"Fashion," she said, over her shoulder. "Although I admit I have had some further thoughts on that subject." Deciding those would be of little interest to him-the Maldeneantine had no aesthetic sense that she had ever seen-she said simply, "You'll find a digital picture on the table by the console. The h.e.l.lspark tells me that's current fashion." She went from closet to closet to gather her working materials: scissors, wire, bowls, and vases.

To her deep regret, she had not been able to bring as large a selection of containers with her as she had wished. That was always true, but this time, the lack of choice frustrated her. Perhaps, she thought suddenly, she might ask the rest of the team. Who knows what sort of container Om im or even Kejesli might have brought, as art or as ritual item...

Megeve said, "I thought you were Vyrnwyn, Edge-of-Dark. Why should you be interested in Ringsilver fashion?"

It took her a moment to understand the implication of his question. "Ringsilver?" She strode across to stare at the picture over his shoulder. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," he said. "I was there just a few years ago and they all dressed like that."

But Edge-of-Dark realized she had no need of his answer. Taking the picture from his hands, she stared at it. "Ringsilver!" she breathed, and promptly burst into laughter, fully expecting Megeve to follow suit. She looked up to find a scowl on his face.

Subduing her laughter, she raised her hand to splay fingers at her throat. "Your pardon, Megeve. It's not you I'm laughing at, it's me. Won't Om im love this! I have been-ever so graciously-tricked by that h.e.l.lspark of his!"

She flourished the picture at him and went on, "What a great deal of trouble to go to, to get me into boots for the sake of Buntec's sensibilities! What is it Buntec would say, 'Crazy like a h.e.l.lspark'? It's true isn't it?"

"You mean she hoaxed you? And you're not angry about it?"

The question sobered her. She gave it the respect it was due and concluded, "No, I'm not angry.

Consider for a moment: when I put on boots, I suddenly became human to Buntec. And Buntec reciprocated", she added, as the thought occurred to her, "by learning the Vyrnwyn formal greetings-so she became human to me."

Her long nails tapped the picture absently. "Almost like an equation. Edge-of-Dark plus boots equal human. Buntecreih plus formal greeting equals human. What do you suppose we have to add to the sprookjes to arrive at a similar result?" Thoughtful, she stared at Megeve without really seeing him.

"Well," she said, "perhaps it's flower art. If you'll help me carry out the table, we'll find out soon enough."

Megeve's only response was to bend to the task.

Outside, they placed the table in the mud. While Megeve leveled it with small flat stones, Edge-of-Dark settled herself on the bottom step, ignoring the damage the mud might do her clothes, and began laying out her tools and her bowls.

A sprookje, perhaps the one that mimicked her, approached, its golden eyes widening at the sight of the flowers. Although she admitted that might be nothing more than wishful thinking on her part, she vowed to do her best for this audience of one.She began with the black lacquer bowl and reached for a stalk of tick-tick. As she brought the cutting upright, it began to chide gently. "For sound," she said happily, "I must choose them not just for sight, but for sound!" The sprookje agreed, but caught up in the wonder of her new creation, Edge-of-Dark scarcely heard the echo.

From the perch on which swift-Kalat had placed the arachne, Maggy had an un.o.bstructed view of the whole of the common room, including Kejesli's face.

Hitoshi Dan waited for the small interested group to a.s.semble and quiet, then he thrust Dyxte ti-Amax forward in a manner Tocohl would have called "showing him off." That might have been because his 2nd skin was elaborately patterned, in reds and blues, to resemble the anatomical pattern of human veins and arteries. Maggy, interested in defining Tocohl's concept of "beautiful," made a note to ask later, when Tocohl was no longer occupied, if she thought this beautiful as she had Geremy Kantyka's patterned 2nd skin.

There was a good deal more of interest. Dyxte was ti-Tobian. Maggy had already opened a file on another member of the team, Vielvoye ha-Somol, a ha-Tobian. Aside from a tourist guide which Tocohl had told her to tag superficial, Maggy had no information on either culture, and here was a chance to observe both.

Dyxte ti-Amax was also an expert at landscaping. The only thing Maggy knew about that subject was that Hitoshi Dan had categorized it as a botanical art form, so she was glad for his explanation, as brief as it was.

"Remember where we first met the sprookjes," Dyxte asked, of no one in particular. "That entire area could easily have been a deliberate artistic effort." Maggy reviewed the tape she'd drawn from the survey computer. She didn't see what he meant, but then "artistic" gave her the same problem as Tocohl's "beautiful."

