culture within the Skatandah. While the communities there differed little from those clustered around Steamer Station she continued to take her usual copious notes. Even the tiniest change in social structure or clothing or fishing methods was occasion for excitement.

Gradually the marshlands and islands of the delta began to fade behind them. Fewer platform trees and pseudopalms

were seen, more open water and less land. An unknowing observer might have concluded that the Redowls had taken a wrong turn and were heading once more out into the open ocean.

But the water they skimmed over was now almost entirely fresh. They had entered the main body of the Skar, a river large enough to make the Amazon or Nile or any of the other known rivers of the Commonwealth look like a meandering creek. From the center of the river it was impossible to tell you weren't traveling on a freshwater sea, because there was no sign of land to starboard or port. Beyond invisible banks the cliffs that marked the edge of the Guntali rose unseen toward a cloud-flecked sky.

Etienne eased the hydrofoil to starboard until the shore­line hove into view. Thereafter they were able to cruise on autopilot, allowing Lyra to concentrate on her note-taking and leaving Etienne free to stare through the telescope mounted atop the observation mast. Numerous villages dot­ted the bank. Farther inland he saw farming communities and small commercial centers. At the extreme range of the scope's resolving power he could discern the first gentle slopes, evidence that they really were traveling up a river canyon.

While the temperature crept toward the hundred thirty mark in early afternoon, the humidity fell slightly. It required an effort to remain outside the boat's air-conditioned interior for longer than half an hour. Lyra spent much of her time outside chatting with the owners of the small trading boats that pulled alongside whenever they stopped. While she dictated notes, Homat and Irquit bargained for provisions. Ir­quit did most of the trading while Homat attended to the cooking, having mastered the electric oven the Redowls in­sisted he use instead of the wood-burning stove he had brought on board.

They were then a thousand kilometers north of Steamer Station and the mouth of the delta, cruising the smooth back of the river Skar at a steady ninety kph. They had barely begun their journey.

Everywhere the Mai citizenry was friendly and open, though more primitive than those of the advanced societies of the city-states that ringed the great world ocean. All was not peaceful and pastoral along the river, however. The pres­ence of village stockades and other fortifications hinted at sporadic conflict, and there were those who were less than overawed by the peculiar visitors' advanced technology.

"Hon, I think you'd better have a look at this." Etienne kept his gaze on the scanner as he took the boat off autopilot.

"What is it?" Lyra's voice sounded over the intercom in the cockpit.

"Ships ahead, lots of 'em. Fishing boats by the computer image."

".What's notable about that? I'm busy, Etienne."

"Lyra, there are at least a hundred boats. That's not usual, is it?"

"No, it's not." The intercom went quiet for a moment and when she spoke again her tone was thoughtful instead of impatient. "Are you sure?"

"I'm quite capable of following the readouts," he said sarcastically. "It isn't normal, is it, for a fishing fleet to attain that size?"

"Not from what we've seen thus far, no, but maybe it's normal up here."

"Why don't you ask Irquit?"

A sigh whispered at him from the grid as she put her beloved work aside. "I suppose I'd better."

Irquit sat on the open rear deck of the hydrofoil, cleaning vegetables for the next meal. Purple and maroon predomi­nated, but that didn't detract from the tastiness, Lyra knew. Homat peeled tubers by hand.

"Irquit, my husband says that there are at least a hundred fishing boats in the river ahead of us." Neither of the Mai expressed surprise at this calm revelation, having already become familiar with much of the hydrofoil's instrumenta­tion. They called the cockpit scanner the iron eye.

Irquit looked uncertain. "That is more than I have ever heard of fishing the river. There are never so many grouped together down by Po Rabi. Is de-Etienne certain they are just fishermen?"

"We can't tell that through the iron eye. What could they be doing except fishing?"

"It could be a war fleet," Homat suggested tentatively.

"Out to attack one of the villages? This doesn't seem to be a poor area."

"it is sometimes simpler," said Homat with innocent wis­dom, "to take rather than to work, no matter how easy the work may be."

