"I am getting old," he told her. "Each time it takes longer and is harder to get through. One day I will find it impossible to return to Council on the thought that this would kill me. I almost feel so even now."

"Why do you just not take their medicine?" she asked him, genuinely curious.

He gave a dry chuckle. "I cannot refuse. Even now I would gladly take them all in a moment were they offered me. There are things, once taken for long periods, that forever enslave the body. I am no coward, nor am I dishonored by this fact.

I was chosen to go and made to take them. Without them I could not have done what I had to do, learn all I had to learn, in the time given to me. The medicines are tools, just as the loom is a tool, or the spear, or the bow, without which the job for which I was chosen could not be done."

"Do you love this job so much, or is it that the Council way of living is to you a better way than our way?"

He shook his head. "No, no. I do love the work, for it is honorable and good and important to everyone, including the nation and the tribe. As to the way of life- this one is pure and basic, the way the Creator meant us to live. It is free. Their way is dependency and confinement. It is not natural. It is simply a price that must be paid in order to preserve our ways here." He sighed. "Can you help me up? I would like to get some air."

She tried to help him up, and he made it part way but then collapsed back on the bed, pulling her down on top of him. He started to mumble apologies, but she laughed them off.

"So, is this a proposition or a proposal?" she teased. "I have been pulled by strength into your bed."

"I am-sorry..."

"Why? Am I so ugly, so undesirable that you would not want me?"

"No, now, wait a moment! I didn't mean..."

She saw his discomfort and found it satisfying, but she also knew he was still weak and dehydrated, as well. She got up and looked at him. "You stay where you are. I will prepare some broth and herb teas that will get some strength back into you. I want to see what you are like when you are whole and natural."

The speed with which he regained his strength and clearheadedness was in no small part due to her help and attentiveness. He knew also that she'd been the one to summon just the right help when he'd needed it, and even through the delirium he had been aware that she'd been there all the time, tending him and speaking soothingly to him.

He didn't really understand why she did it. Certainly he was someone unusual, both familiar and foreign at the same time, but that didn't really explain it all. It certainly wasn't his virile good looks. He was, in fact, rather ordinary looking or a bit worse, his skin mildly pockmarked with scars from a childhood imbalance. It might be because she was looking for any way out of her circumstances, although he didn't think she had that much deviousness in her.

Finally he simply asked her.

She thought about it. "Partly it is because I am doing something useful. Partly it is because you treat me as a person, not a thing, and you do not judge."

That was simply something he had not considered. Oddly, he felt some anger.

Curse you, ancient one! he thought to himself. I have needed her these past days, and now it is clear that she needs me as well.

He thought about her a lot over the next few days, even when she wasn't there.

The trouble was, he did want her, did have a need for someone in his life, but there was no getting around the two worlds. He could not stay, not this time.

There was simply too much important work left to do, work that meant much to the future of the Hyiakutt as a nation. There was no rule against his marrying her, but there were rigid rules barring her from access to the medicines and machines that would allow her to adapt, at least somewhat, to the terribly different way things were there. She would be isolated in a place where almost no one spoke her language and where medicines did the only work for which she was qualified.

Yet it was impossible to explain it to her. She had never even seen plumbing, let alone a toilet; how to explain disposable clothes and dialing up a meal?

Worse, how to explain that the Sioux in Council were not contemptible subhumans and mortal enemies but rather associates who were sometimes pains in the rear?

Once through Withdrawal, he'd always just let himself go and enjoyed his Leaves.

Now the medicine man had placed a terrible burden on him-and not totally in ignorance, either-and really spoiled things.

And yet he wanted to see her, wanted her company, wanted her. He took to late-night brooding outside, surrounded only by the trees and the stars, trying to sort out his own mind and his courses of action. And, one of those nights, he had a visitor.

He heard a quiet sound behind him, one that few others would hear, and he turned and peered into the darkness past the campfire.

He saw it after a moment and simply froze, staring at the dark form within the lesser darkness.

It knew that he'd seen it, and it moved slowly, confidently, into the light of the slowly dying campfire.

The thing was big-two meters tall-and roughly manlike in appearance, made of permanently glistening blue-black material. Its face was a mask with two trapezoidal openings for eyes that were the color and sheen of polished obsidian. It moved with a catlike quiet and grace that seemed impossible for one so huge.

"Good evening," the Val said in a pleasant middle soprano that sounded very human indeed. It spoke in Hyiakutt, not because it had to but because by doing so it demonstrated in two words that it could easily have overheard all that Hawks and the old medicine man had said. It spoke, too, in an incongruous female voice, which told him immediately that its business wasn't something to do directly with him. The thought did little to calm him.

