"Yes." He wiped his eyes.

Naked and subtly altered, the face was still Pig's; Silk's wellremembered voice issued from its lips. "Still, you would take me if you could."

"Yes. Yes, I would. If we reached New Viron, I would not have failed. Or even if you reached it alone."

"You do not wish to fail." Pig's big hand tightened on his.

He said, "I would give my life not to fail," and meant it.

"You already have."

"You must he here, on this acceleration couch." Hari Mau bent over him. "You must be strapped in, as well. I apologize, though it is essential."

"I know, I've been on them before. I'm worried about Oreb."

Hari Mau's smiled widened. "There under your arm he will be safe. The lighter one is, the less strain. Oreb is very light." A wide strap snapped closed, pressing the azoth into the tense muscles under it. "For yourself you are not afraid, Rajan Silk?"

If they wished to call him that, that was what they wished to call him. Not wanting to stare, he looked from Hari Mau's bearded face to the woven matting that had replaced-what? He tried to remember the interior of the lander that had brought him from Blue to Green, but he could recall only the long rows of crude brown couches, the cramped little galley that had fed them sparsely and badly, the shooting and the shouting, the twisted steel grip of Sinew's knife protruding from the back of a man whose name was forgotten.

Hari Mau repeated, "For yourself you are not afraid?"

"Of dying?" He shook his head. "No, not of that. In a way it would be a relief, a mitigation of failure. May I confide in you?"

"Of course! I am your friend."

"What I fear is showing fear. I am afraid I'll scream when thethe push comes, and the explosion."

Hari Mau brought cotton for his ears, and he stuffed it in them gratefully. "You must put your head under your wing, Oreb, and pretend you are going to sleep. Keep out as much of the noise as you can."

"No hear?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "No hear," and watched with approval as Oreb tucked his head beneath his wing.

He had wanted a couch near the others, perhaps next to Hari Mau's, but Han Mau had hustled him away, farther down, nearer the front of the lander, nearer the strange place to which Silk had once gone from which one could-while still in the whorl-see the stars. He was…

He craned his neck in a vain effort to see behind him.

Two or three rows farther down. Three rows at least, he decided, and more likely four. At least this lander was not jammed like the one in which he and Nettle had come to Blue.

Where was she now? He tried to imagine her and what she was doing, but found that he could only picture a much younger Nettle renting folding stools. I am distracted, he told himself as a slight tremor shook the lander. Under such circumstances as this, I am bound to be distracted.

Matting, woven of the split stems of some tropical plant. It would be warm in Gaon. He shivered.

Someone had ripped open the very walls to steal wire. If he and Hari Mau and all the rest were lucky, that someone would have left the insulation strewn about so it could be replaced and confined behind the matting. If they were not, it was gone and had been replaced with something else, the coarse and dirty hair of slaughtered cattle or something of the sort.

No, they did not eat their cattle in Gaon. Hari Mau had said so. Cattle were the mother goddess, were Nurturing Echidna, just like snakes. Snakes were understandable, of course. It was that way in Viron, too, to some extent. But cattle? Though cattle were associated with both Echidna and Pas, now that he thought of it. Rain from Pas, grass from Echidna; it was an old saying. Rain, the intercourse of the gods.

In Gaon, Hari Mau had said, cattle were offered to Echidna, but never eaten. The entire animal was burned on the altar. That said something about the size of altars in Gaon, and the supply of wood as well, surely.

The monitor's face appeared in a glass to his right, nearly human, though blurred about the mouth. "We'll cast off for the planet called Blue in thirty seconds. Your couch is secured."

"Yes," he said unnecessarily. "Yes, I think so." He wanted to ask whether they would get there, whether they would arrive and whether they would make a safe landing, but did not.

"If you suffer from heart disease, it would be best for you to remain in the Whorl," the monitor reminded him.

"I don't." There was a momentary roar, deafening even through the cotton. The lander trembled with a violence that its builders could not possibly have intended. He asked, "Is everything all right?"

"I am verifying our capabilities, Patera Silk."

It was maddening to be thus mistaken by a mere machine; what was almost worse, Oreb had taken his head from beneath his wing to listen. "Good Silk!"

"I am not Silk," he told the monitor. "You have been misinformed."

"Your name is on my passenger list, Patter Silk."

"Supplied by Hari Mau, of course." He could not keep the bitterness from his voice.

"I will first cast off from the Whorl," the monitor was saying. Higher up, others were saying the same thing. "When I have attained sufficient altitude, I will fire my engines. As soon as they are silent, you may move about the lander, Hari Mau. You will be unwell. Please employ the housekeeping tube to keep your area clean."

It struck him that it had been at least two minutes since the monitor had said they would leave in thirty seconds. He groped for his housekeeping tube and found that it was missing.

"It will activate upon access. You are responsible for your own area, Hari Mau."

That was because he had insisted that he was not Silk, he decided. Aloud he said, "I have no housekeeping tube, Monitor, and I will not be sick. I've traveled on landers before. I even flew here on this one. On no occasion was I sick."

"No sick," Oreb confirmed.

"I will first cast off from the Whorl, Potter Sulk." The blur around the monitor's mouth was spreading over its face like a cancer; the lower half of that face moved to the right, then jerked back into place. "When I have attained attitude, fire my engines. You may move about my. Plus deploy the housekeeping." The monitor's blurred gray face flickered, then vanished.

This was death, death's overture. This lander had been damaged too badly to fly. Although they had flown to the Pole in it, it could never return to Blue. It would explode when the rockets fired or crash when it tried to land, or leave them floating in the abyss to starve, visited perhaps by inhumi.

"I got there. I did it. I got back to Viron, where I could look for Silk." Suddenly aware that he was speaking out loud, he clenched his teeth.

"Good Silk!"

"Put your head under your wing, or you will be deafened. You may well be deafened anyhow."

Obediently, Oreb tucked his scarlet-capped head beneath a jet black wing.

"No, fly." It was a whisper. "Stay here."

It had been the best part of his life, the days when he had been with General Mint, with Silk in the Calde's Palace. How few they had been! How very, very few. The hours in Silk's palace, and the hours in the boat with Seawrack. "I've been happy twice," he told the bird in a voice that he himself could scarcely hear. A shellback comb floated before his eyes. He murmured, "Most men are not happy even once," and was violently, messily ill.

Sitting in what had been the lowest part of the lander, he seemed suspended in the sky. The Short Sun blazed to his left, mercifully obscured by the darkened canopy. To his right, stars shone, and Blue lay at his feet like a lost toy. Home.

Hari Mau joined him, strapping himself into the seat. "No one should see this twice, but I cannot get enough. It is like women."

He smiled. "Yes, in a way I suppose it is."