Where the gorge was narrowest the river at the bottom ran at its most furious. Gray-green and white-foamed, it roared between cliffs, spouted off boulders in the shallows, breathed chill and damp into the sunshine above. Debris from farther upland whirled and bounded through the current, sticks, brushwood, sometimes a dead animal, a capsized dugout, or a fallen tree. Here the gap was small enough that the Susuich could throw a bridge over.

Emerging from the shadows and blue foliage of woods, Vodra Shaun stopped at the brink to see what it was she must cross. Iron-ruddy rock fell ten meters to the water, with twice that distance between the sides. A suspension bridge would have been appropriate, but no natural fibers had the strength necessary - at least, none in this region did - and as yet the Susuich trade with the Hrroch did not include steel cable. Instead, the builders had trimmed spindly local trees. Planted in holes and crevices halfway down the cliffs, poles slanted upward to meet other members and form trusses that supported two stringers on which short sections lay transversely. The whole was lashed together with rawhide. Construction had obviously demanded skill and daring, and possibly several lives.

Dau Ernen halted at her side. "It looks fragile, doesn't it?" he said.

"Well, I could wish we weren't quite so heavily loaded," Vodra confessed. She grinned. "But then, I've wished that ever since we set out."

Their burdens were indeed considerable, even in a gravity field 10 percent less than terrestrial. Besides sleeping bags, tent, medikits, and assorted gear, they carried dried food for two months. Nothing that lived on Brent could nourish them. Kithfolk hardly ever had occasion to go backpacking. Vodra herself had done it exactly once before, on her last visit to this planet. Dau had never, and struggled manfully at first. Young, in good condition, he toughened as the days passed on the trail.

Ri had already stepped onto the span. "Follow, follow," he called. "We have far to go to the next worthwhile campsite."

Standing there against the sky, he made a handsome spectacle. Long, slender save for a barrel chest, the proportions were not human, but suggested a refined, abstract sculpture of a man. The head was different, plumed, round-eared, eyes big and golden above a curved beak. A kilt decked the red skin. Little more encumbered him than a rifle and knife, of Hrroch manufacture; traveling through this wilderness, his homeland, he lived off it.

Vodra lifted the transponder hung about her neck to her lips. "We wonder if we can get safely across," she told him. The instrument converted her utterances to the trills and whistles that she herself could not have produced in any intelligible fashion. Human spellings of Brentan words, including names, scarcely counted as crude approximations.

Nor was the language she used an equivalent of his; it emerged as Hrrochan. Hitherto Kithfolk had only had serious dealings with the civilization beyond the eastern sea, technologically ahead of any others. Ri was among the Susuich who had acquired its tongue. The knowledge came from traders who, pushing west from their coastal colonies, established outposts in the mountains. Over the years it had qualified Ri to act first as an intermediary between them and his overlords, now to guide a pair of strange beings farther west to the heart of his country.

He waved a four-fingered hand. "Be careful to keep your balance," he advised. "Come!"

"Well, I suppose we can," Dau said in Kithish after Vodra translated for him.

"We'd better," she replied. "Plain to see, this culture has no use for the timid. If we're to get any profit from our expedition, we have to act bold."

Ri waited for them. His original attitude toward the humans, half wary, half marveling, had turned into comradeship. When Vodra reached him, Dau at her back, he made the clucking sound that perhaps corresponded to a smile and turned about to lead the way.

The bridge was barely a meter wide, without rails. Its thin structure trembled underfoot. Swollen with snowmelt, the river raged beneath.

Ri saw the danger first. He shrilled and burst into a run. Heavier and less gracile by heritage, tens of kilos on their shoulders, the humans dared not.

Ri was also too slow.

That the thing should have happened just then was wildly unlikely. Or was it? Maybe the bridge needed rebuilding every few years. Vodra hadn't thought to ask.

A tree came downstream, not one of the gaunt local sort but a mountain giant, oak massive, uprooted by a spate or a mudslide or the crumbling of a bank. Wide-spreading, spinning as it tumbled, its branches snagged in the truss. The battening-ram momentum of the trunk drove them forward, Wood snapped and rattled. The truss broke. The bridge collapsed.

Spacefarers had quick reflexes drilled in. As she felt the footing go, Vodra undid her bellyband and pulled her arms free of the pack. She glimpsed Dau doing the same. The bridge toppled slowly, down through the members that had upheld it. She grabbed hold of the nearest piece and clung. It eased her fall.

But then she was at the bottom and the river had her.

