unterattack.  There was
great confusion,  and a desperate  need  for  order.  It made  scarcely  any
impression on her. She was at the end  of her long desperate run, at the end
of all her energy.
     Ravna must have sat by the  ramp  for much of the afternoon, so deep in
loss as not to think, scarcely aware of the  sea song that Greenstalk shared
with  her through the dataset.  Eventually  she realized she was  not alone.
Besides  Greenstalk's comfort  ...  sometime  earlier,  the little  boy  had
returned. He sat beside her, and around them all the puppies, all silent.



     .Delete this paragraph to shift page flush





     -=*=-




        EPILOGS


     Peace had come to what had once been  Flenser's  Domain. At least there
was no  sign of belligerent forces. Whoever had pulled them back had done it
very cleverly. As the days passed, local peasantry  showed themselves. Where
the people weren't simply  dazed,  they seemed glad  to be  rid  of  the old
regime. Life  picked  up  in the  farmlands, peasants  doing  their  best to
recover from the  worst fire season of recent memory, compounded by the most
fighting the region had ever known.
     The Queen  had sent messengers  south to report on the victory, but she
seemed in no rush to return to her  city. Her troops helped with some of the
farm  work, and did their best  not to be a  burden on the locals.  But they
also scouted through the castle on Starship Hill, and the huge old castle on
Hidden Island. Down there were all the horrors that had been whispered about
over the years. But  still there was no sign of the forces that had escaped.
The  locals were  eager  with their  own stories,  and  most  were ominously
credible: That before Flenser  had undertaken his attempt upon the Republic,
he had  created redoubts further north.  There  had been  reserves there  --
though some thought  that Steel had  long since used them. Peasants from the
northern  valley had seen  the Flenserist troops retreating. Some said  they
had seen Flenser himself -- or at least a pack wearing the colors of a lord.
Even  the  locals did not believe  all the stories,  the  ones about Flenser
being here and there, singletons separated by  kilometers,  coordinating the
pull out.
     Ravna and  the Queen  had  reason  to believe  the story, but  not  the
foolhardiness to check  it out.  Woodcarver's expeditionary force was not  a
large  one,  and  the forests and valleys stretched  on for  more  than  one
hundred  kilometers to where the Icefangs curved west to meet the sea.  That
territory  was  unknown  to Woodcarver. If Flenser had been preparing it for
decades -- as was  that pack's normal method  of operation -- there would be
deadly  surprises, even  for  a large  army hunting  just  a few  dozens  of
partisans. Let Flenser be,  and hope  that his  redoubts had been gutted  by
Lord Steel.
     Woodcarver worried that this  would  be the  great  peril  of the  next
century.
     But things were resolved  much  sooner  than  that. It was Flenser  who
sought them out,  and not with a  counterattack: About twenty days after the
battle, at the end of  a day when  the sun dipped  just behind the  northern
hills,  there was  the sound of signal horns. Ravna and Johanna were wakened
and shortly found themselves on the castle's parapet, peering into something
like  a  sunset,  all orange  and  gold silhouetting  the hills  beyond  the
northern  fjord. Woodcarver's  aides  were  gazing  from  many  eyes at  the
ridgeline. A few had telescopes.
     Ravna  shared her binocs with  Johanna.  "Someone's  up  there."  Stark
against  the  sky glow, a pack carried a long banner with separate poles for
each member.
     Woodcarver was  using  two  telescopes,  probably  more  effective than
Ravna's gear, considering the pack's eye separation. "Yes, I see it.  That's
a  truce flag,  by  the way.  And  I think  I know  who's carrying  it." She
yammered something at Peregrine. "It's been a long time since I've talked to
that one."
     Johanna was still looking through the binoculars. finally she said, "He
... made Steel, didn't he?"
     "Yes, dear."
     The girl lowered  the binocs.  "I ... think I'll pass  up meeting him."
Her voice was distant.






     They met on  the hillside  north of the castle  just eight hours later.
Woodcarver's troops had spent  the intervening  time scouting the valley. It
was only  partly a matter  of  protecting against treachery  from the  other
side: one  very  special pack of  the enemy would be coming, and there  were
plenty of locals who would like that one dead.
     Woodcarver walked  to where the hill fell off in supersteepness  toward
forest.  Ravna  and Pilgrim followed behind  her  at  a  Tinishly  close ten
meters.  Woodcarver wasn't saying  much about this meeting, but  Pilgrim had
turned out to  be a  very  talkative  sort.  "This is just  the way  I  came
originally, a year ago when the  first ship landed. You can see how some  of
the  trees were burned by the torch. Good thing it wasn't as dry that summer
as this."
     The  forest  was dense,  but they were  looking down over the treetops.
