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n。 Does Kurt really imagine he can keep his work secret then？
He'd be better off throwing his notebooks into the fire；
Sara restrained her own curiosity。 Explosers were a mysterious； formidable sect。 Frankly； she doubted the wisdom of the Urunthai in messing with them。
〃We won't wait till nightfall； vefore setting forth；〃 Ulgor told Sara； passing near her bedroll。 〃I'd catch uf on sleef； if I were you。〃
The urrish tinker's unpainted pelt； well…kept mane； and piercing black true…eyes set her apart from her wild cousins。 There was no air of antagonism； no anti…human hostility。 After all； Ulgor had visited Dolo Village dozens of times； always on friendly terms。
Sara shook her head。 〃I can see what drives the others。 Religion can be a strong motive when you think your descendants' salvation is at stake。 But what do you get out of all this； Ulgor？ I know it can't be profit。〃
The narrow； conical head split in a triangular grin。
Sara did not need a rewq to know the expression was sardonic。
〃Why exclude the overt reason？ Earnings。 Personal gain。〃
Sara quoted scripture： 〃 'What use will be all your wealth and goods； two leagues down Redemption's Road？' 〃
Ulgor breathed a soft whistle of laughter。 〃Little good at all。 On the other hoof； hero status can ve useful in a clan of savages。 Ferhafs I will ve one of the great chiefs of the plains； higher in renown than Ur…Chown！〃
Ulgor's self…mocking tone dismissed that idea； while encouraging Sara to keep guessing。
Sara suddenly felt tired。 〃You're right； Ulgor。〃
〃You think so？〃
〃Indeed I do。 It would be a good idea to catch up on sleep； while I can。〃
The tinker stared； twisting her neck a half spiral。 〃I thought you wanted to know…〃
Sara covered a yawn。 〃Please be assured； Ulgor； that I am very sorry I asked。〃
With that she turned away to lie down on her bedroll。 Prity hurried over to tuck the blanket around Sara； then chuffed at Ulgor； shooing her away。 Sara listened to the urbane traitor's hooves pound a nervous retreat； as if burdened by Sara's contempt。
She really was exhausted。 Her muscles throbbed from several days' unaccustomed exertion； and her tailbone from jarring contact with the hard leather saddle。 And there was an emotional element。
I was given a job to do。 Several of them。 Now it looks like I won't plete even one。
A low； repetitive thrum pervaded the pavilion； like the synchronous； pulselike snoring of the urs。 It was the Stranger； plucking his dulcimer's lowest string； so softly and regularly that no one； not even UrKachu； might find any cause for plaint； creating a lulling rhythm； resembling less a heartbeat than the rise…and…fall cadence of ribcages…both urrish and human…as members of both parties slept。
Ariana figured he'd develop new skills； to pensate for those he lost； she thought。 I guess this musical sensitivity is part of that。
Just after dawn； while the two radical groups worked to set up camp； the spaceman had played for the urrish males； briefly released from the close confines of their wives' pouches； taking advantage of the break to stretch their legs in the fresh air。 A few males kept close watch on maturing larvae； with six short legs and no arms； almost ready to be spilled onto the plains and fend for themselves。
Using two curved mallets to strike the dulcimer strings； the Stranger had acpanied himself as he sang a chain of children's melodies； familiar enough to flow smoothly from undamaged memory。 Sara even recognized a few。 Among the rest； one seemed especially apropos。
〃I had a little husband； no bigger than my thumb；
I put him in a pint pot； and there I bid him drum；
I bought a little handkerchief； to wipe his little nose；
And a pair of little garters； to tie his little hose。〃
He repeated the verse several times； and soon； under his encouragement； the males were beating time to the song； crooning along。 Sara recalled thinking； if he wound up stranded on Jijo and had no future in any other profession； the fellow could certainly find employment in one of those modern Tarek Town day…care centers。
If we still have such luxuries when all this is done。
Prity plopped herself in front of Sara。 Sniggering softly； the little chimp flattened a patch of sand and began drawing figures with a stick…mostly convex； parabolalike shapes that climbed； turned over； and fell once more to zero。 Prity chuffed and pointed； as if eager to share a joke。 But Sara could not concentrate。 Fatigue overcame the throbbing of her abused body； drawing her down to helpless slumber。
She dreamed of Urchachka…world of grass…its plains whipped endlessly by hot winds； seared by frequent fires； or else swept by scorching rains of glittering volcanic dust。 After each scalding episode； the plains seemed strewn with ashy death…yet bright stems always burst forth in prolific flashes； pushing skyward fast enough to be tracked by a patient eye。
On busy Urchachka； water seldom stayed long on the ground。 Life sucked it up； caching it in buried tuber reservoirs that meshed across whole continents； or else in bulbous； multihued spore…pods； or in the lush grass stems themselves。 These； in turn； were browsed by herds of grazing beasts…nervous brutes whose three…pronged horns used to wave threateningly toward danger； till they found themselves tended in great herds； protected by creatures more formidable than any past predator。
In the manner of dreams； Sara dwelled concurrently both within and outside the images。 At one level； her mind's eye peered through a forest of waving fronds； feeling wary and fearful； alert to dodge being trampled by the great beasts； or worse； being gobbled by accident in their ever…crunching maws。
Holes in the fecund loam led down to underground warrens…a lightless； crowded realm of sweet roots and frequent violent encounters…a domain that had lately begun to seem all too cramped； confining。 The world of light above now appeared paradise by parison…for those large enough to snake their necks above the tips of wafting grass。
With a slim； detached portion of her mind…the fragment that knew she was dreaming…Sara marveled at the power of imagination。 A gift allowing her to inflate what little anyone on Jijo knew about Urchachka…from terse entries in a prelanding encyclopedia； plus a few fables passed by urrish storytellers。 Tales about days before their fallow breed was discovered on its torrid home world； by a patron race who dropped from the sky to claim that strain of clever herders； guiding them upon the Rising Path。 The road of uplift； toward the stars。
The detached part could observe but had no other power over a fantasy like this one。 A color dream； potent； forceful； and emotional。 A fey fantasm； with momentum all its own。 A vision of clouded； insentient paranoia。
Darting between bulbous stems； evading the big dumb herbivores； she followed a smell of drifting smoke and came upon the trampled circle surrounding a smoldering pit of ashes； with a crowd of lanky four…legged figures lounging around its rim。 She peered cautiously at the Big Ones。 Only lately had she recognized them as larger versions of herself； older cousins and aunts； instead of dangerous horrors with flashing hooves and alarming tempers。 Now she spied on them； creeping closer； fighting an ever…growing temptation。
An urge to step forward； out of the grass； and announce herself。
She had seen others do so； from time to time。 Other small ones like herself； shaking off the dust of their burrows and stretching out their necks。 Boldly moving to assert their claim； their birthright to a place by the fire。 About a third of those who did so were ignored； then tolerated； accepted； and finally weled into the tight web of intermeshing loyalties。 The rest did not meet happy ends。 There seemed to be a trick of timing involved。 A ritual of twisting necks and groveling abasement that varied from group to group。
Then there was smell。 It was best to approach a band that had a good aroma。 One like your own。
Stealing closer； she watched the party of adults； some with pouches that squirmed with lucky males who had found safe refuge from the dang