She could have argued the point but it was not the time to engage in idle sociological speculation. "Tell that to my husband, Homat."

He made a sign of acknowledgment and worked his way around the boat until he was standing outside the transparent dome of the cockpit. He could see Etienne clearly. Con­densation was banished from the clear acrylic by the silent efforts of special air circulators. He leaned toward the speak­ing membrane.

"De-Etienne, I fear the many vessels you say lie ahead of us."

"Is there any way you can tell what they're up to by looking at them?"

"Yes. If they have their gill nets out I think they're just fishing and not ready for war. Gill nets cost too much to risk in a fight."

Etienne considered. "Better tell Lyra to come forward, then. The iron eye can't distinguish something as wispy as nets. We'll need somebody to make visual confirmation."

"I'm already here, Etienne." The membrane picked up his wife's voice before she stepped into view. Irquit was with her. "You don't have to tell me my job."

"I wasn't telling you your job," he snapped, "I just­- never mind. We'll be on top of them in a minute." He ex­amined the crowded screen. "I'll have to slow down or we're liable to run over somebody."

"We've never run into more than four or five boats fishing together before. Too much competition," Lyra murmured. "It doesn't fit the established pattern." Masted wooden shapes were appearing on the horizon ahead.

The roar of the electric jet dropped to a rumble and the hydrofoil's speed dropped radically until the hull once more broke water. As they began to pass among the component vessels, the fishing fleet was even more impressive up close than it had appeared on the scanner.

The craft that plied the warm waters of the Skatandah Delta rarely required the muscles of more than three or four fishermen. these great bargelike vessels each boasted two dozen crew or more. They lay across the Skar in three rows, blocking a decent part of the river's considerable breadth, and were roped together.

To Etienne's relief they clearly saw the huge gill nets strung between the ships. Since they didn't drift with the current they must utilize heavy anchors to hold them in place. Women and children manned the nets and lines along­side the men.

Every tenth barge was a vast floating platform nearly as big as some of the ocean-going trimarans they'd encountered out in the Groalamasan. The reason for their extraordinary size, as well as for the number of fishing craft, soon became apparent. It had to do with the size of the catch.

Some twenty vessels were swinging close together, bump­ing sides and full of organized confusion as their crews strained at nets and lines. The water between began to froth and bubble, was finally broken by the emergence of an immense rainbow-hued head. More glowing color breached the sur­face and the fisherfolk redoubled their efforts to haul in their whale-sized catch.

"Arwawl!" Homat exclaimed excitedly. "I've tasted its dried flesh but never seen one before. They run only in the main river and come nowhere near Po Rabi's shallows."

The chanting of the fishermen was a steady, triumphant chorus now as they hauled in the huge interlocked nets. As they did so ten ships passed to port of the immense barge, ten to starboard. The barge crew lent its muscle to the task and long gaffs, attached to winches, were brought into use. Slowly the arwawl was hauled onto the deck, bending the stern beneath the surface of the river for long moments be­fore the silvery tonnage could be better distributed.

The single catch was enough to feed many villages, Etienne mused, but the fleet apparently wasn't satisfied. Still other nets were out, trailing from the less fortunate boats. He admired the fisherfolk's persistence.

It was left to Irquit, less mesmerized by the efficiency of the fleet, to sound a warning. She moved closer to Lyra, who was intent on recording the fishing with her instruments.

Irquit performed a diminutive half bow. "Forgive me for troubling you, de-Lyra, but I think we are in danger."

"What?" Lyra strained to refocus her attention. "What's that, Irquit?"

The Mai stepped to the railing and pointed over the bow. "I have been watching those four ships." Lyra raised her gaze, saw nothing unusual about the quartet of fishing craft dead ahead.

"What about them? They are fishing, like their compan­ions."

"Not like their companions," Irquit argued. "They are moving toward us. They should be anchored in place, hold­ing their nets against the flow of the Skar. They are drifting downstream."