Even in the dryness, there was a sweet, resinous smell in the air. To  their
left was  a tiny waterfall and a path that  led to  the valley floor --  the
path their truce visitor had  agreed to take. Farmland, Peregrine called the
valley bottom. It was undisciplined chaos to Ravna's  eyes.  The  Tines grew
different crops together in the same fields, and she saw no fences, not even
to hold back  livestock. Here and there  were wooden lodges with steep roofs
and outward curving walls;  what  you might expect in  a  region with  snowy
winters.
     "Quite a mob down there," said Pilgrim.
     It  didn't  look crowded  to  her: little  clumps, each  a  pack,  each
well-separated from the others. They clustered around the  lodge  buildings.
More were scattered across the fields. Woodcarver packs were stationed along
the little road that crossed the valley.
     She felt  Pilgrim  tense  next to her. A head extended past  her waist,
pointing. "That must be  him. All alone, as  promised. And -- "  part of him
was looking through a telescope, "now that's a surprise."
     A single pack trekked  slowly down the road, past  Woodcarver's guards.
It  was  pulling  a small  cart  --  containing  one  of  its  own  members,
apparently. A cripple?
     The  peasants  in the  fields drifted toward the  edge  of  the  field,
paralleling the  lone  pack's  course. She heard  the gobble of Tinish talk.
When  they wanted to be loud, they could be  very, very loud.  The  troopers
moved to chase back any local who got too close to the road.
     "I thought  they were  grateful to us?" This was the closest  thing  to
violence she had seen since the battle of Starship Hill.
     "They are. Most of those are shouting death to Flenser."
     Flenser, Skinner, the  pack who had  rescued  Jefri Olsndot.  "They can
hate one pack so much?"
     "Love and hate and fear, all together. More than a century they've been
under his knife. And now he is here, half-crippled, and  without his troops.
Yet they are  still afraid. There are enough cotters down there to overwhelm
our guard, but  they're not pushing hard.  This was Flenser's Domain, and he
treated it like  a good farmer might treat his yard. Worse,  he treated  the
people and the land like some grand experiment. From reading  Dataset, I see
he is a monster ahead of his time. There are some out  there who might still
kill  for  the  Master, and no one is sure  who  they are...."  He paused  a
second, just watching.
     "And you know the greatest  reason for  fear?  That he would come  here
alone, so far from any help we can conceive."
     So. Ravna shifted Pham's  pistol  forward on her belt. It was a  bulky,
blatant thing ... and she was glad to have  it. She glanced westward towards
Hidden Island. <I>OOB</I> was safely grounded against the battlements of the castle
there. Unless Greenstalk could do some basic reprogramming, it would not fly
again. And Greenstalk was not optimistic. But she and Ravna had mounted  the
beam gun in one of its cargo bays, and that  remote was dead simple. Flenser
might have his surprises, but so did Ravna.
     The fivesome disappeared beneath the steepness.
     "It will  be a while yet,"  said Pilgrim. One of his pups stood  on his
shoulders  and   leaned  against  Ravna's  arm.  She  grinned:  her  private
information feed. She  picked it up and placed it on her shoulder.  The rest
of Peregrine sat his rumps on the ground and watched expectantly.
     Ravna looked at the others of  the Queen's party. Woodcarver had posted
crossbow packs to her right and left. Flenser  would sit directly before her
and  a  little  downslope.  Ravna  thought  she  could  see  nervousness  in
Woodcarver.  The  members kept licking their lips, the  narrow pink  tongues
slipping  in and  out with  snake-like  quickness.  The  Queen  had arranged
herself  as  if for a group  portrait, the taller members behind and the two
little ones  sitting  erect in front. Most of her gaze seem  focused on  the
break in the verge, where  the path from below reached the terrace  they sat
upon.
     Finally  she  heard the scritching of claws on stone. One head appeared
over the drop off, and then  more. Flenser walked  out onto the moss, two of
his members  pulling the wheeled cart. The one  in the  cart sat erect,  its
hindquarters  covered by a  blanket.  Except for  its white-tipped  ears, it
seemed unremarkable.
     The pack's heads peered in every direction.  One stayed disconcertingly
focused  on Ravna  as  the  pack  proceeded up  the slope toward the  Queen.
Skinner  -- Flenser -- was the one who had  worn the radio cloaks. None were
worn  now. Through gaps in  the  jackets Ravna  could see scabby  splotches,
where the fur had been rubbed away.
     "Mangy fellow,  isn't he?" came the little voice in Ravna's  ear.  "But
cool  too. Catch his insolent look."  The  Queen  hadn't moved.  She  seemed
frozen, every member  staring  at the oncoming pack. Some  of her noses were
trembling.
