"But this is better than any truck-"

There was a strangled kind of noise.

The nomes looked up.

One of the humans was watching them. Its mouth was open and it had an expression on its face of someone who is going to have a lot of difficulty explaining what they have just seen, especially to themselves.

The human was already getting to its feet. Angalo and Masklin looked at one another. "Run!" they shouted.

Gurder was lurking suspiciously in a patch of shadow by the door whenthey came past, arms and legs going like pistons. He caught up the skirtsof his robe and scurried after them.

"What's happening! What's happening?"

"There's a human after us!"

"Don't leave me behind! Don't leave me behind!"

Masklin was just ahead of the other two as they raced up the aisle between the rows of humans, who paid no attention at all to three tinyblurs running between the seats.

"We shouldn't have ... stood around ... looking!" Masklin gasped.

"We might ... never ... have a chance ... like that again!" panted Angalo.

"You're rightV

The floor tilted slightly.

"Thing! What are you doing!"

"Creating a distraction."

"Don't! Everyone this way!"

Masklin darted between two seats, around a pair of giant shoes, and threw himself flat on the carpet. The others hurled themselves down behind him.

Two huge human feet were a few inches away from them.

Masklin pulled the Thing up close to his face.

"Let them have their airplane back!" he said.

"I was hoping to be allowed to land it," said the Thing. Even though its voice was always flat and expressionless, Masklin still thought that it sounded wistful.

"Do you know how to land one of these things?" said Masklin.

"I should like the opportunity to learn-"

"Let them have it back right now!"

There was a faint lurch and a change in the pattern of the lights on the Thing's surface. Masklin breathed out.

"Now, will everyone act sensibly for five minutes?" he said.

"Sorry, Masklin," said Angalo. He tried to look apologetic, but it didn't work. Masklin recognized the wide-eyed, slightly mad smile of someone very nearly in their own personal heaven. "It was just that ... do you know it's even blue below us? It's like there's no ground down there at all! And-"

"If the Thing tries any more flying lessons we might all find out if that's true," said Masklin gloomily. "So let's just sit down and be quiet, shall we?"

They sat in silence for a long time, under the seat.

Then Gurder said, "That human there has got a hole in its sock."

"What about it?" said Angalo.

"Dunno, really. It's just that you never think of humans as having holes in their socks."

"Where you get socks, holes aren't far behind," said Masklin.

"They're good socks, though," said Angalo.

Masklin stared at them. They just looked like basic socks to him. Nomes in the store used them as sleeping bags.

"How can you tell?" he said.

"They're Hi-style Odorprufe," said Angalo. "Guaranteed 85% Polysomething.

We used to sell them in the Store. They cost a lot more than other socks.

Look, you can see the label."

Gurder sighed.

"It was a good Store," he muttered.

"And those shoes," said Angalo, pointing to the great white shapes like beached boats a little way away. "See them? Crucial Street Drifters with Real Rubber Soul. Very expensive."

"Never approved of them, myself," said Gurder. "Too flashy. I preferred Mens, Brown, Laced. A nome can get a good night's sleep in one of those."

"Those Drifter things are Store shoes, too, are they?" said Masklin, carefully.

"Oh, yes. Special range."

"Hmm."

Masklin got up and walked over to a large leather bag half wedged under the seat. The others watched him scramble up it and then pull himself up until he could, very quickly, glance over the armrest. He slid back down.

"Well, well," he said, in a mad, cheerful voice.

"That's a Store bag, isn't it?" he said.

Gurder and Angalo gave it a critical look.

"Never spent much time in Travel Accessories," said Angalo, "but now that you mention it, it could be the Special Calfskin Carry-on Bag."

"For the Discerning Executive?" Gurder added. "Yes. Could be."

"Have you wondered how we're going to get off?" said Masklin.

"Same way as we got on?" said Angalo, who hadn't.

"I think that could be difficult. I think the humans might have other ideas," said Masklin. "I think, in fact, they might start looking for us.

Even if they think we're mice. I wouldn't put up with mice on somethinglike this if I were them. You know what mice are like for widdling onwires. Could be dangerous when you're ten miles high, a mouse going tothe bathroom inside your computer. So I think the humans will take itvery seriously. So we ought to get off when the humans do."

"We'd get stamped on!" said Angalo.

"I was thinking maybe we could sort of ... get in this bag, sort of thing," said Masklin.

"Ridiculous!" said Gurder.

Masklin took a deep breath.

"It belongs to Grandson Richard, 39, you see," he said.

"I checked," he added, watching the expressions on their faces. "I saw him before, and he's in the seat up there. Grandson Richard," he went on,

"39. He's up there right now. Reading a paper. Up there. Him."

Gurder had gone red. He prodded Masklin with a finger. "Do you expect me to believe," he said, "that Richard Arnold, the grandson of Arnold Bros.

(est. 1905), has boles in his socks?"

"That'd make them holy socks," said Angalo. "Sorry. Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit. You don't have to glare at me like that."

"Climb up and see for yourself," said Masklin. "I'll help you. Only be careful."

They hoisted Gurder up.

He came down quietly.

"Well?" said Angalo.

"It's got R. A. in gold letters on the bag too," said Masklin. He made frantic signs to Angalo. Gurder was looking as though he had seen a ghost.

"Yes, you can get that," said Angalo, hurriedly. " 'Gold Monogram at Only Five Ninety-nine Extra,' it used to say on the sign."

"Speak to us, Gurder," said Masklin. "Don't just sit there looking like that."

"This is a very solemn moment for me," said Gurder.

"I thought I could cut through some of the stitching and we could get in at the bottom," said Masklin.

"I am not worthy," said Gurder.

"Probably not," said Angalo cheerfully. "But we won't tell anyone."

"And Grandson Richard, 39, will be helping us, you see," said Masklin, hoping that Gurder was in a state to take all this in. "He won't know it, but he'll be helping us. So it'll all be right. Probably it's meant."

Not meant by anyone, he told himself conscientiously. Just meant in general.

Gurder considered this.

"Well, all right," he said. "But no cutting the bag. We can get in through the zipper, all right?"

They did. It stuck a bit halfway, since zippers always do, but it didn't take long to get an opening big enough for the nomes to climb down inside.

"What shall we do if he looks in?" said Angalo.

"Nothing," said Masklin. "Just smile, I suppose."

The tree frogs were far out on the branch now. What had looked like a smooth expanse of gray-green wood was, close up, a maze of rough bark, roots, and clumps of moss. It was unbearably frightening for frogs who had spent their lives in a world with petals around it.

But they crawled onward. They didn't know the meaning of the word

"retreat." If it came to that, they didn't know the meaning of the word

"bromeliad." Or "frog." Or any other word.