Dyxte went on, "Of course, their idea of aesthetic may differ entirely from ours-from mine." He drew a stubby forefinger along the vein in his arm fron wrist to elbow. "Art comes from the heart, but the heart is instructed by the culture."

Now that information was useful, Maggy thought and tagged it accordingly.

"The best way to find out," he said, "is to landscape an area of the compound." He laid a hand over his heart, tensed the muscles of his entire arm as if in reaction to pain. "I confess, I've been aching to do just that since our arrival, so it will be as much to my benefit as to the sprookjes'." Glancing at Kejesli, he said, "I see no reason to wait."

When Kejesli made no reply, Dyxte started for the door. Swift-Kalat paused to lift the arachne from its perch and place it on the ground beside him so Maggy might observe too. They were not the only ones to follow Dyxte outside; clearly a number of the surveyors were equally curious about this art form.

They watched in silence as Dyxte paced thoughtfully around the compound, stopping and turning at several of the cabins, now taking a step back for better vantage point, now ignoring a cabin as if it did not exist.

At last he paused contemplatively before layli-layli calulan's cabin, watching the white and gold pennants flap and spatter in the breeze. "Here," he said, and strode toward the door chime.

"No," said Maggy; simultaneously Kejesli-and his sprookje echo-shouted, "Wait, Dyxte!"

Their warning was the louder. Dyxte ti-Amax halted, turned on his heels to give Kejesli his full attention. "Yes, Captain?" he and his sprookje said at once.

"You should have read your orders," Kejesli said. The sprookje echoed that, causing Kejesli to cast a scowl in its direction. "Layli-layli calulan is in mourning for Oloitokitok and can't be disturbed for"-he glanced at the display on his cuff-"another twenty hours unless it is a genuine emergency."

"Oh. Your pardon, sir." Dyxte turned to look once more at layli-layli calulan's cabin. "Suppose I simply go ahead and do it without her permission? Does anyone know enough about Yn to tell me-?"

Maggy sent the arachne to his side. "I might be able to help," she said. "What would you like to know about the Yn?"

With no warning, Dyxte dropped to his knee to peer into the arachne's camera. "Extrapolativecomputer?" he asked; the question was as unexpected as his action had been.

Maggy considered her options. With swift-Kalat present she didn't think a lie advisable; but Tocohl had told her not to volunteer this information. Was answering a direct question volunteering? If she didn't answer, swift-Kalat would. He would not lie, not "too stupid to lie," like the survey computer, but definitely not programmed with the ability. Culture was like programming! She tagged that conclusion important.

As for Dyxte's question, Maggy decided to wait for Tocohl's advice. Meanwhile, her best course was to leave her options, and Tocohl's, open...

"h.e.l.lspark," she said, knowing Dyxte would perceive no delay between question and response, "at your service." She had the arachne bob a curtsey.

"How do Yn feel about plants?"

"Yn in general or Yn shamans?" she asked.

"Layli-layli calulan," said Dyxte.

That made the responsibility for discrimination hers. She searched her files on the Yn with particular attention to their shamans, to conclude, aloud, "There is an eighty percent chance that she will be very pleased to find her cabin surrounded by plants when she leaves her mourning."

"Maggy? Why an eighty percent chance?" swift Kalat asked, sprookje-echoed.

"Because layli-layli calulan is an atypical Yn shaman," Maggy explained, "I can only extrapolate from the general behavior of Yn shamans."

"She does like the Flashfever wildlife," Hitoshi Dan observed.

Kejesli gave a one-handed shrug. "Go ahead, Dyxte," he and his sprookje said, "if that's the area that suits you. For safety's sake, I'll make that a order."

"No need of that," ti-Amax told him. "Eighty percent is high enough odds for any ti. Just let me get some scratch paper and start my planning."

A ruffled sprookje was either frightened or excited, perhaps both, thought Tocohl, as she kept a careful eye on the pa.s.senger beside her. And Megeve's sprookje was bristling all over, had been since the daisy-clipper lifted gently up and began its voyage into the depths of the flashwood.

To Tocohl's relief, however, the sprookje did not panic. It made no attempt to free itself from or to struggle against the seat belt that restrained it. The creature looked out the door for a moment, then turned deliberately away: the rushing ground beneath clearly made it more uncomfortable than did its human companions. It watched Tocohl with huge unblinking golden eyes.