     Four  of Flenser tipped the cart  forward, helping the white-tipped one
slide  to  the  ground.  Now  Ravna  could see that under the  blanket,  its
hindquarters were unnaturally twisted and still. The five settled themselves
rumps together. Their necks arched  up  and out,  almost like the limbs of a
single creature.  The  pack gobbled  something  that  sounded  to Ravna like
strangling songbirds.
     Pilgrim's  translation  came immediately  from  the  puppy  on  Ravna's
shoulder. The  pup spoke in a new voice,  a  traditional villain  voice from
children's stories, a  dry and sardonic voice. "Greetings ... Parent. It has
been many years."
     Woodcarver  said nothing for a moment. Then she gobbled something back,
and Pilgrim translated: "You recognize me?"
     One  of Flenser's heads jabbed out toward  Woodcarver. "Not the members
of course, but your soul is obvious."
     Again,   silence  from  the  Queen.  Peregrine,  annotating:  "My  poor
Woodcarver. I never thought she would be this flummoxed." Abruptly  he spoke
loud, addressing Flenser in Samnorsk. "Well, you are not so obvious to me, O
former traveling companion. I remember  you as Tyrathect,  the timid teacher
from the Long Lakes."
     Several  the heads  turned  toward  Peregrine and  Ravna. The  creature
replied  in  pretty  good Samnorsk, but with a childish  voice.  "Greetings,
Peregrine. And greetings, Ravna Bergsndot? Yes. Flenser Tyrathect I am." The
heads angled downwards, eyes blinking slowly.
     "Sly bugger," Peregrine muttered.
     "Is Amdijefri safe?" the Flenser suddenly asked.
     "What?" said Ravna, not recognizing the name at first. Then, "Yes, they
are fine."
     "Good."  Now all the heads turned  back  to the Queen, and the creature
continued in Pack talk; "Like a dutiful creation, I  have come to make peace
with my Parent, dear Woodcarver."
     "Does  he  really  talk  like that?"  Ravna hissed at the puppy on  her
shoulder.
     "Hei, would I exaggerate?"
     Woodcarver gobbled  back, and Pilgrim picked up the translation, now in
the  Queen's human voice: "Peace. I doubt it, Flenser.  More likely you want
breathing space to build again, to try to kill us all again."
     "I wish to build again, that is true.  But  I  have changed. The 'timid
teacher' has made  me a  little ... softer. Something  you could  never  do,
Parent."
     "What?" Pilgrim managed to inject a  tone of injured  surprise into the
word.
     "Woodcarver,  have you never thought on it? You are the  most brilliant
pack  to  live in this  part of the world, perhaps the most brilliant of all
time. And the packs you made,  they are  mostly brilliant, too. But have you
not wondered on the most successful  of them? You created  too  brilliantly.
You ignored inbreeding and [things that I can't translate easily],  and  you
got  ... me. With  all the ... quirks that have  so pained you over the last
century."
     "I-I have thought on that mistake, and done better since."
     "Yes, as with Vendacious? [Oh, look at my Queen's faces. He really hurt
her  there.] Never  mind,  never  mind.  Vendacious  may  well  have  been a
different sort  of error. The  point is, you made <I>me</I>. Before, I thought that
your greatest act of genius. Now ... I'm not so sure. I want to make amends.
Live in peace." One of the heads jabbed at Ravna, another at the <I>OOB</I> down by
Hidden Island. "And  there  are  other things  in the  universe to point our
genius at."
     "I hear the arrogance of old. Why should I trust you now?"
     "I helped to save the children. I saved the ship."
     "And you were always the world's greatest opportunist."
     Flenser's  flanking heads shifted back. "[That's  a kind of  dismissing
shrug.] You have the advantage, Parent, but some of my power is  left in the
north. Make peace, or you will have more decades of maneuvering and war."
     Woodcarver's response  was  a piercing shriek. "[And that's a  sign  of
irritation, in  case you didn't guess.] Impudence! I can kill you  here  and
now, and have a century of certain peace."
     "I've bet that you won't harm me. You gave me safe  passage, separately
and in the whole. And one of the  strongest things in your soul is your hate
for lies."
     The back  members of Woodcarver's pack  hunkered  down,  and the little
ones at the front  took several quick steps  toward the  Flenser. "It's been
many decades since we last met, Flenser! If <I>you</I> can change, might not I?"
     For an instant every one of  Flenser's members was frozen. Then part of
him came slowly to its feet, and slowly, slowly edged toward Woodcarver. The
crossbow packs on either  side of the meeting ground  raised their  weapons,
tracking him. Flenser stopped six or seven meters from Woodcarver. His heads
weaved from side to side,  all attention on the Queen.  Finally, a wondering
voice, almost abashed: "Yes,  you might. Woodcarver, after all the centuries
... you've given up yourself? These new ones are ..."
     "Not all mine. Quite right." For some reason, Pilgrim  was chuckling in
Ravna's ear.