"Good evening to you," Hawks responded, trying to keep the dryness in his mouth from showing in his speech or manner. "May I ask what brings you to my fire?"

"Routine business. You are the only Outsider here at this moment or within many days' distance. Legally, anyway. As such, you provide something of an-attraction."

"You seek one of my people?"

"No. Carmelita Mendelez Montoya is her name."

His eyebrows rose. "Espanol?"

"No. Caribbean."

That was almost as outlandish as Spanish. Most of the islands had not been restored, but rather new societies had been created out of the cultures that were there. There was, simply put, no native stock surviving there to restore.

"What would a Caribe be doing up here?"

The Val switched to Classical English but still maintained that woman's voice.

"Running. It is a very large, desolate land, easy to get lost in. We spotted the wreck of her skimmer on satellite photos two weeks ago. Unfortunately, by the time I was dispatched to the scene, it appeared that everything from people to herds of thundering buffalo had been through there. Since then I have picked up signs that she has been moving in this direction, but nothing concrete. The area has been sensitized to those not keyed to it. She cannot get out. She has already lasted far longer than I would have thought she could. Still, the region here is lightly populated and it is moni tored. She has not as yet contacted anyone. Her supplies must be running out by now. She will have to make contact with someone soon or starve."

"And you think I'm a likely candidate. Why? And what's she done?" He, too, switched to English; although translating was something of a struggle for him, English was more convenient for the sort of words needed to put the conversation into less than metaphorical statements.

"What she has done is irrelevant. I only apprehend. I do not judge. As you should well understand, it is best that you not know, in any case. As to why you, it is simple deduction. She is physically and culturally out of place. She speaks Espanol, some Creole, and Caribe dialects of them at that. I have determined that she must have been close enough to see your skimmer put down and discharge before leaving. That marks you as someone from Outside. The civilization of your own people is so different from hers, it must look to her like bands of savages. She will be frightened to go to them and unsure as to what help they could offer if they didn't kill her or eat her."

Even a Val couldn't be allowed to get away with that one. "My people are a highly cultured race. They kill only when they have to, and eating people would be repugnant!"

"I mean no offense, and I know what you say is truth. I apologize for any slur you might have inferred. Understand that I have her inside of me. I am going on the way she thinks."

He nodded, somewhat mollified. If he hadn't wanted to meet this fugitive before, he wanted to meet her even less now. The Val, however, was correct. Inside its head was the complete readout of this Montoya's entire record, essentially a copy of her memories and personality up to no more than a few months ago at best. That was the true edge the Val had and the reason why it was alleged that no one ever escaped them. And few had.

"Do what you have to do, but I do not wish to be involved," Hawks told it.

"Apprehend her away from here. Unlike some people, I treasure the time I have in my homeland. This intrusion is not welcome."

"I understand, but you must understand me as well. There is only one of me.

There are only three of my kind in this whole system. I can compute probabilities based upon all my information, but there are always unknowns, variables beyond my ability to include. I cannot merely stand around here in the shadows staking this area out. I can only come here and state that if you see her or she contacts you, you will calm her and shelter her here and when possible go down to the Four Families' camp and use the emergency trigger."

Hawks bristled, partly in frustration. He didn't want to turn this unknown woman, or anyone, over to a Val or anyone else, and now he would have to. When they finally caught her, they'd do a readout and know if she'd talked to him and, if so, what had been said. If they didn't like the way he had performed, the next readout taken would be his.

"I resent being placed in this position," he told the creature. "This is my land, my people, my way. My parents are buried near here. This is not the Councils; this is not the Presidium. Neither you nor she have any right here.

And on this land, in this time, I am Hyiakutt, and I obey Hyiakutt law and custom. If she presents no danger to my people, I will, if she comes, offer her food and shelter as I would anyone from a strange nation passing through. If you come, she must go with you, but I will not be your surrogate. Not here."

The great hulking form of the Val was silent for a moment. "Fair enough," it said finally. "But I would not advise you to probe why she is here or why she is wanted. If I cannot find her, I cannot control her. Every moment she is near puts you at risk. Weigh that. I am not well versed in the details of every tribe and nation in this area, but I am unaware that any requires suicide to protect a stranger. Good night to you, sir."

The great creature turned and was quickly and silently lost in the darkness.

Hawks continued to stare after it long after it had left, and he did not go in to sleep for another hour.