Tocohl touched it gently on the wrist and it looked down at her hand but did not draw away. Tocohl stroked the ruffled feathers lightly, following the lay of the feathers, and hoping that the gesture might bring some rea.s.surance. Evidently the hope was fulfilled, for the feathers began to subside slowly-first on the sprookje's extremities, then on the chest, and, at last, those on the sprookje's cheeks. Its fine gold and brown brocade pattern sparkled in the intermittent sun as Buntec steered the daisy-clipper deftly along the surface of a fast-moving stream.

Beyond the sprookje, Tocohl saw the surface of Flashfever unroll-a sudden shattering brightness of frostwillows, a misty blue of monkswoodsmen, a squat stand of spit-outs-then the daisy-clipper dipped beneath the shadow of a cloud and the woods flashed brilliantly alight with spitfires and whirligigs. Tocohl blinked in wonder.

"Do you ever get used to it?" she breathed, to no one in particular. After a moment's pause, Om im tore his eyes away from his side of the daisy-clipper and said, "Hunh?"

"Never mind," said Tocohl, "you've answered my question." With a careful eye on the sprookje, Tocohl reached forward to tap Buntec on the shoulder. "How far out are we going?"

Buntec didn't take her eyes from the rushing view before her. "About twenty miles from here-take us about the same number of minutes. Riding the river may be the long way, but the ride is smoother and the view is better."

"Thanks," said Tocohl, "and thanks." Without reluctance, she centered her attention once more on the sprookje. "I am Tocohl Susumo," she began again, first in Maldeneantine, then in GalLing'. "I dubthee Sunchild until such time as thou wilt share thy name with me."

"Sunchild?" said Alfvaen.

Tocohl explained, "In the Zoveelian fairy tales, Sunchild was the bravest of all the sprookjes."

"Sounds good to me," said Buntec. "Fits."

Om im leaned across Tocohl and saluted the sprookje. "Sunchild," he acknowledged. "I wonder if I'd have the courage to climb into a daisy-clipper with four crazies."

"You did, didn't you?" Tocohl said with a grin.

The stream had broadened into a roaring expanse of river before them. Sunlight glinted off its churning waters, and along its torrent-swept banks, waterplants glittered and sparkled with a light that was their own. Sunchild, as if in affirmation of its name, cautiously turned to the door to look down at its brilliant world.

Buntec made a snapping motion at the control panel and grunted. Something in her tone raised the hair at the nape of Tocohl's neck. Two more snapping motions-then Buntec swung the daisy-clipper's joystick to the left. The craft did not respond.

"Won't slow," said Buntec sharply. "Won't turn, either."

Before them a stand of frostwillows rushed ominously closer. "Hold tight," commanded Buntec, "this is going to be rough!"

Alfvaen and Om im responded instantly, tucking their heads between their knees, sheltering in their hands. Tocohl grasped the sprookje's head, forced it down, sheltering it with her own shoulders.

The daisy-clipper slanted abruptly downward. For a long moment, Buntec fought it to a smooth glide, then the craft struck the surface of the river with a thunderclap. It lurched against the current like a skipping stone.

Tocohl gasped as the seat belt cut sharply into her flesh, and again as her shoulders smashed into the seat before her. The sprookje shivered in her sheltering arms but made no outcry.

Twice more the craft lurched forward, battering her against the seat back. Then, with a final screech of metal, it came to a shuddering halt amid a tangle of ripped and sparkling waterweeds.

"Abandon ship!" shouted Buntec. "I don't know how long this thing'll stay afloat-no! my side! You can't swim that white water, you barefoot fool!"

As Tocohl swiftly unsnapped the sprookje's safety belt to shove it through the door to safety, Buntec grabbed Alfvaen by the wrist and bodily drew her onto the bank of the river.

Om im scrambled across the seat. Tocohl, clinging to the frame of the door, fairly threw him onto the slippery vegetation at the edge of the river. Buntec pulled Tocohl out of waist-deep water before Tocohl had fully realized she was in it.

The daisy-clipper, its crumpled prow snarled in the glittering weeds at the edge of the river, rocked lower and lower as water sprayed and pounded off its side. After a moment, it gave one last shudder and sank. Only the arc of its bubble cabin, spattering reflected light, showed above the dashing waters.

Buntec stamped her foot on the springy flashgra.s.s of the bank. "Foot," she said in a matching torrent of Jannisetti curses, "Heel. Sole. Toes, with green toenail polish!"