     "Oh. Well...." The Flenser backed to its previous  position,  "I  still
want peace."
     "[Woodcarver looks surprised.] You sound changed, too. How many  of you
are really of Flenser?"
     A long pause. "Two."
     "... Very well. Depending on the terms, there will be peace."
     Maps  were  brought out. Woodcarver demanded the location of  Flenser's
main troops.  She  wanted them disarmed,  with  two or three  of  her  packs
assigned  to each  unit, reporting by  heliograph. Flenser would give up the
radio cloaks, and submit to observation.  Hidden  Island  and  Starship Hill
would be ceded to  Woodcarver. The two sketched new borders, and wrangled on
the oversight the Queen would have in his remaining lands.
     The sun  reached its  noon  point in  the  southern  sky. In the fields
below,  the peasants  had long  since given up their angry  vigil. The  only
tensely watchful people left were the Queen's crossbow packs.
     Finally  Flenser stepped back from his end of the maps. "Yes, yes, your
folk  can  watch  all my work. No more ... ghastly experiments. I will  be a
gentle gatherer of knowledge [is this sarcasm?], like yourself."
     Woodcarver's heads bobbed in rippling synchrony. "Perhaps  so; with the
Two-Legs on my side, I'm willing to chance it."
     Flenser  rose again from  his  seated posture.  He  turned to help  his
crippled member back on the cart. Then he paused. "Ah, one  last thing, dear
Woodcarver. A detail. I killed two of Steel when he tried to destroy Jefri's
starship.  [Squashed them like  bugs, actually. Now we know how Flenser hurt
himself.] Do you have the rest of him?"
     "Yes."  Ravna  had seen what  was left of  Steel. She  and Johanna  had
visited most of the wounded. It should  be  possible to adapt <I>OOB</I>  first aid
for  the Tines. But in the case  of Steel, there  had been a bit of vengeful
curiosity; that creature had been responsible for so much unnecessary death.
What was left of Steel didn't really need medical attention: There were some
bloody scratches (self-inflicted, Johanna guessed), and one twisted leg. But
the pack was a pitiable, almost  an unnerving, thing. It  had cowered at the
back  of its pen, all shivering in terror, heads shifting this way and that.
Every  so  often the creature's jaws would snap open and shut, or one member
would make  an aborted  run at the fence.  A pack  of three was not of human
intelligence, but this one  could talk. When it  saw Ravna and  Johanna, its
eyes  went wide,  the  whites  showing all around,  and  it  rattled  barely
intelligible Samnorsk at them. The speech was a nightmare mix of threats and
pleas that  they "not cut,  not  cut!" Poor Johanna started crying then. She
had spent most of a year hating the pack  these were from, yet -- "They seem
to be victims, too. It's b-bad to be three, and no one will ever let them be
more."
     "Well," continued Flenser, "I would like custody  of what remains, I --
"
     "Never!  That one was almost as smart as  you,  even if crazy enough to
defeat. You're not going to build him back."
     Flenser came together,  all eyes staring at the Queen. His  "voice" was
soft:  "Please, Woodcarver. This  is a  small matter,  but I will throw over
everything," he jabbed at the maps, "rather than be denied in it."
     "[Oh, oh.]"  The crossbow packs were suddenly at the  ready. Woodcarver
came partly  around the maps, close enough to Flenser  that their mind noise
must collide. She brought  all her heads together in a concerted glare.  "If
it is so unimportant, why risk everything for it?"
     Flenser bumped around for an instant, his members actually  staring  at
one another. It  was a gesture  Ravna had  not seen  till  now. "That  is <I>my</I>
affair! I mean ... Steel was my greatest creation. In  a  way, I am proud of
him.  But  ...  I am also responsible for him. Don't you feel the same about
Vendacious?"
     "I've got  my plans  for Vendacious," the response  was grudging.  "[In
fact, Vendacious is still  whole; I fear the Queen made too many promises to
do much with him now.]"
     "I want to make up to Steel the harm I made him. You understand."
     "I  understand. I've  seen  Steel  and I  understand your methods:  the
knives, the fear, the pain. You're not going to get another chance at it!"
     It  sounded  to  Ravna like faint music, something from far beyond  the
valley,  an alien blending  of chords. But it  was  Flenser  answering back.
Pilgrim's translating voice held no hint of sarcasm: "No knives, no cutting.
I keep  my  name  because it is for  others to rename me  when  they finally
accept that ... in her  way, Tyrathect <I>won</I>. Give me this chance, Woodcarver.
I am begging."
     The two  packs stared at each other  for more  than  ten seconds. Ravna
looked  from one  to the other,  trying to divine their expressions. No  one
said anything. There was not even Pilgrim's voice in her ear to speculate on
whether this was a lie or the baring of a new soul.