She felt neither fear nor the cold. She was too busy staying alive. A part of her seemed to stand aside, watchful, and quietly issue orders. Fill your lungs before you strike. The water is thick with glacial flour, you're nearly blind underneath it, but watch as best you can. Maybe you'll see a boulder in time to evade it. Swim upward. Break the surface. Breathe. Breathe. The torrent drags you down again. Don't thrash, move minimally, save your strength; you'll need every erg of it. Up. The torrent drags you down again. Don't thrash, move minimally, save your strength; you'll need every erg of it. Up. Breathe. Breathe. Look around while you're able. The right bank is closer. Work toward it, but beware of rocks. In this stream, you could hit hard enough to break bones. Under again. No way to kick boots off. Well, they won't sink you. Not till you've grown too weak. Up. Look around while you're able. The right bank is closer. Work toward it, but beware of rocks. In this stream, you could hit hard enough to break bones. Under again. No way to kick boots off. Well, they won't sink you. Not till you've grown too weak. Up. Breathe. Breathe. Where's the sun gone? Shadow; a strip of sky far overhead, insolently blue and calm; brawling water - Look out! Boulder ahead! A big one, to stick into air. Swim sideways. Now, bend legs, kick, use your feet to push yourself off. Onward. Don't gasp so. You're not completely winded yet. And the current is slowing a little. Where's the sun gone? Shadow; a strip of sky far overhead, insolently blue and calm; brawling water - Look out! Boulder ahead! A big one, to stick into air. Swim sideways. Now, bend legs, kick, use your feet to push yourself off. Onward. Don't gasp so. You're not completely winded yet. And the current is slowing a little.

And more. The stream was past the steepest part of its fall toward the lowlands. It had widened, too, and was therefore shoaling, through what was almost a canyon rather than a defile. The palisades were much higher, though. On the right they blocked off the sun. It touched the leftward heights, a wash of gold over their rustiness, but that deepened the gloom down here.

Still, she could see a ways. Not far off lay a small beach. The water was less noisy. "Halloo-oo!" she heard, and cast a glance back. Yonder came Dau. He'd been lucky, caught a balk of wood and gained flotation. Not just for himself, she saw. One arm held Ri across it, face up. The Brentan flopped, ominously passive, as the timber wallowed.

When Vodra's feet touched bottom, her observer-pilot went away. Suddenly she was herself, aware of painful bruises, sobbing and shuddering with cold. She waded ashore and dropped onto a gravelly crescent nestled against the cliff. Stranded brushwood covered most of it.

Dau grounded. Less exhausted, he carried Ri out. The sight shocked Vodra alert. She scrambled back up.

"Are . . . are you all right?" Dau stammered. She saw the anxiety on his face and knew it for genuine. It wasn't merely because she was the sole fellow human in a thousand kilometers or worse. She was the closest to a real friend he had gotten thus far. Everybody else in Fleetwing Fleetwing was courteous, even helpful, but a newcomer didn't soon settle into full crewdom, Too many traditions, customs, mores, turns of speech, all the nuances of belongingness, were too dissimilar. Vodra had taken the shy boy from was courteous, even helpful, but a newcomer didn't soon settle into full crewdom, Too many traditions, customs, mores, turns of speech, all the nuances of belongingness, were too dissimilar. Vodra had taken the shy boy from Argosy Argosy under her wing. It was one reason she'd chosen him for her partner on this trip. Give him a chance to prove himself. under her wing. It was one reason she'd chosen him for her partner on this trip. Give him a chance to prove himself.

That might turn out not to have been a favor.

The thought flitted off. "Hold!" she exclaimed. "Careful there! He's hurt. Badly." Ri lay lax in Dau's clasp. The long limbs hung down, the head lolled, eyes closed, beak agape.

"He must have hit something when we fell," Dau said. "I saw him and snatched. Unconscious. I don't know -"

"You can't," Vodra interrupted. "I've learned some Brentan anatomy. Here, kneel, let me ease him to the ground."

Her fingers searched across the red skin. It felt hot. Well, the normal body temperature was higher than hers. She'd like to snuggle close beside him. No, never mind the chill, not till this was done. No serious contusions visible. But - Yes. That jaggedy lump, halfway between neck and waist.

She rose. "Not good," she said. "I think he has a broken back."

Dau took his gaze from the water, stone, and murk around them. "We'll bring him to sick bay -"

"He's not our species," Vodra said. "We don't have regrowth techniques for his biome. Luckily, an injury like this isn't as bad for them as for us. If we handle him properly, he should recover."

Dau fumbled in his coverall and drew his radio transceiver from a pocket. Awkwardly, shaking, his numbed hands groped at the keys. A green light came aglow, tiny in the shadow. "It still works," he said with lips gone blue. And Fleetwing Fleetwing had, as always, placed relay satellites in orbit. "I'll call for help." had, as always, placed relay satellites in orbit. "I'll call for help."