"Maybe they're trying to reposition themselves in a better spot. Fishermen move all the time."

"I'm sure they are moving to a better spot, but not to catch fish, I think."

Lyra frowned. "What makes you think so?"

"Two drift to our left, two to the right. Their nets lie between. If we continue on this course they will soon ensnare us."

"I'm sure it's not intentional," Lyra replied, but inwardly she wasn't so sure. The boats were very close now and the big gill nets lay concealed by the rolling water. "We'll warn them clear."

"The nets of the Upriver fisherfolk are wondrous strong, de-Lyra," Irquit said anxiously. "I don't know that even your spirit boat could escape from them. There is something more. See how busy the crews are?"

Lyra squinted, peered through her recorder's telephoto for a closer look. "I see. Isn't that normal?"

"I am no fisherwoman, but I have visited this part of the Skar before. To travel downstream is simple. One simply raises the anchors and drifts with the current. Never have I seen so much activity surrounding so easy a task. When one works that hard at something that simple, one usually has something to hide."

Lyra thought a moment, leaned over to call toward the cockpit. "Irquit thinks the four fishing boats coming Down­river toward us might be trying to ensnare us in their nets."

Etienne wished the hydrofoil's scanner could provide more detail. "What's your opinion, Lyra?"

"I don't know what to think, but I don't want to take any unnecessary chances. I'd like to find out so that we'll have a better idea what to expect in case the same situation reoc­curs in the future. Let's do our guesswork now."

He nodded. "We'll let them play all their cards, then. Tell Irquit not to worry. I can handle it."

"Handle?" Irquit was trying to divide her attention be­tween the stocky human female and the suspiciously active fishing boats dead ahead. "What does de-Etienne mean `han­dle?"' The boats were near enough now for the otolk wood floats to stand out clearly against the water.

"He means he's ready to deal with. any hostile moves."

"But you must move away, move to avoid them while there is still time! I know that the spirit boat can move quickly to the side, and..."

"Have a calming, Irquit. Etienne knows what he's doing. Everything's under control."

A gentle shudder ran through the hydrofoil's hull as the bow made contact with the heavy nets and two of the oblong floats. As they continued Upriver, pushing the net with their bow, the four fishing boats were drawn toward each other ... and the hydrofoil was caught between them.

Explosive roars of triumph sounded from all four Mai vessels and ail pretense vanished. It was suddenly clear that they were interested in tougher quarry than fish. Gaffs gave way to long pikes and spears, and the chanting that accom­panied the appearance of these weapons was very different from that which had provided a quaint backdrop to the land­ing of the arwawl.

Homat began to moan and rock from side to side. "Doomed we are. These river primitives will show us no mercy!"

Irquit merely looked resigned. "I warned you, de-Lyra."

"And you were right," the xenologist replied calmly as she turned again toward the cockpit bubble. "We've estab­lished their real intentions, Etienne. I've made my record­ings." She paused as something whizzed past overhead. "Let's not hang around. They have bows."

"Don't you want to observe native weaponry in action?"

She ducked as a wood-and-bone shaft splintered against the deck. "Don't get funny, honey. If you want to linger, we can switch places first."

"Never mind." He grinned at her as he gunned the engine. The jet nozzle pivoted a hundred and eighty degrees until it was facing toward the bow.

"Hold tight," Lyra warned the two morose Mai. They barely had time to reach for handholds before the hydrofoil shot backward in full reverse. Suddenly nothing kept the four fishing boats apart. The nets fell limp into the river.

The chanting subsided as the would-be pirates watched their quarry vanish astern at sixty kph. Then crews rushed to the oars as all four crews realized there was nothing to stop their momentum. Frantic yells and curses replaced the warlike chanting of a moment earlier.

Etienne slowed and reversed direction once more, watch­ing with interest as the four fishing boats, still linked together by their nets and lines, slewed inexorably toward each other. Loud snapping sounds filled the air as hastily manned oars were splintered against colliding hulls. Curses were drowned by shouts of confusion and conflicting orders as nets became tangled with rudders and broken oars.