     It was Woodcarver who decided: "Very well. You may have him."



     Peregrine Wickwrackscar  was <I>flying</I>.  A pilgrim with legends that  went
back almost a thousand years -- and not one of them could come near to this!
He would have burst into song except that it would pain his passengers. They
were  already unhappy  enough with  his  rough  piloting, even  though  they
thought it was simply his inexperience.
     Peregrine  stepped  across clouds, flew  among and through them, danced
with an occasional thunderstorm. How many hours of his life had he stared up
at the clouds, gauging their depths -- and now he was in them, exploring the
caves within caves within caves, the cathedrals of light.
     Between scattered clouds, the Great Western Ocean stretched forever. By
the sun and  the  flier's instruments, he knew that they  had nearly reached
the equator,  and  were already some eight thousand kilometers southwest  of
Woodcarver's Domain. There were islands out  here,  the <I>OOB</I>'s pictures  from
space said so, and so  did  the Pilgrim's own memories. But it had been long
since he ventured here,  and  he had not expected to see the island kingdoms
in the lifetime of his current members.
     Now suddenly he was going back. Flying back!
     The <I>OOB</I>'s landing boat was a wonderful thing, and not nearly as strange
as it had seemed in  the midst of battle. True, they had not yet figured out
how to  program  it for automatic flight.  Perhaps they never would. In  the
meantime,  this little flier worked  with electronics  that were barely more
than  glorified moving parts. The agrav itself required constant adjustment,
and  the  controls were scattered across the  bow periphery --  conveniently
placed for the fronds of a  Skroderider, or the members  of a pack. With the
Spacers' help and <I>OOB</I>'s documentation, it  had taken Pilgrim only a few days
to get the hang of flying the thing. It was all  a matter of spreading one's
mind across  all  the various  tasks. The learning had been  happy  hours, a
little bit  scary,  floating  nearly out  of  control,  once in a  screwball
configuration that accelerated endlessly upward. But in the end, the machine
was like an extension of his jaws and paws.




     Since they descended from the purpling heights and began playing in the
cloud tops,  Ravna had been  looking  more  and  more uncomfortable. After a
particularly stomachs-lurching bump and drop, she said, "Will you be able to
land okay? Maybe we should have postponed this  till --  " <I>unh!</I>  "-- you can
fly better."
     "Oh yes, oh  yes. We'll be past this, um, weather front real  soon." He
dived beneath the clouds and swerved a few tens of kilometers eastwards. The
weather was  clear here,  and  it  was  actually more on  a line with  their
destination. Secretly chastened, he resolved to do no more joy-riding ... on
the inbound leg, anyway.
     His  second  passenger  spoke  up  then,  only  the second time in  the
two-hour  flight.  "I  liked it,"  said Greenstalk. Her  voder voice charmed
Pilgrim:  mostly narrow-band,  but with  little  frets  high  up,  from  the
squarewaves. "It  was ...  it was like riding just beneath the surf, feeling
your fronds moving with the sea."
     Peregrine had tried  hard to know the Skroderider. The creature was the
only nonhuman alien in the  world, and harder to know than the Two-Legs. She
seemed  to dream most of the time, and forgot all but  things that  happened
again and  again to her. It was her primitive skrode that accounted for part
of that, Ravna told him. Remembering the run that Greenstalk's mate had made
through the flames, Pilgrim believed. Out among the stars, there were things
even stranger than Two-Legs -- it made Pilgrim's imagination ache.
     Near the horizon he saw a dark ring -- and another, beyond. "We'll have
you in real surf very soon."
     Ravna: "These are the islands?"
     Peregrine looked  over the map  displays  as he took a shot on the sun.
"Yes, indeed," though it  didn't  really matter. The  Western Ocean was over
twelve thousand kilometers across, and all through the tropics it was dotted
with atolls and island chains. This group was just a bit  more isolated than
others; the nearest Islander settlement was almost  two thousand  kilometers
away.
     They were over the  nearest island.  Pilgrim  took  a swing  around it,
admiring the tropic ferns that clung to the coral.  At this tide, their bony
roots were exposed. Not any flat land here at all; he flew on to the next, a
larger one with a pretty glade just within the ringwall. He floated the boat
down  in a smooth glide that  touched  the ground without  even the  tiniest
bump.
     Ravna Bergsndot looked at him  with something like  suspicion.  <I>Oh  oh.</I>
"Hei, I'm getting better, don't you think?" he said weakly.






     An uninhabited little island,  surrounded by endless sea. The  original
memories were blurred now; it had been his Rum  member who had been a native
of  the island kingdoms. Yet what  he remembered all fit: the high  sun, the
intoxicating humidity  of  the  air,  the  heat soaking  through  his  paws.
Paradise. The Rum aspect that still lived within him was most joyous of all.