"Wait," Vodra commanded. "Rescue isn't that simple."

He blinked. "Huh?" His teeth clattered. He suppressed it. "Oh, yes, a spaceboat can't land down here. B-b-but she surely can s-s-somewhere above, nearby." He looked at the steep. Scored, craggy, bushes and dwarf trees growing wherever seed had found soil, it would be hard but not impossible to ascend. "We'll c-climb up."

"Not dragging Ri along. Especially if we want to keep him alive."

"Oh - But we can't stay here," Dau protested. "We'd starve. No, we-we'll freeze to death. That boat had better land soon."

"It had best not land at all, anywhere in this country," Vodra told him. "Have you forgotten?"

Long ago, when Kith ships explored as well as traded, their crews naturally bestowed names on planets of interest that they found. Fleetwing, Fleetwing, ranging farther than others, made the most such discoveries, and thereby won the exclusive right to deal with them. Every catalogue of myth was drained early on ranging farther than others, made the most such discoveries, and thereby won the exclusive right to deal with them. Every catalogue of myth was drained early on Fleetwing's Fleetwing's people felt it proper to call worlds where sentient beings dwelt after the crew of people felt it proper to call worlds where sentient beings dwelt after the crew of Envoy. Envoy. They were half mythic anyway. They were half mythic anyway.

Brent was unusually terrestroid and promising. The Hrroch, in particular, had attained ironworking. More to the point, they were extraordinary agronomists. While nothing was humanly edible, they had a wide range of biologicals to offer, from luxurious textiles to microbial chemistry. If shrewdly marketed, these should fetch high prices on human-inhabited planets. Of course, once the idea was there, presently someone would find it cheaper to synthesize than to import. But meanwhile the Hrroch ought to hit on new ideas; Kith trade goods often stimulated inventiveness. And art - pictures, patterns, statuary, architecture, music, literature, dance - evolved with a civilization. Likewise did events, language, culture, psychology, an ongoing stream of information. The Brentans were humanlike enough for their minds and works to be comprehensible. They were alien enough for these to be unpredictable, wellsprings of excitement and inspiration.

Hence their world became a port of call for Fleetwing. Fleetwing. About once a terrestrial century she arrived from the stars to take orbit and send her boats down. The welcome was always eager. The Hrroch were fascinated, the wares they acquired were fabulous, discourse with crewfolk who had learned the tongue was as enlightening as it was astounding, and you didn't need speech - signs would do - to show the rest around and have fun with them. These advents lived on in memory, lifetime after lifetime. They conditioned the history. About once a terrestrial century she arrived from the stars to take orbit and send her boats down. The welcome was always eager. The Hrroch were fascinated, the wares they acquired were fabulous, discourse with crewfolk who had learned the tongue was as enlightening as it was astounding, and you didn't need speech - signs would do - to show the rest around and have fun with them. These advents lived on in memory, lifetime after lifetime. They conditioned the history.

Perhaps they gentled it. Brentans had their dark side, conflict, violence, oppression; but they never seemed to wreak the absolute horror humankind knew of, while concepts of peace and justice seemed to come easier. Scientific method was harder for them to grasp, whether for cultural or genetic reasons, but by now the Hrroch were in an industrial era, with steam power and mass production.

Had that somehow engaged too much of the spirit? Or did every civilization everywhere in the universe eventually expend its creativity? Already on her previous visit, Fleetwing Fleetwing had found the art disappointing. This time originality was well-nigh dead. had found the art disappointing. This time originality was well-nigh dead.

Not quite. A few brilliant new motifs shone like starbursts in a dark nebula. Kithfolk inquired. The work was from overseas, where colonists traded with the Susuich, the dwellers beyond the Cloudpeak Mountains.

Would the Susuich admit guests? Well, maybe. They were a clannish, reclusive folk. Some unfortunate incidents in the past had reinforced the attitude. No Hrroch any longer ventured west of the uplands. Humans, though, starfarers, starfarers, were different. A party of them could fly to a trading post. Interpreters would be available. were different. A party of them could fly to a trading post. Interpreters would be available.

Negotiations took a while. The rest of the crew didn't mind. A spell of leisure, on living turf beneath sun and leaves, on lakes and in breezes - they were shipfolk, spacefolk, but Earth was their grandmother and this half-Earth lifted from them some of a weariness so deep in the hones that they did not really know they bore it.

Word came at length, A Hying vessel could touch down at the border village Chura. It could let two strangers off but must then immediately depart, returning only to fetch them at the same spot. A guide would take them as far as the town Ai. They must not expect admission to the Abode of Songs or other holy places. However, the chieftains were willing to discuss possible barter relations.