Keeping well beyond arrow range, he edged the hydrofoil easily around their would-be captors, toward the center of the river. A few of the unhappy fisherfolk, unable to attack with their short bows, settled for bombarding the spirit boat with ferocious insults. Homat stifled his laughter at their plight long enough to translate those couched in the local dialect or too complex for Lyra to understand. She patiently entered them all into her journal under a subheading drolly labeled MAI INVECTIVE-LOCAL VARIANTS AND DIALECTS. All grist for the xenological mill.

Etienne half-expected some of the other fisherfolk to aid their brethren in the attack, but he was pleasantly disap­pointed. Instead of joining in, the Mai who'd stood to the side to watch were lining the sides of their own vessels and cheering the spirit boat's escape.

"That's not the reaction I expected," he shouted toward the speaker membrane. "Irquit, what's going on? They don't seem angry at our escape."

"Why should they be? They chose not to participate in the attack on us. So they do not share in its failure. They admire the successful, no matter where they come from. So they applaud our escape." Irquit leaned over the railing to peer astern. The four badly entangled fishing boats continued their steady drift Downriver.

"By the time they get themselves separated, de-Etienne, they will have a long hard row Upriver to return to their homes. That will give them time to think anew about trying to capture a spirit boat. I hope not many were hurt. There is much confusion."

"And I hope half fall overboard and drown." Homat spat over the side. "Let the river eat them. May they stew in their own urine! We meant them no harm and still they would have slain us!"

Lyra paused in her note-taking. "It's difficult for poor people to turn down the chance to acquire great wealth, Homat. I'm not defending their actions, understand, but I can empathize with their feelings." She had to use four con­nected nouns to make the idea of empathy comprehensible to the Mai guide. "Do you think we'll be subject to more such attacks?"

Irquit made a gesture of uncertainty. "Who can predict? As you say, de-Lyra, your spirit boat represents power and wealth to all who set eyes upon it. Your property will be coveted from the Skatandah to the region of ice." Another thin smile. "Clearly any who try will have much difficulty in taking it."

"We can take care of ourselves," Lyra assured her.

"That is proven. I will not dance with worry next time. None can threaten the spirit boat."

"Oh, we're not omnipotent," Lyra corrected her, "but we're far from defenseless. If necessary we can do more than just dodge gill nets."

"Yes. I have seen the weapons that rest in the holders alongside the round tiller de-Etienne steers the spirit boat with."

"Those are only for use in dire emergency," Lyra said firmly. "We carry them to defend us against dangerous an­imals, not intelligent peoples. My Zanur would be very upset with us if we used them against your people."

"My people are the people of Po Rabi," Irquit replied, indicating with gentle bloodthirstiness that it wouldn't bother her in the least if it became necessary to shoot a few riverfolk. Lyra sighed inwardly. Once upon a time, back in the tribal days, her ancestors had felt similarly. A few throw­backs still did.



The kilometers slid beneath the hydrofoil's keel by the hundreds, the Skar still running wide and slow, the distant walls of the Barshajagad still rendered invisible by haze and distance. Lyra began to enjoy the bargaining for supplies that took place whenever they pulled in to shore.

"You can learn a lot by watching Homat and Irquit," she told Etienne on more than one occasion.

He would nod politely, but the methodology of native batter didn't intrigue him. Instead, he spent the trading time sequestered atop the observation mast with one eye glued to the telescope, studying the nearing lower slopes of the canyon with their irrigated fields and elaborate terraces.

As a precaution, they spent each night well out in the middle of the Skar. The hydrofoil's autoalarms would alert them to the presence of any potential danger.

Occasionally, Etienne would vary the routine by climbing the mast to turn the telescope skyward, quizzing himself by trying to identify the strange constellations overhead. On this particular early morning there was no rain and few clouds. The humidity was lower than usual and the temperature had plunged into the nineties. He was very surprised to see Homat's wide-eyed hairless face appear outside the transparent scope enclosure. The guide looked nervous, and not from the height.