All these complications! he reflected with self pity. It was almost as if the world were conspiring against him.

Still as death, Hawks had been waiting in an almost trancelike state for over an hour as the chill, predawn mist rolled over him. Still, he was determined. After four mornings, he was going to get himself a deer.

There was a sudden rustling off to his right, and his eyes came open, every sense suddenly alert. He risked a look and for a moment saw nothing. Then, barely visible in the mist, he saw them: two, no, three deer, all yearling does, slowly wandering in search of good food to eat while the mists still protected them.

Slowly, by feel, he threaded his arrow and brought his bow up, so silent that the deer could have no idea he was there. The wind, too, was right, masking any scent they might pick up. He picked his spot and drew back the arrow tight, then froze, waiting for them to come to him.

It seemed an eternity before they started to move in the right direction. He practiced his breathing and tried to ease his tense muscles. The lead deer seemed to sense something wrong and stopped for a moment but then continued on, right into his line of fire.

Now! The arrow was loosed and struck the deer in the side. The animal reared, and the other two bounded away, but he was quick and got a second arrow up and flying before the wounded animal, still in shock, could make a move.

Then he was out and throwing his balanced rope at the deer's hind feet even as it began to move. It went down with a crash and lay there thrashing while he carefully administered the fatal arrow.

It was a good, clean kill. A lot of meat and smooth doeskin for a better lining on his clothes. He knew he had to move fairly quickly, though. The sun would be up in less than an hour, and the scavengers would also be out, spoiling the kill. He had tied his horse a good hundred meters down and away, but he turned now to go quickly and get her and assemble the wood and skin stretcher so that the deer could be rolled onto it and carried home.

He made his way directly, ignoring the paths, but less than halfway there he discovered something else and stopped dead, all elation, even all thoughts of the kill, suddenly gone.

The body had been there for some time. It was dressed in a tight black synthetic outfit and leather boots. It was not a pretty sight; the scavengers had been at her, and the flesh was crawling with insects and maggots.

He knew in a minute who it must be and understood why the Val had been out so long with nothing to show. She could have lain here until she rotted completely before being found without a search party.

In her stiff hand was a briefcase barely touched by the elements busily adding her to the woodlands. She also wore a standard emergency pack on her back, but from the looks of it she'd had little chance to use it, and it was filled with creepy-crawlies.

He had to break the fingers to release the briefcase. He backed away from her and the grisly feast that had been going on perhaps for weeks and examined the briefcase itself. It was not a courier model but something one would have procured for personal use. Like most manufactured items these days, it was cheap, and, while it had a lock, it did not appear booby-trapped. Almost on impulse, he pushed on the two red points inset in the case and was startled to hear it unlatch. The thing wasn't even locked!

There was no way anyone could have resisted looking inside. Some were the usual sorts of things one might expect of a woman traveling in unknown territories- some maps, an atlas of North America, even a guidebook to the Plains Nations with sample phrases. He wasn't surprised to find that the Hyiakutt weren't even mentioned.

Beyond those, there was a small wooden box with an antique key lock, the miniature key still in it, and an ancient-looking thick book that seemed about to fall apart at a touch. He examined it with the care of a professional historian. The pages were copies, not originals, which was just as well, as the date on the book, recorded in a firm hand, was more than six hundred years old.

Still, even the copy was old-perhaps a century, perhaps more.

It appeared to be somebody's journal or diary. He put it aside for a moment, reluctantly, and turned to the case. The small key turned easily, and the lid came up. He was unprepared for the sight, however.

Jewelry. Gems, some in exquisite settings, many looking like heirlooms. There was some doubt in his mind that the things were real. Did diamonds and rubies and emeralds come that large? And was that pure gold?

He closed the box and relocked it. Clearly the diary or whatever it might be was the reason why somebody very important would requisition and dispatch a Val to this area. The jewels-suddenly he understood. A universal currency of sorts. A Caribe would think like that, not realizing how little such things meant to the People of North America. Still, it was not a bad choice at that, for they were finished gems and would be works of art in any tribal council.

Suddenly he was very aware of his situation. He replaced the briefcase and almost replaced the jewels, then changed his mind. If the Val did find her, it would see the broken fingers and the detached briefcase and would know that someone had found her first. If the jewels were not missing, it was as much as pointing a sign straight to his door.

