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Suppressing distaste, she raised the little symbiont — a larger cousin of a parrot tick — and let it writhe inside her ear.

Soon, as she feared, it began speaking with the voice of Sage Taine.

“Sara, if this reaches you, I’d like to talk before you go… It is essential to clear up our misunderstanding.”

There came a long pause, then the voice hurried on.

“I’ve thought about it and have lately come to believe that this situation is largely my fau—”

The message stopped there. The record bug had reached its limit. It began repeating the message over again, from the beginning.

Fault? Was “fault” the word you were about to say?

Sara tipped her head until the bug realized it wasn’t wanted anymore and crawled out of her ear. Taine’s voice grew distant, plaintive, as she tossed the bug back to the furry little messenger, who snatched it, tweaking it between sharp jaws, making the bug receptive for Sara’s reply.

I’m sorry, she almost said aloud. I should have made allowances. You were tactless, but meant well, in your haughty way.

I should have been honored by your proposal, even if you first made it out of a sense of duty.

I reacted badly when you renewed the offer at Joshu’s funeral.

A month ago, I was thinking about finally saying yes. There are worse lives on the Slope than the one you offered.

But now everything had changed. The aliens had seen to that. Dwer had what it would take in the new era to come. He’d thrive and sire generations of fine hunter-gatherers, if an age of innocence really was at hand.

And if it’s death the aliens have in mind for us? Well, Dwer will fool them, too, and survive.

That thought made Sara poignantly glad.

Either way, what use will Jijo have for intellectuals like us, Taine?

The two of them would soon be more equal than ever, alike in useless obsolescence, before the end.

Sara said nothing aloud. The messenger ball gave a stymied squeak. It popped the bug into one cheek, then reentered the tube, vanishing into the maze-work of conduits that laced Biblos like a system of arteries and veins.

You’re not the only one. Sara cast a thought after the frustrated creature. There’s more than enough disappointment to go around.

The Gopher was already putting on steam when Sara hurried to the dock. Ariana Foo waited nearby, the twilight shrouding her wheelchair so that she resembled some human–g’Kek hybrid.

“I wish I could have a few more days with him,” she said, taking Sara’s hand.

“You’ve done wonders, but there’s no time to spare.”

“The next kayak pilot may bring vital news—”

“I know. And I’d give anything to hear from Lark. But that reasoning will only take us in circles. If something urgent happens, you can send a galloper after us. Meanwhile I have … a feeling that we’d better hurry.”

“More dreams?”

Sara nodded. For several nights her sleep had been disturbed by ill-defined impressions of alpine fire, then watery suffocation. It might just be a return of the claustrophobia she felt years ago, as a youthful newcomer under the overhanging roof-of-stone. Or else maybe her nightmares echoed something real. An approaching culmination.

Mother believed in dreams, she recalled. Even as she drilled into Lark and me a love of books and science, it was Dwer whom she heeded, whenever he woke with those powerful visions, back when he was little — and then the week before she died.

The steam packet hissed, its boilers straining. Two dozen donkeys thumped and whinnied, tethered at the stern alongside sealed crates of books.

Contrasting strangely, a different sound came from the ship’s bow. Delicate, melodic music consisting of parallel chains of halting notes, somewhat twangy. Sara tilted her head.

“He’s getting better fast.”

“He has motivation,” the sage replied. “I expected him to choose a simpler instrument, like a flute or violus. But he pulled the dulcimer off the museum shelf and seemed to draw some deep satisfaction out of counting its strings. It’s simple to learn, and he can sing along, when a tune spills out of memory. Anyway, he’s fit for a journey, so” — she took a deep breath, looking weary and old — “give Lester and the other High Mucketies my regards, will you? Tell them to behave.”

Sara bent to kiss Ariana’s cheek. “I’ll do that.” The retired sage gripped her arm with unexpected strength. “Safe journey, child. Ifni roll you sixes.”

“Safe house,” Sara returned the blessing. “May she roll you long life.”

Ariana’s chimp aide pushed her upslope, toward the comfort of an evening fire. It was becoming a habit for Sara to doubt she would ever see someone again.

The captain gave the order to cast off, guiding his precious boat gingerly away from the camouflage shelter. Jop and Ulgor joined Sara at the rail, along with several morose-faced librarians, appointed to carry precious volumes to uncertain safety in the wilderness. Soon the churning shove of the paddle wheels settled to a reassuring rhythm, working with the Bibur’s current to turn them downstream.

The spaceman played along with focused monomania. Hunched over a small, wedgelike instrument, he hammered its strings with two small curved mallets, faltering often but radiating passion. The music laced through bittersweet memory as Sara watched the mighty fortress slip by, with its many-windowed halls. The stone canopy seemed to hover like a patient fist of God.

I wonder if I’ll ever be back.

Soon they passed the westernmost edge of laser-cut stone — the mulching grounds. There were no banners today, or mourners, or busy little subtraekis consuming flesh, preparing white bones for the sea. But then, amid the dusky gloom, she did spy a solitary figure overlooking the river. Tall and straight-backed, with a sleek mane of silver-gray, the human leaned slightly on a cane, though he seemed far from frail. Sara’s breath caught as the Gopher swept by.

Sage Taine nodded — a friendly, even ardent display for such a diffident person. Then, to Sara’s surprise, he lifted an arm, in a gesture of unadorned goodwill.

At the last moment she gave in, raising her own hand. Peace, she thought.

Biblos fell behind the chugging steamboat, swallowed by gathering night. Nearby, the Stranger’s voice broke in, singing words to a song about a voyage of no return. And while she knew the lyrics expressed his own sense of loss and poignant transition, they also rubbed, both sweetly and painfully, against conflicts in her own heart.

For I am bound beyond the dark horizon,
And ne’er again will I know your name…