Etienne unfastened the plastic to admit the edgy Mai.

"Something wrong, Homat?" he inquired solicitously.

"I-I must talk with you, de-Etienne."

"Must be important to bring you up here from beneath a warm blanket."

"It is, very important."

"Just a second." Etienne swung the telescope aside on its gimbaled mount to make more room, thoughtfully shut off the blower that was pouring refrigerated air into the enclo­sure.

As soon as the temperature had warmed, Homat entered and sealed the entrance behind him. In the cramped space atop the mast Etienne was more conscious than ever of his bulk compared to that of the diminutive native.

"What is it?" Beyond Homat he could see two of Tsla­maina's four moons gleaming on the river. The other two would appear within the hour, he knew.

"For a long time I have meant to do this, but I did not know how to do it and have not had a chance to do it."

"Do what?"

"Warn you, de-Etienne. You and de-Lyra are in great danger."

Etienne leaned back in the narrow swivel chair and smiled at the native's concern. He swung one leg idly back and forth.

"We're in constant danger, yes. The fisherfolk we just ran into Downriver demonstrated that."

"No, no!" Homat whispered intently. "Not that. The dan­ger of which I speak is nearer and more insidious."

Etienne studied the guide's face closely. "Homat, what is it you're so frightened of?"

"I am not bold by nature," he explained anxiously. "I have traveled as widely as I have not because I desired to but because I was ordered to do so by those who employed me.

"Now I have found that I cannot go on without telling what I know, de-Etienne. Something within pushes me to make confession. All my life I have been a small person, one who scrapes and nods and follows the orders of others. You and de-Lyra have treated me most fair, better than I have ever been treated by any other employers. I have come to like you very much. For the first time in my life, someone makes me feel important. It is a feeling I want to keep."

"Why shouldn't you?" Etienne found himself taken aback by the unexpectedly emotional confession.

"Because of Irquit."

"Irquit? What can she do to you?"

Homat's wide eyes darted nervously around the plastic enclosure. "Are you sure no one can hear what we say?"

"Of course I'm sure. The intercom's not on and we're high above the rest of the boat. Homat, explain yourself. Why are you so afraid of Irquit all of a sudden? I hadn't noticed that she's been treating you badly. She's been very helpful."

"That is her task. To be helpful until..." he hesitated. "Mai-with-Hair, remember that what I am about to tell you is worth my life-Irquit is the direct representative of the Zanur of Po Rabi."

Etienne was beginning to lose patience with his visitor. His viewing time was slipping away and he wanted to get in some sleep before sunrise.

"We already know that, Homat. You are, too."

"No! I am a hired guide. She is responsible only to the Zanur itself. Tell me, de-Etienne, have you not remarked on her intense interest in your spirit boat and its functions?"

"Naturally. Do you think we're only attuned to technol­ogy? My wife is particularly sensitive to the actions of," he almost said primitive peoples, but quickly changed it to "other individuals. Irquit's interest is only natural. Lyra ought to know. She's studied guests on other worlds beyond this one."

"I know what that means, de-Etienne," Homat replied somberly. "Tell me: on those other worlds did she ever en­counter any assassins?"

Chapter Five


Etienne's smile vanished and he sat up straighter in his chair. His impatience was replaced by sudden interest.

"Would you mind explaining what you mean, Homat?"

The guide shifted nervously. "Your wonderful craft makes use of many impossible-to-understand spirits, de-Etienne, but it seems to me not so difficult to command them."

"Operation is highly simplified for users not technically oriented, yes."

"Simple enough for Irquit to operate?"

"Maybe, if she were to stick to basic go-stop type di­rections. What about it?"

Homat gestured forward, past the moonlit bow. "Tomor­row we are to stop at the village of Changrit to restock our larder. Changrit has an alliance with Po Rabi."

"I didn't think Po Rabi's influence extended this far north," Etienne told him.