The years seemed to melt away; part of him had come home.
     They helped Greenstalk down to the ground. Ravna said her skrode was an
inferior imitation, its  new  wheels an ad hoc addition. Still, Pilgrim  was
impressed:  the four  balloon tires  each had a separate axle. The Rider was
able to make it almost to the crest of the coral without any help from Ravna
or himself. But near the top, where the tropic ferns were thickest and their
roots grew across every path, there he  and Ravna had to help a bit, lifting
and pulling.
     Then they were on the other side, and they could see the ocean.
     Now  part of Pilgrim  ran ahead, partly to  find the  easiest  descent,
partly  to  get  close to  the water  and smell the  salt  and  the  rotting
floatweed.  The tide was nearly out now, and a million little  pools -- some
no more than stony-walled puddles --  lay  exposed to the  sun. Three of him
ran from pool to pool, eyeing  the creatures that lay within. The  strangest
things  in the world they had  seemed to  him when  he  first  came  to  the
islands.  Creatures  with  shells,  slugs  of  all  dimensions  and  colors,
animal-plants that would become tropic  ferns if  they ever got  trapped far
enough inland.
     "Where would you like  to sit?" he asked the Skroderider. "If we go all
the way  out to  the surf right  now, you'll be a  meter underwater  at high
tide."
     The Rider didn't reply. But all her fronds were angled toward the water
now. The  wheels on  her  skrode  slipped and  spun  with a strange lack  of
coordination. "Let's take her closer," Ravna said after a moment.
     They reached a  fairly level stretch  of coral, pocked with  holes  and
gullies not more than  a few  centimeters deep. "I'll go for a swim, find  a
good place," Peregrine said.  All of  him ran down to where the  coral broke
the water; going for a swim was not something you  did  by  parts.  <I>Heh heh.</I>
Fact was, damn  few  mainland packs  could swim and  think at the same time.
Most mainlanders thought that there was a craziness in  water. Now Peregrine
knew  it was  simply  the great difference in  sound  speed between  air and
water. Thinking with all tympana immersed  must be  a little like  using the
radio cloaks: it took discipline and practice to do it, and some were  never
able to learn. But  the Island folk had always been great swimmers, using it
for meditation. Ravna  even thought  the Packs might  be  descended from  of
whales!
     Peregrine came to the edge of the coral and looked  down.  Suddenly the
surf did not  seem a  completely  friendly thing. He  would soon find out if
Rum's spirit and his own memories of swimming were up to the real thing.  He
pulled off his jackets.

     <I>All  at once. It's  best done all  at  once.</I> He  gathered  himself  and
plopped awkwardly  into the water. Confusion,  heads out  and  in.  <I>Keep all
under.</I> He paddled about, holding all his heads down. Every few seconds, he'd
poke  a single nose into the air and refresh that member. <I>I still can do it!</I>
The six of him slipped through swarms of squidlets, dived separately through
arching green fronds. The hiss of the sea was all around, like the mindsound
of a vast sleeping pack.
     After  a few minutes he'd found a nice level  spot,  sand all about and
shielded from the  worst fury  of the sea. He paddled back to where  the sea
crashed  against stony coral.... and almost broke some legs scrambling  out.
It was  just impossible  to exit all at once, and for a few  moments it  was
every member for  itself.  "Hei, over here!"  He  shouted to Greenstalk  and
Ravna. He sat licking at coral cuts as they crossed the white rock. "Found a
place, more peaceful than this -- " He waved at the crash and spray.
     Greenstalk  rolled a little closer  to  the edge, then  hesitated.  Her
fronds turned back and forth  along the curving sweep of the shore. Does she
need help? Pilgrim started forward, but Ravna just sat down beside the Rider
and  leaned  against the  wheeled  platform. After  a moment, Pilgrim joined
them. They  sat for  a time, human looking out to the sea,  Rider looking he
wasn't sure quite where,  and pack looking in most all  directions.... There
was peace here, even  with (or because of?) the booming surf and the haze of
spray. He felt his hearts slowing, and  just lazed in the sunlight. On every
pelt the drying sea water  was  leaving a glittery  powder of salt. Grooming
himself tasted good at first, but ... <I>yech</I>, too much dry salt was one of the
<I>bad</I> memories.  Greenstalk's fronds settled lightly across him, too  fine and
narrow to provide much shade, but a light and gentle comfort.
     They sat for a long while -- long enough so that later some of Pilgrims
noses were blistered, and even darkskinned Ravna was sun burned.
     The Rider was humming now, a sort of song that after  long minutes came
to be speech. "It is  a good sea, a good edge. It is what I need now. To sit
and think at my own pace for a while."
     And  Ravna  said,  "How  long?  We  will miss  you."  That was not just
politeness. Everyone would miss her. Even in her mind adrift, Greenstalk was
the expert on <I>OOB</I>'s surviving automation.