That last refinement owed much to Edge-of-Dark, Tocohl noted absently, but did much to a.s.sure her that Buntec was unhurt. She looked around her. "Is everybody else okay?"

Alfvaen could not tear her stunned eyes from th daisy-clipper. "Alfvaen," Tocohl said sharply, and repeated the question in Siveyn.

"Yes," came the muted reply.

Om im said, "Fine," but there was a nasty-looking gash across his cheek. As he raised a hand to touch his face, his eyes widened and the color drained from his cheeks. He clamped the hand to the gash to stop the bleeding and sat down heavily.

Before Tocohl could reach his side, he gave her a wan imitation of his old grin and pointed instead to the sprookje. Like Buntec and Alfvaen, Sunchild was still watching what was left to be seen of the daisy clipper. It looked dazed.

Worried about possible shock-she had no idea what a sprookje's metabolism was like-Tocohl took a stumbling step toward it. She was a little dazed herself. Catching her balance, she began aMethven ritual to right that as she walked unsteadily over to the sprookje.

She stroked its feathers. "I'm sorry, Sunchild," she said, keeping her voice as low and soothing as possible, "it's not supposed to do that." Alfvaen giggled but Tocohl recognized the sound of relief rather than hysteria.

Tocohl watched Sunchild closely. On the off chance that warmth would counter shock in sprookje as in a human, Tocohl draped her cloak gently about the creature's shoulders, clasping it at the feathered throat. Sunchild's feathers ruffled the entire length of its arms. Tocohl gently smoothed the agitated feathers. After a long while, Sunchild seemed to become aware of her, then of the cloak. Its cheek-feathers puffed.

Buntec, her cursing finished for the moment, attended to the gash on Om im's cheek; Alfvaer scratched nervously as she looked on. "... Along to pick us up in no time," Buntec was saying, "I did manage to punch the emergency locator before we hit water."

"If the water didn't get into the transmitter, that is," said Om im.

"Right," agreed Buntec, with a glance at what remained visible of the daisy-clipper. "Hold still," she added sharply.

Alfvaen frowned at the small object in her hand; Tocohl recognized it as the ornate box in which she kept her medication. "I hope you're wrong, Om im, because the water did get into my pills." She held it where he was able to see the result without twisting away from Buntec's ministrations. "Nothing left but a s-single s-soggy lump. I'll just s-sit here and get drunk." Her free hand clawed at her back. "It is s-safe to sit here, isn't it?"

"As safe a place as you'll find on Flashfever," said Om im, "as long as a storm doesn't come up."

Not for Alfvaen, Tocohl suddenly realized; without medication, the alcohol level in her bloodstream could rise high enough to kill her. To Buntec, she said sharply, "How long before they come for us?"

"Twenty minutes, half an hour, depending on how long it takes them to pinpoint our location."

Tocohl whistled impatiently. Maggy would have pinpointed their location the moment Buntec signaled trouble with the daisy-clipper, but Alfvaen's pills were another matter. (Maggy,) she said, (have layli-layli calulan synthesize the proper medication for Alfvaen and send it with the rescue party.) There was no response.

(Maggy!) she said again, this time with shocked urgency, (Maggy!) She left the sprookje's side, scrambling across the glittering gra.s.s to Alfvaen, to grab the hand-held from the Siveyn's belt. "Maggy!"

she repeated aloud, "Maggy, what's wrong?"

But there was no response from that link either.

Alfvaen stared at it and then at Tocohl with widened eyes.

Tocohl's shoulders ached suddenly with remembered pain... the battering she had taken protecting Sunchild. "I should have realized," she said, "I took that much too hard!"

"Ish shan, are you all right?" All three of the stared at her with obvious concern.

She drew a deep breath. When she was sure she had her voice under control, she said, "I'm fine; Maggy isn't. Something's happened to her."

Shielding her eyes from the wan light of Flashfever's sun-because Maggy did not,-Tocohl threw her head back to search the sky, hoping for a glimpse, a flicker of light to tell her that Maggy was still secure in her orbit. All she could see were gathering storm clouds.

For a time, swift-Kalat held the arachne where it might see both Kejesli's face and Dyxte's rapid sketches of the front of layli-layli calulan's cabin. But Dyxte was losing his audience to Edge-of-Dark.

When Kejesli and Dyxte's sprookje wandered away Maggy said, "Do you think Tocohl would be more interested in the sprookjes than in the landscaping?"