They ate; afterward, Barton waited another'half-hour before resuming the march. They were getting close now;

he wanted everyone well-rested. For one thing, a place -a thing-like this couldn't be deserted. He found him- self tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Less than an hour later, they found the trail. Only a foot-trail-from below it came up at their left, crossing Barton's course at a slight angle. He stopped, looked at it.

Limila spoke. "Shall we follow it, Barton? Or stay clear, with perhaps less chance of being seen?"

"We follow it. We're supposed to be Demu-remem- ber? This gives us our first chance to start acting in character."

The footing was easier, too.

The trail rose, skirted steep rises and crossed a nar- row stream, the first they'd encountered. "Most of the steady runoff must go to one side or the other, of the way we came up," Barton said. "Shall we see if the local water's fit to drink^" He knelt and scooped with both hands together, smelling the first dip and tasting the sec- ond. "Not as cold as I'd like-or expect-but not bad.

Not bad at all."

Belatedly, he wondered about the possibility of in- fectious organisms. But what the hell, he thought-the Demu had fed and watered him for eiglit years, and he hadn't died of it. With no apparent qualms, the others drank also.

To the left, a brightness flashed upward. Seconds later, thunder rolled. After a moment. Barton spoke.

"Well, there went a ship."

"Ours, could it be?" said Limila.

"Not a chance-wrong direction from here. No- Hishtoo has convinced somebody to get the word to Dem- mon in a big hurry."

"Thirteen and Thirty-four may intercept it."

"And maybe not," Barton said. "Well-nothing we can do from here, except keep going." Again they began walking.

Not much later, rounding a tree-covered hill Barton saw two things: less than half a kilometer ahead, the

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great ship, all of it-and preceding his party, at perhaps a tenth of that distance, a group of four robed Demu.

"Barton," said Limila, "what shall we do?"

"Start speaking Demu, for one thing," he said. "In a minute, that is. Eeshta-I )ust thought of something." AL the last minute again, danth it. "We should have names, shouldn't we? Limila and 1, I mean. What would be suitable?"

The lifted-tongue smile. "Names? I must think." Si- lence, then a nod. "Oh, yes. You, I think, are Bashta.

And you"-to Limila-"are Linish.

"But do not give names until asked- You remember?"

Barton nodded. He had tried to take a crash course in Demu manners and customs, but somehow there had never been time for much of it. He had resigned himself to relying, in the clutch, on Eeshta's and Limila's knowl- edge.

"All right-thanks. From now on, there's nobody here but us Demu."

At first. Barton kept a steady distance behind the party ahead. Then as the trail took a slight angle past a clump of trees, he saw a group of robed figures near a door in the base of the titanic structure. They appeared to converse; then some disappeared into the opening, into the ship. Odds on, he thought, the gatekeepers just passed in a squad of pilgrims.

He quickened his pace; gaining on the four ahead.

Limila caught bis robe, looking at him with an unspoken question.

"It is," he said, "that these before us are received soon by those near the portal. That we listen to what is sa^' "

"It is not to be so easy, surely? Simply to enter! It is certain that they must guard."

"It is certain that they guard for animals, for Earthani and Tilari. But do they guard for Demu?"

She nodded in agreement, and along with Eeshta matched Barton's faster pace.

He timed it to come up behind the four almost as the^ reached the reception committee-hoping to hell that ir doing so he was committing no breach of unknown eti quette. He-all three-stopped a short distance behind but well within hearing range.

Of the waiting group. Barton bet himself that the oni with the gold-edged hood had to be the kingfish. Tha one spoke.

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"It is that the Keeper of the Heritage would know, who visits and who would become?" The question had the rhythmic sound of a ritual chant.

One of the four moved forward. "It is that I, who am twice here, would become. These with me visit." The re- sponse sounded equally ritualistic.

"You who visit, see no more the one who brought you." Another receptionist led the three away, into the ship. Barton watched and listened closely. "You who would become, may you become as you wish." A small cloth bag was handed to the one addressed. "This is to use by those who do not become, no shame to their eggs."

The recipient dipped head and torso without bending, and in tow of another guide entered the ship. Too bad, thought Barton, that there hadn't been more ahead of him, to deplete the greeting contingent a little better. For now it was his turn.

Since neither Limila nor Eeshta stepped forward. Bar- ton took the lead, and waited for his cue.,

"It is that the Keeper of the Heritage would know, who visits and who would become?"

"It is that we three visit." Barton tried to match his questioner's cadence.

"But it is that none visit, not brought by one who is twice here. All know it."

"It is that I am twice here." Shit, I blew it already!

Now what?

"Then it is that you are named here." Barton took a moment to figure that one. Oh, yes-let's check your membership card....

"Tashin." Out of the blue he said it-and good-bye, Bashta, whoever you were ....

Tashin?" The Demu mumbled into a device dimly seen under its hood, and waited. "It is, say our records, that Tashin is not living." Limila's gasp was barely audible. *

"It is that records may err," said Barton. "The records say I am not here, but it is that I am here."

"It is that you are here, Tashin." Gold Hood dipped head and body, upright- "Then it is that you are twice here. You are here to become, not to visit. It is so.'*

"It is so." Barton wished he knew what the hell was going on.

"Why is it that Tashin, who wishes to become, says that he visits?"