     "Long by your measure, I fear. A few  decades...." She watched (?)  the
waves a few minutes more. "I am eager  to get down there. Ha ha. Almost like
a human in that.... Ravna, you  know my memories are muddled now. I  had two
hundred years with Blueshell. Sometimes he was  petty and a little spineful,
but he  was a great trader. We had many wonderful times. And at the end even
you could see his courage."
     Ravna nodded.
     "We found a terrible secret on this last journey. I think that hurt him
as  much as the final ... burning. I am  grateful  to you for protecting us.
Now I want to think,  to let the surf and the time work with my memories and
sort them out. Maybe if this poor imitation  skrode  is up to it, I'll  even
make a chronicle of our quest."
     She touched Peregrine on two of his heads. "One thing, Sir Pilgrim. You
trust  much  to  give me  freedom  of  your  seas.... But  you  should know,
Blueshell and I  were pregnant. I have a mist of our common  eggs within me.
Leave me here and  there will be new Riders  by this island in future years.
Please  do not take that  as  betrayal.  I want  to remember  Blueshell with
children -- but modestly;  our kind  has shared ten million worlds and never
been bad neighbors  ... except  in a  way  that, Ravna  can tell you, cannot
happen here."
     In  the  end, Greenstalk was  not at  all  interested in the  protected
stretch of water that Peregrine had discovered.  She  wanted  -- of  all the
places here --  the one where  the ocean crashed most ferociously.  It  took
them more  than an hour  to find a path  down  to  that  violent place,  and
another half hour to  get  Rider and skrode safely into the water. Peregrine
didn't even try to swim here. The  coral rock came in close  from all sides,
slimy  green in patches, razor jagged in others. Five minutes in  that  meat
grinder  and he might be too weak to get out. Strange that there was so much
green  in the water here. It was all but opaque with sea  grasses and swarms
of foam midges.
     Ravna was  a little  better  off; at  the water's  greatest height, she
could  still keep feet to ground -- at least most of the time. She stood  in
the  foam, bracing herself with  feet and an arm, and helped  the skrodeling
over the lip of rock. Once in, the  mechanical  crashed firmly to the bottom
beside the human.
     Ravna  looked up at  Pilgrim, made an "okay" gesture. Then she  huddled
down for a moment, holding to the skrode to keep her place. The surf crashed
over the two, obscuring all  but Greenstalk's tallest  standing fronds. When
the foam moved back,  he could see that  the lower fronds  draped across the
human's  back,  and  hear  a  voder buzzing that wasn't  quite  intelligible
against all the other noise.
     The human stood and  slogged  through  the  waist deep-water toward the
rocks Peregrine  occupied. Peregrine grabbed onto  himself, reached  down to
give Ravna some paws. She scrambled up the slime green and coral white.
     He followed the limping Two-Legs  toward the  crest of tropical  ferns.
They stopped under the shade, and she sat down, leaned back into the  mat of
a  fern's trunk. Cut and bruised,  she looked almost as hurt as Johanna ever
had.
     "You okay?"
     "Yeah," she ran her hands back through disheveled hair. Then she looked
at him and laughed. "We both look like casualties."

     <I>Um, yes.</I> Sometime soon he needed  a fresh-water bath.  He looked around
and out.  From the  crest of the atoll ring they had a  view of Greenstalk's
niche. Ravna was looking down there too, minor injuries forgotten.
     "How  can  she like  that spot?"  Peregrine  said wonderingly. "Imagine
being smashed and smashed and smashed."
     There  was a smile on Ravna's face,  but she  kept her two  eyes on the
surf. "There are strange things in the universe, Pilgrim; I'm glad there are
some you have not read  about yet. Where the surf meets the shore -- lots of
neat things  can happen there. You  saw all the life  that floated  in  that
madness.  Just as plants love the sun, there are creatures that  can use the
energy differences down at that edge. There they have  the sun and the surge
and the richness of the suspension.... Still,  we should keep watch a little
longer."  Between  each  insurge  of   the  waves,  they   could  still  see
Greenstalk's fronds. He already knew that those limbs weren't strong, but he
was beginning  to realize that  they must  be very  tough. "She'll be  okay,
though  that  cheap skrode may  not  last long.  Poor Greenstalk may  end up
without any automation at all  ... she and her  children, the lowest of  all
Riders."
     Ravna  turned  to look at  the pack. There was  still that smile on her
face. Wondering, yet pleased? "You know the secret Greenstalk spoke of?"
     "Woodcarver told me what you told her."
     "I'm  glad -- surprised -- she was willing to let Greenstalk come here.
Medieval minds -- sorry, most  any minds -- would want to kill before taking
even the faintest risk with something like this."