"Changrit is independent. It is a trade alliance only, but that is enough when much is at stake. Long before Ambas­sador de-Kelwhoang delivered us to you to serve as your guides, river riders were sent racing north to Changrit. An understanding was achieved with the Moyt of Changrit." He brushed absently at the single knot of long hair that trailed from the top of his head.

"The ambush is to take place at night, while you are anchored out in the Skar and less on guard. Your spirit boat is to be taken so that its secrets and treasures may be shared by Changrit and Po Rabi." He hesitated only for a moment. "You and your mate, of course, will not survive."

"I see," Etienne said quietly. "Suppose Irquit proves un­able, despite her studies, to operate the boat?"

"All is planned for. In that event it is to be loaded upon a barge and shipped Downriver."

"I don't see any problem, Homat. We just won't stop near Changrit for supplies. Even if they're lying in wait for us out in the river we can simply run past them."

"It may not be so easy, de-Etienne. Even now word is relayed along the riverbank marking our progress. The fight­ers of Changrit will be ready to challenge you no matter when you try to pass their city."

"I'm curious. How did the Zanur plan to explain our disap­pearance, in the event our friends back at Steamer Station learned of it?"

"You have been watched and studied. Not all who sought to talk with your mate while you waited to travel were simple fisherfolk. Changrit was chosen because it is the northern­most city with which Po Rabi has an alliance and it was believed to lie beyond range of your talk-through-air spirits."

"That's right enough."

"There is no reason why your friends should connect your disappearance to Po Rabi or any other city. For all they will know you perished when your boat sank in the Skar, as many boats do."

"And what if our friends come looking for us and find our boat in the possession of the Zanur, or the Moyt of Chan­grit?"

"Then it is to be said that you were swamped by an ar­wawl, that this was seen from shore, and that your boat was towed to safety but not in time to save its crew. I am not privy to all the details, as Irquit is."

"But they had to tell you this much so that you could help at the critical moment."

"Yes." Homat dropped his gaze, unwilling to meet his benefactor's eyes. "My ancestors are ashamed."

"All right, you've told me about the proposed attack. That doesn't make Irquit an assassin."

"She will become one only if it proves necessary," Homat explained. "She is there to make certain the attack does not fail. When it comes she will pretend surprise and will appear to aid you, but if it looks like the attack may fail, she is to choose a moment when you are not on guard to push you overboard or put a knife in your back. Have you not noticed her skill on things bigger than vegetables." He looked away.

"I just thought she was a deft cook," he muttered.

"Deft indeed, de-Etienne. I have seen her demonstrate her skill on things bigger than vegetables." He looked away. "I was to help in all this, of course."

"Of course," Etienne said dryly. He reached out and pushed a button. A tired moan came from the grid.

"What is it? I was just getting into a really decent dream."

"Would you come up here a minute, hon? I'm observing something I think you'd find intriguing."

"Come on, Etienne. Maybe tomorrow night."

"It may be less visible tomorrow night. I wish you'd come up now. Our position tomorrow will be radically different."

"All right, all right," she snapped back at him. "This better be good."

He waited in the enclosure with the nervous Homat until a sleepy-eyed Lyra had ascended the mast to join them. There was very little room to move around with three of them atop the platform.

"What now?" She was still blinking sleep from her eyes, but her expression turned to one of confusion when. she noticed Homat.

"Where's Irquit?" Etienne asked her.

"Irquit? What's she got to do with? ... On the stern deck, I would imagine, blissful in the arms of the local represen­tative of Morpheus. What the hell's going on up here?"

"Homat has something to tell you."

Lyra listened quietly as the guide repeated the tale he had told Etienne. She considered quietly for several long mo­ments once he'd finished.

"We could turn back. We're scientists, not soldiers-of-fortune and not hard-contact explorers. We're not prepared to deal with large-scale local antagonism. If this town is linked by treaty and duplicity to Po Rabi, we can apply for clearance and protection with the Zanur of Losithi."

