Dwer looked up from his work. Lena halted as well, holding a thick tube with a clockwork fuse at one end. Up to that point, Ozawa had been explaining what Dwer already knew. But now silence reigned. No one was going to move or speak until the sage explained.

For a second time, Danel Ozawa sighed deeply.

“The secret is passed on to a few, each generation. But I see no point in concealing it from you three, whom I now think of as kin, as family.

“Some of the other five races were appalled when we built Biblos. The Great Printing seemed to imply we had no intention of ever forgetting. Our founders did some smooth talking to explain the flood of books. A temporary measure, they called it. A way to help all races live in enough comfort to concentrate on developing their souls, till we’re spiritually ready to move on down the Path.

“Officially, it’s the long-term goal of each of the Six. But the Tabernacle founders never meant their descendants to devolve down to speechless proto-humans, ready for some race of star-gods to adopt and uplift.”

The sage paused until Dwer finally broke in. “Then why are we here?”

Danel shrugged. “Everyone knows that each race had ulterior motives. Those forbidden to breed at home sought a place where they can have offspring as they please. Or take the g’Keks, who tell of persecutors, hounding them throughout the star lanes.”

“So humans came to Jijo because folks on Earth weren’t sure they’d survive?”

Ozawa nodded. “Oh, we’d made a few friends, who helped Earth get a Library branch. And having uplifted two client races, we won low-level patron status. Still, Galactic history doesn’t offer much hope for a wolfling race like ours. We already had enemies. The Terragens Council knew Earth would be vulnerable for a long time to come.”

“So the Tabernacle crew weren’t outcasts?”

Danel ticked a thin smile. “A cover story, in case the colonists were caught, so the Council could disavow them as renegades. In fact, our ancestors were sent to find a hidden refuge for humankind.” The sage raised his hands. “But where? Despite rumors, no route is known beyond the Five Galaxies. Within them, every star is catalogued, many with lease-holders to watch over ’em. So the Terragens searched the Great Library to see what other races did in our position.

“Despite flaws, the ‘sooner’ phenomenon showed promise.”

Lena shook her head. “There’s a lot you’re leavin’ out. Like what we’re supposed to be doing here, while hiding, if our mission isn’t to go down the Path.”

“If Lester or the others know, they haven’t told me,” Danel answered. “Maybe we’re to sit tight and wait for the universe to change. Anyway, that hardly matters now. If our culture’s finished, I won’t have any part in going on as wretched fragments, whelping kids who will be no more than savage brutes.”

Jenin started to speak, but then pressed her lips.

“At least we know Earth has survived a few hundred years,” Dwer said.

“Though the forayers say there’s a crisis,” Lena noted. “With Earth in the middle of it.”

Danel looked away, his jaw set.

“Hey,” Dwer said, “aren’t the sky-humans exactly what that Terra Council wanted? To have a branch of humans off somewhere safe from whatever happens to Earth? Those guys you met back at the Glade have these Rothen characters to protect them.”

Danel exhaled. “Perhaps, though who knows if they’ll remain human under that influence? The irony of being murdered by cousins seems too much to bear.”

The sage shook himself, as if shedding cobwebs.

“Let’s prepare that pyre. If these items cannot serve a civilized tribe of exiled Earthlings, then we can at least do our duty by this world and leave no dross. Lena, set the timer to go off one day from now, if we don’t return.”

“Return?” Lena looked up from her preparations. “I thought we were giving up—”

She rocked back as the sage whirled, with some of the old fire in his eyes.

“Who said anything about giving up! What’s the matter with you three? Look at your faces. Are you going to let one little setback get you down?”

A little setback? Dwer wondered, glancing at the blast scars and shattered trees surrounding the urrish encampment. “I don’t get it. You said we can’t finish our mission.”

“So?” Danel Ozawa demanded. “We’re adaptable. We’ll switch missions! We’re not colonists anymore — so what?

“We can still be warriors.”

Rety

The prisoners lay dejected. In muddy wallows, necks drooping, already stinking after two days’ confinement in the dank pen. Thirteen urs who would have preferred the arid plateau where they had settled, till a warcraft screeched over their camp without warning, casting lightning, driving the survivors toward Jass and the other hunters^ waiting with rough ropes.

Thus Kunn had fulfilled his side of a bargain, ridding the hills of a recent, hated urrish infestation. In return, Jass was to guide Kunn to the site where he and Bom first saw the flying bird-thing. No one knew why the deal later broke down — why Jass abruptly changed his mind, preferring the robot’s caresses over giving the pilot what he wanted.

No one except Rety.

Binni used to say — why defy men, who can beat you if you make them mad? Use words to nudge and guide the brutes. Make ’em think it was their idea all along.

But I kept talking back, didn’t I?

Well, I finally tried it your way, Binni, and know what? You were right. Nothing I could do to Jass could ever hurt him like he’s hurting himself, right now.

Bom was guarding the gate to the prisoners’ pen. The burly hunter hurriedly obeyed her command to open up, not once meeting Rety’s eyes. He knew where his pal was now. Just two things kept Bom from sharing the same fate. First was his notoriously poor sense of direction. Alone, he could never find the place where he and Jass had spotted the metal bird.

The other thing was Rety’s whim. Bom’s abject cringing pleased her more than screams. This bully was scared half out of his breech-clout.

When she glared at the boys spitting at the prisoners, they jumped off the wall and ran. She cast curt laughter after them. The tribe-kids never used to speak to her in the old days, either.

She entered the pen.

Ul-Tahni, leader of the unlucky urs, greeted Rety with a fluid bow of her long neck. From a gray-fringed snout, she launched into a series of whistles and clicks, till Rety broke in.

“None o’ that now!” she admonished. “I don’t follow that jabber.”

Wincing, Ul-Tahni switched to Anglic.

“I afologize. Your attire deceives the eye into seeing a Galactic-level entity.”

Rety lifted her head. “You weren’t dee-seeved. That’s exactly what I am.”

I hope, she added inside. Rann and the others could change their minds before the ship returned, especially once she gave them all she had in trade. Even if the forayers kept their word, she would, in time, have to learn all those crazy languages they used among the stars.

“Again, regret for having offended. Is it true, then? You have veen adofted off Jijo’s forlorn desert into the running-clan of star creatures? What a fortunate youngling you are.”

“Yeah,” Rety agreed, wondering if the urs was being sarcastic. “So, yee says you’re ready to tell us what your bunch was doing out here, beyond the Rimmers.”

A long sigh blew the gray fringe.

“We arrived, disgracefully, to set uf a colony, freserving our kind in a secret sanctuary.”

Rety grunted. “That much is obvious. But why here? Why now?”

“It is a site already ascertained to ve ha vita vie… suitavle for sustaining Earthlings, and therefore the donkeys we rely on. You yourself testified to that fact.”