When Seeker said nothing, Cley scrambled away. After getting lost three times she found a translucent bubble that gave an aft view.

             Long pearly plumes jetted from Leviathan. They came from tapered, warty growths that Cley was sure did not poke from Leviathan before. They had been grown with startling speed, and somehow linked to a chemical system which was fed in turn by the Leviathan's internal chemistry. Her nose prickled at the scent of peroxide, and the thunder of steady detonations made nearby boughs tremble.

             Even as the immense bulk accelerated, Cley could see groups of spacelife detach themselves and spurt away. Some species seemed to be abandoning ship, perhaps sensing that something dangerous lay ahead. They spread broad silvery sails which reflected images of the shrinking sun. Others had sails of utter dull black, and Cley guessed that these might be the natural prey of skysharks. Reflections would attract unwanted attention, so these oddly shaped creatures deployed parachute-shaped sails which absorbed sunlight, and then contrived to shed the build-up of heat through thin, broad cooling vanes.

             Such adaptations led to every conceivable arrangement of surfaces. Creatures like abstract paintings were quite workable here, where gravity had no hand in fashioning evolution's pressures. Their struts, sheets, tubes and decks made use of every geometric advantage. Pivots as apparently fragile as a flower stem served to turn vast planes and sails. Transparent veins carried fluids of green and ivory.

             Yet as these fled the wounded giant, others flocked in. Great arrays swooped to meet the Leviathan, things that looked to Cley like no more than spindly arrays of green toothpicks. Nonetheless these unlikely-looking assemblies decelerated, attached themselves to the Leviathan, and off-loaded cargoes. It struck Cley that the Leviathan played a role with no easy human analogy. It cycled among worlds, yet was no simple ship. Fleets of spaceborne life exchanged food and seeds and doubtless much more, all by intersecting Leviathan's orbit, hammering out biological bargains, and then returning to the black depths where they eked out a living. Leviathan was ambassador, matchmaker, general store and funeral director, and many other unfathomable roles as well.

             Yet the vast beast was deeply damaged, and a fevered note of anxiety layered the air around Cley. She idly turned away from the sunlit spectacle of the aft zones and just had time to glimpse a small, ruddy disk coming into view. Then the hackles on her neck rose and she whirled, already knowing what she would see.

             You brought this upon me, the Captain sent.

             It towered above her. Its thumb-sized components hovered as though full of repressed energy, giving the stretched human shape the appearance of a warped statue across which dappled light fell, like the shadows of leaves stirred by fitfull breezes.

             "I didn't know the skysharks even existed. You've got to understand, I—"

             I understand much. Toleration is what I lack.

             Cley ached to flee. But how could she elude this angry, swift swarm? Better to keep it talking. "It wasn't my idea to come here."

             The elongated human form bulged. Its left arm merged with the body. She sensed a massive threat behind these surges, underlined by spikes of anger that shot through the murky talent-voice of the Captain. Nor mine. I shall rid myself of you.

             "I'll leave as soon as I can."

             The Mad Mind sends tendrils everywhere. They snake into me.

             "Do you think it can find me?"

             The constantly shifting form curled its legs up into the body, as though its components had to be brought closer to ponder this point. Soon, yes. It probes me.

             "How much time do I have left?"

             It would have tracked you by now, were it not opposed by another and similar skill. I cannot predict the outcome of such large collisions.

             Cley tried to make herself think of this thing as a community of parts, not simply an organism. But the moving cloud seemed to purposefully make itself humanlike enough to send disturbing, atavistic fears strumming through her. And she wondered if that, too, was its intention.

             "What other 'skill'? Another magnetic mind?"

             Similar in power, and winging on the fiexings of the fields. It is called Vanamonde.

             "Is it dangerous to you?" Despite herself Cley edged away from the shifting fog of creatures. She resolved to stand straight and undaunted in the slight pseudogravity of Leviathan's acceleration, to show no sign of her inner fear. But how much could the Captain sense from her unshielded thoughts?

             I do not know. I despise all such human inventions.

             This startled her out of her apprehension. "Vanamonde—we made it?"

             In typical human fashion, as a corrective to your earlier error — the Mad Mind.

             "Look, even Leviathans must make mistakes," Cley said giddily.

             Ours do not remain, encased in the lace of magnetic fields, while the galaxy turns upon itself again and again. Our errors die.

             The cloud-Captain buzzed and fretted with agitation. Its head lifted into the air, its mouth gaping like a bullet hole that ran completely through the head, so that Cley could see the vegetation beyond. Angry waves roiled up and down the torso.

             "So we build things to last," Cley said with airy abandon. She was not going to let this talking fog intimidate her. "Can't blame us, can you?"

             Why should we not?

             "We don't last long ourselves. Not ur-humans, anyway. Our creations have to do our living for us."

             Nor should you endure. Time once honored your kind. Now it drags you in its wake.

             Despite her fear, this rankled Cley. "Oh, really? You seem pretty scared of stuff we made."

             The Captain lost its human shape entirely, exploding like shrapnel into the air. Components buzzed angrily around Cley. She stood absolutely still, remembering the time on Earth when she had sealed her nostrils against a cloud. But that would be of no use here. She stared straight ahead and kept her mind as steady as she could. Small and limited her brain might be, but she wasn't going to give the maddened cloud any satisfaction. The Captain's flyers brushed her like a heavy moist handclasp—insistent, clammy, repulsive. Tiny voices shrieked and howled in her mind and slapping her hands over her ears would be no help.

             "You will kindly go about your task," Seeker's voice came cutting through.

             Cley jumped, startled by the smooth, almost liquid quality to the sound. Seeker hung by one claw from a strand, peering at the center of the ire-fog. "Now," it added.

             Slowly the components steadied, whirling in a cyclone about both Seeker and Cley, but keeping a respectful distance. I suffer agony for you!

             "As you should," Seeker replied, "for you must."

             Be gone!

             "In due time," Seeker said.

             With that the components streaked away, as if called by numberless tasks. Cley felt a spark of compassion for the strange things, and their even stranger sum. She supposed in some way she was also an anthology being, and her cells suffered in silence for her. But the Captain was a different order of thing, more open to both joy and agony in a way she could not express but felt deeply through the talent.