Etienne looked doubtful. "Wouldn't work. Word will reach Po Rabi and they'll know we found them out. That could put them into open conflict with Losithi. We don't want to be responsible for starting a major local war. Besides which there's no guarantee we'd fare any better with the Zanur of Losithi than we already have with Po Rabi. Better the devil you know, et cetera."

"They are as envious of your technology as is the Zanur of Po Rabi," Homat agreed.

"Then there's the distance we've already come. Returning and retracing our steps would take at least a month, even if we were lucky enough to obtain immediate permission from Losithi. We've passed the equator and we're above the worst of the climate. Not that this oven has suddenly become com­fortable, but it's bound to improve.

"I've no desire to retrace our steps, restudy what we've already thoroughly recorded, and I'm sure you don't either, Lyra. And there's always the chance that Losithi could ar­range a similar kind of ambush when we resumed our jour­ney, and they'd be better prepared for us than these Changritites are likely to be. The geology's finally starting to get interesting, Lyra. I don't want to go back to taking mud samples for an additional two months. Despite Homat's fears I don't imagine we'll have any trouble passing through whatever barrier of nets and ropes the locals can erect."

"I know that," Lyra agreed. "It's not that. I just don't want to harm any natives. You know what a resident commis­sioner would have to say about that."

"There's no resident commissioner on Tslamaina. Not advanced enough yet. No one's going to know anything, and even if we were found out we'd just tell them that we had to defend ourselves, which is likely to be the truth."

Lyra turned her attention to Homat. "What happens once we're safely past Changrit? What about the next town? Could it be in alliance with Po Rabi too?"

Homat spoke with conviction. "No. Changrit is the only far north city allied with Po Rabi. Beyond Changrit much is unknown and all are independent of the city-states that line the Groalamasan. And Changrit was chosen because it alone can muster enough strength for such an attack."

"Everything you've told us makes sense," she murmured. "It's what you haven't told us that worries me."

"I do not understand your words, de-Lyra."

"Why are you so eager to betray your own city?"

"I have told you that I have come to like you, and that you have given me a sense of self-importance and true worth that I have never felt before."

"That's not good enough." For emphasis she added a powerful Mai gesture of disbelief. "You could have kept silent and fulfilled the dictates of your masters. If we had succumbed to this trap you would have enjoyed much honor in Po Rabi, and if we had escaped you would still be safe. Why risk the one by throwing in so openly with us when you'd have been safe both ways by keeping quiet? I'm glad that you `like' us, but I've studied Mai society for too many months now to believe that you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Homat looked uncertain, turned lo Etienne for guidance.

"You'd better tell us the truth, Homat."

"Don't you believe me, de-Etienne?"

"Yes, I do, but my wife's a born skeptic. Unlike intelligent beings, rocks and minerals aren't intentionally deceptive. You're going to have to convince her to convince me."

Homat nodded. When he spoke again much of the ner­vousness and all of the soft deference had vanished from his voice.

"I told the truth about coming to like you, and about not wishing to be a party to such a vile deception. But de-Lyra suspects me rightly. I have another reason for confessing this now.

"It is true I would risk nothing by keeping my silence, but also would I gain. nothing. Po Rabi is my home, but I have traveled widely and have come to think of the world as my home. There are many great city-states where one may make a fine life In Po Rabi I have little chance to rise above my station. True, if the attack on your spirit boat were to succeed I would return home to a fine reward, but in you off-wonders I see the chance to do much better. With the knowledge I can gain from you I can make myself valuable beyond mere `rewards.' Thus far only Losithi and Po Rabi have dealt with your hard-shelled friends. Suphum would welcome my knowledge and make me a member of their Zanur, as would Tolm and many others. I could not hope to rise so high in Po Rabi on the results of my labors as an assassin.

"I have provided you with information which may save your lives as well as your expedition. In return for this information and for my loyalty, I expect suitable recompense."

Lyra looked satisfied. "!Vow I believe you, Homat." She added to Etienne in terranglo. "Typical power-wealth decision. Very Mai. The fact that we're not of his race doesn't enter into the equation. Business takes precedence over vague feelings of loyalty to home and kind." She switched back to her very fluent Mai.

