It looked easy. Chan did his best to imitate her. He jetted to a point close to where the waves began to swell, and waited. For what? He wasn’t sure, but Deb must have seen something different in each one. Five waves swelled, reared, and broke. Finally he became impatient and drove into and along the curl of the sixth one.

At first it was smooth and simple. He was skimming along sideways and forwards at a vast speed, under the curving crest of the advancing wave. Then suddenly the breaker arched right over his head, and he was speeding down a dark, narrowing tunnel. He felt himself turn until he was upside down. Before he could use the suit jets to right himself, a mountain of water dropped on his back and drove him onto the unyielding shingle. Even with his padded suit, the impact hurt. He rolled over and over as surf erupted around him. Then another force was dragging at his body, pulling him back toward the sea. He grabbed at the shore with his gloved hands and scrabbled desperately forward. As the wave’s suction lessened he managed to heave himself a few yards farther toward the shore. He was still in the water, but clear of the danger zone.

Deb was sitting on the beach in front of him, beyond the reach of the waves. She said, “Well, that was really elegant. Any bones broken?”

Chan had just enough strength to shake his head.

She reached out a helping hand to lift him to his feet. “Come on, then. According to my suit’s inertial guidance we’re a bit too far south and it’s only ten minutes to midday. Don’t want to keep Captain Indigo waiting.”

She led Chan away along the beach. As he recovered his breath and equilibrium he was able to take notice of their surroundings. The strip of pebbles along which they walked was much narrower than on the satellite images. Because of either storm or tides, the dark, surging water and sterile black rock were now no more than twenty meters away from each other. The thin strip of gray beach dwindled into the distance. Where it vanished and rock and sea appeared to merge, a suited figure stood like a crooked statue. It was facing seaward, the face hidden by the open helmet.

The statue remained motionless until they were only a few paces away. Then it turned, and Chan saw Friday Indigo’s dead eyes and fish-white countenance.

“Very foolish.” Indigo ignored Chan’s gesture of greeting. “A very unwise move. Did you know of it?”

“Know of what?”

“The escape. That was The One’s conclusion, that you could not know of it. Lucky for you. If it had been otherwise, there would have been no point in meeting. The One believes that there is still a purpose to be served in speaking with you, but had she thought that you knew of the escape, you and your ship would have been destroyed. However, The One makes it clear that this is your final chance.”

“Who escaped?” Chan wondered what effect this might have. The trouble with all desperate plans was that they were at the mercy of chance events.

“The two humans who were captured yesterday. They escaped during the night. Do not concern yourself, they can do no harm and for the moment The One is ignoring them. They’ll be recaptured, of course, as soon as it’s convenient. But evidence that humans cannot be trusted leads to changes in our procedure. You.” He turned to face Deb. “Since we know nothing of your loyalty, you cannot be allowed to remain ashore. You will return to your ship.”

“In seas like that?” Chan pointed to the breaking waves.

Indigo turned to him, slowly and painfully. “She came ashore. She can also leave. Now.”

Chan tried again. “Be reasonable. She’ll be killed.”

“I do not think so. The sea is becoming steadily more calm. And this is not subject to negotiation. She must go.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Deb said. “I’ll manage.” She sealed her helmet at once and waded into the sea until she was up to her mid-thighs. As the next wave broke she dived forward into it. Chan watched and waited for many seconds, but she did not reappear.

“And you.” Indigo showed no interest in Deb from the moment when she vanished into the wave. “Are you the chosen negotiator for your party?”

“Obviously. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“You will probably be acceptable, but you are not The One’s preferred choice. The senior member of the party, the General, would have been better.”

“I have General Korin’s full authority to negotiate.”

“We will have to hope so. For all your sakes. Come on.” Friday Indigo limped away inland. Chan, following, thought that the man looked in worse condition than on the day before. How much longer would Friday Indigo be able to operate without medical treatment — and who would the replacement “translation unit” be when Indigo became too decrepit to serve that purpose?

Ten kilometers to the west, Chrissie and Tarbush were doing their best to make nonsense of Friday Indigo’s confident prediction. As Chrissie put it, “Anybody who catches us will have to work at it.”

The first hour offered few choices. The dry gully they followed led steadily upward, first turning north and west, then curving back southward. Either they followed it, or they must hack their way through the tough scrub on either side.

Tarbush insisted on carrying the big supply case by himself, along with every container of water they could find. Even in Limbo’s weak gravity that was a heavy load. As the sun rose, fierce blue light penetrated the canopy of leaves. The air became intolerably hot. As they ascended farther the floor of the gully gradually turned from dry gravel to black, glutinous mud. Tarbush trudged on in silence, back bowed and face dripping sweat.

Twice he refused an offer of help from Chrissie. She was ready to repeat it for a third time when she noticed the way that he responded to every rustle in the bushes around them. His expression was hopeful, not wary. She did not volunteer assistance again. Carrying the awkward load was Tarbush’s chosen penance, an expression of guilt for abandoning Scruffy. Chrissie knew it was no use trying to tell him that they’d had no choice.

She fell back a few steps to the rear, making her own survey of the dense vegetation on either side. She thought she glimpsed the purple-black wings of a Tinker, just one component, but before she could be sure it vanished into the shadows. When she turned her eyes again to the way ahead, Tarbush seemed to have shrunk. She heard him say, “Damn mud.” Then, “Chrissie, stay back!” He suddenly lost another foot of height.

They had been plowing through the black mud for ten minutes, and what Tarbush was standing on now looked no different; but he was sinking into it, slowly and steadily. Already it was above his knees.

Chrissie ignored his cry, jumped forward, and grabbed at the bulky supply case he carried on his back. She shouted, “Tarb, let go the straps — the weight is pushing you down.”

She heaved at the pack, falling over backwards as it came loose. When she was on her feet again, Tarbush had sunk farther. The mud was already to his mid-thighs. He had done the right thing, leaning far backward to spread his weight. Chrissie flattened herself and crawled forward until she felt herself beginning to sink. The mud was more liquid than solid. She reached as far as she could and gripped his outstretched hands.

“I’ve got you, Tarb. Can you ease yourself out?”

“Dunno. Let me give it a try.”

Chrissie braced herself. Tarb gripped her hands and began to pull. He was enormously strong, and he seemed to move a few inches toward her. But then she was slipping forward.

“Not so hard, Tarb, or I’ll be in with you.”

The pressure eased. They lay still, he on his back and she facedown in the mud.

“Seems like we got us a little problem,” he said after a few moments. “If I don’t pull hard on you, I don’t come out. If I do pull hard, you come in. Maybe we’re worrying too much about nothing. Maybe this quicksand stuff isn’t all that deep, and if I let myself go I’ll stop at my waist.”