"Arrogant, aren't they?" Captain Graim said.

"I'd call it forlorn," Vodra replied. "They're bewildered, maybe terrified, but putting up a brave front. We need to respect it."

The need was not physical. The Kithfolk had guns, missiles, robots, every means of conquest. But that would destroy the very thing they sought, and also something within themselves.

Agreements? Science? Trade? Corpses can't do anything!" Dau explained. "Besides, if w-w-we don't report in this evening -"

"I know," Vodra said. "Let me make the call."

Her own communicator was intact. Radio waves leaped aloft and back down to that settlement on the eastern seaboard where Arvil Kishna had brought the spaceboat he piloted. The signal activated the transceiver he carried on his person.

Dau stood by. He caught bare snatches of talk. The river boomed too loud, noise ringing off canyon walls. He shivered too hard. And he was not yet accustomed to the Fleetwing Fleetwing dialect. dialect.

Vodra put the unit back in her pocket. "He'll call Chura," she said. The Susuich had agreed to leaving a communicator there. "He'll ask its chief what can be done, if anything."

"But how ..." The words faltered and died, for Vodra ignored them. She squatted down beside Ri and examined him more closely.

When she had finished he said, in his wretchedness, "You care more about him than us, don't you?"

"He's a thinking being, too," she answered sharply. "They all are, the Brentans. I've known them, off and on, for hundreds of their years" - while she herself had been through less than sixty. "Every time, it's hurt to say good-bye, knowing I'd never meet those friends again. I don't want to lose one more unnecessarily."

"I'm sorry," he said, contrite. "I shouldn't complain."

"Well, let's take care of ourselves ... and him. First, out of these wet clothes. They make the windchill worse. We'll need them dry by nightfall."

He gulped but obeyed. For a moment, seeing her trim form, he reddened. She ended that by paying it no heed. Following her example, he spread his garments over bushes under the cliff. The gravel hurt his feet.

"How can a chief . . . yonder in the mountains . . . notify local people ... to help us?" he asked.

"I don't know," she admitted, "but the bargaining about our visit went quicker than runners can account for. Drums, maybe." She gave him a close look. "You're shaking yourself to pieces."

"I'll t-try to keep warmer." He started jogging in place.

A laugh escaped her. "Bobblety, bobblety, bobblety! No, that won't work for long. Not at all for Ri. The trick will be to stay alive till help arrives. Or till the natives have tried and failed, and Arvil comes after us regardless."

"How?"

"I've had groundside experience, you know." Stooping, she drew the guide's big knife. While she whacked at the dead brush, she gave instructions. He was a novice, but like most Kithfolk he had passed considerable time in virtualities, which included forests, lifeways of the past, and the like. Cold lashed him. He quickly understood what she meant.

A shelter grew beneath their hands. Lop off a forked branch about a meter long. Prop it erect between rocks. Lay a three-meter length - that took some searching - with one end in the crotch, the other on the ground. Lean pieces against this, slanting, for ribs. Cut branches off live shrubs and trees. Weave them into the framework; their leaves make the beginning of walls. Stick lesser pluckings and cuttings in anywhere, anyhow, until the sides are closed. Throw boughs and leaves beneath, a carpet against the wet gravel. The work itself will force blood to move.

It was nearly done when their communicators buzzed. Vodra spoke with the pilot. "Yes, the chief wants to make a rescue attempt," she told Dau. "Arvil's not sure whether that's for the sake of pride or precedent or what. Nor can he make out how they propose to do it."

"Or if they can. . . . No. I said I wouldn't complain."

Vodra smiled and clapped the young man's shoulder. "Good. You are are going to do well aboard going to do well aboard Fleetwing. Fleetwing. All right, let's complete our job." All right, let's complete our job."

She eased Ri into the shelter before laying a semicircle of stones before its entrance. "Reflector," she explained. Meanwhile Dau gathered firewood. A flamelighter from her coverall started a small blaze within the are. They both crawled past, inside, and huddled together, hands spread toward their hearth.

Some warmth crept back into them. He glanced at her. Through the dusk he saw matted dark hair, sharp profile, firm breasts, flat belly. The crow's-feet and gray flecks didn't show; she could have been his age. Her flank glowed against his. She smelled of fire smoke and woman.

"You - you shouldn't be starfaring," he blurted. "You're meant for a pioneer."