"You are a more complex person than you've led us to believe, Homat. You're a very effective deceiver." This last was, in Mai, a compliment, and Homat looked quite pleased with himself.

"All of us carry deceptions. They are worth little. Truth is all that can be sold. I am only a simple one seeking to lift himself from the depths in which he was born."

"Having deceived us this long, how can we be certain you won't try to strike your own bargain with some village Moyt?"

"If you do not return safely to your Steamer Station, I gain nothing from helping you now. I do not wish to take the spirit boat. I believe I have more to gain by helping you."

"A straightforward enough commercial decision, Etienne-devoid of sentimentality. I'd rather rely on that than on his fondness for us. Having made his confession and his choice, it's now in his best interests to see to our con­tinued health and safety."

"Delightful so," Homat agreed. "Then you believe me about Irquit and the attack?"

"We'll find out for certain tomorrow," Etienne told him. He turned his attention to the telescope. "Now if you don't mind, Homat, I still have some observations of the sky I want to make and Lyra needs her beauty sleep."

Homat gaped at him. "But you are to be attacked! You must make preparations to defend yourselves."

"Maybe we won't have to fight, Homat."

"We'd better not," Lyra murmured uneasily. "Self ­defense or no, if word ever got back to our sponsors that we'd engaged in a running battle with Class Four-B natives we'd never get another grant in our lives."

"Don't be so damned concerned for the welfare of the charming, considerate locals. What are you worried about? Is Homat going to appear before the Research Advisory Board to announce that we knew about the attack in ad­vance?" After months of fighting with his wife, Etienne was more than ready to light something else, and to hell with the regulations.

Besides, Po Rabi's deception grated on him. He remem­bered the ambassador's politeness, the warm feelings of contentment and achievement they'd felt just before setting out Upriver. If Homat's confession proved true, that meant all those kind words of help and assistance and talk of mutual sharing of knowledge was so much dung.

Maybe Changrit was the last city in league with Po Rabi, and maybe it wasn't. It wouldn't hurt to send a lesson not only to the Zanur of Po Rabi but to any other Mai who coveted the spirit boat, that the peaceful human visitors weren't to be trifled with. Yes, they all but owed it to the Mai to show what scholars could do when aroused. In so doing they might quickly discourage all future such assaults, thereby saving lives.

"It still bothers me to have to fight," Lyra said softly.

"I understand." He was quite willing to be understanding now that he'd matte up his mind how to handle the Changritites. "But if it comes to that, it's self-defense. Anyway, by fighting we're only adhering to local custom. Remember how the rest of the fishing fleet cheered us on our way? Maybe some timorous board member would disapprove, but not the rest of the Mai."

She spoke in terranglo again while Homat looked on blankly, desperately wishing he could comprehend the alien babble.

"We could just use repellers."

"Dangerous if they managed to get a net or two on us. You know how unstable the boat is on repellers. That's a last resort. Besides, if we don't invite some kind of reaction, we'll only have Homat's word about Irquit. What if she's no assassin, merely a guide? What if their orders are only to stand aside and let the Changritites do all the dirty work? Maybe he's just trying to shut her out of the bit of business he's working with us. By watching her reactions we'll have final proof of his words. If she doesn't make any threatening moves, once past Changrit we'll have a new problem to deal with."

Lyra sighed, shook her head sadly. "This is going to com­plicate the hell out of my notes."

"If that's ail we have to worry about as we pass Changrit," he countered, "we'll be well off. Besides, think of the potential opportunities for studying the behavior of the Mai in battle."

She responded with a rude noise which even Homat could understand.



The following night on the Skar was equally cloudless and clear. As the sun began to shrink behind the distant ramparts of the canyon wall, Etienne peered through the cockpit bub­ble at an anxious Irquit. He nodded to himself as he studied her expression. Point one to Homat.

The guide was talking to Lyra, who stood watching the western shore.

"We are almost all out of meat, de-Lyra. I t