     "Then why <I>did</I> you tell the Queen?" About the skrode's perversion.
     "It's your world.  I  was tired  of playing  god  with  the Secret. And
Greenstalk agreed. Even if the Queen had refused, Greenstalk could have used
a cold box  on the  <I>OOB</I>." And likely  slept forever. "But Woodcarver  didn't
refuse. Somehow she understood what I was saying: it's the true skrodes that
can  be perverted, but Greenstalk  no longer has one of those. In  a decade,
this island's shore will be  populated  with hundreds  of  young Riders, but
they would never colonize beyond this archipelago without permission of  the
locals. The  risk  is  vanishingly  small  ...  but  I  was  still surprised
Woodcarver took it."
     Peregrine  settled down around  Ravna,  only  one  pair  of  eyes still
watching the Rider's fronds down in the foam. <I>Best to give some explanation.</I>
He cocked a  head a Ravna, "Oh, we  are medieval, Ravna --  even if changing
fast, now. We admired Blueshell's courage in the fire. Such deserves reward.
And medieval types are used to courting treachery. So what if the risk is of
cosmic size? To us, here, it is no more deadly for that. We  poor primitives
live with such all the time."
     "Ha!" Her smile spread at his flippant tone.
     Peregrine chuckled, heads bobbing. His  explanation was the  truth, but
not  all  the truth, or even the  most important part. He remembered back to
the  day before, when  he  and  Woodcarver  had  decided  what  to  do  with
Greenstalk's request. Woodcarver had  been  afraid  at  first,  statecraftly
cautious before an evil  secret billions of  years old. Even  leaving such a
being in cold sleep was a risk. The  statecraftly ... the <I>medieval</I> ... thing
to do, would be to grant the request, leave the Rider ashore on this distant
island ... and then sneak back a day or two later and kill it.
     Peregrine had settled down by his Queen, closer  than any but mates and
relations  could ever do  without losing their train of thought. "You showed
more  honor to Vendacious," he had said. Scriber's murderer still walked the
earth, complete, scarcely punished at all.
     Woodcarver snapped  at  the  empty  air;  Peregrine  knew that  sparing
Vendacious  hurt her  too. "...Yes.  And  these  Skroderiders have shown  us
nothing  but courage and  honesty. I  will  not harm  Greenstalk.  Yet I  am
afraid. With her, there's a risk that goes beyond the stars."
     Peregrine laughed. It might be pilgrim madness but -- "and that's to be
expected,  My Queen. Great risks  for great gains. I like  being around  the
humans; I like  touching another creature and still being  able to think  at
the  same time." He darted  forward to nuzzle the nearest of Woodcarver, and
then  retreated  to a more rational distance. "Even without  their starships
and their datasets, they would make our world over. Have you noticed ... how
easy it  is for us to learn  what they know? Even now, Ravna can't  seem  to
accept our fluency.  Even now, she doesn't understand how thoroughly we have
studied Dataset. And their ship is easy, my Queen. I don't mean I understand
the physics behind it  -- few even among star folk do. But the equipment  is
easy to learn, even with the failures it has suffered. I  suspect Ravna will
never be able to fly the agrav boat as well as I."
     "Hmmf. But you can reach all the controls at once."
     "That's only part of it. I think we Tines are more flexibly minded than
the poor Two-Legs. Can you imagine what it  will  be like  when we make more
radio cloaks, when we make our own flying machines?"
     Woodcarver smiled, a little sadly now. "Pilgrim, you dream. This is the
Slow Zone. The agrav will wear out in a few years. Whatever we make will  be
far short of what you play with now."
     "So? Look at human history. It  took less than two centuries for Nyjora
to regain spaceflight after their dark age. And  we have better records than
their archaeologists. We and  the  humans are  a  wonderful  team; they have
freed us to be everything we  can be." A century till their own  spaceships,
perhaps another  century  to start building  sub- light-speed starships. And
someday they would get out of the Slow Zone. <I>I wonder if packs can be bigger
than eight up in the Transcend.</I>
     The  younger  parts of  Woodcarver were up, pacing around the rest. The
Queen  was intrigued. "So you think, like Steel seemed to, that  we are some
kind  of  special race,  something  with  a  happy destiny  in  the  Beyond?
Interesting, except  for one thing:  These humans are all  we know  from Out
There.  How do  they  compare with other races  there?  Dataset can't  fully
answer that."
     "Ah, and  <I>there</I>,  Woodcarver, is why Greenstalk is  so important. We do
need experience of more than one other race. Apparently the Riders are among
the most common throughout the Beyond. We need  them to talk to. We  need to
discover if they are as much  fun, as <I>useful</I>, as the  Two-Legs. Even  if the
risk was ten times what it seems, I would still want to grant this Rider her
wish."
     "... Yes.  If we are to be all we can be, we need