She gave him back his look. "But I am a starfarer," she answered. "So are you. Or you'd have stayed groundside," when the Argosy Argosy crew voted to end their voyaging and disband, for the trade had grown too sparse to support every ship remaining in the regions that she plied, and too many among them had lost heart. crew voted to end their voyaging and disband, for the trade had grown too sparse to support every ship remaining in the regions that she plied, and too many among them had lost heart.

"Yes, starfaring was my life," he sighed, "and I'm lucky you happened to be there and would take me on." The flames cast slight, uneasy glimmers into the murk where they hunched. Outside, the river rumbled and hissed. "Though I can understand why most of us were glad to settle down on Harbor. It's . . . homelike. Compatible." He had said that often before. Today he went on: "Not like Aurora."

"Fleetwing hasn't touched at Aurora for about - a thousand years, I think," Vodra said slowly. "It isn't on any of our regular routes, you know. Nor do I recall much talk about it at any rendezvous we've made. Has it changed greatly?" hasn't touched at Aurora for about - a thousand years, I think," Vodra said slowly. "It isn't on any of our regular routes, you know. Nor do I recall much talk about it at any rendezvous we've made. Has it changed greatly?"

"Yes. I've watched it happening. Oh, they stayed friendly enough, in their outlandish way. And . . . last time we were there . . . they seemed more interested in what we had to offer, what we had to tell, than their, uh, their great-grandparents were the time before. But it was just novelty to them. Nothing important."

"I know. I've seen the same on Olivares. Different from Aurora, no doubt. In either case, no longer our civilization."

Serrated towers dispersed over lands apportioned according to intricate rules of kinship. Robes and masks worn in public. Ceremoniousness governing deadly feuds. Multisexual group marriages. Rank achieved by passing examinations, within a hierarchy serving a God who was a demiurge. . . . That was in the western hemisphere. People on the eastern continent were more enigmatic.

Not that any of them were hostile, or their societies worse than most. But they cared little about the stars or what starfarers brought.

"Argosy never got to Olivares," Dau said. never got to Olivares," Dau said. "Fleetwing's "Fleetwing's traveled farthest of any, hasn't she?" traveled farthest of any, hasn't she?"

"Maybe." How could you tell, when it was oftenest a matter of chance which ships you met at which world, after centuries? "And maybe that's why she keeps on traveling."

Was anything left of the original structure? A worn-out part here, a broken part there, replaced, as the millennia swept by. ... Yes, that was also getting harder to do, repair facilities far-scattered and expensive. To be expected, when demand for their services dwindled. . . .

"I haven't asked this before." Was Dau seeking comfort in conversation? "Too much else to learn. You've kept exploring, going beyond known space, when others gave it up. Have you found any more planets where humans could live?"

"And there are no natives they'd have to dispossess? Yes, two possibilities. It didn't make a big stir when we mentioned it at rendezvous. Why should it? Who'd want them?"

None from Earth, probably, Earth from which the first seeds blew outward on a wind now stilled. Vodra was a child when Fleetwing Fleetwing last called there. She remembered talk of Seladorians everywhere, buyers nowhere, and Kith Town, well, tolerated. Afterward she seldom heard any suggestion of going back. last called there. She remembered talk of Seladorians everywhere, buyers nowhere, and Kith Town, well, tolerated. Afterward she seldom heard any suggestion of going back.

"From Harbor, at least," Dau said. "Dreamers. Malcontents. It's no paradise."

"No human place ever was." Vodra fed more sticks to the fire. It crackled and jumped, red, yellow, and blue. A bed of coals was forming. That was what would really see her and him and Ri through the night. "None ever will be, I suppose. But how many would go? How'd they pay for a migration? Those planets are not New Earths, any more than the rest were. Less than Harbor or two or three others, in fact. It'd take a huge investment, and then toil, sacrifice, death, for generations, before they were hospitable to our race."

"With nanotechnics and robotics to produce, Kith ships to ferry -"

"Where's the capital coming from? And we Kithfolk, we can't travel for nothing. We have to live, too, and meet our running expenses. If enough people wanted it enough -" Vodra shook her head. "But they don't."

"And so we limp along on whatever trade we can scrape up," Dau said bitterly. "More and more desperate. Like this excursion of ours here."

"Not desperation," she maintained. "Scientific interest, if nothing else. And the hope of something tradeworthy. Wait, I should check how Ri is doing."

She wriggled past him to hunker above the Brentan. Dau leaned over her shoulder. In the vague, shifty light he saw the chest rise and fall, the eyes partly open but blind. He heard how breath labored.

Vodra returned to the entrance. He joined her. "If he were human," he offered, "I'd say he's sinking."

She nodded. "Yes. I don't know how long he'll last without better help than we can give."

She stared beyond the low flames to the river, the opposite cliff, and the shadows. He barely caught what she murmured.