He had not yet decided what to do about the book. For anyone who could read it, and particularly for a historian, it was irresistible, yet reading it could mean death- or worse. He would not make that final decision immediately. Instead, he continued on down and got his horse, then went back along the regular trail to his fallen deer and did what he had originally intended to do. Only, under the carcass, on the unmarked side, where no blood would flow, he hid the jewel box and the book.

He knew now that he had a decision to make that made his previous problems seem like child's play.

3. TRUTH AND CONSEQUENCES.

THE MOUNTAINS OF WESTERN CHINA WERE AS REMOTE and forbidding as any in the world and impossible to monitor or control effectively. There were no permanent natives to the region; the nearest settlements were far down the slopes and forty kilometers or more from the spot where the raiding party now stood, many of its members equipped with breathing apparatus to help them in the rarefied atmosphere where split seconds might mean living or dying. Colonel Chung, the old pro soldier in dark-green battle uniform, heavy boots, and cap, had a cigar stuck out of the side of his mouth. He needed no breathing gear; he sat in a skimmer, a dark, saucer-shaped craft that was rigged for totally silent running.

It hovered there in the air while many others, deployed around the seemingly unbroken high cliffs of the mountains, disgorged soldiers and equipment. Chung was thankful that the spot was so remote; here he was not handicapped by Cultural Zone restrictions and could use his best and most modern equipment.

"They are good, I'll give them that," the colonel remarked for the benefit of anyone who could hear him there in the command module section of the skimmer. "I can't imagine where they even got their energy sources up here, let alone how they shielded them."

Song Ching looked at the gray-purple rock walls and understood what he meant.

To go to these lengths, this group must have had something really important to hide and work on, something that, like all technology, required power. Satellites overhead could monitor even the smallest differences in temperature, pressure, and energy below, even through the densest clouds, and when they spotted something in an unauthorized spot, they immediately flagged security on the ground. Technologists' cells were rare in this day and age, but the few who remained were the best.

She was the sort of woman men fantasized about: small but perfectly proportioned, her face one of classical Han beauty, her gestures and movements somehow always erotic. Her looks masked her extreme intelligence: Her IQ off the measurable scale, and she was an authentic genius whose mind worked so fast and on so many levels it often seemed more computerlike than human. She was not without flaws; as the oldest child of the chief administrator of the Han district, she was spoiled rotten, and her intellectual and physical development had not been accompanied by any real emotional growth; there she was almost childlike, a situation her parents kept excusing because of her age, although she had just turned seventeen.

The colonel did not like having her there, but she'd been forced upon him by his superiors. They didn't know what this cell could be working on, and they needed her fine mind to figure it out before it was either destroyed or confiscated.

Others might have done as well, but as the daughter of the chief administrator she had pulled her own strings to get here. It was an escape, however temporary, from her luxurious prison, from the reality she didn't particularly like.

She did, however, appreciate the irony of her being here, for she herself was the result of illegal technologists, her looks and her intelligence achieved through elaborate genetic manipulation. Like all the administrators, not just on Earth but throughout the Community, her father chafed at the restrictions placed upon him and his power and dreamed of some sort of end run. His own solution was an attempt, at great risk to his position and his life, to breed a superior line that might eventually be bright enough and fast enough to figure a way out of the trap the human race had woven for itself. Song Ching appreciated the goal and approved of it, but she did not like her own role, which was not to find that solution but to breed those who might.

"Burners locked on!" someone reported over the ship-to-ship channel. "All ships in place, troopers in position and shielded. Awaiting orders to proceed."

"Commence firing," Colonel Chung ordered without hesitation.

Immediately the five skimmers rose to preset positions, now visible to whatever lookout devices the cell might employ, and opened fire with bright rays of crimson and white that struck the rock face and began to cut through it. Ships'

computers now had control, and once penetration had been achieved, the five attack skimmers moved in an eerie ballet, cutting through the imposing rock face as if it were butter.

Just before the circle was completed, a different skimmer rose and shot out a purple tongue of energy which struck the center of the cutout, and as the entire area was separated the" thick purple ray receded, pulling the rock cutout with it.

Suddenly revealed was a honeycomb of tunnels melted through the rock. It reminded Ching of a glass-sided ant farm, although there did not appear to be any "ants" here.

Now the troops, two hundred of them, sprang from cover on ledges and slopes opposite the target and flew into the air using null-gravity backpacks and small compressed-air steering jets.

"It's very large," she noted to the colonel. "I wonder why anybody who built something that large wouldn't defend it."

"They'll defend it," he assured her in an absent tone, his attention on his status screens and on the view out the control port. "When they find that their escape exits are blocked, they will defend or surrender."